Ignoring History - Ranger's Apprentice Fanfiction

Chapter 12

~🏹Halt🏹~

"He's dead, my lord."

"Damn. How did he get past the guards?"

"Apparently, he just walked in."

"And they let him?"

"The doors are open, my lord. Anyone is allowed within the castle walls."

"Close them. I want identification checked for every visitor."

"Yes, sir," a chorus of voices answered before their footsteps faded away.

Another voice spoke. "I know how much you respected him."

A snort. "Oh for goodness sake, Rodney. Farrel was your friend too. Don't act like you're not angry, devastated."

"Oh, I am angry, my lord. I'm going to show that hooligan what he's done."

"And I with you."

The footsteps came closer, and Halt knew they were coming for him. He moved his ear away from the wall, cracking his knuckles. He ran a finger through his unruly hair, bracing himself. Light shined in the room, blinding Halt. He pulled up his cowl, his cloak the only thing that hadn't been taken from him. It may not be as effective as a mottled cloak, but it did the job right in the shadows of a cell.

"You!" It was Baron Arald who spoke first, pointing a finger at him. "Stop hiding and face me like a man."

Halt sighed. "It's not like I can face you behind bars," he said. "Let me out."

The other man, Rodney, snorted. "That's not happening. You're to stay there and rot."

"Oh, I don't know," Arald said. "I think I would like to punch him senseless."

"You can try, but you won't succeed." They glared at him, and Halt shrugged. "I speak the truth."

"Oh, you little—"

Rodney grabbed the bars of the cell, and Halt stepped back so quickly that Rodney almost did the same. Startled, he blinked. Arald narrowed his eyes. "It's almost like you were a ranger!"

"Impossible," Rodney retorted. "He killed one of his own. He can't be."

Halt rolled his eyes. He almost wished he had stuck with the plan and killed Arald instead of the ranger. Almost. He was still salty about being caught. "I'm standing right here," he said.

Arald waved his comment away, whispering back and forth to Rodney. Their anger seemed to dim, confusion and professionalism taking its place. Their adrenaline was gone, replaced by tiredness.

Halt knew the feeling well, it finding him after every task he set his mind too. Except this one. Morgarath's task was the first and only task he failed in his new life.

"Who are you?"

Halt narrowed his eyes. "Arratay," he said. It was the Gallican translation of Halt, or rather, Arratez was, but Halt was never good at his pronunciation even if he had spent sixteen years in Gallica. Maybe it was his Hibernian roots.

"Arratay?" Rodney echoed. "What kind of name is that?"

Halt crossed his arms. "My name."

"Okay, Arratay. Who are you?"

"I've already told you my name!" Halt snapped, but the baron shook his head.

"Not your name," he said.

Halt glared at him, challenging him with his eyes. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "I am Arratay."

Rodney threw up his arms in frustration. "Oh, forget it Arald. Leave him here until he's ready to talk."

Arald muttered in agreement, and they turned away. Right before they left, Halt whispered something. "I doubt that would ever happen," he softly said.

And when he was sure they were gone, Halt sighed and let himself fall backwards onto the stack of hay. Redmont's dungeons were one of the more luxurious ones that Halt had been thrown into. He supposed that Arald was more merciful than any other noble he had met, but he'd seen him fight. Baron Arald would not hesitate to kill when it was necessary.

And for some unthinkable reason, that fact sent chills down Halt's spine. His hair fell over his eyes, and he brushed it away. Arald was not someone to be underestimating. He had to be killed with time and precision. But Halt had to escape the dungeons before anything else.

That would be a problem. Even if he was merciful, Baron Arald was careful. With someone that had wronged him like Halt, he wouldn't dare make a mistake.

Halt sighed, cutting it short when two guards took their place beside his cell. His eyebrows raised. Perhaps, it wasn't over. Guards were always a weak point. They stood in the same position for long periods of time, and Halt didn't know a single guard who didn't get drowsy. It was the fault for being human. Arald's fault was having too much faith in people, and the guard's was their inability to stay awake when they're bored.

Halt smirked to himself. He had recognized human error many years ago when he first settled down in Gallica. He found himself to be too sensitive. He fought long and hard with himself to cease all his feelings. Halt frowned. Only, the feelings of past were beginning to emerge.

Curse his job. Curse Morgarath. He wanted to go back home. Maybe not to Gallica, he realized, but to Hibernia. He could handle Ferris. Even if he couldn't, Pritchard was still there. He wanted to see his mentor again.

No.

Halt rubbed his temples.

He couldn't. He just needed to stop thinking, stop feeling. Everything would be okay if he would just stop.

Just stop.

Halt closed his eyes, slamming himself into the stone wall. The guards turned to look at him in surprise, but he ignored them, banging his head. He needed to stop thinking.

When blood finally started to run down his head, Halt stopped. He breathed heavily, the metallic tang exploding on his tongue. He buried himself under the hay. He had never felt such turmoil or despair. Why was this happening to himself?

Why?

Curse Morgarath.

Halt screwed his eyes shut. It was all Morgarath's fault. All of it. He was doing fine before he showed up at his door, looking for an assassin. It was all his fault. Everything.

But it wasn't over yet despite his failure.

It wasn't over.

Was not over.

He just had to wait. Someone would slip up sooner or later.

He just had to wait, the worst pastime of them all.