UPDATE: This editor hates me. I tried to thank muggleborn . dragon . ryder, but when I copied/pasted the contents of my file, it changed their name to just .ryder in the first post. I've deleted and re-added the chapter to correct for that. Apologies...
Welcome back...
Sorry for the longer than normal posting delay. The last couple months were really busy and fraught with unexpected delays. The most recent was an editing error which caused me to lose most of this chapter. Unfortunately, the re-write one isn't quite as good as the previous draft, so I'm disappointed. I'm sure you will be too.
Again, thank you for the comments and reviews. They're always helpful. This is a learning process, and I'm learning a lot thanks to you folks.
I'm still struggling with plot pace, and the story feels like it's dragging, but I've been reading on how to move things along better, so I'm hopeful things will improve. I'm glad some folks don't think the pace is too slow, that's encouraging.
Again, thank you all for reading my first story and helping me learn how to be a better author.
I was actually going to let this story die because I didn't think I was doing a very good job, but I received a review from .ryder that gave me the confidence to continue. Thank you. This chapter is dedicated to you. I only wish it was better :-).
A special thanks goes to .ryder for creating the image that I put on this story. My sincerest thanks goes to you for sharing your amazing talent. I can't use an image editor to same my life, so the kindness was unexpected and greatly appreciated.
Okay, now some chapter warnings. I'm rating this "T".
The story itself should be viewed as "M"overall, since it will have offensive language, blood, torture, angst, mind control, sexual suggestiveness, gratuitous violence, and other such naughty topics. However, there will be nothing sexually explicit in this story.
I've lost my beta reader, so I apologize in advance for the poor grammar and horrid spelling. The copy-n-paste feature is also causing me issues by omitting some letters, or breaking sentences in odd places... Damn you software! Damn you to Hell!
So without further ado...
Final Warning: Buckle up, Buttercup... I'm finally getting a clue on how things should roll, so I'm hoping the big bumps are behind us.
Chapter 9:
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Like delicate fingers reaching down to the Earth, tiny golden threads of early morning sunlight broke through the slowly dissipating clouds. The newly freed rays danced and sparkled merrily across the small, gently rippling puddles that littered the dirt road. A warm, gentle breeze weaved its way through the treetops, swaying the large, heavy limbs rhythmically, as its invisible caress rustled the few autumn leaves that still clung desperately to the damp bark, creating a melody of whistling branches. Oblivious to the sounds of nature and the world around him, Hiccup stood motionless at the bottom of the stone stairs. A gentle gust of wind rushed past his hair, blowing auburn strands across his face, as his green eyes remained locked, still following after the long vanished girl.
Once all hope of Astrid's return vanished from his heart, Hiccup exhaled disappointedly, turned, and slowly climbed the plethora of large, crudely carved stairs which snaked up the rocky hillside toward the foreboding structure looming at the top. As the exhausted teen reached the crest of the stone staircase, he took several long steps onto the muddied Earth before raised voices, engaged in a heated argument, wafted out of the large wooden structure, causing him to tense and stop.
When the muffled voices reached a fevered pitch, the heavy wooden door to the Chieftain's home was hastily flung open. The ferocity of the motion sent it crashing with a loud bang into the adjoining wall, chipping off part of the Berk crest which had been judiciously carved into the sturdy wood.
Hiccup's eyes widened at the site of his Uncle standing in the doorway, stern and menacing, chest heaving with uncontrolled anger. Before he could react, Spitelout slammed the heavy wooden door shut, stormed down the porch stairs, and made a beeline in his direction. The man's face was a mix of hate and confusion, his eyes unfocused and clouded with a wild, haunted look, clearing only when they locked onto the small figure frozen at the top of the stone staircase.
As Spitelout neared the small youth, his fury built like a raging storm, surging and swelling in his gut, demanding to be unleashed. Refocusing on the helpless teen, foreign words shrouded in a mist began to swirl and form in his mind. Sweet and gentle at first, then morphing into a harsh debilitating hiss, forcing his mind to lose all semblance of control.
'This wasn't suppose to happen. It's not right. He wasn't suppose to be born. He's the reason your son won't be chief. He's the cause of all the village disasters. He's the reason the spirits will seek revenge. You know what you have to do...' The words drummed in his head as an electrifying pain shot through his body causing it to twitch.
