#i keep hurting gilan

[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.”

[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.”

[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. 

[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. 

[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

[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. 

[timewormbloom]

22 - Jenny and Gilan

     “Don’t think about what the food’s for… just keep cooking,” Jenny whispered softly to herself. She was bent over her kitchen counter with her head thrown back in an attempt to not get tears in the dough. At some point she had forgone trying to look at it and just stared at the ceiling as her hands mechanically went through the motions.

      Knead, flip, don’t think.

      Knead, flip, add more flour.

      Knead, flip, ignore the knocking.

     Over and over.

      She could be mistaken for content when she was like this. She wasn’t okay by any means, but she was doing a great job at hiding it if you weren’t looking very hard. The untrained eye might be fooled. But Gilan prided himself on being neither untrained or fooled. He was also good at knowing when his girlfriend needed someone, especially when the someone was him.

      Going against years of training, he deliberately walked a bit more forcefully than he needed to. The sound of footsteps seemed to knock Jenny out of the daze she had lulled herself into, as her head suddenly snapped in his direction. Gilan barely had a moment to process the destroyed look on her face before his arms were full.

      They stood there for a moment, Jenny’s tears soaking through his cloak as Gilan murmured soft, almost inaudible words. Gilan balanced on one leg as he used his other foot to draw a nearby chair over. He prodded her slightly before she collapsed into it. He knelt down to her height and cradled her face. He instinctively wiped his thumb under her eye to catch a stray tear.

      “She’s gone. I know she died a hero, but...” Jenny was staring at a small spot on the wall as her voice trailed off.

     “It still hurts.” Gilan didn’t bother phrasing it like a question, since the emotions flickering through her eyes answered it long ago. She sniffled again as another round of waterworks began. Gilan didn’t know what to do other than rock her gently as she sobbed.

      His mind wandered to Alyss. He never really met her, aside from their wedding, but Will gushed about her so often he probably knew her as well as he knew his own siblings.

      The thought of Will sent him down another rabbit hole of thought. Alyss was his everything. Even thinking about what losing a partner might be like made his throat close up.

       “Oh… don’t cry.” Jenny’s soft words brought his attention back to her. She grabbed a napkin from her apron and dabbed at his cheeks, where tears had started to fall without him noticing.

     “If I ever lost you…” Gilan whispered, before suddenly embracing Jenny even harder than before. Calloused hands from years of working in the kitchen threaded through his hair. Eventually, he pulled back and tried to compose himself. His eyes landed on the now ruined blob of dough that had dropped on the floor at some point after his arrival.

     “Do you want some help making more dough?” Jenny seemed a little surprised at the question, but gave him one of her increasingly rare smiles and pulled him over to the counter.

      “It’s one of Will’s favorites. He’s locked himself in the cabin, and I’m worried about him,” she explained as she pulled out more ingredients. She latched onto the momentary feeling of joy that cooking for others brought her as Gilan moved to put his chin on her head. She melted back into him as she threw things together into a bowl.

     Neither of them were alright, but at least they could put that aside for a moment.

[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.”

[alvacchi]

SCENARIO: Norman’s Rage

IT’S SCENARIO TIME! Gosh finally! I’ve been meaning and wanting to write this one since a few days ago :’D. This is inspired by @vobomon’s Demon!Norman AU!

(Note: This could be seen as a continuation from the SCENARIO: Masquerade but doesn’t need to be. It can be a stand alone.)

Aaa anyways, enjoy!

[Spoilers up to Ch 132]

---

Norman: We will strike 8 days from now. While the Tifari is taking place, we’ll assassinate the queen and the nobles.

[It’s now been eight days since Norman started making his move. Now the Tifari ceremonies have begun and Norman’s army along with Giran’s army heads out towards the Royal Capital.]

Norman: ‘Today is the day. We will change everything. The full moon should be out on this day... I will be at maximum strength if I need them.’

[A chill goes down Norman’s spine but he keeps his serious face on. He can’t stop his plan now. It’ll be okay. It’ll all work out.]

[Meanwhile, Ray and Emma have infiltrated into the Royal Capital in their demon disguises after their trip to the Seven Walls. However, they have been caught by one of the demon nobles at the Tifari.]

Demon noble: You guys don’t look familiar...you must be the ones destroying our plantations! INTRUDERS!!

Ray: RUN EMMA!

Emma: RAY!

[The demon nobles gather around them to prevent them from escaping. Emma and Ray stand against each other back to back, trying to get out of their tough situation.]

Queen Legravalima: That’s enough. I will deal with the intruders myself.

[The Queen shows herself to the crowd and the demons withdraw, kneeling before her. Ray and Emma stand there astonished as they looked at her.]

Demon noble: [to Ray and Emma] Such insolence! Kneel before your Queen!

Emma: ‘Wait... that’s the Queen? That’s perfect then!’

Emma: Your Majesty! We didn’t come here seeking for a fight! We simply want to negotiate for peace!

[Emma removes her mask to reveal her face to the Queen.]

