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Drowned in a life of shame

Crash!

"Hiccup! Get outside right now!"

"Great." I blinked fuzzily. Dad wouldn't yell at me like that simply because he'd slipped on a small puddle of water. He only used that voice when we were under attack.

I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. Sure enough, screams, both of terror and rage, drifted through the walls, and I winced. Just once, I'd like to get a good night's sleep—maybe even sleep from sundown to sunup—but that wouldn't happen tonight, or any time soon. I yawned, rolling out of bed. Tonight, I had to navigate the obstacle course of fighting Vikings, get to the forge, and do quick repairs on the weapons my tribe wrecked as they defended their home.

"I'm coming!" I called down the stairs, and the door slammed shut behind Dad, his heavy footsteps pounding away. Around three o'clock in the morning, the moon was high in the sky and I blearily got to my feet, still half asleep.

Almost falling down the stairs for the second time that week, I stumbled to the door and pulled it open. Other places might have been raided by wolves, or other Vikings, or even yaks—I'd had weird dreams when I was seven—but Berk was raided by dragons. Yep, dangerous, fire breathing, steal-your-livestock-then-set-your-house-on-fire-for-fun, enormous flying reptiles.

I pulled the door open, and a massive dragon with four horns and bulbous yellow eyes chased a herd of panicking sheep right past my house. It turned and glared in my direction. My heart stopped and my eyes widened in panic as I fumbled for the doorknob. It must have heard me opening the door and decided that charred Viking fishbone would taste better than mutton.

Its mouth, filled with wickedly sharp teeth, opened and the back of its throat started to glow. Clumsy with adrenaline, I slammed the door shut and pressed my back against it as flames leapt through on either side, heating the door to almost unbearable temperatures. A few seconds later, the torrent of fire stopped and I pulled the door open, slipping outside. No point in delaying the inevitable. The door was blazing, and even if the flames were put out instantly, it would never be useful as a door any more. The house was also under attack from flames, and I hoped the firefighters would reach it in time. Rebuilding our house for the fifth time in a year was a great way to make Dad irritable and grumpy..

I took a deep breath to steady myself, trying to calm down so my brain could function and let me avoid getting burnt to a crisp, and took off towards the forge. It was always best to get through the village as quickly as possible, but I still saw several examples of 'Vikingness' on my way through. A dragon snatched a sheep and took off into the air, and a Viking leapt up and grabbed hold of the sheep. Did they have a death wish? Another Viking rode past on a thicker, fatter dragon, holding onto its mouth while bashing it on the head with a hammer, meaty hands refusing to let go.

A Viking slammed down in front of me, probably thrown off whichever dragon he'd been clinging to, and his weapon, an axe, thudded down next to him, missing my legs by an inch. He grabbed it and charged away to defend our village like nothing had happened while I tried to recover from the shock.

Two Vikings carried a log between them—I wasn't sure what they were going to do with it, dragons could breathe fire—and I easily ran beneath it. A different Viking wasn't so lucky, and he ran straight into the log and crumpled to the ground. Turning around to watch him was a mistake—a Viking barreled into me as they charged at the dragons, knocking me flying. I spun around to keep running, but a dragon blasted a house right in front of me and I stumbled backwards before tripping over a stone and falling flat on my back. Ten seconds on my feet during a raid. Not bad.

"Waarrgh!"

A battle mad Viking charged at me, screaming a battle cry, and I yelped and raised my hands to protect my face from his axe. He didn't even blink when he recognised me.

"Morning."

He leapt straight over me to join the other warriors, and I scrambled to my feet. The Viking demeanour, able to switch from bloodthirsty to a greeting in less than a second, was irresistible. There was a stream of Vikings, both male and female, rushing towards the dragons, and since I was trying to avoid the dragons, I was getting in the way of pretty much everyone.

"What are you doing here?" Um, trying to escape from the dragons?

"Get inside!" Tricky, my house is on fire.

"What are you doing out?" I thought I might help fix your weapons.

"Get back inside!" I'm trying!

"Hiccup!"

