Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been hours. Hours of walking. Two before he finally left the forest near Dun Kilty. Then hours of avoiding the main roads. Hours of passing tiny villages. Hours of wondering where he would end up. Hours of doubting his decisions. Hours of living in fear. His heart in his throat each time he heard hooves and thought the royal guards had finally caught up to him. Panic threatening to consume him as he waited in his hiding place for the person to pass. A breath of relief when they were a simple farmer on their way to work, or a merchant transporting their wares. Hours passed, and with each step he took, his mind raised more and more worries. Questions. Then answers, which didn’t truly feel like answers. They only brought up more questions.

Was this the right decision? 

Yes it was, you couldn’t stay there any longer.

But what if there was another option?

Like what? Getting yourself killed? I thought not.

What about Caitlyn?

She’ll be fine. She’ll miss you, but she’ll be fine.

What if Ferris turns on her now that I’m gone?

He won’t. He has the throne now. No reason for him to turn on her.

He’s unpredictable. I never imagined him trying to kill me, yet here we are.

His relationship with Caitlyn is different.

How?

Underneath him, twigs and leaves snapped and crunched under his booths. Above him, the treetops provided shade. They formed clouds, making it difficult for the light of the sun to reach him. Some moments he felt her warmth more than others. Some moments he didn’t feel her at all.

How is it different?

He loves her.

He was no longer walking. He was dragging his feet over the ground. His legs burned and weighed as heavy as lead. His head was light as a feather. Daggers dug in his shoulder. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had took a proper breath. He simply couldn’t. His lungs hurt, his throat hurt, his heart hurt. It ached and ached. It reminded him. 

‘I’m still there,’ it said. 

‘That’s not possible,’ he replied.

‘Why not?’

‘He ripped you out, remember?’

It did. Of course it remembered. How could it forget?

He loved me too.

See? Loved. Not loves. Loved.

Halt slumped down against the tree. He should take a break. But not here. He needed someplace safe. Here, next to the path trailing through the forest, anyone who passed could see him. There was a village close by, he had crossed that one half an hour ago. The risk of someone passing by was too high. He looked around, quickly made note of the fact that there was no good hiding place in sight, and decided he was way too tired to walk any further in search of one. The tree he had collapsed against seemed sturdy enough, and had its fair share of branches sticking out. Climbing up it was.

Halt had never had any trouble with climbing in trees. He had done that countless of times, much to his mother’s dismay. But not while injured. Especially not with only one properly working arm. He still managed to get himself up the first few branches, but not as high as he initially would have liked. Whatever. He was high enough that as long as no one searched for a teenage boy in the treetops, no one would notice him. He just needed to remain still. He could do that.

Not long after Halt had installed himself on the three branch, the sound of hooves neared. His heart rate spiked. Had someone been following him? Had the guards found him? Remaining as quiet as possible, his eyes fixed on the path where the horse and its rider would appear. They’re moving at a slow pace, he assured himself. Royal guards wouldn’t go that slow. And it seemed there was only one horse. He should be fine.

They came into view. The horse — or should he say pony? — was indeed taking its sweet time. It seemed to have no interest in going any faster, more than content with the pace it was going at. Its rider, an older white-haired man wearing a mottled cloak, seemed to have no trouble with that either. He sat relaxed in the saddle, the reigns loosely in his hands. The pair formed no real threat, Halt decided. Or wait, scrap that. Attached to the saddle was a quiver filled with arrows, and that thing around the man’s back? A bow, and not a small one either. He had no way of knowing how good the stranger was with the weapon, and he was in no mood to find out. Best to remain unnoticed.

There was something strange about the man too. Around his cloak, Halt’s vision seemed to go blurry. Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he so tired he couldn’t see straight anymore? Why did sometimes seem like the man’s head was floating? Halt carefully placed a hand in front of him, wanting to take a closer look. He leaned forward to shift his weight and —

CRACK

A boy fell down from the sky, taking Pritchard by surprise. Tillby neighed offendedly, displeased that her peace and quiet was interrupted. The boy yelled out in pain as he hit the ground, his ankle giving in under the weight of his body. He took a moment to gather his bearings, seemingly not having noticed Pritchard, and then looked up at him. Fear filled his eyes, and he quickly tried to get on his feet, but instead hit the ground again, a whimper escaping his lips. At the sight of the tears welling up in the boy’s eyes, Pritchard descended from his horse and walked towards him. He crouched down, smiling in what he hoped was a comforting way. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked the frightened kid. The boy didn’t respond, but clutched his shoulder and pulled in his leg followed by a whimper of pain. Frowning, Pritchard looked at the sling around his shoulder. 

‘You climbed in a tree while you were injured?’ 

The boy turned his gaze to the ground, not wanting to look in those all too seeing eyes. 

‘That was not your brightest idea, now was it?’ 

The boy’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red. 

‘What’s a boy like you doing around here anyways? Are you lost?’ 

His eyes were still stubbornly fixed to the ground, but the kid finally mumbled a response. ‘No, I’m not.’

Pritchard raised an eyebrow. ‘I see. Are your parents around perhaps?’

The kid’s head jerked up, a hint of fright in his eyes. Then he determinedly shook his head.

‘Alright then. I’ll take you to my cabin, get you patched up.’

Halt had been unsure at first. It didn’t seem like a good idea to go to this random stranger’s house, but the man had been friendly to him and hadn’t pressed on it. He had simply taken his horse by the reigns, gestured at Halt that he could mount if he wanted to, and waited until he had made a decision. Halt knew that he wouldn’t be able to go far with his injured ankle, which hurt at even the slightest bit of weight put on it, and even though this man was a stranger, he had shown no signs that he wanted to hurt him. Halt had then decided that he couldn’t really do anything else but accept the offer, so now he was laying on the stranger’s couch, in the stranger’s living room, in the stranger’s cabin in the forest. That stranger was now rummaging through his cabinets, in search for the needed medical equipment. He sat down next to Halt, his hands full with everything he might need. ‘Can you tell me where exactly you’re hurt?’

