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Chapter 12: Balheim
(Hiccup)
We are heading for tomorrow
But we don't know if we're near.
Will we beg or steal or borrow?
Will we ever lose the fear? *
…
"Cods, an' eels! Cockles an' mussels! Biggest you've ever seen!"
"Best fish in Balheim!"
"Fished right outta tha dragons' mouths!"
Those loud, unfamiliar accents were among the earliest voices Hiccup heard when he sneaked into the newly discovered village for the first time, one fair-weathered morning. The accents, of course, were not the only unfamiliar thing around him, as Balheim itself looked rather odd to him, especially in its uncommon layout.
The town was spread orderly along the shore of a natural harbor, in which a narrow river flowed, cutting the village in half, if not for the three wooden bridges crossing its waters. From the muddy beach, an unusually large amount of wooden docks jutted out towards the sea, and their abundant length held quite a number of ships as well, most of them with sails of different colors and adorned with different crests, some of which Hiccup could not recognize.
Unlike Berk, this whole town was completely flat, and it extended throughout the regular land, just before the forest and rocky hills began. What Hiccup found most surprising, however, were the strange walls made of pointy wooden logs trailing the village's perimeter, and obstructing the passage to the forest.
The walls were likely built for protection against potential attackers docking their ships somewhere else on the island, and coming from the hills, for Balheim's intricate and unstable network of docks made sea invasions unlikely to succeed. And, although the beach was not walled itself, which had allowed Hiccup to inconspicuously walk into the village, the muddy passages at the corners of the shore provided no advantage to any hostile army attempting to breach the defenses. So, all things considered, Balheim seemed to be a very well-protected settlement, at least from other humans.
The wooden walls, as well as the great number of straw-thatched rooftops, were clear signs that, here, dragon attacks were not particularly common, but merely an occasional summer hindrance. Walls could not protect a village from flying creatures, and thatched roofs caught fire much faster than the ones on Berk, which were instead made of wooden, diamond shaped shingles; still flammable, but not nearly as quickly as straw.
And yet, those kinds of rooftops and walls were not the sole signs of the rarity of dragon attacks. To Hiccup, the most obvious indication was the comparatively meek-looking population. The villagers here were generally of the same stature of any Berkian, but their faces weren't as scarred, their limbs not as scarce, and their eyes not as threatening as the ones of the people with whom Hiccup had grown up. Some of them even looked as if they might enjoy a conversation about something other than the best way to chop a dragon's head off.
Perhaps that was why this southern village felt the need to adorn its borders with ominous dragon skulls, tied upon high poles. They were likely supposed to give strangers a more menacing impression.
Of course, despite his relatively mild temperament, Hiccup was born a Hairy Hooligan of the north, so he felt quite indifferent to that kind of visual intimidation. Simple dragon skulls were nothing special on the island of Berk. Besides, northern Vikings had no real need for macabre decorations to scare off enemies. Their bone-chilling war cries, mixed with their confident laughter in the face of death, were enough of a deterrent for any of the unsurprisingly rare southern opponents.
All in all, Hiccup managed to observe quite a bit on his first visit to Balheim. The 'covert scouting mission number one', as he had so excitedly named it when he had arrived.
After landing with Toothless in the forest, mere moments before sunrise (but not before a heated 'argument' with his friend, who did not share Hiccup's enthusiasm for the mission), Hiccup had sneaked into the village, and he had started roaming its streets, as different people of different trades opened their shops or went to work.
As soon as the first batch of bread was ready at the closest baker, Hiccup's nose had quickly steered his feet to the homely building, where he had asked for a loaf, trying his best to enact the same impression of nonchalance of a casual traveler. His coins could not escape his satchel fast enough at the thought of a warm loaf of bread. Unfortunately, Gobber's gift of money came in nine pieces of silver, so he had to delay his purchase, pretending to know what he was doing, to find a trader who would exchange his silver coins for copper ones.
He had managed to find a trader by the docks, and, after allowing the man to weigh the silver coin, he had exchanged it for fifteen of copper, though he had likely been ripped off. Hiccup didn't have much experience neither with the trade of coins, nor with the art of haggling that came with it, since bartering was still the primary trading method on Berk; not to mention the fact that almost everything came free of charge to a chief's son anyway.
In fact, as the heir, Hiccup had never truly had any need for coin on Berk, nor had he ever bartered, except perhaps to get his toys back when he and Snotlout had been younger. He had certainly mastered the art of making careful offers that were just high enough to have his toy returned, but not low enough that he'd get punched instead. A useful skill to one as scrawny as Hiccup.
So, inexperience aside, Hiccup was certainly not a fool. He was quite confident he had been cheated by that trader, but he could not have cared less; the smell of warm bread had been too alluring after more than a week without it. He had also preferred not to make a fuss for fear of raising suspicions concerning his identity. Balheim was big and densely populated, a large number of sailors came and went, but Hiccup was still a completely new face on the island, and he preferred to avoid answering questions, for he had always considered himself a bad liar whenever put under scrutiny.
As Hiccup made his way back to Toothless, he allowed the taste of bread to fill his mouth, chewing as slowly as he could, even though Balheim's baker was not as good as Helga. Nonetheless, he happily gobbled down the warm loaf, closing his eyes every so often.
He had eaten half by the time he found Toothless, who, as he had suspected, had not moved a single step for the entire time of Hiccup's first successful 'scouting mission'.
The next couple of visits did not go much differently. The two of them would sometimes fly to Balheim before sunrise, and Hiccup would then sneak alone into the village to purchase some supplies, and, of course, bread, as well as bread-making materials, with which to test his baking skills. After all, becoming a 'bread-making Viking' had been one of his desperate excuses to avoid joining dragon-training, after his first encounter with Toothless; he could now see how he would have fared, had his life been that of a baker.
Hiccup and Toothless settled on a large nearby island, about twenty leagues to the west. The land was vast enough to comfortably accommodate a whole tribe, yet it was mysteriously deserted, forsaken. It took Hiccup a few weeks and a few well-placed questions to find out why.
