A/N: See chapter one for disclaimer.

IMPORTANT: There are a couple of references in this chapter to previous events that were insignificant at the time, so you've probably forgotten them. Each are found in chapters ten and fifteen respectively. However, if you don't want to re-read those chapters, here are the minimal basics of what you might want to remember:

["What are you talking-" Pan began, a surprised and impatient tone taking on her voice for all of her friend's vague telling. The red head swooped down, and leaned towards Pan, her lips resting at her ears and she whispered something, too quiet for Trunks to pick up. She pulled back, and Pan's face was blank with surprise. ]

[Whatever was in her hand was brought towards her face, head tilted down, eyes half-lidded, as she spoke softly to it. He raised an eyebrow, leaning to the side from where he sat to get a better view of what she was doing. She seemed satisfied with whatever she said, for she brought her hand away and held it at arms length, slowly opening her palm. A small petal flew from her hand, caught in a wild breeze and flung away from the pool. Her dark eyes followed it until she would have to squint to see it. Trunks stared at her in curiosity.]

Last Time: Trunks was unaffected by the love spell and he discovered that Koslin was behind mostly everything. He and his fiancée rushed to Pan, who was being attacked by Koslin, and stopped him. Pan loves Trunks, Trunks loves Pan, Pan sends Trunks away, Trunks goes. No one is very happy.

"Fortune's End"

Trunks, king-in-training,

Greetings and good morning, as it is morning here at home. I know because the sun is glaring horribly into my eyes as I try to write this. I'm sitting at the top of one of your towers; the ones you said you used to look over your kingdom in. I can see the town from here, but not so much of the countryside. If I squint real hard I can see the river. (that you never swam in! I'll forgive you, I suppose.)

It's mostly quiet, at least at this time in the morning. I suppose your father is up and about (he seems to rise very early). I'm to meet with him a bit after breakfast… yesterday there was a huge crisis over the taxation of yeast-risen products. I do not lie. Some farmer was trying to convince us that bread was truly a vegetable, and he had quite the argument laid out. I marvel at your father's ability not to snicker when appropriate. In any case, he's to summon the council and we'll decide whether bread is indeed classified as a vegetable.

I'm going to go with 'no', in case you wondered. Stop laughing.

Even now, after all of these years, it still feels odd to be a part of the king's council. I think it's still odd to many of its members as well. (Because heaven forbid a woman join their chattering group. Honestly.) I think your father likes me, though. He says I'm too hard to please, but I think this is meant to be a compliment.

Have I said this before? Sometimes I can't remember what I've already written to you about. Things get so muddled, you know? I like to keep your letter as a reference, when I forget your laughter, your temper or the silly pouts you used to flaunt.

Not that your letter actually has laughs and pouts, but somehow your cursive reminds me of you. Simple letters forming words. You told me to try and forget you, but I suppose I failed miserably if I'm writing you a letter, don't you think?

You have been gone some time now, Trunks… truthfully, I expected you back before now. On one of her visits, Marron told me you wanted to stay away for seven years because you broke a mirror. Bad luck, of course. You've been gone for almost that. You had better hold to your promise, prince.

I think you'd be surprised to see me. I've gotten quite used to being a lady, I should warn you. Well… maybe not as much a lady as the others. More like your mother I suppose.

Ah! Did I tell you, just last week I was so fed up with this one ribbon that I-

Oh, drat. There's the bell for breakfast. I spent too much time up here. It's all you're fault, you know.

Your father wants to see me soon; I should really close off this letter. I'll write again soon, don't fret prince.

Hoping you return soon… yours forever… Pan.

Pan reread the letter quickly, a finger in her mouth trying to wash a bit of spilled ink off. When she was sure the words had dried, she carefully folded the parchment and tied it with a piece of string. In elegant script she wrote the prince's name on the front and slipped off her window perch.

She had taken to climbing the flights of stairs in the early mornings up to the high tower. It was very peaceful there, and always allowed her time to fully wake up and to think things through. It also was a perfect time to write her letters to Trunks.

