A/N: So…you didn't like the ending to the last chapter? Oh, well sorry. Hopefully this chapter can make up for all the unhappy reviewers :P

Apologies for the wait, this chapter just didn't want to be written and I was super busy. But another semester of straight A's, two jobs, and volunteer tutoring definitely paid off!

But back to this story, this final chapter is 15 single spaced pages on my computer (about three times as long as my other chapters!). I contemplated splitting it up into two chapters, but I felt you guys deserved some closure :)

Thank you all for the support of this story, all your favorites, follows, views, and reviews. You guys make writing this story worth all the hand cramps :)

And now, the final chapter of Deliverance.

Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians

Where we left off:

"Jack?" The man asked. He smiled as bright blue eyes drifted up to look in his own emerald gaze. Suddenly the boy's back arched, a gasp flying out of stained lips. The tip of a black arrow protruded from his chest, the shaft buried in his back up to the feathers.

"No!" The Man of Light cried. But Jack didn't even wince. A wonderful gift of numbness had been bestowed upon him.

For the others present, the pain was far too much. A sentinel tore off after the shooter, taking it down without hesitation and without mercy. It was a shadowman with a longbow. But when the soldier turned back to return to his group, he found his men scattered and his captain on the ground. How Pitch managed to break though the iron defenses they could not even hope to fathom, but in the end it didn't matter. Every one of them witnessed the Nightmare King, his priestly robes flapping in the dying wind, grip the head of the Spirit of Winter and give it a sharp twist.

The body fell on the Plains of Megiddo to the tandem of war cries and the clash of metal.

Chapter 15: There and Back Again

Battles are discontented things. They jerk to a start, shatter, and lay in uncomfortable discomfort as their participants stumble and fall. And all the while, the battle watches on through the shards of the shattered looking glass, wont for a purpose or any hope for wholeness again.

The shards of this particular battle did not reveal a bloody massacre. Jagged and broken beyond repair, they were coated in frost and painted in mourning. It's main participants were principalities and powers, not flesh and blood. And they were consumed like wisps of the wind when the weapons of their enemies sliced through their corporeal beings.

At least most of them.

One of the bodies lay on the icy battlefield, crumpled and bloody. The neck was crooked, the body covered in blood and bruises. An arrow was lodged in the chest, but there was no beating heart to pump the life out from the wound so it only dribbled. Empty eyes stared unendingly at the blue scar in the sky.

A dark man stood above the dead child. Eyes strangely empty of both satisfaction and sorrow. It had been far too easy. The arrow in the chest would have probably killed the boy eventually, but snapping his neck was instantaneous and it was final. No amount of stitching and bone mending could save him. He was gone. Eclipse eyes turned to meet the messenger standing a few feet away. The spirit was seething. A crooked smile twisted Pitch's mouth.

"So, Guardian…Messenger…Man in the Moon….Gabil…Light in the Darkness, whatever you call yourself now. Actually, I'm just going to call you Manny. Shorter, more endearing. It's what your precious guardians call you, isn't it? A pity they couldn't guard this little one." Pitch cackled and nudged the body at his feet with his toe. "Such a pity. But then again you did force my hand. Well maybe not literally, but when you crashed my party and tore up my army there had to be some recompense. You understand, don't you?" There was no response from the man in white. Battleaxes clanged in the background.

Pitch turned and surveyed the contingency that had surrounded the trio. One solder faced out for every one that faced in, covering all angles and warding off any attacks. Their faces were as hard as stone and their movements were swift and merciless. But none of them moved to attack the Nightmare King. There had been no order given.

