Darkness. It surrounded him, choked him as he struggled to gain his bearings.
So cold.
Pale hands curled into claws as he flailed about, grasping at anything. Everything. Whatever he could use to anchor himself.
The ship was already lost, after all.
The groan of tearing timbers and shattering wood echoed in a deafening cacophony around him.
And all the while the waters continued to rise, rise, and rise... it covered all it touched, smothered all that it covered.
He knew this dream by now...
He comes back.
It is sudden, and it is chilling. But, with a single, shaky gasp, Jack is awake.
And then, he can only scramble, pulling at the heavy fur covers that are piled upon him. After such an awful vision, such an awful nightmare, he wants to get up.
He needs to be free. To feel dry, solid floor beneath him.
With a bit more fighting, he gets his wish. Sitting up, Jack pulls his knees to his chest and curls his arms around them.
Quietly breathing, he begins to relax. As the shudders ease, Jack finds his eyes wandering to a single door in the distance.
It's not that far, really.
Jack eases himself off the bed. His slight weight barely makes the bed creak.
He is sure he can make it.
Until a gas lamp flares to life.
Jack flinches from it by instinct. His arm is snatched by a massive hand.
Already, Jack is cursing, swearing in his mind as he is yanked back upon the mattress. Two thick arms surround his chest.
He does not need to look to see the ink tattoos that encircle them.
Jack knows they are there, and he knows who they belong to.
He is awake.
But, the nightmare hasn't ended.
6 months earlier...
Such a disappointment. North eyed the stream before him with growing disgust.
Winter was here, and snow covered every cliff, tree, and rock to be found.
Complex layers and patterned frost lay on each tree and their respective leaves. Icicles hung in droves from each available branch.
Yet this small stream remained unfrozen. Ordinarily, he would have questioned this.
But, now there was a far more pressing issue.
The small settlement below the cliff. A village made up of only a few houses and a church of weak construct.
Upon their arrival on land, North had sent out scouts, each seeking the nearest town and port. What they had discovered was the only thing of significance to be found.
And on seeing it, many of the yeti had scoffed. Declaring it unworthy of notice and attention.
North agreed.
Small population, little food due to a poor harvest in summer , and no riches to be found. Any attempt at pillaging would be utterly pointless. Nothing of value would be gained, and all that useless bloodshed...
No. His best option would be to try for the next port.
It did nothing to ease him. North rose, his heavy strides leading him away from their hastily set camp. As he neared the surrounding forest, one of the sentries aimed a questioning grunt in his direction. A mere wave of the hand, and the sentry parted from his path.
And then he simply walked, following the stream closely. It flowed freely, crashing and bubbling slightly over the rocks, creating the only other sound in the forest next to his footsteps.
If nothing else, he could appreciate the area for it's surrounding beauty. While he may be accustomed to colder climes, it was still always a pleasure to see the familiar blanketing of fallen snow.
But, even before he began his life as a corsair, Nicholas St. North had always found it easy to see beauty within the smallest of things.
He only sought the greatest of treasures. Why else would finding such a vacant, hopeless village irritate him so?
Aside from the snow, there was no beauty here. No joy, no WONDER.
North put it from his mind, focusing rather on the path before him.
And, such an odd thing, but... The snow in which he trod was slowly getting thicker. Where it had once been a thin layer, now it took effort just to pull his boots from the snow.
He carried on, only to look up and realize that, yes, it was snowing. Falling in thick, clustered flakes.
It took only a glance at the dark clouded sky for him to realize that returning now was probably the wisest course.
Brushing snow off his cap, North turned from his aimless path. Upon doing so, his eyes caught a glimpse of the little stream beside him.
Halting, he gazed at the stream.
Silver, twisting tendrils of ice were making their way across the little stream. Little by little, they swirled and branched out. Catching every single drop, every splashing bead of the small brook, and shifting it into smooth, white planes of ice.
Staring, the young corsair could not contain his amazement. He crouched, running broad fingertips over the forming frost. He removed them only when the warning bite of numbness rose.
It was spreading, further and further downstream, back down the path he had traveled.
"Rimsky Korsakov..." he breathed.
Forgetting the growing chill in his bones, the captain ran. He chased the brook upstream, to it's source, unable to imagine what could be capable of such phenomena. The farther he ventured, the thicker the snowfall, the more trees he spotted covered in delicate white depictions.
Each one was fantastic in it's originality. Each one was like the finest of artworks.
He reached their source soon enough.
A single lake, spanning several yards, lay before him. But it was not the he lake that held such sway over him, no...
It was the single, barefoot boy that was within it's center. In his hands, a single wooden staff was clenched, spiraling around with the youth as he ran about, laughing all the while. Flakes and shards of ice flew as the stick was dragged along the lake's surface.
Blue sparks poured from the staff's tip, brilliant in their light. Infusing the frozen pond's surface. Firming it before the Russian's stunned eyes.
Watching over all, the full moon above only served to highlight every one of the boy's actions, every one of his efforts. It's light coated everything with a silver brilliance, a magnanimous event that could never be replicated by human hands.
For the boy before him could not be human. Barefoot on ice, with hair as white as the snow he crafted...
This child was the sort of bounty he'd thought he would never collect again.
NOTES-
The reason I wrote this AU prompt was because I really wanted to portray what North would be like if he was just a little more crazy, a little more obsessed with treasure, and if he had less morals. In the movie, he's just an eccentric badass and a crazy genius.
Well, that's what I got from his character at any rate.
In the books and some semi-canon comics (thank you Rufftoon) North just loves collecting treasure, so I think he would do very well as a pirate.
Or maybe I'm just reading too much into it. Oh well.
Thanks for reading! More to follow.
++ This fic can also be found on /works/826963 - also under the name Shugendo Rites. The formatting there is also a little better as well.