Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Rise of the Guardians or any other work that my writing is based on.

Please enjoy!

It had been an utterly humiliating thing to do, but he'd been left with no other recourse.

Everything had gone so smoothly at first, then all of a sudden it had been one setback right after another until his entire plan was in tatters. Those wretched Guardians and their collection of brats had devastated the Nightmare hoard he had so painstakingly created, leaving him with just a handful of scattered mares. The unexpected return of Sandman hadn't helped his situation, either. And then, then, those damned little children had forgotten him.

He still couldn't understand that particular part of it at all. How could he just slip out of their minds like that, after he'd spent so many nights meticulously tormenting them, building up their fear and their dread until even their daylight hours were filled with terrified thoughts of the dark dreams he'd created?

Rendered next to powerless by the brats' surge of fun and joy and wonder, he'd made a break for his lair. They'd never come down into the dark after him, of that much at least he was absolutely certain. Only Jack Frost had the guts to do such a reckless thing, and that was purely because Pitch had lured him there with those teeth; even the naive Frost wasn't stupid enough to venture into the depths more than once. But only yards from a successful escape he'd run straight into North, who'd stood by and watched with a smirk plastered onto his fat face as Tooth Fairy got her revenge for her stupid little fairies. That particular moment was the lowest Pitch had ever felt, but even that was just the beginning of his humiliation. In order to get away from them, in order to reach the safety of his dark home beneath the earth, he'd been forced to endure something much, much worse.

But it had worked.

As much as he hated to admit it, resorting to something so disgraceful was probably the only reason why he'd made it out of there relatively unscathed. Those Guardians never would have expected something like that from him, which was precisely why they had believed such a sorry performance. Even that know-it-all Man in the Moon hadn't so much as flickered at the display, meaning he'd swallowed the lie just as easily as his precious puppets had. Not one of them suspected that it had all been an act—that was how brilliantly he had put it on for them. The screaming, the flailing…he'd even thrown in a despondent "nooooo" just to make sure they bought it. And bought it they had. They'd all but lapped up his so-called defeat, too busy patting themselves on the back and relishing his false cries to recognize the sheer ridiculousness of it all. He'd even told them, hadn't he? He'd told them right to their faces that they couldn't get rid of him. And, really, did they honestly believe that he'd be afraid of his own Nightmares? He'd created the blasted things, why ever would he be afraid of them? Why would he be afraid of anything? He was Pitch Black, he was fear personified. They were truly and utterly dense if they could not understand that much.

Well...whatever. It had worked to his advantage in the end. He'd played the part well, and they'd believed it, and now he'd be left alone.

"That's enough now," he said sternly, and the swirling vortex of nightmare sand dutifully carried him to the floor. The sand dispersed into nearly a dozen separate tendrils, which quickly reshaped into fully-formed Nightmares. They snorted and pawed at the ground, tossing their heads angrily as if discussing the recent events amongst themselves. Pitch pat one on the head without really looking at it before making his way over to his throne. He sat down heavily, heaving a weary sigh.

What a waste of time.

All that work, all that effort…all for nothing.

I should've stuck with the original plan…

The Nightmares suddenly reared their heads, alert to another's presence in the lair. A figure emerged from the shadows and approached the Nightmare King, and Pitch could not sense any fear emanating from that person at all. The gathered mares parted without command, allowing the figure passage without so much as a snap or a snort. In fact, many of them dipped their heads respectfully, almost submissively, as the individual passed them by. The leader of the mares, Onyx, was the only one that dared touch the newcomer, brushing her muzzle against their elbow. And the mare was touched back, a hand running absently along the dark sand of the creature's mane as the figure passed her by.

Pitch was staring up at the vaulted ceiling and seemed to pay the figure no heed, but he didn't need to look to know who it was.

"I suppose I must thank you," he said, his voice echoing hollowly in the massive room. "Very smart, sending those mares."

"Who do you think I am?" the figure replied with a bit of a laugh. "Really, it only worked because they are all so stupid."

She was at the foot of the dais now, and ascended the twin steps without hesitation. Had anyone else approached the Nightmare King so shamelessly, he could have made swift work of reminding them of their place. But not this one. She was the only one in the entire world who could ever be so familiar with Pitch and get away with it.

Leaning her staff against the arm of the throne, she settled onto his lap, sitting sideways so she could see his face. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Pitch staring up at the ceiling while she stared at him. Then he sighed again.

"I overdid it."

"Clearly."