Old Balheim, as the place had been renamed, was the former settlement of the people that now lived in Balheim (or 'New Balheim', as the older villagers liked to specify). The island had been abandoned, and its village burned to the ground generations before, because of a deadly disease that had spread and decimated the population. Hiccup had certainly heard the name 'Balheim' before, but he did not know about the history of the place. An old and somewhat senile man had even told Hiccup that Old Balheim was believed to be cursed, and no sailors would still dare to approach it. Apparently, even some neighboring tribes believed so.
That was all the more convenient for Hiccup, who could feel slightly safer from any unexpected visitors on that island. Besides, he didn't really believe in the curse. And even if he did, he still refused to believe he could be a target for it; he considered himself already cursed enough by the gods, especially after everything he had gone through.
There has to be a limit to the number of curses one can suffer. Right?
With that thought, Hiccup decided to settle permanently on Old Balheim, flying and playing with Toothless, eating and sleeping, living as an outcast, but also slowly beginning to think about the shape of the shelter that he was going to build for himself and his friend, to resist the winter.
At last, after the conclusion to his first month of exile, Hiccup could say he owned a whole private island, along with all of its caves, lakes, forests, and wildlife. Maybe, just maybe, he had finally found his first true home since Berk.
"Just a little closer… come ooon…" Hiccup whispered under his breath, advancing with careful steps towards his prey, clutching Gobber's sharp knife in his right hand. He had to be careful not to be spotted. He had been trying to hunt by himself for weeks, instructing Toothless to stay at the camp and not interfere, yet he had been terribly unsuccessful so far. It seemed that every edible creature in the forest, however small, was either much too cautious, or much too agile, for a hunter the likes of Hiccup Haddock.
Almost there. Almost…
He was closer than ever this time, close enough to jump on the furry little beast, but, before he could take the initiative, some bird decided to chirp its mating song, making the cheerful call of spring resonate among the trees of the thick forest. It wasn't a loud chirp, but it was close enough to make the grey rabbit turn, and face its predator.
"Oh no… please don't run, please don't run, please don't- damn!" Hiccup exclaimed as soon as his prey, after a brief but intense staring contest, sprung in the opposite direction, hopping left and right among the trees, and bushes. Hiccup struggled to catch up, sprinting towards the quick rabbit, though he knew that, at that point, based on past experience, it was a losing struggle. He still had to try, if he ever wanted to improve.
As Hiccup chased the small animal from one bush to the next, discovering new parts of the lush, abandoned forests of Old Balheim, he had to make a serious effort not to stumble upon the coiled roots of green ash trees and old oaks. He was certainly getting faster, he noticed, and he tired less easily than before. His pursuit came to a sudden halt, though, when he observed the rabbit finally find refuge in what at first glance appeared like a dark, horizontal crack within a moss-covered rock. Then, not a moment later, that very rock closed rapidly on Hiccup's prey with a crunch, almost like a dragon's maw swallowing a tiny meal.
No, not almost. It was exactly like a dragon's maw.
Hiccup's blood, still pumping hot from the fruitless chase, immediately froze in his veins. While his conscience suggested him to turn on his heels and leave, his curiosity made him take a single careful step towards the unknown species, but only after sheathing the knife back into his belt.
Hiccup had never seen a dragon quite like it, though he could not clearly make out its full shape yet; the creature's disguise was too effective. Similar to a huge winged lizard, slightly smaller than a Monstrous Nightmare, but stubbier and with a much larger mouth, this dragon had a Gronckle-like carapace with the colors of mud and stone, and a hint of yellow stripes underneath. However, the top of its head and back were thoroughly coated in green moss. As far as Hiccup could see, the dragon had no eyes, and, with its mouth closed, it looked completely indistinguishable from the forest.
Hiccup's mind started to race. He considered the dragon's odd hunting tactic, which made a somewhat nostalgic memory of Fishlegs fleetingly cross his thoughts. It appeared that this type of dragon would hunt like a snake, ambushing its prey, but with the strange perk of keeping its mouth always open.
Hiccup took another step closer. Perhaps this dragon's saliva produced some kind of inviting scent for most wildlife. Or maybe it needed to constantly taste the air to be able to see, using the same forked serpentine tongue that was now vibrating ominously towards him.
"Hey big fella…" Hiccup began with a friendly voice, stepping even closer as he tried to calm his breath, "I guess I can't have that rabbit back, huh? Don't worry, you can keep it… I- I'm sure I'll catch the next one." He chuckled nervously, but only very briefly, before the strange creature flared the nostrils on its broad snout.
The lack of eyes made it hard for him to understand its intentions, but as soon as the dragon raised threateningly on its legs, shaking off the dirt and leaves that concealed its figure, and after releasing an unmistakable screech of anger (or was it hunger?), Hiccup knew that the time for indulging his curiosity was over.
"Uh-oh…!" He exclaimed, and began to run away from the beast, without direction, but with a very familiar, fear-induced speed. After all, running away from fuming dragons (or boars, yaks, and the occasional angry chicken), was not an uncommon experience for Hiccup, though it had been a while since he had failed to tame one, with the exception of the rather recent Monstrous Nightmare during his last trial, though that had not been entirely his fault.
This day, however, Hiccup realized that dragons without eyes like this one were probably impossible to tame, since, as far as Hiccup knew at the time, eye contact was crucial. Alas, Hiccup reached that useful realization a little too late, allowing himself to turn from rabbit-predator, to dragon-prey.
I was never a real predator to begin with anyway, Hiccup thought, or he would have, if he had had any time to think. He had to give it his all to run from the strange dragon chasing him downhill.
He ran as fast as he ever had, aided by the downward slope of the forest's ground, but, then again, so was the dragon behind him, which, with its wings completely folded, was gaining quickly on him, stomping its feet and leaning heavily on the vegetation with its pointy-clawed paws, pushing itself forward, bending the thinner trees like grass under its weight.
