Hey y'all!
I went to Dublin Comic Con yesterday! It was the perfect end to a perfect last two days-I found a bone bead by my burial on site (Find of the Month, apparently); I got to play and have pictures of myself taken in partial medieval armor; I got to meet my FF penpal for the last like 5 years (hiya Yarn, if you're reading this!); I got to see a billion cool cosplays and meet Kevin Conroy, the voice of Batman! I did have to say goodbye to two friends (one from site and Yarn) but hopefully we'll find a way to stay in touch.
Anyway. Long and important chapter today. Hope you like it! :)
DISCLAIMED.
CHAPTER NINE
I spent the rest of the night in my shop, trying to think up ways of getting Toothless back in the air—ways to make that prosthetic fin open and close like the real one. My first idea was a rope, but where would I tie the other end? His leg? He needed that for take off, and to land, and for clawing things that were hopefully fish and not people.
And besides, how would he be able to know how wide to spread it? I had a feeling anything he knew about spreading and closing the thing was from instinct—there was no doubt that the Night Fury belonged in the sky from birth. Not only that, he would need to glance back to see how wide the prosthetic was, and I doubted looking away was a smart idea while flying at about the speed of sound. Even more, how effective would the rope on the foot be? It seemed like an awkward set-up, not something Toothless would have the patience for for long.
I scrapped the rope-to-leg idea and focused on making a new one rather than poking more holes in it; that ship was already sunk.
The rope-to-mouth idea went even faster than the previous one. He needed his mouth open to shoot fire, and eat, and speak. A rope would force him to keep it closed (which was tempting if impractical), and turning his head to pull it would send him in every direction except ahead.
My third idea was to somehow access whatever part of the body let him control his old tailfin and connect that to the new one… but I tossed that almost as soon as I thought it up. Ridiculous.
But that did open up a point—there needed to be a mind, not another body part, behind the new fin. I couldn't figure out a way for Toothless to be that mind anymore, but maybe someone else could be that mind instead.
Two heads were better than one, they said. If he let me ride him, I'd be able to control the fins and he could fly again!
And, I privately thought, so could I. The little glimpse of beautiful island and gorgeous sky I'd gotten on my impromptu ride on his tail left me… well. I certainly wasn't going to complain about a second chance to get up there.
(I'd always thought running was a bit like flying; I wasn't wrong, entirely, but flight was still something so much more amazingly different. I had to explore it more.)
The first thing I'd need was a saddle. My other cousins, the chiefs and their families of the tribes on the more southern islands in the Archipelago, had horses, and I'd seen people constructing saddles and tack during diplomatic trips I'd been allowed to attend.
"Can't be that different for a dragon than a horse," I figured, and got to work.
The forge was not a tannery—Berk didn't even have a main tannery, just a small stall where everyone did their own work or favors for friends—but even weapons needed leather bits, for handholds, decorations, fastenings. So while I didn't know my way around the pliable material like I did metal, I could maybe throw something together.
Toothless was sinewy, almost boneless, and I designed the saddle to echo that—instead of building a frame and making it stiff like I knew some saddles were made, I weaved together strips of the treated scrap leather that Gobber and I worked with, making it flexible and soft, and sewed each strip together with strong catgut. Between upper and bottom layers, I put some wool and plant fluff—soft enough for both of us, hopefully.
The buckles to keep it on him were a little harder to figure out—mainly because I'd never seen them made for a horse and had to figure it out on my own. We have no horses up here; if we ever did, they were carried off by Nightmares long ago. Luckily, the kind of strap I'd used for his tail seemed to work just as fine as whatever the horsemen of the south had built. I used a wide and flat log from our uncut wood pile outside to model Toothless's back, and fit the straps onto it at the right angle.
It took most of the night, but when I was done, a sense of accomplishment I only got when I finished a good project settled deep into my bones. I damped down the forge and carried it home with a bright smile over my face.
Tomorrow was a break-day from training, giving me hours of free time. Toothless would love this…
"Oh Toothless!"
"I think I'm either going to learn to love or dread that sound," the dragon said as he looked up from the rock he was sitting on. His ears perked up and his eyes widened at the sight of a basket on my back. "Do you have any fish?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Do you ever think about anything besides your stomach?" I asked in return, before obligingly dumping the basket onto the ground. I disconnected the saddle from where it had been hanging onto the thing and then kicked it over, revealing a nice catch of Icelandic cod.
"Of course. I think many highly complex thoughts a Squish like you could never hope to comprehend," he answered with a haughty lift of his head. I snorted and he sniffed carefully at the basket. "No eel—well, at least you can learn."
"You're very welcome, Mr. High and Mighty."
That earned me a draconic smirk. "At last, a better name than Toothless."
I rolled my eyes. "Oh, yeah, those thoughts must be super complex for you not to understand sarcasm."
"Oh, you weren't being sincere about my might?" he asked, his eyes too innocently wide. "Shame—I guess you can't learn after all."
