The Dust of Time

by Mizzy

Will struggles with his conscience, while struggling with the Darkest threat he’s come up against so far - his own family’s memories. Will/Bran Slash.

1. No Harm, No Foul

Title: The Dust of Time

Rating: PG-13.

Author: Mizzy (mizzy_2k@yahoo.co.uk or castle_ebgb@yahoo.co.uk)

Summary: Will struggles with his conscience, while struggling with the Darkest threat he's come up against so far - his own family's memories. Will/Bran Slash.

Disclaimer: "The Dark is Rising Sequence" does not belong to me, it belongs to Susan Cooper, the amazing Goddess that she is. This is written by a fan, for the fans, and no money has exchanged hands what-so-ever.

Author's Notes: There've been a few alterations in this chapter, not the least my slip in naming Barney as a Stanton. What can I say, except wishful thinking!

Although the Dark is Rising sequence is, from its language and social content, meant to be set in the decade it was written, I've taken great liberties to pull the storyline to a closer decade. I personally think the sequence could be set any time, so in this storyline, "The Dark is Rising" occurred 1995. Thanks to Robert for the beta'ing.

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And here they come, these comrades mine

Laughing, happy, brave to see

Untarnished by the dust of time

Forever fresh in memory.

The Long Patrol, Brian Jacques

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[Part One] - "No harm, no foul."

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December 20th 2003

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Will drew his legs up to his chest, and squeezed his arms around them as he leant his head against his knees. He had a good view of the countryside from the window seat in the living room, and last year he'd spent a long time sat on the same seat; watching the world go by from his stationary point.

Last year would have probably been a very peculiar experience for the Will Stanton who went to sleep on the night of his eleventh birthday. The only family left in the large Stanton home had been Will, and his parents. Every one of Will's brothers and sisters had flown the nest, leaving him to study for his A-levels on his own. It was probably a blessing, considering with the lessened number of disturbances he managed to get through the two years of sixth form with two A's, a B and a C at AS-Level.

University life had been a breath of fresh air for Will. The freedom to choose your own study time and meet your friends, and just live, was more than Will had experienced at home. It wasn't a particular new experience, but it was a pleasant one. Especially when he considered the company…

When Will had turned up at the Fresher's Week Fair, he'd been startled to notice a flash of white brush past his sight, and then again to notice a familiar ponytail move briskly by. He'd walked around the hall in a bit of a daze after that, slightly winded and wondering how he could ever face them again. They wouldn't remember what had happened, not a bit, while he still had the burden of the knowledge of what had taken place; of their true identities and true skills.

However, when they did actually meet, a brief collision by the anthropology stand, the meeting was warm and relaxed Will's fears by an impossible amount. Jane hadn't changed much, her cheekbones maybe a bit more pronounced and eyes darker, but her mien was the same and she greeted him with a cheerful smile; claiming he hadn't changed a bit since that mundanely boring holiday six years ago. Will had offered her a weak greeting in return, with a shrug, and Jane had seemed genuinely pleased to see a face she recognised in the mass of writhing bodies and foreign faces. Will had encouraged himself to actually speak to Jane, enough to find out she was taking Anthropology and Simon was doing Ecology at Lancaster, when a timid hand on his shoulder made him jump. He'd swivelled round to see golden-coloured eyes warmly trained on his own, and, surprising even himself, he'd grabbed Bran Davies in a winding hug in the middle of the crowded hall. Jane had raised her eyebrows a bit at the sight of the albino boy, his arms covered by a long checked shirt and baggy trousers that fell half-way down his trainers, but that had been her only indication she'd noticed Bran's 'differences.'

Will had instantly pulled back from the hug, flushing a little and greeting Bran with a grin. Bran chided Will for the less-than-frequent communiqués, but they soon settled into an easy going rapport, with Jane being a seemingly steadying force of the trio. All three lived in the same, scummy, student accommodation, and as all three were doing the same subject the time had almost breezed by.

The memories of the last ten weeks tightened in Will's chest, and he leant his head against the cool surface of the window, and watched the world spin on by a little more.

There had been a few inane comments directed at their compact triad, and were soon stopped by Will's ever-encompassing presence, but none of them compared with the grief Will carried around with him; sometimes making him look physically fatigued, other times just weighing down his spirit. He'd grasped onto the welcoming friendship offered from the naturally friendly spirits of Jane and Bran, but deeply resented the ties as well as desperately needing them. Seeing them every day, at lectures, or just in the park as they chattered amicably about their families, or normal life, and seeing them bright and unburdened relieved Will, as well as churning his insides.

His relief was great that they didn't feel the overwhelming loneliness of his position, of the lone Old One left to guard and watch and wait until the Dark showed signs of returning. His despair almost soared to match it, that they lived on, oblivious to their own heritage, to their own power, to their own memories…

Will stiffened again at the thought that they'd been withheld from the truth, and it was obviously what was needed; for the world, for their sanity and for their well-being. He had no right to tell them the truth. He had no right to let them in on the pain he carried around with him like an anchor around his neck. He knew how painful it was, and had no desire for them to feel that overwhelming wave of isolation.

And so he kept his solitary watch, the lonely guardian; timeless, like those standing stones at Trewissick, and Will couldn't help but wonder if he - like the stones - would stand the test of time, or if the constant battering of anguish and solitude would wear him down, like the sea crumbling him a little every day.

The Dark attacks from the sea, after all…

The memory of battles from a time he shouldn't have been able to remember crashed in the background of his memories, and he lifted his head; leaning his head against the coldness of the glass and continued watching.