Hiccup could almost feel its hot breath on the back of his neck, when he realized with terror that the dragon had finally caught up with him, despite being blind, which did not appear to hinder its ability to chase him without colliding with the forest's obstacles.
Still running, Hiccup glanced back to see the huge maw open for him, and time stretched when he saw those powerful jaws begin to close over his shoulder. He instinctively shut his eyes, but he did not feel pain, not on his shoulder at least. Instead, his left foot caught in a tree-root, making him stumble and roll on the ground, avoiding the beast's bite, but hitting the hard protruding roots of a tree with his right cheekbone. He did not have enough air in his lungs to express his pain.
The dragon could not stop its momentum, and, after clenching its teeth on nothing but air, it surpassed Hiccup, without stepping on him, as if by miracle. The angry beast seemed puzzled when it understood that its target had disappeared.
Hiccup fought against his spinning vision, and pushed himself up silently, holding his bruised cheek with one hand. The dragon was searching for his scent, and it was going to find him very soon. Alas, Hiccup did not have the strength to run anymore. When a peaceful gust of wind finally blew in his predator's direction, gently stirring the tree-leaves, Hiccup saw the untamable creature finally spot his position, and the only thought that crossed Hiccup's mind was Toothless.
Driven by the mental image of his friend as a source of courage, Hiccup pulled out his hunting knife. Somehow, in that final situation, the familiar weapon looked different. It felt different in his hands. For the first time, although he must have always known, he could truly grasp the truth of it. The object he was holding was one for killing, an instrument of death, and he was going to have to use it, or at least try, for real now.
Hiccup almost shook his head at himself with a disenchanted frown when he realized that he had never taken the weapon seriously so far, or any weapon. He finally understood why he had regularly failed to hunt. He had never truly been intent on taking a life, much like the day he had found Toothless' body tangled in the bola. That was why he would always hesitate at the last moment. It wasn't just strength or speed that he lacked, but also determination. Now he knew for sure.
Dragons may not always go for the kill, but sometimes they do. A hiccup like me never would though. A hiccup could never survive out here.
That important insight was going to be useless, if he didn't live through the day, so he tightened both hands on the hilt, mustered all of his courage, and raised his knife towards the enemy, for the first time in his life feeling some sort of killing instinct.
In spite of his new resolve, Hiccup still struggled with the fear, the certainty, of failing, and dying. He now regretted convincing Toothless to let him hunt by himself.
Abruptly, as if on cue, a dark figure jumped from behind Hiccup's back, covering the sky for a single instant, and landing between him and his attacker.
"Toothless!" Hiccup exclaimed breathlessly. Trembling with relief, his hands lost their grip on the knife, making it fall, as did the memory of his resolve to kill. Despite his quivering legs, Hiccup approached his friend. Toothless, however, shoved him back with his tail, distancing him from the enemy, just before a contest of roars and hisses began to reverberate within the woods of Old Balheim.
Toothless's stance was one of pure, imminent violence, so aggressive, in fact, that it gave Hiccup a deep sense of unease. Hiccup had never seen his friend like this. He had never seen Toothless fight another dragon.
The Night Fury fired a relatively tame blast between his opponent's forelegs, and immediately began charging another.
The other dragon was at a clear disadvantage. Although its body looked sturdier and larger than the Night Fury's, its lack of eyes left it vulnerable to projectile blasts like those of Toothless. In spite of its incredible ability of combining the senses of smell, sound and tactile vibrations to find its way, such fast projectiles needed to be seen to be dodged in time (though dodging a Night Fury's explosive shots was probably impossible regardless). It also appeared that the unknown species did not have fire as a weapon, but a close-range acid spray instead, which made the earth steam where it fell, but which was far too easy for an agile Night Fury to avoid.
Toothless' next fire-blast exploded right on the opponent's snout, where its nostrils were located. This, combined with the sound of the blast, made the eyeless creature momentarily blind in every way. The dragon lost its orientation, and stumbled around while Toothless charged a powerful, finishing strike.
"Toothless, no!" Hiccup found himself yelling. He was feeling surprisingly upset at the sight of his attacker being easily defeated by his formidable friend. If Night Furies were good at something, it was certainly fighting, and also hunting, and flying, and apparently everything else too.
Toothless turned his head to his rider. His expression softened when he saw him, but not completely, not enough to put Hiccup at ease.
"Just let him go," Hiccup pleaded, as the unknown dragon stumbled away into the forest, this time bumping clumsily against the trees. "Don't kill him. It's my fault. I was the one who bothered him," Hiccup confessed after recovering his fallen weapon. He could still feel his own heartbeat in his throat. He then approached his savior and patted his side with his left hand; with the other, Hiccup held his bruised cheek.
Toothless groaned, but decided to accept the request. He then sniffed with concern at Hiccup's injury.
"Don't worry about this. I fell... a little."
The Night Fury then sniffed him thoroughly in search for other wounds, but once he confirmed that Hiccup was going to be fine he assumed an expression of pointed indifference.
Of course, Hiccup was not completely fine. His cheekbone throbbed at blinding intervals, but he was going to wait to assess the damage. He wanted to return to their camp first, so he began walking towards it, the image of him appearing from the forest, triumphantly holding his first catch above his head, once again completely shattered.
Their return was dominated by an uncomfortable silence. Toothless was obviously angry with him for risking his life, though this time it appeared he was reacting differently than usual. He wasn't scolding him or puffing smoke at his face. He was probably expecting Hiccup to do something, most likely apologize for putting himself in danger. After all, Hiccup had already admitted to disturbing the wild dragon. It was his fault.
Hiccup did not feel so much guilt though, as he did disappointment. It was a familiar feeling. Unfamiliar, however, was the silent treatment he was currently receiving. Hiccup realized he much rather preferred being yelled at, instead of walking in this excruciating awkwardness. He had to say something. He could not bear to have Toothless be so quiet, which was rather ironic, since the dragon could not actually speak.
