#i keep hurting gilan

[areiacannaid]

Since I have seen this going around lately, I thought I might share a bit of a personal opinion--if that's alright. I know people have differing opinions about age gaps in relationships between consenting adults (in this case Gilan and Jenny) and I respect this. But, in all actuality, that doesn't even really need to come into play here.

The reason I don't think Gilan and Jenny's age gap even really has to come into play, comes down to one crucial thing. And that is the fact that Gilan's age is one of the most inconsistent and continually retconned aspects of the series. There are no less than three different age ranges given for Gilan across four different books (and it's alluded to/referenced in a couple more as well) including Ranger's Apprentice, Early Years, Royal Ranger, and Brotherband, which puts his age as anywhere from 5 years to 11ish years older than Jenny.

(Frustration when trying to be accurate while writing fanfic has caused me to actually catalogue those discrepancies. And although I won't put it here because of the length, I can make a separate post, if anyone asks/is interested/would want this, that cites/quotes all the different age ranges given for him throughout the series and the rationale.)

Because his age is so inconsistent and changes so often throughout the series (sometimes in ways that makes aspects of the earlier written books not make sense) I feel that it's well within the reader's right to simply pick the age for him that feels most comfortable for them. If 10 years is something that the reader finds distasteful or uncomfortable, then they can pick 5 years, because canonically that is just as accurate. Sometimes in the books Gilan actually is only 5 years older than Jenny after all.

the jenny-gillan age gap is like 10 years....

will and alyss were probably raised like siblings...

x

[dragonslovecoins]

Accountability---

[Wrote this when I was inspired by the Pauline drama, and @deniizor pointed out Halt's behavior towards Will. We never see it make much of an effect on Will, and because of that it gets largely excused, and I have observed such 'little' things are not often talked about unless they had a more severe effect. Just thought it was interesting and made a little fic. Tried to keep it in character but I fear Halt is anlittle out of character, forgive me!! \(TxT)/]

“Will, I want to talk.”

Will looked up from his new arrow. Halt’s expression was decidedly blank, but his eyes were stormy and downcast.

“Of course. What’s wrong?” Will questioned, setting his arrow down. Halt came in, his steps light and nervous, but determined. He sat beside Will and took a breath.

“I’m sorry.”

Will was confused. He furrowed his brow.

“For…what?” He asked. Halt sighed.

“For how I treat you. You know…the threats to tan you hide and the like.” Halt murmured, looking ashamed. Now Will was even more confused.

“You’re…fine?” He answered. “It’s not like you ever actually did it.”

Halt shook his hand, taking one of Will’s hands.

“Will, that doesn’t make it okay. I shouldn’t have threatened you.” He grumbled. Halt was never an emotional man, and even now he was partially closed off from him. His expression stayed blank, his eyes holding all the emotion he wanted to express but couldn’t. Will gave a pause at that, thinking back on his time as Halt’s apprentice. Halt threatened it, but never laid a hand on him. The threat wore off rather quickly, and Will never found reason to be scared or threatened by it.

“I’m not hurt by it,” Will replied after a moment, squeezing Halt’s hand. “But I’m glad you’re talking with me about this. I forgive you.”

Halt sighed softly through his nose, glancing away. Clearly he still felt guilt about it.

“Halt. It’s not that serious.”

“It is. I never hit you, but it hurt you.”

“I’m not hurt, though.” Will said firmly. “I forgive you. It’s serious, but compared to everything else–”

“You shouldn’t be comparing everything else you’ve been through to my actions.”

Halt’s voice was harsh, probably harsher than he intended, but it was enough to make Will stop and consider. It’s true, Will realized, even if what Halt said had minimal effect on him, especially when compared to everything else Will has been through, it was still wrong of the older ranger. Will couldn’t find it in him to actually be mad at the ranger, but Will was happy that Halt took the time out to come apologize.

“...I get what you’re saying. Thank you for apologizing.” Will leaned against Halt’s shoulder. “I don’t hate you.”

Halt gave a snort when Will leaned against him, but he ruffled his hair. Will looked up at him.

“What spurred this on, anyways?” Will questioned.

“I was…worried for you.” He mumbled, voice lowering with bashfulness. “I heard Pauline mention that little behaviors could be excused in relationships, and that the parents often began excusing such behaviors that may also be demonstrated when saying stuff like threats. I couldn’t allow you to continue thinking my actions were okay.”

Will raised an eye at the older ranger. It was a well known fact that Halt spoke more formally when he spoke, due to the Araluen language not being his first. He had heard Halt speak like this when he was furious at Gilan once, but never again until now.

“...’demonstrated’? When have you ever used that word in casual conversation?” Will replied after a pause, trying to take the conversation away from the stifling seriousness. Halt was never one to take the bait, however.

“Don’t try and distract me.” Halt grumbled. Will was now the one to sigh.

“Halt, relax. I’m not mad,” Will protested, encasing Halt in a hug. Halt stiffened, but surprisingly let him hug him, even patting his back for a moment before drawing away. Halt was clearly done with the emotional talk.

“Look, just…I’m sorry. And I care about you. And don’t let people treat you how I did, because that’s wrong,” Halt spoke, voice quick and awkward, but sincere. He toyed with the strings on his shirt, and Will smiled.

“I won’t. And I forgive you.” He assured him.

Halt nodded, standing and returning to the doorway. He paused and glanced back at Will.

“I love you, son.” He grumbled, unable to look Will in the eye. Will was taken aback, but then grinned, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I love you too, dad. And I’m telling Gilan you said that.” He teased. Halt huffed, back to the grumpy ranger Will knew and loved.

“Do that and you’ll be mucking the stables all week.” Halt growled, but knew well that Will would challenge that.

And they both knew Halt would never. Because Halt loved his son.

[that-one-enby-ranger]

Navigate

Day 10 of the ranger Gathering - Navigate

“Halt’s going to kill me when we get back,” Will said, “he was expecting us back hours ago now.

“I’m pretty sure us being a bit late is going to be the least of his worries,” Gilan said dryly, “And it should be the least of our worries as well.”

“Fair point,” Will said, just managing to dodge a low hanging tree branch. Gosh, it was hard to see in the dark. “It would be so much easier if the sun was out.”

“If the sun was out then we most likely wouldn’t be lost,” Gilan pointed out. 

“It has been a while,” Will started, “Halt might be out looking for us, so maybe we should just stay in one place and just wait.” The idea seemed logical, it was what he was taught to do as a kid if he ever got lost, but Gilan shot the idea down.

“He might be looking,” Gilan said, “but he wouldn’t know where to look because we never told him where we were going. I just told him, ‘I’m kidnapping your apprentice, don’t worry we’ll be back before it gets dark.’ He didn’t bother asking where I was taking you too.”

“He probably figured we could look after ourselves,” Will muttered. “Which we should be able to do.” As Gilan had pointed out the flaw in his plan, he remembered that the technique he had been taught was for times where people knew the whereabouts you were. 

Gilan pointed up at the sky. “Look,” he said, “you see that constellation up there?” Will nodded. “The two stars that are jutting out of it point south. The cabin is relatively to the south. We just keep walking that way and we should eventually get somewhere he recognizes.”

“And if we don’t?” Will questioned.

“If we stay in one direction then we should eventually get out of here then it should be easier to get back,” Gilan said, “it’s if we go in heaps of different directions all over the place that we’ll end up getting even more lost.”

“True,” Will said, then gestured for Gilan to walk in front of him, “You’re better at navigating than I am. Lead on.”

Gilan began to walk to the south, Will trailing close behind him.

← — →

Will guessed they had been walking for around thirty minutes when they finally emerged from out of the woods. 

“Fucking finally,” Gilan groaned, “my feet are starting to hurt.”

Will grinned at him. “We’ve still got some more walking to do. We have to actually get back to the cabin now.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Gilan said. “Look, there’s Wensley village over there.” Will looked to where Gilan was indicating and saw that his friend was right.

“So it is,” he said, “thank god.”

“Come on kid,” Gilan said, walking towards the village, “I wanna get back to the cabin. It’s cold as hell out here.”

[areiacannaid]

Ingredients

Summary: Will had been back home for more than two months now. The distance in time from his experience in Skandia was almost as far away as the country itself. It didn't seem fair that it could still affect him as if he still lived it. It wasn't fair that it had happened at all–that it had hurt so much.

Read on AO3

Chapter 1

Will felt his eyes grow hot as he stared in dismay at the mess strewn out before him: a scattered array of chaos that encompassed the entirety of the kitchen and table. He was supposed to have finished hours ago–should have been able to finish hours ago. And yet he had not even fully started, had accomplished nothing but making a mess of things… yet again.

He had only wanted to make something nice to eat. But it had all been waylaid… as so many things had been, ever since Skandia. It seemed that he could no longer even enjoy something as simple as a rare day off.

Halt had been called away by Crowley for a mission and he had left Will behind in Redmont. Gilan had been asked to come down for the duration to help Will keep up with his training and studies while Halt was gone.

"I don't want to leave him alone right now."

Will knew he shouldn't have read the dispatch Halt had written to Gilan. It had been a private correspondence after all. But his mentor had left it unguarded on the table just a moment too long for Will's curiosity.

"I don't want to leave him alone right now."

His chest felt like it was constricting even now as he thought of it. Will closed his eyes. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Gilan, or even that he would rather be alone. He loved the chance to spend any time with the older Ranger, and often lamented that they never got to see each other as much as Will would have liked when Gilan was stationed so far away. But the implication that Halt did not trust him to be able to take care of himself stung badly, became another pain to add to the jumbled pile that never seemed to leave his chest. It matched the cloying bitter thoughts that had stayed with him since Skandia: that it had all happened because he was weak, because he had failed, because he wasn't capable enough.

Halt had told him many times that this was not true. Instead, he'd told him that he was proud of him for surviving. But the words in the letter did not match the words he had spoken and that hurt, brushed along his thoughts like so many sharpened fragments of doubt.

But there was nothing to be done about it. Halt was going to be gone for a couple of weeks and Gilan was coming to watch him and that was that. However, there had been about a day's gap in between Halt's departure and Gilan's arrival in which Will would be on his own. And Halt, knowing this, had decided to give him that time as a day off. Days off with Halt were more than few and far between so Will had gratefully seized the opportunity.

It had been so long since he'd had a holiday of any kind and he had promised himself that now was finally the time to indulge in his hobbies. Now was the time to do something that might make him happy again… for however briefly it might be.

The bitter truth was that he seemed barely to have enough left of himself to simply get through what his training required of him each day. And the task of catching up on all he had missed during his capture seemed almost insurmountable. Once he scraped himself through another day of lessons, he seemed unable to muster up anything more than that. The few moments left to him in the evening were spent in idle exhaustion, too drained to do anything but get ready to repeat it all once more again the next day.

He just felt so hollow.

He was home again: back where he was safe, back where he was meant to be, and there was so much he wanted to do. He wanted to embrace his old passions again, those activities that had always made him feel happy, productive, and worth something more than mindless drudgery.

But lately, he never had the energy for it, let alone the heart.

All that pain from Skandia seemed to have bloomed into a sense of apathy and numbness so pernicious that it scared him–made him hate himself for it as much as everything else. That in turn only seemed to feed that deep-seated pain once more, creating an endless cycle he could not escape… not even in sleep. His memories of his capture and all that had happened, incomplete and fragmented though some parts of it were, still tormented his dreams so often that his rest was nothing but intermittent scraps.

He'd been back home for more than two months now. The distance in time from his experience was almost as far away as the country itself. It didn't seem fair that it could still affect him as if he still lived it. It wasn't fair that it had happened at all, that it had hurt so much.

He was so tired.

