Hiccup lay on the ground, struggling to breathe. He could feel the cold soil against his back, even through his leather armor. Pain radiated through his body, and he weakly lifted his head to look. He was only able to keep it up for a moment before it fell back; but it was long enough for him to see the arrow sprouting from his chest.
Tilting his head to one side, he found Toothless lying a few yards away. The Night Fury's eyes were closed, but Hiccup could see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed steadily. He looked fine—except for the arrow through his left wing.
A sob caught in Hiccup's throat at the sight. Toothless already couldn't fly without someone controlling his tail. If his wing didn't heal, chances were good that the dragon would never fly again.
Since becoming chief, Hiccup had worked hard to rebuild Berk, and to spread the word of dragons as friends beyond their little island. His efforts, and the efforts of the Berkians, had gone well—until they met the Cutthroat tribe.
The Cutthroat tribe lived on an island on the other end of the archipelago. As a result their relationship with the Hooligan tribe was ambivalent, and communications scarce. Hiccup had hoped to make allies out of them. He had sent them a message via Terror Mail, inviting their chief and his own to visit Berk. He had instructed the messenger dragon to carry the written invitation in its mouth and then drop it from above, since the Cutthroats were unlikely to want a Terrible Terror landing on them in the usual delivery style.
The first sign of trouble had come with the return of the messenger dragon. The Terror had reappeared empty-mouthed, but also with a number of small cuts and bruises. This didn't bode well; but Hiccup hoped that the Cutthroat chief had at least gotten his invitation.
And so the chief had. He had sailed to Berk—and brought an armada with him. While Astrid organized defensive measures in the village, Hiccup had flown out towards the armada, hoping to reason with their chief. But apparently the Cutthroats were a shoot first and ask questions later kind of tribe. There had been catapults, and then arrows. He and Toothless had retreated, and then there had been the piercing pain and the falling, and Toothless shielding him with his wings as they fell. Now here they were, crash-landed into the dirt. Hiccup didn't know where they were, only that they were alone.
A second pain joined the agony of the arrow in his chest. What would happen to Berk if he died? He knew Astrid would take over, and was confident in her abilities. But the Hooligan tribe had lost Stoick just two years ago, and Hiccup had only been chief since then. After losing two rulers in so short a time…they would want revenge. They would seek revenge on the Cutthroats. There would be fighting, with no hope for becoming allies or accepting the dragons, and then who else would be killed? Astrid? His mother? His friends? Gobber?
His heart rebelled against these thoughts, and he tried to will himself to his feet. But his body wouldn't move when he told it to; and it was almost impossible to breathe now.
There was a flash of white light from his right. Through blurred vision, he made out a figure on a white horse. The figure wore a winged silver headdress and silver armor, and carried a spear in one hand. Though he could not make out a face, he had the distinct impression that the figure was female.
The figure extended her free hand to him. "Come, brave warrior," she intoned in a rich voice. And suddenly Hiccup felt distanced from his body. The pain was still present, but it was muted, and grew more so by the second.
"Stop!" Another voice rang out. Golden light flared from Hiccup's right side, and another figure appeared. This figure seemed to be female as well, clad in a red dress under a dark blue cloak. Golden light still lingered around her. "You can't do this!"
Hiccup's sense of disconnection suddenly ended, and the pain of his wound returned full force. He would have cried out, but all he could manage was a choked gasp.
"He is a mighty warrior, felled in a moment of heroism," the armored woman said. "He will be much needed as Ragnarok approaches."
"Ragnarok is a long time in coming," the glowing woman replied. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III will go to Valhalla in due time; but not now."
"Careful, daughter of Eir," the armored woman growled. "Do not interfere with divine matters."
"Do not forget that I possess divinity as well; more than you, Kára!"
Hiccup had never hated an argument so much. Each time the armored woman spoke his spirit was pulled partway from his body, making him feel insubstantial. And each time the glowing woman spoke his spirit was pushed back down into his body, with all the pain that came with it.
The glowing woman continued to speak. "If you want the glory of being the Valkyrie to choose this warrior," she said scornfully, "I will personally inform you of his future death in battle. But you will not be taking him today."
The armored woman—Kára—growled again. "The All-Father will hear of this!" She raised her spear, and disappeared in another flash of white light.
"Let him hear of it," the glowing woman muttered. "He is wiser than you." She bent down next to Hiccup and placed a glowing hand on his chest. Suddenly it was possible to breathe. The woman wrapped her other hand around the arrow shaft sticking out of his chest, and something like cold air whooshed down the arrow and into the wound. Now with the air to manage it, Hiccup groaned.
The woman looked up at his face and sighed. Removing her hand from the arrow, she touched two fingers to Hiccup's forehead. His eyelids grew heavier, his muscles sluggish, and the world around him faded to black.
ooOoo
Hiccup opened his eyes, wincing as the sunlight hit them. A woman crouched beside him, a knife in her right hand. Her blonde braid of hair hung forward over one shoulder. "Astrid?" He croaked.
"No. Now, don't move." The woman shifted her weight slightly as she spoke. The shift made her braid slip closer to her neck, revealing a design on the shoulder of her tunic.
Hiccup's eyes widened. He knew that design—a sword crossed horizontally by two daggers. He had seen it on the sails of ships very recently. It was the crest of the Cutthroat tribe.
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Hello, everyone! If you've read this far, thank you very much! Being a college senior has made it hard for me to find time to write; but I wanted to post this thing to show that I'm still around. Story posts from me will be few and far in between for a while, but they will happen.
Some clarification: the Hooligan tribe is the tribe that lives on Berk. Both the tribe name and the term "Berkians" refer to the same people. And the Cutthroats are a tribe I made up.
With that said, please leave a review telling me what you think of this story! Reviews are my fuel and my inspiration!