Hi! Agrippina here! So, um, this is my second attempt at a fanfiction account, and my first story for RotG. This first chapter is really sort of a prologue for what's to come and to get you interested in Pitch and Nia's past. Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome, but I'm telling y'all right off the bat, flames will be used to roast s'mores!

Disclaimer: I only own Nia, the story, and a handful of OCs. All other elements belong to William Joyce and Dreamworks unless specified.

Fire & Ice and Everything Nice

Chapter 1: A Daughter's Love

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.

- Lao Tzu

I let myself gently float down onto an outcropping on the sheer drop overlooking the Nightmare Realm. The endless labyrinth of stairs, bridges, catwalks, halls, and arches was spread out before me, gray and barren with pockmarked walls and gaunt shadows. Iron cages, rusted and damp, with gothic slopes, hung from the imperceptible ceiling, chains creaking ominously, like the wails of a tortured animal...

I shook my head to dispel the image. I would not think of what those godsforsaken cages had once held. I lept off the ledge and landed on my toes on a catwalk illuminated by that mysterious gray light that kept the labyrinth from total darkness. My side twinged in protest and stung as I walked. I kept pressure on it using the hand not gripping my bow. I kept my eyes and ears peeled for Night Mares, stepping quickly but lightly. All the while, I scanned the bridges and shadows for tall, black-clad figures or glowing amber-and-steel eyes. It was hard to concentrate, though - I was dog tired and my side burned with every step. The constant tugging motions of my hips kept the wound from clotting and so the rag I'd wrapped around my torso was soaked with golden-red blood. To add to my utter joy, I was covered in grime and bruises. But I gritted my teeth and kept going.

I must've walked for an hour. Still no sign of him. I sighed and stopped in a shady hallway and leaned against the wall, groaning from the pain. I pressed harder on the gash and hissed as red-hot pain shot up my ribs.

"What are you doi- What happened?" A familiar voice demanded, harshly at first but then with frantic concern. I had to turn my whole body to see him, and nearly laughed at seeing him look so concerned for me. Especially when he was looking pretty beat himself - he had bags under his eyes, his cheeks were sunken, and instead of his gloomy robe of shadows, he wore a simple black silk dress shirt, black harem riding breeches and Italian-leather, knee-high riding boots.

As it was, I chuckled breathlessly. "What, this? Just a scratch."

Pitch Black snorted and rolled his glowing eyes.

"A scratch?! You're bleeding out, girl - come on!" He spat and grabbed my wrist, seemingly without thinking. He grumbled on about reckless teenagers and something about how, "...in my day we didn't go looking for trouble and then insist we bleed to death in the foyer. No, damnit, we went and got patched up, that's what we did, back when people had the good sense to..." and on and on while he dragged me at a brisk pace that made me bleed even more. Despite the stabbing pain and an oncoming dizzyness, I laughed at his crotchety ranting. One quick look over his shoulder shut me up, though.

He moved several walls and flipped three staircases before we entered his private chambers; there was a lofty four-poster bed with a silk canopy, sheets, and pillows, ceiling-high bookcases filled with his favorites, a spacious desk decorated with exquisite carvings, and a grand fireplace with an intricate wrought iron grate and polished black marble mantle that roared quietly. Gentle oil lamps were mounted on the walls.

He gently pushed me towards the plush chaise in front of the hearth. "Sit your butt down and keep still." He ordered and went to his desk to retrieve something. I smiled and rolled my eyes but did as asked and leaned my bow against the wall, unlacing my boiled leather, high-necked, delicately embroidered shirt and draping it over the arm of the chaise, leaving me in a neon-purple racerback sports bra. I unwrapped my makeshift bandage and chanced a peek at my lovely little souvenir. Ooh. It was a little deeper than I thought...

"Pray tell, what did you do to earn a beating this time?" Pitch called as he returned with various first aid supplies. Including a needle. Ugggghhhh...

"Nothing!" I whined in answer to his question as he sat beside me and probed my side with feather-light fingers. I winced. This wasn't the first time he'd patched me up; anytime I sought him out, I usually got a prize-winning bruise out of it, at the very least. "Your stupid horses wouldn't let me in. Hope you don't mind losing half a dozen." I sniped and chuckled. The acidic sting of disinfectant put a stop to that and I had to grit my teeth and grip the back of the chaise to keep quiet.

Thankfully he was quick about it. "Eh. I can make a dozen more in a snap. Stop tensing - you'll bleed more." He snapped, and then spread something else over the wound - it cooled the pain and numbed the area so that I wouldn't feel the needle pulling the skin back together.

