The young man coughed and hacked, his agony and exhaustion clear. Flecks of blood peppered his blue shirt and his muscles shook from the pain he'd been in for who knows how long. Strapped tightly in the interrogation chair, he weakly tried to brace himself for more, but a quiet, velvety voice ordered the stormtroopers to stop.

A lithe figure glided out of the shadows, dressed in a crisp, well-tailored black uniform trimmed with gold, a hollow smile on his pointed face.

"Have had enough fun for one afternoon, Frost?" The Lord High General of the Galaxy asked civilly.

"Plenty." Speaking was a labor as he tried to breath more deeply, but he managed to make his response sound unimpressed. Soot-colored sand was still pouring out of his nose from one of Pitch's favorite ways to question captives. Sandboarding almost made the beatings and shock sessions preferable.

"I understand. Too much excitement for one day." Pitch's smirk deepened unsettlingly. "Well, you haven't been the most stimulating captive I've ever had yourself. But you still gave us something useful to work with, so I'll give you the rest of the afternoon off."

He walked away with his men, self-satisfaction evident in every step. As he exited the chamber with them, he turned to Jack and said, "Rest up for another round tomorrow. And try not to wander off."

Jack heard him laugh to himself as the doors shut and he was left alone in the dark room with only his thoughts. He sighed, wishing in vain that he still had his ice staff with him.

After a few moments of trying to figure a way to loosen the straps around his wrists, the doors opened again. A stormtrooper entered the room, possibly one of Pitch's from before.

Jack groaned, his heart sinking. "Again? Don't you people ever take breaks? Have hobbies? Maybe knit?"

The stars shone across the galaxy like polished jewels, with planets of various colors and sizes scattered all around the unfathomable blackness. It might have been a lovely view to most people, but Pitch couldn't enjoy it as he gazed at it all from his ship's control room, hands behind his back. Among those stars stirred a rebellion, an attempt to keep the galaxy shining bright with courage and optimism, hope that the First Order's glorious reign could be put to an end. The Resistance was a pestilence upon everything he and his master the Emperor had built. He would see that every beacon of hope they created for the weary and scared would be put out without mercy.

Still. There were small blessings. A smile grew on Pitch's face, thinking of the amusing day he'd had with the rebel pilot they'd captured. A particularly large thorn in his side, Jack Frost. He'd finally chased down the boy on a mission to retreat sensitive information regarding plans of an attack on the Order's homebase and quite possibly other missions, and dragged him into the Lightkiller Base, feeling like a proud loth-cat carrying the largest, fattest prey he'd ever catchy. The boy had been questioned sharply, but had shown an impressive will and told them very little, only that he'd given the plans to his little OL4-F unit, which was who knew where.

That was a frustrating turn, but Pitch was pleased nonetheless. His men were well trained in the art of extracting what they needed to know, and would hear what those plans were soon enough even if they somehow didn't manage to find the droid. And the Resistance's favorite little jet fighter might prove to be an entertaining guest once he lost his nerve. His mood lifted as he considered inventive ways to make him talk, when he was interrupted from his thoughts.

Lieutenant Hans Westergaard and his partner had entered the room. Westergaard and Pitch had no love for each other, but had to work together anyway. The prince of an old family devoted to the Order, Hans was annoying little man full of unwarranted self-importance, but admittedly not horribly incompetent at his job. "Your Highness! We've got another captive. Quite a little prize for the Order this time: the Princess of Arendelle, caught prowling around the prison wing."

There was a short pause as shock washed over Pitch. Occasionally they did capture rebels of some importance, even a royal once in a great while, but most royalty and nobility were loyal to the Order. And royals usually did their fighting from their ships, giving commands and forming strategic plans; rarely ever personally going into the thick of battle or on espionage missions.

And little Princess Anna from her modest little planet of Arendelle was the very last one he'd ever expect to see on one.

He made sure his face remained smooth and none of the surprise showed, only giving them a curt nod. "Very good. You'll escort me to her shortly."

"Yes, sire." Pitch knew Hans loathed addressing him by such formal titles, but could do nothing but spit them out. "She's in a holding cell right now. The interrogation is about to begin, and your presence will be-"

"All that's required. I have no need of you or any officers."

Hans' mouth twitched in irritation for a second. "Yes, sire. Will the mind probe suffice, or will harsher questioning methods be needed as well?"

Pitch stopped and cut his officer off coldly. "For a member of royalty? I had the impression my crew were basically competent at treating prisoners, but-"

"A treasonous prisoner, Your Highness."

"A title I'll be happy to apply to you, Westergaard, if you doubt my ability to handle a teenage girl. We have no shortage of torture tools, and my sandboarding always seems to work just fi-"

"My sincerest apologies, sire. I'll see that you aren't disturbed and finish overseeing our next mission." He walked away with his sloped nose in the air, his partner dogging beside him. Pitch gave some orders for his crew in the room, then began his walk to the chamber.

Truthfully, Pitch could hardly care if a captive was a dirty beggar or the Queen of Corona. Traitors were traitors. He abided by war protocol, but didn't go too out of his way to show a politician or noble special treatment. This time, however, he wanted to deal with the Arendellen princess himself, without his men crowding him.

His men escorted him to the interrogation chamber in near silence but for the sound of their boots on the floor, Pitch being lost in thought.

Anna. When had he seen her last? Three, four years ago? He had forgotten all about her.

No, not forgotten; she had just been sitting at the back a corner of his mind out of sight, along with every other bright thing about his life before the Dark Side had purified his soul in a blackened glory. He had no reason to ever think about his former friend Agnarr's youngest daughter with the hopeful eyes, ignorant of her family's crimes, or the dance they had shared the last time he'd seen her, the two them equally unknowing of the beauty of the Darkening lingering on their galaxy's edge.

He decided he would question her gently unless she gave him reason to do otherwise.