A/N: This arc I created out of my own mind is completely and utterly an AU. It's also kind of pathetically self-serving, but no one asked about that. So yes, I've removed Will from the picture (Sorry, Will!) and inserted a different apprentice because I felt like it, and even though I love Will dearly I wanted to see how things would work with someone who had more experience, and wasn't nearly as childish. (Again, sorry, Will!) So, enter Briet of Sonderland, and her spin on the classic memory-loss cliche. And Halt can come along for the ride too, because I sorely wished he'd get more angst, particularly in his love life (There was just so much potential ;-;). So bye to Pauline too. And that's where the self-serving bit comes in: I desperately want an apprenticexcraftmaster fanfiction. So, I made one. But the main focus is on the storyline, which I will be mucking with as well. Oh, yeah, and I closed the age gap a little, so Halt is a little younger and the apprentice is a little older (not giving exact ages because IDC as long as it's not TOO big of an age gap). I think that's about it, so have fun.
She'd shown up out of the forest, suddenly- A figure swaying on their feet, covered in dirt and bleeding heavily from a gash along the ribcage.
He broke two of his own rules by saving her life.
One, always think first, then act.
Two, nothing drastic happens before morning coffee.
Halt prided himself on being exceptionally cold, but even he couldn't stand and watch a woman bleed to death on his doorstep. And so, he half-carried, half-dragged her into the spare bedroom. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized the sheets would get covered in blood, but the thought was lost when the stranger gave a dry, racking cough.
"Thank you," She rasped hoarsely, and he only nodded in response.
She fell asleep minutes after- "sleep" was too tame of a word, even with only minor medical training Halt could tell she was suffering from, at the very least, shock, as well as minor blood loss. The damp cloth he was using to clean her was soaked crimson, as was her simple woolen shirt and the makeshift bandages he had cut away from the wound.
Three basinfuls of water and one rough stitching job later, he'd managed to temporarily stop the bleeding. Halt scanned her again for any other problems (he noted what looked like a nasty fracture on one of her ribs, if the mottled black-and-blue bruises were any indication) and, content that the unknown person was stable for the time being, turned to head back to the kitchen. He'd yet to have his morning coffee.
Perhaps he tilted his head just the right way, or the wind that ruffled the curtains nudged the fabric in just the right direction, but out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw a gleam of sunlight reflecting off of polished metal. Once he knew what to look for, it was easy to spot- a bronze chain hung around her neck, tangled in blood-soaked brown hair. He tugged the necklace gently, not wishing to wake the stranger, and he knew what it was just by the particular feel of the metal, but Halt had to be sure, so he tugged the chain again, and-
A pendant slid out from under her shirt.
A bronze oakleaf.
Halt wouldn't go as far as to say he disliked mysteries. A Ranger's life was full of mysteries. But mysteries like the one at hand were really just infuriating- he had information, and a stranger who would surely know the missing piece of the puzzle. The answer was just barely out of his reach, all because the woman wouldn't wake up.
He'd made himself coffee, filled the barrel with water for the day, chopped firewood, swept out the house and even polished the silverware and still she was unmoving- to the untrained eye she might appear to be dead, but he could make out the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest as she drew breath.
So, with nothing left to do, he waited.
The sun was inching down behind the trees, the dappled rays of light and shadow forming strange patterns on the ground. In the distance, Castle Redmont shone with a faint rust-red glow, the slanted rays catching on old ironstone walls and turrets. The noise that swelled and dipped on the wind from Wensley Village had begun to fade, in turn being drowned out by the more immediate chirping of crickets and trills of the occasional bird perched in the tall pines.
Halt sat in a chair on the verandah, a third cup of coffee held in one hand, and a silver oakleaf pendant held in the other. In his mind, the Ranger went through all he knew about the stranger once more, hoping there'd been something he'd missed. He held her oakleaf, her badge of office, in his hand, but that within itself was another mystery- if she was indeed a Ranger, where was her cloak, her weapons? More than likely she was a petty thief (he said petty even knowing the amount of skill required to steal from a Ranger) who had managed to get her hands on something shiny.
The wooden door separating the house from the verandah creaked open, and Halt raised an eyebrow as the mystery in question collapsed in the second chair, clutching her side with a groan. She'd cleaned herself off, he noticed- the dirt from her skin and hair was gone. She was fair, with dark blond hair under the layer of dirt and grime.
