Chapter 24: Preparation for War
Hiccup woke, aching both inside and out. With a grunt, he sat up and stretched his body out, chasing away the phantom pains from the previous day's battle. He'd barely stayed standing after Fenrir's surrender: he'd locked his joints, practically propping himself up on his own bones, and only stayed conscious through sheer willpower and grit. Although he'd forced himself to keep an impressive-looking facade up, that last attack from the god had taken a toll on him.
Fenrir had interrogated him harshly about it, but there was a simple explanation. While training with Mjolnir, Hiccup had found something strange about their connection: the glow that allowed him to move the hammer seemed to surround him as well. Was his body a part of the weapon, or was it part of him?
It had been a risky gamble, but Hiccup had been convinced by the time he tried it―the scraps he used to augment his arm and leg were part of the same chains, after all. It turned out that he'd been right; the metal still had the same properties, although vastly weaker. Even fully charged from Fenrir's lightning, he couldn't freeze his arm in the air, and he couldn't release more than a weak charge.
Hiccup reached for his hammer, summoning it from the other side of the room. With it, he sent out a small stream of electricity into his leg, charging it to its limit as well. Even if it didn't seem to have much use, it was always better for him to be prepared. With it connected so directly to him, he felt it buzzing at the edge of his mind, while the hammer felt...different. It was connected to him, but in an unnatural way, like a muscle outside of his body.
Shrugging off the specifics, Hiccup turned to the side as Toothless bounded over to him. Hiccup saw the glowing crystals reflected in his eyes, but he was otherwise invisible, blended with the dark room around him. He held up his right arm and let sparks fly off it, enough to illuminate the dragon in front of him. With a smile, he gave his friend a hug. "I hope you're feeling alright after yesterday, Toothless." he murmured, unsure if the Night Fury would understand.
The two of them had taken a beating from Fenrir, and yet they had won. It was irritating how quickly the god had recovered, pestering the two of them for another fight before the moon had even risen. Even so, they had escaped in one piece. Now it was morning, and they had business to finish.
They made their way to Fenrir's cavern.
As Hiccup had expected, the god was lounging about, clearly feeling perfectly fine despite the fighting just the previous night. He looked down on the two of them and snorted, "Well here come the sore winners. And I do mean that with every ounce of cleverness, mind you." Once the two had beaten him the previous evening, Fenrir had changed from a cold mentor to something both more and less irritating―quick as flipping a switch. He didn't seem to be as outwardly hostile towards Hiccup anymore, but there was still an untrusting look in his beady eyes. At the very least, he seemed to acknowledge the pair's strength, and in result, had some newfound respect for them.
"Fenrir," Hiccup spoke, "I need to speak with you."
"I have questions for you as well, boy. Ask yours."
"Do I have a blessing?"
Fenrir raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing, prompting Hiccup to continue. "Well, even with Mjolnir, and even with Toothless," he gestured to the side, where the Night Fury was unceremoniously licking himself, "I can't imagine that we'd be able to beat you. You explained how you have a mortal body, but still have the strength of a god, so I assumed that I would've needed a blessing to―"
"You're rambling, boy." Fenrir cut him off. "But no. You have no blessing that I can detect. You simply managed to counter me at every turn: matching me in agility and firepower, then outmaneuvering me in tactics and abilities. I lost a fair fight."
Hiccup nodded. Although not fully convinced, he understood what Fenrir was getting at: Toothless was nearly on par with Fenrir, after being trained by him for months. Paired with Hiccup's ingenuity and his near-godly weapon, the two of them were a perfect counter for the god. Perhaps not a fair fight, but a challenge nonetheless.
"Now, I will ask," Fenrir lazily spoke with a sneer similar to the one he wore when he'd first met Hiccup. "What do you plan to do next? Fly headlong into Nidhogg's cavern to a fiery doom? Flee with your tail between your legs? Attempt to chain him down, leaving him to rot?" He said the last option with particular malice, and Hiccup felt a chill run down his neck. He had a good enough idea what had happened to Fenrir, for him to act that way towards even Nidhogg's imprisonment.
"Is there no way we could kill it?" asked Hiccup, "While I was in it's mind, I learned that there was no way to kill a god, but―"
"What?" snapped Fenrir. "There's no way to kill a god? Or rather, you learned from inside his mind that there is no way for him to be killed?"
"Ah...yes." Hiccup replied dejectedly.
