Hi everyone! A warning; the line forming to kill Hiccup must start behind the sprayed white line …
Berkian Eddur - 2
Winter in Líf's Holt
Chapter 17 - Uprooting
I give you this to take with you: Nothing remains as it was. If you know this, you can begin again, with pure joy in the uprooting.
― Judith Minty
This is amazing…
Hiccup hadn't seen this much sun on a Winter's day in Berk for many years. Even the summer was dotted with rainclouds and hail, sometimes, getting disgruntled farmers to scramble for the woven cloths to cover their crops.
But to have one in Winter was almost impossible. It was almost like a boon from the gods.
"WOOOHOOO!" he yelled as Toothless, feeling his own elation at finally, finally being in the air again, began to whirl and twirl in the sky. Hiccup spread his arms, letting the cool wind hit him and resisting the urge to let himself slip off the saddle as Toothless let out repeated blasts of elated fire at the sparse clouds around them. "The sea stacks! Bud, remember, the last time we were there, we almost died! Let's do that again!"
Toothless gave an enthusiastic screech and off they were, whizzing past rock formations and being bathed in freezing sea foam as they passed a hair's breadth away from the raging waves.
Another enthusiastic whoot escaped him once they were clear of the rocks, pointed towards the open sea and the dotted tiny islands that surrounded Berk. Toothless first barrel rolled, then began to korkscrew, making Hiccup laugh. As they approached another sea stack, Hiccup finally gave in to the temptation, warned Toothless and jumped off, running a few steps on the vertical surface of the rock before he launched himself back onto his battle-brother's saddle, who gave a screechy laugh at Hiccup's 'oomph', but who levelled his flight obligingly until Hiccup could hitch himself back in properly.
"Oh bud, you have no idea how much I missed this!" he exclaimed, his voice bubbling in unashamed excitement. "I've wanted to be out here with you for an untold forever! You just have no idea how boring it is to listen to all that and having to pretend you're interested when all I wanted to do was grab an updrift with you!"
Toothless gave a warble. His wings swept upwards with just enough force to nudge Hiccup's shoulder in a double tap.
"I know, you were with me the whole time. But you could fall asleep, you lazy lizard. I certainly couldn't put my face in my hands and snore!" A snort. "Though I wanted to, yes!"
Toothless gave a triumphant croon at the admissions and spiralled upwards, diving into cotony clouds gathering in the limpid blue sky. With a cry, the overjoyed dragon let himself fall backwards and they were once again spiralling down, going as fast as the wind before they righted themselves and raised two waves of water around them in their flight strength. The dragon and his boy both laughed in elation as the drops glittered in the sun like diamonds, making the air they were flying through smell salty, fresh and free.
"Gods be praised," Hiccup sighed, letting himself fall back on Toothless, who seemed to take it as as sign that cruising was in order and opened his wings wide searching for an updrift. As soon as he found it, both of them were drifting lazily upwards, keeping a steady pace and rise while unhurriedly taking in their surroundings.
"I've missed you, bud," Hiccup said in a murmur, knowing his friend's hearing was acute enough to pick it up. Toothless promptly gave a sad warble that meant the same. "I'm sorry it's been so long since we could do this. Between the leg and …"
He sighed, the worries of solid ground beginning to creep up on him again. His leg wasn't healing fast enough; stupid thing. He suspected it was his natural and lucky resistance to infection that was keeping him from landing in bed with a high fever. Still, he had to get Toothless to do the painful thing again. Hopefully it would go after two, not like some of the more stubborn sores that had graced his rear end after days and days in-saddle.
Not to mention, he knew the best way to let it heal was to stay off it. Astrid would probably insist on it when he showed it to her. Then instead of in the sky, he'd be stuck in that stupid, musty and ill-lit hall after The Thing. Toothless would get restless, he would get restless, Astrid would be her beautiful irresistible self, and they'd have to talk, and he'd have to tell her about Sepha, and she may leave…
"Aaarrgh!" He screamed into the sky above him. Toothless underneath him rippled with a start and then grumbled at him. "Sorry, bud. It's just that I used to be able to forget things while we were in the sky. Now I can't seem to anymore. It's like they followed me up here." His dragon gave a sigh and dove slightly, Hiccup's thighs holding on tight as his dragon found another updrift. He crooned, and lifted his head to look at Hiccup as the boy sat up. "I know, Toothless, I'm sorry. It's just, so many things… I thought I had it bad when I was alone and it was live or die, but now there is so much happening, and I just can't seem to …"
Hiccup looked around him disconsolately. the limpid blue sky, some clouds gathering here and there. The northern sea, grey and ever choppy, the gulls calling and sea birds flying this way and that. The salt in the air and sun on his skin, even through the helmet. He wanted all this back; it used to bring him peace of mind and a quiet sort of joy that he would then use to face his problems, solvable or unsolvable. But it seemed that now, even this little nook of his, this place that had only ever been him and Toothless, was being taken away.
He felt that he was suffocating, even though he was surrounded by miles and miles of nothing.
With a sigh and a slump in his shoulders, Hiccup grabbed hold of the reigns, cranking them into position and bending over them to increase Toothless' speed. His dragon brother warbled, giving a questioning glance with his talkative eyes.
"We really should get to it, bud. We've wasted …" he looked up at the sky, "... almost an hour, wow. It feels like I just blinked and we were just taking off. You still have the trail, right?" he asked, somewhat with belated worry. Toothless scoffed at him, and Hiccup relaxed with a half-chuckle as they set themselves on the right course and began zipping across the water, Berk's murky shores falling farther and farther behind. They'd been racing for another two hours, trying to make up for lost time, before they spoke again.
"Bud, do you know what's going on? Why they all left?" he said, head close to his dragon's as they whizzed forward. "In all that, I never got the chance to ask you."
Toothless gave a nod, though he seemed distracted as his eyes began whipping left and right.
"What happened, did you lose the-" He sat up straighter as Toothless slowed down, and then he heard a noise that made him sit up very straight with dread and worry. "Shit!"
