Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Frozen, the plot, or these characters. Also, I got this idea from a head canon I read, so I don't even really own the idea of this story either.

Author's Note: I've quickly fallen in love with Frozen, and am in the midst of writing a full-length novel fanfiction of it. In the meantime, here's just a little Kristoff for you! Hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!

Frozen Hope

I am running as fast as I can, but my legs are aching, my breath is running short, and I can barely see through the snow whirling about. Then, everything freezes.

Almost literally.

The snowstorm flurries away, and only snowflakes frozen still in the air remain. I cover my eyes for a moment, worried that something new and horrible will happen. But when I look up, I see her.

Anna. Princess of Arendelle. So out of my league. A girl I thought I'd never get anywhere with — a girl I thought I'd never fall in love with.

But there she is, staggering toward me, calling my name, holding her hands close to her chest. I can see her face, just barely, and I can see the ice creeping up her cheeks. I let out a breath.

Anna will freeze if I don't get to her — fast.

Unless . . . I can't help thinking . . . I'm not her true love.

What will happen if I'm not her true love?

Anna will freeze, I think, and you will go back to carving ice and try to live a nice, but miserable, life.

I can't live with that. I can't live without Anna.

So I start running again, but as I do, memories flash through my head as I think about Anna freezing.

"Kristoff!" Mother cries. "Help me!"

Kristoff runs to the edge of the water and to his mother's side, and together, they try and pull his father out of the ice that's freezing more and more quickly around his body. Kristoff tugs as hard as he can, but he's just a child. He's never had the strength his father has.

Kristoff runs. Just runs. All he's doing is running. Toward Anna. A girl — does he dare even think it? — he loves.

The ice pulls at all of them, threatening to drag them all into the frigid water. But Kristoff and his mother are not so easily defeated. Together, they wrap their hands around Father and pull, pull, pull.

"Leave me," Father says. "Leave me before you, too —"

He never finishes what he was going to say.

My feet pound on the ground, and I hear something: like a sword being drawn from its sheath. I don't pay any attention to it, but Anna does.

"LEAVE!" Father screams. His face is turning blue from the cold, and his lips are shivering, his teeth chattering, his body shaking.

"I won't leave you!" Mother shouts back.

Suddenly, Father gasps out, and he wrenches his hand out of Mother's.

"No!" she shouts.

Father disappears into the water.

Kristoff can remember one thing: and that is his own screaming.

I see Anna look towards her sister, towards Hans raising his sword to kill her. Then, she turns away from him.

No! I scream inside himself. Even though I try to stop myself, I halt on the ice, and just watch as Anna runs toward her sister.

Mother cries out, and throws herself into the water after Father. Nothing is left but mere ripples.

"Mother!" Kristoff sobs. "Father! Please, come back."

He waits at the edge of the water, waiting for them to surface. Alive, healthy, happy.

He waits.

"Anna!" I shout. "Anna!" But she doesn't hear me. She's too focused on saving her sister. Hans raises his blade higher and drops it down just as Anna darts under him and lifts her hand to stop the sword.

Ice covers her whole body, spreading from her heart and invading her veins, and muscles, and bones, and everything that makes Anna Anna.

And then, she is just ice.

"No," Kristoff cries out, "no. Mother, Father."

He doesn't know how long it's been since he's been waiting. Minutes, hours, days. Time doesn't matter anymore.

His parents haven't come up yet. He'll wait until they do.

He can wait as long as forever.

He will wait.

"Anna. . . ." I start running again, towards Elsa and Hans, who was knocked out by Anna freezing, and towards . . . Anna.

Frozen.

I skid to a stop as I near them, watching Elsa hug her sister and cry.

In the past, I have seen two people freeze to death in my life.

Both I loved.

Now I have seen three.

All of them I loved.

I feel empty. Like I should go out and do something. Scream into the world that it's unfair, that fate is cruel. Or I should break all of this ice, all of my life, into pieces, into parts, until there is nothing more.

I can't lose anyone else.

