Pitch Black World

To Be Royalty

Rated T - Just in case

Genre: Fantasy | Drama

Characters: Pitch, OC

What if Pitch hadn't been so wrong to call himself the Nightmare King? Oh, but fate has a sense of irony and even the sweetest bits of knowledge come with a heavy dose of bitter realisations.

Perhaps it was merely the shock that kept him silent. Staring, blinking occasionally, watching the two messengers with disbelief lighting up his gaze. Perhaps it was anger, hatred. Maybe the cynical side telling him that all of this was a cruel joke at his expense was the one in control of his body now too. He really couldn't think at that moment and looking back at it, he wouldn't be able to figure out what was behind his inability to move a single muscle for what seemed like hours. In reality though, it was only a few seconds.

After that, he finally managed to open his mouth. "Very funny," he retorted in a cold voice. His left eye twitching just a little. "Now, gentlemen, if you could get the hell out of my lair, that would be deeply appreciated."

The two intruders looked amongst each other, similarly confused. Oh, they were very good at appearing innocent. Pitch really had to applaud them. And he would too, once they left the premises of the caverns in which he'd spent so long he'd forgotten what it was like to live in an actual home.

"Your highness, I think you're mistaken. This is no joke," the first of the two, shorter, with sandy hair, dressed in green exclaimed in protest. There was a look about him that radiated confusion and... disappointment? The boogeyman had no idea why he was being suddenly referred to as ''highness'', never mind why the two seemed disappointed by his response. Frost would be laughing his ass off at the little hints of anger that the older spirit was giving off as he was listening to this. If any of the Guardians would have ever called him by such a respectful title, then it would be drenched in sarcasm and followed by a mocking comment.

He really wasn't sure why it was taking these elfish clowns so long to get to the bloody punchline!

"Would we have travelled so long and so far, if it were only to mock you?" the other one, with dark, brown hair and hazel eyes challenged Pitch's scepticism. That would have been a very good question if he knew where this 'far' away place was exactly. For all he knew, they might have travelled no more than ten minutes and ate a snow cone on the way, before telling themselves "you know what? Today looks like the perfect day to piss of the spirit of fear!"

Pitch rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. "Of course you have. Well, apologies for taking up your time, but you're simply going to have to look for your new king elsewhere," he answered sharply, having no time to listen to those two fools. He had work to do, dammit! Which of course, required complete silence and for them to be as far as humanely possible from his lair. He was sure they'd be surprised as to how far that could be. "I think you'll find that I do not fit the job description."

Another sad puppy-eyed look of hurt from the first intruder. Pitch could swear if he received one more of those he would be willing to tear someone up right here, right now. Blondie let out a sigh. "Maybe he's right, maybe we should go," the creature told his colleague, giving in.

Dark Hair seemed to be a completely different person to the one his friend was, for he merely glared at him, before taking a step closer to the spirit. Pathetically enough, he tried to stand taller, as if he were trying to be more intimidating. Almost as though he were being serious. Unimpressed, Pitch merely tapped his fingers across his other hand as he watched, waiting. If those two vaguely elfin beings didn't bugger off in the new few minutes, he would take care of them himself. He certainly wasn't having this behaviour or attitude here. There was, after all, only one fear monger. That being him and no one else. "Listen here, spirit," the elf-creature began, "I'm not sure if you have any idea of what we are, but -"

Pitch chuckled bitterly and then used one of his arms to push back the speaker. Nobody took his personal space. Unfortunately, the being was stubborn and refused to budge any further. "No, I really don't Elf Boy, and I definitely do not care to no either," he interrupted the other male's speech.

-"we are the Elvaera Draconique and you can bet it took a bloody good reason to travel all the way to Earth - of all places!" Elf Boy finished his line, gritting his teeth in annoyance.

"Oh, well done. You have even invented a lovely, overly fancy name for yourself," Pitch drawled back. He might as well annoy this brat back, if he were to suffer the boy. "And I'm supposed to care about this... why?"

"You might have noticed that, we don't exactly inhabit Earth. There aren't many of us left," Elf Boy responded with a huff, probably starting to wonder why he was even trying. Great. At least Pitch was succeeding in something even if that something wasn't defeating the Guardians.

"If this is some, 'I'm an Endangered Species' crap then you're at the wrong address," Pitch dismissed him once again. "But I'm sure the World Wildlife Fund will be more than happy to help with conservation efforts for your species..."

"The last thing my race needs is humanity's help."

"Oh, good. Then you definitely would be at the wrong person's doorstep, Elf," it continued between them, this snarky half-banter. "You see, I'm not human. Never was. Never will be."

Elf boy laughed bitterly. "Oh, I know that. Which is exactly why I'm bothering to suffer through your nightmarish attitude and your ignorance." That really did seem to have an affect on Pitch, because there was no way that anyone, let alone this person could have known anything about him. Mostly, it served to irk him further, because it presumably meant that someone had been digging in his past. Something which he had never consented to and would not consent to. "And after all those years of searching for you along with my brother, we really were looking for a lot more decent specimen of our race that would rule what is left of our kingdom. Alas, I think we might have made a mistake." He paused for a moment. "Tarot? You did say that there were three others out there, didn't you?" the Elvaera Draconique averted his gaze towards his colleague, who only nodded hesitantly.

