Broken record time: This is not an official sequel to I Hear Him Scream
"Put on your pants one leg at a time."
I leaned against the massive wooden door, panting as it slowly swung shut. The flight had taken a lot out of me, and a climb to Berk's most elevated public building on my new foot wasn't exactly an easy follow-up. After a few more seconds of heavy breathing and one last second to (hopefully) compose myself, I slowly made my way to the crowd of unusually quiet Vikings. I tried to ignore the large, dragon-being-killed chandelier above the fire pit, even though it was really hard to do. It's like it was staring right at me, saying 'your friends are still in danger'. Even though I knew in my mind that they weren't, my racing heart was still telling me to do something about it. Eventually I decided to ask Dad to remove it later just so I could focus, and I picked up his voice right after I did.
He sounded like he was finishing some kind of explanation. "-and Gobber will be the only ones leaving. No more."
One of the villagers wasn't convinced. "Couldn't they just wait like they're supposed to?"
"Apparently not," Dad returned, frowning.
This time, I recognized Gorge's voice as he spoke up. "And you're sure we're not bringing anybody else?"
"Yes. This will be a very short meeting. We should be back before a full week passes."
I nearly fell over when I heard Ruffnut whine out her question. "But why does Hiccup get to go? Why not me?"
Tuffnut took this as his cue to join in. "Or me?"
"Uh, I think you guys are forgetting that I would go before either of you two!" Snotlout bragged, pointing a finger at them.
Astrid snorted. "Oh please! You'd be the last one to go to a peace meeting."
Bringing up the rear, Fishlegs finished the quintet. "Technically, we'll all be going to the summer gather."
"ENOUGH!" Dad's voice, loud and commanding as usual, easily silenced the banter. "Chiefs, heirs, advisors, and two helmsmen. Five people per tribe. No more. Was I not clear?" Giving a harsh glare to each of them, one that soon spread to the rest of the hall, he gave a final grunt of dismissal. "Good. Everybody clear out and ready the ship. We set sail in the morning. Spitelout is in charge until we return."
The village, either not wanting to tempt fate by pestering him again or satisfied with his orders, began rushing out of the Hall in the usual 'me first!' fashion.
I was still rooted in place, unable to piece together what was going on. I'm leaving? TOMORROW?! But I can finally fly again! And Toothless can't fly without me!
I was about to continue the pessimistic line of thought until an idea hit me, an idea so good that it stopped any further mental protesting. I sighed; whatever happens, at least now I know the first thing to build when I get back to the forge. I just hope a solo-flying tail won't take another week to make.
A shove to my back that I've learned means "There you are!" in Viking punch-language literally knocked me out of my thoughts. I had to swing my arms in front of me and hop on my one good foot a few times to keep from falling over. I was about to turn around and give my attacker a glare when I was cut off.
"Hiccup! I was just about to send for you!" As usual, my Dad easily won the 'who can talk loudest in public' competition. He forgot whatever he was going to say when he got a good look at me. "Why are you covered in soot? I thought Tyrsday was your day off."
I sighed. "It's a long story. W-what was all this about?" I gestured around me, trying to change the topic.
"You didn't hear?" he asked, apprehension creeping into his voice.
I shook my head. "Uh, I kind of got here late. I heard something about leaving the island, but not much else."
"And what kept you from getting here early like you usually do?"
"Um... nest business?"
"Alright," he sighed and nodded, relaxing at the explanation but quickly regaining his towering composure and directing his gaze back to my medium-rare body. He looked me over for a long time, as if inspecting a fruit to see if it were ripe enough to pick.
My body felt like it wanted to twitch, but I've had enough practice with my nest mates to keep it still. I had more important things to worry about anyway. "So, uh, what was this about?"
With a single nod to himself, Dad pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to me. "See for yourself."
I tilted my head and took the paper, wondering why he was choosing now of all times to not explain what was going on. My confusion didn't last long, though; curiosity has a way of distracting me, especially when it has to do with writing.
The first thing I noticed was the Meathead seal. Each of the six Viking tribes in the archipelago has a unique seal that's put at the top of any official message. The Meathead's is, unsurprisingly, a picture of meat. I could even smell traces of bacon from the parchment.
