Surprise! Updates will begin to be on Tuesdays and Fridays, because so many of you thought once-a-week was torture. I will possibly have a harder time answering all your reviews, but I hope two updates a week for the next 14 remaining chapters will make up for that.
Without further ado; Welcome. The countdown till the end of the world has begun.
Berkian Eddur - 1
Becoming Lífþrasir
End of Days
Day 1
"WHAT?!"
Gobber jumped, throwing himself on his foot-n-stump at the loud noise and looking blearedly up at the sky, mallet-hand at the ready. But there weren't any dragons – attacking dragons, anyway. It was still bizarre to see the Boggy girl trying to annoy the Meathead boy's new wife as they flew, while the sullen UglyThug hovered silently behind, none of their dragons looking to make a meal out of anyone on the ships below. It gave him the willies.
There was still the question of what had awoken him, though; Gobber took his naps where he got them, and after the fight with that beastie and the subsequent fatiguing affair to get everyone on the three remaining long-boats and assorted towed floaties, he didn't appreciate the interruption at all. The answer soon came when he looked towards the last two crazy folk on dragons; the Meathead heir, and the quiet one called Cattongue. An animated discussion seemed to be taking place, and Cattongue had apparently stopped being quiet.
"Why are you saying it now! Why didn't you say something before!" Gobber felt Stoick come up behind him, and he looked back only long enough to nod upwards. His friend narrowed his eyes.
"I didn't think it was important!" Thuggory answered, sounding actually sheepish. This, more than anything else, made Gobber look at the night fury's rider sharply. One simply didn't speak with a Viking Clan Heir like that. Then again, he couldn't disagree; the man was sitting atop the offspring of Thor and Hel. Gobber wouldn't pick a fight with him, either.
"Since when do you know enough about dragons to decide what's up and what's down?" Gobber's eyes widened. Not only at the words; had he been dreaming, or was that pose, with the folded arms and slack shoulders and tilted head, very familiar? Then Thuggory chuckled, and Gobber was confused again. The Meathead heir first acted as if he respected the man, and then didn't look worried at all when he became angry. Feeling Stoick shift uncomfortably behind him, Gobber knew that the Chief had made the same observation; there was entirely too much familiarity between the two young men for it to be a neutral or occasional friendship. Perhaps, he was of the Meathead tribe?
"Hey, why aren't you on Cami's case too? I wasn't the only one who didn't tell you!"
"What is it?!"
Gobber turned to glare at Stoick, who simply ignored the blacksmith and the pain he had just procured to his poor friend's ears by bellowing so close behind him. Cattongue looked down, looked back up at other man with an indiscernible expression due to the helmet, and then angled the big black beast downwards. There wasn't any space for nary another soul on the ship – others were actually on the skiffs salvaged from pieces of the other boats and being tugged behind the three whole ones. The black dragon somehow found a way to land, however, by grabbing onto the prow and holding on fast with all four paws, before it hopped onto the prow point and curled up like a giant cat. Its rider hopped off onto the wooden rim, not a care in the world for the rocking boat and foaming waves beneath, as if he had acquired his dragon's sense of balance by standing next to it.
"I'm sorry if we alarmed you," he began, addressing Stoick as the Chief shouldered his way through the crowded longboat. "But Thuggory just informed me of something that happened while we were circling to look for survivors. The beast came to and retreated, that we know, but apparently before that it breathed some sort of mist onto the boats."
"Tha' it did," Gobber confirmed, making his way laboriously towards them to see and hear more clearly. The people parted for him as he entered the conversation, and Astrid simply used him as a battering ram to navigate the people, slipping behind him as he made his way to the front. "We 'ad to make sure there wasn't any poison in it before we started loading the people and provisions. Why, what's the problem?"
"I can't be sure," he started. Before he could continue, Snotlout cut him off.
"Then why open your mouth?" he said snidely. The rider spared him a glance before he went on.
