A/N:Wow. It has been a long time. Too long. I must apologize to everyone for taking such an unexpected hiatus from my RA fictions. I was was bitten by an unforeseen Merlin bug sometime last semester when the fourth series started airing and I realized that I had somehow missed all of the third series, so I had to watch up and developed a subsequent obsession. I've been distracted from this fic by some Merlin fanfic I've been writing, including the fully-completed Trust, which I am rather proud to have cranked out in record time, and its sequel, A Second Chance. If you like my RA stuff and are a Merlin fan, please check them out!

But I digress. I've been getting lots of PMs asking for updates for this fiction and to be honest, I really miss it. So, here it goes: an update, (FINALLY)

Enjoy!

It was settled.

Halt could stay in Araluen, permanently, if he wanted to, and could even obtain citizenship. The choice was up to him. He, for one, was far too overwhelmed by it all to properly react. The past month was a huge, life-altering blur to Halt, and whenever he tried to think about it, his head began to spin.

He was bound to stay at Castle Araluen as a guest (though not officially, of course) until his shoulder was fully healed. Luckily, the break no longer caused him pain, and Beatrice had replaced the tight plaster bind with a simple sling. Part of Halt was happy to regain his health and freedom, but another part shuddered from the day when Beatrice released him from her care. His shoulder was the only reason he was here at the castle – the only reason he had a roof over his head or food on his table was because of the hospitality of others, and now, as he was about to be released from their care, one thought resonated in Halt's mind:

What in the world would he do next?

He'd been raised as a prince. He didn't have a trade or any knowledge of hard labor, and while he could fight decently, Halt wasn't stupid enough to believe any battlemaster would accept a scrawny foreigner as a trainee. With no standing in the court, his princely experience would do him no good, and whatever political and strategic skills he'd acquired over his lifetime would go to waste. In all, Halt had little to no options in Araluen. He'd half a mind to go wandering off somewhere else, perhaps to run into fortune, but then, where would he go? He had no money, no funds, no connections anywhere. He was adrift in the biggest storm of his life with nothing to latch onto. However, without having to try too hard, Halt processed this new information the way he took most things in life: quietly, solemnly, privately; no matter how much internal conflict he experienced for the fact.

Only Cowan could really see through his shell of calm.

"Where're you going?" The ranger came up beside Halt to help him tack up his horse, which Halt had been attempting one-handed.

"Don't know." The teen clipped. "Somewhere quiet, for a bit."

"Aye, I understand that," Cowan smiled. He watched Halt work for a bit, squinting at the boy's head as though it would help him perceive Halt's thoughts. "Something's eating you," Cowan said eventually, abandoning any attempt at subtlety. "Out with it, then."

Halt turned to face Cowan, both taken off guard and refreshed by the man's frankness. After studying the taller ranger for a moment, Halt sighed and looked away. "I don't know what I'll do," He said, his good hand frustrating the leather on a buckle, "after my arm heals. Where I'll go."

"We'll find you a job," Cowan said hopefully.

Halt was shaking his head before the man finished. "I know nothing of any trade, or labor for that matter, and I'm not lending myself out for servitude."

"Too used to being a prince?" Cowan crossed his arms. Halt turned to look at him darkly.

"No. But I'll not let my life go idly by simply because I'm too lazy to try anything worth trying." He turned back to his horse. "I don't mind work. I don't mind learning. I do mind being less than myself – and I like independence." He said it all so concisely, so sure of himself that for a while, Cowan had nothing to say.

"I'm sure we'll find something for you, Halt." His tone had morphed into something Halt didn't quite understand. "Don't you worry." They shared a look that neither of them could decipher, until Cowan smiled nodded toward the animal at Halt's side. "I'll give you a leg-up." Once Halt was mounted, Cowan gave the horse a pat on the shoulder. "There're some good clearings a ways north, nice and quiet this time of year." He stepped back and Halt rode off. Cowan watched him go.

I mind being less than myself. The words stuck with him for some reason. They clicked like a key into a thought pattern that had been building in Cowan's mind for some time, and while a small part of the Ranger grew excited over the thought, another part of him shrunk in apprehension. This new idea of his was going to bring him nothing but trouble.

Weeks passed. Beatrice, Cowan, and Halt fell into a routine in their joint suites at the castle. Daily, Halt would go through various physical exercises with Beatrice to strengthen his shoulder and prepare it to return to normal use. He would help Cowan with daily chores such as horse care and preparing food, and while Cowan and Beatrice were away on business at the castle, he would immerse himself in the local lifestyle and read up on Araluen. If he was to live there, he ought to know about its culture. The entire routine grew comfortable and second-nature for the three of them. However, as the days until Halt was declared fully healed went down to the single digits, Cowan felt a small itch of anticipation grow inside him with increasing demand.

One night, after Halt practically collapsed into bed after a long day out riding, Cowan and Beatrice sat together talking in the main living area of their quarters. Beatrice was sipping at a mug of tea. Cowan had offered her coffee, but try as he might, he'd never been able to get her to like the stuff.

