AN: Hey readers! Long time no upload, ne? Sorry about that, really. :C Hope I haven't lost all my followers, but I wouldn't be surprised if I did.
Anyway, I know this probably isn't the most lengthy chapter, but honestly, I needed a bit of variation from my other stories, which are my priorities, and I decided that getting a start on my other stories might not be such a bad idea. Nothing like a little variety, right?! I even had to go and do a little tease arch today to get this started- had to fact check myself and I even tried to reread my HTTYD books, but for whatever reason could only find two of them. And they were numbers 2 and 4. -.-"
Anyway, here's the long put-off chapter five!
.
.
.
"This is not happening, this is not happening." Hiccup repeated anxiously as he and Toothless plummeted to the grassy fields below from hundreds of feet in the air. Toothless roared shortly in response as the two struggled and flailed in the cursed binds of the bolas ropes surrounding them.
'The ground isn't getting any further away!' Toothless screamed lowly to his rider as the ground rushed up to meet them. He couldn't very well catch them if his wings and makeshift tail fin weren't free. 'Hiccup!'
"I almost have it..." Hiccup grunted as he stretched and bent his arm around from where it had gotten caught in the ropes. An invention of his own, the second version of his dragon gloves, were acting up, and refused to extend the metal claws. "Dammit! Please, can my inventions come through for me just this once?!"
As though humoring him, the claws finally extended from their confines and allowed him to cut through their bindings, just in time for Toothless to narrowly avoid being shot by a volley of arrows. Hiccup too, quickly regained his balance and flight-legs, and together they dove into the murky fog below.
Hiccup heard yells of anger and war cries from just above them as they took a rather harsh landing on the ledge of one of the lower cliffs. They had been flying peacefully in the open sky, next to a sharp peak of a mountain, and then had been shot down by a well-hidden group of who could only be Berserkers. Hiccup recognized their crudely-made but very effective style of arrows. Plus, he was sure he'd seen a great burly man with a flash of red hair and a horned helmet almost as tall as the peak itself.
"Ugh!" Hiccup landed with a great whoosh of air, as he had the wind knocked out of him for a moment. "I think I knocked my leg out of commission."
'I'm going to knock them out of commission!' Toothless extended his teeth and then bared them at the ledges above, where they could both hear a group of savages making their way down to where they sat. There must have been several upon several mountain paths frequently used by animals large and small. 'Who do they think they are?'
"That's their problem, I don't know if they even think at all." Hiccup groaned and tried to stand up, only to stumble and fall to the ground again. Looking over, he saw that his leg was indeed lodged in between two huge boulders. "Oh, great."
Toothless eyes Hiccup's predicament, before spotting all of the boy's equipment that had fallen to the ground. He then quirked his ears and estimated that the two had only a few moments before they were discovered. His large green eyes inquired silently, asking his rider what they were going to do.
"Hide below, I got this." Hiccup grunted and gave up on getting his leg free, instead opting to gather up his half-maps and small pouch-tools that lay scattered around him. "Just stay out of sight and I'll call you when it's safe."
Toothless only hesitated for a second, before nodding once with another growl and hiding himself in one of the indents of the cliff just a few meters below. There he waited, holding on to the earth of the mountain with his claws and listening to his human friend scramble around above.
Hiccup was quick to pick up most of his more mysterious fallen tools and pull off his dragon gloves. Quickly digging up a hole with a miniature spade and throwing the gloves unceremoniously into the shallow space, he threw the dug-up dirt over them and patted it down, shifting to lie on top of it as many men came around the corner of the natural-trodden path.
"Where is it? Where?! Where'd it go?!"
Hiccup cringed and rubbed some of the damp soil across his face, attempting to hide some of his more revealing features, such as the small expanse of freckles across his cheeks and nose. As more men piled into the small landing, they stepped on Toothless' previously visible tracks.
With a small noise of fright, Hiccup flailed his arms and scattered more dirt under the pretense of being a bloodthirsty Viking.
"Raaah! -cough- Let me at it!" Hiccup kicked and punched the air with his arms. "Foul beast are my yak! Snatched it right out from under me!"
