So I finally did it! This is Secret War, completely and totally rewritten. All 24 chapters of it. :D :D :D :D

No Spoilers! If you've read the eighth book, you know Halt's past. The secret is not given away in the story.

Disclaimer: I do not own Halt, Crowley or Pauline. They belong to John Flanagan, author of Ranger's apprentice. Oh and I also don't own places such as Araluen, Hibernia or the ranger concept in general. Nor do I own a good pair of socks ;)

Our Darkest Night

Cold. Cold sucked the strength fom his limbs. It was the night's best weapon. All he could do was huddle on the heaving deck, teeth chattering. The sky was thick with wind and water. He could barely breath. Everytime he tried to take a gasping breath, water filled his nose and mouth.

He was wet. His clothes stuck to his skin. Water kept getting in his eyes and he'd blink it away. He could taste the salt on his lips, though whether from the sea or his tears, he couldn't tell.

He could hear the rowers screaming over the wind. He could hear himself too, whispering mindlessly. He reached inside his jerkin and touched his amulet. He was about to take it out, but couldn't bear the thought of it being lost. It would disappear under the waves and be gone forever.

So he made sure it was safely tucked away and wrapped his arms around his legs as the boat rocked and heaved under him. He was hurled across the deck, bruised and battered. The crew noticed him and one gestured for him to get below deck. He couldn't though, the ship was moving too much. He didn't care if he died anyway. In a way, it would be good. To sink into the dark waters, fish swimming around him.

He recalled a story he'd been told when he was younger. The details were a bit fuzzy but he remembered the main story. A beautiful princess was sailing to Araluen for some reason or another. There was a horrible storm on the way and she drowned. The god of the sea knew of her kind personality so he gave her new life. But he wanted her for himself so he turned her into a creature of the ocean, a mermaid.

He imagined her calling to him, "Halt!" She would cry, "Join me. Join me in the ocean,"

Halt managed to crawl to the mast. He wrapped his arms around it, resting his cheek against the cold wood. The story sounded appealing. But then he remembered the bittersweet ending. The way she cried every night for her fiancee. The way she tried to reach him and ended up stranded on the coast. She burned under the sun and died. Her fiancee found her when her skin was rotting. But he still recognised her face.

He gripped the mast tighter as the ship moved up a wave. He'd always hated that story, he remembered.

He felt no fear. Only misery. If he were to be washed overboard, he wouldn't care. But he couldn't bring himself to let go of his life on purpose. That would be meaningless.

So he clung to the mast as the storm raged on. He never found out how many days he sat there, hunched up and freezing. But eventually the rocking motion eased and the ship sailed through the water.

They reached the coast that night. It was peaceful, the water lapping against the rocks with a gentle swishing sound. The bank was steep but there were boulders leaning against it that Halt knew he could climb. Grass and trees waved slightly in the wind, darker shadows in the night.

"Right, boy. Off ya get," The captain said, jerking a thumb at the beach. Halt counted a few gold coins and handed them to him.

"Thank you," He said quietly. The captain tested the coins with his teeth. Satisfied that they weren't fake, he tucked them into his belt.

"Get lost, boy," He growled, "You've put us through a lot of trouble,"

"I paid you, didn't I?" Halt snapped, his temper rising. He lept easily over the railing, landing in shallow water.

He wandered up the beach, thinking wistfully of his warm bed and the delicious Hibernian banquets. He already missed Hibernia.

His belongings were slung over his shoulder in a small rucksack. H tossed it up onto the grass, hearing the dull thud as it landed. Halt lept from boulder to boulder, finding the best route to the bank. He was athletic and fit and landed with satisfication on the grass barely a minute after he'd left the ship. He retrieved his belongings, frowning in annoyance at the wet side of his bag. It had rained recently by the look of things. He hoped it wouldn't start raining again. He'd had enough water to last him a life time.

Halt leaned back against a tree trunk. He watched the ship slowly head out to sea. He rubbed his hands together and blew on his fingers. It was a cold night.

"This is my home now, huh?" He murmered. It seemed a dismal, depressing thought.

…...

"Go away, dammit!" The ranger spun on his heel, glaring daggers at his apprentice.

The blond boy skidded to a stop beside his master.

"Whats going on, Jarlon?" He asked. Jarlon glared at him, more angry than Crowley had ever seen him before.

"Crowley, I told you. Do not follow me. Got it?"

Crowley didn't get it. It was the middle of the night. He was cold, tired and confused. The previous day, his mentor had suddenly announced he was leaving the corps forever. He'd planned to leave in the morning, but Crowley had refused to go to bed until his mentor changed his mind and Jarlon had eventually stormed off, saying that he would leave now instead.

The boy was convinced his mentor was making a huge mistake. They were short on rangers so some of the smaller fiefs like Clifend or Orsbury didn't have an associated ranger. The corps couldn't afford to let a skilled ranger like Jarlon go. But for some reason, the corps commandant had granted Jarlon permission. Aside from the ranger shortage, Crowley knew Jarlon loved being a ranger. He wouldn't allow his mentor to make such a big mistake.

Jarlon mounted his horse, "I am leaving," He said clearly, "You can't stop me,"

Crowley seized hold of the reins. "Why?" he cried.

Jarlon eyes blazed with anger. He moved lightening fast, hitting Crowley's face.

The boy staggered back, the reins slipping through his fingers. He stared up at the familier face he had come to trust. Jarlon had dulled red hair, like rust. Crowley suspected it had once been flaming, fierce red but stress had sucked the colour from it. Jarlon was always getting stressed out when things didn't go his way.

