Chapter 11 – A Meeting of Allies

"Don't move!"

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, from nowhere. Hook peered sharply about and suddenly a figure appeared at the other side of the campfire, almost as if he'd risen out of the ground in a wink of an eye. Strong, white fingers held a mighty longbow and an arrow was pointed between Hook's eyes. A touch of wind enlivened the campfire, briefly illuminating the stranger. In his presence, neither Hook nor his pirates could find the strength or will to draw their weapons in defiance.

James Hook had met many fighters -- many enemies -- in his life, and in days when he still lived among England's nobility, he knew men who impressed with their appearance. But not one of them could hold a candle to this stranger, who beheld them with clear green eyes and wielded the terrible bow with an easy strength. The stranger's face was youthful and manly in one, more beautiful than a Greek statue. The captain had always been proud of his black curly mane, but it was nothing compared to that thick pale silk that danced in the wind. The tan leggings, the silver white doublet and the silk shirt revealed just how slender and muscular the stranger was.

Hook would not underestimate him. The stranger might appear young and graceful, but he was warrior, through and through. The expression in his eyes told the tale. The buccaneer cleared his throat and looked quickly about. "Stand down, brutes!" he ordered and directed his attention back to the young man. "Who are you, and why do you threaten me, even if we have never met before, Sir?"

The arrow didn't move. "I am Giliath, Tirnion-i-Agortum. And the boy you're holding prisoner is under my protection!"

Hook rose slowly and the arrow followed its target. "Indeed?" he asked. "Then you must be relieved to find him unharmed and safe."

"Safe? In your presence, Captain Hook?"

The buccaneer lifted both brows. "You know my name?"

"I know enough about you to see the danger Peter is in. I know of your distaste for him. And I know that you are obsessed with the desire to kill him. Free him now and no harm will come to you or your men!"

Nervously the pirates looked between the stranger with the odd name and their commander. They knew Hook well enough. He did not bargain, and he never gave in. And it was certainly a mistake to threaten him. "Then no harm will come to my men or me?" Hook repeated slowly, his voice dark and dangerous, while his eyes began to flash. It was obvious he wasn't intimidated. "You might shoot me with your arrow, and perhaps kill me, young man. But my men are many and you are one. You wouldn't get very far. And believe me, they wouldn't take the murder of their captain very well. Put down your bow, and perhaps we might talk."

The stranger did not move. "You think me alone, Captain? Thalion! Tula sinomé!"

A rustle, and more than two dozen stepped out of concealment; all similar in appearance and dress to the first. They bore long bows with arrows on the string, aimed at the startled buccaneers. "Will you free the boy now, Captain?" the stranger asked firmly of the sinister man by the campfire.

Hook remained unmoved as he contemplated this turn of events. He knew soldiers when he saw them, for his life depended on it, and these men were soldiers, even if he didn't recognize their uniform, nor the country they represented. Then he saw the reason for their unfamiliar dress. It wasn't the ancient uniform with shining breastplate, nor the leggings and the capes that made them look as if they had came from the Middle Ages. No. He saw the shape of their ears, and realized the race confronting him. He'd never met one of them, hadn't even known they truly existed, but the proof was here before his eyes. 'Great sandy beaches, how has the boy managed to get an army of bodyguards from these people?'

He cleared his throat. "How has this boy become your concern, Master Elf? Everything I've learned of your people tells us that you do not interfere with the human race."

His men gasped at the strangers. Elves! Most of them had heard legends about this people and they knew that they didn't stand a chance against them in a fight. If Giliath was surprised, he didn't show it. "Yes, for the most part, we let humans alone and walk our own ways. But now--"

"-- but now the circumstances are different. This --" Hook indicated the snow-covered trees around them. "--makes even your folk nervous."

"This isn't your business, Captain," Giliath responded, his voice hard. "Will you give me the boy freely, or must we take other action?"

The buccaneer watched the Elf without blinking. "If you know of me, you should know I don't take orders! Also, this boy is not my prisoner. Not this time. He is asleep as you surely can see. Weakened, he is of no use -- not for me or you. So I think you should leave him here near the fire, instead of taking him about in this damn weather."

All bows creaked – a quiet threat. Smee looked nervously at his commander. "Sir, don't ye think we should give 'em Pan? They don't appear to be open to negotiation."

"You of all people should know me better, Smee. I do not bow to pressure!" he answered sharply. "Pan may have stood under the protection of that young warrior, but now he is under mine."

The Irishman gaped at him. Protection? He knew very well what Hook would mean by that, if the circumstances were different.

