Author's Note

Hey guys, I'm still alive!

Sweet, sweet Monday! (I finally got a reason to praise Mondays!) And I finally got out of the freakin' hospital! And I'm never going back! (LOL, Rapunzel reference). But seriously, I hate hospitals. I missed Hijack week! And I've got so many ideas for it, too. And they took away my tablet, and I'm not allowed a pen in the hospital! How and where do you supposed am I going to write my ideas?! I threw a fit, I did. I thought they're gonna put me in a straight jacket. Tee-hee.

Anyway, yeah I'm supposed to be working on Fate Intertwined, and guess what? I am! Jack's turn is on the way, just you wait. My schedule's even more twisted than my tongue. 2 weeks in the hospital and when they let me out, guess what school has given me for welcome? Freakin' exams week! Anyway, thanks for the reviews guys, I love yah too. And sorry for worrying you. I'm fine now, I really am.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Not the movies (HtTyD nor RotG), not the fic, nothing. Yup, you read right, NOT EVEN THE FIC. Not a single word of it is mine.

I've read this on tumblr last April and then I kinda remembered it last night, so I wanted to read it again so I went looking for it but I can't find it. I wanted to share it with you guys because it's so beautiful so I decided to post it here. Anyway, just like I told you, I can't find it, so I just typed what I can remember. (I kinda… memorized it.) If I got anything wrong, or something's missing, please, please tell me… I'm only going by memory and it isn't the best thing there is.

I don't know who wrote the first part, so I used "Leap Year" as the title so I can give him/her credit. The second part was written by Spacey (go lavish her with praise guys!) for Miundy-Foxy's birthday. I love you guys! The story's stuck in my brain, I was so touched…

And the picture is from inhonoredglory from DA!

And will someone give me a link please, if ever you find it?
Thanks!

"Leap Year"

Leathery skin on the ancient woman's face pulled into what seemed to be a warm, inviting smile.

Perhaps it was short a few teeth, or the creases were so deep that a tree bark would sob at the sight, but you could tell that this proud woman was beautiful, both past and present. Wispy white hair was intricately braided by still nimble fingers and her kind blue eyes shone as the Tribe's people gathered around for the evening's legend. A blanket of hush descended over them when they drew near, taking their seats in a rare, subdued manner.

"I shall divulge to you the tale…" Her old voice creaked, dusty but well projected amongst the silent Vikings, rapt and ready. "Of this illusive day."

Flames crackled softly, and the woman's silver strands shone orange in the warm light.

"A day that goes astray for every three winters out of four…"

Children huddled on their parent's laps, entranced by the woman's easy, hypnotic lilt. She wandered among them, casually brushing the heads of the people or, in one occasion, pulling the pigtail out of a little girl's mouth.

"A day that will symbolize a spurt of drastic change… A day of great sorrow and indescribable loss for this tribe."

The spectators stared at the ground solemnly, until the old woman called forth her faithful steed to fan the licking flames of the bonfire with a beat of its majestic blue wings, blazing embers wafting high into the endlessly twinkling night, wonder filled eyes rose to the Heavens once more.

Dense furs shifted around the warrior's broad shoulders, still exhibiting undeniable power despite her numerous years. She took a moment to collect herself, fingering the pressed scarlet leaf she always kept on her person. Remembering the dappled sunlight skimming the vibrantly immortal leaves and the sparkling, unchanging ice.

"Let me tell you of the Lonely Lake and his Crimson Flushing lover."

And with that, Auld Sage Astrid recounted her tale, images of her past dancing in the steadily wind fed flames…

There is a stream that runs through the thick of our island's forest. They say if you follow it, it will take you to a lake that never thaws. No matter how the sun beats down on its icy sheen, frost never fades from the lake's ever-still surface. It lies unstirred by the wind's deep breaths, unkissed by the air's warm lips. All that ever changes are the fern-like curls embossed atop the frozen lake, furling this way one day, and that way the next.

