A/N: I keep seeing these things floating around, and finally realized that I hadn't done one. These 100 themes can be found on the wonderful spookisapuppy's profile.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Ranger's Apprentice. Ranger's Apprentice and all Characters therein © John Flanagan.

Peyer and Cowen (OCs) © Myself.

1. Introduction

Halt looked around himself, trying not to appear uncomfortable. Ironic, how he could live half of his life as royalty, and now the mere thought of wide-open anterooms made him cringe. He stood there in vaulted stone room for a while, listening to a water clock drip quietly in one corner, tracking the servants' movements inconspicuously as he waited for his escort to return. His only shield from the vast openness was the grey-green cloak that hung around him.

Soon enough, he heard footsteps sound on the stairwell. However, they didn't belong to the guard who had brought him here.

"Halt!" A smiling man called to him. Halt looked up and did his best to reciprocate the gesture. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Did they just leave you standing there?" The man sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry about that. Come on up to my quarters, would you? We can talk, and I'll make coffee."

Halt nodded, adding a quiet, "Of course," as he went, and followed his friend upstairs. Once they'd reached the generously sized apartments, Halt's host removed the longsword from his belt and set it aside. Halt removed his large longbow and quiver then went to sit on one of the soft couches in the room.

"How has it been lately, over at Redmont?" The man asked conversationally as he made the coffee. "Warm enough?"

Halt shrugged. "Enough. It's my first winter there, but the weather seems mild enough."

"Mmm," the man raised his eyebrows. "Can't really say the same for Caraway, I'm afraid." He nodded his head meaningfully at the snow-frosted windows.

Halt nodded slightly, and took the moment of silence to study his friend. A clear, lean face, light hair, rough cheeks, and sharp green eyes. But now, after all that had happened, Halt noted that he'd obtained some crinkles around his eyes, and a sad little wrinkle between his eyebrows. Then, he smiled, and the haunted image was dispelled.

"At least we're not living in tents anymore, eh?" The man asked, carrying two steaming mugs into the small living area.

"Indeed. Thank you," Halt took his cup and sipped gratefully at it. There was a pause between them, strung with a strange mixture of tension and comradeship. After a while, Halt set down his cup.

"David…" He started, trying to decipher his friend's odd expression. "How are you doing? I mean, really."

David looked away, and then shrugged. "Alright, I suppose. Well as I can be, after such a bloody war." He mumbled, biting his finger a moment before continuing. "You know, Halt, everyone is so happy that it's over now. That we won. And I suppose I am, too. But…" He paused again, casting around for the right words, before looking over at Halt. "Somehow, knowing that he's still out there, still breathing, after all he's done to my country, my men… It's even worse that having to fight him, Halt." Halt nodded quietly, silently echoing David's sentiments. The knight sighed. "I suppose it's no use, this worrying. But I just can't get my mind off it." He tried to change the subject. "I really don't wish to talk about it. But I will ask you about something else: you said something about a promise, when you last left – a child, I thought. What happened there?"

Halt lifted his head in acknowledgment, but didn't speak until he'd thought out what to say. "Yes, it was a child. That sergeant, the one that saved me – Daniel. Just before he died, I promised I'd see too it that his family was looked after – at the time, his wife was only days away from giving birth."

David leaned forward, listening with interest. "And?" he asked, "How is she? That was a while ago yet."

Halt looked down with a sigh. "I'm afraid she didn't make it very long after she had her baby. Her son, however, is doing well."

It took several moments for David to answer. "That's… I'm sorry to hear that." He said. "About the mother, I mean. But the boy, isn't he an orphan, now?"

"He is," Halt nodded. "And the Baron has accepted him into the Ward."

"Ah," David's expression cleared. The Redmont Ward had only been in operation for a few years, and he was glad that such a brilliant institution would care for this unfortunate child. A thought struck him. "What is his name?"

Halt took a sip of coffee before answering. "Will," He said.

David nodded thoughtfully. "Will," He repeated. "A good name." He reached for his cup of coffee, but just as he did, a series of banging noises sounded outside the apartment. "Oh, no." The man grinned. "Here comes trouble." Halt glanced at his friend, perplexed.

David set down his cup and turned towards the door, where the bangs were growing louder. Suddenly, a spindly mass of flesh and untidy blond hair burst into the room.

