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fallen-flier · 10 months ago

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Where There’s A Will…

i’ll figure a better title out later,,,

so uhh here’s my dimension/time travel will au for the january gathering assessment @rangergathering

Will wakes up slightly groggy, back aching from the hard floor underneath him. It’s only then does the panic set in as he stumbles to his feet, wincing in pain when his head throbs. Calm down, Halt murmurs in his memory. Assess your surroundings. Where are you? Why are you here?

Will can’t remember. His head hurts and his mind is racing, and his body is slow in a way that it hasn’t been since Skandia. Will swallows shallowly, taking deep breaths as he looks around. He’s underneath a tree, a few of his belongings scattered nearby, and Will breathes out a sigh of relief when he finds his recurve bow. The bow is nicked with familiar scratches, the string lightly frayed from use, and Will takes comfort in the fact. It’s also concerning, because whoever brought him here allowed him to keep his weapons.

Wherever Will is, he doesn’t recognize this section of the forest. His knives weigh comfortably against his hip as he unsheathes his saxe, turning it over in his hand. Focus, he thinks, and studies his surroundings. There’s nobody around. The forest is disturbingly quiet, which works in his favor and sets alarm bells ringing through his head because the only time a forest is quiet is when there’s something worse than the biggest predator.

He’s still in Araluen— his mind is not so muddled to not recognize the trees and soil composition, but Will hasn’t lost track of his whereabouts and his own self in years and it terrifies him beyond belief. He gathers the rest of his possessions and slips his hood on, marking the nearest tree with his knife.

Okay. Will has been through worse. He’s fine, even if he can’t remember what he was even doing before this. He briefly closes his eyes, then sets out, marking trees along the way. The sun has barely risen— the day is young and the light shines through the leaves, as if nothing has changed at all.

It’s been a few hours since he left his original position, and he’s found a creek, collected water, and finally, found human footprints. They lead toward a well-worn road, one Will still cannot recognize. Right. At least he’s found his way to civilization, and once his finds the local Baron, he’ll be on his way back home and they can figure out what happened to him. Will steps away from the path, making sure to stay hidden as he follows it down through the forest. He hasn’t stopped to eat food, unwilling to risk eating the food he found in his pack. Will had assumed he would run across some animal along the way, but— the birds are silent, and the forest is nearly devoid of game.

He frowns, tracing the ground with his eyes when an impression on the floor catches his attention. It’s big, almost bear-like, but off. It had stampeded through the forest, scaring most of the animals off. But there’s no sign of injury or blood, a tell-tale factor to that type of behavior in animals. Instead, the tree trunks are covered in a sticky, wax-like substance. Oh. Oh.

It was never a bear. Will takes a step back, as if it’ll bring any distance between the beast and him. For whatever reason, the Kalkara were back.

Will pulls an arrow from his quiver, carefully controlled. His hands are shaking, he distantly notes. Will had been through far worse than a Kalkara since he killed one, but the last time he had faced anything related to Morgarath— Will needs to find the nearest village, and he needs to do so quick.

Will finds himself in the village of Trenton a hour after finding the Kalkara tracks. It’s a quaint village, quiet and unassuming, and filled with an undercurrent of tension. And there, hung upon a bakery wall, a few houses, and a bar, is a red and black flag with a yellow lightning bolt running through the middle. It flaps in the wind, almost mockingly at him. Because Will knows what King Duncan’s flag is, and he knows what flag Morgarath once used.

He presses himself against an alleyway, glad for the shadows that provide a cover, because Will doesn’t think he can breathe. Well, he thinks hysterically, at least he knows why the Kalkara were back.

Are back. Because wherever he is, they never left. It’s 636 CE and Will is not safe, never will be safe here and he doesn’t even know what happened to the rest of the rangers. If they still existed. If Halt was still alive. Halt was pivotal to the First Araluen Civil War, wasn’t he?

If Morgarath had won here, then where was Halt?

