Update: April 14th, 2016

So this is another story that I happened to find when cleaning out my flashdrives. Yes, it it a Jelsa fic. I happen to love this pairing. It's just magical. But the beginning of this story is all angst, or as much angst as I could make it. It will get better. This particular fic will be switching between Jack and Elsa's POVs a lot. But it will be pretty obvious who is speaking.

That's all for the intro. Have fun reading this!

Disclaimer: Tôi không sở hữu hoặc đông lạnh Rise of the Guardians (Vietnemese) (For some reason, the title of the second movie didn't want to translate lol!)

Let it go, let it go

You only need the light when it's burning low,

"Hey, who threw that?!"

"It wasn't me!"

"Me either!"

"I'm going to get you all for this!"

Snowballs went flying through the air, round white birds in the ice blue sky. One child tumbled head over heels down a snowdrift and scrambled to his feet again, just in time for another girl to crash into him, sending them both to the floor. A gaggle of heads popped out over the bank of snow, laughing as more snowballs came hurling at the pair. So enraptured in their own games were the children, that they didn't notice the slicing cold gust of wind that swept the fine, loose snow and flung it to the skies to fall back down again like fairy dust.

A spirit, unseen to anyone else, scoffed at the thought. Fairy dust, indeed. He personally knew a fairy, and she certainly didn't freeze anyone's fingers and toes off, or got anyone sick. Heavens knew that she was as warm as the summer sun. The spirit watched the children run around joyously, blissfully ignorant of his presence and of the true nature of the world as a whole.

It was hard, keeping the air of fun alive in this world where precious few could see him, especially when his own world was being torn apart at the seams. Sparing one last glance at the children who were squealing and shrieking in delight, he heaved a heavy sigh and turned away, leaping into the air. The winds whipped up around him, steady and true under his form, carrying him aloft and away from the group of children down below.

Really, he was lucky he only needed to topple one of the dominos in the line, and the rest would follow. It made his job just so much easier. He didn't have to apply himself as much as the Easter Bunny or the Jolly old Giant, or even the Tooth Fairy. One snowball was all it took now, and he was left to his own musings.

His feet alighted on the top of a cliff, a few hundred feet above the top of a forest that spread out as far as his eyes could see. He stared at the ruddy red sun that was disappearing behind the horizon, lost in his thoughts.

He was a Guardian. The Guardian of Fun, of all things. He, more than anyone, should be taking more joy in his work than he really was. He worked all the time, yes, but his work was to have fun. He hadn't lost his identity after becoming a Guardian. He brought happiness to all the children of the world, and their smiles should have brought on to his face as well.

So why on earth did he feel so…dead inside?

He leaned on his cane, weary as an old man, though he hadn't aged a day since he had 'died'. So this is what those teens meant when they said that they felt 'old before their time'. They stopped believing, and the real world caught up with them, and they realized that nothing was all smiles and games and happiness. This world was full of dark just as much as light, for how could you have one without the other? To see light, there must be darkness for it to shine through. Yet wherever there is light, there will always be shadows. Play time became work time; leisure became stress; friends became strangers; games that all enjoyed became competitions where all were competitors, enemies. Where there was once joy, there was now hardship. Where there was once health and vitality, there is sickness and death.

How does one deal with an ailing loved one, when said loved one didn't even know you existed?

He called for the winds, and let them blow him wherever they pleased for the longest of times, a heavy and dank feeling of melancholy settling over him like a heavy wet blanket, weighing him down and chilling him to the bone with a cold that not even he could ignore. How long would this go on, he wondered? His sister was the last person to be relegated to the four walls of her room. She was as much of a free spirit as he was. She lived for adventure. And now she was confined to her bed. How many hours had he spent watching her struggle to do the simplest of things while wincing in pain? How many nights had he watched as she stared out the tiny window of her room, watching time pass by without her? How many days had he watched her write in her little leather-bound diary, wishing to go outside at least once? This, this was no life for her. This was no life at all. Yet, was it bad to wish his little sister an endless sleep, devoid of the pain she was in now, or hope and pray she live to see another beautiful day? Which was worse? Was it right to wish either for her? Who was to know?

