As I write these words, I'm riding on a train, from the family estates to Essex county, where I shall hopefully find lodgings in which to spend what remains of my summer vacation.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm going to Essex, except that I can't stay in that house one more day and a few of my school friends are spending their own holidays down that way. I certainly didn't expect this morning that I would leave the Giles estate.

I was sitting in the garden after lunch, thinking about a lot of stuff. Like about mom, and how much Dad, Warren, and I are fighting now that she's gone. Looking forward to starting classes again. How the servants still insist on calling me 'young Master Rupert' even though I'm all of twenty-one.

"Hello, son." I knew who it was without even having to look up at my father of course, between the voice and the words. It's not everybody who can make 'son' sound like a formal address, but somehow Sir Henry Matthew Giles has got stiffly correct decorum down to a precise science at levels that the Royals themselves would hardly dream of. When I did look up, then, it was accompanied by a shift from my relaxed, pondering pose to as attentive a posture as I could maintain without standing up.

"Yes, father?"

"I saw your grades from last year, Rupert," he said straightforwardly. "Quite satisfactory, my boy." Coming from Father's mouth, 'my boy' somehow sounded even more formal than 'son.'

I stifled what Father would have called an 'impertinent response.' By anyone else's standards, my grades would have been more than 'quite satisfactory.' Through study habits rigorous to give a young man a nervous breakdown, I had achieved straight A pluses in my freshman year, and my name led the Dean's honor roll for first-year history majors. Sir Henry wasn't indulging in understatement, though, I think. As his son, it was simply unremarkable that I should do so well. In fact, I couldn't help but feel as if despite all that, he was somehow disappointed in some aspect of my report card - like he had expected me to get one hundred percent in 'Origins of the greek culture' rather than ninety-six.

"Well, thank you, sir," was what I actually said. "I was quite pleased with my performance."

Father frowned, and I wondered if the cold approval would somehow give way to another lecture on 'the standards of achievement in this family.' But it didn't. Instead, Sir Henry sat down on the bench beside me and paused for just a moment before asking "So tell me, young Rupert - what do you think of the Watcher tradition of arranged marriages?"

"I think they're old-fashioned and backward," I answered immediately. At Father's shocked look I continued on: "All the rest of humanity has realized that. Choosing a life partner is the most important decision in the life of any person. It's verging on cruel for the older generation to foist a match off on their children that suits their own tastes and preconceptions, rather than allowing their sons and daughters to find their own spouses."

"I'm surprised to hear you speak that way," Father said. His voice was mild, but there was an edge of steel in his tone. "The custom is widely accepted among those of our calling. Grandmother Giles found your mother for me, as I'm sure you know. There is a certain... validity to the concept, in our case. As Watchers, we are... more than individual people, in a way. We are a part of a tradition, a sub-society that has reached down from time before history, ever working to guard the earth against evil. What keeps that tradition consistent is devotion, education, and heritage. Your children, Rupert, will become Watchers in time, unless they should prove unsuitable to the challenge. Doesn't it make sense that the Watchers who were here before you might have something worthwhile to say about who the best mother to those children might be?"

"No!" I flared, rocketing out of my seat and swirling to face him. "You... were you intending to fix me up in an arranged marriage? Because you should save yourself the effort. I may be a watcher, but I refuse to let that be my sole identity. My name is Rupert Giles, and I will not be bred, 'educated,' filed, briefed, de-briefed or numbered! My life is my own."

As you can tell, there are times when I feel like a prisoner.

Meanwhile, Father was also rising to his feet, and you could almost see the storm clouds gathering in his face. "You impertinent... little... child!" he hissed. "You ungrateful fool! After all that has been done for you, you dare to throw it back in my face?? As if being taught by the best minds in the country, trained for the greatest destiny in human history were an insult..."

"I appreciate what was done on my behalf," I shot back. "I just can't shake the feeling that it was done for the sake of having one more good Watcher in the world, rather than for me."

And things just got uglier from there. The more I challenged the conventions that Father had been brought up to believe in, the more righteously incensed he waxed. And the more Father dressed me down on family tradition and how I wasn't measuring up to it, the more rebellious and mean-spirited I became. Father was the one who ended it, laying down several 'as long as you remain on my property you will comport to my rules' type ultimatums and stalking back to the mansion. I sat and thought a little bit longer, went up to my room, and very calmly and politely packed my bags up again.

There's four weeks yet until classes begin again. I don't know where or how I'll be spending them, but I'm quite certain that anywhere would be better than the Giles estates.

* * * * *

October 7th, 1974.

I went by the Oxford Finances Department today. Couldn't stand the suspense - told them that I had got a letter about a problem in my account, which I hadn't. I had expected to by now - couldn't really believe that Father would pay my tuition considering that I haven't spoken to him since we had that fight in August.

But my account was paid in full. It kind of makes sense - he can't yank me out of school without derailing my training timetable, or letting the Watcher's council know that something's wrong. As long as I'm in school, he can pretend that everything's fine.

I can't stand that 'tutor' from the Council, though, Mister Travers. After a full day of studying my real Oxford classes, I have to hunch in a small, dark, room with 'Quentin' and three other student Watchers and learn about the occult, monsters, magic, vampires... actually, some of what we're learning is fun. It's just too much work - I barely get four hours of sleep a night. And Travers is truly full of himself - more worried about his political prospects with the Watchers that he is about us, I'm sure. They say he's on the fast track to the Council...

November 2nd, 1974.

I can't believe I'm doing this...

I've taken off - left Oxford, my classes, Quentin bloody Travers and the lot of it. I stood at the train station for a long time, hesitating over my last chance to turn and go back - uncertain of where to go if I truly did leave. And then I knew where I had to go.

London.

I've got a few hundred pounds in my pocket and one suitcase. Anything that they can't do for me... well, there's the adventure, isn't it?

I'm fed up with being the damned good son, the good student, the good little watcher in training. Look out, London - tonight Ruper' Giles is going bad.

November 4th, 1974.

I don't know why I'm still writing in this thing. Keeping a diary is so 'good little boy.' And yet, I just can't stand to leave a good story unfinished. And my life has turned into such a bloody good story these days.

I've found the greatest gang to crash with here in London. They're from all over the country, but each one of us is interested in magic and in tossing the conventions of society to fuckin' hell.

First off, there's Ethan Rayne. He's been pretty tight-lipped about his background, but I think it's upper-class - maybe even nobility. Anyway, Ethan is the original wild man of the occult - the Jimmy Dean of magic, except British. He's into a lot of stuff that even scared me, at first - chaos worship, wild sorcery. He's the one who got the group together, and we get on well.

Then there's Philip Henry. His father was as bad as mine is, I think, grooming him to take over the family business. He didn't know anything about magic when Ethan first found him, but Ethan saw the talent within him - and the discontentment with his ordinary life. He's learned a lot by now - very traditional stuff, as far as magic goes, but impressive for just a few months of study.

Diedre Page grew up in a family where she was automatically less than a human being just because she was a girl. She got into witchcraft when she was a young teen, but about a year ago she realized that witchly covens were just exchanging one kind of domination for another - circles of witches have their own rules to keep down the lesser sisters - loyalty to the circle, the wiccan rede, and all that. So Diedre took off and ended her journey meeting up with Ethan. She's coming at magic from a different perspective, just like I am, which adds to the versatility of the group.

Thomas Sutcliffe had been a frustrated academic, kind of like myself. Tired of trying to convince the educational mainstream of what he had discovered about the supernatural, Tom had turned to the dark side of magic, and now he's using the enchantments he's found for their own sake.

And lastly, there's young Randall Myers, who's only seventeen. A bit of a geek, Randall had researched the black arts to stick up for himself against the bullies that tormented him in public school, but when even magic couldn't do enough without giving him away as a sorceror, he ran away. I think that Ethan lets the kid stay in the gang because he'll do anything to belong, and Ethan exploits that mercilessly.

Well, that's about all the time I can spare for this dumb journal right now - just wanted to describe my new friends. Ethan and I are going to pool our magic knowledge, see if we can whip up a few spells.

November 29th, 1974.

Well, I thought it was a good day to put another page in my damned corny little notebook of Rupert Giles. (I'm going by just 'Ripper' now, by the way. Told Ethan and the boys I got the nickname from ripping the throats out of sacrificial victims in black magic spells. Really, it's just something that occured to me when I was thinking about my bloody name. Rupert - Ruper' - Ripper. Ethan turned the tables on me though - he made me slit the neck of a goat for an energy sacrifice to Hallamir. I don't think I flinched much at the blood though.)

It's been a great few weeks though - running with the gang, causing any kind of trouble we can think of - summoning unseen spirits into department store displays, ripping off shopkeepers with delusion spells, fun stuff like that. Ethan knows a few birds who are pretty impressed by mystic arts, so I've got a decent lay whenever I feel like it. Diedre is getting it on with Philip, and the rest of us are getting action with Ethan's little friends. (Except that pipsqueak Randall - Ethan set him up with Chloe, the youngest and sweetest of the girls, but I think he still couldn't get up the nerve to do any more than feel her up.

It's my bloody birthday today - I'm twenty-fuckin-two now, which was reason enough for a wild party with the girls. Ethan told me he 'got something special' for me - a forged pass into the Ancient history museum library, for two. We're going to poke into the occult archives and see if we can come up with something better than the small-time spells we've been doing so far.

December 24th, 1974.

Merry fuckin' Christmas eve, dear journal. My dear blood brother, Ethan, and I have whipped up a truly special present for our friends in the coven - an ancient spell that we found in the archives and transcribed into the english alphabet. It's called the ritual of Eyghon, the summoning of the Sleepwalker.

Using it, we'll be able to call up the spirit of the demon-god Eyghon into one of our own. Just think of it - controlling a demon, making him come and go on command. Better than any magic the Watcher's council would ever let me use, that's for sure. Ethan says that it'll be the most incredible feeling for the host of the posession - the sensation of becoming a god - 'better than any heroin.' I've never tried heroin, so I guess I wouldn't know.

We're going to try the ritual tomorrow - first thing Christmas morning. Wish me luck, damn diary.

* * * * *

January 1st, 1975.

Thought I'd check in, on this first afternoon of the new year, although there's not that much to tell. We're doing the Ritual of Eyghon on a regular basis. It's amazing stuff, both to be there summoning the demon, controlling him by ritual and magic, or the memory of BEING Eyghon afterwards. (You aren't really aware of it at the time of posession - you have to be sleeping for it to work. But afterwards, you remember everything like a vivid dream.)

Still mucking about with the larceny and fucking Tavia, but Eyghon is the highlight of my life right now. That's about it. Ta ta.

April 29th, 1975.

Something terrible has happened. I don't want to write about it. I don't even want to talk about it, or think about it, but I can't stop thinking about it just because I don't want to. And... I think that for some reason, I should write about it. It's a story that needs to be told, even if nobody else will ever read it.

Randall Myers died tonight.

Nothing seemed wrong. We were setting up for the ritual, the same as always. It was Randall's turn to host Eyghon, so he lay down, took a few pills to help him sleep. (It's hard to sleep on command given the kind of excitement that surrounds The Ritual.) Once we were all ready, Philip Henry and I got the boy over to the chair.

I started to prepare the summoning circle around Randall, but Ethan stopped me. "We've been doing those binding incantations," he said, "and they've worked so well. Why bother with the inconvenience of a summoning circle when we don't need it? And just imagine... being able to actually reach out and touch Eyghon."

I went along with it, of course, like a total fool. We started reciting the Etruscan invocations and spells to bind Eyghon to our will while he was in Eyghon's body.

"Como te adravir Eyghon, juguji varate-neo toromoski aley Randall Myers, vamimma corolabida testino." When Eyghon comes here this night, let him remember that he visits in the body of our friend and brother, Randall Myers.

"Atanais vo abliar conmestis selier it samanar, acernir zevenem co arcarnir vanda exkilium gorvandi destar." Therefore, let him heed our words and wishes, lest he be consigned to the void for violating our hospitality.

"Eyghon-O, daradindar valame nocasis kama tarandide ammbara kolo mardrade cerclesias amana tarreo dorvade con licseenium. Jorvin tardiadia cormo sil gafanee Randall Myers, jisi tua garvaniglia querescentia." Eyghon, come her not this night to harm this coven or those it holds dear, for if you take the body of Randall Myers, you bind yourself to this requirement.

There was more like this. Once the bindings were in place, we called up Eyghon, and watched as he turned Randall's baby face into a mirror of the Sleepwalker's own demonic visage.

"Ah." Eyghon's voice rolled majestically through the hideout. "Ethan... Rupert... Diedre. And Thomas and Philip. Which means that I'm... Randall tonight, again. Damn."

"What," Philip laughed. "Who would you prefer?"

"Randall isn't worth me," Eygon grumbled. "Of all of you, only Ethan is. Or maybe Philip and even Thomas." He used Randall's eyes to look around. "What - no conjuring circle to constrain me tonight?"