I couldn't help it—I laughed, and Toothless released an amused snort before gulping down several of the fish. As he had his meal for the day, I laid the saddle out on the ground, making sure every strap was straight, that the catgut was holding nicely, and that the buckles weren't about to fall off.
A smile crossed my face. I think it would do nicely. Standing, I also undid a bit of twine holding a loop of rope to my belt and tossed it onto the ground next to it. That was going to be my way of opening and closing the fin—none of the dangers of Toothless holding the rope applied to a rider holding it. This way, he'd still be able to land, breathe fire, speak, and claw his way out of situations.
"So what is that thing?"
Toothless's barely interested question brought me out of my thoughts, and I grabbed the leather before standing and holding it up to him. "A saddle! I made it last nigh—"
"A what?" he asked, looking confused and a little startled. "What in the All-Father's name is a saddle?"
I lifted the product of over six hours of design, leatherwork, and metallurgy, allowing him to come forward and sniff at it cautiously. "It goes on your back," I explained eagerly. "It'll make a spot that's comfortable enough for me to sit on."
Toothless reared back, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Sit on my back!" he screeched, indignant. "I am not one of those dumb beasts squishes tame!"
"What, you mean a horse?" I asked, my arms drooping slightly in surprise. His sudden—and explosive, though thankfully not literally—anger threw me off. I hadn't expected him to not want to wear it. "I never said you—"
"I don't care what it's called, I will not be ridden like one!" he roared, before leaping back and away.
"Wait—Toothless!" I lunged forward, but he ducked away. "C'mon, at least try it on! I worked hard on this!"
He ran out of my reach again, paws moving fast. "Well then, sorry to waste your time, Squish, but I will not wear that thing!" Toothless declared. He spread his wings and lifted his head proudly. "I am a Night Fury, the best of the dragons, the greatest and most intelligent being to soar the skies! Not some mindless beast!"
I sighed heavily. "Oh come on!" A glance down at my project sent determination flowing through my veins. I'd promised that I would fix what I'd done, and I would—a little thing like a Night Fury's wounded pride was not going to get in my way.
My eyes narrowed. "Fine," I growled, low in my throat. Toothless's ears perked up in surprise, and some amount of wariness, at my tone. "Be that way."
He straightened, his head rising. "I wi—"
I didn't even give him the chance to finish the sentence before taking off, hearing his surprised roar at my speed and sudden move.
But to my absolute shock, he wasn't just a stationary blur like everything else when I ran—because even though I was moving so quickly, I saw him move too!
Astonishment made me stop. I dug my feet into the dirt, feeling the soles of my boots stretch and wear as they buried themselves deep in the mossy soil with the sudden brake.
Standing exactly where he'd been less than a fraction of a second ago, I gaped as he folded his wings and watched me triumphantly from several feet away. "What?" Toothless asked, smug. "Did you really think you could outstrip the fastest dragon in the skies?"
I never met someone who could match my speed before—and if that wasn't just a challenge, I'd eat Gobber's pegleg; hidden compartment for poker aces and all.
My eyes narrowed sharply and I hopped on one leg, and then the other, to yank my boots off. "Oh it is on," I growled, crouching. He did as well, at the ready, and defiant grins grew over both our faces. "C'mere you!"
I took off again, this time turning sharply when he sped away and kicking up a wave of soil almost three feet high.
Toothless roared, wove around the cove, and then leapt onto the sunny boulders, wings spread wide to catch air and move him faster. I followed, thankful that Thor had let my inborn klutziness only affect me at normal speeds as I leapt from boulder to boulder.
Unfortunately, I was slower in the air than on the ground, so I had some space to catch up when I hit dirt again.
"You couldn't catch a footless snail!" Toothless taunted in another roar.
"Snails don't even have feet!" I returned, and winced—not exactly my best retort.
The Night Fury took it like bait. "And it looks like you don't have any good comebacks!"
I scowled and frowned in thought, then grinned. I turned to follow him again, but when he tried to cut across by flying to the left, I sidestepped, making him twist uncontrollably in the other direction.
Toothless landed with a screech in the water, and I laughed. "And it looks like you're all wet!"
Dripping wet, he stared at me for a good long moment before laughing. "Thank you for stating the obvious, Squish," he snarked, before chuckling good-naturedly.
"Only to make sure you get it, Dragon," I replied with a grin.
"Alright, alright." His eyes took on a sly glint. "You know, with me in here, I technically win." I did a double take. What did he mean by that? "You can't reach me in here, can you!" Toothless crowed.
He jumped further into the lake, where the water started getting really deep. I stood, gaping, on the shore and unable to swim. Dam# that dragon!
Toothless splashed around happily in the water, and I walked up to the edge, looking down at my rippling reflection carefully. I'd nearly drowned in this water just yesterday—I'd had a hard time finally getting to sleep due to old nightmares of drowning. Did I really want to tempt Hel again?
I was about to shake my head and turn away, before a small memory came to mind—how, when Toothless had thrown me into the water, how it had almost felt like hitting the ground.
That hadn't exactly been the first time I'd fallen into water—I'd had to have been saved by various bystanders when it was too deep, and that had been rather humiliating—but that hadn't felt like that any of those times. The only thing I could think of that was different was how fast I'd been going when I hit the surface.
