Near to the Dark
"Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent to the dark place where it leads."
-Erica Jong
Preview: What-if set during and after movie. Toothless frees herself from the ropes and Hiccup is pulled into something more terrifying than one Red Death. A seriously gruesomely grim tale.
This piece is rated M for: slight language, heavy violence including vivid blood and gore, non-explicit adult acts between dragons, and the deep exploration of various characters' thoughts, reasonings, and emotions.
(Also, 'ware that this is not beta'd, so read at your own risk of getting your Nazi buttons pushes and being completely confused, and that this will certainly be a novel-length piece that may take upwards from a year to finish; I am just that dedicated to making you sick.)
Disclaimer: You do not want me to own HTTYD. Read on to find out why, or better yet, don't, and just take my word for it. Did you even read that rating warning up there?
A.N.: This is exactly the kind of movie I prefer to avoid, not because I don't think I'll like it, but the exact opposite. So, after my brother rented the DVD about three months ago and wanted to watch it with me, I reluctantly agreed, and have since bought it and watched it… many times. Then, last year just before New Year's, I watched .hack/SIGN again, and I started getting this idea after listening to the OST piece A Stray Child; much of the plot later came as I listened to Aura (The non-distorted version) from the same OST. (If you have listened to Kajiura or even have watched .hack/SIGN, you might recognize some references and influences, starting with the title of this very chapter.
Chapter 1
The Sun
Concern: from Latin concernere, con- "with" + cerno "I sift, discern."
It is a cloudless night; a perfect night, most think, and only nearly so to one in particular. Overcast would be best, but here, clouds rarely visit without bringing hale, snow, thunder, and the occasional rain, and any one of these would only make it more dangerous and difficult for the beasts; so, to them, this is perfect. To this one who thinks otherwise, she is only worried about a sharp-eyed human spotting her black body shadowing the stars and then managing to strike her. In considering how this has not happened during all the time she has spent observing and occasionally helping these raiders, however, the thought is so far back in her mind she doesn't notice, so she takes flight without doubt or hesitation.
She does not fly thoughtlessly, with her mind only on their destination as these others do, but takes careful notes on them. Tonight, there is the usual strange mix of Spike Bloods, Stone Bloods, Twin Bloods, and a Burning Blood, which are, respectively, to humans, Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, Hideous Zipplebacks, and a Monstrous Nightmare. She, a Storm Blood, or Night Fury, shakes her head as though this movement can get rid of the thought she has of how, not only unusual, but utterly confusing it is to even contemplate how these different species of dragon manage to stand each other, never mind work together in a raid.
Perhaps "work together" is a little optimistic, for, as this black dragon has noticed, when it comes to getting food, it is each dragon for himself, with the exception of Spike Bloods, who are one of few dragon species to form small communities anyway. Twin Bloods and Burning Bloods, however, are especially reclusive and solitary, arguably even more so than the Storm Blood observing them; these three species only ever coming together to mate. As far as this Storm Blood is aware, only her species of these three congregate at specific breeding grounds, and though significant fractions of Storm Bloods permanently reside at their breeding grounds, they are a far cry from forming communities.
This Storm Blood neither flies silently with these raiders. Each time she follows them she will repeatedly cry out a visitor's hello and fly in the conversation-initiator's position, gliding with her head pulled up and turned slightly, but never receives so much as a welcome in response, nor does anyone turn in a conversation-receiver's maneuver. Though she must concede these dragons are obviously young and can forgive the occasional Burning Blood for not understanding, she cannot imagine Spike Bloods managing to learn to fly without being taught proper air-meeting etiquette.
This is partially why she continues to fly with and observe these dragons, their strange raiding team, and their muteness, deafness, and even blindness to her. In their first meeting, her flight in the initiator's position had handicapped her turning, and a Stone Blood nearly flew into her. From then on, she has tried to communicate with these dragons, and not one has ever responded for the many years that she has been attempting to speak with them. Her concern is not for these dragons' wellbeing, so she convinces herself, but against whatever is afflicting them.
To her, it is obvious something is wrong with these dragons, though the humans of the island she frequently helps to raid do not share this conclusion (unless one considers being alive wrong). The Storm Blood closes her eyes and growls softly in frustration as her thoughts turn toward the humans these dragons frequently invade. "Why don't they just move away, those damn stubborn humans!" She asks herself this almost every night she accompanies the raid. Throughout her relatively young dragon life, she has seen some dragons launching raids against small human settlements, but at most three dragons, and usually "only" one, have carried out these raids. During such raids, humans were usually ignored as best as possible; the only objectives during these attacks being "get food; get out." Here, however, more than a dozen dragons attack at a time, and a number of them not only attack humans directly, but also attempt to grab them like sheep.
She opens her eyes and cuts off her growl; their target is now in view, though still barely. The night is now old, as the full Moon prepares for its descent into the ocean, though the Sun has yet to reveal a single ray. She sighs in reluctant acceptance as her thoughts follow their usual routine. She must admit these humans have provided, though inadvertently, some valuable services. Firstly, their stubbornness seems to have quarantined the problem. If they were to move away, there are few doubts these strangely allied dragons would spread out in search of a new human settlements to accost. In considering also how strong the humans of this island are compared to others elsewhere, an attack from such a wide array of species and number of dragons as this would, in similar little doubt, easily destroy less able settlements. "If whatever made these dragons act this way is in someway contagious, the result of that could-." She quickly cuts off the thought; not wanting to think about would happen if these human-hunting dragons were to suddenly find themselves without their preferred prey.
Secondly, because of this quarantining effect, the problem is severely concentrated, and so it is easier to notice, at least as long as one is in the right spot at the right time, as this Storm Blood had been. The insanity of both peoples'—human and dragon—situations are rather hard to miss for an outsider, though the humans of the island treat dragon fighting on their level as something one can encounter any place, at any time. This Storm Blood, however, knows better, and also fears what such an idealism could cause if there is possibility of it spreading to other human settlements, particularly those with the potential to launch far greater attacks against dragons than this single, small, war-worn island. It is only another stroke of luck, she supposes, that what ever is causing this has chosen to do so in such an isolated part of the world.
