Thank you so much for the reviews my friends! A special thanks to those of you who continue to give me positive feedback; this story wouldn't be posted if it wasn't for you! I was going to actually post this last thursday but one of my friends got engaged that morning and we decided to go out for drinks to celebrate and...well, you get the picture. Things got a little messy, needless to say!

Back to business though: I tried to keep this chapter as angst free as possible since I think we all reached our alloted limit after last chapter!

So read on my friends! We're almost at the end of the first arc! I'm so excited to get this show on the road (or in the sky for that matter...)

HORIZONS

Arc I : Becoming Urðr

Chapter IV

Chapter IV

The sunlit autumn morning over Berk was rapidly turning for the worse. Dark clouds were closing in from the north, bringing with them icy, frozen rain and gusts of wind so turbulent that they shook the very foundations of the Elder's weary home. Her expression never changed as she scanned the darkening horizon from the brink of her doorway, her eyes imperceptible as one accompanied dragon landed without the presupposed other.

The Deadly Nadder's lonesome rider leapt from her steed and raced off in the direction of her humble lodge, her dragon rushing wildly behind her in pursuit. The girl's blonde hair streamed out behind her like a silk spun of gold, running with the kind of vehemence one could only associate with the likes of heartbreak. The village Elder finally allowed a smirk to grace her wrinkled lips, her eyes never wavering as Astrid disappeared into the distance.

Living at the top of the village certainly had its advantages.

Gothi finally retreated into her home and eased the wooden door closed behind her, wheezing all the while. She struggled slowly inside as she passed into the tired foyer, her sodden socks shuffling against the levelled wood. Her hips didn't quite work like they used to and she stumbled as she stepped into the kitchen, setting foot on the uneven shale tiles. She grasped at the item closest to her for support and just barely managed to keep from tumbling to the ground, cursing up and down about the stiffness in her fingers. She muttered something entirely unintelligible about the merits of having fully functional body parts and continued on towards the hearth, bellowing to the servant girl regarding the whereabouts of her dagmál.

The rain had started pounding down on the Elder's lodge much harder than she had anticipated and she frowned minutely, the aching in her limbs only increasing as the weather got worse. She groused about the coming winter and scowled as the pain in her knees became more severe with every step.

Living far west of the mainland, however, had its disadvantages.

They may not have been living as far north as some of the other tribes but they were certainly the clan farthest to the west and closest to the Grœnland peninsula. This had its advantages and its disadvantages of course, but in her aging mind and opinion it was mostly for the better. It meant never being attacked from the west or the north, since the colonies on Grœnland were minor and barely flourishing. It meant a more relaxed and rural lifestyle, one that was free of pestilent constraints and warring concubines. The Elder looked upwards towards the maps of Berk mounted on the wall above the counters, and beside it the various atlases of the islands and continents to the east. Their grasp went all the way into the far reaches of the great continent and the leaders of the settlements there were always struggling for more and more of the fertile lands of Hibernia and Gaul. Last time word reached her tired ears, Dierkow had been finally captured, which of course meant wonderful things to those who dabbled in the matters of territory domination. But Gothi was not a woman who cared much about these trifles, preferring to focus on the matters of her present tribe at hand.

And what was bothering her currently was the piece of valuable material that had gone mysteriously missing from her vaults. It was a scroll of parchment that spoke coincidently of the matters she had just been mulling over not a moment before.

She glanced over at the woven sack lying on the feasting table some ten steps away with a sudden look of contempt. She knew he was going to come and examine the parchment sooner or later but to steal it? Was that entirely necessary? The boy was an artist, surely he could have recreated the maps in his own hand should he desire. She sighed and shook her head, picking at a hangnail in annoyance. She supposed it would do no good to mention anything about the candid theft, let alone to the culprit of the crime without disrupting the very nature of the Norns, something she was quite unwilling to do.

She finally made her way to the table, cursing anyone who would listen about the throbbing pains in her back. She eyed the sack of runes warily and fought the urge to throw them and ask her query again, knowing that the pain it would cause her fingers would be futile. They would speak of the same destiny, the same fate and fortune that would provide the tapestries of destiny something to truly sew about. The Elder sighed and looked away towards the cooking fire and shook her old head once more, her lips pursed in contemplation.

