Forty Three: Nowhere else to be
The island was like a vision of Helheim, the entire place filled with grey smoke, the stench of charred flesh and an eerie silence. There were lumps of exploded dragon spread over the shattered beach, rocks mingled with the debris as the Vikings of Berk peered across towards the mountain. No one wanted to say a word.
"Where's Dad?"
Except Snotlout, who clearly hadn't realised the import of what had just happened. They had seen a young Viking, an outcast and possible traitor, ride a Night Fury and fight the monster that had been controlling the raids on the village for centuries. And against all probability, Hiccup and Toothless had won. But at what cost?
"I said…where's Dad?" Snotlout yelled. The Chief stirred, feeling numb. He had just found his son, had just accepted that Hiccup was the child he had thought lost and now…was he lost once more? He turned to look at the stocky young man and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Snotlout," he said in a heavy voice. "He's dead."
"No!" Snotlout shouted. "No-he's out there. We have to…"
"Snotlout-he was helping Gobber and I distract the dragon to let you all get away," Stoick said gruffly. "He didn't pay enough attention and the dragon crushed him."
"No! NO! You should have saved him! You should be dead, not him! It was your job…" Snotlout shouted, his eyes filled with shock and fury.
"Snotlout-he chose to be there," Stoick told his nephew with absolute honesty. "He knew what he was doing. He made the choice." He reached out to grasp his nephew's shoulder-but the distraught young man jerked away and backed off.
"No…" he said and then pushed through the crowd, ignoring the pitying eyes and mumbled condolences. Gobber appeared at Stoick's side.
"He wasna there to distract any dragon, was he?" he murmured. Stoick shook his head.
"No," he replied hollowly. "He sneaked back to kill me-and blame it on the dragon. Hiccup saw it and his dragon alerted the monster. Spitelout was crushed by it because he was only looking at me, not the real monster." Gobber grunted.
"If ye ask me, there were two monsters on that beach and both are now dead," he said with satisfaction. "Ye think Snotlout will be a problem?" The Chief peered into the smog and shook his head.
"Spitelout was the strength in his faction," he said absently, his eyes searching the beach for any signs of life. "The Jorgensen allies know that Snotlout is a brat, a spoilt child with little tactical ability and no political sense. Even the dimmest of them realise that he is an appalling choice for Chief-but Spitelout enforced the loyalty of their allies. Now he's gone…Alva may talk but she is no warrior. And they won't follow her. I suspect they will grumble but the threat of an open split in the village is gone." Gobber grunted.
"Why not tell the truth?" he asked, his blue gaze sweeping the most troublesome Jorgensen adherents. Stoick shook his head.
"What would that achieve, Gobber?" he asked simply. "It would set those who have remained loyal against those who supported Spitelout. It would mark his son and family as traitors. It would dishonour the boy. He has lost his father, he has lost his faction and he will never be Chief: let him cling to the illusion that his father was a hero." And then he rested a hand on Gobber's shoulder. "I need to find my son."
"Look-he's with that dragon," Gobber reminded him. "I'm sure he'll be fine." Stoick gave a grim chuckle.
"That boy could get into trouble in an empty room," he reminded his friend. "He is brave and loyal…and has the worst luck. And he is always in the wrong place at the wrong time!" And then he walked out into the swirling smoke, his cloak pulled up over his face, taking a breath and bellowing "HICCUP! HICCUP!"
The shattered ground was covered in grey dust and everything was a lumpy shape that could have been a slumped Night Fury or shattered boy…but as Stoick searched further across the beach, where he had last seen the black dragon, he felt his heart begin to sink. He had found what he presumed was the remains of his brother and he had stopped, murmuring a few words to the gods and mentally noting that he should get some men to gather up what was left-without allowing the son to see, of course-and grant the man a proper pyre. He had died in battle, after all, so maybe he would get a place in Valhalla. It was his duty as Chief to try.
But for now, he needed to find his son.
oOo
The dragons had landed a little way off the Viking longships, knowing the vikings may not be especially friendly to more dragons when they had just almost been squashed by a giant. But as the dust swirled around them, the young riders clambered off their dragons, gently patting them and thanking them before going to find their families. Astrid saw the twins run to their parents, saw Fishlegs hug his father, saw Gustav's huge father sweep the smaller boy up in his arms…and then she saw the tall, straight shape of her own Dad, looking for her. His eyes softened with relief as she saw him unharmed-and then accelerated to a run, slamming into him and wrapping her arms around him. She felt him hug her and relief surged through her.
