First off : Thank you all so much for reading this story, I'm sure you all heard this kind of rant before but it needs to be said, because it's the truth.
Secondly : People have been asking what would happen to Hiccup in the romance department. To that I answer : Don't worry, I have plans for him...But...He has a lot to go through before finally meeting the second person to steal his heart (The first being Toothless of course).
And with that all said and done, I bid you good reading and an excellent day indeed ! *Tips top hat before striding off *
Proper clothing had been bought for the ex-slaves. Hiccup and Toothless had flown over to Dànor and returned with Toothless holding a large ballot below him. Now people were clothed, rather unstylishly, but in a manner that was more adapted to the near-arctic climate.
Two days passed, during which the guests spent their time either helping with various tasks or recovering. Nothing of much importance happened then, other than the fact that people were adjusting to their newly acquired freedom.
The little boy, was still as troubled, and as distant. He persisted with his constant hostile glares, or his outbursts of anger and violence if he was pushed too far. He remained by the hearth at all times, and Hiccup really wished he could do something to help the boy become...Normal ?
No. Not normal.
Better.
He needed to get better.
But Hiccup nevertheless decided to back off for a while, knowing that the recent changes were rather brutal and sudden for the child. He needed time. And carefully regulated human interaction.
Qwynel sat down at her small table, flopping down on the wooden stool with an exhausted sigh. The light was dim, maintained merely by a candle, the evening was young, and the sun set early in this white season. Four more were around the table, quietly sipping their meat-based soup. An other three, more sickly guests were resting on improvised beds in the neighbouring room. They, had the privilege of the fire, and slumbered all day, basking in the warmth of the nearby hearth as they recovered from infections, disease, and exertion.
" OOoohh..." Complained the triple-braided woman with an exhalation. " I've never experienced anything worse than feeling meself get old..." A couple of chuckles circled the table. " Yet, here I am...Having the best years of my life."
A man, by the name of Erlend, ageing, like Qwynel, looked up from his bowl to the woman's face. His grey stubble and dark hair, streaked with white, made him a veteran of sorts. He'd had many owners, some better than others. He rubbed a creased hand against his marked temple, a habit he'd adopted since he was branded.
Qwynel liked the man. He was kind, humble...Not to mention...Well built for his age.
A warm smile crept up the corners of his mouth, bending his face, bringing out the charming lines and creases of age as well as his olive skin. His deep, brown eyes stared into Qwynel's. There was something about that man, Qwynel felt it. His time in this world, as well as his experience and suffering made him a ripe soul. Seasoned with the spices of an unfortunate life. Yet, his brown eyes kept that glow that was found in most young faces. A glow, especially present in Hiccup's emerald eyes, or Septimus' when he heads out with Blues every morning to pace the island.
That glow, was something that was hard to keep. Qwynel knew that more than anyone, she had lost it long ago. That little lad too, the nameless. She had seen the look in his eyes when she'd tried to check his wrists and ankles for wounds the other day. His grey eyes had lost...Well, everything. All but the spark life, that was the only glow left in that child's eyes. And it was hanging by a thread, it was a failing light, merely fueled by hate, anger, confusion, and fear.
" I wish I could say as much..." Said the man, with a smile. His pupils reflected the flickering candlelight. " I've felt much worse than getting old...But, I must compliment you and your friends..."
" Why so ? " Asked Qwynel.
" I'm having the best week of my life here ! " He chuckled heartily. " What with freedom combined with your cooking...! " He raised his full spoon up to make his point before bringing it to his mouth.
" Aye." Agreed a woman with blonde locks. " Best soup I've had in years."
Qwynel gave a throaty chortle. " Flattery will get you nowhere my friends."
The man pursed his lips and fake-punched the air. " Aw damn ! I really thought I'd get a second serving if I played my cards right !"
" You can't fool me." Said Qwynel with a smirk, dipping the copper ladle into the pot that resided in the centre of the table. The copper serving tool disappeared beneath the sea of tasty brown, before reemerging, full of the delicious liquid. She masterfully navigated the ladle over to the man's bowl, before pouring its contents into it, creating a tumultuous brown sea. The man's smile grew as his bowl filled, he looked up at Qwynel, raising a questioning eyebrow.
