The dragon went off eastward. Hiccup is sure of it.
The afternoon breeze is refreshing, though the woods remain misty at this eykt of day. By the time he trudges past Raven Point, his fur vest is damp with dew, and absently he wrings at its fringes as he makes his way down the rocky landscape.
He doesn't quite know what drove him to come back here. Surely by now the dragon's long gone, flown back to its Nest. Maybe it'll even meet his father, assuming the man has better luck finding the damned place this time round. Hiccup is doubtful, though, and perhaps that's for the better. As much as they don't get along… Hiccup would very much prefer Dad alive, and not burnt to crisp by dragonfire.
He sighs.
All morning his conscience gnaws at him. Summer is supposed to be the season of harvest, the season of plenty, but here, in the Archipelago, it's the season of fire. The warm climate seems to spur on the beasts, and during a particularly bad spell, they may get up to two raids a week. Everyone has heard those tragic tales, of Tribes losing half their stores during summer… which meant losing half their people during winter.
And Sólmánuður, midsummer, is the most dangerous moon of them all.
He knew that. He knew all of that. From the earliest days of his memories, midsummer meant nights spent cowering in the Meade Hall, which became nights spent sharpening in the forge once he got taken on as Gobber's apprentice. He knew people got hurt. Even died. Granted, that hasn't happened in recent years, but his own mother…
And yet, yesterday, after coming the closest any Viking has ever come to killing the rarest and most powerful dragon they know of… he freed it.
The boy's shoulders sag. How long would it be before someone else gets hurt as a consequence? Before someone else gets burnt to a crisp by dragonfire? He's seen first-hand what a Night Fury can do to their defenses. And in the not-so-distant future, when he hears that high-pitched screech hurtling through the darkness again… he'll always remember that he freed it. That any destruction, any harm, any… deaths, caused by it—will be on him.
All because Hiccup the Useless was too craven to kill a dragon.
He kicks at a pebble on the ground, frustrated and unsure of where to go. In front of him, the odd rocks and trees seem to mock him for his actions. Why'd he come back, if the dragon is gone? To prove a point? Just because it didn't kill him yesterday—even when Gobber said it would always go for the kill—dragons aren't suddenly tame housecats. They burn, they maim, they destroy; they're dangerous.
Plus, what would he do anyway? On the one-in-a-thousand chance the dragon hasn't already left, it seems a fool's errand to re-engage. He escaped with his life once—he's not sure he will again, if he gave the creature another chance. Dragons are killers, he tries to tell himself.
He's almost about to call it a day and head back to the village when he sees an opening in the rocks ahead, and the glittering reflection of sunlight on water. He squints, feeling the familiar surge of curiosity taking over his actions. It's a horrible habit of his—Thor knows how much havoc he's wreaked just by being curious—but he can't seem to stop himself, no matter how many times he gets in trouble.
He drops himself down a small ledge, and sees the opening more clearly. It's moss-eaten, clearly never having been explored before, and just wide enough for him to pass through. He shrugs, ducks to avoid a thin trunk hanging across the whole thing, and shimmies past the entryway—
Into a majestic little cove.
Hiccup smiles. It is beautiful, with afternoon sunlight streaming from above, and songbirds fluttering to and fro among the higher trees ringing its precipice. He loves how he can still find places like these, undiscovered by anyone in the village. He breathes in, enjoying the deep and tranquil atmosphere.
"Nighty, don't you dare—pffft, hahaha, you're in for it now!"
Hiccup turns his head so abruptly his neck cracks in protest. The voice sounds young—no older than himself, certainly—and playful, with a kind of boyish enthusiasm. Not Tuffnut, not Fishlegs, and definitely not his cousin Snot.
He scrambles to the edge of the ledge he's on, and peers down.
Instantly he ducks back out of sight, heart racing fast as a bird's, a surprised yelp barely choked in his throat. He only got a glimpse, but that was enough.
The Night Fury. It's here. It's in the lake. Even now Hiccup can hear its movement, the vigorous splashing of water, interspersed with that same, human voice earlier, high and happy.
He feels faint. The dragon hasn't left. And there's someone else, not from their village; he's sure of it.