"Eh?" The Viking in the lead looked down at the fish-bone of a boy flopping around on the ground, and then looked at where his odd looking peg-leg was stuck in the rocks. "What's this? Not a Bog Burglar, for sure?"
With a mighty kick, the red-headed teen (though he looked more like a full-grown man) sent one of the boulders flying off the edge of the cliff, and then reached down to pull the boy to his feet.
"I'm no Bog- huh?" Hiccup blinked and looked a little closer at the monster of a teen in front of him. "Uh-Da-"
"'Da' what, boy?" Dagur the Deranged peered back at him from less than a foot away. "Have we met?"
"Uh...uh, no?" Hiccup struggle to make an excuse, cursing himself for blowing his cover. "Maybe? I'm-"
"You do seem a bit familiar." Dagur remarked, a confused squint to his eyes. "Something about the hair? No, the ears? No, couldn't be, can hardly see your ears..."
"If you'll allow me to introduce myself-"
"Or the feathers, perhaps?" The Berserker chief grabbed one green feather intertwined with Hiccup's shaggy hair and tugged on it harshly, causing Hiccup to yelp. "Woden almighty, what red-blooded Viking wears feathers in their hair?"
"Excuse me, I am no Viking." Hiccup corrected, and made an 'old' when he was let down on the ground, surprised as he hadn't even known he was being held up by the armor. "I'm just a humble traveler. My name is Halen Hija-"
"Hmm." Daguerre mused, cutting Hiccup off. "Sounds a lot like another name I knew. The name of a little fish-bone of a boy from one of the southern lands...now what was his name..."
"Look, we've met before!" Hiccup began hurriedly. Inside, he was in a bit of a panic. This conversation was not going in the direction he thought it would. "In the Peaceful Country."
"Truly?" Dagur looked pleasantly surprised. "Well, figures! Your too small to be doing anything other than trading and smithing- that's right!" A lamplight seemed to light up above the high horns of Dagur's helmet. "You were that lad with the old trader I met last year! That's why you seem so familiar! How is the Peaceful Country?"
"...Peaceful?" Hiccup tried for a joke and was met by Dagur's loud and good-natured, if not a bit alarming laugh. The man then dropped him to the dirt floor and looked out into the dense fog below.
"So tell me, Halen Hijack Hyme." The Berserker chief began. "Did you see any falling dragons lately? Could've sworn on the great beard of Thor that we ensnared one in a bolas just a few minutes ago, and it fell towards this direction."
"The boy would know something!" A Berserker from a little further down the path yelled loudly to his leader. "Was screamin' and flailin' about when we arrived, sir! Talking about how it snatched up his yak!"
"It snatched up my shee-" Hiccup feigned a bout of coughing as he realized how close he'd come to making a mistake. "Yes! My yak! The bloody Night Fury swooped down and-"
"Night Fury?" Dagur's demanded, startling Hiccup, and picked up the younger boy by the straps of his leather cloak. "Seriously?! Where? I thought it was just a Changeling of some kind or another!"
"He lies!" Another Berserker shouted. "Or the boy is just stupid! Everyone knows Night Furies only come out during the night!"
"Is that right?" Dagur's again dropped Hiccup, who fell to the dirt. "And who are you to make such claims, Stonehead?" Dagur's turned to the man with a sneer. "This beanpole is one of the finest craftsman in the Icy Wastes! A mind like his wouldn't make a mistake like that! So stop flailing your jaws and go find that Night Fury! Hurry along!"
"But sir, no one-"
"Get that dragon! I want it's skull at the head of my ship when we return home!"
"No one's survived an encounter with a Night Fury!" Another man yelled fearfully. "How could the boy know it was a Night Fury if-"
The man screamed as Dagur's studded club, being previously attached to his belt, shot out and knocked him from the ledge of the path, and sent him flying into the foreboding fog below. All his men watched in horror as one of their own plummeted towards the seas.
"Does that answer any question?" Dagur's demanded, malice in his eyes.
"T-t-that was our guest's navigator, sir!" One of the other men stuttered. "The m-master star-mapper of Fort Sinister! This could cause a war!"