The older male's eyes flashed at the vulnerable child. His lined, sun-leathered face twisted uncontrollably into a mask of pure malice, zeroing in on the small object directly in his line of sight. Like an animal whose cornered his prey, he hunched his shoulders and moved quickly toward the terrified teen who slowly, cautiously backpedaled. In an instant, Spitelout stood before Hiccup, glaring down at the young adult who stared back, frightened and confused.
"U-Uncle? W-What's wrong?" A soft, questioning voice asked.
At the sound of the frightened voice, a sinister smile slowly crept across Spitelout's face as he licked his lips hungrily. Sensing danger, Hiccup instinctually took a step back. Using all his will-power, Spitelout diverted his eyes from his petrified target and abruptly charged forward, knocking the small boy aside with his arm as he passed. Falling backwards, Hiccup exhaled a pain-filled grunt when his back collided with the hard, wet ground. Stunned by the impact, he blinked rapidly to clear his blurred vision before propping himself up on his elbows.
Spitelout had taken only a few steps past before hearing the small pained squeak. Turning quickly, he gazed down menacingly at the semi-prone figure. The man's body tensed and seemed to take on an animalistic persona as he moved toward Hiccup, slowly, predatorily. The dark glare from his eyes caused the frightened child to frantically scramble back on his elbows. Bending and reaching down, Spitelout fisted Hiccup's tunic and lifted him slightly off the ground. Hiccup's back arched, his arms falling limp behind him, as he was brought to within inches of his Uncle's face. The hot, panting breath making him shake with fear.
Spitelout stared into the eyes of his nephew and whispered darkly, "You're the reason for it all... Aren't you..." Hiccup's face became a mass of confusion trying to decipher the words. "I'm the reason for what?" he whispered in response, his fingers unconsciously digging into the muddied Earth beneath him.
Spitelout's free hand slowly reached for Hiccup's face, forming a claw before grasping the boy's chin roughly. Rolling Hiccup's head back and forth, his eyes bizarrely scanned the small boy's features as if they were some intricate, or fascinating design that bewildered the mind.
"Heh," he grunted and grinned with delight. "Don't take after my brother, do ya? That'll make things much easier."
After a long pause, Hiccup's tunic was abruptly released, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. "Not yet." Spitelout croaked, slowly straightening. He exhaled gruffly under his breath, black eyes like burning coals burrowing holes into Hiccup, "It's not time." Turning regretfully, he made his way down the stairs, leaving Hiccup to stare absently in his wake.
'What just happened?' Hiccup thought, confused and terrified. He took in a deep, shaky breath and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat before exhaling loudly. Struggling to his feet, he glanced quickly toward his home, then back again toward the road and his uncle's slowly disappearing image.
"Well, it's now or never," he muttered with dread, reminding himself that his 'journey of a thousand humiliations' wasn't quite over. Facing his father, who must now know about the fire, was the last humiliation of the day... hopefully. "Geeze...", he exhaled and thought, shaking his head sadly, '... everyone must have a lifetime humiliation quota'. He was sure he'd gone way beyond his by now. Way effing beyond...
From all the yelling, and Spitelout's behavior, he knew his father was in a foul mood. Given the choice of facing either a downed Night Fury, or the disappointed scowl of his Dad, the former was preferable. The wounded dragon was far less likely to bite off his head before he could explain or get away.
Unenthusiastically Hiccup made his way to the front door. Pausing briefly, he feverishly wiped his face with the back of his sleeved forearm, trying to remove the telltale signs of his previous beating. Gathering his courage, he closed his eyes, sucked in a deep breadth, grabbed the handle, and yanked hard. The large wooden door eerily creaked on it's rusty hinges, as it slowly swung open. Gentle beams of cheerfully dancing sunlight flooded in, only to instantly scatter when confronted by the joyless, darkened room.
The backlighting from the rising sun spread Hiccup's shadow, enlarged several times over, across the dirtied, uneven wooden floor. The shadows ragged edge just reached a crouched figure whose scowling face was mix of complex emotions. Without warning, Stoick jump to his feet, shot his finger toward the door and roared, "Dammit to Hel! I thought I told you ..." His voice more vicious and threatening than Hiccup could ever remember hearing.
Reeling, and stumbling back in shock, Hiccup yelped, "I-I'm sorry Dad!" before slamming hard against the wood door frame. Upon recognizing his son, Stoick's expression quickly dissolved into a look of regretful surprise. Clearing his throat, he quickly regained his composure, all previous viciousness lost and replaced by the chiefly look of confidence. "Ah, Hiccup, son. It's you," he said, his voice now softened and genuinely pleased. "Don't just stand there, come in."
