Sometimes, being a shape-shifter really, really sucks.
Like now.
For one, what is it with this obsession for bloody sacrifices, is what Pan wants to know. For two, why does he have to be the (oh, so litteral) scape goat. For three, Artemis, who cares, it's just a bloody deer.
There is a reason he isn't glowering at people as he is led. And another that he isn't protesting wildly.
Pan is a demi-god. He will not die - only suffer and disappear for a while, until he comes back in another shape.
More importantly, he knows there is something right about this. Damn all the pucks who don't see the rightness of helping out the humans. He sees it. He will see it again, much later in his time.
She never had her throat cut, Iphigenia. She only had a beautiful illusion of it, and she was taken elsewhere. A star bears your name, he murmured to her in her sleep. One virgin he did not deflower. His emotion is too tender for such meaningless things.
Maybe later, I will see you, beautiful princess. In a time and a place where I can be who I am, and you can be free. In a time where your eyes will not shed tears of fear.
He does not know if she heard him. His powers are only so limited, and his way is long, so long. Tomorrow, he must be in Troy. Cassandra awaits, one other he cannot help, other than by being her friend, by loving her and singing under her balcony bawdy things to make her blush.
As the blade goes up, Pan closes his eyes, and thinks back.
He danced with her - it was gentle and light, so chaste. So beautiful.
When the blade comes down, he only sees her face. He dies... into Iphigenia's pure eyes.