Title: The Hands that Feed You

Author: Elfpen

Summary: The world had never been kind to young Patrick Murphy. Born unwanted into a destitute family, he works at the Estroch stables to care for his ailing mother. But beneath the years of hardship, there lies a talent that is about to be uncovered by a King's Ranger: an extraordinary way with horses.

A/N: I know, I know. I've got a bazillion stories going on right now, and now I'm starting ANOTHER one. Why? Well… Come on. This is fanfiction. We do it for fun, yes? Fun little whimsies. This is a whimsy that has been floating about in my head for the past few months.

For those of you who are sighing in disappointment right now, you may be happy to know that the next chapter of 'Revenge' is just a few pages away from being done. I should have that up within this week.

Without further ado, the story. Happy reading!

EDITORIAL NOTE: Because it'll appear a lot in this story, I should tell you, the 'ch' in the town's name, 'Estroch', is pronounced similarly to the way you would pronounce it in the word 'loch' (Irish/Scottish lake) so the pronunciation become 'ESS-trock'.

Prologue: The Ranger

Spring really was the best of all the seasons, he thought. Will smiled at a farmer as he passed by, and surprisingly, the farmer smiled back. It's only because he doesn't recognize me, Will thought to himself, glancing at the peasant garb he'd dressed himself in. With his bow strapped inconspicuously to Tug's saddle and no mottled ranger cloak to give him away, Will Treaty appeared no more than a fresh-faced young woodsman that day, and that was exactly how he wanted it.

Will had been stationed as the Ranger of Seacliff for over two years, now, and had managed to eradicate most criminal nuisances from the fief in that time. However, he made it a point to stay up-to-date on the local goings-on, and so, made periodical tours of the countryside to gather information under the guise of a commonplace traveler.

He'd been on the road for over a week now, sometimes camping in the woods, sometimes finding lodging in the closest settlement. He took every opportunity to converse with the locals, relying on the town gossip to lend him information which he methodically absorbed, processed, and filed away into his mental reserves. On this particular intelligence tour, the consensus was that Seacliff was largely at peace. Oh, there were petty squabbles here and there, and already Will had had to play mediator between two feuding farmers, but over all, Will's job as keeper of the peace had been made incredibly easy.

Now, as he rode through dusk into the small port-town of Estroch, Will was just a two-day ride away from his small cabin by the river. The local inn at Estroch would be his last stop before he headed home.

Above all else, Estroch was first and foremost a shipping town. Set right on the seafront, the streets were filled with the sound of tolling bells and hungry gulls. However, the small port town was far from busy or prosperous; judging by the empty streets and run-down buildings, Will gathered that business was not what it used to be. Even in the height of the spring trading season, when merchants from across the Constant and Western Seas should be flooding the docks, most of the tradesmen who Will saw were downcast and idle. The cargo they unloaded onto the docks was small in number and mediocre in value, and the ships at port were few and far between. In his travels, Will had seen what a healthy port town should look like: bustling, efficient, well-kept, busy, colorful and loud. Estroch was none of these things. In their place stood a damp, run-down, moldy, and overwhelmingly dreary settlement, bordered by once-great timber walls made black with rot. Where business should thrive, there stood decaying monuments to good times gone by: the empty port master's office, half-collapsed consulate offices for nations around the known world, and a huge warf that sat silently, wearily on the water, just waiting for the business of old to return.

The whole town made Will quite sad, and he couldn't fight away the gray cloud of melancholy that fell over his previously cheery mood. As he rode by on the main cobblestone road, a dirty young scullion ran out into the street toward some unseen destination. Will caught his attention. "You, boy, is there an inn here that would have a weary traveler for the night?"

"Aye," The young man turned big, bright eyes on Will, "you be lookin' for the Sign of the Siren. 'Tis the only tavern here wit a bed for ye, but Mistress Calloway's got a fine stew pot, she has." The bow grinned, gapped toothed and yellow, but cheerful all the same. Will smiled back and tossed him a small silver coin.

"Very well, lad – a good evening to you."

