Real quick A/N: Some cussing. in case ur not comfortable with that

"Go away!" the dragon growled in a strange, raspy voice.

The bunch of idiots she'd brought along with her threw their spears, and all that did was sink into the dragon's snowy body, useless and stuck. Their action only seemed to make the beast mad.

The first two fools to charge were the Duchess' two thugs, who were easily slammed back by a blow of the dragon's powerful tail. They landed on a snow bank, dazed but not dead unfortunately. A little more force and they probably would've died. Pity they didn't.

The dragon lunged. Helena rolled under its legs and stabbed it in the back of its thigh, but that only seemed to anger it. The dragon roared and tried to hit her with its tail, probably trying to impale her with the sharp shard of ice at the tip of it. It missed her by a hair.

She saw movement at the top of the staircase— a flash of platinum blonde and blue. The King! But the door was shut just as quickly as it had opened. Damn it all!

It charged again. The Princess dodged sideways this time and stabbed the snow monster right under the arm. The sword's blade was buried to the hilt in its ribs. That was good news. The bad news was that it was wrenched out of her hand when the dragon turned, and she was thrown across the snow, weaponless.

This time the dragon bellowed in pain. It clawed at the sword until it came loose and fell behind him. She wanted to scream. The dragon stood between her and the sword. Her eyes scanned her surroundings quickly and she saw the morons of the Duchess going up the staircase straight to the palace. She hated that, she was supposed to find and bring back the King, not those two. Only the gods knew what that insane woman had told them to do. They could not kill the king, not if he didn't bring back summer first. The small dart inside her pocket felt heavy.

I have to stop them, she tried to skirt around it, but dragon anticipated her move. It blocked her path, growling. It had her cornered.

She remembered, long ago in her southern home, Katherine's sweaty face and glinting green eyes as she taught her little sister the art of swordfight. Of course, none of her other siblings would ever think of it as an art, they were proper little ladies who thought only men should do the fighting. But Katherine had been different. She scoffed at needlework and attended tournaments and not just for show like others did— she placed bets and called out insults, and actually understood what moves the knights dueling were doing.

Helena had been young when the 8th Princess of the Southern Isles gave her a sword. It had been a thin blade, with a nice balance and a good grip, she had loved the feel of steel in her hand. Her older sister had had it made special by the blacksmith for her. She'd named the blade Mirror, because at first the youngest princess had only used it to look at her reflection, but later it because like part of her arm as she learned to use it.

Katherine had taught her so much, she remembered with fondness the thrusts and parries, the shield blocks, every swipe that left her battered and bruised (the only bruises from her siblings she had pride in.) In the end, it was always Helena's sword that clattered out of her hand.

She'd end up flustered and confused. No matter what, she could never beat Katherine. A moment that marked her was when she was down on the ground with Mirror out of her hand, her older sister had looked down at her with a serious expression, "Your problem, sweet sister, is your arrogance and nothing more. It is your fatal flaw, and should you not acknowledge it, it'll be your downfall."

Katherine was the sister she loved most, but that comment had made her blood boil. How dare her. Back to the present, Helena narrowed her eyes, locking them on the menacing snow monster in front of her. Arrogance would certainly not be her downfall, and much less some stupid abomination created by the Ice King. She gathered her courage.

She feinted to either side. The dragon blocked her. Helena braced herself and charged straight ahead, crouching low so it would think she was going to roll between its legs again. While it was stooping, ready to catch her, she jumped with all her might— kicking off its forearm, scrambling up its shoulder like it was a ladder, and finally placing her boot on its head.

Helena used her momentum to slide down the dragon's backside, she cringed at the unpleasant feel of its cold skin raking across her legs; she made it to its tail and jumped away. She somersaulted to the place where her sword had landed. She grabbed it and swung blindly behind her when she felt the dragon's cold breath showering her with sleet, making some of her hair frost over.

There was a yelp of pain and she heard the glorious sound of ice cracking. She twirled around expertly, her sword arm raised, ready for anything. And then Helena realized the damage that her blind slice had done. If a dragon could look shocked, this one did. She'd neatly cut off its right wing, leaving only the left twitching uselessly.

It was her chance. Strike while it was stunned and unbalanced. She gripped her sword with both hands, and with all her strength she thrust it deep in the snow dragon's chest. It wailed pitifully and she kicked it hard— then pulled out the sword as the beast fell back to the gorge beside the ice stairs, more than half its body hanging.

