Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 2

~🌲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!"