Disclaimer: All rights remain with Cressida Cowell, William Joyce, and DreamWorks

A/N: Hi guys! It's been a real long time since I updated, and I'm really sorry about that. My life is super busy, as I'm beginning SAT prep, college prep, AP test-prep and coming to the end of my Junior year. I hope that because of the long waited updates, it will not keep you from my story, but if it is just too long for your taste...
may I remind you I updated almost once a weak for the majority of this story! Jk, I understand if you all are busy too.
Now regards to my contest, it is still up, however I have too few contestants. I NEED MORE PEOPLE. Please, you all, I would ask this, but please consider joining!

okay, without a further ado, here is the long awaited Chapter Thirty Eight.

Chapter 38: Pitch and Manny

The cold stifled the air as if no warmth could reach. Small puffs of fluffy, misty air swirled around with each breath. Pitch folded his arms and looked about his lair. Nothing but swirls of black onyx sand whispered around the floor, and rusty cages squeaked in protest from the ceiling.

His fist tightened.

"What did you expect from your old home?" Pitch muttered. "A warm hearth and good company?"

You've always been alone.

The Nightmare King walked down the stone rather than shadow traveling. He wanted to use his legs—the non-dragon ones—to savor their feeling. Although if he had to admit, if being a dragon meant getting Hiccup back, he would become one again in a heartbeat.

He made it to his old study. This part he used often before his time of revenge. Opening the large doors, he entered the room. Books were littered all throughout the room, papers and scrolls that had been on his desk were strewn about. His desk was broken, and several of his bookcases.

"The Nightmares did quite a job on the place…"

He followed the wall to the third bookcase, thankfully it had been left intact. He made a mental note to come back and clean the place up, although he believed he would be moving his headquarters.

Bracing his hands up onto the shelf, he began to push. With a low creak, the wooden structure began to move. When it had been moved entire, Pitch wiped his hands on his robe and looked up at the hole in the wall he'd uncovered. His gold-emerald eyes softened as he reached forward into the darkness and grabbed onto something. Pulling out, he uncovered—like lifting a velvet black curtain—a delicate, wooden chest.

Setting it on the floor, the Nightmare King made a key from his sand and pressed it into the lock. The contraption gave a quick click. Pulling the key out and dissolving it, he opened the chest.

Tears began to pool. Ever since his time as a dragon, he never really had a hard time crying. Was that a shame?

He pulled out the locket first. His long piano fingers brushed the character of his daughter. Her smile sincere and earnest, her face full of youth. His hand tightened around it and he held it close to his heart.

"I have not forgotten about you Seraphina. I promise you I have not." He whimpered, his form shaking as his tears spilled.

With his free hand, he reached deeper into the chest and pulled out a long gold cape. The three tiers made it seem elegant, and the silver chains that draped across the back marked his status as a general. After that, he dragged forth a set of golden bracers, pauldrons, and greaves. He looked at the armor forlornly. He'd forgotten what he'd given up, when he had been forced to take on the burden of Nightmare King.

But being Toothless had helped him remember.

Looking at the locket in one hand, and his cape and armor in the other, he faintly smiled. He set down the clothing and took the locket in both hands. Carefully clasping it, as not to break it, he placed the necklace in its place. It should have never left it, to be quite honest.

Once that was done, he looked into the box to see if there was anything else. There resting innocently at the bottom of the chest was a standard black military long-coat and a pair of charcoal trousers. Pitch smiled and shook his head.

The time to protect, has come again. He need surely.

҉҉҉

"Whoa! Someone's got a new set of duggies! I dig it!" Jack shouted, pointing at Pitch as he appeared into North's workshop.

The other Guardians turned around.

A tall, lithe man entered from the shadows. Slick black uniform cloaking his body, gold armor decorating him, and a glittering gilded cape fluttering elegantly from his body. His emerald-gold eyes glowed with a sort of fire they'd never seen from Pitch Black.

"Oh my." Tooth squeaked.

Pitch lifted a brow. "Oh my? Is that really all you can say to my change of wardrobe? I do believe a 'why, Pitch, you look quite dashing' would be adequate."

"Not on yer nelly are ya getting' one o' those!" Bunnymund protested as Tooth flushed furiously.

Pitch cackled. "No need to get your fur in a twist, rabbit. I was merely looking for another complement. Jack did quite well in feeding my ego."

Jack Frost grinned. "Your welcome!"

North smiled as Bunny face-palmed.

"So, vhat is plan now, Pitch?"

The gray man pursed his lips, in all honesty—past getting change, he did not have a plan.

