A/N: Hello everyone, hope you are all well! Chapter 2 is out and will hopefully answer some of the questions from last chapter, as the miscommunication/misunderstanding between the characters gets cleared up a little. Thanks so much for reading.

*Content warning* After some thought I decided to put a small content warning here. In this chapter, there are some descriptions of blood and injuries. They are not overtly graphic in nature, but be cautious if these subjects are upsetting to anyone.

BellatrixTheStar: Thanks so much! I am so happy that the misunderstanding doesn't seem lazy or nonsensical; I was worried about that. Yes, I often find people often take the word of the authority figure first, rightly or wrongly. Thanks again for the review; it made my day to read!

CoffeeAndOakLeaves: Thank you for the review and the kind words, it brightened my day! I never like it when miscommunications are overly dramatic either, so I'm very happy to hear this did not come off that way. Without giving too much spoilers, your sense might very well be correct. Thanks again!

Guest 1: Thank you so much! Yes, Gilan is not having the best time at the moment. I hope the wait wasn't too long. I really appreciate it!

Guest 2: Thank you! I'm so happy it has been interesting and enjoyable so far. I'm always excited to get more of my favorite characters too. I really appreciate the review!

Chapter 2

Halt returned to the cabin very late in the evening and was surprised to find everything seemingly deserted and untouched. Gilan hadn't even bothered to set a fire in the fireplace, let alone cook a meal for himself or even, he noted as he saw the untidy pile near the wall hooks, put his travel gear away where it belonged. His pack laid open where he had dropped it, much of its contents spilled carelessly out. His sword lay discarded nearby. Odd because Gilan was usually good about keeping a meticulous kit—an old holdover from being raised in the army, Halt had always thought.

Halt frowned, turning his head towards Gilan's room, noting the faint flicker of lamp light pouring from the cracks. It was that, and Blaze's presence in the stables, that alerted him to the fact that the boy hadn't simply run off somewhere.

Put all together, it looked very much like his student was sulking. Which was a good enough explanation on its own, except for the fact that Gilan, for all his faults, had never really been the sulking type. Halt's frown deepened. It was this combined with everything else that he had noted previously, that caused a sliver of doubt and concern to take root in his mind. Halt started the fire and lit a lantern before heading to Gilan's room. He knocked once before letting himself in.

"Gilan?" he asked as he raised the lamp.

His apprentice was lying asleep on the bed on his side, back to Halt. His body was curled inward, arms wrapped around his middle as if to cradle himself. He was still fully dressed and hadn't even managed to take off his boots, something that was as unusual as the fact that neither Halt's entry, knock, or call had woken him. His young frame was wracked with the occasional sporadic tremor. His breathing was sharp and, as Halt listened, one breath intermixed with a soft groan. On the foot of his bed was his field medicine kit, opened with some of the supplies laid out beside it. None of that boded well in Halt's estimation.

"Gilan," Halt repeated, fully concerned now. He crossed the room and reached out to wake his student by touching his shoulder with a gentle shake. He was less than pleased when Gilan startled awake, flinching sharply, mouth twisting in a grimace.

"H-halt?" he stammered, blinking to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain to me exactly what is going on?"

At his student's uncertain expression, Halt elaborated.

"You neglected to start the fire, your gear has yet to be put away, and I noticed you haven't eaten," he said, listing each one carefully, the tone as much as the words themselves demanding an explanation.

"I…" Gilan began, hesitating for a breath, "…wasn't hungry, so I decided to go to my room to sit down for a bit and… I guess I fell asleep." He offered his mentor a sheepish smile. "I'll start the fire and put my gear away now," he added hastily. He winced, breath catching, as he attempted to rise to his feet, but Halt stopped him.

"That isn't what I was saying," Halt said, allowing his voice to soften. "I want to know what's wrong, because it's obvious that something is. Are you not well?"

Gilan's brow furrowed. "You read my father's report?" he pointed out as if that explained everything. He made a small helpless and confused gesture. "It's just that it was… hurting… and I was feeling nauseous and tired."

"Your training injury?" Halt clarified.

Something that looked suspiciously like a sneer twisted Gilan's genial smile for an eye-blink before it was gone. He eventually nodded.

