Ranger Gathering

Ok so this an AU, and in this AU Norman, the hermit Halt met up in the Mountains of Rain and Night, is not there and Halt's silly little adventure up there goes a bit different. That's all I'm going to say about it.

The climb had been long, treacherous and exhausting, but Halt finally made it to the top of the blasted Mountains of Rain and Night. Morgarath was up here somewhere and if Halt could just get a clear shot of him…

No. He couldn't. That's not why he was here as hard as it was for him to admit it. He was here to see if Morgarath had been recruiting and training beasts known as Wargals and nothing else – and so far he had discovered quite a bit about the strange creatures. As much as he wanted to stick an arrow into the traitorous baron’s dead heart, he couldn't. Morgarath’s justice would have to come some other day, no matter how long that would be. 

He could spy some Wargals wobbling around the terrain carrying armour and weapons. Some of them were clumsy with their movements as if they hadn't yet gotten used to the idea of being burdened with the heavy things in such a way. Halt decided that for now, they weren't too much of a threat. If they spotted him he could easily shoot them between the cracks in their armour. If they got up close, however, that's where the real trouble would lie. Those massive paws or hands or whatever you would call them would crush his bones and spill his blood everywhere in an instant. 

Grunts and beastly groans seemed to be the only sounds they were capable of. Halt supposed it would really start to grate on the nerves after a good while and he wondered how Morgarath was putting up with it so far. He hoped it was a sort of torture for him. 

He snuck around in a wide path, far away from the mindless beasts. There were some large ragged rocks up ahead and he made his way towards them, planning to assess his situation while sheltered there. 

Two things he knew for sure about this place: there were too many Wargals roaming around, and too much open space. He would have to be very careful in order to not get caught. There would be stretches of land up here where if the creatures even looked his way, he could be caught. He couldn’t decide what was more dangerous – the steep uphill climb up the ragged cliffs, or the ever roaming Wargals.

He was trying to formulate a plan of action in his mind, a way to get around everything with as little risk as possible. He quietly and slowly peeked around the rock he was up against, seeing how close they were to him. Not too close, a good distance between him. He was just about to slowly move back into the safety of the rock when something caught his attention. Or more accurately, someone. 

There was a man surrounded by three Wargals. He was a fair bit of distance away so it was difficult for Halt to make out any features, but he could see his hair and beard were white with age, and was clothed with a plain grey cloak. He didn’t look like he was in trouble with the Wargals. He was standing casually as were the furry beasts, and he looked like he was talking to him. He must be one of Morgarath’s human officers. But something about the man seemed all too familiar. It gnawed at Halt’s mind, a name and face buzzing around at the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite grasp and apply to the man.

The Wargals dispersed from the man, attending to their other duties. The man stood there for a little bit longer, looking around him as if he were lost and didn’t know what to do next. Then he turned in Halt’s direction and began to walk towards him. Halt knew he couldn’t duck back now. If he could see the man, the man would most likely be able to see any movement he would make. He would have to trust the cloak as the mantra went, and hope he was concealed well enough from his sight. 

The man wasn’t stopping his approach, coming closer and closer, but the face was also becoming more and more clear. The familiar feeling and distant name and face grew with each step he took, until finally, he grabbed them and identified the man. 

No, he thought numbly. That’s impossible. 

The man stopped, casually taking stock of his surroundings. Almost too casually. His gaze drifted around the mountains until finally it lowered down to where Halt hid. If it was any other person, they wouldn’t have been capable of spotting him. But this was someone who was experienced in the ranger’s ways of hiding, specifically this ranger. He continued to approach.

Halt leaned back, not bothering to hide anymore. He had been seen and there was nothing he could do about it. He stared at the old man in denial, astonishment and complete and utter confusion. How the hell is he here? 

The man kneeled down in front of Halt and gave him a warm smile. It was a smile Halt had seen many times before, and one he never thought he’d ever see again. There was one difference that separated it from the others however, and that was the tears that were flooding the man’s eyes. 

“You’re here,” he choked, his voice his own. “Oh my god, I never thought I’d see you again.” He held Halts shoulders tightly, gripping him like if he didn’t get a good hold his kid would slip away from him again.

“What?” Halt started, words escaping him. “Why are you- How are you-?”

The man glanced behind him and pushed Halt back into the safe shadows of the rocks before answering his question. “I know, it’s weird. But it’s okay. It’s me, Halt. I promise you it’s me.”

“But… you died. I saw it!” His heart started racing at a speed not even Abelard could reach. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, WHAT THE HELL!

“That wasn’t me.”

“What? What do you mean ‘it wasn’t you’? I saw you! You were dead! You can’t come back from that! Who are you?” Panic began to rise in his chest. This man before him was so similar to the man he thought he had lost, but he knew that wasn’t possible. 

“I’m me. I’m Pritchard. I promise I can explain everything to you.”

“No, you can’t!” Halt whispered fiercely. He knew he had to keep his voice down in order to not get caught, but god, he really wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both. “You’re dead! I know what I saw! I don’t know who you are but I swear if you don’t start talking…” his let his voice trail off but his hand found the hilt of his saxe knife, fingers curling tightly around it. 

Pritchard, if that really was his name, noticed this and held up his hands in surrender, talking in a low soothing tone. “Alright, alright. You don’t need to pull that out. Just, let me explain everything. I know it may seem crazy but I promise it’s the truth.” Halt didn’t say anything, only continued to glare at him, his grip not loosening. Pritchard lifted his shirt sleeve up and turned his wrist around, showing the agitated ranger the bottom side of it. There was a birthmark stretched across it. Halt looked at it, his eyes widening ever so slightly in recognition. Pritchard then tapped his left cheek, bringing attention to a thin scar that was faintly visible behind his beard. It matched one of Halt’s own scars. 

“Remember this?” he said. “How many people do you think are out there that look exactly like me and have my birthmark and scars? It’s me, Halt.”

Halt shook his head in disbelief. “But, I saw you.” His voice had lost the sharp, defensive edge it previously had, instead sounding small and broken. 

“I know you did,” Pritchard tightened his grip on his kid. “At least, I know you thought you did. But that wasn’t me. Can you just let me explain?”

Halt went numb. He stared at the man who had come to mean so much to him, but was believed to be dead. Silently, he gave a small nod.

“I’m sure you could guess what mostly happened,” Pritchard started. “I found the tunnel entrance at Castle Gorlan and was checking it out. But one of Morgarath’s parties had stayed behind to guard it for the time being and they ambushed me. They were about to kill me. But then their commander stopped them and said something like that Morgarath could ‘use me.’ They captured me. Right before they were about to leave they saw someone in their group that looked shockingly similar to me. I know it’s hard to believe, but you should have seen him. We were almost identical. It was amazing, really. But they decided it would be best if they had everyone believe I was dead, that way there was no risk of anyone coming after them to find me. So they made us swap clothes and they killed him in my place.”

Halt stared at the ground. He was trying to comprehend everything he just heard, but the images of the body were flashing through his mind. He had been so sure it was Pritchard. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised the memory wasn’t entirely accurate. He started to pinpoint the differences between the two men, differences he had not noticed at the time, being blinded by grief and rage as he was. When he looked at the body later with slightly calmer eyes, he had just put the strange appearance up to the fact it was a dead body. No one completely looks like themselves when they’re dead after all. But now that he had the story, everything about the body that made it someone else’s was glaringly obvious. 

“It wasn’t you,” Halt said, a quiet fury beginning to surge up inside of him. “We had a funeral for you. We buried that body. And the whole time it wasn’t you?”

“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Halt,” Pritchard said while rubbing his apprentice’s shoulder in a relaxing manner he had done many times before. “Given the circumstances it makes sense. I had disappeared, and a little shortly after a body that looks like me and is wearing my clothes shows up? If anything it would be less logical to assume it wasn’t me.”

“Have you been up here the whole time?”