Ray: Hey! Emma!

[The demon nobles starts talking amongst themselves.]

Demon noble 1: !!! That’s a cattle child!

Demon noble 2: If it is a cattle child, then the other one with it must be one too!

Demon noble 3: Does that mean it wasn’t the work of demons but cattle? Ridiculous!

Duke Ivelk: SILENCE!

[They all shut up. The Queen then begins to speak.]

Queen: Negotiation? From mere cattle? How absurd! What makes you think I will listen? My dear brother Lewis has gone missing.

[In the middle of their conversation unknown to them, Norman’s army heads their way, already having infiltrated the Royal Capital. Norman leads the way as they head towards the room where Ray, Emma, and the other nobles are, killing any demons standing the way.]

Emma: We already have a plan to remake the Promise with HIM! We know what you Royals have been doing!

Queen: [feigning innocence] I do not know what you are talking about.

Emma: The girl with cursed blood. She’s still alive.

[As Norman sees the nobles and approaches the room, he spots a familiar orange haired person with an ahoge.]

Norman: ‘Is that Emma?! Oh no why is she here?! She’s being reckless again!’

[He quickens his pace from worry. The demon nobles made gasps in the room from Emma’s words.]

Queen: ….Am I supposed to be frightened? Rendered powerless before you cattle?

Emma: ! That’s not--

THWACK

[Emma’s hit hard by the Queen’s hand, falling to the ground with a thud. She lays there, silent and still.]

Ray: EMMA!!!

[Norman watched and heard it all happen right before his eyes as he finally makes it to the entrance. The slap. The fall. Ray’s scream. He starts hyperventilating, his breathing becoming ragged. His mind flashes back to when Emma’s leg got broken and the times when he seen the experiments as he walked on by in Lambda. He had been enduring it all for so long and now.

He snapped.]

Norman: YOU LOW LIFE DEMONS WHO DON'T DESERVE THE RANKS OF NOBILITY! HOW DARE YOU! LOOK AT HER! SHE’S NOT MOVING!!!

[A burst of wind started coming from him as a dark aura also consumed him. The glass cups on the table and the windows were breaking from the wind force. Clothes were flapping and the demons shielded their faces from wind contact. Norman was transforming, beginning to form demonic characteristics. Feathers were sprouting from his skin and his hands slowly became claws. The rest of Norman’s army arrives to the scene and sees the chaos. Ray watches him in horror.]

Ray: THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO HIM?!

Vincent: This is bad! He’s turning into a demon!

Ray: WHAT?!

[The Gilan look on, in shock of what was happening.]

Gilan: ‘Shit I can’t imagine what would happen if the clan turned traitor…’

[Norman’s transformation completes itself. The demon nobles stood there surprised and filled with fear. Norman then starts his killing spree, moving to kill the nobles with incredible speed. They started fighting back against him in vain.]

Ray: Can’t you do anything?!

Vincent: He won’t recognize us anymore! He’s lost it! Everyone’s an enemy to him now! We have no choice but to get out of here! Last time he transformed like this, he destroyed Lambda!

Ray: Seriously?!

Barbara: Aw! But I wanted to kill all of them!

Ray: We better hurry out of here then!

[Ray makes a move to carry Emma but then Emma regains consciousness.]

Emma: Mmm…

Ray: Emma?!

[Emma tries to get up and Ray ends up helping her, putting her arm around his shoulder as they stand.]

Ray: Are you okay?

Emma: [Sees the fighting between the demons and spots a white one in the middle] Is that...Norman?

Ray: How did you recognize him? Nevermind that! We got to leave!

Emma: No! We can’t leave him behind! We got to help Norman!

Ray: Are you crazy?!

[Norman finishes his battles with the demons. All of them are scattered on the floor before him, and now the Queen was the only other demon left alive. He slowly walks towards her, his feathers tainted with demon blood.]

Emma: I can’t let him kill her!

[Emma breaks off from Ray’s hold and runs over to Norman.]

Ray: Emma! DON’T GO NEAR HIM! EMMA!

[Norman was now staring down at the Queen in contempt, his demon eyes filled with hatred. The Queen felt a chill as she stares back at him.]

Queen: ‘I’ve never seen anything like it. That’s not a demon nor a cattle child. What exactly is it?!’

[He was about to strike her when Emma goes in front of him and hugs him in attempt to keep him from doing so.]

Emma: NORMAN! COME BACK TO ME NORMAN! IT’S ME EMMA! I’M ALRIGHT! I’M OKAY SO STOP!

[He hesitates but doesn’t recognize her in his rage. She was in the way. He growls and digs his claws into her, trying to get her off of him. Emma winces from the pain in her sides as blood seeps out.]

Ray: EMMA!

Emma: [still holding on] ‘What do I do?! How do I get him to calm down?!’

Emma: Please Norman, come back....I love you. [She starts humming a certain lullaby] ♪ ♪ ♪ ~

Ray: ‘That is…!’

