Note
Because I try to observe the Twelve Days of Christmas, rather than the Thirty-Four or more Shopping Days before Christmas that America seems obsessed with, and because dragons don't care about dates, with Substance even admitting they aren't good at counting—here is a contemporary version of their Yule at New Berk, still just in time for Twelfth Night . . .
— Norwesterner
Despite the almost sub-zero cold, Ilsa and Miles seemed impervious to it as they lingered in their kiss, with him lying blanketed in his gurney outside the helicopter he had arrived in while the rest of our village and tribe looked on around them. O'Connell's arrival home at New Berk made it finally start to feel like Yule on the island.
Ilsa finally released him from their embrace as his hand fell back from her head. O'Connell looked at her uncertainly though. "I can't do this to you," he said.
"Too late," she smiled, warmly caressing his face.
"Too late?" he wondered.
"Too late," I agreed, smiling as I moved to bring their hands back together. "Your dragon has proclaimed it."
"Proclaimed what?" he asked, before his own experience and knowledge of Berker ways began to kick in again. "Wait," he hesitated, "you don't mean . . ."
"Yes, Miles," I said, still holding their hands together in mine, "we do."
"Mating?" Miles quietly exclaimed in astonishment, turning his head to look fully at me.
"Just as with a Dragon Rider's very first flight, our people celebrate the beginnings of things here," I told him, "not their culminations, and certainly not endings. I had almost the same kind of 'shotgun wedding,' practically the moment I lowered my guard towards Roana. Trust me, it's good though."
Miles looked back towards Ilsa and then down, seeming to process and almost weigh things. Then he began to almost ruefully smile. "Garrison?" he wondered, looking at his Nightmare while still speaking to me as his dragon looked calmly at him.
"Garrison," Ilsa confirmed before I could as she stroked the side of O'Connell's disbelieving face, while the dragon beside them both had a very pleased look in his eyes.
"He knew what you would need, and made it happen," I smiled as I held the new couple's hands together on O'Connell's blanketed chest. "Isn't it better to be cared for by your own family now who loves you," I added, "rather than by nurses you don't know, in a place that isn't home to you? That is the gift your dragon, and your mate, if you'll accept her, are giving you."
O'Connell's mouth slowly relaxed into a subtle smile as a tear formed in one eye. "But, what I am now . . . it doesn't—?" he wondered.
"This doesn't matter," I finished, touching his truncated right shoulder and bandaged stub of an upper arm directly.
"Ve take you special place, Miles," Ilsa said before adding, "Ek tek hann," to the rest of us, reverting to Norse as she began hefting him into her arms, blankets and all. While Ilsa was a strong and slightly curvy Viking woman, and Miles may have been missing a right arm and both legs; he wasn't light for her, as he still had a powerful torso that was a little larger than Ilsa's—especially as she was balancing him with just one good leg and a primitive prosthetic.
O'Connell, once the unflagging, always optimistic, 'can do' SEAL of our village—he now looked at Ilsa, Garrison and the rest of us gathered around him as the Dragon Riders moved out of the way with the gurney he had arrived on. O'Connell's eyes finally settled on me, but now with an aching sadness.
"I'm sorry, sir," he sniffed, "I'm so sorry . . ."
"No," I said now to him as I moved to embrace both Miles and Ilsa while Roana and others gathered close around us in a supportive and communal embrace as well. "You are part of us, Miles. You are us . . . and we will never, ever let you go now."
Together, as a village, even a tribe, we shed some tears with Miles over his loss, his change. We accepted him into us, as he was. Hopefully, somehow, he would begin to accept himself as well.
"Fyrir því drekar, Miles," I finally said, moving to Miles' right side and helping Ilsa to bear his weight. "That's your new mission, Chief, as Captain of our Guard, of our Dragon Riders. We've missed you, and we need you . . . just as you are. Can you do it?"
O'Connell now lifted his face from amid Ilsa's flowing red hair on the side of her head. "Yes, sir," he said, turning to look at me. "Yes, I can."
"Enjoy your homecoming . . . and wedding night," I concluded with a smile.
He looked at Ilsa again as she looked warmly at him. His bare left arm was now about her shoulders, helping her to balance him amid the cold night air. He could only nod silently now as his mate moved to share another kiss with him.
