Crowley Meratyn rarely got surprised. Him being elected the new Commandant, that didn't surprise him in the slightest given how vehemently sure the other Rangers were. Even Samdash agreed that Crowley would make a great leader.
And so, he became the Ranger Commandant. Stilson, the former Commandant, was furious with this decision, claiming that everything had been just a fluke, but there were no debates about who the real leader was. The mess in Stilson's- wait, his office also didn't surprise him. From what he had known and seen of Stilson, he didn't exactly seem like the neat type of person. The office was just a big mess of paperwork, and it took Crowley just one look to know that getting through this would be a pain. Fortunately, he had Halt with him. The poor man wasn't with him to see the office, and therefore had no idea how many weeks (or months) of anguish awaited him there. Crowley was sure as hell that he would want to worm his way out of the paperwork - in fact, if he were being completely honest, he also didn't want to go through all of this and range it and archive some important messages, but it had to be done. And now that he was the Commandant, he could surely abuse his power just a bit if it meant weeks in Halt's bright company and not suffering through this hell alone.
A few weeks later Farrel had broken his leg in two places, so he joined Halt and Crowley in the Paperwork fanclub™. It wasn't like he had anything to do. Moreover, Crowley distracted him with paperwork so he wouldn't spend his time wallowing in self-pity over his broken leg.
It was the end of summer, and after five long months, the three of them had finally got through the most recent paperwork, ranged and archived it all, and now they had come onto older papers and reports. Halt had found one that dated back to Crowley's apprenticeship and was very amused to know that in his fourth year, Crowley failed the silent movement exam at the Gathering. He was doing fine until the moment he tripped over a root and fell face-first into Cropper's droppings. What got him caught was the stream of curses that left his mouth immediately after he got back up and wiped the worst off his face. Halt had a blast with that document. He also found one of Lewin's apprenticeship mishaps in the reports, so now he had blackmail material for both of the youngest Rangers in service (excluding himself, of course).
That day, Halt was away on a mission. Since Farrel had been injured and couldn't take care of his fief, local bandit groups have become bold and were trying to take over the field, Crowley decided that Halt should get some experience of his own. Granted, if he could, he would send a more experienced Ranger, but given the lack of them and the fact that Halt was pretty capable, Crowley felt like he could send him there to take care of it.
It was just Crowley and Farrel who were going through the years old paperwork at a snail's pace. The weather was unusually hot and both men had their sleeves rolled up as high as they could go. The window was open but nothing could help them get away from the heat. And so, they were reading paper after paper, almost falling asleep, because they both haven't slept well for a few months now - the paperwork kept them up every evening since Crowley also had to take care of things as the Ranger stationed in Araluen fief. Usually, he let Halt do that, but he quickly discovered just how much the crime had spread around and sometimes, both of them were needed.
Crowley had just finished one stack of papers and put them aside so he could start with yet another big pile. Everything was mundane, and by now he had no problems recognizing which paperwork was important and which not at first glance.
Until he came to one specific paper.
Crowley took it and curiously held it up in front of his face.
It was a funeral invitation for King Oswald. Crowley had no idea how it ended up in his office between the Ranger stuff, but he didn't want to care about that. The important thing was that it was an invitation to a funeral. The funeral of Prince Halt O'Carrick of Hibernia.
Crowley almost spat out his coffee when he saw the picture. Again, no idea why they'd attach a picture of the dead person, but he was glad they did. Because it was as if he were looking at Halt. Except for the beard. This would be a younger version of Halt, if anything. He still had that boyish look around him.
You are hereby invited to Prince Halt O'Carrick's funeral.
The funeral will take place in Dun Kilty, Hibernia, on the second day of the next month, the year of 626 of the Common Era.
Crowley's eyes scanned the text. That… couldn't be true, right? But deep down, all the pieces of the puzzle came all together. Halt was from Hibernia, he said so himself. Crowley remembered quite vividly how Halt hesitated when he told him where he met Pritchard. Was it not Droghela but Dun Kilty? And the drawing, it looked so much like Halt… He took another glance at it but something felt a bit off.