Finally, the humans' determination in finding and eliminating the problem has isolated the source long before the Storm Blood had even arrived and noticed the strange war. The wall of perpetual fog densely forested by tall pillars of rock provide a nightmarish barrier so that even she finds herself flying in unintentional circles whenever she decides to brave another search, or she suddenly finds herself alone when she tries to follow the raiders back to their home. So although the place currently seems impossible to reach, the humans have successfully isolated the point of infection.
Thusly is revealed this Storm Blood's complete reason for accompanying these raids: these humans probably know more about dragons, specifically these strangely acting dragons, than any others do, but getting close to them by herself would be far too dangerous, considering not only their attitude, but also their abilities. What she exactly hopes to glean during these attacks she cannot even guess, though she imagines that if only these humans and she could civilly share their information and work together, an answer and even, hopefully, a solution could be worked out, but even she has to snort in derision at such a thought. "Humans and dragons working together? That'd be the day!" Thus, she continues to work alone, surrounding herself with this madness and always on the lookout for another clue to its source.
By now, the raiders are well within sight of the settlement for human eyes, and the usual warning horn sounds as most of the dragons dive, and only one turns to circle high over the village, black hide barely visible.
[-]
The village of Berk is really hardly more than an aspiring barracks. Most of the people of this microcosm aspire toward the same thing: to fight and, preferably, kill dragons, even one, who seems to have no hope of so much as scratching a dragon with a knife, so little is his strength. This one is known as Hiccup, and occasionally Hiccup the Useless, but even in the best of times, it often seems as though the clumsy young man is worse, if not far worse, than useless. This is something Hiccup is reminded of constantly, at least once every day, by many things, all of them seeming to stem from his father's decision to have him apprenticed as a blacksmith. This, his father, the aptly named Stoick the Vast, believes is as close to dragon-fighting as Hiccup is ever going to be able to get.
Hiccup is not furious or resentful of his father's decision, merely disappointed by his lack of confidence in his own son. Some days, Hiccup acknowledges this may have been the best decision given the perpetual war that the village seems trapped in, but these thoughts are few and far between, as he watches warriors get surrounded by glory for their kills after every raid. Gobber, his mentor, is also praised, but not so much for the strong weapons he smiths. However, as Hiccup works on each weapon, with Gobber carefully guiding him through the process, he must also admit that every weapon he makes would be useless in his hands.
These thoughts fluctuate and confuse him; he is surely useless in battle, but the glory he sees everyone around him receiving for their contributions screams injustice. His father organizes the warriors in the use of the catapults around the village and the torches are raised to reveal dragons flying over them in the dark sky, yet his inventions are shrugged off, frowned upon, and even laughed at. Still, no one but he needs a ballista-like device to throw even a simple bolas.
So it might seem the ridicule is justified; after all, Vikings train, not invent, their way to glory. However, Hiccup has already tried the old way, only to find it ineffective on him. Though he has been called on not truly trying as hard as his peers, he at least knows this not be true, as in his youth, when they were all developing, he had copied their methods and had followed every hint and guide his father had ever given him. All of it seems to have been for naught, as the result now stands hidden in someone's home, where Gobber—as they had made their way to the forge—had told him to hide when the dragon raid warning sounded.
Just as the outsider-dragon considers how the Vikings serve to quarantine the strange problem with raiding dragons, an outsider-human might notice a mutually opposing effect in which the dragons serve to quarantine the bloodlust these people have against the so-called beasts. A primary difference is that the outsider-human would not consider the possibility of the Vikings leaving the island (in the event the dragons left Berk alone) to hunt dragons elsewhere as a negative idea.
Unfortunately, Berk does not have much in the way of trade or desirable land, so any outsider, even invaders, are rare, and those that do find themselves about the constantly replaced buildings of Berk tend to be in too much of a hurry to extract themselves from the island to make such observations. Fortunately, Berk has in a way its own outsider: Hiccup, during one of his bouts of self-uncertainty, had realized just how dependent his home seems to be on battling dragons. Ever since then, the question of what the warriors of Berk might do without dragons to fight resides in the back of his brain.
Some of his answers during those times he allows himself to identify this question would fear any true outsider. It is true that the Vikings of Berk hate dragons, but after generations of war, the people of this lonely isle seem to Hiccup to enjoy battle more than they hate dragons. This is not true, however, as he only focuses on the glory and joy he wishes to attain for himself, not the frowns of determination or the quiet sighs of resignation.
This morning is not a morning in which Hiccup thinks such thoughts, however, as after he attempts to wait the raid out quietly, the urge to use his again-reworked bolas-ballista overrides his weak sense of caution. Still, he realizes he will have to be diplomatic about it; the ballista is still the forge, where he had left it after finishing the work on it yesterday. (At about this time, Gobber arrives at the forge, and he sighs in annoyance at the weapon being left in the middle of the workshop. Roughly pushing it out of the way, he is ignorant of the latch he knocks out of place that prevents the weapon from firing.)
Trying to come up with some kind of plan or excuse, Hiccup quickly realizes he is going to have to come up with something on the fly, not knowing what kind of mood Gobber is in today, yet. Opening the back door to make sure no is watching—and going to shove him back inside—a passing Nightmare notices him and Hiccup barely manages to close the door on the dragon's fire breath. Seeing the flames and smoke already leaking through the crack between door and doorway and quickly spreading, Hiccup, sensibly, rushes out the front door and, not so sensibly, doesn't bother to look up (which, understandably, all smart dragon-fighters do during a raid), and almost gets flattened by a falling Viking. Hardly knowing or caring whether the man had been attempting to fight a dragon on its own turf or had struggled his way out of the beast's grip as it attempted to carry him off, Hiccup dodges around the man as the warrior's axe falls after him. The warrior grabs it and runs off with a yell, presumably after another—or the same—dragon.
