Solitary confinement.

It didn't sound like such a bad thing. Yes, "confinement" did have a negative feel, but it sounded less aggressive then "interrogation", not as fear inducing as "torture". Solitary confinement shouldn't be that bad.

Right.

That's what Crowley had tried to tell himself, too.

Sitting hunched a damp corner, feeling like his senses had been detached, wasn't that bad. If he ever got out of here and was told that, he was going to shoot the teller in the leg.

Time became an even more abstract concept. Crowley truly couldn't tell how long had passed and he was past the point of trying to reason it out.

"My name is Crowley Meratyn," he would repeat as he tried to ground himself. "I'm a King's Ranger. My mother's name was Jina. My best friend is Halt. I was trained by Pritchard... Pritchard is dead."

He had an in depth conversation with Halt about how to drive Morgarath back over the mountains before he remembered that Halt wasn't here and that Morgarath had been defeated for a year and a half. It was around this moment that he had screamed and smacked his head against the wall.

Sitting hunched in a damp corner, losing touch with reality, the Ranger known as Crowley Meratyn wished he were dead.

The sound of the door creaking open had Crowley biting back a sob. He couldn't keep doing this, he was going to lose his mind... his breathing began to quicken. "Just stop, please stop," he gasped out, his hands flying up to cover his ears as he rocked back and forth, tears beginning to leak out of his eyes.

"Crowley?"

That was the voice of his best friend. Crowley trembled and hunched into himself even more, wondering how his mind could be this cruel. A whimper escaped him before he felt a rush of movement, and in the next moment, a pair of familiar arms wrapped around him.

"Shh, I've got you," the Hibernian accented voice murmured, "Breathe, just calm down and breathe..." Crowley became vaguely aware that he was still hyperventilating. His breath caught and he hiccuped slightly on the air as he tried to slow his breathing down.

"Halt?" Crowley's voice sounded terribly croaky in his ears.

Halt's hand was moving to explore his head, and he heard the younger Ranger hiss as he found the blood on his hairline. "I found you," Halt reassured him, then frowned as he realized Crowley was shaking. "You're freezing," he muttered as he pulled his cloak off and wrapped it over his friend.

"Couldn't feel the cold," Crowley said thickly. "Numb. Couldn't feel anything."

Halt stilled, then tightened the cloak around Crowley's still trembling form. "Just rest a moment, then we'll get out of here."

Crowley shook his head in agitation, trying to communicate what he needed to say. "You don't understand... I couldn't... f-feel. Like my senses had b-b-been cut..."

Halt shushed him again, and the last thing Crowley heard before passing out into oblivion was Halt's broken voice whispering, "We'll fix it, Crowley."

The next few days were blurred for Crowley. Mainly he slept and caught snippets of conversation. He was alone in the cell for twenty five days, he learned.

Malnourished, he heard. Confusion.

He remembered being sullen about only being given broth, then ill as he struggled to keep even that down.

He remembered Halt's quiet voice being there, talking about happenings in the fiefs. It wasn't so much the topic that mattered - it was having a presence to keep him grounded. To remind him he wasn't alone.

Most recently, he recalled an almost heated conversation between Halt and some of the infirmary workers. Crowley, feeling more bright then he had in weeks, was sitting up and listening intently.

"He should come to the cabin with me," Halt insisted. "He needs to get back into the swing of things, taste normalcy."

"He's still confused," the healers argued, making Crowley bristle. Still a little jumpy, yes, but definitely not disoriented in the way they were suggesting.

The conversation continued in this manner until Crowley had finally gotten up and made his way through the doorway, surprising both sides of the argument. "I'm not staying here," the Commandant said firmly, and in a slight embarrassment, the healers agreed.

Crowley smiled in satisfaction as he sent three arrows flying in rapid succession deep into the center of the target. A turn on his heel and a flick of his hand sent his throwing knife spinning into the knot of a tree.

"Not bad," came Halt's deep voice from where he had been observing unseen in the trees.

Crowley smiled and replied with mock offence, "'Not bad'? I'd say it's a lot better then not bad."

"Fine. It was fairly decent," Halt admitted as he came out of the trees and pushed his cowl back. Plucking Crowley's throwing knife from the tree, Halt inspected the blade for a moment before handing it back to his Commandant, who in turn slid it into the scabbard. Crowley took a deep breath of the crisp morning air and gestured to around them.

"I feel like this is taken for granted too often. Light, air, conversation. In that cell, it was just me and my thoughts. I was going mad. I couldn't tell what was real."

Halt was quiet for a moment as he digested the words, then answered slowly, "I looked for you nonstop. And when I found you, I still had the fear that I had lost my best friend. You were rambling and confused, and the healers weren't sure if you'd come out of it."

Silence reigned for several moments, before Crowley smiled and cheerfully put his arm over his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps a jaunty tune would cheer you up? As you know, my whistling is highly regarded."

Halt snorted. "Modest as ever, Crowley. And no, I fear my ears may not be able to endure your shrilling."

Crowley shrugged and replied with a smirk, "In that case, we'd better check." Without further ado, he began whistling Old Joe Smoke.

Halt rolled his eyes, but inside was feeling lighter then he had in a while.

Though, he thought with a wince, that didn't mean that he would ever applaud Crowley's shrilling.

Solitary confinement is a very real and scary thing and can result in permanent psychological damage. This story was written with research that I found, but I apologize if there are any glaringly obvious mistakes or wrongly interpreted things in this story.

Crowley and Halt are a pretty fantastic duo, and I believe that they have a very close friendship. Why else would Halt let Crowley get away with so much? I admit, I missed Gilan when I wrote this, but I also loved getting to know some of the other characters better. Hopefully I did them justice!

I like reviews. A lot.

TrustTheCloak