A/N: Thank you all again for your kind words and feedback!
~Chapter 14~
The sun was burning red just above the western horizon when Belle and Peter entered what the latter called "Indian territory." The vegetation was thick and overgrown, but parted for Peter, so that if Belle stayed close behind she could keep herself from its thorny clutches. A chain of steep hills surrounded them, and in their cool shade glowed hundreds of light blue mushrooms. Belle tripped over one, nearly colliding into Peter, and as she stumbled to regain her balance her right pant leg split along the seam up to the middle of her thigh.
She heard Peter chortle quietly, and when her flushed face looked up from the sorry state of her jeans, she saw him shaking his head and smiling. She stood up straight, crossing her arms and quirking her eyebrow at the boy.
"Sorry," he chuckled, "It's just...you look like one of us, Tinker Belle." He laughed again, grinning impishly.
Rolling her eyes and smiling slightly, Belle took in her appearance. She held her arms out in front of her; the sleeves of her black shirt were torn at the elbows, and dirt painted the milky white skin that glared through. The knees of her pants were also muddy from the many times she had tripped and been unable to catch herself in time, and now a large tear split the right leg wide open. Sighing heavily, she brought a hand up to her curls. She did not need a mirror to know that they were an untamable mess. Belle was not opposed to getting dirty, but wearing the same clothes and not properly washing for days on end was not included amongst her favorite pastimes. In fact, she realized with a slight shudder, it reminded her too powerfully of the time she spent in the psy-
"Don't worry," Peter said suddenly, gratefully and unwittingly sparing her from this particular train of thought, "We're almost there." He sent her an assuring smile and turned around to continue trekking through the forest.
After another hour of walking, when the sun was just beginning to disappear beneath the horizon and the soft sighs of Neverland's flowers preparing for rest floated in the air, Peter stopped suddenly. Belle felt the chill of apprehension trickle along her skin as he motioned for her to stay silent and scanned their surroundings.
The area was filled with massive weeping willows, the tips of their long vines brushing softly against the forest floor. Peculiar conic structures covered in leaves and moss surrounded them; Belle could not tell if they had been constructed or had grown there. As she leaned slightly to peer more closely at one, Peter suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked them both down to the forest floor.
Belle felt her stomach clench painfully in fear as an arrow soared above them, embedding itself in the trunk of a nearby willow. She looked over at Peter, her worried expression transforming into one of shock when she found him smiling broadly. He stood up slowly, his grin widening. Belle followed him, her brow crinkling in confusion and insides still twisting in anxiety.
Peter was staring at something behind her, and when she turned around to determine what, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
A young man stood there, grinning toothily. At least, she thought he was a man. His physique was humanoid, but his limbs seemed longer, as though they had spent a lifetime climbing and swinging from Neverland's trees. He was thin, but not unhealthy, and only wore a pair of light buckskin pants than ended mid-calf. His hair was as black as ink and cut short so that it stuck up all around. But perhaps most fascinating of all was his face. His lips were thin and his cheekbones high and well-defined. She could not pinpoint the color of his skin; it seemed to absorb all the colors that surrounded them: the dark indigo of the sky, the deep red of the waning sunlight, the warm brown of the soil beneath their feet. She turned her gaze to his slightly narrowed eyes, and with a flush of heat to her face, Belle realized he had been staring, too.
She grinned sheepishly and watched as he reached out a hand to pinch the end of one of her curls between his thumb and forefinger. He gently pulled it down until it was straight, and then released it, smiling slightly when it happily bounced back into place. He leaned slightly closer, and they stared at each other for a long moment, his vibrant green eyes boring into her blue ones. His pupils were like large pools of tar, and Belle wondered if it was possible to drown in them. The only other set of eyes she had found as bewitching belonged to the man she loved.
The Neverland native backed up suddenly and nodded, seeming to have found something Belle did not realizing he was searching for in the first place. He looked around, and Belle mirrored him, her eyes widening in surprise when she found they were surrounded by a dozen more Indians. They stared intently at the new arrivals, each of their eyes a piercing shade of emerald. They did not seem to need to blink as often.
"Um...hello," Belle greeted, smiling nervously and raising her hand in a small wave. The Indians looked at each other, whispering excitedly in what sounded like a combination of nature sounds: the low whistle of the wind, the rustling sound of leaves falling from their trees... Qentu's eyes widened slightly and he grinned again, reaching a long-fingered hand past her to affectionately swat at Peter's head. Peter shoved at his shoulder, laughing. The young native murmured something to Peter, glancing around at his fellow tribesmen and women and again at Belle.
