Disclaimer: I don't owe the Elfish language, its created by J.R.R. Tolkien. The in this and the fallowing chapters used Elfish language comes from the Elfish dictionary of W. Peatsch and from the internet-side "Elven Phrases" and "mittelerde-portal".

Chapter 9 – Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum

"I think I've come just in time!"

The voice of the stranger was warm, melodious, even the wind seemed to stop and listen.

Peter found his tongue again and approached, sheathing his sword. Usually he deeply distrusted adults - except the Indians, who were, after all, his friends - but in the presence of this young man, all suspicion grew silent. It was as if a long-forgotten knowledge had arisen in his heart. "Who … who are you?" he asked quietly.

That intriguing smile played around the responsive lips of the stranger, and he introduced himself with a half-bow: "I am Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum, Peter Pan."

The boy's eyes widened. "How do you know my name?"

The stranger chuckled softly. "I know all your names. Tootles, Slightly, Curly, Nibs, the twins, Michael and John." His eyes danced from one boy to the next as he recited their names, and then they fell on Wendy. "And of course, the girl who has captured the heart of the eternal youth." He walked over to her and lifted one of her hands to his lips, which made her blush. "Lady Wendy Moira Angel Darling." His smile grew merry as he saw her reddened face.

Wendy shyly dropped a curtsy. "A pleasure, Sir!" she whispered.

"We say: Saesa omentien lle," he answered. The language he used was completely unknown to the children, but it almost sounded as if he were singing – exactly as his name did. Then is gaze found Tinker-Bell on Peter's shoulder, who sat gaping at him with open mouth. He grinned, which made him look like an oversized boy. "Verdui', little sister!"

As if suddenly awakening, the fairy clapped her hands in rapture and darted to him like a small comet. Joyfully she jingled and settled on his open hand. Peter blinked surprised. "She never acts like this toward strangers!" he blurted.

The young man with the odd name smiled again. "My people and the fairies have been friends far longer than Neverland has been here. You might say we come from the same family tree."

"You can fly as well?" Curly asked and grinned sheepishly as he met the newcomer's amused gaze.

He then looked down and softly scolded the impatient fairy in his hand: "Don't be angry, little sister. How could a mortal know about us? Our history is fading, and everything the human race learns about us is at best a mixture of legends and fairy-tales."

Thunderstruck, Peter saw his fairy-friend ruefully lower her head without protest. 'What is happening with Tinker-Bell?'

"What are you?" Twin 1 chirped, asking the question all of them wanted to know.

The stranger bent down to the small boy. "Just guess."

Peter, who had finally overcome his astonishment, drew closer to him and observed the strange appearance of his rescuer. The sun-fair hair, the skin, the look of bottomless depth in his eyes, the tilt of his ears—he'd heard about all of that, even if he didn't know where or when. But once more, there was an old awareness in him, a knowledge that whispered the name of the stranger's race. "You … you're an Elf," he murmured and Giliath gave him a smile that seemed to chase away cloud cover.

"Yes."

The eternal boy swallowed hard. "How … how did you get here? There are no Elves in Neverland!"

Giliath laughed. "Why might you believe that Neverland is forever populated by the same peoples?"

Peter stared, then finally glanced at Tink, who simply nodded. "And why didn't you tell me about this?" he demanded. The fairy shrugged and chimed, what made the boy snort in annoyance. "Because, I never asked? Really, Tink, sometimes you're infuriating!" The fairy stuck out her tongue and turned her head away. Making a face, Peter turned his attention back to the Elf. "Where are you from? And how is it you know our names?"

Giliath lifted his eyebrow. "I am come from faraway, and I am here in this time and place to help you. In preparation, I learned your names."

"How?" Nibs pressed.

The Elf smiled. "Everything in its own time. First we need to leave this place and seek shelter." He returned to the edge of the clearing and retrieved something from the snow near the brush, slinging it about his shoulder. Returning, he wore a long, curved bow on his back and a long quiver with pale shimmering arrows. He addressed Peter. "Have you determined a place we might remain, preferably near the mountains?"

The boy eyed Giliath. "Why near the mountains?"

"The enemy you must face conceals himself near the fire-mountain."

"You know who it is? Who is he and where--?"

The Elf lifted a hand to stay the verbal avalanche from the children "Yes, I know him, and more."

