Their Hearts' Desire

by Starflight1701

SEQUEL to "BATTLE FOR NEVERLAND" - (I changed the pen-name from Lywhn to Starflight). Five years after 'Battle...', an almost grownup Wendy returns to Neverland. As her suitor follows her for reasons other than 'rescuing' her, it threats Peter and his world. Hook is forced to act - not only to save the day but also 'his' storyteller for whom his heart burns. Full summary inside.

71. New Allies

Hi, my dear readers!

I am very sorry that the new update comes so late, but my dear friend and beta-reader had a bereavement in the closest family circle and therefore needed a pause. And regrettable I have to tell you that the next chapter also will come not within the next four weeks, because I'm off for my summer vacation tomorrow for three weeks and afterwards certainly a lot of work waits for me. So please be patient.

Thank you for the feedback and I'm sure that you're all curious what happens next, so off to London now.

Have fun

Yours Lywhn / Starflight

Chapter 69 – New Allies

"I feel like a bleedin' landlubber!" Alf Mason clung to the low brace that surrounded the cargo bed of the lorry now jolting over the uneven road. His comrades groaned in sympathy, all feeling the same. They were accustomed to battles, rough sea, storms, mermaids and – in earlier times – a very short-tempered captain, but this dark journey at an unheard-of speed with only two small oil lamps "darker 'n th' damn sickle moon" was quite agitating. Then there was the nausea. Of course, they would not mention it. Pirates getting seasick? Nay, not in their book! But their innards all objected …

Daniel was driving, Victoria next to him, Aurora on Vicky's shoulder clinging to her coat collar, also looking somewhat green. Mr. Darling drove ahead of them in his motorcar, the extra seats in the Adler were needed for Hook and the scholar upon returning. He and Kempton had decided to leave Daniel's motorcar back at the docks near the little chapel between the warehouses. Even if he gates were still open at ten o'clock in the evening, it was not certain that they would be back at time. So, with the little motorcar outside of the docks' area, Daniel and Victoria could still pick it up upon their hoped-for return even at a late hour.

Should everything turn out as planned …

Smee and Herb had first objected to the young lady's presence. "It's gonna be ugly wi' no place fer a lass," Smee told her, but her insistence that she was the 'key' to them entering the manor finally earned his unhappy acceptance. Women on an escapade – as well as ships – meant bad luck, end of story. Only as Victoria pointed out that the crew had already accepted Wendy aboard, who was a 'lass', too. "And obviously, the women of today are cut from a different cloth than in your time!" At this point, the men gave in. Grumbling. Red-Handed Jill had indeed left an impression.

They were nearing Guildford, and the men in the back discussed, well, their options, should "all tha' talkin' be gettin' us nowhere." Smee watched them critically. Besides Herb, Skylight, Turley, Robb and Mason, they'd also brought Cookson, Akeele, Quan Lin, Billy Jukes, Robert Mullins and Whibbles. And, of course, Dark Owl. Eleven crew members, the young Brave and Smee himself would surely be enough to get the captain out by force, wouldn't it? And of course, they deeply hoped that it would come to blows so they could put Ashford and his men "in th'r place!"

None of the pirates had forgotten the viscount and his henchmen trying to sink their beloved ship, kidnapping their storyteller, almost killing Hook and several of the crew, and now – now! – abducting their captain! And what they did to the island – the Indians and the Little People – and to "that boy" had riled them, as well. They had grown to respect the Natives. And concerning Pan … well, a few were still amazed that their vindictive captain had not only forgiven the youth but that the two had become as close as they were now. Hook had been sick with worry for the lad, and seeing the boy's condition after he was brought aboard yesterday had stirred the crew's ire as well. These men were certainly thirsty for revenge!

"We all rush in after th' lass inta th' manor," Mason began, "we'll get th' capt'n an' - "

" - an' th' egg wit' th' salamander," Akeele added.

Mullins nodded. "No forget tha' ol' bookworm. Den call th' storyteller's da an' 'is friend,"

"Yah,' den we burn tha' damn house down!" Herb shouted with a raised fist. There was an enthusiastic HURRAH at that suggestion.

Smee peered around in the dim light. "Ye better ferget tha' las' one – all o' ye," he ordered. As he caught their frowns, he continued: "I don' t'ink our cap'n would like it if ya brutes burn down 'is house."

Silence. Jaws dropped. " His house?"

Smee sighed deeply, knowing Hook wouldn't be pleased that it was he who told his crew the story of his roots.