"Protection?" Giliath asked mockingly, speaking out Smee's thoughts. "I think otherwise." For one moment, nature seemed to hold its breath. The air was thick with tension as Hook and the Elf eyed one another; neither backing down.

"Giliath?" the boy's voice sounded groggily from the bundle by the fire, and a tousled head appeared out of his woolen shelter. Eyes half open, Peter sat up and looked around him. The voices had reached him even in sleep, and he heard the compelling voice of the Elf, touching him with an unexpected joy, and he had awoken because of it. Bemused, he blinked at the scene around him and he saw many strange Elves threatening Hook and his men with their bows. And finally he recognized Giliath, who glared menacingly at Hook; an arrow ready.

"No fear, Peter. No harm will come to you," Giliath said, his eyes still fixed on the one-handed captain. "To me!"

Peter rubbed his eyes, finally grasping what was happening around him. "No, Giliath! Hook came to my aid!" he shouted, jumped up and threw himself in front of the captain; his arms spread to protect the man. "He found me freezing in the forest and brought me with him. He … he saved my life," he admitted, somewhat reluctantly.

"The boy speaks the truth," Hook said, clearly stunned by Peter's action. He had never thought that Pan would stand up for him. What had happened to the careless boy? And why was this gesture affecting him so? Shoving these thoughts aside, he cleared his throat. "Lower your bow, Master Elf. We fight the same enemy!"

Giliath quirked a brow toward Peter, and the boy nodded. He lowered his weapon and said something to his fellows in his strange, lilting tongue. After hesitating, the other Elves lowered their bows as well and Hook could feel the quiet sighs about him. He couldn't blame the sailors. He admitted – only to himself – that he had also been somewhat alarmed. The stories always told that Elvish arrows never missed their target. And how could they, at this range?

"You are unharmed, Peter?" Giliath wanted to be certain and observed the boy critically. But he could see no injury nor rope marks, so it really seemed to be that the mortal had spoken the truth.

Peter shook his head, "I'm fine. He … saved my life – much as I hate to admit," he added and it was obvious that these words were difficult to say for him.

Hook frowned. "Glad you finally noticed, boy. Perhaps it's time for a little gratitude?"

Peter shot him a glare. "After all the times you tried to kill me, you owe me."

Hook's jaw dropped as he stared at him – that ungrateful, little beast! – and he closed it with a snap when he realized how it looked. Deciding to ignore the boy's impertinence, he turned his attention back to the Elf. "May I invite you and your fellows to our fire to warm up, Master Elf? It is cold – even for your race." His glance fell on Peter, who had wrapped his arms around himself. "And you -- back under the blankets, Pan. Now! Don't think that I intend to warm you all over again!" To his amazement Peter obeyed without any protest and Hook sighed. 'I don't believe it!'

Straightening, Giliath moved across the snow between the pirates to Peter. Another Elf, even taller than he, the only one with darker hair, followed Giliath. Strange signs were fixed on his breastplate and on the fastening on his cape, and Hook concluded that this man was the leader of the little army. "What befell you, Peter?" Giliath addressed the eternal boy and crouched beside him. "I thought you remained in the cavern with your friends – safe and sheltered."

Peter had dug back into the blankets. "Tink had an idea about how to find a way into S-Hadh's domain. The fairies can help us find a passage into the mountains without the wizard's knowing. So Tink and I went to Niam, the fairy-queen, to ask for her people's help. She agreed and Tink and the other ones are already scouting the island." He frowned, biting his lower lip. "On my way back to our shelter, I --" he glanced sidelong at Hook, who was listening closely, and the boy decided to not mention certain events, "-- I suddenly felt cold, and the wind and the snow took all of my energy and will to keep going. So I slipped between some rocks, and then everything went black."

The Elf lifted one delicate brow. "Are you sure that you didn't hear anything before the darkness took you away? No voices?"

Peter's brow crinkled, trying to remember the last horrible minutes before he fainted and nodded slowly. "Yes, there were murmurs in the wind and then--" he hesitated a moment, "and then I thought I heard a high shivering voice."

"What words did it speak?" Giliath prompted.

Peter closed his eyes, and screwed up his face, trying very hard to listen to hear it again, but it had been a very black time, but he could discern no words. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember!" His eyes found his Elfish friend's companion, who stood still across the campfire, apart from the other Elves. "Who is that? The reinforcement you went to meet?"

Giliath smiled and gestured toward the other Elf, who passed the buccaneers without a glance. His face was handsome as the others, but there was a steadfastness upon it that showed his designation. "This is Thalion, one of our finest commanders-in-chief," Giliath said, and the other man smiled a short, but very winning smile, laying his right hand on his chest and bowing slightly.