Cautiously, Hiccup lowered his head and shuffled into the large room. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shily mumbled, "D-Dad. Uh... I have to talk to you."
"I need to speak with you too, son." Scowling and wringing his hands, the large man moved toward the short teen. Drawing a deep breath, he exhaled, "Nothing happens on this island without me hearing about it..." his eyes hard and penetrating as he looked deeply at his son.
"Oh?" Hiccup responded innocently, unconsciously stepping back.
"Sit." Stoick commanded, thrusting his hand sideways, gesturing to a nearby chair.
Taking the offered seat, Hiccup folded his hands neatly in his lap, slumping in surrender. His already baggy tunic fell loosely over his too-thin body, hiding most of the physical damage he received earlier that morning. Peeking up through dirty and bloodied bangs, he watched his father busy himself with some trivial task. The normally confident and self-assured man now appeared self-conscious and uneasy.
Ignoring the bedraggled teen, Stoick knelt and finished repacking all his precious treasures back into the old, warped trunk, purposefully keeping his back toward Hiccup. Clutching the box possessively to his chest, he rose and retreated hastily into his bed chamber, only to emerged several long minutes later empty-handed.
Confidently striding across the room, Stoick stop several paces in front of his son. His eyes darted quickly over Hiccup's body drinking in the rapidly purpling bruises on his face and neck. From his tattered clothes and the dried blood smeared into his hairline, it was obvious the boy had been in a fight; one that he had obviously lost.
A disappointed sigh unconsciously escaped him. If his son couldn't handle himself in a simple one-on-one fight, how was he ever going to successfully lead the Hairy Hooligans.
Stoick tensed as he watched a small trickle of blood roll down Hiccup's cheek and drip off his dirtied chin. The fierce Vikings fatherly instincts kicked in and he stepped quickly forward, his hand jerking upward toward Hiccup's face, desperately wanting to tend to his wounds.
Fighting his initial impulse, Stoick slowly curled his fingers and closed his hand, lowering his arm to his side. Sympathy wouldn't help the lad grow into the fierce Viking he needed to be. The strong voice of Gunnar the Great played in Stoick's head as his heart broke for the badly beaten boy sitting in pain in front of him; 'Vikings are tough, strong, fearless, they laugh at pain, they never cry... and they certainly don't coddle their children...' Unfortunately, what Stoick saw before him wasn't a Viking. It was a gentle, scared and timid little boy.
If Hiccup sensed or heard his father's movement, it wasn't acknowledged. The boy continued to sit quiet and motionless, his head bowed.
Clearing his throat, the Chief began tapping his foot before belting out "So... let's talk... about that fire." The commanding authority of the tone caused the small, seated figure to flinch before the sentence finished.
Raising his head, but refusing to make eye contact, Hiccup began explaining, "Oh, Gods... Dad, I-I'm... I'm so sorry... I should have been... You know, here sooner to explain... I just... um, got side tracked... I'm sorry..." his eyes wide with innocence as he prattled on.
Stoick shot up his large hand, cutting off Hiccup in mid-sentence, "Spitelout told me that you caused the fire. Is that true?" He barked.
"Uh-Um, I-I don't think so. I-I swear to the God's... t-the firepit was dark when I went to sleep." Hiccup's voice was shaky but firm. Locking eyes with his father he hoped, like Gobber, he'd be believed over his uncle. Unfortunately, his track record wasn't so great in that area.
"Hmm..." Stoick hummed, rubbing his chin contemplatively, and stared disbelievingly. "Are you sure?" He questioned, skeptically.
"Ah... Y-yeah... Ummmm..." Hiccup hummed unsurely as he dropped his head to think, eyes darting haphazardly until they suddenly found focus. Raising his head slowly, he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled quickly, locking eyes with his father before speaking, his small jaw locked and his expression resolute. "Yes. Absolutely," nodding once affirmingly. His formerly meek voice now mature and confident.
Stoick's expression remain unchanged as he stared into the eyes of his son. Giving a quick emotionless nod of acknowledgment, he began slowly pacing, wringing his large hands nervously. Abruptly clearing his throat, he unclasped his hands and flexed his fingers. The crudeness of movement clearly designed as a distraction to allow the chief to gather his thoughts.
The boy watched his father move to and fro, the weight of the silence growing heavy as he contemplated the punishment he'd face if not believed. Hiccup knew his father was a fair man, but under growing pressure from a restless tribe, even the fairest of men can yield to the will of others.
