A/N: Here's the next and final chapter! Thank you guys for all the support. I really appreciate it, and thanks also for reading.

WritersBlock-is-Lazyness: Yeah, there is definitely something suspicious about the apprentices X). School totally assigns waaaay to much to do. And then, when all the classes and assignments are over, I hardly have any free time left for hobbies and writing *cries sadly* Let's hope Halt can help me with my indecisive problem then XD Thanks so much for the review!

TrustTheCloak: Thanks for the compliment and the review, I really appreciate it. The same goes for me when I see that you've written a new story too. Thanks again :D

Guest: Next chapter's here! I hope this was quick enough for you XD Thanks so much for the compliment, it totally made my day to read; I'm really glad you like my stories (it makes all the awful time spent editing worthwhile X)

hope4mustangs: Awww :3 thanks so much. It would be nice/an honor if I could be helpful like that; after all, I learned what I know from other writers too. Thanks for the review!

Chapter 2

Gilan found a quiet, secluded, and out of the way spot near the shade of a fairly large tree and got to work; taking off everything but the shorts he wore under his trousers.

He moved his right hand absently to his mouth, biting at his thumbnail when he realized that he was already too late to save his bowstring. Halt really wasn't going to be happy about that.

He worked to get the mud off of his clothes and to clean and dry his sword and two knives so they wouldn't rust. Lastly, he moved to get the mud out of his Ranger cloak. The sound of the quick running water echoed quite loudly in his ears as he worked…which was why he didn't hear the other apprentices returning and surrounding him until it was too late.

Taken completely off guard, he felt himself seized from both sides and behind. He struggled to break free, but it was six against one. Within moments, he found himself tied with his arms behind him and around the trunk of a tree.

If he'd had any doubts before that Henry's pushing him into the marsh hadn't been an accident as he'd claimed, they were definitely confirmed now. That realization crashed down just like the other, which told him that the other apprentices really hadn't invited him along because they wanted to be friendly or get to know him better—quite the opposite really.

They all stood in front of him in a crescent shape, with Jenkin in the middle, laughing uproariously at his compromised position—and probably at his compromised state of dress as well, he thought. An ugly cold feeling seemed to be taking hold in his chest even as he felt the heat of a flush beginning to spread across his face before he checked himself, refusing to let it show. He smiled at them instead.

"Well, this is certainly interesting," Gilan said with that infuriating, Jenkin thought—especially when considering the circumstance—smile on his face. "Though, I don't really see the point of it all."

"What does that matter; now that you're there?" Jenkin replied condescendingly.

"It matters," Gilan said with as much of a shrug as he could manage. "If I'm going to be spending the day tied to a tree, I'd at least like to know why. Is this supposed to be some part of your initiation ceremony—or are you trying to make some sort of personal statement?"

"No," Jenkin snarled, a little off put by the first-year's casual attitude, "this last part we usually only save for nobles: people who think they can use their family names and money to bribe their way into places because they think they're entitled—better than everyone else just because of who their parents are. People like you think they can have everything handed to them on a silver platter no matter what happens to everyone else. Well, you're not going to be doing that here."

"Never said I was," Gilan said calmly, despite his position.

"You didn't have to say it," Jenkin snarled. "We all know who and what you are: the son of a noble who couldn't cut it in Battleschool. It couldn't be more obvious." He held up Gilan's sheathed sword with a look of distaste on his face. "And you've done nothing to prove otherwise. I think he's failed initiation, don't you?" he addressed the other apprentices who had so far been hanging on and agreeing with his every word.

All the other boys nodded in answer and then Jenkin leaned in close to Gilan's face as he spoke again, his voice cold and low, "I think it would be best if you just left after this Gathering. The Corps can't afford to have people like you in it—and neither can you. Breathe a word, or decide to stay, and it will be our pleasure to show you just how much you can't afford it."

Gilan met his angry glare calmly, meeting the challenge there. Finally, it was Jenkin who looked away first. He scoffed, turned, and then started walking away. All the others followed after him, taking Gilan's clothes and weapons with them… leaving him alone and tied to the tree.

As soon as they were gone, Gilan allowed his carefully comprised composure slip a little. He felt a twisting feeling in his chest and a lump beginning to form in his throat. He tried to angrily clear it away… but it didn't really work.

