A/N: Welcome all who have stumbled upon this new story of mine.

This piece has been bumping around in my head for some time and I've decided to finally get it written. This is inspired completely by the song "The Mariner's Revenge" by the Decemberists which I highly suggest listening to at some point. I'm rating it T for now, but it's entirely possible it may up to M due to language and violence. This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fantasy piece, hopefully it doesn't disappoint!

While I am classing this as a Frozen/ROTG crossover, this story will focus more on Jack than anything else and it will take some time for any romance to show up.

I love reviews, constructive or otherwise, so if a thought strikes you, I'd love to hear it!

Without further ado, enjoy!

Standard Disclaimer: I don't own ROTG, Frozen, or the lyrics to Mariner's Revenge.

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The Mariner's Revenge

Chapter 1

The first thing Jack notices is the stench.

It is a putrid, foul stench of rotting flesh and seawater, choking him as he attempts to regain normal breath. Gulping air into his lungs, he cringes as the nauseating taste of death clings to his tongue like an unwelcome glove.

The next thing he notices is the wetness.

His entire lower body is submerged in what feels like ocean water mixed with fish guts. It isn't an unfamiliar texture, but one he does not willingly choose to essentially bath in. He finds that his torso is currently flopped over something resembling the texture of wood. It's a strange position, as if he had been flung through the air, landing like a rag doll against the solid protrusion.

His mind is foggy and clouded as he tries to open his eyes, the weight of his lids pressing down like iron clamps, preventing sight. With Herculean effort, he manages a small slit, vision blurred as he attempts to focus.

There is a throbbing pain in his head. Dragging his arm upright, he gingerly fingers the back of his skull, discovering a swollen mass that accounts for his discomfort.

It takes a moment of simple blinking before Jack can begin to process where he is. The strange, damp cavern is dark and dripping wet, full of strange shapes that cast shadows against the unsightly walls.

How did I get here?

Shaking, Jack pushes himself to standing and examines his current bodily support. It is a bit rough and slightly splintered, and he can tell it isn't wood. There are strange, sinewy bits of...something...clinging to the object in random places.

Then it hits him.

These are bones. Ribs, to be more precise, with bits of flesh still dangling from the rounded arcs in a horrifying display of decay.

Shoving away, Jack watches the ribcage clatter and splash onto the flooded ground. They float as if mocking him somehow, reminding him that wherever he is, escape is doubtful.

Closing his eyes, Jack forces his breathing to even and his mind to still. There is something familiar about all this and it's as if the memories are picking at the edges of his brain, tantalizing and just out of reach. The last thing he can remember was being on the ship. And they were almost there, they had been so agonizingly close, then something...something happened...

There is a dull bump against his leg as a piece of debris drifts through the swampy waters. His eyes snap open, zeroing in on this latest interruption.

It's an arm.

A bloated human arm, cracked and severed just above the elbow leaving behind a trail of red in its path.

Along the wrists, there are small feathered bangles, ruined and caked with blood and guts.

He knows this arm…

Suddenly, a wave of images hits him, nearly knocking him over as knowledge floods his mind.

He was on the ship. They were all on the ship. And they were so close to their goal, that bastard had been in sight, when the whale…

A god damn giant whale had swallowed the entire fucking ship.

Griefs crashes on him as he knows with certainty the bodies of his crew-mates were somewhere in here, crushed and broken, half chewed by the terrifying beast. Cursing, Jack kicks at nothing, water splashing loudly as his words reverberate off the walls of his living prison.

"Who's there?"

Stilling, Jack crouches immediately. Someone else had survived? But...that isn't a voice he knows. Peering over the edge of wreckage he recognizes as his own craft, he tries to find the source of this unknown voice.

Shadows. How had he not realized shadows meant a light source? And a light source meant someone put it there?

"Show yourself!" The voice is loud and brash, but Jack detects a hint of fear.

He moves stealthily, wading through the filthy murk, a predator in search of his prey. By watching the shadows, he quickly pinpoints a direction for his hunt.

"Whoever you are, I'm warning you, don't fuck with me! I'm armed!"

The words ring false, but Jack can tells he's close. Back pressed against the hull of a ruined fishing vessel, he cranes his neck just past the edge, eyes locking on his desired target.

It's a man. He's wounded, that's clear from the way he's clutching his leg, grimacing with every twitch of muscles. Somehow, he's managed to light a small torch that's propped between a rotting corpse and a destroyed ship's mast, casting him in an ominous glow. His greasy black hair falls limply over his forehead, skin an ashen pale hue that suggests illness.

But it's his eyes that draw Jack's attention.

They're yellow. The color of bile. Of jaundice. Of death.

And they are full of fear.

The last time he had seen those eyes was nearly twenty years ago. At the time, they had been filled with an overconfident malice that had caused the child version of himself to cower and whimper like a beaten pet.

But that didn't matter. He would recognize those putrid orbs anywhere.

Jack's chest swells, heart beating rapidly as he stares at the vulnerable man before him. Twenty years of searching. Twenty years of grasping at straws, nearly giving up. Twenty years of blood and sweat and a lifetime of future days that now would never be. Twenty years of his life, and he had finally found him.

He had finally found Pitch Black.

Maddened with blood lust, Jack's lips twist in a sick grin. There was something so sweet seeing the object of his vengeance like this: injured and afraid and completely helpless.

Inhaling deeply, Jack's body stills, a calm before the inevitable storm. It was now or never.

His steps are slow and methodical as he makes his way towards Pitch, the only sound that of the splashing waves against his shins.

"Finally decided to come out of hiding, did you?"

Pitch's breath catches in his throat at the sight of the approaching phantom that is Jack. The light illuminates the pale face and silver-white hair of the young man in a ghostly glow. His crystal blue eyes are steel as he fixes his gaze on the trembling man before him.

"Do you know who I am?"

Pitch stares at him, confused as he looks this strange boy over, taking in his appearance fully.

"Never seen you before in my life."

"That's where you're wrong."

Slowly, Jack takes a step closer, eyes locked on his prey.

"We are two mariner's. Our ship's sole survivors, stuck in this belly of a whale. It's ribs are ceiling beams, it's guts are carpeting. And here we are, trapped, until we die of starvation and are digested along with the dead that float around us. I guess we have some time to kill."

Sitting on a nearby pile of debris, Jack faces Pitch fully. The single light of the torch washes the cold, hard lines of his face in menacing shadows, gaze piercing as he looks into those frightened yellow eyes.

"You may not remember me. Last we met, I was but a child of three and you were a lad of eighteen. But I remember you, Pitch Black. And I will relate to you how our histories interweave…"