Wolfsbane
Prologue: Blood in the Snow
A/N: Happy Halloween, everybody! My friend, RazzlePazzleDooDot, has been encouraging me to write this story for months - in fact, it was her idea in the first place, and I just kind of added to it a bit. Let it be known, however, that none of the actual writing belongs to her - it belongs to me. However, HTTYD, unfortunately, does not belong to me. If it did, one of my other AUs, To Be Loved the Way You Love Me, just might have been canon xD
Well, I hope you all enjoy this fic! I'm doing Nano Wrimo this year, but I'll try to keep this updated as well.
This is Berk.
On here, we have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. The only problems are the pests. You see, while most places have mice or mosquitoes, we have…wolves.
And I'm not talking about your average wolves, either. I mean, these things are huge. To be honest, they're closer to the size of dragons than they are their own species, but you can still tell they're wolves. Their cruel, blood-soaked muzzles, unforgiving, sharp teeth and dirty, matted, muddy fur all tell the story. And speaking of stories, the one I'm about to tell you is the story of how I, the shy, weak son of chief Stoick the Vast, became…
A monster.
It's a story of how a single wolf changed my life, a wolf that some people previously doubted in. Everybody wondered how a creature like that could possibly exist; he was more shadow than true, corporeal being, and he seemed to almost glide everywhere he went, under the silvery evening stars, his paws just an inch or two above the wet grass. Over the years, people nicknamed him 'Night Fury', for he was only ever seen on the blackest of nights and every time, he seemed angrier and angrier.
This is the story of when I met the Night Fury for the first time.
The wolves normally attacked on the full moon, but for some strange reason, they had started attacking more and more frequently, so the terror was no longer just monthly; it could happen at any time. But it always happened at night, especially when the Night Fury struck. Nobody had ever faced down this wolf and lived to tell the tale. He mauled them all to death, his cruel teeth ripping huge chunks of flesh, biting through bone and muscle to get to the blood, which he drank with all the relish and ecstasy of a vampire.
The wolves sickened me. I'm not going to pretend they didn't. I was scared of them. I wanted to stay as far away from them as I possibly could, to be honest. But every time the wolves attacked, I made sure to be out there on the battlefield, hoping to catch one of them, even the bluish-gray Deadly Nadder wolf, or the greenish Gronckle wolf, even if he was slow and stupid and not a very impressive kill.
Because, stronger than fear was the village. Their comments about me rang in my ears long after the terror of the wolves had fled my mind. They called me useless, and they said I would never amount to anything. When my dad wasn't around, Snotlout couldn't get enough of mocking me. And speaking of my dad, I guess he's the reason I went charging off into the battlefield in the first place.
It wasn't just the village, you see. My dad never said anything directly to me – mostly he just kind of shook his head whenever I talked, or scowled at me, like someone had skimped on the meat in his sandwich. But over time, he stopped scowling at me. He just…stopped, entirely. He quit listening to me, he quit looking at me. He quit loving me.
But I knew that if I could do something impressive, something amazing, like capturing the elusive Night Fury and cutting out his heart, then Dad would finally look at me again, and he would love me again. The village would quit saying that I'd never amount to anything. I wasn't useless, but I was getting closer and closer by the day.
So, on the particular night our story starts, a very dark and cold one, for winter was just around the corner, I ignored everyone who told me to just stay inside this time, and I ran out onto the battlefield once again. Wolves were everywhere of course, tearing apart whole huts with just one crash of their mighty paws, killing every Viking they saw with just one gnash of their huge jaws.
I swallowed uncomfortably as I surveyed the scene – there was that bluish-gray wolf, the Nadder, and there was the Gronckle, and the exotic, agile Zippleback that had evaded us for so long. There was the Monstrous Nightmare, and it was the one mostly responsible for all the dead Vikings. I didn't have a weapon; I hadn't bothered to grab one, so excited and anxious was I about this fresh attack. I disregarded all the wolves currently attacking the village; my eyes sought only one, the black one, neither living nor dead.
But he found me first.
I heard a soft growling from somewhere behind me, and my heart jumped into my throat. Turning slowly on the spot, I locked eyes with the wolf that I had sought so vigorously. Its eyes – I had never really seen its eyes before. They were bright, forest green, and seemed to seethe with the guilt and rage of centuries. For just a moment, I saw such emotion, such wrath in those eyes that I understood why people had tacked 'fury' onto his name.
The wolf regarded me for a moment before closing his teeth around my wrist and dragging me downward, onto the cold grass, wet from melting snow. I shivered as the wetness soaked into my clothing, but I was caught in the cruel gaze. The Night Fury raced forward and pinned me down onto the ground, glaring into my eyes. It knelt down, the thick tail brushing over my legs. I stared at it, petrified as it took my hand in those sharp teeth, those powerful jaws, and I shuddered, wishing I could run, but knowing the Night Fury was far too heavy for me to throw off.
It closed its teeth around my hand, and pain exploded in the skin, traveling up the arm and turning it all numb. I gave a sharp cry, trying to thrust the beast off of my chest, but it was so much stronger than I was. I raised a leg and kneed it in the furry abdomen, rising to my feet the instant it released me. I stumbled away blindly, and though I wasn't running very fast, the Night Fury didn't try to keep pace with me, or bite me again. It let me get away.
I looked down at the ground for just a second as I ran, and I saw a small trail of tiny blood droplets, falling into the pure white snow as I ran, cradling my hand, leaving that trail like a path in the snow.
I couldn't understand why, but I kept running, grateful for every second that I lasted, because I was sure that it would be after me at any second. I finally made it back to the real battle, but I was so distracted that I nearly stepped right in front of one of the wolves, before I was jerked back by an unseen hand on my collar.
My father glared at me, his gray eyes hard and cold with anger. "What are you doing out again? Get inside!"
He dropped me back onto the grass, but I could barely make sense of anything that he'd just said to me. I stumbled into the forge blindly, shedding my vest and shaking slightly from my encounter with that terrible beast. For as long as I lived, I would never forget the terrible anger in those eyes – an anger borne of fear, and lost hope, and the frustration of never being completely understood.
You see, I could understand those things, because I'd felt them, too. I looked down at the bite on my hand, the teeth marks burning bright red against my pale skin. I would never forget this burning, numbing pain, or the sight of those scarlet blood droplets in the snow.