‘I landed on my ankle,’ Halt replied after hesitating for a moment. ‘And my right shoulder hurts. My head too. And I think my ribs are bruised.’

‘Pretty banged up, are we?’

Halt averted his eyes. He feared he would start to tear up again if he thought about his injuries and everything leading up to them too much.

‘Don’t worry, kid. I’ll take care of you.’

‘Thanks,’ Halt managed to whisper.

The stranger’s touch was soft and gentle, in contrast with his strong and calloused hands. But no matter how careful he was around Halt’s injuries, Halt still flinched when the stranger tended to his shoulder, and cried out in pain while he splinted his broken ankle. ‘It’s okay. You’re doing great,’ the stranger comforted him. ‘I’m almost done. It’s okay.’

When all of Halt’s injuries were finally tended to, the man stood up to put his supplies away, giving Halt a supporting pat on his good shoulder as he walked away. ‘You can close your eyes for a bit, if you’d like. I’ve got a few more things to do around the house, and then I’ll make dinner.’

Way too exhausted from everything that had happened the past two days to question the trustworthiness of the stranger, Halt closed his eyes and fell asleep.

After he had taken care of Tillby and given her something to eat, Pritchard re-entered his cabin. The boy, who had been asleep when he went to Tillby’s stable half an hour ago, was now slowly waking up, groggily taking in his surroundings. He suddenly jerked up, probably alarmed by the strange environment, but calmed down when he saw Pritchard, recognising the man who had helped him a few hours ago. He nodded in acknowledgement, and Pritchard smiled in return. Seeing the boy again suddenly reminded him of something. 

‘I just realised I never asked you about your name.’ He didn’t know if the boy was actually going to answer. So far, the kid had responded to him exactly three times, so he didn’t estimate his chances too high.

The boy stared him down. ‘Halt.’ 

‘Just Halt?’

The boy nodded confidently, a look in his eyes that dared Pritchard to ask further. ‘The rest doesn’t matter.’

Pritchard nodded once. He didn’t expect the boy to talk about himself if he didn’t want to.

‘And yours?’

‘Pritchard.’

‘Just Pritchard?’ Halt replied mockingly. 

A twinkle appeared in Pritchard’s eyes. ‘The rest doesn’t matter.’

The look in the boy’s eyes was somewhere between appreciative and wary. ‘Guess we’re even then.’

Pritchard smiled. ‘Are you hungry?’

Halt thought about it for a moment. ‘Depends on how good your cooking is,’ he then replied.

That earned him an insulted huff by the old man. ‘I can assure you, if it wasn’t good, I hadn’t survived this long.’

‘Alright then. What are you making?’

‘I was thinking of making a stew.’

Halt nodded. He then looked like he wanted to say something, but hesitated. Of course, Pritchard had noticed. ‘Something wrong?’

‘No.’

Accepting the fact that getting any kind of information out of the boy would be difficult, Pritchard turned around and grabbed the things he would need.

‘Can I help?’ Halt sounded a bit unsure, as if he was scared Pritchard might be angry with the question.

Pritchard turned around again, a small smile around his lips. ‘Of course you can. Peel the potatoes will you?'

Chapter Text

Pritchard looked up from the letter he was reading when he heard Halt entering the living room. Something must have kept him up during the night, dark circles were visible underneath the boys eyes. He stood still next to the dining table, shuffling on his feet, his gaze refusing to meet Pritchard’s, instead darting all over the room. 

‘You can sit down if you want.’ Pritchard gestured at the chair facing him. Halt sat down, his body tense and upright, as if he was ready to flee at any moment. Pritchard wanted to tell him to relax, no one was going to hurt him here, but he decided against it. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be any help. Instead, he put the letter away and got up from his seat. ‘I’ll go make breakfast. I’ve got a few fresh eggs left, is that okay with you?’

Halt nodded. ‘Can I have something to drink?’ His voice cracked slightly.

‘Of course you can. Do you drink coffee?’ Pritchard held up the kettle. Preparing a fresh one was the first thing he did in the morning, and the coffee was still hot. ‘If not, I’ve got milk or water.’

The boy looked at him curiously. ‘I’ve never had coffee. My parents didn’t really drink it that much. Is it good?’

Pritchard smiled. ‘Good? I’d say it’s more than good. I can’t start my day without. Do you want to try?’

Halt thought about it for a moment. ‘Yeah, I’ll try.’ 

Pritchard poured him a cup and passed it to the boy. ‘Careful, it’s hot.’

After gently blowing on the drink, Halt took a small sip. ‘Not bad. Although it is a bit bitter.’

‘Yeah that’s how it’s supposed to be. Not everyone likes the taste, but I think it’s quite nice.’ Pritchard poured himself a cup.

The boy pulled a face. ‘I think it could use some sweetness. You got any sugar around here?’

The old man stared him down for a moment, unable to hide his surprise. ‘You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.’

‘But I do like it.’ Halt looked at him as if he was the one saying ridiculous things. ‘I just think it would be better with a bit of sweetness in it.’ He scanned the kitchen, undoubtedly searching for the jar of sugar Pritchard knew he didn’t have. He wasn’t that much of a sweet tooth, and sugar was expensive. He didn’t know why the boy would think that he - a simple man, clearly not bathing in luxuries - just so happened to have that. Halt’s eyes fixed on something nonetheless. ‘You got honey. Guess that’ll do.’

