The Old King ~OUAT Panfiction (Book 3)

Fearless

 Every fiber of Anne's being compelled her to catch up with Pan as he led the group through the nighttime jungle. She had gotten lost and brushed behind as the crowd of boys shuffled after Pan and the meaty lost boys that dragged Chester's knees through the ground. His head hung limply, stirring in the quiet stillness of his poppy seed haze and Anne couldn't help but feel as though Pan was at an unfair advantage. If only she could do something, say anything to stop him. But then she came to a cold realization.

Chester had never done anything to help her before. In fact, he had done nothing for her except annoy her. But there was something about him that beckoned her closer. Something about him had manifested a vague desire within her, even more so now. He had awakened a sense of purpose.

When the crowd slowed to a stop, they were on a cliff side and Anne squeezed through their bodies to escape into the clearing. Pan stood beside Chester's kneeling body, head rolling on his shoulders. Anne's wide eyes locked with Pan's curious gaze. Then, he passed a torch to the nearest boy that helped carry Chester to the cliff edge.

Anne remained silent, frozen there. Pan disregarded her with a grave expression. Then, she worked up the courage to speak. "Pan...please," she beseeched, quietly. It was all so strange, so pointless to plead him for a boy she barely knew, but death was never easy to witness.

Pan couldn't help but chuckle, amused by her. "He is a killer, you naive little girl," he patronized through clenched teeth.

"What does that make you??" She bit back, quirking her brow. Then, she approached him, turning to face the others. "I say we take a vote! All those in favor of disposing of him...say aye--"

"I don't think so," Pan imposed. "All those who object, say aye." His piercing eyes ghosted over the crowd. Anne held onto her hope, despite the nauseating quiet that hung over the boys. But there wasn't a single objection. A smirk grew on Pan's lips, then he bore his eyes into the side of her head. She set her jaw, glaring at him. Then, she spoke up. "So this is it, huh? Nobody wants to object to murdering a human being?! This moment will define you--all of you." With softening eyes, she translated disappointment when she looked at Pan again. "Aye, if it means anything to you at all..." She was through fighting him.

"It's settled," Pan concluded, firmly. "/Move/," he ordered the boys beside them. When they obeyed, Anne's head turned away and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, clamping her palms over her ears. Pan grabbed Chester up by the shirt and shoved him off the cliff. Watching the lost boy plummet to the ground, Pan watched fully when his body struck and his limbs, sprawled out.

~ ~ ~ ~

The day that had followed Chester's demise had been swift and tense. Pan hadn't spoken to Anne, not even after they had returned to the treehouse, the one place they could have said anything to each other. He hadn't stayed with her that night either. It was like he felt the weight of her disappointment more so than ever before. He deserved to for all Anne cared. But she had acted like he was supposed to be some hero. It was all so peculiar. One minute, she wanted the darkness, the next, she wanted nothing to do with it. It was like Pan could never win with the one person he had solely committed himself to.

That following night had been darker than the previous. The sky was moonless and the forest was clouded out with thick smoke from the bonfire. There was drinking and laughing, loud music on the drums, and howls that lifted the brooding haze in the night. Pan was lost in his pipe playing as Anne was sitting alone, naturally observing the liveliness of the party. She seemed to be the only one still troubled by Chester's death.

She was haunted, haunted by the image of his lifeless form and the desire he had planted within her. The desire to be spontaneous, the desire to prove herself. She had discovered it. Somehow, some way his death was proving to be more motivation than him living and breathing would have been. Although the lost girl had never danced before, she found herself contemplating to join in on the parade before her. What was she to do otherwise? Maybe this way she could show Pan that what he'd done didn't give him power. It hadn't given him more control, it made no one afraid. Not Anne.

"You," a voice came from beside her. When she glanced over, she was taken aback. Not this again. It was her fifteen year old body, talking to her, looking at her. The real Anne tensed. What was this? "Dominique has been staring at you all night, or were you too blind to notice?" She spat.

Seventeen year old Anne winced. Then, her eyes shot in the direction of their pull. The dark skinned boy had his black eyes on her from across the fire, hesitant to cower. Until, they did while he simultaneously set his jaw. "He doesn't seem to be staring," she scoffed. The boy was glaring.

"He doesn't like confrontation," the figment of her imagination replied. "Go over there, talk to him. You know it's what he wants."

Then suddenly, Anne was standing up and moving through the blur of dancing silhouettes. What did Dominique have to glare at? If he had a problem with her, he ought to own up to it. She halted in front of him. His eyes floated up to hers. "What?" He engaged her.

"You know if you're going to glare at somebody all night, why don't you give them a piece of your mind?" She challenged.

The boy stood up, reaching impressive height as he towered over her. Anne's body grew frigid. Her heart pounded. He leaned down so their faces were inches apart. "Maybe I wanted to provoke you."

Anne's eyes narrowed in response. She was impressed. "Very clever," she credited. "But...why?" She inquired.

"Because maybe, I wanted you to come over," he replied. Anne's eyes widened. She came to the realization that he had something to say, but it wasn't what she expected. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Her head darted around and she peered across the camp to seek out her fifteen year old imagination. But she was no longer there. Oh god...what had she done? This time when she met his eyes, she straightened her body. A little flirting was nothing to be intimidated by.

"You got lucky this time. Now make my night."

Entangling themselves within the parade of lost boys, Anne found herself lifted by the music and her body moved with the beat. She went from elegantly twirling to hanging on Dominique backwards. Dainty fingers sliding over his shaved head, she felt his breath on the crook of her neck. His strong hands smoothed around her hips and she groaned with desire. Her eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks and her breathing hastened. Enraptured by the suffocating arms of her reverie, she became hopeless, putty in another's hands.

That was when her eyes snapped wide and she found herself being pressed against the chill bark of a tree and none other than Pan was glowering down at her.