Garrison then grunted, gesturing with his head back towards his neck, now with a saddle on it that had been placed there by other Dragon Riders, in addition to his blue sash with its medals, which two Riders had refastened around the Nightmare's neck once more as well. All the Riders now stood on either side of the saddle, ready to help Ilsa and Miles into it. Having to cradle him among them for a moment as Ilsa mounted the saddle wearing her thick winter garments and long, sealskin dress, the other riders kept assuring Miles, "Þat er mikill heitur," or, 'It is an honour.' As the other riders positioned and strapped him in the saddle, Roana quickly proceeded to brief Ilsa on what she would need to do to care for Miles, while also giving him a couple of injections and pills for the night. Within a moment, Miles was ready to go, even secured to Ilsa behind him with extra leather straps for added safety. I was sure an improved dragon-riding rig would be developed for him soon enough.
The rest of us then stood back as Garrison, along with several independent dragons, all spread their wings and took off with Miles and Ilsa into the air, turning over the village and then heading east off to the dragon caves at the head of our valley.
"The dragon caves," I sighed, shaking my head with a little reservation as the rest of us watched them fly away. "Really think you should have let him go there like he is?" I wondered to Roana beside me.
"Ilsa's right," my mate replied. "O'Connell's remaining body is fairly strong. It's his mind, his attitude that has been weakening him. He has literally trying to will himself to die at times. Reminding him of his promise to Garrison was about the only thing that kept bringing him out of that. The dragon caves are known as the best place of healing among our tribe. Spirit is said to be stronger among them there than anywhere else. That's why Alexi's dragon took him there at first. But did you know about Ilsa?"
"Nope," I replied, smiling. "Garrison did that all on his own."
"Dragons know what they're doing, don't they?" my mate smiled as well as we embraced.
"Perhaps I could use a dragon's help," we both quietly heard beside us.
"Jarldis," I said, turning towards the baroness beside us. She was elegantly turned out as always—this time in a dark blue winter coat with a warm hood—as Roana and I added her to our embrace. "We have a full house now, hosting an FSK family, but would you stay? I'm sure we can find you an empathic dragon to talk with in the morning."
"No," she declined as the Royal Norwegian Air Force helicopter began powering up again. "I need to return to the Outside, especially as the Barony is now paying for your FSK family and the rest of the unit to be here, not to mention this helicopter."
I looked at her with some surprise.
"How do you think we got the unit here?" she continued. "And got Roana and your cousin put in command? Money, pure and simple—as my predecessors have long done to protect all of you on this island. We just don't bribe anymore. Simply offering to pay for things is more effective anyway."
"Sure you won't stay?" I invited again anyway.
"Maybe in summer," she said. "The idea of basically camping here in winter just isn't very appealing."
"Has the world gone soft?" I wondered. "This isn't camping. I live here, year round now."
"No, Lance," the baroness smiled, laying a hand to my face, "you've gone hard—become Viking. And I could not be prouder of you."
As Roana drew close beside me in admiration as well, that struck me. I was seen as a 'hard' Viking now. I was no longer one of them, an Outsider. A primitive Viking, who relished rough conditions—could that really be me?
The baroness now turned to leave, but not before she was stopped by Substance and given a firm, heartfelt nudge.
"You come back," my dragon simply said. "I want talk with you."
Even I could tell that made the baroness' day now as she bent to embrace Substance's large head.
As she rose again, I remembered. "Bar—I mean Jarldis," I corrected myself, "have you dealt with the special request I sent to your office by fax via the FSK?"
"We're arranging helicopter transport for it now," she said, turning back towards me again. "It should be here in six days, and most every farmer in the Barony expresses their thanks for the order."
"What's that?" Roana asked me as the baroness once again turned to board the waiting helicopter.
"Just helping our own," I replied, " . . . and my own Yule surprise."
— — — — —
Soon, Roana and I were home, finding our young FSK mother sharing a late night snack of Viking sweet bread with her toddler on a wooden chair next to our house fire, before laying her daughter down between the welcoming necks of Tana's Zippleback again. As it had been doing on previous nights, the dragon smoothly took over, with one head first gently murmuring, and then almost singing to the toddler with a soothing hum, while the other head tucked the little girl in, drawing a quilt over her just right. The toddler was quietly falling asleep right before our eyes.
"I never thought dragons vould bring her such peace," the mother almost whispered to us in Norwegian-accented English as we three now quietly stepped away, not wanting to disturb the quiet scene, while the Zippleback laid its own heads down on either side of the girl again. "I have read the Journal, vith my husband, but the portrayal of dragons everyvhere else . . ."