On the other hand, the captain had been given time to let them in on his situation for three days and more, so …

Clearing his throat, the bosun said firmly: "Th' manor once belonged ter th' capt'n's fam'ly. One of th' viscount's ancestors lied aboot 'is fam'ly concernin' th'r loyalty ter th' new king, an' when th' capt'n came home from sea, 'is fath'r and broth'rs were a'ready dead, his moth'r in exile an' th're was a price on 'is 'ead. 'E beat feet, 'is ship run inta Blackbeard an' th' rest ya know."

"Our capt'n –" " – be a blue-blood?" Mason and Jukes queried, flabbergasted.

"T'ought as much. All tha' highbred talkin' an' stickin' ter 'good form'," Herb mused aloud.

"An' his way wiva sword – an' 'e can read and cypher," Mullins added.

"An' talk languages," Robb mused.

"An' 'is way wit da ladies," Whibbles recalled; his one remaining eye blinked with mischief.

"An' 'e knows plenty about good food – an' table-manners," Cookson sighed.

Smee looked about from one to the other. "Does it change anythin' fer ye tha' 'is blood is blue?"

"Wha'? Na!" Mason exclaimed, firmly shaking his head. "Th' capt'n is one o' us!"

"AYE!" came a loud agreement from all the others, and Smee had to smile. It was Billy Jukes, who said aloud what most were thinking.

"Som' cheatin' ancestor of tha' cheatin' kidnapper stole th' manor from o'r capt'n's fam'ly?" As Smee nodded, he looked around. The tattooed spiderweb on his cheek danced in the dim light from the crescent moon. "Reason an' more ter give t'at cheatin' bastard payback, whaddya say, mates?"

"AYE!" came the answer in unison again.

Ahead at the wheel, Daniel gulped hearing the shouts from the cargo bed behind. "I don't want to know what they're agreeing so passionately about!"

PP * PP *

The eleven men of Hook's crew weren't the only ones who were learning about the captain's background. Cora was normally a careful driver, concentrating on the road and the surroundings when she was driving, but just now she sat wide-eyed, frequently glancing at Mary Darling next to her. Millicent sat on the middle bench behind them to avoid the cold air.

"Captain Andrews … is a true pirate?" Cora asked, thunderstruck; realizing that the barbaric prostheses he wore made more sense now. Really, who other than a pirate would wear a sharp polished hook instead of a false hand? And that hair … and the earring… Heavens, his whole appearance practically screamed 'pirate'!

"Yes," Mary sighed. "I fear it's the truth. Captain James Hook is a real pirate from almost two hundred years ago. I believe he was once even a part of Blackbeard's crew – the most notorious pirate in history. He got his own ship – I'm sure my daughter knows how – hired his own crew and sailed the Caribbean, collecting his 'booty'."

"Oh my God – and I chitchatted with him like he belonged in the neighborhood!" Mrs. Bailey moaned. She pulled over and parked so that she could concentrate on what her passenger was saying.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Bailey, Hook is always a polite gentleman to the ladies," Mary told her gently.

"I've been told by members of his crew that he often charmed the ladies into giving him their jewels of their own free will on those ships they looted – sometimes in exchange for a kiss," Millicent added, the corners of her mouth turned down. Mary had to chuckle.

"Hook …" Mrs. Bailey shook her head. "Well, the name fits." She moistened her lips. The man had been quite charmingly deferential as they talked. And he had made sure that Peter was safe, sacrificing his own freedom in the process. That brought her to the next question. "And how does Peter fit into this? How did those two meet? And how is it that Captain Andr … uh … Hook is a man from two hundred years ago?" She frowned. "Hold it, the ship … It's not a replica, but a real sea vessel? Am I right? It looked new in the Times. And if this man is over two hundred years old but looks like a man in his late thirties, then … were they all in Neverland?"

Mary took a deep breath, then looked about the dark landscape around her. They had left London behind; there were only farms here and there, and villages with only a few houses. "That's … a long story," she said slowly.

"If I remember the way to Guildford and Godalming correctly, we have time for long stories," Cora deadpanned, who asked herself (not for the first time) what she had gotten herself into.

Mary chuckled. "Yes, you're right," she replied.

