RAGNAROK IS COMING
— Simply Disappearing —
Perhaps it would have been better to simply say no. Tell Urfan to find someone else, let Midgard be overrun by a madman with, what seemed to be, the secret to utilising dragons.
The worst that could happen, was one man's rise to power and whatever else Drago deemed to do with the Archipelago when he has it conquered. Toothless and he could find this Dragon Army and dispel it without aiding an entire village- do his job properly.
Why not say no? Tell them all to figure it out on their own.
Because of the same person that stood on this ledge with him eight years ago.
Avrid stood on a mountain's ledge. A spot to overlook the entirety of Berk in all its massacred glory and contemplate the several reasons that this mission could be the end of him. Stoic the Vast, his father and reason for every horrid and great thing in his life, hadn't stopped milling about. In part, it was cleaning and rehabilitating whatever was left of the chief's village, but he was looking for his son.
"Avrid, are you starting this or am I?" Liogoo stood on the man's arm as he tried to crawl away. The sound of his bones snapping and a muffled scream of agony blossomed a pungent headache from the back of Avrid's neck to the tip of his scalp.
It would have been better to say no to Liogoo. Tell her to find someone else to cling to, finally tell her that no matter how many times she begged and manipulated, the Court of Crowns would never take her in for more than the reasons she suspected. To be free from Liogoo, free from Berk, free from Urfan, free to be with the only beings in the nine realms he would sacrifice his sanity for.
"I think he might be dying."
Avrid massaged the bridge of his nose.
Free from every responsibility and title, label and demand people must think were as easy to give out as a poor man's fleas.
"Son, we have to talk."
His father seemed to have found him.
Avrid spun on an exhale. "No, Liogoo, leave the man- and yes Stoic, we should. But I have far more pressing matters to attend to."
Avrid refused to acknowledge any emotion his Viking father displayed and instead, directed every single pinnacle of anger and frustration on a very helpless-looking, sad sack of a human.
The soldier had been stripped of his armour by Liogoo, his mouth gagged and hands bound. He lay on those hands behind his back, tunic sweated through and panting through the pain in his twist of his arm. The teeth that bit down on the dirty gag were caked in blood and dirt so Avrid used a knife to slice away the fabric.
The soldier hissed all manner of curses at Avrid. His grey eyes were cloudy but clear- still and unfearing. A commander's eyes.
The man looked around the four of them gathered, stumbling over Liogoo when she flashed her pointed teeth, recognition flared when they flickered to Stoic but it was Avrid they fell on. His tongue darted out, licking the sweat off his upper lips before he smiled with genuine humour.
Avrid wiped the flat of his spotless knife on his sleeve. "Something funny soldier?"
The man chuckled then- an exasperated chuckle.
Liogoo shuffled on her feet, her arms crossed but itching to kick the human senseless. Tannis had been utterly silent, hiding in the shadow but he stayed put beside Liogoo, itching to yank her back and tell her to stand still.
"I know who you are." The man's voice had a lilt, a sing-song mockery to it.
Avrid nodded at the soldier. "Many do."
"Not like I do, Hiccup Haddock."
Avrid grinned and ran his tongue over his teeth. "And who are you?"
"Doesn't matter. What does," with a grunt, the man threw himself to a sitting position, "is what you want from me."
"Mhmm." Avrid waved the dagger at the man and something passed between the two, a look, a glance of secrets, the gaze of a gossiping aristocrat.
"Tell me where Drago is."
"A straight East of here, three days flight."
Liogoo darted a look at Avrid.
"And do you know of Freabole?"
The man sucked a breath through his teeth but didn't utter another word.
It was too good to be true anyway, Avrid put his blade just a shiver away from a live-giving artery on the human's neck.
"Freabole?"
The man remained silent, so Avrid knocked his knuckles through his nose. He was flown onto his back and if his head didn't split then the migraine wouldn't be worth it. Blood spluttered out his mouth like a spring when he started laughing.
"Liogoo, get rid of those ties."
Avrid had found there are three different kinds of people that one can interrogate. The coward, the one that gives up at the mere insinuation of torture. The one who had been conditioned to not say a word because torture is only a sliver of pain the information they have would get them, and then the one with nothing to lose. Who finds pleasure in being destroyed for information only they have. They all break, it just changes how hard you have to hit.
Avrid lifted the man up by his nape and rammed his knee into his jaw. A sickening crunch echoed across the empty field of grass as he walked away, stretching away the twinge in his knee.
Liogoo lifted the man- head hanging, coughing blood- as Avrid strode back over. "Where does he get the Freabole?"