"Were you born Outside Berker?" Roana wondered.
"No," she smiled. "I vas born and raised in Stavanger. I just married an Outside Berker . . . after a fairly thorough set of interviews and background checks—vhich I thought vere for the Norvegian military. But vhen they began giving me orientations, it vas all for you, your people."
"So what do you think of us now?" I wondered.
"My daughter vill live a very different life here," the mother said, looking around.
"If she chooses all this," Roana noted, removing the hood of her coat but still wearing her red military beret with its badge, along with her uniform. "It is a choice, with all of us, to be here. But if she grows up on this island, and chooses to leave for school or adult life on the outside, she will never leave our community and network, no matter where she goes."
"I vas made aware of that, just before ve came here," she replied. "You know, my family vas probably your enemy at one time. Ve vere from Trondheim originally, the royal city . . . even possibly in the court of the ancient Norse kings, from what a genealogist cousin has told me. To that cousin and the rest of my family now though, my husband and I are at a remote research station. I have been told that if ve decide to stay, our deaths vill be faked to all outside the Barony."
"How are you feeling about that?" my mate asked.
"Conflicted," the woman sniffed. "I can see vhy it is necessary, but . . ."
Her husband now came in the door, having finished his duties for the evening. "Sir, m'am," he nodded smartly, briefly saluting as he passed us, compelling Roana and I to salute in return out of courtesy, before he proceeded to shed his parka and green beret, moving beside his wife.
"Please," Roana said, "inside our house and off duty, it's Lance and Roana, okay? He hasn't been making you salute him in here behind my back, has he?" she added now looking my way, fortunately with a subtle smile.
"It's the FSK training," the man shrugged with a smile as well. "But it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Roana. I'm Tor, and this is my wife, Arna," he added as they shook hands.
"Your Executive Officer," I added.
"Yes, m'am," he confirmed.
"Well," Roana seemed to note with indifference now, "it's nice to have command all in one place."
"I waited until all the other dependent families were situated before bringing my own over," he uncomfortably added, "but when the chief made this house available as well . . . it just wasn't right billeting enlisted with our commanders."
"Outsider protocols," my mate sighed. "Well you won't find me in this uniform much at all, and we've had little distinction among ourselves before. But again, please, off duty it's first names, alright? Lance doesn't like being constantly addressed as 'Chief' or 'sir' anymore than I do with 'Major' or 'm'am'."
Substance, Spring and Rökkr then came in from the cold as well. "Walllk. Hjálllp m-mamma beturrr." Spring explained, using both English and Norse, as Substance turned and seemed to guide herself to our bedding, while Rökkr and Spring just turned beside her without touching her.
"Mjög gott, Spring, very good!" I warmly praised my dragon son, before turning back to our houseguests. "He's using English and Norse interchangeably now—the first trilingual dragon ever. At his current pace, I would even like to see him go to university, were that possible," I added, glancing back with pride at my dragon son.
"I still can't quite get used to that," Tor quietly noted to Roana and I, looking at our dragons as they all turned towards our bedding.
"They have very good hearing," I almost whispered back, "and all three of them understand English."
"Løytnant," Substance said, stopping and turning her large head back towards us, getting our houseguest's notice and causing him to instinctively stiffen to attention. "Tor," she then softened, "you are on forefront of humanity, its next step . . . learning to live with another intelligent species, as equals."
"Yes . . . m'am," Tor stammered a bit.
"I am Substance," my dragon replied in her deep voice. "Please call me that."
"Some can also seem to read minds," I smiled.
"As Guardian," Roana noted, "she is your superior here as well."
"Substance devised the battle plan to retake this island, and led the attack charge with me," I added. "She was even offered a knighthood by the king himself, but has refused it because its namesake was a mortal enemy and persecutor of our tribe and dragons."
"The Order of Saint Olaf?" he wondered, amazed.
"Yes," I quietly confirmed.
"I had no idea . . ." Tor said in awe.
"Sorry I haven't told you everything yet," I apologised with a slight smile.
"This is a different society than perhaps any other on Earth," Roana noted to our guest couple. "Just remember that dragons are not merely legends or secrets to be protected—they are equals, neighbours, friends, even family to us on this island. We answer their requests, even take orders from them when appropriate, just as surely as you and I would among each other.