Cora noted the amusement in the eyes of the beautiful lady, shook her head, released the brake and pulled the motorcar back onto the road. And then Mrs. Darling began to tell the story about a marquess's son … who became a pirate … who was caught on a magical island for 'an awful long time' … who met a flying boy … whose fate had forever tangled with his own …

PP * PP *

Hovering near ground level, Kailen peered about the small clearing at the other pixies north of the manor. More and more of his kind appeared between leaves of bushes and fern, from behind fallen trees now overgrown with moss, and out of little caves hidden in the ground around them. Soon he was surrounded by more than five dozen pixies, most of them dressed as he was, others clad in trousers of skin and doublets, wearing hats which looked more like helmets made of spoons, sieves or ladles; certainly many housewives in the district wondered where their kitchen utensils had disappeared to. Additionally, those pixies carried weapons – little swords or halberds, showing they were skilled smiths. And fighters. And all stared at the newcomer, whispering to each other. It sounded much like the wind in the leaves.

Suddenly, it grew silent, and heads turned one direction. The group parted, creating an avenue for a pixie clad in leather trousers, doublet and a cloak reaching his feet. To his right was another pixie, older, with white hair and clad in a weathered robe that certainly had been white at one time. In his right hand he held a staff decorated with yew leaves and dried holly berries. On the leader's left was another pixie clad in leather and helmet, a breastplate made from two large serving spoons. On his left hip hung a sword, and he, too, carried a halberd. Kailen knew he was facing three important pixie principals, and so he removed his beanie and bowed.

The one with the halberd stepped forward and looked him over before he piped: "Cadan, First Warrior I am. My comrades said finding you near the dark man's house they did."

Kailen straightened. "Kailen from Neverland I am," he introduced himself. At the mention of the island, there were gasps from the other pixies. Most had never been there, but they had heard about it from cousins, brothers and friends who had traveled or relocated to Neverland, sending them news about what was going on there. "On a mission Laird Garth sent me, to help the boy Peter Pan and his friends saving a kidnapped dragon egg," Kailen reported.

The pixie with the coat moved closer to Cadan and addressed Kailen: "Laird Garth sent you – my cousin?"

Now it was the pixie from Neverland whose eyes widened. "Cousin of my Laird Garth you be? Then Kenan, pixie-Laird of Waverley you be." He bowed again.

Kenan nearly smiled. "Speaking of me Garth did?"

"Aye!" Kailen nodded. "Telling us of your power and mentioning your seer he did, so …" he met the knowing eyes of the older pixie. He gasped as he realized it was: "Mawgan, the Seeing One you be."

The old pixie drew closer, gathering the long robe about him formally. (After all, you can't stumble when you're hovering.) "Aboard the old ship you came," Mawgan rasped. "A human seer is with you. He sees with the eyes of an owl – an owl I saw where the dead ones are buried and where the tewal gwragh stole our Wise Mother's cauldron. Fearing that owl does the tewal gwragh."

Kailen listened closely. Tewal gwragh – the dark witch. That Lunette-woman. "Cornish words you use," he noted.

"From Cornish soil came we pixies, to Cornish soil return we shall," Mawgan answered, as if by rote. Then he pointed toward the manor. "Evil happened there, called they the drog tarosvan."

The drog tarosvan – the evil ghost. Kailen shuddered, remembering what the Wendy-lady saw before she escaped the manor. "Calling the Horned King the witch Lunette did and his cursed servant she became," he told them. "Blood of the dragonling she needs to brew a potion to heal the curse upon the viscount and his father, so to Neverland the viscount journeyed, stole my friend Wendy and our Prince, bringing death over many of our brothers and sisters. Pixies, fairies, gnomes, Hobgoblins, Leprechauns – stopping him we all tried, but for naught. Giving him fatal weapons against us the witch did, so escaping he could."

"The Pan – in the dark house is imprisoned?" pixie General Cadan demanded. Of course all of them knew about Peter, friend of all Fae and mermaids.

"Prisoner there no more, but remaining is the dragon egg. And before sundown kidnapping a valuable ally and friend he did – the one-handed sea-warrior who -"

"Captain Hook – enemy of Pan?" Kenan interrupted him, surprised. They had all heard the stories of the enmity between boy and man.

"Enemy no more. Became they father and son after together so many moons ago fighting the evil wizard. Now the captain the viscount took. Forcing Peter to surrender he wants. Helping them we must and -"

"Not concerned are we of the humans!" another pixie piped. "To retrieve the stolen cauldron are we here and -"

"Protector and friend of all Fae and bogeys Peter Pan is! And connected to that boy and one-handed-man our needs are," Kailen retorted. "Abusing Mother Ludlam's cauldron for her potion the witch does – potion made from dragon blood. And potion made from Peter Pan's blood to become young again." The last statement raised an uproar among the pixies while the seer, Mawgan, gasped: "Killing the eternal boy she wants?"

