Title: Snow Dust and Feather Lights.
A/N: I know, I know that this is a short chapter, and I sincerely apologize. However, this does open up a new plot element as well as continue the slight angst Jack has with his father. See if you can spot the one angsty thing in the first part of this chapter. Nonetheless, I want to thank all of my lovely reviewers from the last update I did - some of them were absolutely wonderful! I'm honestly surprised you guys wanted me to continue this story - I thought it'd be nothing more than a quick one-shot, but your thirst for fairy-tale Guardians obvious disproves any of that theory! Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this latest instalment! *made a few edits concerning the original ending - I didn't like it, it took away from the subtlety of the story. ;.;

Chapter 3

- A kiss - such a wonderful thing... is it not? -

Jackson Frost Overland closes the wooden door, to find that his mother has fallen fast asleep on her worn ebony rocking chair.

A short sigh escapes his nose, exasperated. He walks past the cold bread on the table, past the four bowls left out, and into the tiny back-room which Emma has called her own. It's not much smaller than his - the only difference being she insisted that all of her items were neat and orderly. It looks more like the study of a poor doctor than a room of rest for a little girl.

He pulls back the woven brown blanket, and sets her on the mattress. It's nothing more than straw sewn into cloth, and he can see the countless needless repairs she has done over the years - but it's comfortable, so it's like jewels to them. She curls up on her side, her chestnut-brown hair sprawled out over her face. He would tuck it behind her ears, but he found that to bother her in the past, so he leaves her be. Kissing her cheeks both times and tucking her in, he leaves her be with a smile, and shuts the door with a soft 'click'.

He's not as responsible as his dear mother, nor as good at making money as his beloved father; but nobody can beat the love he holds for his beautiful sister.

He dusts down his clothes, straightens up his shirt, runs a hand through his hair.

"Ma?" He leans down and whispers, "Ma, you've fallen asleep at the table again. You don't want a bad back like last time."

Waking slowly, his dear mother opens her eyes, black circles tainting the once-young beauty. "Mm..." She rubs her eyes, clicks her back (sorting out the stiffness), and blinks slowly, bringing her son into focus. "Oh, Jack, dear. Where's Emma?"

"In bed. She fell asleep on the way back." He tells her shortly, before looking at his mother with a sorrow-filled gaze, rubbing his toes against the wooden floors, "sorry that we missed dinner. We... kind of got side-traced with things." The four bowls have nothing but bread.

She chuckles lightly, "no need to worry yourself about that. Knowing you, you got her an apple to snack on." With a sheepish grin, her suspicions are confirmed, she stands up, and clears the bowls away. "How was your trip to the market today? Did the two of you have fun?"

"Well, Emma might be a stick in the mud sometimes, but I always have fun, Ma. You should know that by now!" He kicks back on the chair, as she looks at him with a stern gaze, raising a single eyebrow at his behaviour. Jack chuckles. "Yeah, it was really good, actually! It's even bigger than the last time it was here. Em and me nearly got lost! Again!"

And as typical as a mother would behave, she tuts at him disapprovingly. "Oh, my dear, I told you not to run off if you saw something you found exciting! I know how easily you get side-tracked, Jackson Overland." And Jack blushes, either embarrassed to have been figured out so easily, or the fact that statement has so much truth to it that it made his blood turn against him and supply his cheeks with nothing but the red.

She sighs, taking off her dusty apron and hanging it by the door, "at least you're both safe and well now. I don't know what'd I do if something happened to you - either of you." He reassures her with a cocky grin, and it infects her face as well. "Did you buy anything interesting?"

"Meh, I got a few things - oh, like those spices you like to add to that stew you made last winter. Can we have that again?" He hands her the small bag, as she nods, "oh yeah, and I got Emma a hummingbird with a human-kind of face and hands on it." Okay, that last bit is a lie, but she's an adult. She'd just laugh softly at him.

His mother pauses. "...A hummingbird with hands, you say?"

