Burdened
The ease in which he and Toothless fell back into their old routine was astounding. Hiccup's waking schedule shifted within a week of their departure; they rose to the skies when dark sapphire crept up from the horizons, and settled just before dawn, with Hiccup burrowing underneath Toothless' wing to seek shelter from the sun. He went back to bathing in lakes. He hunted with Toothless, relying on his dagger once more. He left behind his sparring partners, and seating, and hot, easy meals, and felt little want for any of them.
It was as if Miklagard had never happened.
Except, it had. It left its mark on him, and not just physically. He wore his hair in the ponytail all the time now, and he used Doris' hair tie—her memento to him where he had given her none but memories. The guilt of his abrupt departure subsided, but the regret would linger in the recesses of his heart for time to come. He stopped sighing so much every time he looked at the tie after Toothless began beating him with his tail.
Hiccup carried Framherja around, comfortable with the weight but still ignorant in her operation. He didn't have access to a healer, and, even with the scale-braces, he was reluctant to cause himself injury. There had to have been an element he missed, maybe a hint Gudrid dropped in her explanation that he overlooked.
He sustained a renewed hunger for a forge. The excitement of discovering the brown fire, the use of dragon scales in smithing, was only rivaled by the cruelty that he found such a use at the end of his stay. He often dreamed of the weapons, the tools he could create, the armor, if he only had the means to do so. He dreamed of a future where dragons and humans could work together in harmony, and he wouldn't have to sneak around to explore such a fantastical element.
Above all, experiencing Miklagard boosted the young man's confidence regarding possible, and inevitable, encounters with Vikings.
They were heading back to Berk, back to the demon, and Hiccup believed, on some level, that he was ready to face this. Granted, he didn't know much about the demon other than what Toothless told him, but he felt he could at least face his father again. Perhaps at a safe distance. Preferably with Framherja working, which was another issue entirely.
It wasn't just his stint in the city that impacted him. Hiccup's life had turned into a whirlwind of emotions and inspirations as a dragon companion and a new lifestyle influenced him without him ever realizing; leaving Berk had been like yanking the bearskin from beneath his feet. This was not the mundane island life where his imagination had to keep him entertained in a solitary existence. It was survival and quick decisiveness that drove him now. Not just in the wilderness—as, after certain life choices, no place was home—but everywhere. Survival mattered everywhere. Priorities shifted, his eyes opened, and Hiccup discovered that an unplanned dive, or escaping from bandits, or encountering creatures only told in stories would bring him the same rush as perfecting a weeklong project. He had these opportunities at the tip of his fingers, each one just a few heel-flicks away from reality.
Toothless always wanted to move, and so did he. He roamed, he experienced, and he loved it. He was comfortable with this life; his confidence that this was how he wanted to live grew with every sunset into liberty. He could return to Berk and not feel trapped because he knew, with Toothless at his side, he would always have an escape.
He was ready, yes.
But Toothless...Toothless was another story. An untold story that he could no longer tolerate, because, despite all the progress and strength he'd gained for leaving his village, Hiccup was still scared. And he felt alone because he was the only one bearing his fears.
"Toothless..."
With low winds and an easy speed, he didn't have to battle any force for audibility. Toothless warbled from the base of his throat to affirm his attention.
"We're going to face this demon thing."
::Yeah...::
Hiccup bit his lip. "Can you...I don't know...have you told me everything? I feel like we're heading there unprepared. I only know it can control minds, and that it's growing, and that it needs to be fed. I've never even seen it."
::She's...not small::
"Toothless..."
Hiccup could feel the dragon shift beneath him, moving into a posture of defeat.
::I don't know what more I can say to prepare you:: he sighed.
"Yeah, I figured we'd need to do a little infiltration," Hiccup admitted, and he sensed tension draw between Toothless' shoulders. "Erm...are you...okay with that?"
How else would he gather enough information to figure out how to kill this thing? Sneaking around was their specialty; it was how they bested robbers and pirates. It was how they acquired half their valuables.
Granted, they only used it against humans thus far.
::Of course...we'll need a...a very good plan::
Hiccup could sense the dishonesty in Toothless' agreement, as if the dragon felt such great reluctance in returning to the nest that, given the choice, he would never do so.
"Toothless?"
::What?::
"We've pretty much done what I've wanted to do..." Hiccup's statement headed in an obvious direction, and the dragon had no choice but to react with a more forthright response.
::And I like what you want to do. Most of the time::
"Why haven't you asked to find your drove?" Hiccup asked, abrupt. He'd wondered and wondered this, never really acknowledging the thought as he knew Toothless would make his opinion known if he really didn't like what they were doing. But he reached the point where curiosity would not be stayed. "We could have gone north right from the beginning and—"
::No:: Toothless cut him off, finality ringing in Hiccup's ears.
"But—"
::We don't need to find them. You said when we first left the island that you would have an easier time surviving in warmer climates. That was more important to me::
"Yeah, I forgot to account for more humans," Hiccup denounced wryly. "I understand...I mean, I appreciate how, how accepting you've been about everything... But there's still so much I don't understand. Do dragons not have a need for-for... community?"
Toothless never once said he missed his home. Not once, in their months—years, at this point—of being together, did he speak of his home or memories or family members other than informational handouts. And it seemed far too callous for a being who nuzzled, and licked, and cared for Hiccup so freely.
::No, we very much like the company of our own kind:: Toothless defended, but it lacked a certain verve when spoken in that chary manner. On some subconscious level Toothless knew he had no right to act offended.
"Then what is going on?" Hiccup continued to press because he was not going to land this dragon until he got some answers. He was tired of being the only one who opened up. "Do you not miss your family?"
::What does it matter?:: Toothless mumbled.
"It matters to me! I don't like to think you're someone who can forget people he cares about so easily!"
Hiccup had pined for his island life back in the genesis of their adventure, and he wasn't quiet about it all the time, either. He missed Gobber and he missed his father. He missed the way the twins' faces started to light up when they saw him, he missed the way Fishlegs felt more and more comfortable dishing out facts to him—or being seen doing so. He missed the respect Snotlout began to show him—he missed out on what it may have amounted to. These could have been his friends had he played things differently.
Thing's didn't play differently, and, for a long time, he had to remind himself of this. By now, he was glad they didn't. He couldn't imagine ever missing out on what he experienced with Toothless.
::I've never forgotten!:: Toothless growled, finally showing something other than hesitation. ::Do you think I would forget about you? Have you forgotten what I am doing for you?::
"Of course, I haven't," Hiccup stated softly, and his hand brushed against the neck scales blending into the night. "I'm just trying to understand what your home life was like. Why you don't seem to care..."
