09 – Aimless

'I never thought I'd say this, but those were good instincts, Jack. Leaving when you did. That definitely sounds like it was one of his, and I have reason to believe you're right. I think the Workshop is being watched.'

'You think? What gave you that idea?'

Jack laughed. The sound was abrasive. Jack almost wished he could take it back as soon as he'd done it.

Gwyn glowered at him, he drew himself upright in his seat where he'd been slouching.

'Jack, I am still the King of the Seelie fae, and you should accord me respect.'

'You're not my King,' Jack said, unable to stop the small thrill that rushed through him at saying it. He'd been wanting to say those words to Gwyn since the very first time they'd met. He didn't want to stop digging at him, either. What with Pitch asking to be moved to a different room, being chased by some creepy figure and wishing he'd actually retaliated properly instead of running... it was all adding up in his head. He felt a pervasive anxiety gnaw at him. His hands itched to make frost and icicles.

Gwyn's eyes narrowed, he leaned forwards and levelled a direct stare. Once, expressions like that would have been Jack's downfall. He would have been distracted by Gwyn's appearance, the light he seemed to unknowingly exude, a charm that masked a lack of charm. But either he'd spent enough time around Gwyn to not see the dra'ocht anymore, or repeated encounters with the fae had changed the way it affected him.

'I am three thousand years old, give or take a few centuries,' Gwyn said grimly. 'I am young, by fae standards. Take a moment to think about how you must look to me, and how much patience I have with your attitude.'

'I'm not a child,' Jack ground out.

'Then by all means, stop behaving like one.'

Gwyn leaned back again, scratched at his shoulder. Ever since the Nightmare King had been defeated, Gwyn almost never wore his armour. He wore clothing similar to what he'd worn at the Wild Hunt, but simpler; natural fabrics, light material. He looked almost casual, except that he was a dour, work-focused fae who never smiled.

Jack sighed.

'Do you know who the winged figure could be? I know you've mentioned the Glashtyn? Is that-'

'No,' Gwyn said. 'Ash – the Glashtyn – is pure waterhorse. Augus' younger brother, remember? I also doubt that Augus would send him out on surveillance. I told you once that Ash's centre was tomfoolery, he is a light-hearted creature for an Unseelie fae, and certainly when one considers that he is Augus' brother. He is a weak link in an already weak Court. Augus would never send him against you. He values his brother's welfare too much.'

'It sounds like we can use that,' Jack said, dipping his staff to the ground curiously and watching frost creep along the bricks in the room.

'Yes, of course,' Gwyn said, in a way that indicated he was way ahead of Jack, and had probably even put something into effect already. One thing Jack had learned about Gwyn; he was constantly thinking of ways to manipulate and change the game in the Courts. For someone who couldn't function properly in interpersonal relations, he found Court politics easy, shrugged off gossip, and worked hard. There was almost nothing Jack could suggest which Gwyn hadn't thought of or considered first; with the exception of several components of the plan they'd created to remove the Nightmare King.

'So he's gone,' Jack said softly. 'The Nightmare King is gone. We destroyed a lot of the Nightmare Men. But there's still a few living shadows left, right? Dullahan has some, the Glashtyn has some. And doesn't Augus...I mean surely he's got them somewhere, right? I know he doesn't really use them, but he must-'

'It's best not to assume anything when it comes to Augus and the living shadows. But, yes, you are correct. There are more living shadows out there. Pitch is not out of danger. I fear he would be easily colonised again, especially as he cannot make the golden light at this time.'

'We have the weapons, and you'll be able to use them even when I'm not there. And now that we know they work, I could probably get North to make some more. That way if Pitch does learn how to use the golden light again, we have...we have a defence. Even if one of us is possessed, those weapons work.'

Gwyn nodded, pensive. Jack sometimes didn't know why he sat down and talked with Jack so often. It occurred to him, a few days before, that it might actually be because Gwyn thought that they were friends. He wondered how many people Gwyn could just talk to within his own Court, or if he had to constantly have some kind of facade in place. Gwyn had seen Jack at his worst, and Jack had seen Gwyn weakened by the walk up the mountain, shocked and dismayed when Jack had pressed his lips against his, angry when something hadn't gone to plan, uncomfortable around the Glasera. Were they almost friends? Jack had no idea.

'What was it like for you, growing up?' Jack said, and Gwyn shifted, squinted.

'Why?' He sounded almost defensive.

'It's a question that people ask each other, I'm pretty sure? I don't know, I was just...curious. Don't want to spoil the enigma, huh? Got an image to maintain?'

Gwyn's lips quirked up in an actual smile, and then he laughed. His face creased up, and for a second he looked like a young boy, and not a grim, older King.

'No, no not that. Enigma? No. It was a political childhood, I was born into the Court system and was surrounded with Court politics. As soon as I was of age and trained as a soldier, I left to fight wars.'

'Because they were better?' Jack said, raising a brow. How could war be better?

'I like fighting for a cause,' Gwyn said, 'that's what I do. Court politics is no other cause than fighting for your own status increase. We have – as un-progressive as it seems – a class system. And in that class system, a status increase indicates a power increase. Some fae will fight very hard to ensure they reach their maximum potential.'

'Huh,' Jack said, intrigued. 'But you didn't? I mean, I assume King or Queen is like the very top of the pyramid right? And you didn't want that?'

