A/N: I just had to add a fic about this - the art I've seen about this has been so, so adorable, and I just LOVE the idea of Elsa and Jack together.

Believe it or not, this chapter was the extent of my original idea. As I began writing, though, I realized that it wasn't enough - there needed to be at least one more chapter, to finish what I'd put the characters through. So if the muse hits me - and if enough people like it - I'll be coming out with another chapter real soon. :)

Common disclaimers apply.

She caught his attention from the beginning.

Pitch Black always believed that children were easy to torment and to frighten. They feared so much - monsters, isolation, the cold - but above all, darkness. It was so simple, so wonderfully easy to nudge a hint of fear into their heads. A flicker of shadow, a noise where there oughtn't be, and he was rewarded by a shriek of pure, unadulterated horror.

"Nightmares," parents told their children soothingly. "It was just a nightmare." And Pitch, looking on in the darkness, would smile. If so, he thought, then I am the king of nightmares.

Every child was susceptible. Every child was weak. Predictable. It pleased him and yet, every couple decades or so, Pitch nearly wished for something more.

And then he found her.

Elsa, the eldest princess of the kingdom of Arendelle.

Pitch stood at the foot of her bed, his chin perched on the knuckles of one hand. What to make of this little girl? He had been observing her for a while and found himself almost... uncertain.

"You are unusual, aren't you?" he murmured aloud, but it was true; Elsa had almost no similarities to any other child he had encountered. The cold did not bother her, nor did isolation, for she had been living in the self-imposed prison of her room for years now without complaint. Pitch's chief weapon, darkness, had little impact on the girl, and as for monsters -

Well. Pitch's golden eyes flickered over the girl's sleeping form, appraising the guilt inside Elsa's mind. Perhaps there was something inside her he could use after all.

But not yet.

Pitch knew a prize when he saw one, so he waited. He watched her from the shadows as she grew from a young girl into a woman. Normally he had no power over adults - they were too rational, without the imagination or curiosity to give his nightmares any influence - so he left them alone. Elsa, though, was different. She had plenty of imagination, but it had been suppressed and packed away in the back of her mind. She was worried about other things, like learning politics, economics, law and policy - all the things she would need to know to rule Arendelle one day.

And she was worried about her powers. She tried not to let it show, but Pitch knew. Elsa was a bundle of nerves beneath her calm exterior, and it would only be a matter of time before she cracked under the pressure. Pitch wanted to be there when it happened.

Elsa was strong, though - stronger than Pitch at first assumed. She held herself together when her parents perished at sea, and though her powers became more unpredictable than ever, she maintained control. Then her coronation day came and Elsa's restraint slipped. She turned the entire fjord to solid ice and escaped into the mountains, naively certain that exile would relieve her of her concerns. Her sister - the insufferable Anna, who was such a pleasure to torture when she was younger - came and was injured by another slip in Elsa's control. Pitch was tempted to interject then and there, but his instincts urged him to wait. There will be more, he thought as he watched the queen pace under the crystal chandelier. There always is.

And he was right. Elsa was captured and imprisoned. The arrogant prince, who had recklessly shown his true colors too early, attempted to murder Elsa - only to be stopped by Anna, who blocked the killing blow as she turned to ice.

And good riddance to her, Pitch thought, bored as the prince tripped all over himself in astonishment and Elsa began to cry. No matter how many times Elsa begged and pleaded, and despite all the desperate attempts to unfreeze her sister, Anna stayed a perfect statue of blue carven ice.

"That's right, it was your fault," Pitch murmured as Elsa finally dropped her hand from her sister's cheek and turned away. "You were the one who killed her. She would be alive except for you."

Elsa looked up at Hans, crouched on the ground, and over at the young blond man standing by his reindeer. "This was my doing," she said, and wiped the tears from her eyes. They sparkled like diamonds, the salty tears already turned to chips of ice in her hands. "This is my fault."

"No," the blond man began, but Elsa shook her head.

"If it wasn't for me, if it wasn't for my powers..." She paused, then looked back over her shoulder at Anna. "I won't put anyone in danger ever again."

"But - " The blond man caught Elsa's arm as she strode past. She flinched and pulled out of his grip. "But Arendelle needs you!" he called after her.

"No, it doesn't. No, it doesn't." Elsa began to run, her eyes squeezing shut. "I'm nothing but a - a monster!"

Pitch smiled as he watched her go. "Yes," he murmured, "you most certainly are."

