âClonmel (Irish: Cluain Meala, meaning âhoney meadowâ)â
Uhhh mr. Flanagan??? Did you just really say that the OG coffee-with-honey-drinker Halt âArratayâ OâCarrick originates from a place called Honey Meadow???
âClonmel is the county town and largest settlement of County Tipperary, Ireland.â
âIt is well known for game and coarse angling, boating, sailing, and windsurfing.â
Nope. Nope. No way that I-get-seasick-when-I-even-think-of-boats-also-my-twinbrother-tried-to-kill-me-when-we-went-out-fishing Halt OâCarrick comes from a county known for its water activities. Â
Haha imagine if the county colours of Halt-Iâm-Redmonts-Ranger-because-the-local-baron-specifically-requested-me-even-though-Iâm-super-annoying-and-heâs-not-my-boss-but-still-my-friend âs original birthplace were the same colours of the fief under his jurisdiction. Haha. If only.Â
Man. I wish there was some sort of rangers apprentice group chat or something, it would be great if the fandom was more active. Started rereading my childhood favourite book series and immediately went looking for fan content after ruins of gorlan but couldnt find much. Idk if I'm just not looking in the right places or what
Halt carefully glued the fletching on the arrow and set it aside with the others. A gust of wind rustled through the trees and brought with it a shower of autumn leaves, which settled over the arrows. Halt brushed some of the leaves out of his hair, picked one out of his coffee mug, and took a sip. Its warmth spread through him, counteracting the chill that had developed while he worked.
It had been an odd day, all things considered. Since morning, the other rangers had been going around with jars of the same black powder couriers sometimes used to darken their hair, muttering to each other and referencing âthe plan.â Halt could only assume it had something to do with this strange holiday the Araluens celebrated.
âHallowed Eveâ, they called it. Apparently it was a night when fae creatures could more freely enter the world. Legend had it that the fae would steal away anyone they could find, but a simple disguise would make them think a person was one of the fae and leave them alone. It sounded a bit silly to Halt, but then again, most folk superstitions did.
None of the rangers took Hallowed Eve very seriously, he had gathered. They, like him, were all too aware that most folk superstitions were exaggerated local legends that often had their roots in things very different than what they were currently associated with. Instead of making serious attempts to disguise themselves, then, they took the opportunity to have fun for an evening. When Halt had tried to ask what form that fun would take, however, nobody told him.
They were all currently staying in Farrelâs cabin as they prepared for the next part of the war against Morgarath, and with twelve of them squeezed into a single cabin Halt had already been feeling rather cramped; this extra mystery had been too much. Hoping for a bit of quiet, Halt had taken his things and gone out to the woods of Redmont to make more arrows.
Another breeze blew through and more leaves fluttered down from the trees. This time Halt stood. His coffee was nearly done, and he was hoping to refill it back at the cabin. He went to Abelard, grazing nearby, and patted his shoulder. âCan I trust you to guard those arrows?â he asked.
Abelard looked up at him, nosed at his hair, then snorted. Halt felt a couple more leaves flutter down from his hair and irritably ran his fingers through it to get rid of any others that may have settled there. âIâll take that as a yes, then.â
Halt made his way down the broad trail towards the cabin. He took his time, and sometimes stopped to admire the scenery. Redmont was a beautiful fief, and Halt hoped that whichever fief he was assigned to would be half as nice as this.
Finally he emerged at the cabin next to the woods and stepped up onto the porch. He saw a curtain twitch and paused at the door, listening for any clue as to what might be going on inside. He heard nothing, so after a moment he opened the door.
He stopped midway through it.
Crowley, Leander, Berrigan, Egon, Norris, Lewin, Jurgen, Berwick, Samdash, Farrel and Pritchard were gathered around the table, variously seated or standing. They were all in their cloaks, of course, but every one of them had dyed his hair and beard black. Those who were clean-shaven had used ash mixed with water to make it look like they had beards. Though the rangers typically drank out of whatever mug they happened to own, at the moment they all held simple grey earthenware mugs, identical to the one Halt had.
To Halt, it was like looking at twelve slightly-odd copies of himself.
He raised an eyebrow, and twelve eyebrows raised in unison. Every face was grim.
Crowley was the first to crack. His disapproving expression disappeared and he laughed, bracing his arm on the table and doubling over with mirth. Norris joined him first, then Berrigan, then Lewin, until they were all laughing. Farrel was the last to join in, his booming laugh almost drowning out the othersâ.
Haltâs eyebrow was raised the entire time they laughed, and remained high when the laughter petered out. Finally, he said, âI suppose you all think youâre terribly clever.â
âOh, not in the least,â Samdash said.
âWe try not to think at all, in fact,â Jurgen said, and the group laughed again.
Halt turned and left, letting the door swing closed behind him. He made sure his face wasnât visible from any of the windows as he strode towards the forest.
