The inn they had stopped in for the night had a piano in the dining room. There was a musician there that played folk songs and love songs and many other mindless things that melted into the drone of conversation and cutlery on plates. It wasn't altogether annoying, but not something that brought Peter much pleasure. Wendy, however, was enraptured.
She stared at the piano the whole of dinner, her neck craned over the other heads of diners, twisted to see the pianist. She was so caught up she almost forgot to say "thank you" and "please" to the waitress, something she made a habit of doing both out of kindness and, most certainly, to shame Peter's impoliteness. He had never seen her so taken with something as that. He knew from Neverland she liked books. She would fling herself into new ones he would bring back from other worlds. But her love for books was nothing compared to the look on her face then.
It was a boring dinner, to say the least, with Wendy's attention wholly and completely on the piano player. Although most meals were either verbal sparring or discussions about magic, those were entertaining and kept Peter's mind working. Watching Wendy watching some random pianist from some hick town play the piano was not what he would call entertaining.
Near the end of dinner, when the pianist was taking a break, Wendy turned to her dinner. She didn't seem to mind that her roasted vegetables and chicken were cold. A smile was brushed across her mouth as she ate her food, eager to hear more.
"This has been quite a dull meal," he told her, bored. He sipped on his beer.
She looked at him, puzzled. She seemed to be in too good a mood to notice that he was whining. "I don't know how you can say that," she almost exclaimed. "This has been the best meal I've had in a long time."
He looked at her cold dinner. "You've barely eaten it."
She waved away his comment. "The music," she told him, quite happily. Wendy hadn't spoken in this tone to him in a long time. Perhaps, ever. "I haven't heard music like this in a long time. It's wonderful."
"Folk music? It's so bland," he complained.
She continued to eat her meal and ignored his tone. "I used to play music like that back home," she said. She didn't sound bitter like she usually did when she spoke about her life on Earth. She sounded sentimental.
"You play the piano?" he asked. He'd been so bored this whole meal he didn't mind hearing about Wendy's old hobbies if it meant he was talking.
"Mhm." She nodded. She turned to look at the piano, almost longingly. "I was quite good. I could have become professional if I hadn't entered nursing school. I actually won a few competitions, played at a few concerts."
He was surprised to hear that. "Really?" She nodded. "I feel like that's something I would have known."
At this, her mood soured. "'Pan, you have me prisoner on this island, but it is very important you know I am a talented pianist,'" she mocked. She rolled her eyes. "You didn't even know what languages I spoke until a few weeks ago."
In hindsight, it was a ridiculous comment to have made. But in hindsight, he also realized he had forgotten the animosity in their relationship and had spoken to her as if she were a pretty girl he had come across in his jaunts to other worlds to find Lost Boys. He had tried to charm her. Peter reminded himself that it had been more than a century since Wendy had been vulnerable to his charms.
At that moment, the pianist walked by, seeming to have finished his drink at the bar and was making his way back to the piano. Wendy, delighted to see her hero of the night, leaned out of her chair and gave him a cheerful greeting.
The man, in his late twenties, smiled warmly at her. He was a decent looking man, Peter observed. Not nearly as handsome as he was, but who else was?
"I just wanted to say that I have so enjoyed your piano playing tonight," Wendy complimented. "It was truly a delight!" She beamed at the man and he didn't miss the appreciative look the man gave her, though he suspected he wasn't appreciative of her compliment, but more of Wendy herself.
"Thank you very much, miss," the man said. He smiled at her. It wasn't a nice warm smile like Wendy had given him. It was opportunistic. Peter didn't like it. It was time for him to cut in.
"My wife is a very fine piano player herself," he told the pianist in a clipped tone that Peter hoped he would interpret as 'fuck off'. He did not. The man hardly even seemed to notice he was there.
"Ah, what an even nicer compliment!" exclaimed the man. "Coming from a talented pianist." He bowed his head. "If you'd like, you are more than welcome to play a few songs. Or to play a duet with me."
That was not what Peter had been hoping for. Wendy blushed and the man grinned.
"I'm very rusty," she admitted. If rusty meant hadn't played in over a century, she was correct.
"Oh no! I'm sure you're wonderful. It's like riding a bike. You never forget," the pianist encouraged.
Peter felt like slamming his head on the table. He had simply wanted some attention and some stimulating conversation. Now, Wendy seemed as if she were ready to elope with this man and the damned piano. This was not what he had wanted.
"Would it really be alright?" Wendy asked. A blush had spread across her cheeks and it made her look even prettier than usual. He could see why the man was so taken with her.
"Of course!"
