A/N: Hello, my dear readers. First chapter of my third fanfic! *throws confetti* Get excited.
Just so you know, this starts out shortly pre-movie, but the major plot will occur post-movie (it will make sense later). It's mostly OC-based, though I'll toss in Hiccup's POV sometimes and maybe some others.
Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD.
Most people didn't notice the woodcarver's daughter. She spent most of her time inside, and when she went out she never strayed far. She came with her father to the village meetings in the Great Hall, but she peacefully faded into the background. Teens didn't often attend, and when they did they all sat in a corner, talking amongst themselves. When the meeting was over, the narrow-framed girl stuck to her father's side, not looking at or speaking to anyone. She wasn't sure the villagers even knew she existed, except for the few that lived near her. But that was okay with her.
Edith Thornglen lived in a Viking settlement, on the island of Berk. Unfortunately, Edith was not a very Viking-like individual. As a child, she was often ill. She had always been thin, and ever since she was born, she'd had frail bones. It was hard, if not impossible for her to do the heavy work of most Vikings. A couple of times, she's heard their neighbor, Helga Jorgenson, call her a "ruddy waste of food and supplies." It gave her a sinking feeling in her stomach, but her father wiped away those tears and taught her how to carve.
She liked working with wood. It was strong, but also lenient. With the right piece, she could mold it any way she wanted. Sometimes people would ask for specialty handles on their weapons, or necklaces as gifts to a loved one. She swelled with pride when the customer smiled appreciatively at her work when it was finished. They often thought it was her father's work, not expecting such fine artistry from a scrawny, fourteen-year-old girl.
It was an ordinary afternoon for Edith. She sat by her bedroom window, applying the finishing touches to a knife handle. She smiled at her handiwork, and padded down the stairs to the shop, where she placed it in the box for Gobber, the blacksmith. Knives weren't usually special ordered, just a stock item. Gobber paid the Thornglens to carve the handles, and then sold them in his shop.
She had finished three so far that day, and was about to grab a fourth when Erik Hofferson stepped into the shop. He was carrying what appeared to be a mid-sized battle axe, with the sharp head sheathed in leather.
"Erik, how are you? What can I do for you?" her father asked cheerfully.
The Viking warrior smiled. "I am well, Olaf, thank you. Astrid's birthday is next week, and I figured it was high time she had her own axe, what with dragon training starting soon. Could you carve some designs in the handle, incorporating the symbols of the Hofferson family and the village of Berk? Anything, really. I'm sure you can come up with something good for her."
Her father nodded. "Sure. You can expect it in no more than five days."
"Good. Thank you." Erik shook his hand, and left the shop. The axe was left on the counter. Edith came over to see it up close as her father eased off the leather sheath. Already, it was beautiful workmanship. Each edge was razor-sharp with an elegant curve. The flat of the blade was perfectly smooth to the touch, and Edith imagined that the weapon would balance perfectly in the right hands.
Her father sighed. "Stoick wants me to work on more ships. He's thinking about another expedition to find the nest, and the last ships never came back. I'll be out all day, so the shop will be closed."
Edith nervously pushed a piece of dark brown hair behind her ear. "What if I tended the shop for the day? I've watched you do it for so long, I know what to do."
He looked hesitant. "I don't know, Edith. Are you sure you're up for that? You've never watched the counter for more than half an hour before."
She rolled her eyes at him, smiling. "I think I can handle myself. While I'm sitting there, I can work on some of the new orders. You won't have enough time to do it all on your own."
"Hmm…" He considered this. Then he smiled at her. "Alright. I guess I'm forgetting that you're a teenager now, not my little girl. You should be fine watching the shop on your own. Say, do you want to carve the axe handle for Astrid Hofferson?"
Edith's eyes lit up. "Totally!" Design ideas starting floating through her head. She grabbed a sketchbook and pencil to start drawing, but her father reminded her to finish the last two knives for Gobber first. Begrudgingly, Edith complied and grabbed another knife from the box. The evening passed in a blur. Whittling, sketching, carving. Just like all others. Before long, Edith felt herself drifting off to sleep.
She woke at daybreak, with her father gently shaking her shoulder as always.
"I'm off," he said softly. "You can fix yourself some breakfast, and then you can open up the shop. The village should be slow in the morning, so there's no need to hurry."
"Okay. See you tonight."
He walked out, and Edith rolled over, pulling the blankets in tighter around herself. She gazed out the window as the picturesque cliffs and rock formations that dotted the landscape of their island home. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to fly high over them, whishing over the open ocean. The dragons knew how it felt, and Edith wished she knew how it felt too. Of course, she'd never mention it aloud. Something like that wouldn't go over well, considering the Vikings and dragons were at war.
Edith sighed and stood up. She ran a few fingers through her stubborn, dark hair. Rather than being nice, straight and manageable, hers insisted on being an awkward mix of straight and wavy, getting frizzy in the humidity. At least that day was one of her better ones as far as that was concerned, so she wore it down. The choppy front layers dangled over her face a little, the way she liked them to.
After a breakfast consisting of two rolls with jam, Edith picked up Astrid Hofferson's axe and started to carve. The first thing would be to add a sort of grip, so the weapon would feel comfortable I the wielder's hands. Edith knew Astrid's hands were a little bigger than her own, and made it accordingly. Then she sanded it until it was perfectly smooth.
