╔════════════════.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.═════════════════╗
ִֶָ࣪☾.“ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴇxᴘᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢᴏ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ," ʜᴇ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʜɪᴍ. "ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅɪꜱᴀᴘᴘᴏɪɴᴛᴇᴅ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ꜰᴏʀ ɪᴛ.”ོ☁︎
- Halt O'Carrick
— — — — — — — — — — — — — ˗ˋ୨୧ˊ˗ — — — — — — — — — — — — —
⊹₊ㆍɴ ᴢ ᴛ ᴡ ೀ ᵎᵎ
⊹˚.ɪ ꜱ ꜰ ᴘ - ᴛ｡ﾟ⋆
₊‧.°.⋆ ꜱ ʜ ᴇ / ʜ ᴇ ʀ •˚₊‧⋆.
જ⁀➴ Ranger's Apprentice Fan ೀ౿
୨♡୧ ִ° ⋆ ʚɞ ꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱
꒰ ➶ ꒱ Magma : @halt-n-crowley 𓍢𝅄٫ ໋ ᘏ ،
꒰ ➶ ꒱ Pinterest : @haltncrowley 𓍢𝅄٫ ໋ ᘏ ،
꒰ ➶ ꒱ Wattpad : @halt-n-crowley 𓍢𝅄٫ ໋ ᘏ ،
꒰ ➶ ꒱ Ao3 : @haltncrowley 𓍢𝅄٫ ໋ ᘏ ،
︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶
˗ˏˋ ⁀➴ ˎˊ˗
♪
Going back to the cabin in the trees,
Going back to the creek beneath the hill.
There's a girl who used to live there when I left,
But I doubt she'll be waiting for me still.
Never thought I'd be gone so many years.
When I left I always planned that I'd return
But time slips away before we know
That's just one more lesson that we learn.
♫
╚════════════════.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.═════════════════╝
Will: Gasoline?
Horace: I'm pretty sure that's water.
Will, lighting a match: Well, only one way to find out.
Horace doesn't even try to stop him
Will: *throws match and gasoline ignites*
Halt: THERE WERE MORE WAYS TO TELL!
She should have know better than to leave her quiver outside during the night. Will had even warned her that others might try to prank her if she didn’t pay close attention to her belongings. And like so often, her mentor had been right.
“Looking for something?” Will asked casually when Maddie was going through her bags. The girl mumbled something, too soft for him to hear. But he did have an idea what it could be.
Maddie was very well aware that, if she admitted she was looking for something, he would lecture her about it. On the other hand, he might be able to help her. Although she didn’t think he would.
After going though her bags as well as her blankets and anything else, she gave up.
“I can’t find my quiver,” she answered him. “I had been repairing a couple of arrows and had left my quiver outside to dry. I was so focused on the arrows and making sure that they were done well, that I forgot to put it in my tent before sleeping.”
Will hummed in a way that she recognised as disapproval. She already felt terrible, and this didn’t help.
“Do you really have to rub it in?” she muttered, peeling off the bark of the log she was sitting on.
Will stopped for a moment, pursing his lips.
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “And I think it’s good to refresh that memory of yours about taking care of your equipment.”
Maddie groaned, tilting her head backwards.
“No, please, I still remember it from last time,” she tried but her mentor had decided she would.
“In that case, you can spend your free morning to write down all the rules then. And as usual, in alphabetical order.”
Will hid his smile by taking a long sip of his coffee. It wasn’t the first time she had forgotten to bring her equipment back inside. Perhaps now she would learn her lesson, he thought.
“Why the long face? The morning has just begun!”
Maddie tried her best to act like she had heard him, but she failed miserably.
“Morning, Gil,” Will greeted their Commandant. “Maddie is just upset that I gave her homework to do this morning.”
Gilan walked around the log and sat down next to Will. He bent a bit forward to look at the girl.
“Oh? And what kind of exercise did Will give you?”
Maddie looked from her mentor to the Commandant, then let out a long sigh.
“Writing down how to take care of my equipment. In alphabetical order.”
Gilan side eyed Will, who once again paid more attention to his coffee.
“Perhaps you will remember it then,” the Commandant said. He gently poked Will’s side. “Compared to Halt, you’re easy going. Remember when we had forgotten something?”
Will frowned at first, then slowly nodded.
“And if I remember! He made me run three rounds around Wensley, and then to that tree not for away from the cabin. You know, that old, rotten one.”
“The one with the broken branches, that had fallen down and were standing like poles in the ground? Yeah, that was indeed a terrible round.”
Maddie suddenly didn’t feel that bad about writing. If it was true, that they had to run so many rounds and so far, that her punishment wasn’t that bad.
She should have known something was going on when they stayed silent. A bit too silent, Maddie thought.
“You’re lying, there is no tree that looks like that,” she said. “I’ve run around Wensley often enough these past two years.”
Gilan and Will tried to keep serious faces, but eventually they burst out in laughter.
“It’s been a long time since I got to pull off such a joke,” Gilan snickered. He took a deep breath to calm down his laughter.
Will had controlled his laughter sooner and looked at Maddie.
“It’s true, that tree was a lie. But Halt did punish us for not taking care of our weapons and all. A night in a tree, it was.”
Maddie thought about it, then decided that Will’s punishment wasn’t that bad. She got up to get her writing kit, but Will stopped her.
“Leave the writing for now and rather go look for your quiver. You will have archery practice today.”
Maddie bit her lip, then looked at Will.
“Can’t I borrow yours for one time?” she asked, but he was already shaking his head before she had finished.
“And then what? Leaving me with none and forgetting about yours?” Will replied. “No, you lost it, so you will have to find it.”
Understanding that there was no other choice, Maddie slowly went around the Gathering Grounds, searching for her quiver.
When she was out of hearing reach, Gilan turned to Will.
“You don’t by any chance have it, do you?”
He was actually surprised to see that Will, once again, shook his head.
“I honestly do not. Had it been at home, I might have hidden it.” He finished his coffee and stood up, gathering his belongings to put them in his tent. “It’s actually a good exercise for her, perhaps she’ll find a way to solve it.”
A few hours later, Maddie was sitting in front of her tent. She hadn’t been able to find her quiver, even after asking nearly all Rangers and apprentices present. She hadn’t been able to participate in the archery training and instead had to endure the teasing of the others.
“I take you didn’t find it?”
Will had been asking around as well, but he hadn’t been lucky either. He had returned to their spot to see if she was there.
“I didn’t,” Maddie replied, her head hung low. She was too ashamed to look her mentor in the eye.
Will sat down next to her. At first, he wanted to lecture her, but seeing her this upset, he thought she had learnt her lesson.
“Then there’s nothing to do about it. You can only hope that it may be of use to someone else.”
Maddie hummed softly, biting her lip to stop herself from crying.
“Come now, it’s not the end of the world.” Will poked her side gently. “We can get you a new one soon enough. And until then, you can borrow my spare one.”