Fenrir snorted. Hiccup looked up just in time to see the god roll over laughing, as if he had just heard the best joke since the worlds had been created. Even Toothless stared up in confusion at the great Skrill.
"Of course, of course," chuckled Fenrir. "That coward wouldn't know. He's never died. Not even once."
Turning to the two standing perplexed below him, Fenrir grinned wickedly. "He can be killed. It will take far more than just the three of us, but gods can be killed, just as any other living creature. Under different circumstances, I would not dare―but he believes he cannot be killed. This will breed carelessness, which will lead to weaknesses."
"It...really can be killed?" Hiccup nearly burst into tears. After so long of believing that he would never be able to fight Nidhogg, this new information shook him to his core. It felt like his first breath of fresh air in months. "I can't believe...wait, you said we? As in you and us?"
"Indeed. Since you two passed my test, I will work together with the two of you. But mark my words, boy, I will not do as you order me. I will fly alongside you, and I will not sully myself in petty squabbles that do not interest me. I will help you fight Nidhogg, and none others."
The shock must've been evident on Hiccup's face, because Fenrir snorted as he looked down on them. "Don't be too shocked, boy. Just one more won't be enough to beat down Nidhogg."
"Ah...right." Hiccup paused. "How will we fight it?" Fenrir raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Hiccup was done dodging the issue. Whatever the answer was, he would find a way to achieve it.
"We will need ten demigods at least, and even then half will die. An army to combat his brood. A surprise attack would be ideal, but with this scope, it would be near-impossible to pull off. All this for the chance to defeat a creature that has lived for millenia. Do you think you have what it takes, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock?"
He was silent. The bare minimum that Fenrir had laid out was surely more than Hiccup alone could accomplish. Even with the help of the Toothless and Fenrir, it would be hard to imagine even accomplishing half of the requirements. When controlled by Nidhogg, the pair had searched for months without finding any gods. But still, he held out hope.
"Is there a way for me―for us to do that? I…" Hiccup hesitated, fearing that Fenrir would refuse to help if he admitted his worries. Behind him, Toothless padded softly up to his rider. With a quiet nuzzle from behind, he looked up into the boy's eyes. Slowly, quietly, Hiccup felt determination grow inside him. He straightened his back and turned to Fenrir, then replied firmly, "I don't know how, but I will. Will you help me, Fenrir?"
"That's more like it." The god seemed satisfied, although Hiccup wasn't sure exactly why. "We don't need a weakling as a leader. Hold your head high, or you will be trampled like any other man. Remember that, boy."
Hiccup nodded solemnly, but Fenrir wasn't paying attention. He kept talking.
"It's difficult to find anyone with a blessing, but there are certain ways. What do you know of the Yggdrasil tree?"
"The...Yggdrasil tree?" Hiccup asked confusedly. Seeing Fenrir's impatient glare, however, pushed him to speak. "I know it's a great ash tree that heals those who eat it, and that it connects the nine worlds. Nidhogg lives―well, lived underneath it, and it―"
"That's enough. You're mostly correct, although that's not what I was looking for. Do you know where its roots lie?" When Hiccup didn't answer, the god continued. "It has three major roots: one in Midgard, one in Jotunheim, and one in Hel. In the lands of the humans, the giants, and the underworld. That's what the legends say, at least. The truth of the matter is, those were simply territories held by those living near the roots. And while the tree has long been dead, its roots live on. They draw demigods to those same lands. Whether it is purposeful or coincidence, I do not know. But blessings are far more commonplace near the roots."
Hiccup nodded, starting to understand what Fenrir was getting at. "So we'll be able to find demigods to help us at the roots? That's amazing! Where do we start?"
"I said we'd find those with blessings. I did not say we'd find suicidal demigods, boy. Tell me, would you be willing to pit your life against a god for no good reason?" Hiccup fell silent. The god had clearly thought out their plan farther than himself. Fenrir may not have named himself the leader, but the mind behind the assault was clear. "The Haven, for one. The root in the land of giants resides chiefly in that island. Do you think your mother, along with the rest of the demigods living there, will risk their peaceful lifestyles for this suicidal plot?"
"I don't…" Hiccup was speechless; the sheer amount of complexity that was being dropped on his head felt like an ocean, but it all could be condensed into one drop: it would be nearly impossible to recruit anyone. Behind him, Toothless growled softly.
