Inspired by the tumblr prompt by astridthevalkyrie, especially additions by aleteia-ff (AlsoAleteia on here). Thank you!
"How much longer do you think we have to walk?" Zephyr asks, hefting her book-bag. She frowns at the surrounding scenery—endless trees, rocks, moss, grass, stretching in silence in every direction. She likes hiking as well as anyone, but they've been going at it for an eykt, and would probably be missed soon.
Ahead, her brother hums as he skips across a small stream.
"I'unno," he replies, in a tone that suggests he doesn't quite care, either. He consults his crude copy of the map of Old Berk, looking back and forth between the parchment and the landscape. "Hmm. That way!"
Zephyr rolls her eyes as she jumps nimbly over the stream. "Please tell me you're sure, this time?"
"I am, I am," he says dismissively.
"Because we've passed this stream once already."
"That was an accident!" He flashes her a lopsided toothy grin, the kind that makes it physically impossible to stay mad at him for too long. "Won't happen again. Promise."
Zephyr sighs. "I kind of regret getting that map for you, you know."
"Hey! It was your—"
"My idea," she says glumly. "I know. Don't remind me."
He laughs and pushes away some branches blocking their path, holding it there until she passes through. Then he lets go, and with a twang the branch snaps back into place.
"We're close," he reassures her, gesturing ahead dramatically. "I can feel it in the air!"
"Yeah, yeah," she snorts, hefting her book-bag with one hand, and thumping him on the head with the other. "Just do your job, map-man, before we end up as lost as Dad's left leg."
"Hey, don't call me map-man!" He brushes her hand off his hair. "I am Nuffink, the Wayfinder!"
Zephyr laughs and gives him a light shove, and he stumbles forward with a light protest before turning back and making a face. "You have the next quarter-eykt, Wayfinder," she tells him sternly. "After that, we're heading back for lunch! I could die for some of Dad's sand-baked crab."
"You got it, Chief," he replies confidently, whacking at some weeds next to him with his makeshift walking stick. "Just you wait; it's right around here, I just know—"
It happens very fast. At first there is a crackling sound, then something breaks under his feet. The next second, Zephyr sees her brother's eyes grow wide, and his arms shoot out for balance, even as dirt and dead leaves crumble, and he begins to tumble backwards. She doesn't have time to look down to see what's happening, but her heart almost races out of her chest, panic and fear and shock all at once. She grabs for him, desperate, but her shove earlier put him a bit too far from her reach, and belatedly she dashes forward, arms outstretched, grasping—
At nothing but air, as he plunges down with the whole shelf of loose dried dirt, a surprised yell escaping his throat.
For a tiny moment she stands, frozen in shock. Then she lunges forward to the edge of the newly-formed cliff.
"Finky!" she screams down into the vast open space. "Finky!"
Apparently they were on the precipice of a giant sunken clearing, its edge hidden by decades of lush vegetation and overgrowth, and now the whole impressive panorama is revealed by the collapse of one of its overhangs. Zephyr could not care less at the moment. Her eyes dart frantically to the cloud of dust at the bottom of the cliff, the aftermath of the landslide, trying to see something, anything. It seems an awful long fall. She tears her mind away from that thought.
"Finky!" she screams again, voice high and tight, already close to breaking. "Finky!"
For a split second only dust swirls, and Zephyr feels like she has just taken a blunt blow to her stomach. She's more afraid than she has ever been before. Still her eyes scan, not daring to breathe, hoping, hoping—
"M'fine!" his muffled voice calls out from below, and she feels a wave of such dizzying relief she almost thinks she might pass out. "M'fine!" he calls again. Then she hears him cough.
"Hang on!" she yells, and her voice does crack in the end, from the sheer emotional freefall she just experienced. "Are you hurt?" She scans the perimeter, trying to locate a way down.
"I—uh—I don't think so?" He replies, but immediately lets out a cry of pain, which sends her heart rate sky high again.
Zephyr dashes toward the closest safe descent she could find; a rough gnarly root reaching down the cliff face.
"Is there blood?" she hollers, urgently, as she grabs ahold of the root and half slides, half jumps to the next ledge below. "Finky, is there blood? Is anything broken?"