Thunder. Strong, wide, deadly, like the sounds of a crashing tree. Thick, roiling clouds were quickly climbing the horizon towards them, a spout already beginning to reach down in a twirling cone towards the sea. Lightning spread across the black mass in a silver web, the noise following it almost deafening. With hurried fingers, Hiccup quickly flung his helmet off, knowing all too well how Thor loved to play tag with metal - it made sense that he would try to mould it to his liking, being the divine blacksmith. But it had consequences he did not want to think about when human - or dragon - flesh got in the god's way of perfecting the metal to whatever shape he desired.
"Bud, it's heading straight for us!" Hiccup hissed, angry at himself for dallying, angry at himself for not noticing the signs of a storm before, angry at himself for so many things as the first strong gusts of wind began buffeting them left and right. Toothless could break a wing in this wind. He could lose a wing. That was never, ever happening to his brother.
"Toothless!" he called as a particularly strong gale almost sent them spiralling. A freezing rain began driving down on top of them, water dripping into his eyes and making his semi-chilled fingers slip from the reigns as more and more lightning strikes began to circle them like hungry wolves. The compass on his wrist rattled and caught his eye, a dangerously close stroke of lightning illuminating its direction even as it made his teeth itch and his hair stand on end.
"Toothless, we're close to our island! Gods preserve us - get down, get down!" he yelled, head close to his dragons as he became nearly blind between the constant alternating white flashes and dense darkness of clouds, the water on his face and in his mouth and electrified air smelling of blood and burned water. Toothless folded his wings, and Hiccup loudly begged for mercy from Thor, who was obviously riding this very cloud above him, asking him for their safe deliverance as their increasing speed of descent made lightning beams race after them.
Thor must have listening. He did give playful, horrible, cruel chase, but he never did point his lightning directly at them. It was always just to the right, or just to the left, and when Toothless and he manouvered for landing, they'd no sooner touched the earth of their tiny island that a tree was struck not five feet from them. Hiccup fell off his saddle, feeling breathless and faint on weak knees at how close the gods' patience and deliverance had come.
"Thank you, Thor," he whispered, and an answering deep gurgle of thunder seemed to be a pleased laugh; almost like one of his father's too strong shoulder pats, that sent him reeling or outright tumbling arse-over-teakettle.
Toothless gave a disconsolate warble, terrified himself and feeling vulnerable and cold out in the rain.
"Come on, bud, let's see how the old place took the last few months of Winter," he said, standing on wobbly legs with the dragon's help and heading with a clipping pace driven by the sleeted downpour up the warn, suddenly unfamiliar path of his home for the past five years.
When he undid the latch and walked in, he almost got the feeling of having just woken up from a dream.
Dream. Nightmare. Dream. He wasn't sure yet.
He was shivering, and Toothless beside him was whining in that way that told Hiccup that he was in danger of getting too cold. Dragons were magnificent but strange creatures; Toothless could sit out in the snow for weeks, even enjoy it. But if he was out in the rain for more than a little while, he ran the risk of losing his fire, and that, for any fire-breathing dragon, was very, very dangerous. Once their belly got too cold, they would die.
With quick efficiency born of the alarm Toothless' whining brought on, Hiccup ignored his own pervasive trembling and got into the well-known routine: latch the door. Fit the padding around the cracks to keep all the warmth in. The blanket in the corner - wipe Toothless down with it, quickly, quickly! Take his metal rigging off, as fast as possible - it was too cold against his scales. Pile the firewood - fuck! It was mouldy, fuck - break the chair, pile it up - grab the broom and clear the chimney - damn birds and their damn nests.
"Come on, bud, you know you can do this." Hiccup cajoled, rubbing his friend's scaly belly with numb fingers. Toothless gave a whining shiver, but Hiccup's scratching and rubbing fingers seemed to be keeping him focused, so he took a deep breath, and after a few failed attempts, managed to breathe fire onto the wood, which kindled right away under the intense flame. Hiccup breathed a sigh of relief as he slumped against Toothless' side, finally realising how badly he was trembling.
"Great, now I know the gods hate me. It's going to be so easy to do things with sausage fingers," he sighed, teeth chattering as he just knew that he was going to get the worse case of frostbite ever. He held his hands over the fire, and it felt like torture as the mild temperature of the flames were like a hot, melted iron against his still-frozen, semi-unresponsive hands.
There weren't any leaks, and that he was grateful for. He'd spent three weeks, from sun-up to sun-down, patching the old place up before he'd shut it up to go smith Thuggory's axes. He'd hoped he could stay on Freezing, but he'd never had any guarantees so he'd learned to be prepared for everything he could think of.
With the freezing cold, the wound on his leg felt like a knife pointed upwards into his stump. With a groan, he limped towards his small pantry, taking out all the preserves he'd - luckily - forgotten there when he'd come to retrieve his belongings and the sheep. He'd meant to bring them back too, give them to Astrid to add to their Winter stock in her well-managed kitchen. It was lucky that he hadn't; he had cheese that had kept well, salted mutton and some dried fish for Toothless. The milk had frozen solid, but he suspected that it had gone sour anyway. The butter had almost turned into cheese with the cold. Some of the whale fat had festered, but the rest of it was still intact, preserved by the undoubtedly subzero temperatures that took over the shut-up hut.
He brought the lot beside the fire, and then belatedly remembered that he had packed supplies himself. After undoing his prosthetic and exposing his stump to the warming fire, he took off some of his armour and reached back for his pack. He took out the fresh bread and biscuits, and melting some ice hanging on the shelves from previous leaks, he rinsed a skillet and put it on the flames.
Very soon, the hut was awash in the sizzling of warmed fat, the smell of cooking mutton and butter making it seem like just another day on just another desolate Winter storm he and Toothless were facing together.
Hiccup looked around, realising for the first time how much he'd missed this hut. This was his; his space, a corner of the vast, wide world that he'd claimed for himself and his battle-brother. Toothless curled up around the fire, licking his lips at the warming fish as they dripped ice, Hiccup resting against his belly with feet pointed towards the every-warming flames. His shivers had abated, and his stomach gave a gurgle as he turned the now succulent meat over in the skillet. The hut was well built, but small - nothing near the hall his father had on Berk, so it warmed quickly, and the walls covered in deer and bear pelt kept the temperature from escaping through the wood. The warm glow of the fire illuminated the interior, now sparsely decorated, but usually covered in the bits and bobs he'd accumulated on his travels. He'd left some of the things here - partly in view of the very tiny living space he had back on Berk, and partly because he had always planned to come back here. Keep it as the comfortable bachelor's pad it was, a home away from home if things got too much, an escape to tranquility or a safe house, a stop-station he could rely on during a long journey.
