Frosted Keys

A breeze whirled down the building and a certain white-haired Winter spirit – chosen to be a Guardian, the Guardian of Fun, by the infamous Man in the Moon – ran, or rather, flew down a corridor of the North Pole, startling numerous of the yetis in the process and knocking down several elves, and those lucky and fast enough scattered away, screaming and dangling their bell hats.

"Mmm... Where should I hide from the Kangaroo?" Jack Frost muttered, looking around franctically, desperate to find any hiding place. He landed carefully on the floor, frost spreading from the place he touched the ground. Jack crept slowly, listening to anything oncoming. He looked down to see the frost and swiftly, as if the floor were on fire, hopped back into the air to float precariously without touching the ground.

"Haha no, not letting Mister Fluffy finding me by this." He shook his head with a snort as he quickly dissolved the frost on the ground with a casual wave of his hand. He bit his lip as he glanced around and then breezed into another corridor, noting that this area wasn't as crowded as the rest of the workshop. In fact, it was quite empty. And very quiet. He came to halt, when a corridor ended up splitting in two different directions. He smirked and aimed his staff to the right corridor, and shot a light trail of snow and frost so it covered the wall in almost imperceptible but slightly discernible patterns that would definitely catch attention of Jacks pursuer and lead him in an opposite direction. Jack himself, very satisfied, turned to the left corridor, and continued to float along it. He repeater this trick several times. One time though he really did follow the corridor he frosted, to confuse the tracks even more. Nobody said a word about cheating. Not that this was called cheating or anything, Jack smirked to himself.

He was exploring another area – he had already went down a few floors, then a couple of flights up, along a few passages, almost crashed into a glass cupboard, found a hidden spot where the elves brought their cookies to, and other such interesting places – when Jack started hearing distinct sounds of someone approaching.

"What? He couldn't have counted so fast! Not fair!" Jack hissed, clutching his staff as he glanced over his shoulder in alarm. He can't be caught, not so early on. He looked around and seeing a dark corner with a door, swiftly opened it and dashed inside, quickly slamming the door shut.

...

"Oh, of course I can hide from you! It's easier than hitting you in the face with a snowball. Want to bet on it, Cottontail?" Jack stuck out a tongue while sitting on the Globe with one foot swinging which caused it to whiten with snow slightly.

"Ya really don' wanna challenge a rabbit, mate." Bunnymund replied, his grey furry arms folded, and green eyes gleaming with that 'challenge accepted, mate" expression.

Lately their relationship mostly consisted of harsh sibling rivalry, but much more friendlier than before. They usually just called each other names (which was okay with Jack but no so much with Bunny) and bickered about something trivial like the color of socks or the clouds or something. But as it is, things are always bound to escalate into more entertaining activities.

"You afraid I'll beat ya, are you Kangaroo?" Jack mocked playfully, sliding off the Globe and hovering a meter above the floor. Bunnymund rolled his eyes.

"Stop callin' me Kangaroo, Frostbite. And nah, I'll fin' yeh faster than I hide a googie." the rabbit smirked.

"Bet it on... Ya keepin' out of ma' Warren." Bunny said and unfolded his arms.

"Then I bet on having 24/7 access to the Warren if I win." Jack parried quickly, and tensed slightly, knowing that it was a dangerous thing to bet on. Bunny would most likely not accept that.

"Ya got it on, Frostbite." Bunny waged a paw of agreement to Jack's surprise. That could only mean that Bunny knew for sure that he would win the bet, as he would never let Jack into the Warren willingly. That made Jack grin wider because oh how wrong the bunny was. Jack was a recordsman with hide and seek.

"Deal, Kangaroo. If you don't find me in three hours, the Warren is left to my hands." Jack twirled his staff, and studied his fingers thoughtfully.

"Ya keep yer hopes too high, Snowcone. Ya're all too noisy to even last ten minutes, not speakin' of an 'our." Bunny replied. Jack shrugged, his crystal blue eyes gleaming, as he planned on how beautiful it will be when he freezes the Dye River.

"Well then find me first." The spirit pointed his staff at the Spring Sprite as he smirked wolfishly.

"I'll count 'till two hundred." Bunny's eyes flashed emerald.