He was certainly turning out to be his father's son.

There was certainly something to be said in the way of obscenity as the oldest blacksmith on the island of Berk sauntered through the concourse of the village in pursuit of more or less unwelcome aims. He wasn't wearing a prosthetic on his arm and he made sure to make a show of it, pretending rather unsuccessfully to be immune and above the looks of awe the younglings gave him as he passed. Gobber was an aficionado of the palaver and the gossip at heart and would stop at just about nothing to make a good enough spectacle of a situation should the opportunity come around.

And he took this familiar approach with nearly everything he did because really, it was far too early in the morning for mead.

He ignored the mud that sucked ruthlessly at his lower prosthetic as he tromped through the puddles of sludge and muck. The storm that had hit yesterday had certainly left a great deal of destruction in its wake, the soggy roads and alleys of the coastal village included. Despite having gone to bed with the sound of heavy rainfall in his ears, Gobber had woken up to a clear sunny morning and he was eternally grateful for it. After all, they weren't going to get many more days like this before the chill really set in and set in for good considering their less than ideal acreage; you would have thought that the ancient founders of their quaint, yet abhorrently icy habitat – Frigg rest their souls – could have found an island just a little farther south? Gobber sighed at the disheartening thought and adjusted his sleeve so that his bandaged stub was all the more noticeable – it was time to get down to business.

He strode with crooked purpose into his familiar domain and was unsurprised that his faithful apprentice was already inside, the fires ablaze as the young Viking put himself to work. The metal he was folding now was entirely unfamiliar to him but then again, he hadn't exactly been working in the shop as much as of late. He was only slightly ashamed to have had taken advantage of the youth's relentless work ethic since he had basically forced him to work from sunrise to sunset, but needless to say he had enjoyed the time off anyways. And it seemed the boy hadn't gotten himself into one spot of trouble in his absence – surprisingly, he had completed every order on the list from what he could tell and was even shaping new weapons to sell just in time for the raids in the coming spring.

Hiccup, unsurprisingly, didn't happen to notice Gobber's entry in the midst of his absorption. The older Viking made sure to stay as quiet as he could until the youth was in a less precarious position; Hiccup flipped the fired object he was holding in his hands and slammed it against the anvil. Gobber didn't want to risk Hiccup becoming startled and end up losing half his face to the molten sword he was currently pounding the living daylights out of. He waited until the boy dunked the sword into the cooling waters before clearing his throat rather loudly, resulting in a quailing shriek that echoed throughout the forge as the boy spun around in surprise.

"What is with you people and trying to kill me?"

The boy did his best to recover as Gobber laughed nervously, more than a little taken back by the boy's terse reaction, "Maybe if ye used yer ears, ye might 'ave heard me."

"Oh right," Hiccup replied sarcastically, turning his back to the older blacksmith as he retrieved his submerged sword, "I'll just turn them on then, just for you."

"Now now," Gobber rebuked, fishing one of his custom prosthetics from a drawer near the back of the establishment, "Dinnae tire yerself out tryin' to do somethin' ye cannae do."

Hiccup shot a glance at the man over his shoulder with daggers in his eyes, "Hilarious."

The young Viking turned and thrust his sword into the blistering furnace once more, pausing only to place it on a crutch before leaving it to reheat.

"What are ye makin'? Says 'ere yer done all o' th' sword orders fer th' meantime."

"I thought I might as well make one for myself," Hiccup replied with a moment's hesitation, "I figured one day I might need it."

Gobber made no effort to hide the expression of surprise on his face, seeing as Hiccup had already turned away from him, "Well, uhh…a good idea as any," Gobber hobbled nearer and took a closer look at the reheating sword, "Ye managed teh pattern weld th' thing pretty good," he turned and gave the youth an approving nod, "Good work."

"Thanks," Hiccup replied, busying himself with the pommel of the sword's damaged hilt. He didn't want his tutor to see the blush that was beginning to colour his cheeks at the comment and he hid it as best he could with his growing russet hair. His locks were becoming more and more unruly by the day and he was surprised he hadn't been hounded down by one of the village widows with nothing better to do because of the state of his appearance – he looked more like a drowned rat than anything, and coupled with the extra four inches in height he had literally gained overnight, he was beginning to look more like an upright pine branch than an actual human being.