She was also not the sharpest knife in the drawer, apparently.
"Why are you moving around?" he asked bluntly. "You're making things worse."
She glared at Halt, her eyes darting from him to the oakleaf clasped in his hand. "That is my oakleaf. You had no right to take it. I want it returned."
Her voice was light and lilting, with a moderate accent- sharp vowels and an unvoiced "th" sound that followed sharp 't's and 'c's.
Halt placed the accent immediately. "You come from Sonderland."
It was obvious now- the light hair, blue eyes and fair skin. All traits of the people who populated the islands of Sonderland.
She clicked her tongue dismissively. "Not important. Give me my oakleaf back." Her hand darted across the gap between them, closing in on the chain- only to have Halt yank it away before she could grab it.
"I believe you have some explaining to do first," He snapped, steely eyes narrowing with distrust. "What's your name? What happened to you? Why do you have this," he held up the pendant, and the bronze chain swung from side to side, gleaming in the dwindling light, "And how in heaven and hell did a /Sonderlandic girl/ manage to get here in the first place?"
She made a strange noise- almost like the "tsk" noise a mother would use when scolding a child- and leaned back against the rough pine of the chair. Halt had figured she'd be expecting questions- keeping the oakleaf was working as planned; as a bartering tool to have her answering them.
"Briet," The word was quick and sharp, two syllables blending into one and spat out of her mouth as if it were poison.
Halt blinked rapidly, a minute sign of confusion. "What?"
"Briet," She said again, louder, looking to him as though he should understand what she was saying. He spoke many languages, but Sonderlandic was not one of them. Halt gave an exaggerated nod, and said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler or someone quite insane, "I heard you, and I said, 'What'."
Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrow, in a mockery of his greeting to her when she'd stumbled through the door onto the porch. She didn't say anything, rather, turning away from Halt and adjusting her position on the chair.
"You," She said after a minute, staring out into the dusky pink sky, "Are daft."
He blinked again, unsure that he'd heard her correctly. The woman who tried to walk outside after being saved from bleeding to death not five hours ago was calling him daft? His bewildered silence lasted almost a full minute, until the woman turned to him, contempt and dismissal in her eyes.
"You do not remember the question you asked of me not five minutes ago?" She snapped, sitting up, one hand clutching her side and the other gripping the armrest for support. He noted in the calm, rational part of his mind that her accent became more pronounced when she was angry.
"Yes, and I don't speak Sonderlandic!" Halt nearly yelled, losing his patience after waiting nearly five hours for her to wake up, only to hear riddle-speak and Sonderlandic pointlessness.
"You do not have to speak a language to understand a name," the stranger, now known as Briet, hissed back.
He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, heavily calloused after years of manual labor and weapons training, and shut his eyes with a sigh.
"It would help," He said slowly, in a dangerously low voice, "To explain yourself when giving information."
Briet made the strange noise again, like 'tsk' but with a rounded 'k'. "Your stupidity is not my burden." She scoffed. "Now, I will tell, and you will be quiet, yes?"
She didn't let him answer, instead launching off into answering his questions.
"Skandians. Coastal raid along the edges of Deepwater Fief. Battleaxes. It broke my bow clean in two." She looked slightly rueful at this statement. "Knives were stuck in the brute's arm, not like they were going to do me much use anyway- and then... well. I was not fast enough." She gestured down at her bandaged midsection. "They left me, thought I would die, and I started through the forest because I knew Redmont Fief was southeast."
Halt started to ask something, but didn't get past the first syllable before Briet held up a hand.
"No," She said firmly. "You had two questions more. About that-" She pointed to the bronze oakleaf, "And about my heritage."
"The oakleaf; Cynric of Caraway gave to me two years into my apprenticeship. And yes," she met Halt's eyes with her own, an unspoken challenge in her stare. "I am Sonderlandic. On my mother's side. Araluen on my father's. Now, give me my oakleaf back."
Halt sighed, reluctantly handing her the pendant. He looked around, noticing for the first time that night had all but fallen.
"Inside," he grunted, standing up and stretching. Briet stood as well, her balance slightly off and each step accompanied by a quick intake of breath. She was in pain, obviously, but when he held out a hand in an offer for help, she ignored him.
There was still so much he wanted to know, and Halt went to bed with questions fluttering around his mind. He decided to ask her tomorrow.
When he woke, she was gone.