A/N: Happy New Year Everyone! (That is, if you celebrate New Year on the first of January—as opposed to celebrating it according to the lunar calendar) X) Here's the next chapter. It's a little on the long side, but I had a lot I needed to get out before I moved on to the next one, so I hope you all don't mind, and that it proves to be enjoyable anyway XD. Thanks so much for reading!

Guest: Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad to hear you like it so far X)

TrustTheCloak: Thanks so much for the review! It made my day to read. I'm glad you liked the fight scene, I'm always a little worried about getting those right so I'm glad it turned out okay. To answer your question, yes, for the most part it's only Halt who remembers everything. Also, there'll be more about Gilan's past in the chapter after next if all goes well. Thanks again!

jaymzNshed: Thanks so much for the review and the compliment, I really appreciate it. There will definitely be some beating up of slavery in this chapter XD

Dragonslover98: Thanks for the review and the encouragement! Hopefully this next chapter will turn out alright and bring about a few of those points you mentioned XD Thanks again!

WisperRanger26: Awwww :3 Thanks so much for the compliment and the review: it was really encouraging and I appreciate it.

helloyesimhere: Thanks for the review, and for the compliment, It really means a lot and made my day to read :D

Chapter 8: The Lost and Withstanding Part III

~x~X~x~

A Couple Years Previous

~x~X~x~

It was cold outside, winter having just started to settle into the land. The rag that was being pressed against his swollen and split lip was also cold. But none of that was as cold as the feeling that had settled into his chest.

"He just got so angry," Will found himself saying. It was as if someone had broken a dam, the water flowing out past the point of stopping. "And then he just hit me," he finished miserably. He looked up despite the dark cold hurt settling into his chest and into the warm sympathetic eyes of Helen as she finished cleaning the cut. Her old lined face was soft with concern.

"I'm so sorry Will," she told him gently, pulling him into a comforting hug.

He was such a bright, friendly and sweet boy. He deserved more than this life. But she lacked the means and the ability to help him get out. There was very little that she could do for him other than give him a safe place for a few moments, and all support and care that Dorian and his family should be giving him but weren't. She couldn't help but shake her head as she moved off, looking for a specific herbal paste to help the cut to mend. Her mind wasn't as sharp as it used to be lately and that often led to her forgetting exactly where she put certain items. She was still rooting around for it when he said something that made her heart sink.

"Did I deserve it?" he asked in a small hesitant voice.

She turned and looked sharply at him. He was sitting with his head down, hands clenched in his lap and legs swinging lightly as they were too short to reach the ground from the chair he was perched on. Her hands clasped around the jar she'd sought, and she moved towards him with it in hand. She cupped his face gently in her hands as she tended the cut and the two other bruises while she struggled to frame the right words to say in response.

"Sometimes people can be cruel and harm those that they care about," she said finally, "when they lose themselves in anger or hurt. But that doesn't make it right, mind you. You didn't deserve that Will. Everyone makes mistakes when they are learning something new and difficult. If Dorian is a decent man, and if he has half a mind's worth of sense, he'll realize this when he's calmed down—realize he's also made a pretty big mistake and never do it again. He was the one in the wrong, not you." She paused and then added, "And, Will, if he ever flies into a rage like that again, know that my door is always open to you."

The aroma of the biscuits she'd set to cook started to fill the air and she smiled. "I think they're ready, don't you?"

He sniffed the air and smiled too as he agreed.

"Why don't you help me put some honey over the tops of them and then we'll sit down and eat," she said, in an attempt to distract him from his dark thoughts and pain. It worked for he smiled eagerly, hopping off his chair to help lend a hand.

About a half an hour later, Will sat at her small table near the fire of the stove and across from her, warm sticky honey covering his fingers, his stomach pleasantly full, and the stringing on his face subsiding to a barely noticeable ache. Warm food, warm fire, and warm company seemed finally to chase all that cold away—at least for a while.

~x~X~x~

Present Day

~x~X~x~

It had been a couple of days since Horace had become… well, sort of Gilan's apprentice, he supposed. It hadn't exactly been what he'd expected. He'd expected Gilan to teach him mostly swordsmanship or tactics. But Gilan had had him do many other things as well—things that Horace often found a little odd, until Gilan explained the reasoning behind them. Chief amongst these were strange agility exercises, menial tasks, as well as the occasional request to think about something and to, more often than not, "pay attention, look around you". There had been many times over the past few days when Gilan had pointed out several things that Horace had missed or brushed over because he'd thought them inconsequential.

"It's often noticing the little things that helps keep you alive," Gilan had told him often. "You'd be surprised at what you can find out if you pay attention. Information is something that you can use to your advantage, no matter the situation."

