Chapter 26: Back on Berk
The past few days had been the calmest Gobber had been able to enjoy in weeks. Thor's sudden arrival had shocked the island into a strange stupor, and a good portion of the island's residents had holed themselves up praying, training or simply waiting. The god had declared that he had come for the strongest, then disappeared just as quickly as he'd appeared. The massive fallout of that night had settled the island down, and Gobber was damn thankful for that.
He hadn't been at the Great Hall himself, but according to the chiefs there was no mistaking him. The storm itself, if it was to be believed that was Thor's doing, had been quite the impressive feat by itself. If the chiefs' testimonies were true, that only cemented the god's identity.
Since the meeting in the smithy, Gobber had been working on the gift for Thor: an ornamental sword. The god had no need for their weapons, clearly, so instead they would give him something symbolic. The sword was short and dull, but had inscriptions carved along its edge and an interlaced pattern along the side. Despite the short time he'd had to make it, Gobber was impressed with his work; it was a prototype and virtually useless as a weapon, but could've easily been an heirloom or dowry to any of the clans on the island.
This was the fourth morning since Thor's shocking appearance. In the calm, breath-holding silence of Berk, Gobber found his thoughts wandering as he made the finishing touches. As they always seemed to, they drifted back to his past. Back when he'd been an apprentice, when he still had all four limbs intact.
Berk had seemed so bright back then. Dragons attacked in waves, seasons beat at the island, and somehow the Vikings stood back up every time. As time had passed, there seemed to be a heavy gloom that sunk deep into the soil. It was quiet, but it pulled at the island's residents with an unwavering hunger. Vikings that had once been bright and honest were now sullen and angry, beaten down by years of the dark influence. Over years, Gobber had watched his island sink into itself.
Even Stoick, their undefeated leader, had changed. Whether or not he was aware of the same gloom as Gobber, Stoick had become jaded and pained. The once grand chieftain that had risen to the top of Berk's elite was still only human. Losing Valka, then Hiccup―Stoick had only the island left, and even that was threatened by this strange force.
Gobber sighed, redoubling his efforts on the inscription. Everything seemed to come back to Hiccup, as if losing the boy had lost a key piece to the island. The strange effect that his disappearance had resulted in had stretched across the island. More than that, however, he missed his apprentice. The boy had deserved better than he'd gotten, and he'd disappeared before he could've learned how much his father really cared.
Although he was no devout worshipper, Gobber said a quiet prayer to whatever gods might be listening. In a time where Thor himself had come to visit, it was certainly possible that they were.
A loud but muffled thump came from somewhere behind him, towards the front of the smithy. Gobber ignored it. It was late enough for the night patrols to be switching, but far too early for someone to come looking for a blacksmith.
A few beats of silence later, footsteps approached the Viking, each slightly louder than the previous. Gobber sighed and turned around.
Standing in the doorway was a surprisingly small figure. Although taller than Gobber by a hand, his stature was small. He was neither broad nor brawny, although the sleek scales of the figure's armor gave off a certain presence. In his left hand, a heavy-looking hammer was held loosely, as if it was just any common weapon.
It was Thor. Right in front of him.
"Ah, Lord―Lord Thor!" Gobber froze in a confused mix of awe and respect. He stood a little taller and wiped the tiredness off his face. "What, eh, brings you here?" He tried to keep the harsh accent out of his voice to some success.
Thor paused for a moment before answering. "I said I would return, did I not?"
"I mean, why are you here at my smithy, Lord?" Gobber shifted uncomfortably. It was a strange feeling: knowing he was standing in front of one of their gods but speaking to him like any other man. The image of Gothi beating him over the head with her cane for his rudeness appeared in his mind, and he nearly chuckled despite himself.
"Ah. No reason." Thor answered bluntly after a pause.
Silence stretched between the two of them.
"Er… should I alert the chieftains that you've come? I know they wanted to speak with you again..." Gobber probed.
"That won't be necessary. Simply lead me to them, and then we will discuss."
"Alright, then. Ah, would you allow me to put away my tools first, Lord?"
"Take your time."
Gobber stumped as quickly as he could to his desk. He wrapped the prototype sword with a rough cloth, then stored it away. His tools were deftly gathered and dropped into a drawer with a vague idea of delicacy. Finally, he twisted the engraving needle off his stump, replacing it with his best hook. Best, of course, was subjective, but at least it was clean and polished.
"Sorry to keep ye' waitin'," he apologized, thumbing his hook with nervous energy as his accent slipped out again. Thor was still standing outside the doorway, waiting silently. Gobber hobbled his way out, and the god followed him. A small crowd of early risers and late-night patrols had begun to form outside, scattered around the street corners across from the smithy. None were brave enough to approach Thor; whispers flitted about their heads as they stared.
"Ah, awfully sorry about that." said Gobber quickly. He beckoned one of his apprentices over from a clump of his students among the crowd. He hissed, "go get Tuffnut, then alert the other chiefs and their representatives―hurry!" She nodded wordlessly and ran off, grabbing the other apprentices to help her. "Now, I can bring you to see our chief, Lord Thor."
The dragon-scaled figure nodded silently. The two set off.
Most of the crowd scattered as they walked away; a brave few followed, but Gobber ignored them. They walked up the steep Berk hills towards the Haddock house in silence.
"Er, sorry, but didn't you come with a Skrill, sir?" Gobber blurted out as the silence grew too much for him.
Thor cocked his head but indifferently answered, "I did. What of it?"
"Well, I was wondering where it happened to be. I heard it was quite the sight."
"He's… around. Taking time to survey the island."
Gobber raised an eyebrow at that. Not out of suspicion, but worry: what if a Viking attacked it? An event like that would be sure to anger the god. "Are ye' sure it's safe?"
"Hmm?" Thor seemed to be surprised for a moment, then chuckled, "Oh, you mean for my Skrill? Perfectly safe."
Gobber decided to drop the question.
The rest of the walk was quiet, occasionally interrupted by Vikings in their path or Gobber pointing out a landmark of their island. It's hard being a gracious host, Gobber thought nervously, when the guest doesn't talk. Does he even want me to talk?
Finally, they came to the Haddock house―a solitary house of rough timbers and impressive but muted decoration. Three wooden dragon carvings arched over the door, and Gobber walked underneath them.
"Hold on a moment, Lord Thor. I'll fetch the chief." He turned to walk through the door, and Thor moved to follow him. "Ah, ye' don't…" He paused, then looked behind at the crowd that had tailed the two. It had dwindled, but there was still a sizable group staring up at the god with reverence. Would that bother him? He shrugged, "Eh, if ye' want to." and held the door open.