The sudden sound of Tug's horsey greeting shattered the stillness that had settled over Halt's cabin, startling Will from the milling thoughts that had overtaken him. He straightened sharply, quickly, from where he'd been sitting with his head in his hands. One more glance at the horrible mess he'd made of the kitchen made him cringe, guilty heart jumping uncomfortably with the knowledge of just how long he'd been idle… and the knowledge that it was too late for him to hide the failure of his cooking day, too late to put everything away.

Useless…

He knew the sound of light footfalls on the steps to the cabin and the soft rap of knuckles on the front door was Gilan's way of announcing his presence. A friendly courtesy, since Will knew the young Ranger could move in near total silence if he chose. He probably should probably have been grateful for the gesture, but all platitudes had been overridden by an embittered and anxious heartbeat. Instead, he merely felt guilty and called out. He found himself wishing that Gilan hadn't come at all. Will wasn't ready.

Failure…

Yet another thing to add to the list. He felt his eyes burn anew and this time he was unable to stop the wetness from spilling over as his breath caught. He swiped desperately at his face in an attempt to stop them, but it was too late. Gilan would have every right to be disgusted with him, he knew. Will couldn't keep himself from flinching as Gilan, careful in his movements, opened the cabin door and stepped inside.

"Will?" Gilan said, alarmed as his quick eyes took in everything about the destroyed room before settling back on Will. "What happened?"

Will couldn't bring himself to answer past the lump in his throat. He partially buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking and he tried once more to stop the silent tears.

Not receiving an answer, Gilan cautiously stepped closer on noiseless feet. Will flinched again, and felt his breath quicken in an ingrained response that he had as little control over as he did his tears. Gilan noticed and stopped short, spreading his hands and crouching down so he did not tower above where Will sat, instead leaving them at eye level.

"Are you hurt?"

The gentleness of his words startled Will enough to move his hands away from his face. Finding himself unable to speak, he merely shook his head.

"What happened then?" Gilan asked again.

Will searched his face. There was no disgust or anger in his eyes, nor pity either. In that moment, Will could only read concern and something deeply sad. Will felt the tension in his body start to unwind.

"I messed up," Will finally managed.

Gilan didn't say anything, merely tilted his head, a silent question, an invitation to elaborate. It was perhaps the complete lack of judgment in his expression that allowed Will to explain further.

"I kind of destroyed Halt's kitchen," he managed.

Gilan glanced around again at the mess, eyes thoughtful if not a little confused.

"That? It's easily fixed," he encouraged gently, a faint smile growing on his face. "I'm sure I've made far worse messes in my time. At the very least I don't see any fires or destroyed furniture."

But Will shook his head. "It's not just that."

Once again Gilan didn't say anything, only waited patiently for Will to explain, his expression stating plainly that he suspected as much.

"I wanted to use my day off to make something for myself," he said finally. He made an encompassing gesture towards the scattered ingredients, spilled flour and oil. "It's meant to be a cream cake. Jenny gave me the recipe when she saw how much I loved it. Eating them always made me happy when I was younger… and I've been craving it for so long–a taste of… home, I suppose. I've missed it…. I've always loved cooking and thought that it would be fun, that the challenge and the food might make me… happy again…

"But I couldn't do it. I got all the ingredients ready, started mixing them and then I just…. I'm so tired, Gil. What is wrong with me? I can't even get this right! I can't get anything right anymore!"

For a long moment, Gilan didn't say anything and Will was too wrung out to look at him, couldn't bear to see the disdain he might find.

"I promise it's not as bad as all that," Gilan said finally, the substance and gentleness of his words so opposite to Will's expectations that it startled him into lifting his head and meeting his gaze as he continued. "You were just missing an ingredient, is all."

"What ingredient?"

"Only the most important one: a friend to help you cook," Gilan replied cheerfully.

He lifted a hand carefully, outstretched, a question in his eyes and the tilt of his head. Will hesitated only a moment before he nodded permission. Gilan carefully placed his hand on Will's shoulder and Will gripped his forearm back, mouth quirking shakily against his will in response to Gilan's infectious smile. He felt moisture once again filling his eyes, but not because of pain this time. He rose from his seat then, pulling Gilan into a full, tight hug. Gilan held him back, the weight of him as familiar as it was comforting.

"What do you say, should we try and rescue your cake together?"

Will looked up almost hopefully before his next thought made his face fall. He shook his head. "It's too late; I already missed my chance. My free time was only supposed to last until you came."

"What Halt doesn't know won't hurt him," Gilan said cheerfully.

That did not allay Will in the slightest.

"But he's Halt!" Will pointed out. "He'll find out no matter what! You know he will."

"Correction," Gilan allowed, smile still not dropping, "what Halt finds out won't hurt him–just us."

"What if I don't want it to hurt us either?"

"Where's your sense of adventure? No risk, no reward. I thought you wanted cake?"

"I did," Will said, allowing for a faint smile. "But I don't want to die to get it. No food is worth that much."

"Horace would be very disappointed in you for that kind of defeatist attitude," Gilan said, shaking his head in mock sadness. His eyes seemed to sparkle with that familiar mischief. "If Halt finds out, I'll just say it was for part of your Ranger training in cooking."

"And if he doesn't believe you?"

"Then this cake of yours better be delicious." Gilan grinned, unconcerned, flicking an idle hand to the side to punctuate his point, "to bring meaning to the suffering and all."

Will shook his head but didn't argue, finding himself just a little too caught up in Gilan's exuberance and his own craving to protest.

"Alright."

Together they moved to the table and kitchen, both setting themselves to cleaning the worst of the mess. It was somehow far less daunting a task now that he wasn't doing it alone. That finished, Will pulled the ingredients into better order and handed Gilan the sheet of paper with the recipe on it to look over. Gilan studied it quietly for a moment before he lowered the paper to look at Will, one eyebrow raised.

"Will… what kind of recipe is this?"

"It's Jenny's," Will said in immediate defense of his friend. "She's the best cook of the Ward, and Chub's best apprentice."

Gilan brushed that off with a dismissive gesture. "What I mean is, there are no measurements. How are we supposed to know exactly how much of each ingredient to add?"

Will glanced down at the recipe again, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He hadn't really considered that in the moment but, as he looked it over again more closely, he realized that perhaps Gilan did have a point.

"Jenny always said that cooking was a matter of the heart," he said, words reflective, "you just feel how much you need as it happens."

"I see," Gilan nodded sagely, more than a little disingenuously. "And if my deep feelings lead to too much salt being added, what then?"

"Won't happen," Will felt a grin spreading across his face. "You're not Halt."

Gilan threw back his head and laughed. "Maybe don't let him hear you call him salty if you value your life."

"Good thing he's not here then. What was that you said: what he doesn't know won't hurt him?" Will said, throwing Gilan's previous words back at him.

"So I did," Gilan agreed. "But I suppose that then begs the question. If not salt, just what will you be adding too much of? Capers? Since they are small, shriveled, and bitter? That sounds about right to me."

Will shoved Gilan playfully in the side, offended by the comment. "I am not that small anymore; I had my growth spurt recently," he said with dignity.

"Is that so?"

The bowl of flour Will was just about to reach for suddenly shot skyward as Gilan lifted it above his head and thoroughly out of reach. This left Will no other option but to leap awkwardly in an attempt to retrieve it… and inevitably falling short.

"You are not funny!"

"Caper," Gilan said sagely, and with an air of finality.

"I am not short, and I am not bitter!" Will ground out even as he tried again.

The smirk on Gilan's face turned into a full grin, one eyebrow raising. Will realized, a little belatedly, that his tone had indeed sounded more than a little bitter. He flushed, before consoling and defending himself in his mind by blaming everything on Gilan, who quite deserved it in his opinion.

Realizing he'd never be able to jump high enough to get the flour, he promptly set about applying himself and his skills to the problem the same way he would a particularly troublesome tree. He began to climb his so-called friend. The idea, while good in theory, did not stay that way in practice. It turned out to be far more difficult than he expected as Gilan was far less steady than a tree, on the account of wrestling movement and laughter. Their combined antics landed them both on the hardwood planks of the cabin's floor, nearly spilling the bowl of flour in the process.

Will was finally able to snatch it away from his new perch sitting atop Gilan's chest. Gilan's infectious laughter compromised his grip so there was not much struggle this time. Will took himself and his prize quickly back to the counter before his own laughter could make him drop it.

"Who knew capers could be so aggressive?" Gilan asked rhetorically as he scraped himself back up to his feet with a sad shake of his head.

"At least I'm not a gangly mushroom like you!" Will shot back as Gilan moved to join him once more. "One of those stupid thin-stalked ones with the shaggy cap that grow too tall for their weight," he ticked off on his fingers. "Completely ridiculous, and impossible to get rid of because they keep growing back like an infectious nuisance."

Gilan tilted his head in thought, consideration turning quickly to acceptance. "Seems only fair," he agreed, eyes practically sparkling with amusement at the unflattering comparison. "But you seem to have left out the part about being quite savory."

"I am never saying that about you!" Will declared fiercely, shoving again when Gilan appeared not to have been suitably subdued or chastened by the comment alone. "Are you going to help me or not?" he challenged.

Gilan put his hands up in surrender before taking up the recipe once more. The two worked in relative silence for a moment before Gilan broke it.

"Will, how big are Jenny's hands? I'm trying to work out what a 'pinch of nutmeg' would look like to her."

Will pursed his lips in thought. "Maybe just a little smaller than mine?" he said with a worrying lack of conviction.

“Right,” Gilan nodded, smiling softly at the uncertainty. “This may not taste exactly as you remember it.”

[forgedroyalseal]

His Worst Nightmare

Chapter 9

Halt stood patiently as Horace silently paced back and forth in front of him. After leaving Will at the cabin, they walked out to a clearing, not a single word muttered between the two. Horace had been trying to gather his thoughts for quite some time, but Halt did not rush him, did not push.

“Ok.” Horace says finally, staring Halt down. “I kind of hate you.”

Halt nodded, “I kind of hate myself too.”

Horace frowns, “That, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

Halt shrugged, “That doesn’t change the fact that that’s how I feel.”

“It’s just,” Horace groaned in frustration, “Will is like my brother. And I am sick and tired of him getting hurt again and again because of the rangers. Because you feel guilty about what happened to his dad. Because you took a shining to him when we were kids. Because he’s desperate to impress you, even if it kills him.”

“Will has impressed me every day since we first met. He could have decide to be a farmer instead of a ranger and I’d still be proud of him.”

“Does he know that?” Horace asks, but they both know the answer.

Halt had the decency to look somewhat regretful. “I should tell him more.”

Horace scoffs, “If you start now he’ll just think it’s out of pity. Or guilt.”

“I want you to know that I really appreciate all that you’ve done for him these past couple weeks.” Halt redirects the conversation, trying to get it back on track. “You’ve succeeded where I’ve failed him. Neither of us will ever forget how you’ve taken care of him. And I can’t imagine how hard it is for you now that we are all here. But everyone in that cabin,” Halt points down the path, “are here to help both of you.”

Horace feels his hackles rise in defense. “I can take care of him.”

“I know, you’ve more than proved that.” Halt placated. “But you deserve help. There’s not a doubt in my mind that if you had to, you and Will could be perfectly fine all on your own. But you aren’t on your own, you don’t need to do it alone.”

Horace sniffs and turns away from Halt. “I don’t know how to be ok with you.”

“You don’t have to be. I don’t expect you to be.” Halt gently turns Horace back to face him and wipes the tears that had fallen onto his cheeks. “I just ask that you let us help. And if the most helpful thing I can do is stay away, I’ll do it. But know that I’ll always be here for both of you.”

Horace sighs. “It’s not fair to Will if I ask you to stay away for my own comfort. He missed you. And after everything, he doesn’t deserve to have any more suffering.” Horace straighten, “So, you’re not going to stay away. You are going to be here. You are going to show up for Will because you need each other. And if it gets to be too much or too hard, and you abandon him again, I’m going to hunt you down and kick your ass.”