That last was something the young knight had been trying to take to heart, mostly because he'd been trying hard to prove himself a worthy student. He really wanted to get it right. In an attempt to practice, he had started trying to pay attention more closely to the things around him. For the past couple days, he'd even been he been testing out this technique on Gilan.

To his surprise, he had actually learned a few things about him. He had a few peculiar habits that Horace had noticed. For a wanderer, he was surprisingly clean and took care over his appearance. He was always clean shaven and fairly well groomed. His attention to tidiness went past his appearance too. He also always kept a well organized and neat kit… In fact, that was something that he had a bit of a non-budging stance on, Horace thought a little ruefully.

Generally, Gilan let Horace be, leaving him free to make his own decisions in regards to himself. This consequently had led to Horace deciding to ignore his own kit: partially because he no longer saw the need, and partially in a minor rebellion to the Battleschool that had kicked him out.

But Gilan had shown him the fault in that the next morning when he had shouted that they were under attack before Horace had woken fully for the day.

Disoriented, Horace had jerked awake, fumbling blindly through his kit for the things he needed in order to help fight back. He had ended up knocking himself and his kit over and had been frantically scrabbling for his things when he'd heard the sound of Gilan's laughter. Horace had stopped fumbling and looked up to see the woodsman leaning against a tree, grinning at the mess that Horace had made, and at his position: lying face down in the dirt and covered by his things. Horace had reddened at what he thought to be a very stupid and pointless joke.

"That's not funny!" he'd protested. "You made me think that we were really under attack!"

"Good," Gilan said, still grinning. "Learn anything?" he'd asked then, innocently.

Horace had lain there, blank-faced for a moment until Gilan had moved away from the tree and gestured to his spilled gear.

"If there really were a bandit, he could have happily run you through while you were tripping over and tangling yourself up in, your own gear."

Horace had flushed again as he'd realized that Gilan was right, that the strict attention knight's had on orderly kits did have a worthy purpose other than making the lives of cadets miserable.

"You're right, Sir," he'd admitted quietly, but then had added with some heat, "You could have just told me!"

"Could have," Gilan had nodded solemnly but then had been unable to keep the smile from his face, "But it wouldn't have been half as amusing."

Horace shook his head and sighed at the memory before switching his attention back to Gilan who was bent over his cook pot, which he had hung over their campfire, trying to cook them breakfast.

"Would you like to try?" Gilan offered mildly from where he was adding the chopped vegetables in with the sizzling meat. Horace was taken aback by the suggestion.

"Me, cook? But that's peasant woman's work," he said off-handedly.

Gilan looked up from the frying pan and offered Horace a coy smile as he batted his eyelashes. "Why Horace," he said airily, "I'm flattered you noticed."

As he said it, Horace flushed, realizing that what he had said could easily be perceived as offensive—in more ways than one. He really hadn't thought very hard about it before he'd spoken, and he already regretted that.

"What I mean is that it's usually peasant woman's work…" he tried to blunder his way through it, though he stopped as he met Gilan's steady, now blank-faced, gaze and raised eyebrow. "Isn't it?" he finished lamely, gesturing ineffectually with his free hand, his face burning.

"Why don't we ask a peasant woman?" Gilan said, still blank-faced, sarcasm tingeing his words. "I'm sure I saw several lurking in the bushes and trees yesterday."

Horace flushed further, catching the point; in their position, it hardly mattered if it was peasant woman's work or not. If they couldn't cook, they wouldn't eat, he realized.

Gilan smiled at him then, shaking his head. "It's a good skill to know, especially when you live like we do. Besides that, there are many men in this kingdom, and a few women from noble or merchant families, who are cooks and chefs for the Barons or for restaurants, you know."

Horace nodded, a little sheepishly. "I get it: any skill you can learn is a good one."

"Glad you agree," Gilan said brightly, passing him a knife and a couple of the cloves of wild garlic he had found that morning. "Chop that into really small pieces, would you."

Horace took the knife and cloves and smiled ruefully, finding a flat rock to use as a chopping board and applying himself to the task.

"Garlic is usually something you add last," Gilan said cheerfully. "It cooks very fast; if you add it too soon, you'll burn it."

Horace nodded, his expression now one of extreme seriousness and concentration as he watched and listened attentively. Gilan had to turn away slightly to hide a smile.

After an only lightly burned breakfast, courtesy of Horace's most valiant attempts at cooking, another swordsmanship lesson, and after Horace had finally finished cleaning up the chainmail and helm he'd gotten from the lead bandit from the village they'd saved, they left the woods and headed back to the small town of Hawley. Gilan had it in mind to check there one last time for any job opportunities. Since there'd been no bounty notices or mercenary contracts, that meant that they'd be heading to the tavern to see if they could overhear anything that might be profitable, Horace had learned.

