Bernard had been Head Elf for a thousand years. He had earned the position from Heinrich, the Head Elf before him, who had trained him to be his successor for one hundred years before he retired from his post.
Bernard was the eldest out of all the elves in Elfburg. He had surpassed even his predecessor, his predecessor's predecessor, and all predecessors before him. Not a single elf ever stayed at the North Pole past eighteen hundred years of age. Most retired once they'd reached thirteen hundred, sometimes even at just a thousand. Bernard had just turned two thousand and had no plans to retire anytime soon.
His body, however, had other plans.
Despite his age, he looked like a young man in his twenties. What he wouldn't give to feel like one.
Mainly, it was his joints. The cold climate of the North Pole made his arthritis act up, causing him to walk with a limp that he often tried to hide by keeping an even pace. On particularly bad days, he'd tie a hot water bottle to whichever limb was particularly hurting him. Lucky for him, it stayed well hidden under his baggy red velvet costume.
At times, it was his eyes. He was grateful that, because of his seniority, he had to only oversee the toy-making process. He found that if it wasn't his bones, it was his eyesight that made it difficult to do pretty much anything. He uncovered an old pair of reading glasses that one of the Santas must have left behind, and although they weren't his prescription, they worked well enough. He only used them in private when it was absolutely necessary. His refusal to use them in public, however, left him with plenty of migraines, and only added to his overall irritable attitude.
But more than anything, he didn't suffer so much from physical stress as he did from emotional stress. Most of that came from the current Santa, who never visited the North Pole except within a week of Christmas Day, and sometimes, he wouldn't show up until Christmas Eve. This caused all of the work of getting ready for Christmas to fall on Bernard. Lists would go unchecked, if not for Bernard. Reindeer would go uncared for, if not for Bernard. Presents would go unwrapped, if not for Bernard.
Of course, it wasn't just Bernard who was stuck with all the work; it was the elves as well. But the leading, the organizing, the care that went into getting ready for the big day, that all fell on Bernard. And emotionally, it killed him more than it did physically. He was starting to resent his job and it troubled him because, despite his overall moody attitude he carried with him since he was appointed the Head Elf position, he loved his job. He loved what he did. And he was determined not to retire. Not now, not ever.
And to top it all off, this current Santa was number one hundred and twenty-nine. That meant the next Santa would be number one hundred and thirty. Thirteen was a bad luck number all on its own, but times ten? And if this Santa wasn't even a bad luck number, he could only imagine how bad the next one would be …
And then it happened.
He got the alert, one Christmas Eve in 1994.
Santa had fallen off of the roof, and a man had put on his suit. That's all he had gotten from the fax the sleigh had sent. Only time would tell how horrid this one would be, but according to a later fax, he was continuing Santa's route to deliver toys, so … there was that.
He couldn't bring himself to tell the elves yet. He needed to talk to someone first, a neutral party. He thought of consulting the Council of Legendaries, but he felt inferior asking for an audience with such esteemed idols. He never even addressed them at all the meetings he'd attended with the Santas over the years … in fact, the only one who had ever spoken to him, the only one he had ever dared approach was …
"Jack Frost." He breathed aloud, and bolted for the Hall of Snowglobes, to the secret entrance that held a special collection that summoned the other legendary figures.
In the room sat two cozy chairs atop a rug, flanking a steadily burning fireplace, and on top of the mantle sat the snow globes.
The snow globes had no names on them, but he could tell which ones they were just by looking at them - Mother Nature's (a beautiful golden snow globe with the four seasons represented and swirling together within) Time's (an old rustic-looking clock with a snow globe inside with numbers and sand floating around on the inside) the Easter Bunny's (an egg-shaped snow globe with flower petals and blades of grass) Sandman's (a snow globe which sat comfortably on a sculpted bed with 'z's floating inside) the Tooth Fairy's (a tooth shaped globe with wings, and gold coins inside of it) and Cupid's (a heart shaped globe with hearts inside, basically just hearts everywhere.)
But where was Jack's?
He looked along the mantle, scanning over them again, second-guessing that he might've missed it but he knew he couldn't have … and then he found it.
Discarded behind the chair.
It must've fallen somehow but it didn't shatter, thankfully.
Jack's snow globe was simple, a silver base with no adornments, and a simple crystal clear globe with snow whipping around inside.
Bernard cradled it carefully and placed it back on the mantle, peering into it.
He could see Jack Frost flitting about in some neighborhood, using his breath and his brush to create intricate designs on the windows as fresh snow fell on the ground around him.
Bernard watched him a while, entranced by the sprite. He had always found the young man to be so alluring, what with his blue hair and rosy cheeks, that impish grin, his contradicting warm eyes … he never understood why the Council more or less ignored him.
He recalled those many meetings (the ones they had remembered to invite Jack to, anyway) where Jack would timidly suggest that there was a small holiday to bring in the winter season. A holiday that might possibly honor him and the work he does every year to make the cold weather more beautiful and bearable despite the harsh and unforgiving cold. It was always brushed aside, arguing that Christmas did enough of that, and what with Halloween and Thanksgiving so close by, and then New Years, that time of year was crowded enough as it is. Jack would always relent, telling them that he understood completely, and yet he would always bring it up at least once every fifty years.
Bernard could recall the sadness that would always flood his eyes before he noticed the Head Elf watching him, and then Jack would beam with delight as if none of it ever bothered him.
But Bernard knew.
It took him about five hundred years into his Head Elf title, since he met the winter sprite, to finally gather up the courage to approach the man (despite how approachable he appeared). And even when he did, he was shaking all over, having felt so inferior to the Legendary figures. After all, what right did a mere elf have, asking to borrow time from ones so great as they? And yet, Jack did not seem to think so. In fact, he seemed grateful that Bernard would ever converse with him.
