Those Who Stay
A/N: So I am inexplicably and unreasonably proud of this chapter, mostly because next one will give us some big insight into Mildew - you'll actually see a bit of this one from his POV, to explain his view of things, and then I'll move on with the rest of the fic. I thinkk I'm gonna like ittttt :D and yes I did just start singing Annie. 2014 version, folks #swag #that'smyfavoriteAnnie #butthe1999version'sgoodtoo #Idon'tknowifI'veeverseenthe1982infull #eitherwayIdidnotenjoywhatIdidsee #whyamistillusingthis
Also, we're finally moving ahead with this storyyyy just yesss those first three chapters were kind of bitches but then I always have trouble with the third chapter and I don't know why. I talk about this more on Rabbit Hole if you want to pop over to that instead. *shameless self-promo*
Scarcely anyone save the boy himself knew it, but if there was one thing Hiccup liked, it was a mystery.
By nature, he was an inquisitive and adventurous kind of person, and he never liked to simply leave things as they were; he had to know why they were that way, who had chosen to make them that way, and if it was the gods, couldn't the all-powerful beings see that the world they had designed was wrought with flaws? Why had they made the sky blue, and why had they made a world in which the dragons raided them and they must fight them? Why had they made a world in which every living thing had to kill to keep on living? Why they created a world in which people died, in which people became ill or fell on the battlefield, and why had they created so many things that could kill people? Why had they created a world and filled it with some people who were strong and fearsome and fine leaders and given them sons who were so very different that it seemed impossible that they shared blood?
When he was a child, he had driven his father nearly mad with questions such as these, and it seemed to him that the man had never given him particularly satisfactory answers. Most of those questions, he had voiced when he was very young – and most had no answer. They were very small disappointments in the scheme of things, mysteries never to be solved.
But here at last, thrown right into his lap as if a handmade gift from the gods themselves came this. The Night Fury in the woods…the black dragon in the cove was a mystery indeed…why hadn't it just flown away? What had stopped it? And why hadn't it attacked him? This was to be the second time in two days that he had been undefended, unprepared, and still the Night Fury had remained peaceful in its own strange, almost comforting manner – just staring at him, thick black tail moving slowly back and forth, huge green eyes fixed unrelentingly upon his face, never leaving his. There had been a look almost like curiosity in those eyes, and Hiccup could not forget it. He could not deal with it. He could not swallow it or cease thinking about it.
It just didn't make any sense.
Dragons were inferior creatures that were utterly incapable of feeling anything but an instinctive desire to kill; dragons were vicious beasts that would destroy everything in their paths; dragons were not capable of rational thought or true emotion. To all intents and purposes, a Night Fury expressing anything like curiosity went against everything Hiccup had ever learned. There was no explanation; there was nothing else for it; the dragon had wondered about him as he had wondered about the dragon. He didn't know, perhaps would never know, how long he had remained on that wall of boulders, breathless with something more powerful than wonder.
Looking down at his plate, the burnt salmon staring unseeingly back at him from the wooden dish, Hiccup recalled the dragon submerging its black, spiny head in the murky waters, mouth opening, teeth snapping…and rising unsuccessful, green eyes burning as it gazed down upon the food it could not secure. It had been hungry. And it hadn't flown up to him and ripped his throat out. Another familiar teaching was that dragons would do anything for survival, even turn on their own kind and yet the weakened, hungry creature looked as if the thought hadn't even crossed its mind. Why hadn't it? What had stopped it? Certainly, Hiccup knew, he had only tempted the dragon further by sliding down that wall of boulders to retrieve his charcoal stick – he could purchase more when Trader Johann docked on Berk shores again, but he had no wish to wait. He knew he couldn't get by without writing and drawing and creating, and did not wish to attempt it.
When his boots had touched the soft green grass and he had bent down, scraping and scrabbling in the dirt for his stick, and the only thing separating him from the dragon had been shining water, the Night Fury had not attacked. Had not plunged into the pond and swam the distance; had not gone around the glistening, silvery pool to retrieve his prey; had merely stood there with a flicking tail and wary, empty, hungry eyes and a fierce yet skittish stance that made Hiccup feel rather sorry for it. Even when he had turned his back upon the creature to begin the perilous climb up the wall once again, the Night Fury had not touched him. Just stared with those wary, empty, hungry, curious eyes.
It was true, Hiccup did have a liking for mysteries; but he was beginning to feel that this was one better left untouched.
