Hello again!
I just wanted to begin by clarifying something, if I hadn't before, or if it wasn't already clear — there is absolutely no romantic pairing between Astrid and Toothless in this story whatsoever by myself, nor will there ever be. I'm aware Astrid accused Toothless of transforming her for the sake of a mate early on in the story, but that is not what I intend to truly imply whatsoever throughout the development of their relationship, nor why or how the two of them have grown at least somewhat close as individuals — they're good friends, and nothing more.
I usually try to refrain from discussing the story's content in detail in these A/Ns, but I thought it would be an important point to mention, again, as I don't want to lead all of you readers down the wrong path, in that respect… Even though no one to date has mentioned it, anyway. Ah, well. Now you know for certain.
Other than that, my apologies for the delay, I would make the excuse that I had finals this past week, but the truth is I probably wrote at least half of this chapter during that time, mostly out of sudden, stress-induced adrenaline boosts paired with slightly too much coffee. Still, a positive output, at least!
Well, that's about it! I hope you all enjoy and be sure to follow for updates and review!
I don't own How to Train Your Dragon.
"Your goal tonight," Toothless told her, from atop the ledge of the cove, "is to reach me."
Astrid squinched her eyes up at him from the ground, his face barely outlined in the darkness. The moonlight usually present to illuminate them both was absent that night, thanks to a thick cloud cover blanketing the entire island in darkness. His two green eyes were the only thing truly visible, even with her advanced sight. "That's ridiculous."
"Oh, is it?" he asked her, as she heard him huff from up above her. "Remind me again who requested we do this at night?"
She groaned. He was technically in the right — after Hiccup had found them in the woods a few days before, she had made the dragon swear to keep her request a secret, as well as make their lessons privately, after dark. He had obliged, but with more than enough hesitation that she couldn't help but share; the reason Syl couldn't know was obvious enough, but they had both long since grown tired of keeping secrets from Hiccup. Still, she wasn't ready to tell him about… this. She had still given in, and had not only agreed, but asked to be taught, to be dragged further down into the pit — she had broken her own steadfast limits yet again, simply for the demands and temptations of her new form. She was past what would or wouldn't betray her honor as a Viking — long past. Now it was a matter of keeping her own sanity. And if what had happened with the dream was any indication of what was to come if she continued to refuse what her new limbs and instincts demanded of her, she had to do this. Yet, if it was just the opposite case, and still she continued to give in, to fold… She couldn't even bring herself to think about it.
She growled at him. "How do you expect me to do this, then? We haven't practiced takeoff yet, and I've barely even tried gliding. Shouldn't I have more practice with that, first?"
The first evening they had spent on form. Toothless would sit atop the cliff and tell her to stretch her wings and turn her tail in different directions from atop a boulder, critiquing her on the most marginal extensions and angles of her wings, upper-tail flaps, and fins, to the point where even she started to get annoyed. The difference it made, he told her, would become clear when she was hundreds of feet above the ground in heavy wind.
She was surprised — given his usual, more radical teaching style, she had figured flight would be no exception, and he'd have her in the sky within the first hour of her training, like it or not. She figured, though, that he must've been respecting her willingness to learn in the first place, and so never questioned it.
But with all the exercises of her wings and tail, the stretching and opening and leaning left-and-right he was having her do, she soon arrived at a different conclusion. He was teasing her, playing with her. Because he knew how long she had needed this for.
At first, it had been different, to be fair — she had convinced herself she only wished to ride Stormfly again. It was a valid enough thought, she reasoned; she missed her friends and her family, her Nadder being no exception. Their flights before had been almost as much a part of Astrid's life as it had been of Hiccup's, or even Stormfly's herself. She had always loved to be up there with her, to touch the clouds, to see the whole island and sea like dots and colors on a map. She still remembered the exhilaration, fear and excitement of their first nosedive, the way her breath was stolen away as a sudden updraft sent them soaring into the sky, Stormfly's happy chirps and her own laughter being drowned out by the wind, heard only by one another. How it gave her a chance to get away, to escape from everyday life, a luxury she didn't know she needed.
Indeed, it was a thing to be missed.
Eventually, though, she had to come to terms with herself — it wasn't what she wanted. It was, of course, but… Not like before. Because truly, she no longer wished to fly atop Stormfly, so much as she did alongside her. And Toothless knew it.
He knew how badly her wings ached to be lifted by the wind every time she opened them. He knew the feeling of flight unrestrained, how badly she needed to feel it for herself, how her muscles and heart fought with her mind over want and need. How, as much as she tried to avoid it, she always found her eyes travelling back up to the clouds and stars on nights when she was alone, wondering, hoping, dreaming of what it would be like to be oh-so-free. How, no matter how much she tried to remind herself of who she was, what she truly was, or at least, was supposed to be, when the sun was above her, she always found herself fanning out her wings in the midst of her own imagination just before she fell asleep.
He must have known — because he had been there, stuck in the cove, too, just like her. He had said once he would one day get his revenge on her. Perhaps this was it. Fitting enough, she supposed, but the fact didn't serve to quell her desperation a bit.
"You seemed eager enough to accelerate your training before," he told her, a smirk spread across his face that she could just feel all the way from the ravine's floor. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
She frowned. On the second night, when he had proposed they spend a few more hours going over several positions with her wings she had not yet mastered, she defied him. With enough refusal — as well as added proof that she had been practicing the exercises all day; she could no longer be satisfied just thinking about it, and repetitive, relentless drilling was her own way of learning — he'd reluctantly agreed to let her try gliding.
Still, he made her launch from the boulder she had been sleeping on when she had 'the dream,' as she had taken to calling it. She wasn't prone to superstition — not much — but now that magic was a factor, she wasn't sure what to believe, and had begged him in the most dignified way she could manage to give her another spot. But it was, he claimed, the highest place for her to glide from in the cove, allowing her to practice varying distances, while still being low enough to the ground that she posed no serious risk of flipping herself over midair and breaking a wing.
Nonetheless, any hesitation she had for the rock ended as soon as she opened her wings from atop it. A strong gust of wind had chosen that moment to pass through the cove, and the experience alone as it swept up beneath the membrane of them was almost enough to make her jump into the air right then and there. Instead, though, she closed her eyes, and forced herself to just imagine again how it would feel. Soon, she told herself, she would know… That was, if Toothless would hurry up with his damn lessons.