[Norman listens to Emma’s singing for a while and gradually he starts to calm down. His transformation becomes undone, reverting back to his human form as she finishes.]

Norman: Emma…[hugs her back]

Vincent: Huh...it worked out.

[Ray and the others stood there relieved.]

[Norman and Emma separate from each other. Norman looks at her with worrying eyes.]

Norman: Are you crazy? I could have seriously hurt you…[He realizes his hands were covered in her blood. He panics.] Oh no...I already have.

Emma: Norman, it’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.

[They turn to face the Queen who had been silent and frozen in fear the entire time.]

Emma: Your Majesty. As I was saying, we are not trying to cause a war.

Queen: How could you say that when you’ve killed my own kind?

Emma: And ours suffered as well. Please. Let us start over.

[redrose-arrow]

today in “fanfic ideas that I have but will never write because it’s too emotionally wrecking and I cannot do that to my favourite characters”:

Maddie, a full fledged Ranger with a fief of her own, uncovers a dangerous plot designed to bring the Kingdom of Araluen down. Determined to stop it, she entangles herself in a web of mystery and treason, until there is no way back:

to save her country, Maddie must betray everything and everyone she has ever stood for. Her family and her friends soon realise that there is a traitor amidst them, but when Maddie is discovered, innocent lives depend on her to keep her cover intact. So, instead of coming clean, the young Ranger and heir to the throne is forced to lie, to hurt, to threaten and to upset, permanently damaging relations that took years to build.

When the danger has finally passed and her friends, family, and kingdom, are safe at last, only then can Maddie reveal the truth. Question is, can she ever go back to her old life? Or has the betrayal ruined everything she’s ever worked for?

Not being able to return to any of the homes she’s ever known, Maddie seeks refuge with Jenny. The cook welcomes her, and, when Gilan visits, even defends her. But Gilan is in his good right when he states that what Maddie did was “even more of a betrayal to her oakleaf than Halt ever dared”. Will slowly attempts to improve his bond with Maddie, because does she really think he cares “so little that even betrayal would make him abandon his duties as godfather?”. Horace and Cassandra are torn between welcoming back their daughter and heir, and upholding the laws of the country that they swore to protect.

Maddie has, after all, betrayed everything they ever stood for, and though her aim was true, can they truly justify that the ends justify the means?

[fireintheforest]

Negotiations

Ganra should be here by now, Saufinril mused, making his anxiety and excitement increase. He’d rented a private room at an inn, where he was at right now. The only furniture in it was the table and chairs and the big window that allowed him to see the side of the inn (probably a room for private reunions), the docks and the people walking around Anvil. Whenever he thought he saw a glimpse of golden blond hair, he’d stand up from his seat and sharpened his gaze to see if it was Ganra. It never was. What would he look like, anyways? The last time he saw him he was 19, and on the same night he finally left his house. It’s not like he was going to change his face completely. But he was still curious.

Footsteps approached the room and the voice of the innkeeper came along. Saufinril turned to the sound of the noises, was it heading his direction?

They were, oh Mara they were. He could feel his heartbeat increase drastically. And that’s when the door opened. A grown mer’s voice with Saufinril’s same accent thanked whoever had guided him, and that’s when Ganra stepped in the room. The Imperial lady left them alone, Ganra closed the door behind him as Saufinril stood up. Neither brother moved while they took in how much their sibling had changed in 32 years.

He was so…buff. And taller than him for some 2 or 3 inches. He still had the elegance of the race, but he also had the straight back and neutral demeanor of a Warrior, which undoubtedly all the men here saw. For Altmer standards, his brother had developed a lot of muscle. But the heart shaped face that was their father’s was still there, as were the eyes everyone said were like his, emerald green, but for him had always been a dark yellow. Ganra looked older, definitely freshly turned 51. The goatee was new, and the hair was shorter than the last time he’d seen him, but it was him. It was his little brother. The first thing that escaped Saufinril was a smile, imitated by his brother, then both went to each other.

“Look at you!” Ganra exclaimed with a voice deeper than the last time Saufinril had heard him as they hugged (too tightly but the years called for it). Ganra lifted Saufinril some inches from the ground while still embracing him, “You’re so thin!”

“Hey hey, ground. Ground. I’m your older brother, come on.” Saufinril protested. Ganra put him back down and they both broke the hug. Saufinril looked up to Ganra and smiled again, “It’s so good to see you again.”

“It is! Look at you, how have you been? Where have you been this whole time?” both brothers headed to the table where the wine and food awaited.

“Hoo, where do you want me to start?” Saufinril asked, serving Ganra, “I’m good, I’ve been living between Skyrim and Valenwood for a while.”

“You mentioned you were heading to Valenwood after today. What even is there?”

“My patron, his business. I travel back and forth with him. I did have to ask him for a day here to meet, and afterwards I continue south. But look at you, you enlisted? When? How did they even let you come?”