'There are more things to life than being extraordinarily powerful.' Gwyn's face clouded, and he looked very much like himself again.

'Yeah, but what? I mean, what would you be doing otherwise? Just...fighting things? Pitting yourself against others?'

Gwyn frowned, he raised a hand in the air in entreaty.

'Where is all of this coming from? Why do you wish to know?'

'Well, I'm curious. We spend a lot of time around each other, and I hardly know you. What about Pitch? Does he know? Like, do you talk to him? You're friends, right?'

Gwyn blinked.

'We talked about war. And battle strategies. And weapons. And a few times, Pitch told me about his past. I believe once or twice, I admitted my doubts regarding my ability to successfully overthrow the living shadows. That was a doubt we both shared.'

'And that was it? Really?'

'What more is there?' Gwyn said, looking genuinely bewildered. 'I have camaraderie with my soldiers. I have a knowledge of justice, and what is wrong, and what is right. We have just overthrown the Nightmare King. What more is there?'

Jack swallowed. Was it just that the fae were so different that they didn't place much stock in emotions like love? He doubted it. It was like Gwyn had revealed a significant piece missing from himself, and didn't even realise it was gone.

'I suppose that I am looking forward to being able to talk with Pitch again,' Gwyn admitted, hesitantly. 'Now, to the matters at hand.'

And with that, they were back to business. Gwyn firmly closed the door regarding what they'd been talking about behind him.

'I want your help with defeating Augus and removing him from power.'

'You have more powerful fae in your Court, though,' Jack said, and Gwyn nodded.

'Absolutely. But Augus doesn't know what to expect from you. You're not fae. You're unaligned. And with your help, with your plan, the Nightmare King has been thwarted for the first time in anyone's living memory. Augus has a shattered Court, and no one else wants to join it; but Augus on his own – even without a coterie of power around him – is extraordinarily powerful.'

'Because he's King? Like you? He has all that...status increase?' Jack said, confused. And Gwyn shook his head.

'No, he is powerful. He doesn't need to be King to do an immense amount of damage. He overthrew his King – the Raven Prince – and no one expected it. He did it on his own, without anyone's help, and no one has seen the Raven Prince since. Fae royalty are thought to be truly immortal, and yet...where is the Raven Prince? Trapped up in magic, locked away, no one knows.'

Jack swallowed. He didn't find this part of the conversation easy. He didn't like how Gwyn could just talk about Augus like he hadn't attacked Jack, like nothing had happened. He supposed – to Gwyn – nothing had happened. When Jack looked back over the events, though he tried to avoid doing so, he didn't always understand why the events bothered him so much. Augus had barely hurt him, and aside from a few bites, there was little he'd done that had physically hurt. And yet every time someone mentioned his name, Jack felt sick.

'Uh, well, of course I'm willing to help,' Jack said.

'I imagine you want your pound of flesh, too,' Gwyn said and Jack shuddered.

He thought he wanted that, but he didn't. At no point could he summon a true anger or outrage at Augus for what had happened. He'd tried. He thought it might make things easier. But every time he skated close to the subject mentally, he locked it down before he could even look at it, and nothing like anger came. Only fear, disgust, shame. He wasn't angry at Augus for what had happened.

He disliked the Unseelie fae – well, except for Makara. He hated the Nain Rouge, he had been more than willing to attack that fae that had been chasing him. It wasn't as though he lacked anger. And yet...

'Jack, are you alright?' Gwyn said, and Jack nodded absently.

'What will you do about the fae that chased me?' Jack said.

'I'll post a watch around the circumference of the Workshop. Actually, there is a small band of five Seelie fae who are standing watch nearby. I'll add some more, increase their range.'

'You've had us under watch?' Jack said, and Gwyn raised his eyebrows.

'How eager do you think I am to see the progress we've made ruined? Of course I've had the Workshop under watch, and Kostroma, and a select number of other places that could come under danger.'

Jack took a moment to absorb that information.

'Then where were they?' Jack said, 'All I saw was someone who chased me.'

'Likely because you were far out of their radius until you got back, and you said you created heavy cloud cover? I would say that by the time the watch knew that anything had happened, it was snowing and you were back within the wards. You travel a fair distance when you're flying at speed. I've seen you at the Wild Hunt. I know how quickly you cover ground. I am not going to tell you to stop doing this, but you have to keep in mind that the further you go, the less likely you are to be under anyone's protection.'

'I can protect myself, now,' Jack said, sending a coat of ice crawling across the table towards Gwyn. The King of the Seelie fae said nothing. Though – for once – he didn't look like he was about to disagree. He looked out of the arched window and sighed.

'Augus' behaviour perplexes me. Every time I think that he is a clever strategist, he does something foolish. But, again, every time I think I understand his motives, he does something which confuses me.'

Jack's chest tensed. Augus Each Uisge again, and he had enough on his mind already.

'He started out as underfae, with his brother Ash,' Gwyn said, looking through the window to the clouds that were still spilling their snow. 'The lowest caste. For at least one thousand, maybe almost two thousand years, he didn't seem particularly ambitious. Like most waterhorses, he seemed to want for nothing more than a small space of land, a lake to inhabit, a regular source of food.'

'People,' Jack said, swallowing. Gwyn shrugged.

