Halt woke up already knowing it was going to be a bad day.

As he rolled to standing, all his joints ached horribly, stiffer than the drinks Crowley poured himself after a long day. The dim light of his room made his head throb. When he swallowed, his throat twinged in pain. The tell-tale itch of a cough lingered in his throat, dormant for now but not for much longer.

Just my luck, he thought irritably as he tugged on his clothes. Barely three months into an apprenticeship and I'm getting sick. As though Halt had time for such hogwash. The Gathering was coming up in a matter of months, and Halt could not afford a break.

He pushed the door to his room open and winced as the bright sunlight streaming in through the front window hit him directly in the eye. He grumbled to himself as he made his way to the kitchen and began to stoke the fire. How irritating. He had hoped to teach Will some hand-to-hand combat today, but given how bad he was already feeling, Halt doubted he was capable. More than likely, he'd work himself up into a coughing fit halfway through. That would certainly be no sight for an apprentice to see.

Halt started the coffee and then rapped on Will's door. "Time to get up, Will."

His voice came out hoarse. He scowled. As sore as his throat already was, he should probably have been making tea, not coffee. He had a special tea he always made when he was ill. He should teach it to Will sometime - it was extremely effective, in Halt's opinion. Well, he'd make it this evening. He had breakfast to start, no time for tea right now.

As he started the porridge, the slightest sound of footsteps came behind him. Inwardly, Halt nodded approvingly. Will was picking up on silent movement quickly. The hardest thing for apprentices was not learning to be quiet, it was learning to be quiet all the time. That Will was quiet after just having woken up said good things about his training progress.

"Good morning," Will said through a yawn. He padded up to the wooden cabinet Halt kept the dishes and cutlery in and began setting the table. He had started doing that since the very beginning, a routine Halt had never once told him to do. He supposed Arald's staff must have been quite good at instilling the value of chores into the wards. Certainly, Halt was not going to complain. He would've made Will do it anyway.

Will finished setting the table about the same time the coffee was ready. Halt placed steaming cups down at his and Will's place and stirred the porridge again. It still needed some more time, so Halt sat and nursed his coffee cup. Ugh. He had just woken up and he already felt tired. Being sick was a damn nuisance.

Soon, the food was ready. Halt got up to serve it, wincing at his aching joints.

"So, what are we doing today?" Will asked as Halt placed a bowl in front of him.

Halt sat down with his own bowl, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that we were doing anything. Given you are just an apprentice, and I am the one qualified to do the actual work around here."

Will's expression did a quick twitch, like he wanted to roll his eyes but restrained himself. "What am I doing today, then?"

That was, actually, a good question. Halt had had today's training planned, but that was before he woke up sick. Halt knew better than to push himself too hard when sick. He was hardly going to make himself worse than he already was.

"You'll be training by yourself today," he said finally, taking a sip of coffee in an attempt to soothe his throat. It didn't work. "I do hope you are capable of doing target practice by yourself, yes?"

Will gave him an offended look. "Of course I am."

Halt laid out a set of exercises for Will to do. He didn't tell Will, but they were a bit more advanced than he normally would have given to an apprentice of only three months. Will was by no means a prodigy, but he worked diligently despite his poor concentration and tendency towards frustration. He had a good head for being a Ranger. He'd surprised Halt several times with his almost uncanny knowledge of how to correct bad shots. Halt only wished that it also translated into Will's mapwork. Just yesterday, Will had forgotten to chart a footbridge across a stream. Halt had told him quite acerbically that any regiment of troops Will happened to be leading might want to know about the existence of such a bridge.

After he'd finished telling Will the day's training regime, Halt stood and took his dishes to the washbasin and began washing them. Will added his to the basin as well and asked, in the kind of voice that said he knew this might not go over well, "So what are you doing today?"

Halt turned an unsmiling gaze to his apprentice. Will didn't shrink. He never did, which made the fact that he flinched every time Halt touched him even stranger. "I wasn't aware that my daily activities were at all pertinent to your training."

Will chewed on his lip and said, "Uh...what's pertinent mean?"

"Relevant. Appropriate." Halt gave his bowl a rather vicious scrub. "The opposite of standing around asking unnecessary questions when I've specifically tasked you to do something."