~x~X~x~

Will swept his gaze across the tavern for a third time, frowning. All the people he'd talked to in this town had directed him to this particular tavern when he'd asked about the Commoner's Knights. He chewed thoughtfully on his lip as he tried to decide what to do.

Ahead of him, sitting at a table, was a tall slim man around twenty or so. Across from him was a youth who appeared to be about Will's own age. The younger one said something after taking a sip from his tankard and the older one laughed only to be joined by the younger one.

Will's hand closed around the satchel that held his precious coin purse. He hesitated for about the tenth time since he'd come in. By all the descriptors that he'd been given when he'd asked, these two were the closest match to the two he sought. The problem was that they fit nothing with the mental picture he'd built up. When he'd heard them called the Commoner's Knights, he'd expected them to look like how he often pictured his father: Burly men immaculately dressed in glittering armor. And, by the descriptions, the older one would be wearing a hooded green surcoat.

The older one was wearing a green hooded surcoat, true. But he looked more like a forester than a knight and he was, as Will had thought earlier, slim of build. The younger looked to have more of the build of a knight. But, aside from a chainmail shirt, and a simple conical helmet that was placed on the table near him, he had no armor at all, and his clothing was very travel-worn. All in all, neither were the least bit knightly. Also, the way they behaved was different than he'd expected. He had thought that they'd be older men, disciplined, and serious. Their lighthearted conversation and manner had taken him by surprise. He wasn't entirely certain that he'd found the right people.

Then he looked at the older one again, watching as he laughed and joked with the younger one. He seemed friendly enough. Decided, Will stepped forwards towards their table.

The older one noticed Will coming towards their table immediately and turned his attention towards him. He looked a question at Will. Will returned the friendly looking smile on his face, and continued forward until they were only steps apart.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the younger one looking at him too. Though, his look was a little on the scathing side. Will couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious at that. He knew he probably looked more than a little ragged. His clothes were very worn and too small for him. Making certain that Will had clothes that were nice and fit well wasn't usually one of Dorian's top priorities.

However, Will was distracted a little from this thought when the older one spoke. "Is there something I can do for you, young fellow?" he asked cheerfully as soon as Will was close enough to hear him clearly over the bustle and clatter of the tavern.

"Maybe?" Will said and then blurted, "Are you two the Commoner's Knights?"

His heart sank when both of them looked surprised or confused at the question.

"You're not them are you?" Will said then, the dread slowly morphing into desperation and fear. If he couldn't find the Commoner's Knights and convince them to help, his whole village would be destroyed. The slavers would attack and all the people would be taken—including Helen. And it would all be Will's fault because he hadn't been able to stop it. His breathing sped up even as his heart started to pound. He can't have traveled all this way just to fail now. He felt an uncomfortable stinging sensation prickling at his eyes.

The older one, obviously picking up on Will's nearly palpable distress, spoke again, gesturing to seat at their table.

"Why don't you sit down," he said, his tone turning surprisingly gentle, and then added, "Maybe if you tell us about who you're looking for, we might be able to help you find them."

Will was a little taken aback by the offer and the genuine concern on their faces, but obliged none the less, grasping onto the barest sliver of hope that had just been offered. He gratefully sunk into a seat, the exhaustion brought on by his long journey and by the anxiety seeming to catch up with him all at once.

"So, who exactly are these 'Commoner's Knights' of yours?" the older one asked then.

Will nodded, finding his voice. "They're two sell swords," he began, "and they just recently saved a village from bandits—and they helped keep an old man from being robbed on his way to the market here in Hawley."

He saw both of them look at each other. This time, it was the younger one who spoke.

"We were actually the ones who did that," he said carefully.

"But we've never been called Commoner's Knights before to my knowledge," the older one finished, grinning as he obviously found the name amusing. Then he held out his hand to Will. "Name's Gilan, and this," he pointed to his young companion, "this is Horace."

~x~X~x~

It was the very next morning and the dawn of the Spring Festival that found Will standing in the fringe of the woods that overlooked the open space where the celebrations were to be held. Beside him stood both Gilan and Horace, armed and ready for a fight.

Gilan had listened with unguarded interest when Will had explained about how he had found out about the slavers and about the treachery of the Watch Commander. There were even a few times that Will thought that the warrior had looked at him with something similar to… was it approval, perhaps? The younger one, Horace, had mostly only been interested when Will described the slavers, their numbers, and the weaponry that they had that he could remember. Will, for his part, had just been happy that they'd listened instead of dismissing him outright.