"Well then." Dagur continued hatefully. "Now you have a Night Fury AND a star navigator to locate, if the rocks below haven't impaled him beyond all recognition. Now go!"
Frightened, the group of well-seasoned soldiers fled the area, leaving only Dagur, and his second-in-command, a man who Hiccup knew only as 'Righthand'. Hiccup blinked up at the burly Viking and dusted himself off. Well, he supposed they didn't call him 'Deranged' for nothing. In most Viking tribes, and in the Berserker tribe especially, the chief was followed without question, and those who didn't followed were quickly silenced. One way or another, it seemed.
"Sorry about that." Dagur apologized, immediately back to his happy-go-lucky demeanor. "Gotta give them a little nudge every once in a while. Not the brightest lot in the Isles."
"Right, hahaha..." Hiccup tried to laugh it off. "Silly underlings, am I right?"
"Exactly! Who do they think they are?" Dagur rambled on for another minute, but Hiccup was suddenly reminded of Toothless, hidden below, and the boy wondered how he was faring. He must be so on edge right now- Toothless didn't seem to like the thought of Hiccup being around other humans, period. But this human? Who was throwing his own comrades off cliffs?
Hiccup gulped.
"Anyway, there's something rather ominous brewing up in the Sea Known As Woden's Bathtub lately." Dagur commented. "Something's stirring beneath those frozen waves, and it's not the usual Doomfang or any their sea dragon."
"Hm?" Hiccup asked, momentarily distracted. "What's that got to do with anything?"
"That's what I said!" Dagur exclaimed. "But turns out, the other little countries besides dear old Berserk are having a lot of trouble with safe sea passage lately. There's a rumor floating around about a group of active dragon hunters, who've already conquered some small ises west of the Visithug lands and quickly approaching northeast towards Outcast Island."
"Dragon hunters?" Hiccup's eyes narrowed. "You mean-"
"Pirates!" Dagur confirmed with a quick nod of his head. "Which wouldn't normally be a problem, because, let's face it, we vikings excel at looting and pillaging. We also trap dragons ourselves, most of the time, but the thing with these guys is that they're starting to invade other lands and conquer them as well. The eastern tribe of Visithugs have begun to panic. Not to mention the fact that the dragon raids from somewhere in Woden's Bathtub are becoming more and more frequent, and their winter rations are said to be dwindling."
"These dragon-hunters." Hiccup butted in after a moment. He had a sick and cold chill creeping up his spine. "Do they have a leader?"
"Hm?" Dagur looked surprised and then thought a moment. "Well, of course. A huge monster of a man, if I remember correctly, from his description. A bit of a loon, but what with the way he's been taking forts and conquering villages..."
"What is his name?" Hiccup demanded suddenly, straightening and forgetting for a moment that he should probably be more careful around Dagur.
"The dragon-hunter? Well, now that you mention it...it was something stupid...really stupid. Now what was it?" Dagur scratched his head underneath his helmet with a confused frown to his red brows. "Hm..."
.
.
"Dago Blowfish..." The fisherman said, then shook his head, scratching his head as the name evaded him. "Dargo Bloodyfoot...no..."
"Drago Bludvist?" A huge, hulking man known as the village chief asked suddenly. All his non-worries about the odd claims of the dragon hunters coming to an end. Now, he felt a deep foreboding in his gut. He left the confused fisherman and immediately headed off toward the upper village to call a meeting.
But first, he had an old friend to see.
"Gobber!" Stoick the Vast came barging in through the well-accommodating door of the blacksmith's shop. "A moment."
"Aye, chief!" Gobber gave a short salute as his friend walked back out of the shop and up the hill. "Oi, Snotlout, you great lump! Stop bending meh swords and start sharpening! I swear to Thor, for all I've been tryin' none of you boys v'got a lick of talent at smithing!"
The hulking man left his shop with a few choice swears and a shudder of dread at the thoughts of what he'd find when he came back. Snotlout was notorious for somehow managing to ripple and bend the swords he mended so much that they looked more like lightning bolts afterwards; Tuffnut lacked the basic Viking knowledge needed for just about everything, and Fishlegs's aim was deplorable, resulting in too many unneeded accidents.