"Him she wants to kill – and so longs the viscount to kill Hook, because rivals for the fair Wendy-lady's affection they are." He took a deep breath. "In truth Hook is the last son of Shalford, rightful owner of the manor."

"Shalford?" Kenan gasped and shook his head in astonishment, then looked aside, remembering. "Deep their roots are dug in Waverly history – respecting the Wise Mother they always did."

Kailen heard the new connection. Hook's ancestors had had a good relationship with Mother Ludlam? All the better! "With lies and deceptions did the Ashfords steal the manor, killing the Shalford-men, except for the youngest son. Escaping he did and to sea he went, where the way to Neverland he found. Now going by the name Captain Hook he does."

There was an agitated murmur among the pixies. The last and youngest Shalford-son was that very Captain Hook they had heard about? This was big news! "In the manor the cauldron is, just like Shalford. Saving him will give access to the cauldron," Mawgan murmured. Then he glanced straight at Kailen. "Helping us to retrieve the cauldron he will?"

Previously Kailen would have said no, but Hook had changed. A lot. He was becoming the true nobleman that he had been before piracy. Kailen knew. "Aye!" He gestured around. "Taking it back to the church as well!"

"Not to the church," Kenan interrupted. "Returned it must be to the Wise Mother's home. Only then peace will find her."

Kailen frowned. "Mother Ludlam … no peace has she found? Hundreds of years ago she lived and-"

"Roaming the meadows she still does – not quite dead, not quite alive," Mawgan said quietly. "No peace will she find before the return. Much harm it could still do; indeed, removing its charm she wants."

Here was an explanation Kailen understood; he nodded. One last service for humanity, neutralizing the cauldron's magical abilities so that no human could do anything foolish or wicked with it. "Helping will Peter Pan, Hook and their friends. But first saving them we must."

"The tewal gwragh is strong. Protecting the manor she will," Cadan murmured thoughtfully.

"Aye, but a true ally we have in the manor: A brownie-lady -"

"Knowing Nissa we do," Kedan threw in. "A good friend she is, but old. No harm to her must come, so a good plan we need."

Kailen hesitated a moment, then he spoke again. "With the captain I hid while leaving the ship. Hearing him speak I did of a secret passage to the manor his father wanted to close. But maybe still existing it does. Hook was not knowing if his father chanced to close the tunnel before murderers came. For the entrance at the hill I searched north of the manor," he told the others. "Finding it we have to, then saving the cauldron, the captain and the egg we can."

The pixie-general grinned. "No searching needed," he declared. "Wish you to see the entrance?"

PP * PP *

If someone at Guildford had bothered to look up into the dark evening sky, they would have rubbed their eyes, and fled inside in dismay. Because three hundred yards over the roofs of the little village, a bunch of boys and a girl flew by, accompanied by a darting light dripping golden dust.

At first Wendy and Nibs had disagreed concerning the route they would take. While Nibs suggested following the Thames to the river Wey then flying along the Wey towards Surrey and the manor, Wendy wanted to follow the railway from Waterloo Station to Woking in Surrey and then down to Guildford and Godalming. Her route made better time, because the Thames had many twists and turns. And one thing they did not have much of was time.

Peter quickly made the decision, and now they were already gliding over Woking. Nibs kept checking the map when Tink would light it, for it seemed to be taking too long. But he finally figured out that the train had probably been faster. Behind Woking, the railway split; Wendy pointed south where a hundred tiny lights were visible: Guildford. They followed the rails south.

"How far from there?" Peter demanded, and Wendy sighed.

"I think we must be three-quarters of the way," she answered.

Not quite sure what a 'quarter' was, Peter took it as a good sign and nodded grimly. "Good!" was all he said, fingering his knife. 'Hold on, Hook, we'll get you out!' he was thinking.