"Well I see I'm horribly out numbered," The dark specter cackled. "What is it? Eleven to one? Manny, I would gasp at the unfairness of it all if I wasn't completely protected. Funny how those little orders from millennia ago tend to stick over time, isn't it? What was the wording? Oh yes: 'Upon you I place a seal, creature of death and darkness. A ban upon your life. Defeat shall be your sustenance but death you shall not taste till the stench of fire and brimstone fills your nostrils and the screams of the damned blend with your own tortured cries. For vengeance shall be mine and mine alone.'" Another wicked smile. "Don't that just take the cake? You see, Manny, I'm not just protected, I'm downright blessed. I can go right ahead and pass GO, collect six hundred dollars if I want to because no one cares if you cheat a little now and again. The world is ripe for the picking, practically begging to be plundered and pillaged, and a healthy slice of it is mine."

"Deluded creature," the messenger spat. "The ban is not your salvation, it is your curse! Cursed forever to defeat. Look around you, prince of darkness, your army is in shambles, your ranks in disarray. Cursed to an eternity of writhing pain and torture. This life is not eternal, Pitch Black."

"Plenty long enough."

"But not forever."

Pitch cackled. "I suppose not." He kicked the boy again. "Death comes to us all, I'm afraid. At least little Jackie will be right there with me when I finally kick the bucket. Takes a few decades, but eventually his fight fades away and then he's an absolute delight. A little empty upstairs if you know what I mean, but still a gem, really…well, he was anyway."

"Jack Frost," began the messenger, "Is no longer in pain. His soul rests with the commander in paradise not in the pit with the deceiver."

Pitch laughed at that. "The hands responsible for the death of thousands resting light and easy next to the big guy? I'm pretty sure the age of accountability has more than passed for that little brat. Three hundred years give or take is a long stretch for innocence and his hands are just as dirty as mine."

"It's not about what is done. It's about that which had already been finished. The penalty for Jack was paid long ago. He is free now."

"Freedom is a dream. A nursery rhyme."

"Spoken from the lips of a slave to death and desire. You can't hurt him any more, Pitch."

"And you can't hurt me, so I guess we can call it a draw and go home for the day."

"Not quite."

A flash of light preceded pressure at Pitch's throat and a stab of pain in his chest. One strong hand of the Messenger was wrapped around Pitch's throat, the other gripping an ivory dagger than had been thrust into his chest. Black ooze dribbled around the blade. Pitch let out a gurgling chuckle.

"Is that the best, you've got, Manny? Or should I call you Gabil?" Pitch reached towards the dagger in his chest. "Save the corporeal wounds for something a little more flesh and blood. Principalities and powers are my blood and bones. I—"

The words caught in the throat of the Bogeyman as the Messenger gave the blade a twist and snapped it from the hilt. The blade sunk further into the dark chest on it's own accord before it began to glow. Searing pain ripped a scream from the dark being's mouth, his clawing fingers burned the second they touched the blade. Another scream ripped through the desert air.

"You—you can't kill me!" Pitch screeched, careening wildly. "I cannot be killed!"

"Oh now that's where you're wrong, Pitch. You are hardly worthy to number yourself among the principalities and powers. No, you reside with the smoke and mirrors and you most certainly can die. But today is not the appointed time. This blade will not kill you, creature of darkness, but the light of this world can pierce even the darkest corners." Eclipse eyes widened as realization set in. "And I would love to see you try and pull it out before it has drained you of every drop of power you have stolen. This battle is over. It was won before it even began."

And the bogeyman turned tail and fled.

~o.o~

The Sandman watched with wide eyes as the armies of darkness turned as one to study their fleeing commander. His steps were lurching, breath jerking and he looked for all the world like he wanted the shadows to swallow him up. So as one they melded into the shadow of the mountains surrounding the valley and heeded his unspoken request. The dark descended upon the Nightmare King like a blanket, swallowing him whole and hissing in delight at his terrified cries. The shadows drug him, kicking and screaming into the shade of the mountain, an eerie quiet all that remained once they had gone. A quiet that would have been peaceful if not for the massacre that lay all around them. If not for the crumpled little body that was cradled in the arms of the Messenger.