Pritchard nodded. “I was kept under much tighter surveillance for a while, but I guess Morgarath believes I won’t be able to escape past the Wargals. Which is probably true. I can walk around now but I can’t go out of their sight. In fact, if they found out I was here I would probably get punished.”

They sat in heavy silence. Pritchard watched as Halt tried to come to terms with everything he had been told, while at the same time seething at what the Baron of the Mountains had done. Pritchard never let go of him throughout. Eventually, he broke the silence with a question.

“Who found the body?” 

“I did.”

Pritchard’s heart broke at the words. His face dropped into one of pure sympathy as he ached for the young man before him. “Oh, Halt. I am so sorry. I really wished it would have been someone else. You didn’t deserve to go through that.”

“It’s alright,” Halt lied. He was finding it difficult to look Pritchard in the eyes. He was afraid that if he did, he would see that they weren’t truly he is. But now, he lifted his gaze to him and saw his fears were unfounded. They were truly his, and Halt knew he had been telling the truth. Tears fell from his eyes before he even realised what was happening.

Pritchard pulled him close and wrapped his arms around his shaking son. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “We’re here now. Everything will be okay now.”

Halt cried into his shoulder, holding Pritchard close to him, terrified that if he opened his eyes and let go Pritchard would fade away and he’d discover it had all been in his head. But when he wiped the tears away and looked into his mentor’s kind face, he saw he was really truly here with him. 

“I’m going to get you down from here,” Halt told him with a determined look in his eye. “We can climb back down and get home. You can see Crowley again.”

“Crowley,” Pritchard wistfully. “God, I miss that crazy kid.”

“He misses you too.”

“So,” Pritchard clapped his hands together then regretted it as the sound was louder than he wished. “How are we going to get out of here?”

“The same way I came up,” Halt answered confidently. Pritchard raised an eyebrow at him.

“And how exactly did you manage that?”

“I climbed,’ he replied, but then reconsidered. ‘Although with the two of us it might be more difficult. We may have to go down the path.”

Pritchard shook his head. “We’d never manage that. Morgarath’s stationed Wargals all around them to keep people from coming up there, but I also think to keep me from getting out. We wouldn’t be able to sneak out that way.”

“We don’t have to sneak. We just make a break for it. The Wargals are huge and strong but they’re not the most graceful creatures, are they?”

Pritchard nodded this time, acknowledging Halt’s point. “That’s certainly true,” he admitted. 

“They’re fast, but we can move faster. We just need to run past them and then we can get out. And I’ve got Abelard waiting down the bottom. Once we reach him we’ll definitely be good.”

Pritchard pursed his lips. “I don’t know, Halt. It’s very risky. It could be a suicide mission. How did you climb up?”

“With a harness,” Halt answered him. “And some pegs. But I only have one harness. Like I said, it would be much harder with two of us. And probably a lot more dangerous than just going down the path.” He looked Pritchard seriously in the eye. “This is probably our only way. And I’d rather risk death than go back down without you.”

“I would not rather you do that,” Pritchard said, then sighed. “But fine. You have a point.”

Halt’s eyes lit up. Pritchard was coming home. His hands lifted to his neck, finding the warmed up chain of metal that hung from it and pulled it over his head. It was his silver oakleaf, or more accurately, Pritchard’s silver oakleaf. Halt had already been granted his own before they had discovered “Pritchard’s” body, but after finding his mentor’s one laying in the grass a short distance away, he had carried it and worn it ever since. He handed it back to the ranger.

“I guess you should take this back now.”

Pritchard held it in his hands, feeling the familiar weight and pattern of the oakleafs grooves and curves. It had been such a big part of his life for so long that being stripped from it had felt like a terrible burden. His eyes held a longing look, his entire career in his hands. He handed it back.

“You keep it,” he said. He opened Halt’s hand and pressed it into his palm, curling his fingers back over it again. “I’ll be grabbing my gold one after all this is over anyway.” He looked at his former apprentice, an immense pride filling his heart.

Halt put the oakleaf back around his neck. He didn’t say anything, afraid that if he did his voice would catch with emotion and he would find himself crying again. Pritchard spoke for him, moving the conversation along.

“Let’s get out of here.”

book 3 :D

Will: I heard Skandia has mountains

Erak: That's right

Will: What's a mountain?

Erak: ...you've never seen one before?

Will: ...yeah?

Evanlyn: Big rock. They're big rocks, but pretty.

Will: Ooohhhh.... what would that look like??

I got the idea for this fanfic after Ice posted this art for the Ranger Gathering. Seeing today's post, I decided to write a scene around the art.

“What will you be wearing to the party?”

It was a casual question, meant well and with no hidden message. Yet it took Caroline a long time to answer it.

Caroline was sitting on the extra bed that Pauline had placed in her bedroom. It had been a last minute change of plans that the Ranger slept there.

“Probably that gala uniform,” Caroline answered softly. It was a uniform that the whole Corps had to wear for Halt and Pauline’s wedding. At that time, she had been Crowley. “Not sure if it still fits.”

Pauline had been washing her hair and was about to start putting it up nicely when she had asked the question. She stopped in her tracks, the towel in her hands.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Caro. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She laid the towel aside and sat down next to her. She sometimes still needed to remind herself that a lot of things were a first time for Caroline.

“I know,” Caroline replied. She blinked away a few tears that had been forming in the corner of her eyes. “It’s also my own fault. I should have taken it out sooner and had it altered. I did want to do that for our wedding, but I was afraid of other people’s reactions.”

After Pauline and Halt got married, Caroline had told them that she was rather a woman than a man. She knew that it was safe to tell them; from a young age, she knew that Halt was attracted to men and Pauline to women. They only got married to make people stop talking behind their backs.

At first, Halt and Crowley had been dating in secret. They knew each other like themselves, always the same way of thinking. When Halt got married, Crowley thought that he started to keep distance because of that. The more time he spent with Pauline, the more he started to realise that he wasn’t a man.

“Don’t say that. Although not fitting anymore for you as person, it still holds warm memories to that moment.” Pauline’s word pulled her out of the thought. “And maybe it’s a good thing that you didn’t alter it. That way, you can see to start fresh. As Caroline and not like it’s an alternation of who you once were.”

Caroline wasn’t sure what Pauline was trying to say, but she did perk up when her wife walked to the wardrobe.

“There is one dress that I bought some time ago. Thinking back, I have no idea why I even got it. Although it fits me well, it doesn’t really match me. But perhaps I bought it because it could be worn by someone else.”

Pauline let out a soft ‘Ah!’ when she found the dress she was looking for. She pulled it out of the wardrobe and held it in front of Caroline.

“It’s a spare one, but what do you think? Would this be to your liking?”

Caroline’s eyes opened wide, a hand placed on her mouth. She slowly got up, walking over to Pauline. Her fingers touched the fabric; the satin was soft and smooth, sliding easily through her fingers.

“Can I try it on?”

Halt took a sip from the glass of red wine that he was holding in his hand. He had agreed to wait for his wives, as he affectionally called Pauline and Caroline. The ball room was slowly becoming crowded the more people arrived.

“They’re taking their time, don’t you think?”

Halt turned around to see Baron Arald heading his way. The man was wearing a rather tight suit; blue with a touch of gold, representing the colours of his department.

“Unlike me, they like to dress well and give the impression they’re not raised by raccoons.”

Halt acted as if he meant it, but the truth was that he himself wasn’t that bad in dressing nicely. He had gone to the hairdresser and barber, making sure that his hair and beard were neat instead of what he usually looked like.

His hair was now moved back, kept in place with gel and a touch of hairspray. He was wearing a light grey suit, with underneath a light tan gilet and a broken white blouse. The finishing touch was a red and blue handkerchief in the pocket on his chest and his flat shoes.

Baron Arald wanted to comment on the man’s sense of style when his attention was taken by something else. Or more precise, someone else.

They had been standing near the staircase. It was one that had a big middle part and would then divide into two; one to the left, one to the right. The staircase went up a little higher than the platform they were standing on. At the top of the stairs, one had to descend a few steps to be at the same level the two men were.

