Will and Ewan were still running through the Editor's home. It frustratingly felt like they were going in a big circle. They passed door after door, and after an hour of what felt like they'd gone only a few meters Ewan started muttering curses to himself. Will looked at the doors they were passing, feeling as though the Editor's army was breathing down his neck. "We need a break," he panted, physically and emotionally exhausted.

"Works for me," Ewan agreed, finally stopping his cursing. He picked a door at random and flung it open. "Come on!"

Will hurried in, and Ewan closed the door behind them. Ewan leaned against the door, listening to their pursuers go past. He slumped against it with relief. "Thank God," he said.

"Hullo," a very familiar voice said cheerfully. "What were the odds of this?"

Will hardly dared believe it. He turned from Ewan to face the other occupant of the room. His heart thudded in his chest, and he felt the tears come to his eyes as he looked at his best friend. "Alan?"

Alan-a-Dale grinned at Will. "Surprise!" he said. "Did you miss me?"

Will considered slapping Alan but decided his relief was too great for that. He settled for chewing his knuckle instead. "How?" was the only word he managed to get out.

"I don't mean to get your hopes up," Alan said, his cheerful face growing grim. "The Editor has reversed my Final Death, but only in this room. Which, I must commend you on your ability to choose what room you were going to come in."

Will glanced around and his heart sank; they'd returned to the Editor's study. From Ewan's drawn face, he judged that Rachel's brother knew it as well. "That's just stupendous," Ewan sighed. He tried the door and his already-anxious face grew even more so. "Awesome."

"Let me guess," Will said, his heart sinking even further. "It's locked."

Ewan nodded wordlessly. Alan, who Will noticed was chained to the Editor's desk, shrugged philosophically. "At least I'm not alone anymore," he said brightly. Then, before Will's eyes, Alan disappeared.

"Alan! No!" Will cried desperately, lunging for the desk. It was too late; the bard's chains clanked to the floor, empty. Will knelt before the chains, trying to control the tears that were building in his eyes.

Ewan touched Will's shoulder gently. "I'm sorry," he said. "We were led into a trap. The Editor wanted to mess with you, and I basically helped her along. I'm really sorry."

Will shook his head, running his hand through his hair. "No. It's not your fault. If she thinks she can torture me by showing me Alan, she's got another thing coming," he said.

"Well spoken." The door opened, and the Editor walked past Ewan and Will and sat at her desk. The dark haired Mordred stood at the door, glaring at Ewan and Will. The Editor continued, "But can you hold to those words when you realize everything is hopeless?" She spread her hands out, and a foggy image appeared.

Ewan growled deep in his throat. Rachel lay on a bed in the image, her eyes closed, her hands folded over her chest, fast asleep. Her blonde curls were spread out over the pillow, and she looked more peaceful than Will had ever seen her. It hurt him to see the girl who had risked so much for them to be so defenseless, and all to protect them.

Ewan's thoughts seemed to be running along the same lines as Will's. "If you've hurt a hair on her head, nothing will protect you from me," he warned the Editor, his face red with anger. The look of amusement on the Editor's face only goaded Ewan further. "I promise you that!"

"I haven't hurt her—yet," the Editor said. "I am still missing a few essential pieces to my plan. But once I get those, I promise you, The Story that girl created will be gone. Forever."

"I died for that Story," Ewan said in a low voice. "And you think that can all just be rewritten? That everything we've done can just be...gone?"

"You're a monster," Will added. "I hate you!"

The Editor raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you had come to that conclusion after the death of your friend, the bard," she commented. "Tell me; what makes this blonde girl so special, that you two would be so willing to stay by her?"

"There's nothing you can do to be like her," Ewan said. "She's a hero. She'd do anything to protect her friends, her family. Even die for them. What would we be if we weren't willing to do the same for her?"

"Blind faith," the Editor sneered. "And worthless. Where has it gotten you? It killed you."

Ewan smiled. "And you know what? I don't regret it. Not for an instant. If she needed it, I would gladly die for her again. And I know she would do the same for me. That's what family's for."

The Editor's face went red with rage. Ewan's loyalty to Rachel was getting under her skin. Will suddenly had an insight into her mind. She needed control. She needed her Story to be the way she wrote it, because it was hers. The people might not have loved her, but they all feared her, feared the Editor's creation of Final Death. If she couldn't be loved, she would be feared. And the fact that Rachel had garnered The Story's trust and love must have been agonizing to the Editor, something she could never get from them.

The Editor turned to Mordred, regaining her composure. "Get them out of here," she said. "Get the Snow Queen to help."

Just before Will and Ewan were dragged from the study, the Editor stopped them. "Take off his boot," she said, indicating Will. This was accomplished and the pin was produced. The Editor took it from Mordred, going over to the fireplace and holding it between her two fingers. "Very clever," she said, then tossed the pin into the flames.

"No!" Will cried. That pin was a gift from Robin Hood. He'd given it to Will when he'd first recruited him into the Merry Men. Watching it melt in the flames, Will thought his heart would break. Alan had spent many hours drilling him in picking locks with that pin.

The Editor smiled in a satisfied way and dusted off her hands. "Good," she said. She jerked her head at the door. "Get them out of here."

Will and Ewan were pulled from the room, and the last picture Will had of the Editor was her smiling at the smoldering remains of the pin.