Sand Glass
AN: A company piece of Star Dust this time from Pitch's point of view, tell me what you think?
Oh, btw I'm plotting this other story a mild Jamie/Jack AU-ish, i can tell you though it's a whole lot of crazy working on this premise: whats the line between childhood imagination and reality? What is REAL? inspired by Calvin and Hobbes
well, keep an eye out for it.
cheers! – Rem
Chapter 1
The General of the Golden Army felt it in his bones that this was the enemy he was meant to face that loomed so large above him. Mockingly it was in the form of the dragon that he killed eons ago for the sake of all he loved. His muscles tingled with anticipation and adrenaline rushed ahead of him as his golden stead, ever faithful, melted away in glowing sand to gather on the effigy his fear, his own white dragon.
The two dragons loomed and the General sat proud mounted on his dragon as they surged upwards to take the fight to the heavens, he leaned his body closer to his dragon's neck and watched the world pass as they rose. The battle raged on for hours but he did not feel the fatigue instead pushing towards the fear's weakness, every fearlings weakness, being confronted, being faced down with bravery. The hours bled into dusk when Pitch saw his opening, right at the junction of the neck and he poured his efforts into one more blow that send the white dragon raining as sheets of white sand like rain and the shadow dragon roaring its last but it laughed. Laughed as it faded, shrunk, surrounded by a small bird cage made of white star sand for it had known with that fight victory was only postponed.
It was sunrise when Pitch was feebly caught by his white stallion that formed when his dragon's sand separated, it whinnied and whined but the damage was done. It was a black spike, at least a handspan long, imbedded deep into the center of his chest. There was healing this wound so simply, he winced in realization when he lightly touched the exposed piece. It was not really solid and if it wished it could melt away like his sand but it's master was safely locked away in the deepest parts of his realm.
He rode down to his home, collapsing the moment he was within his chambers and slept. For a moment he thought of Sanderson, who would go with him on long nights to play with dreams?
Chapter 2
The General was unsure of how long he slept but he remembered the dreams. Dreamt of voices and screams and shadows laughing, his wound had somewhat sealed around the darkness fragment and now it was only a dull ache in the back of his mind.
He stood but the moment he staggered his horse materialized instantly next to him, steadying him. There was much work to be done now that there were so many shadows locked away it needed reinforcement, especially the special room where the largest fearling was kept.
They jeered and laughed more than before, perhaps because of their numbers or the weakness that was quite obvious but he ignored them, looking instead to the globe in the other room that shone bright with the belief of children. There were more important things to think about.
But when he makes his way towards the special room, the voices of fearling grow louder, an insistent chirp and squawk in his ear, he falls and doesn't even hear the distress of his steed over the voices.
He wakes up in child's room, he knows from the smell of crayons and fingerpaint and the toys around the room. He runs a hand through his hair, somehow the fatigue from earlier is gone. He looks at the open window then to the child whimpering on the bed that instead of Sanderson's beautiful sand, a dark sand creatures lurks and dances.
The General holds out his hand, willing his sand to form but none comes and he stares bewildered when he sees the marks of black on his skin. In the mirror in the room he sees himself, no longer pale and radiant but a sick grey color, his blonde white hair with streaks of black. He breathes quicker now, resolving instead to grab the dark sand creature with his hand but it merely twirls around his wrists affectionately.
He holds back a scream, brushing the creature off he backs away, falling out the open window. He closes his eyes and wishes this is a bad dream if such things were possible.
Sleeping is natural but dreaming is not, remember Sanderson? But everyone who sleeps is capable of dreaming, they just need something to help them begin…
Ah, that good, its beautiful Sanderson.
All children sleep better with good dreams…
Chapter 3
When Pitch wakes again, he is mid walk, walking away from another open window but this time he does not dare check if it's a child or another shadow creature. He keeps walking back, back to his hole as the fearlings even though he is far away from the dungeons, he hears them.
He does not notice that he cuts through the path that leads to the woods he passes Sanderson, wide eyed and worried. He simply disappears.
Yes, he thinks, it's better to disappear.
Chapter 4
The General now rushes through his realm, pushing furniture against all entrances and exits, moving all the cages to the main grand hall so that he may all see them. He tries a few times to move his sand but it doesn't do more than feebly pull upward from his palm. He is frantic now that the other may escape, the other fearlings that will crawl after children's dreams.
He counts them, the whole inventory known by heart before he sits down in the center of the room and begins his vigil. None will escape this time.
Times passes, as if moments become years, Pitch has yet to move. He watches them all intently, perhaps some moment one will escape and he will know what hole they have been crawling out of behind his back.
They chatter nonsensically to him, as if he were a friend at times but just as quickly descend into their squabbling. There are maps in front of the General, marked out with black ink the nests of fearlings that he's discovered or destroyed and ones he thinks that are forming.
Safe, he will keep them all safe, Sanderson, the children and MiM he thinks nodding to himself.
Chapter 5
After some time the maps are forgotten, littered on the floor mostly black now from all the markings that have lost their sense, just symbols floating on a page. The General has lost him composure, no longer sitting in his chair, legs crossed with a knowing air, but now hunched on the floor staring at a locket he covets in both hands.
My daughter, my beautiful sweet daughter- then he realizes with a frown, brow furrowed in concentration, he has lost her name.
His breathing becomes frantic, the wound in his chest that he's ignored all this time is crusted over with dried blood and the spike's own material. What was her name? her name?
"Daddy!"
"Help me Daddy!"
He runs towards the voice.