Well, at least I thought it would.

A single squeal escaped me before I bit my tongue and held it in. My nails dug into the frame of the sofa and left indents in the carved wood.

"No matter how ya do it," I panted "there's always more pain than gain." Bloody hells and skies above, this sucked more than falling into a patch of brambles! Well, okay, maybe not that much because I've actually had that happen before, but this still sucked.

"I've always admired your ability to keep quiet under pain. You always were hardy, actually. I remember when I had to set your leg when you were seven after-"

"After I fell off my horse? Yup. Not one of my fonder memories."

"I'd guess not." He chuckled and tied off the stitches, cutting off the excess thread. "You'd make an excellent war prisoner. Wouldn't crack for anyone, I'd bet." He added cheerily. I shot him a flat look.

"If my ribs weren't killing me right now, I'd be in hysterics," but then I chuckled. "Well, I should be tough. You and Mum were the toughest people on this earth." I mused, and then then tried to blow my hair out of my eyes. It fell right back in my face.

Almost unconsciously, Pitch's hand brushed back my always-unruly curls and tucked them behind my ear before ripping open the gauze. He didn't notice my wide-eyed shock until he smacked my arm to get me to lift it again so he could dress the wound. He quirked a brow at my staring.

"What?"

I let a smile spread over my cheeks.

"Nothin'...Dad."

He paused in taping up my bandages and looked up at me. I grinned at him hopefully and nearly bounced when he smiled back tentatively.

A gleam of tenderness entered his eyes as he stroked my hair carefully and traced my cheek with his thumb. I held on his wrist like I had as a child and nuzzled into his warm palm before looking up at him tearfully.

"Daddy...what happened? Why...why didn't you at least call for me?" I whimpered, forcing down my jerking sobs, even as my throat closed up and my heart gave a pained throb. "I could've helped you, you know I could. You know I could, Daddy..." I sniffled, clutching his hand like a little girl - I couldn't bear being so close yet so far from him. His face crumbled and he squeezed his eyes shut, his head hanging so low, his chin touched his chest.

"I...I couldn't stop them...One night, I was myself, and then...nothing. When I finally wrestle back into my mind I'm being dragged into the ground, defeated...shamed..." He barked a humourless laugh. "How low I've fallen, Verañia. It's been...ages since we've been like this. You and Kathy...you don't deserve this, Nia. I earned what happened to me-"

"No!" I snapped "You were tricked! They abandoned you down there, miles away from anyone, thinkin' the great Pitchiner would just fine on his own, and when the Fearlings started messin' with you-"

"I was weak Verañia! I let them see my weakness, I let them trick me!" He roared as he shot to his feet, eyes burning amber, towering over me as he always had. Even on tiptoe, I barely reached his chin. I stood parallel to him anyway, chin jutting out in defiance. My insolence wasn't from my mother's side of the family, that's for sure.

"Would a weak man have done what you did? You served your Empire and protected your family - you took action! Did it cost you everything, did you break our hearts, and lose your humanity, yes! Yes, damn it all, you did, but you saved us! You saved everyone, if those creatures had stayed on the loose-"

"Don't you dare call me some sort of tragic hero, Verañia! Look at me, look at what I did to your mother! Look at all the horrors I've done, the horrors I almost got away with! You can't possibly look me in the eye and tell me you're proud to call me your father!"

"AS PROUD AS THE SUN'S LIGHT!" I shrieked, my voice echoing shrilly off the stone walls. "Prouder than any daughter that has ever been or will be! You, who gave me life, and taught me so much, and gave up everything for all others, YOU ARE MY FATHER AND I WILL NEVER DENY IT! Monsters aren't born Father, they're made - whatever you may have done, you did not do in conscience. I know in my bones that Mother loves you and protects you still, wherever she may be. I know I will never stop seeking you out and braving the coldest shadows so long as I know you'll be there waiting for me. And I know my sister misses you every day of her life and that until she sees your face once more, her heart will never rest!

"I know it like I know my name is Verañia Caliope Pitchiner Bloom, and I know that you are a legend among the Constellations, even today because the TSAR HIMSELF HAS SAID IT!" I finished proudly and gods help me, I stomped my foot because I bloody felt like it and I'd do as I damn well pleased!

Once again, Dad seemed to realize that I had inherited both his insolence and his silver tongue. His expression wavered between angry, shocked, and amused.

I guess he settled on amused because he burst into hysterical laughter, the likes of which I hadn't heard from him in hundreds of years. Literally. The sight sort of stunned me, until I realized he was laughing at me. He roared with laughter and held his stomach and had to flop back on the chaise and pound his fist on the arm, trying to rein himself in.