She had avoided it at first, also ignoring the letter he had left for her. It had been months before she had even opened it. The King had not been long in finding her, and he was quite adamant he wanted her to stay around. He said there was something he very much liked about her way of thinking, and Pan was all too happy to oblige him.

She had won her father his farm back and shrugged off her engagement with Keipher, so her parents had been glad enough to allow her to stay at the castle as a more permanent resident. Of course, the fact the prince was not there did help their decision.

Trunks had left the very night she had told him to. Pan had often thought about that night, but had come to the conclusion that even if she could, she would not go back and change anything.

She did love Trunks, it was true. But she also stood by her decision that the love was a passing love. It had seemed it would end like that after all.

Of course it hadn't.

Months passed into years, and though Trunks remained abroad learning the ways to rule a country, as all princes did, he never faded from her mind or heart. She had thought that she would meet some dashing lord or even a fumbling servant that would catch her interest. And indeed she had. But with each and every one, she would find herself comparing them to Trunks.

To the prince's laugh, his smile, his wit, his arguments, his selfishness, his ego, the dimples on his cheeks, the curve of his chin, the way his voice wavered when he spoke softly…

She compared them to every aspect of Trunks and found them all short coming. It wasn't that she wanted someone that was like the prince, she realized one day in complete surprise; it was that she wanted the prince himself. Every man she met did not suit her because they were not the same as Trunks.

She still loved him.

It had hurt to the point where she wanted to be sick the day she discovered this. She had been so prepared to never think of Trunks again. Or to at least let him slowly slip from her heart, but slip he did not.

Pan shook her head, pushing open the door at the bottom of the tower, and sighed. She needed her head clear, after all, to vote on the vegetablity of bread. She hid a smile as she walked towards her room in the castle, letter in hand.

They had wisely given her a different room then the one she had stayed in on that fateful night. Not wanting to live forever in a room she was almost murdered in, they had given her one in a completely different wing, though away from the other council members, whom enjoyed looking her up and down in a less than appropriate manner.

Her room was smaller than her first, but had a balcony with stairs leading to one of the gardens. Nostalgic for her country life, the Queen had thoughtfully given her that suite, so no matter the time, Pan could find refuge in the shading trees and gentle pools.

Upon reaching her room, Pan left the door open, intent on simply dropping her letter off then hurrying to breakfast. If one didn't attend breakfast it was assumed you wanted it in bed, as she learned the hard way, when a parade of servants entered her room while she was in the midst of dressing.

Pan walked to her desk, pulled open one of the large bottom drawers and dropped the letter easily inside, making sure the attaching string was tight. She moved to shut the drawer but a voice in the doorway caught her attention.

"Milady," the young voice called, looking rather terrified to be so near her rooms. Pan straightened and nodded at him.

"I know, I'm on my way," she replied. The boy looked confused for a moment, but began to step away. He paused, and came back to the doorway, terror still present.

"Milady, begging your pardon, but you already know of his highness return?"

This caused Pan to stop haltingly in her tracks. Her mind tried to logically think if either Vegeta or Bulma had been away, but truly she knew of whom he spoke.

"Trunks is back?" she whispered, her stomach churning at the thought of breakfast at all. The young page nodded sympathetically at her distress but made his leave. Swallowing her emotions she stiffly walked from her room.

She should have been expecting him. Hadn't she just written so in her letters? It seemed Marron was not jesting when she said he would stay away for seven years. Not that she truly believed in superstition… though the storms had been accurate, as had her fortune, and that stupid flower petal…

Shaking her head in attempt to calm her now rattled nerves, Pan walked swiftly down the corridors towards the main hall. She distractedly straightened her dress and hair, while running over the things she could possibly say to the prince. The last time she had seen him, she had told him she couldn't love him and sent him away. This did not bode well for a happy reunion, to her.

The main entrance approached far too quickly for her liking. The stairs even quicker. She was about to convince herself that, yes, she needed to descend them, when the voices downstairs caught her attention. Ducking behind a pillar she cast her eyes down, and with a gasp realized that the prince had already entered and been announced.