"Wendy, your meal isn't finished yet. It's getting cold," Peter said, trying to steer her back to the table. But Wendy was evidently not listening. The pianist offered her his hand and she stood from the table with hardly a glance back at Peter. The beating of his heart was sharp and there was a sick feeling in his stomach. It took him a couple minutes to realize it was how he had felt when Wendy had become taken with one of the older Lost Boys who had become disenchanted with Neverland after several decades. That relationship had been far from motherly and he had hated watching it from a distance. It was the same way now as Wendy sat down at the piano stool, with the pianist watching her.
Her golden hair shone in the candlelight of the dining room and her blue dress stood out against the drab greys and browns of the other travellers at the inn. He craned his neck as she had done before to see her over the crowd. Her face seemed to glow as she gazed down at the piano and touched the keys softly. Then she straightened her back and put her hands in position. She stole a glance back at the pianist, who gave her an encouraging smile. A hollowness bloomed in his chest, knowing that that glance hadn't been for him.
She pressed the keys and a sweet sound came from the piano. It was more refined and sophisticated than what the pianist had been playing before. It didn't melt into the din of the dining hall, but floated over it. After the first few lines, most of the diners were looking her way, transfixed by the melody that was soft and sweet, like her. Then she began to sing and that was when the hall went silent.
Her voice was brilliant and pure as she began to sing along with the melody. He was mesmerized and he then understood Wendy's earlier rapturous delight. He could have listened to her sweet voice for hours. She sang clear and high of a home that was far away, that was warm and beautiful. It was a wistful song, longing for earlier days. It was beautiful and sad.
Her voice rose and fell in time with the beautiful melody coming from the piano. It was like crystal shining in the sun, occasionally becoming almost blindingly beautiful at a higher, sustained note. She seemed to almost glow, beaming as she played the piano, seeming to have been touched by the sun in the darkened room. He couldn't imagine how anyone could keep their eyes off her. She and her voice had bewitched him.
Almost as quickly as it began, the song ended. There was silence for a moment and then everyone was applauding. Wendy beamed, her smile wide and genuine. He didn't know when the last time he had ever seen her like this was. Perhaps, never. She turned to the pianist and he took her hand and kissed it. The dining hall had returned to its previous din and he couldn't make out what she said to him as she blushed or what he said in return that made her blush even more. He hated the intimate look they had shared. Peter thought of the moment they had shared when he had given her the sleeping potion. It made him feel sick to know that that intimacy was not reserved just for him.
Soon enough she returned to her seat, the pianist in toe. Wendy sat back down, still glowing. She hardly seemed to notice Peter as the musician gushed to her. He didn't try and interject into their conversation this time as he had done before. He was happy to lean back in his chair and simmer. As he sat and stewed, he came up with the word for what he was feeling: jealous. Someone had captured his Wendy-bird's attention and he did not care for that. Peter did not share.
He tried to glare at Wendy, but she seemed not to notice. She was still jabbering on to the pianist, Matthew was his name, about the song and where she knew it from and blah, blah, blah. At one point, Matthew pulled up a chair and called to the waitress to bring over some cider for the table. Peter would not tolerate Matthew to sit with him. He stood and threw some money on the table, enough for Wendy to get something else if she wanted.
She glanced up at him as he left, and quickly said good night. Peter did not respond and stomped up to their room. He changed quickly into his sleeping clothes and lay in bed, fuming for quite some time before Wendy came into the room what seemed like hours later.
She quickly got ready and clambered into the other bed, pausing before blowing out the candles. "I know you're mad with me." Finally, he thought, some attention. "And I don't care why." Never mind. "I had a very nice night and I don't much feel like having you ruin it," she told him. She blew out the light and turned over.
XXX
Pan was still in a foul mood at breakfast the next morning. Wendy had no sympathy for him. If he wanted to be a child and pout because she had not given him enough attention at dinner last night, that was his problem. She was not his travelling companion for his entertainment; she was on a mission to save her brother. It mattered little to her how her ex-captor felt.
He sat stony-faced across from her at the same table they had sat at the night before. The dining hall was not nearly as busy at such an early hour in the morning. The sun had not yet risen and they most likely would be on the road before it rose. It was silent and cozy inside the dining hall, with its warm wooden walls and fireplace crackling. She reminded herself to savour this warmth when they set out today. She wouldn't be warm until that night at the next inn.
She reminisced about last night. Matthew had been flirting with her, despite Pan mentioning that they were married (supposedly). She didn't mind one bit. It had been a long while since anyone had noticed her romantically and it was nice to be complimented and fawned over. She certainly did not get anything close to that from Pan. A break from his mood swings and demand for attention was welcome. She had enjoyed the light conversation about music and pianos and other nonsense with Matthew. It had been a nice reprieve from the dreary monotony of this journey.
She turned her head and looked at the piano. It sat unused and practically begging her to play it. She wondered if the innkeeper would be alright with her playing another song before she left. Lord knew when she was going to get the opportunity to play next.