The winds howled around the hut's walls, and Toothless moved anxiously, getting closer to the fire as he always did. Hiccup changed the skillet to the other hand to give his head a comforting pat, and Toothless settled down.
And suddenly, he was Cattongue again. Alone in the world, with no worry of Thing or Berk or expectation or engagement. It was him, his brother, his hut, and nothing else - their only worry was tomorrow, what they were going to eat, where they were going to fly.
He was so close to it that he could taste it. Freedom. Freedom. Just step outside after the storm, get onto Toothless' saddle. Pack everything he had not yet taken from this place, and go.
Thunder crashed and wind rattled the walls, the lightning and drafts unable to penetrate their cosy little home.
No one would be anything the wiser. Even if Thug came here or brought people here to check, no one really knew what he owned except him, and a barren hut would only mean that he'd taken everything back to Berk last time he'd been here. Berk would think he'd died in the storm, caught by those terrible tendrils of chasing fiery light instead of escaping with the grace of Thor. He'd be free to go East, or West. Or South - back deep, far, South; maybe this time he'd see the desert he'd only heard about. Pass the endless, scalding grains through his fingers. He waved his tingling fingers over the fire, imaging the hot granules escaping his grip. Would it be a different colour to the sand on Berk, which was rocky and ash-grey? They said it shone golden, hot beyond any measure and browning or burning the skin of the unwary who ventured in it without due cover.
Toothless gave a snort behind him, and a slight shiver, so Hiccup blinked out of his imagined free, long, glorious journey. The meat inside the skillet had begun to brown, and he wiped a knife on his trousers to cut it open, the juices making his mouth water. He took it off the fire and reached across, grabbing their two assigned blankets in well rutted routines that needed no thought.
Snuggling under the covers, Toothless wolfing down his fish and toasting happily under the black bear pelt, shiny green eyes heavy; Hiccup blowing on his food and eating with his mouth open in his impatience to let it cool; he suddenly felt like himself again. He was Cattongue, able to travel through anything and anywhere, deal with almost every situation so long as Toothless was beside him. The pain in his leg even felt reduced as he felt himself drift off with a smile, his belly warm and full, and his mind full of golden sand, rich merchandise and hole-in-the wall places only he knew that could remain his, and that he was obliged to share with no one if he did not want to.
=0=
"Is everyone inside?" Stoick yelled, herding the stream of Vikings into the Great Hall. Even though the guests numbered only a few, considering, the Great Hall was already feeling more packed than usual. Astrid counted sheep heads with Mulch and the other farmers, bringing them to a tally before she shot to make sure all the remaining dragons were enclosed beside their owners as well. Adderbite, an older wild nadder who had stayed behind with very few others, gave a gargle as she passed by, and she paused to pat her.
"Hey girl," she murmured, her voice reedy and light as she stroked her distractedly, that ever growing ball of apprehension threatening to eat her whole.
They were herding people into the Hall because this storm looked like it was one which would take lives and halls indiscriminately. No doubt, there would be some unroofed halls, some broken or buried property. Hopefully no deaths - well, save Mildew, all the way back there. Nobody knew where he was unless he turned up here, and frankly nobody cared a whit. Not after how he'd tried to bad-mouth Hiccup last week, and he'd been boo'd out of the Hall covered in rotten shark. It had given her a thrill of victory she didn't think she would experience for someone else's sake, but Hiccup'd been in the arena with the chiefs and their heirs, and she hadn't yet gotten up the courage to go into a full-blown retelling of it; she feared she would fall into gushing a little too quickly.
Her chest gave another massive twist and her stomach churned like she was going to be sick. The wind howling around the hall like a passing ghoel, screaming and disconsolate, a soul of the dead lost at sea and never to receive proper burial.
With that thought, it finally became too much. Grabbing Adderbite and an emergency harness, she directed her towards the tower-sized doors of the hall, her other hand grasping the half-finished figure of Thor's great hammer hanging from her neck.
He had to come back. He had to receive his hammer amulet. He had to give her back her own. Belatedly she realised that if he were lost, he would take the symbol of her waiting vigil with him; as if freeing her from their arrangement. The thought sent another wave of twisted emotions through her, like freezing water through the cracks in rock, jagged and cold; impossibly, endlessly circular.
Stoick was just about to push the doors shut when she managed to drift through the people streaming in, her dragon in close tow as they moved through the crowds.
"I'm going to see if there's anyone left," she lied by way of escaping. Stoick gave her a stern look.
"You'll do no one any good as it is. It's too late now - whoever's left is hunkered down and waiting for dawn tomorrow even though dawn was three hours ago."
"I have to try!" she said back, ignoring him and moving towards the oak.
"Lass," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder, and for a second, the hard, granite chief facade cracked along with his voice. "I can't let you go out there to look for him. It's too late to do that now."
"I know," she replied, and it was her turn for her voice to wobble. She shouldn't have been going through the foolish, useless, selfish act of clearing up half the room when she'd not even asked. She should have been out there, by the docks. Then she would have noticed the storm - she would have - on time, she would have known that he was in danger, she would have flown out there, caught up with him, brought him back before the worse of it hit Berk.
He'd be here in the Hall with her, worried sick about those departed dragons and lamenting Thor's timing to go out to play when he needed to get things done.
"I'm not going after him," she reiterated when Stoick did not seem about to balk. "But I, I have to go out there, I …" she gripped her half-finished pendent, almost as if it could replace her necklace as a tangible link to him. He was out there, being buffeted by the winds. How was she going to explain the irrational desire to face the wind with him, even if it was from miles away, or the illogical urge to pray, pray there, as if the prayer would reach the gods sooner or stronger if she was at her shrine instead of the Hall. "Please Stoick, I need to do this!"
"You're going to your shrine, lass?" Stoick asked gently, and she was taken aback, finding herself blushing at him knowing of something so private and intimate. "I followed you once. I was worried about you, and …" he shrugged, almost sheepishly. His mannerisms in that moment had so much of Hiccup in them that she thought she would cry. She bit her lip with all her strength until the pain made the lump blocking her nose and throat go away.
