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Crowley is jolted out of sleep to stare at the ceiling in the dark.
At first, he can’t figure out why he’s awake. He’s completely exhausted – he received the notice in the morning, then rode Cropper hard to reach port and see the Skandian ship come over the horizon. He had to watch with bated breath as Halt refused – the stupid, stupid man – to come ashore and only exhaled when Duncan wheedled his way around the law once again. Pressing Halt’s silver Ranger leaf back into his palm where it belonged was so, so satisfying after months of loneliness and regret. The stark relief in Halt’s eyes as he folded his fingers back over his pendant would stick with Crowley forever.
The few who got off the ship were dizzy and tired and hungry, and everyone else felt somewhat delirious. For Crowley, time seemed to move hazily, like he was in a dream. He’d woken up in the morning thinking that this day was going to be like every other awful day he’d had to face for the last several months, and now it was like a crippling weight had been lifted from his shoulders. The trek back to Castle Araluen had never seemed longer, and neither had the walk back up to his apartments - Crowley had practically fallen into bed the moment he got close enough to the mattress. On the ride home, he’d taken one look at Halt’s face and told him the debrief could wait until morning, and he himself fully planned to be fast asleep until sunrise. So why was he awake now?
A shy knock sounds – probably for the second time, if the first had woken him up – and Crowley sits up in bed. If it was an emergency, the page would have knocked – harder than this – and simply come in. If it wasn’t an emergency, well. No one came to Crowley’s rooms in the middle of the night if it wasn’t an emergency. This moment is the one exception in all his years of being Commandant.
“…come in,” he says curiously into the dark, speaking loud enough so whoever was on the other side of the door could hear. As the door creaks open, he leans over to light the oil lamp on his bedside table and wraps the other hand around his knife hilt. He lets go of the knife quickly, however, when he sees the short, skinny figure of Halt’s Will.
He’d caught glimpses of the boy already – rigid with uncertainty and developing fear on the docks as Halt remained on the ship, a shadow never far from Halt’s side on the ride home. But seeing him standing awkwardly in the gaping doorway in the dark was something else entirely. The shadows from the small flame leap over his tiny frame, catching in the gaunt hollows of his cheeks and getting swallowed in the bags under his eyes. His nail beds are half-destroyed as he taps them self-consciously against the doorframe. Crowley wants to wrap him up in a blanket.
“Commandant Crowley,” the boy says in a hushed whisper. “I’m sorry to bother you. Could I come in?”
“Sure,” Crowley says. This is a little unorthodox, but, well, the boy is Halt’s apprentice. Like mentor, like student. Will nods and closes the door gently behind him, coming to stand in the middle of the room in his bedclothes. Crowley sits up a little more and rests his back against the headboard with a grunt. “You might as well come sit. I know the floor is cold.”
He gestures to the foot of his bed, and Will pads over. He has to hop a little to sit on the edge of the bed. It’s adorable. Or it would be, if he didn’t look so upset.
“What can I help you with, apprentice?” Crowley asks gently. He doesn’t know if this is the right thing to say – he doesn’t know this boy, doesn’t know the ordeal he’s clearly been through the last couple of months. But Will’s formality, his determination to wake Crowley up, the grave look on his face – it all points toward Will intending to have a serious conversation, and Crowley will give him that respect.
“Sir,” Will says, stops. “Did Halt really commit treason against the king?”
Ah. Well, Crowley had honestly been hoping to avoid thinking about that, or at least avoid thinking about it any more today. But clearly, it wasn’t meant to be.
“Yes,” Crowley tells the truth, and Will looks away, seemingly aghast. “But only after he got into a bar fight and snapped his bow string.”
Will snaps to face him in genuine shock. “His own bow!? On purpose?”
Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Is this more alarming to you than the treason?”
“No,” Will replies quickly, then considers sheepishly. “Well, actually, a little. It is Halt, sir.”
Crowley tells himself that it would be not very Commandant-like to snort, and then snorts anyways.
“A sound observation,” is what he says afterwards, tone light. “But you’re right, it is Halt, which means it somehow worked out for him, anyways.” Will smiles, a fleeting little thing, as if his face was well-used to making the expression but too out of practice to hold it for long.
“I didn’t know banishment could be for only a year,” Will admits after a moment of silence, looking out into the surrounding dark of the room. “I thought it was forever. It’s kind of implied, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes,” Crowley acknowledges. “That’s the general concept of it. Duncan changed the sentence in court to make it only last a year.”
