Ayo guess who just finished her first year of college? Also thank you guys so much for 10k!
You cracked your eyes open to the new dim light streaming in across your closed eyelids, followed by a sweet aroma filling your nostrils. Your visuals were blurred for the first few seconds after your much-needed rest. You had a blink a few times to clear up the image of the reaching arm before you holding out something in front of your face. It took you even longer to register that you were still laying sprawled out under the covers in the center of a mattress that wasn't yours.
Raising your hands from beside your head to rub your eyes the rest of the way open, you let out a deep exhale. When you turned your head again to process a more clarified view of what stood to your right, your eyes first landed on the teacup resting on a saucer being held out for you. You gazed past the dish at the sleeved arm extending from it, clothed by loose dark robes, before your stare met the glow of irises above eyeing you with a lifted brow.
"I take it you slept well?" Pitch remarked with a tinge of sarcasm. You were looking him up and down with lips parted, the rest of your head still waking up. His robes hung from his shoulders so the center of his chest was still partially exposed. You noticed he had his own cup in his other hand being held for himself as he waited patiently for you to take the one being shown to you. Fully realizing, you then set your palms down with disregard of the pins and needles within from their partial numbness thanks to your positioning, and you pushed yourself to sit upright in bed. You propped yourself against the headboard and the silk pillows in front of it, having forgotten up until now that you had stayed all night in these chambers.
Finally, you reached over to take the cup and saucer into your hands. You gazed down at it while resting it in your lap, staring at the orange-ish dyed water from the little bag of herbs resting inside as the heat from the liquid radiated from the glass and warmed your palms.
"Chamomile," Pitch spoke from your right, still standing off to the side with his own morning tea in hand. And he had made some for you?
You pressed your lips together. "Surprised it's not black tea," you joked groggily. He gave the small glass in his hold a small lift in response, possibly as a gesture to that being what his beverage contained. You lifted your steaming cup to your lips to take a tiny sip as he began talking again.
"You ended up turning over in the middle of the night and taking up a majority of the space," he remarked. Your tea hit the tip of your tongue and scorched it, making you flinch back a bit. You looked back up at him with raised brows from his words. Taking in the sight of the freshly dark circles under his eyes, your mouth hung open for a moment.
"...Sorry," you managed to murmur while shrinking a little, facing your head back to your tea. You formed your lips into another line to try to keep yourself from chuckling. From the corner of your eye, you noticed Pitch shake his head and look off to the side before brushing away the event.
"It's nothing significant."
You awaited your drink to cool a bit, and as you did so, the Nightmare King began approaching you from his standing spot until he set himself on the edge of the mattress. The newly applied pressure beside you on the bed caused you to lean slightly to that right side from your position at the upper center against the headboard, but you were quick to adjust yourself to reobtain comfort.
After taking another sip of your less-boiling tea, you decided to speak again. "I hope that none of this was inconvenient at all to you," you added. He was looking over his shoulder to frown at you.
"How do you mean?"
"Me staying here." You nodded toward the rest of the bedroom, trying not to flash a hint of embarrassment. At this, Pitch chuckled softly.
"If it was, my dear, I'm certain you would have already known by now."
You formed your lips into a line before looking away to take another slightly larger sip of tea from the cup in your hand to try not to ponder too hard on the thought. When you placed it back in your lap, you changed the subject. "Can I ask," you started with caution, turning to him, "...did we sleep in the same place like this in my past, assuming I had one?"
Pitch hummed. "I don't believe we even remembered what sleep was then," he remarked humorously. You took a breath to ask more, but with too much on your mind for your morning grogginess, you decided to save it for later when you could actually find the right words. Instead, you thought back to your last evening's events.
"Oh, and speaking of that," you began again. "Thanks for showing me all those things last night. Telling me about your past." You looked up at him from his side. "I'm sure it wasn't the easiest thing, but I'm glad I know more now."
"Well if that's what's going to keep you around, maybe I should start gloating about myself more often."
"You should gloat about those swords you have kept away that you showed me," you laughed. The Nightmare King turned a bit more to face you more clearly this time, a new look in his eyes hinting at what he was to imply next.
"Any time you'd like to explore which of them may suit you, you're more than welcome to." His lips curled upward at his own offer. You stared for a moment.
"Wait," you stopped to think, "you're serious?"