Alas, since the disappearance of his previous apprentice...things had not been looking well. Not for the weapons, which no one but Gobber could truly mend and sharpen to satisfaction, and not for Gobber himself, as he never realized how much grunt work was actually put into his specialty until his aloof but hardworking student was suddenly gone.
Sighing, Gobber wondered what it would be like this time to enter the Chief's quarters. Last time he'd been in the man's house, several months before, it reeked of alcohol, moldy leftovers and dirty clothing. With no one around to nag him about it, much less clean up after him, the Chief's home had fallen into serious disrepair. If he had to guess, Gobber would say that his Chief and oldest friend only cleaned once every couple of months, if that.
Which, in itself, was sad. Vikings, while savage, impulsive and rather crass, we're not normally creatures of filth. Most of everyone the swordsmith knew bathed at least three times out of the week, and oftentimes, even the burliest and roughest Viking around could be seen hanging up his delicates on the clothes lines connecting the many houses in Berk. That is, if the dragons hadn't burned down the lines or the houses during their raids.
"It's getting worse, Gobber." The chief of the Hooligan tribe paced back and forth across his (surprisingly) clean kitchen floor. That shieldmaiden Thea who had taken a subtle liking to the chief in the last year or so must have been poking around again.
"You mean the raids?" Gobber asked for verification. "Or do you mean the stories the other villages are telling?"
"Both, but most importantly, these stories as you say...from the Visithugs, the Outcasts and even as far east as the Bog Burglars." Stoick sat down heavily at the rough wooden table. "He's back, Gobber. A fisherman who'd come back from the sea today may have just confirmed it."
"You know, all that sea air can get to one's head..." Gobber tried to lighten the mood a bit, not really believing the direction this conversation was headed. "Not to meant ion the sea sickness, maybe the poor lad didn't know what he was talking about-"
"It's him." Stoick insisted hotly. "There's no if, but or how about it. That madman is back to finish what he promised so many years ago."
"Stoick, controlling a few dragons is one thing." Gobber shrugged his wide shoulders. "Sure, it'll impress the kids and the lack-wits, but any decent Viking knows that if you keep a dragon in captivity long enough, or if you raise it from the egg, it's bound to obey. The horrid creatures just don't have the intelligence humans do, they'll follow anything with meat on a hook."
"Look, no one saw what I did that day!" The Hooligan chief slammed a fist down on his counter top as he searched for a semi-clean jug to pour himself some warm mead. "No one alive, that is. We scoffed at that fiend when he told us to bow to him, and he brought the roof down on us in a fiery blaze. Dragons with armor...dragons i's ne'er seen before."
"If it's all the same to you, how about we get busy restocking the supplies tomorrow? Repairing our homes? Sharpening our weapons and reinforcing our defenses." Gobber stepped forward to lie a hand on his friend's tense shoulder. "It'll give the people something to do, and maybe those kids will actually come in handy out at sea. What we lack in meat we'll make up for in fish and eel."
"If even you won't see the severity in this, what do I tell the council?" Stoick sighed angrily and sat down at the old, jagged table in the middle of the room, causing the whole house to clatter.
"I'm not saying I don't believe you." The blacksmith comforted. "Just that it's highly unlikely that this Dargo is still going strong. He may have gotten old. He may not make it this far...but in any case, it'll do us some good to prepare, yeah? Our village is strong, Stoick...our allies are strong. We'll be fine, my friend. Everything will work out for the best."
Stoick stayed silent for a while after that, staring across the small living space into his empty fireplace. He wondered often how Gobber could still see so much good in the world. How he could see the bright side of things, and more often than not, make any situation better or easier by humor or positive thinking.
Stoick used to be able to do that as well...and then he'd lost his cherished wife, Valka, over fifteen years ago to the very species of beast that plagued his village almost daily. It was part of the reason he hated dragons so much...if he hadn't hated them with every drop of his blood before they had taken his beloved, then he most certainly had afterward. They had already destroyed his village more times than he could count, and then they had gone and killed, probably devoured or burned the love of his life to death.