"No blood!" he replies, coughing. "I dunno if its broken, but no blood!"
She breathes out a small gasp of thanks to whatever god is watching over them today, and leaps yet another ledge down, careful to not let the root take her full weight as her knees bending to absorb the fall. The dust has cleared a bit, and she thinks she can see him, scrawny and sprawled across the top of the whole mess.
A few more maneuvers and she's down at the bottom of the clearing, or basin, whatever you call it, and she breaks into a sprint. In about five seconds she reaches the location of the landslide, and sees him—clearly, this time—lying on his back, poking at his right foot with a frown.
She has to force herself not to dive into him right then and and squeeze him into a tight hug—she isn't sure what's broken and what's not, after all. Instead she forces herself to calm down, at least superficially, and kneels on a pile of dried leaves next to him.
"Oh, hey, Zeph," he says, grinning as he notices her. She wants to punch him for daring to smile under the circumstance—does he know how so worried she was?—but seeing him right in front of her, alive, is compensation enough.
Still, as it slowly sinks in that he's mostly intact, she allows herself to be more than a little miffed. By Thor, sometimes she just wishes he were a little smarter about things. A healthy dose of self-preservation instincts wouldn't hurt, either.
"Let's see it," she orders tersely, gesturing to his injured foot.
He nods and puts his hands under his knees to lift it higher. She nods, breathing a little easier—the boot doesn't seem to be crooked in a strange angle, and there is indeed no visible red anywhere.
"Keep still," she warns him. "This might hurt."
Gingerly she unwraps his boot-straps and begin to pull the thing off him. He tenses, fingers going white on his knees, but otherwise doesn't make a sound. It takes three tries, but at last she clears the boot over his ankles, and tosses it to the side. Then she peels away his woolen sock—again relieved to note the lack of red—and peers at the scene before her.
"The ankle's swollen," she says, tapping the region mentioned. "Can you move it at all?"
He wriggles his toes and flexes the plate of his foot up and down, wincing as he does so. The range of motion is quite narrow, and when she tries to get him to raise it higher, he lets out a yelp and withdraws from her touch.
"Sorry," she says. She gives his ankle an experimental squeeze, and he yelps again. "Sorry!"
"You're definitely doing that on purpose," he mutters glumly, before giving her a sigh. "What's the verdict, anyway?"
"Well, I don't think it's broken," she says cautiously. "But it's most definitely twisted. I'm thinking we wash it by the lake over there, then use some twigs to keep it set until we can get someone to look it over. Come on."
She positions herself so that his arm is draped over her shoulders. With some effort, they manage to stand up, him leaning on her and hopping on his good foot.
A short while later they finally make it to the small lake. Carefully she helps him sit down at the bank, and with a contented sigh he dips his injured foot in the clear cold waters.
"Reckon we can't make it back for lunch," he says. "Sorry about that."
She socks him lightly on the shoulder. "We'll figure out what to do later. Just, don't do that again, alright?"
"Hey, it's not my fault! I didn't know it would just collapse, like that."
"Don't get cheeky with me," she huffs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "You could've gotten off a lot worse than a sprained ankle."
"Hehe, maybe," he concedes, kicking happily, the water sloshing around his foot. "But it all worked out in the end, right?"
Zephyr rolls her eyes. "I don't see how it did! One, we're stuck here in this basin, at least until you recover enough to climb; and two, Mom and Dad will be worried sick, and you know how they get when that happens!" She sighs. Their first trip to Old Berk, and already off to such an auspicious start.
He doesn't seem at all bothered. "It's not a basin," he tells her.
"What?" she asks, brows knotting together in a frown. "What are you on about now?"
"It's not a basin," he repeats. Then he beams at her, and with a broad sweep of his arms, gestures all around them.
"It's a Cove!"
It's early summer, so the days are still long and warm and lazy. Confined to the Cove with nothing better to do, the two young Haddocks occupy themselves trying to discover all the evidence of their parents' stories: the scorched grounds next to the old tree where Toothless—or Uncle Toothy, as they sometimes affectionately called him—had nested; the remnants of a wicker fish basket, half-rotted away and long-forgotten; specks of black scales littered on the ground, tarnished by the elements but still remarkably intact.