A massive hand half strangled me as a Viking pulled me off my feet. Come on, couldn't they let me live a single day without being reminded how tiny I was? The retort died on my lips as a trail of dragon fire blazed across the place I would have been if they hadn't swung me into the air.

"What is he doing—?" Go ahead, talk to the people like I'm not there. "What are you doing out?" I came face to face with him as he realised he could actually ask me what I'd been doing. "Get inside!" He threw me aside like just another sheep to be rescued from the claws of a dragon.

I stumbled away and turned around to watch the Stoick the Vast, Chief of our tribe, directing Vikings against the dragons. He was the only Viking scarier than Spitelout, and I'd heard Gobber say that he'd popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders when he was a baby. Did I believe it? Looking at him as he threw a cart at a flying dragon so hard that it disintegrated—the cart, not the dragon—that was a definite "yes". I reluctantly started running again, trying to avoid getting killed by a dragon or a Viking.

"What have we got?" his voice asked calmly behind me, as if he hadn't just single handedly knocked a dragon out of the fight.

"Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare," a Viking reported. I nodded to myself; that was pretty normal. A house exploded next to me and a wave of intense heat threw me sideways. Vikings cowered behind their shields but the Chief didn't flinch, not even when a burning coal landed on his shoulder plates. I craned my ears, struggling to hear their conversation through the background of explosions and angry battle cries. There was one more dragon, one that could be the tipping point for the dragons, and I was intensely interested in it.

"Any Night Furies?" The Chief asked about it now, right on the very edge of my hearing.

The Viking replied, but I was too far away to hear the words. I buried my disappointment, reminding myself that once one showed up, everyone would know about it. I passed the massive torches, huge bowls that were wider than the Chief was tall and rested on top of large pillars, as Vikings started to hoist them. One of the biggest problems during raids was that dragons could see far better in the dark than we could, so we lifted giant bowls of fire to light up the sky. It took at least four Vikings to set each one up, but it was definitely worth it.

Seeing my destination, I put on a burst of speed and skidded into the brightly lit forge. At first glance, Gobber was busy pounding a scythe, and I wondered who was going to use it against a dragon, then looked closer and saw that it was actually a sword that had been bent badly but was just about salvageable.

"Nice of you to join the party," he called. "I thought you'd been carried off."

I massaged my throat where my tunic had dug into my windpipe, and winced. "I was actually. A great big beast lifted me off my feet by the back of my neck, bellowed at the villagers, bellowed at me, and threw me in here."

"I meant by a real dragon, not Stoick." Gobber shook his head.

Pulling on an apron and fumbling with the strings, I gave him a typical Hiccup reply.

"Who, me? No, come on, I'm waaay too muscular for their taste." I struggled to lift a square mace that any other Viking could swing about with ease. "They wouldn't know what to do with all this." I bent my arm, showing him my complete lack of muscles.

"Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" he said, showing me his complete lack of tact, and changed his prosthesis. He had several different attachments to replace his arm, but they all fit into a single base so that he didn't have to reattach it every time. I thought it was very sensible, but questioned the use of some of them. What was the point of a needle shaped prosthesis when his entire arm couldn't pass through the fabric?

I threw open the hatch in the side of the forge, and was swamped with weapons that people had broken already. "Ah—okay—let me—"

What had they done, tried to attack a house with them? Grabbing an armful, and once again thankful for my long sleeves, I dumped the weapons over the fire, swinging from the bellows until the fire was at the right temperature.

"Move to the lower defences. We'll counter attack with the catapults!" The Chief had somehow ended up right in front of the forge, calling out orders. There was a muffled cheer, and I rolled my eyes. If there was anything Vikings liked more than mead, it was going on the offensive.

A large dragon dropped a steady stream of fire across the house on the opposite side of the street, and the whole roof went up in flames. Another house that would need rebuilding afterwards.

"Fire!" someone yelled, and the fire brigade charged to the rescue, buckets swinging from their hands. They were all the other children about my age; too young to fight, but too old to hide in their houses any more. I didn't have to fight fires, but only because good—or at least competent—smiths were hard to find. First came Fishlegs, a teen almost as large as a fully grown Viking, but surprisingly fast on his short legs. Then there was Snotlout, and the twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, who were arguing over a bucket and spilling half the water in it. They were almost as skinny as me, but more than made up for it with their ferocity and love of violence. Hiccup wasn't actually a bad name compared to people like them, even if I was named after a muscle spasm.

