So Hiccup has been forced to leave Berk, and he had a bittersweet moment with Astrid. Also, he has killed two Outcasts for the first time.
Stratoc- Thanks, I do know my mythology, and glad that you liked the Hiccstrid moment at the end. Your reviews will be missed. :)
The clouds rolling over the sky draped like the fog of despair that surrounded the docks. Astrid dropped me off at my house without another word, although we exchanged another violent kiss. She even bit my lip before breaking away.
My dad was waiting in the doorway. I nodded at Astrid and hurried off. Dad ignored my rumpled clothes and wind-burned lips.
"You're late," he said.
"I don't want to go," I replied.
"That makes two of us." He threw the satchel at me with such vigor that I nearly fell over. Before I could get my bearings, Toothless leaped out of the house and pounced on me.
"Good morning to you too," I grunted from under four clawed feet. "Ready to leave?"
He sneaked in a lick, got off me and grabbed the satchel in his teeth. I patted his head and got up slowly. My metal leg sank in the damp soil.
Dad did not break his stiff pose, heading to the dock like a man headed to sign a treaty with the Green Death. I struggled to walk upright; Toothless trotted with my satchel. It was stuffed with incomplete notes and papers, the few tunics and trousers that I owned, a spyglass, an extra pair of boots, and my dragon-riding equipment. I had been tempted to take along a few books for the long voyage, but Gobber had squashed that plan.
"You need to pack light," he had said when I had packed a few days before. "The royals are said to have an entire library, filled with advanced alphabets. Besides, you have Toothless. That should provide enough entertainment." My dragon had snorted at that and nudged Gobber playfully. Gobber had scratched his ears fondly.
A crowd gathered on the beach, Berk's Vikings dressed in their finest armor. Foremost in front were Gobber, Spitelout, Bucket and Mulch. As I passed by, Bucket pressed a rolled-up scroll into my hand. Gobber whispered, "Stay safe," and Mulch nodded in agreement.
A few children pushed their way to the front; I recognized their leader as Ingie, a young girl who had helped me fend off Outcasts only a few months before. She wore traditional armor now and a smaller helmet. Her brown hair had been cut short, singed from the fire, and her back stood straighter with no stuffed lamb dripping from it. Ingie presented a sheathed knife, the hunting knife I had given it. She had scratched a rune for protection on it. I bent to give her a quick hug and take the knife. She beamed despite the somber adults.
"Kick Scottish butt," she said. The ends of her shorn hair quivered.
Astrid skulked in the back of the silent crowd; her ponytail fell forward to cover her haggard face. Ruffnut gave her a playful swat on the back, but Astrid did not register the blow. Her eyes held clouds and thunder in them, as if they would unleash a trembling storm after blinking. Snotlout hung back as well, swaggering. His eyes bugged out as they met mine, as if expecting to see the beast that had come out and murdered two Outcasts. Tuffnut kept wiping his face, rubbing at his eyes to gouge out an irritating speck. Thuggory, rubbing his stomach, gave a silent wave. He had bonded with a green Gronkle, who bowed with the other dragons.
Dad watched me stagger across the gangplank, slightly puffing with the gifts and leather bag. He urged me on to the center of the boat. His men came from within the cabins, to report that they had found no strangers smuggled in the baskets or hiding anywhere.
The anchor seemed to have gained weight, for the Vikings on board struggled to lift it. I went to help them when my eyes caught those in the crowd's. They did not break their silence to yell cheers of farewell and hope for a safe return. They didn't have to. They only asked me to return their gaze, to acknowledge that I was not off on a glorious quest to vanquish foes. Astrid broke the gaze first to make a farewell sign with her hands. Three fingers, arm upright like a tree with frail branches. Arm guards gleaming gold with her gesture. The same symbol scratched on my hunting knife and Gothi's hut.
ALGIZ. Protection. "Stay safe."
Thuggory noticed what Astrid was doing and took it a step further; he held both arms up with three fingers. So did Fishlegs. The twins tried to do one with six fingers but got their hands tangled up. Slowly a field of arms sprouted up like fresh dandelions, a wave of protection for the chief's son who had fought the Green Death. All of Berk was wishing for me to be safe when I had once earned their scorn, and not without reason.
They weren't treating me as a Conqueror or a Trainer or a hero. They were treating me as one of their own. Their upright hands acknowledged that what had happened on Frigga's Promise wasn't fair, shouldn't have happened in the first place.