"To head down for a practice round? 'Course I am!" He sounded surprised that you hadn't been as serious as he was. "Even now, if you'd like."
You were still staring wide-eyed. The King of Nightmares was asking you for a friendly duel of swords and all you could do was gawk. With your lips parted and your tea cooling to an eventual lukewarm point, you forced yourself to blink away your surprise. You figured you had probably seen enough these past few weeks to no longer be overly shocked at these things. Some exposure to new experiences was something you wanted to be open to, especially now at last being done with school and having the most free time you've ever had in your life. That's when you finally showed him a nod of acceptance with the quietest of yeses.
You both set your glasses down, and you headed to quickly change out of your nightshirt and into a comfortable loose top and leggings that you figured would be suitable enough for activity. He had told you to meet him in the throne room when you were ready, so after smoothing your hands down your top with a glance at yourself in a full-body mirror, you pivoted to quickly head down through the caverns. To your relief, you were able to come upon the throne room without having taken a wrong turn or getting lost. When you did take the correct turn from the hall and into the room's entrance, you found that Pitch had taken the time to straighten himself out from any morning sluggishness in preparation for you.
He stood beside the obsidian-carved throne that sat in the center of the room as you drew closer. You could tell that his usual sword was already resting in its sheath that hung off the side of his hip from its holder hidden beneath his loose robes and around his waist. Then on the throne which he leaned ever so casually against, there sat five other swords, some sheathed and others uncovered. Some bore curved blades and others lie with straightened tips, all shining in either silver, gold, or black metallic material.
You couldn't take your eyes off of them as you approached them, and once you stood at the foot of the throne, Pitch leaned forward a bit to gather enough of your attention in order to whisper something to you.
"Pick one."
You looked down at the choices that lie before you, then up at Pitch, then back down at the handful of swords resting across the armrests of the throne. Indecisive at first, you tried to sense if maybe your gut would lead you to the one that may have been speaking to you the most. Eyeing all of them, you kept returning your focus to the one that sat in the middle of the row of five - the third one from the top and from the bottom. Similar to Pitch's sword that you had seen back at North's, its blade was a piercing silver. But what differentiated it from the king's weapon was that this one had the slightest of curves to its sleek sharpness. Its handle, instead of a contrasting gold, was a deep black with swirled engravings that ran from its guard all the way up the thin central indent of the blade.
Not wanting to waste any more time, you reached down into the neatly spread row of weapons to pick up which of them you chose by its handle. Its heaviness strained at your forearm at first, but with a bit more oomph in your wrist and force of the rest of your arm muscles, you were able to lift up the sword from the throne with little trouble. You adjusted your grip at its handle to get comfortable and noticed how snug it sat against the curl of your fingers. Wrapping your hand around it felt almost perfect. You turned back to face Pitch while pointing the sword in your hand toward the floor to see how he'd react to your decision.
"How unsurprising," he mused in admiration of how well the weapon you now wielded complimented your figure, though saying nothing more. He then reached to slowly slide his own sword from its sheath, making sure not to intimidate you too far while holding it also in a lowered direction. You glanced down, fixing your grip again.
"I'm not quite sure how to do this..." you admitted. The Nightmare King was already moving, lifting his sword in hand to coax you to lift yours as well.
"Let it come to you," he guided. "You're here to learn, not to get hurt."
You raised your sword until yours and his were aligned at a point toward one another, the tips of your blades a few inches apart. He and you were already starting to step away from the throne and into the more spacious parts of the throne room. The entire time, he kept his eyes fixated on yours to be sure that you were doing the same. So long as he faced you, you faced him and refused to look away and lose focus. Your heart pounded anxiously while awaiting when he may surprise you with a potential first move. It wasn't long before he had led you into a more open area where he and you could slowly encircle one another, prepping for what you may consider being your first lesson.
At your shaky intake of air, Pitch showed a pleased face. "Don't let your fears steer you away from what you want," he advised. "Let them show you how to do it right."
That's when he was the first of the two of you to swing forward. You gasped and quickly lifted your sword, turning it horizontally over your head so your opponent's weapon landed upon it with a metallic clang. You had tensed up and scrunched up your face for a moment, but eased up upon realization that you had blocked the initial practice blow. You looked back up from the touching blades in between you and Pitch and into his prided expression before smiling back. With a new wave of confidence, you then pulled away from the position just as he was in order to resume the round.
