Don't forget to tell me what you think of this. I'm just starting so a lot of things might not make sense right now, but critique is always welcome :)


North the Toymaker

The red toy train ran smoothly on the rails. It was a simple construction, wooden rails running in an uneven circle under built in bridges and over imaginary rivers. North was very happy with it, combing his fingers through his fine, white beard in satisfaction. It was the last piece he'd had to finish until the fair in Burgess during the weekend. He would have to pack his wagon soon, probably today. Hopefully Jack would want to come along this time.

The doors to the cellar opened with some force and North looked up in surprise. "Jack. Welcome home."

His son looked stressed, downright unhappy actually. "Dad, is there something wrong with me?"

The father stood in utter surprise. "Wrong with you? Whatever would make you say so?! You're my perfect son!"

Well, Jack was a teenager now and he had phases and had been an absolute handful growing up, causing North's hair to go white early (and so had Jack's for some inexplicable reason) but he was still North's son and he loved him more than he could say or even show.

Jack still looked unhappy. "I don't feel like I have any friends here. Snotlout threatened to burn down or house today, Flynn Rider is a bastard and Pitch just scares me."

"Oh, um…" North thought fast. "What about the Arendelle sisters? They are pretty girls, no?"

"Oh, they are pretty alright. And highly selective and rude to people they don't like. You know Thorston's daughter? They're bullying her quite harshly and I can't stand it."

At that North could only heave a deep sigh and embrace his son. He hadn't imagined Jack having a hard time getting friends when they moved to this place, and there were times when the elder Overland deeply regretted the day they settled down here.

"Well, we won't live here forever," North promised and excitedly showed his grand collection of toys. "Next week is the Burgess fair, and if I can sell only a few of these for a good price, then we can move in the spring. Build a new home elsewhere. And if you come along you're sure to meet a lot of friendly people."

Jack smiled, but it looked painful. "I'm sorry, dad."

Well, it's not like North was surprised. There was one other person who lived in Burgess that Jack had troubles forgiving, even if his sister lived with her.

"I'll tell Mary you said hi?"

Jackson nodded, smiling sadly and apologetically. "I'll help you pack everything up. When will you be leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. I hear the road collapsed last week due to the rains so I need to take the old track through the forest. It will take a day extra though."

"Take the witch with you to scare off wolves," Jack joked, his smile coming easier now.

"I'm not going anywhere without the witch," the father promised, taking said doll down from her shelf, accidentally squeezing her. The ungodly scent of garlic, bad eggs and strong spices spread around them. Jack backed away with both hands covering his nose and mouth and North had to hold the witch doll, at arms' length. "The wolf that can come near this stench is not having a working snout," the elder said, trying not to breathe through his nose. If it hadn't saved their lives twice already he would have thrown it out long ago.

Jack took out the tiny fishing rod he'd played with as a child and North hung the witch on the hook, both hurrying out into the fresh air and stuck the rod in the soft soil by their tomatoes.

"Witch ready, now we start packing," North said, slightly out of breath.


Pitch Black was tending to the cabbage fields his father had lived for. The harvest was plenty this year, but it brought no joy to Pitch. It gave him some extra money for meat when he sold it though, and that was the only reason Mildew's son hadn't abandoned the field altogether when the old man died.

"You know, I never pitched you for a vegetarian, Gravedigger," a familiar voice spoke from the fence around the small field.

"Your puns are as dry as a dessert, Rider," the slim man retorted.

"Not as dry as your tone. What crept up your panties today?"

"Certainly not you."

The man by the fence snickered. "You're such a joy for a man who makes a living off the dead."

Pitch looked up at a wet sound coming from the intruder. Flynn Rider sat on Pitch's fence like he owned it, eating a winter apple that definitely came from the tree behind Black's house. Not that he could say anything about it since there were no proof because half the apple trees in Berk were winter apples. He also loathed that Rider didn't have the same fear for him as everyone else.

As the local gravedigger, Pitch tended to measure people, keeping their size in mind for the day they kicked the bucket. It unnerved even the bravest in the village and Pitch thrived on the feeling of being feared and respected. It made him feel powerful.

"Did you come for a reason. I've already taken your measurements in case of a sudden death."