He said it sharply enough that this time, Will did wilt a little. He retrieved his bow from his bedroom and walked out the door without a word, closing it softly behind him. Halt heaved a long, irritated sigh and went back to scrubbing. He couldn't help but miss Gilan in moments like that. He knew exactly how his former apprentice would've taken a sharp comment like that: an eye-roll, a joke, and some mocking obsequiousness. Halt could sometimes sense Will wanted to respond that way, but he was apparently still too intimidated by Halt to actually do it.

With the dishes finished, Halt settled down in one of the rocking chairs outside with a pile of reports. He passed the morning with them. None of them were out of the ordinary: a few petty brawls broken up by the Watch, a merchant attempting to evade Redmont's taxes on luxury goods, an irate farmer claiming his neighbor had intentionally killed his prized milk cow. None of them should require Halt's attention - all the better, in Halt's opinion.

As the sun reached its zenith, Halt put down the remainder of the reports (Halt was never through with the damn paperwork, he swore) and stood. Will was still out of sight, which hopefully meant he was in the training clearing and not that he had decided to ditch today's training. He hadn't yet, but there was always a first time for everything. Halt went back inside to start preparing lunch. As he was chopping up mushrooms, his head swirled and his vision blacked out. When he came to, he was gripping the edge of the counter, hard.

Blast, he thought. Sudden vertigo like this usually means my temperature just spiked. I must be running a fever. That settled it. As soon as Halt finished making lunch, he needed to go to bed. It wouldn't do to have Will come in to Halt collapsed on the ground like a ragdoll.

He breathed in and out slowly, waiting for his strength to return. Once it did, he quickly finished the stew and left it to simmer over the fire. Too weak to make it to his bed, he sank down into one of the chairs next to the hearth. The heat of the fire was sweltering, nigh-unbearable, but he didn't have the strength to move. He leaned back into the chair. His eyes began to slide closed. A nap didn't sound too bad right now...

The slight squeak of a door hinge alerted Halt to his apprentice and he glanced up, clearing all traces of tiredness from his face. His apprentice stood in the doorway, bow in one hand, traces of sweat on his forehead. He'd been working hard, then. Good. Will's head was cocked to one side, curious eyes fixed on Halt. It had only been three months, but damn if Halt didn't already know that look well.

"What?" he asked gruffly.

Will opened his mouth, then hesitated. He did that a lot. "Nothing. Is lunch ready?"

Halt tipped his head right in front of him, where the pot was. "Use your eyes and see for yourself."

Will retrieved his bowl from the cabinet and served himself before sitting down beside Halt. He started eating, then abruptly paused midway through lifting the spoon to his mouth. "Have you already eaten?"

Halt scowled at him. "What's it matter?"

Will scowled right back. "It wouldn't have mattered much, except it's not like you to be so cagey about something this simple."

It wasn't, but Halt was surprised Will had known that. And more surprised that he would actually say it. It seemed the boy had more backbone than Halt had thought. Halt heaved an irritated sigh, then wished he hadn't as it further stung the back of his throat. "I haven't. I'll eat later. Now tell me what you've done so far today. I should hope you didn't waste the whole morning daydreaming."

"Of course I didn't!" Will said indignantly. "Why would I..."

He trailed off, frowning at Halt. "Were you pulling my leg?"

Halt kept his expression unreadable. "The results of this morning's training, please."

Will huffed and told him. It was to be admitted that, although Will did try to downplay his mess-ups in training, he never tried to overemphasize his achievements. It was a good sign of humility. Halt did not like braggarts and he would have nipped that in the bud quite quickly if Will had happened to be one.

Really, Halt thought, after Will finished with his report and went back to eating, Will had quite a lot of good traits. Halt certainly could have picked a much, much worse apprentice. He was curious and inquisitive - sometimes irritatingly so, but the curiosity was still a good thing of itself. He was honest, especially in matters of morals, he was gentle with the horses, he was diligent and intelligent. Halt had only to discover if Will were also brave. As a Ranger, that would be the most telling of all. Will could be as moral, kind and selfless as a saint, but if he hadn't the courage to back it up in a fight, it was useless.

But...

Will finished with his meal, washing up and bidding Halt a quick 'see you later' as he went back to his training. Halt forced himself up and went to his bedroom, practically collapsing into his bed. It was high time for a nap. He closed his eyes, trying to drop off to sleep, but his mind wouldn't let him, seizing on his prior thoughts like cat's claws.

