Some time in the 15th century, England, Will thought absent-mindedly as the fever made him shiver.

Just a random market day in a random city, maybe London, maybe not, it was hard to tell just by looking out of a window. He could have used other ways to make this moment in time tell him where he was but Will decided he did not particularly mind not knowing. So he just stood and watched the busy crowd below with mild amusement.

A coughing fit shook him and he was suddenly back in his own study.

As an Old One he had always been only loosely anchored in time. He might have been born in the 20th century and in one sense he had travelled the nearly 35 years from his birth to this moment in time like every other man but in another sense he was as old as time itself.

And time had not always run in a straight line for him. He remembered visions of the past intruding on a lazy summer day with his brothers, sudden shifts in time when he'd without warning find himself somewhere and somewhen completely different. He remembered a pair of tall doors and ethereal music.

There were many ways for an Old One to walk through time, some under his control, and some not.

And, as Will had found out only recently, having a bad cold seemed to sometimes lead to some uncontrolled and sometimes rather amusing jumps in time.

Since the other Old Ones had left he hadn't had much reason to use his powers, he had mostly ignored that part of himself and lead a normal life. He had been told to watch, not act, after all. And since he could not be sure how much interfering was too much he would rather not risk it. He'd decided to live a mostly human life, just plain old Will Stanton from Buckinghamshire.

He had left home to become a veterinarian and by now had a small practice in a town in Wales, not too far away from the farm of his aunt Jen and uncle David.

The villagers were grateful for his presence even though he was English. Before he decided to settle there the next vet had been about a three hour's drive away. They had accepted him in their own quiet way and even though he was not a Welshman himself this was where Will had always felt the most at home. His family missed him, of course, and he missed them sometimes, but there were still big family get-togethers for Christmas or his parents' birthdays, now and then for a christening of one of his numerous nieces and nephews.

Another coughing fit made him bend over with pain and when he could stand straight again and his head had stopped spinning he found himself high up on a hill overlooking a meadow where a flock of sheep was dozing in the summer sun.

Whistling and barking made him turn around and he spotted two forms coming up the hill towards him. One belonged to a shepherd's dog with long dark fur and the playful, energetic manner of a young animal. The other was moving much slower and had just thrown a stick for the dog to fetch.

Bran, Will thought with a start, about 20 years ago, it should be. He's so young still. Was I ever that young...?

And indeed his friend was still a boy in this time, not yet 14 years old, if Will had to guess. He had changed very little from the child he remembered from that eventful holiday when he was twelve.

They hadn't stayed in contact much, really. Will didn't know exactly what Bran remembered of the time they spent together and he didn't want to accidentally bring up things his friend had been made to forget. So he had let things fade to a holiday friendship, had become just the boy who used to visit his aunt's farm and spent some time with the only other child his age living there. Nothing special, a fleeting acquaintance at best.

They had exchanged a few letters and cards on birthdays and Christmas, making vague promises to see each other again. Yet Will never went back to the farm and Bran never asked if he could visit him in turn.

When Bran went away to college the letters soon stopped, too, and Will himself was soon too busy with his own studies to try and restart the correspondence. And he had to admit that it was also less painful this way. He didn't have to be reminded of the close friendship they had once shared, of the adventures they'd had and about the fact that Bran didn't remember any of it, by his own choice.

And now coincidence had brought him here, to a young but very mortal Bran.

There is no such thing as coincidence, Old One, Will berated himself. If his inner voice sometimes sounded a lot like Merriman that was surely an absolute coincidence...

He was sure of one thing, though. That he was here for a reason, he just didn't know which reason that was, yet.

Having delivered the stick back to his master the dog bounced back up the hill to investigate the stranger who had suddenly appeared there. He made a curious circle around Will, never coming close enough to be within reach. His tail was wagging slowly and his whole body showed curiosity but no fear.

Finally he stopped and sat down in front of Will, tilting his head to the side and looking up at him questioningly.

Will didn't recall having seen the dog the last time he had visited the farm but then that had been nearly two years before this point in time. Surely he could have only been a very small puppy back then if he had been born yet at all.

Bran came jogging up the hill as well now. He told the dog off in Welsh for cornering strangers, his voice young and high still, no sign yet of a voice break. Will felt dizzy again suddenly as that voice brought back so many memories. It felt like only yesterday that he had last heard it.

He stumbled slightly and grabbed a nearby fence post to stop himself from falling. No illness could kill an Old One but this one was surely doing its damnedest to be a bloody great nuisance.

"Are you alright, Sir", Bran asked first in Welsh, then when Will didn't react right away, he asked a second time in English.

Eyes that Will knew to be tawny looked at him warily and slightly suspiciously through very dark glasses.

The book of Grammarye had taught Will how to understand and speak any language should he want to and his years living in Wales had taught him some of that language in the slow and non-magic way yet with the fever clouding his mind he could not find the strength to answer the question in Welsh. English would have to do.

"I felt a little faint just there, I'll be fine in a minute."

Will managed a weak smile, the world still spinning slightly. The dog whined and made as if to step closer to Will and comfort him yet his masters command kept him rooted to the spot. He was a good dog, obedient and caring.

Bran didn't look like he believed Will.

"Are you sure? You don't look too good."

Will gave in to gravity and sat down heavily on the grass.

"I've caught a bit of a cold, nothing to worry about really. I thought some fresh air might be good for me but I think I overdid it a little. I'll just rest here a while, if that's ok, and then I'll walk back to my car. It's just a short drive to my hotel."