To the disappointment of the Vikings, Thor followed him in. The interior was scarcely decorated and messier than usual; there were weapons leaning in one corner, a half-finished meal on the table, and chunks of ash scattered around the hearth. It had clearly been lived in for quite some time. Gobber winced, turning to the god surveying the room. "I hope ye' won't judge our chief for this too harshly; he's been busy preparing. I'll bring him out now, if ye' don't mind."
When Thor gave no answer other than a curt nod, Gobber walked through a side door into Stoick's room. It was small and even more scarcely decorated than the rest of the house. Aside from the bed and a chest for his clothes, the room was practically empty. The bear of a chieftain lay snoring on his bed, and the blacksmith took a calming breath as he prepared to do one of the few things that scared him nearly as much as the wrath of the gods.
Waking up his chief.
He picked up the shield and mallet in the corner of the room and crept closer.
Hiccup was proud of the persona he was building as Thor. After some coaching from Fenrir on how to appear strong and aloof (something the Skrill seemed to do naturally) he'd been sent to reappear on the island. He was alone this time, although Toothless was no doubt creeping about nearby.
Acting godly was half silence, he'd learned. Simply listening and staring down those around him was enough to unnerve most. With cryptic answers to questions and the inexplicable lightning, there was barely a reason to suspect him.
All that was left was the gruff, standoffish persona that Hiccup had created with more than a little inspiration from a certain disagreeable god that he knew.
Being back on Berk, back in his own home, felt strange. Even though it had been just under two years, he had changed so much―both in body and in mind. All his memories felt as if they had all been seen through cloudy glass. Houses seemed smaller, the grass seemed greener, and the Vikings acted different.
That last one is probably because they think I'm a god, though.
In the silent room lit by morning sunlight squeezing through the gaps in the wooden walls, Hiccup walked over to the staircase. Up it was his room, bare as he'd always left it; anything important stayed in the Cove. His room in this house had only been a placeholder. But despite the neglect he'd gone through in this house, he was surprised by how nostalgic he felt.
Suddenly, a yell and a loud cracking of timbers came from his Stoick's room. Hiccup stiffened, then relaxed as Gobber stumbled out of the room fitting his fake tooth back in.
"He'll be out in a moment, Lord Thor," groaned the blacksmith. Once again, he was trying to remove his accent, Hiccup noted amusedly. "But he's worried that he's not prepared to meet you. So, eh…"
Standing silently as Gobber trailed off, Hiccup nodded. Clearly relieved, the grisly blacksmith bowed and rubbed his hook with an anxious hand as Hiccup walked out of his own house. The sun had risen since he'd entered, and he squinted as he walked out.
Once his pupils contracted and he could see again, he found himself face to face with an overly eager face. A moderately buff Viking about his age stood in front of him, wearing a helmet with curled horns and two nasty scars going underneath an eyepatch.
None of that was surprising. What was surprising was that it was―
"Snotlout Jorgenson, chosen of Odin himself at your humblest service, my Lord."
Hiccup stood silent, staring at the creature in front of him who claimed to be Snotlout. He wasn't sure what to think, but he remembered snippets from the night he'd left Berk. If he remembered correctly, he was the very one who had left those scars on his face. "I…see."
"It is not just I, Lord Thor. I have gathered all those willing to worship―as the most esteemed disciple of our town's sage, it was the least I could do." Hiccup looked, and there was indeed a significant crowd that had grown behind Snotlout. And not just Berkians; every clan besides the Berserkers were present. Snotlout fell to one knee. "Simply give the word, and we will give our lives for you."
Hiccup nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Snotlout Jorgenson. I will remember you." Obviously Snotlout was sucking up to him, but a disciple of Gothi? Chosen of Odin? Clearly more had changed than he'd realized.
Behind him, the door opened; Gobber stepped out and scowled at the crowd. "Snotlout, I told ye' to quit. Go back to the old hag's house and read some books, like ye're supposed to!" Stumping towards the mass, he caught Snotlout by the collar of his rough shirt and lifted him to his feet. He dragged the teen away from the house and barked orders at the surrounding Vikings, who quickly scattered.
"I'm sorry you have to see this, Lord Thor. Your sudden arrival has resulted in some disorder on my island. You have my apologies." A deep voice came from behind Hiccup, and he stiffened slightly in recognition.
"I take no offence to it, Chief Stoick. They are free to do as they like―but the boy called himself chosen of Odin? I would like to hear more about him."
Stoick sighed. "Please pay no attention to his ramblings, Lord Thor. He's…well, don't worry about him. It's nothing you should waste your time on. The Chiefs and our representatives should arrive soon."
Hiccup nodded silently and stood facing the town of Berk. Stoick was one of his frontmost worries; the more he talked to the great chief, the greater the chance the man would recognize his own son underneath the armor. The persona he built around him was a dangerously thin wall in front of the Chief.
The two stood in a tense, yet peaceful silence. The sun creeped over the ocean horizon and set burning waves towards the tall island of Berk.
It was not long before others began converging at the top of the mountain. First was the Bog-Burglars, a small procession of the muscular women. Bertha introduced herself again to Thor, then introduced their representative, Hilda Larsen. With respect nearing reverence, they joined the two in front of the Chief's house.
Next came Dagur, shortly followed by Tuffnut. Dagur neglected to greet anyone, instead choosing to stalk into the house alone. In contrast, Tuffnut walked straight to Hiccup, introducing himself as Berk's representative with a slightly theatrical flair. Hiccup nodded in greeting, but behind the mask he smiled.
Toothless had confirmed it. After setting up a board and abandoning the Cove, Hiccup sent the Night Fury to watch. Astrid had arrived first to tear apart Hiccup's hard work, which both confused and worried him, but Tuffnut arrived not too long after. They had confronted each other, then Astrid had left. Tuffnut knew his true identity, and his help would be vital.
Last arrived the Visithug and Meathead tribes. Bjorn came followed only by his second-in-command and their representative, who introduced himself stoically as Skarde Algar. Ivar, the leader of the Meatheads, came alone, still peeved that he had been prevented from bringing a representative himself. However, he greeted Hiccup with warm flattery and praise.
Once the greetings had concluded, the group cluttered into the Haddock house, each sure to give ample room to the god walking among them. They settled down, circling the table and hearth―there were not enough seats for all, so the representatives and some of the chiefs had to stay standing.
The dim room filled with anticipation as each chief waited for another to speak first. Hiccup sat sternly with Mjolnir on his lap, wondering how Fenrir would act in this scenario. Finally, the silence broke.