The first glide had been rough — she more fell off the boulder than jumped, and her wings snapped to her side almost immediately out of instinct, sending her hurtling to the ground hard enough to leave a rather large divet. Her second attempt saw more success — she was able to keep her wings open, but let them flare too much in the back, Toothless had explained to her, and was sent to the ground at only a slightly slower rate than the first try.
Astrid spent the rest of the evening practicing that, as she began to understand why Toothless had put so much emphasis on practicing the different positions and extensions of her wings. Eventually, she started jumping up from the rock to gain more starting height and thus distance, and by the end was able to reach almost halfway across the beach, towards the woods, without crashing. Most times, though, she either instantly or eventually veered off to the left or right, snapping her wings closed as soon as she began to flip for fear of breaking one driven more by instinct than she would have liked. Sudden impact with the ground served as a harsh but fair punishment-system, though, and gave her a reason to keep herself in the air for as long as she could, aside from the pure sensationalism of it. Landings were still less than perfect, and, she knew, much slower than a real one would be, but she had at least learned to coordinate pulling in her wings with putting her feet out in front of her.
They had practiced that for the last few nights — him watching her repeat the same moves from atop the cliff, her cursing up a storm below, occasionally allowing herself growls and snarls when thought-messages directed at the cliffs, ground or dragon up above her weren't enough. Most of the time, Toothless stayed silent, but on occasion, would make a comment about mistakes she kept making, or instruct her to try something different; gaining slightly more or less air on the jump; curving her wings upward so she was vertical, and flapping to help her stop; deliberately turning left or right mid-air; using the angle of her tailfin, wings, or both.
At one point, after a particularly rough landing that left her aching and cursing her own wings to the void, she noticed him shaking his head at her out of the corner of her eye.
"What?" She demanded, staring up at him. "What is it? What am I doing wrong?"
If he was surprised by her outburst, he didn't show it.
"You didn't relax much as a human, did you?" He asked.
She'd snarled at him, barely able to contain her rage. "Too much makes you lazy. You lose awareness of your surroundings. I'm sorry your highness never had to worry about watching his own back at every corner, what with your scaled hide and wings. Humans aren't quite so well-armored, if you hadn't noticed. We can't afford to live like you if we want to live at all."
He'd only rolled his eyes. "Yet you needed to be flexible as a warrior — fluid, loose. Keep too tense and you would be more likely to hurt yourself than anyone else. Is this not the case?"
"It is," she rumbled. "What's your point?"
He lifted his head up, as if he needed to make himself appear even higher and mightier than he already was. "The same applies here. You're too tense, and that's nothing new, either — you've spent the weeks since your transformation with your muscles so knotted up they may as well be ropes. Stay alert, aware of your surroundings, by all means. Don't grow lazy. But remember the importance of keeping yourself flexible, too, of breathing, relaxing them when needed. Most importantly... don't make a bigger deal of this than you should. I know you've changed, Astrid. I know you're uncomfortable doing this. But I think you'd be surprised to find just how much of your training as a human could be carried over to your new form."
She had frowned, but followed his steps, letting out a deep breath before jumping up on the boulder, and then another before she jumped again, attempting more calmly the maneuver she had been struggling with for the past hour. She did it on the first try.
Toothless's teaching methods may at least have been effective, if nothing else. Though she was happy to see him at least acting content, not as afraid as he used to be, a bit more of the Toothless she remembered — or at least expected, from how she had known him as a human — with it returned his cheek, as well. She could stand it, to an extent. She always had. Eventually, though, she was driven to firing back. That, unfortunately, was usually how their sessions would end. Not a high note in the slightest, but still more productively than nothing at all, and she would spend the next day practicing whatever he had been criticizing her for when the argument broke out. And every time, without fail, she admitted to herself once alone, after plenty of practice and a good night's sleep, that he was right, and treat him a bit better come his next visit. Then the cycle began again.
If nothing else, it was a start.
This, however, was an entirely different level, and changed her mind on his teachings altogether. Of course, he would allow her to take it slowly at first, only to ask the near impossible of her one day. It was such a Toothless thing to do, she was amazed she hadn't seen it coming, earlier.
"Besides, this is your takeoff training, if you must know," he told her. "A physical incentive is one of the best sources of motivation. I would expect you to know that, of all people, Astrid. You do want to get out of this cove, don't you?"
She grumbled at nothing in particular. She did, but… When she was ready, too. And she was smart enough to know, right now, at least, she wasn't.
"I do," She retorted. "But I'd like to avoid getting myself killed trying. So… What else have you got?"
He frowned. "Not willing to take on the challenge, Astrid? I had hoped you might do well with slower training, but I suppose I was wrong. It seems you do well only when necessity demands it of you. And if you can only work under pressure, then I don't know why I'm even here."
"Oh, don't you try that with me," she narrowed her eyes. "You know what you're asking. And I know my own strengths, too."
"Do you, now?" He asked her. "Try it then. Prove to yourself that you're not ready, if not just for me. Your vision is perfectly fine at night, for one — we both know that. In fact, you should be in your element, by all means. We were born to thrive at night, more than any other dragon. You know you can do this."
Her gaze travelled up the cliff face, the same she had struggled to scale just a few weeks ago, all the way to the smirking Night Fury at the top. She cursed him for the umpteenth time in her mind. He knew she needed this. Just like he knew she would rarely back down from a challenge.
"Fine," she snapped. "What do I do first?"
Unfortunately, Astrid discovered that she was half-decent at takeoff.
One of the biggest problems younger or more inexperienced dragons with large wingspans had, Toothless told her, was not generating enough lift on the first downward thrust of their wings. One would think larger wings would make it easier, but in fact, the awkwardness of their size could make it hard to do so properly. In her fused anger and determination, though, Astrid almost always managed to heave her wings down hard enough to create a dust cloud on the spot nearly sixty feet wide.
The result of this, then, was her being launched at least a dozen feet into the air her first try, to which she immediately panicked and fell to the ground.
It took several attempts before Toothless could convince her to even try giving another flap of her wings, and even then the resistance she felt — her weight — stopped her short of giving as powerful a thrust as she could from the ground. Paired with the time crunch that was falling back to the ground, she quickly learned to bring her wings up much faster on her second flap, not spending the time ensuring they were perfectly aligned with one another, bracing herself beforehand, and so on. From this, she learned to make her initial launch faster, too.
Everything was going well, in fact, and Astrid was beginning to begrudgingly admit to herself that, as always, Toothless had been right… Until they got to the real challenge.
According to Toothless, three quick flaps after a running start, in succession, followed by a short, straight glide could, if she angled her wings, base-tail-wings and tailfin just so, carry her to the cliff's edge. "Simple enough," he told her.