The army of light split down the middle, allowing the man in white to pass through to where his guardians stood. In numbers, their losses had been minuscule compared to the destruction of the enemy. But in worth, they were crippling. The child they had vowed to protect was growing cold in all the wrong ways.

Sandy watched as Seraphina stepped forward to take the body. The arrow had been broken off, the jagged end of the shaft poking through his chest. She wrapped him in her cloak, hiding the hideous wounds and grey pallor to his skin, her eyes dry and jaw set against the sorrow that thumped inside her chest.

The few silent moments that passed felt like an eternity. It was the Messenger that finally broke it. "Take the body back to the pole."

"I don't want him buried in some godforsaken wasteland," Seraphina snapped. "He deserves a peaceful resting place after all he's been through in life."

Her emerald eyes met his gaze. Her stare betrayed her broken heart. "Take him to the pole, Seraphina." He held up a hand to halt her refusal. "I am not bound by your demands, Mother of this World. You are bound by mine. I ask that you take him to the pole."

Mother Nature stiffly dipped her head. "As you wish."

The Messenger turned to look at the rest of the soldiers. "Return to the pole as I have commanded. Care for your wounded and dead. I will provide further instruction soon." And with that the hallowed army rose and followed the Messenger and the Warrior back through the scar in the sky. They were gone in seconds.

The remaining warriors, bodies corporeal and weighted by the strain of exhaustion and sorrow, numbly prepared portals to the pole and carried the dead and wounded through. Few words were spoken and no one stayed to clean up the mess on the battlefield. No one cared.

The yetis that had remained at the pole were armed and ready with gurneys and stitching needles. Esther was among them, her own wounds healed and hands ready to sew up the soldiers that would return and hold her Jack when they brought him home. But as ready as she was, she could not help but let the claws of anxiety dig into her heart. But she was in good company there. All who had stayed behind had prepared themselves for the worst and hoped for the best. But fear has a habit of overshadowing hope if not kept in check and no boost of morale could halt the sighs and nervous tension that had overtaken the infirmary. But that uncomfortable silence was nothing in comparison to the shuffle of furry feet towards the room full of volunteers in tandem with the weak cries of the wounded. Sorrow hung thick in the air. Injured soldiers were laid wordlessly on gurneys, the nurses running to stop the blood flow and stitch the wounds closed.

The horror was only thinly masked on the furry faces of the medical staff. The wounds the survivors sustained were horrible and otherworldly in nature and they did not easily respond to the medical prowess that was presented. Wounds continued to leak blood even after stitches had pulled the jagged edges together. They soon realized they had to purge the wounds with fire to stop the degeneration of the flesh. Esther knew she would have nightmares of the horrible screams for many years to come, but for the sake of the dying and those who still had a chance she kept her face like stone and her hands steady. The hope that rested in the back of her mind was that Seraphina had the sense to put Jack in his room so he didn't have to see this trauma. Poor boy didn't need to see any more torment. So she blocked out as much of what she was seeing as was realistically possible and focused instead on picturing the way Jack's lips had quirked up in tentative smiles. How the depth of his emotions shone through his eyes instead of words. Projected his trust in her onto the patients that writhed under her care. Those thoughts were the only thing that sustained her through the seven grueling hours it took to care for all the wounded.

When it was finally over, Esther peeled off the scrubs and gloves and rinsed the blood and infectious blackness out of her fur. It did not come out easily, but she didn't want Jack to see the remainder of the battle all over her. That was the last thing he needed. When she was finally finished she padded softly to his room, taking great care to circumvent the halls outside the infirmary. The dead lined the hallways, waiting to be washed and the wounds closed. There would be a burial in the morning. Esther shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. Jack had such a keen sense when it came to sensing others feelings. Until she saw him, she would put on a happy face, because she knew when she saw those blue eyes again there would be ne need to feign content. She padded softly through the halls, coming ever closer to his place in the workshop. But when she opened the door she came upon an empty room. Anxiety flared in her chest but Esther pushed it down and closed the door before heading back into the main workshop. Certainly, Jack would be with Seraphina.