Someone else! Not from their village!
He can't help himself. Inch by agonizing inch, throat so tight he can barely breathe and almost sick from how fast his heart is beating, he peeks his head over the edge of the overhang once more.
The sleek black dragon is indeed in the lake, not far from the shore. Its wings are unfurled and gleaming with moisture, and it's bashing its tail against the surface, creating great sprays which rain down in front of it—onto a golden-haired boy.
A laughing, yelling, sputtering boy.
Hiccup's mouth drops open. The boy is shirtless—no armor, no weapon, nothing to offer him even an ounce of protection against the murderous beast not three feet away. Currently, he is trying very hard to splash water back at the dragon in turn, a pitiful attempt compared to the shower of lake water pouring onto his torso. A few moments later, Hiccup hears him yell out something like "fine, if you're not gonna play fair!", and then, as he watches, the boy dives under the surface… only to emerge on the dragon's side, hands immediately scratching at the glossy black scales on its neck and flank.
Scratching. Without a single care in the world.
Hiccup's stomach drops, certain of the bloodshed that will soon follow. It's been proven, time and time again, how dangerous it is to make close contact with a dragon. There is no way the beast will let the boy live, no matter how friendly it might have appeared. He needs to look away; doesn't want to witness the death of someone so young and seemingly innocent… but he finds himself morbidly transfixed.
The dragon's ruff flattens. Just when Hiccup thinks it's about to snap and lung and sink its teeth into the kid, it lets out a gurgle and a chuff, and—Hiccup feels his eyes widen—tumbles sideways into the shallow water, giving the boy full access to its flanks.
"Ha ha!" the blond figure shouts triumphantly, as he attacks the dragon with unbridled glee. "You like that, Nighty? Huh? Huh?"
The dragon only warbles and wriggles itself into an even more comfortable position, half-submerged, its tail swishing back and forth in joy.
… Joy?
Slowly Hiccup breathes in. The dragon warbles some more, before it reaches out its forepaws and scoops the boy, protesting and laughing, onto its chest. Then it points its tail at its chin, as if to say, scratch here! The boy grumbles something about being spoiled, before he complies, and the dragon relaxes, wings lazy and tongue rolling out.
Hiccup feels light-headed, like his body doesn't hold enough blood for him to process the scene in front of him. The dragon and the boy—they aren't fighting, or wrestling, or challenging each other.
They're playing with each other.
Gods. How can this be possible? It's one thing to find out they didn't always go for the kill, but this?
He shakes his head, still amazed and incredulous. He set out this morning, expecting to find maybe some tracks, some scales, or at most an angry dragon. He certainly didn't anticipate finding a friendly dragon, playing with a stranger.
Suddenly he realizes he wants to be down there, with the pair—now lounging together in the water and trying to catch fish from the looks of it. It seems almost ridiculous, but Hiccup can't help but feel a sort of bond… an almost familiar entanglement, with the boy. Maybe it's because they look quite a bit alike—they're both skinny and short, for one, and even their faces seem rather similar, though Hiccup's own is more angular, and the boy's is rounded and soft.
Plus, he wants to touch the dragon again. And if that kid can do it, why can't he? Worst comes to worst, he can talk his way out of things. He's always been quite a good talker, if he kept his sarcasm to himself. The kid seems friendly enough, and can obviously speak Archipelago Norse (they even have the same exact accent!) What can possibly go wrong?
The more Hiccup thinks about it, the faster the idea grows, rolling and rolling like a sailboat in storm, until it's unstoppable.
Yes, he decides. He will do it; he will go down to the bottom of the Cove, and try to—
"Do not move," an ice-cold voice comes from behind him, and a heartbeat later he feels the prickle of sharpened blade, pressing against the side of his neck. "Get up."
Hiccup's mind is momentarily blank. He tries and fails to place the voice, and the insistent chill of the weapon at his neck is making it very difficult to think.
"Uh, uhm, uh…"
"I said, get up."
"Okay, okay," he mutters, pushing himself off the rock. "Let's, uh… stay calm, alright?" The voice is decidedly young and feminine, he notices. A girl? But it's not Astrid or Ruffnut, so he wonders who it could be. Gods, its enough to find one unknown stranger on Berk, popping out of nowhere, and now there's another?