It took him until late that afternoon to finally break free of the ropes that bound him to the tree. He realized that the other apprentices had obviously intended for him to escape eventually; they hadn't tied the ropes impossibly tight.

By the time he managed to free himself, his arms and legs were sore and cramping because of the strain of being forced into that position for so long and his wrists were rubbed raw and bleeding. As soon as he was free, he tried to rub life back into his limbs and set himself to the task of tracking the other apprentices. He couldn't well come back to the Gathering Grounds in his undergarments—he'd had enough of being laughed at for one day. And he certainly couldn't come back without his cloak or his weapons either. He'd always felt a little incomplete without his sword and, over the past months he'd spent training with Halt, it had become the same with his bow, cloak, and two knives. Not only that, Halt would never forgive him if he came back without them.

He found their tracks fairly easily and set himself to the task of following them, trying desperately to bury or brush off the many twisting emotions he felt threatening to break through the surface. He followed the prints for a few kilometers, trying to keep himself focused only on putting one foot in front of the other. The trail was littered with sharp rocks and he was limping little when he finally reached the end of it.

He stopped short, staring at the site. He let out a sound that seemed a mix between a mirthless laugh and a half-sob as he saw what lay before him. Of course, he found himself thinking. Ahead of him was an absolutely massive tangle of brambles. Even in the fading light, he could see that his clothes and weapons had been carelessly tossed deep into the middle of the tangle. The lighter items like his cloak, bow, shirt, and tunic had been snagged by long sharp thorns near the top, a little above head height. He could just make out his scabbard and the edge of one of his boots on the ground.

The tangle was made of many different types of thorny plants; some had tiny splinter-like thorns and others had thorns that were several centimeters long. Worse still, all the plants were growing so close together that there really was no path through them, he realized as he circled the whole mass.

For a moment, all he could feel was a sense of misery laden frustration and despair—all the earlier hurt and anger bubbling back up to the fore of his mind as he tried to think on what to do. He didn't have protective clothing to try and force his way through the thorns, nor did he have his sword or saxe to cut himself a safe path.

He looked around then for a really long stick or dead branch and found one. He tried to use it to reach his clothes, but there was nothing on the stick to hold whatever he tried to fetch in place. Even as he thought on trying to make some sort of hook on the end, he realized that the tangle was too thick: anything he might manage to hook would probably get caught and snagged on the thorns on the way back. Likewise, there were too many stems, branches, stumps and roots near the ground to try to use the stick to drag out his boots, sword, or knives either. His heart sank as he realized that he only had one option left to him.

He dropped the stick and turned to gather a handful of semi-large stones. When he would force his way through the brush, he would place stones on the ground and stand on them in order to avoid filling the pads of his feet with thorns. There was, however, nothing he could do to protect the rest of him. Cursing quietly and taking a deep breath, he went in, hissing softly in pain as he slowly forced his way through.

By the time he made it out again, he had decided that he thoroughly hated Gatherings. He wished miserably that he had never come. Tattered, torn, scraped, punctured, bleeding, aching, foot-sore, hungry, and weary of everything, he made his slow, slightly limping—despite the rocks he'd still managed to step on a few thorns, some of which had broken off before he could pull them out fully—way through the twilight, and then the dark, back towards the Gathering Grounds.

~x~X~x~

Halt's eyes narrowed, his mouth settling into a grim line as Gilan finished his story. The small spark of anger, that Halt had initially felt when Gilan had first taken off his tunic and shirt to show him the damage left by the thorn tangle and the raw skin on his wrists from the ropes, had yet to dissipate completely.

They had used the water that Gilan had heated, and a clean cloth, to clean all the scratches, gashes, and punctures that had littered his chest stomach, back and arms—as well as the few scratches on his face. Halt had then given him some salve to spread on the damaged skin. They'd also had to bandage his wrists to keep the raw, and still scabbing, skin clean until it could mend properly. Nothing about those injuries was at all serious; they were more of a nuisance than anything, but they were an uncomfortable one. Besides that, it was the principle behind how he had gotten them that was the problem.

"I suppose you could say that I got into a bit of a scrape," Gilan said then with wry half-smile.

"I suppose you could," Halt replied dryly. "A fairly nasty tangle."

Gilan let out a short laugh at that, the wry smile growing briefly before it slowly faded completely. A slight silence began to grow between them as the two sat quietly.