Fenrir jumped off his spire, landing on the mist-slick ground next to Hiccup. "But we have our advantages too. First," The dragon gestured towards the pair, "we have the ability to recruit both humans and dragons. The potential for our army is greater than most. Second, we have two―perhaps two-and-a-half demigods." Fenrir grinned a sly smile, and Hiccup returned it, albeit weakly. "And even more so, we have you, boy."
"Me?"
"Yes, you. If you have the ability to make something as intricate as that arm, you can make war machines. Once we collect supplies, you will be worth nearly another full demigod." Fenrir nodded solemnly. "You'll have to make use of every talent you have if you want to come out of this alive."
Nodding assent, Hiccup said nothing. Ironically, knowing that he was needed in the grand plan in such a vital way reassured him. Fighting a god was one thing, but he knew mechanics like his own home.
"So, what do you want to do, boy? It's time to choose."
Hiccup paused. He thought back over the conversation, although it had been short, it felt far longer. So much information had been dumped onto him, and his mind was struggling to keep up. But one thing stood out more than any other―they needed demigods, and they needed an army. Hiccup glanced down at his right arm, still holding Mjolnir and exposed, mechanics free to see as they whirred and clicked.
And suddenly, it clicked in Hiccup's mind, as well.
"I know what we need to do. Just give me some time to prepare...and I'll need your assistance, Fenrir."
Berk was bursting at the seams.
The port was bloated with dozens of ships from tribes across the archipelago, although the majority belonged to the four other tribes from their last strategy meeting: the Bog-Burglars, the Berserkers, the Visithugs, and the Meatheads. Trade bustled more heartily than ever, and Berk had become even more of a hotspot for traveling merchants.
Past the docks, however, the town was pandemonium.
The Great Hall was overflowing with Vikings. Brawls were becoming a daily occurence―sometimes multiple times per day. Cooks were overworked, houses were overfilled and the smithy was a disaster. Gobber's ornery temper clashed with many of the new arrivals, and productivity was at an all time low.
In a lone house high on the mountain, Stoick was realizing just how terrible of a choice it was to host four extra clans on his portion of the archipelago. His headache hadn't let up for a week straight.
"I understand you aren't to blame for all of your men, but they've been worse than the Berserkers, Ivar!" Said Stoick gruffly.
"Just because our tribe is named Meatheads doesn't mean you can push us around, Stoick. My men are just restless."
"I―" Stoick started, impatience in his voice, but stopped as Bertha, the leader of the Bog-Burglar Tribe, interrupted.
"There's a difference between restless and destructive, Ivar. We're only weeks out. Can't you tell your men to keep to themselves?"
To be fair, the Meatheads were not the only problem. The Visithugs tended to cause small problems, like complaining that the food wasn't cooked, or property damage. The Bog-Burglars were thieves, as the name implied, but most residents of the island had either hidden or nailed down anything of value. The Berserkers were simply chaotic. The Meatheads were the most problematic, however, causing fights, barging into houses, and other generally boorish behavior that was expected of Vikings on enemy territory―but not on allied land.
"My men are restless," the tall man repeated, tracing a carved eye on the table with his fingernail. "We should leave now. No more preparation, no more talking. The demon cannot win against our combined prowess."
"It destroyed multiple villages. Along with an army of dragons, we cannot afford to underestimate it." Bjorn quietly said. He and his Visithug tribe had been the first to find the survivors, and he had been quietly feuding with Ivar since he had arrived.
Stoick and Bertha sighed in tandem, watching the two subtly argue with each other. The tension was pulled tight like a muscle, and the four figures were stone-still. A cold silence settled over the room, despite the warm crackling of the hearth.
"Hiccup really had nothing interesting going on, eh?"
Dagur poked his head down from the room that had been Hiccup's, with a wide, fake grin stretched across his face that cut the tension like a fire through the woods. The four leaders' heads turned towards him, and Stoick's expression darkened. "Don't disrespect my son, Dagur. Leave his memory to rest."
"With a look like that, how could I refuse?" Dagur's tone was light, almost pleasant, but his grin stayed just as fake. Jumping down the stairs, he slid out the door with an easy gait. With him, he took the tense mood, leaving only four tired chiefs.
"I'll speak with my men," said Ivar, standing. "But remember what I said. The sooner we leave, the better." Bjorn nodded, heading for the door as well.
