A Son of Ice and Fire
A/N: And I'm back :) Season 3 starts here, and regular updates should continue from this point onwards. The next stage of the journey is here, and I hope you enjoy where I take this story in the next season. I'd just like to thank everyone that has read my story, and I am so grateful to those that continue to support and review when I post new chapters. This chapter picks up from the devastation of the S2 finale. I hope you enjoy.
FlameShadowGaming: I always planned on the edge being taken by the Jorgensons. That was one of the main plot points I started with, before I even wrote chapter 1. In the end I really enjoyed how it ended up being written.
Guest: Yeah, Spitelout really didn't gain any fans in the S2 finale. This is what I love about this story, I can have that many story lines going at once, and that many different villains included at once. Although Spitelout is bad, I highly doubt he is the worst person in this world.
Guest: Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think you meant to write 'leg' instead of 'egg,' that's the most logical answer after last chapter's action. If that is the case, the answer is no. This injury doesn't result in him losing his leg, but it could have implications later on in the story.
Guest: I'm really happy you are enjoying it. This is the first fanfiction I've wrote, but I used to write in school, so I hoped to at least maintain a high level of quality that will continue until the end of all 8 seasons.
Guest: I haven't chosen the Thorston words together, but that is a good suggestion. Maybe it should just be 'Live together, Die together,' as not everyone in the Thorston history will be born as a twin, but it still could work like this.
N5agam: Yes he will. I've been on the fence with this one, but I've decided to just make every dragon I include look like the ones in HTTYD. It just wouldn't feel right not doing that.
Guest: New updates should be more regular now. It takes a lot to put out 3-4 heavy chapters a week, so I choose to take a longer break after each season, rather than have longer intervals between individual chapters. I think this way is better. I can take some time to go over what I've done so far, and not just rush into the next block of writing and regret missing something out later on :)
Chapter 48: The aftermath
Hiccup
Step by step. Boot after boot. Shove after shove. I limped slowly, as heavy hands on my back led me away. With every motion, the pain only grew. Like a poison slowly trickling up my leg, paralysing me from hip to foot on my right side. Once more I dropped to the ground, both my hands landing firmly on the wet ground, using the last of my energy to stop myself from falling flat to the floor. I have to get up. I have to get through this. I can't let them down. I gritted my teeth, raising my head to meet the eyes of the people that used to be my own. The people that should have been protected. Men and women dragged away from their life and shackled into the Ironborn service. Their eyes filled with fear, hands shaking as they stared at me. They need me. Need me to be strong for them. Forcing back the tears, as the pain surged through me, I let out a deep growl as I forced myself to my feet. Loud, sharp breaths being the only release stopping me from screaming out, I stood high, before once more I began to get shoved from the courtyard.
Just as I reached the edge of the courtyard, a soft blubbering sound caused me to turn around. I looked past the two men who were holding my shoulders, to see Spitelout sprinting towards me, his son in his arms. Two hands clutching his own stomach, and eyes fluttering between open and closed, the young man shook violently in his father's arms. His face pale as snow, and blood oozing down the back of his hands, as well as a weak trail from his mouth dribbling from his chin down onto his chest plate. He was muttering inaudibly under breath, as his father looked almost in tears.
"The maester. Where's the maester?" Spitelout asked weakly, his eyes narrowed to slits, but nearly welling up all the same. "WHERE IS THE MAESTER?" He yelled.
I looked directly at him. At the man who was the cause of all this death. All this destruction. I should let him suffer. He should feel the cost of what he has done. Of what he took from me. But my eyes shifted from the man's eyes down to his arms. The arms that were shaking, clutching his child in his arms. This boy that had gone against all expectations to help me. Maybe I will suffer more later, but for now I'm alive. All because of him. A son isn't responsible for his father's sins. He doesn't deserve to die. His eyes were more often closed than open now, and even his shaking was lessening, a sign he was losing the fight. I looked up to his father, who was now stood a few feet from me, and gestured the direction with my head, "This way!"
