Summary: Peter Pan spent four years trying to deny it was happening. But after a point, the truth became inescapable. Now he's made a decision that will mean a new life, one that he never foresaw. But perhaps, just perhaps, it won't be as awful as he imagined …
Authors Note: No angst. I expressly promised myself that there would be nothing even remotely resembling angst. Angst is EVIL … Alright, perhaps just a teensy bit of angst. It wouldn't really be a romance without it, would it? Oh, the angst isn't in this chapter though – I'm just warning everyone in advance.
On a side note, I find it easier to write from a female perspective so a fair deal of the remaining story will be from Wendy's perspective. Besides, the mystery of Peter's return wouldn't be much of a mystery if everyone knew about it. This is also the longest chapter yet. I can't promise chapters this long all the time, I write what comes to me. Still, it was pretty cool to be able to write that much :)
I also realise that this chapter may seem slightly silly but I felt it would go better with the tone of the novel if I wrote it this way.
Never Say Never
Chapter Two :: A Dream and a Whisper
The Earl of Whittington and his wife, the beautiful Countess of Whittington, had always wanted a child. A robust young boy to call their very own. Unfortunately, they had yet to be blessed with such a gift and, although they were still rather young and always hopeful, were not too sure that they ever would be. Which was quite off-putting for the Countess, really, for she wanted children more than anything else. And the Earl, well he was quite without an heir, which simply would not do.
And so, when a young man came flying through their open drawing room window (it was quite a warm night) and declared that he wanted a mother and father, they were more than ready to adopt him as their charge and teach him the ways of the world as any good parent would.
Happily for the sake of all concerned, they were also rather eccentric and not prone to think of public opinion of their actions. Who were their neighbours to say what was proper and what was normal? The Darlings, a lovely family who lived in the next street over, had a dog for a nurse, for goodness sake.
Of course, they may have been given a bit of a nudge in making that decision. There was a glimmer of golden dust in the air as the curtains billowed in the breeze, and a single star twinkled in the dark night sky.
Regardless, the Earl and the Countess were very pleased to have such an enchanting visitor.
"Oh, what a handsome young man!" Countess Whittington declared the moment she set sight on the sandy haired youth. When she inquired after his parents and he said he had none, the poor dear nearly fell over in shock. "Oh no! You poor boy! Did you hear that, George?"
The boy, who seemed a very confident and brave lad, asked immediately, "Will you be my mother?"
The Countess opened her eyes wide in delight and turned to her husband. "Oh, George!"
The Earl, who had been nonchalantly reading the newspaper, peered at the boy over the rim of his spectacles. "That's quite a splendid idea, my boy. A strapping youth such as yourself will make a fine heir."
"Then you'll be my father?" the boy asked at once.
"I'd be delighted," was the Earl's reply.
The Countess moved gracefully to the sideboard in a mind to make them all a spot of tea in celebration. She turned teary eyes first to her new son and then to her husband. "Oh, George!"
The Earl was quite satisfied with this sudden turn of events and he puffed jovially on his cigar, looking at the boy as he did so. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully, deliberately. The Earl was a very deliberate man. "My boy, what is your name?"
The boy looked puzzled for a moment before he shrugged. "I don't remember."
If the Earl was puzzled by such an answer, he didn't show it. Instead, he puffed his cigar thoughtfully and regarded his young charge with a keen eye. "You don't look like a James. You can't be a Charles, either. Matthew would hardly suit you … I wonder …"
"Bartholomew?" the Countess ventured thoughtfully. "No, no, that can't be right. Paul? Daniel? Mark? Nathaniel? John? William?"
As each name was carefully contemplated and examined and then just as thoughtfully cast aside, the boy's face grew more and more alarmed until such a time as the Countess held up her hand, her bright blue eyes sparkling.
"Ah ha!" she declared. "I have it. It's perfect."
Both the Earl and the boy were looking at her rather apprehensively.
She smiled angelically and said a single name, "Peter."
There was a moment of silence as the boy and the Earl considered this.
