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Chapter Text

"No!" 

With every last ounce of his remaining strength, Will desperately reached towards Evanlyn. Blood oozed from a deep wound in his chest and his head spun, his consciousness black around the edges. Evanlyn crouched, terrified, on the ground, arms up as if to shield her from a blow. It was a useless endeavor. The gleaming axe that waited above her would not be stopped by her pleas, her arms, or her cries. There was no preventing the inevitable.

"Today, be you all my witnesses!" Ragnak cried to all those around him. He shouted to Will, dying on the freezing ground of Skandia; to Horace, lying dead and cold; to Halt, wheezing out his final breaths; to Erak, standing still and resigned; to all of his men who had fought with him against the Rangers. None of them had cared that Halt was the only reason they were still alive, that Halt's strategies had been the only thing that caused the Temujai to flee from the battle. No. As soon as the battle was over, Ragnak had found Evanlyn and declared that his Vallasvow must be fulfilled.

Halt, Horace, and Will, outnumbered hundreds and hundreds to one, had not stood a chance.

"With this," Ragnak declared, raising the axe's gleaming head above Evanlyn's fragile neck, "I fulfill my vow to the Vallas! May they accept my offering!"

The Skandians shouted as one: "May they accept your offering!"

Ragnak brought the axe down. 

Will choked out an incoherent scream, gasping for breath. His blurry, horrified eyes could only watch as the body of one his closest friends hit the ground with an ugly, final thud. Her blood stained the icy ground scarlet. His eyes fixed on Evanlyn's open, vacant, lifeless ones and could not look away.

Nearby, he heard Halt's faint, pained whisper. "I am sorry...my King. I have...failed you."

"H-Halt," Will gasped out, turning his head to look at his mentor. The movement pulled on the gaping hole in his chest and his eyes watered so badly he could barely see. "Halt."

"Will." With monumental effort, Halt tried to crawl to Will. His strength failed him and he collapsed back down onto the ground. They were mere inches apart, yet they might as well have been miles. Neither of them had the strength to close the gap.

"Will," he whispered. "I...I am so sorry. This is...my fault."

"No," Will said, shaking his head despite the pain it caused him. "No, it's not your..."

The raucous screams and cheers of the Skandians roared around them, oblivious - or uncaring - of the apprentice and the Ranger. More tears burned in Will's eyes. How had this gone so wrong? He remembered, so clearly, Halt's reassurance. "These things have a way of sorting themselves out," he had said. Look how that had turned out.

Will laughed, bitter and broken. Droplets of blood oozed up from his lungs and dribbled down his chin. His strength was leaving him with every passing second. He knew he did not have many seconds left. 

"Will," Halt's voice came again. Will met his gaze. It was desperate and pained. "I never told you...I never told you that I..."

"Halt, please," Will whispered. The pain in Halt's face was too much to bear. He could drown in the regret in Halt's eyes.

"You are...a son to me," Halt said. "I never told you. Thought I would have...the time. But now..."

Halt reached out a hand. With Will's last bit of strength, he reached out for it, and Halt's callused fingertips met Will's. He shivered. Halt's hands were already cold. "Halt, I-"

"I love you, Will." Halt smiled softly. "My son."

Then he stopped breathing.

There was no scream in the universe that would have been loud enough. Will's mouth opened in silent agony, his hands clawing at thin air. How could this have happened? Why did this happen? Horace - Evanlyn - Halt...

"Give me...another chance," he croaked. He was not afraid of death; he knew quite well where he would go. No, he wanted to fix this. He wanted - he needed them back. He needed them back. "Let me fix this. Please."

Nothing happened.

Will closed his eyes. Of course. It wasn't like God was going to send him back in time. 

Footsteps approached. Will wrenched his eyes open to see who was coming towards him. It was more difficult than he thought it would be. Everything was now - breathing, blinking. He was dizzy now, his vision looping and swirling in strange patterns. His heartbeat had turned erratic and strange.

Erak's figure loomed above Will. "I'm sorry, lad," he said quietly. "There was nothing I could do. I could hardly fight against my own people."

Will tried to breathe.

"Here. Take this." Erak handed him something. Will lifted one hand to take it, weak fingers barely able to find purchase. It was his bow, he realized, or a piece of it anyway. One of Ragnak's men had snapped it in half after he'd stabbed Will through. 

"Thanks," Will managed. 

"May we meet again in Valhalla," Erak said solemnly.

Will nodded. He could feel the last bit of his life ebbing away. "May we meet again," he choked out.

Erak's slow footsteps drew away. Will trained his gaze up at the sky. The cold, grey sky of Skandia would be the last thing he saw. He would never again see his home. Warm tears trickled down his cold cheeks. 

As his consciousness faded, his bleary eyes watched the sun begin to set. Its dying rays flickered over his face, gentle. Lifting up his hand, he reached towards the sun. Please, he found himself thinking, in the last act of his life, please give me the chance to make this right.

His hand fell down to the earth and he went limp. Yet as he died, a voice responded.

It shall be done.

Chapter Text

Part I: Dawn

Will sat up with a jolt. 

He gazed around him uncomprehendingly. Where was he? What had happened? Everything around him was different. Where was the ground, the battlefield, the blood sinking into the earth? Where were the cheers, the pained screams, the last, whispered words of the dying? 

Halt's low, even voice came to him. If you wake up in an unfamiliar place, don't try anything stupid. Assess your surroundings first before you make a move.

Will looked down and gasped in shock. His chest - it was uninjured! A loose nightshirt of cotton hung off of his shoulders. There was no blood to be found. He prodded the flesh cautiously. Nothing hurt. He looked around at his immediate surroundings, heartbeat beginning to race. He was inside a building, in bed, on a mattress made of straw with a quilted blanket over top. Everything was clean. There was no blood, no weapons, no bodies.

What was going on?

He held a hand to his head, scrunching his brows up in distress. His last memories were clear. There was no way he was making them up. He remembered with unforgettable clarity the battle against the Temujai. They had retreated because of Halt's masterful strategies as their tactician, granting the Skandians victory. Yet it had not taken long for them to turn on Halt. Or rather - on the Princess under Halt's protection. 

Ragnak had found Evanlyn after the battle and declared his intent to fulfill his Vallasvow now. The rest of the Skandians had rallied with him. Horace, Will, and Halt had raised their weapons grimly, knowing in that moment that it would be all for naught. They fought anyway. Horace had died quickly, beheaded by a Skandian whose own life was ended seconds afterwards by one of Halt's arrows. The distraction had cost Halt, though, and he had been beaten down next, dealt a deep wound in the side from an axe. Will had been stabbed through the chest. 

In Will's last moments, he had witnessed their final defeat as Ragnak fulfilled his Vallasvow and killed Evanlyn. She had been one of Will's closest friends. They had fought together, been captured together, and escaped the Skandians' brutal slavery together. Yet all of that had been for nothing. 

Her dull, lifeless eyes would not leave his head.

Will closed his eyes, shaking his head desperately in an attempt to force the image out of his mind. He looked at his surroundings instead. 

He was in a large room made of stone, built to be functional rather than beautiful. Will's bed was next to a wall and a chill breeze blew onto his face from the window cut into it. He looked out the window to see the world still in darkness, but a faint suggestion of gold lingered over the horizon. It was almost sunrise, then. 

Turning his head in the other direction, Will realized his bed was but one in a long row of like beds. Sleeping figures lay bundled up in quilts, some snoring. Their faces were young, some teenagers, some mere children. All were boys. Will ran his eyes along the row. He stopped, eyes widening at one face in particular. It was a face he had never thought he would see again.

Horace!

Will leaped out of his bed - or tried to. His body didn't respond properly. He landed wrong, tripping and nearly falling on his face. His ankle rolled harshly on his way down and Will bit his lip to keep from crying out. He grabbed onto his bedpost to steady himself. 

Horace was here. Horace was here. Why was he here? How was he here? Will had seen him die. He had seen the axe cleave Horace's head from his shoulders - seen it thud sickeningly onto the ground, spurting blood as the body had followed suit. How was he here?

Will straightened and tried to walk to him. Everything felt wrong. His limbs felt too small, too short, too thin for his memory. Every movement was clunky and awkward and his footfalls sounded loud on the stone floor. Will had never felt less like a Ranger. 

As his wobbly, wavering steps drew closer and closer to Horace, he was able to make out more of his friend's face. The sun was beginning to rise now, spilling early morning light into the room. Will ran his eyes over Horace. His brows furrowed.

"What the fuck?" he said lowly.

He reared back - both at Horace and at his own voice. Horace's face was so soft, his body inches shorter, his muscles nonexistent - Will's voice was high-pitched and squeaky, far higher than he was used to-

They were both...

...so young.

The sun had fully illuminated the room now and Will slowly, with dread filling his lungs, turned around to inspect it. Now that he could see more than just shadows, he realized that the room was familiar. Very familiar. Will had spent the first fifteen years of his life in this room, in fact.

This was Will's room in the Ward.

Will swallowed thickly. His heartbeat was racing faster and faster. He stumbled back over to his bed - his bed - and ran a trembling hand through his hair. He undershot it, fingers barely tracing the strands of his hair.

Almost like Will was expecting his arm to be longer.

No, no. Think. It couldn't possibly be - that would be impossible. Will forced himself to take a deep breath. He withdrew his hand from his hair and placed both his hands in his lap. Come on, Will. Think. What could this be?

All he could remember was that final thought before he had lost consciousness. Give me another chance. It had been a whisper, a plea, a prayer. 

Had it been answered?

He stared down at his hands. They were less veined than they should have been. Will swallowed again. His body had been through a lot in Skandia, though. It wasn't like he'd made a practice of looking at the amount of veins in his hands. He turned his hands over to look at the calluses on his palms and fingertips. He had spent months - years - building up those calluses. He knew where they should be.  

They were gone.

As a last, feeble resort, Will turned his left hand back over to look at his thumb. In the first year of his apprenticeship, before he'd left for Celtica, he had once dropped his throwing knife during training. In his fumble to catch it, he'd sliced his hand up badly and earned a long, zig-zag scar down the entirety of his left thumb. Halt had sighed when Will had meekly gone up to him, explaining what had happened. What did I tell you about trying to catch falling knives? Halt had asked. Come on. Let's go get you patched up.

There, right where the long, ugly, raised scar had been, lay only pure, untouched flesh.

That did it. Will gave a short, hysterical bark of laughter. His prayer had actually been answered. He had actually been sent back in time - to his days in the Ward, no less! Could he not have ended up a little further along - a little closer to the actual events he was trying to prevent? Could he not have ended up before he left for Celtica, or before Erak and the Skandians captured him, or - hell - even before the last battle with the Temujai? At least then Will could've grabbed Evanlyn and run for the hills.

Nope. Will had ended up all the way back in the Ward. What year even was this? How old was he?  

The sun was fully up now. Its rays spilled over Will, racing across the room and falling across the faces of the other boys. A couple of them mumbled protests; others stayed sound asleep. Will looked again at Horace's face and at the face of George, a few beds over. They certainly didn't look that young, no younger than fourteen, he would guess. Horace had a wisp of a mustache above his lip and George's face was pocked with acne. 

The door to the room opened.

"Time to get up!" came the voice of Mistress Rebecca, the Ward's headmistress. She was in charge of making sure they all behaved, were well fed, and were properly educated and brought up. She was, however, no replacement for a mother. Will had learned that quickly.

"Will, George, Horace, get up! You know what day today is!"

Well, actually, Will thought. I don't.

Horace groaned sleepily, while George sat up and mumbled something incomprehensible. Will's lips quirked up in spite of himself. It had been so long since he'd last seen George. With Celtica and then Skandia, it had to have been over a year. He hadn't realized how much he had missed his former wardmate. 

Mistress Rebecca lost her patience. She stormed over to Horace's bed, yanking the covers off of him.

"Get up! There's no time for you to be lazing about!" She spun around, divesting George's bed of covers as well. She was about to do the same to Will, before she realized he was already up. "Now go, wash yourselves up! I don't want to see dirt behind your ears, you hear?"

"Yes, Mistress," Horace and George said obediently. Will swiftly piped in, years of instinct kicking in. He stood, wincing as the ankle he had just rolled gave an angry twinge, and followed his two wardmates down to the privy. 

Horace and George were surprisingly quiet as they washed up. Will eyed them quizzically. He had a few ideas as to what day this could be but he didn't yet know for certain. He knew that if he asked, they would probably think he had gone crazy. 

"Well," Will said experimentally as they walked back up to their room in order to get dressed, "today will be interesting."

Horace sneered. The expression took Will aback, before suddenly he remembered. Right. While they had been in the Ward, Horace and Will had not gotten along. They had been rivals, not best friends. The realization sent a pang through Will's chest. He wasn't sure what hurt more: looking this Horace in the face and seeing his older, stronger body lying lifeless on the ground, or looking this Horace in the face and seeing an enemy instead of a friend.

"For you, sure," Horace told him. "You're the only one that no one wants, after all."

Will fought back a flinch. "That's not true! Halt-"

He stopped. Halt doesn't even know me, here.

Horace and George both gave him weird looks. "Halt? You mean the Ranger? What's he got to do with this?"

"...Nothing. Never mind."

"Well, whatever," Horace said dismissively. He stepped into their shared room. "That doesn't change the fact that today's Choosing Day, and absolutely none of the Craftmasters are going to choose you."

A lungful of air wrenched itself from Will's mouth. He staggered, clutching at the doorframe. His wide eyes stared disbelievingly at Horace. "Today's what?"

Horace turned to look at him. "What, did No-Name finally become No-Brains too? Today's Choosing Day, idiot." He smirked. "With a memory like that, I doubt you'll even be useful for farming!"

The insult went unheeded. Will had stopped hearing anything. Today was Choosing Day. That meant Will was fifteen. He had been 17 during the battle against the Temujai. He had gone backwards in time two years. He had lost two years of his life. 

Will clenched his jaw. If it saves the lives of Halt, Horace, and Evanlyn, he thought, it's worth it.

He pulled himself back to reality. Horace had moved off after his insult had failed to obtain the reaction he wanted. George was still standing beside Will, looking worriedly at him. "Are you alright?"

"Uh...not really." He swallowed and gave a fragile smile to George. "I'm...well, I'm a bit nervous, I guess."

George gave him a sympathetic look. "I am, too. Still, don't be too upset! Like I was saying last night, some amount of nerves is good and can actually help improve our reactions and perceptions. Just take deep breaths. They help keep you calm on your feet and stop you from panicking."

"Right. Thanks, George."

"Anytime." George hesitated, giving Will one last concerned look before heading off to get dressed.

Will did the same. He had never had much in the way of clothes, not even as an apprentice. He had had even less as a Ward. There were about fifteen Wards in all, eight boys and seven girls. It was quite a lot of backs to clothe. Wards were given the bare necessities and not much else. Given their status as orphans, Will was exceedingly grateful to be given even that. In most places, orphans received far less.

It was the work of a few moments to put on his "nice" set of clothes: a brown shirt and jerkin, leggings, and soft, leather shoes. Will frowned once he had finished, feeling oddly bereft. Right. Of course. His Ranger's cloak. A painful pang went through his chest at the loss. It didn't matter that he would be getting it back soon - a few days at most, depending on when Halt decided to give him his equipment - he had still lost it. This new cloak would not be the same.

Mistress Rebecca flew into the room once more. The rest of the boys had woken up by now and gotten dressed, although they were not wearing their nice clothes like Will, Horace, and George. "Breakfast time!" she cried. "George, Horace, Will, come down quickly! You three need to eat, the Baron will be seeing you soon!"

Horace and George scrambled down the steep, stone steps of the Ward tower. Will followed at a more sedate pace. 

Breakfast passed quickly. None of them ate much, not even Horace. It seemed even he was not immune to nerves. Will opened his mouth to tease him before swiftly shutting it. Right. Not my Horace. If he tried a friendly jab, this Horace would take it as an insult. Will didn't want to get in a fight with him. 

Alyss and Jenny walked in partway through the meal. Will shot out of his seat, rushing to Alyss and hugging her. How he had missed her! He felt tears springing to his eyes. He had thought he would never see her again - he had thought he would die without ever telling her that he...

"Uh, Will?"

It was Jenny's voice that brought him back to his senses. Will pulled back abruptly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing. Alyss was staring at him in that polite-yet-confused way of hers that said she had no idea what had just happened. 

"S-Sorry, Alyss," he said quickly, cursing himself. Why had he done that? Of course she would think that was weird! As far as she knew, she had seen him just last night. She had no idea it had been over a year for him. 

"I'm...glad to see you too, Will," Alyss said, smiling at him in an attempt to dispel the awkwardness. It didn't really work, but he was grateful for the effort. "I was looking for you last night."

Last night? So, the night before Choosing Day. What had he done? Will honestly couldn't remember, although going off of context, he had apparently hidden away from her. He must've gone and climbed up his tree or something. That sounded like something he would do.

"Here, you should eat," Will said, stepping away from her and motioning to the table. He quickly went and sat back down at his place. The curious glances from all his wardmates followed him as he went. He tried to ignore them but wasn't able to prevent the heat in his cheeks. Good job, he thought sarcastically to himself. It's been less than three hours and you've already messed something up. You'd better not do this with Halt.

Shit, that was right. He was going to "meet" Halt today. Will grimaced down at his half-empty plate. Horace had been asleep when Will had first seen him, giving Will some breathing room to process. Halt would be fully awake, watching Will, and the rest of the room would be watching Will as well. He had no room for error. He needed to be careful.

This Halt is different from your Halt, he reminded himself firmly as he set his fork down and leaned back in his chair. He is not your Halt. He does not know you. He does not like you. In fact...

The thought pained him to finish, but he knew that he must.

This Halt might never like you. If you fuck it up - if you change something you shouldn't - you might destroy your relationship forever. You need to be careful. 

Will nodded to himself determinedly. When he saw Halt, he must keep his expression as impassive as possible. There was no room for grief or joy, no room for recognition or acknowledgement, and most definitely no room for tears or embraces. No matter how much Will wanted to tackle his once-mentor with a hug and never let him go, the fact was simple. He could not. 

"Alright!" came Mistress Rebecca's voice, breaking into his thoughts. "Candidates for Choosing Day, get up! The Baron's almost ready for you."

Will and the rest of his year-mates stood. Exchanging glances, they followed Mistress Rebecca out of the dining hall, out of the Ward, and all the way to the main tower where the Baron's office and quarters resided. The clear, cool morning was beautiful and Will looked around, taking it in. He was certain he hadn't taken the time to appreciate it the first time around. 

They entered the Baron's tower and began the long, arduous journey up the myriad flights of steps. The Baron's office was far up the tower, supposedly for further security. Personally, Will would not have wanted to climb so many stairs just to get to his own workspace and living quarters, but he supposed being the head of an entire fief must require some sacrifices. Will was content with his home: absolutely no steps required, other than the single step to get on the porch.

Wait.

A pang went through his heart.

Halt's home wasn't Will's home. Not anymore. Like with a growing number of things today, Will had to blink back tears. He stared down at the floor as they walked, more and more miserable with every passing second.

Thankfully, Martin appeared. 

Will laughed at that thought. He had never thought he would be thankful for Martin's appearance. 

They had reached the anteroom of the Baron's office. Mistress Rebecca led them into the room and then took her leave, turning them over to Martin's care. Martin seated them on the wooden benches in there and marched inside to see if the Baron was ready to receive them. Will fidgeted as he waited. His unscarred thumb stood out as he did so, mocking him.

Minutes passed. The five wardmates sat in nervous, expectant silence. The room was still and quiet. At last the door opened and Martin strutted out.

"All right, candidates! This way! And look lively!"

Will cast a swift, sidelong glance to his wardmates. They stood uncertainly and, rather slowly, followed Martin into the Baron's office.

Despite having been inside it before, Will craned his neck to look around. He remembered some parts of it, like the rather judgmental-looking portrait of Baron Arald's distant ancestor. A less judgmental portrait, perhaps of the Baron's less distant ancestor, hung next to it. The sturdy oak desk and accompanying chair also featured prominently in Will's memories, as well as the large, open window behind them. Will's lips quirked upwards. He was rather proud of his break-in, he had to say. Even Halt had later admitted to him that it was tolerably well done for a boy without a lick of training. Coming from Halt, that was high praise.

"Come on now! Stand in line, stand in line!"

Will rolled his eyes at Martin's loud, abrasive tone. He nonetheless moved towards the end, remembering Martin's follow-up command of in size place! 

Indeed, Will was not even at the end of the line when Martin yelled just that. "In size place! Tallest this end!"

The other wards fell into line beside Will. Jenny did attempt to give Will her place, but Will shook his head. He had come to terms with his size by now. He did have to admit that his fifteen-year-old body was definitely shorter than the one he was used to, but it wasn't a big deal - at least, socially. For Will himself, it was horrible. Every movement felt off, like one part of him was constantly expecting his limbs to be just a little longer, a little larger, a little more muscular. It was extremely disorienting. 

"Come on!" Martin rattled on. "Smarten up, smarten up! Let's see you at attention!"

"I don't believe that's totally necessary, Martin," came Baron Arald's voice. He had come through the door behind his desk. 

Martin now came to attention, a posture that gave Will great amusement. He looks just as much like a rooster as I remember!

This was it, he decided: this entire thing was worth it just to see Martin do his best rooster impression.

"Sir!" Martin cried, keeping in the same position. "The candidates are assembled!"

"I can see that. Perhaps you might be good enough to ask the Craftmasters to step in as well?"

"Sir!" Martin said, saluting - or trying to. Will once more fought back a laugh at Martin's failed attempt to click his shoes together. He finally gave up and strutted, still rooster-like, to the door. Arald stopped him, enjoining him not to shout at the Craftmasters. Martin deflated and agreed.

In a considerably quieter tone, Martin opened the door and said, "Craftmasters. The Baron is ready now."

The Craftmasters filed in. They looked little different from how Will had seen them last. Lady Pauline was as elegant as ever, Master Chubb just as terrifying. There were perhaps a few less grey hairs on Rodney's head and the wrinkles on Scribemaster Nigel's forehead were perhaps a tad less pronounced. Other than that, they were identical. 

The wardmates straightened at their approach. Will didn't bother. Halt had already made his decision, after all. Will knew from years of experience that there was quite little he could do to impress his master. He very much doubted that standing up straight was one of those things. Halt didn't even bother to do that half the time. 

"The Craftmasters are assembled, sir!"

"So I can see," Arald said. "Good morning, Lady Pauline. Good morning, gentlemen."

The Craftmasters responded in like form. The Baron turned to Martin. "Perhaps we might proceed?"

Martin nodded several times and did his rooster strut to the nervous line of wardmates. "Right, the Baron's waiting! The Baron's waiting! Who's first?"

The wardmates all exchanged glances among themselves, no one eager to go first. Will kept to himself, remembering what had happened the first time around and not too keen on having it happen again. Despite the knowledge that Halt had already made his decision, Will knew he would have to go through the ordeal of being rejected by every other Craftmaster. The idea made him nauseous. It had been horrible enough to go through that the first time.

The hairs on Will's neck prickled. Will looked up. 

Halt.

It took everything within Will not to react - not to burst into tears, not to run to him, not to hug him as hard as he could and never let go. Again, there was that horrible juxtaposition: here was Halt, two years younger, a total stranger to Will. Yet all Will could see was his Halt, dying next to him on the ground. 

Will swallowed, hard. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Remember, Will! You can't react. He took all of his emotions, all of his feelings and memories of Halt, and locked them deep, deep inside. He released the breath and forced himself into impassivity. 

Meanwhile, Horace was in the middle of being chosen. Sir Rodney had finished looking him over and was asking him a few questions. After, he nodded approvingly. "Very well, my lord. I'll take him for Battleschool, subject to the usual three-month probationary period."

The Baron made a note and smiled at Horace, who looked ecstatic. A sudden recollection of what Horace was about to go through made Will wince and he opened his mouth, before quickly shutting it. What was he thinking? Nothing he said would make a difference. No one would believe him. Will would have to figure out a way to help Horace later.

"Congratulations, Horace. Report to Battleschool tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock sharp."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Don't thank me yet," Sir Rodney said. "You don't know what you're in for."

Alyss and George were similarly accepted just how Will remembered. George's impromptu stage fright, this time around, was far more amusing. Will had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. 

Jenny stepped irrepressibly forward and began her bid for Master Chubb. Will stayed still, letting only his eyes move as he looked between everyone in the room. It was a strange feeling. His conscious mind was more than used to such a thing, having had it drilled into him by Halt for months on end. Yet his unconscious brain, all of his body's muscle memory and neurons, were wholly unused to such stillness. Will had to continually fight the urge to fidget. 

Master Chubb finally accepted Jenny as his apprentice. Jenny stepped back into the line. The Baron's gaze fixed on Will.

"And that leaves us with one more candidate." He gestured encouragingly at Will.

Despite knowing what he had to do, all of a sudden, his insides twisted with nerves. He stepped forward as confidently as he could. "I am Will, my lord." 

"Will? Will who?" Martin, predictably, asked. The question was just as painful it had been the first time. "What's your family name, boy?"

The Baron went to reply, but Will beat him to it. He might not be happy that he was an orphan, and a nameless one at that, but he had at least come to terms with it.

"I have no family name, sir," he told Martin clearly. "My parents are unknown."

Martin balked. Embarrassment, then disgust washed over his face. Typical. People often responded that way, looking down on Will as being lesser just because he didn't know who his parents were. Will had been ashamed of it for the longest time. He'd mentioned it to Halt one day and Halt had declared decidedly to him, If people want to judge you for something you can't change, that's on them. A man should be judged on his actions, not the circumstances of his birth. 

Will remembered that now as he looked at Martin's disgusted expression. The words strengthened him. 

The Baron cleared his throat, drawing attention back to him. He looked embarrassed as well, though the gaze he directed to Will was clearly apologetic. "What school do you wish to apply for, Will?"

Will froze. His mouth opened and nothing came out. 

What should he say? He had absolutely no desire to be at the Battleschool - especially knowing the embarrassment he was headed for should he actually request it. But no one who knew him would believe him if he tried to apply for any other school. The Will they knew was obsessed with it. 

"Another case of stage fright?" the Baron asked sympathetically. "It's alright, Will. You don't need to be nervous."

Will opened and closed his mouth a few more times, before finally settling on, "Horseschool, sir."

Will ignored the shocked looks from Alyss and the rest of his wardmates. Ulf, the Horsemaster, looked him over carefully and shook his head. "I need apprentices, my lord, but this one's too small. He'd never control one of my battlehorses. They'd stomp him into the ground as soon as look at him."

Too small! Will thought indignantly. He had once ridden Horace's battlehorse without a problem and Tug, he would like everyone to know, could be just as difficult to control! Will had the strength to draw back a full longbow-

Oh. Wait. He actually didn't. Not right now, anyway. Will had been training to use it, but he'd still used his recurve in the last battle. And his fifteen-year-old body? It didn't stand a chance. Will subsided, succumbing to his fifteen-year-old body's instincts once more and shuffling awkwardly. 

"What skills do you have, Will?" the Baron asked, breaking the silence.

Will's lips quirked at that. He remembered the response he had given at the time - and the responses, which in retrospect he found far funnier than he had then. The question was, should he say the same thing again?

He internally shrugged. Why not?

"I'm a good climber, sir," he said, and waited for the show to begin.

It did not disappoint.

"He can climb, all right," Chubb said peevishly. "I remember when he climbed up a drainpipe into my kitchen and stole a tray of sweet cakes that were cooling on the windowsill."

Yes, Will remembered that too. That was also, if Will remembered correctly, the time he had first caught Halt's attention. The reminder made him smile, though he quickly wiped it off. It wouldn't do to be caught grinning as all the Craftmasters detailed his worst pranks. He pulled himself back to the present.

"A male and a female rabbit, my lord, if you take my meaning," Nigel was saying, adding to the list of Will's crimes. "Most disruptive indeed!"

Will looked around the room at everyone's reactions. It was then that he saw Lady Pauline do something he would never have thought she would do. She lifted a hand up to her mouth as though concealing a yawn, yet she could not conceal the amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. His own widened incredulously. Lady Pauline! Does she find this funny, too?

"Well yes," the Baron was saying. "We all know how rabbits are."

"And, as I said, my lord, it was spring." 

Lady Pauline coughed. 

She does! Will thought, fighting back his own laugh. He automatically glanced at Halt, grinning.

He locked gazes with a Halt whose expression was entirely cold and impassive.

The look floored him. Will nearly stumbled. As he had been apprenticed to Halt and grown closer to him, he had thought that Halt's growing lack of impassivity had just been because he was learning to read Halt better. Maybe that was some of it, but that look that this Halt had just given him...

That look was clear. I don't know you.

Will tore his eyes away and turned his head, not wanting Halt to see the expression on his face. 

It was, of course, at this moment that Baron Arald asked the dreaded question. "Is there any one of you who could use this boy?"

That had to be one of the most painful things that Will had ever been through. Will closed his eyes and refused to look as, one by one, every single Craftmaster declared him useless to them with a single shake of the head.

In the awful silence, Halt finally spoke. "There is something you should know about this boy, my lord." He stepped forward and handed the Baron the fateful sheet of paper.

Arald unfolded it, glanced over it, and looked up. "You're sure of this, Halt?"

"Indeed, my lord."

The Baron refolded the paper, expression thoughtful. He idly tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk. "I'll have to think on this overnight."

Halt nodded and stepped back, giving the appearance of having vanished into thin air. Will, who was accustomed to such tricks by now, followed him easily with his eyes. He didn't move far, stepping nimbly around the Craftmasters and stopping right next to Arald.

"Congratulations to those who were selected here today. It's a big day for all of you, so you're free to have the rest of the day off and enjoy yourselves. The kitchens will provide a banquet for you in your quarters and for the rest of the day you have free run of the castle and the village. Tomorrow, you'll report to your new Craftmasters first thing in the morning. And if you'll take a tip from me, you'll make sure you're on time." He smiled at George, Jenny, Horace, and Alyss, then turned to Will. His smile faded. "Will, I'll let you know tomorrow what I've decided about you."

As though you're actually involved in the process, Will thought, amused. Will had asked Halt, a few months in, about the approval process for training new Ranger's apprentices. The Baron of each fief had nothing to do with it. It was actually Crowley, the Ranger Commandant, who had to approve each new apprentice. Halt had really gone all-out to make Will as curious as possible.

Outwardly, he just dipped his head in admission. He turned to follow everyone out. Right before he exited, though, he stopped. He couldn't resist one last look. Just like last time, he turned around. Yet instead of last time, where he had looked at the piece of paper, sitting so innocently and obviously unprotected on Arald's desk...he looked at Halt.

A moment later, he turned back around and left.

Chapter Text

This time around, his break-in to the Baron's office was even easier.

Will's body was still untrained, but his mind was sharp and keen. Granted, his slavery in Skandia and the warmweed addiction had...left their marks. Even now, months after breaking free of the warmweed and in an entirely new body, Will's mind was not truly healed. He doubted it would ever be. He had lost many memories while under the drug's thrall, and although he had regained some of them, others were still lost to him.

And, Will thought bitterly, losing my memories is hardly the worst thing that happened to my mind. He still instinctively flinched away from certain thoughts and sensations - cold, for instance. Now the dark memories of his final battle were added to all of that. 

That afternoon, Will had snuck away from the rest of his wardmates, climbing into his favorite tree to think. Grief had hit him there, sudden and all-encompassing. He had sat there for hours, mourning. His grief was still there by the time the night had set in. Will was sure it would be there for a long time. He had not just lost Halt, Evanlyn, and Horace, he had lost everyone. He had lost Alyss. He had lost Gilan. He had lost George and Jenny, he had lost his other wardmates, he had lost the Rangers, Baron Arald, the Redmont villagers, the Ward staff, the guards, the peasants - every person he had ever met and even those he hadn't, he had lost. He had lost them all.

It was impossible to even fathom what he had lost, let alone mourn for it.

Still, as second watch wore on and the candles burned low, Will knew he would have to move. This was his chance to do everything right, to make sure that Halt and Evanlyn and Horace didn't die this time. He had to do this. 

So, he dropped down out of the tree and readied himself.

Will's body was not trained, but his mind was. It was now instinct to blend into the shadows of the courtyard, moving past the guards without the slightest trace of disturbance. He dodged the sergeant without even having to think, leaping up to the tower wall and beginning to scale it effortlessly. His limbs were shorter than he was used to, and stranger, but Will paid them no mind. He made it to the Baron's office in record time (this time without looking down, thank you).

He pulled himself up the final few inches, head breaking just above the windowsill. Training - and experience - had taught him to examine the room before going in. He let his eyes rove around the interior, constantly moving like he had been taught. On first pass, the room appeared deserted. Will knew from memory that that was not the case, of course.

Still, Halt would already have seen the top of Will's head peeking above the window. Will pulled himself up, crouching on the windowsill, and scanned the room again. Where had Halt been last time? He had been close enough to grab Will when he had gone for the paper. 

Will frowned, chewing absently on his lip as he ran his eyes again from side to side. Fully trained Rangers were nearly impossible to spot when they stood still. Will had only ever managed to spot Halt twice during training - all the other times he had simply given up. Halt was too good at being unseen for a scarcely-trained apprentice.

Finally, Will gave up looking for his soon-to-become mentor. He dropped down onto the floor, meaning to be soundless, but his untrained body - of course - landed right on a squeaky floorboard. Will winced, then closed his eyes in frustration. This body was so annoying!

Well, whatever. He might as well get it over with. He reached for the paper.

And, of course, Halt grabbed him by the wrist.

Despite knowing it would happen, the suddenness of the action made Will jump. His head jerked up to meet Halt's cold gaze. There was nothing warm or kind in the Ranger's eyes, nothing familiar, not even a hint of friendly recognition. That hurt Will more than Halt's punishingly powerful grip around his wrist. 

"Thought you might try something like this," Halt said quietly. "Do you have anything to say?"

Will looked away. He had so much to say, yet this Halt would understand none of it.

Halt's grip tightened, enough that Will clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. "Well? Cat got your tongue, boy?"

"S-Sorry, sir," he got out in a bare whisper. He felt the sudden urge to cry. Halt did not ever - ever - speak to him in that tone. He did not ever grab Will that tightly - tightly enough to hurt. He did not ever treat Will like he was...like he was nothing to Halt.

Yet, to Halt, that was now what Will was. Nothing.

"Please...please let go of me, sir," he said quietly. "I'll go with you to the Baron, I promise. Just...please, let me go. It - it hurts."

Halt relaxed his grip instantly, though he did not let go. "I didn't say I was going to take you to the Baron."

Will shrugged, not looking at him. "I did just break into his office. I don't think you should just let me go."

"Are you telling me to punish you?"

Will hesitated. What was it that he had said, two years ago? He couldn't quite remember. Still, Will knew what he would answer now. "I know that I've done wrong, and wrongdoers deserve to be punished. I won't make excuses."

He glanced at Halt just in time to see a glint of approval light his eyes. Halt nodded a few times. "I see. Well, I suppose I'll take you up on that. Let's go see what the Baron thinks, shall we?"

The two of them passed through the door and up the long, curving staircase that led to the Baron's living quarters. Halt kept his grip on Will, though it wasn't painful anymore. Still, Will would bet that it would leave bruises. He was fairly certain it had the first time around. He hadn't minded at the time, of course. He had broken into the office of a Baron. Halt was right to restrain him. But now? Now, Will just wished it would end already. He hated this.

Halt made a swift signal to the guards standing in front of the Baron's chambers. They stood aside and allowed the two of them to enter.

This room Will remembered far less well. He gazed around, taking it in and mentally marking the exits as he did so - another thing Halt had taken pains to instill in him. There was another large window, although it had heavy drapes covering it. Other than that, the door was the only way out. The room itself was furnished with various tapestries, rugs, books, and other luxuries. Will's eyes landed hungrily on one volume in particular, a large, red-bound book on one of the Baron's bookshelves titled A History of Gallican-Araluen Affairs. It was a rare and very valuable book, and one Will had been hankering after for months, ever since Halt had first begun to teach him about diplomacy between nations.

"See something you like?" came Arald's amused voice.

Will startled. "Sorry, sir - my lord!" 

Arald waved a hand graciously. "No, no, no need to apologize. I was merely curious. You looked as though something had caught your eye."

It was clearly a request to say more. Will hesitated. "Well, my lord, it's just that I couldn't help noticing some of your books."

"Of course. I forget that for many, books are quite uncommon. You do know how to read, though, don't you?"

Will nodded. "Yes, my lord. You...your staff taught me. I am very grateful."

That was a mistake. Arald and Halt exchanged glances. Halt said, "So grateful you broke in to steal an important document from him, I see."

"I wasn't stealing!" Will said indignantly. He subsided quickly at the looks Halt and the Baron gave him. "I just...wanted to see it, that's all."

"So you were right?" the Baron asked Halt. "He did what you expected?"

Halt nodded. "Just as I said, my lord. Came across the castle yard like a shadow. Dodged the sentry as if he wasn't there and came up the tower wall like a spider. Quite cautious, too - kept searching the room to make sure no one was in there."

He eyed Will as though that action were strange. Coming from Halt's point of view, it must have been. Will should not have known Halt was there, and thus should not have spent so much time looking for him. 

"He climbed the tower, you say?" the Baron asked incredulously. He had set down the reports he was reading.

"No rope. No ladder, my lord. Climbed it as easily as you get on your horse in the morning. Easier, in fact."

The Baron frowned at him. Will did too. Really, Halt? Way to put the Baron in a bad mood.

"Well now," the Baron said, looking sternly at Will. "This is a serious matter."

It certainly was. Will nodded in acknowledgement of the fact, something that seemed to surprise both the Baron and Halt. He knew he probably shouldn't be acting so blasé about this, but really. Will already knew how this turned out. Plus, he had been a prisoner of war, nearly worked to death, and addicted to a lethal drug; he had fought a battle, watched his best friends die around him, and then died himself. Compared with all that, Baron Arald's ire really wasn't that bad.

"This is indeed, my lord," Will said. "As I told H- the Ranger, I knew what I was doing when I climbed the tower. I could explain my actions, but there's no excuse for them. I will accept whatever punishment you decide."

Now it was the Baron who gave Halt an approving look - agreeing with Halt's choice of apprentice, Will realized. Halt nodded subtly in response. 

"Any suggestions, Halt?" the Baron asked.

Halt pulled the fateful paper out from his sleeve. "Perhaps we should show him the paper he was so keen to see, my lord," he said.

The Baron smiled. "Not a bad idea. I suppose, in a way, it does spell out his punishment, doesn't it?"

What! Will fought back an indignant look. Being a Ranger wasn't a punishment! 

Halt was similarly unamused. "If you say so, my lord."

The Baron waved a hand at him impatiently. "Take a joke, Halt! Take a joke! Well, go on and show him the paper."

Halt stepped beside Will and offered him the paper. Will took it. Their hands brushed briefly as he did and Will jerked his hand back instinctively as though he had been burned. He raised his eyes quickly to measure Halt's reaction. The man seemed unperturbed; he was probably used to such a reaction, Will realized. The common folk all tended to be pretty scared of Rangers.

Will unfolded the paper. A flicker of a smile crossed his lips as he read the familiar words.

The boy Will has the potential to be trained as a Ranger. I will accept him as my apprentice.

Halt's handwriting was achingly familiar: bold, flowing, and strangely beautiful, as though he had been trained to write well. Like so many things had this day, it caused tears to well up in Will's eyes. I thought I would never see this again.

Unfortunately, both the Baron and Halt saw the tears forming in his eyes and mistook them as having a completely different cause. 

"Will, what's wrong?" the Baron asked quickly, half standing up out of his chair. "You don't have to accept if you don't want to! If you would rather work on a farm-"

"No!" Will interrupted. His cheeks went red and he furiously blinked back his tears. "S-Sorry, my lord! Sorry, but no, that wasn't...no, I don't want to be a farmhand. I am glad - I am honored to accept Ranger Halt as my master."

He glanced at Halt as the man's eyebrows raised in surprise. Very few people were ever honored to associate with Rangers. 

Arald sank back down into his chair. His brows were furrowed in confusion still, but he took Will's word for it. "I am glad to hear it, Will. I wish you all the best with Halt. Well, if that's all, the both of you can go. You two have a very eventful day tomorrow."

Halt dipped his head in acknowledgment and moved swiftly to the door. Will jerked out a quick bow and followed Halt as quickly as he could. 

The man moved fast. Will had forgotten just how quickly Halt could move when he wanted to. Or, perhaps, Will was just so much slower now. As it was, Will scrambled rather awkwardly to follow Halt down the stairs and into the corridor. 

Halt finally stopped at the end of the corridor, right above the flight of stairs that led down to the tower's main exit. Will nearly bumped into him and quickly corrected, weight landing hard on the ankle he had injured earlier that day. He winced.

"Do you need something, boy?"

Belatedly, Will realized just how strange following Halt out must have seemed to the Ranger. It was habit - instinct - to do so for Will, but not for Halt. Not for this Halt. 

"I just...was wondering how I didn't see you in there," Will said. "In the Baron's office, I mean."

Halt turned slightly, running an appraising glance over him. "You want to know, do you?"

Will nodded. Halt had told him that experienced Rangers could spot other Rangers even when they were standing still. Will did not know how, because he certainly couldn't. "Yes, sir."

Halt made a considering sound. He turned back around. "Well, you'll just have to find out. I expect you to be at my house tomorrow. Six o'clock sharp. Do you know how to get there?"

Will hadn't at the time. He'd had to wheedle the directions out of one of the Baron's messengers. It had almost caused him to be late and he'd run practically the whole way there. "I think I can figure it out, sir."

"Asking for help is not a flaw, boy."

His tone was gruff, but it was the same sort of advice he often gave Will. Will clung to the tiny piece of familiarity. "Well, I know that I turn out of the castle and head west. There's a path?"

"Are you asking me, or telling me?"

Will almost laughed out loud. How he had missed that! "There's a path, sir."

Halt grunted. "Just follow it. It only leads to my house. Bring all your things - but you should know that, of course. I'd hope I picked an apprentice with at least some brains."

Will nodded. There was a pause. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, sir."

Halt grunted again. Without another word, he turned and vanished down the stairwell.

Chapter Text

It was impossible to check Will's eagerness as he set off for Halt's house the next morning. He left as the sky was still dark, his few meager belongings slung over one shoulder. He bounced as he walked, halfway to skipping, and let a bright grin run across his face. Home! He was about to finally, finally be home! 

It had been a full year since he had been here. That year had easily been the worst of Will's short life. He had missed Araluen, had missed Redmont, but more importantly had missed home so, so much. Will wasn't even certain when Halt's house had become "home" in Will's eyes. He only knew that, as he had trudged through the bitter cold of Skandia, he had longed every day to be back there.

