The ship hadn't always been known as The Jolly Roger. It was only after the crew had been marooned in Neverland that they christened her with that name. It seemed to fit her somehow now that they were proper pirates, not by choice so much as by necessity. There was no way of knowing how much time they'd spent there. Time was a funny thing in Neverland. While none of them seemed to age, there was still a sense that Time was somehow passing them by. Some of what Barrie had written in his book was true - he'd been there, after all. He was known as Nibs then, one of Peter's Lost Boys - the smartest and bravest of the bunch - but though he'd been there, he'd gotten some of it wrong, telling it through the eyes of his youth, rather than that of a man. Oh, some of it was true enough, but it had been changed around to make Pan the hero and Hook the villain, when it was really the other way around.
Of course, the hero and the villain weren't always clear, except in children's stories, where there were few shades of gray. While Nibs' story was about Pan, Hook had his own story to tell, and he was the only one who could tell it, but as far as James was concerned, Captain Hook had died that day on The Jolly Roger - the day of the final duel with Pan. It was better that way, better to let everyone think him dead, even if it galled him how he had been given the role of villain, when nothing could have been further from the truth. Had he kidnapped the children that fateful day and made Wendy walk the plank" Of course not. He had meant to take them home, where they belonged, but in order to do so, he needed fairy dust, and so, he'd made a bargain with Tinkerbell. She was just as happy to be rid of Wendy as Hook was, but when Pan found out, all hell broke loose.
"You should take them home to their mother," he had told Pan, when the boy had found out, scolding him like any man would a child who'd grown spoiled and arrogant. "They have the one thing you do not, the one thing you will never understand - a family who loves them and misses them. You are selfish to keep them here. They are not orphans, they are not lost. How many of you remember your mothers?" he'd asked the lot of them, some of the boys hanging their heads in shame at having forgotten. "There is no love like a mother's love. John and Michael are not lost, and Wendy is not your mother. She does not want to be your mother. Let them go, Peter," he said, pleading with the boy. "The greatest adventure is growing up. I am sorry you will never know it."
His gallant speech might have touched the hearts of Wendy and the Boys, who missed their mothers and longed to go home, but it had only angered Pan, and though the book had claimed it was the other way around, it was Pan who twice challenged Hook to a duel. The first duel had ended in Hook losing a hand; this time Pan was determined to finish the pirate once and for all.
"Finish it then, if you must!" James had challenged, easily defending himself, but refusing to kill a child, no matter how devious that child might be. It was when James had made the fateful mistake of turning his back to the boy that he had struck the fatal blow, running him through, and it was then that the captain had uttered the immortal words, "Bad form," before Pan shoved him overboard into the sea. There was no croc waiting to devour him; however, there was something else.
As the captain fell into the waiting sea, the winds rose, filling the sails of The Jolly Roger, sending her scudding over the waves before raising her high into the air. Whether the boy Pan wished it or not, the children would return to their home, with a reminder that there were far more powerful forces out there than the eternal child he had become. And beneath those waves, as crimson blood stained the water around the helpless captain, arms reached out to gather him into an embrace he had felt many times before. The sea held many faces, many guises, but she had always been there for him. Now, at his lowest point, abandoned by his ship, his crew, even the essence of his life's blood, she was there, renewing that blood with the salt tang of her own being as his wounds healed themselves at her touch.
He hardly knew what was happening, believing himself doomed, grateful at last for the peace of death. He thought he should thank Pan for that, at least, though the boy had cheated, showing his true nature to all those who had witnessed, enemy and ally alike. James felt a strange peace come over him and wondered if he would go to heaven or to hell.
He was borne through the mysteries of the lagoon he had been bound to for so long, deep beneath the island itself, to an enclosed grotto encrusted with sparkling gems, lit by some unknown source that rippled like the surface of the water. Gentle hands bore him from the sea to lay him down upon the worn gems of the little beach, forcing the water from his lungs. "Awake, Captain. It is not your time."
Only vaguely aware of some force carrying him along through the water before depositing him on land, his first thoughts were to the burning in his chest as he retched and coughed the salt water from his lungs. He remembered Pan's betrayal and the pain he had known was his own death, but when he touched his chest, there was no wound there, no blood, no evidence that he'd ever been hurt, except for a tear in his shirt. The hook remained, evidence of an older wound - one that had hurt his pride as well as his body. He heard a voice - a woman's voice - and lifted his head to push the wet hair from his face and see where he was and who it was that had somehow spared him. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"The heart of the ocean." The voice seemed to come from nowhere, for there was no being near him from whom it could have issued. But with each word, the water that lapped the gem-scattered beach on which he lay seemed to move in the cadence of speech, the light that caressed him pulsing gently with the beat of a heart he could not see. "Few have ever seen it and lived."
He pushed himself up, wincing a little as he did so, not from the pain of the wound so much as the ache in his lungs, looking around as he did so, in wonder of the view around him. This wasn't heaven or hell then, but someplace else. The heart of the ocean, but where was that' "Who are you?" he asked, soaked through, his shirt stuck to his chest, black hair dripping cold water down his neck. He'd lost his jacket somewhere in the ocean and looked a bedraggled mess, but he was thankfully alive or so it seemed.
"I am the currents that guide your path. I am the wind in your sails. I am the salt on your skin. I am peace and anger, calm and storm." The voice faded away for a long moment, returning with a question that could have seemed entirely too personal in the wrong circumstances. "Do you love me, Captain?"
The voice waited before speaking again, as if giving him a moment to consider her words, to let them sink in and to understand them. "The currents, the wind ..." he echoed, brows furrowing in puzzlement. It was like a riddle, a puzzle for him to sort out, but there could only be one answer. "You are the sea," he said, or some personification of it. Strangely, while there were those who thought of the sea as an angry god, he had always thought of her as a woman. She had the heart of a woman, passionate and wild as the tempest.