'Well, humans. But everything changed, and one day he started pushing up through the ranks very quickly, becoming the Raven Prince's confidante. The Raven Prince was much beloved by everyone, and very wise, no one expected that someone like Augus would... When he removed the Raven Prince from power and took over his Court, the previous Seelie King could still handle him. It was when the living shadows became involved that everything became untenable. The Seelie King removed himself from power, and I found myself pitted against a creature who does not fight a war as I would.'

Jack didn't want to be talking about this. He felt his breath catch up in his throat until he chased after every breath with fast and shallow motions. Gwyn talked about Augus like he was scared of him, and that wasn't a good sign.

Jack stood up, needing to get out of there. He floated up out of his chair and Gwyn blinked when he noticed Jack ready to leave.

'Is this making you uncomfortable?' Gwyn said, standing up and staring at Jack hard.

'No,' Jack said, knowing that there was nothing convincing about the word. 'And I don't want to hear it, I just don't want to hear that I need to be better at this, or that we don't have time for me being this way, or that I-'

'I wasn't going to say that,' Gwyn said, indignant.

'Sure,' Jack laughed. 'Sure you weren't.'

He flew out of the room until he could find his way to a dark, quiet corner in North's Workshop. He landed within a stand of Christmas trees in a dim room that managed to grow inside with no source of soil or direct sunlight available. They were unadorned with gaudy colour and lights, and Jack felt unexpectedly like he was cloistered in a forest. The shadows were a strange comfort, and he bowed over amongst the green, wrapping one arm across himself and blankly staring at the floor. He used his staff to make sure he stayed upright.

He listened to his panicked breaths rasp in his chest for a long time, before he finally felt composed enough to leave.

He would have to remember the location of that room.


He easily found the location of Pitch's new room. He let the wind whisper it to him, and Jack crept around the Workshop at night, skimming the edges of the building and quietly marking where the wind took him.

Pitch's new room, on the upper levels, had a balcony. Jack touched down upon it and tugged the hood of his sweatshirt down further over his head. It didn't matter, Pitch was going to see him if he was awake, but he still couldn't fight the instinct to stay as inconspicuous as possible.

He floated towards the wooden door. It had been left open a crack. Pitch had always enjoyed cold breezes, even before Jack had come along.

But Jack lost his nerve before entering the room. He stood by the ajar door, making sure not to touch anything, not to accidentally announce his presence with the spilling of frost. He listened and heard the sound of the night breezes, and quietly – within the room – the steady rise and fall of Pitch's breathing. He was sleeping.

Jack couldn't ever remember Pitch needing to sleep so much.

He stayed for half an hour, listening to Pitch breathing, and then he left.

The next night he was back at the same time. He had spent the day carefully avoiding North and idly making patterns of frost in his own room. The yeti grumbled at him about how cold the room had become, but Jack said they were welcome to not come in, if they didn't want to. The elves still came in all the time. They were masochistic little creeps, Jack decided, and if they could find a way to get into mischief, they would. Once, he appreciated that. Now, he mostly wanted to freeze them all and punt them away.

It was a relief to touch down upon Pitch's new balcony and simply wait by the open door, looking into the dark, listening to the gentle rise and fall of breath. The mosaic tiles beneath his feet depicted baubles and Christmas tree ornaments. There was a stone bench nearby, similar to the one that he and North had sat upon all that time ago, when they had both watched Pitch make the golden light and North had said, with all confidence; That man loves you.

The balcony itself reminded him of Pitch's room at Kostroma. It reminded him of watching Pitch sleep through sliding glass doors and then frosting the pane, only to draw a smiley face for when Pitch woke up later. It reminded him of dashing outside after that time he'd found the locket and not understood what it had meant, and Pitch had thrown him out of his house. Even with the painful memories, Jack missed Kostroma. He wanted to go back, but he hadn't let himself since Pitch had been possessed, and he didn't want to go back on his own now.

He stayed a long time, eventually dozing off himself, only realising he was starting to fall asleep when gravity pulled him down towards the ground. It was the first time he'd felt anything like tiredness, but as soon as he started to fly away, he felt alert and awake again. He spent the rest of the night hours introducing Mora to North's reindeer, and wondering how much pack animal was actually inside Mora, when she seemed insulted that he would think she had anything in common with them.

The next night he returned again.

Within minutes he knew something was wrong.

He heard a low, distressed moan, and it was followed by hitched, unsteady breathing. Jack pushed the door with hesitant fingers, it opened without creaking. He glided into the room carefully, letting the starlight from outside limn the edges of the furniture so that he could see where he was going. Pitch's bed was pushed against the wall, large and covered in richly woven rugs. Jack could see the patterns even in the darkness. It was very different from the plain grey and black blankets Pitch used in the room next to Jack's.

Pitch made a short, aborted sound in his throat, and then shifted, fractious, in the bed.

Jack touched down carefully by his side, looking down at the crease in his brow, watching the rapidly moving eyes behind their eyelids.

Nightmare, he realised.

A glint of light caught his eye and he looked sideways and saw a coiled, thin chain and beside it, the locket. Jack reached out with his hand and delicately touched the likeness of Seraphina's face. He turned back to Pitch and reached out with a hand, and stopped before touching his skin. He could feel warmth radiating out. It was so familiar that Jack felt his whole body yearn to move in the direction of it. But he knew that wasn't allowed anymore.

