"It matters not how fast light may travel, darkness shall always be there awaiting its arrival."

-Mark W. Boyer


(The next night)

She was an...interesting creature.

Pitch Black hovered outside the window, observing the sleeping child inside. His humanoid form, only partly materialized, shimmered like black smoke, edges blending into the darkness of night. His eyes were sharp pools of glowing gold. It was uncharacteristically cold for this time of year. A bitter wind blew across the fjord, sending ripples across water that sparkled in the moonlight. Both the city and the nature around it were eerily silent.

The child turned in her sleep yet again, now facing the window. She curled into a ball, clutching her blankets. Strands of her white blonde hair fell across her young face.

The being outside the window melted into pure shadow and entered the room through the cracks in the windowsill. Threads of shadow ghosted over the floor and reformed at the base of the child's bed. Now in full physical form, he continued to watch the child, his expression torn between curiosity and indifference.

This was the second time he'd been drawn to this area under unique circumstances.

The first time, he'd been in France when he felt the sharp spike of fear resonate from the northeast. His interest had been piqued, of course, but, assuming it to be merely the start of the usual natural disaster or little skirmish between mortals, he'd finished his work at a normal pace and left to investigate the next evening. He'd been a streak of black as he rode his right-hand Nightmare through the sky, in no particular hurry. He had been thoroughly confused when he arrived to find the town in perfect working order. Arendelle (he'd deduced it was termed, judging by its gaudy welcome sign) had not had wailing mothers wandering the streets, stepping over diseased bodies and clutching dying children. There had been no earthquake to topple buildings. Invaders had not pillaged and burned homes. The level of fear from the town was fairly normal. The fear he'd felt so sharply had dimmed, and he couldn't tell why, or where it had originally come from. Perplexed as he had been, without any real clues he had simply shrugged the phenomenon off and left for Peru, where the threat of war loomed.

But then, two years later, Pitch felt that mysterious fear again. This time it lingered, and now here he was, staring down at a girl no older than ten.

What intrigued him most was not the the girl's disproportionate level of fear (very strange as it was) as much as it was how he couldn't tell...quite what she was afraid of. He'd always taken great pride in his instinctive ability to know what a person's greatest fear was. No matter how guarded a person considered themselves, he always knew. He easily fed off their insecurities, manipulated their emotions and laughed at their despair. It had always been fun for him. Yes, of course it had. The greater the fear, the stronger he felt. Most people's fears were direct. But this child's fear seemed...hazy. It lightly touched everything, as if the girl herself couldn't decide what she was afraid of. He frowned. No. Not decide. It was as if she couldn't tell. Which meant he couldn't tell.

He slowly straightened, hands clasped behind his back.

How interesting.

He stepped back, merging into the shadow of the wall. The girl was obviously royalty. Two golden eyes took one last look before disappearing.

It was time for a little investigating.


He slunk through the castle's hallways, fluidly moving from shadow to shadow. Despite the late hour, he'd found the royal suite empty, and now lazily searched from room to room. Typically he'd just pinpoint where the other occupants were based on fear concentrations, but much to his annoyance, the fear radiating from the child overpowered the entire castle. He was forced to search the old-fashioned way. He passed a tall, thin servant woman bustling down the hallway with a tray of food in hand.

Gerda Kjellberg. Afraid of large wild animals and fire.

He reached out and solidified part of the shadow from the woman's skirt, wrapping it around her foot. Gerda tripped spectacularly, though by some miracle just barely avoided both faceplanting onto the carpet and dropping the tray. She continued down the hallway after sending a brief, flustered glance back at the seemingly innocent carpet. Amused, he traveled up the cracks of the stone wall to the shadow beneath a light fixture and watched her leave.

The glint of the tray's dishes caught his eye as the woman turned the corner. Those were expensive-looking dishes. Servants didn't eat from expensive dishes. He slipped back into the shadows of the floor and quickly followed after the woman. Eventually they reached a set of large carved oaken doors. He slithered under the door before the servant opened it, running up the wall and across the ceiling of the spacious library before settling between shadowed rafters. Two people, the King and Queen it looked like, sat at one of the tables in the middle of the large room, surrounded by piles and piles of books. The King had dozed off sitting upright, with his cheek pillowed in his hand, and the Queen was bent over an open book fast asleep. Her small frame was dwarfed by the King's jacket draped over her shoulders.

Agnarr of Arendale. Afraid of blood and failure.

Iduna of Arendale. Afraid of heights, insects, and hypothermia.

Common fears.

Agnarr startled awake when Gerda knocked and opened the door. He sat up quickly, rubbing his eyes as he gestured for her to enter. There was a red spot on his cheek where he'd been resting it on his hand. Gerda stepped forward and placed the tray on a nearby table. She opened her mouth to speak, but the King rose from his chair and put a finger to his mouth, sending a pointed look towards his wife. They retreated a few paces away to avoid waking Iduna, and began speaking in hushed tones as the servant prepared the King's drink (black coffee, judging by the smell).

