Rangers Apprentice

Halt used to wake him up with some variation of: “Up. You’re already late, which in the real world, means you're already dead.”

Now, Will woke to:

“Up. We’ve only got two hours before Pauline has me eating pastries again.”

It wasn’t the worst wake-up call he’d ever had; he shuddered to recall the first couple of months of his apprenticeship, where his mentor would sometimes, deviously, dump a bucket of ice water on his head. Still, Will didn’t think he’d ever imagined a world where Halt O’Carrick had to choose between training his apprentice and attending a cake-tasting appointment.

Two hours of drills, followed by Halt pausing mid-sentence during a lecture on wind direction to say, “Damn it, I’m late,” before galloping off toward Castle Redmont like a hunted man… leaving Will alone to train without supervision.

Which, to his credit, he did. Mostly.

All right—he did. Halt checked. Constantly.

It happened again today. Will had barely finished his final set of knife throws when Halt reappeared, dismounting Abelard with the weary resignation of a man who had been made to sample twenty-three varieties of frosting.

“I sincerely hope,” Halt said, “that you’ve at least pretended to train while I was gone.”

“I did,” Will answered, panting slightly. “All of it.”

Halt grunted. “Good. Cause I have to leave again.”

“Let me guess,” Will said. “Another cake?”

“Worse.” Halt’s expression somehow became even more grim. “Dancing.”

Will snorted. Halt glared.

Will stopped snorting immediately, and he assumed an innocent look.

It repeated throughout the months—sporadic, unfinished lessons cut short by the demands of an upcoming wedding.

But now…

Now the wedding was tomorrow.

And today: the rehearsal.

Will had certainly faced more absurd situations in his apprenticeship than most people saw in a lifetime--wild boars, Wargals, slavery, ambushes, months of sickness and withdrawal, and nightmares thick as fog.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared him for watching Halt try to rehearse his own wedding.

The entire affair was held in the castle’s small chapel, its stone walls echoing every awkward shuffle. Every murmured direction from the woman with the clipboard who told everyone where to go and what to do. Baron Arald stood at the front, puffed up with pride and unofficial authority as he practiced the words.

“Now,” Arald boomed, “you will pretend to exchange rings.”

Halt muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’m exchanging my dignity, that’s what,” and Pauline elbowed him sharply in the ribs without even breaking her serene smile.

Will had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop from bursting out laughing. It wasn’t every day one got to witness Halt O’Carrick suffer through something civilized.

Honestly, that was half the reason Will hadn’t attempted to slip out of the chapel already.

The other half-- he glanced sideways--was Alyss.

She stood next to him in pale blue, the fabric brushing lightly against her arms whenever she shifted. Gold glinted faintly through her hair where it caught the afternoon light. She looked poised, composed, quietly radiant in a way that made Will’s breath catch unpleasantly in his throat if he thought about it too long.

And she was trying very hard not to laugh at Halt, too. Her shoulders trembled with restraint. And each time her eyes flicked to Will’s, mischief danced there--conspiratorial mischief.

A gentle, soothing warmth loosened something inside him. It always did around her.

He’d known Alyss for so long that there wasn’t a point in his memory where she wasn’t simply… there. Before they could even talk, before they understood what the words orphan or loneliness meant, before the ward had felt like a collection of lost children instead of the place where the two of them had found family. She had been his family before he even knew what family was.

She had always been home for him.

Even now, standing in the chapel, even with Halt grumbling about imaginary rings and Arald posing and puffing and the whole ceremony lifting them all out of their natural element, Alyss was the thing grounding Will. The thing that made him feel steady instead of ridiculous.

And she didn’t even realize she was doing it.

Or maybe she did. Will didn't know. Alyss always understood more than she said.

He’d been fifteen when she’d kissed him-- soft, sudden, and over before he’d even had the chance to second-guess its meaning. It had shifted something in him, something in their relationship, something he hadn’t had time to examine because everything in his life had collapsed into ruins almost immediately afterward. The war. Celtica. Slavery. Skandia. Cassandra.

Cassandra.

He drew a quiet breath as he thought of her.

He owed the princess everything. His life, his sanity, his happiness. She’d fought for him when he couldn’t fight for himself. Dragged his mindless body through ice and snow, listened to him, and held him through tremors, nausea, sobbing, and seizure fits he didn't remember. Cassandra had been the reason he survived the warmweed haze that had nearly and almost completely eaten him alive.

There had been a point where she’d thought it was love.

There had been a point where he wasn’t sure it wasn’t.