Time seemed so slow now. People said that time speeded up as you got older, what was that old rhyme? "When as a child I laughed and wept, Time Crept, when as a youth I waxed more bold, Time Strolled, when I became full grown man, Time Ran…" Blinking, Will tried to recall the rest of the rhyme, inscribed for eternity in an English Cathedral; an eternity, Will thought with a strong sense of bitterness he'd almost forgotten he could feel, that may someday end, while he… He would surpass everything, everyone, as he mirrored the watch his master had begun in the dawn of humanity.

Sometimes he could forget. Only part of him was the part allied with the magic of the Light; the rest of Will Stanton was a bright, sociable teenager, fascinated with history and an avid worker. A teenager who was back at his childhood home, the first of the Stanton children to return and who was waiting at the same spot, pensively, on his own.

Thinking of his brothers and sisters made Will abruptly move his gaze from the window, and he relaxed his position on the window seat to lightly rise to his feet. Padding to the kitchen, he pulled a glass from the cupboard, rinsed it once, and filled it with the cold orange juice in the fridge; freshly squeezed from the pips and orange flesh floating in it. Glancing out of the window, he saw his mother; a large and bulky coat wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the cold as she sorted out the chickens.

Startled, Will realised that the weather was turning cold rapidly. The only time he remembered the weather dipping like this, sharply descending into a cold whirl of wind and a wind that grazed your cheeks and left your lungs burning for air if you were out in it too long, was when he turned eleven. The ensuing snow had trapped them for a long time, and in that period, Will's mother had been injured by the Dark, and Mary and Paul attacked too; all, in essence, Will's fault for being there.

In a furious self-assessment, Will had spent months denying his part in the matter, but had come up with the sickening truth that it was his fault they were hurt. It was his responsibility to protect his loved ones, protect the world, and time and again he seemed to fail.

This truth had plagued him all the while the adventure in Cornwall had occurred, and he'd distracted himself with the Greenwitch and retrieval of the manuscript for that time being. Keeping himself occupied was the only way to relieve the burning torment he felt every day - of the fact other people were injured because of him. He'd resolved after that never to let that happen again, but also not to discard his powers and his identity just because of what might happen. Besides, if the Dark ever reformed, rose again, he needed to be ready to protect those he'd gone on alone for.

Returning to the living room, Will cast a wary glance around their living room, a lot smaller than it used to be in his memories. When his true heritage had been revealed, nothing had seemed as it used to. Everything comforting seemed that much smaller, everything unknown seemed that much bigger. Most of his fears were unknown, as was the future, and although Will knew he was doing himself much good he couldn't help feeling that way.

He spent another few moments lost in thought as he gazed out of the window - watching, waiting, and always watching - when he realised there was something altogether different about the atmosphere hanging around the place. Will recognised the brief tint of the darkness in the stormy clouds swelling in the sky, and wished he could put down the weather to nature, but the niggling thought remained that's the Dark, reminding me they're still there, still waiting to regroup and once again make their move… and Will knew to trust that part of him instinctively and without question.

The Dark's return was inevitable. Will knew this heavily, and bore the encumbrance with a heavy heart and a watchful eye. The Old Ones could travel in and out of time as it was, and that wasn't a power strictly reserved for the Light, and while the servants of the Dark had been banished for the moment, there still remained the taint of the Dark; a mould that grew in the corners and shadows, waiting and biding its time until it could smother its opposition. The only thing uncertain about the situation was when, and how. It would almost uncertainly be in the subtlest of ways, and Will remembered Merriman's words to him, and fought to stop from trembling at the weight of the memories.

Will stiffened, and sat upright. Surely that noise wasn't right…

Slipping silently off the seat and sliding the glass on to the mantelpiece, Will stayed still, poised on the edge of his feet as he listened attentively for that sound he'd heard moments before.

"What in the world --" Cautiously, Will stopped his outburst and stepped back into the kitchen and glanced outside warily. His mother was still pottering around the chicken shed, looking weighed under by the huge overcoat pulled over her shoulders, and looking content as she opened a bag of chicken seed.

Wait a second… Will's eyes narrowed. The chickens were usually fed once in the morning, and once at night, not in the afternoon, so why was she feeding them now? Suspicious, Will flattened himself against the worktop and closed his eyes; letting his senses take over.

There.

The same muffled sound again, more distinct now and definitely closer; perhaps a little more high-pitched than last time, like a shriek, or a giggle…

Realisation struck Will almost as soon as he figured out the source of the sound, and, with an amused glance towards his mother, he took a deep breath and opened the door; coming face to face with an incredibly shocked female face.

Will stared at the face of the young woman for a long second, until his brain kicked in, and he threw his arms around his sister's neck abruptly. "Mary!" Pulling back, he regarded the sister closest to him in age with a fond, if goofy, smile, and his sister put one icy cold hand out; ruffling his hair good-naturedly. "I thought you weren't due home until the twenty-third!"

"Yeah, that's what we wanted you to think."

Confused, Will stared at Mary, open-mouthed, and his sister stood aside to let him the see the crowd of people assembled in front of the house. He felt his mouth physically drop open, and for the first time in a while he was speechless.

"Hey, kid," a familiar, deep voice said; the formal sounding accent tinged with humour. Will stared back happily at his eldest brother, Stephen, and then at James, Max, Robin, Paul, Barbara, and a couple of others behind them he couldn't see, before looking back at Stephen.

"What -- I mean how --" Will had thoroughly been knocked for six, and gaped even more when James and Max stood aside to reveal Will's father holding onto a large bag of luggage, and four more familiar figures stood, shivering, behind his brothers and sisters. Familiar golden eyes peered at him , flashing from the back of the group.