The second thing I noticed was the set of ink runes that filled the parchment. That's very unusual. Most messages are written in charcoal; ink is a rare commodity that's only restocked by trader Johann twice a year per tribe. He doesn't ever part with much of it because he has to supply all the tribes. If it's being written in ink, then it has to be about something important, otherwise the tribe that sent it would be seen as weak or whiny. I think Gobber's exact words (when he was dealing with the paperwork for the repair requests) was something along the lines of "All these ninnies need ta know when ta use charcoal! If the Berserkers think they're suckerin' me into helpin' 'em first with their fancy ink, they've got another thing comin'!"
Too eager to analyze the craft of the message further, I carefully began reading.
Hairy Hooligans, (as usual, Viking greetings are very creative)
I request that your chief, Stoick the Vast, his heir, whoever that may be, and his closest advisor attend a half-gather at Odin Island. I have made an important discovery about the dragon scourge we all face, or perhaps, no longer face, that I must share with all Vikings. Since this will only be a half-gather, I also request that the head count on each arriving ship be no greater than five. I doubt it will last more than three days, so go easy on the provisions!
The Opening Ceremony will begin on the final Thorsday of Autumn at High Noon.
P.S. Make sure you don't forget about the Summer Gather. You remember what happened the last time a tribe did that, Stoick, and I don't want you out-casted before I can get a piece of you!
-Chief Mogadon of the Meathead Tribe
Short, to the point, and uncompromising. Definitely a Viking message.
Just to make sure I wasn't mistaken, I read over the date a second time. My eyes only widened further when I did. "The final Thorsday of fall? Isn't that two days from now?"
Dad replied without changing his expression. "Aye, that it is."
I didn't manage to hide the accusation in my voice very well. "When exactly did we get this message?"
My father is many things, but a procrastinator is not one of them. "It arrived over a month ago. By messenger hawk," he pointed out, equally as accusatory as I'd been.
"Oh," I said, rubbing my hand behind my neck and avoiding his eyes. Of course it arrived at the height of that fiasco. "Sorry about that."
Dad released a heavy sigh, hands on his hips and head lowering as he continued. "I guess I should be thankful it wasn't eaten in the first place." He stood up straighter before explaining. "Gorge found it this morning when he was sorting through all the hawks. There's not much we can do about it now beyond dealin' with it. We set sail at dawn. It'll take a full day and night of sailing to reach Odin Island on time if the tides are against us, so I've had the men prepare and stock our fastest ship."
I suddenly got an idea, one that would hopefully prevent a certain grumpy dragon from exploding at me when I broke the news to him. "You know, we have a faster way of crossing oceans now-"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!" Dad shouted, so loudly that I was almost physically shoved back by the volume alone, never mind the shock. Flinching at my reaction, he quickly calmed himself with another sigh. "I'm sorry Hiccup, but we have to keep everything that happened last year a secret until we find a good way to deal with it. And I mean everything. I don't even know how to begin talking to the Burglar Chief about it all, let alone the others. Explaining you being alive is going to be hard enough. The last thing I need right now is for someone to think that we had something to do with the end of the war. The more we can do to keep their eyes off of Berk this winter, the better, and that means no dragons."
I sighed and nodded, somehow disappointed and relieved by his stubbornness. There'd probably be more risks than I could think of if I brought Toothless to a gathering of all the strongest Vikings in the area, and maybe even the world. There was only one thing bothering me about his otherwise simple explanation. "What do you mean my 'being alive'?"
He chuckled at this. "Lucky for all of us, it's 'being alive' and not 'being a dragon'. I told most of the other tribes you were killed by a Night Fury after you shot it down."
"That's it?" I asked. This was actually the first time I considered what could happen to Berk if the other tribes knew more than that. Before now, I had never really thought about what Dad would have said to the other tribes, let alone try to ask him. I kind of always assumed they knew. "They don't know anything?"
Dad looked up in thought as he searched for important details. "Well, some of them also used to think we let your, uh, 'replacement' escape from the Ring, and that had something to do with the lack of raids on Berk. Most of 'em don't anymore though. Not even Bertha still does, and she was bold enough to say it to my face at the end of last winter, right in front of both our tribes. At the time, there wasn't much more for me to say. You remember better than anyone how I felt back then."
I looked down to the ground, trying not to let my thoughts wander to the past.
Dad's voice became a lot more panicked after he realized exactly what he had said. "Not that I do anymore! I mean, well, I just-" he stammered, grasping for an explanation.
"It's alright," I said, sighing. "What's this about a summer gather?" I asked, again hoping the change in topic would distract us both.
