Dejected, Alastor kicked a pebble. It clattered against a tree trunk and disappeared amongst its roots. He sighed and sought another stone to play with. He had had a rough morning, Arne and co teasing him for his stammer and then the Jorgenson twins trying to dump buckets of dragon dung on his head. He had managed to escape, listening to Snotlout shouting at his boys in a voice so loud, Alastor was surprised the gods hadn't descended to tell Snotlout to shut it.
And, obviously, there was this whole business with Dagur and his son, Vadik. Alastor had completely forgotten they were going to visit, so engrossed in the books Fishlegs had given him, everything else had just... fallen away. Dagur definitely had some nerve though, trying to get Ingrid to marry Vadik. That was about as likely to happen as it was for Alastor to be anything like his father.
Alastor stopped and looked back. He could see Berk from here, like a little toy town. Tiny black specks swooped all over, dragons and their riders. Alastor wished he had a dragon. He had a Terror, his sisters did too. Sharpshot and Rage were Hiccup's, Shadow was Astrid's, Sneezy's was Ingrid's (and she had that Changewing egg), Alastor had Bitey and Aloe had Bob. And of course there were all the other Terrors that came in to visit. Their house was like a Terrible Terror hotspot. More Terrors arrived each day than Vikings did and that was saying something. Each villager had an issue they wanted Hiccup's help with. The latest batch of problems had all been something to do with the Berserkers. Hiccup was rushed off his odd feet trying to keep the peace. Alastor didn't see himself coping with something like that. Ingrid was better of being the chief when the time came, not him. It wasn't like anyone would take him seriously anyway, not with how he spoke. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a straight sentence out without stammering. Despite Waiola and Snotlout's best attempts, Orrick and Shamus found it hilarious and would stop at nothing to torment him about it.
He heard a Monstrous Nightmare call and looked up. He had all day in the woods, away from muttonheads and Berserkers and desperate Vikings. Maybe he could find his own dragon. What about a Nightmare? No. Arne had a Nightmare. He didn't want the bully to think he was copying him. His two braindead friends had Nightmares as well. The Jorgenson twins shared a Zippleback, twins usually had Zipplebacks. Those exotic beasts needed two riders. A number of Vikings had tried to fly a Zippleback solo, but two heads, two different minds? No such luck, very much pain.
The bushes rustled to his left. He could see a pair of Gronckle eyes staring back at him. He knelt slowly, one hand up to appease the wild dragon, the other taking hold of a fist-sized rock. He rose just as steadily and held the rock up. The Gronckle edged forward, tongue out eagerly. Alastor tossed the rock to it and it was gone instantly, gobbled up. The dragon snuffled the ground for more treats and, finding none, bumbled away. Alastor didn't want a Gronckle anyway. They were nice enough dragons, but he wasn't interested in having one. He started walking again, hands in his pockets. He could ask his dad if they could go to Dragon Island or the Edge, like for Ingrid's birthday. She had come back with a Changewing egg, maybe he could find something just as cool. There were hundreds of dragons all over the Archipelago and further out. Alastor hadn't seen them all personally, but he had read about them in the Dragon Chronicles. The Book had been disbanded years ago when it was far too full. The Dragon Riders had edited it all into a dozen volumes. Alastor had read them all, at least twenty times each. He didn't mind. He liked having the information in his mind rather than on paper before him. He could easily search every bush for every size dragon, from the nanodragons to the basic wild dragons to the higher classes, such as Deathsongs or Scauldrons. Not that that was impressive to the likes of Arne or the Jorgenson twins.
Lost in thought, Alastor didn't notice the protruding tree root until his foot snagged. He went tumbling and rolling down a hill, crashing through brush and scraping his arms on rocks. He landed in a heap in the middle of a small clearing, ears ringing and grazed all over. He made to get up, only to be stopped by a cluster of Nadder barbs stabbing into the ground, slicing into the skin of his hands. Carefully, he looked up. A red and green Nadder stood ten feet away, pupils narrow slits in anger, spines on the tail out and ready to fire again. It was facing the left, keeping Alastor in sight.
"H-h-hi t-t-th-there." He said softly, getting to his feet with no sudden movements. He held his hands up to show his lack of weapons. The Nadder squawked warningly. More spines swished out, thudding into the tree behind Alastor, flicking a scarlet line across his cheek. "S-s-sp-spi-spike. I-i-i-it-it's O-O-O-K-K. I-I-I w-w-w-wo-won't h-h-h-hurt y-y-you." He took a cautious step forward and the dragon howled at him, flames sparking warningly from his jaws. Alastor bowed his head, crouching slightly with his hands out to the Nadder. He had learnt this from his mother- Nadders were much happier if they believed they were the alpha in a situation.
And it worked. The fire died down and the spikes on the tail fell flat. The dragon edged forward, indecisive. Who was this small human boy and what was he doing?
Alastor reached into his shoulder bag, drawing his lunch out. It was a leg of chicken from last night's dinner. Nadders loved chicken though. This one lowered his tail and squawked happily. Alastor held the meat level and at arm's length. His new friend eyed him cautiously, closing the distance in careful, thought out steps.