Toothless would not be bated.
::And I don't know why you care. It's the past. I've moved on, there's no need to look back::
"Do you not trust me?" Hiccup asked, refusing to let up as he had done so many times in the past.
::I trust you::
"Then why don't you trust me with your problems?"
Toothless didn't respond.
For a long while they flew in silence, and Hiccup had given up hope that he would ever find an answer. He felt comfortable enough confiding in Toothless about his insecurities. The dragon knew more about Hiccup than anyone on Berk ever cared to know. Not even Gobber, with all his rare tolerance for Hiccup's eccentricities, would listen to half of his excuses and ideas—nothing that deviated too far from the "Viking way"—often stating that Hiccup's "way" made "grown men uncomfortable".
But Toothless listened. Toothless gave him input and insights; Toothless helped him understand himself, helped him release his frustrations and build his confidence, and accept the man he realized he was meant to be. He acted as Hiccup's personal curative.
And now Toothless was hurting; something inside of the dragon was distressed and the further north they traveled, the more obvious it became. Hiccup wanted to help the dragon as the dragon had helped him, but he couldn't unless Toothless talked to him.
The brooding youth suspected that there was some aspect of this bonding that allowed them to catch mental cues from one another, because Toothless finally spoke.
::I'm not going back until I regain my pride::
Hiccup sat back in the saddle, not sure if the rushing winds garbled the words or not.
"What?"
::I'm disgraced:: Toothless rephrased, monotone. ::I can't return::
Hiccup blinked slowly, wetting his lips as he rolled the offbeat excuse around in his mind.
"Disgraced? What...you can't be...I mean, they kicked you out?" Perposterous! "Why would they kick you out? Because you got captured?"
::It never should have happened. If I had been stronger—::
"Stronger!" Hiccup could feel indignation well inside of him. He didn't know if Toothless was exaggerating, being excessively prideful, or if this were really a practice of dragons, but the anger rising in his chest, filling this throat with words of revulsion, would not be checked. "This was mind control we're talking about! You even refer to it as a demon! This thing sounds like it isn't even a part of this world! How could anyone—anyone—expect you to—?"
Hiccup couldn't find the words to finish his sentence, too heated, too confused. Such an unexpected and irrational justification left him short of breath. And Toothless! For once the dragon showed no pride, no outrage on his own behalf. He spoke as a defeated man would—he believed he was defeated, he accepted defeat. Hiccup would hardly recognize the Night Fury as his own for the uncharacteristic belittlement weighing his words. Had this been lurking beneath the shining surface of those scales this whole time? This ugly, out-of-place shame tainting his best friend?
::A dragon should only be bested in battle, and only against a dragon greater than himself. A dragon should never serve another, certainly not by relying on humans for food. I can't ever show my face to my clan, not while I'm tainted by this… and for an imprisonment that lasted so long...::
The game was up. Hiccup had cracked the shell of an ice casing and every haunting of Toothless' mind slipped from the dragon's weakening hold. Maybe it was their approach to the North, or maybe Toothless had reached a point where he felt safe enough to reveal this furtive diffidence. Maybe, this whole time, Hiccup only had to push and push Toothless until his resolve to shield him from the truth broke.
"You're the only one who escaped from her!" Hiccup felt he had to point out because such an explanation for avoiding a family pained him. "That has to count for something, doesn't it?"
::Saved by a human, crippled in the process::
Hiccup jerked his hand from rubbing Toothless' sleek neck, so fast the scales might as well have been molten.
::I didn't say that to hurt you:: Toothless quickly amended. ::But that is how they would view it. That's how I would have viewed it, had I not bonded with you. You know I wouldn't change anything that happened::
"I know," Hiccup sighed, but hearing Toothless shared his sentiments always helped.
::I left:: Toothless went on, willingly, perhaps finding it useless to continue to hold this in. ::I had gone where I shouldn't have gone, and I...:: The dragon heaved a sigh, calming himself into a resolution. ::Defeating her. That would restore my pride::
"You're still afraid," Hiccup observed, and Toothless had to wonder how his human could pick up his weakest, most shameful emotions so quickly. "Is she really so terrifying?"
::It's not her size that scares me:: Toothless hushed, and his mind brought him back to those days—not the ones under her control, but the ones right after, trapped and lame. When his mind cleared and he realized what had happened and how broken he felt, knowing he had been used, knowing the impossibility of ever living, or dying, without that humiliation bound to his soul. ::I just...I don't want to fall into that control again. I couldn't bear it if I were to ever feel that powerless again::
He found something, a hope, when he found the human willing to look beyond his scales and teeth. He found a chance for redemption and life and, later on, love. He loved his human for saving him in every sense of the word. And he wanted to protect his human.
::She took my free will::
He wanted to protect his human from himself.
Hiccup continued to chew on his lip, churning decisions around in his mind along with a guilt and despair that could have been his own or Toothless'. He'd always figured Toothless was the stronger of the two—mentally and physically—and he had worked to equate himself to the dragon's prowess and confidence. Hiccup always viewed himself as the insecure one in their pair, the one seeking assurance and support. He never believed he'd have the certainty and stability to uphold Toothless in a moment of weakness.
And therein lay the problem. He never imagined Toothless having moments of weakness to begin with. But Hiccup had asked for this, he pushed for this, and he would accept accountability. He swore to himself that he would encourage his dragon with all the support Toothless willed to him.
"Toothless, we don't have to go back. We can travel the world for as long as we need to—"
::We do!:: the dragon strongly broke in.::We're the only ones that know what's going on, I'm the only one who's escaped her, you're the only one who can understand me. We're going to be the ones who end this terror, and it won't be because of my pride or your guilt. It will be because... because somewhere, deep within us, we've got a... a conscience!::
It was impossible to tell if the dragon chose to do this for Hiccup or himself, but, apparently, it would happen nonetheless.
Hiccup smiled, sad and considerate of Toothless' determination to press forward.
"Those damn consciences."
::Besides:: Toothless continued, refusing to allow his mind to linger in anguish, ::you'll never be happy if we leave the humans to their fate::
"This isn't about just my happiness," Hiccup pointed out. He felt sapped with the burden this conversation brought with it. He sensed a new responsibility in the confession, a new reason to defeat this demon. Before he battled within himself about his exceptional position in this war and how much he actually owed to the village. He escaped and he had his freedom and sometimes, when he entertained the idea of returning to Berk and only felt dread settle in his belly, he wondered if he really had to do it. They survived and thrived in this war for centuries before he existed. How badly did they truly need him?
