No Better Surprise, a how to train your dragon fanfic

"Wrinkly?"

"What?"

Gynna screeched from the chicken coop. "Is the roof fixed yet?"

"No, dear."

"And why not?" His wife flung chicken feed to the ground, and the hens flurried around her feet. "Can't you get Terrorclaw to melt the bleedin' ice?"

In an exceedingly calm voice, Old Wrinkly explained, "He is in no state to do work. He is out of sorts."

"I'm out of sorts! That effin' ice'll freeze my toes off!" She cast one last fistful of grain to the ravenous beaks, then set the basket on her hip. "Get your nose out of those herbs and listen to me, you old—"

"Good evening, Grandpa."

Salvation arrived in the form of Hiccup and Toothless, trekking up the hill to Old Wrinkly's house. Squinting and turning from the sundew patch, Old Wrinkly saw two—no, three—more villagers behind Hiccup, all mounted on dragons. As they approached the fence, Toothless stretched his neck over the barrier and whuffed at the hens with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. Hiccup ran his eyes over the huge ice spire sticking out of Old Wrinkly's house, then faced Gynna and nodded.

"Evening."

She humphed and tromped away, shooting Toothless dirty looks and grumbling under her breath.

Unfazed, Hiccup blew out a breath and turned to Old Wrinkly. "Shall we get started on your house?" he asked, gesturing to the fractured roof.

The old man straightened his back and consented with a wave of his hand, groaning as his vertebrae popped back into place.

"Hiccup?" He called as his grandson mounted Toothless. "Do you think you could help Terrorclaw? He has this splinter, you see, and you know how shaky my hands are."

"Of course." Hiccup strained to sound optimistic, but Old Wrinkly saw sorrow in the boy's furrowed brow. His grandson's eyes, normally alight with idealism and resolve, were downcast. Old Wrinkly's heart went out to the now-orphaned boy, for the old man was no stranger to loss. Friends, parents, a wife, children, and grandchildren had all been lost to other worlds.

"I can't stay long, though. Whole lot of ice, only one of me." Hiccup forced a chuckle that did little to quell the old man's worries. "Maybe I can get Mom for you. I'm sure she'll…"

Old Wrinkly furrowed his brow and stared at the boy, who trailed off with realization dawning in his eyes. The old man had met a sea serpent, battled a draugr, and invited dragons into his home, yet he could not believe that a woman eaten by dragons twenty years ago had somehow survived.

"She's alive, Grandpa." Hiccup's face lifted. "The dragons didn't eat her—they took her in! She's been protecting them, and learning from them—"

"And she's on Berk now?" Old Wrinkly wanted to be sure of his daughter's vitality before running after her. Odin knew he had wasted time chasing phantoms in the past.

"I think she's with some dragons over by Phlegma's house."

That was all Old Wrinkly needed to hear. He set down the sundew he had picked and hobbled to the fence. The gate creaked as he shuffled through, and Toothless snorted as the old man ventured onto the path. Without looking back, he warned Hiccup, "Don't let Toothless eat my hens. Gynna would castrate all three of us," then picked up his pace as he headed toward the village square.

That giant ice-spitter had turned Berk into a maze of frozen earth and splintered buildings. The village square buzzed with activity, but Old Wrinkly barely noticed as he puffed through the crowd. He dodged Vikings and dragons with heavy logs on their backs, children fetching tools for their fathers, and sheep bleating above the commotion. By the time he reached the other side of the square, his breaths were ragged, his knees wobbled, and his joints protested every motion.

When he finally arrived at Phlegma's house, he ran a hand along an undamaged wall as he shuffled around to the back. He leaned against the house, and as he caught his breath, he took in his surroundings: a dense grove of trees, the nearby bustle, the distant shrieking of chickens. There was nothing extraordinary until he heard wisps of a familiar melody.

The old man strained his ears, leaning as far forward as his feeble body would allow. He remembered when his first wife Dagny was alive, how she would sing to his patients as she wiped their foreheads or brought them tea. Hearing the same song now, he felt his sight clear and his hands steady. It was as if his gentle wife and wild daughter had never left home.

He hobbled into the trees, the ache in his knees breaking the spell. As the trees closed around him, the singing grew louder and the sounds of the village faded. The setting sun cast lengthy shadows, obscuring his already poor vision, and he didn't notice the woman and the dragon huddled on the ground until he was quite close.

The woman knelt by a medium-sized dragon that laid on its side, moaning softly. Her head snapped up as he approached, and the singing ceased.

"Valka?" He could barely hear his own voice.

As she rose, he squinted and saw the curve of her cheekbones—just like Dagny's—and the point of her chin—just like his own.

"Father?"

The tremor in her voice, her tensed shoulders, told him this was definitely Valka. As a child, she would act this way while explaining why the cows still weren't fed, or how the horse had ended up on the other side of the island. Dagny's song hadn't only bewitched Old Wrinkly—Valka now seemed no more than a wispy girl in a tall, armored body.

"You're probably wondering where I've been," she said, wringing her hands. "I just…well, you know…I just couldn't…"

Old Wrinkly chuckled, beckoning her with trembling arms. She hesitated, then stepped into her father's embrace.

A few short years ago, the idea of Valka living with dragons would have seemed strange, at best. Now, it made perfect sense. Stationary village life had never truly satisfied her. Even as a child, she would climb to Berk's highest peak and bemoan its short stature, stretching her fingertips to the clouds with an itch to take flight.

"You did what you thought was right, lass. There's nothing to forgive." He pulled away. "And you've become a decent healer, to boot," he added with a pleased chortle.

She gave him a relieved smile, her shoulders relaxing. The scared little girl slipped away, and Old Wrinkly could have sworn that Valka stood taller than she had twenty years ago.

"Do you think you could take a look at my dragon?" he chimed. "Terrorclaw has a splinter in his foot, and my hands are so shaky these days…"

Valka nodded, grinning. "And after your dragon's taken care of, we should get a drink. You can tell me how you got all those wrinkles," she teased.

Old Wrinkly beamed. The gods had surprised him many times throughout his life. They had taken families, built new ones, and unfurled legends before his eyes, yet he could think of no better surprise than being reunited with his Valka.

"Yes. I would like that very much."

A/N: Many thanks to beta-reader nicoli-boli, and thank you for reading No Better Surprise!