" And what might I have done, to deserve this ? "
" Well, if you keep giving that charming smile of yours maybe you'll get a second serving..." She gave the man a playful wink.
" *Ahem* Should we leave you two together ? " Snarked a greek man with a scar on his cheek. A knowing smile was painted across his face, the kind of smile you'd find on teenage boys' faces when they're sharing dirty thoughts.
The other visitors giggled, trying to contain it.
" Hush your mouth and finish your soup man ! Or I'll slap you over the ear with a wet kipper !" Snapped Qwynel, not in the least angry.
" Someone's not getting a second serving..." Remarked Erlend.
Qwynel stared at the Greek for a minute, stroking her chin, pretending to consider her options. " MMmh..." She concluded, reaching for the ladle once more. " Heh ! I'm not that cruel, he can have a second serving." she said, serving the man.
" How generous of you, your royal highness." Played Erlend, giving her that smile with his ragged lips.
Qwynel smiled and turned to others around her table. " Ya' see ? You should follow his example ! " She joked. " At least he knows who's boss ! "
Septimus opened the door to his house, pushing against it with his right shoulder. He stepped into the warm main room with flushed cheeks and a chirping terrible terror on his left shoulder. Many of the guests, who were sitting around the fire-pit in the centre of the room, widened their eyes in surprise at the blue and green shape resting on the boy's shoulder. But they quickly calmed their flashing instincts, it was hard to get used to living around dragons.
Septimus took off his leather gloves as Blues leaped from his shoulders, gave a single thrust of her wings, before landing on the wooden table. She landed by the large wooden plate at the centre of the table, on which a gargantuan amount of cooked fish was disposed in the shape of a vortex. She sniffed it, planning on taking a bite. Not a big one.
But as she approached her open mouth to one of the ex- fish's head, a voice sounded in an interruptive tirade. " Nuh-uh ! " Said Marcus.
Blues snapped her head around to see the lanky Roman teenager, sitting on a stool, with his back leaning against the wall and his feet propped up on the table. He was cleaning his glaive with a white cloth and shaking his head with an amused grin.
" You have to wait till we all sit down to chow before taking a bite !"
Blues gave an expression that could only be interpreted as a pout.
" Plus, I cooked this !"
Blues snorted incredulously.
" Nah really, I did."
Septimus, who was hanging his leather coat on a hook on the wall accross the room scoffed. " Hah ! The only thing you can cook here is your own fingers ! "
" Shut up pipsqueak ! You can't even lift a kitchen knife." Teased back the elder brother.
" Actually..." Cut in a rather large Gaul with a blonde braided moustache. He was sitting cross-legged around the fire as was all the other ex-slaves and was resting his head on a hand, who's elbow in turn rested on a knee. " You'll find zat he gutted and sliced ze fish wizout assistance." He said, with a somewhat nasal, heavy accent.
" But he could only do it with his sword ! " Said a slim, dark-haired woman with a ponytail and a braid running down her right cheek.
" It's a glaive I told you already !"
The woman rolled her eyes. The others smirked.
" Ah Marcus..." Sighed the Septimus jokingly as he sat down by the fire with the guests to warm himself. "...Swordsman all the way ! " He turned to the guests. " I always wondered how he managed to sleep with it without cutting himself." He piped. The guests laughed.
Marcus, barely appreciated the joke. He frowned, but before he could reprimand his younger brother, a voice sounded and a hand swatted his right cheek.
" Ow ! "
" Feet. Off the table. Now." Nagged Lucia as she passed to go into the kitchen. She had just came from upstairs, checking on the more critical guests who had been assigned to beds.
