The Cheshire Cat (A OUAT love story)

Chapter Seven-Warrior

"Get up,"

Cheshire felt a foot dig harshly into her side, and her reflexes reacted instantly. Her right hand shot out and grabbed it before she could be hurt again. Then she twisted it, pushing her shoulder against the same leg, and was rewarded with a gasp and a stumble from whoever had dared to wake her up. She then looked up to see Pan staring coolly down at her.

"You didn't need to do that," she hissed, casually waving one hand. Blue and black smoke swirled around her and, when it had disappeared, the assassin was dressed in the same clothing the Lost Boys wore. She gave the boy king a smug look, before jumping to her feet and making her way out of the tent. Her fellow orphans were already up; some simply stared at her, others inclined their heads and smiled. Even fewer greeted her with glares, all of which she calmly flipped off like it was a regular occurrence. The shapeshifter chose to sit down beside Felix in order to eat her breakfast in peace. A few minutes later, the ruler of Neverland joined them.

"Today we'll put you against some of the Lost Boys," he explained in a low voice. "Let's see how you do in sparring without magic." Felix watched Cheshire carefully, trying to determine what she felt about that; only the most adaptable, the cleverest, could survive in Pan's games. They'd lost so many recruits because they weren't independent enough. But the assassin only stared right back at the leader of the Lost Boys with a deadpan face and determined eyes.

"Bring it on," she growled, grey eyes blazing with resolution.

I watched my opponent carefully, waiting for him to make the first move. The dagger in my hand seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of my palm, as if it had been made for me. 

The balance was just right, but I didn't let myself get too carried away in admiring my weapon; this was my last spar for the day. Darren lunged towards me, stabbing towards my stomach with his own dagger. My right hand automatically went to meet his blow, our weapons colliding against each other and letting out the classic ringing sound of metal against metal. Then he flicked his wrist up, trying to nick my weapon hand. I danced out of the way, my mind running at least five miles a minute.

"Now would be a good time to unsheathe your claws, Cheshire," Bandit advised helpfully. A wicked grin spread over my face as I spun to avoid yet another aggressive attack from Darren. Time for a few mind games; after all, I loved to mess with people.

"Your parents never loved you, did they?" I questioned, jumping back and slamming my dagger into his before it could touch me. "You loved them, but they could never adore something like you," He snarled, yanking his weapon away angrily.

"That's good, keep it up," Onyx urged, and I was only too pleased to oblige.

"You're an aggressive beast, after all," I told him, in a fake sympathetic voice. "And who could ever love that?" Then I stepped forward and performed a complicated series of movements, ending up with my dagger digging into his shoulder. He raised his weapon up to my face and I turned away before he could hurt me again. I attacked him once more, twisting my wrist to make him drop his weapon. Then I stepped behind him, my hand wrapping around his throat in a choke, and squeezed. A second before I crushed his wind pipe and took the breath out of his body, I felt my opponent's hand gently tap my shoulder. My arm loosened, allowing Darren to slip from my grasp and catch his breath. While waiting for him to get his breath back, my eyes slid over to Pan without my moving my head. His expression was indistinct, revealing nothing except that he was thinking. Then he raised his head, though he looked at the Lost Boys, not me.

"Go," he ordered. "You've got target practice now, haven't you?" Darren glared at him, apparently upset that he couldn't get revenge on me. "You too, Darren," Pan growled lowly, staring the other teenager down. "Leave us." After a while (about two seconds), I grew bored and began to examine my finger nails; I had nothing else to do except watch a tedious staring competition when nothing really happened besides keeping eye contact and glaring at your opponent. Finally, Darren stormed off after his fellow orphans, shooting me a dirty look that I completely ignored. The boy king then turned to me and held out a beautiful sword that looked like it had come straight from an old legend.

(A/N: Pretend the engraving of Excalibur isn't on the sword. This was just the closest one I could find to the image in my head.)

I reached out for it, enchanted by the blade, then paused.

"I already have a sword," I frowned, confused by his action.

"Not one that was made for you," he replied matter-of-factly.

"How do you know if this is?"

"There's a myth behind it," Pan told me. Shrugging one shoulder, I accepted the sword and instantly felt a lightning bolt run down my arm. Tilting the blade so it caught the light, I marvelled at the fact that it felt like an extension of my limb; I had only seen it a few seconds ago, but already felt a strong connection.

"What's the myth?" I asked, admiring the way the midday sunlight lingered on the polished steel like fire on the mountainside.

"It's said that the destined owner of that sword is a born leader who will one day set foot on Neverland," he explained, his forest green eyes never leaving the blade. "A diamond in the rough. The myth states that she will know pain as if it was the back of her hand, that she has been pushed down and been told that she's not good enough repeatedly. It's said that she will prove them all wrong and achieve the impossible."

"Why are you giving me this?" I questioned, though I knew exactly what he was going to say. He looked me straight in the eye and gave me a crooked grin.

"Because you're that diamond," the boy king replied. "Why else?" Then he unsheathed his own sword from its place on his scabbard and we clashed blades, sparring on the top of the mountain like soldiers bonded through suffering.

The pure sunlight cast a golden cloak over the island of Neverland, which seemed deserted apart from the two leaders fighting on the hillside. Once again, the devils looked more like a pair of avenging angels than anything else. Both of them hideously and beautifully scarred. The sun seemed to smile, as if it knew something that no one else could ever guess at. And, in a way, it did.