The Human Dragon and the Estranged Crow
A How To Train Your Dragon fanfic
Based off of Le'letha's "Nightfall" and "Stormfall" fics
Taking shelter in a dark cave with a blizzard raging outside, his back bleeding, and no kind of fire for warmth regardless of having a dragon occupying the same space was downright miserable.
Sleep offers no solace.
If anything, sleeping only brings him more strife. He hates to sleep, as that is where the nightmares linger, just waiting for him to fall unconscious before slithering from the shadows at the back of his mind like serpents ready to strike with venomous fangs.
He is never unaware of those awful imaginings simply lying in wait, and he tries to avoid them like the plague, but everyone has to sleep eventually. He is no exception to that.
There is no concept of time passing when the nightmares sink their teeth into him. There is only the too long, too much, have to escape...
There are blurs and hints of times and places he only vaguely remembers because he doesn't want to recall, faceless phantoms that hover like vultures to a kill and swoop down when he's most vulnerable. There is begging and whimpering - his pleas - and there is running and struggling and fighting, and all of it is entirely in vain.
It doesn't stop the hurt. The strikes still come. He tries to shrink away, to disappear, but there's nowhere to go. He tries to curl into himself, but in trying to protect one part of his body, he let's another part be hurt instead. He cries and yelps because it is painful, and then he learns to be silent because knowing he is pained makes them do even worse. He learns not to complain or to speak about the aches all over, because to voice against his punishments is to be ungrateful for their 'lessons' and be dolled yet another. He stops asking questions on what he has done wrong because he should simply know if only he were good and smart enough, as he's been told so, so many times.
He only wants to survive. He wants to not be hit for being bad. He wants to not be something worthless and unlovable. He wants to stop being afraid.
So he makes himself obedient. Quiet. Out of the way.
He tries, and he tries, and he tries. He does everything to try and make them happy, to do good things that mean he doesn't need to be punished.
The hurts still never stop. He tries harder.
It isn't enough.
Until one day it's more than enough.
Enough hurting. Enough fearing. Enough placating. Enough, enough, enough!
But it isn't, and it doesn't stop the hitting, the cutting, the bruising, breaking, kicking, bleeding, sneering, lashing, tearing-
But he gives it back. He makes them hurt, and he gets hurt in return. He knows then. He's figured it out. That's simply what it is to be what he is: a human.
He will never not be bad, because humans are bad, and that is what he is. He will always be hurt, because that is all that humans care to do, and he will cause hurt. It's an ugliness that he was born with too, and he can't escape that, and that is why he's punished. Why he has always been abomination; worthless; stupid; can't-do-anything-right; good-for-nothing; parasite; freak; wretch; slave.
He tries to strike back, tries to defend himself against the monsters that look like he does, the kind of monster that he is also, but he is smaller and weaker and tired beyond possibility. For every hit he lands and drop of blood he draws, many more are returned back on him. It's a losing battle, but he fights and tries to hurt them more because that is just what he is supposed to do, just as is done to him.
This time, the enemies are only imagined, but they are no less real. They exist out there somewhere, and they can still hurt him even when they are gone. They still lurk in his memory, waiting only for him to close his eyes and drop his guard, and then they come for him and remind him all over again.
When he finally manages to wake, his body protests as if the blows were real. His joints pinch as he tries to uncurl from the tight, self-protective ball he coiled himself into on instinct, and his breathing comes strained with the stress and the terror that he involuntarily caused on himself.
He is not afraid. He will not be hurt again. He has learned. He can be quick and smarter than all of them. He can hurt and kill them before they can to him.
He will never be that small, pathetic, whimpering play-thing of vicious devils ever again. The gashes across his back now will be the very last.