“It’s almost a pity you’re not attracted to women,” Baron Arald said, his eyes focused on the women that were walking there.

“One doesn’t have to be into women in the way you’re hinting at,” Halt replied, following his friend’s gaze. “Even I can see that they’re two very fine ladies.”

On the left side of the staircase, was Pauline. She was wearing a light blue dress, without sleeves. The dress was cut low on her back, showing her skin until around her waist. The fabric was tightfitting, showing her elegant figure. She had braided her hair and then rolled it up into a bun, using pins to keep it in place. She had finished her look by putting in golden drop shaped earrings with a blue gemstone in the middle and a golden bracelet on her left wrist; a nice addition to her golden wedding band on her left ring finger.

Next to her, Caroline had one arm locked in. Her dress was a deep wine-red, had an open back as well, but hers had sleeves that connected at the top of her shoulders. On the left side, there was a high leg slit, revealing the lace pantyhose she was wearing underneath. On her lower back were also two lace parts visible. Just like Pauline’s, her dress was also showing her fine figure. Her long, curly red hair was hanging down over her shoulders.

Several people had stopped talking to look at the women as they ascended the stairs. Some whispered to each other, pointing at who was the best looking.

Caroline looked over her shoulder, spotted Halt and moved her hand to place it on Pauline’s shoulder. She laid her head on top of it, sending her friend a warm smile. Her golden wedding band seemed to shine bright on her left ring finger.

For a moment, Halt felt a fire lit in his chest, but it had a very different meaning than it used to have.

As the two women made her way to the platform, a few men offered them their hand or arm. It was almost amusing to see their faces the moment Pauline and Caroline turned them down. Halt had finished his glass and placed it on a table nearby.

“I hope we didn’t let you wait for a long time,” Pauline said, stopping in front of him.

“Not at all.” Halt took her hand, planting a soft kiss on it. “One should never tell a lady to hurry up, especially when she is preparing herself for a party.”

He then looked at Caroline, who was standing a bit hesitantly next to Pauline. Halt took her hands in his and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“You look absolutely wonderful, Caro. That dress really brings out your hazel coloured eyes.”

She didn’t know why she had been nervous to show up in front of Halt, but when she looked in his eyes, she only felt calmness.

“If you excuse me, Arald, I have two ladies to accompany.” Halt offered his arms to both of them. “Ladies.”

They knew that the mission would be dangerous. At least three piles of parchment had been laying in Crowley’s office, all related to one man: Thorgan the Smasher.

Just after the Tournament at Gorlan and Morgarath’s flee to the south, the first reports had been delivered. Now that the Ranger Corps was revived and real Rangers were stationed in the Kingdom, all sorts of incidents were reported and taken care of.

All, except for one, in the northeast part of Araluen.

The local Ranger, recovering from a injury, had written Crowley that he had heard rumours of a man going after travellers. During a patrol round, he had stumbled upon a number of bodies. They all had the same kind of fatal injury; a blow to the head.

Duncan, recently crowned as King, had asked Crowley to take care of it. If he wished, he could ask Halt to join him. Although young, the two Rangers had already shown they were capable of such tasks.

After doing some research, they had come up with their plan. They would go around as travellers, acting as if they were looking for a place to sell their pelts. Then, once they knew where to find the bandit and his helpers, they would take them down one by one.

All had gone well, until the moment the Rangers had split up to circle around the bandits. Crowley was closer to them than he had thought and was surprised when three of them showed up in front of him. Not seeing a way out, he was fighting for his life.

Suddenly, one of the men fell down, grasping at the arrow that was sticking out of his chest. His dead body fell down on the ground with a ‘thud’, but Crowley had no time to think about where the arrow came from.

He could see another bandit coming his way, swinging an axe dangerously close to him. Just in time, he managed to jump back, dodging the sharp edge of the weapon.

“Stand still!” the bandit grunted, already raising his arms to swing the axe around, ready to smash Crowley’s body.

He never got that far since an arrow was shot through his shoulder, locking the arm in its position. The bandit screamed out in agony. It was of a short time because a second arrow ended it when it went through his throat.

With two bandits down, Crowley’s chances of survival were much higher. Halt saw how his friend got his throwing knife, but before he could aim, the third bandit hit him in the head with his club.

“Crowley!”

Halt’s scream stopped the bandit momentarily. He was standing over the unconscious body of the Ranger, his hand already reached out to pick his up and end his life. That small moment cost him his own.

An arrow hit him in his shoulder, forcing him to let go of Crowley. His limp body fell on the ground, his head hitting the roots of a tree.

Turning around, the bandit saw Halt running towards him. He forgot his pain and pulled out his dagger, ready to stab the bastard.

He hadn’t counted on Halt’s quick reflexes. At the last moment, Halt rolled underneath the man’s arm with the dagger. He stood up behind him and, after taking his own saxe knife, ended the bandit’s life.

Halt pulled out his dagger from the man’s back. Without any blockage, blood streamed out of the gaping wound. It stained the man first then, as it hit the ground, the green grass slowly turned a dark red.

The young Ranger didn’t wait to see that happen. Instead, he was looking where Crowley was laying.

“Crowley!” Halt called again and sprinted his way.

Later on, he wouldn’t be able to tell what had warned him. Perhaps a bird that got startled, or the small ray of sun that hit the blade. Or perhaps it was his intuition.

Crowley was only a few steps away from him when Halt saw a shadow falling over him. Without thinking, he made a roll over his right shoulder. A massive club swung over him, at the height where just seconds ago his neck had been.

“You stand no chance, Ranger.” The bandit was standing in between him and Crowley. By the way he looked and, most importantly, his club, Halt knew it was Thorgan.

He tried to stand up, but the world was dangerously swaying. Only now did Halt feel the throbbing pain that was slowly spreading around. From the side of his head, he felt blood falling down into his neck.

“Don’t worry, you’ll soon join him,” Thorgan said. He watched how Halt was trying to stay on his two feet. By the looks of it, he didn’t have to hurry to end this whole fighting.

Just like his companion, Thorgan had miscalculated Halt’s strength.

Heavily unsteady on his feet, Halt held his saxe knife in his hand, his knuckles turning white. He forced himself to stay awake, at least until the moment that he had stabbed the man.

Thorgan began running to him, the massive club raised for one, final, fatal blow. That was the moment Halt chose to jump forward, his saxe pointed at the bandit’s chest.

Halt kept pressing until Thorgan fall backwards and then against a tree. His eyes were locked on the handle that was sticking out of his chest. He was too stunned to even think of pulling it out.

With the adrenaline wearing off, Halt’s body went limp. He managed to get to the place where Crowley was before he fell down, the world turning dark.

Days later, both young Rangers were awake and recovering. They had been discharged from the infirmary, but Halt had been bedridden. The blow that he had received had done more damage than Crowley’s.

Hoping to make the situation a bit better, Crowley had prepared the bed in his guest room. That way, he could keep an eye on his friend while Halt didn’t have to be all alone.

“How are you feeling?”

Crowley was sitting on the chair next to the bed. He had was doing his two hourly round to make sure Halt was doing alright.

Halt sighed, closing his eyes.

“Tired, just like two hours ago and the two hours before that.”

Crowley grinned. He wasn’t that easily scared away.

“So all good then,” he said. He reached to a cup of water standing on the night stand. Helping Halt sit up, he gave his friend something to drink.

Usually, he would then leave Halt alone to rest some more. Now, however, he stayed.

“What’s on your mind?” Halt asked. He had opened his eyes and saw Crowley’s face. In the short time spent together, he recognised the different emotions that were behind the way he looked.

“Why did you come back for me?” Crowley’s question took Halt by surprise. “You could have taken down Thorgan when we had split up.”

Halt stared at him for a moment.

“Because you needed help,” he replied. “If I hadn’t come, you would have been badly injured, or worse.”

“We vowed to end them, bringing them to be tried.” In Crowley’s mind, they had failed to do as they had promised. “Instead, we both got injured and they all ended up dead.”

Halt held up a hand, stopping the man’s spiral of thoughts.