"So, why are you really here?"
Hiccup raised his eyebrows behind the mask and turned slowly to stare at Dagur leaning in the corner of the room. "I believe you were there when I first arrived, Dagur the Deranged. I am here to recruit for the upcoming war."
"Awfully convenient, isn't it? That you just happened to interrupt the biggest alliance in generations?" Dagur sneered. His eyes never left Hiccup's mask.
"What are you implying, chief Dagur?" Hiccup spoke calmly, despite his mounting anxiety.
The Berserker opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Bertha. "That's enough, Dagur. You're wasting everyone's time―unless you have something to say?" Dagur simply scowled.
"Lord Thor, I have a question for you." Hiccup nodded toward the Visithug chief. "You said you're here to recruit. Who will you choose? All―well, most will be honored to be of service to you."
Hiccup nodded, then said, "I plan to stay on Berk for some time. I will assist in training and teach those who are willing. Decisions will be made by fate."
The Vikings were silent for a moment, trying to understand what that would entail. Tuffnut chimed in, "Like a competition of some sort, Lord Thor?"
"Perhaps. I trust you all to find ways."
"Lord Thor, do you plan to teach us methods that the gods use?" This came from Skarde the Visithug, standing stiffly behind his chief.
"Indeed."
Many of the chiefs murmured to themselves in amazement while the rest of the Vikings had shocked or excited looks. Even Dagur perked up at this, although still holding a suspicious look across his face.
"What…what will they entail? Could we even learn them?" asked Bjorn. He was leaning forward in his seat with a hungry look in his eyes. Behind him, Skarde had the makings of a similar look, but he stayed put in his stance.
"It is surprisingly simple, Chief Bjorn. Far less brute force but far more effectiveness. Have no worries."
The room became quiet again, and Stoick spoke for the first time. "We've prepared a house for you, Lord Thor. Your short notice has left us limited time to prepare gifts, but you will have all you need while staying. Simply let any of us know, and we will see to your needs."
"Thank you, Chief Stoick. I will come and go, but I will undoubtedly use the house when it is needed."
"Think nothing of it, Lord Thor. And please, call me Stoick."
Hiccup nodded and half of the chiefs chimed in requesting Thor call them by their names as well. Only Dagur kept silent, although Ivar clearly had considered doing the same. The broad Meathead chief seemed to be suspicious, but rather than openly admit his doubts, he had chosen to suck up to the unknown source. Hiccup couldn't help but dislike him. At least Dagur was honest.
The conversation droned on. Soon it strayed away from Thor himself, and more about what would be to come or what the tribes could do for him. With simple responses and nods, Hiccup listened to the situation of the island. They were preparing to fight the demon that had attacked the northern nomadic tribes and controlled the dragons; their plan was to sail through Helheim's gate to defeat it. The demon had been Hiccup, but the source had been Nidhogg. Somehow, the Viking's goals had ended up aligning with his own.
Slowly, the Vikings turned from goals to subtly bragging about their clans. From the Bog-Burglars' nimble fingers to the Visithugs' tactics to the Meatheads' sheer strength, each leader seated in the circle felt the need to prove themselves to the god sitting with them. Watching silently, Hiccup felt a twinge of amusement.
Eventually the talking wound down. The chiefs were each far more level-headed than Hiccup remembered from the years when Berk hosted the yearly meetings; it was no doubt due to his attendance. However, even without his presence, the five tribes had found themselves working together for the past months. That had to count for something, he thought to himself.
The group squinted as they finally left the dim building. The sun had risen to the point where its rays left short shadows behind them; not quite midday but far past early morning.
"What else can we do for you, Lord Thor?" asked Ivar slyly. "I would certainly be willing to help you with whatever you may need. Just say the word."
Without looking back, Hiccup said, "Nothing else, Ivar. All of you, simply prepare your tribes for my return. I will be back soon."
Hearing their assent, he spun his hammer in a slow circle, building up speed. It was a practiced sign. Behind him he heard movement from the roof as Toothless prepared for another dramatic exit. With a hearty swing and a jump, Hiccup leapt into the air, quickly caught by the near-invisible Night Fury. A powerful gust of wind later, it seemed as if the dragon-scaled figure had flown away, moving speedily into the wooded part of Berk.
"Thank you for watching over me, Toothless. You're really the best friend I could ask for."
Toothless snorted, as if to say he already knew that.
It took four full days for Fenrir to survey the whole island. By the time he'd gotten back, Hiccup had already visited town once more, performing a short but effective lesson alongside Gobber to awestruck students. It was strange to think that he was barely three years older than the oldest of them. He taught the basics of fighting both dragons and humans, focusing on how to use an enemy's strength against them. It met varied success, but every student (and Gobber, Hiccup had seen out of the corner of his eye at times) had been willing to give it an attempt.
He felt good about the progress he was making, no matter how small. But when Fenrir landed in the sturdy tree they were staying in, he brought complicated news.
He landed and first growled at Toothless; Toothless growled back. Hiccup listened, wishing he could understand dragon-speak for the umpteenth time. He waited as they talked, sketching a random blueprint into a thin piece of bark from their tree.
"Boy."
Hiccup looked up at Fenrir. Something about his tone, his pose, was off. Hiccup turned fully to face the god.
"Do you remember what I told you about the Yggdrasil roots?"
"They attract demigods, right? Or at least they're more common around the roots. And―"
"Yes, yes. That's enough." Fenrir paused, then continued. "I couldn't tell at first, Nidhogg's stench seeps into the dead earth so heavily. But Berk is the third root."
After a moment, Fenrir's words sunk in. "The third root? The root in Midgard, you mean? That means that there are demigods here! We can―"
"Calm down, boy." Interrupted Fenrir "But yes. I've tasked my brother with finding the demigods on the island as he watches you through the town. Even I've had trouble, what with Nidhogg's aura on the island."
"Wait, wait. You've said that twice; what does that mean? Nidhogg's aura?"
"His reach, his far-reaching eye. How did you think he took control of you? He simply reached out when you stood within his grasp. It is a power of an alpha―none may disobey. At the Haven, Ymir is the alpha, and Nidhogg has no power there. Berk has no alpha. In truth, it amazes me that Nidhogg has not taken Berk for himself."
Fenrir stopped talking when it became clear that Hiccup understood. He spoke again, quieter. "But like I've said, Berk is the third root. That means that there are individuals with blessings. You did well to bring us here."
Pushing down complicated emotions, Hiccup asked, "Who are they?"