There was Trunks, standing taller than before, absently hugging his mother. Pan could not even imagine going to greet him, now that he was here. She didn't much like lurking about in shadows, but there was simply no way to go up to him…

Not with their last conversation so vivid in her mind, years later. Not when she had said their love would die, and all she wanted to do was run down the stairs, throw her arms around him, and give him the kiss he had always asked for.

Closing her eyes, she edged away from the pillar and away from the entrance. She knew she did not have the courage or will to walk down those stairs, feeling his heavy eyes upon her.

No. Not yet.

She was marching back down the hallway before anyone could tell her different. She would not be able to face Trunks after such a long parting. She could not bare his accusing gaze. Pan walked away, unaware that the gaze had spotted her anyhow.

---

Trunks kept his arms wrapped around his Mother, his eyes slowly watching Pan sneak away. She was too far off to see what sort of expression she held, so he did not know what her feelings to his return were.

She had not ventured downstairs; instead choosing to lurk in the shadows. She could have been afraid to intrude, but when was Pan ever afraid? Trunks thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps she was angry he had come home. But after seven years she had no need to be angry.

And just because she had denied him that day, did not mean their friendship was lost. Trunks had given his predicament with Pan much thought. He had even told the tale to the King he was training under. The King had laughed forcibly, and in the end ordered him to win Pan back by any means.

But Trunks had no intention of winning Pan back. He did not have any plans to slowly woo her into loving him, or to flaunt about until she returned his feelings once again. He would not now, nor ever.

Pan had made her decision before, while still in love. While she loved Trunks, she had decided that she would not be with him. So Trunks would not go against that request now.

In no possible way did he think he would ever stop loving Pan. Even the passing glimpse of her upstairs made him remember all he had felt for her. He doubted it would ever go away or fade. But he did have a confidence that there could be someone else. He was young still, and not so undeniably attached just to Pan.

His father, here the prince cast a quick glance to the stoic king, trying hard to read the glimmer in his eye before it was hidden, would never be able to find someone else. Trunks knew that he was too attached to his mother by now, but it was not so for him with Pan.

He could find someone else that made him happy, he was sure. Maybe not someone who made him laugh as much as Pan did, or think as hard, or someone's whose looks always felt that they were made for him alone.

But someone.

In the traditional fashion of his father, Vegeta folded his arms and glared at him before speaking. But even though his words, his posture and expressions were all the same, Trunks knew something had changed in him from before the invisible curse.

He had noticed it briefly at his return seven years before, but it shone through even more now. Nothing terribly profound, but a change none the less. And if the way his mother positively glowed by his side was any indication, Trunks knew it was for the better.

He had the briefest moment to wonder what Pan and Marron had been able to accomplish between the two of them. Unintentionally, they turned the entire castle inside out.

"I should warn you," Trunks' father began, causing Trunks to leave his thoughts behind. "I will send you away, if you send her."

Trunks was surprised he didn't even have to think to know what his father was referring to, though he did raise an eyebrow for good measure. It seemed Pan had snuck herself into more than just his own heart.

"Only she keeps my council on their toes and their minds from wandering. And she's far too clever for her own good, really." He said this with an odd fondness, and beside him Bulma was trying to stifle a rather large grin.

Trunks smiled a bit, and gave a brief nod to show he understood his father.

His parents turned to walk to the dinning hall, where no doubt breakfast would be served. Trunks took a step to follow them but faltered. He did not want to wait. This would be met now. While he still had the pressing advantage.

He had just returned home, and had the right to greet everyone in the castle. If he waited, Pan would have the opportunity to say hello in passing, and then he had no reason to seek her out. But now, he had every reason. And all she had to know was he came to say hello to her.

Mind steeled, he turned in the opposite direction before faltering once again. Trunks stared at the stair case for a moment before the light touch of his mother shook him from his glance.

"It's the second left room in the west corridor," she whispered to him, as if all knowing. She grinned at him before leaving him alone at the bottom of the carpeted stairs.

Trunks, taking a breath, left behind his parents, his packages strewn over the hall where servants quickly tried to sort and organize them, and began the ascent to find Pan's room.