"Hi Will," Bran greeted, a grin on his face as he trembled from the cold. Beside him stood Jane, and her two brothers… Will felt a pang at seeing the other two Drews; remembering with a sharp jab of disappointment that they probably still harboured the same resentment they'd held in Trewissick at the beginning of the week.

"Aren't you going to let us in?" Barbara whined, looking like she was turning blue.

"Naw, he's forgotten all his manners," Max broke in, rolling his eyes at his youngest brother's speechlessness.

The familiar sound of an insult from his brother made Will's body kick in, and he stood aside to let them all pile in. He faintly noticed in the corner of his eye that his mother had stopped the pretence of feeding the chickens and had wandered over to come inside too.

Stephen was the last to pile into the small Stanton household, and grabbed Will by the elbow to grab him in a crushing hug of welcome. "Happy birthday, Will," said Stephen. Will stared at Stephen, thunderstruck, then at his parents, and at all the people crowded in the small kitchen and living room.

"This is --" Will grinned fiercely. "This is the best birthday present ever!"

"Is to make up for that poxy eighteenth birthday you had," James explained, his round face amiable. "Can't have been much fun with only you, mum, dad and a whole load of poxy chickens."

"Hey," Alice Stanton protested, shrugging off the overly-large overcoat and hanging it on a peg by the door. "Anyway, Will, this took quite a bit of organisation, but you'd better get on in and greet your friends properly, as your brothers and sisters will all be here till New Year, but Bran and the Drews can only stay till the twenty-third."

Events as happy as reunions were brief times when Will's birthright as an Old One, and watchman for the Light, was forgotten in the tumultuous whirl of emotions. Will pushed past Max, Barbara and Paul, all looking almost as if they'd never left, and dived into the living room.

Jane was standing with Simon and Barney, looking gently around their house with a tentative smile, and looking apologetic. She moved over to Will as he appeared in the doorway, and indicated Barney and Simon with a toss of her head.

"Sorry, this was the only way I could come, and I didn't want to miss your nineteenth," Jane said. Will grinned at her, then shot a grin at Barney and Simon.

Will said, "No problem. Besides, this'll be just like old times, right?" Barney smiled at him, his rough blond hair off-setting his tanned skin, and looking at sixteen to be like the youngster Will remembered so well. Simon was less welcoming, his posture stiff, but his gaze was curious, and Will felt with a jerk that Simon - as the less receptive to magic of the three - had been the one to remember most of the strange events in Trewissick and beyond, and had been the least receptive to memory wipes. Perhaps Simon remembered, or felt, part of what had happened.

"I'm feeling a little neglected over here," an amused sounding voice floated from over the corner, by the window seat, and Will turned to see Bran, sat in the window seat, holding a small rucksack and looking more tickled by the situation than annoyed.

"Bran!" Will stepped forwards with a grin, and a curious glance at Jane, who was hiding her face behind her hand and giggling. He looked accusingly at the Welsh boy, the Pendragon of so many legends who stood there unknowing of his birthright, and frowned.

"What?" Bran looked a little concerned. "What's wrong?"

"That's my seat," Will said flatly, trying to sound stern.

"Ah." Bran relaxed, folding his arms and dropping his rucksack to the floor. Bran caught Will's happy glance and suddenly reached forwards to pull Will's abandoned glass of orange juice off the mantelpiece; taking a defiant sip of the juice. "I guess this is your drink too."

At university, in the halls of residence, Will normally gave Bran a patented death-glare, but at the moment he was too astounded to actually do anything much. He nodded slowly, and Bran impudently grinned at him before placing the glass back on the mantelpiece. Getting to his feet, Bran crossed over to where Will stood and grabbed his friend in a hug. Will hugged Bran back, and grinned into the face of his friend.

He was faintly aware of a giggle in the corner, and he pulled away from Bran to see Mary sniggering in the doorway. Behind her, a kind of convoy had been set up with the Stantons in the kitchen; bags and cases were being brought in and were being stacked neatly under the table and in the corners. Will presumed they were being brought in from the shed closest to the door, and guessed they'd meant it all to be a surprise for him.

Looking around at his brothers, sisters, and friends, Will felt a warm shiver of the faint hope of not being alone for a little while at least, which was then followed by the brief stab of the memory that solitude and isolation was the chosen path for him, and was one that he would comply with as he couldn't in all conscience palm it off to someone else; even if he were given the remote chance. He knew the pain too well, and wouldn't give it to his worst enemy.

Mind you, Will thought fiercely, the sharp memory of Bran's grief and loss over losing Cafall made Caradog Prichard a possible worthy exception to this rule.

Will's gaze jerked up to meet his parents' happy gazes, and they stood arm in arm in the doorway. His siblings and friends, crammed into the small living room, filled Will with a kind of satisfaction he'd never thought he'd feel again.

His father smiled at him and Will grinned inanely back.

"Happy birthday, Will," his father said, indicating his sons and daughters with a spread of his arm. The grin on Will's face that lit up the room gave Roger Stanton that all the organising had definitely been worth it.

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Time passed rather too quickly for Will's tastes, and he began to see the knowledge in the old poem he had, rather arbitrarily, remembered earlier.

When I became a full grown man, Time Ran…

Catching up with his brothers and sisters had been great. Mary was enjoying her third year in her Media course; she was aiming for a job at a newspaper and had been offered work experience at the Buckinghamshire Beagle for a few months in the summer. Barbara now had a steady job as a secretary in London. Paul, also in London, had finished his music degree a few months ago, and was now part of the Southern Sinfonia, as well as his work in a mixing studio. Robin and James had also followed the musical career - Paul was an examiner for the Royal London College of Music while James' voice had matured into an impressive baritone and he sang in a choir that toured around Europe. No-one particularly knew where Gwen was, she popped up once or twice over the years but disappeared soon after.

