Wintersmith

A/N: I have been sitting on this chapter for a long time. The dialogue in it is some of my favorite. I hope you enjoy it!

By the by, don't own anything. This will be the last story I post before starting work on the stories for Mericcup and Jackunzel week 2014 (woohoo!) It seems I'm committed to even more mischief than I thought. As long as my readers are enjoying it, I'm enjoying myself. As always, feel free to leave a review.

And the story that has been building up in the last few chapters, about a magically created plague, is also finding an outlet in "Is That Why You're Running Away?," specifically the chapters "Sketching," "Jack and Zelchen," "Icebound," and "The Plague of Corona" Basically, it's a RotBTD story that I'm chopping up, and am possibly considering consolidating into one story. Writing is a funny thing...

Anyway, enough talk. Enjoy!

The first thing that Merida had asked Hiccup, when they had arrived at Castle Dunbroch, was, "Ye said ye're looking for a cure to the plague. But," she turned and fixed him a look, "we never established if we've got the same plague."

"Um… no, we didn't. I mean, how many plagues can there be at one time?"

"Ye'd be surprised," she said. She turned back and resumed brushing Angus down. Toothless, they had agreed, would hide in the forest until the King and Queen had accepted the presence of the Viking. So he felt increasingly out of place, with nothing to do while she busied herself.

He started when she turned around and shot him a glare. "What did I do?" he asked.

"What's the symptoms of the plague that you've got?" she asked.

"Oh, if that's what you wanted to hear… sheesh… well. The first part of the plague is… these spots. They look like starbursts on your skin, only, they're, well, they're black. Very very dark blue, actually, but they look black. And they're cold and numb to the touch. And then, the next step is nightmares. Really bad nightmares. Like, shouting in your sleep and attacking stuff nightmares. Then, the nightmares take their toll, and the usual signs of exhaustion kick in – distraction, nervousness, irritability, though, heh, it's hard to tell with that last one… y'know, Vikings?"

Merida had stopped brushing her horse. She regarded him from her place by Angus' head. "And is that all?"

"Then… they start to cough. And… they cough something up. It's not blood. It looks like black sand."

She frowned, nodding in a noncommittal way. "Have ye had any deaths?"

"Only a few. We're very tough out in Berk… but it's wearing us down." He looked askance at her. "Is that the same as… what you've got?"

"In every particular," she said. "Only we've had more than a few deaths."

"I am so sorry," he said automatically. "I mean, not that it's my fault, but… well… our dragons have been falling sick, too. And I was… I couldn't help wondering if the dragons were the ones who brought the plague to us, and then it would be my fault that we had fallen sick—"

"Your fault? Why on earth should it be your fault?"

"Well, it's kind of a funny story…"

000

The Green Death was advancing. Hiccup and Toothless flew through a sea of clouds, farther and farther up –

Any minute they would fall miles below, and the sea would crack their bones, if the Green Death didn't swallow them first –

Toothless shook violently, in a sudden spasm – his tail had come loose – and Hiccup was thrown into empty sky –

He struck out, smacking something that went "OW!"

The clouds cleared. Hiccup wasn't falling to a watery grave. He was in an unfamiliar room, and over his bed, Merida was rubbing her face and cursing.

"Owee, ye pack a punch, son of Stoick. Stronger than I thought. Breathe easy, lad, it's only me."

"I'm sorry!" he blurted. "I'm sorry for punching you, I – I get nightmares. And I don't like to be woken up suddenly." He tensed up, turning slightly away from her and the light of the candle she carried.

"It's nae problem."

"What's the matter? Did something happen? Is Toothless okay?" He panicked, reaching in the dark for his prosthetic.

"I've not heard any trouble with Toothless. Calm yerself," Merida said, but she did not exactly look the picture of calm herself – her hair was loose again, and it gave her the wild look of a wood-nymph. "I came because of you."

"Me?"

"Sure. I heard ye even in my room. Ye were thrashing and moaning… I thought ye were having a fit. Sometimes me Da gets like that, when he remembers Mordu… and then Mum has to be rare careful, because he migh' break anything before he wakes up."

Hiccup looked down at his three-and-a-half limbs. Then he glanced at the wall of their inn, crafted of stout oak. Definitely not brittle. "I'm touched by your concern," he said drily.

"Oh, don't even mention it. I do me best. Are ye alright?" She sat on the bed next to him. He had time to wonder if she actually understood his sarcasm, when her next question took him off guard: "Were ye dreaming of when ye lost yer leg?"

He swallowed hard, and nodded.

"I thought so. Tha's what my Da dreams of when he gets to thrashing." She shifted uncomfortably. "D'ye want… to go back to sleep?"

Hiccup shook his head. Now he could feel the cold sweat over him. He let out a shuddering breath, which rasped a bit at the end.

"D'ye want to… talk?" she ventured. "I warn ye, I'm not one for listening to sick people complain about their ills. Mum says I'll never be a Queen if I can't manage that, but then again…"

"I'm happy to talk," he said quickly, "Just… not about… that."

Merida nodded. "Then, how about…" She trailed off. In the silence, the wind picked up. It grew louder and higher until it sounded like a shriek in the night. "Hey! I know! How about the Wintersmith?"

"The who?"