The two left, and Stoick slumped into his chair facing the fire; Bertha pulled up a chair next to him. For a few minutes, the popping of the hearth was the only sound, punctuated by a soft scraping as Stoick fiddled with the poker.
"I'm not suited for this type of...alliance work, Bertha. I'm past my prime, and all the other chiefs know it. I need to find myself someone to pass on the title to." Telling this to any of the other chiefs would be, at least in the social sense, suicide. But Bertha was an old friend, and no matter the questionable ways her tribe tended to do things, he felt safe confiding in her.
"I know. If it makes you feel any better, I'd be doing worse; at least you have some respect from them."
Stoick chuckled weakly. "I'm considering two of our rising generation, Tuffnut Thorston and Astrid Hofferson. I've had them around, sometimes in on the chief meetings. I'm sure you've seen them." Bertha nodded. "I just don't know if either of them is ready. Tuffnut is brilliant, but he's not particularly well-liked. His strength is lacking as well. Astrid, on the other hand, is the opposite―she reminds me of myself, ten, maybe twenty years ago. All teeth and muscle, not willing to stop to think. Not to say that she's not intelligent, but…"
"Reckless?" prompted Bertha. "When I think of the feats you used to pull off, that's the word that comes to mind."
"Well, she's certainly strong, that's no question. But having to choose at all is...unpleasant." The Chieftainess said nothing. She knew just how hard it was on Stoick―she had seen just how long it had taken for him to recover after losing Valka. Losing his son as well, she could only imagine. Her own daughter was close to what Hiccup's age had been, and losing her would be the worst thing she could imagine.
As a sharp crack burst from a log in the fire, Stoick sighed. Not a tired, sad sigh, but a sigh from a man who had been carrying a burden for far too long. "Thank you for listening, Bertha. It means more than you would know."
"Anytime, old man."
"Hey now, you're older than me, aren't you?"
"That's not something you ask a lady, Stoick!" laughed the gigantic woman, giving him a very unladylike punch on the arm. After a moment, she continued, "anyways, I'm always willing to lend an ear. Ever since Valka was taken, you were never quite the same."
Stoick grunted in response. Then, after a moment of silence, he murmured, "Was I...did I do enough for Hiccup? I worry I didn't, but I don't think I'd change what I did."
Bertha shook her head. "Don't ask yourself that now, Stoick. You'll tear yourself apart." She stood, and Stoick followed suit after one last adjustment of the remaining embers. "Let him live on in your memory, and hope that he went out fighting. At least that way you'll see him in Valhalla."
The two walked out and stopped for a moment to stare down upon the town. From where they stood, the houses looked like little building blocks, the people like specks moving about. The grass seemed a duller green than it normally did―but then again, everything had since Hiccup had disappeared. A mass of clouds approached the island, dark and full of anger, and the ocean faded to a dark blue underneath it.
"It's going to storm."
"A good night for it."
The two walked down the mountain against a wind of light raindrops. They passed groups of Vikings, some of whom greeted the two Chiefs warmly. Others simply scowled or ignored them. It seemed that Ivar's message had gotten around.
After a brief visit to the smithy, where Gobber was stewing in his own anger over the sheer impossibility of sharpening every blade on the island with only one full arm, the two made their way to the Great Hall. By the time they arrived, rain had begun to pound, and lightning shot across the sky. They opened the doors and slammed them shut once they were through. As always, the hall was packed to the brim: no seating available, and barely any good standing room either.
Both bonds and rivalries had formed over the slow arrival of the outside tribes. The Visithugs often found themselves eating with what was left of the Thorston clan; Stoick noted Tuffnut sitting in the middle of a large group of them. The Bog-Burglars, on the other hand, seemed to idolize Astrid, and by extension were friendly with the Hoffersons. Stoick didn't see many of the women around, which worried him. The look on Bertha's face didn't help.
A chunk of the Ingerman clan seemed to be trapped in an argument against some of the Berserkers, Dagur included. Tori Ingerman, a prime candidate for taking up their clan's leadership, wasn't backing down in front of the different tribe's chief. Just because she was a student of Gothi's didn't mean she was spineless, that was for sure.
Finally, the Jorgensons found themselves overpowering half the room with their scuffles―against the Meatheads, of course, who were fighting back just as hard. The Jorgenson clan had become insufferable since Hiccup had disappeared, and their constant clashing with the Meatheads hadn't helped Stoick's headache. A quick look around showed no sign of Ivar.