Thalion watched the human boy who didn't want to grow up, and on whose shoulders the fate of millions lay. He saw courage, audacity and deep-rooted joie de vivre, but also the pallor and the growing weakness. Yes, they had come just in time, but a very difficult path lay ahead for the child. Nevertheless he bent down and offered Peter his hand in the human way of greeting. "Elen sila lumenn omentilmo," he said with a deep, warm voice that seemed to chase away the darkness from the skies above Neverland in that moment.

Peter took the offered strong, slender hand and asked almost shyly: "What does that mean?"

Thalion replied with an almost amused look, "A star will shine on the hour of our meeting," he translated one of the friendliest of Elvish greetings.

Remembering the manners Niam had taught him all those years ago Peter bowed, still seated. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

Hook's eyes narrowed at the mystical man and this damn little brat, and he shook his head. "Would you look at that? He knows how to behave!"

Peter shot him another glare. "Of course I know how to behave! But you're a pirate. So why should I be polite to you?"

"Perhaps for the same reason it is good form to treat all adults with respect?" the pirate-captain growled, and the boy started to grin.

"Yeah, you're a grown-up – and an old man with no sense of humor."

"Does this surprise you?" the buccaneer hissed. "You're the one who killed it!" He lifted his hook, which glimmered red in the firelight, the one on his truncated arm.

Peter made a face. "You always have an excuse for your bad mood, cod--"

"Don't say it, boy! You are clearly not in a position to throw names at me!"

Giliath sighed. "Forsooth, gentlemen, I ask that we all restrain ourselves. We really have no time for this foolishness." This time two blue pairs of eyes shot glares at him, and he chuckled. "I fain would ne'er impose myself between the two of you, but you will need all your strength to face the coming darkness."

For a long moment, Hook and Peter glared knives at each other, than the pirate-captain waved to Smee to unfold their last three blankets. "Please sit down, my lords. A warm drink and a little rest will calm all our nerves." He glanced again at Peter. "And if you don't go back under those blankets, I will happily dig your grave tomorrow!" Peter stuck his tongue out at him, but closed the woolen shelter about himself.

Giliath and Thalion sat down beside Hook, while their fellows moved between the other pirates and sat down between them. The pirates were clearly uneasy, and uncertain gazes greeted the bright, graceful strangers, but none of the Jolly Roger's crew dared say anything. Smee offered both Elves beside his commander a grog. "T'is'll warm ye, Sirs."

Thalion took the cup and looked on the grey-haired bo'sun. Yes, this mortal was old and odd, but he wore his heart in the right place. "Thank you. We Elves don't perceive the weather as your race does, but the boy needs his rest, so we are pleased to receive your offer, that we might keep vigil over him."

Hook looked with a raised brow at him. "Did you just say don't trust me?"

The Elvish commander paused, then answered, not unkindly: "Not necessarily. But humans will many times send their words where their hearts refuse to follow."

Peter grinned from beside the fire. "That's one of those Elvish sentences. You just have to get used to it, Hook. Giliath does it all the time."

The pirate frowned. "He speaks from experience and wisdom, Pan, not the silly jibes you employ!"

The boy chuckled. "You really should work on your mood, Captain. Even you can't always be that dismal."

"Dismal?" Hook hissed softly. "Perhaps I'll get to show you what I'm like when I'm really 'dismal'."

Peter yawned. "Words, words, words! You're good at that." He rubbed his eyes.

The buccaneer pressed his lips together. "There! Scarcely have I forced myself to allow you to live, and you recklessly insult me!"

The boy giggled, clearly tired. "Nothin' I can do about it. You have that effect on me."

"Oh, I can have an effect on you, Pan, one far less benign," the pirate-captain growled, eyes narrowed.

Peter yawned again and tugged one of the blankets higher to his chin. "Huh. Not about to quit just because you threaten me."

"No, the Thames will run dry before you'd take the hint and shut your yap." He paused, then added reflectively, "I refuse to be goaded by words."

The boy lifted his head, his eyes reddened with weariness, but with a sparkle in them, "And because I have the stronger will between us, you're angry."

"You?" Hook gasped, "who only minutes ago lay in my arms terrified for his life?"

A grin spread over Peter's features. "I knew you'd listen if I told you what was going on. I knew that you wouldn't hurt me if you were convinced you were in control. And I knew that you would needed me to save that sorry pile of planks you call a ship. Nope. Not scared. I just out-maneuvered you!" With that he turned his back to Hook, buried himself into the blankets and fell asleep. So he didn't even see the buccaneer gaping at him, his expression an amazing combination of amusement and fury.