But there was one more fire fighter, the leader, Astrid. She was everything a Viking could wish for—strong, a skilled fighter with her axe, brave, loyal, and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Backlit by the fire, her hair swayed alluringly in the heat and determination made her face look stunning. My heart stuttered.

"Oh, their job is so much cooler," I sighed to myself, staring at the house they'd been trying to save as it suddenly exploded. If I'd been out there, I'd probably have set myself on fire, but they just walked away and headed for the next fire, a house on the opposite street.

Another tug on my shirt and I was once again suspended in the air, dangling off Gobber's meaty arm. At least he didn't restrict my breathing like every other Viking did, but I still hated it.

"Come on, isn't once a day enough for you guys?" I complained. "Let me out, please. I need to make my mark."

He swung me away from the window and put me down. My eyes itched again, and I barely resisted the urge to rub them. This was ridiculous! I'd go and see Gothi tomorrow, as soon as she was finished with the rush of injured warriors.

"Oh, you've made plenty of marks," Gobber told me. "On the Great Hall, on the fields, even in the forge!" He gestured to the window.

"Hey, you said that was actually a good idea," I complained. "Please, two minutes! I'll kill a dragon, my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date."

I heard the laughter in his voice and my heart sank. "You can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an axe. You can't even throw one of these." He lifted up a rope with two iron balls on the ends, and I didn't even blink as a nearby Viking snatched it out of his hand and tossed it at a dragon. In raids, Vikings took every weapon they could get their hands on, and we were used to having half finished swords, axes, maces, even the file I'd been using to fix a broken shield whipped out our hands and thrown at the large reptiles. I was just glad they hadn't tried to throw me yet.

"Okay, fine. But this will throw it for me." I patted the Mangler, and the catch must have sprung open, because a bola sprung into the air and knocked a Viking unconscious. I knew I should have finished fine tuning it last night! Just as I'd predicted, Gobber wasn't very impressed.

"See! Now this right here is what I'm talking about!" He actually sounded angry, and I shrank back beneath his gaze. He was almost never angry at me, and every time was terrifying.

"Minor calibration issue—"

"Hiccup!" I froze. "If you ever want to get out there, to fight dragons, you need to stop all…" He waved his hands in the air, searching for the words to describe what he meant. "This."

I stared at him in disbelief. "But you just pointed to all of me." I was giving him a chance to take it back. A chance to say he didn't think I was the same screwup the rest of the village saw.

"Yes! That's it." My heart sank. Even Gobber couldn't see past the stuff I couldn't do. "Stop being all of you." He said it so lightly, as if it was easy to turn my whole being upside down and inside out. I went back to humour.

"Ooooh." I made a noise of dawning comprehension.

"Ooooh, yes," Gobber confirmed.

"You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw Vikingness contained?" I thrust my finger in his face. "There will be consequences!"

He didn't even blink. "I'll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now."

A sword fell into my hands, and I bent under the weight. Hauling it over to the sharpening wheel, I blinked angry tears out of my eyes and glared at the mass of reptiles milling about in the streets. As soon as I killed one of those dragons—any of them—I'd finally become a real Viking. Of course, as a first kill, the species was important. It showed what kind of a warrior the slayer would become.

Nadders were the easiest dragons to kill, but they were still respectable. A Nadder warrior was quick on their feet and nimble, good for scouting and lookout duty.

Gronckles had tough hides, and I'd bet that most of the broken weapons in every raid came from someone hitting a Gronckle too enthusiastically. A Gronckle warrior could be counted on to defend their homes to the death, a solid wall that no one could get through. Even Astrid might be impressed if I took down one of those.

A Zippleback? Two heads meant twice the danger and twice the status. Zippleback warriors were rare, but they were generally good at most things. Maybe a little bit crazy, but that only made them deadlier.

