Hiccup Haddock Imagines

The Natural Way of Things

Hiccup is wasting his time. He's avoiding his father's call to come help with chieftain duties yet again, which means that Hiccup is searching for any and all excuses to stay hidden. Right now, he's sifting through old chests buried deep in the recesses of his family's house. Some of this stuff hasn't been found in years, which is exactly the energy Hiccup is trying to channel at the moment.

Perusing the stacks of generations-old note keeping, he's struck by one chest in the back. Judging by the style of inlaid designs, it's among the oldest here. Spiderwebs practically tie the thing down, and there's enough dust coating the top that it appears to have undergone a recent snowfall.

Curious, Hiccup reaches for the iron lock securing the lid in place. It has garnered enough rust over the past couple hundred years that it twists off in his hands, whoops. He carefully places it aside, promising himself that he'll look into getting that fixed even though he knows full well that he won't.

Hiccup lifts the top of the chest, leaning it back against the wall. There isn't much inside, a few old spearheads and archaic treasures that every chieftain keeps around in the hopes of inspiring some kind of story. Hiccup's about to declare the whole venture worthless when his eyes catch on a handmade leather satchel at the very back.

Great pains have been taken to keep the thing closed, with a significant number of cumbersome stitches lacing the opening shut. However, time and age have conspired to make the thread weaken, and the leather has gaped open just enough so that Hiccup can see a scrap of paper tucked away inside. He can make out some kind of writing scrawled onto the page, but in the mere half-light of the torch glowing in the brazier beside him, he can't tell what it says.

Hiccup considers the fact that he probably shouldn't be opening this, just going off of the efforts his ancestors have gone to in order to keep the thing shut, then decides to open it anyway. Ancient traditions are no match for teenage boredom.

The years have weakened the threads enough that Hiccup can open the leather pouch with ease, and seconds later he pulls out the paper and unfolds it in his hands. The words detailed on the page are in his language, but they seem antiquated, and describe some sort of process that has long gone out of fashion, if it was ever in fashion at all.

Hiccup stands up, walking closer to his torch so more light can fall on the aged paper. Brow furrowed, he starts to read aloud, although what he's saying seems more like meaningless gibberish than anything else.

Towards the end of his unintelligible sermon, Hiccup realizes that he recognizes the syllables his mouth is shaping. A long time ago, he and a couple of friends had stumbled upon ancient texts in what served as the Berk record keeping area. His father had been furious when he discovered the kids paging through what Hiccup later found out were pagan spells, the stuff of nightmares.

This writing looks exactly like those spells, and as Hiccup keeps going, he feels something change in the air, as if the ground is no longer as solid beneath his feet. A sudden wind comes, despite the fact that he is indoors, and scatters the dust on the multitude of chests still littering the room. Hiccup blinks to ward off the sudden change in pressure, and when he opens his eyes again, he is no longer alone.

Hiccup stumbles back in surprise. There's a young woman standing before him, and although she appears to be about his age, Hiccup has long since learned that you can never trust your eyes on matters like this.

He regards her cautiously, still unwilling to recover the distance he lost. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

The woman laughs, and the sound reminds Hiccup of wind moving through trees, the deep rustle of leaves against branches. "Why am I here? I assumed you would know, you're the one who summoned me."