He shouldn't even be there.

'No,' Pitch murmured, low. Jack's lips thinned, his hands hovered. He wanted to do something, but he didn't know what.

Because what if Pitch was dreaming about Seraphina? What if he was dreaming about losing her, or seeing her again, and then Jack taking her away? What could Jack offer? He was the cause.

'Jack,' Pitch said, harsh and strained, and then his whole body jerked in the bed. Jack jumped backwards, eyes flying open, a sound of surprise dying on his lips before he could utter it.

Was Pitch having a nightmare about him?

'Pitch,' Jack whispered, stepping back and touching the sheets nervously, because he couldn't be found here. He couldn't stand it if Pitch asked to be moved again. He wasn't supposed to have come. North had told him not to give up, but he was pretty sure that North didn't mean, 'stalk him while he sleeps.' North probably meant that Jack should wait it out. But Jack wasn't good at those sorts of things.

Pitch started to shake, and Jack knelt by the bed, then closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the mattress. It reminded him too much of Kostroma, too much of when Pitch had come and woken him from that awful nightmare. That was when he had realised how hungry he was for comfort, and how good Pitch was at giving it. But Jack didn't know what he was doing now, didn't know what he could do.

Helplessness tore at him as Pitch murmured something hoarse and pained, and Jack's hands clenched because he didn't know what to do.

'Let him go!' Pitch shouted, and Jack startled upwards, convinced Pitch had woken himself up. But Pitch was still sunk deep in sleep, a sheen of sweat breaking across his forehead. 'Let...no, Jack, no, no. Please.'

Jack knew from previous experience that Pitch could be vocal during his nightmares. He'd heard enough when Pitch had trained relentlessly with Gwyn and slept – exhausted – every evening.

'I'm here,' Jack said quietly, pushing his forehead harder into the mattress and hoping he wasn't doing the wrong thing.

'You can't have him.' Pitch sounded so frightened. And a stone dropped all the way through Jack's stomach and landed in his gut. He exhaled hard. Was Pitch dreaming about the gymnasium, about the shadows? Was he dreaming about the Nightmare King and his intentions? It sounded awful.

He reached up, refused to look at what he was doing, refused to acknowledge it...but he couldn't help himself, he had to do something. He couldn't just watch, silently, and not offer something.

He twitched when his own fingertips touched Pitch's cheek. Warmth, familiar warmth, and he wanted more of it. But more than that, he wanted Pitch to rest well, to stop having this awful nightmare.

Pitch mumbled something, incoherent, and Jack dared to look up. His eyes were still moving, intent, behind his eyelids. His lips weren't visible, pressed so thinly. Jack dared to stroke his fingers down the curve of Pitch's cheekbone, and then he repeated the movement when Pitch seemed to calm. He turned his fingers around and traced his knuckles gently over that warm skin.

Don't wake up, please don't wake up. Just settle, Pitch. Come on now.

'It's okay,' Jack whispered. 'It's going to be okay.'

Pitch turned into Jack's hand, and Jacks' heart twisted hard in response. It was a visceral pain that spread out like fire through his chest. He hissed at it, and at the same time, he spread his fingers slightly, he offered more pressure. He hoped Pitch was taking something like comfort from the touch. He thought maybe he should leave soon, in case Pitch woke up. He was afraid. He didn't want the moment to end, but he wanted Pitch to relax. Even with the Nightmare King gone, Pitch was haunted. North had been right. Pitch was Pitch again, but he was not okay.

'There, come on, relax,' Jack continued, keeping his words as soft as possible. 'It's going to be okay.'

I miss you.

Pitch's eyes stopped moving ceaselessly behind his eyelids, and he gave a great, shaky sigh. His face relaxed, and his shoulders sank more deeply into the bed.

Jack closed his eyes and his chest heaved with relief.

Just get up, and leave. That's all you have to do. It's not rocket science. Don't be that guy, Jack.

But he couldn't move. He told himself just five more minutes. That was all. He would memorise the feeling of Pitch's skin against his skin again, and that would be enough. It would have to be enough.

He started to withdraw his hand.

It happened so quickly. One moment he was sliding his fingers down in one last caress. The next moment Pitch jack-knifed up in the bed, shouting Jack's name in terror. Pitch reached out – nightmare-blind – he grabbed and twisted Jack's hand to neutralise a threat.

Jack cried out in pain, shifted his body instinctively to make the grip hurt less. He felt his bones shift under his skin, where Pitch had his wrist.

'It's okay, it's okay, it's okay!' he said, a litany of comfort that couldn't be true because Pitch had woken up and Jack was there and Jack wasn't supposed to be there.

Pitch turned abruptly and stared, shocked, to see Jack there. And Jack stilled, wished he could disappear, that the ground could swallow him up. His wrist hurt, he didn't dare make a sound. Pitch was heaving for breath, his pupils blown with terror. And then he blinked and blinked again, and seemed surprised that Jack was still there and not some apparition. His eyes flicked to where he was crushing Jack's hand and he made a brief, strained sound. He let go of Jack's wrist immediately.

'I'm sorry,' Jack whispered. 'You could just...forget I was here. Don't ask to be moved again, okay?'

Pitch stared at Jack, still taking deep, fast breaths. Jack expected fury, or contempt, or even being ignored. But Pitch couldn't seem to tear his eyes away, and Jack couldn't either.