There was something off about Will. Something Halt could never fully identify - something that was not always even discernible but there just the same. Will knew things he shouldn't. He acted differently than Halt had expected a first-year apprentice to act. He treated Halt differently than Halt had expected, too. Of course, taken separately, all those could be explained away into inconsequence. Will knew things he shouldn't? He had simply been a good student at the Ward. He acted differently than Halt had expected? Halt had become out-of-touch with apprentice behavior since Gilan had left. He treated Halt differently? Halt simply wasn't used to companionship anymore.

But they were compounding on each other. Halt liked compound interest very little, and compounding suspicions even less. As the days passed and the incidents piled up, Halt had at last been forced to entertain a suspicion he did not like at all.

Was Will a traitor?

Halt had turned the question over several times, and by now he was fairly certain the answer was no. First, there was the question of how Will had been turned traitor in the first place. Halt hardly kept an eye on every person who went in and out of the Baron's castle, but a traitor was not turned in a day. Whoever would have recruited Will would have needed to speak with him more than once. Either this visitor had somehow gotten access to Will, a castle Ward, multiple times without Halt noticing, or…

Or there was someone inside the Ward itself working with Morgarath. Halt felt the familiar thrum of ice inside him at the thought, but shook it off. It was possible, but Halt had not even known that he would choose Will to be an apprentice until a mere two years back. He had purposely distanced himself from Will so as to make certain his preference would not be known. True, Will had shown some potential years before that, but it still seemed far too risky of a plan for the traitors to bank on. What was the point in influencing a child and turning him traitor, only for Halt to never pick him and his years of training to go wasted? If Halt had not chosen Will, Will would have been a farmhand. A more wasted investment than that, Halt couldn't think of.

Besides…this was a child. Halt knew quite well that children were capable of being both spy and traitor, and he knew well how vicious they could be. His own brother was a prime example. But training a child to betray his kingdom and priming him with knowledge, all under Arald's nose? That needed a more thorough indoctrination than Halt thought possible from the vantage of the Ward. And Halt would have noticed if that had happened to Will. People didn't go through intense training like that and come out unscathed.

But Will is different than you expected, Halt reminded himself. He didn't like the reminder. But, no. Will was different in all the wrong ways for a traitor. If he had been trained as one, he would've been trained well - an organization able to operate under Halt's nose like that would have to be good. Halt was certain that they would have excised Will's awkward slip-ups, the fragments of knowledge he let slip that he shouldn't even know. The mistakes were careless, those of an honest boy, not a trained liar. They weren't the only ones he made, either. He made other mistakes too, but of a different sort. Like just a few weeks ago, when Halt had insinuated that Will would speak badly of him to his friends. Halt hadn't meant anything by it; apprentices would do what they would. He was certain that Gilan still insulted him behind his back to this day.

But unlike how Gilan would have responded to such a comment (a cheery grin and a 'you know me too well,' most likely), Will had been indignant. 'I would never call you a bad master!' He'd turned red right after, the face of someone who had regretted what they'd said. Halt shook his head at the memory. Was that really how a traitor would act?

At the very least, Halt decided dryly, if Will were a traitor, he was a truly terrible one. Not only was he a bad liar, he was horribly transparent about the things he knew. Really, what traitor would blurt out the name of Lord Northolt on their very first day and then not even seem to realize what he'd done? Not even an amateur would be that stupid. The retired noble was hardly castle gossip, and like Halt, he'd refused to be honored for his actions, quietly fading into obscurity after the battle. Halt had listened around in enough taverns and castle hallways to be quite sure what was and what wasn't gossip, and the things Will knew were most decidedly not.

So, although Halt was nearly certain that Will was not a traitor - logistically the idea was untenable; personally the character of Will was too transparent and his mistakes too amateurish - he was not entirely certain. Halt had learned long ago not to discount possibilities simply because they were not probabilities. Every avenue must be explored. There were ways to make certain - or as certain as anything could be on this earth. Halt would execute them, when the time was right.

Which, he thought grumpily, turning over in his bed as the pillow warmed beneath his cheek, was not right now.

