Disclaimer Mini-Series, Short 2 out of 5: Holy Dooley

"Writin's a good job, mate. It's challengin' work, always yours. I guarantee it won't go boring, 'cause at the end of the day, long as there's one person left on the planet, someone is gonna want somethin' to read."

"Disclaimers?! Look mate, you wanna know what has a lotta disclaimers? Blokes who muddy their fics up with long author's notes. Professionals have standards: be polite; be efficient; have a plan to change everyone you meet."


"We all start with innocence, but the world leads us to guilt."


Gods, I forgot how slow sailing is. Even with a strong tailwind and good tides. At first I was trying convince myself that the trip wouldn't be so bad, but a pre-dawn flight and a very difficult goodbye are pretty good at blocking out that kind of thinking. I know it's not as bad as it feels, and it has been getting easier to deal with frustrating situations. But it still hurts like a Hum-Wing tail to the chest whenever I have to deal with them. Time to think and a friend to talk to are the two best ways to cope, so of course I don't have much of either right now. I've been forced to rely on my oldest method of quickly coping: thinking that it could be a whole heck of a lot worse. After all, this has probably been the most eventful morning I've ever had on the open seas. Well, the second most eventful morning, but I'm starting to think I should stop counting things that happened during that time, since it's pretty unfair.

First, Dad had everyone unpacked their gear in the hold. He said that the other tribes will probably do the same; he doesn't think anyone is going to be camping on the island, since it'll be much easier and simpler to sleep on the ship. (And we all know how much Vikings like to keep things easy and simple).

Next he had Bucket give everyone a haircut before we could change into our gather clothes. I'm not saying I didn't need one, and I'm definitely not saying Bucket doesn't have some very unusual talents (because I don't think any of us have ever looked so good), but it was still one of the strangest 'orders' I've heard him give, and just about the happiest I've ever seen Bucket.

Last and least, Dad had everybody on the ship running back and forth non-stop for at least a half-hour; it took a lot of work to set things up so that we'd only need one person on deck to pilot the ship.

And did I mention I had to do all of this while trying to keep my new sense of smell from distracting me? Well, I guess it would be my old sense of smell. Maybe. I still don't quite understand it, but it's almost as if I can catch scents even better than I could a few months ago. Either way, I've got my old nose back and I have absolutely no clue why. To top it off, it doesn't feel or look any different on the outside, and I didn't even realize anything was different this morning until I was already hundreds of feet in the air. It might just be a fluke; Toothless was even more surprised than I was after I brought it up (mostly because I never told him exactly how different a human's sense of smell is from a dragon's). When he finally understood, he just shrugged it off and said it might be an aftereffect of that time. Either way, there aren't many accounts of hybrids in dragon history, and none at all of hybrids that changed back, so there's no telling what's going on.

Toothless and I decided that we'd worry about it when I returned. If it isn't temporary. But if it is temporary, there's some serious sniffing I have to get out of my system before we get to Odin Island. The Sun was already half-way to high noon when Dad gave us our first break of the day, which finally gave me the chance to take a few clear breaths without being distracted by a giddy Shadow-Blender's flight or loose ropes that took all my strength to tie down. Walking over to the edge of the deck, I took my first true whiff of the ocean breeze.

I wasn't expecting the huge wave of nostalgia. In an instant, I felt like my old self again. I was soaring (very slowly) above the open seas, enjoying the salty ocean air, relaxing with the winds, and feeling the warmth of the Sun seep into my body to fight the cold air. The blue ocean and clear skies were as wide and open as ever, even if the ocean was a little closer than usual, and all I wanted to do was chase the Sun until I couldn't chase it anymore. I closed my eyes in the sheer joy of the feeling.

I was so into the moment, so lost in memory and thought, that a single shout from behind was all it took to send a deep shiver down my spine, bringing a much less fun wave of nostalgia with it. All of a sudden, my body tried to go on the defensive, wanting to flee, ready to run for the safety of the forest and–

No! It's over! Snap out of it! Deep breaths. It's just Dad trying to get everyone's attention.

Trying to get a grip on myself, I shook off as much of the feeling as I could without drawing attention. I had to put on a blank expression, the only neutral one I could manage, when I turned to face him. Luckily Dad had a difficult time getting Gorge and Gobber to stop talking about something, so I had a few extra seconds to get my body under control.

Note to self: Nostalgia might feel good, but old instincts DO NOT, and the two come hand-in-paw. Avoid in the future.

Dad's order-giving voice was enough to completely bring me back to reality. "Alright everyone, I think that just about does it. Bucket, since you've got the night shift, man the ship till lunch and then hit the sack."

"What kind of sack should I be hittin'?" he asked, looking around.

Thank the Gods for Bucket. I know it's mean, but 'half-wit humor', as Gobber calls it, can be pretty funny sometimes, and it's definitely what I needed. Gobber and Gorge must have thought so, too, because they had an even harder time keeping their reactions under control than I did.

