Hi guys! Thank you all so much for the favorites, follows, reads and reviews: Guest, rezzkat, writergirl142, starskulls, and N.a. Brun! You guys make all this worth it!

So, if the contest was going as I understood, we would have already won, but my sister decided to make it last until Monday evening when we would be posting the next chapter :(

But, no matter, I felt horrible for leaving you guys hanging so I whipped up this little beauty to tide you over! She's posting another chapter too (we're going to post them at the same time so its super fair) and who ever gets the most reviews on their NEWEST chapter will give out two in one day. So sorry, but you can blame her for the lack of two chapters (go complain on her story if you're mad).

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians

Chapter 10: Gargoyles, Rabid Rabbits, and Trolls. Oh my.

Morrígan entered Pitch's room in the south wing of her palace, unannounced and uninvited.

"Did the ancient Irish forget to teach you how to knock?" The shadow asked from his corner.

"My house my rules."

"Does that include the bathrooms, because if so you're in line for a very rude interruption."

Morrígan rolled her eyes. "Lets just leave my reply as yesterdays threat of grinding your nightmare."

"Did you have a purpose in bothering me, or are you just looking for some riveting conversation? I'm happy to oblige you either way."

"I just wanted to see how it was coming."

"It's coming."

"Well what all have you done so far?"

"Well I took a nap, drank some fear, and conjured up some terribly frightening versions of our targets."

"So that's nothing, then, correct?"

"Dream planting isn't as easy as it sounds, Darling. It takes some preparation."

"Then hurry it along, I don't have all the time in the world."

"Then get out so I can." Pitch turned away from her, seeping back into the shadows.

Morrígan frowned but indulged his rude request, leaving him to his silence and nightmares.

Pitch remained in his room for the full duration of the evening, cursing softly when he realized he would have to give up his precious nightmare to finish his job. Her screams and screeches when he ground her back to dust would have been music to his ears had she not been his only loyal companion. Once it was done he sent her remains out as little streamers bearing the images of fairies layered in stone, their grotesque faces twisted in inhuman screeches and horned wings beating against the wind as they destroyed entire cities. Of quick sand that hypnotized its victims into willingly entering the swampy grave. Of evil trolls that bought children, both naughty and nice, from their parents for its nighttime brew. Of monsters covered in fur that ripped the screaming victims in half, gnawing on legs with its frothy yellowed two front teeth.

His shoulders relaxed as he felt the fear begin to flow back on the streamers, horror began to fill him with the very power he needed. One village in the south of Ireland had been all he needed. One tiny town filled with sleeping little believers to toy with before he was ready to blanket the whole isle. The streamers multiplied, branching off to touch little minds and bring back the dream screams to their maker.

By the time morning had dawned, all of the people of the British Isles and Western Europe were sitting up with wide eyes as children sobbed in parents arms.

"And you listened to the sandman, mommy. Why did you listen to him?"

« Papa, tu m'as donné. Vous m'avez donné à l'homme mauvais. Pourquoi, papa? Vous ne m'aimez pas? »

Crying filled the air like incense. Fear wafted on the breeze itself. And for the first time in a very, very long time, Pitch laughed. He could feel fear as children shuddered while looking at pictures of Santa Claus, remembering their nightmares, asking parents to keep the fires going so the troll could not get into the house. Asking them to make sure the windows were shut the following night so the gargoyles and sand monsters couldn't get in. Bunnies everywhere were sent outside to their hutches.

Nightmare sand wrapped around the shadow king in his solitary room within the bowels of an ancient castle. It nickered longingly for a true form and he obliged it, creating mare after terrifying mare, unaware of the change that was overtaking his shadow form. Hands emerged and yellow eyes began to glow.

~:o:~

The guardians sat together for some time before returning to their homes, their need to preserve the belief of children overriding their sorrow. They were to return that evening for a simple ceremony to commemorate the life of their young comrade and return him to the earth. Until that time came, North found it too difficult to even think about opening the door. So it remained closed, locked tightly against any who would wish to disturb the body of a member of his family.

He went about his business, hiding his sorrow in the hacking of ice blocks with no true form in mind. He mindlessly changed colors and screw types, feeling as though he could nothing productive so he might as well keep busy inspecting the productivity of others. He was being cruel, that much he understood, but after being called to inspect the small, wooden coffin he had requested, he couldn't find it within himself to care. It was marked with beautiful craftsmanship. Made of the same wood as Jack's staff, it had been covered with gentle carvings of frost ferns, evergreen boughs and icicles. Snowflakes lined the borders with simply beautiful designs. Every one was unique.