Focus, Hiccup, he tells himself. Here he is, a wrong response away from outright decapitation, and yet his mind keeps flying away at the most inconvenient times.
Slowly he gets to his feet. Her weapon doesn't leave his neck.
"Turn around," she instructs tersely. "And who the Hel are you?"
"I, uh—I'm—"
"Never mind, don't answer that. I have zero interest in knowing the names of filthy trappers." She kicks him the back of his leg, and he yelps. "I said, turn around."
Hiccup decides it's best to comply, and bites his tongue to keep himself from blurting out some comment about meeting murderous strangers on his own island. Still, he's a bit miffed, because does she not see that Night Fury down there? Between a live dragon and a talking fishbone of a guy, he can't help but think that, maybe, just maybe, she's got her priorities a bit wrong.
Shuffling his feet, he turns…
And stares right into the most beautiful person he has ever seen.
The hair is what he notices first, fiery red and tied into a loose braid trailing down her back. Her brows, currently arched and knotted, are the same color, and half-covered by her bangs. She has a smattering of freckles, like he does; though unlike him, they only serve to accentuate her already exquisite features, as an embellishment rather than a detraction.
And her eyes!
They're sky blue—the kind of blue you get only after heavy rain, the kind of blue that reminds you of beauty and ferocity and independence. He thinks he's seen that blue somewhere before, though he can't quite place it just yet. For a moment—a long moment—he simply gapes up at her, before he catches himself, and a faint blush spreads on his cheeks.
She really is distractingly beautiful, not to mention taller and older, too—almost a head taller than he is, and probably of age already—which only serves to make him uneasy. Well, more uneasy, considering the fact he already has a battle-axe pressed to his throat.
"Who do you work for?"
He blinks, still struggling to look her in the face without somehow getting lost in those eyes again. Then the meaning of her questions sink in.
"I—who? What do you mean, who do I work for?"
She presses the tip of her axe into the beginnings of the protrusion in his throat, which bobs as he gulps.
"Don't play games with me." She peers at him in disgust. "I know your lot; you're probably here for your precious Night Fury." Then she outright… spits. "Scum of Midgard," she mutters.
Hiccup cocks an eyebrow. "Now that's a bit uncalled-for. And my Night—okay, I guess that's fair, since I did come here for—"
"I know what you came here for," she cuts him off flatly. "You're not having it back."
The nonchalance with which the girl acknowledges and discusses the dragon astounds him. It's a Night Fury, for Thor's sake, not some lost sheep! But then again, he's just seen a boy his age play with the creature, so nothing ought to surprise him anymore.
Hiccup sighs and rolls his eyes. "Look, random-axemaiden-threatening-my-life… I didn't come to have the dragon back, all right? I just…"
"What? You just, what, exactly?" She steps forward, and he is forced to back away. She scoffs. "Tell me, did you guys honestly think this island would be abandoned forever? That my fa—that the High-Chief would possibly let this—" here she gestures to the dragon below them with a sweep of her free arm— "go on… especially here, on his old home?" Her breathtaking features curl themselves into a sneer. "Think again."
Hiccup sputters. "What? High-Chief? Old home?" He shakes his head, exasperated. "Would you believe me if I told you I don't know anything about that? And can you maybe take that axe away? Because it's kind of really hard to concentrate with—Okay! Okay! Axe stays."
"And you stay as well," she orders, tone frigid. "By engaging and trapping dragons for your own gain, you and your group have broken the Wilderwest Treaty as decreed by the High Council of the League, and confirmed by the Stórr-Thing of the Archipelago. You are hereby removed from the protection of the Law, and until justice can be passed on your crimes, I will be holding you custody. Get moving."
That wholesale… speech—there's nothing else he can possibly call it—sends Hiccup reeling. He understood every word, taken apart, but together they make no sense. Wilderwest Treaty? High Council? League? Stórr-Thing? He feels dizzy, even as she shoves him toward one edge of the overhang they're standing on.