Dad sent them both a quick glare before clarifying. "Your bedsack. I want you to get some sleep so you can be ready for a night of sailing. Do you think you could do that for me?" At Bucket's excited nodding, he continued. "Alright then. Gobber and Gorge, get out the oars." When everyone (even Bucket) groaned, Dad cut us off. "We have to get there on time. No excuses, and no whining. I'll join you in a minute, but first... Hiccup, I have something I want to show you."

"M-me?" I stuttered, the sudden request interrupting my mental preparation for the always-fun task of rowing. "Sure!"

When he retreated through the trapdoor, I cast a glance at Gobber, who understood my silent question and only shrugged while he attached his oar hand. Looks like even Dad's best friend has no idea what he's planning. Happy to put off rowing for a few more minutes, I dropped through the hatch myself.

Dad was almost bouncing when I stepped off the ladder, very eager about whatever he wanted to show me. The ship itself is too small (and fast) for there to be a captain's cabin, but it was very clear where Dad drew the line for his quarters. There were a few things laid out here and there, but mostly it was simple, practical, and easy to work with. It was so… him.

He pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling out his pack-sack with anticipation.

I felt my own smile widen as I watched him. I haven't seen him this excited in a long time. My heart was racing as he ruffled through the sack. It almost stopped when a metal glint shone through the weave. It fell into my stomach when he pulled out a helmet with a crooked horn.

He held it out to me, obviously expecting me to take it. "I brought you something. To keep you safe." He straightened the right horn and held it out a little more.

Very slowly, I gripped the horns in my hands. A part of me noted how I was touching as little of it as possible. "Wow, uh, thanks..."

"Ah, your mother would have wanted you to have it. It's half of her breastplate." He tapped his own helmet. "Matching set. Keeps her… keeps her close, you know?"

My eyes widened, still staring at the thing in my hands. "I... uh..." I stammered, completely lost on what I should do. I don't have much to remember my mother by, so why in the Dragon of the Sun's name did it have to be a helmet?! Why not a book, or a lost toy? I'd even take a weapon over this! I should have told Dad sooner, but now... I held the helmet out in front of me, and even I knew how reluctant I looked to do anything else with it.

"Don't you want it?" he asked, concern now replacing the wide smile he had just been giving me.

"Y-yeah, of course I do!" I lifted the helmet above my head and closed my eyes, praying to all the Gods that I wouldn't ruin this. I couldn't help the reflexive flinch when the metal touched my head, as if I would still get a headache for doing something so… human.

Dad let out the first disappointed sigh I've heard from him in ages, but there was something else attached to it now. Sadness, I guess? Or maybe just acceptance. "I'm not going to force you to wear it if you don't want to, Hiccup."

"N-no! That's not it, I just…" I trailed off, not knowing how I could fix this. I sighed and settled for something safe. "I know this is important to you."

A glimmer of hope came back to his eyes. "You think you need some more time?"

"Yeah," I said, avoiding contact with them.

He nodded, said "Good", and walked back to the deck.

I didn't follow him. I could hardly move at all. It was taking all my concentration to keep the helmet on my head.


I stared at my lunch without any appetite at all, moving the food back and forth with my fingers while trying to ignore the moldy scents of the hold. It's only been a few hours since the most awkward moment in my entire life. I take back what I thought earlier; including all of last year does help to put some things in perspective. I know I should probably feel proud, or happy, or something about the helmet on my head, but it's like my humanity is telling me to cherish it while my old instincts are screaming at me to throw it off. I can still see the disappointment on Dad's face when he didn't receive the reaction he must have been expecting.

After months of 'progress', it's like we've suddenly come up empty, like all that work was for nothing, like a small jolt just emptied all the holes we've been trying to fill. Hopefully I can make it up to him, but for now... I took the helmet off. I tried to ignore how right it felt to put it on the floor. I don't know how long I sat there just… staring at it. "This is all your fault," I said, knowing that it wouldn't leap up and bite me but feeling like it wanted to.

Dad's voice broke me from my daze. I couldn't tell if he was whispering because of me or because he didn't want to wake Bucket. "Hiccup, we need you on the deck."

"Okay." I followed him out of the hold and stood next to Gorge and Gobber, deciding that it might be best to think about something else for a while.

"Alright, time to get down to business," Dad said in his chiefing voice. "So, anyone already have something in mind?"

With Bucket asleep and out of earshot, it was finally safe to decide on the story we'd be telling the rest of the tribes tomorrow. It wasn't hard to guess that I'd be the center of attention in most of the half-gather's down time, unless another tribe brings something even more distracting than a revived Viking with a metal leg.