"Ma, do you need your hearing tested? Yeah, I said that." Jack stands back up, not bothering to tuck the chair back under the table. "Oh, were the animals alright today? You're opening up the shop tomorrow - are you sure you don't need a hand?"

She doesn't respond for a few moments, looking out of the window. Their house as a spectacular view of the woods, blossoming with colour of the many flowers, even in the light of the moon. It's something Jack doesn't really care for. Winter - that's a different story.

"Uh... Ma? You okay?"

She shakes her head. She seems lost, as if her mind is in a different time, long before his."Just... oh, I just remembered something. Something your father told me long ago, when we were young and jovial. So very free, like you and Emma are now."

Jack walks over to her, almost a head taller. "Ma... we all know he's coming back in the fall time. I know you miss him, but it... it keeps the income in, right? And plus, he's gonna teach us all fishing then, isn't he?"

She laughs loudly, suddenly, startling him. "Ha! He's teaching us? Dear, don't you dare even try to listen whatever made-up stories he may have told to you to appear big and mighty - for I am the one who taught him! He always got so frustrated that I beat him, so much that he'd challenge me everyday! It took him a year to admit defeat!"

His dimples in his cheeks return, his brown eyes lighting up. "Are you serious, Ma?" As she nods, he grins boyishly. "Oh jeez! Wow, that's really bad for when Pa get's back... oh! Wait till I tell Em..."

She gives him a slight backhand to the head, as he pouts at her, "give your father a little bit of pride left to show off in front of his youngest one. I wasn't supposed to say anything at all!"

And the laughter dies down, along with the once happy mood. No more words are exchanged between them; just a simple arm slung protectively around the shoulders of a sobbing, weeping, lonely mother, and the reassuring smile of a son who wants everything and everyone to have more pleasant bumps along the road.

The walk to the distant flowerbed was not as exhilarating as the last time he went to met her.

He remembers so many things that made his heart pound, and he is hoping that it would feel the same again; the rebellion, the rush as he avoided the candle light flickering through the gaps in the shutters, emerging himself in darkness as the watchmen patrolled the dusty streets and peered into the Warren - a bakery - to see if they were still offering last-minute samples.

Now, it is just a pleasant stroll. And it is one Jack, to be frank with himself, finds himself utterly bored with. The one solace is the starry breach of light above him, how they illuminate his eyes and the grass underneath his bare feet. His is not a dancer, but he would gladly put on a performance if the stars above him were the great kings and queens of his past, his fathers and mothers and the children that never saw the light of the day, so settled for night to showcase their beauty.

This thought carries him through the drag, until he reaches the same patch of flowers. And unlike last time, it is her that waits for him.

She is humming a tune he has never heard of, as she braids her hair yet again, a small smile on her pale lips.

And Jack cannot help but smirk, retracing silent steps, ghosting his way around her so that her violet eyes cannot catch him.

A voluntary snap of a twig. She turns her head, looking around. She almost looks nerved. "...Hello? Is somebody there?" He hears the unease in her voice, as she shakes a little, "maybe it was just an animal of some kind? Or a rock fell from the skies? Or perhaps-"

Out of nowhere, Jack pops out - with a wide grin, shouting, "Boo!"

"Kya-!"

The girl finds herself staggering back, shaking, trembling, and almost falling over if it weren't for her poised feet and strong stance. Blinking, she gets over her initial shock, frowning, "why, you! You trickster, Jackson! That was impolite, sneaking up on a maiden such as myself! Why, I ought to have you across my knee!"

He breaks down in cackles of devious laughter, and the girl with the bangles is not amused. "Ha! You should see your f-face right now!"

Her cheeks heat up, folding her arms. "I do not see the amusement in any of this."

"That's because you were the one being pranked." His laughter manages to cease (after a few more glares and stifled grins), "it's barely ever any fun to them at the time, but it's pretty funny as a memory."

"Memory?" Her eyes sparkle as if the mere whisper of the word was worth more than nations filled with gold and wheat, as if it holds the key to life itself. They shimmer and sparkle and shine so brightly, filled with joy - something he did not expect.