"I almost caught a rabbit this time, you know," Hiccup said casually as they walked, nibbling his lower lip. He tasted blood at the back of his mouth. "Next time I'm sure-"
As expected, his sentence was cut off by the dragon's disapproving snarl, which was followed by a series of complex sounds and body language that, on a human, would typically accompany a long rant. Toothless was not talking of course, not with words at least, but his noises and gesticulations were definitely expressive, not to mention loud. Hiccup could somehow hear his father's angry voice as he observed Toothless shaking his head, rolling his eyes, and stomping his front paws on the ground.
Once the Night Fury had stopped, Hiccup decided to address his irate friend, aware of the fact that he probably deserved every single puff of smoke Toothless had exhaled at him.
"I may have no idea what you said," Hiccup began, stepping in front of the dragon, "but I am sorry. I was chasing the rabbit and… it's my fault. I know you depend on me for flying, bud. I understand you are worried for a good reason. I just wanted to catch something by myself, for once, but then I saw a completely new dragon, and I thought I could maybe… nevermind. I promise to be more careful from now on. And next time I decide to get myself in danger like that, then we'll be in danger together. Alright? What do you say?" Hiccup tried to meet the dragon's stern frown with an expectant smile, hoping his stupidity hadn't irreversibly damaged their precious relationship.
"Can… can you forgive me?" He insisted when he became worried his friend was not going to answer.
Toothless looked away for a bit, then back at him, and nodded with a what could have been a solemn expression.
Hiccup could not hold back a smile of relief, or the sudden impulse to lean forward and embrace the dragon's neck.
"You really are the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered, before breaking the hug. They resumed walking side by side, towards their camp.
"Oh, and thank you for saving me… again," Hiccup added, scratching the dragon behind one ear, one of the Night Fury's favorite spots. Toothless purred with pleasure.
As they strolled unhurriedly on their way back, Hiccup contemplated the fact that he had reached pretty far within the forest during this unsuccessful hunt, and he suddenly realized something. He had not yelled too loudly when he was being chased. This meant Toothless could not have been too far behind, if he had managed to hear him and catch up to him so quickly. The only explanation was that the dragon had followed him in secret, albeit keeping a considerable distance.
"So… how many times have you spied on me failing to catch a simple rabbit?" Hiccup inquired cheekily, glancing sideways at the his friend. Toothless pretended not to hear the question.
"Not answering, huh? I see. You are trying to preserve my dignity." Hiccup shook his head. "I'm afraid that ship has sailed, bud."
Toothless gently bumped Hiccup's shoulder with his head.
"Oh great, dragon pity. Just what I needed." Hiccup said, grinning.
The dragon replied with a harder shove that made Hiccup nearly trip.
Admittedly, Hiccup did feel a bit pitiful. To make matters worse, after they returned to their still rudimentary camp in the clearing by one of the many streams on their deserted island, Hiccup noticed with some dismay that his recent fall had provided him with a slightly loose tooth, one of the newer ones at the back of his upper jaw.
He could still remember shedding his last milk tooth, from that very same position. Less than a year had passed since that day. He was almost thirteen when he had realized he was the last among his peers to lose all his baby teeth.
As soon as he had found out, he had hurriedly gone to the forge while Gobber was out, and he had picked up a random object from the piles of scrap metal. He had used a polished axe for a mirror. The result had been a surprisingly painless, yet very bloody mess. Still, he had proudly managed to pull out that last stubborn baby tooth.
He recalled how he had casually pretended that the tooth had fallen naturally, when he had shown his father. Stoick, however, had not appeared to care as much as Hiccup had hoped. Hiccup had ended up consoling himself by kicking pebbles in the woods, and spitting blood on the forest's floor, pretending to be a rough battle-worn warrior for a day. He could not help feeling stupid now about his naïve, yet not-much-younger self.
This day, alas, it wasn't a milk tooth that wobbled painfully in his mouth, and there wasn't much he could have done about it, besides try to chew on the left side, and hope that it wouldn't fall.
While it didn't seem like there was any need to worry (after all, the tooth wasn't swaying that much), Hiccup could still not shake off an uncomfortable mixture of feelings, like that of being damaged, not to mention being terribly inadequate for life in the wilderness, unable to catch a single measly rabbit without putting his life at risk.
How long was it going to be like that? He wondered. How long till he could consider himself satisfied with what he had and who he was? Every single day since they had settled on Old Balheim was a constant fight between his need for purpose in life, his erratic determination, and the persistent fear that one day he'd fall again, and lose the will to get back up. Not to mention the crushing tedium of mere idle survival, where the sole prospect was to live through yet another day in exile, without any real direction, or plan, or ambition. Was that what his life had become?
Toothless was there for him, though. Toothless was Hiccup's lifeline, and Hiccup was his as well. The thought did regularly soothe his unstable emotions. But, even so, sometimes, Hiccup seemed to forget he wasn't alone out there, and the lack of one who could truly answer back whenever he spoke would become almost unbearable. Other times, as if in conflict with his own mind, Hiccup would pleasantly remember what he was learning better and better each day: that it took only one being, one being who trusted and relied on him, even if not human, to give him reason enough to live.
"I guess I'm just going to eat some of my bread tonight," Hiccup said, sighing. He then searched for his remaining loaf, the one he had cooked himself on the pan which he had bought in Balheim's village for a whole silver coin. He was still trying to figure out the recipe, but he had made some good progress there. He could have surely become a great 'bread-making Viking' on Berk (beside blacksmith, of course), if only his father had listened.
"But, one of these days, trust me, I'll catch something even for you," Hiccup added in an attempt to restore his wavering optimism. "It's just kind of hard to sneak up on a wild rabbit with a knife. I… I might just need a different weapon."
Toothless raised his head, ready to complain.
"So, I'm thinking… next time we go to Balheim, I'll get myself a bow and arrows."
Enough self-pity. Hiccup told himself as he carefully chewed a bite of bread on the opposite side from his wobbling tooth.
"I'll learn how to use it."