But bringing Toothless into this, banking on the fate of such a strongly hailed virtue—that made this suicide mission more than a duty. This was now an obligation. He may not have owed Berk much, but Hiccup owed Toothless his very last breath.
::I shouldn't be worried about losing my mind, either:: Toothless added as an afterthought. ::That's probably what annoys me the most, because I know I'm worrying needlessly, and this fear of losing my mind has no business residing in my body::
"Why?"
::Because, the vördr said...well, she said you would protect us::
The vördr? Hiccup's brow creased in thought.
"Gudrid? When did—?"
Oh yes, after the axe incident.
And then he actually thought about what Toothless just said.
"Wait...I'm going to protect us?" He wanted to scoff. A poignant, and warm part of his mind identified how Gudrid would roll her eyes at his typical cynicism were she present.
::I think...I think there's something about the human mind that makes it uncontrollable. Maybe it's this 'imaginations' you have. It was something we talked about earlier, remember? About how humans cannot find the demon's nest because the only trail to her is through her outputs...::
"Yes," Hiccup mumbled, "Oh yes..."
Toothless knew from the familiar, and hardly audible, way he trailed his words that the boy fell deep into thought, no doubt concocting plans to use this theory to their advantage.
::I do trust you:: Toothless affirmed from their earlier argument, even if Hiccup no longer listened with both, rounded ears.
He trusted Hiccup to guide them with his foot even without deliberate thought, just as he trusted Hiccup enough to expose his fears. Just as he trusted Hiccup enough to protect them when the time came for it.
And, with this realization, Toothless felt a small weight lift from his wings.
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His feet burrowed into a thin coating of scorched earth and shredded bark, every step releasing a dull crunch to stab at his "damn conscience". Bare-limbed trees, shelled in death, stretched so far in every direction that greenery was but a memory.
And that's what this was—memory. This wasn't even death, as death had passed months ago. This was beyond death, and the only thing beyond death was the bare wisps of remembrance.
White remains stuck out against the dark setting; human remains, bones and hollow bodies, scavenged to the last fiber of their nutrient. They could have been people Hiccup knew, shared meals with, and he made a point of ignoring those exposed graves because he knew, given the chance, his mind would run away will all sorts of identities for them.
Arrowheads and splintered shoots, rusted swords and headless fokos, fractured weapons of every kind littered an equally fractured forest. A battle had taken place here, yes, but Hiccup focused more on the obvious signs of fire that spread throughout the forest, wracking his brain for memories that seemed a lifetime ago. Hadn't he set the fire?
"Did I do this...?" he mumbled, squinting against the dry air. They arrived in Hungary late afternoon, giving them plenty of light to behold the welcoming landmark. His profound disappointment in not seeing Domokos or the other Magyars was overruled only by his concern over their fate. The absolute lifelessness that hung in the very air chilled him even under the Einmánuður sun.
::I did this:: Toothless corrected ::You can't breath fire::
Hiccup rubbed his forehead, scrunching his eyes shut. "Right, right..."
He had shot that Magyar who tried to sneak up on Solt. Had that been his first kill? No no... it was just the shoulder. But the man was pinned so... maybe a first indirect kill...
It was his first successful battle attack on a human, if a bit unfair. It felt vacant now. Like the opportunity to feel pride or guilt had long passed. Another blank-faced memory.
It was afterwards that Toothless had shot his firebolts—with Hiccup's support and consent. The aim was to keep the Nyék's enemies from advancing but...
He turned to the fallen stable, marked like its surroundings with fire and terror, where Toothless nosed about, probably mourning the absence of the horses that never quite trusted him.
Of course the fires would have spread, it was a forest, and it was a dry season. The Magyars, with all their arrow-oriented tactics, probably used it to alight their arrows. Spreading it farther, wider.
Hiccup sighed, noting that there weren't nearly enough remains to be an entire clan, and knowing that, with most of their supplies cleared away, the move was—hopefully—a willing one.
"Looks like they survived, anyway," he continued to observe. His initial horror had died some when logic set in. Many of the broken weapons had designs that did not match those most commonly used in the Nyék—enemy weapons. Disarmed enemies pointed to a more likely defeat at their end.
Hiccup bent down to pick up a bow, the grip shredded, a fissure running along the belly.
"Maybe it was a different battle," he called across the clearing. He tossed the bow aside once he realized it was beyond repair and continued his slow circling, extinction cracking under his feet as he walked around the blackened site. He remembered practicing archery here, and learning Hungarian words that he was certain were swears.
::I can't catch their scent anywhere:: he heard back from within the stable. ::They probably left not long after we did::
"They were nomads," Hiccup added, trying to make himself feel better as he stared, unseeing, at another damaged bow. This one was so burnt he couldn't figure if this belonged to the Nyék or their enemy. "They moved all the time."
Like Toothless, he belatedly realized. But the Nyék stuck together; they were a family. Toothless left one family for another...
Hiccup released a breath, feeling stifled with the oppressing atmosphere.
"Think there's any game around here? Or should we head to—"
A screeching roar stabbed at Hiccup's ears, startling his question into ruin. He was still trying to pinpoint where the inhuman bellow originated, and what created it, when a dragon landed directly between him and the stables, so harshly it sent up a burst of dust and ash. Hiccup inhaled sharply. Where had it come from? And how had it appeared, unseen, in these leveled lands?
It must have shot from the sky faster than Hiccup could react, faster than Toothless could sense, and now his dragon could not reach him. Neither him nor the skies.
Hiccup did not dwell on that obvious handicap for long when he found his study drawn to the bulging, bloodshot eyes of the beast, and all thoughts of attempting to conciliate with the reptile fled his mind. This dragon was angry, if its aggressive entrance was anything to go by.
::Hiccup!::
Hiccup backpedaled from the dragon, taking advantaged of its distraction to Toothless' terrified roar to try and identify its breed.
It bore the dark red scales of a Nightmare, and the long, lanky body as well. But this dragon had a horn on its nose, and two side-fins, shaped and sized as those of a shark's back, protruded from its cheekbones. Antenna flowed from the back of its head; lissome and stretching back half the length of its body.
It crawled on four legs; it's belly brushing along the ashes. Leaf-shaped spikes aligned down the ridge of its back and thin, veined wings that looked like they would barely lift its own bodyweight extended and retracted in a threatening posture.
Recognition stirred; Hiccup had seen this dragon before, somewhere. But where?
Toothless roared at the beast, and the human could tell it wasn't the placating type of roar. The new dragon's body language read agitated in every sense of the word. Its claws hardly touched the ground for any length of time as it shifted its weight—antennae swaying, tail swishing, lip curling, and nostrils flaring.