The breaking in his own hands was worth cracking a few ribs, but it was hard not to catch the way Stoic flinched when Avrid didn't stop punching, twisting and snapping until the man was more blood and broken parts than what was flesh.
Not a word, and not a single scream.
Sighing, Avrid shook his head- but it was the stocky, red Viking chief that stood between his son and the commander of his enemy from losing a few limbs.
"Hiccup!"
There was a misstep before Avrid could stop it, but he raised his brows at Stoic. "Move or leave."
Stoic blinked, shaking his head.
As if he could-
"Avrid, he's dead." Liogoo let go of the body and sure enough, it slumped to the floor; lifeless.
"Perfect." he quipped and stared his father down. "The last minutes of a man's life, his last words are the most precious. People talk before they die."
"How can you be sure of such a thing Hiccup? Have you tortured- beaten that many men to death that you can predict their final actions?"
"Yes." harsh, sure and cold.
The Viking's eyes filled with unashamed tears. "Where did you go, boy?"
He looked pointedly across Avrid's body. From the height that one couldn't grow into, the muscle that was impossible to have gained when he had been nothing but sticks and stones as a boy. The scars peeking through armour that is nothing Midgard had ever seen before and hardness in eyes that a twenty-three year old should never possess.
"What have you done?"
Avrid couldn't face that look, the judgement was fuel to his fire, but the pity was unbearable. "We know where Drago is so the best bet is to sail to him. We'll devise a plan and sail tomorrow."
He made to leave but Stoic clasped his shoulder. It had been instinct that threw his father to the ground, instinct that threw a blade to his throat and perhaps it was instinct that nearly made him press in that blade until he saw blood.
Kneeling with death at his father's throat, Avrid felt the moment thorns grew in his chest and wrapped around the last part of Hiccup Haddock that ever existed. Felt the moment Stoic realised this too, realised that his son was well and truly dead.
Close enough that Liogoo had to stop eavesdropping, Avrid whispered to his father, "Do yourself a favour and accept this because who I am- what I had to become in the absence of Berk, is more terrifying than you could even dream. There are things in these realms that are too dark to be allowed to exist, so evil, mortals wouldn't even see them in Helheim; imagine I rule them, and then remind yourself of that before you touch me again."
Liogoo had the good sense not to follow Avrid when he walked away with a gleaming in his eyes.
…oOo…
'Taking your time I see.'
Toothless didn't answer and it made his veins feel itchy. Never had Toothless simply ignored him- Avrid hadn't thought it was physically possible.
'Would be great to have you here, bud.'
Silence.
'Well, when you deem to answer, I could use a ride.'
When the same bitter silence echoed back, Avrid threw a rock at the lake and watched it ricochet into a mist of powdered stone. Toothless wasn't hurt, he would feel it. Then again there was this insistent block that seemed to drain and shut out everything- but Toothless was bound to Avrid and vice versa, he would know if his brother was in shit. He had to.
'One word, Toothless. Give me one word and I will find you; screw the humans and their petty wars.'
Not even a grunt.
'I swear-'
'Yes, Avrid. I am alive, but I must remain still and quiet. Do not contact me again.'
'Get to fuck- what is that supposed to mean?'
'Still and quiet, Avrid. I will be back soon.'
He could practically feel the cold glare the Nightfury sent but it was better than utter silence. 'Alive' would have to do.
He looked out across the cove and marvelled at how similar it was. As if he had stepped straight out of a dream. Same pattern of moss covering the same boulders, a patch of forever blistered grass, a cave parting the wall of stone. He walked over to it, a small smile pulling at the memories, the fear that had stopped Hiccup from ever walking into that dark cave lest the dragon lurking there tear him to shreds.
How long ago that felt, like centuries.
Avrid walked over to the cave and stopped dead at the entrance.
Someone lived in it.
Someone loved it.
There was a wooden table- handcrafted by hands that didn't possess the skill of crafting. Harshly cut from a tree and never properly finished and so there were little sprouts of weeds that had found a way to grow through the earth and wrap up and through the wood. On it were stacks of unorganised paper, runes chalked over them until there wasn't a single piece of parchment untouched by coal.
The hard stone of the cave had been replaced by finely up-kept moss, straight from the bark of an oak tree and tended to so no bugs found refuge in it. Then there was the mace hung from a crevice in the wall, a torch stuffed into a corner, a broken brush chucked on what had to be a bale of hay fastened as a bed. Staggered daylight lit the entire space up from a little crack in the wall- a window. Whoever lived here had chipped themselves a window through the stone and covered it in braided reed to stop the rain from dripping through.