"Oh, you can just count to a hundred, Cottontail." Jack smiled carelessly. Bunny rolled his eyes and turned away, starting to count. Jack hopped into the air, gently breezing past Bunny and picking one, shot into a random corridor.

...

Jack leaned to the door, not breathing and listening for any sign of Bunny. For now he didn't hear any. He sighed in relief. He wouldn't have lost to Bunnymund so easily.

Jack looked around, noting that it was very dark in the room. He shrugged.

"Guess I'll wait until Bunny gives up. I don't think Cottontail'll find me here."He said to no one in particular. He had this habit after three hundred years of loneliness, of talking to himself and not listening for anyone's reply because there was no one to actually do so. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts.

He carefully stood up and touched the wall next to the door, trying to find a switch for light. He finally found it and with a Click! and a few buzzes from the old light bulbs, the room lit up. Jack stretched his arms out and turned to look at the room and froze.

"Woah..."

This room looked like a dark basement. Or two, in fact, as there was another door at the end of the one Jack stumbled upon right now, which seemed to lead to another basement.

This one had concrete walls, and all around were stacks of paper with music note texts, (Some Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Shubert, Tchaikovsky, Bach and Debussy, and some of the modern composers, Jack noted to himself) paper stands for violin players, lots of shelves with, Jack gasped, various musical instruments lying on them.

There were some toy instruments, but mainly real ones, made of wood and metal. A marimba was to his left, with a pair of dust covered sticks. He slowly walked through the shelves, full of piccolos, flutes, drums with sticks, a few electric violins, electric and real guitars, a couple of full sized lyres and harps and other not so known to Jack instruments. A cinteazator with a few keys missing, stood lonely in the corner.

He smiled and picked up a flute that was lying on the floor, under a piece of paper. He gently dusted it, and sighed as he put the flute on a shelve with great care and slowly walked on.

...

His staff was left standing next to the door frame, forgotten, along with the game and the bet.

...

Jack's gaze darted around, looking for the thing that ought to be in this wonderful instrumental room, basement or whatever it was. He reached the door at the end of the basement and peaked inside. His eyes widened. It was there. In that room. Standing in it's full grace. And he could play it.

In the center of the second basement stood an old, black and very welcoming looking Grand Piano.

Jack stood, his hand clasped over his mouth and with an expression in his crystal blue eyes of unusual warmth. He approuched the instrument with hesitation and gently touched it. He smiled. But it wasn't the usual mischievious smirk. It was a soft and knowing smile.

He stroke the side of the Piano and eventually slipped his fingers through the black keys over which frost spread, in beautiful patterns of white against the black keys. Oh, how he loved that sensation. He tried a few, noting that they were a little hard to press, but it was always so with grand pianos. He quickly looked around for a chair and found one in the corner. He pushed it to the Piano and angled it to be comfortable for him to sit on.

When he got it right, he shot into the previous room, and grabbed every last note text paper he could take and hurried back. There he considered what he had at hand. This was gorgeous. So many composers! Such big repertoire! Jack almost glomped.

He stopped on Debussy for a start, and looked through what there was. He smiled when he saw one of his favorites. 'The Girl with Linen Hair'.

He carefully sat, stretched his long fingers and thought about the piece. When he thought about things like that, he always forgot who he was and how cold he was. On the outside. But that's the thing. He was cold on outside. That didn't mean anything about the inside. And it's the inside that matters when creating music. And right now he felt very warm on the inside.

He didn't notice it, but his touch didn't spread frost anymore.

And as he smiled, raised his hands over the keys, the music began.

...

Jack had, in fact, have come over playing the piano on lots of occasions for the past three hundred years. First of all he would watch people playing the piano on concerts (and various other instruments, Jack was no less interested in) through windows and sometimes got a chance to get in and try the piano if no one was around. Or he sneaked into music schools, though how can you say 'sneaking' if he was invisible any way, through an open window or similar ways.

But there was the problem – the classes with pianos were usually either occupied with students or locked. The windows were usually closed too. Jack wasn't that much of a criminal to break the glass. Even though no one was there to teach Jack any manners, he still had some moral principles.

