Prologue
"Forgive Me"
410 AD, Roman Territory
Malcolm looked over the pastures, the sheep grazing peacefully under the orange red, setting sun light. It was quiet that day and he liked it like that. The cities in Rome can be so loud and busy. The noise never stops. Plus the people there pity him. A poor shepherd boy, with nothing but the clothes on his back to keep him warm, the crumbs to keep him full and no roof to keep him from the rain and wind, but in all honesty, he pictures his life as paradise. His home is the vast lengths of grass and trees. He has a river and a pond. He has countless fields of berries and animals for food, and endless piles of wool. It may be a bit difficult to obtain these blessings, but worth the work.
In his hands he's carving a figure of a woman, focusing carefully on the detail. Across the way, three girls are laughing and pointing, making it perfectly obvious who they are snickering about. Malcolm could feel their burning gaze. He looks up and gives them a warning glance. He's not sure what he looked like, but apparently it was enough to scare them off. "Whores," he snarled bitterly, going back to the carving. He didn't hear them, but he knows what they're saying.
There's Pan!
Hideous, hideous Pan!
It's what they all say. Malcolm was always seen as the ugly boy. The one who was so hideous, it was rumored you'll have eternal bad luck if you looked at him in the eye. It was why they ran. Rumors like that spread like wild fire in Rome and soon enough everyone will know the pitiful ugly shepard. Luckily there are those who aren't so cruel.
"Malcolm," a girl called, approaching him wearing her usual finest silks and ribbons. Before he could greet her with a smile, she hurries to put her flawless hand over his dirt, smudged eyes. Breathing in Malcolm could smell roses and grapes. It's a very sweet smell. Malcolm smiled. "I've come with a gift," she whispers in his ear.
Malcolm stiffens at the word and not just because he could feel her breath on his neck. Gently he takes her hand off his face, so he could get a good look at her. Her strawberry gold hair falls down her shoulder in waves, like a waterfall. Her blue eyes piercing his green ones, unafraid and risking eternal bad luck. She smiles at him as he brings a soil coated hand to her lips. They are perfectly dark pink and plump. No sooner, he rips his gaze away to look back into her eyes, his smile now gone again.
He moves to open his mouth but she stops him instantly, "The price was small, this I swear."
Malcolm allowed himself to smile at that, as he took the neatly wrapped cloth from her hand. Opening it, and finding golden colored pipes.
"You broke your old ones, did you not?"
"I did," said he, bringing them to his lips and playing a single tune. His smile widens again, "Thank you, Gwendolyn."
Sitting beside him she welcomes herself, leaning against his chest, and resting her head on his shoulder. "Play me a song," she said, comforted by the movement of his breathing, pushing her up and down, up and then down again. Obediently, he brought the gold colored pipes to his lips. The familiar taste of wood widens his smile as he played her a soft tune, moving slowly and smoothly in the air.
Gwendolyn closed her eyes, taking in all that there was at that moment. Malcolm played her three songs for each mood. The first was a tune of sweetness. This song was meant to be her's. He played all that he saw in her, her beauty, her intelligence, her patience, her passion, and finally, her courage. It was the only form of thanks he could give her. He would give her a gift too, but the only thing he could possibly afford was that wooden figure he planned to present her for her birthday. It was a pathetic sort of gift, and it was this which could always twist his face in shame, but he reluctantly accepted it, because it was all he had.
Yes, it's still true Malcolm isn't ashamed of who he is or how he lives, but… he loves Gwendolyn. He loves her more than he loves his grass, trees, ponds, or rivers. He would give it all up, work in the city, if it meant taking care of her. He would do anything for her, give up anything for her, or even be anything for her. Now that doesn't mean he'll become anything she wants him to be, and let her push him around like a mule but change, if she really needed it.
Little did he know, Gwendolyn feels the same.
The second song, was a song they could dance to and they did. As Malcolm played this next tune of quick movement and short beats, Gwendolyn stood on her feet and twirled around, her hair swaying like a fan and her dress twirling and her ribbons tangling. She motioned a hand, gesturing Malcolm to dance with her and he did. As he played, he bounced next to her, laughing in delight with Gwendolyn until finally they both fell to the ground breathless.
They paused, catching their breath, when Gwendolyn climbed back on his chest. Malcolm wrapped an arm possessively around her shoulder. "Gwendolyn?" Malcolm whispered.
"Hmm?"
He swallowed, "Are you cursed with ill fortune?"
