I don't own Ranger's Apprentice. This technically could be a crossover with Merlin BBC, even though it has absolutely zero of Merlin's influence in it. Well, not absolutely zero. There's a little mystery. :)

This is a sad. If you don't like the sad, or –in my opinion, at least– graphic descriptions of being burned alive, then I suggest you pass this on by.

Also, if people like this, I might write another with more reactions as an extender for the end.

A friend loves at all times,

And a brother is born for a time of adversity.

Proverbs 17:17

Horace, Duke of Castle Araluen and loyal Knight of the Oakleaf, husband of Crown Princess Cassandra –as of two months previously– was not handling the situation at hand in a logical way. He was not thinking in tactics and strategies. There was not a thought in his mind about how what he was currently doing could be interpreted as in front of any nobles or members of court.

Because, to be put simply, Horace wasn't thinking at all.

Will was in danger — with a great possibility that he was dying or dead that exact moment. Horace didn't know how he could move on without his closest friend. They were brothers in all but blood. The two of them had been through too much, lived through too much, and survived too much. The thought that all of their adventures together would not have any more sequels… was difficult to think about.

So, no, Horace did not think. He didn't think when he asked –yes, of course he asked for help– for volunteers from the men he knew most. Gilan was there at Castle Araluen, had been there just after he had returned from a mission in Skandia. Halt was there, but for no reason other than worry for his former apprentice, Will. Nothing needed to be said in question to whether or not they had joined Horace.

He had been surprised, in a humbling, grateful way, at the response he had gotten with volunteers. Hundreds had pledged their lives to follow Horace on the foolish rescue mission. The whole ordeal had almost been enough to unravel the brave knight, causing him to try hard not to start tearing up right there from pride in his bothers-in-arms.

Horace might have put a small bit of thought into choosing who would go with him. Accepting only those he was sure could handle themselves, Horace then only took the men that had no qualms with dying during this adventure; no family that they needed to provide for. Because Horace would never want to be the reason a child was orphaned.

In the end, though this had all taken less than an hour, only fifty men set out. Including, of course, Horace, Halt, and Gilan. They left Castle Araluen a few short hours after the men he chose gathered.

They made with haste towards an inconspicuous town in southeastern Picta, where Will had gone silent while on a reconnaissance mission. The last scheduled date of contact with Crowley had been met with nothing but a messenger bearing dreadful news, news from the area where the lost Ranger had been undercover.

Horace's best friend had been captured by a clan of hostile Scotti that had previously been vying for an alliance with King Duncan, and who had asked for a meeting with the Araluen ruler, face to face. Obviously, Duncan, Crowley, and even –surprisingly enough– the entire council at Castle Araluen, agreed that that particular Scotti clan were not to be trusted. So, Crowley, being the Commandant of the Ranger Corps, had sent Will to scope out the true intentions behind the request.

Apparently the Ranger had found the information he had needed, because he had stated his intentions to withdraw from the town after looking into one last thing, he said in his last message. Horace only wished Will had left when he had the chance, instead of sneaking his nose into more trouble. But the knight knew, if Will had been sensible, he wouldn't be half as good of a Ranger.

All that concluded in Horace arriving, several long days later, in disguise with his men, to witness a sight that sent terror rushing through his veins. After all, there weren't many things that could make it easy for fifty men to sneak into a town, especially a town under the jurisdiction of a Scotti clan. Horror enveloped his mind as he watched where Will Treaty, legendary Ranger, his best and truest friend, had been tied to a wooden stake that was in the town square, surrounded by other pieces of wood and kindling.

Horace didn't think as a blazing torch was tossed onto the wood, and he barely even noticed the two arrows as they simultaneously thudded into the chest of the man –no, executioner– that had lit the pyre. He didn't think as the searing flames sent the cursed pile of combustible material instantly alight. He did not note the clang of metal from crossing swords as his men fought with the Scotti warriors that surrounded the square.

No. Horace hadn't even dared to form a thought as Will's distinct yell, tinged with genuine fear, cried out from the newly formed, floating ash.

Crowley had said it would be a routine investigation mission. He stated that Will could more than handle whatever happened. The Ranger Commandant was wrong on both counts.

The mission to spy on the Scotti had gone wrong, completely wrong. While he had gotten the information he was sent for — the supposed meet for an alliance would have been a trap for the King, which was unsurprising. The further, more vicious details of the plan didn't need to be voiced. Will still felt a little sick over what he'd overheard. But that was not the current situation.

