A/N: Okay, so some of you might actually remember this story. Again. Sorry so sorry. I promise this is the last time it'll be taken down and reposting. I think this time most of the errors are gone, and I've attempted to correct the story's pacing to make it somewhat more believable.

This version should also have a more regular update schedule.

Thank you to everybody who reviewed the original, and the second version, and the third version, and...was there a fourth attempt as well? Anyway, if anyone is left who actually remembers this, really sorry about the wait and I hope you still enjoy this ride.

For any newcomers- this story has been in progress for several years. The original had over thirty horribly written chapters, which ground to a halt in the worst possible part for a cliffhanger. They were deleted and reposted with some correction, but I never seemed to finish editing the whole thing. This version is the product of my inability to accept failure, so I hope somebody enjoys it :D

(Currently un-beta'd, so if anyone catches a mistake that slipped my scan, please don't hesitate to point it out)

The sun hadn't quite gone down yet, but the air had already taken on a frigid note. Sluggish, icy rain fell gently from the sky, more drizzling than dripping. It fell like thick syrup, slow in its coming, hard to notice; but every so often the odd, fatter drop would land with a cold, needle-like bite, where it could be felt, and though the sky was a muffled shade of gray-blue, without a cloud in sight, the crisp tint to the atmosphere only hinted at the final hours of a dreary day getting ready to pass into an even drearier night.

No one was out on the road, despite there being some hours of murky daylight left. Nobody in their right mind would be out in such weather. A cold dusty road wasn't too much better than a hot one, after all, and there was something tangible lingering in those hesitant droplets of rain that said they were only the front line of an oncoming storm. Surely no one with any semblance of common sense would willingly leave a warm fire behind to travel in the hours just before the first proper frost of winter? Well, one would think so, but there was one rider on the road…

One look at either horse or rider could clearly announce exhaustion for both of them. The horse, a small but strong animal of shaggy black coat, hardly broke a walking pace. Its fur shone with a thin layer of sweat, its breath coming in aggravated puffs and snorts as it shook its mane in irritation at the long journey. Its rider was no better off, sitting almost stiffly in the saddle, weariness evident in his posture despite well-practiced riding form, and with a vaguely haunted look cast over his face. He wasn't the usual traveler of this road; not a merchant, or bard, or even a knight returning late from battle. This man had an entirely different story to tell.

This rider wasn't particularly broad of shoulder, or large-muscled, or richly dressed. He had a slim build, and a shorter-than-average stature that was obvious in spite of his mounted position. He wore simple attire, with a mottled gray cloak and the hood pulled up. There was something foreign about him, lingering in the smoky darkness of his grim, hazel eyes. Or perhaps beyond that, in the mildly duskier note to his skin than most of the locals carried. Perhaps it was even in his bearing- overlapping his foreign air was something else, something coiled tight and poised, and sharp and dangerous. He had a handsome face; young, just showing signs of age, but even that was belied by something other…the sense that he'd been through, or done, something.

No, he was no knight, to be sure, but a warrior in any case. His weapons were of a different nature than the noble swords generally reasoned as chivalrous. A well-worn bow lay slung across his lap, a quiver of black arrows at his back. Two knives, one curved, one much broader, hung from a double-scabbard at his belt. These weren't the weapons of a knight, or mercenary, or even of a nobleman, but no weapons could've gone further to distinguish this man than these.

This man was a Ranger.

But, despite the mysteries, legends, and even whispers of valor that went along with every story heard in this land of the hooded folk called Rangers, it wasn't this man's occupation that was the most interesting thing about him-

It was the one-armed ride he was accomplishing.

He held the bow in place with his free hand, for the most part, and occasionally tugged litely at the reins. His other hand, as it so happened, was occupied in trying to keep a small, squirming bundle securely cradled against his chest.

He glared at the wriggling creature wrapped in the blanket, ignoring the darting pangs of guilt that ran through him- had pierced him, deep and deadly as one of his arrows, every time he'd looked at this child, had only become more intense when the baby had become his charge- and held the infant more tightly. A shrill cry escaped the youngling, though, and tiny hands and feet flailed all the more at the Ranger's efforts.

"Hush, lad," the man growled softly, a faint Hibernian bur slipping into his words, "You'll make me drop you."

His voice, if not the words themselves, proved a brief comfort to the distressed baby, and the wild kicking stopped for a moment, but within seconds, the child began a high-pitched whine that quickly escalated into an anguished wail, fresh tears leaking rapidly. The Ranger, as irritating as he found the noise, couldn't be truly angry at the pitiful racket made by the child's demands. He couldn't blame the little one, or keep himself, war-hardened though he was, from flinching at some of the more desperate cries.

He wouldn't like to confess it, but he was worried. Even though the baby seemed strong enough- and certainly had healthy lungs, at the very least- the Ranger was sure that the days of travel that had followed mere hours after birth had been hard on him, especially since feedings had been few and far between, because it was much harder to keep milk for travel than water. As it was, today he'd only been fed once, much earlier in the morning, and had been oddly quiet…

Until now, the Ranger thought grimly.

It would do neither of them any good to worry about it now, though, so as disheartened as he was by the baby's increasingly pleading screams, the Ranger resorted to chiding him weakly, hugging him a little closer. "Hold on, now," he murmured, "you'll eat soon enough." With a weary sigh, he glanced ahead before actually looking at the baby. "You can't see those hills, there," he said softly, "But we're nearly there. We reach Redmont, lad, you'll be just fine before sunrise."

Strangely, the boy did stop his plaintive cries, looking up at the Ranger like a drowning person viewing shore. He continued to whimper, cooing quietly when the Ranger reached to brush away the still-falling tears. He held tightly to the offered finger with both hands, whining a little more insistently when the rough hand didn't prove a source of food, but brought it to his mouth anyway- whether for solace or from confusion, the Ranger didn't know.

Given that the man was determined not to stop and force the baby to wait through a restless night, they finally reached those hills, and the castle-town that lay there, just after full dark, as the rain began to fall properly at long last and the moon rose to greet them overhead.

By then, the baby had at last fallen into troubled sleep, and the Ranger could breathe a little easier for the lack of the infant's accusing mewing. Taking care not to wake him, he stopped before the city, pausing just long enough to alter position and tuck the little bundle into the warm folds of his cloak, still keeping a firm hold on the baby, but hiding him from view.

It didn't prove warranted, however, as he rode through the mostly-empty streets of the village. The whole place practically reeked of a town whose men had participated in a recent war. Candles shone in most of the windows, and smoke poured from the chimneys, but there was a melancholy tang that seeped from every door. The Ranger knew how many soldiers had come from here to fight, knew that daylight wouldn't bring many children out to play in the streets. Most of the men, fathers or older brothers, hadn't yet returned. Some of them never would. The Ranger already had a disturbingly clear impression of how many women who lived here- most of which, he knew, wouldn't have slept well for some time, would've spent the past months fretting for their soldier sons or husbands- would soon don black, how many proper vigils would take place before the year came to an official close.

This, the Ranger knew, wouldn't last too long.

The war was finally over, finally won, and soon enough the victorious living would return. Song and mirth would flood from the taverns, and after some time was allowed to pass, joy and triumph would overtake the gloom and loss of war. The dead would be honoured with the living, and eventually life would be permitted to go on.

In truth, the Ranger was glad for the lack of people about at this hour, glad for the now-steady rain keeping so many inside. He knew the stories surrounding Rangers, was well-used to mothers pulling their children aside as he passed. He had long been acquainted with the whispers and warnings that followed 'his folk' and, though he wasn't one to protest it, even quietly encouraged the more fearful opinions, he still didn't like the feeling of eyes searing through his cloak, didn't like the feeling brought by those wary, calculating glances.

He made it to the castle in relative peace, though some were still out and about, and he felt their gazes keenly enough. It wasn't until he reached the stable, though, that he met with much of what he was used to. The stable-hands, mostly youths considered too young for war, with a couple of elders to guide them, were cautious from the moment they saw him, taking in the cloak and quiver before anything else and taking nervous steps back before they could stop themselves.

The man ignored them, giving only a brief nod before taking up his bow with his free hand and carefully dismounting, conscious of the sleeping child cradled by his other arm. He paused just long enough to rub affectionately at his grateful horse's neck, murmuring a quiet, "Rest easy, friend," before turning to the stable-hands with a clipped, "See to it that Abelard is fed and watered."

The nearest stable-hand stammered a rushed "yessir", and nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to do as he was told.

The Ranger left Abelard and, now holding the baby the best he knew how with both arms, entered the castle, noting that the baby, who had been asleep for the better part of the last few hours, was beginning to stir again. He muttered a low curse at that, hoping the child didn't become fractious again too quickly. His cloak had made a decent hiding place for his young charge before, but now that he was standing, it was much more obvious that he was carrying something, and it was blatantly obvious just what that something was.

He hurried along at a determined pace, ignoring the looks he was getting from the staff milling about, and didn't stop until he reached a staircase and became aware that the baby was moving and was very decidedly awake. The man gave a huff of annoyance, looking around for any source of help. Surely it wouldn't do to bring an infant into the baron's chambers?

Providence seemed to smile on him, because he spotted a maid coming from a nearby hallway. She looked to be in a decent mood, maybe enough to take the little one and see he was properly cared for.

He made his way to her, not waiting to see if she'd noticed him before he began speaking.

"Ma'am, will you-"

She gasped with a brief start at being unexpectedly addressed, and turned to him with a look of fright.

He held the now-flailing but mercifully not-currently-crying baby toward her, dodging a tiny fist that nearly met his eye and craning around the babbling infant to attempt looking properly at the lady. "Ma'am," he said softly, lowering his tone to avoid startling her further, "This boy-"he shook his head, holding the lad a little further away to keep the wriggling limbs away from his face, "This boy was orphaned-"stopped to adjust his grip, which somehow such a tiny baby was strong enough to squirm out of, "-was orphaned by the war. Will you-"his heart dropped as the baby did escape from him, and made a heart-shattering plummet toward the floor for all of half a second before the Ranger caught him again, "Will you take him?"

He tried to offer a disarming smile as well, but while he did manage a slightly misappropriated grin, but also failed to keep the nearly pleading tone out of his voice.
By her expression, he judged that the woman thought he meant for her to actually adopt the baby.

"-as a ward of the castle," he amended swiftly, anxious to be about his business.

The woman, slightly taller than him, with dark brown hair pulled back into an untidy bun, and dull blue eyes, made a quiet sound in her throat and shook her head, a blush appearing on her cheeks as she realised her position. No one said no to a Ranger, and yet she had to. "I…"she swallowed quite hard, "I…apologise, sir, but there have been so many orphaned, there's no room for another ward." She ducked her head, sincerity in every word.

The Ranger scowled, holding the baby close again, tucked tight against his chest. "And you can't make room?" he asked, incredulous, and had to let the baby dangle for a moment as he reached up to disentangle a little hand from his beard.

The woman shifted nervously, shaking her head again but working up the nerve to move closer and run a finger daintily over the baby's cheek. She tilted her head slightly, cooing over the boy as the curious blue eyes fixated on her, studying every detail of her face. "Aw, no sir, I am sorry, but you'll have to find something else to do with him."

He drew breath to reply, but after a few moments of silence that were only broken by the baby's murmurs, he gave a sigh of resignation and nodded wordlessly. There was no point in continuing this discussion with this particular person, so after carefully shifting his young charge to a better position, he turned away. He glared sourly when the child's hands found their way to his beard yet again, and was in the process of prying them away with a grumbled, "What is so fascinating about my beard to you…?"

when the woman called from behind him, "Oh, sir, I do hope you find somewhere for him; he seems a sweet young creature."

He ignored her, taking the stairs quickly, but silently, and mentally frowning over her words. "Sweet?" he repeated gruffly, raising an eyebrow at his little companion, "You fooled her, I suppose…" Occasionally, he would stop to make an attempt at handing the baby off to a servant, but most of the time they simply brushed apprehensively past him without even stopping to see what he wanted.

Soon, he found himself resigned to simply bringing the boy with him to the baron's office.

"Ah, sorry, little one," he replied to the baby's gurgling chatter as he walked, "You'll have to wait a bit longer."

Only a little longer, though. It wasn't a long trip to the baron's chambers, and it was one he was used to making.

The richly decorated building was full of servants and nobles, and of couriers and scribes about their various businesses despite the lateness. Constantly, someone was emerging from one doorway or another, and it was often that the man found himself being bumped into. He thought, for a moment, that wearing his cloak had been a folly. But at least the presence of his cloak meant that, upon spotting him, or touching him, people would realize who he was and hurry away at the greatest possible speed.

He reached the baron's office quickly, to his immense relief, and entered, not bothering to knock first. It wasn't his custom to announce himself anywhere, unless it was absolutely necessary, and he didn't find it to be so.

Barging into the private chambers of Redmont's ruler, Baron Arald, he carefully shifted the child, again, to one arm and used the other to push his hood back. The baron, having initially started upon finding his chambers invaded, relaxed at seeing him, something very few people did.

"Ah, Halt, it's you," he said, voice hearty and genuine, beaming and moving forward, "It's good to see you again, at last!"

Halt nodded, once, in reply. But there would be time for pleasantries later, after a certain something was dealt with. Not taking time to stand on ceremony, he held the squirming bundle up for Arald to see. As if sensing the importance of the situation, the baby promptly gave a loud whine, eyes brimming and lip quivering- "Not yet," Halt groaned, pulling the baby back against his chest to quiet him.

Arald's gaze visibly softened at the baby, and a sad look of understanding came over him. "Orphaned?" he asked quietly, and Halt gave a curt nod of confirmation.
"His father died a hero," he answered, watching the little fingers curling around his own as he tried to keep the baby placated, "died saving my life. I…did what I could for his mother, but…" a pair of dark eyes flicked up to meet the baron's gaze, and the voice tightened for a few seconds as a fresh and painful memory washed over the Ranger, "I couldn't save her either. And there was no other family."

The baron cringed. He was more than used to stories of tragedy coming from war, but he still hated to hear them, especially when it left a child without a home. "Have you tried to find a place for him?"

Again, Halt nodded. "No less than five people have told me he can't stay here."

Arald sighed, shrugging apologetically at the loosely challenging tone to his friend's voice, "And I'm afraid they're right, Halt. We have too many wards already, and because of the war, we're low on provisions." He exhaled slowly, looking down at the infant again, "Even if we could take him, and care for him well, it wouldn't be well enough for one so small."

The Ranger grimaced, tinted gaze lingering on the boy, who was beginning to still again. The lad squirmed once more, and then stopped, looking at Halt through wide, searching eyes. There was a shock of brown hair as well, sticking in odd directions thanks to his earlier flailing. Now, his attention seemed to be fully captured by the man holding him.

Halt blinked and looked up at Arald. "Then what do you suggest I do with him? I promised his mother he would be cared for."

"I could," the baron began, sounding a touch uncertain, "I could find him a temporary place, with one of the farming families-"

"-One of the farming families?" Halt interrupted, heart sinking as he absentmindedly rubbed the fussing child's hand. "His mother- I told her he would be cared for-"

"And he will be, Halt," Arald continued, cringing at the apprehension in Halt's voice, "They're poor, and most of them already have children of their own, but there's bound to be a family who won't mind keeping him for a year or two."

Halt quirked an eyebrow, "And then? A year or two isn't long enough to raise a lad to adulthood."

Arald rolled his eyes. "Well…then we'll have to find somewhere else to put him, obviously, unless one of the families is willing to take him permanently-"

Both eyebrows shot up. "Permanently-"

The baron closed his eyes, giving an exasperated sigh. "I have no way to estimate how long it'll be before Redmont has the means to care for another ward."
Halt looked down at the boy again, uncomfortable with deciding his future. He'd thought the baby would be welcome here in the ward…that he'd be able to leave him here and not worry, but if he would be going to live with a farming family…they were hard enough pressed to care for their own children, let alone an orphan whose parents they had never met.

Aside from that, Halt had only brought the lad here in the first place because he knew of Arald's intention to provide opportunities for the wards of his castle, to give them a chance to become something in the world. If this baby was adopted permanently by one of the farming families, Halt knew odds were he'd never be afforded any such chance to make or choose his own path in the future. And yet…if a few years proved long enough to get something more permanent set up among the baron's wards, surely it would be worth it.

The man nodded slowly, grimly, not taking his eyes off the lad, the son of the man who had saved his life. "And you're sure one of the farmers would be willing?"

Arald shrugged again, offering a relieved smile at Halt's compliance. He had a pretty strong guess as to the reasons for Halt's reluctance to putting the baby with one of the farming families, but they both realized it was much better than an orphanage. "They can't all say no," he replied, wiggling his fingers and smirking as the baby's eyes followed them, "And they say children are at their best between the ages of newborn and two years; trust me, there's sure to be at least one woman in the village who will want him."

"Not if they saw me carrying him," Halt muttered darkly.

"What's that?" Arald didn't try to hide his smile when the baby gave a short, curious cry and wrapped tiny fingers around one of the baron's larger ones.
Halt shook his head, focused again on the little one as his mind played over the possibilities. "Nothing,"

The baron nodded once more, more a bob of the head than anything else, and exited the room for a moment, motioning for the Ranger to stay. "And have a seat;" he called back, "You look dead on your feet, man!"

After such a long trip, and everything that had led to it, Halt had absolutely no qualms with being ordered to sit down. His only concern was whether he'd ever be persuaded to rise again, having done so. His arms were, admittedly, tired from holding the baby for such a long time, and it was a welcome reprieve to lay the child on his lap instead. The boy continued to stare at him, eyes wide and curious as ever. The infant made quiet sounds as Halt sat, whining softly and settling for trying to get the fingers of both tiny hands into his mouth now that he didn't have the baron's hand to occupy him.

Halt closed his eyes and breathed deep, the feeling of being back in his own fief finally sinking in, along with a deep feeling of relief. Now that the war was over, he could go back to training his apprentice- ah, now there was one thing that could convince him to get up from this particular rest. No doubt Gilan had worried himself sick and was just waiting to pester him mercilessly- and be left in relative peace for a while. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate an adventure; it was just that he was already worn out from his previous one, and no amounts of thrill and excitement could ever outweigh the cold dread that came from taking life and seeing life lost. As much praise as heroes received, Halt was well aware that fame and glory did nothing to wash bloodstains away.

He was hardly aware of nodding off, thoughts and memories changing slowly into dreams, before the feeling of something being wrong forced his eyes open again.

Looking all direction, the Ranger's keen gaze sought out any signs that danger might be present, scanning the room quickly and silently as a feeling of unease made his skin crawl and heart speed for a fraction of a second.

When he found no such sign of trouble lurking, he found himself looking yet again at the baby on his lap.

The boy's lip was quivering again, and his eyes were once more swimming with tears. He sucked in shallow little gasps of breath; face the very picture of misery. No doubt another shrieking fit was set to begin, and who could blame him? He'd not been fed for hours, and wasn't ready to wait any longer.

Halt didn't know why the feeling of panic flared in his chest, or what possessed him to begin bouncing the boy gently on his knees. Perhaps it was because he'd seen mothers do this with their children, seen fathers, older brothers; grandfathers all do the same thing, usually resulting in cheerful, giggling babies. And, drifting somewhere in the back of his mind, there was another memory…warm patches of sunlight and a smiling face, the sound of laughter and the sweet smell of flowers just barely overlapped by the scent of smoke….Surely it would work if Halt tried it, too. All that did was make it worse, though, and fat tears began to roll.

Inexplicably alarmed, Halt did the only thing he could think of as the boy opened his mouth to wail. He remembered something that had worked earlier, and shuddered as he popped a callused finger into the open mouth. Said finger was immediately latched onto with surprising force, and both of the lad's small hands wrapped demandingly around it. Halt could almost swear he saw the baby give him a brief look of betrayal upon discovering he wasn't being given food of any kind, but settled down nonetheless. The Ranger sighed in relief, rubbing absently at the baby's cheek with his thumb, grateful the crisis had been temporarily averted.

After the initial terror at the thought of another screaming bout subsided, Halt let himself drift again, comfortable that all would be well soon.

He was awakened yet again when Arald burst back into the room with all the force of a thunderstorm, in Halt's opinion. The man was followed by a maid, who saw the baby and began fussing over him instantly, swooping in and barely pausing for the Ranger to extract his finger from the baby's mouth before scooping the child into a warm embrace.

The boy immediately went from barely holding back tears to smiling brightly.

Halt was dumbfounded and, if he was honest with himself, a little offended.

The woman beamed, glancing between Halt and Baron Arald. "Who's this sweetheart you've found, then, sir?" she asked, swaying smoothly on her feet as she rocked the baby from side to side.

Arald looked like he was about to reply, but stopped short, turning imploringly to Halt.

A flood of memories struck the Ranger at full force, nearly enough to take his breath away. He swallowed hard, nodded to himself as the mother's dying words filled his thoughts. He watched the boy and saw the father, as he spoke, eyes burning with a debt he was fiercely determined to pay. "Will," he replied, "His name is Will."

The woman took young Will from the room, to feed him and arrange a place for the lad to sleep until a suitable- if temporary- home could be found. Halt, meanwhile, remained in the baron's office to discuss how he had come to have the child in the first place. But Arald was no fool, and couldn't miss the exhaustion Halt tried to hide behind his weary account of events, and it wasn't long before the baron gently offered the suggestion that they conclude their business in the morning.

As for Halt, he was more than happy to get back to his cabin- and his apprentice.

It wasn't that he was terribly worried- Gilan wasn't a child, after all, and would have done well in Halt's absence, but an apprentice needed his mentor, and it wouldn't do for the Ranger to stay away any longer than he had to. Practical reasons aside, he had to admit that he had missed that skinny, impetuous, over-eager lad who had followed him into the woods one day. The boy had become like a son to him, in more ways than one.

He found Abelard freshly groomed and waiting for him, and he made sure to thank the nervous stable-hand before quickly mounting and setting off for home. The rain was cold and falling harder than before, but the moon was high and its pale blue light marked a quiet path home.

As the little cabin came into view, Halt saw light leaking from the windows and shook his head in silent amusement. Gilan was still awake, much later than he ought to be. The Ranger wasn't hard-pressed to find a reason for his apprentice suddenly being nocturnal- odds were he'd waited up every night since finding out his mentor would soon be home. It was a gesture the Ranger could appreciate, though he fully intended to pretend annoyance at it.
He rubbed Abelard's neck affectionately as he neared the cabin, allowing for a rare smile as he saw the smoke coming from the chimney, heard Blaze's whickered greeting. "Welcome home," Halt said softly, and Abelard shook his mane in hearty agreement.

Truth be told, he was surprised Gil managed to rein in his excitement as long as he did, but he was able to install Abelard in the stable next to Blaze, walk up to the door, and begin to open it before chaos broke loose.

The door was wrenched open before Halt could quite touch it, and he found himself reeling backward as he was all but tackled by his apprentice. The tall youth was beyond thrilled to see his mentor again, and not at all shy about making it known, his grip so tight that it almost hurt. Halt wasn't ashamed to say that he heartily returned the embrace.

That wasn't to say that he didn't hide his grin and growl faux-impatience, squirming out of Gilan's grasp and raising an eyebrow at his apprentice. "Mistake me for a lady friend?" he asked dryly.

Gilan, shifting his weight from foot to foot- not from nervousness, rather his usual irrepressible restless energy- met Halt's gaze evenly, excitement still shining in his eyes. He was very nearly as tall as his mentor, and was likely to be taller than him at some point. He grinned wolfishly, shaking his head. "I knew it was you before you ever got to the porch," he replied, a smug look on his face.

Halt felt a small flicker of pride. "And how did you do that," he questioned, "did Blaze calling a greeting give it away, or do you recognize footsteps now?"
Gilan's grin widened, and he shook his head again as he stepped aside so Halt could enter the cabin. "No, actually…I just looked out the window."

Any other day, Halt would've given an exaggerated groan of despair and flashed a long-suffering look to the sky, but for now it was just good to be back.
He couldn't hide the smile that came as he entered the cabin. Everything was exactly as it had been when he'd left. He breathed deep, eyes slowly shutting in contentment as the smell of fresh coffee reached him. Gilan had, he thought, learned well. When he looked around the cabin, he was pleased to see two steaming mugs on the table. Of course, he was tired from his journey, and the worries that had gone with it, but sleep would come later. For now, coffee and catching up with his apprentice were all he needed to relax.

With a satisfied huff, he leaned his bow against the wall and slipped out of his cloak, hanging it from the pegs near the door as Gilan bustled past him to the kitchen, retrieving the mugs of coffee and moving briskly to the main area after pressing one into Halt's hands.

"So," Halt began, once he was settled into his chair and had taken a long gulp of the hot beverage, "What have you been doing while I've been away? Have you forgotten all of your training, or will we only have to redo a few weeks' worth?"

Gil wrinkled his nose, flopping into the chair opposite Halt's and somehow managing not to splash any hot coffee on himself. "I've had plenty to do," he protested, "Scrubbing the cabin every day, practicing archery, tracking, knife work, taking care of Blaze, practicing more…" he paused, eyes flicking back to Halt's face, "I've even…ah…been asked to handle some…" he coughed, "some matters around the village."

Halt blinked, taking a sip of coffee to hide the twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Matters, eh?" he replied seriously, "Have there been many cats up trees here lately, then?"

Gilan's grin rivaled the fire in the hearth. "They weren't sure who else to ask, but they thought since I'm a Ranger, I could- wait-"

"-never known you to do that before," Halt mused quietly.

Gilan's smile faltered, "No, there were only two cats, and that was just because- ugh, no, not that kind of matter." He sat up a little straighter, wriggling back in the chair and puffing out his chest proudly. "I wasn't going to tell you, because you'll be furious-"

Halt's amusement faltered in turn.

"-but you're going to hear about it anyway, because everyone's talking about it."

Halt stared at him. "Am I going to hear about it tonight, or will the sun be up before you get through the introduction?"

Gilan's beaming grin returned in full force. "There was a bear," he exclaimed, only flinching a little at Halt's furrowed brow, "And I had to track it, because there was also this little girl missing- I never actually got near the bear, Halt- but everyone thought, you know, that the bear probably had something to do with the girl missing, but it didn't, and I found her, and…" he paused, taking another sip of coffee, "It was pretty exciting, not as exciting as what you were doing, obviously, but still."

The Ranger let his scowl deepen. "I'm still not past you casually mentioning tracking a bear. I'm assuming since people wanted it tracked in the first place, it was dangerous."

Gilan nodded rapidly. "Oh-h yes- it was huge, and-"he caught Halt's eye in the midst of spreading his arms wide for emphasis, and hastily returned his attention to the mug of coffee he was holding, "But it was nothing, really…how…how was everything for you?"
Halt sighed. He fully intended to get the whole account of Gilan's escapades later; he wouldn't get out that easily. For now, though, he simply leaned back in his chair. "I don't know that you want to hear such stories before bed, Gilan," he said in a deliberately nonchalant tone.
His apprentice nearly came out of his chair.

Halt let him squirm for a few minutes before regaling him with some of the better moments from his time away; skimming past the things he'd rather forget himself. He also danced around the subject of the baby he'd brought back with him, unsure of the exact reason but still unwilling to talk about it.
The two stayed awake much longer than they should have, swapping stories from their time apart and talking until late night became very early morning. Halt wasn't sure when he fell asleep, but he woke to the feeling of Gilan gently shaking his shoulder and suggesting that he go to bed, a suggestion he was happy to comply with.

His own bed was one of the many things Halt had found to silently but sorely miss while away. As many rough camps as he'd slept in, he would never not be thrilled to find a real bed waiting for him at home, and he was asleep again practically before his head touched the pillow. The Ranger slipped into dreams with the warm feeling of contentment settling in him, but in those dreams found the familiar face of a man who had died a hero, the familiar voice of a woman who had died the same, and the tender cries of the infant who would never know them.