"You're safe. Thank Odin you're safe," Ivar muttered, kissing her head and then squeezing her tight. "When I saw you riding the dragon, I was so worried. I was afraid I would lose you." She sniffed and swiped tears from her face.
"I thought we were supposed to be fearless," she mumbled as he gave a shocked laugh.
"Oh my ferocious Valkyrie daughter," he sighed. "Courage isn't having an absence of fear. An absence of fear is probably utterly stupid when facing a mountain-sized adversary. Fear gives you an edge,. It quickens your breathing, sharpens your senses, makes you think and act quicker. It shouldn't rule you-but it is there for a purpose. It lets you know you could lose everything-so you have to give of your absolute best. I was afraid I would lose you-and I had to trust that what you had learned and the person you were would be enough to bring you home."
"I was afraid as well," she mumbled ashamedly. "I was scared you would be killed by that thing. I was scared the entire village would be wiped out." He smiled and wiped her wet cheek with his thumb.
"So you broke out of prison, rode a dragon here and helped save us?" he guessed.
"Actually, Hiccup talked his way out of prison, showed us how to train dragons and fought that thing with Toothless," she corrected him.
"Toothless?" he murmured, frowning. She smiled wanly.
"The Night Fury. He has retractable teeth," she explained.
"Toothless?"
"Yes, I know-but Hiccup is…well, Hiccup," she admitted with a small, soft smile. Ivar Hofferson nodded and pushed her back a little.
"He's a brave and unusual young man-but he worthy," he told her. "I am safe-and I can help assess the damage and make the remaining ships seaworthy. Now go help the Chief find your friend." She nodded and ran off, whistling for the Nadder to run over and she swiftly mounted up, leaning forward.
"Find him," she murmured. There was a pause as the Nadder raised her head and sniffed-then accelerated into the air, flying low and circling through the swirling clouds. They passed over the Chief, who was struggling across the shattered and broken land before the Nadder cawed and dipped her wing, circling and landing by a slumped shape. A dragon curled on its side, the black scales partially dulled by the thick, swirling grey dust. Astrid jumped from the Nadder's back and approached slowly.
"I've found Toothless!" she shouted, looking up and waving. Stoick saw her immediately and broke into a run, arriving at her side in seconds and then stopping. They could both see that the tail was wrecked and the saddle empty. Astrid felt her breath hitch. "Hiccup," she breathed.
"Son…" Stoick said, his voice breaking. "Oh son…I should never have left you…"
Toothless took a shuddering breath, hurting. The impact had been only just within the survivable limit for the tough Night Fury and he could have glided out, lessening the impact…but that would have meant abandoning Hiccup to certain death. Hiccup who had freed him from her control. Hiccup who had given him back flight. Hiccup who had killed for him. His brother.
Forcing his eyes open, the dragon looked over at the large human who was Hiccup's parent and the yellow-haired female who was maybe a potential mate and definitely a friend and took a shuddering breath. Slowly, he unfolded his wings, revealing the shape he had grabbed just in time, hugging to his powerful chest and shielding with his legs and wings. Stoick gasped and ran forward, dropping to his knees and gently retrieving his son, seeing blood on his face and burns across his shoulder and arm. Fearfully, he lifted the limp shape closer and pressed his ear to the thin chest, gearing the soft pitter-patter of his heart and the slightest movement of his shallow breathing. He looked up to meet Astrid's blue gaze.
"He's alive," he breathed and then turned to the dragon. "Thank you-for bringing my son back." Gobber ambled up, along with Mulch and Fungi Thorston, who had some skills at healing and was acting as Gothi's deputy.
"He's badly hurt," Gobber realised, looking over to the woman. "Can yeh help him?" She nodded, reaching in her bag and pulling out salves and bandages.
"I can treat his burns and bumps-but not the leg," she said quietly. Swallowing, the Chief forced himself to look-to really look-at the wreckage of the limb. Rent and burnt, the flesh shredded and charred, there was no hope that it could be salvaged. He heard Astrid gasp and Toothless gave a sad croon.