Gobber was first to volunteer. "Oi! Over here!" When we all turned to him, he carried on excitedly. "I've been thinkin' about this all week, and it hit me like a bludgeon when I saw a Nightmare catch little Gertrude and carry her back to her mother, away from the cliff the lassie was runnin' too close to. What if we said Hiccup was kidnapped?" he asked, wearing a daring smile.

"Kidnapped… by dragons?" Dad asked.

"Exactly!" Gobber nearly shouted, before giving an apologetic smile at our glares.

The last thing we needed was for Bucket to wake up.

Keeping his voice down, he pressed on. "What if we told 'em we thought Hiccup was dead after he disappeared during that raid last fall? That a dragon picked him up and we thought he died the moment we saw him in its claws. It's almost true, and it'd match what we've already told the other tribes…" he trailed off when he saw the rest of us thinking in silence.

Despite really not wanting to, I forced myself to speak up. "Dad, what exactly do the other tribes know? Did you tell them that I was killed by Toothless after I shot him down, or just that some dragon killed me?"

He turned to me, a look of deep thought still on his face. "I think the only ones who have a chance of guessin' what really happened are the Bog Burglars." It became one of sorrow and regret when he adopted a formal voice in mock chiefly-ness. "I told their chief: 'My son was killed by that devil. He was poisoned with its touch and consumed by it'." He sighed before explaining for the rest of us exactly what that meant. "We have to include the Night Fury, and what I said has to make sense to her, no matter what we decide on."

Silence followed for almost a minute; no one knew how to respond to that. I sighed, hoping to break the tension and focus on the task at hand. "So nix on the kidnapping."

Gobber let out a sigh too, nodding in agreement and trying to hide his disappointment. "I guess it was a bit out there. And then we would have had to explain how you came back."

"Aye," Gorge said, joining in. "We need to be able to explain why we were certain he was dead. And it should probably have nothing to do with dragons apart from that first raid, or Bertha could piece it together."

When Gorge had finished, Dad nodded and turned slightly to address us all again. "So I guess we're back to where we started. Any other ideas?"

We continued back and forth like this for a long time, the day slowly slipping away. One flawed story passed after the next, and we all knocked them down as they came, almost like we were in a trance. By the time I looked up, I gasped when I saw the Dragon of the Sun already halfway down the sky.

Okay Hiccup, you can do this. Think! I racked my brain searching for an answer. I thought for a long time about everything that happened last year, memories I haven't called upon in a long time slowly resurfacing, looking for a hint, a clue, something to use. My mind wandered through my transformation, my time with Toothless, my year at the nest, my single day back at Berk, my coma... actually, now that I think about it, I can hardly remember much about the coma. Everyone said it had only lasted a few days, but that's the only way I know how long I was out. All I remember is waking up in a human body that felt like it hadn't been used for an entire year. After that, Fishlegs said that if the other tribes asked about me, we'd tell them that I just woke up and I was still recovering from... my injuries...

"I've got it!"

Broken out of their dazes, everyone jumped with varying amounts of height and cursing, until they realized what was going on.

Dad replied, hopeful. "You have an idea?"

I nodded eagerly. "Yeah! What if we told them I was in a coma?"

Everybody took a moment to think about this before they each adopted the same smile I was wearing.

Gobber was the first to respond. "That just might work…"

"And it's simple enough." Gorge finished.

Dad's smile widened as he met my gaze. "So, Son, how do you think we should pitch this?"

It took another hour to grind out the details, but it wasn't nearly as bad as trying to come up with the idea in the first place, and we found that the best way to go about it was to stick as close to the truth as possible without letting out anything revealing.

Thus, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III had been on the verge of a death in a magic-induced coma. It lasted over a year before mysteriously ending two months ago. He lost his leg when the Night Fury he shot down bit it off in a fit of vengeance. He woke up two months ago in the elder's hut and he's been recovering ever since.

So basically I've been asleep and useless for a whole year while all the other Vikings in the archipelagos have been fighting for their lives. Wonderful.

Eventually, Dad decided everyone was familiar enough with the story and ended the meeting, chatting with Gobber as the two went below deck. Gorge didn't follow them; he would be in charge of the ship until an hour before midnight, when he'd have Bucket take his place. Since Gorge doesn't need to get up in the morning like the 'Chief, his Heir, and his closest advisor' do, he can stay up later than the rest of us.

I was leaning on the railing and looking at the sunset, almost ready to head down myself when Gorge walked over. "Hiccup? There's something I need to ask you."

Almost on instinct, I sniffed the air as he stepped up to the railing beside me, catching small traces of the fear scent (which I just now realized I could do again) that I came to realize last winter is a sign of nervousness rather than terror. Now a little nervous myself, but still trying to keep an open mind and a level head, I shrugged and nodded. "Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

Gorge sighed heavily before leaning on the railing and looking out at the turbulent waves. "I was just wondering if… you've forgiven us for what happened."