It struggled and clawed at the snow, desperate to climb back. Without its wing, there was no way it could make it. Helena smirked wickedly and ran for the ice steps, determined to stop those two idiots before they did whatever stupid thing the Duchess ordered them to.

Just then the dragon did one last attempt— it raked its massive claws across the staircase as it fell, roaring in agony. A good chunk fell away and Helena almost lost her footing— almost. She used her sword as a sort of anchor, and luckily the ice didn't crack and break.

"Princess!" one of the useless people of the party she'd brought finally decided to appear. Yeah, where were you about 20 seconds ago? But she smiled at him nonetheless, sheathing her sword.

"No harm is to come to the King." Unless it's by my hand she added mentally, "Now, follow me!"

• • •

Elliott regretted his decision of peeking outside 5 seconds after he'd done it.

He'd been gathering his courage to... to go back. To Arendelle. The thought made him nervous. The thought scared him. The thought was all he was holding on to.

Driving out Andy had been a mistake, and he was sorry for that. He would go back and make things right. Fly back on the Blizzard Dragon, even. It would solve nothing of all the problems he'd caused, but making an entrance sure didn't hurt.

But no. The sound of fighting had made him look. And those two men in red uniforms— Sandlane uniforms— had seen him. Two huge, mustachioed men holding crossbows had charged up the stairs, chasing him.

Cold sweat trickled down his back as Elliott ran up the stairs, trying to get away. The light wasn't cool and blue anymore— it was stark yellow and it hurt to look. At least it wasn't that sinister red and purple it had been when Andy had left. He suspected the ice in the palace shifted according to his moods.

The chase stopped at the top floor— he could take the stairs down to the rose garden and all the other rooms, but the Blizzard dragon had destroyed most of that, and left many possible places where he could accidentally impale himself. So Elliott had to stop and turn... and fight?

"Stop!" Elliott said in the most commanding voice he could muster, but it dripped fear. "Stay away!"

The thugs completely ignored him. The biggest one loaded a bolt into the crossbow and shot it right at his face.

Elliott instinctively raised both arms and a thick wall of solid ice shot up from the ground, successfully stopping the incoming projectile, inches from his face.

He'd been aiming to kill.

They tried to kill me.

The two thugs lost no time. The big one loaded another bolt to the chamber of the crossbow, and aimed at Elliott once again. They surrounded him.

The Ice King was having none of that. He slashed at the air horizontally with his arm, and from that ice shot at the two thugs, but they ducked away.

"Dom, shoot him!" the smaller one urged.

Elliott barely registered the sting of pain as the second bolt grazed his arm, because his vision was slowly becoming clouded with anger. Fear twisted in his gut.

For the first time ever, Elliott felt cold. But cold fury is what he felt.

"You missed, Dom," Elliott's words were full of venom as he slammed his foot down on the ground, and a quick series of spikes shot up from the ground, zigzagging towards the two men.

Dom rolled away just in time. The smaller one wasn't so lucky.

One of the spikes nicked him on the arm, and he dropped the crossbow. He lost his balance and slipped on the icy floor. He tried to crawl away, but Elliott made a closing gesture with his hands, interlocking his fingers. In turn, that created two diagonal walls of ice above the fallen man, like a small roof, and those were slowly pushing down.

The man was pinned beneath them, getting crushed. He gasped and struggled, trying to grab his crossbow, which was just out of reach. Elliott got the urge to kick it away even further, but Dom was still standing.

He tried to kill me.

Dom held up the crossbow, but it was shaking, his dark eyes wide with fear.

Elliott touched his arm where the bolt had grazed him. His fingertips came back with warm, bright red blood. Elliott stared at it. He looked up at the man and made a tsk sound.

When the man took a step back, Elliott snapped his fingers and a tiny square of ice popped up from the ground, which caused Dom to trip and fall on his back. The bolt got released and it sailed harmlessly over their heads.

"No! No, please, your Grace," Dom begged, but Elliott was deaf. The only sound he could hear was the steady beating of a drum inside his head. Somewhere behind him, the smaller thug was struggling to breathe under the crushing ice.

He tried to kill me.

He summoned a cold, powerful wind and the delicate doors that led to the balcony got blown away as if it had been a stack of paper. The snowflake door he'd been so proud of a lifetime ago was no more. Outside, the sky was blue with streaks of gray clouds.

