A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you are all well. This story came about because of an anonymous request I received asking if I could write a story about Halt dealing with still getting used to having an apprentice and feeling a little out of his depth when Gilan gets into trouble with bullies or bullying at Battleschool. As I was writing it, it took a slightly different tack than peer to peer bullying, but I hope this fits the theme despite this, and that the end result is as fun to read as it was to write.

Chapter 1

There was a sharp chill in the air that carried with the wind. It seemed to resonate with the distant sensation of numbness and ice that had settled deep in Gilan's bones. Even if the sun had not been obscured by the brooding dark clouds that scudded overhead, he doubted it would be enough to dissipate the cold. He wrapped his cloak tighter around his body, wishing idly that the fabric could shield him from sensation as much as it could shield him from sight. But the gesture was not as soothing as he had hoped it might be; it didn't chase away the haze that had taken hold of his thoughts or the pain that sharpened its presence with each step he took. Every breath stabbed and the twisting in his stomach made him feel as if he might be sick again.

The familiar buildings of Caraway's Battleschool took shape before him and, despite everything, he felt a measure of relief at the sight. Eyes scanning the area, he searched the figures of the milling knights and Battleschool apprentices until his gaze settled on the familiar sturdy form of his father. He let out his breath in a silent puff of air, misty against the chill morning, and felt the tension that he had not been aware he'd been carrying leave his body. He was almost there.

He closed the distance between them as quickly as he was able. Since his father was in the middle of instructing a class, he waited patiently a couple of meters away until he was acknowledged. He was grateful for the pause only as it gave him time to try and formulate his harried thoughts into some passing mimicry of coherence and sense.

Sir David signaled for one of his sergeants to take over the class before finally turning his full attention toward him.

"Apprentice, Gilan?" he asked. Though formal, his words were not without care.

Gilan straightened, answering him back in the same formal way protocol dictated as his father was on duty and well within earshot of the Battleschool apprentices.

"Sir, I'd like to report an incident of unacceptable conduct in a matter of—"

His father held up a hand to stop him. "Let me guess, in a matter of discipline."

Gilan froze, surprised that his father had guessed so readily, but nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"We can discuss it," his father nodded once and then drew him aside so they could speak privately.

When safely away from the eyes of the rest of the Battleschool, Gilan dropped the parade-ready stance, feeling a cutting-sharp twinge of pain encompassing the movement before his muscles relaxed. His father's posture stayed the same—though Gilan put that down to long habit more than anything else.

"Father," Gilan began, dropping the distancing formalities, but he still tried to start at the beginning, explaining concisely as he had been trained to do. "Sir Baldwin is still teaching in place of MacNeil and he—"

Again, his father stopped him with a raised hand. "I know MacNeil hasn't returned yet, and I already know about what happened today. Sir Baldwin came to me not more than thirty minutes ago to explain the situation and the measures he took."

That explained a lot but, at the same time, nothing at all. Because, if Sir Baldwin had informed his father about what had happened, then why was his father not more upset or angry? Or, at the very least, why did he not so much as appear concerned?

Thoroughly confused now, Gilan made a helpless gesture. "Then what will be done about it? What he did wasn't acceptable and it was a breach of protocol."

His father sighed heavily. "Nothing will be done about it."

Gilan felt his mouth drop open in shock, even as a chilled sensation of pins seemed to twist around his spine.

"Nothing?" he managed to choke out, completely unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Gilan, for as long as MacNeil is absent, Sir Baldwin is your mentor, the equivalent of your commanding officer, and he has the right to discipline you for misconduct as much as he does any of the other students. Just because you're the son of a Battlemaster doesn't exempt you from that. According to his report, you defied, challenged, and openly disrespected him in front of the other students—or do you dispute that?" his father eyed him curiously.

Gilan felt heat spreading across his cheeks.

"No, Sir."

He couldn't dispute that, because that was indeed what he had done.

"Sir Baldwin said that you also attempted to pull rank on him, insulted him and his standing because he was not born into knighthood but rather earned it."

Gilan said nothing to that, knowing he couldn't counter it. Though he'd done it all with what he considered to be good reason, he had indeed tried to pull rank and his words had been purposely offending. Admittedly, it hadn't really been his intention to insult Sir Baldwin that particular way; he had not even known that his new instructor hadn't been born a nobleman or into a knight's family. But he could see now how what he'd said and done had been doubly cutting and disrespectful in light of that. When his father saw he wasn't going to respond, he continued, voice as stern as it had been.