"That's quite fitting," the Earl replied with a slight nod.
The boy's face broke into a grin and he laughed. "Yes! It's perfect," he said, throwing his fist up in the air and, as a result of his jubilance, floating several feet off the floor.
The Countess, although incredibly pleased to have solved the problem of naming her child, was quite alarmed by this. While she was a very understanding parent, she was understandably perturbed to see her son flying about like that (she was, after all, a grown up). It looked excessively dangerous. "We must do something about that."
The boy who had been named Peter just grinned cheekily.
And then his lessons in the ways of the world began.
For a while the Countess despaired for the young man had little in the way of so-called 'proper' manners. But she soon found herself quite won over by his irrepressible charm and so didn't think too much of it. The Earl had done the manly thing and left the raising of the child to his beloved wife, only occasionally intervening to show the young lad the ways of the account books and the estate papers.
All in all, it was a happy household. The Earl and the Countess had a son, and Peter? Well, Peter had a mother and a father.
But while he was learning the ways of the world and becoming a man (something which sent the occasional shiver down his spine, although he didn't quite know why), he felt that there was something missing. Something very important that he was supposed to remember.
Try as he might, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It was little more than a feeling.
A feeling.
A whisper.
A dream.
Naturally, being a young man of a particular age, said dream was quite vivid and detailed and often very interesting. A dream that smelled like sunshine and fresh flowers, felt like the first whisper of starlight in the evening, and tasted like strawberries and chocolate. Light brown hair and sparkling blue eyes.
A kiss.
She – for his dream was a she – was a princess. She was his princess.
Now, if only he could figure out whom she was …
"Oh, mother, not another one," Wendy said in slight dismay, looking at the beautifully scripted invitation as though it were a particularly nasty bug. "Every time we attend a party such as this, Aunt Millicent struts me about like a well dressed turkey. It's very disconcerting."
Mrs Darling barely glanced up from the piano, her fingers skimming lightly across the ivory keys but a knowing smile played about the corners of her mouth. "Wendy, darling, you must understand that she is very proud of you. She is only looking out for your well being. And one day you may well find her attentions quite fortunate."
Wendy sighed but acquiesced, as a young woman ought to do. "Yes, mother."
"Wonderful," Mrs Darling murmured happily. She turned back to her playing even as she continued in her usual gentle manner, "Now, tomorrow we go into town for a new gown. The boys will stay here with Nana while your Aunt Millicent and I attend to you."
"That sounds pleasant enough," Wendy said rather doubtfully.
She was quite aware of the zeal her Aunt had for fabrics and gowns and all things beautiful, having been subjected to a fair few shopping expeditions in all her years. Although Wendy found pleasure in the simple delights of a particularly attractive bolt of satin, or the twinkling sparkle of rare and precious gemstones, she was quite unable to match Aunt Millicent's enthusiasm for the whole thing.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour and Wendy heard the usual stomping of feet as the twins each made their excuses for not needing a bath and ran about in all directions in an attempt to get away from Nana and the steaming bath water. Needless to say, their attempts were never enough to get out of the nightly ritual, and sure enough at three minutes past the hour, there was a series of splashes from the upstairs bathroom.
It was then that Wendy had the strange compulsion to go upstairs and see to her other brothers. It wasn't that she cared any less for her brothers than she had before their adventures, but the last several years had been rather hectic and Wendy did not see them as much as she had before.
John, Tootles, Nibs and Curly had been sent to school soon after arriving. They were quite the same Lost Boys they had been in Neverland, loud and rambunctious and able to get away with everything. However in the early days they did have the unfortunate tendency to float to the ceiling when they felt particularly playful, a fact which alarmed their school master so much that he one day decided to tie them to their chairs.
(It was only when the chairs also floated up to the ceiling – with the boys still in them – that the poor man decided to leave the teaching profession altogether and take up the Bible. He now preached from his pulpit every Sunday morning on the dangers and evils of drink.)
The Twins and Michael had not gotten to school until they were of age, and thus Wendy spent more time with them than she did her older brothers.