As usual, Will always carried two quivers. He could miss one, but he had hoped that Maddie would have found hers by now.
“Thank you,” she replied.
Will ruffled her hair, then got up to get his spare quiver and handed it to her after he had taken his arrows out.
Maddie put hers into it, then placed the quiver inside her tent. At least she wouldn’t make the same mistake, Will thought.
The past few hours, and even days, had been extremely tense. From Will riding all the way back to Castle Redmont to grab Baron Arald and Sir Rodney, to watching Halt, Arald and Rodney all come to close to death by the hands of the kalkara, to finally killing the last one. Now after Rodney and Will took care of Halt and Arald’s injuries, they could finally rest and restore their energy before returning.
Arald and Halt had been sleeping for the last couple hours, and while they did that Will busied himself with exploring around the castle ruins to find some branches and sticks they could use as wild fire. With a nice bundle in his arms, he returned to the temporary camp and was surprised to find Halt awake and sitting a little apart from their spot.
He was facing towards the ruined walls of the late Castle Gorlan, one leg drawn up to his chin and the injured one stretched out in front of him and looked lost in deep thought.
“Is he alright?” Will asked Rodney as he approached the knight. A hint of concern leaked through into his voice and Rodney hid a smile as he heard it.
“He’s fine,” he replied. “I think. Just thinking I’d assume.”
“About what?” Will asked and then realised that the question might seem a bit too invasive or personal.
“How should I know?” Rodney said, not unkindly. Will picked up on something in his voice that made him think that Rodney may know. But he decided he’d put his curiosity and questions to rest for the time being.
“Bring those sticks here and we’ll make some coffee,” Rodney was saying. “Halt’ll want some and I’m sure Arald will appreciate it when he wakes up. You picked a good collection here boy. These will light pretty easily and we’ll have some spares.”
As Will helped Rodney build the fire Arald began to stir. Rodney immediately ran over to him to make sure he was alright. Will lowered his head to the firewood to hide his grin. Over the years of living at the ward he had seen Arald and Rodney walking around together and he assumed they were good friends. These last couple days spent with them had proven to him that they were closer than just regular friends. It was obvious to everyone around them that they cared very deeply about each other.
“Rise and shine sleepy head,” Rodney teased as he helped Arald sit up. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Fine,” Arald said. “My back just hurts like all hell.”
“Getting torn up by a beast sent straight from the pits of Hell would do that to you.”
Arald ignored his friends teasing and looked over to where he had last seen Halt before he had fallen asleep.
“Where’d Halt go?”
“Over there.” Arald followed Rodney’s pointed finger to where the Ranger sat, still dissociating from the rest of the world. He looked at his friend with a knowing and caring look in his eyes, and it finally dawned on Rodney why Halt seemed more isolated at the moment. He hadn’t been there at the time, but he had heard what happened.
“Help me go to him?”
Rodney pulled Arald’s arm over his shoulders and helped him up. Arald grunted with pain and Rodney immediately moved slower, giving his friend time to ease into the movements. With great effort, the baron walked with Rodney over to his friend. Halt didn’t move as they approached, didn’t turn to look at them and barely acknowledged their presence. But he didn’t tell them to go away either so Arald took that as an invitation that he could stay.
Rodney turned back to the fire and poured a couple cups of coffee - despite the fact they were only briefly coming to Gorlan for an emergency, they had still found time to pack coffee mugs - and walked back over to Arald, handing them to him. Arald nodded his thanks and Rodney walked away again, leaving the two friends be.
Arald handed Halt one of the mugs.
“Here,” he said. “Rodney thought you might like some.”
“Thanks,” Halt said quietly, taking the coffee and cupping the warm mug in his hands. It was only a one word response, and spoken in a way that some people might struggle to hear, but Arald had been good friends with Halt for years and was one of the few people that could pick up on the hint of sadness in his voice.
“Are you feeling alright?” Arald phrased the question in a way so that it could be easily referring to Halt’s injured leg, but in reality, he was using it as a subtle way of telling Halt that he cared and that he was there for him, beyond his current injuries.
Halt didn’t have a worded response this time, just a simple shrug of the shoulders. Arald took that as a no. Just as he meant the question to mean more than just physical, he was sure Halt meant his reply in the same way. He wasn’t alright with being here, and Arald couldn’t blame him. Just being at the ruined remains of Castle Gorlan was bringing back memories, many of them bad. And he knew it was ten times worse for Halt. Halt had lost someone very special to him not too far away from where they sat right now, and he never got a chance to avenge his death, and probably never would.
Morgarath himself wasn’t responsible for Pritchard’s death, both Arald and Halt knew that, but Halt blamed him more than anyone else for it. Mainly because he would never know who it was that had wielded the sword that sliced straight through Pritchard’s body and killed him. They were unknown, and would forever remain unknown. The murderer themself probably didn’t even remember killing Pritchard. To them, he was just another body among many. So the next best person Halt had to direct all his rage and anguish towards was Morgarath - and he was high up in his precious Mountains of Rain and Night, cowering away from facing justice for his horrific crimes, unreachable for the time being.
“Things’ll turn out alright,” Arald said softly. Halt still didn’t say anything, but hugged his okay leg closer to him, seeming to sink a little into himself. Arald didn’t know what to do. He could see Halt was in pain but didn’t know how to help, and he so desperately wanted to. But then he realised there was nothing to say. Pritchard was dead. Murdered. No amount of words would be able to ease the hurt Halt carried with him because of it, and nothing in the whole world would change that. But he could still be there for his friend. He could sit with him for a while, show him that he wasn’t alone, communicate with him that he was there to help if Halt ever needed it. For now, that was the best he could do, and perhaps it would be enough.
They sat together in silence, finishing up their mugs until Gilan came by to collect Blaze from Will, have a quick swig of coffee to restore his energy and rode off again. They decided then it would be time to make their own way home. Will and Sir Rodney ran over to him the two injured men stand, despite Halt’s insistence that he could do it himself.
On the ride back, Arald tried his best to make conversation with Halt and distract from his thoughts. At first, his attempts were futile, but as they rode further and further away from Gorlan, Halt became more talkative, and soon the two were discussing various topics, all the way back to Redmont.
Welcome to the Ranger Gathering, coming June 2026!
How it works:
The Ranger Gathering will run for the entire the month of June, 2026. Each day has a prompt that participants can use to inspire works about Ranger's Apprentice, The Early Years, The Royal Ranger, or Brotherband.
Check out last year’s stuff here!
If you want to participate, tag your post with #ranger gathering 2026 so we can all find it!
A few notes on the Gathering:
You do NOT have to do all the prompts, or even most of the prompts to participate in the Gathering! The most important thing is to have fun and avoid burnout. Pick whichever prompts inspire your creativity, and ignore the rest.
The Gathering is meant to show off all forms of creativity! This means art, music, writing, memes, textpost, moodboards, playlists, or whatever else you can come up with. Don't feel like you can't participate if you're not an artist or author.
