Woo for angst. Minor OC character death.
An agonized scream.
The sound propelled Halt's feet even faster as he stumbled and tripped through the thick brush.
"HALT!" The shrill scream came again, thick with fear and pain.
"GILAN!" Halt shouted desperately as he ran, another cry reaching his ears, closer this time. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"
Finally, the Ranger burst into a clearing, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his dark eyes panicked. Casting his frantic gaze around, it finally landed on his apprentice, held roughly by a tall man. Gilan's face and collarbone were littered with cuts, the carvings exactly matching the blade that the captor had gripped in his right hand.
Halt's arrow found its mark in the man's throat a second after the knife plunged into Gilan's chest. The man gave a triumphant smirk before the light left his eyes and he crumpled to the ground.
Gilan swayed for a second, his mouth moving wordlessly, his hand feebly coming up to the knife embedded in his skin, his tunic rapidly turning a terrible shade of crimson. Gilan's glazed blue eyes briefly met Halt's horrified dark one's before the boy's knees buckled.
"NO!" The shriek tore from Halt's lips. The time it took to reach his apprentice seemed like an eternity.
Red was trickling out the corners of the boy's mouth, and a horrid gurgling noise reached Halt's ears as he collapsed next to Gilan. Blood. Gilan was choking on his own blood.
Halt's hands shook as he moved to put pressure on the wound. Gilan's back arched at the contact, a choked cry escaping him. Halt's breath caught roughly in his throat, tears beginning to cut trails in his cheeks. "Stay with me. Stay with me, Gilan," Halt said thickly.
Gilan weakly raised a hand to grasp Halt's. The grip was faint, and Halt could feel it growing looser as the boy faded. "Halt," he murmured, the rising of his chest beginning to slow.
"No, no, no," Halt said, pushing harder on the wound with one hand and tightening his grip on Gilan's limp hand with the other. "Stay with me. I'm going to take care you, that's my job. Gil? Gilan!"
Gilan didn't respond. His chest ceased to rise, and his blue eyes stared blankly to the sky, dull in death.
"No," Halt croaked. "GILAN!"
Halt flew upright in bed, limbs flailing, covers flying, heart beating like a galloping horse. He could still feel the remnants of the scream in his throat. The feeling of blood on his hands lingered. Halt forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. It had been a nightmare; a horrible, vivid, sickening nightmare, but still only a nightmare, which was something that Halt would always take over the alternative.
Climbing out of bed, the Ranger exited his bedroom. Stepping lightly, he moved toward his student's room, stopping in the doorway. The sixteen year old was asleep, his blonde hair spectacularly ruffled, one hand under his cheek. Halt relaxed, the panic and adrenaline beginning to leave his system. He watched the steady rise of fall of Gilan's chest for a moment longer, before quietly moving toward and out the front door. Halt wouldn't be getting any more sleep that night, he knew.
The ground was cold against his bare feet as Halt made his way to the stable. Abelard nickered as his master approached. The light grey horse looked almost silver in the moonlight, like a mystical creature that would vanish if one looked away too long.
"Tiens, mon amie," Halt greeted him softly. Abelard nuzzled the Ranger fondly, blowing gently into his ear. Halt gave the shaggy horse a pat, then chose a brush from Abelard's grooming tote. Abelard whuffled happily, stretching his neck as the massage of the brush.
"I had another nightmare," Halt said unhappily as he groomed. Abelard turned soulful brown eyes toward him, and Halt affectionately rubbed the soft muzzle.
It was about Gilan again, wasn't it. Abelard's response wasn't a question.
Halt exhaled, smoothing his horse's long, pale mane. The Ranger knew exactly the reason for the sudden onslaught of nightmares.
Two weeks ago, Ranger Blaine's apprentice had gone missing. The fourth year apprentice, Winston, had disappeared with barely a trace from running an errand in the village. Blaine had frantically searched for over a week, desperate to find his student. The relationship between a Ranger and his student was a strong one, and Blaine had refused to rest until his student was found. Crowley had assembled a group of Rangers to help find the boy, Halt being one of them. They found him.