"The prophecy--?" Peter began and the Elf lifted a brow.

"You know of the prophecy?"

Peter nodded. "The Green Men told me, and the Indians let us look at the parchment."

The corner of Giliath's mouth quirked. "So, those with the deep respect for Nature have kept their promise. I knew they would. Did you discern its meaning?"

The boy blushed, mumbling something like "I can't read" and pointed at John, Nibs and Slightly. "They translated it and told me what it says."

Giliath glanced at the boys. "And were you able to read it?"

Nibs shrugged. "The letters are quite strange, but I think we figured out. John's the one who's keen for decoding."

The Elf looked at them with new respect. "That was an extraordinary achievement. We tried to write with mortal signs, but I think they have changed somewhat by now. Do you have the document with you?" Slightly nodded and tapped at his chest, where the parchment nestled beneath his clothes, as well as the leather-piece they had used for the translation. "Very good. I will examine it shortly, and perhaps I can explain it for you, or correct it. But first we must leave this place. It is dangerous to sojourn so long where blood has been shed – especially dark blood. It will lure the sinister myrmidons nearer. They can sense when one of their own falls." He glanced about. "What direction, lad?" Peter pointed toward the north and Giliath nodded. "Good. Time to move!"

Without waiting, he crossed the clearing and walked between the trees. Tink soared beside him without hesitation. The children looked after him in surprise -- had the Elf simply taken command?

Wendy recognized the boys' uneasiness, and whispered: "I think he is accustomed to being in command."

Peter frowned. "Wendy, you know I don't take orders from anyone!"

"But… but he is an ELF!" John interjected in a low voice. "I read that they live on our lands long before us humans, and that they're powerful warriors with great fighting-skills--"

"--which we have seen, John!" Nibs grumbled and nodded into the direction of the former trolls.

John set his mouth grimly. "I also read that--"

"-- that you must venture forth if you have a way to go," Giliath's voice sounded back to them

As Peter glimpsed the bemused expression on the Elf's face, he realized that Giliath Tirnion-i-Agortum had heard every word, and he blushed, frowning. He didn't want to appear ungrateful. He knew that they would all be lying dead, ugly red patches in the snow, if not for Giliath's timely appearance. Quickly he ran toward their rescuer and met the green, understanding eyes, which looked unnervingly deep into his soul.

"Don't fear my interference, young Pan. No adult will ever command your friends when you are near. You are their leader, the one chosen whom they will follow. But every good leader seeks wise counsel, especially when danger threatens. They see things invisible to him. And to hear the wisdom of others is to learn more, for one doesn't know what one doesn't know. And great knowledge is important for a leader."

Peter blinked at him, confused. "Giliath, you may be a wise man among your people, but can't you just talk plain? Because I need more time to understand your words than you need to say them."

The Elf started to laugh - a rich, melodious sound that warmed the heart. "I will attempt to choose my words as you would. But it's not easy. Your language has many words, but often you speak with many words that say nothing."

Peter threw his head back. "Giliath, you've done it again!"

The Elvish warrior laughed with embarrassment. "I apologize," he smiled and looked again like an over-grown boy, like a brother to Peter.

The other children were following, and Peter waved at them, indicating the Elf. "We're following him. But don't let him wrap you around his finger with his words. Next to him, Hook is a complete layman when he reads aloud from his books of poetry."

"Hook reads poetry?" Wendy blurted out in surprise.

Peter grinned. "Speaking in rhyme with twisted sentences and double meanings is poetry, isn't it?" The girl nodded. The boy giggled. "You see, he likes to read. Sometimes stands in the middle of his cabin, holds the book in front of him, and reads aloud a story in rhyme with an actor's voice." He shook his head. "Really strange!"

Wendy glared at him. "And there I scolded him on the beach that he should have become a poet, not a pirate." She sighed. "He really is full of surprises."

"But not the best ones," the eternal boy retorted.

"That depends on the pranks you play on him."

Peter frowned. "He started it!"

The girl lifted a brow. "Really?"

Giliath was listening to them while he easily found a way through the snowy thickets and led the children toward the mountains. "Hook," he said and turned toward Peter. "I am aware of this name. Is he the man whose ship is anchored in one of the bays?"

"You even know about Hook?" Peter queried.

