To be a Commander

As the Years Go By

Crowley was 13 when his life changed. Drastically.

His mother, Jina, died suddenly. The memories were blurry, but he recalled tears. A haze of them. Also an angry, drunk man. Smelled of brandywine. And painful. He'd been the reason for about 1/4 of the scars on his body.

When Crowley was 14, he'd escaped. After about one year and seven months of pain. Crowley didn't know how. But he'd always had a talent for stealth and managed to get the heck out. He'd lived life trying to survive. He recalled that he had a good aim. Using a set of small, almost worthless knives stolen from a rich man(he didn't need them anyway), Crowley had learned to throw and hunt. But night was always the worst time, for there were bandits and thieves.

But when you were oppressed from either side, you quickly learned to adapt. And so Crowley did. But he still hated it and often, he missed being with other people. The woods were lonely.

Once Crowley was 15, he'd been found by Pritchard. Crowley had spotted a stranger in a mottled cloak walking through the forest. He didn't know what he'd heard, exactly, but he could have sworn the stranger had muttered something like 'hunter'. Curious, Crowley had followed the stranger. He wasn't sure if it was a bandit or some sort of traveler or maybe a forester. But it was good to be safe. Just in case, Crowley had stayed a good distance away. But the cloaked person had noticed him and had shot an arrow at him, barely missing. Scared, Crowley ran away, trying to use his knowledge of the woods to his advantage. The man hadn't been thrown off, and had followed him. 

Somehow, the bowman had pinned him to a tree. Crowley took one glance at him and judged that this was one hunt he couldn't get out of. To his vast surprise, the cloaked-man had unpinned him and had invited him to become an apprentice ranger. Those five years had been the happiest of all.

Once Crowley was about 22, he met Halt. And the rest of his fellow rangers. And Duncan, and challenged Morgarath, and re-established the Corps, got his first taste of unreciprocated love, it was a big year. A happy one, though, compared to some others.

And so the years went on. Smiles and cheer. 

When Crowley turned, what, 30? 40? He didn't know. But that was one of the saddest and happiest days in his life. His two crushes; Halt and Pauline. The two people he'd ever loved. They married each other. Big oof.

At 64, Crowley knew he was dying. It was a sort of instinct. 

And so he wrote one last letter. The last bit of paperwork he'd ever do.

And as he relaxed onto his bed, letting his life flash by, he smiled. One last time.

After all, the years go by and time doesn't wait.

Crowley stared at the ceiling, memorizing the swirling pattern. 64 small dots. 64 years. Halt. His mom. Pauline. Duncan. The Corps. Pritchard.

I'll see you once again, he thought. Wonder what you'll think, Pritchard. Wonder what it'll be like up there.

He was ready to see his family again.