My heart almost stopped when he said that; everybody in the village, myself included, tries to avoid talking about last year, unless it's unavoidable. Nobody has ever come up and tried to breach the subject on their own. Until now.

"I know we don't deserve it," he conceded, "and we could spend our lives trying to make up for what's happened and it still wouldn't be enough, but you just seemed so, uh, happy lately that I don't know what to think. Not that I ever did, but now you're makin' it even harder on us. Some people think you've already put it past you, but I know that's not true. I guess I just…" he sighed again as he trailed off, before turning and matching my apprehensive stare with a determined one. All signs of his nervousness were gone when he spoke again. "I want to know if you're ready to talk about it. If you're not, that's okay, but I don't want to go around thinkin' you're fine with everything that's happened."

Stunned by his sudden resolve, I broke the eye contact and looked out at the ocean. I watched the waves bat harshly against the side of the ship for what felt like ages as I thought about what to say.

I won't lie, and I won't mess it up. Not this time.

"I don't think I'm ready yet. I honestly don't know when I'll be ready. If I'll be ready."

Gorge looked back out at the ocean, too. "Alright."

After a long silence, I continued. "I don't think… 'forgiveness' is the right word." A wave hit the other side of the ship, spraying the railings and tilting us more than usual. I hardly noticed. "I've done some awful things too, and I'm always trying to find a way not to think about them, so I get it." I turned to face Gorge again. "But that doesn't mean I've forgotten about the Kill Ring."

Gorge flinched and looked down, shoulders slumping and eyes closing. "I'm sorry."

I looked at him for a long time before standing up and stepping away from the railing. "Don't be. I know it's not your fault." I walked over to the latch and flipped it before lifting the trapdoor. "If it helps, I don't think we would have made it if you hadn't told me what was going on."

Gorge only nodded.

I cast one last glance at the ocean before climbing down and closing the door behind me.

That's strange, I thought, making my way to my gear and settling in for the night. I can't remember the last time I saw it so calm.


"LAND HO!" Bucket's voice rang high and loud through the entire ship, waking me from my dreamless sleep and, from the sound of it, waking Dad and Gobber too.

I cast a lazy glance over to the pair – who were already up and about, busy gathering their things – before groaning and following suit. Slowly strapping on my leg, I stood up and glanced down to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything. Lucky for me, non-host gather-gear is pretty minimalist. As I walked through the hold to the trapdoor, I could still make out Gorge's snoring. From what Ruff and Tuff said, he's always been a heavy sleeper. Rolling my eyes before I could let one of the stories of the things they pulled on him because of it enter my head, I walked up the ladder and onto the deck to get a good view of our destination.

We weren't very close, and even though the Sun hadn't risen yet, I could just make out Odin Mountain and the green of the forest around it. The island is very large, and even from here it looks imposing. I could also catch faint traces of pine on the breeze, and it takes a forest at least the size of Berk's for that to happen at this distance.

"Everyone, prepare the ship for docking!" Dad's voice rang out, clear and commanding. "And ready your weapons! It may be highly treasonous and illegal to attack anyone at the gather, but that doesn't mean we're safe before we land! In fact, don't assume we'll be safe even after we dock, at least until we know for sure." With that, he and Gobber took position at either side of the ship before Bucket steered it to the docks.

I 'took position' at the front, not as worried about us being attacked by Vikings as he was, since there wasn't another ship for miles around. Sure, there have been stories of scuffles just before and after gathers, but it's never been much of a problem – everyone is either too excited for the upcoming mead fest or too exhausted after two weeks of partying to waste time in a fight at sea. Those usually take way more thought and effort than any Viking is willing to spare on the biggest holiday of the decade. Still, I guess this half-gather will be different, so it's probably a good idea to be ready just in case.

The Sun was finally peeking over the horizon when the massive docks were close enough to make out any ships in the harbor. To our surprise, there was only one, and it was bearing sails with a picture of a black, spiny dragon, painted to be spitting lightning at anybody who would look at it. Some part of my memory triggered and the name 'Skrill' came to mind, while another part registered the image as the Berserker insignia. I'll have to remember to ask Toothless what that dragon species is actually called later.

Dad let out a relieved sigh. "Looks like Oswald is already here. Bucket! Pull us in right next to that ship."

"Okay, Chief!"

As we eased into the docks, an unusual scent caught my attention: I could smell signs of foul air. Not in the sense that something smells bad, but that the air itself was tainted. It's something I've only experienced a few times before, when I flew too high or took to the air right after a storm. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, in the same way that the smell of smoke isn't unpleasant in small amounts, but I couldn't really think of another way to describe it. At least, not until I got a clear view of the other ship's deck. Curled up and sleeping peacefully on the planks, there was something large, spiny, and purple-black in plain view, definitely the source of the scent.

The Berserkers had brought a dragon to Odin Island.