The sky lightened as Will entered the woods and trod the familiar path to home. He glanced upwards through the canopy of trees, looking at the sky. Halt had told him six o'clock, right? It could not possibly be much more than half-past five. Will might end up being early. Hmm, in that case...

Will stepped off the path and wandered into the forest, moving as soundlessly as his untrained body could manage. He was still not quite used to his shorter, thinner, less muscular body, but he was  working on it. Will let his eyes wander as he walked, taking in the sights and sounds of the forest. The birds were just waking up now. He saw a pair of squirrels stir from their perch in a tree and smiled. The warm, nurturing forests of Redmont were as far from the cold, harsh Skandian forests as you could get. Will felt better just being here.

Eventually, the sun began to rise and Will stepped back on the path. He started back on his way to the house. Now he picked up the pace, taking a low jog. It wouldn't do to be late. 

The sun's rays spilled over Will's back as he entered the familiar clearing around Halt's house. Will stopped, transfixed and teary-eyed. The rocking chairs were set out on the porch just like he remembered them. There was the log pile, almost emptied, and next to it the stable where Abelard and Tug lived. The gentle song of the nearby stream filled the air. If Will closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was still in his time, sitting in the rocking chairs with Halt, watching the sun rise. 

But his eyes were open, and Halt was not there. This place looked like it, but it was not his home. His home was gone, never to return to him again. 

He stepped up to the door and knocked on it, biting back bitter tears. 

"Come in."

Will closed his eyes, breathed, and opened the door.

The inside was exactly how he remembered it. Will fought to keep his face impassive. The chairs around the fireplace, the gleaming pots and pans hanging on the wall, the well-worn oak table - it was all the same. His heart split in two. One side clung desperately to it, overwhelmed with joy that despite everything he had lost, he still had this. The other side mourned the loss of the other home - Will's actual home - that looked so much like it.

Will's gaze rested onto the mantelpiece. Wait. That was different. Were those wildflowers? Halt had gone out and picked wildflowers for him? Had Halt done that the first time around, too? Will couldn't remember. 

The slight sound of Halt standing jerked Will's attention back to the present. Now that Halt was without his cloak, Will could observe him at leisure. He was much the same as Will remembered: still incapable of properly cutting his beard. He was a bit fatter than Will remembered, too. Halt must've lost weight in Skandia. His grey hairs were less prominent than Will remembered, as well, and the worry-lines in the corners of Halt's eyes were gone. Will wondered when Halt had gotten them.

A dry voice in the back of his head went, Probably about the same time he committed treason for you and got banished. 

...Yeah. It probably had something to do with that.

"Finished staring?" Halt asked.

Will jumped. "Oh! Sorry!"

Halt grunted. He motioned to Will's room. "That'll be your room. You can put your things in there."

Will went into it. This, at least, was different than how his room had once been. The familiar sights of his recurve bow, double-knife scabbard, cloak, and the various trinkets and bits of clothing he had collected in his first year of training were gone. The whole room was bare except for another vase of wildflowers. Will set his pack on the bed and leaned over to sniff the flowers. The sweet fragrance made him smile.

Stepping back into the main room, Will watched Halt's back. He stood over the fireplace, stirring a pot of what smelled suspiciously like coffee. Will's mouth watered. Man, had he missed coffee. They didn't have any in Skandia. 

Will shifted awkwardly, wondering what to do. He was on un-tread ground right now. Halt didn't know him. Will didn't want to risk weirding him out or otherwise getting their relationship off to a bad start. What should he do? 

A myriad of questions had assailed him all last night. Principal among them had been the question of how he was supposed to act around Halt. Unfortunately, the hours he had spent pondering the question left him just as clueless now as he had been last night. Should he try to emulate what he remembered of his past behavior? Should he treat this Halt the way he would treat his Halt, back in his own time? Should he go for a combination of the two?

He didn't know. He did know he had been quite intimidated by Halt at first, not to mention quite stupid - he still couldn't remember some of their conversations without cringing. But what if those conversations were important? What if they somehow held pivotal information? 

Worse, what if Will needed to do specific things to make sure this Halt liked him? 

That was the one question he had tried his hardest to avoid last night. Now, as he tried to decide how to interact with Halt, he could no longer avoid it. What if there were certain conversations or interactions Will had had with Halt that were the reasons Halt had started to care for him? What if, without those, Halt wouldn't care about him?

Worst of all - what if Will couldn't even remember which interactions those were?

"Do you want coffee, boy?"

Will jolted. "Coffee?"

Halt gave him an annoyed look. "Don't answer a question with a question. Surely you know what coffee is?"

"Of course I - yes, sir," Will said, reining himself in. 

"So would you like some?" Halt repeated, more and more done with every moment. 

"Yes, please."

He accepted the steaming mug from Halt and set it carefully down on the table. He went to sit at it then hesitated, unsure if he was supposed to ask for permission first.

Halt waved a hand. "Go ahead. You're my apprentice, aren't you? I'm hardly going to keep you from sitting."

Will sat and nursed his coffee mug. Halt sat across from him. Will trained his gaze intently at the table as he sipped. He could feel Halt's eyes burning into him, though. Will had grown accustomed to waiting Halt out over the months and he sat quietly, sipping at his coffee. He let his mind drift, trying to puzzle through what he should do. He obviously couldn't act too familiar, and he couldn't make Halt suspicious. But what would make Halt suspicious? How was he expecting Will to act? Will was a terrible liar and a mediocre actor at best. 

"You're rather quiet for an apprentice," Halt said, interrupting Will's thoughts. Will brought his attention back to Halt.

"I was thinking - um, wondering - uh, crap-" he cringed, unable to find a way out of the inevitable You're an apprentice. You aren't ready to think. 

"Clearly not too hard," said Halt dryly. 

Will flushed, stammering a little. He expected to see the slight quirk of amusement at his mentor's lips or the lift of a brow, or even Halt reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder companionably. None of that happened. Will floundered. He was adrift in a sea too much like water to drown, yet too little like it to float. 

"U-Um," he said, desperately trying to think of something to say. "I-I was wondering, um, just what it is that Rangers do."

"They don't ask stupid questions, for one," Halt said.

Will looked away.

His hurt must have shown, for Halt's tone was gentler when he went on. "Rangers don't need to ask what they do, as they generally already know. Ranger's apprentices, on the other hand, will learn what to do with time."

"Aren't we supposed to, you know, train?" Will asked hesitantly.

There came a gleam in Halt's eyes. Will instantly regretted everything he'd said.

"Not on their first day, they're not," Halt said decidedly. "On their first day..."

Will realized was was happening right before it did, like the collision of two warring forces in slow motion. He opened his mouth to protest, but it was too late.

"...apprentices do the chores."

Halt looked distinctly pleased with himself.

Why had Will come back in time to save him, again?

Several hours later, Will's back and arms were aching mightily and Halt was nearly out of chores for him to do. Every time Halt directed him to another task, Will could only shake his head in a mix between annoyance and resignation. That, at least, had not changed - Halt always had been a taskmaster. Will definitely had not missed that.

As Will hauled up the pots he had just finished scouring, he passed by Halt on the porch. The Ranger was reading reports, most of them Ranger reports. Will wondered what they said. What was going on at this time in the kingdom? Halt hadn't really let him read reports until several months in. Maybe he could get Halt to tell him. 

Will approached Halt and held up the pots for inspection. He was quite certain they would be up to Halt's standards. He had gotten intimately acquainted with them over the previous two years, after all. Indeed, Halt nodded appreciatively at them. The shiny, metallic surface was clear enough to see your own reflection on it. Halt examined his.

"Not bad. Can see my own face in it," he said. With a quick look at Will, he added, "May not be such a good thing."

Will snorted. A moment later he froze, darting a glance at Halt. Had he actually meant it as a joke? His Halt would have, but was this Halt the same? What if he had offended Halt? "S-Sorry, sir, I-"

"Think that's funny, do you?" Halt asked him. He didn't sound angry. He didn't sound amused, either. Will decided to tread carefully.

"A bit, sir."

Halt examined him for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, it was meant to be. Go on now. You've got pots to put up."

Shoulders sagging in relief, Will started on into the house. He was partway through the door when he heard the shuffling of paper and his master's voice murmur, "Hmm. That's odd."

Will hesitated. Halt definitely wasn't talking to him. He knew his master well enough to be able to tell that. But he had been dying of curiosity about the contents of those reports all day. Perhaps now was his chance to finally find out what they said.

"Did something happen, sir?"

Halt looked up at him, startled. "What's that?"

Will shifted uncomfortably. "It's just, you said something was odd. I was wondering if something had happened."

"Curious, are you?" 

Will nodded. He saw no point in denying it. "Yes, sir."

"Well, I suppose that's a good trait for a Ranger's apprentice," Halt said. "After all, that's why we tested you with the paper in the Baron's office."

He glanced at Will as though expecting him to react.

"What, really?" Will asked. "Oh, I never would have guessed."

He realized, a second later, how feigned that had sounded. Halt stared at him. He tilted his head, peering intently at Will. Will fidgeted, sweating. He hated when Halt looked at him like that. It always felt like his mentor knew how to read his soul.

"You don't seem surprised."

"Uh..." Shit! Think of something, quick! "Well, you did tell the Baron that I'd acted how you'd expected."

"I did say that," Halt conceded. 

"And," Will said quickly, "you were waiting for me. I didn't think Rangers just stand around in their Barons' offices for fun."

A gleam of amusement passed over Halt's expression. He harrumphed, though. "You don't, do you? Well, you're not wrong."

He turned from Will and back to his reports in clear dismissal. Will's curiosity had been piqued, though, and he wasn't about to let it go. He knew enough of Halt's moods by now to tell he wasn't in danger of pissing Halt off if he kept going. "So, what does it say?"

Halt heaved a sigh, looking distinctly put-out. He looked at Will once more appraisingly. Whatever he saw must've been good enough, for he said, "Lord Northolt is dead. Apparently killed by a bear last week while out hunting."

Will's brows furrowed. He drummed his nails over the rim of the copper pot he was holding. Lord Northolt? Why did that sound familiar? "The King's former supreme commander?" 

"Yes," said Halt. His brows raised, impressed. "I wasn't expecting the Baron to teach you that."

Will frowned, barely listening. There was something about that name - this incident! Lord Northolt...bears...what was it? He couldn't remember. There hadn't been any bear attacks in Redmont during Will's apprenticeship. As far as he knew, there hadn't been any major bear attacks anywhere in Araluen during his apprenticeship, except for, apparently, this Lord Northolt. So why was this important? 

"Lord Northolt...killed by a bear, you said?"

"That's what I said." Halt looked at him again. "You seem confused."

Will shook his thoughts away as best he could. "It's nothing. Just...Lord Northolt must have been an experienced warrior, and you said he was found alone? Why would he have gone after a bear by himself? It seems a reckless thing to do."

"Or a glory-seeking one," Halt said. He shook his head slowly. "Neither are traits I'd have attributed to Northolt, though. So you think it's odd, too?"

Will met his eyes and nodded.

"Hmm." Halt leaned back in his chair. "Well, the opinion of a first-day apprentice probably doesn't count for much. Still..."

He stared back down at the report, lost in thought. Will quietly withdrew and put the pots up. When he looked back, Halt's thoughts were clearly far away. 

The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Halt told Will about the history of the Ranger Corps and the duties of a Ranger, while Will dutifully acted the part of a clueless apprentice as best he could. Halt showed him once more how to cook. They ate together, sipped coffee together, and finally Halt told Will to go to bed so he would get up on time the next morning.

As Will lay in his bed, staring up at the familiar ceiling and turning over the day's events in his head, he finally remembered. Lord Northolt had not been killed by a bear.

He had been killed by a Kalkara.

And Will was the only one who could stop them from hunting once again. 

Chapter Text

Try as he might, Will could think of no way to solve the issue of the Kalkara. 

He turned the problem relentlessly over in his head every night, tossing it around in his head as he tossed and turned in his bed. With every angle he tried, he always hit the same barrier: Will was...Will. Nothing but a fifteen-year-old peasant boy without even a last name. He would gain a little acknowledgement after the boar hunt - assuming it went the same time as it had last time - but even that would not change anything. He would still be an apprentice - an apprentice to Halt, yes, but still an apprentice. A first-year Ranger apprentice with no name for himself, no credibility, not even a single friend who trusted him. 

Who would ever believe that? 

No warnings Will gave would ever be heeded, because he was Will. He hadn't even remembered the name of the person who'd been killed! He'd had to ask Halt about all the major commanders and leaders around the time of Morgarath's war - something that had definitely weirded Halt out, but Will couldn't help it. When Halt had said the name of Lord Lorriac, something had clicked in Will's mind. Lord Lorriac. He was the next victim. Will had to save him - but how?

He could send an anonymous warning to Lord Lorriac, but even if it was believed, would that help? It would only delay the problem, not solve it. And if Lord Lorriac did believe him, if he sent soldiers out to find the Kalkara, Will would be responsible for their deaths. Besides, how could he send the warning in the first place? He'd have to involve Halt - and Will was back at the beginning, because Halt would not believe him, because Will was Will. Even if Will were not Will, even if this Halt were his Halt, Will's story was still unbelievable. 

He had to face it: he had no way to save Lord Lorriac. 

Will gritted his teeth, looking down at the dirt path as he followed Halt into the forest. No - no. There had to be something. He had a duty to try. In a few month's time, when the time came closer to Lord Lorriac's murder, Will would find some way to send a message. Until then, Will could do nothing but wait. Wait, and hope for an opportunity. 

"Time you learned about the weapons you'll be using," said Halt.

They'd come to a stop in the once-familiar clearing. Will jerked out of his dark thoughts and glanced up at Halt. Weapons? Then that meant - his bow! Thank God, he thought. Finally! It'd been a week now since he'd started his apprenticeship and he hadn't had his bow - or Tug. Halt had instead begun teaching him unseen movement, history, and - ugh - mapwork. 

Will had expected his apprenticeship to be easier this time around, but he'd found that was not the case. Beside the hanging dread of the Kalkara, Will had many other issues to be concerned with. His body still felt clumsy and awkward to him, and never had that been more apparent than on his first unseen movement lesson, five days ago. Will could have sworn he'd stomped on every single twig in the forest. He had wanted to scream from frustration. Halt hadn't seemed particularly annoyed - in fact, he had given Will one of his little, approving nods partway through. That hadn't mattered much to Will, though. Being good for a first-week apprentice was pathetic when Will had actually been an apprentice for almost three years now.

The history lessons had had their own challenges, although lesser ones to be sure. Will's main problem was the same problem he'd had before. How many of the conversations he had with Halt were important? How many of them would actually affect how Halt saw him, or worse, the chain of events leading up to Skandia? He knew he was already acting differently than he had the first time around. He simply couldn't help it. Will was honest by nature, and he was a terrible liar.

As for maps...

Yeah, Will still hated maps. 

But they were outside now, a half-mile away from Halt's cabin in the familiar clearing Will had spent hours upon hours at. The sun had just peeked over the horizon. Will eyed Halt and jumped from one foot to the other, excited despite himself. He could finally get his bow back!

Halt eyed him with some amusement. "Impatient, are we?"

"It's been a week and we haven't gone over weapons at all," Will said. He couldn't quite keep a note of pleading from his tone.

"Alright, alright. We're going over them now. Slow down, youngster."

Halt withdrew a bundle from underneath his cloak and set it on the ground. Will's eager eyes instantly identified the distinctive shape of a recurve bow. He bounced a little on his feet as Halt unwrapped the bundle. He placed the recurve bow at Will's feet.

Will bent down and picked it up, running his hands over it lovingly. It looked exactly like his old bow - it was his old bow, in everything but actuality. The grip was not as worn and it didn't have the small collection of nicks and scrapes that his had had, but it was definitely the same bow. His practiced eye ran over it. It was quite the work of craftmanship. Halt would have taken quite a long time to create this. Recurve bows could take months to craft, unlike the relatively short time it took to craft a longbow. 

"Did you make this?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer.

Halt nodded. "It's called a recurve bow. You're not strong enough to handle a full longbow yet, so the double curve will give you extra arrow speed and power with a lower draw weight. I learned how to make one from the Temujai."

Will grimaced. "The Temujai?"

"Fierce fighting men from the east. And probably the world's finest archers."

"Not better than the Rangers!" Will said, affronted. He had faced them himself, and he had to say, there was no way they were better than Halt.

Halt eyed him. "Some of us, no. Some of us, perhaps. Particularly first-year apprentices who won't stop talking."

Will ducked his head and subsided. He ran his hands over the bow again. "Can I shoot it?"

"If you feel that's a good idea, go ahead."

Translation: that is a terrible idea. 

Will tilted his head, wondering why. Then he remembered. Right! He didn't have a cuff. He had nearly forgotten; Will usually wore his at all times, as did most Rangers. He bent down, hands reaching towards the open bundle. Halfway there he stopped short. Looked guiltily up at Halt.

"Looking for something, are you?"

Will swallowed. How was he going to get out of this? Idiot! He screamed at himself. If you keep acting like this, Halt's gonna-

Well, thankfully, there was absolutely no way Halt would ever default to the truth, given how insane 'I am actually from two years into the future and have all the knowledge and skills of my former life' sounded. But, Halt would definitely be suspicious. He would find something, some sort of theory. At worst, he might even think that Will was some sort of Gallican spy. Come to think of it, that would actually be pretty bad...

"Well?"

Think, Will! "I-I grew up in the Baron's castle. I've seen some of the Baron's archers shoot and they have some sort of..."

Will gestured vaguely to his arm. "I was wondering if you had one, is all."

"If you had bothered to look," Halt said dryly, holding up his own arm, cuff showing, "you'd have seen that I am wearing one of them myself. But yes, archers do wear cuffs. It's to keep the bowstring from slicing into our arms when we release. Well, go on now. There's one for you in there, might as well put it on. I'd thought I might teach you a lesson on thinking before acting, but I suppose I'll save it for another day."

Will bent back down and retrieved his cuff, fitting it over his left arm. It was eerie how well it fit. He hadn't given it a second thought last time, but this time around he had to wonder - had Halt like, stolen into his room at night and measured him or something? He wasn't sure if the idea was more amusing or concerning. Then again, maybe Halt just had a really good eye for clothes measurements.

Again, Will was not sure if the idea was more amusing or concerning.

Alright, he thought, dismissing his thoughts and bending down to take an arrow out of the quiver by his feet. Don't mess this up. You have to act as clueless and unskilled as possible. You can't give Halt any more reasons to be suspicious of you.

He straightened, nocking the arrow onto the bowstring-

His fingers fumbled. The arrow skated off of the string. Caught by surprise, Will lost his grip on the arrow and it fell from his fingers, landing on top of his foot. 

Well, he thought dryly. It turns out, I don't need to act clueless and unskilled. Looks like I just am.

Will let out a sigh. His shoulders drooped. Given how badly his first few unseen movement lessons had gone, he shouldn't have been surprised about not being able to shoot. He'd just been so used to it, in Skandia. It had become as natural as breathing to him. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, he'd retained something. But no. Only the head knowledge remained: years of Halt's quiet corrections, of blistered fingers, of aches and pains the next morning, of sweat drops on the ground. 

"Come now," Halt said, stepping next to him. "You look like you just lost a war. This is your first time shooting a bow. Don't get too upset about it."

Will looked up. "I'm supposed to be an apprentice - a Ranger's apprentice. Your apprentice."

He realized, too late, that the emphasis on being Halt's apprentice in particular was not something Will should either know or care about. This Will was not supposed to know how important Halt was - that he was a close advisor to the King, that he had been instrumental in Morgarath's defeat, that he was the most renowned Ranger in the entire Corps. He was not supposed to care about the high, crippling pressure of being apprenticed to one so skilled. 

Some days, Will could hardly bear up under its weight. 

But, thankfully, Halt did not seem to notice Will's wording. "I hardly expect you to already know the skills of a Ranger. Otherwise, there would be no point in taking you on as an apprentice, would there?"

He paused, so Will mumbled out, "I guess not."

"I guess not indeed!" Halt said. "If you already had the skills to be a Ranger, we'd just appoint you as one and be done with it. Apprentices aren't supposed to be perfect. I certainly wasn't."

Will stared, surprised. Somehow the thought had never crossed his mind that Halt had had to learn, too. "You were an apprentice?"

Halt gave him a dry look. "No. I sprang into existence exactly the way I am now."

Will flushed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He'd realized, a moment too late, just how stupid the question was. Of course Halt had been an apprentice once. Who hadn't? Well, at least one thing hadn't changed - he was still making a fool of himself. 

"Here." Halt picked the arrow up, handing it to Will. "Look here. This notch clips onto the bowstring here. You'll pull it back..." 

Halt put a hand over Will's hand in order to help him get the proper form. Will flinched away from him the moment his skin made contact. 

Not my Halt.

The two looked at each other for a moment. Halt's expression was unreadable.

"S-Sorry," Will mumbled out, shuffling. "...surprised me."

He doubted the excuse fooled Halt. His master was very difficult to fool. 

In any case, Halt proceeded on with the lesson, pretending the incident had never happened. He raised his own bow and gave a series of demonstrations, calling out his form and tips for Will as he did so. His form was perfect as ever, Will noted with admiration. He wished he could one day be as good an archer as his master. 

Finally, Halt lowered his bow and nodded at Will. "Give it a go."

Will frowned intensely down at the bow. He had to get it right this time. Carefully, forcing his clumsy and unskilled fingers into submission, he nocked the arrow. He lifted the bow and sighted at a nearby tree. He started to pull back.

"Try to use your back muscles, not just your arms," Halt said. "Feel as though you're pushing your shoulder blades together."

Will's cheeks flamed and he hastily complied. Such a basic correction! He couldn't imagine how disappointed his Halt would be if he had to say that to him. Will quickly ran through his list of posture corrections. He tried to implement them as best he could, but with every correction he did, he felt something else go out of wack. It was infuriating.

"You can release the arrow, you know," Halt said dryly. 

Sighing in defeat, Will did so. It hit the tree he had been aiming for, but two inches away from his target point. 

"Hmm. Not bad." 

What do you mean? That was horrible, Will thought, humiliated. Two inches off a target barely ten yards away from him? How could he still call himself a Ranger's apprentice with an aim like that?

"Alright, put it down for now," Halt said. He reached back into the bundle and produced Will's knives. "These are a Ranger's knives."

Will took them eagerly, happy to feel the familiar weight. It wasn't actually familiar to his hands, but Will ignored that as best he could. He wanted to strap them onto his belt immediately but knew that was a bad idea. He had already made enough mistakes.

Ugh. This "go back in time" thing was way harder than he'd expected. 

"Take the top knife out," Halt said. "Carefully."

Will did. It was the throwing knife. He weighed it in his hand, trying to get used to its balance once more. 

Halt briefly explained its purpose and demonstrated how to use it. Then he told Will to take out his saxe.

"This is in case your enemy gets to close quarters," Halt told him. "Although if you're any sort of archer, he never will."

Will held in a snort. He was reminded of that conversation he'd had with Horace and Gilan. What if an ax-man's coming at me, there's a sheer cliff behind me, and my bowstring's broken? What then, Gilan?

"It's balanced for throwing, but you can also block a sword stroke with that blade. It's made by the finest steelsmiths in the kingdom. Look after it and keep it sharp."

"I will," Will said softly.

"It's similar to what the Skandians call a saxe knife," Halt added. Will frowned in distaste of Skandians. "It's both weapon and tool - a sea ax, originally. But over the years the words sort of slid together to become saxe. Mind you, the quality of the steel in ours is a long way superior to the Skandian ones."

Halt showed him how to strap the scabbard onto his belt. "Now, all you have to do is learn to use them. And you know what that means, don't you?"

Will grinned. "A lot of practice."

The last of a set of arrows thunked into the target in front of Will. He lowered his bow and examined it. As usual, the results were not pleasing. Most of his arrows were still clustered around the outer edges of the target, with only two getting close to the center. None had hit it dead-on. 

Will sighed, closing his eyes. It had been over a week since he'd started, and his fingers were still the clumsy, fumbling ones of an absolute beginner. Every arrow he shot grated against his nerves. He was beginning to get short-tempered over it, enough that he'd had to bite back several snappish remarks to Halt over the past several days.

"Not bad at all," Halt said from behind him. Will turned his head. He'd sensed Halt's presence several minutes ago. One of the few things he'd kept was his ability to sense others' presences. He certainly hadn't kept much else. "Your shooting is improving quite nicely."

That was high praise from Halt, but Will brushed it off with a frown. Improving it might be, but it was nowhere near where it had once been - and even further from where it needed to be. He glared restlessly down at his hands, curled around his bow. Blisters were only just beginning to appear - it would take weeks more before his calluses were back once more. The skin was still so untouched, so clean. The lack of his past scars bothered him every time he looked down. 

"You seem upset," Halt noted. He came up beside Will, examining him carefully. "Is there something wrong?" 

Will bit his lip and turned away. He ached to tell him. Will hated lying and was terrible at keeping secrets. If he'd thought that Halt would believe him, Will would have told him in a heartbeat. But Will had turned the story over in his head countless times over the past two weeks and never had he discovered a way to tell it that was believable. No. Will's tale was a madman's tale, and the telling of it would make him a madman. 

"No, everything's fine."

"Hmm." Will could feel Halt's eyes on him. "You don't seem fine."

Will heaved a breath. Ugh. Halt wasn't going to let it go now that he'd latched on. Will knew him well - too well. Once Halt found something to be concerned about, he kept at it until it was resolved. Will had no choice but to give Halt something. He supposed it should be as close to the truth as possible.

"It just seems so...slow," he said finally, scuffing the toe of his boot in the dirt. "My progress. I'm not nearly as good of a shot as you are." 

"You do realize that you have only been training at the bow for a week now," Halt said. "I've had my bow for a little longer than that." 

Will huffed. "I know that, I just-"

He cut off, shaking his head. He heaved a long, frustrated sigh. 

Halt was silent for a few seconds. "You're in such a hurry, boy. Progress will come, in time. You just need to be patient." 

Will ducked his head and nodded, pretending that every time Halt called him 'boy' was not another stab to his heart. 

"In any case, that's enough shooting for now. Let's go." 

Halt motioned him down a small path on the edge of the clearing. Will frowned, tilting his head, but followed obediently. His tongue burned to ask what was going on, but he knew Halt was not about to tell him - not this Halt. Will's Halt would often tell him what was going on, deeming him worthy to know such things - and probably also tired of Will asking. It was yet another disparity.

They walked for about an hour. Halt pointed out several tracks along the way, and Will dutifully answered the questions he posed. It took until the outlines of buildings appeared in the tree-line for Will to realize what was happening. He caught his breath. A huge, giddy smile sprung to his lips. Tug! He was about to see Tug!

Will's legs twitched to run. He only barely kept himself from breaking out into a sprint. A wild joy raged inside his ribcage, begging to be let out. 

"Hullo, Old Bob!" Halt called, stopping outside of Old Bob's hut and signaling for Will to stay silent. 

A chair scraped back, then loud, stomping footsteps came up to the door. It opened, revealing Old Bob. Will wrinkled his nose. The man smelled just as bad as Will remembered. But, those keen eyes - so like the eyes of every Ranger horse - were the same as well. 

"Morning to you, Ranger!" Old Bob said, despite it being past noon. "Who's this you've brung to see me?"

"This is Will, my new apprentice. Will, this is Old Bob." 

Will smiled at Old Bob. "Nice to meet you, sir." 

Old Bob chuckled good-naturedly. "Calls me sir! Hear that, Ranger, calls me sir! Make a fine Ranger, this one will!" 

Halt grunted - whether at Old Bob's familiarity, disagreement over Will becoming a good Ranger, or impatience over seeing Abelard, Will couldn't tell. "Are they ready?" 

Old Bob laughed again and nodded several times. "Ready they are indeed! Step this way and see them."

He took them around the back of the house. Will was practically skipping, scarcely contained excitement affecting every step. Halt threw him a raised eyebrow - and the slightest amused quirk of the lips. As they rounded the building, revealing the paddock and lean-to, Old Bob let out a piercing whistle.

"There they are, see?"

And there, indeed, were Tug and Abelard.

Abelard came immediately to Halt, who handed him an apple to crunch and murmured something into his ear. Will practically vibrated as Tug came up. He was rather unkempt, Will noted with a frown - he always kept Tug's mane better brushed than that! Well, he would be able to fix that very soon. He grabbed an apple from the same bin Halt had gotten his from. He reached it out to Tug but stopped halfway, quickly looking to Halt and Old Bob.

"Can I?" 

Old Bob cackled. "Learns quick, this one does! Apples be the best way to get into this 'un's heart - or stomach! Go ahead, boy!"

Will did. He offered the apple to Tug. The little pony trotted over to him, eyeing him in much the same way as Halt often did. His brown eyes were curious: Who's this boy? they seemed to say.

"Hi," Will said softly. His heart felt about to burst. "My name's Will."

"This 'un's called Tug," Old Bob told him. "He looks about your size, don't he?"

He handed Will Tug's halter. Will took it and leaned forward, gazing into Tug's eyes. He had to blink back tears in his own. How he wished he could drop the halter and throw his arms around Tug's neck, bury his nose in Tug's mane and cry tears of joy on finally, finally being able to see him once more. How he had missed Tug! It had barely been two weeks, yet it felt like years. 

"Well," said Halt. "What do you think of him?"

Will abruptly returned to reality. His mouth gaped open slightly as he hesitated. The recurring refrain of what do I say? had returned once more. Will could, vaguely, remember how he'd initially reacted to Tug. It would probably be best to keep that the same.

"He's rather small," Will said.

"So are you," came Halt's response.

"What! I - I am not!" Will cried indignantly, flushing. "I'm just...um..."

As he floundered about for a response, Old Bob wheezed. Will's cheeks grew hotter. 

"He ain't no battlehorse, are he, boy?" he asked Will. 

"Well, no," Will said. He kept his mouth shut against what he wanted to say. He's far better than a battlehorse could ever be.

"But he'll run any of those fine, fancy-looking battlehorses into the ground!" Old Bob said proudly. Will had to stop himself from giving a spirited agreement. "He's a strong 'un, this 'un." 

He certainly is! Will thought proudly.

"He'll keep going all day, long after them fancy horses have laid down and died."

"I know he will," he said softly. He remembered the Kalkara, his long hours of journeying to reach Baron Arald, how Tug had borne him through without the slightest complaint. Old Bob did not even know how right he was about this horse, Will's horse. Will reached a hand out to stroke Tug's neck. The horse accepted his touch with equanimity. 

"Why don't you see?" Halt asked, a hint of challenge in his tone. "You're fast on your feet. Turn him loose and see if you can capture him again."

Will's lips quirked as he remembered what this was. Will humiliation incoming - except, this time, he knew what to do. He let go of the halter. Tug stepped back, tossing his head, and trotted lightly away to the middle of the paddock. Grinning, Will ducked under the fence. He started towards Tug. After a few steps, he hesitated.

He and Tug had often played this game: Will scrambling after Tug, Tug joyfully evading him. It had become a pastime for them, akin to playing fetch with a dog. Tug loved being able to outpace Will; Will loved playing with his horse, and especially loved the few times he had actually won and caught Tug. But - was now the time to do this? He glanced back. Both Halt and Old Bob were watching him intently. What if this just made Halt more suspicious?

Suspicious of what? He asked himself. Being able to catch a Ranger horse? I still wouldn't be able to ride one without knowing the password. All it'd mean is I'm fast - and I am, so Halt wouldn't be wrong to think so.

Besides. Will would most likely fail, anyway, like he usually did against Tug. Then he'd go and catch Tug the traditional way. At least he could have a bit of fun first, right?

He walked forward, mind made. 

"Come here, boy," he started, the same words that always started the game. Tug tossed his head, unimpressed. The movement made Will's grin wider. Tug didn't know it, but that was how he had always responded to such a statement. The look in Tug's eyes was clear: make me. 

Will started forward. Like always, as soon as Will reached a hand to Tug's halter, he reared away, dancing several yards to the right. Will followed. The game was afoot.

The two wove back and forth for several minutes. Will would leap forward, or lunge sideways, or dance back just in time, and come mere inches away from the rope. Tug would whinny in amusement and just barely evade him once again. 

Then, right as Will was about to give up, it came. Tug had backed himself up to the enclosure, the fence framing him on one side. Will reached forward. Tug dodged left, as Will had known he would, side-stepping with phenomenal nimbleness. Will leaped.

His hand closed around Tug's halter.

"Hah! I did it!" he cried, jubilant. He spun around, beaming, to face Halt and Old Bob.

Halt's eyes had widened, ever so slightly, in shock. Old Bob outright gaped.

"I knew you were quick on your feet," Halt said slowly. "I didn't expect that." 

"Well I'll be darned!" Old Bob said. He elbowed Halt in the ribs. "See, I toldya that boy'd make a darned fine Ranger, didn't I? He can even catch Tug, this 'un can!"

At that moment, Tug jerked his head up. The unexpected movement caused Will to lose his grasp, and instantly the horse bolted away. He whinnied, tossing his head at Will, as if to say, that was fun. Round two!

"Oh, come on!" Will told him, exasperated. "No fair, I'm not doing that again!"

"You know," Halt said, "if you just used your brain instead of your feet, there is a much easier way to catch him."

Will huffed good-naturedly, walking back towards him and Old Bob and the barrel of apples. He grabbed an apple and turned back to Tug.

"Come here, boy." 

Tug came immediately. Will petted him as he ate, scratching that spot behind his ears that he loved. Tug nickered and headbutted him gently. 

"They certainly taken a liking to each other quick, huh, Ranger?" Old Bob asked, cackling.

Halt grunted. Thankfully, he didn't seem suspicious. He probably just saw it as a stroke of luck, nothing more. "Will, it's getting late. Take Tug over to the lean-to and Bob can show you how to groom him and look after his tack. We'll stay with you tonight, Bob, if that's not inconvenient?" 

"I'll be glad of the company, Ranger," Old Bob said, nodding. "Sometimes I spend so much time with the horses that I start to think I'm one myself."

As he spoke, he reached down and selected an apple from the barrel himself, raising it to his mouth and munching in the exact same way Tug just had. Will stifled a snort. 

"We might be just in time," Halt told him dryly. "Then, tomorrow, we'll see if Will can ride Tug as well as catch him." 

Will grinned. He couldn't wait. 

That night, as he lay in the barn, listening to the soft breathing of Tug and Abelard, he gazed up at the ceiling sleepily. It had been a long, yet rewarding day. He had finally gotten Tug back - and, unlike with everyone else, with Tug everything was so easy. Already he and Tug were friends. It made him giddy just to think about. 

He only hoped that, one day, Halt, Horace, Alyss, Gilan, and Evanlyn - all the other people he loved - would be the same.

Chapter Text

The next evening, Will and Halt rode back towards Halt's cabin, astride Tug and Abelard once more. The day had been tiring but amazing, in Will's mind. Yes, Old Bob and Halt had only taught him what he already knew how to do, and it had been frustrating to pretend not to know anything. But all of that was nothing when compared to having Tug back. 

He patted Tug on the neck fondly. How he loved Tug. 

Already, Tug seemed to like him. Will had, for the sake of appearances, gotten thrown off by him once more because of not saying Tug's password. Neither Tug nor Will begrudged the other for it, though. Tug had been trained that way, after all, and once Will had said the password, Tug was more than happy to allow him to ride. Now, Will sat happily atop him.

Like with everything else, Will's body had to relearn how to ride. He knew he would be sore tomorrow and wasn't looking forward to it. The familiar frustration of having to put himself through weeks of learning to get his body back to where it had been was also there. Still, simply having Tug made so much of that disappear.

"You've certainly taken to each other quickly," Halt remarked, he and Abelard right next to Will and Tug. 

"You really think so?" Will asked eagerly. Of course he loved Tug, that was no question. But if Halt thought Tug already liked him...

"I wouldn't say so if I didn't."

Will had to admit that that was true.

"What was it like for you and Abelard?" he ventured. He winced as soon as he said it. He had 'known' Halt for bare weeks - there was no way Halt would actually tell him something like that. Even his Halt would probably not answer such a question. He went to take it back, but Halt was already responding.

"I suppose we took to each other well," Halt said. "I had to win his respect, of course."

"Respect? He made you win his respect?" 

"Of course. It's the same with all Ranger horses." Halt looked dryly at Tug. "Although perhaps this one wasn't taught properly, as he seems to have skipped that stage entirely." 

Will set a protective hand on his horse's neck. "Tug was taught just fine." 

Halt's brows raised. "You really have taken to him, haven't you? Relax, boy, I'm not trying to insult your horse."

They were quiet for several seconds, then Will gathered his courage. "So..."

Halt huffed irritably.

Sensing he could still continue without Halt getting too angry, Will said, "What did you have to do to earn Abelard's respect?" 

"What does it matter?" Halt asked, still irritated.

"I was just wondering." 

"Wonder about something else, then." 

Will sighed and looked away. He shouldn't have been surprised. Halt was Halt, after all - even his Halt had still acted like that sometimes. 

They rode on for some time in silence. Will took Halt up on his suggestion and started wondering about Ranger horses. Was Old Bob the breeder for all Ranger horses, or only part of them? And where had the breed come from? They were nothing like any other horse in Araluen. If he were the breeder for the entire Corps, shouldn't he have had more horses than just Tug and Abelard? Will had never been back to Old Bob since getting Tug, so all those questions had remained unanswered. He side-eyed Halt. He sincerely doubted that Halt would answer any of them now. 

"How much daylight do we have left?" Halt asked suddenly. Will jerked to the present and glanced up at the sky.

"About half an hour." 

"And how much longer will it take us to get back to the house at our current speed?"

Hmm. Will thought about it. That was trickier, especially since he wasn't used to riding this path. Will glanced around him, noting where they were in the forest relative to the house. They weren't too far off, their horses making a decent pace. 

"I'd say...about the same time. We should get there just after dark." 

"Hmm." Halt considered for a moment, then nodded. "I'd say I agree with you. Once we get back home, we-"

A nearby rustling cut him off. The two looked over to their right where the source of the rustling was. At the same time, Tug tossed his head and Abelard nickered uneasily. Will flicked his eyes to Halt, who had readied his longbow and was reaching for an arrow. Gulping, Will did the same.

"What's..." Will started. Halt shushed him.

The rustling continued, and then Will heard a low hiss. The hairs on his arms stood up. 

The long, lithe body of an adder sprang from the bushes towards Tug!

Tug reared, dashing at the head of the serpent with his hooves. Caught off-guard, Will lost his grip on the reins and fell, scraping roughly against a tree and landing hard on a rock. He winced in pain, disoriented. Dazed, he pushed himself to sitting. The adder - where was the adder?

He glanced from side to side. It was not next to Tug anymore. Tug was facing Will now, ears back, head tossing in agitation. Will frowned, following where Tug was looking.

The adder was looking straight at Will, mere inches away.

"Keep still," Halt said, very, very quietly. "I just need to-"

The adder hissed and sprang.

At the same instant, a second hiss split the air. A black arrow embedded deep inside the head of the adder, halting it mere inches from Will's leg. It fell to the forest floor, lifeless.

Will closed his eyes and exhaled, long and slow. He heard Halt dismount and approach. Turning from Halt, Will glanced at the dead adder. Halt had, of course, shot it right between the eyes. A perfect shot. Like always. He reached forward-

"Don't."

Will retracted his hand, frowning at Halt. The Ranger stood right next to him now. 

"Snakes don't die immediately," he explained, nodding down at the creature. "I shot it right in the brain, but it's not necessarily dead yet. They aren't like deer or wolves, where a good shot to the heart or head can take them out instantly - although you know already that a bad shot could take longer. Snakes can stay alive up to an hour after they've been shot. You don't want to risk getting bitten." 

Will carefully scooted away. "That's an adder, right? Would it...would it have..."

"It probably wouldn't have killed you, no," Halt said. "Just made your life miserable for a few days. Still, best to be cautious."

He glanced up at the sky again. The incident had taken less than a minute - it looked exactly the same as it just had. "Hmm. It wouldn't do to leave a carcass lying in the middle of the forest. We should dispose of it properly. I suppose we can come back and retrieve it tomorrow. I'd like to get back before it's too dark. Haven't the time to wait around for the thing to finish dying." 

Will nodded, edging away from the snake once more and pushing himself to his feet. As he did, he winced. He'd hit his shoulder pretty hard against that tree when he'd fallen off of Tug. He was certain it was going to bruise. Besides that, there was a long and nasty-looking cut on his arm. He must've sliced it open on that rock. Ugh. He'd have to take care of that once he got back. He couldn't risk an infection. 

He mounted up on Tug and started back to Halt's cabin once more, Halt and Abelard right behind him. The rest of the ride passed in usual silence, with Will wondering what was for dinner and reminiscing over the events of the day once more. The snake incident had already faded to the background of his head - he had dealt with far worse. Small things like this had ceased to phase him anymore. Instead, he grinned to himself, remembering when he and Tug had leaped over the paddock fence together. Tug was the only creature in the world that Will was happy to relive every moment with. With Tug, things made sense. They were simple and easy. There was no constant, vague dread of messing things up by saying or doing the wrong thing.

The tree split to reveal Halt's cabin. They reined in their horses and dismounted, leading them into the stable and rubbing them down. Will's arm and shoulder ached more and more and he kept fighting back grimaces. It was nothing he hadn't dealt with before, of course. In Skandia, Will had gotten used to constant discomfort and even pain. He was used to hunger, fatigue, and bone-aching cold. Apparently, his current body did not have the same idea.

As he and Halt stepped into the house, Halt stopped him. "My medical kit is in my room. I'll go get it. Sit down over there."

Will frowned at him. "Huh?" he asked, eloquently.

Halt stared at him. "Did you not realize that you're injured?"

"I mean, yes, but...I can take care of it myself." 

"You?" Halt asked, a little incredulously. "And how, exactly, were you planning to do that? Give it a little rinse with the same water the horses drink, perhaps? Or wrap it up with a piece of cloth you found lying around? You boys are all the same. Apprentices never know how to treat their wounds properly."

Will opened his mouth indignantly, then reluctantly shut it. He had, actually, been considering doing some of those very things. Now he realized that they were maybe not the best ideas. He still acted like he was in Skandia sometimes - where he'd had to treat any wounds with whatever he could find.

Seeing that, Halt muttered something under his breath that sounded quite disparaging towards apprentices, turned, and started towards his room. With nothing else to do, Will went over to the fireplace and sat down on his chair. Halt reappeared quickly, kit in hand, and sat down in the other chair. As he began setting everything out, Will figured he would try once more.

"I'm not a child, you know. I can-"

Halt gave him a look. Will shut his mouth. Despite Halt's taciturn and forbidding countenance, Will's chest felt warm. This was exactly the sort of thing his Halt would do, complete with the implicit threats and muttered insults. He let a slight smile touch his lips, eyes drifting off to the fire, lost in memory. 