“I did, last year. Not too long ago. It’s been going well, mother and Mithras are very happy with this choice, and I am too.” Ganra watched as Saufinril pressed his lips lightly and passed the drink to him before serving himself, “Thank you. Well, what is this patron? What does he do?...why are you not spouting ice randomly?”

“Because I grew up. I wasn’t going to be the same little Finn that one day couldn’t do magic and the next was setting the kitchen table on fire.”

“You’re not my brother. The real Saufinril is a menace with his magika.”

“Fuck off, I’m 52. I had to control that sometime.”

“How did you control it?”

“Eh,” Saufinril waved his hand vaguely, as if it was an insignificant detail, “a lot of practice, reading endless amounts of tomes at night, day, during slow business hours, a lot of times where I thought I had it right and then electrocuted someone. I think being busy helped. It stopped happening around the time I was 30.”

“That’s good.”

“Thanks.” The silence fell between the brothers for some seconds before Ganra asked, “So, this patron. You didn’t answer me, what does he do?”

“Mm.” Saufinril finished the sip of wine and swallowed, “He has business in Skyrim and Valenwood. A store and a bar, respectively. He’s like a tutor to me.”

“Since when?” the tone of Ganra’s voice made Saufinril turn to look at him.

“Hm?”

“Since when is he a tutor? You had tutors back home. And you had Mithras. Why is he the one that helped?”

“I don’t know, Ganra.” Saufinril lied, “I just know it did. He has a lot of experience, he’s travelled Tamriel, he’s seen and lived a lot.”

“So?”

“So, he has knowledge that maybe those tutors or Graywatch didn’t have.”

“At the time.”

“Or at all.”

Ganra observed his brother take another drink. He observed their mother’s factions in him: the high cheekbones, the narrow jaw, the overall face structure so similar to Kusunna’s, the effect broken only by the blond hair and the emerald green eyes.

“Now that your magic is…stable. Will you come back?”

Saufinril immediately began to choke on the wine, putting the wine glass down and coughing. Ganra rolled his eyes but patted Saufinril’s back.

“It’s not that bad, come on. Your patron will understand. What do you do with him, anyways? Whatever you do, you can get a much better position in the Isles. You can enlist to train as a Battlemage, even, like Gilan. You can-” Saufinril held a hand up, stabilizing again before turning to his brother.

“Gunny,” he cleared his throat, “one is not returning to the Isles.”

“What? Why not?”

“Why would one? One is happy here.”

“Because it’s not your home. Your home is in the Isles. And don’t talk to me with ‘one’, I’m your brother, not some stranger.”

“Well, I think I know where my home is. And it’s here.”

“Not with your brother?” Ganra asked, looking and sounding genuinely hurt, “Or your mother or Mithras?”

“It’s not that, Ganra,-”

“Then why don’t you return?”

“Bec-”

“What is there here that you don’t want to be with your family? Do you not love us?”

“Ganra, of course I love you. You’re my brother.”

“Then why is it so hard for you to come back?” Ganra demanded, slamming an open hand at the table. The glasses clinked and Saufinril involuntarily tensed up, then glared at Ganra, who was glaring back.

“Keep your fucking goblin antics down.” Saufinril hissed, “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Mine. That’s what they are.”

“What could possibly be more important than us? Is it this tutor, this patron?”

“I-partly, yes.” Saufinril admitted, “There’s not much back there for me. Listen, here I make good money, I have a job, I have my social circle, my patron-”

“Everything you described, Saufinril, you have back in Cloudrest. Your old friends? Remember them? They’re back in Cloudrest. You can get a better job, you can get more money, you can find a wife and get married and have children,” Saufinril avoided Ganra’s gaze and shuffled in his seat, “Like I said, you can enlist and become a Battlemage. You can have your own business and not work for some patron. You can be back with your family. Us. Mother, Mithras, me.”

“Ganra, I said no. I am not returning to the isles.” Saufinril stated.  Ganra leaned back.

“This is unbelievable. After everything that’s happened with mother and Mithras, everything they went through and everything you put us through, you won’t come back? After everything both mother and Mithras did for us?”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Why? I was there, I saw it.”

“You didn’t see anything, otherwise you wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“You’re just so comfortable living in Cyrodiil, right? Having everything handed to you,” Ganra stood up, slamming his hands at the table again, “You’re so selfish. You didn’t have to watch Mithras lose nights of sleep trying to figure out how to prevent the invasion from killing everyone in your hometown, you weren’t there when we all thought he was going to die and mother couldn’t handle losing another husband.”

“No, but I wish I had.”

“Unbelievable, you never even visited or-or contact our parents! You weren’t there, you weren’t there for me! You have no filial duty, you don’t care!”

“I could say the same about you!” Saufinril now stood up, “Why are you only coming over here after thirty-two years? Huh? And what about mother? She could’ve come. So much for being my ‘family’.” He air-quoted the last part, “You all are a bunch of hypocrites that only care about what others will say, so don’t come to me talking about family when you don’t know what that means! Mother hardly knows what that means!”

