Strength

By: Aviantei

Prologue: Fear

So this was fear.

He thought he had understood. Fear was his business after all. It was what he did, what he caused, what he had desired. And he knew what it was like when other people were afraid. That was a truly beautiful thing that was unlike any other. It was so powerful, and it filled him with strength. Because that was what he believed fear to be.

But not this.

This was excruciating, nothing he had ever experienced—perhaps something like it long ago, in some far away memory, but he was certain never—even though he had existed for centuries. This was palms sweating even though winter was still mixed into the oncoming spring air. This was heart pounding faster than he knew was possible. This was breath coming out in ragged bursts, for reasons that had nothing to do with how he was exerting himself. This was a panic, a desperation to escape from the Nightmares that were his own creation, and yet they were preying on him.

This was fear and it wasn't right.

He wasn't certain how long he had been running, nor if the corrupted horses were even following him anymore. There was a small hope for him [oh, how that infernal rabbit would gloat about that] that maybe, just maybe, at least one of the horses would have found someone else's fear to pray on (it's empty at best, what else is there to be afraid of when the Guardians are there to protect him and no one even—) abandoning their chase for him in favor of someone else.

The woods were almost gone by now, surely that mean he had been running away for quite some time. Did that even matter, though? The Nightmares didn't tire easily, even in their current state. Being immortal, he shouldn't be tired either, but there was something quite draining about fear that he didn't know existed.

(How much more are you going to realize you don't know about your own domain?)

What should have been a humbling moment for the Nightmare King only served to anger him. The feeling disappeared quickly, though; the fear was persistent.

Where were the Nightmares? Surely they were close, but he couldn't sense them. It wasn't like he could call them either. They had turned on him. It was as simple as that. So he was going to run, because everything right now was so uncertain.

Not even an instant after he made his decision, he was stopped. For a second, he thought the Guardians had found him [this same collision like the one with North only a few hours ago], because he had run into another person. The Nightmare King remained standing, even with the other fell to the ground. He started to think how to counter an attack and—

There was a soft nicker, causing him to actually fall over. The fear was back, worse because the Nightmares actually had found him, and there was no way out of it. This time there was no slight lead that had allowed him to escape before.

And if anyone knew what the Nightmares were truly capable of, it was the one who made them; twisting the things that the Sandman used to give children good dreams into something truly terrifying, the embodiment of every last—

"Oh, Klaudia, stop it," a female voice chided. "I'm fine; stop fussing."

The horse bypassed the Nightmare King completely, its nose coming to rest on a woman's head. On closer inspection, there was no way he should have confused it for his own creations—the horse was a pale shade of gold, almost like the Sandman's sand. Looking around, he saw other horses scattered about a field [when had he passed through the fence, he didn't remember].

"Yes, I can stand, hold on," the woman continued, a portion of her bangs taking up residence in the horse's—Klaudia?—mouth. She completed the spoken of action, detaching herself and petting the animal's nose tenderly. "I'm not hurt, even if I don't understand what just—oh my god, are you alright?!"

It took a moment for Pitch to realize he was the one being addressed, and a few more seconds to compose himself enough to speak, even if it was only three words. "I am fine," he said tersely.

"I don't mean to be rude but... you don't seem fine," the woman said in response, offering a hand to help him up with. He hesitated before taking it. "I was just letting the horses out, so they'll be fine out here for a while. Would you like to come inside?"

"Where exactly is... 'inside'?" he questioned, finishing standing up and letting go of the woman's hand. Another look around the area only confirmed trees, field, and horses to be around.

"It's a bit of a walk, but it's that way." She raised a gloved hand to point behind him. He turned around, a barn and, further back, a house entering his vision. "If you were running, though, maybe you could sit down in the barn instead. It is heated, plus there's running water if you need it. You seem like at the very least you need to rest."

The words were true, but the Nightmare King [did he even deserve that title anymore?] was skeptic. The Nightmares were probably still after him. (But wouldn't they have caught you already?) There he was, out in the open, stationary, not even capable of protecting himself, and yet the Fearlings were nowhere in sight. Surely it was safe—maybe even safer—to take refuge in a house for a moment to catch his breath.

"I can walk," he asserted. The woman nodded, pouting the horse's snout one last time before stepping off. The immortal followed, eyes flicking off to look at the horses more than once. He almost stopped when a black animal entered the corners of his vision, standing by the fence, staring him. It was only a white marking on the [perfectly normal] horse's stomach that assured him he was still safe. "There are... a lot of horses here."