"If that's what it's called now," he said softly, tersely, before tensing in the wake of his own words.

Unsure of what to make of that statement or what had spurred it, Halt stepped closer, the concern only growing.

"Let's take a look at it then," he said then, carefully.

A minor training injury shouldn't be causing him so much pain that it made him nauseous or so tired that he'd fall asleep with his boots on and not be easily roused. He placed the lantern next to Gilan's on the bedside table.

"Where were you hurt?" Halt asked, hands already reaching towards his student. The report had said the boy's ribs had been bruised when a sword strike had slipped his guard during the duel but hadn't specified where exactly. There was another pause before Gilan answered.

"Here on my back hurts the worst," he said finally, turning partially to indicate a place on his flank, between his ribs and hip on his right side with a soft tap before moving his hands away from his body.

"Lift your tunic for me, so I can see," Halt requested, growing further unsettled by the plural implied in the boy's words. His student complied, wincing as soreness sharpened the pain of his movements.

Halt felt himself stiffen, sucking in a breath as he saw. He only just managed to stop himself from tracing the ugly pattern of injuries that mottled the boy's skin with a careful hand.

"Gilan," he asked, barely keeping the sudden flash of anger out of his voice. "What is this?"

"Apparently something that happens during duels and training. So, nothing to be concerned over," Gilan said with a tiny shrug and a bitter smile, his cheerful tone so at odds with the ugly picture it could be nothing but sarcasm.

But Halt was having none of it. Gilan's evasiveness, and attempt to hide and minimize this didn't bode well in his estimation. It only increased his concern and his anger. Because it was clear that someone had intentionally hurt his apprentice, and that someone seemed to have enough power or influence to compel the boy to keep quiet about it.

"Want to try again?" Halt admonished before his voice softened. "This isn't a training injury or a dueling injury either. Someone struck you, repeatedly and deliberately."

He read the story of the marks with his gaze: bruising, long narrow welts, and a few places of broken skin from a slim-ish object with defined edges. It didn't have the characteristic loop pattern often seen in marks left by a belt or switch, so perhaps it had come from a cane... or the flat of a sword. There were also more spots of reddened and early bruising from blows mostly likely from fists. One of the largest and most concerning of which was in the place he had indicated had hurt the worst: a mark on his flank that bore a shape suspiciously reminiscent of the hard-soled boots favored by soldiers and knights.

Gilan's smile wavered and, despite its presence, Halt could see that tears were not far from his student's eyes. He looked down.

"My father said it was a natural consequence of my actions."

Sir David said that? Halt felt the muscles of his fingers and jaw tighten. A man that Halt had trusted and considered a friend had said that? Or even done that? How long had this been going on and how had he not noticed until now? Just how many times before had his student come back to him with injuries like this, while he remained oblivious to them? He found himself sorting back through his memories, trying to find the signs that he had obviously missed.

"Did your father do this?" Halt ground out, struggling to keep his voice level.

But Gilan shook his head, confused. "Sir Baldwin did. I thought that because of the letter you… knew about it."

"Your father's letter didn't say anything about this," Halt said tightly, trying to keep the growing anger from his voice.

"It… didn't?" Gilan asked, his eyes growing suspiciously red and glistening in the lamplight. He looked up at Halt then, gaze searching, fraught.

Halt shook his head.

"I thought…" Gilan began, words halting, "I thought that because you knew, and didn't seem to care much, that you... felt that I deserved it too." His voice broke and he looked down, the moisture in his eyes matching the faint tremor of his lips.

Gilan hadn't been hiding his injuries from him; he'd thought Halt had known about it... known about it and approved of it. The grizzled Ranger felt his stomach sink in something like revulsion.

"No," he said, and, not knowing what else to do, he reached out, gathering his apprentice in his arms. He kept his hold careful, knowing his student had to be in a lot of pain. "Never that."

"Even though I messed up?" Gilan asked so quietly that Halt almost didn't hear him, his words thick and muffled against Halt's shoulder.

"Even then," Halt said firmly, holding him as tightly as he dared without hurting him. He felt Gilan relax against him at the words, felt his smaller arms snake around to grip him back. Halt felt the shoulder of his tunic dampen slightly as his student's breath came in quiet shudders.

