Hey y'all, here's today's chapter!
Remember how I was saying that most chapters would be the same length as the first? Turns out I mis-counted. Chapter One was 25 pages long, but this guy and all chapters following are 10, with some wiggle room.
I only got up an hour and a half ago (it's 2:30 PM where I am). I was expecting to wait until later to publish it, but then I slept for 12 hours so I guess now is later... Oh well. At least I'm well rested! :)
SO MANY THANKS TO THOSE WHO HAVE READ, REVIEWED, AND/OR FOLLOWED THIS STORY. YOU'RE ALL LOVELY AND WONDEROUS AND LOV-ONDEROUS.
Oh, and I forgot last time: DISCLAIMED. I AM MAKING NO MONEY. NO COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.
CHAPTER TWO
The Isle of Berk, to me, is shaped something like an oval drawn by a wobbly hand, or an immense loaf of bread that some god had taken a big mouthful from, the edges of the bite-mark sharp and pointed inwards. The village of Berk is settled on the intact edge—perched on cliffs of limestone and soil that fall to the sea in ragged, fertile steps.
(Others in the tribe describe the island as shaped like a loogie, but since a loogie can be any shape, depending on what angle it hit the ground, and because it's a little gross, I don't like using that idea.)
There are three mountains on Berk, if you didn't count the small spires of limestone that rise from the land every so often. Two form the bay on the opposite side of the island from the village—the tips of the crescent bite-mark. The third is the tallest, and stands alone to the northeast, surrounded by steppes and limestone spires of its own. That was Raven's Point, named for the dark granite that makes up the tip—the soil up there was worn away by the storms of Thor and the sea's winds, long ago.
It was said that the mountain was Huginn and Muninn's perch, and that anyone brave enough to climb its peak would receive Oðin's praise and wisdom through the two ravens. I've been up there plenty of times, but I've never gotten any kind of preternatural wisdom from the birds.
(As far as I know. They are the Birds of Thought and Memory—who knows? Maybe they could make me forget them.)
Either way, it was there that I ran to start my search.
(Well. After maybe an hour of just blindly sprinting from shore to shore a few thousand times. Running always made me feel a little better after a Walk of Shame.)
Had I been tied to the same laws of speed and nature that held the rest of the island in check, it would've taken me all morning to search the island. Luckily, I wasn't—but that seemed to be the end of my good fortune.
By the time I'd made my third run up, down, and around the entire mountain, I was ready to tear my hair out. The map of the island, in the notebook I'd brought from the house, was covered in charcoal X's from places I'd already checked over.
A horrible thought came to mind—what if it'd missed the island altogether? Raven's Peak was on a narrow strip of land, relative to the rest of the island. What if the thing had missed, crashed into the sea and drowned? Its body would be carried away to fall off the edge of the world, with no evidence for me to ever find.
The idea froze me where I stood, heels digging into the earth. My feet—bare as they always were when I was running, my boots dangling off a hook in my belt—kicked up two square feet of dirt at the sudden stop.
If the body was gone, then I had nothing. No proof that I'd finally done it, and that meant no acceptance from the village—ever, if there really was only one Night Fury out there.
My dad would never look at me with anything but disappointment in his eyes. I'd never become a great dragon-killer and a greater Viking. I'd be Hiccup the Useless until the day I entered Niflheim.
Dread curled in my chest. It would always be this life for me, then. Shame and destruction, and dishonoring my ancestors. Stuck alone, probably living in Mildew's house after the old man died. Hiccup the Useless, left alone because he'll wreck everything otherwise.
Forever.
"Oh gods." I groaned and ran a hand through my short-sheared hair, snapping the book closed with the other. Frustrated and a little scared, I started walking through the forest, lamenting to the enormous trees, standing like soldiers around me, and to whoever was watching above. "Oh gods—why do you hate me? Some people lose their knife, or their mug…why am I the one to lose an entire dragon?
"Is it because of the eclipse? And the storm?" I had to wonder. I'd heard about it often enough—how my birth had come packaged with the disappearance of Sól and a sudden thunderstorm, signs of the worst kind. Dad had told me the storm was my mother's, but I don't know how much I really believed that. With every new wrecked house and torch, it seemed more and more likely that Thor was more upset by my birth than Mom's death. "Did that doom me to this kind of life?"