The harder part was what came after. Will was, most likely, not a traitor. So then, what was he? When the most likely answer was improbable, even impossible, there were not many more options left. Halt, to be honest, liked them even less. A traitor would be a nuisance to be sure, especially given that Will could not be acting alone. But at least Halt could simply root them all out and be done with it…though, he admitted to himself, he knew he would ask for clemency for Will. If Will were a traitor, he was definitely a conflicted one, and he would've been recruited so young…

Recruited? Halt thought darkly. Taken advantage of, rather. And perhaps in more than one way. Halt had heard of some 'training' programs that…

No. It did not need to be thought. Halt's lip curled in disgust and he forcibly removed the thought from his head. He scowled up at his ceiling. This was hardly good thinking for a sick man. What Halt needed was rest, not another goose hunt through the depths of his mind for what was going on with Will. Halt tried to drop the matter and sleep, but his mind refused.

If he did not have a traitor as an apprentice, there were not a lot of other things Will could be. Not when he was afraid of Halt. Or, perhaps afraid was not the right word, but Halt wasn't sure what the right word was. Will did not cower when Halt scowled at him or reprimanded him or punished him. He never shrank back when Halt was visibly annoyed or angry, and indeed seemed to take all of Halt's more irascible moods with equanimity. Yet, he had cringed back and apologized last month after giving Halt a hug - as though Halt were the sort of person who would hit his own apprentice for a hug! He had flinched away from Halt's touch on numerous occasions, including when Halt had simply been trying to treat an injury or correct his posture. He would catch himself after laughing at one of Halt's dry jokes, giving Halt a guilty look like an implicit apology.

But yet - but yet - he would fall asleep in the rocking chair right next to Halt, or smile good morning to him, or cheer after making a particularly good shot with his bow. He had no qualms showing his excitement or giddiness over some things, yet would apologize over others. It made no sense. Will made no sense.

Halt sighed. He needed to go to sleep. He was tired and sick, and pondering over this in his current state wouldn't lead him to any new answers. In any case, Halt was not one to worry over such things. He would simply keep doing the best he could day by day, and whatever happened would happen.

But if, he thought, his last thought before slipping into unconsciousness, if Will would like to tell me what's going on...that would certainly be nice.


Consciousness shifted all around Halt like a vague, churning pot of treacle. Everything felt hot. Everything felt cold. Light and dark seemed intermixed - sometimes there, sometimes not. Fragmented images of his apprentice came and went, and with them Will's voice. A cold cloth lay on Halt's forehead once, then no longer.

He stirred restlessly, cracking open his eyes. He was in bed. Everything around him boiled. A fever, then. Halt closed his eyes, determined to sleep it out. That was the best remedy for these things. But sleep would not come. He shifted around, trying to find a cool patch of blanket and failing. His body sweltered. He finally gave in and opened his eyes again, unwillingly accepting the reality of life.

His room was dark, but that meant little. The door was shut and he didn't have a window in his bedroom. A trickle of light spread across the floorboards from the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. That could be the sun or the moon for all Halt knew. He slowly pushed himself up on his elbows and took stock. He felt like shit. All of his symptoms had only gotten worse and his head was spinning. The fever rendered him barely conscious, not able to take in his surroundings with his usual acuity.

The door cracked open, spilling red-orange light into the room. Will stepped in, his brow creased with worry. His eyes fell on Halt, still sitting partially up. He took a quick breath. "Halt! You're awake!"

"Clearly," Halt said grumpily. He punctuated the sentence with a low, rough cough. Thank God it was dry, not those deep, wet coughs Halt had been told spelled doom for the cougher. "You'd better have been attending to your training in the meantime."

"There are more important things than two days' training," Will said, quiet but firm. It was a tone Halt had never heard from him, and for an instant as Halt looked at him, Will seemed older than the body he was in. "You're sick, Halt."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Will rolled his eyes. "Why do you always have to get grumpier when you're not feeling well," he muttered. He approached Halt's bedside, and that was when Halt realized Will was holding something. The scent wafted over to Halt, sweet and sharp: chamomile, ginger, and honey.

"Drink this," Will said, offering Halt the cup he was holding. Halt sat fully up and reached out to take it. It was tea, he realized. Will had made him tea. When had Will learned to do that? He hadn't even known how to cook before his apprenticeship.