I was still dumbstruck. And more than a little indignant. I scowled fiercely, crossed my arms and waited for his little fit to subside.

"Done yet?" I snarled when he was wheezing for breath.

"Oh, child," he chortled breathlessly with a giddy smile and an adoring light in his

eyes that made my anger die down a little. "You've always been good for me, little one." He sighed and grinned up at me. "You're just as petulant as your mother. Only you aren't quite as fearsome - more a kitten than a tiger, I think." He mused and chuckled again.

Petulant?! ME?! Why-why that- how dare he-?! AUUUGGGGHHHHH!

Flushed and absolutely indignant, I snatched my shirt and bow and marched out of the rooms, strapping on my things and ignoring his call to stop.

Fuming, I stomped past three arches before I ran smack into his chest. He'd melted right out of the shadows next to me, still chuckling.

"Will you calm down, child? Honestly, you're so testy." He tsked and mussed my hair. I jerked away and pouted, crossing my arms, and refusing to look at him. Dad sighed and drew me into his chest, arms cradling me gently - a silent apology. After a moment I relaxed, deciding it wasn't worth holding onto, and nuzzled into his chest, inhaling the scent of cedarwood smoke and cognac, a combination that was present in my earliest memories.

He rocked us from side to side for a moment, pressing his lips to my hair and resting his chin on my crown. A weary sigh blew over my hair.

"Why did you come, my little one?" He asked in a whisper.

"Because," I mumbled "I heard about what happened, and...I just...I wanted to see if you were okay. Kathy was worried, too, ya know." I added. And she had been - frantic almost. She'd sent for me in an absolute fit, begging that I find our father and make sure he was alright. I'd been at my safe house in Fiji - taking a break, ya know - and I'd had no clue my father had stirred up trouble with the Guardians of Childhood. The outcome of that little uprising was to be expected. The Guardians were just doing what they had been born to do.

But still. He was my dad, no matter his nature. So I loved him, no matter what he did. I hadn't seen him in eighty years because the entrances to the labyrinth moved constantly, plus he didn't like me coming down here - said I had no business down in such an inhospitable place, so full of darkness. And now he had those Night Mares in place to keep anyone out while he recovered from his injuries, and they, apparently, didn't see the resemblance between us. They were beautiful creatures, but downright mean. They were the reason I'd gotten all cut up.

"Oh my little one. You shouldn't worry about me. I don't deserve it."

"Bull. You're my father and I'll worry about you all I like."

He swatted my head. "Language," He admonished, but there was a smile in his voice. I grinned and snuggled into his chest. He squeezed me lovingly and stroked my hair.

With a sigh he pulled away slightly and grinned down at me. "So, why don't we go and sit down and you can tell me what you've been doing?" He suggested, tucking me into his side and starting back towards his rooms.

I giggled and leaned into his shoulder. "Yeah, I'd like that..."

"Oh, and, uh, you wouldn't have happened to have stopped by Ireland, would you?" He said with a hopeful smile. I giggled and patted the buckskin embroidered pouch on my right hip (I couldn't live without that thing - it was charmed to be bottomless so I had all sorts of stuff in there).

"And not pick up a bottle of your favorite whiskey? What do you take me for?" I teased, and drank in his rich, silky laughter. It'd been too long since I'd heard it.

..:oOo:..

We lounged on his poufy bed and toasted our little reunion with two healthy goblets of Powers Irish Whiskey each, and talked for hours. I told him of my exploits around the globe which may or may not have involved a monastery in Tibet, a megaphone with a voice distorter, and a very realistic recording of machine guns going off. I had him in stitches by the time I was done, and I made sure to bask in the glory of my small victory. Hey, not just anyone can make the Boogeyman laugh his butt off.

It was only in the wee hours of the morning that either of us showed any sign of fatigue. Snuggled together, the pleasant buzz of fine whiskey in our heads and our cheeks aching from our laughter, it was easy to pretend that we were in the plush library of our old home, resting after another dull but socially necessary party.

"Daddy?" I cooed drowsily, my head resting on his thigh as his fingers twirled a ringlet of my hair. I fingered the soft, loose material of his sleeve as he 'hmmm'ed noncommittally, head resting against the backboard of the bed.

I had to pause to yawn. "I love you. No matter what." I mumbled, even as my eyes slunk shut and my breaths deepened. I didn't have to fear the Night Mares - I knew he would protect me, even in his sleep. As I drifted off, I barely managed to catch his own drowsy response:

"I love you, too, my little lioness. Always..."