"Guess." groaned Fenrir, "it's something of a taboo for someone like me to tell you."
That didn't stop you from talking about it with Toothless. Is this some sort of test? Hiccup thought. "My father."
"Without a doubt."
"Really?"
"Why are you surprised? He was the obvious first choice." Said Fenrir, "Not just any leader, but the chief of the tribe living on a root? The man would be eaten alive if it wasn't for his blessings."
Taboo to tell me, huh? Hiccup thought but was silent. Despite all the pain he'd gone through as a child, he still felt impressed that his father was such a figure. Fenrir continued.
"The man is one-of-a-kind." He admitted grudgingly. "I've never seen anything―man or dragon―with two blessings before. Besides fully-fledged gods like Nidhogg or myself, he is unfathomable."
"Two blessings?" Asked Hiccup incredulously, "so you're saying that my father is the strongest man alive. Of course he is."
"I wouldn't be so quick to judge, boy. Perhaps the strongest in these northern lands, but the world is a wide place. Before I inherited this body, my host traveled much of the southern mainland. They have their own gods and their own blessings―perhaps even stronger than ours."
Hiccup waited for Fenrir to continue, but he had apparently lost interest in that line of thought. "Is Gothi blessed as well?"
"Who?"
"The Sage, she lives in―"
"Sages are…a strange case," interrupted Fenrir. "It would be unusual for her to have a blessing. Anyone else?"
"Hmm...the other chiefs?"
"Some of them are. Some are not, or are harder to see through Nidhogg's miasma. Good guess. Anyone else?"
Hiccup paused. Who else on the island showed promise? "Gobber, maybe? Er, the blacksmith with the peg leg?"
"No. You've run out of ideas. But keep your head about you in the town: with Nidhogg's deception, your eyes may be just as reliable as our senses."
Fenrir turned away to crawl onto his usual branch to lounge away the rest of the midday sun. Behind him, Hiccup lay still on his own branch wondering who else could be a demigod on Berk. His thoughts drifted to Astrid, whose strange, destructive actions seemed inexplicable. It reminded him of himself, in a way―years ago when he'd been obsessed with gaining strength and enacting his revenge. He wondered if a blessing could be the cause for Astrid's behaviors.
He hoped not. He'd learned firsthand how dangerous it could be.
It had been three months since Thor's first arrival, and it was finally time for the first placement competition.
It had been planned by the chiefs, so it would proceed in a familiar fashion to what the Vikings typically performed. With a great assembly around the Kill Ring, any fighter could step in. He or she would be challenged back to back until they were beaten or had no more willing challengers. The victor would stay in the ring, welcoming the challengers just as the previous fighter had. Killing was strictly forbidden, but it was not unusual to leave the ring with a significant injury.
There was a sort of honor to it. Unspoken rules were followed, even among the most brutal fighters―never challenge someone clearly weaker than you, never attack with the intent to kill, and never humiliate your opponent. It was simple, honest combat.
In the three months, Hiccup had trained a large portion of the residents. Some refused to learn, but most had mastered the basics of the style he taught. There were some clear outliers―some students, some experienced Vikings. They learned faster and understood better than any others.
Among these outliers were the three representatives that had been assigned to him: Tuffnut, Hilda, and Skarde. All three had distinct, full strengths. Clearly, they were elites of their own islands. Hilda, who had grown close to Thor over his time on Berk, was as wild as Astrid and just as hard a worker, but less reserved and sullen. More a berserker than a Viking, she had taken to Hiccup's teachings with gusto. In private, she had trusted Thor with the knowledge that, despite the fact that there was already an heir, she was working to be chosen as the next Chieftess.
Skarde, on the other hand, was as stiff as ever. Hiccup had amended the techniques he taught to the Visithug, finding a different style to fit him better. The young man was built like a stone house―sturdy. He was similar to Stoick, in some ways. An unyielding trust in the Viking way coupled with an analytical mind made for an impressive fighter. Both he and Hilda showed promise, and he had watched them closely for signs of blessings.
Tuffnut, however, he was certain had a blessing.
He had spent an equal time with Tuffnut as the other two representatives, but not for training. The two had talked, prepared, and exchanged information. Even after his chess-message left in the Cove, Tuffnut had a bit of a shock the first time Hiccup had removed his mask. The two had both transformed since their last meeting: Hiccup had become even stronger, tempered like metal under a blacksmith's hammer. Meanwhile, Tuffnut had become the leader of his clan and had put his mind to use making himself a vital piece of Berk.
But as weeks went on, Hiccup noticed how smoothly Tuffnut's mind seemed to work. He was intuitive to things that should've been impossible to notice. When training, he seemed to dodge before attacks had been thrown. His senses were keener than any human could've been. When he'd asked Tuffnut directly about it, he'd simply answered "I've just...developed what I needed to get ahead. Why, you jealous?"
Fenrir had promised to observe Tuffnut, but that had been weeks ago, and the god had given no indication for or against since.
All three of the representatives planned to take part in the competition. Each had something to prove to their tribes and their peers; Hiccup had no doubt that they would perform well.
It was the afternoon of, and Hiccup was in a back room of the smithy that Gobber had reserved for him. The old blacksmith had been confused and more than a little concerned at the request, but had prepared it for him without much questioning.
Tacked on the walls were varied blueprints for war machines. At Fenrir's suggestion, he had been preparing for the inevitable attack on Nidhogg in a way only he could. The machines were large, but boat-worthy and not complex. Any Viking with two thumbs and two eyes could man them…which still excluded a few residents.
"Lord Thor, the ceremony is abou…" Stoick walked into the room and trailed off in a horrified silence. The rough blueprints were scattered all over the walls, and his eyes trailed across the room as he took them in. Even to a man like him, it was clear what these drawings were.
"The ceremony? I see." Hiccup answered shortly. He continued tinkering with a model of one of the war machines. It was shaped like a large, mounted crossbow, but would launch a bola farther and more accurately than any Viking could. While not a particularly refined contraption yet, it was sure to be effective. "Is there something you need, Stoick?"
The chief stood in the doorway, staring at the walls. When Thor spoke, he jerked out of his stupor, hitting his head on a low-hanging rafter. "I…Lord Thor, what…is this?"
Turning slowly to face Stoick, Hiccup held his tongue. Silence was a critical part of the character he was playing. After a few moments, he said, "blueprints. Certainly you recognize them?"
"I…what?"
"The mounted catapults, for instance? Certainly, those are of a similar nature. Do you have no prints to show how they should be made?"