Esther tried the kitchens first, not because she thought Sera would be there but because it was the most innocent place she could think of to check. Jack would no doubt be hungry, but the dread that was growing by the minute told her she would not find him in the kitchens. Esther swallowed hard and told her dread exactly what she thought of its ludicrous suggestions. Sera wouldn't have let anything happen to the sprite she loved so deeply. But the more empty rooms she came across, the more the dread took hold in her chest. Finally, Esther opened the door to the room that had been set aside for Seraphina. Esther sucked in a cold breath at what she found. The room was coated in all the bounties of winter. Frost coated the walls thickly, melding with the icicles that had shot up from the floor and down from the ceiling. These were not the swirling patterns of the quiet stillness of a snow day and the chill that cut through the air was not the breath of a frosty hibernation for all of nature. No, this room was painted with the fruits of anguish and loss. Esther cut short a violent shiver and walked further into the room, her dread whispering in her ear with every step. She called out softly in her deep ways and waited for a reply. The cracking of the ice beneath her feet was the only sound. Esther was beginning to shiver in earnest now but she continued her careful trek, rewarded only with the creaks of growing ice. It was as if all of winter had been stuffed into this one small space and it was straining for release. As it was, the space was smaller than the room itself would normally be because of an alcove that the ice had carved in the back right corner.

The yeti made her way over to the alcove and ducked to enter the small space. What she saw clenched something deep inside her. Mother Nature was sitting in a high backed chair with a still form cradled in her arms. Sera's eyes were stony and dark, her mouth nothing but a thin line. She didn't seem to notice the intruder until Esther called again, soft and low. Then the eyes that chastised hurricanes darted to her. They softened when they realized who she was.

"They didn't tell you, did they?" Mother Nature whispered.

"Tell me what?" The female answered.

"You wouldn't have come looking otherwise."

"What is it?" Esther glanced at the form lying in Seraphina's arms, wrapped in her cloak. It could be no one else. "Did he get overheated? Is that why you made it winter in here?"

Mother Nature looked around the room. "I hadn't realized I had made it winter. I was only thinking. But I suppose a winter like this isn't a fitting tribute."

"What do you mean?" Esther reached a furry hand towards the boy. It was nipped with ice before she even got close.

"No." Mother Nature's voice was cold. "Don't touch him."

"What's the matter?" Esther's voice was reaching a wail. Dread was screaming in her ears. It could not be so. "Please let me hold him!"

Mother Nature's eyes softened. "Oh, Esther." She lifted a corner of her cloak and uncovered the boy's head. Seraphina turned her face away. She couldn't bear to look at his face again. Looking just made it all the more real. Esther's choking sobs were torture enough. Sera knew what the yeti had seen. Knew what she was feeling inside. Jack's face was blotched, his neck bent and mottled black and blue from the blood that had pooled in his throat. Seraphina couldn't find it within herself to uncover the rest of him, but the task of drawing the cloak back over his head was a mercy for them both. Esther continued to wail for long after the evidence was hidden.

Esther sobbed until there were no more tears to release. The dread had been right. The child she loved more than words could express was dead. He had been dead for hours and she hadn't even known about it. Hadn't mourned. She had showered to clean off the evidence of the horrors of the previous day. Washed for his sake when he still wore the blood and bruises that marred his body.

She hadn't been able to say goodbye to him. And she couldn't bring herself to even say goodbye to him now when she knew there was nothing left. She was as empty as the battered shell that was cradled in the arms of Mother Nature. Her joy died with him.

They sat this way for quite some time, unable to leave. Unable to care for his body and prepare him for burial. Unable to even look each other in the eye. They would have continued had North and Bunny not found their fortress. They spoke quietly, afraid that even the smallest of provocations would cause the winter in the room to attack the intruders. But Sera made no hostile moves. She didn't even say a word when North gently pried the body out of her arms and took him away. She didn't protest when Bunny pulled her up out of the chair and walked her down to the den, Esther shuffling along behind them.