He had locked himself in his office after he deemed it quite appropriate and thanked them for their hard work. He stayed there until five that evening, picking away at a block of ice before standing and moving to the sitting room to wait for the others to arrive. They came alone, somber and tear stained every one, silent until all had arrived.

They were quiet for so long, they all wondered if it was with the same silence that they would finish this chapter of their lives. Wondered if their friend would be laid to rest to the tandem of quiet tears and words caught in throats tight with sorrow masquerading as strength. But once again, Father Christmas broke it.

"I remember when he come to pole to pester yetis and freeze elves. They all loved him so." North forced a quiet smile. "No matter how many times I yell, he still come back to tease. He play so hard one day he fall asleep in rafters of workshop. Stayed all night, and had breakfast with me next morning."

"He took my fairies out for rides when they weren't busy—and sometimes when they were—so they could see the world and all its colors without a tooth in their arms. He even let them see his teeth whenever they asked."

"Little bugger froze my colored streams an' my tail an' ears one day when I was too busy to rest. Gave me a cold so bad I had to take a day off. 'E came by when I was well to help me catch up on lost time. 'E knew I needed a break an' helped me take one."

Sandy sat with a quiet smile and watched as his friends reminisced on all the things their frosty haired companion had done for them over the past twenty years. Memories were offered without prompting and accompanied with bright eyes and sad smiles. He had been a very special friend to them all. Sandy remembered when he first met the boy. He had been young, only a few days old, and very frightened. Sandy had taken pity on the lad and sat playing with him for a few hours, letting his golden streamers wrap around the crooked staff and dance across frosty features. He played until the streams of sand and ice had abated and tears had stopped flowing. He stayed until his frost child fell asleep and sent him a beautiful dream of children who would play in the snow with him, laughing and playing pranks on him just as he did on them.

Sandy had seen very little of the boy in the hundreds of years that followed that night, seeing him for only a few short minutes every decade or so as they spread their fun and dreams together in a flurry of snowflakes and golden dreams. But the boy had never caused him any trouble, even tried to calm storms so Sandy could have an easier time of spreading his dreams in the middle of winter.

Sandy wished he had been the one to die. He knew they all wished it. Wished that it was one of them that was gone and he was sitting here alive and well. But instead it was him that fell before their eyes. Sandy shut his eyes for a moment, focusing on a particularly bright memory of a smiling frost child who had been sitting in a snowdrift with a very little girl, rolling tiny snowballs towards her and silently watching as she shrieked with giggles and crushed them with her little mittened fists. Grinning as she stood and waddled after a very special snowflake he had conjured just for her. Laughing as only a snowflake can laugh as she caught it on her nose and it melted before she could get a hold of it.

Sandy started from his stupor when he heard a little giggle, laced with sniffling. The others were watching him with wide, watery eyes. A tearful smile was spread across Tooth's face.

"Thank you, Sandy." She said, glancing up at the large version of his memory that he had accidently projected. Little sand children spanned the length of the long room, playing and laughing in silent reverie at the antics of a certain smiling frost child. It dissipated with a gentle fall of dust as Sandy released his hold on the memory with a soft smile. He nodded his head and they all returned to their quiet sharing of their most precious memories.

Jack Frost may be gone, but he would live forever more in their memories.

~:o:~

The moon shone brightly through the windows of the quiet room in the west wing of the house atop the mountains. Voices could be heard from down the hallway, soft voices laced with pain that had been passed from one to many. Quiet sniffling and the sharing of images of one too young to have left. The only way to describe it was the feeling of a death in the family. Of the loss of a child.

The door had been shut tightly and they tried to immerse themselves in the memories of the past that spoke of happier times, forget for even a few moments the horrors that they had witnessed and the responsibility they now bore. So they shut the door and attempted not to feel until honor for the fallen forced them to open it again. They shut the door and left him in the moonlight. They relinquished their right to witness as the wound filled up with ice and became whole. They missed the sight of silver hair growing brown and mortal breaths filling stilled lungs. They were not the first sight of a pair of brown eyes reborn.

Jack is back. HOW WAS THAT FOR A PLOT TWISTER?

You really didn't think I would leave him dead, did you? Did you? You did? Oh. Sorry. Hope this makes up for it.

My sissie's talking smack, y'all. She says she's going to stomp you into the dust because she has Marius and all we have is puny Jack Frost. I say we destroy her and all her little Mis-ies!