Pritchard sighed and rolled his eyes, before begrudgingly passing the jar to the boy, who happily scooped a ridiculous amount of honey into his cup. ‘Seriously? You’re going to ruin a perfectly fine cup of coffee by adding such obscene amounts of honey!’

Halt only glared at him over the rim of his cup while taking a sip. He sighed contently and made a point of smacking his lips. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he dared Pritchard, who was still looking at him as if he had just committed the gravest of crimes. ‘My cup of coffee tastes wonderful.’

‘Yeah I bet it does,’ the old man muttered under his breath. ‘It also cost me way more than it should have.’ He added that last part as a joke, so he was surprised when a blush appeared on the boy’s cheeks. 

‘Sorry, I didn’t really think about that.’ He no longer looked at Pritchard, but looked shamefully to the ground instead. ‘I can pay you back.’ He fumbled in his pockets and took out a small leather pouch. Pritchard’s eyes went wide.

‘No, don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, I meant it as a joke.’ He smiled at the boy. ‘I didn’t think you would take it that literally.’

Halt looked up at him, uncertainty still in his eyes, but he put the pouch away. ‘Sorry.’

‘No, don’t be. It’s my fault for thinking you would assume I was joking.’

Halt seemed to want to apologise again, but Pritchard stopped him by raising an eyebrow. 

‘Okay,’ the boy said instead. He took his cup again, and drank the rest of his coffee. Pritchard did the same with his, poured the drab down the drain, and grabbed the eggs to prepare breakfast.

‘Pritchard?’ 

Pritchard put down his fork and looked up at the boy. ‘Yes, Halt?’

Halt refused to meet his eyes, and chose to stare at the table instead. ‘I don’t mean to pry, but what- I mean why- No, wait. How- Sorry.’ He let out a deep sigh. ‘I don’t really know what I wanted to ask anyways.’

Pritchard smiled. ‘Then take your time to think about it. I’ve got time. And don’t be afraid of asking a bad question. It’s better to voice your thoughts than having them bug you all day long.’

The boy nodded. ‘I just wanted to ask about you, I guess. Get to know you a bit better.’ He pulled at a loose tread on his sleeve. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,’ he rushed to add. ‘I would understand.’

‘I don’t mind.’ Pritchard grabbed the kettle and poured himself another cup of coffee and offered some more to Halt. The boy declined with a shake of his head. ‘I’ll tell you a bit about my life and how I got here if you want.’

Halt nodded. ‘If you’re comfortable with that.’

‘I am,’ Pritchard smiled. ‘Alright, where do I begin?’ he took a moment to gather his thoughts. He didn’t want to confuse the boy by telling a scramble of stories. ‘Ah yes, first of all, have you heard of rangers?’

‘I have. Aren’t they Araluen? They serve the Araluen king, right? If I remember correctly, they’re trained to be exceptionally skilled with a bow and have the duty to protect their kingdom.’

‘Indeed.’ Pritchard wondered where the boy had obtained that information from. Most common people outside of Araluen had never heard of the rangers, let alone knew that they served the king. Most people, when they heard the term ranger, thought of a common villager who protected their village against bandits, not of a skilled and elite protector of the crown. Usually only politicians and royals knew in such detail what being a ranger entailed, thanks to the secretive nature of the rangers themselves. He decided not to interrogate the boy on the matter, not now that Halt seemed to open up a bit. Maybe he’d even want to tell something about himself too.

‘Well, I am - or was - one of those rangers,’ Pritchard continued.

Halt frowned. ‘What do you mean “was”?’

The old ranger sighed. His heart ached at the thought of what was happening back home. He hoped that at least his other boy would be better off than he was. ‘The rangers aren’t who they used to be anymore. They used to be loyal to their king, and extremely well trained, skilled with a bow and knives, but corruption and power-hungry barons have taken a hold of the Araluen crown. They took advantage of the weak state of the king, and rangers who didn’t support them were seen as traitors and banished from the country. So was I.’ His hand hovered over the place where his oak leaf used to be. Its absence still felt wrong, like a wound that didn’t want to heal. Halt’s eyes followed the movement, before flicking back to Pritchard’s when he continued talking.

‘So I fled to Hibernia. I travelled through the country for a while, and ended up here in Clonmel. I stumbled upon this little cabin, completely abandoned. I asked around in Riverhill, the little village not far from here, if it belonged to anyone. Everyone told me it had stood empty for years. I didn’t have much money on hand, so I asked the mayor if I could have the cabin in turn for putting my skills as a ranger to use for the good of the village. He agreed, so I tidied the whole thing up, did the necessary repairs, and moved in. Keeping my deal with the mayor, I make sure no bad fellas bother the village, that the roads leading to and travelling through Riverhill are safe, and I have helped get the occasional rampaging boar out of the way. In turn for what I do for Riverhill, the villagers mostly leave me to my own business, but I get the freshly baked bread from the baker several times a week, and I can count on the butcher to take good care of the meat I sometimes shoot.’ Pritchard gestured to his bow and quiver with arrows, which leaned against the wall in the corner of the room. ‘I like to say that we —me and the villagers, that is— have gotten a liking to each other. Even though I wouldn’t particularly describe this place at home, I do feel welcome and respected, which is nice after having been forcefully banished from my home country.’ Pritchard had wanted that last part to come out casually, as if it didn’t really bother him, but he couldn’t help the lump in his throat or the ache in his heart as he thought of everything he had been forced to leave behind. No matter how kind this place was to him, the only thing he truly wanted was to go home. To his beloved kingdom, to his own fief, to his cozy little cabin, to his former apprentice. Those things weren’t here, in this unfamiliar kingdom and cabin that wasn’t truly his own. The people that weren’t his own. 