By her twenty-second attempt, Astrid disagreed.
"Gods, damn this stupid hole to hel itself! This is crazy!" Astrid screeched as she swept sideways back down into the cove after another unsuccessful and short-lived flight, her body parallel to the cliff face and probably even looking graceful for a split second before she half-crashed into the ground.
She stomped her feet into the dirt, spinning her head around to find something to punch, before remembering she wasn't even capable of that anymore. It didn't exactly help to quell her rage.
"Gah!" She cried out. "No! I'm done. We haven't even touched tailfin positions, yet, and you and I both know how important those are. The same goes for my tail-wings, too! You can't just expect me to pick this stuff up on my own, Toothless, not when I've had this form a fraction of the time you have! You know what? Screw this. I'm going to train the way I should be, starting with… Toothless?"
It was at that moment she chose to look up to the perch Toothless usually watched her from, expecting to see him staring down at her in his usual visage of disappointment.
He wasn't there.
She frowned. She was sure he had been there a moment before, staring down at her in disappointment. Had he… Left, just like that? It wasn't usually how he finished off their sessions — then again, they did usually end with an argument, anyway. But it didn't seem like him to just leave her there like that, not in the middle of a goal he had set for her, anyway. Of course… It would be just like him to do that, in all his arrogance. Maybe he would return the next night to see if she had mastered it, choosing to use her previous days of practice as an indication of how she usually learned. Maybe this was some sort of 'lesson,' of his…
"Toothless?" She tried again, not entirely sure where she was directing the message to; she had never really done it without being able to see him, not intentionally, anyway.
Still, he didn't respond. This time, she brushed it off with a huff. It probably was just Toothless being, well, Toothless…
Shaking her head, she crossed the cove and lined up for another run.
Wings up, tailfin straight out, not dragging, she told herself, checking each. Then, she ran, and… Lifted off.
She would never get over the feeling, of course — the purity and harmony of that first leap into the air, of her feet lifting out from under her. This wasn't just jumping, or gliding, this was flying, something she now realized she had only ever really caught a glimpse of as a rider. Still, though, she had learned to push it to the back of her mind — at least for the time being — until she could get the hang of stabilization and controlled flight, or else she lost focus.
Second downward flap, she instructed herself as soon as she began to feel the pull of gravity on her form. Tailfin extended, tail-base flaps at half, tail straight, wings parallel— third downward flap.
Yet again, she heaved down with her wings as she lost height, then felt for each of her limbs' positions, running another check. Tailfin extended to full, tail lowered to gain lift, tail-base flaps at three-quarters, wings curved up… no, dow—GAH!
Her eyes were met with the sight of the oncoming cliff face, now only a few feet in front of her and, yet again, she was forced to bank her wings hard to the left or run straight into the wall. After another rough landing and a round of cursing, she glanced back up at the cliff.
Toothless still wasn't there.
I'm sure it's fine, she told herself. He's probably just screwing with me for the fun of it, knowing him, or waiting to see me give up.
She had seen a change in him, after all — he did seem more Toothless-like, the snarky comments and sarcasm returning in the full force she had glimpsed shortly when they had first met — first truly met, that was. That had been a part of her plan, anyway, however annoying the results were to her. But if he had disappeared, that could mean… No. He was just fooling around. She knew he was.
Again, she trotted across the cove and began her preparations, though more hastily this time. Again, she launched, but rushed through each of her checks, and didn't make it past the second thrust of her wings before everything went wrong, like it always did.
This time, she found herself nose-diving into the ground, and her wings snapped out just before she reached it, sending her into a short upward arc, before she immediately pulled them back in and landed softly on the ground. She made a mental note of it — it was a maneuver that would make things a lot less painful in her future attempts, assuming she could learn how to do it on purpose…
"Toothless," she tried again, worry clear in her thoughts, if he could even hear them. Yet again, there was no response.
She stopped trying for a moment to pace around the cove, by her takeoff position. She was sure he was just messing with her. She knew it. But then… he could be having an attack. It seemed more likely the more she thought about it. Hiccup had said he had been hiding them, and the one time he could do that from them was at night, when he was asleep… But no, he couldn't control when they happened, surely… Unless he was suppressing them, somehow…
Refusing to look up at the ledge, she growled, and took off again.
She was about to make her second flap before a screech from the forest above reached her ears.
"Toothless!" She called out as she landed roughly, whatever forced disregard of the dragon's sudden absence she had been clinging to falling away.
But still, there was no response, and her mind and the forest grew quiet once again. Growling, she ran to her takeoff point and tried again.
Tailfin extended, tail-base wings— ah, screw it! She yelped as she reached the second flap of her wings, her tailfin already folded in, and made to land again. Her wings pointed up as her tail went down, though, and she screeched as she first hit the wall, then fell down to the ground, hard enough to bruise, on her back. Groaning, she folded her wings in and flipped herself back over.
The mid-flight checks were never going to work — she had known that from the start. She didn't do that as a human — never had. Practice helped, of course, but she had always taught herself to be fluid from the beginning, as well, just like Toothless had described. In battle, there was no time to stop and check that her stance or form was correct in each swing of her axe. It was only natural that the same would apply with flying, especially with how much it required. She was being a fool. But the only other option was…
She had seen what happened when she gave in to her instincts, as she assumed Toothless would tell her to do if he were there. But with what had almost happened with Hiccup, and Toothless... What had happened with Stormfly… She couldn't. But if something had happened to Toothless, and it was the only way...
No, she refused to believe that was her only option. There must've been something else she could do, some other way out of the cove. She had gotten out of it before, even if she had since lost that route. But now she had wings — or could use them, anyway. She could do… something. She had to do something. She had to find Toothless.
Her eyes darted around the cove. The boulder — good. That could function as a higher launch point than jumping, but it was nearly next to the wall. However, if she could fly alongside it, and somehow turn in midair before she reached the cliff, then maybe she could make it. There was enough space between the rock and the cliff lengthwise for the three flaps, but they would have to be quicker than any she had tried before.
The rough calculations and plan passed through and were approved by her mind in less than a second. Soon, she was on the rock, and then, in the air.
Her wings pumped downward in perfect unison, her tailfin leveling itself as if it had a mind of its own. She didn't notice. Her mind was twenty feet in front of her for the few seconds she flew — she had to find Toothless.