The Monstrous Nightmare. They had the most fire power of all the dragons and they loved setting themselves on fire. I only knew of one Monstrous Nightmare warrior, and that was Spitelout, but if the Chief hadn't killed a dragon when he was a baby, he would definitely be a Nightmare warrior. Tough and strong, Nightmare warriors led the offence. They were always the first to attack and the last to withdraw.

And there was the dragon the Chief was asking about earlier, the one that could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

Ooooooooooiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee!

A faint whistle, slowly building in intensity reached my ears and I pulled the sword off the sharpener. For some reason, I always heard it coming first.

"Night Fury!" A Viking heard the whistle and sounded the alarm.

"Get down!" That was rather unnecessary, since everyone knew what to do when the Night Fury arrived.

One fireball was all it took to completely demolish the catapult the Chief was on, sending a massive shock wave across the sky. Several figures leaping off the burning wreckage as the Night Fury flew on, invisible in the dark sky. It never showed itself, never stole food, and never missed.

Right on cue, another whistle started up, and a tall tower exploded into flames. My eyes itched again and I cried out involuntarily, scrubbing at them frantically. No one had ever even seen a Night Fury, except for fleeting glimpses of a strange dragon as it flew past the destruction it caused. That's why my life would be turned upside down when I finally shot it down and killed it.

I walked back to Gobber, determined to convince him to let me out, only to see him changing his prosthetic again. He was attaching the axe blade. My heart soared, and his next words confirmed my hopes.

"Man the fort, Hiccup. They need me out there." He lurched towards the door, then hesitated at the last moment. "Stay." Well lovely, now I was a dog. "Put." I stared at him in confusion. "There." Where else would I stay? "You know what I mean." I sighed. I did know, and I didn't like it one bit.

With a parting "Yaaaaaargh!", he vanished into the chaos in the streets. I waited a full ten seconds, just to make sure he wasn't coming back, grabbed the Mangler and a spare bola, and took off towards Raven's Point.

The usual shouts of "Where are you going?" and "Come back here!" and the annoyed "Hiccup!"s flew at me from all sides, and I tried to respond.

"Yeah, I know! Be right back!"

I'd spent months observing the Night Fury's movements, and I knew it always hit a catapult or two, then a building that would look impressive when it was shot as a diversion. As soon as there were plenty of Vikings out of the way, it would go for another catapult, and repeat. It was a clever tactic, for a dragon, even if it was easy to recognise when I stopped to look. There was only one catapult left now, and the Night Fury had hit a building not very long ago. It would be taking its last shot any moment now.

I slammed the Mangler down on an isolated slope above the village and pulled the case open. I'd tried to save time by loading it the moment I got into the forge, but I'd accidentally wasted it on a Viking, so I had to reload now. I'd only get one shot at this.

I erected the vertical crossbows, pulled the strings back and hooked them into the small catch, praying it wouldn't spring loose again. After the flurry of movement, I stared at the sky, waiting for something to show itself.

"Come on. Give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at."

There were a few roars, but they seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Just how fast was this thing? Suddenly, and without warning, my eyes burst into the worst itching yet. I wanted to dig daggers through the back of my head to reach my eyes, I wanted to claw my eyeballs out so that I could reach the back and scratch and scratch, I wanted to let hot dragon fire melt my face away if the itching would just stop! Instead, I rubbed at my eyelids as best as I could, digging my fingernails into the thin layer of skin. My ears caught the faint whistle of an imminent attack, and I groaned. Couldn't it have waited for thirty seconds? The itching spiked, boiling over behind my eyes, filling my entire head with a terrible buzzing, and just when I thought it couldn't get any worse—

—it stopped.

Hoping I wasn't too late, I opened my eyes again and blinked, shocked and scared. Something was wrong with my vision. The world had turned murky white, like the perpetual fog that surrounded Helheim's Gate and sometimes crept into the village, except I could still see perfectly. In fact, my vision was better than ever. I could see individual tiles on my house on the other side of the village, and the swing of a hammer as someone smashed their weapon into a Gronckles bulbous tail. I caught a glimpse of Astrid flinging a bucket of water on a fire and almost forgot how to breathe. My jaw dropped as my eyes were drawn to the only sources of colour in the cloudy white scene.