Pitch was too far up to make out their words, so he drifted through the shadows back to the floor and reassumed physical form. Moving as a shadow was quicker (and more fun), but the center of the room was too well lit for him to get close that way. He strolled across the plush carpet before plopping down on a chair next to the King. In these situations it was convenient that few people could see him. He put his feet up on the table as he listened to the conversation.

The servant was being quite forthright, in Pitch's opinion, with her stern insistence that the King and the Queen retire to their beds before they fall ill. Agnarr reassured her that he was fine, and the events of the day before had left no lasting effects. But after a long look back at the sleeping Queen and then at the mug in his hands, he surrendered to the reality of his exhaustion. His chest deflated with a heavy sigh and he ran a hand through his hair. He handed his untouched mug back to Gerda with an apologetic smile before turning back towards the Queen. He gently put his hands on her shoulders, murmuring for her to wake up. She woke slowly, her eyes squinting against the light of the chandeliers. The King helped her stand and guided her towards the library doors, his jacket still around her shoulders. Gerda extinguished the lights and exited after the royal couple with tray in hand. The large doors closed with a hollow thud, and Pitch was alone.

Pitch remained in the chair for a moment longer, slightly annoyed that the conversation between the King and the servant had yielded no useful information. Eventually he stood up, and glided to the table of books. He'd bet his strongest Fearling that the (obviously) frantic research of the royal parents was related to the child's state. Several opened books were scattered on top of each other between the stacks. Pitch picked one up and began flipping through it.

"...that the Stone called the Philosopher's Stone, comes out of Saturn. And therefore when it is perfected, it makes projection as well in mans' Body from all Diseases, which may assault them either within or without, be they what they will, or called by what name soever, as also in the imperfect Metals."

Pitch jumped to the end, skimming for anything useful.

"...the poison shall forthwith evacuate by siege, together with all the evil Humours in his Body."

Nope. Pitch put the book back and picked up another.

"No bodily thing hath any energy or operation in itself saving so far for as it is an instrument of the same Spirit, or informed by it, for that which is merely corporeal is merely passive."

"...He that knows how to infuse the propitious Heaven or Sun into things, or the mixtures of things, may perform wonders, and hereupon depend all magical operations…"

No. Pitch tossed the book back.

"...Fire is the Father, and the Mother is air

Brother and Sister, Earth and Water, are

These in their number weight and Measure

Make of this world the hidden treasure

Joined them thro light let them unite together

That they may live in love and be for Ever..."

Definitely not. Pitch dropped the book back on the pile. He glanced over the titles of the stacked books. They looked equally useless. A chance glance at the other side of the table slowed his step.

The book the Queen had been sleeping on…

Pitch lifted the book and sifted through the pages. His eyes narrowed. This book…

He skimmed through pages describing legends, beings of myth, conditions and afflictions of magic. He paused when he reached a bookmarked page of a king laying on a stone table, a troll standing behind him with arms raised, circled by blue mist. The picture lacked much written detail besides a title and brief description.

Pitch tapped his chin, deep in thought as he stared at the simple and self-explanatory title.

The Ice-Cursed.

As his mind began piecing together the clues from the conversation, books, the child's haphazard fear, and his own knowledge of magic, a twisted smile began to steal across his face. Oh. He'd heard of this before. Whispers every thousand years or so-stories of tragedy, when the paths of mortals and magic intersect in undesirable ways. Those unfortunate parents. He dropped the book and left the library, traveling through the shadows until he was back in the child's room. Circles of gold peered at the girl from the shadows in the corner.

His inability (momentary, of course) to determine the girl's fears made sense now. Pitch exited the castle, a satisfied smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he reinterpreted the haze of fear that surrounded the girl.

He called a Night-mare to his side and as he flew across the sky to escape the approaching dawn. His mirth bubbled inside him until it finally escaped with an insidious laugh.

He disappeared into the dark sky, his laughter slowly fading into the night sky.

He'd be keeping an eye on this one.


Back in the library, the last book Pitch had discarded lay atop the haphazard pile of books, still open to the pages about the Ice-Cursed. Then, inexplicably, the right hand page floated ever so slightly upwards, as if hit by the faintest breeze. The page hovered up and down, not entirely turning over though still not settling down. Without warning, the pages abruptly began to turn. The room reverberated with an oppressive hum that rattled the chandeliers and shelves of books. The turning pages picked up speed, until they suddenly stopped with a loud crack, and a guest of wind knocked the nearby stacks of books to the floor. The chandeliers ceased shaking, and the library was silent once more.

On the newly exposed pages of the book was the image of a boy with white hair...


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Lol I thought I could still regularly update despite being a working full time student. Oh the follies of youth.

Notes:

-Pitch makes an entrance!

-I imagine the King and Queen would be trying everything they could to figure out how to help Elsa, looking through literally everything they could, from books on myths to books on alchemy. Reading and re-reading everything when they could to make sure they didn't miss something.

-The little excerpts Pitch reads are from old alchemical texts.

-I may later combine this with chapter two (since I don't like having multiple chapters between past/present time jumps).


snow-universe: Glad you enjoyed! :) Good catch on the part of the King's little slip up. I have some theories why he did that which'll come up in later chapters.


Next chapter we will return to the present, and see what's going on with our favorite snow queen and ice spirit!