Yet another thing that scarcely anyone knew about Hiccup – and indeed, that he did not even know about himself – was that, quite aside from liking mysteries and longing for adventures and asking hundreds of questions, he could be extraordinarily stubborn and he was quite a determined child. So when he spotted the elderly man, staff rattling, angry scowl fixed firmly in place, the words from the previous day ringing in the air before them – though he would have dearly liked to turn back then – he clenched his freckled hands into fists and firmed his mouth, squared his shoulders and continued on his path, acting as though he had not seen Mildew at all.
He went immediately over to the furnace and knelt by it, reaching for the tinder and flint, secretly glad at the chance for heat – for the tiny little island of Berk was a northernmost dwelling and the approaching winter made the mornings quite frigid.
As he worked, gradually producing a spark and then a merry, crackling fire which he was quite pleased with, the old man at his back uttered not a word and for this, he was glad. He supposed it had been good fortune that he had wound up working the blacksmith stall with a man like Gobber, who may not have liked him but was at least kind, rather than a sour, selfish person such as the one who currently resided within the forge's confines.
The boy did not bother to remove his vest or tie on his apron at all; the early morning wind carried a savage bite today, just enough to remind everyone of the coming season, and he had no wish to increase the discomfort by removing his thickest garment. Choosing a weapon from the pile awaiting repairs and crossing the forge to his work desk, Hiccup examined the chipped sword critically; fixing his green eyes upon the blade so as to avoid the other, paler gaze, he came to a stop in front of the desk. He spoke not a word himself, choosing instead to set to work immediately on the weapon, letting it rest upon the wood for a moment while he collected the tools necessary for repairing it. There was a long moment in which nothing could be heard aside from the occasional chink of metal upon metal as he set about fixing the sword, but Mildew appeared horribly unsettled due to the silence, and at last, turning his staff this way and that in his veined hands, the elderly man spoke, albeit rather stiffly. "It's cold."
Hiccup lifted his head from the sword in surprise, nearly losing grip of the hilt. He had not expected the other occupant of the forge to be the first to speak. He wanted to respond with sarcasm, but every comeback he had seemed to have slipped through his fingers. "I…I hadn't noticed." This was very clearly a lie, considering he had entered the forge not ten minutes previously, wracked with horrible shivers, and collapsed gratefully by the furnace upon reaching it, but Mildew did not challenge him; strangely, he did not seem interested in berating the boy any further for any real or perceived wrongdoings from the day before.
"Winter will be coming soon," the old man said gruffly.
"Yes," Hiccup responded carefully, tossing the elderly Viking a confused glance over his shoulder as he spoke. "Yes, I…I suppose it will."
"I don't think it'll snow today, though."
"No, it's not cold enough." Okay, even by his standards, this conversation was painful. Mildew seemed in a very strange mood indeed.
The elderly man turned as quickly as one so aged could to face the door, moving with suddenness Hiccup could not have predicted still resided in his bones. "I should…I should leave."
"…Okay…?" Quite apart from being inquisitive and stubborn, Hiccup did possess a few good qualities, one being an even temper, and the ability to deal with others patiently or even kindly, even when they were not near so patient or kind themselves. So when he spoke again, he was sure to soften his tone slightly, and remembering something Gobber had once said regarding aging men and their inability to handle prolonged or acute chill, he added, very quietly, "It's kind of cold out, though, like you said, so if you want to—you know—take a minute to warm up by the furnace or something, go ahead. I'm not stopping you."
Mildew paused where he stood by the door, one hand frozen in the act of reaching out for it. He moved not an inch save his pale, pale eyes, which seemed to look at everything and nothing all at once before at last locking onto the boy's face and seeming to ask a great many questions at once.
"Seriously, though," Hiccup turned to meet his gaze, desperation on his face, "please talk about something other than the weather."
For the first time in ten years, Mildew, lonely and trying man that he was, opened his mouth and a very low, very cracked laugh came through. It was not terribly loud or long; a short burst, a brief chuckle, but both man and boy heard it and indeed, the latter was surprised that the former could laugh at all. Even more astonishing was that the man had laughed at him; he had not expected the other to hear the slight, joking undertone to his words, had not realized the elderly Viking was capable of spotting any humor in the situation at hand, had not realized that there was anyone else upon the little island that would understand his humor, and the boy found he had to smile. "Well, c'mon, then, if you're coming, don't just stand there. Your sheep would be a nice subject change…what's his name again…? Fungus? Why isn't he here, anyway?"
"Yes, Fungus, that's right…he's a bit ornery in the winters and won't leave the house unless I carry him down the hill, if you can believe that…"