It is said that long ago, a boy fell through the ice. Since his fall, the lake forgot to obey nature's laws. Some say the boy haunts the birth of his demise, dancing over the mouth that swallowed him. He keeps it forever shut, so that it may never devour another child.

So the legend goes…

A child of the ancient island wandered from his bed into the looming woods at the land's center. He was not yet old enough to fight by his father's side in the summer raids. Nearly fifteen winters had passed since the lad first stumbled, screaming, into this cold world, yet his limbs still seemed to know little difference between a child's shape and a man's. Short strands of brick red and oak brown mingled into one auburn crown, framed messily around a roundish, freckled face.

His boot-clad feet led him without aim through the pathless menagerie of trees. All he sought was to flee the endless noise of his people, laughing, drinking, fighting, following chores and traditions that never changed. The children, mimicking their parents, chased one another with wooden swords, and struck without check. They never asked if the play was welcome, never stopped if you cried out or tried to run. And if you went to your father with a darkened eye or a swollen lip, he only grinned and took your shoulder, promising one day, you would get better of your little foe. For honor was everything to the island village, and it came at the price of another's shame.

So away the boy walked, into quiet nature, where brutish honor mattered not to the windswept leaves, or to the dry, dying grass blades, or to the trickling stream making its watery dance down the woodsy slopes.

A voice leapt suddenly among the many-colored trees, dispersing the boy's drifting thoughts. He paused to listen, furrowing an inquisitive brow. Laughter skipped along a chilly breeze from beyond the hillside ahead.

Something in that ringing laugh drew the curious boy to it, like a simple herring to a deep-sea creature's glow. Crossing the hill, the boy's grass green eyes fell upon a small lake, frozen though winter was not yet to come. Atop the lake, a strange youth ran, flourishing a shepherd's staff with every spin and twirl. Frost followed where he stepped.

The strange boy was paler than any islander the onlooker had ever known. His hair was whiter than the village elder's, white as a shallow fall of snow over tilled earth. Nothing clad his feet as he skidded merrily along the ice, turning that odd, blanched head to the boy watching from the hill.
In no more than a breath's length, the white youth sprang, and the brightest pair of blue eyes stared straight across to the set of wide green. He stood at most a step away from the wandering boy. They were close enough to touch, but this stranger carried with him none of the heavy warmth a nearing body ought. All that rose up against the island boy's senses was light as air, and as cool as the wind.

"You see me."

The pale boy's voice sang through a smile. The other boy blinked, and one side of his lips perked.

"What are you?"

"I'm like you."

"But you're…" the islander gestured to the frost-ridden cloak round the boy's shoulders, to the snow-sparkling tip of his crook, to the strange head of hair rising few inches above the islander's.

"I'm different," the odd youth supplied. "Aren't you?"

"…No," the islander said, grinning. "I'm Hikke."

The boy laughed, leaning on his staff. Hikke waited for the jab at his odd name- Hiccup, in our tongue- but the scorn never came.

"I'm Jökul."

Ah, here is why he didn't scoff. His name was nearly as strange as Hikke's… icicle?

"Hey," Jökul took Hikke's forearms in his cool, bony fingers. "Come on!"

And the ghostly youth led the island boy to his lake, where the fun could begin.

Jökul helped the other boy keep his balance on the thick sheet of ice, both laughing whenever he stumbled into Jökul's ready arms. Hikke followed his new friend in every game he proposed, every challenge and raise and tease. Time turned around them, but never seemed to touch them. The games between two grinning boys knew no end.

While they played, a man back in the village buried his only child, lost in the night to a flushing fever. He tucked auburn locks away from a pale brow, kissed it, and lowered him into the earth.

Ice still shrouds the island lake from Time, and his lover, Change. But now the trees round the frozen waters know only one hue- blushing auburn. Leaves fall and glide over the ice until frost surrounds them, pinning them playfully to the lake and trailing icy kisses over the auburn veins.