And the way she delivered it! For a ridiculous moment, Hiccup is reminded of his own father, meting out justice in the Meade Hall, for that's the kind of tone he heard just now; cold and high and untouchable, impartial yet powerful, saturated with the confident authority only a ruler—a Chieftain—can possibly possess. He doesn't know how she does it, but in that moment… he felt actual fear, as if he'd just been dealt an actual sentence, slamming down upon him with the weight of sovereign law.
He stumbles to where she wants him to go, and realizes her intention—a lower ledge can be seen about three feet below them, and another one below that, creating a convenient way down to the floor of the Cove. His mind is still buzzing. Who is she? She's obviously delusional. And that boy earlier, playing with the dragon; there is no way they don't know each other. And what's with her obsession about dragon trapping? It's all any Tribe can do to survive against the Hel-damned scourge, let alone trap them! Where is she even from, to be so ignorant?
"Zeph?" comes a call. "You're back?"
Hiccup glances at the lake, just in time to see the golden-haired boy climb out of the water. Beside him, the Night Fury shakes itself dry, sprinkling the soil dark with moisture. The boy laughs as some land on him. "Go dry yourself somewhere else, ya big loony!" Then he squints at them. "Oh! Who's that with you?"
"A trapper scum I caught snooping around. We might be able to get more information on the whereabouts of the rest of them." She prods at Hiccup's back. "Come on. Move."
Hiccup hops down the ledge, thinking furiously. They speak Archipelago Norse, both with his accent, so they're obviously Vikings (possibly even from close by). As for clothes, while the boy is only clad in wool britches from the swim, the girl is wearing a curiously familiar assortment of metal, cloth, leather, and furs, fashioned into shoulder plates and capes and belts and tunics. If one ignores the insane nonsense coming out of her mouth, she could almost pass as… Berkian.
Hiccup shakes his head. There's no use wondering where they're from. If they're both as crazy as the girl is beginning to sound, he might not be able to bargain with them for his release. A bitter smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about what might happen in that scenario. For one, it might take the village a whole day to notice his absence, and longer if Gobber doesn't think to check on him. And second… once they realize, they might not even put in that serious of a search effort anyway. Maybe they'll just declare him missing, and move on.
Even after all these years, even when he tells himself he should be used to it… the thought still hurts.
Hiccup the Unwanted.
He sighs as he drops down to the ground with the girl close behind him, half-wishing the dirt floor would break and swallow him whole. It seems he's failed at everything lately—he couldn't kill the dragon, couldn't stand up to his dad and got roped into dragon training, failed miserably and almost got killed in said training… and ended up getting himself captured.
Four failures in half as many days. Gobber's voice pipes up in his mind: 'Congratulations, lad, you broke your own record!'
A low rumbling growl yanks him back to the present. Hiccup blinks, and finds himself face to face with the Night Fury, the creature's green eyes large and unblinking, pupils narrowed.
"Aww, don't be like that, Nighty. It's safe! Zeph's watching him."
The blond boy from earlier is standing next to the dragon, dressed now in a simple biege tunic and some wool trousers. Right now, he's scratching just beyond the beast's flared ruff, motions long and calm and soothing.
Hiccup cannot help but stare in amazement, as the dragon's pupils slowly dilate, its ruff flattens, and it—he almost wants to rub his eyes—reaches out its tongue… to give the boy a small lick. The boy laughs and wipes the slobber on his tunic without a care. Then he looks up.
And Hiccup finds himself staring into his own eyes.
And not just his eyes—Dad's eyes, too. Haddock eyes. It's… uncanny, to say the least, because while the village has no shortage of green-eyed folk, he's never once encountered someone with their exact shade of green, that clear color halfway between forest-green and emerald-green. He blinks, startled, but the boy doesn't seem to notice, for he's already turning to the girl.
"Are you sure he's a trapper?" the boy asks, and Hiccup realizes (to his amusement) that he can read the lad almost like reading runes. The expression, the gesture, the posture; they're all as transparent as spring water, leaving no secrets as to their master's every mood. "He doesn't look like a trapper to me."
"I'm not! I'm really not," Hiccup protests, which earns him a prod in the flank. At least there's no axe at his throat anymore.