“I am aware of that,” Halt spoke calmly. “But I made a vow long before that. One that’s more important to me than any other vow.”

“What’s that?” Crowley lifted his head, his eyes locked with Halt’s.

Alyss quickly walked through the corridors, her eyes reading the directions. At the same time, her hands were trying to put the car keys into her handbag. Her thoughts were running through each other, one question followed by the other.

She had been at work and was about to enter a meeting with another diplomat when her assistant pulled her aside. “Someone’s asking for you on the phone,” the young had said.

“They’ll have to call back later,” Alyss replied. “I’m busy at the moment. Who’s calling me?”

“Mister Altman.”

Alyss had excused herself, then hurried to her office to pick up the phone. Horace had been brief, telling that she had to go to the nearest hospital. He couldn’t say anything else because the signal was broken.

On her way outside, she briefly spoke to her boss, Pauline duLacy. She hadn’t said a lot, but Pauline could read in her eyes that it was serious.

Finally, she found the information desk.

“Excuse me,” Alyss said as she stopped in front of it. “I’m looking for Will Treaty. Do you know in which room he is?”

The old lady listened to her question, while at the same time looking up the name.

“May I ask what your relation is to him?” she inquired before answering. “Just standard procedures, madam. It’s to inform my colleagues of your visit.”

“I’m his partner,” Alyss responded.

The lady nodded once, then pressed a button on the laptop. A paper came rolling out which she filled in.

“Please, sign here,” she said and waited until Alyss had written down her name. She took the paper back and then put it in a file. “Mister Treaty is in the department Orthopaedic Trauma and Fractures. Go there to the information desk to know which room he exactly is.”

Alyss thanked the lady and then followed the route. It was easy to find and soon, she was standing at the information desk of the department.

“Please, take a seat. Your husband is at the Radiology at the moment. He should be back within some time.”

Controlling her breathing and racing thoughts, Alyss sat down in a chair. She took her phone and messaged Horace. Perhaps he would know where Will was.

After what seemed like hours, Horace replied to her message, saying he was on his way with Will.

“Miss Mainwaring?” a doctor called and Alyss raised to her feet immediately. She headed his way and was then taken to a room.

There, in the middle, she saw Will laying on a bed, his chest bare and wires attached to it. His left arm was in a cast, his face bruised. Aside from a few cuts, he eyed fine.

Horace was sitting next to the bed on a chair but stood up when Alyss arrived. He pointed to the chair and Alyss sat down, holding Will’s hand.

“What happened to you?” she asked, her face a mixture of shock and confusion. Then, turned to the doctor. “What happened to him?”

The doctor took his tablet and opened Will’s file.

“Your husband sustained a couple of injuries; a broken wrist, a couple of bruised ribs and lastly, a slight concussion. Aside from that, he’s gotten a few bruises on his body. Everything combined, he is quite lucky.”

The doctor then excused himself as he got paged away to see another patient.

Alyss waited until he was out of the room to ask again what had happened. It didn’t sit well with her that Will and Horace were sharing a glance. Even more because it was one that she had seen before.

“Will, I give you one chance to tell me what happened.” Her voice was calm, but Will knew her well enough to hear the hint of rage in it.

“Well,” Will started, looking at Horace for help. But his friend slightly shook his head, raising his hands. He left Will no choice than to tell it himself.

“Well, what?” Alyss said, her tone more direct and short.

“I might or might not have participated in a motorcycle rally.” The last two words were said so softly that Alyss had to strain her ear to catch them.

“You did what?”

“It all went well, but then I went over an obstacle and upon landing, I bent a bit too much forward. I ended up on the ground and my motorcycle fell on me, hench the bruised ribs. Hadn’t I fallen, I would have ended up first.” He said the last sentence casually, as if Alyss should be happy for him that he was on his way to win the rally. Instead, he now had to endure her ice cold glare.

“And I could have made a deal with the a diplomat of Ireland regarding international security but instead I’m sitting here in a hospital because my husband decided to go out for a ride.”

Will’s face paled when he heard her.

“That… that was today?”

Alyss’ eyes now flared up like fire.

“Yes, Treaty, that was today. You really picked out the worst date to go on that motor of yours.”

Horace was glad to be standing behind her. By looking at Will’s face, he understood that the otherwise calm diplomat was now really angry.

“I had expected more of his best friend,” Alyss suddenly said, turning herself to look at Horace. “You should have stopped him.”

Again, Horace raised his hands up.

“I didn’t know about it! Otherwise I would have warned him, really!”

Alyss got up from her place, her phone in her hand.

“W-where are you going?” Will asked when she walked towards the door.

“I’m going to call Pauline that I will be back at the office tomorrow. And after that, I will call Cassandra to tell her to pick her husband up.” She took two steps, then turned around again. “You will call your boss yourself, I’m not going to do that.”

Horace and Will watched her leave the room.

“Any chance that I can stay the night at Halt’s place?” Horace asked, looking at Will. “Cassie won’t forgive me for not stepping up. She had told me about that meeting of Alyss, but I forgot about it.”

Will shook his head, then remembered that he shouldn’t. A nasty headache was coming up, but perhaps it also had to do with what he had to do.

“I fear not. Aside from Alyss’ meeting, I was supposed to go on a business trip. Halt will personally kick me out of this bed once he hears about what I did.”

Five bandits had been brought to justice before them, tied up with ropes, bound with thumb cuffs and their boots, outer layers and weapons lying metres away from them, safely out of reach. 

Halt finished checking the knot on the rope, satisfied that his apprentice had done a good job at tying it. Will kneeled next to their weapons, inspecting the old things. They weren't in the greatest condition, he thought. The sharpening of the blades were uneven – some parts more dull than others, the leather around the knife and sword hilts were fraying, and he could spy a hint of rust on one of the daggers. Amateurs. He walked back over to Halt. 

"What are we going to do about the one that got away?" he asked. 

There were five bandits currently tied up, but there had been six. During their brief fight, one of them had cowered away from the rangers' weapons and skill and made a run for it. Too distracted fighting their opponents, Halt and Will could do nothing about it but watch. 

"We find him," Halt said simply. "It won't be too hard. He shouldn't have gotten far and he'll be on foot, while we have Abelard and Tug."

"True." Will followed Halt as he walked back over to where the horses had joined them not too far away and mounted up. "What are we going to do about them?" He jerked his head towards the snivelling men on the ground. 

Halt shrugged. "Leave them. You did a good job tying them up. I don't think they'll be leaving for a while. They'll still be here when we get back."

Will nodded, flushing slightly at the small praise. Genuine compliments from Halt like that were not a common thing, and even after spending almost two years with the man, he still wasn't fully used to it. 

They rode off in the direction they saw the man go, his trails easy to pick up and follow in the loose dirt. It wasn't long before they saw a figure running, stumbling a bit as he was clearly out of breath. 

"There he is!" Will said, unnecessarily. 

Halt would have given him some sarcastic comment along the lines of, 'Really? You don't say?' if he hadn't been focused on nocking an arrow onto his bow string. He squeezed his knees ever so slightly into Abelard’s sides, a familiar signal for him to go faster. 

The man was slowing down, becoming more and more out of breath as his endurance began to run out. He stopped for a moment with his hands resting on his knees as he drew huge gulps of air back into his lungs, trying to regain his energy for another burst of speed. But it was a mistake. A fatal mistake. 

Halt took the man’s pause as an opportunity and before he could finish completing a single refreshing breath, Halt released his arrow so it soared through the air, the sun glinting off the arrow head until it arched down and struck the man through his back, piercing him right through his chest.

He didn’t have time to be surprised, didn’t even have time to cry out. The arrow went straight through his heart, stopping it immediately and the man crumpled face down on the ground. 

Halt urged Abelard towards the fallen criminal, Tug and Will following close behind. They dismounted and Halt rolled the man over so he was on his back. His eyes were half closed, his mouth gaping open with a stream of blood pouring from his mouth like a disappointing waterfall. 

