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 33

They found Halt seated at the small table in a corner of the main room, a fairly pleasant array of food in front of him Crowley noted with some interest. It seemed mostly like cold food which would have been easier given the late hour. Half a chicken on a platter, bread and cheese on one, a stack of some half dozen hand pies and a few other titbits such as cold cuts, a jar of mustard and some greens.

"I sent him back to find something for the lad," he stated as they entered. Knowing Duncan wouldn't expect him to, he did not stand on ceremony for the king. The man was with them as a friend, not their liege right now.

"Is he awake?" Duncan asked and Halt nodded.

"Woke up screaming his head off from a nightmare," he nodded grimly. "Pauline was able to calm him. She's with him."

"Do you think it will be alright if I see him?" Duncan queried.

"Can't say, but I doubt it can make anything worse," Halt ran a hand over his face. "Never seen the boy like this."

"No one should have to go through something like that," Duncan shook his head. So wasn't the world they were living in though. There had been a time when he was a young boy and his father seemed like the fairest and mightiest king. He had not been able to perceive how there could be something so evil in the world then. He played at being a mighty knight to protect his people from a danger he did not understand. Even when he started training in earnest, at about thirteen years of age, it had been with the idea to defeat rouge knights, bandits and rescue fair damsels so he could take them for his queen.

Then had come the treachery of Morgarath and the understanding of just how cruel and vicious some men were, what lengths they would go to. His father being poisoned, himself held captive and the kingdom falling into ruins. Halt and Crowley had been fundamental in his rescue and their success at defeating Morgarath at the time. So had Baron Arald and Sir David who had proven what loyal supporters and friends they were.

Though he knew Sir David well, he hadn't met Gilan much before Hackham Heath, he hadn't paid much attention to the boy to tell the truth. David didn't bring much attention to him, though he said the boy was a natural swordsman unlike most others. Given he was just a child Duncan hadn't thought much of the practical use of it at the time though. It was only after he saw the twelve year old boy in their camp, sword over his shoulder, confident in all his youth and inexperience that he realized what kind of world that boy had grown up in. Gilan had been put in training at nine, both for lack of something better to do with the over active boy, and because David recognized something Duncan had missed. That the world was so very cruel that even the children sometimes were needed to take arms.

He had helped leading the cavalry, guided Halt to the ford. Even so the boy was never supposed to have been placed in the battle, but he had been, by a sergeant who did not recognize his youth because he was so tall. Duncan remembered well seeing him after he had been wounded and placed in the infirmary tent, drugged with poppy juice that allowed the nightmares to hound him. He had been in a state of shock, barley acknowledging it when David took him in his arms. Sobbing, crying and burying his face in his father's chest once David had found out what had befallen his son.

What would it take then to send that boy into such a state once more, a youth who had been hardened by such experiences so early in his life? If there was anything he could do for the lad, he wished to do it. For the friendship to his father, the debt he owed the boy from so long ago and for the service he had so willingly given throughout his life.

Yet he found it hard to explain the apprehension that weighed on him as he made for the doorway on the other side of the room. Open a slight crack, with light spilling out from it he knew it would be where he was. He could hear Pauline's soft voice from inside, and approached quietly. Giving a brief knock to the door before he pushed it further open.

Crowley had not exaggerated the state of the lad he noted as his stomach tightened sickeningly. The skin was stretched far too tight over the lanky frame, showing bones and reminding Duncan of a skeleton.

Startled he looked up, and though his expression was dazed he started struggling with the blankets as if he felt the need to rise. As if the apparition of his king in his bed cloths was really one that demanded such a display.

"M' lord," his words were slightly slurred, and his voice hoarse.

"Easy, easy, rest easy, there is no need for any of that," Duncan hurried to hold out a hand. "Rest easy, this is not the time for protocol."

"'M sorry," Gilan turned big eyes towards him, seeming so much larger in the sunken face and hollow eye sockets.