But when Jack was lucky, he would breeze into an open window and swiftly take the place in front of the piano. He would find something to play, some note texts, and try the piece. He had basic knowledge of playing, but only the basics, he had to teach himself everything else. He got a lot from watching others practicing and was always eager to try the way he saw a professor show his student. But, as always, it was easier said than done. But nevertheless he would still try and try until he would get what he wanted. With time he understood that becoming a pianist is somealmost very very hard.

His 'lessons' could last from a few minutes – if he found a class but someone would come back, to nights on – if someone has forgotten to close the window for the night. Also it depended on how much work Jack had, and what time of year it was.

Jack also always wanted to master the violin but had no chance as he would have direct contact with the 'sound making' of the instrument, the strings. If Jack would take a violin into his hands, the strings just froze and broke. After the first and last incident with that, Jack did not dare touch another violin.

Music was, is and will be Jack's sacred thing. He loved it, how it could 'talk' and 'sing' to him, and give him shivers and ecstasy and be so different, be so unique and... It seemed to be the only thing that did not reject Jack's love for it. It even maybe appreciated him in some sort of way.

...

Jack ended the Shubert's Fourth Exprompt with a cheerful major accord. He was loving this. He's already played his favorite pieces such as Debussy's 'Girl with Linen Hair', Mendelssohn's 'Rondo Cappriciozo', tricky one, he wrecked his head and fingers for half a year trying to play it but he was rewarded with gracious and almost perfect sound of the fast and quick harmonies, and there was the trick, it had to be fast, but not too much so it wouldn't turn into something too swift and senseless.

He played the Bach e-minor Toccata, and oh it was incredible. Bach was a genius. How could a man possibly have all those notes and harmonies go with each other in four voices so perfectly? And all this in his head? Genius. Though sometimes Jack wondered whether someone helped people with the first idea.

He played numerous other things – including Chopin's Waltzes. Such delicate things. Amazingly so.

He played Tchaikovsky's Seasonal Pieces of January, February, April and May. Oh how he loved May's 'White Nights'. It was so... So extraordinary.

He also played his favorite of the Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker, the piece of Andante Maestoso. Jack was very grateful for Michael Pletnev for making the orchestra version playable on the piano. And of course playing it on the piano meant you had to play a whole orchestra. With only two hands. Ten fingers. And the most beautiful thing was that it was actually possible.

He played endless other pieces. It was like Christmas all over and he got such a lovely present.

He ruffled through the other note texts and his eyes stopped on five particular papers. On the first one was written:

Forbidden Friendship

DreamWorks's How to Train Your Dragon

John Powell

Arranged by Sebastian Wolf

Jack's eyes widened. He only played this one for a few times (okay a few dozen times), but it found it's way to Jack's soul. Jack's heart. Which almost everybody claimed he didn't have. But apparently he did.

He took the five pages and carefully put them on the note stand.

He raised his right hand...

And started with quiet, almost unnoticeable sound of F and H. Then his left hand joined in. The melody of the piece started in the right hand. He could hear the marimba accompanying. Slowly the sound grew into mezzo piano. The melody answered the same in the left hand. Then the beautiful, heart-wrecking harmony of the sudden minor. And the subdominant, which went into the dominant. He could hear it all, the whole orchestra in his head, he heard the violins, and the harp, and the marimba, and the drums, and the soft guitar.

The tonality switched, but the melody remained same throughout the whole piece. There went the violins which was followed by the harp. Then the sad minor, and dominant, and the lonely flute which fluttered amidst the violins... Which only appeared to be lonely once the whole orchestra came in.

Jack closed his eyes, and his fingers played without him. God, this was so great. This was a gift. His eyes opened, those blue eyes full of Wonder, Dreams, Memories and Hope... And Fantasy.

He played and listened, and heard. Heard each and every instrument and note and key and the melody became stronger and stronger and was joined but human voices... and switched to minor... which turned into subdominant and dominant and finally. The sudden quiet. The slow last harmonies, the voices, one by one stretching, changing, becoming one, and turning into the accord... And finally the tonica.

...

He played and he didn't hear the door creak with soft thuds of someone approaching. He didn't see a figure of a six foot tall rabbit stand in the doorframe with a crooked staff in his paws.

No. Jack didn't see it.

He was smiling to himself and creating his sacred thing.

Jack Frost, the boy who was cold on the outside, was sitting in front of an instrument and creating music.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SNOWIE! ^^