He was halfway to the trees when his resolve wore out and his grin broke through.
i could use a good treat with will and halt father/son fluff pls&thank
this feels like the equivalent of handing someone a small cute animal with both hands very lovingly. with the TINIEST sprinkling of sad, but like how putting coffee in chocolate cake emphasizes the sweetness (I hope lol). hope you like it!!! <3
Heâs delighted, in many ways. He doesnât have to look up when he talks to taller folk, and the nearsighted woman at the butcherâs doesnât mistake him for a child anymore. Heâs even a little taller than Halt, now! But the burst of height has drawbacks, too â namely, the aches and pains that he wakes up with most mornings, his body protesting the sudden lengthening of his spine.
--
The year he turns eighteen, Will grows three inches in six months.
This is one of those days, and he walks out of the empty cabin into the cool morning air, breath fogging while he rubs at his sore neck. He cringes as he walks down the couple of steps, each footfall sending sharp pain crackling up his back. But the air is damp and fresh on his skin, and Will likes it almost as much as the warm cocoon of his blankets, despite the jolting temperature change. Even with all the struggles and challenges, heâs never once regretted choosing the path of becoming a Ranger â not even the early mornings or gathering scars on his skin could make him doubt. The work he does, and Haltâs approving glances at a job well done - it makes him proud.
He finds Tug in his enclosure, patting his horseâs nose and putting down hay and grain in his bucket. Abelardâs grey form is nowhere to be seen, but Will assumes the other horse is wherever Halt is. As Willâs gotten older, itâs not unusual for him to wake up to Halt gone; out on a walk with his horse or doing some other work around the cabin. He trusts Will to get up and do his own work in the mornings, but always comes back for lunch.
âWhy didnât you do this when I was younger?â Will had asked, once, as the two of them sat with their stew at midday. Halt had looked up from dipping a chunk of bread in the broth, frowning.
âDonât talk with your mouth full,â heâd said, and glared warningly before Will could say âsorry,â still with food in his mouth. âAnd I didnât want you getting into trouble while I was away.â
âMe? Trouble?â Will asked, grinning, and laughed at the humorless, deadpan stare he got in return. He folded his bread, unthinkingly in the same manner that Halt had, and spooned more stew into his mouth, making sure to chew before speaking again. âBut surely after the first year or so, you knew I wouldnât mess anything up while you were gone.â
He had expected a quip about Will always finding his way to mischief somehow, but had been surprised by Haltâs silence and the flash of his eyes â not angry, but haunted.
âWell, then there was Skandia,â Halt had finally said, and the two of them had left it at that. Will was quietly grateful. Being home, back in the familiarity of the forest, had been enough on most days to fend off memories of his miserable time abroad. But heâd taken more comfort than he thought he would in Haltâs calm presence. And maybe Halt had been comforted by staying close to Will, too.
Now, Tug lips at Willâs shoulder in appreciation before digging into his breakfast, and Will folds his arms over the wooden fence, watching the little horse lick the bucket clean of every last granule of feed.
âHungry?â Will asks, raising an eyebrow as Tug lifts his head back up. Suddenly, his own stomach growls, and Tug snorts.
Oh, one of us is hungry, but itâs not me, anymore.
âShush,â Will laughs, brushing mush off Tugâs muzzle and pushing himself off the fence. âIâm going to find Halt and Abelard. Any hints?â
Round the bend. Tell Abelard Iâll eat the rest of his grain if he doesnât come back to finish it soon.
Will wanders past the horsesâ enclosure, boots crunching the slightly frosted blades of grass under his feet. Farther down the path that leads away from the cabin, he finds Halt sitting on a log, tools spread out on the bark next to him. Abelardâs grazing behind him, and both horse and man look up as Will approaches. Halt appears to be in the process of thinning a flexible yet sturdy branch, and Will tilts his head in confusion.
âWhat are you doing?â
Abelard huffs in amusement and bows his head back to the grass. Halt raises an eyebrow, pausing his work and laying the branch across his knees, folding his arms over it. Will smiles, only slightly abashed.
âSorry. Good morning. What are you doing?â
Halt rolls his eyes, but thereâs a faint fondness in them. He gestures for Will to sit next to him, and Will acquiesces, leaning over and examining the branch as he does. Meanwhile, Halt stops for a moment to take a long drink from the coffee mug resting on the ground, only slightly steaming in the chilly air. He must have been out here for a while, for his coffee to have gone so cool. Willâs stomach grumbles again at the smell of the beverage.
âHungry?â
âYes,â Will says honestly in response, but Halt just picks up the heavy branch again, testing the bend. Itâs nearly as tall as Will is, and he blinks at it, trying to ignore the distracting complaining of his stomach.
âYouâre perfectly able to make breakfast yourself,â Halt replies.
