I know I'm already in the middle of a RotG story, but the idea for this hit me randomly and I just had to write it down. This might seem like it's going to be all morbid but it will have its happy parts, I swear.
Also, I read somewhere that 'Old Man Winter' is another name for Jack Frost, hence the name of this story.
I apologise in advance if this brings up any bad memories or makes you think of something you don't particularly want to think about.
She lay on her side, staring out of the window at the falling snowflakes. The snow had come early this year seeing as it was only September. But she wasn't complaining, not at all. She wished she could venture out of her room and into the whiteness of the world. There was no way her mother would allow that, though. Behind her, her older brother Oliver was sat in the armchair placed beside her bed, reading aloud her favourite book: Pride and Prejudice. Most of the time she did listen to him, but even when she didn't he continued to read to her anyway because she liked the background noise.
Outside the room stood her mother, Gemma, staring through the glass with a pained, though distantly stubborn, expression. Standing in these halls, the words of doctors often echoed through Gemma's mind:
"I'm so very sorry... but I'm afraid Eira has a brain tumour."
"It is an ependymal tumour. They begin in the ependyma: cells that line the passageways in the brain where cerebrospinal fluid is produced and stored. Oh, forgive me. Cerebrospinal fluid acts as a cushion, if you will, for the cortex, providing a basic protection to the brain inside the skull, and serves a vital function in cerebral blood flow."
"These tumours are often localized to one area of the brain, in Eira's case it is in the cerebellum. That means her coordination and balance will be mainly affected."
"I'm afraid the surgery was unsuccessful. Eira's tumour is in a place which makes it far too risky to attempt to remove."
"There is still the option of radiotherapy."
"It seems Eira is no longer responding to treatment."
"I'm sorry."
"Maybe you should think about taking her home and making her comfortable."
"Do you know of any final wishes she may have?"
"She doesn't have long left. I'd give it a few months."
"I'm sorry."
Sorry. How Gemma despised that word. She didn't want people's pity, and she certainly didn't want people telling her that her seventeen year old daughter would no longer be breathing by Christmas. She watched Eira struggle into a sitting position, her face paler than usual. Oliver quickly, but gently, placed the book on the cabinet and hurriedly handed his sister the basin.
Eira threw up the contents of her stomach until there was nothing left, however her body continued telling her to vomit, resulting in a few minutes of horrible convulsing and heaving while Oliver rubbed her back.
"Oli," Eira rasped as she sat back.
"Yeah, doll?" He replied, using the nickname that she used to hate, but had allowed him to use ever since finding out about the tumour.
"Tell me about the Guardians," she requested, a ghost of a smile tugging at her dry lips.
Oliver was six years older than Eira, and he had always doted on his little sister. For as long as she could remember he'd told her stories about the Guardians: Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Sandman, the Tooth Fairy, and Jack Frost.
Jack was Eira's favourite. She'd always had a strong love of winter, which had commenced at the wee age of four after discovering that her name was Welsh for 'snow'. Her parents had chosen this name - along with her middle name, Noël - as she was born on the day of the Winter Solstice which happened to be four days before Christmas.
Therefore it was practically part of Eira's nature to adore Jack Frost so much. She was in love with the idea that he was responsible for bringing the snow that made the world look so pure, and the frost that coated windows and glittered as the sunlight hit it. She enjoyed hearing about how he was so mischievous and always knew how to have fun. She could have really done with some fun at that point in her life.
"You know how they keep asking me if I have any final wishes?" Eira asked Oliver when he'd finished telling his story. "I think I have one."
"Really?" Oliver responded, trying to swallow the painful lump that had lodged itself in his throat. "What's that?"
Eira turned her head towards the window again. Oliver could see the reflection of the snowflakes dancing in her green eyes that were still full of wonder somehow. He studied her hair that used to be the colour of chocolate, but was now as brittle and brown as dead tree bark. He knew her condition cursed her with fatigue and sleepiness, and thought sometimes she was too tired to even force words to leave her mouth.
Then when she finally spoke again, Oliver heard that old melodic ring to her voice that was once a permanent feature, but was now a rare gift, "I want to be certain that they exist; the Guardians. Believing is nice, but sometimes you just need to be sure." She didn't say out loud that she once believed she was going to live a long, happy life, and with that belief shattered she desperately held onto her brother's tales. Oliver didn't say out loud that he wanted more than anything for his sister's wish to come true, but he thought it impossible.
Little did they know, that just outside Eira's slightly open window, sitting on the snow-covered roof of the hospital, was the Winter Spirit himself. He'd perched on the roof to admire the late September snow he'd conjured up, when Oliver's voice uttering his name caught his attention. He'd listened intently to the siblings, and the minute he heard Eira's wish, he identified it was a dying wish. For the first time in his existence, a chill ran down his spine.
There's quite a bit of medical terminology in this, I did my research. Sorry if there's anything you don't understand... I'd suggest googling it.