He marveled at how quickly it seemed to be found, not knowing Pan had thought the same thing not so long before. He knocked on the door before he could force himself to think over his decision. It had become more than just seeing Pan and saying hello. More than even confronting her about what was said seven years ago.

It had become a need. A need to see her again and just to know what was changed since those first few days. He needed to know if he still loved her. His heart would not allow him to remain ignorant.

But there was no answer to his knock.

Unfazed, he tried again, then, with still no reply, slowly creaked the wooden door open. Standing in the doorway it was easy to see the room was empty. He did not call out, but instead took a few steps inside. No one objected.

Fully convinced that Pan was not in her rooms, he walked in, looking around. It was one of the smaller suites he noted, but every inch of the room had been made her own. He could scarcely see any of the impersonal, cold castle shinning through. The colours were ones he had not seen in the castle; rich golds and deep greens scattered the curtains and the bedcovers, which had not been made that morning, but strewn halfway off the bed. Numerous pillows were piled around the bed in a semi-circle, as if she had slept with them as protection.

He slid his fingers on the wooden furniture, such a make he didn't recall, and wondered if Pan had brought them in or had them especially crafted for herself. He was glad that Pan had made the room so much her home. For even through the finery of fabric and wood, he could still feel the farmhouse in the walls and air. Like a fresh breeze whispering over something very hot and stale…

And there was a breeze, he realized, as his hair shifted in front of his eyes. He turned to the window, and discovered that what had once been a simple balcony had been extended. A few steps forward showed that the balcony stairs led down to a private garden. Such a view had not always been included with this room, he was sure of.

He walked to the doors, carefully fitted with glass, and opened them fully. The garden was small, granted, but it was well tended. The flowers were well in bloom, the trees sprinkled in green, and even a quiet pool by the base of the wooden stairs…

Trunks started, staring at the set of stairs by a wide tree. His blue eyes followed the stairs upwards until they reached a wooden platform among the branches. Not unlike the house in a tree Pan had taken him to so long ago. And Pan…

Sitting among the shifting branches he could make out the figure of her. Legs crossed in front of her, long hair tied up for the heat, and a dress simple enough she could have climbed the tree without fear.

His body for a moment did not seem to want to obey him. His feet remained stuck to the floor, and his hand perched on the door handle. By Pan's stillness, he did not think she knew he was there. He did not want to draw attention to himself, but he could not seem to take the step out there. One step, then another, was all he needed. Down the stairs, around the pool, and up the wooden steps. And there would be Pan.

But as he stood indecisively, the morning wind rustled into the room and fluttered some paper on the nearby desk.

Trunks closed the door quickly, absent-mindedly walking over to pick up the fallen pages. He had no intention of reading what was written, until his name caught his eye.

Trunks

It was a letter, wrapped in string, obviously from Pan to him. Had she planned on sending him a letter, after all the years of…

Trunks swallowed dryly and leaned forward. The bottom drawer of the desk was open, where no doubt the letter had fallen from. The drawer was filled.

Filled with letters, some aged, some folded, some tied. All addressed to him. He reached his hand inside and felt along the pile of letters. There were so many.

Trunks dug his hand to the bottom, watching as the letters reached halfway to his elbow. Letter upon letter, obviously written throughout the years, and never sent. Kept hidden here when he could have used Pan's kind words, or even argument ones, more than anything.

Seven years of silence from her had been horrible. He had only assumed…

Enough. Glaring at the pile of unsent letters, Trunks stood up and stalked to the balcony doors. He hurried down the stairs, ducking through bushes to get to Pan's tree. Without thought he scaled up the tree steps until he reached the top – and Pan.

She was looking at him wearily, an odd expression on her face, a mixture of joy and nervousness combined. She did not look all that different, even after seven years. Her face had perhaps sharpened a bit as she fully entered womanhood, but her eyes hid the same troublesome youth, and her mouth still held back a smile.

She was staring at him, her eyes roaming his face. He wondered how much he had changed for her, but if she disagreed with time's handling of him, she did not say so in words or expression. Nodding, he crawled up the last bit of stairs and lifted himself onto the tree's platform.

