In which Crowley retires a little earlier than in canon, and he doesn't die because I said so. He names three candidates for the job, and Will is forced to confront the horrifying reality that he is one of them.
The cabin was quiet in the way it always was at this hour—the sun had begun to dip below the tree tops, casting a golden light across the floorboards.
A single unlit lantern sat on the table between them.
Papers were spread everywhere. Most of them were correspondence from fiefs that required attention but not necessarily urgency. The kind of work that never really ended.
Will and Halt were quite used to this routine.
They would do their own patrols and routing throughout the day, and around sunset, meet at Will and Alyss' cabin to go over reports and discuss their findings that day, however small or trivial they may seem.
Then once a week or so, they would head back to Halt and Pauline's apartment at the castle, where Alyss would usually be, and they would have a "no-business-discussion-allowed-dinner."
Halt sat back slightly in his chair, one boot propped up on the table in a way that would most definitely warrant a scolding from his wife. And Will's wife, now that he thinks about it.
At that thought, he slowly removed his leg from the table, hoping Will wouldn't comment.
But Will was caught up completely in whatever report had caught his attention; the official paper sat in front of him, while he sat hunched forward, elbow braced on the table, scratching messy notes quickly over a sheet of parchment as he summarized a patrol incident.
For a while, there was nothing but the scratch of ink and the occasional shift of parchment.
Then, without looking up, Halt said, “Oh, Crowley’s retiring.”
Will didn’t seem to register what he said; he didn't even pause. “Mm.”
Then completely stopped. Will suddenly seemed to understand what his mentor had just said, and his head jerked up, his mouth opened in shock.
Halt turned a page. “End of the year. He’s been considering it for some time.”
Will blinked at him, setting the pen down. “Since when?”
“Since he realized he’s getting old.”
Will snorted. “He’s been old since I met him.”
“That was his point as well.”
Will leaned back slightly, processing. It fit, in a way. Crowley had been Commandant for a long time. Long enough that it was almost difficult to imagine the Corps without him.
“…Huh,” Will said finally. “Well. That’s… big.”
Silence stretched again for a moment.
Will picked his pen back up, though his attention had clearly drifted.
“You’re one of the candidates, actually,” Halt said casually, licking his thumb to turn the page of the report he still seemed invested in, whilst dropping the news of a lifetime to his shellshocked former apprentice.
The pen slipped clean out of Will's fingers and hit the table with a sharp clack.
Will stared at Halt, that open-mouthed, shocked look back on his face.
Halt still did not look up.
“…I’m sorry,” Will said slowly, “I must have misheard you.”
Halt did look up this time, and continued playing his little game as he shook his head with a slight smile on his lips.
Then his attention returned to his report.
Will reached for his mug, clearly intending to take a sip. He had to focus on stilling his hands from the slight tremor they now had as he raised the coffee to his mouth. He missed slightly, corrected, and then promptly choked on the coffee anyway.
He coughed—hard—turning away, one hand braced on the table.
Halt looked up now, setting the report down, then, when Will could breathe again, he burst out laughing.
Prompting a death-glare from the younger ranger, which had zero effect. But Halt couldn't help it; the look on the younger ranger's face was too good.
Finally, Will managed to find his words again, and he sputtered out, “…I—” He gestured vaguely. “I’m— what?”
“You're one of three,” Halt said, returning to a stoic look. “You, Gilan, and Ben.”
A short, incredulous sound that hushed as soon as it started.
“That’s not funny," He deadpanned.
“No, I mean—” Will sat forward, both hands on the table now, as if grounding himself. “Halt, I would be a terrible Commandant.”
Halt looked up again, readying himself to defend Will from Will.
But the man had already set off.
“I mean, honestly—have they met me? Crowley spends half his time telling me I’m not by the book enough, and now suddenly I’m supposed to be the book?” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I don’t even like rules.”
“You follow them when necessary.”
“I bend them when necessary,” Will corrected immediately. “Those are not the same thing.”
Will pointed at him. “And don’t you say anything, you’re the worst influence I’ve ever known.”
“That’s demonstrably untrue,” Halt said calmly. “You were quite capable of poor decisions before you met me.”
Will ignored that entirely; his mind was still spinning in disbelief.
“I mean—Commandant? Really?” He let out another disbelieving laugh. “I can barely keep my own fief from descending into chaos some weeks. You want me running the entire Corps?”
“That’s not very comforting.”
Halt’s mouth twitched again, just slightly.
Will groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “No. Absolutely not. There’s no universe where this is a good idea.”
“Crowley seems to think otherwise.”
“Crowley,” Will said flatly, “has clearly lost his mind in his ever-increasing old age.”
Halt returned his attention to the report.
“That has been suspected.”
The conversation mostly ended there.
As did the productivity, apparently.
Will picked his pen back up, then set it down again almost immediately, his focus clearly gone. Halt didn’t comment. He had expected as much—that was precisely why he’d waited until the important work was finished before mentioning it.
Now, at least, there was no reason to stay. Which was entirely Halt's intention.
He rose, already reaching for his cloak.
“Come on,” he said. “Let's go have dinner.”
Pauline’s and Halt's apartment was always warm.
Will liked that. It offered a homey feeling to it, with little touches here and there that Halt had inputted over the years since their marriage to remind himself of the cabin.
Tonight, it seemed especially warm. With lamplight and the smell of something slow-cooked and delicious.