The woods were foggy and not exactly quiet—my voice echoed and came back to me, and what birds hadn't fled south yet rang songs through the heavy air. But there wasn't any answer for me, not from the skies, or Asgarð, or any of the other Realms.
My teeth clenched, anger rearing its ugly head. "If you're gonna stick me with it, you might as well tell me why!"
I slapped a tree branch that was in my way—and didn't duck quick enough to dodge the thing as it came flying back, whacking me in the face. The sharp pine twigs and needles whacked me in the face, leaving tiny scrapes across my cheeks.
"Ow!"
I rubbed my face and looked up—then froze.
The thing was one of the old-growth trees on Berk—unlike many of the islands this far north, we have a lot of big trees, which is how the tribe gets most of its wealth when Trader Johann drops by, exchanging timber for goods. It was enormous, probably a hundred feet at its highest, and half as wide around as my entire house.
Its size, however, wasn't what caught my eye. What made me stare was the fact that even though it had been so huge, the tree was splintered, like any other skinny crossbow bolt.
Berk's strong summer winds had broken trees before, but this wasn't like that—the break was too sharp, and none of the other trees around it were broken either. No, this was more like the product of an especially selective devastating winter blizzard—this single tree was pretty much in three pieces, the largest bit still hanging on but was bent badly from the vertical it had been, leaning down and hitting earth.
Flying icicles—yes, that had happened before—could've done this. If the icicle was the size of a horse. And anyway, this was summer, and that split was fresh—the smell of sap and freshly cut wood was still heavy in the air. Summer storms did not have a habit of producing icicles, and summer winds were not strong enough to carry them like icy javelins.
In fact, until Devastating Winter swung by, nothing would be going through the air fast enough to do that…
Nothing except…
Mouth hanging loose, I turned and saw a deep rut in the ground—deeper than any I'd ever made myself, bringing up fertile black soil from underground. The trees around it were cut in half, and it stopped just over a hill. It looked like the site of a crash landing.
So it couldn't really be anything else, could it?
Barely daring to hope, I carefully made my way into the rut and over to the hill, tripping over a few broken roots. As I walked, something inside my chest twanged, like a muscle spasm, and I absently rubbed my sternum, too busy staring at the destruction around me to really notice. There were claw marks on the nearby wood, roots and trees both—it had to be it. I knew it was.
Crouching against the broken earth made my knees damp, but it let me have a peek over the crest of the hill. I gasped and pulled back down.
Black and huge—that was it.
There wasn't any sound—even the birds had shut up—for a few moments. When I gathered enough courage, I looked over the edge again.
It was massive and the color of the night sky—its wings, though contained by the bola ropes, stretched high above its body, leathery sails for the heavens. I'd never seen another dragon with such huge wings.
Oh gods. A Night Fury.
Realizing that I was unarmed—Hiccup you useless idiot!—I scrambled and grabbed the seaxe from my belt, holding it up and out with both hands.
Another minute to gather my courage—and for me to realize that it wasn't breaking free, or looking for its tiny trapper with vengeance burning in its heart—and I jumped down from the hill, hiding behind a boulder in case it woke up again.
When I looked back again, I saw that the head was turned away, partially hidden by the angle. It didn't move. I don't think it breathed.
Great Æsír. That was a Night Fury.
I walked around from the boulder, eyes widening as I took in the entire thing, now that I was closer. It wasn't huge—not nearly the size of a Nightmare—but it was sleek. It wasn't colorful like the other species—even in the foggy light, the scales shone black and navy.
The head wasn't shaped like any of the other dragons' either, a rounded mouth easing into flaps of scale and skin angled against its neck, which didn't seem hard enough to be horns. My eyes kept sliding back to its wings—they were, again, massive. It was like a tent, and cast a shadow onto the ground that you could get lost in.
I could almost see the lean muscle under the skin. It had to be dead, because otherwise, I had a hard time believing just rope was keeping it down.
(Even if it was reinforced with steel wire.)