"And to think, I could have killed the little monster when I first found him and been done with it by now," he murmured, shaking his head at the boy, who slept completely ingenuously between friends and enemies, trusting whatever God looked over him to protect him, as only children could do. "Insolent and arrogant mouse!" he growled and turned his attention away from the boy, before his anger could get the better of him, and tugged his blanket around him.

Thalion and Giliath had observed the row between the two ancient enemies with more than their sharp ears and eyes. Elves could sense the feelings of those around them, and so both warriors could visualize the relationship between man and boy. Yes, they were truly enemies, but their feelings about the other were, in an odd way, twisted. Hook's distaste for the boy was marked – it burned deep in him and was eating at him. But there was also a facet of respect – unwilling and never admitted, not even to himself, but it existed. And there was more: a seed of affection between them. The two Elves also concluded that the mortal man liked the challenge the boy provided.

But they could also sense how dangerous the man was. They could feel how his courtesy and scruples were tossed to the wind when he was enraged, and an iron will enclosed him like a cocoon, mixed with intelligence, a clearly logical mind, and a vital spirit. Nevertheless, beneath all this shell of brutality was human warmth, an unacknowledged yearning for affection, for someone who would stand at his side. He was lonely, there was no doubt, and this loneliness poisoned his soul, turned him bitter; his pride refused to let him step across the shadow and through the vicious circle. This man wasn't evil through and through. There was still good in him, even if it lay buried deep. If it were released, it would blaze forth like a sun.

Giliath concentrated on Peter, learning his thoughts, his attitudes, wondering who this child was they were sent to aid and protect. The boy didn't hate his enemy – not truly. He was angry with him and disliked him, but there was no hate. Yes, the Elf could even feel a hint of fear beneath all that arrogance and true courage. Peter was no tomfool. Of course he knew how dangerous his nemesis was, and that he put his life at risk as soon as he met and angered the captain. He had had often run afoul with the buccaneer, that was certain. Why he continued to challenge him regardless of these facts was beyond Giliath. Perhaps it was the need to be near an adult. Perhaps it had something to do with youth and its attending carelessness ... The Elf sighed. Humans were sometimes pure riddles!

Silently, Hook sipped his grog, and from time to time threw a glance toward the boy, unconsciously checking on his well-being. Peter was snuggled deep into the blankets and continued frequent bouts of shivering. The pirate knew this wasn't normal and turned to Giliath. "I don't think he's completely recovered!" he said and pointed with his hook at the boy, who trembled again.

The Elf saw it, too, and nodded slowly before he stood and crouched beside Peter. Carefully he laid one slender hand on the boy's forehead and took a deep breath. "It has begun. He will weaken more and more."

Hook frowned, catching Smee's eye. "What does that mean?"

Giliath looked up at him, his green eyes glimmering in the firelight like a deep lake in the middle of a forest. "S-Hadh. He weakens the boy with his dark powers." He looked down at Peter again, closed his eyes, and an odd concentration appeared on his face. He murmured quietly in his mother tongue, and suddenly he seemed to softly glow – the flickering shadows at the fire curled up and the wind hesitated for a long moment while a gentle warmth flowed around the Elf.

Hook thought he could feel a sensation of security, of warmth, grazing him – almost like a tangible caress beneath his skin. He felt himself take a deep breath, but not breathe it out. The caress reached into the hidden part of him which had made itself noticeable over and over again since he met Wendy three days ago. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, but this didn't embarrass him. For a brief ... eternity … old hidden memories arose – the memory of being a small boy, with not a care in the world, and the wind of freedom and independence playing about his curls. For a long delicious moment, he felt loved and protected. It chased away the shadows of his loneliness that gnawed at him like a little rat, and which distressed him more than the recurring pain in his mutilated arm.

Then the pirate-captain in him returned, and he released his breath. Shocked, he straightened himself, and stared perplexed first at the Elf and then at the boy. 'What in this strange and appalling world is happening here?'

Peter's face had lost some of its ash color, and relaxed. He stopped shivering, and now wore a peaceful expression. It was as if the Elf had driven away the chill and the weakness out of the boy's body, and had filled him with his own strength. Soon Giliath stood and returned to his comrade and the mortal man.

The other pirates gaped at him. They, too, had felt the gentle warmth radiating from the Elf's magic, giving each a glimpse of times and delights long forgotten, and the loss of it made them almost sad. Yes, they were a gang of murderers, thieves, crooks and cutthroats, but once – oh yes, now they remembered -- they all had been children and had had their own dreams and ideals which they had lost in the hardship of their lives. And the soft magic of the Elf had awakened the yearning to find it again.