"Some dragons mark their prey with scent – the boulder class dragons, especially, tend to have strong smelling gas secretions from their mouth and … other areas." He shrugged. Gobber almost found himself chuckling at the boy's discomfort to talk about farts. "That dragon seemed to be of no species I've ever seen before, but it shares most characteristics with the boulder class – the tail, the snout, the armoured skin. It's safe to say that it may also share the scent marking."
"Are you trying to say …" Astrid asked with dread, squeezing out beside Gobber. The rider nodded.
"I'm afraid so. If I'm right, that dragon was scent marking these ships. And if we take them all the way to Berk, it will follow us there." There was an outburst of dismay and panic.
"What do you suggest we do?" Snotlout said angrily. "Drown ourselves? You're not even sure!"
"I wouldn't go that far," the rider replied with quiet sarcasm, folding his arms. Another chord within Gobber twanged uncomfortably, and he found himself rolling his shoulders. "But the risk is too great to take. There are going to be children and elders on Berk, if that thing makes it there"-
"Guardians ahead!"
Everyone's head whipped around. The two stone guardians, with the braziers in their hewn mouth to signal the entry to the port, were just coming in sight. The rider swerved on the spot, his back going rigid before he cursed. "Throw the anchors! Throw them!" He turned on Stoick, his blazing eyes the only thing his mask showed, but they left no room for argument as he towered over them standing on the boat rim. Some of the tightly packed Vikings fingered their weapons threateningly at the blatant order, and the night fury narrowed its eyes and growled in response, digging its claws into the longboat's wood. "If that thing follows the ship's scent mark into your port, there will be nothing of Berk left when she's finished," he hissed.
Stoick glared at him, eyes the same vibrant green. Gobber blinked, narrowing his eyes at the two men in front of him.
"Cast the anchor," Stoick finally said. There was a moment of stillness before people began scrambling to move or move aside, getting the heavy iron into the water, and passing the order on to the other two ships.
"It's already a problem, if it's as you say," his Boggie girlie said, and all the people on the boat looked up to see her atop the changewing, which had coiled itself on the boat's mast and was looking lazily around. Gobber's blood-pressure spiked at having a dragon so close, and yet it didn't seem interested in doing anything to any of them. "With those blaze-towers in sight, it will know where to go if it gets to here. We may as well port."
"No! There is another way." The hard green eyes went from the Bog-heir to Stoick and back again. "We may not have killed it, but we damaged its wings. On that, at least, I'm sure. If it comes, it will probably come by sea; swim here. If the fire is put out, and the ships are docked in …"
He stopped, rolling his shoulders and turning fully to face Stoick. Gobber resisted the urge to rub his eyes; this was a young man who was used to giving orders and instructions that were obeyed without question. He almost sounded like a village chief. In fact, it was almost like watching Stoick at his age. It was as chilling as it was uncanny; who was this boy no one had heard of, but who behaved like he had real authority?
"Is there an alternate port we can dock in? A place where we can lure it; far enough from the village, but good enough for an ambush?"
And he even thought like a chief. It was getting scary. His skivvies couldn't take very much more.
"There's Troll's Peak1 beach," Stoick said after a moment's consideration. "But tell me one thing; why should we follow your instruction? Who's to tell us you mean us no harm?"
"Really, Stoick?" the girlie perched on their boat said with a goading voice, "he could have let you get eaten if he meant harm. So my mother's right about you? As stupid as you're vast!"
"How dare you!" Astrid said from beside him, reaching back for her axe.
"Didn't you see anything on that island, don't you see us now?" the other girl replied, still in her relaxed voice as she waved at her dragon. "We wouldn't be like this with our dragons if we didn't listen to him."
"Yes," Stoick said, cutting off Astrid's reply and putting a calming arm on her shoulder. She instantly deferred to him; Gobber almost smiled. The lassie was nothing if not respectful. "That is something else we will need to speak of. Allied clans don't keep this sort of thing from one another."
"Eh, like you'd have listened," was her unconcerned reply. That blonde girlie was beginning to get on Gobber's nerves too, but he admitted he could see her point. "And you'd a' done the same, anyway." Also true.
"The point remains," Astrid insisted, looking back to the boy, "whether or not to listen to him."
