"Not bad for a few weeks of this." A man weighed the small sack of clinking gold coins in the palm of his hand. The few men around him muttered "aye" in agreement as they packed up their various tents and personal items. The bandits hired by the Outsiders were at their camp, staying behind as most of the converted marched towards Castle Dun Kilty in a frenzy of anger.

"You reckon we should leave now, meet Jenkins on the way?"

"Nah, he said he would be back after Tenny and his group leave for Araluen. Besides, I don't fancy packing his stuff up for him."

"I dunno, he never said how long it would take for them to be done and leave. But if we're late to Araluen that's a quarter of our payment gone." The first man shrugged.

"If we leave him behind who knows what he'll do to us? He's been off his rockers since last week." Chuckles of agreement as the men relaxed in the cool shade.

"Oi, one of you go fetch Fendrel, his shift is near over and there's not a soul in these woods anyway."

The first man shrugged a why not; he was feeling restless anyway. He pocketed his payment of gold coins carefully and let out a small groan as he stretched.

The scout outpost they had thrown together was a short walk away, hidden strategically behind three towering trees. The rough shelter blended in well with its surroundings. It was virtually impossible to find unless one sees someone else enter or leave. This is why they came up with a system of "knock on wood" to alert the people inside. The bandit did so; he stooped and picked up a well sized rock, swiftly tapping it on a knot in a tree. Waiting impatiently, he tapped the pattern again. "You better not have fallen asleep in there again, Fen."

No response.

Suddenly, a prickly sense of unease filled him. It may have been due to the feeling of a sharp point digging into his spine, or more likely than not because of the multitude of men that were suddenly surrounding him. Based on their uniforms, they were palace guards and knights, though some dressed differently with another unidentifiable insignia.

"Well well well, found another one."

The bandit slowly raised his hands into the air while internally cursing himself for leaving his weapon at camp. A prod from the sword sent him kneeling on the ground. Rough hands bound his wrists and ankles as he was searched for weapons. "Go join the other one, you filthy bandit." One of the knights spat. The bandit was half dragged next to the hideout, where he could see an unconscious Fen also tied up.

"Is he dead?" The bandit asked quietly.

The captain of the guard looked up in surprise. "Him? No, we're not cold-blooded killers. Has a nasty bruise on his head though." He eyed the bandit thoughtfully. "I thought you were the immoral killers."

"Far from it, I've never killed once in my life." The bandit snorted.

"For some odd reason, I'm not sure I trust you." The guard rolled his eyes.

"Probably for the best."

"Captain! Stop gossiping and get your backside over here!" A knight called crossly.

As the guard jogged away, the bandit strained his ears for any snippets of information.

"Why didn't you gag him?" The knight hissed in the captain's ear.

"You said yourself, we need him to talk, don't we?" The captain shot back.

"Yes, but that was because one of your men knocked the first one unconscious!"

"So you would agree that I should leave him ungagged for now."

The knight shifted his grip on the hilt of his sword. Unfortunately, this action was seen by the bandit, who was then rather quick to the inference that this uncoordinated group of soldiers and men only had the element of surprise in their favor.

Bandits, especially those like cornered rats, fight viciously.

Well, the bandit thought. Here goes their surprise. He twisted in the general direction of the camp, hoping that one of those lazy clods would hear him before he would likely be killed. He took a breath.

"SOLDIERS AMBUSH HELP HER-"

He was cut short by a flash of a blade.

"Somehow, I knew he was going to do that." The knight sighed as he wiped his sword on the grass. The soldiers raised their weapons as they were met by the armed and wary bandits.

Halt could feel a sense of dread building inside as he watched the healer's twisted expression. The cold feeling returned again, clamping back down on his heart, just as the ranger thought the worse had been over. His throat was as dry as paper. "How long had…" He managed to croak out quietly.

Ayana shook her head slightly. "Six hours. You missed him by six hours."

"And O'Bri… Sean?"

"He couldn't handle it. I… He left." The healer sat down on the bench next to the door miserably. "Too late… I was late."

Halt looked back at Gilan, who was curled up like a cat and snoring gently with a peaceful expression on his face. He thought of Crowley, who was waiting for them in Araluen. How would they react? A friend, an unofficial apprentice, a young boy. Gone?

"I'm sorry." Ayana whispered. "He didn't suffer."

"He wasn't even supposed to be here." Halt said softly. "But if he hadn't been... Gilan wouldn't be here." He bowed his head, though his face remained emotionless. "Where did Sean go?"

