Oh you guys! My reviewers are by far the most generous and sweetest people on this fandom! I can't thank you enough for all of your gracious comments and constructive criticisms. You're all amazing! Cake to all of you!
Speaking of which, my birthday is this weekend! Time for copious amounts of birthday cake and candy! Yay!
However, I will have to apologize in advance; I am in the midst of fighting the good fight against the plague and so the editing process for this chapter didn't go very well. So ignore any and all of the run-on sentences that may have snuck their way in there and I promise that I'll fix all of the ridiculous grammar issues when I'm not dripping obscenely and hacking all over my keyboard.
Read on guys! We've reached the last chapter of the first arc!
HORIZONS
Arc I : Becoming Urðr
Chapter V
The murkiness of the unsettled night prior sought no repentance as the sun begun to peek above the tumultuous horizon. The seas were choppy and vengeful against the rocky fjords of Berk, leading the only Viking currently roused from his slumbers to assume that a severe storm was coming. The winds were raging heavily from the west and Hiccup couldn't help but wonder for a moment if the gods didn't hate him after all.
He scampered through the vacant square of his village with carefully timed bursts of speed, making sure to weave in and out of houses with deft precision on the off chance he was spotted. He stopped in front of the Great Hall and slipped inside as quietly as he could manage, well aware that at least a quarter of the male population of the village were using their plates and tankards as makeshift pillows from the revelry the night before. He skittered around them as silently he could, wincing every time the flat surface of his metal prosthetic slapped against the stone floor. After moving at an almost painful pace across the span of the Hall he reached the kitchens and slipped inside, heaving a sigh of relief once he finally shut the doors behind him.
He immediately turned around and stuffed a leg of mutton wrapped in cheesecloth into the leather sack he had brought with him, fighting against his guilty conscious as he reached for a mound of sheep's cheese as well. He was likely to lose another limb over this should he ever be caught; stealing from your own tribe wasn't exactly smiled upon on their island, no matter how lax their culture and customs were. Being the settlement the farthest west of the mainland certainly had its perks and Hiccup was plenty ready to take advantage of them today.
Save the landmass of Grœnland up north, no one really had any idea whatsoever about what dwelled further west. The farthest any of his tribesmen had ever ventured was the treacherous rapids of Helheim's Gate, and even then they had barely made it out alive, Red Death or not. It laid at least a day and a half south west of Berk by drekar, and beyond that there were the perilous currents of Jörmungand where the waters were so tempestuous that you were as good as dead should you ever get caught in them. No one bothered venturing that far these days anyway; even if they got past the gaping jaws of the great sea serpent, their ships would still be caught in the fervent undertows of the waterfalls that fell and fell until they poured into the very depths of Hel itself.
But Hiccup wasn't really interested in falling straight into Death's arms. No, he had a far more reliable way to travel.
Because even though Hel reigned far below Midgard in the great tree of Yggdrasill, the realms of Asgard floated high. Surrounded by a boundless wall of stone, the young Viking would venture into the very kingdom of the gods, of Odin himself. To think that he would be the first mortal to set foot in Asgard! He smiled knowingly as he stuffed a loaf of bread into his bulging pack; his mother would be there, walking to meet him through the mists of Valhalla. She would tell him that she was proud of him and he would tell her all of his stories, about the Red Death, about Astrid. A pang of guilt racked through his core as he thought about what he would be leaving behind, who he would be leaving behind. He shook his head and sighed, pushing all of his melancholy thoughts into the deepest parts of his mind. He pressed his lips into a thin grimace and tightened the drawstring of his filled sack; now was not the time to be having second thoughts.
He was leaving.
Possibly forever.
Hiccup heaved the sack over his shoulder and slipped from the doors of the scullery silently, doing his best to tip-toe through the hall. He nearly dropped his bag and ran for it when one of the villagers woke from their drunken dreams, only to collapse sideways and fall back asleep again on the table. Hiccup had to fight rather valiantly to keep his quivering knees from collapsing on him, forcing himself to continue his exposed journey out of the hall. He ultimately made it to the doors unseen and slipped out as noiselessly as he could, breathing out another sigh of relief as he all but crumpled against the wood.
Scheme A: complete.