They had relied too much on their inside contacts, and one of them turned. Will had been undercover as an objectively simple-minded traveler, who lived off of coin derived from what menial labor that could be found in every town that he passed through. The cover had been exposed by the turncoat, and then Will's life had been put in danger.

Donning his white-mottled Ranger cloak –that had been buried and hidden inside his traveling pack that he had been carrying, he hadn't brought Tug with him– because there was no longer any need to keep up pretenses. Will knew he had to move, fast. He expertly ducked and dodged passerbys in the town, a newly-strung recurve bow set on his shoulder in place of his usual longbow. He neared the forest, and the relative safety of the snowy foliage outside the town.

That was when everything went… well, more wrong. The Scotti warriors were ready for him. The brutes surrounded him, and Will put up a fight to be remembered, taking out eight men. He was still captured, suffering several harsh kicks to his side –and at least one bracing blow to the head– for their comrades he'd killed, but Will could only smile. Because he'd known they would be after him.

Meanwhile, the young messenger with all the information and details of what the Ranger had uncovered, was waiting for darkness to fall while resting at an inn inside the very same town. By the next few days, the letter Will wrote would be in Araluen and in the proper hands.

He was Will Treaty, a King's Ranger, and if he knew anything about people at all, he knew that once you gave someone exactly what they wanted –or expected– to find, that they would stop looking.

So, Will smiled. The smile was sad, though. Because he didn't yet know how he was going to get out of this one. His doubt didn't ease as the Scotti wasted no time in securing his hands behind his back with rope, proceeding to drag him through the street.

Something unexpected happened then, as the Ranger was manhandled towards a destination that would likely not bold well for him. A man marched up fearlessly to the warriors, causing the Scotti men to come to a stop. The bold man had the clothing and bearing of some importance, Will noted, though the man also gave the appearance of someone who spent more –or all– of his time sitting comfortably and eating, than fighting and toiling. All signs pointed to a village leader.

The man frowned at the warriors, gesturing to Ranger. He might have said something as well, but Will's head was throbbing, and his ears were ringing. Focusing as much as he could in the conversation, he heard his captors' response.

After exchanging brief looks with each other, the leading two Scotti warriors took a step forward. They bowed their heads, a bit too respectfully , at the apparent village leader.

The Scotti began in a gruff voice. "Forgive us for our display, this man was a suspect in a crime, and we had to use force to apprehend him."

Will snorted in amusement, drawing another frown from the village leader. The man then glanced from the warriors to the distinguishable Ranger cloak around Will's shoulders. He said something else, growing irritated, and waving his arms around.

Will couldn't hear anything more than garbled voices, his head ached. He was now fairly certain that he had a concussion. As if he hadn't already enough issues to deal with.

The small argument between the village leader and the two leading Scotti warriors resolved with a few ominously spoken words, and a pair of wide eyes on the face of the village leader. For a moment, Will was sure that the warriors were threatening the other man, but that changed when the Ranger processed what had actually been said. The village leader's terrified gaze resting on him, along with his inability to fully concentrate on the matter at hand, certainly didn't put him in a place to possibly negotiate himself out of the mess.

"Yes, this man is an Araluen Ranger, but he had –just now– brutally murdered eight of my men with the dark arts that he practices. Without immediate action, he could kill again." One of the leading warriors stated, eyes looking imploringly at the village leader. "I need your help to rid this man of his darkness, before your great village suffers under the wrath of sorcery." His eyes turned pleading, taking a desperate gleam to them. "Will you help us?"

Will felt his heart beat faster at the anticipation of the village leader's response. This was not how he expected this mission to go down. Not at all. He knew what barbaric civilizations did to those they thought practiced witchcraft, he'd heard stories; seen the aftermath. Will felt his insides turn to ice.

"Y-yes. Of course, I will help you. Take him to the jail for now. The pyre for cleansing will be set up as soon as possible." The overweight village leader concluded the conversation, and with one last, fearful glance at the Ranger, he hurried away.

As soon as the man was out of sight, the Scotti warriors relaxed slightly, wholly relieved that their lie had been bought so well. Relations between the outlying villages and the warriors were not ideal right then, and further aggravations wouldn't help them in the eyes of their general. Smirking delightedly at each other, they pulled their unresisting, yet still conscious, prisoner to where he would be held until his execution.