Hiccup shook his head to clear the thoughts of his gawky, awkward appearance and tried his best to concentrate on the carvings of the pommel already sketched out on the parchment to his left. It was to be inlaid with designs of dragons, specifically one in particular, and runic symbols describing the fable of his sword. It felt silly, describing his own trials and tribulations into the hilt of a weapon but it was oddly satisfying, his charcoal hiding the letters within the drawings of the legendary Night Fury.

Or soon to be legendary anyway.

Hiccup threw a sidelong glance at Gobber as he continued to admire the sword and he suddenly felt somewhat thankful for the plentiful, albeit miserable island he lived on. Unlike most of the isles conquered by the Norsemen to the east, Berk was chock full of ore-rich mountains and foothills and cliffs. Most of their bursting economy was based on this very fact; ships came all the way from the Gaels archipelagos in need of the valuable metals that were easily mined from Berk to make weapons of steel and sprockets of iron. In fact, most of the swords made in Berk were sold to allied tribes in exchange for gold and fodder, making their tribe one of the most fruitful despite the wicked weather. Hiccup was pleased to say that he had forged many swords for his tribesmen and their neighbouring partners in crime; they were far more difficult to fold and pound than an axe or a hammer, which was far more easily formed from the fires. No, a sword required a great amount of skill that only an expert, or an expert's apprentice, could ever even hope to master.

"It's a little bit thinner than I wouldae done," the older blacksmith mumbled, scratching his ribs with the blunt side of his prosthetic, "It willnae hold up too well hackin' up against bones ye know."

Hiccup fought to suppress the uncomfortable lump in his stomach and turned his attentions back towards the hilt of his sword, "I'm not planning on decapitating anyone in the near future with it, thanks."

Gobber raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Then why are ye wastin' materials if yer not goin' teh kill anythin' with it?"

"I'm making it just in case. Look at me, I need a sword I can actually handle," Hiccup frowned as Gobber lifted the metal from its crutch in the furnace with a pair of prongs, anxiously waiting for the blacksmith's reaction.

"Well, it is light, that's fer sure," he commented raptly, bringing the reheated metal closer to his narrowed eyes, "Th' angle's nice, I'll give yeh that."

Hiccup turned back to his sword's handle bashfully and continued to work on his carvings once again, "Thanks."

After a moment, the boy laid down his hammer and chisels and took up the sword's handle for a minute, weighing it gingerly in his hands. After bandaging up most of the damage the separation of the hilt and the blade had caused, he was man enough to admit that he was a little apprehensive about welding them both back together again without messing up the equilibrium of the weapon. He glanced downward at the mess of cloth wrapped around the burns beneath the sleeves of his tunic and, not knowing what else to do, turned to Gobber for advice.

"That's easy enough," the blacksmith said gruffly after Hiccup finished explaining his dilemma in full, "Finish pounding th' thing and I'll bind them, not a problem. Shouldnae be too hard considerin'."

Hiccup nodded and the two waited in baited silence as the blade turned molten in the heat of the furnace for the final time. Hiccup hobbled over after many minutes and carefully fished the blade from the coals with the same pair of prongs, gripping it unmercifully as he brought it over to his station to continue forging.

With the precision of an archer, Hiccup laid the blows down against the yielding steel with an intensity Gobber had seen before many times but had chosen to ignore. The sparks of yellow and orange scattered like a storm of red-hot confetti in the air, sizzling with a satisfying hiss as they hit the tiled floor one by one. Each calculated slap of the hammer brought with it a kind of jarring pain in Hiccup's skinny bones but the young Viking chose to take small comfort in it, too focused on the angle of the long blade to dwell on the burning ache in his arms. He flipped the blade nimbly and folded the metal even further, adding to it yet another layer of strength to the already slim blade. After a period of five minutes of so, the boy brought the blade closer to his face and examined the metal work closely, pleased to find only very minute flaws in his iron opus. He nodded, pleased with himself, and dunked the metal into the cooling water; Gobber took that as an invitation to come closer and peer over the boy's shoulder, taking his own look at his apprentice's handiwork.