She gestured vaguely towards the tavern. "He went there. It's not open because of the riot, but who's there to stop him? Please, be careful." The healer added the last sentence as Halt walked purposefully away. "A grieving father is often unpredictable."

"I know."

"One more thing…" Ayana laid a hand on his arm. "What do I tell your son when he wakes up?"

The comment threw him off a little. Halt's response that Gilan wasn't his son died on his lips as he looked back once again. Shaking his head, he muttered "Don't tell him yet, please. I'll tell him myself later. Just say Clarke is… that he shouldn't be disturbed." Halt stepped out the door.

The dark tavern door eased open quietly. Faint light spilled in as the figure silhouetted walked in. The smell of spilled alcohol was present, though with only two people in the room it doesn't seem as pungent as normal.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" A hoarse voice asked. The sound of him swallowing seemed to echo in the empty tavern.

Halt waited as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the room. "I've heard breaking and entering was illegal, not to mention stealing." He saw the man's shoulders shrug.

"It's not if no one finds out." The words were slightly slurred, indicating the amount of drink that had already been consumed.

Halt felt a brief flash of anger at the frankly pitiful scene in front of him.

Sean O'Brien was seated at a table in the corner, drinking from a large mug liberated from the counter. His red rimmed eyes squinted at the light coming from outside as he poured himself another drink. He sniffed and turned away, slouching in the chair.

"That is enough." Halt said quietly.

O'Brien said nothing, instead taking another long draft.

The ranger's soft footsteps caused the floorboards to creak as he crossed to the table and sat down carefully. "Sean."

"Oh what, you almighty meddling spy." O'Brien snapped, "Cannta man get a drink in peace?"

"I think you've had more than just a drink by now." Halt muttered. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I thought you were intelligent." The man snorted. "I'm tryin to forget everything that 'appened the past few days."

Halt paused, pondering on how to proceed. "Forget about… what about-"

"Don't you even mention him." O'Brien's eyes blazed with sudden anger. "Yes, forget 'bout him. Especially him. If not for him, I'd be enjoying a drink with a nice sack of gold coins in my pocket with not a care in the world. If not for 'im I… I…"

"You would be with the Outsiders, or fighting the soldiers sent to ambush your camp." Halt replied with a hint of steel in his voice. "If not for Clarke and Gilan, you would still be under their command, a loyal lapdog doing their dirty work for a small payment. You would be living this repetitive life of lies and drinking your earnings and troubles away. Like you always do."

The table shook as a fist slammed on its surface. "Do you not think I know?" O'Brien yelled. "That life would still have been much better than this! To have a chance of life and redemption with a son for four days and be the reason he's now dead!" The amber liquid in the tankard spilled out, but the man didn't seem to care. Rather, he looked as if he would like to throw the tankard at Halt's head. "NO parent should have to bury their own child. You don't know how I feel; why I want to forget. I wish you lot had never come here. This is YOUR fault!" He stood, fists clenched.

The ranger shot up with his saxe drawn instinctively as the other man advanced. "I don't know?" Halt asked, his voice dangerously low. "Do you not think I cared for him also? I knew him longer than you had. He was as good a friend to me as he was to Gilan. You think I wouldn't have tried to prevent this if I had known?" He continued slowly backing towards the door, checking the window to see that Abelard was standing outside.

"It's different. He's not your SON." O'Brien roared. He charged towards the slim figure, who had one hand on the doorknob.

As quick as lightning, Halt sidestepped and stuck out a foot, effectively tripping O'Brien. An iron grip tightened on the back of the man's tunic as Halt used O'Brien's momentum to heaved him out the door.

Head first into the conveniently waiting water trough.

O'Brien came up sputtering, clawing at the hand still holding his collar. "What was that for?!"

"Hopefully that knocked some sense back into you." Halt growled. "You are a coward. This is how you prove you loved him? I can see why he left." He spat, not caring for O'Brien's cringe.

"I can't change the past." O'Brien muttered.

"No," Halt agreed, "You can't." He removed his hand and allowed the other man to sit back.

A strange choking sound emitted from the still form. Halt realized with a start that O'Brien was laughing. Tears leaked out of the man's eyes, mingling with the water still streaming from his wet hair.

After a few more wheezes, he looked up. "It's funny, isn't it, how it all crashes and burns around you? It's all there for a second, and then it's gone, like smoke." O'Brien buried his face in his hands. "The worst part is, it's all your fault in the end. No matter what you do. We create our own demons, and they burn our whole world down." He looked up at the grim ranger still standing beside him. "How do you get rid of them?"