Tooth Fairy had said that they were all somebody before they became Guardians. He had never thought about what would happen to his old life after that fact.

And then he felt it. The melancholy became bone-crushing, heart-renting sorrow and remorse. The trees rambled and bowed, as if they too felt the immense sadness. The winds cried and screamed their own pain and regret. The sun hid its face in shame, or in sympathy, as if it couldn't bear to watch what was happening. He felt it, too. He felt the world change and shift around him, and suddenly he couldn't wait any longer. He would forgo his duty (how he wished he was free of it) just this once. He was allowed this one comfort, wasn't he? He would abandon his work and see his most precious person – if only for the last time.

Calling the winds once again and begging them to speed him to his destination, the youth prayed that Death had not yet passed by, just so that he could have one final look of her alive.

Just a little farther. Just a bit more.
Jack Frost pulled up to an abrupt halt and stood outside the window pane to his sister's bedroom, leaning on his staff, trying to find something stable in his crumbling world.

In the small ramshackle room was precious little of anything. But everything that was there meant more to him than he ever thought possible. The old wooden chair was sitting next to the low bed, the rainbow comforter that his grandmother had made when he was just a boy. The small nightstand held a vase lamp, intricate designs carved into the porcelain by the skilled hands of an artisan. The sparse pictures on the walls. The chest of toys under the window. The tiny vanity besides the bedroom door. All of it achingly, painfully familiar. And on the bed was a young woman, long brown hair left loose around fail shoulders, and sunken hazel eyes wearily staring out the window, seemingly right at him. But that was impossible. She was certain that he had died years ago. She could not see him. A much older woman was hovering over her, her grey hairs reflecting the light as she tended to her ailing daughter. But the younger did not seem to acknowledge the presence of either being (because he refused to think about how he couldn't even speak to her and have her hear).

He had dreaded this day ever since he figured out he wasn't aging. It was horrible, this feeling of helplessness and loneliness. This…state of being right next to her and still being worlds apart.

Jamie was dying.

And he couldn't do a thing to stop it, or even help her feel safe again.

He watched from the window, afraid to get closer, lest Jamie feel the cold he always brought around with him (oh, how he wished he could touch her again). Their old mother sat at Jamie's bedside, holding her thin, frail hand, and telling her everything would be alright. His mother looked so worn and drawn, as if she had lived through a thousand years of war and famine, and Jack couldn't help but wonder how she handled his own passing. He had left right after he had been brought back by the Moon, too caught up in his own revelry and aliveness that he completely forgot about his family.

How could anyone do something like that, fun-loving or not? How could one forsake his own family?

Sure, he checked up on them from time to time, but there were sometimes months or even years when he wouldn't come back to see his little – or older now – sister and mother, until before he knew it, Jaime had a family of her own with a good man and a sweet little girl, and their mother was growing grey hairs. It was as if time was stuck on fast forward, and he was still moving at normal speed.

And now she was going to die.

She was going to die.

The reality struck Jack yet again, harder than it ever had before. It became a hot knife plunged deep into his chest and twisted violently, stealing his breath and slowly, ever so slowly, killing him as well.

Stumbling back from the now iced over window, Jack fell and scrabbled back, tripping over his staff in his haste to get up and almost falling again. He had to get out of here, now, or else this would break him into tiny pieces, pieces so small that he doubted he would ever find them all. He shouldn't have come. He turned quickly on his heel and ran. Raced through the trees, crashing through them like a bull gone mad, taking small tight turns, freezing any water in his way completely in the cool November air, anything to get away. If he stayed…

Jack burst out of the forest and into a clearing, a still pond with some late-blooming lilies on them, and the Moon reflected perfectly on the still waters. Chest heaving, he walked over to the bank and dropped unceremoniously to his knees, head bowed, straining to keep himself from crying.

"Why? Why me?"

So the end of chapter one. Yes, Jack's little sister has died. The inspiration for this story actually comes from one of my little cousins that died young, younger than I am. I dedicate this particular chapter to her, because she is missed.

I guess I'm done for now. Later everyone, and stay safe.