I could have smiled bravely and shouted thanks, but they wouldn't hear it. Instead, I used my hands to make the symbol of a curling S, slanted against the cold wind,EIHWAZ, or "durability". My lips mouthed the following promise:
"I will come back."
Dad kept his tight stare, yelling at the men to adjust the sails. Toothless tilted his head to examine my shaking hands. When the Berk shores faded, I let them fall. Then I buried my face in his scales until we hit the open sea.
In time the days blended together on the ship; Vikings were sea-worthy from birth, even if they caused their fathers trouble. We accumulated a temporary routine: Toothless and I would go out on a morning flight to stretch his wings and start an adrenaline rush, hurry back for a quick breakfast of biscuits and weak ale, pore over letters from the Scottish monarchs, sit across from Dad unable to say anything, and spend the rest of the day trying to find words to say to each other. His hands became creased with rope burns from tying and untying knots, and fear seemed to cloud his brow.
It wasn't like the other times we had tried to bond, like when Dad had taken me fishing after Mom died, or when he thought I had become an accomplished dragon slayer. Things had changed since then, I thought.
Trying to read letters from Scots was a real picnic afterward. They used a different alphabet, and trying to piece together the round and curly shapes was like trying to chew on eroded sea rocks. Toothless would peer over my shoulder as I failed to decipher the thin symbols that supposedly carried vital information. The only thing I learned is that mainland royalty used a thick cream-colored parchment that we could only get from Trader Johann, and their quill pens made the letters elegant if not legible.
After four days of not talking, translating, and realizing we weren't far from Dunbroch, I put my foot down. Or rather, I blocked Dad's way as he tried to come and leave after seeing me with Toothless by a pile of ropes, papers askew. Toothless's tail served as a paperweight so that the letters did not get lost to the cold waves.
"Dad, we need to talk," I said. "And I don't mean find a cloud burst to ponder or military strategies."
He could have easily pushed past me, but I caught his troubled gaze and he stopped.
"Since that night on the boat, you've been giving me strange looks, like you don't know me anymore," I continued. "Is it because I killed those Outcasts?"
There. It was out. Dad looked more troubled but also a bit relieved.
"Get me a drink," he said. I hopped to the half-empty barrel and drew a tankard; he took a long swig of the tankard and set it by Toothless's legs.
"I'm still the same Hiccup, the Dragon Trainer who would rather find a way for us to coexist. I know dealing with my nightmares or Alvin or those chiefs haven't been easy, but you know who I am, Dad."
He drank more ale. Wiping his mouth gave him time to formulate an answer.
"It's not what you've done, son," he said in a soft voice. "You've never disappointed me. It's what I've done to you."
I lifted my left arm. "You didn't do this to me; those Outcasts did." With the help of speechless slaves, but I wasn't going to bring that up.
"I mean . . ." he hesitated. "Once I would have given all my axes to walk into battle with you, to see you cut down a dreaded enemy. I was so proud and terrified when you rode on Toothless to defeat the Green Death. When I saw what you could do without a dragon . . . that old desire to see you fight came back."
"You were also scared," I replied. "Toothless was injured when Alvin and his men shot those arrows, and I couldn't lift any weapon to defend myself from a stupid barbarian."
Toothless growled at the memory. The noise seemed to comfort Dad.
"That too," he admitted. "It's not even that there is blood on those dragon-teeth gloves. It's that when you fight, you lose that spark in your eyes, that determination that makes you the boy I know. That innocence has gone. I killed it."
"Dad, you weren't the one who ran at me with an axe or a sword," I replied dryly. "And Astrid was the one who trained me in combat, not you."
"I told Astrid to do the training, and you've paid the price for it." Dad finished his tankard and patted Toothless's head. "I can't ask for forgiveness for changing you into something you weren't, for honing on that instinct."
That's when I realized why Dad hadn't spoken; he had enough trouble apologizing for things as it is, but he was also admitting that he had gotten what he wanted and realized he didn't want it. He wanted his boy back who ran from Nightmares and claimed to shoot down rare dragons from the sky. Since that was like saying he didn't want me as a normal Viking, he may as well have cursed the gods.