Ducking under a log two Vikings are carrying between themselves, Hiccup runs towards the straightest path to the forge, only to find himself fighting a small riptide of warriors running in the opposite direction. Being run into the shoulders twice and almost being knocked to the ground, it is obviously no contest and Hiccup manages to dodge the rest as he waits for an opening. When the view of beards and horned helms clears of all but one, however, he realizes his mistake, but it is too late: the Gronckle that had been chasing the crowd finally launches one of its explosive fireballs. Hiccup is knocked to the ground by the force, while the warrior at whom the dragon had been aiming is launched into the air as his shield is buffeted out of his hand.
The Viking lands right on Hiccup, and it is only chance that keeps the axe the warrior has managed to hang onto as he flips through the air from slicing Hiccup's thin arm cleanly off. This is of little comfort to the young man all the same, as the warrior's weight landing squarely on his chest doesn't let him think on what injuries he could have sustained. Somewhat disoriented and understandably angry, the Viking roars as pulls himself to his hands and knees, yet noticing who he has just landed on, he yells "Mornin'!" Over the sounds of the battle around them as way of apology before roaring again as he runs off.
Finally managing to get his arms to respond and rub his sore chest as he pulls himself into a sitting position on his cramping torso. Hiccup only has a few seconds to nurse his injury, however, before the Gronckle puts the skinny target in its sight and flies forward at maximum speed, fully intending to ram Hiccup unconscious before grabbing him. Crying out, Hiccup manages to dive to the side just in time as the much-in-need-of-traction Gronckle zooms over where he has just been sitting. Turning back around, the dragon prepares itself for another ramming, but never gets the chance.
With the greatest roar Hiccup has yet heard that night, a dark-haired warrior almost as large as Stoick rushes forward and, with his great sword, stabs right through the beast's thick scales into its abdomen. The dragon lets out a surprisingly (for those unfamiliar with dragon death-cries) high-pitched scream-roar of pain, anger, and surprise as its red lifeblood spills out over the hilt of the weapon and onto the hands of its killer. Pulling the weapon out with a spurt of blood that splashes his chest, the warrior then thrusts his great sword into the dragon's chest, aiming for the heart.
His strike hits true, and the Gronckle lets out another scream-roar before its humming wings falter and drop its considerable weight at the foot of the warrior. No longer able to get enough breath into its one uninjured lung to roar again, it can only moan as the warrior pulls his sword out again and turns, finally revealing his face to Hiccup, but he already knows who it is. Those horns only belong to one person: Spitelout, his uncle.
"Hiccup, get inside! And stay there!" The exasperated but concerned warrior yells at his nephew as he holds the blood-soaked great sword before his considerably muscled chest in a way best described as familiar while the Gronckle dies slowly behind him, its blood flowing out of the two wounds at a noticeably weakening rate. "That boy's going to get himself killed one of these nights." Spitelout thinks as he turns to search out another target, and this is exactly how he has always thought of Hiccup: as a boy.
Hiccup, who has been holding his breath since the Gronckle had turned to ram him the second time, finally allows himself to breathe in relief. "Ghuh, right!" He gasps, but Spitelout is already running out of earshot. Pulling himself to his his feet, his eyes stay on the Gronckle as it, in turn, stares at him in the most menacing way a fatally wounded dragon can, which is still considerable. Hiccup manages to suppress the urge to shiver at his narrow escape—or lucky save—and turns his sight to the now obliterated path rendered largely impassible by chunks of building and still red-hot stone.
Still, Berk had been half-designed for situations like this, and without having to think, Hiccup turns to a wooden bridge clinging to the cliff and serving as an alternate path. Running across this bridge, Hiccup dodges around warriors running the opposite way, not bothering to answer those who yell for him to seek cover. "What're you doin'ere?" "Get inside!" "What are you doin' out?" "Get back inside!" Behind each word, however, isn't the concern that had been in Spitelout's order, much of Berk by now being quite frustrated with Hiccup's all-to-frequent attempts at becoming a "real Viking."
Passing a guard who would warn about the collapse of the bridge in the event a dragon destroys it, Hiccup arrives back on sturdy ground, but his reunion is brief. As he runs towards a set of wide stairs leading to to a "small square" just off the central square of Berk, a Nadder passing low over the ground breathes a stream of fire across his path. After his earlier meeting with the Gronckle, Hiccup is quite prepared to stop himself from rushing into the flames, but experience compels the near-by Stoick to pull Hiccup forcibly from the newest fiery addition to Berk, lifting his son off the ground by the back of his jacket as he yells. "Hiccup!"
Holding Hiccup still off the ground, at his side, his voice booms over the square as he asks. "What is he doin' out aga-?" But he cuts himself short, his would-be audience clearly busy, so he turns to Hiccup. "What're you doing out? Get inside!" And with that, he shoves Hiccup toward the first non-burning building he sees, across the high-torches of the square, which are just about to be raised at that moment.
Looking back as he stumbles into a run, Hiccup watches his father sights a flying Nadder revealed by the now-raised torches (perhaps the same one that had breathed fire in his path?) and throws an abandoned cart at it. With an aim born of a life of dragon-fighting, the impact of the cart breaks one of the dragons wings and it falls out of the sky with a screech, the cut-off of which clearly indicating it had been quickly killed by another Viking when it had landed. As Stoick shrugs his shoulders in half-disappointment at not killing it himself and half-satisfaction in helping bring it down, Hiccup turns toward another set of narrower stairs, far too close to the forge to stop now.
As Hiccup finally arrives at the forge, Gobber greats him with what would seem to be friendly sarcasm. "Oh! Nice 'v you t'join the party! I thought you'd been carried off!" However, Gobber sighs mentally in relief as Hiccup pulls on a stiff, heavy smith's apron. To be truthful to himself, he not only more than half expected the young man to follow him, but would have been worried if his apprentice hadn't shown up at all.
Buying the act of their otherwise regular banter, Hiccup responds in kind with a wave of hand as if to push the comment away. "What, who, me? No, come on, I'm Wa-ay too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all-ll this." He finishes with a waving gesture at his torso and a mocking of a flex. Unfortunately, anyone who knows Gobber, which is everyone in Berk, knows that just because the smith is joking don't mean he's in a good mood; the man is remarkably good at hiding his emotions behind a friendly calmness, making him arguably—and convincingly so—more stoic than his best friend and battle-brother, Chief Stoick himself.
