Chapter Text
will and halt ride out early and alone, after a couple quiet excuses to the king and baron. right before, will sees evanlyn nearly fall asleep standing up in her father’s embrace, and he doesn’t even feel how wide the smile on his face is. also right before, all it takes for halt to let crowley know they’re leaving for home is a blink across the room and a nod of the head toward the door. crowley nods right back and his hand twitches up ever-so-slightly; go, he mouths. rest. halt almost smiles too, then.
so they go. some people notice, because they, too, are tired - most don’t, however, because even a tired ranger’s step is quieter than most.
they make it to redmont right before the sun starts slowly peeking over the horizon, and just soon enough for will to see how the rooftops turn red one by one, reflecting early sunlight onto his face. it feels so warm, despite the sun not shining on him directly - he doesn’t care, it seems like the rays are coming from within him.
he thinks back to skandia - how he’d see the red roofs in his dreams and they’d linger in his mind throughout the day, and how he’d thought he wouldn’t see them again. and how scared he was when the memory of araluenian forests started fading from his head, and how in the evenings he’d just drop to his knees and draw out his thoughts in the cold sand, desperate to remember, desperate to keep his home alive. hope, alive.
then, the all-consuming nothingness, and here he is again, and the roofs are red and the towers are high and he’s, he’s so unimaginably here - it makes his head spin a little bit.
tug’s trot is relaxed and rhythmic, and will can tell he shares some thoughts with his rider. most of all, however, he’s simply telling him to steady himself in the saddle with just enough warm sharpness to be true to himself. next to him, abelard moves identically, to the point you’d have to see them to know there are two horses instead of one. and seeing them is remarkably rare.
halt is also looking at the castle, will finds. his face is unreadable, but his knuckles are paling on the reins. he’s not holding the bow - it’s resting over his shoulder, untouched, unlike will’s. halt’s the one who’d been telling him to always have it ready, and will smiles.
“what if we get ambushed,” will prompts softly, lifting his bow up a little. halt eyes him like he’s not all there, makes a silent noise of utter indifference and then, even more quietly:
“you can take a couple out while i get mine.”
remembering their last trip together before this one, the day will panicked and missed both targets, he chuckles and holds the bow closer to him.
“well, i’m glad you have faith.”
halt shrugs.
“couldn’t distrust you if i wanted to,” he says, and it sounds just a little like a complaint. “horace told me about the battle, you know. figured he wasn’t lying because nobody but you could be dense enough to keep shooting while also being actively shot at.”
will goes a bit red at the ears and opens his mouth to protest, but, upon realizing halt’s tone was fond rather than scolding, he bites his tongue and turns to look somewhere else again.
they pass the sleeping town step by step, and will watches some earlier villagers rise and go for their morning walks. as always, rangers are narrowly avoided, but will manages to catch a few eyes for an odd reason - he’s smiling like a complete dolt. he doesn’t hear halt telling him to put his hood up, so halt - after rolling his eyes at least twice, presumably - reaches out and pulls it up himself, startling the boy a bit.
they move on to the woods, over the gravel and muddy paths, and will swears to himself he’s never heard a sound more beautiful than tug’s hooves on the road. by last year, he knew all the secluded pathways that lead exactly to where they want to go in redmont (that’s wherever and everywhere, all the same to them), all the alleyways (around and over and through, and through, and through), most often conveniently abandoned gates (easiest to climb over) and how to get places most people wouldn’t like him to get into (with halt’s blessing), he could look at a map and tell where they were in a matter of a second or two, and now he’ll have to do it again, and he’ll have more opportunities.
will hides his face in the high collar of his cloak and closes his eyes for a minute. he’s not done for - he’s back. he hadn’t gone tracking for the last time, or fed tug his last apple, or gone fishing for the last time, or riding, or practicing with the high trees in the woods. he still had a life here, and it had gone nowhere without him.
he emerges from the wrinkles of the cloak, nearly brimming with happiness, and he gets a headstart to ride into the clearing by the cabin. halt resumes his pace, slightly behind.
it’s just like before - what could’ve changed, really - will thinks, and turns back to look at halt with probably the widest grin he’s ever managed.
he sees halt’s reaction too - he notices his hands visibly relax, and the dark eyes grow rounder for a single moment before all goes back to the way it was before.
careful, lest you explode, and this all will have been for nothing, tug scoffs at him while he jumps down from the saddle, but will can tell that the voice in his head is smiling - or at least whatever the horse equivalent of smiling is.
halt lands softly somewhere near him, voiceless but not upset. the opposite, really, if will knows anything about him. they walk the last few steps to the cabin in companionable silence, tug and abelard following closely behind.