Halt bit down a smile and nodded seriously, “I’d expect nothing less.”

__________________________________________________________________________

“-And so I was like, I don’t know who you think you are, but my brother is engaged to the crown princess so I’m pretty sure that means I out rank you.”

Horace and Halt catch the tail end of Jenny’s story as they step back into the cabin. The group is sprawled out around the room, with Will tucked between Jenny and Alyss, and Gilan leaning against the couch behind Jenny. George has pulled a chair over to sit in front of Will, and Crowley and Pauline watch the entire interaction from the kitchen table where they are sipping coffee out of steaming mugs. The scene is so warm and domestic, Halt momentarily forget what called them all together.

Horace passes by Halt with a groan. “Jen, how many times do I have to tell you, Cassandra and I aren’t engaged yet, you can’t keep telling people that, at some point, someone is going to believe it.”

“That’s the point! If you’re going to drag your feet about this whole thing, spreading rumors about you might actually be forced into getting a move on!” Jenny protests.

Will grins, “Yeah man, what’s the hold up? You wait any longer, Cass might come to her senses and find someone in her league.”

“Ugh, I forgot how awful you two are when you gang up on me. Alyss, make them stop.” Horace flung himself to the floor to lean against Alyss’ knees. She instantly began scratching his head just as she used to when they were children and he couldn’t sleep.

“Don’t tease him.” She chastised Will and Jenny. “It’s not his fault he’s a bit slow.”

“Hey!”

The wardmates continued their bickering as Halt took a seat beside Pauline.

“How was your walk?” She asked softly.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

Halt let out a heavy breath. “Hard. Those boys, they, they’re struggling. And it’s my fault.”

“Halt,” Crowley said sternly, “you did what you had to do to save Will’s life.”

“That’s not what I mean. They are struggling because I left them. I left Will when he needed me the most. I left Horace to try to figure out how to keep Will alive and sane all by himself. I put my own feeling above their needs.”

Crowley and Pauline glanced at each other, and Halt has known them long enough that he could read the look they shared.

“And you both know I’m right.” He sat back.

“The only reason to look behind is to guide your steps forward. There’s no point in rehashing the past. What are you going to do moving forward? That’s what’s important.” Pauline says.

“To start with, I’m moving back in. Tonight.”

Crowley nods, “I’ll speak with Rodney first thing tomorrow morning. He’s had a knight or two lose an arm. I’ll see if he’s got any suggestions for making Will’s life a little more accessible.”

“And most importantly, you both need to ask Will how he wants to move forward. Find out if he’d like to retire or if you need to start looking into how he can maintain an active role in the Corps.”

Halt and Crowley both frown at Pauline. “How could he still have an active role? Pauline, he can’t-“

Pauline cuts Crowley off, “We don’t know what he can or can’t do right now. Will is extremely clever, if anyone could work out how to live their life in this condition, it’s him.” She looks over at the young man, whose head was now dropped on Alyss’ shoulder, a sleepy smile painted on his face as he watches Jenny hit Gilan over the head with a pillow. His eyes shift to her and he offers a little wave. Her voice softens, “He just needs to be reminded that he still has options, that he can still have a happy future. That his life isn’t over.”

[acewithapen]

How Does a Legend Die?

Hi! Welcome to the RA Brainrot!

WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Will Treaty dies.

Big thank you to the RA Discord!

Read on AO3 here!

Will Treaty was dead. Maddie couldn’t believe it. Smoke filled the air, and she could see Him. Jory Ruhl. He spotted her and gave a mocking salute. She choked back a sob and turned away. Uncle Will was gone and it was her fault. 

She forced herself to go quickly up the path and back to where she’d hidden the children. Scared faces peered out at her. 

“I know, it’s going to be okay.” It’s not. “I’ll get you to the closest village so they can take you home, alright?” She smiles, she thinks. It hurt. It all hurts. She called Bumper over, helping one of the littlest ones into the saddle. 

She dropped them off at the village, asking for help to return them. They agreed, and she went on her way. Maddie can’t feel anything. Logically, the best course of action is to go to Castle Araluen. She turns toward Redmont. 

Bumper tossed his mane and she hunched forward. It…it wasn’t standard Ranger procedure. You were supposed to stay alert and watch your surroundings. She can’t do that right now. 

Will Treaty was dead. Cassandra and her husband, Horace, stood in shock. A courier had arrived with a hastily scrawled note from Maddie. She covered her mouth, a sob breaking through. Will…not Will. Not him. He was practically her brother, he couldn’t be dead! 

“I’m afraid it’s true.” Gilan had entered silently, the man looking weary. “Maddie sent me a similar note, but encoded. Here’s the translation.” 

Cassandra took it with shaking hands, unfolding the paper carefully. Commandant, I regret to inform you of my mentor’s, Will Treaty, passing. Jory Ruhl and his men burned him alive during our mission. I’m doing my best to watch Redmont, but would it be possible for you to send someone to help me? I’m afraid I can’t do it alone. 

Maddie

Horace was trembling. She laced their hands together, squeezing hard. “So, he’s really dead?”

Gilan nodded, eyes dark. “I sent them on the mission. It’s—it’s my fault.”

They couldn’t say anything. It wasn’t Gilan’s fault, but at the same time…

Will Treaty was dead. Maddie had ridden to Halt and Pauline’s apartment, telling them the full story through broken sobs. She was on their loveseat, Sable laying on top of her as she slept. Halt dragged a hand down his face, scratching absentmindedly at his beard. His son, and that was what he was truly, had died on a mission. Outsmarted and then burned. 

He sighed. Will…it was too soon. It would always be too soon. First Caitlyn and Ferris (and Halt had long since given up on hiding the grief for his brother), and then Crowley, and then Alyss, and now Will. It was too much. 

“I’m going to make some coffee. Do you want anything?” His voice scratched its way out of his throat. 

Pauline looked up at him, tears shining in her eyes. “No…I just need a moment.” 

He nodded and turned into the kitchen, setting a pot on the stove. Making coffee was a mindless task now, years of habit culminating. He sighed deeply again. Grief had been a constant of his life. His parents, his sister, his brother, his best friend, his son and daughter-in-law. He’d seen so many people die, heard the bad news over and over again. But it had never hit as hard as it had just barely an hour and a half before. Maddie, barely keeping it together on their doorstep, only to break as he hugged her, sobbing into the collar of his tunic. 

She had cried through the story, explaining how they’d set off to take down a ring of illicit child slavery. And how Will had realized Ruhl was the one who had murdered his wife. And then it was Ruhl who killed him. Both of the Treaty’s, dead by a madman’s hands. 

Will Treaty. Allys Manwaring-Treaty. Almost Maddie Altman. So close to death by Jory Ruhl. 

[trickthecloak]

Whumptober 2020 Day 5

No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

"C'mon," Will grit out, panting as he readjusted his friend's arm over his shoulders again. "Keeping helping me. C'mon."

Gilan was trying; however, there was only so much one could do when he had a large gash through the back of his thigh, rendering the leg practically useless. Factoring in the blood loss... Gilan was in no state to help anyone, and Will knew it.

Without warning, Gilan buckled. He'd have pulled both of them to the ground had it not been for Will's agility and reaction time. Will ended up on one knee, bracing a hand against Gilan's chest to keep him semi upright. "Gilan. Gil, hey. You're alright. C'mon- up-"

"Will," Gilan gasped out. "This isn't working."

The younger Ranger ignored the words, instead taking the time to check the rough field bandage he had thrown on Gilan's injury in a feeble attempt to stem the blood flow. The fabric was soaked through and skewed, and Will bit out a curse. Absently patting Gilan's chest a few times, Will then propped his friend against his shoulder and prepared to readjust the slipped bandage, because Gilan couldn't afford to lose anymore blood to the forest floor-

"Will, you've gotta go."

"Yeah, we're going, just give me a moment to fix this," Will replied distractedly. Gilan hissed in pain as the bandage pulled tight, reaching fingers out to insistently grab Will's sleeve. Their weak grip made Will pause and turn to meet Gilan's bloodless face. "What?"

"You have to go."

Will simply stared for a moment before his face twisted. "Don't be stupid," he snapped. "I'm not leaving you, so just stop."

Wearily wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, Gilan doggedly shook his head. "They're going to catch up, and... I can't keep going."

"Yes, you can!"

Gilan gave a faint, sad smile. "No," he answered gently, sounding immensely tired. "I can't."

"Then let them come," Will snarled, drawing his saxe. Gilan's face scrunched in distress.

"No! Just get out of here! Think about Halt - you don't want to that to him, do you?" The older Ranger hissed, locking eyes with Will. For all the pain they were in, they were also alight with defiance.

Will scoffed and pulled the bandage tighter, making Gilan groan. "Don't be stupid. Halt has two apprentices, idiot. Neither of us are dying here, alright? Now, c'mon, time to back get up."

"You didn't see him after you were taken to Skandia," Gilan wheezed, breath hitching as Will yanked him back up. "You didn't see him in Arrida. He lives for you, Will. Please, just go. Better me than you."

Gilan sounded so resigned, so sincere, that for a moment Will just gaped at him. "... Why would you even say that?" he said finally said, tone heated and face horrified.

Gilan was spared from answering by the sound of rough trampling through the underbrush. Both Rangers automatically turned toward the sound, and a long moment later, Horace burst into view.

"There you two are! We couldn't find you, and the blood trail, and we had to take care of the others, and Halt is finishing up with them, and..." The knight gasped for air, eyes frantically roving up and down his two friends, at Will supporting an ashen Gilan. "Gilan. Will, what do we need?"

"Yeah, the horses are nearby, Horace, right?" Will said tightly, and Horace nodded as he moved forward to take Gilan's weight. "Good. I'm going to get them. Horace, stay here and get more compression on the wound. I'll be back soon."

If Horace noticed the tension or the way that Will refused to look at Gilan, instead passing the latter over to Horace and immediately stalking off into the trees, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the warrior pulled out his own handkerchief, and with a quick apology to a quiet Gilan, pulled it tight.

Gilan gave a pained yelp, and it was almost a mercy when he finally passed out into Horace's shoulder.

"You need to stop putting holes in yourself," Halt said, briefly resting a hand on his former apprentice's hair before retreating and settling into one of the chairs. They had tracked down a healer in a small, nearby village, and Gilan shrugged from the cot where he sat propped, the gash underside his thigh looking far more manageable now that it was carefully and neatly wrapped in crisp white bandages. He'd been lucky. "Any deeper," the healer had said in wonder and relief, "And you'd be looking at a limp for the rest of your life. As is it, you should be all right, so long as you let it heal properly."

"You're telling me," the tall Ranger said lightly in response to Halt's complaint, though there was an undercurrent of strain in his tone. Halt flicked his eyes to Will, who sat slumped in his chair with his feet propped on the small table, twirling his throwing knife between his fingers. The tension in the room was practically tangible.

Halt raised his eyebrow. "Is everything all right?"

An awkward silence followed, before Will suddenly slammed his knife flat down on the table. "No, everything's not all right. This one-" he gestured roughly to Gilan, "Tried to make me leave him today because of some stupid notion that his life is worth less than mine. He even went as far as to suggest that only my death would be upsetting to you, Halt - that he would hardly factor in at all in comparison. And as much as I would like to blame it on delirium from blood loss, I need an explanation, for my own sake, at least."

Heaving a breath, Will leaned back again and crossed his arms, eyes trained heavily on Gilan as he waited. Gilan's face had gone practically grey during Will's rant, and he opened his mouth wordlessly for a moment before closing it again, looking very much like a cornered animal under Will and Halt's stares.

It was Halt who broke the silence. "Gilan, is this true?" he asked, his expression and tone carefully blank. Halt knew Gilan would never flat out lie to him, and felt himself sink as his first apprentice withered under the question.