"What do you have to lose?" the night fury rider replied impatiently, reaching a hand out to pet the beast as it growled at Snotlout for getting too close. "You'll walk a bit more, granted, and the injured will travel for an extra half hour. But you won't alarm the town folk by appearing in only three ships, and with this escort." He gestured towards himself and the others atop dragons. "You'll have time to tell them, although preferably, only one person should go into the village." He stopped again, folding his arms and looking at the deck pensively. "We don't know how strong the scent mark is, and it may possibly be best for everyone to burn their clothing before approaching the village proper. The less traces of the scent we have, the better for the safety of the village."
"Like hell!" Snotlout replied, puffing his chest out. "I'm not going around naked just because you tell me to!"
"Yeah," Tuffnut said riotously, "he only does that when it rains!"
"Or you could bathe," the Bog-girlie piped in again. "Lord knows you need it."
"Cami," the night fury rider said warningly, to which she sighed and raised her arms in defeat. "She makes a valid point, though. Bathing with our clothes and all could potentially resolve the problem."
"And I'd seriously consider it," Thuggory butted in from the water. The Viking was standing on his thunderdrum, who had apparently grown bored of flapping in circles and was now happily floating on the ocean's surface. "No one knows as much on dragons as Cattongue does. He helped us a great deal on Freezing, and there hasn't been a dragon I haven't seen him deal with, one way or another. With us, it's usually what he says goes when we have a major pickle with the reptiles."
And that explained a lot. Gobber looked at Stoick. Astrid beside him looked uncomfortable with the notion, but he supposed it was the youth and pride in her thinking, as Snotlout's puce coloured face demonstrated much more clearly. The old blacksmith knew his friend well, however, and could as much predict what he was going to say as he would have if he been able to see the cogs in his head working. He could tell that Stoick actually liked the idea a great deal; it was damage control in case the boy's suspicions were true, at the cost of only a few extra miles, and it was also a way to check the trustworthiness of this boy before they arrived in the village. After all, he had just saved Berk. That usually came at a price.
"Very well," Stoick finally said, ignoring the protest of both Astrid and his nephew. "Head to Troll's Peak beach! Sven is our most gravely injured. We'll see to him and the others first, then proceed to the village in turns. There's a lake on the way that will help get rid of whatever you think we could take with us to our homes."
The boy nodded. "Once we're there, we should start seeing to a proper welcome party for that thing, if- when it decides to drop by."
"Ye seem pretty sure we're going to get a visit," Gobber spoke up at last, looking at the young man shrewdly. He merely nodded, hopping back onto the night fury and pushing into the air.
"I hope I'm wrong, but I'm afraid that based on what I know, it's not likely!" And then he was off again, the changewing leaving its mast and the thunderdrum its water, seemingly eager to follow the smaller dragon.
"Arrogant prat," Snotlout hissed.
"Not quite," Gobber replied, looking after them. Stoick, standing beside him, was quiet, and the blacksmith knew he was probably thinking the same thing; there hadn't been a single ounce of arrogance in that boy's voice and attitude. Everything he said seemed to stem from the quiet certitude he exuded. And if he really was all he appeared to be, their prospects were grim.
=0=
Fishlegs really did enjoy telling this part of the tale to his children, later. Considering that his wife had been unable to accompany him to the fight, as she gave birth a few days before their departure, he rather enjoyed having bragging rights to that part, and his son and daughter, sitting on each knee, demanded it almost every Winter's night for as long as they could get away with it.
The warrior's return to Berk had been something people would speak of later as if the returning Hooligans were draugrs from Hel's realm. Where everyone had been looking at the sea, waiting forever trepidously for their brave men and women to return, no one had expected them to march in, sopping wet, with the last dying rays of the sun casting them in sinister light as they exited the forest.
Once it was settled that no, they were not dead returning to haunt the living, however, the cry had risen and all of Berk reversed out of their houses to embrace their loved ones.
The meeting in the Great Hall that followed had a different chorus altogether. When Stoick had begun telling the rest of Berk what had happened and what they had seen, those few who had not been on the boats murmured endlessly in disbelief before the sombre faces of their friends and relatives quieted them down. Most of them.