In the end, Gilan had accepted his offer of coins and had followed him all the way back to Bawtry. By the time they'd arrived, there was only about an hour or so before the festival was due to start. Horace and Gilan had made a quick and rough sort of camp near Will's hollow oak. It was there that they had discussed their options and rough plans for the upcoming fight before they headed to the woods around the clearing where the festival was already getting started.

Although he'd only known Gilan for a very short time, there was something about him that Will found himself liking. After Will's initial disappointment had worn off, it had very quickly been replaced with sort of awe. He had consequently, been a little nervous and self-conscious around him when they'd first set off. Gilan's manner, however, had put him at ease very quickly. He also seemed to know exactly what he was about—Horace too—Will found himself thinking. He was almost certain that they would have a chance now.

As Will watched from his concealed position, he could see that people were flocking steadily to the open space, setting up stalls and tables of ale and food. There were even some of the village musicians setting out and tuning their instruments to play. Everyone seemed extremely happy and relaxed—completely oblivious to the danger that Will knew awaited them. He felt a pang at the thought, though that was quickly overshadowed by determination. Will looked up, bringing his focus back to Gilan as he spoke.

"Now that I see the way it's all being set up, I'm thinking that Will here was right when he thought that it would be a good idea to keep the people from sticking so closely together. A good way of keeping them from being rounded up would be to start some sort of diversion in the center of the grounds to drive the people away." He chewed thoughtfully on a thumbnail as he considered. "A fire is always good for that," he said finally. "I could try to find some way to set that cart of straw on fire. It's close enough to the tables and stalls to cause an uproar."

"Maybe I should be the one to do it," Will found himself blurting before he'd thought it through completely. He cleared his throat a little nervously, feeling his face heat up when he saw both mercenaries' eyes focused on him. Horace's look seemed doubtful and a touch scathing, but Gilan seemed surprised and perhaps even open. It gave Will the confidence he needed to hurry on. "I mean, if you're seen, they'll know you're an outsider and be suspicious of you. But I'm a familiar face and most people are used to ignoring me."

"Gil's really good a moving around quietly and without being seen," Horace said immediately in defense of his friend.

"I am," Gilan said simply, and Will found himself believing him instantly—mostly because his words were without the barest hint of pride or boasting. "But it'll be hard here," Gilan added. "There's almost no cover and, as Will said, it's a small village. Everyone knows everybody else. I was thinking that I'd either have to use fire arrows or have Horace here ride in with an obvious diversionary attack. But both of those reveal us and our position. If you are certain you can do it, Will, then I'm willing to let you give it a shot." He met Will's gaze searching until Will nodded seriously.

"I want to help," Will said earnestly and Gilan inclined his head.

"Just make certain that you hurry back here as soon as you light the fire. I might need you to help point out the slavers if things start to get confused." He reached into his kit and then handed Will flint, tinder, and a small flask of cooking wine to help the fire get started faster. Will took it and was about to move forwards when Gilan stopped him.

"Best wait a while, Will. If you set it too early, they'll just put it out and everyone will come back before the slavers strike. We need to try and time it just before the slavers make their move. You two stay here and I'll scout the tree line to see if I can't spot them coming."

With that, Gilan left, seeming to melt away into the trees; Horace really hadn't been lying Will found himself thinking as he watched, or rather tired to watch, him go. The two boys stayed put, crouching behind some low scrubs and watching as the festival began to take full swing. The waiting seemed like hours to Will. Already he felt his heartbeat racing in anticipation of the part he was going to play. Nerves made it so that neither he nor Horace spoke. Will also wasn't quite certain of what to think about the big muscular boy, and that made it even more awkward.

Finally, Gilan returned and signaled to them both. He had them back up into the deeper shadows of the trees before they rose fully. Gilan pointed to a few places on the fringe of the woodland about ninety degrees opposite to where they stood. As they watched, they could just make out traces of movement as, whom Will guessed were the slavers, congregated in preparation for their attack.

"It looks like they'll be mobilizing soon," Gilan said simply, his expression serious.

"Very soon," Horace said, pointing towards the southern end of the festival. "While you were gone, I watched the Watch Captain approach all his men and send them off towards the south end of the field, away from the villagers. They'll be undefended."

Both Will and Gilan followed the direction he indicated and saw that he was right.

"Good eye," Gilan said approvingly and Horace beamed at the praise. Gilan turned to Will then. "Now would be a good time to light that fire." He said, placing an encouraging hand on Will's shoulder. "That is, if you're still certain you want to do this. If you don't want to anymore, or are unsure, just say so now and we'll do something else."