They settled into the new environment wordlessly, surrounded by the rest of the guardians and the few yeti elders that had not been injured in the battle. All were there save North, who had been tasked with preparing Jack's body for burial. Though Esther and Seraphina said nothing, they listened as the others spoke about things they had no interest in hearing about. Burials. Provisions. Far too many decisions to make. And all the while, North was cutting free the dirty nightshirt and shorts and washing away the blood that had dried in rivulets across frail ribs. He kept his face like stone as he worked, averting his eyes from the face of the boy he couldn't protect. But the sickening squelch of the arrow as it slid up from flexing ribs was too much for the Guardian of Wonder. North dropped to his knees beside the gurney, the pliers clattering to the floor as sobs wracked his large frame.

North jumped when a hand rested on his head. He turned bleary eyes toward the intruder, unable to find it within himself to care about the tears that filled his beard. The Messenger looked down on his soldier with sorrow in his eyes.

"I am so very sorry for all of this, my friend." He said. " This was not a burden you were meant to bear. But things changed."

"De cost of victory vas so great."

"The greatest victories rarely are without great cost."

"Many vill die tonight."

The Messenger nodded once. "Many do not want to recover. The weight of this world is a heavy burden to bear, especially when such suffering is present. But a few still wish to remain. They will recover by morning."

North met the gaze of his superior. "But how can you be saying such things vith certainty? De vounds are great and der is so much pain!"

"Because the wounds of the body, though grave, are nothing if not mortal themselves. They can be overcome if the spirit is willing." The man smirked. "And a little help never hurts." And with that the Messenger opened the door and entered the main infirmary. He visited each bed, releasing most to their reward with a kind word and a blessing and pressing his hand on a precious few. These yetis would gasp once and begin to breathe normally in their sleep, the infections purged and tissues beginning to mend.

"Tank you," North whispered. "For everyting."

"I am not yet finished, old friend." The Messenger turned back towards the private room in the back of the infirmary. "There is still one who wishes to return to this world." Manny walked towards the gurney and set a hand on the head of white hair. "Though he will need quite a bit of help before he is able."

North walked on quivering legs towards the room. "But de boy is dead!"

"Death does not have to be final."

"Den vhy did you not bring him back first vhen he die? Stop a lot of suffering?"

"For many reasons. The most pressing being I did not know if he even wanted to return."

"But he does?"

"Yes he does."

"Den vhat must ve do?"

"Prepare the body so it is ready to support life again."

"But…ve cannot simply stitch his troat! Neck is broken. Dere is an arrow in his chest!"

"There is also internal bleeding throughout his intestines from being force fed black sand along with a broken leg and jaw. Your doubt is showing, Nicolas."

North turned his eyes to the floor. "I am sorry."

"It's alright. Ageless as you are, your mind is human and humanity is no stranger to doubt. Fight against it, Nicholas, I need you sharp now."

"Vhat must I do?"

"First thing's first, the arrow needs to go. Hold his shoulders."

North complied and the Messenger wrapped his hand around the arrow. It slid free with another squelch and the wound dribbled a little more blood. The man set the shaft on a side table.

"You can let go now, Nick."

North released the boy's shoulders and took a step away from the body. His hands were shaking.

"You can do this, Nick. It is not beyond your ability."

"Seraphina should be de one in here vith him."

"Seraphina cannot help me with this. Her sorrow is too great and her lack of faith in what we are about to do would only be a hindrance. You are fully capable."

"I cannot do dis."

"Yes you can."

North shook his head.

"I chose you for a reason. Even if what we are doing now is difficult the reward will far supersede the suffering. Jack wants to come back, but this body cannot sustain life. It is broken. Without our help, he will have nothing to come back to." The Man in the Moon faced his soldier. "I'm not asking you to bring him back, Nicholas. That is my job. I'm asking you to help me ready his body, the very task your comrades appointed you to before I came. They felt you were capable and so do I. I know this is hard, but stick with me. It'll get better."