Flustered, they all examined the strange, tall, bright warriors between them. The ascetically, handsome faces showed no emotion, but in the clear deep eyes one or another buccaneer thought he could see the clean welcome spark of compassion.

Hook tried not to stare at the young Elf beside him, who seemed a bit worn and pale now, but then Giliath took a deep breath and the weariness vanished. "He will be stronger, if he can sleep through the night," he said in a low voice. "The mind of the Dark had touched him and he will need the rest to regain his strength."

Thalion nodded and raised his voice, saying something in his own language, whereupon his men got up and vanished into the surrounding forest from which they had first come. Only seconds later they returned, carrying large packs with them, some of them seemed as heavy as they were large. Thalion turned to Hook: "We will stay here this night. It is already late now and too dark for your men to walk without the lights of lanterns, which could give us away to the servants of the Dark – or would tell them the location of the chosen hideout of the children."

Hook grew alert. "Their hideout?"

Giliath lifted one brow. "The shelter we found this afternoon, not the boy's home!" Deep blue and deep green eyes glanced at each other, until the pirate-captain looked away and smirked:

"You really are concerned about the little brat!"

The corner of the Elf's mouth lifted slightly. "You should be, too. You know that without him, not only this world will be lost, but the one you came from as well."

"Yes, I'm deeply concerned about the boy's health," Hook scoffed. "The only reason he's still alive is that he's the key to this whole damn mess!" He shook his head and sighed, turning his attention to another problem. "You say it would be too dangerous now to travel to their present shelter. But we humans can't stay outside the entire night. It will grow even colder than it already is, and we aren't as resistant as Elves. We must search for shelter where we can light a larger fire."

a smile now played around Thalion's lips, what turned is face softer and showed the man behind the warrior. "We have considered your need for shelter, Captain." He made a quick gesture toward his soldiers, who had unpacked their baggage and were about to set up low tents of pale grey, which seemed to melt into the shadows and the snow around them until they were almost invisible. "We did not expect there would be so many, but it will suffice if we all move together. My men don't take much room, and several will stand guard this night, so that we need only three tents. The other nine are for you and your crew, Captain." With these words he turned around and walked to his men.

Hook watched him, surprise showing only in his eyes. Giliath saw the mortal's expression and grinned. "Yes, Thalion thinks of everything. Sometime he can still amaze me, and we have known each other for an age and longer."

Hook turned his attention back to Elvish warrior beside him. "An age and longer?" he asked. "Excuse me, but you appear quite youthful. Did you know him as child? Are you related to him?"

The healer's smile grew, reminding the pirate-captain of a certain smirk he knew very well from another young face. "No, we are not of the same clan. I first met him during a visit at our lord's residence, when I was introduced as the new guardian of our territory."

Hook nodded and observed the characteristics of the Elf that gave his youth away. He had known as much. 'For a long time' – really!

"That was one thousand, six hundred, seventy-eight years ago, as you measure time," Giliath said in a light conversational tone and emptied his cup of the Grog. "I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a beautiful spring day and--" He stopped when he caught a glimpse of the shocked face of the buccaneer. "Is something wrong, Captain?"

"How long ago?" Hook's voice sounded hollow.

The Elf set his cup aside, and casually repeated, "One thousand, six hundred, seventy-eight years ago. It was a great honor for me to be nominated so young as the Tirnion-i-Agortum. I was only seven hundred twenty-four years old at the time, and normally none are trusted with such an important charge at such a young age. But my gift developed very early, and because my father was called to stay at the residence's healing area, I've been nominated as his follower." He tilted his head and took in the very pale face of the other man. "Do you not feel well, Captain?"

The buccaneer swallowed with some difficulty as the reality of the Elf's age slowly sank in. "You … you're really twenty-four hundred years old?" he asked hoarsely, his expression mirrored on the faces of the other pirates.

Giliath tried to hide the laughter that was bubbling in him now. "Twenty-four hundred and two, but I am still a youth among my people. Thalion is three thousand, six hundred fifty or fifty-one years old, I am right?" he asked, directing his question to the one who now stood behind Hook.

"Fifty two this year, Giliath," the Elvish commander corrected, coming back to the fire.

"Oh, I apologize," the younger replied.

Amusement tugged at Thalion's mouth, and his dark eyes started to sparkle, telling Hook kindly: "Immortality has its advantages."