Wendy was every bit as determined to get to the manor, to James. She knew in her heart he needed help – mostly because of his celebrated pride! She knew he would give Ashford as good as he got. Knowing his tendency to boast, to mask uncertainty with witty taunts – just like the boy who flew beside her – it was only a question of time until the childish tendencies in the viscount would rise to the top. She had learned that Dalton had no real patience. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and when he didn't, he tricked, threatened, lied and abused. Even murder was an option, remembering that he ordered his thugs to burn the Jolly Roger with a few of her crew locked up in her hold. Their lives were meaningless to him. What would he do to a man who was not only his immediate rival – who 'got his girl'—but who came from a family the Ashfords thought they had destroyed, the enemy that would certainly demand repayment? Wendy shuddered, concentrating on speed and direction to avoid those fearsome thoughts.

Her fear for the man who was so much a part of her life urged her on faster so that even Peter had to speed up. Peter was, of course, as fast as the fairies, but it made him look at her in astonishment. Never she had moved through the air like this. The fire in her eyes and the determination on her face were new to him. How strange and wonderful that this man could mean such different things to them, but was so important to both! What was this love that drove her so unwaveringly?

On impulse, Peter reached out and took one of Wendy's hands. "We'll make it in time," he said with his unquenchable optimism. "That daft viscount won't defeat James Hook. There've been others who tried and failed, including me. Fear not, Wendy-Lady, we'll find Hook in one piece and quite annoyed that we didn't show up sooner."

Wendy felt a smile tugging. "Or we get the scolding of our lives because we came at all -"

"-because Captain James Hook needs no rescuing! How dare thee to think otherwise!" Peter ended her sentence, using the Hook impersonation he did so well.

Wendy couldn't help it, she began to laugh, which slowed her. "Well, occasionally he has!" She looked at Peter, grateful that he distracted her from her gloomy thoughts. "But don't tell him I said that."

Peter winked at this friend. "I'll use it another day," he grinned, then the others caught up with them. Together they continued through the chill evening air above the fields and forests of Surrey.

PP * PP *

Archibald Hutchings heard soft groan from the next cell, in the near darkness, as James Hook recovered his senses. Somewhere between the cellars above and the cells below he had lost consciousness, which was probably advantageous. He would have resisted being locked up but was only now becoming aware of his situation.

Opening his eyes, he stared into the dim light for a few beats. It came from low-burning torches, three or four yards away. He lay on a cold hard floor, making him shiver. After years – two centuries! – of tropical warmth he loathed cold and damp.

For a moment he was disoriented. How did he end up in a cell below the Black Castle? Had Pan … No, he and the boys were on good terms. Even more, Peter was much like … uh… a son ... And with this memory, the rest returned, too. Grimacing, he lifted his head and looked around. He knew now exactly where he was: In his manor's lowest cells. When his older brother had been exceedingly annoyed with him, he'd locked James in that same cell for the better part of a day, only to get in trouble with their father. He snorted: Not the glorious return home he had imagined!

"Capt'n, be ye feelin' better?" a voice nearby asked, laced with concern.

"Ask me later," James growled and carefully sat up. Every part of him ached, but he was used to those unpleasantries. Flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders, then twisting his head about, he worked out some kinks.

"'Twasn't a blow tha' felled ye," the voice stated. "Did Lunette do that t' ye?"

Finally feeling awake, yet knowing that his legs would need a few more minutes, James carefully shifted around and looked at the man in the next cell. He had only seen him once, but he remembered the round face. "The magister," he murmured. "From Wales, right?"

The other man nodded and scratched the top of his ring of grey hair. "Aye, Archibald 'utchings, at yer service, Capt'n." He peered through the bars. "So, they got ye. Thass no' good. I 'oped you an' Peter would come t' free the wee one an' me, but with yer bein' caught, th' chances, ah fear, 'r' droppin'." He returned the gaze of the piercing blue eyes. "Be th' boy well?" he asked, concern displayed on his face.

"Last I saw him, he was well," Hook added after a second, then he made a sour face. "I hope he doesn't try to play the hero again."

"We both know that brat won't stay away," a cold voice interjected, "not after our ultimatum."

Ashford!

In Neverland, Hook's stubbornness was famous. And it was that trait that now lifted him to his feet, though his knees almost buckled. Rage, barely tamed, fought to the surface – fierce, hot, cold and awfully familiar, it circulated through his veins, its strength allowing him to meet his captor at eyelevel. Straightening, he watched Ashford approaching the scholar's cell and his own, the Dane following.

One moment! Hadn't the Dane gone after Peter? And Ashford just said Peter wasn't at the manor? A slow, wolfish smile appeared below the moustache. "So, you didn't get him," he said to the Scandinavian, ignoring the viscount. "Thought as much."

