The woods around Castle Redmont were some of the most beautiful in the world. Birds sung their songs from the highest branches of the trees, which in turn cast their speckled shadows upon the ground and its inhabitants.

This morning however, the sounds of a fight filled the air, as a band of thieves attacked a small travelling caravan. Steel crashed on steel and from the steps of the caravan a woman was waving a dagger and cursing the thugs with language that would make even a Skandian sea pirate proud. Her husband was attempting to fight the attacking men with an old sword, but he was no knight. He was quickly becoming overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.

In the shadows of a great oak stood a man, cloaked in grey and green, standing absolutely still, watching. Unless you knew that he was there, you wouldn't have been able to spot him, and even then, it would be nearly impossible to pick him out. The man was a Ranger, and Halt was his name.

Ranger Halt was something of a local hero, known for his close camaraderie with the King and his key role in the defeat of the former Baron Morgarath fifteen years earlier. He was small of stature, but heavily muscled and his salt and pepper beard and hair held more black than white. His features were grim, as if he never smiled, but those that knew him best knew that wasn't true.

As he gazed upon the scene below him, Halt silently drew a black shafted arrow from the quiver of two dozen on his back and nocked it on the string of the powerful longbow that he held in his left hand.

Sighing, he stepped from the shadow of the old oak and called out to the bandits below to stop what they were doing. He didn't bother drawing back the string of the longbow; he could draw, aim and fire in less than a second if it became necessary. All Rangers were expert archers, and Halt was one of the very best.

Predictably, the bandits froze, before grabbing what they could and scattering in different directions towards the trees. Halt sighted on what he had noted to be the leader, before shooting him in the chest.

As their leader fell to the ground, still, pure chaos ensued for the remaining bandits as they tried desperately to avoid the deadly accuracy and speed of the Ranger's shots. One bandit, realizing the inevitable, simply lay on the ground, surrendering.

Despite Halt's attempts to stop all of the bandits, four of them managed to make it to the relative cover of the trees, leaving nearly a dozen of their comrades lying on the ground behind them.

Halt made way down the mound that he had been standing on and walked swiftly through the bandits to the man and his wife, both still clutching their weapons. As he got closer, one of the men attempted to make a last ditch attempt at freedom, but before Halt could react, the woman stepped forward and kicked the man between the legs. As he fell to the ground, the woman waved her dagger dangerously close to the bandits throat, warning him not to try that again.

Halt nodded at the woman in acknowledgement before he proceeded to quickly and efficiently tie up the surviving bandits with a large length of rope borrowed from the couple.

While Halt would have preferred to chase the men that escaped, he didn't trust the captured bandits not to escape while his back was turned. Unfortunately, that didn't leave him with many options.

He could give the captured men to the couple to take to Redmont while he chased down the others, wait with the bandits for the couple to take a message up the guard, or walk all the tied and injured men back to the castle himself. None of those options were ideal. Halt was reluctant to rely on the couple with either the men or a message; either the bandits could escape somehow, or the couple could simply ride off without delivering his message. Which only left physically taking the men all the way up to castle.

The walk along would take nearly half the day, and by then he remaining bandits would be long gone. It would take days for home to chase down them down. Halt snarled in frustration and kicked one of the bound men by his feet. There was no other option.

It didn't take long for Halt to convince the men that it was in their best interest to walk quietly to Redmont and persuade the couple to lend him their wagon to transport those so injured that they couldn't walk.

As he treaded the familiar path out of the forest, Halt couldn't help but feel that he'd forgotten something important. He spent a brief moment trying to recall what it was, but eventually shrugged off the feeling. There was no point worrying about it. If it was really important it was bound to come to him soon.

"Alright, who's next?"

The steward was yelling again and Will fidgeted anxiously for a second before he stepped forward. It was the day of the Choosing Ceremony and, more importantly, Will thought, it was the day that would decide the rest of his life.

Each of Will's four ward mates had already been accepted into their chosen trades. Will had never had any doubts that one of them would be turned down. They were each well suited to their chosen profession.

