Letters

A/N: So I've had this idea for a while, but have been more than a little nervous about posting or sharing it. I finally gathered enough courage to do so though, and I hope you find this short as fun to read as it was for me to concoct and write. It'll be just a little short, about three chapters total in length.

Disclaimer: I have nothing but respect for John Flanagan's stories… I absolutely don't own anything, not RA, and definitely none of the characters or places therein. And I certainly do not profit from this in any way, aside from my own enjoyment- and hopefully the enjoyment of others.

Summary: In which some friendly letters between Will and Gilan may hold the key to saving Will from a nasty mess involving smugglers... because Will can never stay out of trouble for too long. (Takes place around/after The Lost Stories)

Letters

"Halt," Will greeted distractedly from where he sat at the small table without turning around.

Halt entered the cabin fully then, shutting the door behind him.

"Coffee's in the kitchen," Will added. "It should be ready now. I'll be with you in a moment—I just need to finish something first."

Halt nodded and went to go pour a cup of coffee for both himself and Will.

Will was bent over several sheaves of paper, quill in hand. Halt's first thought was that Will was filling out reports, but he quickly discarded that notion as soon as he saw the smile on the young man's face. It was the sort of smile that Halt had long ago learned to be leery of; the type of smile that usually found its end in some form of trouble or another.

"Oh, that's good. That's really good," Will snickered softly to himself as he added another line.

Suspicious, and fully on guard by this time, Halt sat opposite Will and set both cups down. The young Ranger paid it no head, absorbed as he was with the workings of his pen. Halt felt and unsettling feeling begin to take hold in him as his mind was hit with the memory of the last time Will had been this absorbed in his writing: his terrible wedding speech. Though this time promised to be even worse if Will's gleeful snickering and suspiciously wicked looking grins had anything to add to the matter.

Halt took a sip of his coffee, his uncomfortable feeling only growing as Will added what appeared to be his last line, his tongue protruding slightly from the corner of his mouth. He then signed his name at the bottom of the page with a flourish and a horribly self-satisfied smile.

"It's perfect," he said almost reverently to himself.

"What's perfect?" Halt asked blankly, still unsettled in the suspicion that he probably did not really want to know.

Will looked slightly startled at the abrupt question and Halt guessed that his former apprentice had not realized that he had spoken aloud. His startlement however soon gave way to what could almost be termed as evasiveness.

"Oh, um… what I was working on. I mean, it's probably not really perfect, but I was just pleased with how it turned out and… well…" he trailed, shifting slightly in his seat.

"And what is this, exactly?" Halt gestured towards the paper.

"Just a letter of sorts," Will admitted almost uncomfortably with a shrug, trying unsuccessfully to deter Halt's interest with false nonchalance.

"A letter to who?" Halt asked, ignoring proper grammar for the sake of brevity.

"To Gilan," Will admitted.

Halt nodded then. That actually explained a lot. Some of his earlier unease began to lessen as he grew satisfied that this was, at least, not going to be some nightmarish repeat of the speech fiasco.

"He and I have been writing each other lately so I was just um… you know, writing back," he finished lamely.

Halt decided to give the obviously flustered young man a break and changed the subject.

"So, Will, what exactly did you need to discuss with me?"

Will looked relieved at the subject change and set himself to the task of explaining, his manner becoming much surer as he spoke on.

"Right, well, I've been tracking what I think to be bandits traveling through Redmont. It appears to be a semi-large group of them that has split itself into smaller factions. I know this because I took one of these groups down and found some letters on them that name the meeting place for the rest. It's near the west-most edge of the fief. It really seems to be a relatively small issue, all things considered, but I was hoping to head them off and wanted to let you know so you could cover for me here."

A closer look at Will's report and the evidence brought Halt to the same conclusion that Will had come to. He knew that Will could handle this easily on his own. Will, after all, had become one of the best Rangers in the corps, not to mention the acting Ranger of Redmont fief. Halt considered for a moment and then nodded.

"I think you'll have it well in hand," he affirmed shortly, and it was an honest assessment.

Will beamed at the veiled compliment. "Besides, Lady Pauline will have my head if I take you away from her for something so trivial," he added cheekily.