Playing the piano last night, feeling herself get lost in the music and the melody had been one of the best feelings in the world. She melted into the music. For the first time in a long time, she took a deep breath. It was freeing. She almost cried when she had touched the keys. She had spent a century without a piano and now she wondered how she could tolerate the next five minutes without going back to it.
All in all, it was most certainly the best night she had had in a long time. When she saw the black look on Pan's face after she had finished playing, she had effectively decided to just ignore him. She would not allow him to ruin this one night of music and vapid compliments; he had ruined countless others and she wouldn't allow him another one. She had honestly been pleased when he had stomped out of the dining hall like a child. It allowed Matthew to be even more effusive with his compliments. He even bought her two more ciders.
It was nice to speak to someone who wasn't an evil boy king. So she allowed herself to linger, sipping on warm cider and feeling the alcohol warm her right down to her toes. When she had finally pulled herself from the dining hall, knowing they would leave early the next morning, it was like she was floating up the stairs. Her limbs were light and warm; her head was pleasantly empty of all things besides the melody she had played. Her curt goodnight to Pan had been to protect the glow inside her.
When the waitress came to the table to bring them their breakfast, she asked if it would be alright if she could play a couple songs on the piano. The waitress said she saw no issue with it. Delighted, Wendy scarfed down her food as quickly as possible and drank her tea in large gulps before leaving her table to go to the piano. She pretended not to notice Pan's frown.
Sitting down at the piano, she felt as she had the night before. She touched the keys softly, gently. The piano was old and worn, but well-tuned and that was all she could ask for. She scooted the stool in just a little more and straightened up and put her hands on the keys. She had been surprised to remember just one song last night, but now her mind was filled with all the songs she had learned more than a century ago.
She began to play and lost herself in the motion. She wasn't consciously thinking about what keys needed to be played next or what the next line in the song was. The music had taken her and guided her through a number of songs. It took her softly by the hand and led her through old memories and sensations she had forgotten she ever knew. She melted into the notes and the sounds and the comfort of it all.
Her voice rose and fell with the warm, welcoming sound of the piano. Her voice, or anyone's for that matter, was nothing compared to the sweet, comforting sound of the piano. She closed her eyes, listening to the beautiful, clear sound it made. It was familiar and it warmed her heart. If she closed her eyes tightly enough she could pretend she was in the parlour at home in London. Mother and Father would be sitting behind her on the love seat, watching, smiling. John would be reading a book as he listened; Michael and Neal would be playing cards. It felt so real and so close. She knew that it wasn't real, but when she opened her eyes once again she was still crestfallen that the scene wasn't true. Only a memory.
Her heart ached, but the music made it ache a little less.
After the fourth song, she knew it would be time to go and with a great sigh, she finished the last song, letting the last notes linger in her mind. She touched the keys for the last time, thanking them silently and wishing them well as she stood from the chair. There was a smattering of claps from the three tables in the dining hall that were occupied. She smiled and did a little curtsy. When she looked towards Pan, she was surprised to even find him clapping.
She soon returned to her table where Pan had finished eating. The waitress came to take their money and their plates. The sky had begun to lighten a little bit, but Wendy didn't care if the sun ever came up. She had had a wonderful morning already and it wasn't even six o'clock yet.
"You play very well," Pan said over his shoulder as he untied Philipe in the stables. She knew Pan to be quite charming and very good at paying people compliments when need be—specifically when he needed or wanted something. This was not how she'd seen him give compliments. She supposed it was an admission or an acknowledgement more than anything else.
"Thank you," she told him. She pet Ash and he whinnied appreciatively. "I didn't realize how much I missed playing."
"Yes, you played for a long time," he commented. She knew what he meant. You didn't spend enough time with me. For someone he supposedly despised, he certainly wanted a lot of her attention.
He swung himself up onto Philipe and she followed suit and soon they were trotting out of the stables and back onto the road. Wendy pulled her cloak closer to her and pulled her hood on tighter. Pan rode with his hood off and cloak partially undone. She was envious of the magic that allowed him to stay warm. She was constantly cold.
Soon, their horses were in toe and they were silent.
"I played for a long time because I missed it," she said at length.
Pan glanced over at her. "I know. You told me," he said dryly.
"It makes me happy," she told him. He just looked at her. "I am seldom happy."
"I know." Of course, he knew. He had been the cause of her unhappiness almost constantly for a century and then some.
She let the silence fall in again and let her mind run. It came back to the music that she had played that morning and the night before. She played the songs over in her mind, again and again. They paled in comparison to the real thing, but it brought her some of the warmth and happiness she had felt. She held tightly onto that as they made their way further up north, into the cold.