7
Luring Pan
Storybrooke:
Belle knew she had to be convincing in her role when she re-entered the dreamscape that night in order to begin luring Pan inside it. The leader of the Lost Boys had to be completely gulled into falling for her trap, and in order to do so she needed to invent a persona she could portray while inside the dreamscape.
She set about doing so by reading up on how to bake different things and some famous chefs and bakers, how they did what they did, the way they felt about it, and bit by bit she formed a character she could play.
She also read up on the motivations of someone like Peter, trying to formulate how best to beat him at his own game. She found that people like Pan were selfish and focused totally on themselves and what best benefited them. If she could provide a big enough temptation, Pan would be drawn into her world, and so too would his shadow. Power was what he craved, what he had spent several lifetimes trying to achieve, and being totally cold and ruthless in his acquiring of it.
She suspected that the shadow was his manifestation of that power, a phantom of all the lives he had stolen, sucked dry of all energy and hope, leaving behind an empty shell. And power was drawn to power.
Knowing that, she set up an object that would prove irresistible to a thing that craved immortality . . . borrowed from ancient mythology . . . she wrote into her dream an apple of immortality, the same kind of apple that Hera guarded in Greek mythology with her servant Argo of the Hundred Eyes and also Idun in Norse myth. It was said that those who ate of it would become like unto a god, and never fear death again, and also have powers such as they did.
Then she set the stage for an elaborate hoax . . . one that would end hopefully with a shadow trapped, and the boy who never grew up forced to face at last the things he had done . . . and those whom he had hurt . . . and pay the price for his wrongdoing at last.
Neverland:
Mouse stepped into the jungle bordering the camp of the Lost Boys, a small piece of paper wrapped around a hair clutched in his palm. He gave a soft trilling call, that of the mourning dove, then melted into the vegetation that grew on the side of the path. He was nearly invisible, which was how he preferred it, knowing that Tiger Lily could find him wherever he hid in the undergrowth, since she was a dryad, and plants held no mystery for her.
He waited for several long minutes, cultivating a patience learned long before when he had to wait for a small ground squirrel or other rodent to show itself so he could snatch it up and wring its neck to eat. Because in the camp, he ate when all others had done so, and sometimes there was nothing left but scraps. If he didn't learn how to forage for certain roots and berries, nuts and fruits, as well as small game, he would have starved to death long ago.
And though he was small and weak, he discovered that he wasn't ready to give in, to give up, to let his tormentors win . . . or at least not win any more than they had to. He was quick and clever, he remembered where certain trees were, like breadfruit, pawpaw, coconut, and hazelnut. He recalled thickets of juicy berries and when he had met Tiger Lily, she had shown him other places to find food, so despite the misery of his life as a Lost Boy, he remained healthy . . . except when they hurt him in their little games.
He eyed the thick undergrowth, thinking idly how this place could be so beautiful in one aspect . . . and so rotten in another. It was both a paradise and a hell . . . sometimes more one than another. He admired the way the sunlight fell upon the leaves, creating pretty patterns, and the way the breeze rustled the leaves and vines.
He nearly dozed, filled with the peace of the morning, until the leaves swirled and shaped themselves into a tunnel and Tiger Lily emerged from it, followed by Rumple.
The dryad's keen eyes found the boy curled in the hollow of the elephant fern and warbled softly, so Mouse woke from his half-doze and poked his head out warily.
"You're here!" he exclaimed, his blue eyes glowing happily.
"You called, and so we came," Tiger Lily said simply.
"Do you have a message for me, Mouse?" asked Rumple quietly.
The boy nodded and handed him the piece of paper. "Henry gave me this to give to you, Rumple."
"Thank you, lad. You've done well."
It was simple thing to say, but that simple thing made Mouse feel, for the first time, proud of himself, as if he were useful and needed. It was a very new feeling, and it both frightened and excited him. He didn't quite know what to say, so he contented himself with smiling shyly at the sorcerer . . . the first adult whom he had ever known . . . and the only one save for Tiger Lily who had ever praised him and thought him worthy of anything.