The Elf helped Wendy to climb over a fallen trunk and nodded shortly. "We don't know much. Only that he is a leader of the pirates, and that he and you have a … dispute."

"Dispute?" Wendy asked with a hollow voice. "He hates Peter with a vehemence that is pure obsession. He only remains here to kill him - and us - if it is possible, in the most cruel and brutal way."

Giliath frowned. "Are you sure of this? We have not perceived such a dark fountain of emotions here in Neverland. Why would this man hate you so, Peter Pan?"

The boy grinned in remembrance. "I shortened him," he said dryly. Uncomprehendingly, the Elf glanced at him. The boy lifted his right hand and let his left index-finger glide along his wrist.

Giliath nodded slowly. "I understand. Because of this, he took the name Hook." His face was soft as he gently chided: "For a man - a warrior! - it is a great loss to lose a hand." He cocked his head, a gesture Wendy knew from Peter. "Do you not regret it at all?" he asked and the boy stared at him, surprised.

"No. Not really." He bit his lips. "Most of the time I don't regret it," he added after several seconds, then his eyes took on a far off look, as though he was remembering. And he was. He could remember everything from that fateful day. "He drove me into deep water during a fight and as I lay bleeding in several places, he stood over me. I thought he would kill me. And then--" He sighed. "Then suddenly it happened."

Peter could see the scene as if it had happened yesterday. He heard Hook screaming in agony and saw the blood streaming from his arm, while his eyes found the hand lying next to them, looking for all the world as if it could still wield a sword and fight back.

A sick feeling grew in his stomach, and he quickly shut these memories away. "There was a fight. I didn't mean to do it, but it happened. I tried to talk to him in the beginning, but all he ever wanted to do was kill me. So I let it be, and the rest is history." He shook his head. "And the loss of his hand isn't a problem at all. He has a hook for a tool and a weapon, and he's damn quick with it."

Of course, the Elf recognized the lack of fear in the boy's voice. "Do you avoid him?"

"Why should I?" Peter said, his mood lifting again. "This is my world and baiting the old codfish is fun."

Giliath lifted a brow. "Who betakes himself into danger will be killed by it." He met the boy's glare and grinned: "Lad, this was not a complicated sentence."

Peter started to laugh. "No. It was just beyond the limit." He felt Wendy softly poke him and looked at her. "What?"

"Peter, show a little respect!" she whispered.

To the boy's amazement, Tinker Bell agreed with her. He wrinkled his nose. "I don't think Giliath dislikes it."

The Elf chuckled. "No, especially since humans often speak in riddles and in words with many meanings, and to hear someone speaking straight from the shoulder, as they say, is a welcome change. Straightforwardness is a virtue lost to most humans during the last centuries. This is a disgrace, because it is far more useful for them to speak with unencumbered clarity as well as for the ones they speak to."

Peter threw his hands up. "And another Elvish complication!" He met the amused glance of Giliath and realized that the Elf only had talked this way to tease him. "You did that on purpose!"

Giliath started to laugh. "Only because it's so easy!"

Peter joined him in the laughter. "I know what you mean! It's one of my favorite things!"

Wendy threw up her hands in mock despair. "Lord, have mercy! Two of a kind like this are too many!"

At this, all the boys joined the laughter, and, sighing, she followed her dearest friend and their new comrade.

----------------------------------------

It was already afternoon when they reached the foot of the mountains. Peter first wanted to visit the Green Masters, but the Elf had told them that the Sylvan were slumbering now, driven to hibernation by the cold. They were, after all, a part of the trees. Even the spirits of the evergreens were more asleep than awake during the winter, and it was impossible to get a clear word out of them.

Peter, who had never been in Neverland during the winter, was surprised by this, but realized that Giliath had to be right, though the Elf refused to spend much time discussing it. He seemed to be in a rush to reach the shelter for the night, but when Peter asked him about it, he only smiled and fed him with the hope of answers to come as soon as they were safe in one of the many caves.

The day was dark twilight, and around midday, it snowed again, but they comforted themselves with the fact that the wind had ceased. There was an awful silence in Neverland, only here and there the sound of a branch cracking under its weight of snow, and once they met two gnomes, shoveling snow away from in front of their little doors, grumbling about the weather, in quite a bad mood. The children were quiet most of the time as well - almost as if they didn't dare break the silence.