I also knew that if you threw a stone fast enough, it would skip...
If hitting water fast makes it act almost solid, I wondered, glancing at my feet on the shore. Could I maybe…?
Toothless was jumping up and down in the water, like some giant black flying fish. Apparently his lack of left tailfin had no affect on his swimming. He wasn't expecting me. I grinned.
Spinning around, I jogged back a few yards before turning to face the lake. Crouching, I squinted at my target, and, with a cry that would strike fear into maybe a kitten, took off.
When I went from land to water, the only thing I felt was a change from soft and loamy to soft and wet—and I didn't sink.
I was running. Over water!
Laughing, I redoubled my speed and ran on the water straight for the shocked-still Toothless.
I reached him and grabbed on, ignoring his indignant yowls and wrapping my arms around his neck before I stopped.
The second I did, I dropped and everything down to my waist got submerged. Toothless was looking at me with enormous eyes and flat, surprised ears, and I grinned up at him.
"I win," I said.
Toothless seemed too shocked to speak for a moment, then sighed. "Fine," he said, "Only a Squish would be foolish enough to risk Niflheim again for something so trivial," he muttered as he started paddling us both back to shore.
"We're Vikings," I said, shrugging, the response automatic. "We have stubbornness issues."
Toothless snorted. "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one." We reached the shallow end and I let go to walk back to the saddle. He climbed out and shook himself, almost like a dog, to get rid of the extra water.
I picked up the saddle and brushed off any dirt and grass that had landed on it when I threw it aside. Toothless stepped forward, a few of his scales still glistening with moisture, his nostrils snuffling at the leather suspiciously.
"How long did you say you worked on this?"
I smiled and lifted it up, walking around his back. He tried to follow my gaze, and I had to jump forward to try and reach his moving back. "Hey—hold still!" Toothless grudgingly did so and I put it on his back, reaching underneath to attach the right straps and buckles. It settled nicely just between his immense wings, leaving a little neck before his head started—looks like my luck for guessing his size was holding out. "Eh, maybe six hours."
If he had an eyebrow to raise, I had a feeling it would be high. "And that means…?"
Oh yeah, dragons probably didn't clock time by hours—they didn't exactly have sundials. I frowned, thinking over the time of the month, then smiled. "From midnight until moonrise."
Toothless gave me a surprised look. "And you still had time to sleep? Gmot is shrinking."
"I got seven hours—Sól was already past the horizon when I woke," I explained, not wanting to mention the nightmares. "And anyway, when the raids are as bad as they have been lately, we don't usually get more than three or four a night. It was enough for tonight and to make up for the night before." That seemed to quiet him, and I took a step back, looking over my handiwork. "Looks good. Now for step three."
The dragon snuffed. "I thought squishes were at least able to count—what happened to one and two?"
Standing, I winced, but had to admit the truth. "Most of us can count pretty well. Uh… Unfortunately, there are a couple…" Neither Ruffnut nor Tuffnut could count past nine. I knew; I'd seen it. Snotlout, thank the gods, was better. He could get to twelve. I shook my head. "Anyway. One was your tailfin, two is the saddle. Three," I said, walking to scoop up the length of rope, "is this."
Toothless looked at me oddly. "What about my tailfin?"
That made me freeze where I stood.
Oh gods. Had he not realized? But Toothless was smart, self-aware—I'd known that even before I'd started talking to him. How could he not have noticed? "Toothless," I said, looking at him sadly, hoping I could break it gently. "Your left fin—it's…"
His eyes suddenly grew hard. "Yes, I know it's gone," he snapped quickly, making me flinch. "It's a bit hard to miss, the fact that I can't fly anymore." The pain in his voice at the word fly made something inside of me crack.
"And I know why." My eyes snapped up as shock and guilt started pouring through that break in my chest. He knew? That I'd effectively been the one to sheer it off of his tail—to ground him?
But then why hadn't he eaten me when he'd gotten the chance, after I freed him? Why was he even still talking to me?
Toothless's gaze was toxic as ever, but his pupils weren't narrow like I'd been noticing they were when he was angry—though they weren't super wide like when he was laughing, either. "But that's the past." What? I couldn't believe it was that simple, but I wasn't about to press further; not when every part of me felt like the lowest sludge. I nodded to the ground, numb. "What did you mean, my fin was step one?"
Right, I thought, not even noticing the careful tone in his voice. I was working to fix what I'd done—maybe I'd never be able to really redeem myself, but I could at least work towards what I could manage. Barely lifting my head, I gestured down the length of his body. "Well—the prosthesis. That was step one."
"Prosthesis?" he repeated, sounding confused and looking behind him.
When green eyes hit the half-open leather fake, his wings hit the ground in shock. I blinked in surprise as his knees wobbled, then collapsed under him. Toothless didn't seem to care though, only staring at his tail with the widest eyes I'd ever seen on him.