She was going to start etching the design when she noticed the box of knives still sitting in the corner. Her father must have forgotten to take them to Gobber. No one had come into the shop yet… certainly she could spare a couple of minutes to run the box over to him. The blacksmith was only a little way down the road. Edith set down the axe, locked the door, and with her skinny arms grabbed the box and left.
Hiccup woke with the sun piercing through his eyelids. He groaned. Time for work.
He hastily changed into a clean tunic, scampered down the stairs and grabbed a tough, tasteless biscuit on his way out the door. The familiar cold nipped at his nose. The ice would be setting in soon, he figured.
When Hiccup reached the forge, the door was open. The clanking sound of metal on metal emanated from inside. He entered, and saw his mentor, Gobber. He was a large, burly man with interchangeable hands on his left and a peg leg on the right. His thick blond mustache was uneven, and so long that he was able to decorate it with metal ornaments. A stranger to the island may have found the blacksmith terrifying, but to Hiccup he was an old family friend.
"Ah, good morning, Hiccup." The skinny boy responded with a small grunt. "Up late again last night, were we?" Gobber said, noting the dark circles under Hiccup's eyes. He nodded.
"It's not my fault Dad snores so loud half the night. Sleeping is impossible until he quiets down." The blacksmith laughed at that.
"Ay, that's true, for certain. Stoick can snore louder than a Gronckle with a head cold. Trust me, I know." In addition to being the blacksmith, Gobber was the head of dragon training. He tended to the captive dragons they kept under the kill ring, making sure that they behaved and did not escape. "Speaking of your father, he wanted me to stop by the docks this morning to discuss something."
"Discuss what?"
"Beats me. Listen, I'll be back in a bit. You can clean this place up, sweeping the floors and whatnot, but do not touch anything else until I get back."
"Okay." Gobber disappeared down the hill, and Hiccup sighed. He grabbed the broom and started sweeping. "I just love my job," he muttered to himself.
He heard footsteps and turned around to see a girl walking up the pathway, holding a box. He recognized the woodcarver's daughter, though he couldn't remember her name. As (unfortunately) the only son and heir to the village chief, he was supposed to know everyone on Berk. He also remembered her as one of the few people smaller than himself.
"Is Gobber there?" she asked. "I need to give him these knives."
"Er, no," he replied, "but I can take them if you want."
The girl hesitated, but handed him the box. He studies the knives inside with a touch of awe. The designs on the wood simple, but smooth and beautiful. "Did you do these?" Hiccup managed to ask.
She nodded. "Yeah. Father's often busy with special orders, so he always has me do the knife handles. Tell Gobber that he still needs to pay us when he returns."
"I will," he said, nodding. "Thanks, um…"
"Edith."
"Right. Thanks, Edith."
She waved, and was on her way. Hiccup sighed and put the box on the table for Gobber. He tuned to get a dustpan, but in doing so he accidentally hit his pinky toe on the leg of the table. He winced. "Ow, ow, ow!" How was it that such a small toe could cause so much pain? It's only fun if you get a scar out of it.
Hiccup hastily swept the pile of dust and shards into the pan, and dumped them in the bin outside. He also wiped down the counter and reorganized the tools. By that point, Gobber was walking back up the hill. The rest of the day passed like they always did. Sharpen some swords, stoke the fire, get a couple new burns, break for lunch and do it all over again. He went home at dusk and had another awkward dinner with his dad. The man was massive, and ate about four times as much as Hiccup. They never had anything good to talk about, so they would talk about the weather or just sit in silence.
He spent the rest of the evening in his room, sketching, reading and twiddling his thumbs. A distant dragon's cry sent a chill down his spine. His father stepped into the room.
"Er… I'm off to bed, then."
"Alright."
"Good night."
"Right." Hiccup gave up on staying awake. He was beat. He crawled into his hard bed and lay his head on the pillow, and was out within a minute.
Edith's father was home a little after dusk. The day has gone off without a hitch. Only a few people had visited the shop that day, and Edith had made a lot of progress with Astrid's axe handle. She felt it needed something distinctive, something to represent the owner, but she was still trying to decide precisely what.
"How'd it go?" her father asked when he walked in.
"Fine. How was your day?"
"It was alright. The usual. I finished three heads."
"Good," said Edith, handing him a plate of fish and beans. He smiled gratefully at her and sat down to eat. Edith hoisted herself up to sit on the counter. Suddenly, she had a thought.
"Hey, dad?"
"Yes?"
"Have we ever incorporated dragons into the carvings?"
Her father looked up at her. "Not usually," he said. "Though that could be an interesting idea. What kind of dragon designs were you thinking?"
"I don't know. Something to represent the owner of the weapon. It could be one they share characteristics with, or a representation of the ones conquered in battle."
"I like it. I'll trust you to come up with the ideas for that."
"Okay. I'll be upstairs." She scampered to her room, possibilities sifting through her mind. Edith thought about what would be fitting for Astrid Hofferson. She was certainly a strong, fierce Viking shieldmaiden, despite her young age. Not even Mildew could deny it. She wasn't the friendliest person in the world, but Edith supposed it was because she was so focused. A little too focused, maybe. Also beautiful and well aware of it, though ready to take down anyone who would dare make a move. Edith smiled. She knew the perfect dragon to represent Astrid
Slowly and carefully, Edith started sketching the beginnings of a Deadly Nadder.
Like it so far? If so, review! If not, also review! I would love some constructive criticism and I am open to anything.
Thank you!
-E