Author's Note:

Hello everyone and welcome to my first story in the Frozen fandom. This is one that is entirely focused on Kristoff's backstory, of which we have very few details but lends itself wonderfully to fanfiction. It starts very early on in his life and will work its way up to the point where he walks into the trading post. I'll do my best to keep him in character but please let me know if I'm possibly making him OOC. I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

I do not own any aspect of Frozen.

Prologue

Heat, constant burning heat.

A young boy huddled down in the corner, shaking in unadulterated fear and weeping at the flames clawing their way up the walls of his home. They hungrily consumed the wood, devouring and destroying it as they seemingly reached for the young child. The heat grew in intensity, pulsating outwards in waves that washed over the boy, causing him to huddle even smaller and weep louder.

He didn't know what had happened, he'd just been playing happily, his mother sitting peacefully by the fire sewing as they awaited the return of his father. Suddenly, burning torches flew in through the window, landing upon the precious rug his mother had spent a whole winter making. The dry material caught light instantly, the savage flames burning it away as other torches hit the wooden furniture and landed at the base of the walls.

His mother had snatched him up, abandoning their home and sprinting for the door but they found it to somehow be jammed shut, barred from the outside. She rushed to one of their windows but the moment she wrenched open the shutters, the boy heard an odd 'thunk' and she fell back with a gasp. As raucous laughter came from outside, the boy scrambled to his mother's side, staring at the odd stick that was now embedded in her chest.

"Mama?"

She gently stroked her son's face a soft smile upon her lips, "Kristoff, the far corner…huddle there…"

Her hand fell and her head lolled to one side as he grabbed her arm.

"MAMA!"

He saw the consuming flames getting closer and he looked between them and his mother before finally scurrying to the corner as she'd ordered, weeping the whole time. Soon, the flames devoured his mother but Kristoff had buried his face in his arms and didn't see and they resumed their relentless march towards him. He curled tighter and tighter inwards, begging for his father to appear, to make everything better, but he never came.

The burning flames came closer.

Cold, it was icy cold.

It was the first thing he noticed, the change from burning heat to icy cold. The second was the hard surface beneath him, it was rough, uneven, with the wet sensation of snow. Somehow, he was outside, away from the heat and the fire, maybe his father had come, or maybe it had been a dream?

A strange voice was nearby and he slowly opened his eyes, seeing the winter sky, the great lights dancing in rainbow hues across the stars. He'd always found them mesmerising but now, the strange voice attracted his attention and he turned his head to look towards it.

A short distance away, two men in armour stood talking. They seemed to be soldiers which he'd only seen once or twice when he accompanied his father on a trip to the nearest town, they looked tired and weary, though in a sense he couldn't quite grasp. Behind them, other soldiers were moving some objects he couldn't identify but his focus remained upon the two talking.

"That child was far luckier than I would ever have believed." One of them stated, "He'd taken shelter in the one part of the house that was vaguely safe."

"Some may not consider it luck." The other replied sombrely, "The fire took his mother and he has no home to go to."

"What about his father?" The first inquired.

The second shook his head sadly, "We found him further up the track. The bandits got to him first and had their fun with him, it wasn't a pretty sight. We have his body so he and his wife can at least be given a proper funeral, what's left of them anyway."

"At least we got the bandits, every last one of them. They won't be able to do this ever again." The first replied.

The second one's voice became sadder, "I doubt that'll be any consolation to the boy. He literally has nothing left and no family to speak of. His other relatives have long since died or moved to far away to be found."

"You knew the family?"

"No, not on a face-to-face basis anyway. Most people in these wilds know about each other but don't often meet together, they're too busy surviving and supporting their families. I've served in this area long enough to know how tough life can be and to learn about who lives here." He sighed, "The Bjorgmans have lived here as long as anyone can remember, this will probably be the thing that causes most people to move to the villages and towns and abandon the area."

There was a long silence as both men watched those behind them. Eventually, the first one spoke quietly, "So what do we do about the boy?"

The second one sighed again, "He'll have to go to the orphanage. That's the only place for Kristoff Bjorgman now."

PS-And so it begins. Future chapters will likely be longer since this is just the Prologue. Please let me know what you thought and I'll hopefully update soon.