A/N: Hey all. This isn't my first fanfiction I'm putting off With a Passion until I can get a new computer. The one I'm using is a total piece of crap. No seriously. Its battery life is literally five minutes, and you have to wiggle the charger a different way to get it to charge. Enough about my problems.
This story takes place in between the event of book six and seven.
Oh and sorry for any errors that you may find in this first chapter. I'll try to improve on that.
Disclaimer: Is their anyway I can switch identities with John Flanagan for one day? You know, like that one John Travolta movie?
Chapter One
Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat for perhaps the thousandth time that night. He had been reading documents for what seemed like ages, and the neatly stacked list to to-be-read papers did not seem to lessen. He sighed. Being a Ranger came with its late nights, thought Crowley. He sagged lower in his seat as he retrieved yet another document from the intimidating list. This one was another update on Araluen and its antics that never ceased to slow. Battlemaster Erin had been seriously wounded in a hunting accident, Lady Joan had her third child, and Ranger Quinn found an apprentice.
Crowley yawned. He didn't care; he was too tired to care. He had been reading these kind of updates since the break of afternoon. It was now well into the night, and Crowley contemplated whether or not he should take a short coffee break. He set a deadline, as he often did on late nights like these. He'd finish the next four documents, then make himself coffee. Crowley then thought for a second. Four documents? That sure seemed like a lot. He couldn't risk falling asleep. These reports don't read themselves, he thought. Maybe three. Three didn't seem like much.
But neither did two.
Settling with two then a break, Crowley tore open another envelope, caring less about a clean rip. It contained the same useless updates; the ones Crowley could care less about. The other report however, contained a notice regarding the assignment of an apprentice. A part of it said that the most ideal time to seek an apprentice are between the months of August and November.
Crowley had thought about an apprentice before. It could get awfully quiet in the cabin by himself,he thought. And Crowley, when not with the burden of work as the Ranger Commandant, was usually bored beyond belief. An apprentice would solve all these things and more, Thought the sandy haired Ranger. Besides, it was late July, and some craftmasters already began their ever seeking trek for a young protege.
Taking the document with him, Crowley wearily proceeded to the kitchen area of the cabin. Starting his hourly pastime of making coffee, he stopped for a second to examine the room not too far from his. From what Crowley could see, it was cluttered with boxes and papers and such. An apprentice would fix that problem, he thought. He took a seat on a table by the brewing pot of coffee, now filling the cozy cabin with the fresh aroma of coffee beans, a smell Crowley had become so familiar with as of late. This was his eighth pot that night. Speaking of which, Crowley did not even know if it was even still Thursday. Perhaps he had worked into the wee hours of Friday morning. Whatever the time, he was awake nevertheless, and would be awake for a while now, considering the strong effects of this favored drink among most Rangers.
The coffee still had time before it would finish, about fifteen minutes or so. Crowley used the time to further investigate the clogged bedroom. Walking in, he noticed the strong smell of paper mingling with the faint scent of coffee. He stared at the room. There were boxes filled with old reports and documents everywhere, even on the bed. Since Crowley was the Ranger Commandant, a slightly bigger cabin had been built in his favor. And a man like Crowley, when not on a frequent string of trips, knew that beds meant everything. At least to him they did. "Ranger's rarely ever get to sleep on beds. So when we do, we usually make sure its worth the while," is what Crowley's mentor, Pritchard, had told him before he was exiled. Recycling his old teacher's saying, Crowley had requested a bigger bed for both rooms, to accompany the generous size of them.
Rummaging through the papers, Crowley realized that they had no real significance. In fact, Crowley noticed by reading some of them that they were years old, a couple dating back to when he was a young Ranger. He knew he would have to clean this dusty mess if he ever were to be assigned an apprentice. Of course, he could easily make his apprentice clean it, now that he thought about it. Halt sure seemed to get a kick out of it, he thought. With good results as well. Gilan and Will were well disciplined, proven by their hard work as full fledged Rangers. His apprentice would be as disciplined as Halt's. He couldn't help but to smile at all the positives that having an apprentice might bring.