The first thing he does is buy food, vaguely grateful the coins he has are still in circulation. He shouldn’t be out in the open, but it didn’t really matter here, did it? Nobody even knew he existed. Will had stuffed his ranger cloak into his pack and clipped his silver oakleaf into his inner pocket in an attempt to seem inconspicuous. It seemed to have worked, or at least given off the sense that he was some world-weary hunter looking for a job.

Will is pretty sure half of the village is looking at him with pity and the other half with suspicion but he can’t bring himself to care. Time travel, how did he even get here? He makes his way into a bar, sitting down near the corner, making sure the exit is in his peripheral. The server, a plump lady walks toward him, a friendly smile on her face.

“Here for a drink?” she asks, a look towards him. Will should probably put more effort into looking happier.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He’s exhausted and drained and misses Alyss and Halt and everyone—

“It’s been a long day.” Will is pretty sure his smile looks painful. The woman hums sympathetically.

“You up for a warm bowl of soup? You look like you need something to wind down.”

He laughs, a little rough. “Yeah. That would be nice, thank you.” Will slides a copper coin towards her, and she takes it, making her way toward the kitchen. The bar is half empty, but it’s still early in the night. A few knights sit around drinking, and Will tears his eyes away, wincing at the symbol on their chest.

A few minutes later, the server returns with a hearty bowl of stew, smelling strongly of herbs and meat. Will nods his thanks, taking a long sip of the broth. The knights across the room are getting louder with alcohol in their system, slapping each other on the shoulder.

“I heard King Morgarath is planning on moving in on Clonmel! Ha, serves the cowards right for refusing a treaty. Knock ‘em right off their high horses once they see us.”

“They refused a treaty? I heard they can’t even keep their own royalty in line— King Ferris keeps Prince Halt locked up in the castle. Apparently Prince Halt attempted assassination on his own brother.”

“He’s still alive after attempting to kill the king? Psh, if one of King Morgarath’s tried to murder him, his majesty would have had him tortured and hanged.”

Will stands, pushing the bowl of stew as far as he can. No. It couldn’t be. Halt hated that place, but he wouldn’t go so far as to attempt murder on his own brother. For some reason, Halt had stayed in Clonmel. He was alive. His twin brother had apparently trapped him inside the castle, but at least he was still living.

Still living, in a way that would have killed Will’s Halt inside. This Halt, whoever he was, didn’t even know Will. Will was never his apprentice, and it wasn’t as if he could break into the king’s palace and what, get Halt out of there? Halt wouldn’t even trust him. There was nothing Will could do here— one man couldn’t fight against a whole army. And who would listen to him? He wasn’t a knight, he had no status, no reason to go running to Clonmel to warn them of Morgarath’s attack. They probably already knew.

Will is going to be sick. The knights are staring, probably because he just abruptly stood out of nowhere and is staring off into space. Mechanically, he picks the bowl up and drinks the rest of the soup, turning sharply and walking out, plans whirring in his head.

He ends up paying a few coins at an inn to stay the night, too tired to haggle a cheaper price with the innkeeper. He’s near silent as he walks along the streets, the path dimly lit by a few candles and knights making a night watch. All of a sudden, a child’s scream pierces the air, the sound of a struggle all too loud against Will’s ears.

The nearest knight looks up then away, because that’s a child, struggling against another knight who has a too-tight grip against the boy’s wrist. “Let me go!” the boy screams, high-pitched and terrified, the false bravado in his voice faltering under the fear.

The knight growls, grip tightening on the boy before throwing him to the ground, ignoring the whine of pain he makes. “You know what you did, return the money you stole,” the man threatens, foot pressing down on the boy’s back and Will sees red.

He’s moving, throwing knife in his hand and his saxe in the other, and then the knight is on the ground, whimpering in pain just as the boy had. The knight from before, the one who had ignored them all of a sudden notices the ruckus, drawing his sword and yelling furiously.