I must shape up.
"And then I'll try again."
I can't give up after less than two months.
Toothless rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Wait, hear me out," Hiccup continued. "Next time, I want you to be by my side, but just to protect me, while I learn to hunt. Actually, maybe you can teach me a few tricks too. What do you think?"
Hiccup didn't wait for an answer before timidly adding a more pressing confession: "I know I can't make it by myself. It was stupid of me to think that I could, and I almost died today because of that. So, I will rely on you. Deal?"
Slowly, almost solemnly, the Night Fury got up, and circled the fireplace to get snout-to-face with his rider. Then, he brushed his large forked tongue on Hiccup's face once, to show he approved, then twice, to show he was glad, then a third time, probably just for fun.
Hiccup forced himself not to flinch or face away. He wholeheartedly accepted the dragon's affections (and spit), and only smiled as he became a victim of his best friend's infamous, but loving, attack.
That night, Hiccup slept closer than usual to the warm scales of the dragon's chest, within his dark, tender embrace. Being wrapped by the Night Fury's wings made the dream of better days feel closer, as they slowly headed for tomorrow, together.
It was the third week of June, the month of the Sun. At least that's what an old man dressed in white robes was bellowing in the muddy alleys of Balheim. Probably some priest, reminding the villagers to make offerings for the upcoming solstice celebrations. On Berk, they used to spill yak-blood in the fields for a good harvest, and as a symbol of fertility. Then they would drink into the night around a great bonfire, taunting the skies to bring forth the first dragon raids, so that the men could prove their worth in battle.
Here, in the south, Hiccup would have bet the summer solstice was celebrated much differently, but he was not curious enough to participate to the foreign village's event. He didn't feel comfortable among Vikings anymore, especially now that he had a secret fire-breathing companion. He was just thankful enough to confirm what the date was, for he had nearly lost count of the days of his exile.
Finally two months since I left, Hiccup thought with some surprise at himself for surviving this long. He was doing rather well, but he needed to do better, which was why today he had flown to Balheim again, and, after leaving Toothless in the forest, he had sneaked into the village, to finally get his new weapon; a bow and arrows. He felt positively excited.
Hiccup was looking for the weaponsmith, who was also the first blacksmith of the village, just like Gobber was on Berk. He found the shop quickly, on the eastern side of the river, by the outskirts, only a couple of houses from the strange wooden walls. The door was not shut, and a constant stream of smoke was coming out the top of the timber-and-stone structure. Hiccup entered the shop.
The smell inside was shockingly nostalgic: iron, charcoal, leather, soot, wood-shavings. The only missing scent was that of Gobber's rather pungent body odor.
Hiccup spotted a slender, but well-built man with long tied hair and a greying goatee. He was nothing like Gobber, which Hiccup found rather disappointing for some reason. He was older than his mentor, his eyes were a lively blue, and his face was etched with years upon years of soot and smoke and heat. The man merely glanced at the young patron, and then returned to his work over one of the three counters in the shop.
"Don't you know how to knock, kid?" He asked, without interrupting what he was doing.
"Sorry, I… it was open so I-"
"How can I help?"
"I- I'm looking to buy a bow," Hiccup explained. His pulse told him he was anxious. "Oh, and arrows." He added hastily.
"Over there," the man said, but did not point in any direction. Fortunately, Hiccup spotted a large collection of unstrung bows, resting horizontally upon hooks, which protruded from a tall stone wall by the opposite side of the workshop. He clumsily started to browse for a bow that fit his size, occasionally glancing back at the busy man, who appeared to have forgotten about him.
Hiccup was not very familiar with those kinds of weapons, since, at Gobber's, he did not usually work on them. Of course, Hiccup had built other machinery out of wood, like his bola launcher, but he had never been allowed to use good wood for them, which was probably why his weapons had always malfunctioned (except for the last one).
In general, northern Vikings did not care much about projectile weapons like bows and arrows, and, whenever necessary, people carved makeshift ones at home, barely good enough for hunting. So, while Gobber certainly knew how to make them, he was rarely asked to. The process of letting the wood appropriately dry for a bow could take months, if not years, especially considering that the word 'dry' had little place in the Berkian vocabulary. However, the most relevant reason for the low demand of bows and arrows was that northern Vikings could not use them when it really mattered.
Arrows, particularly when pointed upwards, were far too weak to pierce a dragon's scales. Bolas, chains, axes and swords were far more effective during raids. As a consequence, experienced bowmen were in very low demand on Berk.
Besides, according to tradition, when it came to fights between humans, long-distance weapons were for cowards. Hiccup had still tried to shoot a few times, under his father's dissatisfied supervision, though he had never managed to get the arrow even close to the target, despite always getting the trajectory fairly right. He lacked the strength, but he was determined to work on it now.
Hiccup had always been fascinated by good craftsmanship, which was probably why he spent a rather long time browsing, before he finally found a bow that he liked. It was the shortest one, though it was still nearly as tall as he was, and it sported no fancy carvings or expensive decorations. Its only perk was that the tips of its limbs curved strangely away from the wielder. Hiccup had never seen this design.
"How much for this one?" He asked.
The blacksmith left his work aside and turned to look.
"Ah! That one," he said. "Ash wood. Short but springy. Might go for six pieces, stave and string both, unless you have anything to trade: wool, gut-line, furs... Leather would be best. 'Course, a sheep would pay for plenty of arrows too, if you had one."
"I don't have a sheep," Hiccup replied, "but… four, five, six..." he extended his palm with six coppers in it. "Here."
"Are you daft, boy?" The blacksmith nearly howled. "Silver, you muttonhead! Silver! Do you take me for some fool?"
"Oh! S-sorry…" Hiccup murmured, his face burning with embarrassment. He had always thought bows to be worth little, but this one cost as much as a tempered-steel knife, and half as much as a good axe!
How can wood cost as much as steel? He wondered, yet somehow he knew this man was not cheating.