Callused fingertips touched his arm.

Instinctively, Will jolted. It was not born out of fear or even surprise. He came back to himself a moment later and glanced at Halt.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting that," he said. From the way Halt's eyes narrowed, he didn't buy the excuse. Will didn't blame him. Halt had told Will he'd be treating his wound. Of course Will would have expected to be touched. But how else was Will supposed to describe...

Whatever the case, Halt didn't push, which Will was grateful for. Halt set his hands down on Will's arm again and this time Will did not move. Once he'd started, Will felt himself relax. He tended to Will's wounds exactly the way his Halt had, efficiently, thoroughly, and not particularly gently. 

All too soon, Halt finished wrapping the bandages around Will's arm and was done. "There you are. You're lucky it wasn't too deep. It didn't even need stitches." 

"Will it scar?" he asked, looking down at the arm. 

Halt shrugged. "Hard to say. It might scar a little." 

"Just my luck to get a scar from a stupid tree," Will said morosely.

Halt's lips twitched very slightly.

"W- that wasn't funny!" Will protested, frowning at him. "I'm being serious here! Scars are supposed to have impressive stories and come from, like, wars and stuff! No one's gonna think a scar from a tree is cool!"

Halt shook his head, still amused. "Ask any Ranger and you'll find far more of their scars are less impressive than you might have thought. Knights, too. A lot of them come from training or stupid accidents."

Will smiled to himself ruefully. Yeah...he'd definitely gotten some of those. That was why he'd been hoping for a better one. That cut he'd gotten on his arm from the Temujai probably would have left a cool scar, if it'd had the chance to heal. Other than that, Will didn't have any cool scars. 

"What about you?" he asked, feeling brave. 

Halt raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking about the impressive ones, or the not very impressive ones?" 

Surprised - he hadn't thought he would even get that far with this Halt - Will hesitated. "Uh...whichever?"

"Hmm." Halt grabbed the collar of his tunic and pulled it down, showing the skin of his right shoulder. A round, puckered ring of a scar sat there. A puncture wound, Will realized. "I got that from one of Morgarath's crossbowmen during the war."

"Woah, really?" Will went a bit starry-eyed. Just when he'd thought his mentor couldn't get any cooler...

"Mmm." Halt nodded, very seriously. "And certainly not from a misfire during a training session." 

Will squinted. Something didn't feel quite right here... "You wouldn't be lying, would you?" 

Halt's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling your master a liar?" 

"Oh! No! Of course not!" Will said hastily. "I would never!"

"That's what I thought." Halt gave him a look and gathered his medical supplies up, retreating into his room. 

Will stared after him, still feeling suspicious.

The next few weeks passed by: peacefully on the outside, yet inside Will's head was anything but peace.

There was simply so much that needed to be done. Will's training was progressing achingly slowly, at least for him. Every fumbled shot and clumsy throw was agony for him. He hadn't been perfect in his own timeline, of course - certainly never even close to Halt's level - but he had been, in his own opinion, decent for an apprentice with only a year's worth of actual training. His current skill, where he was frustratingly slow and still hardly ever hit a bullseye, was infuriating. 

Meanwhile, there were other things to worry about. Principal among them was Horace. Assuming that this timeline worked exactly the same as the other, Horace was currently in the midst of being horribly bullied by fellow Battleschool cadets. Horace had mentioned them to Will a few times in Celtica and Skandia, and it was clear that the way they'd treated him had left its scars. Sure, Horace had assured him in Skandia that he was mostly over it, but a scar was a scar. Will knew how awfully it had hurt his friend at the time. How could he let it happen again?

Yet, that was exactly what he was doing. Will was far from being able to take care of the matter by himself. He was a terrible shot, not to mention still utterly untrained in unarmed combat - and still lacking his former muscle mass. No, Will would have to get Halt in on the situation if he were actually going to help Horace. But there was no way he could do so. If he told Halt that Horace was being bullied, the inevitable follow-up to that would be "How do you know? You haven't even spoken to him since you started your apprenticeship."

Surely there must be something else he could try? Oh! He could write a letter to Sir Rodney! Except he didn't have any evidence. Tell Baron Arald? No, same problem. What if he got the evidence from Horace and then told Sir Rodney or the Baron? Good idea, except this Horace currently hated Will's guts.

Ugh. This was impossible.

Will glared down at the book Halt was having him read. Halt didn't have his apprentices read that much, certainly not as much as a Scribeschool apprentice or even a Diplomat apprentice would read. However, he did insist on Will having an in-depth knowledge of Araluen's history, both domestic and foreign, and he himself kept up with current affairs, sometimes spending a fair amount of money to buy a book or treatise on various political, historical, or economic subjects. Rangers were not simply the peace-keepers of Araluen, Halt had told Will. That was relegated to the Watch. Rangers were spies and tacticians and even diplomats or politicians, if necessary. That meant that they had to know what was going on both inside and outside of the kingdom, at every level, past and present. 

It was a good premise and Will certainly agreed with it, but that still didn't make Will's current book, A History of Araluen, any more interesting. He had read it before during his first apprenticeship and it was just as mind-numbingly dull the second time around. He was tempted to slam it shut and throw it on the ground, but Halt was nearby and he knew his master would not approve.

"What ever did that book do to you?" Halt asked mildly. "You look like you're about to murder it."

Will heaved a frustrated breath. He was still trying to find a solution to Horace's problem. The worst part of it was he couldn't even talk to Halt about it! He couldn't talk to Halt about anything anymore. He had used to tell Halt about any and everything that bothered him. Now he could tell him nothing. It was made even more difficult by the fact that Will was still constantly editing everything he said around the man.

Halt still did not particularly like him, Will knew. The thought stung, but it was true. Will was constantly stopping himself from acting too familiar with him. He'd get half of a joke out before abruptly realizing it was an inside joke this Halt would not even understand, or he'd start to ask a question that he knew this Halt would never answer. 

Halt doesn't love you, he was constantly telling himself. He might begin to care about you - one day - but even that's not guaranteed. This Halt is not your Halt. He may never care about you.

"Well?" Halt asked. 

Belatedly, Will realized he had gotten so lost in thought that he'd completely forgotten to respond. "Sorry! Erm...what did you ask, again?"

Halt raised his eyes to Heaven. "I asked," he said slowly, "what the book had done to you to make you look like you want to murder it."

"Oh," Will said uncertainly. "I was just thinking." 

He cringed, waiting for the tried-and-true you're an apprentice, you're not ready to think or even the classic fallback of you're supposed to be studying, not thinking!

Instead, Halt hummed and said, "What about?"

Will blanked. He blinked dumbly at his master. "I'm sorry?"

Halt sighed. "Why is it that you must always answer a question with a question? I asked what you're thinking about. It must be important," he added dryly, "given it's distracting you from your duties."

Will winced. "Sorry, sir. It's...I'm just worried about my wardmates, I guess."

He lifted his eyes up to Halt. Halt was nodding understandingly. "You're worried they might not be doing well with their Craftmasters?"

Well, not quite. Will nodded anyway. "Yes, sir. Especially Horace, with Battleschool and all..."

Halt gave a considering noise. "You do know that Battleschool is quite difficult. It's designed to be, after all."

"I know that. It's just...I'm just worried about him, is all."

He closed his eyes in resignation, heaving a sigh. There was nothing he could do. He was powerless to stop three upper-level Battleschool cadets, and no one - Halt, Sir Rodney, Baron Arald - would ever believe him. He turned back to his book. 

"Would you like to see him?" 

Will spun around in his seat, wide-eyed. 

"If you're really that worried," Halt said reasonably, "I don't see a problem in letting you go over there briefly - during lunch, perhaps, when the both of you are on break."

Will stared at him, speechless.

"What?" Halt said. "Usually, I would tell you to work on compartmentalizing your thoughts - Rangers cannot afford to get caught up in emotion, as I've told you before. But this task you're on right now is hardly pressing, and in any case, I'm sure you would only continue to worry about it at night and end up losing sleep over it. With the Gathering coming up in a few months, we can't afford that lack of sleep. Your concentration is terrible enough as it is." 

Will flushed, opening his mouth to protest, before reluctantly shutting it as Halt went on. 

"So, it's best to get this out of the way as soon as possible. If allowing you a longer break than usual for one day will stop you from worrying like this, I see only a benefit." 

Oh. Will deflated. Of course. Of course this was just about his training. It wasn't like Halt actually...

Halt's gaze burned into him. "What's the matter? You don't seem excited."

Will looked away. "It's nothing. It's just, well, Horace and I aren't exactly on good terms right now."

"Yet you're still this worried about him?"

"...It's complicated."

Halt took that in, thoughtful. "Well," he said after a moment. "Unless you're on truly terrible terms, I don't think visiting him would be a bad thing. He'll probably appreciate that you took the time to check in on him, even if he doesn't say it."

Will nodded. That was true. Horace would definitely regard his presence as strange, but maybe Will could use this opportunity to work towards building their friendship once more. It had come through due to different events last time. Will knew he was risking that friendship by trying to change things, but he didn't care. Stopping Horace from being bullied was more important. Even if Horace ended up hating him until the end of time.

Although he truly hoped it would not come to that.

"Alright," Halt said. "You can go tomorrow, if you'd like. You can take Tug. I'll go with you. I have some business in town I might as well get over with."

Will nodded. He still couldn't believe Halt was actually letting him do this. Impulsively, he stood and ran to Halt, hugging the seated Ranger as best he could. "Thank you, Halt!"

The man grunted. 

Too late, Will realized what he'd done. He snatched his hands away and jumped backward, berating himself. Idiot! He just said he was only doing this because of your training, not because of you! 

"Sorry," Will mumbled, wishing he could be just about anywhere else but here. "I, uh, wasn't thinking."

Cringing, he slowly lifted his gaze up to Halt, expecting a frown or that awkward twist of the face when you've just overstepped someone's personal boundaries.

None of that was there.

Halt was staring at him, a complicated mix of emotions swirling around his face. Anger did not seem to be one of them; neither was irritation nor even awkwardness. Halt seemed more confused than anything, confused and something else sadder. 

"You don't need to apologize for something like that," Halt said slowly. "I don't know what kind of a person you think I am, but I'm not going to punish you for a hug."

Will's heart dropped and he felt his skin go cold. "N-No, I didn't think - I don't think you're, you're a bad kind of person or anything," he protested quickly.

Halt examined him for a long moment. "Sometimes I wonder," he said at last, but shook his head. "Enough of that. We'll go see your friend Horace at noon tomorrow. In the meantime, I expect no slacking off in your lessons. You hear?"

Will nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

Halt's dark eyes lingered on him. "Very well." 

He stood and went to his room, closing the door behind him. Will watched him go with a furrowed brow and a sinking heart.

Chapter Text

The sun blazed hot and high in the sky as Will reined in Tug at the Battleschool's training grounds and dismounted. He set an affectionate hand on his horse, patting his neck. Words could not describe how happy he was to have Tug once more. He had taken to Will just as quickly as he had the first time - maybe even quicker, but then, Will was biased this time around. In any case, it was a relief. Everything else in his life was off: his body, his training, his friends, his master, his future. Tug was Will's only solace. It had gotten to the point where Halt had begun making dry remarks about Will being part-horse, or better, Tug's long-lost brother. 

Tug tossed his neck. Aren't you going to go talk to Horace? he seemed to ask.

A few days ago, Will had woken out of a dead sleep due to a nightmare: watching helplessly as Halt and Horace and Evanlyn died over and over. Will had stolen out of Halt's house and ran to Tug. Through tears, he had told his horse everything: that he was from the future, that he had already lived through all of this, that he had watched all his closest friends die and now had to act as though it had never happened. Tug now knew everything. He was the only one who knew everything. 

"Of course I am," Will told him. "It's just...it's just hard. You understand, don't you?"

Tug nudged Will gently. He gave Will a slow, understanding blink. I do. You know you still have to do it, though.

Will sighed. "Yeah. I know. Hopefully he won't attack me on sight, yeah?"

Tug snorted. 

Will half-smiled and turned around. He took a deep breath and strode forward.

Halt and Will had timed it right, it seemed, because the cadets were just beginning to break off and drift away from the training dummies. The instructors walked off together in a group, while the older cadets drifted off in trios and pairs and the younger ones trudged off by themselves, having not yet made close friends. Will spotted Horace easily, if only because he was the only one who was still training. Will frowned as he watched. Horace seemed distracted, glancing around him every few sword-strokes. He must be afraid that Jerome and the others are going to attack him, Will realized. A hot ember of anger burned in his chest. How he wished that he were seventeen once more. He would destroy them. 

As he came to the edge of the training grounds, Will hesitated. He was still far enough away that Horace wasn't aware of his presence; if he went any closer, he risked Horace hearing him. This was Will's last chance to back out. 

Should he? It would be so much easier. Will would not have to look into the younger face of his once-friend, a boy who now despised him. Will knew he could deal with Horace if the boy tried to attack him, whether with fists or with a sword. That didn't mean Will wanted to deal with that, though. If Horace attacked him, Will thought he might have a breakdown. 

But no. Will steeled himself. This was the right thing to do. No matter how unpleasant Horace was right now, he was still Will's friend - even if he didn't know it yet. Will needed to talk to Horace to find out what was going on. Ideally, he would be able to get Horace to slip up and reveal something about the bullies. Then, Will could bring it up to Halt. Hopefully, the man's sense of justice was great enough that he would agree to investigate it, and then - bam - Horace would be saved and those worthless excuses of human beings would be exiled from the fief, never to return.

He nodded. Yes. That was exactly what he hoped would happen. 

Will started forward towards Horace. Predictably, once he got within a few yards, Horace stopped and cocked his head, listening. Will stepped on a twig and Horace spun around, training sword raised. 

"Woah!" Will reared back, lifting his hands in surrender. "It's just me."

"Will?" Horace gaped at him, but lowered his sword. "What on earth are you doing here?"

Well, Horace wasn't being actively hostile. That was something. Will relaxed and shuffled a bit. "Well...I was in the area. Halt has some business with the Baron, so I thought I would drop by and...I dunno. See what Battleschool was like."

Horace straightened up proudly. "It's wonderful."

Well, that's definitely a lie, Will thought dryly.

Horace continued, with a bit of a sneer, "Still crying about your missed opportunity, No-Name?"

Will shrugged, keeping his expression nonchalant. Being called 'No-Name' would never cease to hurt, but Will kept it from showing. "Not really. I like my master and I like training. I think I'll enjoy being a Ranger. How about you? Is training going well?"

Horace blinked, taken aback. Not only had Will not responded to Horace's jabs, he'd also asked about how Horace was doing. As far as Will could remember, in their turbulent relationship at the Ward, that had been a rarity indeed. "Um...it's alright - it's great!" 

"That's good to hear," Will said easily. "Making friends?"

Horace's shoulders tensed. He instantly became defensive. "What's that matter to you? What, are you jealous? Sad that Rangers don't have any friends?"

Will laughed at that, though he quickly regretted it when Horace became even more defensive. "Halt certainly doesn't have a lot of friends, no. He seems fine with me having them, though."

"Except you don't," Horace pointed out, rather meanly.

That hurt. Again, Will shrugged it away. "There's always time to make some. Where are yours? It'd be cool to meet them. Learn about the Battleschool and all."

He'd thought that he might be able to soothe Horace with a little flattery, but instead Horace tensed further, thinking that Will was making fun of him. "They're not around right now. Why do you care? We're not friends."

Will flinched and looked away. The next words came out of his mouth unbidden. "We could be."

He was met with silence and turned back to see Horace staring at him, flabbergasted. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

Horace tried to sound angry, even disdainful, but his voice wobbled at the end. He flushed and opened his mouth to say something else.

Will beat him to it. "I like you, Horace. I know we haven't always been on good terms, but...we're apprentices now. We'll be adults soon. Can't we put our childish squabbles behind us now?"

For a moment, Horace just looked at him. His eyes were bright and disbelieving. Will felt a spark of hope flare in his chest, wondering if perhaps his words had gotten through. Horace opened his mouth to speak...

"Who's that you're talking to, Baby?"

Both Will and Horace tensed. Will whipped his head around to look. In the distance, just turning around one of the dormitory buildings, were three figures. They were too far away to make out, but Will already knew their names and faces. Them. Jerome, Alda, and Bryn. It was instinct to reach for his bow. He had nocked an arrow to it in a single breath. 

"Will, you need to go," Horace hissed to him in an undertone. He set a hand onto Will's shoulders and pushed, none too gently. 

Will raised his eyes to Horace's face. It was ashen white and scared. Will's blood heated. How dare these three bullies hurt his friend? He shrugged away from Horace's hand and went to raise his bow, but Horace persisted. 

"Will, go," he said urgently. He swallowed. The fear was turning him sour, like milk turning rancid. "It's not like - it's not like I'd want to be your friend anyway! I don't want you around. Just leave now, before my - my real friends get here." 

As angry as he tried to look, Horace's throat still caught at the last part. 

"Your real friends?" Will said. His tone surprised him. It was hard and angry. "Do real friends make you scared like that?" 

"I'm not scared!" Horace rounded on him and shoved him away, rougher. Will stumbled back. "You - you worthless piece of dung, just leave!" 

Will regained his balance and set his jaw. "I'm not leaving. My offer of friendship stands, and I don't let my friends get hurt." He drew back his bow, aiming towards the approaching figures.

Horace stiffened in shock. "What are you - what are you doing?" 

"I told you. They're hurting you, aren't they?" Will turned his head to look Horace in the eyes. "I will not let them hurt you again." 

Horace swallowed, eyes bright. "Will..."

Jerome's voice cut across him. "Aw, does the Baby have a friend?"

Horace clenched his teeth, shaking his head. He grabbed Will's arm, forcing him to lower his bow. "How dumb are you? I told you to leave! Leave, Will! Leave, before - before..." He swallowed, and Will again saw the terror in him. "Before they do it to you too." 

There! Will thought. It was almost a confession. He seized on it, turning to Horace, silently begging Jerome and Alda and Bryn to take just a few moments longer. "Before they do what? What are they doing to you, Horace?" 

"They're-" Horace cut off. "There's no time, Will, if they see your face they'll come after you too!"

"Like I care?" Will had dealt with far worse than a trio of second-year Battleschool cadets. "Let them."

"You don't understand." Horace shoved Will again, gentler but firmer, pushing Will further and further off the training grounds. Will struggled, but like always, Horace's brute force won. "You're just an apprentice. You can't deal with them."

Will's determination wavered. He knew Horace was right. With his current level of skill, there was no way he'd be able to take on all three of them. He knew he could land a shot to one of them, but he was nowhere near fast enough to get a second one off before the others got him. He and Horace would still have to deal with the other two of them, and that was assuming Will's first shot didn't miss. Then, Will would be pitting his fifteen-year-old, scarcely muscled body against the older, larger, more powerful body of a Battleschool cadet. The odds were not in Will's favor, and he knew it.

And even if Will and Horace were able to hold their own, what would it matter? If Sir Rodney or any of the other Battleschool officers found them, they would just see a group of apprentices in a tussle. No one would believe that Alda, Jerome, and Bryn had actually been bullying Horace - especially if one of them had an arrow in their leg. No, the bullies would get away with it and only make Horace's life more miserable. As for Will...

He winced. Halt would be furious. 

Seeing Will wince, Horace pressed his advantage. "Please, Will. Just go."

Will hesitated for an instant more. Another, much closer, call from Alda sealed the deal. Will replaced the arrow into his quiver and nodded reluctantly. He gave Horace an intense look. "Promise me you'll be alright." 

Horace blinked, again startled, before slowly nodding. "I promise." 

Will held the gaze. "You had better keep that promise." 

Then he pulled the cowl of his Ranger cloak over his head and vanished, running back to Tug. His back to Horace, he failed to see the soft, grateful look on his once-friend's face before it hardened and he turned to face his bullies once more.

"So, how did your visit go with Horace?" 

The sun had set that evening. Halt and Will sat around the fireplace, fletching arrows. It was a familiar, comfortable routine. If Will weren't careful, he would let himself fall into it - let himself believe he was back home. 

Will didn't glance up from his arrow, only sighed. "I thought I was getting through to him, but then...then we got interrupted and I had to leave."

The helplessness of it, of leaving Horace with his bullies, made Will's hands clench. His chest burned. How he wished that he were older, stronger, faster once more - how he wished that he had a Halt who would help him take them down! 

"Don't be too upset," Halt said, turning his arrow and examining it. "After all, there's always next time." 

Will shook his head, scowling down at his lap. Who knew when he'd be able to go back and see Horace again? And even then, who knew if it would actually be useful? This last visit hadn't been, and Horace would only get more and more difficult to get through to the longer he was bullied. Forget the fear over changing things too much; what if Will wasn't able to change anything at all? What if his actions had done nothing - what if Horace would suffer just as much as he had last time? 

"You know, Harvest Day is coming up soon."

Will glanced up. He knew Halt would let him attend the celebrations, but he hadn't known at the time, so he asked, "I can go? You'll let me attend the celebrations? I can - I can talk to Horace and visit all my wardmates and everything?" 

Halt huffed. "I suppose. I'm sure you'll forget everything you've learned, but it wouldn't do to have you going around calling me a bad master if I don't let you go."

"I would never call you a bad master!" Will said indignantly, then flushed. He had said that with a little too much passion, he realized. Indeed, Halt was looking at him, one brow raised. 

"Well, it's certainly nice to be appreciated, I suppose," Halt said. "I hadn't expected that coming from the same apprentice who just spent ten minutes complaining about having to train earlier today." 

"That was not training," Will said, frowning. "That was chores." 

"Doing the chores is your training," Halt maintained stubbornly, and the familiarity of the conversation - one they'd often had in various forms - made Will smile. 

"You know, I take it back," he said, still smiling. "On Harvest Day, I'm going up to the first person I can find and telling them you're a terrible master." 

Halt turned an unsmiling gaze to Will. "You know what? You won't be going to Harvest Day after all." 

Will stopped laughing and stared at Halt, wide-eyed. Did he really mean that? This Halt was still harder to read than Will's Halt, and...

"Oh, stop looking at me like that," Halt said. "You look like I just shattered your entire hopes and dreams. You can go. I suppose." 

Will smiled. 

They were both quiet for a moment. Will stared into the fireplace's flickering flames, his hands halting from his fletching for a moment. "Do you really think it'll work?" he asked suddenly.

"Do I really think what will work? Be more specific." 

"Talking to Horace again." Will heaved a frustrated sigh. "I was so close to getting through to him, I know it. What if it's that much harder to get through to him next time?" 

If Halt were surprised about Will suddenly choosing to confide in him, he didn't show it. "There's no point in worrying about it. Either it will be or it won't be, and that won't change no matter how much energy you devote to it. You need to stop worrying so much about these things." 

He placed a finished arrow to one side, then said, "Besides, is it really worth putting so much effort into this? From what you've told me, you weren't ever particularly close. I wouldn't have you be enemies with him, of course, but is it necessary to worry this much for someone you've been at odds with since childhood? If you ask me, I'd say your training is far more important." 

Will fought down the instinctive, indignant response wanting to flood out. Halt didn't know about Will and Horace's friendship: what it became, how they'd saved each other's lives, how they'd trained and fought and bled together, how many laughs and tears they'd shared. None of that had happened yet, and from what Halt knew, he was being reasonable. He didn't know...

Will swallowed, hard.

The blow that Horace had taken, the one that had beheaded and killed him instantly, had been to protect Evanlyn. But the one right before that, the one that had weakened Horace and made him too slow to properly block that final blow...

That, Horace had taken for Will. If Will had been just a bit faster, if he had dodged just right, then maybe...

No. It was foolish thinking. It had been the four of them against an entire army of Skandians. Horace would have died anyway. But Will couldn't stop thinking about how, if Horace had not tried to save Will, he would not have died like that. 

"He is worth it," Will said quietly. "To me."

Halt had been watching him that whole time. Will wondered what he had seen on Will's face - if he could read the grief and guilt inside Will's soul. Halt just nodded, though. "Well then, that's that. You'll speak to him on Harvest Day and we'll pray it goes better this time. Until then, you'll keep your head on and focused on your training, you hear?" 

Will nodded. "Alright." 

Chapter Text

Halt woke up already knowing it was going to be a bad day. 

As he rolled to standing, all his joints ached horribly, stiffer than the drinks Crowley poured himself after a long day. The dim light of his room made his head throb. When he swallowed, his throat twinged in pain. The tell-tale itch of a cough lingered in his throat, dormant for now but not for much longer.

Just my luck, he thought irritably as he tugged on his clothes. Barely three months into an apprenticeship and I'm getting sick. As though Halt had time for such hogwash. The Gathering was coming up in a matter of months, and Halt could not afford a break. 

He pushed the door to his room open and winced as the bright sunlight streaming in through the front window hit him directly in the eye. He grumbled to himself as he made his way to the kitchen and began to stoke the fire. How irritating. He had hoped to teach Will some hand-to-hand combat today, but given how bad he was already feeling, Halt doubted he was capable. More than likely, he'd work himself up into a coughing fit halfway through. That would certainly be no sight for an apprentice to see. 

Halt started the coffee and then rapped on Will's door. "Time to get up, Will."

His voice came out hoarse. He scowled. As sore as his throat already was, he should probably have been making tea, not coffee. He had a special tea he always made when he was ill. He should teach it to Will sometime - it was extremely effective, in Halt's opinion. Well, he'd make it this evening. He had breakfast to start, no time for tea right now.

As he started the porridge, the slightest sound of footsteps came behind him. Inwardly, Halt nodded approvingly. Will was picking up on silent movement quickly. The hardest thing for apprentices was not learning to be quiet, it was learning to be quiet all the time. That Will was quiet after just having woken up said good things about his training progress. 

"Good morning," Will said through a yawn. He padded up to the wooden cabinet Halt kept the dishes and cutlery in and began setting the table. He had started doing that since the very beginning, a routine Halt had never once told him to do. He supposed Arald's staff must have been quite good at instilling the value of chores into the wards. Certainly, Halt was not going to complain. He would've made Will do it anyway.

Will finished setting the table about the same time the coffee was ready. Halt placed steaming cups down at his and Will's place and stirred the porridge again. It still needed some more time, so Halt sat and nursed his coffee cup. Ugh. He had just woken up and he already felt tired. Being sick was a damn nuisance. 

Soon, the food was ready. Halt got up to serve it, wincing at his aching joints.

"So, what are we doing today?" Will asked as Halt placed a bowl in front of him.

Halt sat down with his own bowl, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that we were doing anything. Given you are just an apprentice, and I am the one qualified to do the actual work around here." 

Will's expression did a quick twitch, like he wanted to roll his eyes but restrained himself. "What am I doing today, then?" 

That was, actually, a good question. Halt had had today's training planned, but that was before he woke up sick. Halt knew better than to push himself too hard when sick. He was hardly going to make himself worse than he already was. 

"You'll be training by yourself today," he said finally, taking a sip of coffee in an attempt to soothe his throat. It didn't work. "I do hope you are capable of doing target practice by yourself, yes?" 

Will gave him an offended look. "Of course I am." 

Halt laid out a set of exercises for Will to do. He didn't tell Will, but they were a bit more advanced than he normally would have given to an apprentice of only three months. Will was by no means a prodigy, but he worked diligently despite his poor concentration and tendency towards frustration. He had a good head for being a Ranger. He'd surprised Halt several times with his almost uncanny knowledge of how to correct bad shots. Halt only wished that it also translated into Will's mapwork. Just yesterday, Will had forgotten to chart a footbridge across a stream. Halt had told him quite acerbically that any regiment of troops Will happened to be leading might want to know about the existence of such a bridge. 

After he'd finished telling Will the day's training regime, Halt stood and took his dishes to the washbasin and began washing them. Will added his to the basin as well and asked, in the kind of voice that said he knew this might not go over well, "So what are you doing today?" 

Halt turned an unsmiling gaze to his apprentice. Will didn't shrink. He never did, which made the fact that he flinched every time Halt touched him even stranger. "I wasn't aware that my daily activities were at all pertinent to your training."

Will chewed on his lip and said, "Uh...what's pertinent mean?" 

"Relevant. Appropriate." Halt gave his bowl a rather vicious scrub. "The opposite of standing around asking unnecessary questions when I've specifically tasked you to do something." 

He said it sharply enough that this time, Will did wilt a little. He retrieved his bow from his bedroom and walked out the door without a word, closing it softly behind him. Halt heaved a long, irritated sigh and went back to scrubbing. He couldn't help but miss Gilan in moments like that. He knew exactly how his former apprentice would've taken a sharp comment like that: an eye-roll, a joke, and some mocking obsequiousness. Halt could sometimes sense Will wanted to respond that way, but he was apparently still too intimidated by Halt to actually do it.

With the dishes finished, Halt settled down in one of the rocking chairs outside with a pile of reports. He passed the morning with them. None of them were out of the ordinary: a few petty brawls broken up by the Watch, a merchant attempting to evade Redmont's taxes on luxury goods, an irate farmer claiming his neighbor had intentionally killed his prized milk cow. None of them should require Halt's attention - all the better, in Halt's opinion.

As the sun reached its zenith, Halt put down the remainder of the reports (Halt was never through with the damn paperwork, he swore) and stood. Will was still out of sight, which hopefully meant he was in the training clearing and not that he had decided to ditch today's training. He hadn't yet, but there was always a first time for everything. Halt went back inside to start preparing lunch. As he was chopping up mushrooms, his head swirled and his vision blacked out. When he came to, he was gripping the edge of the counter, hard. 

Blast, he thought. Sudden vertigo like this usually means my temperature just spiked. I must be running a fever. That settled it. As soon as Halt finished making lunch, he needed to go to bed. It wouldn't do to have Will come in to Halt collapsed on the ground like a ragdoll. 

He breathed in and out slowly, waiting for his strength to return. Once it did, he quickly finished the stew and left it to simmer over the fire. Too weak to make it to his bed, he sank down into one of the chairs next to the hearth. The heat of the fire was sweltering, nigh-unbearable, but he didn't have the strength to move. He leaned back into the chair. His eyes began to slide closed. A nap didn't sound too bad right now...

The slight squeak of a door hinge alerted Halt to his apprentice and he glanced up, clearing all traces of tiredness from his face. His apprentice stood in the doorway, bow in one hand, traces of sweat on his forehead. He'd been working hard, then. Good. Will's head was cocked to one side, curious eyes fixed on Halt. It had only been three months, but damn if Halt didn't already know that look well. 

"What?" he asked gruffly.

Will opened his mouth, then hesitated. He did that a lot. "Nothing. Is lunch ready?" 

Halt tipped his head right in front of him, where the pot was. "Use your eyes and see for yourself." 

Will retrieved his bowl from the cabinet and served himself before sitting down beside Halt. He started eating, then abruptly paused midway through lifting the spoon to his mouth. "Have you already eaten?" 

Halt scowled at him. "What's it matter?" 

Will scowled right back. "It wouldn't have mattered much, except it's not like you to be so cagey about something this simple."

It wasn't, but Halt was surprised Will had known that. And more surprised that he would actually say it. It seemed the boy had more backbone than Halt had thought. Halt heaved an irritated sigh, then wished he hadn't as it further stung the back of his throat. "I haven't. I'll eat later. Now tell me what you've done so far today. I should hope you didn't waste the whole morning daydreaming." 

"Of course I didn't!" Will said indignantly. "Why would I..." 

He trailed off, frowning at Halt. "Were you pulling my leg?" 

Halt kept his expression unreadable. "The results of this morning's training, please." 

Will huffed and told him. It was to be admitted that, although Will did try to downplay his mess-ups in training, he never tried to overemphasize his achievements. It was a good sign of humility. Halt did not like braggarts and he would have nipped that in the bud quite quickly if Will had happened to be one. 

Really, Halt thought, after Will finished with his report and went back to eating, Will had quite a lot of good traits. Halt certainly could have picked a much, much worse apprentice. He was curious and inquisitive - sometimes irritatingly so, but the curiosity was still a good thing of itself. He was honest, especially in matters of morals, he was gentle with the horses, he was diligent and intelligent. Halt had only to discover if Will were also brave. As a Ranger, that would be the most telling of all. Will could be as moral, kind and selfless as a saint, but if he hadn't the courage to back it up in a fight, it was useless. 

But...

Will finished with his meal, washing up and bidding Halt a quick 'see you later' as he went back to his training. Halt forced himself up and went to his bedroom, practically collapsing into his bed. It was high time for a nap. He closed his eyes, trying to drop off to sleep, but his mind wouldn't let him, seizing on his prior thoughts like cat's claws. 

There was something off about Will. Something Halt could never fully identify - something that was not always even discernible but there just the same. Will knew things he shouldn't. He acted differently than Halt had expected a first-year apprentice to act. He treated Halt differently than Halt had expected, too. Of course, taken separately, all those could be explained away into inconsequence. Will knew things he shouldn't? He had simply been a good student at the Ward. He acted differently than Halt had expected? Halt had become out-of-touch with apprentice behavior since Gilan had left. He treated Halt differently? Halt simply wasn't used to companionship anymore. 

But they were compounding on each other. Halt liked compound interest very little, and compounding suspicions even less. As the days passed and the incidents piled up, Halt had at last been forced to entertain a suspicion he did not like at all.

Was Will a traitor? 

Halt had turned the question over several times, and by now he was fairly certain the answer was no. First, there was the question of how Will had been turned traitor in the first place. Halt hardly kept an eye on every person who went in and out of the Baron’s castle, but a traitor was not turned in a day. Whoever would have recruited Will would have needed to speak with him more than once. Either this visitor had somehow gotten access to Will, a castle Ward, multiple times without Halt noticing, or…

Or there was someone inside the Ward itself working with Morgarath. Halt felt the familiar thrum of ice inside him at the thought, but shook it off. It was possible, but Halt had not even known that he would choose Will to be an apprentice until a mere two years back. He had purposely distanced himself from Will so as to make certain his preference would not be known. True, Will had shown some potential years before that, but it still seemed far too risky of a plan for the traitors to bank on. What was the point in influencing a child and turning him traitor, only for Halt to never pick him and his years of training to go wasted? If Halt had not chosen Will, Will would have been a farmhand. A more wasted investment than that, Halt couldn’t think of. 

Besides…this was a child. Halt knew quite well that children were capable of being both spy and traitor, and he knew well how vicious they could be. His own brother was a prime example. But training a child to betray his kingdom and priming him with knowledge, all under Arald's nose? That needed a more thorough indoctrination than Halt thought possible from the vantage of the Ward. And Halt would have noticed if that had happened to Will. People didn't go through intense training like that and come out unscathed.

But Will is different than you expected, Halt reminded himself. He didn’t like the reminder. But, no. Will was different in all the wrong ways for a traitor. If he had been trained as one, he would’ve been trained well - an organization able to operate under Halt’s nose like that would have to be good. Halt was certain that they would have excised Will's awkward slip-ups, the fragments of knowledge he let slip that he shouldn't even know. The mistakes were careless, those of an honest boy, not a trained liar. They weren't the only ones he made, either. He made other mistakes too, but of a different sort. Like just a few weeks ago, when Halt had insinuated that Will would speak badly of him to his friends. Halt hadn’t meant anything by it; apprentices would do what they would. He was certain that Gilan still insulted him behind his back to this day. 

But unlike how Gilan would have responded to such a comment (a cheery grin and a ‘you know me too well,’ most likely), Will had been indignant. ‘I would never call you a bad master!’ He’d turned red right after, the face of someone who had regretted what they’d said. Halt shook his head at the memory. Was that really how a traitor would act? 

At the very least, Halt decided dryly, if Will were a traitor, he was a truly terrible one. Not only was he a bad liar, he was horribly transparent about the things he knew. Really, what traitor would blurt out the name of Lord Northolt on their very first day and then not even seem to realize what he’d done? Not even an amateur would be that stupid. The retired noble was hardly castle gossip, and like Halt, he’d refused to be honored for his actions, quietly fading into obscurity after the battle. Halt had listened around in enough taverns and castle hallways to be quite sure what was and what wasn’t gossip, and the things Will knew were most decidedly not. 

So, although Halt was nearly certain that Will was not a traitor - logistically the idea was untenable; personally the character of Will was too transparent and his mistakes too amateurish - he was not entirely certain. Halt had learned long ago not to discount possibilities simply because they were not probabilities. Every avenue must be explored. There were ways to make certain - or as certain as anything could be on this earth. Halt would execute them, when the time was right.

Which, he thought grumpily, turning over in his bed as the pillow warmed beneath his cheek, was not right now.

The harder part was what came after. Will was, most likely, not a traitor. So then, what was he? When the most likely answer was improbable, even impossible, there were not many more options left. Halt, to be honest, liked them even less. A traitor would be a nuisance to be sure, especially given that Will could not be acting alone. But at least Halt could simply root them all out and be done with it…though, he admitted to himself, he knew he would ask for clemency for Will. If Will were a traitor, he was definitely a conflicted one, and he would’ve been recruited so young…

Recruited? Halt thought darkly. Taken advantage of, rather. And perhaps in more than one way. Halt had heard of some ‘training’ programs that…

No. It did not need to be thought. Halt’s lip curled in disgust and he forcibly removed the thought from his head. He scowled up at his ceiling. This was hardly good thinking for a sick man. What Halt needed was rest, not another goose hunt through the depths of his mind for what was going on with Will. Halt tried to drop the matter and sleep, but his mind refused. 

If he did not have a traitor as an apprentice, there were not a lot of other things Will could be. Not when he was afraid of Halt. Or, perhaps afraid was not the right word, but Halt wasn't sure what the right word was. Will did not cower when Halt scowled at him or reprimanded him or punished him. He never shrank back when Halt was visibly annoyed or angry, and indeed seemed to take all of Halt's more irascible moods with equanimity. Yet, he had cringed back and apologized last month after giving Halt a hug - as though Halt were the sort of person who would hit his own apprentice for a hug! He had flinched away from Halt's touch on numerous occasions, including when Halt had simply been trying to treat an injury or correct his posture. He would catch himself after laughing at one of Halt's dry jokes, giving Halt a guilty look like an implicit apology. 

But yet - but yet - he would fall asleep in the rocking chair right next to Halt, or smile good morning to him, or cheer after making a particularly good shot with his bow. He had no qualms showing his excitement or giddiness over some things, yet would apologize over others. It made no sense. Will made no sense.

Halt sighed. He needed to go to sleep. He was tired and sick, and pondering over this in his current state wouldn't lead him to any new answers. In any case, Halt was not one to worry over such things. He would simply keep doing the best he could day by day, and whatever happened would happen. 

But if, he thought, his last thought before slipping into unconsciousness, if Will would like to tell me what’s going on...that would certainly be nice.

Consciousness shifted all around Halt like a vague, churning pot of treacle. Everything felt hot. Everything felt cold. Light and dark seemed intermixed - sometimes there, sometimes not. Fragmented images of his apprentice came and went, and with them Will's voice. A cold cloth lay on Halt's forehead once, then no longer.

He stirred restlessly, cracking open his eyes. He was in bed. Everything around him boiled. A fever, then. Halt closed his eyes, determined to sleep it out. That was the best remedy for these things. But sleep would not come. He shifted around, trying to find a cool patch of blanket and failing. His body sweltered. He finally gave in and opened his eyes again, unwillingly accepting the reality of life. 

His room was dark, but that meant little. The door was shut and he didn't have a window in his bedroom. A trickle of light spread across the floorboards from the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. That could be the sun or the moon for all Halt knew. He slowly pushed himself up on his elbows and took stock. He felt like shit. All of his symptoms had only gotten worse and his head was spinning. The fever rendered him barely conscious, not able to take in his surroundings with his usual acuity.

The door cracked open, spilling red-orange light into the room. Will stepped in, his brow creased with worry. His eyes fell on Halt, still sitting partially up. He took a quick breath. "Halt! You're awake!"

"Clearly," Halt said grumpily. He punctuated the sentence with a low, rough cough. Thank God it was dry, not those deep, wet coughs Halt had been told spelled doom for the cougher. "You'd better have been attending to your training in the meantime." 

"There are more important things than two days’ training," Will said, quiet but firm. It was a tone Halt had never heard from him, and for an instant as Halt looked at him, Will seemed older than the body he was in. "You're sick, Halt."

"Really? I hadn't noticed." 

Will rolled his eyes. "Why do you always have to get grumpier when you're not feeling well," he muttered. He approached Halt's bedside, and that was when Halt realized Will was holding something. The scent wafted over to Halt, sweet and sharp: chamomile, ginger, and honey. 

"Drink this," Will said, offering Halt the cup he was holding. Halt sat fully up and reached out to take it. It was tea, he realized. Will had made him tea. When had Will learned to do that? He hadn’t even known how to cook before his apprenticeship.

Halt's throat was aching mightily, though, and he decided it wasn't worth it to ask. He took a sip. His eyes widened in surprise. This was...this was the exact tea he made whenever he got sick: ginger root, lemon balm leaf, meadow-wort flower, honey, a touch of chamomile to soothe. His eyes darted up to Will. 

"How did you," he started, but Will's expression was unreadable. 

"Drink it, please," Will said. "You need it to feel better. If you're not better by tomorrow, I'm riding to the healers in Redmont."

"You'll do no such thing," Halt said, and sneezed. It triggered a coughing fit. Will swooped in and swiped the cup from Halt's hands, placing it on his night table and watching Halt worriedly as he coughed. 

"What was that?" Will asked once he’d finished. 

Halt glared at him. "I said-"

"I know what you said. I'm trying to get across to you that what you said was stupid." 

Halt stared at him in surprise. 

"You're sick, Halt.” Will shook his head, and Halt wondered if it were simply the dim lighting, or if those were dark shadows under Will’s eyes. “You’ve had a fever for days, and - and you don't know how bad this could get. I can’t - we can’t - rely on miracles. If you get really sick, if you...if you get hurt, there isn't anything to stop that. You won't get a second chance. Okay? I am not letting your stubbornness rob you of your life." 

Halt looked at him for a moment longer and then blinked, slowly shaking his head. This was so far outside the bounds of his apprentice's normal behavior that Halt couldn't even reconcile it. He must be sicker than he’d thought.

Halt went to pick up the cup from his nightstand, but his hands wavered and some of the tea spilled. Will grabbed it from him again.

"Here, I'll help you," he said softly. He held the cup to Halt's lips. Halt debated grumbling about it, but he was not a fool. The tea would help him get better, and he was not so childish as to refuse help when he needed it. He opened his mouth and drank. He eyed the cup contemplatively as Will set it back down. He had been wrong - it was not exactly the same tea as the tea he made. The ingredients were all there, the ratio was right, yet it was different, as if Will had added something else. Somehow, it was sweeter.