"See? Of course he's going to deny it," the girl—Zeph—replies, easy and nonchalant, and Hiccup is astounded when he sees her crack a smile. She can smile! And gods does her smile look incredible. He has to force himself not to stare again.
"I'unno…" the boy frowns. "I mean, Uncle Eret used to be a trapper." He gestures at Hiccup. "He's way too scrawny to be one."
"Wow, thanks."
The words spill out of Hiccup's mouth before he can stop himself, and he freezes.
"You're welcome," the boy shoots back with a lazy lopsided grin, not missing a single beat. Coupled with those Haddock-green eyes, Hiccup is once more assaulted by that uncanny feeling of entanglement that is difficult to place.
Hiccup shakes his head, annoyed. What is with him today? These people are his captors! He shouldn't be thinking of them in friendly, much less familiar terms. But then again, at the rate things are going, he wouldn't be surprised if the boy turns out to be his long-lost brother or something.
Ha. Wouldn't that be a sight to see? he muses, until another jab to his flank causes him to hiss.
"Don't be fooled," the girl warns. "He's a trapper, no question about that. He specifically told me he came here looking for his dragon."
"For Nighty?" The boy pats the creature, who licks his hand in response. All throughout their exchange, the dragon has been sitting and observing it all with abstract interest. With its pupils wide and curious, it doesn't look an ounce like the menace Hiccup once thought it to be.
The girl rolls her eyes. "Can we not call it that?"
"What? It's a good name! Nighty, Nighty," he chants, giving the dragon some more rubs—which are very well-received, judging from the deep purrs emerging from the creature's throat. "See? He likes it."
"It's terrible."
Personally, Hiccup thinks 'Nighty' is a perfectly respectable name for a Night Fury, so he doesn't quite understand the girl's sentiment. But then it dawns on him.
"You guys… name dragons?"
The two teens turn to look at him, and he blushes. They all stare at each other for a few breaths.
The blond boy is the one to break the silence. "Well, yeah? You can't just call it Dragon or Night Fury all the time, you know. Nighty's only a temporary name, though, until he can fly again, and we go back—"
"Finky," the girl warns, and the boy falls silent.
"Er. Sorry, Zeph."
She sighs. "Go fetch some rope."
The boy nods, and hobbles away—limping in his right leg, Hiccup notices. The dragon looks back and forth between the boy and the two other humans, before it huffs and scampers after the boy.
The girl observes them for a brief moment, before turning to Hiccup. He doesn't look at her eyes, for fear of getting sucked into those blue orbs again.
"I don't understand why you do it," she says, and Hiccup is surprised to hear a touch of sorrow in her voice. "I mean, you deal with such amazing creatures every day, and all you think about is hurting them, or killing them, or catching and selling them."
"No, we don't." Hiccup shakes his head. "Look, er… Miss? Zeph?"
"Don't call me that," she snarls, hefting her battle-axe. "Only my brother is allowed to call me that."
Hiccup holds up his hands. "Okay! Okay. My point is, you're wrong about my village. We're not trappers; I swear. We fight and kill dragons, yeah, but only because we have to."
"Nobody has to," she retorts, heated. "There haven't been dragon raids for almost two decades!"
Hiccup belts out a laughs. "I think you mean 'for almost two days', but close enough."
The girl narrows her eyes. "There was a dragon raid? Two days ago? Here?"
Hiccup shrugs. "Eh, you guys probably slept through that one."
"We only got here yesterday. Plus we didn't see any signs of it, coming in."
"Hey, I don't blame you," Hiccup remarks drily. "It's only an entire destroyed village, after all. Very easy to miss, for sure."
"But where did so many dragons come from?" she says, a prominent crease in her forehead. "There can't be enough to form a raid."
"Haha, crazy, right? It's almost as if there's a whole Nest somewhere sending out dragons every week!"
"No, that's impossible. There hasn't been a Nest around these parts since…" she trails off, deep in thought.
Hiccup is getting a little annoyed. He tries to remind himself that it's not the best idea to argue with someone so delusional, but somehow he can't stop his mouth.
