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 29

Baron Arald was a large man and a formidable warrior who always seemed to struggle with a waistline that wanted to get away from him. King Duncan was equally large in size, though all muscle and massive build.

Baron Vahron seemed to be a not overly large man, with a belly that wanted to make him one. Looking at him Halt made the judgement he was overly fond of food, and had a pretty high idea of his own importance. The doublet was straining and failing to contain a voluminous belly. It, as well as the hose was made out of a riot of sharp colours, red, orange and yellow in a not very flattering combination. If Gilan had seen him come, Halt could certainly understand his former apprentice's reluctance to acknowledge the world around him.

The man came waddling into the courtyard, hurriedly, as if he had realized he had suddenly been noticed by someone important that could cause trouble for him. Since Rangers didn't answer to the Baron, the one of their own fief or others, but directly to the King, they very well could Halt mused.

"Ranger," Vahron gasped as he came to a stop in front of them. "It's an honour to have you here, what can I do for you?"

"I'm Crowley, Commandant of the Rangers," Crowley once more flashed his oakleaf. In this instance he felt it best to establish his authority. "That is Ranger Halt, and we have an injured Ranger as well as prisoners. We need you to make certain they are placed under guard, preferably in a dungeon?"

"We have one," Baron Vahron confirmed. "We don't need it much, though. Nothing much happens here we need it for."

"Well, you'll need it now," Crowley stated. "Those men are very dangerous, they have murdered and stolen, robbed and burned farms. They are not to be approached lightly, and never except when under close guard. I'll give you more details, but first I want them put away, and I want our comrade to be taken to your infirmary. Halt will go with him."

"Yes, yes," Baron Vahron nodded. "Of course," he turned to where some knights had gathered. "Henry, see to it that the prisoners are taken to the dungeon and make certain they are secure. Oh, where is that man," he turned around, frantically. "Kerry, there you are, have some men bring a litter and see to it the Ranger is taken to the infirmary at once. He's to be given the best care we have to offer, understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," the man bowed, and ducked away. Halt and Crowley exchanged a look. They had been debating if they should let Gilan recuperate further where they were, or simply to arrange for more comfortable transportation for him and take him to Castle Araluen. Given what they had just seen, both of them were leaning towards the later.

A few hours later Halt was certain of it. He had been forced to just about threaten the surgeon before the man accepted that he was not to give Gilan poppy juice. It was commonly given to injured as it was a potent pain reliever. The problem was it was a dangerous drug when handled wrong, and Gilan had past experiences of the worse kind of it. It was not a good idea to give it to him, no matter how much Halt would wish to spare him the pain. Brandy wine was the best he was able to do, and while some thought it was cruel, it really was for the better.

The lad had just about shut down completely as he was poked and prodded, not giving a chance to acclimate himself to what was happening around him. His cry of pain and fear had caused Halt to spring into action, and when Crowley entered the room he was amused to note that the surgeon seemed to be trembling, and two orderlies were huddled in the far corner of the room.

At least Gilan was clean where he lay on the bed, an elderly woman who seemed no more impressed by Halt's outburst, than she had been of the surgeon's ways had taken to wash his hair thoroughly. Halt had allowed it, recognizing that she was a woman who knew what she was doing and cared for the lad.

Crowley liked to pride himself with his ability to read details and figure out what was going on, and knowing Halt, he found it no trouble to do so now. "We'll make sure to get the Baron to lend us a carriage," he decided. "That way, we can take Gilan back more comfortably."

"Sir, you can't take him from here," the surgeon, obviously hoping for a more compassionate and receptive audience in Crowley now spoke up. "The man is injured, the bones have knitted wrong, they need to be treated."

"What can you do?" Crowley folded his arms across his chest.

"We'll put tension on them, bend them back the way they should be…" he started.

"Gorlog's toenails, if you even think of touching the boy to do that!" Halt flared. It had been his habit now for some time to invoke the Skandian God when he felt a need. While it was somewhat uncertain exactly what Gorlog did, or how he looked, his teeth, beard and occasionally if the situation required the most forceful intonation possible, toenails, could be invoked as seen fit.

Knowing that the procedure the man mentioned was guaranteed to leave crippling damage behind, he would not have stopped even at invoking Gorlog's earwax to keep him away from his charge.