"Asleep?" She asked.

"Out cold, more like," Cowan lowered himself into a seat. "Konked out like someone pommeled him."

Beatrice laughed. "I can't blame him – he's been through a lot."

"He didn't complain."

"He doesn't seem like the type who would."

"Hmm." A steaming cup of coffee waited for him where Beatrice had left it on the table, but Cowan didn't even look at it. His eyebrows were drawn together in an intense look. Beatrice noticed, but didn't say anything for a long time.

"It must be important," She broke the silence eventually, still sipping calmly at her tea, "if you've let your coffee go cold over it."

The mention of coffee seemed to snap Cowan out of his trance, and the ranger made a face when he realized that it had, in fact, gone cold. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"So, what is it?" Beatrice coaxed him, not bothering to look up.

Cowan drummed his fingers on the armchair. "It's about Halt."

"What about him?"

He glanced at her nervously. "You're not going to like it."

"Aren't I?"

"Neither is Gerald." Cowan watched her as if she were an active hornet's nest. Mustering his courage, he added, "…or Randalf."

That did get her attention. Her eyes shot up to him, and there was no mistaking the warning in that look. "Cowan Fitzpatrick Shirley, so help me," He winced at the use of his full name – it was a name that only a handful of people were privy to – "if you so much as think about doing what I think you're thinking about doing,"

"Too late," he muttered,

"Do you even know what it is you're asking?" Her voice was rising in volume, tea forgotten.

"Bea, look, it's just a thought-"

"Not when it's you who's thinking it, Cowan! You can't do this!"

"Bea, please, quiet down, you'll wake-"

"Don't you dare call me that, idiot." She did, however, comply by lowering her voice. "Cowan, this is not about just him anymore, this is about your job, your credibility, your life, even – what will you do when they expel you from the Corps.?"

"Who says they will?"

"You're a tough man to control, Cowan," Beatrice told him frankly, "And you've crossed more than a few lines over the past twenty years. This will only push them that much farther – and Halt, of all people!"

"What about him?"

"Why'd you choose him?"

"You have to ask?"

"The boy's a foreigner!"

"Defector!"

"It doesn't matter!" Beatrice threw up her hands. "You know they'll be suspicious."

"We'll prove them wrong."

"You and what army, Cowan? You know that there's only one man who will vouch for you."

"Martin has enough influence to pull it off."

"Had. Martin is the only reason you're still in the Corps, but after all the times he's covered for you, even he's losing his place in the ranks."

Cowan bit his lip and looked away. He knew it was true, he knew it was his fault, but that little part of him that always got him in trouble just didn't care.

"For the love of sanity, Cowan," He was slightly surprised to hear desperation in Beatrice's voice, "Please don't do this. I'm not going to let you throw your career away."

"You don't think he can do it?"

"Of course I think he can, but they won't, and they're the only ones who matter!"

"We'll convince them, then."

"No," Beatrice moaned and rubbed her face, trying to restrain herself from punching him, "That's just it, you won't convince them, Cowan, you can't. Nothing you can say will ever convince them to let you make a washed-up, defecting Hibernian ex-prince-in-hiding your apprentice."

The air froze, and they glared at each other.

"Well, then," Cowan said eventually, his jaw set, "I'll just have to think of something that I can't say."

For some reason, breakfast the next morning seemed unusually tense. Beatrice wasn't speaking to anyone, and she wouldn't even look at Cowan. She'd left without asking Halt how he was feeling, which had never happened before. Cowan watched her with half guilt, half challenge written in his eyes, but Halt, for all the unspoken tension in the room, seemed incredibly calm as he ate his oatmeal.

"That woman," Cowan began to rant after she left. He paced around the table at which Halt was eating. "Can't she just see my side of it all, just once?" He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "Of course not, she's Beatrice, for heaven's sake. But why not just now? Of all things…" Although he'd been speaking as if to Halt, he did a double take when he caught the young man staring at him and frowned. "What are you looking at?"

Halt shook his head and looked down at his cereal. Cowan resumed pacing.

"Not like this is important or anything. But what am I saying? Of course it's important, bloody well life and death, and there she is, rubbing me the wrong way for what? Her half-baked stubbornness?" Cowan growled, but it dissolved into a frustrated sigh. "But she's probably right, of course. Damn lass is always right." He sunk into a chair across from Halt and felt an immediate need to change the subject. After taking a moment to cool down, he nodded at Halt's arm.

"How's your shoulder holding up, lad?"

Halt shrugged, obviously not in pain. "Feels fine. Wouldn't know any different if Beatrice wasn't around to remind me it's still brittle." Cowan nodded, as if it was what he'd expected.