A current of mixed feelings swept through me, perhaps resentment and numbness. Dad wouldn't have accepted a hug, but he allowed Toothless to nuzzle him. If the idiots in the Archipelago had left me alone, maybe I would have stayed the way he wanted me, as an innocent, Dragon Trainer. Maybe I'd be back home having sane adventures, seeking his approval or keeping peace between the dragons and Vikings.
Spitelout eventually popped his bearded face into the scene and asked if things were okay. Dad nodded, stood up and left with him to tend the sails. I sat on top of the ropes, brooding. Toothless curled up beside my clenched fists.
For a neutral diplomatic mission, we received quite a surprising welcome. I actually saw the green shores first, peering from the crow's nest on the evening shift. Dad, wide-eyed on the deck, straightened up. Toothless hung from the nets that connected the crow's nest and screeched when he caught sight of dim land. The clouds had finally cleared, so stars glimmered with promise on the fluttering waves.
"Let's go, bud," I hopped off the crow's nest and onto Toothless's back. We clambered down. Spitelout turned the keel so that we eased into port, and Dad handed me my bag.
"Don't give them any of your joking remarks," he said. "Let me handle the talking."
I nodded. Since his confession, Dad had started talking to me differently. He had drilled me in the rudimentary bits he knew about royalty and instructed that I was not to sass-mouth either the king or queen for fear of losing my head. He had also slipped me a map with a clear route on how to fly home.
"Be sure to avoid the water spouts to the south," he had told me. "And hang a white banner from your saddle so no ally will shoot you down." His words sounded calm, as if telling a fellow barbarian how to charge.
"That will be easy," I had replied. "We just have to avoid all the chiefs who want to own their Dragon Trainer." I had intended the remark to be lighthearted, but it came out bitter. It said something that Dad hadn't even rebuked me.
Several people stood on the docks, only one with a torch. Spitelout clambered off the boat once he had lowered the anchor and set up the gangplank. I took a deep breath, sucked in my stomach, and walked. Toothless followed, eyes wary. His tail swished behind us.
"Welcome to Dunbroch!" The thinnest figure said; she wore an emerald-green dress that billowed with mild restraint. Her hair flowed with her skirts, brown strands with a streak of grey. "I am Queen Elinor, and this is my husband, Fergus. Are you Stoick the Vast of Berk?"
"Indeed I am." Dad gave a half-bow and nudged me forward. "This is my son Hiccup, whom you requested to meet."
The queen scanned me over; I don't know how she could in the dim light. I had been expecting a stiff, regal empress who slipped shards of glass into people's eyes if their loyalty strayed, like the mythical snow queen. This woman was regal, but her eyes held . . . warmth. Their eyes didn't even widen on hearing my name, and her mouth retained an affable smile.
"Welcome to DunBroch, Hiccup," she said. "We hope your stay here will be pleasant."
I gave a more lopsided bow, teetering with my satchel. "Thank you, your Majesty." Yes, I remembered Dad's lessons!
"There is no need for formalities," she said. "Queen Elinor will do. And this is your mount?"
I stepped aside to let Toothless come forward. He gave a reluctant bow, although his yellow eyes relaxed on seeing few weapons displayed. Elinor's husband matched my father in height, although he was rounder in the middle and had ruddy, carrot-stained hair. He had a sword clipped to his belt, but his hands were empty.
"So you're Hamish's heir!" he exclaimed. "You're almost as tall as he was rumored to be!"
I was almost tempted to remark that Hamish II had been a runt by Viking standards, but Dad's advice came back to me. No sarcasm while meeting enemies. This is just a show, to pretend they intend no harm. Do not give them an excuse to unsheathe their swords.
"Let us go to the castle," Queen Elinor said. "You must be in need of hot food and rest."
"Thank you, but I can't stay," Dad said, "except to replenish our rations. Berk needs its chief."
I didn't say anything. Dad had already told me this plan, although he didn't like it. Thornado lay low on the ship, hidden in case of emergency.
"At least have one decent meal," the queen insisted. "Our cooks are quite excellent."
"One meal," Dad decided. He gave me a pointed look. "It will be a good way to discuss matters."
We marched towards the castle, a block of squares with pointed turrets. The lights in the narrow windows came to view. So did marching guards with crossbows.
Toothless and I exchanged identical expressions as our small party passed through the gates. I clenched my bag tighter and thought of the map. We were entering a finely decorated prison.