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 2

It was nice to have the cabin to himself, but that was a novelty that Gilan knew would soon wear off. Before the first week was over, he would be getting lonely and he knew it. Therefore, he was determined to act to the best of his abilities. He wanted Halt to be pleased when he returned, so rather than going inside the cabin to enjoy some coffee and perhaps even some relaxation he took his bow and walked to the clearing where the targets were set up. Spending several hours practicing his archery skill. He made sure to alternate between the targets randomly, sometimes deciding to throw his knife instead at the very last second.

He kept this up until he judged it was time for lunch, keeping an eye on the position of the sun overhead. Heating up a little of the stew Halt had left him, and making a pot of coffee did not take long.

There wasn't much to clean up either, mostly just the pot he had heated the stew in, his bowl, mug and spoon. It might have been tempting to leave it until that night, seeing as how there wasn't a lot. That however he knew to be a habit that was easy to develop and hard to break, which was why he put a larger pot of water on the stove to heat up as he ate. His one allowance that he made a full pot of coffee, and then put it aside. When he came back for his supper, he would just warm it up, finish it and wash it. That was however a little different than leaving dirty dishes.

If Halt came back and found he had got into that habit, he would not be pleased, and there was also a chance it would attract bugs and vermin. No, if there was one thing they had drilled into him at Battleschool it was to never do anything later. Well, it was fine to set aside a pair of socks to be darned or a harness to be mended and do that in front of the fire in the evening. One didn't stack up on tasks though, and you didn't shirk caring for your kit. If you were lucky you lived to regret it, but it was a foolish thing to do.

Glancing around the interior of the cabin he made sure it was neat and tidy before grabbing his bow and cloak again, it was harder to work on his unseen movement without Halt, but he could certainly work at moving silently.

Halt had shown him how to walk, how to feel out any obstruction, twig, or such that might make a sound, and nudge it out of the way with your toe before allowing weight on the foot. The soft soled boots they wore were particularly well suited for this, though they could get a bit cold and not the best suited to tromping up and down the stairs in the castle.

He wasn't the judge of his progress that Halt was, but he was able to tell if he made more, or less noise than usual, and he was pleased about the fact it was less. It was perhaps a little boring, but he still kept it up, getting bored and allowing yourself to drop your attention was another good way to get killed. This was why he instead of walking a random distance set himself a wide circle around the cabin that he was determined to complete. He judged it would be close enough to dinner time when he got back that after he chopped some more wood he might as well go in and have his supper.

This time cutting up a thick slice of bread to have with the savory stew. Lighting the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling he cleaned everything up and then took out those small bits of his kit that needed seeing to before settling down in front of the fire to see to them.

From time to time he glanced at the water clock on the mantlepiece to make sure he didn't stay up too long. It was easy to lose track of time, even when doing something as mundane as stitching up a tear in your shirt.

It wasn't that he didn't sometimes enjoy lingering over a last cup of coffee in the evening, it was that he knew he needed to get up at the usual time. Battleschol was very firm about getting up early, and they had some really good ways of ensuring it. Getting up early was already so deeply ingrained in him he wasn't certain if he would ever break the habit. It had been a hard transition from Battleschool to Ranger apprentice.

He was used to strict rules and painful punishment drills, to instinctively obey any order barked at you. To not think, not take any initiative of your own, hard physical work for hours on end. Stumbling into your cot with arms that ached so badly you could barely sleep. Stiff and sore from where a practice sword had hit you, or a lance when they practiced on horseback.

Most of the food was simple but filling. Bowls of porridge in the morning, served with dark hearty bread and water to wash it down. Halt's breakfast of coffee, egg and bacon with toasted bread had seemed unbelievable at first, and the first few mornings he kept expecting the Ranger to snatch it away. The filling and delicious stews had been an equal surprise, and just as pleasant when he realized they were going to be a constant. Occasionally Halt would send him off to the river or lake to get fish, or they would set snares for rabbits. Sometimes he was sent to the butcher for a bit of mutton, but that was not something he intended to try now. Mutton was good simple food, but Halt's way of cooking it with thyme was above him. A fish though, a nice succulent fish that he could thread on a spit and roast over the fire with just a touch of salt, that was something he felt confident he could manage.

He'd make sure to work really hard on his archery during the following days he mused as he made sure the fire was down sufficiently he could go to bed. If he did, certainly Halt would not mind if he took an hour or two to get himself a fish.

His breakfast the next morning was nothing like the ones Halt prepared, though he had fried up a couple of slices of bacon. He was pretty sure he could have managed the eggs as well, but a bit of good bacon on a thick slice of bread was not a breakfast to frown at. He wasted no time eating or cleaning up after himself. Halt liked to tease him because he was always eager for his sword practice up at the castle, but in a world where he suddenly felt out of depth, it was something he knew. He enjoyed it, even if it was hard sometimes. There was only so much Sir Wallace or Sir Rodney could teach him. They were the experts at Redmont and had a good reputation, but truthfully Gilan was probably more skillful than either of them. That was however not something he liked to admit.