"From what I hear, you have nothing to be sorry for," Duncan offered a nod to Pauline, a brief smile of support as he reached for a chair and pulled it closer to the bed so he could sit. Bringing himself at least closer to level with the lad. This was not the time he wanted to tower over him. Even when well fed he had twice the body mass of the lanky ranger, being a large man of muscular build himself. He knew he could be intimidating even when he did not mean to be. "We are the ones who should be begging your forgiveness, it shouldn't have taken us so long to come for you."

"No reason t' go after a dead man," Gilan mumbled. "I was dead."

"You weren't," Duncan shook his head. It was what they had been told, and they had not questioned it until far too long. "You shouldn't have been. We should have made sure."

"'S not like it matters," Gilan tried to reach a hand to rub at his face, the appendage shaking as he did so. "Will's safe, 's only thing 's important."

"No, it's not the only thing," Duncan shook his head. "You shouldn't have been left, not like that. No matter what we were told. Gilan, your father has been absolutely heartbroken."

"Father?" his voice was weak, shaky as he struggled with the blanket again, and Duncan put a hand on his shoulder to hold him down. He could not help but flinching as he felt the hard edge of bone under his hand, and realized just how easy it was to hold him down. It took no more effort than holding a new-born babe. "Rest easy," he urged. "David isn't here yet. He's on his way back. He thought he had lost you and he took it really hard. He couldn't bear to be here for a while, so I had him go to Norgate. He's on his way back. He'll be back in about two days. We'll look after you until then," he finished weakly. At the news that his father was not there, the young ranger had sunk down into the mattress as if he lost all hope and will.

"He'll be here as soon as he can Gilan, you know he will," he urged, wondering if he should not send out a messenger after all, but it would do no good. They would not be able to hurry their pace for knowing. David would not leave his men behind, he was far too devoted to his duty for that. All it would do was torture him, worrying about his son when he could do nothing to change matters. "He will be here, and nothing will be able to keep him from you." Having once thought his own daughter lost, he knew very well what David would be facing when he returned. The joy battling with the despair of knowing he had given up. He did not envy the man that, but better that pain than having lost the boy for real.

"'M jus' tired," Gilan mumbled, shifting uneasily.

"You need to eat before you can sleep," Pauline interjected. "It won't be much longer for them to fix something up for you. Eat a little, then you can sleep. I will still be here with you."

"'M not hungry, 'jus tired," he shifted again, uneasily as he was unable to move his arm or his leg as he wanted, restlessly as if he could not bear another minute in the bed. Mouth a firm line in the gaunt face, and the scraggly beard growth doing nothing but lending pallor to the drawn features.

"Gilan," Pauline's voice was chiding.

"Sorry," he allowed his eyes to fall close, shifting again.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to have you back," Duncan urged, hoping he could convey just how glad he was. "You're a good man Gilan, one that has been sorely missed. I am glad that you are safe…" though he hated the feel of that bony thin frame, he squeezed his shoulder. Almost afraid that he would hurt him, but he knew the importance of showing that you meant the words you spoke. It was painfully evident what Crowley had told him, and it was not really a surprise. The kind of captivity he had endured could do as much to the strongest man.

The problem was that the men who would instantly have jumped to the defence of another in the same situation, found it harder to do the same for themselves. Gilan perceived only his failure, not his own strength.

The door was pushed open again and he watched Halt stand there, a bowl with a pleasant fragrance rising from it in his hand.

"I'll let you eat in peace, and get some rest, I'll see you later Gilan," Duncan squeezed his shoulder gently again, stepping back. Reassuring him, for whatever good it would do was all he could do. Stepping aside to let Halt try to get the soup into the lad he stepped out into the other room where Crowley sat making short work of his share of the meal. Tiredly sinking down into a chair next to him. He did not need to voice his concern in words, Crowley, had the same look on his face that he knew was on his own.

Relief that their friend had been found and was safe, yet an intense worry for him.

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…