"But…building things like―like this is forbidden! It goes against our…" Stoick paused, breathing heavily. He put a giant hand to his head and stared at the ground; he looked more shell-shocked than Hiccup had ever seen him. "I―I need to go."
Stoick hurried out, hitting his head on the rafter again but barely seeming to notice. Hiccup frowned to himself; the chief wouldn't try to throw him out now, would he? Certainly, he had banned things like this, but if Thor himself was the one to do so?
Turning back to his work, Hiccup shrugged. It wasn't worth worrying about. A few minutes later, Gobber walked in. He reacted with some surprise, but not half as much as Stoick. Simply a shake of the head and a murmur.
"Lord Thor, Stoick said I should be the one to bring ye' to the Kill Ring. The opening ceremony is going to start soon."
"Thank you, Gobber." Hiccup answered, then frowned underneath his mask. He caught himself speaking casually with Gobber too often. It was a flaw in his godly persona that had come up ever since living on Berk again. "Lead the way."
The two walked through Berk, for once not being swarmed by a crowd of Thor's worshippers. Nearly the whole island had converged on the Kill Ring for the competition; even the patrols had been thinned. There had been significantly less dragon attacks in the past months. Ever since Thor had been present to quite literally shock the dragons into fleeing, they only attacked in small clumps.
"Er," said Gobber with a pause, "I don't know what Stoick said to you, but…he's had poor experiences with machines like those. His son, well, had similar interests. And the boy―"
"I understand." Said Thor, cutting Gobber off. He wasn't interested in hearing about his father's disappointment again, not after two years gone. The topic of Hiccup, the boy who disappeared, seemed to be a taboo among Berkians. He was fine leaving it that way.
Gobber, placated and now far more relaxed, allowed the rest of the walk to continue in relative silence. They walked down Berk's steep, mountainous side and out to the pit called the Kill Ring. The surrounding area had been expanded in the past few days in preparation for the excitement, but the scaffolding was still stuffed far tighter than it should've been.
The crowd parted around Thor, and in turn he nodded silently at the Vikings around him. They murmured and stared―after three months he was no stranger to them, but the aloof air around him awed the crowd as if they had never seen him before. He stopped when he arrived at the Chief's pedestal, where all five chiefs sat. One ornately carved chair remained, in between Bjorn and Stoick. He took it.
Not long after he had arrived, the ceremony began. A giant torch normally used for dragon raids was lit, Gothi, who was attending as the overseer of the matches, gave a short speech (rather, Tori Ingerman read the speech for her), and the competition was set off with a bang.
The first fighter was a rough-looking Bog-Burglar with more fingers than teeth. She beat a Meathead and a Berkian, then was taken down by a wiry, spear-wielding Berserker. The Berserker was an impressive fighter, but was sent out by his next opponent, a tall Visithug with two short swords.
It was clear who had come to participate, rather than just watch the matches. Clusters of Vikings, moderately armored and armed, stuck close to the entrance waiting to see who they would have to fight. No line formed, but there was a certain hierarchy to the groups nearest to the door. In contrast, the crowd was constantly moving with fights to keep a decent view of the fights. A few tables were set up in opportune spaces, collecting money and doling out winning bets for the lucky spectators.
The matches continued. Most fighters were knocked out after one or two fights, depending on the quality of challengers. Only the best stayed in for three fights. An hour in, one of Thor's young students took down three different full-grown Vikings in a row, earning him respectful cheers and a hero's welcome when he was sent out by Skarde.
Skarde had learned an orthodox style from Thor, one best utilized by a sword. It was short, compact, and had no risks. But beyond that, the man was particularly skilled in hand-to-hand combat. He had an uncanny handle on the finer points of fighting. Twice he won by abandoning his weapon, both times to his opponent's surprise, and attacking with his fists. After four consecutive victories, Skarde voluntarily stepped out; he had clearly overexerted himself. Hiccup, sitting in Thor's seat, nodded respectfully despite the distaste of the Vikings around―leaving the arena without being defeated was poor form, but it was a good decision nonetheless.
Across the dome from the chiefs' seats, Hiccup spotted Snotlout speaking with a clump of his followers, Hilda included. With a furtive glance at the chiefs nearby, he stood and walked towards the group.
None of the chiefs sitting near him made a move. Bertha seemed fixated on the fight, which involved one of the Bog-Burglars, while Dagur and Ivar seemed uninterested. Stoick had been nervously avoiding eye contact with him ever since the incident in the smithy, and Bjorn simply raised his eyebrows as Thor walked past him.
As Thor approached the group, they became quiet and stiff, as if expecting to be reprimanded. Snotlout turned to meet the god, then sunk onto one knee with a flourish. "My Lord Thor! How may I be of assistance to you?"
Hiccup was silent for a moment, chewing on his words. He wasn't here to punish them, although he was more than a little concerned how quickly Snotlout had collected a group of devout worshippers in Thor's name. Instead, he was here to speak with the Jorgenson about his claim―being the chosen of Odin. Stoick had done an impressive job of keeping Snotlout away, but Hiccup's interest had only grown. Was it really that easy to find another blessed Viking?
"I wish to speak with you, Snotlout Jorgenson."
Snotlout did not look surprised. Instead, he nodded and waved the small crowd of his attendants away. They shuffled back, giving the two space. Hilda smiled widely at Thor, standing next to Snotlout instead of stepping away.
"I'll be fighting next, Lord." she said. She smiled and stayed in place, as if waiting for something.
"I see. Fight well."
Smiling wider, she bowed and turned towards the door. Disappearing through the crowd, Hiccup focused back on Snotlout. "Snotlout Jorgenson. You say you are the chosen of Odin―of my father?"
"Without a doubt, Lord. I received a message from Odin himself, giving me insight into the future. As surely as my life." Snotlout said. He put a gentle hand over the eyepatch that covered his left eye. "These scars were a sign―he chose me alone to be his prophet."
"I see." Hiccup nodded solemnly, hiding the confusion he felt. The future? A message from Odin? The more Snotlout spoke, the more he seemed to heap on new, bizarre information. "Tell me about your scars. How do you know that they were from my father?"
"Ah, these, uh," Snotlout said with a touch of hesitance, "Two years ago, I had decided to take a walk in the moonlight. When suddenly, a dragon―a vicious Monstrous Nightmare nearly the size of a house―came down upon me with barely a sound."
Realizing that Thor was not planning on interrupting, Snotlout's hesitance vanished. "It must've slipped past the patrols, and it had come for me alone. It slashed me across the face, and I fell to the ground; I knew it was too strong for any one Viking to fight. In my final moments alive, I prayed for salvation―and suddenly, the dragon was gone, disappearing as if it had never existed."