"Astrid, lass-can you help Toothless," he said tonelessly. "I'm taking Hiccup to the ships and then we can treat him." Almost looking as if she wanted to say something, the girl slowly nodded.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly and walked to the dragon, who was painfully clambering to his feet. "Come on, Toothless," she said gently. "Come be with the others while they help Hiccup." Whining, the dragon looked as the Chief hefted the slight weight in his arms. All talk about the boy being an Outcast or a traitor were forgotten and no one argued as their Chief brought the boy onto the most intact ship. The dragons were all clustered on the shore, nuzzling Toothless and curling around the wounded dragon as he slumped, his head on his paws as he stared at the ship. Once Fungi had slathered the burns and bumps in salve and then bandaged them up, she looked to the Chief.
"I'll hold him," he said quietly. "If it must be done, let him be in the arms of someone who loves him. I can't protect him against this, but I can comfort my son as it happens." So they prepared the wound, getting a tourniquet ready, heating the axe to cut and cauterise and opening the salve. And while the boy was unconscious, Stoick still tenderly held him to his body, pressing a gentle kiss to the battered forehead and closing his eyes as they cut his leg off.
oOo
The argument reached level where even Hiccup was restless so Stoick had to bellow for them to be quiet. Scowling, he left Astrid at his son's side and walked over to the vikings. The sad remains of his brother were wrapped in part of the sail and Snotlout was yelling at the top of his voice.
"He should be on Berk!" he insisted. "His home, his family are there…"
"It will be too crowded to take him back," Sven argued.
"Be reasonable, son," Goatface said. "It will be horrendously cramped with the living…"
"You could always leave that damned slave behind," Snotlout sneered. There was a sharp intake of breath.
"That boy saved all our lives!" Mulch retorted.
"He destroyed the dragon!"
"What did you do, boy?" Goatface sneered.
"He was the fastest back to the ships," Hobnut put in.
"Yellow streak a mile wide," Tuffnut added with an unsympathetic grin.
"My father was killed saving you!" Snotlout insisted angrily.
"And he will be buried here, in front of the village warriors," Stoick decided. "The Axemaker is barely seaworthy and won't make the trip home. We can put him on that for the funeral."
"He needs to go back…" Snotlout argued but the Chief shook his head.
"Collect wood for a pyre, Dogface, Ulric, Geir…we will hold the funeral as soon as we are ready and then we will head home."
The men hastened to obey their Chief as the Chief scooped the remains in the blanket and carried them onto the stricken ship, resting them to one side until the pyre was built. Then he paused and rested a hand on the wrapped corpse.
"May Odin forgive you and grant you a place in Valhalla that your best deeds deserve, my brother," he murmured and then turned away, leaping from the ship and walking over to join Astrid.
"He hadn't stirred," she reported. He nodded.
"He needs to go home-and sooner than we will travel," he murmured, then looked over at the dragons. "Can you take him, lass?" She looked alarmed, her hand grasping Hiccup's for a long moment-and then she nodded.
"Yes, sir," she reported. "I will. But what about Toothless?" She paused. "Hiccup broke him out of the harness-and someone was trying to kill him. Yaklips was found dead on the ship by Toothless's empty harness. His axe was lying by him."
"I heard," Stoick said in a low voice. "And it wasn't the dragon?"
"Not unless Toothless can stab someone in the throat," the girl revealed. To her shock, the Chief suddenly smiled and gave a nod.
"I'm glad to learn those lessons you gave him worked," he chuckled. "And that he will fight for those he loves-human and dragon. I will ensure that no one harms Toothless. He will travel with me." Astrid nodded.
"I'll get my dragon ready, sir," she said. "I don't know if the others will come back with me or stay here with their families." She rose. "I'll leave it up to them."
The pyre was ready when Astrid was in the saddle and the Chief gently lifted the limp shape of his son into her arms, the boy swathed in blankets. Standing at his side, Gobber gently patted the dragon's shoulder.
"Get him home safe," he said gruffly. "Laddie needs a break-and I know I can rely on you, lass."
"Look after my son," Stoick said simply and then stood back, nodding to the girl. She stole a look over to her father and saw his proud smile at his daughter being trusted with such an important mission.