The young rider scanned the village for any stray residents, narrowing his eyes like a hawk. Pleased to see the town all but deserted, the boy continued through the seemingly abandoned roads and scurried into the forge, pleasantly surprise at the sight that awaited him. There was his sword, in all of its seemingly unearthly perfection in his eyes, its blade unpolished but still as smooth as silk. He grasped the pommel with his dominant hand and weighed it carefully, the leather wrapped hilt fitting almost perfectly in his fingers. Nearly bursting at the seams with exhilaration, he flipped the sword upwards within the palm of his hand and watched as it reflected the morning light upon its shaft. He grinned and didn't bother to try and stifle the boyish impulses that rushed through his veins.
He was really going to do this.
Hiccup fished the letter he had prewritten to his master the night before from a pocket in his vest and tacked it to the counter. In it he thanked the blacksmith profusely of his efforts and apologized again and again for his absence. He wrote that he would be back soon but in all honesty he wasn't sure if he was coming back at all. He urged Gobber to find a new apprentice anyway, and thanked him one more time before signing off his name and his clan symbol at the bottom of the wrinkled parchment.
Hiccup had already ransacked the forge for spare parts just in case his prosthetic failed him. He had already stored the care package for Toothless' tack but ended up snatching a few bolts from the shelves in the corner just in case. He slipped them into his pocket and scurried out of the doors as fast as he had come, his eyes still peeled as he kept a watch out for unwanted witnesses.
Scheme B complete.
With all of the speed he could garner from his meagre legs Hiccup ran up the steepest hill in the entire village and snuck back into his home. He could still hear his father's hearty snores from their shared bedroom on the upper floor and Hiccup smiled in silent relief, his plans going positively seamlessly. He threw his bag of food into the already overflowing wicker rucksack with a grunt, pausing only to fish a leather pelt and his outer furs from the top of the stuffed hamper. He wrapped the naked blade of the sword in the reedy leather skin and tied it tightly with the thin strip of hide he had once used as a belt to keep his tunics from catching fire in the forge. He tucked the sword and its makeshift sheath into his belt and threw on his final furs before turning towards Toothless, his tack already on the dragon's onyx scales. The Night Fury was still snacking on the ample amount of fish Hiccup had brought up from the harbours the night before, knowing well enough that the dragon would need a full stomach for the first leg of the flight ahead.
With an air of finality, Hiccup fished the letter for his father from the pocket of his vest and tacked it onto the cooking pot with a droplet of honey. He had already prepared a stew for his father as some sort of morbid parting gift earlier this morning, hoping that his hospitality might at least lessen the sting of his abandonment.
Hiccup shrugged and tried to stifle the hollow ache in his core; at least his father wouldn't have to watch over him all the time. The chief might actually get something important done without having to worry about his partially limbless son. Stoic could pass his responsibilities onto Snotlout, who was honestly much more of a Viking leader than the young rider could ever be. The village of Berk would be in good hands with the Jorgensen family finally at the helm of the chieftainship standing; every Haddock had always instilled the eldest Jorgensen son as their first commander, thus the continuation would remain nearly the same. Hiccup didn't anticipate any sort of uprising; Snotlout wasn't nearly as intelligent as he was, but that alone wasn't what made a great chief.
Leaving his past finally behind him, Hiccup motioned with his head towards the door. His dragon followed his lead and slipped out of the open doorway before him and into the quiet break of day. The air chilled the dragon considerably but he pushed the discomfort out of his mind, sensing enough that this flight in particular meant something a lot more. He watched with gentle enthusiasm as Hiccup hauled the wicker basket onto his back and took one quick glance around the house before leaving it entirely. He shut the door behind him with a heavy heart and took off down towards the village, seeming as inconspicuous as ever in front of the few villagers that were now up and about. To any mere bystander, he appeared to be simply going off to the harbours to gather some fish for his dragon. The only thing that could have tipped anyone off was the flight gear on the dragon's scales, and even then Hiccup knew that the townsfolk weren't anywhere close to having any sort of inkling as to his imminent voyage. They nodded and offered him a wave or two as he ventured further down the village roads, away from the Elite quartier and down into the reaches of the Viking bourgeoisie.
The separation of class didn't mean nearly as much to them as it did to the tribes closer to the mainland and the two blood statuses intermingled like equals on any given occasion. The only way a visitor could tell them apart was by their place on the hill, the houses higher up in the village belonging to the families of richer bloodlines. The lower parish belonged to those of the working and warrior class, their pedigrees being of lesser value. Though many men and woman of the upper hierarchy would wed with those of the lower breed, there was still a select few, the purists, who frowned upon such unions. The marriage of Stoic the Vast and Valhallarama the Gutsy had caused such uproar among the villagers who had then recently moved to the island of Berk that many of them left all together, disgusted with the leader of the tribe. Val had come from a family of hardened warriors of the lesser class, but her aggression and all together vixen-like qualities had won over the heart of every man in the village. Even Gobber had once confessed that he had been smitten with the warrior goddess in all her brazen glory, though no man had even the slightest inclination of asking to court her for fear of her wrath.