“You just don’t want to take any responsibility. You’re ungrateful and a coward! A vagabond! You have no respect for all that your own people, your own family, has gone through! I shouldn’t have to beg you to come back to your family if you really loved us!”

“Is that so? You’re delusional, Ganra. You choose to call an egomaniac control freak your father when we both know we’re not his sons and our real father would’ve never done anything that he’s done! You’re an ignorant and an idiot! But go! Keep your fucking cult to Graywatch.”

“You’re pathetic, did you know that?”

“Oh, fuck off Ganra. Do you even know what kind of mer he is?”

“Yes I do, because we grew up together, Saufinril. I thought that meant something to you.”

“I thought the same.”

Another bout of silence fell. They both kept the hard stares on the other until Ganra shook his head and headed to the door.

“Where are you going?” Saufinril asked.

“Far from you. I’m going back home. I don’t need this.” Ganra turned to Saufinril, “I don’t need to hear you disrespecting my parents and everything they’ve done for their country and their children. Especially for someone that wants a mediocre life, and that clearly doesn’t want to be around me.”

No. No this couldn’t end like this. He hadn’t seen his little brother in 32 years, was he going to let this meeting end like this? All the anger he was feeling melted. That’s not true, Ganra. He wanted to follow him, to pull him into a hug and say he was sorry, that he was going home if it made him happy, that he never meant any ill to happen to him after all these years, that he just wanted to stop feeling so trapped and alone… but his ego was what planted him in place and shut his mouth. Ganra opened the door and left. Saufinril sighed and passed a hand through his hair.

[acerbaa]

acerbaa fanfic masterpost

figured that doing one of these may be helpful (at least for me, because i keep changing my tagging system), so here we are! i'll add more of my short tumblr pieces as i come across them. all ao3 fics have been set so that only registered users can read them.

fandoms: ranger's apprentice and the locked tomb

* denotes a romantic pairing. newest to oldest

the silt verses

saint, fire, fury

"My name is Val,” she said. The marks shifted across the body-that-might-not-have-been-her-body. “The Last Word says it is so.”

A name and a mother, both lost. Something dreadful rises in their wake. Val character study.

ranger's apprentice

a release or respite from the heat and the hurt

The story of how Halt nearly loses his horse. Written for the Autistic!Halt fic fest for the prompt “Abelard helping Halt with sensory issues”.

the woman in the fire *

Months after Alyss's death, Will stands on a hill and watches the sunset.

the girl across the water

Halt is surveying the sea, looking westward not just to see the setting sun. His homeland is in that direction, though to call it homeland is perhaps a wrong bit of wording. Birthland would be better. The place where he was raised. The end of the world is in that direction, and, more importantly, his little sister. The sunset is beautiful, and beautiful things remind him of her.

rainsong (imagery study)

Halt and Abelard ride home. It's a rainy evening.

spring rain

Alyss Mainwaring and Jenny Dalby, Redmont's resident old lady duo, spend some time together.

all the lonely people

Will wakes up one night from a nightmare about what happened in Skandia.

espresso and a storm

Will, Ebony, and Halt get stuck inside a coffee shop during a storm.

a father found and lost

Gilan arrives at Redmont with some devastating news. Written for the prompt "you're truly alone and goddammit it hurts to imagine".

if you died i'd never forgive myself *

Horace and Will separate while trying to capture the Scotti general MacHaddish. When Horace saves Will's life, the unexpected happens.

snapshots *

Halt and Crowley go through some old pictures of them together.

flowers for crowley

Halt visits Crowley's grave after he dies.

and i'm all out of breath

When Halt and Crowley go to take care of some bandits, something happens and Halt must face his past.

i still hear you in the breeze

Halt returns to Clonmel for the first time since he fled, only to find that someone he loved is gone.

let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide *

Asexual!Crowley comes out to Halt, his partner. They both struggle to figure out how to make their relationship work despite this.

a RA christmas

The Ward is celebrating Christmas, and it's in free verse.

5 times crowley and halt saw the seasons change and one time they didn't

Seasonal Cralt, follows the 5x1 format. Will probably never be completed.

tumblr short fics (in the order i find them because they are untagged and buried deeply in the chaos that is this blog):

gravesite

the light was taken *

planting seeds in a garden i never get to see

happy mother's day, from alyss

and i must tell you that he is dead

the locked tomb

celestial body

Aboard the Mithraeum, Harrow starts looking at the stars and mapping constellations.

when you fall asleep

Every now and then, Harrowhark dreams of a young woman with red hair and golden eyes. She's oddly familiar, and Harrow feels like she knows her. She never remembers the dreams, but always wakes up to blood coming out of her ears and nose. or: Gideon is getting pissed about Harrow's lobotomy and wants her to know what happened, and she may just haunt her dreams about it.

We Are The Crossroads*

When Covid-19 forces the world to shut down, Harrowhark Nonagesimus is left to spend quarantine alone in her apartment. As loneliness drives her to seek out companionship through her university’s Discord server, she finds herself reconnecting with her old friend Gideon, who she hasn’t heard from in nearly a year after a fight that has left them both deeply hurt. In progress.