"He wants to know if you are the one who sang the lullaby; they recognize your voice," Peter explained to Belle, and then nodded to Qentu who in turn nodded to his companions.
The entire crowd seemed to spring into action then, and Belle was suddenly surrounded by a group of native women, who touched her tangled hair and gestured to her tattered clothes, quirking their eyebrows and looking at each other. Belle felt herself blush as she took in their deerskin dresses, some of them decorated with beads and shells, others smeared with blue dyes that shined delicately as they moved; she felt rather inadequate in her torn jeans and top.
After a few moments Peter placed a hand on his native friend's shoulder, speaking to him in their unique and wild tongue.
The young man nodded, turning on his heel and striding farther into the camp. Suddenly Peter was back at Belle's side, taking her hand as they followed him.
"There's a meeting between the tribe's leaders right now, but afterwards Qentu's going to take us to the Elder; he's the only one who can speak like us. I can speak to them a little, but it's mostly guesswork," Peter explained as they passed a larger dwelling with small wisps of smoke leaking out of the top. "It shouldn't be long," he smiled.
Another young Indian bounded up to Peter, her long braids bouncing as she leaned on his shoulder to whisper something in his ear. She wore a short, tan deerskin dress peppered with smooth seashells and turquoise beads, and had a bright orange lily tucked behind her ear. Peter laughed loudly at something she said, turning to face Belle.
"She wants to know if you like looking like a Lost Boy," he chuckled, grinning mischievously.
Belle felt her face flush slightly. "Well, I-uh-didn't exactly plan..." Her voice trailed off as she shrugged and shook her head, smiling embarrassedly. The Indian girl's face brightened suddenly, her green eyes shining. She stretched out her long arms, placing them on Belle's shoulders as her gaze trailed up and down her figure. Nodding once to herself, she grabbed Belle's hand and pulled her in the direction of one of the tents. The gaggle of women who had previously crowded around Belle joined them, babbling away with a series of shushing noises and whistles.
Belle looked back helplessly at Peter, who laughed and assured her that they "only want to play" and he would come get her when Qentu was ready to take them to the Elder.
A moment later Belle found herself seated inside one of the Indians' tent dwellings, a pair of women combing their long fingers through her wild curls and starting to braid them. They pulled the curls back from her face, weaving them into two braids that ended at the back of her head, letting the rest of her curls cascade down her back. An older woman with grey streaks in her long, thick braid crouched beside Belle with a bowl of water and a strip of cloth. Dipping the cloth in the water, she scrubbed at the dirt stains on Belle's face and arms; Belle could not stifle a laugh as the older woman tutted just as her childhood nurse had when she'd come in after an afternoon of climbing trees.
The slender girl with the lily in her hair kneeled before Belle, a small bundle tucked under her arm. She reached out and tugged lightly at the tear in Belle's jeans, pointed at the rips in her top, and then shook her head. Grinning widely, she unfolded the bundle in her arms, shaking out a simple but lovely deerskin dress.
Belle felt her lips stretch into a grateful and relieved smile at the prospect of being able to change out of her worn and dirtied clothes. "Thank you, thank you so-" Belle began, but the girl cut her off, slapping away the hands that were braiding Belle's hair and pushing the dress into her arms, encouraging her to put it on. Belle laughed lightly, pulling herself to her feet to slip out of her tattered clothes and into the dress.
The material felt amazingly smooth against her skin, so much more comfortable than the coarse jeans she had been wearing, and Belle could not resist twirling around to watch the skirt fan out slightly. The dress was a practical length, falling just above her knee and allowing much freedom of movement. It fit her frame without clinging, and was a soft tan color that complimented her pale skin. The neckline was a wide but modest, with the tops of the short sleeves resting on the edge of her shoulders. A delicate line of fringe stretched across her chest, and a small turquoise bead dangled from the center.
The native women smiled as Belle enthusiastically thanked them again, not comprehending her words, but understanding the sentiment behind them. A pair of long, copper-skinned arms wound about her waist, and when Belle looked down she saw a belt made of several strings of beads and shells being tied by two long-fingered hands. The soft purples and blues of the nacre glimmered beautifully in the last rays of the sun peeking through the tent's opening. Belle stared at the young girl who had wound the accessory about her waist, speechless with gratitude.