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Crowds of people mingled and talked loudly, gathering into small and large groups of conversation, blocking everyone's path and occasionally accidentally bumping into one another, causing brief scuffles. There was a band playing music in one corner of the room but the instruments' sounds were all but completely drowned out by the guests' endless chattering. It was hot, it was crowded, it was loud, it was far too social, and Halt hated all of it.
“Oh stop being so dramatic,” Crowley told him. “We’re here for Duncan’s birthday, and he’s our friend.”
“I've never been to one of his birthdays before.”
“That's because you were never around in the area before. That's why I may or may not have sent you and Will on an assignment near here at this time.”
Halt glared at him. “I’ll say it again: I hate you.”
“No you don't. I’m too great for anyone to hate me.”
“That’s debateable.”
“Debate with the wall. It’s probably the only thing that’ll listen. Now shut up, and let’s go say hi to Duncan.” Before Halt could protest—not that Crowley would listen—the other ranger grabbed him by the hand and dragged him through the crowd, weaving around all the people who decided it would be a great idea to stand in a large group right in the middle of where people were walking.
Crowley spotted Duncan on the other side of the room in the far corner and when he came closer yelled out to his friend. Halt almost cringed as his friend shouted above the crowd, although no one seemed to care or notice. It was just another yell among the obnoxiously loud laughter, arguments breaking out and the excited exclamations from friends. It was all so annoying.
Duncan turned around and waved a hand to Crowley then beckoned them to come join him and the group of people he was talking to.
“Hi Duncie,” Crowley said, and Duncan rolled his eyes amusedly at the nickname. “Are you having a good night so far?”
“I am, thank you Crowley. And Halt,” he grinned down at his other friend, “Long time no see. Thanks for coming. I know these sorts of parties aren’t really your thing.”
Halt was about to mention that he hadn’t wanted to come, and that Crowley had forced him, but Crowley squeezed his hand warningly. He didn’t need to say anything for Halt to know he wanted him to shut up before he even spoke. Instead, Halt just nodded in acknowledgement.
“This is Sir Isaac,” Duncan said, gesturing to the man standing next to him. “He’s the battlemaster at Whitby. And this is Sir Finn, his second in command.” Crowley shook hands with both men in greeting, while Halt just stood back, arms folded across his chest, unintentionally glaring at them. God, he really didn’t want to be here, stuck talking to these men who he could already tell were stuck up pricks.
“Isaac, Finn,” Duncan continued, “This is Ranger Crowley, the Ranger commandant, and Ranger Halt. I’m sure you know who they are.”
“Ah, Ranger Halt,” Sir Finn said, “You recently married, did you not? To Lady Pauline of Redmont I believe.” Halt nodded, avoiding speaking as long as possible. “Congratulations, you picked a good one. She’s really something, isn’t she? A real beauty. You’re a lucky man.” He went to clap Halt on the back, but the ranger quickly side stepped him. His unintentional glare slipped into a real one, not just at the attempted contact, but at the objectifying language Finn was using.
“Pauline, yes I remember her,” Isaac started, “I met her years ago when I visited Redmont Tried to court her if I’m being honest. I mean, imagine what I could tell people if I had managed to get a dance with her.” He laughed scornfully, seemingly forgetting Pauline’s husband was standing right there. “She rejected all my attempts, and ever so kindly told me what I could do to myself. I realised right then I was better off without her, if she was so entitled she thought she could do better than me. I honestly had begun to think she was just cold hearted and enjoyed crushing men’s feelings. Didn’t think she would ever get married, but I guess you never know how the future will turn out.”
Crowley and Duncan glanced nervously at Halt, who had gone unnervingly still. He had been quiet throughout the whole interaction, but now the quiet was laced with an underlying threat of danger for Isaac if he didn’t shut up right then and there.
“She’s not that bad,” Finn said, trying to get his commander to stop talking. Like Crowley and Duncan, he had noticed Halt’s tense posture. He didn’t know anything about Halt as a person, but he knew that rangers were dangerous people, and he could practically feel the rage that had already begun to radiate off of him.
“Agree to disagree,” Isaac said carelessly. “I think she’s quite rude. I mean, it doesn’t take that much effort to just take a fellow up on his offer for a dance does it?”
Halt had now unfolded his arms and instead was clenching his fists tightly at his sides, his breathing growing heavier as he tried to control himself. He knew he should probably walk away, but he also couldn’t bear the idea of letting this moron insult his wife further behind his back. It was a miracle Sir Isaac hadn’t burned into a pile of ashes from the force of Halt’s glare, but perhaps it was because he hadn’t even seemed to notice. Crowley placed a hand on Halt’s arm and moved closer, preparing himself to hold his friend back if the need be.
At that moment, Will approached them, having finished the conversation he had been having with a few, surprisingly not that arrogant, young knights. He was about to offer a friendly greeting to the group, before he picked up on the tension, the greeting dying on his lips before they even left them. He took one look at Halt, immediately picked up on his mentor’s rapidly increasing anger, then took one look at Crowley’s ready position and knew things were not going alright. He made eye contact with the King, a question in his expression. Duncan held up a hand, telling him to hang on. He thought it was about time to step in before things got too out of hand.
“Isaac,” he said in a casual but firm voice, “I think that’s enough talk about Pauline. Perhaps she just wasn’t in the mood for a dance. But none of that matters now, it was all in the past.” He hoped Isaac would take the hint to drop the subject and move on, but Isaac seemed to be insistent on insulting Halt’s wife.
“If she didn’t want to dance then why would she even be there? That would just be a huge waste of time for me.” He looked around the group, searching for someone to agree with him, and his eyes landed on Halt, seeming to remember he was listening the whole time and heard every vile word he said about Pauline. Still, Isaac ignored the dangerous look in Halt’s eyes and addressed him directly.
“I must say I don’t envy you,” he said, and Crowley internally cringed. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I’m fortunate to not be stuck with some full-of-herself woman who can’t respect a man enough for a dance.”
Despite Crowley’s hand on Halt’s arm, he wasn’t fast enough to stop his friend. His face a mask of pure protective fury, Halt grabbed Isaac by the collar of his overpriced shirt and slammed him against the wall. In the same movement, he drew his fist back and with rapid speed slammed it straight into Isaac’s face with as much force as he could muster in the moment. Blood immediately began to pour from Isaac’s probably now broken nose. It poured into his mouth and down his shirt, and coated Halt’s split knuckles with it, but he didn’t care. He was about to punch him again when Crowley finally caught up to him, and grabbed him firmly on his arm, stopping the fist in its tracks.
With a strong grip on his friend, Crowley forced Halt back and quickly wrapped his arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides. Halt struggled in his hold, trying to get another satisfying hit on Isaac’s stupid face. But Crowley held strong, and dragged him further away from the bleeding man. Will stepped in between Isaac and Halt with his hands held out to his mentor in a placating gesture even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good.
