Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Disney Pixar or Dreamworks. You know the gist of this. But if I did I would try my best to get the two companies to do a collaboration so Jelsa becomes Canon (If that is the word).

A/N: Unfortunately for me, I've only ever watched both Frozen and ROTG once. So, the characters are probably going to be OC (But aren't all fanfics the author's spin on the characters) but I'm working hard on remedying that.

-Jelsa. Jack/Elsa. Obvious not?

-You may review, and that would make me really happy. A happier author would write more even if she's drowning in her schoolwork.

-Rated T just for possible future scenes that involve fighting. I need to read up on fight scenes argh.

Setting: Post Frozen and ROTG, but the time has been switched back to 3 years after Frozen. Read on and I'll explain it.


The large expanse of blue sky was painted before her, over the endless stretch of sea the same colour of the sky it reflects. Birds were twittering on the branches of the lone tree beside her, larks declaring their joy to the world.

The day had a pleasant sort of warmth that made her feel all fuzzy inside. For a day on the last day of summer, it felt as if they were at the peak of it. Nonetheless, Arendelle's temperature never got unbearable. Even if she did feel that it was getting too hot, she could simply remedy it by throwing on a thin layer of ice on her skin.

Today was certainly a day to feel joyful about.

Ordinarily, she'd feel this contented only if she had a cup of hot coffee on a frigid winter's day–not that the cold ever bothered her–but today was an exception.

Today was most definitely different.

Elsa the Snow Queen of Arendelle who was leaning on the balcony's balustrade gives a slight smile at the thought.

To think, it's been three years already, her little sister, Anna, 'all grown up' now! Well, not that she wasn't of age three years before–but today, she was as old as she herself was when she was at her coronation.

She hopes that Anna's nerves weren't as wrecked as hers had been at the coronation.

The heavens must know that she had been ridiculously high-strung. She recalls pacing around in her bedroom for hours on end before sleeping the night before.

That night, her palms were sweating and that layer of moisture had frozen into a thin silver of ice that covered her hands. They had been shaking badly. When she had finally found the compulsion to lie on her bed once more, she had only trembled and shivered. And none of that was from the cold.

That summer had been a very warm one before she had turned it into her personal snowy heaven and an icy hell for all of Arendelle's people.

She had vague recollections at losing her cool, not literally, in her childhood. All of it happened after she had hit Anna with her powers and gave her flame hair that streak of blonde. Today, even though Anna has assured her that she was completely fine with it, and that she didn't blame Elsa for it at all, she still feels twinges of guilt.

Her childhood breakdowns involved curling up into a ball and leaning against the door, of which Anna was most probably on the other side as well, either knocking incessantly or having given up for the day on trying to get her to open it.

Or, she'd be pacing, screaming soundlessly. The ice would break out everywhere around her and it'd become winter inside her room.

Or the bed. The bed was a good choice. Warm. Comforting.

But before all that, before Anna, when she lost her temper, she could have sworn that she had seen patterns of snowflakes appear on the other side of the glass window. Intricate, fern-like pretty little things that showed themselves to her even in the heat of summer. Of course, that could've been a childhood fantasy, a memory that she's invented to entertain herself.

A loud knocking on her bedroom door breaks her out of her thoughts.

"My queen, the gates are about to be opened soon," the steward, Ivar, called out, his voice sounding slightly muffled.

"Yes, I'll be down soon. Thank you." Her servants had once called her an ever gracious queen. What ruler thanked their lowly subjects?

But her policy was that the queen regnant shouldn't ever treat her servants like lowly dirt. Maybe Weaselton… oops, Weselton's duke might contest that opinion, but she held that thought to herself like a pastor would hold the Bible's words. She wasn't about to abandon that sort of humility anytime soon.

One might call her proud. But she was one who gave credit when it was due.

And that was probably why she was allowing Anna to marry Kristoff.

She had better get downstairs soon; she was going to have to witness their ceremony. Without her, no vows would be said, no procession could start, and certainly no celebrations could commence.

She imagined that Kristoff was already starving by now. The boy who was raised by trolls could certainly eat what an entire army of trolls could scarf down. He was perpetually hungry, but so was Anna–much to her amusement. The married couple would probably spend half their time eating.

Elsa looks into the mirror to give her face one last touch of makeup. Just a little more plum eye shadow

She almost frowned at her appearance, even if it was immaculate-pale blonde hair done into a braided French twist, just as it had been done on her coronation day, makeup done perfectly and evenly, her wearing a midnight blue variant of her usual powder blue dress-the darker choice in colour so as to not offset the white of the bride.

There was a slight problem.

She didn't look a day older than she had been when she was crowned queen. Most women should be delighted over that fact, but she wasn't nearly as chuffed by it. She worries that it might be another add-on from her powers… But since she was a worrywart, she might just be over-thinking.

She should thank any deity–she wasn't a firm believer in a God, however many sessions of church she should've attended as a typical Norwegian child should have had–maybe Baldr, that she didn't seem to age much. Then again, three years didn't alter a woman's outer appearance by leaps and bounds. A child's three years on the other hand…

"Queen Elsa!" This time it was the cook–a portly woman that she was all so fond of. Helge was one of the few servants that weren't shut out of the castle during its isolation to Arendelle. The castle's inhabitants did need to eat after all.

Nowadays, she let Helge fuss over her as a mother cat would fuss over her kitten. Helge tried too hard to fatten her up, giving her humongous portions of food. There were a few occasions too many when she had to apologize to Helge for not finishing the braised Svinekoteletter or bread with Fiskesuppe.