Something was lurking nearby, they could feel it.

Once, Peter thought he could hear the distant swish of mighty wings, and saw Giliath stopping as still as a mountain, his whole body stiffened. As the noise passed, the Elf signaled them to hurry and had started to progress with longer steps. It was at that moment that Peter noticed -- the Elf left no tracks in the snow! He simply walked on it and didn't sink in like the others. The boy had gaped at him and Giliath, who missed nothing, winked at him.

Finally, sometime that afternoon, they reached the foot of the mountains. The land grew harsher, and large rocks lay tumbled between the trees. Then they passed them piled together in fascinating shapes, like high walls. Mighty trees had plunged large roots in and around them, growing deep to maintain their height among the – usually – moss-covered stones. The thick snow had transformed the sight of the landscape in a most charming way, and if it hadn't been so cold, the children would have enjoyed the grandeur.

Peter led his friends and the Elf through a small gorge where they had to help each other over the treacherous footing. The wild-water had dug itself deep into the bedrock, scouring the rocky sides smooth, now covered in a coat of ice. The winter had turned several falls into long, fantastical icicles, and but for the eerie sighs of the soughing wind through the rocks, you or Wendy might have called the gorge wild or romantic – perfect for a meandering walk on a beautiful warm summer afternoon. But it was not that kind of a day, and so the children only saw the gorge as simply dusky, dismal and very dangerous.

Giliath had taken over as their guide and led the children through the gorge. Not that he didn't trust Peter's knowledge of his own world, but his Elvish eyes were much keener than the humans', piercing even the dark twilight with no effort. Nibs suggested lighting a torch they had brought with them from their hide-out, several of which were tucked in the knapsacks that Slightly, Nibs, John and Peter alternated among themselves. But the Elf shook his head. "There are too many eyes to see its glow, eyes you do not want to recognize us."

All children (except Peter) had looked warily around them, but saw no-one. But Peter had understood what Giliath meant. He, too, had felt the proximity of someone – or something – of evil intent.

At last they reached the elevation behind the gorge and walked toward the stony walls of the mountains, rising toward the skies and the low clouds that threatened them from above. There was a pass ahead that led to the inner mountains of the island, but for now, their destiny was one of the many caves dug by the water millennia before. In the meantime, upstream, the river was narrower, and fell through the gorge down into the woods. It had left caverns reaching deep into the mountain. Most of them the children, now near exhaustion, thought were perfect shelters for the coming night, but Giliath was not satisfied until he found one with a narrow twisted opening, easily watched and guarded, which opened into a larger cave. Here they could make a fire and could talk and move about freely, and not be seen or heard from the outside.

At Giliath's suggestion, the children collected brush, wood, and bracken on their way up to the caverns. It was only a short time before the fire was lit, and a jaunty campfire flared and bathed the cavern in a dim golden light. Peter and his friends welcomed its warmth – especially since it began to snow during the last part of their journey – and unfolded their bedrolls.

Finally, as they sat all around the fire and drank tea Wendy had prepared, using the tea Peter had taken from the Jolly Roger, the children's curiosity bubbled over, and they peppered Giliath with questions: Where was he from? How could he know so much about the prophecy? Why he was here? Who exactly WAS their enemy? What was the mysterious weapon that could defeat the intruder? What was his sword made of that it could slice open a battle troll? What brought him into the fight at just the right time? and so forth. And Wendy wanted to know: What did his name mean?

The Elf smiled in an enigmatic arrangement of his exquisite features as he sipped at the tea. Sharing the pot with the girl and the boys didn't bother him. He exchanged a quick glance with Tinker-Bell, who sat on his knee, and took a deep breath. "In reply to your question, my lady: my name has two parts. The first is my personal or given name, bestowed on me by the elders, and the second is my title. Giliath means in your language 'glowing spark' or 'light of the stars'. We bear a long history with the stars and only those with special gifts are named for them. Tirnion-i-Agortum might be translated: 'The son of the watcher of the dell' or 'glen'. Our clan dwells in a special valley."

"What do you watch? Is there a treasure or something like that?" Michael asked with shining eyes.

The tall man chuckled. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. But yea, 'tis not diamonds nor gold, but a great peace one may discover while there, a peace which heals, body and soul, and is more precious to us than any precious gem or shining metal that the mortals so often fight for."