"It's not like that," Gilan answered finally, face hot and throat tight because it wasn't like that and he hated being on the spot like this. Halt and Will had a special relationship, everyone knew that. Gilan knew that. Will had experienced his first taste of family only when Halt had taken him as an apprentice - Halt, the first person who had truly wanted Will for being Will. And with Halt, came the Rangers, a tight knit group that was practically a family in itself... and more specifically, with Halt came Gilan, practically a built in older brother, due to Gilan's former position as Halt's apprentice. Gilan loved Will. Gilan had a family of his own and a plethora of father figures. Gilan and Halt's relationship was different - Gilan simply hadn't needed the older Ranger the way that Will did, a fact that Gilan understood and respected.

However, as much as Gilan understood that, and as much as he convinced himself that being the second favorite didn't hurt... sometimes it did.

"It's not like that," he repeated, then fluttered a hand towards the youngest Ranger. "Will is... Will. You two need each other." You wouldn't need me, hung unspoken in the air.

Halt didn't answer for a long moment, absorbing the words. "When I apprenticed you both," he said finally, "I took an oath to protect you. This oath still stands. I don't mean it lightly when I say that I would die for either of you in an instant." Halt nodded to Gilan. "I need you to understand how important you are to me."

Gilan nodded slowly, his eyes shiny. Halt leaned forward to tightly embrace the younger man. Gilan responded in kind, clinging to his mentor like a small child. Halt whispered something in his ear, and when they pulled away, Gilan was smiling.

Will leaned in for his turn, all anger -no, fear- gone from his being. "Self-sacrificial is a bad look on you," the youngest Ranger said as he firmly hugged his friend, and Gilan gave a wet laugh.

From the doorway, his arms full of food, Horace smiled. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but he'd resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he would always be a half-step behind these Rangers.

The warrior cleared his throat. "I have food. Anyone interested in a cup of coffee?"

A resounding chorus of "Always" answered, and Horace knew everything was fine.

[witchersgoldenbard]

someone stop me from writing ranger’s apprentice fanfic catered to myself and two of my followers please

[redrose-arrow]

ranger’s apprentice characters as customers i have served

[endearingly, pt. 1/2]

Once I have put HORACE’s order in, my boss signals for me to come to the kitchen. She has questions and I answer them. Yes, I put in the correct order. Yes, there’s more main courses than people. Yes, I checked with the table if that is okay. No, they do not want smaller portions. I have no idea if they will finish it all - but Horace does. 

WILL takes a huge interest in my work and me. Another table kept me for longer than hoped so I apologise for taking so long to get to his table. It’s okay, he says. Is it always so busy? he asks. How long have I been working here? How many evenings a week? Oh, I’m a fulltime uni student? Where? What do I major in? Do I have plans for the future? I love talking to him, but as noted, it is busy. I don’t know how to end the conversation without offending him. Thankfully, there’s ALYSS, who tells Will that I “probably have work to do, dear.” I smile at her, thankful. She makes sure everyone pays attention to me when I come to take orders and confirms when I put the orders on the table. Someone wants to ask a question but Alyss points out that the answer is on the menu, saving me time once again. 

JENNY asks a ton of questions about the food - which I can only barely answer. But it’s okay, she’s excited and ends up ordering my recommendation. Which, she later assures me, was really good. It boosts my confidence and her entire being makes me eager to serve her. 

GEORGE comes on a biweekly basis, usually alone. It’s often a quiet night, so I have time to chat with him. I remember his hobbies and ask how that’s been going and he is so appreciative of the talk. He always orders roughly the same thing, so within a few weeks I remember his order. It makes him very excited and he usually rants for a bit about how much he loves the restaurant and our food. 

GILAN orders coffee for every course. I don’t judge him (but I do). When he orders ice cream for dessert I convince my boss to make him the children’s version with the colours and the candy and the lights. He appreciates it more than half of the kids I serve it to do. 

CASSANDRA orders the most basic dishes and honestly it’s relatable as hell. She tells everyone to shut tf up when I try to get their orders. I quickly get a grasp of the jokes she makes about the others and manage to play into them, we bond over how incapable some men are and it’s just entertaining.

ERAK keeps forgetting my name but I don’t mind, it’s sweet that he wants to address me personally. I tell his table that they have drunk all of the beer I had gotten out for the night. They laugh. I am only partially joking. When another table has a birthday they all sing and clap along. He jokes about working instead of paying but ends up leaving a huge tip. Only downside is that they cut their Asian noodles and I am just culturally hurt in my bosses’ stead. 

SELETHEN is a tourist (German for this story). He tries to talk to me in English but I can tell it’s hard for him. When he accidentally talks German to me, I talk back in German. After a few back and forths he realises and we talk in German for the rest of the night. It’s not entirely smooth sailing on my side, but he clearly appreciates the effort and tones down his own accent to help me understand him. I end up giving him some recommendations for activities in the area. 

[brotherbandchronicles]

Ingvar, for the character ask?

Thank you so much for asking! <3

First impression: My first impression on him was literally ‘awww, what a cinnamon roll’ and i think that sums it up quite nicely.

Impression now: He’s a cinnamon roll! *said confidently cause i am proud of myself that i was right* But... well, you know - he’s the type that definitely gives the best kind of hugs (oh gorlog how i would love to get one) but at the same time he could kill you in like five seconds if he would have wanted to. And still, somehow he doesn’t act like a torn character. I feel like he’s one of the rare ones - one of those who try to fix the world with kindness because they know what being truly hurt means but are not afraid to use their strength and power to protect and fight for what they believe in when everything else fails.

Favorite moment: He has so many of great moments! It’s hard to pick just one but I think it’s in the Scorpion Mountain when Hal shows him how important he is and what kind of person he is. I think it’s a great example of his development because he finally sees a few glimpses of what he means to his brotherband.

Idea for a story: I would love to see a collection of all those moments when Ingvar’s strength surprised someone thanks to his acting or through stories that are told about him. It could start with Herons when they are just getting to know each other, then it could continue with Hallasholm citizens and ideally end up with some funny rangers-included story. (Yes, I do have a particular idea and I can tell you it includes Gilan, Halt, gathering, apprentices, finding the best strategy and lots of chaotic energy.)

Unpopular opinion:  With a clear conscience, I can say that I don’t have one. I think Ingvar is one of the most favourite characters of the whole series and it’s really hard for me to even think of an opinion that does not fit in the canon. Moreover, an unpopular one.

Favorite relationship: For friendship, it’s definitely Hal & Ingvar. I love their dynamics - how Ingvar keeps an eye on Hal (but in a little bit different way than Stig does) and Hal makes sure that Ingvar doesn’t feel left out. I am telling you: you need a friend who always makes sure that you feel like you belong in the group and if you don’t have one, then I suggest you to become that friend - it makes you feel welcome too. For a romantic relationship? That’s a tough one. I can at least say that I am not a big fan of Ingvar/Lydia because I feel like Lydia’s acting makes him kind of go to a background and it makes him more easily overlooked. (Uhm maybe that could be the unpopular opinion?)

Favorite headcanon: This is one of my first ever headcanons but i still love it from the bottom of my heart. Ingvar can make flower crowns and not just some flower crowns. He makes the most beautiful flower crowns in the whole Hallasholm. Every spring, he makes exactly two of them - one for his mother and one for his sister (Hedvig, one of the few BB OCs I have). While he’s creating them, he always has a bunch of kids around him, trying to learn how exactly he makes them and how he’s able to make them so special. And Ingvar? He patiently explains everything to them.

[the-thursday]

After Halt's funeral, Will takes his mandola and heads to the meadow where Halt used to teach him how to shoot from a bow.

--

He sits down, blank face caressed soft spring breeze bringing the promise of a rain. The sun is hidden behind steely heavy clouds and the leaves sway in the wind.

Closing his eyes, his hand clasps the head of the mandala. His fingers dance across the strings like hollow ghosts, sad rythm echoing through the instrument.

Melody of 'Graybeard Halt' flows around the meadow in soft sad tunes, like a silky back veil of a shadowy ballerine.

Will's lips move yet nothing sounds past them but for a broken whisper. Water splatters on the strings, making them slippery for his fingers, nevertheless he continues.

Strange it is though... it hasn't started to rain yet.

-

As the last chord hangs in the air, Will thinks he may have heard some noise amongst the trees.

With dull blurry eyes he glances towards the trees. After few seconds, he can discern green cloaked figure of Gilan as it separates from the cover and staggers towards him.

Gilan sinks to his knees next to him and stares ahead. Will notices the bags under Gilan's eyes as well as the tears gathering in their corners.

"I am sorry..." Gilan starts, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I didn't mean to pry. I-I-I was just..."

Will waits patiently, aware of the lump in his own throat, not believing himself to speak.

"I-I was just afraid that you might hurt yourself or do something stupid, so I followed you."

Will nods and another few tears slide down his cheek. It is a little dispiriting, to see his big brother like this, but he knows Gilan has every right. And after all, it was him who had to keep stony face when arranging all the things around the funeral.

He knows there's nothing either can do for the other to bring Halt back.

He's gone.

He shuffles a little closer to Gilan and opens his arms in embrace.

Gilan doesn't hesitate and hugs his younger brother back. He finally allows himself to relax his body and let the bottled up emotions to flow. The sobs make his body tremble under Will's hands.

"I still can't believe it... They're both gone now."

@ranger-melany

[aseikh]

Ranger’s Apprentice Quarantine Exchange Party Revealed!

Hi again friends! Thank you so much to those who supported this event and especially to those who participated! The amount of effort and dedication that went into these fics was astounding, and I’m so excited to be able to reveal these to y’all. Please feel free to contact me with any questions, comments, or concerns relating to this event–I’m always looking for feedback and look forward to hosting another one!

Without further ado, here are the fics our wonderful writers posted for this event! Don’t forget to support them on AO3--leave kudos & comments for our lovely writers!!

You want me to do what? by @ranger-melany

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Crowley Meratyn & Gilan Davidson (Ranger's Apprentice) Characters: Crowley Meratyn, Gilan (Ranger's Apprentice) Additional Tags: Crowley's getting old, a new Commandant is needed, but who needs to take over the Corps?, Nice story, Friendship, Trust, RA Fanfic Exchange Summary:

Crowley is getting older and has to come to terms that, sooner or later, he should find a new Commandant. But who should he choose?

A Mouthful of Cake by @solarishashernoseinabook

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Horace Altman & Will Treaty, Horace Altman & Cassandra | Evanlyn, Cassandra | Evanlyn & Will Treaty Characters: Horace Altman, Will Treaty, Cassandra | Evanlyn, Alyss Mainwaring, George Carter, Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby Additional Tags: Comedy, Drunkenness, Underage Drinking, embarassing moments, Reminiscing Summary:

Based on the following prompt: Will, Horace and Evanlyn have a nice get together when they all remember something embarrasing they did in the past. Let’s hope the others do not...

Path of the sling by @araluenrangerdanger

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Cassandra | Evanlyn, Queen Deborah, Evanlyn Wheeler Additional Tags: Fluff, Friendship, Canon Compliant, (mostly), Deborah is a badass queen and you can't change my mind, it's mostly fluff, the end turned out a bit angsty, but don't worry!, there's not enough Cassie & Evanlyn content, or Deborah & Cassie, basically Cassandra deserves a full loving family just like all the other characters Summary:

Deborah has many useful things to teach to her granddaughter. Especially if they might end up saving her life one day.

High School Could Go Many Ways by @lifeofroos

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Horace Altman/Cassandra | Evanlyn, Will Treaty/Alyss Mainwaring, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Horace Altman & Will Treaty Characters: Horace Altman, Will Treaty, Alyss Mainwaring, Cassandra | Evanlyn, Halt O'Carrick, Sir Rodney, Crowley Meratyn, Gilan (Ranger's Apprentice), Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - High School, Theatre Kids, Jocks, High school love, high school friends - Freeform Summary:

For a group of five orphans, the time for high school has come. Will is determined to get onto a sports team. Yet, is that truly what he wants, or has he been putting up an act for himself?