"I thought we could dispense with it," Ethan laughed. "You're psychically bound - no reason to fear. And this way... I get to touch you." He reached out and ran his hand along the back of Randall's hand, turned scaly and rough from the transformation.

"Very nice," Eyghon/Randall said, getting up from the chair. "You're confident. I like that about you. And you trust your people."

Ethan looked at him for a moment. "They know their stuff."

"Do they really?" Eyghon held Ethan's gaze for just a second, then whriled to turn on Diedre. "You spoke the secondary invocation of the Etruscan binding ritual, Miss Page. Now, just what was that again?? In the original language?"

"Um... uh..." Diedre cast her mind back. "Um, Atanais vo abliar conmestis selier it samanar, er... acernir zevenem co arcarnir vanda exkilium gorvandi destar. That's it."

"And the english translation??"

"Therefore, let him heed our words and our wishes, lest he be consigned to the void for violating our hospitality."

"Hmm..." Eyghon thought about that. "Judges, can we let her... NO! The correct invocation, Diedre, begins with 'Atanais mo abliar...' You futzed it up. Now, what difference does that make to the english translation??"

Diedre's face was ashen suddenly. "Let him... oh, my god, no!!!"

"YES!!" Eyghon advanced on her. "'Let him heed his own words and wishes.'" That revokes the rest of the binding spell, my dear." His face grew even more monstrous. "It means that I'm free."

He sprang at her, all claws and snarling teeth. Philip rushed in between, protecting Diedre on instinct. Eyghon didn't seem to care - it just wanted someone to attack. Withdrawing its claws somewhat, he pounded on Philip, punching and grappling. Then he brought Randall's slightly small and spindly hands up to Philip's throat, and there was enormous power in those hands now. He started to choke Philip.

"Eyghon!!" It was Ethan's voice ringing out. All of us turned to look at him, and he was pointing a pistol at Randall's body.

"Let Philip go, right now, or I'm going to use it."

"What do I care?" Eyghon snarled. Suddenly with a deafening blast and an energetic kick, the pistol went off. Randall's body was bucked by the impact, and Philip broke free from its grasp, but Eyghon kept his feet.

"It doesn't matter," Eyghon growled. "All five of you - you have called down evil into your midst, and you will never be able to expel it. Sooner, or later - probably later, I will destroy you all."

"I doubt it." Ethan fired again, and again, and again. He clicked once just to make sure that the magazine was empty after firing the sixth bullet into Randall's body. "Damn Colt."

"You cannot destroy me," Eyghon hissed. "You can never destroy evil."

"No, but I can pound your demon arse," I yelled out. I hadn't been standing idly by while all this was going on. I had grabbed a Hercules club from among my old bags and brought it down on Randall's head. Eyghon screamed.

I didn't waste time on pity for the thing. Another hit, right in amongst the ribs, and I could see the despair on Eyghon's demonic face. Deidre was helping Philip get to his feet.

"No.. there's nobody else," Eyghon half screamed, half whispered.

And then Randall's body disolved into grayish-blue liquid and evaporated. Randall - and Eyghon, were no more.

We had vanquished the demon. But at what cost??

* * * * *

April 30th, 1975.

The whole Randall thing is over, at least it is for now. But none of us are nearly the same cheerful anarchists we were before all of this started.

Ethan and I worked out what had happened. When he first shot the pistol, he had killed Randall. Eyghon was still active, though, because it could inhabit a dead body as easily as a living, sleeping person. Well, not quite as easily. If the host is dead, it becomes harder on the body to sustain Eyghon's demonic energies. I had read that in the Etruscan texts we got telling us about Eyghon in the first place:

"Once called, Eyghon can also take possession of the dead, but its demonic energy soon disintegrates the host, and it must jump to the nearest dead or unconscious person to continue living." That was what had happened. I had gambled that serious physical damage to the body would accelerate the disintegration process, and I think I was right. The gunshots from Ethan started things off nicely, and my quick work with the hercules club finished it.

We had rid ourselves of Eyghon - by killing young Randall. Not the demon. We had done it, to cover up our own stupid mistake.

By the time Randall's body was disintegrating, there were no other prospective hosts to jump into. If Philip had passed out during the demon's first attack, he had recovered in time. So that, it seemed, was that.

We tried to summon Eyghon again today, using all the protection circles and wards we could, and getting the binding spells right word for word. There was nothing. Either the demon is destroyed, or it's been consigned to a realm from which the ritual isn't powerful enough to conjure him. All of us were relieved about that.

But somehow the spirit, the heart of our little group is gone as well. Not that Randall was the core of our group, far from it. But everything's changed now. We were a bunch of young rebels, out on a lark, living our dreams. But when the dream became a nightmare for a night, all of us got startled wide awake, to mangle a metaphor. We're all still living at Ethan's, but not because it's where we truly want to be most in the world, like it used to be.

Now, we stay here because we have no place else to go.

May 3rd, 1975.

Things are getting worse around here. I was lying down this evening, wondering whether or not I wanted to sleep, wondering if Eyghon would be laughing at me in my dreams from Randall's face, when I started to hear conversation from the next room. This old place is funny, sometimes sound seems to go straight through the walls. It was Ethan and Diedre.

"Why are you being so uppity," Ethan was growling. "The whole thing was your fault anyway. If you could have just read the incantation correctly, everything would have gone off fine."

"Until the next time," Diedre growled at him. "If it hadn't been that night, it would have happened another time. Because we were going to keep on doing that ritual, again and again, and you would have kept us taking chances on the protection spells, trying to get just a little closer to your 'god.' I wonder who would have died if it happened another time. You? Me? Philip? Rupert? Or maybe Eyghon would have killed us all, just like he was trying to."

"Don't talk to me like that," Ethan hissed. "You're staying under my roof, 'Miss Page.' Or do you want me to call your family and let them know exactly where they can find you? The Pages have been looking for their prodigal daughter, you know."

Diedre stiffened. "You wouldn't!!"

"Unless you co-operate, Deidre, I believe I shall. Now, why don't we start over here on the bed??"

"No," Diedre gasped. "No. What about Philip??"

"If Philip has a problem with it," Ethan continued relentlessly, "I have ways to keep him in line too."

Then... well, you can guess how things progressed from there. Ethan obviously had a good time. Diedre was crying by the time it was over.

I don't know about any of the rest of them, but I can't stay here any longer. But where can I go??

May 5th, 1975.

Well, I know I was wanting somewhere to go, but not like this.

Philip found out about Diedre and Ethan tonight. Like a true bastard, Ethan tried to pretend that it was Diedre's idea. I stepped in and told Philip what I'd heard, Ethan using the threat of Diedre's family to force her. And everything burned up into a huge argument from there.

Ethan told me to get out of his place, and I went, taking only this stupid journal. Of the few things I still had, somehow this seemed the only one that was still of value to me. A record, however halfhearted, of the past months of my life.

I walked around the cold London street for a while before leaning against a streetlamp pole and resting my eyes for a second. I was tired, but knew that I couldn't give in to fatigue until I had at least some kind of secure shelter. Keeping my ears tuned to my surroundings, I stood there.

Brakes squealing close by - must be a fairly large van coming to a stop nearby. There go the doors, and... What the hell??

I opened my eyes just in time to see two men grab me by one arm each. One was young and kinda brawny, the other older but still well-muscled and strong. Both were wearing very nice suits - tweed for the older guy, soft black the other.

I tried to escape their grasp, but the grips were too strong. Quickly I was ushered into the van I had heard stopping, leveraged down onto the hard metal floor and restrained with sturdy shackles.

Who were these people? And then the answer hit on my mind. Oh, no!

As if in answer to my thoughts, old and dapper turns to me with a serious expression on his face, while young and brawny closed the doors and someone else drove the van off. "By the authority of the Watcher's council, Rupert William Giles, I am placing you under detention for the crime of desertion to our cause, and practicing dark magic. In due time you will be brought before the disciplinary committee to answer for your crimes." That said, the old guy climbed into the front of the van and sat down in the shotgun seat.

I groaned and looked around. Aside from the guys who had grabbed me, the driver, and of course myself, there was one other person in the vehicle. A girl, nineteen years old to hazard a guess - and quite a striking beauty, I would have to admit. A classically oval face, piercingly bright blue eyes, long, straight, light-golden hair that fell past her shoulders to her upper back in a plunging cascade, and from what I could tell, quite a curvaceous figure.

She was sitting on a small riser right across from me, looking straight into my eyes. Her personal style, her clothes, and her demeanor were quite upper-class, (of course - the watcher's aren't exactly a grass-roots organization,) and I fancied I could hear her worrying in her mind whether the van was clean enough or if it would stain her designer dress.

Most of my reaction, though, was focused on the way she was staring at me - with what seemed to be a mixture of revolted contempt and puzzled pity. I couldn't just sit there and take that from some spoiled Daddy's girl.

"What are you looking at?" I growled.

"I am watching the prisoner," she said primly. "That is a part of my assigned duty."

I scoffed. "So, you're a watcher in training, huh? So was I, until I wised up. Rupert Giles. Though I guess you already knew my name and my story before you found me, huh??"

"Yes, we did," She affirmed quietly. "By the way, you're still a watcher, no matter how much you've offended the people responsible for your training." She smiled somewhat tiredly. "It's nice to meet you, Rupert. I'm Miranda Lindley."

* * * * *

Entry for May 5th, 1975, continued...

I scowled at the prim and proper young lady Watcher sitting across from me in the Retrieval team van. "So honored to make your acquaintance, princess," I drawled back with all the English sarcasm I could muster.

The disappointed look that flashed across her pretty face as I mocked her high-and-mighty persona was pure cruel joy. She didn't say anything else right then, and I was more than happy enough to let the conversation drop.

They drove for about an hour, parked the van, and dragged me back outside, (me with my hands cuffed behind my back and my feet tied together in just such a way that I could take slow, careful, and short steps, preferably with assistance from both sides, but could under no circumstances make a run for it by myself without getting those bonds untied.)

One thing is clear - no matter how much these watchers might be stuck-up gits, they know their business.

I was surprised when I saw our destination, I'll admit that. At first, when I saw the high stone walls, I thought we had arrived at the Castle of the Watchers itself, though I knew that we hadn't been driving nearly long enough to get there from London. Then I realized that it wasn't quite the same architectural style... "What is this place??" I grunted out.

"The abbey of Saint Micheal," the driver informed me with a vigorous slap on my back. "Abandoned for a century or so. Whatcha think?"

"Run-down accomodations that, when they were being kept up, penniless monks were too good for," I observed dryly. "Couldn't we have at least crammed ourselves into a farmer's shed?? It's sure to be comfortabler."

"No," Dapper said, shaking his head. "Relax, 'Ripper.' You'd be able to survive here considerably longer than three days. It's a fine hide out."

"Three... three days??" I spluttered. "What the hell for?? Did the drive to London REALLY tire you out???"

Brawny shook his head menacingly. "No. We're following security procedures - in case any of your partners in black magic are trying to trail you, for instance. We can't be leading them straight to the Castle."

"That's daft," I informed him, shaking my head. "Ethan doesn't know where I've gone and wouldn't care. Plus, he doesn't have the kinds of skills that would necessary to track me down, especially if you used any kind of spell to cover your traces..."

"Perhaps," Dapper said solemnly. "But we are following procedures in any event, as a security exercise for our young interns." From Dapper's gesturing, the interns were apparently the driver and Princess. I guess that Brawny had already made security his life's work, which made sense.

I didn't raise any more stupid questions as they led me into the monsastery, chained me up again, (this was TRULY starting to get tiring,) and set up mattress pads and sleeping bags on the bare stone floor for their own beds. I got a spare mattress pad to sit on - no sleeping bag. Of course, I wouldn't fit into it anyway with all the chains.

Soon, Dapper and the driver were sleeping, while Princess sat up keeping guard over me and Brawny stood watch out by the van, for Ethan and the gang or whatever else might be following us. I'm sure that he kept within earshot of Princess just in case I 'tried something.' For crying out loud... it makes you just want to be a criminal, the way these people treat you.

After half an hour of squirming around, trying to find a position in which the chains weren't paining my joints, I looked over at my beautiful jailer. "See here, Princess. I'm not going anywere. There any chance that I can get out of the handcuffs for a little while at least?"

Princess had to mull that one over for a little while. "Why?"

"Well, my wrists are killing me, getting a little circulation into them would help a lot." She didn't look too impressed, so I racked my brain for something else. "And... and I have this stupid little journal. Thought it would be fitting somehow to record the events of my kisnapping for posterity."

She actually laughed out loud at that. "Really, Rupert, you come up with the strangest things every now and then. Kidnapping?? You agreed to submit yourself to Watcher justice when you were twelve, Mister Giles. We're just... holding you to that promise."

"I was a child," I spat. "A little boy who had been taken in by my father's tales of bravery and adventure. What a joke."