Stoick, grumbling under his breath, stomped over to the commotion―which had already begun to settle down a bit, after some of the participants noticed him. Shoving people out of his way, he reached the center of the fighting. With hands like bear traps, he separated the fighters and glared at them. First the Meathead, who withered like a child under his glare. Then the Jorgenson.
With a sigh, he said, "I told you that this behavior would no longer be tolerated, S―"
But Stoick never got to finish the thought. All of a sudden, it seemed that the sky had broken loose, full of lightning and the drums of Valhalla.
First, with a screech and a flash of light that blinded every Viking in the room, the roof burst open. Not all over, but simply at one point, directly above the hearth. The sturdy wood tore like straw, opening to a dark sky.
Second, something landed in the hearth. The fire had been jumping about with the vitality of a dragon, but it was snuffed out like a candle in that bright moment, throwing plumes of ash high into the air and across the hall.
Third, a push of wind and a tumble of thunder rolled through the room. The doors swung open, and it seemed almost as if the wind rippled out of them, splitting the clouds of ash. As the Vikings' eyes recovered and the ash settled, they saw two creatures as if straight from their myths. One was a Skrill, large as any dragon most had ever seen before, surrounded by lightning and swirling black clouds. Dagur and the Berserkers especially felt their eyes drawn to it, but even that was not the most shocking thing to be seen.
Kneeling in the hearth, was a tall, masked figure wearing dragon-scale armor of many colors. In its hand, a hammer was sparking with electricity. It stood, then searched the room with cold eyes.
"Vikings!" it boomed with an unfamiliar voice. "I have come to request your assistance!"
Hiccup's plan had gone perfectly.
He'd packed up the few belongings he'd brought to Fenrir's caverns, and the trio had set off by midday. With a few discreet pit stops, Hiccup had found that nearly half of the fighters were gone from both the Bog-Burglar and Berserker tribes. The next closest was Berk. His old hometown.
Before they'd even arrived, it was obvious. From high in the sky, they could see ships from the Bog-Burglars and Berserkers, as well as the Meatheads and Visithugs fishing on Berkian waters. Either there was an alliance that had formed in the past year-and-a-half that Hiccup had been gone, or Berk had been taken over by its neighbors.
Hiccup doubted either was possible, but seeing Berkian ships in the water fishing alongside the other tribes seemed to point to the alliance.
The three landed in the woods, gliding quietly into the cove. From that point on, the three separated. Toothless set off to observe the town, using his newfound camouflage to hide in plain sight. Hiccup busied himself going through his books, metal scraps, and the like from before he had been abducted. There were signs of use that he didn't remember leaving, and he hoped it had been the Thorston twins, not some thick-headed Viking who would tear through his collection like a typhoon. Fenrir, helpful as ever, found a nice patch of grass to take a nap on.
It was a rush of nostalgia, flipping through his old books. Even though the most important information had been memorized and utilized years ago, the smell of the parchment and the texture of the cover brought Hiccup back. For a bit, he simply allowed himself to relive some memories, both good and bad. Something about Berk was simply different, even compared to the strangeness of Fenrir's caverns and the Haven.
The blueprints were most helpful, however. After going through his books, he turned to the wall above his smithy, where he had hung his original plans for the dragon-scale armor. While his current armor may have been more technologically advanced, his old drawings had certain quirks he could take advantage of, especially with a real furnace and anvil.
Finally, after sifting through the last of his scraps and papers, he allowed himself some rest. It was not the most comfortable nor the most satisfying, but Hiccup found a place to rest his eyes.
While Hiccup had been sorting through his old materials, Toothless had been making his rounds through the town. He cut through the air like a scream, but soft as a breath. With wide eyes, he watched Vikings moving about through Berk.
While the Night Fury knew a bare minimum of the individual Vikings, he still had two important missions. From Hiccup, his task was to observe, to watch the ebb and flow of the different clans. The Great Hall, the smithy, the harbor. Even without knowing who was who, he could observe the social situation. From Fenrir, he had a test.
"Find the Vikings on the island with blessings."
It was more difficult than simply seeing that mystical light inside someone. With the sheer amount of Vikings on the island, and the apparent rarity of the blessings, it was like trying to find a single grain of sand on a beach made of glass. But Fenrir had confirmed to him that at least one was on the island, so Toothless searched.