Scrawny, Hiccup may be, stupid he wasn't. He had been believed before, but the anger within the village was growing, and it all seemed focused on him. He had no explanation for the disasters that plague him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he'd no longer be believed, and the consequences would be severe. That day would come far too soon, and Hiccup knew it. However, he
hoped that today wasn't that day...
Snapping out of his dark thoughts by his father's abrupt halt, Hiccup noticed the man was now facing him, arms crossed across his chest in a contemplative stance. Sucking in a long drawn out breath, the hulking man exhaled forcefully through tightly pressed, pursed lips to steady his nerves before speaking.
"Hiccup... you will be Chief one day, and there are some things that you have to know..." His voice filled with fatherly concern. Eyes flittering between his son sitting confused and docile, and some oh-so-interesting dust speck that had been floating in the air and wandered into his field of view, the chief continued in a voice pinched with concern.
"As the tribe's leader, you will be expected to faithfully abide by, and enforce our laws and traditions. You will be expected to be strong and fearless, or your position as Chief will be challenged. Do you understand?" Hiccup's eyes slowly traveled downward before shily nodding.
Stoick moved his hand to his mouth, clenched it into a fist and coughed loudly; a harsh hacking cough that sounded like it was tearing his insides. Clearing his throat, he lowered his voice by an octave and began what sounded like a battle speech, pacing before his captive audience as he spoke.
Looking every bit the definition of a strong and fearless Viking leader, Stoick waved his large hand commandingly in the air and belted out, "Chiefs are to be brave and aggressive... Direct... Decisive... Grab all opportunities available to them in a fight..." Hiccup shifted nervously as he listened to his father authoritatively rattle off a long list of laws, his anxious eyes following the large Vikings every movement.
Glancing toward his battered son, Stoick's face dropped, internally acknowledging the boy's miserable failure at mastering the first four laws. Lifting his chin and jutting his jaw upward, the mighty chief continued in a slightly less aggressive tone, "... Use varying methods of attack... Be versatile and agile in a fight... Be prepared..." He again looked toward his bony boy. Exhaling sharply, he mentally ticked off more failures. Hiccup lowered his head as the disappointment in his father's voice escalated, unconsciously flinching as each recited law felt like a punch to his gut.
Roughly rubbing his chin, the stern Viking struggled to continue. Wiping the nervous sweat from his brow, he turned and stared at the seated boy, his voice now devoid of all previous authoritarian gravitas. "... Keep weapons in good condition..." realizing Hiccup couldn't lift most weapons. "...Keep physically in shape and bulked up..." something the fishbone of a boy still hadn't mastered. "... Find good battle comrades..." knowing his son had no friends in the village, except for Gobber.
Gazing into saddened eyes, Stoick's face softened and his voice became flat. "It's important for a Chief to show strength and honor. For a Chief to lead men, he has to instill... loyalty... in his people. He has to be someone they trust and look up to. Someone who thinks things through clearly before acting, and makes few mistakes." Stoick's monologue abruptly ended. Turning and observing his boy, he knew the same thoughts threaded the youth's mind; it was written all over his face.
Hiccup let out a small breath he had been holding tensely, the single tear that trailed down his cheek was quickly wiped away with an awkward back-of-hand. The pain of failing his father far worse than any beating, or vicious taunt.
Stoick glanced warily at his son's pained expression. "Oh, I forgot, there's a few more..." he said gently, quickly creating new laws on the fly, knowing full well that Gunnar the Great was about to roll over in his grave. The self-loathing teen closed his eyes and exhaled dejectedly.
"A good Chief has to be honest and honorable, clever, kind, fair, and even-tempered. But above all, he's to always maintain a good sarcastic sense of humor, and a strong inner strength found only in a selfless heart." He then smiled kindly at his son, whose green eyes opened and brightened, a small grin flashing on his innocent face. 'I'm not a complete failure,' Hiccup thought, his spirit soaring.
Stoick placed a firm hand on Hiccup's shoulder and squeezed affirmingly as he looked into his son's eyes. "So you see son..." Stoick's voice now silvery and smooth, "... you have some work to do, but you have mastered some of the most important requirements needed to be a good, well-respected chief. You're well on your way." He smiled warmly at the very un-Viking-like youth who looked up proudly, a broad smile lighting his youthful face. 'So much like Valhallarama,' Stoick thought. Granted, his face was shier, more innocent, and filled with curiosity, but seeing his wife in his son's face was like seeing a ghost from the past. Stoick loved his son, but being around a child that was in so many ways like his lost love was nothing but torture and opened old, painful wounds he'd desperately wanted to close.