Crowley has to watch as something in Will fractures horribly, guilt obvious in the way he slumps, leaning against the bedpost. Crowley decides not to bring up that Halt could have also, technically, been executed, and internally groans. Halt could decide to commit treason and nearly betray his post for his apprentice, but he couldn’t tell his apprentice about it afterward? A part of Crowley wanted to just tell Will that he was the wrong Ranger for this discussion, and the right one was asleep several hallways away, but he stayed where he was. Crowley was tired – and really wanted to get some more sleep before having to deal with all the work tomorrow would bring – but he owed Will this.
“I must tell you that none of us were giving Halt better options, Will,” Crowley says softly. “I could make a lot of excuses, but Halt did the right thing. And I promise you that he really is safe, now. No repercussions.” Will’s brown eyes are sharp and bright, studying him, and they let the silence sit around them.
“…so what are the excuses?”
“What?” Crowley asks, confused. Will twists his lips, as if he said what he did on impulse and regretted it, now. But then he visibly steels himself and draws himself up.
“You said you could make excuses, but if I can be honest, you don’t seem like the type of person to have excuses. I think you just have reasons, and I want to hear them.”
It’s too late – early? – for this kind of thing. Is this what Halt’s life is like, now?
“Has Halt ever told you that you’re not ready to think yet?”
Will deflates. “Yes. Are you going to say the same thing?”
Crowley smiles. “No. You’re going to graduate in a couple of years, Will – don’t argue, I can tell,” he holds up a hand, raising his eyebrows good-naturedly as Will sits back, a little wide-eyed. Crowley sobers again. “When you do, your assignments, your orders – they’ll technically come from me. I want you to be able to trust them, Will. So if you’d like to know, I’ll tell you the choices I made and why I made them under two conditions.”
“Anything,” Will promises.
“One: you talk to Halt about this, too. His decisions are important for you to understand and learn from, too – although I think you already know that. Two: stop calling me ‘sir.’ Halt and I have been friends for too long – calling me ‘Crowley’ is fine.” He holds up a finger for each point and Will nods eagerly, though he nods sheepishly at the second request.
“Good. Let’s start, ah… let’s start when you first got taken. What had just happened?”
“I – what. You didn’t say this was going to be a quiz!” Will gapes in disbelief, and Crowley laughs over his splutters.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t! This is training, Will, it’s good for you.”
“Halt doesn’t have to debrief until tomorrow,” Will grumbles, but acquiesces: “I know Horace killed Morgarath and you won. That’s kind of it, really. We were… busy.”
“You were,” Crowley reassures. “I didn’t expect you to know too much more. Most of the details don’t matter for this. What does matter is that after Morgarath’s death, Duncan and I were concerned about a power void. Many people who shared his same ideologies were still out there – and we made the mistake of thinking ‘out of sight, out of mind’ before and paid for it. I wanted to make sure we had everyone, so that no innocent people would suffer in the name of revenge or ‘finishing the job.’ It was important work, tracking them down, and more importantly, it was Ranger work. Our skills and training make us the best people for that kind of job. It’s an honor and a privilege to be able to serve the people in ways others can’t.” Crowley pauses there and lets Will finish nodding emphatically. That’s the easy part, he thinks to himself.
“It was important,” he continues quietly, and rubs his face roughly with one hand. “And I wanted Halt by my side – there’s no one I trust more, you know. I knew the work would be done quicker, better, with his help. I didn’t feel like I was enough, leading the Corps on my own. But I didn’t need him. And you did. By no fault of your own,” he adds quickly, seeing Will’s face fall. “You did well, and it could’ve happened to anyone, even someone much more experienced than you, so don’t think badly of yourself.”
Crowley tells Will about his talk with Duncan, tells him about asking Halt to wait and Halt staunchly refusing, since they knew Will wouldn’t have a chance at a ransom. Crowley doesn’t say anything to Will about how he found Halt in the sea, saltwater lapping at his thighs as he sat on Abelard and stared at where the ship had vanished over the horizon. He doesn’t say anything about how dead Halt’s eyes looked, or how a hint at Will’s location was the only thing that brought light back into them while Will was gone. Those were details for Halt to tell, or rather not to tell, if Crowley knew him at all.
“I said you were a Ranger, and that you knew the risks, and the consequences, and – “
“That’s true,” Will interrupts him for the first time, very quietly. “I mean – I did what I did because I thought it was the right thing to do. I could’ve left the bridge, but I didn’t.”
“And thank God you didn’t,” Crowley says. “Your instincts were right. Burning the bridge was key, Will. There wouldn’t have been a defeat for me to clean up without you.” He pauses, then.
