Disclaimer in Chapter One.

Review, review, review. Go on, you know you want to…

CHAPTER TWO

When running away seems the only option

"Will?"

His eyes flying open with shock, Will realised belatedly, and with chagrin, that he had stopped walking. He had been, in fact standing in the middle of a Welsh field with his eyes squeezed shut and his face screwed up into a grimace. So much for acting normal…

He glanced up resignedly into Bran's tawny eyes which were peering at him with surface amusement and buried concern.

"Er…", he managed. His eyes moved beyond Bran's face and took in the distant figures of Barney and Simon standing uphill from him. Even at that distance, Simon's stance contrived to indicate irritation. Jane was stood at the mid-distance, watching Will's face with less well concealed concern. She hovered, waiting.

Waiting for him to say something.

Except, he couldn't think of a thing to say.

He returned his gaze helplessly back to Bran, and tried frantically to galvanise his brain back into action at the flash of panic in his friend's pale face.

"Will…"

"Um…Sorry…I…"

He cleared his throat impatiently and as a wave of self-disgust washed over him, he closed his eyes briefly again to still his mind.

You're an Old One. Act like one.

"Sorry, I'm tired, bit of a headache. Must be all the fresh air." He tried for a brisk, self-deprecating tone, but didn't feel himself to be all that convincing. Just keep going…

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we press on? We've got a long way to go…"

His voice trailed off at the repetition of his earlier phrase. Words he'd spoken before the weight of the world had landed on his shoulders. To cover, he moved his shoulders, twisting past Bran's unmoving figure and set off up the hill at a steady pace, refusing to meet anyone's eye.

He should have known that Bran, even as he was, was not one to be easily fooled or distracted. Was not one to be chary of physicality when required, either. So Will was not particularly surprised when he felt his arm grasped firmly. He sighed and leaned forward, testing, and felt the pressure of Bran's fingers above his elbow tighten in response.

"You're starting to scare me, English…", a beat, "…more than usual, at any rate."

The words were light, humorous even, but the underlying tension in Bran's voice compelled Will to stay his half-passive resistance. Reluctantly, he turned his head, drawn back to the strange eyes of the Pendragon.

I would tell you if I could.

Will tried to convey the message with his own eyes, but was hard pressed to merely maintain the contact. He felt a flutter on panic in his stomach. Only two hours on the job, and he was screwing up so badly, his thoughtless pyromania in Tramp's Lane a couple of years ago seemed nothing in comparison. Less than nothing.

"Got a touch of the mountain madness, have you?"

"What…?"

"You were standing with your eyes shut for ten minutes. We thought you must have fallen asleep on your feet. Either that, or composing a poem, like"

Bran grinned. The concern remained in his eyes, but his demeanour was calm, considered. Offering him a way out…

Will felt a flutter of relief, eerily similar to the panic of a moment ago. He had the chance to shrug it off as a joke, maybe his oddness could be forgotten, or at least ignored. He felt his lips move in a responsive smile. Lopsided, but genuine.

"You've found me out. Knew I couldn't hide it from you. I was trying to find a rhyme for 'Sheep'"

A soft, amused sound escaped Bran's lips. Glancing to his left, Will saw that Jane had taken a step or two closer. There was the beginning of a tentative smile on her lips also. Bran's grin widened at his response and Will felt the tension in his stomach unclench a little. Maybe it will be all right.

"I might have known", Bran retorted, his tone almost affectionate. "Thought you were a bit of a dewin when I first met you…"

Oh God

"What…what do you mean?"

There must have been something in his voice because Will could practically feel Jane's frown of consternation from five feet away. Bran merely looked puzzled, as if he had no expectation of his jest being taken with any kind of seriousness and the thinly veiled concern reasserted its presence in his eyes.

Will knew he should assert his strength, his power, and take control of the conversation, but he felt strange and off balance. There were too many emotions in him, too many random thoughts in his mind for him to focus properly.

"A dewin and poet as well, are you sure you're English, Will…?" Bran, ignoring Will's question, ploughed on, his jocularity becoming forced, his puzzlement plain.

"…I mean, perhaps…"

It was too much. Too much and too soon. Failure upon failure gripped him.

Will turned away, stomach clenching, but his determination reasserted itself.

"You are a fool and a fool and a fool" he muttered feelingly oblivious to the startled intakes of breath from behind. When he turned back to face his friends, the Old One stood there. In the silence that followed, only the faint song of the lark could be discerned in a far off meadow.

Will remembered Stephen. Remembered the blanketing cloud of white plume moths in the summer haze. Remembered…

…and he knew that the pain he felt at their present incomprehension would be matched only by the pain of their future ignorance, the pain of loneliness. But he did it anyway. For the second time that afternoon, an Old One took their memories away.