Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, made possible by the Ranger's Apprentice by John Flanagan. I have only borrowed his creation and I make no money. For this story I have used several other Rangers from the books, though I've also added my own. I do this only in the hope to entertain…

Author's Note: No harm shall come to the characters that can't be fixed with enough coffee…

Chapter 26

Halt hadn't really paid much attention to what Crowley was doing as he moved around the camp. He knew he was giving the minimal aid to the criminals, none of them being able to care to do more. Now though, he put a bundle of cloth on the ground beside Halt who looked and noted it seemed to be spare clothes from both their packs. And a bowl of steaming, pleasantly fragrant broth.

"We have to give him something more than the brandy wine," Crowley shrugged. "We don't have an unlimited supply of that, but I doubt he can stomach much right now.

"Probably not," Halt agreed.

"Want to try and get that into him first?" Crowley asked. "Most of what we've got are too small for him, but better than nothing. He'll catch a cold if we don't get him in some clothes."

"Gil?" Halt gave the gaunt cheek a gentle tap. "You want to try and eat some?"

"No," the quiet mumble was followed by Gilan pressing his face into the crook of Halt's arm as he held him.

"It's broth, you'll need it to get your strength back…"

"Tha'll jus' 'urt more…" Gilan tried to push further into Halt, unable to hold back a moan as his ribs flared. The half unconscious daze he had been in off and on for some days was the best he could remember feeling since his capture. He didn't want to lose that to a more coherent state of pain and misery. There was no way full consciousness wouldn't bring a world of pain, and he had had more than enough of it already.

Fumbling with his hand he found a fold of Halt's cloak, and clutched at it desperately, to hide his face in it. Hopefully they would let him be. It was warm in the folds of the slightly scratchy cloak, a comfortable and familiar warmth. His nose was almost completely stuffed, but he could smell the coffee scent and earthly tones that had always been Halt, and the coffee and touch of ink that was Crowley on the cloak that was wrapped around him. He wished they would understand that his was good, that this was the best he could even remember feeling, the pain and misery seemed to have blotted out every other memory he had.

"Gil," Halt however patted his cheek gently again, chafing it gently with a rough and calloused thumb. "A few spoons of broth…"

"No," he would have shaken his head, but he couldn't bear the thought of moving.

"Gilan, don't make me break out the 'little bird…' to get you to eat," Crowley mused, and Halt stared at him in disbelief. He had seen mothers do that to their babes, and obviously Gilan had to, for there was a snort that turned into a pained whimper.

He did however allow himself to be coaxed into a half-sitting position against Halt where Crowley could feed him a few spoonful's of broth, mixed with brandy wine.

A few spoonful's, then he buried his face against Halt's jerkin and would not be swayed.

Shifting so that his back was supported by his saddle, Halt wrapped his own cloak tighter around his former apprentice. Shielding him not only from the cold, but from the stares of their captives. Crowley, who was moving about the camp was pleased to note how scared they suddenly looked. They had obviously thought that Halt wouldn't care as much about Gilan and what happened to him, and now, finding out how wrong they had been, they were simply scared out of their tiny minds. It pleased him, and he took a moment to grin at them. A confident and pleased grin of someone who knew they'd find themselves in their worst nightmare, and would enjoy it.

"Are, are we gonna get any of that?" one braved ask, nodding to the pot where the stew still simmered.

"Of course not," Crowley replied cheerfully, not looking their way. He wouldn't feed them, not then. They'd need to give them something, but he was in no hurry to do it. Every rib had been standing out on Gilan's chest, his face gaunt and it was clear he had been starved. He would not feel bad at all about returning the favour.

Instead he found their coffee pot, and the beans in Halt's pack. He didn't know if coffee was recommended for people in Gilan's condition, but he was a Ranger, Rangers always craved coffee…

He also had a feeling they had a long night ahead of them, so while he ate his share of the savoury stew he prepared the coffee. Soon the aroma filled the camp, causing moans and whimpers from their prisoners as they obviously wanted it, but did not even dare ask for it. Enjoying his own mug of coffee, Crowley filled a bowl of stew and a second mug that he took over to where Halt still sat with his apprentice.