Then he ducked his head and looked at the ground, muttering, "It wasn't much. I was just a messenger."
"But it was, Mouse," Rumple told him. "You gave Henry hope when he had none, and a way for me to defeat Pan and rescue my grandson. That . . . to me, is a very big thing."
"It is?" he cautiously peered up at the older man with one blue eye through the messy fringe of his brown hair.
"Yes. You'll find that the big things in life are often made up of small things strung together," Rumple said. "And sometimes, one small thing can lead to a much greater thing occurring. Remember the story I told you of the bee and the giant?"
Mouse nodded. "Yessir."
"Think about it, lad. Then perhaps you'll see what you've done is actually a great thing from a small act," Rumple explained. For some unknown reason he wished to give this child some much needed self-confidence, to help him the way he wished someone would have himself at that age.
Mouse savored the feeling Rumple's words engendered in him . . . and the fact that something big could come of his small act . . . something important, from the one who was counted least of all. "Now you can rescue Henry, right?"
"Yes," Rumple said. "And that's what matters."
"I'm glad. He shouldn't be here. Neverland's no place for someone like him . . . someone with a family who cares for him," Mouse said. "He ought to go home."
"And he will," Rumple assured him. "As well as the rest of you who have been trapped here under Pan's whim. Including you."
"I have no home," Mouse said quickly. "Or a family. I never have."
"Not even . . . before you came here?"
"No. I was . . . somewhere with a bunch of other boys . . . I can't really remember it well now, it's fuzzy . . . but I do know it wasn't like what you'd call a real home . . . with people who cared about you . . . and it doesn't matter anyway, since by now they're probably dead or have forgotten we ever existed."
"Do you know how long you've been here, Mouse?"
"A long time. I wasn't one of the first ones, but . . . I've been here longer than a lot of the others," the boy said. "Time's not the same here, we all know that. Pan keeps it so."
"True. But when we get back to Storybrooke—that's the name of the town where I come from—you can all find new homes and families," Rumple told him.
Mouse just shook his head. "They can. But not me."
"Why?" asked Tiger Lily.
"Because nobody would want a boy like me," Mouse replied.
"That's not true!" Tiger Lily objected.
"Of course it is. Otherwise I wouldn't be a slave."
"Did Pan tell you that?" Rumple demanded, a shade angrily.
"He didn't need to, sir. I've always known it," Mouse shrugged. Then he said quietly, "I'd best get back before I'm missed. If . . . if you need to send another message . . . whistle." He waved once, then darted back into the undergrowth, vanishing like the mouse he was named for.
Rumple followed Tiger Lily back through the tunnel, his hand clutching the missive from Henry with his hair inside it. "That boy is desperate for a family to want him."
"Yes," the dryad said. "He needs a family, Rumple. But even more than that . . . he needs a father."
Rumple did not reply, he was too intent upon thinking about the spell he would need to create to make the doppelganger, and yet a part of him agreed with the dryad. Perhaps when they returned to Storybrooke, he could find someone who would be willing to take in the sensitive child, whom this harsh existence might have beaten but not broken.
The Lost Boys camp:
Pan came for Henry around midday, after the boys had stopped playing army and were napping in the jungle's heat. All except for Mouse, who was cleaning up the mess the others had made and keeping the camp tidy, or at least as tidy as it could be with a large group of boys in it.
Henry was still sitting on the log, wondering how long it would be before his dad and Mr. Gold came for him. He looked up as Pan approached.
"Henry! Come with me, I want to show you something," Peter said, sounding like a boy going to reveal a great secret to a chosen friend.
Henry followed, somewhat warily, on Pan's heels.
Pan led him down a twisty path and to a stretch of beach. He pointed towards a smudge of black in the center of the rushing waves and said, "Do you see that over there?"