"How can you watch over peace?" John asked, and the other boys nodded, wondering the same. Most of them were on their stomachs facing the fire, chins propped in their hands, snuggled into their blankets, sipping the tea and chewing pemmican and dried fruits they'd taken from their bundles.

The Elf shifted into a more comfortable position: "I make sure no dark creatures overrun the valley, creating disturbance and doing mischief. I care for the plants and the creatures that live there – not with my hands, but with my soul. Remember, only certain Elves are named after the stars. And those of us with such a gift share their soul and living strength with other creatures, healing and strengthening them." His gaze graced Peter with an odd intensity and the eternal boy frowned, then relaxed as the Elf gave him a reassuring smile, again turning his attention back to John and the other children. "Agortum is a delightful, but small glen in the middle of tall snow-tipped mountains. There is only one passage into the glen, and that is overgrown with the type of tree you call maple. Inside the glen is a clear swift-flowing beck, which springs from a waterfall that descends from the mountains." As the Elf spoke, his eyes looked beyond the fire, beyond the cave, and it seemed to them that he was describing something he was seeing right at that moment. His hands moved deftly, gracefully with his words, and they formed the shapes of the things he was describing. You've heard of people that "talk with their hands," simply meaning that their hands are moving while they talk. In contrast, Giliath had turned this ordinary little habit into an art form. The children were enchanted.

"There is a way through the wood, along the waterfall up to the tops of the mountains, and on sunny days you might look all the way to the next great town. In the mountains on the other side of the glen, you can ascend to an eternal glacier, which I've never known to lose any of its ice. Agortum has forests and wide meadows. My clan has built several small houses there, but only a few families remain at all times in the glen and they are mostly healers. The rest you might meet there are guests, those who have to recover from physical or spiritual distress or injury. The combination of healing herbs and ostimé-i-fea -- which means in your language a melting of your soul with another's -- cures nearly everyone who comes; especially in connection with the peace of the valley."

The children had listened, captivated. Giliath's warm light voice painted pictures of his home into their minds, and after two days in snow and twilight they yearned for the warm sunny days they had known on the summer island, flowers blooming and white clouds scudding past in a blue sky. "It must be difficult for you to leave such a beautiful place and to come here into this dark wintry chaos," Wendy said softly.

The Elf shook his head. "We have winter, as well, and sometimes, when the clouds come near the earth and shut out the sunlight, the mountains seem to come nearer and it is dark. This is the time, when everything rests – even my people. It's a time of repairing, of creating art, writing songs and poetry, of visiting other families and friends, and--" his gaze rested on Wendy, "telling stories." The girl blushed, but her eyes shone. Giliath straightened. "But you're right. There is a great disparity between this winter and our winter, for our winter is a normal part of nature's cycle of life and death. But this winter is a result of a dark influence, a power, which none should dare to wake."

He sighed as he met Peter's questioning gaze and nodded. "Yes, young friend, I know. The questions now burning in your heart are more important than what my home looks like." He glanced at Slightly. "Kindly let me see the document and your translation?"

Slightly was somewhat taken aback by the Elf's courteous manner. This kind of politeness was hardly ever seen from a man toward a boy. Ducking his head, he pulled out the translation and the parchment and handed it the Elf.

Giliath quickly scanned what the boy's had scribbled onto the leather, and nodded finally. "A very good translation. I am surprised. One or two words could be changed, but it is sufficient to give you the information you need."

"The prophecy gives us more riddles than information," Peter interjected, "much like the way you talk."

"Prophecies are not to be understood literally, but by their whole meaning," Giliath smiled and earned a groan from the eternal boy.

"There are four questions I need answers for," Peter sighed. "One: who is this enemy? And what is his name? Two: what weapon can defeat him and where can I find it? Three: the prophecy tells of dark creatures that go with him. What creatures? How can they be defeated? What are their weak spots and what are their strengths? And four: who is this enemy that's supposed to stand at my side? I don't have that many enemies. In fact, I can only think of one, and he would never, ever – not for all gold in this world or the next – help me."

