Hello! YellowWomanontheBrink here, still on hiatus! I'm just typing up some old shit from last year while trying therapeutically cure my writer's block. Whoever said time is the best medicine is a damn liar. If I simply waited for my writer's block to go away, I would never write again.

Anyway, let it be said that I do not ship Jelsa. In fact, I hate it, and the whole crossover, but one of my fav followers asked me for a RotG/Frozen crossover a year or so ago so I wrote her one. It's complete, and four short chapters. This will be updated weekly. Hop you enjoy it! I actually quite enjoyed writing this!

Light, Life, Rapture

A Crossover by YellowWomanontheBrink

Though Elsa was schooled as long as she could remember to be queen, trying to take over from a bickering, mostly inefficient Council was a lot harder than she anticipated. No one could make up their mind about anything (all the time) and even though Elsa was apparently a witch, no one seemed to understand that she understood virtually nothing about magic; especially not her own. She knew nothing about curses or spells or enchantments.

It was not as though she would ever admit it—despite scrapping her "conceal, don't feel" methodology, she was still a very private person and not one to share her feelings, and unfortunately for the state, opinions. A queen was supposed to be an infallible guardian of her people; a support to her king and the perfect example for all the ladies of Arendelle.

Despite the constant conflict of power between the newly indicted Queen and the Council, and the aggravation dealing with such fools inspired, Elsa retained her tentative grasp on her power. She was slightly ashamed to admit to herself that she relied wholly on Anna to keep that grip firmly.

Anna who was so foolish in her youth, but so loving and forgiving, full of dreams and an unfailing sense of wisdom and fun. Everything that Elsa loved dearly and fiercely was connected to Anna and her enduring optimism and romanticism. Elsa did not smile much, but when she did, it was usually because of her sister. Guilt constantly niggled at her senses every time she remembered those long, lonely years. She knew she that she knew better than to be around others at the time, with her powers so out of control, but that did not mean that Anna did. Anna had never seen the danger in Elsa's powers. Whenever Elsa had tried to reject Anna for anything, she would notice that irrational flicker of fear, crying "don't shut me out". She always made sure to compensate for every rejection, and she felt just a little bad that she often did it not because she was actually sorry, but because she knew Anna was not well without her.

Besides Anna, her first summer as queen was chockful of diplomacy. Dignitaries and lords and ladies and merchants and, ugh, princes, of every kingdom and republic of the mainland—and some from even farther. She did like the Prince of Corona, she supposed. He was as shrewd as his wife was trusting and only a little presumptive. The fact that he was married and the father of three children and expected absolutely nothing from her or Anna had nothing to do with it.

She had never been so thankful for Anna's innate knack for getting along with people and giving easy smiles, no matter how little sense the girl had. Elsa still tended to be nervous before large crowds of people. She could not stand the feeling of being judged. Sometimes, she could still hear whispers of "Witch-Queen" among the peasants and the court. As much as she liked to think she did not rule by fear, she knew that the terror of the people played a large part in her mostly smooth ascension to the throne. The servants, welcomed back into the previously closed palace, jumped at shadows and whispered, "What if she freezes the harvest? The witch will be pleased to see us all starve. Will she summon great monsters? What if she decides everyone should live in eternal winter?"

Elsa quite liked summer, thank you very much. Harvest time—autumn—was a mercantile nightmare. Thankfully, even though she was queen, she did not have to try most of the cases herself; that responsibility was left to the judges. Unfortunately, most of the judges decisions had to be approved by her. Since she was a new queen, several lords decided that she would be easy pickings. Every ambitious lord and their wives tried to pass ridiculous laws through her, without care or concern for anyone but their own factions. She swore she would go insane before the second month had passed. Everyone worked, everyone complained about this and that and the seaports were stocked with ships going in and out of the country. After being barren of administration for so long, the city was severely understaffed.

She had never looked forward to winter before. With winter's approach, she could always feel deep-seated yearning, the basest want for her power to be released, a gentle tug at her core begging her to go outside. It was also when Anna was the most insistent; in the winter, she could not even sneak out from the castle, as Elsa suspected she did when she became frustrated.

Before, winter was something to fear. She did not know how she felt about it now.

Elsa confided nothing in anyone though sometimes she thought Anna was more perceptive than the airheaded girl let on, if the odd looks the girls sometimes sent her meant anything.

Her fears proved to be unfounded, at least, until the first snowfall of the year.

By that time, most of the hubbub had quieted and the people had gotten used to, if not endeared to, their witch queen. Trade was nearly nonexistent with the fjord frozen, and the field workers and ice harvesters headed down south to their home, away from the cape as the business dried up. The palace was mostly self-sufficient; the storehouses and granaries were close by. The children that lived in the palace—and how strange that was, now that so many servants had moved in to care for all the visiting dignitaries—were ecstatic. The many wide, open courtyards were buried under heavy snowfall, and the snow was clean and not mixed with mud or rocks.

Elsa was startled the morning that she looked out her window after being awakened by the squealing of young children. The creation of her snow had only been welcomed with terror and fear. The ecstasy in the children's eyes was akin to the slimmer in Anna's eyes when she was little and every night was a midwinter night in the ballroom. Even the bishop of the orphanage had let the orphans out after morning prayer to play.

Elsa had almost forgotten how fun the snow was in the wake of her fear. Stern though she was, even she couldn't help but smile as the children pelted each other with fluffy, soft snowballs (rarely like anything Elsa had created; even as a child, her softest snow had been wet and heavy). Olaf posed jauntily as they built snowman replicas of him, though they always collapsed when the children tried to balance what would be his torso on the stubby legs of snow they constructed. they decorated the snowmen with their own scarves and hats and gloves, their noses, ears, and hands reddened by the cold.