In the ring, Hilda won her first match, sending out a Berserker who had fought two opponents prior. The crowd cheered, and Snotlout became distracted for a moment. Behind the mask, Hiccup frowned. Everything that Snotlout had said was a lie, but he still found it hard to believe that he would lie about such an important blessing from a god. And he was Gothi's newest student. Was he overthinking things?
"I see. Snotlout Jorgenson, what future have you seen?"
"Forgive me, Lord Thor!" he answered almost immediately with a deep bow, "But I rarely receive wisdom from the Allfather. His messages are far and few between―but deep and unfathomable are his messages when I am blessed to hear them. I...I do have one prediction, however, if you are willing to hear it."
"Speak."
"This enemy, the one that you are preparing to fight, is dangerous. Perhaps even stronger than you. Despite your boundless strength, be careful." Snotlout's followers gasped, while Thor simply stood in place.
"Thank you for the warning, Snotlout. I will keep it in mind."
"Of course, my Lord. I am at your command."
Without responding, Hiccup turned to leave. He was sure of it now―Snotlout was faking. A clever fake, perhaps, with wide claims and a convenient fake god to take advantage of, but a fake nonetheless. It was ironic, really: he was possibly the one person in the world who knew just how terrible Snotlout could be. It just so happened that he'd returned in the perfect position for the young Viking to try and take advantage of.
Hiccup returned to his seat, noting briefly that Dagur was now gone. The rest of the Chiefs sat in the same positions, watching Hilda finish her second opponent. Stoick still avoided Thor's eye, turning instead to speak his praises of Hilda to Bertha.
The girl's fights were impressive, each one as frantic and fast-paced as the next. Her style had been raw before, barely more than swinging a blade like a club. Dangerous, but not strong. After Thor's training, she had condensed the wild, untamed swings to a fluid, overwhelming barrage of attacks. She had a smaller stature than Astrid, but fought similarly. She won five matches in a row, then gave her sixth opponent a dangerously close match. Her impressive performance was clearly the best yet; the closest was Skarde's four victories.
Time passed slowly. It was nearing late midday, and over half the contestants had finished their fights. Many had fought well, and while none beat Hilda's record, a few elite Vikings had won four matches each. Spitelout Jorgenson was the next elite likely to join that list; with a heavy kick, he knocked out his third opponent, a stocky Thorston.
"Are there no more real Vikings?" he laughed at the dwindled crowd outside the door and gestured to the spectators. "That wasn't even a challenge! Send out someone who'll last long enough to get me excited!"
A handful of the spectators cheered, mostly Jorgensons. Spitelout was Stoick's second-in-command, and with that came a dangerous proficiency in a fight. As Snotlout's father and the leader of the Jorgenson clan, his self-righteous attitude was a surprise to no one.
Suddenly, the crowd went silent. Spitelout turned toward the door to see Tuffnut entering the ring. The Thorston wore dark streaks of paint across his face and a fearsome expression that gave the crowd a chill. Spitelout covered his worry with a hearty laugh. "Another Thorston! I suppose you'll give me a bit more of a challenge, won't you?"
Tuffnut ignored the man, instead turning to the chiefs. "Chief Stoick!" He called out with an uncharacteristic hardness. Stoick nodded in response, gesturing for him to continue. "I have spoken with Harald―he is willing to pass the leadership of the Thorston clan on to me. If you agree to it, this victory will prove my ability." Harald, the leader of the Thorston clan, nodded towards the Chief―he was old, and it was no surprise that he was handing off his title. Quietly, Hiccup perked up. Tuffnut hadn't mentioned this to him.
Stoick stroked his beard in thought. After a moment, he mused, "This is unexpected, but not unprecedented. Tuffnut, I accept this match."
He nodded and wordlessly turned back to his opponent. Spitelout's cocky grin had disappeared, his face showed an ugly scowl. "Victory, huh?" He growled. "Don't count your sheep until the dragons are gone, boy."
The ring was silent, and with barely a warning, Spitelout jumped at Tuffnut with a wide, two-handed swing of his sword. With a precise duck, Tuffnut retaliated, swinging his spear at the burly man.
Although the battle was fast-paced, very little happened in the first minute―stabs and thrusts being dodged with quick, sly movements from both. Spitelout was at a slight disadvantage; despite his bragging, the previous two matches had tired him out. On top of that, Tuffnut was uncannily swift, dodging attacks that should've been undodgeable.
Hiccup noted with some amusement that Tuffnut was using a different spear than usual. Normally, he favored a two-headed spear with a restricted range. The weapon he used now, however, was a one-headed spear with an abnormally long handle. Little by little, he abused his reach to slash at his opponent's legs and arms. Spitelout had already been at a disadvantage, and Tuffnut was taking advantage of it. Idly, Hiccup wondered if his friend had planned for that.
The match, locked in a stalemate as it was, had a quick, abrupt ending. Becoming desperate, Spitelout allowed Tuffnut to spear him in the side. His light armor caught the weapon, and the man grabbed the spear with a heavy hand. Jerking the spear back, he swung his sword with one hand at where Tuffnut should've been―but Tuffnut was gone. Abandoning his spear, he dodged under the sword and kicked at the leader's legs. Spitelout fell to his knees, then was floored by a final kick to the back of the head. The man lay prone, and Gothi lifted her staff to indicate victory.
After a moment of stunned silence, cheers broke out from the crowd. Spitelout, although not the strongest Viking by far, was a dangerous opponent. Seeing a young Viking like Tuffnut take down an arrogant champion of the older generation was an upset that few had expected.
As the cheers settled, Stoick stood and raised his hand towards Tuffnut. "An impressive fight! Tuffnut Thorston, you have proven yourself well worthy of leadership of the Thorstons. Both in character and in strength, I cannot think of someone more...worthy…" He trailed off as Dagur, to everyone's surprise, walked into the ring. Half the crowd and more than a few chiefs turned towards Dagur's seat, expecting the real Berserker chief to be sitting uninterestedly in it. But it was still empty, and the man in the ring was undeniably the real Dagur. "Er, Dagur. Are you planning to be Tuffnut's next challenger?"
Dagur snorted. "No, I'm not here to waste my time. After that fight, none of these cowards would think they can beat him. You're free to go, kid."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm not interested in fighting you. I'm not here to play games."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not good enough to fight you?" Tuffnut asked indignantly. Rather than angry, however, he was just confused.
Dagur pointed up towards the chiefs, directly at Thor. "I'm here for you. I want a fight."