Hanging his head, Faulklin took a moment to compose himself, fatigue still tugging temptingly at his body. The blood loss had taken its toll, but it was a state of condition he had learned to cope with long ago. So long as he was careful about how he went about it, he could stubbornly push his way through the light-headedness. If it turned out that he was far too gone to just force himself to keep moving until he got better, then oh well. He could think of worse things than perishing at this point. It wasn't as though he had anything in particular to live or aim for, and no one would mourn. Many would celebrate, more than anything.
Lifting his head, he sluggishly turned to look towards the entrance of the cave where the storm had considerably lightened, and where the dragon and dragon-man from the day before sat and peered outside, the Fury's tail idly sweeping from side to side.
Why they hadn't just gone was beyond him, but he didn't really care either way. What use was a dragon and some crazy lunatic to him anyway?
He internally scoffed at the thought as he sat up and pulled his drying shirt back on, his memory colored with sharp annoyance at everything that had transpired the day before, but then he really started to think about it.
What use could a Night Fury and its crazy rider have to him?
More importantly, what use could it have to Viggo?
Faulklin had tried many times, both with Viggo and others, to flee. He hadn't exactly had the best results, and now was no different. He felt as if he would collapse any second, and the bleeding was bad. He'd be lucky just to make it outside of the cave, much less miles away without dropping dead. He wasn't so much worried about the dropping dead outcome. It was the possibility that he would be found and dragged back to continue to serve that concerned him the most.
The Hunters would almost definitely find him. It was only a matter of time before they did, and when they did, he was going to suffer for it. He knew that for a fact.
If he made himself suddenly all the more valuable, however...
His eye trained onto the Night Fury. One of the rarest of all breeds in the known world. Viggo would never pass up such a valuable creature, if he could only get his hands on it.
That dragon would easily be able to buy his freedom in one way or another, no strings attached. He only has to figure out how to accomplish that.
Distracting him from these thoughts, one of the ravens landed on his shoulder, immediately taking to preening at his hair and reaching to nibble at his lips with its beak.
You. You. Here! Me, here. Over-here. Scared-distressed, you. Sleep-hunted. Make-better. Ours-flock. Love you, love you.
Scratching behind the bird's head and leaning his face against black feathers, he warbled back Appreciation. Love you. No distress. Fine, fine. You-and-you, here.
The other raven landed next to him, looking towards the entrance and warning dragon!
Faulklin turned to look, scowl returned. Both the Night Fury and its rider were looking at him, eyes large and unconcerned, speaking curious wondering watching and the dragon huffing out through its nose. The rider, crouched between the dragon's front legs, slipped from underneath the Fury's belly and stopped after a few four-legged paces, sitting up and looking at him.
He hates that lunatic's staring.
He postures uncertain alert wary don't-like standoffish caution watching ready-to-flee but his green eyes are shining with wondering curious hesitant pondering thinking planning-wanting-something.
It's the planning-wanting something that sets off alarms in his head. He doesn't need to know the crazy, feral dragon man. He knows that look. He doesn't like it.
But maybe he can use it all the same.
He growls throatily What? You? Looking. What? He doesn't even have to feign annoyance. That comes naturally.
The dragon man whistles and tilts his head inquiringly, forming out the sound "drakkkn", flicking his head in an outside motion, and wondering where?
Faulklin only shakes his head, not knowing what in Hel the guy wants. The dragon-man seems to catch on, shifting and regrouping his thoughts - Faulklin can see it in his eyes. He motions outside and makes an angry-spitting noise he recognizes as something like hunters humans and then repeats dragons, making a biting motion with arched fingers and making an alert noise, which Faulklin discerns as traps, and then repeats again where?
When Faulklin shakes his head again, despite understanding, the feral growls low at him you know you know you!
Of course he knows where Viggo's trappers are. That doesn't mean he wants to go anywhere near them again. It doesn't mean he's inclined to show this dragon-man and his pet where they are.
But he knows his chances of getting caught and brought back, and they're high, so maybe, a change in tactic would help. Maybe, for once, he'll go back... but Viggo is tricky, and whatever he comes up with is going to take a lot to pull off, he knows. Of all people, Viggo is the only one who's been a true obstacle in a battle of wit, and unfortunately Faulklin loses to his experience more often than not.