I guess he hadn't noticed he was wearing it. "Did you really not realize you've been wearing that all day?" I asked. That was… slightly less unbelievable. Better than him not noticing he was missing a part of his body.
Toothless's head snapped to me before turning back to the fin. He lifted his tail and brought it to his face—the hinges for the ribs swung freely as it moved, and holding his tail in the air in front of his eyes made it hang all the way open.
He looked at me, and though we'd only been speaking for maybe three days, it seemed like longer, so when I realized that I'd never seen an expression of pure shock like that on his face, it felt significant. "Y—you built this?" he asked. His voice was weak, almost a squeak.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"For me?"
I shrugged, looked at my toes. "I figured… I dunno. That it was the least I could do." Licking my lips, with guilt making me contrite, I held up the rope. "If you really don't want me to ride you, I could tie this between your fin and your foot—it'll be more difficult to control, but you'll be able to fly on your own, so—"
"Fly?" He said the word like priests in temples might say Oðin, or the Gyoja might say Frigg or Hlín—with wonder and awe. Reverence. "Y…you're working, on me? Flying? Again?"
There was barely time to nod a yes before he slammed me to the ground.
But unlike last time, when he'd nearly eaten me and had blown out my eardrums, Toothless didn't threaten me at all—instead, a wide, slimy, forked tongue shot out and dragged wetly across my face and chest.
"Thank you!" The pure joy released echoed in his roar like the sound of a summer thunderstorm, warm and crackling.
"Wha—Toothless, ew!" I didn't have to protest much, though, because he climbed off of me almost immediately. When he looked at me, there was something new in his eyes—gratitude, definitely, and maybe respect, but I like to think I had caught a glimpse a sign of real friendship in there too.
Instead of bowling me over again, he stepped forward and nuzzled his head into my hand, looking up at me with bright eyes. "Thank you, Hiccup," he said, sincere. "You're giving me something greater than my life."
Whoa. Surprised at his serious words, I wondered how much flying really meant to dragons—I expected a lot, of course, and I knew it was worth his life, because a downed dragon… so I'd thought flying was equal to their life. I hadn't thought it would be more.
Blushing, I smiled and scratched lightly at the scales on his head. "Yeah, well. You kinda saved my life a couple times already, so I guess we're kinda even, you know?"
The grin he gave me was toothless and adorable, and I laughed at the sight of it. "So," I said, "let's get the saddle off then, and I'll tie the—"
"No."
I blinked at him, surprised. He didn't want the saddle taken off? After all the fight he'd made of putting it on, like two minutes ago? Was this the same dragon? "Wha…?"
Toothless nodded decisively. "I'm wearing the saddle. You will get me back in the air."
I gaped at him. "But—I'm the one who knocked you out of it!"
For some reason, that just made Toothless smirk. "Exactly. Now tie that rope, Squish—those opposable thumbs are the only thing your species is good for, anyway."
Thrown off by the sudden change of heart, all I could do was follow orders.
Twenty Minutes later—
Climbing out of the lake for the second time that day, I ripped my sopping coat off and pulled my notebook out of the basket while Toothless dried off in the sun.
Figure out how tailfin helps with steering!
Make some kind of harness so I won't fall off again!
"Are you always this accident-prone?" Toothless asked. Whined, really. Apparently, he didn't like getting this wet that much—though I wasn't exactly happy either. He'd had to save me again. But I'd managed to get the mostly-waterproof kind of treated leather, so at least the saddle wouldn't start rotting immediately. "Or did Loki just decide to kick you in the face this week?"
"Unfortunately, yes," I answered honestly, adding one more underline to the statement before closing the book. "I think Loki has taken a kind of joy in kicking me, especially, in the face, for pretty much my entire life."
Toothless snorted. I sighed and looked around. There was no way we were going to try flying again immediately, while we were still both wet.
Standing, I went over to Toothless and made the motions to pull off the saddle. "It needs to dry separately, or it'll give you blisters," I explained as I pulled at the straps.
Toothless snorted. "Skins? Break through these scales? Not likely." He let me work, though, sitting motionless as I pulled the thing off of him.
"So I found out that I can only talk to other dragons if I'm touching them," I said as I laid the saddle out in the sun. Once it was good and drying, I settled down, sitting with my legs crossed beside it and in front of the sunning, lazy dragon.
"Really?" Toothless asked, not sounding very interested. "How'd you manage to find a dragon to test it on? Was there a raid I didn't hear?"
I winced. "Something like that," I hedged. Toothless opened one eye and gave me a look, and I sighed. "My dad signed me up for dragon-training."
Both of his eyes opened and he looked at me as if I were insane. "Dragons can't be trained!"
"Uh, no…" I winced and scratched the back of my neck. "But Vikings—squishes—can be. And are. Trained. To, to…"
"Kill dragons," Toothless finished, his voice flat. I winced and nodded, but quickly continued.
"Gobber—my mentor—introduced us to a Zippleback yesterday, and I tried growling at it when it came at me. It froze when I did, but when I came back to its cage that night to apologize, neither of us could really understand each other until I was touching at least one of their heads."