Elsa ran far - further than the North Mountain, further than any human searchers could go. For a while Pitch wondered if she might run all the way to the North Pole - that would have complicated things. He certainly didn't need the idealistic and disgustingly optimistic St. North intruding into his endeavors - but Elsa stopped before she got that far, in the mountains that bordered the edge of her country. There she created a cave in the sheer cliffside and waited, facing ever towards the outside world.

She expected a search party, so Pitch left her alone. He left her to her isolation, to her grief, and to her melancholy. He waited until he saw the defeat in her eyes before he knew it was time to reveal himself.

She had never seen him before - she never had a reason to. She had never feared him or his tricks, and he knew she did not fear him now. But as Elsa looked up at him from her position on the ground, he saw recognition. Acceptance. He was the embodiment of fallen hopes and ruined dreams, and she believed in that more than anything.

"You're Pitch Black," she said softly.

He gave her a mocking bow. "And you're the queen of Arendelle."

"No, I'm not." She looked away from him. "I don't deserve to be the queen of anything."

"Oh, I doubt that very much." He clasped his hands behind his back and took a casual step toward her. "I've heard you're gifted at manipulating ice and snow."

"Manipulate?" she echoed hollowly. "I can't control it, I can't restrain it. You speak as if it's under my power, but it isn't. I've never been able to - "

"Ah ah," he said softly, "not so fast. What about your talk of 'letting go'? You once made a palace of ice and a living defender to guard it."

"It was a fluke," she said flatly. "And it doesn't matter, because I wasn't able to use my powers when I needed them."

"Ah yes," he said. "To save your sister. Yet it was you, I believe, that put the ice in her heart to begin with." Pitch waited for the wince he knew would come, but Elsa only dropped her eyes. Good, he thought. "Well, you know why you did it, of course."

That surprised her. Elsa twisted around, her blue eyes bright. "W-What?" she gasped, almost as if she were her old self again. "It wasn't - it wasn't a conscious decision - "

"Regardless." He pretended to inspect the fingernails of his left hand. "You reacted because you were scared."

"I wasn't - "

He laughed. "Oh, you were. I know fear, your highness, and you were afraid."

Her eyes narrowed. "I was not afraid of Anna."

"No, not of her. No one could be afraid of her." He raised an eyebrow. "But you were scared."

She blinked. "...yes," she said slowly. "I was."

"Then who were you afraid of? Hans? The soldiers? The party guests?"

"No... no, I wasn't afraid of any of them."

"Then who was it?"

"...me," Elsa admitted quietly. "I was afraid of myself. What I could do."

His eyes flickered over to her, then away. "So you think that barricading yourself here will help," he stated.

She looked up at him. Whether she really didn't have an answer for him, or if she just wasn't used to hearing sarcasm, he couldn't say. She only looked at him.

Pitch dropped his hand, abandoning the pretense. "How long would you say you've been here?" he asked, turning away. "How long would you guess that you've been waiting for someone - anyone - to come and drag you back to Arendelle?"

Elsa blinked. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped around her knees. She slowly shook her head. "I... I don't - "

"I'll tell you: fifty years."

Her head shot up, disbelief written across her face. "What? But that's - "

"Impossible? No." He glanced over at her. "You've become something of a legend in your country, highness. A girl with the power of winter? No, it can't be true. Some of the elderly swear they've seen you, but most of the younger generations know better."

Elsa stared at him.

"You've become a bedtime story, a tale told over the fire, a late night whisper. It really was rather stunning how infamous you've become, and how quickly."

"But... what about..." Elsa swallowed. "... Anna?"

He gave her an indifferent look. "What do you think ice does? It melts."

Her mouth slowly fell open in horror.

"And your kingdom?" He flicked his hand. "Moved on. It didn't really need you to run it, you know."

Elsa looked away. There were tears shining at the edges of her eyes, but they didn't fall. "Did anyone try to come after me?"

"A few. The howling storm stopped them from getting very far, though."

She nodded, but it was a cheerless motion. "So that's it," she said in a dead voice. "Everyone I love is gone. I'm still alive, but to all the world I'm just a rumor." She shut her eyes. "I'm not even real anymore."

"Oh, you're very real. Your powers should be proof of that."

"But everyone is afraid - "

"And is that so terrible?" Pitch turned to face her. "Your abilities are too strange, too treacherous for everyone else, and that's why they fear you." He paused for effect. "But not me."

Elsa opened her eyes.