She ground her teeth as another precious second passed. She had reached the height of the entry point. The break in the trees and rock, the lowest point on the cliff in the cove, was coming up on her right. But it was small, barely large enough to fit her body, never mind her whole wingspan if she glided into it straight-on, and she was still completely parallel to the stone. If she angled her wings she could make the turn as sharply as she needed to, but her right was bound to catch on something as she swept in, both breaking it and sending her back down to the ground — another calculation she had taken into account before takeoff, but had chosen to ignore.
It was too late, now, anyway. She was out of time.
Letting out a screech, she commanded her body to angle itself into the opening, unsure of what would happen. In response, her right tailfin folded, as well as her right tail-base wing, and she banked harshly to the right, suddenly facing the entrance. Her wings folded tightly against her body just before they were both clipped by the sides of the opening, and she flew in, underbelly skidding along the rocks. Her whole torso slammed against a tree at least a hundred years in age, half-uprooting it and sending it into a precarious tilt, before she crashed to the ground with a groan.
She had made it.
She sat there for a moment as she came out of her shock, her vision filling in as the white tint from the crash faded away. Then, slowly, aching and feeling sick, she brought herself up on shaky feet, and took a step forward. Then another. Not the pride of her accomplishment nor the pains from her crash even began to dawn on her, not yet — she had to find Toothless.
"Toothless!" she called again, panic now clear as glass in her tone.
Oh, gods, what if something finds him while he's having an attack? She worried. He would be defenseless, trapped. It was the middle of the night — things, people, creatures could hide more easily then, however improved both his and her vision were.
She opened up her own senses — hearing, smelling, anything that could give her some indication of his proximity to her, despite her lack of expertise with any of them at all. She'd only had minor experience with tracking and hunting as a human, and only knew how to read and search for prints. Her body went on full alert, though, and her head swiveled as she slowly turned around in place.
Her ears suddenly perked up, as they caught onto the sound of rustling to her left—!
She leapt onto the creature, sending it flying to the ground on its back as she growled from deep in her throat.
"Good instincts," it said, smiling up at her through two rows of near-identical, pointy whites.
Eyes narrowed, she clambered off of Toothless, letting him deftly flip back over and shake himself off before she barked at him.
"Where were you?"
"Waiting."
Her brows only bent down further. "For what?"
"You, of course," he said, shooting her another smirk.
"This isn't funny, Toothless," she told him, snarling. "I thought you were… I thought something had happened to you."
His smile fell, just a little. "It was necessary for you to succeed."
She stared at him in disbelief. Surely, he wouldn't use his disease, his attacks as bait? As…
"An incentive," he finished for her, nodding at her blank, horrified stare. "I did tell you, after all. You really should work on your listening skills sometime."
"I risked life and limb to save you! Literally!" She snarled. "And it was all some sort of sick joke?! You bastard, I should kill you!"
"Fine," he shot back, growling as he lowered himself into a crouch. "But you'll need to get out of your own head first."
"I… What?" She shook her head, some of her anger fleeting. Toothless's only seemed to grow.
"Don't lie to me, Astrid," he narrowed his eyes. "Since the day you transformed into one of us, you've been denying it ever even happened. That it happened to you. We've both known that — but I'd hoped by now, at least, you'd stopped."
Her eyes widened. "I have! Even as much as I hate it! How the hell do you think I got up here? How do you think I was able to even ask you how to fly?"
"Detachment," he hissed back at her, drawing out the word along his tongue as if to speak it alone were something forbidden.
Astrid took a step back, wary. "What are you talking about, Toothless?"
"When you learned how to walk in this form," he accused her, "you never learned to move your legs, your feet, your claws. You taught your mind to command your body to move to the stream, or the tree, or the cove."
"... Yes," she responded. "But I don't see how—"
"When you learned to use your tail, you did not learn how to move it," he snapped, gnashing his teeth and shutting her up. "Not for more than a second, at least. You learned to tell it to move, and it did. And so it still has."
She didn't respond.
"When you learned to move your wings, however… That was different. You felt for them, more than just at first, didn't you? Why was that?"
"I don't know," she growled.
"We both know, Astrid," he told her, snapping his jaw shut. "But that's not the point. Because it doesn't matter."
"You think I really wanted to teach you that way, Astrid? Having you practice drills, taking it all one single muscle at a time? A small part of me, maybe, hoped you would get it that way. It was how you learned as a human, after all, and obviously well enough for their kind. But instead, you've only proven me right."
His eyes travelled over to the cove as he finished, and he walked over to stare down into it as he continued, "I can understand if you wish this hadn't happened to you, Astrid. I'm not telling you to accept this as a permanent reality. But just… Get used to it, at least. You're not dooming yourself by accepting your new form. You're doing just the opposite. Wouldn't the Chief, your friends, be proud of you if they saw how well you could adapt to this, how you could even take pride in it?"
"They might think I'm a lunatic," she muttered, before wondering if he even knew what the word meant.
"Don't tell me that," he retorted. "I don't believe for a second you're so fragile. That you're afraid to accept what's happened to you in front of those you care about, because you think you'll be shunned and outcast. But there's no one here, Astrid. Just you. You and your fantasies of what could have been, if this had never happened to you."
His words lingered in her mind even long after he spoke them, hung in the air between them as he continued to glare down into the cove. The dragon's seemingly random anger and words had come suddenly enough to send her into a trembling fit, staring at the ground in shock. He spoke the truth. But to hear him actually say it, with such pinpoint accuracy, was something else. Where had it even come from? Why did he even care so much? She found herself building up the courage to speak before she did, searching for the right words, something completely unfamiliar to her.
"I… I miss my parents, Toothless," she said, softly as she could manage.
He didn't respond. He didn't even turn around.
"Am I ever going to see them again? Will I ever to be able to talk to them again, to hold their hands in my own, and tell them I'm alright, that I love them? Will I ever see my own wedding, have my own kids?" she shook her head. "How could I ever hope to show the people I care about who I still am, without them seeing me as some sort of… of…" she sighed as the word died in her mind. Monster.
He remained facing away, still and silent as a boulder in a storm. She pushed on. "Even if I do ever turn back, Toothless, what if… What if I'm not the same? What if I'm not… Me, anymore? What if I get so used to this, this body, these wings, that… that when I do, I don't..."
She sighed again. The moon passed over above them, beginning its descent down to the earth. Eventually, she groaned in weariness, and went over to sit down next to him.
His face was unreadable, his eyes staring so blankly down into the cove that she began to worry he was starting to have an attack, until he turned to her. His eyes were wide open, but only seemed to be half-looking at her, as if she were nearly transparent, or not even there at all. As if he were... searching, for something... No, not searching, she decided. Waiting.