"That was nine questions, not four," Giliath teased him and Peter scowled. Then the Elf grew serious. "He has many names, but they all describe the same thing: his character. He is the murderer of hopes and dreams. He descends like a shadow, extinguishes the light of the heart and disappears, after he is certain he now controls you. He rarely uses physical force, but he forces his victims to surrender because they are left bereft of the strength to fight him. He desires only power, to rule everything – the whole world. None recognize his presence until it is too late. And even then the most people do not know what has happened to them. Mortals in my world have given him a name from his essential characteristic: S'Hadh – Shadow."

The initial sibilant sounded like the hiss of a snake. Against Peter's will, a shiver ran down his spine.

Giliath had paused to allow the children to grasp what they had heard, then continued: "In truth, he has subjugated many peoples; especially in the poor areas. It is mostly the grown-ups who are fain to him. They have abandoned their ability to draw new strength and hope from their dreams, like children do. And the children can do it because of Neverland. They visit your world, Peter, in their dreams, or they find hope and joy in the knowledge that there is the second star to the right to guide them through night and so many dark hours. Their cheer and innocent hope is what gives the grown-ups strength as well. S'Hadh knows this and has fought it now quite often – too often. That, Peter, is the reason he is here. He knows that Neverland hinders him, binds him, prevents him from attaining complete mastery. Neverland is a special island – a magical island, where everything is in a delicate balance. Thus, he must disturb this balance."

"The winter?" Nibs whispered, pale under his shock of dark hair.

Giliath nodded. "Yes. It also brings a greater advantage. His creatures will soon be able to roam freely throughout Neverland. Most of them cannot expose themselves to the sun. It hurts them, sometimes kills them. And one thing more." He looked at Peter. "You and the island are coupled together. What happens to you is happening to the island, and the what happens to the island happens to you. He knows this. By burying Neverland in winter he weakens you."

"I am not weak!" Peter protested immediately, his eyes blazing.

The Elf cocked his head. "No strange fatigue? No heavy limbs? No nightmares?"

The boy opened his mouth to contradict – and snapped it closed as he remembered how whipped he had felt the evening before, and how the nightmare shook him.

Giliath took a deep breath. "Indeed. It has begun. And it will grow worse."

Alarmed Peter sat up. "Worse? No! I will stop him--"

"-- but not before you will feel the effects of his curse as they penetrate." He bent forward and took one of the boy's strong hands in his.

Peter started to pull away. He avoided anyone's touch, even had difficulty allowing Wendy to touch him, as much as he secretly liked it from her. But suddenly, the impulse to break the contact left him. He felt a gentle, calming sensation washing over him, and the heaviness in his muscles seemed to drain away – making room for peace and security.

His eyes grew wide and he blinked owlishly at the Elf, who smiled. "This is one of the reasons I am here, Peter. My gift is here for you, to help you to save and to preserve your strength. Trust me, my young friend, you will need it. S'Hadh's might is great, and he will stop at nothing to weaken you further and further."

He looked deep into the crystal blue eyes in front of him, which shimmering in the light of the campfire. "You are strong in heart, soul and mind, Peter. But the opponent you're facing is old – very old, even older than you. He has taken many lifetimes of your kind to discover how to use the black power. And he is quite proficient. S'Hadh is not alone. Many foul creatures of darkness travel with him and they will search for you and your friends. They will not rest until they have fulfilled their one objective: to capture you – or to kill you. S'Hadh sits in the safety of his lair and his underlings are doing the work for him. But one thing has started to work against him: time."

"How?" Peter asked, momentarily feeling uneasy. Then, he sensed how suddenly the newly awakened fear was again draining out of him, as Giliath tightened his gentle grip around his hand – almost as if the Elf could absorb the fright through his skin.

"He is old, Peter. Very old," Giliath answered, his voice still soft. "Even the stolen length of his life has reached its limit. He has to defeat eternal youth quite soon and has to take possession of that power to grow strong again: your power. So he uses everything in his command to take you alive. But as they say in Wendy's world, haste makes waste. And this is your chance – our chance." A soft, impish smile touched his lips again. "You're far more clever and smarter than he."

A cocky smirk escaped Peter. "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

Giliath chuckled. "Yes, this is something he will never understand: why your confidence makes you so strong."

"Like Hook!" Peter grinned. "That codfish will never catch it!"

"Codfish?" The Elf repeated, obviously bemused.

Wendy sighed. "Peter's nickname for Captain Hook. It's about the captain's posture."