Gilan eventually moved again to hold his head in his hands as the silence continued, calmly staring into the firelight. Halt looked at him closely. Despite his joke, Halt knew Gilan well and so could tell that he was still bothered by the whole situation—even if he was fairly good at hiding it. He raised an eyebrow as he thought on it. He didn't really know how to help his young apprentice until he knew the root of what it was that was hurting him still, after all.

"Gilan," Halt began, "you said that they threatened you not to tell anyone what happened?"

Gilan snorted softly."Bullying, hazing: it all really comes down to power play, doesn't it?"

Halt nodded. "That's usually the way of it."

His apprentice shrugged as if to say: there you have it. "So, by telling someone…" he trailed, gesturing ineffectually with his hand; but Halt caught his point immediately. "Besides that," Gilan added, "you're… well, you're Halt," he finished, as if that explained everything.

"So you're not afraid of them—that they'll continue to come after you?"

Gilan shook his head. "Why would I be?"

It was Halt's turn to shrug as he tried again to find out what it was then that had gotten to his apprentice so badly.

"You're not upset that the things they said about you might be true?" he ventured, though he could hardly believe that that might be the case.

Gilan seemed to brush that idea off. "You made it pretty clear that that wasn't the way it worked when I first met you, remember?"

Halt nodded. He did recall having some such conversation with Gilan about applying to be a Ranger; and he vaguely remembered telling him something along the lines of: 'it doesn't matter who your parents are: it only matters who you are'.

"Then why even give them the time of day anymore?" Halt asked then, deciding to stop beating around the bush.

Gilan seemed a little taken aback by the direct question, and there was a moment of silence before he answered.

"It's just..." he tried to find the words he needed to explain the hurt that had been festering dully in him all day, "It's just that I've seen how close-knit Ranger's are, and I thought… I wanted…" his voice broke slightly and he cleared his throat, looking away.

So that was it. Halt realized that he probably should have been able to guess it.

The grizzled Ranger placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder. "I wasn't accepted by all the Rangers at first either, you know," he told him. "It took some time."

"But none of them tied you to a tree and made you go hunting for your clothes in a gorse bush."

"No," Halt said, allowing himself a faint smile, "I probably would have put an arrow through them if they'd tried that."

"I didn't know that was an option," Gilan said, essaying an attempt at a return smile.

"Believe me, it's usually always an option," Halt replied and then added, "You can have some food from our provisions if you're hungry. Also, do you have a spare undershirt that's clean?"

His apprentice nodded. "In my kit."

"Good; I wouldn't want you getting blood on one of mine."

Gilan chuckled slightly. "I never knew you cared so much, Halt."

Halt rummaged in Gilan's kit until he found the shirt in question. "Put it on when the salve finishes drying."

Gilan nodded, setting the clean shirt down near him. Halt also passed him the sack of provisions and Gilan selected some dried fruit and meat. However, once he had it, he only seemed to pick at it as he stared despondently into the fire. The experiences of the day were obviously still eating at him, despite Halt's attempt to talk him out of it.

Halt frowned at the sight; it was rare to see Gilan so down about something. Though the Grizzled Ranger would never admit it aloud, he had grown fond of Gilan's usually ever-cheerful and slightly mischievous manner. It could stand to be fixed, and Halt thought he had an idea on just how to do that. Halt already intended to have a word with Crowley and the mentors of all the apprentices involved, but that didn't mean that he couldn't take matters into his own hands a bit.

"I seem to recall," Halt said as he sat across from his apprentice, "that the masters of all the current apprentices are supposed to be meeting with Crowley as we speak. It's sort of a tradition, and these meetings usually last fairly late into the night. I actually would have been with them right now if I hadn't been waiting up for you."

Gilan looked up at him curiously, obviously wondering why exactly Halt was telling him this.

"But, since apprentices aren't allowed to attend these meetings, they are usually instructed to head off to bed early."

There were also several other reasons for the early turn in. The assessments for the apprentices started a few hours after breakfast and it was always good policy to get a good night's sleep before an exam. It would also give them a greater time to practice in the morning before the start of the test.

"My guess is that most of them are already asleep," Halt continued.

Gilan tilted his head to the side as he tried to puzzle out just what Halt was getting at.

"It's a very warm night tonight," Halt added pointedly; and he was right.

The grizzled Ranger caught a flash of understanding brightening his apprentice's eyes, and the beginnings of a genuine smile touching his lips.