Toothless met Hiccup eyes from across the clearing and Hiccup understood the unspoken message. This was not a friendly dragon. This was not a neutral dragon, like the white dragon.
"Can...can you talk to it?" Hiccup asked, his voice wavering between volumes that would reach Toothless while hoping not to attract the notice of the red dragon. A futile effort. The dragon whipped its head back in a harsh motion and its pupils, if possible, thinned more as the livid gaze zeroed in on the human.
Toothless roared and swiped a claw at it—too far to actually make contact, but Hiccup figured it was more of an attention grabbing gesture than a potential attack. It worked; the dragon turned back to Toothless and hissed, an extended, skinny, forked tongue waving out of its mouth with the vibrations of the noise.
"Can you tell it to calm down?" Hiccup risked again, backing up to the edges of the clearing with faltering steps.
Toothless' nostrils flared.
::Unfortunately, no. This male is so far into his yen he cannot be reasoned with. He's probably desperate to make it to primary, and needs the approval of a female:: When Hiccup gave no sign of recognition, Toothless rumbled ::Human sports of glory, and the wars that riddle this land, have most likely depleted any decent oblation. A human-dragon pair is probably the most interesting find for wingspans::
No.
"You mean...?"
::Congratulations, we've been chosen as oblation::
"He wants to give our skulls to some lady dragon?" Hiccup hissed louder than he intended. Whipping around for a second time, the restive dragon rattled its tongue at him.
::Hey! Right here!:: Toothless snapped, regaining its attention again.
Hiccup winced and whispered, "Should I be flattered or...?"
::You should be concerned::
"Right," he breathed, just in time to listen to another earsplitting roar. The dragon sounded like it was in pain. Apprehension aside, Hiccup started to feel the first tendrils of concern for it.
He took another step back, his brain working furiously to pinpoint where he had seen it and if he knew of any obvious weaknesses. His hand itched for a weapon, but he didn't want to startle it into an attack. It didn't sound like it could be reasoned with, but maybe, maybe, both parties could get out of this unscathed.
His next step broke a frail twig, hidden beneath crunched leaves, and the resounding crack echoed unhindered without foliage to muffle it.
The dragon twisted around faster than Hiccup could have anticipated and its jaws stretched, a green glow budding in the back of its throat.
Had Toothless not jumped on its back in the next moment, cutting the power-up short, Hiccup would have been a victim of a much more direct, and potent, attack.
A thin stream of white-green liquid still released and headed straight for Hiccup's face. He brought his arms up, instinctively. He could feel the pressure against his arm guards, even when misdirected; the hard jet knocked him back.
The dragon armor held, liquid dribbling off like water. But Hiccup knew this wasn't water. Hiccup knew because he wasn't quite fast enough, his arms not quite thick enough, and the liquid splashed the side of his neck.
He couldn't stop the anguished cry that escaped from a prison of clenched teeth. He could feel it bite into his flesh like a thousand, tiny fire ants, burning a trail in the drip that rolled down the protruding bone to the very edges of his collar.
::HICCUP!::
Toothless' increasing the ferocity of his attack, all teeth and claws and fury, barely registered in Hiccup's awareness. He tried to shrug his clothed shoulder against the burning region, unwilling to allow any more to come into contact with his skin. It was just a splash, he'd be fine. He'd suffered burns before. He'd be fine.
He tried not to think how deep this liquid corroded his flesh, or if the wetness he felt amidst the burning was blood or acid.
Acid.
The name came to him.
"Changewing!" he gasped. The dragon that spits acid. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight.
And as this realization came to mind the Changewing opened its jaws before Toothless—launching acid directly at the dragon on top of him. Toothless reacted a second before it happened, his wings reaching up to form a shield.
Hiccup watched in horror, unable to move, as the steaming, jade liquid slapped against the dark cocoon, bouncing off in a dazzling, pale spray. The defense held—this time.
Hiccup didn't know how many hits like that Toothless' wings could take, and the dragon certainly couldn't fight with such a blinding form of protection. He didn't know the shot limit of a Changewing. He didn't know so much other than this was not something to be fought at close range and—damn the gods themselves!—why did they always encounter problems like this when they were separated? Why weren't they ever challenged, openly, while in the air, when they were indomitable?
Because that would be too much fortune to ask for.
He shrugged Framherja from around his back, blocking out the pain in his neck with astounding ease as Toothless' grounded disadvantage became more and more prominent.
Hiccup frantically searched the ground for anything he could fire at the dragon, some left over arrows, anything remotely projectile shaped.
Now would be a great time for his bow to work. His hand tightened around Framherja's grip and he felt such resentment towards this bow, towards Thor, that he didn't care if it damned him for eternity because he was still useless in this moment.
He flicked his eyes from the ground to check on the clashing dragons and immediately noticed Toothless limping—Oh gods, his foot!
Toothless may have stepped in puddle acid that hadn't been absorbed by the ground, or he may have taken a hit to the leg, but he was favoring his front, right paw too much and Hiccup knew for a fact that the pads of his feet were one of the few areas of the Night Fury's body that bore no scales.
Hiccup had half a mind to run in there with his sword but knew that would immediately demote him to hindrance, soon followed by dead. Toothless didn't need to be on the offense and defense.
Damn it! It was futile. Framherja wouldn't accept anything less than the best from what he could tell. Certainly not some broken remains scrounged from a battlefield, months old. He could throw his dagger but a dagger throw had too much lag time compared to an arrow, and the chances of accidentally hitting Toothless were too high for him to risk. The chances of simply pissing off the yen-trapped dragon were even higher.
His eyes went from the bow, to the fight, and back to the bow. Helplessness and hatred welled within him. A terrible crush of desperation followed, and then aggression and tension until a powerful jitter bloomed from within that. He clenched his eyes shut, not knowing if he could stomach watching Toothless battle while he stood there, incapable, one hand clenching Framherja's grip, the other pinching the string.
He wanted to fire, he wanted to help. He needed to do something, anything—this was too much, far too much for his heart to handle. The pressure was too much, the power choking, and it would continue to choke him because he had no outlet, no way to help—
What was the point of this stupid bow? He couldn't even use it!
She is yours to wield.
Gudrid told him he'd learn in his own time but he was out of time.
Daughter to Mjöllnir...
She was special, yes—anyone who looked at her golden hide and felt the life humming within that metal shell would know this—and she was gifted to him—but the only good she could do was warm his hand as he watched his best friend burn under the fire of acid.