Well, Zephyr does, anyway. Finky is forced to sulk by the lake, immobilized by his injury.
Despite what she told her brother, Zephyr herself isn't too worried about their fate. The Cove is bound to be one of the first places their parents search, and even if it's not, there is shelter, fresh water, and food in the form of lake fish. In the worst case scenario, if their parents just assume they've gone off to have fun and don't bother fetching them (highly unlikely, Zephyr thinks), they can easily survive for a few days until Finky's foot heals up, and climb their way out of here. The winter snows haven't set in just yet, and they have a wide array of tools on their persons—flint and steel, knives, her battle-axe, his compass, some rope, and their father's map, just to name a few.
Idly she wonders if she should set out some fish traps, in case nobody comes for them by dinner time. When she mentions the idea, Finky enthusiastically agrees—probably because it gives him something to do aside from kicking water and drawing in the mud.
Armed with a fresh goal, Zephyr chops down a young tree with her axe, and moves it next to the lake, where the two of them set out debarking the trunk and weaving its fibers into a simple fish cage. They talk as they work; their impressions about Old Berk, what they find surprising (the Sentinel Statues surrounding the harbor are very impressive, both of them agree), what they find underwhelming (the houses are so flat), but most of all, anything pertaining to dragons.
Of this category there is certainly no lack. Scorch marks on roof tiles, the ubiquitous fire extinguishing contraptions, and basically every aspect of the village designed with dragon use in mind.
And scales! Lots and lots and lots of scales, of all shapes and colors and sizes, practically littered across the village grounds. The siblings share a good laugh when they each confess to pocketing some of the ones they find more exotic.
It happens during the middle of a discussion on fish—the different kinds that are in the lake, whether they're good to eat and easy to catch, and whether the trap will work. Finky thinks they should make it larger, while Zephyr reasons that most freshwater fishes back on New Berk are relatively small. They're engaged in idle banter and debate when Finky suddenly stops talking.
"Huh," he says, and Zephyr can hear the puzzlement in his voice.
She doesn't look up right away. "What is it?" she asks, too used to her brother's erratic attention span. He may be able to concentrate on his own projects for several hours at a time, but usually he's all-too-easily distracted by the smallest things he finds interesting.
"The clouds," he replies, in a strange half-whisper. "They look… odd."
"Well, clouds come in all shapes and sizes," she says, shrugging. "Are you done with your piece?"
He doesn't give a further answer. Instead he taps her on the arm. Zephyr sighs.
"All right," she says resignedly as she looks up—and freezes.
The sky, previously cerulean and clear and only populated by the faintest wisps of clouds, now churns with a massive vortex, grey and foreboding, thunderbolts lacing through like Thor himself is shaping and crafting the maelstrom. It is gigantic, taking up their entire view of the firmament, limited as that is by the walls of the Cove. Zephyr isn't sure where the sun went; it's still daytime, but the whirling clouds hang low and ponderous over them all.
"Looks like a thunderstorm," she says grimly. "Take the fish trap; we have to find shelter."
Looking around, she quickly spots another overhang—this one rocky, since she doesn't fancy being on the receiving end of a second landslide—and gestures to the space over there.
Finky nods. He grabs her proffered hand and pulls himself up. Even as they stand, the sky cracks with ominous boom, and the first droplets splash cool and prickly on their faces. They hasten to the relative seclusion of the overhang, more like an alcove than anything. A large boulder sits right in front of the whole place, creating a semi-enclosure of sorts, no doubt to be of great comfort when the worst of the deluge comes.
"I've never seen a storm just come, like that," her brother says softly, peeking out from behind the boulder once they've both settled into the alcove. When they sailed here just this morning, there was not a whisper of anything remotely like this lurking on the horizon.
Personally, Zephyr also feels rather unnerved. What if the storm lasts for longer than a few hours? They are equipped to survive a few days, yeah, but that's assuming fair weather, warm temperatures, and dry conditions. They didn't have time to gather kindling and firewood, either, which means they're probably in for a good amount of soaking, too, and the hypothermia that comes with that. The worst part is, the rain will surely render any dry kindling material unusable. It'll probably be quite a while before they see the comforts of fire again.