“what are we supposed to do now?” will asks, and it comes out a little wrong, but he’s too breathless and too tired and too happy to rephrase it, and halt understands anyway.
“we have a free day or two before the baron is back, but we should turn up at the castle at some point, let them know we’re stationed here again,” halt says, eyeing the cabin. “they’ve been handling a ranger’s work for a little while now.”
“crowley didn’t assign a replacement?” will hates how the word boils through his tongue, but halt only shrugs.
“he did, naturally, i think it was rowan he sent here,” before will can ask, he clarifies, “the one with a scar over his jaw, not the one that plays the shawm, you’ll remember. he got called back in for something a couple of weeks ago, though. crowley did his best to be as vague about it as he could. therefore–” he slips through the gate before will and gently takes the reins of both horses. “–the guards have probably been handling all the interrogation and tracking, and i’d rather join in sooner than later.”
“how come?” will smiles, only trying to pry out an expected answer. halt doesn’t trust anyone to do his job, that he knows.
“there are maybe three or four people in there that i’d trust with what we’re doing, and even that loosely,” halt replies easily, leading the horses - letting them walk, rather - right where they prefer to stay the nights, and bidding goodbye with a nod. from a distance, having already checked most of the cabin’s outer surface, will raises a hand to them as well. “but we don’t need to show up the very second we’re back. it won’t make much difference.”
he offhandedly pulls on the gate, casting one last glance into the depths of the woods.
the gate clicks into place softly when halt closes it, and the sound is so familiar, so engraved in his subconscious will would’ve recognized it anywhere yet still could’ve lived his whole life without remembering it, having to make hopeless peace with the distant feeling of loss somewhere in the back of his head. the sound is so simple, so quiet and so dull, you’d overlook it, you’d never give it a second thought. and he was so used to it, taking it - like so many other things - for granted, and here he was, and he hadn’t heard it in more than a year. and there it was.
the gate clicks into place softly when halt closes it, and will doesn’t know what happens to him. his vision blurs without a warning, surprising even him. he tries to breathe through it, but in the silence as halt briefly talks to abelard only tricks him into hearing more: the crickets in the grass, the wind spinning in the treetops, the distant hum of the woods. and all of them, he remembers from before - remembers none from last year - and here they are again, and will cries.
he doesn’t want to be crying. he’s trying not to cry, but he cries anyway, because he really can’t stop himself. tug looks him in the eye, and will quietly prays he doesn’t tell abelard, because abelard would so much as look at halt, and halt would know.
somehow, though, halt knows anyway. as he turns to look, will glances away, and hopes the morning light is not enough to make the tracks on his cheeks shine. it is. and will still has the expression of a person who’s trying their very best not to give in to tears.
“will,” halt says, and, despite reaching will over the distance from the horses to the cabin, his voice is quiet. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” will answers immediately, waving it off, masking his breathing. he means it, too, nothing is truly wrong. quite the opposite, actually: everything’s a bit too right, and the bit overflows him and overwhelms him, and it’s only a little unfortunate his only reaction is crying, but then again, whose wouldn’t be. “it’s– everything, everything’s fine.”
halt nods. he never stopped being able to sense when someone’s lying to him. sometimes will complains about being an open book to him; not today, though. and halt doesn’t nag him about it, which is why will, paradoxically, usually ends up telling him more than he would’ve if he had pried.
“it’s about the "nothing is wrong”, too,“ will tries, and while he’s aware he’s not exactly making much sense, halt, who’s suddenly appeared much closer than he was before, leans against the door, closes his eyes and listens nevertheless. "it’s– just, i, i didn’t think i’d make it back here again.”
there it is, he tells himself, and more tears surface, and halt’s looking at him again. he doesn’t scold. he doesn’t even seem to see them, really.
“me neither,” he says, and will looks up at him. not a muscle in his face indicates disappointment toward him or anything similar, only exhaustion and passive content.