"I couldn't help it." He turned his attention to her face, his golden eyes staring deep into her green ones. "Being filled with that much power…being remembered after so long…it was just so exhilarating! And when those wretched Guardians got involved I just couldn't help but toy with them."

He extended a hand and curved his arm around her back, palm settling familiarly on her hip. "I should've stuck with the original plan," he murmured, almost to himself.

"You should've," she agreed, but then her mouth pulled into a sneer. "That Moon-man just couldn't mind his own damn business. Calling for his minions when you'd only just begun to tamper with the children's dreams…talk about premature."

She suddenly fixed him with an accusatory look. "Goading him wasn't the brightest idea you've ever had."

He groaned. "You know about that?"

"Of course."

She tossed her head to get rid of a wayward lock of hair, the movement upsetting the long, thick tresses that cascaded down her back. The soft strands brushed over the arm he had wrapped around her, causing familiar heat to curl low in his belly. He wanted to touch that hair some more, and he did, reaching up to comb his fingers through the mass of curls. She smelled good, like forest and earth and warm sunlight.

Perfect...

"I also know about your little rendezvous with Jack Frost out in the Antarctic."

She paused, clearly waiting for an answer, but he was fixated on her hair and didn't say anything. So she continued, pushing the point.

"What were you thinking, playing with the new favorite like that?"

"I…" He stopped suddenly, not entirely sure how to express himself adequately. There had just been so much running through his head at the time: the children and his rising power; the new Nightmares and the involvement of the Guardians; the unexpected change in plans... That particular point had been unintentional. He honestly hadn't meant to veer so far from their original strategy, but he'd become so caught-up in the rush of power and the game of wits and manipulation that he'd found himself in with the Man in the Moon's gaggle of pests that everything had gotten completely out of control before he'd even realized it. He knew he should've known better, but after centuries of moping around in the darkness picking at the meager scraps of children's fear he'd been unable to pass up such a perfect opportunity to cut loose and express himself as openly and freely as possible.

In short, he'd become so enthralled by the sudden rush of power and the excitement of being remembered after so long that he'd completely lost track of what he was actually supposed to be doing.

As for Jack Frost…. Learning about the spirit's involvement with the Guardians had been a bit of a surprise, but watching the young man and listening to his wants and complaints had touched something in Pitch. He knew what it was like to be invisible, after all, so he could empathize with Jack a little. That particular point hadn't been a lie, but it hardly meant much when nearly everything else Pitch had told the frost spirit while trying to corrupt him had been either twisted half-truths or outright deception. It had been innocent fun at first, teasing and tormenting the ignorant lad, but before he knew it he'd been caught up in that little game, too. He'd found himself doing and saying more and more outrageous things just to get a rise out of Frost, all in the hopes that he could successfully corrupt the spirit and finally beat the Man in the Moon at one of his own schemes.

But most of all, he'd been driven by the belief that if anyone else could see the Man in the Moon and his minions for exactly what they were—manipulative, selfish and self-serving—it was Jack Frost.

And yet the boy had ultimately turned away from reality and sided with the Guardians, leaving Pitch with the ashes of yet another failure.

He let out a short breath and allowed his arm fall back onto the throne's carved wooden armrest. "I thought he would understand."

Her gaze softened. She knew. He didn't have to say anything more than those five simple words and she completely understood.

And that was what he loved about her.

"He might've," she grumbled, slipping her arms around his neck and pressing her forehead to his, "except they got their claws into him first." She scowled. "To think he'd use that boy like that, giving him the silent treatment just to make him so desperate for answers that he'd do almost anything. And along you came, presenting him with the perfect opportunity to tempt Frost and be rid of you all at once."

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. "You needn't be so angry about it. I knew precisely what my old friend was up to, and I willingly took part in his little game because he was being such a good sport about playing along with mine. I knew it would be terribly amusing, especially if I did my part well enough to actually succeed in corrupting the boy."

"But you didn't. You just pushed him straight into their waiting arms."

He shrugged away the indignation she felt on his behalf. "I started the whole affair, and they finished it. There will always be a next time." He smirked. "And next time you can help me."

"Next time stick with the original plan, and maybe I will."

"Ah," he said silkily as he pulled her close, "but if you're by my side you can keep an eye on me, can't you?"

"Unbelievable," she muttered, but he could feel her smile against the skin of his neck. She put her arms around him to hug him back, and they stayed that way for a long time, simply holding each other in contented silence.

With her warm body enveloped in his tight embrace, the dark fabric of Pitch's sleeves was pulled back from his wrists, revealing the very edge of a white-gold pattern. It gleamed brightly in the murky darkness, contrasting sharply with the gray of his skin.