Princess was shaking her head. "No joke. Being a watcher can be the noblest thing you'd find in this world - and the biggest adrenaline rush. If you've never gotten a chance to see that... well, maybe you should." She considered a moment more. "Scott??"

In just a few seconds, it seemed, Brawny was there. "What is it, Mira??" An odd expression crossed over Princess' face when he called her that.

"The prisoner has asked for the restraints on his hands to be undone for a time," she reported crisply. "I reccommend that we oblige him."

Brawny's face dropped. "That's not according to the regs, Mira."

Again that odd reaction. "The regs are basically to keep him trussed up like a chicken, Scott, aren't they? It's inhumane." She shook her head, blonde hair flying out. "He wants to make a diary entry, for god's sake."

Scott sighed. "Okay, fine, have it your way, Mira. It'll be a lesson if nothing else."

A pleasantly intrigued expression took over Princess' face. "What kind of lesson?" Oh, great. Now she cared more about the lesson than she did me.

"Any operation in which you enter the subject's field of motion is a danger point," Scott lectured, approaching me cautiously. "No matter how restrained the prisoner might be, or might seem, you must take nothing for granted. A strong, trained, and capable opponent would be able to subdue you, even if fully shackled, and put your life at risk. Then hold you hostage to the rest of the team, maybe, in exchange for his or her freedom."

Princess looked suitably awed and horrified. Give me a break. "So, how can you protect against that??"

"Take nothing for granted," Brawny told her. Striding forward, he proceeded to step, (not too hard, I'll give him that, but firmly,) on my toes, and grabbed a forearm in each strong hand. "With all four limbs held secure, there's nothing that the subject can do. Un-cuff him, if you like." Princess reached forward and slipped the keys into the restraints around my wrists, popping each open in turn.

Brawny smiled nastily and jumped back, letting me go. I had to admit that he was onto something there - I couldn't have tried anything if I'd been wanting to.

"So, what kind of prisoners does a team like this ever have to take in?" Princess asked Brawny, leading him away to the other edge of the room. "Aside from young watchers who run away from their destiny??" I think she was purposefully letting me have my privacy, as much as she could without leaving me completely unguarded.

"Evil witches, cult members," Brawny rhymed off. "I'm not sure if it's ever happened, but the worst scenario on the books is if a Slayer herself were to turn bad. That's the day we spend our years preparing for, and hope never comes..."

I stopped paying attention to the conversation and started writing this entry.

* * * * *

May 6th, 1975. Midmorning, as near as I can make it.

After writing the journal entry last night, I stretched out on the mattress pad which my watcher captors had so generously left me with, and tried to get some decent shuteye. It wasn't easy, with my feet and waist still chained, and the sounds of my captors ever-present. I think I managed an hour or so of shuteye - all of it filled, (or so it seemed,) with nightmares. Eyghon again, laughing at me with Randall's faces, and those of others - Diedre, Philip. But there were now other figures of menace in my dreams, besides the demon. Ethan appeared, as capering, mad trickster cheerfully about to unleash some dark magic that might destroy him for all he new, and utterly uncaring of the fact. (I wonder now if that portrait isn't entirely too accurate.)

My father was there, too, as a coldly cruel Inquisition magistrate, and my brother Warren as his seargeant-at-arms. Some of the watchers who had caught me themselves. And the Watcher's council, a shadowy presence in the background, so awesome a body as to be terrifying.

Ridiculous, Ripper, I chided myself when I woke up. You're letting your imagination run away with you.

The girl had been there too - Princess. She had been in my dream, or at least her face had. In mirrors, rivers - always a reflection. When I tried to find the girl directly, she was never there. Hmm. Strange.

I sat up with a groan and looked around. Most of the watchers were still laying in their sleeping bags on the other side of the room. Princess was one of them - I could see her yellow-gold hair cascading over the folded pile of clothing that she was using as a pillow.

But Brawny was awake and staring right at me. "Good morning, jailer," I groaned.

"I'm not your jailer," he said shortly. "I'm just..."

"I know," I drawled out sarcastically. "You're just a friendly little reminder that the Council I agreed to work with when I didn't know better has a problem with my little jaunt off to London. I'd tell you, and your precious council, to sod off, but I know it wouldn't make one little speck of difference so I'll save my breath." A pause. "You gonna be making any breakfast or anything??"

Brawny carefully checked his watch without letting his attention wander more than twenty degrees away from me. "In an hour or so."

"'M I going to get any?" I cracked, chuckling to myself.

"Of course," Brawny nodded without any acknowledgment of the fact that my question had been couched as a joke. These watcher security types didn't seem to be much for humor, from what I could see. "Since Mira insisted that your hands be unchained, you'll even get to feed yourself, instead of having to be spoon-fed. Grateful??"

"Quite," I growled at sarcastically. Grateful that I wouldn't be treated like a baby, just a convict? Oh yes, that pushes my appreciation of watcher courtesy right up. Deciding that I needed to change the subject, I nodded over to Princess. "She your bird??"

Brawny scowled. "My girlfriend? Not that it's any of your business, but no. She isn't."

Well, talk about surly! I let the conversation drop at that point, preferring the company of my own thoughts to this barbarian's. Wishful plans of escape, (none of them would actually work, but thinking of them did manage to make me feel better,) kept me occupied until the rest of the watchers got up and, apparently, started getting ready for breakfast. They had one of those trite little camping stoves, and a fair load of provisions stashed here and there, from what I could tell.

There was also some freshening up, from what I could tell. Princess, for instance, left the room and came back a few minutes later, in different clothes. The designer dress was gone, replaced by soft cotton pants, in a light brown, and a light sky-blue sweater. Despite the casual affectations, she still looked like a spoiled rich girl.

"Good morning, Rupert," she said conversationally once she was back. "How did you sleep?"

"Oh, just peachy Princess," I sniped back. "I'm chained by my ankles and waist and trying to sleep on a little foam mattress. How do you think I slept?"

She acknowledged my sarcasm with a slightly sad expression, and then nodded. "I realize that things must be difficult for you. Breakfast will be ready soon. Do you, em..." She blushed bright red. "Er, need to, that is, r-relieve yourself?" she finally stuttered out.

"Well yes, as a matter of fact I do," I growled. "You going to watch over me while I do that too?"

She turned white at the very idea of that. "Oh, n-no, I don't... don't think that that would be necessary," she muttered. "Um, do you, Mister Taylor??"

"Do I what?" Dapper, (whose name was apparently Mister Taylor,) grumped at her from the stove, where he seemed to be heating sausage links.

"Rupert need to, um, u-use a ch-chamber pot, as it were," Miranda managed to get out.

Dapper sighed loudly. "Once these sausages are done," he decided flatly.

"Um, what about, er, that is, his privacy???"

Dapper groaned with sheer exasperation. "The rest of you can be out of the room, watching the exits. I'll have to be within eyeshot, but I'll try not to make you feel ill at east as you go about your business, Mister Giles."

And so it was done. Crapping and pissing into a bedpan on cue wasn't as bad as it sounded, actually, and I got a great sense of satisfaction in handing the bedpan to Dapper to dispose of.

Breakfast was quite good, actually. I was quite hungry by this point, and ate up everything that was available - crusty rolls, sausages, scrambled eggs, and two glasses of orange juice.

After we were done eating, though, the boredom set in. I played some naughts and crosses with myself in the back pages of the diary, but I always ended up stalemating myself, so the thrill wore off quite quickly. Once she was done helping with the breakfast dishes, Princess came over to watch me.

"You know," I said suddenly, looking up to her from my last game, "I asked Brawny over there if the two of you were involved."

She had to look over at the other watchers for a moment to figure out who I meant. "Who, Scott??" The thought made her laugh, apparently. "What did he tell you?"

"That it was none of my business," I said, keeping to myself that that hadn't been all of his answer. "So, are you?" I wondered how she would react.

"No, we are not," she said, very primly again.

"But you know him, huh?" I pressed, if for no other reason than I liked to see Princess get defensive like that. "One of your boyfriend's mates??"

"Scott's a friend of a friend," Princess said with a sigh and a shake of her head. "If you must know, I don't have a boyfriend, as such, at the moment." And for a strange second it seemed that I could see the faintest twinkle in her eye as she said that.

* * * * *

Still May 6th, 1975. Late evening.

Well, it's been quite a boring day here at stuffy watchers abbey. Someone was watchng me the whole time, of course, but none of them struck up conversations any more, and I didn't bother saying much either. They did a 'security exercise' in the afternoon, with Brawny taking a head start and the two interns, (Princess and the other one,) trying to catch him while Dapper watched me and so forth. I did point out that if they were trying to simulate the behavior of a real fleeing fugitive, they should let me out of the chains and let me have a head start. I got a lot of dirty stares for that idea, of course.

Then there was dinner, and a lot more 'sitting around time.' Finally Dapper announced that I should be given time to make another journal entry, if I cared to, and then I'd be chained up again. He and Brawny had arranged a 'secure bed' where I'd be reasonably comfortable and yet secure at the same time. So I'm writing. And since I can't think of any more to write, I guess I'm going to finish now and give in to the inevitable.

May 7th, 1975.

Well, today started very much like yesterday. Except, of course, for waking up tied to a bed. I was unchained in time for breakfast and even allowed to walk around for ten minutes, closely followed, to stretch my limbs and shake the kinks out. Then food, and I got chained back up again, in the same spot as earlier but in a chair this time.

Princess came over and pulled up a chair across from me. "So, Rupert, how are you feeling this morning? Hope you slept better last night."

"Can't really complain, I suppose," I sighed. "Though it might be worth it to hear you cluck-cluck sympathetically. Like a mother hen, you are."

She sighed and shook her head a little bit. Today was definitely on the warmer side and Princess was taking advantage, in a light purple scoop-neck shirt, short charcoal gray skirt, and sandals. She crossed her legs, ever so ladylike, on the simple wooden chair, and I had to admit that her legs were incredible. "Why do you have to do that? You always find some way to ridicule me, no matter what I've said. I'm doing my best to treat you with concern and respect, Rupert Giles. Would you prefer if I treated you the way that Scott and Mister Taylor did?"

"To be honest, it doesn't make one speck of difference to me which way you treat me," I protested, but obviously my tone didn't agree, because Princess shook her head with certainty.

"Of course it makes a difference. You wouldn't be a human man if the rest of us were a matter of complete indifference to you. And you're very much a man, Rupert." She cocked her head. "So, why did you do it, after all? Run away from school, hook up with that horrible Rayne fellow."

Hullo, this was getting interesting. "How do you know about Ethan Rayne?"

"Well, we had to do our footwork, to find you, didn't we?" She rubbed one foot against her calf, and my eyes followed the motion before I realized what I was staring at. I shook my head and focused on the middle distance past her head again. "Your friend already has something of a watcher rap-sheet. He's only been practicing black magic that we know of for two or three years, but he's already pulled off some atrocious stunts."

"Wouldn't surprise me," I grunted. Obviously Ethan wasn't the cheerful scoundrel just starting off in life that he had pretended to be.

"Which brings me back to my question," Miranda pressed. "Why??"

I could have just told her to bug off, but for some reason I didn't feel like it. "I dunno, because I was just fed up with it, alright? Because I was tired of being whatever my father or Travers or the council wanted of me, a studious, well-behaved little watcher. I wanted a little fun - some thrills. And that's just what I went and found." A few more thrills than I had bargained on, in point of fact, but I wasn't going to give Princess the satisfaction of hearing me admit that!

"Thrills?" She grinned. "Being a watcher can be the biggest adrenalin rush of all - it's a pity that you didn't get a chance to see that side of it before you decided to go maverick on us all." She sighed pleasantly. "As far as having personality clashes, that's not too unusual. I have them, and I almost feel sorry for you drawing Quentin Travers as a mentor - that's a rotten piece of luck. But there are student watcher ombudmans in the system for a very good reason - for people like us to come to when we need their help..."

"Whatever," I groaned. "Can we do something besides talk, alright? Play a game or something."

"Um, I suppose," she said, switching gears quickly, as she seemed to do fairly well. "What game? I've got playing cards in my knapsack. Gin Rummy?"

"Thatsa kids game," I groaned. "Better than nothing. Too bad we don't have a chess set around."

"Oh, I think Mister Taylor does," she corrected me. "You like playing chess?"

"Seven hundred and ninety-two wins, to two-hundred and thirteen losses and ninety seven draws," I answered. Princess shot me a questioning glance. "My overall record over the last eight years."

"Well, I'm not very good, so you'll probably make it seven-ninety-three to two-thirteen and ninety-seven easy," she replied. "But maybe that'll finally make you happy. Mister Taylor??" She called his name out loud into the next room. "Can we use your chessboard?"

"You figuring to take Rupert Giles on?" Dapper called back. For a second it almost sounded like he was implying some measure of respect for my mental powers.

"I shall fight the good fight as best I can, and probably lose very badly," she shot back, going over to Dapper's luggage to find the chessboard and pieces.