Once he was done, Will set the cup down and helped Halt lay back down again. Halt's eyes were already beginning to slide shut once more, his throat soothed by the honey and his body once more giving in to exhaustion. 

"Sleep well, Halt," Will said. Halt's eyes closed and he felt himself drift off. 

As he did, he could have sworn he felt Will squeeze his hand. 

When Halt woke up next, his head felt clear. Halt pushed himself to standing with a groan. His body was still sore and he felt drained, but the worst of it was over. His fever had broken during the night. Good. Halt disliked deviating from his schedule, and the past day had been one giant deviation. He was glad to get back on track. 

He opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the main room. To his surprise, Will was already up, standing over the hearth stirring the pot. 

"I never thought I'd see you get up before me," Halt greeted dryly.

Will turned, surprised. When he saw Halt, a relieved smile spread across his face. "Halt! You're feeling better?" 

Halt was startled, both by Will's clear relief and by the fondness Halt felt at seeing it. He blinked a few times. He couldn't remember much of the past day. Will had come into his bedroom at some point, but the fever had clouded the details. What little remained, Halt trusted even less. Pritchard had always told him not to trust anything he thought or felt during a period of mental or physical sickness. If it became relevant, Halt might attempt to sift through what he could remember and piece it together, but he doubted it would. 

What he did remember was that Will had gone out of his way to care for Halt, and that Will had been worried about him. He still looked worried now. The sight made something inside Halt soften. 

Halt grunted and said gruffly, "It'll take more than a measly fever to get you out of training." 

Will's smile widened. He turned back to the pot and stirred it some more. Halt saw his side profile, saw the smile fade into something more somber. "I'm glad you're alright." 

The soft, sincere tone took Halt aback. That quietness, that strange maturity, was oddly familiar. He felt like he'd seen something like that before from Will, just recently. But what? When the memory wouldn't come, he decided it must have just been the fever.

"Of course I am. It was just a little chill, nothing to be concerned about." 

Will's eyes flicked to him swiftly. "You were out of it for two days, and not lucid for most of it. You weren't even conscious enough to talk until last night." 

What? Halt could have sworn it had only been a day! "What do you mean? What day is it?" 

"Thursday," Will said. He shook his head. "You first felt bad on Tuesday, remember?" 

It had indeed been Tuesday when Halt had woken up with a sore throat. If it truly was Thursday, then, Will was right. Halt had been sick - and apparently incoherent with a fever - for a full two days. He scowled in fierce annoyance. Halt had things to do, a fief to maintain, and an apprentice to train. Sickness meant that he could not uphold his duties. It also, Halt realized, placed an undue burden on his apprentice to take care of him.

Halt's scowl darkened. "Was anyone here while I was sick?" he asked, more abruptly than he'd intended.

"No, you don't have any pressing business to attend to."

That was not the point. "You mean to tell me that I was ill and you didn't have anyone to help?" 

Will reared back, first startled, then angered. "What? Now you're going to tell me I should've gotten someone to help you? I told you I was going to ride to the healers yesterday and you refused!"

"Not me," Halt snapped. "You. You're a scarcely-trained boy out in the middle of the woods, over a half-hour's ride from the nearest help. No one expects you to be able to tend to a sick man and keep a household running at the same time. You should've ridden to Castle Redmont and informed them of my illness so they could help." 

Will gazed at him for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head, huffing out a laugh. "Of course that's your concern." 

Halt failed to see what was funny about this. "Apparently I need to repeat this, since you're so fond of forgetting. You're a boy, Will, not a child but not an adult. You aren't equipped to deal with situations like this on your own, and no one's expecting you to. If I'm indisposed again, I want you to go get help, not deal with it all on your own." 

When he didn't get a meaningful response from Will, Halt pressed, "You aren't an island all to yourself, Will. You live on the mainland. Rangers might be solitary people, but even we know when we need the help of others. You would do well to learn that for yourself."

It had taken Halt awhile to learn that. His isolation had cost him, several times, and he would not tolerate his apprentice falling to Halt's same vices. Was that not the point of masters, to keep their apprentices from making their mistakes? 

Will still didn't say anything, but he didn't protest, and Halt decided that was good enough for now. Will turned back to the pot and stirred it once more. "I made stew. I know it's not what you usually make for breakfast, but I don't know how to make porridge like you do, so..." 

"Food's food," Halt said. "You're not Master Chubb, but I suppose you'll do." 

Will's lips quirked. He ladled some of it into a bowl and handed it to Halt. As he did, their fingers brushed. Halt sighed internally, waiting for the inevitable flinch. But although Will stiffened, he didn't flinch away. He met Halt's eyes for an instant, breathed, then turned away to serve himself. Halt stared at him for a long moment in bewilderment. Had Halt passed some sort of test while he was sick? Or was it something else? Was it...

A vague, soft memory: Halt slowly falling asleep, his last memory a single warm squeeze to one hand. Had that been Will? 

He sat, Will sitting across from him. Looking at him, Halt saw the concern still written in his apprentice's eyes every time he looked at Halt. It was blindsiding. Halt had spent the past three months believing Will disliked him or even feared him, but looking at him now, Halt was forced to conclude that he must have gotten something wrong. You would not be so concerned over someone you feared. You would not tend to someone you disliked. But then, the flinching? 

A sudden dark thought came to Halt's mind. There was one reason Will might flinch at physical touch. One reason that would explain how Will could fear touch yet not fear Halt. 

But Arald would never, he told himself. Except Arald wasn't the one who had raised Will, was he? His servants had raised Will and the other wards. Halt wasn't naïve enough to think that Arald had the time to actually oversee them. All it would take is one bad employee, one oversight, and Will - and all the wards...

Halt's hand clenched around his spoon. He glanced up at Will. His apprentice was watching him. Will's eyes flicked from Halt's clenched fist up to Halt's face and he barely tilted his head, a silent question dancing across his face. Are you alright?

No, Halt was not alright. Not now that he'd thought that - that thought that might just explain the mystery that was Will. How he hoped - how he prayed - that he was wrong.

He took a spoonful of stew. It tasted sour down his throat. How he prayed that he was wrong. Because if he wasn't...

Halt had no idea how Daniel would ever forgive him for allowing his son to be abused. 

Chapter Text

Will worried at his lip as Redmont drew nearer and nearer, the strong stone peaks of the castle looming over him and Halt as they rode. It was Harvest Day, the air warm and the sky bright, the wind carrying distant scents of food to Will's nose. It had now been almost a month since Will had last seen Horace. Despite Halt's words, Will had spent many of the intervening nights cursing himself for his helplessness, and Jerome, Alda, and Bryn for their existence. Now Will finally had another chance and he was not eager to screw it up. He remembered how last time he and Horace had gotten into a fight. Will swore this time that he wouldn't. No matter how aggressive or rude or brash Horace acted today, Will would not let himself lose his temper. 

They passed into the edges of the village, and Will saw the riot of colors, sounds, and smells that always accompanied the Harvest Day festival. There were always feasting and games, musicians playing, and both young and old dancing in the square. This year, though, Will saw something he didn't remember seeing before (although last time, he'd left so abruptly, he hadn't seen much). 

"Halt! What's that?" 

Halt heaved an irritated sigh and looked to where Will was pointing. "Those women? That's a group of traveling dancers. They're performers, probably from Ursali or somewhere thereabouts."

"Ursali? Where's that?" Will had never heard of that country, or if he had, he'd forgotten. He was, of course, familiar with Celtica, Gallica and Iberion; less so with Picta, Hibernia, and Teutlandt; and of course he knew more about Skandia than probably any other Araluen alive. Ursali, though, he couldn't recall ever learning about. 

"It's too far east for us to have a map of it, but it's somewhere near Arrida."

"Arrida?" 

"Down in the southeast below Iberion, a desert nation of proud, fierce warriors."

"They traveled that far to get here?" Will asked in wonder. Just traveling to Skandia had taken weeks, and that was by ship. Horace and Halt had taken months to get there through Gallica. 

"I'm sure they didn't do it all at once," Halt said. "They've probably been traveling westward for years, now. Stop asking questions." 

He didn't say it as harshly as he once would've. Will decided to try just one more. "What are they called, then? The dancers?" 

Halt heaved another sigh, this one more irritated, but examined them. They were dressed colorfully, in sparkling reds and golds and blues, their black hair long and loose, jewels everywhere. Their midriffs were showing, and Will had to admit they were very beautiful. His brain conjured an image of Alyss wearing the same clothes. He flushed and look away. 

"I don't know what they call themselves," Halt said. "Probably something we can't pronounce properly. We generally call them hacha-hacha dancers or something like that." 

Will's eyes went wide and he opened his mouth. He shut it just in time, and thank goodness, because he had just been about to ask oh, the same dancers you told that entire tavern the King was born from? 

"Now go on already and meet up with your wardmates," Halt said, frowning at Will. "I need a holiday from all your questions." 

Will kept himself from rolling his eyes and slid off of Tug. "See you, Halt!"

Halt grunted and Will started away, leading Tug through the busy streets. It didn't take long to reach the meeting place Jenny had picked out for them. He must've taken longer to get there than last time, because unlike before, the Baron was not there. Will would have to be careful, then - he shouldn't know that Halt led the cavalry this time around, since the Baron hadn't told him.

He stood there for a moment, breathing in grass and apple and earth, letting the sunlight soak his bones. When he opened his eyes, he led Tug to the dappled shade under the tree and told him to stay. Then Will clambered up the apple tree to pick an apple for Tug. Just as he was feeding it to him, he heard people coming up behind him. Will turned to see Alyss, Jenny, and George all together. 

"Will!" Jenny said excitedly, trying to wave but being hampered by the copious amounts of pies she was carrying. 

"Greetings, Will!" George said. 

"Hello, Will," said Alyss. She gave Will one of her rare smiles.

Will smiled at all of them, reserving, perhaps, the biggest one for Alyss. "Hi everyone."

"It's been so long!" Jenny said, setting the pies down with an oomph and stretching out her back dramatically. "I haven't seen you all in ages!"

"It's been scarcely three months," Alyss said, but smiled. "I have missed you all, though."

"Me too," Will said. More than they could know. 

"And I as well!" George said, and opened his mouth. "On this momentous occasion-"

Alyss sighed. "George, I already said that you didn't need to prepare a speech." 

"A speech?" Jenny asked. "Ooh, how's it go?" 

"Jenny, no," Will said, having a bad feeling where this was going. Indeed, George straightened up and took a posture that could only be described as ceremonious. It was eerily similar to Scribemaster Nigel's when he was about to go into one of his famous one-hour monologues.

"Those pies look delicious!" Alyss said, a little hurriedly. "Surely, George, we can't let Jenny's superb cooking get too cold?" 

George deflated. "Well...they do look quite splendid, Jenny." 

Jenny beamed. "Here, I'll serve them!"

"We should wait for Horace," Will objected. Everyone turned to stare at him. He realized as they did so that those words were the last ones his wardmates would've expected from him, given his and Horace's long-held rivalry. "I mean, it's supposed to be a holiday for all of us, right?"

"That's true," Jenny said, nodding her head. "You're right, Will."

"But I am absolutely ravenous!" George protested. "I've been slaving over a petition to the Baron all morning!"

Alyss rolled her eyes. "Perhaps we should start. Otherwise he'll begin a legal argument and we'll be here all day. We can always put a couple aside for Horace." 

Like last time, Jenny began to acquiesce, serving out the pies. But Will shook his head. "No, we should wait. I don't think he'll be much longer. I mean, aren't Battleschool apprentices supposed to be punctual and everything?" 

"I'm surprised you care so much," George remarked, "given how Horace has never seen a problem with wrestling you to the ground or nearly choking you to death." 

Will fought back a grimace. It had been so long since he'd had to go through that, that Will had nearly forgotten how Horace had used to treat him. Anytime Horace actually got a hold of Will, Will would never leave unscathed. It had resulted in more than a few trips to the healing wing. Granted, Will had almost always made up for it later in pranks, so, looking back, Will couldn't feel too wronged. Besides, he and Horace had already forgiven each other and put each other's wrongs at rest after the boar hunt. Horace had saved Will's life; what was a few unpleasant incidents next to that? 

"It's not that I care that much," Will said slowly, thinking through his words. He was aware that both a future Diplomat and a future Scribe were listening. They would catch any contradictions with ease. "But, I mean, we're apprentices now. I want to put that behind us. I'm going to be a Ranger and he's going to be a knight, after all. We'll probably have to work together at some point, and I don't want to do that with an enemy." 

"That's wise," Alyss said, nodding at him approvingly. "Then, let's wait. It is a fine day, after all, and we can catch up until he comes." 

They passed the next minutes doing just that. Will was unanimously elected to go first in talking about his training, which he gladly did. He did try to avoid talking about Halt, as he knew his younger self had still been rather intimidated by Halt, even several months in. Instead, Will focused on his amazing horse - looking fondly at Tug - and the most fun parts: making good shots with his bow, tracking down animals, learning about unseen movement-

"Woah, he's teaching you to do what?" Jenny cried, bouncing in excitement. "Ooh! Show us, show us!"

Will grinned and stood. "Alright, you ready? I'm about to disappear." 

"Ready!" Jenny said, George and Alyss joining in.

Will lifted his hood over his head and stood stock-still, just like Halt had trained him. The effect was immediate. Jenny cried out in shock, George gasped, Alyss's eyebrows raised and her mouth parted in surprise. Their gazes swept unseeingly over the seemingly empty space where he stood. His lips curled up and he had a sudden idea. Silently he slipped around behind them, using the dappled light falling through the apple tree's leaves to conceal him. He crept up behind Jenny, grin turning wicked, and poked her in the head.

"Got you!" he cried, at the same moment as Jenny shrieked. 

"Wha- Will! Don't do that!" Jenny cried, and swatted at him. Will was laughing too hard to mind, letting his hood drop as he fell to the ground in laughter.

"The look on your face!" he said gleefully. He had always wanted to see how his wardmates would react to a prank like that. He'd done it to Horace several times, of course, but that was Horace. Jenny's reaction was way funnier.

As his laughter subsided, he looked up to see Alyss looking at him disapprovingly. "Will, it's not nice to prank ladies like that," she told him, but Will knew her well enough to see the hint of a smile around the corners of her eyes. He grinned at her impishly. 

"My sincerest apologies," he told Jenny, not at all sincere or apologetic, and then squawked as she pulled a kitchen ladle from out of nowhere and whacked him with it. 

"Don't you ever pull that on me again!" she said.

"Alright, alright, I won't!" 

The four of them settled back down again. George went next, although Will would've rather heard Alyss. Still, Will rather liked the erudite, scholarly boy George had become. George hadn't spoken for long when Will sensed a fifth person's presence. He jerked his head to the side and- yep. Like he'd thought. Horace was approaching them. Just like last time, he looked like he was in a terrible mood. Will elbowed Jenny and nodded in Horace's direction.

"Oh! Horace!" Jenny cried, getting the hint and interrupting George mid-sentence. "You're here! We were waiting for you to start!"

Horace's frown subsided at that, and he looked gratefully at Jenny, supposing her to be the one who'd stopped everyone else. She smiled at him and immediately went to serve up the pies. Will noticed, with some amusement, that the prettiest pies of the batch went to Horace. The two had always been closer. Then again, Jenny was friendly with everyone. It probably meant nothing. Still, they clearly were close...just as, Will suddenly realized, George and Alyss were.

As the conversation started back up, he realized how often Alyss would make a dry quip or remark after something George had said, or back him up in some way. The Scribes and Diplomats worked quite closely together, Will knew, and their apprentices would spend a fair amount of time with each other. Will swallowed, uncomfortable by the thought. 

Well, he told himself, a little childishly, regardless of all that, I'm still the one she kissed. 

The thought didn't comfort him as much as he'd thought it would. Mostly because, as he looked at Alyss, he couldn't help but find her so...young. She was practically baby-faced. She was tall, yes, and dignified, with sharp cheekbones and perfect posture. Yet, when compared to the gaunt, somber expression of Evanlyn, the rough, hard jawline of Horace, and Will's own face he'd seen reflected off the ice of the Skandian wilderness - sharp-edged and weary - Alyss looked unbearably young. Will shifted, brows furrowing in discomfort. She was only two years younger than he, he knew, and many marriages had women far more than two years the junior of their husbands. Still. Will was used to the idea of Alyss being his equal. The idea of this baby-faced child, who had never seen the ravages of war and did not even know about Morgarath's return, kissing Will felt wrong. 

Maybe...he thought, eyes flicking from her to George. Maybe I should let whatever there is there happen. 

An ugly buzz of jealousy came at the thought, but Will swatted it down. He and Alyss weren't anything. He knew they weren't. It had been one kiss and they hadn't even spoken about it afterwards. Then he'd left for Celtica and it had been over a year since. He'd changed. For all he knew, he and Alyss weren't even compatible anymore. No. It wouldn't be fair to her if Will got involved with her. 

Besides...he glanced off to the north, over leagues and leagues of forests and hills and mountains, of water and ice. I have other things to deal with. More important things.

"A penny for your thoughts?" came a soft voice. Will looked up to see Alyss looking at him. She had a single brow raised and seemed unconcerned, but Will knew she must be worried, to have asked such a question. "Your expression seems out of place on a holiday."

Will gave a nervous smile, wishing, as ever, that he were a better liar. "Not thinking of much. Just, um. Training."

Alyss's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "You haven't had enough training? You aren't tired of thinking about it?"

Will flushed. He felt certain she had seen through him. "Um, I mean, yeah I am, just...it wasn't my training, you see." He glanced around and accidentally looked straight at Horace. Horace, only hearing the last few sentences and seeing Will look straight at him, instantly jumped to conclusions.

"Then whose training was it?" Horace said, a bite to his tone, a warning to his glare. 

"No one's," Will said, which was actually the truth. Unfortunately, Horace didn't believe him.

"No one's, just like you're No-Name," Horace said with a sneer. Will couldn't quite hide his wince.

"Horace, don't be unkind," Alyss said, softly but reprovingly. Will looked at her in surprise. She had never told off Horace before. She had always stayed out of their fights. Why had she picked today of all days to back Will up? 

Alyss's reproof only made Horace angrier. Having never been challenged by her before, it now seemed to Horace that the other wards had been allying with each other in Horace's absence. "I'll be whatever I want to be, bitch." 

The word - one Will had never heard him say - seemed foreign on his tongue, and Horace's face scrunched up the moment he said it, regret softening the hard lines of his forehead. It was too late. Jenny and George gasped and Alyss's cheeks flushed, though Will couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or anger. His own face was hot - he knew exactly the emotion.

"Don't speak to her like that." 

Will's voice cracked partway through, but he kept his tone level and his expression as calm as he could. Horace scoffed.

"Or you'll what? Beat me?" he gave Will a sneer. "As though you'd be any match for a Battleschool apprentice. You've already shown you're more than willing to run from them."

Will's hands clenched. You were the one who told me to run in the first place! He thought, but he barely managed to choke the words down. Horace didn't mean it, he told himself. Horace was hurting, and hurt people hurt people. The guilt in Will - the guilt that he'd torn himself up over for the past month - made Horace's words difficult to bear. But he had sworn not to get into a fight with Horace. He was going to keep that.

"I've told you already, I was more than willing to stay," Will said, calmer than he felt. "I can help you! I can tell-" 

"Don't you dare tell them anything," Horace hissed, leaping to his feet and towering over Will. His hands were clenched. A vein stood out on his neck, throbbing in time with his pulse. "If you do, I'll- I'll-" 

Will stood as well, just wanting to be on more equal footing with the clearly unstable Horace. He realized as soon as he did that it might not have been a good idea. Horace was squared off as though moments away from throwing his first punch. In standing, Will had just brought them even closer to a fight. 

"Hey now," George said, also standing and stepping in between the two of them. He held up placating hands and said, in a careful, mollifying tone, "There's no need to fight. We're all friends here. Let's just sit back down and eat some more pie, yes?" 

"Shut your mouth and let the warrior talk," Horace said rudely, shoving George away. The smaller boy stumbled, falling back onto his butt and nearly squashing one of Jenny's pies. Jenny squeaked, diving for it and snatching it out of harm's way just in time. She and Alyss were both wide-eyed. They exchanged glances, the same ones they always exchanged when Will and Horace went at it, but these ones were more grave than Will had seen before. 

Horace stepped towards George. Will shouldered in, forcing himself between the two. He forcibly loosened his clenched fists and jaw and said quietly to Horace, "Stop." 

Horace sneered. "Who are you to stop me, No-Name?"

Horace was ashamed, Will thought suddenly - ashamed that Will, his long-time rival, had seen him in a weak moment. It didn't matter right now that Will had pledged his help and his friendship; all Horace cared about was that Will had seen. He had seen something Horace hadn't wanted anyone to ever see. Horace was not about to back down. 

Will lifted a shoulder. "I've said before, I'm your friend - or I'd like to be, anyway. This isn't you. Don't be a bully, Horace." 

He winced the moment he said those last words, already knowing they were a mistake. Horace's face purpled in fury and then his fist swung through the air.

Will dodged it, nimbly side-stepping. He breathed in and out, distantly hearing the cries of alarm from Jenny and Alyss. His hands were shaking from barely withheld emotion. His breaths came in staccato puffs. Will did not have Halt's control over his emotions. He wasn't at all good at holding his emotions in. He was dangerously close to losing his hold on them.

"Horace," Will said, seeking Horace's face pleadingly. "Come on. We don't have to fight." 

"What," Horace taunted, "are you afraid of me?" 

He swung again, a series of vicious and angry punches. Will dodged again, but much more narrowly. Horace was a powerful fighter, even with fists and muddled thoughts. Will couldn't afford to underestimate him. As Horace paused for a moment, Will met his gaze.

Will remembered doing so the first time - last Harvest Day, two years ago, when both of them had still disliked the other. Last time, Will had glared at Horace in defiance and anger, and Horace with belligerence. This time, Will kept his expression even, not allowing his internal tension to show. Unfortunately, Horace was not yet an experienced enough warrior to know that a foe who was calm was far more formidable than one who was angry. He saw only Will's lack of defiance and instantly categorized it as timidity - the same fear that Will had always used to show, back in the Ward. He attacked again, certain of success.

"Come on, No-Name," Horace bit out as blow after blow of his only hit air instead of flesh. "Is the sneak-thief too scared to fight the warrior? Is that it?" 

"I've told you already, I don't want to fight you!" 

It was at that moment that one of Horace's punches connected. Will staggered back, an explosion of pain cascading down from his eye. Another one of Horace's blows hit, right in the chest, and Will...

Will looked up, and for an instant he didn't see Horace. He saw a Skandian, spear rushing towards him, tip piercing Will's chest...

Will struck back.

He dodged the spear shaft, elbowing it away from him at its weakest point - right where the spearhead and shaft intersected - and hit the Skandian hard in the jaw. The Skandian staggered back and-

Will blinked, arm halting in mid-air. That...that wasn't a Skandian. That was Horace. A Horace who had stumbled away from Will, clutching at his wrist, staring at Will, eyes wide. 

For a moment the two just stared at each other. Will's chest was so tight it hurt, even though the punch would have barely left a bruise. His left eye throbbed painfully. It was already beginning to swell shut. With his good eye, he found Horace's wrist, which Horace held clutched in the fingers of his left hand, and then Horace's jaw, bruise seeping through skin like ink through water. Will felt nauseous at the sight. 

"I think," he said slowly, waveringly. "I think I'll...I think I'll go now." 

"No, stay Will!" Jenny said, her tone tremulously confident. "You haven't finished all your pies, and - and neither has Horace, isn't that right?" 

She stared pointedly at Horace. Will didn't look to see his expression. If there was fear there, Will wouldn't be able to bear it. 

"Yes," said Alyss. "Please, do stay, both of you. We are all apprentices now; surely we can put all this unpleasantness behind us?" 

Will swallowed. But then, to his surprise, Horace's head jerked into a nod and he sat back down. He hunched his shoulders and mumbled, "If Will's fine with it, so am I." 

Will gawked at him. What? Just a moment ago, Horace had been bellicose, utterly unwilling to back down. Now, as soon as Will had fought back, Horace was suddenly okay with stopping? Will frowned at Horace crossly. Couldn't you make sense this time around? 

But Jenny and Alyss and George were all looking at Will expectantly, and he knew he couldn't disappoint them. He heaved a sigh older than his body and sat down next to the remnants of his pies. "George was telling us about Scribeschool, right?" 

George beamed and immediately set off on another speech. 

"Where were you earlier?" 

Will turned to look up at Halt, standing beside Will's rocking chair on the porch. It wasn't quite nightfall yet, but it was close. With his good eye, Will watched a formation of geese fly across the sky in the distance, grey in the fading grey-black of the descending night. His other eye was covered by a poultice that Halt had made, one to help with swelling. 

"I went looking for you," Halt continued. "I thought you'd be with your wardmates." 

He didn't ask, but Will already knew what he wanted to know. It was pretty obvious. "I...had a disagreement with Horace," he said softly. "I thought it better if I didn't stay." 

Will had stayed a bit, long enough to hear Alyss talk about her apprenticeship at the Diplomat school, but had quietly snuck away soon after. Seeing the darkening bruises on Horace's face and wrist had been more unbearable every minute. Not to mention, his own eye and chest had begun to throb as well. Will had waited for his four wardmates to be occupied before standing and nodding to Tug to go. Even Rangers' horses were stealthy when they needed to be, and Will and Tug had vanished without any of his wardmates' notice. 

He'd found Halt soon after, who was - to Will's great amusement - talking to Pauline. Alone. He hadn't wanted to interrupt, so he'd turned and left them too, spending the next few hours wandering around the village. When the sun had set, Halt had finally caught up to him and they'd ridden back together. 

The rocking chair next to Will creaked as Halt sat down. "So that's where you got the black eye from." 

Will winced. He'd tried to hide it in the cowl of his cloak, but of course that had not lasted long with Halt. It had taken about half the ride back to Halt's house for Halt to lose his patience and tell Will to drop the hood. Will had promised to tell Halt what had happened once they were back. Now, Will had no other way of putting off the inevitable.

Will looked down. A large beetle was crawling across the earth at the bottom of the steps. At this point, Will might take even a beetle's life over his own. "It wasn't Horace's fault. I mean...not entirely. I started it." 

He glanced quickly at Halt. "Not - not that I meant to!" 

Looking at Halt, Will thought there was a lack of his old harshness in his expression. Something had shifted after Halt had gotten sick. Sometimes Will wondered wryly if it was because the fever had baked Halt's brain into mush. 

"Well, regardless of the intention, the fight still happened," Halt said. He shook his head. "I don't think I need to tell you that I am unhappy with that. Although it does you credit to have admitted it to me. What happened, exactly?" 

Will looked away and hunched his shoulders. He chewed his lip. If he told Halt the truth, Halt would think him mad. There was no sane way Will could say that, as Horace had attacked him, Will had thought he was seeing a Skandian instead - further, the Skandian who had killed him. 

"I tried to talk to him about something he didn't want to talk about," he said finally. 

"In front of your other wardmates?" 

Will sighed. "Yeah. It wasn't the brightest idea, I see now."

"You don't say."

Will frowned at him, then subsided. "I didn't realize...I didn't think he'd actually attack me over it, but I must've said something wrong, because he did."

"It seems to me that that was his fault, not yours. He didn't have to attack you over that. He could have chosen to walk away, but he didn't." 

Will shrugged. "I fought back." 

"I would hardly want my apprentice to sit still and take a beating," Halt said. "As long as you just defended yourself and didn't try to prolong the fight, you did nothing wrong."

Will huffed and muttered, "I never used to fight back." 

Halt's expression suddenly sharpened. Will felt, somehow, that he'd misspoken. He shifted, frowning at Halt. What? He hadn't been lying - at the Ward, Will had learned quickly that the best way to escape from Horace with the fewest injuries was to flee as fast as possible. Trying to trade blows with Horace would only ever result in worse injuries. Will always got his revenge later.

"This is a usual occurrence, then?" Halt asked. "Horace hitting you?" 

Will shrugged, uncomfortable. "I mean...boys will be boys." He didn't particularly want to tell Halt his own culpability in the situation. 

Unfortunately, Halt seemed to like that even less. "Boys will not be boys if being a boy includes being an ill-bred bully," he said decidedly. He swept his eyes over Will, lingering at his eye, and added, "Rodney'd better train that out of him. If he does not..." 

He trailed off, but his expression made it clear that Halt would not be happy about that situation. Will swallowed, then said, "Well, I mean, it's not like I wasn't...I wasn't always nice to him, either, Halt. Just because I didn't fight him doesn't mean I wasn't mean. We've both done things that were better off not done." 

"Perhaps one more than the other," Halt said, frowning and still giving Will that odd look, like he had just realized something. 

Will said nothing, hoping the subject would drop. He stared back at the ground, the woods, the sky. The birds and crickets and frogs were setting up the opening lines to their lullaby. After the day Will had had, he was more than content to be lulled by it. Lowering the poultice from his eye, Will settled back into the rocking chair and closed his eyes. 

"Why are you so concerned about Horace?" Halt asked suddenly.

Will frowned, irritated at being interrupted. Then he processed what Halt had asked and felt a vague creeping of anxiety. 

When Will didn't immediately answer, Halt pressed, "We've established that he has no issue with beating you." 

"And I had no issue with pranking him right back," Will said, defensively. When Halt just gave him an unimpressed eyebrow, Will sighed. "It hasn't always been like this." 

It was the truth, though not the one Halt probably thought it was. Will and Horace had never been close as children, at the Ward. Realistically, there was no reason that Will would want to seek Horace out like this. He hadn't last time. In fact, if Will remembered correctly, it was Horace who had come up to Will at the boar hunt. They'd gotten interrupted by the second boar, but Will was fairly certain Horace had been trying to make amends - and it had been Will who hadn't wanted to speak to him. How things had changed!

"It clearly is right now," Halt said. Will frowned at him. Why was he being so stubborn about this? 

"Like I've told the others, I want to put it behind us. I know Horace and I can be friends, so why not try to work towards that? After all, you've told me that Rangers sometimes lead military units. What if I ended up leading Horace to battle somewhere?"

"Fighting alongside someone you've got bad blood with is generally inadvisable," Halt conceded. "I wasn't particularly fond of it when I had to do it, myself."

Will really wanted to know that story. He opened his mouth to ask. Halt huffed. "And no, I will not be telling you that story now." 

"Tomorrow?" Will asked hopefully.

Halt glared at him. "Stop changing the subject. I am not fond of my apprentices putting themselves in danger."

Well, you're going to have to get fond of it quickly, Will thought. Then he realized what Halt was implying. "Horace isn't - he's not dangerous, he's just-" 

"Been using you as a training dummy for Battleschool for the past decade or so?" Halt asked. 

Will gritted his teeth. Why was Halt acting like this? Just because Will hadn't fought back directly didn't mean Horace was some sort of horrible person! Horace was his best friend, an honorable man, who had become calm and gentle and kind. 

"Horace is my friend," Will said, tone that same low one that Halt used when he was mad. 

He'd hoped that the tone would get Halt to see reason, show him that he was getting worked up over nothing, but Halt just gave him a look. "I'm sure he is."

Will stood and entered the house, not wanting to deal with the conversation anymore. His skin itched in discomfort as he made his way to his bedroom and closed the door. That look Halt had given him...

Why on earth had Halt looked pitying?

Chapter Text

The night was dark and quiet as Will slipped open the door to his room and stuck his head out, peeking both ways before creeping out. Faint starlight suggested Will's surroundings. The moon had waned to nearly nothing, a bare crack of light in the sky. Will squinted in the dimness, frowned, and ducked back into his room. A quick spark and his candle lit, the sudden brightness making Will blink rapidly. He frowned down at it, then his shoulders sagged and he picked it up. He exited his room once more.

Will sent another searching glance around, covering the candle with his hand as best he could to dim the light. The candle's tiny flame cast large shadows over the plain, clean furnishings. The house was still and quiet. Will listened and could just barely make out Halt's soft breathing from the room next door. It was deep and even. Halt was asleep. Will nodded to himself and made his way over to the table in the middle of the main room. The table was where he and Halt ate their meals. Tonight, it was also where several Ranger documents lay. 

With a last look around, Will set the candle down on the table and reached towards the papers. He stopped an inch before, fingers hovering just above them. Should he really do this? This felt eerily similar to Choosing Day, when Halt had tested him with the letter confirming his apprenticeship. Halt did not usually leave Ranger documents lying about. Could this be another test? If so, was Will about to fail? 

But if it were a test, what for? Will could not think of a reason. Halt had never tried to test Will again during his first apprenticeship. Will couldn't think of anything he'd done recently that would warrant suspicion or concern on Halt's part, either. No, Will should stop overthinking this. Halt was only human; all humans made oversights at one point or another. For all Will knew, Halt had done this the first time and Will just hadn't noticed! 

So, with a decided nod, Will reached down and took the first paper. He stiffened right after, waiting for a hand to grab his wrist. When that didn't happen, he relaxed and began to read.

The document had the Ranger Corps' oakleaf seal on it and was written in the careful handwriting of a scribe. Will skimmed through it, then began to read more in-depth. It was some sort of report sent by Commandant Crowley to every Ranger, discussing several issues. None of them were that interesting, though: Crowley mentioned some flooding throughout several fiefs, a few minor criminal issues, and touched on a proposed re-allocation of Diplomats from one specific fief to another (apparently it was controversial). Once Will was done, he set it back down and gazed at it thoughtfully. This must be some sort of quarterly report that Crowley sent out. If these were the only things that Crowley thought of national notice, Araluen really must be at peace. Will sighed. That would not be the case for much longer. 

He picked up the next paper. This one bore Baron Arald's seal instead. It was an incomprehensible legal text about some conflict between two tenants who both claimed to have been granted the same land by Arald's father. Will grimaced as he hit one word after the other that he couldn't understand, and soon put it down. The next few were various reports from the Watch; they were interesting enough, but they were all about past events. As Will couldn't remember any of them having relevance in the future, he didn't put much time into reading them. Finally, with another cursory glance around the room, Will reached for the last paper.

Like the first, it was stamped with the oakleaf. Unlike the first, the handwriting was messy and scrawling, rather than neat. Will glanced down to the end and his eyebrows went up. This was Crowley's handwriting! But the previous report from Crowley had clearly been written by a scribe. Was this something so sensitive that Crowley did not even trust a palace scribe to know about it? Will swallowed. In that case, should Will be reading this? He had just wanted to learn a little more about the current situation in Araluen, but this was more than what he had anticipated. 

Well, just a few lines can't hurt, Will reassured himself. He glanced at the first line-

He stopped. No. This was...Will should not be reading this. He went to set the paper back down on the table - hesitated. What if this helped him further on? He was all alone here. He was the only one who knew, the only one who could act to stop. But this isn't even about Morgarath, he told himself. It's about someone that Crowley wants dealt with. I don't remember this from my own timeline, so this has no relevance to what I'm doing here. This is not my business.

But...he curled his fingers around the page. He was curious. He couldn't deny it. He always had been, and even Skandia hadn't taken that from him. What did the report say in its entirety? What was going on? 

No. This isn't right. This is confidential information and Halt has not voluntarily shared it with you. This is a breach of morals, it's a breach of trust, and it's a breach of the law. 

Breathing out, Will set the paper down on the table, gently covering it with the others. He stared at it for another moment longingly, before shaking his head. "That's not right, and you know it, Will," he muttered to himself. "This is none of your business, and it'd be betraying Halt's trust." 

With a decided nod, Will gathered his candle and straightened. Outside, the moon was even fainter than before, drifting down towards its setting. Will pulled a face. He had to get up in a few hours. Reading those papers had taken longer than he'd anticipated. Hopefully, Halt wouldn't notice Will's tiredness tomorrow...

Creeping back into his room, Will blew out his candle in a single breath and set it on his nightstand. He crawled back into bed and shut his eyes. Soon he was asleep once more. 

Had he been awake, however, he might have seen the shadow that stood at his door for a long moment, gazing in. And perhaps he might have heard the shadow speak.

"I suppose I was right, then," it said, and it sounded relieved. "Good night, Will. Sleep well." 

It went to leave, but then it paused and turned back. "As for betraying my trust...I believe you've just gained it." 

With a swirl of a grey-and-green cloak, the shadow vanished.

Chapter Text

Snow crunched underneath their horses' hooves as Will and Halt rode slowly back home.

It was now several months since Harvest Day and the altercation between Will and Horace. Although Will had hoped to be able to contact Horace again, it was not to be. Halt had him training harder than ever in preparation for the Gathering, and most days, Will was too exhausted to even think about going into Redmont to see Horace. Any of the days he wasn't, Halt found something else for him to do or encouraged him to visit someone else - Jenny or Alyss or George - instead. Will wasn't sure exactly when it had happened, but he found that Halt seemed to be subtly discouraging him from speaking to Horace. 

It was perplexing, but Will wondered if, perhaps, Halt was still miffed by what Will had said about Horace roughing him up when they were younger. Will rather thought that didn't make sense. Firstly, that was all in the past, as Will had attempted to impress upon his mentor. There was no need for Halt to be protective over it. Secondly, Halt still barely knew Will! He'd hardly be protective over him, even if there was something to be protective over. 

Will side-eyed Halt at the thought, biting his lip. He couldn't deny that things between him and Halt had begun to shift recently, and for the better. Will wasn't sure what he had done to cause it, but things had definitely changed. Will was Will now, not boy. Halt listened to him now, giving Will his full attention when Will spoke or asked questions. Halt teased Will now in that dry way of his, although that was - like it always had been - far more to Halt's amusement than to Will's. It couldn't be that far-fetched to wonder if, perhaps, Halt was actually beginning to...

No. Will shook his head sharply, clenching his fists around Tug's reins. No, don't even think about that. Don't even begin to hope. Don't you dare. 

He looked up at the sky and told himself that the bright sun was the reason he had to blink once, twice, three times. 

"Could we possibly continue with our tracking, or did you have something more important to do?" came Halt's irritated tone, beside him.

Will jumped. Right! They were in the middle of a tracking lesson! That was embarrassing - Will had completely forgotten what he was doing. He darted a glance around his surroundings, scrambling to catch up. The snow was deep and thick, rising to Tug's knees and making for difficult footing. White coated the branches of the trees and the leaves of the bushes around them, and the sunlight shining on white cast a painful glare. On one side of Tug, the snow was clean and unbroken by all except the trees jutting out of it. That couldn't be where Halt had wanted him to look.

Halt cleared his throat impatiently. Will looked back at him sheepishly.

"There," Halt said, pointing to his left. Will dutifully followed his finger. He stood partway up in his stirrups to get a better look and nodded to himself. 

"Rabbits," he said easily. He could recognize that in his sleep. "Two of them." 

Halt grunted in grudging agreement. One of the few things Will had easily excelled in this time around was his tracking abilities. Unlike unseen movement or archery, tracking only need a good set of eyes, a good memory, and a bit of experience. Will had all those things. In fact, it had been difficult at first to pretend to not know some of the tracks. Now, Will was glad that he'd been taught enough that Halt wouldn't be suspicious by Will knowing things. 

"Is that all?" 

Will gave him a bird's startled jerk of the head. He'd thought so, but then, he'd been so occupied with thinking of other things...

He looked again. Instantly he was annoyed with himself. "A stoat." 

"A stoat," Halt agreed. He opened his mouth, and Will already knew what he was going to say. "But you should have known there was something else there, Will. Look at how deep those rabbit tracks are. It's obvious that something had frightened them. When you see a sign like that, it's a hint to look for something extra." 

Will sighed and nodded. He didn't attempt to make an excuse; he knew by now those would never work.

"You'll have to work on maintaining your concentration," Halt added, and then he nudged Abelard forward once again. 

They rode on for a bit in silence. Will had been thinking about many things during the day, though, and he soon got courage to ask Halt about one of the Baron's new policies towards his tenants. His Halt had told him once, in passing, that as Rangers you needed to know intricately the relationships between the baron of a fief and his tenants and nobles. Most tension in a fief came from those parties, so in order to maintain peace, Rangers needed to be able to understand them. Will had asked this Halt about several minor policies during his apprenticeship, at first to Halt's pleased surprise, but now, sometimes, to Halt's tired exasperation. Given Halt's current mood, Will wasn't certain how this question would be received.

But Halt answered it easily enough, if not happily - although when did Halt ever do things happily? It was a rather complicated topic, as all policies were, and it took Halt the greater part of a half-hour to give a basic summary of the expected effects of it. Will was nodding along until, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something odd.

His gaze swept over to his right, scrutinizing, and then his eyes went wide. "Halt!" he cried. "It's-" 

He stopped just in time. The tracks he'd seen to his right were not those of a common stoat or rabbit. They were boar tracks. The boar's tracks. Boar tracks that Will wasn't supposed to know were boar tracks, because he was not supposed to ever have seen boar tracks before.

"What is that?" he asked instead. Halt looked to where he was pointing and reined Abelard in, urging him abreast of Tug at the edge of the path.

"Hmm. That's one I haven't shown you yet. Don't see too many of them these days, so take a good look, Will." He dismounted, sinking deep into the snow and wading through it to the boar tracks. Will followed. 

"Here, look," Halt said, pointing at the deep ruts in the snow. "These are a wild boar's tracks. A big one, at that." 

Will frowned. A sudden thought jumped into his head. "Just one?" 

Halt gave him a dry look. "Unlike some apprentices, I get my numbers right. Yes, just the one. Boars mate in the autumn, and we're well past that now that it's snowing. And given the size, I doubt it's young - old boars tend to live alone and not in groups. Here, see the edges of the rut? It's clearly only made by one boar." 

Will examined where Halt was pointing and nodded. He had to agree, there definitely was only one boar who had made these tracks. Then, where did that other boar even come from? If it wasn't the first boar's mate, then...

He opened his mouth, but paused. He felt the sensation of someone watching him, and it was not Halt. Will frowned, eyes flicking from tree to tree as he tried to pinpoint the observer. He couldn't see a thing, though. The blinding glare of the snow made it difficult to make anything out with clarity.

"So you've noticed him too?" Halt asked. "Good. You've already begun to have a sense of being watched. Develop that. It'll save your life." 

"I can feel someone watching, but I can't for the life of me pick him out. Where is he?" 

In response, Halt nodded ever so slightly towards an unassuming bush on the other side of their horses. Right as Halt nodded, the leaves began to quiver. Deja vu struck Will like a slab of salted steak to the head. He wanted to slap himself. Of course - Salt Peter!

"Well," said Will, deciding to have his fun with what was about to be the most amusing part of his year. "Should I shoot him?" 

Halt gave him a severe look. Unfortunately for him, Will could see the amusement hiding underneath. "Shoot him? For shame, Will! How could you even think of shooting that poor farmer behind the bushes?" 