"And his way of walking like he swallowed a stick," the eternal boy added with a broad smirk.

Giliath shook his head and laughed quietly. "You only see a foil in him, don't you?"

"Yes, and fun and challenge; Aye!"

Oddly, the Elf seemed to be satisfied and almost relieved when he heard Peter's answer. Then he rose and handed Curly the pot. "I would suggest that you all stay here. I hope to be back before evening, but tomorrow morning at the latest. Don't make too much noise and--"

"Where are you going?" Peter asked and stood up, as well as all the others, each murmuring or shouting protests.

Giliath gave them a soothing smile. "I only found you at midday to save you from the trolls and to make certain that you'd find safe shelter for the night, where S'Hadh's dark henchmen cannot find you. If you hadn't met the trolls, I would have arrived tomorrow, together with my fellows. They're waiting for my return, so that I might lead them hither."

"How did you know about the trolls?" John blurted out.

The Elf sighed. "Some of us have the gift of sight – not in the manner you see, but to look ahead in time or in other places. My sister has this gift and she told me that you were in danger. So I chose to step into your world before my comrades were ready, and now I must bring them here."

"Your comrades?" Twin 1 asked.

"There are more coming?" Twin 2 squeaked and clapped with joy. He and his brother liked Giliath quite a lot, and were excited to meet more of his kind.

"More Elves," Wendy breathed, and her eyes lit up, brighter than the campfire.

Giliath smiled. Most grown-up mortals felt uneasy in the presence of Elves. Their beauty, integrity, wisdom and magical properties seemed only to show up their own imagined deficiencies. Mortals also felt the invisible power of the Elfish race and that power, in connection with their centuries-long life spans, and their predating humans, was often enough to give mortals an eerie feeling. Yes, they respected the Elves, but the most time it was the sort respect you show a complete stranger of another race, one who was also a king or priest. Another aspect of the mortals' uneasiness had to do with their children. The children recognized the Elfish nature as it really was, and they felt safe and secure in their presence.

This was exactly what was happening to Peter, the Lost Boys and the Darlings. Out of instinct, they trusted Giliath completely, even if they had only known him a couple of hours.

Peter had more questions. "How do you pass from Neverland in your land and back?" Then it hit him. "The portal the Green Masters spoke of! I thought they meant S'Hadh's arrival, but they spoke of your coming."

The Elf shrugged. "Even we don't understand everything that the tree-spirits tell us." He grinned shortly. "I must leave. When I return with reinforcements, we will all be safer. So stay here and--"

"What's about that weapon we will need to defeat S'Hadh?" the eternal boy interrupted

This earned him a lift of the eyebrows from the Elf. "Not all weapons are made of blades, Peter. I am sure we will have it soon."

Peter sighed. "You did it again."

"What?"

"More riddles." It almost sounded reproachful.

Giliath laughed. "See it as a challenge. I thought you loved adventures!"

Proudly the leader of the lost boys straightened himself. "Of course I do."

"Of course you do. And this is one." He retrieved his sword and strapped his bow and the quiver on his back. "Be careful while I am gone. And never forget that unholy and sinister creatures are roaming through Neverland, searching for you. I will hasten, but even I will need a some time to explain everything to our council delegate, now with my comrades, and bring them back here."

Peter snorted. "Giliath, we aren't beginners. Don't worry about us." He cocked his head. "When you're all here, what will happen then?"

"We have to find S'Hadh's hideout and a way into it." He was ready to leave. "Perhaps you might make a plan until I am back." He looked at the children and the fairy and bowed gracefully. "Tenna' telwan san' – until later then." With these words he left the cavern – quiet as a shadow – in the blink of an eye, leaving no track, only the soft whisper in the children's mind proving they hadn't imagined him.

For a long moment they all stood speechless, looking at the spot where the Elf had vanished. And they all started talking at once. Then Michael sat down and the Twins followed him. "All right. So what do we do until that bunch gets back?"

"Is anyone else hungry? My stomach's hugging my backbone," Tootles grinned, and sat down beside the smaller boys, looking expectantly at Peter.

Wendy giggled and shook her head. "Nothing can spoil your mood, eh?"

"As long as I've enough to eat? No!"

Peter stretched and ran his fingers through his wild curls, grinning at the podgy boy. "That's something I'll never forget about you -- your constant appetite!"

TBC…