Hiccup felt like his chest would explode with the mounting negativity. His eyes were still closed, Framherja grew hotter in his hand and some damned, misplaced thrill had the muscles in his stomach pulsing.
It will be your duty to learn her power...to bring her to her full potential...
What was he lacking? Why could he not find anything, anything—
...and to let her bring you to yours...
—to please her?
The chaos that stung and stirred and stressed and squeezed just beneath his sternum mounted to the point where even the air around him felt static.
...borne from a spark of its strike...yours to wield...
...yours to wield...
And suddenly it became clear to Hiccup. His eyes opened to find his arms had aimed the bow and pulled the string taut, his chest a jumble of emotion but his mind clear as the oddest question posed to mind.
Why would Thor give him one half of a weapon?
It has already been decided.
He didn't.
You are the man who will wield Framherja.
Thor had given him the other half.
He released the string, feeling the energy building up in his chest evaporate with an almost draining effect, and his eyes just caught the streak of light bolting through the sky, striking the Changewing in an extended wing while it reared in mid-roar.
It screamed—not like it screamed before with the promise of attack—but a scream of absolute agony as the majority of its wing blew off in an explosion of energy.
Only absolute stupefaction numbed the guilt and horror Hiccup should have felt. Even Toothless, who still limped badly, had to take a moment to regain his senses.
::What in Lahmu's mud-riddled hair, was that?:: The dragon gasped. One moment he battled against a dragon out of its mind, and a flash of light later he no longer felt the pressure of claws and burning against his weary wings. He felt a different sort of heat, one that left an empty chill with its quick evaporation.
Hiccup, still dumb with shock, lifted the limply held bow. He struggled to find the words to explain, when the Changewing hunched over and began hissing in the most disturbing manner—grating and loud and hair-raising. The pikes of its ridge rattled as it lobbed its neck and flattened itself to the ground.
Its scales started to shift, darker and darker, taking on the patterns of the earth until it was only the bleeding, blackened mass of it's back and the crunching below its weight that pinpointed its location.
A scream—raw with pain and anger—tore through the long, camouflaged throat, followed by an aimless, wide arc of acid.
Toothless leapt to where its back might be before it could get around to hitting Hiccup, and as his dragon sprang into action, so did the boy. Hiccup drew the golden string again, more confident but still fearful of failing to discharge. It could have been a fluke, a one-time thing; he may have misunderstood something...
But then he wouldn't be feeling that same, electrifying sensation soar beneath his breast. Hiccup paid more attention to the build of this perception, took note of the heat that collected between his tensed and occupied hands. The Changewing continued to thrash—shifting in and out of visibility, blood flying from its ruined wing—trying to shake off the Night Fury that bit into its neck, and, arching its back, momentarily exposed its stomach.
That was it.
Hiccup released the string, felt the heat dissipate, felt the indescribable energy he mustered drain from him as fast as the bolt left his bow. The energy—lightning, he suspected—crackling white and blue, almost moved too fast for his eyes to follow.
He managed to catch the sort of flash one would see between storm clouds before the soft side of the Changewing's belly exploded, all warm blood and hissing acid that colored the once monochrome setting. The dragon collapsed, boneless, natural scale color returning, and Toothless sprang away from its back much as he had with the wing string before.
Hiccup's knees felt weak and he didn't know if it were because of how inexplicably taxed firing left him, or because his stomach rolled at the pinkish-grey entrails roping across the grounds. He breathed far too heavily, and he had not even been the one doing the real fighting.
He gave the gruesome sight a grim look and turned away. He wouldn't torture himself with scenarios where they all would have gotten away unharmed—the time for that had passed the moment he saw Toothless injured. This dragon died by his hand, his first dragon kill. Another death in an old graveyard.
He sniffed, and swallowed, and began to slowly walk to his piled belongings where Toothless already waited. He recalled the limp.
"Are you okay?" he asked the Night Fury, who took one look at Hiccup and gave the Changewing's body a snarl of deep vexation.
::Yes:: Toothless immediately responded. ::You?::
"Sure," Hiccup said and as he spoke that, as the last of his distractions fled him, the burning in his neck renewed.
::Your neck...:: Toothless pointed out.
"Your leg," he countered, and they both knew better than to push the other to admit their pain.
"We need to clean these," Hiccup sighed. He really, desperately wanted to touch his neck—to rub a hand on it, at least, soothe it, somehow—but that could result in even more pain. His cuffs still had the acid on them so he had to be careful with removing those. He knew nothing about this acid, its potency, or its shelf life.
::We need to get out of here:: Toothless snorted, and he positioned himself for Hiccup to hop on the saddle.
Hiccup took the cue, snatching his bag and giving the skies a quick, nervous glance. "More?"
::Bound to be. Where there is one, there are sure to be others, especially if he was in his season::
Was.
Hiccup gently touched the bowstring pressed into his chest.
"Right. Let's get to the Duna and get out of here." He stared down at Framherja, a soft smile on his lips. He had done it. It was enlivening, so much so that he felt strangely stupefied by it.
That also could have been the enigmatic exhaustion that seemed to have overcome his bones.
::You figured it out:: Toothless pointed out by way of congratulation. ::It only took...what? Two seasons? And us being attacked:: The dragon's tone softened as he regarded the damage Hiccup managed to inflict on the Changewing. ::How did you do it? That was...that was power from the sky::
"It was a familiar feeling before I fired," Hiccup explained as he began to shoulder his bag. The burn was subsiding—that or he was getting used to it. "I think I've felt that before when I held her but...I don't know, I hadn't really paid attention. I just thought it was excitement—oh, I'm not too heavy for your leg, am I?" Hiccup had only asked after he climbed atop the saddle.
::You're fine:: Toothless assured him.
"What about your wings?"
As if miffed Hiccup even questioned the durability of his beloved wings, Toothless spread them wide and shot to the sky with powerful drives.
"Okay!" Hiccup exclaimed, and he set to directing them towards the nearest water source.
The winds turned his neck into fire, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from making any noise. His mind was merciful to him in that short flight to the river, for in that moment the memories of two conversations suddenly connected. It brought about a most intriguing distraction.
"Toothless...you were in your yen when you were captured, weren't you?"
::How do you figure?:: The tone was too light to be taken in the negative, so the human took it as confirmation.
"You were looking for oblation, weren't you?" Hiccup pressed, pouncing on the audible foible. "You were trying to get that prime thing!"
::It's primary:: Toothless grumbled, like he had lost some grand game, but Hiccup knew it meant more to him than that. Toothless' pride would not bring himself to admit out loud that, not only did he fail to gain acceptance from his chosen female, but he lost his freedom in the process.