He pitched his voice loud enough for Salt Peter to hear. And just like last time, the poor man scrambled out, tripping and sprawling into the snow and crying, "Don't shoot, good sir! Please, don't shoot! It's only me! Only me, sir! No need for shootin', sir! Only me, I swear, and I'm no danger to the likes of you!"

Salt Peter recovered his footing, babbling all the while, and at last came, limping, up to them. His dirty, ragged farmer's clothes were smeared in dirt and leaves from the bush and covered in snow, and he swung his long, awkward arms around frantically, as though performing a ritual to ward off harm. The bald spot on his head gleamed bright in the snow-glare. His ill-cut beard even surpassed Halt's in its unevenness.

He wouldn't have a saxe to cut it with, Will mused, so how exactly does he cut it?

"Only me," Salt Peter said nervously. His voice quavered like an old sheep's.

"Why are you skulking there?" Halt asked sternly. "Who told you to spy on us?" 

"Not spying, sir! No, no! Not spying. I heard you coming and thought you was that monster porker coming back!" 

"Sounds like something a spy would say," said Will gravely. 

Salt Peter's panic heightened. "No! No! Not a spy, sir, not a spy! Whatever a spy would say, I'm not saying it! I'm a honest man, sir, no spy!" 

"What are you doing here?" Halt demanded. "You're not a local, are you?"

"Come from over Willowtree Creek, I do! Been trailing that porker and hoping to find someone as could turn him into bacon." 

"You've seen the boar, then?" Halt asked, suddenly interested and not at all severe. 

Salt Peter rubbed his hands together, glancing nervously from side to side. Clearly, Halt should've told him the same thing he'd once told Will - that Tug and Abelard would sense the boar far before they saw it, and would alert the humans of it. 

"Seen him. Heard him," Salt Peter said. "Don't want to see him no more. He's a bad 'un, sir, mark my words." 

Halt glanced at the boar tracks again. "He's certainly a big one, anyway," he mused.

"And evil, sir! That 'un has a real devil of a temper in him. Why, he'd as soon tear up a man or a horse as have his breakfast, he would!" 

Will winced to himself. He'd experienced that temper firsthand. Tug had, too. Will laid a hand on Tug's shoulder, rubbing him more to soothe himself than Tug. He dearly loved his horse. Even the remembrance of Tug being in danger was painful.

"So what did you have in mind for him?" Halt asked, and added, "What's your name, by the way?" 

Salt Peter gave a fumble of a salute. "Peter, sir. Salt Peter, they calls me, on account of I likes a little salt on my meat, I do." 

"Me too!" Will said genially. He turned to Halt. "Hey, why don't you start calling me Salt Will?" 

The look Halt gave him would've killed Will where he stood, but thankfully Will was walking towards the boar tracks and was therefore unaffected. He, very barely, managed to keep his expression straight.

"What were you hoping to do about this boar?" Halt asked, pointedly ignoring Will.

Salt Peter blinked a few times, scratched his head, shuffled a bit, and generally looked rather lost. "Don't rightly know. Hoped maybe I'd find a soldier or a warrior or a knight to get rid of him. Or maybe a Ranger." 

"Has he been causing a lot of trouble?" 

Salt Peter nodded repeatedly. "That he has, sir! That he has! Killed three dogs! Tore up fields and fences, he has. And as near as anything killed my son-in-law when he tried to stop him. Like I said, sir, he's a bad 'un!" 

"Hmm." Halt rubbed his chin, frowning down at the tracks. "Well, there's no question that we'd better do something about it. How much daylight would you say is left, Will?" 

Will glanced up. He'd noted the time before, so he purposefully took an extra few seconds before answering. "A little over an hour?" 

Just as he'd expected, Halt glared at him. "Are you asking me, or telling me?" 

"A little over an hour," Will repeated, biting his lip to avoid laughing.

Halt didn't even bother to tell Will he was right. "Salt Peter, I want you to take a message to Baron Arald." 

"Baron Arald?" asked Salt Peter nervously. 

Halt glared at Will. "See what you've done? You've got him answering questions with questions now!" 

"Sorry," Will said, but wasn't quite able to keep back his grin. Halt's glare intensified.

"That's right," Halt said, shaking his head in exasperation. "Baron Arald. You'll find his castle a couple of kilometers along this track." 

Salt Peter held a hand to his forehead, peering out under it as though trying to see the castle already. "A castle, you say? I've never seen a castle!" 

"That's right," Halt said stiffly. "A castle. Now, go to the guard at the gate-"

"Is it a big castle?"

"It's a huge castle!" Halt roared. Will turned away, shoulders shaking. 

"No need to bellow, young man," Salt Peter said, in a hurt voice. Young man!? Will thought, and covered his mouth against a giggle. "I were only asking, is all." 

"Well then, stop interrupting me," Halt snapped. "We're wasting time here. Now, are you listening?"

Rather sulkily, Salt Peter nodded.

"Good. Go to the guard on the gate and say you have a message from Halt for Baron Arald."

Here we go, Will thought gleefully.

"Halt?" Salt Peter asked, eyes big and awe-struck. "Not the Ranger Halt?" 

Halt closed his eyes. Will saw him discover and push through all five stages of grief in one go. "Yes. The Ranger Halt."

"The one who led the ambush on Morgarath's Wargals?" 

"The same."

"Well," said Salt Peter. He glanced around. "Where is he?" 

"I'm Halt!"

Salt Peter scrambled back in fright, but immediately shook his head. "No, no, no. You can't be him. Why, the Ranger Halt is as tall as two men - and as broad. A giant of a man, he is! Brave, fierce in battle, he is. You can't be him." 

Halt's jaw clenched and he looked away, hands dangerously tight around his longbow. Will's shoulders shook. He just barely managed to keep his tone even when he said, in a quiet, embarrassed voice,

"That's actually the real Halt's twin brother, Dalt. He didn't grow up as big as the real Halt, but he decided to go by the same name. We think it's, you know," Will smiled awkwardly, "compensating for something. It's actually kind of a secret, so if you don't mind just pretending for now?" 

"Oh!" said Salt Peter. "So that's what it is! Of course! Of course I'll keep the secret, young sir! I's mighty good at keeping secrets, I is! When I was a young 'un, see, I-" 

"Tell the Baron," Halt interrupted, in the iciest tone Will had ever heard from him, "that Halt and Will-" 

Salt Peter opened his mouth. Halt shoved a hand over it. He jerked his other arm, the one holding the longbow, towards Will. "That is Will. Although God knows what I did wrong to deserve him."

Will smiled innocently.

"Tell him Halt and Will are tracking a wild boar." Halt paused, then said icily, "You do know what the wild boar in question is, yes?" 

Salt Peter nodded.

"Good. Tell him that Halt and Will are tracking it. When we find its lair, we'll return to the castle. In the meantime, the Baron should gather his men for a hunt tomorrow morning." Halt took his hand off of Salt Peter's mouth. "Have you got all that?"

Salt Peter nodded again.

"Then repeat it back to me."

The farmer took a deep breath as though he were about to go into a recitative. Halt closed his eyes briefly in consternation. "Go to the castle, tell the gate guard I have a message from you...Halt...for the Baron. Tell the Baron that you...Halt...and him...Will...are tracking the boar...the one that left its tracks there...to find its lair. Tell him to have his men ready for a hunt tomorrow." 

"Good. Off you go."

Salt Peter obligingly started off towards the castle. With a wave and a promise to keep Will's "secret," he was off.

Halt gave Will a very, very calm look as he swung back onto Abelard. "I'm not the real Halt, am I? Overcompensating for something, am I?" 

Will smiled winningly and hoped he wasn't about to spend the night in a tree. 

Chapter Text

Will stretched his aching back as he sat astride Tug, he and Halt and the knights slowly nearing the place where the boar had gone to ground. The boar's tracks - or rather, ruts - led straight up to the dense patch of bushes and undergrowth just a little ways ahead. The forest was quiet right now except for the usual sounds of birds and rustling leaves. Will breathed in. His eyes fixed on the bushes in front of him. That quiet would not last much longer.

Halt rode up to him, reining Abelard in next to Tug. He'd just signaled the knights to stop. They were dismounting now, turning their horses over to the care of a stable-hand, adjusting their armor, testing the sharpness of their spears. Horace was there just like last time, listening as Sir Rodney spoke to him, leaning nervously on his own spear. He wielded it clumsily, clearly unaccustomed to its length and heft. 

"Remember," Halt said, gaining back Will's attention. "If you have to shoot, aim for a spot just behind the left shoulder. A clean shot to the heart will be your only chance to stop him if he's charging." 

Will nodded. Halt had said those same words last time. Will remembered them perfectly. It was a relief to hear them again this time around, verbatim. It meant that, despite all that Will had changed, some things still remained the same. Hopefully, it meant that the hunt would go the same as it had last time.

But, if not... Will glanced down at his bow, tightening his grip on it. He wasn't back to his former skill at the bow, but he had surpassed the skill he possessed at the time of the last boar hunt. Now that his muscle memory was coming back, his experience was allowing him to improve faster and faster. Will wasn't confident that he had the skill to shoot the second boar down himself, but if Halt didn't get there in time to save him, Will wouldn't have much of a choice. He swallowed, not liking that idea at all.

"And stay close to the Baron," Halt added, before nudging Abelard off to the other side of the circle of knights. 

As the circle formed around the thicket, Will guided Tug behind Sir Rodney and Baron Arald. Horace, in position between the two of them, glanced up as Will approached and offered him a strained, nervous smile. Neither spoke. There would be time for that, later, after the hunt. Will smiled back, nodding reassuringly at Horace. It'll be alright, he tried to communicate through the look. We'll both be fine.

Halt signaled. The hunters began moving in. Horace turned away, jaw setting in concentration, and the hunt was on. 

The forest went quiet as the hunters approached the thicket. Then a deep, furious roar split the air.

"He's in there, alright!" Baron Arald said, grinning around at Sir Rodney, Horace, and Will. "Let's hope he comes out on our side, eh, boys?" 

Given what had happened last time, Will sincerely doubted that the boar would come out on their side. Nor did he hope it would. Having seen one boar far too close for his liking, he was not in a hurry to see any more of them. He would be quite happy if this particular boar stayed away from him. 

Still, Will nocked an arrow to his bowstring and fixed his eyes on the thicket, waiting. It wouldn't do to be careless. If he had changed something accidentally - if somehow the boar did come towards them this time - Will needed to be ready. 

The boar screamed again. In response, the hunting dogs yapped excitedly, pulling and straining against their leashes. Baron Arald turned to the dog handler and signaled. Their restraints released. The dogs bounded forward and shot towards the thicket. Excited instants passed as the dogs' furious howling and the boar's furious screaming clashed against each other, and then the boar was out.

He came out halfway between Will and Halt, red-eyed and furious. He attacked a dog near him, spearing it with his tusks and throwing the dog flying through the air. Then he hesitated - looked around - charged. 

The young knight facing his charge didn't hesitate. He dropped to one knee, braced his spear against the ground, and steeled himself against the boar's blind rush. The boar, unable to turn aside in time, ran straight into it, screaming in fury as the sharp point punctured his chest. He jerked wildly from side to side, but the knight held on, keeping the spear steady, and then all at once the tip had pierced the boar's heart and he was dead. 

Will exhaled long and low, closing his eyes in relief. It had happened exactly how it had last time. Even the knight who had killed it was the same - Samuel Nolan, a young knight not much older than Will and Horace. Will had spoken to him once or twice. Samuel wasn't the friendliest knight, but he was skilled. His actions in dealing with the boar had shown that quite well. 

Indeed, the other knights were grouping around Samuel now, slapping him on the back and congratulating him on his kill. Baron Arald went over as well, but not before saying, "You won't see another that size in a long time, Will. Pity he didn't come our way. I would have liked a trophy like that for myself." 

He moved off, and then, just like last time, Will was left with Horace. Remembering the awkward pause that had happened last time, Will opened his mouth to say something, but Horace beat him to it.

"That was something," he said, offering Will a tentative smile. "I rather think I'm glad the boar didn't come towards us." 

Will nodded emphatically, dismounting and sending Tug away as he casually reached for an arrow. "Me too." 

Several paces away now, Tug suddenly froze and jerked his head back towards Will. His ears flattened against his head and he gave a warning neigh. 

Will spun, already nocking and drawing back his bow. He stepped in front of Horace, ignoring Horace's surprised yelp. His keen eyes instantly spotted the second boar's form against the trees and he released his arrow, crying, "Over here!" 

The boar slashed at the earth with its tusks, just barely managing to dodge the arrow which instead hit a tree, quivering uselessly against the bark. He roared, the same grunt-scream of the first boar, and charged.

Aim for a spot just behind the left shoulder. Halt's voice echoed in his ears, both times he had said the words. They overlapped in Will's ears, blending to one. A clean shot to the heart will be your only chance to stop him if he's charging.

Will fired.

The arrow sank into the front of the boar's left shoulder - a good shot. But not good enough, for Will had just missed the vital area. The boar staggered but recovered quickly, screaming in fury. 

"Get back!" Horace yelled. He jumped in front of Will, readying his boar spear. But just like last time, he slipped. 

Shit! What do I do? Will fired another arrow, but the angle was all wrong and it hit the boar in the chest, protruding out of him. The tough hide stopped the arrow from going in far and the boar was barely impeded, continuing its mad rush towards Horace.

Will sprinted to one side, yelling and aiming again for the boar's left shoulder. He missed once more, hitting its side. The boar paused its charge towards Horace and turned to him, enraged. Will drew back again, backing away as quickly as he could, head turning from side to side desperately. Cries of alarm came from the knights, but he knew that they - and Halt - would not be here for several more seconds. What was he going to do?

The boar screamed and came at him again in a flurry of snow and rage. Will dodged behind a tree just in time. The creature crashed by him. Will frantically glanced up at the tree. Could he climb it? It was barren of limbs for the first ten feet - there was no way Will would be able to scramble up in time. 

Swallowing hard, Will turned back to face the boar. He readied his bow.

Footsteps crashed through the snow next to him and Horace appeared, his spear recovered and ready once more. "Let it charge at me. I'll take it."

Horace readied his spear and lowered to one knee once more. This time he didn't slip. The boar ran at them, screaming. 

The spear hit it just off of its right shoulder, sinking in a half-inch before getting stuck on bone. The force of the charge slammed into Horace and he fell back, losing his grip on the spear and landing heavily on the ground. The boar kept coming - injured, but not dead yet.

Will had run to the right, bow raised to once more aim for the vital point. He released as Horace faltered, and the arrow sank into the boar's left shoulder. Right above the heart. The boar screamed in agony and stumbled, wavering drunkenly.

Will lowered his bow in relief, ecstatic at the shot. He had gotten it! 

But Will had forgotten something. His bow, so much smaller and weaker than Halt's longbow, did not have the same driving power. The boar recovered its footing and turned its mean, red gaze directly at Will. It had been fatally injured, but it was not dead yet.

And, it swore, it would take Will with it when it died.

Horace yelled as the boar charged at Will, grabbing the boar spear and slashing ineffectually at the creature's back as it went. The spear had not been made for slashing, only stabbing, and the boar did not even notice it. Horace scrambled to his feet and raced after the boar, but there was no way he would reach Will before the boar did.

Will swallowed. Where was Halt? He should have gotten here by now. Will had only been holding out until his master got there, but as the boar neared him once more, Will suddenly doubted. What if Will had done something differently? What if he'd messed up?

What if...Halt wouldn't get here fast enough, this time?

The boar neared him. It was moving slower now, its gait uneven, seconds away from collapsing. Will had killed it alright. It just might kill him, too. Will drew his throwing knife. A hit to the eyes - that's my only chance. If I can hit the boar in the eye with my knife...

The boar was almost upon him now. Will sighted, drew back his hand, and threw.

At the same time, a deep whir split the air and a long, black-shafted arrow buried deep inside the boar's heart. The boar staggered sideways, tilting to one side, and toppled lifelessly into the snow. 

It was dead.

Halt reined in Abelard in a shower of snow and hurled himself to the ground to Will. Will gave a trembling sob of a breath and stumbled towards Halt, falling into his arms. They tightened around him. Will turned into them, burying his face in Halt's chest, tears running down his cheeks and dampening Halt's shirt. Wordlessly, Halt squeezed him tighter. Will could hear his heartbeat thudding.

Meanwhile, the knights had arrived, trampling through the snow with loud shouts and exclamations. Halt let go of Will and nodded at the boar. "That was a good shot," he said softly.

Will looked at it. The boar was peppered with arrows like an acupuncturist's daydream. There was Will's first shot, just in front of the left shoulder. Several others - the chest, the right shoulder, the side - were from Will's attempts to distract it. Then, the one that had mortally wounded it. Will's grey-shafted arrow was just behind the left shoulder. Directly below it, and buried far deeper, was Halt's.

"Not good enough," Will said. "It would have killed me anyway."

"It's a good thing you're an apprentice, then, isn't it?" said Halt. "You have me to make sure." 

Will looked at the boar's head. He had thrown the knife at the same moment that Halt's arrow had hit it. At first, he'd thought that his knife had killed it. Now, looking, Will saw it could not have. He had aimed for the boar's eye - a small, beady little thing - as it had rushed straight at him, tossing its head as it went. Will had missed the shot by a bare half an inch and it had sunk into the boar's skull instead, right above its eye. 

Halt made a soft sound of surprise. "You went for the eye? Not a bad idea, but I've told you how difficult the eye is to hit."

Will smirked wryly. "Better than drawing my saxe knife and trying to use it like one of the knight's spears."

Halt eyed him. "Most anything would be a better idea than that."

Will snorted. Unbeknownst to Halt, that was exactly what Will had tried to do last time. Looking back, Will was amazed by his stupidity. The boar's tusks would've hit him far before Will's knife even touched the boar's hide. Why he hadn't gone for his throwing knife back then was nonsensical. 

"Will!" Horace's voice slammed into Will. Will jumped away from Halt and turned to look at his friend. "You saved my life. That was the bravest thing I've ever seen."

Will scrunched up his shoulders awkwardly. "You jumped in front of me, too. You saved my life as well." 

But Horace shook his head dismissively, as though his own heroic actions were meaningless. "After everything that's happened, I...you really meant it, then? That you want to be friends?"

Will nodded. His cheeks flushed, aware that all the knights - and Halt - were watching this. "I do."

Horace held out his hand. "Then let's be friends. I owe you a life debt, and I will never forget it. If you ever need help, you can call on me."

Will took it. "And if you ever need help, you can call on me."

Will held Horace's gaze, trying to tell him without words that he meant it. If Horace ever needed help - when Horace needed help against those bullies, Will would be there. He'd bring Halt, too, if he had to. 

"Well said, both of you!" the Baron said heartily, clapping both of them on the back. The rest of the knights agreed, going up to offer their own congratulations to both of them as well. "We've got two fine young men here! Halt, Rodney, you can both be proud of your apprentices!"

"Indeed we are, my lord," Rodney replied, giving Horace an approving look. 

The two apprentices separated and went to their respective parties, Will gliding back over to Halt. Halt nodded just like last time, but Will could tell Halt still wasn't happy about Horace. Well, he'd have to come around, Will thought. Whatever reason Halt had for not liking Horace, Will would dispel it eventually. Tug trotted up, pushing his face into Will's shoulder affectionately. He had stayed away from the fight this time. Will was grateful. He reached up a hand and patted Tug, murmuring a thank you to him. He would never want his precious horse to put himself in danger.

"Can we go?" Will asked Halt. He was eager to get away. All the excitement had left him weary and drained.

Halt shook his head. "Not yet. The knights are arguing over who gets the trophies right now."

"The trophies?"

"The boar's head and tusks. The meat will be given to the castle's kitchens, of course - I'm sure the Baron will hold a feast with it soon, to celebrate. The trophies are generally given to the one who killed it."

Oh. Will cocked his head. "But, that would be you. Why would they be arguing?"

Indeed, as Will turned back around to the knights, they were standing over the second boar and seemed to be in dispute. Their faces cleared as Halt and Will approached. 

"Halt, Will," Rodney said. "Which one of you will be taking the head?"

Will turned a puzzled look to his mentor. "What?"

Rodney pointed to the boar's shoulder, where indeed their two arrows still were. "We've been trying to figure out who was the killing shot. We didn't arrive in time to see it die. Who killed it?" 

"Halt."

"Will."

They stared at each other.

"You're the one who actually killed it, Halt!" Will protested.

"Your shot was fatal as well," Halt said, shaking his head. "It would have collapsed in a minute even if I hadn't shot it."

"But if you hadn't shot it, I would have died!"

"If you hadn't shot it first, my shot might not have been enough."

Bullshit, Will thought, glaring at him. You know perfectly well that your shot would have killed it anyway. "Your bow is way more powerful than mine! There's no way-"

"That's enough, Will," Halt said in a tone that brooked no arguments. He turned to Rodney. "The boar is Will's, and that's final. Give him the head." 

He turned to walk back to Abelard, then paused. "On second thoughts, I'm not sure my house has room for the entire head. Just the tusks will be fine."

He tilted his head at Will. "I assume you'll be fine with that, yes?"

Will huffed. 

"I'll take that as a yes," Halt said cheerfully, turning back to Rodney. "I suppose you brought the tools?"

"You should know me well enough by now," Rodney said. "Of course I did."

He knelt down and rummaged through his pack. He produced a small, nasty-looking sort of knife with large, serrated teeth for an edge. 

"A bone saw," Halt told Will, nodding at it. "He needs it to saw off the tusks." 

Rodney set to work. The other knights bustled about, working on getting the other boar's head and preparing it to be hauled back to the castle. Will watched Rodney saw at the second boar's tusks for a few seconds before moving away, back to Tug. Halt walked with him.

The two of them stood in the quiet for a moment, both welcoming the absence of noise. Will mindlessly stroked Tug's neck and let his horse's gentle, even breathing soothe him. Finally he turned to Halt.

"Knights are crazy," he declared. "That sucked."

One corner of Halt's lips twitched. "I admit, I never have understood their love for these things myself." 

"You know," Will said after a moment. "I was thinking..."

He winced, immediately regretting his choice of words.

"If you thought about it, you wouldn't ask," came the deadpan response.

"I was remembering," Will tried next, eyeing Halt distrustfully, "what happened with Horace just now."

Halt grunted. "What about it?"

Will shifted, fidgeting. "Well," he started, then stopped. He wasn't quite sure how to bring this up.

Halt raised an eyebrow, waiting. Sighing, Will decided to just get on with it. It wasn't like Halt particularly cared about the presentation of an argument, anyway, just the content therein. 

"With Horace," Will said again, sounding out his argument. "Horace promised to be a friend to me and that he'd help me whenever I need it. He said he owed me a life debt."

"You said you owed him the same, if I recall," Halt pointed out.

Will nodded. "Yes. So, I was thinking..."

He eyed his mentor, glaring at him to make sure he didn't interrupt again. When Halt only made an impatient gesture with a hand, Will tried to steady himself. He was inexplicably nervous. Or, well, he knew exactly why he was nervous.

"Well, that all happened because we saved each other's lives. Right?"

Halt nodded, rather impatiently. 

Will took a deep breath. "Well, you also saved my life."

That got a reaction. Halt's eyes widened slightly. He said slowly, "Will..."

When Will failed to respond, nervously wringing his hands, Halt sighed. "Will, being grateful for someone else's actions is well and good. But you don't need to do that with me. I don't need you to promise anything to me."

"But-"

"I'm your master," he said steadily. "I don't need recompense for saving your life. It's enough for me that you're alive." 

"Oh," said Will. He felt rather foolish now and regretted having said anything. 

Halt's hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed gently. "Come on. Rodney's finished with the tusks. Go get them from him, and then let's go home. I'd quite like a bit of peace and quiet after the morning we've had." 

Halt's hand was still on his shoulder. Will hesitated, then stepped away and started towards Rodney. No. It wasn't - this wasn't his Halt. He needed - he must remember that. He took a breath. His voice shook the slightest bit when he spoke. "You mean you want me to do the chores."

"Oh, are you offering?"

Will huffed and stuck out his tongue. 

Chapter Text

In the days after the boar hunt, Will only became more preoccupied with what was to come. How could he not? He knew quite well what was about to happen. The rumors surrounding the boar hunt were even more outrageous this time than they had been last time. Aided by the truth that he had struck a mortal blow to one, the story went that he had killed both. And not just that, he had killed them both with the same arrow, with his eyes closed. Or blindfolded. Or while tripping on the ice (a version Will disliked even more than the rest). Given that, Will knew that Jerome, Alda, and Bryn would be out for vengeance just like last time. Will had to be ready.

Unfortunately, that was not the only thing on Will's mind. Much more worrisome was the upcoming Gathering. The Gathering was when they had finally learned of the Kalkara for the first time and when Will, Halt, and Gilan had gone after it. The incident had been terrifying to live through the first time. Now, Will was beset by crippling doubts.

The Kalkara were about to kill Lord Lorriac, Will remembered. If they hadn't already. With his knowledge of what was to come, Will was able to warn him. He could tell him about the Kalkara. He could put an end to this much, much quicker. But, Will knew, that was only if Lord Lorriac believed him. And why would he? 

Will scowled at the target in front of him. He had finally gained back a lot of his muscle memory and was now making great strides in archery. It had gotten to be so great that Will had to hide it, knowing it would make Halt suspicious. A first-year was not supposed to be as good as Will was. His true skills had to be relegated for when Halt was not watching — like right now. Halt had gone off to the castle on business and instructed Will to practice. Will had complied, beginning a more difficult exercise that Halt hadn't taught him until right before Celtica. Almost every single arrow had hit the bullseye. Still, Will couldn't smile.

No one would believe him if he told them about the Kalkara. Why would they? He was a fifteen-year-old boy whose only knowledge of the Kalkara should have come from inane castle rumors. Will had no explanation for knowing their current whereabouts and targets. Halt would dismiss him outright as a child who had let his imagination run away with him. The Rangers as a whole would laugh at him. Baron Arald might even try to put him in an insane asylum.

Will shuddered at the thought. Insane asylums were not good places to be at.

Yet, if Will kept silent, he would be responsible for the death of the Kalkara's victims. And what if, while tracking down the Kalkara, Will messed up? What if Halt or Gilan were hurt because Will did something differently? What if...what if worse happened? 

Will had already gotten a second chance. He doubted he would get a third.

And, what about Horace? No one would believe him about that either. He wasn't supposed to know about Horace being bullied. Not to mention, Halt still refused to forgive Horace for some offense Will didn't even understand. Any time Will mentioned Horace to Halt, Halt went stony. Horace saving Will's like at the boar hunt didn't even seem to have mattered much to Halt, to Will's utter frustration. Why on earth Halt was so stubbornly insistent about disliking Horace, Will genuinely did not know. He certainly hadn't been like this last time. What had changed?

Will went to release his bow, but his hands shook from the strain and he lowered it with a frustrated sound. The constant stress had begun making him sick. He was barely sleeping and he wasn't eating nearly as much as he knew he needed to — his stomach was too upset to eat. Not to mention, it also made Will's other problems worse. 

Stress wasn't the only reason he wasn't sleeping well anymore.

On top of that, Will...

It was getting increasingly harder for Will to separate the events of the future with those of the present. The people especially — Halt especially. Will knew, he knew, that this Halt was different. He didn't, couldn't, care about Will the same way. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He would never be the same as the Halt that Will had loved. Yet every day it was harder and harder for Will to remind himself of that. That moment during the boar hunt when Halt had leaped off of Abelard and hugged Will...every time he remembered it, all he could think was Just like last time.

But it wasn't. It wasn't like last time, because Will was not like last time.

If he ever learned the truth, he had taken to telling himself, that would destroy whatever care he holds for you in a heartbeat. You know Halt can't abide liars. How do you think he'll take being lied to since the very beginning? 

Will put down his bow with an aggrieved sound and went to retrieve his arrows. And, how on earth was Will supposed to do anything about Lord Lorriac without Halt's assistance? Will couldn't exactly steal Halt's writing supplies and forge a letter in his name. That was the kind of crime that King Duncan wouldn't even think to break tradition for. So, was it better for Will to doom Lord Lorriac or himself? If he doomed himself by confessing everything to Halt, would they all still die in Skandia anyway? Would Evanlyn still die in Celtica by herself, would Horace still accompany Halt there—

Horace! Will needed to help Horace. He was probably being horribly bullied at this very moment, and Will wasn't doing a thing to help him. 

"What can I do?" he snapped to himself. "He said it himself, I'm nothing but an apprentice." 

Heaving a great sigh, Will forced himself to calm down and began a now-familiar refrain. What would Halt do? 

Except it didn't much help. What would Halt do if he'd watched all of his loved ones die in front of him, been transported back in time to relive an entire apprenticeship, and was utterly powerless to actually change anything that he knew was going to happen? Will wished he knew! Because he had no idea. 

But something had to be done. Two somethings had to be done, one about Lord Lorriac and one about Horace. Will had no idea how either would be accomplished. 

Pick a place to start, and start there. That sounded like something Halt would say. Will nodded to himself. He had absolutely no idea how to even start with the Lord Lorriac-Kalkara problem. So, he would start with the simpler, more manageable problem instead: Horace and his bullies. Will knew that they were probably bullying him right now. The thing was, Will didn't have any actual evidence to bring up against them, so he had no way of reporting it to Sir Rodney or Baron Arald. He supposed he could try bringing it up to Halt, but Halt was still rather annoyed with Horace for reasons Will honestly didn't understand. Horace swearing to repay a life-debt apparently still wasn't enough in Halt's eyes. Will didn't think that bringing up his concerns about Horace would go well. 

So...if he couldn't report it, and if Halt wasn't willing to help him...that just meant Will would have to do this himself. 

Will took a breath.

Alright, then. He had an idea. It was a bad one, but what other options did he have?

"I don't think a bunch of unsubstantiated rumors is enough of a reason for a day off," Halt said, frowning. "As little as I think of knights' intelligence, I do believe that at the very least Horace realizes that these rumors are not at all orchestrated by you, and therefore not at all your fault." 

"I know that," Will said, "but it just doesn't sit right! Horace was just as brave as me. He stepped in front of me twice and faced the boar head-on with his spear. If the boar had been just a bit to the left when he stabbed it, Horace would've been the one to kill it, not me!" 

Halt waved a dismissive hand. "I know that. You know that. Horace knows that. All of the important people in the situation recognize the truth of the matter, so what does it matter if some villagers don't?"

Because it's more than just the villagers, Will thought, gritting his teeth. 

"People will say what they say, Will. You should learn that. Horace should, too." 

"Oh, come on, please, Halt?" Will asked. "Not even a full day - just an hour or two in the afternoon? You even said you had some business with the Scribeschool! I can go along with you and see Horace while you do your business!" 

Halt frowned at him severely. "I think not. I've told you already, the Gathering coming up is serious business, Will. You need every hour you can get in order to prepare for it. You've had several less months than most first-year apprentices get. You are at a disadvantage, and I don't want you to fail the exam and get held back a year because of it." 

You're best friends with the Commandant, Will thought sourly. Couldn't you just bend the rules a bit? 

But, of course, he knew Halt would never. Compromising the Corps rules like that was antithetical to who Halt was. Will would not have been happy with a cheap victory like that, either. Still...Will felt certain he had the skill to pass the exam. He'd never taken one of the Ranger exams before, but he was more skilled than he had been the first time around. Then, Halt had reassured him that, as long as he kept his head, he was likely to pass. Now, surely it was a surety.

"How much of a difference is a single hour going to make?" Will pleaded. "I'll get up an hour earlier if that's what you want!"

"No, you need that hour to sleep. Without sleep, your body won't be able to properly function." 

"Then I'll train an extra hour after sundown!" 

"In the dark?" Halt asked incredulously. "How are you expecting to see the targets in the dark?"

"I'll set up torches," Will tried.

"Torches? All around the training area? Doing that would take more time out of your training than it would give you extra time to train."

Will let out an exasperated groan. "Oh, come on! I don't know what your problem is with Horace, but this is ridiculous. You've been trying to keep me away from him for months now. He saved my life!"

He wondered whether Halt would attempt to deflect and lie, claiming that this wasn't about Horace at all but about Will's training. But Halt just gave Will his piercing stare. "Does a single noble action excuse years of ignoble actions?"

"You're treating him like some sort of criminal!" Will exclaimed, exasperated. "He's my friend, Halt! He doesn't have years of bad deeds to make up for in the first place."

Halt's lips thinned. "If he doesn't, then who?"

"Who what?" Will asked. He was extremely frustrated. His Halt had never been this unreasonable. Will couldn't begin to fathom the reasons behind this behavior. Moments like this served to reinforce Will's thoughts, though: this Halt was not, and would never be, the same one as his. His Halt had liked Horace a great deal. This one treated him like a criminal.

"I don't even know what bad actions you're talking about," Will continued, still exasperated. "There aren't any, and especially not from Horace. Okay?"

Halt's eyes flashed with something. Then he sighed and seemed suddenly weary. "Alright. You can keep saying that, Will. Fine. If you want to see him so badly, be my guest. We'll go over there tomorrow after lunch. You'll have a half-hour to speak to him, then I'm collecting you and you're going right back to training. I don't want to hear a word more of this nonsense after that. You hear?" 

Will nodded vigorously. "Loud and clear!" 

Halt shook his head and turned to leave, murmuring something to himself Will couldn't pick out, but it sounded tired. Will breathed in and out, chest hardening in determination. 

Horace, he thought. I swear to you. By this time tomorrow...you will finally be free of them.

Chapter Text

Will dismounted in sight of the Battleschool grounds and surveyed the area ahead of him. It was lunch break, so the training grounds were deserted. Will could hear the distant rumble of voices, laughter, and the clink of cups set down on wood from the mess hall. Good. If Will remembered correctly, the bullies usually found Horace right after lunch.

"I'll be back in a half an hour," Halt said from above, still astride Abelard. "You'd better be done by then."

Will nodded obediently, and Halt nudged Abelard into a trot towards the Scribeschool. Once he was out of sight, Will told Tug to stay and started off towards the mess hall. This entire operation depended heavily on proper timing. If Will had gotten here too late or too early, he would miss his chance completely. Will clenched his fists and sent up a prayer for everything to go as he'd planned.

He passed through the training area, ground worn down to scuffed dirt. A thin layer of straw lay over it, scattered around haphazardly from the apprentices' footwork and falls. The low din of voices grew louder as Will approached the mess hall. Pulling his hood over his head, Will peered in through the open doorway.

Dozens of men sat at the benches, eating, elbowing each other, joking, laughing. Most of them were apprentices, as the full-fledged knights ate elsewhere. A group of instructors sat at one of the tables at the back of the hall, and Will saw Sir Rodney there, along with a few other knights that Will vaguely recognized, although he didn't know their names. Will drew his gaze back from them and scanned over the apprentices, searching for Horace. When he couldn't find him, Will looked for Jerome, Alda, and Bryn.

None of them were there.

Will sucked in a breath and turned from the door. Was he too late? He took off running, not even knowing where he was going, weaving in and out of the dormitories and other buildings that made up the Battleschool. Where would they go? He asked himself. Alda and the others had to know that what they were doing went against Battleschool rules, so they wouldn't dare do it out in the open. They had to be somewhere hidden, somewhere Sir Rodney or one of the other instructors wouldn't accidentally find them.

Will stopped, looking from side to side. On the right, more buildings. On the left, deep forest. Will set his jaw and ran to the forest.

As he approached the point where the Battleschool's boundaries touched the forest's edge, Will stopped and scanned over the ground. It didn't take long for him to find several sets of footprints - four of them, to be exact. That had to be Horace and the bullies. Will followed them as swiftly as he could, half-jogging along an ill-used path deeper into the forest. 

It didn't take long before Will heard them. There was a set of low, wheezing grunts, then laughter and words Will couldn't quite discern, but were clearly mocking. The voices were all male — teenage male. Will started running.

"Aw, is this too much for you, Baby?"

Will burst into the clearing. "Leave him alone!"

He took in the scene in an instant. Horace was on his elbows in plank position in the middle of a stream, with Bryn's foot resting on top of his back. From the angry veins standing out on Horace's forehead and neck, Bryn was stepping none-too-gently on him. Horace was breathing hard — the wheezing grunts Will had been hearing. Alda and Jerome were standing nearby, alternatively pelting him with laughter, taunts, and bits of sticks and stones.

The boys all turned to look at Will. Alda was the first to react, and scoffed, "This is Battleschool business, boy. Leave or we'll make you leave."

Will set his jaw and opened his mouth to respond, but Horace cut across him with a gasped,

"Will? What are you doing here?"

Jerome sucked in a breath. He hissed to Alda, "That's the Ranger boy!"

Alda looked calculatingly at Will. Will knew he did not look impressive: a small, wiry figure, more than a head shorter than the tall Battleschool apprentices and, compared to their expansive musculature, puny. He had left his bow with Tug and the folds of his cloak obscured his double-knife scabbard, so he looked unarmed — and, for all intents and purposes, Will was. He would not be fighting today.

"You're the Ranger apprentice?" Alda asked, sneering up and down at Will. "You don't look like you could put an arrow through a tree limb, let alone a boar."

"Looks are often deceiving," Will said evenly, and looked past Alda to Horace. "I'd wager this situation isn't, though. Get off of Horace and leave him alone. You know bullying isn't allowed in Battleschool. Do you want to see what Sir Rodney will have to say about your actions?"

"He won't even know," Jerome said boldly, "because we won't let you leave if you try."

"We've been wanting to see you for awhile, you know," Alda added, smiling meanly. "We have a score to settle with you. You've made the entire Battleschool look bad!"

Will let his lip curl in disgust. "You've done a nice enough job making the Battleschool look bad, yourselves." 

Jerome growled and leaped forward, punching him hard in the mouth. Will flew back from the force and crashed into a tree several feet away.

"Will!" Horace cried. He struggled, trying to move towards him, but Bryn kicked him hard in the ribs. Horace crashed down into the rocks of the stream with a groan and Bryn immediately stepped on his back, hard.

"Don't move, Baby," he said. "If you do, there's more like that."

Will lay there for a moment, tears stinging his eyes from the pain. It hurt. Fuck, it hurt. The full strength of a Battleschool cadet had been behind that blow. Will's smaller, weaker body had no chance standing up to that. 

Get up, he hissed to himself. Why are you so weak? This is hardly the worse you've had. Will gritted his teeth and sat.

Knuckles impacted his cheek and he careened back, elbows scrabbling for purchase in the dirt. He gasped for breath, head down, licking his lips and tasting blood. His cheek throbbed out of time with his mouth. One of his teeth wobbled as he pressed on it with his tongue. 

Get up, he told himself again. You've been through the Kalkara, through Wargals, through Skandia, slavery, warmweed, and war. This is nothing.

Elbows transferred to hands and he pushed himself off the ground, swaying as he stood. The three bullies were leering at him.

"Is this what the Rangers take in as apprentices?" Alda asked, scornfully looking him up and down. "A scrawny, pathetic loser like you?"

"Even better — remember what our good pal Horace told us? This boy doesn't even have a name!" Bryn said. The three of them laughed.

Will's betrayed gaze found Horace. Horace had even told his own bullies about how much he hated Will? Horace's head was turned towards Will, Bryn standing on his neck with one foot. Horace closed his eyes and refused to look at Will. 

"The Baby and the No-Name," Jerome said. "A pathetic loser of a Ranger and a pathetic loser of a knight! Look how well you two go together." 

Jerome's fist caught Will in the stomach. He doubled over and received a kick to the ribs. Tears of pain bubbled up in his eyes but he forced them down. You've been through worse, he growled at himself. This is nothing. You can take it.

"Hey, No-Name," Alda sneered. "How do you even know your name's Will, huh? Since you never had a mom or dad to tell you so."

The three bullies laughed, and Alda stomped on Will's fingers. Will gritted his teeth against a scream. Jerome grabbed Will by the hair and tugged him up by it. "Well? Answer us, No-Name."

Will set his jaw and didn't answer.

An explosion of pain blossomed at his jaw. He would've fallen flat on his back had Jerome let go of his hair. Gritted teeth let escape a strangled cry.  

"Stop it!" Horace cried, but it was weak. He was barely able to breathe, with Bryn's foot on top of his neck, forcing his face into the stream-bed. He gave a gargled choke as some of the water went into his throat. Horace struggled, trying again to free himself, but Bryn kicked his ribs again and Horace stopped with a low, agonized groan. 

Will blinked furiously, trying to keep back the tears. Come on, he thought desperately. Halt, where are you? You were supposed to find us faster than this!

Jerome's grip tightened further. "Come on, No-Name, don't keep us waiting. We still have at least two hours until supper — until any of us will be missed. Isn't that right?" 

Will breathed out. If this would stall for time — if this would keep him from being hurt more — then...

"I don't know that my name's Will. I'm told that I showed up on the doorstep of the Ward with a note saying what my name was, and that's all." 

Alda snorted. "You hear that, boys? He's told this, is he? No-Name really is right for you, isn't it, trash? Oh! That's an idea. For all we know, your actual name is trash!"

"For all you know, your parents have been lying to you ever since you were born and your name is trash, too," Will thought spitefully — and unfortunately, said out loud.

Jerome's face purpled in rage. "You-"

He tore Will's hair out with a violent tug, jerking a cry from Will. Alda kicked him in the ribs, sending Will sprawling on his back.

"Will!" Horace struggled, squirming underneath Bryn's weight, reaching out over the stream with a useless arm towards Will. The veins of his neck were huge and sinuous, his face alarmingly red. He couldn't take the pressure of Bryn's weight much longer. Not while struggling like that. 

Will pushed himself up on his elbows, frantically crawling backwards through the dirt as Alda and Jerome loomed over him. 

"What did you just say my name was?" Alda hissed. He raised his fist. 

Will instinctively flinched, raising an arm up to protect him. Alda grabbed it with both hands, grip tightening as Will tried to pull away, and then he took hold of Will's pinky finger. And-

Will's finger bent and snapped, twisting backwards at an unnatural angle. He screamed. 

Then Alda was collapsed on the ground, howling, clutching his calf in agony. Bryn leaped off Horace and started towards Will — Horace grabbed his ankle and yanked, sending Bryn to the ground. Horace grappled with him, crying,

"Don't hurt him!"

Bryn squirmed on the ground, sending showers of rocks and water everywhere, trying to throw Horace off and failing. Meanwhile, Jerome stormed towards Will. Will cringed back, cradling his finger, tears gathering in his eyes from the immense pain radiating up his hand. Jerome reared back his foot to kick Will.

"If you touch my apprentice one more time, I will make sure you end up far worse than maimed." 

Horace and Bryn both froze. Jerome scrambled back. "Ranger!" 

Will closed his eyes, relief breaking over him like a cascade of fresh water. Halt was here. 

He felt rather than heard Halt's approach. Will cracked open his eyes to see Halt stop several yards away, bow at half-draw, arrow nocked. Alda was rolling around on the ground near Will, whimpering like a lost dog. One of Halt's arrows was buried deep inside his calf. Alda would never walk straight again. 