I ended up playing several games against Princess, and one or more against each of the other watchers, lasting long into the afternoon and a little past sunset. Dapper was the toughest opponent, and I split games against him and we drew one with the fifty-move rule. Actually, Princess was the toughest, but that was only because her legs kept distracting me from the game. Tactically, she wasn't that good, but physically... well, you know. A work of art.

I didn't even raise that much fuss when Dapper said it was time to chain me back up to the bed after I'd eaten my dinner, (a thick hearty shepard's pie,) and used the loo. It was starting to become routine.

* * * * *

May 8th, 1975. An hour and a half before dawn, I think.

Well. There's quite a bit to tell this time, and I hardly know where to start. I was having pleasant dreams for a change, something about a pleasant field with bright blue grass and a lemonade waterfall, when I was rudely awakened by the sounds of struggle.

It took me more than a few seconds to get my bearings, but the situation soon became clear. The watchers were being set upon by a half-dozen, possibly more fierce vampires. Brawny was obviously a force to be reckoned with in hand-to-hand stakeage, but one or two of the vamps were chuckling as if they had a nasty surprise in mind for him, and the others weren't fareing so well. Dapper seemed to be taking advantage, the little driver was hurt, and Princess was grappling with a fierce bloodsucker and seemed to be losing.

Suddenly, one of the vamps noticed me. "Hey, a prisoner!" he snarled to one of his fellows. "Wonder what he did?"

"Black magic, probably," the lead vampire commented offhandedly. "The watchers like to throw trials for dark sorcerors before they kill them."

Fangy number one turned back to me. "Looks like it's your lucky day, Wiz." And with a few strokes of his weapon, a heavy battle axe, my chains were free from the wall. "Guess you have a reason to want to thrash some Watcher arse too, dontcha?"

Something strange happened inside of me. Up until then, I swear I hadn't even given thought to which side I'd assist in the fight if I got a chance. But all of a sudden, my mouth was saying "You'd think, wouldn't you?" and my fist was cracking into fangy's skull, knocking him down and away. Quick as a blink, I was off, heading towards Princess and the vampire who seemed to be lusting for her blood.

"Think fast!" I called out, and threw the lengths of chain dangling from my right arm towards the bloodsucker, giving it a precise whip-like flick at just the right moment. It worked. The severed chain-edge scraped sideways across the vampire's back, tearing his black tunic, and he screamed in pain.

Then, I was upon him, wrapping the left chain around his neck and securing the other end of it in my right hand, then using that leverage to throw him back away from Princess and onto the floor.

"Thank you!" Princess breathed in a gasp, and I realized for the first time exactly what I was doing. I was helping these watchers, my captors who were bringing me in to trial. Or at least helping Princess. I also realized that there were two drips of blood on her neck.

"What the heck," I rationalized out loud, "you're too pretty to be wasted by demonscum, no matter how much you can piss a man off." But Princess didn't seem to be paying any attention to what I was saying. She was rooting in around one of the canvas packs, and soon produced a stake, which she brought over to her attacker and clinically, proficiently, shoved it through his heart. I bumped down onto the hard floor with a mild curse, (since my knees had been resting upon the vampires legs, to keep him from kicking at me.)

A quick look around verified that the rest of the action had mopped up. Apparently, the distraction that I had provided by turning on my would-be rescuers had enabled Brawny to evade his nasty surprise, (a small pocket cannon,) and stake two of the vampires, while Dapper had caught one by surprise. The rest had fled the scene, and Dapper was tending to the driver's wounds, while Brawny came over to us, looking intently at a little bauble that one of the vampires had dropped.

"Hey, Mira," he said to Princess, ignoring me except for a curt nod. "This look familiar to you?" He passed the object into her graceful hands - it was a bronze pendant on a rubbery loop of animal hide that would have been long enough to hang around a vampire's neck - but the loop had been broken during the fight.

"Yes, of course Scott," Princess replied automatically. "The badge of membership in the Sect of Sadrinum. An order of vampires sworn to murder Watchers, potential watchers, and potential Slayers at any oportunity. They're a menace."

"Hmm..." 'Scott' mulled this over for a few moments. "I wonder how they knew that we were here, if they were targeting us for any particular reason."

"Well, they obviously didn't know who Mister Giles was," Miranda pointed out.

Scott replied to that by glaring intently at me. "Either that, or they knew, and believed that Giles was supposed to help them." The menace in his tone was clear.

"Don't even think that, Scott!" Princess declared out loud. "They didn't know - I heard them wondering out loud who he might be. And Rupert's help probably saved my life just now - all of our lives, for all we know."

Scott turned to look at her for a few seconds. "Whatever. C'mon, 'Rupert.' Time to get you chained up again."

"No!!" Miranda called out. "Come on, Scott, what has he done that we have to keep manacling him up all the time?

Scott looked long-sufferinly at Princess, then glanced at me, and sighed. "If he swears to comport himself as an honorable prisoner, and one of the team will stand by his word, then he can remain out of the physical restraints. Not otherwise. That's rulebook, Mira, and I'm not about to put my own neck on the line for his good behavior."

"Then I will," Princess declared. "If you'll swear, that is, Rupert." She looked up at me with, I imagine, all the silent persuasiveness she could muster.

Oh, what the hell. I knew when I started that there wouldn't likely be a chance to escape from this team, and I was quite sure now. To swear an oath, exchanging any slight chance of freedom for less confinement - yeah, I could get behind that. "Okay. I swear on my honor that..."

Scott broke in, an insufferable sneer on his face. "Since it's an open question whether you have any honor left, Rupert, could you do me the courtesy of swearing on something else? Something that means something to you - so not your vocation as Watcher, your family..."

I groaned meaningfully at him. He was enjoying being such a prick to me, and I could tell that Princess was fuming too. "Alright. I swear on my life that I will behave as a good little prisoner and not try to flee custody."

"...Or seek harm to any members of the retrieval team..." Scott prompted.

"Or seek harm to any members of the retrieval team," I repeated angrily. "Satisfied??"

"I am," Princess declared, shooting a dark look at Scott.

"Good enough," I said more mildly, trying to calm down and defuse the situation. "Well, now that that's settled, I have a tale of battle to tell my journal, and some more sleep to catch."

* * * * *

May 8th, 1975. (Early afternoon.)

Everything has quite literally changed overnight in some way. For one thing, I was finally able to get a decent night's sleep without the rattling of my chains always waking me up, although what's left of my sense of chivalry compelled me to abdicate the bed in favor of Princess. This morning, the two of us were practically left alone by the other watchers. It seems that by approving my oath, Princess had taken total responsibility for my behaviour, and that it wasn't appropriate for the others to have very much to do with me. It would be stepping on her dubious authority.

So what with one student, (princess,) having something else to do, and the other, (young Matthew, the driver,) being still recuperating from the wounds done him in the vampire attack, the training exercises were quickly cancelled. Dapper and Brawny set up in one room, near Matthew in case he needed anything, and played some chess. Princess decided to show me this fascinating card game she'd heard of, that she said was sure to challenge my mind.

"Okay, so a diamond gets turned up as the prize..." she suited action to word; "Okay, the nine. Now, we each play a card from our own suits in a secret bid to win the nine diamonds."

"How do we decide?" I clarified. "Just, whatever we think is more likely to win at the least expense??"

"You've got it," she said, with that incredibly bright and wholesome smile. I picked the ten of clubs and passed it face down to sit next to the face-up nine of diamonds.

Princess had already prepared a card from her own handful, (she had gotten the spades, the hearts aren't used for this game,) and we turned our cards over at the same time. Princess had picked the three. "I won!" I exclaimed with a pleased smile, putting my hand over the diamond card and daring her with a glance to object.

"You've got it," she said, but there was a secretive smile on her face. "The one who makes it to forty-five diamond points wins. Next card." She flipped over a new diamond - the ten. And so we played the hand like that out. I caught on very quickly, if I do say so myself. This game - 'gops' she called it, mixes the kind of logical strategic play necessary for good chess with enough bluff and peaople-reading for a good game of poker.

With the third-to last diamond round, I edged her six of spades out with the seven of clubs for the four of diamonds, and counted up my diamond points. I had thirty-eight. The next diamond up was the seven, and I smiled. I still had my queen, while Princess had played out all of her court cards. I captured the seven, which gave me the seven points I needed for forty-five.

"And the last diamond is the six, and my ten takes your... six," Princess related, calling the last round. "Which gives me... forty-six."

My head snapped up at that. "Forty bloody six?? I thought you said forty-five was what you needed to win this stupid game! We can't both win." Which meant...

"Oh." Princess was crestfallen, at having unwittingly decieved me, I guess. "It must have been get *past* forty-five. Ninety-one points to go around, right? I'm sorry." I rewarded her powers of announcing the obvious with an unimpressed stare. "Still, that's very good, especially considering that it's your first time. Care to take me up on a rematch?"

I shrugged, and she took that as a cue to gather up the diamonds and shuffle them. "So," she said, trying to change the subject. "We left a conversation unfinished the other day - about why you took off. Would you be interested in talking any more about it?"

I almost said no, but then I took the poor girl's jack with a queen for the nine of diamonds and figured I might as well humor her. "Sure. Whatcha wanna know?"

"Well..." Princess frowned, and I couldn't tell for sure whether it was about the card play or the conversation. "You mentioned being tired of living up to the expectations of your family. I've never seen things that way - my father's best wishes are an inspiration and a source of strength to me. What was it like for you?"

"Who's your old man?" I asked offhand. "Merrick Lindley?" I'd heard my own father mention the name, and Princess nodded. "Well, maybe he's a better dad than mine. Sir Giles... he's a right bastard. Never had any more to do with his kids than he could help until Mom died, and now he figures that our lives are his to do with as he pleases. Put me and Warren through hell, these past few years."

"Warren?"

"Younger brother," I explained. "Like me, but shorter and nerdier. My point is, Father doesn't care about anything if it doesn't have to do with Watcher training. He'd walk into the room and give you a pop drill on your ancient Sumerian. And he expected more of me, because I'm the older son."

"Isn't that normal?" Miranda prompted, taking her first diamond card. "I'm an only child, so I don't know these things."

"Kind of," I allowed. "But he expected me to be this... super-Watcher, the fufillment of any dreams he had left over. Almost as good as he is in his specialties, and a hell of a lot better in mine. I made the dean's honor list at Oxford my freshman year. He called it 'satisfactory.'"

"Oh, that's horrible!" Princess emoted. "So is that why you gave up? If doing well wouldn't get your father's attention, maybe you thought doing none of the work at all would??"

"Don't make it out like I'm some attention-starved little child," I growled. "I just... didn't care to play any of his games any more."

"I understand." Princess nodded sagely. "So what was your trip to London like? Tell me everything."

I started to tell her the tale. I also cleaned her clock on the rematch - seventy-seven diamond points to fourteen.

(Evening.)

After brunch, Dapper announced that we were moving out an hour after twilight, and suggested taking some sleep in the afternoon. So we did, me pressing a sleeping bag up against the wall so that I could sit and snooze, and Miranda lounging out and napping on the bed. She really is very beautiful.

Sitting and watching a girl sleep because you're not tired yourself, you can't help but notice things like that. Her hair, as I'm sure I've mentioned here before, is very straight, a bit more than shoulder-length, and a very naturally rare shade of pale yellow-gold. Her eyes are bright and blue, of course, though I couldn't see them while she was asleep, as you might imagine. And her figure is... well, perfect in every detail seems an understatement. Her bosom is large and shapely without being massive enough to seem overstated, her waist is gracefully slender, her legs, (as I know I've mentioned here before,) are dazzling enough to kill an unsuspecting man. And I won't even start on her incredible butt...

Which shouldn't be taken as that I'm falling for her, or any nonsense like that. I've just always had an keen and eager eye for inspecting feminine beauty, ever since I was a lad, and waxing elaborate about the merits of a particular feminine form is always fun. (As a side note, Princess herself is watching me as I write this passage. If she only knew the words I was commiting to the paper!!)

Well, I did eventually get some decent shut-eye, and after a last meal from the camp stove for now, (pork chops and mashed potato,) Dapper bundled us into the van again and drove off. I wonder where we're heading to this time - the Castle or another hideout. Neither Dapper nor Brawny seem willing to talk about it, and I don't think Princess knows.

* * * * *

May 9th, 1975. (Early morning, before sunrise.)

Well, I've found out where we were going, as you might have assumed. It was one of those cushy, affluent country houses surrounded by peaceful fields and babbling brooks - not as big or as opulent as my Dad's house, but quite fancy enough. Obviously the summer home of some watcher that Dapper was visiting.

Which was correct, in a way, but not quite the way that I had thought. Dapper and Brawny helped the driver-guy in, and the guy we met inside, an authorotative man of about forty, with dark hair and a thickset figure, busied himself for about an hour attending to the injured man, inspecting his condition, discussing the circumstances with Brawny, Dapper, and the wounded guy himself, and trying various restorative procedures, both magic and mundane.