Magpie

Camilla talks to Palmedes, reflecting on their relationship. Set during Nona the Ninth, and contains spoilers for it.

arcane: league of legends (cartoon 2021)

light and air find some new deepness there

What do you do when you have spent your whole life doing things, creating, and then come to what feels like a dead stop? What do you do when all your options in one direction are gone, dried up like water beneath a blazing summer sun?

You turn and go in another direction. If one way isn’t working, another surely will.

A little character study of Heimerdinger's visit to the Undercity. Who knows who he'll meet?

[dwarrowdams]

As Free as My Hair

Summary: Wardens Gilan Cousland and Tirzah Aeducan come together over tangled hair and shared hardship.  Very friendshippy; set not long after Lothering.

Gilan shut the door to his room, glad to have some quiet time to himself tonight.  They’d chosen to stay in an inn tonight in order to get some decent rest before they had to spend several more nights in between towns sleeping in tents.  Gilan was grateful for this, at least: he wasn’t accustomed to going for so long without a proper bed and planned to enjoy every minute he had of sleeping in one.  He strongly suspected that he wouldn’t have an opportunity like this for a while, so he was going to change into his sleeping clothes and go to bed a bit early.  Even if he couldn’t sleep so early, he’d welcome the relaxation associated with lying down for a while.

Someone knocked on his door just after he’d changed out of his armor and into comfortable sleeping clothes.  Gilan opened the door and found Tirzah standing on the other side, dressed for sleep and cradling a brush between her hands.

“Hi,” she said.  “I kind of have a favor to ask.”

“Sure,” Gilan replied as he motioned her into his room.  “Is something wrong?”

“Can you help get this out?” she asked, gesturing to the tangle at the back of her head.  “There’s a massive knot somewhere back there and I can’t get it out myself—one of the many joys of having curls.”

“Sure,” Gilan said.  “My brother’s son has—had—curly hair and he was awful at keeping it tamed, so I’m pretty decent at untangling hair without making people cry.”

“Perfect,” she replied as she sat down on the bed.  “Normally, I can handle it myself, but I’m worried I’ll tear my shoulder out if I keep reaching back at that angle.”

“No worries—just let me know if it hurts too much, okay?” he asked as he positioned himself behind her, carding his fingers through her hair to find the knot.

Tirzah chuckled softly.  “Believe me, you’ll know if you’re pulling too hard.”

She sat quietly as Gilan worked through her hair, holding her back straight through the pain.  Even as he worked through the knots in her hair, Gilan couldn’t help but notice how regal she looked.  He’d never doubted her status as a princess—ex-princess now, he supposed—but Tirzah’s poise in even the smallest of matters made her past clearer than she knew.

Then again, Gilan had spent most of his life studying that kind of poise as he tried (and failed) to mimic it himself.  Tirzah’s status might not be so obvious to others, particularly since the first thing they’d notice about her was the fact that she was a dwarf rather than the fact that she had impeccable poise.  Even when Gilan was tugging at her hair.

He continued to work in silence for a while, starting at the bottom of each knot and moving his way up as he tried to loosen and undo them.

“You okay?” Gilan asked her after he’d worked through a particularly nasty knot.

Tirzah murmured something in the affirmative.  “You’re good at this,” she said.  “For how much of a mess it is, I figured this would hurt more than it does.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” Gilan warned her.  “I still have to get to the worst of it.  I’ll be as gentle as I can, but…”

“I understand,” Tirzah said.  “At least you have an idea of what the fuck you’re supposed to do.  I can’t imagine any of our other companions would be much help.”

Gilan nodded in agreement. Since he was the only other member of their group who didn’t have perfectly straight hair, he could see why Tirzah had asked him before anyone else.  “It helps if you have family who knows how to treat curly hair,” he said.  “Lucky for you, I do—well, I did.”

Tirzah nodded.  “I got the hair from my mother, I think—she passed away when I was small, so I can’t remember her much,” she said.  “Fortunately, my younger brother would help me fix my hair when I couldn’t get a knot out and I’d do the same for him.”

“Sounds like a good bonding activity,” Gilan replied.  “Plus, if you’re mad at each other, you can pull a little too hard and make it look like an accident.”

“I’m not that diabolical,” Tirzah said half to herself.  “Bhelen was, though.  He was good at pretending it was an accident—most of the time, at least.”

“Siblings always are,” Gilan said as he put the brush aside and began to work through the knot with his fingers.  “I’m probably going to make a mess of this next bit, so I hope having some uneven ends doesn’t bother you too much.”

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to survive,” she replied drily.

“Excellent,” Gilan said cheerily.  “Because the only thing I have that could even them out are my daggers and I’m pretty sure that those wouldn’t work too well on hair.”

“Yes, I can definitely live with a few more split ends,” Tirzah muttered.  “And even if I couldn’t, I’m sure we could find someone somewhere in Thedas who sells scissors.”