Birthday Blues by @aseikh (me!)

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Will Treaty & Wardmates Characters: Will Treaty, Halt O'Carrick, Alyss Mainwaring, Jennifer "Jenny" Dalby, George Carter (Ranger's Apprentice), Horace Altman, Gilan (Ranger's Apprentice), Pauline duLacy Additional Tags: Birthday, Hurt/Comfort, Birthday Party, Surprises, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Childhood Friends Summary:

After attending George's birthday party, Will arrives back at Halt's cabin with some complicated feelings.

Slipping Through the Cracks by @rangerpippin

Chapters: 1/? Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Horace Altman & Will Treaty, Gilan & Halt O'Carrick Characters: Will Treaty, Horace Altman, Gilan (Ranger's Apprentice), Halt O'Carrick Additional Tags: Will and Horace being dysfunctional siblings, set five years before Choosing Day, bandits being bandits, featuring Gilan apprenticeship Summary:

A bold and fearless troupe of robbers have been sweeping through Redmont Fief, attacking villages left and right. The Ward staff are busy moving the children to one of the towers to make room on the ground floor in case Castle Redmont needs to shelter the villagers within its walls. If two ten-year-old children slip out in the midst of the confusion, who’s to stop them? Meanwhile, Halt and his second-year apprentice Gilan have caught wind of the robber band’s plans and are determined to put a stop to them.

We’re all in this together by @huff-le-punk

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Will Treaty/Alyss Mainwaring, Pauline duLacy/Halt O'Carrick Characters: Will Treaty, Alyss Mainwaring, Pauline duLacy, Halt O'Carrick Additional Tags: Fluff, Pregnancy Summary:

Will and Alyss find out they're pregnant and can't wait to tell their parents and mentors about the new addition to their little family.

Dont you ever forget by @rangerthursday11

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Horace Altman & Will Treaty Characters: Horace Altman, Will Treaty, Halt O'Carrick Additional Tags: I tried to do fluff, i didn't end up like fluff, and i am mad at myself, it's not angst though, just take it as some sorta perspective on the friendship between Will and Horace Summary:

After not seeing Will for a year since the return from Skandia, Horace finally gets the opportunity to visit Redmont and his friends. However, things don't go exactly as planned.

Quarantine, Brownies, & Belonging by @araluen-arrows

Chapters: 1/? Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Horace Altman/Will Treaty, Cassandra | Evanlyn/Alyss Mainwaring, Halt O'Carrick & Will Treaty, Will Treaty & Alyss Mainwaring Characters: Will Treaty, Horace Altman, Alyss Mainwaring, Halt O'Carrick, Cassandra | Evanlyn, Crowley Meratyn Additional Tags: i wrote 21k in eleven days for this, Quarantine, Slow Romance, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

Will Treaty doesn’t have friends. He hates talking to people, content to keep his head down and stay in the background. But that means when COVID-19 strikes and his university closes its dorms, he doesn’t have anywhere to go.

When a teammate offers to let Will use his spare room, Will should be ecstatic. Except for one thing: they hate each other’s guts. And now, they’re stuck together in the same tiny apartment for two months.

If COVID doesn’t get them first, they might just end up killing one another.

5 Times Crowley Asked Halt to Stay With Him and 1 Time Halt Asked Him by @bonana-split

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Crowley Meratyn/Halt O'Carrick Characters: Halt O'Carrick, Crowley Meratyn Additional Tags: Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary:

exactly what the title says. lots of pining!

An Unstoppable Force & An Immoveable Object by @drowned-in-books

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassandra | Evanlyn/Alyss Mainwaring Characters: Cassandra | Evanlyn, Alyss Mainwaring, Will Treaty, Halt O'Carrick Additional Tags: Seley El'then, Fluff, it's cute, alyssandra - Freeform, evanlyss, Pining, Yearning, There Can Be Only One Summary:

it's gay, it's pining. Special thanks to elizathehumancarrot for beta-ing!!!!

[araluen-arrows]

crowley’s apprentice

**some creds to the RA discord for helping snowball this idea along

it makes no sense that crowley, as one of the bright young rangers taught by pritchard (one of the most respected figures in the corps) to not have an apprentice. like, yes, he was busy with being commandant and rebuilding, but it’s also only logical for the commandant to have an apprentice skilled at administrating and ready to take over for them if anything were to happen.

so, using the fandom’s Override Canon at Any Oppurtunity function, we have collectively decided to give Crowley an apprentice:

Gideon joins the Corps after the Battle of Hackham Heath. He participated in the battle as a squire, and he saw what difference a Ranger made in turning the tide of the battle. He decides to apply to the newly-reforming Corps after Araluen was secured once again.

At sixteen, already a renowned swordsman, he has spent four years under MacNeil, two in the Battleschool of Caraway, and he has been riding and shooting since he could walk. 

As a plus, he is the oldest son of Sir David, the King’s cavalry commander. He is charismatic, brilliant, inquisitive, thorough, and talented, the person his brother yearns to be, the pride of his father’s life and the joy of Crowley’s. 

Two years later, Gilan is thrown into a creek by the Ranger Halt and begins his apprenticeship in earnest as well. And for a while, everything is happy. Halt and crowley are closer than brothers, and now their apprentices are siblings as well. Gideon was one of the only warriors who could defeat Gilan at the sword. At Gil’s first Gathering, Gideon sees him and slings him over his shoulders despite the protests, carrying him the rest of the way to the Gathering Ground. 

He is overconfident to the point of recklessness as his only fault. but Crowley smiles fondly and lets it pass. He remembers when he was the same during his apprenticeship: bright with the optimism of youth, swaggering and sure of himself. He will temper with age, he tells Halt. Let the boy be a child. 

Gideon would never grow out of boyhood. 

<>~<>~<>

There is a lot of administrative work these days for Crowley to handle. There are rumors to investigate, treaties to rewrite, rangers to commission. But, as always, there are also enemies of Araluen to track and kill, bandits to clear from the roads, and smugglers to flush from their dens. One man, even if that man is a Ranger Commandant, can’t keep track of it all.

So Gid volunteers to. He takes up residence in the cabin near Castle Araluen, spending time there in two-week chunks. He represents Crowley in his dealings with criminals, and through him, the King. 

It isn’t like the power gets to his head or anything. but when you are a teenager (a kid, really), there is always a certain amount of arrogance involved. It is always you against the world, and there is no chance you will not emerge the victor. The world is painted gold with the promise of a bright future, and it is your oyster. 

but there is no time to be a child in the aftermath of war.

Morgarath learns of this development through his network of spies. He has spent four years now nursing his wounds, letting his bitter hatred for the ranger corps fester. and before Halt is famous and immortalized in the songs of bards, it is Crowley, the young Commandant, that is the face of the Corps. 

But Crowley is difficult to get to. He’s one of the best and brightest Rangers, and he’s based within Castle Araluen itself, the impenetrable fortress that Morgarath didn’t dare take even when he was strong. Halt is just as difficult to attack, because he’s located in Redmont, a large and populous fief. So who does he target?

Reports leak into Castle Araluen about bears, large, shambling, killing livestock and farmers in the countryside. It seems like a routine enough job: Crowley dispatches his apprentice to take care of them.

They were not bears.

These were the days where Morgarath had at his disposal the darkest creatures of myth and legend, and among them were the three Kalkara. and one apprentice, no matter how talented or bright, has no chance against the hunting Kalkara. Especially if he is caught unawares.

Gideon tracks the creatures into the forest. The paws seem too large, half again as wide as a man’s hand, and he thinks that there might be an extra toe, but the path is muddy and it’s difficult to tell. Suddenly, his horse shies underneath him and skips backward, but then she freezes altogether and collapses. Her heart has stopped of sheer terror. As she falls, Gideon just manages to kick himself free of the saddle. He goes for his sword, then realizes it will not be enough. 

Facing him is one of the ape-like beasts, standing nine feet tall with scaly skin and luminous yellow eyes. They draw him like a moth to flame, and it takes all his willpower to drop his gaze. His brain is working well enough to recognize that if a creature wants you to look it in the eyes, it is probably not a good idea to look it in the eyes. 

Faster than thought, he draws his throwing knife and hurls it at the creature’s face. It sinks nearly hilt-deep into its cheek: Gideon is just mere inches off-target, but mere inches could cost him his life. The Kalkara bellows in pain and he feels a moment of satisfaction, but his heart freezes as he hears an answering bellow.

Two answering bellows.

Gideon darts for the river, just a hundred meters away, wades across it, and dives behind a boulder. He can practically feel the Kalkara’s hypnotizing eyes on him, daring him to look up. He still doesn’t know what these things are, but his instincts are sound. His horse looked at those eyes, and his horse is now dead. Bottom line: do not look at the eyes. 

He hears a splash and realizes the first Kalkara has followed him all the way to the river. Gideon closes his eyes. He cannot outrun. He can cower and hide, or he can stand and fight.

As the monster bears down on him, he fires arrow after arrow at its face, hoping to blind those terrible eyes. It is halfway across the river. Three-quarters. 

His third arrow takes it in the right eye, and his fifth the left. It screams, an unearthly, undulating sound, and leaps for the bank, intent only on punishing the one that caused it such agony. 

The first blow shatters Gid’s longbow and numbs his right arm all the way up to the shoulder. He claws his sword out of its sheath with his left hand, and metal meets flesh as the Kalkara strikes at him again. He scores a long cut along his forearm, but the force of the blow nearly knocks the weapon from his fingers. 

Before he has time to rally, the third hit drives him to his knees, cracking ribs and setting his lungs on fire. He can barely roll out of the way as the Kalkara stumbles and collapses next to him, having finally vanquished its archenemy. 

Briefly, he wonders if the sun is setting early, but then realizes his eyesight is dimming; there is no coming back from this. Crowley, he thinks as his vision goes black. Crowley, I failed. 

<>~<>~<>

Three days later, when a panic-stricken Crowley finally receives the report from the search parties, he thinks the same thing. It should have been him out there. It should have been him facing the Kalkara.

He can practically see Morgarath sneering at him. A child has died because of you. You couldn’t protect one apprentice—how will you ever protect forty-nine Rangers? 

A hot rage rises in his chest. Morgarath had taken Pritchard from him, nearly taken Halt, and now he had taken Gideon as collateral damage with one goal in mind: to hurt Crowley as much as possible. 

In a way, it does work. Crowley never takes another apprentice. He no longer trusts himself to bring up another promising young Ranger and see so much potential squandered because of him. He does not want to bury another child.   

But Crowley does not let Morgarath win. He does not rest until Morgarath is well and truly dead. For three decades, he serves as the Corps Commandant, longer than any before him and any after him. 

“Married to his job”, the people joke, but they are actually not far from the truth. 

Crowley is guarding Gideon’s legacy. 

[areiacannaid]

Part 2

Read part 2 on AO3

In the end, Halt had taken the two boys back to his suite of rooms in Morgarath’s castle. He didn’t know where else to keep them. The older of the two had collapsed and lost consciousness before they had even made it out of the dungeon. So Halt had carried him, leaving the younger to trail behind. Once inside, he lay the older boy on his table and paused for a moment, assessing. 

Halt scowled at the mess Morgarath had made of the older boy. The only blessing was that it was neither irreparable or life-threatening. And, although the younger hadn’t been injured quite as badly, he was clearly just as malnourished from the weeks spent as Morgarath’s prisoner. They both needed tending if they were to survive and heal.

Halt clenched his fingers. Torture for the sake of information he could at least understand, but torture for its own sake he did not. It didn’t gain anybody anything. He was still looking the older boy over, debating where to start when he felt a gentle uncertain tugging at his trouser leg. The younger boy was staring up at him with those large, sad, brown eyes, his small hands gripping the fabric like some sort of lifeline. Halt wondered briefly why the child wasn’t terrified of him, then decided that it was probably because, to his young eyes, it had looked as if Halt had saved him from Morgarath.