"Then you could speak to them?" I nodded. Toothless hummed thoughtfully, closing his eyes again. "It's still probably due to the fact that we're… family." I wasn't sure if he realized he made a face whenever he said the word, but I wasn't about to tell him. It was kind of a funny face. "Since you've got a connection to one kind of dragon, by association, you're connected to all dragons—just not as strongly. Contact strengthens the connection so that you can use your Gift to speak, if indirectly."
I nodded, then hesitated. "So… you're not mad about me not telling you? About the training?"
Toothless hummed. "Maybe a little. More that you hid it from me, than what it is—we might have known one another for just a few days, but we're still aerie. There should be no secrets."
I lowered my head in shame, and he paused before continuing. "It's a good idea on the squish part. I mean, obviously, I'm not happy about it, but I can't blame parents for wanting to make sure their young are ready for battle. You aren't as naturally protected as our hatchlings are." One eye peeked open. "I really can't blame your sire for that. You can't weigh more than a sheep—is your running the only reason you haven't been picked up and carried off yet?"
The insult made any shame I felt evaporate. "No! I'll have you know I'm not even allowed to run in the village! My survival is all me!" And Gobber. And my dad. And about three-quarters of the villagers… But no need for him to know that.
Toothless snorted. "Loki kicks you and Hlín takes pity, then."
"Urgh, fine. Never mind." I stood and went back to the basket, fishing out the last thing still on the bottom—a small otterskin bag, holding hooks and lines.
Holding them to my chest, I looked at Toothless over my shoulder. He was almost asleep, the lazy reptile. "I'll just be over here, then," I muttered in Norse, walking over to the shore.
Some time and a small, death-defying struggle later, I had a nice row of six cod, butterflied and hanging out to dry on a piece of twine strung out between two branches.
It wasn't nearly enough to make up in the storehouse for what I'd given Toothless the last two days, but it'd have to do for now. This little lake seemed to be the only bit of water that the raiding dragons hadn't found and emptied—if I took too much, then the result would be the same and Berk would be one step closer to starvation.
Now to keep the birds away from them until they dried…
"Why in fire's name are those fish in that tree?"
Toothless's question made me yelp and jump into the air, and he laughed when I slipped and fell on hitting the ground again. I glared as I stood back up—it didn't seem to have any affect on him at all.
"That wasn't funny," I hissed.
"That was very funny," Toothless disagreed, still chuckling. "So, why are they up there?"
"I'm drying them out." I could see he didn't understand, so I continued. "That way, they won't be stinking and starting to rot by the time I get them back to the village."
"Village—is that what you call your Nest?" I nodded, and Toothless sniffed up at the fish. "Wow. They must be in serious trouble to need a Squish as small as you to get food."
That one irked me a little. "We're all pitching in, no matter how big we are," I snapped, before looking up to the fish and sighing. "And we're not in serious trouble. Just yet. But with Skaði's first freeze around the corner…"
I shook my head and glanced back at him. He looked thoughtful, so it was probably time to get going. "Saddle should be dry enough by now. I'll use some of the extra rope to tie myself to your back."
"We're trying again?" Toothless asked, his earflaps perking up.
Smiling, I patted him on the head. "Bud, we're not stopping until you're back in the air."
We spent the entire day in the air—or at least, trying to stay in it—never venturing too far from the little cove. Going south would get us worryingly close to the village and any farther north would put us close to the sea. With my swimming unability, there was no way either of us were willing to go over that deep a body of water until we were both more certain we wouldn't both die in the attempt.
By the time we landed back in the cove, the sun was setting, the air was turning cool, my thighs were burning up a storm, and I felt better and happier than I had in my entire life. Toothless's sides were heaving and, judging from the roars of pure delight he'd made up there, I think he felt the way I did.
I was bruised and battered and exhausted, but happy as I collapsed on the ground. "Oh man. I haven't had that great a day in—ever!" I realized, motioning to the dusky sky. "I think this has been the best day in my entire life!"
"You're leading a pretty pathetic life, then," Toothless said, but I heard him grinning just as widely as I was.
"Shut up, what was the highlight of your life before this?" I asked, turning on my side. I held out my hands, shaking them in fake eagerness and making a mock-excited face. "Ooooh, cod for dágmal! Ooooh, flying! Ooooh, cod for nóttmal! Ooooh, sleep! And then rinse and repeat, right?" I asked, letting my hands drop with a grin.
Toothless gave me a look. "And how is that different from what we did today?"
I opened my mouth, stuck for a moment, before grinning. "In which case, your life is just as pathetic as you say mine is!"
The dragon groaned. "I don't know why I bother. There's no reasoning with you, you ridiculous Squish."
"Right back at you, you arrogant Dragon." I groaned and stretched, popping my back a few times before sitting up and glancing at the fish. They still needed some time to dry before I felt they would be ready to sneak into the village—I also needed time for it to get dark enough so that people wouldn't see me running back in. Until then…
"Hey, Toothless, you still hungry?" I asked, standing.
He snuffed and shook his head. "This morning's basket will last me halfway through tomorrow. I don't eat nearly as much as some of the heavier breeds," he explained.