Will ducks, letting the man drive his own momentum and pushes him toward the ground, pinning him with a knife to the neck. “I suggest you gentlemen leave,” he says, and his hand is shaking and Will can’t. There’s a dull fury running through his bones and he’s so tired. He pushes off the man, picking the boy off the ground and stepping into the shadows, returning to the inn. It wasn’t exactly the best idea, but he had faith there was no way the knights could track him, and he would be gone by sunrise. The boy shifts in his arms, looking up at him suspiciously.

“Where are you taking me? Who are you?”

And oh, isn’t that just his luck. Because under a mop of blond-brown hair and a scrunched up face is Horace Altman, in all his eight-year-old glory.

Horace shifts under his scrutiny, looking away nervously. “I didn’t steal anything,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I swear I didn’t, I just wanted to see their swords and I know I shouldn’t have gotten close but—”

Horace falls silent when Will puts a hand on his head, gently ruffling his hair. “It’s okay,” Will says. “I believe you.” His stomach is turning, because Horace’s first reaction was to defend himself instead of ordering Will to bring him home, something his Horace would’ve done at this age. But here he was no ward at Castle Redmont.

"My name is—" Will pauses. Even if he had a younger self here, he wouldn't have the last name of Treaty. But it still felt wrong in a way, to take a name that would belong to another eight-year-old boy who would probably never get the chance to earn his last name the same way Will did.

"Treaty. What's yours?"

"Horace," the boy mumbles, then as he gains confidence, "Horace Altman. I have a last name, but uhm..."

He trails off, clearly ashamed. Another spark of fury runs through Will, and he keeps his face carefully blank. Horace had always been so proud of his family name, of who he was— perhaps sometimes to the detriment of Will's younger self, but there was something about the shame that set Will off. Horace should've never been afraid to proclaim who he was.

“We’re going to go back to my inn room and I’ll patch up your side and check your arm, then you can tell me where you live so I can drop you off, all right?”

Horace relaxes at his lack of outward reaction and nods, and then they're off.

okay so author’s notes + extra plot:

wow that was way more depressing than i actually planned it to be. i promise i didn’t make this purely so will was sad. the plot may have ran away from me.

oh gosh i feel so bad for the characterization. any concrit about will is greatly appreciated. i feel like i may have made him a bit too grim. sorry will. :(

ugh i forgot how long writing takes. why are there so many scenes i have to write before i get to the actual plot points i want to write about.

it has been 5-7 years since i read ra and please can anyone explain what will canonically knows about halt and clonmel because i do not remember and the wiki is not helpful 😭😭

uhh i basically made up morgarath's flag based on the cover of "the tournament at gorlan" because i'm pretty sure there's no canonical flag that he used

i have way more ideas and plot i have to flesh out, like if i’m gonna replace prince halt with ranger halt or not (because the angst potential is there)

but essentially i was gonna have will run around being a hyper-competent cool ranger helping people and basically being morgarath’s number one hater. hmm maybe have crowley locked up somewhere or in hiding, or gilan a disgraced knight for disagreeing with morgarath’s rule?

will will (teehee) definitely keep horace once he realizes horace is being mistreated. but will is probably not okay with putting like, a 8 year old in danger so idk where will would put horace once they set off. but it would be kind of funny to just have an army of disgraced, downtrodded people following will?

morgarath is probably going to be the same one from will’s world. yeah, that’s not gonna be pretty.

if anyone was looking forward to seeing will meet his tiny self, unfortunately tiny will is kind of dead. like, canonically, daniel’s wife was not gonna survive that assault while giving birth without halt.

also i find it funny that i have to defend the monarchy in this strange british-adjacent fantasy world. uhh we’ll see how it turns out.

#rangers apprentice #gathering assessment #what am i doing #i have not read ra in 5-7 years #but the hyperfixation holds tight #uhhh please excuse any inconsistencies #yep yep #ranger’s apprentice #will treaty #i'm kind of proud of this one #even if there's no way i can feasibly finish this #horace altman #ahahah maybe it'll appear on my ao3 one day when i get more motivation #fic ideas #my fics #where there's a will au

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