I can't let anyone else freeze — to death.

No more. No more.

The boy crouches by the ice, long frozen now. He's shivering, too cold for words, his hands wrapped around his body, as he waits for his parents to break through the ice, burst through the water, tell him they were all right. That he would be all right. That everything would be all right.

But that's not happening.

Not yet.

But they will, he thinks to himself. They will come.

He hears noises behind me, and he turns, just slightly, to see several large men coming out of the forest. They all stare at him as he stares back. He sees them with their large cart with ice piled high. They are the ice men he's heard tales of: big, strong mountain men that cut ice from the mountain's heart.

"What are you doing here, boy?" one asks, and he sets down a large pick down. "What's your name?"

"I'm Kristoff," the boy says. "I'm waiting for my parents."

"Where are they?" the man asks.

Kristoff nods toward the water. "They fell down there," he says, "but they'll come back."

The men look at each other, mourning the confidence in the boy's voice. They all know what happened, and they all know the hope that Kristoff has inside him. Hope that will soon vanish and wither into nothing. Until hope itself is just something that's blown away with the storm wind.

They exchange a few glances without saying a thing, and the one who first talked approaches Kristoff.

"Kristoff," he says in a quiet, gentle voice. "How about you come with us?"

"No," Kristoff says, "I'm waiting for my parents. They'll be back, you'll see."

"No, Kristoff," the man says, "they won't."

"Yes, they will!" the boy insists. "I know they will!"

The man glances back at his partners, sighs, and says, "Your parents are dead."

Kristoff doesn't believe him.

Not at first.

I stare at the ground. There is no more hope inside me. When I first met Anna, she was so bright and cheerful and full of life. Nothing like I'd ever known before. For the first time in a long time, I'd had hope.

Real, tangible hope.

And now. Now it is all gone. Frozen away like Anna is.

"Come with us," the man says.

"My parents . . ." Kristoff looks at the water, and some part of him thinks, Maybe these men are telling the truth.

But that can't be. His parents can't be . . . dead. That's impossible. His parents are strong and alive and just playing a test on him. They're just seeing how long his patience lasts. His patience will last forever; because he so desperately wants to see them proud of him.

My parents wouldn't be proud of me now. I let Anna freeze. I let her go. When I could've saved her.

The men decide to stay with Kristoff until he relents. He decides to let them; they can stay as long as they want, but he's waiting for his parents.

They offer him food, which is emitting heavenly smells, but Kristoff refuses. His parents will feed him, that's their job, he tells the men.

But the longer he waits, and the longer he refuses the food, the smaller his hope grows, and the hungrier he becomes.

Hungry for nourishment. Hungry for his parents. Hungry for hope.

Hope. He is empty of hope, just like his stomach is empty of food.

Kristoff stares at the man, who are sober and quiet, eating their food without making any noise.

And that's when he knows:

His parents are dead.

He let them die.

He couldn't do anything about it.

But he let them die.

He could've saved them.

But he let them die.

It wasn't his fault.

But he let them die.

Tears inch their way down his cheek, until he rubs them away, swearing to himself that he has to be strong. For his parents.

Then, he stands up, and goes to join the ice men.

Sven nudges me, and I realize he had joined me. I look at him, then up at Anna and Elsa . . . and Anna is melting. The ice crawls away from her skin, evaporating into the air, until she's alive. Whole and healthy and so, so alive.

I nearly cry out, I nearly scream her name for joy, run up to her, hug her, never let her go again. But Elsa is doing that right now. She is doing everything I am wanting to.

I stare at Anna, at her hair — back to its original color — her skin full of pink and warmth, at her smile as she hugs her sister, and her eyes, as they stare off into the distance . . . and then into mine.

She smiles just a bit wider.

And that is enough for me.

Hope floods me again, and this time, I know it will stay. Because Anna is alive. I am alive. Everyone is alive. Isn't that something to be hopeful about?

Everything, it seems, is going to change now.

And everything, from now on, is going to be better.

I just know it.