"That's true," Halt said, deadpan.

It took Will only a short while to make ready for his new mission and, after dropping off his letter to be delivered, he set out for the west most edge of the fief on Tug. Halt went to get his own supplies in preparation of taking over the cabin in Will's absence.

~x~X~x~

It was about four days later that idle curiosity—admittedly mixed with a fair amount of boredom—found Halt rising from the chair that he occupied in the small cabin in the woods and reaching for the fairly large wooden box where Will kept his important documents and letters. He leafed through the sheets at the top, which consisted mainly of reports and notes. Closer to the bottom, there were a few stacks of paper tied neatly together with twine. The handwriting on the foremost sheet of the topmost bundle definitely belonged to Lady Alyss. Obviously, Will had kept every letter she had ever written him.

Moving that neat pile aside, he picked up the next bundle and, after a while, decided that these letters were from Horace, Araluen's primer Knight and Will's first, and possibly best, friend. The handwriting on the topmost page of the third bundle he recognized instantly, far quicker than the other two, for he had seen it many times before. It was Gilan's, his apprentice before Will.

This bundle he lifted forth from the box, feeling a mild curiosity grip him as he remembered Will's gleeful snickering some days earlier.

Halt had never really been one to feel overly compelled to pay especially strict attention to rules. And that particular compunction seemed to extended to rules of proper society and etiquette on a few select occasions. This day was apparently one such occasion, he decided as he sat back down and placed the bundle before him on the table. He carefully untied the string that bound the pages together. Picking up the first page, he saw, by the date on it, that Will had organized the letters by putting the oldest one at the top of the stack and the newest one at the bottom.

The oak leaf symbol emblazoned at the top of the sheets marked the pages as official Ranger paper, but Will's expressions and suspiciously self-satisfied laughter told the grizzled older Ranger that the contents were probably anything but official. It was for this very same reason that Halt suspected that the letter had the promise to brighten what would otherwise be a fairly dull afternoon. With these expectant thoughts in mind, the bearded Ranger through etiquette to the wind and began to read the first letter.

Dear Will,

It has been a long time since I last heard from you— and I praise God daily for such a blessing. Every time I find myself in the beauty of a peaceful moment, I thank God again for his obvious favor.

Though, come to think of it, I might be a bit too favored. Things have been rather dull around Whitby of late. Truth be told, it has gotten so that I would not be too opposed to having you around to blunder about, cause accidents, and otherwise act like the candle flame to moths, which attracts every manner of danger within reach. I miss that special talent of yours about now. I actually miss you too— as much as I would miss the presence of a particularly nasty rash that has suddenly cleared up after bothering me for years.

In all seriousness though, how have you been? Well I hope. How are things at Redmont? Has Halt found a way to leave you with all the paperwork, even though technically you're supposed to work together? That wouldn't surprise me in the least. Our old mentor can be horribly sneaky like that, especially when he is trying to settle a score. Though why he would ever find fault in either you or I is beyond me.

With much hatred, abhorrence, and basically any other word that signifies a strong dislike,

-Gilan

Halt felt his mouth twitching up almost imperceptibly at the corners as he read the letter. Rangers could never resist playful ribbing. His two former apprentices were definitely not exceptions to this. Shaking his head slightly, he picked up the next letter in the pile.

He was momentarily surprised to see that it was in Will's handwriting, until he recalled Will's habit of always writing rough drafts first, which served as back-ups. It was a trait he had always had, but it had become a full-fledged, almost obsessive habit since the fateful day at the Moondarker's camp when he had accidentally destroyed Horace and Cassandra's wedding speech in a fire and had no other copies of his work. That was something that Halt had considered a blessing at the time. However, today, the grey bearded Ranger actually found himself grateful for the habit. This was because it meant that he would get both halves of the conversation.

Dear Gilan,

I was displeased to receive your letter the other day because it means that you are, in fact, still alive. I would have thought that the earth herself would have rejected you by now. But no matter, it will happen sooner or later, I'm sure. I may be a rash on Araluen and its people, but at least rashes are hard to get rid of—you, on the other hand, not so much.

