A/N: This is what happens when I decide to stay up until 4 AM listening to sad songs. Thank you, brain.

"Greybeard Halt is a friend of mine.

He lives on Redmont's hill.

Greybeard Halt never took a bath,

And they say he never will!"

Will grinned, and snorted, because whenever he sang, or remembered that parody he wrote of Old Joe Smoke, he couldn't help but think of the time when he accidentally sung that version in front of old Greybeard Halt himself. Even after all this time, whenever he thought about it, he turned red with embarrassment like it had just happened. Honestly, the only comforting thing was hearing Crowley laugh about it, and probably steer Halt away from the idea of strangling Will in doing so.

Will didn't have his mandola, as he was singing the song now, because he hadn't planned on singing the song. It just happened to be the first thing that surfaced to his mind, when he sat outside on the porch of his cabin, listening to the sound of nature that he would never grow tired of.

He took a break from the song, closing his eyes. The sound of leaves rustling, and birds chirping sang the next lines for him. The sunlight itself seemed to dance along to the melody. Old Joe Smoke was supposed to be a fun song, fit for dancing in a tavern at nine in the evening while you got dead drunk with your best friends… but it had never sounded so beautiful.

"Greybeard Halt, he lives with goats

That's what I've heard tell

He hasn't changed his socks for years

But the goats don't mind the smell!"

Will paused. Wait… had he skipped a line?

Probably. It had been so long since he sang this song. It kept Madelyn entertained, once in a while, but other than that he didn't think about it too much. Not until now. It was one of the first real songs he taught her on his mandola- she had insisted on learning some form of art alongside her training as a ranger, and Will was more than happy to pass down that knowledge to her.

Having an apprentice was getting easier, ever since they got through that… rough patch. It was even becoming a lot of fun. He liked Madelyn, and they got along perfectly now, even when Will teased her once in a while about getting on his nerves… but that was just the Halt-ness left in him. Would it never go away?

Honestly, one of his favorite parts of being a mentor was experiencing the feeling that he knew Halt surely felt, back then. Halt was so composed, it was impossible to extract any feeling off his face other than anger; that was pretty obvious. But Will always thought that, somewhere in him, there was a smidge of happiness.

Will laid back, clutching his closed fist to his chest and staring now at the roof over the porch. The wood was being eaten away at… he may have to fix that soon…

"Greybeard Halt is a fighting man

I've heard common talk

That Greybeard Halt, he cuts his hair

With a carving knife and fork!"

Will brushed his hair out of his eyes. It was shorter, now, and he didn't have too much of a beard anymore, but he didn't look any less raggedy than when he did. For starters, it had never cooperated with him when he tried to style it, so it just stuck up all over the place like didn't even care. Furthermore… well, let's just say that there was more than a little bit of Halt still left in him. He couldn't help but maybe pick up some of his old habits.

He still put honey in his coffee. More than once in a while he would catch himself delivering a gruff "humph" rather than a "that was good", or "keep doing that" to Madelyn. When he found himself in a place where he truly had no idea what to do, he would think back to his old mentor and ask himself what Halt would do in that situation.

Halt said at one point that Will was a better ranger than Halt would ever be, but Will still didn't see it at all. How could he ever hold a candle to him? How could he ever compare…?

"Am I doing okay?" Will asked the roof.

He took another uneven breath:

"Fare thee well, Greybeard Halt

Fare thee well, I say

Fare thee well, Greybeard Halt

I'll see you on your way," Will whispered.

He loved being a mentor. He really did. But there was a big part of him that would give that up in a heartbeat… just to be an apprentice again.

Inside his closed fist, he felt the curved edges of a small, bronze oakleaf.