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 8

"Gilan, this is Sir Rodney, he's the Battlemaster at Redmont," Halt introduced him.

"Sir," Gilan nodded, Halt had urged him to follow up to the castle, where he apparently was to be left at the Battleschool. He figured it wouldn't take long for them to realize that was a bad idea. He found it very hard to believe that he was an expert swordsman, even if Halt said so. The Ranger openly admitted that he did not know much about swords, so how would he know a less than mediocre one from a good one?

"Hello Gilan," Rodney gave him a warm smile. "I'm sorry to hear what happened, how are you doing lad?"

"I'm alright, I suppose," Gilan gave a shrug. It was an extremely difficult question to answer, and one everyone asked. How did they think he was doing? He did not know who he was.

"Nothing come back, huh?" Rodney sighed. "Well, it seems they think this might help, so why don't we try it?"

"Sir, I don't know if I've ever even held a sword before," Gilan protested. He had hoped this man, who was apparently an expert, would have sense enough to refuse it.

"Trust me boy, you've held one, and you're probably better at it than I am," Rodney chuckled. "But we're using practice swords," he held one out for Gilan to inspect. He had decided it was best to be careful, and had not even chosen the dulled metal blade ones. Instead he had chosen practice swords as the first, and second year cadets used. Made from hickory they were well balanced, heavy enough to give a feel for it. But safer if not completely safe. A good strike with one could easily break bones, but at least they would not cut an arm off. Gilan hadn't really used one since the time he was nine, so he had hesitated over the choice. Seeing his unease though, he was glad for it. He did not think he would have agreed to a real metal blade, dulled or otherwise.

Once he gained some confidence, they could move on to metal practice swords, but the boy was limping and had an injured shoulder, his movements would be hindered and somewhat slower Rodney knew.

Gilan hesitantly took the wooden sword, studying it with mild curiosity. He held it lightly in his hand, then made to hand it back.

"We train the cadets using sequences," Rodney explained. "Sequence consists of several moves. Such as overhand, backstroke, overhand backstroke, underhand, crosscut and so on. By using several different sequences, our instructor don't have to call out quite so many movements, and the cadets learn to move from one to another." He had always found it amusing to hear from sir David, that Gilan's first words had been sequence ten, said in a heavy lisp. It had been quickly followed by sequence six, the boy had picked it up when he was with his father at the training field, and apparently something he liked to repeat.

"Do you know what an underhand cut looks like?" he asked, his heart heavy as the boy shook his head.

"Watch me," Rodney performed the maneuver. After watching it, Gilan tentatively copied it, his movement near flawless. If it hadn't been for his uncertainty and nervousness Rodney would have called it perfect. Gilan however, did not seem overly happy about it.

"Try again," Rodney urged. "And this time, follow with a side cut."

Halt watched as they went through three different sequences, and though Gilan hadn't seemed enthusiastic at all about it. It looked to Halt as if he was warming up to the idea. He might not remember it, but it was clear there was muscle memory in play. Even though he used only one hand, and clearly favoured his injured leg, he also kept his balance perfectly.

"Let's try an easy sparring," Rodney decided. He had never before encountered a similar situation. Of course he had seen his share in injuries in Battleschool, and then some. He had seen plenty of cadets who after taking a blow to the head took some good time to get their wits about them again. He had even seen some permanent injuries resulting from it. Two or three who had suffered reduced hearing, and one who'd lost the sight in one eye. He had however never before seen someone who did not remember who they were, even if he had heard of it.

It was even more disconcerting than he would have imagined. The boy still looked exactly the same, wind ruffled hair, just starting to hang in his eyes. Tall lanky framed that was awkward and graceful at the same time. The only thing that would allow him to know that something was wrong was that the ever-present smile was gone. Gilan had always seemed to be smiling, but then he supposed a man who did not even know his own name, had precious little to smile about.