Well, that was good to know. Maybe I could cut down and space out the amounts, so that I could feed him enough every morning, or maybe twice a day… make it less noticeable that I was effectively stealing from the storehouse.
Which really was what it was. The thought made me glance back at the drying fish again. I had to find some way to make up for what I was taking, but until then, I guess I was tightening my own belt to ease the burden.
I straightened my back and pulled my coat tighter. Food or not, I'd need a fire to keep me warm until it was dark enough to leave.
Luckily for me, there was plenty of dried wood lying around, having fallen from the ancient oaks and pines standing around the high edges of the cove walls. It only took me a few minutes to get enough fuel and build a fire by the rocks—yes I know how to build a fire. Not only does fire absolutely love me, but all Viking children are taught how to make one. It just so happened that I was the one Viking kid lucky enough to never have to worry about tinder.
I felt Toothless's eyes on me as I stacked the wood in a cone before I drew out my strike-a-light. "What's that?" he asked.
"A strike-a-light," I explained, waving it. It was shaped like two 'e's, one put upside down on the other's head, and then the whole thing turned sideways. "Perfect example of Viking ingenuity with metal, and lack of imagination with tool-names. You rub the hook end on the rough, thicker part in the middle to make a spark. Spark means fire. One strike and you have a light."
Toothless didn't look impressed. Honestly, I wasn't either.
"Don't insult me by taking that out when I'm around," he said. Then he shot a blast of blue fire.
"No, wai—AAAH!"
With me so close by, the shot—made small enough to just start the campfire—exploded into something near the size and heat of the beacons in the carved heads around the island's shore. Out of an inborn human and stupid instinct, I covered my (fireproof) face with my (very extremely flammable) arms as I was blown backwards.
When I landed several feet away, my arms were literally burning.
On fire!
Swearing and yowling in shock and pain, I scrambled up and sprinted for the shore—most of the fire was put out the moment I took off, and it was doused entirely when I shoved them underwater.
"Hiccup!" Toothless was a huge black warmth by my side, huffing with worried breath. "Oh Surtur's great realm—are you okay?"
"I-I'll be… fine," I said, smiling weakly up at him. It really hurt, and the water felt so good I didn't think I wanted to ever leave.
But just to reassure him, I pulled my arms out of the lake.
And promptly hissed as Toothless let out a horrified yelp. Most of the fabric had been burned away by the super-heated flames (fire gets a lot hotter when I get close, but when it's on me…), and it left the wounds perfectly visible. My arms were bright red, and some of the skin looked as if it were peeling. On each forearm, where it was worst, there were little, shining bubbles appearing from the skin, expanding across and through some of the smaller smithing scars I'd gathered over the years.
"That," I said, almost numbly, "actually looks worse than it feels."
"That's not exactly reassuring!" Toothless yelped, his eyes wide. "Oh gods. Oh gods, Cousin, I—I—"
If dragons could hyperventilate… I tried to reach out and pat him. The movement of my arms was a bad idea, and I whimpered, but it didn't stop me from trying to calm him down. "T-Toothless—bud, it's-it's alright! It was my own stupid fault."
His eyes were big meeting mine. "I should've remembered what you said about the fire."
I shrugged. That didn't hurt as bad. "I didn't exactly explain it super clearly, that fire gets bigger and badder when I'm around. And I could've gotten away—it's not like I can't move fast enough—or at least, I should've blocked it with my chest." His eyes somehow managed to grow wider and I quickly scrambled to explain. "I'm fireproof where it counts, probably to make sure I didn't die before my first birthday. Just my arms and my legs can get burnt. It's nothing. Really, Toothless, it wasn't your fault."
Seeing the doubt on his face, I forced myself to ignore the pain, put both of my hands on either side of his face, and looked directly into his eyes. "Listen to me," I said seriously. "This. Was. Not. Your fault."
Toothless met my gaze for a moment before pulling gently out of my grip. Before I could ask what he was doing, his tongue shot out and he licked a long stripe down each of my arms.
"Ah!" That stung—wait. "Whoa," I said, staring down at my numbing arms. "Toothless, wha… what did you do?"
He nosed at my hands again. "It won't heal them, but… that probably won't fester, now. And you, you little flame, had better warn me about any future mishaps like that. Licking Squish wounds isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list. You all taste terrible."
Ignoring his insults as usual, I smiled. Infection and the rot was a terrifying thought even when you weren't the one injured, so Toothless's words were a big load off my chest, actually. "Thanks, bud," I said, a little touched. He snorted and didn't meet my eyes.
A glance back at the pit I'd built made me chuckle. "Well, at least the fire's burning."
Toothless's eyes rolled. "Oh great. My only aerie's an optimist."
Laughing, I led us back to the fire's side, watching the height and heat carefully as I got closer. At a spot where it was comfortably warm and nicely lit, I plopped down on the grass. Toothless fell down next to me, tucking his paws underneath his body into a loaf, and we both watched the embers and ash rise into the darkening skies.