"Settle in with us for a while," she invited. "Then ask yourselves if you want to give all this up. That will help you make your decision on staying here. Pass this on to the rest of our unit and their families. But sleep well for now."
"Yes, m'am," our Executive Officer or 'X.O.' replied, saluting.
"Tor . . ." my mate reminded him.
"Goodnight, Roana, Lance . . . and Substance," he nervously responded.
"Don't forget my adopted dragon son, Spring, or Roana's companion and Substance's mate, Rökkr," I quietly added, "not to mention Tana's Zippleback, Tvö Höfut, who is taking care of your daughter."
"Sorry, sir," Tor stammered again. "Uhh . . . goodnight Spring, Rökkr, and Tvö Höfut."
"'Night," Spring replied, " . . . thannk youu."
That stopped Tor and Arna as they were turning towards their bed. The couple just gazed at Spring and Rökkr for a moment as the two dragons looked back at them.
"They feel, even think, basically everything we do," I quietly said, "maybe even more. They have their own language, mythology and spirituality. Given a chance, a dragon will tell you in which direction other countries are from here, and Substance can quote famous figures from human history. I am even discovering that Night Furies at least have larger brain to body mass ratios than humans, dolphins, or other primates. They may have intelligences and capabilities we don't. Substance certainly seems to."
"Why hasn't this been shared with the Outside, at least within the Barony?" Tor asked, still seeming stunned.
"Because Berk has been almost totally closed off from the Outside, even the Barony," I replied, "and I've only been making these observations and discoveries within the past few months. I could have been writing earth-shattering scientific papers on all this, but I've just been too busy helping us recover from war and survive here."
"That should be part of our job, sir," he replied.
"I would appreciate if it was, Løytnant," I responded somewhat curtly, as Roana placed a hand on my chest to both caution and soothe me. "I mean Tor," I added. "I'm sorry."
"I'm told war does that to us, sir," he empathised. "I'm sorry I missed it. I was on deployment with a UN mission, before I was suddenly called back and asked by both a general and the baroness to help form and train this platoon."
"This could be your last posting," I said, looking at him, "if you choose. Here there is meaning, as well as orders and duty. It's a rough assignment amid primitive conditions," I finished, looking at Roana with a gentle smile, "but nothing has come to mean more to me. Nothing."
"My wife and I will think about it," Tor pledged. "Goodnight again, sir, m'am, and dragons."
"Goodnight," Roana and I bade them, just accepting his instinctive formality now as Tor and his wife then turned, glancing down at their daughter, who already seemed to be completely at home sleeping within the Zippleback surrounding her. The couple then went off to their own bed behind the screen.
"Never stops, does it?" I whispered in Roana's ear as we turned and walked to bed down with our dragons. "Leading," I clarified as she looked at me.
"At least we have each other," she sighed, as she stopped us to add a couple more logs to our house fire for the night before we continued to our family bedding.
"You look good in uniform," I admired as she finally shed her military-issue winter parka. It was true. The service dress green slacks and light blouse she was wearing followed and revealed her slender figure much better than her Berk tunics, leather vest and skirt, and leggings usually did.
"But I don't feel good in this uniform," she quietly replied, trying to keep our conversation private as she undid her green necktie. "I had forgotten how Outside military life is," she continued as she shed the rest of her confining Outsider clothing with visible relief and hanging it all up on wooden pegs driven into a wall above our bedding near the front door, " . . . having to constantly return salutes in hallways, keeping my hair done up, wearing skirts with pantyhose. Uggh. I hadn't shaved my legs in a long time."
"I hadn't noticed," I innocently replied as I just lowered myself onto our bedding with my crutches next to our dozing dragons now.
"At least these berets weren't too bad," she continued, hanging that up on a peg, too as she gradually released her long hair from the numerous bobby pins that had been holding it.
After she finished undressing herself, "Pass me your clothes," she then matter-of-factly invited, " . . . all of them."
After enjoying her little show, I did as I was told with a smile, but I let her kneel down and remove my pants over my leg cast.
"You've been sleeping in these while I've been gone, haven't you?" she then remarked as she rose again to hang my clothes up.
"I'm a hard Viking now," I shrugged. "Even the baroness has said so. And it was a little cool in bed without you wrapped around me."
"Well, my Viking and his clothes," Roana decided, "are getting washed tomorrow. But as for warming up, slide over."