::My closest nest mate and I both had our sights on the same female:: Toothless began, finally ready to bear the last of his insecurities to his human companion. ::We contested over everything in our lives, from who could make the sharpest turns to who could fit the most fish in our mouth. We even argued on who could extract their teeth the fastest::
"He was your best friend," Hiccup realized.
::Yes. Rivals and best friends, so it was only natural that we would choose the same female when we hit our yen as she reached her heat. He was a better hunter, I'll admit. But I was the better flyer. I was faster, and I knew I could slip off to lands untraveled and find the most exotic, fanciful oblation she would have ever seen before we continued our Rove::
"But you never made it back," Hiccup finished for him.
::No:: Toothless sighed. ::I did not. He won that round, I'm sure. But, strangely, I'm okay with it. I don't feel like I've lost::
Hiccup laughed and gave the dragon a good scratch on the side of his neck. He could ignore the pain in his own because his dragon trusted him, and his dragon would let him bear some of his burdens from now on.
The river came into view and they descended towards its cool relief.
"Toothless, you won't ever have to compete with me for a woman," Hiccup solemnly promised.
::Oh good. I was worried:: And Toothless sounded honestly relieved. ::I don't know how I'd ever compete against your masculine collection of fur patches::
"...I can set you on fire now."
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The huntress, bold and sharp, moved through the familiar setting with keen, blue eyes. Her prey came into sight and she honed in on him, every surrounding obstacle and distraction fading away as her mission stole much of her attention. The target, unsuspecting, faced away from her, more interested in fish than a potential demise.
Perfect. The element of surprise would only aid her.
"TUMBLE!" Ruffnut roared, attracting the attention of everyone within earshot. She stormed through the village port with thundering steps for someone of her weight—thudding against the aged dock wood louder than the heaviest Viking Berk bred. A terrifying sight to behold, Ruffnut's braids swung violently and her arms oscillated in a sharp tempo, powering her fast walk. The surrounding men scattered to other docks, giving the woman a clear warpath to the only man that mattered. The man who had much, much explaining to do.
Tumble Trollson shrunk back against the hanging net he worked on, somehow managing to look small despite his large frame.
"Ah, Ruff—Ruffnut—yes." He coughed into his fist and straightened his posture in an attempt to regain his composure. "I was, um, expecting you—"
A fish slapped him in the face, one snatched from a newly stocked basket and thrown by the Thorston girl with deadly aim. She didn't slow in her approach; she kept her determined march until she stood right before him, belly to belly. A sneer spoiled her features as she dragged his head down to her level by the hairs of his chin.
Tumble's beard was not a long one, and the harsh pinch that came with the treatment had the grown man whimpering.
"What," the blonde began with deliberate slowness, "were you thinking?" he opened his mouth, prepared to give her an explanation, some calming words, anything to soothe her ire and keep his privates unharmed, but she cut him off by shrieking, "Marriage? We're getting married?"
Tumble's face darkened to match the brightest strands of his carmine hair, not only at her public declaration but also at the mutters that rippled above the docks. Even with his head held stationary, he could make out piteous headshakes from his fellow fishermen in the outskirts of his vision.
"Well, with your agreement," Tumble conceded in much softer tones. He daren't pull away from her beard-grip for fear of hurting himself and upsetting her further. "I came to your father—"
"I know! I heard!" Ruffnut interrupted. She gave the short beard another yank. "You want to marry me?"
"Yes!" he yelped with the pain.
The girl shook her head, disbelief overturning the confusion that initially stimulated her indignation.
"Do you even know who I am?"
She was Ruffnut Thorston. She was crazy and everyone knew it. Ruffnut could see the way people would jump anytime she raised her voice or moved too suddenly. She had conditioned such a response over years of crude behavior and senseless stunts. She was unpredictable and unreasonable. No one bothered to argue with her or tell her what to do, she was a woman who no one wanted to try and tame.
There were even rumors that she bathed in sheep's blood every full moon. She started those rumors.
Naturally, Ruffnut knew she would marry someday; she knew she would be arranged into a new status at the whim of her parents. She hadn't the gift or skill to become a priestess—the only other alternative. On the Isle of Berk one, or both, members of a budding couple could make requests regarding their marriage partner—the village's isolation and sovereign ways allowed for such a margin. But Ruffnut possessed no illusions that anyone would request her for their wife.
And then this happened.
"Why?" she hissed. "Why would you ever want to marry me?"
If someone was forced into marrying her, and she forced to marry him, any maltreatment of the partner would be expected. She could beat on them, mistreat them, and no one would be to blame because it could, and would, be viewed as nothing more than an unfortunate match.
But someone asked for her. Someone saw her as something more than just "settling". Someone expected something from her, and someone was going to be disappointed when she didn't measure up.
Ruffnut didn't like disappointing people. She'd rather they expect nothing but the worst from her in the first place.
"I like your hair," Tumble suddenly blurted. It could have been his answer, it could have been a compulsion, but the reason behind Tumble's statement was lost in the absolute blindsiding manner in which it was delivered.
Ruffnut released the facial hair and reeled back, reacting as though he just delivered an insult to her.
"You like...my hair?" Her hand unconsciously went to one, thick braid heavy over her shoulder. She liked her hair, but it was her hair. Who was he to like her hair?
To the young woman's mortification, she could feel heat rising to her cheeks. She was not blushing. She was not. It was unusually hot out to begin with that day and the sun reflected off the water to make it more so. She had simply spent a little too much time on the docks, that's all.
No man had ever complimented her before—but the didn't mean she was blushing.
"And your voice," he added, seeing he had her off foot. "I like how you move after you deal with a dragon."
Ruffnut, dimly aware that she may have stopped breathing at one point, faintly mumbled, "You…you noticed that?"
She used to slouch her back, hulk between kills as her brother did. She may have done it unconsciously; she wanted the fear and gruesome picture it would paint in the firelight of a raid. It was after her friendship renewed with Astrid that she picked up the hip-swinging thing. It was fun and it made her feel womanly, even amidst all the bloodshed—like a shadow of a different life—but she never thought anyone would look at her when she fought next to Astrid. And certainly not since Astrid's hips came in.
Except for this one man, who happened to ask for her over Berk's Viking prodigy.
Tumble's grin eased from relief to warm as Ruffnut's uncertainty showed plainly. A moment of vulnerability made her look smoother than the loveliest carving of Freyja.
"We all do."
Nearby men who were pretending not to listen busied themselves with the nearest available task. One man jumped back to scrubbing his wife's laundry.