Dead, lying in a drying puddle of blood.
Halt heard Crowley's harsh inhale and abruptly stopped, quickly turning to look where his friend's gaze was fixed. Gilan bumped into his master's shoulder, turning his own head to find the source of interest.
"Oh, no," Halt breathed, feeling a huge rush of sadness sweep through him. Winston was lying at an awkward angle, his cloak smeared with both blood and dirt. A knife hilt could be seen sticking from the boy's side. Halt closed his eyes and turned away.
"Leander!" Crowley called, his voice rough. "Get Blaine." Leander nodded solemnly and turned toward the direction Blaine had gone. Crowley, noting Gilan's distressed expression, added, "Bring Gilan. After you send Blaine, take him and Mark back to camp." Mark was Leander's second year apprentice. Neither of them should have to see this, Crowley thought grimly.
Gilan turned anxiously to Halt, who nodded. "Go with them, Gilan," he said softly.
They watched the three figures disappear into the trees, then Crowley gave a heavy sigh. "Oh, Halt," he said numbly as they slowly moved closer to the body. "He was just a boy."
Halt tried ineffectively to swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "We'll find who did this."
"We'll make them pay," Crowley responded firmly, emotion still thick in his voice.
Running footsteps rang through the forest, then Blaine burst into the clearing. "Crowley?" He asked breathlessly. "Did you find anythin-" Blaine's voice broke off as he caught sight of the figure on the ground. The blood drained from his face.
"No. Oh, please, no," Blaine murmured, dropping to his knees. An anguished sob ripped from the Ranger's throat as he cradled the body of his apprentice, burying his face in the boy's messy black hair. "Oh, Winster," he said brokenly. Rocking back and forth, he looked up to Halt and Crowley with red, watery eyes. "I failed him. I swore to protect him. T-to keep him safe. And n-now he's d-d-dead."
Crowley crouched next to his friend, putting an arm over his shoulder as he tried to comfort him. Halt stood stock still as he watched the scene play out, feeling nauseous. His eyes blurred, and he turned away, Blaine's broken sobs and Crowley's murmured comfort filling his ears.
Halt didn't go back into the house until the sun had begun to peek over the horizon. He had thoroughly groomed both Abelard and Blaze, then had simply sat with them, taking solace in their comforting presence. Finally, he stood up and stretched. Giving Blaze one last rub and Abelard one last pat, Halt turned and walked back to the cabin, grimacing as the rocks that he had been too distracted to notice before stung his bare feet.
Gilan was already up, nibbling a piece of toast as he removed the boiling coffee pot. He turned as he heard the door creak upon, smiling as he saw his teacher. "Hey, Halt. I was wondering where you'd went." Gilan was finally beginning to perk up from the depression he had been feeling since the awful day in the woods.
Halt shrugged, scooping several spoonfuls of honey into the mug of coffee Gilan offered him. "I did the chores early this morning," he said simply.
Gilan raised an eyebrow, a colloquialism he had picked up from his mentor. "I always do chores," the boy stated skeptically. "What's the catch?"
Halt took a sip of his fragrant drink before replying. "I suppose the catch is that you get to repair the roof today."
Gilan gnawed his lip, a dubious expression filling his young face. "I don't know how to repair a roof. Why do I get to do it?"
Halt smirked. "It'll be easier for you to get on the roof with your unconventional height. Besides, it's better for you to have the risk of falling off the roof then me."
Gilan laughed through his nose, taking another bite of toast. "True. Your old joints couldn't possibly take the strain."
Halt rolled his eyes and swatted his student on the head as he made his way across the kitchen. Morning sunlight streamed through the window and warmed the Ranger's face. Blaze and Abelard grazed in their paddock, their coats glossy and shining from Halt's brushing. Behind him, Gilan was his usual smiling, sarcastic self.
And for the first time since Winston's death, Halt felt at peace.
*Tiens, mon amie: Hey, my friend.
Some angst to break up my fluff spree. I don't write angst very often, so it's good for me to practice sometimes.
Reviews are adored.
-TrustTheCloak