Author's Notes: Since I got a lot of inspiration from this movie, but don't have a lot of time to write anything for it, I decided to start a collection of interconnected short, almost drabble-ish pieces. As you can tell, I'm… experimenting with descriptions, so it may edge into purple prose at moments. This fic will eventually have some semblance of a plot, or more specifically, a role-swap verse I've been toying with.

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians.

Summary: Pitch gets an expected visitor.

Deep down under the Earth's surface, there is a palace, one unlike any on the Above. It is warped, an Escherian print brought recreated with bottomless, ever-shifting shadows. There are staircases that never end and dark hallways, in which one can traverse for days, months, years- and yet, can only return to the same point where they started.

The lair is filled with the chattering of what sound like birds. From the ceiling hang a large number of cages, reminiscent of cricket cages of centuries ago. They rattle constantly, their occupants eager to be free from their bonds. But it is to no avail; the latches hold fast, stronger than any mortal material. Thousands- no, millions of golden containers cover the ground, the only color in an otherwise grayscale land.

This is a place that sunlight does not reach.

It is a lonely place, but its lone occupant enjoys his solitude. What need does the King of Nightmares have for company? He is far, far away from the humans and the other spirits who roam the Earth; the only path to the surface a tunnel, partly covered by the rotting frame of a bed from long ago.

But today was different. Pitch toyed with the gilded container between his fingers, idly passing the time until his visitor arrived. He was expecting someone. A certain frost spirit who reminded him of himself, many years in the past.

Jack Frost. The boy- and, despite being three centuries old, Frost certainly is still just a boy, in both form and mind- had claimed to be a neutral party, that he did not want to choose any sides in the ongoing war between Pitch and the so-called Guardians. But Pitch had seen him helping them, retrieving the children's teeth in lieu of the Tooth Fairy's missing assistants.

Pitch had wondered about that. Why would the spirit want anything to do with the Guardians? Unlike them, he did not need to be believed in to exist; even without the belief of a single child, Frost still had enough power to go head to head with Pitch himself.

He understood now.

The boy remembered nothing of his early life, and the Guardians had taken advantage of that. They promised to return his memories- contained inside Frost's teeth from when he was still a mortal- if he aided them against Pitch. But they had foolishly overlooked one important fact- their bargaining chip wasn't even in their possession.

The decorated tooth box was now in the hands of the Nightmare King. He held the slim container with two slender fingers, noticing a decal on one end- a stylized picture of a young boy with brown hair and eyes glinting with mischief, mouth permanently pressed in a childish grin. The mortal who would become known as Jack Frost.

With this prize, the Nightmare King could gain an ally in the winter spirit. After all, the boy only needed a slight push to see the truth. And what could possibly go better together than cold and dark?

Though Pitch had not heard anything from the box, he knew that it acted as a beacon, emitting a sound that only its owner could hear. Any second now, the immortal thought to himself. Frost was not a person who would pass up on a mystery, especially one about himself- he was too curious for that.

But as the humans said, curiosity killed the cat.

A loud noise came from the entrance to the cave, momentarily startling the small, hummingbird-like creatures trapped in the dark cages hanging from the roof of the lair. Frantic chirping filled the air, and their small prisons waved back and fro with the force of their struggles.

Pitch smiled to himself, flashing razor sharp teeth. Ah. Tucking away the small tooth container into the pocket of his shadowy robes, he melted into one of the many shadows of his palace. Like all predatory creatures, he preferred to have the element of surprise on his side.

There was a footstep, the sound of a bare foot striking the cold stone of the dark cave. And another.

He slipped out from the shadows with nary a whisper and, yellow eyes glinting, greeted his visitor. Say what you will about him, but the Nightmare King was a good host- and a good host always offers a gift to the guest. Gray fingers clenched on a slender, gilded container.

"Hello, Jack."

Upcoming chapter: King of Nightmares, meet the Winter King.