My dear boys,

You must forgive me for referring to you so. I know that, by the time you read this, you will be of a similar age to the woman I was when I first heard of these matters. That is, presuming everything has gone to plan. God help us all if it has not.

To me, you shall always be boys, innocent in the face of appalling danger and horribly vulnerable to it. By now, you should know something of the forces that threaten you and something of the task it is your destiny to perform, if you can survive the enemy's earnest desire for you not to do so.

I am so very sorry.

I have done what I can over the years to shield you from the things that you lacked the strength and maturity to withstand. Would that I could have saved you from it altogether, but that was not possible. You are who you are, and I can no more change your destiny than I could that of a Slayer.

Children, all of you, and yet we rely on you to save us all.

To protect you, I have had to be stern, and at times, cruel. I have angered Rupert and hurt Ethan. You both deserve an explanation for what has been done to you, and so I shall attempt one.

When Rupert was ten, I was approached by the Devonshire Coven. I was told that my grandson, in all his delightful intelligence and innocence, was actually one half of the latest pair of potential 'Guardians of Balance' – innately talented mages destined to go up against the forces of Vaurtain. The name meant nothing to me then, of course.

I tried to ignore the alarming tidings as no more than crackpot prognostication, but the Coven was persistent. In particular, a young and rather fierce witch named Lucy Harkness was repeatedly sent to me. She was very direct, a quality I could appreciate, and what she revealed scared me. By the time you withdrew from Oxford, Rupert, I was not only convinced by the Coven's prophecies, but also rather more knowledgeable about the threat you both face.

Rupert had, of course, gone to London to be with you, Ethan. The pair of you were no more able to keep apart than two attracting magnets, and yet it fell to me to come between you. You were far too young to survive attracting the attention of Vaurtain's many minions.

Everything that was so wonderful about youth endangered you: innocence, arrogance, that devil may care attitude which stems from a healthy mind and body and an absolute faith in your own shining future. Only old men, toughened by life's scars and with the jaded wisdom that stems from many downfalls, could hope to succeed where so many others had failed.

That is what the Coven told me, and I believed them. They told me stories, you see, of the pairs who had preceded you. Tragic, heartbreaking tales. In each example, the children had found each other too soon and Chaos found them also. I met a survivor of one sundered pair, his partner destroyed when they had been little more than boys. He was half a man, barely alive. I was assured he was healing, but I saw no signs of it.

I couldn't let that happen to you two.

And yet, for a while, I risked just that. Because I knew my grandson, and it was essential he came back to the fold of his own accord. Trying to force you back, my dear, would have only resulted in you staying away longer. We both know that. So I played a dangerous game with your lives, ready to move in on a moment's notice from the Coven seer, but letting you be together for as long as I could.

When that poor boy died of the possession (and had I known you were playing such dangerous games, I would have intervened regardless), I had my chance. I was determined, for both your sakes, that there would be no reconciliation between you.

I took Rupert to meet the Coven, which allowed the seer, Keri, to see further and deeper. Not that you knew what we were up to, my poor lad.

I betrayed you both.

As any Watcher knows, it sometimes behoves the dutiful servant to do the unthinkable in order to protect those who need protecting. For the sake of the world, and of two young men who deserved a chance at something close to a normal life, I did what I had to.

I steered you, Rupert, firmly into your 'destiny' with the Council as that seemed the best way to prepare you for your true destiny. And you, Ethan, I kept from your fated partner. I did try to keep an eye on you, but you moved so far and so fast that I lost track. Possibly, I didn't try as hard as I could have to find you again. I was disturbed by what you were doing with your life. You seemed to be handing yourself to the enemy, but the Coven assured me that, if the two of you remained apart until the appointed time, you would both live to see it and any corruption would be reversible. I could do nothing but trust in their word.

I hope to the highest powers that I was right to do so.

At the time I write this, I know my remaining days are numbered few. You are, both of you, ever present in my thoughts. For all that I believe my actions necessary and unavoidable, I still see the tear-stained faces of two young men when I close my eyes. I won't ask for forgiveness; that would be unfair of me. I deserve whatever guilt is mine, and I took it on willingly and knowingly.