“Good to know.”

Gilan carefully worked away the knot, trying to make as little damage to Tirzah’s hair—and the comb—as possible. After a few more minutes of brushing, he’d managed to work through the remainder of the large knot and had eliminated several small tangles as well.

“There—I think we’re all set,” Gilan said as he ran his fingers through Tirzah’s hair to get out any remaining tangles.  “Do you feel any others in there?”

“I don’t think so—it feels perfect,” Tirzah replied as she twisted her hair over one shoulder and carded her fingers through it, checking for any knots that Gilan might have missed.  “I definitely couldn’t have handled this alone.  Thank you.”

Gilan shrugged the compliment away.  “No worries—I may as well make myself useful for something other than fucking everything up.”

“You aren’t the only one,” she said.  “Neither of us is cut out to travel around and interact with commoners like this.  Thank the ancestors we have Alistair to help us.”

Gilan noticed the softness to Tirzah’s voice and the upturn of her mouth when she mentioned Alistair, but decided not to mention her fairly obvious crush at the moment.  “I’m glad he’s with us too,” he responded.  “I can’t believe that even after living in Ferelden for my whole life, there are so many things about its people, its weather, its terrain, that I still somehow don’t know.”

“You still know much more than I do,” she said.  “You understand their culture, even if your day-to-day lives differ.”

Gilan sighed. “Sometimes it feels like nothing,” he admitted. “The way that commoners live is nothing like how I did. Living in a castle, not having to worry about where I’d get food or where I might sleep...nothing I’ve experienced before is anything like that.”

“Still.  It’s much more of a start than I have.”

“There are books you could read to catch up,” Gilan said.  “We couldn’t exactly carry them around with us, but I’m sure we’ll wind up at some place with books eventually.  The local Chantry might have some, even—I’m sure we could check before leaving tomorrow.”

Tirzah chewed her lip, turning her eyes away from Gilan carefully.  “I’ve had trouble reading ever since I can remember,” she admitted.  “The letters always mix around, so it takes me forever to get to the end of a line—if I can even remember where I started.  When it got too difficult for me to pretend, Bhelen would read to me and I would help him with numbers in exchange.  The only way we made it through our schooling was together—by helping each other.”

Sne paused, sniffling once.  “It’s strange,” she murmured, a slight tremor in her voice.  “Even with everything I’ve lost, it’s the small things that hurts most.”

Gilan nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“I lost my home, my family, my whole life, but it’s always the small things that make it hurt the most.  Like realizing that my nug-humping brother can’t be there to untangle my hair.”

She sniffled aggressively, trying—and failing—to wipe the tears from her eyes before they made their way down her cheeks.

“C’mere,” Gilan said as he pulled her against his chest.

He held her as she sobbed into his shirt, gently stroking her hair as she did so.  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her cry—they’d both been sobbing wrecks when they’d been new recruits in Ostagar—but it was the first time she’d sobbed like this in front of him and there was something oddly affirming about that.  He had never had a sister—but he was beginning to see Tirzah as one. The two of them had bonded over their shared pain and had begun to move towards healing as they talked and worked together.  Despite their differences, they had come to support and complement one another as they gradually moved through this journey together.

He held her close until after she stopped crying, gently stroking her hair until she moved away.

“Sorry,” she sniffled, gesturing to the wet spot on his shirt.

Gilan sighed.  “Tirzah, in the past few weeks I’ve lost my family, my home, and most of the order I was supposed to join was killed by a traitorous teyrn.  You don’t need to be sorry about crying on my shirt.  We’ve both been through too much to worry over things like that.”

“I suppose,” she said.  “I just...feel bad for leaving a big tear-stain on one of your comfortable shirts.”

“It’s fine, really,” Gilan said.  “I’ll need to figure out how to wash things properly in the near future.  Besides, I’m fairly certain that tear stains won’t do any permanent damage—either that or whoever did the laundry back home dreaded washing my shirts.”

Tirzah made a sympathetic noise.  “I hope they weren’t all sad tears, at least.”

“Not all of them, no,” Gilan said.  “Some were from allergies.  And some were from laughing too.”

“Good,” Tirzah muttered.  “I was worried for a moment.”

“No need to worry about that,” he replied.  “I’m just as good at crying over the good things as I am the bad—well, almost as good.  I’m sure I’ll sob on your shoulder at some point in the future.”

“That doesn’t sound especially comfortable,” she murmured, sniffling as she wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Gilan nodded.  “Your shoulder isn’t exactly the most comfortable height for me,” he pointed out.  “But I’m sure I’ll cry in front of you sooner rather than later—we’ll worry about finding a comfortable place when the time comes.”

Tirzah let out a strangled laugh through her tears.  “Okay,” she mumbled.  “Just not my hair—it’d be more of a mess than it is now.”

“I think I can handle that,” Gilan said.  “Neither of us would want to comb through the mess that would make.”