Halt's throat was aching mightily, though, and he decided it wasn't worth it to ask. He took a sip. His eyes widened in surprise. This was...this was the exact tea he made whenever he got sick: ginger root, lemon balm leaf, meadow-wort flower, honey, a touch of chamomile to soothe. His eyes darted up to Will.

"How did you," he started, but Will's expression was unreadable.

"Drink it, please," Will said. "You need it to feel better. If you're not better by tomorrow, I'm riding to the healers in Redmont."

"You'll do no such thing," Halt said, and sneezed. It triggered a coughing fit. Will swooped in and swiped the cup from Halt's hands, placing it on his night table and watching Halt worriedly as he coughed.

"What was that?" Will asked once he'd finished.

Halt glared at him. "I said-"

"I know what you said. I'm trying to get across to you that what you said was stupid."

Halt stared at him in surprise.

"You're sick, Halt." Will shook his head, and Halt wondered if it were simply the dim lighting, or if those were dark shadows under Will's eyes. "You've had a fever for days, and - and you don't know how bad this could get. I can't - we can't - rely on miracles. If you get really sick, if you...if you get hurt, there isn't anything to stop that. You won't get a second chance. Okay? I am not letting your stubbornness rob you of your life."

Halt looked at him for a moment longer and then blinked, slowly shaking his head. This was so far outside the bounds of his apprentice's normal behavior that Halt couldn't even reconcile it. He must be sicker than he'd thought.

Halt went to pick up the cup from his nightstand, but his hands wavered and some of the tea spilled. Will grabbed it from him again.

"Here, I'll help you," he said softly. He held the cup to Halt's lips. Halt debated grumbling about it, but he was not a fool. The tea would help him get better, and he was not so childish as to refuse help when he needed it. He opened his mouth and drank. He eyed the cup contemplatively as Will set it back down. He had been wrong - it was not exactly the same tea as the tea he made. The ingredients were all there, the ratio was right, yet it was different, as if Will had added something else. Somehow, it was sweeter.

Once he was done, Will set the cup down and helped Halt lay back down again. Halt's eyes were already beginning to slide shut once more, his throat soothed by the honey and his body once more giving in to exhaustion.

"Sleep well, Halt," Will said. Halt's eyes closed and he felt himself drift off.

As he did, he could have sworn he felt Will squeeze his hand.


When Halt woke up next, his head felt clear. Halt pushed himself to standing with a groan. His body was still sore and he felt drained, but the worst of it was over. His fever had broken during the night. Good. Halt disliked deviating from his schedule, and the past day had been one giant deviation. He was glad to get back on track.

He opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the main room. To his surprise, Will was already up, standing over the hearth stirring the pot.

"I never thought I'd see you get up before me," Halt greeted dryly.

Will turned, surprised. When he saw Halt, a relieved smile spread across his face. "Halt! You're feeling better?"

Halt was startled, both by Will's clear relief and by the fondness Halt felt at seeing it. He blinked a few times. He couldn't remember much of the past day. Will had come into his bedroom at some point, but the fever had clouded the details. What little remained, Halt trusted even less. Pritchard had always told him not to trust anything he thought or felt during a period of mental or physical sickness. If it became relevant, Halt might attempt to sift through what he could remember and piece it together, but he doubted it would.

What he did remember was that Will had gone out of his way to care for Halt, and that Will had been worried about him. He still looked worried now. The sight made something inside Halt soften.

Halt grunted and said gruffly, "It'll take more than a measly fever to get you out of training."

Will's smile widened. He turned back to the pot and stirred it some more. Halt saw his side profile, saw the smile fade into something more somber. "I'm glad you're alright."

The soft, sincere tone took Halt aback. That quietness, that strange maturity, was oddly familiar. He felt like he'd seen something like that before from Will, just recently. But what? When the memory wouldn't come, he decided it must have just been the fever.

"Of course I am. It was just a little chill, nothing to be concerned about."

Will's eyes flicked to him swiftly. "You were out of it for two days, and not lucid for most of it. You weren't even conscious enough to talk until last night."

What? Halt could have sworn it had only been a day! "What do you mean? What day is it?"

"Thursday," Will said. He shook his head. "You first felt bad on Tuesday, remember?"