The tittering crowd was hushed silent in a second, shocked at the indignance of the Berserker chief. Tuffnut stared at Dagur, while the Vikings around watched Thor with baited breath.
"This is highly inappropriate, Dagur!" Growled Bertha, stepping up to the high edge of the wall. As the most reverent of the chiefs, she was the first to come to Thor's defence. "If you want to lose a fight, I'll be the first to step into the ring with you!"
"That's enough." Bertha whipped her head back to stare at Thor. The scale-clad figure stood, shocking both fighters and spectators alike. "I will fight you, Dagur the Deranged. I hope that it will do away with your suspicion." He began walking towards the entrance with a slow determination.
"Lord Thor! You―you aren't going to take Mjolnir?"
Hiccup turned to Ivar, who had barely spoken during the tournament until now. "He has the bravery to challenge me, but I see no need to bring the strongest weapon I own." Hiccup let the hammer spark ever so slightly to emphasize his point. Ivar raised his thick eyebrows and nodded thoughtfully.
At the entrance to the Kill Ring, Tuffnut stood anxiously next to a pair of Jorgensons who had dragged their leader out. His war paint had been smudged. Hiccup approached him. "That was an excellent fight, Tuffnut. Congratulations on your promotion―you will make a fine leader."
"Thank you, Lord Thor." Tuffnut responded. With a moment's hesitation, he added, "be careful. Dagur is no pushover." Hiccup knew that Tuffnut was talking to his friend, not to the god that everyone knew as Thor. He nodded solemnly.
Stepping into the ring, Hiccup approached the board of weapons laid to the side. One of the previous fights had knocked it over. Kicking aside a club nearly the size of a small tree and moving aside a large stone hammer, he found what he was looking for: a knife, barely longer than his hand was wide. He picked it up, tested the blade on his scales, shrugged, and stepped into the center of the ring with Dagur. The Berserker chief eyed him with suspicion, shouldering his lopsided axe.
"Is that supposed to be a joke, or are you just going to strike me with lightning the moment the match begins?"
"Hardly. This is all that I need."
Dagur scoffed. "We'll see about that."
Gothi seemed concerned, but lifted her staff. With the sharp crack of wood on stone, she signaled the beginning of the match.
Rather than an immediate attack like Spitelout, Dagur held his axe close with a wary eye, slowly stepping closer. Hiccup simply waited in place, planting his feet and holding the dagger in an outstretched hand―one advantage of such a small weapon was the ability to use it in tandem with his martial arts.
Suddenly, Dagur attacked. Hiccup caught it by the handle with his knife and shoved it away, but the Berserker pulled back. Attacking again and again, he was trying to feel out Thor's patterns and tells. In return, Hiccup fought defensively; he kept his stance wide and immovable, focusing on blocking and parrying.
In such intense bouts of fighting, there was barely time to think―only react. Hiccup lost his body to his instincts, and allowed his mind to work quietly. The more Dagur tried to tease out his weaknesses, the more he showed his own.
As sudden as the crack of a whip, Dagur leapt at Thor. In that moment, Hiccup moved from his stable position for the first time. With his left arm outstretched, he caught Dagur by the wrist; with his right he swung the butt of the knife into Dagur's temple. The Berserker pulled back, reeling, and Hiccup pressed his advantage. With a combination of heavy, pushing blows that targeted the chief's balance, Dagur was shoved backwards by Hiccup.
Tuffnut had been right: Dagur was no pushover. But for whatever reason, be it fear of the god's power, a poor choice in the fight, or simply a bad matchup, Dagur was clearly outmatched. Even so, as he tripped over his own feet backwards, hard-pressed by a mysterious figure only wielding a knife, Dagur smiled. Finding fighters as skilled as him were rare, and he hadn't had such an exhilarating exchange since he first became chief of the Berserkers.
But I won't lose!
With a wide step backwards to catch himself, Dagur flung himself forward once more. His axe was swung high with both his hands, and aimed directly at the god's head. Even as Thor moved to evade the attack, even knowing that the match was about to end, his grin did not dwindle.
Hiccup saw the high swing coming, and rather than dodging to the side, he dodged forward. Thrusting his elbow, he used the chief's momentum against him, driving his arm into the man's stomach far harder than he could've normally. The impact traveled through the man's chain mail and sunk deep into his body. Dagur fell to the ground, coughing and sputtering for air. After a few moments, Gothi raised her staff in the air, signalling the victor.
The crowd erupted into cheers that echoed down into the ring. Such a tense battle of back-and-forth had silenced the spectators, but the climax had been well worth the wait. Still gasping for breath, Dagur rose from the ground. The smile was gone from his face, but the exhilarated look in his eyes hadn't faded. He stared into Thor's eyes, then bent in a short, stiff bow. To the crowd, it may have seemed arrogant; to Hiccup, it was the greatest show of respect he'd gotten from the Berserker chief. Straightening, he picked up his axe and left the ring without a word.
The cheers showed no sign of stopping. With the elated crowd above him, Hiccup allowed himself a moment of weakness. If he could've been the son his father had imagined, would he have had this? A normal Viking life was never what he'd wanted, but it was, in some ways, preferential to the scattered, dangerous life he'd led so far. Hiccup closed his eyes for a moment, listening.
The cheering's volume cut off abruptly like a dragon's dying cry. Frowning, he opened his eyes. Another figure was entering the ring, deadly and silent.
Astrid walked into the center of the Kill Ring, staring into the eyes of the man she hated most. He called himself Thor, but in a dark, primal part of her mind, she knew that it was Hiccup. His mannerisms, his fighting style, his armor. All Hiccup.
She couldn't have stopped herself if she'd wanted to. Although for once she went along with her movements, the body of Astrid Hofferson had been under someone's, or something's, control for quite some time. It had been months since she'd had control over her own actions, although the whispering voice in her head had been influencing her for far longer―ever since Hiccup had disappeared from Berk.
The crowd's noise seemed to be numbed out, soft and fuzzy, as if heard through a veil of water. Even so, Astrid heard Hiccup's quiet mumble, meant for no one but himself.
"Nidhogg."
The darkness had a slight reaction to hearing that, but no more a reaction than a ripple in the ocean. Was that something she should pay attention to? Astrid couldn't bring herself to care―if it was important, she could deal with it after the fight.
"Astrid Hofferson! Dagur was one thing, but I will not allow you to insult Lord Thor in this way. Leave the ring immediately!"
Stoick's voice cut through the static of the crowd. Astrid tried to turn and answer, but the dark whisperer―Nidhogg, if that was its name―did not. Her body stood still in the center of the ring. Hiccup approached her cautiously.