But she's his big sister, and it's her job to be brave. Wordlessly she swallows her worries and trepidations.
"Summer storms come and go very fast," she explains, forcing an edge of joviality into her tone. "We might get a bit wet and uncomfortable, but it's no big deal."
Finky nods, still peering at the sky outside. It might be her imagination, but Zephyr can almost swear that the stormclouds have dropped lower.
Seeing him all restless and twitchy, she grabs his shoulder and pulls him back from the edge of the boulder to a more protected spot, so he would stop staring at the storm.
"We might be in for a wet afternoon," she tells him. "Best we huddle up."
For once he doesn't argue, and they pool their coats and capes together to form a smallish cocoon, which is barely enough to cover the two of them. But it's toasty, at least, and that counts for a lot in a storm. The pitter patter of rain becomes louder outside, and some splash down, specks of cold on their cheeks and foreheads.
"I'm sorry I twisted my ankle," he says abruptly, tiny and contrite. She isn't too used to seeing him like this, and is suddenly reminded that, despite nearing his fifteenth name-day, her brother is still just a kid. Her heart tears a little.
"It's not your fault," she says, soothingly. "C'mere."
She pulls him closer, and slowly he leans against her, his head resting on her shoulder.
"Get some rest," she murmurs. "Let's wait out this storm. Mom and Dad will come find us. Promise."
"Okay," he says, small, and suddenly they're four and six years old again. She smiles a little and ruffles his hair.
As the rain tumble down all around them, he dozes off next to her, and she stares at the walls of the alcove, waiting.
Zephyr wakes up with a start, a dragon's roar reverberating in her head. She blinks a few times, groggy still, trying to separate dream from reality. She was having quite a nice one, too—about them all journeying to the Hidden World to see her friend and all the other dragons, flying through the sky as they roar out their thrill into the wind.
It takes a moment for her to realize where she is, and then the dream fades, and reality comes rushing back like high tide. They're in the Cove on Old Berk. Finky twisted his ankle, so they couldn't get out. A thunderstorm came, so they're hiding in a small alcove to avoid braving the weather directly.
Her brother is still fast asleep on her shoulder, which is now numb with the weight. Fur coats and capes are strung haphazardly over them both, outer layers dripping with saturated moisture. The inner wool linings, however, remain surprisingly dry—only a general dampness, but not really soaked through.
She adjusts her neck a little, and sighs as a joint pops.
"Euwgh," she says, as she notices the shoulder of her leather tunic trailing a little with her brother's drool. She's about to get him off her shoulder when a roar shatters the silence.
Zephyr freezes, even as Finky jolts awake.
"Wha—?" he mumbles, kicking off the cloak draped over him. "Whe—"
"Shh," Zephyr hisses, grabbing his arm. Her heart is beating phenomenally fast. "Listen!"
They hold their breaths. Outside, just behind the boulder they've taken shelter against, they hear the distinct whoosh of wings, the padding of clawed feet.
It can't be, Zephyr thinks. Here, on Old Berk?
As if to disprove her doubts, there comes a loud thump, the leathery gusts of wings flapping, and once again—impossibly, incredible, wonderfully—an ear-shattering roar.
A dragon's roar.
The siblings turn to look at each other, eyes wide, sky-blue on forest-green, shining bright with excitement.
"Are we still on Old Berk?" Finky asks, a stupid grin spreading on his face.
"Last I checked!"
"Where d'ya reckon it came from?" Finky says, all signs of sleep already chased from his system. He's practically bubbling with energy, bouncing on his feet—well, his foot—eager to go out and meet their unexpected guest.
"Dunno," Zephyr says. "Could be blown off course by that storm. Wait, wait," she grabs him by the arm as he makes a motion to reveal himself. "We've got to be careful. It's probably a wild one."
"But they're friendly! Plus, it's been decades since the last time anyone fought dragons. Maybe it got lost outside the Hidden World, and needs our help!"
"Any wild animal won't immediately trust us, Finky. We have to earn it." She takes a deep breath to calm herself. "Okay. I go first."
He sputters. "What? Why!?"
She prods pointedly at his swollen ankle, which earns her a yelp and a glare.
"That's why. You can still watch, though."
