In The Silence

~28~

Thaddeus is quiet as they walk back towards the cabins. Jack doesn't mind; it's been several years since he last visited these trees, and he greets each old friend with a tap of his staff or a pat of his hand, leaving behind delicate whorls of frost. He feels — light. As if he could rise as high as the Moon without the Wind's help. He feels — free, and he realizes that the nagging pull on his self is gone. He can leave... if he wants to. But he doesn't feel like leaving, not quite yet.

"How's Teddy? Did — did the flames hurt him? And Sarah? Is she well? Will Rachel be upset, that you showed me the singing stone?" Jack blinks before grinning widely, jumping in front of the man without warning. "You told her you were chopping wood! You lied! You lied, but no one's hurt!" It's an amazing discovery, that a lie need not cause damage; it's a trick the man's just taught him, and Jack cartwheels in the air, unable to stay still. "Oh, what will Rachel do if you go back in without wood?"

Grinning at his antics, Thaddeus pauses before briskly rubbing his arms together. "Child, you've no idea how good it is to see you happy. Though I haven't a clue what a spirit would find joyous; you were scarcely pleased with my company last year..." His grin wavers, and his arms stay wrapped around his chest. "For which I'm sorry. Terribly sorry, child. I — I don't know how I kept you there; I only know that, somehow — I did. I wanted, so much, to know... And then, after you pulled Teddy from the fire, I was sure you..." His voice is thick with withheld tears, and he coughs against them. "To know I killed one of Heaven's messengers—"

"Killed?" Jack doesn't know the word, but he doesn't need to know it to dislike it, for it sounds like the scrabbling claws of rats. And Thaddeus looks dreadful now that he's said it, hunched shouldered and shaking. There's one obvious solution to the miserable expression on the man's face: Jack hides it behind a handful of flung snow.

The man splutters before using the ends of his scarf to wipe his face clear. "You threw a snowball at me!" He laughs, loud and long even as snowmelt makes it way down his collar. "Been wanting to do that since last winter, haven't you?"

Nodding, Jack forms another, larger ball and chases Thaddeus down the trail with it, flying over tree roots that the man isn't as successful in avoiding. "Ha! Think you can get away that easily!" He tosses the ball, and cheers when the man stumbles — but continues to laugh. "That's better!"

Thaddeus is back in front of the cabins covered head to foot in snow, and his laughter is interspersed with gasps. "You've a wicked arm on you, child. I'm not sure if you've forgiven me, or if this is a winter spirit's concept of punishment."

Rolling his eyes, Jack swings his staff in an arc that leaves behind a trail of snowflakes. "It's fun. Adults are odd." Jumping to the window sill, Jack peers inside to where Rachel is seated, busy with her knitting. "Sarah and Teddy are in bed, but Rachel's still up. You really should get some wood; she doesn't look very happy—"

"Spirit." The man's voice is hardly above a whisper, but Jack thinks he understands. With the way Rachel's mouth twists as though chewing on something bitter, he wouldn't want to draw her attention, either. "If you'll come around to the back, I think I can offer a better option than our window for the night."

Option? There's something implied in Thaddeus' statement, as if... as if there were something wrong with looking through windows. Which Jack is sure isn't the case; staring inside homes that he'll never be welcomed in is what a frost child does — and how else would he occupy his time while children slept? He supposes he could go to his lake; there's always his lake, now that he's free. Or the rooftops. Or he could have the Wind take him up into the clouds, and he could seek out the astral boy for another game of chase...

"This way," Thaddeus urges, and having nothing better to do since the man apparently did not approve of him looking through his windows, and Jack still feels wary around this man of beliefs that could bind he follows him around the side of the cabin to a darkened doorway. "We put up the lean-to for my brother-in-law, while we built the second cabin. I — I did not know if you were ever coming back, but I'd hoped..."

"Prayed, is more like it," Jack says with a hint of sharpness, for the pull hadn't been comfortable in the least. Moonlight pours into the small room from the empty doorway, and he ducks his head inside in an attempt to figure out whatever has the man fretting. There's not much within; a small bed is tucked in the corner with a rough wooden table beside it, but there's a worn quilt over the straw tick and the quilt's once-bright colors tempt him a step closer.

"You could stay here, if you've a mind." Sitting on the bed the man sighs as if he'd been standing for far too long. "I took off the door since I doubt the cold would be a bother to you, child — and I didn't want you to feel trapped..." He sighs again as his hand strokes the faded fabric underneath him. "Rachel humors me. Thinks I'm doing this for Phillip. I — I'm not mad, spirit. I know there's no returning for my son. I would not be able to stand it, thinking that he might be like... you."

"There's nothing wrong with me." The Wind agrees, sneaking inside the lean-to to explore darkened crevices, and Jack lets the Wind lift him off his feet. "I wish you'd make sense."

"Anyway, the room is here for you, if you should want it. Or need it. Do spirits rest, I wonder?" There's a look of profound thought on Thaddeus' face as he stands; complex, disturbed thought. "I'm sure I saw you sleeping, pressed against the window, but last year was hardly usual for you, was it? I just wanted you to know, you're welcome here, child. Come or go as you please — but I very much enjoy — your company..."

Jack watches the man walk out the doorway; follows him around the corner of the cabin and shouts, "Don't forget the wood!" which the man can't hear, but he stops at the woodpile regardless and picks up several good-sized pieces. Jack watches the man enter the cabin, and listens to the strained conversation between Thaddeus and his wife — but it makes little sense to him and is actually rather boring, so he returns to the lean-to with its small bed and small table and carefully mended quilt.

"Adults are odd," he tells the Wind, and the Wind agrees as it flutters the edges of the quilt. He doesn't need a room besides his room in the Dreamsand castle, where every golden grain of sand contains a precious dream. He doesn't need a bed, and the straw tick is nowhere near as soft as sand against his skin. He most certainly doesn't need a quilt... Although, now that he has one, he can't help but admire the patterns on the fabric; can't help gently stroking his fingers down the neatly stitched seams.

It's a strange sensation, being inside a house — and yet not. He's been invited inside, and yet not truly inside, for there's no lamplight or firelight, only moonlight falling in a rectangle against the floor. And while he can feel the children sleeping, he cannot see their golden dreams — and it unsettles him. Worries him, for Thaddeus had never said if Teddy was alright.

Jack needs to see for himself. So he leaves the lean-to and settles down against the window, wiping away the spreading frost so he can see inside. And a tension that he'd long grown used to eases as he watches the children dreaming. And a smile spreads across his face as he leaves the window and follows the streamers of sand to their source, for Sandman is above him on his golden cloud — and there's so much he wants to tell him.

Tomorrow, though, he'll return. Tomorrow he'll play with Teddy and Sarah; tomorrow he'll show them what a frost child can do! Tomorrow, he'll thank Thaddeus for the quilt — for it's obvious that someone has taken good care of it; poured love and warmth and tenderness into each and every stitch. Tomorrow — will come soon enough.

Tonight he's going home.

~o~

End Notes: Okay, I really wanted to see the conversation where Thaddeus tells Rachel he's adopting a ghost. That isn't his son. But is obviously in need of a good home — and a warm quilt lol! I really am having too much fun with Thaddeus. Thank goodness for canon characters that were given absolutely no personality or much in the way of history in the movie.

Beta done by Kaylessa! Yay!

Many exuberant thanks to myrddin767, Anne Camp, Bookworm Gal, lurkerlaine, 1valleygirl4, whylime, Fumus000, Alaia Skyhawk, Clio Ying, FrostFan, Crystal Peak, Tenshi Youkai no Yugure, SOulWindWALKER, DragonsFlame117, Alana-kittychan, RandomKrazyPerson, fourty-eight, hisokauzumaki, mjbaerman, blackkyu, ForeverWillEnd, the bushy haired know-it-all, Kaylessa, Dragowolf, !A4E! and Master Li for their reviews! They fill me with happiness, the motivation to write on — and an odd craving for toast.

FrostFan: Well, he already knows Sandy ^_^ And Aster. He'll meet Bunny (the young, un-improved Aster) in a bit — and he'll lob snowballs at North's head because, umm... North needs snowballs lobbed at his head. Yes. -nods- He will not meet Tooth before the movie takes place, because that's movie canon.

hisokauzumaki: GLOMP! You were review 500! Is there a drabble you'd like to request?

~and... I woke up this morning to Grumpy!Jack. Really. He was sitting there by my cocoa mug, and he wouldn't let me near the microwave until I wrote the next part of his AU. So, all hail Grumpy!Jack (who was a bit miffed that he barely got a cameo in this part — but then he was all teary-eyed and booboo and had to go find Aster for manly huggles because, erm, yeah...)

~o~

Ombric watched the young man bent over the work table, chisel in one hand and arcane magic flickering about the fingers of the other. He watched as toys were crafted; strange, flickering toys without true form, made more from potential than any earthly material. Nicholas had spent days in the Lamadary's workshop on this project. Whenever the young man grew overly tired from practicing with the mysterious sword gifted him by Tsar Lunar he would return to this project — and it seemed that his diligence was being rewarded.

Nicholas set the chisel aside and lifted up one of the beautiful, shifting forms; a blending of metal and magic vaguely reminiscent of the djinni, and yet — not. Held within the young man's hand, the form twisted from hoop to doll to curious, multi-pronged tool before returning to its original, nearly formless state. "What do you think, Ombric? Will the children like them?"

"I should say so," the wizard said, picking one up for himself. A smile spread across his bearded face as the toy morphed into a tangled, sparkling maze he remembered playing with an eternity ago on Atlantis. "And you've made one for each of them? Even the Williams? I must admit — I occasionally miscount them. Oh, Tall William and William the Absolute Youngest are easy enough to remember, but I tend to forget how many Williams fall between."

"It is part of the magic; there will be as many presents as needed. No more, no less." Nicholas sighed, and began placing his creations in brightly colored boxes. "Presents are an important part of childhood."

"They are," Ombric agreed with mild surprise. "I'm curious, though, how a King of Bandits comes to the decision to become such an accomplished toy maker. No wizard has the power to change the human heart, so this," he held out the bauble for the young man to wrap, "must have been a part of you from the very start."

"Ha." Nicholas took the toy, and watched almost wistfully as it changed into an acorn. "You would wonder, wouldn't you? I've told you, I grew up as a wild thing? Out in the forest alone, learning the ways of predator and prey... Now that I am older, if not much wiser, I think to question how a young boy survived alone in the wilderness."

"I have wondered," Ombric admitted, his attention on a gust of wind eddying in the corner of the workshop.

"Will you think me mad, if I tell you I looked forward to the coming of winter?" Shaking his head, Nicholas closed the last box before stacking it atop the others. "I never have understood other's fear of it. To me, winter is a season of plenty. Of — play. When snow was thick on the ground, I would wake up warm each morning, and there would be a new toy to play with. Wondrous things. Toys of ice and frost; little icy birds that could fly, and icy fish that could swim in the swiftest running streams. Blocks and little soldiers and every sort of toy a child could ever want, all made of ice.

"Why, I even had an imaginary friend! A boy like snow to share the toys with." The young man sighed again, resting his chin upon his hand. "Every winter he came, until the year I joined up with the Cossacks. I suppose I simply outgrew him, once I had the company of living, breathing men. But I tell you, Ombric: I miss him. So many years have passed, and still I miss him. I suppose it was... I do not know. The sense of wonder?

"Ah, a child's imagination is a miraculous thing, is it not? And so — I build toys. It is a more useful pastime than thievery, at least." With a self-deprecating smile, Nicholas swept the boxes into a canvas bag. "I need to talk with the Lamas about delivering these to Santoff Claussen. Are you coming, Ombric?"

"A miraculous thing indeed," Ombric murmured, his attention still fixed upon the coldest corner of the workshop. "Go ahead, Nicholas. I'll catch up. Only — was winter never unkind to you? Not once?"

"The only unkindness was that it had to leave, come spring."