Then there she was again—that warm, soft presence against me I had missed so much. I just breathed deeply now as I savoured Roana in full, before my hand drifted down along her side, as I remembered what was now underneath her skin.
"Pregnant, eh?" I noted, caressing her side.
"Yep," she confirmed. "Six weeks, according to the doctor. You ready for it?" she asked, kissing my cheek.
"I will be—in seven and a half months," I smiled.
"Gods . . ." my mate sighed against my shoulder, "from just vet and knight, waking up one morning as a mate, then finding myself a warrior in battle, becoming a leader of our tribe, now a unit commander, and mother on top of the rest of it all—Lance . . ." she sniffed, overwhelmed, burying her head against my neck.
"Shhhh . . ." I soothed, holding Roana close and rocking her a little under our quilt. "That's what mates are for—so we're not doing it all alone."
"I'd run away if I was," she quietly sighed. "But I know the dragons wouldn't let me."
"We wouldn't," Substance confirmed next to us, "anymore than I would allow myself to fly away."
"Lance," Roana almost whispered, looking at me now, "would you remind me why I'm doing all this?"
With a smile, I rolled us both over, and proceeded to remind her . . . passionately.
"Hmmmm, hmmmm!" she soon agreed amid our kissing.
We were good now, and everything was once again alright.
— — — — —
The next morning, after receiving a very satisfying scrubbing from Roana, still amid sheepskins on our bedding though given my leg cast—it was flying up to the dragon caves on Rökkr to check on O'Connell, even if Roana and I might be interrupting his honeymoon.
As we entered the steamy, geothermally heated cave, we passed around the dragons' large evergreen Yule tree now planted at its entrance.
"They really do celebrate Yule here," I remarked, looking up and down at the tall but unadorned Evergreen tree.
Roana sighed next to me, rolling her eyes. "Dragons have been putting Yule trees in this very spot," she matter-of-factly noted, toting her medical satchel on one shoulder, "centuries before Prince Albert brought the tradition of Christmas trees from his native Saxony to Queen Victoria's Britain some one hundred, fifty years ago."
"Well it's new for me, alright?" I almost snapped in response.
"I keep forgetting that at times . . . on my own," she smiled in apology.
"I'm sorry, too," I replied as she slipped her sheepskin-mitted hand through my arm, supporting me while I resumed hobbling along on my crutches as we ventured onwards into the caves, past dragons nested and huddled against one another all around us.
To my surprise, we soon found Ilsa dressed in just an undertunic without her leg rig on, tending a kettle and small cauldron, both hung by a simple wooden frame over a fire. Next to her, Garrison was curled around O'Connell, watching him, as Miles was snugly wrapped in a virtual pile of sheepskins and quilts.
"How are you doing?" I dared to ask as the three of them spotted us approaching.
O'Connell just rolled onto his right side, reaching his left hand towards Ilsa. "I've been apologizing to her all night," he said with a smile as she warmly reached back, taking his hand.
"He tough patient, at first," Ilsa smiled. "But he finally let me in bed."
"I was so afraid she'd be repulsed at me, as I was," he sighed. "But then it just . . ."
"Flowed, happened," I smiled.
Roana just smiled as well while she proceeded to check O'Connell's heart and breathing with a stethoscope from her medical kit. "Your heart rate and lungs are much stronger this morning, Miles," she assured.
"I'm no longer wishing myself dead," he admitted. "But I so wish I'd just gotten out of the way of that tank shell," he sniffed. "'Cause it didn't do Tom a bit of good anyway . . ."
He now broke down as Ilsa turned to take him into her arms. I saw O'Connell's scarred and bandaged stump of a right arm trying to flex and reach to embrace his mate.
"This will take the longest to heal," Roana gently said to both of them as O'Connell sobbed uncontrollably against Ilsa for a moment, while she held and rocked him.
"We know . . ." Ilsa replied sadly as well. "But Miles know I not let go, ever. Proved that, right?" she said warmly to him.
"It's why I've been apologizing," he sniffed, his tears diminishing.
"So you're not minding the dragon-arranged marriage?" I smiled.
"No," he said, gazing at his mate now.
"If you're both happy here," I suggested, "just stay for a while. Talk anything and everything out. We'll even arrange for delivered meals and firewood if you like. Just heal, Miles. Then, when you're ready, let us know. Because while we've had a solemn Yule Log observance that you helped with before you left, I've been saving a more festive Yule celebration for your return."