The entire time, you trusted that he was not going to cause you any harm. You could tell that he knew when to begin to harshen the striking of his weapon whenever you started to show increased want for picking up the pace by intensifying your own swings of your sword. But when you showed signs of exhaustion every few minutes by slowing yourself on your feet or lowering your blade slightly with some additional panting to your breathing patterns, he knew to ease up.
A strike here. A duck of your head there. The wisping sound of shining metal swinging through the air toward opponents, either ending in silence from a dodged blow or with the sharp sound of swords colliding. The creation of an 'x' form with the aligned blades of your weapons nearly every time they clashed together at one another's defense. The two of you pressed forward and back, taking elongated and quick steps all throughout the area - almost like dancing - whether he and you were far off from or directly beside the throne that sat in the center of the room. Your arm was growing exhausted with the burn of your muscle use from your sword's weight, but you weren't ready to quit yet. Every few minutes, you'd let out a giggle at yourself anytime you'd either miss a swing or when you looked up into the light in the Nightmare King's eyes that reminded yourself that you were doing impressively well. And with every few close calls, he'd compliment you on it and remind you of how much of a natural you were at the skill. A couple of those times, he'd grant you an extra tip or two on your posture or grip. It wasn't until you were comfortable enough in the situation when you decided you were able to start up a conversation while continuing your hand at swordsmanship.
"So," you began in between your controlled breaths and swings. "Now that your plan of sneaking into Tooth's palace has failed, what's next on the agenda?"
He swung at you playfully in an inward motion of his arm, but there was enough distance between the two of you to lean back with eyes that widened for a split second before returning to fighting back. "Not quite thought out just yet, I'm afraid," he admitted. "But there is plenty to do in the meantime while it is being considered if you'd like."
"Like what?"
Another swing. Another shrill ring of metal hitting metal from you raising your blade to block the strike of his.
"Well, if you're up to it, I'd like to take you around to see more of what I do outside the kingdom," he described as he pulled back and readjusted his grip with the flick of his wrist.
"Oh, more horses and bad dreams and stuff?" You lifted your brow, taking a breath to catch it before you could resume the duel. Pitch had noticed this and thus granted you a moment to collect yourself while he continued his movements patiently.
"There's plenty more to it than you think," he noted, watching you mirror his steps so the two of you formed a circling motion at the throne room's floor. "But indeed, I could teach you all there is from controlling the mares on your own to how the sands work..."
You cast a glance upon the weapon in his hold before returning your eyes to his gaze, remembering seeing the engravings in the metal while at North's. "Think you could start by deciphering what's written on your sword?"
He narrowed his vision to where you had looked for a split second, looking back up at you with a soft hum-like chuckle as if in remembrance. "The written language of the Golden Age may be far too ancient for you to comprehend quickly, but I suppose you may be able to pick up on a few words and phrases here and there if I show you more of it." He had been gradually tightening the distance between the two of you, and when he felt he had you caught off guard, he swiftly brought his sword inward toward your side. You were quick though to turn and bring your blade up vertically this time with the extent of your arm. When your swords met in a 't' formation, he eyed you proudly and gave a nod toward his weapon before murmuring his next words calmly. "It's simply my name and former rank."
You hummed in understanding. Then with a devious curl of your lips, you put force into your sword to give Pitch a shove backward to his surprise. Before he could ready himself, you thrust an inward swing of your sword with a grin of enjoyment. He stepped back fast enough for your blade to woosh through the air, but you chuckled and lunged forward a step to swing again in the opposite direction. He also dodged this blow successfully, and he looked at you with an impressed breathy laugh.
"You're getting the hang of this quite well, I must say," he admitted. "Remember you can make your hold more stable with two hands."
You gave into his advice by slowly bringing your second hand to join your first on the handle - something you had only been doing when you felt your wrist was too tired. "I hope you're not secretly leading me into being a more vulnerable target," you joked.
"And why would I do such a thing to you?" With a cock of his head, he was circling you again, and so you began doing the same without taking your eyes off him.
"I feel like you've been full of surprises, so you must have more up your sleeve."
"I had a ship once..." he teased with a sly lift of his brow, watching to see how much he could impress you. You, partly unsurprised and ready to believe him and also still partly unsure if he was serious, could only stifle another hum.
