Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 26

~🌲Gilan🌲~

Gilan took a deep breath. He stood under a great tree, looking out at the crowd. His hair was swept to the side, brushing against his eyes in the gentle breeze. Underneath his armor, he shivered.

He recognized the scene. He knew that light, a red sunrise that cast a fire on the grass, illuminating the flowers and stones that had been pushed into the ground, marking a memory. A body. Gilan knew that red. He knew the stones, the red flowers. And he was ashamed. Furious.

The last funeral he had attended had been three years ago, and it was still fresh in his mind. Gilan squeezed his eyes closed, ears ringing. His heart ached. It had been Sir David's funeral. His father.

He didn't cry that day, not like his mother. He had only stood, underneath his armor, underneath a great tree, underneath a red sun. Underneath everything, drowning in air and breathing in water. Never coming out on top.

Gilan bit down on his tongue. He tasted blood. How in the world did he find himself standing in the same spot he had three years ago?

His fingers itched for a sword. Any sword would have done. He wanted to tear someone apart, rip something into shreds. He needed a dummy. He needed to train.

Gilan mentally kicked himself. He clenched his fists, hands trembling. How many days of training had he missed? How many days had he spent lazy and ignorant? He had already lost to Morgarath thrice. How many more scars did he want? How many more battles would he lose?

There were too many to count.

Stumbling backwards, Gilan fell against the tree. He gasped. Red. He saw red. The sun, flowers, blood. His fingers found his sword.

No one seemed to notice.

His knuckles were white, his face pale. He held onto the hilt of his sword as if it was a lifeline. More than a lifeline. He held onto it as if the whole world depended on it, as if he was holding up the sky. Underneath the sky.

Gilan looked to the side, facing away from the crowd. His eyes trained onto the casket, polished wood ornamented with leaves and dry berries. He could see his father's bleak eyes, dead and unmoving. Everything had been sucked out of him, all joy, all meaning, all spirit. Only the body was left. A piece that wasn't even his anymore.

"And now, we have a speech from Sir Gilan, Knight of the Evergreen."

Gilan didn't answer. He fiddled with his sword, the shadows masking his face. He made no move.

"Gilan?"

Gilan forced himself to turn. He blinked, suddenly aware of everyone's stares. He let go of his sword. "Yes," he murmured to himself. "Yes, of course."

He stepped forward, taking Sir Rodney's place at the makeshift rock podium. Smiling, he stood tall.

"Hello," he said, reminding himself that time hadn't gone back. This was Baron Arald's funeral. It was a fake funeral. It wasn't real. Nothing was real. "I'm Gilan."

Gilan took a deep breath. He forced his muscles to relax. He exhaled.

"I'm going to be honest. I am not from here. I didn't know Baron Arald well, and it is very unfortunate that he has passed during these trying times. But he was a good man, and he was a good leader."

Gilan paused, looking around the clearing. He gulped. To the side, Lady Sandra wept. She, of course, knew of the situation, but Gilan almost forgot. She was a good actress, Lady Sandra. Better than he was, at least.

Across from her, Baron Arald stood in his armor in line with the calvary. His helmet covered his face, but Gilan could feel his questioning eyes. He nodded.