"Sir . . ." he replied, almost in objection.
"If you want to help me out," I added, "maybe time your re-emergence here with the next supply helicopter flight. It's due in five days, weather permitting."
"Then please deliver forecasts," O'Connell replied, "along with the meals and wood. I don't want Ilsa working hard either."
His redheaded mate now settled herself into their bedding, drawing the sheepskins and quilts over both of them as she just cradled him against her.
"This is the medicine he has needed," Roana smiled.
"I know," Ilsa agreed, looking at Miles.
"I used to be taller than her," he quipped.
"And you still are, Dreki Riddari mínn," Ilsa assured, "vith the giant soul."
The two then moved to kiss one another.
"Let's go," Roana whispered to me. "Ilsa has things well in hand here."
As Ilsa continued to quietly soothe and even romance Miles against her, Roana, Rökkr and I quietly made our exit amid the many other dragons out of the cave.
"So this upcoming celebration, and the order, whatever it is, is for Miles?" Roana wondered next to me once we were outside the caves and I was remounting Rökkr's saddle.
"It's for all of us," I cryptically replied.
Roana just looked at me, inquisitively smiling as she remounted Rökkr in front of me, and he took off with us.
— — — — —
I had the whole village guessing at this Yule surprise of mine, and I relished keeping them, even Roana, guessing for four more days. The FSK radioman was the only other person within the village who knew, and I had ordered him sworn to secrecy. I just felt this was my chance to really bring the magic of Yule, what I had grown up celebrating as Christmas, to this new family and tribe of mine.
Finally, the day came. It wasn't quite December 25th, but I didn't care, and no one else but the FSK soldiers and families even knew to care. I had directed that two bonfires be built, that cooking fires be made as well, and cauldrons brought out for hot cider.
But this time, none of it was at the village. That was part of my surprise. Instead, it was all done at the entrances to the dragon caves. That would be our village commons for a change. I didn't want those dragons who were handicapped to have to limp a mile or more again down our valley in the snow to join in the festivities. We were bringing it all to them this time.
Finally, as the sun set in early afternoon, almost as soon as it had risen, all was in readiness. To formally open our Yule feast, I had convinced Substance to arrive in style. Getting her up to the dragon caves had seemed a daunting challenge, given she wasn't recovered enough to fly there yet. But then, she remembered a legend.
"Outside Berk children told that Great Guardian watch over them," she said. "Your ancestors' visit to Outside village at Yule reinforce that story, even basis of their celebration. Amund share that with me, as we study world Yule traditions, starting with our own Outside tribe."
"So we recreate that for our own people?" I smiled.
"First Ýsa to do so, in long time," she agreed.
So as a family, we decided to recreate that one Yule, when Hiccup, Toothless and their family journeyed to the Outside to bring Yule cheer to a part of their tribe that was adjusting to life among other Norse. I suppose we could have gone in character as Hiccup's family, but both Roana and Substance decided we should just go as ourselves.
"You, your return and victory in battle—that our Yule blessing and miracle, Lannce," my dragon companion suggested. "You need not be anyone else. You what our people want to celebrate."
"Substance . . ." I mildly hesitated, albeit looking down with a smile of modesty.
"Be what our people want to celebrate," Roana now echoed as well, extending her arms around me from the side. "We could use a returning legend who is willing to be our modest conquering hero."
"It was a fluke though," I sighed, " . . . so much of what I did in that battle. Anyone could have shot those enemy commandos."
"Would it make you feel better if I asked you to be our Jól Nisse or 'Yule Elf', Norway's version of Santa Claus?" Roana smiled. "They'd rather have their Chief Ýsa though, bringing their own legend to life. They deserve it, especially this year, don't you think?"
— — — — —
So, a contingent of four Dragons and Riders, led by Roana and Rökkr, hoisted Substance into the air using a pair of long, thick, crossed leather slings gripped in their claws—with me sitting astride her in our saddle no less—as they flew us up to the dragon caves. It was not the way Hiccup, Toothless and their family made their Yule flight as described in the Journal. But it was a sight, even a show, our tribe would never forget as Substance and I were landed amid horns, roars and great fanfare in front of our tribe gathered around the two large bonfires burning just outside the entrances to the dragon caves.