"I need to pray, Stoick," was all she could get out of her mouth, looking at him with all the earnestness she could muster between the choking panic rising in the pit of her belly and the terrible, throbbing echo of that all-encompassing feeling of her chest, brewing and boiling in her lower belly.
"Well, the gods seem to hear you, lass. That's kept him safe all these years… go," he grumbled, opening the door slightly before pausing. "But I know my boy by now - there's more in him than I thought; than anyone thought. He will survive this, and more so with your prayers, lass. But mind he does not come back to a Berk empty of you." The large, meaty hand hadn't left her shoulder yet, and he gripped it comfortingly. "He wouldn't survive that."
Astrid tried not to think of Hiccup not surviving. He always survived. She would cut her hair off and offer it to the gods if it meant he survived.
"That spot of yours is facing south. The winds should be mild - but you're mostly surrounded by trees except for the ledge where the rocks are," he went on, and she blushed further at his obviously intimate knowledge of her praying spot. How often had he gone? Had he prayed himself? Her chest felt simultaneously warmer and jumbled. "So beware the lightning. Thor's certainly in that cloud today." Stoick suddenly gave a wry laugh. "Knowing my son, he may even have stopped to say hi. That boy could make friends with the Aesir and survive."
Astrid found the image frightful - she ducked out as soon as Stoick opened the door enough for Adderbite to pass. He stopped her at the last moment.
"Here!" he took off his fur cloak, curled its heaviness around her shoulders. "It's one of his." She didn't know if it was real or not with the strong winds swinging her body, but she caught the ghost of his scent coming from it. "Don't forget your promise!" he yelled after her as she moved on, his normally booming voice weak and reedy as the howling gales ate it up. Adderbite folded her wings against her body tightly, and followed her into the rain. It was freezing, her cheeks going numb in seconds, her exposed head getting soaked through until she pulled the cloak to cover it, but she didn't care. Adderbite could endure it because she was a nadder, and her fire was hotter than any other, and Astrid could endure it because she had to.
She could remember many times in her life when she'd been afraid. No, not only afraid. Terrified. Astrid had been utterly and completely terrified of dragons, the very sight of them sending a freezing coil up her spine. But she'd responded to it the same way she had been taught - like a Viking. Woman up, grab a weapon and fly at it. And if it hasn't killed you by the end, then you are a lucky one. You can live to be utterly terrified again next time.
And likewise, she was terrified now, albeit for completely different reason. Her Hiccup was out there, fighting this storm sent from Niflheim with Thor riding its winds. Night furies were being born tonight as Thor coupled with Hel in the furious embrace of ice and sleet.
She dashed towards their hall, barred up with the usual efficiency of routine, and then she raced past it, her breath coming short from the cold rather than the effort, and into the tree-line. They offered some shelter, but not much, as they swayed about like tormented servants of the Lady of the Underworld, the wind giving them the voices of those she tricked and tortured.
This terrified was completely different. Even with Adderbite beside her, she was alone out here against the jostling, battling gods. And even more, even more, her Hiccup was alone out there, between skies of thunder and deadly churning seas, and this time she was really terrified. She was afraid like she'd never been in her life.
By the time she arrived at the shrine, her fur cloak was slightly damp. Stoick had been right, and the shrine was drenched, the various figures of Mjolnir clicking insistently against the rocks at intermittent intensity as the wind came and went. Even though the wind was not directly facing them, the ledge was high up enough not to have any shelter, and her step almost faltered when she stepped out of the tree's protection. Adderbite kept her up with a nose, but then sat down, fearing her great bulk would drive her over the stone's edge. The dragon couldn't fly with these winds, and she didn't fit on the small ledge that the rock shrine was on anyway. Astrid crawled to it on hand and knee, grabbing one of the stones in hand to steady herself, her other hand grasping at the carving hanging from her neck.
The sea crashed deafeningly just below her, the howls of the wind swaying the tree tops so much more clearly now that she could see them from the outside. Even seated, with all her body weight and progressively wetter pelt holding her down, she still felt the cold hands of the gale pushing her, as if seeing if they could test her purchase on the cliff and tip her over. The sea was looking like a violent cauldron, dashing against the rocks and foaming at the mouth, waiting to devour anything. The air was foggy with the rain, the visibility murky and sodden.
She felt a new sort of terror when she imagined being on dragon-back in the middle of this. On a dragon with the wingspan that Toothless had.
"Oh great Odin's ghost," she whimpered, resting against the wet rocks of her shrine mound, pressing the fist containing the pendent between the rocks and her belly churning worse than the sea. "Oh Great Mother. Oh Freya, please, please," she begged, not sure what she was praying for anymore. She wanted so, so many things. To keep him alive, to keep him safe and sound, to save him from injury and pain. She wanted to beg the gods to bring him back to her, right in that moment, to miraculously make a black speck appear on the horizon that would grow larger and larger, until it was him and Toothless, somehow safely back.
The rain beat heavily on the ground around her and her pelt covering, daggers of water beginning to penetrate the bear fur as it saturated, and soaking into her clothes. She couldn't care less as she realised how hopeless it was for a man and a dragon, no matter which man and dragon, caught far out of Berk and upon open seas in this maelstrom of destruction. The sea took over her belly, the waves of emotion hitting the rocks of rational certainty in her body, knowing that there was no way he could survive this, and underneath the pelt, with the wind still trying to grab her knees and ankles, her tears joined the raindrops as she sobbed into her shrine, her thoughts jumbled up until her prayers were only a flood of emotion she directed towards the gods.
She flinched when Adderbite warbled, and turned around expecting something horrible to have happened, only to see her dragon shooting a stream of fire onto the ground around her, forming a circle in the wet grass that ignited only because it was nadder fire. Astrid suddenly could feel her toes again, when she had not realised they had become numb, and she began shuddering insistently. Adderbite looked at her sternly, then spewed another stream of fire right in front of her clawed feet and opened her wing.
"Adderbite," she begged, her voice barely carrying past her mouth. Her hands grasped the shrine, barely feeling the stone under her palm, as if letting the stones go meant letting go of Hiccup's hand as he drowned. "I can't!"