“Will Gil be okay?” the words were soft with fear and concern.

“Gil?” Halt asked, finding himself both shocked and a little unsettled that he didn’t feel the slightest urge to pull away from the small grasping hands.

“My brother,” he said quietly. “He said so. Our names even rhyme, Will and Gil.”

It was then Halt recalled that the Battlemaster’s son’s name was Gilan. He, however, honed in on the first part of Will’s words instead.

“He’s not your brother.”

“Is so,” Will put in, his small face set in complete conviction. Then, as if expecting retaliation for his outburst, he flinched and cringed backward behind Halt’s leg.

“But he wasn’t always,” Halt allowed quietly, having no interest in punishing, or getting into an argument with, a traumatized child over Gilan’s honesty or why it didn’t even matter. Brothers would betray you as easily as anyone else… and just as brutally.

Will nodded, daring to poke his head out again from behind Halt’s legs. He seemed satisfied with that explanation, proving Halt’s initial theory correct. The Battlemaster’s son had lied as he had thought.

“You didn’t have the same father,” Halt pressed.

Will nodded. “My father was a hero. He fought the Wargals in Hawkenin Heather.” He said in a tiny voice, tears visibly filling his eyes as his lips quivered.

“Hackham Heath?” Halt corrected.

Will nodded. “The soldiers told mum he was hurt so bad he…” he stumbled over the words, “that he…” the small child couldn’t finish, his eyes filling with tears.

Halt grimly accepted this information, pursing his lips in thought. It was his plan that had decimated the King's army at Hackham Heath. Which would mean that it was, in a way, his fault that Will’s father had lost his life that day. In fact, for all he knew, the responsibility could even be more direct. Halt had killed so many during that brutal battle, one face blurring into another. Eventually, he just shrugged. There was nothing to be done about that information.

“I’m… sorry,” he told the child eventually because he didn’t know what else to say and that was what people seemed to always do in these sorts of situations.

Will looked up at him, nodding his small head before leaning it against the trouser leg he still gripped.

When Halt had finished looking the Battlemaster’s son over, he turned back to the younger boy.

“It will take time, but Gilan will heal.”

“You’ll make him better?”

Halt inclined his head. 

“I’ll call the healer to look him, and you, over,” he decided finally, not liking the idea of tending the boys by himself.

Will’s large eyes filled again with tears. “I just don’t want him to leave like mum and da did,” he said brokenly. “Mum and da got hurt so bad they had to leave forever.”

“He won’t leave,” Halt said as he sent a servant for the court physician.

The physician, a man named Malcolm, had been captured as a prisoner of war during one of the skirmishes and, as soon as his skills as a healer had been made known, he’d been immediately conscripted, forced to serve Morgarath. Halt, for his part, had never known another physician who could rival his skill, so had no doubt the two children would be in good hands.

While the healer tended the two boys, Halt found himself at a bit of a loss. Having not been prepared for this, he ended up making a soft bed from blankets on the floor of his sitting room and placed Gilan on them when the healer had gone, leaving Halt with a detailed list for the two boys’ care. Will had immediately gone to his brother’s side without so much as a word and curled up next to him, thus saving Halt the trouble of making another bed. He stepped back then, gaze still fixed on the two boys.

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized the magnitude of the responsibility he had just taken on. How did one even care for apprentices? Raise them to be skilled, and useful, assassins? How would he go about training them? He pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand. He'd need to develop a plan.

Mentally, he began to make a list. He'd need to make sure they were clothed and fed and had everything they needed to heal well. He frowned as he thought of the pointlessness of what Morgarath had done. In his mind, it was the equivalent of a knight deliberately injuring his prized horse. The frown grew as he realized the description fit more than he'd intended. He'd seen Morgarath mistreat his mount before. The man, for all his cunning, often let raw emotion get in the way of practicality.

~x~X~x~

Gilan finally woke the next morning as Halt began to change his bandages. His young body tensed like some wounded feral animal until his hollow gaze found Will safe beside him, gripping his hand. Slowly, gently, Gilan’s fingers curled to grip him back.

They’d had no one for support but each other and already in a few short weeks they seemed to have formed a bond stronger than Halt had ever formed in years with his own brother. He didn’t understand it. But then he shrugged. It wasn’t bound to last—nothing like that ever did. Since they were both awake and, as the silence between them began to grow into something stifling, Halt decided there would be no better time to set the two straight.

“Here is how things are going to be from now on. You are both to be my apprentices. As soon as you are both well, you will be dedicating the majority of your time to training. You will be living and studying with me until you are trained enough to live on your own. I expect you to follow my every order and direction without complaint and I expect nothing short of your best.”

And because all his life experience had taught him that fear was the only reliable method for instilling respect or obedience, he added, “If you do not wish to be my apprentices, or if you ever try to run, I will just give you back to Morgarath.” Will cringed violently at that, gripping tighter to Gilan’s hand. But Halt wasn't finished. “And if either of you ever disobey or cross me, I won't hesitate to beat you bloody, understand?”

Will shrank back, nodding fearfully. But Gilan made no reply or movement. He just stared listlessly, straight ahead at nothing, his expression blank. Halt frowned, reaching a careful hand to touch the boy's cheek for fever. He didn’t so much as flinch. There was no fever. Perhaps it was merely pain then or the blows to the head.

“I need you to nod if you understand me,” Halt pressed and eventually received the barest inclination of the boy’s head in response.

“Good,” Halt said. dipping his hand in the salve once more and carefully applying them to the boy’s injuries before bandaging them up again. He was mindful not to cause any more pain—there would be no point in that.

“Your first instructions are to rest. I expect you both to stay in bed until I deem you well enough to get up.” Again, he received two nods, one fearful and one minimal.

As the day wore on, Halt began to grow... concerned, he supposed, about the older boy. His responses and reactions were so minimal as to be almost nonexistent, his gaze so empty and shuttered that he almost seemed unconscious despite being awake.

Halt had seen enough of him previously to know it wasn’t right. Young Will seemed to think so too for he worried, clinging tightly to the older boy, or trying to soothe him or tell him stories—likely in the manner the older boy had done for him during their stint as prisoners.

Halt frowned. The boy’s young body told plainly the story of Morgarath’s abuse. Halt knew its like had broken men older and stronger than he was. He worried then that Morgarath might have ruined him, rendering him useless to Halt as much as to Morgarath. He found he didn't savor that idea. But then he remembered the defiance he’d seen in Gilan’s eyes as Morgarath had prepared to strike him down, and he didn’t think that the boy had broken.

Halt thought back then to the black void of numbness that had filled him the day the last person he had ever thought of as family had betrayed him—just as everyone else had. He sensed then that he might just understand. The boy’s father, the King, and the army he’d fought with had abandoned him in that village to save their own lives and power. And, if that hadn’t been bad enough, they had done it again, knowingly and deliberately abandoning him to a slow torturous death at Morgarath’s hands. And Morgarath had made no secret of that fact.

Decided, Halt approached the makeshift bed. Will, by then, had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on Gilan's shoulder, wrapped comfortably in the blankets. But Gilan remained awake so Halt crouched near him, surprising himself by speaking before he even had the chance to check himself.

“It won’t be the end of things even if it feels that way, boy,” he said quietly.

For a moment there was nothing. But then Gilan blinked and turned his head to look at him, the most response he’d gotten all day.

“My family, and everyone I knew, chose everything else over me as well,” Halt said, taken aback by his own honesty, part of him wondering why he was even telling him this—even if the boy’s situation had reminded him of himself. It felt almost too raw, too vulnerable to say aloud, and he questioned the wisdom of voicing it. But it was already too late to take it back. He caught a bright flicker of pain flash in the boy's eyes—gratifying only in that it was finally something.

“It hurt,” Halt continued, “but I survived and you will too. The people around you don’t get to decide your worth. People, and the nobility especially, are all corrupt and, when it comes down to it, they will always betray family and friends for power or what they think to be duty. It’s better you made a break of it now. Neither they or ideals are worth your loyalty.”

“You can say that, but it's just words.” Gilan finally spoke. There was an unsettling pause before an emotion showed on his face. The wry, bitter, smile was wholly incongruous with the situation as much as the words. “You threw in with Morgarath, traded one noble for another.”

“I don’t serve Morgarath,” Halt said slowly. “I serve no one but myself. Our interests merely line up for the moment.”

Morgarath had offered him the one thing he had wanted: the chance for survival and the influence to keep it, the influence to never again be at the mercy of another—where the false notion of trust wasn’t needed or peddled. It was a guarantee that obscurity could never promise.

“The moment there is no longer any benefit to me is the moment my ‘service’, as you put it, comes to an end.”

~x~X~x~

“You could join me.”

Halt had said it as causally and emotionlessly as if he were describing a turn in the weather instead of the betrayal of every single principle that Crowley had ever valued. For a moment he was rendered utterly speechless. Of all the things he had ever expected of Halt…

“You can’t mean that!” he protested when he finally found his voice. But Halt didn’t so much as react to the horror that had been laid bare in his words. He merely pressed on instead.

“You’re skilled, you could have a place too; leave all this behind.”

“I will not betray my country; I will not betray my King. Not for the likes of Morgarath!”

“How is your King any better? Your country is in ruin because of his impotent rule. You admitted yourself that your organization is being destroyed man by man and your King doesn’t have the power to stop it.”

“Yes, it's being destroyed—it’s being destroyed by Morgarath!”

Halt nodded, set expression proclaiming that he thought that was obvious. “Which is why joining him is the smarter play. It’s the only path that can provide you with the influence you’ve already lost with the King. Unless you care more for meaningless principles than survival.”

“Meaningless principles?” Crowley couldn’t believe what it was that he was hearing. Halt was a Ranger like him, they had been trained by the same mentor. “What would Pritchard think if he could hear you now?”

The muscles of Halt’s face twisted briefly, faintly, in something like a flinch. But it was not because of shame. Halt almost never seemed to express emotion of any kind. But for a brief flash , Crowley thought he could read a deep and bitter pain, anger, perhaps revulsion.

“Pritchard’s approval is the last thing I’d ever want to earn,” Halt said flatly, the danger in his words only increased by their softness.

The old conversation replayed through his mind for the millionth time, as it invariably did every time Crowley’s thoughts turned themselves to the questions of how he had ended up here in this situation. The deep and black fury that roiled deep in his chest had the feeling of an old friend now with its familiarity. He had steeped so deeply in it and for so long that he didn’t think he’d ever rid himself of the taste: bitter regret, loss, betrayal…failure.

“Crowley?”

The soft call made him turn his head from the blackness outside his window to Lady Pauline who sat at his candlelit table.

“I’m sorry,” he said, coming back to himself and the dinner they were meant to have been sharing. “I’m afraid I’ve not been the best company tonight.”

She raised one elegant brow at his understatement. He sighed softly in resignation.

“Tonight, and for the past several months,” he allowed honestly.

Pauline gave him a small smile, one that held more sadness than amusement, understanding.

“We’ve all been through a lot. It’s only natural to feel angry.”

She could always read him too well. Which, given their friendship, should really stop surprising him.

“Yes. We have all lost too much,” he allowed, thinking of the fiefs Morgararth had taken, all the good men lost to the war, the loss of the old King, Queen Rosalind, and too many more to name. “I shouldn’t be allowing myself to wallow in it, I know. I’m the Ranger Commandant now, I need to keep a clear head... but sometimes…. I don’t know, it just feels too personal to keep from my mind.”

“You’re thinking of Halt,” she said softly, more a statement of fact than a question.

Crowley let his shoulders slump in defeat.

“I trusted him,” he admitted quietly. “And I can’t help but feel that had I not done so, I could maybe have prevented all this.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at her as he admitted it, afraid that he would see the dark confirmation of his thoughts on her face.