"That's not even a normal bow you picked there, son." The man grunted, folding his arms, partly offended, partly proud. "That bow's curved in the southern fashion, like they use in the mainland, you know."
Hiccup, though unnecessary, opened his small satchel, pretending to check. Six silver coins and fourteen coppers was all he had left from Gobber's gift of money. He couldn't spend nearly all of it so quickly, and yet he did not want to ask for a cheaper weapon. Something told him that the bow he had chosen was the only one for him. The others were all too long, too hard to carry on dragonback.
"It's also two for ten arrows," the blacksmith added abruptly, shattering Hiccup's hopes, even for a cheaper weapon.
"I… I can't afford it," Hiccup muttered under his breath. "But if you sell me the materials I could make one just like it myself. I'm pretty good at... this." He gestured hopefully towards the worktables.
"Ever made a bow before, son?"
"No, but I'm sure I can do it." Hiccup said confidently, assuming he was allowed some time of trial and error. Blacksmithing and weaponsmithing were the only things he knew he was good at. "I was a weaponsmith's apprentice for a few years," Hiccup continued. "I've made quite a few-"
"I don't care for your life story, kid," the man said, not quite irritated, but getting close. "My shop ain't for experiments, and I don't have space for a second apprentice. So you either buy one, or you leave."
"But…" Hiccup interjected hurriedly, trying to conceal his desperation, "...I've made axes!"
"Amazing," the blacksmith exclaimed with such intense sarcasm to rival Hiccup's own. He placed his sooty hands on his hips. "And tell me, kid, how's that going to help?"
"I could make one for you. I can make a very good axe. Best tempered steel you've ever seen! Then, if you think you can sell it for enough coin, you give me the bow and some arrows in trade." Hiccup tried to sound firm, mustering all his confidence. He knew he was good with axes, at least when it came to making them; not so much when he had to wield them.
"Best tempered steel I've ever seen, aye?" Repeated the man, an amused grin beginning to stretch his lips. "I like you, kid. What are you... twelve? Where's your father?"
"I'm here with my uncle," Hiccup lied, hastily adding "and I'm thirteen." Hiccup squealed the word, pretending he had been offended (which he slightly had been), and hoping to prevent further questions regarding his business on the island.
"Oh-ho! My bad. Practically a man here!" The blacksmith chuckled heartily. Then, he wore a grin of challenge on his face. "I'll give you the steel and wood, you make the best single-finned axe I've ever seen. You have four days. If I like it, you get the bow, and If I really like it, let's say... five arrows."
"Twenty arrows," Hiccup suggested, driven by the sudden thrill of striking a bargain.
"...Ten."
"Deal!"
Overwhelmed with relief, Hiccup offered his right hand to shake.
The other man hesitated for a moment, looking surprised at the gesture, but he finally clasped Hiccup's small hand in his own, leaving it black with soot, and a bit achy from the tight grasp. Before letting go, however, he carefully trailed his thumb over Hiccup's palm.
"Your calluses don't lie, kid, but I still find it hard to believe a smithy would take you as apprentice. No offence, but I mainly use my own apprentice for his muscle, and you don't seem to have much of it."
"Well," Hiccup shrugged uneasily, "my old smithy had enough muscle for two men, so... I wasn't really needed for that." It was not a lie, which was probably why he did not waver as he added: "I can still handle myself, and I'm quite good with finer work."
The man huffed with amusement. "Ain't you the confident little fellow," he remarked with a smirk on his face. "I expect that axe to be able to shave the hair from a dragon's ass!"
Hiccup frowned. "Dragons don't have hair," he pointed out, perplexed, before realizing it was just one of the man's expressions.
"Oh? And how would you know?"
"Because…" Hiccup frantically browsed his mind for a good lie, "because I've fought dragons," He finally said, matter-of-factly. It was not a complete lie, though he did regret the choice.
Promptly, the man's eyes widened with surprise. He then exploded in a fit of laughter, as he made his way out of the room, and towards some storage-chamber at the back.
Once out of sight, the blacksmith finally shouted:
"Four days!"
It was already the third day, when Hiccup began sharpening the edge of the axe's blade, using the roughest whetstone first. He was done with the hardest parts: welding, shaping, hardening, and tempering. Those were the steps that needed the most care, particularly the quench.
Hiccup had learnt it was best to dip the hot steel in the water edge-first, but only after using another piece of hot iron to preheat the water, which would otherwise shock the steel and make the axe-blade more susceptible to chipping.
Fortunately, he had been given some fairly good steel to work with; neither too hard and brittle, nor too soft and malleable. If this blacksmith had done the job himself, then he was either a very experienced smelter, Hiccup imagined, or a very lucky one.
Of course, Hiccup still had a lot to learn about smelting, since it was rarely performed, because of the high temperatures required to liquify iron ore. Most of what Gobber used in his forge came from older pieces of scrap-metal. New steel was mostly smelted when swords were commissioned, and that was a rare occurrence indeed. In fact, it was almost an event for the whole village.
It was at those times, no more than twice a year, when Gobber's forge would become the center of attention for the whole island. New swords always gathered a crowd, and Hiccup liked to think the attention and praise were partly his own as well, since, as apprentice, he always helped out. It made him feel useful before the eyes of the whole village. Hiccup enjoyed those days even more than his birthdays.
Of course, he still enjoyed forging smaller weapons by himself, as he was doing today in this southern village. Unfortunately, he was only allowed in the workshop until noon each day, because the space inside was rather cramped, and when the blacksmith's actual apprentice came in to work at noon, there was not enough room for the three of them. At least, that's what the older youth had claimed two days before, visibly annoyed by Hiccup's presence. This meant that, though he would enter the workshop at the crack of dawn, Hiccup was not granted as much time as he had hoped.
In fact, it was still rather early in the morning of that third day, when the apprentice decided to show up for work. Suspiciously early. Hiccup still needed to finish sharpening the two blades with the medium and fine whetstones, so he could leave the handle and details for the last day. The axe had to be perfect.
