Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians. I make no profit from this work of fiction.

For those who are familiar with Leicester Royal Infirmary, please be mindful that this is completely imaginary. Though I'm using the name of a place that exists in a real city, depictions herein are entirely fictional.

Special thanks to snowing-in-the-spring-time – reviews are greatly appreciated!

snowing-in-the-spring-time – I'm pleased that you enjoyed it. :) And he does encourage the development of bravery, doesn't he? Though, it's more an unwanted side effect of his natural inclinations. ;)

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Piers walked into the kitchen, the aroma of frying sausages wafting through the house. He grinned as he watched his grandmother rotate the links in the skillet. Without turning to see who had entered, she asked him to set the table. He chuckled, moving to the cabinet to pull out the breakfast plates and flatware. Handing her one for the sausages as he passed back by, he quietly went about the assigned chore. The sound of eggs sizzling as they hit the pan brought his attention back to the older woman standing over the welcoming heat of the stove.

Taking the full sausage plate from her and placing it on the table, he leaned against the sturdy surface as he waited for breakfast to be finished. Turning off the burner and carrying the skillet over to the table, his grandmother deftly divided the cooked eggs between the four plates. Conall wandered in just as she set the empty pan back on the stove. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the younger boy took a seat at the table. Piers laughed as his brother greeted him with a yawn and a wave, taking a fork and serving both of them from the sausage plate.

His fork still poised above the plate, he turned to the older woman as she sat down across from him. "One or two, Gran?"

"Just one for now, Piers." Nodding, he placed the link on her dish. "Thank you."

"Welcome." They ate their breakfast for several minutes in silence, occasionally glancing at the empty seat the boys' mother usually occupied. Setting his fork down when it seemed clear his mother would not be coming to breakfast, Piers reached into his pocket. He pulled out the tiny seed that had been left with him the night before, placing it gently on the table next to his grandmother's napkin. Its dusky yellow color contrasted sharply with the grey hue of their aged ash wood furniture. Both boys noticed that their grandmother's eyes widened slightly as she gently lay her fork back down on her plate.

"Where … ?" She looked up into the elder boy's face, her eyes wide with the hope of having found a source of the elusive spice.

Not quite prepared to answer her on how he had obtained the seed, Piers attempted to distract her from that line of thought. "Can you tell us why it's so important?"

Her hand shook slightly as she lifted her water glass to her lips to take a long sip. A ring of condensation marked the spot on the table that had held the cup. The cool water continued dripping from the bottom edge of the glass as she held it, the droplets landing perilously close to the small seed. Returning her beverage to the table, she took a steadying breath as she regarded both boys.

Soft, dulcet tones filled the room as she spoke. "Many, many years ago, there was a ceremony that was observed without fail. In those days, beginning in late September until Easter Monday, any household with a child would keep fresh bay leaves or sprigs of freshly cut rosemary hanging above the window. Families would grow their own spice gardens where they could, and pay the town magistrate a fee for use of his when they couldn't. Over the years, both plants became known in a grouping as witches' herbs."

Picking up her water glass, she took another slow sip, taking the time to wipe up the ring of water droplets on the table before setting the cup back down. Grasping the tiny seed between her forefinger and thumb, she lifted it to eye level, letting her elbow rest on the tabletop. "I won't bore you kids with the history lesson of how and where the ritual came from. But this tiny little seed comes from a plant that exemplifies the continuation of life. Over time, elements were added to the ceremony. Unnecessary things that only served to bring the community out in support of the current magistrate."

Returning the spice to the table, she rose, taking her plate to the sink. "Parts of the ritual were altered. Important details were omitted. Winter became longer – and harsher – over time. Those who knew how to seal away the winter witch moved away, or died without children. The traditions died out. Sightings of the hag became fewer – or at least reports of seeing her. She was relegated to an old wives' tale."

Conall stood as well, taking his plate to her. He was impatient for answers, knowing his grandmother had information on what to do to end this terrifying winter. "But what does the spice have to do with anything?"

She chuckled a bit, ruffling his hair. "Quite right. I did get off track, didn't I?" Piers smiled as his younger brother nodded his head vigorously. "Anise promotes good health. Including helping someone to sleep." Turning from the boys she began washing up the dishes. "Piers, do be a dear and bring me your plate." She began humming to herself as she cleaned, clearly considering the discussion ended.

Pitch hated to think of himself as sulking. The fact that he had been sitting in a shadowy spot on the roof of the Royal Infirmary since daybreak with his chin resting on his fist and his back hunched did not mean he was sulking. It only meant he enjoyed positions which were uncomfortable in places where he fully expected his nemeses to eventually show.

If he were truthful with himself, he would admit that he wanted them to tell him that they had magically defeated her during the night and that she was now sleeping soundly. Pessimist that he was, the nightmare king highly doubted that the group of do-gooders had managed to talk to that boring child and get the seed. Of course, it wouldn't help them, of itself. One tiny little seed was not going to cure their ills and rejuvenate England. Sighing again, he changed positions, leaning fully against the wall and stretching his legs in front of him. His head jerked up when the door to the roof slammed open, startling him with the abrupt change from the near silence that had surrounded him.

The young girl from the night before came into view, seated in a wheelchair. Her arms were resting on the armrest, hands lying in her lap. A female orderly came into view, her hands on the rear handles of the chair as she pushed it forward. "Your doctor really isn't happy about this. But after what you did last night, he agreed to let you come up here. Given the episode you had, the order is for only ten minutes." Setting the chair's brake, the orderly walked back to the door, leaving the child parked in the middle of the roof.

Once the door slammed again, the girl rose from the chair, stretching her arms above her head and bending slightly backwards to work the kinks out of her spine. A small wistful smile seemed to be pasted on her face as she walked about the flat, paved roof for a minute, simply enjoying the feel of being outside. Just as he was losing interest in her, the child turned to face him. "So. You're the boogeyman." His eyes widened as she spoke. "You really don't look all that menacing right now. Though, after looking death in the eye last night, not much seems to be overly threatening."

The dark spirit snorted. "I suppose not."

She stepped closer to him, crouching so that she could better see him. She simply stared at him. More than a minute passed in silence between them, her unwavering gaze fixed on him. He began to shift about a bit, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. Finally she blinked, straightening from her squatting position. "You know, it's not even that Annis is more powerful than you." His eyes narrowed as she managed to touch on some of his own musings. "After all, she's geographically limited."

"Are you so sure of that?"

The girl gave an indelicate snort. "I don't have much to do in this place but watch the news. I'm more than aware that it's only our country that's experiencing a bizarre winter relapse." Pitch had to smirk at the phrasing she used. Knowing that she had distracted him slightly, she stepped away from him, walking around the roof a bit, and making certain to stay in broad patches of sunlight. "There are other things too. She might be older than you, but something has limited her until now, so I'm betting there's a way to counter her. And I'm certain that the Ice King –"

"Jack Frost." Pitch's voice cut cleanly through her speech.

"Pardon?"

"His name." The dark spirit rose, towering over the young girl even as he kept to the shadows several feet distant. "He's not a monarch. He has no subjects. His name is simply Jack Frost."

Her broad smile caused her eyes to dance with mischief that was far too familiar to the nightmare king. "Rankles a bit, does it?" She responded to his sneer with laughter. "You're wrong though. He does have subjects." Seeing his incredulous look, she grinned. "What else would you call the ice and snow?" He snarled as he abandoned the rooftop, determined not to acknowledge her statement.

Alone with her thoughts, Maisie sat back down in the chair, a grin still present on her face. Perhaps the master of fear had needed the observation to be made aloud. Regardless, as she enjoyed the remainder of her allotted time out of her room, she did have to admit that it had been fun to rile the spirit.

Jack was a bit melancholy about not having been able to catch up with Annis again before the sun rose. They had tried repeatedly, but every time that he was able to tell them where she had gone, they would arrive moments after she had left. The continual failure was as aggravating as it was disheartening. The one thing for which he had been grateful over the night was the lack of dead bodies. Apparently, knowing she was being chased was enough to keep her from killing. Even if they were not able to find her, they could effectively stop her from siphoning the souls of children. Unfortunately, the ice wielder knew all too well that they would not be able to follow her around for eternity. Nor was it a viable option when considering the rate of increase in the witch's area of influence.

Seemingly exhausted from running about all night, they had returned to the boys' house shortly after breakfast. Conall's good spirits were encouraging, and the cuts on Piers' hands had nearly healed completely. Jack was especially glad that both boys seemed to be recovering well. While listening to the boys recount their conversation with their grandmother from that morning, the winter spirit noted something in Piers' demeanor when he spoke about the spice. He waited until they finished before turning to Conall to ask his question, certain that the elder of the two brothers would not be forthcoming with an answer.

"Where did you get the seed?"

The younger brother stared at the floor for several seconds before shrugging. He refused to look up, even when Jack walked over to him and let a breeze suspend him upside down so that he could peer into the child's face. Though the boy giggled heartily, he still would not raise his head. Allowing the breeze to right him and carry him over to Piers, his feet thudded as the wind deposited him on the floor.

"Piers?"

The elder boy looked guilty and ashamed. Neither was an emotion that the mischief maker enjoyed seeing. As he was generally the source of amusement for children, finding that some were studiously avoiding communicating with him was a bit distressing. He stared unblinkingly at the older brother. Several minutes passed before a mutter from Piers caused him to lean forward and ask him to repeat himself.

"It came from the boogeyman."

Sighing, Jack nodded. He was unsure that they could trust Pitch, but he did know that the boys' grandmother had confirmed the seed as being the correct spice. The white haired guardian was almost certain that another being had a hand in this somewhere, but he had no time to ruminate on such a possiblity.

"Khorosho. So we know what seed looks like. Now we go get." North's accent seemed to Jack's ears to be a bit thicker than usual. Perhaps the jolly spirit was more affected by the constant use of his magical orbs than he had led them to believe.

"But where do we get them?" Toothiana's question was quickly answered by Sandy forming a sand image of a shop front. "Their grandmother tried every market nearby. If there were any to be found in this city, she surely would have already found it." Sandy's store morphed into a question mark.

"Where's the plant come from?" Bunnymund's voice startled the ice wielder a bit. It had been directly behind him. The lagomorph had been silent since the boys had finished their story, so Jack had forgotten he was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, in such close proximity.

Both boys shrugged their shoulders. "Gran said she didn't want to bore us with the details of where the plant came from and –" Piers' explanation was cut off by the loud yelling from the kitchen.

"This is important! I need the car today. I've got to go find some aniseed." The grandmother's declaration was followed by a scoff from the boys' mother.

"No, mum. You need to let this go. You have the kids believing in this imaginary witch." The sound of crockery rattling indicated a fist had landed heavily on a table.

"I have no idea how it is you think she's a fantasy. There is no other possible explanation for the various oddities we've seen these past few weeks."

The younger woman's sigh carried up to them. "Even if I did think she were real, mum, it's not like you can drive all the way to Italy for this plant." The ensuing silence aroused their curiosity. The boys carefully tiptoed to the kitchen doorway. The guardians, unafraid of being spotted, floated into the room. The group found the two women staring at each other in an apparent battle of wills.

Several moments of silence passed before the boys' mother threw her hands into the air. "You are as stubborn as a mule some days, mum." Fishing the car keys from her purse, the metal jangling noisily as the pieces knocked against each other, the younger woman sighed in resignation. She held the keys out, holding on to them firmly when the boys' grandmother reached for them. "You know, sometimes our relationship is a little awkward."

Slipping the keys from her daughter's grasp, the older woman looked puzzled by the statement. "How so?"

"Sometimes, mum, you remind me of me."