Pitch held out his hand. Later on he wondered why he decided to demonstrate his powers to her, and why he spoke to her the way he did. He hadn't needed her, then. He hadn't even wanted her, really. He wrote it off as instinct again, and yet that wasn't it. Not completely.

In that moment, when the shadows twisted and congealed in his hand and when the darkness arched and curled behind him like a cloak, he saw an expression on Elsa's face that was familiar: the stirrings of hope.

He had worn that look once, long ago.

"I, too, have a power that is feared," he said gravely. "Over time, I learned to accept and control it. It does not dominate me anymore." He clenched his fist, extinguishing the shadow's weak life. "Nor will it, ever again."

Interest kindled in Elsa's face, and recognition. "We... are similar," Elsa said slowly. She stood up and brushed the lingering snowflakes from the folds of her skirt, looking at him all the while.

"I suppose," he said diffidently, but she was right.

Yet Elsa was sharper than he'd suspected, and she asked carefully, "did you lose someone, once?"

Pitch stilled. For a moment he was silent, frozen by the thought -

No, it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. He shook off his uneasiness and the distant, long-buried sorrow. He purged the memory and glanced sideways at Elsa, all his darkness and acerbity funneling into a single word. "No."

He turned away. Elsa hurried after him. "If I am just a story, then the people must not remember much about me," she said.

"They remember enough," he told her shortly. "To them, you are the Snow Queen."

"Snow Queen," Elsa murmured. She glanced at him and Pitch had to suppress his smile. Yes, he knew what she was thinking. The King of Nightmares and the Snow Queen. How quaint.

"But then... fifty years... " Elsa slowed. Pitch looked back at her. She was studying her slim white hands. "How could... won't I...?"

"Die?" he supplied, and her eyes darted up to meet his. "No, I shouldn't think so." He gave her a knowing look. "You see, legends never die, so long as they're believed in."

"Believed in?" she echoed.

Then Pitch did smile. "Yes. And by the time we're through, everyone will believe in you."

And so Elsa went with him.

Pitch Black was a strange companion. Actual conversation between them was few and far between - instead, he was silent and ever-watchful, his true thoughts as elusive as the very shadows he retained. He had very little in the way of actual instructions for controlling her powers. Eventually Pitch admitted that he could not say how, exactly, he learned to rule the darkness - just that it had been slowly, over time. If Elsa was intimately familiar with both her capabilities and her limitations, then there was a chance she could learn how to restrain the storm beneath her skin.

So, as Elsa traveled with Pitch, she tested them. Like a muscle that had never before been properly used, Elsa felt a part of her grow stronger as the years raced on. She could not explain to Pitch where she felt the control exactly - whether it was in her will, in her heart, or if it was simply a delusion of her mind - but she felt stronger. And that gave her some courage.

That pleased Pitch, too.

Elsa did not deceive herself about the nature of his long absences, or the reason for their lengthy travels. Pitch was the Nightmare King - the Bogeyman. It was his self-appointed duty to frighten children and ignite fear. It was what he did - he had to, in a way; it was what kept him breathing. Elsa knew it, but deep down she did not like it. She did not watch Pitch at his work, for the expressions of the children's faces chilled her like nothing could. Sometimes she thought she could hear their screams far in the distance where she stood at the edge of town, and she wondered what it was they were afraid of - what Pitch was using to torment them this time.

Sometimes, every once in a while, Elsa thought she heard Anna's screams.

Forget, Pitch had told her. It only hurts to remember. And as she'd met his gaze, Elsa knew he was right. Her memories of Anna, and the regrets - so very many regrets - always managed to undo her years of work and make her control turn fragile. The nostalgia piled on her, suffocating her, until Pitch had to come and snap her out of her misery.

It was easier not to remember.

So Elsa did not. She did not think about her sister, her parents, and Arendelle. She did not think about the past, and her power grew. Finally she was the master of her abilities and herself, and she did not need Pitch's aid. He smiled at her when she demonstrated her mastery and, when she was done, he tilted her chin up so he could whisper in her ear, "well done, highness."

And Elsa knew that Pitch was proud to have her at his side.

His Snow Queen.

And she was satisfied to be with him.

It was only a little while later, though, that she met him.

