"Interesting plan you have got cooking there, Hiccup."
The boy groans almost immediately at her snide remark. His good foot suddenly thought repeatedly beating the floor into submission was a very good recreational activity. He raises his hand reassuringly, a leer spreading across pathetic excuse for lips. "Mom. Stop. It will be fine. You are worrying too much."
"Oh, look who the boy's calling worried. Remember: I have a cocked and loaded 'I told you so' ready to be deployed at any moment. And I know you are very particular about your fragile ego."
"I don't have a fragile ego."
Valka holds a stare, for a second acknowledging that Toothless the-standing-patiently-by-the-kitchen-window dragon would much rather not be here. He would rather handle his utmost important, life-or-death situation Alpha business, instead.
…
Gods, it's almost midday already?
"Okay, okay, maybe I do, but only ever in stressful situations. Otherwise, I keep my ever-arousing and precious ego to a minimum. Trust," he attempts to confess.
Valka, meanwhile, doesn't look one bit convinced. At all. The woman leans in, taking in what's left of the chieftain's exponentially lessening personal space right now. "First of all, Hiccup, how does it feel to be so thoroughly full of shit?"
He could only ever smile at his mother's wholesome parenting skills. "Absolutely great. You should try it yourself sometime."
That, got a laugh out of her – so much so she hauls her block head back, much to the relief of Hiccup.
"Heh. I can see that," she deceits. "However… second of all, and perhaps most importantly… I don't necessarily see eye-to-eye with how your plan is boiling."
He rolls his eyes. "And everybody wonders why I prefer to work alone…"
"It's not—okay, Hiccup, plot-planner and stick-up-your-ass extraordinaire, how would you justify walking in—and get this – using Russian to communicate with her?" she asks. "She's obviously going to turn berserk before you can even get to the fifth syllable. Need I remind you that your newly renovated… moved into… and refurbished house, is at stake?"
Hiccup really had to fight the urge to site a palm on his already pink forehead. "Mom…"
"Oh, right!" she clicks, recounting reality in a purposefully strained pitch. "She's docile. I keep imagining this badass hunk of flesh which can tear you apart in a moment's notice, but no, you get this overgrown lizard-puppy instead. Not much different than all other dragons, really."
"You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
She cackles maniacally, a laugh that got under Hiccup's skin. "Oh, well. A woman's gotta have fun one way or another. It's made all the better when it's at the expense of one of your own…"
"Why did I even bother trying to drag you back to Berk?"
"Because you loved my charm and good looks, obviously. Whatever else?" She flicks a few hair strands back.
Bewilderment and two bits of dread almost surmounts his outward expressions. "Uhh… no, mom; we are not going into that territory."
The mad woman had the audacity to expose her neck plainly at him as well. "Bite me. Now, as I was saying…" She strolls over to near where Hiccup was sitting on the kitchen chair, hopping her butt onto the dining table with a mere snort in her mannerisms. "Let's just theoretically assume your plan fails – spectacularly, I hope – for a second. Do we just… high-tail it out of there? Or... do we fight back and risk her not trusting us?"
"I am sure it won't come to that."
"Oh. Really, now? Dragons are nothing if not erratic. We need to have a backup plan in case things go awry… hide weapons behind our backs as a means…"
"See, mom. You don't get it. We have to get her to trust us first. We need to appear trustworthy, especially to dragons which by nature are irrational when it comes to others defending themselves. Burying the hatchet also does not consist of one backstabbing the other individual when they do something they may not realise is wrong. If not, then…" He pauses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I guess we high-tail it out of my… newly… refurbished… moved into... room. So, no weapons or fighting back."
She raises an astute eyebrow, a sigh gushing out her lips. "Trust is earned, son – and there's no doubt in my mind that dragon knows. Your trust is dangerously shaping up to be that obligatorily attractable biscuit jar on the kitchen counter. She would be taking it as a sign of weakness."
"Can we discuss the mechanics of what and what not to do when strangers are around later? We have a dragon who's obviously terrified and screwed emotionally in there. She cried on my shoulder for seventy straight minutes, mom! SE-VEN-TY. That's an hour, and like, a sixth! Do Furies even have tear ducts that big?"