But Will was practical. Painfully so. Somewhere in the lonely weeks of recovery from the drug, before they found Halt and Horace, reality had settled over him like the bitter frost from outside of their little cabin: princesses simply didn’t end up with ranger apprentices, and certainly not broken ones. Certainly not formally drug addicted, orphaned nobodies. And that was the end of it for Will. That was the moment he knew that anything they had, or might have had, was over. 

He’d come back to Redmont thinner, jittery, fragile in ways that made him feel overly exposed, and most of all heartbroken. Cassandra had attempted to lure him to Araluen, she had unobtrusively asked him to stay with her. 

And he knew he had to turn her down. 

He hadn't seen her since. 

And he felt it was eating him alive. 

Thank God for Halt kicking his butt back into training. 

And Thank God for Alyss.

He had gone to see Alyss as soon as he could following their return. 

And from what little glimpses he'd allowed her to see-- he knew that she knew. Alyss had seen all of it. 

Their first conversations had been awkward, careful, short. He hadn’t known what rumors she’d heard at first. Which ones were true enough to hurt her, and which ones weren’t.

But Alyss never assumed.

She never really asked either. 

Alyss understood without needing the full picture.

And she stayed.

And slowly, the distance dissolved as the years passed.

As he healed, so did whatever had bent between them. And by the last year of their apprenticeships, she was at the cabin nearly every other evening, books in hand, some excuse on her lips that fooled neither Halt nor Pauline--nor Will, really, if he was being painfully honest.

“I need quiet to study,” she would say, as if Redmont Castle didn’t offer that in abundance.

“The light on your porch is better,” she would claim, despite the fact that half the time they ended up in Will’s room instead, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the floor with scrolls spread between them.

“I was already riding this direction,” she’d insist, which fooled absolutely no one, considering the cabin was nowhere near the city routes she usually walked.

Halt saw through her instantly, but liked her enough to not care, or maybe he just truly liked her for her company, or the awkwardness she drew out of Will sometimes. And Will… well, Will attempted to pretend he wasn’t affected by her presence, though the way his face warmed whenever she smiled ruined that attempt completely.

Those nights were gentle and treasured in a way Will hadn’t realized he'd ever miss.

They’d study on the porch as the last streaks of sun sank down into the horizon. Sometimes they’d talk about their lessons; other times about entirely nothing--whether dogs were more trouble than they were worth, or which tower guard snored loudest, or how Gilan would absolutely lose a bet Will had planned.

And sometimes they didn’t talk at all.

Sometimes silence was enough.

Alyss would sit close, her knee brushing his. She’d tuck her hair behind her ear when she concentrated, unaware that Will’s eyes followed the movement every time. She’d lean her head against his shoulder when the stars began to appear, soft and warm and completely natural, as if she’d always belonged right there, folded into his side. Like two pieces of a puzzle.

And his arm… well, eventually it just found its way around her waist. Never rushed. Never awkward. Just easy, as if his body had known before he did.

Halt would step quietly to the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching the two of them under the porch lantern. He never interrupted immediately. He let them talk, let them drift toward each other with the shy gravity of two people who hadn’t yet admitted what they were slowly and quietly becoming.

Watching young love tread into real love was something Halt had thought he was too old, too cynical, and too scarred to find beautiful.

Turns out he was wrong.

Because some nights, it was beautiful in a way that tightened even his throat. His apprentice--his son in every way that mattered--had survived so much darkness.

And seeing Will softening again, seeing him choosing joy, choosing companionship, choosing Alyss…

Halt would have gladly stood there until the lantern burned out.

But, of course, he was still Halt.

So when the evening grew late, he stepped out onto the porch with all the gruff authority of a man who had been pretending not to eavesdrop for twenty minutes.

“Some of us actually have to be up early for work,” he’d announce dryly.

Alyss always lifted her head reluctantly, as if drearily waking from a dream.

“Oh--right. Yes. Responsibilities. Those.”

Halt raised an eyebrow at her and fought the smile playing on his lips. “Yes. Those.”

Alyss would rise, gather her books, then turn to Will with that soft, secret smile that unraveled something low in his stomach.

“Goodnight, Will,” she’d murmur—and before he could brace for it, she’d lean in and kiss him gently on the cheek.

It didn’t matter how many times she did it.

Will always blushed hot enough to warm the entire porch.

He’d walk her to her horse, trying desperately to seem composed while Alyss mounted with the same graceful ease that had always undone him. She’d squeeze his hand before she took off down the forest path--a brief, feather-light touch that left him standing in the dark long after she had disappeared toward the castle.

Then he’d turn around and see Halt on the porch.

Arms crossed. Smirk firmly in place. Head shaking slightly like he was watching a comedy he’d predicted every line of.

“What?” Will would demand, trying to hide his mortification.

“Oh nothing,” Halt would say in a tone that meant absolutely everything.