âI am,â Will agrees, because he is - Â âBut youâve hidden the bacon.â
âYouâve gone through half the pack in three days.â
âItâs good bacon! And Iâm growing,â Will justifies, not raising his voice but adopting a jokingly pleading tone. Halt side-eyes him, but his gaze is thoughtful, not judgmental.
âYou are,â he says, the slightest twinge of pensiveness in his words. Willâs not entirely paying attention to the change in mood, still staring at the branch in Haltâs hands, and he suddenly realizes what his teacher is making and nudges Haltâs side in excitement.
âIs that a new bow?â he asks, and now Haltâs side-glance is judgmental. âHey â it only took me so long to recognize because Iâm still waking up. And hungry.â
âYouâre a Ranger, Will, you should be awake and aware a little more quickly than that.â
âWeâre at home, and I knew you were awake when I woke up,â Will says offhandedly, eager to get back to the topic of the new weapon. âIf there was something wrong, you would know.â
Iâm safe here because youâre here. Neither of them needs to hear it aloud to know itâs true. Halt sighs.
âYes, itâs a bow. With all that growing, youâve just about outgrown your old one. I had a much easier time finding the branch for this one, though. The year I made your last bow, there was an awful rot, and near every piece of wood on the ground was decayed.â
Will nods along, now energized by the prospect of a new bow, before the words sink in. âWait, but thatâs - the year I became your apprentice?â
âWhen else?â
Will stares at the side of Haltâs face as the older Ranger continues working, unknowing of the lightening of Willâs heart.
âYou made me a bow before Iâd even said yes to being your apprentice?â
Halt doesnât even stutter in his movements. âWell. Iâd hoped youâd say yes. I found the branch before you agreed, at least. But I think I made it after youâd been here a couple days. Why so many questions about this, Will?â
âYou ask me why I have so many questions about everything,â Will says, very reasonably, one side of his mouth quirking upwards. He quiets, then, and picks at the bark on the log next to him. âAnd⊠I just always assumed that Iâd gotten Gilanâs old one, is all. You know, a training bow.â
âI made them both separately. Gilanâs would have been far too tall for you,â Halt says with amusement, whittling away a knob of uneven wood on the branch. And the information makes sense to Will, now. After having used a bow for years, he knows that one too big or too small is troublesome to shoot with. It would have been near useless for Halt to teach Will to shoot with a bow like that. But he spent fifteen years of his life in the Ward. He was warm, and fed, and well-cared for â Arald wouldnât have settled for anything less. But it was still a Ward. Will never had anything new: everything was handed-down and patched over. And he never had anything just for himself, as everything was shared. From socks to toys to pencils, every last item. It didnât matter if his coat was too big, heâd just have to grow into it. It didnât matter that his shoes pinched at the toe, it was what they had until the cobbler came in the spring. But ever since heâs been Haltâs apprentice, things like that, they do matter. And not just because he has an image to uphold as a Kingâs Ranger, but because heâs Will.
He thinks of the boy he was when he was fifteen, completely unaware of the fulfillment that would come with being a Ranger, and the new family he would gain. An orphan with no future, not knowing that only a couple miles away, a Ranger was picking through the forest, tossing aside rotted branch after rotted branch until he found a good piece that he could make into a bow just for Will. Tears well up in Willâs eyes, and he blinks rapidly to clear them away.
He feels the warmth of Haltâs hand suddenly on his shoulder, and he turns to see his mentor looking at him questioningly, half-formed bow resting in his other hand and propped against his knee. Will inhales shakily, and Haltâs gaze turns from concerned to understanding. He squeezes Willâs shoulder a little tighter in comfort until Will can manage a tiny smile.
âCan I help to make it?â Will asks quietly, with only the faintest tremble.
âYes,â Halt replies, just as softly, expecting the question. He knows Will likes to help, and he likes to know how things work. âOnce I take some more of the bark off, Iâll teach you how to notch it to make the handhold, and then how to string it and bend it into shape. But let me make this one. Youâll have plenty of time to make your own in the future, but - â Halt stops himself, looking at Will with immeasurable pride tinged with melancholy. âJust let me make this one.â
Itâs Willâs turn to look understanding, smiling more genuinely at his mentor, who huffs but moves his hand to grasp the back of Willâs head and pull his forehead to his shoulder. Will shuffles closer on the log, tucking himself into Haltâs side as the older Ranger leans his cheek against the top of Willâs head for a couple moments, resting his arm around the boyâs shoulders. Will holds on to Haltâs shoulder tightly.
âThank you,â he mumbles into Haltâs shirt, putting all the weight he can into the words. He feels like he pulls emotion from the last eighteen years through his voice, and as Halt presses a firm kiss against the top of his head before releasing his hold, Will knows that Halt knows exactly what he means. Somehow, he always does. Â
Halt pats Will on the shoulder once, firmly, before picking up the whittling knife again.
âBaconâs in the box alongside the back of the cabin. Just save the last piece for me, alright?â