Its a risk, but so is trying to run like always and hoping it will work out for him better this time.
The dragon-man, ever persistent and looking annoyed with him, paced with clawed gloves clicking on stone, rumbling out you know you know trap breaking now now? Dragons hurt trapped help you help where where?
Faulklin only fixed him with an irritated stare that had the other man stop his pacing and sit abruptly, glaring back at him in a kind of battle of wills. Finally, Faulklin closed his eye and sighed out heavily through his nose, bracing his hands on his knees as he staggered to his feet. The rider swung up onto the Fury's shoulders as the dragon whirled to dash out of the cave ahead of him, the two disappearing outside. When Faulklin stepped out of the cave mouth and into the leafless woods, he glanced up over his shoulder and found them perched on a higher cliff watching and waiting for him to emerge.
He snorted out an unintelligible grunt at the two of them before starting to walk, following the indent of a frozen stream.
Fine. He can't get rid of Viggo and the Hunters, and now he can't get rid of some crazy dragon-speaking feral man... but maybe he can make them get rid of each other for him. He just has to think up the how.
First he has to think up a good story for why he came back, because its not like him. He'll normally fight tooth and nail to get away no matter how foolish or reckless. His alibi has to be convincing.
The truth, or at least part of it, is as good as anything. He wouldn't be able to get away. He's tried and failed enough times to have established that. Viggo will question it though. He's stubborn, and that hasn't ever stopped him before, and he's always been of the mind to keep trying at it until either this time he succeeds or dies trying. So he needs to have another good reason why he came to that conclusion against all past pattern.
He ponders it for a while, and decides that it would be reasonable to claim winter-hungry animals had come after him. He'd been chased and attacked by a predator, and he'd pulled his wounds, and had nothing to really patch them back up with adequately. He could have just kept going and bled out, and wouldn't have cared about dying, but it would slow him down enough he'd be easy to track and take back... so he might as well save the trouble, and the punishment. Viggo doesn't appreciate set-backs that cost coin, but Faulklin isn't so much worried about him as the others in the crew who are fed-up and have nowhere near the kind of patient discretion as their leader.
Mostly, he was just worried his wounds would slow him down too much to make it anywhere, and he'd be caught before the wounds killed him, and face more brutality than if he just gave himself up.
That would be a convincing argument, at least.
So he has his cover story, sort of. But then he has to figure out what he's going to do about the Fury and the other dragons that Viggo has.
The biggest problem working against him will be his history. He's turned dragons back on the Hunters and others before them any number of times. Kind of easy when he can speak and understand them. If he brings up the Night Fury, Viggo won't trust that it isn't a trap, probably. Maybe he doesn't need to bring it up at all. Maybe he needs to just let it loose on them, then slip away amongst the chaos.
If he does that, or they do, and he tries to run and fails though, he'll have double the torment to look forward to.
So he can't stage an attack and hope it will be enough to let him escape, especially as there's no guarantee they'll catch it when it does attack.
He could bring them in with him as faux prisoners... or even real prisoners. That, however, would require getting them to play along, and he doesn't know that they will, especially if they don't think its just a plot to one-up the Hunters. Which it may be, or maybe he'll just decide to make a legitimate trade. He's still weighing his options.
Even if he manages to get one or both on board, its possible Viggo will immediately see right through his strategy. Rather, its more than likely he will. Viggo is clever, and most of all, he knows how other people think. It's that which is most dangerous, and its also that which is going to take the most consideration. To act as he normally would is predictable, but to act differently based on trying to not be predictable is even more so. It's a unique challenge, and he hates it, because every direction he looks, when Viggo is involved, he finds an insurmountable wall. With nowhere left to turn, the only viable option is to give up and roll over.
And because of that...
That's it.