Whatever their educational circumstances, directly after their adventures in Neverland, Wendy had found herself in her own room down the hall from the nursery. There had been much crying and protestations (from Michael and the Twins), and some rather creative attempts to get her back in the nursery (from Nibs and Curly), as well as some private sulking (from John; he was much too mature to sulk in public). Tootles just bore the entire situation admirably because that was just the type of boy that he was.
Wendy had found herself rather liking the solitude that her own room provided. She was, after all, growing up and there was nothing much to be done about that. She tried to keep the boys entertained with stories about their adventures but after a while, there was little she could do to keep the memory alive. The boys all soon started to forget their adventures and Wendy's stories, while much loved and anticipated, became just that. Stories.
John, being as mature and studious as he was, had been the first to forget. He was growing up so fast that his memories of the Neverland no longer held such a place in his life. Nibs and Curly had followed. Slightly soon after that. Tootles and Michael were next, and then the Twins, too.
Soon enough, only Wendy remembered. But details were slipping even as she tried to catch them, reaching desperately to twine the gossamer threads of memory and time together. The sound of the wind rushing through the trees, or the tinkling speech of the fairies. The scent of the salty sea breeze. It was all but a distant memory.
Only Peter remained, a memory as bright and clear as a summer's day. He came to Wendy in her dreams in a sparkle of glitter. Sandy hair, blue eyes, mischievous and cocky grins at the ready. In her dreams he hadn't forgotten her. In her dreams he had returned as he'd promised.
Wendy composed herself as she neared the nursery. She was a young lady and young ladies should never appear ruffled or uncertain. It simply wasn't done.
"… a fairy, I believe, a pretty golden ball of light, flitting about the nursery!" Michael was saying even as Wendy pushed open the door.
Wendy froze, her hand on the doorknob. "A … fairy?"
Michael turned and noticed her, and a smile lit his cherubic face. His hair was still damn from his bath, and he was dripping water on the carpet. "It was a dream, Wendy. A beautiful, colourful dream. Just like your stories, Wendy. And I was flying through the stars, across the ocean – oh, what a splendid feeling it was, flying!"
"A dream …" Wendy murmured to no one in particular.
Curly all but bounced forward and took her hand. "Wendy, are you here to tell us a story?"
The boys, all thoughts of dreams and fairies and flying pushed aside, looked up at her through wide eyes. Even John, who now also had his own bedroom, looked vaguely interested. He was sitting in a chair in a cosy corner of the room, a dusty leather bound volume sat on his lap.
"Do tell us a story, Wendy!" they cried in unison.
Wendy couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and she allowed herself to be led to her special chair right by the window. "Alright," she said, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. "I shall tell you a story."
"Yay!" the boys said, sitting about her expectantly.
"A story about a boy who never grew up," Wendy continued.
The curtains suddenly billowed in a gust of wind. Wendy turned, startled. Her eyes widened and she held her breath. Even as she stared out at the clear night sky, a star twinkled. The second star to the right and then straight on until morning.
'Come away with me …'She looked at the open window, the white curtains fluttering wildly and she smiled. Then and there she had made a decision. She couldn't say what had led her to her decision, but she found in herself a renewed confidence. And her next words were said in a kind of wonder, "About a boy called Peter Pan."
And, as she launched into her story, a story that the boys had heard a thousand times before, her eyes sparkled and shone. Peter hadn't been just a dream. He had been real, she knew it. She believed it with every little piece of her heart.
Whether he came back or not, he would still be real. In her stories, she knew he would always be alive, always young, always cocky, and always almost perfect. Always Peter.
Wendy was growing up. She knew this, and at the moment, she knew she was a young woman. It was a defining moment, a perfect moment, an enigmatic and wonderful moment. And Wendy felt elated at the thought.
And maybe, just maybe, he would return. She dared to hope for the first time in a long time.
She couldn't say what had brought it about, just that it was because of a dream. A dream and a whisper …
'Come away with me …'tbc …