At least not ignorant of this fact of his own master, Hiccup quickly decides it would be best to get to work, and, if Gobber isn't already in a good mood, help him into one. He doesn't need to bother, however, as Hiccup rushes to the service window to collect the newest batch of broken weaponry, Gobber responds with "Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" While he looks up at his apprentice and the recently repaired bolas-ballista catches his eye as he attaches a set of tongs to the stump of his left arm.
From the very night Hiccup had been born, Gobber has always been very second-fatherly towards, to be blunt even to himself, "the village runt." His want for Hiccup to be accepted by his father—and Gobber is certainly no fool when it comes to the intricacies of the family dynamics, even between just this father and son—is only second to Hiccup's own. On the other hand, letting him go out could lead to his doom in far too easily imagined ways, no matter how many times he's snuck out before. Gobber knows, perhaps too personally, that a man only has so much luck, and is understandably convinced, along with the rest of Berk, that Hiccup has already used up nearly a lifetime's supply of luck. He struggles with himself for a second before deciding to wait until near the end of the raid, when the dragons would begin leaving; that would be best for the long-range device.
Soon after Gobber make this decision, the sound of someone yelling the seventh most common word spoken in Berk manages to rise itself over the sound of the battle. "Fii-jaare!" And to a casual observer, it might sound like a completely obvious, useless statement in the given situation, but it is, in fact, more an order: a most important, clear, and concise order to help a child trapped in a burning building.
At the yell, Hiccup rushes to the service window on the pretense of grabbing the latest collection of mangled metal left there, reaching it just as the Fire Crew, carrying a large barrel of water, charges past the window. Setting down near a building quite close to the forge, the Crew, consisting of in-training warriors around Hiccup's age, including his cousin Snotlout, begins filling buckets of water from the barrel and quickly works on clearing a path to the door, dousing the flames in the way.
Their daring efforts nevertheless prove futile, for as Astrid, alpha female of the next generation, turns to refill her bucket, the fire blast of another dragon hits the corner of the building, causing two walls to crumple in on themselves, bringing the roof down with them. Over all the yells, roars, crashes, and blasts that fill the air of Berk, the frightened cry of a child shrieking for help can be heard in that instant, and the only comfort is that the sound is silenced quickly. The Crew, stone-faced with rage, still knows their duty, and prepares the water barrel for the next disaster.
Hiccup, fully intending on exacting revenge, is pulled back by Gobber from the window through which he has been planning to escape, his ability of forethought clearly showing in his weaponless hands; though he might keep a dagger at his belt, it's useless against all but the most severely incapacitated dragon. Still, he pleads "Oh, come on, let me out, please. I need to make my mark!"
Gobber shakes his head at the idea; he might have already promised himself to let Hiccup go near the end, but not without at least the ballista—he does keep a reasonable amount of doubt about the invention's power. "Oh, you've made plenty of marks, all in the wrong places!" And while this is true, it is also slightly unfair, as Gobber recognizes; it hadn't been fair when he had lost his arm and then his leg, but it had only been in his case that he had been given the chance to show he could still fight, as he had proved himself capable before-hand. If anyone can, Gobber knows a strong force-of-will capable of doing anything when he sees it; he only wishes he could contain Hiccup's will as easily as he had identified to stall, he pokes Hiccup hard in the chest with the tongs.
Backing away from the hard hand-substitute and into the back of the forge where Gobber had shoved the ballista earlier, Hiccup continues to beg his case. "Please, I'll kill a dragon; my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date!" He gestures to the door as if there are women standing there and waiting for the raid to end just so they can begin dating the latest dragon-killers.
Smiling internally at how well his tactic seems to be working, Gobber continues. "You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe, you can't even throw one 'v these!" Here he lifts a set of bolas with his hands, pointing at it with his tong-hand, half-enjoying himself and knowing full-well what the ballista does, and that Hiccup, when presented with the opportunity, can't wait to explain his latest invention.
So, as if on cue and to Gobber's satisfaction, Hiccup quickly responds "Okay. Fine, but this will throw it for me," and he pats it like a loyal dog. Then, as if on cue, but due really to Gobber's unintentional sabotage, the ballista opens and launches. Gobber manages to dodge the friendly fire, but a warrior at the window isn't quite as fast and is knocked out by the bolas as another warrior looks on in bewilderment.
Now actually angry at Hiccup, thinking he hasn't bothered to at least make sure the ballista can't launch unintentionally, stomps up to Hiccup as best he can with one leg. "See? Now this right 'ere is what I'm talkin' about!" He gestures lividly and exasperatedly toward the ballista.
Hiccup quickly tries to come up with some kind of explanation, speaking over Gobber, not sure what has happened. "I-it's-a-a mild calibration issue-!"
"Don't you kn-No! Hiccup!" Gobber yells, getting Hiccup to silence. No matter how heavily "injustice" seems to be written on his apprentice's face, Gobber forges on, now in the heat of the moment and his anger. "If you ever want t' get out there t' fight dragons, you need to stop all-ll," here, he extends the "-ll" as he searches for some word to sum up Hiccup's problems, idly waving his hand-and-tongs aimlessly toward Hiccup before his mind catches up with the movement and realizes it's providing the answer. "-This," he finishes.
Stunned incredulous, Hiccup pulls his eyebrows together as he attempts to gather his thoughts, and an argument; unfortunately, none come too quickly. "But you just gestured to all of me!" Hardly convincing, even Hiccup has to admit, despite the vagueness of Gobber's accusations.
Suddenly inspired, Gobber jumps on the phrase. "Yes! That's it! Stop being all 'v you." If anyone else had been there, they most certainly would have agreed this is perfect advice for such a failure as Hiccup is, encapsulating, as it does, all of Hiccup's difficulties in one issue: Hiccup himself!