The Nadder shot up into the air as the ship was pushed out and the archers lined up with the flaming arrows. Astrid adjusted Hiccup in her arms as Snotlout fired the first arrow, followed by Stoick. The pyre ignited as the other warriors and the Council members fired arrows to add to the pyre, honouring a viking who had schemed, plotted and attempted treason in trying to kill his brother and Chief. And none but the Chief and the Gods would know.
Then she turned away and leaned forward.
"Take us home, girl," she said.
oOo
The horns rang through the village as the fleet limped in, the tattered sails and overladen boats markers of how astonishing it was that the fighters had returned at all. The villagers surged down to the docks, desperate to welcome home the returnees-and find out who had perished. There were many worried and hesitant faces, most of which turned to relief when they saw their men crammed on the struggling fleet. As soon as they were moored, Stoick leapt over the side onto the dock, followed by Toothless, who had spent most of the voyage perched on the figurehead of the longboat. The fighters offered their congratulations to the Chief and he graciously tried to accept them, though he was desperate to follow the dragon, who was bounding up the ramps to the village. Finally, he was able to leave and follow the dragon-until a wail halted him.
It was Alva, staring at her son as he reported the loss of his father. Seeing her struggle, knowing she was his sister-in-law, he turned back and went to her side, bowing his head.
"He died a hero," he said as she turned to him, her eyes dark with grief and shattered hope. "He was distracting the dragon with Gobber and I-and he wasn't quick enough to dodge. It was instant. He was buried with full honours." She stared at him, nodding once, and then turning away. Snotlout stared after her.
"Mom? Where are you going?" he called but she didn't look back. Stoick saw tears on her face and knew her heart was broken, her world shattered by the loss of her husband and as guilt assailed the Chief, he knew he would have to protect and support her as well. He doubted her son had the maturity to offer her the comfort she needed-though he hoped that Snotlout would grow into the responsibility. Perhaps it would be the making of him.
And then he headed up, taking the small side way from the main ramp to the Elder's House, set aside on its own sea stack. Every step closer had his heart pounding more in anxiety, unsure what he would find. That image of the limp shape, swathed in the blankets and securely cradled in Astrid's arms, was scorched into his memory. Was Hiccup even alive? He had to hope that the boy would fight on, though the skinny, undersized boy had endured far more than he could have imagined anyone could survive. And now…
He paused and stared up to the blue sky, seeing the clouds gilded by the sun. Hiccup had barely flinched as the axe had sliced down, as they had cauterised his flesh, as they had bound the amputation stump and it had been Stoick who had wept, tears stinging his eyes at seeing the boy lose yet another thing that should not have been taken from him. His mother, his home, his life on Berk with his father, his Tribe, his very freedom…and now a leg. The unfairness made Stoick hope that the Gods had finished tormenting his son and would finally allow the boy some happiness. Taking a slow breath, he completed clambering up to the platform.
The Deadly Nadder was roosting there, settled like a bird on the nest and though she looked up when he walked past, she judged him as safe and closed her eyes, dropping back to sleep. Stoick opened the door and walked in-to find Astrid sitting on a stool by a low bed, the skinny and pale shape of his son swathed in bandages with a cold compress on his forehead and Toothless sitting with a worried look at the far side of the bed. The dragon occasionally nudged the limp shape but the boy lay completely unresponsive. Looking up as he entered, Astrid made to rise but Stoick shook his head.
"Is he…?" he asked and Astrid shook her head.
"He hasn't woken, he has a fever and Gothi is concerned," she reported, indicating the hunched shape of the Elder, who was starring a pot over the fire. Slopping a bowlful of brown paste out, she hobbled over to the boy, glaring at Toothless until he backed away enough to allow her to lift up the dressing over the burns and sooth the warm paste into the injury. Respectfully, the Chief removed his helmet.
"How is he, Elder?' he asked and she shrugged. Hobbling back to the fire, she grabbed her staff, tossed some sand on the floor and began to scrape symbols in the sand.
He is alive. His fever is high. The burns are severe. The amputation is badly done and infected.
Stoick quietly took his son's hand.
"I'll wait here, if I may," he murmured. "This is my son…and there is nowhere else I should be right now."