Viggo's strategy is, inevitably, always about outlasting his opponents, whittling their defenses and willingness to combat him down until they don't have anything left to fight with. He loses battles, certainly, but he's always sure to win wars by the end.
That, as far as Faulklin can tell, is also his weakness. Viggo is cautious, smart, but also very self-assured of his victory, and everyone loses to him. How strange would it be if Faulklin were to have reached a point of submission as well?
True, he'd played subservient before, and rarely did he mean it when he did, but everyone breaks. Viggo has definitely managed to wear him down, but so have others. Yet, all the same, for all his rebellion, he knows to a certain degree that submission would be the smart thing to do, he simply doesn't want to. That doesn't mean he can't push back his pride and fake finally losing out.
How exactly he'll play out how he plans to use the Fury and its rider is still up in the air, but he has at least a few options. He'll have to test the waters with Viggo first, figure out which direction to take it. However, what he has decided on at the very least is that he will mention it to Viggo.
He couldn't see Viggo being disinterested in such a find. He could even claim that the winter-hungry animal he was attacked by was the Fury itself. Perhaps the beast had a broken wing, and thus was hungry, but not as deadly as it would normally be in flight. Perhaps it had chased him on the ground, and he stumbled down a cave shaft hidden by the snow. That could be when he opened his wounds again.
He would still have to figure out where to go with the story from there... maybe the Fury fell in after him, and got stuck, but then if the Fury is spotted out and about, that would ruin his story. Of course the Fury could have always found a way to escape, but if it wing was as broken as he'd claimed, it flying around would also see his story fall to pieces. Then again, he could always claim he only thought its wing had been broken, or that maybe its wings were just too stiff from the cold to fly.
Yeah, that might work better.
Still, once he returns to Viggo with his story, he won't have as much easy freedom to move around and meet up with the Fury and rider to communicate his plans, assuming they even care for it.
Viggo, or at least Ryker, would probably want to send out a large party along with him, not let him out of their sights, and that would create its own problems. Knowing of the Night Fury, they'd be well prepared to deal with it as opposed to before, when even Faulklin was unaware of them.
They'll probably suspect a trap, because that would be too much like himself, and they may not be wrong, per se.
Assuming even if he could convince them he isn't laying traps, or even to escort him as they no doubt may, much of it still hinges on the Fury and crazy man to follow his lead and not screw it up. They may not understand and do something too early, or perhaps too late, that ends well for none but Viggo himself. Likewise, they may just stab him in the back first chance they see and leave him for dead. Personally he wouldn't mind that if he thought he would actually, really die, but its not likely he will.
He's never that damn lucky.
Death isn't something he fears. If anything, he wishes for it; flirts with it; entertains it. Coming to the edge of a higher ice-caked ledge on his path, he couldn't help peering over the edge of it at the rocks below. It was easy enough to imagine, falling and breaking his neck or something similar, but knowing how things play out for him, it wouldn't do the job. He'd end up mangled, but that was about it. That's how things typically work for him. Somehow death always stays just out of reach, mocking him.
No, to die would be more a mercy than a tragedy as he sees it, but to suffer - that, he most certainly fears. Or did. He shook his head. No, he doesn't fear it anymore. He isn't afraid anymore. Damn be fears. Rather, its... what he expects as the more likely of the two.
Its almost inevitably fated that he'll certainly suffer, but to reach a point of no return? There isn't a man or god that will grant him that yet, even should he find the drive to take the matter into his own hands. It never works out like that.
In short, he's cursed. There's no other way he can think to explain it.
Sighing, he turned and picked his way around it, trying to find a suitable path down.
Trailing thoughts are interrupted by the flicker of drifting snowflakes, single eye glancing upwards. He'd barely noticed the sky darken again with more thick clouds that promise further snowfall.