He felt it was even harder because it was Gilan, even though the boy technically never been one of his students, he had always been one of his favourites. His talent alone was remarkable, and he was neither braggy nor falsely humble. Always willing to help, even to demonstrate things to the first-year cadets, that he himself had mastered at the age of eight. He had been invaluable at times with some of the cadets Rodney knew were good, but had trouble growing into their full potential.

Unlike many, Gilan was able to spar with those far less skilled than he, without being a danger to them. Most could not, as they could not adapt to a level lesser than their own. He had seen the boy spar with the kitchen boys, using sticks for swords, and letting the boys best him. One of them barely reached to his knee, but was still firmly convinced he had won the match in fair play.

Now though he took a stumbling step back and shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"We will go slow, you don't need to worry," Rodney assured him. "I won't hurt you."

"Just because I can manage a side cut, or, you say I can manage a side cut, doesn't mean I can spar with someone," Gilan shook his head. "What if I make a mistake? I don't want to hurt anyone."

"He's an instructor in a Battleschool, Gilan," Halt interjected. "He gets paid to have people hit him with sticks and other sharp objects. It's what he's here for."

"A crude way of putting it, but not untrue," Rodney mused. He wasn't offended by Halt's rather crude way of viewing it. Halt's opinion of knights and what knights did, was something he was well used to and found mildly amusing. When it was first arranged that Gilan would visit the Battleschool regularly, not so much for lessons as for having someone to spar with, he had been a little concerned about that. He had seen how much Gilan looked up to Halt, and had been worried the boy would turn away from his skill with the sword, for thinking it would please Halt. That fear had been unfounded, rather, Halt had in many ways encouraged the boy. Allowing him to sometimes increase his sessions. Though Rodney rather thought that was because the older Ranger couldn't always keep up with his over active apprentice, and was hoping the training would wear him out.
It was a good theory, but it had never worked, Gilan was remarkably hard to wear out…

"I don't think it's a good idea," Gilan still hesitated.

"I've trained cadets for many years, I have sparred with the worst of them, and the best. I won't hurt you, and you won't hurt me," Rodney assured him. "Now, stand at ready."

Reluctantly, Gilan raised the wooden sword and held it at ready. It was however clear he did not want to do it, and Halt nearly called a halt to it. The only reason he did not was because on the practice ground, Rodney was the expert.

"I will start with an overhand cut, and you parry. Then we switch, and you make the overhand cut, while I parry," Rodney instructed. He kept his movements slow, and without much force in them. A child could have parried the strike, and yet Gilan's sword was barely up in time. He held the sword loosely in his hand, and tightened his grip at the very second of impact, as if on instinct.

The fact that he did this, made Rodney think that the instinctual skill was still there, but hindered by Gilan's apprehension. He increased his pace a little, just enough to hopefully force him to act on that instinct.

He was disappointed, when it was clear to him the boy wouldn't, he checked his swing. Easily stopping before impact, but the reaction was the same. With a short cry of surprise when he wasn't moving fast enough, Gilan dropped the sword, and threw himself backwards, nearly losing his balance as his bad leg buckled under him.

Halt, stepping closer to steady him scowled at the knight.

"It's alright Gilan, I only wanted you to use your instinct," Rodeny stated softly. "I can see it, part of it."

"This is insane," Gilan shook his head. "I can't do this."

"Actually, you're quite good," Rodney stated. "Even if I was to consider you as unskilled as the first-year cadets, you hold your ground much better than them."

"It's crazy, I'd rather not do this," Gilan made no move to pick up the sword.

Halt wanted nothing more than to tell him he wouldn't have to, Gilan was uneasy, he could tell. Rodney had a point there, the instinct was there, but Gilan was too stiff and too scared to act on it. Even he could see as much. He tensed and stiffened when his movements used to be fluid.

He picked up the wooden practice sword and held it out to him. "Gilan, you really need to give this a proper chance, not just five minutes. This was something you spent hours on. Even if it doesn't feel familiar right away, there's a good chance that it will, if you give it a little time."