"We'll arrange for a carriage to take him back to Castle Araluen," Crowley stated firmly. "Their surgeon is more skilled, and can do it without turning the lad into a cripple. You will do nothing but make certain he is as comfortable as possible until then."

"But sir, I have tried, he will not let me give him poppy juice," the man gasped, nodding at Halt, then leaping out of the way as if he feared being struck.

"As well he stopped you," Crowley snorted. "You don't give Gilan poppy juice, and if you even think of trying to do it behind our backs, I'll be happy to report you to King Duncan…"

"But sir…" he gasped.

"Not sir, Ranger," Crowley levelled a hard, cold stare at him. "You call me Ranger, not sir. I'm the Ranger Commandant and Gilan is one of my Rangers. You may rest assured I want what's best for him, and for him, specifically, that means no poppy juice. Let's just make this easy, shall we?" his voice turned cheerful. "You do not give Gilan anything, or do anything to Gilan, unless Halt or I have said you can, how's that?"

"I don't know if that's appropriate…." he started, uncertain and worried while the old woman by the bed gave an amused snort.

"Why don't you start by getting him something to eat?" Crowley scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Potato and leek soup sounds good, think you can manage that?"

"Uh, yes, but I'm the Surgeon, I see to the patients…." he stammered.

"Good, then see to it that your patient gets something to eat," Crowley grinned. His voice turning sharp again, "right now is a good idea."

As the flustered man scurried off, the old woman cackled with mirth. "First time in years I've seen him make himself useful, good job there Ranger…"

"I take it you don't approve of him?" Crowly raised an eyebrow, concerned, for Gilan didn't seem to have taken any notice of the ruckus around him.

"Stuck up snob," she shrugged. "I should've taken a switch more often to that boy when he was a young'un. Might have done a bit of good?"

"Knew him then?" Crowley asked, curiously.

"Knew him, I brought him into this world," she snorted. "Not that you'd notice for the way he treats me, too busy being important, calling himself surgeon. Fool boy, but don't you worry Ranger, I'll make sure he doesn't get out of line. I still know where I can get me a good willow switch if it comes to that…"

"I bet you do mother," Crowley laughed heartily, pleased. "We will be on our way tomorrow, will it inconvenience you to help keep an eye on things until then?"

"Of course it will," she snorted. "I'm old and tiered, my bones ache more and more every day, but I'll not see a young'un suffer if there's anything I can do about it. I'm old and decrepit, but I'm not dead yet…"

"That you are not mother," Crowley beamed. "And you have my eternal gratitude for it. We could use a hand, right now, we've been a long time on the road with not much rest or food. If we are to continue, we could both use it."

"Speak for yourself," Halt growled. He didn't like how disinterested Gilan was in what was going on around him. He wasn't about to leave him, that was certain. The lad just lay staring at the wall, and didn't seem to care one bit about what was said around him. That wasn't the Gilan that he knew, it wasn't the way the boy was supposed to act. "I'm staying where I am," he stated firmly, and he would take no argument about it.

The woman didn't seem impressed at all by his glare, she only shrugged. "Plenty of empty beds to choose from," she decided. "I doubt anyone will bother to argue with you."

Halt gave a grunt of confirmation, eyes narrowing as the surgeon came bustling back into the room.

"The soup will be delivered as soon as it's ready," he breathed.

"Good," Crowley stepped past him, between him and the bed. "That's all for now then. We'll let you know if we need anything else."

"But sir, I have duties, I need to…"

"See to it, yes, of course you do," Crowley cut him off smoothly. "Don't let us keep you, I think we're able to take care of things from now. Don't worry about it, off you go," his statement was delivered in a cheerful voice, but his eyes were hard. Leaving no doubt he was best obeyed. The surgeon obviously realized it to, for he nodded, muttered about the heavy burden of his office, and scurried off.

The old woman, his mother, cackled a hearty laughter.

Grinning, quite pleased with himself and really having quiet enjoyed it if he was honest with himself, Crowley was surprised to hear a quiet sound. At first he could not discern it, but turning his head he found Gilan's eyes on his, a tremor running through the thin frame.

The lad had been scared out his mind that the surgeon would get his hands on him he realized, he hadn't dared to speak up, but it was evident now looking at him.

Finding out what had actually happened to him had been hard enough, in comparison, rescuing him had been relatively easy. Now though, Crowley realized just what kind of arduous journey Gilan would have ahead of him for a full recovery…

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…