He didn’t realise he had been lost in thought until Halt asked him if he was planning on ever going back. Pritchard looked at the boy, who met his gaze with sympathy in his eyes.

‘If I ever can, then yes. But as long as the situation is this unstable, it wouldn’t be safe for me.’ 

Halt nodded, a peculiar look in his eyes Pritchard couldn’t quite place. He felt there was more to the boy than he let on, it seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, even though he couldn’t be older than eighteen. Or maybe seventeen? Pritchard realised he had never asked the boy his age. ‘Enough about me,’ he began. ‘Maybe you can tell me a bit more about you, if you’re up to it.’

Pritchard could see the boy tense up. ‘Like what?’

‘Like your age, I don’t even know how old you really are.’ Halt visibly relaxed a little, although he was clearly not completely at ease yet. He refused to rest against the back of the chair, making it look like he was ready to jump up and run away at any moment.

‘I’m seventeen.’

‘And can I ask where you came from, if that’s alright with you? Or why you’re all alone?’

Halt stared him down for a moment, letting silence fill the air. Then he seemed to deflate, finally resting his back against the chair, and he let out a deep sigh. ‘I’m from Dun Kilty. I had to leave. The rest doesn’t really matter.’

Pritchard nodded. ‘Then I won’t ask about that matter further.’

‘Thanks.’

They both left each other to their own business for some time. Pritchard had given Halt permission to pick out one of his books to read, and the ranger himself got to work on some letters he needed to respond to. After some frustratingly scrapped sentences, he couldn’t ignore the matter that had been plaguing his mind anymore.

‘Halt? Can I ask you if you’ve got any plans for what you want to do now? Do you know where you want to go after you’re all healed? Again, only if you want to answer.’

Halt looked at the floor and played with his sleeves. ‘I don’t know. My only plan was to get away.’

Pritchard’s heart ached at the hurt clearly visible in the boys eyes. In the little time they knew each other, he had to admit he had already gotten fond of the kid. Getting soft on your old day?, he thought to himself. To be fair, there was definitely so much more to the boy than just the curt, ‘unbothered’ responses he was getting. And he must admit, Halt had been a great help yesterday during the cooking. He had been eager to lear, asked questions about why Pritchard used certain spices or did things in a certain order. An idea popped into the ranger’s mind, and he dismissed it just as quick. No, that would be stupid. He barely knew the boy.

Pritchard looked over to where Halt was sitting. He was reading a book from the shelf Pritchard had shown him. ‘Hibernia’s wild’, it was called. Pritchard was very fond of the book. It was filled with beautiful drawings of every wild animal and plant you could find in the kingdom of Hibernia. It seemed the boy liked it too, because he was engrossed in the pages, lost in his own world, seemingly unaware that he was in an unfamiliar place. He seemed at home. He had looked so alone when Pritchard had brought him in only a few hours earlier. He needs somewhere to stay. Pritchard made the decision. Sometimes in life, you had to take the step without checking if the ground would support your weight. Sometimes, you couldn’t see the ground, so you just had to take the risk.

‘Halt?’

The boy’s head perked up. A question laid in his eyes. A sparkle of fright accompanied it. ‘Yes?’

‘There’s a second bedroom. You could stay. Here. And if you want, I’ll teach you my skills.'

Chapter Text

Stay?

It’s a trap, it’s a trap, it’s a trap.

Halt did have to admit Pritchard had been nothing but kind to him. 

But hadn’t Ferris been nothing but kind too? 

He had known Ferris for longer than he had known this man. He had met Pritchard only one day ago. That was nowhere near comparable to all the years he had spent with Ferris. How could he trust someone he had just met when he couldn’t even trust the brother he had known since his birth?

‘You don’t have to decide now.’ 

Pritchard’s words barely registered through the thoughts racing through Halt’s head. I can’t stay, right?

The past few hours had been nice, sure. Pritchard had taken care of his injuries, he had given him a proper meal, and a bed to sleep in. He hadn’t slept this good in ages. But he couldn’t stay here any longer. He was still so close to Dun Kilty. What if search parties send for him ended up here? Then he’d be back where he started. He had left in search of a better life. He couldn’t throw that away by mistaking a small act of kindness for something that would last. He needed to leave as soon as he could.

Halt’s head jerked up at the sound of wood scraping on wood. Pritchard rose up from his chair and walked over to him. He sat down on the couch next to the armchair where Halt had positioned himself. ‘At least stay a few days longer. You need to recover.’

‘But -‘

‘You’re in no state to travel right now. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you go like this, all alone. Stay a few days, and you can decide then.’

Halt could see the logic in that. Truth be told, he knew his current state was terrible. As exhausted and injured as he was, he wouldn’t be able to travel for days on end. Staying a little longer just to recover wasn’t that bad of an idea. He supposed that as long as he stayed vigilant, he should be alright. Pritchard isn’t going to turn on me that quickly. Even Ferris needed several years. Just a few days won’t hurt.

He lifted his eyes to face Pritchard and stared him down with determination. ‘Alright then. I’ll stay. But not for long.’ He needs to know I mean what I say. ‘As soon as I’m better, I’m gone.’ 

Halt secretly praised the ranger for meeting his eyes with equal confidence. 

‘As I said, that’s up to you to decide. I won’t force you to stay.’

Halt nodded in thanks, feeling like — despite his reservations — he and the ranger had come to something like a mutual understanding. He couldn’t help the impression that that was a good thing.

Pritchard showed him the make-shift shooting range on his second day. It was located a bit further into the forest, about a five-minute walk from the cabin. By Halt’s demand, the ranger gave him a little demonstration. Halt marvelled at the insane precision and speed with which Pritchard shot. The ranger assured him that with enough practice, he might be able to do the same one day. Halt didn’t believe him.