"Fine," she agreed, when his eyes and the silence became too unsettling for her to bear any longer. "I'll start being more… adaptive. More accepting. No more… Detachment. This is my body, after all, at least for now. It'll be more helpful for everyone if I stop trying to run away from it, anyway. From now on, these… These are my wings, my tail, this is me. I'll start seeing it that way. I promise... If,"
The fog in his eyes vanished, and he raised his brow. She narrowed her eyes at him, taking advantage of his sudden attention.
"If… You promise me you'll never use your illness that way with me, or anyone else, again…"
He nodded slowly, but kept his eyes narrowed, as if he knew she wasn't finished. Yet again, he was right.
"And, if you tell me the truth about what's been happening to you. What this… Illness, is. The whole truth."
He kept staring at her. For a moment, she regretted asking, her usual confidence failing her under his impassive expression. Maybe she had gone too far. This was a line that he was rarely willing to cross — except to scare her into flying up to the ledge, apparently — and she just had. She had never really expected him to agree to it, of course — it was only to show how serious she was about the former. But what if he quit, stopped giving her lessons? What if he stopped talking to her altogether, receded back into himself once again? What if he—
"Deal," he nodded, and Astrid had to blink.
Had he just… Agreed?
He turned back to the cove. "What I did today was… Wrong. Very wrong. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I… I shouldn't have…"
His eyes started to glaze over again, before he caught himself, and growled at nothing in particular. "And it's time I tell… Someone, at least. And if anyone were to understand…"
It would be another Night Fury, she finished in her mind, allowing herself a small smile. The implication of his unspoken words did worry her, but he was finally, finally going to tell her, and that was enough to make her forget about it.
"As for the truth…" she sucked in her breath, only to hear him sigh. "Not now. Tomorrow. Tomorrow night, when I come back… Everything."
She resisted the urge to complain — he needed time, after all. The gods only knew how much. She hoped he saw the same good in it that she did. Even she knew when too much was too much.
"Of course, I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain," he told her, his voice hardening, just a little. In response, she jumped to her feet, reinvigorated by the idea that they were getting somewhere, for once.
She raised her head high. "Yes, I will. I promise, on my honor as a Viking. I'll change."
"Good," he said, looking down to the bottom of the cove below them, then back at her with a smirk. "And since you're up here… I assume you know what your next task is?"
She groaned as she followed his gaze. Seeing her despair, Toothless laid himself down on the ground, giving a wide and long yawn.
"And, of course, you still haven't completed your goal. Once you get back down there, you're going to practice this until you get it right — I don't care if it takes all night."
"You got it," she said, suppressing a wince at the thought of what she had agreed to. For Toothless, she told herself. For her friend.
As she lined up at the ledge, gauging the length she would be gliding and trying to figure out how to avoid both the woods and the lake, the dragon gave a dry snort. "Humans…"
She raised a brow, her wings lowering slightly. "What was that?"
"Ah, nothing," he told her, smiling. "It's just… Well, funny, I suppose I did agree to tell you the truth…"
He sighed as he turned his head to face her, casually. "Maybe I should start with what Hiccup kept telling himself he was going to ask you tomorrow."
Again, Sylvi ran. For once, not from anything.
A huge crowd was gathered in the village, stretching all the way from the most inland point of the island, at the base of the treeline of their small woods, to the sea, forming a wall of bodies along the main road that blocked off any view of it from the outside. It was dead silent, with the exception of the occasional sob or cry ringing out above the rooftops.
It was larger, much larger, than usual. But nothing new.
Her feet caught on jagged stones and sharp twigs on the road leading to the village as she sprinted toward it on short legs. She was still wearing her nightclothes — she had only woken up a few minutes ago. Not that her shoes or actual clothes would have been much better. Tears, the reason for which her brain didn't understand, streamed down her face and were swept by the wind out behind her as she approached the line. All she knew was that when she had woken up, the house was empty. So, she left to look for her family, ignoring the still-burning fires in the house she was tasked with putting out when she was the only one there. She needed to find her family. She needed to find her brother.
She was crying, though, by the time she reached the village. Maybe it was the wails that reached her ears from the village as she flew toward it that brought them out of her. Maybe it was because she had found her house was already half-burnt down when she woke up, as she had fallen asleep huddled in a corner last night in the raid, instead of doing her duty by putting the fires out.
Maybe it was because, for the first time in as long as she could remember, her brother hadn't been there when she had woken up.
Despite training, his duties or even full-out raids, he had always been there in the morning, smiling to himself in the kitchen as he read a book or grimacing as he sharpened his sword at the table. Sometimes he was merrily whittling away at some small log he had picked up in the woods with a knife, others he was tending, giving wounds stitches and wiping dragon's blood, mixed with his own, off his clothes, dried and crusted overnight after falling asleep in a chair the moment he got home. But no matter what, he was always there. And this morning, he wasn't. He wasn't outside, either, or on the road to the village, nor could she pick him out of the crowd around it. So... Where else could he be? Where was her big brother?
Despite the confusing nature of the concept for her, paired with the strength of her will not to believe it, in truth, she already knew the answer. And so, the tears came.
The first light of dawn was reaching up and over the horizon when she got there, sending shadows leaping from the houses of the village across the ground, casting the entire island and its inhabitants in a dull, orange glow, making them seem almost set aflame — some had been only hours before.
Through the moisture in their corners, however, her eyes did catch sight of someone. Hunching more than standing near the docks, she was relatively alone aside from a few other bystanders on the main street through the village. An onlooker might have said she looked weak, pale, cold and fragile as a thin strip of wood in the winter as she stood there with half-glazed eyes, gazing out at an impossible truth so many others had already been forced to face. When Sylvi looked, she saw only her mother.
Her legs, aching by that point, carried her to her side, and she grabbed and clung to her mother's leg like a bear cub chased up a tree by wolves. Brenna looked down at her slowly, seeming only half-aware of her appearance. Her face, too, was streaked with tears alongside fresh scars, and dark bags hung low under her eyes.
"Sylvi," she said, throat catching as she gave her daughter a forced smile. "Your… Your father is… Gone. Not here. He's in… in the…"
Brenna gave a sniff, seeming as if she was about to break down herself, and stared out at the long, empty corridor leading to the docks, where several ships rocked softly in the water, waiting.
Sylvi frowned. It was true — her father was nowhere to be found. Then she turned back to her mother. "But where's—"
Hew question was interrupted by a deep, booming beat of a drum, followed by another. They seemed to rock the very ground as they beat, in the silence of the village around them.
