The Old King ~OUAT Panfiction (Book 3)

The Return

A.N. This is the 3rd book to The Piper's Song series, folowing that one and the 2nd book, The Shadow's Keeper -- so I advise you start and finish those two before you begin this one (link to The Piper's Song & The Shadow's Keeper is in the footer). For my fellow reader's that have stuck around after the last two books, I thank you and love you and this final book is for you! I hope to look forward to your lovely comments and thoughts again. As for newcomers, well, I thank you for reading and hope you stick around, and share your comments and thoughts as well. Enjoy!!

Laying unconscious beneath the light of a blossoming dawn sky, the Beastly girl had been covered by the piper's cloak. No part of her body was revealed, unless one considered the shape. She drifted soundly across the calm surface of a lake, until she was startled awake by a jerk when the small boat rocked and knocked into a rock by the shore.

Her blonde head of long, wavy hair came up from the cloak first, emerald eyes scanning the area before her, beneath the broad cowl of the cloak. A gasped ripped from Anne's lips, before she climbed up. Her gaze first locked in on the tree line just across the shore. Then she peered around to discover the rest of the area. Miles across the lake were cliffs of pine trees where the Neverland sun peaked just over top their highest points.

Astounded to discover the scene that appeared so foreign to the island -- but remarkably beautiful, Anne questioned whether or not she had somehow died and gone to heaven, or if she was really there. When she was sixteen and six weeks, Pan came to her in her dreams, and told her that on the sixth hour of her seventeenth birthday, he would be waiting for her some place between sleep and awake. But it had been hours since then, miles, maybe even days off, and yet there was no sign of him. Maybe Anne had dreamt too much of him, maybe she had used up every score of him; her faithful drug.

Funny thing was, she wasn't thinking anything in relation to the sixth hour of her seventeenth birthday, nor the sixth week of her sixteenth birthday, but instead, the fact that perhaps she was no longer dreaming and this was real. The boat grazed the rock that had woken her, and drifted by faint currents till it brushed up the sand of the lake's shore.

Anne peered up over the nose of the small boat and felt panic sprout within her. She asked herself if she should step out, excited -- perhaps, too excited that she would feel the moist beach beneath her feet. But it was only a matter of time before the boat would pull inward, hard enough that she would drift outward again.

At last, just then, Anne climbed over the side, right leg first and used the support of the boat to climb out with her left leg. She felt it, the beach beneath the bottom of her boots, and willed herself to head up the incline toward the tree line. Wandering in, she took a fearful glance back at the lake, then darted further into the jungle labyrinth.

The warmth of the morning followed her, sunlight shattering through the everlasting canopy of trees as it rose. Anne knew the forest, well enough -- she hoped, that she could find her way back to Pan's old camp. The lingering question was, what would she expect to see when she got there? None other than Pan, she prayed. She loved this boy and the last thing she wanted was to get her hopes up about seeing him, and not finding him. She had suffered with this numerous times in her sleep. The worst was when she got back. The first couple of nights were quiet, black. But weeks after, Anne dreamt of chasing him through the jungle and never found him. He would disappear like a ghost, as far as she was concerned.

She would be haunted with dreams of her older brother leading her to wherever Pan was hiding, a hopeful look in his eyes and a smile on his face, except...they would never get to his hiding places. For two years, Anne had to pretend Pan's loss never affected her. It felt like an endless suppression. She was a bird with clipped wings, until now.

There was an abrupt crowing that fractured the silence in the forest, throttling Anne from her thoughts. She froze, knees bending and her eyes darted around the mystical greenery. Anne had walked far enough to no longer feel the comforting warmth of the sun, but just the frigid morning fog ghosting through the trees. The girl dared to keep moving, attempting to convince herself that it was a mere bird. But then the crowing came again, and this time, it was coming from two separate place in the misty air. "Who's there?!" She called up at last, hardly thinking about it. There was rattling stillness now, and Anne held her breath. She would catch convincing mirages in the trees, hoping they were birds after all.

A violent gasp tore from Anne's throat again when the crowing came louder, except it was coming from more places. There was one cry that sounded human enough to make Anne tremble inside, and she darted in panic, blinded by fear. The crowing was more excessive, louder, and coming from everywhere now. "Leave me alone!!" She screamed. "LEAVE ME ALONE!" She repeated, running so fast that the forest was blurring passed her and despite the thickening fog providing the perfect oblivion, the lost girl kept running. The piper's cloak was flying back with her hair and her cheeks were collecting patches of red from the crisp, biting air.

Out of the blue, the cloak had gotten snagged by some protruding large, leafy bush limbs, causing Anne to scream. She had halted, ripping the long fabric free, and listened to discover that she had ran far passed the crowing, but the wild, penetrating echoes were still ringing in her ears -- and that, she was running from, for how long, she couldn't determine. As soon as those subsided, all she could hear was her rapid breathing, forming clouding puffs of white against the glittering fog, for the sun had stretched farther and the atmosphere was subtle again.

Anne was relieved, sinking down onto the roots of a tree to rest. While she sat there, her dizzy spells had deceased and she took notice of the vibrancy of the flowers sprouting out of the long green grass. They were delicacies of musky purple with short, moist stems when she felt them. A whistle came, rippling from some bushes that broke the fragile quiet and startled Anne to rip herself up off the ground. Chilled just then, she hugged Pan's warm cloak around her frame. Her eyes widened when a small boy emerged from the bushes she had heard the whistling, turning her frigid when she met his pale blue eyes. He was shorter with a round freckled face and had a mess of grey-brown curls atop his head. He had to be about seven or eight and dressed just like the village boys.

"W-who are you?" Anne dared to ask. The boy appeared innocent, but there were still so many questions. The small boy only smiled, then turned his shoulder, hinting her to follow him. "Wait -- " Anne caught his arm before he could disappear. "Where are you taking me?"

At last, the small boy spoke, his voice thrumming as delicate and as small as bells, "to him."