“Well, that’s that done,” Halt said resignedly. Will stared at the body, slightly wide-eyed.

“Did you mean to do that?” he asked.

“Hit him? Yeah, that was the point.”

Will shook his head a few times. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I mean did you mean to shoot him there? Did you mean to kill him?”

Halt nodded, not understanding why Will kept looking between him and the body with slight horror. “Yes. Like I said, that was the point.”

“But…” Will stammered, trying to find the right words. “He wasn’t a threat.”

“It’s our job to take care of them, Will,” Halt said, no trace of softness in his voice. “He was a criminal. A murderer.”

“But we just tied the others up. We didn’t actually kill them. Why didn’t you do the same with him? Why not just shoot to injure and then just bring him back?”

“He had it coming. He had the chance to stay and deal with it fairly, but he chose to run. This is on him.”

“But,” Will started again, but stopped. Was that how rangers worked? Just killed people who didn’t follow along? Not even giving them a chance? Not even finding an alternative? He wasn’t so sure if he would be able to do that.

“Will,” Halt said, his voice hard and firm. He could see the boy’s anxiety showing clearly on his face and he could guess what his train of thought might be. “He was a murderer. We don’t even know how many people he’s killed. He was a cold blooded man with no regard for other people’s lives.”

“But isn’t shooting him when he was running and unarmed the same thing as killing in cold blood? He had no defense.”

“Neither did the people he murdered,” Halt pointed out coldly. He nudged the man with his foot, gesturing to a small blade he had strapped to his belt. “And he wasn’t unarmed. See?”

Will ignored it. “It just… it doesn’t feel right. Why treat him any differently from the others? You could have aimed to injure but you didn’t. You just killed him.” He did mean to phrase it as an accusation, but that’s what it came out as. He looked down at the small hole in the man’s chest, the red stained arrow head sticking out of it. The man’s face was so pale. 

Halt took a breath before replying, and Will could tell he was getting more and more annoyed as the conversation went on. “I didn’t kill him for the sake of killing him, Will,” he said quietly. “I killed him, because he’s an inhumane shell of a man who has done horrible things and was too much of a coward to face up to it. He had his chance to survive, but he decided to run instead. He’s not any different from his friends. They just didn’t resist so they get a chance to rot away in a prison cell instead of rotting away right here. It’s what they deserve.”

Will went silent, thinking about what his mentor said. It made some sort of sense he supposed, but there was something about it that didn’t feel right. “Will I have to do that one day?”

Halt thought for a second. “No,” he replied. “Not this exact situation. You could aim to injure, but don’t judge me for not. At some point you’ll find killing is the only option.”

“But it wasn’t here!” Will burst out desperately, trying to get the older ranger to see his point of view. Halt just looked at him in a way that made Will drop his gaze to the floor. His mentor wasn’t quite glaring at him, but there was something in that look that Will didn’t want to see. He scuffed his boot around in the dirt, the dead man in the corner of his vision. He was a bit afraid to ask his next question. Afraid of Halt’s reaction to it, and afraid of his possible answer. But he drew up his courage and let it out into the open.

“Do you feel bad?”

“What?”

“Do you feel guilty for killing him?” Will looked at him now, his face and tone more sure than it had been previously. Halt kept the same uncomfortable gaze on his apprentice. 

“No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Why should I?”

“I don’t know,” Will answered lamely, his confidence leaving him again. It was nice while it lasted. “I just feel like killing anyone should have some sort of guilt with it.”

“He was a murderer, Will.” 

“I know that. You keep saying. But that doesn’t change the fact that he was still a living human. Doesn’t taking that away feel wrong?”

“No. It doesn’t. Because he was a living human that took the lives away from other innocents!” His voice began to rise slightly, as did his temper. Will noticed this and decided it would be smarter to choose his next words wisely. Maybe if he could just explain his way of thinking in a way that didn’t sound judgmental or accusatory this would go better.

“I just always thought that killing anyone would be hard. Whether they were good or not. Like, just the idea that you took a life. I’ve heard people say that’s always difficult. I would’ve thought this would have been similar, at least in a way.”

Halt pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stay calm for Will’s sake. He could see the boy was genuinely distressed, and he didn’t want to make it worse by making him feel like he was mad at him. But god, this was getting frustrating. “Maybe for some people it would be,” he said. “Maybe for you. But I’ve been doing this for a hell of a long time. In this line of work, killing is unavoidable, and if you start feeling bad for every life you take, you’ll find it harder the next time you have to do it. You won’t be able to do your job right. I’ll admit, I probably didn’t need to kill him. But I’m also not going to say he didn’t deserve it. He did. And I don’t feel bad for it.”

Will nodded glumly. He could see what Halt was saying. But he didn’t like it. Halt basically mirrored his thoughts with his next words.

“I don’t like doing it. No one really does. Only them.” He gestured to the body on the ground. The original blood around the edges of the room had already begun to dry but was soon painted over by a fresh dose. “That’s why they kill innocent people while we just kill the people who deserve it. It’s our job, Will, Not a hobby.”

“I never said it was a hobby,” Will protested, but realised that’s not how Halt meant it. 

“Do you want to be a ranger?” 

Will was caught off guard by the question. He stuttered a few times before getting his response out. “Yes.”

“Then this is part of it. And as hard as it may be, you’re going to have to get used to it. If you don’t, it’ll make things a lot more difficult. You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but that was in defense. They had weapons. They were attacking. He wasn’t.”

“Technically he had already attacked,” Halt said. “He attacked multiple people and he got what was coming for him.”

“I guess,” Will mumbled. His mind was racing with a million thoughts per second. Halt had some fair points, he figured. It made a lot of sense, and he realised he would have to get used to it if he wanted to continue down this path. He had felt a surprising amount of relief when Halt said he didn’t enjoy it. Without knowing it, he had been afraid that his mentor did take some slice of joy from it. He felt bad for thinking that about Halt. Despite being grim and sometimes having a bit of a temper, he was one of the kindest and most genuine people Will had ever met, and he was immensely grateful he was in his life. 

“We should get back to the others,” Halt said, interrupting Will’s thoughts. “I don’t think they would have gotten out but we shouldn’t risk it.” He kneeled down next to the body and grabbed onto the black shafted arrow, pulling it out of the man, a sick squelching noise as it made its backwards journey out through the flesh and organs. Will blanched slightly as he watched.

“Are you going to reuse it?” he asked.

“No. But I don’t really want to just leave it here. Although, if I clean off the head I could probably use that. It’s still sharp.” He wiped the arrow on the grass, most of the blood clearing off and a detached piece of flesh falling off. Will looked at it with disgust. 

“What are we going to do about him?”

Halt straightened up and looked at the corpse, then back to Will again. His eyes revealed no hint of hidden emotion.

Book 9 :3

Halt: you could need a cloak

Horace: *gasp* I get a Ranger cloak??

Halt: ...yes, you can have my spare

Horace: *puts on cloak*

Horace: uhh...

Will: *snorts*

Horace: not to complain, but this thing is like half my size

Halt: *haltic glare*

Ra gathering 13: vow

I love the relationships in the books between the king and the rangers, like yes you vowed to always serve him but you also vowed to check him if he’s acting out jsjsjsjssj

(Closeup under break)

Day 13: Vow

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lol so this is based on a tumblr post i made, and then took very seriously.

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The deck of the Wolfwill rolled gently beneath the steady waves, the longship cutting through the darkening water as the sun bled copper into the horizon.

They were going home.

And Horace and Cassandra had just gotten engaged.

11 - Midnight

original image and closeup ↓

Lmao Halt's a bit feral in this one. He has been in a lot of them and possibly more to come but still.

Halt stared after the wolf ship getting smaller and smaller as it slowly disappeared beyond the rough, cruel waves. He had no idea how long he stayed there atop of Abelard, repeating the promise and last words he had said to Will over and over again in his head. 