Unimpressed with Gobber's wit, Hiccup sarcastically nods as he narrows his eyes. "Ahh-ohh…." He exclaims, mocking the "suggestion" for all the two vowels are worth. Stop being myself?" He thinks. "You might as well ask the dragons to stop raiding Berk!"
The smith-master responds in kind, staring down at Hiccup as he copies his nod. "Ah-oh-yeah." It's little more than a silly child's taunt, but Gobber isn't aiming for seriousness, and, as obviously furious as Hiccup is now, he hopes that sometime in the very near future, as his apprentice reflects more calmly on this exchange, he'll realize that he hadn't been being genuine in his insults.
Now fuming as much as his stature can allow him, Hiccup waves his finger threateningly as Gobber looks down at him, unimpressed and with his arms hanging loose at his sides. "Y-you, sir, are playing a dangerous game! Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained?" He pushes his hands together as if crumpling very stiff paper as he posses the question, then he thrusts his arms out in imitation of an explosion. "There'll be consequences!"
Standing completely unfazed, Gobber simply turns to grab the sword he has just been working on and thrusts it into Hiccups arms, whose anger disappears from his stature, but not his face, as he staggers under the weight of the weapon. "Sword. Sharpen. Now." Gobber simply orders, deciding he had spent enough time verbally distracting Hiccup, and turns back to his work.
[-]
As this exchange ends and Hiccup sets the sword to the grindstone, the Storm Blood far above continues to circle Berk, yet unnoticed. After so many years of following the raiders to this little village, observing both dragons and humans have given her unusual knowledge not only in the behaviors of the people of this island, but also much of their culture. Flying as low as she dares, she looks for who she has long ago identified as these peoples' leader. Why, she can hardly explain even to her self; she has attained almost a familiarity with Berk, and has convinced herself these investigations will eventually lead her to some answer.
An attack by the single Burning Blood on one of the catapults draws her attention, for she knows that his presence is sure to draw the leader, just as much of his Blood's presence before had also done. Her experience rushes horrifying memories over her once again when she sees the Burning Blood foolishly targeting the Berk chief, who is directing men operating a catapult. Burning Bloods, no matter what else is happening, are always targeted first, and not always to kill, at least not immediately. Seeing the leader begin to smash his blunt weapon against the Burning Blood's head, seeming intent on knocking it unconscious, perhaps for an easier capture, she screeches in fury at the idea, surprising even herself.
She has before been, as she realizes now, too content in watching these dragons, no matter their strange condition, to be killed and captured; to say nothing of her attempts to understand and hopes to eventually communicate with these savages! Now infuriated with herself, she cries out all her frustration as she dives, so intent on her target she doesn't realize the Burning Blood actually turn to glance at her before turning to fly off, out of her way, yet confused about why he is in the middle of a human settlement.
There are many reasons for both humans and dragons to fear Storm Bloods: their unnatural aim, and their lightning-fast speed and fire strikes that give them their name, but one seldom mentioned is their battle-cry. Most dragons' roars are deep, intended to be intimidating, but that is not the Storm Bloods' cry; theirs is the high pitched screech that is far too reminiscent of other dragons' death-cries to seem as mere coincidence. The way their night-black body shoots out of the sky, barely visible until it's too late, and how they screech as they do this brings to mind the image of a dragon's spirit flying out of the stars to gather others for the Next World in the most efficient way possible.
"Night Fury!" "Get Down!" Various warriors yell with well-disguised panic, and had the Storm Blood been in a more stable state of mind, the cry might have been needed, but as it is, her sole target is now the leader, the dragon focusing all her rage against herself towards him, blaming him. "Jump!" He yells, doing so just in time to avoid the fire blast that destroys the catapult behind him as he rolls out of his landing. Too incensed to acknowledge her prey's escape, she turns and fires at the construct again, reducing it to an unrecognizable burning wreckage.
Circling to admire her work, she is almost shocked out of her her rage by the Burning Blood flying suddenly within her view, below her, then almost freezes when she recognizes how he's flying. "The conversation-initiator's position!" She, still furious, rumbles a low growl of irritation—"Why does someone have to wake up now?"—and only performs a quick, almost imperceptible wobble vaguely reminiscent of a conversation-receiver's maneuver, then quickly demands in frustration "What do you want? I need to get back in there!"
The Burning Blood rumbles in indignation, but replies. "Only wanted to thank you for-"
But the Storm Blood cuts him off and turns back towards Berk, not realizing what has just happened. "You're welcome; now get out of the way!" And she turns back to Berk, the Burning Blood following and taking her place in circling the sky over Berk, watching her. "What is wrong with her, and the rest of these dragons?" He wonders, as taken aback by this raid as the Storm Blood had been by past attacks.
[-]
Seeing the brilliant blue explosions through the service window, and noting Hiccup seeing them as well, Gobber deftly removes the tong-hand, replacing it with an axe. "Man the fort, Hiccup; they need me out there!" This is, of course, a flat-out lie; there isn't much a single man, even if that man is the considerable Gobber, can do against a seething Night Fury. Just as he is about to exit, Gobber turns on the pretense of actually ordering Hiccup to stay in the forge. "Stay. Put. There." But as he has expected, his apprentice's eyes are aimless, his mind no doubt already out there, knocking dragons from the sky. "You know what I mean," he finishes with an unconcerned wave of his hand before rushing out with a yell. "I hope this one doesn't come back to bite me—or Hiccup!"
Sure enough, as soon as he's out of sight, Hiccup runs—and stumbles—toward the still-open ballista. Checking the latch and finding it unbroken, Hiccup steps back, trying to think, quickly, of what else might have caused it to fire like that. He soon shakes his head, deciding "I must have forgotten to secure it properly last night," Hiccup snatches up another set of bolas, reloads, and rushes out of the shop, wheeling the ballista before him.