“Just… observing. As Rangers do so well.”

Will groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“Perhaps.” Halt shrugged. “But I’m not blind, unlike you."

Will would turn redder. “Halt—”

“Relax, Will, you’re an adult now,” Halt cut in, voice softening. “Even if you do still act like a startled rabbit whenever she kisses you.”

Will spluttered, but Halt only clapped a firm hand on his shoulder and hid a grin.

He had only recently realized with a jolt that those nights were coming to an end with his mentor's upcoming marriage. Or at least, Halt's presence during those nights was coming to an end. He supposed he would still have Alyss over, but only this time, Halt would likely not be around. He didn't know why exactly that put a sadness in his heart, but it did. 

After the chapel practice, the small group gathered for the informal rehearsal dinner in the great hall. 

Will sat beside Alyss, not intentionally; it just happened. As most things do with her. 

And when the dinner had ended, and Halt and Pauline were shaking hands with the Baron for his generosity in hosting, Will automatically-- instinctively-- offered his arm to Alyss to walk her to her rooms. 

They walked down the long corridors together, neither saying much to fill the silence since the silence itself wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, it just... didn't need to be filled. 

"Do you have your speech prepared for tomorrow?" Alyss asked, giving his arm a comforting squeeze as she did so. Will had never been one for public speaking, and she recalled a conversation following their mentor's engagement where Will commented nervously on the idea that, as Halt's best man, he would need to make a speech. She remembered him being petrified at the idea of not only speaking to all his friends, but his superiors as well, especially Crowley. Alyss was surprised that Crowley was the one who struck the most nerve, but Will explained that Crowley and Halt had been best friends for years. 

"What if Crowley resents me? What if he thinks I stole Halt's attention?? What if he's angry that I'm his best man instead of him, and my pitiful speech just proves it?" 

Alyss had soothed him as much as she could, but she understood where he was coming from.

She always did.

“You didn’t steal him,” she reminded him again now, seeing the same blue thoughts racing around inside his head. She smiled faintly as they slowed near the familiar corridor that led to her rooms. “You earned him. Halt doesn’t "give" himself to people lightly.”

Will huffed a quiet laugh. “That might be the nicest way anyone’s ever described him.”

Alyss huffed, "Well it's true. He loves you because you're great, he chose you because he knew you would be great, and you'll be great tomorrow too, Will." Her voice got quieter as she finished her thought, and Will looked up to meet her shining grey eyes and found himself having to catch his breath. She was beautiful. She truly was. 

He swallowed and dropped his eyes as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

"Well," she said softly, "thank you for walking me back."

"Of course," his voice. So raspy and unnatural. It felt strange and foreign in his own throat. 

He met her eyes again, and this time he thought he saw similar thoughts racing behind her own, and thought for a second that maybe... just maybe... 

No. There's no way. She doesn't feel the same; she couldn't. Look at her. 

He did. He really did, his eyes bore into hers for moments that felt like eternity, aching, tormenting eternity. 

Her gaze drifted to his lips. 

His breath hitched. 

They stood there, locked in that suspended moment where both people know exactly what they want and exactly why they’re afraid to reach for it.

Her hand lifted, brushing his cheek.

Will exhaled shakily, leaning into her touch, "Alyss," he rasped. God, that voice again. It doesn't even sound like his own. 

She smiled at him-- small, and certain, and so devastatingly warm. 

And suddenly Will's brain shut off. 

He didn't think. Didn't weigh consequences. 

Didn't second-guess. 

"Fuck it," he whispered in that unfamiliar voice of his as he cupped her face and kissed her. 

She inhaled sharply against his mouth--and then melted into him with a soft, eager sound that shot straight through him.

The years between them collapsed into dust.

All the longing, the tense closeness, the accidental touches, the suppressed desires. They all ignited into a colossal bonfire. 

Her hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer, and he pressed her back against the door, kissing her deeper as if everything he'd held back for years surged through him all at once. 

He fumbled blindly for the handle-- 

She did too--

The door swung inward, neither knew exactly who had opened it. 

And they stumbled into her quarters, breathless and laughing into each other's mouths as they continued their frantic kissing. 

Alyss unclasped his cloak, pushing it off his shoulders as it collapsed to the ground in a soft thud. 

Will slipped her shawl from her arms, his fingers brushing the warm skin beneath.

She gasped when his hands found her waist.

He kissed down her jawline, slow and reverent, and she shuddered, tightening her grip on his shoulders.

Her lips trailed along his neck, drawing a low groan from him that he hadn’t intended to make.

They moved blindly, exploring each other, heat rising between them like a tidal wave neither had the strength or desire to resist anymore.