The captain sat, thunderstruck by the enormity of what he was hearing. He lifted his eyes to the warrior with a new respect. "To you," he murmured, not knowing he even said it aloud, "we must appear as babes …"

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Morning was indicated only by the complete blackness of night making way for a dark grey overcast. The storm had slackened at last and only occasional snowflakes found their way through the ceiling of snowy leaves.

Giliath hadn't slept much. Soothing the boy's assailed mind had sapped his energy and he knew that this was only the beginning. Sighing, he stepped out of the tent he shared with Thalion and four of his warriors, stretched, and greeted several of his fellows. The Elves had kept the watch all through the night in shifts.

To prevent their comings and goings from disturbing the boy, they had decided he would sleep in one of the tents the pirates used, and he had ended up with the Captain. There wasn't much space, and Hook's grumbled protests were ignored.

Giliath took a deep breath of cold air and made a face. He already yearned for the mild weather of his home world about him. As he had told the children, there were winters in his land, too, but never this sinister, unpleasant weather.

The children … he really hoped that they were all right. It hadn't been an easy decision to stay here and to let them alone up there in the cave, but he had no choice. And he knew that they were able to keep an eye on themselves.

Thalion greeted him. He agreed they needed to get to the cave as quickly as possible, and after settling on their course of action, Giliath approached the tent where Peter and Hook were still sound asleep. He indicated for two of his fellows to waken the other pirates, and entered the surprisingly warm shelter of the tent.

The remains of a campfire still glowed at the center, barely illuminating the two sleeping shapes. Of course, Hook had insisted on a tent to himself. Peter's unwelcome presence was already too much company. Giliath smiled as he saw the two mortal enemies sleeping peacefully side-by-side. The captain lay on his right arm, his hook, unfastened out of the wooden cuff, laid out of the way. Peter had once again burrowed into the curve of the man's body, back to him. The captain's blanket was half covering the boy, and his left arm lay loosely across Peter's waist – a protective gesture completely out of character, considering their avowed hostility. If awake, they would have put as much distance between them as they could, both of them cursing and scoffing. But asleep, where only the hidden mind of the heart ruled, they had sought out each other's warmth.

The Elf knelt beside the boy and gently shook his one shoulder. "Wake up, mellon min – my friend. The morning has come and we have far to go." Grumbling, the golden shock of curls emerged and two sleepy eyes blinked at him. Giliath had to smile. "How are you, Peter?"

The boy moistened his lips and groaned: "I don't know. I have a bad taste in my mouth and a headache."

Giliath observed the boy carefully. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked a bit 'green around the gills'. "Are you thirsty?" he whispered, already having made a diagnosis. Peter nodded and the Elf sighed. "The captain told me that he gave you two mugs of heated grog to warm you up. Grog is made from rum, a strong alcohol. You've a hangover, my friend."

Peter stared at him. "That was that hot spicy stuff he forced down my throat?" he said hoarsely. "Hook! You'll be sorry when I see you again!"

A quiet chuckle escaped the Elf. "I think this time he meant it only for good. Grown-up men use it for people in your situation, and that 'stuff' really helps."

The boy rubbed his face. "And he taught me about rum. Blasted pirate!"

Giliath rose. "Perhaps you can repay him. It's up to you how you want to wake him." He pointed at the buccaneer lying behind the boy, still sound asleep, and grinning one last time, he left the tent.

The boy frowned, wondering what the Elf meant, and finally became aware of the weight on his waist. He looked back over his shoulder and was shocked when he saw the pirate lying directly behind him. Before he could shout in surprise, he remembered that the buccaneer had saved his life the day before. As impossible as it sounded, for the time being, Hook wasn't his mortal enemy, but an ally.

An ally. The boy snorted. Of course, that didn't mean that he couldn't have some fun with him. After all he, Peter Pan, had a reputation to maintain. What did Giliath say? It was up to him how he wanted to waken the captain? And the payment for the 'great care' the buccaneer had showed him? Oh yes, he knew exactly how to wake up this great ugly grown-up.

He sat up carefully, bent over the man and took a deep breath. "ALL HANDS! ALL HANDS! MAN OVERBOARD!" he yelled at the top of his lungs in his best "Hook" voice.

Hook shot up as if bitten by a snake, and Peter dodged out of his way. "What…? Where…? Who…? When…?" he stammered, followed by a loud: "SMEEEE! Man the lifelines!"

In the tent next to Hook's, the Irishman had been sleeping blissfully, lost in sweet dreams about sitting on a bank in front of a little cottage that was built on one of the cliffs in the north Ireland. The summer skies were blue, the wind blew around his white head, and he smoked a pipe, drank a good whisky and talked with other compatriots, while the infatuating smell of fresh Irish stew was wafting out of an open window. Suddenly the beautiful idyll was disturbed by a scream and someone shouting his name.

