Duncan wished, for the fifth time that week, that his secretary hadn't had to take time off. Duncan was in the habit of picking up his intelligence report after breakfast every morning and strolling down the halls while he read it, acquainting himself with news from the kingdom and the world. It had been a nice, relaxing start to his day and a nice excuse to be alone with his thoughts.
And then his secretary had broken his finger, rendering him unable to hold a quill, and his replacement, a young man named Willard, had such chicken scratch handwriting that Duncan couldn't read a word of it without puzzling over each one, especially when it came to the names of foreign dignitaries and officials. Until he could arrange for another replacement, he had to get the young man to read them himself. Oh how he missed the quiet mornings, oh how he missed his excuse for some alone time!
'Um, there's a new Oberjarl in Skandia,' Willard said, flipping to a new page.
'Oberjarl,' Duncan said. 'Jarl. Skandians pronounce the J like a Y.'
Willard furrowed his brow. 'Why?'
'Yes, like a Y.'
'No, I mean why do they pronounce it that way?'
'Oh.' Duncan tried to think of an answer. 'Uh...'
'J makes a "juh" sound. If they wanted a Y, why didn't they just use Y?'
'Whats the name of the new Oberjarl?' Duncan said.
'Oh, Ragnak.' Willard looked up over his sheet. 'There's no wonky pronunciations there, are there?'
'No, no, you did fine,' Duncan said absently. It was a longer report today as far-flung news had finally made its way to Araluen, and his morning walk had taken him outside into the crisp fall air. It made listening to Willard, now stumbling over the names of Arridan officials and places, almost bearable, even though his pronunciation was sometimes so off that Duncan couldn't be sure what he was referring to.
He saw Crowley and Halt a short distance away and raised his hand in greeting. They both returned the gesture. It had been some years since the war now and Crowley had settled into his role as Commandant fairly well, but Halt remained his closest friend and regularly came to visit when his apprentice Gilan had returned home to train with MacNeil, as he had a month before.
Unconsciously Duncan turned to join the Rangers. Not every Ranger had good handwriting and Crowley was quite good at puzzling out hurriedly-written reports with apparent ease - maybe he could take over from Willard.
His pronunciation would be better, at least.
Willard was aware enough to break off his reading when they reached the Rangers, and Duncan smiled at them. 'Crowley, Halt, its nice to see you,' he said.
'You as well,' Crowley said, as Halt gave his customary nod of acknowledgement. Rangers as a whole showed little deference to authority, but Halt showed even less, except to Crowley. Sometimes Duncan wondered about that.
'How's Gilan doing?' he asked Halt now. 'He should be back soon, shouldn't he?'
'By this evening,' Halt said, nodding. 'He's fine, coming along quite nicely.'
'Growing like a weed, too. He's, what, a head taller than you now, Halt?' Crowley said.
Halt turned a withering glare on him and Duncan guffawed. 'Should've had your glass of milk every day growing up, Halt,' he said, slapping him good-naturedly on the back.
Willard was still standing politely off to one side. With some relief, Duncan saw they were on the last page of the report. He gestured for Willard to go ahead.
'Just some news from Hibernia now,' he said, scanning the page. 'Two of the kingdoms are skirmishing again - uh, Gad-- Gal--'
'Galwegh and Dromorth,' Halt supplied.
You're not from either of those, are you, Halt?' Duncan said.
Halt shook his head. 'Clonmel.'
'Actually, there's something about Clonmel in here, too,' Willard said, reading down farther. 'Let's see, they've agreed to trade some of their textiles for our grain...those horses we bought off them as breeding stock for the Ranger Corps are on their way...weddings of various nobles, some deaths...'
'Anyone important?' Duncan asked. It was slightly insensitive, but on an international level the only really significant deaths were those of royals.
'One - Caitlyn O'Carrick.'
'Oh, the Princess, right?' Duncan said. Willard nodded and was opening his mouth to go on, but anything he might have to say further was cut off when Crowley said, 'Halt?'