Henry squinted against the sun shimmering off the aqua water and said, "Yeah. What is it?"
"Skull Rock. It's where the magic of Neverland originated," Pan lied glibly. "It's where I go to renew myself. But . . . something's happening on Neverland, Henry. The magic . . . is dying."
"How come?"
"Because people no longer believe. Children have lost their belief . . . and that's why I need you, Henry. You have a true heart . . . the heart of the truest believer. I need you to help me bring magic back."
"You do?" Henry managed to say. In the message given to him, Bae had said not to trust anything Pan said, that he lied as easily as breathing. But at the same time, Henry was curious.
"Yes. You can help me because you believe in the magic and what it can do," Peter said eagerly. "You can help me save magic, Henry . . . keep Neverland a place of peace and a refuge for those who live here. For once . . . you can beyour own hero and not just read about it."
Had Henry not been warned by Baelfire, he might have fallen for Pan's clever ruse . . . might have been drawn into the other's webentangled there. But his dad had warned him . . . and so Henry knew better than to be fooled.
But he knew he had to act like he was going along with Pan, so he said, "I can? That's so awesome! What do I have to do?"
"Come with me to Skull Rock tomorrow," Pan said swiftly. "Then I'll show you what you need to do to save magic."
"What time?"
"After dinner, I suppose," Pan said. "But for now . . . it's hot and I'm tired . . . so let's sleep."
Henry agreed, and followed Pan back to their camp, and pretended to go up in one of the tree houses to sleep . . . but when he'd waited a bit, he crept down and found Mouse, now peeling some orange roots into a large cauldron with a sharp flaked obsidian knife. "Psst! Mouse!"
Mouse jerked his head up. "Yes, Master Henry?"
"I need you to take a message to my grandpa," he hissed, coming up and whispering practically in Mouse's ear. "Tell him whatever he's going to do, better do it quick, because Pan wants me to come with him to Skull Rock tomorrow night."
Mouse swallowed hard. "He said so?"
"Yeah."
The other boy bit his lip hard. He knew that those boys who went to Skull Rock were never seen again. "Okay. I'll tell him."
Henry gave him a grateful smile . . . then he walked back up to the tree house, leaving Mouse alone.
Mouse finished his task of peeling roots for tonight's soup pot, then he carefully tucked his knife away and slipped back into the undergrowth.
A few moments later, the sound of a mourning dove was heard again in the humid air.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
Rumplestiltskin was busy forming the construct that would take Henry's place, using the hair his grandson had given him as a base for the doppelganger, since the essence of the person being mimicked was essential for the spell to function properly. As he shaped the doppelganger using wet sand and dirt, a small amount of his own saliva, and crumbled leaves, Tiger Lily appeared at the edge of the clearing he'd chosen to work in.
The dryad waited until he'd done molding the "clay" and shaping it with his magic, melding all the separate parts into a unified whole, until it looked and spoke and would act similar to Henry. Rumple knew it was a good facsimile, and hoped Pan would be fooled long enough to spirit Henry away.
"Rumple," Tiger Lily called when it appeared the sorcerer was finished.
He looked at her. "What is it?"
"Mouse called while you were working. He had another message for you from your grandson." The dryad told him what Henry had said.
Rumple frowned. "Then we'll have to move sooner than I thought. I just hope Belle can lure Pan into the dreamscape sooner rather than later."
"Do you trust her?"
"With my life. And more, with my heart."
"Then don't worry. Just be prepared."
"I will," said Rumple, and then he went to tell Bae what he'd learned.
Page~*~*~*~*~Break
The dreamscape:
Peter was dreaming again, an old dream of when he was still a boy, before he'd acquired the power of the shadows and came to Neverland. In it he recalled the baker who used to look after him before he became a con artist. The sweet smell of honey buns and cinnamon rolls permeated the air and he followed his nose into a road which led through the same sort of village he'd grown up in.