"Daddy, dad, I got to ride a horse today! Not a pony, a real battlehorse! Do you think that I'm big enough to ride Archie yet? I wanted to, but mum said I had to ask you first. Did you know that they're having a giant snow war out in the courtyard? I'm going to go out and see if I can find Michael. He's the best with snowballs. Maybe we could make a giant fort, and Peyter told me that-" Suddenly, in the middle of a wild spin, the boy froze. His smile disappeared, and his wide blue eyes fixated on Halt like a frightened doe.

Halt tried to pretend that this six-year-old wasn't making him uncomfortable. It didn't work - he hated being stared at. Not wanting to alarm the juvenile any more than he already was, Halt shifted in his spot. "Hello," He said.

The boy wasn't comforted. "Da-ad," He turned towards David, and darted behind his father. "Who is that?" He asked in a harsh whisper.

David frowned at his son. "Gilan, is that any way to behave with guests? Gilan," he drug his son out from behind him, "This is Ranger Halt." He looked up to Halt. "Halt, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Gilan." David looked back down at the wary blue eyes by his knee. "Gilan, say hello."

The boy did so, nervously. "Hello." He eyed Halt nervously, as if the ranger were made of some volatile material that could lash out and burn him at any moment.

Halt nodded back, wondering if he was really that scary. "Nice to meet you, Gilan."

Before anything else could be said, Gilan rushed away from both adults towards the hall. "I'." He slipped slightly on the floorboards as he went, and had to make a strange flailing movement to right himself. Then, just as he left the room, he whipped a book off a side table, sending two pieces of paper floating to the ground.

David shook his head. "Yeah, that's Gilan alright. Sorry about him, Halt. He's a bit… Unpredictable."

Halt couldn't hide the smile as he watched the small boy clamber off. "Not a problem, David." What an odd boy, Halt thought. No telling what he'll get up to when he's older. Halt's thoughts were forgotten as he tried to take another swig of his coffee, and was met by a gritty bitterness. He surveyed the dregs with a frown. "Anymore coffee?"

Little did the ranger know, he'd just received one of the most important introductions of his life.

3. Light

Halt groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. He hated the sun. Blast it, he hated the sun, the moon, the stars, the darned candle burning by his bedside, the mirror that reflected it into his eyes, the bloody fireplace and its stupid fire. He hated light. And most of all, he hated his stupid window, that let the light streaming into his bedroom, burning his eyes out of their sockets.

Was there any particular reason for this hatred? Well, it may or may not have had something to do with the fact that Halt, along with several other apprenticed Rangers, had graduated last night. And, at the ensuing graduation party, Halt may or may not have consumed a glass of hard whiskey. Or two. Or perhaps three. Was it three? Yes, Halt's groggy mind told him, it was definitely three.

Needless to say, navigating out of one's bedroom with one's brains swimming about in one's skull, with one's eyelids clamped firmly shut and a chorus of buzzing in one's ears, is by no means an easy task – much less a safe one. By the time he was out of his door, Halt had cursed, yelled, screamed, kicked, smashed, broken, tripped and gagged. And once he finally managed to open his door, he was so preoccupied that he forgot to close his eyes.

"AUGH!" His arm flew to shield his eyes from the painful sunlight streaming in through the windows, and he fell back against the wall before sinking to the floor. He sat there for a while, brooding over his hatred for existence and the world at large. Then, a series of great crashing, squeaking footsteps filled his ears, and he realized that there was someone standing right in front of him.

"Well that's odd." Crowley said unnecessarily and entirely too loudly.

Halt was about to curse at him, but Crowley spoke again,

"It's funny; I've always been told that Hibernians can drink flagons of ale and not get drunk. And yet you have one swig of harmless whiskey, and you turn into this." Halt could hear Crowley waving his arm at him. "Halt, are you sure you're Hibernian?"

"Féadfaidh feargach laechonnachies ionsaí tú i do chodladh! Of course I'm Hibernian!" Halt crawled away from the man, blindly swatting at Crowley's legs to let him by.

Crowley let him crawl past, frowning at the unfamiliar language. "What did you say?" he asked.

Halt cursed as he bumped into a chair. "Nothing. And it wasn't a 'swig'. It was three bloody pints."

Crowley snorted. "You wish. I was with you the whole time, Halt – you barely had one pint, let alone three." The sandy haired ranger said as Halt hauled himself up in front of the kitchen stove.

"No, it was three. Otherwise, I wouldn't be so-GAUH!" Halt hissed and yanked back his arm as his hand made contact with a very hot stovetop. "Bloody son of a- Crowley! Why didn't you tell me I was by the stove?"

Crowley shrugged, trying to hide the fact that he was being thoroughly amused by Halt's antics. "I thought you knew."