Crowley didn’t feel bad for Isaac in the slightest—in fact, he believed the man deserved to get punched—but there was a crowd of people now watching, and it wouldn’t do good for them to witness Halt beating the shit out of a battlemaster. That, and also Crowley couldn’t guarantee that Halt wouldn’t just kill him.
Halt kicked Crowley hard in the shin in an attempt to break free, but it didn’t work. Crowley had dealt with worse from a simple kick and he continued to hold strong.
“I think we’ll be going now,” Crowley said to Duncan. “Enjoy the rest of your party.” And with that, he dragged Halt through the crowd of people, talking soothingly yet commanding to him as they went. Will quickly followed.
“Happy birthday, your majesty!” He called out to Duncan before disappearing between the sea of people.
People continued to look as they went, but a quick death glare from Halt made them look away. Crowley almost rolled his eyes. The second they stepped out of the busy hall, Crowley’s hold loosened and Halt forcefully pushed him away. He didn’t say anything to him, or even look his way. He just made his way straight to the castle stairs with the intention of going straight to the room he was staying in and being alone.
Crowley jogged after him, and despite Halt’s obvious annoyance, walked side by side with him.
“Do you want to talk?” Crowley asked gently.
“What do you think?” Halt replied between gritted teeth. The rage was still obvious in his voice.
“Alright then.” He had known Halt long enough to know to not push any further. What his friend needed now was time and space to himself to calm down, and Crowley was more than happy to give that to him. Subtly, he started to slow his pace and let Halt go ahead of him until he was walking by himself.
When he reached his room, Halt immediately collapsed on his bed, curling in on himself. He took a shuddering breath, trying to calm his temper down enough to think rationally again. He just wanted to see Pauline and be with her again. First thing in the morning, he decided, he would grab Will and go home so he could hug her.
The trouble with packing, Will reflected, was that it always seemed a great deal simpler before one actually began doing it.
He had his satchel open on the bed, although “open” was perhaps too generous a description. It had been open half an hour ago. Now it bulged at the sides, the seams threatened to burst, and looked as though it might give up entirely if he tried to force one more shirt into it. Will, however, was not a man to be intimidated by a piece of leather, and he was currently attempting to wedge a spare cloak into a corner where, to any reasonable observer, there was no room for a spare cloak.
Maddie stood in the doorway and watched him for some time.
“You know,” she said at last, “there are people who pack as though they intend to find things again later.”
Will glanced over his shoulder. “And there are people who stand in doorways making unhelpful comments.”
“I’m being very helpful. I’m warning you that your bag is about to explode.”
“It’s not about to explode,” Will said, pushing down on the cloak with one hand while reaching for a pair of socks with the other. “It’s simply full.”
“It was full ten minutes ago.”
Will gave the satchel a final shove, then sat back and regarded his work with mild satisfaction. “There. Perfect.”
Maddie crossed the room, took one look inside, and made a small sound of disgust. Before Will could object, she began removing items and laying them in neat piles on the bed.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Saving you from yourself.”
“I don’t need saving from myself. I’ve packed for missions longer than you’ve been alive.”
“Yes,” Maddie said, folding one of his shirts, “and apparently nobody ever had the courage to tell you that you’re terrible at it.”
Will opened his mouth, then closed it again, because the shirt she had folded took up half the space it had before. She folded another, then another, fitting each piece of clothing neatly into the satchel until the bag, traitorously, began to look almost spacious.
Will watched in silence for a few moments.
Maddie didn’t look up. “You’re welcome.”
“I didn’t thank you.”
“You were about to.”
“I was not.”
“You were thinking it.”
Will considered denying this, but since he had in fact been thinking something uncomfortably close to gratitude, he decided to change the subject.
“Are you packed?”
Maddie gave him a look. “I’ve been packed since breakfast.”
“Overconfident,” Will said. “That’s dangerous.”
“Disorganized,” Maddie replied, pressing his spare socks into the side of the bag. “That’s embarrassing.”
Will took it from her, tested its weight, and found—annoyingly—that it sat more comfortably on his shoulder than it had before.
He nodded once. “Adequate.”
Maddie smiled. “That’s Ranger for thank you, isn’t it?”
“It’s Ranger for don’t push your luck.”
They left shortly after dawn.
The message from Gilan had arrived two days earlier, carried by a courier who had looked very relieved to be rid of it. That, Will had thought, was never a good sign. Gilan’s messages tended to be brief under ordinary circumstances, but this one had been especially irritating.
Strange lights reported at old border fortress. Locals refusing to approach after sunset. They suspect ghosts. Possible criminal activity. Investigate.
That was all.
There was no map beyond a rough marking of the fortress’s location, no description of the lights, no names of witnesses, and no indication of what “possible criminal activity” might mean. It was exactly the sort of message Gilan enjoyed sending: vague enough to be unhelpful, official enough to be unavoidable, and just interesting enough that Will couldn’t ignore it.
Maddie, naturally, had questions.
She began asking them before they had even cleared the trees surrounding the cabin.
“What kind of lights?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many locals saw them?”
“I don’t know.”
“How old is the fortress?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why was it abandoned?”
“Maddie.”
“What?”
Will turned in the saddle and looked at her. “I don’t know.”
She guided Bumper around a rut in the road, frowning. “You don’t have to say it like that.”
“You’ve asked me seven questions in five minutes, and the answer to all of them is the same. I thought I’d save us both some time.”
“Well, Gilan’s letter was useless.”
“Gilan’s letters often are.”
“Do you think he does that on purpose?”
“Almost certainly.”
Maddie considered this with the serious expression of someone adding another grievance to a growing list. “That seems irresponsible.”
“It’s educational.”
“That’s what people say when they’re being irresponsible.”
Will smiled faintly and let Tug choose his way along the forest path. The morning was cool and damp, with mist clinging to the lower ground and beads of moisture illuminating the grass. The road north wound through open woodland at first, then gradually narrowed as they approached the border country, where farms became fewer, and trees grew thicker.
By midday, Maddie had returned to the subject.
“So what do you think it is?”
“What do I think what is?”
“The lights.”
Will shifted in the saddle and shrugged. “Could be smugglers.”
“Could be bandits?”
“Possibly.”
“Could be soldiers from across the border?”
“Unlikely, but not impossible.”
“Could be ghosts?”
Will didn’t answer immediately, which was a mistake, because Maddie noticed.
“You hesitated.”
“I was deciding whether that question deserved a serious answer.”
“That means you considered it.”
“It means I considered ignoring it.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Maddie.”
She leaned slightly forward in her saddle, eyes bright with the sort of curiosity that was admirable in an apprentice and exhausting in a traveling companion. “The villagers think it’s ghosts, don’t they?”
“Villagers often think things are ghosts when they don’t want to walk somewhere after dark. And ghosts are almost easier to understand than criminals.”
“That isn’t the same as saying you don’t believe in them.”
Will glanced at her then, and something in her tone told him she wasn’t merely teasing anymore.