Will suspected his parents knew where she was, but if they did know they weren't saying anything.

Stephen had been working to secure this holiday at a time when he may have normally been refused by taking on voluntary work, and declared it worth it, but Will felt this reunion less joyful than before. He knew the pain Stephen had been through on hearing the truth of Will's birthright, but Stephen didn't, and trying to pretend it hadn't happened at all took a lot out of Will. Max was working now as a farmer, about forty miles away from the Stanton household, and had been the only sibling Will had seen pretty recently in his GCSE and A-level years.

It was almost time for dinner when Will settled in the corner with Jane, Simon, Barney and Bran, and the five huddled together with mugs of cocoa to chat, while the other Stantons milled around mysteriously. Will got the impression his friends had been employed to keep him out of the way, but for what, he couldn't guess.

"So, how are you?" Barney asked politely, as he blew on the hot beverage in his hands.

Will gave a small shrug. "I'm fine." He cast a glance outside. "Looks like it's going to snow."

"Yes it does," Bran said. "I hope it doesn't."

Will looked at his friend then in slight confusion, the dark flames from the fireplace flickering colour onto Bran's pale face. The albino welsh boy had taken off his normal sunglasses when the light had faded outside, and sat there cross-legged next to Will, his golden eyes a shimmering pool of hidden emotion.

"Why, I thought you liked snow," Jane said.

"I do," Bran said. "But I'm afraid it's so bright down here that if I go out in the snow I'll never be found."

Will frowned, while Jane and Simon laughed gently. "I don't get it-- Oh." Will immediately got Bran's self-deprecating joke, and narrowed his eyes shrewdly to see whether Bran was taking it seriously. Convinced that Bran himself was kidding, making light about his differences, made Will relax, and he smiled faintly.

"Very funny," Will said.

"We'll have to paint you bright orange, like the golf players do so they don't lose their balls in the snow," Barney said, barely being able to keep his face straight. Bran laughed.

"Or maybe green, like that paint in the caravan in Cornwall," Simon suggested, looking more at ease than he did than when he'd first entered.

"Huh?" Barney and Jane spoke at the same time, completely confused, while Will immediately sat up straight, ears pricked as he tried to show he wasn't listening as intently as he was. Simon blinked, and a fuzzy expression came over his face.

"I… don't remember exactly…" Simon said, sounding really doubtful. "Just… it glowed, and it was… Dark…"

The word seemed to have a transformation over Bran, Barney and Jane, and Will's four guests looked sombre and quiet in the flickering firelight.

Suddenly Barney snorted, breaking the mood. "Glowed and was dark?"

Jane giggled, and Will felt the tension flow almost visibly out of the strained moment; his mind in turmoil.

"A bit ridiculous, no?" Simon said, trying to sound blithe about the whole thing, but the troubled expression on his face did nothing to dispel the worry in Will's heart.

"Maybe it was glow-in-the-dark paint?" Bran suggested.

"Perhaps," Simon conceded, flicking a wary glance at Will, and feeling a little unsure of himself from the passive expression he received in return.

"I don't remember such a caravan," Jane said. Will cursed Jane's acute sense of observation and clarity, and hoped they'd drop the subject soon. He felt a curious stare in his direction, and he glanced to the side, thinking it was Simon's memory trying to pull itself back into his consciousness. Instead, he caught Bran's intense golden eyes, narrowed like a hawk's deadly gaze, bearing down on him and as he met the gaze he saw Bran flinch away; cheeks burning instantly red. Will made a mental note to ask Bran about it later, and turned back to look at Jane.

"I don't think you were there," Simon said. Jane frowned.

"I guess I can't have been," Jane said, the same troubled look Simon was sporting moments before being echoed on her features. Will tried to push down the overwhelming sense of foreboding doom rising up like bile from his gut, and the accompanying physical sickness.

Coupled with Will's uneasy feeling about the weather, and continuing feeling of suspense and drudgery and pain, it wasn't boding well for a quiet birthday. Writing it all off as coincidence, for the moment, as writing something of as a complete impossibility was something an Old One never did, Will concentrated on his friends and trying to maintain as normal an attitude for the moment. If they remembered, all hell could break loose for them, and Will didn't want them to face the pain he endured every day. Nobody deserved that kind of anguish, but for Merriman before him, and Will now, it was a burden that must be endured, for humanity to survive.

"Hush about that, Jane, I think Will's bored enough by your flightiness from the couple of months at Uni, he doesn't need it from you in the holiday," Barney said, sounding disgusted.

Jane glared at her brother, then instantly looked apologetic. "Sorry, Will."

Will held up one hand. "It's fine, no apology needed." He looked up as his mother appeared in the doorway, watching Will with his friends with a warm smile on her face, and Will felt again that twinge of pain in his gut. His mother deserved to know the truth about him, about her son, but then again she didn't deserve the pain that accompanied the truth.

"Will, do you want your usual tomorrow?" said his mother.

Will grinned, nodding. "I hope you have enough onions," he said rather too loudly. Bran and the Drews exchanged a confused glance, which grew more bewildered as a mock-scream came from the hallway. Will recognised James' anguished scream and sniggered. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Will," said his mother, as she disappeared off again.

"What was that about?" said Barney.

Will chuckled gently. "It's a tradition for us Stantons, to have our favourite meals on our birthdays, and mine is liver and onions. It causes a lot of discomfiture to say the least with my brothers and sisters…"

"Revenge, huh?" Bran commented. He met Will's glance with a grin, then a soft muted sigh of disappointment. "I wish I had brothers and sisters. It must be nice to be in such a large family."