Uncertain what to do with myself, I sat down on a plush chair in the living room and kept my mouth shut. Princess sat down across from me, a patient half-smile on her face.

I got bored quite quickly, and stretched my hand out automatically to the bookcase to grab something to read. I was more than a little astonished to find myself with a handbound volume reading 'Watcher Diaries: 1760-1762. Charles Sturgeon.'

Watcher diaries? This man must be more than a mere watcher, though - the Diaries were not given out freely to anyone in the caucus. Was he a councillor?? Or perhaps in training to become the Watcher, the watcher to a Slayer??

I flipped open the book, and it was in italian or romanian or some language that I couldn't immediately make sense of, so I put it back and closed my eyes. Driving at night, and the sleep that I hadn't gotten earlier in the afternoon had caught up with me, and I'm not at all how sure I sat there and whether I drifted into a doze or not.

"Hello, young Mister Giles." The voice was not one of the four people I had been spending every minute with for days now, so I assumed that it was that of the Watcher who owned this house. (And yes, I had just heard his voice when I came in, but I was sufficiently tired to not be sure of a comparison from that.) Suffice it to say, when I opened my eyes, there was the tall, dark-haired stocky man, leaning over me somewhat.

"I presume you've figured out that I'm the prisoner because by a process of elimination," I muttered grumpily.

"I didn't need to, Rupert," he said conversationally, pulling up an ottoman and hunkering down upon it somewhat awkwardly given his evident dignity. I stifled a chuckle. "We've never met, but I've seen photographs of you."

"Good for you," I mumbled, wanting to close my eyes again, but not feeling quite comfortable actually doing it while this man was talking to me.

"I was the one who was given the assignment of attempting to trace your movements after you disappeared so suddenly from Oxford, in fact," my host continued. "Once I found out that an individual of your description was among Ethan Rayne's merry band of misfit magicians, I informed Captain Taylor. You know the rest of the story better than I, I imagine."

Hmm... interesting. I'd never really given much thought to how Princess and the others had happened to be there on that cold street to pick me up. I wonder - if I hadn't gone out for that walk, would they have come into Ethan's after me??

"I have an interest in runaway watchers," dark-hair continued, not seeming at all discommoded by my silences. "I was one myself, a long time ago. I'm also interested in serving as your defense advocate at the hearing, if you're interested."

Now *that* got me awake. "Defense counsel - the same guy who sleuthed out my whereabouts??" I scoffed gently. "Buffy who do you think you are??"

He blinked. "Oh, you don't know who I am? Of course you don't, how silly of me not to realize. My name is Merrick Lindley, and I'm a colleage of your father's, Rupert."

Merrick Lindley!! Princess' perfect father?! Somehow that revelation made him more interesting to me, and his suggestion of serving as my Advocate more feasible. "I'll think about it," I told him evenly.

"Of course." With a nod, Merrick moved on to another subject. "Since you're not in manacles, I assume that you've sworn honorable conduct to Captain Taylor. That's good."

"Not Taylor," I corrected. Taylor was the dapper leader of the retrieval team, I realized. Merrick looked at me expectantly, assuming that I would speak again to clarify that disclaimer, but instead I simply nodded at Princess, who had been sitting and silently watching my conversation with her father. At the time, I expected it to be a silent communication to her, a cue saying 'you tell him,' but Merrick interpreted it as an indication of the correction I was making, which it was, come to think of it.

"You secured his pledge, darling?" he crowed, turning to his daughter with a delighted expression. "But how? Why??"

"Nobody else seemed to care about it," Princess told him. "Scott was simply horrible to Rupert about his phrasing - he witnessed."

"Oh." Merrick considered that for a second. "Well, his family's had some bad experiences with renegades, not that I think Rupert deserves that title, but Scott might." Suddenly realizing that he was being slightly rude, talking about me in the third person, Merrick turned to include us all in the conversation. "Well, since you're bound by the oath, I guess I should leave the two of you be, for now. Miranda, you can show Giles to the north guest room when he wants to retire, yes? And take your own room, of course. Taylor says that you'll be leaving for the Castle tomorrow at dawn."

"As in, dawn more than twenty-four hours from now?" I asked, indulging in a yawn and nodding towards the windows, which were dark with the absence of daylight. "I don't even know what time it is."

"Three-forty in the morning," Merrick supplied. "And with that, I think I shall retire myself." And with that, he left the room.

"Right." Princess turned her sunny-as-ever smile on me again. "Do you want to get some sleep now, or... talk, or anything??"

I considered that a moment. "Talk sounds tempting. But my eyes are quite vehement that I owe them eleven and a half hours of sleep, and I think I had better oblige them."

She laughed merrily. "Well, I'll show you to your room then, and let conversation wait until the morning, or the afternoon, depending." Quietly she led me up a long circular flight of stairs, down a wide hall and into a narrower corridor. Finally... "Your chamber, Mister Giles."

I opened the door she indicated and stepped through, smiling slightly. "What, no armed guards?" I joked.

"Well, this passageway dead-ends over there," she indicated it. "I'm in the next room down, across the hall, and I'm a light sleeper."

"You are not," I retorted instantly. I'd figured that out two days ago.

"Well, no," Miranda admitted, blushing deeply. "But how intimidating would it be to say I sleep like the dead??" A pause where neither of us said anything. "You did give me your word, Rupert."

"Yes I did," I repeated, smiled once, and headed the rest of the way into my room, closing the door. It's pretty nice, certainly more comfortable than the whole monastery put together. After finishing this entry, I plan to sleep like the dead for many hours myself. Speaking of which...

(Afternoon.)

By the time I roused completely from my slumber, the countryside outside my window was bathed in bright, warm sunshine. Luckily the sunlight hadn't gotten directly into my room, or I probably wouldn't have been able to get as much sleep as I had.

Speaking of which... Mister Lindley had called this the north guest room, hadn't he? Well, if I assume that the window is facing directly north, from the fact that the dhadows outside are pointing away from me and bearing only slightly to the left, I can tell that it's late morning. Proud of my deductive powers, I turn from the window, only to spot a clock proudly marking eleven forty-five. Well, that would have worked too.

Next- hmm.... After a second of debating the proprieties, I opened the dresser across from my bed. Voila - a wide selection of possible garments, most of them altogether too dignified and restrained for me, but I found a t-shirt and some jeans that looked right. My captors had grudgingly found some clothes for me while we were in the monastery, so I didn't have to stay in the outfit they had caught me in for that many days, but they'd been uncomfortably and hadn't fit right. (I assume they were Matthew's, the poor guy who got himself hurt by the vampires - none of the rest were even close to my proportions, but he wasn't close enough.)

And I noticed for the first time a door leading off the room, which upon a moment's inspection turned out to be a private bathroom. Great! Finally, a chance to wash up properly and get myself into comfortable clothes.

Once I'd showered and finished getting ready, I headed on out of the room and, after a few missed turnings, found the stairs down. Actually, between the two missed turnings I found the room 'just down and across the hall' from mine - Princess' room. The door was wide open, and so I took a good look inside.

Nice room. No windows, but a skylight in the ceiling let natural light in. The decorating had been done in white and shades of blue and purple - the bed, a plain but comfortable looking double, had deep blue bedspreads and pillowcases. It had been made, not perfectly but neatly, and a gray stuffed toy cat was sitting watchfully on the pillow - a large one, more than a foot from head to tail I judged, with dark gray 'fur.'

Let's see - wardrobe, dresser, closet. A lot of bookshelves, jam-packed with books, novels, textbooks, old-looking volumes of lore, diaries, notebooks... they went on and on. Two desks, one neatly tidied off, the other almost completely filled with a strange-looking device - a television connected to several other electronic gizmos.

Well, it looked like she was the studious type, I decided, heading for the stairs. Probably training to be a watcher sage, like Father wanted me to be. So why is she doing the security detail? Just for a little variety on her watcher transcript??

Lost in these thoughts, I collided right into brawny, who was heading up the stairs, it seemed. "Um, sorry there," I said automatically. "Uh... Scott." It took me a little while to remember the man's name.

'Scott' just scowled. "Shouldn't you be where Mira can keep an eye on you?" he grumbled.

"On my way to check in with my keeper now," I said, not really wanting to get in another round with him. "Would you know where I should look for her?"

"Think she's in the kitchen," he mumbled, and continued on past me before letting me ask where the kitchen. Oh well. A bit of natural inquisitiveness sufficed.

Following the smell of food helped too. When I stepped into a bright room, filled with shiny surfaces and cooking paraphernalia, I stopped and stared. Not because of the kitchen or its equipment, (which was I suppose impressive,) or any cooking activity that was going on. It was Princess.

She was barefoot and loose-haired, wearing a simple blue shirt and shorts, and she looked as naturally gorgeous as I'd ever seen her. She was whipping something in a small cooking bowl, and smiled brightly when she saw me. "Hello, sleepyhead. How are you feeling this afternoon?"

I smiled back. "Doing well. Enjoyed about ten mintues of 'this morning' this morning, too. What's for lunch?"

"Breakfast," Miranda corrected me, setting the bowl down and putting a skillet onto the stove. "I figured you could do with it. when you surfaced. How d'you like crepes??" She flashed an even more brilliant smile than usual.

"Umm... only had them a few times, couldn't complain," I said moderately. Princess sighed, scowled a little at my dissatisfaction, and shook her head a little, once more making her golden locks bounce, as they always did when she does that gesture.

So she started frying up crepes, and we devoured them in alternation, with several different kinds of toppings and fillings that princess suggested. At first the conversation was limited to casual small talk, but after initial hungers were sated, well, I should relate it as it started.

"Could you take over for me?" Princess said, handing the bowl of batter to me and indicating the frying pan on the stove. "My feet are a little tired." She'd been standing at the stove ever since I came in, while I'd been sitting down at the kitchen table from time to time, so I didn't see anything wrong with spotting her.

"You just pour in a little scoopful of the batter, and tilt the pan to spread it around, and then lift the crepe out when it's starting to brown a little on the bottom," she instructed me, then pulled up a chair so that it was eight feet away. "So, we kinda left the story of your great adventure unfinished, now didn't we? Let's see..." she frowned slightly. "When last we tuned in to the adventures of Rupert Giles in London, he was palling around with Ethan Rayne and helping prepare a demon summoning spell. How did that turn out?"

I scoffed vocally. "Yeah, right. Like you don't know."

"How would I know??" The question stopped me, mentally, for a second. I'd kinda assumed that these people knew what had went down in Ethan's lair that fateful night, because of their know-it-all attitude as much as anything, and because of the time frame that they picked me up. But if Merrick Lindley had just tracked me down at this point, then they probably had no idea what we had been up to.

"Well, do you really want to know?" I said somewhat bitterly. "Somehow I don't think we should get into it while food's cooking on the stove."

"The food doesn't matter," she said softly. "Just move the pan off the heat if you like. I'd like to listen to anything you have to say."

"We called up Eyghon," I said hollowly, doing as she had suggested. "Many, many times, each of the five of us taking turns hosting the demon. It was scary... we liked being heels, but that demon was something more fundamentally evil than any of us could ever be. More evil than any of us would want to be... except for Ethan, maybe. But also incredibly exciting, to control this phenomenally fiendish thing thorough the skill of our magic, or even better, to remember being such a powerful entity, after Eyghon was back in its own dimension."

"I can see that," Princess said softly. "But something happened, didn't it?" She paused. "What was it?"

"What d'you think it was??" I exploded. "You've read the stories, haven't you? What always happens, when the young but foolish sorcerors conjure up a demon??" There was only silence in response to my question, but... "Come on. I *know* you know."

"The demon..." Miranda said slowly, finally. "It turns on them."

"Yes," I spat bitterly. "Our young magicians got cocky and overconfident, and made a big mistake." No need to point fingers about who got overconfident and who made a mistake, I decided. "The demon was freed of its bonds, and it attacked us. We... we had to kill Randall, the poor kid whose turn it was to host the demon that night. We had to murder him -- to cover up our own stupid mistakes." I realized with some embarassment that I was crying.

Obviously Princess could tell it too. I heard a few footsteps, and suddenly her arms were wrapping around my chest, as Miranda hugged me from the side. "It wasn't all your fault," she said, somewhat muffled. "You're just a kid, being led astray by that horrible Ethan. You're not responsible."

I tried to staunch my tears, being none too convinced by Princess' reassurances and intensely embarassed about this situation. "Can we totally change the subject now?"

"Sure," she said instantly, backing away and trying to recover some semblance of decorum herself. "Anything you want to do to get your mind off it. Would you like to go for a walk down into the ravine??"

"Sure," I said, trying to keep the choke out of my voice. So we had a pleasant enough nature walk, not saying much of anything to each other.

* * * * *

May 9th, 1975. (Getting on for eleven pm.)

Well, after the nature walk, we had an early tea with all the other watchers, during which Mister Lindley and Dapper pretty much monopolized the conversation, occasionally asking Brawny or Princess their opinion on something or another. I wasn't invited to participate in the discussion, and I didn't mind that one bit. Sharing so much with Princess earlier still had me off balance. I asked to be excused over dessert and went up to the guest room to lie down, and ended up falling asleep. My timetable has been so confused lately that my internal clock must be neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring.