"My eyes are closed, you idiot!"

"Hey, you could have been looking for coffee."

"I can't look for coffee with my eyes closed, moron. I was trying to find the window."

"Oh," Crowley rolled his eyes in a sarcastic way. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you're an idiot." Halt answered quickly. "Now where is the window?"

"Right there." Crowley pointed uselessly.

"Crowley!"

He rolled his eyes again. "What do you want with it? You aren't going to tear my curtains down, are you?"

"I want to block out the stupid light." Halt grumbled, feeling his way – much more carefully than before – along the counter.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Crowley walked over to the window with ease and drew the heavy curtains across their rods, darkening the majority of the cabin. "You can open your eyes, now."

Halt did, hesitantly. The first thing he saw was Crowley peering at him. "Good grief, Halt – your eyes are terrible." Somewhere in Crowley's green gaze, Halt could detect pity, concern, and a definite sense of amusement. Halt appreciated none of these emotions at the moment.

"Shut up. And stop talking so loudly." Halt shoved at Crowley's shoulder and drunkenly swerved around in the kitchen, looking for the coffee pot.

Eventually, Crowley came to his rescue and picked up the pot from beneath Halt's nose, where the dark-eyed ranger had somehow failed to spot it. "Let me take care of that," He said. "You might burn it, and then what will you do?"

Halt grumbled something in Hibernian, but did not protest. Instead, he grabbed a blanket form a nearby rack, fashioned it around his head and shoulders in a makeshift cowl, and threw himself into a convenient lounge chair. He pulled up his legs and crossed his arms grumpily, scowling at couch cushions across the room with detestation. He would have made a terrifying picture, if it weren't for the fact that the blanket that Halt had chosen as a cloak was woven in a cheery lavender color. Crowley saw this, and smirked.

Halt's former master, Cowen, had warned Crowley once that Halt couldn't hold his liquor. However, the young ranger hadn't had any reason to believe the older man until now. But Crowley was definitely convinced, what with Halt cursing and staggering and grumbling and muttering in the strange tongue of his homeland. However, when Cowen had delivered Crowley the warning, he'd also given him a piece of advice:

Strong and black; no sugar, no cream, and pinch of salt to really wake him up.

Crowley brought Halt a cup of coffee, and the other ranger took it with a grunt. After a minute or two, he took a sip, and his eyes widened. He glanced at Crowley sharply, but the other ranger didn't notice as he put a skillet on the stove. Halt looked back down into his steaming mug with slight surprise. He recognized the taste – a brew that a rather annoyed Cowen had concocted a few years ago after he and Halt had attended a formal banquet and the obligatory toast of wine had left Halt, er, incapacitated the next morning.

Halt sipped at it again, grimacing at the odd mix of bitterness and saltiness, but knowing it would do wonders for his cognitive faculties. He had always resented the fact that even the slightest amount of alcohol gave him a hangover, but he was grateful that Crowley was kind enough to get him some good, strong coffee. And close the curtains. And cook breakfast. And put up with his grumpiness. And cursing. And muttering in a foreign language. Halt looked down into his mug, and his coffee-colored reflection stared up at him with guilt. Halt turned towards Crowley to thank the other ranger for all he'd done. But then Halt remembered the incident with the stove, and decided that he was still too grumpy to show his friend any gratitude. He turned back around and huddled in his purple cowl to drink his coffee.

Eventually, after Halt had finished his brew and eaten some breakfast, he rose and went back to his room. He squinted, fearing the light that would be streaming in through his windows, but when he reached his doorway, he realized that his previously open curtains had been drawn and temporarily tacked down to keep out all light. He shuffled back into the kitchen, where Crowley was reading a book over a plate of bacon.

"Erm, thanks." He said awkwardly. He sniffed, wondering if he should say anything else. Deciding he shouldn't, he left.

Crowley watched him go and smiled. Halt wished the world to think that he was a scowling, melancholic Hibernian with the disposition of an angry badger and an attitude to match. But deep down, Crowley knew that Halt was just a pussy cat.

His thoughts were interrupted by Halt loudly cursing in Hibernian as he tripped over a chair.

Albeit a tattered, grumpy pussy cat who couldn't hold his liquor, but a pussy cat nonetheless.

Halt slammed his door. Crowley sipped at his coffee.

A/N: In case any of you were wondering, Halt's string of Hibernian (aka Irish) translates roughly into 'may angry leprechauns attack you in your sleep'.

Hmm... Okay, so both of those were more like oneshots than drabbles... I hope you guys enjoyed them anyway.

Read and review!