Will shot him a disgruntled look. "It's a nightmare! None of your own things, all you get are hand-me-downs, talked down to because you're the youngest, sharing bedrooms, it's… crowded. I wouldn't exchange it for anything, though, I guess, when it comes down to it…"

Will's voice held a curious note of anguish and suffering that made Jane and Bran start slightly, made Barney bite his lip in that kind of confusion where there's something you've forgotten and can't remember however much you try, and Simon's brow was furrowed; the conservative boy was obviously deep in thought.

"It's all right, Bran, I'll let you have Simon and Jane," said Barney with an imperious nod. Jane's soft expression of humour changed abruptly to one of outrage, and she jabbed her brother in the side with her elbow. Barney let out a soft grunt of surprise, and spilled cocoa over his arm. Instantly, Simon and Jane were at his side, mopping it up with paper tissues.

"Good thing it was cold," Simon said, no small amount of relief in his voice. Barney pulled a face at his older brother.

Bran frowned thoughtfully, and Will watched his pale friend in silence as he sipped at the mug in his hands. "Barney's right, the cocoa is cold… How long have we been talking?"

Jane shrugged in unawareness, while Simon cast a glance to the clock balanced precariously on the wall. Simon let out a small whistle of surprise. "It's eight o' clock."

As if on cue, Barney's stomach grumbled, and the youngest of those amassed pulled a face. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," said Will. "I'm pretty starving, come to think of it. You guys?"

"Ravenous," said Bran and Will leant back on his hands to peer around the kitchen door.

"I think dinner's nearly ready," said Will.

"Dinner's nearly ready, everyone!" said a female voice from the kitchen, which Will identified quickly as Mary.

"I gather dinner's nearly ready," Bran said dryly.

-----

If getting everyone into the house and in position to surprise Will had been a challenge, then dinner was an Everest of challenges. Fitting everyone around the huge table in the kitchen was a squeeze, but it gave everyone an added spark of the Christmas spirit as they sat around, jostling elbows, and sharing plates because there weren't quite enough.

Later, after dinner, and another two hours of light meaningless conversation, Mr. and Mrs. Stanton ordered everyone to bed. Although they started to complain loudly, when they finally shunted themselves upstairs they saw why - it would take a long time for all the beds to be fixed up.

Mary and Barbara's room was the largest room, if you didn't take into consideration Stephen's attic room, and so the two girls took Jane away with them into their room and Mary slept on the floor on a camp-bed, letting Jane have her bed. Although Jane protested violently, Mary returned that the floor at home was better than the student accommodation at Stanley, and so Jane took the bed a little bit warily. Their room was the easiest set up, and for the next hour so the door was closed, but Will found if you crept up to it in that time that he'd hear a lot of wild girlish giggling, and more than a few mentions of Bran and himself.

Stephen gallantly said he would share with James this vacation, not wanting to kick Will out of the room just for a couple of weeks. Well -- Will had assumed it was gallant, but it wasn't -- Stephen was letting him use the attic room to share with his friends.

Paul helpfully carried up some blankets and two Li-Los to the attic bedroom, and Will led Bran, Simon and Barney up there. The room enchanted the other three boys immediately, with the old pictures of Stephen looking disgruntled in his dress uniform, and the knick-knacks over the desk from all over the world; presents from Stephen.

Bran turned to Will as they looked around his room. "You really idolise your older brother, don't you?"

Will looked at Bran, a soft smile of pain on his face. "I used to. Until --"

"Until what?" said Simon, intrigued.

"Until I found out he was a man, nothing more," Will said, with a curious look on his face of such grief that silence echoed in the room for a long moment after Will's quiet statement.

"Well, I'd be pretty much surprised if he wasn't," Barney said suddenly, and that seemed to snap everyone out of the moment.

"I think we have a problem," Bran said, holding up the two Li-Los and kicking around the blankets that Paul had brought up a little.

"Huh?" Will stared at the Li-Los, then at the bed, then at the floor, then at his three guests. He coloured immediately, and tried to stop blushing. "Ah -- I'll sleep downstairs."

"Don't be silly," Barney said. "Two people can sleep in the bed. It's quite big."

Will took in Simon's sudden look of panic, Barney's careless shrug, and then Bran's sudden quietness. Crossing over to the bed, Will experimentally sat down on one side and looked up expectantly at Bran. Bran looked shocked at Will's gaze, and then noticed the relief on both Simon and Barney's face - the two boys had assumed as brothers they'd have to share, and Will tried to hide a grin of amusement; the brief memory that he shouldn't -- couldn't -- have of the two boys kicking each other when forced to sleep in the same bed in an obscure relative's house was more than enough to convince him the two boys shouldn't sleep in the same bed. The thought of making Bran share with one of the Drews also made his skin crawl, although he couldn't put why into words, and for some reason he'd instantly just known Bran wouldn't mind too much.

From Bran's quiet expression, his almost translucent skin shimmering in the light from Will's lone light-bulb hanging high from the ceiling without a lampshade to cover the spidery light, Will was almost positive he'd assumed wrong about his friend; until Bran moved around and plonked himself up on the bed, lying down next to Will and crossing his hands behind his head. Will exchanged a glance with Barney, and found the youngest boy contemplating what he was contemplating, and with a nod, both Barney and Will launched on Bran; tickling him viciously.

Bran snorted loudly, and assailed his attackers with Will's pillow.

The fight was brief and furious, and somehow ended up with everyone the floor in a mess of blankets and sheets and pillows, and ended when Roger Stanton poked his head through the door to see what the noise was. He stared at the giggling pile of boys with amazement, and even normally conservative Simon had really gotten past his ingrained previous prejudice against Will to join in.