The lies came easy and since he was speaking English playing the tourist was the simplest way to explain his presence here. Did Bran feel reminded of the English boy who was recovering from hepatitis and had to rest every now and then as they played and fought the Dark in these hills? Will hoped not. The smallest thing can trigger a memory, even a memory that has been locked away by strong magic.

Bran seemed to contemplate their situation for a minute, his stance and gaze still wary. Will was glad not to find only the smallest trace of the arrogance that had so disconcerted him during his time with Bran. It seemed to have nearly vanished with Bran's memories of his birthright and left him a more light-hearted and approachable boy. Though Will knew that his unusual looks still made Bran an outsider just as they had before.

"Are you sure? I could go get my dad and we could drive you to your car or your hotel. He's not far away, just over there, helping John Rolands with the fence."

Bran vaguely pointed behind himself in the direction of another hill. Very clever, Will thought, make sure the suspicious stranger knows you're not out here all by yourself while offering help at the same time.

"I don't want to be any trouble. I'm sure I'll be fine in no time. I'll just catch my breath then I'll be on my way."

The world had finally stopped spinning, which Will was very thankful for.

"That's a great dog you've got there. What's his name?"

Bran scratched the dog behind the ears without taking his eyes off Will.

"He's my da's, really, but I'm teaching him and he's called Boots."

He smiled a little embarrassedly at the name, most likely it had been his idea.

Will looked at the white markings on the front legs of the otherwise black dog and smiled.

"I think that is a very fitting name."

Bran tilted his head in much the same way Boots had done a short while ago and looked closely at Will again.

"Have you been around here before? You seem very familiar somehow..."

Will shook his head.

"No, first time I've ever been to Wales. But you know, I've just got one of those faces. People always tell me I remind them of someone."

He shrugged with a sheepish smile and hoped Bran would leave it at that.

Bran kept up his intense scrutiny for another second before he shrugged as well and threw the stick again for the dog. The animal had been getting restless and impatient with the humans and their boring standing around. Now he shot off after the piece of wood like a rocket, barking happily.

The boy sat down next to Will but still more than an arm's length away.

"Are you feeling a bit better? I think you look slightly less pale."

Will nodded and flexed his aching arms before stretching them out over his knees.

"Yes, I do actually feel better. Maybe fresh air was what I needed after all?"

He turned his head to grin at Bran. He really shouldn't be feeling this easy camaraderie with a boy he hadn't spoken to face to face in about 20 years. And yet as soon as he'd set eyes on him it had felt like no time had passed at all, like he was still 12 years old and fighting the Dark with King Arthur's son and three English human children who were much braver than they should have to be.

I do wonder what became of the Drews. Did Barney become an artist? Did Simon become a doctor? And Jane, is she happy now? They had never exchanged letters, and apart from that one time with Jane he'd not seen the Drews since they had lost their memories.

He hoped that they were happy, it was the least the world could do for them after they had saved it. But he knew the world didn't work like that. The Dark and the Light were gone and neither the Wild Magic nor the High Magic cared about individual humans.

And I can hardly say the Light ever cared, can I? It never cared for individuals, we never cared for individuals. There was no time or chance if we wanted to drive the Dark away for good. Every sacrifice that would ensure we won that final confrontation was acceptable.

Will realised that he'd been quiet too long. Bran was looking at him with a worried frown. Boots had returned with his stick already, Will couldn't say when.

"Maybe I should fetch my dad after all? I don't think we should let you walk around on your own. There really aren't many people in these hills if you need help."

Will smiled with genuine thankfulness.

"It's very kind of you to care but I really don't want to cause any trouble. I'll take it slow. It'll be fine."

Will stood up to demonstrate that he was indeed able to walk on his own but having to grab the fence post again when another wave of dizziness hit him rather ruined that impression.

Bran jumped up when he saw him sway and reached out to steady him. He mumbled something about stubborn English in Welsh before helping Will to sit back down.

"It really is no trouble at all. You just wait here and I'll go get my da."

Will smiled up at his old brother in arms self-consciously.

"Well, if it's no trouble...I'd be grateful."

Bran nodded and whistled for the dog to get up.

"Just wait here, we'll be right back."

Will watched them run down the hill with the seemingly inexhaustible energy of youth.

Bran seemed happy, and much more carefree than he ever had while he still remembered his birthright and his destiny. Maybe his friend had made the right choice after all?

Could Will really begrudge him the wish to live a normal, human life without the constant burden of a greater destiny?

No, he didn't think that he could. Bran deserved a childhood, a chance to be happy, to have a family of his own. Maybe this was why he was here right now, to see that all was well, in the end.

He might have lost a friend but Bran had gained a life with endless potential.

The Light had won, humanity was free to chose its own destiny, and Bran was a shining example of what that victory meant.

"Goodbye, my friend. Maybe we shall meet again in the future or the past."

Will sighed, closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as his fevered brain would allow.

He smiled at the fading strands of music that always eluded him as he travelled through time back to his lonely study.

What would Bran make of the vanishing stranger? Would they go looking for him? He thought they might. Both Bran and Owen Davis were good people, responsible people, they would not let anyone get hurt if they could prevent it. But they would not find him and the encounter would turn into a nice anecdote to tell at a night out at the pub, nothing more. Maybe a ghost story even.

Will thought he'd like that. It appealed to a mischievous side in him that he'd thought he'd lost when he'd grown up. Maybe seeing Bran again had brought back some of his own childhood?

Another coughing fit made him reach for the back of his armchair only to find himself gripping the side of a guillotine.

Ok, enough is enough, tomorrow I'll go see a doctor about this damned cold...