It had indeed been Tuesday when Halt had woken up with a sore throat. If it truly was Thursday, then, Will was right. Halt had been sick - and apparently incoherent with a fever - for a full two days. He scowled in fierce annoyance. Halt had things to do, a fief to maintain, and an apprentice to train. Sickness meant that he could not uphold his duties. It also, Halt realized, placed an undue burden on his apprentice to take care of him.

Halt's scowl darkened. "Was anyone here while I was sick?" he asked, more abruptly than he'd intended.

"No, you don't have any pressing business to attend to."

That was not the point. "You mean to tell me that I was ill and you didn't have anyone to help?"

Will reared back, first startled, then angered. "What? Now you're going to tell me I should've gotten someone to help you? I told you I was going to ride to the healers yesterday and you refused!"

"Not me," Halt snapped. "You. You're a scarcely-trained boy out in the middle of the woods, over a half-hour's ride from the nearest help. No one expects you to be able to tend to a sick man and keep a household running at the same time. You should've ridden to Castle Redmont and informed them of my illness so they could help."

Will gazed at him for a moment. Then he slowly shook his head, huffing out a laugh. "Of course that's your concern."

Halt failed to see what was funny about this. "Apparently I need to repeat this, since you're so fond of forgetting. You're a boy, Will, not a child but not an adult. You aren't equipped to deal with situations like this on your own, and no one's expecting you to. If I'm indisposed again, I want you to go get help, not deal with it all on your own."

When he didn't get a meaningful response from Will, Halt pressed, "You aren't an island all to yourself, Will. You live on the mainland. Rangers might be solitary people, but even we know when we need the help of others. You would do well to learn that for yourself."

It had taken Halt awhile to learn that. His isolation had cost him, several times, and he would not tolerate his apprentice falling to Halt's same vices. Was that not the point of masters, to keep their apprentices from making their mistakes?

Will still didn't say anything, but he didn't protest, and Halt decided that was good enough for now. Will turned back to the pot and stirred it once more. "I made stew. I know it's not what you usually make for breakfast, but I don't know how to make porridge like you do, so..."

"Food's food," Halt said. "You're not Master Chubb, but I suppose you'll do."

Will's lips quirked. He ladled some of it into a bowl and handed it to Halt. As he did, their fingers brushed. Halt sighed internally, waiting for the inevitable flinch. But although Will stiffened, he didn't flinch away. He met Halt's eyes for an instant, breathed, then turned away to serve himself. Halt stared at him for a long moment in bewilderment. Had Halt passed some sort of test while he was sick? Or was it something else? Was it...

A vague, soft memory: Halt slowly falling asleep, his last memory a single warm squeeze to one hand. Had that been Will?

He sat, Will sitting across from him. Looking at him, Halt saw the concern still written in his apprentice's eyes every time he looked at Halt. It was blindsiding. Halt had spent the past three months believing Will disliked him or even feared him, but looking at him now, Halt was forced to conclude that he must have gotten something wrong. You would not be so concerned over someone you feared. You would not tend to someone you disliked. But then, the flinching?

A sudden dark thought came to Halt's mind. There was one reason Will might flinch at physical touch. One reason that would explain how Will could fear touch yet not fear Halt.

But Arald would never, he told himself. Except Arald wasn't the one who had raised Will, was he? His servants had raised Will and the other wards. Halt wasn't naïve enough to think that Arald had the time to actually oversee them. All it would take is one bad employee, one oversight, and Will - and all the wards...

Halt's hand clenched around his spoon. He glanced up at Will. His apprentice was watching him. Will's eyes flicked from Halt's clenched fist up to Halt's face and he barely tilted his head, a silent question dancing across his face. Are you alright?

No, Halt was not alright. Not now that he'd thought that - that thought that might just explain the mystery that was Will. How he hoped - how he prayed - that he was wrong.

He took a spoonful of stew. It tasted sour down his throat. How he prayed that he was wrong. Because if he wasn't...

Halt had no idea how Daniel would ever forgive him for allowing his son to be abused.


A/N: Sunrise Sunday is back ayoooo

Readers can have a little Halt's POV as a treat. Lol, I love writing his POV and also thanks to RandomFlyer for looking over the draft for me - your feedback definitely made this chapter better. I appreciate it!