Marcus obliged, reluctantly, moaning : " Ugh...You do know you're my sister, and not my mother right ? "
" Yah..." She said, zooming out of the kitchen and into the main room again before setting herself down at the table in front of her younger brother with a knife and sharpening stone. " But someone's gotta keep this place together and it sure as heck isn't gonna be you two ! " She gestured to both her brothers. Then her eyes fell on the fish platter in the centre of the table.
" What is that ? " She asked, pointing at the platter, concerned.
" Marcus' attempt at preparing fish." Answered Septimus, concealing a laugh.
" You cooked ? " She asked the teen. Then, before he could answer, turned to the dragon between them. " He... cooked ?! "
Blues nodded with a smirk.
" You can tell can't you ? It's a massacre ! " Snarked Septimus. Marcus fumed silently, pursing his lips and making an admirable effort to contain his outburst of anger and indignation.
They all sat around the fire in Qwynel's house after moving from the table once the meal was finished. They sat at the foot of the three beds disposed around the fire-pit, talking softly, facial features accentuated by the shadows cast by the orange fire.
The constant sound of the crackling fire filled all with a silent hope, a soothing reassurance. Qwynel, reached in her jacket's inside pocket, and pulled out her long-necked wooden pipe. Those, who weren't sleeping or in a slumbering daze, noticed, and wondered how long it was since they smelt a burning pipe.
She placed a pinch of her own herbs, in the pipe, crushed them with her index, before reaching into the fire-pit for a twig. She took a twig with a flickering flame on its end, and lit her pipe with it before discarding it back into the fire.
Grey smoke floated up to the ceiling in a trail, before being interrupted by Qwynel's first inhaling through the pipe's neck. Soon after, a smoke ring rose, slowly, shaking in a dreamy haze to the dark wooden beams supporting the protective wooden roof.
The smell of burning herbs filled the room, immediately relaxing everyone with it's curative properties.
Across the fire, sat Erlend, with his back against a bed's side as he sat on the floor, like the others. His old yet warm eyes followed the smoke-rings up. A pleasant smile formed on his face, before he too, reached into his newly-acquired jacket pocket.
" I have a pipe too, it's a little different though." He said, softly. And there he drew a curious instrument. It was curved like a sail, composed of multiple cylinders of wood stuck together from the longest to the shortest. " It's called a panpipe " He explained. " Your friend Lucia had the kindness of offering me one, after a conversation on instruments. I told her about it, gave her the details. She did an excellent job, in record time too."
" You're a bard ? " Inquired the Greek man with a scar.
" No, I never was. But my father was, and he taught me how to play this kind of instrument." He put the pipe to his lips, and closed his eyes in concentration. Slowly, the sound appeared, and soon enough, it glided with Qwynel's smoke rings, rising, dissipating, created again to softly drift upwards. The melody soared, like a wave through the air. ( Sound Of Silence - Simon and Garfunkel ) It was as if all present were hypnotised, bound to listen to the enticing music, enrobing them into a calm trance, a timeless sleep. They stared absently at the fire, ears taking in the music that poured from the pipe, all but Qwynel, who stared at the musician with the light in her eyes.
His eyelids were down, closing off his eyes to the world as his mouth travelled up and down the curved instrument, stopping before cylinders to delicately blow down them and produce the beautiful melody. He did so with a concentration and dedication rivaled only by his emotion invested in the music. The instrument was his world, it seemed part of him. His facial expressions changed with the melody, brow moving, creases forming on his forehead, cheeks contracting as the melody rose, fingers twitching or relaxing. It was like he was pouring his soul and feelings in the melody, seasoning it, giving it taste, giving it life.
And then it finally ended. A long note, sounding until he was out of breath, only to resonate in everyone's inner ear once he stopped playing. The magical tune still floated around like a ghost within everyone's head, it had sown its seed, even though all that was left was the crackling of the fire and the breath of sleepers.
No one spoke, all were asleep, all but Qwynel. But the ageing lady said nothing, she didn't want to spoil it. She just stared across the fire to grey-stubbled man, who stared back with a creased smile and dry lips. The tune still floated around, without being present, letting itself be outspoken, leaving the air free to be overtaken by a sound...
The sound of silence.