"Last I checked, Miss, it's our island, not yours. I think we would know if—"
"Your island?" she seethes, chest rising and falling dramatically. "Your island? So not only do you trespass, you have the nerve to claim it, too?" She trembles with rage.
The response was immediate and far above anything he anticipated, but by now Hiccup's own annoyance is beginning to blossom into anger.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he says drily, "were we trespassing? I wasn't aware."
"Don't give me that yaklort," she snaps. "You know full well that Old Berk—"
"Woah woah, hold up, Old Berk? I know we've been here seven generations and all, but don't go around calling it—"
He is interrupted by a thunderous landing and a torrential flap of wings.
"Thanks, Nighty!" comes the boy's voice, and the dragon croons in response. A moment later he slides from the Night Fury's back, a hand on its wing joint for purchase as he lands on the ground. "I brought the rope!" he announces triumphantly, before tossing it to the girl—who Hiccup now knows is his sister. "What'd I miss?"
"Conversations with a lunatic," the girl mutters darkly. She steps closer. "Finky, come help me tie him up."
"Okay." The boy limps over to them, giving Hiccup an apologetic smile. "Sorry, man," he says as he drags both of Hiccup's hands behind his back. "I kind of like you, but we can't have you running off, you know?"
Hiccup sighs. It irks him that he likes the kid, too—likes them both, actually, even after that row he's just had with the girl. It irks him that, even now, as he feels the rope pull his wrists together, he can't bring himself to think too ill of them in general.
"So how long did you say you were keeping me, again?" he asks, after they're done binding his hands.
"As long as we need to," the girl says, obviously still riled up from their exchange earlier.
"It probably won't be long," the boy reassures him. "We're expecting our pa—er, people, to come fetch us." He turns to his sister. "So, you really think he's a trapper?"
"I don't know," she replies tersely. "I think he's crazy, if anything. He was spouting nonsense all this time, saying things about dragon raids, and Nests, and even claiming Old Berk as his island."
Hiccup sniffs, indignant. "You're one to talk. And stop calling it that! It's not Old."
Her gaze flits over to him, imperious. "Then stop saying it's your island."
"But it is our island! We've lived here—"
"For seven generations, right? Is that what your parents told you?" She scoffs, disdain dripping off her every gesture. "Well, guess what? They lied. You lot haven't been here for more than twenty years, guaranteed."
She says this with such open and easy conviction that Hiccup would have believed her if he didn't know any better.
"Huh," the blond boy says, looking back and forth between them two. "I see why you think he's crazy."
Hiccup opens his mouth, trying to think of a rebuttal, but he doesn't even know where to start. Theirs is evidently a systematic delusion so structured and interconnected that it seems impossible for him to debunk. How do you debunk an entire worldview? He shakes his head and kicks at some dirt at his feet, suddenly exhausted.
"I give up," he declares. He would throw up his hands, but they're tied right now. "I wish I never came back to find you," he adds glumly, nodding at the dragon in a fit of resigned temper. "Then none of this would've happened."
"Oh, that's tall of you," the girl sneers. "Maybe none of this would have happened if your people didn't capture it in the first place. Ever considered that?"
"My village didn't capture it," Hiccup sighs, trying to be patient. He feels like they're going around in a circle. "For the last time, we aren't trappers; we fight to survive. If my village captured it, they'd probably kill it right away."
"Spare us the lies," she snaps, gesturing angrily at the dragon, who is observing their exchange with curious green eyes. "We saw those rope marks."
Hiccup gulps. "Those… were probably from my bola." He bites his lower lip, somehow apprehensive for no good reason. "I did… shoot it," he admits, feeling way more nervous than he ought to. "Out of the air, two nights ago during a raid."
"Aha! Finally, a confession! See, Finky? I told you he's a trapper."
Her brother doesn't immediately answer, though when he does, his voice is small. "Yeah… I guess he is."
Hiccup isn't prepared for the pang of guilt that assaulted him when he heard those words, almost like he betrayed the boy's trust.
