Hiccup collapsed to his knees, gripping his head as lances of pain pierced his mind. Memories came flashing back. The dwarven palace. Walking down the deepest tunnels, hewn from the rock. But not down. Up. Someone had tunneled to the surface, not into the depths. The soft glow of runes lightning his path. The gate. The Forge of Souls. The spirits of the Twelve. The little girl, so much like him. Twelve. Twelfth.
Tólfti.
Hiccup's eyes snapped open, his memory whole once more. He was in a spherical room that glowed every hue of the sunset. Beautiful oranges and yellows, pinks and reds. It was the Forge of Souls, one of the twelve chambers.
But it was not his chamber. This chamber was like the dawn; the rising sun heralding the new day. His chamber was like the dusk; the fading light embracing the calmness of the night. This was… "Thridi," Hiccup called out.
The air wavered, and the spirit of the Third appeared to him. She favored him a small smile. She was the most beautiful of all the dwarven maidens. Eternally young, in the prime of her life. She wore her brown hair in a long, intricate braid that fell to the small of her back. Verdant green eyes, so full of life, held his own. She was garbed in a set of silvery mail, wielding a two-handed greataxe. On her back, an echo of feathery white wings fluttered in the wind, nearly invisible to the eye. "You have returned, I see," she said in greeting.
"Why am I here? Where is Tólfti?" Hiccup demanded.
Thridi chortled throatily. "Who cares about her? The important thing is, you're here now," she sing-songed.
"Where. Is. She?" Hiccup grit out. He was not in the mood to play games with this child in a woman's body.
Thridi giggled. "Why are you so devoted to her, anyway? You're the greatest warrior to ever walk these halls since their creation, and I'm the greatest warrior of the Twelve. You should have chosen me," she said.
Hiccup grinned, baring his teeth. "You would never have been able to fulfill my wish," he snapped at her. "Nor I, yours."
"A pity," Thridi confirmed with a nod.
"Then why am I here?" Hiccup asked, again.
Thridi sighed. "You're here because Annarr fears for your… sanctity," she said, with some thought. "You've always been drawn taut, ready to snap at any moment. First, with the elven magic holding you in their form. Then, taking Loki's blood into your own. Now, there is a darkness in you that not even we can cleanse."
"And?" Hiccup asked, pointedly. "I can still use the Forge. My physical condition has never harmed my soul. If anything, it is stronger now than ever," he said, thinking of Astrid. Two souls were more powerful than one, after all.
"Your physical form would shatter if you attempted to use the Forge," Thridi informed him. "You are tainted by the shadow of the old ones."
"That is why I came here," Hiccup quipped. He already knew he was in perilous waters.
"... What you seek, what you wish to endow upon Tólfti, it would come at great cost. To you, and to her," Thridi warned.
"The greatest power requires the greatest sacrifice, isn't those the words your mother likes to tout?" Hiccup replied.
"You are determined to see yourself undone, aren't you?" Thridi snapped at him. How he could throw away his potential was beyond her. Hiccup just smirked, in a way that infuriated her. How little, whiny Tólfti had ensnared him would be forever beyond her understanding.
"I will not die, not from this. Not from what ails me. Not ever," Hiccup said with conviction. He could feel Tólfti calling to him. He turned, walking away from Thridi. A portal in the walls of the room opened, revealing a calming twilight lit by the faintest rays of the dying sun.
"May your fire never die," Thridi bid in goodbye, fading to nothing. She had other visitors to entertain, after all.
The Twelfth chamber was as he remembered it. The sky was dark above him, a faint orange-pink light illuminating the clouds. Silver stars danced in the heavens, barely visible. The room glowed with a peacefulness that Hiccup had come to associate with the dusk. It started with his friendship with Toothless, a creature of the night, and ended with Tólfti, the last of the twelve to awaken in the shadow of the dwarven sun.
And then, she was there. It was Allr'bani, smaller, younger. More a child than the woman he had come to associate with the spirit of his sword. And yet, it was strangely fitting. Echoes of memories he had forgotten came back to him.
"And so, you must choose," the old woman, Annarr, had told him. "One of us, to fulfill your wish, and to fulfill ours. Choose wisely."
Then she was gone. They all were. All but her. A little dwarven girl, no older than ten. Thinking back, Annarr had introduced her as Tólfti, the Twelfth and Last. She was all alone, curled up on the floor with her knees tucked under her chin. Silvery hair obscured her face, but Hiccup could hear the distinctive sound of sobbing.
