This is what came to me recently and I have been fooling around with it for a bit. So here is the first Chapter, It may be a little slower to come out, as my first story still has a ways to go.

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edited by pazed!

Thank You!

Chapter 1

A lot of names had been given to the man sitting by the fire, feet raised sipping a cup of tea - and all of them fit. He was an old soul and had walked the earth for generations, a quiet man by any estimation, quick of wit, slow to anger. All of that was reflected in his face, round with lively blue eyes, laugh lines marking him as one that smiled and laughed often.

Many a night he had cheerfully sat, here in his favorite chair, and gone about his work till the early morning hours, much to the chagrin of his lovely bride. Those nights were the ones that stirred his old soul the most, the nights that fueled him, the nights that sustained him.

This was not one of those nights, oh tonight had started well enough, but it had changed. It had changed drastically in only the smallest of moments, the moments it had taken to read one letter, scrawled in a shaking hand, unsure and tentative. The page wrinkled where tears had fallen and marked it, smearing some of the letters.

This lone letter had changed his evening, and now he sat lost in his own thoughts, the page lying neatly folded on the small table at the side of his chair upon a stack of its now forgotten brethren. As he stared into the fire, thinking, planning and reworking the thoughts stormed about in his mind.

You see out in the world there is magic, it touches each and every life in some way. This man knows knew the ways of magic all too well, he and his family used it, depended on it, it is was part of their life's blood as much as air is to anyone. It sustained them, provided for them, and gave them the ageless life they lived.

But, such gifts come with a price, and limitations. The price of their immortality and power is,was belief. Many of his brothers and sisters had been lost to this, they refused to change, remained as they were, and were forgotten, slowly dwindling until they disappeared. Those that remained, banded together, pooled their resources, and found new ways to survive.

His way was one of the first. He gave up a section of his time and began to do small things, and slowly the legends grew. More and more areas began to know the story. Then a few short decades ago, lightning struck, a huge upswing in his life began allowing him to move forward. He was now one of the most powerful of his brethren, but unlike some, it was not only out of survival that he did these things. It was more for the profound sense of peace that it had brought to his life. It had allowed him to find love with his bride, purpose, and honor. It had become his— - their, he reminded himself, reason for living.

Yes he was now known around the planet by many names, Pare Noel, Father Christmas, St. Nicolas, but one had a special place in his heart. It had catapulted him to an iconic standard even in the far east, Santa Clause. One letter written by a lone small child had brought all of his thoughts of a Happy Christmas to a halt.

Unknown to most, all of the letters of those that truly believe, those that hold the spirit of the season in their heart, those are answered by him. He is able to see their lives in the letters, the good and the bad. To some he will would pass on a gift, to some, he will pass on something to inspire them, or to help them to do better. Oh, parents may remember picking that up, or wasn't that nice of whomever, but that did not matter; as long as the stories were told he and his would be here.

But that was also the limitation of his power, he must be asked. He need not answer, or do so in the way requested, but the believer must ask, and on this particular night he had opened an unassuming letter addressed to Father Christmas, written so poorly he was sure that magic itself had seen to its delivery, never mind the hand drawn stamp with a small tree crudely drawn in the center.

When he had read the first line he had been assaulted by flashes of the child's life, a nice home but cold, no warmth from a family for him, a small closet used for his room, him straining to listen at the vent as the family laughed in the living room around the television. On and on they the flashes came, neglect, abuse, servitude, more and more compounded upon him by those he had been sent to after his parents' death, till finally it was done. A tear rolled down his face as he thought back to the young man's request.

Dear Santa,

I know that you are busy this time of year. I try to be good. I really do. My teacher told us that if we are good and write a letter to you and believe with all our heart our wish will come true,

Will you please make my wish come true? I want to be with my parents. Please?

Thank You,

Harry

It was a request made with all the power of the young man's heart, one that he had heard many times in his travels but had been powerless to grant. This time something was different, magic itself had decided that he would be the one to lend a hand.

But how? As the young man's parents had perished, he would not, could not, answer the way he felt the young man had wished, to join them in the afterlife. No, the possibilities that lay before one of such a young age were boundless and a he would not see the potential in the heart he saw gone from this world. So he sat and pondered, he could not bring him the child to his home for he was mortal and being in a realm of the Underhill, no matter the benevolence of the ruler, could be fraught with dangers and the area where his section of Underhill was connected to mortal realm was inhospitable, so keeping him close was also impossible.

Slowly a smile grew on his bearded face, he knew just the place for such a boy to grow into a man. He would be fiercely protected, taught the ways of magic and mundane, be a proud and noble person, one he would be proud to call friend. Yes that would be the perfect place for him. Gathering himself up, he wrote a quick note for his wife and walked through the center of the small town his family called home to a large stone circle that stood on its end like a door to a solid wall, on its side several runic clusters. Selecting one he applied his magic to it, the void in the center shimmered and he stepped through.