"Hiccup, where're you goin'?" "Get back here!" "Hiccup!" The would-be dragon-killer soon realizes his ballista's infamy works as an excellent crowd-part-er as he weaves toward an apparently empty cliff overlooking a good part of the sea and guarded by a lone, currently-unused catapult. Hiccup, after hearing the dragon-screech and peoples' cries for cover, as well as seeing the flash of blue fire, knows exactly what he wants this morning. Opening and arming the ballista with the familiarity of an inventor comfortable with his device, Hiccup sights the starry skies, ready.
Above, the Storm Blood unwitting launches herself within range of the ballista, not realizing in her fury how this corner of the village is nearly deserted; all she sees is a human standing near the catapult with another device that she assumes is meant to interact and launch the catapult somehow. So, before he can do anything to fall another dragon, she aims for the catapult, unaware of Hiccup's unusual brand of luck.
Turning the unused rock-throwing weapon into a useless bonfire with one point-blank blast, she rockets back into the sky. However, her ascent is cut short as her wings are suddenly bound to her side, and her tail, which takes the brunt of the strike (as she had turned away from the village to climb back into the safe darkness of the sky) sears with such a sudden immense pain, her mind blocks it.
She tries to control her sudden descent, but when she realizes she doesn't have any control over any of her wings, she screeches in fright, only able to watch the forest come up to her. She is knocked unconscious by an impact with the trunk of a dead tree, and her now limp body plows into the ground before flying a short distance off a steep dip to hit and roll over a boulder. A moment later, she opens her eyes, squinting against the pain, and tries to figure out what has just happened to her. Seeing a rope tying her wing into an odd position above her neck, she recognizes the bolas she has seen used on other dragons, but she is not quite down yet, and without any humans about, she strains her neck to reach the ropes tying her wings down, biting and burning herself free.
"Impossible! How can a human hit a Storm Blood in this darkness!" The recently awakened Burning Blood roars in surprise as he watches the one he believes responsible for waking him fall into the forest on the other side of the island. Sweeping low over the most recently destroyed catapult, he intends to find the warrior responsible. He needn't search, however, for even as Hiccup cries out. "Did anybody see that!" It's obvious he is the only human in this corner of Berk.
Landing behind Hiccup and crushing the ballista, the Burning Blood growls at Hiccup. Turning, Hiccup's fear and anger battle, and in his emotional indecision, his natural sarcasm takes over. "Except for you," he quips. Naturally, the dragon doesn't understand the words, but is shocked by the small human it has found as the culprit and its apparent fearlessness despite its size. He quickly shakes himself out of musing on the strange human and attempts to bite it in half. Hiccup gives way to his fear, crying out for help as he turns to run from the between the Burning Blood's jaws just in time.
Instantly recognizing his son's screams from the other side of the village, Stoick doesn't need to look for his son to know he's gotten himself in trouble. Grunting in frustration as he stands up from the task of helping tie down a few Nadders in a net, he begins running in the general direction of the screams, but not without a yell over his shoulder at the warriors he'd just been helping. "Do not let them escape!" This order seems as obvious as the yell of fire, but this also has explanation, as Stoick is only too aware of the damage Hiccup can cause—and how such can inadvertently free captured dragons, and another particular thought overshadows his concern for his son: "Not again! When is he ever going to learn!"
As Hiccup leads the dragon through to the main square of Berk, hoping it's here he has the highest chance of being saved by someone, he manages to dodge the Burning Blood's spurts of fire only by virtue of the recently-awakened beast's horrible aim. This is, as Hiccup had been told by his once-friend Fishlegs, a trait all Burning Bloods have: they use fire more defensively than offensively, as exemplified by their ability to cover themselves in flames. However, as this dragon quickly finds out, in spite of his otherwise clumsy nature, Hiccup can move quickly when driven by fear, and posses the reflexes of a cat—this he has to thank for the many pranks pulled on him in years past.
Still, he does not have much stamina, and hoping to catch his breath for a few seconds, he dodges behind one of the torches, and cringes as the dragon breathes its fire against the wooden support; the Burning Blood hopes to burn through the pillar, but it's well constructed and withstands his extended fire blast. After the flames finally stop with the dragon's realization he can't burn through it to Hiccup with his remaining firepower, Hiccup peers around the pole, thinking the dragon might have been killed by beheading, given how the flames stopped without so much as a single death-scream.
The Burning Blood circles the torch the other way, intending to continue the chase, given his now low supply of fire; instead, now seeing Hiccup standing quite still and unaware of him, the dragon lunges to strike, but is knocked back by the impact of Stoick ramming him from the side. As Stoick squares off with the dragon without even his hammer, the Burning Blood chokes up a final, tiny puddle of flame, and he growls with regret, knowing from his earlier encounter with the Chief that the man won't stand down easily.
"You're all out." Stoick remarks with confidence before rushing forward, punching and kicking the beast back. The Burning Blood quickly turns and flies off with a roar signaling his sorrow in not managing to exact revenge against so small a human. As he looks down at where the Storm Blood had landed, He decides quickly that attempting to go help her would be futile at best, suicidal at worst. Watching as many of the raiding dragons now turn and fly away northwestward, he opt to turn east, determined to get as far away from the craziness that had been his life until now.
Stoick huffs in anger as he watches the dragons begin to leave, not noticing, in the darkness of the early morning, how the Burning Blood wheels in the opposite direction. As Stoick turns toward the pole behind which Hiccup still stands, it becomes evident that the Burning Blood's fire had done more damage than the dragon had anticipated as it crumbles in on itself, tipping over and dropping the torch off the edge of a cliff, breaking the bridge Hiccup had used. The burning device rolls across the ground, burning and breaking the now-tense ropes binding the Nadders, allowing them to escape and follow their raiding party.
"Sorry, Dad." Hiccup says as they watch the torch roll off the edge of another cliff and into the sea, his tone making it quite obvious he doesn't expect this apology to do much for his father's anger. Indeed, it doesn't, and as Hiccup turns around to face Stoick again, the chief's eyes are as narrow as possible and his stance speaks for him. "Okay, but I hit a Night Fury." Hiccup moves on, again, his tone all but saying for him that he doesn't think his father will believe him.