Hiccup didn't know what Tólfti was crying for, but he knew what it was like to suffer alone. He had years of experience, on Berk. So, he silently joined her on the ground, sitting close, offering his support. He couldn't be sure how long he—they—sat there. Time was meaningless in this realm, this limbo, between the realms of the living and the dead. It could have been ten minutes. It could have been ten thousand years.
Eventually, Tólfti's sobs subsided. She tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her hair was radiant, Hiccup thought. Like starlight. Fitting, for a child of a Norn. Blessed with the hair of the heavens. She sniffed, wiping at her nose and eyes in an attempt to appear presentable.
Still, they sat, remaining silent. Hiccup knew that if she wanted to talk, she would. He had all the time in the world, here. After what seemed to be an age, Tólfti spoke. She was soft spoken, her tone low. Almost as if to whisper, so she would not draw the eye or ears of others.
"Who are you?" Tólfti asked.
Hiccup considered giving his assumed name. He had spent the last three months training with Narfi and Loki, and answered only to it. But here, he was not Vrangr Lokison. Neither, really, was he Hiccup Haddock. But it felt like the right thing to say. "Hiccup," he said.
Tólfti giggled. "That's a funny name," she said.
Hiccup smirked. "I know," he replied. "It's a... tradition, my people have. Not a very good one."
"... I'm Tólfti," she introduced herself. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to use the Forge," Hiccup answered.
Tólfti's eyes widened in childish awe. "But, why are you here then?"
Hiccup's brows narrowed. "Here? Here where? This is the Forge," he said.
"Here," Tólfti said, gesturing to everywhere. "My chamber of the Forge. No one chooses Tólfti. No one likes Tólfti. Not even the other Twelve."
"That's not true," Hiccup stated. "I like you."
Tólfti looked up at him, mouth parted in a silent gasp. "R-Really?" she asked, lower lip trembling.
"Really," Hiccup confirmed with a reassuring nod.
Tólfti drew within herself, tucking her knees under her chin again. Hiccup saw the rise and fall of her shoulders as she cried. He reached over to, intending to apologize for offending her, when he caught her expression through her silvery hair. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but her lips were not curved down in sadness. But up, in happiness.
Hiccup withdrew his hand, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips upwards. "We're a lot alike, you know. No one liked me where I came from either. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Useless, they called me," Hiccup said.
Tólfti giggled despite her tears. "And you thought my first name was bad," Hiccup quipped. Both of them laughed at that.
The two of them descended into companionable silence for a time, each just happy to be in the other's presence. "They don't like me because I'm weak," Tólfti confessed. "I'm not strong, like the others. Not skilled. I can't fight. I can't use magic. I have no craft to practice. My only use was to be used to build this place."
"You know," Hiccup said. "I wasn't liked for the same reasons. I couldn't fight. Couldn't use magic—I didn't even know what it was, at the time. My people thought it was myth. I had a craft, but everything I made always seemed to go wrong."
"Your people can't do magic?" Tólfti asked.
"Well, yes—I'm human—but neither can yours," Hiccup stated.
"The dwarves?" Tólfti asked. Hiccup nodded. "We used to, a long time ago. We Twelve were beings of magic. But our children never had as much as we did. Every generation weaker than the last."
"What is Midgard like?" Tólfti asked suddenly, previous topic forgotten. "When I was born, Midgard was still young and primordial. Humans are so rare!"
Hiccup smiled sadly and described the world of his birth to her. She had a look of wonder on her face as she stared into the distance, imagining the plains of grass, the towering mountains, and the endless oceans. "I wish I could see it," Tólfti admitted.
Hiccup made his decision. "You can," he said softly. "What is your wish?"
He heard her breath catch in her chest, her entire body going still. Hiccup saw the muscles of her little jaw flexing, as if she was trying to muster the strength to speak.
He waited.
Eventually, she spoke. "... I," Tólfti said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. "I want to be loved. To have a family who cares."
"What is your wish?" Tólfti asked him.
Hiccup was quiet for a time. What did he want? Truly want? "I... I want the power, the strength, to be happy. A second chance at life. To be loved, to have a family who cares," he said, echoing her words. "The power to make dream, reality."
Tólfti smiled brightly. "We can be each other's family. The first of many," she said, extending a hand to him.
Hiccup smiled. "Yes, we can," he said, taking her hand. It was not solid. It was wispy and incorporeal, and he felt a warmth seep into his bones, the very core of his being, consuming all that he was.
And then she was gone.