"Some stupid old biddy screamed bloody murder about us kidnapping her 'grandson' -"

Dalton made a sharp gesture with one hand and Anders' mouth snapped shut. But James had heard enough. He had no doubt who the 'stupid old biddy' had been: Cora Bailey. So, she had helped Peter to escape by pretending to be his grandmother, likely attracting a lot of people in Kensington Gardens. Good form! The lady had the beginnings of a good pirate.

"No matter," Ashford said, who still was angry at Wickham and Anders for returning empty handed, but Peter wasn't out of reach. Not with the prize he held. "I'm sure the boy is already on his way to the manor to save his so-very-good friend." His mocking glance slid to Hook again. "You two are so … predictable – especially when the other is in danger." He moved closer. "And in danger you are, Shalford. Mr. Anders was at least able to deliver my ultimatum to your brat: He comes to the manor and surrenders by midnight or … you die."

Despite the cold knot in his belly, Hook snorted. "You're going to kill me with Peter here or not – and I'm sure the boy knows this. He won't fall for your low tricks, whelp! He had a century to learn how to handle situations like this."

"We'll see – but it will be a pleasure to force him to watch you die. The last time he thought I'd killed you, his screams were bloody awful. I'm sure now, after you've grown even closer, he will be quite entertaining." Something depraved appeared in the cool grey eyes; something that hadn't been there an hour ago. Or perhaps something had left: any vestige of simple human emotion had disappeared, turning these steel-colored eyes into something icy and empty. James shuddered inwardly, grateful that he had never lost himself as the viscount had.

"Not only 'as Brynna accepted th' curse, she also changed ye into a monster," Hutchings added, flushing with anger. He, too, had recognized the loss of humanity in his captor. "A few days ago ye 'esitated t' brin' misery and destruction t' a child, but even tha' las' good impulse 'as been smashed in ye by her greed – an' yer own jealousy!"

"Stop rambling, old fool," Ashford snapped. "You are only still alive because you're needed for that egg. Which reminds me – Anders, take the professor to Lunette's lab. I'm sure there is a way to encourage the little beast's hatching. The eggshell cracked but the beast makes no move to come out."

"Per'aps 'e smells the foul air in this 'ouse and decided to stay a bit longer where it's safe!" Hutchings growled. "Mystical bein's 'ave far finer senses than you could imagine."

"Fine sense or not, I need it hatched," Ashford replied, then nodded at the Dane, who opened the cell next to Hook's, snatched the professor by the arm and roughly pulled him out.

"Walk, old bookworm!" Ignoring the older man's struggles, he dragged him toward the stairs.

Ashford watched them disappear up the staircase, then he turned back to the captain. Looking him over head to toe, he finally scoffed, " 'A wolf in sheep's clothing.' I think rarely has this idiom fit anyone so perfectly."

"Then that makes two of us," Hook countered. "But you are a cub pretending to be a wolf."

The viscount's eyes narrowed. "At least this cub has the wolf behind bars – and on his knees."

A dangerous fire flickered in James' eyes. "Your witch knocked me out, but you will never bring me to my knees." He stepped closer to the bars. "You, whelp, have only scratched the surface of the darker side of life, as I told you before. You have no clue what you've gotten yourself into – and you have no idea what you're about to lose. Your honor and dignity are already gone, now your humanity is lost, as well. Once you've killed or watched others being tortured and it does not touch you, your soul is lost."

"As you say," Dalton drawled, but some of Hook's words seemed to have found purchase.

"Aye, as I say. I was almost there, but I'm done with it now," the buccaneer replied. "And there are only a handful of people who could be saved from the swamp they have wandered into. But could YOU ever be rescued? I'm a pirate, aye! I killed, I pillaged, I kidnapped but even I had constraints. I'm no monster – not like you."

"You hunted a boy and tried to kill him on many occasions. We are the same!" Dalton sneered.

Hook snorted. "You're far from being my equal, puppy! I had true motivation for pursuing the boy who cut off my hand, but the reason itself died the moment Peter chose to die along with me. He was ready to give up his own life to stay with me there by the volcano spouting death. Is there anyone in this world that would do the same for you?" He saw the viscount flinch.

Then the younger man rallied: "I read about that in Wendy's second diary. At the last moment the brat would have flown away, leaving you alone. You know it! Who would be so stupid as to let himself burn alive only to-"

"Only to make up for a mistake that weighed on him for many years?" Hook watched the viscount's eyes widening and nodded slowly. "Aye, Peter regretted what happened all those years – decades – before as we fought on the edge of Neverland's swamps. But I, in my hatred, didn't see it and he didn't even know it. He denied it, so typical for a child, because despite his ability to fly and remain young, he still is just that: A child. During the war with the wizard, we learned to respect each other."