It was Stoic who had finally found it within himself to ask the Viking siren to accompany him to a wedding on the upcoming Saturday all those many years ago. After beating him senseless, she had demurely given him her permission to escort her to the reception. Whether it had been love at first punch or first glance, none could ever be sure, but Valhallarama the Gutsy and Stoic the Vast were soon wildly in love and…in other things, whether it be the barns, or the grass, or Biggerson's wheat fields…
Hiccup shook his head to rid himself of Gobber's tale on his conception and made a face. Too many bittersweet memories were running through his mind as he made his way through the winding streets of his village, reminding him of his childhood no matter how bleak it had been. The death of his mother, his first broken nose, the first time he had watched his father set sail off into the horizon… He could feel his heart begin to ache in his chest as he tried to swallow the sentiments of his homeland, of all of the things he would be leaving behind. He tried to soak in every detail of what he saw with widened eyes so that he could look upon his memories when he was far away, wherever the winds would take him. He closed his eyes for but a moment and tried to envision his childhood home, making sure that his memory wouldn't fail him. He smiled slightly as the beams of colourful wood came into view, the hearth, the scullery, the bedroom, his bed, the rafters holding up the ceiling…
When he opened his eyes he found himself stopped dead, three statues carved into the crags of his native island filling his plane of vision. The first, a beautiful giantess maiden with hair that reached all the way to her ankles, was carrying a bucket of water above her flaxen brow. Her chin was angled as if she were glancing behind her, her eyes gazing back towards her two beautiful sisters.
The woman in the middle was seated upon a shard of rock and was stitching a large tapestry that flowed from her lap like a fountain of luxurious silk. On her youthful face was a smile that nearly lit the statue from within, her eyes alight with a wisdom known not to any mortal man.
The third woman was by far the youngest of the three, her hair as wild and as free as the stallion she sat upon. She was adorned with the garments of a Valkerie, her desirable body clothed in swatches of opulent fabric woven from the very hands of Frigg herself. Her eyes were wanton with a yearning she couldn't describe, her gaze inspiring others to crave what she had yet to reach.
The three of them were called Urðr, Verðandi and Skuld, or the Past, the Present and the Future respectively. Hiccup reached out and ran a calloused finger along one of the ripples of the Norn's stony clothes, his eyes slowly following the path upwards before resting on the visage of Urðr herself. The Norn of Fate seemed to be staring down at him, her stone eyes seeing past his and into his very soul. He stepped back as if he had been electrocuted, his body suddenly a flurry of charged power. He had never been one to ask the gods for something but he couldn't help but look up at the three women and ask them to watch out for him in silence, offering them nothing in return but the essence he possessed.
He didn't know where he was going and he didn't know what he was going to do once he got there but he had a feeling that whatever he was going to achieve was going to be good. He didn't know how it was going to be good or whether it was going to be worth all the bad it took to grow into something good but he knew he had to do it nonetheless. His heart was racing inside his chest; there was no going back now. He had to keep going on the path he had chosen for himself and continue following his destiny, no matter how obscure it seemed. He looked back up towards the Norns; only they knew where he was going and what was in store for him.
Hiccup smiled up at the beautiful women one more time before continuing on down the village streets with one particular lodge in mind. He lifted his hand off of the hilt of his sword and reached inside his cloak, fingering the final piece of parchment folded gingerly in the woollen pocket of his vest.
The last letter was for Astrid.
Astrid had been awake most of the night thanks to a dream that had left her both breathless and inconceivably frightened. Surrounded by her brothers and sisters in the dead of night she didn't dare let out the sob that lurked impatiently behind the pressure in her eyes as she was jolted conscious, her blue irises wide in fear. She let out a gasp of breath as she was startled from her dream, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as if her very life force had been sucked out of her. She stifled her cry and clenched her sheets with her fists, her heart pumping wildly in her chest as the adrenaline coursed through her body.
