Set Your Sails...to Neverland || Peter Pan, OUAT

Chapter 8 - Hoist the Colours

~ Davina

I wake up late in the morning with a bit of a fuzzy head; it's odd that I'm was waking up this late - I'm usually up early and in the woods and...Pan.

I fling back the covers and jump out of bed and just before I leave the room, I catch myself in the mirror. I'm still wearing the green and brown clothes that I wished for myself...but the cardigan is missing, which means that my back has been exposed, which means that Pan has seen, and something happened the last time I was awake that I don't remember which lead him to put me to sleep somehow. I change back into my old clothes, knowing and feeling in this moment that I'm truly not one of them - I don't want to and never will be. I don't like having a gap in my memories, especially when it concerns my secrets. With my sword re-attached, I storm out of my room to interrogate the boy who deems himself King of Neverland. But as I walk past the Boys' bedrooms, I feel a shift in the house - it's bigger, fuller...there's more of them now. 

I count five extra beds, all piled up with clothes from the mainland. So that's why he put me to sleep, so he could go and collect some more innocent children. I grit my teeth, clenching and unclenching my fists in an attempt to control my anger at the audacity of him to think he can just exert control over anyone and everyone. I scan the grounds, spotting him by the campfire, watching the new boys with their new weapons. I march out of the house and right up to him.

"Pan!" I yell.

He spins around on his heel to face me with an eyebrow raised, smirking. "Yes, Davina?"

"You have some explaining to do," I say.

"Do I now?" He asks sarcastically.

"Don't think that you're getting away with this without an explanation. I will force it out of you if I have to," I threaten as I came face to face with him.

"And how would you plan to do that?" He whispers, his breath fanning over my face.

I bring the tip of my sword to rest just under his chin, glaring at him. "How do you think?" I whisper back.

"Boys, I'll be back, stay here," he orders and then turns around and walks down a path into the woods.

I follow him but I never return my sword to the scabbard, holding it out, pointed at his back; he stops in a small clearing.

"You can put the sword away Davina, you won't need it," he says.

"I'm a pirate, I know when to put the weapon away and right now, this isn't going anywhere." 

"So...what do I need to explain to you?" He asks, leaning on a tree.

"What happened the last time I was awake? What was the need for the sleeping spell?"

"Ah, of course, you won't remember. When you took me on an adventure to show me what 'real fun' was, we went cliff diving. You jumped and didn't surface, so I followed. When I found you, you screamed, nearly drowned and I had to pull you up to shore. When you awoke, you whispered something very interesting."

"What was it?" I question, raising my sword up to his throat.

He's suddenly behind me and he whispers right into my ear, "You said...I'm all alone."

My sword falls, and then he's gone. Now he knows that I am a Lost Girl. He's won.

Bastard.

In a burst of frustration, I scream, spinning and swinging my sword outward, slicing through a bush, birds exploding from in between the leaves. I pant angrily, taking myself away from the camp and into the forest to clear my head. 

- - -

Later that evening, I sit by the tree and avoid everyone, whittling away at pieces of wood with my dagger. Pan playing his bloody pipe again - it's a monotonous tone and I can't understand why they love dancing to it so much. I see Pan catch my unimpressed look from across the fire, and I only scoff and roll my eyes, shaking my head. I continue to hum the song that my music box plays, in an attempt to override the dull ringing of Pan's song.

"What's the sour face for? Is there a problem?" He asks as he walks over to me.

"Amongst other things...you really call that music? It's not even a song," I criticise without looking up at him.

"And you have something better?"

"Most likely," I shrug, and a smirk of my own creeps onto my face.

"We'll see about that."

All at once, everything goes silent. Not even the breeze whispers through the leaves. I look up to see every Lost Boy looking at me, waiting. 

I frown at Pan, "You said you have something better. Show us," he gestures for me to proceed with my song.

"You really want me to sing?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"I want to see if your claim lives up to the expectation. Besides, it's so rare we get to hear something from visitors on the island."

So there are others, or have been...

"Probably doesn't help that you imprison them," I retort. 

Pan scoffs, rolls his eyes, "Care to share, or would you rather continue to sulk in the corner?"

I huff, swipe my tongue across my bottom teeth, looking down at my pile of sharpened sticks. I jump to my feet, wiping off the dirt and debris, walking over to their campfire. Pan lowers the roar of the flames, the camp darkening. 

I clear my throat, take a deep breath and begin, walking around the Boys sitting around the fire, touching some of their shoulders as I go. As I sing, I remember the nights we sang this on our ship, and the first fateful time I heard it - the first pirate trial I ever witnessed. 

 "The king and his men, stole the queen from her bed, and bound her in her bones. The seas be ours, and by the powers, where we will, we'll roam. Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die. Yo ho, all together, hoist the colours high. Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die. Some men have died and some are alive, and others sail on the sea.  With the keys to the cage and the devil to pay, we lay to the fiddler's green. The bell has been raised, from its watery grave, hear its sepulchral tone, a call to all, pay heed the squall, and turn your sails to home. Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colours high, Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die..."

As the last words and tones of the song echo, and the fire crackles quietly, everyone is silent. A small, solemn smile stretches across my face, and I catch Pan's gaze fixed on me, but his face unfeeling of emotion, faintly lit by the orange glow of the flames. The quiet is cut by Pan's shadow hurtling through the trees, a child shouting and screaming for help. He crashes to the ground in front of us, skidding in the mud on his front. I jump up and run over to him, he coughs out the dirt, and rolls over.

"Ah Baelfire, nice of you to finally join us," Pan greets.