There was a sense of a smile in the air - the same feeling that dominated the ocean in the moments after a storm, as the sea settles and the wind calms. "Do you love me, Captain?" the voice asked him once again, hopeful force in the tone as the waves lapped at the gem-studded shore.
Of course, the hero and the villain weren't always clear, except in children's stories, where there were few shades of gray. While Nibs' story was about Pan, Hook had his own story to tell, and he was the only one who could tell it, but as far as James was concerned, Captain Hook had died that day on The Jolly Roger - the day of the final duel with Pan. It was better that way, better to let everyone think him dead, even if it galled him how he had been given the role of villain, when nothing could have been further from the truth. Had he kidnapped the children that fateful day and made Wendy walk the plank" Of course not. He had meant to take them home, where they belonged, but in order to do so, he needed fairy dust, and so, he'd made a bargain with Tinkerbell. She was just as happy to be rid of Wendy as Hook was, but when Pan found out, all hell broke loose.
"You should take them home to their mother," he had told Pan, when the boy had found out, scolding him like any man would a child who'd grown spoiled and arrogant. "They have the one thing you do not, the one thing you will never understand - a family who loves them and misses them. You are selfish to keep them here. They are not orphans, they are not lost. How many of you remember your mothers?" he'd asked the lot of them, some of the boys hanging their heads in shame at having forgotten. "There is no love like a mother's love. John and Michael are not lost, and Wendy is not your mother. She does not want to be your mother. Let them go, Peter," he said, pleading with the boy. "The greatest adventure is growing up. I am sorry you will never know it."
His gallant speech might have touched the hearts of Wendy and the Boys, who missed their mothers and longed to go home, but it had only angered Pan, and though the book had claimed it was the other way around, it was Pan who twice challenged Hook to a duel. The first duel had ended in Hook losing a hand; this time Pan was determined to finish the pirate once and for all.
"Finish it then, if you must!" James had challenged, easily defending himself, but refusing to kill a child, no matter how devious that child might be. It was when James had made the fateful mistake of turning his back to the boy that he had struck the fatal blow, running him through, and it was then that the captain had uttered the immortal words, "Bad form," before Pan shoved him overboard into the sea. There was no croc waiting to devour him; however, there was something else.
As the captain fell into the waiting sea, the winds rose, filling the sails of The Jolly Roger, sending her scudding over the waves before raising her high into the air. Whether the boy Pan wished it or not, the children would return to their home, with a reminder that there were far more powerful forces out there than the eternal child he had become. And beneath those waves, as crimson blood stained the water around the helpless captain, arms reached out to gather him into an embrace he had felt many times before. The sea held many faces, many guises, but she had always been there for him. Now, at his lowest point, abandoned by his ship, his crew, even the essence of his life's blood, she was there, renewing that blood with the salt tang of her own being as his wounds healed themselves at her touch.
He hardly knew what was happening, believing himself doomed, grateful at last for the peace of death. He thought he should thank Pan for that, at least, though the boy had cheated, showing his true nature to all those who had witnessed, enemy and ally alike. James felt a strange peace come over him and wondered if he would go to heaven or to hell.
He was borne through the mysteries of the lagoon he had been bound to for so long, deep beneath the island itself, to an enclosed grotto encrusted with sparkling gems, lit by some unknown source that rippled like the surface of the water. Gentle hands bore him from the sea to lay him down upon the worn gems of the little beach, forcing the water from his lungs. "Awake, Captain. It is not your time."
Only vaguely aware of some force carrying him along through the water before depositing him on land, his first thoughts were to the burning in his chest as he retched and coughed the salt water from his lungs. He remembered Pan's betrayal and the pain he had known was his own death, but when he touched his chest, there was no wound there, no blood, no evidence that he'd ever been hurt, except for a tear in his shirt. The hook remained, evidence of an older wound - one that had hurt his pride as well as his body. He heard a voice - a woman's voice - and lifted his head to push the wet hair from his face and see where he was and who it was that had somehow spared him. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"The heart of the ocean." The voice seemed to come from nowhere, for there was no being near him from whom it could have issued. But with each word, the water that lapped the gem-scattered beach on which he lay seemed to move in the cadence of speech, the light that caressed him pulsing gently with the beat of a heart he could not see. "Few have ever seen it and lived."
He pushed himself up, wincing a little as he did so, not from the pain of the wound so much as the ache in his lungs, looking around as he did so, in wonder of the view around him. This wasn't heaven or hell then, but someplace else. The heart of the ocean, but where was that' "Who are you?" he asked, soaked through, his shirt stuck to his chest, black hair dripping cold water down his neck. He'd lost his jacket somewhere in the ocean and looked a bedraggled mess, but he was thankfully alive or so it seemed.
"I am the currents that guide your path. I am the wind in your sails. I am the salt on your skin. I am peace and anger, calm and storm." The voice faded away for a long moment, returning with a question that could have seemed entirely too personal in the wrong circumstances. "Do you love me, Captain?"
The voice waited before speaking again, as if giving him a moment to consider her words, to let them sink in and to understand them. "The currents, the wind ..." he echoed, brows furrowing in puzzlement. It was like a riddle, a puzzle for him to sort out, but there could only be one answer. "You are the sea," he said, or some personification of it. Strangely, while there were those who thought of the sea as an angry god, he had always thought of her as a woman. She had the heart of a woman, passionate and wild as the tempest.
There was a sense of a smile in the air - the same feeling that dominated the ocean in the moments after a storm, as the sea settles and the wind calms. "Do you love me, Captain?" the voice asked him once again, hopeful force in the tone as the waves lapped at the gem-studded shore.