Will winced as the men tying him to the wooden beam –pyre, he reminded himself, grim– yanked a little unnecessarily roughly on his arms. He felt like he had more bruises on his body in that moment than all of his previous bruises combined. During his delightful stay for the past four days, while enough wood could be gathered and dried to a usable extent despite the snowy weather native to Picta, the young Ranger had been beaten ruthlessly, insulted for his believed identity as a malevolent sorcerer, given no food and only enough water to stay alive.

The mistreatment and abuse paled in comparison to what was about to happen to him. Will took an even breath, trying his best to force back his fear. He'd never before feared dying for his country, but this particular way of being killed made him shiver. Tying a living person onto a piece of wood, surrounding them with more flammable branches, and setting them on fire…. What kind of person did that to another human being? It was just… wrong. Will had never had the stomach to subject even bloodthirsty criminals to a hanging; not by his own orders.

Of course, Will has killed in battle, but fighting for your live and your country is different than looking into a captive man's eyes and sentencing him to die.

The Ranger bit his lip to stifle a gasp as smaller branches and kindling were pressed up against his legs in a pile. It was a startled reaction from Will being unaware of his surroundings, and not caused by the pressure on his bruised legs. He began to shake, his body shivering, whether from the chilled air that turned his breath to fog, or the realization that he was going to burn to death.

Will's eyes widened, and he stared around him in shock. He just couldn't believe he was going to die there. He didn't want to die at all, he realized. Not yet. He just wasn't ready, there were so many things that he hadn't done yet. And if he lived, Will promised to try and do them all. He would marry Alyss, go home, and see Tug and give him two apples instead of his usual one. Will was also certain that Halt did not receive enough hugs, and that he would need to remedy that. Horace would need reminding of what a great friend and brother-figure he was. Gilan… well, Gilan owed him money.

There were so many people that he never had the chance to tell them what they'd meant to him. Malcolm, Berrigan, Baron Arald, Crowley… and so many more. Will felt his vision fog with tears, because he wouldn't get to say goodbye.

A tear slipped free as Ranger Will Treaty stared, almost transfixed, at the man carrying the torch that would take his life. He recognized the torch-bearer as one of the men who'd beaten him, that particular man always had a piece to say about where magic should belong. Will, at that point, could only idly wonder what could inspire such hate and spite in a man.

Then he watched the torch drop. Down, down, down it appeared to fall, but it was only about an arm's length in reality. Time went too slow and too fast for Will, as the flickering death jumped and soared.

Suddenly, he remembered that he didn't want to die. The flames felt all the hotter with that thought becoming centered in his mind. Will didn't want to die. Not yet, and not here. But the smoke made him cough, until he couldn't find any more air to cough, and then he felt pure terror pull at his mind.

Will yelled, the heat pressing down on him like a weight on his uselessly gasping chest. If he had any tears left, they would be running down his face, instead he heaved empty sobs. He was going to die there. He couldn't see anything through the smoke and haze as the fire crept ever closer to burning his flesh.

Will knew he was going to die, there, alone. The blazing heat climbed up his left leg, temporarily hampered by his thick boot.

All this time Will was yelling… or was it screaming? Didn't matter, the smoke in his lungs was making everything blurry; sights, sounds. At times, he thought he heard frantic voices screaming for him, shouting his name, but that would be ridiculous. He was completely and utterly alone.

Will's voice cut off abruptly, his throat and lungs no longer able to sustain the action. He felt the flame eat through his boot, and then the burning could be felt on his leg. He would have screamed more, but he couldn't find the air. The air was gone. All of it. Replacing it with… not-air. The Ranger sagged in the ropes, the bonds the only thing that held him up.

Lightning flashed through the sky, a crashing thunderclap following right behind, and Will only had the briefest of moments to feel confused before rain poured downward endlessly. The fire, smoke and not-air went away in the storm, leaving normal, fresh-tasting air. Will breathed it in like a starving man.

The rain was warm. Picta was cold. Another confusing thing, but the slightly charred Ranger didn't have the time to think on it as voices called out his name urgently. Will slowly lost consciousness, and the last voice he heard sounded like his old teacher. But why Halt would ever sound so hysterical, Will couldn't fathom.

You better have liked this, I spent at least six hours writing it. From like, 1:00am-7:00am. So, I'm not sane. :D

And it was a sad. Also cannon with my other story, We're Equal in Our Bad Luck. Though, that's a crossover with Merlin BBC.