"You eat, I'll take him," he urged as he settled himself on the ground.

Halt only glared at him, but Crowley wasn't one to be intimidated so easily.

"He'll need more attention tonight, and that means we both have to be in shape to give it. You'll do him no good if you're worn out. Give him to me, I'll look after him."

Knowing that he was right, and that Gilan, even if he showed no sign of having heard them, would be feeling just as safe with Crowley, Halt reluctantly agreed. As he slowly worked his hand lose from his cloak, he gritted his teeth at the weak moans of objection.

"It's alright Gilan," Crowley leaned forward, smoothing down his hair. "I'm here, it's alright. Halt just needs to eat a bit, okay? I got you, it's alright, I got you…" His soft crooning seemed to do the trick Halt noted. Gilan settled down after a few more groans and whimpers, tucking himself into Crowley's side just as he had done with Halt.

Making quick work of the stew Halt worked over in his mind what they would need. Someone would have to stay with Gilan through the night, and they needed someone to guard their prisoners, which meant they'd get very little sleep. They would need food, and more wood. There was a creek close enough they had plenty of water, but they needed to make sure there was plenty of nourishment for Gilan, and there wasn't much he would be able to eat easily.

Looking to where Crowley sat with the lad, and assuring himself he was as comfortable as he could be at the moment he went to their packs. Wrinkling his nose in disgust as he glanced to the fire. True to form for the type of men, the ground around it was littered with rubbish, half gnawed bones, globs of partially chewed fat and other things. Not really appetizing in the least, so once he had used a bowl, flour, a bit of salt and water to make a simple bread dough, he cut a sapling. Wrapping thin strings of the dough around the slender stick he set it over the coals to bake.

Camp bread soaked in broth would be easy to give the lad, it would give him nourishment and he wouldn't have to expand much effort for it. Crowley gave him a nod of approval, knowing what he meant it for. He had never seen Gilan in such a bad state before, and it really was heart-breaking that the always so cheerful young man could be reduced to this.

"Coffee?" the faint croak took him by surprise as he glanced down at the young man he held.

"I made some coffee," he confirmed. "Not sure if it's a good idea for you to have any though."

"Why?" pain hazy eyes struggled to focus on him.

"Because you're a mess, and I'm no expert, it might make it worse," he admitted.

"Coffee?" Gilan sounded incredulous, as if he could not believe coffee could possibly be bad for anyone at any time.

"You won't eat the broth, but you're begging me for coffee," Crowley shook his head. "Halt's been a terrible influence on you, do you know that?"

"Yes…?" Gilan swallowed, looking scared and it struck Crowley he was, scared of saying the wrong thing. It would take him some time to feel secure with them it seemed.

"One sip," he decided. "And I want you to have some more of the broth, okay?"

Gilan did not answer, which did not really concern him. There was still a few swallows in his mug, if it was getting cold. That would make it easier for him, so he took the mug and held it to his lips, watching as Gilan greedily drank it down. If nothing else, it should help him feel secure with them he mused. Once the mug was empty, he sat it down, and pulled the bowl with the rest of the broth closer. That to was getting cold, but testing it he found it was still lukewarm.

Obviously the coffee had perked him up some, or, he was scared of not getting it again if he refused, for he allowed Crowley to give him several spoonful's before he pulled back.

"That's a good lad," allowing him to settle down, Crowley wiped a drop of soup from the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Try to get some sleep now, it'll do you good."

Gilan relaxed for a moment, curled against him, then he started, eyes wide. "Halt!"

"Halt's here, he was just fixing up some bread for you to have later," Crowley assured him, emphasis on 'was', for the second Gilan cried out, Halt had flung all that aside and was now crouching on his other side.

Crowley gently shifted him over, several years of apprenticeship did not end just because a Ranger graduated. There was always the special bond they shared with their mentor… It did not mean anything more than so. Halt was the one man Gilan would always want to help him feel safe, it was as simple as that.

If Pritchard had showed right then, right after he had a minor moment of panic about ghosts, Crowley would have thrown himself at him and never let go….

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…