Ignoring History [Ranger's Apprentice]

Chapter 43

~☕Crowley☕~ 

Not for the first time in his life, Crowley knew he had messed up. Pritchard used to chide him for his temper, shaking his head with that tired look in his eyes as he voiced his exasperation. You have to dye that red hair of yours, son. That temper is going to get the best of you one day. 

It had been about twenty years since then, and Crowley liked to believe that he'd gotten better at it. He thought that he'd finally gotten his temper under control, learning to think before acting. After all, he was the de facto Commandant. Out of everyone left in their ragtag Ranger Corps, he was the one person that couldn't afford to slip up. It was up to him to make the right decisions. 

But he had made a bad decision. He had let hot fury overtake him as he marched into the throne room. He had threatened to kill a man. Even if he could convince himself that he had been bluffing, there had been witnesses. He'd done it in broad daylight. Stanley and his men were there. Berrigan was there. Gods, even Prince Duncan was there. They must've all thought him mad. 

Word would have spread by now. Everyone would know him as a cold-hearted, blood-thirsty, murder-hungry villain. Any semblance of respect that he had before was now gone. Prince Duncan was probably having second thoughts about him being at the head of the revolution. His silver oakleaf status would probably be stripped away, leaving him jobless and alone. 

Sucking in a breath, Crowley shut his eyes as he nocked the next arrow to his bow. Tugging the string to his cheek, he slowly exhaled before opening his eyes, taking aim, and releasing. The arrow found its mark at bullseye, just like the dozen he had shot before, splitting the previous shaft perfectly in half. 

"You shouldn't waste your arrows. Not in these trying times." 

Crowley didn't seem to hear, instead mindlessly drawing another arrow. This time, he didn't even bother aiming. The arrow still found its mark. 

Then, the voice was right beside him. A hand found its way to his arm, gently stilling his movement. "Peace," she said. "Why don't we sit down?" 

Crowley didn't move, but he did let his head turn to meet Lady Pauline. He expected to find a harsh coolness in her eyes, but the blue was gentle. Kind waters, rather than tumultuous waves. Taken aback, he looked away again, deciding it best to stare at the target he practically obliterated. 

"Are you here for my oakleaf?" His question came out more like a weary sign than anything, voice decidedly flat and lacking of its usual cadence. 

"No." 

"Did Prince Duncan send you?" 

"No." 

"Berrigan?" 

"No." 

"Then why?" 

Pauline tugged at his arm, pulling him so that he was facing her again. She looked him right in the eye. "I am here because I want to be," she said. "And you seem to be in need of a friend." 

"You don't want to be my friend." 

"Don't I?" 

"No." Crowley shook his head. "Not after today. The things I did..." 

Pauline frowned at that, her grip around Crowley's elbow tightening just ever so slightly. "You didn't do anything, Crowley," she said. 

"I did!" Crowley pulled away, taking a step back. "I'm sure you've heard by now, but I almost killed a man! A bad man, but he didn't deserve it regardless." 

"But you didn't." Pauline stepped forward. "You listened. You followed the king's orders, and you held back." 

"I was so close."