Disclaimer: I DON'T own Peter Pan.

Author's Note: This was originally going to be a book, and it still might turn out that way. I think it works good for a fanfic, though :D

Cheers to my first GOOD (hopefully) fanfic.

Begin.

Great giant oak trees swayed gently as the wind howled through their lofty branches. Large, cold drops of rain splattered the muddy hillside, where small streams were already beginning to flow down into the steep valley walls. Thunder cracked the air as lightning unleashed its full fury on a towering old rowan tree. The crash of its landing was silenced by another clap of thunder, but its weight shook the ground terribly, causing an old man making his way home to lose his footing on the hillside. He placed a gnarled hand in front of him to catch himself. His frail bones tolerated this rude treatment, but screamed their protest as the man slumped to the ground. He panted, and began to crawl halfheartedly through the gale. Finally, he collapsed beneath a tree. The great, broad boughs sheltered him somewhat from the rain. The old man shivered, and rolled himself into a ball for warmth. He draped his sodden cloak over himself, but it didn't do much more than make him colder. The old man felt despair grip his heart, and wondered if he would ever see his wife and newborn son again. The image of his wife huddled beside the fire with their little son in her arms flooded his mind. Her laughter seemed clear as a bell, her bright blue eyes sparkled at him from the recesses of his memory. Tears clouded his eyes, and he felt like dying.

Distantly, above the wailing and pounding of the storm, the faint whinny of a horse broke the air. The old man sat up quickly. It was probably some lord riding back to his estate, as caught by surprise by the sudden appearance of the tempest as the old peasant himself. But by this time, the old man was desperate for any type of assistance he could gain from anyone. He took a deep breath, and ran back out into the storm with a new surge of energy.

"Halloo!" he cried, with his hands cupped over his mouth. "Over here! Please help me!" He could see the horse and its rider. It was a splendid steed; it had an almost blue appearance, with bands of black and spatterings of white on its head and hindquarters. The rider was even more resplendent than the mare he rode; it was hard to see him through the pouring rain, but the old peasant could make out gold shining on his cloak pin, and his cloak was the deepest shade of royal purple. On his head sat a magnificent plumed hat. Beneath the brim was darkness, obscuring the face of the rider from view. The man turned his head at the peasant's call. The old man waved his arms to try to make himself more visible. He grabbed the corner of his cloak and flapped it in the wind. The rider spurred his horse forward. The elegant mare trotted up the old peasant.

"Please, my lord," the peasant begged, falling to his knees. "My wife and child are waiting for me, and I don't know what will happen to them if I don't return to them! Please, kind sir, please could you ride me home?" the old man asked beseechingly, staring imploringly into the shadow of the rider's face.

The rider made no reply, but was silent for a long while. Finally, he said, "If it may be repaid, old man, I will aid you."

The peasant nodded emphatically. "Whatever I can give, my lord, it is yours! Only help me return to my family." The man nodded, and slipped out of the saddle. He knelt, and cupped his hands for the peasant's foot. The old man's eyes widened at such uncommon courtesy, and he mounted the horse. He slid back as the lord remounted.

"Now, old man," he said as he took up the reins again, "Where is your dwelling?"

"On the southern edge of Panton," the peasant replied. "Just a half-a-mile straight forward." The rider nodded, and kicked the mare into a run. Shortly, the firelight of Panton was visible at the bottom of the hill where the horse paused.

"Is this the village?" The rider asked.

"Yes, sir." The peasant said thankfully. "I thank you very much sir. I can make it from here."

"No," the rider said softly. "I will to know where to collect payment."

"You may follow me if you wish, sir," the old peasant said uncomfortably. He slid out of the saddle, and started down the hill with the horse and rider a few paces behind. The peasant made his way to his own shabby little shack. The rider dismounted behind him, and tethered his mare to a nearby yew tree. The peasant opened the door for the lord, and bowed in thanks. He followed him inside. Immediately, his wife shrieked and ran to him. She threw her arms around him.

"Andrew, you're finally home!" she wailed. "I was so worried about you! I was fearful that you had hurt yourself in the storm!"

"It's fine, Mary, I'm home now. It's going to be okay," he said soothingly as sobs racked her body. "This kind gentleman gave me a ride home." Mary turned to see where Andrew pointed. She wiped her eyes, and stepped forward.

"I don't know how we'll ever repay your kindness, my lord," she said softly, curtseying to him. "You have saved my husband's life, and with his, mine and my son's. She glanced at a little bundle of blankets in a small wooden cradle. Inside, a tiny pink hand stirred, and the baby sighed in its sleep. "I am sorry we have no feast to reward you, my lord." She continued, returning her gaze to the man's face.

"My lady," he said grandly, sweeping his hat off his head and revealing the face more clearly beneath, "your kind thanks have warmed me through and through." He lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed it. A pair of keen blue eyes stared into her startled hazel ones. He released her hand, and turned back to Andrew. "Andrew of Pan," he said, his sharp features studying the old peasant's face, "I have but one request of payment, and luckily, you seem to have it right on hand." His mud plastered boots shuffled across the dirt floor to the cradle. He bent and scooped up the sleeping baby boy in his arms. "What is your son's name?" He asked, looking into the tiny face.

"Peter," Andrew said apprehensively. "What is it that I have on hand? What do you want?" The man didn't answer, but continued to study the little boy. Andrew's eyes widened, and he exploded, "I couldn't! I couldn't give up Peter! I just couldn't!"

"Please, sir!" Mary cried, staring at her son's face. "Name something else! Anything else, and we will see that it is yours!"

"Up to my own self, I will give you anything else!" Andrew pleaded.

The man looked Andrew up and down with an ugly leer of disdain. "I have no use for you, old peasant!" he growled. "This child can be of use, however. He is young, and has many years ahead of him. He is my price, and not to be haggled upon." Mary rushed forward, weeping and pleading. The rider freed one hand of the burden, and ruthlessly shoved to woman to the floor. Andrew's eyes burned with indignation, and he stepped forward, ready to fight the man with his bare hands to get his son back. There was a glint, and Mary screamed. Peter awoke, and began to cry.

The storm had finally blown itself out. The clouds drifted apart, and the stars began to shine. Careful not to disturb the baby, James knelt down and wiped his sword clean on the damp grass. In a fluid, cautious movement, he sheathed the saber. James mounted his mare, and spurred her to action. She reared, her hooves pawing the air, and then she landed. But it was not on the peat where her hooves stopped. She charged forward, and she climbed the air to the very heavens. James twitched the reins, and she turned toward the moon. James halted her. He held up a velvet-gloved hand, and appeared to be counting stars. After a while, he seemed to have got his bearings. He turned the horse and stirred her forward again. In the blankets, Peter Pan slept tightly, and dreamed of nothing in particular.

End...

for now, anyway. Reviews appreciated :) And constructive critiques welcome.