On his fourth day, Halt felt absolutely awful. His bones ached, his muscles were stiff, and he hurt everywhere. Pritchard knocked on his door about two hours after sunrise, probably wondering why he hadn’t joined breakfast. His brow furrowed upon seeing Halt’s dreadful state, and he immediately began fussing about in a way that reminded Halt a bit too much of an overly worried mother hen. Lisbeth the chicken, the oldest hen at the farm closest to Dun Kilty’s castle, had nothing against the ranger. Halt did feel a bit better after Pritchard was done with him. Not that he would ever admit it.

When seven days had passed, Pritchard let him have a try at shooting himself. The ranger had managed to produce a recurve bow for him that he could practice with. ‘Give me a little more time and I can give you a better bow to use, but this is what I could make in such a short notice,’ the ranger said to him when he gave him the bow. Halt didn’t know what he had done to deserve such a generous gift. Pritchard showed him how to use the bow and what he should keep in mind when aiming. ‘Apart from that, there’s not much to say except to keep practising. You won’t get any good if you don’t. See if you can hit the centre of that target just once today.’ 

Halt stayed the whole day at the shooting range, enjoying the exercise and challenge tremendously. A little after the sun dove behind the horizon, Halt’s arrow hit the target’s centre with a satisfying thud.

He was better, he knew that. His injuries were almost fully gone — apart from his ankle, but he could find a horse and then that problem would be solved — and he felt more well rested than he had ever been. It should be time to leave. Should be. Because — even though he didn’t like to admit it, and it had only been twelve days — he had started to grow fond of this place. He found himself not wanting to leave. And, if he was honest, where would he go? What would he do? He had no idea. Here, at least, he had a purpose. He could help Pritchard, and in turn the ranger could share his skills with him. He could always decide to leave at a later time. It might even prove useful to know the things a ranger did. If he left now, his chances of successfully finding a new home without being caught or killed on his way there were concerningly low. It was something he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge earlier, when the only thing on his mind was leave. 

Maybe I can stay. 

He needed to be careful, of course.

Watch out for signs.

Pritchard had been nothing but good to him.

Maybe he’ll let me stay.

Halt got out of bed, walked to the door and entered the living room. Pritchard sat at the table, and looked up when he heard him enter.

‘Can I stay?’

Pritchard smiled. ‘If you want to, then yes.’

‘I’ll stay.’

But as soon as he starts acting like Father or Ferris, I’m gone.

Chapter Text

Halt’s regular practice payed off. After several weeks of firing arrows at varying targets, he could hit their centre at least trice a day. Apart from a few flyaways, most of his shots ended up embedded somewhere in the wooden circle. Pritchard was quite proud of the boy. He was eager to learn, and caught on quickly. Rarely did he have to repeat the same advice twice, since Halt took everything he said seriously, determined to learn from his mistakes. 

It wasn’t usual for a regular ranger’s apprenticeship to start dealing with weapons so soon, but Halt wasn’t a regular ranger’s apprentice. He was a boy who ran away from home, in need of protection. Pritchard had no way of knowing if and when Halt would decide to leave, and he didn’t want the kid to be utterly defenceless when that happened. He had started to care way too much about Halt to consider letting him go without teaching him what he needed to know to survive on his own. Pritchard supposed he could introduce Halt to knives as well, now that he had seen how seriously the boy took his training.

He could’ve introduced them from the very start, but experience had shown him that teaching too many things at once tended to become quite chaotic. He knew Halt had his own knife, he had seen it in its scabbard when they first met, so he supposed the boy already knew a bit about how to wield blades. A bow was harder to handle and took longer to master, so he began with that, but now he was starting to wonder exactly how good Halt was with a knife. And no matter how good he was, there was bound to be room for improvement. After all, he had only seen one singular, regular fighting knife. That was nothing like the throwing knife and saxe knife rangers used. Lucky for Halt, Pritchard owned a spare set of them, ‘lend’ from the ranger’s armoury after he was exiled. It was time he challenged the boy to a little duel.

Halt’s knife clearly wasn’t just for show. Although he definitely didn’t meet Pritchard’s level of skill yet — he was an experienced ranger after all — he could hold his ground quite well. In a real fight, the boy would be more than capable of defending himself. 

‘You don’t have to hold back on me,’ Halt snapped at a certain moment, baffling Pritchard at how fast the boy had caught up to it. 

‘I wouldn’t want you to get hurt,’ the ranger countered.

‘Then how am I supposed to learn anything if you’re refusing to give me a little challenge?’ Halt’s knife flashed forward, quickly countered by Pritchard’s.

The ranger grinned. ‘Trust me, I’m not planning to take it easy on you.’ Now it was his blade that went for the attack. ‘I just wanted to see exactly how good you were first.’

Halt parried his strike easily. ‘And do you like what you’re seeing?’

‘Perhaps.’ Light on his feet, the ranger rained a series of strikes down on Halt. He countered them all, but Pritchard wasn’t giving everything he got. Not yet, anyways. ‘Let’s see what you’ll do about this.’

Continuing his charade of blows, he drove Halt further and further back, until the boy’s back pressed against a tree. Within a matter of seconds, he had him pinned against the trunk. Halt couldn’t go anywhere, but he clearly wasn’t planning on giving up. He trashed against the ranger’s firm hold, even while it became increasingly clear there was no way he’d escape.

Pritchard caught Halt’s eyes. ’Fight’s over,’ he said, and he released his hold on the boy. Before he could take a full step back, Halt plunged his blade forward. After years and years of training, Pritchard’s reflexes were sharp as a cat’s, but the knife still lightly grazed his arm before he could grab the boy’s wrist and force him to drop the weapon. Blood trickled down to his hand as he glared at Halt, who was breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on the red staining his knife. 