Rupert, this trunk contains all my private journals, which I bequeath to you. Whilst much of my writing, especially that dating from before you were born, may hold little interest for you, those journals written since the Coven first approached me may provide information useful for your current battle. There are also spells, documents and other bits and pieces that could prove useful.

Know that I loved you, and my dearest hope was that you will be able one day to find peace and contentment with your fated partner.

Ethan, you damn near broke my resolve when you arrived outside my house that Christmas, and I know I broke your heart; I saw it the moment it happened. I am so very sorry. For what it's worth, I approve of you for my grandson, above and beyond any prophesised destiny. Rupert, if you don't already realise, the silver earring left for you with my solicitor was a gift from Ethan that I intercepted.

For you, Ethan, I have in way of a partial apology, a gift that is pure fun. Because even during war, it behoves one to make the most of one's times with those one loves. Look in the box with the theatre masks carved into the lid.

My boys, I find myself at a loss for a way to conclude this last communication between us, and so forgive me this rather terse goodbye, if nothing else.

Your servant,

Harriet Giles.

When he finished reading, Giles fell silent, although his grandmother's words seemed to echo in his head. He wasn't sure quite yet how he felt about her revelations. Still, he was acutely aware of Ethan sitting at his side watching him, not to mention both their dogs sitting so attentively nearby, and so he made an effort to speak. Tracing the writing with a finger as if that would make his feelings clearer, he began, "Well..." but ran out of words with that.

"Yes," Ethan replied, in a voice both sympathetic and perhaps a little awed. "Yes."

"She knew everything. Even before we met."

Ethan shook himself, the movement travelling through both of them, and then tightened his arms around Giles. There was a touch of soft lips on Giles' cheek then Ethan murmured with gentle humour, "Shall we go for a walk, my fated lover? Perhaps we need the ground beneath our feet currently."

Physical movement could be good. Perhaps it would encourage his thoughts to move beyond the fact that his grandmother had known. Giles nodded and stood, holding out his hand to Ethan. With the dogs, who remained strangely subdued, they left the attic and slipped downstairs. Somehow, they managed to avoid seeing anyone on their way through the house. Giles suspected Ethan was using his pattern senses to take them on an unpopulated route.

"I'm not angry at her," Giles said, finding it true as he said it. "With everything she'd been taught, everything she believed, she wouldn't think of seeing a way around a prophecy."

"Watcher brainwashing," Ethan commented, holding open the front door. "Head left for the trees, dearheart."

"She didn't have a Buffy proving time and again that with the right mixture of irreverence and improvisation you can turn prophecy on its ear." That was the crux of Giles' trouble accepting the necessity of what had been done to him and Ethan. He knew what could be achieved when you thought outside the box. Prophecy could be changed. He'd seen it happen.

Ethan led him through the meadows that surrounded the wooded area of the estate, the dogs running around ahead of them, poking into everything. Hopefully they'd snapped out of whatever had been quieting them. "I'm glad you're not angry with her," Ethan said, his voice calm. "It would have hurt you to feel like that about her."

"It's difficult to be angry when you understand someone's thoughts."

There was a pause, which allowed Giles to take in the pleasant winter's day. It was almost spring-like, warm and with a promise for new growth on the way. Ethan snorted beside him, then said, "It's a funny thing..."

Giles glanced sideways. "What is?"

Ethan spoke slowly. "What's always bothered me about this prophecy business is how it seemed to imply that the way we feel for each other isn't real. As if it were a fabrication of the destiny, much like poor Dawn's life history. But I've been thinking, or at least, your Gran has prodded some thoughts my way. A parent –a real parent, and not my sorry specimens– cannot help loving their child. It's a matter of hormones and genetics, I suppose, but this lack of choice doesn't make the love any less real, any less intense... Does it?"

"It's always seemed more of a chicken or the egg situation to me," Giles said, after mulling that over. "I don't think we can ever know if we're meant to be together because we have this destiny, or that we have this destiny because we're meant to be together. Not that it makes much difference in the end which came first."