Sir MacNeil that he trained with at his Father's Battleschool was considered the absolute best and foremost swords master in the whole of the country. He only accepted the very best as his pupils. His father had trained with him when he was young, and Gilan had done the same since he was eleven. It was much harder now, but he was given leave to travel there and continue the lessons every two or three weeks. Since Halt was away, he had to forgo one lesson, but had been given leave to stay a little longer to make up for it the next time.

Now he gave the cabin a last glance as he strapped on his sword, before he went to bed, he would have to sweep the floors and tidy up the cabin a bit, otherwise all was in order. Whistling cheerfully he walked off towards Redmont Battleschool for his lesson.

The Battleschool was situated a short distance from the castle, which was why he was somewhat surprised to see Lady Pauline as he started back. Lady Pauline was a courier, which meant she was anything from a diplomat to a spy depending on what was needed. She was strong, courageous and smart. Gilan was somewhat in awe of her, and amused by the fact that Halt was so obviously smitten with her.

"Hello Gilan," she smiled as she stopped and Gilan figured it was easy to understand why Halt would be so taken with a smile like that.

"Hello Lady Pauline," he performed a graceful half bow.

"How are you getting on by yourself?" she asked, falling into step with him.

"Not too bad, though it's not been that long," he shrugged. "Neither burned down nor collapsed the cabin, so so far I'm good."

"It sounds like you've got in hand," she decided. Smiling softly, Gilan had such a cheerful jovial way about him compared to Halt. "But it must be different."

"I suppose," he shrugged. "But it really hasn't been that long, I've still got some stew left to heat up, I won't be managing for myself truly until tomorrow." His smile widened as he saw her give a tiny nod. She was checking up on him, and that felt good more than annoying. She cared, about Halt and about him, or she would not have bothered.

"If you don't feel like eating alone, you're always welcome to join me at the castle," she stated.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that," he beamed. "But I promised Halt I'd do my best to fend for myself, so I need to make sure I at least do that first."

"I'm sure you're doing excellently," Pauline mused, running a critical eye over the boy. He could do with a bit of a wash, but that wasn't uncommon for anyone who came from the Battleschool practice grounds. He looked a bit thin, as if he had not eaten enough, but he always did. He was lanky, tall for his age and very gangly. It tended to make him look constantly half starved.

"It's an open invitation Gilan," she decided. "If the cooking doesn't go as well as you want it, or if you want some company. I know it can get lonely when you're used to living with someone, and while Halt has a point you're not that experienced yet."

"I'd be glad to come by in a couple of days," he decided. "I really will, but I also really want to do my best first. I figure I can make something simple, I'm good enough for that, and then I'll really be looking forward to something a bit better, and your company of course," he added hurriedly.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she decided. Gilan was a smart lad, he knew his limits and wouldn't try a too fancy dish. She was more worried about him trying to live two weeks on bread, egg and bacon. "I will expect you in a few days, and if there is anything at all that you could use a hand with. Don't hesitate to let me know."

"Thank you, I really do appreciate it," Gilan beamed.

"Off you go then, I'm sure you've not had lunch yet," Pauline decided. He normally did not stay that long at the Battleshcool, but she had rather expected he would now. She enjoyed watching him as he trained. The way he moved, so confident and gracefully. He was in perfect control of his body the whole time, and yet, it was the same boy who came up the tower stairs like an uncoordinated whirlwind…

"Have a good day, Lady Pauline," throwing a wave over his shoulder he sauntered off.

Back at the cabin he scooped some of the stew into a small pot. Cold, it didn't look the most appetizing. Gelatinous globs and bits of meat, potato and carrots. There were a few blobs he did not know what they were, but when it was Halt who had made the stew he knew they were there for a reason.

As he put the food on the stove, he cut a thick slice of bread and laid on the stove top beside it. He'd toast it lightly, and it would be great with the stew, especially if he got out a bit of the butter as well. He knew Halt expected him to do things like that, go a bit harder on the butter than he would have when Halt was there. He was tempted to ignore it for that very reason, but on the other hand if he did not, Halt would wonder what he had done, and was hoping to get away with. If one tried to be too good, people tended to think you were compensating for something.

Making up his mind he got the butter, and decided there was enough in the crock he could have a bit. If he ran out, he'd have to get more from the castle. It was better if he did not have to do that until he went to get a bit more milk.

A loud pop from behind him reminded him that he should have been stirring the stew as it heated, and he would now need to clean the stove. Globs of stew had spewed out of the pot and he hastily grabbed a spoon to stir the food. Muttering a phrase his father would not have approved of as he realized the bread was not lightly toasted. It was charred on the bottom.

Sighing, he drew his saxe knife from the scabbard and started scrapping of the black stuff. Biting his lip before slipping the butter back. No matter how much butter he used, it would still taste burnt. Better to save the golden delicacy for later. Deming the stew hot enough he poured it into a bowl.

It really wasn't his best effort he mused. Part was too hot, the other too cold, and the bread did indeed taste burnt. Enough coffee washed it down though and he started clearing up after himself. Realizing after he burned his finger that he should have waited with cleaning the stove until it was cold. Sticking his finger in his mouth he glared at the blackened iron.

TBC

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