A few minutes later, I had hobbled my way inside the centre of the castle, and down deep towards the prison. The final set of stairs we had left to descend appeared once we turned the corner, but before I could place my foot on the top step, a large hand slammed me against the rock. "DO YOU THINK THIS IS SOME JOKE? IF MY SON DIES, YOU DIE!" Spitelout growled, his fist half the size of my chest, as he raised it in anger.
"Wait. Wait." I pleaded, hands in the air at shoulder height, "We found out about Mildew. Locked him up. He's just down that flight of stairs. I promise."
"He better be!" Spitelout growled through his teeth, removing his hand from my over my heart, and carefully lifting his son back into his arms. "Right. Let's go!"
The few torches lighting either side of the stairwell flickered as the cells began to come into view. The few guards watching met me with a smile, as I approached first, but as the large figure of the Jorgenson lord loomed behind me, they soon lost any optimism and resigned to a defeatist stance. I nodded to them, as if telling them it would all be alright, as I took the key and unlocked Mildew's cell.
"Whaaaa!" The grizzly old man shrieked, seeing me in front of him. "You should be dead. How did those braindead morons manage to fuck this up. All they had to do was beat Stoick's little embarrassment!" Only after he finished did he notice the shadow behind me. And the Jorgenson Lord it belonged to. Mildew gulped, biting his lip in an attempt to somehow suck his words back in. "My Lord, I do apologise. I should never have underestimated your ability. It just surprised me that you didn't kill him."
"ENOUGH!" Spitelout boomed, shoving past me and barging into the cell. Mildew backtracked, but stopped abruptly, as the man laid his son down on the ground infront of him. "Save him. Save him." Mildew remained stationary for a second, but the Lord's clenched fist soon propelled him into action. Quickly rushing forward, and pulling the blood-soaked shirt up to reveal a deep wound, Mildew began to assess the damage.
"It'll take a lot to stop the bleeding, but we can save him. We shouldn't move him, so just wait here until I come back. I have to get a few things. Someone will have to come and help me retrieve everything from my chambers. I can't get them all in time and carry them all at once," Mildew sighed, as more blood flowed from the young man's chest. "SOMEONE PUT PRESSURE ON THAT WOUND NOW, OR WE'RE ALREADY OUT OF TIME!" I looked to Spitelout, but he wasn't looking at the maester, or his son. He was looking at me.
In one sharp glare and a nod, he looked to me and then pointed to his son, "He dies. You die." He released his hand from behind his son's head, and stood up, almost dragging Mildew from the cell, "Get going old man. Tell me where you need me. Tell me what I need to do to save him." Mildew didn't answer, just nodded sheepishly, as the two men rushed back up the stairs.
Put pressure on the wound. What does that even mean? I dropped to my knees, allowing my injured leg to finally rest, as I leaned over the bleeding warrior. The incision, only an inch or two tall, had released that much blood that his entire lower chest was painted red. Still unsure, and out of my depth, I reached over, resting one hand over the other, as I pressed down on the man's chest.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" Came his scream, as his eyes shot open in a panic. I could see his heart beating through his chest, as his body pounded against the hard rock floor. Blue eyes bulged with fear, as he looked up at me. Thick, warm blood stuck to my skin like melted wax, painting my nails a heavy red, as the lesion spat and coughed more and more fluid onto my hands.
I pressed one hand firmly onto the wound, as I rested the other on his shoulder, "Calm down. Calm down. You're okay," I said softly, as he fought from my grasp. "I'm not trying to hurt you. You've lost a lot of blood, you need to try and relax."
"I'm sorry." He mumbled so quietly I wasn't sure if I had heard him right.
"What?" I asked. He tried to reply, but he winced heavily as I returned my second hand to pressure his wound. His eyes began to close again, and he tried to raise his hand. The loss of blood had made him weak, and his fingers barely raised from the floor before they dropped back onto the cold rock. He all but stilled, mumbling the same phrase again, as he drifted back to unconsciousness.
"I'm sorry."
Astrid
"Astrid. Astrid. ASTRID!" Heather yelled after me, as I ran into the forest. Thick roots clawed around my boots, strangling my ankles, and sharp vines scratched my arms. I'd barely been gone a minute, and already it felt like I'd be running for days. The looming threat of winter was already showing, and already some of the trees were looking bare. Brown, rusty leaves littered the floor, and rustled under foot as I just closed my eyes and ran further. Ran far enough away that the calls after me sounded like nothing but a whistle on the wind. Just a faint reminder. A distant memory.
