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 35

As he started drifting closer to consciousness Gilan was conflicted, he could already feel the pain lurking there, the agony that had been his world for so long he did not seem able to recall anything else. On the other hand, there was something else, a familiar scent just registering on the edge of his awareness, a rough calloused hand that kept brushing against his cheek and hair.

There was comfort in that touch, and he craved it, finding himself struggling against the heavy feeling of nothingness that wanted to overwhelm him.

His chest was tight and flared with pain as he inhaled, but he caught another scent and almost retreated back into the darkness. It was so real, so incessant that he found himself turning his head away. "Not hungry."

"You're not even awake yet, how do you know?" Halt chided gently, a smile coming to his lips. Crowley had brought the bowl of hot chicken broth with him only a few moments ago, and Halt hadn't been certain if he should try to wake the lad or not. Gently he had patted his cheek, to see how deeply he slept, knowing he needed the sustenance. "You don't even know what it is that I've got here," he added.

A few times the boy had roused just enough to retch, and Pauline had given him more tea to send him back asleep each time until he slept for a few hours at a stretch. He needed food now though, desperately, every morsel they could get into him. On top of already being starved it had been many hours now since he last had anything what with what they had to put him through to treat his injuries. "Can you wake up a little?" he queried. "Might not be Master Chubb's food, but it's not bad. Duncan's got a good cook you know, and I got some excellent chicken broth for you."

"Don't want any," his stomach was sore, the muscles aching from the heaving and retching. He might not really feel so nauseas anymore, but he couldn't see how it was worth risking it.

"Sorry Gil, not an option," Halt sighed. "You need it, come on now, let's get you sitting up a little." Knowing he would barely be able to do so himself Halt pulled him up gently, keeping an arm around him to hold him steady as he slipped a couple of pillows behind his back. "Better?"

"No," it pulled on his leg, awkwardly stretched out in front of him with the splint. He couldn't seem to shift into a position that eased the strain. Trying to lean to one side he gasped as it set his ribs flaring. Tears he could not quite hold back sprang to his eyes and he closed them hurriedly. Not wanting his mentor to see his weakness, but the room was spinning and he hurt so badly.

Halt sighed softly, he could understand the reaction, it was not so strange. If they could have doused him up with pain relievers it would have been easier, but the most commonly used was poppy juice, and that just wasn't an option. Having a pretty good idea how the lad was feeling, at least in some regards, he tried to help him into a slightly more comfortable position. Arranging the long coltish limbs into an order that at least seemed to work. He would be hard pressed to find any real comfort for some time. With one leg splinted stiff, one bound and his arm secured to his chest he could barley move. For someone like Gilan, who was always filled with such boundless energy and could never bear to be still it had to be a torture in itself.

Many years ago, he recalled just how difficult a time Farrel had seemed to be having with a badly broken leg. The Ranger had not been quite himself for some time due to it. His limited ability to move, the pain that hounded him, and the feeling of uselessness as his friends were fighting against Morgarath.

Farrel didn't even have half of Gilan's irrepressible energy…though to be fair he did not think anyone did.

His apprentice was looking at him now, large eyes pleading for help. Gilan still hadn't lost that sense of belief that his mentor was perfect and could do anything that he had had as a youth. He remembered something of the same from his time with Pritchard, though he had been under no illusions that anyone was perfect at the time. Having your own brother try to kill you, repeatedly, tended to shatter such illusions.

Gilan wasn't that naïve either, he had grown up to hard for that, no, Gilan knew no one was perfect, and that the world was cruel. Yet he still looked at Halt that way, because he choose to do it. Because he wanted to have that belief about his mentor, and felt Halt lived up to it.

It was strange, how someone could do that, and a part of Halt had always liked it. Except at times like this, times when he felt unworthy of it. When he had failed to protect the boy.

Not really able to offer anything he simply picked up the mug from the table, holding it to his lips. Gilan was reluctant, not opening his mouth at first.

"Gil," Halt's gently chiding voice had him taking a few tentative sips. He reached up the one hand he could move to the mug, but it shook so much that even though Halt still retained his hold some of the broth spilled out.

"You know, the more you eat, the easier it will get," he mused.

"Not really," Gilan tried to push the mug away, but Halt did not let him.

"It's only half full," he stated. "And it's nearly a day since you had anything. What's going on?" Even ill Gilan usually wasn't this difficult about it. Yes, he tended to prefer to be left alone, and he never had the biggest appetite. Not quite like Will, and certainly never like Horace. Even so, he usually didn't object when someone he trusted tried to take care of him. It made Halt think there was something he had missed, something important that could offer a better explanation.

"Just not hungry," Gilan shrugged. "Don't want to be sick again," his hand fell to his stomach as if he could feel it tightening. "Was even worse than usual."