When I surfaced again, the clock said eight-thirty, and I got up, putting on a pair of pajamas and a housecoat, and emerged out of the room. There was a light coming from down the hall, the doorway I remembered was Princess' room, abd sof classical music was coming from the same direction. I stalked down the corridor and poked my head in the door.

It was a sight I will never forget. Princess herself, a vision in a soft pink nightgown, was sitting in front of one of the desks in her room. It was the desk I had noticed all of the electronic gizmos, and if they had seemed strange quiescent, they were downright baffling when activated. The monitor screem was bright and filled with symbols I couldn't understand - well, I could understand them by themselves - letters, numbers, greek alphabet characters, mathematical operators. It was how they went together that baffled me - and this from a man who has studied egyptian hieroglyps.

The television was connected to a large open metal box, which wired to something that seemed vaguely like a typewriter keyboard, which Princess was holding in front of her and typing into. Also a part of the mix were a several other pieces, including a tape reel. Another tape player was producing the Tchaikovsky.

And... all about Miranda, there were stuffed animals. The grey cat I had noticed sitting on her pillow earlier, several other cats, and beasts of several other species, perching on the equipment, lined up on a bookcase next to her, anywhere else there was free space. One of them, a small plush unicorn, actually seemed to be moving for an instant when I had first looked into the room. Right then, Princess looked up, just in time to notice me at the door, and smiled.

"Hello Rupert. How are you feeling?" she asked with a usual sunny smile.

"Pretty good and what in all damnable creation is that??" I asked, waving at the machine.

"Oh, the computer?" She seemed quite proud of it. "Father just bought it a few months ago, and I put it together myself."

"Yes, but what is it??" I repeated, edging slowly into the room. There was a small chair nearby and I dragged it around to take a seat. "What does it do??"

"Oh, I'm sure you've heard of computers, Rupert!!" she chided me. "Electronic machines, they do calculations and process data using..." I waved her silent with a flippant hand. I had heard of computers, very vaguely, in that same way that you hear about foreign countries you never intend to visit. But... "I had no idea that they were so... small."

That earned me a soft punch on the shoulder. "Most aren't. This is the first 'personal computer' model ever. Most machines would take up a quarter of a room at least." She chuckled. "I just love computers. They make me feel so in touch with the future."

"Oh, they're just a fad," I pshawed.

"Bite your tongue!!"

I decided to change the subject. "Quite a clutter you have here."

Her face turned down at the corners. "What??"

I waved to indicate the stuffed animals. "A clutter of cats... among other creatures."

"Haha. Oh, yes. My 'friends.' Father packed them all up in a box in the closet while I was away working with mister Taylor - I think he's embarassed by having stuffed toys taking over a room in his house, even if it's my room." She picked up the gray cat and stroked it in her lap. "I had to let them out, even if only for a little while."

"They... they seem like very nice and noble beasts," I commented diplomatically. I waved at the gray. "Does he have a name?"

"Oh, they all do," she laughed. "This is Deuteronomy, and we've got Mistofilees and Rum Tum Tugger and Skimbleshanks and... and yes, I know. I liked T.S. Eliot far too much when I was a little girl. And the cats have their friends, Browner and Sagacity and Hornful and... yes, I'll stop talking now."

"You don't have to," I laughed. So she showed me Hornful the toy unicorn, who had been enchanted by her aunt so that he actually could move on his own and snort in response to the emotions of those around him. She showed me some things on her contraption, which I pretended to be interested in, and we talked for most of the evening.

May 10th, 1975.

Brawny woke me up nice an early this morning, and we bundled back into the van to drive off to the Castle. It felt much the same as before, but different, better somehow. Now, I at least knew how much I could count on Princess, and that gave me a sense of support I hadn't realized before.

It wasn't too long before we were driving into one of the modern parking garages that had recently been built under the ancient shadow of the Watcher's Castle. Miranda indicated that I should take her hand as we walked into the premises, and I did so, feeling awkwardly like a pubescent teenager on his first date, for some reason.

A captain of the Templars castle guard was waiting for us. "Sir Taylor?" He looked right at me, and then at Princess. "This is the prisoner, Rupert William Giles??"

"It is," Princess announced loudly. "The prisoner has sworn the oath of honorable conduct as a prisoner, and it is my responsibility to hold him to that oath. He is my concern now."

The templar nodded slowly. "Then he is released into your custody, Watcher..."

"Miranda Lindley," Princess supplied helpfully.

He nodded in acceptance. "Any questions??"

There were none. Princess and I went to get assigned quarters, adjoining rooms on the seventh floor, J wing. (Boy, this castle was a large place.) My hearing was scheduled to begin the day after tomorrow, and Merrick Lindley, Princess' father, (would that make him the King?) would be arriving tomorrow to discuss my situation with me. So that left us with very little to do today but try to relax. We played more games - some chess, draughts, piquet, and another of princees' weird card games, this one called quintet, with both of us playing the same set of cards into five poker hands.

We had dinner with a few friends of Princess', another rather awkward and silent affair, and I got another early night, hoping this time to sleep all night and get myself back on a daytime schedule.

May 11, 1975. (Morning.)

I had another dream last night. And this time, the import is so clear and unmistakeable that I cannot blind myself to its meaning anymore.

I was walking through a forest, along a straight and narrow path, when I saw a dark-skinned elf standing beside a great elm tree. "Come off of that boring path," he said to me, "and I will show you wonders that you never dreamed of."

And I did, for I had grown tired of the path, and the elf pointed out many of the beautiful sights that the wild and untamed forest had to offer. "And the greatest sight of all just awaits us, my friend," the elf said. "The dragon of the forest. It's fun to pinch his tail and then run away."

"Isn't that dangerous?" I asked.

"Not at all," the elf assured me. "Come along, Deuteronomy." And a gray cat ran along to keep up with us. Suddenly, there was the dragon before us, and just as he had said he would, the elf pinched the dragon's tail and ran away.

Suddenly the great beast was upon us, a puff of smoke clouding out of his nostrils as he lept to the attack, teeth flashing. I dodged one way, the elf ran the other. But the dragon fell upon th little gray cat and devoured it whole, without hardly swallowing.

I ran through the dark wood, until it dawned upon me that the worm was not chasing me. But now I was hopelessly lost, and new neither where the path or the elf was. Then a new figure appeared, dropping from the high trees - a warrior maiden, with hair more golden than the sun. "Have you misplaced your way?" she asked.

"Yes," I panted desperately. "Can you help me find the path again??"

"I can," she said calmly. "But there is a price."

"Anything," I replied quickly.

"Your heart."

"...But that," I finished without missing a beat.

"I will not let any harm come to it," she continued persuasively. "I will treasure it with me forever, and you will be none the worse for it. Of course..."

"I would love you," I finished. "Very well, then. Take your price." And she reached into my chest, pulled out a heart, and suddenly we were both standing on the path again.

That's all there was. Very obvious in its symbolism, of course, and some of it has to be attributed to a colorful imagination, like my heart being the price of coming back to the true path. But I feel as if I actually am coming close to returning to the path my life should be taking.

And the golden-haired maiden, who is of course Princess - does own my heart.

* * * * *

May 11th, 1975. (Evening.)

Mister Lindley showed up shortly after lunch. I spent most of the morning sitting alone, trying to digest the revelation that my dreams had forced upon me. Princess. Miranda. As much as we had chafed and butted heads since we met, I had to admit that I've never met anybody remotely like her. Beautiful, intelligent; open-minded, (which is more than I can say for most of these git watchers,) and a hell of a sense of humor. It wasn't that much of a stretch to say I loved her, if any.

Did she feel the same way? Could she possibly?? Unlike the rest of the watchers, she had cared about me, looked out for me, from day one. But her father had been the one to track me down to Ethan's. Was it all just a family project, coupled with her own natural empathy?? She could hardly have loved me before she met me. Or... could she? Lindley and my old man worked together. I could have been presented as a potential match indirectly, and it has been known for people to develop crushes on those they hardly know. Or she could hardly care about me at all.

I didn't come to any other conclusions, which meant lunch quite a depressing meal, as you might imagine. The Templars escorted us all to a small consultation office, me, Princess, and Merrick Lindley.

"So, Rupert," Merrick said after the courtesies were done. "The charges you are going to face are desertion of your post and your oath, practicing dark magic and felonious misuse of enchantment. These are serious charges, but not too grave, and I believe that the circumstances are to your credit, Rupert. Miranda says that there are more serious charges that could be levelled, but the prosecution is unaware of them."

I thought about that for a second. My complicity in Randall Myers' death, yes, that was probably some devious sort of liable manslaughter in the watchers' disciplinary codes. And summoning Eyghon, a demon of the darkness, upon the earth was demonism in the first degree, a more grievous charge that practicing dark magic. "Yes."

"Well, then, in advising you, I must ask if you wish to resume your calling with the watchers," Merrick said softly.

"Why? I mean, what difference would that make?"

"If you were planning to cut all ties, I would reccomend silence. Like the conventional courts, the watchers would not require that you testify against yourself. But if you plan to pick up your career as a watcher where you left it," the older watcher sighed, "honesty is the only practical option. Your indiscretions would surface eventually. Admitting to them here and now will mitigate their severity, while concealing them will increase it."

"Okay," I sighed. "Level with me - what kind of punishment could I be looking at here."

"I don't know," Merrick admitted. "Personally, I would reccomend a light sentence in service to the community that you turned your back on over these past few months. Justice is meaningless if not tempered with mercy. But there are conservatives in the council, and I'm not sure how wisespread their views have become, or how hard they'd come down on you." He sighed. "Raleigh has taken the chair, and that's good, he's a fair and sympathetic man. But I can't make you any promises that I'd be happy about saying, Rupert."

"Okay." I thought about that for a few seconds. "Well, thank you for your honesty, mister Lindley."

"Oh, and one more thing," Merrick said absent-mindedly. "Your father will be there at the arraignment, Rupert. To testify against you. I'm so sorry."

I could feel the sensation, as if a tiny toothpick was poking into my heart. "That's alright. I should have expected it."

Princess looked over at me with a sad expression, as if she could feel exactly what I was going through. "Dad, there's nothing more we need to cover right now, is there?"

Merrick blinked, a little surprised. "Well, no, sweetheart. Why?"

She turned to me again. "Come on, Rupert. I know just the thing to cheer you up. Well, maybe not cheer you up - that's a tall order. But take the edge off of your sorrows."

I suffered myself to be led away. "Where... where are we going?" 'Take the edge off...' that was a phrase a lot of people I knew used when talking about liquor. My father... Ethan... but somehow I knew that wasn't what Princess had in mind.

"The Tojo flower garden." She must have read the surprise off of my face. "Don't give me that look. They're beautiful, peaceful, and inspiring."

And it was, in point of fact. Flowers of every color and shape that I could conceive of (and several I would never have thought possible,) had been planted stretching across an area as wide in each dimension as a rugby field. Sitting there, in the bench at the center of the garden that Princess had reccommended, I could somehow sense that the selection and placement of each blossom, as well as the lay of the ground itself had been carefully picked as an element of an art that I could study for twenty years and still only scratch the surface of.

"Kanbun Tojo is someone else who's been working with our fathers," Miranda mentioned, as she took in a deep breath of the evening air and admiring the scenery. "He has children too, but a little younger than us. Kikuko's sixteen years old, but Akira's only twelve."

I nodded vaguely, not caring much about the details of the members of the Tojo clan, but enjoying sitting here with Princess.

"So, do you want to be a watcher again, Rupert??"

The question startled me, and when I looked over into Princess' beautiful face, I could tell that she was surprised that she had asked it. But I knew what my answer was. "Yes. Yes, I very much do. I have no idea if the council will let me keep my deputizing, and I still don't agree with my father's attitudes or Quentin Travers' methods, but being a watcher is what I want to do with my life." (By the by, 'deputizing' really is the right word there. It means a commission, commitment or assignment. Rupert.)

"I'm glad to hear that," Princess whispered softly, touching my hand ever so sweetly with her fingers. "I think you have a lot of making ready to do, though. I'll leave you be." And she was gone. I haven't seen her again, not even at dinner.

May 12th.

My hearing began today. I am a man on trial.

It began with the formal Rite of the accuser, with Father and Quentin Travers accusing me of abandoning my birthright and deserting my post respectively, and Captain Taylor laying the charges about dark magic. Then the evidence was presented by the prosecution - a fair lot of it, saying nothing that everybody didn't already know probably. Lindley says he'll be up for defense tomorrow, and will have me say my side of the story.

Princess seems distant today, still. Have I done something to upset her? Could she tell how I feel, somehow, and she's staying away because she doesn't feel the same way? There's no way that I can tell.

May 13th.