“Do you believe in ghosts, Will?”
The question settled between them more heavily than he expected.
For a while, the only sound was the steady rhythm of the horses’ hooves. Tug lowered his head as they passed under a canopy of oak, and patches of pale sunlight slid over Will’s cloak, then vanished as the branches moved in the breeze.
Before Alyss died, he would have laughed at it and answered without hesitation. No, of course not. Ghosts belonged to frightened children, lonely shepherds, and travelers who had spent too many nights sleeping badly in unfamiliar places. Rangers dealt in tracks, signs, patterns, evidence. A light in a ruined tower was a lantern. A whisper in the dark was wind through stone. A shadow at the edge of sight was only a shadow.
Afterward, things had become less simple.
He had never truly believed he saw her. He knew that. He was not a fool, and grief had not robbed him of sense, no matter how close it had come.
The blonde woman turning a corner in a crowded marketplace was never Alyss. The pale figure at the edge of the trees near the cabin vanished because it had never been there at all. The voice he thought he heard sometimes, soft and amused and heartbreakingly familiar, was only memory moving through silence.
He knew all of that.
But knowing a thing and feeling it were not always the same.
There had been mornings when he woke from dreams so vivid that for several seconds he expected to find her by the fire. There had been evenings when the cabin seemed to hold the shape of her absence so clearly that he almost turned to speak to her. And there had been one night, not long after her death, when he had stood outside beneath the stars because he could have sworn--could have sworn--he heard her laugh from the trees.
He had dismissed it afterward, of course.
He had dismissed all of it.
The trouble was that dismissal did not make memory any less powerful.
At length, he said, “I think if ghosts exist, they probably have better things to do than rattle around old fortresses frightening farmers.”
Maddie stared at him. “That is the most annoying answer you could possibly have given.”
Will shrugged and kept his eyes on the path ahead.
They reached the village late in the afternoon, and it took less than an hour to discover that the locals were perfectly willing to talk about the fortress, provided they were safely inside a warm room with the doors locked. The innkeeper described blue-white lights moving along the ruined walls. A farmer claimed to have seen a figure standing in the broken tower with no lantern in hand, glowing faintly against the night sky.
An elderly woman told them that the fortress had been cursed since the old border wars, which she described in great detail until Will gently pointed out that those wars had ended nearly two hundred years ago.
“Curses can be patient,” she informed him.
Will didn't know how to answer that.
By sunset they were approaching the ruins.
The fortress stood on a low ridge overlooking a narrow valley that once must have been an important crossing point. Time had not been kind to it. One wall had collapsed almost entirely, spilling stones down the slope like the bones of some long-dead animal. Ivy climbed the remaining tower, and young trees had rooted themselves in cracks along the battlements. The gatehouse had lost its doors, and the empty archway gaped black in the fading light.
It was an excellent place for ghosts, Will had to admit.
It was also an excellent place for smugglers.
They made camp well away from the ridge, hidden among pines with a clear view of the fortress. Will allowed no fire, which Maddie accepted with only mild grumbling, and they ate cold bread, cheese, and dried meat while the last light drained from the sky.
For the first few hours, nothing happened.
The ruins stood silent beneath the stars. An owl called from somewhere behind them, and once a fox barked sharply in the valley, making Maddie turn her head with sudden interest. Otherwise, the night was pretty calm.
Then, shortly after midnight, a light appeared in the broken tower.
It was small at first, no brighter than a candle cupped in someone’s hand. Then it moved sideways, vanished, and reappeared lower down near the collapsed wall.
Maddie’s hand went to her bow. “You saw that.”
“I did.”
“It’s moving.”
“Yes.”
“That’s unsettling.”
“Only if you were hoping for ghosts.”
She glanced at him. “You’re sure it isn’t?”
Will continued watching the light as it bobbed briefly, disappeared behind a broken stretch of stone, then emerged again near the base of the tower.
“Ghosts,” he said, “rarely carry lanterns.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m willing to make an educated guess.”
They waited another half hour, long enough to see two more lights appear and vanish within the ruins. Then Will rose, settling his cloak around him.
“Stay close. Step where I step. And if I signal you to stop, stop.”
Maddie gave him a look that said she had heard this particular instruction before, possibly several hundred times.
“I know.”
They moved toward the fortress through the long grass. The wind shifted along the ridge, carrying with it the smell of damp stone, wet leaves, and something else beneath it: smoke, very faint, and something that smelled of animal sweat.
Will paused, crouching beside a fallen section of wall. Maddie dropped beside him.
“Not ghosts?” she whispered.
“Not unless they’ve started keeping pack animals.”
Finding the entrance took longer. Whoever was using the fortress knew enough to avoid the obvious archways and broken gates. Will circled the outer wall twice before he found the scrape marks near a bramble-choked section of collapsed stone. The marks were faint, but fresh: boots, more than one pair, and the drag of something heavy.
He parted the brambles carefully.
Behind them, half-hidden under fallen masonry, was a narrow opening leading down into darkness.
Maddie leaned closer, her voice barely audible, and very visibly excited. “Secret tunnel.”
“Old drainage passage, probably.”
“That’s less fun.”
“Most true things are.”
They slipped inside.
The passage sloped downward beneath the fortress, and the air changed immediately. Aboveground, the night had been cool and clean. Here it was stale, damp, and carrying the mineral smell of old stone and earth. Will led the way with one hand brushing the wall, moving slowly enough that loose gravel would not betray them. Behind him, Maddie was silent, and despite himself, he felt a small flicker of pride. There had been a time when she would have bumped into something within the first dozen steps and then looked offended that the darkness had dared to exist to inconvenience her.
Voices reached them after several minutes.
Men’s voices.
Maddie leaned close to his shoulder. “Definitely ghosts.”
Will’s mouth twitched. “Very talkative ones.”
The tunnel widened ahead into a storage chamber beneath the fortress. Three men were there, seated around a small hooded lantern, with crates stacked behind them against the wall. One was sharpening a knife with theatrical concentration. Another was counting coins. The third had his boots off and appeared to be asleep.
Smugglers, then.
Will signaled Maddie left, then pointed to himself and the man with the knife. She nodded once.
It should have been simple.
And for the first ten seconds, it was.
Will moved first, striking the knife from the man’s hand and bringing his saxe knife hilt down hard against the side of his head. Maddie crossed the chamber in the same instant, catching the coin-counter off guard as she slammed a knee to his gut, then a punch under his chin as he folded forward with a startled grunt. The sleeping man woke just in time to see Will standing over him with an arrow nocked and pointed very steadily at his chest.
“Don’t,” Will advised.
The man didn’t.
Unfortunately, someone in the next chamber did.
A shout rang out, followed by the scrape of boots and the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn.
Will sighed. “I dislike it when people shout.”
The next few minutes were confused, loud, and deeply inconvenient.
More smugglers than Will had expected poured from the adjoining tunnel. Six at least, perhaps seven, armed with short swords, clubs, and the frantic confidence of men who had been surprised and were trying to turn fear into aggression.