"It-it's beautiful. Thank you, truly," Belle breathed, twirling around once more.
The girl smiled at her, fiddling with the flower in her hair and winking playfully.
A high, chirping sound like that of a cricket echoed outside the tent, and a moment later Qentu poked his head inside. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in Belle's appearance, and Belle felt her face flush as she folded her hands in front of her, smiling at her feet. Shaking his head slightly, he grinned at her, beckoning for her to come outside.
"I figured they'd like you," Peter said, grinning as she climbed through the tent's opening. "You could be one of their princesses," he added, nodding at her new outfit and braided hair. Belle laughed lightly, and sent another grateful smile to the small crowd of women.
"Anyway, Qentu says we can go talk to the Elder now," Peter said, pointing toward the largest of the tents. Apprehension once more filled Belle, but the memory of how kind the Indians had been to her quelled much of her worry that her love would be in danger if they had him. With a steadying breath, she followed Peter and Qentu in the direction of the Elder's quarters.
They walked silently into the large tent. Heavy, sweet-smelling smoke swirled from a small pile of embers smoldering in the center. A small man with hunched shoulders sat beside the fire, his face pale and wrinkled like an old piece of parchment. Peter stepped forward, bowing his head respectfully.
"My friend traveled here with someone, a man, from a different land," Peter explained, gesturing to Belle, "They were separated, and we're looking for him. Is he here?"
"He is not with us," the Elder responded, his voice like the croak of a bullfrog.
Belle felt her hope crumble at the ancient man's words.
A shorter man with long hair that reached his waist leaned toward the elder, speaking quietly in their peculiar tongue.
"While they were hunting, Inqtow and his men saw the man you seek and this woman," he nodded toward Belle, "running from the cruel ones."
Belle's brow furrowed in confusion. She looked over at Peter, the sudden shadowed look on his face filling her with fear. The short man-Inqtow-was speaking once more into the elder's ear.
"Pirates," Peter whispered to her, and any further explanation was cut short as the Elder spoke again.
"They fell, and this one," the ancient man gestured again to Belle, "did not rise. Her mate bound her with rope and left with the cruel ones."
Belle's mouth fell open in shock. He tied her up? But, how could he? He loved her, had sworn to protect her... Why had he left willingly with Hook and his pirates? Unless...
Belle swayed on her feet, terror gripping her heart so powerfully she worried she would faint. Qentu stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder, concern written all over his foreign features.
"Thank you," Belle heard Peter say to the Elder, his voice sounding miles away. She vaguely felt him rest a hand on her other shoulder, and she was led back outside.
The cool night air and gentle breeze did nothing to calm the panic welling within Belle's chest. She felt Peter guide her to sit down on a log, heard him speaking but could not understand his words.
She felt cold and hot all at once, fear seeping through her veins like venom. She could see the crooked blade in her mind, black letters spelling out a name she still could not remember. To think that Hook, murderer of children and mermaids alike, possessed the dagger, held the fate and powers of the man she loved in his ruthless clutches...
Several Indians released a shout as two glowing spheres of light suddenly descended from the treetops, one orange and one purple. Belle was pulled from her dark reverie as the tiny figures of Buidhe and Flannach soared over to where she and Peter sat, alighting on the boy's knee.
"We've searched most of the island, even the marshlands," Buidhe spoke breathily, staring up at her audience. "No sign of-"
Peter shook his head, raising a hand to quiet her. "We know where he is," he said gravely, glancing over at Belle. "Hook has him."
The fairies gasped, their gazes darting between the boy and the woman.
"But...we searched the Jolly Roger this morning, we didn't see him," Flannach breathed, bringing a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.
"The Indians saw the pirates lead him away," Peter said quietly, "They never lie."
"And we only searched part of the ship; it was too dark to see much below deck. He could be down there," Buidhe added, her gaze sympathetic as she looked over at Belle, who sat unmoving, her face pale.
"I'll go there tomorrow before dawn, while Hook's men are still asleep. I know the ship well; if he's there, I'll be able to find him," Peter assured Belle, watching as she nodded shakily.
"If you'd like, we can guide you back to the Drey," Buidhe offered quietly, but Peter shook his head.