Ethan shrugged. "I love you. I don't care why anymore so long as you love me back. And I like your grandmother rather a lot. I like that she cared what happened to me, whatever her reasons, but I'm not sure my reaction is what matters here. If you're not feeling angry, how are you feeling?"

How was he feeling? Giles frowned. "That seems to be the problem. I don't know."

"I suspect it will take some days for it to really sink in." Ethan squeezed his hand. "Perhaps we should concentrate on more practical matters, dearheart. Your Gran mentioned a name for what we face – Vaurtain. And she called us the 'Guardians of Balance'. Any pertinent thoughts to share about all that?"

Turning his mind as directed to the practical side of this instead of the emotional, Giles looked at the new information with a trained Watcher's eye. "I've never heard of Vaurtain, but it's always easier to track something when you have a name. A new clue to research is never a bad thing. As for being the 'Guardians of Balance'..." He mulled that over. "Natural chaos and natural order working together. It fits. And we've certainly been called worse."

Ethan chuckled. "For certain. The word 'balance' only strengthens my convictions about Dawn's involvement in this, you know."

"The fact that she was targeted was a rather large signpost to that effect as well."

"Obviously. What I meant was not her involvement in general, but more how she'll be involved."

Giles gave Ethan a curious look, encouraging him to elaborate.

In return, he received a sheepish grimace. Ethan seemed embarrassed almost. "I think I told you before what it is I believe her to be, the Logos. That tool which allowed the introduction of Chaos in to perfect order, so kick-starting time and allowing for life to eventually develop – do you remember?"

He did; it was just after he had come home soaked in dark Chaos energy from touching that bag they'd taken from the dark Chaos Mage. "The Logos is what brought Chaos and Order together and kept them in... balance. Ah, yes. So being Guardians of Balance would mean we're Guardians of the Key?"

"You have successfully completed Grade One Chaos Mysteries. Your certificate is in the post."

Giles chuckled. "I'm sure Grandmother would be very pleased."

"Good. I'd like to please her." Which seemed a somewhat uncharacteristic Ethan statement.

"You haven't said how you felt about the letter," Giles prodded gently.

"Yes, I did," Ethan argued. "Well, perhaps not in so many words. It made me happy."

Giles thought he understood. "That she accepted you."

Ethan nodded. "More than that though. She cared. For whatever reason, she cared."

"She's not the only one, you know," Giles said softly.

Ethan paused them by an old stone wall and drew Giles a little hesitantly into his arms. Nearby the puppies played rambunctiously, the occasional deep wuff or lighter yap punctuation to their games. "I think I rather care for the Giles' genes," Ethan said softly.

Giles wrapped his arms around Ethan in turn. "Even the ones who hunt?" he teased.

That got him a rueful look. "I could see how Matthew could be attractive to a certain type," Ethan admitted grudgingly.

"Just not you."

Ethan frowned deeply. "I don't fancy your sodding cousin, Rupert. Would you really want me to? He's good looking enough, but lacks... lacks the things I like in a man."

"And what would those things be exactly?"

Now Ethan smiled. He moved closer to speak directly into Giles' ear, his voice low. "Subtlety, a sharp intelligence, hmm... gentleness at times, but great firmness and authority at others; nobility and strength, courage and kindness; a sensitive, creative underbelly, and, oh yes, a cock that makes me want to drop to my knees and beg to be allowed to take it into my mouth."

Giles' body reacted predictably to that last comment. He smiled. "Beg?" he asked. Or perhaps bade.

Ethan pulled back and raised an eyebrow. "Here?" He seemed quite willing.

"Or back at the house," Giles said, quite willing to move this... conversation somewhere warmer.

"Warm wouldn't hurt," Ethan admitted, although he leant in as if to kiss Giles, hesitating at the last moment to say with a smug, sultry smile, "Please." Giles chuckled and closed the remaining distance to taste Ethan's lips.

