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 18
After they had pitched camp, Halt looked up with a soft smile. Will was sitting by the fire, seemingly absorbed in honing his saxe. However Halt could see how he kept casting furtive glances towards where their horses were grazing. Two, were shaggy Ranger horses, the other two were heavy bodied Battle horses. None of them had been tied, the Ranger horses never needed to, too well trained to stray. The other two were well trained, though not quite to the same degree. Yet Halt knew that Tug and Abelard would keep an eye on them, and alert them if either one should stray.
Abelard was restless, and it was no wonder as it was clear to Halt he missed his friend. Abelard had spent years with Blaze, and had more than once helped Gilan train her. For all his excess energy, Gilan could be shockingly patient when he wanted to be, and training Blaze he never seemed to be in any form of a rush. He was not above bribing Abelard with carrots or apples to help him demonstrate, and Halt had never seen any reason to put his foot down. Anything that kept his overenergetic apprentice from bouncing around the cabin was in his mind a good thing.
Gilan wasn't satisfied with Blaze knowing the basic tricks, he wanted her to know all the tricks in the book, and then some. The mare was a little taller than the average ranger horse. Longer in the legs, more prone to coming up lame, but given Gilan's own height it was a good thing.
The last horse belonged to Arald, as the Baron had decided to go with them, at least as far as to Castle Araluen. It was not so strange, the Baron had a soft spot for Gilan, Halt knew. Perhaps even more so than for Will, even if the Baron had taken the care of the orphans in his charge personally. The difference was that he shared an upbringing with Gilan. He knew what it was like to perform sword drills, and practice jousting.
When Gilan's previous training clashed with the Ranger training, Arald was often the one who had helped him see the middle line. That he did not need to give up all values he had been taught, only to adapt them to fit his new position.
There were methods Halt had taught, that Gilan had outright balked at, and seemed absolutely horrified that he was expected to do the same thing. Including such minor issues as a bit of forgery, a minor theft here and there if for a good cause.
He'd come a long way from that lanky, overgrown scarecrow of a teenager that Halt had agreed to mentor. Even if he still looked like a lanky, overgrown scarecrow as thin as he was.
He had pulled away a little from them now, and Halt had decided to give him some space. As soon as his memories partially returned, he had figured out who gave him the horse, and why. Halt had quickly deduced it was one of the finest ones from Castle Araluens Battleschool. David would have wanted it so, knowing the horse was trained to protect the rider.
He watched now, as Baron Arald approached the youth. He too had given him space at first, but now seemed to think it was time to approach. Halt didn't mind, Arald was very intelligent and with a great sense of tact when he wanted to. He had given Gilan a lot of invaluable advice when he was still Halt's apprentice, and had many times earned his trust, even before then.
"He's an excellent horse," Arald stated softly as he stood himself next to the young man. While his quite generous bulk made it awkward, he was not yet at the point where he could not mount his own horse. It was however many years since he had done so with the same ease as Gilan had displayed. Even with the leg that still seemed to somewhat trouble him, Gilan swung himself into the saddle with an inborn grace Arald wondered if he had ever possessed. "Perfectly proportioned, very strong, high endurance and obviously well trained."
"I almost wonder they let father take him," Gilan stated softly. "He must have been meant for someone in training, they only give horses like this to their best cadets…"
"Kicker certainly was one of our best, when we gave him to Horace," Arald agreed. "They are well suited to each other…. Kicker has almost as big an appetite as Horace…"
That drew an amused snort out of the boy, and he smiled, as it was what he had hoped for. "Of course, neither one of them can compete with me," he mused, giving his bulging belly a pat. Gilan didn't bother to hold back the chuckle, he knew he was not meant to. Arald was very well aware of his appetite and his body.
"I'd say that David had a good reason for his choice," Arald mused. He held Sir David in the highest respect, and had done so as long as he had known him. He was proud to call him friend, David was loyal to the kingdom, loyal to a fault. Gilan had been about six the first time Arald met him, though he had seen him before then. Always following around where his father was, though quite often left to his own advice. He had been a delightful, cheerful child, full of smiles, sunshine and mischief. The kind that you saw, and they made you wish for a couple just like it of your own, about a dozen or so…
Until you realize that seven hours later, the boy was still going on top speed and had done the whole time…
Arald had oft liked to ask him to run errands around the tournament grounds, for the excuse to give him a copper. Though he had quickly realized the boy took such delight in having an excuse to run somewhere, one had to give him the copper first, or he was off before he could think to take it…
Of course, part of the reason why his energy never dwindled might have been that Arald liked to send him to Master Chubb, for the knowledge that the master chef would always find a treat for him… He always brought back the answer with a generous jam smear around his mouth. A truly delightful child.