"That's enough, Nidhogg. Your games have to end."
Astrid, or the thing controlling her, smiled; they both knew for certain that Hiccup was strong. He had proven it to the Vikings many times as Thor, and many times to her as a teen. He had a Skrill and a hammer that seemed to defy all Viking logic. But as Astrid stood in front of Hiccup, she knew one thing for certain.
Nidhogg was stronger.
With a jolt, Astrid grabbed the axe off her back and swung it at Hiccup's neck. He dodged backwards, but Astrid didn't fight like Dagur, probing for weaknesses and patterns. She rushed forward, aiming for his legs and forcing him to jump.
Hiccup's dagger had been meant for mind games, but those wouldn't work if Astrid's mind wasn't controlling her body. Fighting in such a frenzied fashion, it was more of a liability for him. Her mad rush pushed Hiccup away in a strange dance to avoid the blades.
Astrid could see his mind working behind his scale-covered visor, and she redoubled her efforts. She knew how clever he was; letting him think would result in him fighting back. Working in tandem with Nidhogg, she felt the same feeling of exhilaration that she'd felt before. She felt like a Valkyrie from Hel, sent to avenge her past self. It was impossible for her to lose.
With a spin, Astrid missed Hiccup's shoulder by an inch. She was getting closer with every swing, and Hiccup was getting worn down. There was a good reason most Vikings wore light armor in competitions: it was less tiring. Hiccup's scale armor looked thin, but even thin armor all over the body would tire him out soon enough. She swung again, faked, then twisted to swing at his head. Unable to dodge fast enough, Hiccup was hit with a glancing blow.
The gaps started closing. Two more glancing blows hit Hiccup as he dodged, and he started trying to block with his dagger; it was too small to make a difference. He ducked forward underneath a wide swing, but Astrid had expected it. The first solid hit was her knee planted solidly into Hiccup's forehead.
The scale-clad figure stumbled backwards, and Astrid pressed her advantage. She swung again, this time hitting his right shoulder. He nearly dropped his dagger, then switched it to his left. Mid-swing, Astrid caught Hiccup's eye through his visor.
Something had changed; he'd figured something out, or at least gotten an idea. The look in his eye infuriated Astrid. With Nidhogg's prodding, she attacked again.
Hiccup dodged again, a sloppy dodge that left him open to an easy attack. Not a mistake he would normally make. Astrid tried to attack, but Nidhogg held her in place. For the first time since their match had begun, Astrid stopped attacking.
"Cautious, Nidhogg? That doesn't suit you. Or is that Astrid's fault?"
At the taunt, Astrid strained against the restraints that Nidhogg had placed. With such rage, Nidhogg's control wavered for a moment. Astrid attacked. With a yell, she swung a powerful swing at Hiccup's side. Hiccup made no movement.
Astrid's axe glanced off his left arm―his knife arm―and hit Hiccup in the ribs, being rewarded with a satisfying crack of bone. She hadn't cut through the scales, but she knew that the recovery would still take weeks. Hiccup, grimacing behind his mask, moved as if to stab her with the dagger. Astrid stepped back, but Hiccup simply tossed the knife up at her face. The confusion was enough to make her pause, just for a moment.
In that moment, blue-white lightning crackled around Hiccup's left arm. Astrid looked down in shock while Nidhogg screamed in anger and, for the first time, fear. One arm held her axe and the other blocked her face from the dagger; helpless, she watched as Hiccup punched her in the stomach. The punch itself was weak, but the electricity stabbed through her like a spear. Nidhogg screamed and clawed, but the sound of his voice was shriveling as the darkness in her mind receded. Hiccup had won this time, but Nidhogg would have his revenge―and he'd have it soon.
Fully in control of her own body, Astrid collapsed to the ground.
The day after the tournament was quiet.
After Astrid's attack, she'd been taken to the Hofferson clinic. Her father was taking care of her while Stoick had promised Thor that she'd be amply punished for her actions. Thor had simply nodded and gone to the home the Vikings had prepared for him. He had not left since.
The rest of the tournament proceeded, although only a small handful of Vikings had remained. With a slightly disappointing show, most of the rest of the participants showed to be rather lackluster. A notable exception, however, was Tuffnut, returning to the ring once Thor left. He stayed in for four consecutive matches―five if the match against Spitelout was counted.
And so, the tournament ended. The next day felt muted, the tense air left from Thor and Astrid's match refusing to disperse. Despite a brief commotion when a dragon flew into the center of town, the day remained stagnant.
Mid-afternoon, Thor made an appearance. He left his house, meeting Snotlout and a group of his most devoted followers who had been waiting outside. They were, as always, reverent.
"Lord Thor, please take no heed to Chief Dagur and Astrid Hofferson's actions. Your magnificent performance was befitting of a god like yourself. I would go as far as to say―"
"What is that?" Hiccup interrupted as they came across a group of Vikings dismantling the intruding dragon. With the pain from Astrid's attack throbbing through his body, he had no patience to listen to flattery.
"Ah, nothing of importance, Lord Thor. A dragon flew into town. It came from an unusual direction, I hear, but nothing to worry about. We Vikings are―"
"Is that a breed native to these areas?" Hiccup asked, cutting off Snotlout again. He walked up to the corpse, and the Vikings around backed away to give him space.
"I don't believe so. Is there a reason you think this is important, Lord Thor? This dragon was not particularly strong, I hear. Ah! Was it part of a larg―"
Hiccup tuned Snotlout out as he looked at the corpse. Not native, flew in from a different direction, and most importantly, a dragon he recognized. This was one of his mother's scouts. If this dragon was here, Hiccup could only imagine one reason.
The Haven had to be under attack.
"I'll be back." Hiccup grunted, swinging his hammer in a circle. Faster than usual, Toothless would know that it meant urgency. Hiccup heard him on a roof behind the crowd. With a dive and a burst from invisible wings, the duo lifted into the air, shooting across the sky. Hiccup's side throbbed, but he gritted his teeth. He had to endure it―there would be plenty of fighting to go around when he arrived.
And it's done, only months after my last chapter. Some writers call it a hiatus, but I call it being consistently inconsistent. My longest chapter yet, I'm glad to say. Finally broke into the 5 digit numbers. But anyway, thank you for reading! No particular mythology in this chapter, honestly I don't anticipate any direct mythology ties anymore, at least not for a while. Anyway, thank you, let me know what you thought, liked or didn't like, and I'll see you next time.
Big chapter next...