The chamber was too narrow for proper archery, so Will fired once, dropped one man with a shaft through the shoulder, then slung his bow and drew his saxe knife and throwing knife in one smooth motion.
Maddie fought at his left; she had improved more than she realized in recent months. There was less wasted movement now, fewer dramatic flourishes, more practicality in her stance.
Will had time to think that Halt would have approved.
Then a smuggler came at him from the right, and approval became less important than not being stabbed.
He ducked under the first slash, caught the man’s wrist, and drove his knee upward. The smuggler doubled over with a strangled sound. Will shoved him backward into another attacker, but the movement took him half a step too far to the side.
His boot found nothing beneath it.
For one brief, deeply unpleasant moment, Will had just enough time to realize that the floor beneath the old fortress was not nearly as dependable as he had assumed. Then the darkness below him opened like a mouth, and he dropped.
He hit the side of the shaft first, shoulder glancing off rough stone with a burst of pain that stole the breath from his lungs. A heartbeat later he struck the bottom hard enough to make the world flash white behind his eyes.
For several seconds, he lay still, stunned by the abrupt silence after the chaos above. Somewhere overhead, men were shouting. He heard Maddie’s strikers crack against something with a sound that was almost musical, followed by a cry of pain that was not hers.
That, Will decided dimly, was encouraging.
He tried to draw breath and discovered that his ribs objected strongly to the idea. His shoulder objected as well, and his hip had apparently decided to join the discussion. He lay on his back and stared up at the square of dim light overhead, forcing himself to breathe.
In.
Out.
And again.
His vision steadied by degrees just as a head appeared over the edge of the opening.
“Maddie?” he called, though his voice came out weaker than he liked.
“No,” she said, breathless. “A ghost.”
Despite everything, he smiled. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping for someone useful.”
“You fell into a hole,” she said.
“I noticed.”
“That was pretty dumb.”
“I thought it might be useful to inspect it.”
Maddie disappeared for a moment, and after a bit of shuffling, a rope dropped down beside him a moment later. Will took hold of it with his good hand, then paused as pain ran through his shoulder like fire.
Above him, Maddie’s voice softened. “Can you climb?”
He could hear what she was trying not to say. Can you climb, or do I need to come down and get you?
Pride suggested he should say yes immediately, sense and comfort suggested otherwise.
Unfortunately, sense had been speaking in Halt’s voice more often lately, which made it especially irritating.
“Not quickly,” Will said.
“Then don’t,” Maddie replied. “Tie it around yourself.”
It took longer than he liked, but eventually the rope was secure beneath his arms. Maddie braced herself above, and with a combination of her pulling, his pushing, and a considerable amount of muttered commentary from both of them, Will emerged from the shaft and rolled onto solid stone.
For a moment he lay there, breathing hard.
Maddie crouched beside him. “You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
She looked him over quickly, hands efficient as she checked for bleeding, broken bones, and other consequences of falling through neglected architecture. Will allowed it because he didn't have the energy to protest.
The remaining smugglers had fled deeper into the tunnels.
Maddie helped Will to his feet, though he insisted on calling it “steadying” rather than helping. Together they moved after the smugglers, slower now but still silent enough to surprise two of them as they tried to force open a concealed exit beyond the storage chamber.
Maddie took the first down with an arrow to the man's calf. Will, whose body was aching in a way that promised a miserable morning and a probable infirmary visit, contented himself with placing the point of his saxe knife against the second man’s throat.
“I’m having a difficult night,” he said pleasantly. “Please don’t improve it by making me chase you.”
The man surrendered pretty quickly after that.
By dawn, the fortress no longer seemed haunted, merely damp, broken, and chock-full of illegal goods. The lights, as they suspected, had come from hooded lanterns carried through the old passageways. The strange wails that had frightened the villagers were nothing more supernatural than wind passing through cracks in the stone, helped along, Will suspected, by men who knew that frightened locals were less likely to investigate.
The smugglers were bound together in the lower chamber, their goods identified and counted as best as Will could manage with one arm working poorly.
There were bolts of stolen expensive cloth, casks of untaxed brandy, and several crates of expensive metal. The tunnels connected the ruined fortress to a concealed exit in a ravine beyond the ridge, allowing the men to move goods unseen while the villagers avoided the place out of fear of supernatural curses.
Will had to admit it was a very clever arrangement.
He would have admired it more if his shoulder and ribs had hurt less.
“Ghosts are better funded than I expected,” Maddie said, her eyebrows raised.
Will, sitting on a fallen block of stone while one of the captured smugglers glared at him, adjusted the sling Maddie had made for his arm.
“Smuggling is a lucrative afterlife, apparently.”
She smiled despite herself, then looked toward the shaft again, the humor faded as her smile dropped.
“You really could have died, ya know...”
Will followed her gaze. In daylight, the hole looked even more unpleasant than it had in the lantern glow the previous night. Deep enough to kill a man if he landed badly. Deep enough to make Maddie’s fear pretty damn rational.
He glanced at her and saw that she was waiting for him to make light of it.
So he did.
“I suppose I came rather close to becoming one of your ghosts.”
Maddie rolled her eyes, but some of the tension left her shoulders. “You would make an awful ghost.”
“I disagree. I think I’d be excellent at it.”
“You’d be unbearable.”
“Exactly. I’d haunt you specifically.”
“Why me?”
“Because it'd be fun.”
He continued, "You'd be doing the mission reports because I'd be too dead to do them myself, and I'd appear over your shoulder and point out spelling mistakes."
“You already do that alive.”
“Yes, but as a ghost I could do it at all hours.”
For a second, Maddie tried very hard not to laugh. Will could see the effort in her face, which made it worse. Then she gave in, and he found himself laughing too, though it hurt his ribs and he had to stop almost immediately.
It was a strange habit Rangers had, laughing after literal near-death experiences. Will had noticed it years ago in Halt and had thought, at the time, that it was merely one more sign of his mentor’s deeply questionable character.
Now he understood it better. There were only so many ways to tell the body that danger had passed. Sometimes laughter did the work better than words.
The village constable arrived shortly after sunrise with six men and a cart. The smugglers were handed over. The goods were counted. The tunnel entrances were marked for sealing.
The villagers, who only hours earlier had been speaking of curses and spirits, now spoke very confidently about how they had suspected smugglers all along.
Maddie listened to this with a raised eyebrow.
They remained long enough to make sure the prisoners were secure, then began the ride home late that morning. Will’s shoulder had stiffened by then, and every jolt of Tug’s gait sent a fresh ache through his ribs. Maddie watched him from the corner of her eye for the first hour.
Eventually, he said, “If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll assume you’re concerned.”
“I’m making sure you don’t fall off your horse.”
“That sounds like concern.”
“I'm looking out for myself, I don't want to find a new mentor if you fall off and crack your head open.”
“I see.”
“You’re welcome.”