"Aye, it's nice," the blacksmith said, not bothering to stifle the approval in his voice, "Give me a minute teh reattach yer handle and ye'll be as good as gold."

Hiccup nodded and handed over the hilt carefully, his fingers lingering on the pummel for a moment longer than was necessary. Wary, the older blacksmith took the handle from the boy and placed it on the table, eyeing the base and the damage wrought in the metal from above the counter. He analyzed it for another long moment before limping over towards the furnace and fetching a few tools from the fires, his mind a flurry of activity as he sought for the best way to wield the two pieces back together. Hiccup watched in perfect silence as Gobber began to work on the complex challenge lying in front of him, his tools moving with a kind of precision you wouldn't expect from the appearance of the gruff older man.

"When I was walkin' 'ere," Gobber began, his eyes trained on his tools as he began the delicate process, "I saw that girlfriend o' yers stompin' through th' square like she was goin' teh slaughter everythin' in 'er sight. Looked like she was ready teh kill someone, if yeh be gettin' my meanin'," Gobber risked a quick glance at the boy beside him, just long enough to see the colour drain from his face, "I dinnae suppose ye did anythin' teh fire 'er temper?"

Hiccup sighed and leant back against the counter, looking out into the distance through the open shutters in front of him, "Really?"

"Oh yes," Gobber replied, his voice lowered conspiratorially as if it had been the most interesting thing he had seen all day, "She was holdin' 'er axe in a death grip I tell yeh, ready fer battle."

Hiccup simply groaned and ran his fingers through his thick head of hair, "I don't suppose she was looking for me."

"No, I dinnae think so," Gobber answered, "She would 'ave strung yeh up already and dragged yeh off Odin knows where if she were, maybe off teh th' forest or maybeh th' ravines up near th' south side..."

Hiccup deadpanned, the suggestive joke not falling on deaf ears, "Really Gobber? Was that necessary?"

"What?" the blacksmith spread his arms as if declaring his innocence, "Young love is excitin'! Th' stories I could tell yeh about th' old days—"

"—please spare me the details—"

"—like animals I tell yeh! Yer parents I mean, beards of Thor—"

"—oh gods Gobber, please don't—"

"—no wonder ye came about so fast. A little too fast maybe, not that anybody questioned it—"

"—Gobber—"

"—and when they'd sneak off, I tell ye, do yeh know how many times I 'ad to cover fer 'em?"

"Gobber!"

"But I suppose I owed 'im, yer father I mean. I did the same thin' in the back o' ol' Starker's storehouse wit' my own lovely lady back in th' day—"

"—Gobber!—"

"—let me warn ye though. There's nothin' worse than gettin' hay in places it was never meant to be—"

"—GOBBER!"

The blacksmith looked up from his work aghast, "What?"

"For the love of Baldur, I do not want to hear about your…your personal adventures!"

"Beards of Thor, Hiccup! Yer old enough! It's about time ye started foolin' around if ye be gettin' my meanin'—"

"No!" Hiccup ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, "We broke up for Odin's sake!"

Gobber nearly dropped the pommel in disbelief, "What?"

"We're done. Finished. That's why she's so angry."

"Ye…yeh what? Yeh left Astrid?" Gobber was incredulous to the point of hysterics, "Yeh left the very incarnation of Freya 'erself?"

Hiccup pursed his lips, "Thank you for summing that up."

"Yeh idiot! What in Loki's name possessed yeh teh do that?"

"Long story. Now will you fix my sword please? I have somewhere to go."

"Like where?" Gobber threw up his hands in contention, "Yeh better tell me every detail of what went through yer stupid head when yeh decided teh do that, ye scunner. I've got all day and then maybe I'll consider fixin' yer sword."

Hiccup sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, "It wasn't right. I was kidding myself thinking that it was."

"What in Odin's name are yeh talkin' about? Of course it was right – what wasnae right about it?"

"Gobber," now it was Hiccup's turn to look incredulous, "Look at me. You think I could provide for her, let alone a family? I know what my father's been up to – I've seen him talking to Master Hofferson on my way through the Great Hall. And by the look on your face I can tell he's been talking to you about it too."