Abelard tossed his head to look at his master and friend, his big eyes filled with immense sorrow. Halt ignored the look, his eyes fixated on an apprentice he could no longer see. A dark mood overcame him in an instant along with a determination to see his promise through. He needed to see Crowley, and if not him, then the king.

When he made it back to the battle ground he could hear soldiers muttering about his appearance. Covered in mud as he was and a missing boot it made sense they would wonder, but their words he could barely make out was really grating on his nerves. He would have given them all glares that would have them scrambling ten steps back, but he didn’t have the energy. Some smarter men, noticing the expression on his face and his tightly clenched fists, decided it would be better if they kept their thoughts to themselves. 

He searched the grounds for his commandant, until finally he spotted him, talking to Sir Rodney and Baron Arald. He made his way over to the three men.

“Oh there you are,” Crowley said as he approached them. “Where have you been? You just disappeared.” Then he seemed to take notice of Halt’s appearance, and he became instantly concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Will’s gone.” His voice was a mixture of deadly and broken. He knew Will was gone, he had seen it happen with his own two eyes, yet saying the two words out loud to someone else made it seem all too real, and he wished he could take them back.

“What?” Crowley’s eyes widened, his voice so soft as horror dawned over him. “What do you mean gone?”

“I mean he’s gone,” Halt snapped. “He got taken by some damn Skandians and now they’re taking him away on their ship, probably back to their bloody country to do God knows what to him!” Despite already having his hands held in tight fists, he kept loosening the muscles in his fingers, clenching and unclenching as he tried to cope with what had just happened. It wasn’t working much.

Crowley was silent for a minute. He couldn’t think of anything to say that would help. There was nothing to say. Halt’s apprentice, someone that had come to mean so much to the man, was gone, and Crowley knew there was a high chance he would never be seen again. He knew Halt must have realised this too. Whether he had admitted it yet was another question entirely. 

“Is there anything we can do?” Baron Arald stepped forward. He went to place a hand on the ranger’s shoulder, the best comfort he could offer, but thought better of it. In his state of mind, Arald had no idea how Halt might react to that. 

“You can let me go after him,” Halt said, looking Crowley dead in the eyes. “If I go now I might be able to catch up to them by the time they reach Skandia and get him back. The princess too.”

Arald’s face went white. Sir Rodney, standing next to him and listening to the conversation with anxiety mirrored his expression. “The princess is with him?” Arald said, barely above a whisper.

“Why didn’t you mention that earlier?” Rodney asked, his voice rising slightly.

Halt glared at him. He didn’t want to tell them that the princess was the least of his concerns at the moment. He had met Cassandra before, she was a nice girl and he liked her. He knew she was around Will’s age, just a kid herself practically, and he was well aware she was the crown princess. Surely she should be at the top of his priorities. But she wasn’t. He may have been cold and cruel for thinking it, but compared to Will, he didn’t care what happened to her at the moment. He needed Will back first.

“Let me go after him,” Halt repeated, ignoring Rodney’s question. There was a fierce determination in his eyes as he looked at Crowley. Crowley sighed, knowing what he had to do and hating it. But he knew Halt would hate it even more and that’s what he was worried about.

“No,” he said. He tried to sound more authoritative as he said it, hoping it would give him more ground to stand on in the argument he knew was going to come, but he couldn’t manage it. 

There was a pause.

“What?” Halt’s voice had gone quiet. A dangerous and deadly kind of quiet that Crowley had heard many times before, but rarely directed towards him with such silent intensity. 

Crowley drew himself up straighter and looked his friend head on in the eyes. He tried to ignore the ice cold fury he could see, just waiting for one wrong word to be let out. “I’m sorry. I can’t. We need you here. I don’t have much of a choice. If it was completely up to me I would let you go, no questions asked.”

“But it is up to you,” Halt grit out. He looked close to ripping the commandant’s throat out.

Crowley shook his head. “It’s not. There’s going to be so much to do after this and the kingdom needs you here. We can’t risk you going off to another country and leaving this all behind.”

“How much difference will one person make? If I go now it won’t even be that long! I’ll grab him and come right back! And the princess!”

“You can’t say how long it will be. And you’re the best we have. It will make a difference, a big one, whether you realise it or not.” 

Halt dropped his gaze from him, but it didn’t soften. He glared down at the ground, no longer able to look Crowley in the eye. All he saw there was betrayal from his bestest and closest friend, betrayal of him, but most importantly Will. How could he? he thought furiously. After everything Will’s done for this country Crowley can’t even give him the chance to be found? Halt had fought with Crowley on numerous occasions, but never before had he hated him. But he did now. In this moment, he hated Crowley. He wanted to punch something or someone. Preferably the man standing before him who was supposed to be his friend.

Crowley nervously watched as his friend seethed with rage. He looked at Arald, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. Redmont’s baron gave him a sympathetic look, but had no idea what to do himself. They all knew there was only one thing that Halt wanted, one thing that would make him feel better, and it was the thing he couldn’t have. 

Sir Rodney stepped closer to the ranger now. Maybe, he figured, cold hard reason would resonate with him better. 

“Halt,” he started firmly. Crowley and Arald gave each other nervous glances. “Think about it. This is the kingdom we’re talking about. We can’t risk losing help to clear everything up for the sake of two people, even if one of those people is the princess and even if one of them is your apprentice. The kingdom comes first. We know that, and so do you.”

Crowley swore quietly to himself.

Rodney barely had any time to process before he saw a fist coming straight for his face. He had a split second to brace himself for the sharp pain he knew would follow. But he never felt it. It never came. Arald had acted on instinct and grabbed him to pull him out of harm's way, and Crowley had acted on instinct and grabbed his friend’s arm before it reached anywhere near the knight. 

He held Halt firmly by his arms, pulling him away before readjusting his grip to get a better hold. Halt tried to squirm out of his arms, his breathing heavy and nothing in his face other than white hot rage and a desire to punch that stupid knight in his stupid face! But this wasn’t Crowley’s first time, and held strong, giving Halt no chance to fight his way out despite his strength. 

“Let go of me!” Halt screamed out, directing his furious glare to Crowley. “I’ll kill you!”

“Sure you will,” Crowley said. He turned to Rodney, who was a little wide-eyed at just barely missing another broken nose. “I think you should go.”

Rodney nodded. “I was going to go check on Horace anyway,” he muttered. Then with Arald in tow, he walked to the infirmary tent. 

Crowley directed his attention back to Halt. He had stopped struggling and instead had gone back to burning holes into the dirt. “Let’s go somewhere else,” he suggested. “Maybe we can talk about other options.”

Halt shook his head. “I want to talk to Duncan.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’ll just tell you the same thing I did.”

“I don’t care! I need to talk to him!” Halt snapped at him. He gave Crowley another ferocious look, not that it had any effect on him. Halt knew this deep down and it only served to make him angrier. He swore as soon as he found a way to get his hands on those Skandians he would tear them all to pieces and then stitch them all back together so he could do it all over again. 

Crowley gave him a serious look, finally finding the authority he had lost before. “If you promise not to do anything stupid, we can go find him.”

“Fine! Now let me go!”

Crowley loosened his grip on Halt and the other man immediately forced him aside, elbowing him hard in the chest as he did. Crowley didn’t know if it was intentional or not but he didn’t really need an answer. He rubbed the fresh bruise he could already feel forming and followed his friend as he stalked the battle grounds in search of the king. 

They found him surrounded by other officers and knights, discussing the effect the battle had on their numbers and what would come next. 

“Duncan!” Halt shouted to get his attention. Crowley nearly smacked his palm to his face. They were off to a great start. Halt couldn’t even grasp the right protocol of how to address his damn king. But he knew there was no point telling him off so he let it slide.

King Duncan didn’t seem to be bothered by it either, although some of the men surrounding him had surprised looks on their faces. Duncan immediately picked up on the tension, probably because Halt’s fury was radiating off of him like the sun radiates heat.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

“Will’s gone,” Halt repeated the same two words he had with Crowley, feeling the same dread well up. “Taken by Skandians. Your daughter too. Let me go find them. I’ll bring them back.”