Halt drove the point home anyway. "So I doubt that all of those apprentices will be sleeping in their full uniforms."

Halt saw a huge grin beginning to etch its way across Gilan's face for the first time that night.

"And you're not completely terrible at unseen and soundless movement after all."

"Thanks, Halt," Gilan said, pulling on his shirt and then finishing the rest of his snack in a couple bites. "I think that Blaze is a little restless and could use a walk before bed," he said, mimicking Halt's earlier non-concerned tone. Then he couldn't keep it up any longer and let out a soft laugh. "After all, I don't think I'd be able to carry everything on my own."

Halt nodded. "I think I'll come with you. Can't very well let you have all the fun without me."

Gilan beamed at him and then Halt noticed an impish sparkle come into the boy's eye.

"You wouldn't mind helping me with the added fun of patching all the tears and holes in my cloak and clothes and re-fletching my arrows too, would you?" he asked innocently, with a smile that was anything but.

"Sure," Halt said, "so long as you polish all of Abelard's tack and mend the sable roof when we get back to Redmont."

Gilan shot Halt a sorrowful look. "But those two jobs only need doing because you neglected them. My uniform and gear weren't destroyed because of me."

"I didn't neglect them, as you put it; I just decided it would be best to delegate them to you. After all, it's the apprentice's job is to do the housework and chores."

And with that, the two Rangers folded silently and expertly into the night, heading unwaveringly in the direction of Jenkin's tent.

~x~X~x~

The next morning, Gilan was the only apprentice at breakfast. The other apprentices hadn't answered the call to wake in the morning and there'd been no sign of them in their tents when their mentors had checked later: just bare footprints leading away into the woods. Gilan was also the only apprentice to take his place at the archery range, at the appointed time, to get in some practice before the exams.

However, a few hours in, a straggling line of six apprentices emerged from the forest and onto the edge of the training grounds just in time to see Gilan sink four arrows into the bull's eye of a target in quick succession. The six of them stopped short, eyes wide in surprise at the sight. They'd been training for a while and knew good shooting when they saw it. Needless to say, it wasn't the kind of shooting they expected to see from some foppish nobleman intent on ruining the Corps.

"Morning!" Gilan called cheerfully as he saw them. "I was wondering where you all had gone to."

All six of them were bedraggled, their clothing torn and snagged, and they were not in much better condition than their clothes. Several of them still had small sections of thorny branches tangled in their hair and cloaks. It was obvious where they had been, and obvious too, by the humor and mischief dancing in Gilan's eyes, that he knew as well—and definitely had something to do with it.

They all knew that they had been gotten back at. And they realized too the admitted skill needed to pull that off; again it didn't really seem in keeping with the image of a dropout knight turned fake Ranger. Also, he hadn't thrown their clothes as deeply into the brambles as they had done the day before—and he definitely could have. All the apprentices, except for Jenkin, shuffled their feet slightly, their expressions turning a little sheepish.

"You missed breakfast, you know," Gilan continued conversationally, "so I saved some."

He jerked his head in the direction of the edge of the field where there was a pack filled with the apples and flatbread that had been served for breakfast. It was an idea Gilan had gotten from something Halt had said a couple days before on the way to the Gathering: Whenever you best a man, find something in his actions to praise. He won't enjoy being bested, but he'll make a good face of it. Show him you appreciate it. Praise can win you friends, but gloating only ever makes enemies.

It wasn't really the same sort of situation exactly, but it was the part about not gloating that had caught his attention. There wasn't really anything about the other apprentices' actions that he could praise, but he could do something thoughtful instead. It left the equivalent of an olive branch ready to be taken by any one of them if they chose.

Rodric was the first to do just that. He grinned and stepped forwards.

"Thanks, Gilan," he said, then added good-naturedly as he passed. "And if I ever decide to get into a prank war with you, please remind me that it'd be a bad idea."

Soon after, all the other followed his example; all except for Jenkin. He was bedraggled, sore, tired, and, on top of that, he was angry and embarrassed to have been bested that morning—by a first year no less. But he had good sense enough to realize that he'd deserved it—asked for it even. He also had sense enough to realize that he'd perhaps judged the new first year far too quickly. In fact, Gilan had already shown that he behaved with far more dignity and honor than Jenkin had done—not to mention the fact that he might even prove to be more than a match when it came to Ranger skills. Jenkin's face fell and the anger drained out of him to be replaced with the uncomfortable feeling of guilt mixed with a touch of humiliation. He shuffled his feet slightly, thinking on what to do.