“think we’ll get over it?”
“over what?” will sighs, not up for games, and halt shrugs. “no clue. never been exiled and come back before.”
it makes will chuckle pitifully, and halt looks down to him and softens just a bit.
“it’ll be alright,” he says, barely audible. will nods, and then he knows it will be alright. halt has a penchant for having his word be the truth.
“weird,” will comments absent-mindedly, “how i couldn’t really think of a life outside of this, y'know, i– skandia wasn’t really living.”
“i’m inclined to agree.”
“hah. and i constantly kind of thought - if i’m not here, i’m not really in the correct place, it was…” will makes a wide and helpless gesture, pleading to be understood. “everything here’s just… just, if i wasn’t here, nothing would feel right.”
“but you are here,” halt says, simple but strangely comforting, and will nods again slowly, a smile stretching over his lips.
“yeah.”
all is silent for a minute. it’s as if the moon itself stopped to listen to the wind in the forest and their breaths of white warmth in the cold air of the night.
“i’m glad we’re here,” will says.
“yeah,” halt mutters, mirroring him, and will dives under his arm.
it’s a quiet hug, and although will thinks he might just be crying again, again, but it’s not like anyone can see. halt wordlessly wraps an arm around his shoulders, resting a hand on his head like a parent to a sleeping child.
at some point, will does yawn into halt’s cloak, and halt lets him go. will lingers for a moment, though - the warmth was nice. the morning is cold.
“come on,” halt says, leaving the door of the cabin open, and when will follows after him, he remembers a thousand more things about home - how the floorboards creak, how the door snaps shut, how the wind whistles over the roof, and how easily he could find his way around here in the dark. somewhere in the back of his mind, he can even recall gilan’s exact tone in the pained “bloody hell!” he blurts out whenever he trips over the last step to the door.
“any coffee?” he asks instinctively, hearing halt shuffling in the kitchen. he appears on the doorway, a little exasperated.
“not a chance.”
will sighs, somehow having expected it.
“really?” halt shakes his head. “bugger.”
“right, do you want to stay up or not?” he raises an eyebrow at will, and, since he’d been seeing it for the past few weeks already, it doesn’t hit will as hard.
“i’m pretty sure i could drink a whole bucket and still knock myself out in less than a minute,” he says, and halt executes the most subtle eyeroll will has ever seen.
“we don’t have any either way,” he reveals, a little upset, and will quirks up.
“how do we just not have any?”
halt tilts his head, in thought.
“well, they most certainly didn’t keep backup after i was exiled, and i’m sure rowan’s not the type to keep stock,” he reminds, and will deflates a little. “we can pay the markets a visit in the afternoon, though.”
“we should.”
“i won’t argue.” halt shrugs, gesturing to will’s room. “but afternoon still has to come, you know.”
“yeah,” will says. for a second, everything spins.
halt stares at him for a bit.
“i’m telling you to go to sleep,” he clarifies.
“right. morning. night. yeah.” subconsciously, will decides the idea’s not half bad, and does exactly that, scuttling over to the door and pushing it open. “see you, in the… morning, day, whatever. goodnight.”
the door creaks quietly, and will is very, very glad the gates brought him back first, because if this had been his sound of familiarity, he probably would’ve passed out right on the doorstep. this time, though, it just makes him feel warm, and the room is warm too, and it’s all very positively beckoning him to bed.
when he wakes up, he’ll stare at the ceiling for a good half-hour until he manages to stop telling himself he’s dreaming. then, he’ll roll over and see the window, and the sun that’s for once high in the sky and he’ll hear halt walking around the table because he can’t possibly bring himself to be quiet now, and then will, instead of actually getting up, will fall back and eye the ceiling again for a couple more minutes. he’ll listen, and he’ll move around a bit in the bed he was so used to sleeping in and he’ll get used to it once more.
then, only then, he’ll really wake up.
but now will stumbles over, collapsing and barely remembering to kick his shoes off. the door doesn’t close right, but he can’t be bothered to stand up again. halt sighs and pulls it closed as he passes by to his own room (he’s just as exhausted - a little better at hiding it though, but all comes with experience) - and, while he does his best not to make any sound, there’s really no point to it.
will’s already asleep.