"Gilan, my position and our family's lineage and nobility is not a bludgeon that you can use against people, nor is it a bargaining chip to grant you favors. And it is most especially not an excuse that you can use to defy your commanding officers whenever the mood strikes you. That is not the behavior of an honorable knight, and it's not the behavior of a Ranger either. Those positions are high, and they afford privileges, but they are coupled with responsibility and a code of conduct that must be followed.

"And apart from that, although the active warfare is at a standstill, the threat Morgarath poses to our kingdom is ever-present. Tensions could erupt at any time. Our military is what keeps us safe and, although you are no longer a squire, you are still training to be a part of that system. We can't afford wanton breaks in the chain of command. Discipline and cohesion are paramount. When I was an apprentice, soldiers could still be flogged for less than what you did today," he said, expression severe.

So that was it? Gilan found himself thinking, the beginnings of a disbelieving and slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat to lodge there, choked off before it could emerge. The only signs of its presence were in the bitter and sarcastic smile that twisted his lips. It hurt, more than Gilan could have measured.

His father couldn't mean that, he couldn't. He had always said that…. The nauseous sensation grew. His thoughts and head felt fuzzy, almost disjointed, and he didn't know whether to put it down to concussion from the blow he'd taken or a reaction to the situation itself.

"So, I should just blindly obey orders no matter what—even when I know they're wrong?"

"That isn't what I'm saying and you know it," David met the challenge with all the force of an implacable wall before his expression softened. "If you feel that Sir Baldwin's orders are wrong, there are right ways to report that and raise concerns. I will always be willing to discuss it with you. But what you did was unacceptable. And so, if Sir Baldwin chose to challenge you to a formal duel in front of the other students to discipline you and prove his authority, I don't feel that that's an inappropriate way to teach you a lesson. It's not directly permitted in the regulations, true, and it is unconventional, but it isn't forbidden either."

"It wasn't the duel that was the problem, necessarily. It was… how it was handled. He…" Gilan fumbled, his spinning and reeling mind not aiding him in formulating his thoughts coherently, "…struck me… with his sword," he finished lamely.

"He said as much." His father took a step towards him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry that you were hurt in the duel, but that is sometimes a natural consequence of dueling. You've been in enough of them in training and competitions to know that now."

Then Sir Baldwin had told his father everything it seemed. And, far from reassure, the knowledge only made his stomach sink painfully as it crushed his last desperate hope that all this was simply because his father had not known or understood the full situation. 'Hurt' made it sound so blasé, so mundane. Gilan didn't think he would ever term what had happened as being 'hurt', though it certainly had—and in more ways than one.

Words and half-constructed objections bubbled up in his throat, but he bit them back before he gave them voice. He stood to attention, mind reeling in tandem with the nausea that twisted his stomach.

"I have written a report about this incident and your conduct to Halt. You will give it to him when you return to Redmont this evening. If he decides to pursue further disciplinary actions for your behavior, then it is well within his purview."

Gilan stared numbly at the sealed parchment in his hands, the increasing haze in his mind making it so that he did not remember having reached out to take it. A distant heat had grown in his eyes, providing a counterpoint to the chill that still settled in his bones, to the pain that bloomed across his skin and sank deep into his muscles.

"Yes, Sir," he said automatically, suddenly unfamiliar with the sound of his own voice.

Nothing would be done, flogged for less, natural consequence, well within his purview: the words seemed to echo in his mind. The sick feeling grew.

"Gilan?" his father's concerned voice caught his wavering focus. "Are you alr—" he began but never got to finish.

Sir Edward burst in, interrupting them with news of some emergency that required his father's immediate presence. The words seemed to carry to him from a distance and Gilan didn't quite catch what the emergency was. He could almost hear Halt scolding him for inattentiveness in his mind. He felt his father's fingers tighten on his shoulder, heard him speak.

"We will discuss this further when I return."

Then his father was off, shouting orders and organizing a patrol.

Sir David did not return to the castle before the time Gilan was due to leave, so he saddled Blaze and set out to join the small patrol of knights heading for Redmont. It was an arrangement that had been made because Halt was too occupied with the bandit threat in Redmont to be able to pick him up. As he rode in miserable silence, the parchment seemed to burn through his pocket.