And at some point, Alyss's back bumped the arm of the couch--

She lost her balance with a surprised yelp--

Will caught her waist, twisting her around as they toppled together-- Will hitting the cushions first, Alyss landing atop him with a breathless oof.

Her hands braced against his chest; his arms wrapped instinctively around her lower back, holding her securely against him.

They stared at each other, neither completely capable of reading the other's thoughts. 

Their breaths mingled, quick, uneven, and warm. 

And then-- 

Simultaneously, they burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter. 

Alyss collapsed fully against him, giggling into his shoulder.

Will laughed helplessly beneath her, the sheer joy and adrenaline from the last ten minutes coursing through his veins with such force he felt he might just float right off the couch. 

The laughter slowly softened, and Alyss lifted her head from his chest. 

Will cupped her cheek gently, "I love you," he said. Surprising himself once again, as it slipped out of his mouth, honest and instinctive. 

Alyss’s eyes widened just slightly, then warmed like a sunrise.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “I always have.”

They kissed again--slower this time. Deliberate. A promise rather than an explosion. 

They eventually broke apart only to resume kissing… and then talking… and then kissing again, losing track of time completely until Will finally, reluctantly, forced himself to leave before dawn threatened.

He slipped out of her room…hair rumpled, lips swollen, jerkin crooked and unevenly buttoned, and his heart pounding.

No one would notice. Right? 

Oh, was he wrong. 

---

Halt was sitting on the porch when Will arrived, arms crossed, hood up, the picture of an unimpressed, disappointed dad whose son had majorly broken curfew. 

Will froze halfway up the steps as he noticed him. 

Halt raised one eyebrow slowly. 

Will opened his mouth.

Closed it. 

Opened it again-- and closed it just as fast. And cleared his throat. 

Halt's eyebrow climbed higher. 

Will tried again. “Evening.”

“It’s nearly early morning,” Halt said blandly. “But who’s counting.”

Will swallowed.

Halt gestured vaguely at him. “Your hair is a disaster. Your shirt is buttoned incorrectly. And you’re… glowing,” he finished with a frown as if he couldn't find a better substitute for the cliche word. 

“I’m not glowing,” Will muttered.

“You are,” Halt said. “It’s disgusting.”

Will stared at the floorboards, ears burning with embarrassment as he realized he couldn't exactly hide this from his mentor. “Are you… mad?”

“Mad?” Halt scoffed as he stood from the chair. “Will, you’re in your final year. You’re an adult. And Alyss…” He paused, unexpectedly softening as he saw the visible reaction from his apprentice when he said her name.

“Alyss is good for you,” he finished simply. 

Will looked up, surprised.

Halt sighed. “Besides, I’d be a hypocrite to scold anyone the night before my wedding.”

Will blinked, then smirked. “You're not nervous, are you, Halt?”

Halt glared. “I am the picture of composure.”

Halt’s glare held for precisely three seconds--then flickered.

And Will caught it. Of course he did.

The corner of his mouth twitched. “You are nervous.”

"Am not," 

"Are too," 

Halt sniffed. “I have faced Wargals, assassins, and the training of two insolent apprentices without so much as a raised pulse.”

“And yet,” Will said mildly, “you’ve been awake since before dawn.”

A pause.

“That is called vigilance, young man.”

Will’s smile softened, teasing giving way to something warmer, but still proper teasing. “She’s going to be beautiful.”

Halt didn’t respond at once. When he did, his voice was quieter, obviously ignoring the tease in his apprentice's voice. “She always is.”

Will hid the shock in his face incredibly well for having witnessed such an uncharacteristic flair of emotion from his grim, tough-love mentor. 

Halt studied him again for a moment, taking in his disastrous state, and the unmistakable light in his eyes he wasn't even attempting to hide.

"You should fix your buttons; they look stupid." 

Will glanced down, as if he noticed them for the first time, and hurriedly began adjusting them. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Halt paused, then added, more quietly, “And get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

“Yes, sir,” Will repeated, a little louder this time.

He hesitated on the threshold, then looked back. “Halt?”

Halt grunted in acknowledgment.

“…I'm glad you're happy.”

Halt looked at the boy in the doorway, trying his very hardest to hide the proud shine in his eyes. He hesitated, then: "I'm glad you're happy too, son." 

The word lingered between them.

Both pretending not to be touched. And both pretending not to notice. 

Will swallowed, something tight and unfamiliar catching in his throat. He nodded once, sharply, as if trusting his voice might betray him. “Good night, Halt.”

“Good night,” Halt said.

Will slipped inside, the door closing softly behind him.

Halt remained where he was for a moment longer, listening to the quiet footsteps of the boy he'd raised settle into the house he raised him in. He drew a slow breath, steadying himself, then turned his gaze toward the paling sky.