I reached to my back, grabbing the handle of my axe and hurling the blade towards the nearest tree. "AAARRRRGGGHHHH!" I screamed out, as the blade lodged firmly into the thick stump. Dark brown bark scattered to either side, like birds from a nest, as I pulled the axe roughly out. "ONE IRONBORN DEAD!" I turned and drove it into the side of the tree next to it. "AND THAT MAKES TWO!" That tree suffered three or more heavy hits, just to make sure it was dead, before I flung the axe at the next one. And then the next. "THREE! FOUR! FIVE! HALF A DOZEN IN THE GROUND! SEVEN! EIGHT…"
"…TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO! TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTY THREE!" I screamed, embedding the edge of blade into yet another trunk. Jarringly pulling it free, I turned to throw it across, when Heather stepped in its path just before I was able to release it.
"Am I two hundred and thirty four?" She said with a sad chuckle. Her face was pale, and although her hood covered most of it, a few strayed streaks of black hair spilled over one of her eyes.
"You shouldn't be out here. Go back to your mother." I said coldly, lowering the axe to my side. She seemed to nod in agreement, but proceeded to walk towards me anyway. "Please, just leave me alone."
"Not going to happen, Sister," she insisted.
"I need this, just go." I stated, turning from her and launching the axe into one of the trees that hadn't yet been scarred. One side of the blade lodged into its centre, three feet off the ground, and I just stared at the handle, before hanging my head. I slowly began walking towards it, navigating through the woody graveyard, with almost each and every oak having indents in them.
"No. I'm not going anywhere." Heather stated bluntly, speeding up to follow me.
"JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" I turned and screamed at her. I twisted back, trying to pry the weapon from where it had stuck, but the hours had worn me down to a point I could no longer pull it free. "Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone." I repeated weakly, but I could still hear the soft pattering of her boots across the ground growing louder behind me.
"I won't let you hurt yourself," she said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder.
"Hurt myself," I scoffed, "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," she argued, spinning me around by my shoulder so that I faced her, "you're not fine." I stared at her fiercely, expecting her to budge, but it was me that broke first, looking away. "Astrid, please talk to me."
"What is there to talk about?" I snapped, "You know just as well as I do what happened."
"You don't know for…"
"…JUST. STOP," I interrupted. "You saw the banner fall. You saw the Ironborn standing on the battlements. It's over. It's done. They are all gone," I said defeatedly, looking down at the floor.
"DON'T SAY THAT!" She shrieked, punching my shoulder blade. "I won't let you give up. You do that, I've lost you as well." She said feebly, as she began to sob into my chest. "Don't shut me out."
"I won't. I won't," I reassured her, wrapping my arms around her back. "Why would you think I would?"
"Your brother told me how he was when his first love had to leave. He grew colder, distant, pushed you away. Don't do that to me," she said so quietly it was barely a whisper.
I instinctively shook my head, "Of course I won't do that." Is this what he felt like after Ruff left? Is it? He was like that for 3 years. 3 YEARS. I can't feel like this for three years. I can't. "But this is different. Ruffnut didn't die," I snivelled, as a tear finally escaped.
Heather looked up at me and brushed the tear from my cheek, "Don't give up on him. You don't know what happened. You don't know either way."
"You know he wouldn't have gone down without a fight. If they won, it must mean he's… he's…," I wavered.
"Please, Astrid. Don't do this to yourself," Heather pleaded. "Believe in him. Have faith you will see him again. I do," she said with an optimistic smile. "He asked us to wait for him. Will you?"
I could see the determination in her eyes, but staring into them just made me immediately see Hiccup. Hiccup that made me feel something I'd never felt before. Hiccup that did everything he could to make sure we were as far from harm's way when the Ironborn came. Hiccup that promised he'd do all he could to get back to us. I have to believe he is safe. That he will come back to me. I looked to Heather with a reluctant smile, "I will."