Elsa could not say what year it was, precisely - Pitch, so meticulous and far-minded, could always keep track of the passing years, though to Elsa it was like trying to pick out the individual snowflakes of a raging storm; not impossible, but difficult - when she stood there, on that bridge, looking over the city. It was not yet dawn, and the crystals of ice sparkled in the faint light - her handiwork, to aid Pitch in his nightly rounds. The city was built around a crescent-shaped harbor, with distant mountains to the north, all peaked in snow. It could have been Arendelle, almost, Elsa thought, looking down over the winding streets. But it is not. The landscape was all wrong, the buildings too different. It was not Arendelle.

For a moment, though, she wished it was.

A gentle gust of wind blew against her back, pulling against the ice-spun fabric of her train and teasing the snowflakes from her braid. She felt rather than saw someone land down behind her, the soft tap of a staff against the stone bridge the only indication that it wasn't Pitch. "I guess nature beat me to it," a man said, striding to the edge of the bridge and looking down. He chuckled a little. "Some of those cobbles look pretty slippery, though. That's good."

Elsa glanced over at him. The silver hair and death-pale cheeks marked him as no human. This must be Jack Frost, she thought, tracing the delicate swirls of ice on the hem of his brown cloak with her eyes. Pitch had mentioned him a few times in passing.

"It wasn't," she said softly. "Mother Nature, I mean."

Jack looked over at her, then suddenly froze, blue eyes wide. He isn't a man, Elsa thought, noting the childlike sparkle in his eyes. He's a boy. A teenager, at most.

"You can... see me?" he asked. The hopeful note in his voice made her smile a little.

"I'm not a human," she said gently, and his face fell. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "It's okay. It - It doesn't matter. I guess I'm just not used to being... invisible, yet."

"Being invisible has its advantages," she said, turning back to look over the city. Over the water, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning the clouds above the mountains a blushing pink. "You can't get close to anyone, so the partings hurt less. If you don't care about anyone, then you aren't a threat - not to them, and not to yourself."

"That's... that's terrible," Jack said. When Elsa turned to look at him, his hand tightened around his staff. "You have to care about - well, something," he said. "What's the fun in a life where you don't love anything?"

"I don't need love," Elsa said dismissively, turning away again.

"Everyone needs something to love!" Jack burst out. His eyes were so fierce, so assured, and Elsa stared at him in amazement.

Quickly the fire died in Jack's expression and his gaze fell. "At least, that's what I think. I'm... I'm trying to find my purpose here, too."

She opened her mouth to contradict him, but after a moment or two, she slowly closed it again. He was right, in a way. She had a purpose, here with Pitch, but it wasn't... it wasn't her purpose.

They stood there in silence, watching the growing light touch the slanted, frosty rooftops. Elsa could see Jack fidgeting at her side until finally he blurted, "sorry. For, you know, arguing with you."

A smile curved the corner of her lips. "It's alright."

"I don't even think I've introduced myself. Wow, I'm such an ass - er, asinine jerk." He cringed, glancing over at her. "Sorry."

Her smile only widened.

"I'm Jack Frost," he said.

The words came out before she could stop them. "Elsa."

"Elsa," Jack echoed.

"The Snow Queen," she clarified, looking up into his eyes.

"So hey, you must know some great snow tricks and techniques," he said, grinning.

The memory of Olaf leapt to her mind, but Elsa brushed it away. "No," she said quietly, "I don't. I'm not really concerned with having fun."

Jack said nothing, but Elsa could feel him watching her as she looked back over the city. The sun was just cresting the distant sea, shards of light bouncing across the waves and onto the shore. In the rising brightness, the flakes of snow and ice sparkled. The cobblestones glinted in a pearly sheen, and the mountains began to glow with the incandescence of the heavens' glory.

"This is my favorite part," Elsa murmured reverently. "The light, the stillness. I couldn't ask for more."

"You could," Jack replied, equally quiet. "You could ask for something to live for."

Elsa stiffened.

"I mean, the sunrise is nice - it really is," he said, looking sideways at her. "But it won't make you happy. Not for long."

"I don't need happiness," she whispered.

"Everyone needs happiness." Jack leaned on his staff and smiled gently at her. "Even someone as sad and beautiful as you."

Elsa looked over at him. Jack's cheeks were flushed - probably he hadn't meant to say that last part aloud - but he held her gaze.

Maybe he's right, Elsa wondered, looking into his honest, confident face. There was no lurking darkness, no bitterness in his eyes, and Elsa realized then that she had missed that. Maybe I do need to find something that makes me happy.