"I can do this," Will said decisively and Gilan nodded in answer, believing him. That boosted Will's confidence enough to start moving forward. Before he could talk himself out of it, Will started to make his way down and into the festival. As he was known to the villagers, nobody paid him any mind. He was able to get to the cart of hay in the middle of the grounds relatively unnoticed. He waited for a moment when nobody was looking, and then dumped Gilan's cooking wine over a section of the straw.

Heart in his mouth, he once again gave a nervous glance around. He'd done quite a few pranks in his time, but he knew that none of the villagers would consider lighting a fire a mere prank. He could get in serious trouble if he was caught, despite his reasons for doing it. He let out a short breath when he saw that nobody had noticed. He crouched in the cart's shadow and stuck the flint to steel, grounding the spark in the tinder. Once he had it, he stuck it inside the cart near where he'd poured the wine. Then he moved away quickly as the fire flared immediately to life.

Will hurried back towards where he had last seen Gilan and Horace. He was halfway there when many voices rose up in fear with the cry of: "FIRE!" Will chanced a glance behind him to see many people scattering or moving to haul their goods away from the growing blaze. He watched with satisfaction as the people moved off and split up.

Then he heard another sound that chilled his blood. A different cry went up from the northern end of the field. The slavers had started to make their move.

He arrived back with Gilan and Horace in time to see that Horace had drawn his sword and Gilan had an arrow on the string of his bow. As they had planned, Horace took up a guard position by Gilan and Will stood quickly to Gilan's other side. As one, they moved, following Gilan's directions and skirting the edge of the clearing while Gilan used his bow to pick off any slavers that he could.

During the slavers' initial charge, it was relatively easy for Gilan to discern the slavers from the villagers; most of the villagers were unarmed or fleeing the rough men, after all. However, a very small number of villagers were armed and a few of those even tried engaging the enemy. In those cases, Will helped Gilan to pick out which was which. Gilan's shooting was deadly fast and accurate, and Will couldn't help but start to feel a sense of surprised admiration. All he'd ever seen in regard to archery was foresters with small game bows. None of them were near Gilan's level of speed and accuracy.

Unfortunately, Gilan's success eventually had an adverse effect. It wasn't long until the slavers started to pick out Gilan's location by his shots. One of them broke free from the group and started towards them. Horace saw him coming and engaged him swiftly before he could reach his friend, allowing Gilan the time to pick off yet another of the slavers who was making a rush at him. Horace and the slaver, a burly unkempt man who carried a sword, traded several blows. The man swung at Horace's middle with a vicious sidecut. Horace parried the strike easily before he struck forward in a blinding fast riposte. The point of his sword sunk deep into the unkempt man's thigh. He fell to the ground with a cry, well and truly out of the fight.

By then, the Watch could no longer just stand towards the south side of the field doing nothing—even if a few of them were in with the slavers. It would be far too suspicious, especially since the tide of the battle had turned against the brigands. They charged into the midst of the remaining invaders and then the battle for the people of Bawtry was over.

~x~X~x~

Will headed down the path that led to Dorian's farm at a jog, a bright smile lighting up his features. The village had been saved, Helen was safe, and Will still had a mostly full purse of coins on top of that. Gilan had only selected a couple of coins in payment. Though Will might have to save for another half a year to get enough again, it was miles better than having lost them all. His steps were light for the first time in days as he started down the dusty walk toward Dorian's home.

He'd realized he left the farm in such a rush that he hadn't told the old man anything beforehand. He knew he needed to explain himself—which was why he'd left Gilan, Horace, the Watch members, and the celebrating villagers early. He'd slipped quietly away as soon as he remembered, in the vain hope that he wouldn't be too late to explain himself to the old farmer.

Dorian was not the most understanding of men and he admittedly had a pretty bad temper, but he'd understand if Will explained himself, he was certain. And maybe, since Will had essentially saved Dorian and his farm, maybe he'd finally start seeing Will more like family and less like a simple farmhand and a burden he hadn't really wanted to inherit.

As he entered through the gate, he saw that Dorian was already out in the yard. He caught sight of Will immediately and moved in his bow-legged stride to meet him. There was a thunderous expression on his face that did not ease in the least as Will drew up and stopped in front of him. Will's bright smile faded a little as he saw it, and further still as he heard what the man had to say.

"I don't see what you got to be smiling about, boy, when you go skiving off without permission."

"I didn't just run off," Will started to protest but was cut short.

"I heard what you did," Dorian said, silencing him with a sharp gesture. "The whole town's talking on how ye went and hired some sellswords to fight the men that attacked us. But that don't change the fact that ye ran off without giving word."