"The Wintersmith," she climbed onto his bed, despite his protests, and curled her legs under her, the candle held carefully above her knee. "He's the one howling in the wind. He's burying the ground in snow even now. Now d'ye know who he is?" she grinned. The candlelight caught her eyes and made them look green.

"I… take it he's not a real smith?" He shrugged, and curled his legs up, careful with his abbreviated limb. She made room for him and shook her head, grinning

"Nae smith. He's a crooked, withered old man with fingers like icicles. He crafts the snowflakes and frost on the windows – well, on glass windows. Do you have those?"

"No. Something about houses that go up in flames about twice in a year," he answered.

"Well, how about frost on… um… trees, and rocks?"

"I know about that kind of frost. But I think water does that on its own – because, you know, it flows and waves naturally." He relaxed, talking to her. The banter took him away from the nightmare, and centered him in the present, in the narrow inn room.

"Sure, water will freeze, but the Wintersmith is the one who shapes it and makes it lovely. That's what I was always taught, anyway. And he dances with the Summer Lady, who—"

"Brings the Summer," he interrupted.

"Brings summer in her singing and flowers in her footsteps," she finished. "Get it right."

"I've never heard of her before. But, that's not bad! I like the idea of a smith… I'm kind of a smithy myself, y'see." He gave her what he hoped was a suave and charming grin.

She looked deeply skeptical instead. "With those shoulders? Really?"

He glared. "I'll have to remember that story for… later. We have a lot of winter legends in Berk. We're not picky where they come from– we think about winter a lot."

"What about summer?"

"In summer we're too busy being grateful it exists to ask where it comes from."

"If ye don't have the Wintersmith, then, where does winter come from?"

A wistful note entered Hiccup's voice. "My mom used to tell me about the Snow Queen. Once, she was a beautiful princess who refused all offers of marriage, preferring instead to look in her mirror all day long."

"Some princess. What happened to 'er?"

"One day, in an ice storm, the mirror broke, and a shard of it entered her heart. She…"

"Died on the spot?"

"No, she grew cold as ice…"

"Because she died."

"She didn't die, it was an enchantment—" Hiccup gave a huffy sigh – "and she was so changed she fled to the mountains so no one would see her ugliness."

"Are you sure she didn't just die?"

"Geez, what's with you and death?"

"I'm jus' bein' the practical one here!"

"Anyway, the princess turned into the Snow Queen. She carved a palace out of a glacier, and anytime you hear the wind howling in a storm, it's her, singing and wailing because of her loneliness."

After a pause, Merida said, "Well, that's not a cheery story."

"Berk is not exactly a cheery place."

She shrugged, as if to say 'I've done the best I can do.' "D'ye feel calmer?"

Hiccup thought, then sighed. "Not really. I'm just… antsy. I've been antsy since we left Dunbroch." He stiffened, realizing that could be taken so the wrong way.

"Is it me?" she asked. He was surprised at the tone of her voice. She wasn't angry or offended, just… shy. As if he had given her a reproach.

"No," he promised her, shaking his head. "It's not you. You're actually," he tilted his head down, to the left, trying not to grin like an idiot and not to blush, dammit, if he blushed he would disown his capillaries forever, "you're, um, very calming to be around—"

Merida sprang. In what was a very not-calming motion, she leaned forward and took his head in her hands, looking deep into his eyes. He tried to ask her what in blazes she was doing, but only managed a kind of confused gargle and a thought, 'Okay, calming, she doesn't like to be called calming—'

"Hold still," she said. "Close your eyes."

Hiccup's mind went blank except for an invocation of all the gods of Asgard. He did have a thing for girls who took the lead. Be careful what you wish for.

He waited. And waited. And…

"Did you feel that?" Merida asked.

"Feel what?" his eyes flew open.

But she wasn't looking at his face anymore. She was peering over his shoulder, at the nape of his neck.

"Hey, Merida, what gives? I didn't feel anything. Is this some kind of weird DunBroach hazing ritual or—"

Merida's arm had snaked around him while he was talking, and she asked, "Feel that?"

"No. What is going on?"

She swallowed hard, pulling her hands away from him. Finally, she looked him in the eye. "Hiccup, ye've got a plague starburst. Right – here." She tapped her left temple, high on her forehead. He, wordlessly, lifted his hand to the same spot. The skin was cold, and he didn't feel his own fingers. He pressed, hard. Only a vague pressure; nothing more.

"And another," she patted her own back, "atop the shoulder blade. The right one. Hiccup, ye've—I didn't see it afore, the mark on yer face. Yer hair covered up the spot. I'm sorry."

"Merida…"

"Hiccup, ye've got the plague."

He couldn't breathe. He was afraid to breathe, afraid his next breath would be a cough, choking on that ephemeral black sand. Merida rapped his shoulder, hard, and got his breaths going again. "What am I going to do?" he asked. "Toothless – and you – you'll both need to leave me behind, I, I have to go into quarantine, I'm a danger to everyone—"

"Hiccup, if we're to be exposed to the disease, we're already exposed. Don't lose your head, it's yer best asset."

"I need to teach you Toothless' flight maneuvers," Hiccup swallowed, "in—in case—just in case—"

"Ye're not going to die," she said, her voice edged with steel.

A/N: BTW, the Snow Queen legend that I came up with is based (very loosely) on Hans Christian Andersen's version, and I actually wrote that dialogue a long time before Frozen came out.