Tirzah shook her head in the negative.  “I think we’ve both been through enough tonight,” she replied. “Thank you again—for untangling my hair and dealing with...all of this.”

Gilan shrugged.  “You’ve done so much for all of us already.  Being here for you tonight is the least I can do.”

Tirzah leaned over to give him a one-armed hug.  “Humans might not always make sense to me, but I’m glad you’re one of the humans I know.”

“Good to know,” he said.  “But if you want to know about them, I can tell you about humans myself.  It won’t be as accurate as the books, but hopefully it’ll be at least a bit more entertaining.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.  “I just want to stop feeling so lost all the time.  I dislike feeling like I don’t have any control over my life.”

Gilan nodded.  He didn’t share for Tirzah’s need for control, but he understood how demoralizing it could feel to be adrift in a strange world.  Even being adrift in a familiar world was proving itself more difficult than he’d anticipated.

“It’s all just a massive adjustment,” Gilan said.  “Fuck, a few months ago I never would have imagined that I would be here.”

“Neither did I,” Tirzah replied.  “Everything’s different and it doesn’t help that I can barely sleep. The dreams—that is what they’re called, isn’t it?—are horrible.”

“Fuck, that’s right—dwarves don’t dream,” Gilan said.  “I can’t imagine what it must be like to go from nothing to seeing these horrifying images when you’re trying to sleep.”

Tirzah nodded.  “It’s awful,” she whispered.

“You can sleep with me tonight, if it’ll help,” Gilan suggested.  “I don’t know about you, but I always have an easier time sleeping when someone’s next to me.”

Tirzah sniffed in amusement.  “And how many people have you lured into bed with that line?”

“Not that many, actually,” Gilan said.  “I had a friend back home—one of the knights at Highever—who had a bad time sleeping as well.  She wasn’t interested in me—or in men at all, actually— but when one or both of us was having a bad night, we’d sleep next to each other and it did help.”

Tirzah nodded slowly.  “That might be good,” she said.  “But if you expect anything other than sleeping…”

“Don’t worry,” Gilan said.  “You’re gorgeous and wonderful, but I think there are about a million reasons why us having sex would be a terrible decision.”

“That seems like a decent estimate,” Tirzah said, her mouth quirking up into a smile.  “At least we’re on the same page about that.”

Gilan nodded.  Truthfully, he had no interest in sex at the moment—the recent tragedies he’d faced had drained away his normal sexual appetite and left him with little time and energy to indulge any feeble sparks of desire that he might experience.  Even if his sex drive had been functioning as it normally did, Gilan doubted he’d have any interest in Tirzah.  In the past few weeks, he’d come to view her as the sister that he never knew he’d needed.

Tirzah slid closer to the edge of the bed, surveying it critically.  “Do you have a side you prefer?” she asked.

“Not really,” Gilan said.  “Although there is a good chance I’ll just wind up curling around you no matter what.”

“That actually sounds kind of nice,” Tirzah said as she laid down on the bed.  “I never liked how sleeping next to someone is all tied up with sex.”

Gilan nodded in agreement.  “Having someone to sleep and wake up next to is nice, whether or not there’s sex involved.”

Tirzah murmured something in agreement as she curled onto her side, drawing her knees up to her chest.  “Thank you,” she whispered.  “I’m glad you understand.”

“Of course,” Gilan replied as he laid down on the other side of the bed and slid under the covers.  “Sorry if I snore—there’s not much I can do about it, especially with all of the pollen.”

Tirzah chuckled as she pulled the covers up to her chin.  “Can’t be worse than sleeping next to both of my brothers,” she said.  “There were times when I worried the ceiling would cave in.”

“Just wait until springtime,” Gilan said, leaning over to blow out the candle.  “You’ll wish I hadn’t made it through the Joining.”

“I doubt that,” Tirzah murmured.  “I’m glad you’re the one who made it.”

“I’m glad you made it too,” Gilan replied.  “Can you imagine me and Alistair trying to stop the Blight all by ourselves?”

“Oh no,” Tirzah murmured.  “Ancestors, no.  That would be a disaster.”

Gilan murmured something in agreement.

He heard Tirzah shift, rolling onto her other side as she nudged one of the blankets on the bed towards him.  “There—now you won’t wake up in the middle of the night with no blankets,” she mumbled.

“Thanks,” GIlan replied as he wrapped the blanket around himself.  “You really are the best.  Now get some sleep.”

“You telling me to take care of myself?” Tirzah said, her voice already tinged with the heaviness of sleep.  “That’s new.”

“Get used to it,” Gilan said.  “I’m here to take care of you just as much as you’re here to take care of me.  Well, almost as much.”

Tirzah laughed softly.  “Night, Gil,” she murmured.

Gilan leaned over to blow out the candles beside the bed before laying back down, finding himself surprisingly at peace.  He and Tirzah might always agree, but he was glad that she’d come tonight—her presence was a welcome distraction from the darkness that often haunted him at night.  

At least tonight both of them had some company: a factor that would make the night pass more smoothly for both of them.