‘I told you the fight was over!’ Pritchard yelled, his heart still drumming against his chest. ‘If I tell you the fight’s over while we’re sparring, you stop fighting!’ He gestured at the blood stained knife on the ground, while forcing his breaths to come slower, more controlled. ‘You could’ve seriously hurt me.’ 

Halt cast his eyes down, and seemed to shrink in size, as if he thought he could disappear that way.

‘Halt, look at me.’ Pritchard met the boy’s wide and watery eyes with steel determination. ‘It’s important you understand this. You need to know when to hold yourself back. You need to be in control. At all times. That goes for sparring, but that also counts for a real fight between life and death. If you don’t know how to control yourself, you’ll end up killing yourself or someone you care about. Do you understand?’

Halt didn’t say anything, and he no longer dared to look at him, but he nodded. That should do for now, Pritchard thought. He and Halt could talk more about it later.

‘Good. That’s enough training for today, don’t you think? Clean up the mess, I’ll go make dinner.’ Halt still didn’t respond, but Pritchard trusted he’d do as he was told. He returned to his cabin, and took care of the wound before starting on their meal for the night.

Halt came in right when Pritchard was about to start chopping up the vegetables. ‘Hey, do you want to help me with —’ The door of Halt’s bedroom slammed shut. ‘Never mind,’ Pritchard muttered. He could talk to him over dinner.

‘Food’s ready!’ Pritchard shouted from the kitchen, setting the plates down on the table.

No response.

‘Halt? We can eat now,’ he tried again.

Still nothing. Maybe Halt didn’t hear him. He walked up to his bedroom and knocked on the door. ‘Dinner is ready, are you coming?’ 

Again, nothing but silence.

‘Halt, I’m getting worried. Can I at least come in?’ He still didn’t get any response, and now he was really concerned. Had Halt decided to run away without telling him? Why would he do that?

‘Halt, I’m coming in now.’ Pritchard opened the door and saw — thank the gods — Halt sitting on the edge of his bed, his back turned towards the ranger.

‘Hey there, I don’t know if you’ve heard me, but I’ve called out several times to tell you that dinner’s ready. Are you coming?’

‘I’m not hungry,’ Halt mumbled.

Pritchard frowned. ‘We’ve been practising all day, how can you not be hungry? And even if you aren’t, you’re still going to need the energy. You need to eat something.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Is there something wrong then? Are you feeling sick?’ As much as he tried, Pritchard couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

Halt didn’t answer.

‘Halt, look at me.’

The boy finally turned around, but his eyes remained fixed on his restless hands, and he kept fidgeting and picking at the skin around his fingernails. When Pritchard stepped closer, Halt tensed and scrambled away from him, while making himself smaller and raising his hands above his head. His eyes were blown wide and his breathing came hard and fast. All curled up like this, he reminded Pritchard of his little niece, and how she would flinch away every time her father — his uncle — raised his voice. The way he smelled of alcohol and lost control when something angered him. The way his niece used to run to him so Pritchard could protect her. The way that after a while, even he could no longer make her feel safe. The little girl trembled every time a man tried to approach her.

‘Oh, Halt.’ His voice broke, and his heart did the same as the boy whimpered when he sat down on Halt’s bed. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ Pritchard whispered. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he promised while keeping his voice as gentle as possible.

Halt remained frozen.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘Why?’ It came out small, and a hint of confusion laced the question.

‘I shouldn’t have shouted at you.’

Halt lowered his arms, but his body remained tense.

‘I was caught off guard because I didn’t expect you to continue the fight after I told you it was over, but that wasn’t an excuse to yell at you. I could have communicated what I wanted to say without raising my voice. It’s my job to teach you things, not to lash out at you for not knowing something. I’m sorry. I’ll do everything I can to not let that happen again.’ Pritchard’s heart hammered in his throat. What if Halt decided that he was no better than the people he had ran from? What if he left him because of this? He wouldn’t be able to blame the boy, but the thought frightened him.

‘I— I’ll understand if you want to leave,’ Pritchard mumbled, his voice wavering. ‘You don’t have to forgive me either. Just know that I won’t hurt you. Ever. And if you want to talk, I’m here.’

The tension in Halt’s body slowly melted away. He remained quiet for a while, and Pritchard let him breathe. When his breathing steadied, Halt gave the ranger a small smile. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘But I need to say sorry too. I should’ve listened to you when you told me to stop fighting.’ Halt glanced at Pritchard’s bandaged arm. ‘I wouldn’t have hurt you if I didn’t take your words as a challenge.’

‘You’re forgiven.’ Pritchard gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, and that’s alright, as long as you learn from them.’

‘I certainly won’t let this happen again.’ Halt had probably intended to make it sound like a joke, but that got a little lost in the seriousness of his voice.

Pritchard rested his hand on top of Halt’s. ‘The same goes for me.’

They sat in silence for a little while until Halt spoke up again. ‘When you said you’d never hurt me, do you mean that?’ His voice was small and unsure.

‘Of course I meant that.’

‘Even if I do something bad?’

‘Even then. There is no reason why I would ever hurt you.’

Silence filled the room again.

‘So when my dad hit me for making a mistake, you’re saying he shouldn’t have done that?’ Halt’s voice was so unbelievably small that for a moment, he seemed way too young for his seventeen years. Pritchard wasn’t a violent person, but in this very moment, he wanted to murder whoever Halt’s dad was. 

‘If your father thought that he was allowed to hit you for whatever reason, he shouldn’t be a parent.’ He didn’t care that his disgust was clearly noticeable. All he cared about was that Halt understood that no parent had the right to hurt their child. He looked at the boy he had grown so attached to over the past few weeks, and felt nothing but a strong urge to protect him from the world.

‘Can I give you a hug?’