"Boys, your mother is convinced an elephant is going to fall through the ceiling. Calm down and get your beds ready, else I'll get Stephen to come in and sort you all out."

Will scrambled to his feet quickly in a panic. He remembered once, when he was nine, Stephen had just completed his navy training, and had sorted him out. It had involved Will not wanting a bath, and Stephen hosing him down outside in the pig-sty with ice-cold water.

"Sorry, dad," Will said.

Roger Stanton ruffled his son's hair good-naturedly.

"Good night, Will," he said.

Will listened quietly while his father disappeared back downstairs, and he turned to the others with a rueful grin on his face. Bran smirked suddenly, and threw the pillow up to Will. The next half hour was used in figuring out how to attach the old pump to the Li-Los, and they took it in turns to pump up the rubber sleeping mattresses. When they were done, and they'd managed to get into the bathroom after kicking a sleep Robin out of it, they piled back into the bedroom; Barney on one side of the bed, huddled in a pile of blankets, and Simon on a Li-Lo next to his brother. Will with great difficulty, paused by the side of the bed; pulling off his trousers and settling them on the chair. He climbed into the bed and under the blankets, trying not to watch as Bran did the same. He caught a brief glance of pale legs, and a smooth expanse of skin, Bran obviously also slept in just T-shirt and boxers, and flushing uncomfortably Will turned his heated face away for a second; catching Barney's amused glance as he did so.

Will turned instantly to see Bran looking at him for the other side of the pillow. Barney had been right in saying there was enough room for two, but this didn't really leave them much room to move.

Simon was the one who took the responsibility of sliding out of the warm and comfy Li-Lo on the floor to flip the switch off, but a hazy light still filled the room from the moonlight outside, enough to see by.

"Night, everyone," Barney said, turning over on his Li-Lo and demonstrating that instant ability of being able to fall asleep wherever, whenever. Simon wasn't far behind him, and the light snore of the Drew boys made getting to sleep difficult for Will.

After a moment's thought, Will realised with a thud in his chest that he wasn't uncomfortable at all with the Drews there. His source of unease was right next to him, slightly gleaming in the weird moonlight and lying just as stiffly as him. With great difficulty, Will turned to his side facing Bran, and tugged at the blankets. Bran responded instantly with a scowl, grabbing onto the blankets so Will didn't hog them all, and the sullen moment seemed to have dispersed quietly. Will felt himself drift off into sleep slowly, as he watched his friend breathe gently and felt the other shift gently in his slumber.

When he woke up -- which was a surprise in itself for Will considering he didn't remember actually falling asleep -- he felt Bran's breath, warm on his face, and he opened his eyes in amazement. It was a lot warmer than the warmth just blankets normally gave…

The reason for the warmth was suddenly clear to Will, and it took him a moment to realise why. Somehow, in the course of the night, Will had managed to wrap his arms around Bran, and the other's head was resting against his chest; white hair a stark contrast to the black Will wore, the black Will always wore after turning back the Dark and facing the lonely solitude of the ages. The brief, irrational thought that if at least a small part of his watch could be like this then he wouldn't really mind crossed his thoughts erratically, and Will tried to calm down his breathing.

When did this happen?

When did he stop thinking of Bran as a friend, as a comrade-in-arms, as the heroic boy who had crossed into the lost lands with him and completed an impossible quest with him?

Bran was a King for crying out loud…

Will stiffened suddenly as Bran shifted, but the boy didn't wake up; merely whispering one word quietly into the night.

"Will…"

The quietness of his own name, spoken so gently by the sleeping boy in his arms, made Will withdraw his arms as quickly as he could, without the tactfulness he would have used if being otherwise rational. The sharp move jerked Bran awake, and the boy, now sprawled over the pillow, looked up at him in disbelief. "Will…" Bran snapped, sounding annoyed at being woken up. The sound of his name spoken with so much exasperation made Will realise that Bran had been asleep when he'd whispered Will's name, and he'd just brusquely woken Bran up. When you could have easily had another hour of sleep with him there, his treacherous mind added. Will felt another blush creeping onto his cheeks and he abruptly got out of the bed; narrowly avoiding stepping on Barney.

Bran sat upright in bed, hair dishevelled, and he watched Will curiously. "Wait for me!"

He scrambled out of the bed while Will waited, hand paused on doorway, both of them looking tousled by sleep, and they both used the empty bathroom at the same time to wash their faces and brush their teeth. When they returned to the bedroom, Simon and Barney were already up and awake, and they piled to the bathroom leaving Bran and Will to get dressed.

"Did you sleep all right?" Will asked conversationally as he opened the cupboard door to change behind.

"Yeah," Bran grunted, "until the rude awakening."

Will blushed again, and decided that the teenage part of him - while keeping him slightly sane - had some rather disadvantageous attributes; like hormones, for example, which made him pine after someone, something, he couldn't possibly ever have. Bran was the Pendragon, the immortal legend, the son of King Arthur, and a denizen of the High Magic. Even if he was just a mortal now, having given up his birthright, the echoes of it were still strikingly in his mannerisms and his mien and his bearing.

Of course, Bran was also short of a few pivotal memories concerning his existence, and their quests together, and Bran's memories of Will consisted on a few meetings in Wales as Will convalesced, and a couple of months at University. Will, however, had witnessed Bran's grief at the truth and at the loss of Cafall, his elation at knowing instinctively what to do, how to wield Eirias and the shining light of triumph in his eyes. Will had known Bran's churning emotions as he decided whether to follow his father into forever, or whether to go on, mortal and unknowing. Will had known Bran's choice, and felt the small pang of disappointment, and heard Merriman's voice in his mind telling him not to worry.

