“Not a bad idea to have a bit of respect shown. Perhaps you could call me ‘sir’ as well,” he said, turning his face away to study the tree line to one side so that Will couldn’t see the faint trace of a grin that insisted on breaking through. Aghast, Will choked over his answer. He couldn’t believe his ears. “Sir?” he said finally. “You really want me to call you ‘sir,’ Gilan?” Then, as Gilan frowned slightly at him, he amended hurriedly and in great confusion: “I mean, sir! You want me to call you ‘sir’…sir?” Gilan shook his head. “No. I don’t think ‘Sir-Sir’ is suitable. Nor ‘Sir Gilan.’ I think just the one ‘sir’ would do nicely, don’t you?” Will couldn’t think of a polite way of phrasing what was in his mind, and gestured helplessly with his hands. Gilan continued. “After all, it’ll do nicely to keep us all remembering who’s in charge of this party, won’t it?” Finally, Will found his voice. “Well, I suppose it will, Gil…I mean, sir.” He shook his head, surprised at this sudden demand for formality from his”
―
John Flanagan,
The Burning Bridge