Bernard didn't address the obvious issues Jack had, not at first, anyway. He approached him with cheer, inviting him to have a cup of hot chocolate with him out on one of the balconies while the rest of the Legendary Council had so conveniently forgotten to ask Jack to join them for their private Christmas dinner.
Jack was shy at first, hiding his mouth behind his oversized scarf in-between sips of cocoa, but eventually, he warmed up to Bernard once the elf started talking about toy design, and brought up the craftsmanship that went into it and how he felt that it was dwindling over the years.
"Oh, you mustn't let the others dishearten you!" Jack had exclaimed, "It may seem monotonous at times, but it's important to take great care when it comes to things like that, if not for the children, then for yourself! For the good of the heart!"
His words came flooding back to him, and he felt sick to his stomach to realize he had pretty much succumbed to what he promised he wouldn't. Work had become monotonous, and he really didn't see the point in caring anymore.
He continued to watch Jack, biting his lip, unsure if he should disturb him in the middle of his work. It was only until Jack stopped, gripping on a window pane, and he looked up, almost directly into his eyes, as if he could feel Bernard watching him, that Bernard was spurred to make a move.
With a breath, he grasped the globe and gave it a gentle shake.
A gentle gust of wind swept into the room, and Bernard turned to see Jack standing there, his back to him. He brushed some snow off of his sweater as he looked around the room, but did not turn around.
"Santa?" he called out, and it broke Bernard's heart to hear the hopefulness in his voice. Bernard couldn't recall a time when any Santa ever summoned Jack Frost.
"No, it's just me …"
Jack whipped around, his eyes flashing dangerously for a split second as if he didn't recognize him, but then he smiled, that warm smile that contradicted everything he stood for. His hair hung like soft fuzzy icicles beneath his blue hat, his skin pink and flushed from the cold like always. He wore an oversized silvery blue sweater that looked rather staticky and a long white scarf that he must've wrapped around his neck at least three times.
"Bernard!" he exclaimed with a breath of relief, but his smile soon faded when he saw Bernard's look of distress, "What's wrong?"
"Santa fell off a roof," he explained, just a little too casually.
"Oh no. Again? Well …" Jack shrugged, "First time for this one, but still … are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"Fine, fine, just … this next one, he'll be number one hundred and thirty."
Jack looked confused, and Bernard rolled his eyes.
"One three zero. Thirteen? Bad luck number?"
Jack still looked confused, and Bernard sighed, waving his hand.
"Forget it, I'm sorry I called you, it's stupid."
"No, don't be sorry!" Jack insisted, gripping the elf by the shoulders, and he could feel his cool touch even under layers of clothing, but it was not the bitter cold that he was used to at the Pole. It was a pleasant, refreshing sort of cold, the kind of feeling when you've been stuffed up in an overheated room and you step out into the fresh air.
"If it bothers you, then it matters. Don't ever apologize for your feelings. Why … why does it bother you, anyway?"
"This last Santa, he was just … he was such a flake. I wound up doing most of the work. If he wasn't even a bad luck number, imagine how bad this next one will be!"
"This new guy … is he continuing the route? Are the children getting their presents?"
"Yes, but …"
"No buts, then. You have no reason to worry, not yet. It could be worse. He could've just thrown away the suit and gone back to bed. Try looking on the bright side, I know it's hard at times, but you have to try …"
Bernard forced a smile, which faded almost instantly, "How are you so positive?"
Jack Frost shrugged with a smile, "I'm immortal. I have to be if I have to live forever."
"I mean … after all, the way the Council treats you …"
Jack's smile faded, and he released the elf's shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable as he patted down his sweater, searching for his brush, "I … I really should get back to work."
"Jack …"
"It's fine, really," he assured with a forced smile, "You can't control what others think of you, you can only control how you perceive it. If I say it's fine, it'll be fine."
"Really?" Bernard asked, unconvinced.
Jack nodded firmly, grinning, as he tapped Bernard playfully on the nose with his brush, sending a pleasant chill down the elf's spine.
"Don't worry about me, okay? And take care of yourself. Show the new Santa the ropes. Be confident. I have faith in you."
Bernard smiled, genuinely this time, and did something impulsively that he would never have dared to do had he not been so stressed out.
He hugged the winter sprite.
And despite Jack's upbeat behavior, he tensed at the touch, taken aback by the gesture, but he soon relaxed, his gloved hand patting him awkwardly before resting in the middle of his back.
"Thank you, Jack …"
Bernard could feel him smile against his hat, "Anytime."
It bothered Bernard that he didn't want to let go of the man, but he knew he had to, they both had jobs to do, and he stepped away reluctantly, clearing his throat, "I should, uh, guess I should let you get back to work."
Jack nodded, "I guess so … but don't be afraid to call me … Bernard," he reminded, "No matter how stupid you think the reason is."
Bernard laughed, feeling a blush creep up under his scarf, "Yeah, sure … will do …"
Jack offered a shy smile, and Bernard could swear he was blushing too, but it might have just been his usual flush from the cold.
"I'll spy on him a bit if you'd like. A-and I'll let you know what I think … if you'd … like."
"I'd like that," Bernard replied, grinning ear to ear, "Thanks again."
Jack smiled back, and he disappeared into thin air, wind rushing around him, circling him before dissipating.
Bernard finally released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and he glanced over at the fax that continued to pour through. They were heading to New Zealand now. It was only a matter of time before they reached the North Pole.
"Time to tell the elves," he sighed to himself and stepped out of the Hall and onto the factory floor.