As the day went on, the shadows grew longer, and Toothless returned to the cove. He hadn't yet found any demigods, but he had suspicions―after all, Fenrir had once said that leaders tended to be blessed. But something threw his nose off, like a faint but pervasive odor that sank into the bones of the Vikings. He would find them. It would just take time.
Finally, as the sun began to set, Hiccup set his plan into motion. Fine-tuned by the information that Toothless brought back, there was nearly no chance of failure. First, Fenrir was sent away, far enough that the Vikings wouldn't see him, and was to whip up a storm. It wasn't hard, according to the Skrill, but it was an irritating process, and would take some time. After another hour of waiting, the dark clouds had begun to march towards Berk.
Making sure he had his armor on correctly, Hiccup mounted Toothless. The two shot off into the clouds, disappearing as they were enveloped. Below them, the rumblings of thunder reverberated, but above the clouds was a peaceful scene. The slowly setting sun seemed to set the tops of the clouds aflame.
"You ready, Fenrir?"
"Of course."
"Toothless?"
The dragon gave a lopsided grin.
Hiccup took in a deep breath. His heart was pounding―no matter how he imagined the plan unfolding, he couldn't help his nervousness. But he steeled his heart behind a stony expression. Now was not the time to falter.
"Alright. Fenrir, you're first."
With a grunt, the Skrill glided down into the clouds. They began to rumble even more as lightning began sparking across their surfaces. Hiccup attempted to absorb more lightning into his arm and Mjolnir, but he was at his limit. He knew that he had been, of course, but his nerves were practically jumping out of his skin by now.
"Now, Toothless."
With a flap of now-invisible wings, Toothless pushed them up, then shot down through the clouds like a bullet. As the two burst out of the cloud cover, whipping past Fenrir, Hiccup identified the Great Hall and flung his hammer at it. He aimed above where he knew the hearth would be, the smoke-hole a fair enough target. The two followed the hammer's trajectory, and the lightning focused around them, courtesy of Fenrir.
They struck the roof in an explosion of light and wood splinters. Mjolnir landed first, thankfully only hitting the fire. A moment later, Hiccup was deposited just on top of the hammer, and Toothless sped off. Despite his camouflage, he left a path through the ash clouds that, hopefully, no Viking would pay enough attention to notice.
Hiccup stood slowly. Above him, Fenrir writhed through the air, putting on a lightshow that no Viking could have ever imagined. The sky was dark and rain pounded down like fists. Around him, the Great Hall was filled to the brim with Vikings, many of whom he did not recognize. Dagur the Deranged gawked at the Skrill in the stormy sky, and Stoick the Vast stood in the center of the crowd, but for a moment, the whole room was silent. Inside his armor, Hiccup's heart beat like a hammer on metal. With a cold look around the room, he spoke.
"Vikings!" he boomed in a deep voice. "I have come to request your assistance!"
Hiccup's plan had gone perfectly. He just hadn't quite anticipated the avalanche of Vikings scrambling, shouting, and groveling at his arrival.
Tuffnut's day had been going surprisingly well, considering how quickly his days could be turned from good to bad. He'd harassed some Meatheads, had a conversation with Fishlegs, who was becoming more and more reclusive each day, and was having a meal with some of the Visithugs he had become friends with.
But suddenly, his day went from good to great. And it all was due to an old friend's return.
Blinking away the spots in his vision from the flash of light, he stared at the figure standing in the crushed embers of the hearth. He was not large by Viking standards, but as he straightened up and looked around the room, the crowd seemed to shrink.
"Vikings!" boomed the figure with an oddly familiar voice. "I have come to request your assistance!"
The effect was instantaneous. A third of the Vikings bowed or kneeled, assuming they found any space to do so in the jam-packed hall. Even more brandished their weapons and shouted with voices more than a little nervous. Only a select few kept their heads about them.
"Magnificent" murmured Dagur, staring up at the Skrill. The frantic lightning had begun to subside, although some streaks still zigged across the sky. The Skrill, illuminated by static rippling across its skin, almost seemed to have a proud expression in response.
"Who are you?" asked Stoick sternly, the quarrel he had previously been dealing with forgotten. He stepped forward, to the edge of the crowd. A little ways away, Bertha followed suit. "Why have you come?" Although his voice was stern, there was an air of reverence in his tone. It was clear that this figure was something beyond them.