His mother scoffs, leaping off her pedestal then wielding her staff. "I AL-SO STRETCH OUT MY PRO-NUN-CI-A-TION WHEN I AM BE-ING A SPOILT LI-TTLE SHIT TOO. Oh, just stop whining about it already. We have a confidential dragon to tame." She twisted her back on him, her son failing to notice the smirk forming on her lips. "You also parroted what I said earlier about our weaponry, by the way."
He groans in exaggeration, rubbing his eyes to tighten his loosening grip on sanity. "Just shut UP."
The door before the trio rasps open in ragged groans.
Calm and collected would not be the words used to describe Hiccup right now; his palms were starting to wet – jittering the cup of water he carried – and his toes were obtaining minds of their own – wobbling about like worms in his wabbly sandals. Toothless looked on with interest ranging from mild and exceedingly robust – his ego couldn't decide which was which – and Valka… well, let's just say she's not taking it as seriously as she should be.
Guess living with an assortment of dragons for nearly two decades in a bloody dinge would do that to you. Damn it, mom.
They march to her seemingly in formation, smallest frame to largest – Hiccup volunteered to be the lead, being the closest in relation to the dragon. Toothless the-questionably-consenting dragon insisted he took up the back, though both humans had their doubts on whether or not it was because he couldn't speak or write in Russian.
Perhaps it had to do with her being of a sister species. Oh, she was also a girl – so extra precautions must be taken so as to prevent her feeling sexually assaulted by one virgin little nutcase.
Soon enough, they find themselves over her pseudo place of residence.
Guilt trickles from Hiccup's mind, simmering on his skin. It grips him by the throat. Gods, he should have treated her better; tucked her onto his bed or something more modest than... this.
Maybe it was the low light. Maybe he was simply tired from the Thing. Perhaps Gothi patched her up so well the wounds didn't show initially. But the sunlight shimmering through never told of such luscious, tall tales.
The Fury was a mess. Riddled on her scales laid bare hundreds of cuts and bruises, some so minuscule it faded into the background, some so immense even the bandages wrapped around her sparkly surface failed to mask them. Now that he thinks about it, Toothless never mentioned her wounds when he got back from that beach. To think this was a common injury… occurrence within his nest that it merely warrants a passing shrug from him was troubling.
Dragon society still had a long way to go.
Maybe this one will put in a new perspective.
Swallowing down his thudding heart, Hiccup knees over her form, a hoisted, gentle hand at the ready. Moment of truth. It softly nudges the shoulder blade that wielded… a tattered ribbon of all things—
Like clockwork, her good eyelid spurts upward. Her two pairs of hind legs quickly scramble underneath her form – as fast as any offspring of lightning would, anyway. Sprouting up to face level, she pushes her back against the corner wall, head still lowered and eyes only half-open.
They sigh. At least they ticked one problem off the list. Not dying.
Her expression soon shifts when a cup of water appears before her sight. Two offering hands courtesy of yours truly.
The dragon's mouth salivates with what little… liquid it had left. But in a surprising turn of events, or so Hiccup himself noticed, she restrains herself. From, you know. Being a dragon. Yeah, it was probably best that she doesn't lunge after the person carrying her only source of hydration.
Instead, she understood the concept of a cup better than any other dragon could.
For the water… to not fucking spatter everywhere… because why else there wouldn't be a fucking cup to hold it in in the first place you dickheads?!
…
Okay, maybe he was still brackish from his past experiences with Toothless.
Memories of him doing like so flash before his eyes. The number of drench shirts, in particular, being the spearheader. Damn it you fat, lovable, spoilt piece of overgrown reptile.
He shakes his head vigorously. Back to reality, now. His eyes narrow.
Wow.
The manner in which she went about it was also… interesting to say the least. More to Toothless than most. Balancing her figure on two back hind-legs, the white dragon lifts two others to the cup, clutching it shakily from Hiccup's hands. It was bottom's up from then on out, gobbling it down greedily without a drop to waste. Again, so… human.
The cup meets the floor gently. She nods once. Curt. An empty smile forms.
Civil. First impressions are important. That much was true for this dragon's morals.
…
Balder on a stick!