His eyes narrowed in angry suspicion as he caught sight of the coin purse that Will still gripped in his hand. With surprising speed, he reached forward and snatched it before Will could think to react.

"And just where did you get the money ye used to pay him?" He demanded, dangling the purse that he'd taken from Will with one hand. "Stole it, what's likely—from me! There in't any other way ye could have gotten it, the farmer growled, reaching out and cuffing Will hard on the head. "An on top of that, ye go running off and leavin' yer work undone!" He struck forwards again with another blow, this one closefisted, and Will staggered back a pace in shock and pain. It had been years since Dorian had been this angry with him. "There's a good caning waiting for you boy if you keep up this kind of behavior! Now get in the barn, and don't think for a moment you'll be getting any supper tonight!"

Will stood frozen at the tirade, the dread, shock, and hurt settling in him as painfully as the blows—all his previous hopes coming crashing down. And all that hurt only added to the hurt brought on by the loss of his coins, his only chance of reaching his dreams.

"Get in the barn!" the man shouted again when Will couldn't seem to bring himself to move. Annoyed, the farmer reached forwards to strike at Will again but was stopped by a fairly quiet, yet commanding sounding voice.

"I think that's enough."

Will turned surprised to see Gilan standing there; he hadn't heard him approach. Dorian must not have either for he startled. He glanced up in surprise that turned quickly into a small amount of fear when he saw the mercenary, or more specifically, the unsettling way in which the mercenary was smiling at him, hand resting casually, but pointedly, on the sword at his hip.

Gilan must have seen him leave the celebration early and followed him, Will found himself thinking numbly. He didn't know why Gilan had done it but he was glad, in that moment, that he had—glad he was here. Although that feeling didn't last very long. Dorian's pride soon reasserted itself as it usually did. Will could tell by the way his muscles stiffened and color started coming into his cheeks.

"I'm his guardian. I decide what's best for him!" he shouted. "I'll not be havin' some sellsword tell me what's what! He pointed furiously in the direction of the barn, "Now GET!" he shouted at Will, "Or I'll be teaching you a lesson in respecting yer elders that you'll not soon forget on top of the other one!"

Will could see that the farmer, having his pride poked at and clearly angry, was building himself up for something. It had happened only one other time before and Will flinched, the unpleasant memory shaking him from his frozen moment. He started to move but turned to look back, hesitating as a calmer voice seemed to cut through the fear, anger, and tension that stretched between Will and the old farmer like a sword slashing a rope.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Will," Gilan said softly. "You don't have to go to the barn and you don't have to stay here with him," he jerked his head in the old angry farmer's direction, a flat dangerous look coming into his eyes as he said it and made eye contact with the farmer.

That halted Will in his tracks, but he could do nothing but throw a helpless glance Gilan's way. It wasn't exactly true. If not for this farmer, and the village, he'd have nowhere to go, nowhere to live—he'd given up his chance of finding a better life for himself the moment he'd given Gilan some of his coins to save the village, and the moment Dorian had taken the rest of them. He had nothing left, nowhere to go.

Gilan however, seemed to have read his expression as he smiled encouragingly at him.

"You can come with me and Horace if you want. I could use someone with skills like yours; you'll have a share in our profits," he offered. "And from there you can decide for yourself where you want to go and what you want to do."

Will looked hard at him for a moment, searching his face for sincerity and finding it. He glanced from the farmer and then back to Gilan—feeling a confused mixture of uncertainty, hope, curiosity (perhaps even a little fear). But as he looked between Gilan and the red-faced farmer, he knew there wasn't really even a choice.

Gilan was offering him a way to earn the coin he needed. He didn't know Gilan enough to really trust him fully, but he thought he knew him enough, and knew of him enough to get a good picture of his character. Instinct told Will he was a good man. And, in Will's eyes, Gilan was already far better company and a far better person than Dorian had ever been. He took a hesitant step and then another until he was walking purposefully towards the mercenary and then stopping at his side. Try as he might, he could not muster any regret for his decision—or sympathy for Dorian.

Dorian watched Will's rebellion with an open mouth and an expression of shock that only seemed to fuel his anger further. He took a furious, if not a little wary, step towards Gilan.

"You can't do that! I'm his guardian!"

"I can't?" Gilan seemed to think about that for a moment, his expression soon turning a little crestfallen.

The farmer stepped forwards with new confidence. "That's right. You can't."

"I didn't know that you had the official paperwork that says he's your ward," Gilan admitted.

"I what?" The man looked confused. "I don't need any of yer fancy papers!"

"You do if you want to keep him," Gilan said knowingly. "Without them, there's nothing you can legally do to stop him from going wherever he will."

"I've never heard of any papers!" The man said angrily.