"Now," Halt said. His tone was the soulless pleasantness of a customer service worker. "Would someone like to tell me what, exactly, was going on here before I happened to interrupt?" 

When none of the three bullies responded — Alda in too much pain, Jerome and Bryn in too much fear — Halt drew back his bow a little more. "Well?" 

"They started it," Will said lowly, pushing himself up to sitting. Unfortunately, he used the hand that Alda had just broken a finger on, and a whimper drug itself out of Will without his conscious approval. He darted a quick glance to Halt. The hairs on his arms rose.

He swallowed, dropping his gaze. "Er...Horace. This is your story to tell, not mine."

Horace's jaw clenched. He was still on the ground with Bryn, his arms locked around one of Bryn's legs. His face was swollen and bruised. He glanced from Will to Halt to his bullies and back, looking like a piece of leather on a tanning rack stretched between two opposing sides. Then his expression abruptly sagged, and he shook his head as though annoyed with himself. He had no reason to keep denying being bullied.

"These three have been harassing me since I first started at Battleschool, sir." 

"More than harassing," Will muttered. "Assaulting." 

Horace gave Will a look, then subsided. "...Yeah. But — but it's not like it's usually a big deal!" he added quickly, looking around from Jerome to Alda to Bryn defensively, like he already knew what they would say. It turned out, though, that having an arrow pointed at you did wonders for your sense of humor, for none of the bullies had even cracked a grin. 

Halt's eyes swept over the scene. Will saw the moment that he took in Horace and Bryn, Horace's hold on Bryn. It wasn't self-defense. In fact, it had nearly gotten him kicked in the head when Bryn had thrashed around. No, it wasn't any form of self-preservation on Horace's part. He had been holding Bryn back from hurting Will.

"It's not, is it?" Halt asked. His tone had gone low and cold, but it was no longer directed at Horace. "I believe I will be the judge of that. What, exactly, constitutes 'not usually a big deal'?" 

"Well," Horace said, and swallowed. "I-I mean, it's...it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. I'm strong. I can handle it."

Halt's lips thinned. He bit out each word. "You can handle it, can you?" 

Horace nodded vigorously. "I can. I'm not weak." 

Halt looked at him for a few seconds, then slowly shook his head. "No. You aren't." 

Turning, Halt met the terrified eyes of Jerome and Bryn. "You are the ones who are weak. You see," he said conversationally, "I recently spoke with Sir Rodney. He told me about young Horace here, and wouldn't you know, he happened to let me in on something remarkable. It turns out that our good friend here is a natural with a sword — a prodigy, even. You wouldn't happen to be...jealous...would you?" 

Jerome and Bryn frantically shook their heads. Halt made as if to loose his arrow.

"Yes! Yes, we are!"

"That's more like it," Halt said. "You were jealous of a boy younger than you, with less training than you, an orphan taken in by the Baron. Is that right?" 

Jerome and Bryn reluctantly nodded.

"And so you decided, looking at this boy who was younger than you, with less training than you, an orphan who came into Battleschool all alone and friendless, that you would, what, exactly? Please be clear." Halt took one hand off his bow to cup an ear theatrically. "I think I must have missed what my good friend Horace was telling me." 

"We didn't mean any harm by it," Jerome tried, and instantly quailed back when the longbow went right back into full draw. "I-I mean...we...weren't very nice to him, sir." 

"Really?" Halt asked in faux astonishment. "You saw this boy who you'd never met, who had never done anything wrong to you, and you weren't very nice to him?"

"It...we...I'm sorry!" Bryn suddenly cried. He turned, as much as he could, and looked at Horace. "I'm so sorry, Horace! We shouldn't have done that!" 

Horace stared in astonishment but Halt was on Bryn like a dog on a dying rat. "An apology? Please do share." 

"Idiot," Jerome hissed. "You shouldn't have said that! Now he'll-"

"What else can we do? We're done for anyway!" Bryn snapped. "At least I'll clear my conscience first."

Bryn raised his head from the dirt and looked directly at Halt. He was clearly afraid, but Will recognized that determination in his eyes: that determination that said I've done wrong and I know it. I won't shy away from my punishment. For the first time, Will felt an inkling of respect for the boy. 

"Ranger, sir, I'll admit it. We were wrong. We bullied Horace, belittling him, hurting him, and forcing him to do things we never should have. Everything he said was right. We did it all, and because we were jealous of him. We couldn't stand that a first-year cadet could already be better than us. I'm not going to ask for forgiveness because I know I don't deserve it, and I'm not going to try to get out of punishment because I do deserve that. I just wanted you to know." 

Bryn gave a few nods, and swallowed. His hands were shaking as he finished. 

"That's all you have to say?" Halt asked.

Bryn swallowed again, but gave a quick, jerky nod. "Yes." 

"Hmm." Halt examined him for a long moment. Finally, he gave a single nod. Then he turned to Alda and Jerome. "And what about you?" 

Alda was still in tears. Will doubted he'd even heard Halt. Jerome just set his jaw, curled his lip, and didn't respond. 

"Well," Halt said. "I would say your mothers must have failed you, but I don't believe your mothers should be blamed for the blights on humanity you are." 

None of the bullies responded, though Bryn looked down, ashamed. Halt examined Alda and Jerome. Will would never forget his expression. It was the same one he'd worn the first time around: a look that said, very clearly, you are nothing to me. It was utterly dismissive and contemptuous of their entire existence. 

"Well, Horace," Halt said, and Horace's head snapped towards him. "What would you like to have done to them?" 

"I'm...sorry? Sir?" 

"It seems clear to me, given how Bryn here agrees with your testimony, that these worthless excuses for human beings have been attacking you and bullying you for the past several months without experiencing any consequences whatsoever. That seems rather unjust to me, don't you think?" 

Slowly, Horace nodded. 

"And so, something should be done about that, wouldn't you say?" Halt prodded. 

Alda gave a whimpering cry. "B-B-But, isn't this enough?" 

Halt did not bother to glance over. His tone was disinterested. "What do you say, Horace? Is maiming Alda for life enough for you?" 

"For...for life?" Horace asked, swallowing. "That's — isn't that a crime?" 

"A crime?" Halt asked, eyebrows raised. "However do you get that? I, a Ranger, a keeper of the peace, came to retrieve my apprentice from the Battleschool grounds and found you both outnumbered, Will being beaten, you pinned to the ground. It would have been a crime for me to let such clear assault go uncontested. I simply did what I deemed necessary to stop the fight. And, would you look at that, but it worked. What a tragic accident that I fumbled the shot and one of the attackers ended up maimed. I am a Ranger, but even my aim isn't always perfect, you know." 

"Well," Horace said. "If it's alright to you, I think that's enough. For Alda, that is." 

Halt gave a little shrug, as though he would have been perfectly fine with shooting Alda again, had Horace asked him to. "Very well. And the others?" 

"Well...they don't, you don't need to shoot them too," Horace said. "And, I mean, Bryn did confess." 

"He did indeed," Halt agreed. He nodded, then looked at Jerome and Bryn. "Well, would you look at that. Today is your lucky day. You can leave arrow-free. I'll be taking you to Sir Rodney and the Baron to let them decide what to do with you."

"W-Wait, what about me?" Alda asked pathetically. "Aren't you going to help me to get m-medical treatment?" 

Halt looked at him. "You? You can stay there and rot." 

Chapter Text

After that, Halt took Bryn and Jerome in to Arald to face their judgment. When Will had asked if Halt were going to bring Alda with them, Halt hadn't answered verbally, but his expression had been more than enough of one. That look in his eyes — that utter contempt and cold hatred — had made Will's heart thump just to look at. 

Back in the forest, Horace had sat up, and he and Will exchanged glances as Alda rolled about, still whimpering. He must have been in agony. Will wasn't sure what to feel. On the one hand, Alda wasn't much older than Will and he had been maimed for life. Without two good legs, Alda would no longer be able to be a knight or even a farmhand. Will doubted he had the intelligence or talent to become a Scribe or Diplomat or anything else that required a good mind, so he would be reduced to beggary. That was an unenviable life. Yet, Alda had chosen at every turn to bully, abuse, and attack people — first Horace and now Will. He'd beaten both of them when they were weak and outnumbered, and he'd broken Will's finger in that beating. Was that worth maiming, though? Will didn't know. 

"Are you alright?" Horace asked, and Will pulled his gaze from Alda to Horace.

"I think they should've kicked me a few more times in the ribs," Will said. "Might've bruised all of them instead of just a few." 

Horace gave a breath of a laugh. He winced right after. "Same here. If you're going to beat someone up, at least be thorough, you know?" 

"Right? Amateurs," Will scoffed. "Can't even beat someone up properly." 

They shared a laugh, both cringing from the throbbing of their ribs, and then laughing more from each other's faces. They fell to discussing other matters — their other Wardmates, village rumors. Will smirked as he described a prank he had played on Halt. Horace was horrified.

"But, Will!" he exclaimed. "Halt's — Halt's a Ranger! You can't just do things like that to Rangers!"

"Well, I'm an apprentice one," Will pointed out, a little smugly. "Besides, Halt isn't that bad." 

"What do you mean?" Horace asked indignantly. "Did you not see him just now? That was terrifying!" 

Will opened his mouth to protest, then shut it and fell quiet. He couldn't argue with that. Will didn't often see Halt like that. The closest he could think of was back in Skandia, when one of Will's former overseers had recognized him and grabbed him. Halt had swooped in, and by the end of it, the overseer's grizzled face had been terrified and he'd distinctly smelled of urine.

"Halt's only scary if you deserve it," Will said finally. 

Horace took that in, thoughtful. He nodded. "I think you're right." 

They were quiet, then, except for Alda's incessant whimpers. They were definitely grating on Will's nerves by the time he felt Halt return. He glanced up and saw Halt seemingly appear from thin air. Beside him, Horace jumped and gave a startled yelp. Will snickered.

"Hey! That wasn't funny!" Horace said defensively. "Like you weren't scared by the Baron when we were growing up—"

"I was not!" 

"Were too!" 

Halt cleared his throat and the two boys abruptly fell silent. "Are you quite finished," he asked dryly, "or would you like to continue recounting each other's embarrassing stories?" 

"Quite finished, sir!" Horace said quickly. "Don't mind me, sir!"

Will rolled his eyes, this time keeping his laughter in. He'd forgotten how uptight Horace had been at first, especially around those above him in status. Will supposed that, as a knight, that would serve Horace well. Certainly much better than it would serve a Ranger. 

"My name's Halt," Halt said mildly. "My friends call me by it." 

"Oh," Horace said uncertainly. "Then...we're quite finished, er, Halt." He said the word as though it were a verbal booby-trap. Will bit his lip hard. 

"And my friends don't always include my apprentices," Halt added, probably seeing Will's barely concealed laughter and wanting to shut him up. Will just rolled his eyes. 

"Okay, sir," Will said dryly. "We're quite finished, sir."

Halt gave him a look and, predictably, muttered something mean under his breath. Then he shook his head. "Are you badly injured, Horace?" 

Horace hesitated. Halt gave an exasperated sigh. "I forgot, you can never ask that question of a boy and get an accurate response. List your injuries." 

Horace began listing them. Will nodded along at first: some bruises, a beat-up jaw, a black eye, yes, yes — but then Horace just stopped. Will scowled at him and then glanced up at Halt, shaking his head. Halt took on a matching scowl and looked back at Horace.

"A comprehensive list, please." 

With a look like a wet cat forced to skulk back into a pond, Horace continued. He had a sprained wrist, a bump on the back of his head, and some bad ribs — broken ribs, in Will's opinion. He'd seen how hard Jerome had kicked him. Halt's expression darkened as Horace finished the list. He shook his head.

"Rodney and Arald won't let those ill-born wretches off lightly, if they know what's good for them," he muttered. Will nodded firmly in agreement.

Halt's gaze then fell on Will. "And what about you?" 

Alda let out a particularly loud whine at that moment. Halt's gaze swung to him like a blade. "I suggest you shut your mouth or I'll do it for you." 

Alda's whimpering abruptly ceased. Halt nodded in satisfaction. "Will?" 

Will cringed. He didn't particularly want his injuries to make Halt angrier. On the other hand, if he didn't tell Halt, Halt would definitely get angrier.

"Well," he started. Best get the worst out of the way first. "I think a few of my ribs are bruised." 

"And?" 

"Um. My jaw really hurts," he said, and then instantly regretted it. "Not, um, that it really hurts, just...kinda...hurts?" 

Horace snickered. Will gave him a betrayed look. "This isn't funny!" 

"You're doing the same thing I just tried," Horace pointed out, and stuck out his tongue. "Hypocrite." 

"Yes, the both of you have the same obsession with making sure I never find out what's actually wrong with you," Halt said irritably. "Get to it, Will." 

"My right hand hurts. And you can see, well." Will looked down at his pinky finger, twisting at an unnatural angle. It hurt more than everything else, even his ribs. "My ankle hurts a bit, too. Other than that...some bruises, of course."

"Can you stand?" 

Will nodded and made to get up. 

"Not you. I was talking to Horace. You aren't standing on your own." 

"What? But-"

Horace muttered, "Just give it up already." He was standing, swaying a little as he did. Halt steadied him with a hand and examined him up and down.

"You were telling the truth, it seems. Do you think you can make it to the infirmary by yourself?" 

Horace hesitated, thinking. "Yeah." 

Halt gave an exasperated sigh. "Boys."

He slung an arm around Horace's waist. "Put your weight on me — not that much, good heavens, what are they feeding you at that school of yours? Bricks?" 

Will snorted, but Horace flushed. "Sorry, sir — I mean, Halt! I just, I was expecting you to be...um..." His eyes trailed down to Halt's diminutive size. They were a comical pair. Despite having only just turned sixteen, Horace towered over Halt, several inches taller and a fair bit broader. He was, Will thought with great amusement, exactly the size Salt Peter had imagined Halt to be. 

Halt raised a very dangerous eyebrow. "You were expecting me to be what now?" 

Horace hesitated. Finally he said, very carefully, "A little bit more...knight-like?" 

Halt huffed. "I'm about as far from one of you bash-and-whackers as you can get. Someone has to have more than air up in their brains. Now come on. We're getting you to the healing wing." 

He started off, Horace in tow, before pausing. He turned to Alda. Alda half sat up, hope dawning on his tear-crusted face. But Halt's eyes only narrowed.

"If you lay a single finger on Will while I'm gone, my next arrow won't just maim you." 

Alda audibly gulped. 

Then Halt turned and helped Horace away.

He was back in about thirty minutes, Horace-free. The first thing he asked upon coming back (abruptly materializing right next to Alda, to Alda's fright) was if Alda had touched Will. Both Alda and Will agreed that he had not. With that, Halt nodded and brushed past Alda, once more ignoring him completely.

But Will looked past Halt to Alda's pathetic form. In an undertone, he said slowly, "Er...Halt? Are you really just going to leave Alda there?"

"I don't see why not."

"Well, I mean..."

"He beat you," Halt said quietly. "He broke your finger. I bet he's responsible for most of those bruised ribs, too. Believe me, Will, there is no part of me that wants to do a thing to help that scum." 

"Isn't maiming him enough? He'll never be able to be a knight anymore or even a farmhand with that leg. Is that not enough for what he did?" 

Halt released a slow, deep breath. The painstaking control of it — of the minute facial muscles, of the fingers that twitched to become fists, of the shoulders so carefully pushed down and forced loose — made Will realize for the first time just how angry Halt was. He had thought Halt's anger would have vanished once he had resolved the situation, but it was still there, simmering underneath his skin. Suddenly, Will could understand why Horace had been afraid of Halt. 

"Legally, you're correct," Halt said. "His punishment has fit his actions. I've already told Arald to send someone along to collect him and tend to the wound. I'm sure they'll get here shortly. Let's get you up." 

"I can stand on my own," Will said, and moved to do so. But Halt's hands grabbed him underneath the arms and tugged him to his feet, not giving Will the chance to stand up by himself. 

Still holding him, Halt gave him the same searching look he'd given Horace, looking for injuries. He moved Will's head from side to side with a thumb, eyes narrowing when he saw the bruise growing on the right side of Will's jaw.

"How's your ankle?" 

Will considered. It hurt, but he'd had to work through worse before. "It's alright." 

"Is there a reason you like lying about your injuries," Halt inquired sarcastically, "or do you simply enjoy not receiving adequate medical care?" 

Will's shoulders scrunched up. "I...I wasn't trying to lie. I...I just...I don't even know why I..."

He glanced up with a helpless, pleading look, expecting Halt's skeptical eyebrow. His master frowned at him. "Where did you learn that injuries like that have to be pushed through?"

Will swallowed and looked away. He opened his mouth, but like always there was nothing he could say. "Skandia" would never be an option.

Halt's hand tightened. "Will, tell me. If it wasn't Horace, then where? Who?"

Will looked up. Halt's face...

Will jerked back and said the first thing he could think of. "Why do you care?"

Halt's eyebrows twitched, up then down. "Why? That should be obvious. You're my apprentice. It's my responsibility to take care of you, which includes knowing who's hurt you. If there's someone at the Ward that's been—"

"I've told you," Will said, instantly irritated. "Nothing happened there! I wasn't — Halt, I wasn't abused!"

"Weren't you?" Halt asked, with a sudden quiet intensity. "How else do you explain all of this, then? Your flinching, your high pain tolerance...your nightmares."

Will sucked in a breath. His limbs locked in horror. "You...you've...heard them?"

Halt's jaw clenched. "It'd be hard not to."

Oh. Oh shit. Will took a shaky step back. How on earth was he supposed to explain that?

The forest was quiet around them still, the birds and other creatures too afraid to come back and be at peace here. Halt's unrelenting gaze stayed fixed on Will. Finally, Will's shoulders sagged.

"It wasn't Horace," he said. "And it wasn't anyone at the Ward. I-I can't say any more than that, okay?"

"Can't?"

Will ducked his head. "Won't."

Halt's sigh seemed age-old. "Of course you won't."

He shook his head and called for Abelard and Tug, who he'd brought with him to the forest. So quietly Will barely heard, Halt muttered to himself, "I don't know why I even bothered."

The defeat in Halt's tone hurt Will almost as much as the lack of recognition in it had on Choosing Day. Will reached out before he even realized it, his uninjured hand taking hold of the folds of Halt's cloak.

"Halt," he said, and stopped. He didn't know what he was going to say. He hadn't intended to say anything. He had just moved.

Halt looked at him.

"It's not..." Will swallowed. "It's not because I don't trust you. Okay? I do trust you."

Halt examined him for a moment, and then nodded once. "If only trust were enough," he said simply, and then pulled away from Will's hand. "Let's get you up onto Tug."

Will was about to protest that, but honestly, his right hand really did hurt and he wasn't keen on using it to help him mount. More than that, he was tired of conflict with Halt. He wished suddenly, deeply, that none of this had happened — that Will had not needed to lie and hide from his mentor like this. Obediently he followed Halt to Tug and let him help Will up. It was clumsy and awkward, not being able to use his right hand to steady or propel himself up, and his left ankle — the one he used to mount — was bruised as well.

Once he was up, they started back to Halt's cabin. Will gazed up at the sky as they skirted the woods until they were at the trail that led back to Halt's house. It was scarcely past midday. The chill wind rushed through him and Will shivered, grateful that it hadn't snowed recently, but reminded as always of Skandia. He had learned to hate the cold.

"We'll get a nice fire going once we're back," Halt said. He said it blandly, but Will jerked to look at him, feeling somehow exposed. Halt raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"Nothing, just..."

"I was under the impression you didn't like the cold."

"I don't," Will said. "It's just..."

It was just that it was wrong. Will shouldn't hate the cold. He hadn't before Skandia. And Halt shouldn't be so perceptive that he could tell that Will did. Will was supposed to be unscarred and Halt was supposed to be unknowing, but neither was the case and that was wrong. It was all wrong.

He sighed. "Never mind."

He felt Halt's eyes on him, but Halt only hummed contemplatively and let the silence rest. After a few more minutes, Halt's house came into view once more. Will let out a relieved sigh at the sight. He was eager to finally get his finger set — even just riding sent spikes of pain up and down his body from his finger and ribs. It was bad enough he had to clench his jaw not to whimper. Will didn't want to sound like Alda.

The thought caused Alda's broken body to flash in front of Will's eyes. He cringed.

"Are you sure Alda'll be alright?" he ventured. "I-I mean, that injury could get infected."

Will glanced over at Halt and...kind of regretted asking. Halt's eyes were fixed straight ahead and he bit out every word when he spoke. "An infection? That boy should just be thankful he's alive and not six feet under."

The way he said that word, 'boy,' was different than how he'd ever said it when addressing Will. It was so much worse. Will swallowed.

"What...what do you mean?"

Halt's eyes flicked to him. Will's throat caught.

"Because," Halt said slowly and deliberately, "when he broke your finger, it was all I could do to lower my aim from his heart." 

Chapter Text

Halt was silent as he treated all of Will's wounds. Completely silent. Worryingly silent. Will eyed him surreptitiously as Halt turned aside to put down the bloodstained rag Will had been using to staunch his bloody nose. Halt put the rag down almost mechanically, expression utterly blank. That worried Will more than if it had been severe or angry. Halt showed the least when he felt the most. 

Fighting not to panic, Will chewed at his lip, going over Halt's behavior this afternoon. Halt was yet to even mention what had just happened. That, again, was worrying. If Halt hadn't thought it a big deal, he would have said something on the ride home, a quick remonstrance to not get himself into that kind of situation or a command to be more careful. But all he had done was help Will onto Tug and rode home in silence. He had hardly spoken a word since.

All that lead to one undeniable truth: Halt was furious.

Will closed his eyes, wishing he had figured out another way — any other way — to help Horace than this. He could only hope to avoid setting Halt off until his temper cooled down somewhat. Unfortunately, of all the times Halt had been mad at Will, Will had never managed to figure out how to do that. Halt's anger, once triggered, was as inevitable as floodwaters. There was no escaping it.

"I'm going to have to set your finger now," Halt said.

Will looked down. His pinky finger, the one Alda had broken, was an ugly sight. Bent backwards at a sharp angle from the second knuckle, it had already swollen to nearly the size of his thumb. It was inflammation-warm to the touch, undertones of dull red and blue beginning to rise to the surface. He didn't think he could move it and didn't want to try — the constant pain had started a dull headache at his temples. Halt, set that? The idea made him nauseous. 

"It needs to be done, Will. You won't be able to use it if we let it heal back crooked."

Before Skandia, he probably would've tried to protest. Now, Will just sighed. "I know."

"On three," Halt said. "One—"

Will cried out. There was a sickening, swooping feeling like that sensation of just missing a stair-step as the bone shifted. His vision went black and when he opened his eyes, there were tears in them. 

"You said on the count of three!" Will said indignantly, blinking away his tears to scowl at Halt. "That wasn't even count two!"

Halt shrugged. "If you'd tensed, it would've been harder to set it. Let me go find materials for a splint." 

As Halt went to gather the supplies, Will contemplated his finger. It was a good thing it had been his right hand, he thought, and better yet his pinky. If it'd been his pointer finger, he would've been screwed. He wouldn't have had a chance at shooting a bow with a broken right pointer finger. The pointer and index fingers were the ones you drew back on. The full draw of a bow being pulled back by a broken finger? Not the best feeling, Will was certain. But the pinky finger...it'd still hurt, but Will knew he'd still be able to shoot if he had to. 

Although hopefully he wouldn't have to. Will wasn't stoked to try that out. Sure, he'd fought while mortally wounded. That didn't mean he'd liked it. 

"I'll be back to practicing in a month or so," Will said, looking up at Halt as he walked back in. "I'll still be ready for the Gathering, I promise. Don't worry." 

As Halt's expression changed, Will had a sinking feeling that had been the wrong thing to say. 

"Don't worry?" Halt asked. "How am I supposed to do that when, as soon as I turn my back, my apprentice gets himself beaten to a pulp?" 

Will faltered. "I wasn't beaten to a pulp! This is not that big of a deal!" 

Halt's eyes glittered dangerously. "'Not that big of a deal'? I'll be the judge of that. When I see my apprentice on the ground, covered in bruises, bones broken, and screaming, you can be damn sure, Will, that that is a big deal to me." 

Will's fingers curled around the chair he sat in. He swallowed, tipping his head up to Halt. "Halt—" 

"Did it never occur to you, in that thick head of yours," Halt continued scathingly, "to call for help when you were attacked? Or did you think it some great test of courage to stay where you were outnumbered and overpowered? Do you think it's heroic to stand there and take a beating instead of run for help?" 

"I wasn't going to abandon Horace!"

"Calling for aid is not abandonment! Did I somehow fail to teach you the concept of reinforcements? I've told you to assess a situation before you get yourself involved. You should have seen that those bullies were too much for you to handle, and you should have come and gotten me. Not stayed there and had them beat you, too!"

Will bit his lip. "If I went and told you that Horace was being hurt by them, would you have believed me?" 

For a moment, Halt was rendered speechless. "Of course I would have believed you!" 

Would you have? Will wondered. You've disliked and distrusted Horace for months now. You wouldn't even let me see him without significant effort on my part. Would you really have believed that Horace was being attacked and not just picking a fight?

"Will," Halt said lowly. "I am going to be very clear. This will not happen again. Ever. I will not abide with you recklessly putting yourself in danger ever again."

Or what? Will thought.

"Do you understand me?"

Will closed his eyes and sighed, a long, long sigh. He couldn't agree to Halt's terms, not knowing what he did — not knowing that, very soon, he would be once more putting himself in danger, and far worse danger at that. But how could he ever explain that? 

"It wasn't reckless," he said finally. "I knew you would come."

Halt's face sagged and Will realized, too late, that he had once more said the wrong thing.

"You mean to tell me," Halt said, quiet. Measured. Slow. "You mean to tell me that you got involved in a situation that you knew was too much for you to handle on your own, simply because you knew I was going to come and find you eventually?"  

Will swallowed.

"You let yourself get beaten on purpose?" Halt stared at him, and then said, with a low sort of horror, "You planned this?" 

Will opened his mouth, but could find nothing to say that would not be further incriminating. Halt examined him and then stood abruptly. He gazed at Will, eyes bright with something Will couldn't understand and didn't want to. Will watched him, dread building like sand in an hourglass. 

"Will." 

Will jolted. "Y-Yes, Halt?" 

Halt's fingers slowly unclenched and he breathed out. "Don't you ever do that again." 

Will gulped. "Yes, Halt." 

Halt relaxed, and all at once Will could breathe again.

"Good," Halt said simply, and sat back down. "I need to splint your finger." 

The splinting process was painful. Will chewed on his lip, the nails of his free hand digging into his thigh. Even jostling the finger the slightest bit made his entire hand feel white-hot. Halt splinted it as efficiently and quickly as possible, which Will was grateful for. Although he had known Halt wouldn't, he was still glad that Halt wasn't letting his anger out on Will while treating his injuries. 

"So," Halt said, partway through the process. "How long have you known Horace was being bullied?"

Will inhaled sharply. Halt eyed him. "What? We've established that you, in your immense wisdom, planned to get yourself beaten up by those human pieces of scum. Clearly you had to have known they would be beating someone up in the first place. And you asked to see Horace today. This was obviously for his benefit."

For the first time Will could remember, he wished Halt were not quite so good at his job. He opened his mouth but couldn't think of a single thing to say. What could he even say? If he said that he'd known for awhile, would that not just prompt Halt to ask why Will had not mentioned it before? If he said he had just found out, Halt would ask how. Will hadn't been to Redmont in weeks. There was no time Will could reasonably say that he had found out.

"Well?" Halt raised an eyebrow.

Will gulped and said, very uncertainly, "Horace told me, um...at Harvest Day." 

It was the only time he could think of. He and Horace had barely spoken at the boar hunt. Will hadn't seen him since up until today. It had been a long time, but, maybe Will could say it had just been implied, and he had finally gotten sick of the uncertainty and decided to act about it on his own? Yes, that might work! Will could even say that had been the reason he and Horace had gotten into that fight! It wasn't even a complete lie, so that might actually—

"That's interesting," Halt said blandly. "Given that I asked Horace myself today, and he informed me that he didn't say a thing to you at the boar hunt or at Harvest Day, and that he'd never outright told you anything about them."

Will jolted, face paling, but said bravely, "The time I went there to see him at Battleschool, we were — we were interrupted by Jerome, Alda, and Bryn. The way Horace reacted, clearly something was wrong. He even tried to get me away from them!"

"And you just assumed Horace's innocence? You didn't even consider that perhaps Horace had started a fight with those boys and gotten in over his head?" 

"Of course not!" Will said indignantly.

"Really?" Halt asked, raising an eyebrow. "This boy, who'd bullied you for your entire time at the Ward, often becoming physically aggressive with you and sending you to the healing wing on multiple occasions...this very boy, you somehow could not believe for even a second that he might have been at fault?" 

"He...he seemed so scared," Will tried, but his tone was unconvincing. He had a sinking feeling that this conversation was not going to end well.

"As well he might be, if his own victim had found backup to help, and that backup was about to exact retribution." 

Will fumbled for a moment. Finally, weakly, he said, "But they called him 'baby.' That's not the kind of thing you'd call someone who was the aggressor in the situation. And! And Horace told me to leave, or they'd 'do it to me, too'!" 

Halt waved a dismissive hand. "Belittling your opponent is hardly uncommon, even if the opponent was the initial aggressor. As for what Horace said, didn't it even cross your mind that Horace might not want his former victim to see him get beat up? Or that he simply didn't want you to get injured for his own wrongdoings? Whatever the case, there are many ways to interpret what Horace said as other than himself being the victim of bullying. Yet you interpreted the entire scene that way without any true evidence."

Will opened his mouth. Halt held up a hand.

"And don't say that you misinterpreted it, or attempt to play this off as your own inexperience. This is not about inexperience at all. You really expect me to think that you, a long-term victim of Horace, would immediately assume him the victim, not the perpetrator, of violence? The boy who, in all your childhood years, was always picking fights with you and everyone else — you expect me to think that you'd suddenly think him innocent?"

To that, Will had nothing to say. Halt nodded as though satisfied.

"So. Let's try this again, shall we? You tell me how, exactly, you knew that Horace was being bullied. The truth this time." 

Will inhaled long and shaky, staring at Halt. Fear was a heartbeat in his veins. He couldn't think of a single thing to say. He didn't have a single defense left. Halt had seen through them all. What was he going to do? What could he do? What else was there other than the truth? The truth— the truth—

The truth could never be spoken.

"Well?" Halt asked, and Will—

Will ran for the door.

Halt shot after him, but Will had been training on his own for months now and he was faster than Halt knew. He scrambled around the table and chairs, ducked through the cabin door, leaped off the porch, and sprinted into the woods.

"Will, come back here," Halt hissed, mere feet behind Will. He was fast, too, despite his age, and he was far more experienced at chasing down quarry than Will was experienced at being the quarry. How the hell was Will supposed to escape?

Will ran faster. He had pulled his cowl over his head as he went, hoping to blend in with the forest and make Halt lose track of him. It was a fool's hope, as good of a tracker as Halt was, but Will hoped anyway. The moon had risen by now, a full disc of light. It provided Will enough light to see. Unfortunately, it also made it easier for Halt to see him.

He could hear Halt's breaths behind him. The two were moving so quietly, even at a run, that their breathing was all that could be heard. He was further back now, from the sound of it. Will didn't dare turn his head and look.

The chase continued for several minutes, but Will could tell by the few sounds Halt did make that he was falling further and further behind. After the sounds faded enough to become barely noticeable, Will let himself slow down. He was breathing heavily from the exertion but he masked the sounds as well as he could. He halted next to a tree, putting a hand on it for balance and trying to plan out his next move. Should he—

The slightest rustle of leaves was his only warning. A body slammed into him at full force, sending Will to the ground. The body landed on top of him, grabbing his hands as Will tried to squirm away and pinning them down. Will thrashed wildly and cried,

"Let me go!"

"No. You don't get to run," Halt said, voice hard. "We are well past that by now, Will."

Will swallowed hard. He stopped fighting, but couldn't resist a last protest. "But..." 

"No. You are going to answer me."

Will's eyes dropped and he sagged into Halt's hold. Halt had him pinned on the ground, his hands holding Will's wrists against the dirt. Pine needles scratched against his bare arms and a tree root dug uncomfortably into his shin. He had been a fool to run, he knew, a fool to think he could actually get away from Halt. His lips pinched thin and tight and he said quietly, "Okay. Okay, sir." 

"What are you?" Halt started. Will jerked, twisting his head around to frown up at Halt in confusion. "You are not a normal apprentice, I know that much." 

"What — what do you mean?" Will asked, voice wavering. "I...I'm perfectly normal!" 

"Oh, really?" Halt's sarcasm was scathing. "Tell me, then, how a perfectly normal apprentice would know the name of the King's former commander, Lord Northolt, on his very first day of apprenticeship? Tell me how he would be able to keep up with Tug, a Ranger horse trained at evasion, and catch him on the very first day of meeting him? Tell me how, in every history lesson we've had, you have always known more than a normal apprentice would?" 

Will shifted, eyes wide. "I...well..." 

"I went to the Baron, the first time you visited Horace," Halt continued, more levelly. "I asked him about your performance in your lessons. I thought perhaps you were more studious than I had been led to believe, or that your grades belied your true intellect. I thought perhaps you knew so much about the Rangers' history simply because you knew so much about history. But he told me you were an average student, if that. You had never paid particularly close attention in history classes; you had shown no desire to learn anything more than you were told." 

He shook his head. "Do you know what I wondered, after I found that out? After I went through lesson after lesson of you always knowing just a little bit too much? I wondered...perhaps my apprentice is a traitor." 

Will jolted. "No! No, I'm not a traitor! I swear it! I don't know how to prove it to you, but I'll do anything, I promise I'm—"

Halt's exasperated sigh cut him off. "Oh, hush. I know you're not. I made sure of it months ago." 

"O-Oh," Will said, relieved. Then he frowned. "You did? How?" 

"Do you not remember the papers I left on the table that night?" 

Will's eyes widened. "But I read them! Shouldn't that have made me look more suspicious?" 

Halt shook his head. "Of course you read them. Any normal apprentice would. Ranger reports just lying out on the table — the same reports I've never let you read? No apprentice would be able to resist that. It's what you didn't read." 

Will frowned, trying to remember. His expression cleared. "The final paper...the confidential one. I realized what it was and put it down." 

"If you had really been a traitor, you would have read it," Halt said. "No doubt about it. That would've been your entire reason for entering into this apprenticeship, trying to get your hands on classified documents like that. There is no way you would have passed up the opportunity, not if you thought you could get away with it."

"But...what if I had read it?" Will said. "What if I had let my curiosity get the better of me? You would've thought I was...?"

Halt huffed. "Of course not. If you had read the other one, I would've tracked you 24/7 for the next several months to see if you attempted to make contact with your handler. If I caught you meeting up with someone or sending off a letter or anything like that, then I would have thought you were a traitor. And then we would be having a very different conversation from the one we are having right now."

Halt's eyes flashed. Something cold and dangerous flickered in his expression and for a moment Will was afraid. This was not Will's mentor and friend, but the Ranger Halt before him now. This was the man who had ordered the cavalry attack at Hackheam Heath and spent his entire life fighting enemies of the state. Then the moment passed; then the Ranger looked at him, his expression softened, and he was Halt once more.

"In all honesty, even when I set that test, I was confident you would pass it. I've spent a long time trying to figure you out and 'traitor' has always been at the bottom of the list. You are a terrible liar."

"I am not!" Will protested indignantly, then winced as he realized that was probably not the best thing to protest at the moment.

Halt gave him an unimpressed look. "You really are. Any remaining doubts I had about you were dispelled rather neatly just ten minutes ago, when you tried to lie to me about Horace. We'll have to work on that. There's no way you'll ever succeed at undercover missions if that's your best attempt at lying."

Will was not quite sure how to respond to that.

"In any case, it's about time you told me what's going on with you. There's no denying it anymore. Something is up and I'm not letting you go until you tell me. So, either we get quite comfortable here, or you talk. Which is it?"

Will closed his eyes. Now that the situation had fully set in, grief clutched at his heart. He had lost Halt once already. Now, he would lose him a second time. Will mourned.

"Alright," he said quietly. "I guess I'll talk, then. I...I've been lying to you since the start of my apprenticeship."

Chapter Text

"I've been lying to you since the start of my apprenticeship."

Will had had some ideas on how Halt would react to such a statement. Eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise, or narrowing in distrust. A furrowed brow of anger. A softer one of hurt. Or denial, a shake of the head, a refusal to believe that his own apprentice could have lied to him for seven months. A curled lip of disdain, a sneer, eyes that weren't surprised at all. Or, worst of all, a glimpse of Halt's back as he turned and walked away.

Halt gave an impatient snort. "I know that. What I'd like to know is, about what?" 

"...What?"

"I could tell that you were keeping something from me. I've known since the first week." 

"Then why — why didn't you say anything?!"

This can't be happening, Will thought faintly. Halt had known all along? All of this — all of Will's struggles to lie, to keep this hidden, had all been for nothing?

"I thought about weaseling it out of you myself," Halt said slowly. "You are such a terrible liar, I figured it couldn't be difficult to make you crack. I realized pretty quickly that, whatever you were keeping from me, it wasn't a danger to myself or the kingdom. Like I said, I had entertained the thought that you were a traitor, but—"

"I'm not a traitor!"

Halt closed his eyes in irritation. "Clearly. I've spent the last seven months trying to figure you out and I couldn't spot a single traitorous bone in your body, no matter how hard I looked."

Will was not sure if that was a compliment. He decided that he would take it as one. Halt certainly gave him few enough of them as it was.

"So it didn't take long for me to come to the conclusion that, whatever this is, it's personal." Halt's mouth tightened. "Too personal for me to pry into. I'm well used to spying, but I've never enjoyed violating people's privacy."

You wouldn't, Will thought, feeling a rush of fondness. 

"But now that it's gotten to this point, I'm going to have to push. Whatever is going on with you, it made you do what you did today. As I've said already, I will have no repeats of that."

Halt was still holding Will down, his hands tight against Will's wrists. Now that Will's initial panic had left him, all his injuries had come screaming back. Will's frantic flight had messed up his ankle even more; it was throbbing, but not nearly as bad as his ribs. Halt had hit them hard when he'd tackled Will. At least he'd avoided Will's broken finger. He held Will's wrist, but up in the air, not shoved against the ground in a position that would've been agony for the break. Even still, his ribs and ankle and all the residual bruises and scrapes were making a cacophony of pain inside Will's head. Once, he probably would've cried out from it.

Now, he just turned his head around to look at Halt. "Can you...can you get off of me, please, sir?"

Halt moved away immediately, swearing under his breath. He still retained a grip on Will's left wrist but shifted around so that Will could sit up, facing him. Once he did, Halt ran his eyes over him, but as dark as it was, Will doubted he was able to see anything useful.

After a moment, Halt sighed heavily. "I didn't intend to worsen your injuries."

Will knew the quiet anger in his tone for what it was: self-recrimination for being careless. Despite everything, it made Will feel better.

"They're not that much worse," he tried, "just a bit—"

"Will," Halt said wearily, kneecapping Will's reassurance. "You have bruised ribs. I tackled you."

"I...well, I did run," Will offered weakly.

"I should have found some other way," Halt said. He sighed again. "This has certainly gotten off to an excellent start, hasn't it?"

Will just stared at the ground and said nothing. At least his ribs didn't hurt as much now, the throbbing slowly receding.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing for it. I'm hardly going to let this go now. How did you know Horace was being bullied?"

Will looked up, up into his mentor's face. Lit by the full moon, Halt's face was cast in shadows, and would have been just as unreadable in full sun. Will found his eyes, pale white in the darkness of his face, and silently said farewell.

"I've known for a long time. For almost three years now, actually."

Halt scoffed. "That's impossible. I asked Horace how long this had been going on. It just started when he began Battleschool, seven months ago. I've told you already, don't lie to me."

"I'm not. Not anymore." Will swallowed hard, looked pleadingly into Halt's eyes. "Please. I need— just, just hear me out. Okay?"

He gazed at Halt until the Ranger finally sighed and dipped his head in a nod. Then Will closed his eyes, desperately wrangling his thoughts together. He would only get one shot at this. Most likely, Will had ruined any chance at having a good relationship with Halt now, but there was still a chance that Halt might believe him. And even if Halt never trusted him or loved him, if at least Halt believed him...

It would be enough. It had to be.

"Back at the beginning of my apprenticeship," he started. Sweat had crept out onto his palms, tingling in the chill air. "You received a report that someone was killed by a bear, remember?"

"Lord Northolt."

"The King's former supreme commander." Will smiled ruefully. "Which I was not supposed to know."

"...No. You were not."

"And remember how you thought it was odd, that such an experienced warrior would be foolish enough to go after a bear, alone?"

"You said that." Halt's eyes dug into him. "I agreed."

Will's lips flicked up, again rueful. He had botched that conversation nicely.

"Well, you — we — were right to say that. Lord Northolt wasn't killed by a bear." Will dug the fingers of his free hand into the dirt to ground himself. "He was killed by the Kalkara."

Halt sucked in a breath.

"I'm not supposed to know about them, either. Am I."

Halt's fingers flexed against Will's skin, his grasp tightening before slowly relaxing once more. "How do you know about them?"

Will opened his mouth, then exhaled. No. Not yet.

"I know a lot about them," he said instead. "They are...awful creatures. There were originally three of them, but one of them was killed years ago — took several knights along with it. Morgarath made some sort of deal with them, gives them silver in exchange for their services as assassins. They're huge, savage, apelike...easily mistaken for a bear, if you don't know what you're looking for. It makes sense that everyone would think it was just a bear that killed Northolt. Why would they think otherwise?"

"But you think otherwise."

"I know otherwise. Think about Lord Northolt's cause of death."

Halt tilted his head very slightly. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Will let his lips turn up in a sad smile. Halt, unlike Will, was an excellent liar.

"You're not? Even if the report didn't explicitly state it, you must have suspected. I know you suspected." Indeed, Halt had told Will that himself, last time. "Didn't the Commandant's letter to you mention Lord Northolt's expression?"

At that, Will was treated to the rare sight of Halt's open surprise. It wasn't much, of course: a raised eyebrow, a slight widening of the eyes, a slackening of the jaw. But for Halt, it was the equivalent of a cry of shock.

"I never told you that," Halt said. "I never told anyone that. I burned that letter."

Will hadn't known that Halt had burned the letter, but that only worked in his favor. "He died with an expression of fear on his face. More than fear. Terror."

Halt was staring at him like he'd never seen him before.