Seriously though, things here are definitely not as quiet as in Whitby. I've actually been tracking down some rumors of a highwayman near abouts, and intend to stop him by setting up an ambush. The only problem is that I have yet to get a solid location on where that bandit will be lying in wait. I suppose that will mean a long while of trailing the merchant's carts on the road—something I'm not looking forward too.

Though I look forward to solving that problem more that my other one. Gilan, you have to help me! You know the baker's daughter, right? Well, she was carrying a basket of day old bread to the Ward the other night when she fell. I happened to be passing her at the time and tried to catch her, but I was a bit too far out to do it easily, and we ended up in a position that a passerby might have considered romantic or suggestive. To make matters worse, she may have kissed me on the cheek by way of saying thanks. The problem is that Alyss was on her way to the castle at the time and saw us. And now she thinks I've been disloyal to her. She was so angry that she didn't give me a chance to explain. I may have accidentally ruined everything. What if I can't fix this? Please Gilan, tell me what I should do! Though why I am resorting to asking for advice from a scarecrow like you is beyond me.

I hope to never hear from you again,

-Will

~x~

Dear Will,

It pleased me greatly to hear that your life had been so filled with misfortune. Yes, I'm still alive. It grieves me to disappoint you so, but there is no going around it. The Earth loves me still and greatly. I spent enough time pressed up against her supple surface during my last fight to feel no doubts in that area. Also, she is not the only one; the maidens of Whitby seem not to have any objection to me at all. Speaking of which, have you worked out things with your maiden yet? That whole episode had to sting some.

Have you caught that bandit yet? Knowing your skills, I bet that he's caught you. If this is, in fact, the bandit reading this note, then please be kind enough to tell Will that he's an idiot for me. If this is actually Will reading this then—you're still an idiot.

Things have gotten much less boring since my last letter. I was not joking about leaving my impression in the dirt. I ended up having to settle quite a large and nasty 'every man for himself' tavern brawl. Things got a bit ugly for a while until I managed to find success, by which I mean I won the tavern brawl. That's where the maidens I spoke of earlier found their affections for me, since I may have saved their lives in the process of stopping that fight.

Speaking of girls, my advice to you, if you have not yet worked things out on your own, would just be honesty. Tell Alyss the truth. She's a smart woman and she'll listen. Also she probably trusts you as much as you trust her. If you're honest she'll know and believe you. Just don't put it off for too long; the longer you wait the harder it will be to fix it.

I've found that scarecrows actually give pretty good advice to mangy half-wit crows sometimes, so I suppose the same might work for you and I.

Forever cursing your name,

-Gilan

~x~

Dear Gilan,

I'm writing this from my bed, from which I have been so rudely informed by the healers, I will not be allowed to leave for at least three days. Do you remember that bandit we were talking about? Well… he got me. I don't know how, but I'm pretty sure it's your fault. So, in light of that revelation, I have decided to hope, wish, and pray fervently that you will get a bandit of your very own.

You know, you actually are not too shabby at giving advice, not only about how best to make up with Alyss, but also about what you said about the maidens really going after you when you save their lives. You see, I was escorting Alyss back from a neighboring fief when the highwayman I have been hunting, attacked. He shot at Alyss and Tug only sensed his presence, and I only saw the bolt coming, just quickly enough to shove her out of the way. I took the hit for her, and got shot through the thigh. After that is a bit of a blur, but I remember that we were both able to take the bandit down. My highwayman, as I've affectionately named him, won't be robbing highways any longer.

Don't tell Alyss I said this, but this whole, saving her life business has smoothed things over even more than I was able to do by apologizing. She's hardly left my side. Being wounded, contrary to reason, doesn't have to be all that bad. Though now that I mention it, I'm beginning to feel sad for you: never having been truly fawned over by a beautiful woman before. Don't feel too badly, you can't help being so ugly.

Yours most disrespectfully

-Will

~x~

Dear Will,

How are you? Surrounded by bandits, hunted by assassins or otherwise on the run from misfortune I hope. I received that bandit you so kindly wished for me to have and it cost me a whole two days of hiking around marshland with nothing to cheer me but cold rations to catch him. For this, I should wish at least five others back, but we can't all be as malignant as you. Instead I shall just wait for you to get yourself banished from Araluen. It won't be long until everyone else gets as sick of you as I am.