"He reminds me a bit of Barnaby," Barnaby had been his battle horse, a magnificent creature. The one he had rode when he jousted with Morgarath. He had been one of the best he had ever had, and was now sadly too old. Living out his last year or so at leisure on pasture.
"Barnaby is a great horse, one of the smoothest gaits I've ever known in a Battle horse," Gilan stated, and Arald looked at him, somewhat in surprise.
"You asked if I would warm him up for you once," Gilan shrugged.
Oh yes, that was true, that was another one of those little jobs he had found for the boy. Warm up the horse before the tournament. Knowing David as well as he had already then, he had felt certain he dared entrust his horse to his son. He also trusted Barnaby not to get up to anything foolish. The boy had been skilled, and incredibly devoted to his task.
"As I recall, I gave you two coppers for that job," he mused. All of the lad's seemingly endless amount of energy devoted to one single task. He had seen many squires less devoted to their duty when the excitement of the tournament ground got the better of them. Gilan was true to his task first and foremost.
"Bought a spinning top for them," Gilan nodded.
"Good choice," at the time, he had thought the boy would indulge in the sweets that were on sale at the tournament. Though given his abundance of energy, the spinning top had probably been a very good choice.
"If they harmed Blaze…" Gilan's voice grew cold, showing an anger that many did not think him capable off. Arald had seen it before, and knew just how dangerous his anger could be, and how hard he strove to make sure it would never befall anyone undeserving.
"They will not get away with it, what they did to you, or if they've done anything to Blaze," Arald stated.
Gilan nodded slowly, his hand falling to brush against the sword that hung from his belt on his left side. Arald had insisted he take it, though, Gilan had at first not wanted to. He insisted that he wanted his own sword back. It was a good sword, Arald knew, the best that could be had. It didn't look like much, no ornaments of any kind. The balance though was excellent, and it was made of the best steel. Though Gilan had chosen to be a Ranger, he was the son of a knight, and his father had started his official training when he was nine. Recognizing the skill his son showed with a sword, as well as his maturity. When he was eleven, he had been accepted as a student by MacNeil, the finest swordsman in all of Araluen who accepted only the very best as his students. Gilan's own father had trained with him, but it was not for the sake of his father that MacNeil trained Gilan. He tested him, and only agreed when he found him a worthy student.
In a true test of skill, Arald doubted he could defeat him, it was hard to tell, unlike most men, Gilan seemed to have no desire to show or test his skill. He might hold back, not out of mockery or pity, but because he seemed to find it served him some purpose. It certainly served to ensure that many often underestimated him. He would wager the battlemaster who had pushed him down the stairs had, and that the man would not fare well against Gilan as they met again. For taking his sword, and the insult of pushing him down the stairs he was angry, for the thought that they might have harmed his pony he was furious beyond words.
He had not wanted to accept the loan of a sword, as he wanted his own back, though as Arald had pointed out, they might be reluctant to give it back, and might need some convincing to do so. Having a good sword, would make that a whole lot easier. He certainly didn't mind making the loan of one. He would have been glad to make it a gift for the sheer pleasure of seeing the sword in the hand of a master like Gilan.
The fact that someone of his own standing, the Baron of the fief, the Battlemaster who both had sworn to help safeguard the people would commit such a cowardly act was sickening, almost enough to lose his appetite, though he was grateful that had not happened yet. There were few things he considered worse than that. He could understand that Gilan was uneasy now, the fact that he had not known his own father bothered him, though if there was anything Arald knew, it was that David would simply be glad to have his son back. He could only imagine what torment it must have been for the man, to be an unknown to his own son.
He could also understand that the lad might be worried about his reception. Arald had seen him struggle with things a few times, and knew the signs well. Perhaps better than David did, he mused. After all, Battleschool had never brought that much worry for him. Gilan had taken to it instantly, better than those several years older. It had been the same with his Ranger training, except where the two had clashed. That they would, was inevitable. Knighthood was so much about honor, and Rangers about getting the job done as effectively as possible. Sometimes, you were not able to afford chivalry and honor, something Arald could understand, even if he was not always happy with it.
If it had been up to Halt and Crowley, Morgarath would have been killed long before he could cause as much trouble as he had, and would it not have been better? Even if it went against the code of honor? So many lives would have been saved, if only they had broken their word and killed him. Yet if they did, then where should they draw the line? As someone who had been trained as both knight, and Ranger, that was the dilemma Gilan often faced.
Arald really was impressed by how well he had learnt to balance the two…
TBC
The caffeine addicted Cricket wants to thank you all for reading...