The road was packed dirt, with little cottages along the way of whitewash and thatch, with small colored shutters, window boxes of flowers, doors painted to match the shutters, and little cobblestone walks. Typical village dwellings, with here and there a larger building, but he ignored them and tracked the delectable smell to a small stone building with a sign out front that read Ina's Fresh Baked Goods and beneath it was a picture of bread, rolls, and sticky buns.
Beneath a small awning was a trestle with a cloth spread out, and on it were several cakes, buns, and pies, some of them fresh from the oven and steaming.
Peter licked his lips and prepared to snatch one of them, when a matron with dark hair wearing a flour-covered apron over her blue work dress emerged from the bakery, her eyes the color of currants in her round face. "Hello, mistress."
"Hello, boy. Have you come to sample some of my wares?" she queried, giving him a knowing smile.
He arched an eyebrow. "Maybe. You giving them away?"
"I need . . . a taste tester," Ina replied, brushing her hands off on her apron. "You look like a good candidate." She pointed to the array of goods on the trestle. "Try one or two."
"Gladly," Pan said, and scooped up a bun and a flaky pastry crust with some apples inside it. He bit into the treats and sighed in bliss.
"Well? How is it?"
"It's gmmgm . . ." he muttered around a mouthful of pastry. When he swallowed, he answered, "It's as good as the ones the old lady used to make where I used to live."
"Oh? Where was that?"
"Somewhere a long way from here," he answered, eyeing some more treats.
"This baker . . . was she your mama?" Ina asked.
"No. Just a woman who watched me when I was about six or seven. She always had something for me to eat when I came in from playing. Good things too, like this."
"What happened to her?"
"She died of something. Don't really know what."
"How sad! You must have missed her a lot," Ina said sympathetically.
Peter shrugged. "I missed her baking more. She tried to tell me what to do . . . and that's not allowed."
"It's not?"
"No. No one tells me what to do. Not since I came to Neverland and learned how to use shadows to take what I wanted. A shadow can bring me whatever I desire . . ."
"It can? But a shadow is just a shape made when light shines on something."
"Not always. Sometimes a shadow is more . . . especially here, where dreams can be made in flesh if you believe," Peter said smugly. "And those who can control the shadow souls . . . can rule the realms."
"Do you? But you're a boy."
"That's because I have eternal youth . . . in a manner of speaking. For now."
"Is it like a spell?"
"No. It's because my shadow absorbs the essence of those I tear them from. But what do you care? You're just a village baker."
"I'm just . . . curious," Ina said. "Would you like some pie? I'm told it's very good."
She handed him a pie server and he stuck it into a pie without even bothering to cut a slice, simply scooping it up and shoving it in his mouth, unmindful of the crumbs he sprayed all over the trestle and the juice running down his chin to stain his green tunic.
He gobbled up the berry and apple pie like he hadn't seen food in a week of Sundays, greedily chomping it down, barely pausing to chew.
Ina turned away to grab another one from the window where it was cooling, hiding a grimace of disgust. After putting down another pie, she handed him a large napkin.
He took it, scrubbed his face, and then blew his nose and put it back on the table. "I'm thirsty. Get me something to drink."
Ina nodded and fetched a cold glass of buttermilk in a tin cup.
Pan took it, drank it down noisily, then said, "You aren't bad, mistress. Can you bake bread too?"
"Of course. I can bake anything. All of my goods are baked fresh and with a secret ingredient."
"What's that?"
"Oh . . . something special," she said mysteriously. "Something that some people would . . . do anything for."
"Like what?" he asked suspiciously.
"Something you already have, it seems," she replied mysteriously.
"Tell me!" he demanded, his voice hard and sharp, like a spoiled child determined to get his own way.
"Why? Like I said, you already have it."
"What do I have?"
"Eternal youth and power."
"So? You can always use more," he snapped arrogantly. "How do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Bake eternal youth?"