Snotlout
Heavy. I slowly raised myself up, levering myself on my elbows, but heavy was the only thing I felt. Vision still blurred, images flashed by as just a fuzzy concoction of blacks, silvers and greys. Every limb felt liked a unliftable weight, dragging me down. I let out a long, deep groan, as I forced myself to sit fully upright. A reached down, placing a hand on the bandage squeezing my chest, but I didn't feel any pain. My hand wandered down to the dirty white wrapping around my leg, and then across to feel the bandages on my other arm. What happened? Where the fuck am I? Slowly, the vague outline of the room began to come into focus. I'm alone. A thick fur blanket was underneath me, as well as a pillow behind me, but apart from that, the room was barren of any luxuries. Then it hit me. It's not a room. It's a cell. Thick silver bars covered two sides, but the back and left side was just black rock.
Clumsily, I struggled to my feet. Wobbly legs nearly gave way, but I staggered forward, clutching onto the door of the cell. I shoved it. Once. Twice. Three times. It didn't budge. Why the hell am I locked down here? Is this some sort of fucking joke? A quiet sound from the adjacent cell soon snapped me from my anger, and I trudged my way across to the bars. Sat in the empty cell, stripped to just a bare shirt and trousers, and with a large pool of blood beneath him was the man I'd saved yesterday. He had one hand clutched behind his outstretched right leg, but his other was cushioning his cheek, as he leant against the back corner. I couldn't look for more than a few seconds, before I had to look down, and then turn away completely. I should feel hate. Hate for how he killed our men. Hate for how he almost killed me. But no. Just guilt. Shame. How many more lives must my father destroy before he is content? I hobbled back towards the makeshift bed, dropping ungracefully to my knees and reaching towards the pillow. One arm still so numb it hardly felt like my own, I awkwardly dragged the cover off of it, before I headed back towards the bars.
"Hey. Hey. Excuse me," I called out weakly. God. Excuse me? Why the fuck did I say that? He stirred partly, but didn't turn to look towards me. I tapped on the bars, the metallic chiming echoing out, as I called out again, "Hiccup. That's your name isn't it? My name's Snotlout. I want to help. You need this."
Surprisingly, he suddenly turned his head and snarled at me. Piercing green eyes glared at me for a second, before he shook his head and turned back to face the wall. "I don't want anything from you," he answered coldly.
"Your leg is injured. You need something to bandage the wound. Take this," I suggested, squeezing my arm through the bars, with the pillow cover in my hand.
"I'm good," he dismissed abruptly, but I saw his hand shaking as he clutched his leg. Dried blood had settled across his knuckles, leaving them a deep burgundy colour, but fresh blood was slowly trickling down over the top.
"I don't know anything about medicine or healing, but the longer you leave that, the worse it'll get," I stated firmly, "I didn't stop my father from killing you just so you could die here like this."
He sighed heavily, but gave two small nods. Glancing over to see the makeshift bandage in my hand, he slowly started to inch towards my direction. Not getting up, and not putting any pressure on the wound, he scooted slowly across until he was in the back corner of his cell that was next to mine. I stumbled to the back of the cell, leaning through again and handing the cover through. Within a second of him taking it, he had folded it twice and carefully wrapped it around his knee. He slammed his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, before finally speaking again, "Thank you, but why? Why help me?"
I swallowed, taking time to stand with my back to the wall, before sliding myself down against it. We were now almost side to side, except the metal barrier between us. The holes were large enough to see he no longer had his eyes closed, but he had his head turned to look at me. I dared not to look back immediately. How can I answer that? I took a deep breath, before just replying with the simple truth, "I don't know."
"What?" He asked in surprised.
I just shrugged my shoulders, before I turned back to look at him. A simple green shirt and brown trousers. No shoes. No helmet. No weapons. It hardly even seemed real, that this was the person that had struck that much terror into me only a few hours previously. At least I think it was only a few hours. I expected a scarred, grizzled warrior under the mask, as if it was just another Viggo, but it wasn't. He didn't look like a fighter. Didn't look like he could strike fear into anyone. Not like this. Did I save him because he didn't deserve to die like that? Did I save him because he was able to defeat Viggo, and maybe he could help me get rid of the Grimborn heir for good? Did I save him because he risked his own life just to save one of his subjects? I don't know. Maybe I'll never know.