Old man Merrick, (I don't know why I think of him that way, he's not that old, but I do,) reminded me over breakfast that I was going up on the stand today. It's not like I would have forgotten something like that. Princess was at breakfast with us too, but she was still giving me the silent treatment, aside from 'Good morning' and 'hello.'

As I stood outside the council room, though, getting my courage up for the witness stand, she came up to me. Before I could decide on what to say to her, she'd wrapped her hands, (those perfect, delicate, strong hands,) around my neck and kissed me quickly and thoroughly on the lips. "Good luck, Rupert," she said as I was recovering from the shock. "Knock 'em dead." And then she giggled, that utterly irresistable schoolgirl giggle, just as if she couldn't believe what she'd just said. And then, when her father came over, she was acting all somber and such again. Was that all that her cold shoulder act was about, being worried about her father's disapproval? No, I didn't think so - Mister Lindley liked me fine. Well, he understood where I was coming from. That can be quite a ways from 'sure, son, you can date my daughter,' I suppose.

Still, she could find some way to talk to me more without Lindley knowing, if she really wanted to. Well, that's girls for you, I suppose. I sure can't figure them.

Telling my story to the watcher's council was... mortifying. The most embarassing, humiliating experience of my life. And yet, there was a cleansing element too. I was getting the truth out, because it was something that I'd decided to do. I did get a lot of shocked expressions, when I got to the demon and death bits, but there were understanding faces too.

After all of the clarifications and questions, it had taken more than nine hours, (some lunch was brought in,) and I was quite ready to just come back to my room and sleep. Somehow I suspect I'm going to have nightmares again tonight.

May 14th, afternoon.

The news this morning was that the Council would be in camera, (meaning a closed session, with nobody who wasn't an actual council member,) discussing various matters including my case until late this afternoon or this evening, so there was little to do but wait. I tried to speak to Miranda, convince her to come someplace where we could talk, but she was diffident again, saying that she had 'some letters to write.' Letters to write?? What was that??

So I played about three hours' worth of chess with Lindley this morning, talking a bit more about general watcher stuff, aspirations and stuff. Then we went by a barbecue patio in the Castle courtyard for lunch, and I asked if I could go into town for the afternoon.

Someone else came with me - the young guy Matthew who was with Princess' team when they caught me, the one the vampires bit. He looks all healed now, but I think he wouldn't be very effective as a guard if I decided to make a break for it. That's the last thing on my mind, of course, and it's possible that Matt didn't even come to keep an eye on me. I doubt that last though.

So, we drove into the nearest town, a small place, and I browsed for some new magazines and books, and had a coffee surrounded by non-Watchers, which felt pretty nice. Then it was time to come back and see if the Council had come to any decision, which of course they hadn't. So I decided to catch up on this diary.

Oh, I almost forgot. I bought something for Princess too - this little brooch in the shape of a cat that made me think of her. I'll go see if I can find her right now.

(Late evening nearing midnight.)

Well... I, I can hardly think of what words to write, I'm so in shock. I can't even remember where I last was... (goes and checks back on the last page.) Oh, right. The little brooch for princess, ha ha. I gave it to her, all right, and she didn't have much to say, not right then. Made a big fuss about how she couldn't accept it, and I insisted, and she relented, but it made her even quieter. I suppose I can see why, now.

The council kept us waiting all through dinner, and most of the evening. Merrick told Princess that she should go and relax herself. There's a little dance club in the basement of the Castle it seems, for the benefit of the younger people, and she agreed that she'd go and try to find some friends or something. I put in that it sounded like fun, and Miranda shot so dark a look at me that I decided it wouldn't be a good idea to put in an appearance this time.

I spent the darkening hours working by myself. Going over the Eyghon incident with the council had freshened it in my mind, and a few ideas for strengthening demon protection spells occured to me. They're looking pretty promising, actually - if I can get them finished and testing maybe my experience could help save the lives of others. Not that that would justify what I'd done, but it would help, you know??

And then Matt poked his head into my room, at quarter to ten. "Council's opened doors - they want to see you, Giles." I hurried with him back to the council room. (You know, he's not such an annoying kid, really.)

Lindley was already there when I took my defendant's seat - also Captain Taylor, Quentin Travers, my father, and Brawny... Princess came in through the side door, a second later. My god!! When I first saw her, I couldn't even remember what I was doing there. She was all decked out in a sleeveless dark blue dress, the hem coming down past her knees but slit up one side almost to her hip, and she looked as gorgeous as I'd ever seen her. No, that doesn't even nearly come close to describing her. She looked more beautiful, and sexy, than I'd ever believed any woman could be. (Merrick frowned when he saw her - but then, most fathers would, wouldn't they??)

The council members weren't actually in the room at this point, but they chose to make their entrance as Princess was taking her seat, slowly filing in with the utmost dignity and taking their own seats. The council chairman, Edmund Raleigh, tapped the chime in front of him once and rose again. "Rupert William Giles, would you please stand?"

I stood. (I half expected Merrick to stand as well, but apparently that's one bit of courtly procedure that the watcher's don't copy.) "Mister Giles," another member of the council intoned, "are you ready to face the decision of this disciplinary committee?"

Do I have any choice, I wondered. (And yes, if you're wondering, having the council 'act as' a disciplinary committee sounds strange to me too. Why can't they just call the council a council?) I cleared my throat and said "Yes, sirs."

As Raleigh unfolded a piece of paper, I noticed that a few of the council, (the ones that Lindley had pointed out as conservatives,) were frowning. My heart filled with all the hope I could pour in, I took that as a good sign. "Being a watcher, especially in this 'modern' day and age, is a serious duty and responsibility. As disciplinary committee, we cannot condone immaturity of a student watcher well past the age of responsibility, nor recklessness, insubordination, negligence, or willful violation of the rules we seek to enforce on the safe and wise use of magic. By his own admission, Rupert William Giles has done all these things."

Uh-oh. That did not sound good.

"And yet, no matter the stakes, we cannot condemn human nature, for that is the strength and the weakness of each of us. The flesh or mortality is weak, and the spirits of youth often reckless. The members of this committee have not by any means agreed on the proper way to respond in the case of Rupert William Giles. But a deciding majority, five out of the nine of us, have agreed that he should suffer no harsh punishment. His own account of this incident will be transcribed into his watcher record, as a reprimand to him and a warning to others. Future duties and assignments over the next few months, or years if necessary, will be chosen to instill the respect that was so clearly seen to be lacking when Rupert Giles became 'Ripper.' That is all."

As soon as Raleigh had stopped talking, Travers was on his feet. "That's all??" he roared.

Raleigh struck the chime again. "That is the final decision of this committee. I believe that the four members of this court who disagreed with it have prepared an alternative statement," and here Raleigh turned to fix a short stare at one of his co-councillors, "but I do not believe that need be read out at this time. It will be entered into the public record." He chimed one last time. "This tribunal is adjourned."

Travers stormed out of the courtroom. I found all kinds of people coming up to me, and I was being offered congratulations by Merrick, by Taylor. Father, when his turn came to shake my hand, said only "You're lucky, Rupert," which is more sensitive than I expected of him. And then, just as suddenly, the courtroom cleared, and I was all alone.

Except for Princess.

I turned to her, still so gorgeous she could probably stop my heart without half trying. I was high on life in that moment, and I threw caution to the winds. "Princess, I'll never forgive myself if I don't say this, so don't interrupt until I'm done. I think I'm in love with you, and you probably don't love me and I know I've done something to offend you and I'm sorry, I grovelingly apoligize and please don't hate me, even if we can't be together I'd be perfectly happy just being friends, I just can't bear the thought of you not being in my life." Whew, that was longer and more rambling than I'd anticipated. "Okay, I'm done now."

Princess stared down for quite a few long seconds, then turned her face up to meet mine. There were tears in her eyes, (and I could feel my own suddenly start to water,) but she was smiling. "I could never hate you, Rupert. And you haven't done anything to offend me. Rather the opposite, I'm afraid." She got up, perching on the edge of the table, and kissed me again. "I love you too!!" I kissed her back then, a long, passionate french that started to get side-tracked into various interesting places when...

"But, but... Rupert??" I finally twigged that she wanted me to stop kissing her neck and looked at this beautiful, amazing girl face-to-face. "There's something that I have to tell you, and I'm horribly afraid that it shall be you that hates me after I do."

"There's no way in this world or any other that that could possibly happen," I babbled giddily at her. "As long as we have each other's love, we can deal with anything!! What is it??"

She swallowed briefly. "Rupert, I'm to marry your brother."

I froze, staring at her. So pretty, so nervous, her skin so pale as she said the words. I waited a few seconds, to see if there would be any more, but there wasn't.

I turned around, left the tribunal room, and didn't stop walking until I got back here to my room.

* * * * *

May 15th, 1975.

Once again, a lot to tell, things moving quickly. Maybe these are the most exciting times of my life, haha. Of course, it helps that I really haven't had a chance to write anything in this journal all day.

Well, let's see, where to begin? Of course. I was woken up in the middle of the night by a tentative knock on the door. I had been dozing restlessly, so it's not surprising that even a quiet noise woke me up. And 'middle of the night' probably isn't quite accurate, considering that the darkness outside my window had become the dark blue of dim early morning twilight. Whatever.

I had a fair idea of who to expect as I crossed over to the chamber door in my dressing gown. I was right, but the sight of Miranda Lindley standing at my door, carrying a candleholder with both hands surprised me just the same. Or maybe it's just that she took my breath away by wearing a see-through blue nightgown, and not much else.

Seeing her this way was the most beautiful sight I could ever remember being witness to. But I wasn't about to let her good looks soften me. My Princess was engaged to marry someone else, my brother no less, and she had kept that secret from me all the weeks that she'd known me. The whole time that I'd been falling in love with her...

"I couldn't sleep," she said simply. "May I come in?" And she nodded towards the interior of my room, golden hair bouncing.

I backed away from the door somewhat antagonistically, and reached out to close the door behind her. When I turned back to her, Miranda was standing in the middle of my small, somewhat cell-like bedroom nervously. "You're engaged to marry Warren," I repeated, just as if it had been ten seconds since I learned and not... ooh, how many hours? Only four, I guess. And most of those were when I had been asleep. Still, it seemed like half my lifetime.

"Yes I am," she said, trying for a conversational tone of voice, but ended up with 'anxious.' "I'm a little surprised that you never heard about it, actually. The arrangements were made in September, not long after you started the year at Oxford. I thought that one out of Warren or your father would have told you, in a letter or when you came home for visits..."

"I didn't go home for visits," I muttered, cutting her off. "There was something of a family spat this summer. No-one sent any letters, either." And then it hit me. The fight with father... arranged marriages. Had the old bugger been trying to lay the ground for an arranged marriage between me... and Miranda?? 'Probably,' a logical part of my mind answered. I've generally been Father's favorite simply by virtue of being the eldest, (a source of much friction with Warren,) and his hopes of building a dynasty of the Gileses would naturally have come to rest on me first. But when I blew off the idea quite so thoroughly, he moved right on to Warren, I guess. So nearly, with just a bit of patience, this horrible mess could have been averted before it started...

I shook that thought off. Nothing good could come of it now. "So... how do you find Warren??"

"He's..." I think I saw a lie starting to form in her mind, and then thrown mentally away. "He's quite an impressive young man actually. Intelligent, talented, sensitive... a fascinating individual. But..." She paused, unable to continue, while my heart threatened to break inside my chest from the sheer suspense if nothing else. "But... but I don't love him like I love you, Rupert."

And then we were together again, in body as well as heart. Night clothes being stripped off, eager fingers touching, stroking, fondling, teasing, seriously intense, passionate foreplay. Miranda moved me towards the bed, and her lips were all over me, on my own mouth, then dipping down my throat to lick my chest. I've been around the block a few times, but I've never felt desire anything like that. Carnal ardor was flooding every part of my body, and I could tell that Princess felt the same way. We were just at the point of progressing from foreplay to the main event...

When, like a total idiot, I had to screw it all up. Of course, I didn't realize that was what I was doing at the time. I just realized, with a dim portion of my brain, that neither of us had said anything since Princess had said she loved me, again. I knew what I wanted to hear her say, and like a total git, I asked for it.

"You're going to break the engagement to Warren, aren't you??"

She... it was like Miranda collapsed inside. "It's not that easy," she whimpered, sagging where she was on my bed. "There's my family to think about - my parents simply adore Warren, they're very satisfied with the match. With your father's support, Daddy will be next in line to be Watcher to a Slayer - it's his dream. And... and I like Warren, and I know he's crazy about me. To just break things off so suddenly, I don't think I could do that to all three of them..." She was yattering on and crying at the same time now, and I wrapped her in my arms, not letting on how sorry I was that I went and spoiled the mood.

"Don't worry, Princess," I murmured, trying to soothe her. "I'll talk with my father. There are traditions involved in this sort of thing. We can get the alliance with your family transferred from Warren to me." That was a pipe dream, and I knew it as I said it. Considering the trial, and everything that had happened over the past year, there was no possibility that I still had half the influence with Father that Warren did. And Warren would have to be crazy to step aside and give up a girl as incredible as Miranda - unless we could convince him that she would never be happy unless he set her free...