I looked up, imagining that I could see the way the wind flew through the heavens. Sailors and raiders said that unless a storm was brewing, wind moved in straight lines—I don't know why, but I never really believed that. Something told me that sometimes, it would curve and twist in the air, a celestial dancer's invisible ribbon. I figured it would move randomly and gracefully, like water does in a stream, or like I figured Toothless… had done. When he had still been able to fly on his own.
"Hey Toothless?" I asked, guilt and confusion still stabbing at my chest.
"Hm?" I think he was half-asleep by this point-he was obviously nocturnal, and my visits were keeping him awake-but I had to know.
"Why don't you hate me?" That got a green eye to open, looking at me as if I were insane. After two days of cowardly hiding what I'd done, though, I had to say it. "I'm serious. I—I—I took you down, hurt you! Ripped away your tailfin, your ability to fly… that was my doing. My fault." He raised his head from where he'd laid it, looking at me in quiet interest. "If someone had done that to me…"
Toothless's lips quirked. "Someone did just do it to you," he reminded me, unfolding a wing to push gently at my shoulder. The burns didn't hurt at the touch—in fact, it felt like something soothing flowed through the point where he'd hit me. "And you forgave. Almost instantly."
I rolled my eyes. "That's different. This'll heal in a couple weeks, no problem, and I'll be back to normal. And besides, we know we're… family now." For some reason, it wasn't as hard for me to imagine Toothless as family as I thought it should've been. "Cousins forgive little things like that. But you said—that flying was something huge to dragons."
His eyes turned sad, and he looked to the fire. "It is that," he admitted, before glancing back at me. "What do squishes believe about the gods?"
The question threw me off. "Uh…" It took me a moment, but then my brain kicked back into gear. "Well, Oðin All-Father and Frigg are the rulers of the Æsír. Thor is one of Oðin's sons, who we both have a… special relationship to," I nodded to him, and he smirked at my continued hesitancy. Rolling my eyes, I continued. "There's nine Realms, on Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life. We, dragons and humans—you know, squishes—live on Midgard… Is any of this different from what you guys know?"
"Nope," Toothless replied, popping the 'p'. "But I think there's one thing you might not have." He turned his face to look at the sky and I followed his gaze—the smoke from the fire disappeared into the black velvet, and the flying embers joined their brothers the stars. "We believe that the gods, in everything, prefer balance in the world. An imbalance needs to be corrected, and will be, by them, somehow."
He looked at me and smirked. "You have an affinity for fire, are mostly fireproof—but you can't swim. It's their kind of humor. See where I'm going with this?"
I nodded slowly, and scowled. "I wish their humor was a little less potentially fatal, then."
Toothless laughed. "What are gods, but beings who play with death and the elements like you do toys?" he asked. "And—would your… Vikings follow them if they weren't that ruthless?"
He made an excellent point. Even Baldr, our god of all things good and beautiful, was a battle-hardened warrior. "What does this have to do with your tail, though?" I wondered.
"Everything," he answered. "You, with your bolas, took away one of my tailfins. That made an imbalance in my flight, one that by all rights should have killed me. You should have killed me."
"But I didn't."
"No, so you upset the balance again," Toothless said with a grin. "It's amazing the gods still look at you at all, if you've been making them work as hard all your life as you did the last few days."
I was making the gods work hard? Me? Though, come to think of it, that would explain a few things… like why they tended to hate me. "The gods righted the second imbalance, the one where you were an idiot Squish and didn't kill a very dangerous predator, by helping me make the decision to not kill you," Toothless continued. "The fact that you admitted then and there that you were my cousin through Thor played a part in me sparing your life—that, and the fact that you'd just spared mine.
"Then, the gods fixed the first imbalance—my missing tailfin."
"How do you figure that?"
Toothless gave me one of his signature grins. "They gave me you. An aerie, to give me a new kind of joy, since flying had been torn from me—and then even to give me flight itself back." He lifted his tail and brought it between us, making the prosthesis fall open and spreading the other side just as wide.
I gaped, caught by the symmetry I'd noticed the very first day I'd really seen Toothless—something that almost hadn't really registered, but now stood like a golden statue, beautiful and striking in the firelight. And I'd helped reconstruct it.
"I don't hate you for what you did, because you fixed it, in more than one way," Toothless explained simply. "You've given me companionship, food, and flight—a life, my life. Things I didn't even have before I crashed here. I can't hate you, Cousin, because you are what balances me out. You're part of me now."
His words entranced me, barely audible over the crackling fire and the chirping of the nightlife around us. There was truth in what he was saying, something soul-deep to him that even resonated with a part of me I hadn't felt in a while—the part that had known that that was my night, the part that had known where to shoot, the part that had nearly burst when he'd first roared into my ears. That part of me, just inside my chest, had lain quiet for the last few days—now it was vibrating with the night, with it's sounds, with Toothless's every word and admission.
Awed and touched, I reached out and laid a hand on the soft spot just behind Toothless's ear. It twitched, but he didn't buck me off, and we shared a quiet smile.
Then he cleared his throat. "Of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it and set fire to that ridiculous false thing you call a coat."