"I do not know." He admitted.

Sandy looked up from his spot. I didn't forget what you'd told me that day.

"Mm? And which day was that, Sanderson?" Pitch tilted his head to the side.

The day you were afraid that Hiccup would not awaken.

The Nightmare King hummed. That day.

Do you remember what you told me? You said 'I do long for my immortality, and I do long to be a king again, but I would give them up a thousand times over if it meant that I could live a life with him'.

"What is your point, Sanderson?" Pitch demanded, a faint blush on his cheeks as Jack made a cooing noise.

Have you considered being a Guardian? Sandy proposed.

The other Guardians got silent.

…well, all of them except for Jack.

"Yeah!" he exclaimed. "You protected Hiccup so well! And all of his village! I'm sure if we talk to Manny—and by we, I mean you—he'd for sure let you be a Guardian!"

Pitch rubbed his temples. "That was far too many exclamatories in one sentence."

"This wanker ain't got what it takes ta be a Guardian!" Bunnymund protested. "For the past thousand years all 'e's been doin' was terrorizing people, not just kids!"

Pitch crossed his arms. "A man can change. Do you not remember how I died because you gave in to my past self's power? I died for everyone that day. Especially Hiccup and Erik."

"And who's fault was that? Ironically none other than yourself."

"Shut up rabbit. It was a different era, it could not have been helped."

"Oh really?"

"Boys, boys." North interrupted stepping between the two battle-ready spirits. "Manny and I 'ave gone over process, already."

"Really, and what did MiM have to say?" Pitch drawled, crossing his arms.

North smiled. "Simple. 'E said you remain Nightmare King but become Protector of Fear."

"Was I not that already?" Pitch murmured.

"More like 'abuser of Fear'." Bunnymund sniggered.

"Bunny." Tooth groaned.

"Rabbit, another word out of you I will send you to the largest taxidermy I can find."

North cleared his throat. "As I vas saying. Manny says you are not ready yet to become Guardian. So meanwhile, you become Protector."

"That's kinda mean." Jack growled, holding onto his own grudge with the Man in the Moon.

"Yes, how much more do I have to prove that I am changed?" Pitch agreed.

"I don't know." North shrugged. "I just relay message, yes? All Manny said is that you must vait for someone."

"Who? Who do I possibly need to become a Guardian?" The armor clad spirit demanded.

Again, the Spirit of Wonder shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't say."

"Well you are just a bundle of help." Pitch growled, turning around and beginning to stalk back towards the shadows.

"Where ya goin'?" Bunny demanded.

"Alone." Pitch snapped. "To think."

And then he was gone.

Jack stood up, his staff in hand and summoned a gust of air to fly out of the windows.

The other Guardians just watched.

Sandy just smiled.

Pitch followed, the shadows, trying to find the familiar pathways to a place he thought he knew so well. As he emerged from the darkness, a breeze of freezing past through him. He knew he wasn't cold, and yet he still shivered.

Think nothing of it. He thought to himself.

Pitch stepped onto the perpetually frozen ground, and looked around.

Nothing existed in sight. It was solely a place of permafrost and tundra. His fists tightening, he stalked across the ground, heading in the direction his heart longed. He knew this place—desolate or not. For what felt like hours, he knew he only traversed for minutes. Yet still, his hope became more and more doused with the signs of no life. No song birds sung, no elk ran, and certainly no dragons flew.

Berk was lifeless.

And then he came upon what he was looking for. Except, he had hoped it wouldn't have been the way it was. He'd a sneaking suspicion, yet he'd hoped it wouldn't have been true.

For miles, stretching across the grounds, were tombstones. They jutted out of the ground like little teeth. The signs of Odin and Hel, war and death, carved on them.

Pitch stood there like a golden specter, among the dead.

"There was a big war, ya know."

He spun around to see Jack, crouched on his staff, ready to spring.

"When?" was all Pitch could muster.

"About…I think 533 AD. They didn't last very long after you died, and certainly not much longer when Hiccup's line died. After the war, whoever was left got up and moved." Jack explained, blue eyes big and sad.

It felt as though all breath had escaped his lungs. Trying, trying, trying to breathe, Pitch turned back towards the tombstones.

"Who began the war?"

"Not the Hairy Hooligans." Jack stared forward at the graves as well. "The Scotsmen, I believe. They'd begun a conquest to kill the Vikings that'd impeded on their land. But, to them…I guess all Vikings were the same—it didn't matter if they loved peace or not. Several tribes were wiped out, like the Peaceables and the Visithugs."