“I suppose there isn’t really much else for me to say,” he shrugs. “Those are the decisions I made and why I made them, good or bad. The conclusions you make are your own. I’ll – okay, just one more thing to wrap it up.” On impulse, he gestures Will forward, and is relieved when he willingly shuffles closer so they’re almost knee to knee. Crowley reaches out and rests a hand on his bony shoulder.
“I want you to know you’re a part of the Corps,” he says. “I want you to know that I’m proud of what you’ve already done as an apprentice, and I’ll be proud of what you do as a Ranger. And I can tell you that you’re one of us, with all the respect and responsibility that entails, and still be sorry that I didn’t do more to protect you. I am sorry, Will.”
Will’s eyes are watering. “Thank you,” he whispers. “It’s – I’m proud of what I did. I don’t want to be treated like a child who didn’t know the risks, because I did, but – “ he gasps in a shaky little breath. “ – but the whole time I was in Skandia I kept wishing for Halt to just come get me and take me home.”
“I know,” Crowley says quietly, and can tell that Will sees the truth of it in his eyes. He was an apprentice, once, too – he remembers this. “It’s alright.”
“I want to go see Halt, now,” Will says, chuckling as he furtively swipes at his eyes. “I left him sleeping in our rooms.”
Crowley takes his hand off his shoulder, releasing him, and Will hops down from the bed. Crowley throws the sheets back and gets out of bed himself, shivering when his feet hit the cold stone floor.
“You’re coming?” Will says, surprised. Crowley yawns and gestures towards the window, where the barest hint of sun is starting to lighten the inky blue of night.
“Morning sentry’s getting up to roam the halls,” Crowley says. “Rogue apprentices will be stopped and questioned, unless they’re with their Commandant. Come on, then, my feet will freeze.”
“You don’t have slippers?” Will whispers as they make their way across the room.
“Duncan’s hounds got a hold of them last week,” he whispers back, and they take off down the hallways, bare feet hitting the stone corridors painfully as they go quickly to avoid putting their feet down for too long. Crowley isn’t ashamed to admit he lets out a couple snorts of laughter as they run – it’s the ridiculousness of it all, hurrying past bewildered guards. Will, on the other hand, giggles the whole way back to his and Halt’s rooms.
The laughing is probably what wakes Halt from what must’ve been a very deep sleep, for him to miss Will slipping away earlier. He’s pulling the door open as the two of them round the last corner, scratching at his beard, poorly concealed anxiety all over his face. Most of it falls away as soon as he spots Will.
“Let us in!” Will scurries past him into the room, leaping onto one of the beds and tucking his feet under the blankets. Crowley slips in after him, leaving Halt to close the door behind them, baffled. The room is very dark, and Halt lights a candle.
“Crowley, when you said debrief in the morning, this wasn’t exactly what I was expecting,” he says dryly.
“I like to keep you on your toes,” Crowley responds, not flinching at the glare he gets in return. Halt crosses the room to Will, lifting the candle over the boy’s head. He seems to be checking something on the back of his neck – some new scarring, it looks like. Whatever it is, Halt doesn’t seem displeased and passes a hand gently over Will’s hair as he leans back to look him in the eye.
“And what exactly were you thinking, running around the castle in the middle of the night?”
“I was investigating your treason,” Will says lightly, and Halt stiffens and side-eyes Crowley across the room, then sighs and brushes Will’s hair back again, like a reassurance.
“I don’t want you to worry about it,” Halt says, and Will shrugs.
“We don’t have to talk about it right now, but I already promised Crowley that I would talk about it with you, so really, we’re both under orders.”
“Is that so?” Halt questions, and his glare could kill but his tone is genuinely curious.
“Yes. And Halt?”
“Hm.”
“Thank you.” Halt’s hand in Will’s hair moves to his jaw, tilting his face from where Will was staring at his hands to make eye contact with Halt. The older Ranger scans the boy’s face, and his hold on Will’s jaw softens into something affectionate and paternal. He nods once.
“Always.”
--
Crowley and Halt sit together over a cup of coffee later in the morning, after the actual debrief.
“Thanks for talking to him,” Halt says quietly after a sip of coffee. “It’s helped him, I think. And I guess I don’t have to tell you that I don’t regret a bit of what I did. Or that I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
“No,” Crowley says. “And if you ever have to do it again, I wouldn’t try to stop you.” It’s the honest truth, no teasing – but Crowley can’t resist adding on. “I’m not foolish enough to keep you from your son.”
And Halt hits him, but doesn’t deny it.