***

Later that evening, Ethan noticed Megan was missing from the large room with the television where the others had gathered. Rupert was deep in serious conversation with Matthew to one side, and while Ethan was trying to be pleasant with Rupert's cousin, he felt joining in the conversation could lead to too much temptation to be otherwise. So he called his puppy to heel, and smiling reassuringly at Rupert, left the room.

"Where's Megan?" he asked Skunk quietly. "Lead me to Megan, my bundle of furry joy."

Skunk lifted her head as if scenting the air, then took off in the direction of the kitchen.

They found Megan, not in the kitchen, but in the quiet and rather under-furnished room beside it . It had presumably been the servants' dining room in the bad old days. Appropriately, Megan was supping on a bowl of what looked to be minestrone soup, dipping hunks of crusty bread into it.

As Skunk padded happily over to the girl, giving a single yap as if to say 'found her', Ethan smiled and asked, "Finally found yourself the mythical Slayer appetite?"

"Making up for missing lunch," she replied with a smile of her own. "Got too caught up with the horses and time ran away from me."

Ah. As Rupert and Ethan had also had staggered meals today, he hadn't realised. Ethan pulled out another chair from under the heavy and unpolished wooden table. "May I join you, sweetheart?"

"Sure, but you'll need to get your own soup." Megan wrapped her arm around the bowl and mock-glared at Ethan.

Ethan sat down. "I'm not hungry, but I'd watch that mangy mongrel of mine." Skunk was sitting at Megan's feet, her eyes firmly fixed to Megan's spoon as it moved between bowl and mouth.

Megan smiled. "You'd think you never feed her."

"She probably gets more of my food than I do, not to mention her own. Still, she gets plenty of exercise." He looked at his puppy with wry fondness before putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his knuckles, blatantly studying Megan.

Megan paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "What?"

Laughing, Ethan leant back. "How are you doing, Megan? We haven't had a chance to talk properly since the attack."

"I'm okay," she said with a shrug, looking down at her soup. "Life of a Slayer and all that."

He folded his arms and gave her a stern look. "I know you can do better than that."

"I really am okay," Megan insisted. "But... maybe I miss the place on Mountbatten."

Lowering his gaze briefly, Ethan nodded. "It was our home."

"Yeah."

"It's nice to know I'm not the only one calling in homesick. but still, there's a lot here for you."

That earned him a smile. "I know. It's totally cool here. It's like living in one of those PBS dramas, and it's a lot more defensible than where we were. There's no other houses they can sneak into to get at us."

"The attack must have been frustrating for you," he said cautiously. "There being nothing physical to fight."

Megan gave another half-shrug, although she didn't seem to be too disturbed. "A little, but you and Giles were there. I knew you could handle it. My chance to fight will come."

"And that's something you want?" Ethan often wondered about the Slayer instincts. He knew they existed, and indeed saw frequent evidence for them, but he didn't know their extent. Were they like the urge to use magic if you had it?

She seemed to give that serious thought before answering. "I don't want to fight just for the sake of fighting, but when there's a battle that needs to be waged, then yeah, I want to be the one to wage it."

He nodded, remembering their fight against the fairy creatures in Hyde Park. "I certainly feel safer with you providing the sword to my sorcery." He decided to broach a difficult subject, one he hadn't really even discussed with Rupert yet. "Especially now that the other side has Slayers too."

"I feel sorry for them," Megan said softly. "They can't be getting the kind of training and support we have."

"Hmm." Ethan considered that. "I think they may think they are. Unless Frannie has found a way to mind-wipe them, which would drastically reduce their efficiency as weapons, she will have to resort to other means to keep them on her side. I imagine some cult-style psychological techniques may be being employed to give a sense of community and unbreakable loyalty, much as in any other terrorist group."

"That's what I mean. Miss Travers never saw us as people. She won't have their best interests at heart, not like you and Giles."

"No, she won't. A fact that disturbs Rupert greatly and may–" He sighed. "If we are attacked by Slayers, I can foresee problems beyond the fact that they are formidable opponents."

Megan nodded soberly. "They're not our real enemies, but if they attack, we won't have a choice."

"Quite. I, um... Well, it wouldn't necessarily be a brilliant idea to tell Rupert why you're doing it, but perhaps if you and Kat could spend extra time sparring with each other while we're here?"