"The Kalkara...their eyes have a strange quality to them. Some call it magic. You— others call it hypnotism. If you meet their eyes, you're stopped in your tracks, not from paralysis or petrification like some sort of mythical Gorgon, but from terror. What would happen if that terror was prolonged?"

Will paused, but Halt had gone utterly silent.

"To kill them...the Kalkara only have one weakness. Their hair, as thick and matted as it is, serves as armor able to ward away even a dozen arrows; even the full strength of a knight's lance isn't always enough. There's only one thing that works. Fire."

"No one has ever confirmed that," Halt said lowly. Challenged.

And...there was only one thing to say to that, wasn't there?

"I have."

Halt jerked. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Will bit his lip and refused to look away, even as his hands shook.

"There is no way you should know that," Halt said at last. "Any of this. There is no way you could know this."

Will's breath trembled, rattled down his throat.

"You're right. There...there isn't, is there? All this stuff I know. Horace being bullied. Lord Northolt's death. The Kalkara. All of it. Not only should I not know it, I shouldn't be able to know it."

He leaned forward, meeting Halt's eyes. He tried for earnestness, tried to make his eyes, his voice, his entire body bleed sincerity — bleed sanity. "You know as well as I do that it's physically impossible for me to know about Horace. The only times we met, Horace never spoke a word, and I didn't exactly have a bunch of free afternoons to spend spying on him. More than that, all those other things I shouldn't know, Ranger history, tactics, skills...we both know I never learned that in the Ward. We both know I could not have possibly learned any of that in the Ward."

Will tried for a laugh. "Which was why you wondered if I was a traitor in the first place, I suppose."

Halt didn't respond, but he was watching Will, fully focused. That was the best Will could ask for, he knew. He breathed in. Prayed.

"So. Thinking about it...thinking about it logically," because Halt loved logic, "there's all these things that I know but shouldn't be able to. There are all these things that are impossible for me to know."

Halt inclined his head fractionally.

"So," Will said again, "so. So that means...for me to know something impossible, that means...that means the impossible must be possible. The impossible must be possible, and it must have actually happened."

And still, Halt just kept silent, just waited for Will to speak. Will flung one last, desperate prayer to God and finally, finally let the words loose:

"I'm from the future. I've come back in time to here. I know all these things because I've already lived through the events where I learned them."

There was a sharp inhale, then total, utter silence. Halt released Will and sat back. Will nearly fell and scrambled back upright, mouth working to find something, anything to say, but he couldn't think of a thing, couldn't make out a single part of Halt's face. The silence was physical, prickling along Will's skin and squeezing Will's lungs. Every second it became more, bigger, worse, and all Will could wonder was how silence could be so crippling, endless, loud.

Halt's words finally broke it.

"Who are you?"

Of all the questions Will had been expecting, of all the protests, the denials, the scoffs, even derision or disgust or disbelief, somehow that managed to hurt most of all.

"I-I'm me," he said. "I'm — I'm your apprentice. I'm Will. I'm just, I'm just a bit older. That's all. I'm still the same Will you thought you were apprenticing. I am!"

But even as he said it, the words felt suddenly a lie. Was it not hypocritical of him to sit there and decry and distrust this Halt for not being the same as his Halt...

...all the while not being the Will that this Halt once would have known?

What right did he have to claim otherwise? What right did he have to claim he was the same, when he couldn't even believe so of Halt?

"How much older?"

"Two years— no, three? Or, three now...but, that's only because I've only been in this timeline for seven months...so in actuality it'd only be two years. I think." He swallowed. The dirt beneath his fingers was beginning to feel — distant. Unreal. He dug his fingers in some more, felt the dirt gather underneath his nails, but somehow it still didn't feel real. "Two years. I'd be seventeen. Almost eighteen."

"You would be? Or you are?"

That really was the question, wasn't it? Would he be, or was he?

His throat felt thin. Small. "Well...er...physically speaking, I'm not seventeen. Sir. But since I have two extra years of memory in my head, that has to count for something. Right?"

Halt was silent again, then, for another while that Will felt must be an eternity, and then suddenly he stood. Will rocketed to his feet too. He swayed, momentarily dizzy from the abrupt change and stumbling. He had to stop his hand from reaching out to Halt.

"I know — I know other things, too," he said — blurted, really; all of a sudden it had become hard to think. "About, about the Kalkara, and about what happens...what happens after. Because you know, I know you know, what the Kalkara being on the hunt means, what's going to happen to Araluen. I can — I can..."

I can help. I can be useful. I can be valuable, just, please, believe me. Believe me, that's all I want, just believe me, please believe me!

When Halt spoke, it was low and hesitant. Will didn't think he'd ever heard that tone from the man before. "I need to think about this."

He turned his back and began to walk away.

"I can help you!" Will cried. "I can protect your life! I know—"

"Later. Not now." 

"No," Will said, and he knew he shouldn't, knew that directly disobeying Halt was something he'd never, ever done, knew that it was an unspeakably bad idea, but Halt had turned his back on him, was walking away from him, was—

"Don't leave me."

Halt stopped, then, but only because Will's hand had taken hold of his cloak and held him in place. He half-turned, more a movement of the head than anything, and when he spoke it was part annoyed and part incredulous.

"Leaving? I never said anything about leaving, I'm just—"

"Don't leave me!"

He had both hands on Halt's cloak now; he could see them in the darkness — pale, white-knuckled, trembling. Halt's entire figure blurred in front of his eyes, wavering in and out of sight. For a long moment Will wondered, awestruck, if this was a part of unseen movement he'd never seen before, but then he realized that it was more than just Halt, that it was everything in sight, and that he was crying.

Halt turned fully back around. "I told you, I..."

He trailed off and his expression went abruptly, terribly soft.

"Oh, Will."

It was gentle, but it was also hesitant, as though Halt wasn't sure if the boy standing in front of him really was called Will or not. Will tried to swallow; it came out as a choked sob. His vision was so blurry he could barely see.

"Will, I don't..." Halt hesitated, and then said, carefully, "I'm not leaving you."

"You are!" You already have, he wanted to say.

"I'm not. I just need time to think."

"You don't believe me."

"I didn't say that."

"It's true, though. You don't believe me. You don't—"

Will cut himself off, then, because what was the point in saying anything else? He'd already known he was going to lose Halt's trust and care. Now he had lost even this, Halt's belief. What more was there to lose? What more was there? What more was there at all, in his apprenticeship, in his life, in existence, because he'd already lost everything, hadn't he? He'd already lost his Halt, his Horace, his Cassandra, he'd already lost his friends, his country, his life, he'd already lost his sleep at nighttime and his peace at daytime, his skills, his talents, his knowledge, his memories, and now he had lost this Halt too, in every way possible, because he did not love Will, did not trust Will, did not believe Will, and— and— and—

There was a hand on his shoulder.

Will staggered back, arm half-rising to defend himself. A battle? What was— what was going on? What was...where was...

There was a voice.

Will couldn't understand it, barely heard it over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. He was...he was so cold. Cold and alone, like he had been in Skandia, like he would always be, wouldn't he? Cold and alone in the darkness, with no one to—

There was...a scent. Sweat and pine needles and coffee.

Will knew that scent. And it had no place in Skandia. He inhaled it, and the inhale hurt, throbbing all through his too-tight throat and lungs, and all of a sudden he had become warm and alive once more. Halt's hands, both of them, were on his shoulders, and he was talking.

"...you go, good, now keep breathing. With me. In..."

Will blinked up at Halt, even as the man gave a slow, exaggerated inhale. Breathe? Why did...

Instinctively, Will obeyed anyway, or tried. He couldn't breathe as slowly as Halt. Will's breath kept catching. Why couldn't he...

"Out..."

Will's exhale shuddered through him, so much faster than Halt's. Then another. Another. Another. What was going on? Why couldn't Will breathe right? What was...

Oh.

Reality had been filtering steadily back in since Will recognized Halt's hands on his shoulders. Now everything had come back: the chill night air against his skin, the moon as it towered overhead, the scuffs in the dirt from where Halt had tackled Will to the ground, the sleepy last chirps of the insects, the scent of pine trees and earth all around...

"...again. In..."

Will forced in another breath. This time he almost matched Halt. He looked down, to where he still had both hands fisted in Halt's cloak. Including his injured one. He let go with that hand, but couldn't force himself to let go of the other.

"Out..."

Halt must be disgusted, Will thought distantly, as he matched Halt's exhale — the exhales were always easier than the inhales. He just listened to me confess to something absolutely insane, and now he has to deal with me losing it in front of him. How pathetic.

Well. At the very least, Will had probably gone about as low in Halt's estimation as he could possibly go. At least he didn't have to worry about making it worse! That probably wasn't even possible!

He actually managed a laugh at that. It sounded awful, though, and more like a sob.

The fingers around his shoulders tightened and gave Will the slightest shake. "Come on, Will. Stay with me."

He managed another laugh, or chuckle, or sob, he didn't know anymore. It wasn't his fault — it was just so ridiculous. Stay with Halt? As though Will were the one about to leave?

Another shake, this one stronger. "Will."

"What's it..." Will had to swallow once, twice; his throat was too dry for words. "What's it matter?"

"What?"

Halt abandoned his breathing instructions to peer intently at Will. Will almost wished for the instructions once more.

"What's it matter?" Will repeated. "What's any of this matter, anymore?"

He hadn't really meant to say that last part out loud, he knew — especially when Halt's grip tightened again, this time unintentionally.

"What do you mean?"

Halt's voice had gone quiet. It was not soft.

Will shifted, trying to pull away, but Halt held firm. "Will. What do you mean by that?"

He opened his mouth a few times, fruitlessly, shaking his head. Halt pressed into his shoulders. "Will."

"Oh, why do you care?" Will retorted. "What's it matter to you? You don't believe me!"

"I never said that!" Halt snapped. "I have no idea what I believe or don't believe, because I haven't had a single damn minute to sit down and think about it!"

"If you really cared, you'd believe me without needing to!"

Halt scowled at him. "Oh, I see," he said, bitingly sarcastic. "So when I don't immediately believe everything you say without hesitation or reserve, that's unacceptable, but when you've refused to grant me even a shred of trust after seven damn months, that's fine?"

"I—" Will faltered. If Halt hadn't been holding him by the shoulders, he would've stumbled backwards. "I...I trust you."

Halt scoffed.

"No, really, I do," Will said weakly.

"Clearly." Halt's sarcasm was so caustic it hurt. "I suppose trust looks exactly like getting yourself beat up by bullies I would have helped you with, had you just asked?"

"You hate Horace. I didn't think you'd believe me."

Halt looked at him for several long seconds. At last, he said, "Couldn't you have trusted me enough to ask?"

And when Will said nothing, rendered speechless, Halt quietly added, "Can you at least trust me enough now to wait?"

"I...what?"

"Wait," Halt said. His tone had gentled now and he met Will's eyes. "Just give me some time to think about this. Can you trust me enough to do that?"

Could he? Could he trust Halt enough to let him walk away, let him sit and think and decide for himself — decide, maybe, that Will was insane, that he didn't deserve to be Halt's apprentice, that he was a crazed liar deserving of nothing more than an asylum?

That — the asylums — terrified Will more than almost anything. He had been through imprisonment of one sort already. An asylum would be little better than Skandia, and there would be no escape.

"Can you—" Will swallowed, hard. "Can you please just promise me that— please, please just— please don't put me in an asylum. Please."

Halt's face softened. He ran a hand across Will's face, brushing his thumb over Will's cheek. "Never."

Will's breath released all at once. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll...I'll trust you." The words felt like rocks, forcing their way up his throat. The idea still made him feel cold and weak and terrified just to think about. But...maybe, even if this wasn't his Halt, this was still Halt. And maybe...maybe that meant he could be trusted.

"Thank you," Halt said softly. "Now, come. Let's get back inside. It's late."

Will nodded and allowed himself to be steered all the way back to the house. Halt didn't let go until he was back in his room. Then he squeezed Will's shoulders once, gently, bid him goodnight, and shut the door. Will sank into his bed, stared at the door, and hoped, desperately, that he would not regret his decision.

Chapter Text

Will didn't sleep that night. He couldn't. He stayed awake, lying on his bed gazing up at the ceiling.

"Can you trust me?"

With every dragging minute, Will regretted more his decision to say yes. Because he couldn't. He couldn't trust Halt. It had taken all of an hour before his resistance had cracked and he had gone right back to imagining Halt leaving him, Halt hating him, consigning him to an asylum...

He said he would never do that.

Sure, he had said that. But could Will trust him to keep his word? Halt had said that — said all of that — before he had processed what Will had told him. What if he changed his mind?

Halt isn't one to change his mind.

Not the Halt that Will had known. But this one?

Are they truly so different?

Were they?

Will didn't know anymore.

What he did know, though, a knowledge that became more a certainty with every repetition of itself, was that Will needed to fix the future. What he'd just said to Halt, caught in the throes of his panic, was wrong. Things did matter. The future mattered. It needed to be changed, and Will was the only one with the foreknowledge to do so. It was up to him to save lives, and he would not let anyone stop him. Not even Halt.

If Halt didn't believe him, if Halt did decide to lock him up...

Just the thought made him quail, but he soldiered through, determined. There was more at stake here than Will's feelings. People would die if Will didn't help. He knew he couldn't stop everything — Morgarath's plans were too far advanced to avoid war — but he could do something. He could save Lord Lorriac's life, he could warn Araluen to prepare, he could tell the Skandians to fortify, he could keep Horace and Evanlyn and Halt away from Skandia...

Yes. There was much he could do, if he were allowed. Will could not afford to let Halt stop him. If Halt tried...

The slightest noise interrupted his thoughts. Will picked his head up, thoughts silenced as he listened. He couldn't hear anything else...but, of course, it was highly unlikely that he would. Halt was a Ranger, after all. Will sat up and pushed himself out of bed, flinching as he accidentally pushed on his injured hand. Laying in bed for hours had horribly stiffened up his injuries; it was a trial just to walk, as silently as he could manage, to his door and ease it open. He peeked out.

The main room was empty, fire banked, all dishes neatly put away. A few tins and containers sat on the table beside a half-open medicine kit. Assorted rags lay around. It was too dark to see clearly, but he knew they were stained brown from his blood. It was odd of Halt not to have cleaned all that up. He was extraordinarily fastidious when it came to equipment and supplies upkeep, especially medical supplies. If Will had been the one to leave blood-soaked material out overnight, he would've gotten an earful for it.

Will crept out, glancing over in the direction of Halt's room as he did. The door was closed and there was no flicker of candlelight peeking out underneath, so either Halt was asleep or he was not currently in his room. As early as it was — still night, really, although it was beginning to turn grey — Will was tempted to say Halt was asleep. But then what had that sound been? Will was accustomed to the nighttime sounds of Halt's house. What he'd just heard, faint as it had been, was not one of them.

Just to be sure, though, Will padded over to Halt's room, suppressing winces as he went. His flight from Halt really had been quite idiotic. His ankle was killing him now. How the hell was he supposed to be healed enough to fight the Kalkara in a month?

If he was even still an apprentice by then...

Will's jaw clenched and he pushed open the door to Halt's room. The room was night-dark so it was hard to tell, but Will didn't think he could make out Halt's form on the bed. He pulled back and silently shut the door. Turning, he headed outside.

The front door made the slightest creak as Will opened it, confirming his suspicions. That was the exact same sound he'd heard just minutes before. The hinges were getting rusty; Halt would need to oil them soon. Will stepped out onto the porch into the quasi-darkness of a sky just before dawn, intending to head to the stables and see if Halt had ridden off.

"You know, I'm not giving you the day off just because you decided to be an insomniac."

Will jerked, spinning around to see the shadowed form of Halt, sitting in his chair and watching him. The movement sent a wave of pain flaring up in his ribs and he hissed.

"Oh for heaven's sake. Sit down and stop exacerbating your injuries." Halt waved an impatient hand at the chair across from him. "We need you healed by the Gathering, and you certainly won't be if you keep that up."

Will hesitantly sat, even as his mind went blank in shock. The Gathering? Then...

"You...you're keeping me?"

The air went immediately as tense as if Will had just spattered rotten egg over the entire porch. Will himself blanched. Why the hell had he phrased it like that — like he was a child about to be abandoned to the wilderness?

"I was not aware there was any doubt of that," Halt said slowly. Will was exceedingly grateful he couldn't make out Halt's face. His tone was bad enough. "I thought I had been clear enough already. But, yes, I am."

"Oh," said Will. "That's...good."

He fidgeted, shifting around in his seat as he searched for something else to say. Usually he was content to sit with Halt in silence, but not today. He wanted, so badly, to ask Halt if he was done thinking it through, if he believed Will...if he didn't. But, faced with the unreadable figure next to him, his earlier determination to fix things was already shattering in the face of fear. He was afraid to say something wrong. If Halt did decide to go back on his word and send him to an asylum or otherwise break the apprenticeship, was there anything Will could do to stop him? 

"So, um, training," he said at last. His voice sounded weak and awkward even to him, but it was the only thing he could think of. "Since I'm...y'know...what am I going to be doing until I'm healed?"

Halt made a thoughtful sound. "I have some ideas, but they'll depend on just how bad your injuries are. Or rather, how much worse last night ended up making them." He finished that sentence with a disgruntled huff.

"Please don't tell me it's nothing but map-work."

"I hadn't been planning on it," said Halt gravely, as though in deep thought, "but now that you mention it..." 

Will looked at him in horror. A second later, Halt's lips quirked and he snorted. "You really are too easy."

"Just because I take people at their word," Will started, then stilled, stricken.

Halt, thankfully, just raised an eyebrow. "How many times have I pulled that exact same trick on you?"

Will flushed. He was usually better at figuring it out — usually Halt had to work at it to really pull one over on him — but right now he was so frazzled he wasn't thinking clearly. He decided to change the subject. "Er, so, other than map-work..."

Halt stood, crossing over to Will. "Let me see your ankle."

Will raised his leg so it was about waist-high to Halt. The man took hold of it and held it as he pulled Will's pants leg back to inspect the injury. Will raised himself into a half-crunch position to get a look himself. It didn't seem noticeably swollen or inflamed, though, again, the grey sky was not doing wonders for Will's visual capabilities. Really, he could barely see anything other than a silhouette. Halt prodded at his ankle; Will suppressed a flinch.

Halt looked at him consideringly. "Did that hurt?"

Will shrugged. "I can still walk on it fine."

"As much as I appreciate the confidence," said Halt dryly, "that is not at all what I asked."

"I-I mean...it hurts a little, but it's not too bad. There's no reason to have it affect my training."

"You may not be a first-year anymore," Halt said, a trifle acerbically, "but I rather think I might still have a better idea on what should or should not affect one's training, Will."

Will flushed, opened his mouth to respond — and stopped. Wait. Had Halt just said...?

"I'm...not a first-year?"

"Is that not what you told me just hours ago? I had thought you had promised me the truth, but—"

"No, no! I mean, yes, of course, of course I was telling the truth, that was the truth, I promise, I wasn't lying, honest, I just wasn't expecting you to — I mean — I wasn't expecting you to believe me — if, well, I don't know if you do but it sounded like you did just then and I—"

Halt's sigh cut Will off. "For a supposed third-year, you still babble quite like a first-year."

Will jolted, knocking his leg out of Halt's grasp in a panic, bolting upright. "No! I swear! I swear I'm telling the truth! I'll — I'll swear it on anything, on Araluen or — or on my parents' graves, anything, just—"

"Oh, settle down, will you?" Halt set his hands on Will's shoulders and, not too gently, forced him back into his seat. "Did you not hear me the first time? Keep walking around on your injuries and you won't be healed enough for the Gathering. Do you want your idiocy to set you back an entire year?"

Will opened his mouth, then shut it, utterly stunned. In all honesty, Will could not remember the last time he had truly considered his apprenticeship. There had always been other things to worry about: first the threat of the Kalkara, then the war with Morgarath, then Celtica, then Skandia...then the Kalkara all over again. Will had not been concerned about actually passing Ranger requirements or doing well in exams since...hell. Probably since his first six months of his apprenticeship. The idea of looking ahead that far into the future, with a kingdom torn apart by war or in the midst of brutal slavery, had seemed pointless. Idiotic, even. Out of touch with reality. Halt expecting Will to think about his future, a future that didn't end up with him killed by a Skandian like last time, well...

"What?" Halt asked. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about the Gathering. I've only hounded you about it every day for the past month, after all."

"No," said Will, still subdued from all his realizations. "I just..."

He hesitated. Halt hadn't exactly stated outright that he believed Will, but he had implied it, so Will supposed he was safe to say this.

"I just...it's been so long since all I've had to worry about is exams."

He was not expecting Halt to go still.

"I see," Halt said at last, carefully neutral. "What other things have you had to worry about, then?"

"Well." Will fidgeted nervously. How much to say? If Will told Halt too much, there was a distinct possibility that Halt would act on his own, which could spiral into drastically changing all the events Will thought he knew. That would be disastrous. Will's knowledge of the future only extended to the things he had already lived through; it was paramount that events changed as little as possible so that his foreknowledge could still be useful. The more Will told others, the less control he would have to make sure things did not end as catastrophically as they had last time.

"I know you're not stupid," Will said finally. "I told you about the Kalkara. I know you know what that means. It shouldn't be hard to make an educated guess as to what was keeping me from a normal apprenticeship experience."

"I could make such a guess," Halt agreed, "but I would rather you eliminated the need and simply told me."

Will sighed. He decided to be honest, make another bid for Halt's logical side. It had apparently worked at least somewhat the first time since Halt seemed willing to humor him. If Halt truly thought him delusional or a liar, he would not have started this line of inquiry.

"Look. Like I said, I know about what's going to happen in the future, but that's only because I happen to have lived through it all before. If something happened, say if someone decided to act differently than they did previously...that would change things, and then I wouldn't know what was going to happen in the future anymore."

The sky had lightened enough for Will to see Halt's shadowy form nod. "And?"

"And..." Will stared at him. "And that would be bad."

He had thought that was obvious. Apparently Halt didn't think so, though, because he inquired mildly, "And why would that be?"

"Because—" Will sputtered. "Because I like certain things that happened and want them to stay that way, and I don't like certain other things and want to change them, and I need to know as much as possible about what will happen so I can do that!"

Halt went quiet. Then he said, softly, "That seems an awful lot for one boy to manage on his own."

Will couldn't speak for a moment, overwhelmed by such powerful longing that it stole every bit of air from his lungs. He blinked back sudden tears, imagining that his Halt was there instead, setting his hand on Will's shoulder and saying those words. He would take responsibility for the future, ease Will's awful burden of foreknowledge, would stay by Will's side and protect him...

Except, in the end, his Halt had not even been able to protect himself.

The tears came stronger, then, and slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them. He tried — oh how he tried — not to think about it. He knew he had no time to grieve. His pain over losing his Halt had to simply stay there, weighing over his sternum day after day in an ache that never, ever, faded. But when he opened his mouth to speak, to push past it like he always did, all that came out was a sob.

"Oh, Will," came Halt's voice, and then he took Will by the arms and tugged him gently to his feet, moving Will's arms to wrap around Halt's middle. Will latched on and his tears only increased. His heart throbbed in time with every ragged, choked breath. A terrible pain hovered just behind his sternum, a raw, bloodied crack in his chest too close to shattering. 

They stayed like that for long seconds, Halt holding him in silence. Finally, Will managed to stop his tears, shove it all down once more. He lifted his head off of Halt's shoulder. He didn't let himself think about the way it felt to hug Halt again, because thinking about that — about anything to do with Halt, really — only made it that much harder to ignore the grief. It was better simply to think of the man holding him as someone else. Will began to pull away.

It was then that Halt spoke.

"That's settled, then," he said, as though Will's tears had been part of the conversation and not an embarrassing interruption to it. "You will not be doing this alone. Not anymore."

There were many possible responses to that. You truly believe me, then? or You're not the one from the future, how are you supposed to help? or Just don't leave me. Not ever again.

Will stepped back. His voice came out hoarse and stuffy from crying: "You have no right to do a thing to stop me."

"How interesting," said Halt in a terrifyingly bland tone. "I had the impression that I was the master in this apprenticeship."

"That doesn't matter," Will said. "None of that matters. I'm not — I'm not your apprentice. Not really. Just like you're not my...it doesn't matter. It doesn't. All that matters is — is I do what I need to do. So if you try to stop me..."

He clenched his hands. If this Halt were going to get in his way and prevent him from doing what he needed to do, then Will would have to disobey. He'd lie and sneak and rebel as much as he needed to, if it meant people could live. If it meant Horace and Evanlyn and Halt could live.

There was nothing that he would not do to save them.

Halt sighed. "You fool boy, I never said I was going to stop you. I wasn't planning to stop you from doing anything. Except doing this all on your own."

Will stared at him. Why should that matter? Was it not all on his own that Will had braved Skandians, slavery, and near-death on multiple occasions? Was it not all on his own that Will had been, for the past seven months, planning how to stop the horrors of last time from happening again?

Was it not all on his own that Will had died?

"I've done plenty of things on my own," he said finally. "I've told you already, just because I look fifteen doesn't mean I am. I'm not...I'm not a child."

He winced as soon as he said that, because was there anything more childish than claiming that you weren't? But Halt didn't laugh.

"I know you're not. That doesn't mean you couldn't still use help, though."

It occurred to Will, then, that Halt was being quite reasonable given Will had just disrespected his authority and basically told him it was illegitimate. Halt could have easily decided to intimidate or strong-arm Will into listening. But no, Halt was trying to reason with him. Will was incredulous just at the thought. He would never have expected Halt to act like this, but then, it's not like Will had ever tried it with his Halt.

Which, suddenly, made everything make more sense. The Will that he was three years ago, and even possibly the one he was in Skandia, would never have dreamed of defying Halt's authority like this. Will was different now...and his differences were changing Halt and the way they interacted with each other. There was, truly, no denying it now. The Will standing there on that porch was irretrievably different from what he once was.

So, where does that leave you? What are you going to do with that?

Will bowed his head. "Alright. But I-I need you to understand. There are some things I need to do and I can't allow anyone to get in the way. You can't stop me. Okay?"

"What sort of things?" asked Halt neutrally.

Will hesitated, eyeing him. "Not like, like murder or anything."

"Oh, well that makes me feel much better."

Will huffed. "Look. I promise it's not anything illegal, okay?"

"Hmm."

"Halt, really, I promise, I wouldn't—"

"Oh, save the righteous self-defense for a knight," said Halt wryly. "I'll deny this to anyone who asks, of course, but I myself have a slight bit of disinterest in legalities."

Will stared in disbelief. "Halt you're not...you're not serious, are you?"

But of course he was, Will realized. Of course the same man who thought committing treason was a good idea would be alright with breaking the law in other ways.

Halt, though, just shook his head despairingly. "We'll have to break you of that mindset right quick. No self-respecting Ranger would be caught dead with an attitude like that. You really got through three years of an apprenticeship without this coming up?"

Will winced, and was glad for the still-dark sky to hide it. Now that he was thinking about it, he supposed he had been operating under that mindset throughout Skandia. He just hadn't thought of it that way, given it was a foreign country he was being enslaved in. But honestly, if he and Halt had gone back to Araluen, would Will really have been surprised to see Halt forge a letter or some trifle?

'Some trifle,' Will thought and suppressed a laugh. Forgery was a serious crime in the eyes of Araluen law. No, don't worry, Halt. I already have the Ranger mindset, it seems. And speaking of forgeries...

"Well," said Will reluctantly. "I...might have considered forging a letter in your name. So I might not need the mindset shift after all."

"Oh?"

"Not — I wasn't actually going to do it without your permission," Will said hastily. "I mean, that is, I thought about it but I decided not to, I...I thought it'd be wrong, you know?"

Halt...snorted.

"Well," he said. "If I'd needed any proof that you've been my apprentice for three years, here it is, I suppose."

Will sucked in a breath. "So you...you believe me?" He'd been implying it the entire conversation, but this was the closest he'd come to saying it outright.

Halt's head turned to look up at the sky. Dawn had arrived, the sky unfurling pink edges as the sun readied for its ascent. "Well, I admit to not having expected that as answer to my questions. It's a rather...unique idea to have to wrap my head around, you know. It does give explanations for many of the things that had confounded me for months, though. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now. If this business with the Kalkara turns out the way you're saying it will...then, we can talk more."

Will nodded. The words made his chest twinge a bit, that Halt wasn't willing to believe him fully, but that was only reasonable. More, it was only to be expected of Halt. He was not the type to place blind faith in anyone or anything. As long as he listened, that would have to be enough.

"Speaking of that Kalkara business," Halt continued. "I'm going to need details. Tell me what you know."

Will did so, beginning with the first victims and moving through when they'd arrived at the Gathering to hear of Lord Lorriac's death and the suspected involvement of the beasts. There, he stopped. It had occurred to him that now that Halt knew, Will could finally do something about Lorriac's death. Finally, he had a Ranger with the power to act who was willing to listen to what Will had to say. Will went to begin an argument for it, but Halt was stroking his beard, contemplative.

"You said that you first heard of Lord Lorriac's death at the Gathering?"

Will nodded. He closed his eyes, straining to remember details. He didn't remember the exact date of Lorriac's death, to his chagrin — although, to be fair, he might never have been told in the first place — so he tried to think if he knew of anything that could help pin it down. "They'd only just started to dismantle the camp, so the news must have gotten there only a little before we did. We arrived the day before the Gathering was scheduled to officially begin."

"Hmm." Halt nodded slowly. "Lorriac's a high-ranking official and a very important person in Araluen. I'd put it at a week, tops, before Crowley would have been informed. It's more than likely it happened a mere day or two prior, but he does sometimes go on long hunting trips or visits to his daughter down in Edinsdale. If that was the case, it'd take longer to realize he was missing and mount a search party."

"I had been thinking of sending him a letter to tell him to stay indoors, but...he would hardly listen to an unknown apprentice," Will said. The And that may or may not have been the letter I considered forging in your name, but decided not to went unsaid.

"Even if the letter was in my name," said Halt, showing his uncanny ability to read Will's thoughts once more, "he would only regard it with suspicion. It would seem a mite out of character for me."

"You are terrible at keeping up with your correspondence," Will agreed, for once not keeping the thought to himself.

Halt gave him a quick, startled look, before his expression cleared. "I suppose I'll have to get used to that. But yes, Lorriac and I are old friends, but he still would not be expecting a letter from me. Rather, we should go in person and tell him."

"Go in person?" Will echoed. "But that's going to take a lot of time."

"Not as much as you think, and besides, I'll still have you train in the evenings. More importantly, Lorriac lives at Castle Araluen like the rest of the King's top advisors do—"

"Except for you," Will said dryly.

Again, Halt's startled look and then realization. He recovered by saying dryly, "And Baron Arald. And Lady Pauline. And a few others scattered across various fiefs, such as Sir David, the Battlemaster at Caraway. Although none of this is relevant to my point."

The name sounded familiar, but Will couldn't quite place it. He settled for grinning and saying, "Sorry. You were saying?"

Halt's eyes stayed on him for just an instant longer, like he'd been waiting for a reaction, before he continued. "Since Lorriac lives at Castle Araluen, we'll be able to combine several activities at once when we visit him. Crowley will be there, as well as many other important figures in the kingdom. If there really is an approaching war from Morgarath, it'll be good to inform them as soon as possible so they can prepare. In war, every day is invaluable."

Will nodded, knowing that fact all too well. "So, when are we going?"

Inwardly, he was torn. As much as he agreed with Halt about the need for urgency, when every day of preparations could mean lives saved, his body hurt. Days of riding Tug — or worse, the Rangers' forced march of alternating between that and running — would be hell for his bruised ribs and hurt ankle.

"About two weeks, I'd say," was the answer.

Will stared. "You just said urgency was key."

"I did," Halt conceded, "but I also believe in not abusing my apprentices. Asking you to march in your current condition would be just that."

Will's lips pursed. I've done more with worse, he wanted to say, but stopped himself. That would be revealing too much. Besides, he doubted it would actually convince Halt of anything, except maybe that Will really was a basket-case.

"You said it yourself," he argued instead, "every day we wait costs us lives! A little bit of discomfort—"

"Pardon me for saying," said Halt sarcastically, "but I think that it would be more than a little bit of discomfort, Will."

"So what if it is? I've had—" don't say it, don't say it "—I've had plenty of time to realize how much is at stake. War involves sacrifice, Halt, and this is one I'm willing to make if it means lives can be saved."

There it was. Will sighed inwardly. Halt's careful, assessing gaze was back, turned up to full throttle. Will supposed that his arguments really weren't those of typical first-year apprentices, so it probably was jarring hearing them come out of one who looked so young. He wished he had his own body back, even as broken and scarred as it would be. He should be...shit, he had told Halt wrong. He was eighteen now, wasn't he? He had been seventeen when the battle had happened, and it had happened in the spring, right before his birthday. If he had still been in that time, he would have had his eighteenth birthday by now.

But...here, not only had he completely forgotten his own birthday, his birthday wasn't even matched up how it was supposed to be. Here, his birthday was happening in about five months, but his actual birthday should be about eight months away. It wasn't by much, but he was now forever off.

Halt was speaking. Will blinked, pulling himself back in time to hear "—message."

"I'm sorry?"

Halt sighed. "Apprentices. Everything goes in one ear and out the other, doesn't it?"

Will fought back a smile at the familiar complaint. "Sorry."

"As I was saying, the Lorriac business is what is going to wait for two weeks. I'll be sending a message to Crowley today advising him to begin preparations for war. It would be preferable to be there myself, I'll admit, but I have enough to say that he will be be able to notify the fiefs to stay alert. In all honesty, other than that, there isn't much we can do. If we were to do something obvious like begin to amass troops or noticeably fortify our defenses, Morgarath would notice and probably simply decide to attack earlier than he'd originally planned." 

"That might not be such a terrible thing," said Will, "as he's probably not fully ready yet, either."

Halt shrugged. "True. But he might be. It'd be better to prepare as much as we can and have him attack at his original time, rather than not be prepared much at all and have him attack at full strength."

Will nodded, considering. It wasn't perfect — like Halt had said, it would be better to give them all the information in person — but it was a workable compromise, Will supposed. It did leave him regretting his actions with Alda and co even more, though.

"I really am sorry about what I did yesterday, with all of them," Will said quietly. "If I hadn't been so stupid, we could already be on our way to the castle."

Halt sighed. "It's not an ideal situation, I'll admit, but there are always things that happen that we wish we could go back and change. The important thing's to keep going despite that, and do the best you can with what you have now. Right now, this is the best we can do, so that's what we'll do."

He met Will's eyes. Will bit his lip, then nodded. That didn't make the situation any easier, and Will knew there would be many times when he would not be able to do it, but...for now, just this once...Will decided Halt was right. He'd move forward.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later, they were off to Castle Araluen. Will's still-tender ribs protested at every movement, and his very much still-broken finger was extraordinarily unhappy at holding Tug's reins for any length of time, but this had to be done. Besides, it was like he had told Halt: Will had had worse. Unfortunately, simply having had worse did not make the pain any less bad. It just meant he had more perspective to bear it.

Will shifted slightly in the saddle, carefully containing a wince. He understood that the Ranger's forced march had to be done at a trot, to spare the horses, but damn if that wasn't the worst gait possible for his ribs. What Will wouldn't give to be able to sit a smooth canter instead. Over the past two days that they'd been traveling, it had been an act of will to keep going and keep his mouth shut. It really was like being in Celtica again, or Skandia, forced to continue even through pain.

At least, he thought dryly, I've had practice now. You know what they say about practice making perfect...

It certainly didn't feel anything approaching perfect now, though. Will shifted again, injured hand twitching in his lap.

There was a slight movement in his peripheral.

Will closed his eyes and withheld a sigh. Great. Halt was watching him again. He was doing it, if possible, even more than he had before Will had told him the truth. Will found it frustrating to no end. Why should Halt be more suspicious of him now? Was Will not worthy of Halt's trust?

Well. Probably not. Will had lied to him and concealed the truth for months now. It wasn't surprising that Halt wouldn't trust Will after that. He had said (or implied, really, because when did Halt ever actually say such things) that he had forgiven Will for it, that he understood why it was necessary, but forgiveness and trust were two very different things. This, now, was merely the consequence of Will's own actions.

"What are you going to tell them?" Will asked. He had been wondering since two days ago, when they had first set out. Now they were nearly to Castle Araluen, the tiny peaks of the towering castle just vaguely suggested in the distance. They would make it by second watch, Will was guessing. "They're going to be suspicious if you just show up out of nowhere."

Halt nodded, glancing at Will. "They are. I'm going to tell them I've gotten intelligence saying that the Kalkara are on the move again, and that I have reason to believe they'll be targeting all of the most important leaders in the kingdom."

Will sputtered. "But — but that's the truth!"

"Indeed. It's easier to say than one might think."

Halt said it blandly, but Will couldn't stop the defensive stiffening of his shoulders or the tightening of his jaw. They eyed each other for a moment; then Halt sighed and looked away, the only sign he would give of backing down. Will swallowed down the retorts he'd been about to make and they continued on in silence.

That silence had become more and more of an accessory to Will and Halt's encounters in the past two weeks. It wasn't always as tense as this one was. When Will remarked on something the way he would have with his Halt, the silence was surprised; when he slipped and mentioned something only his Halt would have known, it was awkward; when he showed Halt how much more he knew and how much more he could do that he'd been letting on, it was uncomfortable. Will had become well-accustomed to silence throughout his apprenticeship, but he still couldn't say he liked these kinds of silences.

With a sigh, Will decided to do something about it. He was sick of being at odds with the person who was supposed to be his mentor. If that meant he had to make some sort of peace offering to regain even a little bit of what they had once had, he would do it.

"He told me he once got ambushed somewhere around here," Will said. It was the first time he had ever intentionally brought up his Halt.

Halt held silence for a moment, then: "Three or four years ago, I would say. A handful of idiot bandits, too stupid to recognize a Ranger when he's right in front of them."

"Four of them, right?"

Halt nodded. "It was just twilight — I'm sure you know that bandits often like to attack then, right when the light is uncertain, to take advantage of some poor, unsuspecting soul. Unfortunately for them, they got more than they bargained for."

He started off, retelling the story, and Will nodded along to it. Halt was actually quite a good storyteller when he wanted to be — which, admittedly, was not often. Today, though, was one of those times, and Will was happy to listen. Some parts were told almost identically, with only minute changes in wording from what Will remembered. Some parts were different, omitting one detail or adding in another Will hadn't heard before. But as Halt finished, Will realized that the story was, in essence, the same.

By the time Halt was done, the sun was beginning to set, the sky darkening towards that very twilight Halt had just described in depth. He glanced up.

"We should make camp," he said. "I know of a good place nearby. We should reach it within the next half-hour."

"Camp?" Will said. "Shouldn't we keep going? You've said it yourself, our news is urgent."

Halt cast him a dry look. "Yes, which is why I sent that letter in the first place, if you'll recall."

Will's lips pursed and he shifted restlessly in the saddle, ignoring the now-familiar twinge of his injured pinky. "We could make it by second watch if we kept going."

"And who, pray tell, is going to be awake to receive us at that time of night?"

"Well, no one, but—"

"Exactly. No one. There's no point in running ourselves ragged to get somewhere sooner when there will be no one to even speak with."

"We could wake them up, though." The guards wouldn't dare keep two Rangers with important news outside the castle all night, and it would be easy, if perhaps a breach of etiquette, to send a servant to Lord Lorriac and Crowley's chambers to wake them.

"What's the point? Lorriac's hardly going to go off into the woods in the middle of the night," Halt said reasonably. "Either he'd have done it this afternoon, in which case we're too late anyway, or he would go in the morning, which is when we'll arrive."

Will huffed but unhappily subsided. He felt rather miffed about Halt pointing out the flaws in his plans. Will had had to make and execute his own plans for some time now — practically since Celtica, almost two years ago — so having someone else correct him was irritating. But he had just decided to try and make peace with this Halt. Will truly did not want another fight.

Soon, Halt was leading them off the main road towards a low rise that sheltered a hollow. Directing Will to start a fire, Halt then went off to a nearby stream for water. Will did so, unpacking their saddlebags and setting up for the night. Once Halt was back, he started a stew with the rabbit he'd shot during the day and then sat down by the fire. Will had just gone to do the same, but Halt held up a hand.

"That tree over there. Practice your throwing with your left hand. Your enemies won't care a whit if you're injured when they come for you."

Sighing, but entirely unsurprised, Will reluctantly got to his feet and set his left hand to his knives.

A cold, drizzling rain greeted Will and Halt the next morning as they awoke, coming with the dawn. Will supposed they should be happy it wasn't snow — there'd been a warm front for the past week, melting the recent snowfall — but it still meant they were cold, wet, and miserable as they mounted their horses and set out on the final leg of their journey to Castle Araluen. Will felt almost equal to Halt's grumpiness for once. The cold combined with his recent injuries was a truly awful combination. Still, Will had learned by now that complaining did little good. He grimly kept his head down and kept going.

It really would be nice if Halt could have kept his eyes to himself, though. Will almost said as much several times throughout the dreary morning, but he always just barely held back his tongue. Don't fight. Don't fight. You know you don't want a fight.

It was approaching noon by the time they made it to the castle's main gate. The rain had not let up, and at this point Will could barely feel his hands. He had spent the last half-hour planning a repertoire of sharp retorts if the guards didn't immediately let them in. Casting a side-eye at Halt (two can play at that game!), Will thought with a flicker of amusement that Halt had probably been doing the same, and with much more skill.

As they reined their horses in before the gate, one of the guards called down.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

Will slid Halt a sly smirk. "Answered his own question, didn't he?"

Halt shot him a glare. Pushing back his hood, Halt called out, "Ranger Halt and his apprentice. We have urgent business with Lord Lorriac and Ranger Commandant Crowley."

"R-Ranger Halt?"

Will had to work hard to stifle his giggle. He grinned over at Halt, whose resignation dripped down his face with the rain. "...Yes. The same."

Halt visibly braced himself for Salt Peter 2.0, but the guard was no Salt Peter. He gave an impressively dramatic gasp. "I can't believe I'm meeting the Ranger Halt! It's — it's a right honor, sir!"

Halt blinked. He opened his mouth, but the guard blazed onward.

"Really, I've admired your actions at Hackheam Heath for years now, sir," he was gushing. "That cavalry attack? Those maneuvers you pulled off? A true stroke o' genius, sir! What I wouldn't give to have witnessed that myself!"

"That's...nice," Halt said slowly, but the guard was once again speaking as though he hadn't even heard.

"And you won't even let your actions be celebrated as they deserve to be! Character of a true hero, mark my words! You're no swaggering, arrogant knucklehead like that Lord Dolan, no sirree! I've told my sons — and my daughter, I'm sure even she can learn from a good man like you — to learn well from you, sir!"