"Yes, I'm a breeder." The answer was supplied without specific prompting, and the woman smiled as she spoke. "I sometimes even open up the ranch up for kids from the nearby towns to get horse riding lessons, too."

(That includes the children that just)

"Surely you don't work here alone." The barn was noticeably empty of any workers as they entered. Combined with the lack of any other people outside, it seemed unusual.

"Oh, of course not!" she exclaimed. "There's no way I could handle all this on my own nonstop. It is Easter weekend, though. I gave all the hired help some time off. I guess the supposed downside is that I have to stay here myself for the weekend, but I really don't mind at all."

He frowned at the mention of the holiday, even if he had technically succeeded at ruining it, He forced himself to straighten out the expression on his face—the look in her eyes as she helped him up earlier had been pity of all things, and the Nightmare King would not stand for it.

The house seemed much closer now that they were out the opposite end if the barn. It was a simple thing, one story and blue. The remains of the boy's snow crunched under their footsteps.

"Your hand felt cold," the woman muttered. Pitch looked down, her own eyes staring back apprehensively. "I could make you hot chocolate—oh, you're not a fan." He hadn't meant to make face, but hot chocolate was permanently associated with Christmas for him. "Would you prefer tea then?"

"It will do."

The woman walked up a small set of stairs leading to the house's door, opening it and gesturing for her guest to go inside. He complied and she had a small struggle to pull her boots off. By the time the door was closed, she had already bustled past him, jacket hanging off a hook by the doorway.

The Nightmare King followed, entering what he assumed to be the kitchen. It was strange; he usually only visited the bedrooms of houses or slinked about their hallways, and he almost never entered through the front door.

"You can sit down, if you like," the woman offered, her back turned towards him. She seemed focused on providing him with the aforementioned tea. He took a seat, grateful that she didn't appear to be one that decorated for the holidays. The next few minutes passed in a surprisingly comfortable silence.

It was a relief, being able to sit down, to not have to run. The foreign experience of fear was gone. True, he wasn't feeling completely like himself yet, but it was nothing like the terrible panic he had gone through. The fact that, despite how long he had stayed in the same relative area, the Nightmares were (presumably) nowhere close was simply a bonus.

A tea cup was eventually placed in front of him, alongside a spoon and sugar bowl. "I didn't know if you'd want any," the woman admitted. Even though she tried to make it not obvious, he could still tell her own cup was filled with hot chocolate as she sat down. The sugar remained untouched as they both took their first sips of their respective beverages.

"You can stay here."

"What?" The sentence was so sudden, that the Nightmare King could only manage a one-word response. The woman faltered a bit, staring into her mug.

"Sorry for being so sudden," she apologized, hesitating before continuing. "It's just… You've been through some hardship, right?" [Oh how devastatingly right she was] "It's alright for you to stay here for a while if you need to."

There was that look in her eyes again, that pity. He wanted to do something—turn out the lights, push it back on her, show her that the Nightmare King was not someone to be pitied—but something stopped him. His own fear was terrible, and wasn't this a safe place?

Would it hurt to stay? Just for a bit. The Nightmares hadn't made it to this place. It wasn't as if they eventually wouldn't (You made sure they were quite determined), but that was something to worry about later. He would be safe for at least a day, perhaps two. And if the Guardians were looking for him, too, he highly doubted they would check here—for who would ever think that he would take up safe house with a human?

"I accept," he answered, and the woman's eyes lit up again as she smiled, all traces of that disgusting pity gone.

"I hope I can treat you well. Please feel free to stay as long as you need," she said. "Oh, I suppose we should introduce ourselves. I'm Madeline Thorburn."

He almost lied about his name. There was no reason to tell the truth. He would be here for a day, two at most, and then they would more than likely never see each other again. Human names were easy enough to lie about anyway; they were simple things.

And then the realization struck that this woman could actually see him.

"Pitch Black."

To Be Continued

Judging by all the emails I keep getting about my other stories, people would appreciate it if I were posting updates for those instead of this. Since I'm an author and have way too many ideas for my own good, alongside an incredibly random system for picking what I post, this will just have to come first.

I started writing this last Christmas after having watched the guardians movie way too many times than what could be considered healthy. It is actually one of the stories I have that has a clear end in mind, now all I just need is the time, motivation, and energy to do so.

This is a writing challenge on many levels for me. I'm trying to increase the amount of content that goes into chapters, as well as trying out a few narrative techniques that I humbly request that you bear with as I keep writing this story. All things considered, with the way this story goes, Pitch will probably end up OOC at times, but I'll do my best to avoid that.

Next time we see more of the everyday in Madeline's life, as well as Pitch trying to adjust. Please look forward to it!