XXV.
Out from the depths of the caverns more dragons poured in, from nooks and crannies entered Hogflies and Fireworms, from larger crevices Skullions and Strangulators, and still from other passages Gronckles and Whispering Death and Hobblegrunts and Riproarers and more species than any but a true dragon master could name. Past one another they slipped, constantly shifting positions, coming and going, enormous ants in their nest, glancing over their shoulders at the two male human intruders staring wide-eyed toward the center of the cavern. There, where the ceiling rose up from cramped corridors to a spacious chamber, surrounded by swarming dragons ever-entering and exiting, stood the Vigilante. Yet, flanked by over a dozen protective dragons, with a backdrop of green-blue ice formations rising behind her, the Vigilante of the North somehow seemed frightened, cowed, rather than impressive. Even standing tall, at a higher elevation than the two men in the chamber, she was vulnerable.
And a clatter rang out through the chambers as a Viking warrior's helmet hit the floor. The two horns skidded on the ice in a brief half-circle before they rest unmoving at Hiccup's metal prosthetic. He shifted nervously, left hand drumming at his thigh, as his father left his dropped helm behind him and bit by bit placed one foot before the other toward his wife.
A man drawn toward the song of sirens could not have moved in a more dream-like, enchanted state. Or perhaps caution and great wariness guided his slow approach. Hiccup could not gauge either way – his father either moved with some extensive sense of awe or a profound, distrusting guardedness. The Viking could only watch his father's cape-covered back slowly progress forward in the cave. Reverent, quiet footfalls crunched on ice and rocky ground beneath, but Stoick seemed deafened to it all, breathing out the name, "Valka?" and edging onward.
No breath but those of the dragons exhaled in the chamber. Hiccup gaped, perplexed, attempting to cognize current events.
"I know what you're going to say, Stoick."
Left foot forward.
"How could I have done this?"
Dragon breath.
"Stayed away all these years – and why didn't I come back to you? To our son?"
Right foot forward.
"Well, what sign did I have that you could change, Stoick? That anyone could?"
Left foot. Dragon breath.
"I pleaded so many times to stop the fighting and to find another answer, but did any of you listen?"
Right foot.
"I know that I left you to raise Hiccup alone, but I thought I was needed elsewhere. To fight for the dragons when no one else ever would. For I was wrong that there could be peace. I see that now!"
Left.
"Oh, stop being so stoic, Stoick!" she cried, voice now wavering, on the verge of tears. Hiccup cringed from below as his father reached Valka's vicinity, so close the Viking chief could now reach up to touch his wife. He began to raise his left hand toward her, but the Vigilante backed up, frightened.
"Go on!" she urged, voice rising. "Shout! Scream! Say something!"
Stoick's hand made contact with Valka's cheek. She shied away, but then let it rest on a falling tear. Parting his lips, Stoick very quietly murmured, "You're as beautiful as the day I last saw you."
Her eyes widened in shock.
"But the last day you saw me –"
"I know," Stoick whispered. "The meeting of the chieftains."
Hiccup stepped back in shock. In all the events that had occurred over the past few days, somehow he had completely forgotten the story his father told him back on Berk. Of the meeting of the chieftains, the woman who entered and announced she alone could separate humans from dragons, whose departure was signaled by attacking dragons descending through burning rooftops. Of the slaughter. All Viking leaders dying… apart from Stoick.
Stoick. Her husband.
"But…"
Stoick's eyes moved downward toward Valka's hands. Both were clenched firmly on her staff. "While everyone else burned," he said, "you saved my life."
Valka's stuttering ceased, leaving both husband and wife silent.
Their son, still standing a distance away beside his dragon, continued to gape. Even Valka's dragons shifted uneasily, attempting to measure precisely how nervous their human leader felt, and whether or not they should intervene in the encounter. Toothless moaned low in his throat, as if from sympathy.
"I know you spared me that night," Stoick murmured. "For all you wage an impressive war against Vikings, you still are not completely against us."
"You know we cannot unite these two worlds of dragons and Vikings," she said, her voice taking on Stoick's low volume. "Do not make my decision harder than it already is."
But Stoick stepped forward, and with even a gentler whisper, one Hiccup could barely make out, asked, "Remember our song, Valka?"
Hiccup never saw the Vigilante more uncertain.
And Stoick began to whistle.
The whistle was airy, breathy, sometimes more like a gust of air than a human-produced pitch. Yet the notes of a melody still distinctly echoed through the chambers, down the halls where the dragons amassed, ricocheted off the ice walls guarding Valka's back, reverberated back toward Hiccup and Toothless and the corridors beyond.
"No, stop," she choked even as he began singing the lyrics of an old folk tune. He reached out to take her staff from her, and her hands, loosened, let the rod drop.
"I'll swim and sail on savage seas… with ne'er a fear of drowning." Stoick inhaled a large, anxious breath. "And gladly ride the waves of life… if you will marry me. No scorching sun nor freezing cold will stop me on my journey. If you will promise me your heart…"
Hiccup waited for his father to sing the next lyric.
No words came. Stoick appeared to be waiting for Valka to finish the line.
"And love…" he prompted.
No response.
"And love…"
She retreated, eyes brimming with tears. She almost stumbled in her haste to back away. "No, stop. Stop, Stoick. Those days are over. It – it's not our song anymore.
"It can't be."
She let the words settle in the ice-cold cavern.
"Just stop."