"The nose, that can't be him," he murmured under his breath. Truly, the drawing had a nose too big, not like the real Halt, but it was close enough.
As curious as he was, Crowley didn't go straight to the library to see the Hibernian Royal family tree right away, instead, he tucked the invitation into his pocket and decided to go in the evening when everyone would be asleep.
Annoyed by the vision of paperwork for the next few hours, Crowley sank back into rhythm, grumbling about stupid papers.
It was well after dark, and Crowley and Farrel had just bid each other goodbye when they left the office. However, only Farrel was on his way to bed. Crowley had another mission to complete.
Silently as only a Ranger could, the redhead sneaked into the library. There had to be some records on the Royal families of the modern era. Getting a candle, he set to work.
Really, he had been in the library enough times to know where everything was. He needed the records often enough for the horrendous paperwork. In fact, he mused, I should be thanking all that paperwork. Grabbing the correct book from its place, Crowley set it on the table, along with the candle he had lit.
The silence in the library that seemed so terrifying was interrupted by the sounds of turning pages. It was the thing Crowley was focused on, but he never let his guard down. He didn't even know why. It wasn't like he was doing something illegal. But, he supposed that if his suspicions turned out to be true, random people learning that a fugitive Prince is disguised as an Araluenian Ranger, the kingdom would have some serious problems to deal with. They didn't need any more problems.
For a wild second, Crowley told himself that he probably shouldn't look, but curiosity took over. Who knew what could happen if someone had come to know? And the Rangers would be left in the dark. And they didn't like not knowing.
There! His eyes stopped on one specific page, and his jaw almost dropped when he saw a tiny note: body never found.
Distraught, the Ranger Commandant closed the book, put it on its place, and left the library as quickly as he could.
Laying in his bed that night, Crowley kept staring at the ceiling. It was true. Well, probably. He had solid evidence, but did he dare bring it up with Halt? Clenching his hands into fists, Crowley made his decision.
A few days later, he was once again working on paperwork with Farrel, when a message got to him that Halt was back. The young Commandant didn't wait for him to come to the office but went to welcome him.
"Hey Halt! Glad to be back in your bright company!" he opened his arms for a hug. Halt stopped a few steps in front of him, making no move to accept the hug. It'd have been too good, Crowley thought and instead smiled brightly.
"So, how was your trip?" he beamed at him. Halt shrugged. He wasn't in the mood for a conversation. Crowley would get the full story once in the office, where he would also hand in the report he had written (out of the whole Ranger lifestyle, reports were what irritated Halt the most).
"It went well," he said, walking past him and into the office. Crowley went after him inside, still determined to ask him that one question that tortured him for days now.
Farrel wasn't in the office. Which was weird, considering that he had trouble moving around, but the situation was perfect.
"Why didn't you tell me you were the Prince of Hibernia, Halt?" Crowley asked, determined to get an answer. The black-haired man stopped in his tracks and Crowley saw how he clenched his fists. Then, Halt slowly half-turned his head and said in a low, dangerous voice: "That's none of your business." There was dead silence for a second or two. Then, he continued: "I'm not the Prince of Hibernia." At least, not anymore.
The young Ranger stormed outside, leaving Crowley in the middle of his office, too shocked to go after him. He was stunned, he definitely didn't expect such a reaction. He wasn't even angry, perhaps more irritated, like he didn't want anyone to mess with his past. Crowley sighed and relaxed his stance.
Taking a deep breath, he took a step forward to follow after Halt when he was stopped.
"Leave him be, Crowley. He needs some time," Farrel said from behind him. Crowley turned around, shocked. He had thought the Ranger wasn't in the room anymore. But instead, Farrel had a stack of papers in his hand, balancing with his crutch in the other hand.
Crowley furrowed his brows.
"You heard everything, right?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Farrel limped next to him and put his hand on Crowley's shoulder.
"I did. But Crowley, let him go. He probably doesn't want to talk about it. One day, he'll come to you by himself. You just have to wait for that day."
With that, Farrel turned and went back to organizing papers, leaving Crowley to stand in the middle of his own office, looking wistfully at the door.