Halt shifted. "I'm...sure there are many other acceptable role-models—"

"Acceptable? Maybe there are some acceptable ones, but they're a fair sight away from you, sir!"

"That may be, but—"

"That may be?" The guard looked affronted by the very idea that Halt's greatness was a mere possibility. "Your folks've been treating you right awful, Ranger, sir, for you to speak of yourself like that! Why, I have half a mind to ride down to Redmont myself and give your baron a right ear-lickin'!"

Halt opened and closed his mouth several times, looking more lost than Will had ever seen him. Will had to cough into his sleeve to stifle a laugh. Classic Halt: fearless when facing down a Kalkara, a band of Wargals, or an entire army of Temujai, but put him in one (1) awkward social situation and he becomes absolutely useless. Usually Halt would default to grumpiness and ill-temper in such situations (it was his default in many situations, to be fair), but faced with such an earnest admirer, Halt was apparently so thrown he could not. Will bit his lip to contain another laugh. This one Halt caught, because he sent Will a glare.

"Oh, good sir, could you really do that?" Will said, eyes wide and starry. "Going down to Redmont and telling our baron how much Halt deserves to be appreciated would be a godsend, truly! You could also tell the head of the Diplomat school there, Lady—"

The tip of Halt's longbow hit Will over the head, effectively cutting Will off mid-sentence.

"Will you just let us through?" Halt asked the guard.

"Oh, but of course! Anything for you, sir! Adrian, open the gate! It's Ranger Halt! The Ranger Halt!"

"I heard you the first time, idiot," came the annoyed answer. "We all know who Ranger Halt is. You're the only one who's so weird about it."

"Finally, someone normal," Halt muttered.

Halt's fanboy did not take the other guard's comment lightly. The entire time Adrian was raising the portcullis, the other harangued him for it, alternating between telling him off for being so ungrateful for Halt's sacrifices and complimenting Halt. The moment the gate was high enough for a horse and rider to pass through, Halt was urging Abelard forward. Abelard practically shot through the courtyard to the stables, with Will and Tug following behind. They were granted the privilege of hearing the guard call out after Halt the whole way.

The two Rangers handed their horses off to stable-hands quickly and then they were off to the castle proper. As they swept into the entryway, Halt muttered, "I think I prefer it when they don't believe me."

Seeming to know where he was going, Halt grimly ghosted along through the castle, leaving Will to fumble along behind him. He was far more graceful now than he had been seven months ago, granted, but it was still not to where he had been. He glanced around rapidly as they moved, trying to take in as much of the castle as he could. It was beautiful, far more so than Castle Redmont, in Will's opinion. Whereas Castle Redmont had been built with functionality as its priority, Castle Araluen had also been built for beauty. The mid-morning sun glittered in through glass windows — glass! Not vellum or animal hide! Will had scarcely ever seen such a thing in his life. As they passed the dining hall, Will caught a glimpse of a giant, elaborate tapestry hanging on one wall, guarded on both sides by ornamental armor suits. The whitewashed hallway walls were covered in delicate paintings: trees, trellises, nobleman's trysts.

Without pause or hesitation, Halt led Will down hall after hall and up flight after flight of stairs, past servants, guards, and even nobility, few of which even seemed to notice the two Rangers' presence. Will raised his eyebrows at that, especially at the guards who either completely missed them or spared them a glance and a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Certainly high security here," Will muttered dryly, as they mounted the third flight of stairs and brushed past a pair of guards who didn't even startle at the sight of two Rangers. Where was Crowley's usual place? Up in some rafter somewhere? Surely the Ranger Commandant would have been given a little nicer accommodations than that?

Halt grunted in agreement. Will was sure Halt would be having words with someone about the guards' lax behavior — especially now, at the brink of war as they were. Will was surprised Crowley hadn't said anything, but then the Commandant probably had better things to do than worry about palace guards.

At last, Halt came to an abrupt stop before a door. Will nearly careened into him, digging his heels into the stone floor just in time. He examined the door with open curiosity. Certainly it didn't seem any different than any of the other doors they'd passed thus far, but Halt had a good memory. Will stepped forward, but Halt's hand settled on his shoulder, holding him back.

"Will, before we go in." He swept his careful, analyzing gaze over Will and was silent for a few seconds. "This is not something that happened last time, I take it."

Will nodded.

"I'll be doing the talking." Halt's tone left no room for negotiation.

Will's eyes tightened but he ducked his head in submission. He didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Besides, it would be exceedingly odd for Halt to let his apprentice do the talking instead. Will knew all of that. He didn't even have a problem with it, really. It was simply that Will didn't know what Halt was going to say. Probably nothing about Will's true identity (at least, he hoped not), but the not knowing was making Will nervous. He hated not being in charge of the plan.

"If Lorriac isn't here..." Halt trailed off, shaking his head. "Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, I suppose. Did you ever meet the Commandant?"

It was such an odd feeling, being asked about what he had done in a time that did not, for all intents and purposes, exist anymore. Will had yet to get used to it. More than that, he had yet to get used to the simple idea that Halt believed him.

"Kind of?" Will winced. "Um, I mean kind of. I've seen him a few times." The most words Will had exchanged with Crowley was after the Kalkara. Crowley had gone to Redmont to see the injured Halt and to get Halt's report on the events that had occurred, as well as — in Will's opinion — tactical advice for the upcoming war. Will had been in the middle of arguing with Halt that he was too injured to deal with a bandit issue that had come up and that he should let the Watch handle it when Crowley had appeared. Halt had wasted no time in sending Will away, probably happy he had an excuse to stop arguing with Will.

(He had relented later, so either Will was more convincing than he'd thought he was, or Crowley had said something. Will would've liked to believe the former, but was unfortunately leaning towards the latter.)

"He called me short," Will recounted a bit ruefully, remembering Crowley's swift appraisal of him as Will had reluctantly left the porch to let the two of them talk alone. "Like you, he said."

Halt's eyes pinched in annoyance. "That certainly does sound like him. Well then, I shouldn't need to tell you how to behave. You're a third year, aren't you? You should know." 

Will internally winced as Halt walked up to the door and knocked, three quick raps. Will should have known the proper etiquette for how to speak with the Commandant or other senior Rangers, but that had not been on Gilan's priority list to teach in Celtica, or Halt's to teach in Skandia. They had been a little more concerned in teaching Will how not to die in battle. Dying of humiliation in social situations had been a secondary concern.

"Come in," came a voice, muffled through the thick wood of the door. Halt slipped in as soundlessly as was his wont, Will following after.

Crowley's office was rather similar to the Baron's office, Will mused, just far more Ranger-like in its simplicity. There were no elaborate decorations, just a couple of bookshelves stuffed with books and scrolls and piles of paperwork. Crowley's desk was set beside an open window, not paneled in glass like the windows on the first floor had been. Will supposed it made sense; glass was expensive, and in any case, Crowley probably appreciated the quick exit that the window would afford him. Despite all the stairs they had gone up, this was somehow only the second floor. Crowley would survive a jump out of the window. Whether he would survive it unscathed was another story.

"Halt!" Crowley said, rising from his chair with a pleased smile. "I knew it was you as soon as that door opened. Isaiah still releases the handle too quickly no matter how many times I tell him it's a dead giveaway."

"You're still keeping that youngster around to do your busywork?" Halt asked, raising an eyebrow. "I thought Jed was set to announce his retirement this year."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "You know how they are. It's always 'just one more year, Crowley, then I swear I'll be done.' So this is Will?"

The abrupt change of topic, and the abrupt weight of Crowley's gaze on him, made Will jolt. He swallowed, genuinely nervous. Halt's approval at Choosing Day had not been scary because Will already knew he would gain it; same with Baron Arald. But Will had never gained Crowley's approval before and now, faced by the hardened, suddenly serious face of his leader, Will fought to keep his nerves hidden. His heart thudded.

As the silence beat on, Will realized in horror that he was expected to answer. But how? And what title was he expected to use? What was he supposed to say? A simple "yes, sir"? A similar to the knights' phrasing "Will, sir, at your service, sir"? A more genial "Will, sir, nice to meet you"? Or the more polite "It's an honor to meet you, Commandant Crowley, sir"? Was he supposed to bow, or could a nod of the head be enough? Certainly Halt did not generally bow, but he was Halt.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "What, something wrong with your tongue, boy?"

He sounded exactly like Halt had, the night of Choosing Day when he'd caught Will sneaking into Baron Arald's office. The glint of his eyes was just as severe, the cut of his expression just as stern. Will quailed. Snapping into a bow, he said,

"Will, sir! At your service, sir! It's an honor to meet you, Commandant Crowley, sir!"

The room went silent. Will cringed, not daring to raise his head. He had fucked up. He had fucked up so badly—

The silence was sliced in two by laughter. Will's head snapped up and he witnessed the unenviable scene of his Commandant laughing at him. Crowley leaned back against his desk, a hand covering his face as his shoulders shook in mirth. He looked so much younger when he was laughing, Will thought, though admittedly it was rather sourly. All the worry-lines and creases in his face seemed nothing next to the laughter-lines beside his eyes. Will wondered what Halt would look like if he ever laughed like that. Or at all.

"Damn, Halt, whyever'd you tell him to say that?" Crowley asked finally, through abating laughter. "For a second he sounded like a Battleschool apprentice, not a Ranger's!"

Halt raised his hands in defeat. "I certainly didn't teach him that. He came up with that on his own."

Still grinning, Crowley turned back to look at Will. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up more than it already did. One more thing Halt and Crowley had in common, it seemed: bad hairstyles. Crowley's was much lighter than Halt's, red beginning to grey, but it was short and rather wild. It reminded Will of Erak.

"Look, kid," he said, tone much kinder than it had been a mere minute before. "I don't know why Halt didn't tell you, but us Rangers, we don't stand on ceremony with each other. There's no need for all that bowing or all those 'sirs.' Just call me Crowley, same as anyone else."

"Alright...Crowley." Will grimaced. No, that was just too weird. "...sir."

Crowley snorted, turning a grin to Halt. "You must have your hands full with this one, huh?"

"You have no idea," said Halt dryly. He turned a look to Will and twitched up an eyebrow. Will knew exactly the thought behind it. A third-year, hmm? And you didn't know how to talk to another Ranger?

Will suppressed a shudder and realized, with a low sense of dread, that this had been another one of Halt's tests and that Will had failed it. If he had been a normal third-year apprentice, he would have been to at least two Gatherings, if not three, and most likely have spoken to other Rangers at length. If he had been a normal third-year apprentice, he would have known this already. That meant there were currently two possibilities in Halt's head. Either Will was lying and he wasn't a third-year, or he was a third-year, but something had prevented him from receiving that training. Will knew that there was no way Halt would default to "got captured and enslaved in foreign country" but...just the fact that Halt was once more suspicious of Will was enough.

"Well, enough of that," Crowley said, waving a hand dismissively. "You wouldn't come without a good reason. What's wrong?"

Halt nodded. "Yes, I suppose I should get to that. But first, is Lorriac here?"

Crowley tilted his head. "No. He left for Edinsdale three days ago. Visiting his youngest daughter who's due to give birth any day now. Why?"

Halt's eyes met Will's. Soberly, he turned back to Crowley. "I have recently received reliable intel that the Kalkara are hunting. And I have reason to believe they're going after Lorriac next."

Chapter Text

"I have recently received reliable intel that the Kalkara are hunting. And I have reason to believe they're going after Lorriac next."

Crowley just stared for a prolonged moment. Then he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. "Shit."

The room went that sort of quiet where everyone's thoughts are weighted, dragging down the air around them. It was Crowley who broke it, rubbing a hand over his face and muttering again, "Shit."

He didn't bother asking if the intel truly was reliable; he didn't bother asking if Halt were certain. He had known and worked with Halt long enough not to do such things. Instead, he asked, "Both of them?"

"As far as I know, yes."

Leaning back in his chair, Crowley closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose. Inhaling, he slowly opened his eyes. The moment they met Halt's, his expression set like stone falling into a groove.

"It's a tenday's ride to Edinsdale, and Lorriac has a three day head start. You'll have to ride hard to catch him."

Halt nodded. That was obvious.

"I can't give you any knights. They would never be able to keep up with you. I can send Isaiah with you, though. His silent movement may still leave something to be desired, but he's as good a shot as any Ranger."

"With his crossbow as well, I should hope," said Halt. "I told you to make sure he keeps in practice."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Am I the Commandant, or are you?"

"Well, if you'd like an answer..."

Crowley glared at him, then waved a hand dismissively. "I'll get someone to fetch him immediately. Will, was it?"

Will startled. "Um— yes! Yes, that's my name. I—" he reddened, abruptly wishing he had not opened his mouth at all. Fuck, how old was he again? Because he was certainly acting like he was still fifteen.

Crowley raised his eyebrows, trading a look with Halt before turning back to Will. "I'm assuming you're competent enough to find somebody and give them a message?"

"I should hope any apprentice of mine would at least be able to do that," Halt muttered.

"Gilan?"

"...his first year doesn't count."

Fighting back a smile at this unflattering portrayal of Gilan (oh, did Will have to hear the story behind that), Will nodded. "Where might I find him?" 

"I can tell you where he might be," said Crowley, amused, "but that doesn't mean you'll find him there."

For a moment, Will cocked his head in confusion. Then he understood. "Just because I might not see him doesn't mean he's not there."

Crowley gave him an approving look. "Well, Halt, at least you've taught the boy something. I suppose he'll do. Isaiah'll probably be out in the training grounds by now. He's taken it upon himself to improve the King's archers, God help him. Of course, he doesn't have any official approval for it, so he makes himself scarce anytime the actual commanders are about."

Halt clicked his tongue. "The last thing we need right now is more tension between the Royal Archers and the Rangers."

Crowley flicked a wrist. "I doubt it'll come to that. Isaiah's friends with one of the main commanders. They seem to see it as a game of sorts. If I'd thought it would do any real harm, I would've stopped it long ago."

Halt grunted, but seemed satisfied enough to not push any further. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Will. "What are you standing around for? We haven't got all day, you know."

Will lifted his hands in surrender, turned to go, then stopped. "Um...where exactly are the training grounds?"

Crowley instructed him on how to get there. With that done, Will took his leave and shut the door behind himself.

He soon made his way down the stairs and through the doors into the courtyards surrounding the castle. It took perhaps a tad longer than needed, not due to Will getting lost, but rather his awe at his grand surroundings. The sheer grandiosity made him feel minuscule in comparison, nothing but a poor country boy. If Halt hadn't taken him as an apprentice, he would have lived and died a peasant, most likely never even leaving Redmont. How could that one action have changed Will's trajectory to this extent?

Slipping into the chill rain leached some of those thoughts away. He always felt better outside — one reason why he was well-suited for the job, he supposed. The rain, miserable as it had been to ride in, was a welcome reprieve from the stuffy air of the kitchens he had passed through right before. Although the gardens were still much grander and more elegant than what he'd seen before, filled with ornamental flowers and plants rather than ones of any actual use, in Will's mind, plants were plants. In his opinion, the clearing about four kilometers from Halt's house filled with primroses and foxglove was just as beautiful as any of the cultured gardens here.

Passing through the gardens, Will strode in the direction Crowley had told him until the grass wore down into straw and dirt and an array of training dummies filled the view. Groups of men sprawled about the area, bows in their laps and on the ground beside them as they ate lunch. Their hunched backs and sullen murmurs showed them to be just as miserable training out in these conditions as Will and Halt had been riding in them. Will couldn't help but commiserate. He remembered having to work the paddles in Skandia in weather much worse than this. He still felt the chill in his bones — no matter that these bones had never felt it.

Will stopped at the edge of the grounds, unobtrusively blending in with a bit of shade from one of the few trees around this area of the castle grounds. A first glance yielded no Ranger-like figure, but that was unsurprising. He kept scanning, moving his eyes as Halt had taught, and finally thought he saw what he was looking for.

Taking care to keep hidden, Will started towards the still shape, flitting from shadow to shadow. The overcast sky helped in providing ample concealment. He crept in a broad semicircle, moving around the figure and behind him—

"I can see you, you know."

A bare meter away, Will stopped. Damn. Caught out like a first-year apprentice.

The shape moved, coalescing into a person and slipping off his hood. In the dim, rain-spattered light, Will saw an angular face with a dark, close-shaven beard and a straight line of a nose. The man's hair was black and long, pulled back from his face and skimming his shoulders. Keen eyes — a Ranger's eyes, Will thought immediately — examined Will.

"An apprentice," the man said, then gave a short chuckle. "And a new one, too. Don't even have your bronze yet, do you?"

Before Will could respond, the man had tilted his head, frowning in consideration. The frown abruptly turned into a laugh. "Hah! Don't tell me — you're Halt's, aren't you?"

Startled, Will could only examine him back for a few seconds. He was young, not much older than Will — he couldn't have been out of training for more than a year or two at most. That would explain why he was here, rather than at his own fief. Newly-fledged Rangers were often assigned to Castle Araluen until a fief opened up. Yet, despite his youth, he seemed to already have settled into himself. His posture held an unspoken self-assurance that Will, for all that he had been through and done, still had not managed to grasp.

"I am apprenticed to Halt," Will said finally, not liking the man's comment about being Halt's. "How'd you know?"

The Ranger curved a grin at him like the throw of a discus. "I didn't, really. But there's only two other first-year apprentices this year. One of them is far off in Hogarth Fief — can't imagine why they'd come all the way to Castle Araluen this close to the Gathering. The other's apprenticed to an idiot. We'll all be surprised if he makes it through the exam, but then, no one expected his master to make it through, either. Anyway, there's no way he could've gotten that close to me without being noticed."

Used as he was to Halt's sparing praise, Will decided he would take that as a compliment. "You're Isaiah, right? Crowley sent me to fetch you."

"Well, consider me fetched," the Ranger said with a bit more of that unsettling grin, straightening up and stretching out like a cat. "Look at how lucky I am, catching a first glimpse of Halt's newest apprentice before the Gathering. You've been the talk of the whole Corps."

Will's shoulders tensed. He believed him. That was one of the things Gilan had taught him on the journey to Celtica: what it meant to be an apprentice of Halt. It meant expectations, a shadow nine meters long falling across them, and boots to fill that were far bigger than either of their own feet. Will had managed to avoid that reality for a long time, off in Skandia as he had been, but finally, it was here right in front of him and he had no choice but to face up to it.

"And what will you say, when you talk with them?" Will held the man's gaze, refusing to back down. The man looked back for a long moment, before the grin was back.

"Only that I caught him trying to sneak up on me, like any good Ranger would try." He stuck out his hand, then, the motion swift and sudden. "Call me Isa. Crowley's the only one who calls me Isaiah anymore and that's just because he's an asshole."

Will blinked at him, nonplussed and entirely lost on how to respond to his Commandant being so casually insulted. "Um..."

Isa laughed again, short and sharp. "You firsties are too easy. Come, let's go. Too long and we'll find the two of them in the middle of bickering about the merits of taking coffee with or without honey, and we wouldn't want that, would we?"

Pausing a moment to take in the fact that Isa had assumed, correctly, that Halt was there with Crowley, Will nodded slowly. Isa brushed past him, slipping on his hood once more and instantly blurring into his surroundings. Will scrambled after him. Just like with Halt, he struggled to keep up.

"That Will of yours," Crowley remarked casually, "he certainly seems to know you well."

Halt's hand tightened around the quill he was holding, stopping mid-sentence on the missive he was drafting. Crowley hadn't looked up from his own work, seemingly determined to appear as nonchalant as possible. If he had, he would've seen Halt's expression darken in annoyance.

Despite Crowley's attempts at appearing casual, Halt knew quite well that his words had been entirely intentional. Crowley hadn't said that Halt knew Will well. That was to be expected from anyone Halt was around. Nor had Crowley said that Will and Halt were close. While that of itself would perhaps have startled him a little, knowing how reluctant Halt was to form attachment, it would not have been truly surprising. Halt had done it before, with Gilan, and just about as quickly.

No, Crowley had chosen his words well. He had said that Will knew Halt.

"Does he, now?" Halt asked, unconcernedly, to buy himself some time.

Halt was not entirely sure where Crowley had gained the idea, which of course only made Halt more annoyed. He swiftly flipped through the events of the past two hours — Will's first meeting with Crowley, his return with Isaiah in tow (or, more accurately, Isaiah's arrival with Will in tow), the half-hour of discussion they had held before sending Will and Isaiah away so Crowley and Halt could confer on their own. They would certainly have seemed familiar with each other, accustomed to the others' mannerisms and habits, but that was surely nothing strange. Gilan would have known as much, seven months into his own apprenticeship.

Although...would he, though?

Halt had experienced it for himself, how jarring Will's knowledge of him was. It was certainly not the knowledge Gilan had had, seven months in. It was not the knowledge Gilan had had a year in, or two years in, or even three. Sometimes, Halt would stare at Will and silently, with a tinge of surprised horror, think that Will knew things about him that Gilan didn't even know now.

Those times, the same question would always bob up to the surface. Just who was Will, to that other me?

He had a feeling he already knew the answer.

"That story he mentioned, about Pritchard?" Crowley's eyebrow was raised, knowingly. "I can't imagine you'd've told Gilan that in his first year."

Halt closed his eyes. No. He would not have. He had not. He still had not. The damned thing was, he hadn't told Will that, either. Halt almost never spoke of his past. He couldn't imagine what the situation had been for him to do so, but he was finding more and more with Will that things he would never have imagined doing had already been done. Only in a different lifetime than this one.

"You try putting up with his questions for half an hour and see what you'd be inclined to tell him," Halt said sharply. "The boy has no idea when to shut up."

"Gilan didn't either," said Crowley, not losing the knowing look. Halt could think of at least six different ways to get rid of that look, but unfortunately none of them were legal.

"It was...a mistake," Halt said, despite knowing that it would not have been. The Halt who had told Will that story would have done so with full intent and no regrets. Then, pointed, "I didn't think you were the sort to hound a man about his mistakes." 

"I don't believe that for one second."

"Believe what you will, then," Halt said, standing up. His work wasn't done, but he couldn't bear being inside the tiny office for any longer. He started to collect the papers, the inkwell, the quill.

Crowley gave a loud sigh. "Oh, sit back down, will you? You're acting like I'm trying to interrogate you."

"Are you trying to pretend that you're not?"

"I didn't think it'd be such a sore spot," Crowley said. He put his hands up in surrender. "Lord, have you gotten crotchety in your old age."

Halt raised his eyebrows, but sat back down. "Are you forgetting the time I asked you about—"

"Alright, alright, I see your point. Let's call a truce then. I won't ask about Will, and you won't ask about Charlotte."

Halt hmph'ed. "I still think you should try—"

"And I think you should embrace what's happening with Will, but it looks like neither of our opinions are wanted at the moment," Crowley said a bit sharply. Halt took the hint to back off. As easy-going as Crowley generally was, Halt had pushed too hard enough times to know when to quit.

"Well, enough of that then, I suppose." Halt set his papers back down and found the place he'd left off. "While we're in the business of giving unwanted opinions, I noticed that Isaiah seems...different."

Crowley sighed. This one was less exasperated, more heavy. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not extremely. There's an edge to him now, though, that I don't remember seeing before."

Crowley just nodded, eyes cast down to his papers without a hint of his earlier nonchalance. Halt eyed him, felt that he saw the edges of guilt, or shame, or pain, and said, a little gentler,

"It's not all bad. He has a sort of confidence I hadn't seen in him before, with none of the lazy arrogance of that former master of his. That is certainly a change to be welcomed."

"If that were all it was, perhaps I would."

Halt said nothing for a moment, considering how to respond. Isaiah's newfound sharpness had seemed, if a little jarring, not alarming or at all dangerous. The subtle insouciance in his treatment of Crowley had been explainable by the amount of time the two Rangers must spend together. But, given Crowley's reaction...something must have happened. Halt gave a moment to consider if he should attempt to help, but quickly discarded the idea. He did not have nearly enough of the pieces to understand what he'd be getting himself into, and he had much bigger things to worry about. Right then, there was really only one thing he needed to know.

"Is he stable enough to trust with this mission?"

Crowley nodded. "Yes. I can promise that. In fact, getting away from the castle will be good for him. He's...a bit rough, now, and a tad bit reckless, but if anything, that recklessness will be an asset in chasing down two Kalkara. No man with a head screwed on straight would be brave enough to face down those beasts unafraid."

"I don't need a man who'll take stupid risks. It'll only endanger the rest of us."

"He won't. Isaiah has no desire to risk your or Will's lives, I can assure you. He's just a little bit more willing to risk his."

Halt's lips pursed. He didn't necessarily like that, but if Crowley was telling him that Isaiah could keep himself under control, Halt would trust him on that. "Fine. I'll take your word for it."

Crowley met his eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, back to work. These missives won't write themselves."

Halt gave a long, heartfelt sigh, gazing back down at the hours of work ahead of him.

"Damn paperwork."

Chapter Text

Will fidgeted on the luxurious couch in the opulent set of rooms he and Halt had been given for the night. The fabric felt strange to him, too smooth and silky compared to the worn wood of the rocking chairs back at this Halt's house. He had first been too scared to even touch the furniture, afraid his dirty clothes would rub off on them, and had decided to sit on the floor instead. But as the hours had passed and Halt was still yet to return, Will had finally decided to brave the couch.

He was rather regretting not taking the chance to explore the palace while he was here. He had a little bit, but the winding hallways and towering staircases had gotten him so mixed up he'd finally had to shamefacedly ask a servant for directions. Him, a Ranger's apprentice, getting lost! Yet somehow the densest forest in the world seemed much less confusing than this palace. At least in a forest everything was not so monotonously perfect. To a poor ward like Will, it was strangely intimidating. Still, he would probably be able to count on two hands the amount of times he would come to Castle Araluen; he should probably live it up while he could. 

Unfortunately for him, though, as long as he'd sat here now, he'd missed his opportunity to do so. Halt was due back any minute now and Will wasn't about to miss him.

Will looked up from the maps spread out in front of him — courtesy of Halt, of course — to take in the room once more. It was fastidiously neat, resplendent in bright, rich rugs and tapestries and various finery Will didn't know the names of. He slid his eyes, for a moment, to the deep indigo and crimson of the rug that the couch sat on top of. He knew little about luxury, but he did know enough to realize that rug must have cost a small fortune, easily more than a Ranger would make in a year. Dyes like that were expensive, not to mention the beautiful patterns that spoke of a talented craftsman. The knowledge that Halt, and Will himself by extension, had been thought important enough to be given a room so luxurious should have made Will feel proud. Instead it just made him uncomfortable.

Sighing, Will directed his gaze to the walls of the room with a frown. Two of the doors led to Halt and Will's bedrooms, while the third led to the hallway outside. Despite the abundance of doors, though, there were no windows. Will hated that. It felt suffocating. It was all the worse when Will reminded himself of the conversation he knew he needed to have with Halt, once the man finally returned. If it went poorly, he had no escape route to speak of — his own bedroom was just as insular, and fleeing to the intricate maze of hallways would just get him lost once more.

Not that he was really expecting it to go poorly. Well...he doubted it would go well. But Will didn't truly think that it would go so badly he'd be forced to run. He knew he would want to, though. He quite wanted to now.

Not so brave now, am I, Halt? he thought with a sigh. He remembered what his Halt had always said about the importance of courage. In truth, Will knew he had courage for the battlefield or in any of the other myriad situations a Ranger would get into, from espionage to administration. After what he had been through, the mild horrors of near-death experiences or the great horrors of paperwork held little fear for him. No. It was only with this that Will's courage truly, utterly failed him.

Will closed his eyes, abandoning the pretense of working on the map. He would have to talk about his nightmares.

Back at Redmont, Will's nightmares had been...

Well, they had been a problem, of course, a humiliating and debilitating one. He had them at least once a week, often twice or thrice, and they only got worse when he was worried or stressed. As badly as he was currently feeling, and given the closeness of the Kalkara confrontation, Will felt certain he would be having a nightmare any night now. Normally, the idea was unpleasant, but manageable. Granted, ever since Halt had revealed that he knew about them, Will had become extra self-conscious about having them. He'd wake up in a cold sweat and wonder if he'd been screaming or thrashing, if Halt had heard him, if Halt was even now lying awake in bed, listening. Halt had never come to his room and Will had never gone to his, though, so he would never know.

Now, though...

At least in Redmont, Will had had the nominal concealment of his own room and a wall to separate him and his prospective audience. It gave him and Halt plausible deniability; Will could pretend that Halt had no idea what had happened to Will last night, and so could Halt. But now? Will would be around not just Halt, but this new Ranger, Isa, as well. There would be no walls to conceal Will's nightmares or pillows to muffle his screams.

Shit, what if he gave them away?

"Glare too much harder, and you might actually succeed in eviscerating it," came Halt's dry voice from behind.

Will jerked and twisted to face him. "You can't tell me that you liked learning to map any more than I did."

"I very well could," came the reply.

Will's scowl deepened. Rather Halt-like, he hoped. "Not without lying."

"Well, there is that."

"How was the...um..." Will honestly wasn't sure what Halt and Crowley had been up to, exactly. "Meeting?"

"We accomplished as much as I could feasibly have hoped to accomplish in a single day," came Halt's, not very informative, answer. Thankfully, he expanded a bit: "Mobilizing an entire country for war is not a quick or easy task. The administrative process behind it is a nightmare of itself."

Despite the topic, the baleful look on Halt's face at that last comment almost made Will laugh. He could almost hear the damn paperwork refrain.

Halt glided over to peer at Will's work more closely. Will had a few seconds of blessed silence, then a long-suffering sigh.

"Would you like to tell me why, exactly, you notated that patch of forest as a grassland?"

"...I did?"

Will cringed as Halt turned a glare to him. "No, of course not. Of the two people in the room, I am clearly the one incapable of reading a map properly."

Will held up his hands in surrender. He'd have to weather this one out; he doubted Halt would let it go. Will already knew well enough not to attempt an excuse.

Halt went on for another minute or so about the importance of proper notation, to an extremely unenthused audience. Will had already heard everything Halt had to say on the matter at least seventeen times. It just never sank in. Will truly hoped that perfect notation was not required to graduate; he might stay as an apprentice forever if he had to have that.

Finally, Halt subsided. He swept into his room, then back out with his writing supplies in hand. Will bent his head back over his work as Halt sat down across from him and began writing something, but of course Will's concentration didn't last for long.

For once, though, it wasn't out of curiosity about what Halt was doing. Sure, that was there, and Will fully intended to pester Halt until he caved and told Will, but he had more pressing matters to think about. If Will really was going to be traveling in the company of two Rangers, especially one he didn't know...the contents of his nightmares could be dangerous. Especially if Isa overheard.

"Halt," Will said, and was answered by a familiarly exasperated sigh.

"Letters," came the response. "Crowley's already sending ones out to every fief, but Arald will no doubt feel slighted if I don't send him one as well."

"Didn't you already clear this with him?" Will asked, curious despite himself.

"Of course. This is just to keep him abreast of what's happening." Halt added, dryly, "One of the benefits of having me as the Ranger of your fief, Arald probably is thinking."

Will made a sound that he hoped was appropriately understanding. Paused.

Halt sighed again. "Out with it."

"I...well...I was just..."

Will fidgeted. It was on the tip of his tongue, but...

Like always, that familiar chant flickered through his mind. Not my Halt, not trustworthy. And, it wasn't wrong, really. This wasn't his Halt, wouldn't ever be. All the same...

Just because he's not the same, that doesn't mean you can't trust him.

After all, Will had been able to trust him with the truth, hadn't he? At least some of it. He had believed Will, had thus far kept his secret, had continued to treat him like...

Well, like he would treat his apprentice. Like he would treat an older apprentice, even. Will had noticed that Halt had become more forthright in the things he said, more open in how much information he was willing to tell Will. Not just like he trusted Will more — like he also thought Will was capable enough to handle the information. It was not a compliment lightly given, Will knew.

It still wasn't the same. It still wouldn't ever be the same. But, still...It was something.

Besides, Will hated keeping things from Halt, no matter the version. He hated keeping secrets in general when it came to the people close to him. He wanted to be able to tell Halt things again. He wanted to be able to talk about the things that bothered and upset him and have Halt's steadfast guidance to rely on.

So he pulled himself together and said, staring firmly at his reference map, "You know I have nightmares."

The several seconds of silence that greeted this statement were bad enough without looking at Halt's face. Will studiously stared down.

"I do," Halt said. His tone was so very neutral that it was no longer neutral at all.

"Well. Then you know...based on, you know, what they're like, that, um. The two of us won't be the only ones to know that, by the end of this week."

He finally looked up. Halt's expression constricted for a fleeting instant, before it became too-neutral once more.

"Will, there's no shame in—"

"I know that," Will interrupted, then winced. "Sorry. I...I know. I know there's not. But—"

"Do you? Because your steadfast refusal to even admit you have them for the past seven months would certainly beg to differ."

"Because I'm dreaming about stuff that hasn't happened yet!" Will snapped. He closed his eyes, sighing. "Sorry. Again. But, see, that's the problem here. In Isa's eyes, I'm just some fifteen-year-old kid. I'm not supposed to have done anything. Me having recurring nightmares is not normal. He's going to wonder, just like you did, why."

"I daresay that most seventeen-year-olds would not have recurring nightmares, either," said Halt mildly.

Will scowled at him, wishing the expression was remotely scary enough to put off Halt. Of course, it just made Halt raise an eyebrow.

"Eighteen, actually," Will said, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

Halt frowned, his eyes narrowing in the sort of way they did during interrogation when he wasn't quite sure they were being honest. "You told me seventeen."

"I..." Will sighed. "Back in my time, I was a couple months away from my birthday. Then I came here and it was right after my birthday, and..."

"You forgot."

"Yeah." Will's shoulders slumped. "I technically turned eighteen about five months ago but because it wasn't on the right date, it didn't even occur to me."

Halt grunted and was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Are you telling me because you want to figure out a way to explain them?"

"Or at least have him accept them, or distract him from thinking about them, or something." Will shrugged. "Just — anything that stops him from asking questions."

"He will ask questions no matter what. And if he doesn't, someone else will, eventually. You won't be able to avoid talking about it forever."

"I know, but..."

He cut himself off. Saying "once I live through the events that gave them to me for the second time, it won't be as difficult to answer them" was probably not going to be popular with Halt. It wasn't popular with Will, to be honest, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He would have to live through his nightmares again. At least this time, he was forewarned.

Halt examined him, then said, carefully, "There are potential steps we could take to remedy your...issue. Medicines, for one."

Will balked before Halt had even finished speaking. "No. I've already—"

He broke off again, shaking his head several times. No. No. He had already built dependence on one drug. He would not do it again. Not even for an otherwise benign, harmless medicine. Will would not be dependent on any substance for his own well-being. Never again.

"No medicine. I'm not taking anything. Not for this."

Halt's lips twisted, briefly, into a frown, and his look of contemplation intensified. Silently, Will begged him to put it at rest. If Halt learned about the warmweed...

"It doesn't have to be medicine," Halt said. "There are teas I can make that might help. Nothing drastic, but they might at least serve to put you in a better state of mind before you fall asleep. One's mental state can affect your dreams more than you might think."

Will took a breath. It pushed uncomfortably against his lungs. He forced himself to breathe out and in, again, deeper. "That...doesn't sound too bad."

Halt nodded once, decisively. "I'll speak to Healer Hans here about it. He's one of the foremost healers in the kingdom; he should know of a good blend we can try out."

Will nodded back, then stopped. "But...if we're making camp, we're hardly going to be able to make tea, are we?"

Halt hesitated. Will's fingers tingled with sudden ice.

"That will not be a problem."

"Oh?" Will clasped his hands together. "Why not?"

"You won't be coming with us."

The words seemed so absurd that Will's first reaction was a small, nervous laugh. "What? Of course I am."

Halt gazed at him steadily. He did not bother disagreeing.

"I'm the whole reason you even know to do this in the first place!" Will exclaimed. A knife-edged shovel was digging into his heart, the prick of barbed wire closing in. "You can't just leave me! You can't fight the Kalkara alone!"

"You're in no condition to fight," Halt snapped. "You can't even march without significant pain and you want me to believe you can fight?"

Shit. So that was why Halt had been watching him, their whole journey up. It hadn't been a show of distrust. It had been a test, and Will had failed it. Every time he had winced, every time he had shifted, Halt had been silently deciding to leave him behind.

"I've fought with worse!"

Will threw himself to his feet, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted. His heart was fast, and heavy, and constricting more with every moment. Halt was leaving him. Halt was leaving him. Halt was leaving him. Halt was—

"This isn't some twisted form of competition!"

"It's a war, Halt!"

Will's heart was as small as a hazelnut and ten times as dense. All he could see was that scar on Halt's leg, raised and puckered and ugly. The tightness on Halt's face when the weather grew cold, the balm he applied nightly, the whiteness of his knuckles, steadying himself against Abelard when he dismounted. All that, Will could fix. Could prevent. If he just got to the Kalkara faster this time, if he were just a little better...

"I'm not going to stand back and let you get hurt!"

Will stopped. It was too late.

Halt did not gasp. He did not gape, or flinch, or even blink. He just looked at Will, dark eyes like black holes, absorbing it all — sucking in Will's panic, his frenetic energy, his desperation. He was, above all else, utterly unsurprised.

"I thought it was war," he said. "If you're allowed to fight while injured, why can't I?"

Somehow, that was the cruelest thing Halt had ever said to him. Will stared at him wordlessly. The hazelnut in his chest had cracked open. He couldn't think.

"That's...that's not fair."

Halt just raised a single eyebrow.

"You're— you're Halt," Will tried, despite knowing that such an argument would not win Halt over in the slightest. "The— the kingdom needs you. Needs you alive and uninjured, especially on the brink of war!"

"I hardly think one more body will make any difference in a war," Halt said dismissively. "On the contrary, the death of the Kalkara would be of far more benefit than my loss of functionality."

"Then it shouldn't matter if I get hurt, either!"

Halt's eyes gleamed with something triumphant. "Indeed. If we are looking at this from the kingdom's perspective, then certainly."

"Then—"

"But, you see," Halt said, slowly and pointedly, "I am in fact looking at this from the perspective of you being my apprentice. In which case one body makes a very big difference indeed."

"I'm hardly the only apprentice in the Corps—"

"My apprentice, Will," Halt said, quietly. "It makes a difference to me."

Will could say nothing for a long moment. Then he had all too much to say. "And your life makes a difference to me! You think I can watch you go off to fight that thing, knowing that you'll— it leaves a scar! It's big, and long, and ugly, and it hurts you every time it rains or gets cold, I know it does even though you try your hardest not to let on! You have to force yourself not to walk with a limp, and you still do even though it's been years since that happened, and if I just went with you I could prevent that!"

Halt stood, then, and Will stepped back, not sure what was going to happen but unable to keep still when Halt was looking at him like that. Halt kept looking at him, that unbearable expression fixed on his face, and just when Will was about to beg him to stop, Halt opened his arms and said, softly,

"Come here."

Will had taken a step towards him before he could think. There were only two more steps between them, but Will stopped, forced himself to hold back. "No."

Halt's expression flickered.

"I—" Will tried to breathe. He knew what touching Halt would do to him right now. He couldn't. Especially when Halt hadn't agreed to anything, didn't seem even remotely willing to compromise. No. Will had to keep fighting. He had never won a fight against Halt, not one like this, but he had to keep trying.

"I don't have to fight," he said instead, desperately. "Just let me come with you. You can send me for reinforcements or something. Then you won't have to send Isa, and you won't be alone."

Halt's arms were still open. "Will."

"A third person is a good idea! You know it is! I can get reinforcements, or I could help protect Lord Lorriac if he's injured, or I could help set an ambush, or anything, and if you take me, you won't be taking any more people from Castle Araluen who are actually needed. You know it's a good idea!"

"Will."

Still, the open arms. But now there was a hint of warning in Halt's expression, something between a request and a reprimand. The strange mix of the two took Will aback. All at once Will understood what Halt was asking.

"Can you trust me enough to do that?"

It wasn't only for that night that Halt had been asking. It was for times like now. Could Will trust that Halt would believe him? Would listen to him? Would help him?

Halt was only here because he had believed Will. He had believed Will about the Kalkara. He had listened about the war and about the dangers of Morgarath and the Kalkara. He had already put plans into motion to help all of those things.

So, could Will trust Halt to do those things again?

"I don't want to," Will said, words a plea. He looked into Halt's black-hole eyes beseechingly.

Halt didn't move. Didn't drop his arms, didn't turn away, look away.

And, finally, Will bowed his head and let the shell of the hazelnut out. It scraped up his throat as it went, burning his esophagus.

"I'm scared."

"Then be scared," Halt said softly. "But come here anyway."

So Will did.

Halt was warm and solid. Real. Will could feel the corded muscles of his arms, the slight pudge of his belly. There was none of the lean hunger of Skandia. No cold. No blood. It was like none of that had ever happened, and Will closed his eyes and wished for just the briefest of instants — like he always did, when he touched this Halt — that none of that ever had. That he could just be Will, fifteen and free.

Then Halt let go, and he was Will, eighteen and aged once more.

"You can come," Halt said. He lifted a hand before Will could speak. "But I will be very clear. You will be there for support only. You will not see combat, or so help me God I will revoke your apprenticeship myself. Am I understood?"

Will hesitated.

"Will. Am I understood?"

"If I— If I let you get hurt again," Will said, "I will never forgive myself."

Halt sighed, the weight of the moment drawing lines down his face, dragging down his shoulders. "You didn't let it happen the first time, Will. If it happens again, it won't be your fault this time either."

"If you get hurt, then what was even the point?" Will's tone sharpened, eyes lifting accusingly to Halt. "If I can't stop you from getting hurt, from— then what's the point?"

"The point of things is not always for us to know. Come now — you don't even know how to notate a map properly." Halt gave him an admonishing look. "How are you expecting to know the reason behind something like this?"

Will huffed. Sometimes he really hated when Halt was reasonable. He glared at the rug and said, a bit sullenly,

"If something goes wrong and it comes down to your life, or Isa's, or Lord Lorriac's, I'm going to fight. You can't ask me to sit back and watch someone die."

"Emergencies only, then. And I mean that. My definition of emergency, Will, not yours."

Will glared, but Halt, of course, was unmoved. "...Fine."

Halt nodded, then turned and sat back down in his chair. He took up his quill once more, slipping instantly back into work mode. That was one uncanny thing about Halt — his ability to compartmentalize. Will eyed him with a rueful twitch of his lips. After a conversation like that, Halt could still immediately switch back to work? Without even a pause?

"What, is there something else you need?"

Will's rueful look grew deeper. "No, Halt."

"Then what are you doing standing there? That map won't notate itself."

Will sighed, lowering himself back into his own seat. At least he'd convinced Halt to let him come along, he supposed.

Damn mapwork.