Maybe, in reality, he's wasting his time, but he's stubborn (then again, since when is a norseman not stubborn?). More than that, past pattern has always been that no matter what he tries, it won't work out the way he wants. If he gives up, someone will rip him back to his feet, and not in a way he would ever want. At the very least, if things don't work out, he can say honestly he's fought tooth and nail. Maybe that kind of committed failure and futile fighting is even more pathetic than simply submitting, but at least it brings him some personal satisfaction, for however long that lasts.
Shivering against the dropping temperature, he couldn't help thinking he should've made that damn dragon more useful and had it make him a torch, though it might not have turned out to be a great help anyway. All the same, and as tempted as he was to just lie down in the snow and let himself freeze, reaching a fire back at Viggo's camp sounded absolutely divine.
Thankfully, it wasn't out of sight much longer, though still felt miles off compared with his frozen legs. Maybe it would've been quicker to catch some kind of ride from the beast to here. It might've solved a great many problems he was suffering right now.
Then again maybe jumping off that ledge further back would've solved just as many.
Or maybe drowning himself in the frozen ocean ahead. He was already so damn numb he'd probably be dead in seconds and not even notice it.
Scoffing at his own full-circle thoughts, more in frustration at how unobtainable he was sure it'd be, he trudged along down the slope towards the encampment and ships, half-sliding down it. He couldn't help wondering if the Fury and rider had followed him the entire way, glancing over his shoulder and squinting.
He was almost certain he'd seen a sleek black shape moving, but among the network of bare branches and tree trunks against pale sky, it was hard to be sure. It was soon enough forgotten as he approached the edge of camp, set up around the entrance of a cave where they'd properly set up residence for the time being.
He couldn't say he was happy at all to see the posted guards as he approached.
"Well look what the Nightmare dragged in," one sneered, brandishing a spear at him.
He met their squinting eyes with a glare and a scoff, but didn't otherwise rebel when one grabbed him tightly by the upper arm, wrenching it upwards.
"Thought the dragon might've eaten you. Shame that it didn't... heard you turned another wild beast loose on the hunting party. I wonder what the boys will have t' say about that now that you've come slinking back?"
Faulklin remained impassive under the threat, having known already to expect that. Besides, he wasn't concerned with small-fry with small brains.
"I want to see Viggo."
"Oh, I bet y'would."
Nice teeth, Faulklin couldn't help mentally chirping, unimpressed. I've seen much bigger.
"Guess its sad for you then that Viggo's got more important matters to deal with than-"
"Than a Night Fury?" Faulklin interrupted, satisfied to see the man's expression turn. "I'll be sure to let him know you thought a highly rare, valuable prize unworthy of his attention. I do wonder how much of a financial loss that beast would be. What do you think?"
Suspicious looks followed. "What're you playin' at?"
"A business deal," Faulklin told him shortly. "Viggo is a businessman, isn't he?"
The guard went to open his mouth, but the devil himself cut in first.
"And what sort of business deal might that be?"
Good, now Faulklin didn't have to deal with placating the nobodies. It would be even nicer if the guard would let his arm go.
"Hello, Faulklin," Viggo greeted, his own dark eyes wondering. "Always good to see you come crawling back from the end of your leash."
"Can't very well bite the hand holding it by going the other way," Faulklin snarked in return, meeting the man's eyes with a spark of passive defiance.
"I see the cold has done nothing to numb your sarcasm." Viggo chuckled in the back of his throat and motioned inside. "Why don't you come inside. If you turn any whiter I'm afraid you'll vanish against the snow."
The guard clutching his arm growled testily, tightening his grip a little before finally letting go. Faulklin was sure to give the side of his knee a sharp stomp as he passed and was sure to pick up his pace enough to be out of reach by the time they whirled to make a grab. Likely it didn't escape Viggo's attention, but then Viggo doesn't have very high opinions of his underlings enough to care, so long as it doesn't interfere with his obtaining of coin.