"Uh... yeah. You're a little odd, sometimes." He sighs, sitting down on the old log. Many couples carve their initials into it - and did whilst it was still a sapling.

She only shoots him a smile, placing herself beside him. "I shall take that as flattery in its lowest form. Now, onto other matters - how is your sister? Sleeping well, now?"

He has to snap back to reality. "Huh? Oh, Em. Yeah..." He leans back, resting on his arms as he looks to the sky again. "She's sound asleep, safe with my Ma. She never sleeps this easy, so it's a nice change."

She copies him, though her arms are to her side as she lays down. "Nice change? Does rest not come easy to little Emma?"

Jack shakes his head, eyes narrowed with an emotion she cannot place. "No. Not when Pa leaves, anyway." He chuckles, "she's always so paranoid. Always trying to keep everything under her control."

"You speak so fondly of her, of Emma." He almost scoffs - obviously! - but chooses to only grin toothily at her. It's nice someone took notice, and she almost swoons at the brightness of his teeth, before clearing her throat. "Is your father a merchant?"

"Travelling one, yeah." He barely stifles a chuckle. "He travels with Abbey - our horse - a lot. He mainly sells crops from all over - though he can make quite a bargain with other stuff, too. Buy cheap to sell for more, or something like that. I don't really remember the saying." He smiles sheepishly. "Pa says he wants to open up his own shop one day, somewhere in a bigger city, but Ma can never bear the thought of leaving here. So he goes away longer to pay for more of our things."

"I can tell that he loves her, so very much. He sounds like a very wonderful man." The girl speaks the truth, as Jack has never known her to usher a lie. But sounds like a lonely family, waiting for him to return.

"Best of the best." She was closer to realizing those emotions than even he was.

"Would you make that same commitment when you are wed?" The question is random, irrelevant - and Jack cannot help but splutter, glancing at her with wide brown eyes.

"Wh-what?! Why... why would you even say something like that? Me... wed? I-I don't know!" Jack is quite clearly flustered, and she cannot help but giggle at the sight.

"Is it not a custom in these lands and beyond? To have a young, strong man wed to a pretty young girl to bear even prettier children?"

He sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I dunno. Though I think that's a pretty shallow reason to get married, anyway. Pa married Ma because he loves her. And she beat him at fishing."

"You are quite shy, right now." She notes, with a sly smile of her own, one he catches onto with red cheeks and a boyish pout.

"That's not fair, pointing it out. You don't need to comment on everything. Why not just... say quiet and enjoy it?" Jack grumbles, scratching his scalp.

"Okay. I shall."

"...Huh?" He says, expecting her to speak again.

But her lips stay pursed in a smile, a dazzling, pretty, way too pretty smile that causes his breath to catch in his throat, his eyes to widen and his fingernails to dig into the earthy soil underneath him. And it's nother teeth that captivate him in an awkward-yet-endearing case of crushes and confusion.

"I, uh, what are you looking at...?" He stammers awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but her smile.

"You said to stay silent and enjoy things instead of comment on them all the time." She smiles at him, and his heart positively flutters. "So I am enjoying the stars in your eyes."

And he looks at her, perplexed. "But I don't have..." Yet, when he looks at her eyes, they mirror the same image: twinkling balls of fire, burning with the passion of a thousand unresolved dreams and hopes.

"Does staying silent also involve actions? Or can my body speak?" She shuffles closer, and he is in no place to decline or push away from what he knows, is a mutual agreement between themselves, their hearts, and their minds.

"No..." His gaze softens, "not at all." Jack whispers gently, and he sees her shiver from the cool breath on her lips. Pale pink, yet full lips. Lips that speak words that his tongue cannot understand, in the languages and structures he can only enjoy the melody of. He's heard her speak to many customers in her flower stall in her many languages and even communicate with a few of the rugged animals that scatter or run past (though that may be the result of some other kind of trait that is hidden in her many layers of colour).