Two loud knocks suddenly reverberated into the room, causing both father and son to jump, jerking their heads quickly toward the front door which noisily swung open, creaking loudly as it's hinges protested against the harsh treatment. Morning light flooded into the otherwise dark room chasing away inky shadows, causing Hiccup to squint his eyes in protest.
Gobber the Belch strolled in casually, swinging his arms and whistling a very off-key tune Hiccup could only image was some offensive ditty he'd picked up on one of his long sea travels. "Sorry to interrupt you ladies..." he chided in a thick accent, pausing and placing his hands on his hips, his eyes instantly widening as they fell upon Hiccup. "But I have some business with the head maiden, here." He chirped, stealthily minimizing his shocked reaction to the boy's condition.
"I see you must be discussing your bad decision to change the Berk Crest on the front door by hacking a part of it off... Can't say I like the new design, but it's interesting... Food fer thought at the next elders meeting, eh?"
Stoick's face melted into a mix of anger and amusement, rolling his eyes at his best friend's good-natured ribbing. Turning toward Hiccup, the large hairy smithy chuckled, "If you'd excuse us lad, I need to borrow this bad tempered and..." pinching his nose shut and making choking sounds, he flicked his free hand in the air pretending to redirect the smell back toward Stoick, "... bad smelling woman here for some important village business," throwing a wink in Hiccup's direction.
"Yeah, no problem." Hiccup said smiling. "I've got, you know, manly Viking stuff to do." Standing, he flexed his non-existent biceps.
Stopping Hiccup before he could leave, Stoick smiled and put both hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently. Unspoken words seemed to pass between the pair as their eyes locked and time froze for a brief moment. "Stay out of trouble, ok?" Stoick joked nervously, slowly sliding his hands off Hiccup's shoulders and down his arms, before reluctantly releasing his boy.
"Pfft..." Hiccup scoffed playfully, tilting his head to the side slightly, "You know me. I never look for trouble."
Gobber quickly chimed in, "No, but it sure as Hel seems to hunt you down with a vengeance!" Emphasizing the word 'you', and laughing hysterically.
Gobber moved toward Stoick and subtly grabbed his upper arm tightly, tugging the chief close and whispering into his ear, "We need to talk... Now..." his normally playful face now grave with concern.
Stoick sighed disappointedly. This was the second time in as many hours he heard that phrase, and, as before, it didn't bode well.
Gobber forcibly nudged the Chief toward the door. His flattened hand against the mighty Chief's back communicated a burning sense of urgency. Hiccup watched puzzled as the two men spoke in hushed tones as they made their way toward the home's exit.
Before stepping onto the porch, the Chief turned one last time toward his son, his face serious and concerned. "Hiccup. Don't forget your offering. The festival is only a few days away, and it's very, very important that you attend and present something suitable. Is that clear? Do you understand?"
Hiccup smiled back, "Don't worry Dad. I got it covered. I won't let ya down."
The Chief looked crestfallen before a forced grin appeared under disbelieving blue eyes. Hiccup had seen that look far too often to feign ignorance at the meaning. His father gave a curt nod before quickly leaving, Gobber close in tow.
'Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.' Hiccup thought sarcastically, rolling his eyes. The bright room fell instantly dark as the large door swung shut, the shadows which had been chased away by the bright sunlight now reclaiming their rightful ownership.
With the fast exodus of the adults, the young teen found himself in the large house suddenly alone, the pain from his wounds screaming for attention. As he began moving, his body suddenly felt cold and achy, resistant to all motion as he labored up the stairs to his room. Grabbing a new pair of leggings and a fresh tunic from a nearby trunk, he limped down the all-too-many stairs, which seemed to have multiplied since his previous trip just moments ago, and shuffled mechanically toward the small, unkept kitchen.
Hiccup retrieved a small bowl which hung precariously from a long rusty nail on the wall, and filled it with fresh rainwater from a collection barrel that was stationed just outside the back door. Taking great efforts not to spill the precious contents, he placed the small piece of pottery on their large square, dinner table that sat centered in the room. Grabbing his side and exhaling painfully, he reached up, and standing on tip-toes, pulled down an old rag that hung from a nearby wooden beam. Dunking the almost-clean makeshift towel into the icy liquid, he let the tattered fabric drink up the cool water, watching it slowly drop to the bottom of the bowl.