Valka became a lot more interested, to say the least. Toothless was quietly losing his mind. Quitting cold turkey, especially around such an interesting subject was… difficult for Hiccup, especially when she deconstructs the very notions of the fabrics of draconic reality itself. But the research side of him will just have to wait. Now would be a great time to act as a dragon-human liaison. 'Would' being the keyword.
He was failing miserably.
The likeliness of his initial plan falling flat on his face was spectacularly high, but he'd much rather not crack under the pressure now that he thinks about it, thanks. His throat bobs.
How on earth will he go about this?
…
Oh.
He resists the urge to slap himself in the face once more.
Of course acting sympathetic for one would be a great help.
Hiccup kneels, crouching to face-level with his house guest's battered head. Her one eye dances up in a balled of uncertainty, pupil too hesitant to exchange pleasantries. But, with grand effort on her part, she manages.
A pair of eyes and one meet. Figuring it wouldn't hurt to try, he lifts up a hand and waves. Worth a shot if she truly is capable of comprehending human languages – Russian of all things.
It's also worth a shot if he tries to establish some form of exchange. He had to be careful what he says, now. Shouldn't. Let. Emotions. Take. Control.
His lips part, a tongue licking its top.
That internal bout of encouragement probably wasn't going to work any time soon. He starts.
"Hello—"
"Why?"
He staggers back a bit. Immediately caught off guard with that question, gods-damnit. Calm down. He manages to get something out of her leastways.
They understand each other.
His face contorts – somewhere in a purgatory between gentle and confused to nigh hell.
"I am sorry?" softly asks Hiccup.
"You are going to kill me anyway, aren't you?" she directs a claw at him, more stating than accusing him of it. "For intruding on your territory. For being what I am. So why not save all of this luxury you have bestowed upon me and be done with it? Surely your monarchy greatly disproves of my company…"
That only worked to confuse him more. "And why would we ever want to do that?"
"B-… because…" Her throat ties a knot. "Because I am an abomination."
Oof. Geez. If Toothless was a prideful prick, then she was his antithesis. Dragon treatment seems to extend everywhere, he guesses. Even down south. Just that this one was a bigger version of fifteen-year-old Hiccup, apparently. At least Vikings aren't actively hostile to them any longer. Though reluctant at first, she lets Hiccup embrace the side of her cheek. A loose finger comforts it. "Look," he mutters to her gently. "I don't know who – or why – your people would call you that. But know that you are the furthest thing from one that you can possibly be. You are a Fury. You don't deserve to be treated like this."
"So why is there one behind you?" Hiccup wisps around, only to find the incredibly confused face of Toothless the idiot-and-condescending dragon. "You more or less already have one of my species as your slave. So why care? Act as some sort of concerned Gestapo?"
Now comes out the defensive dragon sympathiser side of him. And by the gods was he livid about being put on the opposite side of the spectrum. "A slave? I'd sooner die than label a dragon as one. They live with us, on this here isle, willingly. On their own terms. I will never be able to live with myself with anything less."
"They? So there are more?"
"I… yes. Black dragon at the back of me is their so-called Alpha – though he'd much rather being a lazy bum sitting on his ass doing nothing all day. You yourself can ask him about it later. He can only respond by writing. He also needs a translator. I suppose I am his designated translation machine. Godsyouareabnormallyintelligent."
Sighing, she lets the last statement slide.
The chieftain scrubs the back of his neck – inner tension leaving soon enough. He didn't regret one bit that he switched back to Norse, even for a little while. Toothless looking infuriated to all Hel was priceless. Best served raw, revenge is. It didn't take much for Valka on her observant part to discern and grin.
He hurls his mind back to the present. An extended shrug.
"I… look, we got off on the wrong track and… I got on the defensive," he tries to explain, licking his lips not soon after. "Years of mingling with other petty, manipulative and power-hungry bastards of chieftains will do that to you. I hate seeing dragons get the short end of the stick, especially this guy back here. He's like a brother to me. Sorry for lashing out. So…" he rests body on one leg, "let's trace back some steps I guess. With names, for starters."
Hiccup then figures sitting on the floor would make him much more comfortable. Like so.
"So, well, umm… Mine is… Hiccup." Shifting back to Norse for a second was probably the best action taken on that whim. Saying 'hiccup' in Russian will most likely grant him a permanent stink-eye on her part, he knows full well... Yeah, not having a fragile ego his ass. "What's yours?"