Reluctantly, the boy accepted the wooden tool. Standing with it in his hand, point down.

"No more sparring," Halt told Rodney. "Not before he's ready for it, understood?"

"We'll focus on the drill sequences," Rodney decided. "They might get boring, but they will allow you to refamiliarize you with the sword."

"Gilan, I'm going up to the castle to tell the Baron we're here," Halt put in before they started. "I need to make my report to him, so I might as well now. I also want you to meet him, so you know him, in case me and Will have to deal with something and can't help you. When you're through here, do you think you can manage it to the castle?"

Ignoring the practice sword he held, Gilan glanced over at the magnificent towers as they rose into the air. Not far at all from the Battleschool. The large amount of iron in the rocks making them shine reddish gold in the sun.

"Pretty sure I can at least find it," he decided. "Unless that's a really fancy outhouse…"

Rodney burst out laughing, and Gilan gave him an uncertain look.

"It's a castle, or so they tell me," Halt stated dryly. "Come up there when you're through. You can ask anyone to tell you where the Baron's study is."

"Okay," Gilan nodded, uneasy, but trying to hide it. Rodney had him work the sequences until he knew them. He also had him try the quintain, which Gilan found difficult. He was very well aware that it was his own apprehension that caused the trouble. He was worried, and moved stiffly, hesitated and tried to avoid full confrontation with the dummy. As a result, he gained several bruises from the swiveling arm. Sir Rodney tried to correct his form and technique, and he no doubt knew what he was talking about. Gilan was very well aware that he was the problem, he did not want to fully engage with the dummy. The sword was just another thing that was alien to him, and yet they seemed to expect him to pick it up and instantly be an expert at it. As if holding a piece of steel, or chunk of wood, would miraculously bring his memory back. He did not see how it possibly could, and he didn't like the helpless feeling that came over him because Halt had left. Even if he knew the older man had only gone to the castle, and was actually pretty certain that at worst he'd find his own way back to the cabin, he still felt abandoned to a point.

Being taken somewhere, and then left there, seemed to be the norm now.

Once Rodney agreed the training session was over for the time being, he was glad to hand back the wooden sword. Rubbing a bruise on his arm.

He made it to the castle, and found his way inside it mostly by asking just about everyone he found, since most the of the instructions quickly got confusing. By only going the first bit, and then asking someone else, he was making some headway. He had followed the directions of a kind lady with a large basket full of laundry, and run into another dead end. Seeing a large, well rounded man with bright yellow doublet he approached. It was obvious it was no servant, but he didn't see how anyone would be offended for asking directions. He had a woman walking on his arm, a beautiful lady, not very large, but with an air of confidence about her.

"Excuse me sir, my lady, I'm trying to find my way to the Baron's study, could you tell me the way?"

"There's no need for that," the man laughed, and Gilan found himself frowning. He was about to object, when he saw Halt coming from around the corner the two had just turned.

"Gilan, this is Baron Arald and Lady Sandra," the Ranger told him, not unkindly. Gilan however felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I, I'm sorry my Lord," he stammered. "I did not know."

"Oh, no harm done," Arald laughed. He had thought a show of mirth would show the lad he was not cross, but instead the blush deepened and the boy ducked his head, mumbling another apology though it was barely audible.

"Oh, don't be so insensitive," Lady Sandra snorted, giving her husband a light slap on the arm. She stepped forward. "It's alright Gilan, there's no way you could have known. Don't mind my husband, he likes to think he's witty."

"I'm sorry, I did not know," Gilan mumbled.

"You hardly could have," Halt put in. Giving a scowl to the man who had stopped laughing. Arald would never intentionally be cruel to anyone, and he knew he quite cared for Gilan. He was however not always the most sensitive person, though Lady Sandra certainly made up for it.

She stepped forward, putting a hand on Gilan's hand. "Halt told us what happened to you, I'm terribly sorry, but we'll certainly do all we can to help you."