There lied yet another reason he cherished his friend Gobber just as dearly in the present time. The blonde and energetic Viking's ability to see the silver-linings in everything was something to be admired. After Valka's death, he wasn't so optimistic as he thought he could remain for his boy. He didn't think his heart could break anymore than it did that fateful night; didn't think he could ever feel any worse beyond what he had when he'd lost his wife.
Then, as always, it seemed that fate had plans other than what he'd expected. And he'd lost his son as well.
His beloved son...the sentiment was true; you never truly know what you have until it's gone. He'd always told himself to push his son, to make him strong, powerful and brave enough to fend for himself, because the world was cruel. The world took everything from you, took your balance and stability and then pushed you forward, and then backward like the lurching of a great boat on a stormy sea. The best you could do was hang on, grip the rails and ropes for all your worth and hope for breaks between the storms.
But he'd pushed Hiccup too hard. Or maybe, not hard enough. Maybe the problem had been that Stoick wasn't there to help ease his boy into the vastness of life's trials. Instead of directing and teaching through Hiccup's growth as a Viking, he'd just let him wander and guess at the right answers and actions...and if Stoick was being completely honest, there was a small part of him deep down inside that confessed one great shame. That after the death of his beloved wife, he hadn't wanted to care about anyone or anything as much as he had about Valka. It had almost destroyed him when he'd let her slip through his fingers, into the flames of evil.
But, of course, he'd been wrong on many accounts. He ended up feeling even worse than he did that night when Valka was taken away...his heart had been able to break more than it had that night. And he did end up caring about someone as much as he did his wife- possibly more. The worse part about all of it was that he hadn't let his son slip through his fingers, into the fires of hell. He'd pushed him there with his own hands and hateful words.
Sure, the others could have looked out for him more, the other kids could have been nicer, for then, the boy would have been less inclined to run to demons for amusement...it was one thing for Vikings to learn and develop throughout the years, to grown a strong backbone. But what Hiccup had been through wasn't life lessons and growth. It had been isolation, and abandonment by his father.
There was no excuse.
Stoick's small, fragile son was innocent. Over the years since his disappearance, the chief had done some major thinking, something he didn't like to do often. It became more and more clear that the boy's madness was caused by his continuous torment in the village of Berk. It was no one's fault but Stoick's.
It also became evident that for all his trying, Stoick just couldn't avoid loving his one and only child. When he looked at Hiccup...or, when he used to look at Hiccup, he was reminded of happier times, with his wife. He was reminded of what could have been, and it hurt. When Hiccup had grown up, Stoick had looked at him and seen a weak future chief. A problem that needed to be fixed, an heir that needed bulking up.
What he should have been seeing was his son, for what he was...and Hiccup had always been a sweet, earnest child. Potting rare flowers and plants around the house and drawing in notebooks, always excited to show his daddy a new drawing or theory of his. Always eager to help, but not quite having the strength for it, being of a slimmer build, just like his mother. Stoick wondered when that bright excitement had dimmed from Hiccup...was it after the start of merciless bullying? Or was it when Stoick had begun to tell him to leave the important jobs for better Vikings?
So many questions unanswered...
Stoick had made the greatest mistake of his life in a fit of rage. Not a day went by that he didn't regret it. Not a day passed that he didn't beg the gods for a second chance. It was not the way of a chief to beg anyone for anything; a chief dealt with mistakes and accepted them. But he couldn't accept this. He would have done anything to have his son back.
.
.
.
AN: Had to stop it there! Absolutely had to. It seemed to drag on forever, but only ended up being just over 4,000 words, I'm so disgusted with myself lol. Usually the bare minimum of my chapters are at least 5,000-6,000 words. I had trouble writing the last part of this, and I still might rewrite some of it, but I would have been too ashamed to put up a tiny chapter, so I rambled and brain-wracked until this came out. It might not have been that good, sorry- tell me if you think I should rewrite some of the last part, kay?
I've also been struggling with Hiccup's alias. Halen Hijack Hyme...I wanted to make it sound like a mockery of Hiccup's real name: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. It seemed cool to me when I first wrote it but now I kind of cringe. Thinking about changing it, while still fitting the HHHIII theme.
I've been trying to get inspiration back. :) Anyway, Happy Summer!
Updated: July 31st 2017, 3:50 PM