"Fine," he huffs, and scrambles as best he can to the edge of the boulder. Zephyr crouches in a similar fashion, and carefully rounds the corner…
She doesn't register her brother's gasp.
She doesn't even register her own, an explosive puff through her lips.
All she can see, right in front of her, is that sleek, jet-black form, muscles and sinew powerfully knotted, the epitome of grace. It is as impossible a sight as any, and briefly Zephyr wonders if she's still dreaming. But then the creature roars, pure unbridled might, and that delightful tremor through her body tells her that this is no dream; this is real.
"Night Fury," she and her brother say, almost simultaneously; a reverent… exuberant whisper.
Zephyr almost forgets how to breathe as she stares. She can tell Finky is doing the same, both of them drinking in every detail of the dragon. It looks at once familiar and foreign, and they trace that shape they both know by heart. They are no strangers to the species—after all, their father's companion is a Night Fury, and they've played on his back and flown on him more times than they could count. They've both companioned with one of his offspring.
Their father thinks—everyone thinks—Toothless is the only one left.
Oh, she cannot wait to prove them all wrong!
She doesn't spare any thought to why the dragon is here, on Old Berk of all places—there will be plenty of time for speculation and theories, later, when they get out of this Cove and show their parents what they found. She grins and focuses back on the dragon, trying to pick out details.
This particular individual is smaller than their father's companion, though not by much, and its overall body structure seems almost completely identical, except for some minor alterations in fin and spine. Overall it seems to be more slender, and a bit skittish, but full of the nascent curiosity present in younger dragons. As they watch, it fires a plasma blast at the far side of the rock face, then paces, before lunging at the lake, no doubt attracted by some movement underwater.
Only then does Zephyr remember to move. Just now she has been utterly transfixed, spellbound by the new Night Fury and all the implications that can hold, but gawping won't get her anywhere. She lets out a still-disbelieving breath, and takes a small step forward.
The Night Fury's fluff perks up. It's still over thirty feet away, its head half-buried in water, but evidently it can hear her.
Zephyr takes another step forward. As Dad always said, gradual is the key. She bends herself low, to appear non-threatening, and checks for any weapons on her person. Her battle-axe she left back in the alcove, so that's the largest threat gone. She takes yet another step forward, and decides to discard her dagger when the dragon turns around, so as to let it see that gesture of good faith. The dragon's head snaps out of the water.
"Hey," she calls out, experimentally, and its jet-black body arches like a house cat. Its head whips around, tail curling defensively around itself, green eyes large and fearful. Even from some distance away, Zephyr can see that its pupils are mere slits, and it is baring its teeth, growling.
"Hey…" she calls out, soothingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you." She unsheathes her dagger and holds it out; the dragon tenses, a low rumble in its throat, but Zephyr tosses the weapon far away.
Its ruff flattens, and instantly its pupils widen; if not completely wide, then at least much wider than slits. Slowly it retracts its teeth.
"That's it," Zephyr says, calm and in control, as she takes step on step until she's slowly pacing forward, posture low and open-palmed, in the direction of the lake. The dragon tilts its head at her, and she smiles at it.
About three-fourths the way there, she sees it getting anxious again, so she pauses. Enter a dragon's personal space only when invited, Dad's words replay themselves in her mind, and she smirks. Yeah, yeah, Dad, tell me something I don't know, she thinks, as she plops herself onto the ground, half-sitting, half-reclining, arms on the ground.
It is a position that is prone and open, vulnerable to attack, which shows a willingness to trust. Most dragons tend to respond well to this kind of posture, given the correct setting.
And Night Furies are no different.
Zephyr grins as the young dragon gingerly steps closer to her. Its footfalls are soft and delicate, and it warbles curiously as it approaches. Zephyr pretends to pay it no mind, as she knows her stare might frighten it away, skittish as the creatures are, but still her mind's eye tracks its progress. She sneaks a glance out of her peripheral vision from time to time, to make sure its pupils are still dilated and friendly, and its teeth are retracted.
Only when it gets within about two feet of her does it stop. Zephyr turns with deliberate slowness, so that it fully comprehends her intentions. She smiles when it doesn't back away—instead it warbles gently, and snorts. Finally she meets its gaze, wide and innocent and emerald green.
