Word Count: 1,656
A/N: Day twenty two of a writing challenge.
Summary: He was crazy, insane; not to be trusted.
Mad
Jack Frost. The bringer of cold, the herald of ice, the King of Winter. An ancient spirit that had existed for centuries, a Wisp that some said was older then the Man in the Moon. A rumor that could be true, because the Sandman, one of the first Guardians, remembers being told his purpose. He recalls the Man in the Moon's words as the First Guardian told him his duties and warned him. Revealing to him that a fierce being existed; a creature of ice and cold and frost. That the King of Winter was not to be trifled with, that he was to be both feared and respected.
Frost had been around for ages, it was a fact that none could deny. He was a spirit with eons of knowledge at his disposal; and when one required aid, he was the one to go to. Not because he was merciful, oh no, he was cruel if anything. Judging a cause worthy or not with little to no consideration, and those that he thought were wasting his time, he froze.
Sometimes for mere moments, while in other cases he held a spirit encased in ice for years. Stopping the Wisp from moving, from completing its job. More then one spirit had lost believers because of Frost's ice. He held those he deemed annoying in a shell of ice, trapping whoever angered him until his temper was once more chilled. Asking the King of Winter for help was dangerous, a lesson that was taught to every new spirit; because no matter how tempting it may seem, it is almost never worth the chance of imprisonment, or worse.
Few dared to approach him, unwilling to step into his icy kingdom where he reigned supreme. Where statues of those that had failed to gain his help stood frozen, a warning to those that would speak to him. It had been over a century since he had left his castle of ice; something that spirits across the world were thankful for.
Besides his tendency to freeze those he found annoying Jack Frost had another attribute that made some hesitant to seek him out. He was insane, or so the Winds whispered. And they would know, for they were the Beings chosen to bare him where he left his cold kingdom. They were the Beings that came in contact with him regularly, forced into his presence time after time. The Winds whispered about the insanity that gripped him, laminating upon the fact that such a tender creature had become so malicious. Because the Winds were primordial, and they were on of the few Beings that could claim knowledge of Jack Frost; before, during, and after his time as the King of Winter, because they would still exist, they would survive to see the fall of Jack Frost.
Some were slow to trust in the words of the Winds, after all, they were primeval. Older then Frost even, they could be the ones who were insane. There was some of that thought; for the Winds were split. Where once there was one now there was four, and each one was a different facet of what was once the Wind. A gentle spirit that nurtured the teen of ice that it had found alone all those years ago. But now, each Wind was different, they all had differing quirks that made them odd, and some said crazy. The only thing that the Winds could seem to agree upon was that it was their duty to protect and help Jack Frost; a duty that brought them pain, suffering, warmth, and a word that the Winds could no longer grasp. However, when that was mentioned, that the Winds could have madness coursing through it the idea that Jack Frost's blood ran cold with insanity was strengthened. For rumors stated that is was because of the King of Winter that the kind Wind had split, that being forced to carry the cold ruler had driven the Wind into insanity.
But sometimes, on rare occasions, those deterrents were not enough and a foolish soul would approach the castle of ice that Frost had constructed a century ago. They would pass the looming figures of dragons, frozen in time by Frost, snarls echoing in the Winds with open maws, ready to eat anyone fool enough to trespass. After dodging the dragons anyone irrational enough would come across a bridge of ice; it constantly cracked underfoot, breaking and allowing paper thin shards of ice to fall into the abyss blow. If somehow, someway, a person was able to make their way past the dragons and across the bridge they would be met with Jack's final challenge.
A dazzling field that shown brighter than the sun, it was covered in layers of pure white snow, the icy crystals glittered like gems. But this beauty was a mere illusion, it was something that Jack had designed to lure those with weak wills to their deaths, it was his final test. The field was only a mile long; a short distance for any spirit, but its length was not what made it dangerous. No, it was its beauty. For if a spirit, any spirit, stopped to look at the field for to long they would find themselves frozen solid in a matter of moments. Unable to move an inch; rumors stated that a summer Wisp had succumbed to the field's brilliance years ago. The fiery spirit had been a would-be suitor, coming to woo the King of Winter and melt his frozen heart.
That fool failed. He was entombed in ice but a scant foot away from his goal, for he had allowed himself to be distracted for a second to long.
None of these tales stopped them though; the Guardians strove forward with purpose. Destroying the snarling dragons with a few slashes of North's sabers, flying over the bridge with the Sandman's sand and the Tooth Fairy's Wings, and avoiding the tempting field all together by using Bunnymund's tunnels. They would not be deterred from their goal, they would have an audience with the ruler of ice, and they would obtain his aid. So they surpassed the King of Winter's three trials and stepped into the castle of ice, their feet quickly numbing as they took step after step.
When they finally found Frost they all shook from the cold, limbs riddled with goosebumps and teeth chattering. They advanced with caution, making sure to always know where he was and, more importantly, where his staff was pointed.
He stared at them for what seemed like eons, blue eyes shifting from face to face, taking in his visitors features with an ancient gaze, "What brings the Guardians, the Man in the Moon's chosen lackeys, to my domain?"
His voice startled them briefly, he sounded so young; they knew that he was ages older then each of them, but his voice along with his very face tricked them. Lured them into believing that he was young, innocent, and frail where he was none of those things. In the end it was the Tooth Fairy that finally spoke, "Your majesty, King of Winter-" because it was ever so important to call him by his title, it was one of the few things they could do to ensure that he helped them. "we come before you to seek your aid." She stopped there, unwilling to speak further until Frost responded.
Jack smiled at them all; his grin filled with death and sorrow and horror, for that was what winter brought. "What task is so important that you would request my help?"
Careful, careful. Mustn't use the wrong words, lest they earn the cold ruler's rage. The Tooth Fairy considered both what Frost had said and the words that the Winds had whispered as they gathered around Frost. "Our goal is to stop Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, from destroying the belief of the children. From spreading terror across the lands."
Recognition lit Jack's eyes, turning the soft blue into a electric shade that brought a light to his youthful face. "Pitch! I remember him, he was once a comrade of mine. Fear and cold work wonderfully together."
The Guardians flinched, they had forgotten how Pitch had worked with the King of Winter, it had been before they had driven Pitch away. Back when the Wisp of Fear was still believed in worldwide. Secretly, they had hoped that the icy ruler would of also forgotten. Bunnymund was the one to speak up this time, careful to restrain his tongue; it wouldn't do to incite Frost's fury."Yes, Pitch. The spirit of fear-" Mention his sin, call attention to his folly. He had no right to claim his current title, no right at all. "-the King of Nightmares." Here, Bunnymund stopped, seeing how the words that he had spoken -spurred on by the Winds- were taking effect.
Jack's previously lazy smile had slipped away, replaced by a look of hatred, a look of pure disdain. Venom dripped from his voice, coating every word he uttered in dangerous poison. "He dares?! Pitch dares to take my title? To call himself King?"
And that's when the Gaurdians breathed easy, for Pitch had managed to awaken the tyrant inside of Frost. He had managed to bring out the beast that had slumbered for centuries.
With a howl the Winds rose, taking its Master away in a flurry of updrafts and currents. Jack Frost was on the hunt. And he was determined to put down the cur that dared to assume his title.
He should of known better, he had traveled with the cold ruler for years. He had seen the insanity that dwelt under the mask of mischief.
The Winds tittered to itself as it carried the child that it had chosen to serve towards the False-King, Pitch Black was about to feel the full brunt of the King of Winter's power.