Every dragon had a burning fire in its chest. Nadders had blue flames, like the hottest part of the fire in the forge. Gronckles had deep brown flames in circular balls, almost like the molten boulders they shot. Monstrous Nightmares had red flames, like the fire dancing across their backs. Zipplebacks had green spheres of lighter fire, swirling like gas in their chests. It was incredibly beautiful, and I could suddenly see exactly how many dragons were attacking Berk.

"Gack!" That Monstrous Nightmare was behind a building from where I was! When I peered closer, I wasn't actually seeing the dragon, just the flame in its chest. That was definitely weird, so weird that I couldn't take it to Gothi. Fishlegs and Gobber were the only ones who could read her writing, and I didn't want anyone else to know. This was huge! My mind raced with possibilities. If I could figure out how it worked, I'd know a raid was coming well before anyone else. Dragons normally travelled through thick clouds or the dark, but that wasn't a problem for me now!

The whistle grew to its highest pitch, and I spun around to see a purple flame diving through the air. Something was different, the purple half smothered by sticky black tendrils that stretched far away from Berk towards Helheim's Gate, but there was no time for wondering. I swung the Mangler round to track the flame.

Oooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!

I saw and heard the Night Fury blast the catapult, prayed to all the gods I could think of, and squeezed the trigger. The bola leapt away and the recoil sent me flying backwards onto the grass, my head knocking painfully against the ground. I ignored the sting, scrambling to my feet, and watched as the purple flame was suddenly knocked from the sky and spun away towards Raven Point, a thin strip of land sticking out into the sea. A pain filled roar confirmed my accomplishment.

"I hit it?" I couldn't believe it. "Yes, I hit it! Did anybody see that?" Normally I'd shy away from anyone's gaze, but now I wished that the whole village had been silently watching me. Surely someone had seen the greatest achievement of my life?

The strange whiteness faded back to the colourful world as I turned around to look at the slope behind me, praying that there would be someone who'd witnessed what I'd done. My heart sank when I didn't see anyone, and to make things worse, there was a horrible crunching sound behind me. I turned around to see an angry Monstrous Nightmare looming over me, the Mangler shattered to pieces beneath its foot. My mouth said the first thing that popped into my head. "Except for you."

Thank Thor, it was low on fire and didn't waste any on me, but it was still big and dangerous and right behind me!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeee!"

I sprinted back down the hill as fast as I could, wasting my breath on a scream. As I rounded a corner, the Nightmare decided to shoot fire, missing me by centimetres. Panting hard, I swung behind the metal base of the nearest torch. Flames licked at my arms as the Nightmare hit the place I'd been a few seconds ago. I randomly picked a direction and peeked out, trying to see where the dragon had gone, only to see a brown and green blur slam straight past me and into the toothy mouth that was about to swallow me in one bite.

The Chief knocked the Nightmare away and rolled to his feet, ready to face the deadly lizard with his bare hands. I huddled against the torch, pressing myself away from the fight. The dragon opened its mouth and tried to roast him, but after a small trickle of fire the stream cut off, and I could see it reconsidering its life choices.

"You're all out," the Chief noted, and tackled it, knocking its head from side to side. I winced as it flew away with its tail between its legs. Facing the Chief without any fire? I would have fled too. The torch I was hiding behind creaked ominously, and I took a few hurried steps away from it.

Crash!

Already weakened by previous raids, the wooden support burnt through and fell to the ground, teetering before it slowly tipped backwards, trailing burning sparks like a few dozen stars. A wooden path crumpled like parchment beneath it, and the flaming bowl on the top flew off like a spinning disc of flame. It rolled through the village, setting fire to at least a dozen houses, and I watched in horror as it caused almost as much damage as the dragons had. Even worse, it rolled right over a group of trapped Nadders, and they burst free of the burning net with loud cries of triumph. I turned back to the Chief, my head low in shame. If he'd only been my Chief, that would have been bad enough, but as it was—

"Sorry." I winced. "Dad."

Silence.

He stared in quiet defeat as the freed Nadders carried off about a quarter of our sheep. Only once they were all gone did he turn to me. My mouth moved faster than my brain. "Okay, but I hit a Night Fury."