"I believe you," Halt agreed. Throwing up with injured ribs was about as bad as it got. "Do you feel nauseous now?"

"No," Gilan admitted. "Don't want to either."

"Then don't you think eating will do you good?" Halt raised an eyebrow. The boy gave a reluctant nod. "So what's going on?" Halt prodded. If something was wrong, the sooner he got to the bottom of it, the sooner they would get the lad back on track.

"I guess…" Gilan's voice faded away.

"Finish it then, you can have a bit of bread as well," Halt raised the mug to his mouth again. "That should keep it from sloshing around, huh?"

Seemingly resigned to his fate Gilan had a few more swallows, though some of the broth still remained in the mug when he turned his head away. "Where's Will?"

The question was one he should have expected, even so, it took Halt by surprise. "He's back in Redmont, Crowley sent him back to recover. He was really shook up about thinking he lost you."

"Is he okay?"

"No, he thinks you're dead," Halt told him honestly. "I don't think he'll ever be okay with that, but he'll get better when he sees you. Crowley will send for him." They had agreed on that, Will and Jenny had to be informed, and once they knew, there would be no holding them back. Sending for them was the right thing to do, though it would take them a little while to get there. Halt didn't know how used Jenny was to travelling, but Baron Arald would make sure she had a good horse for it. He was a good man, as good as they came. Will would look after her as well, so he did not think it would be a problem.

"It was my fault," Gilan sank back into the pillows, eyes half closed.

"Which part? Will being inattentive and being captured," he really should have known better, but everyone made mistakes at times. Will was so used to Halt and Gilan looking out for him he sometimes forgot himself still. Perhaps that part was his fault, Halt mused. He had set a bad example for Gilan in that regard. Always trying to keep a close eye on his youngest apprentice even though he knew he needed to do it for himself. "Or Harcourt giving you up? Not even really trying to do anything about it, not alerting us so we could rescue you, which part of that is your fault?" It was harsh words, and he saw Gilan flinch, but it was important to be blunt with him. To make sure he saw that there was no way it could have been his fault. Gilan did have a penchant for self-blame. Not the crippling kind that would have rendered him a drunk or a useless Ranger, but one that saw him mentally flogging himself for something that had been outside of his control.

"I should have been faster, I could have taken more of them out if I were, I'm not as good a shot as Will, you think so yourself…" Gilan stated and Halt paused.

He did think that, that Will was a more instinct shot, but not really better than Gilan. Just more intuit and more instinctual. Gilan had a way of planning it out, several shots in a row, seeing in his head how the people would move, and fire of several arrows faster than Will could. It was possible that on one target, or in a relaxed setting, Will was faster and just a little more accurate than Gilan, but not better.

His pause however, had seemed to cement that thought in Gilan's mind, for he squeezed his eyes closed.

"I do not think Will is better than you," he kept his voice low and firm. "I think Will is different from you, and I think there are times when he is better suited to a task. That does not mean I would pick him over you, anymore than I would pick you over him. Do you understand that?"

"You should pick him, he is better than me, everyone knows it…" Gilan's voice faded away.

"Is this about what Harcourt said?" Halt's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than that? He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Doesn't change anything," Gilan fidgeted, uneasily. "Just, I don't, I know I'm not…" he was growing agitated and Halt frowned.

"Gilan, you're my apprentice, just the same as Will, and you mean just as much to me, do you understand?"

Eyes down, the lad picked at a loose thread on the blanket with his free hand, thin shoulders slumped.

"Here, eat," taking a piece of bread from the plate Halt laid it in his hand. "You're an idiot Gilan, if you believe any of that nonsense, but I know it can be hard to see the right side of things when you're sick and injured." It wasn't the first instance of Gilan getting a thought into his head that Halt would rather he didn't. They were rare and far between, but it had happened before and the boy was a menace to himself more than others. Nibbling at the bread, more he thought to be able to avoid Halt's eye than anything else. Well, whatever got the food into him Halt was willing to run with.

"Listen to me," he stated firmly. "I'm the one who trained you, and I tell you this. You were always one of our best, I knew that even before I took you as an apprentice. You make mistakes, but you're honest about them, at least you've always been, this is new, but given the circumstances I'm willing to overlook it. But you need to get it through your head, okay?"

Gilan gave a shrug, and a nod, putting the bread down. He obviously hadn't quite seen the truth yet Halt mused, and he really wasn't certain what to say to convince him.

Sighing wearily he sat back in the chair, his apprentices would be the death of him. They really would, and yet, for all the heartache they caused him, he wasn't willing to back out of it. Not for anything.

TBC Please review, the caffeine addicted Cricket is hungry…