Helge had also given her a copy of the Holy Bible, not that she had ever touched it. Did God intend for her, a freak of nature, to exist? Did Eve even have such powers? She'd think not. Hence, it remained in a deep recess in some closet or another.

"Queen Elsa, Princess Anna's asking 'what's keeping you!', quoted exactly. I knows that you look perfect, so clear out of that room and calm Princess Anna down!" Helge's yell came again. "If you don't come out soon I'll get all the young men around to knock the door down!"

"Don't you dare!" Elsa cried. "I like my door very much!" She picks her dress up and scurries towards the door before flinging it open. Helge was dressed in her Sunday best–a brightly coloured, clean Norwegian frock.

"See!" Helge beams triumphantly at the Ivar. "I told you that she comes out when I call her!" The old man's grey coloured brows furrowed and his left hand reaches up to pat his remaining tuft of hair down with all the dignity he could manage.

"I swear, Queen Elsa is gender discriminatory," Ivar muttered.

"Sorry? I can't hear you," Elsa smiles widely. "Now, tell me. Where is the lovely blushing bride-to-be?"


Jack didn't know how he came to be here.

One minute he's outside Jamie's bedroom. The next minute, he fell.

He didn't even know how he fell. Maybe he somehow slipped on the ice on the windowsill. Maybe the Wind somehow blew too hard. Maybe he lost his grip on his staff and while fumbling subconsciously to grab it, he fell backwards and the Wind was sleeping somewhere, forgetting to cushion his fall.

All these maybes.

None of them seemed hugely plausible, though.

And he must've knocked his head too hard or something, because he doesn't quite remember ever waking up in the middle of verdure.

Did mortal young adults feel this disorientated when they wake up after a night of clubbing?

He remembers hearing the Wind tell him that there was this person who woke up in Paris after a night of clubbing in the United Kingdom. Apparently, he had used his passport–whatever that was, since he himself never had any need for such an item–as the "ID" for the club to allow him in, and on his way home in the cab had somehow changed course and booked a flight to Paris with his phone. And Voila! The city of the Eiffel Tower it was!

Jack Frost blinks as he lets his long fingers comb through his white hair, flattening it. He sits up and looks around for his staff. Thankfully, his staff wasn't far off-just a foot away. If it had been a little further from him he'd probably have a spot of trouble trying to comb through the tall stalks of grass.

He picks himself and his staff up and looks around him.

Okay.

He was in the middle of this large area of grassland, on some sort of hill. To his far left and right were the beginnings of a thick forest. At least, he thinks that those forests should be thick–they looked to be so.

By his feet were a few trodden small white flowers–he apologizes to the flowers, says that he didn't mean to cause them huge discomforts. The flowers spatter all around over the field in sudden spurts of white, blooming together as wildflowers in summer should.

Something about this place looked vaguely familiar–t was an old memory, a very old memory at that. This couldn't be the place he was trying to dredge up from his memory anyway. If this was a place he couldn't remember, it probably wasn't the same place.

Wait. What. Wait.

Summer.

It was summer?

He blinks. Oh damn. It is summer. His senses tell him that it's positively summer in this place.

What happened to winter? What happened to him formerly being in the Northern Hemisphere?

But this didn't even feel like Australia! Did the Sandman somehow have the power to put him to sleep for six months straight?

"Hello, anybody there?" He calls out. Were there any other Guardians in the area? Were they playing some really odd prank on him, plopping him in this unknown place with nothing but his staff and clothes? Then again, he always only had his staff and clothes.

He hears nothing but the faint chirping of birds in the distance. He hears a very distant noise of the clamouring of people.

Oh well. The Guardians would really need to pay for this later.

Jack shrugs as he picks a long stalk of grass off his sweater that was bothering him as it poked through the blue material.

Maybe he should go to that particular place to have a little bit of fun. Stir up some trouble with the grown-ups and bring a smile to a few kids even if it wasn't winter. Who says that winter couldn't come early and bring cheer?

Jack Frost smiles slightly, and as he clutches his staff tightly, lets the wind carry him swiftly down the hill and speeds him towards whatever human populace that he would go to next.

The wind carries him, obeying him. It lets him do twists and turns in the air, lets him do a somersault as he hollers in delight, revelling in the freedom and joy of flying. He laughs.

Then he spies the houses, tavern and market square from his high vantage point.

Oh damn.

This place was a place he had been to.

Arendelle.

Oh dear.

The Arendelle of Norway with its pretty fairytale-like castle sitting in front of the village that was ensconced between all these hills around him, the castle's stone basking in the sunlight as it stands proud and tall before the calm harbour. The same castle's walls giving a sort of pink diaphanous glow and its green spires gleaming under the sunlight.

This was the same Arendelle where traders visit every summer–evidenced by the 19th ships floating innocuously in the water before him.

Why was he in 19th Century Arendelle?

Jack Frost lowers himself and stares at the window of a girl's room that he had once visited often before she turned seven. The girl he had drawn anything he could think of all over the window, because she was upset and he had wanted to put a smile on her face. The very girl who he watched over with great care–in a sense, she might just have been the very first person he cared for as a guardian. Not a Guardian-guardian, but as someone who kept tabs on his 'charge'.

He was going to have a very long chat with the Man of the Moon tonight.

And hopefully, that smarmy dude would actually give him an answer to his questions.