"I wasn't trying to capture it," he hastens to clarify, feeling ridiculous for caring so much. "I just—I wanted to prove myself, to my village. I was usually so useless during raids, and I'm small and weak and not like everyone else, and since dragon fighting is everything around my village, I just wanted to make my mark somehow, and just fit in with other kids, you know?"
They're both staring at him by this point, and belatedly Hiccup realizes what he's done, and blushes bright red. He hadn't planned on sharing this much—hadn't planned on sharing at all, in fact—but words seemed to tumble out of him in a never-ending stream.
"I-I'm sorry," he mutters sheepishly, and is met with silence.
With a sinking heart, Hiccup can't help but wonder if he's somehow made a mess of everything… again.
Because despite their obvious lunacy and their adamant denial of some basic history, these kids have offered him a glimpse of something tantalizingly close… to friendship. Which is ridiculous, of course, and he keeps trying to tell himself that—they've tied him up and questioned him, and he is to be their prisoner!—but still he's unable to shake the feeling of, of closeness, and entanglement,and bond. For even with him facing charges of dragon-trapping, which they both obviously find distressing, and even with his hands bound and completely at their mercy, they've treated him with courtesy, and conversed with him easily, and joked with him.
That must be what friends are like, Hiccup thinks, although the concept is too fuzzy in his mind for him to be sure—it's been so long since he's had a real friend, after all, the pitiful few he'd had during his childhood (Fishlegs and Astrid, mostly, and sometimes Cami when she visited) had long since drifted away. Hiccup doesn't blame them. They're… them. And he's… Hiccup.
He shakes his head and chides himself for entertaining the illusion that somehow, someone would want to befriend Hiccup the Useless. Gods, is he really so desperate?
Maybe it's because of everything that's been going on in his life, and the recent string of failures. Maybe it bothers him more than he'd ever care to admit. And maybe… he just kind of really needs a friend.
Heh. Good luck finding one, he thinks bitterly.
Then he hears a small, low keen. Frowning, he looks back… and freezes.
The dragon is suddenly less than a feet away from him, its head somehow incredibly massive this up close. The creature's green eyes are fully open, pupils dilated and calm. It stares at him for a brief second, before chirruping again.
"Uh, uhm," Hiccup says, not daring to move. "Help? What does it want with me?"
"Relax," he hears the boy say, an awestruck smile behind his voice. "He's not gonna hurt you."
"And how do you know that?" Hiccup asks, still slightly panicked. It doesn't help that he has no hands he can use. "Uh, uh, it's getting closer, can you call it off—"
With a light, gentle motion, the dragon closes the gap between them, and rubs its snout against his forehead.
Hiccup can feel its hot breath, feel the softness and sleekness of its scales. He gasps, a small wondrous noise half-stuck in his throat, as shock gives away to awe, and awe to elation.
It's so warm. And soft. And beautiful.
Then the moment ends, and the dragon pulls away, sniffing, before it once again curls up and sits down next to the boy, who is beaming at them both.
"Nighty knows you!" he exclaims, delighted. "But how?"
Hiccup is still in a daze, his heart beating extraordinarily fast.
He touched—no. A dragon touched him.
"He must remember me," he replies absent-mindedly. "I freed him, from the bola. But… Woah. Wow. Why… uh, why did it do that?"
"He likes you," the boy says, matter-of-fact. "Guess you really did free him, huh?"
Hiccup is pretty sure his mouth hasn't closed yet. The spot where the dragon just touched him still burns on his forehead—so powerful in his sensations that he's sure it must be glowing. He shakes his head, and again, and blinks once more.
"Wait," the girl frowns. "You freed him from your own trap?"
"Yeah," Hiccup says slowly, desperately grasping at the remnants of the sensations of scale on skin, like clinging at a fading dream even as it gradually dissolves, leaving him wistful for more. He stares at the Night Fury, which no longer seems to want to pay him any mind. He wishes he can swap places with the boy, currently leaning on its black scales.
"Why?" Perhaps because of the Night Fury's display of trust, there is no anger in the girl's voice, only puzzlement. "Why would you free a dragon you shot down?"
"Because I was a coward," Hiccup says, shrugging. "I've always been one, really." He laughs, but right now he's too giddy for the laugh to take on a bitter tone. "Hiccup the Useless, right?"