No, he was getting ahead of himself. Besides, he was only hypothetically thinking. He was far too busy for an apprentice. Between all the sleep depriving reports and the general organization of the Ranger Corps, the extra responsibility of an apprentice would be nearly impossible, even with an abundant supply of coffee. Crowley walked back to where his coffee brewed. He prepared a fresh cup for himself as he finished the report.
Please make sure the assignment were to be with parental consent. All assignments must be reported to me, Baron Edwin of Araluen Fief.
Crowley stopped there. The man acknowledged himself a great deal, he thought. Crowley, however, was truly interested in the parental consent portion of what he had just read. He had great friends within the fief, some of whom had children. Among one of Crowley's closest friends was Lady Katelyn, a widow. Her husband had been a Battlemaster, dying in defending the Baron from an attempted assassination. The two had a boy named Nicholas some fourteen years ago. And from what he had heard from others in the castle, the boy was an excellent shot. But Crowley had rarely interacted with the kid, only when Nick was too young to remember. Of course, Crowley could just ask Katelyn on her son's thoughts on Rangers.
Or, he could do it the traditional way.
Like the way Halt had done Will, and even Gilan. Indirectness seemed like the best way to go, thought Crowley. It would preserve the sense of mystery that people associated with Rangers. Of course, he would have to tell Katelyn about his interest in her son. She wouldn't fret; the two both sensed a growing relationship between one another. But where could Crowley watch Nick in the act of archery, assessing his skill, while keeping the mysterious aura and protocol that Rangers carried.
The archery fields! Crowley sipped on his coffee. When he and Halt were younger, they both had created a game. It was a simple merge of capture the flag and elimination, combined with the elements of a Ranger's necessities: accuracy, silence, and unseen movement. It first started exclusively at the annual Gathering. Over the years, many years in fact, the game had spread to the public by an unknown cause. Perhaps a bored, retired Ranger had leaked the game to his friends. Nevertheless, the game had become popular, to the point where tournaments were held, and teams were made
The game was named Woodsball. The suffix of the word had came from the arrow tips, which were so blunt that they resembled a sphere. Woodsball games were intended for the more plant dense areas, hence the name given. They were usually long matches, and a player would have to concede skill in unseen movement and patience in order to excel against other competitors; the perfect game for Rangers. Because of Woodsball's increasing popularity, Crowley had known of some Rangers who used this game as a recruiting method. The common problem was that most players were over fifteen, and had already began assessment in their chosen craft. Crowley wouldn't have that problem though. Nick was only fourteen, and didn't seem to have any idea of what craft he wanted to partake in, according to his mother, whom Crowley had spoken to the previous week. And Crowley knew that Nick would be at the fields later, as today was the "Opening Charge" of an annual game called Living Legends.
The game was held at one the largest dedicated archery fields in the country, located in Araluen. There were two teams of usually two hundred, sometimes more. It was hosted and captained by he and Halt. The game lasted a weekend, and players would ultimately put their skills to the test against each other. Sides were picked erratically: the first two hundred to arrive picked their teams. A great deal of strategy went into the game, however. Because of the large teams, strategical commands, such as flanking, were issued by the team captains. Nevertheless, it was a competition between Crowley and closest friend Halt, to see who had the better wit. In years previous, Halt had overcome Crowley with his blazing fast thought process. Halt would soon meet his defeat, and this year hadn't looked any better, he thought.
Crowley poured himself another cup of coffee. He was still considerably tired, but more attentive thanks to the powerful stimulant. Maybe I could sneak a look at him, maybe later today, he thought. He had concluded a while ago that it was well past midnight. Crowley would watch him for the weekend, examine his skill in each Ranger-relevant criteria, then make the big decision. But to to that, Crowley would have to free up time, starting with the thick stack of to-be-read reports. He ended the lantern in the kitchen and started for his bedroom.
Then he turned back, grabbed the pot of coffee, and returned to the dimly lit room. If he planned on finishing the reports, The coffee would just have to go with him.
*Pants in exhaustion* Done! Sorry if it's too long. It didn't look nearly as long on my iPhone's notes as it did on LibreOffice.
Any who, be sure to review. I get excited whenever I get reviews o_O. Until then, my fellow authors.