The boy looked at the small token in awe as though it were a jewel-encrusted crown, and beamed at Will. "Thank ye, sir! Thank ye very much!" And with that, he darted away to tell his parents of the kind young traveler who had favored him that day.

The tavern at the Sign of the Siren was a reasonably sturdy establishment in relation to the rest of the town. The exterior was weathered and rough, but indoors, Mistress Calloway kept the tables, counters and floors polished clean to a shine.

"Just yourself, then?" Calloway asked Will as she seated him at a small table.

"Yes, just me," Will smiled at her, and she set down a tankard of watered-down ale in front of him.

"Well then, welcome to Estroch, lone traveler. It's not much, but it's home to a few." She turned to the bar, where a young girl was cleaning dishes.

"Elyssa, see to it that this man has a full tankard and is well fed," she instructed. Elyssa nodded and retreated obediently to the kitchens.

"My daughter," Mrs. Calloway explained, "youngest of five. But the rest are out of the house, now." She frowned slightly at the thought of her four oldest, but quickly regained her rosy smile. "Anything else you'll be needing, sir?"

"Just a good warm room and a place to stable my horse," he smiled.

"An easy enough task. First door upstairs on the right - I'll get the key. As for your horse, there's a small stable out back that should suit your purposes well enough."

Will thanked her and hungrily tucked into the hearty beef stew that Elyssa had brought him. After he'd had his fill and deposited his bundle of things into his room, he left to get Tug bedded down for the night. As he led the shaggy ranger's horse into the stable, a young stable hand, no more than fifteen years of age, raised his head to watch the newcomer. Will noticed that he watched Tug with special interest.

"You've a fine horse there, Sir." The boy spoke unexpectedly.

Will paused to regard the boy with surprise. Most people hardly noticed the unimpressive looking, Temujai-stock ranger horses, and Will was taken aback at the boy's comment. Tug was a truly unique and wonderful horse, it was true, but it just wasn't the type of thing that a casual observer noticed – much less something that a raggedy young stable hand noticed.

"How do you mean?" Will asked innocently, although his eyes sparked with interest.

The boy went pink in the face; he obviously hadn't expected any questions. "He's got good strong legs," the boy explained, avoiding eye contact with Will, focusing instead on Tug. "A strong chest and neck, too. Fleetfooted, I'd say, with an endurance longer than most." The boy dared a glance at Will and, seeing no condescension there, added with a grin, "and he has eyes more intelligent than some grown men. A fine horse, as I say." The boy returned his focus back to his work, and after a moment of watching him, Will nodded.

"You've a good eye, then. Thank you."

Will moved Tug into the nearest stall, which had been bedded with fresh straw, presumably by the young stable hand, and stocked with plenty of hay and oats to satisfy Tug's appetite. After he removed Tug's tack and gave him a generous rubbing-down, Will snuck his old friend a shining red apple. "You deserve it, boy." Will fondled Tug's forelock as the equine tossed his head in appreciation. "Be good for our hosts, hmm? And don't bite this young fellow if he tries to take care of you. He's a good lad, I think." Tug snorted in horsey derision, as if the notion of biting someone had never occurred to him in the first place. I would never think of biting anyone, you nonnyhead. Besides, I like him.

Will rolled his eyes. "Of course. Except, of course, for that poor lad in Clifstead who was, as I recall, trying to be kind and brush the sweat off you."

He was being rough, and not at all kind.

Will just shook his head and patted Tug's muzzle one last time, wondering briefly about the strange communication between he and his horse before heading away to bed.

"Have a good evening, sir," The stable hand said as Will passed.

"You as well," Will replied.

That night, lying stretched out on his bed, Will wondered about the boy's uncanny eye for horses. He'd managed to hone in on Tug's finest qualities with a passing glance, and was able to articulate those qualities clearly to Will. Obviously, the boy possessed talents far above the range of most stable hands. It was odd, Will thought, to find a mind so attuned to horses in a town so dedicated to the sea. Yet it was reassuring as well – instinctively, Will knew that Tug would be well looked after during their stay in Estroch.

Just before he drifted to sleep, Will realized that he'd never learned the boy's name.