Jack started to lower his hand and Pitch reached out, fascinated. Jack stopped all movement, his whole body simply froze, as Pitch took Jack's hand within his own and held it, staring at the place their fingers met.

Jack didn't know what to think. Had Pitch forgotten about what Jack had done, already? Had he forgotten about their terrible plan to get Pitch back? Jack's fear escalated, until it was hammering hard in his chest, until it wrapped as a tight band around his head. That gentle touch was so confusing, but he didn't want it to stop.

'They took you,' Pitch said. 'The darkness took you.'

'No,' Jack said, 'it took you. You...don't remember?'

Pitch closed his eyes.

'I remember everything.'

'Us?' Jack dared to ask, his voice far higher than usual.

'Everything,' Pitch said, squeezing Jack's hand.

A wild bird was flapping hard in Jack's heart, trying to get free. It thudded hard against his ribs, it buffeted his breath, scraped wetly at the inside of him.

'I can't be around you,' Pitch said, finally. His voice sounded horribly flat as he said it, and he abruptly let go of Jack's hand.

'Pitch, I-'

'Please leave,' Pitch whispered, averting his eyes.

Jack stood up clumsily, ignoring the twinge of pain in his side as the closing wound on his back stretched and contracted.

I don't want to go.

But Jack couldn't say it out loud. He couldn't. His head was a mess. He didn't know what had just happened. If he stayed, he was going to embarrass himself, he was going to get upset, he was going to ask for something that Pitch didn't want to give. His hand still tingled where Pitch had grabbed it, where his fingers had touched Pitch's face.

He flew out of there as quickly as he could, and he didn't stop until he was all the way back in his own room, back against the wall and shaking because he didn't understand any of it. Pitch hadn't seemed angry, but what if Jack just couldn't read him properly? He'd taken his hand again, enfolded it in his own. He remembered everything. He hadn't seemed angry.

Why was Pitch avoiding him?

Jack knew, as he sagged down the wall and accidentally scraped at the wounds on his back, he couldn't take much more of this.


The next day, North found Jack in the room with all the ice sculptures, and closed the door firmly behind him.

'You and I are going to have conversation, now,' North said and Jack stopped turning one of North's ice sculptures back into a block of ice, and frowned. He hoped Pitch hadn't asked to be moved again. He hoped that North didn't know that Jack had been visiting Pitch in the early hours of the morning. He'd had a hard enough night as it was, and he couldn't tell if he was tired or upset or angry anymore.

North pulled up a chair, and Jack turned back to the ice sculpture, pretending that everything was okay, that he felt fine.

'What happened to you, when you disappeared for those days?' North said. 'Because this is what I am knowing. I am knowing that Gwyn came back to the Workshop, covered in blood that had frozen to his arms and hands. Your blood. And then the King of the Seelie fae would not tell me anything, until he had found out where you'd gone. You returned days later, injured badly and recovering, and near to dying, and tell us that everything is fine. Gwyn, also, tells us that the weapons are working just fine and not to worry. I am familiar with closing ranks to hide something, Jack.'

Jack didn't stop turning the sculpture into a giant icicle, but he'd stopped concentrating on what he was doing. He hadn't thought about the aftermath of that encounter. He hadn't considered that Gwyn might panic. After all, he'd had no idea where Jack was going, and even if he had known, he probably wouldn't have been happy to realise it was the Nain Rouge. He supposed he hadn't really been up to considering much that day.

'I have tried to be gently pushing, but you are not talking to anyone. I'm worried, Jack.'

'You don't need to worry,' Jack said, automatically.

'I think that is exactly what I am needing to be doing,' North said. 'I would like to see you stop me.'

Jack broke away from the icicle-ice-sculpture in frustration. He flew backwards out of his chair and frowned.

'Can't you just be happy that I've got my powers back? You don't have to panic about that anymore, right? I'm not dying. And Pitch is back. Things are fine.'

North pursed his lips, folded his arms.

'You should listen to yourself,' North said.

'You should maybe trust that I know what I'm doing,' Jack said harshly. 'Who came up with the plan to get Pitch back? I did. And so there's some things that I'm not telling you. So what? I'm sorry that Gwyn came and panicked all over you after I left, but I knew what I was doing even then. And, actually, what I did worked. I-'

'Don't you miss it?' North said, which was such an abrupt shift in tone that Jack blinked.

'What?'

'Don't you miss your old centre?'

'Why?' Jack said, laughing. 'What is there to miss? Snowball fights? Snow days? Not ever getting anything done? Procrastination? You think that was someone that would have found a way to get Pitch back? Ha, seriously, pull the other-'

'It's still in you,' North said, standing and looking at Jack with a serious concern sparking in his eyes. 'The fun, it is still in you. Where did it go? Are you hating it that much?'

Jack swallowed. He didn't know what North was talking about. How could the fun still be in him? He hadn't felt it for...for a long time. He didn't want to.

He looked sideways to double check that the windows were still open, that he could make a hasty retreat. North followed his line of vision and then backed off and sat down again. A moment later he picked up a tiny hammer, a tiny chisel, and started turning Jack's sabotage into an ice-sculpture again.

Jack watched, taken aback. And then he floated back down to the floor and landed. He knew what North was doing, and he didn't want it to work but...he couldn't just fly out of there while North was just quietly tinkering away at an ice sculpture, could he?