"I thought you'd like to know I spied the Overlands packing their wagon again. Jack is probably not going this time either, so he will be alone for at least a week."

Fury filled Pitch to from the core to his fingertips. So that was Flynn's scheme.

"You must be bored out of your mind, Flynn Rider. Why don't you try to do some work at that inn of yours rather than leaving it to your employees?"

"I live for the intrigue," Flynn said happily, mouth full of sweet apple. "And Jackson is cute when he's angry, isn't he? Or frightened? You love it when people fear you."

"I live to put people six feet under. I'll even do you the special favour of digging an extra feet deep to make sure the Horned One has an easier time reaching you."

"Oh, scary," Flynn said, unfaced, amused even. "Too bad I'm not anywhere near dead yet, Gravedigger."

Pitch itched to retort that he could remedy that, but Flynn the drama queen would have him locked up or executed within the day if he did. Pitch wouldn't be the first. Flynn was a sweet talker, the village darling, the bachelor every father wanted his daughter to marry and definitely a regular in all said daughters' beds. And probably a few wives' too.

"Then you have no business with me. Good day."

"Boo," Flynn said, but didn't sound all that displeased as Pitch returned to his work. "You were a lovely chat as always. I'm off to send some love to Stoick."

The village chief.

Pitch was careful not to pause in his movements. How come Stoick, a man that had fallen from grace when his stick of a son disappeared along with that annoying blacksmith, still held respect? He was the only one of Flynn's targets that seemed unaffected while Pitch had gone from being respectfully feared as the gravedigger to a rumoured pervert paedophile that parents pulled their children away from and store owners locked out. Stoick could still walk through the village and people would bow their heads. He could talk to anyone and they would answer.

And Flynn definitely knew how much that grated on Pitch.

He hit his tools against the soil with more force.


"Hey Rider, want to burn down Jack Frost's house tonight?"

Flynn looked up in surprise. Snotlout looked smug and absolutely serious about the absurd idea. Even Dogsbreath behind him seemed eager.

"Now, why would I want to do that, gentlemen?"

"He threatened to fill my bed with frost tonight!" the other declared loudly, as if that was a perfectly good reason to burn down someone's house.

Flynn snorted. "You believed him?"

That gave the tattooed man pause, frowning suspiciously. "He's Jack Frost. I know he can fill my bed with frost."

Flynn rolled his eyes and smiled good-naturedly as he served the two men. "My friends, Jackson Overland is as human as I am."

"Humans don't have white hair," Dogsbreath said. "So he's not human."

"Doesn't your grandmother have white hair?" Flynn asked.

"She's old. Old people have grey or white hair. So Jack Frost is really old but looks young."

If Flynn hadn't watched for himself how Jack's hair had gradually gone white since he moved here, he would have thought it strange too. It was an unusual phenomenon, but Stoick had brought the boy to Gothi, the village elder and healer, and apparently she had said it was nothing dangerous. Flynn hadn't followed the story too closely but Stoick had vouched for that nothing unnatural was going on with the Overland son, and nobody had questioned him.

That's how much influence Stoick still had in the village despite everything.

"So if Jackson is actually Jack Frost, then who is that toymaker he lives with?" Flynn asked curiously, still trying to come up with an idea to deter Snotlout's intent.

"His father," the tattooed man answered immediately. "Father Winter!"

"You're at it again, Snotlout?"

All three looked up. Behind them stood Thorston's daughter, the only one who was completely immune to any and all of Flynn's charms.

"Who are you?" Snotlout growled defensively.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes and glanced at Dogsbreath, who was suddenly very busy chugging his beer, cheeks red.

"I saw some dragon tracks behind my house," the woman said tonelessly. "It frightened me, so I went in search for you."

Snotlout immediately straightened and pulled his shoulder's back, his face going strangely pale. "Don't worry, I'll find it and kill it and bring back its head! Let's go, Dogsbreath!"

The other put his mug down, stood, burped loudly and stumbled after Snotlout, hitting the door on his way out.

Flynn looked after them and glanced at the two unfinished beers on the counter, fairly unimpressed. But as a true businessman he poured the remains of Dogsbreath's beer into Snotlout's almost full one and set it aside for the next costumer who wanted free drinks. Then he focused his attention on Thorston's daughter. Flynn didn't know her as anything other than that.