But Hiccup knew he was not alone. "Then," Tólfti said, her voice echoing from somewhere within him. "I shall help you. You grant my wish, and I grant yours."
"Yes," Hiccup swore. Magic, older than the bones of the world itself, whirled all around them, distorting time and space.
"The Forge allows one to smith themselves an object of power, housing one of the Twelve within them. It is a Soul Magic, greater and more powerful than all the others. The enchantments we forge are powerful beyond words: there is no way to describe them, in this or any tongue," Tólfti explained, the Forge of Souls growing molten in temperature. The walls of the chamber glowed with power and a heat that was not of the living.
"You are only limited by your imagination, and your sacrifice," Tólfti instructed.
"Sacrifice?" Hiccup echoed.
"There is a power in sacrifice. In self-sacrifice. To willingly give up something important to you; to destroy it. The more important the essence of what you sacrifice is, the stronger the enchantments," Tólfti said. The heat of the Forge was becoming unbearable. Hiccup felt his skin blister and turn to ash; his bones glowed a cherry red.
And yet, he felt no pain. "I—I brought metal with me, from the heavens," Hiccup stammered out, his nerves going wild. Whatever was happening, it was disturbing him greatly. "A gift from the elves, the first gift I've been given. It is rare, and powerful."
Tólfti nodded, a gesture Hiccup saw within, not without. "A good sacrifice, but not enough for what you desire," she stated.
Hiccup went through the things he could give up. Important things. The most obvious was his connection to Toothless. But he could never consider that. The next, his newfound family; Loki, Narfi, and even Hel and Fenrir, odd as they were. Even little Váli was warming up to him. Not them, either, Hiccup decided.
So what else? All he had was his previous life. He didn't feel anything for the Order of Dragon Knights. It stung, Hiccup realized, how little he cared for in life. And how little in life cared for him. All he had was Midgard... and Berk. "My home," Hiccup gasped. It was his home, he realized. When he opened his eyes every morning, he always felt lost. He didn't wake up in a wooden hut, with knotted timber that let the wind in at night. He didn't wake up to his heavy desk, covered in parchment and ink. He didn't wake up to the smell of meat wafting from the Great Hall, nor the sound of seagulls squawking from the docks. He didn't even wake up to the sounds of the hustle and bustle of villagers going about their daily lives.
And, whenever, he woke up, he expected to have all that. And he didn't. In his heart, Berk was still his home. "My home," he said again, more sure in his convictions.
"Are you sure?" Tólfti asked.
"Yes," Hiccup grunted. He existed only as heat and fire now, an emerald flame that licked and burnt to nothing everything it touched. His anger—his hate—for the world, laid bare.
"The Forge will take it from you, all of it. Never again will it be your home, in your heart. The memory of what you once had will linger, torturing you, tempting you. But your heart will remain barren and void," Tólfti warned, one last time.
"Yes," Hiccup screamed, the flames beginning to turn inwards, consuming him.
Tólfti smiled, sending a soothing emotion coursing through his being. "Your sacrifice is strong, Hiccup. The Forge will see your will made reality," she said.
And then she was gone, along with the heat and fire. Hiccup opened his eyes, alone in the Twelfth chamber. He felt drained of everything; his magic, his strength, his vitality. And he felt a coldness in his heart, as if he was lost, adrift amongst the sea.
He knew. The Forge had taken Berk from him, forever. He remembered what it felt like to love his home, to so desperately wish for their acceptance. To just be one of them. And now, he couldn't find even the faintest lingering attachment to the place of his birth. He felt... empty.
Sitting up, he groaned as his "physical" body—if you could even call it that—protested. His eyes widened in disbelief and solemn awe at what was in front of him.
It was the most beautiful sword he had ever seen. Blacker than even Toothless' hide, it was as if the night sky had been given physical form in the blade. A crossguards of unearthly, heavenly silver guarded the hilt, with a pommel of the same metal capping it. An emerald, so pure that it appeared translucent, was set in the pommel. It was cut so perfectly, that Hiccup didn't think it could have been chiseled by hand or magic. Surely, it was of the making of the gods. A scabbard, the same color as the blade, rested next to the sword. It was silken, like cloth, yet had the texture of wire, as if it was made of millions of tiny threads forged from the same metal as the sword.
Hiccup's mouth felt dry. He felt unworthy to be in the sword's presence, and yet, it called out to him. It told him to take it—her—and go forth. To bring both of their hopes and dreams to the world. His addled mind provided him the memories. Tólfti and their pact. Hiccup knew that the little dwarven girl was within the sword, and he knew that, somehow, the meteorite from Alfheim that he had stored in Toothless' saddle was gone.
