~🌲Gilan🌲~

Overhand. Lunge. Block. Underhand. Parry. Side cut. Cross parry. Backhand side. Block. Underhand. Lunge. Overhand. Underhand. Side cut. Cross parry. Thrust.

Gilan repeated the drill over and over, casually changing it up every round. He completely shredded the dummy he was using, annoying many of the knights and apprentices of the Battleschool. It was his twentieth one that day, but Gilan didn't care. He needed to train.

"Gilan."

He ignored the voice, knowing very well what his former mentor, the legendary swordmaster MacNeil, would say. Spinning around, Gilan met his practice sword with MacNeil's.

"Gilan, you've been practicing since dawn," Gilan said at the same time as MacNeil, who sighed. Gilan parried MacNeil's blow. "You haven't eaten anything." He thrust forward. "You're driving yourself too hard." He moved back. "I think you should take a break."

MacNeil frowned, driving the tip of his sword into the ground. "Gilan," he said. "Stop. Please stop."

Shaking his head, Gilan continued drilling himself, this time shouted the moves as he did them. He felt MacNeil's penetrating stare bore into him through the several layers of sweat dripping from his head and neck. Gritting his teeth, Gilan yelled, throwing his sword across the yard as if it was a spear. He grew slower by the day.

"I'm getting slower," Gilan said, breathing heavily. "Why am I getting slower?" He rounded up on MacNeil. "I'm in the peak of my prime, MacNeil! Why?"

MacNeil calmly squeezed Gilan's arm, raising it up. "Because my boy," he sighed. "Your muscles are as taut as a bowstring. You need to relax."

Gilan glared at MacNeil, opening his mouth to protest. He closed it, however, knowing that he was right. MacNeil was always right. He sighed. Gilan followed MacNeil to his chambers, where he sat behind the table. MacNeil called for a meal to be sent up to the room before sitting across from Gilan.

"Gil," he said when the food arrived. "We need to talk."

Biting into the loaf of bread, Gilan mumbled as he chewed. "I don't want to."

"Gilan—"

Thump. Thump. Thump.

MacNeil sighed as Gilan exhaled in relief. "Come in," MacNeil said.

Gilan stiffened as Baron Fergus entered the room. He quickly stood to attention. "My lord!"

MacNeil gestured Gilan to sit back down. "What can I do for you, Fergus?"

The baron sighed as he shut the door. He looked at Gilan, still eating. "Gilan," he started, unsure on how to handle the situation. The little optimistic boy he once knew was gone to be replaced by a short-tempered, serious one. "Can you—"

"He can stay," MacNeil said. "It'll be fine."

Baron Fergus nodded. "MacNeil, I asked you this many times in the past, and I will ask it of you again."

"The answer is still no," MacNeil said.

"Will you not consider it?" the baron begged. "Caraway needs a battlemaster!"

Gilan stiffened, pushing away his plate. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe deeply and not destroy anything.

MacNeil glanced at Glian, suddenly doubting his choice of letting him stay. Frowning, he replied slowly. "Roger is doing a fine job as it is," he said. "There is no need for me to replace him."

"Roger tells me the Battleschool has been a disaster ever since he was appointed. It's been three years!"

"That's normal, Fergus," MacNeil said. "Dav—the former battlemaster wasn't perfect in the beginning either. It'll take time. Roger is a slow learner. He'll get it soon. Trust me."

Baron Fergus stared at MacNeil for a minute. "Alright. We'll have it your way. Don't be wrong."

Gilan watched the baron retreat out of the room. He looked at MacNeil. "Why don't you take the job? You're the best man for it."

Surprised, MacNeil blinked. He grabbed a biscuit. "I denied it before—" he trailed off.

"You can say his name."

"I denied the job before David passed," he continued. "And look at where that got your father. He became one of the best. I don't see why not deny it again and let another young soul rise up in the ranks." MacNeil paused. "You were on the list, you know?" he said. "You were considered to become Battlemaster."

"You're kidding, right?" Gilan pushed his chair back, crossing his arms. He bit his lip, thinking. He frowned before breathing out and slumping down. "Just as well," he said. "You know I always wanted to be something more exciting."

"Gilan," MacNeil started. "It's been three years. You can't keep living like this. You would train from sunrise to sunset if it weren't for your mother and I. You would run yourself to your death. Your father's death isn't your fault."

Gilan pressed his mouth shut, gulping. "No," he agreed. "It's the doing of Morgarath."

"Your father always taught you to respect the King."

"My father always taught me to respect King Oswald and his bloodline," Gilan said, raising his arms in exasperation. "I can't be the only one to find it odd that Prince Duncan suddenly tried to kill King Oswald and start breaking his own treaty! Did anyone even see the document he produced at the Tournament up close? Haven't you noticed how intent Morgarath is on getting Baron Arald off the seat of Redmont?"

"I'm not going to stop you, am I?"

Gilan smiled sadly. "No, MacNeil," he said. "I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this."

"Sir MacNeil! Sir Gilan! Sir MacNeil!"

The door burst open after a few seconds of rushed footsteps. "Baron Fergus requires your presence at the castle."

"What is it?"

Gilan straightened at his answer, his clouded eyes clearing. A start to his investigation.

"A ranger, sir!"

Gilan inclined his head, bolting up as his eyes lit up. "A ranger?" he said. "Are you sure?"

"He had the oakleaf and all!"

Gilan rounded up on MacNeil. "I thought you said Morgarath confiscated all the oakleaves."

Shrugging, MacNeil shook his head. "Some of them must have escaped before that even happened. And even if that didn't happen, they're rangers. They make them."

"So they're still around?"

"They're not dead."

Gilan sprinted out of the room. He ran out of the Battleschool and towards Castle Caraway. It was your classic four walled castle. It was beautiful, looking out to the Narrow Sea. Though it was not a palance, five grand spires spiraled up. It was grand, and though it didn't match the beauty of Gorlan and Araluen, Gilan loved it just the same.

Passing through the wall, Gilan entered the grand hall to a gathering of diplomats, scribes, and department heads. He pushed through the crowd, gasping when he saw the ranger. He walked forward. Going in circles around the ranger, Gilan finally stopped in front of him.

Red hair. Hazel eyes. Mottled cloak. Double knife scabbard. Gilan grinned. "You're a ranger."

The ranger met his eyes. "Yes."

"Sir Gilan, if you would get back in line, I'd like to start this trial."

Gilan didn't hear the baron. If anyone knew anything, it would be the rangers.