"Oh, it's easy. If you have the right ingredients," she answered blithely.
"Like what?"
"Oh, I couldn't say. It's a secret."
"A secret I want to know. Tell me!"
"No. I'm afraid I can't. I'm sorry," she said regretfully.
"You're a wretched old hag!" he spat. Then he kicked over the trestle, spilling the cakes and pies onto the ground. He stomped them into the dirt before stalking away, leaving the baker staring after him in dismay.
But he didn't go far. He watched as Ina swept up the crushed items and went back inside . . . then he peeked into the window she'd left unshuttered. He saw her roll out some more pie crust and then turn and get some apple slices from a bowl.
She added them to the crust and sprinkled cinnamon on it. Then she went to a small cabinet and opened it. She took out something that glittered in the firelight and carefully shaved off some of it on top of the fruit.
Peter's eyes widened. It was a golden apple. And he could sense it was filled to the brim with magic.
He heard her muttering softly, "Some apple slices, some cinnamon, and a pinch of Hera's apples of immortality to make just the right flavor."
Then she placed the apple back inside the cabinet and shut the door.
Peter licked his lips and thought about how much he wanted that apple. Somehow he had to get it.
He summoned his shadow . . . but before he could send it out, he found himself flung out of the village as he woke up to the Lost Boys calling him . . .
Page~*~*~*~Break
Storybrooke:
Belle woke up with the Booke of Dreams fallen across her nose. She carefully removed the magical journal from her face and sat up. She had primed the trap and he had come to investigate it, called there by the Booke of Dreams' magic, which would summon whomever the writer of the dreams wished.
Pan's own greed and lust for power had done the rest.
Now all that remained was to tell Rumple of her success.
She began to scribble rapidly.
Page~*~*~*~Break
Neverland:
After his creation of the doppelganger, Rumple was tired, and decided to take a rest, curling up to sleep in the hammock strung in a banyan tree in Tiger Lily's grove.
In his sleep, he smiled, as Belle came to him, telling him what had transpired.
The dreamscape:
"And you're certain it worked?" Rumple asked as he clasped his beloved to him.
"Yes. He was quite upset when I didn't immediately give him the ingredient. He knocked over my trestle and spilled all of my pies and cakes and stuff on the ground and stepped on them."
Rumple scowled. "Just like a spoiled child who doesn't get his way."
"Well . . . he is like a child, Rumple. But one who has magic to back up his evil desires. A powerful child who seeks to dominate everyone who doesn't do as he says," Belle replied.
"He wants to sacrifice Henry on Skull Rock," Rumple said tightly. "And he's moving quicker than I thought."
"But you can get Henry out of there?"
"Yes. I just needed to let you know you might have to step up your timetable, love."
"I can do that," she assured him.
"Good. Be ready to do so tomorrow, around noon. Once you've trapped his shadow, call me and tell me. I'll make the swap then and have Bae follow him to Skull Rock to trap his body."
"But I want you to meet him in the dreamscape as well. So you can get some of your own back," she told him.
"Do that when you've lured him back." He began to kiss her hungrily.
She allowed him to take the lead this time, letting him remove her clothing with swift impatience, then take her at his leisure, as a reward for managing the dreamscape so well.
He seduced her with all of his considerable expertise, making her burn and ache and tremble with passion, his hands and lips so persuasive that she became putty in his grasp.
When they finally came together, Belle swore the dreamscape shuddered, rocked as she was by the utter passion and love he gave to her and she gave him in return.
Page~*~*~*~Break
Neverland:
Rumple woke to his stomach growling hungrily and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled. Now he just needed Mouse to tell him the layout of the camp before he went in to make the switch that night. But first he would get something to eat, as he always worked better on a full stomach.
In another part of Neverland, a different group of heroes and villains worked together to free a young girl from a cage in a remote part of the island and then follow a map to the Lost Boy's camp to free Henry.