"I'd love to see that," you remarked humorously.
"Then maybe someday I'll have to restore it and you can bring that sword along with you." Before you could react, he lunged forward with a downward swing of his blade. You inhaled sharply in surprise and turned your weapon to block his strike. At the hitting of your swords against one another, he and you stared, faces inches apart. "It is yours after all," he added.
"You don't have to do that," you sighed, not knowing what you would even need a sword for in the first place.
"Please now, I insist." He then pulled away and playfully swung his sword at you again. You stretched your arms to block the blow once more. Then he repeated the motion from the other side, and you blocked again. You began stepping back, and so he moved forward with you. When you found the right moment, you took a turn at a swing, listening to the repeating swish of metal slicing through the air before it clashed with opposing metal. You started moving forward with your strikes, causing him to step back. At his next swing, you took the bold chance of ducking your head and gladly succeeded before proceeding to adjust your grip and raise your sword for a blow.
These motions went on the next few minutes, the two of you stepping forward and back while blocking blade with blade. The occasional side step and chuckle sounded with a dodge of a hit as well. The throne room echoed with the sounds of a friendly duel. However, it wasn't long before the two of you grew breathless. At the next clash of your swords from both of you swinging inward in sync, he and you stopped your movements. With touching blades at angles, you breathed heavily with him as you were both nearly nose to nose. His exhales were warm against your racing pulse that was gradually steadying by the second. He showed a small smile in pride while looking you up and down, and you gave yourself a chance to catch your breath before speaking.
"You know," you started. "If you're wanting to go do all these things and still figure out a way past the Guardians, maybe you could just let me get close enough to them so they eventually hand me my memories," you suggested. "They're already not gonna let me out of their sight at this point so I minus well try putting some trust in them. Then you wouldn't have to sneak in and force it from them."
His expression shifted, appearing as if he was about to protest. But he then paused to consider your words. Did you just suggest tricking the Guardians into using them to get your way? Why, that sounds like something only he would do. He glanced off to the side for a second to take this further into thought. You little...
That's when you catch him by surprise and interrupt his thinking by giving a strong shove of his sword with yours. There was the piercing scrape of metal. Then you ultimately knock his weapon out of his loosened grip and watch it loudly clatter to the stone floor by your feet. Just as you had regained his attention, you shifted your sword with one hand so its tip was suddenly raised and pointed directly at his chest. He stood as still as he could, watching in astoundment as you smirked with the end of your blade resting mere centimeters from his heart. You stayed there for a moment to take in the amusing sight of his impressed look. Finally though, you laughed to yourself and lowered your sword, signaling to him that this duel was over.
He didn't even get the time to find the right words to respond before you ended the conversation for the afternoon with one last flash of a smile tainted with sarcastic reassurance.
"Thanks for the tea," you concluded in a sweet tone. Proud of yourself and silently dying of laughter inside, you pivoted away with sword still in hand and headed off to make your exit from the throne room without looking back at what probably was Pitch still appearing shocked while bending over to recollect his weapon from the floor.
* * *
Later that night, after having stashed your sword granted from him in the wardrobe in your room, you're about to head off to bed. You were hesitant while gazing into the corridor that led to where your temporary room lay ahead. With the silly thought of potentially moving your new weapon under your pillow for your safety, you began to make your way to your personal bed chamber with a bit of courage. However, you must have had enough fear radiating from you to summon the voice that interrupted your tracks.
"(Y/n)," Pitch spoke from behind you. You swung around in your nightshirt to face him. Knowing how worried you still were about potentially being attacked by a stray fearling while alone, he slowly held out a hand to you. "Why don't you stay with me again tonight?"
You stared for a moment to contemplate the offer. "Are you not going out tonight with the nightmares?" You questioned.
"Tomorrow night," he replied. You eyed his extended arm, pursing your lips before pressing them together into a line. At last, you gave in with a small nod.
"Okay." With your modest whisper, you made your way over to join him so you could both walk together to his chambers.
And when you later settle in under the warmth of the covers in the calm of the darkness, he was the one this time to eventually reach over and lightly curl his arm over your waist. The bend of his elbow rested upon the curve of your waistline, and while you were unsure if he was still awake or asleep while he did so, you let yourself lean back into his gentle pull to rest close against him. You were able to fall into your dreams by the soft syncing of pulses.