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

When he woke up, it was to the hazy sensation of having slept far too heavy for far too long, his mouth was dry, his body aching, and when he slowly opened his eyes he found the light stabbing so bright into them that though he instantly squeezed them shut, pain lanced through his head.

He only had a split second to realize what the cold, rushing sensation and the rolling of his stomach meant before he managed to pitch on his side, expelling what little he had in his stomach. The mere effort seemed to nearly cause him to black out, the headache was intolerable and he lay back down with a whimper. He tried to bring a hand up, to feel his head, but was not certain if he did it, or merely wanted to do it.

The whimper sounded distant, even in his own ears, as if it was not he himself who made the sound.

Vaguely he became aware of someone talking to him, but he could make no sense of it, and before he even had the energy to try, the world seemed to lurch sideways and he welcomed the blackness that engulfed him.

Two, perhaps three more times this happened, he thought his surrounding changed, it did not look the same, but he was never certain and he was never awake long enough to find someone to ask. After the second, or maybe third time, he had the sinking feeling that something was very wrong, but he did not know what. He could not remember ever having felt this way before, and he could not fathom what could cause it.

To tell the truth, it might have been a dozen times, as easily as it was three or four, he really did not know. When he felt the awareness creeping in though he started trying to shift on his side by instinct. He tried to force his eyes open just a crack, but couldn't. Fumbling with a hand, he flinched as the limb was barely under his control and he smacked himself in the face. Surprisingly, this did not set off another bout of vomiting, and he rubbed feebly at his eyes to clear them. They were all but gummed shut, and as he couldn't clear them he nearly panicked. His breathing rapid, and the churning of his stomach starting up as cold sweat seemed to break out all over his body.

"Wait, wait, take it easy. I got it," the voice was pitched low, soft even, and someone grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face.

"Give me a second, I got water here, I'll take care of it," the voice insisted.

"Too loud," he croaked, his voice barely audible, but though he could tell the voice was not much more than a whisper, it still set his head pounding. The dry heave that wrecked through his body nearly sent him into unconsciousness again, but this time he held on. There was a voice, and that was more than there had been before. What more, the voice sounded kind, and someone touched his hand again.

"I got a wet cloth here, it's going to feel strange, but let me do this," just after the warning, there was a wet, cold, very cold sensation over his face as the man wiped his face. Clearing the muck from his eyes.

Once it was removed, he found he could open them a bit, and gasped as all he could see was blackness.

"Easy, easy," the voice told him. "It's the middle of the night, and since you seem to have a sore head, I didn't turn up the lamp. Do you want me to try a little light? Just so we can see each other?"

He tried to speak, but his voice cracked and broke, and he whimpered.

"I have a little water here, I'm going to help you drink a little," he felt a hand on his neck, helping him raise his head enough he could take a small sip. At the feeling of the cool water in his mouth, he tried to gulp it all down. An action it appeared the man had foreseen, for there was barely a swallow in the cup.

"Yes," his voice was hoarse, but at least he now managed to speak. "More…?"

"I'll turn the light up a little, it's behind you, so it should not be too bad," the man told him, and he heard someone move around the bed. A faint glow crept across the wall, it came from behind him, and reached to the chair where he would guess the man had sat. His eyes teared up at it, and his head pounded, but though it was hard, he felt his eyes slowly adjust to it. "Water?" he pleaded.

"I got it here, a little at a time," the man had red hair and beard, neatly trimmed. He had kind, laughing eyes, and strong hands as he helped him to rise up enough to drink another small swallow. Once he put the mug back down, he smiled softly. "Do you remember who I am?"

He shook his head, then whimpered as pain lanced through it and sparks danced behind his eyes.

"Better not do that, you've had quite a spell with that headache," the man told him. "It's okay Gilan, I didn't expect you to remember. I am Crowley, does that sound familiar to you?"

"No," he didn't dare shake his head, it would hurt too much, but then he frowned, registering what the man had said, and his eyes widened in panic.

"I know, it's okay," the man, Crowley told him. "I know you don't remember me, and I know you don't remember who you are, but your name is Gilan, I am Crowley, and I know it must be horribly confusing and frightening, but I am here, and I will make sure you're okay. You were injured, and when you were brought here, you weren't really lucid. You're in the Castle Araluen, in Araluen, and you are in the infirmary. This is the first time you've really been able to talk, so don't push yourself too hard."

"But, but I don't know who I am!" he stammered, trying to rise up an falling back with a cry of pain.

"I know," Crowley told him. "I know, and I'm sorry. But I am here, it will be alright."

"I'm scared," he managed to croak, and now Crowley looked sad, very sad…

"I know," he stated. "So am I."

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