The dragon suddenly thought the floor was a most interesting sight. Clearly, she wouldn't want her name to fall on death's ears. A short time afterwards, however, her stiff posterior loosens a bit, as if having already decided her next move. "A… Anastasiya," she finally reveals, shifting on the floor. "Those I know subsequently call me Anna for short. So conversations don't go for too long." Wary of the way the chief's eyes looked curtly at her eye, she sinks her form in trepidation. "Though I suppose you wouldn't want to call me by that."
Though that left much room to ponder just how human her name sounded, the resulting feedback was almost immediate. "We are all friends here. Having no barriers with anyone is kind of my motto at this point. I want to get to know you; Anna the person. Leave the political and PR fallout from your isle to me."
Appearing a mite stunned herself, this 'Anastasiya' started off a bit doubtful about his impossible declaration; rightfully so. But the expression that sprouted on his face afterwards was all she apparently needed to know that at least he appeared genuine. So, she plays along. The dragon nods slowly. "O… Okay."
"Alright. We got somewhere. That's good. Now for your home isle…"
"Well, funny coincidence – I was just about to ask for yours as well," admits Anna.
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I looked around your room earlier. The decorations look… off. Not local at my place."
"Oh yeah, those. I get that a lot. Most of them I got from one of my many adventures with…" he points towards his best friend, who'd rather much not be referred to directly, being the anxiety-wracked reptile he was, "this guy here. Though such excursions together are few and far between nowadays. Political business takes chief priority. Haha, get it? Chief? OkayIwillstopnow. So… yeah."
"No, no. It's not like… that at all. I don't know how to describe it. Your bed, your furnishings, everything… I don't know. I think… they look a bit home-made. A bit trite? Wait, no, that's not the right word at all. Sorry."
"It's fine. But… what do you mean by home-made?" he says, a finger tapping his chin.
"Well... your bed doesn't look franchise-made for starters. No brand would ever release this to the market without getting an earful from QA. Unless you want to cop your chances at raising your stocks, that is. Oh, no, but then you will be hit with court fines and bottle-neck cease-and-desist letters so you are asking for a virtual death sentence…"
Hiccup had trouble keeping up with all of these… seemingly non-existent terms, at least to Berk. So, he asks for clarification. "Uh… excuse me? Lost teenager here?"
Anna breaks from her train of thought at his tone of voice. "Sorry?"
"Bit confused with all of those terms you keep throwing around. I guess your clan is not only different in culture or language."
"Really?" she murmurs, more to herself than to anyone else. "If you don't know what a court is, then…"
"Uhmm…"
The White Fury sighs, though this time it was more of clarification rather than annoyance. "Wouldn't you happen to know what a 'factory' is?"
"Uh… not that I know of…? Don't know any of these things."
"Then how do you know Russian? Anybody who knows Russian that doesn't live under a rock knows what one is. . ."
(gibberish)
(gibberish)
(more gibberish)
…
…
Toothless formulates an incredulous look, raising a paw pointing at them flatly. The fuck?
Hiccup scratches his scalp. "Oh, that. Well, that was kind of required of me. One of the traders… their clans down south apparently speak in another language entirely. Nothing like Norse. They also looked battered to all Hel, so… combine all the free time in time in the world, empathy and enough patience on my part and—"
"OUR."
Human and dragon hurl their heads to the sudden sound, only for their sights to stumble upon a familiar woman. That naturally incites a groan from the human. Man… Of course, his mother decides to intrude in the most inconvenient time possible.
Meanwhile, Valka is still all humpity and bumpity. "Hello, there. Sorry for the intrusion, but the boy's making a fool of himse—"
"Am not!"
"Yes, you are, son!" she cries, portraying upon him a glare. Valka quickly turns back to the task at hand. "Anyway, nice to meet you. My name is Valka and I am Hiccup's mom—"
Anna the-so-far-timid dragon couldn't help but splutter in surprise. "W-what, what kind of name is that?"
"Ugh…" Hiccup growls, balling a fist. She really didn't need to know that in Russian.