So, it doesn't surprise him, or anyone else now standing around after the raid's abrupt end, that Stoick grabs Hiccup by his bearskin vest and begins to drag him home. "I-it's not like the last few times, Dad! I mean I really actually hit it!" Hiccup pleads, but if anything, to remind his father of his previous claims—as well as failures and what can only be called lies, as far as Stoick is concerned—only works against him, and Hiccup's insistence as his father drags him does not help Stoick's mood. "You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down just off Raven Point. Let's get a search party out there befor-!"
"Stop!" Stoick orders with all of the frustrations that his son has brought him, and Gobber, even without a view of Hiccup's face, knows that he must be giving his father that same "injustice look" he had received this very same morning in the forge. "Just, stop." Stoick repeats with what seems like remarkable calmness, but all too like his son, continues on. "Ev'ry time you step outside, disaster follows! Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is almost here, and I have an entire village to feed!"
Hiccup almost winces, not at the accusation itself, but its truth. He had just watched a few Nadders flying off with a net full a sheep; a net that had been holding them down until the falling torch had freed them. Backed into this mental corner, Hiccup's ever-present wit takes over. "Well, between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?"
Stoick's response is immediate; his son's verbal barrages have never been well-received by any definition. In fact, they are ignored at best, scorned at worst. Yet the village's discouragement of this behavior is in ignorance of exactly why and how Hiccup resorts to such, and so Stoick's response is futile. "This isn't a joke, Hiccup! Xxaah! Why can't you follow the simplest orders!"
"I-I-I can't stop myself!" Hiccup is quick to jump on the rare opportunity to explain himself, but trips over his words just as he might trip over his own feet in excitement. "I see a dragon, and I have to, just, kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad." Only Gobber catches the rather flat remark; anywhere else it might have been noted as being particularly passionless, but not mater how weak Hiccup is, those now assembled can at least understand Hiccup's want to kill dragons.
Even Stoick concedes to this point, but there is one difficulty he must address, and sighs at having to point it out. "Ohh, Hiccup, you're many things, but a dragon-killer is not one 'v'em." At this point, if there ever could be a particular point marked such, is why Stoick had been dragging Hiccup down the path that led to their house. It is at this point where Stoick is as close to tears as he has ever let himself go: the point where all the frustration and embarrassment is driven out by the fear of Hiccup driving his luck to the point it finally fails and kills him. Yet, in the true Viking way, he hastens to put it out of his mind and out of his eyes. "Get back to the house," he orders with a similarly flat tone, but when he turns to his old friend, he recovers his voice. "Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up."
There is no real need for the order, as Gobber has already stepped forward to offer escorting Hiccup, intent on giving, as he so often does for his apprentice, advice. Still, there is an audience who must be performed for, and he gives Hiccup a stiff smack on the back of his head—with his real hand of course; the axe is still attached to the other. The slap isn't strong by Viking standards, but it has force enough behind it to make Hiccup take a step forward and duck, and he turns to give Gobber a wounded look, but remembering their audience, quickly faces forward again to begin their way to the chief's house on the top of a hill overlooking most of the village.
On their trudge upward, at a pace Gobber allows Hiccup to set, they make their way past the doorstep of of Spitelout's house. Hiccup's uncle is nowhere around here, but Snotlout and the other members of the Fire Crew are now, quite calmly, relaxing here after their frantic morning. Or so it would seem; as the Crew are justifiably upset over their recent tragedy, which eve now they mull over the ifs of their actions. This morning had not been the only time they had failed, either, and so, though cruel, they're need to vent is understandable.
"Quite the performance!" Tuffnut mocks, giving Hiccup two-thumbs up while Ruffnut laughs throatily and roughly beside him. These two, the Thorston twins, were the oldest of the Crew, and their father, Hacknut, is respected for his ability to rally and organize non-combative operations; in considering how often such things are be needed in a place so frequently attacked by dragons, this is hardly surprising.
The twins, however, have had not much to do with Hiccup growing up as Snotlout and Fishlegs, and so most of what they know about him consist of Snotlout's stories. Despite the biased and largely negative view Snotlout had given the two, however, Ruff nut has, buried very deep inside her, a respect and, perhaps, or so she tries to tells herself, a certain attraction to Hiccup's determination.
"I've never seen anyone mess up that badly; that helped!" Snotlout joins in on the teasing, which, actually, is exactly what he considers it. In his logic, Snotlout convinces himself that he is helping his cousin: by mocking what he sees (and he is certainly not alone in this conclusion) as Hiccup weaknesses, he hopes to verbally whip him into shape. In earlier years, as his body had developed and Hiccup's had not, his distain had been true, but now, after witnessing the Thorston twins, he misguidedly applies their techniques; he does not even suspect that Hiccup has not noticed the difference in his tone.
"Thank you, thank you. I was trying, so…." Hiccup trails off as he simply continues on past his cousin. Snotlout shrugs before Gobber grabs his helm, pulls it down over his face, and pushes him back, causing him to fall to the ground. Gobber, that ever-perceptive man, had noticed the change as soon as it had happened a few years ago, but had suspected, and correctly so, that Hiccup would not believe him if he had simply told Hiccup straight how Snotlout had changed, and Gobber convinces himself of this to this very morning.
Awkwardly standing behind these three, the twins and Snotlout, is Fishlegs Ingerman, who throughout this short exchange, merely smiles a distinct buck-toothed smile. He had remained a close friend of Hiccup's for sometime longer than Snotlout, but torn between friendship and the standards of a Viking society, to say nothing of how awkward the fact he is Gobber's nephew had made and still continues to make their relationship, he had finally made a decision. Still, he sometimes questions his choice of being friends with the rest of the Crew; at that time, it had seemed, if not simple, then at least far simpler than dealing with his concern these days as he watches Hiccup work, largely, alone.
Astrid remains silent, sitting on the steps to the door, but her expression is the polar of Fishlegs'. She had been born off Berk, on a larger island some distance to the east and closer to the mainland. She had grown to the age of six without needing to concern herself with dragons, as had her ancestors. It seems only by luck that she and her mother had been on her father's fishing boat during an attack that is now all too familiar to her, but that herself and her birth-village had never seen the likes of before. Naturally, as the Storm Blood had pondered, the place hadn't stood a chance against such an attack, and the Hofferson's had eventually found themselves on Berk; her incensed father now refusing to leave and in want of revenge against the dragons for killing everyone he had known, and she had picked up on this feeling.
