.

.

Baseless Hope
It Can't Be True...

The change was gradual and painstakingly slow, but after that initial outing—where its King had finally learned Jack's name—the shadow couldn't be any happier. (An automatic fix was never an option. Not after years of hurt and mistrust, but they were finally making progress. For the first time in ages, the shadow dared to indulge its hope. The healing process, fragile though it may be, had begun.)

Pitch still stayed within that prison, buried beneath thousands of feet of ice, but it was no longer as great a chore to get him to leave. They would visit places sporadically, at first. A dampened cave hidden within the Himalayan Mountains overlooking a human village [1]; a secluded forest where Pitch can simply calm himself on nights with no moon and beautiful stars [2]. A small (but growing) town that had become achingly familiar...

Returns to that dreaded wasteland its king had considered sanctuary became less and less frequent. Soon after, search for a new location (while not explicitly stated) was underway. The shadow already knew where the search would end.

He'll make the connection soon enough, it thought. Technically, he already has.

.

Stubborn-Head.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It wouldn't be long now. He wouldn't be long. Any minute, now, the boy would come striding in—already a shoe removed, soon to be thrown where Pitch stood (not that Jack meant anything by it. He simply wouldn't see.)—and the illusion would break.

Pitch would leave at that.

And, yet, even with the inevitable mere moments away—hope (hope the Nightmare King had thought he had eternally caged) stubbornly remained. Defiant, and oh-so optimistic. (It was a wonder that over-grown rabbit had not come looking for a fight.)

No, thank you. He much rather preferred harsh reality over willful ignorance.

... ~ ... ~ ... ~ ...

Seconds were ticking slower than anticipated. He could still hear the rambunctious laughter from the townsfolk as the travelers told their tales; the fires blazing brightly, once again fed. Shadows danced along to the intoxicating flames.

Contrariwise to popular belief, Pitch had nothing against a little fun. He just wanted this night to end. To finally rid himself of useless dreams: no child who did not fear would ever see him.

But, he wasn't about to put himself in a crowd—where an ignorant youth could run through him to prove that point.

.

And so here he was: in the second best place to await the child this late at night. Jack had to return sometime. When he did, Pitch would be waiting, and all this would be over. A fleeting dream against centuries of nightmares. Pitch would cherish it, but, like all dreams, the details would dull and then fade.

All it took was time.

Might as well ingrain what details he could while still able.

.

He no longer knew how long he had been standing there—amidst a child's bedroom, awaiting said child's return. His plan had started out simple enough. Go to the village, seek out the child who plagued his thoughts, and finally purge the irrational hope inside him when the child did not see.

It was simple enough.

And, yet...

He had found a paper. A drawing, nothing too fancy. Done by a child. A black horse amongst trees. But, within the background, if he just focused...

It could have been anything; the charcoal having been smudged by fingertips. Just another tree or even a mistake. A mark that wasn't meant to be. But the hope within him stirred to life at the sight. It was possible.

So preoccupied with his thoughts, Pitch did not notice when the laughter drifting from the town's center grew faint. Nor did he notice when a small, child-like figure broke from the group, headed in his direction. What he did notice: the shadow's sudden return as it encircled him, and soft, padded footsteps behind the door.

He chose not to notice how his grip tightened on the rough drawing of, what he assumed to be, himself amongst the trees with a horse and shadow for company. It's now or never, he thought, turning to face whatever came next. In those few milliseconds, despite the Boogeyman's wishes, Hope reared its ugly head.

Light spilled from the entryway as the door swung open. Bushy hair. Dark, brown eyes. A swift intake of breath; a blur of motion. He did not have time to prepare himself as the boy came barreling through. Pitch braced for [lack of] impact.

Intangible. Air moving around him. Arms going throu- Pressure, warmth. Solid. NOT passing through. And as he looked down, the biggest grin.

It wouldn't be until much later, when the boy had fallen asleep and was no longer clinging to his tangible form, that Pitch's mind finally recovered enough from its shock to register the boy's words.

"I finally caught you," he had said. "Thank you for returning my horse."

...Pitch must have misheard that last sentence. (Had he ever taken a horse?) But, as he looked around (not yet willing to leave), it all began to make sense.

There, on the bedside table, where Pitch had found the drawing, rested a small, wooden knight that had been taken from a chess-set and gifted to another.

So, the shadow had planned this escapade all along...

(The boy's warmth—Jack's warmth—lingered.)

Audacious-Shadow, Pitch thought.

.

(He did not mind when Jack drew closer, pleasant dreams undisturbed.)

Constructive Criticism on: grammatical and/or spelling errors, pacing, characterization, plot development, and easily-readable format, is encouraged and welcome.

[1] Yes, "human village" is necessary as I am making a distant reference to another movie. (Anyone have a guess?)

[2] Inspired by the "Devil's Tramping Ground" located in Bear Creek, North Carolina. (I do not want to look into it any further...*shivers*)

.

Author's Note:

Well, lovelies, it's been a long time coming. Forgotten King has come to a close (but that doesn't mean this AU has). Any continuation will most likely be a one-shot or sequel. (Feel free to still ask questions.) The next chapter will consist of a sound-track list and answer to footnote 1 (mystery movie reference), and I will mark it as complete by the end of this week.

Thank you all who have read, reviewed and enjoyed. Special thanks goes to Juki for enthusiasm (and convincing me to write), and to Bililun for constructive criticism (and little nudges).