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 19

Halt and Crowley were on their way early the next morning, their gear packed, and their farewells said. Pauline had kissed them both, as Crowley had got a peck on the cheek. They rode in silence for many miles.

Both were burdened with sorrow, but it was a little easier as it was shared. They both knew how the other felt, how the grief was sharp as a knife though they knew it would dull in time. At the moment, Halt didn't want it to. It would mean he was adapting and adjusting to the loss, and he did not want to do that. He did not want to get accustomed to the loss.

Sighing he leaned forward to pet Abelard's neck. When they entered the stable to get their horses, Blaze had given them a brief look as if she wondered if Gilan was with them, then she hung her head again. Her manger still had oats in it, and she had plenty of fresh hay. There was even an apple laid in her manger, and yet she had not touched it. She had taken the loss of her master equally hard. On occasion a Ranger horse who's Ranger had died had been given to a new one, but only rarely as they tended to take it nearly as hard as the humans did. Halt strongly doubted Blaze would ever be content with anyone else. He aimed to keep her with him when they returned. Pauline would look after her while they were away, and she could probably get her to eat some. Blaze knew Pauline well, even if she had not been given the code word to ride her, she had cared for her many times.

Blaze trusted her, and liked her, she knew she had looked after Gilan herself, and that was all the pony needed to know. It would be better for her when she had Abelard and Cropper for company, especially Abelard would keep an eye on the mare as they had spent many years together when Gilan was an apprentice.

"Do you want to look for a place to stop and make a fire, or eat at the inn?" Crowley's question broke him out of his reverie and he looked up at the haze of smoke and the squares of roof, indicating a small hamlet ahead.

"Inn's probably quicker," he decided. "If the food is decent." They had kept a steady pace, not so fast as to tire their horses needlessly. Moving onwards with very few breaks. Their horses wouldn't need much rest to be ready for the next leg of their journey.

"We shall find out I imagine," Crowley shrugged as he gazed ahead. "It usually isn't too bad…"

"Sometimes it is," Halt shrugged. The light banter was familiar, and a great comfort at the moment.

Drawing rein at the small inn Crowley sniffed the air, "smells good enough," he shrugged. "I think we might risk it."

"You'd know," ever since they met, Halt had enjoyed to pick on his friend for the fact his nose was perhaps a little on the large side. After all, the very reason why he had intervened was because some brutes had accused Crowley for putting his nose where it didn't belong, and suggested they cut it off. Halt had not been able to let that pass, and the two of them had got along well, quickly growing to be good friends.

The insult made Crowley smile as they led their horses to the small barn, settling them in with water and hay before making their way into the inn. It seemed decent enough to Halt, clean enough. The straw on the floor looked to be changed regularly, the tables had been wiped, and the windows were open to let in fresh air as well as light.

"Two stews?" the innkeeper asked, having been perched on a stool behind the bar, idly whittling on a piece of wood as he waited for one of the half dozen patrons to require something.

"Two stews, coffee and hay for two horses," Crowley fished out his purse, raising an eyebrow. The price the man given was marginally high, but not unreasonably so. In small places like this, they sometimes overcharged travellers a little in order to make a decent amount. Travellers might grouch and grumble about it, but they ate and moved on, the residents you had to live with. Shrugging he paid it, nodding to a table in the corner. "We'll sit there."

"It'll be ready in just a minute, fresh loaf of bread is just about to come out of the oven," sliding down from his stool, the man disappeared in through the half open door to the kitchen.

"Fresh bread doesn't seem too bad," Crowley shrugged.

"It should be for the price they charge," Halt grumbled, but Crowley knew he was not really annoyed over the price of their food. It was the situation that bothered him.

The innkeeper wasn't long in carrying a tray to their table. Two full bowls of stew, a small, but still steaming loaf of breed. Two cups and a pot of coffee, a small crock of butter and even a small wedge of cheese. All in all, he could not say the man had tried to cheat him, more like trying to make a decent living in a place where the money was hard to come by. Shrugging again he grabbed his spoon and dug in. Grabbing the loaf of bread he tore it in half.

"Do you want the larger or smaller piece?" he regarded the two halves, almost perfectly equal in size.

"The larger," Halt decided.

"Too bad, I'm having it," grinning he dropped one half in front of his bowl, passing the other to Halt.

"If you were going to take it, why'd you ask?" this was an old ritual between them, one that they had been indulging in for many years now. Crowley loved baiting him, and he had long since figured out that was all there was to it. The two pieces of bread had been nearly identical, and if anything, Halt had the bigger one in front of him.

"I was hoping you'd say the smaller, make me look really considerate," Crowey grinned at him.

Halt figured it was meant to raise his spirit, so he glared at his friend as was his role. The first time he witnessed it, Gilan had looked really confused. He didn't quite understand it was a joke at first. The thought of his first apprentice sent another stab of pain through his chest.

"We'll find out what happened," Crowley stated softly. "I'm not dropping this until we know for certain. No matter how long it takes, we'll find out."

"I thought the commandant shouldn't show any form of preferential treatment," Halt scowled at him. "Kind of sounds like that is what it is though."

"The commandant shouldn't," Crowley nodded. "And the commandant doesn't give a damn. To hell with that, this is Gilan we're talking about. I care a damn sight more about finding out the truth of what happened to him, then I do about keeping a desk job I never wanted in the first place. They don't like it, they can take over…"

His exclamation drew a weak smile from Halt. The Ranger's looked out for their own, and Crowley would never put one before another. Not because they meant more to him personally, but Gilan had been more than just any Ranger to him. Naturally, he was now very determined.

They finished their meal and left the inn, saddling their horses and were back on the road again a few minutes after. Continuing until late that evening when they pitched camp in a small clearing not far from the road. Setting up their two small one man tents side by side, the smell of brewing coffee mingling with the delicious fragrance of a frying fish.

Rather than wasting time on fishing they had bought it in the village they passed. Together with a couple of potatoes that were baked in the coals, it would make a nice meal. It was the first time since he got the news that Halt felt even the slightest appetite.

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…