Ruffnut could think of nothing to say. Her mouth worked soundlessly for a moment that seemed just a beat longer than her pride could handle. She came to the docks with a whole list of reasons why marrying her was a bad idea, and she had a whole list of actions to help emphasize this point, but these mental lists had vanished sometime between now and when he smiled at her.
Er, when he mentioned her hair, that is.
"You know I'm crazy right?" She asked this with the sternest expression she could muster amidst such incredulity, but it lacked the temper she once wielded with ease.
Tumble could practically hear the resignation tingeing that question. And resignation often led to acceptance.
"Of course," he said with a casual nod. "You're the only girl worth getting to know."
All her inexperience with compliments was making itself known at this most unfortunate moment. Ruffnut could feel something like a girdle squeeze around her chest in a painfully pleasant way. What an odd feeling. She didn't trust herself not to do something stupid, like blush, so she kept talking.
"I'm not going to suddenly be sane underneath it all," she warned.
He countered with, "I don't expect you to be."
"I'm a terrible cook."
"I'm a terrible hunter."
"I drool in my sleep."
"I snore."
"I hate fish."
"I hate Nadders." And he said this with a nod to the necklace she wore that carried one of the teeth her heavily pregnant mother knocked straight out a dragon's mouth just before she went into labor. The other one went to her brother.
Ruffnut bit her lip, an angry expression building on her face. Tumble didn't know what to expect from her, it was half the appeal and half the apprehension that came with requesting such a wife.
She whipped her hand up and he flinched. For some, unfathomable reason this made Ruffnut smile. She only moved to poke a calloused, slender finger against the rough tunic stretched across his chest.
"You better keep me happy."
That was acceptance if Tumble ever heard it.
"Right," he said with a silly grin.
Ruffnut then drove a fist into his stomach, and his grin puckered out into a moan of pain. Tumble hunched over with the wind driven from him.
"Just a reminder of what you're in for," Ruffnut winked. And she walked off, away from her gasping betrothed and the wide-eyed spectators, with swinging arms and swinging hips.
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Astrid watched as Ruffnut left the fishing docks with far more composure than she arrived. Even from the tallest steps of the mead hall, she could make out the barest hint of a smile gracing her friend's face. It had been an amusing sight to behold, seeing the young woman keelhaul a man a good head taller than her only to falter halfway through. Not many could silence Ruffnut like that once she got going.
Astrid's smile grew as she saw Ruffnut discreetly massage her hand the moment she moved out of the port's sight. Tumble would be good for her.
A spring breeze rushed across her face and she sighed into it. With spring came planting, and planting would lead to harvest. And with the harvest came the celebrations...
Everyone seemed to be getting married this summer, everyone she grew up with, sparred with, dined with...
Everyone but her.
Call it fate, divine intervention, or simply bad luck, but every man who tried to barter with her father for her hand ultimately met their demise before any planning could fall underway—dying in the next raid, falling to winter sickness, accidents at sea. It became such a common occurrence that Astrid's initial aversion to marriage was soon replaced by incredulity. And, on the occasion, insult.
A part of Astrid even began to fear she would grow to be something of a taboo, destined to fight alone and die alone because, eventually, no man would have the pluck to pursue her. It was an exaggerated fear; she's heard how superstition could run a village into madness but her situation hardly qualified. Still, she regarded her standing in the village with caution. A year ago, such a fate would have been fine with her, because a year ago the title of 'Best in Battle' had a different meaning. She wanted nothing but battle, but when she got nothing but battle she found it wanting. Something had changed from those days where bloodshed and action seemed the only activities that could get her heart racing. A desire, a need, deep within her changing body ached for something a little more and it left her with a caustic emptiness not even the thrill of warfare could curtain. She wasn't quite sure how to define it, if her age or her culture cultivated her reasoning behind this strange appetite.
These days she would look at Grizel and wonder if the weight of an infant in her arms would really make her glow like that, or Ragnhild and how, each day, she smiled a little more genuinely at her husband.
Astrid felt left behind, and it was such a familiar, sick-heavy feeling that she found herself visualizing the next man to try and woo her—a good, strong, Viking who would see her as a woman more than an ultimate prize. She was reaching the point where any man who risked the gods by asking for her would immediately garner some measure of respect, at the very least.
And with this realization came great annoyance because it was such a shallow, common desire among her age group and she hated sustaining either trait. Astrid was losing herself in this battle weary world. How many of these urges were her...and how many were expectation? She could no longer tell the difference between what she desired and what the village desired of her. Somewhere, at some point over the last year, these desires—those of the village and her own—had started to separate.
"Well, this will prove to be an interesting match."
Startled from her thoughts, Astrid turned to find Fishlegs besides her, the hefty blond following Ruffnut with his eyes, much as she had been doing before she drifted off into rumination.
She snorted, pushing frivolous thoughts of marriage to the depths of her mind. "Understatement."
"I'd give it an eighty percent likelihood of smoothing out," he admitted. "And we could use a little more happiness around here."
"Yeah," Astrid agreed, softening with the truth of that statement. "It's been rough."
That was another reason she found herself taken by these new desires. Back when raids only happened once, maybe twice, a month, fighting dragons was spare enough to be considered a treat. She trained and trained until the opportunity to show off her skills in battle arrived. Then she would recover and train some more. But lately it had been only battle, with less and less time to show off or train. It became more than just a job, it became the only thing she knew, the fun and novelty she found in her participation of protecting her village dulled into a duty. She wanted something more now. She was ready for it.
"We're due for another attack tonight," Fishlegs breathed, switching the topic. Astrid turned, incredulous, watching his profile stare strongly over the ocean view, in the direction of the accursed nest.
"We just had one not two weeks ago," she pointed out in an argument. She bore half a smile because he couldn't be serious.
But the grim expression remained on his face, the blond, wiry hairs of his beard too transparent to hide it.
"You haven't noticed the more frequent attacks?" he asked.
Astrid had. She had hoped it was unrelated to anything ominous, just a passing phase of the dragons. Something that maybe happened every dozen years or so.
"It's increasing," Fishlegs continued in a mellow, deep voice, "in size and frequency, and not just for us. It's... this phenomenon is spreading... reaching clans that never had to deal with this before. It'll start interfering with our trade soon, and not just on our end. This could upend our entire economy."
Astrid tried to listen, tried to take this all in, but her head shook slowly as his words spoke of nothing but a bleak future. She dearly hoped this was merely an exaggeration on Fishleg's behalf.
"How do you know this?"