North met the man's gaze. "But vhat if I fail?"

"What if the roof caves in and rabid monkeys come in to chew off your beard? There are many 'what if's' in this life. Just trust me and follow my lead." The Messenger smiled. "Don't worry. I won't let anything go wrong."

North was still for a few moments before he nodded. "Vhat vould you have me do?"

"We must fix his neck, first and foremost." The man slipped his hands under Jack's neck, cradling his head while he got a better grip. "The force that was used to break his neck was incredible. The force required to realign it must also be so. When I tell you to, pull up on his shoulders." North did as he was told, only using a fraction of his incredible strength on the small body and worrying all the while that he would only make things worse. Manny sensed his worry.

"You can't make it worse, Nick. He's dead. You're not hurting him; he feels nothing of what we're doing. He's not even here."

North nodded wearily and pulled up a little harder. A loud pop resounded and North dropped the thin shoulders in shock. Manny grinned wryly. "There we go," he said and set a hand on the boy's neck. A warm light began to flow from his palm and North watched on in wonder as the blood that had pooled receded and the airways reformed. After a few moments, Manny lifted his hand and revealed a neck without blemish or injury. "The worst is over now."

"But his chest…."

"Will be taken care of in a similar fashion. Help me turn him on his side so I can reach both sides of the wound." North complied and stepped back to watch as black sand and tainted blood poured from the wound under the touch of the Messenger. Once the wound was clean, the tissues began to mend and the holes were closed. There wasn't even a scar to betray the brokenness that had been there. The broken leg was healed as easily as the other injuries.

"Vhat about de internal bleeding?"

"First the sand has to be expelled." The boy was still on his side.

"How vill dis be done?"

"In much the same fashion as it would be if he were able to do it himself. We will gather up the sand in his stomach and contract the muscles of the organ."

"And den he vill throw it up? Das it?"

"In a way, yes. I'll do most of the work. You just hold the rag around his mouth and make sure his head is tipped down so none of the sand goes back into his lungs. There was already a bit there but I removed it when I debrided the chest wound. The arrow had ripped through a part of his left lung as well, but he's whole now and I'd rather not repeat that process."

North nodded and maneuvered the boy's head down and held the cloth around his mouth. Manny began pressing on Jack's belly, hands still glowing as he moved the sand to where it could be expelled. "Much of it has crystalized. There will be quite a bit of blood that comes along with the sand because of the injuries." North merely nodded again. A few moments later Manny looked up at the Guardian of Wonder. "Are you ready?"

"Da."

Manny nodded curtly and set a hand over Jack's stomach. Almost instantaneously, the boy gagged and black, bloody vomit shot out of his mouth. It was laced with sharp crystals. He gagged into the rag twice more before the Man in the Moon nodded and rolled the boy so he lay flat on the gurney. The rest of the work did not concern North in the least. In fact he was rather forgotten. The Messenger worked quickly and efficiently, healing the internal lacerations with glowing hands and realigning the boy's jaw before healing the bones that had broken there. Once the major wounds had been healed, the man began to work on the bruising and cuts. Purple and blue faded to green and then disappeared completely, the discoloration in the boy's face receding with only a touch.

All in all, the transformation had only taken a little over an hour. One hour and a bruised and battered body, incapable of sustaining life, did not hold a single blemish. He was still dirty and bloodstains marred the otherwise perfect skin, but a bath was not such a tall order after what had happened in that room.

"It's time, Nick."

A swell of unaltered and foreign emotion swelled in North.

We're really going to do this.