You were shot? Are you doing alright? Better than before, I hope... but judging by the contents of your last letter you don't sound like you're too bad off. I'm glad you caught your man, and glad things are going well again with you and Alyss. I hope you'll be back to your full strength soon: the world wouldn't know what to do with itself if you weren't there to terrorize its every waking moment with your cringe-worthy presence. I'm actually surprised that you don't get shot at more often, when you walk around with a face like yours.

Yours most insincerely,

-Gilan

The letters continued on that way, full of back and forth banter and totally unserious insults in the beginnings and conclusions. The middles, however, tended to be much more sincere in their manner, detailing adventures, making humorous observations or complaints, asking for the other's opinion or for help with some problem or another. There were quite a few occasions that they both made completely random observations, such as in a letter Halt found towards the middle of the stack.

Do you remember that one strategy problem at the Gathering that we couldn't solve to our satisfaction? Will had asked in one of his letters. Well, I finally figured it out. The key was to use the infantry as a diversionary tactic, like you thought, but then what we needed to do was split the cavalry force in half so one group could advance with the infantry to strengthen it , whilst the other flanked the enemy from the right.

To which Gilan had replied, Oh, that's brilliant! Too bad we didn't think of it at the time.

What made it amusing to Halt was the fact that The Gathering they had spoken of had happened no less than six months prior to Will's letter. Another point of amusement for Halt was the fact that in every letter, it appeared as if the two young Rangers were having a contest to see who could sign their name in the most flourishing and pompous manner.

Halt was familiar with most the adventures Will chronicled, but it was interesting to read them from his point of view, and interesting to know what Gilan had been up to. It was in this manner that Halt spent the whole first part of the afternoon relatively entertained. As he made his way nearer and nearer to the bottom of the stack, he began to be grudgingly impressed that his two former apprentices had yet to run out of insults and jibes.

Another aspect he found entertaining was the mentions of missions and cases that were troubling. Halt had always had a bit of an affinity for puzzles; one of the things that was a bit of a side effect of an inquisitive mind. He enjoyed trying to solve the problems before he read the letter where the other gave their opinion and suggestions, if they had any, or the letter when the one who had the problem solved it themselves. Those letters he looked forward to because he rather enjoyed seeing if he had guessed rightly, or if the solution his two apprentices had come up with were similar to his own, more effective, or more successful than his would have been.

It was because of this that he was more than slightly disappointed when he reached the bottom of the stack, not only because he had reached the last letter, but also because its contents had caught his attention and he wanted to know more. What intrigued him so much was partially the fact that it was a problem without a fixed solution. But mostly, it was because the circumstances and facts given in the letter were interesting and slightly odd.

Frowning, Halt absently placed both elbows on the table and brought both hands to rest under his chin as he stared at the letter in question. His expression grew thoughtful as he read through it again.

Dear Will,

I am only writing back because I feel culturally obligated to do so. Apparently our society considers it extremely rude not to return a letter, and I will never have it said that I am rude. Though I honestly don't know why I even bother; It's not as if you can understand, let alone read properly, the contents of this letter. But don't take your minimal intelligence too harshly, and don't let it keep you alone. I'm sure there are several people who understand that it is not too uncommon for a young man to be burdened with a wit-dulling mental affliction such as yours. I'm sure that they will tolerate your presence, even if it is grudgingly.

All formalities aside, I have recently made myself look more the fool that even you could manage—if that is at all possible. Whitby, as you know, is practically in the center of Araluen and so is a major route for trade. Smuggling is not exactly what you would call uncommon. So I was unsurprised to hear news of bribed officials from an off duty soldier. I managed to track the rumors by eavesdropping on, and tailing, a few thugs. All the information I gathered led me to suspect a particular caravan of about three wagons. So I set up an ambush and stopped them on the road the night they were leaving the city.

The thing is, I was so sure it was them. I was positive they were transporting illegal goods. I was even fairly sure what those goods were; the soldier I had first talked to had thought he had overheard mentions of plants or spices. There is a pretty heavy tariff on some imported spices, making them high on the list of black market goods.