"How do you do that? Snotlout claims to never know you but you seem to know him pretty well?"

The woman just cast him a sideways glance, then she walked up to her father who was drunkenly laughing with some other men.


The morning was cold, a layer of frost covering the grass, but the sky was clear from any clouds. Jack sat in his window watching the light slowly overtake the world and the stars. The rooster was quiet now, probably fearing a cold if he left the warm barn and his cuddling wives.

Sandy was asleep on Jack's lap, making strange noises and licked his nose from time to time, indicating he was probably having good dreams. Jack envied the sandy cat. He hadn't been able to sleep well tonight, knowing his father would be gone for days. Jack hated being alone in Berk. Flynn was always an absolute pain when he knew North wasn't around, and since North was leaving this morning, Jack was going to lock his doors tightly after waving the man off and feeding the animals. He did have this really good book he could reread. Again.

Forced to move from his spot as time, according to its purpose, didn't stop ticking and the sun started to breach the horizon, Jack gently placed Sandy on his bed and went out to do his chores. He milked the goat and found seven eggs, much to his surprise. It was a lucky number, and he prayed it meant this week he would spend alone wouldn't be quite as awful as they had been in the past.

Since he was up early, Jack also had time to bake some bread before his father came down the stairs to join his son by the table for breakfast.

"I see apples are getting ripe. Make sure you collect good amount while I'm gone," North started listing off a variety of things Jack could busy himself with in North's absence. "And clean up in the field. Turn the dirt and clean up all the rocks. If you get the time you can use them to repair and raise the wall around the yard."

Jack listened carefully. It was true that there was a lot to do around their little farm. Repairs, preparations for the winter, cleaning, filling up their stocks as much as possible. When North returned from the fair they would have enough money to stock up on meat and medicine. Fishing was also brought up, but Jack had never had the patience to actually catch anything. He also wasn't about to tell North that the fish Jack did bring home had been stolen from fishermen falling asleep or spacing out by the riverside. Mainly Snotlout and Dogsbreath.

Too soon the breakfast was finished and the dishes done. North dressed up for the cold weather, taking his thick, red and black coat and furry hat just in case. They were bantering and Jack managed to hold up his brave front.

North brought out Philippe, their trusty four-year-old Comtois half-breed, and Jack took down the harness to secure the wagon on the horse. Philippe, a mild-mannered animal, accepted the treatment without fuss, the same way he gladly took the sugar treat from his younger owner.

North sat on the wagon and looked down at his son's smiling face. He wanted to take Jack with him, hated the thought of leaving him, of letting the boy out of his sight. But the fear of coming home to an empty house was one North knew he'd have to live with until Jack moved into his own home with his own wife and children. But knowing so didn't make the pain any easier to carry.

"Take care of yourself while I'm gone, Jack," the Overland elder spoke.

"You too. Make sure to wave the witch around in that forest," Jack joked.

"Who do you take me for? Of course I will…" North turned. He'd been reaching behind him for the fishing rod they'd hung the witch doll on, but just grabbed air.

Thinking back, Jack ran to the tomato patch and fetched the doll, heart beating with a sudden rush of adrenaline. The doll had saved them from wolves before. He'd watched with his own eyes how the animal had dug its paws into the ground, growl changing into a strangled, surprised whine before it backed off and slipped away after gracing the Overlands with a look that Jack almost wanted to call betrayal.

North accepted the rod with the waving witch doll, her stench filling the air, but it was easier to breathe outside.

"I'll keep her close," the elder promised. Then he clicked with his tongue and lightly hit Philippe's rear with the reins.


The villagers of Berk hadn't used the old road in almost ten years, and it showed. Someone did use the tracks though since they were still usable, but North couldn't guess who that would be. He'd moved his body from the wagon to the horseback, Philippe being both big and strong enough to carry him over the uneven ground that was often steep. Once in a while North had gotten off the animal to help him up a rocky hill or down a wet slope.