Will looked ahead, smiling faintly. “Adequate.”
Maddie groaned. “That is not going to become a thing.”
“I think it already has.”
They reached Castle Araluen two days later; it was closer to where they were than Redmont was after all. Will figured he'd save them both the time of writing and sending off a report and just do it in person. Plus, it had been a long while since he had seen his old friends at Araluen, and he figured Maddie could use a day or so with her parents after that surprisingly difficult mission.
Will allowed them exactly one evening of rest before they reported to the Commandant.
Gilan received them in his office with the expression of a man who had expected trouble and was pleased to find that it had at least been interesting. He listened as Will gave the verbal account, interrupting occasionally with questions and once with a poorly concealed smile when Maddie described the shaft beneath the tunnel.
“You fell into it?” Gilan asked, his voice quivering slightly as he tried to suppress the laughter building in his chest.
Will regarded him coolly. “Temporarily.”
Gilan’s smile widened. “That’s a new term for falling.”
Maddie looked between them, clearly enjoying herself far more than was respectful.
When the account was finished, Gilan leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Good work. I’ll send word to the border fief. The baron there will want to inspect the goods himself.”
Maddie shifted slightly, clearly hoping that meant they were dismissed.
Gilan smiled.
It was not a reassuring smile.
“And I’ll need the written report, of course, by tomorrow before you head home.”
Maddie nodded, knowing his assignment didn't include her. She was switching her weight from one foot to the other, anxious for a hot meal and a good night's sleep.
And Will felt a warm and entirely unreasonable glow of satisfaction before he spoke his next words.
“Maddie will write it,” he said.
She turned to him. “What?”
“Excellent,” Gilan said, far too quickly. “Good practice.”
“What?!” Maddie repeated, this time including both of them in her disbelief.
Will adjusted his cloak around his injured shoulder with an exaggerated flinch. “I would do it myself, naturally, but my arm is wounded.”
“You injured your left shoulder, not your right hand.”
“The pain travels.”
“It does not.”
“It might.”
Gilan’s eyes gleamed. “Best not to risk it.”
Maddie stared at them both as the horrible truth dawned on her. “You planned this.”
“I fell into a hole,” Will said. “Show some respect.”
It was, he had to admit, deeply satisfying. Halt had made him write reports after missions, usually when Will was tired, hungry, injured, or some combination of the three. At the time, Will had considered it unnecessary cruelty disguised as discipline.
But later on, in their quarters at Araluen, watching Maddie scratch out half a line and mutter something uncomplimentary about old tunnels, Will now began to see the wisdom in his old mentor's unorthodox teaching methods.
Maddie looked up suddenly. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little.”
“A lot.”
Will took a sip of coffee. “Possibly.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re making me write this because Halt used to make you write reports, didn't he?”
“Now that would just be petty.”
“It is petty.”
“It is educational.”
Maddie stared at him after hearing that world one too many times in the last two days.
Educational.
Will lowered his mug slowly.
He had heard that tone before. Worse, he had used that expression before: the calm, mildly infuriating certainty of a mentor who had already decided that mild discomfort was good for an apprentice. He thought of Halt sitting by a fire, offering dry comments while Will struggled through some unpleasant but supposedly character-building task. He thought of the raised eyebrow, the folded arms, the maddening ability to make silence feel like criticism.
Then he thought of himself, sitting by the fire, drinking coffee, making Maddie write the report.
The realization was sudden and deeply unsettling.
Maddie saw it happen. Her expression shifted from annoyance to triumph.
“Oh,” she said.
Will said nothing.
“Oh, that’s bad.”
“What is?”
“You’re turning into Halt.”
Will opened his mouth at once, because the accusation was outrageous and clearly required a firm denial.
Unfortunately, no denial came.
He sat there with his mouth slightly open, one hand around his coffee cup, and realized that he could not think of a single convincing argument against her.
Maddie leaned back in her chair, smiling now. “You even did the eyebrow thing.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I have my own eyebrow thing.”
“That’s exactly what Halt would say.”
Will looked into the fire, where the flames shifted and cracked softly over the logs. For a moment, he imagined Halt’s voice, dry and amused, telling him that there were worse fates than becoming like one’s mentor. Will suspected that it was true.
He also knew he would never admit it aloud.
Across the table, Maddie dipped her pen again and returned to the report, though she was still smiling.
Will settled back in his chair.
“Make sure you include the part where I heroically survived falling into a pit,” he said.
Maddie did not look up. “I’m writing that you fell through rotten wood.”
“Same thing.”
“It is not.”
“History is only written by the victors.” He quoted.
“And victors so often lie.”
Will smiled into his coffee.
Outside, the trees whispered softly, and if there were ghosts in the world, they kept their distance that night.
I always imagined that even as a ruin castle of Gorlean had that one cool tower that kinda survived the collapse only so it would keep the aura. Not any particular reason, just cause it's cool. Maybe it would be the tower king Oswald was held captive? Maybe as some sort of symbol that even if Morgarath's gone the influence he had is not...
Not fully proud of this one, but it's actually the first ever landscape that looks... Acceptable? It was meant to be ruins of Gorlean btw. I know... I know, you probably couldn't tell from those blobs that meant to resemble watercolours but hey, no one said it must be perfect... Right?
The plump hare fell with a thud as the arrow struck home.
“Finally, Halt! Something good to eat other than those cold, hard rations. I’m starving,” Horace beamed, patting Halt on the back.
Halt grunted.
Will grinned at Horace. “Since when are you not starving?”
Horace grinned back. “Never,” he replied sheepishly.
“Last time you even managed to eat when—”
“—OY! It is strictly prohibited to hunt large game like that hare you’ve got here! You better tell me who you are and where you come from, right now,” an old gamekeeper interrupted, making his way towards them while loading his crossbow.
Halt rolled his eyes to heaven. “O’Carrick,” he said simply.
“An O’Carrick, huh? I’m not fooled that easily. State your name and title,” the man said firmly.
Halt sighed. “I’m deeply hurt that you don’t remember me, Dennis,” he said dryly.
The gamekeeper's hand tightened around his crossbow. “Who are you, and how do you know my name?”
Halt flicked his cowl back and held his hand out. “Crown Prince Halt O’Carrick, heir to the throne of Clonmel.”
Dennis stumbled back. “Wh-what?” he sputtered.
Will hid a smile as Halt raised an eyebrow and went to retrieve the hare.
“P-Prince Halt? B-but… you… you’re alive…?” Dennis stammered, recognising the dark eyes.
“I’m glad to see your observation skills are still as keen as ever,” Halt replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“How?” Dennis asked, dumbfounded.
“First of all, I was never dead to begin with. Second of all, I ran away. Third of all, don’t you have something better to do than stand there and gape at me?” Halt asked impatiently.
“I- uh, yes sir!” Dennis cried, giving him a brief salute and taking off at a sprint, eager to tell his wife the shocking news.
Horace and Will burst out laughing.