The dragon gave an angry growls and fluttered her one extended wing more insistently. Everything inside Astrid said that she should move, that she was going to freeze to death if she didn't get beside the dragon. The warmth from the flames Adderbite had put around her was already dying, and Astrid's toes were once again fading from existence.
Hiccup wouldn't want to come back to a one-legged, no-toed wife, perhaps?
But even as she tried to crawl away, her palm wouldn't leave the rocks. For some reason, the feeling that if she left that rock, if her palm lifted from the slick stone surface, all would be lost, was so very strong.
Adderbite finally solved her dilemma as she grabbed Astrid in her mouth, her teeth almost digging into skin as she tugged her back and then dumped her under her wing. Astrid's cloak came open, the little warmth still trapped there escaping, and her beautiful Brisinga popped out of its holster with the strength of her landing.
The moment the axe skidded away, Astrid was scrambling for it. She grabbed its hilt, planting it into the earth to help herself stand in the gale, but Adderbite jolted her back and tucked her into her body.
Lightning hit Brisinga, the light dancing in thin, silver-like fingers across the surface as if it were caressing the beautiful axe. The beam of burning light travelled up and down the axe and metal-covered handle, into the scorching earth, and then exited in two beams on either side, hitting a tree on the right and the rain and air on the left.
The tree gave an alarming groan. Adderbite squaked in warning, curling her wing with Astrid underneath as the tree began tilting this way and that on unsteadily buried roots, the wind driving it to oscillate like a giant tottering in its step, an ice-giant just felled by Thor where it stood.
There was a crack first, a deafening one that echoed even above the howls of the storm. Then there was a series of much smaller cricks and crocks, but then, finally, there was a massive break, sounding almost like a report of thunder, a last imprecation of the ice-giant cursing Thor into the mouth of Jormungandr.
Then it tilted, slowly at first, as if it was just someone leaning on a door jamb, or a ledge, with clods of earth rising like bile from a monster's stomach as the roots came away in tendrils. Then quickly, quickly, coming down like a shot - like a night fury, with a massive din of more cracks and snaps that the wind carried about like so many pieces of the tree, leaves and branches and splinters the size of her arms splitting off as it hit other trees on the way down.
A scream of fear tore itself out of Astrid as she watched it coming down, seemingly directly on top of them. Adderbite was curled around her, but Astrid could not move her eyes away, nor could she make her body run or drag her dragon with her. The tree branches flailed as it careened towards the ground, and then Astrid screamed because it seemed to be headed, dead center, towards her shrine.
"No! No, hit me!" she screamed at it as she pushed herself standing, as if she could change its course with her voice. The tree hit the ground with a noise that made her ears ring, and Adderbite dragged her back even though she was trying to move forward. Branches were obscuring everything as they bounced with the impact, and then the trunk itself rebounded, pulling the branches up behind it and then under it as it rolled. Astrid watched, open mouthed, as it bounced right over her shrine as if it were by design, and landed once again right behind it. The rain-soft ground gave, and for a terrifying moment Astrid thought the tree was going to take the ledge with it, shrine and all. But it was, miraculously, still attached to the soil by some roots. It stuck fast, branches and leaves, twisted and mostly burned getting caught between the torque of the flat ground and the slightly higher ledge it had been wedged under.
The howling gale seemed to be silent in comparison to the incredible noise and impact the falling tree had made. The storm still screamed on, creating chaos and havoc. The branches of the fallen tree waved to and fro, seeming about to be ripped at any moment, but it held.
Her shrine now had a crown of twisted branches and leaves behind it when before it used to jut out into the sea. They waved about, as if to complement the noise of clicking wooden Mjolnir figures tied to the shrine. Brisinga was still embedded into the charred soil, standing erect right in front of the rocks and tree.
Astrid let herself sit down slowly as she looked at it, Adderbite sheltering her and preening at her worriedly. Her shrine had been … saved.
"The gods … the gods be praised," she said in a voice she almost didn't recognise through the layer of tear-rasp and screamed fear. Trembling terribly, her body quaking beyond her control, Astrid let Adderbite gather her up against her warm belly, shooting fire at a relatively drier patch of earth, creating a cocoon under her wing. The bear skin - one of his - was soaking, but still somehow provided enough warmth when Adderbite held her wing over it. And Astrid just let herself laugh, putting her head under her dragon's wing joint as the wind continued, the rain never stopped pouring, but Brisinga kept smoking as if it were incense to evoke the gods' mercy, and now her shrine had a tree protecting it.
"Please, Frigga, Freya, please," she murmured, holding tightly onto her pendent. "You know what it is to lose a husband. Don't let him suffer like Oddr and Odin. Please. Bring him home."
Adderbite curled around her more tightly; the storm raged on; but Astrid never moved, not until Stoick came for her himself, lifting her up and taking her to the Hall, where she only half-remembered the hot ale and warm compresses on her hands and feet.
The gods had protected her shrine. Thor himself had given it a cradle, like a nest to keep it safe. It had to be a sign, it had to be. She fell asleep clutching her - his - pendant, ignoring all the cries and protestations around her to stay awake.
=0=
When he awoke, the storm was still raging. The winds rattled the wooden walls around him, jolting him awake with a snort and blinking eyes. The comfortable warmth of his pelt covers was disrupted by the jarring cold of the air inside the hut, and he realised the fire had gone out. Using some of the burned oils at the bottom of his skillet, which had somewhat solidified in the near-frigid temperatures, he helped the flame back up, throwing in more kindling and watching the fledgling fire take life again. The room smelt mustier than yesterday, whatever mold had taken hold of the chair burned and became part of the room's closed up stillness.
Thunder and lightning continued to roar and rumble outside, Thor apparently deciding to take a good long vacation with a brawl-party. Those poor ice-giants were getting their arses wiped, with all the pieces of them falling from the sky in snow and sleet.
"Hey, bud," he mumbled, rubbing his still sleep-blurry eyes. Toothless gave a snorty moan and blinked one eye open. The pink tongue sneaked out, licking at his nose, then giving Hiccup's hand a swipe. "Eck, thanks for that."
He looked around the room, trying to remember things above his tired, muzzy brain. He was in his home. Had he really been to Berk? Was he really welcome back there, liked - except for a few glares here and there for the thing with Astrid - and engaged to Astrid.