The stars twinkle, yet remain in the same place as they did before, as their hands gentle join, entwining their fingers. The sky is velvet; dark and mysterious; but a soft stroke of rosy sunset still shines in the far distant hills. It almost stains it, but they are too far gone in the sweet taste of young love and puckered lips to care.

Her heartbeat hums as she quietly pivots and dances around the now-still stands. The scattering and loud advertising have retired to a tranquil sound of a gentle stream flowing, along with a soft whisper of smoke coming from one tent - oh, her dear North will never be satisfied without his nightly supply of roasted marshmallows - shaking her head with a fond smile.

The stretch of rosy sunset ends when she delves further into the camp's richer centre; journeying more into the dead of night, past the flattened grass; and trailers painted with pictures showing a story to tell, and an adventure to boast about. It is here, she stops admiring and starts quietening down her passions to explore, the flower stall in sight. It smells like burnt sugar and chamomile again... oh, it used to be ever so sweet and pleasant. Now it just sickens her.

The girl looks around, eyes clouded with unknowing. Maybe from the wonder of young love, but something else realms and sits in her gaze. She breathes a quiet sight of relief, before stepping into the tent.

Maybe she can do a little extra-

"And where have you been?"

She freezes. Ice shoots up her veins, and it is not a pleasant chill; rather the numb bitterness one feels after treading in icy waters and knowing they can never return to its warm surface again.

"...M-mistress...?"

The woman in question is cloaked by shadow and a thick veil, shrouded in the darkness of the night. Not even the rays of the moon touch her skin, so it should seem to be as pale as the night. Her voice is calm, collected; dignified. As if royalty would be blessed to have just a drop of her blood spilt over their shoes.

"I will not ask again, girl. Where have you been? I did not call upon you to collect any of the local flowers, and you do not dream without dancing first. Now tell me the truth."

And the girl looks down, at her bare feet, shaking. The stray flower petals from the wood stick to her toes, and she does not welcome their presence like before (at least, not outwardly). She opens her mouth to speak, to excuse her reasons, to pardon her behaviour, before a hand halts her explanation.

"You were with that hellion, weren't you? The one fast on his toes and icy skin to the touch."

A flinch of recognition, and the secret it out.

"You truly are as pathetic as they come. Dear child, you are but a cross-breed, a frayed feather destined to forever dance on that ticket to damnation that we dare to call winds of magic; howling currents that cannot change their course. Do you honestly think he would wait for a childish love to return? Be away from his beloved family and friends to travel with you and live a life of splendour?"

The girl with the feathers glances up - her eyes no longer glinting shimmering stars of untold adventure. A sad shine, and the stars take pity. She hears a mirror shatter in one of the trailers - one of them must be sipping the cherry wine to their heart's content again.

With her hands behind her back, the suave and elegant mistress that she is, departs into her trailer. She dared not follow - it is filled with mirrors and books and spells and magic she is not sure will aid her or kill her. Remorse and regret fill her heart, finding it cause her to sink to her knees and sob and whine and wail softly.

The truth is a cold, hard mistress, as the girl finds out, at the sweet, tender age of fourteen.

The next day is colder, and Jack welcomes it with open arms and a wide heart. His smile is wide; his teeth absolutely gleaming. However, when he goes to the market that day, the girl only greets him with a shy wave and an even shyer smile (he assumes it's shyness - what else could it be?). Odd. Very odd indeed.

He intends to approach her, to ask her what is wrong - but his mother is ill, and he cannot give way to selfish desires when she needs assistance with the shop and to care for her like any good son should. Besides, Emma would be nagging at him for being late back again, so he cannot chance another one of her hour long lectures about "putting family first". He already knows all that, anyway.

So with the sun dimmed and the shadows more prominent, he takes the basket, fills it with supplies, and sadly leaves the wonderful market behind once again.

Wood chippings and a single feather trail in his fast feet after him, a twinkle through the shadows. Just another day to pass, after all.