“Yes, you trusted him. But, Crowley, whether you trusted him or not, that wouldn’t stop him from making his own choices. It wasn’t your trust that caused him to join Morgarath.”

“I know that,” he said finally, and he truly did. But that wasn’t the real problem. “It's not about the outcome of it all. It’s about my judgment—or my catastrophic lack of it.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to make a bad call. And getting betrayed by someone isn’t a reflection of intrinsic faults in you.”

“I’m supposed to be the Ranger Commandant,” he protested with a shake of his head. “I’m supposed to be better than that.”

She met his gaze steadily. “If I was the one who had been betrayed, would you think less of me?”

“No,” Crowley hastened to assure her. “And it isn’t really that I think getting betrayed in it of itself is a poor reflection of me. It's…” he struggled to find the words he needed, “more than that. The problem isn’t just that I trusted him—it’s that I liked him. I genuinely liked him. And what does that say about me?”

The words tasted as bitter as the acknowledgment felt. Surely now she could understand the magnitude of his failure. He was surprised when he felt a gentle hand on his arm in place of the anger and condemnation he had expected. He looked up to see Lady Pauline shake her head.

“It says that you are the kind of person who looks for the best in others. A person who not only has hope but tries to bring it to everyone around you. This world is dark enough already as it is. We need people like you willing to take the risk of reaching out, or nothing would have the chance of getting better. Sometimes it won’t work; sometimes there’s a price to it. But isn’t that better than the alternative? Crowley, this was not your fault.”

This was not your fault.

Crowley felt a familiar burning sensation behind his eyes as much at the sentiment as the fact that the words had echoed with ones he had heard before, before the Battle of Hackham Heath. One of the last things Pritchard had ever said.

“I need to tell you something, Crowley. It’s… important,” the words, though soft, grated harshly with the effort it had taken to get them past bloody lips.

“Don’t try to speak,” Crowley attempted to stop his old mentor. “Save your strength. You can tell me after I find help.”

He cast a desperate look around for help of any kind, but could not see much in these dark tunnels beneath Gorlan Castle. Pritchard shook his head, offering Crowley a sad, resigned smile that whispered the truth they both already knew. It was too late...

“I know you blame yourself but, what happened with Halt…” He shook his head, taking a shuddering breath that rattled in his lungs. This time, Crowley did not attempt to stop him, sensing intrinsically that this was something he needed to say.

“It was not your fault. It was mine… Halt… he could have been among the best of us, but I destroyed that, destroyed him. I didn’t want to. By all that is good, I didn’t want to.” His eyes glistened with desperation, desperation for Crowley to believe him, to understand. Pritchard coughed weakly before trying again to speak.

“In Hibernia , something happened. I was put in a situation with no way out, nothing but terrible choices with infinitely worse outcomes. I told myself that I could justify picking the lesser evil. But that’s no excuse for what I did.” Another harsh and wheezing breath. “Halt paid the price for my choice—a cost too heavy to be borne by someone who had already had too much taken from him, experienced too much betrayal and pain. I’m sorry, so sorry... before it's too late… I wanted someone to know.” Fingers growing weaker by the second briefly tightened their grip with desperation, with regret.

“Crowley, I’m sorry,” he whispered with one last breath, grip finally loosening with the dimming of his eyes. They stared ahead, unseeing.

Tears blurred Crowley’s vision as they fell unchecked. He pulled his mentor close—gripping fiercely at something he could not bear to lose but had already slipped his grasp.

I’m sorry.

A keening sound escaped his lips. He did not know if the apology had been for him or for Halt or simply for everything that had happened, for the unfeeling hand of life or fate.

Declination

What if Halt joined Morgarath instead of the Rangers? A small AU based off of this prompt/story idea from @nilswolf8.

Link to read on AO3

“I could use a man like you in my ranks.” Morgarath said, finally getting to the point behind the clandestine nighttime meeting he had summoned Halt to.

“I can’t say I care much for the idea of being used.” Halt replied, truth cutting through the sarcastic way he had phrased it. 

“Merely an expression,” Morgarath assured with a wave of his hand. “Regardless, I would value someone with talents like yours. And there’s much that I could offer you in return for your services.”

And, now that the offer was out in the open, Halt allowed himself to consider it.

When he had first come to Araluen, he’d had a vague idea of joining the Rangers. That was how he had been trained, and their high, influential, position in Araluen was no secret. He’d been interested in seeing what he could gain by working his way up to the top of such an organization. Although he had always preferred to work in the shadows, power promised a sense of control and protection in a way nothing else could manage. Halt had spotted his opportunity when he met, and saved, Crowely in that tavern. But the Rangers were not the seat of power they had once been and the tides of war were shifting.

Which left his choice between Crowley and Morgarath. He knew enough to guess that Crowley might be the safer person—but, in the end, it really wasn’t about people.

Halt had learned long ago there was no such thing as love or loyalty. People only ever used others for as long as they had something to gain, and then simply discarded them when that use had run its course. All that really mattered was how much one could extract from those connections before they invariably died.

The choice really came down to what could be attained in the end, and what path offered the greatest chance for survival.

Halt had no real sense of connection to the Rangers. That had ended the day his old life had, deep within the cool blackness of the river that had nearly claimed his life.

A sharp memory of pain caused him to reach a hand towards his chest. The passage of time had done nothing to temper his memory of that day, and he doubted it ever would. He’d been reborn from the water that had been intended as his grave. He’d clawed his way to the bank, gasping for breath, water stained red and pink with the blood his injuries dripping around him. His mouth had been seared with the ash of desperate but unheeded words—the last time he had ever called for mercy or help.

His fingers brushed against the twisted scar tissue beneath his clothes, but felt no sensation save for the numbness of severed nerve endings. It was a blank nothingness that matched the cavernous feeling that had settled deep inside his chest since that day. He didn’t know if he even remembered anymore what it truly felt like to feel.

Everyone he'd ever thought he’d loved had either tried to kill him, or had left him to die. So, connections and sentiment meant nothing to him.

In the end it really was an easy choice. Morgarath simply had more to offer than the Ranger’s ever could. He had the greater odds for victory and therefore promised a greater chance of survival and a greater chance of potential gain. It was the smarter, more logical option. And he’d be lying if he said he was unsympathetic to anyone daring to rebel against a vitiated King and bring an end to the corrupt nobility he so despised.

“Well, what do you say?” Morgarath’s sibilant voice broke the grip of his revelry.

“I’d say we should talk terms,” Halt said.

Morgarath smiled, eyes bright with a calculating light. “Let's hear them then.”

He listened as Halt stated his counter offers, reasonable terms for spoils and a higher more autonomous position on Morgarath’s ranks.

“Prove your worth to me and you will have all that you asked for,” Morgarath said, holding out his hand to signal his agreement.

Halt took the offered hand.

~x~X~x~

Halt stood in the wreckage of a burning village, the place where the last vestiges of the King’s army had fled after their crushing defeat at Hackham Heath. The King and several of his knights had escaped—but they had been the only ones to do so.

Halt’s strategy, combined with Morgarath’s Wargal army, had decimated the King’s forces. They had chased the last of them here to this village; a place they had tried, and failed, to find refuge and defensive footing.

The broken remnants of the King’s army had not been enough to defend this small village from the massive force of Wargals Morgarath had sent. That was clear enough from the carnage around him. The bodies of Wargals, soldiers, and villagers lay intermingled where they had fallen: the unavoidable price of war.

Halt inhaled the sharp smoke from the fires burning around him, his bow at full draw and leveled at the last standing soldier—if a child could really be called an enemy soldier.

The boy, no more than twelve years old at the most if Halt had to guess, stood defiantly, sword held defensively in front of him, eyes shining with wild determination. Before his feet sprawled the unmoving bodies of Wargals and even a few men that he had slain. Behind him, clinging desperately to his legs was a younger boy, probably no older than five if he had to guess, and very likely the last survivor of the villagers that had once called this place home. His large brown eyes were blown wide in pain and primal terror.

“Why haven’t you released your arrow?” Morgarath’s sneer came from behind him. “He is the enemy. One less of them breathing is all the better for us. Or is his age too much for your scruples, Halt?”

“It isn’t that,” Halt said blandly. “It’s that killing him would be a waste. I saw him before when I reconnoitered the King’s army camp. He’s the son of Sir David; the newly appointed Battlemaster to the King. I figured he'd be worth more to you alive as leverage.”

“Indeed?” A vicious gleam came to life in Morgarath’s eyes even as his lips curled in a cruel smile. “Then size him and kill the village boy.”

Halt saw the older boy’s eyes widen at that callous order, flashing for the first time with fear and, just as quickly, calculation hastily covered.

He brandished his sword as the soldier’s closed in.

“If I’m worth something to you alive then so is he,” he addressed Morgarath, indicating the younger boy with a tilt of his head. “He’s my brother. If it’s ransom you want, my father would pay for us both.”

“Your brother?” Morgarath challenged scathingly.

“Illegitimate, but yes. My father fell in love with his mother when he was last stationed near this village,” he explained hastily.

As Halt watched the boy, he found himself feeling an unexpected measure of interest towards him. He was skilled in combat, seemed more intelligent than the average knight, and was quick on his feet.

He was also a liar.

The young village boy was not any blood relation of his despite his story, Halt was certain. His tells were minor ones, but they were there. He was merely trying to protect the younger boy from death, though Halt couldn’t piece together a motive as to why—he couldn’t fathom what the boy possibly stood to gain from it.

Every word had been a falsehood. But the greed in Morgarath’s expression showed plainly that he hadn’t caught it. He seemed far more interested in the added leverage of a potential scandal. Halt, for his part, said nothing. It wasn't his responsibility to keep Morgarath from being manipulated by a child. That was something the Warlord should be able to do for himself.

“Take them both,” Morgarath ordered.

Halt shrugged. It didn’t matter much to him either way. 

~x~X~x~

“Perhaps you could tell me why it is that your father doesn’t value your life enough to agree to my demands?” Morgarath’s raging carried almost as loudly through the dungeon passages as the anguished sounds of screaming did.

It had been over a month since the capture of the two boys, since the Battle of Hackham Heath where King Duncan had escaped with his a few of his knights and commanders. The King had holed up in a fortress in the far north, with eighteen fiefs still under his command. Morgarath’s ploy to use Sir David’s son, or rather ‘sons’, as leverage had not met with the success he wanted.

Having received a less than favorable response to his ransom and blackmail demands, Morgarath had flown into a rage and decided to vent it on the object of his anger. Halt’s mouth turned down faintly at the uselessness of it all. Like all emotions, rage was ultimately pointless and would fix things as little as torturing a child for the decision of their parents. Which was to say, not at all.

Morgarath would have been better served to lower the conditions he set for the boys’ safe return. Halt had always known that no knight with the barest trace of loyalty or duty to his King would have agreed to such concessions—even if he did profess to love his son. The life of two boys weighed against the safety of what little remained of Duncan’s kingdom was a clear logical choice.

Halt rounded the corner, stepping past the guards there. They did nothing to stop him as he’d become a more than familiar figure.

“Were you just that much of a disappointment to him or does he just not care?” Morgarath demanded of the Battlemaster’s son.

Halt entered the cell silently, watching as Morgarath lunged at the helpless knight’s son, watched as the youngest boy strained against the chains holding him, tears streaming down his face as he screamed desperately, despite his obvious exhaustion, for Morgarath to stop. For his part, the knight’s son was far past the point of words, past even the point of screaming anymore. He did not answer the furious warlord. The lack of response only seemed to infuriate Morgarath more.

“Maybe my demand wasn’t taken seriously enough. Maybe I’ll start chopping off pieces to send to him. Maybe then he will listen! Maybe then he will start to care!”

As he said it, he drew and raised his sword, edge down for a cutting stroke at the boy beneath him. The boy’s eyes, though barely conscious and filled with pain, still glistened defiantly. Brave and defiant, just as the younger one was.

