Author's Note: In the northern hemisphere the nights are long, the weather cold, the food rich, and the company warm. At this time of celebrating death, birth, miracles, and the change of the season, I would like to gift my readers a twelve-chapter piece entitled "Another Type of Guardian." It is my very first crossover fanfiction and is written so I can give you a new chapter to read every day until Christmas. I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Hanukkah, Sadeh, Kwanzaa, Watch Night, Solstice, Yule, Pancha Ganapati, Bodhi, Christmas and, of course, a very happy New Year.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Rise of the Guardians. Also, this is my very first crossover story, so please forgive my failings.
The Man Who Spoke With Spirits
Jack Frost knew of few places uglier than London's slums. It was a place inhabited by the city's most broken and destitute people—the men and women who scoured the streets in the early hours of the morning, picking through the muck in the gutters as they looked for scraps of cloth, fragments of bone, and even excrement they could sale for a few pence. A place where the Poor House dominated the skyline and where brown, twisted handfuls of grass grew among the unmarked graves of women who men called geese. Even the air was anything but pure. It was so thick with a mixture of coal smoke, privy gasses, decay, and river fog that even Spirits sometimes had a hard time trying catching their breath. London's slums were a place for Britain's forgotten people, and Jack Frost, a Winter Spirit, completely fit in.
For the past few years, the young Winter Spirit found himself wandering through London's feted streets with the rest of the slum-living ghosts. Sandy, the only Spirit who seemed to pay attention to Jack's predicament, tried to convince him to spend less time in London, but he couldn't stop himself from returning to the bleak place. He was, after all, a Spirit of winter and, thus, a bringer of starvation and death. It was only right he was an outcast.
One late December, freezing drizzle caused the roads to turn thick with mud that stuck in clumps to the Spirit's bare feet, but there was nothing unusual about this particular evening. Jack traveled the familiar paths, not bothering to look up or even flitch when someone walked through him. He was too busy stewing in his own depression to notice his surroundings. It wasn't until someone physically smashed into him that Jack finally looked up to see a tired-looking man with hair the color of dirty straw and piercing green eyes topped with a massive pair of eyebrows.
"Just because you're a Spirit doesn't mean you shouldn't watch where you're going, you know." The voice was stern but tinged with humor.
"You can see me?" Jack Frost stammered.
"Of course I can."
"But does that mean you are also…" Jack began.
The man sighed, "No, I don't happen to be a Spirit, at least, not in the same way you are. I see you have a number of questions dancing on the tip of your tongue. As I do not happen to be invisible to the naked human eye and do not wish to have my good name soiled," he said with a slight roll of his eyes, "I suggest we continue this conversation in a more secluded environment."
Jack nodded his agreement, "Very good. I believe there's a quiet, little courtyard less than a block from here. That should give us the privacy we seek."
The courtyard turned out to be little more than an ally squashed between two towering apartment buildings. If not for the small well of fresh water in the center, the place would have been heaped with trash and debris long ago, but the water source meant the local residents actually bothered to keep the area relatively clean of scum. Jack's feet touched the cold stone, and for the first time in years, he felt safe and protected. This new found safety unlocked a latent sense of curiosity and questions began tumbling out of his mouth. "Why are you here?" "How can you see me? What's going on?"
"Slow down; I can't possibly answer all those questions at once. Pick one."
Jack selected the question which burned at the forefront of his mind, "Why are you here?" There was no plausible reason for a well-dressed English gentleman to be wandering the worst city streets in London at this time of night.
The man began answering as Jack just gave him a blank stare. "I am here because it is my responsibility, my duty. Too many people never feel love in this life. They slip from this broken world feeling worthless. I believe every human being, no matter how small or wrenched, should at least be acknowledged. If the rest of humanity is unwilling to respect the great worth of a human soul, then I will do my best to fill the gap."
"You sound like a Patron Saint," the Winter Spirit spat sourly.
The man chuckled at Jack's expression. "Hmmm, it seems you have already run into a few of those. To be honest, I have found too many of them have a stick up their butts. There are a few who are truly good people, but most are obsessed with their collection rules to be of much use. I mean, what is the point of guardian angels if they refuse to do their jobs every time a person has a crisis of faith? Isn't that when a person actually needs divine intervention the most?"
Jack nodded thoughtfully and looked at the stranger with curious eyes, "If you are not a patron saint, what are you?"
"That is a bit complicated. I guess I am another type of guardian. Not a guardian angel or a guardian of childhood but one who looks upon all people equally, regardless of their age, economy, or class."
"Then you are a Spirit like me?"
"No," the man chuckled. "Very few would confuse me as a Spirit, but I guess I have a similar role."
"What?"
"Helping people reach their full potential."
Jack looked into the stranger's face for a long time before asking the next question. "Can you help me?"
"I do not know… probably not." The man softly admitted, before turning to leave the courtyard.
"Wait!" Jack reached out, clinging to the man's cloak, then letting go, ashamed of his action. "There must be something you can do to help me…"
"Lad, I truly wish there was a way I could help you, but I can't."
"Why?" Jack could feel icy tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Anxiety and depression began to well up in his heart again. Perhaps, because he was a Spirit instead of being human, he wasn't worthy of having that type of guidance. Perhaps he was just as worthless as his doubts whispered. The Winter Spirit could feel himself being dragged back into the dark abyss of depression.
Then the man spoke, and it was as though the sun had risen. "Because deciding who you will become is something very personal. Discovering yourself will not be easy, but it will be worth every step of the journey. I can tell you have great potential. It is your job to learn to see that potential in your own heart. Until you do that, no one can offer the help that you seek. Now Lad," he placed a warm hand on Jack's shoulder. "The night is waning, and there are still many I need to see."
"Wait!" Jack reached longingly towards the man who had rescued him from drowning in his loneliness.
The man's kind eyes rested upon him. "Yes, Lad?"
"Can I at least have your name?"
The man smiled at Jack's question, then removed his top hat with a sweeping bow. "My name is Sir Arthur Kirkland, but to my friends, I am known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. It has been a pleasure to meet you, and I suspect our paths will cross in the future."
There was a swirl of wind, and Sir Kirkland was gone, leaving Jack standing alone in a forgotten courtyard with an unfamiliar warmth in his heart and the taste of magic on his tongue. For the first time in a decade, the Winter Spirit felt hope kindled in his soul.
End Note: Sometimes it only takes one person to bring a little light into a bad situation. May we strive to be that person in another's life.
Next Chapter: "The Child With The Pitch-like Smile" Chased by the Spirits of spring, Jack seeks a safe haven in northern Russia. There he stumbles upon General Winter, one of the strongest keepers of the winter season, and the young boy in his care.