"Well, the Visithugs were certainly not peace-loving." Pitch chuckled mirthlessly. "Do you…do you know where Hiccup's is?"

Jack nodded, and flew off again. Pitch half expected the boy to jump from grave to grave, but the sprite held his respect. He spirited away over all of them, mindful not to touch the rocks. Pitch himself walked between the spaces with respect, giving a silent prayer for each of his tribe. Because…where they not his tribe? After years of living among them and protecting them, didn't he have that right to call them his?

After a while, Jack landed next to a small rock, which was encircled by another five. Pitch walked up to them. Written on one were the signs of Loki, Nott, and Forseti—following shortly below, was written:

"Hiccup the Dragonheart

Friend of all,

King among Vikings,

Prince among Dragons."

Next to his was a tombstone with the runes of Freyja and Tyr, Astrid's name followed. Then there were three smaller tombstones with names that were unrecognizable to him: Ofla, Stryn, and Stoika.

"They had three children, one of them died at three and the other two were stillborns." Jack murmured. "By the time that Stoika had died, Hiccup and Astrid were too old to bear any more children."

"What of Erik?" Pitch asked.

The imp grinned a bit. "Ever hear of Erik the Red?"

The Nightmare King chuckled a bit. "That damn little idiot did something right, then."

"Whoa, you could say that." The Spirit of Fun laughed.

Kneeling in front of the grave, Pitch placed his hand on the tombstone. Jack expected the man to ask for privacy. He expected words of sorrow, or words of solitude, or gratitude. Instead Pitch gave a barking laugh.

"What are you up to now, you stupid boy?" He asked fondly.

Jack's brow quirked. That wasn't exactly what he expected.

Pitch did not turn around. "Something that Hiccup told me, was that the Darkness inside of me would remain forever caged until the day he died. It was his love for me that kept it locked away. So tell me Jack, if Hiccup is dead, then why am I not evil—as I was before?"

The icy blue eyes widened, and Jack sucked in his breath. "You…you think Hiccup is the one who you're supposed to wait for?"

That recognizable Cheshire grin spread across Pitch's features. "Man in the Moon is a bastard like that. I wouldn't put it across him."

"So in other words…"

"Hiccup is very much alive, and he is a spirit like us…he is waiting."

҉҉҉

Manny looked at the guest sitting at his tea table. He never had many guests, too far away for any of them. But this spirit, unlike the others, had a few special qualities—like teleportation.

:So,: MiM began. :Are you willing to take up this task?:

The man on the other side laughed. "It doesn't really seem like you're giving me a choice, you son of a bitch."

:Now, now, Hlín. What sort of language is that? You are to become a future Guardian if you take up my request!: MiM protested, slightly taken aback.

The man pushed back his inky black bangs from obscuring his burning draconic emerald eyes. "Yeah, and that means babysitting a useless spirit who apparently can't defend himself."

:You know, for the Spirit of Love, you are quite bitter.: The Man in the Moon observed.

"Máni," Hlín said deadpan. "You named me after a girl, and you made me the spirit of Love. Yeah. I'm a bit bitter."

:Eros is not bitter about his position.: MiM flinched.

"That stupid winged cherub, Cupid, is the Spirit of Lust, you lech!" The man argued.

:I admit that Eros was not my best decision…but, that does not necessarily make me a 'lech' as you would call me, Hlín.:

"Well…as long as my partner isn't a perv, I guess I could check it out…Wait…" The man's brow furrowed and his eyes grew brighter for a second.

:What is it?: MiM asked curiously.

The man's eyes darkened. "Someone…no…two spirits were on my turf." He glared at MiM. "I thought you said no one would be able to find my homeland!"

:Only those who didn't know it.: Man in the Moon explained carefully.

Hlín growled. "Thank you for nothing…look, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later, Máni."

:Will you go, then?: MiM asked, watching as the man got up.

His black hair swirled in the wind, and the wings attached to his arms began to unfurl. The tail that curled down his legs flopped eagerly for flight. Hlín fixed his armor.

"To North's? Sure why not? If only to laugh at this useless spirit. Sure you won't tell me his name?"

MiM shook his head. :No. You'll know him when you see him.:

Hlín shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way."

He stretched his arms out, the ebony wings elongating—and then he was gone. Teleported far from the moon back to Earth.

MiM sighed with relief. :He's always so volatile. It must be hard on him, not knowing why he's guarding such a heavy burden on a person he does not remember. But soon enough, all things will come into play.:

A/N: Soooo, yeah? What'd y'all think?

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