He stood, walking over in a ritualistic, worshipful gait; like a priest bowing before the altar. Grasping the hilt, he felt a shiver of power course through his body, like lightning. Hiccup could feel the fire within the sword, just waiting to be unleashed on the world. The fire that he had been, all consuming. Devouring all that was. And he could feel Tólfti within, but not the Tólfti that was, the Tólfti that is.
"Father," a quiet, cold voice whispered from within.
"Tólfti," Hiccup answered. He could tell she was happy, and smiling, even though he knew swords could not smile.
The Twelfth chamber faded, forever darkened. Its spirit was no longer housed there. Two doorways of black stone spiraled out of nothingness. "It's time to go back," Tólfti said.
Hiccup nodded, picking up the scabbard and sheathing Tólfti within. He held the sword reverently, not daring to let it rest on his belt just yet. He walked with lethargic steps towards the gate that led back to the palace; the way from which he had came. "No," Tólfti said. "Journey through the city of what we have lost," she bade, directing him to the other gate. Beyond, laid the Necropolis.
He nodded and turned on his heels, heading for the other gate. Hiccup could feel a great sadness from Tólfti, emanating from the blade. A melancholy that he could not understand. "Tólfti? What's wrong?" Hiccup asked, even as he moved through the gate.
"Promise me you won't forget me," Tólfti begged him.
"Of course I won't," Hiccup said, with a small laugh. "We'll be together, forever. You're stuck with me now."
"... You won't remember this place, or me, when you leave," Tólfti informed him.
Hiccup's heart hammered in his chest as he flailed backwards, away from the gate. It was too late. He was already being drawn through, cast out of the Forge of Souls. "It's for our safety. If everyone knew... we would be in danger. Evil would seek us, to bend to their whims, or to destroy. Please, please," Tólfti begged. "Don't forget me. Don't make me be alone again. I can't go back!"
"I won't," Hiccup promised. "I won't, I won't, I won't—" he swore, over and over, like a mantra.
The only thing Hiccup knew when he stood above the Kingdom of the Damned was that he had gotten what he came for: a weapon beyond all imagining. He just knew.
Hiccup smirked, and set off to find Toothless. He had a world to conquer, in his father's name. A world to rule.
Tólfti wept.
"Tólfti," Hiccup whispered reverently. He remembered. He remembered everything. "Why? Why didn't I remember?"
Allr'bani—Tólfti—smiled sadly. "No one ever does, father," she said.
Hiccup swallowed. "Why did you revert forms?" he asked. She had changed, from the woman he first spoke to after awakening her true powers, to the echo of Tólfti after the antimagic disturbed her enchantments.
"The antimagic weakened me," Tólfti admitted. "It was easier to lose some of whom I had become, and return to a little of who I was."
"I won't forget, not again," Hiccup swore. He wouldn't.
Tólfti nodded. "I know," she said. She did.
"... I need to change your enchantments, Tólfti," Hiccup told her. There was no getting around it. She would have to be reforged. Changed. Made stronger. More powerful.
"I know," Tólfti said, with a small smile. "But the price will be great, you know. No one has used the Forge twice. What will you sacrifice?"
That was the question. He had so much more in his life now. Astrid, and their soul bond. That was absolutely not an option. Never. His bond with Toothless. Also something he was not willing to part with. His ties to his new family were stronger than ever. He would not part with them willingly. Loki, Hel, Fenrir, and Váli were a part of him, now.
So what else? His home was with Astrid now. He could not sacrifice his emotional attachment to his home, not when it was with her. Not like with Berk. That left so very, very little.
Thriddi's words came to him. How he had been warped so many times that he no longer knew what he truly was. His body was torn in every direction; Alfheim, Asgard, and Jötunheim. His shared heritage with Loki was a source of pride. His father had used his own blood to give him a vitality that allowed his body to heal from any wound. Allowed him to develop an affinity for ice magic.
And yet, in the grand scheme of things, it meant very little. His bonds with his family were not of the flesh, but of the spirit.
They would do.
Hiccup opened his mouth to answer Tólfti, but somehow, she knew. "It is not enough," Tólfti said, sadly. Not dear enough. The Forge would take it, but it would be the fee to use its fires once more. Nothing more, nothing less.
Hiccup's shoulders fell. That was all he had. All that he had, that he was willing to part with, anyway.