"Hey there," she says softly. She spends a moment appraising it in all its glory, for it is indeed beautiful. Briefly she wonders whether it could be related to Uncle Toothy, for they do seem almost identical even close up.
"I'm going to call him over, alright?" she tells the dragon, who is still studying her. "Finky!" she says, higher than speaking but lower than a shout, so as to not startle her new friend.
The dragon tenses when her brother's blond fluff emerges from behind the boulder.
"It's okay," she whispers to it. "It's alright." Then, louder, "Finky, your dagger!"
"Way ahead of ya Zeph!" he replies, tossing the weapon behind him with a flourish. Pushing himself off the boulder with a hand, he then starts to make his way over to them both.
Zephyr can't help but laugh, for he looks ridiculous hopping on his one good leg. The dragon seems to relax at the sound of her laughter, and she considers the endeavor successful when it shows no signs of aggression.
"He's my brother," she explains to the creature. "We're your friends."
Of course it doesn't understand her, but it grumbles something, sounding genuinely intrigued, and a moment later Zephyr feels the ground shake a little as it settles itself down into a nestle.
"Can we fly him?" Finky asks her, high and excited, still several feet away. "Or her?"
"That's the plan! But we have to get it to trust us more, first."
The dragon in question peers back and forth between the two siblings, and rumbles out a snort. It has settled close enough for her to reach, but she doesn't breach its trust by touching it unprovoked. That will come later, she thinks. For now, it's enough to get it used to their presence.
It takes Finky a few more hops to get to where they are.
"Hi!" he waves to the dragon, beaming. "Wow. You look just like Uncle Toothy!"
"I know!" Zephyr replies. "I wonder if its a sibling, or some cousin."
The dragon blinks and does a little wriggle. Finky laughs in response, and it seems intrigued by his laughter.
"Can you imagine how happy Dad will be?" he says as he does a final hop and lands next to his sister. "Another Night Fury, and maybe a relative at that!"
"I can see us going straight back to the Hidden World after this," Zephyr nods. "But first, we have to bond with it some more, at least enough so it'll carry us."
"I wonder why he didn't fly away when he saw us," he says as she helps him sit down. "You must really like us, huh, Nighty?"
"Nighty?"
"Yeah! It's a nickname! Until someone companions with him and gives him his real name, at least."
She rolls her eyes. "You should stop naming things."
"Why, what's wrong with Nighty?" He waves again at the dragon, also careful to not touch it with any unexpected movements. "You're fine with Nighty, right, big guy?"
The dragon warbles and sniffs. Then it adjusts its wings and tail into a more comfortable position, green eyes soft and amicable still.
The siblings freeze.
"Is that why you didn't fly away?" Zephyr asks softly, after a few seconds.
"You're more like Uncle Toothy than I thought," her brother adds, solemn, as they stare at its missing tail-fin. Then he sighs. "It's even missing on the same side."
The dragon blinks, uncomprehending. It flicks its gaze toward its broken tail then back at the children, and chuffs.
"We'll have to get Dad to take a look at this," Zephyr says. "And build it a new tail, like Uncle Toothy's."
Finky nods. "But who could've done this to him?"
"The storm, maybe," she says, frowning. "It was pretty scary. It'd be easy to get hurt flying in that kind of weather."
She expects a nod or a hum of approval. Instead, her brother stays uncharacteristically quiet, like he did when he noticed the storm clouds earlier today.
"What is it?" she asks. "Something wrong?"
Wordlessly he points to the dragon's flank. At first she doesn't see it, but then she tilts her head a little, and sunlight reflects in an odd angle. She gasps.
Three crisscrossing marks adorn the dragon's otherwise flawless body, the glossy black scales crushed and dull. There is no mistaking what they are. Nothing in nature can produce such markings.
"Is that…?" she begins, knowing the answer.
Fear and anger both flicker in her brother's green eyes.
"Rope burns," he says. "Zeph… I think there are dragon trappers on Old Berk."
Thanks for reading! I'm also writing a longer Haddock Family fic centered on Zeph & Finn, called Once There Were Dragons. Feel free to give that a look under my profile :)