He walked over and watched North work, quietly. Minutes lengthened, and Jack saw the shape of a fox tail emerge from the base of the icicle.

'North?' Jack said, touching his fingers to the fox tail and bringing out more of its tufted fur with a brush of his hand.

'Mm?' North said, pretending preoccupation on his task.

'Am I still a Guardian?'

North paused, he sighed. He looked over at Jack and moved his mouth in a way that caused his beard and moustache to twitch.

'You are saying the oath, and so-'

'Yeah, but, I just... am I? Really? What kid wants a Guardian whose centre is resolve? I mean, seriously.'

'I am sure many children who want to get their homework done,' North said, with a wry smile.

'Oh, great.' Jack waved his hand over the fox idly, and a significant amount of the icicle simply dissolved into tiny frost particles, the haze drifting away to reveal the fox, six feet tall and sitting proudly. North looked up at the fox in wonder and then smiled.

'I just...don't feel it anymore,' Jack said. 'I thought when Pitch gave me back the rest of my power, I thought maybe then. And I felt a rush of something. But it went away again, almost straight away. I can't remember the last time I felt like...like something was fun. Like I wanted to do that.'

North turned away from the fox and directed a frown at Jack.

'That is not normal,' North said quietly. 'That is not the way it is working. Normally, when you are leaving one centre behind, and entering another, it does not disappear. No! It stays inside you, it is a part of you. So – Jack – where did it go?'

Jack looked down at the tiny tools that North used to create his wondrous inventions. He shook his head.

'I don't know.'

'And if you are not feeling it at all, then you have it buried very far down. Beneath, I am suspecting, a lot of other weights.'

Jack felt a creeping numbness as he looked at the burnt and pock-marked table.

'And, Jack, where will your resolve go now?' North said.

Jack took a deep breath.

'I'm going to go out for a while,' Jack said quietly. 'I'll be back later. I just, I don't like being cooped up like this.'

'It's not safe, Jack,' North said, and Jack rolled his eyes.

'Here we go again,' Jack said, 'I know you mean well, North. But I'm not going to do much better stuck in here all the time, either. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?'

North held Jack's gaze for a long time. And then he sighed in a way that made Jack realise he was hearing that noise a lot from North. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't heard it.

Maybe I should start keeping count.

He took one last look at the fox before he drifted out of the window. He headed up to Sandy's cloud, where Mora was resting, and he waved her awake.

'You wanna come with?' he said.

She jumped up onto the winds with him, and they both sped away.


He tried a different direction than last time, and was far more alert; which was saying something, he was never entirely unaware of his surroundings anymore.

Mora, at least, seemed to be one of the few beings in his world who wasn't interested in lectures or disapproving in his lack of fun. She rode the winds as she always did. She always seemed extremely happy just to be racing through the sky with Jack, even if he wasn't laughing or creating as much snow around her as he used to. She came up and nosed him for frost spirals. She didn't try and push him to be something he wasn't.

He was – as always – grateful for Mora.

He didn't really miss his sense of fun, but he did miss his sense of freedom. Once, he had been able to travel through the world unshackled by almost all worries except the reality of his loneliness. And that reality had been a well-known one, it didn't stop him from going where he wanted to go, it rose and fell predictably. When it was unbearable, he could still try and outpace himself by flying through the air. And when it was bearable, he could create snow days, provide enough clean and fluffy snow for children that they hardly knew what to do with themselves.

His frustration with his lack of freedom, the changed view of his world, caused momentary bursts of frost lightning to emit from his staff. They no longer exhausted him, and he allowed the bright, pale blue flares. They felt good.

The ice was one of the few things about his circumstances that he could accept now.

Some time later, he and Mora touched down quietly and warily by his old shack. It was still cobbled together with old, abandoned cabin walls and ice. It looked even less inviting than it had when he first made it.

The tree that he used to sleep in was to his right, and he stared up at it, wistfully.

It wasn't safe to sleep in trees anymore. There were none that fell within close vicinity to the ward at North's Workshop, so he couldn't sleep in tree boughs there. And while he could always go back to the Seelie Court and those woven, thick tree branches, the energy there was strange. Listening to gossip all day put him in bad spirits. No wonder Gwyn spent hardly any time there himself.

He grimaced at the shack as he approached it. He ignored the dark smear of the frozen animal pelt that the Nain Rouge had left behind as a threat and a promise all those months ago. The Nain Rouge was a worry, but she didn't scare him as she used to. He'd survived her attack, and he could hurt her now. He wouldn't be caught by surprise again. Not – at least – for a few centuries, judging by what she'd said.

He looked around the forest, peering through the shadows between the trees, and then snarled a strong dislike at the shack itself.

It was impoverished. It was poorly made. It was nothing like the homes of the other Guardians, the other fae. Gwyn had suggested that the only reason that Jack hadn't made a 'proper' home was because he didn't yet know how, and no one had taught him. But as Jack coated all the horizontal surfaces of the shack – barring the floor – with icicles, he knew it wasn't true.

The shack showed things as they really were. It exposed the inside of him and how poorly formed he truly was.

He couldn't look at it without feeling a wave of hatred so powerful that he had to stop for a moment, and catch his breath.

Jack heard a loud crack in the forest and whirled, vision blurring white for a single, terrified second.

