Blood, Sweat, and Hanon - A Ranger's Apprentice fanfiction

Chapter Seventeen - Will

It's T-minus three days, and Will thinks he's going to lose his mind.

Half the time, he thinks he'll throw up if he sees another piano. The other half of the time, he's desperately practicing, thinking he'll never be ready.

The day before, he'd spent eight hours straight practicing. Halt came to check on him, his eyebrows drawn together like thunderclouds, and threw him out of his practice room, confiscating his key card. Thankfully, he'd given it back in the morning, after extracting a promise from Will that he would take a break every fifty minutes.

When he's not practicing, Will has his headphones on, his pieces playing nonstop on repeat. Wherever he is, he sits with his eyes closed, his fingers dancing on imaginary piano keys as he visualizes playing every note in his head. He can't be too prepared.

In the afternoon, Will takes a trip to the water fountain during one of his breaks. On his way back, he turns the corner and almost smacks into three heavyset students.

"Sorry," he apologizes. "I didn't see you there. If you'd just let me past, I have to get back to my practice -"

"I don't think so," the boy in the middle says, an unpleasant light in his eye. "You're coming with us."

The other two snigger. "Good one, Alda," the one on the right says.

Suddenly, Will knows where he knows these three from. They're the same three students who were torturing Horace on that day, all those weeks ago. And now, inexplicably, they seem to have him in their sights.

He begins to back away. "I really do need to practice," he says, holding up his hands in the air. Then he turns and runs back down the hallway.

"Get him!" he hears Alda bellow, and the sound of pounding feet echoes down the hallway.

Will's mouth goes dry with fear. He skids around a corner, almost wiping out, and runs right into another person.

It's Horace. Will winces and ducks the blow he's sure is coming, but then it hits him what's wrong with this situation. Horace is really beat up. He has two black eyes and his nose is bleeding, and he's moving like one of his ribs is fractured.

"Horace!" Will says. "Are you okay?"

Behind him, the three boys round the corner. "There he is!" Alda says. "Get him! Get the sneaker!"

Before Will can react, Horace steps forward, pushing Will behind him. "No," he says, calmly but forcefully. 

Alda's lip curls. "Oh, Baby's back," he sneers. "Baby wants another beating. Well, Baby's going to get one." He rolls up his sleeves and steps forward, the other two boys in his wake.

Will doesn't see how Horace is still on his feet, but Horace moves into a ready stance, his knees bent lightly for balance and his hands clasped loosely into fists.

"I don't think so," another voice says from behind Will.

Will whirls, almost falling over with relief. It's Halt. He's standing in the center of the hallway, his arms crossed.

The other two boys fall back uncertainly, but Alda tries to bluster his way through. "Stay out of this, O'Carrick," he says peremptorily. "This is Brunt studio business."

Halt narrows his eyes. "I seem to notice that my student is involved."

Alda shrugs. "Make it your business then, but don't interfere."

"I'm sure Rodney Brunt would love to hear that," Halt says. He seems self-satisfied. Will is confused until Rodney Brunt himself steps around the corner. And he's furious.

"What do you three think you're doing?" he roars.

Alda and the other two boys snap to attention guiltily. "Mr. Brunt!" Alda stammers. "I thought you were teaching!"

"I was!" Mr. Brunt says. "Until Halt stopped by to inform me that you, Bryn, and Jerome were beating up your studio-mate and my best bet at getting a student in the Junior International, three days before the competition!"

Will steps back and watches as Mr. Brunt proceeds to give the three bullies a very thorough and violent tongue lashing, topping it all off with an expulsion from his studio and from the Conservatory.

"We don't tolerate bullying here!" he yells. Then he grabs all three by the ears and drags them off toward Mr. Baron's office to make their expulsion official.

Will turns to Horace. "Thank you for standing up for me," he says.

Horace nods and winces. "The real thanks should go to Mr. O'Carrick," he says. "I just distracted them. I didn't know how I was going to hold up against them a second time. You got here just in time, sir," he says, turning to Halt.

Halt shrugs. "I can't stand seeing bullying going on. I'm always on the watch for it. But anyways, I do want to thank you for defending my student." He gives Will a wry look. "They would have squished him with the first punch."

Horace bows his head slightly. "Sir, do you know who the Royals are?"

Halt shakes his head. "Never heard of them. And by the way, my friends call me Halt."

Horace looks troubled. "After they finished beating me up, they just left me in one of the back hallways, thinking I was unconscious. I heard Alda say, 'Well, Altman's down. All that's left on the list from the Royals is Treaty.' Then I followed them down here."

"I really have no idea," Halt says, frowning. "I'll have to keep my eyes and ears out for more about that. And, Horace, I have no idea how you're still functioning. You're going to the infirmary, right now."

He takes Horace's arm gently, and turns to lead him down the hallway, but Horace stiffens and turns back to Will. 

"Will, the reason I came back was, I felt bad about how I've treated you so far this semester," Horace says, his eyes fixed on the floor. "I was insecure in my own abilities, and I took it out on you. There's no excuse for what I've done, but I'd like to try to repair things between us."

"Thanks, Horace," Will says. "Thanks for everything." He takes Horace's other arm.

Halt and Will deliver Horace to the infirmary. The nurse examines him and solemnly pronounces him unfit to compete.

Horace sighs. "I'll just withdraw, then. It wasn't like I was going to get it."

Halt shakes his head. "Give yourself a little credit, Horace. You're the top of Rodney Brunt's studio. You had every chance of getting a spot on the Redmont team."

"Next year, then," Horace says. 

Halt escorts Will back to his practice room. Before he leaves, he says, "There's no classes tomorrow or the day after, but I want to see you at your regular lesson tomorrow. Bring your practice room key with you. I'm not letting you anywhere near a piano after that until your official warm-up time for the competition."

Will is momentarily speechless. When he finally finds his voice again, he asks, "Why?"

"Will, you've been playing eight, sometimes nine hours a day for the past two weeks," Halt says. "It's a miracle you haven't injured anything. I don't want to risk that, right before the competition. There's an even greater chance you'll hurt something, because you get tense when you get nervous. As a matter of fact, why don't you just be done practicing for today. Go back to your dorm and get some sleep."

Will realizes that Halt's worried about him. And that he's fussing like a mother hen. And for the first time, Will realizes that beneath the gruff exterior, Halt is really just a big softie inside.

And by the murderous look on Halt's face, Halt's realized that Will's figured it out.

"Scram!" he says. "Shoo! Get out of here!"

Laughing, Will scoots down the hall and out of the building.