~x~X~x~

Halt returned to his little cabin in the woods just as the evening light had started to set a gentle golden glow to the clearing. He had spent the majority of the day tracking down the last remaining man of a bandit group that had been plaguing the outlying villages of Redmont. The group had grown to be quite pernicious and had taken a little over a week to take fully to heel. It was the main reason he had not gone with Gilan to Caraway for his sword training session with MacNeil.

This hadn't been the first time something serious enough to keep Halt at Redmont had occurred and, although Halt preferred traveling with his young student to Caraway as opposed to letting him go with the knights, he was certain it wouldn't be the last time it would have to happen either. The turmoil caused by Morgarath's war and the old King Oswald's ineffectual leadership had brought the country near ruin and had given many different opportunistic criminals and criminal groups the opening to take root throughout the kingdom. Halt suspected it would likely take several years to bring them all to heel and set the kingdom back to some semblance of true stability.

As Halt took Abelard to the stables, he saw that Blaze was already there. He nodded to himself, knowing that Gilan had returned at the expected time. He made certain Abelard had water and he loosened the girth strap of the saddle, but he did not remove it. He would need the shaggy little horse again very soon after all. Blaze seemed a little restless and agitated, so he took time to calm her before he crossed the yard, took the steps up the verandah, and let himself inside.

Gilan was sitting in the main living area waiting for him. Halt felt an eyebrow rise almost unconsciously at the sight because Gilan had never done that before. On the rare occasions that he returned when Halt was out, he usually busied himself with something. The boy's posture was an odd mix of tensed and slumped. In his hands was a sealed letter.

"Halt!" Gilan said with his usual cheerful smile. "You're back!"

"I'm glad to see your observational skills didn't deteriorate in your absence," Halt replied blandly. But for once, Gilan wasn't deterred or diverted by the sarcastic rejoinder. He merely pressed on in his original tack.

"I was waiting for you," he supplied, rather unhelpfully.

"I can see that."

A small flicker in the smile was all Halt received in response. Halt searched Gilan's face carefully as he became aware of the fact that the smile wasn't quite reaching his eyes anymore—if it ever had.

"I was meant to give you this," Gilan said, proffering the letter.

There was an air of tense resignation about him as if he were waiting for some terrible form of judgment to descend. As Halt took the parchment and began to read, he saw why. It contained a detailed report written in Sir David's precise script as well as a few notes from Sir Baldwin. Both described an incidence of misconduct on Gilan's part: willful disobedience during training, attempting to pull rank to get out of assignments, challenging the authority of, and insulting, his commanding officer and teacher. To add to that, Gilan had apparently suffered, and been treated for, a minor training injury he'd received in a duel. Halt's eyebrows rose the further he read. Once he reached the end, he slowly lifted his gaze from the note to fix it on his apprentice, incredulous.

"Care to explain yourself?" Halt asked with folded arms.

"Not really," Gilan tried cheerfully, almost hopefully.

"That wasn't a suggestion," Halt replied, words sharp.

"I…" Gilan began, hesitation causing the smile to waver a fraction. "I only did what I thought was right… in the moment."

"Did you?" Halt asked, before pressing on, not allowing his student the chance to come up with the expected slew of excuses. "Sir Baldwin is still teaching in MacNeil's place?"

A grimace pulled at the muscles of his student's face before he checked himself and nodded once.

"Yes."

"And you thought, in the moment, that it was a good idea to disobey, insult, and challenge him, did you?"

Gilan cringed, casting his gaze off to the side. "No, Sir." He was silent a moment and then took a breath to quickly add, "And I didn't challenge him to a duel, he challenged me."

"Because that makes it better, does it?" Halt crossed his arms.

"No, Sir," Gilan admitted quietly, face pale.

"Just so," Halt agreed sternly, words scathing. And, for once, he didn't bother to correct his apprentice's use of 'Sir' as he didn't want to risk taking the conversation away from its intended point. "You certainly didn't make a good showing of yourself, and your conduct was unacceptable."

Gilan cast his gaze towards the ground. Though his face had gone void of expression, his eyes seemed to glisten with too many different emotions to pin down.

"Don't think I've forgotten about the report from your father and Sir Baldwin about your conduct last month," Halt added. "We discussed there would be consequences if that kind of behavior continued."

His student's already pallid face seemed to pale further. A shudder or perhaps a tremor ran through tensed muscles.

"What will you do?" he asked quietly, restless fingers twisting the hem of his tunic into a tight bunch of fabric.