He knelt down and their knees touched as he faced her.

"Hello, Pan," he whispered, a smile forming despite himself. "Are you hiding from me?"

"No," she said, the workings of her own smile tugging at her lips. It was the first word he had heard her say in seven years, so he was quite proud when his breath neither hitched nor stopped.

"You didn't come down and say hello though, so I wasn't sure if…" he trailed, not really having a sentence in mind, but hoping it would prompt her to speak. He had the absurd feeling he was speaking to a child.

"I'm sorry," she answered. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it was merely my welcome, there's no need to apologize." He had the impression she was not apologizing for running from him, but made no move to point that out.

"You've changed, Pan, only a bit I think, in appearances. You're still Pan in there, I can tell. As such, I'm quite confident that you've been a terror on my home, if my mother's letters are anything to go by…"

Pan was smiling into her lap, and he reached his hands out to grasp hers. Calm eyes met his, and she waited expectantly for what he was going to say, an odd bit of hope tainting her gaze.

"Why did you never write to me, Pan? Rather… why didn't you send all that you wrote to me? I would have been thankful, let me tell you; the ladies in the eastern kingdoms are more dull than those here. I think they spent the entire seven years trying to throw themselves at me.

"Which, you know, wasn't entirely unpleasant, but not really appreciated when all I really wanted was you." He looked away from her gaze for a moment, then took a deep breath. Tell her everything, his mind screamed, ask her for everything. But he had promised himself…

"I am sorry Pan, but I do still love you. I know you wanted an end, so I'll just have to love you quietly, and there should be no-"

"You still love me," she interrupted, as if her mind had clung to that one sentence and her ears had heard nothing since. "Even after…"

"Well, yes-"

She interrupted him again, but he did not have the heart to be angry, as it was not her words that cut him off but her lips. A wide smile had spread over her pale face before she raised on her knees and fell forward.

Her hands were pulling at his hair, which he would forgive, as the feel of her waist around his hands felt so entirely perfect. Her kiss was somewhat intoxicating after so many years, and a little wet he realized, surprised, as his cheeks began to feel damp.

When she pulled back, tears falling from her eyes, he knew why.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't think it would last, I really didn't. But then it did, and you were gone, and I knew you'd come back different, but now you aren't-"

He interrupted her this time, not with a kiss, but by an embrace. His hold on her was strong and comforting, and she fiercely hugged him back.

"I love you, Trunks. I didn't want to, but I do."

He laughed and pulled her to arms-length. They simply looked at each other for what could have passed forever, but interruptions would not cease to plague the two.

Not from Pan or Trunks this time, but by a simple flower petal, falling from the blossom in the tree. Such a small flower normally would not cause a distraction of attention, but when it landed squarely on the prince's nose, it caused him to go cross eyed looking at it, and her to burst into a small giggle.

Trunks moved to flick the petal off, but she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Don't. If you catch a petal that falls, you're supposed to make a wish. Don't you know that?"

"Oh… do you know, I think someone did tell me that once."

She slapped him on the shoulder easily.

"That was me," she said, with a voice that said he should have known that, but the quirk of her lips told him she was not actually upset by his forgetfulness.

"Oh, that's right," he murmured. "By your lake. I wouldn't know what to wish for though…" he said, raising his eyes from the petal now in his palm. "What did you wish for?"

She looked away for a moment, biting her lip, then looked back up.

"What I wished for…" she began, sighed, then straightened as if she were going to reveal a grand secret. "I wasn't very content at the time… so, I wished for… a personal happiness. I wished to smile for the rest of my life, to fight, and to love. I wished for arguments, and apologies. I wished for sleeping in until the sun is past noon, fires in winter and garden walks when in the summer. I wished for storms that would bring comfort, and an embrace that would not end. I wished to be whole."

She said this in almost one breath, talking into her lap. He laughed again, shaking his head at her.

"My goodness Pan, there's no way you fit that all on one poor petal." She smiled

sadly at him, and shook his head.

"Don't you see, Trunks?" she asked, "I wished for you."