I spluttered, barely able to believe the sudden switch in tone—or the insult. "It's a real coat!"
"No it's not. Those scraps of fur on your head and face, those are your coat. That, that is wearing another creature's skin."
Well when you put it like that. I shuddered, but held firm. "Well what do you want me to do, freeze?" I asked. "This thing used to be an eight-foot tall bear my dad brought down, would you rather the fur have just sat there and rot?"
Toothless snorted and laid his head back down on his paws. "It's still not a coat."
I rolled my eyes, set to ignore him, and it was then that my stomach decided to rumble. Or roar. Roar was a better word for it.
We both looked up, surprised, then down at my midsection. Toothless broke down into laughter. "I thought that was your coat-bear brought back to life!"
"Oh, ha ha," I said, tucking my legs close to my chest and gingerly wrapping my wounded and numbed arms around them, hiding my stomach from view. He started rolling around in the grass. "It's not that funny!"
Toothless straightened, still chuckling, and shook his head. "Typical Squish, hungry all the time, eating nonstop." I tried to scowl and he snorted again. "Well? What are you waiting for?" I looked at him, not understanding. "There's a good amount of fish still hanging from that tree. I doubt you're the stupidest Squish, and I'm fairly certain even they know to go for food when they're hungry and it's right in front of them."
"Was that almost a compliment?" I asked, grinning. Toothless huffed and didn't answer. I glanced back at the fish and my smile dropped. I could smell them from here; my stomach grumbled again, not as loud this time at least. I was so hungry…. Memories of a childhood with no mother and a busy father danced through my head, brought back by the familiar sensation of an empty stomach.
But no. "Squishes are plenty smart," I said quietly, forcing my attention back to the fire. "Smart enough to know when they've taken their share, and that when they have, other food belongs to someone else."
Toothless didn't reply—I'm not sure he would've, even if he'd had time. As it turned out, he didn't have time, because at that very moment, a sharp caw broke through the air.
Both of our heads snapped over and my eyes widened at the sight of a large black bird pecking at the twine over one of the fish. "Hey!" I shouted, shooting to my feet, my own hunger feeding my annoyance at this thief. The raven looked up but pecked again, unbothered by the scrawny Viking heading its way. "Hey, hey! Get away from those! Those aren't yours!"
I ran over to it, picking up a stick to swat it away—but a blast of purple plasma beat me to it.
The perfectly aimed shot missed the fish, but completely roasted the bird. It fell off the twine with a final squawk, and hit the ground, limp and dead.
Turning around, I gaped at Toothless, who looked, of course, smug. "Nóttmal is served," he said.
"Unbelievable," I muttered.
No use looking a gift-raven in the mouth, I guessed. I went over and picked up the bird by the claws carrying it back to the fire with the stick I'd been planning to use as a swatter. It would make a nice roasting stick, now.
I sat down beside him and pulled out my seaxe—Toothless didn't even flinch at the sight of the weapon anymore—to prepare the bird. "We'd better hope Oðin won't hold this against us," I warned with a smile. To be perfectly honest, I was a little nervous—there was no explicit warning against eating the black birds, but they were still the messengers and symbols of the All-Father.
Toothless snorted. "Somehow I doubt Huginn or Muninn would be trying to feast on your drying fish, if they've got food waiting in Asgarð."
He made a good point. Having bled the bird out, I started plucking the feathers—they were black and glossy, larger and more beautiful than I expected. "Wonder what I can do with these," I muttered, holding one up.
Toothless huffed. "Make yourself a crown. You'll be King of the Squishes."
I screwed my lips up, unimpressed. "Or I could make you one," I said, picking up a few more and tossing them deftly on top of his head.
His eyes crossed, trying to look at the things on his head. The sight made me giggle—I mean chuckle. Manly. "Behold!" I laughed. "Ruler of the Dragons and the sky! King Toothless!"
To my surprise and delight, he raised his neck regally. "A worthy crown," he said, shaking his head in approval. Half of the feathers fell off with the movement, drifting slowly to the ground, and I had to choke my laughter with a hand. "I'm glad you've finally discovered my rightful title, my Squishy little subject. Bask, bask in my glory and power."
That did it. The feathers and the completely straight-faced way he said it—I broke down and Toothless joined me, laughing into the night.
POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT: Re-reading this last bit, I'm seeing a whole crap-ton of connections to both the books ("King of the Wilderwest" Hiccup) and the movies ("Two New Alphas"). Huh. I assure you, that was not intentional, but it makes for good foreshadowing, doesn't it? END SPOILERS
A guest reviewer pointed out something I said in the first chapter, concerning the bifrost: yes, you are correct, it was the rainbow bridge to the other Realms, but the Norse saw it within the Milky Way in the sky. That's what I was referencing in the chapter-hope that clears things up!
Strike-a-lights are real. I saw one at the National Archaeology Museum in Dublin a few weeks ago, and giggled because they look exactly like I knew they would.
If you have any questions of comments, let me know!
Hope you liked it,
PEACE,
~Tibki