"Ragnarok nears, my friend." it could've been Tuffnut's imagination, but the figure seemed to stutter for a brief second, calling Stoick a friend. "I have come to recruit the strongest and the best of you."
"The demon?" A whisper bounced about the room, and the figure heard it. He cocked his head.
"The attack on the villages, uh, sir?" one of the Visithugs at Tuffnut's table offered. The figure turned to stare at them, and the young Viking froze in place. When the silence seemed to stretch, he added, "Ah, well, a few months back, a bunch of villages were destroyed by a demon riding a Night Fury. Is that related, sir?"
For a moment, the room was still. The figure nodded slowly. "It may well be, my friend. It may well be." The words seemed pained, and the crowd became restless.
"You have yet to tell us who you are." said Stoick evenly. "Are you perhaps a God, or a Valkyrie here to announce the coming war?"
"I am Thor. God of thunder, defender of Asgard. If any doubt me, state your name and step forward."
The room was frozen once again, but the Vikings buzzed with excitement. A god in the flesh, in front of them? This would be a story worth telling.
"Lord Thor, I don't mean to doubt, but could you show us proof that you truly are a god? Demons are notoriously tricky, and in our legends, Loki often disguises his true form." This time, it was Bertha who had spoken.
"And you are?"
"Chieftess Bertha of the Bog-Burglar tribe, my Lord."
"Very well." Thor stepped out of the hearth, tracking ash onto the floor. The crowd parted around him like grass in the wind. Reaching a place he deemed suitable, he placed his hammer on the ground. For a moment, static shimmered around it. "My hammer, Mjolnir. Forged by dwarves in Svartalfheim. I trust you will find it as immovable as the legends say."
With a respectful bow, the giant woman knelt down and gripped the hammer firmly. With a grunt, she strained to lift it―but after a few seconds, gasped and shrugged. Standing up, she nodded respectfully at Thor. Stoick approached the hammer as well, but to no further avail.
"Is that proof enough?"
Dagur, for the first time since seeing the Skrill, interjected. "No. That hammer may be magic, but you could still be fooling us. The demon rode a Night Fury, but who's to say there was no Skrill involved either?"
"What is your name?"
"Dagur. The Deranged, if you wanted my title."
"I will remember that, my friend." The word friend seemed to be said with an undertone of malice, this time. Regardless, Thor reached out his hand, and the hammer flew into it, eliciting some startled jumps around him. Placing Mjolnir next to his foot, he slid a small knife out of a hidden sheath on his right arm, then reached out his left hand. Holding the knife in his right, he cut into the fabric covering his palm, and an orange, glowing liquid flowed out.
"Ichor. Blood of the gods. I wounded myself for you, Dagur the Deranged. Pray that your fortune stays."
It was at this point that Tuffnut finally put the pieces together. The figure, the voice, the scale armor had all seemed so familiar. But until now, it had been an enigma. The dagger he had used to cut his hand, however, was different. He recognized the craftsmanship, the type of blade.
It was the same as the ones Hiccup had used. It was a shot in the dark, but…
"Lord Thor!" shouted Tuffnut abruptly, drawing the eyes of practically half the island onto him. "How can we be of assistance to you?" The figure turned to stare at him, and Tuffnut stared back, hoping to find some resemblance behind the mask.
"I will recruit the strong to fight alongside me. Those who have trained to their peak, or those blessed by the gods. I will not stay, but I will return. Those who wish to prove themselves to me will find it in themselves." Lightning began to flash across the sky again, and the wind began to pick up. "Best of luck, Vikings."
The doors burst open again, and in a flash of light, Thor disappeared as quickly as he had arrived. Shouts and confusion broke out all around the hall. Tuffnut grinned to himself, even as the pandemonium erupted.
This time, he had been quick enough to shield his eyes from the light, and he had seen something whip through the doors. It had been nearly invisible, but not quite perfectly. It had flown over the Viking horde, snatched the figure, and darted out the hole in the roof all as the crowd had been blinded.
His gut told him that tonight would be a good night to investigate the cove.
And its done! Hopefully you all liked this chapter. I know it took forever to get out, but a combination of writers block and absolutely no time will really kill your story. No specific mythology to add, although I feel that it might be good to mention that some things "mythology" will not be in the actual norse myths. It's a combination of my own narrative plus the lore. Anyway, let me know how you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading!