"Tell us a story Robin!"

"Yes! Please tell us!"

"I want to hear the one about the man with a hook for a hand!"

"No! Not that one again Pip! I want the one where the boy kills the dragon!"

The boys gathered around their small wooden table and Peter sat beside Robin at the head. They lived in an enchanted tree that was over ten thousand years old and was thick enough to house them all snugly.

As a home it worked wonderfully. The door was charmed to only let those that Peter and Robin deemed worthy enter. Their kitchen was always filled with pots and plates that needed to be cleaned and the washing was constantly piled against one wooden wall or another. It wasn't the tidiest, but it was home.

Living with Peter and Robin were six young boys whose mother and father had been lost in the wars, too young to be taken themselves. Their town was poor, the Sheriff made sure of that; even the church had little to offer them. They were so young. The oldest was only twelve. The boys slept in one bed that Peter had carved and filled with animals skins, while Peter and Robin slept in another.

Peter and Robin had found them foraging for berries one year earlier. They were not much older, only fifteen at the time. But they could hunt; they'd done so since they were children despite Robin's father's disapproval. Peter knew how to cook, his parents had fed him nothing but bread until he had learnt how to make his own meals. He'd had to steal meat (or hunt for it when he learnt how) and forage for the herbs but he learnt quickly. Good thing too because Robin could barely boil an egg without causing injury.

Peter grinned at Robin with that cheeky boyish charm of his and Robin returned the smile. She hadn't told him of the huntsman she met in the woods, although she really had no reason not to. Peter would probably make fun of her for it before being concerned. It's how he was: carefree and a child at heart. She loved that about him. He wasn't like the other boys who had opened doors for her and held out their hands to help her out of carriages. Peter hadn't been afraid to shove her or wrestle with her in the mud.

"Alright! I have a new one for you." She turned to look around the table. The youngest was Pip, only four years old and he scrambled into her lap at the promise of a new tale. She wrapped her arms around the boy's waist and everyone, including Peter, leant forward to listen closely to her tail.

"There was once a huntsman without a heart-."

"How could he have no heart?" Tootles asked, receiving a round of hushes from the boys who were trying to listen.

"Because…" Robin thought for a brief moment. "Because once upon a time he was in love with a girl who died and he was so sad that he ripped out his heart so he couldn't feel the pain anymore." She decided, although the huntsman she met in the woods didn't seem like the romantic sort. It was just a story, in any case.

They boys seemed to like this response enough so she continued.

"The huntsman's parents abandoned him in the woods as a new born child. They thought the wolves would come and eat him up, but they didn't. Instead they raised him and taught him honour. He learnt to hunt and speak the human tongue, but he wasn't human. Not really. And after he ripped out his heart he was truly thought of as a beast."

"They told stories about him because he cried for his kill and called the wolves his friends. They laughed at him. And one day a man tried to confront him, laugh at him to his face instead. An audience gathered around this foolish man. But the huntsman didn't flinch, he didn't raise a fist or speak a word. And when the was done with his mocking and the crowds stopped laughing, the wolf who was his friend – the one with one red eye- bit the man's throat!" Robin grabbed at her own throat suddenly and the boys gasped. The red-headed twins lifted their hands simultaneously to their necks as if they could feel teeth on their necks. "Oh, the people still gossip about him. But they are fools. They say the man is a wolf and if you don't know honour, he will teach it to you."

The room fell into appropriate silent as everyone considered the ending. It was shorter than usual, and not nearly as exciting. But it was entertaining none the less. "What was the huntsman's name?" Nibs asked with a yawn that said that it was probably nearly midnight.

Again, Robin had to think. She could make one up easily, but she decided to tell the truth. "No one knows…"

In bed, Peter waited until the chorus of distinct snores began before he dared speak about the story. In the dim, candle light he looked older, nothing but skin and shadow without the obvious dimples and rosy cheeks so evident in the sunlight. He could look so young; so innocent. "Where did you hear that one?" He whispered, head pillowed against one knobbly elbow. His voice was a beautiful thing, full of quiet laughter.

"It's an old tale. My father told me." She lied, brushing her fingers through his curly, honey-coloured hair. Really, she'd first heard of the heartless hunter in a bar sitting on the outskirts of their old town. Peter probably would have laughed off her encounter with the huntsman, but going into town was usually a mission for the boys. The Sheriff had guards who looked for her at all hours. It had only been a year since she'd run after all.

"Did something happen today?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well…" He chuckled, hand reaching under the blanket in search of hers. "That deer you brought in only had three legs."

She sighed, letting his hand find hers and threading their fingers together. "I will tell you the story later. I am not sure of what to make of it myself."

Peter's scowl looked fiercer than ever in the dark. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Patience Peter." Robin hushed him.

"No." He all but whined. "I want to know."

"You are such a child. I will tell you in the morning."

Peter knew when he was fighting a losing battle, and their hisses caused Nibs to snore just a little louder, a sign that he was waking up. "Fine." He rolled onto his side, a gesture that reminded her just how young he thought he was.

Robin blew out the candle and all that was left between them were unspoken words and the nostalgic snick of wax.


'Welcome to Storybrooke', the dented sign read.

Peter sneered and rubbed at his freshly shaven chin. This is where it was happening. This is where Robin was. There was magic here. Not the abundance that came from their land, but a subtle sort.

He had thought his world was lost to him when he was thrown out. He though he'd lost them forever. Until one morning, that is. When he woke up and went to the mirror only to find something that he'd never before found on his skin. Stubble. Peter Pan, the boy who had been cursed forever to never age another day had stubble. He'd stood there for close to ten minutes stroking his cheek, chin, all over, to see what had changed and if it was true. Could he really have been a day older?

He had laughed in his little apartment until tears pricked his eyes and his cheeks were a deep red. How wonderful it could feel to grow older when for the past twenty eight years his face had not even held a single laugh line.

What's more, that meant something was happening.

Until that day, he'd lived in New York City; quite the place to wake up in after being hurled from a fairy tale.

Life had certainly not been smooth. Video cameras made stealing difficult. He'd had to rely more on pick pocketing since half the time he tried to knick something from a store he was caught and chased. The police couldn't find him and really they had better things to do then to chase an unidentifiable thief, thankfully.

So on the morning that he had found himself one day older he knew it was time to go home. But where was that exactly?

The moment he left his apartment he felt a gentle tug and whisper in the air.

'Maine' it had said, and although magic should not have existed in this world, Peter knew that was where he had to go.

There he stood, outside of his car, admiring the sign and wondering if this truly was just some trick or spell. But in the end, did it matter? If he died his curse would be undone and if he lived, well, he might just see Robin.

He touched the sign, fingers tracing the lines experimentally, as if waiting to be shocked or thrown back. But he was not rejected. He hopped back into the black, rental car that he had no intention of returning and took off down the chalky path into Storybrooke, Maine.


Robin made sure she was up before Peter so that she could slip out and hunt early. She just needed more time to think.

The air was cool, but not unpleasant considering how early it was.

The scent of sugary grass and earth was one that followed her home every day, far lovelier than any perfumes she could have bought from the markets.

Robin headed back to the same tree she'd been perched in for hours the day before, purely because she thought it was a good spot. Not because she hoped to see the huntsman again. No, not at all. That would be foolish for a number of reasons.

And if she did it was only because she wanted to thank him.

She sat in that same tree, carving a perfect ring of green apple skin and listening for footsteps or the fall of hoofs. When the sun was well and truly a part of the sky again she lay back, tossing the apple core over her shoulder.

Her boots clunked noisily against the ground as she hopped down, out of the tree and she began making her way into town. If nothing else, she could at least buy something for their lunch.

Along the road there was a tavern, one that Peter sometimes went into to trade in but one that she was not meant to go into because it really was men only. Well, men and 'painted women' who pleasured those men. She had little love for the people inside of that place anyway. The bartender had a dirty face and hair growing out of his great nose. And all the men inside of that place did was eat and drink and then puke up their weeks wages.

She was honestly glad she didn't know a man so vulgar that he would waste his time in such a place for any means other than trade.

When the tavern came into view she knew she was getting close and pulled her navy hood up over her head. Her shoulders were broader than most girls her age, and with her face covered and cloaked body she could almost pass herself off as a young boy.

The tavern seemed livelier than ever. There were shouts and laughs and then silence as Robin walked by. She lifted her head slightly and tried to peer in to see what exactly the fuss was about when the door opened and out walked the huntsman with blooded hands.

Now that he was there in front of her she didn't know what to say. A greeting was certainly in order, but how could she possibly speak of anything other than the blood on his hands?

Not for the first time since meeting him Robin began to fear his character and who exactly she was pursuing. For surely this man with blood on his hands, who has a wolf as his companion and has his meals in that tavern, could be nothing but bad…

"Are you hurt?" She blurted out, pulling her hood back so that it curled around her neck.

There was a chorus of shattering glass and more shouts. The huntsman looked over his shoulder at the tavern again. He only spoke one word to her that acted like a bullet, shot straight into Robin's feet as she pounded through the woods.

"Run!"


Wendy was meant to be in school on Wednesday, but of course she wasn't. That being said, she really had nothing better to do. he had very few friends and liked it that way, then complained when she was bored and had no one to talk to.

Honestly, shop lifting today would be a bad move. Her parents were disappointed in her already, kind as they could be. She sighed, passing the convenience store, the pharmacy, the gas station… until she ended up at Mr. Gold's pawn shop. She looked through the window curiously.

Mr. Gold didn't exactly have the glowing aura of a good man. He had a rather terrible reputation honestly, and Wendy knew that her parents didn't want her talking to that man. Didn't matter. The sign said 'closed' anyway, and she wasn't about to break in.

"Were you interested in anything?" A voice asked from behind her and Wendy jumped. She hadn't heard footsteps behind her, which one would have expected from a man with a walking stick. It was like he had appeared out of nowhere (though that would be ridiculous).

"Huh?" She asked intelligently. "No."

"Are you sure? I have quite the collection." His smile made Wendy want to shudder. Golden teeth, skin stretch taut. This man certainly looked deserving of his reputation. "My, what a lovely necklace." He commented when Wendy was caught staring for just a moment longer than she should have.

She looked down at the golden cage dangling around her neck and shoved it into her grey trademark hoodie. Mr. Gold chuckled and stepped beside her to open the shop. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

"No." Even to her own ears she sounded defensive. Not that it mattered, it was none of his business whether she was at school or not.

"Skipping class, are we?" He laughed in a way that sent chills down Wendy's spine and she had the most awful sensation of de-ja-vu. "Not a good habit. Your secret's safe with me, though."

"It's not a secret." She spat, entirely meaning to be as hostile as she was coming across as.

Mr. Gold quirked a brow at her tone and turned the key, letting the door swing open on its own with a gentle creak. Wendy's eyes flickered inside for only a moment when a light from inside the shop caught her eye and she allowed herself to noticeably lean forward to get a better look into the store without crossing the doorstep.

An ornate, golden mirror sat on an antique dresser, reflecting the sunlight directly into the teen's eyes as if beckoning her closer. And for the second time today Wendy was struck with a sense of de-ja-vu.

"I think, maybe, we've gotten off on the wrong foot, dearie." He extended his hand into the shop, a welcoming gesture. "Please. No pressure to buy anything, but if you see something you like I can make you quite the deal." And when he smiled Wendy could see those nasty, golden teeth again. "Besides." She narrowed his eyes but decided to hear his reasoning. "It's not like you have anything better to do."

Now, normally Wendy would have stormed off or at the very least taken offence. But he was right and she was bored. This town was boring. And well, Mr. Gold was interesting. So Wendy actually scoffed, and when she scoffed the slightest of smiles twitched across her face. "I don't have any money… So it's your time…."

"Well, it's not like I have anything better to do either." He said in a friendly sort of way that Wendy was almost fooled into believing was genuine. But she still had a bad feeling about this man… like he was trying to con her into something horrible.

"How much is that mirror?" She pointed to the golden mirror that had caught her eye before. Mr. Gold followed her finger with vague interest.

"Interesting taste. Forgive me, but you don't particularly strike me as someone too concerned with appearances." Of course Mr. Gold had meant that in an entirely open way and while Wendy could have been seriously insulted, she decided to take it as a compliment in that she wasn't particularly vain.

"I'm not. How much?"

Mr. Gold considered her question.

"Ahh, probably more than you're willing to trade me."


Robin sprawled out inelegantly at the base of an old elm, deep in the forest and an hour's journey from her home. She was panting and aching, though the huntsman seemed as though he could have run for much longer.

"You're an outlaw?" She asked between breaths, staring up at the man in obvious disbelief. It was as if she couldn't conceive of a world where he was anything other than the noble anti-hero she'd built him up to be.

"I am now." He sat beside her at the stump of the tree, hushing the wolf who seemed to remember little Robin perched in her tree and didn't like her in the least. Really Robin could return the sentiment. If this wolf one day rolled over dead she would show no sympathy in skinning it and feeding it to her family.

Somehow she thought the huntsman wouldn't like that.

"Are you injured?" Dark eyes flickered over to his sticky looking hands.

"Not my blood." He admitted, although Robin had guessed as much. She looked over at him, unclasping her hood so that it rested on her shoulders in a neat bundle. "If I have inconvenienced you I am sorry for it." It seemed as though he had no intention of staying and speaking with her after all.

Before the huntsman could make a move to stand Robin said "they say you have no heart." She said it mildly, like an afterthought, but her eyes betrayed her with their intense curiosity.

At first the man said nothing and then he lifted his hand to rake it through the fur of his wolf. "And do you believe what they say?"

"I don't know… Can a man live without his heart?"

The huntsman seemed to find her naivety amusing and gestured with his head to his chest, eyes meeting hers after this silent order. "See for yourself."

And Robin, rather boldly, did just that. She stretched her hand out and pressed it to the huntsman's chest. While he may not have looked or sounded changed from their run his heart was hammering away in his chest.

"Feel anything?"

"Of course…"

"Are you disappointed?"

"No, I think I'm glad." She laughed, although in all honesty she had held onto the slightest of hopes that the rumours were true. Now he was just a man.

But he was still a man, and that's why she was so attracted to him. As sweet and fun as Peter could be, he was a boy (most likely he would always be one) and Robin had never really known a man before. There were men, by definition, in her village. But none like him, none with such nobility and honour.

She knew she wasn't meant to fall in love with this huntsman. But a part of her certainly fell in hope with him. She hoped he would live up to his legends and live freely and wonderfully. Because that freedom is something she had taken the night Peter came knocking on her window. And she gave up that same freedom when they took in the lost boys. Her merry little men that tied her too that tree.

Still, she thought the huntsman needed a place like she had where he could be free and protected. Everyone needed a place. Even if it was just a small home in the middle of a forest.

"I still don't know your name, though you know mine." She reminded him though she found herself caught off guard by her own question and his willingness to answer it.

She was lost, concentrating on the way his thin lips curved when he smiled, parting to reveal straight, white teeth when he answered. She was so flustered she almost didn't hear his answer.

"Eric."


The name Eric was taken from the light novel 'Snow White and the Huntsman where he was called by the same name.

Hope you enjoyed :)