No, no that was so stupid. It had been a dream…
But then his leg gave a twinge. He uncovered it, and the missing bits weren't there. So it's all true, it's all really happening. He has people back on Berk waiting for him.
He has her back on Berk, waiting.
He had no idea how much time had passed; it could be the same day, the following night, or the following morning. Hiccup swallowed thickly, his insides suddenly resembling the storm outside as he remembered everything else that had happened in the past weeks. He couldn't even go back if he wanted to. He was supposed to go after the dragons. He had the whole of the archipelago waiting for news. He was trapped here, and he had all those eyes, looking for him expectantly. With worry, and hope, and maybe a bit of anger, and … gya!
He threw the covers off him, huffing a little as his breath became short and his blood rose to beat in his ears. He latched his leg on and rose, then paced along the tiny hut, feeling like those times when he'd gotten cabin fever before. Toothless eyed him worriedly.
"What should I do?" he asked the dragon, pacing around and running his hands through his hair, ignoring the pain in his stump. "What's the right thing to do? I'm still me, I'm still Hiccup the idiot. Look what I did now; got us stuck here when we're on a schedule, because I just had to go do loops in the sky with you." Toothless gave him a whine. "And you! I've been treating you so badly, sharing so little time with you! You've been beside me through … through everything!"
He slumped onto a stool, huffing in agitation and rubbing his forehead against the heel of his hand.
"Maybe I had it right before. Maybe I should just … disappear," he whispered to himself. Toothless gave a garbled growl, almost eloquent in his dissonance and disapproval. "What? What should I do? I can't keep this up much longer. I'm going nuts, and it's only been a few weeks. How am I supposed to do it all my life!" He stood up again, pacing, too restless to stay put. "Now I should just- settle down to it. Be happy about it, even! Be a dad and a husband when I don't know the first thing about either of them! Be a chief when I can't even get my own goddamn life in order! The first chance I got, I broke Astrid's heart and shat on her honour in front of all the tribes!" He kicked the stool, then he hissed and hopped around, holding his stump as it throbbed viciously. Toothless tripped him up with this tail, catching him and holding him down to his belly even as Hiccup struggled futilely to get away. "Right," he finished with a pant. "I can't even take care of my own damn body anymore, it seems."
He sighed, finally, relaxing back into Toothless' embrace as the dragon crooned comfortingly.
"I'm an idiot. I lost my temper, I'm sorry," he sighed. Toothless licked the side of his face in punishment and Hiccup just took it with a smile, wiping the drool off gamely. "You really are the best, you know, bud? I'd be really lost without you." He leaned his head back, looking at his hut's ceiling dispassionately. The wind continued to howl outside like a hungry wolf, waiting to take the next life away in its cold, dead hands.
He rolled over and sat up, turning to retrieve his saddle-bag and take stock of his provisions. The wind already sounded marginally less powerful, but he was not going to pretend that the weather this time of year was not whimsical and changeable. His own pack was good for a few days between hard biscuits and bread with preserved meat and fish. Toothless would have to share with him, but they'd eventually run out. At most, they had till tomorrow night, at which point they either dared to venture out or -
He remembered Astrid's pack, then. Almost feeling like he should wince from using it, because of his shifty and treacherous thoughts a few moments ago, he was forced to admit that he needed to know how much food they had. It could mean the difference between life and starvation.
He was hit with a memory, then. This hut had not yet existed in its final form - it had been an abandoned hunting lodge he'd just shacked up in that first year. There hadn't been time to do much save stopper up the leaks before the rains and snow came. Then they'd been stuck inside, with nearly nothing to eat.
Nothing, for however long he lived, would taste as good as those rabbits Toothless had risked his life to capture for them, out in the snow. Even with his abysmal cooking skills, they had been the difference between life and death, and nothing would ever …
Well, no, he was lying. There was Astrid's cured meat, and her fish soup. That fish soup of hers was so incredible, rich and salty in just the right quantities that his mouth watered just thinking about it.
He unlatched Astrid's pack from the saddle, opening it almost reverently. This wasn't even something she'd packed for him, this was hers, something she'd prepared for herself. Something she kept on standby that told the story of everything she thought was vital and necessary. He almost felt like a snoop, going through it like this; a large part of him was just as curious about the non-vital parts of the pack as much as the food.
There were two sleeping linens at the top, which he left folded and carefully put down on the cleanest part of the surrounding area, which happened to be Toothless' flank. He nosed the clothes, giving them a sniff and a warble when he recognised their smell.
"Yeah, this is hers," he whispered back, his voice low for reasons beyond his knowledge. There were some bandage rolls next, general ointments and salves. Next came the food, and he was pleased to see that with these provisions added to his own, he'd be able to last out the storm for four days without being able to fish. He took out the food, adding it it to his own, and then putting together the few supplies he'd scrounged from the hut.
He blushed when he looked at what came next - breast wraps and loin linen, which he piled on top of the sleeping clothes with scalded palms, trying very hard not to look suspicious to Toothless, who wasn't buying it.
"She puts those around her …" Hiccup just waved at his chest area and Toothless gave him a jeering smile. Ack, dirty-minded dragon...There were socks, leather thongs for her hair, a comb, a few tools…
At the very bottom, as if it were the thing placed first into the bag and taken everywhere, nearly forgotten about but not quite in its well kept condition, was a straw doll, almost like the one he'd made for Ætta a few weeks ago. This one wasn't as well woven, and time had worn it thin and fraying. But it almost looked like it had been oiled and varnished, as if to preserve it as long as possible. A part of it was still frayed beyond repair, and it had been tied together with a piece of knotted parchment.
He'd made this doll for her when they were children. The parchment used to knot the hole was his letter. Astrid carried both of them around with her whenever she left Berk. She hadn't had time to prepare this, not with as quickly as she'd gone in and out, and this little gem had been at the bottom anyway. He'd never had discovered it unless he were snooping.
His stomach plummeted as he thought of what he'd just been planning, what he'd really meant to do. And it was a plan that would work, too. He knew it would work, saw it stretched in front of him like a flat and open path, one he'd travelled before and could travel again.
The road leading back to Berk on the other hand seemed tortuous and winding, uphill and steep. The storm outside made a perfect backdrop for his many doubts and difficulties, and there was just not enough inside him to live up to them all.