Fishlegs shrugged one shoulder. "I've been speaking to Snotlout and the chief. I've been doing...individual research on these attacks. Charting them. It started out as a personal project but..." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, appearing overcome. "My results were too concerning. Chief's allowed me to correspond with other tribes, and from there it's just grown. I've started a network of sorts...we keep each other informed..."
It wasn't confidence or self-assurance Astrid saw in the young man's posture. Anyone would have been honored with such a task appointed directly by the chief. If what Fishlegs admitted to her were true, then the once bumbling lad she recalled from her youth had gone from a farmer's son to an ambassador of sorts, and all on his own ambition. But Fishlegs showed no pride in this self-made status. Only despondency. He knew too much.
"How come no one knows of this?" How come she didn't know of this before now? How could this be the first time she heard of this? Her own reputation among the village was hard earned and well deserved in her humble opinion. She should have been informed.
Fishlegs swallowed, and she saw a little more of the awkward boy he once was. "Because it's not looking good. There's no obvious solution to this, Astrid. This isn't something that's just going to blow over on its own. We want to keep down the panic, manage the situation while we can, but...but if things keep escalating as they have been..." he drew his lips into his mouth for a moment, the words catching in his throat. His eyes hardened and set their focus over the skyline, into the beyond.
"We may be the last generation of Berk."
Astrid wrenched a hand to her mouth, her gasp breathing in the resin coating her wraps. Somehow, she knew Fishlegs was not exaggerating. But she never knew things were quite that bad; she assumed they simply hit a rough patch that it would blow over. She would never have guessed at a such a bleak future.
"Gods...What will we do?" This didn't sound like something she could train day and night for to defeat. She was powerful, she was strong, but she wasn't a god. She couldn't contain this growing dragon problem as it needed to be contained. The entire effort of their village couldn't do it.
That was why the Chief pulled Fishlegs up for this networking thing. Soon tribes and clans and rivalries wouldn't matter when their entire race faced ultimate defeat. If what Fishlegs implied were true, then the destruction of villages would spread as the nest grew.
Was this a forewarning of Ragnarok? Was it upon them already?
Astrid knew she was working herself up into unnecessary hysterics, but how else was she supposed to act with the burden of information dropped on her? She experienced the change first hand, now she was having it explained to her.
She swallowed against her quickly beating heart, hoping her breathing hadn't shifted more than that quick catch. She didn't deal well with sudden loss of control in any nature; she knew this of herself by now. Once she had time to think over it, to regain a little more rational, her confidence would return to where it belonged—mind, body and soul.
Fishlegs shrugged again, maintaining this new, calmness Astrid never would have thought he could carry. But it helped to calm her.
"Hang on, I guess. Keep fighting. Until..." He trailed off, seeming to realize he said too much as he clenched his jaw.
"Until what?" Astrid used that voice. The one that promised a good broken wrist if she wasn't given the exact details she sought. This was her home, the fate of her village; she wanted to know the truth. She wanted to be prepared to do whatever necessary to preserve it. She passed up the moment for embracing the indignation that this was kept from her, kept from many of their warriors for so long. A situation as grave as this would not be solved with resentment.
Fishlegs released a heavy breath, his line of sight settling to his feet as resignation weighed down his shoulders. There was no point in keeping Astrid in the dark any longer. She was an asset to their village—intelligent, capable—and now more privy to the situation at hand than most of the older generation.
"There's a rumor," Fishlegs began, turning to face her. He drew his olive eyes up to meet hers for what could have been the first time in their impromptu conversation. "A rumor among the higher ups..."
Astrid arched an eyebrow, never a fan of suspense.
"A rumor?"
A rumor that the dragons would die out? That help was coming? That another clan had discovered the nest?
"There's a rumor that Hiccup will come back."
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::I hate you:: Toothless snarled vehemently. ::You are the worst friend ever::
From the piled rocks of the shoreline, Hiccup swiveled over his shoulder and smiled. His ponytail flipped in the winds of a prevailing storm, the wild strands that escaped passed his eyes like hanging sheets on a line. He placed his hands on his hips, careful to balance himself correctly on the slippery footing. The task was extra challenging due to him hitting a second growth spurt, leaving him—once more—with unmastered, long limbs.
"Come on, you knew this was coming," he grinned roguishly, unaffected by the spray of water breaking against the rocks.
They had been in this situation before, in attitude and intent. But back then both males harbored far more nervousness. Back then, Hiccup was much less excited and Toothless much less annoyed.
::I was hoping you'd grow out of your need to torment my peace of mind::
"Then you only have yourself to blame. You should know better."
::This is absurd! Why do you insist on pushing your luck like this?::
"I'm not pushing my luck! This is the safest thing I've done in weeks!" Hiccup leveled a finger at the dragon clinging to the very edges of the forest. "You're the one who thought it would be a great idea to hunt on the land clearly entitled 'No Trespassing'." He raised his voice a pitch, "Oh, rules like that don't apply to us! What? Faeries? They're harmless!"
He finished is mockery with a very flat, very irate stare.
Toothless seemed to struggle for a moment, ::I—that's—that's nothing compared to this!::
"I got spanked by a tree!" Hiccup snapped.
::Don't change the subject!:: Toothless rejoined just as waspish, refusing to dwell on the fact that his tail hadn't quite stopped stinging from that encounter. ::Just step away from the water and we'll pretend this never happened::
The teen waved him off with a snort and turned back to the Channel.
"This is happening."
::I'm gagging. I'm retching already::
"You're being dramatic," he drawled. "I made a promise, remember?"
::There are other ways to get there!:: The dragon started to sound desperate. ::Just—just kick your legs really hard, or something!::
Hiccup rolled his eyes, not bothering to face the Night Fury who was getting more irrational with each output.
"You know as well as I do that there is not another way."
And, as though waiting for the timeliest arrival, a sea serpent burst forth from the deceptively deep waterline.
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A/N: Holy ellipses batman!
Jumped around a lot. Much timeskipping. I'd wager I covered about two-three months in this chapter alone. As I said in some review responses, I'm only going to cover the important moments on his ride home, and the rest of his adventures will be alluded to.
So we finally get to see Framherja in action! Some guessed it right off the bat, and some, I'm happy to say, I managed to deceive. I think. Unless you lie to me ):
What's this? Is Fishlegs pulling a Neville Longbottom? We'll be getting into Fishlegs' head more in a later chapter, same with Astrid's. The time for that simply hasn't arrived yet.
So I gave you lots of Berk. Of course, Hiccup is only a couple chapters away from Berk itself, so I suppose there's nothing BUT Berk in store for you. And some Camicazi...NEXT!