For a moment, Elsa allowed herself to imagine a life lived Jack's way. There would be plenty of adventures and excitement, and she would laugh more, because everything would seem more fun. She would care, really care, about herself and the world. Her powers would be chaotic again and might threaten to overwhelm her, but did it really matter when she felt so alive? Perhaps Jack could help her find something to love, something that would become her purpose...

It was a perfect image, and Elsa held it close, relishing it, before letting it fade slowly away. That will never happen, she thought. I am with Pitch now - he was the one who helped me collect myself and move on. He helped me gain what strength I have. Caring about things only limits you, and becomes a burden. I cannot abandon the control I've achieved. I will not.

Still, what Jack said... perhaps there is some merit in it, too.

"Thank you," she told him.

Jack only shrugged. "I'm just telling the truth."

"Even so, I'm grateful." Elsa smiled a little. "I have never smiled so much as I have with you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow, really? Because you've barely smiled at all."

Without replying, Elsa reached up to lightly brush the edge of his jaw. The moment her fingertips touched his skin, a pattern of frozen fractals bloomed icy blue against his cheek. "Thank you," she said again, softer this time.

Jack curled his fingers around her wrist, holding her hand in place. "You don't have to leave," he said.

"I do. Pitch will be waiting for me."

His eyes narrowed slightly in recognition of the name, but no more. "You don't have to stay with him."

Elsa smiled sadly. She trailed her thumb back and forth across his skin. It was nearly the same shade of frosty white as her own, and she marveled at it. Who was this boy, this Jack Frost, that he could say such dangerously candid things to her, that he did not hesitate to bare his heart before her? Not even Pitch had ever been so earnest. How could Jack have any real feelings for her, when they had only met ten minutes ago?

And who was this boy, that he could spark the same emotions in her? For she did feel something - a rhythm between them. The moment they had touched, Elsa felt her heart fall into beat with his own, felt their breaths synchronize as his eyes looked into hers. With Jack, Elsa felt connected. Together, they belonged. Like puzzle pieces of a greater whole, they fit together seamlessly. She was his. He was hers. They could not be parted, and any thought of separation from him - from this perceptive, thoughtful, funny, kind, dear boy - was so painful that her heart quailed within her chest -

Don't feel. A broken piece of the familiar mantra came back to her, startlingly clear despite the many years that had passed. It will be for the best.

Elsa looked away from Jack. "If only," she said quietly, pulling her arm away. "I wish we had met earlier. Things might have been... well, they might have been different."

"They still could," he said, but she only turned away.

"Goodbye, Jack," Elsa said. She left him standing on the bridge, his face upturned in the golden morning light as he watched her go.

Pitch Black was waiting for her when she arrived at their meeting place in the forest, further inland. "What kept you?" he demanded as she stepped gracefully toward him.

"The sunrise," she told him truthfully. She had learned long ago not to lie to Pitch.

"Is that so?" he said, giving her one of his cold looks. "Well, it's getting a little too bright for me. Shall we?"

"Yes," Elsa said.

There must have been something in her face, or maybe her voice, that caused Pitch to pause. "I don't know what you see in them," he said, turning back to face her. "All mornings look the same to me."

"This one was different," she said quietly. she refused to let herself glance back at the bridge, but the temptation was there all the same.

"Yes, it was," Pitch mused. He stepped close to her and placed a finger against her temple. He slowly traced the curvature of her face down to her chin, speaking all the while. "I've decided to try something different. An exploration of the possibilities of our powers, you might say. Think you're up for it?"

Elsa met his eyes. Pitch was looking at his hand against her skin, his ashy pigment a striking contrast against her frosty paleness. Dark and ice. What goes better, after all? "Yes," she told him.

His golden eyes flickered up to meet hers. He tipped her chin up sharply. "Good," he said, ignoring her soft gasp. "Then let's have no more distractions by the sun anymore." He released her and spun away. His tall, elegant form vanished swiftly into the shadows of the nearest tree, leaving Elsa alone in the glade.

I suppose I will never see Jack Frost again, she thought, only then letting herself look back. The dark branches of the forest blotted out everything except a single shining tower in the distance, and Elsa gazed at it for a long moment. I was lucky just to see him once. I should be satisfied with that.

It was true, but the thought still made her sad.

Sad and beautiful, Jack had called her.

Then again, the future can bring many things, Elsa thought and she turned to follow the Nightmare King into the shadows. Maybe Pitch will cross his path.

Maybe I will get to see him again.

Jack Frost.

She smiled.