"You depended on each other to live," Dalton spat.

"Aye, that too, but that didn't make us friends. What changed our point of views was the moment we saw that the other was a human being, with all our failures, weaknesses and strengths. We did something that is the fertile soil for peace: We forgave each other. Are you able to forgive someone? Would you sacrifice yourself for someone? I don't think so. You're too much a coward, too full of yourself for something like that. A coward and a failure, because you're unable to say 'no' to yourself. You have to learn to see the difference between right and wrong, to accept your responsibility to choose the right."

The two men stared at each other – one with seething hate, the other one with pity and loathing. "Responsibility, hah …" Dalton growled. "So … how you were able to survive my shot? I saw the bullet strike you in the heart."

"Ah," Hook nodded with a satisfied smirk. "That little riddle keeping you awake at night?" He laughed quietly. Then he shook his head in grim amusement. "You read Wendy's diaries, but you learned nothing. You still don't grasp how things in Neverland work." He bent toward Ashford conspiratorially. "A thimble is a most powerful weapon in Neverland. It can save lives, you know."

"She gave you a thimble?" Ashford asked with a frown; remembering Wendy's and Peter's initial interaction. "A kiss?" he spat.

Hook chuckled, enjoying the open jealously the viscount displayed. "Leaving out the kissing – which we enjoyed quite a bit, mind you – I rather refer to another kind of thimble. It can come in many different forms. Sometimes it is an acorn or a metal finger cap or, indeed, a kiss. In my case, it was the scale of a young dragon Wendy befriended. Nothing is stronger than a gift given from innocent love – indeed, nothing is stronger than a dragon scale. Her love protected me, Viscount, something it seems you will never receive nor understand."

Ashford's grey eyes now brimmed with envy and the knowledge of his rejection. He knew that he never had a chance with Wendy Darling, that her heart had been given when still a little girl. That this childlike affection would grow into love had been inevitable. And she felt this the moment she met Hook again. Yet the fact that she preferred this pillaging bastard approaching almost twice her age over of him – Dalton Ashford, so wealthy, so handsome, and in his own eyes a formidable young nobleman, was … an unpardonable offense! Atrocity even. "Are you truly saying that she kissed a … a cripple?" he taunted.

There was a time not long ago that this comment would have crushed Hook, but no more. "Better a cripple in body than in soul," he retorted. "By the way, my tool is really very convenient." He raised his right arm. "So very handy – excuse the pun – I would be more than happy to demonstrate." He gave the viscount a dangerous smile again. "And if you doubt that she kissed me, well, have a look at the newspapers, Milord."

"They … they printed a picture of her kissing you?" Dalton gasped, scandalized. "Have you no sense of propriety?"

"I hear the pot calling the kettle black, but be not so … concerned about the young lady's reputation. Even in this prudish era, kissing in public is permitted when the couple is engaged." James knew that he had struck his target when he saw Ashford step back in shock, and followed with another verbal punch. "What's wrong, whelp? Shocked? Did you really think she still would choose you after all you did to her and everything and every one she loves?"

Dalton felt himself reeling. Wendy was engaged to Shalford? And the bastard had the nerve to rub his nose in it? "You're lying!" he whispered.

"Not this time," Hook replied calmly. "I rarely ever lie. A true warrior doesn't need to lie but fights with open visor, you might say."

"Open visor? Poisoning the boy's 'medicine?' Making Wendy walk the plank? Threatening to kill her brothers!" Ashford returned. "And you say she forgave you all that?"

Hook began to laugh – a low, dark sound. "Yes, she did. She knew that what I'd done was a trick to lure my enemy out of hiding. And another thing: Wendy Darling always felt drawn to me. From. The. Beginning." Blue and grey yes bored into each other. "She didn't care that I was 'crippled'. She didn't care that I had a criminal background. She didn't care that the whole of the island's population feared me. She peered into my heart and saw a man worthy of rescuing from the darkness about to engulf me. And for this I will be grateful for the rest of my life, no matter how long it lasts. And if I die – this night by your hand or in a few decades old and grey – I will leave this world with the knowledge that I was dearly loved, that a young innocent girl-woman with a very large heart found the strength to break my shackles and set me free. I will never die old, alone and unloved because I found a place in someone's heart and was loved by that one." He shook his head, suddenly overcome with gratitude. "And I fear, Milord, that this is something you will never truly know!" He still fixed the younger man with a piercing stare. Was there an unexpected hint of compassion there? "You may succeed in killing me this night, but you have paid a bitter price for this victory. Because you have lost everything!"