Painfully, he stripped off his ripped and bloody clothes, dropping each garment unceremoniously onto the floor to pool around his feet. Kicking them aside, he fished the now drenched cloth from bowl, and began dabbing at his wounds, cleaning away the dirt and grime. While some of the cuts were superficial, several were deep and were still slowly weeping, stinging viscously when the damp rag brushed across the open skin.
Bandaging the areas the best he could, the skinny teen re-dressed and and grabbed an old, but never used, rucksack that had been haphazardly nailed on the far wall. He ran his hands knowingly over the item. A gift from his Dad when it was decided he was old enough for his first village hunting trip. Unfortunately, he spent the entire trip sick and miserable, coughing and shivering in the wet forest, scaring off every animal that came within earshot of the hunters with his clumsy falls and poorly aimed shots. Needless to say, they returned from the hunt empty-handed and furious.
Hiccup snorted and thought, 'Well, hunting just isn't my fort? . I'm more suited for activities that require a higher level of skill, like deadly sword fighting, or dragon wrestling.' The absurdity of the statement caused the him to grin broadly, shaking his head in mock amusement.
Dragging the crude rucksack along the dusty and dirtied floor, leaving a trail of cleanliness in his wake, he limped to the pantry and began rummaging for supplies. Shoving random items hurriedly into the never-used sack, he carefully calculated the amount of food needed, minimizing the weight.
"Yeah... " He grunted quietly as he lifted the sack onto his shoulders, tying the straps criss-cross over his small birdcage of a chest. "Two days out and two days back." Grabbing the shoulder straps and bouncing the sack on his back he exhaled quickly, "Not too heavy. Good thing I don't eat much."
Quickly snatching a leather water bladder as he exited the kitchen, the determined boy confidently headed toward the front door, hesitating briefly as he passed the firepit, unsure if he should leave a note for his dad. Four days wasn't a long time, he'd been gone for far longer stretches in the past and never been missed. But for some inexplicable reason this time felt different, like he wouldn't return.
Lingering a few moments before shrugging off the feeling, he chided himself for being foolish and continued on. With a strong heave, the massive, wooden door creaked and swung open, revealing the silhouette of a small seated figure patiently waiting on the porch, quietly staring out over the distant road.
Hiccup stiffened and blinked several times disbelievingly before squeaking out a name, "A-Astrid?"
The thin blonde stood and nonchalantly dusted off her skirt, deliberately hesitating before looking up at the boy in the doorway.
Hiccup's eyes widened, "W-What are you doing here?" he stuttered. "I-I thought you had work still to do for the festival?"
A very cool, unemotional voice responded, "With only four days left before Winterfillth, I figured you'd leave today for Skarstind to get that flower of yours."
"My obligatory work for the festival is done. I thought it'd be wise to accompany you on your journey." Astrid said casually.
Squinting her eyes at the disbelieving boy, her voice hardened, "Let's be clear, I usually don't follow people, but this morning you were acting weird, well, weirder. So I thought you might do something stupid, well, stupider. So here I am." She paused before firing, "Don't make too much out of it. I'm here only to stop you from killing yourself or being more stupid than usual. The thought of Snotlout becoming Chief because you stupidly die isn't..." She stopped her thought, and continued indifferently, "Well. I'm here. Deal with it."
Hiccup rolled his eyes and deadpanned sarcastically, "Well, that's a glowing assessment of my character, thank you." Stepping onto the porch he pulled the large door shut in his wake, the metal latch clicking loudly in the warm morning air.
Pausing, Hiccup exhaled and without releasing the door handle, dropped his head and stared at his toes. In a very soft voice he muttered, "You know, you don't have to come... I mean, I never asked... I'm sure I can..." Astrid raised her hand and grunted, abruptly cutting off the rambling boy. "I know. Now, if you have your gear, let's go."
Reaching out a delicate white hand, she grabbed Hiccup roughly around his non-existent bicep and dragged him off the porch, setting their pace toward the edge of the forest that lay behind his home.
Once the teens disappeared into the thicket, a figure moved stealthily from within the shadows just outside the Haddock home. It abruptly stopped near the porch to scribble on a small slip of parchment. Placing the paper into a small container affixed to a bird's leg, the figure whispered to the gyrfalcon, "Fly home, Habrok. Be swift. Time grows short."