Which was Will's main problem. He didn't seem to fit anywhere. He was no great speaker or scribe like George, and he most certainly couldn't cook like Jenny could. He wasn't good at being diplomatic about things like Alyss either. More than anything, Will wanted to be chosen for Battleschool like Horace, but he knew that it wasn't likely that he would be accepted.

He wasn't tall or well-muscled, and he didn't even really like the mock sword fighting that he and Horace had done when they were younger. He just wanted to be a knight and earn himself a name; he wanted to be somebody.

Will didn't have a family name, and Horace loved to tease him about it. Each of his ward mates had some memories of their family, or in Alyss's case, someone who could tell her about them. Will had no one.

A servant had found him on the steps of Castle Redmont, a little over 15 years ago with nothing but the blanket that he had been wrapped in and a small note tucked in the folds beside him.

His mother died in childbirth.

His father died a hero.

Please care for him. His name is Will.

Will gave a start and pulled out of his thoughts as he realized that the steward was talking to him. "What's your name boy?" he asked rather abruptly.

"Will, sir," He said, desperately hoping that the Battlemaster, Sir Rodney, wouldn't see that he was shaking slightly with nerves. It would be hard enough getting into battleschool as it was, but he didn't want the large knight to think that he was intimidated by the rather gangly man standing in front of him.

"Will? Will who? What's your family name, boy?" Martin had become Baron Arald's secretary five years earlier, so he wasn't aware of Will's past and began searching frantically through his papers, thinking the lack of family name was just an oversight.

Will looked at the ground and shuffled his feet. "I, I don't have a family name," he said in a tiny voice, barely audible.

The secretary opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but before he could, the Baron took pity on the small boy. "Will is a special case, Martin. What did you wish to apply for, lad?" He asked, turning to face Will and giving him a friendly smile.

"Battleschool, sir," Will said, the slight tremble in his voice betraying his nervousness.

Sir Rodney turned and surveyed the boy who was looking pleadingly at him. He had been the Battlemaster of Redmont Fief for close to twenty years and he knew that sometimes even the most boring or ordinary of trainees could surprise you sometimes. He slowly walked around the boy, studying the way he held himself and noticing the boy's obvious determination. He has courage, Rodney thought, and for a brief, impulsive moment, he seriously considered taking on the boy.

Before he could act on the thought, his common sense won out, and Rodney found himself shaking his head, almost against his will. Something, some instinct, was telling him that this boy was a leader and a fighter, but that same instinct was also holding him back from accepting the boy. The boy's future wouldn't be found as a knight. The way he held himself was familiar, and he had seen the same spark of grim determination somewhere before, but try as he might, Rodney couldn't place it.

A frown found its way onto Rodney's face and he turned to look the boy in the eye. "You could be great someday, boy, but not as part of the Battleschool. You don't belong with us." As he watched the boy tremble and his eyes sparkle with desperate tears, the hardened Battlemaster found himself wanting to say more to reassure the lad, but he decided that it wasn't his place. Still pondering the nagging sense of familiarity he felt about the boy, Rodney stepped back into line with his fellow craft masters.

It took all of Will's resolve to stay still and not let the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes fall. It wasn't as if the rejection was unexpected, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

Baron Arald shared a glance with his battlemaster, and found himself surprised to see genuine regret in the man's eyes. Deciding to ponder the matter more later, Arald addressed the young man before him. "What's your second choice, lad?"

"Second choice?" He'd never thought about what would happen if he was rejected for battleschool. What could he possibly do now?

Will thought quickly, aware of the impatient secretary tapping his quill on the papers he was holding. He most certainly couldn't cook, and he'd already been rejected from Battleschool. That left, Horseschool, Scribeschool, and the Couriers.

Scribeschool would probably bore him to death, and despite the fact that he was fascinated by the knight's horses, he didn't think he'd be able to stand back in the shadows, mucking out stables and seeing Horace become a heroic knight.

"The Couriers! I want to be a courier, sir."

Arald nodded his head, and looked at Lady Pauline, gesturing to her to reply. The boy turned to face her, hope shining in his eyes, but Pauline was already shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, Will, but the couriers just can't take on any more apprentices at the moment. We don't have the resources. Alyss only got a position because I talked to her months ago about her intentions and managed to reserve a place." Lady Pauline sounded genuinely regretful, and Arald caught the sad look she sent towards the boy before her professional mask appeared back on her face.

