AU IDEA: Kristoff is the long-lost son of Nicholas St. North
Kristoff doesn’t remember a lot about his father, but there are some memories that are so clear, so wonderful that they remain even long after he learns to call Arendelle his home.
Like how his father always carved the most wonderful things out of ice. Toys, mostly; little trains and dolls and bears and even, once, a miniature sleigh, just big enough for a child drive. He remembers the stables full of enchanted reindeer, each one blessed with an unnaturally long life, and he remembers the day Sven was born. Take care of this little one, Kristoff, his father said, and he will be with you all your days.
He remembers the curve of his father’s nose and the broad width of his shoulders, for when Kristoff looks in the mirror it’s plain to see that he’s inherited both. Sometimes Kristoff will pat his stomach and compare it to a bowl full of jelly, but then he grins and shrugs because good food is good food, even if it’s been in the mouth of an elf, or a troll, or a reindeer.
Just tell me one thing, Anna asks him, when they first meet that night in Oaken’s shop. Did it seem… magical?
Yes, Kristoff replies, because he knows magic when he sees it. Magic has been with him all his life; as an infant he played at the feet of yetis and as a boy he wrestled with trolls. He’s seen Grand Pabbie persuade a frozen mind and he’s seen coursers mount the sky, so why can’t there be a blizzard in summer, or a palace made of ice? He’s seen the strange and he’s seen the impossible, but Kristoff doesn’t waver, doesn’t blink, because magic is easy to believe in—it’s people that he doubts.