He saw a young buck, antlers still small, startle and sprint off into the shadows. That was all it had been. A deer that had been shocked to see Jack there.

He raised a hand to his chest and fisted his hand in his sweatshirt.

Even now, he was so far away from freedom he wasn't even certain what it would look like anymore. Even here, he was still haunted by Augus. He couldn't tell any of the others, and having seen Pitch's reaction to his own nightmares, there was no way, no way he could begin to conceive of a time when it would be okay to tell him. And so he lurched from wall to wall in his own prison, wondering how to get out, wondering why it was so hard.

Hardly anything happened.

The abrupt surge of rage that powered through him ended with Jack clasping both of his hands around his staff and letting the frost lightning go.

It shot through the staff, shot from Jack's hands, caused sharp shards of ice to hurl out into the atmosphere around him. He closed his eyes, grit his teeth and pulled deep from the well of power inside himself and – finding it limitless – forgot about everything except endless blue reflections, clear frozen substrates, a violent, brittle light that he would use to ruin his shack, the whole forest, if he had to.

He didn't want to see any sign that he had ever been there, ever slept in that tree. And the ice poured out of him, endless and jagged and unrelenting. It shook his body with the force of a lightning strike, it threatened to turn his cells inside out, and he wanted it. He would let himself be-

Jack shouted in fear when a hard object butted into him from behind. Distracted, frost lightning sprayed wildly from his single-handed grip on his staff as he flailed out with his other hand to catch himself. He scrabbled onto his back and held his staff up threateningly, only to see Mora standing there, a spray of ice frozen to her side and mane, nostrils flaring in panic.

And then Jack saw what he'd done.

The shack was gone, the wooden walls obliterated into splinters. Where it stood, a blast of ice that towered feet into the air twisted and folded in upon itself.

Beyond that, trees had fallen, others stood frozen almost solid, and those beyond that, metres into the forest itself hung with icicles so huge that some were over ten feet long, able to resist falling to the ground due to Jack's magic.

He'd turned his old home into a broken white and blue world.

Mora came over and nuzzled him until he was able to hook an arm around her cold neck. Her body temperature was nowhere near its normal warmth. He scratched at her side, and she pushed her head into his ribs, snorting when he groaned. She'd hit the bad side, his ribs ached.

'I'm...' he looked at her, looked at the white scene of carnage around her. 'I'm sorry,' he managed.

He pulled the shell of frost off her side, apologising again. He hadn't even remembered she was there. One moment he had been feeling...awful things, and the next, he had reduced the shack and enclosed forest to a spilt bowl of ice.

The most frightening part was that he could still feel it waiting inside of him – the frost lightning – there was more, he could have kept going.

'Oh...crap,' Jack whispered, draping his arms over Mora and riding out the low-grade fear she caused.

That evening, he didn't visit Pitch again.

He sat on his bed, knees up to his chest, and stared hard at his staff where he'd left it propped up against the wall. He didn't know what had happened. Had his powers been influenced by the time they'd spent in the Nain Rouge? By the time they'd spent in the Nightmare King? What if it was both?

It was a long and sleepless night. The only conclusion he managed to come to, was that he needed to speak to Gwyn. The one person he really wanted to talk to about it, was sending him the most confusing mixed messages, and he didn't think he'd get a straight answer from Pitch.


Gwyn came back the next day and Jack asked immediately if they could teleport to the coordinates of Jack's old shack. Gwyn didn't even need to be told the coordinates, which meant that – at some point, without Jack's knowledge – Gwyn really had familiarised himself with a lot of different locations. Perhaps he'd done it when he was freaking out about where Jack had gone, and decided to go look for him. Gwyn still hadn't really forgiven him for visiting the Nain Rouge on his own.

Yeah...okay, I can kind of see the merits in that.

As soon as they arrived at the location where Jack's old shack used to be, Jack was doubly horrified. It was worse the next day. Some of the ice had grown in scale. Several of the giant icicles had fallen, splitting the ground like stalagmites.

It was a frozen, icy wasteland, bordered by damaged forest. The remaining trees had their foliage seared right off them. The ends of the branches were encased in ice.

'So, uh, I did this?' Jack said, as Gwyn stared, eyes huge. 'I think...I'm more powerful? And...help?'

Gwyn turned to Jack with a face that was almost stricken, and then just as quickly he composed himself and looked as grim and in control as always.

'How is it possible that I'm stronger?' Jack said, firmly keeping his frost under control, not allowing the tiniest spiral to move forth. 'What if the Nain Rouge grew it somehow?'

'It doesn't work that way,' Gwyn said, picking up a handful of frost splinters and clenching his fist around them. After a disproportionate amount of pressure, they finally split. Even his ice was stronger.

'How does it work then?' Jack said, and Gwyn turned and looked at him.

'Your powers could have been influenced by their time in the Nain Rouge, the Nightmare King. But neither has the ability to grow a power like this. I am thinking it is something else. When we hit you with the bolt of golden light, to remove the shadows, actually. It was only brief, but at the time I did think there might be side effects. Remember what it did to that tree? It...exacerbated its essence. We've seen this reflected in other living objects that derive from this planet. It likely doesn't do the same to Pitch, because he's used to it. But we're...not.'

'But I didn't even have my powers back, at that point,' Jack said. 'I was dying. It nearly killed me.'