Utterly befuddled, Pitch glanced between them. There was absolutely no way in darkness that he was a part of their race! He took a step back. How could he, with grey skin, golden-silver eyes and powers that he had possibly be anything like them? Even his mortal self certainly didn't seem entirely like them.

And, if for some reason he was suited to rule, then... who were those 'three others' that the elf had been talking about? Were they, related to him?

"Wait. Hold on a minute," he stopped them as they were about to turn around.

Thankfully, they halted in their movement. Turning around, Elf Boy grinned smugly, as if he'd just won. 'Tarot' was looking hopeful on the other hand, like a dog awaiting a treat. Really, he had no idea how those two suffered one another, being so different.

Pitch didn't want to sound desperate. He really didn't. But for this one time, he could afford to let go of a little portion of his pride in exchange for knowledge. He'd always wanted to know more. About anything, really. About his past? Even more so. "Tell me... what am I?" the spirit enquired.

"Well, you might want to sit down if you want to know so bad," Elf Boy suggested, as though this was his home.

"I'll stand, thank you," a little snark escaped Pitch as he responded.

Elf Boy nodded, deciding against arguing with him this time. "Very well then," he responded and then began his little explanation. "But I should really start by telling you the basics of everything else. We are Elvaera Draconiques. As are you, it appears, but we'll get back to that later.

Billions of years ago, we were an expansive race that occupied dozens of different planets and kingdoms, separated into different groups. Like many other elves, our race was also ruled by a monarch in every one of those kingdoms: a leader with power, wisdom, knowledge and a love for their people. Like with humans, the crown was passed down to blood relatives, with a few rare exceptions, including those where a family of monarchs or a monarch was overthrown on the basis of being unworthy, or a down right tyrant. We ruled in peace for the most part, rarely going to war, rarely even needing weapons. We had our own abilities. And that was what terrified those of other races, other species. Particularly the inhabitants of Andromeda. A galaxy you may know," Elf Boy nodded over to Pitch.

Stiffly, the spirit nodded. He'd lived there once, a very, very long time ago. It was place filled with memories. Those better and those worse alike.

"Those on the edges of the galaxy were most hateful of our race. Feeling threatened by our longevity, intelligence and magic, they began killing us off, hunting as down. So we tried to disguise our kingdom, within hopes of keeping away people like those living in Andromeda. However, it turned out to be all for nought, as eventually, they found us all anyway. If all of us stayed and fought, you must understand, we would have been sitting ducks.

And so the queen ordered all women with children to run, to hide, into a hide out created by our ancestors thousands of years prior - a pocket of space that would only open up to very few people if you excluded the Elvaera Draconique. The king stayed and fought, but the queen too had children. Children that would be targeted for their powers. She could not afford to travel so long, or so far. These heirs she had - four of them, all boys - were the hope for a better kingdom. If they could grow up in safety and grow powerful enough, they could protect us and allow us to explore and live in the galaxy amongst all the other beings once more. You see... not all elves are born equal. It tends to be those of the royal lineage that are most powerful, most capable of defending us. But that didn't stop our king from being slaughtered in battle. And later our queen when she was protecting one of her four children. Those other three were kept elsewhere, hidden away by her maids. She died moments after successfully hiding that child in a small cottage, with a man most unsuited to care for the babe- but what could she have known? Those were desperate times after all. And you must forgive her for that, Kozmotis Avery Blake Pitchner."

Pitch gulped, turning pale suddenly. Reaching out to his neck, his hand traced a metal chain, connected to a pendant. It was more of a locket of sorts. With that very name carved out on it's sides. Beneath it was that from his daughter, but this one... this one had been from a different person altogether. Yet, until today, he could have never have thought...

No!

"This... that is not possible," Pitch responded, shaking his head in determination. He would not fall for this. "This is all a trick. You merely went through my own belongings and used my name as a part of some grand joke-" he continued breathlessly.

"Our race was slaughtered!" the dark haired Elvaera Draconique shouted. "Our grand kingdom in ruins! So few of us survived..." Tears brimmed in his eyes, and try as he might, even Pitch could not deny that this very convincing for a lie.

So convincing, it might have been the truth.

Tarot came up behind the dark haired messenger and placed a hand on his shoulder, saying something in a different language, softly uttered and soothing. He looked up to Pitch. "You don't have to believe us. But it seems so convenient that you happen to be the oldest spirit. That you have the locket the queen had given you - I know you do. That metal is neither gold, nor silver, nor platinum. And it is enchanted too, I can feel it. Enchanted by something - someone - powerful. Who else but one of us could do that?" he said. "If nothing else, you are an elf. And Elvaera Draconique. Not just a spirit."

Pitch swallowed again, before huffing. Refusing to believe that this could ever be true.

Meanwhile, Tarot rubbed the other elf's shoulder. "Lyze," he commented, "maybe we should let him think this over."