As had happened once during Morgarath's war, Halt was reminded again just how young Gilan was. His apprentice was skilled, responsible, and intelligent for his age, and his height often gave off the illusion that he was older than he was. Halt sometimes forgot that he was not yet 15. He held him close until his apprentice's breathing finally began to even out.

"Halt?" Gilan asked, words coming out thickly, uncertain. "What if… what if I make an even worse mistake?"

Even though he had not said it directly, Halt knew what it was that he was asking. He took the boy by his shoulders carefully so he could meet his gaze.

"I've chased down many criminals and bandits to bring to justice—and if anyone could be accused of doing things worse than mistakes, it would be them." When he was certain of Gilan's attention, he continued. "Have you ever seen me beat any one of them?"

Gilan shook his head. Halt shot him a meaningful look and said simply. "You're my apprentice. I care more for you than I do a bandit."

Despite himself, Gilan's mouth quirked faintly in amusement at the comparison.

"I'd hope so," he said with a wet half-laugh.

Halt leveled a stern look at him, knowing he'd intentionally avoided the point. "You know what I meant."

Gilan sobered, nodding once. But Halt continued, wanting to ensure he genuinely understood. "Yes, there will be times when you make mistakes, fail, or make incorrect choices. You're an apprentice, and that's part of learning and growing up. It isn't something you can escape. But you learn from them by acknowledging them and by working to make things right again. I will never hurt you for learning."

At his words, he felt Gilan lean into him once more, perhaps seeking an assurance past what mere words could provide or perhaps just grateful for, or relieved by, the promise that by all rights should never have been necessary to voice. Regardless, Halt returned the embrace, smoothing a careful hand over his hair, though he stopped when he felt a bruised lump on the side of the boy's head.

Anger coursed through him again, this time directed at himself. It was clear now that the two of them had been laboring under a misapprehension, talking at cross purposes, from the moment Halt had returned that afternoon and it had caused things to spiral further than they had needed to. He had the sudden uncomfortable suspicion that the dishonesty in the report likely extended to more than one aspect, and he probably didn't know anything near the truth of what had happened.

"I take it you never actually saw the healer for the injuries?" Halt found himself asking, almost certain of the answer before his student gave it.

Gilan shook his head. "I was going to try to take care of it myself, but I fell asleep."

"Sit up over here and I'll tend it," Halt said then, indicating a place before pulling the herbal salves Gilan had already laid out closer to them. "Since there is obviously more to this than I was told, why don't you start from the beginning and tell me exactly what happened."

Gilan nodded once, moving to the spot Halt indicated and taking his tunic all the way off so the injuries could be more easily accessed. Seeing the whole picture of them made Halt grit his teeth, but he said nothing, instead waiting patiently for Gilan to feel ready to speak.

"Sir Baldwin gave us orders during training," Gilan said finally as Halt began carefully rubbing balm onto the bruises, and gently checking for breaks as he did so. Though it wasn't a guarantee, nausea tended to follow fractures and his student's complaint about it had made him concerned.

"We had a new student, a very young one, and Sir Baldwin's instructions were basically asking us to gang up on and haze him. I didn't think it was right, so I refused. Sir Baldwin was furious, and I… I said things I probably shouldn't have. At first, I was just trying to defend my decision and get him to stop, but things… escalated. Sir Baldwin said that since I had the gall to challenge, insult, and try to pull rank on my superiors, that perhaps I thought that I was capable of leading the class in his place and that I should prove it. That's when he challenged me to the duel."

"And you accepted?" Halt asked, pausing in his ministrations.

"I didn't really think I would be allowed to refuse—even if I wanted to," Gilan said softly. He took a breath and looked down, "and I thought I could handle it—hoped that if I managed I could stop him… So, we fought… and I lost. I expected that he would fight by the knight's code and rules of the duel, but he fought dirty and caught me off guard. He forced me back faster than I expected, and I was so busy trying to counter him that I didn't pay enough attention to my surroundings. I tripped over some gear that had been left in the grounds. While I was trying to get my footing back, he struck me in the head, knocked me to the ground, kicked sand in my eyes, and disarmed me…"

Gilan trailed and was silent a moment, gathering himself before he continued. Halt had the distinct sense he wasn't going to be at all happy about what would be said next.