"Oh wow. I—I did it." The dread from earlier vanished like black smoke into the night air, replacing itself with bubbling joy. "I did it! This, this fixes everything! Yes!" Pride grew from my heart and I stepped forward, aiming to put my foot on its shoulder in a heroic stance.
"I have brought down this mighty beas—"
Uuuuuwurgh!
I jumped away, throwing my back against the rock as the shoulder shoved me off, a groan arising from its head.
Okay. Maybe not so dead.
I could see its chest rising and falling now. It snuffed a blast of air through its nose. As I drew near, seaxe out and at the ready I could see it's eyelid open up—the eye was enormous and poison-green, without a white. Only a parchment-thin, slitted pupil as black as its scales broke the toxic color.
Those eyes bothered me. They didn't look ferocious or mad. The pupil tightened and I could almost see something like… emotion in it, as it released a deep whine, like any other large, injured animal.
It was still alive. There was only one thing to do, then.
I took a deep breath—several—and resettled my grip on the knife. The muscle in my chest twanged again, harder, but I paid it no attention. I turned to its chest—its heart. I could almost see it beating underneath the scales, but I think I was imagining it. I just had to get the beating to stop.
My blade had to go in—and—and through the scales and—
The dragon was staring at me, almost baleful. It looked… small. Wary. Like I was the dangerous one, when I had a small blade and it had fire and fangs and claws.
Those strange eyes watched me.
My arms wouldn't move. I pursed my lips and muttered under my breath. "I'm gonna kill you, dragon."
I forced myself to ignore its gaze, and the pain that kept growing in my chest with every word. I made myself face forward. At the chest, the pulsing heart. "I'm gonna cut out your heart and take it to my father."
Not sure who I was talking to—the dragon, or myself—I closed my eyes, believing that the darkness would afford me certainty, make it easier.
It breathed hard, but I kept my eyes shut. "I'm a Viking."
No response, from the dragon or my frozen arms. I screwed up my face. This was not the time to be Useless. It was time to prove myself. I was a Viking, I could kill this thing! I'd carve out its heart and take it to my father in the Great Hall! The tribe would cheer me and sing stories about this for generations! I'd be called the Useful, never Useless or Runt or Loki's Child again!
And those green eyes would never bother me again, because they'd be—
—frozen. Frozen in death, but still alone. Forever.
Loneliness—that was the emotion I saw in that toxic gaze. It was the same thing I'd been dreading when I thought I wouldn't find it.
The last thing I wanted was to live my life as a worthless hiccup. I did not want to die alone. By the looks of it, neither did this thing.
Were we really so different?
Yes we are! I reminded myself, scowling. I was a human being with honor, what little I had, and dignity! It wasn't, it didn't have any of that, it raided my village and killed members of my tribe! It was a bloodthirsty dragon and—
Except it wasn't bloodthirsty. Its eyes weren't ferocious—they were just alone, and they were something else, too.
They were scared.
(Maybe as scared as I was.)
No no no! I shook my head furiously. I can kill this dragon! I'm not soft! I'm not weak! I'm not Useless! I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III! I am the Hope and Heir to the Hooligans of Berk!
"And I am a VIKING!" I shouted, and I tore my eyes open to spit right into the dragon's face. "I am the grandson of Thor himself!"
It made a surprised sound, half a roar and half a whine. Its pupils seemed larger, and I could read pain in them along with the loneliness and fear—gods did I know pain and fear like that. No!
I made myself close my eyes, and lifted the blade once more.
This is for everything I've ever been called, I made myself think. Useless, scrawny, hiccup, weak. Mistake, curse, Loki's son, worthless. This is because they're wrong.
I couldn't help but peek. Green eyes met green.
It looked like it was begging.
…He's so scared…
No don't think that way! I screwed my eyes shut again and lifted my seaxe high. It will die, they are wrong, they are wrong, they are wrong—
The dragon's head hit the ground with a soft thump, a forlorn whine vibrating out of it. It gave up, resigned to a bloody fate at the end of the dagger I held.
Euuuummm
…This is wrong.
"Fu(k."
I let the blade fall. The fleshy part of my palms hit my scalp.
I couldn't do it. I was weak, soft, worthless. Useless.