His eyes were impressive. Crowley loved his eyes. They were deep forest green. When he looked at Jarlons eyes, he could see wisdom but also bitterness. If Crowley were scared, he looked at his mentor and those green eyes would meet his and they would be warm and comforting and make the apprentice feel better.

"Jarlon," He whispered, "Don't leave me all alone,"

Jarlon stared at him. His shoulders sagged miserably. He looked disgusted with himself that he'd hit his own apprentice.

"I'm sorry, Crowley," he said. "The other rangers will take care of you, you don't have to worry."

It wasn't the other rangers Crowley wanted. He didn't care about them, they could go to hell. It was Jarlon he cared about.

His mentor spun his horse around and shot off through the trees.

Crowley ran forward, whistling for his horse. But the ranger had a head start and he never stood a chance of catching up.

His horse, Swift, reached him and he threw himself hopelessly into the saddle. The trees prevented him from reaching a full gallop and Jarlon vanished into the forest.

"JARLON!" He yelled desperarely. There was no reply. His mentor was gone.

He stopped the horse and slid out of the saddle. Swift butted his head against his masters shoulder.

Crowley stood in the dust, tears falling down his face. The silence was dripping from every tree, drowning him. He knew his mentor was making a terrible mistake. He would find him and show him the way back into the corps.

With that resolution in his mind, he headed back to the fief.

…...

Pauline had no friends. Not one. They all went out of their way to avoid her. She knew it was because of THEM. Every bad thing in her life was because of THEM.

She buried her face in her pillow. THEY had been drunk again. How could the king possibly trust them?

She sighed and rolled off her bed. Her room was small, the only furniture being the bed, a desk and a single chair. She liked it though. It was her safe area, where she could cry. She had coloured candles and drawings pinned to the walls and most importantly, a lock. No one could get in for only Pauline had the key.

She lit one of the candles and watched the flame dancing. She was tired but she couldn't sleep. She could hear an owl hooting outside and faint voices which spoke words she couldn't make out.

She sat down on the bed again. For a moment, she rested her head against the wall, breathing deeply. Then she leaned over and moved the candle to the side so she could light her lantern. The light was brighter and she could make out the drawings on the wall.

Her favourite one was of herself with a bunch of other girls her age. She had names for them all and unique personalities. They were who she wanted for friends. Behind them were two more figures. Adults. Her parents.

She moved the lantern around the room. Her hopes and wishes were images in front of her.

She set the lantern down on the desk beside her. She slid under the covers but remained sitting up. She reached for her diary and set it on her lap. Then she arranged the lantern so she could see the pages.

She opened the small book and leafed through to her last entry. She had a pot of ink on the table and a quill ready for use. She began to write, the quill making scratching sounds on the blank paper.

They killed again. She wrote, Even though she said they wouldn't.

She remembered the crashing of glass, the screams. The sound of a fist meeting skin.

I tried to warn her

She had told her again and again. Don't let them in your inn. Don't do it. But of course she wouldn't listen to Pauline.

A tear fell onto the paper, smudging the ink.

I HATE THEM

She wrote furiously, crying and whispering. A knock on the door made her jump.

"That poor girl was babbling mindlessly," A silky voice said. Pauline drew in a breath sharply. She knew that voice.

"What was it she said?" The voice continued.

"I believe it was something along the lines of, the girl was right," A second voice said, this one deep.

"I wonder what girl she might have meant, Orhan," The first voice said.

Orhan growled, "I wouldn't know, but let's punish her,"

Pauline closed her diary. She knew this drill. If she didn't come out, they wouldn't let her keep the room. And the room was all she had. She hid the diary under the bed, just in case.

She brushed her tears away and tried to look brave. With one last look around the room to make sure everything was in order, she turned the key. The door creaked as she slowly opened it.

A hand gripped her collar and pulled her out. She was lifted off her feet so she saw eye to eye with Orhan. His big potato nose wrinkled as if she stunk. He was the one that stunk though. He wreaked of alchohol. His beady eyes stared at her, his mouth twitched in a sneer.

"I.." She tried to say she was sorry but he swung a massive fist at her, bruising her ribs. He released her and she crumpled to the ground. Pauline babbled mindless apologys, nose brushing the ground.

"Look at me,"

She looked up. Her mentor, Rosalee stood in front of her. Her black hair was neatly tied up, her eyes emotionless pits of blackness. Her skin pale and glowing in the gloom.

"Do you understand what you have done?" She hissed. Pauline bowed her head.

"Y-yes," She stammered, "I-I do,"

"Oh but I don't think you realise," Rosalee said, a malicious gleam in her eye, "Orhan,"

The big man stepped forward. He hit her arms, her legs, her torso. But he left her face. He didn't want anyone discovering what they did to her.

Finally he stopped. Pauline lay on the ground in a daze of pain.

Orhan kicked her into her room. Rosalee looked at her bruised and blackened arms.

"Poor girl," She murmered, "Be sure to wear long sleeves tomorrow,"

The shut the door. Pauline struggled to her feet. She could hear them laughing to themselves as they walked away. She slid the key out of her pocket and locked the door with shaking fingers. She managed to stagger to the bed and collapsed on it.

She lay staring at the ceiling, wishing her life was different.

She rolled over and blew out the lantern and the candle. Her dreams on the wall disappeared in the dark that swallowed the room.

The moon was blocked by clouds that night. That dark, dark night.