It was a familiar space. Comfortable.
Alyss was already there when Will and Halt arrived, seated at the table with Pauline, deep in conversation. She glanced up as the door opened—and her face lit up in a smile in that easy way that still, after eleven years of marriage, made something in Will settle.
“Finally,” she said, as she stood up to give her husband a kiss on the cheek. “I was beginning to think Halt had chained you to a desk again.”
“He tried,” Will said, shrugging off his cloak. “I escaped.”
Halt snorted softly behind him.
Dinner was peaceful, as it always was. Conversation flowed with no effort—bits of politics, minor gossip from the castle, Pauline’s latest frustrations with correspondence that had arrived poorly phrased.
It wasn’t until they were halfway through the meal that Alyss tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“You’re quieter than usual,” she said.
“…Crowley’s retiring,” Will said bluntly.
Pauline blinked, feigning surprise as if she hadn't known about this for a week. “Is he?”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it’s about time. He's earned a little relaxation, I'd say.”
No one disagreed with that.
“And the replacement?” Alyss asked, already knowing that Will would confirm her suspicions.
Will exhaled slowly, setting his fork down, as he gave her a look.
Halt took an unassuming sip of his coffee.
“I’m apparently under consideration.”
Pauline’s brows lifted, once again struggling a bit to feign surprise.
Alyss froze for half a second, processing the confirmation—then her lips curved.
“Commandant Will Treaty,” she said lightly.
Will huffed a laugh, shaking his head, “Only sounds good coming out of you.”
Alyss’s smile widened, entirely unbothered.
“Well,” she said smoothly, “I’ll make sure to say it often, then.”
They all collectively ignored Halt choking on his coffee at that comment, though Will didn't miss the satisfying irony.
“Please don’t,” he muttered, rubbing both his hands down his face.
“I don’t know,” Pauline said, still amused. “It has a certain ring to it.”
“It absolutely does not,” Will said firmly.
“Who are the other considerations?” Alyss asked.
“Gilan,” Will said immediately. “And Ben. Honestly, preferably Gilan.”
Will shrugged at him. “He’s the obvious choice. He’s organized, he’s respected, a damn good ranger, and he actually likes structure—”
“I tolerate it,” Will corrected. “That’s different.”
Alyss studied him for a moment.
“I'm passing it to Gilan.”
Halt’s gaze sharpened slightly as both his eyebrows rose.
“I can try,” Will said. “And I will. Plus if I'm appointed commandant, I can simply say I'm retiring back to active duty and passing the baton again."
"You can't just be commandant for 6 hours and then decide you're handing it off to someone else, that's now how it works."
"Well, if I'm appointed, things wouldn't be going by the rules anyway. I’m not uprooting everything for a job I don’t want.”
Alyss tilted her head. “Everything?”
He met her eyes, softer now.
“Well, you can’t exactly pack up and move to Araluen with me,” he said. “Your work’s here, honey. Our lives are here.” A small shrug. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in her expression warmed a bit—subtle, but unmistakable.
“That’s very mature of you,” she said.
“Well, don't sound so surprised.”
“I’m not,” she said, smiling. “Just impressed.”
“Don’t be. It’s mostly self-preservation.”
Halt said nothing—but there was something quietly approving in the set of his shoulders.
A week later, the cabin door slammed open without warning.
“Unless you’ve brought something useful--”
Gilan stood in the doorway.
His expression was blank in a way that didn’t suit him. Not calm or controlled like usual.
Halt had already straightened slightly in his chair.
Gilan stepped inside slowly, shut the door behind him, and looked at both of them.
“I’m the new Commandant.”
Will was on his feet so fast his chair scraped loudly across the floor.
“You’re serious?!” he demanded, enveloping his older brother in a bear hug.
Gilan gave a short, almost disbelieving laugh into Will's shoulder. “Apparently.”
Halt stood as well, a rare and proud smile showing across his face as he crossed the room in two strides to place a firm hand on Gilan's shoulder.
“Congratulations,” he said.
Will was still bubbling over with excitement for his friend.
“That’s— of course you are,” he said, grinning now, holding Gilan by the shoulders. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly how it should be.”
Gilan blinked at him, a concerned look crossing his face. “You’re… not disappointed? Or bitter toward me?”
“Are you kidding, Gil? I couldn't be happier!” Will said, pulling him into a hug again. “I was planning on giving it to you anyway.”
“I know,” Will said with a laugh. “But that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.”
Gilan huffed a laugh, shaking his head, as he stepped back from the hug, running his hand through his hair in pure shock.
Halt watched them both for a moment, a familiar pride settling into his chest once again. It was quite an honor having a former apprentice become commandant, but to have them both be considered for the prestigious role made Halt's heart almost swell.
He earned it, he thought. They both would've earned it.
But he couldn't ruin his reputation by getting sappy right now, so he broke the silence, dryly—
“Try not to ruin the Corps.”
Gilan glanced at him, as though he saw right through Halt's defenses. “High expectations.”
“I find they encourage improvement.”
Will clapped Gilan on the back. “You’ll be brilliant.”
Gilan exhaled slowly, some of the shock finally easing.
“You will,” Will said simply.
Gilan leaned back against the table, looking between them.
“…Crowley’s going to be unbearable about this, isn’t he?”
Halt reached for his papers again.
“Get used to it, Commandant.”
And the cabin, once again, settled into something easy.