The Messenger put two strong hands on the boy's chest and began to pump his heart. He stopped after a minute or so and centered one palm on the still chest. He lifted from the center of his hand, palm hovering and fingertips anchored on the chest. Again he pulled up and the lungs inflated along with the movement, air rushing into the boy's nostrils. The Messenger pumped the boy's heart again before inflating the lungs. After four cycles, North was beginning to loose hope.

"Is dere something dat is supposed to be happening?"

Manny only smiled and continued the cycles of heart and lungs. During the second "breath" of the sixth cycle, something did. Jack sucked in air like it was the first breath he had ever taken, his back arching off the table. Wheezing coughs wracked the small frame and Manny had to help the boy bring in several more breaths before his lungs found the rhythm and began to function on their own.

"He ees alive!" North laughed and covered Jack with a blanket. The boy still hadn't gained consciousness, but his eyes were moving behind his lids and his rest looked peaceful.

The Man in the Moon slid a mask over Jack's mouth and started a flow of oxygen. "Was there ever any doubt he would be?" The man turned to grin at his soldier.

"Unfortunateely der vas for every step of de vay. I am sorry. Doubt vas vithout reason."

"But not without it's catalysts. Soon, though, there will come a time when you see things like this everyday. But for now, rejoice in what you have witnessed. Jack lives. Well done, good and faithful servant."

North nodded with a smile and put an IV in the back of Jack's hand. He needed water even if the wounds were healed.

"Call Esther."

"Vhy not Seraphina? She is de moder of de boy. Should she not be first to know?"

"He needs a bath, and Esther has claimed that right as his caretaker. I think it'd be best if he wasn't covered in battle grime and blood when Seraphina sees him, it would only be a hindrance to her. Esther's faith is strong enough she will not have a problem."

"Alright." North lumbered through the door with no further argument. He returned a few minutes later with Esther, her face stained with dried tears and eyes frantic. North had told her. She all but sprinted to the gurney, his name caught in her throat before she had even laid eyes on his face. He was dirty and covered in blood, but his chest lifted and his heart was beating. He lived and that was all that mattered. She cried over him, his head cradled in her large hands.

She composed herself in a few moments and looked up at the Man in the Moon. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice low and spoken in her native tongue. "Thank you for returning him."

"Thank you, my dear, for having the faith to accept it even after you saw him in death. You honor your namesake with your faithfulness."

She smiled and returned her attention to the child to hide the blush that was creeping up her neck. "He is dirty." She murmured.

"He is. I think a bath might be in order?"

"Yes I think so." She turned back to the winter child on the bloody gurney and slipped her massive arms under him. He didn't wake, his face pressed into her cappuccino colored fur. When she returned twenty-five minutes later, he was clean, wrapped in a towel, and still cradled in her arms. His fingers were twisted lightly in her fur, white hair trying to decide whether to stick to his head or spike. He fussed a bit when she put him down on a clean gurney, but after Esther put a pair of shorts on him and wrapped him in a blanket, he was once again cradled in her arms, at peace.

"I think there's someone who would like to know he's come back." The Messenger said.

"Yes I tink der are many somevones."

"Lets not disappoint them then."

Esther passed Jack over to The Messenger. He carried the boy in his arms into the sitting room, North and Esther following behind. His soldiers were sitting in silence, wrapped up in their respective guilt and sorrow. Their entry was silent, and had it not been for Jack's small cough they probably would have remained hidden. But cough he did and ten heads swiveled as one towards them. Seraphina went rigid as the color drained from her face. But she made no move towards them, so the Messenger came to her. He set the boy in her arms and knelt in front of her. Even in her shock, she still managed to support him. Jack breathed deeply, at peace in her arms.

"He is real, my dear."

"I held him for hours." She said, voice short and shaking. "There was no pulse. No breath. He is dead."

"Was dead."

"Is dead!" She gripped the boy tightly. "It's impossible!"

The Messenger shook his head. "Oh you of little faith." He reached forward and pulled the blanket away from Jack's chest. She ran her fingers lightly over the ribcage, marveling at how real it felt. How unmarred by arrow wounds and black blood. Her own breath hitched when his chest lifted under her touch with breath. "Does he feel dead to you, Mother of this World?"