"Well—"

"I had to stop it before either of us got roped into an agreement we couldn't get out of," Hiccup ground his teeth together, fighting to keep his raging emotions restrained, "She's angry now, but she'll understand. There are others more capable than me right now…maybe in a few years things will be different."

Gobber fought extraordinarily hard to hold his tongue, realizing that every effort he had put into keeping Hiccup as busy as possible had been in vain. Gobber privately chided himself for being such an idiot; the boy wasn't anything like he had been at his age. When he had lost his arm and his leg in the total span of a month and a half, he had been miserable about it, there wasn't any doubt about that. But his master had forced a workload on him like no other and with the welcome distraction he had learnt to get over it. People weren't looking at him any differently; if anything, they were gaping at him with admiration. They didn't see him as incapable or helpless. They didn't see him as a handicapped victim.

He was a dragon fighting hero. And with time, he learnt to accept it.

But he should have known that the same method wasn't going to work on Stoic's boy. He was different; in fact, he was unlike anything their village had ever seen. He was as intellectual as they came, and as thick as the blacksmith may have seemed, he wasn't stupid. In that moment of realization he understood; Hiccup was trying to distance himself from everyone and everything he held dear in fear of rejection, of being finally seen as the crippled burden that he thought he was. Gobber nearly groaned, realizing that he had let all of this happen right under his nose. If only he had paid more attention and seen the signs, read the signals…

"Gobber?"

The old blacksmith was woken abruptly from his reverie and eyed the boy with a painfully vacant expression, trying his best to supress the horror he felt in his gut.

"Dinnae worry, I'll finish up fer th' day. Go off and er…play with yer friends now. I'll find yeh when I'm finished."

Gobber didn't miss the look of mistrust in the boy's eyes as he nodded and turned to leave, exiting out the front doors and into the autumn light. Gobber let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and slumped forwards, his failure finally coming into sharp relief.

He had failed Hiccup.

He had failed Stoic.

And if he didn't think of something to fix this soon, he was about to fail his entire tribe.

Hiccup didn't go play with his friends like Gobber had instructed him to. He had stopped having play dates years ago; he wasn't three anymore.

Hiccup didn't go and see anyone at all for that matter. He sought to simply walk straight home instead, hobbling as fast as his thin legs could take him. In his acute concentration not to stumble flat on his face he didn't see the blonde blur come at him from behind, flogging him upside the head with the kind of uncouth ferocity he could only imagine coming from the opposite sex.

Hiccup shrieked and grasped at the side of his head with his hands, blinking back the stars that threatened to engulf his vision as he fell defeated to his knees. He groaned and turned his eyes towards his attacker, the pain in his skull prevailing over his surprise.

"Ruffnut?"

She was the wildest of his friends and Hiccup supposed he shouldn't have been shocked when she reached down and dragged him to his feet by his collar. He grimaced as she brought him closer to her face than he would have liked, her distinct height difference striking fear deep within his heart. Hiccup wasn't sure which one he would have preferred more – being clobbered half to death with her fists or with her…lips.

"No hard feelings," she smirked, narrowing her eyes in a way that could only be described as horrifyingly beguiling, "That was from Astrid. She said you're…eligible now."

Hiccup shuddered at the way the word slipped from her tongue. He should have known better than to think that Astrid would take this lying down.

"Errr…not quite yet..."

"Hmm?" Ruffnut raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing in diameter, "What's that?"

"I said," Hiccup ground his teeth together and took a breath, his senses suddenly filled with the fragrance of the woman in front of him. He turned up his nose slightly and grimaced, "Put me down."

Ruffnut stiffened and conceded to the boy's request, dropping him back onto his feet. He stumbled but managed to keep his footing, gazing upwards at the towering girl with a kind of terror he only reserved for the other gender, "Look Ruff, I've got to get going. Can we maybe have this…err…conversation another time?"

Hiccup barely waited for the girl to nod before scampering off in the direction of his lodge, thankful that she hadn't thought of pursuing him. His prosthetic was nearly killing him by the time he managed to drag himself up the hill towards the huge doors of his home, the metal chafing against the sensitive stub in all the wrong places. He fought the wave of dizziness that threatened to overtake his conscience, grasping at the closest object and reeling against his nausea. He finally managed to shut the doors behind him and ultimately conceded to his body's urgent requests, sinking to his haunches in exhausted self-defeat.