Then the procession began.
A river of white slowly swept its way down through the village, carried by men. From a distance, it seemed to be just that. Wherever the river reached, shouts and cries from the bystanders erupted. Some stood strong, others collapsed, if not to the ground then onto one another, curling into shivering forms in the dirt as they witnessed the unimaginable.
Burial shrouds covered the bodies of the deceased. Dozens upon dozens were making their slow journey through the village to the docks. Two men carried each body, placed on long planks, most of which were no more than scraps of wood or remains of the houses burnt down the night before. The drums kept beating.
Her mother cried out at something when almost all of the bodies had been placed on the ships. It was a moment before Sylvi spotted it.
Her brother's sword laid bent on one plank, no more than ten feet in front of her, barely at her eye level. Next to it was a covered shape, with a white shroud draped over it of its own. It wasn't even clean.
"N-no," she stuttered, mouth quivering as it slowly passed her, as her mind tried to wrap itself around just what was happening in front of her.
No, she couldn't believe it. She wouldn't.
"No!"
She broke free from her mother and raced toward the shroud. The second, rear carrier faltered and sneered down at her for a moment, before he recognized her face, and sighed. She never looked up, eyes glued to the form in front of her. Her breathing was quick, and rapid, as her hand stretched out to the cloth. She had to know. She had to see for herself, even then. She had to know he was… That he was gone.
Another hand snatched hers away before her fingers could so much as graze the cloth.
"Ye'd dishonor yer' own family members, girl?!" a gruff voice sneered from behind her. She peered up the length of the arm connecting the hand that still gripped her own to see a crooked, fat face that might've been drawn by a child, with a beard that brought to her mind the old and ugly charcoal of a dead fire.
"You should teach yer' daughter some manners, Brenna," lopsided brows bent downward over mud-brown eyes at her mother.
"And you should keep your hands off my children, Bjarke," she said, slapping his hand away. "The girl's just lost her brother, my son. The boy you were meant to watch over. Her father's drinkin' himself to death at the mead hall. What do you expect her to do?"
His frown only deepened, and though he spoke to her mother, his eyes were still settled on Syl. "Is that an accusation?"
She pulled Syl back against her, protectively. "No more than what ye' deserve, Bjarke. You were with my son. You were supposed to protect 'im. Ye' knew it wasn't safe to let him lead a party into the woods, and yet you told him to, anyway. Ye' promised us ye'd protect him. I'll never forget that, not so long as I live."
"He was a man grown, Brenna," Bjarke told her, anger seeping through his thick tongue. "We both know 'e was a fighter. But the boy was headstrong. It was his own foolishness that got 'im killed, no fault of mine."
Syl blinked through her tears, picking up some of the conversation. Foolish? No, her brother wasn't foolish. He was smart. Much smarter than Bjarke. That couldn't have been. Her brother wasn't foolish… He was smart, and careful, and…
"How dare you—" Her mother recoiled, slapping Bjarke straight across the face. He growled loud enough for people to turn and stare, and raised his fist, ready to bring it down on her as she cowered. But just before he went to swing through, he stopped. His eyes almost seemed to gloss over for a moment and trailed up to the horizon, as if suddenly staring at something far away, and his fist fell to his side. After a moment, though, he shook his head, huffed, and stalked away into the crowd, muttering under his breath, "A great disrespect..."
Her mother stared at him a moment in disgust, before looking down at Syl with a sigh. "Oh, Syl… I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It wasn't meant to end like this. It wasn't meant to be this way. But these things happen in raids. It's our… way of life. We'll get past it, all of us… We need not worry ourselves with the past..."
Syl stopped listening. Because her eyes had trailed back to the shrouds. To where they were loading the forms onto two ships already full of bodies, where they would soon be sent into the bay and lit aflame.
"No, please" She cried out. "Please… Please… Don't take him away, please…! No… No—"
"NO!"
Syl's eyes snapped open to a dim light in darkness. For a moment, she panicked, confused and frightened by her surroundings. Her whole body shook, quivered with fear. She was… Sitting, somewhere. In a chair. Something was on her forehead, and a glowing light hovered in front of her face. There was something else heavy on her lap.
Gothi's eyes watched her over the light of a candle. Her expression was concerned, yet curious, as if she had just discovered a strange, frightened and injured little creature in the forest and wasn't yet sure what to do with it. Syl might have cursed her out if she weren't so terrified herself. She took several deep, quick breaths, and Gothi raised a finger to her mouth to make a "Shh" noise, resting a surprisingly soft hand on her arm.
Syl looked down, ignoring her. There was a book on her lap — an encyclopedia of remedies Gothi had told her to study at her request to be taught only a few nights before. She had fallen asleep reading it in the chair, she realized — Gothi had permitted her to move about the room, though it still hurt to do anything but shuffle. It was humiliating, but she had long since learned to take the lack of movement in stride. She needed to heal — she could accept that.
She hugged the book against her chest like a pillow, shivering. It was then that she realized what was on her forehead, and reached up to snatch it off. A flask of cool water, warmed by the heat of her forehead, rested there, no doubt something Gothi had placed there as soon as she started panicking in her sleep. She let it fall into her lap, on the book.
The elder stood and stepped back, staring at her warily. Still, Syl ignored her, aside from mumbling something along the lines of "I'm fine." Inside, she was still ensnared, surrounded by her own nightmares and visions as she desperately tried to drag herself back to reality. But what did reality matter when her own memories were so apparently wrong?
Her brother's funeral, the morning after the massacre… She didn't remember it that way. Bjarke's face, her mom's, all the families, mothers, fathers, and children crying or whimpering around her. They all screamed at her, yet faded to the back of her mind as the sight of her brother's shroud filled it. Her brother's untouched shroud.
She was sure she had seen him. Had seen his face, had seen him dead. She had pulled back the cover, just for a second, had seen him there beneath it, before Bjarke quickly covered it, before he grabbed her and her mother yelled at him, before he was taken away and his body was burnt among the others in the bay.
But then... she couldn't imagine his face dead, cold. It was always warm, always smiling, eyes wide open and bright. There was life in it, always. In all of him, a pulsating energy so strong it never failed to seep out of himself and into those around him. She couldn't see him dead. She didn't — couldn't — remember him that way. Maybe because she had never even seen him that way…
Her head burned hot as sweat coated her skin, yet still she shivered in the darkness as Gothi left to get more water, taking the light of the candle with her.