The darker haired companion of his nodded, but said nothing. Finally, he seemed to have given up. Strangely enough, Pitch didn't feel like celebrating this little victory. Instead, wordlessly, he turned around and walked off into the depths of his caverns just as the two intruders left.

The spirit tugged at the locket, feeling the chain dig into his neck. Like hell was he some royal heir! After all those years of being considered as beneath everyone, pigs would start flying before he would accept that anyone but himself would truly think him worthy of being anything more than a doormat. And he certainly wasn't a bloody elf. Let alone a supposedly rare, very powerful elf that happened to be meant for greatness, or something as ridiculous as that. This wasn't Harry Potter. This wasn't Warrior Cats. This was real life, for fuck's sake! Orphans didn't suddenly become the greatest anything of any time.

Still, he'd managed it once before. Maybe twice. Did it seem so unlikely that he could ever be any of what they had implied?

Some lost prince-ling - which was utterly laughable - with three other siblings scattered all over the known universe... if they were even still alive. How long was it that an Elvaera Draconique lived, anyway? And how was it that he'd never known about them, up until now? Even suggesting they were hid in some pocket, if they'd been searching for years...

Pitch sighed. Now that the anger had receded into confusion and melancholy, he really didn't know what to think or ask anymore.

He'd need time to think.

Pitch stepped outside of the caverns.

Already, the moon was up, its inhabitants probably laughing at him. It wouldn't surprise him if they already knew. It would surprise him even less if they had figured out the joke behind it and weren't telling him, simply because they wanted to see his expression once he realised that he'd fallen for it all like a fool. For all he knew, those blasted elves could have merely been stalling as their little friends were robbing his lair right under his nose.

Still, it made no sense. Why would they bother? What of intergalactic value was there in his lair that was so precious? In that cold, dark and dreary space, filled with echoes of screams and nightmares waiting to infiltrate one's subconsciousness there couldn't have been a treasure that had more than that sentimental value. Only bits of metal, scraps of paper, ink, cloth. A few piles of gold and money, currency for trading when in other, more human forms. Perhaps even some food, if the nightmares had decided to spoil themselves again. Anything that could gain them any more power or protection required prior knowledge of how to handle it and it certainly wasn't kept where it could be easily seen and found. He wasn't sure why they would think there was anything in that place in the first place. The entrance with the bed had vanished since his defeat by the Guardians' - or rather the children that believed in them - hands.

The spirit shook off those thoughts, before sneering at the moon.

"So is this your idea of a joke? A prank at the expense of the ole' spirit of fear?" he hissed. "Is this amusing, in anyway?"

As always, the moon didn't change in anyway. Nor did Manny say anything. How typical of the Lunanoff brat. Very like his father, in that sense. Only really answered when it was convenient to him and was always a terrible leader.

Would his parents have been anything like him?

He doubted that, if they were the rulers that Tarot and Lyze had spoken, they had been anything like him. But they were dead and that had happened years ago. Billions of years ago, when the Earth had no moon and the galaxies were so much noticeably younger than they were now. When Andromeda had been plunged into a Golden Age. Possibly the very last one it would experience. Oh, and what a Golden Age it was.

Clenching his teeth, he glowered a little harder at the moon. Still no answer.

"Very well then. Have it your way, old friend," Pitch added, before turning away. "But believe you me, if this is a mockery, you will regret it more than anything I have done before."

With that, he disappeared back into the blackness of his lair, greeting the creaking, swaying cages now above him with a scowl as he continued to think. If those elves still insisted that he was one of them, so be it. They would leave and he would follow. Prepared for anything that may come in his way. Should they have lead him into a trap, or lied to him, that would be their mistake to regret. They would face the consequences of their actions and he would make sure of it.

Still, there had to be some way of escaping this never ending, humiliating cycle of him fighting the Guardians and constantly losing because of a balance that didn't exist. Due to a bunch of self-righteous spirits that respected and care for no one. If it took another 4.503 billion years to achieve this, to find some place where he was welcome, then so be it. Besides, if it all turned out to be true - and that was a pretty big if - then how hard could it possibly be to get used to being a real leader? What could possibly go wrong?

"Are you prepared?" a familiar voice resounded from behind him.

It appeared that Elf Boy was here again, but this time, Pitch was willing to let go of some of his earlier hostility. So he merely turned around and nodded at him. "As ready as I'll ever be," the spirit answered in all seriousness.

"Then follow me," Lyze gestured for him to come along, as he lead Pitch away. Sure, Pitch hadn't technically packed anything, but then, it couldn't be that long a journey and he was a spirit. Technically, he didn't need anything. So he simply followed the other male, and Tarot to Esterlyn. A place of magic, beauty and peace, that would seem so very different to the place where Pitch had spent so much of his life as a spirit.

A/N - I figured that it would be interesting if Pitch did have some connection to royalty. It wouldn't explain his attitude, behaviour and self-given title of Nightmare King, but it would explain why he is as powerful and as different as he is and how he may not be human. It also goes well with the past I thought out for him, which is a bonus.