Within half a second his dragon was at his side, the metallic scent of human blood flooding his senses. He nosed his rider's cheek as gently as he could and ran his tongue against the nauseating tuft of fur on the top of his head where he could smell the blood. He could hear his rider screech in protest beneath him and Toothless only took advantage of his sudden thrashing, pinning him beneath his giant body to continue his ministrations. It didn't take long; the small gash was congealed in a matter of seconds thanks to the wads of saliva soaking his hair and upon feeling his human's disdain he gathered him up in his paws.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" the young human grumbled, looking up at the midnight dragon begrudgingly. The beast gurgled in amusement at the sight of his hatchling, his fur sticking up at every odd angle. At least it looked better that way.

The young Viking huffed and fought against his bonds for a moment; the beastly brute refused to budge against his weak wriggling and Hiccup finally conceded, feeling beyond defeated.

"For the love of—" he cut himself off and sighed, slumping in the dragon's impromptu embrace, "Why can't I defeat someone for once?"

Upon hearing his distraught tone of voice, the dragon relaxed his grip just enough for his hatchling to squirm, "Astrid, Ruffnut, you…why can't I beat somebody?" he sighed and then scoffed, shaking his head, "Then again, maybe I should think about learning how to walk straight first."

Toothless didn't like the self-deprecating quality his rider's body language was taking on, "The only time I'm ever good at anything is when I'm on a dragon and with all the dragons leaving…" Hiccup spun around in his binding and faced his dragon, his wide eyes terrified, "You're not going to leave…right?

Of that he could understand and with a glance over his shoulder the dragon provided his rider with everything he needed to know, "I'm sorry Toothless. I…I don't know what else to say."

The dragon let out a burst of breath, drying the damp mess of fur upon the human's skull. He nuzzled the unhurt side of his hatchling's head, trying to comfort him in the only way he knew how.

"Which is why…" Hiccup breathed out, steadying himself, "which is why we're leaving."

The resolution in his voice was jarring to his ears and the Night Fury jerked upwards, following the lines of Hiccup's vision. He turned his scaly head towards his tack and subdued his own flurry of excitement, realizing that this next ride wasn't going to be a normal one, "No one has ever been past Helheim's gate. Not even Eric, and he's the best…well, he was the best sailor this side of Midgard before he got banished. And what the hel, I might just get banished for this too," Toothless caught that tell-tale gleam of crazy in his human's eyes and started wagging his tail in anticipation, "Once I can gather enough supplies and finish up the last details on my sword, we're going on an adventure."

Just the sound of the word was enough to spur Toothless into a bout of commotion. He let his rider go and leap to his feet, his eyes wide with an eagerness he could no longer supress. Hiccup smiled and slowly got to his feet, his movements lethargic in a way Toothless couldn't understand. They were going on an adventure! Shouldn't he be excited? Toothless bumped him in the ribs and caught him with his head as he stumbled, eyes wide in confusion.

"It's just…I don't know. I'm excited but, I just can't…I can't get into it yet. But I'm better off somewhere else than here…and adventures are fun right? I'm sure you've been on tons of adventures."

Toothless could barely supress himself, wagging his haunches in anticipation. His mouth was practically watering.

"We're going to go find the end of the world, maybe fight some giant sea serpents," the boy shrugged offhandedly, finally catching some of the dragon's excitement, "Can't be that hard to kill the son of Loki, can it?"

Hiccup snickered and hobbled over to the hearth, stoking the molten coals with an iron spike. The prodding encouraged the flames to burst from their confines, their light suddenly filling the lodge with brightness, "And then we'll fly off and hang out with some gods, you know, make some important connections, that kind of thing," Hiccup smirked and glanced over his shoulder at his dragon, hope finally beginning to blossom in his heart.

"Let's become legends."

Gobber is the village gossip. He's the Perez Hilton of Scandinavia. Hah!

Uh huh, you know what it is! An adventure, an adventure, an adventure, an adventure!

I'm such a rapper.

Pfft. Let's be serious.

And for the record, GO PITTSBURGH YAAAAA!

Please review and let me know how you liked the chapter! Always remember, the more reviews I receive, the faster I update!

Love and fluff,

Brontë