"I thought that would be the end of things, but he didn't let me yield. He told me to pick up my sword and try again. But I was dizzy from the blow to my head, and I couldn't see much because of the sand in my eyes. I couldn't fight very well anymore… but he didn't let me stop. Any time he disarmed me or knocked me down, he would strike me over and over with the flat of his sword until I got up and tried again. I lasted less, and less long against him each time… the more I got hurt... And all the other students just stood there and watched…." Gilan took a shaky breath. "He did it again and again until I couldn't get up anymore…. It was only then that he stopped. He told me that he was sorry that he had come to this and that he really hadn't wanted to have been forced to hurt me, but my behavior made him do it…. In the end, he just left me there while he continued his lesson. I think I blacked out after that because, when I woke up, early morning drill was over…."

"And this bruise?" Halt gently touched the spot on his flank as he rubbed in the balm. Aside from the bruising to his ribs, it was one of the worst of the injuries and Halt wasn't liking the way it looked.

"One of the last times I was down, he stomped on my back."

Halt drew in a slow careful breath in an attempt to ease the red that had taken over the edges of his vision and the coiled tightness that had gripped his muscles. It wouldn't serve him here. And he didn't want his young apprentice to think that his anger was directed at him. But Gilan wasn't looking at him, his gaze was fixed downward and to the side as he continued.

"I didn't think it was right—any of it. But when I reported it to my father, he told me nothing would be done about it. He said that what I had done was unacceptable, that soldiers used to be flogged for less, and that Sir Baldwin had the right to do what he did because there was nothing in the regulations preventing it.

"Halt, I didn't mean for things to go so badly, and I know I shouldn't have said what I did. But I don't understand why what I did was so very wrong—but it must have been. I've never openly defied a superior officer before… so maybe that was why? …Otherwise, why would my father…? He always said that… and he's never… I just don't understand what I was supposed to learn."

"Listen and listen well," Halt said then, gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "This wasn't done to teach you anything useful. It was done just to hurt you, done because someone wanted to feel power over you, because someone lacked the basic self-control needed to be a person of any decency or integrity. You were right in thinking that Sir Baldwin's actions were wrong. People in positions of authority shouldn't abuse the trust they were given like Baldwin did. A beating like this isn't a lesson, and you didn't deserve any of it."

New tears threatened to spill from his student's eyes, but he nodded once.

Halt recalled then the report he'd received about Gilan's misconduct the previous month. He remembered also how Gilan had seemed tired and a little out of sorts when he had returned then too. He'd overslept and been a little surly and absent-minded—something which at the time Halt had attributed to lack of sleep combined with mere adolescent pique. But now, in light of everything, it deeply concerned him and made him wish he had looked into things deeper then.

"Gilan, has Baldwin injured you like this before?"

He was relieved when Gilan shook his head.

"Last time he only gave me fatigue duties, extra exercises, and took away my mess hall privileges."

"For how long?" Halt asked, already wary.

"Three days. He said that by causing disruptions, being lazy, and questioning orders, I wasn't supporting the Battleschool and so it shouldn't support me either."

Gilan's behavior last month made much more sense now in light of that. He was about to speak before Gilan beat him to it.

"It all started because I forgot to clean and press my uniform before we left for Caraway. I got so caught up with the bandit mission here it slipped my mind. Things just got worse from there… I could never do anything right after that… and then this time…" Gilan shuddered under Halt's fingers.

Halt stilled, holding steady until the tremors stopped, before resuming rubbing salve into the last of the abrasions. As Halt finished his ministrations, he placed the salves back in Gilan's kit.

So far as he could tell, the boy's ribs were badly bruised and not broken. And although that was better than breaks and would heal faster, he knew that when it was bad like this it could hurt just about as much and cause similar problems if not treated properly. His student was a mess, and even though none of the injuries seemed especially serious on their own, the sheer number of them had him resolved to take the boy to the castle healer in the morning to make sure of them.

"Get some rest," he told his student softly then, as he helped him into his nightshirt. "We'll go see the healer first thing in the morning."