Unfortunately this was the first time North travelled this route, and the road was crossed with animal paths on so many places North wasn't even sure he was on the right track anymore. It was evening on the first day of travelling and starting to get dark. North was trying to spot any stars so he could turn his map the right way, but the sky had clouded over during the afternoon, promising rain during the night. The bearded man however was certain he was lost at this point. He should have reached the main road by now.

Philippe was getting tired, moving slower and slower, but he woke up when North unexpectedly pulled him to a stop. They had arrived at a crossroad, and the smell of predators was what really got the horse alert.

The crossroad didn't surprise North as much as the illegible sign did. It held as many as nine arrows, suggesting this had once been a well-travelled road with multiple destinations. But looking around in the faint light from his lantern, North only saw trees and ferns and bushes and the barely there tracks of the three crossing roads.

Philippe pulled to the left.

"No boy. You trying to lead me in circle? We turned left last time. Burgess is south of Berk, and south is…" North tried to make out anything on the map as he was holding the reins in the same hand, "that way," he concluded and pulled his horse to go right.

Philippe didn't care about south or Burgess. The pungent smell of wolf was much heavier to the right, so he tried for the left again. Unfortunately North was the boss, and he insistently pulled the horse to go right.

"There, Philippe, be a good boy. We'll reach the main road in no time and you can sleep until tomorrow in a warm stable or barn once we find an inn."

The horse had to give, and with ears drawn back and head low, he walked down North's chosen path.

Rattling leaves and the whispers of night critters started to surround them. There was very little wind, but there was a mist on the rise.

North was still studying the map. He didn't pride himself on his sense of direction, but he did have an increasingly firm feeling he was on the wrong track. With both the moon and all the stars hidden, North would find no heavenly help until sunrise.

Philippe suddenly froze. North could feel the animal tremble between his tights, and that finally had him look around.

A howl filled the air, much closer than North found comfortable. Philippe however, was backing up, squirming underneath his owner, and the Overland elder dropped both the map and his lantern, which broke into a wild flame that had the horse reeling back on his hind legs, trying to turn to run away from the fire.

North just barely managed to hang on. He fumbled behind him for the witch doll, but the wagon behind suddenly hit a tree. Bats screeched and flew low over Philippe's head, hitting him with their leathery wings and that was it. The horse panicked and fled. North, having already started to lose his grip on the animal, trying to reach for the witch at the same time, was sent flying, hitting the ground hard.

Gasping for air, the elderly man rolled over, pushing himself up on all four. The fire from the lantern had gone out on the wet ground. Without moonlight, it was almost completely dark.

"Philippe?" North whispered, still winded from the fall.

Another howl echoed between the trees, and North grabbed the witch and squeezed her tightly in his fist, spreading her stench around him like a shield.

"Get back!" he yelled bravely.

Something grunted and sneezed, snorted shortly, but that was it. Nothing came out from between the shadowed trees. But North heard another noise that meant he definitely wasn't out of danger; thunder.

It was distant, but it meant there was definitely going to be bad weather during the night and Philippe had run off with all his supplies and all the toys and all his money too. Nobody travelled through the forest so his chances of finding a house here were equal to none.

"This doesn't look so good," North said to himself.

First things first, he had to get back to the road and hope to find a cave or anything else that could protect him from the weather.

Something growled in the bushes.

North squeezed the witch again and walked away from the sound, looking over his shoulder nervously. There was definitely something following him, but the darkness was too dense. Suddenly there was no ground under his foot and North rolled a thankfully short distance down a sandy slope.

Lightning cut through the sky, and it lightened up a high wall and wrought iron gate.

The growling was intensifying. Whatever had started hunting the toymaker wasn't bothered by the witch. So the man got up and ran for the iron gate as fast as his body would allow.

Something roared behind him.

North threw himself at the gate, the rusty hinges squeaked loudly in protest, but opened, and North was not a second too late to push it back and pull down the hatch.

Another flash of lightning lit up the enormous black body that hit the gate, making it rattle loudly, the sound mixing with the thunder. North dropped the witch in fright. The bear roared at him, white teeth glinting even in the darkness. Luckily, the gate stopped the animal, unfortunately, it also locked North in.

Rain started falling.

Turning around, North was guided by another flash. He stood before an ancient castle, built high, probably around a cliff for the building to reach so high. All around him dragon statues bared their stony teeth at him, snarling warningly.