"I don't know," I finally replied. "I don't know anything anymore," I groaned, as I raised a hand to cover my face. He just looked at me with a face showing he had equally as much of an idea what was going on as I did. None."All I ever wanted to do was make my dad proud. Especially now, I know I can never do that."
"Hah," he laughed bitterly, which took me completely by surprise.
"What's that supposed to mean," I snapped, grabbing onto one of the bars strongly.
"I think I win the prize for letting their father down the most," he laughed, before he changed his tone completely, mimicking an accent, "This castle has stood for nearly three hundred years, and it will until the day I die. Son, I know you'll one day have to take charge. All of this will be yours. I know you won't let me down." He shook his head disapprovingly, slamming his fist into the ground, before he returned to his normal voice, "I didn't even make it a year. You could have waited another few weeks, just so I had at least had that under my belt."
"There was nothing you could have done. No-one could have withstood that. If it wasn't for Viggo finally coming through, I would be dead right now," I stated calmly, but I had to chuckle at the last part. "Turns out he's good for something," I mumbled under my breath.
"Your number of men wasn't the problem, it was our lack of men," he grunted through his teeth. "If I'm ever alone with that traitorous, backstabbing bastard, I'll kill Mildew with my bare hands." For the first time, I saw the anger in his eyes, as he clenched his fists and struck them against the bars between us. It looked like it probably drew blood, but with his hands already soaked in it, there was no way to tell. I drew back instinctively, as he continued to pound his fists at the metal. If he did feel the pain, he wasn't showing it. Eventually the onslaught stopped, and fanned his fingers through his hair.
"Mildew?" I responded quietly, in hopes of not setting him off again. Who is Mildew. I've never heard of him. What did he have to do with this?
"Yeah. Mildew." He replied flatly. "You couldn't attack us like men, so you acted like cowards," he spat at me.
"COWARDS!" I growled. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have just let Dad run him through.
"Yes. COWARDS!" He screamed back. He pushed from the wall, wincing as his injured knee pressed against the ground. Two hands clasped around the bars, as he stared through at me. "You couldn't take us yourself, so you got someone to poison half of our soldiers. You killed three people before you even stepped foot in the castle. You poisoned my sister. My mother. What cowards fight like that?" He shook his head, and it almost looked like his eyes were watering, but he brushed it off and tucked his head back into his chest. Is that true? No, Dad wouldn't do that? He wouldn't. I was about to respond, when the sound of voices reverberated from the stairwell. "Your father, probably," he suggested quietly, "he's been in and out since you were first here. You should be alright to be moved by now, but the pain medication will wear off soon."
"I didn't know about this 'Mildew' person. I'm sorry," I said sincerely, and his face seemed to soften slightly. "If I am to get out of here now, is there anything I can get you? Food? Water? Candles?"
"How about the key to the cell?" He joked, and for the first time he smiled. "And how about a sword?"
"You know I can't do that," I said back firmly, but my lips had curved into a slight smirk.
"How about a dagger, to shove through Mildew's eye and out the back of his skull?" He asked half-heartedly, to which I just chuckled and shook my head. "Okay. Maybe something more realistic. Could you just bring me my sketchbook? It's about the only peace I'll find down here."
"I think I can manage that," I nodded.
"It's brown, leather edges, Haddock sigil on the front. Thank you, Snotlout," he smiled genuinely.
"Don't mention it. I think I've got a lot left to make up for. It's the least I can do for you helping me earlier," I said, pushing myself to my feet, and heading towards the front of the cell. "Thank you, Hiccup." He just nodded, and as I looked back to the front, the large shadows of my dad and a few of the men emerged. The cell door opened, and Dad almost charged in, pulling me into a tight hug. I winced, as the sudden pressure caused the pain in my chest in burst into full force once again. He gave me a sheepish, apologetic look, before hooking an arm around me and leading me out and away. Just before I reached the stairs, I risked a glance back at the auburn-haired man that had just finally solidified my beliefs. I can't make my Dad proud. The man he wants me to be isn't me. That is Viggo. Maybe he is a better choice for heir after all…