Frost

V. THE FATHER OF CHRISTMAS

Jack did not bother informing Mother Nature of the most recent development with the fairies, because she knew Mum was likely already aware. She'd learned early on in her existence that Father Time had the consistent habit of informing Mother of every move she ever made, and from that point on, figured there really was no reason to check in.

What she didn't know at the time was that there was more depth to the fairies' rebellion as far as the world went -- though then again, even if she had known, she likely wouldn't have cared until it actually interfered with her business.

Meanwhile, as Jack was spreading chills and snow-filled clouds across the bulk of Eurasia, a certain Jolly Saint Nick was bustling around the North Pole, making the most of his last few days before Christmas. His energetic works came to a halt, however, when his most recently sent elf returned from visiting Mother Nature.

"Tinsel!" Santa's voice boomed in delight as the miniature, pointy-eared being came rushing over. The elf was visibly colder than when he'd left, his petite body trembling, the tip of his nose red. "What news do you bring?" Santa asked, crouching down to face Tinsel.

After all, neither Peppermint, nor Holly, nor Cedar, nor Glitter had returned with any news. (That is to say, they came declaring Mother Nature said he should be patient, which he considered to be no answer at all.)

But Tinsel had returned, and while he had not yet spoken, there was still hope. So Santa smiled brightly, his teeth just as white as his bushy beard, his eyes twinkling in the lights of the workshop.

His smile faded as Tinsel began to rapidly shake his head, waving a still shaking hand behind him at the door. "S-s-sorry, Santa," he managed to get out through chattering teeth. His eyes were wide. "I'm n-n-n-not the only m-messenger."

Confused, Santa opened his mouth to ask what he meant, when a low growl sounded in the doorway. Santa straightened, adjusting his red coat around himself as he did so. His usually jovial eyes darkened slightly as he took in the hulking white mass that loomed in his doorway. "Excellent job, anyway, Tinsel," Santa said, though his words were more of an afterthought. "Back to your station you go."

Tinsel didn't need to be told twice. He got out of that situation faster than Father Time could says "once upon a time," leaving Santa to deal with the monstrosity outside.

But what Tinsel believed to be a monster and Santa thought to be a threat to his workshop was actually a yeti. Also commonly referred to as abominable snowmen, yetis towered over most other creatures at nine feet, some of the species even breaching that. They were made of thick muscle that was topped off with shaggy, white fur; their eyes shone a dark silver color.

This yeti in particular backed away from the workshop in a nearly respectful manner as Santa emerged. He held in one of his giant paws an envelope that looked comically small in comparison, and before Santa could open his mouth to ask what he was doing there, he offered it.

Santa was hesitant to accept the letter, but when the yeti did not budge under his gaze, he figured it would be best to acquiesce. He plucked the envelope away with two fingers, eyeing the yeti cautiously before opening it to read.

Claus,
Winter is on its way, which means it's time for you to stop bothering Mum. If you want to know anything else about the weather, come ask me yourself.
Yours Truly, Frost

Santa sighed heavily, folding the letter back up and stuffing it into an inner coat pocket before he looked up at the yeti. "All right, then," he said, "I suppose you can go."

The yeti made no acknowledgement to having understood what Santa said. No nod or wave, or even change in facial expression. He merely turned away and trekked back into the great white wilderness, leaving Santa alone with his thoughts.

He wasn't exactly surprised that it was Jack who was bringing winter to the world, yet all the same, he stood outside processing through this most recent development.

He frequently found himself wondering if Jack should actually be permitted all the power she possessed. It wasn't that she was irrational or brazenly foolish, but her immaturity concerned him more often than not. It was hard for Santa to remember that Jack Frost was around before he was because of how young she looked -- how young she acted. Her youth shone through in far too many ways, and that was why he worried about her position as a legend.

He'd made the mistake of voicing those thoughts once. Though they hadn't spoken often since then, he knew she had likely not forgiven him.

Mrs. Claus had reprimanded him after the fact, trying to remind him of Frost's age, but it did little to help Santa's state of mind. He adored children, obviously, otherwise he wouldn't lead this life -- but he wouldn't trust them with his job.

Having the same sort of point of view when it came to Jack hadn't benefited Santa yet, but as far as thinking things through went, he didn't seem to connect those dots. In fact, he mostly assumed so long as they didn't have to see each other, he could act as though everything was fine.

Now it seemed that that may change. Not that Santa would go looking for Frost to see that she was doing her job as she should, but that didn't mean they wouldn't encounter each other sooner or later. It had been a very long time since they had, after all. He recognized he couldn't put such an interaction off forever -- no matter how much he may want to.

Because, as Father Time seemed to enjoy reminding everyone, fate had a way of working timelines together, whether they wanted to intertwine or not.

Santa sighed heavily, turning and heading back inside. He had a lot of work to do before the big night, after all. That couldn't be avoided, no matter what else was going on in the world.

Even if that 'what else' involved Jack Frost.