DON'T HATE ME! I just had to. I'm sorry. Please enjoy.

He didn't believe them, at first.

It just simply couldn't be possible. It was something he'd never considered, never imagined. It was an occurrence so bizarre he just couldn't get it through his head.

Halt O'Carrick, the finest Ranger Araluen had ever known, dead?

No. No. He refused to believe it. If he didn't believe it, if he denied it enough, maybe it would turn out to be false. Maybe he could... he could...

What? What could he do? Halt was dead. His mentor, his teacher, his friend, his... father. Because that was what Halt had been. A father. And now he was gone.

Will had had lost two fathers, both too soon. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Halt couldn't be dead, it didn't work like that.

But in his heart, he knew it to be true. He saw it in Gilan's bloodshot eyes, in the shadows under Baron Arald's eyes. He heard it in Lady Pauline's wracking sobs. He felt in the heavy silence, the unnatural stillness. It was as if without Halt, the world had stopped turning.

Now came the crushing, smothering, choking anguish, a pain so sharp and deep it cut down to his very soul. His heart was being pulled apart, piece by piece, ripped to shreds and ground into the dirt. Oh, it hurt. How it hurt!

Horace had had him placed in his own room at the infirmary the first time he'd broke down. They fed him herbal remedies and laid cool cloths on his forehead.

Nothing worked. There was only one man who could take away the pain, and he was dead.

Pauline came to visit him one day. She looked awful, ragged and torn and completely broken down. In one trembling, wrinkled hand she held a roll of parchment.

"Hello, Will," she whispered.

He looked up at her, at her watery eyes and pasty skin. "Hello," he replied, hoarsely.

She held up the parchment. "I- I found this is Halt's things. It was marked for you, with instructions for it to be given to you when he- when he-"

She couldn't bring herself to finish, but she didn't need to. Will knew exactly what she meant.

"What is it?"

She shrugged. "I figured it was really between you two. I just wanted to give it to you. One last piece of Halt for you to hold on to."

She understood him. Understood his need to have Halt by his side, helping him, guiding him. She felt the same, he could tell.

"Thank you," he murmured, and she slid the parchment into his left hand. It was cool and dry, and when he raised it to his face, the familiar scent of white pine, coffee, and horses drifted up to him.

Ah. The pain was back, tenfold now. He shuddered and moaned in agony, feeling as if his body was being torn apart, limb by limb. What was this hellish torture? Why would it never stop?

Pauline had already gone, and there were no nurses to help him. It was a good ten minutes before the fit passed, and he relaxed. This one had taken more out of him than usual. A wave of exhaustion crashed over him. He just couldn't bear to live like this any longer.

The feeling of the parchment in hand brought him back to reality. With painstaking care, he removed the simple wax seal and unfurled the letter.

Will, it began.

My time is nearly up. By the time you get this, I will already be dead. There are things I need to tell you that I should have said a long time ago. Things that are crucial for you to know before it's too late.

First, I must thank you. You brought joy into my life, with your bubbling cheerfulness and that damn, ever-present smile. You showed me the light, as they say. In a dark and unforgiving night, you were the ray of sunshine in my life. I do not say these things lightly. Gilan brought me some measure of happiness, but nowhere near the bliss you gave me. I took you in as my own son, and truth be told, no one could ever wish for a more brave and honest son.

When I was on that execution block in Arrida, when the executioner swing his ace up and when all seemed to be lost, I had hope. Do you know why?

Why do even ask? It's not like you can reply to me.

Anyways.

I had hope, Will, because I knew you had escaped capture. And as long as you were alive, the Arridi didn't stand a chance.

I knew you would save us. If anyone could, it would be you.

You saved me when I was dying of poison. You saved me when the Kalkara were descending on me. If I have Tug an apple for every time you saved my life, he'd be too fat to stand on his own four hooves.

It was hard in the beginning, when I forced to you to do all the chores and balance Ranger practice at the same time. But you've since proven to be quite the master at domestic work. You make a fine housewife, Will.

When you were captured by Erak, I was terrified. I knew the horrors that happened there, I knew what they would force you to do. Warmweed is a drug more powerful than any other existing in the world. By all means, you should have died. Or at least have been reduced to a walking corpse, a shell of your formal self.
I was terrified I would never see you again. Even if I found you too far gone to be a Ranger anymore, I was determined to bring you back and take care of you at the cabin, where you would be safe. I was willing to forfeit my Ranger status in order to keep you by my side.

Instead, when I arrived, I found that the impossible had happened. You had fought off the drug. You had risen up from past the point of no return, and you came back with a fury. You threw yourself into your training and became a finer Ranger than I ever was.

In Skandia, in the face of the Temujai threat, you took the battle into your own hands and single-handedly drove back an enemy that outnumbered us 100 to 1. You were able to figure out and match every one of their tricks faster than anyone I've ever met. Your skill and intelligence and speed make you the undisputed champion of the Ranger Corps, a legend to ring through the fiefs of Araluen for centuries to come.

It was a pleasure teaching, Will. Know that I am immeasurably proud of you. Know that in the letter is everything I didn't say, everything I should've said. You need to realize how special you are, and you need to realize that Araluen needs you.

Stay strong, Will, in the face of pain and tragedy and danger. The country is counting on you. I'm counting on you. Or at least, my ghost is.

Thank you again, Will, for making my life worth living. Thank you, my son.

-Halt.

(P.S. If you ever dare to play that awful mandolin of yours again, I promise that my ghost will come back to haunt for always and eternity. Got it? Good.)

(P.P.S. I love you. Good-bye forever, Will Treaty.)

Will stared down at the letter, his hand trembling. Teardrops had already dampened most of parchment, blurring the inked words slightly. He dabbed at them with a corner of his blanket and closed his eyes.

The scent of white pine drifted up to his nostrils from the parchment, and he waited for the inevitable attack to come.

It didn't, however. And somehow, he knew it would never plague him again.