Halt felt something unidentifiable stirring in his chest at about the same time he felt the idea, which had been stirring in the back of his mind ever since he’d predicted the failure of Morgarath’s ransom scheme, solidify into clear purpose.

“Hold a moment, if you would, Lord Morgarath,” Halt said calmly, but loud enough to be heard as he stepped forwards.

“You had better have a good reason for interrupting me,” Morgarath hissed venomously, stopping his blade mid-swing by only the barest frenzied grip of his self-control. 

“I do. Before you damage him irreparably," Halt said, gesturing toward the downed boy with an inclination of his head. “I have a proposition. Why don’t you give both boys to me?”

“For what purpose?” Morgarath asked.

The rasp in his voice and the clenching of his fingers told Halt that he was only seconds away from losing his temper entirely. Halt knew he needed to be concise and quick if he wanted to be successful.

“The way I see it, if their father already refused the deal, it's unlikely there is anything you can do that would cause him to suddenly value his children more than his duty or position. But they can still be useful to us. The King still has many Rangers left at his disposal and they even now give him a greater advantage in this war. I figured that you could use a similar advantage. What if I could train for you, your own force of assassins with the skills of the Rangers? We could rival and surpass Duncan in every aspect. These two,” he indicated the boys, “could be the start to it. I see potential in them already.”

“And if you are wrong about them?” Morgarath asked, though Halt could see that he was already growing interested in the idea, the familiar hungry gleam was back in his gaze.

“Then,” Halt shrugged, “you can finish what you started.”

Morgarath seemed to think a moment before sheathing his sword.

“If you want them, take them,” he said dismissively, words languid. “They are no longer of any use to me.”

[forgedroyalseal]

His Worst Nightmare

Chapter 7

“Open this damn door!” Jenny pounded her fist against the heavy wooden door. George stood nervously behind her and Alyss was trying to peek through the drawn curtains.

“I know you guys are in there!” Jenny shouted.

“Jenny, maybe we should come back later.” George offered.

“Not a chance Georgie.”

He winced at the nickname but dropped the matter.

Gilan Davidson I swear-“ The door swung open revealing an exhausted Horace.

“Finally!” Jenny smiled and moved to push her way into the cabin but Horace blocked her.

“Jen, guys, you really shouldn’t be here.” His voice was threadbare and weary. Alyss’ heart ached for her friend and she wished that she could listen to him. Could do what he was asking and walk away. But she couldn’t. Because Will was inside that cabin, hurting and trying to push them, her, away.

“Horace, you know we can’t just pretend everything is fine.” She says gently. He opens his mouth to reply but George beats him to it.

“What if it was you on the other side of this door?” He challenged. “What if you knew Will was hurt and we were trying to keep you from seeing him? Can you honestly say that you’d let anyone, even the king himself stop you?”

Horace’s shoulders dropped and Alyss knew that they got him. Jenny did too apparently, because she ducked under Horace’s arm that was crossing the doorway and entered the cabin. Gilan was passed out on the couch, somehow able to sleep through all of Jenny’s shouting and banging, but Will was no where to be found.

“He’s sleeping, finally, so please be quiet.” Horace requested, moving into the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“What’s wrong with him?” Alyss asked.

Horace sighed and set the mug down. He lean on the counter with his back to them. “A lot. He’s pretty roughed up. Ton of bruises, knocked around ribs.”

“That’s not all.” Alyss knew that if Will was just bruised he’d still be around. He hated isolation, especially when he wasn’t feeling well. Alyss couldn’t remember countless flus and summer colds that had Will bundled up in the ward’s common space desperate for company.

“No, it’s not.” Horace look down at his coffee, then somewhat longingly at the bottle of whiskey that was collecting dust on a high shelf in the kitchen.

“Horace, what aren’t you telling us?” Jenny pushed.

Horace finally turned to face them, “His right arm is gone.” Horace’s words were direct and to the point and yet Alyss still felt as though she couldn’t possibly comprehend what he had just said.

“No.” George said, simply refusing to believe Horace was telling the truth.

“Yes.”

“How?”

Another knock on the door interrupted Horace’s answer. Jenny frowned and looked around. “Who could that be? We’re all here?”

Alyss shook her head, “Not all of us. Where’s Halt?”

Another knock. “I’ll tell you where he better not be.” Horace growled and he yanked open the door. On the veranda stood the second trio of the day. Crowley and Pauline stood on either side of a gray and fatigued Halt.

“Get out.” Horace snarled.

“Horace,” Pauline said gently stepping slightly forward, “please let us in. I think it’s high time we all sit down and talk like the mature adults that we are.”

“Speak for yourself. Will and I have never once been considered mature and we certainly aren’t starting today.”

“This was clearly a bad idea.” Halt mutters to Crowley. “I’m sorry Horace, we should-“

“Halt? Crowley?” Gilan’s groggy voice pulled the groups focus to the center of the room where he was stretching and rising from the sofa. “Is it intervention time already?”

Horace scowled at him. “You set this up?”

Gilan shrugged, “I mean, not really. Crowley was gonna do this with or without me. He just gave me a heads up.”

“Glad to know whose side you’re on.” Horace snapped. Suddenly, everyone was talking over each other, all trying to get their opinions heard. In the uproar, no one noticed Alyss slip away and sneak into the bedroom.

“Either there’s a party going on that I wasn’t invited to, or Horace is trying to kill Halt again.”

She smiled to herself. “Well, it would be pretty rude to throw a party in your cabin and not invite-.” Alyss’ words caught in her throat as she turned. Will was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, an abandoned book by his side.

Will sighed, “Yeah, I know. It takes a while to absorb it all.” She didn’t need to ask what he meant. It was obvious. The mask of bruises that covered his body were a palette of yellows, blues, and blacks. Rusty scabs drew grotesque lines across his bare chest. And then there was the true show stopper, the miles of white bandages that swathed the stump that was once Will’s right arm.

“Will.” The name spilled out of her, watery and fragile.

“It’s ok Alyss. It’s ok.” She wanted to laugh. Here was Will, bruised and broken and severed, and he was comforting her.

“Come here.” He extended his left hand, his only hand, Alyss realized with a sick feeling in her stomach, to her. She slowly crossed the room and settled onto the floor in front of him.

“What happened?”

Will’s eyes dropped and he fiddled with the drawstring on his trousers. “It’s kind of a long story. Or” Will laughed sharply, “it’s rather short. I guess it depends on who’s telling it.”

“And if you’re telling it?”

“Very short. A bad man forced a good one to do bad things.”

Alyss turned the words over in her mind and like magic, the pieces all fell into place. “Wait, did Halt-“

“Yes.” Alyss’ heart sunk as he confirmed her suspicions. “But he had too. I’d be dead if he didn’t.” And she knew by the way he lingered on the words that he wasn’t quite convinced he was grateful for the outcome.

A crash interrupted their tender moment. “I’m gonna guess that was Horace.” Will sighed. “I probably can’t hide in here forever.”

She offered him a sympathetic smile. “No. I don’t think you can.”

He stood, and Alyss rose with him, carefully watching him to make sure he didn’t topple over. His hand found hers and he held it tightly. “Stay by my side?”

“You never have to ask Will.” She promised.

He nodded and let out a slow breath. “Alright, let’s go meet the masses.”

[uncanny-accuracy]

Do you have any headcanons for Will and Halt during his apprenticeship after Skandia? I feel like in those years between book 4 and book 7 are so precious, but not talked about much

Will definitely had nightmares. Extreme ones. "Night terrors" would be more appropriate, actually. I'm talking shaking, gasping and coughing like he's choking on something, screaming, crying, extreme panic attacks. That boy did not walk out of there unharmed.

The first few weeks, he didn't dream at all. It was nothingness every time he closed his eyes. He was still quite numb to emotions, which he lazily blamed on the warmweed. But after those first few weeks, when reality set in and he slowly regained memories of his time drugged, the night terrors started.

The first time it happened, he'd been dosing off alone, curled up on the couch in the cabin. Halt was outside, but he rushed inside as soon as he heard the coughing. It was loud, like Will was choking. Hell, Halt thought he was choking, and was ready to help the kid out. When Halt saw that Will was, in fact, not choking and instead panicking, alarm bells rung in his head. Will's coughs quickly grew into a panic attack, second only to one Crowley had years before. Halt just held Will silently, cradling him and softly rocking back and forth.

This became routine. If the night terrors were extremely bad, Halt would whisper that it was okay, that he was there and that he wasn't going to let anyone hurt Will ever again. Sometimes, Halt would sing softly. Little Hiberian tunes his mother used to sing to him when he was upset.

Will's apprenticeship stopped for awhile. Three months, to be exact. Will tried to keep up on working out, but weapons training was too much. Map reading and making he could handle, mental stuff was fine. But the physical stuff reminded him of the yard, though his memories were more remembering emotions like fear and desperation, not seeing the other slaves in the yard.

Once Will's training fully started up again, his night terrors were only slightly better. Halt expertly avoided all talk of Skandia for awhile, as did Will's friends, Gilan and Crowley included. The Commandant offered to talk to Will about his time as a slave, but Will originally refused.

Will's final exam for that year of training was pushed back three months, and during it he had a mental breakdown. Halt, according to procedure, was unable to interfere with Will while testing was in progress, so Gilan jumped in and helped. Crowley offered kind words from the sidelines. Will's tests, when all said and done, took two hours longer than the other apprentices.

Eventually, after about a year and a half, Will's night terrors became manageable, though they never completely faded. Two out of five nights, he'd wake in a cold sweat. Panic attacks often ensued. He did talk to Crowley, in the end, however.

Will learned to cope. Halt offered advice based on traumatic experiences from his past. Gilan offered a silent shoulder to cry on, knowing nothing he'd been through would ever be close to what Will experienced. Crowley helped guide Will through the trauma, being quite used to such events himself. Will's other friends offered support, namely Horace. He felt as if Will's capture was partially his fault.

Alyss was much like Gilan - she offered a silent shoulder. She knew Will well enough to know that talking to him would make things worse. He had to work it out, at least somewhat, on his own before he could open up. She let him do that, and then when he was ready, she was there to actually walk him through it.

During Halt's poison misadventure, after Will's training had been completed and he'd been coping for some years now, it all came flooding back. His feelings were manic - fear for Halt's life, the man who had saved him countless times, physically and emotionally and mentally. Fear that he, Will, was powerless to help Halt, much like Will felt in Skandia when he and Evanlyn were in that hut in the mountains. He was angry, with himself mostly. For both shooting the wrong target and not realizing Halt was poisoned sooner.

Memories of his slave months, memories of being drugged, memories of Halt's soft singing and comforting hugs, memories of Will spewing hateful words as he went through an episode. Everything came back, and that's why he nearly killed that Genovansan. He wouldn't be able to apologise to Halt, wouldn't be able to say he was sorry for stressing him so much, wouldn't be able to make it up to him. What we saw in the book - that was the begin of a PTSD episode. Not triggered by a night terror, not triggered by a panic attack. It was triggered by the fear and familiarity of the situation.

And when Halt figured out, later, that Will had temporarily lost it? He wrapped his arms around Will and sang, again, softly. He wasn't a good singer, but he knew Will loved music, so he sang. Gilan and Alyss would hum. Crowley would whistle. Jenny would sing, and George would stay quiet, rubbing circles on Will's back. No one ever judged him, not for a moment.

Will's first months after the events of The Icebound Land and The Battle For Skandia were awful. And even years later, after graduating, they still affected him. They continue to affect him in The Royal Ranger. He didn't walk out of there unharmed. Hell, he didn't even walk out of there in one piece. He left everything behind. What walked out was a husk of a person, focused on a task in order to avoid realizing that fact. Being a slave under those conditions... It would destroy anyone. And destroy it did.