"Thank you, my lady, I don't know if anything can be done though," the sword practice, such as it was certainly hadn't helped. He disliked feeling so out of his depth as he had done through it.

"If you're comfortable doing so, I would love it if you called me Sandra," she started.

"I, don't know if I should," he hesitated. "I'm not sure it would be proper, my lady."

"Anytime you're ready Gilan, I hope you will see me as a friend when you get to know me," she held his calloused hand gently in her own, patting it with the other. "In the meantime, at least please know that if you need anything, we will do whatever we can to help you."

"Thank you my Lady," Gilan bowed his head.

"We should probably get back home," Halt decided. Gilan was looking somewhat weary, and he figured the boy had reached the limit for how much he could handle for one day. He was a grown man, in many ways, but Halt just didn't seem to be able to stop seeing that scrawny little boy he had been for so many years. "We need to fix up something for supper to."

"Nonsense, we'll just go past the kitchen and see what we can send you off with," Arald waved it away. "Now, a good bite of Master Chubb's turkey pie, that's something to bring any man's memory back. I should know," he grinned as he patted his generous stomach. "I just remembered there is some…"

"You don't need any right now, dear," Lady Sandra stated firmly. "But you should go past there Halt, familiar food certainly couldn't do any harm. And I'm sure you could do with something small," she decided, eyeing the young man. "Never knew one of them not to be hungry after training." She tapped her chin with a finger, turning to her husband. "You might as well go on back up to your study and get started on all the work you told me you had to do. I'll go with them to the kitchen and make sure Master Chub is able to find something suitable for them."

"That is very kind of you," Halt stated. He would take any excuse given to get some of the turkey pie, and they were right. Anything that was familiar might be what the boy needed, it was not always the big things a man remembered best. Not to mention that he had obviously lost a lot of weight during the first stage of his recovery, when Halt gathered he had spent many days unconscious, or barely conscious. It was certainly not a bad idea to give him something small after the sword training. He needed frequent and nourishing meals, and so far hadn't shown much of an appetite at all.

"Hmm," Arald gave his belly a mournful pat. "Are you certain I should not go along? I should hate to think our guests miss out should Master Chubb be in a more difficult mood…" there was a hopeful tone in his voice that made Gilan frown. He had a feeling there was more to it than a temperamental chef.

"I'm very sure," Sandra insisted. "I don't think it will matter much what mood Master Chubb is in. Now go along, I'll make sure that they get something nice to tide them over." She gave Gilan's hand another pat. "Come dear, you certainly won't have to go hungry. If Halt and Will are busy and you need something, you only need to come by here and we'll make sure of it."

Gilan found himself being swept along, and that he didn't mind overly much. Though he was a bit flustered that the Lady Sandra had chosen to walk on his arm, as if he was actually fit company for a lady of her stature. He really admired her though, immensely, as she kept up an easy conversation with him. Somehow managing to refrain from any mentioning of the things he could not remember. Instead she was entertaining him with casual comments about random court gossip. None of it really concerned him, as he had no idea of whom any of the people mentioned were, but it filled the silence and took the attention away from him. It was obvious that he wasn't expected to know who any of them were.

It did serve to put him more at ease though, though that feeling disappeared as soon as they got to the kitchen.

Not only did Master Chubb already count amongst the masses that knew him, and now looked at him with such pity, but there was a strange girl there as well. A plump, blonde girl that keep sneaking glances at him until he tried to shift away to stand behind Halt. He didn't know why she was so interested in him, if she to knew him, but the tension suddenly felt oppressive as Master Chubb pressed him.
It was well meaning, he could tell, so he did his best to be polite and answer, but at the same time he just wanted to run out of there.

He figured in the end, Halt noticed, for he called an end to it, and with a basket of food they left the kitchen.
As soon as they were outside the castle, Gilan heaved a sigh of relief, leaning against a nearby wall.

"You okay?" Halt asked, his voice gentle and concerned.

He didn't answer, he just shook his head.

TBC
The caffeine addicted Cricket wants to thank you all for reading...