nobody knows how he does it. but sometimes. he has a beard. just.
one day? beard. gathering. everyoneâs losing their shit bc say what you want about will treaty, but heâs literally Everyoneâs little brother and Little Brothers Donât Have Beards.
next day? no beard. immense relief from everyone. crowley was seen wandering around muttering something about cardiac arrest and levels of cholesterol while shamelessly hoarding his 5-shot cup of espresso. halt was reportedly down with his face in the dirt. he called it self-care. everyone else called it being jumpscared by your own apprenticeâs ability to grow a moustache.
next next day? uncomfortably quickly progressing stubble. facial hair doesnât grow that fast. it just doesnât. mass chaos ensues again. Main Big Brother gilan is straight-up crying in his tent. heâs refusing to come out until will shaves that devilâs mark off his face. he Will eat nothing but frozen coffee cubes in protest. nobody doubts him.
within an afternoon, there are 4 to 5 petitions circling in the gathering to Get Will To Shave Who Are You Kidding Boy You Have A Babyface And Youâll Die With It. all of them have more signatures than there are rangers. crowleyâs signed each one twice. someone inexplainably acquired baron araldâs signature. will remains purposefully oblivious.
he doesnât shave the next day, and the gathering is literally a warzone now. people are rioting. granted they are rioting very quietly because berrigan stood by will and told them to shut the fuck up and let the lad live. nobody doubts his skill with both a knife and the mandola. he can easily split skulls using both. but some rangers are legitimately willing to put their actual lives on the line, they are willing to betray their oaths and to slaughter innocents just to save will treaty from his own stupidity.
finally, on day five, when gilanâs passed out twice, crowleyâs resigned and been reelected four times, and nobodyâs seen halt look that deranged in thirty years, will finally rolls his eyes, says fuck every single one of you, and trims it.
this is the start of the second greatest war in araluenian history. halt has to literally haul him into the forest inside a broken tree log to save him from the furious mob thatâs formed by his brothers-in-arms in front of his own tent.
thirty minutes later, they emerge. will is clean-shaven. nobody knows how halt managed to convince him. i mean, he probably told the lad he was gonna retire immediately if he had to look at that damn half-moustache for thirty more seconds. and letâs just say halt doesnât joke around about retirement.
the armed conflict is, thankfully, over. no need to march in the streets. no need to rally troops. no need to let the king know the collective ranger corps were gonna be out of duty for approximately two weeks because they legit started butchering each other kingsman church style in the middle of their annual get-together because nobody was gonna take any shit from a 25-year-oldâs beard.
crowley makes a throwback reference to this exact situation every year, which he words more or less as âthe great fuckening of whatever-the-year-wasâ like it was some kind of country-wide catastrophe (it was) that they nearly lost lives over (they did).
maddie and the other apprentices are rather confused when, every time crowleyâs annual speech is over, every older ranger takes a minute of silence to collectively stare will down without a word. they just. they just stare at him. They Judge.
maddie asks will one day why he canât leave the cabin before gatherings without spending two hours longer in the bathroom.
will tells her that, frankly, she should mind her own damn business.
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