No sooner had we landed however, than the heavy beat of blades from three troop helicopters could be heard in the background as a separate contingent of Native and FSK Riders and Dragons escorted the aircraft over our mountains and down to the landing area we had prepared for them in the open snow outside the dragon caves as well. Seeing our Dragon Riders being employed to the full again, on two separate assignments no less . . . for some reason, that brought me deep joy.
I now had an irrepressible smile on my face as the three large, twin-rotored helicopters descended and then pivoted smartly, facing away from us as they landed, guided by three FSK marshallers waving wand flashlights, with the aircraft throwing up clouds of powdered snow and providing one last veil of mystery as their turbines powered down and their rotors slowed to a stop.
I hobbled out in front of the helicopters now on my own with crutches, at my insistence, facing our entire tribe, both dragon and human, still with that smile on my face.
"Everyone. Allir," I said in my accustomed bilingual way, "we have had a hard year. Vit höffum át erffit ár. When I was young, þegar ek var ungur, a neighbour woman died from a farming accident, nágranni kona lést úr búskap slys. Her husband and son were devastated. Eiginmatur hennar og sonur voru rúst. So my family brought Yule to them. Svo fjölskylda mínn leiddi jól vit þá. We wiped away their sadness, even healed them. Vit þurrka burt sorg þeirra, jafnvel gróa þá. That is what Yule is about to me—wiping away old sadnesses, making room for new joys. Þat er þat sem jólin er um at mér—burstun burtu gamla sorg, gera pláss fyrir nýja gleti. And I can think of no greater joy than the return of Miles O'Connell, and the creation of his new family with Ilsa and Garrison. Ek get hugsat ekki meiri gleti en endurkomu Miles O'Connell, og sköpun nýrra fjölskyldu sinni met Ilsa og Garrison!"
Widespread cheering and roaring interrupted me at that point, as Garrison stepped forward with Miles and Ilsa mounted on his neck. Both Rider and Dragon were wearing their sashes and medals—heroes and respected warriors among us. O'Connell now proudly waved to the crowd around him, raising his left arm, as he was held from behind by Ilsa, and their dragon bellowed underneath them as well.
As the cheering died down and the new O'Connell family resumed their place among the assembled crowd, I beckoned for Roana and my family, including Tana and her Zippleback, to come and join me.
"But there is another joy to be celebrated. En þat er annar gleti til at vera haldin," I continued, " . . . the coming birth of a new Ýsa, between Roana and I, á komandi fætingu nýs Ýsa, milli Roana og ek!"
The roaring and cheering resumed again. Roana just turned and leaned against me a little embarrassed, but smiling, as I held her tightly.
"So, Svo," I resumed as the roar of the assembled tribe died down once more, "I can think of no better way of celebrating these two joys, as well as the joy of our survival, ek get hugsat engin betri leit til at fagna þessum tveimur gleti, sem og gleti á ævilíkum okkar—than to give us all a very special gift, en at gefa okkur öllum mjög sérstaka gjöf."
I wanted to keep the suspense and guessing going as long as possible, but the helicopters' ramps were now dropping. I noticed though that Substance was now turning her head towards me, smiling.
"So I have arranged, Svo ek hef rata þeim," I concluded, "for enough fine beef for every human and dragon here, fyrir nógu fínn nautakjöt fyrir hvert mönnum og dreka hér! Happy Yule! Let the feast begin! Gletilegt jól! Láttu hátít byrja!"
"My gods," Roana exclaimed amid the renewed cheering and roaring around us as villagers and military alike now proceeded to begin unloading the frozen sides of beef from all three helicopters to be roasted or just thawed as the case may be, along with crates of apples and cinnamon to make cider with. "You must have cleared out the Barony's entire herds of cattle," she sighed in wide-eyed wonder.
"I had the baroness buy all our Outside ranchers had to sell, aside from their existing orders," I replied.
I looked around as the roasting of beef commenced over the open cooking fires, and the dragons took turns thawing their sides of frozen beef for one another while human villagers mounted those sides on roasting spits for the dragons as well. When I hatched this plan, I had almost gone with ordering actual reindeer from the Sami tribespeople, as reindeer were range-farmed animals in the Finnmark lands of Norway, Sweden and Finland to the north of us, just as cattle were elsewhere. But remembering Gene Autry and his song about 'Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer' that I had grown up hearing in Manitoba, even though that song and story were not widely known here . . . I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Seeing whole sides of frozen beef being carted around me—tons of the stuff—was bad enough.