"Sorry about that," Will said, as he pulled on a black jumper, and, after a brief glance out of the window, his black fleece jacket. When Will emerged from the cupboard, Bran was already dressed in a mixture of blue and white, and the welsh boy frowned at Will's choice of colour.

"Don't you have any other colours?" Bran said, pushing past Will. Will's mouth dropped open as Bran slid past him, and started to rifle through Will's clothes. Bran emerged triumphantly with a red knitted jumper, and waved it threateningly at Will. "Do you want to put this on, or do you want me to do it for you?"

Option number two, said Will's brain.

"Option number one," Will said firmly, horrified at his own brain's disloyalty, shrugging off his jacket and jumper and putting on the red one.

"Much better," said Bran, cocking his head to one side. "Now you don't look so much like you're mourning something you never had in the first place. Happy birthday, Will."

Will grinned impishly, and his hand strayed to his fleece jacket. Bran scowled, but said nothing, so Will put the black on over the red.

"I don't believe I quite get you, Will Stanton," Bran said slowly, moving over to the desk and kicking Barney's Li-Lo out of the way. "There's photos of you downstairs, and you used to wear colours, up until a certain point where you just started to wear black. Why?"

Because of the Dark… Because I needed to remind myself it was there, constantly, around me… Because I thought maybe I could hide, and the Dark might not find me, they might confused this tortured soul for one of their own…

Will stifled the sudden answers welling to the forefront of his mind, and he shrugged. "It's my favourite colour. Plus, it doesn't stain easily."

"Hm," said Bran detachedly, as Barney and Simon appeared in the doorway, faces red after having rubbed them violently to wake up.

"Let's get downstairs," Will said. He indicated the bedroom. "Don't mess it up too much," he added to Simon and Barney. Barney pulled a face, and Simon, reserved as ever, immediately headed for the bag of clothes he'd brought up.

"You know your way back downstairs, right?" Will said.

"Yes," Barney said, sharing a glance with his brother and for some incomprehensible reason sniggering gently. Will didn't like the sound of the derisive giggle, and headed suspiciously with Bran downstairs.

Breakfast was another crushing affair. Most of Will's brothers and sisters were awake, and Will greeted Jane with a smile as he and Bran took their seats near the cooker. Simon and Barney appeared, still rubbing sleep out of their eyes, minutes later; while it took a good ten minutes for Max and James, the last two asleep, to stumble downstairs.

Will wasn't allowed to open any presents or cards, for some reason that Stephen mumbled and Will didn't quite catch, but he was startled by Barney as he tried to eat some of the delicious scrambled eggs his mother had cooked.

"Here, Will," said Barney, passing him a rolled up piece of paper. Will felt the weight of all his family and friends watching him, and he nervously took the piece of paper. He noticed even Jane looking confused, although Simon looked clued-up on whatever it was. "Happy birthday."

Will sat back with a wary glance at his family and, shielding the contents from everyone else, unrolled the paper and started. A deep flush instantly crossing his cheeks, Will instantly pulled the paper shut and rolled it up under the table furiously.

"Barney!" Will hissed, cheeks crimson as he wondered briefly if he'd ever stop being so embarassed and if he'd ever stop blushing so ridiculously all the time.

Barney impudently stuck his tongue out. "Sorry. I woke up in the night, and couldn't help it." He cocked his head to one side. "It was so cute."

"Barney Drew, you are an unmitigated git," Will declared furiously, while his family stared in confusion.

"Don't we get to see?" Jane said, pouting delicately. Even Bran looked disappointed at Will's cover-up of the present, and Will furiously defended his present as Paul tried to tickle him in the ribs and retrieve the roll of paper.

Will had a valid reason for wanting to defend his present. It was a pencil sketch, obviously by Barney by the vividness and strokes of the pencil, of Will and Bran; Will with his arms around Bran, Bran with his white hair splayed over Will's chest, and a happy content look on both of their faces.

"Thank you, Barney," Will said, his voice low, as Barney sniggered.

"You're welcome," Barney said.

Simon just looked amused, and, after a moment the rest seemed to be consigned to the fact they'd never see the picture; especially if it were as incriminating as it sounded.

Breakfast continued in an unruly disorder of toast being passed hand to hand, eggs being eaten, orange juice being alternately gulped down and spilled on the tablecloth, tea being brewed and poured and lively chatter alternating between the eating. It would have continued in such a manner if there hadn't been a loud rapping sound on the door.

Max moved to open the door, and a gust of wind accompanied the figure he let in. Will started violently, and the young woman stood arrogantly in the kitchen was familiar. Way too familiar for Will's tastes. She held a brightly coloured box in one hand.

"Brought a present for the birthday boy," Maggie Barnes said, as she pulled the light-blue scarf off her head and smiled sweetly at Max. A cat-call from James was silenced by a glare from Max, and Will's second-oldest brother fidgeted uneasily. It was still an ongoing joke that still popped up from time-to-time about Maggie Barnes' attraction to Max, but Will had thought the jokes harmless and Maggie permanently gone.

Apparantly not.

Will felt a shiver course up his spine, and tried not to tense up too much. Apparantly the jokes weren't harmless, by Max's fidgeting and blush, and she, apparantly, was still alive and in this time.

Meaning she wasn't so completely an agent of the Dark, maybe just influenced…

He felt her gaze suddenly on his own, and saw the subtle expression in her eyes which Will recognised as the same desperate expression on her face that day in the snow when she tried to get the bronze Sign from him.

"I would have a word in private with you, Watcher," Maggie said, her tone imperious, and her gaze never left Will's own.

There was a general confusion around the table, and only Bran seemed to have noticed whom Maggie referred to. Trying to stop the churning in his stomach, Will slowly climbed to his feet - ignoring the couple of curious looks he was receiving - and jerked his head towards the door. Maggie got the hint, and, ignoring his family and jealously glaring brother, Will stepped outside with Maggie Barnes.

