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Will knew that his scars weren’t the most interesting thing about him. He knew it didn’t even make the top five. He just wished everyone else knew that.
He lacked the self control needed to keep his sleeves rolled down and buttoned to the wrist year around. He wished he could, but then summer would come and the sun would blaze down on him and he would always choose the discomfort of stares over the discomfort of sweat pooling in his shirt and itching his skin.
The heat of the day had been inescapable, but unfortunately, so were Will’s responsibilities. He had spent the morning under the shade of the veranda, lazily taking his time with paperwork that should have been sent to the Baron days ago. But no matter how much he dragged it out, he eventually completed it, and he simply couldn’t justify delaying delivering it any longer. He chose to walk into town rather than bother with Tug. Riding would have been quicker, but the mere thought of their shared body heat made Will sweat even more. He arrived just past midday and sighed in relief as he stepped into the castle, grateful for the blessedly cool stone walls that protected its residents from the worst of the July heat. As he rounded the corner, a rushing footman collided into him. The young man sputtered out apologies, his nervous voice drowning out Will’s reassurance that everything was quite alright. Suddenly the boy’s rambling cut off mid sentence. Will didn’t need to, but he still let his eyes follow the footman’s, and of course, like always, they were glued to where the raised scars criss crossed violently down his forearms. Will fought the urge to yank his sleeves down.
“Must have been quite the battle.” The boy said softly.
Will cocked an eyebrow at the young man, trying to determine if he was being facetious or if he genuinely believed Will had gained the scars in a fight.
“It was the fight of my life.” Will said honestly. He had endured slavery, wars, wild beasts, and still, his greatest advisory had been his own mind and the poison it tried to spread.
The footman smiled. “Well, I’m glad to see you came out the other side, Ranger Treaty.”
Will nodded to the man as he continued on his way, tugging the wrinkled sleeves down his sweaty forearms as he climbed up the stairs. The interaction had been slightly odd but not unpleasant, which was the most unusual part about it. Typically, people would gawk at his scars until he moved his arms away from their line of sight. From there, they’d either mumble an awkward apology and stumble back as though the scars were some result of a contagious disease, or they’d level him with judgmental, holier than thou, glares. After one such interaction, Crowley had visited him to let him know someone in the town had reported him as “unfit” to Crowley. Thankfully, Crowley paid their petty, ignorant complaint no heed, but Will would never forget the embarrassment he felt burning his cheeks when Crowley told him and Will had been forced to explain the mistakes he had made as a teen. He had delivered the story with his head low and his hands clenched to keep them from trembling. He had never told anyone the truth about his scars before then. Halt had worked it out, but not until several years into his apprenticeship, and his friends had been kept in the dark.
Crowley had been nothing but compassionate and sympathetic, but Will could tell he didn’t really understand. Not that Will expected him to. Will hardly understood it himself. He hadn’t understood why the sharp, stinging pain helped the darkness in his head clear, or why watching his blood bloom beneath a blade made breathing easier, but at the time, it had. The habit had been nearly impossible to kick, almost harder than his warmweed addiction. There were still nights he’d force himself to leave his saxe and throwing knives in the other room. Nights when that wasn’t enough and he’d sleep outside under the stars to put as much distance between the knives and himself as he could manage.
🩶
The baron’s office door was ajar when he reached the top of the stairs, so Will peered into the room. The baron sat at his desk speaking softly with an older man, one of his advisers Will figured. He knocked lightly on the doorframe. Arald looked up at Will with a smile.
“Will! Come in, come in. This is Sir Edwin. Sir Edwin, this is Ranger Treaty.”
Edwin pursed his lips and let his beady eyes scan Will up and down. Clearly, Will fell short of whatever he had been looking for because his voice carried a note of disappointment as he said, “I’ve heard much about you Ranger. I must say you aren’t at all what I expected. Have the rangers lowered the graduating age?”
Will forced a polite smile, “No. While rangers are skilled at adapting, they aren’t too fond of change.” Turning his attention to the baron he said, “I hope I haven’t interrupted anything too terribly important.”
Arald waved his hand casually. “We were reviewing some documents, nothing urgent nor exciting. Your interruption is a blessing.”
Will held up the leather portfolio that held the report he had finished that morning. “Unfortunately I’m only here to add to those documents.”
“Ah, the Hasting’s report?”
“Yes, I’m sorry for the delay.”
“Don’t worry yourself Will, I hadn’t the time for it any earlier anyway.”