"But what if we can't??" Miranda cried softly, obviously feeling the same reservations that I did. I didn't say a word, just reached a finger around so I could put it to her lips, and lay down, still holding her in my arms. Soon we both relaxed, and drifted back to sleep. Having this angel in my bed was like a dream come true, no matter what else the cruel world might throw at us...

Well, let's see. The next thing I remember is, once again, a knock at my door. Guess that's gonna be pretty usual in a place like this. I dressed again, leaving Princess where sleeping where she was, and greeted my dawntime visitor. To my surprise, it was Chairman Raleigh of the council. Still conscious of the way he had apparently spearheaded an effort to shielf me from serious incarceration over the Eyghon incident, I was poilte and grateful, and did my best not to let on that I had a babe watcher in my bed.

Raleigh had stopped by, as it turned out, to inform me of my new duty assignment - working as his assistant on a book he was putting together on the history of the Watchers. A plum assignment, if a little dreary, and Raleigh says it'll 'foster respect for our tradition.' And just as Raleigh was about to take me to his office, he told me to leave a note for Miranda reminding her that she had to report for her own assignment in an hour. He's got a sense of humor, buried under that correct watcher protocol! I think we're going to get along well.

For today, he assigned me a series of books, relevant passages of which I need to be completely familiar with before we begin. Interesting stuff, though I keep finding myself getting immersed in this passage or that, which I don't have time for on this deadline. Ah well.

And I had a visitor late this morning. Warren. I'd been feeling quite a bit of anger towards my little brother this morning, (not surprising considering he's the number one problem for me being with the girl I love,) but all that bad feeling drained away when I caught sight of his cleancut, youthful face as he entered my alcove. I shouted out his name with a smile, ready to indulge in a handshake or a brotherly hug at his preference, and willing to try to settle out this ugly situation on a polite basis, without bitterness.

Too bad Warren didn't feel the same way. His reaction to my friendly rush was a good straight punch with his right. Man, my little brother can hit. I ended up on the floor, the top of my skull not far from my very solid new desk. "What the hell?" I groaned. "You could have split my skull right open, like that..."

"That was the outcome I was pursuing," Warren commented with what seemed to be to be a... a dangerous mildness?

"Let me guess," I muttered. "You've spoken to Miranda already."

"Yes, of course," Warren sighed, as if I was a child. "Even though I was coming here to see how you'd weathered your trial, it's understandable that for a man to visit with his fiancee would be his first priority, wouldn't it? Imagine my surprise when Mira tells me that she wants me to break off the engagement because you, and she, are madly in love!!"

I groaned. Princess, in her well-meaning enthusiasm, had gone and done exactly the wrong thing. Warren felt put upon now, with the righteous indignation of a man who others have attempted to deprive of his due. My chances of trying to suade him had just gone down two notches.

"It's nothing either of us planned, Warren," I said, picking what seemed like the most appropriate point in the script and giving it my all. "Miranda and I met by chance and we just... clicked. Are you really going to stand in our way because of a business deal our parents made that says you're supposed to marry her?"

"Is that what she told you??" Warren shot back. "A business deal? This is our way, big brother. You and I, we're standing here because of an arranged marriage. Watchers have been planning their generations in this way for..."

"For five thousand years, yes, I know the speech," I spat out. "What about love??"

"I love Mira," Warren said simply. (Irrelevantly enough, the nickname clicked at this point. That was what Brawny had called Princess too. Was he a friend of Warren's??) "And I think she loves me too - maybe not with the passion of the forbidden that she's found with you, but with affection and respect that we can build a life out of."

"How wonderful you make it seem. 'Just enough love to get by.'" I'm afraid I may have sneered.

"DON'T!!" Warren shouted. "Don't ever cast doubt on my love for her. If I eschew poetic superlatives, it is because they are meaningless in any real way. I could honestly say that I love Miranda Lindley more than there are stars in the universe, with a passion hotter than the sun itself, but that would only leave you searching for a yet more dramatic metaphor, wouldn't it??" He chuckled hollowly. "I love her enough that I shall not give her up in favor of any other man. Not while she still feels any love in her heart for me."

I had had enough - this time, it was my turn to lash out. A part of my mind watched with surprise as my left landed a vicious uppercut on Warren's chin, and a trace of blood flowed from between his lips. Then his balance failed, and he tumbled back out of the cubicle.

"That's okay," he mumbled, picking himself up. "Act out all you like. It won't change anything. I don't think Mira is really about to break our engagement unilaterally. I know her well enough to be confident about that. And we will be married, on the agreed day." He laughed one more time. "It's three years from yesterday, you know. May the fourteenth, 1978. I won't be offended if you decide not to attend, big brother." And then he was gone.

I spent a long day in that office, nursing the goose bump on my skull and skimming over battles against demons, incredible magics, and dramatic council politics. Raleigh came in to give me a little lunch after noon, and I didn't even mention the visit from Warren.

Oh, sorry for the interruption, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to break off and finish this account up later.

You see, Princess is waiting for me.

* * * * *

May 16th, 1975.

This is Miranda Regan Lindley, and I am writing in the journal of Rupert William Giles because I love him very, very,  very much; and he must never forget that, no matter what the future holds for us.

Um... yes. Rupert here again, and I suppose the previous sentence speaks for itself. As you probably already guessed, Princess got ahold of the book.

Let's see, I believe that I left some things unfinished yesterday, so where were we? (Checks back a page.) Ah, right. Lunch and more work on Raleigh's references, and then I dropped the hint that I was going out with Princess without explaining how that came about, hehe.

Well, it was around five thirty last night when I got the next knock on my cubicle door. I called come in without really looking up from the quest for the midnight star, but somehow I could tell just from the way that the door squeaked open that it was Miranda. When I looked up, she was standing in the doorway, a nervous smile on her beautiful face. "Hello, Rupert darling."

I jumped up instantly out of my chair and hurried over to her. "What... what is it, Miranda?" If she was nervouse, then that made me even more nervous. Had she come here to tell me it was all over between us? Surely not... well, probably not. Hell, I had no clue how she felt about me now.

"I... I..." Princess wrapped an affectionate arm quickly around my shoulders and then headed further into the office, looking for a chair, but apparently not wanting to take over 'my' chair behind the desk.

"It's okay," I assured her. "Or..." I remembered that Raleigh had said something about a folding chair behind the bookcase, so I took it out and set it up opposite the desk, and Miranda flashed me a radiant smile and sat down.

"Thanks. Sorry I came by so late, but I've been busy in my studies all morning. I didn't exactly learn what I was supposed to on our latest field exercise... because of you, Rupert."

"I know," I admitted, taking a seat myself. "But the timing's not a problem. Why did you stop by?"

"I heard that you and Warren had an argument... about me," she stuttered out. "I'm sorry if what I said to him this morning... made things harder for you. I just... hadn't expected to see him so soon, so what I was feeling just came out."

"It's alright," I assured her. "Things may be a little more strained now, but I'd probably have reacted the same way if I'd been in your place. So... how do you..."

"Would you like to have dinner with me tonight??" Princess blurted out suddenly.

I was shocked. "Umm... are you sure that's a good idea??" was the only response I could come up with.

"Well, I wasn't thinking of going down to the great hall and rubbing our association in the face of my parents, the council, and half the Castle," she clarified. "But... I want to get to know you better. The hell with it, Rupert there are not quite three years before my wedding date, and I don't want to waste a single day of it."

My spirits fell. "So, is that what you want? To go through with the marriage to Warren, but be with me in the meantime??"

"I don't know, Rupert." Her bright blue eyes focused on me with an almost mesmeric intensity. "But that's my final deadline - whether I'm going to give you up, or ruin a great dream, break two hearts, and make both of our lives hellishly more complicated by defying Watcher tradition. So in the meantime, I plan to seize every moment. Can you understand that??"

"I can," I assured her. "Wait a second... break two hearts??"

"Warren's and my mother's," she clarified with a facial gesture of immeasurable cuteness. "She's that fond of him."

"And... what of your father?" I hazarded. "I know he likes me, but he seemed to disapprove of all the time you were spending with me, before the trial." At the time, I hadn't even known about Princess and Warren, but it was making sense in retrospect.

"I've spoken with him about it today," she said, eyes downcast. "He doesn't approve of my spending time with you, considering the betrothal, but he acknowledges that it is my life to live. He won't forbid it, though he may have a few tricks up his sleeve to push me back towards Warren." She sighed. "And I imagine it shall be the same way about the wedding itself. He won't keep me from breaking it off, even though that would crush all his hopes."

"Okay," I said, trying desperately to change the subject. "Dinner. I'd love to, of course, though I don't know when I'm getting off w-"

"I already spoke with Sir Raleigh," Miranda said, that impish twinkle back in her eye again. "You shall have your liberty at seven o-clock, young mister Giles." She stood up, leaned over the desk to give me a quick kiss on the lips, (and a possibly-inadvertant look down her neckline.) "I shall give you thirty minutes after that to freshen up and change, and then I shall be at your room to fetch you. Until then!!" And then she was gone.

Last night was quite a delight. We had a delicate gourmet supper in a private, well-appointed suite that Princess had apparently reserved for the night, because it wasn't where she had been assigned in the Castle herself. We talked all evening, sharing the important and unimportant details of our lives, our beliefs, our dreams.

The conversation started while we were both cooking, (something it turns out we've both been interested in most of our lives,) and stretched through the meal, continuing as we danced to love songs on a little turntable stereo, (or, for two songs, a phantom orchestra that Princess conjured up with a magical spell.) And we chatted softly while sitting on the loveseat after we were both too tired to keep dancing and before indulging in some things that kept our lips busy in other ways...

We didn't take the physical intimacy too far, though. The fevered ardour that had struck us this morning wasn't there... or if there was, it was being subconsciously repressed. (Plus, Warren's words about 'the passion of the forbidden' were still ringing deep in my mind.) We kissed, and necked a little, and let our hands wander, having fun in all the ways teenagers tend to, but definitely didn't go any beyond that. There would be time. And so when the evening came to an end, I walked Princess to her door, kissed her goodnight, and then went on to my own.

Today has gone much the same as yesterday so far, (excepting the early morning visits and surprise assault from my younger sibling,) but in a rather different order. You see, here in the Castle the watchers work hard but do make time for relaxation as well, and it's fairly traditional to break up the working day. You get to work early and then take several hours off around noon, while it's bright and beautiful outside, then work later into the night to make up for it. So Miranda and I are out enjoying the early afternoon in the Tojo flower garden, finishing off a picnic lunch and trying not to obsess about the future.

In fact, it was while I was setting up lunch that Princess stole my journal and wrote her declaration of love into it, and as I've been writing this entry I've also read some fairly long entries out loud to her. No-one else has ever heard a word out of it, but I want to share everything I think and everything I can feel with her. I think she liked it, and I'm fairly sure that if I don't keep a tight grasp on the diary, she's going to write into it again. To be honest, that sounds good to me. This journal is the story of my life, but Miranda Lindley is a part of my life now, and so it seems fair that she should get to put her own thoughts in.

Well, that sounds like it. We have only fifteen minutes before having to be back at our respective posts, and there are things I want to do that have nothing to do with pen or paper.

May 17th, 1975.

Well, I did it. I bit the bullet and actually spoke with Father today. He was in the Castle Great Hall for breakfast this morning and I went up and asked if I could have a word. He even said yes. Who would have thought it?

For a little bit, we were stiffly polite - the kind of highly repressive decorum we'd gotten so good at between when Mother died and when I took off. And then I went out and asked the big question - if there was any way he could see supporting the transfer of Miranda's betrothal from Warren to me.

The expression on his face quickly became as cold and stiff as stone. "With the situation as it is, Rupert, I don't see that happening, for several reasons. For one, my choosing Warren was a consequence of your own actions, and I don't see any reason to rescue you from them, particularly since you haven't yet earned back my respect. Secondly, to make such a change would cost me face with the watchers, the more so given the scandal surrounding your trial. And thirdly, I happen to know that Merrick Lindley would in no wise support such a maneuver himself. He is interested in the alliance with our family, and he likes you, but he supports Warren in this. As do I."

I was speechless, and Sir Henry Giles shook his head slightly. "We've heard, some, about this sudden epiphany that you and Miss Lindley have had, but if you'll take my advice, you'll put it behind you. Do well in your work with Speaker Raleigh this summer, and if you like I'll see if I can find a match for you too. Let's see, there's..."

At that, I finally found my voice. "N-no! My god, Father, you still don't understand at all. It's not just about having a wife, it's about having found a girl that I can't live without. So..." I fished for something that was suitably impressive and yet wouldn't widen the gulf between myself and Father, and failed miserably. "So... have a nice breakfast." I blushed with embarassment as I strode away.

God, I can't wait to see Miranda.