And after Halt had several letters and reports he intended to write. The seething anger would allow nothing less.

~x~X~x~

Later that night, a soft knock at his door woke Halt immediately as his Ranger training kicked in. He listened for a moment before the knock was repeated, followed by a quiet call.

"Halt?" Gilan's voice carried a strained note to it that spurred the older Ranger immediately from his bed.

Though the truth was that he would have gone immediately regardless. Halt knew exactly how devalued, alone, and small what had happened could make a person feel if given half a chance to fester. He didn't want his student ever to feel that he wouldn't be listened to, or that it wasn't alright or safe to come to him when things went wrong. The moment he'd taken an apprentice he'd promised himself that he'd never allow them to feel… He shook his head to dispel the images of Dun Kilty that invariably followed a line of thought like that.

He opened the door to see his apprentice standing there, a pained expression on his face. If anything, he looked almost worse than he had when Halt had seen him off to bed earlier that night. His face looked bloodless, deep bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

"What is it?" Halt asked carefully.

"I-I… I think I need help," Gilan said finally, clutching at his arm. "When I went to the water-closet there was… blood," he trailed, making an uncomfortable gesture that Halt followed, confused for a moment before he understood. His eyebrows lifted in concern.

"How much blood did you see?" he asked carefully. "A lot or a little?"

"I… don't know... more than a little… I-It's hard to tell because it's… mixed…"

"When Baldwin attacked you, did he injure you there?" Halt asked carefully, desperately trying to mask the seething fury that arose at the thought.

Gilan shook his head.

"Were you having any problems there before you were attacked?" Halt asked, knowing that, while some infections could cause bleeding like that, it was unlikely it would have come on suddenly. "Were you feeling sick or fevered this week?"

But again Gilan shook his head. A sinking sensation gripped Halt's stomach as that eliminated the easier, more common reasons. What was left was far more worrying. Halt felt his expression tighten as he thought back to the nasty bruise that had appeared as a boot print on Gilan's flank just below his ribs. An injury like that could easily have bruised the sensitive organ underneath. If, as Halt was starting to suspect, his kidney had been bruised badly, or bruised enough to cause a laceration that could explain the source of the bleeding, as well as the nausea and muscle tremors.

He reached out to take careful hold of his student, feeling first his temperature, thankfully neither cold nor clammy, and then taking his pulse. When he was reassured that that too was normal instead of too fast, stuttering, or too slowed, he let out a breath that he didn't even realize that he had been holding.

"Do your muscles feel very weak and do you feel lightheaded or dizzy?" When he received a nod, he pressed harder. "Do you feel short of breath or feel like you're going to pass out?"

Gilan thankfully shook his head.

Halt allowed his shoulders to relax a fraction. Gilan was bleeding internally, that much was almost certain. But at least there were no signs that he was bleeding badly, or in a life-threatening way. So long as it was treated immediately and he got the proper care there was the chance to keep it that way.

"I'm bleeding inside, aren't I?" Gilan asked quietly, tightly. He took a breath before adding, voice barely over a whisper, "I saw men die from that during the war."

Halt's expression turned grim as the words brought back memories of his own from Morgarath's war. While with the army he, like Gilan, had seen men die from internal bleeding and from so many other injuries and infections besides. He took Gilan's shoulders in both hands.

"Yes," he answered honestly because lying would help neither of them. "Based on what you told me, it's very likely you are." He felt Gilan tremble beneath his fingers, so he hastily continued on. "But it's not yet bad enough to put you in danger of your life."

Gilan looked up at him then, eyes seeking assurance.

"You're going to be alright," Halt told him firmly. "Let's get you back to bed, so you don't strain it any more, alright?"

If there was an internal laceration, they needed to keep it from worsening in any way, or it could well turn life-threatening. His apprentice allowed him to guide him to his room and help him carefully back into bed.

"I want you to lie as still as possible for me while I go to fetch the healer. We'll soon put this right."

Dawn's glow had only just started to light the horizon so he estimated it to be around five in the morning. The castle would already be waking, he knew, which would make getting the healer's assistance all the easier.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always valued if you have the time or inclination. I'm always looking for ways to improve.

I wish you all the very best until next time!