Sir Edwin clear his throat, catching the attention of Will and Arald, “That’s very gracious of you Lord Arald, but the Ranger couldn’t have known your schedule. He should have been prompt in his delivery of his report to you. I understand he’s young but he should still be held to the same standard as the rest of the Corps.”
Will could feel Arald prickle from across the desk. He was a gentle and kind man, but he had always been protective over his wards. Will spoke before the Baron said something that would escalate the conversation.
“Of course you’re right Sir Edwin. I’ll be more timely with the next one. Speaking of time, I’ve taken up more than enough of yours. I’ll drop these off and see myself out.” Will crossed the room and passed the report over to Arald, but before he could pull his arm back, Edwin grabbed hold of his wrist.
“What are these?” He said aghast, raising Will’s arm up. His unbuttoned shirtsleave slid down revealing the patchwork of scars.
Will tugged against Sir Edwin but the man kept his vice-like grip in his arm. “Being a ranger is a dangerous business. These are hardly the only scars-”
“Do not insult me or your Baron with your lies! I’ve seen these types of scars before on madmen! How you managed to deceive the Commandant is beyond me, but I promise I will be filing a report-”
Baron Arald slammed his hands against his desk heavily as he stood. “Sir Edwin that is enough! Release my ranger at once before he decides to stop being so polite and uses force.”
Edwin dropped Will’s wrist, but the defense and disgust in his posture remained. “My Lord, I know you have a blind spot for this ranger, but even you have to see how irresponsible it is to have a lunatic in a position of authority! He belongs in an asylum with the rest of his kind.”
Will’s blood ran cold at the words. They were, after all, the reason he had never sought help or confided in someone when he was younger. The fear of being labeled possessed or a lunatic and being locked away in an asylum had kept him awake at night. To this day, he was still haunted by nightmares of the hollow screams of the tortured souls chained up in the madhouses. And now, even though it was all behind him, it seemed like his worst fears might come true.
“Sir Edwin, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.” Arald said, words colder than Will had ever heard from him. “Ranger Treaty is not going anywhere.”
Edwin frowned, “But his scars,”
“Were received under this very roof. Are you going to speak out against my household? Are you going to question how I care for my wards?”
Sir Edwin’s jaw snapped shut and his eyes flickered between the Baron and Will.
“You know nothing. You can speculate all you’d like, but all you have is unsubstantiated gossip. And if you utter a word of it to anyone, your voice is as useful as clucking old hen.” Baron Arald tilted his head. “And do you know where hens end up here?” He hit his desk with the heel of his hand again causing Edwin to jump.
“Of course my Lord. I understand. I shall leave you both.” Sir Edwin hurried out of the room before either man could get another word in.
Will kept his eyes locked on his worn boots. It wasn’t until another, large pair came up beside his own that he looked up. Arald stood in front of him and placed a gentle hand on his forearm, right where Edwin had grabbed. Will flinched slightly at the contact but the Baron just smiled softly at him as he pushed the linen sleeve up to Will’s elbow, revealing the pale scars.
“I’m so sorry Will.” His voice was thick with grief.
Will frowned. “What? Why are you apologizing?”
“It’s like I told Edwin. This happened under my care. You felt this way under my roof and didn’t feel as though you were safe enough to ask for help. That means I failed as your guardian.”
“No. Arald, if it hadn’t been for you and your generosity, I’d be dead. You provided for my every need. You gave me an education. This,” Will ran his fingers down his arm, “no one could have protected me from this. I still don’t understand it. I certainly couldn’t have explained it back then. Please, please don’t feel guilty. I mean, I’m twenty-five and a king’s ranger for god's sake and here you are, still protecting me.” He gestured to the door Sir Edwin had just fled out of.
The Baron shook his head. “Listen to me carefully, Will. I will always be here to protect you. I don’t care how grown you are or how many battles you fight, you can always, always, come to me. Whether it’s to warn off pricks like him,” he jerked his chin in the direction of the hall, “or if it’s to protect you from your own mind for a while. You can always find sanctuary here Will.”
Any words of appreciation or affection were lodged somewhere deep in Will’s chest, so all he could do was grasp Baron Arald into a tight embrace.
Arald softly stroked the back of Will’s head. “I want you to come to me immediately if he, or anyone, tries to give you any trouble over this. Do you understand me, Will? There’s to be no “sucking it up” or “handing it” on your own. You may be grown but you are still my responsibility.”
“I understand loud and clear sir.” He choked out.
“Good. Because I love you son. And I couldn’t bear it if I lost you.”
Will buried his head deeper into Arald’s chest, which muffled his words, but the older man still felt them deep in his soul. “I love you too.”