The winter air was mild, the cold just enough to be brisk but not biting. Elsa's breath did not fog, and her smile dimmed at her realization. Soon enough, she was frowning.

"Didn't expect someone like me to be so...dour," a low, bright voice broke her wistful observation.

She startled, but not hard enough to shriek. Floating before her, balanced impossibly on a shepherd's crook, was a vagabond, younger than Anna. He was deathly pale, with huge blue eyes and hair whiter than her own. His nose was blue, but his cheeks were slightly rosy in a way that reminded her of Kristoff, though he was so slight as to look nearly starved, like some of the Gypsies that like to lurk in the square during the summer.

It took her a second to realize that he was the one who had spoken, for his voice did not match the youth of his face, and she stepped from the terrace into the drawing room, arms raised offensively before the boy.

Smirking, he stepped lightly from the balcony onto the terrace, swinging his staff into the corner of his arms, raising his hands in the universal sign of 'peace'. Or of surrender, but there was nothing subdued or submissive about this boy.

"Who are you?" she ordered, glaring suspiciously.

"Ah," he gasped, blue eyes shining and eyebrow raised in surprise. "So you can see me." He smiled, expression changing slowly from surprise to happiness, "You can see me!" he said, quieter as if he were talking to himself. Flipping his stick acrobatically to his left hand, he bowed low, hair flopping forward. "Jack Frost at your service, Queen Elsa of Arendelle."

His tone was lighthearted and mocking, and Elsa frowned at being addressed so formally, but without the fear or respect her title usually garnered. Granted, she was not used to being referred to by a title at all.

"Jack Frost?" she said, doubtfully.

The last she heard, Jack Frost was a fairytale, especially popular among the settlers that had fled to the New World and coming from the Slavs. He was a herald of winter, apparently, a gentle spirit of winter, fair and fun. Some tales painted a nice picture, of a spirit that rescued children from thin ice and bringing early frosts to save unfortunate crops, one she could believe if she had not experienced the misery winter could bring herself. Others were not nearly as complimentary. Some tales spoke of laughing in blizzard winds and icing cobblestone streets, of dying of old men whose last breaths were stolen from their frail grips by unyielding cold. The most common tales told of a fickle spirit who adored children, polite ones especially and was not nearly so kind to older patrons. Some stories spoke of a bitter, broken man, or of a lonely, naive child who did not understand the effects of his shadow.

Either way, Elsa was not about to take chances. For all she knew, the boy could actually practice witchcraft, and styled himself after a spirit in order to trick unassuming victims. He certainly looked like a wanderer, with his thick, worn peasant cloak heavy and white with frost, barefoot with the tattered ends of his trousers dangling over his pitifully thin ankles. He wore neither a hat nor a muffler, hands bare, woefully underdressed for the Northern cold. Elsa felt the cold as much as he seemed to—that is, not at all—but at least she did not bare her unnatural traits for the whole world to see like this "Jack" fellow did.

Making up her mind, she nodded her head slightly and crossed her arms. "Jack Frost is just a fairytale. He does not exist, and you should not pretend to be him."

As suddenly as he had appeared on her balcony, he vanished before her eyes. She was alone. The quiet was more eerie than comforting now, and her body was tense with anticipation. She was certain now the boy was a witch. She had never managed to vanish with her powers before, and Elsa was certain she had never practiced any unholy arts.

Beneath her feet, frost not of her own making bloomed, and she gasped as the curved, delicate ferns appeared in a spiral on the fine marble and crawled up her skirts. They danced along the walls and tiles and laced the couches. They lit up the shadowy corners of the room with a dull, soft light.

A chill ran through her body, and Elsa never got chilled. A breeze flew through the room, putting out the warm, if necessary fire in the corner.

Fragile little frost figures twirled around in the wind: elk, hare, and even a little fix figure danced around each other in the cyclonic, and when the fox darted forward and delicately licked her nose, its tongue feather light on her skin, she giggled, and immediately chastised herself for being so immature. Giggling was something Anna did, and something that Elsa only did with Anna. She hadn't giggled in pure amusement since she was seven.

Certain that they would not melt against her fingertips, she reached out tentatively to touch them, only to get pelted in the back of the head with absolute accuracy, her prim, perfect hair a mess.

"Alright then," she growled, after shaking the powdery snow from her cold hair, forming a snowball of her own in her hand, "come out, coward! I don't know if you think you're a spirit, or some sort of crazy herald, but I swear, if I find you—"

"You'll what?"

She finally shrieked in surprise; she had been so nervous that his voice had actually scared her. The snowball, once wet and meant only to surprise, was frozen to icy hardness and launched in the general direction of Frost's voice. He dodged the projectile easily and whistled, impressed.

"You're a little anxious, aren't you?" he asked teasingly, as if the queen had not just launched a spiked ball of ice at his head.

Annoyed with his lackadaisical attitude, she growled in frustration and tried her best to control the ice spikes that had appeared before her. He did not move, even as the sharp point of the tip was dangerously close to his thin neck. His blue eyes looked through her in a way that even Anna's did not, and she found that bothered her more than she would ever admit.

"Who are you?" she asked again, fiercer than before, not an ounce of her uncertainty leaking through to her voice.

He touched a finger to her icicle, and it melted harmlessly, not even a sad puddle left as evidence of its existence. "I told you," he said, his voice soft, leaning closer now that the barrier was gone, "I'm Jack Frost."

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So I really fucking hate this new editor. Yeah.

Thanks for reading! Drop me a line, or check out some of my other stuff! (I've got two other RotG fics...posted.)

Please review, and have a good night! I'll see you all next Friday!

YellowWomanontheBrink

8:56 pm

June 19, 2015