He knew this someone – knew him very well and—

For many years now, it had become his second nature to react instantly when that voice called for him, and so it was no miracle that the boatswain jumped up before he was completely awake. In his haste, he promptly tripped over Mullins, who gasped a loud "Hey!" as the knee of the older man descended on his stomach. Smee found himself nearly facedown in a small campfire. Bemused, he readjusted his spectacles, while all about him, five of his ship-mates regained consciousness and cursed loudly. 'By all the bogeys of Ireland, what are my comrades doing in MY cabin? And why is there an open fire, for God's sake? There musta been one heluva party last night –'

"Can't ye look w'ere y'r goin'?"

"What wuz dat?"

"Damn! Go back ta sleep!"

"Hold yer fool mouth, Alf!"

"Shut up!"

"Shut up yerself!"

It was in that same moment Hook's voice once again came to them, this time really angry. "PAN! You accursed brat! How DARE you?"

Uh oh, not good! Deciding to solve his riddles later, Smee shoved himself upright and scudded out of the tent. Tent? And why was it so damn cold? Looking about, he saw the well-tracked snow and many pale grey tents, and between them tall warriors who looked at him bemusedly, glancing between him and the tent where two very well known voices issued – one dark, cursing and scolding, and one laughing heartily.

We might forgive Smee his momentary bewilderment. For that dream had called up memories of a fawn-haired girl with eyes the color of strong coffee, a wedding near the bay, a little house he'd built with his own hands, her fine cooking, and the news of a baby on the way before he went off to sea. His own sweet darling, Barbara … Whom he buried after some English "gentlemen" just wanted to have some fun by chasing her across the field, where he tumbled and fell that unfortunately that she died – she and her unborn baby. Half insane with pain he went back to the sea and became, more by accident than intention, a pirate.

Suddenly the tent flap flew open and the rest of Smee's dream-pictures were gone. A giggling Peter Pan darted out, followed by a very irritated Captain Hook carrying his thick overcoat over his right arm, as well as his thick cape, while he pressed his left hand to his ear, grimacing. "Congratulations, Captain! You passed the reaction-test with flying colors!" the boy laughed and fearlessly faced the infuriated pirate.

"I swear, Pan, I will break your skinny insolent neck!"

"But not today," the boy crowed happily, dancing out of the man's reach. "We're allies and without me, your ship will be send to the devil! Forget that already?" he taunted.

Hook drew himself to his full height. "No, otherwise you would be dead by now. But I see no reason why I shouldn't discipline you," he snarled, screwing his hook into the cuff, carefully not to let his clothes fallen in the procedure.

Peter stuck his fists on his hips and grinned: "You wouldn't dare! The Elves wouldn't let you."

The buccaneer's left hand flashed forward and caught the tousled curls of the youth. "Don't count on that one, boy. I'm sure the Elves chastise their children as well!"

Peter tried to pull himself from the pirate's fingers, and shot him a dark glare. "But I am not your child!"

"Thank God for small favors! Otherwise I would have to use other methods. How does the old saying go?" A grim smirk appeared on his face. "The man who loves his child will not hesitate to use the whip!"

Smee murmured, "Anot'er wise man said that a man who spares t'e rod hates his son."

Peter lifted both brows. "So you don't hate me, but love me? Really, Hook, I would never have thought that of you." He narrowed his eyes. "Now let me go! Thanks to you I already have a headache and I don't need this!

Hook looked at the boy's green complexion. Headache? Suddenly a broad grin crossed his face and he let go of the golden locks. "Oh, poor widdle Peter! Does your head hurt?"

"Hurt?" the leader of the Lost Boys retorted. "You tried to poison me – again!"

Hook chuckled and slipped into his warm overcoat. "Hush, boy. It was only a bit of rum mixed with water to warm you."

Peter scowled. "If you like that disgusting stuff, then drink yourself to death with it. But never force it into me again!"

The buccaneer was laughing now. "Look at this -- Peter Pan with a hangover, whimpering like a girly! Heavens, even our pretty little pigeon you call your girlfriend has more fortitude about her than you! She at least had the grace to thank me for saving her life. But that's the difference between a little boy and a grown man!"