So I stopped them and forced them to let me search their wagons—pretty crudely made things with dirty canvas tops and badly made wheels. Nothing on them looked as if they had been crafted by any person worthy of the trade. I searched every inch of those wagons, first for illegal goods, and when that turned up nothing, for hidden compartments under floorboards or under the driver's seat and found nothing.

Since I found no evidence, I had to let them go. I looked quite the fool because of it. And I had been so certain that I was right. All the facts and evidence led there. But if the goods weren't in the wagon, then they didn't have them. They had no time to dump them before I was on them, and they never came back to retrieve them from some hidden cash. Also, I know they couldn't have sold or gotten rid of all their product in Whitby. I checked the market. And one of the conversations I overheard led me to believe that their biggest transaction was yet to come. I have no idea where I went wrong, but intend to find out. Let it be known that there is almost nothing worse than looking stupid and then getting nothing to show for it. I hope you're having a better time of it.

Forever slandering you,

-Gilan

Halt stared at the letter a little longer. Gilan's dilemma did indeed present an interesting problem. Gilan had a good head on his shoulders and good instincts. If he thought that those people were the smugglers, then chances were good that he was right. So the question was, what happened to the goods, and how had they given Gilan the slip. It was an interesting puzzle that claimed his attention for several minutes as he tried to answer the question using the evidence Gilan had provided and conjecture, but could think of nothing probable.

Halt tapped the paper thoughtfully. There was something about how Gilan had described the wagons that was tugging at the corner of his mind, pointing him towards a memory that he could not place at the moment. But, as was usually the case, the more he tried to focus on that blurred memory, the more it seemed to slip further away.

He stilled the motion of his hand, frustrated. He wondered abruptly what Will thought of the whole fiasco, but he could not find so much as a note page, let alone a rough draft. When he thought back to how rushed Will had been the day he left, he guessed that Will simply hadn't had the time to make a final draft and so had just sent his rough draft that day. Still turning the problem over in his mind, he prepared a meal for himself and, after cleaning up, decided to retire for the night.

He had been asleep for no more than two hours when he was awakened by the sound of hoofbeats approaching the cabin in the trees at a rapid pace. Years of training and experience kicked in immediately. Halt jerked fully awake and reached for his weapons, his senses on high alert as he readied for some form of danger.

Then he faintly heard the sound of Abelard nickering a greeting to the horse of the approaching rider. Halt relaxed slightly then, secure in the knowledge that the other rider was either another Ranger or a friend. The hoof beats stopped abruptly as the rider reined in and dismounted. Hurried steps headed for the cabin and up the few steps leading to the veranda. Halt relaxed fully then, for the gait of the person in question was familiar.

He lit the light in the cabin's center room just as his midnight visitor rapped impatiently on the cabin door. Halt pulled it open, unsurprised to see Gilan standing there. However, what did surprise him, or rather concern him, was the expression on his face. There was not even the slightest trace of a smile. There was a worried yet determined look in his eyes and he looked more than a little disheveled. Something was definitely wrong. If Gilan's expression and condition didn't tell him that, then the simple fact of his arrival should have done that well enough. Ranger's didn't leave their appointed fiefs and then go riding through the middle of the night without reason, and good reason at that.

"Gilan," Halt greeted. "What's going on?"

"I think Will is in trouble."

~x~X~x~

Will was trapped. There was no getting around it. He was stuck in the center of an enemy camp. He knew that, as it was now—in the center of a clearing and in broad daylight—there was almost no chance of him being able to slip past all the bandits and camp guards without being seen. He also knew that it would only been a matter of time before his flimsy hiding spot, and therefore he, would be discovered. Worst of all was the fact that he had no clear idea of how he had wound up in this mess in the first place.

He had arrived at the meeting spot detailed in the bandit's letter about four days previous and had spent most his time scouting the area. It was a clearing in the middle of the woods that was cut through by a small river. On the fifth day, he had watched as two wagons and two small groups of bandits arrived. Shortly after, they began negotiations with each other and a bargeman and her crew who had landed their craft on the bank of the small river. Will had left the safety of the woods then and had proceeded cautiously forwards, bow at the ready.