She took a moment and upon realizing that she was indeed lying in her bed and not falling to her death off the back of a dragon, she tried to calm her erratically beating heart. She rolled onto her side and curled into a ball, her mind racing to catch up with her panicking body. She tried to remember…it was so real, so many colours…Hiccup had been there, his hand just out of reach…the sky was black and churning, the clouds spinning like a whirlpool in the sky…she tried to scream but no sound escaped her lips as she plunged downwards and downwards for what seemed like an eternity, still reaching for the hand that wasn't there…
She was jostled awake just before she hit the ocean and with a quiet sigh, she lifted up her palm to wipe away the beads of sweat upon her brow. Her great aunt had continuously instructed her to analyze the dreams that she was able to remember, always telling her that there were secret messages in the images the gods sent down during slumber. Astrid did so now, racking her brains for any possible sign – maybe it had simply been another nightmare about the battle of the Red Death? She shuddered as she remembered her dream, realizing that what she had felt was far more real than a mere recollection. Perhaps it was just her conscious reminding her how the chieftain's son had let her down? She frowned and felt her bitterness take over her thoughts – of course that was it.
Over the progression of the past few days Astrid couldn't help but feel a little angry over what the insufferable boy had done to her, insisting on ending their courtship when she was clearly in a relationship with him. Didn't he see that? Couldn't he tell how much she yearned to around him even if he still was a little bony and lame and a total goofball? She liked him! She liked how intelligent he was, clever to an almost unsettling degree. It unnerved her and enticed her both at the same time, her love for the unknown overtaking her common sense every time. She never knew what to feel when she was around the boy, or even when she was merely thinking about him for that matter – she was so obscenely enamoured with the boy that she couldn't even walk straight when she thought of him, no matter how short their time was together.
And now she just wanted to rip his scrawny head off.
The sun had nearly risen from its slumbers and she leapt quietly out of bed before any of her brothers or sisters, knowing well enough that they weren't expected to get up to start their chores for a little while yet. It was Saturday after all – it was their one day of glorious rest, of sleeping in and drinking copious amounts of alcohol the night before. Her father was probably still passed out in the Great Hall and her mother was most likely still asleep in her sewing while she had waited for him to return.
Astrid stripped her sleeping clothes off of her body and paused for a moment afterwards, relishing in the feeling of the morning air against her bare and exposed skin. She shivered, delighting in the tremor that ran from the tips of her hair all the way to her toes. She breathed out silently and began to fish her undergarments from her drawer in the cabinet, sliding them on as quickly as she possibly could. The faster she could whip on her clothes, the faster she could go out and see if her dragon had left to migrate further south. Her Nadder was one of the only dragons left who had yet to leave the island, and Astrid knew the time was coming. The dragon spent more and more time eating and sleeping in the barns now then she ever did before and the look she would give Astrid every time she went to go see her was enough to make the warrior girl want to rip her heart out. She knew that the Nadder wanted to leave desperately but it was almost as if she were too reluctant to leave, her golden eyes always gazing at her with melancholy whenever they parted for the evening.
Astrid finally strapped on her iron-clad skirt but chose to leave her shoulder armour behind, throwing on the thickest knit she owned instead. She tugged the sleeveless cloak over her head; the wool was dyed a deep rose colour that brought out the blush in her cheeks, making it the only shade of pink she would admit to adoring. She hugged the warm material to her lithe body and threw on a pair of woollen mittens before dashing down the stairs and out of her little house into the open air.
The cool October breezes bit into her skin as she set off towards the barn behind her lodge, the young warrior running along the wooden walls of her home before emerging past the cabin and back into the morning light. The sunlight was admittedly weak behind the churning clouds and did nothing to warm her as she ventured closer to the shelter at the back of their property, her heart thudding nervously in her chest. She finally reached the refuge after what felt like an immeasurably long time and she proceeded to throw open the shutters of the windowpane, her arms outstretched and eyes wide and hopeful. She breathed out another heavy sigh of relief; there she was, her dragon curled up in the straw like some domestic cat, humming pleasantly in her sleep. Astrid smiled lightly and closed the shutters, pressing her back up against the wooden siding of the barn. Her dragon was still there for one more day, despite the cool weather, and Astrid could not have been happier.
Something turned in her gut and she peered to her left, the unmistakable pang of intuition beginning to stir inside her heart. She pulled herself upright into a somewhat more dignified position and began to trod over to the double doors of the shelter, her eyes peeled for unwanted guests. She felt as if she were being watched, although she could not see a soul in sight – it was still early yet and there wouldn't be many villagers out and about, of this she knew.