But this doll … his history was there. His roots and his origin were there. And Astrid was there. And little Ætta too; that little rascal had burrowed her way into his chest and sat there. She owned him already.
He gathered his food, taking it toward the table he used for it to make sure they didn't trample it by mistake. The firelight cast a glow on the whole small interior, and as he put the things down, doll still in hand as he couldn't bring himself to put it down, his eyes caught sight of his old alter.
And he suddenly shuddered, feeling like a drop of freezing rain had somehow found its way through the roof board and slithered down his spine.
The road of the life he'd lived was flat and wide because it was bland. It seemed easy and straightforward because it was empty.
He remembered the feelings he used to have, praying fervently in front of that altar, to Lofn, to Freya, to the Good Mother Frigga. For love, for relief of his loneliness. For sweet smelling blonde hair and shining smiles framed by freckles.
His heart began to hammer as he realised what he'd almost contemplated, what he'd nearly done. The sky and the sea hadn't meant this sort of freedom to him - not always. They'd meant escape from the emptiness inside this hut, and inside his chest, an emptiness Toothless had not been able to plug completely. In the last few frantic months, in his really unexpected and painful return to Berk, all the feelings jumbled up and roiling in his chest had nearly eclipsed what he'd felt for years.
It had been a loneliness verging on desperation, one he'd quailled with friends and frequent visits as often as he could get away with it. Long voyages and wide travel had filled in the long Summer days when there simply was nothing else to do, nothing else of value tying him to one place or the other.
He hadn't been living; he'd been existing, waking up and breathing until he slept the next night.
"I'm a fool," he sighed to himself, running a hand on the altar. Toothless gave a sleepy groan, as if to say 'you realised only now?' and Hiccup sniggered at himself, moving towards the shelves lining the wall still containing a few nicknacks and possessions.
He spotted one he no longer needed right away. It was a leather mask with intricate design, one he had been given where he'd also gotten the trap box. You were supposed to wear it and go into a house of pleasure, so no one would know you.
He'd never gone, not really sure what he'd do with himself in a house of pleasure. Now, he'd never dream of going, not when he had someone so beautiful to be faithful to.
Another item jumped to his hand as he rifled through the shelves. It was an old knife, given to him by an old woman. She'd told him that as long as he held onto it, he would be able to attract woman. He'd bought it out of pity, but then some strange, childish hope had prevented him from throwing it out. He hadn't touched it in years, and yet Astrid seemed to have had no problem finding him agreeable in that hut.
A few more things found their way into his hand - a necklace he'd been given in exchange for goods which had come with a promise of something more if he stuck around; a woven bead bracelet he'd bought for Sepha and never given her, because she'd met her fisherman sweetheart before Hiccup could put to words the things he hoped they could have, even if they stemmed from feelings born of all the wrong reasons; a reed collar for a slave girl he'd won in a card game, and who he'd taken back home, much to her astonishment. She had been another who had offered an empty night of passion in her bed, a sort of currency of reward, rather than the warmth and care he'd always, perennially been looking for.
He'd kept these as sort of 'conquests', as reminders that he wasn't as unwanted as all that after all. They'd been little shadows of the dotted, fleeting human contacts he'd had while he searched for the solidity he'd lost.
He didn't need them anymore. Not when he had Home to return to. Not when he had Astrid, waiting there with willing, open arms. The tortuous road was the only thing that made sense. It was steep, and uphill, because otherwise it wouldn't be worthwhile. Nothing empty could ever be fulfilling.
So he moved to the fire, throwing the things that meant his empty loneliness and bachelorhood into it one after the other, thanking the gods for his chance with their offering, watching them flare up and curl in on themselves, as if feeling the pain of their demise while he got rid of the last vestiges of the last five years still clinging to him like shadows with claws.
As soon as Sepha's bracelet met the flames, his chest felt lighter. His fear of telling Astrid about her was still there, but somehow now it seemed worth it to put his heart that far on the line. He'd always known that Astrid was worth all of Midgard and the Moon besides, but in the haze of so much else, he'd sort of forgotten it.
And he'd court her. Properly. Do all the things he'd wanted to do with her, for her. He had a lifetime to make up for his mistakes.
"Well, bud," he said with a laugh as Toothless looked at him with some satisfaction. "Five years make good kindling, at least."
=0=
Brunhilda put down the hot compress, a sigh escaping her lips as Silent Sven nodded a thanks. She and the Goethi had been doing the rounds of all those who had been injured, either with debris or with the cold. Sven was the last one of a long line, his poor bald head suffering mild frostbite by the time he'd reached the hall.
She gave a sigh of relief when Sven moved away, sitting back against a column and looking over at the Goethi, who was packing her things and looking around forlornly at the high stools and sighing, no doubt missing the terrors that by now carted her everywhere. Out of all her pack, only three very young ones had been left behind, and they were too small to do anything but snooze by the large fires, half the size of an already tiny dragon.
"I'm going …" Brunhilda nodded towards the back of the hall, and the Goethi waved her off, giving her hand a pat. The Hofferson matriarch quickly gathered her own supplies and made her way towards a quieter, darker corner, where the crowds of people had been shood away to make space for her.
Astrid was lying down on a make-shift bed of sand-sacks covered in a few blankets, with coal pans and skins filled with boiling water packed around her. When Stoick had brought her in, Brunhilda had felt her blood rush down to her toes and through to Niflheim, her little girl already half-frozen and half-dead. The ice-giants had nearly gotten her, as they had no doubt devoured her future husband out there.
Her poor child, a widow before she was even a wife.
"How is she?" she asked Droplaug, who had gathered a bevy of women around her. Droplaug shook her head sadly, and Brunhilda quickly sat down.
"Her fever broke, but she's not woken yet, and she seems trapped in nightmares," the Ingermann matriarch sighed. Brunhilda bit her lip to try to keep the tears in, and Sigga patted her shoulder.
"She'll pull through," Sigga said roughly. "And that boy's lived out there for years. He knows a bad cloud when he sees one. He must have found shelter."
All the people assembled around Astrid's bed looked at each other, some seeming to take courage from Sigga's words. Brunhilda herself let herself hope a little; it was true, Hiccup wasn't little Hiccup anymore. He had survived five Winters on his own - that was the test of any man.