He wanted to choke from the sincerity with which she said it. He wanted to grin madly for the words. He couldn't bear to look at her; with her entire being held out in front of her, cradled in her hands, an offering only being made once. His mouth felt like he swallowed sand, and all he could reply was one word.

"Why?" he choked out, despairing at the revulsion that came through. Pan seemed unaffected by his tone, and perhaps even a tiny bit amused at his question, but her reply was quite serious. Trunks had seen serious Pan; in fact, Pan was almost always serious to begin with. But never had he seen this Pan, leaning forward ever so slightly, eyebrows drawn and the curve of both a frown and a smile at her lips. She was determined to speak.

"I didn't know I had wished for you at the time. You just ended up being my answer, do you understand?" Her lips were definitely curling towards a smile, but the shyest he had ever seen on her. "She told me, you know. That day she came… before she was killed. She told me my fortune, she whispered it to me, and I didn't understand. I didn't think it could possibly come true. She told me I'd fall in love with you. I couldn't trust it for the longest time, Trunks. And then when I finally did… you had already gone, and I thought your love would go as well…

"But I did wish for you, even if I didn't know it then. And I know it doesn't matter what happens from this point, I will still love you. Always. Even when it nearly kills me to do so. Sometimes I wish I didn't, because I don't think I want to love you… you're so arrogant, and priggish, and… and… princely!

"I thought I could choose to love you. I can't. There is no choice; I simply do."

"Why?" he stumbled again. There did not seem to be a better reply to what Pan was confessing. She was saying exactly what he wanted her to say and more. She was admitting that this would not end, that he would not have to love her endlessly, while his affections were not returned.

They could both have their happy ending after all, except-

"Why?" he repeated. "Why do you love me? Please believe me when I say-"

She silenced him with a light kiss, their lips merely pressed together softly for a moment. She cupped his face dearly, her palm sliding his jaw line and resting on his neck, his warm skin brushing her hand where a thin scar still remained.

"I love you for the same reason you love me," she said quietly, happily finding a safe comfort in the pulse under her fingers. The prince's heart seemed to be steady and unwavering under her light touch, and somehow she knew it always would be.

"And why is that?" his voice asked, softly; a tone she had only heard once before. Her smile reached her eyes, her hands on his shoulder, and her eyes taking in the face she had memorized by heart.

"Because you can see me," she replied. He thought his mouth could not get any dryer, and the odd clenching feeling he got when around Pan was returning. That sensation in his palms, and behind his eyes whenever she revealed something of such magnitude. There the first time she said she loved him. When she said goodbye.

But now she was saying that she loved him still. More so, she was telling him why she loved him at all, and it was simply… perfect.

Which made him quite terror stricken to think of something to say. But his lips formed no words. Pan was looking at him beseechingly, her fingers twisting together, and her teeth worrying her lower lip as he knew she did when panicked.

He cleared his throat, and tried to avoid her eye.

"You realize…" he started, trying not to stutter, "that you made the last seven years of my life almost unbearable with your rejection." A flash of distress crossed her face and she leaned forward to excuse her actions but he stopped her, standing up and folding his arms.

"So you are quite lucky that I've had that long to forgive you."

Trunks was not prepared for the feel of a joy-stricken Pan in his arms. He was not ready for the curve of her waste at his fingers, or the rest of her chin on his chest.

But he was certainly ready to become an expert on it.

And so they embraced each other, carefully and longingly, among the blossoms of an apple tree, quite unaware of anyone around them .

Unaware of the King and Queen arguing over the proper temperature for porridge in the dining hall. Unaware of the guards slowly taking their patrol shifts around the castle gates. Unaware of the bakers long since finished their morning breads, the stable boys with their shovels, and the school boys pulling on girls' curls.

Just as all of them were unaware of their prince, holding his princess, rocking her to the silent song of a new morning.

End

And because FFnet is picky about chapter content - a list of answers, comments, and thank yous can be found here: www. livejournal / users / angel (underscore) eevee / 7953 .html (Obviously without the spaces... ffnet doesn't like posting urls, apparently, heh)