Letting it fall all the way to my side, I glanced down the length of the beast. The ropes were tight, obviously painful. They strained, but held as it breathed deeply. I'd done my job well, apparently. It didn't give me the pride I'd hoped it would.
Glancing at my seaxe, then back at the injured animal, I shook my head. "I did this," I muttered, looking at the defeated body in front of me. I started to walk away.
My chest twanged once more. I glanced back as the dragon took a heavy, crooning breath. It was still trapped—because of me, and it would not survive unless it was freed.
Soft, weak, Useless, cursed…
"…Might as well be crazy too," I muttered dryly, before sighing and hanging my head. I'd already decided to spare the thing—if I was going to dishonor Dad and my line today, I might as well do it right.
I turned back and set my seaxe to the rope. It was thick, good quality—traded for hard labor and meticulous craftsmanship, all to waste now—and took a minute to cut. The steel wire part of the braid took me an extra few seconds for every rope. Eventually, the last of the three snapped with a quiet shick.
And then the creature slammed me onto my back against the boulder.
The soft croons were gone—only the echoes of an angry screech and hot breaths on my face came from the dragon now. My heart raced and I looked up.
Two sharp eyes stared down at me with a scaly abyss between them. Anger and something almost like logic swirling in the green depths. The pupils were even wider now, and I could see the individual strands of brown and gold that fell into the thin pit.
If it decided to blast me, I'd survive—lose all my limbs, but survive. Lips twitched, and I saw a flash of white fangs. I had no Gift to protect me from it biting through my skull.
But it didn't do that either.
Something deep in me shifted towards the dragon, and I eased out of my terrified spot against the rock. Why…?
It reared up. Wings went high, and I drew away. I heard gurgles—fire coming, this was it, I had to cover my arms and legs at least for all the good it would do—
Thor, please let me see my mom.
OOOOEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHH
No fire came—only a devastating shriek.
It hit me like a heated spear. Pain pierced sharp, and spread fast, rocketing and echoing through my skull. Suddenly free from its grasp, my arms came up to slap against my ears. But it did no good, the horrible screech was reverberating through my skull like an echo through a canyon, louder and louder and louder—
Curling up didn't help either. As the strength and volume grew, as I lost control and screamed, I felt something in my throat and between my ears shift.
Glass shattered in my mind, the sound grating and the shards piercing. Blistering heat seared from just behind my heart, and burned at my insides. Agony assaulted me from every corner.
I screamed and screamed and screamed, until either the pain or the lack of air blacked me out.
Not dying under that Night Fury's claw was the strangest experience of my life up to that point—but it was quickly beaten down by the experience of waking up after it happened.
The sun was almost down and casting a red glow through the trees when my eyes fluttered open. My head was swimming and I felt dizzy—sitting up was a feat I wouldn't have been able to manage had there not been a rock there for me to hold onto.
I winced and had to cradle my head—something was off. About me, about the woods… it felt almost as if I were dreaming; no longer just a stand of trees, there was something extra about the forest now. I couldn't place it.
The world seemed to shift and spin, and colors seemed sharper than normal as I tottered to my feet, planning on getting home before the sun really disappeared.
There was something red on the ground, I noticed. My hands travelled to my head, and found a half-dried stream of blood coming from both ears.
Either I hit my head, or that Fury did something to me. I wasn't sure which one to hope for.
The trip back home was long—I didn't trust myself running at full speed like… this—but luckily, it seemed that every step settled me a little more. The weird sensation about the woods and colors faded. I was able to walk straight, after a while.
By the time I reached the house, the sun was down and the sky was darkening with twilight.
Maybe the Norns would smile on me, and Dad would be out doing chief things…
I opened the door, looked inside, and mentally swore—of course not, why would I be that lucky? Hoping to sneak past him up to my room and the bed that was singing a siren's song, I closed the door quietly behind me and crept past him as he stoked the main fire.
I'd made it halfway up the stairs before, "Hiccup."
"Dad!" I said, stopping where I was. Remembering what happened earlier, what I'd done—or rather, didn't do—I sighed and backed up on the stairs. "I—have to talk to you, Dad."
"I wish to speak with you too, son."