Maggie opened her mouth to speak, but Will held up a finger to his mouth to indicate she should be silent, and she held her tongue until Will led her a short distance away from the house. He leant against one of the sheds and looked at her slowly.

"What do you want, witch girl?" Will said, his voice brisk and demeanour brusque and commanding. The Old One within him was shining out forcibly, angrily. Will folded his arms to keep his fury in check.

Maggie frowned prettily, but Will saw past the simpering expression, and Maggie eventually settled her mouth into a thin line. "I need your help, Old One," she spat out, looking disgusted at herself for stooping so low as to ask for the help of an Old One.

Will frowned, instantly suspicious. "Exactly what kind of help?"

Maggie looked to the ground, before looking up at him; her dark eyes a flash of anger directed not at Will, but at something else entirely different. "Help that Merriman gave Hawkin."

"What, letting him die?" Will's voice held the taut resonance of his power, and Maggie recoiled despite herself.

"No. He was… Not of this time," Maggie said, phrasing her words carefully. She lifted her gaze impetuously. "And neither am I."

"You want to go back," Will said, with gut-churning realisation. "Do you think I'm insane?"

Maggie's eyes narrowed and she shuffled in the soggy grass defiantly. "What do you mean?"

"You think I'd send you back in time? So you could alert earlier agents of the Dark of a time when we would be more susceptible to an attack?" Will snorted in disgust. "Don't take me for an idiot, girl."

"Don't take me for one either," Maggie returned, just as disgusted.

"Well, you allied yourself with the Dark, and got yourself stranded here. I'd say that was idiotic," Will said.

"You allied yourself with the Light, Old One, and got yourself stranded here for eternity, watching, all alone. Tell me, how can you stand it?" Maggie said, hands akimbo. Will stared impassively back at her. "Fine. Then let me say goodbye to your brother, I won't trouble you again this day. But I tell you one thing - you'll regret your decision."

"I didn't say I'd decided yet," Will said mildly.

Maggie's eyes narrowed. "I know you Old Ones. You've decided, all right." She looked affronted, but made no move to change his mind. Will looked at her, his face blank, and Maggie sighed; turning back to the house and stomping to the door. Will glowered slightly, and pushed past her to enter the house. He clambered up the step, and folded his arms; preventing her from coming in. Maggie made as if to move and force her way in, but instead she relaxed and made to move away. Then she turned, in the middle of the path, and stared at Will who had stepped back and was now regarding her with a cool, darkened glare.

"That wasn't a very humane answer, Will Stanton," Maggie said, loudly, making sure she was heard by all the inhabitants of the Stanton kitchen. "But wait -- I forgot, you're not exactly human, are you?"

Will raised his head wearily, his voice brisk and clear enough to be heard by Maggie as she started to walk out of the place; head held high and manner abrupt. "Maybe not." Will conceded, blue-grey eyes stormy and inexpressive all in the same moment, and Maggie stopped in her tracks to look at him, amazed. "But in spirit I'm more human than you will ever be."

Maggie let out a derisive snort, and turned her back on him then; staunchly walking away through the dead leaves and muddied track, and Will closed the door. He leant against the cool surface for a moment, before shaking off some of the dew from his shoes and impassively returning the curious glare from everyone on the table. Will sighed, and slid around the table to sit gently down next to Bran again, and he bit into his cold, abandoned toast as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Aren't you going to open your present, Will?" James said, his eyes alight with the mischief that usually laced his voice when he was teasing Max about Maggie Barnes.

Will didn't respond, and his gaze slid to Max's. Max seemed to be on the edge of his seat, his hands clenched, and knuckles white with rage.

"Are you and she --" Max said eventually, his voice hard and eyes determined. In spite of Will's self-control, Will snorted in disdain, and then felt a flash of quiet anguish from someone else in the room; someone that wasn't Max. Slowly, he edged a glance out of the corner of his eyes to see Bran; poised and tense on the edge of his seat.

"Don't be stupid," Will said, his voice holding that clear briskness of an Old One. Max relaxed, satisfied, but Will's tone of voice still made the rest of the table uneasy.

It wasn't until after breakfast, with the whole family still quiet and contemplative, that Stephen got the faint impression of something that had happened which he must remember. He had volunteered to stay behind and clear the table with James' help, but his younger brother had disappeared off moments after he'd promised to clear away the breakfast things. Stephen deliberately lingered by the cupboard closest to the door into the dining room, and gazed at Will softly.

His little brother was sitting in the corner, clutching the piece of paper Barney had given him protectively; Will's gaze dropping more than once onto the lissom, willowy pale boy Bran. Will was talking with his friends animatedly, his gestures wide as he related some hilarious incident or other, and the Drews were laughing while Bran looked at Will secretively just as much as the other did in return.

Stephen was less perturbed by that fact than he thought he should be, but he still kept watching the small group intently as he pretended to busy himself with putting away the cereal. Will was now fending off mocking comments from Robin and Paul, and Bran, during them, was looking lost and altogether too quiet. Stephen stored away those bits of information quietly, to be used later, and to hopefully answer some more of the niggling questions he had.

Like why Will looked like the entire burden of the world was upon him.

Like why he wanted to protect his little brother more than ever, just by seeing him.

Like why, whenever he met Will's gaze, he felt an incomprehensible sadness and an overwhelming grief that choked him up and left him physically winded.

Like why Maggie Barnes' use of the term Watcher for his little brother sent an indefinable shiver up his spine, and made him wonder why the term sounded so familiar. Too familiar.

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[End of part one]

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