"We'll stay here for tonight. But keep watch over the other boys, will you?"
"Of course," Flannach promised, her wings buzzing slightly as she prepared to fly off.
"Be careful tomorrow, Peter," Buidhe said, "If you need us, you need only call." She leapt into the air then, her purple wings outspread and catching on the gentle breeze. Peter thanked them, nodding as they bowed and soared off into the night. He watched them until their colorful orbs disappeared in the thick brush of the forest, before turning his gaze to Belle.
Belle's skin had paled so that her blue eyes stood out like two sapphires, staring blankly ahead. Her hands were clasped together in her lap, trembling slightly.
"Belle?" Peter prompted quietly, concern written in his features. She did not respond, her eyes glassy as they slowly filled with unshed tears.
"Are you alright?" He asked, placing a hand tentatively on her shoulder. He watched as she bit down on her bottom lip, two tears rolling down her cheeks.
"It could still be a misunderstanding," he said hopefully, though he was sure Belle knew the chances were slim at best. She lowered her head, staring at her twisted hands as a breathy sob escaped her lips.
"You know," he said after a moment, tilting his head as he watched her, "I get it."
Belle looked up at him, her gaze questioning.
"I can see what your friend sees in you. Why you're so special to him," he explained, grinning softly as Belle's own lips lifted in a weak smile. He slowly reached out a hand toward her face, pausing and letting his fingers hover a moment above her cheek, before wiping one of her tears away. Belle flinched faintly in surprise, her glassy eyes widening. Peter balanced the little drop on the tip of his finger, staring at it intently. Belle watched him silently, her brow crinkled slightly in confusion.
He closed his eyes, squinting them slightly in concentration and inhaling deep. Suddenly, he blew away the teardrop, his cheeks puffing out comically at the power of his breath. Belle could not hold back a chuckle at the boy's curious antics, her laughter growing as he opened his eyes and flashed her a cheeky grin, his eyes glinting.
"I guess it worked," he chuckled, turning to face her fully.
"What worked?" Belle asked, her laughter calming.
"My wish. You're laughing, aren't you?" He explained, crossing his arms proudly and smiling as she laughed again.
"It always cheers Tootles up when he's upset or has a nightmare. Go ahead, you try," he encouraged, pointing to the lone tear lingering on her slightly flushed cheek.
He looked at her expectantly, and Belle could not help but feel a little foolish as she wiped away the little droplet with the tip of her index finger. Staring at the glistening tear for a moment, she closed her eyes. Inhaling deeply, albeit a little shakily, she silently wished to be united once more with the man she loved, for him to be safe and whole and by her side. A moment later she blew hard, feeling the tear fly off the end of her finger.
When Belle opened her eyes, she released a surprised gasp, quickly followed by another peal of laughter: Peter floated upside down before her, his head even with hers and his cheeks dimpled by a broad smile. He echoed her laughter with a chuckle of his own, turning himself back upright and slowly descending to sit beside her on the log.
"We'll find him, Tinker Belle," Peter declared quietly, his tone more solemn and his eyes shining with certainty.
"How can you be sure?" Belle asked, her slightly red-rimmed eyes boring into his.
"You made a wish, didn't you?" He grinned at her, and she could see the promise within his gaze.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence then, listening as the first soaring notes of Neverland's night music tumbled forth from a patch of gently swaying cattails. The toadstools scattered along the ground hummed a lilting melody as their faintly glowing caps bobbed to a rhythm of their own. Offering Belle a parting soft smile, Peter wandered off to seat himself on the low-hanging branch of a nearby willow. The dangling vines whispered against each other as the boy's movements jostled them. A moment later, the soft, breathy notes of his flute joined the ranks of the enchanting nighttime orchestra.
Belle watched as the Indians milling about the camp paused their movements, closing their vibrant green eyes as the notes of the boy's melody and Neverland's gentle accompaniment twirled and danced the warm night air. The native girl with the lily in her hair pirouetted in the distance, her long braids whirling about her grinning face.
Smiling to herself, Belle lied down to stare up at the ribbons of twinkling stars in Neverland's sky, letting the sweet symphony smooth the sharp edges of her anxiety. As the soft notes surrounded her, she felt her eyelids begin to droop, finally succumbing to the gentle pull of slumber.
A/N: These native Neverlanders were such a delight to create! Please review! :)