Even before reaching the hearths inside, it was much warmer being out of the snow and wind, and he was starting to regret feeling returning to his limbs already. Still, the fires inside were alluring enough to ignore it, sitting near the flames and disregarding any chairs. With how light his head was feeling, he'd probably just face-plant off of one anyway, and he already had enough burn scars to speak of without that.
"So do correct me if I heard wrong, but did you say it was indeed a Night Fury you had run across?" Viggo chipped in, taking a seat at a table nearby.
"Solid black as night and blasted off shots faster than any arrow. Unless you know of anything like that that isn't a Night Fury-" Faulklin faltered slightly at an involuntary yawn, "its the only thing it could be."
Viggo hummed thoughtfully. "Yes... well now that you mention it, I did receive a curious report from the returning party. I simply wasn't sure exactly what to believe. Hard to say exactly what my men saw when you're involved." Faulklin didn't need to hear it to know of the unspoken distrust in the claim, but Viggo was waiting for him to fill in the details himself.
"It sprung out of hiding while we were checking traps." It wasn't a lie after all. "I got the Hel out of there before it could punch me full of holes. Can't say the same for the rest of the idiots, but then I didn't stick around long enough to find out."
"Entirely on purpose, I'm sure."
Faulklin didn't humor his call-out with a response.
"It came after me again," Faulklin continued. "I ended up falling through into a narrow ice cave where it couldn't fit, ripped my back open on the way down, stumbled my way back here."
That's it. Short and simple.
"Strange, to me, that you wouldn't just let the beast eat you," Viggo humored. "Seems to me more like a... well, a Faulklin thing to do."
Faulklin scoffed, having already known Viggo would challenge the integrity of his story. "I would've if the damn thing could've reached me."
Viggo smirked at the audible vexation dripping from his voice. "Pity things didn't work out for you then."
"Its not important," Faulklin harrumphed, tucking his arms to his chest and curling into his knees. "If its winter, the Fury probably lives around here. I could find where its hiding."
"A trade, is it? That dragon's freedom for yours?" Again with that humoring tone.
"You think your stupid henchmen are going to be able to catch the damn thing?" He cocked a brow in Viggo's direction.
"Catch it, perhaps... finding it may be another matter, though I'm sure we'll manage somehow."
Gods damn him. He knows Viggo is aware of far too much about dragons for anyone to have a good chance of getting the upper hand. Still, Faulklin has one thing others don't.
"Yes, but can they talk to one like I can and get it to come quietly? How many resources would go to waste in someone else's hands?" Viggo was making himself appear far too interested in a Maces and Talons piece, pretending disinterest. "Exactly how much has your expenses in wrangling equipment gone down since I've been here again?"
"Hm... about as much as our expenses in healing remedies and new hire costs have gone up I'd imagine."
Faulklin rolled his eye.
"You've done more than break even. Otherwise why am I still here?" After all, Viggo doesn't tolerate a blow to his business unless the benefit outweighs the loss. "Something that rare should be plenty enough of a trade for one pitiful thrall."
Viggo laughed under his breath. "You see, that is what I like about you." He's genuinely smiling. Faulklin hates that smile more than any other. "All of that wit, stubbornness, and strategies are matched only by the level of your self-depreciation." He paused deliberately. "Well, that and my own intellect and experience, but that's beside the point, isn't it?"
Faulklin rolled his eye again humorlessly, to which Viggo has a quip about getting stuck that way for. It takes all of his willpower not to humor him with another.
"You use your usefulness as a bargaining chip, yet when it comes down to it, you don't really believe in that usefulness... or rather, you don't want me to believe in it, and its value."
"I could make it a damn lot bigger of a hindrance if I want," Faulklin warned.
"You could also find yourself at the bottom of the sea."
"Good," Faulklin barked. "It'd be about damn time."
Viggo appeared to ponder both further, before turning his sights back to the boy. "Alright, assuming you can get this Fury to me, and with minimal damage, perhaps I will indeed consider it. However, it is the results that matter, so you'd best see to it that the results are favorable."