A Terror squawked and plummeted from the top of her house towards the roof of the barn, looking down at her with its wide, lopsided eyes. Astrid frowned and returned its awkward gaze, feeling slightly suspicious of it being there, especially in the cold. Surely her instinct couldn't have been just a simple bout of paranoia? Astrid sighed and tore her eyes away from the small indigo dragon, turning away from its creepy glare. She tossed her fingers through her loose hair with frustration, tugging at the band around her brow as she did so. The leather headpiece needed to be treated again – it was becoming a nuisance now, a simple reminder of her purity and the useless, moronic boy that had left her so high and dry those few days ago.
She jerked her head over her shoulder, that impulse of gut feeling once again churning in her stomach. She looked up and finally saw it, its length sticking out like a sore thumb against the smooth wood of the shelter. The parchment was taunting her as it fluttered against a gust of wind, attached to a nail like a notice of eviction. She seized it from its perch on the entrance of the barn, ripping it from its anchor of steel. She tore the folded portion open and began reading the carefully written runic letters on the page, trying time and time again to ignore the hand that was so unmistakably his.
Astrid,
I just want you to know that I really did appreciate all that you did for me these past few months. You made them bearable and I can't thank you enough. But I have to leave. I don't know where I'm going or if I'm going to return but it's for the better. I won't be around screwing up anymore, especially now that I can't even walk straight. I just wanted you to know that I really, really liked you. I was just too cowardly to say it. I guess you could say that I'm running away, but not really. I'd just really like to go see the rest of Midgard, maybe do something heroic. Not that I'm very good at being heroic. Maybe I'll just stick to exploring.
I'm sorry that your Nadder has finally left to migrate. Toothless wanted to say goodbye but she wasn't there. Maybe I'll end up figuring out where they're all going off to, see if they have any friends like us there. Maybe they fly to another realm all together.
I'm going to miss you though, more than anything.
Hiccup
Had this been a letter of any other circumstance, Astrid may have found all of his blathering somewhat endearing. However, under the current state of affairs, the young Viking couldn't help but want to rip his letter to shreds. She could feel the anger bubbling within her core already rising, her hold of her body beginning to release. Something in her heart told her to run as fast as she could to the shoreline, to see if he had already disappeared into the never ending horizon. She listened to her impulses and flew as fast as her feet could take her, ignoring the strange comment about her dragon, ignoring the rustle of parchment still locked in her iron grasp.
Astrid skidded around the corner and began sprinting down the streets, her hair flying wildly behind her. A blur of pink and gold, she swung around the final establishments of her village and started leaping up the pebbly slopes towards the top of the ocean crags, her eyes fixed only on the cloudy sky as she scampered over rock and limb. She used every means of travel to grapple up the treacherous incline; she climbed trees and crawled through rocky trails to further her way up the mountain, never once letting her eyes dip from the dark grey skies that were awash above her. The wind was pushing east to west, providing a perfect tailwind for any wayward dragon flying in that particular direction. She snarled and pounded her fist against the closest rock as she spurred herself onwards.
The perfect flying conditions if there ever had been.
She finally reached the top of the peak and peered beyond its rocky face, standing at the very brink before jutting down towards the rock-strewn shore. She scanned the open skies eagerly, searching every crevice of the heavens with her fervent eyes. And just beyond the last island of their archipelago, the isle perfectly situated due west, a black blur could be seen moving farther and farther away as she watched in perfect horror.
They had already departed.
A zephyr of cool air spiralled tightly around her body, tossing her hair and her shawl in every manner of disarray. But her eyes never left that very speck as it departed further and further into the heavens, taking away every fragment of hope that was left in her bones. Hiccup was gone. Toothless was gone. Every chance of winning back that insufferable man was gone.
There were two winds that flew like a torrent around her; the wind that took flight, and the wind that pursued.
And on the wings of flight, as their shape disappeared, Astrid knew he was gone.
Finally, we come to a close. Becoming the Past, the first arc out of three, is finished!
I'm halfway through the writing process of the second arc so I'm going to take a quick two week break to get a little further into it. I'm having a few continuity issues that I have to work out and I know I'll get absolutely nothing done on it this weekend! CAKE!
I would like to know what you thought of this chapter? Did you like the mythos aspect, especially concerning the Norns? How do you feel about the conclusion of this chapter? Are you guys still interested in seeing what comes next?
Birthday present = review?
Love and fluff,
Brontë