Now that he's calmed down, more or less, from the thrilling heights of that close encounter, he finds himself brimming with questions. There are so many to ask! Are all dragons this friendly, or is it only Nighty? Is it possible to ride them and go flying? Is it possible… that humans and dragons can exist in peace?
"Do you… know who that is?"
Hiccup looks up. Two pairs of eyes are on him, a mix between a stare and a glare.
"Uh… what?"
"Do you know who that is?" the girl repeats. She pats her battle-axe. "Normally, what you said just now would be an insult to our Clan, our Tribe, and the League of the Wilderwest, and we would demand an apology, or be forced to defend our honor."
"… What?" Hiccup says. "I'm sorry, I don't quite follow?"
"We'd have to cut off an arm, or something," her brother says simply, shrugging. "You called him Useless, after all. We can't just… let that slide, you know."
"Woah, woah, woah," Hiccup says, paling. "You're going to cut off my arm? Can I ask where the Hel this came from?"
The boy rolls his eyes. "Under normal circumstances! But we don't think you know what you're saying."
"Saying? Saying what?" Hiccup tries to think back to what he's said. His mouth drops open. "… Useless? Wait… you mean Hiccup the Useless?"
The siblings tense a little, then nod.
Hiccup blinks, then frowns. "But… that's me. That's what my village calls me."
"Your name is Hiccup?" asks the boy, a strange look on his face.
Hiccup chuckles. "Weird name, I know. Believe me, you're not the first to have that reaction… but wait till you hear these other kids—"
"Do you know who you're named after?" the girl cuts in, urgently. She too is sporting a strange look on her face, but Hiccup thinks there is something close to panic beneath her eyes.
"Oh, that's a lousy thing to do," her brother grumbles. "For a dragon trapper to name their kid after him…"
The girl nods, but still looks a fair deal more troubled. "I hope it's just some morbid joke on their part, but…" here her voice drops to a hiss. "Have you noticed his story? How similar it is to the ones he told us? And remember the shield portrait?"
"Hey, what are you talking about?" Hiccup asks, utterly lost. "I'm right here. And why do you want to know who I'm named after?"
"Just… tell us? Please?"
"A bit late to be bringing out the manners," Hiccup smirks. But then he catches her eyes, and gulps. "Okay, okay, don't need to glare like that. Well, if you must know, I'm named after my Great-Grand-Uncle. I guess I'm also to blame; I was tiny when I was born."
"… And what's his name? No, scrap that… what's your name?"
"Uh, is there a reason for this very sudden and oddly alarming interest in my genealogy? Because—"
"Just answer me."
Hiccup is fairly certain he hears the edge of desperation in her voice this time. He looks once more to the siblings. The boy is still frowning at him, evidently trying to figure something out, but the girl has gone as pale as snow. Hiccup thinks it's best to humor her—she looks like she's about to collapse any moment.
"Well, if you say so. But it's not very user-friendly, just so you know."
The ghost of a grin plays at the corner of her lips, but is gone the next heartbeat.
"Oh I think I already know," she says faintly.
"I doubt it. Anyway, I'm Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third to be exact. My Great-Grand-Uncle was the Second."
The girl nods, numb. Beside her, her brother's eyes widen in shock.
They turn to look at each other.
"Lort."
Author's Notes:
1. Stórr means Great. A Thing is an assembly. Stórr-Thing means the Great Assembly (The Icelandic Parliament is called the Althing, for example).
2. Lort/Lortr is Old Norse for shit (also similar in Danish / Icelandic / Faroese). It sounds so fun to say!
3. This project started at a bad time… basically (if you follow my other fic Once There Were Dragons you'll also know this) I have a certification exam coming up, and my writing time will be very limited in the coming 3 months. So this fic will unfortunately be updated very slowly in the coming months, until I'm done with that. Thanks for reading and understanding!
4. Want to join a community of HTTYD fans? Want to fangasm about fics, art, or shitposts? Want to have a server of nice people who you can vent to and discuss things with? Join the A Thing of Vikings Discord server: discordapp dot com/invite/xVuZfK2