Her brother was dead. She had seen his face…
Hadn't she?
"No, no, that's not good," Hiccup told himself as they walked through the forest, throwing another snow gentian he had managed to scrounge up to the dirt. Toothless padded alongside him, clearly unimpressed by his decision to do this all together.
"Less, maybe… Ugh, what was I thinking? Flowers? Really, Hiccup?"
He threw the few still in his hands to the ground. Toothless sniffed at them for a moment, before purring in disappointment and joining him at his side.
They had landed a few hundred feet from the cove to walk, and had nearly reached the place he had first found Toothless after shooting him down, his footfalls becoming slower and slower the closer he got to the cove, sometimes coming to a complete stop before he urged himself on.
He had wanted to approach her on equal footing for this — not swoop down into the cove on Toothless like some prince on his dragon come to ask for her hand in marriage. Still, they would have to glide down into it thanks to the recent landslide, but this way he would look somewhat more modest, he had reasoned.
"This is just stupid!" He said as they reached the treeline just before the lip of the cove. "Gods, this was a horrible idea… She'll just kill me the moment I say it… Why did I even think this would help anything? I should be doing research, or helping Gothi or Syl, or—"
A sharp nudge in his back that pushed him toward the cove sucked all his breath away from him, and he turned around to see Toothless staring at him, brow raised dubiously.
"... Or, helping remind Astrid that she's still a human," he whispered with a sigh. Grimacing, he clambered onto the dragon's saddle he had spent an hour and a half polishing that morning. "Right, bud… Thanks for that. Let's go."
The evening sky sent rays of faded, yellow-orange light down into the cove as they glided to its base. The colder nights left a frost over the few plants still alive in the morning, and a thin sheet of ice lingered at the corners and edges of the lake.
Astrid laid curled in a sunbeam, tail wrapped around her, though clearly out of comfort, not chill. Her eyes were closed, though she fidgeted every few seconds, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. She hadn't seemed to have noticed their arrival — or was at least making it look that way.
He forced himself to push the thought of their most recent meeting out of his mind. She'd had a nightmare. It was... understandable, that she would react that way when she woke up. That was what he chose to tell himself. She threatened to kill him often enough, anyway, so the whole event hadn't come as as much of a surprise to him as it probably should've. Seeing those talons raised above his head, though… The way she had bared her teeth and snarled at Toothless, how real it had seemed, beyond just a threat or warning… He had to suppress a shiver as they landed, for her sake.
She opened a half-lidded, curious eye as he dismounted, before getting up to walk over to them. He swallowed, and stepped around Toothless to face her.
His hands curled into balls at his side, his arms plastered against his torso. He took a nervous, clumsy step forward, then another, feeling as though he was walking to the execution block. With Astrid, there was always distinct possibility that he was, to be fair. And this would be no exception.
"... Astrid," he managed. She raised an eyebrow casually, taking another step forward from where she had stopped to face them, and he winced, trying to imagine that his legs were frozen in place to stop him from immediately bolting off into the woods. It was cold enough, there — or should have been, anyway. As far as Hiccup was concerned, he could have used a blizzard just then… Or maybe hail, as long as it was big enough to knock him out where he stood.
"Astrid…" He repeated. "Hi, uh, Astrid…"
Her eyebrow raised even higher, but she nodded slowly.
"I came to ask you…" His eyes snapped shut, and he felt his teeth biting down into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. "Ask you… About… About the… Book. The Compendium, I, uh… Like I said last time I, ah… Saw, you… Gothi told me there's some sort of magic society, or… People, or there were, anyway… And I was wondering what you thought of an idea I had—"
Yet again, a sharp nudge from his back cut him short, and he found himself stumbling forward, toward Astrid. He wasn't more than two feet in front of her face by the time he was able to stop himself — far enough away that he could probably still escape in a pinch, but still more than close enough to see the disappointment in her eyes.
"I… Right," he puffed up his chest with air as much as he could, more out of fear of passing out than to look like he had any semblance of confidence left in him. "Astrid… What I came down here to ask you, was if… If…"
This time, Astrid just snorted, and rolled her eyes, before bending her head down to the ground.
"Right," he pursed his lips. "This is going about as well as I figured it would—"
He glanced downward. Astrid wasn't ignoring him, he realized — she was writing something. The ability to miss such an obvious fact, he decided, was a testament to his history dealing with girls in general.
After a moment, she stepped back to let him read, and awaited his reaction, the raised brow on her face more or less impassive.
TOOTHLESS ALREADY TOLD ME
WHAT YOU WANTED TO ASK ME
HICCUP
WHAT YOU REALLY CAME DOWN HERE FOR
Hiccup stared at the words for a full minute. Even then, it took another twenty seconds for their meaning to even register over the dull void that his mind had just become.
"I… He…" He blinked, then spun sluggishly in place to point a finger half-heartedly at the black Night Fury behind him. "Y-you…"
The dragon stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, head tilted to the side, before giving a quick shrug, and lying down on the spot for a nap.
"I…" He said again, turning back to Astrid, who was still watching him expectantly. "... Am an idiot. A complete idiot."
He ground his teeth together, burying his face in his hands. As a result, the first half of his rant came out muffled and almost completely unintelligible.
"I just wanted to do something for you. Gods forbid I try to confide that in my best friend! Why?! Why would you do that? Gods, why did I ever think this was going to work, anyway? Something was gonna go wrong. It had to go wrong! I can never just accomplish or even try things without creating ten problems at the same time! I—"
He was yelling now, almost crying, at the lake, forest, and sky, stomping around frantically in a twenty-foot radius, as if he were addressing an invisible crowd. Eventually, when his voice began to give out, he closed his eyes, and turned back around.
"I just… I wanted to… Help you, somehow. It's been weeks of just… Nothing. I know how awful it must be to sit down here, day after day. I can't even imagine how it is to be a… a… well, you know. And I feel like, all this time, all this running around, going to war and I've just… I've done nothing. Nothing for Berk, nothing for you… I… I just wanted to make you feel like… Like you were still…"
He opened his eyes, and had to stop his mouth from dropping open.
She was sitting upright, staring down at him with all the audacity in the world. Toothless did it often enough, sure, usually whenever he wanted to mock him somehow, hind legs bent and tail and wings laying casually behind him just as she was — it was still just a little eerie each time, though, and never failed to serve as a reminder of just how close their species really were. The same applied here — but it was more than that. Her arms were crossed over her chest, nose raised high, only just barely low enough to let him see her eyes narrowed sharply at him. It was so incredibly, unmistakably Astrid that he was struck speechless, not even a muffled stutter able to crawl its way up his throat.