As Hiccup and Gobber step out of sight, without her even glancing at Hiccup in disgust of his weakness, she stands and leaves. Hiccup, however, does glance back, and he sees his cousin waving the rest of the Crew a goodbye as he rushes toward Astrid, no doubt with some flirtatious and witty comment on his mind; the twins and Fishlegs begin leaving themselves, splitting up as they head to their respective homes. Sure now everyone but Gobber is quite out of earshot, he lets out some of his frustration on the only one who can take it. "I really did hit one!" He begins, prepared to defend himself, but Gobber doesn't quite let him get into the argument.
"Sure, Hiccup." He remarks flatly and as noncommittally as possible. He knows that Hiccup's inventions rarely outright fail: they always do what they're designed to do, just not always in a way that is safe or well thought-out. His skills in the forge, though still developing, are now quite far from a beginner and nothing to scoff at, either, but just as they both have observed, the village's obsession with dragon-fighting blind the other Vikings to this.
"He never listens!" This is one of Hiccup's most common complaints, and in the past it has not held much merit, considering Hiccup has never actually fell a dragon before. However, this morning's events have not simply shoved this matter away, but actually brought to light the severity of just how little Stoick believes in his own son, and had Gobber known Hiccup is telling the truth, he would have considered this as well.
As it is, after long stretches of time in the young man's company, Gobber has picked up a few tricks about performing sarcasm, and sees the opportunity to lighten the mood. "Well, it runs in the fam'ly," he quips, his voice considerably lighter in tone now than when they had been in the forge. As Hiccups runs on into a fully fledged ranting, however, Gobber sighs quietly; no matter how skilled he is in gauging the reactions of others, Hiccup, it seems to him, will forever remain a mystery to him.
"An-And when he does, it's always with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich." Here, Gobber tries to interject, but Hiccup pushes on with a surprisingly mocking imitation of his father. "'Excuse me, barmaid, I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms, extra guts, and glory on the side. This here, this is a talkin' fishbone!'" As Gobber stands there processing what he has just heard, Hiccup gasps both from the release of the frustration and his own daring.
Gobber has until now never seen Hiccup anywhere near this upset. "Or showing he is this upset," Gobber corrects himself. Quickly going over his options, he decides to remain diplomatic and show Hiccup that he is concerned by Hiccup's predicament, and, as usual, he gets it wrong. "Now, you're thinkin' about this all wrong. It's not what you look like, it's what's inside that he can't stand."
This is just another one of Gobber's many strategic lies, but Hiccup takes it at face value, and in examining it, is puzzled. Hiccup is, beside his physical weakness and clumsiness, most determined, willing, and daring. As he places his actions this morning beside Gobber's statement and finds evidence of these virtues other warriors seem to posses, Hiccup can only blurt out a sarcastic remark, trying to dismiss Gobber's claim, but still very afraid, as Gobber is—after Spitelout—his father's closest friend. "Thank you for summing that up," he says in way of dismissal, turning away to go into the house.
Quickly considering this turn of emotion, Gobber tries again, blurting out the first response that comes to his mind. "Look, the point is, stop trying to be something you're not," and a moment later, smiles with confidence in this response and pride in, hopefully, finally finding the right answer, his confidence growing as he watches the anger evaporate completely from Hiccup's stance and expression.
"I just want to be one of you guys…," Hiccup half-heartedly explains as he turns into the chief's house. Staring at the closed door where his apprentice has disappeared, Gobber sighs again, this time mostly in exhaustion from the morning's excitements. Still, there are things to attend to, and as he turns back to walk down into Berk to the meeting that always takes place after a raid for reports and the organization of various needs, he glances toward the sun as it finally rises, revealing a small dot that is the Burning Blood flying away.
Now, as the Sun rises over the horizon, it illuminates five beings with thoughts that will soon change.
Hiccup, sneaking out of the back of the back door, thinks. "Third time's the charm, with any luck."
Astrid, carrying her axe and staring at it intensely as she steps up to the door of her luckily intact home, thinks. "I am going to ace this year's dragon training no matter what I have to do!"
Fishlegs, looking over his ruined home with his parents and a few passers-by, thinks. "I hope Hiccup stops himself before he does something to get himself killed."
Stoick, as he stands at the head of the Meade Hall, thinks. "That boy better be home when this is over."
The Storm Blood, after she has bitten and burned her way out of the bolas, hides herself, knowing someone will come to claim her, and thinks. "It will be too satisfying, to kill you, who ever you are to think you can attack me without consequence!"
A.N.: You can probably tell I lost a bit of steam towards the end there, to say nothing of all I plain just made up throughout; get used to the latter. Introductions are the worst things to write, even when they include death, and this took me over a month from concept to this, but I'll probably be able to really get into things once the plot starts rolling. The more perspective of you might have noticed this is essentially a retelling of the first scene, but I feel it is quite necessary just considering how much stuff is going on, and seeing as how even I was able to expand it to more than 9,000 words, you can see where I'm coming from when I say it is far too easy to miss some very important things that will be coming up, not to mention I did stray somewhat from the film. You can expect that trend to grow exponentially into the future. Especially in considering how… wanting the dragon lore in the movie is; as such, I have inserted and will continue to insert a variety of my own ideas considering dragons.
However, I'm afraid that updates WILL NOT be regular, seeing as how I'm now working on 12 credits and will be away from home for a large chunk of the summer, when it arrives. I really am sorry about that, but in between things, I also have other, sellable, writings I want to work on. I can promise I will work on this because I think it is far too good an idea to abandon, and each chapter should be about this length, if that makes it more worth the wait. I will try to update on this story's status as often as possible, maybe every week (I'm contemplating Sunday or Monday… or Wednesday. When I decide, I'll put it on my profile).