North ran up to the doors, unnerved by the dragons, frightened by the bear that had almost got him, and seeking shelter from the rain. He beat on the door.

"Hey! Anyone here!? Please help me!"

The door clicked and opened a creek, but there was no sound from the other side. North pushed inside carefully. The hall was an open, large and high space, seemingly void of all life since a hundred years, but beside the door stood a lit candlestick with three candles. The tiny flames spread a warm, yellow light, standing on a surprisingly clean marble table, so somebody had to live here.

"Hello!" North called after closing the door behind him. His call was answered only by his own echo. "Hello!" he called again, a little louder.

The silence was almost oppressing. North's eyes were getting used to the dark, and thus the faint candlelight seemed to light up an array of stone dragons, only half hidden in the dark. Just at the corner of the short hall before it opened up into a circular space stood one that had the same shape as a crane, but was a lot stockier and with spikes going down it's spine, its head turned and an eye watching North warily. Opposite it was a much more boulder or bulldog-like dragon, glaring suspiciously at the intruder over a snot with wide nostrils.

"I don't mean to intrude, but I've lost my horse. Please allow me to stay the night!"

More silence. North carefully grabbed the candlestick and walked further inside, feeling watched. He also noticed the candlestick being warm to the touch despite the air being quite cold. There had to be someone here.

"Please, I mean no harm! All I ask is a place to sleep until morning!"

North listened, and then jerked when he heard another door squeaking. Off to his right a door had opened and light spilled out into the hall.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

Again nobody answered him, but North still gravitated towards the light. The closer he got to the door, the more a pleasant smell of food became apparent.

The room turned out to be a kitchen, and on the table stood a large cup, a steaming bowl and a lump of bread that both smelled heavenly. There were another couple of smaller dragon statues here, sporadically placed. Two were snarling at each other on the counter and one was snoozing on the windowsill. A fire was going in the oven, and North was quick to place the candlestick on the table before he shed his wet coat and hat, taking a chair to hang his clothing on and place it near the oven. He kneeled in front of the fire, reached his hands out to the flame to warm them as he looked around. Everything was clean, and there was yet another tiny dragon hiding under the table in the middle of the room, this one watching the door.

Standing up, North eyed the food on the table. There was a napkin beside the plate and North frowned at what appeared to be writing on the cloth.

It said; Traveller. Please eat.

Once again North looked around. There was no dust at all, the pots and pans were well used and the basket beside the oven was filled with fresh firewood.

"Thank you for your hospitality," the toymaker said as he sat down in front of the plate and picked up the spoon.

It was a spicy stew of vegetables and hare meat. North ate with relish, despite thinking it was a bit too spicy, but wasn't about to say that out loud when he'd feared he'd have to spend the night cold and hungry.

The rain was coming down hard and the wind beat against the window, making the glass rattle slightly from time to time.

North finished the food and drink and heaved a pleased sigh. The silence was still heavy all around him, save for the popping cracks that came from the fire eating away at wood in the oven. He still felt watched.

Standing and walking over to the sink, North found water and started to do the dishes, placing them on the rack beside the sink. His coat and hat were still wet, so the toymaker grabbed the candlestick and walked out of the warm kitchen warily. It almost sounded like the room behind him started whispering, but when North looked over his shoulder there was nobody there.

"Thank you for the food," he said to the empty space filled with stone dragons. "I don't know if you have a bed for me, but I can sleep in the hey in the barn if you'd like."

Footsteps.

North gripped the candlestick tightly and was about to move forward when there was suddenly a breathy sound from beside him and a touch pressing on his hand.

The toymaker's head spun around, the candles in front of him, but yet again there was nobody there. However…

North's blue eyes were locked on the candlestick in his hand. It must have been his imagination, and the shadows playing tricks on his eyes. He squeezed the candlestick tightly.

The middle candle opened blue eyes widely, a mouth opening with a choked noise and the arms came down to push at North's fingers again.

"I swear! If you squeeze me like that one more time I'll burn all your fingers off!"

Everything went very still, until North grabbed the candlestick by its foot, staring at the creation with wide-eyed surprise.