She kept staring at him. Eventually, she smirked, and gave a deep snort from her nostrils.
He managed a measly "Heh," letting his shoulders relax just a bit as the noise left his body on a sudden exhale.
They kept staring at each other, her eyes ever-knowing, him letting a small, wary smile creep onto his own face. Then, leisurely, but not without respect, she nodded at him to proceed, and uncrossed her arms.
He blinked. She had just absolutely, unwittingly proven to him that she didn't need him to reassure her of her humanity, and yet… she was still letting him continue, even knowing what he was going to say.
Though she loomed above him, her shadow was cast to her side by the setting sun. Soon, he found himself nodding, and then, eventually bending down to one knee. He wasn't sure why. It just felt appropriate.
"Right," he spoke, more to himself than her. "Astrid Hofferson,"
She nodded again, and he sucked in his breath.
"I… I like you. I really do… A lot. And I… Just want you to know that… I really care about you, and… I know we're having… Difficulties, right now, with… things. And I hope that once we get this all sorted out, we can be more… Normal, together. Or as normal as it gets around here, anyway. But the truth is, you're still you, and really, I should've done this a long time ago, for better or worse. Astrid…"
He looked up into her fierce, lightning-blue eyes with a timid half-smile to match them. "Will you… Will you be my girlfriend?"
The question came out with all the bravado and grace of the chirps of a terrible terror. Still, she purred and rolled her eyes, before descending slowly back down to all four legs, at his eye level, where she had towered above him not a moment before.
"So…" he breathed, the tiniest bit of genuine concern sneaking through in his tone. "Should… Should I take that as a n—!"
Just then, Astrid suddenly pushed her forehead down against his chest, softly, but not without enough force to knock all the wind out of him — or what little there was left — and push him back a step.
"I… Uh…" he tried, wheezing. Astrid didn't move, but crooned at him, carrying out the note for a moment as if to tell him something. Still partially in shock, as his senses returned to him, he slowly found himself wrapping his arms around her, giving what just barely qualified as a hug, before closing his eyes and choosing to enjoy the moment — even after hearing a derisive, draconic snort from behind him.
After a stretch of time long enough for the shadows around them to lengthen had passed, he risked talking again. "So… a yes, then?"
She pulled away, but when she looked up at him, she was smiling again, a devious glint in her eye that made the message clear; I'll let you figure that out for yourself.
"I… Okay," he said, clearing his throat. "I… I think I can live with that."
She tilted her head ever-so-slightly, the same smile and keen look still gracing her features.
"Of course," he continued, "A solid answer would be nice… And we can sort of talk to each other, and all, so if you could, y'know, let me know sometime, maybe not today, but..."
His voice trailed off as he noticed Astrid's smile had fallen into a concerned frown. She was staring at something just beyond him, behind him. Suddenly worried something had happened — or was happening — to Toothless, he spun around on a heel.
The dragon had his nose nearly straight up in the air, twitching, ears pointed at attention, and eyes narrowed. He raised up on two legs for a moment, as though trying to catch something else, before he dropped back down to all fours, staring at Astrid for a moment before gesturing at Hiccup with a nod.
"What… What is it?" He asked, looking back at Astrid. She shook her head, the frown even deeper in her face than before, and bent down to write.
HE SAYS HE CAUGHT A SCENT
HUMANS
"Close?" He asked in a half-whisper, eyes shooting up to the edges of the cove above them.
NO
FURTHER
THE VILLAGE MAYBE
"Then why would he be— why are you so antsy all of a sudden?" he asked, looking back at the dragon. "It's Berk. We're a pretty fragrant village, if you hadn't noticed. And how could you even pick that up from here?" Toothless only narrowed his eyes down further.
Astrid shook her head.
NO
HE SAYS THE SCENT IS STRONGER
WHEN THERE ARE A LOT
IN ONE PLACE
"That still doesn't explain why… Oh," the words escaped him, as the color drained from his face.
He turned around and sprinted back to the dragon as fast as he could, turning back to her surprised face only as he was climbing on the saddle.
"Sorry, Astrid. If there's anything wrong, we'll come straight back here. Stay safe — hide if you think you have to."
She shot him a look that said I can handle myself, but her eyes held the same fear as his. With one last grimace at her, he slid his metallic joint into the tailfin switch, and they took off for the village.
She had started writing another message before he left, but he hadn't needed to read it. He already knew what it would say. It was something he had learned from Toothless early on, when they first started scouting.
The scent is stronger when there are a lot of them… And when the scent is new.
They landed further into the village, avoiding the sea and, by extension, potential threats. It took him only a few seconds to find Gobber still hard at work in the forge.
"Aren't we under attack?" He demanded, leaning across the front counter. The Smith turned around with a raised brow, a dull sword clamped in an attachment on his arm.
"Attack? Not so far's I know. Say, 'iccup, where were ye' off to this mornin'? I told you last night I'd need your help around 'ere today. Got a lot of orders with the war 'n all comin',"
"I was… Busy, out doing something… Getting ready for something," he said. "But Toothless smelled humans. New humans. Do you know where they are? Where's Dad?"
"Ah, well, I can give ye' one answer to both questions," he said. "Check the docks. It seems we've got our first shipment in."
"Our first…" He sighed in relief, and let his body slump down over the counter. Of course! The tribes his father was calling to Berk — it must just have been one of them, a closer tribe, maybe, as it hadn't taken them much time to get there. How could he have forgotten already? He had been so busy lately…
With a sigh, he began making his way to the docks after thanking Gobber— he would head back to Astrid after, he reasoned, once he had met whoever these newcomers were. He had missed their immediate arrival, but if the Chief's son could at least be there to greet them, however late, it might not look so horrible for both his and Berk's reputation…
His stride faltered, however, as soon as he reached the planks leading to the docks. He found himself frozen in place, eyes fixed on the docks below him.
Not a new scent, he thought to himself, in horror. A different one. Different from Berk. But not a new one.
A handful of small ships were clustered below him, like bodies huddled against one another for warmth, even within the safety of the bay. Some had gaping holes in their hulls, barely repaired with wood from barrels already onboard. Others appeared to have several feet of water already pooling on their decks. Although it took him a moment to make it out, piece each of them together and layer them on top of one another in his mind with the massive, burnt holes punched through many of them, the insignias on the sails were unmistakable.
It was the survivors of the Clouded Valley tribe. The tribe he had abandoned.