"We were supposed to meet with the Baron soon for Redmont's founding day banquet and celebration tonight." Halt began, knowing that Gilan had very much been looking forward to the feast and subsequent festivities. "But I think that, seeing as you are unable to treat authority figures with respect, you should stay here and think about your actions today. And, since there is clearly a break in your training, as soon as your injury is healed enough, you will have a lot of catching up to do in your studies. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Gilan replied, voice hollow.

"I will be back in a few hours," Halt said as he tucked the note into his jerkin front before gathering his cloak and supplies to head to Redmont castle.

Gilan nodded once before rising slowly to his feet, unable to stop a wince at the motion. It put Halt in mind of the aftermath of times they'd done taxing or difficult exercises, and he supposed a difficult duel after drills and training could easily count.

Halt eyed him blankly. "Sore, are you?"

Though the smile from earlier fixed itself to Gilan's face, Halt caught a flash of deep hurt in his apprentice's eyes, followed quickly by something more sharp, angry. A glimpse perhaps into the same defiant temper that had started all this trouble.

"Surprising, I know," Gilan rejoined with no small amount of sarcasm, words nearly as biting as the look in his eyes had been.

"Gilan," Halt said, his voice dipping low in warning. "I seem to recall that it was not speaking with respect that started all this in the first place."

The boy's attitude and overall tone were not something Halt appreciated and he decided to curb it before it went any further. He met his student's eyes then until he was certain the boy understood.

Gilan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot under the weight of Halt's stare. Though it was notable to Halt that his posture did not hold the same careless confidence his words had. His shoulders were hunched, one arm reaching across his middle to hold the other self-consciously as if bracing for reprisal.

Halt narrowed his eyes as he studied him a moment, searching, before he decided to put the uncharacteristic posture down to embarrassment. Gilan, though prone to mischief, had always been a fairly conscientious sort and would likely, upon reflection and now that the heat of the moment was over, be ashamed of his actions.

Halt turned away then, reaching for the doorknob before he relented ever so slightly.

"You know where the supplies are if you want to cook dinner for yourself."

With that, he stepped out of the cabin and closed the door behind him. He shook his head to himself as he took the steps down the verandah, wondering what on earth had gotten into his apprentice. Gilan usually didn't behave like that, or get himself into that particular kind of trouble. In fact, last month had been the first time he'd ever received a poor report back from Caraway about his student's conduct.

It wasn't until he was already heading down the road to Wensly that he realized that Gilan had not once apologized either. It was yet another point of contention to add to his recent uncharacteristic behavior. Halt recalled then that he'd often heard people, those with children or apprentices, speak of the moody or erratic tempers of youths as they grew towards adulthood. If that was what this was, he was at a loss for how to deal with it. He had next to no experience with positive role models to look to and emulate, aside from Pritchard. And his time with Pritchard, though it had been one of the most influential in terms of mentorship, had by no means been as extensive as he would have liked in terms of years.

He closed his eyes at the thought of his old mentor, against the old ache that always hung sharp against his memory. He didn't know if there would ever be a time when those few bright memories wouldn't be overshadowed by the pain of loss. Halt tried to bring his focus back to bear on his original problem. The truth was that been forced to flee Hibernia before he'd been able to serve the traditional term for a Ranger's apprentice. He wasn't certain, at that moment, whether his limited experience would be enough to deal with his current situation. And he could no longer ask his old mentor for advice. The thought ironically left him feeling more unprepared than he had ever felt during military campaigns, and he had no idea what he would do.

As he entered the castle courtyard, he caught sight of a familiar elegant figure dressed in Courier white and felt a measure of hope as an idea came to him. Lady Pauline had always been good around, and with, people. As a diplomat, it seemed etched in her blood. Perhaps he found himself thinking, if things got worse, he could ask her advice.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated if you have the time or inclination. This is going to be a fairly short work, likely no longer than 5-6 chapters at most. It probably won't be quite as plot heavy as my usual works, but I have been enjoying writing it. I'm fairly confident I will be able to post chapters pretty regularly with this one-life permitting and fingers crossed.

*Side note* I know that using misunderstandings and miscommunications as a grounds for conflict in a story is often looked down upon for being uncreative, and perhaps that is true to a point. But I have always found it very true to life myself; some of the most serious fights and conflicts I ever got into with my loved ones were because of misunderstandings and miscommunications. That being said, I very much hope that in this story it doesn't come off as too cheap or unbelievable.

I wish you all the very best until next time!