"Hiccup…" Astrid sighed, frowning as she turned her head and grabbed the sheets. Blood blossomed on the bandages around her fingers and Droplaug sighed. Ruffnut swore under her breath.
"Damn Astrid, always being so stubborn, even when you sleep!" the young girl hissed at her as if she could hear her while she cradled her child. The elder women pat her back, understanding her upset, as Brunhilda simply took out more medicating supplies, replacing the ointment and bandages, and then turning her daughter's head slightly to take care of her ear and face.
A flower - a snowdrop - had been frozen stuck to her ear and face, impossible to remove until they'd thawed it and leaving behind the most frightful frostbite Brunhilda had ever seen. Astrid would be forever marked with it, three petals of a snowdrop seared into the side of her face as if with fire, her left ear mottled with its leaves. It would remain a white scar for the rest of her life. Her fingers were marginally better - all of them were red and slightly swollen, but she'd lost the nail on that tiny one, the skin beginning to blacken slightly around the contours where the nail used to be. It was lucky that Stoick had found her when he did - she may have lost more than a nail if he hadn't.
"She's never done anything by halves," Ruffnut lamented. "Even when we were knee-high. Now's she's gone and earned her name even more. Idiot." She frowned, poking her shoulder as if it could wake her. "You didn't need to do all that, you were already all 'loyal' ages ago."
"Let's hope she's not loyal enough to follow him into Helheim," Glunda sighed melodramatically, and Sigga bristled at her. The old woman from Freezing had been getting on everyone's nerves, attaching herself to the leading women of Berk with the excuse of being with Heather and doing her best to make everyone detest her. She'd spoken ill of their age-tested laundry methods, insulted their child-rearing abilities and belittled their medical knowledge all within the first hour of being in the Hall.
"Lad's not dead yet," Sigga hissed, folding her arms. Brunhilda was grateful for it, because she didn't have the energy to defend her son-in-law right now. "Neither is she. My Snotlout could survive this storm in a rowing boat. Hiccup will too; he's made of Berk Stock.'
"Oh, let us hope so," Glunda replied, and Spitelout appeared just on time to hold his wife back when she appeared about to give the old hag a black eye to improve her looks.
"Stoick sent me for news," he asked Brunhilda, struggling to keep his spirited wife from going after the old woman.
"Fever's broken, but not much else," she sighed in reply. Spitelout nodded, his face settling into grim lines. "She should wake up, and she's lucky she only lost the nail of her smaller finger. The frostbite could have taken the rest of her with it if it liked the taste of it."
"She'll pull through. She's a strong one." Spitelout nodded, letting his wife go with a look before moving back towards Stoick, huddled as he was around one of the tables that he and the other chiefs had commandeered.
"Now, in the absence of Astrid, I'll take on the role as second; anyone protest?" Brunhilda said, looking around at the gathered women. Phlegma was not there, as she was at Stoick's table, but the majority of the squad leaders nodded, and that was enough.
"What do you mean?" Glunda asked shrewdly in her high, screechy voice. Droplaug gave her a severe glare; the Ingermann matriarch was one of sweetest, most even-tempered women that Brunhilda knew. She was assigned to guarding and herding the women to the safe route because she was the best at keeping them calm, and even the Thorston twin had started to learn a few good behaviours under her quiet and benign tutelage - but Glunda, apparently was her limit of supportation. Good; she wouldn't protest what she was going to do next.
"My first act is to warn you, Glunda Humperdink, that if you do not shut your mouth, I will do it for you, permanently." Brunhilda gave her the best dragon frown she owned. "There will be a tragic accident where the door of the Hall will open and close, and you will be on the other side of it in the freeze by the time the bolt's back in place. Do I make myself clear"?
Droplaug only kept glaring. Heather's face was carefully neutral. Ruffnut and Sigga were looking like Snoggletog had come four days early.
"Why the outrage, what gives you the authority to-"
"I do." Brunhilda stood up, instantly at her daughter's side. Astrid waved her away, almost immediately back to herself once she blinked awake. Even through the heavy eyelids, her eyes were sharp. All the women around the bed quickly helped her as she tried to sit up, but she shrugged it off too, sitting under her own steam. As soon as she was upright, she nailed Glunda with a look. "I'm the only woman in the Haddock household. She is my second because she was Hiccup's mother's second. Now let me make myself clear." She got off the makeshift bed, her legs supporting her well enough. "This is a time of worry and crises. In a time like this, all women on this island answer to me. It is the rule on Berk." A dagger came out, the point flirting with the old woman's chin. "I don't care what clan or tribe you belong to; once it's crisis time, crisis rules apply to everyone. Make one single problem, and I put you in a cell with the UglyThug traitors, and tell them you were the one who ratted them out."
Glunda opened and closed her mouth like a fish.
"You've been told to shut up. So shut up. Now."
Her mouth closed, and didn't open again.
"Good. Now, everyone tell me what I've missed." She looked around the women, half hopeful. "He hasn't come back, has he?"
"No," Brunhilda replied, sadly. Astrid nodded, looking down. She gave her bandaged finger a dismayed look.
"How much of it did I lose?" she asked.
"Just the nail…"
"Perfect," she replied. "It won't stop me from holding an axe. Now I have to go speak with Stoick. He's bound to have had someone peek outside to see how the storm's brewing. I'll bring back news."
Brunhilda watched her daughter leave with barely a wobble in her step. She'd just been feverish for two hours, she should be in bed, drinking some hot soup. They'd warmed her as thoroughly as they could and she'd still almost died of the cold, but she was as stubborn as her father, that girl.
"I'm going to find Hacknee," she huffed to the other women. "He needs to get his daughter under control."
"Good luck with that," Sigga replied. "Even Hiccup can't, and she's wrapped around his little finger."
=0=
Well then, if it isn't me writing an idiot, and me writing the most hard-headed woman in the history of humankind. I love these two, really I do. They are such … vibrant, dynamic characters. I hope Astrid doesn't turn into 'the chick' in HTTYD 2, because I will scream.
Astrid is suffering from light strains of hypothermia here, despite having a dragon with her. The signs are hidden within the narration. For instance, she is feeling the rock against her palm rather than her fingers.