He... he could part with his illusion magic. It would weaken him, critically so. It would cut him from his connection to the Veil, but some instinctual, base part of him balked in fear at that. It told him he would die from it, surely. Slain by a foe when he needed its strength most, or consumed by the shadows in an instant. Both equally terrifying, both equally unacceptable.
"The soul," Hiccup whispered.
Tólfti gasped in horror. "Father, no!"
"It is the only thing I have, the second greatest thing I have. The power from its sacrifice would be... unimaginable," Hiccup thought. The soul was Eternal. It could be broken. It could be shattered. It could be cast to the farthest reaches of the realms of the living and the dead, and every world in between. But it could not be destroyed. If burned, its ashes would remain. If ground into nothing, its dust would remain. If severed from the whole, it would linger. In pain. In torment. In solitude. In darkness.
But it would linger.
It could not be destroyed.
Hiccup held out his hand.
Tólfti cried, reaching out with trembling arms. Her bottom lip quivered as her vision blurred; tears rolled down her cheek.
"Don't be sad, Tólfti," Hiccup bade her. "You've always had a part of me. Now, you'll have even more. You'll keep me safe. I know it."
As their fingertips brushed, Hiccup's world became heat and fire once more. As it was all those years ago, so it was again. There was nothing but the flame; emerald and crackling, all consuming, all devouring. Heat that scorched realms and sundered souls. And it was him. He gave the fire to Tólfti, and together, they Forged the sword that would stand above all others.
And so too was it like before. Hiccup awoke, alone, once more. The Twelfth chamber darkened, and Hiccup knew, deep in his being, that it would never awaken once more. And so too, like before, did he kneel reverently before the altar of Tólfti, in penitence.
Hiccup took up his sword once more, and felt a fire set his blood aflame. Power untold raged beneath his hands, contained within the blade of darkness he wielded before him. Upon the blade, just above the crossguards, was the rune for "Twelve"—a long line, crested with a triangle that had no base—etched into the metal for all time. A reminder, to him, and all those that came after him.
His blade was no sword. It was a person, a solemn vow between two losts souls, to grant the other their deepest desires.
"Tólfti," Hiccup spoke softly. The sword shivered from tip to pommel. He knew he would not forget her name this time.
In the Third chamber, Thriddi hissed, a painful grimace marring her fair features. Astrid looked at her in askance. Thor, in the Fourth chamber, rushed to Fjórdi's side as the man dropped to his knees. Loki rubbed at his ring finger, trying to assuage the burning he felt crawl up his hand. Atop his throne, Odin Allfather jerked back as lightning arced wildly between his hand and Gungnir. All felt the shadow of destiny upon them. Even Present, Future, and Fate turned their gaze to some unseen, hidden part of creation from which they felt a fire unimaginable. Unthinkable. A mythical flame that defied the First Laws.
—And the Heavens shall tremble— Hiccup declared. Or was it Tólfti? Perhaps both? Both, they decided.
Both.
A/N:
This chapter was supposed to include Astrid's Forging as well, but the length got away from me. Now, we know all about Allr'bani—Tólfti—and her history with Hiccup.
Next chapter! Astrid and her Forging, her reaction to Hiccup's new sword, as well as what Thor has been up to. Hiccup makes his move, and the final battle ramps up. Ending chapter prediction: 57? We're getting close. I'll try not to go too long between updates now that things are getting intense.
The rune on Tólfti's blade is the Tiwaz rune— ᛏ —, if you want to Google it. It's essentially an arrow that points up. In the Norse alphabet, numbers were almost always written out completely. For example, twelve would always be written as tólf (twelfth; tólfti). In very rare, special occasions, it was written as a numeral, using the rune of the first letter. In this case: Tiwaz, or "T", for twelfth.
Guest 1 — I'm aware of Alfheim's day cycle. It was an oversight, as mentioned in the following chapter's A/N. Just... think of it as Toothless blending into the shadow of Miotvior, instead of night.
Guest 2 — Frigg (Thor's mother) can "speak" to inanimate objects through a unique magic that only she possesses. It's sort of a genetic thing, if that makes it easier to understand. Loki's ring is, in fact, one of the Twelve. Nothing else could be that powerful.
As always, thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed. If you could leave a review, I'd appreciate it. We're almost to 900 followers, too! I never imagined that Hail to the King would get so many readers. I always dreamed that the number of followers for "success" was 1k, and I think, just maybe, we'll get there before the end!
- Musica
