Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 30

~🌲Gilan🌲~

"Jurgen!" Gilan called out. "Take two scouts with you. We're almost to the border, and I want to know where Morgarath's army is."

"Yes, sir." Jurgen nodded. Instead of being tasked with delivering a message to a baron like the other rangers, he had been assigned to assist Gilan at Celtica. And for that, Gilan was grateful. It was nice to have a ranger around. He found that they had some invaluable skills that any other person would have overlooked. And in a weird way, it made Gilan feel younger to have his old curiosity open back up again. He felt... childish almost. They were skills that Gilan were fascinated by, and it made him feel a twinge of regret that he hadn't ever considered them a skill until then.

There was nothing he could have done about it though. There was no way he could have ever become a ranger's apprentice, not when the country was transitioning into Morgarath's rule. Not when every single real ranger was being hunted down and banished.

But Gilan couldn't help but think that what if he could have done something. What if he could have stopped Morgarath from ever becoming king in the first place?

He remembered the family dinners. All his father ever seemed to talk about was Morgarath's rise to power, how he had doubts and concerns about the man, how he didn't like how much control he had gotten since Oswald fell ill. Gilan had thought his ramblings to be boring at the time. He thought it had just been the long and tedious tirades of an old man.

It was almost comical how wrong he was.

Gilan looked as Jurgen picked out two soldiers. He sighed, watching them ride off into the distance. Now, his past slights were coming back to haunt him. Araluen was at a war with itself. How many mistakes had he made to be able to sit there, at the ready, riding to battle? How many miscalculations had he made? How many people had died because he was too naive to think? How had he missed the warning signs that thundered like golden bells? That rang and rang in the clear light of day, begging for his attention. How had he missed that?

How did he manage to let his father die? And how did he manage to let his murderer get away with it?

Running a hand through his hair, Gilan closed his eyes. He slumped down, gripping tighter on the reins of his horse. Sweat gathered at his forehead. They were midway their second day of riding, which meant they were well on their way across the Solitary Plains. It was a barren land, desolate and bleak. In all directions, nothing could be seen for miles. Nothing except golden blades of grass and the occasional tree. According to Sir Rodney, they would be riding into battle the next morning. He swallowed down a gulp. Gilan had no idea if he was ready or not.

He didn't doubt his swordsmanship. He was confident enough in his own abilities to fend for his life. To fight for his country. What he was not confident about, however, was his current state. After what had happened at the funeral, Gilan found himself spiraling into his ugly thoughts more often. It unnerved him, how he couldn't control himself. How he couldn't control his own head. It just kept going and going, spitting out what-ifs and making up scenarios. He would catch himself, eventually, after the damage had been done, but in battle, that was dangerous. He couldn't be distracted in battle. He needed to be focused. He needed to be able to think. And if he wasn't able to think reasonably, then his skill with the sword was compromised.

And if that happened, everything would topple. Every single knight, every single soldier... They all looked towards him. They had all heard stories about Sir Gilan, Knight of the Evergreen. Mightier than everyone except King Morgarath himself. Everyone looked towards him for courage. For the means to keep going.

He opened his eyes, took a deep breath. All he needed to do was perform. Act as if he was fine, as if he was okay. Then, everything would be fine. Then, everything would work out.

Gilan reached into his pocket. He relaxed as his fingers found the delicate stem of the flower Jenny had given him. Pulling it out, he stared intensely at it, bringing it up into the light. The flower had wilted with no water, but Gilan still kept it. It comforted him in an odd way. Served as a reminder that even though he couldn't save his father, there were still others that he could. That didn't mean it hurt any less. It didn't even mean that he believed it. It just... helped him calm down.

Gilan smiled softly at the flower, pocketing it. He exhaled. Maybe he should give out another speech. That was good for morale, right?

Looking back, Gilan willed his horse to slow down. He waited for Rodney to catch up. The knight met his gaze with a questioning look.

"What is it?" he said.

Gilan shrugged. "I'm thinking about giving a speech," he said. "It's almost time to find a camp spot, anyways."

"Good idea," Rodney said. "Do you want to make camp here?"

Gilan looked around. "I don't see why not," he said. "Trees aren't going to miraculously grow in these plains."

Rodney nodded. He rode forward, finding a few of his senior knights to go around telling everyone that they were stopping for the day. Gilan grunted when he dismounted his horse, muscles sore from riding.

"Alright, everybody!" He shouted, hopping onto a rock. "Gather around and listen up."

Gilan watched as everyone shuffled around him. He tried to smile, eyes skimming over the crowd. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath.

"At this time tomorrow, the battle will be done. We will have met with Morgarath's army, and our swords will be bloodied and our shields splintered. I see the fear in your eyes at this thought, and I can say with great confidence, that you are scared. I'm scared. We all are. How could we not be? We are, after all, kin. We have bonds with each other, and we have bonds with them. We will be drawing swords against our own.

"But may I remind you all that we are fighting for this good country. We are fighting for the future of Araluen and the homes we want our future children to live in. We are fighting against the iron fist that Morgarath wields for a better life and for a better home."

Gilan paused, letting silence take over the field. He found Baron Arald in the crowd next to Sir Rodney. "And let us not forget about our baron, who isn't here with us today. For that, we will make Morgarath pay. We will avenge him, and we—"

Gilan trailed off. He frowned, a dark spot in the distance catching his eye. He squinted, his hand coming up to shield his eyes from the sun.

"That's Jurgen," Rodney said as Gilan's eyes widened. "He's alone."

Gilan jumped down from his rock. He pushed through the soldiers as quickly as possible. He laughed, but there was no humor to it. No emotion.

"Basically, everyone," he said, "don't hesitate to fight back and even kill tomorrow because they will not view you as friends."

Breaking out of the crowd, Gilan straightened up. He looked up, running forward towards Jurgen.

"Gilan!" Jurgen yelled as he approached, out of breath. He dismounted his horse in a heartbeat. "Morgarath's army! They've already entered Celtica."

"What?" Gilan said. "So soon?"

"We need to move out now," Jurgen said.

Gilan frowned. Biting down on his lip, he looked back at the crowd. "No," he said after a pause. "Everyone, get some rest! We move out at dawn. Rodney will be leading you all!"

"Gilan?"

Gilan turned back to Jurgen. He nodded. "You and me," he lowered his voice. "We'll ride to King Swyddned."

"You know we can't do that," Jurgen said. "The old saying won't allow it. One man may be deceit, two can be conspiracy—"

"—Three is the number I trust," Gilan finished. "I know. We'll bring Baron Arald with us."

"Will we be going now?"

Gilan looked at the sun, which was beginning to set. If they wanted to make it to King Swyddned before the army started anything, they would have to ride in the night. "Yes," he said. "Find the baron. We leave in five minutes."