Duncan looked over. Halt was pale and had taken a step back. Crowley put his hand on his back to steady him. 'Halt, are you all right?'
Halt seemed to recover - he straightened, at least, though he wasn't looking at any of them.
Duncan turned back to Willard. 'Is that the last of the news?'
Willard nodded.
'Good. I'll have to draft a letter of condolence to Clonmel's king, and arrange for someone to translate it.'
'Don't they know Araluen there, sire?' Willard asked.
'They do, but it looks better if these things are in their official language. Halt, can I ask you to--'
But when Duncan looked over, it was to find Halt had disappeared.
*
Gilan slowed Blaze to a walk and dismounted. He led her to the stable, took off her saddle and bridle, and thoroughly brushed her while she munched her oats. He wondered what he would see when he went into the cabin.
Crowley had met him on the road before he got to Wensley village. 'Something's wrong with Halt,' he had said. 'The Princess in Clonmel died and its affected him for some reason. He's not saying anything about it, but be prepared.'
Gilan stumbled up the front step to the cabin and opened the door. It was completely empty. The fire in the stove was long dead and no food had been prepared.
Slowly Gilan became aware of a sound outside and left the cabin, circling around to the back. Halt was firing arrows into a tree, the arrows so closely spaced the trunk bristled like a hedgehog. As Gilan watched, he loosed his last arrow and slowly went to retrieve them. Gilan hurried forward. 'Halt?'
Halt turned to look at him. He quickly masked his expression, but just for a moment Gilan saw deep anguish in his eyes.
'Welcome back,' he said, voice more gruff than normal. 'How was training?'
Gilan frowned. Halt never asked him about training. 'Crowley said something happened today.'
Halt looked away and began tugging the arrows out if the tree. His hands were shaking, Gilan noticed. He knew Halt could be supremely calm when he was shooting, and more than once had seen Halt shooting with perfect accuracy despite being deeply stressed about something, only for all that stress to come back as soon as the last arrow had been fired. He went to help him with the arrows. 'Something about the Princess in Clonmel, Crowley said. Was she popular?'
'You could say that,' Halt said after a significant pause.
'Was she going to be queen, or...?'
Halt shook his head. 'She was the youngest child.'
'Oh.'
There was a prolonged silence as they got the last of the arrows from the tree and trudged back to the cabin. From the holes in the trunk, Gilan figured Halt had been firing arrows into it for a long time.
Halt made dinner without apparently paying much attention to what he was doing, and they ended up with a rather bland and watery stew which Halt barely touched. An uncomfortable silence hung thickly in the cabin as Gilan, unsure of what to say, tried to keep himself occupied.
'She liked having her hair braided.'
Gilan looked up from where he was scrubbing the dishes. Halt was sitting in a chair near the fire, gazing into it without seeing it. 'Who did?' Gilan prompted after a moment.
'Caitlyn. She would sit for a long time having her hair braided, then undo all of it just so it could be done again. Nobody minded because she took such delight in it.'
Gilan wondered how Halt could possibly have known that. Maybe he had known Princess Caitlyn's maid at one point.
'She was sick a lot, so she couldn't do much. But there was a song she liked. One of those old folk songs that told the story of an old hero. The Sunrise Warrior. She'd sing it a lot, or have someone sing it for her when she was too weak. You'd hear her sing it while walking, or dancing...'
'Did she sing well?' Gilan asked.
Halt closed his eyes at the memory. 'Beautifully.'
Gilan watched him for a while longer, wondering if more was to come, but Halt had apparently forgotten he was there. He turned back to the dishes.
He paused after a few minutes and looked back.
Apparently without realising it, Halt had begun to sing softly. The simple melody filled the cabin, and though Gilan didn't understand the Hibernian words he found himself listening anyway.
Only once Halt finished did Gilan turn back to the dishes, pretending he hadn't noticed the tears that glistening on Halt's cheeks.
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