Gilan who had been watching him carefully, at first expecting that this might turn into a fight, saw Jenkin's hesitation and change in expression and stance and realized that he was searching for a way to apologize without actually having to apologize. Gilan saved him the trouble.

"Since this is my first Gathering, I don't really know what to expect with the assessments. I'd appreciate any tips you could give me."

Jenkin realized what he was doing and smiled gratefully, genuinely, brushing off the awkwardness that had gripped him. "Only if you promise to teach me how you managed to sneak into my tent in the middle of the night without my hearing you." He said reaching out a hand.

"Deal," Gilan said, clasping arms with him.

The two of them set off to join the others. And, this time, Gilan didn't get that same sense of forced friendliness and fakeness that he'd sensed the day before. For the first time since he'd come, he finally felt the comforting realization that he was indeed a part of this tightly knit group, and the warm sense of belonging that came with it.

"So, do you really know how to use that sword you carry?" Rodric asked with awed curiously from around a mouthful of food.

Halt, Crowley, and the mentors of the other apprentices looked at the unfolding scene with quiet approval.

"Well it looks as if that's worked itself out well enough," Crowley remarked.

Halt nodded, "Just wish I knew how those apprentices got that idea in their heads in the first place."

Jenkin's mentor flushed and looked down. "That might have been my fault," he said slowly.

When he saw the eyes of the others turned questioningly on him he spoke, almost reluctantly.

"Leon, Henry's mentor, and I met up on the road to the Gathering about two days ago. I remember that, the day we met, we had sent our apprentices to fetch wood for the fire… and, while they were gone, I remember making a joke about you and your new apprentice."

Leon's eyes widened with understanding as he remembered the conversation.

"I hear Halt's finally got himself an apprentice. Can you believe it? "

"Really? Halt?" Leon remembered replying, surprised.

"I was talking with Crowley a couple months ago and that's what he said. Halt's got an apprentice; the son of a knight no less. It seems we'll be having a young noble joining: I just wonder how much he and his family had to pay before they managed to bribe the Corps to let him in, and then saddle Halt with him? It must have been absolutely exorbitant."

Leon had grinned. "It'll be like the days of Morgarath's control all over again. I just hope he won't single-handedly destroy the Rangers."

"Who knows, it might not be single-handed. We could be getting more—once you let one in, and all that."

"Well it's not like we can do anything about it," Leon had added, suppressing a chuckle, "after all, we're not the Commandant."

"I think my apprentice might have overheard that conversation and mistook our words, or thought we were being serious. After all, I've told him before about how Morgarath nearly destroyed the Corps—and Jenkin, well, Jenkin has never been very good at taking, or even getting, jokes."

"Which would, of course, have given them plenty of time before the Gathering to try and think up a way to save the Corps from another foppish noble takeover," Crowley put in, unable to keep himself from laughing, "since the Ranger Commandant was obviously too corrupted by blackmail and greed to do anything about it."

Halt raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Those apprentices might actually have a point there, all things considered."

Crowley shot his friend a wounded look that was only partially spoiled by his inability to completely hide his smile. "You know, most people might not consider it politic to make such hurtful and erroneous accusations against their commanding officer."

"But none of those people are Halt," Leon said with a chuckle.

"True." Halt nodded, completely deadpan. Then he turned his attention back to Jenkin's mentor. "All the same, It would probably be for the best if you were more careful with your humor when young Jenkin's around. At least until you've explained the concept a little better to him."

Jenkin's mentor seemed about to protest before he shrugged. "Considering everything that's happened, I think you just might have a point there."

The End

A/N: Thanks again for reading. Let me know if you think there is anywhere I can improve and I'll try my best to fix it. Feedback is always appreciated. So I hope this didn't seem too far fetched. I know that Rangers are supposed to hold themselves to a higher standard than most (Meralon aside apparently) but I hope a came up with a believable reason why those apprentices (especially Jenkin) acted like they did, without compromising the integrity of the Ranger Corps in the process. XD

Side Note: Also to those who have read my other RA stories, I promise that I haven't forgotten about Hides or Messenger Hawks, I've got the outlines and a few snippets for them, and I'll try to get them out as soon as I can get some free time and inspiration.

~ATGTJ~