"Kat and I have already talked about doing that."

He smiled at her approvingly. "I see you don't need me at all. Good, sensible girls."

She smiled back. "We've had good teachers."

"I am sorry about all this, you know. Apart from anything else, our plans for improving your social life have now come to a grinding halt."

"It's okay." Megan shrugged, looking down at Skunk. "I don't think I was ready even if we weren't away from home."

"Oh, Meglet." Ethan reached out to put his hand on hers. "You were ready. Because if you let that aptly named bitch send you back into hiding then you may never come out again. "

"I'm not hiding," she protested. "I just... I'm not trying to... force it."

"Well, it's all a moot point now, I suppose. Until we get–" Ethan stopped talking as a scraping noise outside the room was followed by the appearance of Giddy, who was carrying what looked like a riding crop in his mouth as if it were a bone. As Ethan and Megan watched, the big dog took his prize into a corner of their room, hunkered down, and started to gnaw upon it.

From elsewhere in the house, they heard a shout.

Megan looked thoughtfully at Giddy. "This feels very familiar. Though at least this time he grabbed something that doesn't leave a trail of papers behind him."

"Hmm," Ethan said, trying relatively hard not to snigger. "It seems we may have been a little premature when we declared the leather fetish a passing fad of canine infancy."

Heavy footfalls were coming down the corridor as Gwydion made happy chewing noises. The footfalls stopped outside, pausing for a second before the door opened wider and admitted Rupert and his cousin. "Gwydion," Rupert said sternly.

"Oh dear." Matthew looked with concern at what had obviously been his riding crop.

The wolfhound seemed conflicted. His ears were down and posture submissive, but he wasn't giving up his chew-toy. Skunk padded over and sat down beside the larger dog, her head to one side as she panted, watching him with apparent interest. Ethan put his hand over his mouth to hide his grin and tried to look innocent. It was not a guise he had any expertise with.

"Gwydion," Rupert repeated in the same stern voice, holding out a hand to the dog for the riding crop. Giddy whined, but he stood and carried the crop over for Rupert to take from his mouth. Skunk yapped loudly.

"Come here, menace," Ethan told her. "Don't interfere." Obediently, she scampered back to his side, jumping for his lap. He could almost have accused his puppy of a certain self-aware smugness as she submitted enthusiastically to a petting.

Rupert took the crop back from Gwydion. "You know better than this," he told his dog. "You don't steal things from members of the household." Giddy hung his head and whined again, looking thoroughly dejected.

"Sorry about that, Matthew," Ethan said. "I'm afraid my dog is the good one."

"Only when it comes to leather." Rupert turned to Matthew. "You may want to keep a tight hold on your socks around Skunk however."

Ethan stuck his tongue out at Rupert as Matthew said, "I'll bear that in mind." He looked over his riding crop with obvious dismay, but said only, "Missed having dogs around the place."

"I can assure you, there won't be a repeat of this with Gwydion," Rupert told him, leaning down to pet the dog. "He's very good at following the rules. It's just where there are loopholes that we get into trouble."

Giddy responded well to the petting and wuffed twice. Once at Rupert, once at Matthew, who laughed. "Almost as if the scamp is apologising."

"You'll get used to it," Ethan told him with a chuckle.

"Maybe you should get Giddy a leather chew toy," Megan put in. "If he has his own maybe he won't want to steal others?"

"Good, sensible girl," Ethan repeated, beaming at Megan as he stood. He walked over to Rupert, Skunk still in his arms. "Well, I believe there's just enough time for a brandy and a quick tease of Xander before it's time for bed. Shall we?"

"The brandy, certainly," Rupert replied, straightening up and sliding an arm around Ethan's waist.

Ethan caught Matthew's eye and said in his best 'innocent' voice, "Rupert's scared of Kat, you see."

"Good night, Matthew," Rupert said quickly and steered Ethan out of the room with alacrity. 'Not at all outrageous?' he asked Ethan once they were in the corridor.

"Not even slightly," he answered, grinning proudly.