Work Text:
It's been raining for two weeks straight. The ground has already absorbed its fill, and now the clearing around the cottage is splotched in puddles every two feet. Wills boots haven't fully dried since the first week of rain. Even lain by the fire overnight, they were still soggy in the morning.
But training never stops, he gets up with the sun each morning and goes about his chores until it's time to pick up his bow or knives. Today, Halt left him to attend a meeting with the Baron.
So, Will is outside the cabin, slinging arrow after arrow towards the target. Every twelve, he sloshes through the field that's becoming more of a lake to retrieve his arrows, dutifully making mental note of how each shot fared. His mind already making adjustments to his next volley before it started. He'd been training for four months now and felt that he was doing rather well.
Although he knew Halt would never admit it, Will had been improving. From hitting nothing to rarely missing, Will felt good. No longer did the ranger cloak feel like a lie when he runs errands to the town. It suited him now. Felt less like a costume and more an extension of his own soul.
Will is collecting his arrows, when the sound of footsteps splashing behind him, draw his attention.
Four battleschool apprentices are standing near the cottage, probably having come from the main path.
Will stood taller, forcing his voice to carry over the rain, "Hullo, what brings you lot here?"
They come closer, a soft grin on the most near apprentices' face. "Just here to pass along a message, that's all."
A stocky meaty lad from behind the first boy steps forward, "From our master to the Ranger Halt and his apprentice."
Will nodded, approaching closer, tucking his arrows into the quiver at his back. He gets within five feet, rain coming down harder.
"What's the message then?"
The taller boy spoke again, cocking his head to one side and sneering, "Well, the problem is we can only pass the message to the Ranger Halt or his apprentice. And you dont look like much of an apprentice."
Will tries not to wince at the insult, and instead reaches out a hand in greeting, "Well, I am his apprentice, Will. And you are?"
The boy looks at his hand with disgust, making no move to shake it, "You're too small to be a Ranger. Rangers play in dark magic and use it to give themselves power over ordinary folk. "
Will clenched his fist and returned it to his side, going along with the jest, "Sure, but the magic won't make me taller until I finish my apprenticeship, you see."
The boy replied, crossing his arms, "Fine. I suppose you'll do then. Ready for the message?"
Will nodded, a weird thickness settling in his throat. Something was off.
But the boy kept speaking, "Our master wanted to tell you Ranger folk to bugger off and leave the glory to the real men."
Will flinched at the sudden dark tone, opening his mouth to object.
He didnt get the chance, the boy infront of him, crossing the gap between them in a blink, and grasping his shoulders, "And to tell you to take off that silly cloak and burn those stupid arrows before you hurt yourself pretending to be big strong sorcerers."
The other boys came up behind him and each grabbed one of his arms as he fought to free himself.
Grappling with the boys at his side, will was too distracted to stop the assault from the front. A right handed hook catching him in the jaw and sending blood spewing from his nose and cutting open his lip. He gasped for air, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes.
He tried to stomp at the feet of the boy holding his left side, but was stopped when the two were so strong they lifted his slight weight into the air until his toes were hardly touching the ground.
3 to 1. Will never stood a chance.
Another punch from the front.
Undercut.
Kick to the gut.
Will cataloged each strike. Keeping track of the injuries as well, although the way his head was spinning made it more difficult by the second.
He knew that at least one of his ribs was probably broken, and his face was probably more blood stricken than rain.
In a gap between the blows he lifted his head, his gaze falling behind his captor on a figure at the edge of the wood, leaning against a tree. Squinting he cried out in recognition.
Halt.
Halt was here, surely he'd be safe now.
But his gaze was torn away as another strike landed against his cheek, rattling his teeth.
The beating continued.
No help came.
Halt didn't come.
No. He just stood there at the edge of the woods. Wills eyes finding his mentors everytime he had a chance to breathe. But the figure stood still.
Will almost convinced himself he was imagining things.
But then, when he finally could no longer hold his own head up and his body sagged, the boys dropped him to the ground, spitting on him as they made their escape. And he watched as no one stopped them. Their splashing footsteps trailing in the distance.
Minutes later or maybe hours, he looked up to find Halt's face over his own.
A soft toe nudging him in the side, prompting his attention, sending a spark of pain along his spine
A deep frown marking Halt's features, eyes dark.
Wills hearing buzzed but the words were clear.
"You should have seen them coming from a mile away. But instead you just stood there while they restrained you. My own apprentice bested by a couple of bash wackers from battleschool. First years too."
He had really been there...watching.
Halt had seen it all from the beginning and done nothing to stop it.
Will dropped his gaze from his mentors, unable to bare his own failings as an apprentice. Unable to face the man who was supposed to protect him.
But looking away doesnt stop him from hearing Halts next words.
The voice even and bitter, "How do they expect me to make a Ranger out of someone like you?"
Wills heart breaks.
Never, never in a million years would he have expected those words.
Not from anyone.
Certainly not from Halt.
But as tears began sliding down his cheeks, mixing with his blood, Halt's footsteps began walking away. And Will knew that the man had spoken the truth.
How could anyone make something good out of him, some orphan with no redeeming qualities.
The rain is cold and piercing against his bruising skin.
Will cant move, his body too exhausted and broken to muster any energy.
The hope he'd held of someone coming to help him had been crushed to pieces.
He lets his eyes slip closed, teetering on the edge of consciousness.
Halt wasn't coming. Nobody was.