"Aye, should be all mended soon." He didn't sound entirely pleased with the fact. "You'll be out of her care, then." His eyes got a far-off look for a moment, but he recovered and peered at Halt. "Lad, that is, er, Halt… I've been thinking. About what you said a while back, about not knowing what to do after you're healed up and all… I've had an idea about it, and I like to put it to you – to hell with whatever Bea says about it." When Halt merely looked at him, Cowan drew breath to speak, but the boy unexpectedly cut in.

"You want to make me your apprentice."

Cowan froze and gaped. Halt shrugged.

"You two weren't exactly quiet, you know." He picked at his oatmeal. A silence hung between the two while Halt ate and Cowan's eyebrows twitched as if to process this new revelation.

"I… see." He said after a while. "And, eh… What do you think?"

"Beatrice seemed to think it was a suicide cause."

Cowan looked annoyed. "Yes, I very well know what she thinks, that's not what I asked – I asked what you think, Halt." He leaned across the table to look the boy in the eye.

Halt heaved a huge breath and set down his spoon. After thinking, he began to shake his head. "Cowan, I… I'm indebted to you, everything you've done to help me, and honestly," Halt's typical composure faltered, and Cowan glimpsed the honesty and vulnerability beneath. "I don't know how I would have made it without you, either of you, and honestly…" He paused before saying sincerely, "I think being your apprentice would be a great honor. But I'm afraid that… Beatrice may be right. No one would want a foreigner in their ranks. I'm not even a citizen here. I could never be a ranger."

"No, I think you're wrong," Cowan replied quickly. "I think you could be a ranger, and a darned good one, at that." Halt looked at the man surprised but dubious, and Cowan continued. "The skills you've been trained in since birth would come in handy in the Corps, for one. But aside from and vastly more important, Halt, you've got spirit.You've got resolve, determination, and pure gut that I haven't seen in any other man."

Halt regarded him for a long moment before asking, "How'd you see it at all, then?"

Cowan smiled. "Because I've glimpsed it – only glimpsed it – before, in someone I knew."

"Who's that?"

"Me."

Halt merely watched the older man. Cowan drew himself up and began to explain.

"You may not be able to tell it now, Halt, but I wasn't so unlike you, once. I was raised in Hibernia."

"Really?" Halt looked genuinely surprised.

"Aye. My mother was from a small village just South of Clonmel, in fact. My father was an Araluan tradesman. He'd gone to serve a long apprenticeship in Hibernia after his master's shop grew too small for him. I lived my childhood there." When Halt made no move to interrupt him, Cowan continued: "When I was just nearing my growing years, my father decided that it would be best for his business and our family to move back to Araluen. My mother agreed, so we packed up what we had and boarded a ship." Cowan sighed sadly. "We were taken by a storm halfway across the west sea. Treacherous waters. My father… In an effort to help the crew save the sails, was tossed over. We never found him."

Both grew quiet, and Halt murmured his condolences. Cowan shrugged them away. The callous of years made the pain lessen. "We landed just north of the northern border, in Picta. My mother, bless her stubborn Hibernian blood, somehow got herself and I through to Araluen alive. It wasn't enough, though. We'd only been there a month or so, staying at an inn in the northern feifs when she fell ill. Within two months on Araluen soil, I was an orphan foreigner, no where to go."

Halt was intensely sympathetic and interested. "What happened?"

Cowan smiled. "I fought. I wasn't about to become nothing for sake of my circumstances. I hadn't the slightest idea what I was doing, but I made my way here in Araluen. I worked in carpenter shops- my father's trade – for a while, in different towns. Then I enlisted into the Redmont barracks at sixteen. Stayed there training for a few years – rubbish with a sword, I can tell you – and that's where the local ranger found me." He laughed at the memory. "I'd been in a fight. The other boys would pick on me for my accent, you see. It was still strong, then. I hated them for it. Got more than one black eye for my trouble. At the time, I hadn't a clue what the ranger saw in my to make me his apprentice, but now I know, Halt, because now I've seen it in you."

Halt looked like he was beginning to follow, but not sure whether he should like it or not.

"It's spirit." Cowan explained. "It takes that kind of spirit to really make it in the Corps., Halt. I had it to survive when I got here, and you've got it too, far more than I had. I may have what it takes to be a good ranger, Halt," Cowan said frankly, then more quietly, "But you'd be ten times the ranger I've ever been, Halt. I know it. I'd stake my life on it."

Hald didn't know what to say. He felt simultaneously flattered and threatened at the same time, as if he'd just come to an ultimatum.

"Even if all the others disagree? Even if they refuse, are you willing to try for it? For the sake of 'spirit'?" Halt asked. Cowan leaned forward with a steely look in his eye.

"Are you willing to not try?"

The two men, young and old, stared at each other. The spirit of which Cowan had referred reared its head inside Halt and steeled his gut for whatever gamble he was about to make.

I will not stand idly by. Well, Halt thought, this was anything but idle. And might just be his only chance.

"No," he said, his tone and his eyes telling Cowan everything he needed to know. The ranger smiled, wide and genuine, but his eyes were wild.

"I thought not."