"Never had beef before," Substance noted beside me. "Like deer?" she wondered.
"Yeah, it's probably like deer," I replied.
"Hiccup had problems with deer and meat," my dragon noted. "His son, you are."
"Maybe next year," I replied, kneeling down on my good leg and extending my arm over her large, black neck.
Substance then proceeded to take care of my conflicted concerns soon enough, issuing a loud bark amid the crowd as the first sides of beef were ready to be served and consumed by both dragons and humans.
"We give thanks," she simply said in English, grunting the same in Dragon, before she raised her head and started humming with her deep, powerful voice.
Everyone, human and dragon, villager, FSK and dependent, closed their eyes and raised their heads as well, beginning to hum in harmony with Substance.
At first, seeing all those sides of beef being handled . . . it had once more made me again consider becoming vegetarian, out of a sense of guilt more than anything else. But as I prayed with my head raised and eyes closed, humming along with Substance next to me, and the rest of my family around me as well, I felt a strange sense of harmony. "We all die. We are all eaten by something," both Roana and Substance had told me before. I realized that even vegetables give up what lives they had known as they are chopped and boiled or roasted for our benefit—with some studies I had been reading on the outside noting that plants had begun to be observed subtly reacting to certain positive and negative stimuli, as only living things could. Amid my closed eyes, I now almost saw the herds of cattle nodding down at us. I could even see the dragon flames that would one day be consuming my earthly body.
It all became one. Life was one. I now felt it went on, just changing form—sometimes on its own, sometimes with assistance. The trick, I realized, was living well, and treating others well, no matter whom or what they were, while they lived. Life on Earth involved consuming other life. It was just set up that way by Spirit, and could not be helped or avoided . . . unless a way could be found for every kind of animal or human to just live off ingesting nutrients from rocks, dirt, water and sunlight—as plants did.
I held Roana tighter as we hummed with everyone else in prayer. A new life would be joining us before long from Spirit. That was one gift I would be celebrating from this Yule right to the next . . . and for many Yules beyond that.
The humming eventually ceased. I opened my eyes as Roana and I continued to hold each other tightly as festivities resumed under a cold, starry winter sky.
"You did good here," she simply said with a smile.
"Thanks," I modestly replied.
"You'll get my Yule gift to you later," she then whispered in my ear, " . . . me, while I can still give you all I've got."
My beautiful, blonde, Viking mate for Yule? "I could ask for nothing better," I smiled. It was the truth—I really couldn't.
"Mmmmmmm!" I heard sighed in a deep voice next to me, as Roana briefly parted from my side now, while I saw Substance and Rökkr both tearing into a side of thawed raw beef that he had brought for them both to share. "Better than fish! Better than deer!" my dragon said with relish.
"I think you've introduced our dragons to a new, and pretty expensive dining habit," Roana smiled as she now brought back a nicely roasted slab of beef, along with some steaming vegetables, all on a pewter plate for us to share.
"Mmmmmm," I now sighed as well, seeing our meal, "already slathered in gravy. Haven't had beef and gravy in ages now."
"Just thank the Canadian and British contingents I dined with while I was staying at that military hospital in Germany," my mate replied. "I saw them putting gravy on everything—the Canadians were even putting it on their fries. So I figured you were missing a thing or two yourself."
"A taste of home at Christmas," I sighed, cutting into the gravy-slathered beef with my dagger, while holding a piece of it with my fingers, in true medieval Viking style now.
Roana just laughed. "You're not even hesitating, or asking for forks anymore," she noted as I shared my dagger with her and she cut a piece of beef off to enjoy as well with it as I now held our plate for her, just smiling back, my dark goatee smeared with gravy.
"You want a fork, anyway?" my mate offered. "The FSK still use them."
"I'm not FSK," I replied.
"Merry Christmas, my love," Roana smiled, moving in for a gravy-laced kiss with me.
"Gletilegt jól, felagi minn," I replied.
We held that kiss for a good long time as the festivities and feasting continued around us. I even forgot about the beef and gravy, for a while.
That first Yule, in the snow at the dragon caves, eating roast beef and some vegetables, with gravy covering it all, off a rough-cast pewter plate with nothing but a dagger, along with a simple mug of hot cider generously laced with mead—not to mention dessert later back at home in the bedding with Roana, under mistletoe of course.
It was the best Christmas I had ever known, but never dreamed I would have.