Gilan brightened visibly. "In that case, it looks like I can take him."

Dorian appeared almost like he was seriously considering attacking Gilan, but one look at the mercenary's ready stance made him reconsider that idea. Hitting a boy was one thing, and little trouble for him, but hitting an armed warrior was quite another. He took an uncertain step back instead. But his anger refused to let him back down.

"I-I'll tell the knights, the Baron!"

"Without those papers, they'd hardly do anything," Gilan shrugged and then his demeanor hardened even as his words softened. "Besides, last I checked, slavery is illegal in the King's Lands. If Will here tells the knights how you've been treating him. It'll be you who'll wind up in trouble."

The man looked uncertain now, and even a little fearful, he backed further away, giving in. However, he had to have the last word.

"Fine, take him! He's worthless anyway!"

Gilan said nothing, merely raised an eyebrow at him, offering him a pointed look. The silence continued for an uncomfortable moment before Gilan finally spoke.

"That's exactly why you don't deserve to have him." He took a step forward. "I'll be having his coins back if you please," he said pleasantly—a pleasantness that didn't reach his eyes or make the grip on his sword hilt any less threatening. "You know as well as I that that money was never yours."

Cursing angrily, the farmer complied. He flung the purse to the ground. Then he snarled and shot Gilan and Will one last contemptuous look before turning around and stalking back towards his home.

Will looked uncertainly up at Gilan who grinned at him, picked up his coin purse and tossed it to him before beckoning him to follow with a tilt of his head. Will followed. He had left his supplies with Gilan's and Horace's earlier that day, so there was no need for him to pack a bag.

"Hope you won't mind not working on a farm every day," the mercenary teased, but Will took him seriously.

"I'd never miss that," he said with some feeling, still reeling over everything that had just happened.

Gilan laughed and continued on, Will following. They traveled out of the farmlands and were halfway through the village square when a burning question rose up in Will and he fidgeted, gathering himself before he blurted.

"How did you know that he didn't have the papers?"

"Papers?" Gilan asked, confused.

Will made a helpless gesture. "The ones that say I'm his ward."

Gilan brightened with understanding and snorted slightly. "He couldn't have had them because there's no such thing."

Will's mouth dropped open in surprise. "You lied?"

Gilan shrugged, his mouth tilting up at the corners. "Seemed like the best way to deal with that whole situation."

Will thought about that for a moment before he nodded in acceptance. If Gilan hadn't lied, it might have led to a more violent encounter between him and Dorian.

For that matter, he really didn't know or understand why Gilan had offered to take him in—or even why he had decided to intervene at all in the first place. But he couldn't think of a politic way to ask—a way to ask that didn't sound like he was having second thoughts. Eventually, he settled on asking the next best thing.

"Um…Gilan," he asked tentatively, "did you mean it?"

"The lie?" Gilan asked, sounding puzzled.

But Will shook his head. "No, about me having skills that you could use?"

Gilan nodded seriously. "Wouldn't have said it otherwise."

Will nodded and then shifted fractionally before daring to venture. "What…what are they, exactly?"

"You're intelligent, curious, and good at moving around without being noticed, those are all very useful skills for someone in my line of work."

"Well, that's alright then." Will seemed content with that answer. Then he asked another question. "Gilan?"

"Yes?" Gilan answered, a smile touching the corners of his mouth and one eyebrow raised in a look of tolerant amusement.

"Before we go, could I maybe say goodbye to Helen. She's like a grandmother to me and one of my only friends here. She actually helped me earn a lot of that money."

"Of course," Gilan said seriously. "Take all the time you need. You remember where Horace and I made camp?" When Will nodded, he added, "You can meet us there."

Later that night, as Will sat around their campfire, he began to wonder if his earlier thoughts were wrong: that he hadn't given up his chance at a better life when he'd sought out Gilan and Horace and given them his money—rather, he just might have gained it.

~x~X~x~

The sun had set almost an hour ago. Evanlyn stood on the eastern edge of the cliffs that lined either side of the bay. The sea seemed to shimmer and crawl as moonlight reflected off of the rolling waves about thirty meters below her. She watched the grizzled… former Ranger, or perhaps just Ranger… she supposed, trying a length of rope to a sturdy piece of rock that jutted from the cliff face.

She swallowed hard. She wasn't exactly certain that she really approved of his idea. But, considering the number of Deparnieux's men that he had seen when he'd scouted the port town, she knew that this was probably the only way to get them out of Gallica quickly and without notice. And for that, she was more than willing to try.

Halt turned to her and offered her a pointed look that plainly asked if she was ready. She nodded once in answer.