The chicken vanished in the blink of an eye. Seconds later, the Nadder spat the bone out. He snuffled Alastor expectantly. "I-I-I d-d-do-don't h-ha-ha-have a-a-an-anymore." Instead of getting mad, the Nadder shuffled his wings and licked Alastor's face. Relief rushed through Alastor and he spat on his hand, smoothing his palm over the Nadder's shoulder. The dragon seemed happy with that and allowed Alastor to scratch behind the horns, a place he knew from experience that they could never reach. "G-g-g-go-good b-b-boy." Alastor smiled. He held his hand out, like his father had done millions of times, and the Nadder rested his nose against it. "I-I-I t-t-t-th-thin-think I-I-I'll c-c-call y-y-yo-you S-S-Sp-Spike." Spike seemed happy with that. Alastor, staying out of the blind spot, moved round and jumped up, putting his foot onto the wing joint and sliding onto Spike's back. He massaged spit onto the dragon's scales again to calm him and then Spike started running. Alastor held onto the crown of horns, grinning excitedly.
Hiccup looked out the window, worried. Alastor was never late home for dinner. He knew to be on time. Hiccup hoped he was OK. His son could handle himself well enough, unless his nerves got in the way. With dragons, yes. Alastor would be fine. With humans? No. Not necessarily. Oh gods, what if he had run into the Berserkers? Dagur had kicked off big time, he would do anything to score points against Hiccup, whether Alastor was causing trouble or not.
"He'll be here in a bit, Hiccup." Astrid said. She was laying the table. Ingrid was stirring the beef stew and wrinkling her nose, Sneezy on her shoulder. Aloe was with Toothless in the corner, sitting on his back and lying forward against his head, covering his eyes and playing peekaboo, giggling every time the Night Fury moved his ears and tickled her under the arms or chin.
"Yeah, don't stress, Dad." Ingrid added, pulling a face as she ladled stew up and let it fall back in the pot. Sneezy grunted in disgust. Astrid tutted and started fussing over the dinner. Ingrid joined her father at the window. "You know what Al's like. He'll come back with a hoard of baby dragons he rescued from Snatchers or something, you watch." Hiccup hummed, Sneezy scrambling up his back to sit on his shoulder.
"Ingrid, that's not helping." Astrid pointed out. "Aloe, go and wash your hands." Her youngest sprang up, waving farewell to Toothless with a big grin, before disappearing into the back room. "You too, Ingrid. Hiccup, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to look for him." Hiccup shrugged Sneezy off.
"Hiccup-" The chief looked at his wife. A silent conversation passed between them. Astrid sighed and waved him away. Hiccup donned his cloak. Toothless sidled up to him, saddle in his mouth.
"No, wait! Look!" Ingrid, having not left to do as she was told, was leaning out the window and pointing at the sky. She had obtained a set of Astrid's dual long-lookers and was staring up, beaming. "He's there!" She handed her father the long-lookers. Hiccup saw his son instantly, worry flowing out of him like water through a dam.
Alastor and Spike landed a minute later. Alastor was grinning as broadly as his older sister, his blond hair a tangled mess and cheeks scarlet with cold. He waved at them, dropping down from his dragon. Hiccup crossed his arms expectantly.
"H-h-hi D-D-Da-Dad. I-I-I g-g-g-got a-a-a d-dr-dra-dragon."
"I can see that."
"H-h-h-he's c-c-cal-called S-S-Sp-Spike."
"Mum, look! Al has a dragon!" Astrid appeared in the doorway, smiling proudly when she saw she had recruited her son to the Nadder cause.
"Attaboy, Al!" She praised, hugging her son. "Nadders are the best." Toothless grunted in disagreement. "Yeah, I said it. Shut your face."
"Spike, huh?" Hiccup asked, inspecting the new arrival. The Nadder watched him dubiously. Hiccup stared back. "You've fed him chicken." Alastor nodded and his parents smiled. Hiccup held his hand out to the Nadder. Spike hesitated for a moment and then pushed his nose to this new human's palm. "He's not very old." Hiccup acknowledged, checking under the dragon's chin. "Only a year younger than you, Al."
"C-c-c-ca-can I-I-I k-k-ke-kee-keep h-h-hi-him p-p-pl-ple-please?"
"As my dad would say, you've named him. Can't throw him out now." Hiccup grinned. Astrid did too, smothering the life from her son in another, bone-crushing hug. "I take it you called him Spike because he shot barbs at you." Hiccup moved forward, tucking his hand under his son's chin and turning his head this way and that. "Yeah, look. Cut there. And on his hands. Did you fall?"
"T-t-tr-tri-trip-tripped."
"I'll get those cleaned up." Astrid promised. "Come in. Yes, you too, Spike. I'm sure we'll make room." She smirked at her husband. "I believe I'm winning."
"We've got Aloe to get through yet, milady. Don't count your Terrors before they've hatched."
Happy New Year everyone, best of wishes to you all for 2016!