"Yeah, I know. Viking thing," replies Valka, still upbeat. "We mainly name things like they are a spur of the moment thing. Plankton gets stuck on a loose plank on a ship – boom, it's planking now. Your son is a runt? Pff, just slap some human excrement in there and you are done."
Anna blinks twice. Hiccup meanwhile was fantasising about all the nice ways he could go about murdering Valka in her sleep. "Wait… viking?" the dragon asks.
"Yes, darling. Vikings. That's us."
"Oh, my…" Her ears flutter open when the gears in her head manage to turn. "That explains things… many things. Uhh… Hic-cup. You… you mentioned earlier something about traders, right?"
"Oh, I am so going to get that vile bi—Yeah, yeah, I am up, I am up; I am sorry, what? Um, yes, yes. I mentioned them earlier."
"Damn," she curses softly. "Their spread is wider than I thought. Uhh… if I may ask, Hic-cup…"
"Anything, Anna."
"Right. Uh… Wouldn't you happen to have a map with you? Don't have to get one if it's afar."
"Well, Anna, luckily for you…" he brings out something from his seemingly endless supply of compartments. Lo and behold, in the parchment: a map. "I carry one on my person at all times," he beams pridefully. "And situations like these just proves how much I need it. Unlike certain some who can't seem to see why."
Valka snorts. "True, Hiccup. But don't you think your having-things-under-complete-control fantasy is stretching things a little too far? A map on your person at all times a tad bit… excessive?" she says, switching back to Norse at the last minute.
"Mom, stop. Please. For her sanity."
"Oh, fine. You are no fun…"
"Anyway… here, Anna." He places the map on the ground. She collects it not soon after. "Just… just don't tear it, please."
The dragon, now getting bolder and bolder by the second, glares at him with a rebellious sneer. "So what, you trust me with a breakable clay mug but not with a piece of paper?"
"U-Uh…"
"Hiccup," assists Valka. "That was a joke. I swear, men are so dense sometimes..."
That got a giggle out of Anna. "I almost feel tempted to say 'true'… but that'd be a little rude to those who have me over." Oh, so he has three girls breathing down his neck now? Gods, this day just keeps getting better.
"Finally, some dragon who gets it!"
Anna shakes her head, amused. On her paw, the paper wags nimbly in the air. It looked typical – to her, at least. Various lands that come in a variety of shapes and sizes – with no contour lines, surprisingly. Though, she guesses she didn't know what she expected. Why would Vikings of all people take interest in trivial things like geology?
Her eye moves down to the bottom of the coarse parchment.
She couldn't exactly read the legend – but if she had to guess, the splotch of ink acts as an indicator. An indicator for… Home…
God-damnit. Anna ruffles herself out of that shithole soon enough.
There will be time to grieve later. Now she had a job and a public figure to keep in check. Doesn't mean that it wasn't hard on her, though…
Her sight lands her on the edges. Bordering the straight line was a bold streak of ink running along its general periphery. Until it curves at the end of the parchment, that is. Hiccup and his dragon-friend really got around. It practically filled out the rest of the empty space.
Though, she couldn't help but wonder…
Ah, to hell with it. It was worth a shot. "What's this line over here?" Anna questions.
The chief leans into her paws to get a better view of what she was pointing at. "Oh. That. Aegir's Wall. That's the snowy barrier that surrounds us, the Archipelago. Far as we know, that's the edge of the world. Feels a tad bit too small, though. Apparently, there's been an opening there… leading to gods know where. But that's part of the fun, isn't it? I am planning recon there soon."
"Hmm…" she nods, humming, absolute confidence sprawling about her form. "Alright. This just confirms it."
"Confirms what?"
"My theory. There's a reason why I find your society strange. Remember what you said about the merchants?"
"Yeah. I think I repeated that about… three times now."
"Two, actually." A voice from afar corrects.
Hiccup suddenly looks like a kettle just waiting to rupture. "Nobody asked for your input, mom! Ugh. I swear… Anyway, as I was saying… yes, they are merchants. Told me they hail from the south-Easterling seas. Also told me they usually keep to themselves, and only branch out when they need to. Good on them, I say!"
At the back of Anna's mind, something clicks. "Ah-ha! So that's how they made their excuse. Though, why they didn't bother to at least try to learn your language is simply beyond me."
His eyes narrow. "Wait, who's they?"