All told, there had been about ten men. It was a number that he had been confident that he could handle. There was some thick brush that stretched from the tree line to about a fourth of the way into the clearing along the river's bank. By moving along the river bank with the tangled stretch of overgrowth, he had been able to stay well out of sight. It had been his intention to move forwards until he would be close enough to them to identify himself as a King's Ranger and demand their surrender in the King's name.

As he was moving into position however, he had noticed motion at the other side of the clearing. He had frozen in place, and watched, surprised, as no less than four wagons began advancing across the field to join the other three. Will had stopped then, realizing that he had grossly underestimated these men in regard to their numbers. What he had expected to be a small gathering of bandits—no more than ten—had turned into a rather huge meeting of close to thirty.

Even the aura of fear and mystery that surrounded a Ranger would not allow him, a single man, to subdue thirty. It had turned into a much bigger problem than he had anticipated and he had known that he would need help. He had just decided to go back and head to a relatively near-by soldier's garrison and village to get some, when some instinct made him turn.

He did not know why or what had caused it—perhaps it had been some small yet out of place noise—but he looked behind him just in time to see another barge heading down the river. The semi-large craft was just about to round the bend. He could tell at a glance that this one's crew was about ten strong. Cursing, he had realized that he was trapped in between two forces. He had also known that if either of those two forces saw him he would be done for. There was no way he could fight through so many and, simultaneously, no way an operation of this magnitude would ever dream of keeping a loose end, such as himself, alive if they caught him.

The large clumsy watercraft began rounding the bend, and Will knew he would never make it to the safety of the forest. Nor could he jump to the other side of the hedge without being seen by the bandits in the clearing. So, in the split second before the barge had rounded the bend fully, he had done the only thing he could. He used the scant shrub he was near as a last ditch effort for covering, as he merged with it.

The shrub bushes were rather gangly and would never have provided enough cover to shield a normal man and he had known it. But he had also known that he had an asset that a normal man did not have, his Ranger cloak.

"Trust the cloak," the old Ranger mantra that Halt had drilled into him had rung through his mind. So he had wrapped himself in the folds of his cloak and held completely still underneath the scant covering of his bush that was, by pure misfortune, the furthest one out into the field.

All that had led to where he was crouched now, trapped. So far, his training and his cloak had kept him from being discovered—despite the fact that he was practically sitting out in the open. Perhaps Gilan was right about him having a strange affinity for finding all manner of danger, he thought ruefully as he watched the second barge make landing behind the first one.

By now, the others had already spread out around the field to make camp and station guards. He was completely surrounded on almost all sides. He felt that customary butterfly feeling of pent up nerves, which usually assailed him before a mission, assail him even more strongly than before. He was like a fly trapped in the center of a spider's web, and the only thing keeping him alive was the mere fact that the spider did not yet know of his presence… but it would only be a matter of time until they did.

Will shook his head inwardly. They hadn't seen him yet and there was no reason to think that any of them suddenly would. He tried to calm himself. All he needed to do was stay still until nightfall and, under cover of darkness, he would be able to make his escape, get the help he needed, and finally stop the bandits. He could do it. He could get through this. Besides, he thought to himself, he was in so very deep now that the only way it could possibly be any worse for him was if he were to be spotted…

But he was wrong.

He felt his heart sink as he looked back at the barge and saw that the last man to disembark didn't do it alone. He had three war dogs following him on heavy leashes. War dogs, Will knew, were bred for the sole purpose of hunting down and killing anyone who their owners deemed a threat. And so they were now Will's biggest threat. If the dogs caught his scent and alerted their owners to his presence, he was done for. He felt his skin grow suddenly cold.

A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm an aspiring writer who really likes to learn how I can improve my work; so feedback is more than appreciated. Don't hesitate to let me know if you see any mistakes that I can better. Funny thing is, I've honestly learned more writing fanfiction then I ever learned in a classroom setting. Next chapter should be out in a week if all goes well and school doesn't eat me alive (fingers crossed). If not, it should be out in two weeks at the latest. Thanks again!

Question: Is anyone else super excited about the new book?