She lifted himself from him, to get a better look at his face, cocking an eyebrow at his ridiculous question, "Why?" As she sat up, Malcolm let his hand move down her arm, until she finally stopped and his fingers brushed gently against her elbow.
"I know you heard the rumors, have you not," Malcolm clarified.
Moving a stand of hair from her face she asks,"Pan?" Malcolm twitched at the name. He loathed it. It was a name of mockery and it was even more bitter hearing it come from her lips. He nodded his head silently, feeling a heat of rage build up in his stomach. "I think it suits you."
His heart broke that second. With one strong arm he pushed her away from him, "How could you say that!?" He climbed back to his feet and moved away from her, looking back to the sheep. Gwendolyn was pushed hard enough to feel a sharp pain on her back the moment she fell backwards, but not hard enough for it to bruise. It was nothing to worry about. The real problem was set in front of her, and he had his back turned.
"I did not mean to…" Carefully she walked toward her, placing a hand on his shoulder, but he shooed it away, "Please forgive me. I'm foolish with my words. I did not mean them as you heard." She placed her hand back on his shoulder and this time he didn't brush it off. "Please understand. In Greece they believed Pan is the god of the wild, shepherds and flocks, nature of mountain wilds, hunting and music, and though I understand you are no god, are you not a shepherd? Do you not enjoy nature, and are you not talented with music-?"
"He is also very ugly," he said, cutting her off.
Gwendolyn did not know what to say. She's confused, "What?"
Malcolm turned back to face her, "I've heard other rumors. Rumors of a proposal." Gwendolyn shifted awkwardly, already aware of what he is talking about, "A proposal to you."
"It is nothing you need to worry about," Gwendolyn quickly explained, "My father simply has planned of this arrangement since I was a young girl."
"When were you going to tell me?"
"You are avoiding the previous subject," Gwendolyn snapped, "You said Pan is very ugly. Why do you think you are ugly?"
"Am I not!?" he exclaims, throwing up his arms in frustration. "It must be true! For that's what they all say. So hideous is he, he will curse you with a glance! So hideous is he, Medusa would not dare to look upon him of fear he would turn her into stone!"
She paused for a moment, searching for the right words. "What I think, matters not."
Inching closer to her, his breath lingering from her lips, he whispers, "What you think, matters most."
"No you are not," she finally answers gently. He almost doesn't believe her because of how long it took her to answer and then she answers more jokingly, "Filthy yes, but not ugly."
Malcolm search for some truth in her eyes and found it. She was telling the truth and knowing this made his heart swell with reassurance and… a bit of guilt. "Forgive me," his voice sweeter now, "The rumors and village girls have been dancing on my nerves."
"Well, no matter if you are Pan the ugly or Malcolm the shepherd, one truth will remain forever. I will always love you, will all my heart."
Malcolm kissed her almost immediately, holding her against him as if someone were trying to rip her away from him. She smiled and laughed into the kiss, melting into him, until they were perfectly one. Later Malcolm played his third tune. It was quick some times and slow other times. It was a song of forgiveness.
…
1651 AD, Neverland
Pan sat on the branch of a very old, tall tree. He pressed his lips against the wood of his pipes, playing the same tune of forgiveness over a peculiarly placed cage. As he played he watched a flawless hand sway from outside of the bars, keeping up with the beat. He watched as her hand moved along with the music, until finally it stopped, because Pan stopped playing.
"Wendy?" He jumped from the tree and carefully inched toward the cage, "Wendy?"
Risking the chance of broken fingers, he wrapped them around the bars and peered inside, "Wen-"
Pan jumped backwards just in time. A rock flew and hit the bars, vibrating them, causing them to hum loudly. She was sitting in the middle of the cage, legs folded together and hands in her lap. Her eyes met his, angry, and unforgiving, she turned away from him in spite. "I do not want to see you, Pan!" she spits.
Whatever was left in his heart, broke. The sound of that name roll, hatefully off her lips, the piercing glare of true betrayal, it was enough to almost lose hope that she will one day see. What he does, he does for her. His head hung lifelessly from his shoulders, his eyes locked on gold colored wood. He realized in his haste, he dropped his pipes. Picking them up, he dusted off the dirt. A crack was left on one of the tubes. "I'm sorry Gwendolyn," he whispers, eyes stuck on the crack, "I truly am."
READER'S NOTE
Okay guys. This is my first story in this account. What do you think? If you don't get it, that's okay. I know there will be allot of questions. Feel free to ask them! I welcome them. In all honesty, I wasn't planning to start with them but they are like the root of the whole series so, I guess it's best. Anyway! Comments, concerns or complaints, please…
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