“I’m gonna go gut this hare for us to eat tomorrow,” Halt announced, “You two go back to camp and make us dinner.”
“No fire?” Will asked.
“I don’t see why not. I could do with a good cup of coffee.” And with that, Halt walked off towards the gurgling stream.
Halt stared at his distorted reflection in the river, the hare forgotten by his side. He never liked reflections. They always made him feel uneasy as his brother’s face stared back up at him. It brought back too many memories. It was all his fault. He had acted like a coward and left. Left his family behind. Left Caitlyn behind. His poor baby sister. He should’ve given Ferris the throne before it got out of hand. He should’ve talked to their father about it. He should’ve done more for them. And now Caitlyn was dead. She was dead because of him. It was all his fault. He should’ve been there and stayed to protect Caitlyn. He should’ve been able to stop Ferris and be a responsible older brother. Instead, he had fled. Fled like a coward. He didn’t even say goodbye. And then Pritchard. The closest thing to a father he ever had. If only he had arrived earlier, he would’ve never—
“Halt?” a voice broke him out of his thoughts.
Startled, Halt plunged right into the freezing lapping river. He flapped his arms out violently, trying to get to the surface of the water. His lungs screamed for air as the river dragged him down. His arms and legs ached with the effort as he thrashed against the wild river. Halt could feel his heart beating rapidly against his ribs as he tried to get air into his lungs. He opened his mouth, desperate for air, but the stinging cold water flowed right into his mouth, making him choke. The world started to blur at the edges.
Suddenly, a strong hand gripped onto the collar of his shirt and he was hauled up, out of the tumbling waters. Halt fell to his knees, coughing up water and gasping desperately for air.
“Halt! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you!” Will slapped Halt’s back repeatedly, trying to get the water out for him.
“‘m fine…” Halt gasped, panting heavily as the adrenaline faded. Exhausted, he leaned his head back, and Will wrapped his arms around him, knowing Halt was probably still in a state of panic.
“It’s okay Halt… it’s okay. You’re out now,” Will murmured.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Will stood up.
“Come on, you’re freezing. We need to get back and get you changed,” Will said, grabbing the hare and helping Halt up.
Halt stood shakily on his legs and staggered after Will.
“What happened?” Horace asked, noticing the state of Halt’s wet clothes and hair.
“I went to get some water and accidentally startled Halt. He tumbled right into the river. The current was pretty strong and I had to haul him out of there,” Will explained.
Halt shivered and walked over to get changed into warmer clothes behind a tree. He wrung out his wet dripping clothes and hung them on a horizontal branch. With nothing to do, he sat down at the base of a tree and hugged his knees close to his chest, trying to get as much warmth as possible.
Horace left with the hare, going to gut it so they can eat it tomorrow.
Will noticed that Halt had dozed off, and put a blanket over him. Eventually, they settled in for the night and decided that Halt could have the last watch, since he clearly needed his rest.
˗ˏˋ ⁀➴ ˎˊ˗
The orange flames crackled, sending golden sparks flying into the cool morning air. Horace poked the sizzling hare with a long stick, and turned it around, allowing the other side to cook nicely. The rich smell brought Halt back to the present, still tired from finishing his last watch. He rubbed a hand over his face, staring into the hot embers of the fire. Ever since they arrived in the borders of Dun Kilty, Halt had been a bundle of nerves. Although he didn’t show it outwardly, Will and Horace had known him for long enough to bypass the stoic exterior and guess what he was really feeling. At first they had thought nothing of it. But then, Halt had been easier to startle and sneak up on, and when Halt flinched when Will passed him a cup of coffee a few days ago, they knew something had been wrong. Halt seemed to always be lost in thought, staring off into nothing. They had also noticed that he seemed more tired than usual, and he was always already awake when they went to wake him up for his watch.
Will swore under his breath.
“Coffee’s out,” he announced with a frustrated sigh.
Hearing this, Horace groaned. Will frowned and quickly put a finger to his lips.
“What? Do you hear something?” Horace asked, earning himself a glare from Will.
“Oh, sorry,” he mouthed.
Will gestured for Horace to come closer.
“That should’ve at least gotten a reaction from him,” Will whispered, gesturing to Halt.
Horace shrugged. “He’s probably just nervous. I mean, I’d be nervous if I were going back to my childhood home and confronting my twin brother for trying to kill me. But you’re right, it is a bit unlike him.”
After breakfast, they decided to get going towards Dun Kilty. But before long, Halt came to an abrupt halt, staring at a tall tree with a crude oakleaf carved on it.
“Halt? You okay?” Will asked, stopping next to him.
Halt suddenly steered his horse towards the trees, and galloped away.
“Hey! Halt, come back!” Horace yelled, taking off after Will and Halt.
Soon, they came to a stop. Kicker was panting heavily from the gallop, while Tug and Abelard seemed completely unfazed by the run. In front of them was what looked like the ruins of a burnt down cabin. Halt slowly dismounted and walked over to the mess.
“Halt?” Will called out uncertainly.
Halt dropped to his knees beside the ruins. “I —” he cut off uncertainly, not sure what to say.
“Pritchard… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault, I —”
Will dropped to his knees next to him. “Halt, it’s not your fault…”
“Who’s Pritchard?” Horace blurted out. Will looked at him in exasperation. Now's not the time. Seeing the look, Horace sealed his lips firmly shut.
Wordlessly, Halt walked over to where Abelard was standing, not looking back.
“W-we should head back…”
Halt mounted and rode back on the path, followed closely by Horace and Will.
“He was me and Crowley's mentor,” Halt said after a short while. Horace and Will shared a look.
do you have an image of the table for couriers code??? (& maybe the exceptions for the letters it doesn't cover because I forgot what it said) I struggle a lot with translating text into images but I've always reaally really wanted to learn it and would be THRILLED if you were willing to post it! :D
Of course, I'd love to share it with you!
To do the Courier's Code from Ranger's Apprentice, you need to use a grid of letters, with the letters arranged in four rows of six letters each. The letters S and V would be used to replace Z and W if they are needed. To communicate a letter, you use a light signal (like a lantern) to indicate the row and then the position within that row.
Here's how it works:
Grid:
Imagine a grid with four rows and six columns. The first row is on the top left, the second on the top right, the third on the bottom left, and the fourth on the bottom right.
Rows:
The position of the light (lantern) indicates the row. Top left is the first row, top right is the second, bottom left is the third, and bottom right is the fourth.
Columns:
The number of flashes indicates the position within the row.
Example:
To send the letter "O", you would first indicate the third row (bottom left) with the lantern and then flash twice to represent the second letter in that row, according to the Flanagan Wiki.
Ok but I think I think we all forgot how Will literally SLAPPED AN ARROW OUT OF IT'S PATH AT THE LAST MOMENT ON PURE INSTINCT and Halt literally forgot that he was in an active battle for a moment just to gawk at the fact that his son just performed a miracle??????
Halt-n-Crowley @haltncrowley - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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