I yelped as his fingers pinched my earlobe, and staggered sideways to keep up with his long strides. At least he didn't carry me through the air by my neck again, but being dragged through the village by one ear wasn't great either.

"It's not like the last few times, Dad. I mean, I really actually hit it!" Fine, I might have been obsessed with the Night Fury since before I could walk, but I'd really hit it this time! "You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot!" No need to tell him about the thing with my eyes, he'd only think I'd gone insane and ship me off the island. "It went down just off Raven Point, let's get a search party out there before—"

"Stop!" He let go of my ear and whirled around in front of me. I froze. I'd never seen him this angry before. "Just… stop," he said more quietly. "Every time you step outside, disaster follows." That's a bit harsh, I thought numbly. "Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is almost here and I have an entire village to feed!"

Note to self: even if I am tired, never say the first thing that comes into my head when I'm talking to my father.

"Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?"

There were mutters from the crowd gathered around us, and I knew I'd lost any popularity points I might have had with the larger members.

"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" Dad yelled, and I sagged in defeat. "Why can't you follow the simplest orders?"

He wasn't really talking to me, but I couldn't help responding. I should've known better.

"I can't stop myself! I see a dragon, and I just have to… kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad."

He raised a hand to his head and sighed. I was probably giving him a headache. "Oh, you are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them." He sighed in disappointment. "Get back to the house." I sagged. "Make sure he gets there. I have his mess to clean up."

Gobber walked over and slapped the side of my head, probably for abandoning my post at the forge. The sky was starting to get lighter in the east, and I knew I wouldn't be allowed to go back to bed until evening. I'd probably get a week's worth of melting duty too.

Performing my Walk of Shame past the fire brigade, I hung my head, waiting for the taunts.

"Quite the performance," Tuffnut called as Ruffnut cackled.

"I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. That helped." I waited for Snotlout to clarify what I'd helped, and he gestured towards the sky. He must have meant the dragons. Fishlegs smiled to himself, amused by my failure no doubt… Well, not a total failure. The knowledge that there was a Night Fury somewhere in the woods gave me the courage to respond to them. "Thank you, thank you. I was trying."

Astrid didn't say anything, but she never did. Obviously, I wasn't considered important enough for her to waste her time on, but at least she wasn't criticising me like the others. I heard a muffled yelp behind me as Gobber shoved Snotlout to the ground, and it made me feel a little better. Gobber still cared, even if he thought I was a reckless troublemaker.

Finally, I was past the other teens and on the slope up to my house.

"I really did hit one." Striding upwards, I tried to tell him about the Night Fury.

"Sure, Hiccup," he said, and I could hear the pity dripping off his words. Sighing, I tried a different topic.

"He never listens." Meaning my father.

"It runs in the family." I ignored that on principle.

"And when he does, it's always with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich." We reached the door, a temporary one until I could get round to fixing the hole, but I wasn't finished. I puffed out my chest and strutted confidently back and forth like my father. "Excuse me, barmaid. I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here? This is a talking fishbone."

"You're thinking about this all wrong." I sagged and looked at Gobber, wondering whether I wanted to know what was about to come out of his mouth. He didn't seem too angry any more. The Walk of Shame past the fire brigade was enough punishment for one day in his mind. "It's not so much what you look like, it's what's inside that he can't stand."

I couldn't believe him. He was supposed to be on my side! "Thank you, for summing that up."

He sighed, probably sensing he'd said the wrong thing. "Look, the point is, stop trying so hard to be something you're not." Not yet, anyway. That would all change when I brought back proof of the Night Fury.

"I just want to be one of you guys," I sighed, and slipped inside before he managed to make me feel even worse. He wasn't trying to hurt me, which meant he believed every word he said. That made it even worse.

I remembered the Night Fury, and a fraction of my positive feelings came flooding back. Stopping briefly to grab my notebook and a pencil, I slipped out the back door, determination plastered across my heart. This was my chance to prove they were wrong about me.

AN: This one was fun to write! The next one is good too, but my favourite chapters have to be 13 and onwards. Also, is anyone bothered by my British spelling?

Do you want chapter three a week early, or one of the oneshots listed at the bottom of LYDHN?