Dad's entire demeanor changed as his eyes lit up in excitement. "Oh! Do you remember that traditional Viking gathering that all of Berk went to almost ten years ago. The one where you met all the other tribes' chiefs and heirs?"
It was hard to forget the loudest, most disorganized two weeks of my entire life. And yes, I'm including last year. There's something about thousands of Vikings with nothing but mead and their own two fists for entertainment that does that.
At my reluctant nod, he continued. "It's a very sacred tradition, held once every decade. If you remember, the Berserkers hosted it last time. It seems like Mogadon plans on hosting this half-gather, probably to weasel his way out of hosting a full one. Not that I blame him. He always knew how to make something good out of a bad situation."
This was starting to sound like something I shouldn't even be attending. "What's so bad about this half-gather?"
Dad sighed and shook his head. "What's bad is the whole reason he's bringin' it together. Vikings haven't had a half-gather like this in centuries. The last one I've read about was brought together when the dragon problem got worse, well over two hundred years ago. After that, it was decided that it wasn't worth the risk to gather all the tribes' chiefs and heirs in one place more often than tradition dictates."
I creased my eyebrows at the coincidence. "That sounds like it matches up with when the Queen arrived at the nest."
Dad eyed me with curiosity, then nodded. "You're probably right. Anyway, I guess it's only natural that another half-gather is called now that the war has ended."
I thought about this for a while, a small detail that had been bugging me finally becoming a bit more relevant. "Why do they think the war has ended? I doubt any of the other tribes are on friendly terms with dragons just yet, and if this message arrived over a month ago, then it makes even less sense they'd think so based on the lack of raids."
Both of his eyebrows rose as he looked at me in surprise, probably not expecting a question like that. "Well, the Meatheads were always the most active when it came to searchin' for the dragons' nest. They were the first to lead a fleet into Helheim's Gate last spring. I bet they led another sometime after you came back, only to find an empty mountain."
Another detail started bugging me. "How did they even find it? Those pillars are a maze to navigate if you don't know where you're going. Shouldn't the fog have at least slowed them down for another month?"
Dad shook his head. "Our scouts say that the fog around the nest is gone. She-" (he spat out that particular word with clear malice, as if it would leap out and bite him) "probably had something to do with that as well. Without that fog, and without any guarding dragons, they must have found the nest. I wouldn't be surprised if Mogadon pushed 'em to make it in record time. Actually, I guess they set the record either way, since they're the first Vikings to ever land there. I bet Mogadon rushed his men as much as caution allowed once he saw that all the old obstacles were gone." He thought for a while longer. "Or maybe they saw the remains of the battle and figured out the rest."
I shook my head. "No, they definitely found the nest. Maybe they did come across all those scorched pillars, but I doubt they'd be sending this if that was all they saw."
"You think so?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Plus, what kind of hunting-happy chief would stop there? Even I would keep searching after that if I were in his boots, and I hate putting people in more danger than they have to be in. Since it's safer for everyone in the long run, it's just too important to not go at least that far."
Dad was beaming with pride by the time I finished. "Hiccup, I think you're going to make an excellent chief one day!"
I could easily feel my cheeks getting warmer. "Well, I kind of already am one."
He threw his head back in laughter, gripping my shoulder to steady himself, only for it to turn into an affectionate pat. "Aye, that you are. Now! I need to get ready for tomorrow, and so do you. Make sure to get a good night's rest. You'll be needing it."
I was about to nod when a brilliant idea hit me. "Couldn't you just take Snotlout and pretend I'm still 'dead'?"
He laughed again as he shook his head. "I'll admit I thought about doing just that, but I figured we'll be lying enough as it is. Plus, that would just delay it to next summer. Best to rip the bandage off fast and be done with it." He was about to turn around when he stopped mid-swivel. "Oh! The survival of the village could depend on how we handle this, Hiccup; a chief must protect his own. I'm sorry I've got to separate you from your friend for a few days, but that's the way it has to be. And tell Toothless I'm sorry, too. If there was any way around it, I'd have taken it." He began making his way over to the wooden doors to leave the now empty hall.
Just before he crossed the threshold, I called out to him. "Dad?"
He halted, looking back with a hesitant smile. "Yes, son?"
"Thanks."
With a final nod, he turned and left the hall, almost like he was trying to hide his face. I smiled at what I saw before he did. I never thought he could look so happy.