She exhales a good chunk of air, claws twitching. "Hic-cup? I know it's a lot to ask but… how far are you willing to let your rhetoric bullshit meter slide?"
"Well, I don't know, Anna," he admits, shrugging. "I flung it away a long time ago given the amount of impossible shit that has already happened to me so far. So it's probably, like, at the bottom of the ocean. Pissing off somewhere; don't know."
She would have wiped off a cumbersome strand of sweat off her forehead if she could. "Oh, good. This will make things much, much easier then. Next up: will you trust me? A complete stranger?"
"As I said: I treat everyone I meet with a reasonable modicum of trust at first. You have given me no reason to warrant otherwise. Why?"
"Well… that's probably because what I am about to say sounds pretty far-fetched. Scratch that. Very. Incredibly, far-fetched."
He leans in closer – so does Valka, even.
"I…" She hesitates a little bit at first – worried that it may well very tear through the fabric of their reality itself. There was simply no other possible explanation to elucidate… any of this. A sigh. She had to get the truth out some day. No use stressing over it now. "I believe," she starts. "With reasonable confidence, that the clan you talked about the merchants belonging to doesn't exist."
Two sets of blinks. One in disbelief, the other in maniacal excitement. Hiccup, naturally, responds first. "Wow. You weren't kidding when you say that it sounds pretty far-flung."
"You think that's impressive? It gets better." The map still on her paws was swiftly rolled onto their floor before the trio. She motions to all of it. "I… also don't come from this… 'Archipelago'. Nor from this clan you keep talking about. Well, I do, but… not in the way you think. I… come from a land beyond your snow belt."
Oh, boy. More impossible news. Now he was feeling light-headed – more than usual, actually. This dragon was flipping reality on its head in their first 'conversation' alone. He shudders to think of their next ones. Val was far too engrossed in the implications for potential hijinks to ensue to care about her very existence. "Ah, jeez; and just when I thought I had reached my breaking point…" mutters Hiccup.
"Thing is… these so-called merchants – they also come from my sovereign nation. Beyond your perimeter. I would know. They speak my native tongue."
"Then how in this realm did they survive the belt? Okay, in your case – maybe I can buy it. Dragons are hardy creatures. But human excursions so far into that damned wall… none of them has ever made it back."
"T-that's the thing. I, I have no idea... they can do anything if they put their minds to it, though." Anna then pauses, an idea slowly boiling in the crypts of her head. "Wait. Perhaps there was a gap in the belt?"
"If it's worth anything to you," he says, puffing, "we recently discovered some gaps in the snow – though, some much with depressions much deeper than most. Wonder if there's anything making them."
"Ah. That explains everything!" she cheeps. A worried frown quickly forms on her face not a moment later. "But that would mean…"
He frowns, his backbone stiffening straight, "Anna, what is it?"
"Hiccup… these merchants. They are no merchants at all."
Wait. Doubletake. He chafes the bridge of his nose. "But… they look just like them! Looks and everything."
"Yeah, us Russians have a reputation for blending into the crowd. Our reconnaissance team, even more so."
"Wait, reconnaissance?" probes Hiccup.
"Yeah… That kind of leads into my second point. Russia, the land these merchants and I come from? They also have a reputation for establishing footholds on every nation across the world. If the rumours are true, that is."
"What do you mean by 'the world'?"
"Oh, yeah! You are kind of bordered up here, aren't you? In that case… just imagine the Archipelago – all of those clusterfuck of isles (no offence), but bigger. Approximately a hundred times bigger. I don't actually know; I pulled that out of my ass. But that's basically the size. Plus, this plane, our entire land… is a globe."
The blunt side of his fist lands on his palm. "Knew there were time-zones for a reason; that explains everything. Well, that and the Sun and moon being round, but that's a given. A… anything else?"
"Hic-cup, you are not going to like what I say next…"
He huffs in defiance, crossing his arms. "Hit me."
"Russia…" she slants closer to him – trying to get her point across. "Their spy division is taking an interest in your… dragons."
…
"Ooooh, conspiracy! Love it! When does the excursion start again?"
Hiccup wanted to cry. "Damn it, mom."
Longest chapter I have ever typed up. Hope you like the stakes I have set! The plot... continues.