"Not all is as it appears."

"Then close your eyes and feel the life that courses through his veins. He lives. And not because you willed him back. Even now when you hold him in your arms you doubt. This boy gained the peace of eternity's reward and asked to come back to you."

Seraphina looked down at the boy in her arms. She wanted to believe he was real with all her heart. But she had held him for so long in death it blinded her to the life. Tears filled her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks. She looked back at The Messenger, eyes shining.

"Why do you torment me in my grief?"

"Why do you doubt, not what your eyes cannot see but what they can?"

Seraphina turned her eyes away from The Man in the Moon. "Because what I see is not possible."

Before The Messenger could respond, Jack brought in a strong breath and shifted in Mother Nature's arms. He opened his eyes, wide and blue and drowsy. He turned his gaze towards her and she melted under his stare. Her tears began anew and she closed her eyes to stem them.

"Mom?"

Emerald eyes opened once more and stared at the boy in her arms.

"Mom?" He repeated, his voice muffled with sleep. That voice! She hadn't heard it in well over two hundred years. It was caught in that stage between childhood and manhood. It was a stage considered awkward by many, but to Seraphina, there was not a more welcome sound in the world. It was the voice of the one she loved more than any other. And with it, the ice around her heart melted.

"Hello, Jack," she replied, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"I missed you."

A smile cut across her lips. "I missed you as well."

"I love you."

Her breath hitched in her chest. He loved her. Seraphina pulled her Jack up so he rested against her shoulder. As soon as his head made contact with her robes, frost began to crawl over her. She smiled again. "I love you so much, baby."

He settled against her with a quiet hum and his head nuzzled into her shoulder. She looked up at The Messenger.

"He came back? For me?"

"With a little help," The Messenger nodded towards North and Esther. "Yes. He came back for you."

"Why? Why leave what lies beyond for life here?"

"Because he loved you enough to come back." The Man in the Moon paused and looked at the pair. "Do you remember, Seraphina, when I told you long ago that there was a family picked out for him?"

Mother Nature nodded.

"I know that since he was carried in here two weeks ago you believed that the family set aside for this boy was the Guardians you see before you. You were right."

She looked down, crestfallen. He was not hers to keep.

"And wrong."

Seraphina's eyes were wide as she met the gaze of The Messenger. "They are his family. His team. When the time comes and he is ready, he will take up his watch over the children of the world. As was foretold a few days after his birth. But all of this you understood, somewhere deep inside."

She nodded once.

"But you've left out the most important person in his life." He took her hand in his own. "You." He gave her hand a quick squeeze and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "You, Seraphina. The very one he came back for. Woman," The Messenger moved his hand to her shoulder. "This is your son." His other hand came to rest on Jack's head. Blue eyes turned to meet his gaze. "Child, this is your mother. Take care of each other as I have commanded, for the order comes, not from me as I am only its carrier, but from the One who is higher than I. Cherish the centuries you shall have together for you shall both see the end of time. There will be moments of great triumph. And moments of great suffering as well. But trust in those who are higher and lean not on your own understanding. For there are things in this world and the next that are beyond your comprehension." The Messenger turned to address the entire room. "You have all witnessed one such event today. Remember it all the days of your lives." The man stood.

"This war was fought for many." He locked eyes with each of them. "And for one." His gaze rested on Jack for a moment. "This child was returned to you for the good of many. And yet also for one." Seraphina fell under his stare. "Remember this paradox. It represents the willingness to go to the ends of the earth for even one soul and the power to achieve this feat for all. Its message is your lifeblood. Bind it to your hearts and take courage from it." He paused and looked back at the white haired boy. "Even one lonely orphan is worth more than all the riches in the kingdom of heaven."

They swore to him that they would remember and carried it with them all the days of their lives, unto the end of days.