"Oh, not you again. What was your name?" Asked the apprentice, without even trying to hide his disdain for the younger guest.
"Thormund," Hiccup replied. He had chosen the name Thormund as a pseudonym, just to be safe. Besides, he had always liked that mighty name much better than 'Hiccup', and now that he was an outcast he could finally pretend like it was his own.
Despite his new name, however, Hiccup did not feel any less intimidated by the burly, black-haired boy, who, while being substantially bigger than him, could not have been much older, likely no more than fifteen years old. The apprentice was so big for his age that he looked like he could have used Hiccup as a hammer, with Hiccup holding the heavy, welding hammer in turn. He looked a bit like a mixture of Snotlout and Fishlegs, though his annoyingly handsome face was all his own.
"Yeah, right, whatever. Listen, Dorkmund, time to go. Come back tomorrow or something. My father needs his spear repaired and I can't do it if you keep using my tools."
"But…" Hiccup began, ready to protest as he turned to the master blacksmith, who was, uncommonly, not the apprentice's father.
Asmund (that was the blacksmith's name) hummed playfully. "Come back later, Gunnar," he said. "I'll repair your father's spear. It seems our young guest here knows his way around a forge. I'm curious to see what he's got. But don't worry, he won't be taking your place... unless that axe can shave a dragon's ass-hair. Right Thormund?"
"A dragon's…? What are you talking about?" Gunnar barked, confused and irritated. Despite his physical build, Hiccup found the other boy to be surprisingly insecure.
"Ask him," Asmund sniggered, nodding towards Hiccup.
Promptly, Gunnar scowled at him.
Hiccup just shrugged, pretending not to understand, which was not far from the truth. He did not care; he did did not have time to deal with the annoying apprentice anyway. He had to finish his job, if he wanted to get his bow.
Fortunately, Gunnar decided to leave the shop. He did not bring his father's spear. It had probably been just an excuse to make Hiccup go away. Could it be that the older boy felt threatened by his presence in the forge? The thought made Hiccup smile. He had never considered himself to be threatening in any conceivable way. Was it because of his fancy new name?
As Hiccup kept working on the counter, just under the daylight pouring in from one of the two windows of the otherwise fairly dim workshop, he couldn't help overhearing, and occasionally glancing at a group of young kids, aged around six or seven years, playing with sticks and stones in the muddy alleyway. He had gotten used to hearing their cheerful voices in the morning, as they enjoyed their silly games. The hazy image of himself doing the same with the other kids on Berk, before his mother had died, crossed Hiccup's wandering mind, though he wasn't sure whether it was a real memory, or a melancholic wish that it had happened.
Not long before noon, the kids became involved in a particular conversation, which caught Hiccup's full attention. Hiccup timed his brushes with the finest whetstone, so he could hear each sentence clearly.
"A Night Fury? Where?" Asked one of the young boys.
"On Meathead Island," A second boy said.
"I heard it was Berk."
"Where is that?" Asked another.
"North."
"My uncle said it's invisible! No one can see it." A younger girl pointed out.
"But my dad told me that they did. So it must be true. They really saw one!" Said the second kid.
"I heard someone was riding it," claimed a new boy, matter-of-factly.
"No way!"
"I bet the Night Fury was as big as… as my house!" Said the younger girl.
"Your house is not big, Katla."
"Yes it IS!" The little girl yelled in response, before they all moved their bickering further away, where their voices could no longer be heard as clearly.
Hiccup felt considerable surprise, not to mention some worry, at finding out the rumor about the Night Fury and the rider had spread so far south. Some of the villagers of Meathead Island (where he had been seen not two months before) had probably travelled to Balheim recently.
However, Hiccup was quite baffled at hearing Berk being mentioned. He had assumed that Stoick would have done everything in his power to keep the matter of his son a secret, at least from the other Viking tribes. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps it was impossible to keep such things secret. Otherwise, how could the Meathead men have known it was an actual Night Fury they had seen? Someone from Berk had surely told them. Only Berkians knew what a Night Fury looked like.
Furthermore, if it was possible that word of Berk's heir being in exile alongside a Night Fury had spread naturally as far as Balheim, should Hiccup need to do something about it? He was not sure.
At least he had made a good decision by giving a different name, he thought. If someone were to identify him, he would probably be in great trouble, and, most importantly, so would Toothless. The dragon could take care of himself, of course, but only if his rider was safe first, so Hiccup knew he needed to make sure not to endanger his own clumsy self most of all.
Still, it was quite eye-opening to see information travel so fast within the Archipelago, despite the distances and adversities of sailing the Viking seas. Hiccup did not know much about sea-travel, or even about the origins and destinations of the rare trading ships in Berk's docks.
He did hear exotic names of course, but he was hardly allowed to check the precious maps, which were stored under lock and key in the great hall, as were most books on the island, so they'd be safe from the frequent dragon-fires. As a consequence, Hiccup's knowledge of the Archipelago was scanty, to say the least of it.
Wasn't dad supposed to teach me any of that stuff? Hiccup thought, releasing some of his frustration by pressing on the fine whetstone harder with the axe's gradually emerging edge.
It was likely the Archipelago was smaller than Hiccup had previously imagined, but he was still sure he had travelled about two hundred leagues south. That was quite a lot for a ship to sail. Yet ships clearly did sail such distances at times. Trader Johann had often claimed he travelled every year from the coasts of Hysteria, as far as the Mainland itself, beyond the infamous Wicked Waters.
Hiccup had always been suspicious of such claims. After all, despite some of Johann's wares being quite strange, the great majority of his stories bordered on preposterous, so Hiccup had never believed the exuberant trader with the extravagant hat.
His stories were still fun to listen to, and Hiccup would always join the other kids as they eagerly gathered by the docks when 'The Mare of Misery' (as Johan had lovingly named his ship) made port on Berk. If the ice wasn't too bad, it was a thrice-a-year occasion.
"So, Thormund, what are you going to use your bow for?" The blacksmith suddenly asked, stirring Hiccup from his thoughts of home.