And then he looked at the single blonde hair still attached to the half a dozen bristles on that brush. It felt similar to being punched squarely in the chest, there was not a single soul with hair even near the same shade as Astrid- he knew that hair as if it was ingrained in his memory.
Astrid lived here- or at least had converted it into a place of refuge. He lifted one of the crinkled pieces of parchment and read what had been a journal of sorts. Vikings didn't write often and they certainly didn't journal- but Astrid had.
Day 2,555
Throntel told me the equivalent of 'fuck off', so I flipped him off. The little bastard set fire to the back of my head because of an eel- honestly, even Tuffnut isn't as dramatic as that thing and it has a brain the size of my tooth. I did manage to converse a pretty darling of an insult though, so that's progress no matter what the little bastard says. He was definitely gurgling something like, 'well done Astrid. You are the fastest learner and most talented shieldmaiden to ever exist', even if he denies it.
We're sitting on three hundred now- three hundred and five was the same as Throntel. He told me it was his brother- at least that's what I'm guessing, though he hasn't come back in a week. I wouldn't blame him if he never does. I hope he burns the rest of my hair, sets fire to my bed or chews up every single item of clothing I own- anger is better than silence or simply disappearing.
That had been a year ago. A year ago- seven years since and Astrid had been teaching herself how to speak with the dragons- or whatever Throntel was. Seven years and she had never forgotten.
He picked up another.
Day 1,201
Happy birthday, Hiccup.
The chief hasn't been seen all day- but that's to be expected these days.
I haven't made much progress with the little bastard but he keeps biting me every time I try to get near the wound. I did manage to throw a bucket of water over him and I did try to explain I was cleaning the damn wound, but he still proceeded to bite the fuck out of my ankle. I'm gonna put an eel next to his head tomorrow morning.
Mother hasn't moved in the last two weeks- I probably shouldn't have shouted but Sunnil hadn't meant to trip, it was unfair of her to have retaliated like that. He is still a child.
Winter won't be long and I think we might not make it out this time. Every crop has failed. A Nadder took the last of the sheep we owned and without Mother's knitting we have made exactly nothing for the traders tomorrow and this is the last chance to get anything before the cold drives away the traders. I could beg the chief again- and he would give it to us but that- no I will beg the chief. Perhaps next summer we can make up for the last four.
"She came here every day."
Avrid whirled, the paper in his hand crumpling in his shock- no one had managed to sneak up on him in years.
Gobber sat on a chunk of stone, eyes tired and old as they ran across the bits of a home Astrid had built.
He sniffed and ran a hand across his nose. "Followed her one day to see where on earth the lass disappeared to most of the day and found 'er here, playing fetch with a Terrible Terror."
Avrid swallowed away the sand in his mouth. "Came?"
Gobber sighed and nodded. "She was captured in the first raid with most of the younger ones."
Fear, bright and burning slithered out of the ice in Avrid's chest. "What do you mean captured?"
"When they came we was thinkin' it was another raid just. Turned out to be a bloodbath. The ones that weren't carried away by the dragons were torn apart with such viciousness the rest of us are lucky to be alive."
The man Liogoo had tortured spoke of how the dragons had been plundering the people; he had also said Berk was the only one to survive the attack.
Throwing the parchment to the floor, Avrid fought the tremor in his hands. He had let this happen. One visit, a single visit and he could have fortified Berk so strong, not even their Norse Gods could harm a single hair on her head. He wouldn't even have had to make an appearance, show up and throw a few charms on the soil and any being that wished to cause a Berkian harm would disintegrate into ash. He could have stopped Astrid and her brothers from trading their dignity rather than starving to death with enough gold coins to buy them a kingdom. Coins to buy enough maids, Astrid would never have been left with the duties of a mother to children she never birthed. He could have saved the entire island from destruction and death if he hadn't been such a coward.
"What's the plan then, Sheep Shit?" Avrid couldn't help but smirk at the old smithy.
He threw a hand on Gobber's shoulder. "I'm going to bring Drago to his knees before me."
…oOo…
It had taken two hours to gather the remainder of Berk's Vikings to a barely upright grand hall and because Drago had sent his army to target the youngest of the village, most elders stood before the chief. Some lay sprawled on the floor, humped over fallen chunks of wood and stone as little Freya ran about checking on their wounds, readdressing bandages and chiding them when they told her to stop fussing. They were alive though, and it was more than the chief could be thankful for.
Snotlout and his father had been throwing all manner of unhelpful insults at their Chief and Stoic had sat at the forefront of every single scream and plea. His people were in shambles, grief and anger draining them until they were consumed by nothing else and the only one to blame was their leader. The man who should have protected them, who should have worked miracles to save their daughters and sons and while theirs were taken, his had come back.
