(A/N): Not related to chapters 1, 2, or 3. At all. Thanks for reading this far!

Dead.

Horace paused.

He couldn't be. No.

He turned his head, looking for the laughter in one of their eyes, hoping it was some kind of cruel joke. It had to be a joke, right? They always did some stupid joke for his birthday, with him as the mastermind of it all.

He was always the one to come up with the jokes. Always.

So, this had to be a joke right? He couldn't be dead.

Horace made eye contact with Gilan, across the room. His cloths were soaked deep, and covered in mud. Gil had said they had been late. Late for coming here.

His face, though covered in mud and dripping with rain, was red, mainly around his eyes. When he spoke, which seemed to Horace far away, and muffled, didn't sound right to begin with. Almost as if he had been screaming, and had screamed his throat raw.

Horace turned, looking for Halt, and seeing Alyss. She was sitting on a couch, hugging herself. Lady Pauline was to her left, her arms wrapped around the courier. Halt was to her other side, a hand on her shoulder, and head bent close to her. He seemed to be speaking quietly. Comforting her.

Someone squeezed his hand gently, yet firmly. Horace looked to his side. Cassie. Evanlyn. She had tears streaming down her face. They were holding hands, and her free hand was drifting near her neck, as if it couldn't decide why it had moved.

That's when Horace realized he was crying too.

Duncan was standing behind his desk, hands resting on either side of the large oak table. His head was bent over, and Horace couldn't see his face.

Crowley was leaning on the desk, to the side of Duncan. He looked to be in a state of shock, his arms crossed over his chest, but his eyes wide and unfocused, looking at nothing over Gilan's shoulder.

" . . . out of nowhere, Blaze and Tug didn't even know they were there until we were practically surrounded. The horses didn't even get time to react, not until Will was pulled from the saddle. From what I could tell, he had already loosed a few shots, taking down a few of . . . "

Horace stopped listening.

" . . . them before they even know we are there." Sir David straightened up, and looked over the other gathered knights.

"What if we place a few troops in front of the bridge behind them as well, cutting off any form of retreat? The forest are very thick, just as was stated before. That means they can only go forward or back. We've already established we'll be blocking the front, but blocking the back would be a good reassurance. And it might be a good idea to put a few extra troops in the trees as well." Rodney pointed out the places on the map, indicating the bridge and the forests marked on either side of the path.

Sir David nodded, and seemed to accept Rodney's idea. Then, "But it's just as you say, Rodney, the forests are thick enough to cut off their retreat. While cutting off their retreat from both ends is probably a good idea, putting troops in the trees will be impossible. They won't be able to fight their way through the forest with all of their equipment."

Rodney nodded, and stepped back. He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. That's when Crowley stepped forward.

"Do it the day before. Have your men use minimum equipment, and I'll have a Ranger take a troop or two through each side of the forest. I personally have been through it a few times, and it's really only the edges around the path that are extremely thick. Other than that, I think everything sounds good." The older Ranger smiled.

David nodded, satisfied. "That's good with me. Horace? What do you think?"

Horace, who'd been keeping quiet the entire meeting, looked up. He'd been reading something, a single sheet, but when David called to him, he folded the sheet up, and tucked it into an inside pocket. He had been only half-listening, but he understood what the end product was. Baron Tyler had been setting up small pieces on the map that everyone was gathered by. Horace was able to glance briefly at it, take note of where the Araluen pieces were placed, how the enemy pieces were, and was able to come up with something so say. He vaguely remembered Halt tell him last time they spoke that he had been acting different ever since . . .

He nodded. "What about placing Rangers with the troops that are at each end of the path. That may take up two more Rangers in all, but, as Rodney said, adding that would be a good reassurance."

Crowley glanced up at him. He hadn't thought that Horace had been listening at all, yet the young knight had been able to add something to the conversation and plans. The Commandant nodded. "Yes, that would actually be a good precaution to take. Give the troops extra support."

Everyone in the room seemed to agree. Everyone was nodding, and some even had grim smiles.

Horace left silently.

"Have we decided who's taking command of each troop?" Duncan hadn't been present at the meeting, having a separate meeting of his own.

Crowley shrugged. "Well, it's already been determined that a Ranger will be with each side. They can at least give any input they want to. Other than that, Rodney and David have volunteered. Halt, who again volunteered, says that he can command a troop perfectly fine by himself. I honestly agree with him. That just leaves one commander and three Rangers."