"Remember to stay close and follow my lead as soon as we get into the water."

She nodded again. Then they were off. Halt tugged once on the rope to ensure it was secure before he tied two fairly substantial logs to the free end. Then he lowered the ropes and logs over the edge of the cliff before climbing down himself.

Evanlyn looked over the cliff edge, squinting against the dark, trying to use the faint sliver of moonlight to see the distance. She needed to know if Halt had made it to the water. So far as she could make out, he had.

Knowing it was time, she carefully made her way over the edge of the cliff and took a sturdy hold on the rope. She wrapped it around her arm to give her more purchase and control as she started to lower herself, meter by heart-pumping meter. It burned her arm a little sometimes, but she didn't dwell on that. Instead, she concentrated only on her decent, knowing well that a wrong move could be fatal. She had never really been a conventional sort of princess and was familiar with using a rope like this, so she wasn't too far out of her depth.

Soon the sound of lapping waves grew considerably louder. Not long after that, she felt the shockingly cold wet of the water as she reached the sea. She gasped, the chill temperature causing her to release her grip so that she landed with an ungainly splash. Gasping again, she tread water, cursing softly as she tried to get a hold on the rocks of the cliff face. In the moonlight, she could just make out the Ranger's grim face as he clung to the cliff face not a meter from her. His eyebrows rose.

"Interesting choice of language," he said dryly, "almost as interesting as the landing."

Despite the cold Evanlyn flushed. She only just managed to bite her tongue before she said anything thing else unfitting of a royal heir such as: "Oh, shut up."

She watched as he reached for the rope and united the two logs. He passed her one and she accepted it, letting go of the cliff face to that she could take hold of it with both hands.

The logs were large enough to help them stay afloat but small enough so that they could be easily pushed ahead of them as they swam. They were also big enough for them to duck their heads behind. This was, Halt had explained earlier, so that anyone looking from the shore or the deck of the moored boats would only see two random pieces of floating driftwood. This was an essential part of their plan—not to be seen or noticed.

Shivering, Evanlyn kicked her legs to warm herself up as she swam towards Halt. The sea alternately caused her to rise up and drop with each churning wave. It was a lot harder to swim in than any still water stream had ever been. They both stuck out towards where the ships were moored. Evanlyn merely followed in his wake, desperately trying not to think of all the things that might be swimming in the black water underneath her. She once had to bite her lip to keep from crying aloud as a strand of seaweed brushed her ankle…at least she hoped it was seaweed. However, for the most part, she kept her eyes fixed on Halt's bobbing head in the water, doggedly keeping up with him.

Eventually, she began to hear the lap of waves against the wood of boats and piers. As they drew even closer, she could discern the gentle bump of wood on wood as the boats were pushed up by the lapping waves against their fenders. She looked up then, dimly seeing the shapes of them held fast to their spaces. Halt led her to the furthest end of one of the piers and held a hand up for her to stop and wait. She obliged. He held still and listened for a while before deciding that it was safe.

He took out a grappling prong, weighing it in his hands to throw as he tread water. It took two tries, but he finally got it to hold fast into the wood of the pier a meter and a half above their heads. He then used it to help him climb up the slick wood until he was on the walkway. There was another pause as he looked and listened carefully for any guards before signaling for her to make her way up when he saw that the coast was clear.

He headed purposely towards one of the boats and she followed as quietly as she could. She knew that Halt had found, and bought passage on, a boat that was leaving for Araluen tomorrow when he'd scouted the docks. She guessed now that this was that boat. There was only one watchman aboard her, but he was fast asleep, a bottle tipped over by his feet. Even from this distance, she could smell the strong liquor it had contained. That man wouldn't be waking any time soon, she thought.

It was easy enough for her and Halt to get past him—especially Halt. Despite the watchman's inebriated state, Halt still took care to walk silently and rock the boat as little as possible. It was eerie how quietly he could move.

Once aboard, they secured themselves in places where they knew they probably wouldn't be discovered—at least not quickly. She knew that Halt had bought them both their passage beforehand in order to lessen any conflict that might arise in case they were discovered early. Despite their sneaky way of coming aboard, they weren't actually stowaways.

As she crouched in her hiding spot, she was very aware of her damp clothes and of the night air that accentuated the chill. But that fact didn't bother her as much as it might have in any other situation because she knew that she was so close now, so close to finally getting home.

A/N: Thanks again for reading! As always, feedback is super appreciated! So is constructive criticism: let me know if you see anywhere where I can improve and I'll try to fix it as soon as possible.

So things have finally started getting to the point where they really start moving along in the story, which should hopefully be super exciting to write. I hope you all have amazing weeks and the best for this new year. Until next time!