It felt like a dream and a nightmare slapped into one. His son, back from the dead. After all the years of searching every village and island in the Archipelago, there he stood in the shadow of the hall he was born in. A brother to the face that tortured the chief's every waking moment and the guilt that had been insufferable; losing his wife and son to his blood-forged enemy had nearly killed him. Yet there his boy stood- though it could not be further from Hiccup.
So different, he hadn't even recognised his own son until Gobber had pointed it out. There were the scars and the size- by the Gods, that scrawny little boy now towered over him- but it was the voice that had driven the sword home. Accented and harsh, cruel and hard. Wherever his boy had gone, it ripped away Hiccup's ability to speak in the tongue that he was born to. Modified his body into a patchwork of poorly healed wounds and crystallised eyes that used to be warm and kind; if his mother could see him now, she would pummell Stoic to death.
Despite the horrific look of it, Stoic couldn't keep his eyes away. He watched Avrid glare at the villagers, watched the way he drew a finger over the edge of a blade so sharp, it should have sliced skin and bone. A few hours ago Stoic had watched his son delve that blade through the flesh of a man like he was carving a masterpiece. There had been a light in the boy's eyes, a sickening smile as if the sight of blood and the sound of breaking bones calmed and eased him.
The two creatures that lurked behind Avrid, the woman with the teeth of a hound and the man more skilled than himself with a spear, seemed to fear Avrid. Stoic had been a leader for a long time and he knew how to recognise a follower's look. The look to ask permission before even breathing; it was how Hiccup used to look up at him. Now this 'Avrid', was something these demonic beings wished to please. What Avrid had said to him with a knife to his throat came rushing back. Yes, Hiccup was well and truly dead.
When the villagers tired themselves out and finally saw that screaming was only getting silence from their chief, they stood back, waited for the words of a miracle, but Chief Stoic was no miracle worker.
He looked over to his son, to the being that would always be his son, and stepped away from a chair with generations worth of history between its arms. With a hand, Stoic left open that chair to its rightful heir.
Avrid stayed exactly where he was.
"I am going to sail straight East of here." he spoke to Stoic and ignored the rest of the village. "And be back within the week to drop off whatever of your people are still alive. You can repair your village from there I'm sure."
Just like that. As if he was picking up something from the traders and dropping it off before going home.
"Where is your home now, Avrid?" Stoic curled his hand into a fist and Avrid's eyes caught on it. He saw and noticed everything, watching even the slightest movement like they gave away secrets no words could ever spill; at least some things never changed.
It was the lass behind his son that walked over and whispered words in Avrid's ear, words Stoic wouldn't have been able to understand even if he could hear them properly. Home, must have been very far away.
A tapping echoed through the hall, rain to wash away the blood staining Berk's soil.
When Avrid didn't answer, Stoic nodded to the brother of his late wife. "Then Spitelout, Snotlout and I will sail with you. When do we leave?"
A small smile danced on Avrid's lips as he slowly shook his head.
Stoic turned then to the Viking on his left, the blonde, half-limbed brother of his and placed a hand on his shoulder. Gobber looked from that pat to his Chief, something flickering in his eyes.
"Aye chief, I know the drill. Keep the fort safe till your return." Stoic nodded.
"You won't be coming with me, Stoic." The name was a slap to the face but Stoic began speaking to his people, arranging things before his departure.
Avrid exhaled sharply, "Stoic."
"Spitlout, begin to prepare whatever boats we have left."
The Viking shook his head. "There is not a single longboat standing- it was the first thing they came for."
A glance to Gobber and the chief raised his brows. "Then we will have to make some."
"Stoic, you are and none of you will be coming with me." Avrid was met with a single upraised hand, a gesture his father used to make every time he interrupted one of the elder's meetings.
"Gobber is in charge in the event of my death," Stoic stated to his people and slowly they began to exhale and nod in relief. Satisfied with the idea that their chief was willing to die to get their children back.
Avrid whipped his head to the side, exasperation spilling a spew of foreign curses off his tongue.
Liogoo frowned at Tannis, trying her best not to explode into a fit of laughter, only a father can get under one's nerves so easily. Tannis had a hand over his mouth, hiding a grin when Stoic told Avrid to 'hush' and he would be 'over in a minute', so they could discuss when to leave. The support beam Avrid nearly crushed made the entire hall groan when he slammed its massive door on his way out.
The minute it did, Liogoo's laughter made every villager go silent.
She ran up to Stoic, clasped his arm and grinned. "Oh by the Gods, I will pay you troves to tell me all the ways you know to make him so flustered."
…oOo…
You know the drill folks, next chapter is a 'between one', and so forth...