"Uh? Uhhh… hunting," Hiccup said swiftly, without putting much thought into his reply. He had been far too absorbed by his musings.
"Hunting? That's no mere hunting bo- ooh... I get it now. You want to be like those dumb dragon-hunters looking for glory in the northern isles; making their foolish vows to bring home some Gorgeous Nightmare skull." The man spoke with disapproval in his voice whilst working on some knives. "Let me tell you: they never come home in one piece those kids, if they come home at all. Northern Vikings are madmen. Trust me, I've met quite a few Berserkers and Meatheads and whatnot… They'll chew you up and spit you out before you even get your hands on your first dragon."
"Tell me about it," Hiccup mumbled under his breath, slightly vexed by the blacksmith's words, though he couldn't pinpoint the reason.
"What's that?"
"Uh? Oh… yeah. I hear those guys are pretty tough," Hiccup said politely, resuming his work.
"Kids of the south like you ought to stay as far away from those scaly beasts as you can," the blacksmith continued. "Many who go north in search for glory end up without a head! Better to waste that bow on rabbits, and leave the dragons to those insane enough to live so far north."
That's what I'm planning, you old...
Hiccup couldn't find an attribute that was both acceptable and satisfactory enough to complete the comeback he was formulating in his head. He had a hard time not taking offence at the blacksmith's remarks. He also wondered why it had come so easily for the man to assume he was a southerner. Was it his gangly build? Or his mild temperament?
Either way, Hiccup, even though exiled by his people, had not surrendered his pride for being born in the north, although he was probably not ready to acknowledge it. That's why his reply was slightly different.
"You can't hunt dragons with arrows anyway," Hiccup informed the man, without caring how bratty he sounded as he spoke. "Their scales are too tough. And it's 'Monstrous' Nightmare, not 'Gorgeous' Nightmare," he finally added, letting a hint of bad temper transpire from his voice.
Fortunately, the blacksmith did not have the time to question Hiccup about such knowledge, nor to admonish him for his sudden attitude, as a patron outside had just called the smithy from the window-counter furthest from Hiccup's. Hiccup was thankful for the distraction, and continued working on his axe.
On the fourth and final day at the forge, not long before noon, Hiccup was almost done with the weapon (it still needed some carvings for the handle), when he finally overheard a completely new set of voices outside. The young kids usually playing in the alleyway had not come that morning.
At first, Hiccup did not pay much attention to the conversation. He was too focused on his work, and it was hard to listen, for the blacksmith had started using the anvil. Yet, something about that dialogue, and especially one of the speakers' voices, made Hiccup pause what he was doing. He could not see where the voices were coming from, even when he leaned out of the window.
"I said he's three and ten, thin and small, auburn haired. Have ya seen 'im or not?" Said a male voice.
"You'd be willing to pay his weight in silver you say?" An elder villager asked greedily.
"Trust me old man, it wouldn't be a good deal: the boy weighs like a bunch of sticks."
The first man's accent seemed quite familiar. Then again, it was hard to tell over the loud hammering of the master blacksmith.
"But yes, there is a reward for those who find 'im, or capture 'im, or take me to 'im."
Hiccup frowned worriedly, before panic started to set in his stomach. He felt instantly drenched in cold sweat.
Was someone looking for him on Balheim? He fit the description, but he had been exiled, and he was outside of Alliance territory! Who would search for him there? And, most importantly, why? Could it be that they wanted Toothless? Were they after the rare dragon's head, or his own?
"So, ya know where he is?" The man asked again. This time there was no other response, just an excruciating silence. Then, all of a sudden, there were loud knocks at the door.
Hiccup's hands lost their grip on the axe. He could finally recall the man's voice, and a terrible fear made his blood freeze.
Uncle Spitelout!
There was nothing Hiccup had ever feared more than what was happening at that very moment. He'd had recent nightmares about Berk coming after him and Toothless. What more could they want with him, if not to kill his friend? He was officially not his father's son anymore, he was an outcast, so he could not afford to stay around and have that question answered.
Before the blacksmith could invite the new customer inside, Hiccup raced to the wall with all the bows, fighting the shivers of fright in his arms, and took the weapon he had previously chosen, its string still rolled up around a tip. He then grabbed a random quiver full of arrows, without counting them. There was no time to have the blacksmith assess his work. He had to take the bow and leave, hoping the blacksmith would be satisfied with the axe.
It felt a bit like stealing, but Hiccup had faith in his own craftsmanship. The arrows, however, he was actually stealing.
Either way, time was up.
"Axe is done! Thanks for the bow!" Hiccup said hurriedly, feeling already short of breath as he climbed out of the workshop's window. He did not turn to see the blacksmith's reaction to his words.
"Hey! Isn't that him?!" A man shouted behind him.
"Wait!"
"Get him!"
Running, bow and quiver in hand, praying that all his attempts at chasing rabbits had made him at least half as fast as Astrid was, Hiccup glanced back to see whose mouths had spoken.
He had been right. It was indeed Spitelout and his men; they were coming after him fast, which did not seem to suggest any good intention on their part. And now that they had been promising random villagers a bounty for his capture, there was likely half of Balheim chasing after him as well. This was even worse than the nightmares.
Tomorrow was still so far away.
AN (Currency): After some research, I've tried to come up with a fairly plausible (though still sketchy) system of currency for this story. Of course, in medieval times, whenever bartering wasn't an option, coins were still a rather complicated thing, and exchange rates even more so, what with the different cases of coinage debasement, inflation, and whatnot.
I'm always open to suggestions, but, for now, I decided to dumb it down in a way that will probably sound familiar to anyone who's ever played any fantasy RPG:
1 gold coin = 20 silver coins
1 silver coin = 20 copper coins
with the additional detail that copper coins weigh 1g, silver coins weigh 2g, and gold coins weigh 4g, though it's not important that you remember this.
* The piece of poetry at the top is taken from the metal song Heading for Tomorrow, by Gamma Ray.