Gwyn nodded, and then kicked at a pile of the frost splinters. They tinkled musically, but they did not break.

'There was an initiation of old,' Gwyn said quietly. 'Fae who wanted to expand their power, who couldn't find a way to increase their ranking, would undertake it. It was sometimes fatal. They would reduce and then split the core of their power so that they could reshape it. It's a very rare thing to do, most don't want power badly enough to do it. It was, after all, often fatal. Perhaps you started the process involuntarily. You did not want to die, but you were still depleted of almost all of your power, and that golden light could easily have split and reshaped the core of you. When Pitch gave you the rest...I can see this being a logical progression.'

'I'm glad you can, because it makes no sense to me.'

'Then maybe you should go back and look at that first tree that we shot with the golden light,' Gwyn said grimly, 'and keep thinking about it.'

Jack flinched when one of the other giant icicles detached from a tree branch and thudded into the ground. Gwyn stared. He cleared his throat.

'You'll have to be careful,' Gwyn said. 'If you're not drained after something like this, who knows what you can do now. Once more, you'll have to learn your limitations, and learn how to limit yourself.'

'I know how to limit myself,' Jack said, 'I've been doing just fine, limiting myself. This wasn't a complete accident, it's not like it just happened. I was...'

'Then perhaps you should feel grateful that you decided to let loose here, instead of in North's Workshop.'

Jack shuddered, he leaned tiredly against his staff. It was supposed to be a good thing, to be more powerful. But Gwyn was right, this was dangerous. He'd destroyed a significant part of the forest around his old shack without even knowing or thinking about it. He'd have to learn how to get it under control. He'd have to train.

Jack groaned.

'I hate training,' he said, and Gwyn laughed under his breath.

'I know, but you'll do it, won't you?'

'Yeah, I know I have to. I need to...understand all of this. You really don't think it was the Nain Rouge or the Nightmare King? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?'

'Do you think I say things to make people feel better?' Gwyn said, and Jack snorted.

'Point taken.'

They stood there in the forest quietly for some time longer. Gwyn yawned and stretched after a few minutes, and Jack watched him surreptitiously. He wondered how stressed Gwyn really was. He never talked about it, but it was obvious that the continued loss of fae, his inability to strike down Augus as quickly as he wanted, even his constant need to have meeting after meeting was wearing at him. He wondered what Seelie and Unseelie Kings did when there wasn't a war going on, and then imagined it probably looked a great deal like doing nothing, since it seemed like the Courts mostly managed themselves when there wasn't an immediate conflict.

'He doesn't want to see me,' Jack said, awkwardly. He didn't know if Gwyn would want to talk to this, but he didn't want to open up to anyone else about it either.

Gwyn frowned.

'Still?'

'Uh...yeah.'

Gwyn turned to him and squinted.

'And you're...what? Not seeing him?'

'Well, he asked, so...yeah,' Jack said, and Gwyn's face twisted in confusion.

'I'm surprised you're accepting that. That doesn't strike me as something you'd just accept.'

'Maybe though, with the whole...'parading his dead daughter in front of him' thing that you brought up, maybe he hates me,' Jack said, and the look Gwyn levelled at Jack after that made him feel like ten kinds of idiot.

The sound of disbelief that followed, made him feel like twenty kinds of idiot.

'How can you think that?' Gwyn said.

'How can I not? He asked to be moved, because of me.'

Gwyn stared past Jack like he could hardly believe he'd been caught in this conversation.

'Jack, I'm not the smartest when it comes to these sorts of things, but even I know there is more than one reason that Pitch would ask to be moved away from you. Maybe it's because I'm a soldier, and I also understand. But...have you considered that he thinks he's protecting you, from himself? He is a warrior who has been forced – forced – to become something he loathes. Not only once, but for a second time. Step back from the matter and look at it objectively. Or maybe the golden light blasted that out of you as well.'

'Shit, Gwyn, take it easy. It makes sense that he'd hate me. You all have been keeping me away from him! Talking about how it's for his own good, and stuff. What am I supposed to think?'

'You could think that sometimes we probably lay it on a little thick, because you are a stubborn, rebellious creature who hardly listens to a thing that anyone says and we just didn't want you bowling in there, first chance you got, in case Pitch wasn't ready yet. I didn't expect you to just...sit there and accept what we were saying. I thought it might just make you more cautious.'

Gwyn dragged a hand through his hair, and then shook several hairs off that had caught on his fingers.

'I'm tired of waiting for you to talk to me about what Augus did. That is affecting you more than you know. Even with your new centre, you should never have just... This is exactly the sort of thing I was talking about. And you should know that...'

Gwyn trailed off and suddenly lunged towards Jack, eyes widening in horror.

Jack had enough time to turn around, to look over his shoulder to see what Gwyn had seen. He had just enough time to feel himself split with terror.

Augus had been watching silently from the shadows, a smirk on his face, one hand on a frost covered tree. His hair dripped rapidly, and his eyes glowed green.

Jack's gasp was torn away from him as he dissolved into light. Jack's last image was Augus standing by the destruction that Jack had wrought.


Author's Note: In our next chapter, 'Confrontation,' Bunnymund and Jack encounter one another, and Jack decides to take Gwyn's advice, and stops 'accepting' Pitch's continued stereo silence. That has...interesting results.