That was it. "If you and your crew are only can prove your 'manhood' by getting drunk, then I really pity you! I'm glad I'll never have to be a man!" Peter snarled, blushing with embarrassment and biting his lip. But the cork had been pulled. "I've seen and heard you when you've been in your cups, staggering around your quarters and slurring nonsense into your beard. And the next morning you're hanging over the railing, a wet towel around your head and moaning as if someone was pulling your belly out of your mouth. And all this humbug because you want to prove to yourself that you're a real man! That is worse than a child, real man!"

While Peter shouted at their captain, the rest of the pirates were stumbling out of their tents, watching the boy insult the man they feared the most. About the clearing, the Elves busied themselves with packing up.

Hook looked at Peter, his expression a mask, while danger gleamed in his eyes. "You're calling my behavior 'childish', boy?" he asked softly. "If you need proof of my strength, I'll give you one any time you want."

"How?" Peter taunted. "Will you attack me again? Oooh, I'm trembling with fright!" He shook himself in mock terror, but his blue eyes were flashing.

Thalion turned to Giliath, who was strapping his bow on his back. "You're right, my friend. They really are entertaining."

"I am not a jester!" Hook called sharply in their direction, and Peter cocked his head.

"Hah! All you need is a cap with little bells and a piebald suit. Any royal would be happy to give you the job … Hooky!"

That was too much for the pirate-captain. Quick as a snake, Hook had grabbed him while he let fall his cape, bent him over his right knee and gave him the paddling of his life. Peter screamed and struggled, but it was no use, first because of the hangover, and second the buccaneer held him firmly down with his right arm. Giliath got ready to interfere, but Thalion held him back. "No," he said in the Elvish tongue. "I can appreciate the boy's courage and quick mind, but this he deserves. After all, the captain hasn't done anything to him but attempt to help."

After several hard whacks, Hook pushed the boy off to the ground and rose. His men applauded and laughed, making bold comments about Peter, who sat with flaming cheeks in the snow. Is wasn't only that the blows really hurt – something he would never admit to Hook – but the painful embarrassment of being abased in front of the pirates and the Elves brought tears of shame into his eyes. "You will pay for this, Hook!" he whispered and stared reproachfully at his enemy.

With a feeling of gratification, the buccaneer looked down on the boy and smirked: "That was way overdue, urchin. And I hope you think of me every time you try to sit or lie down in the next couple of days!"

Peter pressed his lips together. No, he would not let Hook win this round. Ignoring the pain he got up, stood arms akimbo, proudly threw his head back and smiled his famous grin. "Too bad, codfish! My breeches come with leather padding! Hardly felt a thing!"

The eyes of the pirate-captain turned suddenly to fire and the first red emerged. As he made a step into Peter's direction and his iron claw seemed to twitch, the boy decided that it would be far healthier if he would put some distance between himself and Hook. The buccaneer was, for the moment, quicker than he; that he knew.

Giliath stepped between the two opponents and lifted both hands. "Please, gentlemen, peace. With every wasted moment, our enemy grows stronger. We must proceed to the cave as soon as possible, before S-Hadh's dark servants find us. They scouted the island last night. Some of our sentries heard them and only our tents disguised us enough for them to overlook us. But now, with the tents gone, we are again visible to them, and an open confrontation so soon would be not wise."

The urgent, but still soft voice of the Elf distracted the enemies, even though against their will. And what the immortal warrior said had rhyme and reason. Hook shot the boy one last burning gaze. "When all this is over, Pan, I will ram some respect into your stupid head before I send you to your maker. Mark my words, boy, because they are not a threat, but a promise!"

With that he turned away. "Smee? Breakfast!" He gave orders to his men. "Help our hosts with the tents, you lollygaggers! Be quick about it!"

The boatswain glanced at Peter and shook his head. "Ah, boy, you've a talent for throwing oil on a nasty fire!" Then he took off in the direction of his tent, while Hook slipped on his cape, mumbling something about "no decent way to wash" and "all this because of that damn brat."

Giliath laid a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know this is how you and the Captain are accustomed to dealing with one another, but please remember -- you now must each rely upon the other. You must stay together now, and learn how to avoid fights, to cooperate and work together."

The leader of the Lost Boys frowned. "It looks different when Hook and I are fighting, Giliath. Then you can see the sparks flying."

The Elf smiled. "The sparks are gone, mellon min. Faith, I think you two do not know how alike you are."

"WHAT?"

This retort came from both of them this time, and as Giliath saw that both had shoved their fists (and one hook) into their hips and frowned at him with slightly tilted heads, the Elf had to chuckle. "My point exactly!" he joked.

As Hook and Peter recognized that they stood there in precisely the same posture, they dropped their arms as if burned and glared darkly at each other, while Giliath started to laugh.

TBC…