The Baron turned and addressed the other craftmasters. "Is there any among you who could offer this young man an apprenticeship?"

Will watched, trembling, as slowly each person shook their head and declined giving various reasons why he wasn't good enough for them to take. He was too small, too unsuited, too much of a bother for them. He clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes, trying desperately not to cry. What was he going to do?

"Well, young Will, I'll have to ask around tonight and have a think about what to do with you. I'll contact you soon when I've made a decision."

The voice was kind and Will attempted to understand what it was saying. He wasn't going to be apprenticed, he'd be left at the Ward while his yearmates left to begin their futures, waiting for a family to accept him onto their farm. What else could the baron possible mean?

Only when Alyss grabbed his arm and dragged him from the room did Will realize that they'd been dismissed. Alyss and Jenny were looking at him, concern on their faces, and their voices were echoing through his head, but for the life of him, Will couldn't have said what they were saying.

He pulled his arm out of Alyss's grip and took off down the corridor, running as fast as he could, not knowing where he was going, only that he had to get as far away as possible.

The branch swung gently beneath him in the wind as Will watched night fall around him. He'd been sitting in the same large oak since he'd run from his friends nearly five hours previously. His stomach was rumbling with hunger, but he ignored it. What did it matter?

He couldn't face his wardmates. He couldn't bear to see Alyss and Jenny's pitying looks, or George's reassurances, or Horace's gloating.

After he'd gotten over his feelings of rejection, Will had thought long and hard about what he was going to do now. He obviously couldn't stay in the ward for the rest of his life, and he didn't want to be assigned to the farms.

All through his childhood, the Ward matrons had threatened the children under their care with the farms if they didn't behave. He might not have always done exactly as the matrons said, but he never went out of his way to break their rules either. There were many kids worse than he was, and they'd all found apprenticeships. What had he done to deserve the farms?

Perhaps his father had done something horrible, and since the man was dead, Will had to pay for his crimes. What other reason could there be?

He let out a heartbroken sob and gripped the branch in front of him so tightly that he felt the rough bark break his skin.

He'd always thought of his father as a great hero, a skilled knight killed in a heroic battle. To think otherwise was physically painful, but who was there to tell him different? No one, that's who! He didn't even know where his family was from, let alone their name. He was just a nobody, sentenced to a life of nothing on the farms.

Abruptly, his thoughts cleared, and an idea came almost out of nowhere. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? It was so simple! They couldn't send him to the farms if he wasn't here. All he had to do was be gone before the morning.

It wasn't running away. It was just leaving. No one ever told him that he had to stay in the ward, after all. He just hadn't had anywhere else to go. Now though, there was no reason to stay any longer. He could find work or an apprenticeship outside of Redmont, and make a name for himself.

That was what he'd wanted, after all, wasn't it? To be a somebody, rather than a no-name orphan? If he left Redmont, no one would know that he had no family. He could claim almost any name he wanted for himself, and no one would know any different.

With a quiet thump, Will dropped down from the oak and made his way towards the ward to silently gather the food and possessions that he would need for his journey. He would be long gone before the dawn.

A/N

Wow, a new story! This is fully planned, and has been for over 2 years. It was originally inspired by nowordsdescribeme's story ideas, and has evolved quite a lot since I first adopted the idea. Unfortunately, it took my so long to actually write the first chapter and publish it, nowordsdescribeme seems to have changed her username and disappeared...

Please review and let me know what you think, I love reviews and they really do inspire me. Plus, I love starting random conversations with reviewers...

Unfortunately, I'm a rather random updater, and despite all my best intentions to stick to a schedule, time just seems to fly out the window. Add to that that have more than one story on the go right now, and their are always new ones jumping up and down in my head, it might take a while before the next update and for this to be completed. Nevertheless, it, and all of my stories, will be completed.

I do not own Ranger's apprentice and it's characters. They belong to John Flanagan.

Thanks for reading!

Ali_Ranger51