“Cassandra is gone?”

Halt nodded. “I’ll find them.”

Duncan sighed. It was the same sigh Crowley had done right before tearing his friend's aspirations to shreds. 

“I want nothing more than to see my daughter home safe to me,” the king began. Halt almost felt a wave of relief wash over him, but something in Duncan’s voice and manner told him otherwise. “But we cannot abandon the kingdom now. To leave and to send people after her, even one person, even you, would be shifting priorities and we cannot afford to do that at the moment. I’m sorry.” There was sorrow in his entire being that Crowley both noticed and felt. He knew how much it pained the king to say those words, how much it tore him apart on the inside to leave his daughter in the hands of born fighters and killers. Being king came with making hard decisions all the time, decisions that could impact innocent lives in catastrophic ways if he didn’t choose correctly. Yet, this was the hardest decision Duncan had ever had to make. And it killed him even more to know it was probably the right one.

If Halt noticed Duncan’s mental anguish, he didn’t care. His temper flared hot and bright again, just as Crowley knew it would, as he gritted his teeth at his king.

“You’d abandon your own daughter?” he said cruelly. “You really can’t spare one person?” Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him as best he could, but Halt just shrugged it off.

Surprisingly, Duncan didn’t look angry at the words. Just grief stricken in a way that said he had given up, and couldn’t find the care in him to argue back. He looked at Halt with hollow eyes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated in a broken whisper.

“Shut up!” Halt screamed at him, and everyone’s eyes widened further. Not a single one of the soldiers gathered had ever heard someone raise their voice at the king like that. Not ever. Crowley grabbed him again, and again Halt pushed him away. “Stop saying you’re sorry and then doing nothing about it! If you really were sorry you would let me go find them!”

This time Duncan did snap back. “It’s not that simple! Do you really think if I could I would just stand by and do nothing? This is my daughter we’re talking about! We need her here! I need her here! But we can’t. And if we can’t spare anyone to bring her home, what makes you think I’d spare someone to go get Will? Cassandra comes first.”

Halt’s hands, already curled into fists, clenched tighter so that his knuckles were white and shaking. His expression darkened further into a terrifying, murderous look. His voice had slipped back into the dangerous quiet as he spoke, rising towards the end. “You useless, pathetic excuse of a–!”

Crowley clasped a strong hand over the ranger’s mouth before he could finish getting the words out. He pulled Halt back against his chest and wrapped his other arm around his torso, restraining him for the second time in ten minutes. Duncan and Halt were old friends, but whatever Halt was about to say, especially in front of witnesses, could be classified as treason. 

The soldiers looked wildly uncomfortable over the display of emotion. Some had already left the scene to find some other job to distract themselves. Duncan looked at Halt, unimpressed and unoffended by the words. Halt continued to glare at Duncan from above Crowley’s hand.

“I’m sorry about him, sir,” Crowley said, keeping a firm grip, muffling Hibernian curses and insults. “I’ll take him somewhere else now.”

Duncan waved a hand. “You do that.” He watched as Crowley wrestled with Halt to get him somewhere away from people. He didn’t know the last time he had felt this terrible about something.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Crowley said as he pushed Halt into his command tent. “I know you’re angry about Will, but that’s the king! You can’t always just say what’s on your mind.”

“You heard what he said! He’s just going to leave them in a foreign country to die! If the Skandians don’t kill them the cold definitely will.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know it!” Crowley paused, taking a breath before speaking softer. “Look, neither of us said that you won’t ever be able to go. Just not right now. Give it a little bit, let us sort everything out here and then I’m sure Duncan would send you off with his blessing.”

“NO!” Halt yelled, his breathing furious as was everything else about him. “What part of this don’t you understand? Will could be dead by then!” He walked over to stand next to Crowley’s temporary desk and slammed his hands down hard on it, the wood making a splintering noise at the force as he let out a frustrated scream. 

Crowley had to fight to keep his expression neutral. In all the years he had known Halt, all the moments he had experienced and seen from him, both good and bad, he had never seen him this distraught, never seen such a raw display or emotion and rage from him. It was frightening and worrying all in one.

Halt took a few deep breaths, composing himself the best he could. He turned back to Crowley. 

“I swear to whatever is out there Crowley,” he said lowly, the anger never leaving his eyes. “I’ll get Will back. I promised him. And I don’t care what I have to do to keep that promise.”

Crowley just had to take one look at his friend to know he was deadly serious. Halt would do anything it takes to bring his son home safe. God, help us all. 

Cassie, after Horace proposed: How do vows work?

Duncan: why would I know

Cassie: you've married, you should know

Duncan:

Cassie:

Crowley: he fumbled during the wedding. It was hilarious

Cassie: Really? What happened?

Duncan: I dont wanna talk about it :(

Crowley: you want a second chance?

Duncan: what?

Crowley: what?

Crowley sighed softly when he noticed that he had woken up. For once, he had been able to go to sleep at a reasonable time. It wasn’t often during a Gathering that he could do that as other Rangers took the opportunity to talk to him, ask for advise or, in the worse case, hand him over a report. He had been lucky that the last two days it had been relatively easy going, aside from a few minor incidents.

The evening had been silent as well, the few Rangers that were on guard made sure that no one would come too close to their Gathering Grounds. The horses were alright and no wild animal had been roaming around either.

That left him wondering what had woken him up then. He wasn’t cold, nor hungry or thirsty. The sky had been clear all day, even now. No rain or thunderstorm.

Crowley turned over to his left side, his eyes adjusting themselves to the darkness. He could see his own bedroll, as well as the pile that was his personal bags. Next to that, he saw those of his apprentice. And, when he glanced right ahead of himself, he could see the bedroll in which she was sleeping.

At least, that was what she had been doing when he went to bed. Now, it was folded open, revealing an empty spot.

“That little fox,” he muttered, now pushing himself up. Hiding a yawn with one hand, with the other he looked for his pants. He left his shirt in the pavilion, as well as his socks and boots.

He made his way to the entrance and saw that the canvas flap was moved aside, indicating that she had gone outside.

Peeking through the gap, he saw that the girl was sitting not far away from him. She seemed to be occupied with something, her head resting in her right hand. From time to time, she observed the sky above her, pointing at it with a charcoal in her left hand.

Crowley had no idea what she was up to, but one thing he was sure about: the girl should be in bed, sleeping. Not sitting outside at this hour.

He silently walked over to her, upholding his title of being the best at unseen and unheard movement. He stopped when he was standing behind her. Instead of calling her out right away, he decided to see what she was doing.

Looking over her shoulder, he saw some sort of map in her lap. It wasn’t any that he could recognise; there were no places mentioned, let alone countries to begin with.

In for a little game, Crowley decided to see how long it would take her to notice he was there. He sat down in a way that, if she were to turn around, she would look right into in his face.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes eventually into about half an hour.

Crowley was about to think that he should call her out, but she suddenly jerked her head up and froze in her spot. And that’s when the Ranger knew she had noticed him.

After a couple more minutes, the girl finally turned around. When she did, it wasn’t the sight she had hoped to see.

“Hullo, Crowley,” she said, her voice low as not to wake others. “Have you been sitting there for a long time already?”

The Ranger Commandant was sitting cross legged, his elbows resting on them. His fingers were folded together, his chin resting on them.

“Me? No, just long enough for the birds to make a nest in my hair.”

The girl quickly glanced at his hair, which had been tangled. It did make sense, somehow.

Crowley followed her gaze.

“That’s what we call ‘sarcasm’,” he replied dryly. “A more interesting question to me is what you’re doing outside at midnight while you’re supposed to be asleep.”

He didn’t break eye contact, knowing that it did make her uncomfortable. Eventually, it was her who looked away.

“I was drawing some maps,” she answered. By the way she was speaking, Crowley could hear that she knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Melany,” he said, waiting for her to turn her face to him again. “Give me those.”

She hesitated, afraid that he would confiscate them. It wouldn’t be the first time she lost something that way.

Crowley held out his hand, moving his fingers to tell, once again, to hand the maps over to him.