Halt nodded, and snuggled up in Pritchard’s warm embrace. When the tears wet his shirt, the ranger didn’t comment on it. He only held the boy a little tighter, and didn’t let go until Halt told him he was hungry. Their dinner had gone cold, but that was quickly fixed when you had a hearth blazing with fire.

When their bellies were full, Pritchard surprised Halt with his spare set of ranger knives. ‘I think you’ll like these,’ the ranger said. Halt admired them in great detail, noting the perfect balance of the throwing knife and the craftsmanship behind the saxe knife. He beamed up at him. ‘Thank you.’

Pritchard smiled back. ‘Tomorrow I’ll show you what you can do with them aside from hand-to-hand combat. You’ll see that they can be quite useful when you throw them too.’

Chapter Text

As the sun slowly lost her strength and her light gradually faded, Halt’s shoulders became broader and broader, until he no longer fit in any of his shirts, and Pritchard had to pay a visit to the local seamstress. The nights came colder, the days greyer, and an invisible hand painted the forest in shades of gold. Callouses formed the more comfortable Halt grew with his bow, much to Pritchard’s amusement, and he liked to joke that his apprentice’s hands would soon be as rough as his own.

During an unusually hot week in autumn, Pritchard took his apprentice on a little trip through the countryside, although he left most of the planning to Halt. ‘The best way to improve your skills is to just try, and when you fail, you learn from your mistakes,’ he had said after the boy had voiced his doubts about having to take the lead. As the ranger had already suspected, those doubts hadn’t been necessary at all. Halt did an excellent job at identifying tracks, setting snares and hunting down game. Each day, the boy grew more and more confident in his skills, until he no longer questioned his mentor whether he had been right about something or not, but simply stated what he thought. Most of the time, Halt was right. Sometimes, Pritchard still had to correct him, but the boy took it with nothing but grace. He rarely made the same mistake twice.

The forest’s golden hue turned to white, and soon cold little flocks fluttered down from the skies, covering the land in a soft, thick carpet. They occasionally landed on Halt’s red and runny nose, in the gap between Pritchard’s neck and cloak, or in the palm of Halt’s mittens as he caught the season’s first snow. His arrows rarely landed anywhere else than the centre of their targets, his knives grew to be an extension of himself, and he no longer cracked every possible twine and twig in the forest while trying to be stealthy. Pritchard’s silent but proud smiles warmed him more than any campfire could.

It was the middle of winter, about seven months after Halt fell out of that tree, and it was their first day out after being stuck inside for three days due to a particularly bad snowstorm blocking everything from their view to their door. They rode out on Tillby, Pritchard in front, Halt behind him, his hands wrapped around his mentor’s waist, and dismounted at a small clearing.

‘I think it’s about time we get you your own horse,’ Pritchard said while loosening the straps on Tillby’s saddle. ‘My poor girl here can’t keep carrying the both of us, especially not with you growing as fast as you’re doing now. You’re going to have to start training with a horse sometime soon anyways.’

Halt frowned. ‘But isn’t a good horse like yours expensive? Where are we going to get the money?’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ Pritchard laughed. ‘First of all, I’m not as depleted as you seem to think, and second of all, the breeder around here owes me a favour. Saved his horses from some sneaky thieves a couple of years ago.’

‘I thought you said ranger’s shouldn’t accept favours?’ Tillby nudged insistingly against Halt’s shoulder, and happily accepted the apple he had brought for her.

‘You’re spoiling her,’ Pritchard grumbled. ‘And yes, I did say that. But, I’m not really a ranger now. And it’s definitely not something I do regularly. It’s more a rare occurrence, and when I do accept them, it’s because it’s the only way for me to achieve something, and I’ve made sure that I’m not in debt to someone afterwards. So again, you don’t need to worry about it. I guess this is also as good a time as any to tell you that a ranger does not have to — and should not — blindly follow every single piece of advice. Deciding what to do based on the situation and your experience will get you further than going by a strict set of rules.’

A grin split Halt’s face. ‘I love to hear that.’

‘That’s not a free pass to do whatever you want!’

‘Sure thing, Pritchard,’ Halt shot back with a wink. He stepped into the clearing, the snow crunching underneath his boots. ‘What were you planning to do here?’

Pritchard shrugged. ‘That’s a bit up to you really. I just thought it be nice to go out after being stuck inside, I’m not that picky regarding what you want to practice. Target practice, hand-to-hand combat, tracking, you name it.’

‘It’s up to me, huh?’ The corner of Halt’s mouth quirked slightly up, and Pritchard sighed.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Then I have an even better idea,’ Halt said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He turned around and bend down, gathering fresh snow in his mittens and pressing it together to form a ball. Pritchard, sensing where this was going to go, took several steps back. ‘Oh no, you wouldn’t.’

Halt chuckled. ‘Oh yes, I would.’ Then he hurled the snowball towards Pritchard, who didn’t have enough time to duck away before the snow decorated his cloak. Some chunks had found their way to the tiny piece of bare skin above his collar, sending icy chills down his spine. He glared at Halt and did his best to look and sound offended. 

‘How dare you!’ 

The effect fell somewhat apart due to the laughter that escaped his lips and the fondness that filled him upon hearing Halt’s innocent giggles. It was the first time he had heard the boy laugh so freely.

‘You’ll pay for that!’ Pritchard promised him, and he crouched down to gather as much snow as he could. By the time he rose, Halt already had a second snowball ready, and his apprentice threw it across the clearing right when Pritchard launched his first projectile. Halt’s missed, but Pritchard’s splattered directly on his apprentice’s face, causing the boy to shriek. Halt wiped the snow away while he hollered with laughter and hurried to prepare his next attack. Too busy with furiously trying to get as much snow in his hands as possible, he didn’t realise that Pritchard already had a giant snowball ready, and that one hit him in the exact same place as the first.

