Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 11

~☕Crowley☕~

Crowley wished he had gone with Gilan to Gorlan. It wasn't that he didn't want to go to Redmont, but more the fact that he hated walking long distances. Without a horse for Duncan, the rangers had decided to travel by foot. They had sent out Lewin and Berwick to scout ahead on their horses, and Crowley guessed that they wouldn't be back until nightfall.

In the meantime, Crowley focused on putting one front in front of the other. The afternoon sun blazed down at them like a scorching flame, and the summertime didn't help it. The gusts of wind were the only thing keeping Crowley from collapsing, hitting him like a blanket of purity. He could almost taste the iciness of the wind blowing like fresh pillows.

Walking also forced Crowley to get lost in his mind more. He supposed riding did the same thing, but it was different. He felt more vulnerable walking. At least while he was on Cropper, he didn't need to pay attention to things he could trip over.

Crowley shook his head in frustration. He replayed the different possibilities that could happen at Redmont, but Crowley didn't know what to expect. He couldn't just have everyone show up at once and alarm the soldiers, could he? He doubted Baron Arald would like it any more than Morgarath. A crowd of rowdy rangers wasn't exactly a nice gift to anyone.

And what about after Arald allies with them? When Gilan finally arrives? What would they do? How would they carry on? Then, there was Duncan. The people of Araluen still had no idea that it was an imposter who broke the treaty, causing havoc. They didn't know that Duncan had been imprisoned.

Crowley frowned. How had Duncan escaped in the first place? Morgarath would have executed him in public to show the kingdom he was worthy. Crowley looked over his shoulder at Duncan, who walked alone. He slowed down until he was walking beside him.

"What is it?" Duncan asked.

"How did you escape?" Crowley blurted without thinking. "Morgarath would have never set you free."

Duncan weakly grinned at him. He cleared his throat. "I had help," he said. "The servants managed to set me free." A dark expression came over him, and he shuddered.

Crowley squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. Knowing Morgarath, those servants must have died. "Don't blame yourself," he said. "They knew what they were getting into. It was their choice."

"They died, Crowley," Duncan whispered. "They died for me."

"As they should. You were their rightful prince, after all."

Duncan shook his head, but he said no more. Crowley sighed, knowing fully well what it was like to have someone sacrifice themselves for him. It was the negative side of being a leader, and it could very well outweigh all the positive things.

Touching his nose, Crowley remembered one of the last days when Oswald was still King. He was in a tavern, and a few of Morgarath's supporters had him pinned down. They were going to cut off his nose. He remembered the day vividly.

He had escaped the same way as Duncan: with the help of servants. Crowley scratched his head, sighing. Servants may be poor, but they could be some of the most loyal and trusting people there were. They deserved a better life, a better salary.

Closing his eyes, Crowley remembered the exact moment when the servant pushed the giant brute off of him. He had been beaten to the ground, and it gave Crowley just enough time to regain his footing and send the lackeys to a place in the world of unconsciousness.

He remembered how he threw them out into the crisp winter air onto the muddy streets, and the deep wound on the servant's leg.

Crowley shuddered. The intensity of the wound was so severe, the local doctor was forced to amputate his leg. He had never walked again, and Crowley felt as if he had ruined his life. He later learned that his name was Bertram, and the last time he saw him was almost a year ago.

He had been passing through the fief with his friends, and Crowley found him sitting on his porch. He didn't approach him in fear that he now hated him.

Crowley bit onto his lower lip. Rubbing his temples, he blinked. He needed to stop thinking about Bertram. He needed to take his own advice and accept that it wasn't his choice to make.

"Crowley?"

Crowley looked up at Duncan's voice, blinking. He brushed his hair out of his eyes startled at the disappearing sun. In the distance, he could make out the silhouettes of Lewin and Berwick. He cleared his throat. "Let's find a place to camp," he said. "If we start early, we'll reach Redmont in two days."

The rangers made haste in finding a formidable place to camp. They found some scattered boulders standing on the clear, grassy land. Lewin and Berwick joined them, blending into the crowd with ease. Crowley dropped down to the ground, the tall blades of grass tickling his ears.

He yawned, kicking off his boots. With all the walking and thinking they had done, Crowley felt as if he could pass out. He didn't even want to pitch his tent. His eyes fluttered shut for what may have been one minute before his name was called.

"Crowley!" Egon shouted, sliding down from one of the boulders.

Crowley sat up, back aching. He groaned when he stood up, regretting lying down. "What is it?" he asked, shaking out his feet.

"There's a girl!" he whispered quietly, pointing to the boulder he had came from. "Those two boulders have created a hole in the middle of them, and there's a sleeping girl in them."

Crowley frowned. "A girl?" he echoed, pulling his boots back on. He jumped up, lifting himself up on top of the boulder. Sure enough, there was a small cave-like hole. And in it, like Egon said, was a small girl. "Hello?" he softly called to her as the other rangers gathered around the boulder.

The girl almost immediately woke, head snapping up at Crowley like he was a monster. Her seagrass green eyes flashed in fear, but behind it, Crowley could see a layer of boldness. He glanced back at his friends before offering a hand.

She didn't take it, shrinking down as far as she could. "Who are you?" Her voice shook, hollow as if she hadn't used it in a long time. Her words sounded foreign even to Crowley's ears, but she didn't have an accent.

"I'm Crowley," he said. "My friends and I are just stopping by." He gestured for everyone to go back to their tasks. "Where are your parents?"

"Parents?" She didn't speak for a long time, deep in thought. Crowley took a seat as she finally spoke. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't—I don't know—I don't have them."

Crowley looked at her in surprise. From the way she looked, she could match a ten year old, but the more she spoke, he thought she was older. Sixteen? It was a reasonable number, for it was the amount of years Morgarath had been in power. "What's your name?" he asked.

"I don't know."

Sixteen and with no name? Crowley gaped at her in disbelief. How had she even survived? He helped her out of the hole. "May I name you then?"

Her eyes lit up like a candle, and she smiled. She nodded.

"How about Evanlyn?"

"Rosalind?"

Crowley turned to find Duncan climbing the boulder to join them. His eyebrows shot up into the air. "Rosalind?" he said.

Duncan looked as if he had seen a ghost. "We're in Wildriver aren't we?" he asked.

"Yes?"

"This is the fief where Morgarath holed me up." He looked at the girl. "You look like her, like Rosalind. She was one of the servants who helped me. I think she had a daughter named—named Cassandra."

Crowley looked at the girl, who's eyes widened. She bit her lip. "You knew my mother?"

Duncan gulped, and Crowley could see the guilt written all over his face. "I did."

"Was she a good person?"

Duncan looked away from her, his eyes wandering to the setting sun. "She was the best. Fair, loyal, trustworthy."

Crowley slid down the boulder, leaving the two to talk. Wordlessly, it was decided right there and then. Cassandra would be joining the rebellion, and Morgarath was going to be cast away. He had killed too many and had left too many alone. He needed to be stopped.