Ashford had first grown pale, then his face flushed and he ground his teeth. Shalford's words held the unpleasant – and painful – weight of truth. He knew that the pirate was right about everything he said. He, Dalton Ashford, had lost. They might be able to make the medicine for his father and himself, they might get Peter Pan for Lunette's own goals. Perhaps he could put the Darlings in their place, make Wendy pay for her wrong choice by taking the man she loved away from her. But in truth he had lost this battle, because when this night was over, he would no longer be the man who went to Neverland a few days ago. He had to admit that his former self ceased to exist the moment he chased the buffalos through the Indian village and ordered the burning of the Jolly Roger with her crew locked up in the hold.

But like many men – and women – who had already exceeded their reach, he wouldn't stop now. Things had gone too far. Dalton knew that he wouldn't get out of this without facing justice; after all, he had locked up a university professor and a celebrity sea-captain (that the latter was a pirate from two hundred years ago was a fact no-one would believe). Hutchings and Shalford would press charges against him – if they lived. And like many men before (and after) him who had been cornered by their own deeds, he made the wrong choice.

"It ends this night – one way or the other," he said quietly. "And I will make sure that it's your ways that end – yours and the boy's!"

"At least let Peter out of this. He a child," Hook said gently, trying to sound reasonable enough to reach whatever humanity might be left in the viscount.

"That didn't matter to you while you still hunted him," Ashford retorted. "And it matters nothing to me anymore. You two destroyed everything I wanted and you both will pay for-"

Hook had enough. "Brimstone and gall, whelp, grow up!" he snapped impatiently. "Life isn't a bowl of cherries, and not all our wishes come true! Accepting it and going on to new dreams makes us strong! It can change a sulking brat into a man! Are you less of a man than even Peter is, that you're unable to adjust to new situations?" At those words Ashford was at the bars, grasping them with white knuckles, glaring at his captive, who continued mercilessly: "And in case you've forgotten: You were the one who came to Neverland and attacked most of its inhabitants. It was you who started this little war by assaulting my men, the Natives, the Fae and even Peter and his gang. It was you who tromped through Neverland like a bull in a glass shop. It was you who abducted Wendy and an unhatched dragon. So don't whine when the offended ones return the favor!"

One could almost see the sparks flying between them. Then, without another word, Dalton turned around and walked away.

"Run out of arguments, child?" James taunted, adding the Parthian shot, but didn't get any response. A few moments later the door between the dungeons and the upper cellars banged close and the lock snapped. Grimacing and sighing, then cursing, Hook sank down onto the cold stone floor; knowing he could do nothing other than hope for rescue. And if he and Peter shared another characteristic, then it was a loathing of inactivity! It irked him that he could do absolutely nothing in his current situation.

The complete underground silence seemed to thunder in his ears.

Moments later, there was the smallest of noises. He looked up and found a tiny brown, wrinkled creature on the other side of the bars. It – no, she – was clad in an old, ragged, simple dress made of dark blue tartan – one he knew. It was the tartan of his mother's and grandmother's clan. Pointed ears stuck up from a head covered in greying brown hair. Large eyes in a face full of wrinkles stared at him. Eyes, now filled with tears – happy tears! – smiled at him. Gnarled fingers clung to the bars as her trembling voice whispered: "Master Jamie!"

TBC…

Well, the talk between Hook and Ashford was overdue and that both would give a piece of their minds to each other, was to be expected. Our captain is predominant, of course, after all he is not only older but he also has very looooong experiences with exchanging 'pleasantries' with an opponent. And, to say the truth, Peter was wittier than Ashford can ever be, so no wonder that Hook won this verbal duel. But the real fight will come soon. Now he will meet a face from the past – Nissa – and I can already promise that in the next chapter you'll learn more about his background and that the re-union will be touching.

And now all are on their way to get Hook out and to show Ashford his place – and it will be a big showdown soon.

I hope, you liked the new chapter and I would be glad to have some reviews to read when I'm back from my vacation, so – please! – leave some.

Have a good time

Love

Yours Lywhn / Starflight