Ranger's Bane.

Chapter one *rewritten*

Hey people, this is my.first story.

(A/n 9/29/13 I've started rewriting this. After I rewrite all the already written chapters I will continue with new material.) 

.

..

I wince internally as my knee hit the floor, that's gonna leave a mark. Its funny, the little thoughts that fly through your head when you're preoccupied. A kick to the stomach jolts me out of my reverie. I look up with hate saturated eyes at Gregory Sliffton, the brawny boy is my archnemisis.

He is everything I am not; he is popular, handsome, rich, and, worst off, wanted by his parent. He lives here because his father is battlemaster and one of the king's most esteemed knights, and he never lets me forget that. He revels in attention. And the simplest way to get it is to pick loud fights. If he had bullied anyone else, he probably would have been disciplined. But I didn't make a fuss about it. I didn't need whiny, tattle tale, or wimp added to the ready vocabulary used to describe me.

I struggle to my feet and , for the upteenth time, blow at the little lock of my brownish-goldish-auburnish hair that always manages to find my face at the most inconvenient times. Breathing hard, I rake my arm towards his smirking face. He, in turn, slams his fat fist into my right cheek.

I swear as I feel the hot blood ooze from the scar on my cheek. My own mother gave it to me witha kitchen knife. Then again, she didn't know it was me.  She left my father when he took to a grittier style of life.  She thought I was a petty theif at the time.  Things went downhill from there. Needless to say that slant of silver was just a reminder of other unpleasant things.

"it's on" I hiss through gritted teeth. My hand slides to the twin knives sheathed on each of my hips. I honestly don't know why they let me carry them. I have a history of anger, violence, and lack of temper control. Maybe it's the adults small kindness because they don't actually do anything about bullies. I can throw them with accuracy and Greg knows that, but before they slid out of their sheaths, a rough hand grabs both of our shirtbacks and yanks us apart.

"Whoah-woh-woah, wait a sec. No need to draw knives here."

It's the Ranger Gilan. His face is as composed, if tired, as ever. He looks serious, but there's a gleam of fun always present behind those eyes. He frowns slightly and looks between our faces. "Alright. Who wants to tell me what is going on."

"Aryann started it!" Snapped Greg, his fat lips pulling a babyish pout.

"I did no such thing!" I swing my leg at him indignantly.

"did too!"

"did not!"

"too!"

"not!"

Then, the Ranger cut in "would you two stop bickering like five-year-olds!"

"but she was about to stick me with one of her knives" whined Greg. God, he was so used to getting what he wanted. The withering look sent his way by the ranger lifted my spirits exponentially.

"I wouldn't want to stick you if you hadn't tripped me!" I shot back.

The Ranger looked slightly annoyed at this point and murmured in a low voice, "if you two don't shut up, I'm going to report you to the baron and get you sent to farms for the rest of your lives!"

Today was choosing day, so that seemed like a perfectly reasonable threat. Well to me. I'm certain Greg's father would find a way to worm him out.

"it doesn't matter to Aryann, that's where she's going anyways" Greg mocked.

That struck a nerve. I'd spent the last thee years enduring comments like that. With only 3hours until the choosing, I wasn't going to take much more. Just because I wasn't really an orphan, didn't have many friends, and didn't wear dresses didn't mean all I was good for was menial labor. Plus, this might be my last chance to teach him a lesson.

I writhed out of the ranger's grasp and threw myself at Greg, whose smugly smirking face turns to a countenance of fear. Good, I thought, jabbing my elbow into his side. He gave me a solid uppercut that I shook off and went back to biteing, kicking, and scratching every inch of him i could and getting the same in return.

Again the ranger's iron grip yanked us apart and held us away from one another.

"That's it. I'm personally escorting both of you to breakfast and making sure you sit on either end of the hall." He reprimanded, but still there was a hint of amusement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Gilan)

When, Will got an apprentice last year, it set me thinking, do I want a young person to teach? Or more accurately, did I feel like testing my patience for more than half a decade? This year, I realized I did, at the very least, it means I don't have to clean the cabin for seven years. I grinned to myself at the loving mistreatment new apprentices received. Maybe I wouldn't be a Halt, but he had taught me a thing or two.

So last week I came to the castle to see the wards and decide who had the merits of a Ranger.

I've analyzed their personalities and no one is a perfect fit. Gregory Sliffton and his cronies, Harold Runsworth and Woody Nustlet are arrogant and thick skulled, perfect battleschool choices. Theodore Articello is nice, but quiet and philosophical. Robin Drakes, Madelina Furrows, and Lycette Kopling are all bratty and cruel. Only one ward shows potential, already knowledgeable in knife throwing, stealth, and quick thinking, Aryann Renaissan would already be my apprentice, but I have misgivings about teaching a girl.

I mused about this over breakfast. The pastries here are a nice break from porridge in my cottage. Not that I mind it, just, a little variety is nice. Coffee is another nice thing. My mind wandered, intentionally distracting me from my paramount decision. Did I want to break tradition and teach a girl? I was relatively certain the Core would be fine with the decision. After all, rangers had to improvise and think in unconventional manners.

A voice in my head repeated my old maxim "what would Halt do?" With that in mind I set to thinking.