The girl reluctantly did, still holding the parchments when he took them. A warning look from him made her lower her hands.

Crowley then studied the maps that he was holding. He could see dots, lines and here and there shapes. There was a compass in the right lower corner, as well as a scale.

“Why are you making maps of the stars?” he asked. “We don’t travel during the nights.”

Melany shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I just thought it’s interesting. They move around, but seem to return at the same spot every year. Like they’re rotating. At the castle it’s often difficult to find a quiet place, but out here –”

Her voice trailed off when she saw that Crowley stared at her. “Sorry.”

The word had left her mouth before she could stop herself. It had become her filler word, drilled into her during the years at the ward.

Crowley was having a hard time to get her to stop saying it all the time. So far, they had managed to tune it down to when it was really needed to be said.

“You’ve drawn them without any tool?” His question surprised her. He was holding the map up, searching for the shape that was drawn.

“I often use a scale, or just count by using a finger,” Melany replied.

“Remarkable,” Crowley mumbled when he had found the shape. It was identical to the one that was on the map.

He lowered the map, picked up another one and went through the drawings. He could see that Melany had kept a small log on the pages to know when she had drawn them. Although the situation wasn’t ideal, he had to admit that she was very precise in her work.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asked, going through the dates that were written down.

“About two years,” Melany said. “I… have sneaked out of my room a couple of times.”

Crowley lifted his head, his eyebrows raised.

“Some things are better to keep to yourself. But I do appreciate your honesty regarding this.”

He tapped with his fingers on the parchment, thinking what to do. It was obvious she didn’t have any bad intentions with it, but he also couldn’t have her stay awake during the night or sneak out at midnight.

“From what hour on are they best to view?” Crowley inquired.

Melany had to think about it before answering.

“About the tenth hour. At midnight they reach their highest positions.”

Crowley searched for the star that helped indicating the time. It was slowly heading down now.

“You can finish what you were working on,” he eventually decided, handing the map back to her. “But don’t let me catch you again. Understood?”

Melany nodded in understanding, keeping a huge grin to herself. She waited until the Ranger had gone inside and continued her drawing.

Ra gathering 11: midnight

Augh I was so close to making a day on time lol, better luck next time ig 💀

(Closeups under break)

Horace had always dreamt of becoming a knight. Ideally, he wanted to be stationed in Redmont Fief, under Baron Arald’s command. His respect for the knight had grown over the years. Not only did the Baron wield his sword like a true knight, he also held the code high. He looked after those in need, helped where he could and was interested in the wellbeing of his people.

Although he initially was more focused on the fighting and the fame that came along with it, Horace quickly learnt there was more to knighthood. Friendship, the brotherhood among the knights and the many adventurous he went on.

Yet, if he had to name one part of his whole apprenticeship that touched his soul the most, it was the day that he was taken to the stables.

“Watch where you walk, cadets!” Master Ulf warned. “Those horses don’t care the slightest if they stamp on the ground or your toes!”

Part of the Battleschool training was horse riding. The first years all got to borrow a horse from the Baron’s stable. The horses weren’t young and not in active service, but they were still vital and strong enough to help the young apprentices.

Now that the first year’s assessments were over, and a smaller group of apprentices had made it to the second year, it was time that they got their own horse.

Horace was standing next to his classmates; seven in total. From the twenty that had started the previous year, only eight had made it to the next year. Some had fallen out early in the first year, others didn’t make it through the exams.

“Cadets, at ease!” Sir Rodney spoke to the row of boys. Immediately, they all stood with their arms behind their backs, their legs slightly spread.

“Thank you, Battlemaster,” Master Ulf said, directing himself to the cadets. “Today marks an important day for each of you. As you all know, a knight is nothing without a good horse. In times of war, we rely on them completely; both to help us win as well as to get ourselves into safety. In other times, they are a companion, and we need to take good care of them. Last year, you learnt the basics of horse riding. From this year on, you will start practicing the different strategies on the battlefield. For that, you need a horse that is strong and young. That’s why each of you will need a steed.”

A slight rumour arose from the cadets. For once, Sir Rodney let them go on for a moment. He remembered all too the first time he got his own steed.

“That’ll be enough now,” he said after a minute. “Each of your families has paid an amount to cover the costs. Once you’ve been given your steed, make sure to send a letter home to thank them.”

A knot formed in Horace’s stomach. He had always pestered Will for not having a family name, but he was now painfully reminded that just a family name wasn’t enough. Unlike the other students, he didn’t have living family around. And if each family had to pay for the steed, then there was no use for him to be here.

A stableboy came their way, whispering something into Master Ulf’s ear. The Stablemaster nodded that he had understood.

“Follow me now, cadets. It’s time for you meet your new companion.”

The cadets followed him and Sir Rodney, with Horace closing the queue. They were led to a meadow, separating the horses from the others. There were seven in total, Horace noted.

“Each of you, come forward and tell me your name. A stableboy will go with you to get your horse and show where to stall it.”

Horace watched as each of his classmates were sent to a steed, accompanied by a stableboy. He kept his head high, not wanting to show the pain that was forming in his chest.

When the last cadet was led away, Sir Rodney and Master Ulf turned to him.

“That does leave us with one problem,” the Stable Master said. “You have no family who paid, so by that, I can’t give you a horse.”

Horace slowly lowered his gaze. If he couldn’t get a horse, it would be very difficult to be a knight. Or, he thought with horror, perhaps he would be nothing more than an infantry soldier. But that would mean he had to leave the Battleschool, because most of those men were farmers.

“Good thing that you have a guardian who will pay in your place.”

It took some time for Horace to understand what the Battlemaster was saying. He looked up at the man, both surprise and confusion in his eyes.

“Later,” was all he said, after which Master Ulf took over.

“Unlike the others, there are more options for you to choose from. But those horses are standing in a different meadow.”

The man guided Horace away from the Battlemaster until their stood still next to a meadow. In there, he saw three horses. One grey, another bay and the third black with white socks.

“These three are meant for knights who possess a certain skill not many have. Your mentors have seen that skill in you and, upon informing the Baron, they made the conclusion that you should be given a horse that matches that skill.”

Horace didn’t know what to say to that. He did feel a glow in his chest that warmed his body. It wasn’t just some praise, he realised.

“Choose wisely,” Master Ulf said and then nudged him towards the horses.

Horace took a few steps until he reached the meadow. He climbed over the fence and headed to the bay coated horse.

“Hello, buddy,” he said, his hand stretched out.

The horse looked at him, then stomped forward and ran away from him.

Horace had fallen onto the ground, his eyes wide in shock. He suddenly understood the fear that people normally had when seeing a steed.

“Again!” Master Ulf called after him.

Horace got up and walked to the horse, but it stood on his hind legs. His front legs were up in the air and Horace made the quick conclusion that the horse didn’t like him.

“Perhaps that one then,” he mumbled to himself.

The grey coated horse was standing in a relaxed way, one hind leg lifted slightly. His ears were forward, his eye turned to the cadet.

That was a good sign, Horace thought as he came closer. He let the horse smell his hand before approaching any closer.

When nothing happened, the apprentice took another step forward and tried to pet his neck. That’s when the horse suddenly changed his mind.

Within a second, his ears were down on his head, and he showed his teeth.

“Get away!”

Master Ulf was already climbing over the fence to scare the horse away and protect Horace from being bitten and slung around.

But before he could, someone else came to his aid.

The black horse came running to Horace, kicking the grey horse away. He then stayed around the boy, his brown eye looking at him.

“I think it’s clear which horse shall be yours.” Master Ulf stopped next to them, watching the horse move to inspect him. “He doesn’t have a name yet, though.”

Horace felt the horse nudge his nose into his shoulder. He looked up and petted the soft nose. A bit hesitant at first, but when the horse didn’t pull his head away, Horace moved to pet his neck.

“Kicker,” the cadet said. The horse reacted to the name, lifting his head, ears forward. Then let out a neigh, stomping his hoof on the ground.