Disclaimer: Peter Pan, all characters, places, and related terms belong to J.M. Barrie. Nor do I own the story or characters of Swan Lake; they belong to whoever owns the rights to it. The rest of the plot is mine.
Author's Note: This one-shot is different from what I usually write. Enjoy and please let me know what you think.
Unenchanted
Wendy sets her towel down by the edge of the trees and hurries to the lake. The water feels so good and refreshing. She wades in until her shoulders are submerged. She gazes at the sun as it disappears behind the mountain. The island turns into a land of shadows and mist, dark and mysterious; a chill fills the air.
Yet Wendy smiles, untroubled by the evening change. Taking a deep breath, she dives beneath the water. She swims with strong, sure strokes, her hair floating in gentle waves behind her. There is not enough light for her see into the water's deep depths, but she does not go far down. The need for air urges her to the surface. Breaking through the surface, she breathes deeply as she throws her head back. Sighing contentedly, she floats on her back. Closing her eyes, she absently thinks about the story of the swan princess her mother had sometimes told her at night.
The swan princess…once a princess of a kingdom, now queen over the swans, cursed to be a swan by day, a girl by night. The lake's waters and bank are her prison and refuge. A heavy golden crown weighs on her head as a visual reminder of her place, while soft swan feathers weave through her long hair. A simple, shredded white dress is her mocking royal attire. And always she and her enchanted companions are watched, watched by the owl with unblinking yellow eyes. His hoot is his wicked laughter at their hopeless plight.
Forever they will live under his power, never to return to the world of men, their families. He will never be defeated.
Wendy sniffs, tears burning behind her closed lids as she recalls the tragic tale. Once she had gone to the concert hall with her mother and had heard haunting, sad music based on the fairy tale her mother had whispered to her. She can only remember bits and pieces of the music she heard that night, but she knows she wept, images of the story being breathed with new life by the haunting melodies.
Aware of the hour growing late, Wendy slips under the water a final time and then turns her face back to the rising moon for a moment. She swims toward the shore until her feet touch the rocky bottom, and then she slowly walks toward the shore. She becomes aware of the cool air and hugs herself. It will take a while for her nightgown and herself to dry. Running her fingers over the soaked cloth, she dreamily wonders if she might be mistaken for a swan maiden. Nay, she has no crown. But she is clothed in white and has come to this body of water many a dark evening. Trapped, waiting to be freed to return to land.
But not all enchantments come to an end. Many a night has the swan princess searched the shore for a possible savior. But it is only she and her companions. Each night passes with renewed despair. Never has she looked up to behold the eyes of a man gazing at her. It is to the moon she turns her pale face—
"Wendy?"
Startled, the girl looks up with wide eyes to discover Peter standing at the edge of the trees looking at her; she does not know how to interpret the expression on his face. Neither one moves for many long moments; they gaze at each other as though uncertain if the other is real.
The first meeting between swan princess and prince is of fear, not enchantment, her mother had said…
Shaking herself, Wendy bites her lip as she resumes her journey to the bank. She is tempted to ask if the boys are all right, to ask why he has come here, for she has always been alone here and did not expect his company. But she does not ask, remaining silent.
Her feet leave the water and embrace the grassy bank. Feeling shy, Wendy stares at the ground as she slowly walks to Peter who stands next to her towel. His hazel eyes are intense, something akin to dawning awe in them as he gazes steadily at her. The silence between them is almost sacred.
The girl bends down to retrieve the towel. It disappears from her view before she has touched it. Her confusion lasts only a moment as the dry, warm cloth is draped carefully over her shivering shoulders. Her head jerks up, and she blinks in surprise as Peter finishes wrapping the towel about her. Her head clears; the spell breaks. It is simply Peter, Peter Pan her friend. She pushes thoughts of swan maidens and princes away.
"Thank you, Peter." Wendy tries to smile but realizes her teeth are chattering.
Peter's face clears; the enchantment that momentarily seized him when he first stumbled upon her scatters. A familiar cocky smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. "You must not catch your death of cold," he says in a slightly husky voice.
Wendy casts a sidelong glance to the lake before his voice draws her back.
"Come on, Wendy. Let's go home."
She faces him again and mutely nods. Warmth fills her when Peter places one arm about her shoulders and leads her away from the lake. Subconsciously, she leans against him.
The swan princess's head rested on the prince's shoulder as she left behind her prison: free.
THE END