I nodded, took a breath, and said it: "I decided I don't want to fight dragons."
"What?" He'd said something too, right over me, and by the looks of it, neither of us had heard the other. "Uh—you go first."
"No," I said, putting it off. He'd always said true Vikings were dragon killers—avoiding the shame for as long as possible seemed like a good idea. "No, you go first."
"Alright." He looked at me, his brows low and eyes serious. "You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning."
Dragon training—the thing I'd been waiting for my whole life, offered when I'd just discovered I couldn't kill a Night Fury even if it was wrapped up with a pretty bola right in front of me. It was official—the gods really did hate me.
"Oh man, I should've gone first. Uh, cause I was thinking—you know, we have a surplus of dragon-fighting Vikings, but do we have enough… bread-making Vikings, or—or small home repair Vikings? I-I could work in the forge, I'm pretty good at that—"
"You'll need this." He lifted an axe that was sitting next to him and dumped it into my arms—I nearly collapsed under the weight. It was a lot heavier than the seaxe I hadn't been able to use on the Night Fury.
"Uh, Dad—I don't want to fight dragons," I tried.
He laughed, turned around. "Oh, c'mon. Yes you do!"
I winced, knowing that everything I'd said and done over the last ten years was working against me. Maybe the only thing I could do was admit the truth. "Rephrase… Dad, I can't kill dragons."
"But you will kill dragons!"
"No, I'm really very extra certain that I won't—"
"It's time, Hiccup," he said, his voice serious.
"Can you not hear me?" I begged.
"This, is serious, son." Apparently he couldn't hear me—or he thought I was joking, as he always did. He became quiet, the way he always did when he was trying to drill some kind of inspirational Viking concept into my brain. "When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you. Which means you walk like us," he straightened my grip on the weapon, "you talk like us," he lifted my shoulders so I was standing straight, "and you think like us. No more of… this."
He must've been talking with Gobber. "You just gestured to all of me," I pointed out, annoyed.
"Deal?"
What deal? What exactly were we agreeing on? That I'd be going into dragon training, and he'd be… what? Standing in the background? He hadn't even listened to a word I'd said! "This conversation is feeling very one-sided!"
"Deal?"
I sighed and let the axe drop to the floor. There wasn't really anything else to say, except, "Deal."
"Good." I frowned as he picked up a large basket and threw the strap over his shoulder. Was he going somewhere? "Train hard. I'll—"
"Wait—where're you going?" I asked, taking a step forward as he picked his helmet from the spit.
"I'm heading a fleet to the Nest. We've got time for one more search before Höðr closes the sea."
It wasn't exactly the first time he'd left to search for the Dragon's Nest, but for some reason, this time made my stomach clench. Dread mixed with fear in my gut, and I knew, somehow, that this wouldn't end well.
"Wait, Dad!" He turned around an eyebrow high. "I d—I don't think you should go."
My dad frowned heavily. "Hiccup, these devils won't leave us alone—we need to find that Nest. If we take it down, they'll finally leave us be."
"Yeah, but—Dad, I really don't think you should go," I repeated, putting the axe to the side and walking forward, hands spread in the hope that he might actually listen this time. "Please, I…"
"Why not?"
"I don't know, I just—I have a feeling. Please Dad, call off the search."
He shook his head. "I can't call off a search just because you have a feeling, son."
"But it's not just any—"
He held up a hand the size of my chest. "That's my final word. It shouldn't take too long, so I'll be back. Probably."
I gaped at him, but he only left the house, the door closing with a soft click behind him. All I could do now, I guess, was pray that my feeling was wrong and that he'd manage to get back home.
I glanced over at the axe still on the floor. Dragon training started in the morning.
"I'll be here," I muttered, grunting as I picked it up with both hands. "Maybe."
So yeah. Shorter, but I hope it's still good!
I tried to post this on Ao3, but I have literally 0 skill with HTML or Rich Text, and since I myself have a hard time reading anything that's not formatted well, I decided not to be a hypocrite and didn't post on there. However, it is on my Tumblr, URL author-of-the-unfinished and tagged "special gifts" and "sg".
Until tomorrow, my friends!
PEACE,
~Tibki