‘Hey! I wasn’t even ready yet!’ Halt called out.

Pritchard cackled. ‘Well, that’s too bad! Should’ve been faster.’ That earned him a snowball hurled at his head himself, and half of his face ended up covered in snow. Tillby neighed, as if she was making fun of her rider’s state. ‘Shut up, you,’ Pritchard muttered. His horse only snorted. Even I could beat him.

‘Oh, yeah?’ He glanced sideways at her.

‘Talking to your horse again, Pritchard?’

Of course I could beat him. Watch.

Tillby shook her manes, as if she was preparing herself, and then stormed towards Halt, who realised way too late the little horse was coming for him. Within seconds, Tillby had him tumbling towards the ground and through the snow. He came out covered in white powdery flocks, snow seeping through every single gap available. Tillby proudly trotted back, and Pritchard patted his horse’s flank affectionately. ‘Well done, girl.’

Tillby neighed. Of course I did. I told you I could beat him.

‘You alright, Halt?’ Pritchard asked his apprentice, failing to hide his laughter.

Halt shivered. ‘You owe me coffee.’

‘I guess I do. Feel like heading back?’

‘Maybe, yeah. One more thing though,’ Halt gathered snow again and send two snowballs flying, one towards Pritchard and one towards Tillby. They both hit their targets. Pritchard muttered something along the lines of ‘those damned apprentices never allow me any peace,’ while Tillby furiously shook her mane to get rid of the snow. Halt smiled in satisfaction. ‘Now we can go.’

Upon arriving at their cabin, Pritchard immediately ordered Halt to go and put on some dry clothes, while he took care of Tillby and prepared the coffee. As Pritchard set the two steaming cups down on the table, Halt appeared from his room comfortably dressed in a simple tunic and trousers. His eyes lit up when he saw the coffee awaiting him, and smiled happily while wrapping his hands around the mug. The boy took a careful sip and his eyes widened in surprise. ‘Did you put honey in this already?’

‘Of course I did. Two and a half spoons to be precise.’

Halt looked slightly puzzled. ‘I never told you how much honey I put in my coffee.’

‘It’s pretty hard not to pick up on when you’ve been living under my roof for seven months already,’ Pritchard chuckled. ‘The rapid depletion of my honey supply is a good indicator too.’

Halt smiled sheepishly while taking another sip. ‘Thanks, dad.’

Pritchard froze, and so did Halt.

For a small minute, neither of them said anything, but Halt’s cheeks turned a bright red, and he cast his eyes to the ground.

‘Sorry,’ the boy then whispered. ‘Didn’t mean to call you dad.’ He looked a little lost, with how he was shuffling his feet around and staring pointedly at the coffee in his hands.

Pritchard jerked out of his surprise to smile fondly at the kid standing before him. ‘It’s alright, I don’t mind.’

Halt finally gathered the courage to look up and meet his mentor’s eyes. ‘You don’t?’

‘Of course I don’t, why would I?’

Halt shrugged. ‘Cause you’re not my real dad?’

But I wish I were. The feeling, which had been slumbering a little ever since Halt had first confided in him about his father’s abuse, was now stronger than ever. Who knew that something as insignificant as a small slip of the tongue could create such a powerful longing. But as much as he wished he could just express his wants to his apprentice, he knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t in his right to replace the boy’s parents.
‘No, I’m not,’ Pritchard answered instead. ‘But you don’t have to worry about me getting mad if you accidentally call me dad. You can address me as Pritchard, you can call me dad, I don’t really care.’

A small smile played tugged at the corners of Halt’s mouth, and he set his mug down on the table to wrap his arms around his mentor. Pritchard melted into the hug, and discretely wiped away the tears that formed in his eyes. After being forced to leave Crowley behind, he had never dared to hope to ever find that same kind of fierce caring again. He had thought he would feel forever lost, forever without purpose, but then he stumbled upon this boy, this kid in need of a home, and he regained some of what he’d lost. Halt couldn’t fill the void that leaving Crowley had left behind, but he made it hurt less. It didn’t consume him anymore, he could think about his first apprentice without breaking into tears or screaming at the walls like he used to.

Pritchard held his apprentice tight, and made sure to whisper to him just how grateful he was for being able to take care of him. He felt wet spots forming on his shirt and looked down to see small tears trailing down Halt’s cheeks, but the boy was smiling, so he cradled his apprentice’s face in his hands and swept away the tears while promising him he’d always have a home, here, with him. 

Halt knew he was crying but he didn’t care, not when Pritchard was holding him so tenderly, so lovingly, not when his mentor was comforting him like Caitlyn used to, not when Pritchard’s whispered ‘I love you’ brought back middle-of-the-night wake-ups from nightmares to find his sister hugging him, holding his hand and promising him how he would be safe.

When he ran away from the place that was his house and the person he called home, he didn’t dare to hope to find a new home so soon. He had made peace with the fact that leaving to keep his fire alive meant leaving behind the sun that brightened his days. He had made peace with never seeing sun again in exchange for rainless days. The only thing that had mattered was to keep his fire burning, to keep that little ember that miraculously still carried love alive, so that one day, he could let it grow and thrive, until it was strong enough to pull the sun from the skies.

Seven months ago, it would never even have crossed his mind that his little ember would start growing again so soon. It was no where near healed, the cracks still jagged, the dull ache still there, but it was growing. It was trying. He was trying.

Maybe Pritchard wouldn’t be able to mend all of the cracks and ease away all his pain, but he shielded the fire with his bare hands when needed, he fuelled the ember with his love, and that was more than Halt could have ever hoped for.

He’d be honoured to call him dad.