The candlestick looked back at him, looking embarrassed and annoyed at the same time. The voice that had come from it was light like a woman's, and the wax from the candle was forming something that looked like a braid.

As a toymaker, North was decidedly more fascinated than scared. He lifted the candle stick up to look underneath the foot, finding it hollow and poking a finger up in search of a trigger or something that made the candlestick move and talk, earning an indignant squawk of protest. North tried to turn the creation over, but an irritated burst of flames had him pull his face far away from the candles.

Choked giggles came from the kitchen.

"I can't believe you just did that!" the candlestick cried, obviously offended.

"That actually just happened!" someone choked.

"Ya just thrust ye fingers up between a woman's legs, sir!" another voice cut through North's consciousness, and the man gaped in horror.

"You're a…!? I'm so sorry! It's just I've never seen a… you're a…! I'm terribly…! Who's there?!" the toymaker asked when he suddenly realized he wasn't alone.

"The ones who live here."

On the floor beside the kitchen door stood a clock that had definitely not been there before. It was about a metre high, brown and yellow in colour and rough in design, showing signs of age. A brass pendulum swung steadily from side to side like a heart behind a cracked glass door. The face of the clock had a pair of blue eyes peering at North over the arms that he wasn't sure was showing the right time. It had to be later than twenty minutes to five.

"Are you broken?" was North's first question, for some reason that being what his mind focused on rather than the fact he thought the clock was talking to him.

"Yeah, sort of. We all are," the clock shrugged with a wry smile that pulled the arms of the clock upwards on both sides, acting more like a moustache. "Listen, there be room on the second floor. Ya can sleep there."

The elderly man stood still though. He found himself wondering what the spices in the food had done to him.

"I'm a toymaker, I can fix you up if you let me," North offered suddenly, somehow his mind was still stuck on the "broken" part, unable to process the "talking furniture" just yet. Or maybe it wasn't the food, but the witch? His head had always felt funny after too much exposure to her smell.

"You can't fix us," the candlestick said with a sigh. "Not like that."

"Oh, but if you let me try…"

"Listen, old man," a new voice spoke and North looked around, this time mindful of the candlestick he was still using to see.

"Who's that?"

"Down here," the new voice called.

"Look down," the candlestick said at the same time.

The large cup North been drinking from during his meal stood in the doorway to the kitchen, and it looked wet and disgruntled.

North stared at yet another pair of blue eyes over the ear of the cup, that from this angle looked like an enormous nose on a too small face. The cup shook itself, throwing little droplets of water all around.

"I have a very long list of complaints about a lot of things," the cup said. "But a 'toymaker' can't fix us."

North was slowly forgetting about that as he started to realize he'd been drinking from a cup that was now talking to him.

"Just go find a bed and sleep, sir," the clock said again, and its voice sounded strangely urgent. "Astrid will show you to a room."

"Of course," the candlestick said quickly.

Distantly, North picked up on a tension filling the air. However, the promise of a bed and a chance to wake up in the morning to furniture that wasn't talking to him, no matter how fascinating it was, was appealing.

"Turn around and take the left side staircase," the candlestick directed.

The toymaker walked slowly, looking over his shoulder at the clock and cup until he reached the top of the staircase. Clock and cup both remained immobile.

In difference to the entering hall, the hallway was narrow. The lightning still happening outside flashed sporadic, short-lived light over snarling stone dragon faces crawling over the walls together with gargoyles that were a lot more logically placed, adding a strange symmetry under a layer of something else. North still felt watched, and the rolling thunder made him flinch.

"There's a room over there you can use," the candlestick said carefully, pointing an arm towards a door.

Another flash lit up the corridor, and in the light North saw a shadow. A tall figure towering higher than any man should, strangely shaped and hunchbacked. The candles abruptly went out, leaving North in almost compact darkness.

"What… was that?" the human whispered.

"Just a trick of the light," the candlestick said, too quickly.

North was backing up.

"Sir, you should go to bed. Nothing will happen to you here. You just need sleep!"

The toymaker bumped into something that gave away behind him. Startled he released the candlestick.

Another flash of lightning lit up the hall. This time the shadow was moving, towards North in long leaps, eyes glowing green and a roar filling the hall along with North's screams.