With the helpless man still on the ground, Elliott splayed his fingers and two thick ice manacle—like things wrapped themselves around hid arms and legs, trapping him down to the floor. Elliott raised one finger, and a significantly large spike popped up right next to the man's head, drawing blood from his temple. But it grazed him, Elliott wasn't aiming to kill.

Yet.

Dom whimpered.

He raised a second finger and another spike shot up, this one appeared next to the man's jacket sleeve, ripping it. A third, right between his legs and too close for comfort. The man screamed. A fourth finger was raised and the spike that appeared was so close to the man's torso he was near tears.

Only one finger remained.

"King Elliott!"

Elliott whirled around, his fists raised, a murderous look on his face.

Princess Helena from the Southern Isles rushed in, followed by a few men.

She analyzed the situation, drinking in the scene quickly— one man getting crushed under a cage of ice, the other surrounded by 4 spikes.

Then she met his eyes, soft green met stormy blue— the latter had the look of a wild animal in them, a raging storm that could not be kept in.

"Don't be the monster they fear you are," she said, quietly, only to him. She made no move to draw her sword. She was letting him choose...

Like he'd been slapped, Elliott snapped out of it.

The spikes around Dom retracted back into the ground, and the solid ice crushing the smaller man disappeared as well.

Helena approached him carefully, warily, raising both hands in front of herself. She even smiled tentatively, it's okay, it's okay. Elliott's posture relaxed.

And suddenly his shoulder was on fire.

The smaller man, the one that had been reaching for his crossbow, managed to get it— and he shot him. Elliott stared at the bolt protruding from his flesh in disbelief, the cry of pain caught in his throat. All he felt was shock. Helena screamed at the guy,"You stupid fucking moron!"

Elliott turned his head slowly to face the man, who still had the crossbow aimed. The King raised a hand, and a spike of ice shot up from below the guy's foot— successfully impaling it in a spray of blood. The man dropped the crossbow and howled in pain.

Elliott narrowed his eyes, and prepared for the final blow.

He tried to kill me.

He raised a hand— but suddenly Helena was there, sticking something in his neck— and the world went black.

• • •

The King's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he crumpled, the legs going out from under him. Helena did her best to slow down his fall, even if doing so almost got him to topple on top of her.

Fritz was screaming his head off, the ice spike was gone from his foot the second Elliott hit the ground, but the gaping hole was still there. That would leave a nasty hole, and a terrible scar.

"What are you doing?" she scolded the rest of the men that were just staring, "Help them!"

She mainly saved the King because there was no guarantee Andy would marry her if she failed to save his brother. So she would not fail.

Helena cradled the King's head and pulled out the dart, slipping it back into her pocket. She knew it would come in handy. On second thought, she should have let Elliott kill foolish Fritz— what had that thug been thinking, attacking the King?

Fritz had seen firsthand what Elliott was capable of, and still he shot him. She winced at the bloodstained bolt sticking out of the King's shoulder. That would also leave a scar. Helena had been this close to reaching Elliott, get him to come back peacefully and stop the winter— but that bridge was burned now.

Worse still, she'd lost her cool in front of the men. But how could they blame her? Fritz was a stupid fucking moron. And so was Dominik.

They took the two crying men away, which was a blessing to her ears. She could not stand the sound of weeping. And Andy— he was not here? Then where?

Maybe he never made it, Helena thought darkly.

Well, that would be fucking terrible. If he was dead, then everything she'd done, everything...

She glanced down at the King's head on her lap. Well... marrying the heir had been the plan on the first place. And she couldn't lie, she'd been very impressed with the way he almost murdered those two idiots. Powerful and cold, whereas Andy was loving and warm.

But Andy is nowhere to be found, Helena weighed her options, and decided.

"We're taking the King back."

++++ I kinda didn't want it to be like in the movie, that elsa was literally dragged back- at least i wanted elliott to make the decision to go back by himself, kinda like Simba from the lion king, so at least there's that

+++ helena's sword is called Mirror 'cause you know, Hans was supposed to be a mirror, according to jen lee. with Anna he was clumsy and goofy. With the Duke he was aggressive. With Elsa he acted like a hero-powerful, but also scared

++ i got the names for the two thugs from tumblr, dominik and fritz cant remember from where tho

+ this was a little short, and i'm sorry about that! next one will probably be longer, tho i'm having a little bit of a writer's block, + thanks for all the follows/faves/reviews!

thank you for reading!:)