"Hmm . . . well, I'll leave finding the three Rangers to you. Maybe Tyler-"

"I can do it."

Duncan slowly lifted his head, knowing he knew already who had spoken, because it was only the three of them present in his office. Crowley winced, he too knowing who spoke.

Horace straightened his back, trying to show no pain. His request wouldn't be given if they knew the amount of pain he was enduring at the moment.

"Horace . . . " Duncan started, unsure how to continue, "you're injured. Shot in the shoulder, weren't you?"

The knight nodded, "Yes, but that was over a month ago. I'm not completely healed, but enough to be able to protect myself as well as if I was completely healthy. And I'll have a Ranger with me if anything goes wrong."

Duncan looked unconvinced.

Horace shifted his shield position. His arm was numb from pain, and he doubted that he could block even a single sword stroke, and a clumsy one at that. The shadows of the men around him were shifting constantly, and he heard Gilan next to him call out for silence.

In the end, he'd won the argument with Duncan and Crowley, but he had to settle with having a check-in with the healer who'd originally patched his arm up. And John, who'd been christened Johnny years ago, was absolutely furious. Yes, Horace's arm was mostly healed, but it was nowhere near what it had once been, and wouldn't be so until at least another month. Johnny went on for at least ten minutes about how Horace wouldn't last a minute in an actual fight; his arm wouldn't be able to support his heavy shield, and would collapse in if the shield was actually hit with anything. He wasn't willing to give Horace the clear to command the remaining troop; the bridge troop, which was placed only to prevent a retreat.

He refused to listen to Horace's protests and explanations, and in return accused Horace of being something near suicidal.

Finally Horace was forced to explain why he needed to be in command of one of the troops.

And the healer hesitated. And then questioned. And when he heard the answers, he paused to think. He then relented. Horace had been called suicidal again by John as he was filling out the mandatory sheet.

Suddenly, a flame flared up, immediately in front of Gilan and him. Blaze and Kicker bucked and reared to the sides, desperately trying to avoid the licking and eager flames. That's when the screams broke the silence behind them.

Had they been ambushed? But-but . . .

Horace's eyes were wide. He didn't notice when Gilan unsheathed his sword, and went forward into the sudden battle in front of them. He didn't see his troops being slaughtered in front of him. He was thinking.

If they were being ambushed, than that meant that either his source was wrong or had lied to him. Put him in a trap, because they needed him dead or taken? Horace shook his head, and finally took the time to look around him.

What he saw was the pure chaos he'd only ever seen on battlefields. He saw both his men and the ambushers men fall to blades and arrows. Horace started to reach for his own sword, intending to join, to help.

His arm throbbed. He hesitated. His head hurt. He'd been having headaches ever since Will . . . Johnny said it was probably a result of his recent depression. Johnny said he noticed it a few months after Will . . . Horace shook his head. He had no right to be in the condition he was, and blame it on Will's . . . Alyss had it worse. She lost her husband. Her soulmate. Horace shouldn't be depressed. He should be sad, yes, because he lost his brother.

Horace looked back through the chaos of the ambush. Through it, he saw one of the ambushers draw a . . . was that a saxe? Or a short sword? Horace watched the man draw the weapon out of an Araluen soldier's chest. The man was dressed differently than the other ambushers. Instead of a uniform, it was just a dull gray cloak over what looked like a forester's clothing. The man turned around, and made eye contact with Horace, even through the fray that was between them.

Horace nearly threw up.

Will's face was twisted in a gruesome smile. His face was splattered with the blood of the soldier that he had just gutted, and his eyes were wide. His eyes. His eyes were blank.

Not blank like he was blind, but . . . expressionless. He'd seen someone's eyes like that before. Alyss. Back north in Macindaw.

It had been five years since Will disappeared - killed. Yet he'd been alive the entire time. Who knows what they did to him.

Horace pulled his sword out, and started to move Kicker into the battle. He looked away from Will, not wanting to stare into those empty eyes any longer.

The Oakleaf Knight blocked one, two, three hits, and cut down his opponent. Easy, as it was instinct for him. Four, five, another down.

He paused, he needed to rest. His arm sent waves of pain every time someone hit his shield. Someone was watching him. Horace turned, and came face-to-face with Will. Or whatever had replaced him, in his own body.

His face was still twisted. His eyes still blank. Blood from the first soldier had dried on his sunken cheeks. His saxe knife was still dripping blood.

Horace didn't attempt to block as the saxe knife slashed towards chest.