"Are you trying to tell me, Stoick," Mildew the Unpleasant said in his nasal voice, "that you expect us to believe some foreign boy, riding a dragon – a night fury no less – came to your rescue, leading the heirs to the other tribes, and succeeded where catapults and war hammers did not? It's a ridiculous story, even for children!"
"If you do not believe me, Mildew, ask any of the brave warriors who were with me. It is only thanks to the dragon riders that our only injured were few and even those healable. Everyone who was on that island can attest to that."
"Of course they would," Mildew said condescendingly, leaning on his staff. "You are their chief."
Stoick slammed his fist on the table. "That is codswallop, and you know it. All the people in this tribe are free to talk, and say whatever they like. I do not run that kind of village; you should know." He pointed at Mildew. "Your tongue would have been the first one to go."
Most of the village tittered, and some of the warriors turned towards him with grim smiles. Mildew was not deterred. "And where are they now, then, these heroes!"
"In the forest," Stoick replied simply. Another explosion of words and whispers erupted, washing over the Hall's columns, walls and high ceiling. Fishlegs shifted uneasily. "The rider of the night fury thought it best that we should inform you all before the dragons they have with them walk among you. He is with the ships, and awaits word."
"And I say we send him off with torches and spears!" Mildew replied, shaking his staff noisily. Some murmurs and some shifts of discomfort indicated that not everyone disagreed with the malodorous old man. "What's to say that they won't kill us in our sleep! Friendly, dragons, why I"-
A loud, reverberating thud cut his speech short – as well as the hall table. Astrid's axe was embedded into it almost to the handle, and her eyes were shining beadily.
"He saved us. All of us. Berk owes him a debt." There was an instant hush, and even Mildew desisted, looking away rebelliously but dropping his argument. Honour was not something to be taken lightly. Without taking her eyes off Mildew (or even blinking, Fishlegs swore every time he recounted the tale), she held out her hand in his own direction. Extricating himself from Ruffnut, who had gripped his arm hard between her post pregnancy fatigue and the thrill of the tale she'd just heard, Fishlegs reached across his back and pulled the package he had strapped there, handing it over, and Astrid quickly unravelled it. Fishlegs had picked it from the battlefield for his own study, but Astrid had very quickly and shrewdly seen it as excellent proof of what they had seen, he was sure. There were gasps, someone even cried out to Thor, as she threw the gigantic tooth down next to her axe.
"And this is part of a tooth they melted out of its mouth. It was twice this size," she said, pulling the axe out of the table and holstering it. "Between them, they have a changewing, thunderdrum, gronkle, nadder and night fury. They were well organised, they fought strongly; they had strategy and used all their assets. But they didn't take it down. None of the weapons and machines we had made a difference, but they could at least damage it." She took a deep breath, looking towards Stoick, and - Fishlegs saw him nod. "The least we could do is listen to them; if we did it once for every man and woman who were saved on that island, it would still not be enough."
"And what are they asking for, in payment!" someone asked from the back of the crowd.
"They have asked for nothing, yet." Stoick replied. "But considering that all the others are heirs of allied clans, we can probably negotiate something when this is all over. The night fury rider has not mentioned terms yet. We will need to cross that bridge when we reach it; the debt is already incurred."
Fishlegs always laughed when he told his children that part. As they grew older, of course, so did they. The gods truly had plans for their heroes; so Hiccup Haddock too.
=0=
Thuggory was sweating buckets. Dogsbreath heard him warn Cattongue; he'd said it again and again; HE was the one the people of Berk wanted to see, he and the trice damned night fury, but noooo, first he went and saved the Thor blasted village of Vikings, then he decided that he wanted them not to like him, so he had stayed behind. No amount of persuasion, yelling or dragging had worked. Dogsbreath could still hear Thuggory's ranting in his ears as the other heir squirmed under Stoick's scrutiny.
And of course, Thuggory had been right. And of course, Berk had wanted most of all to meet the night fury rider. The hall was filled with murmurs and uncomfortable shuffling as the villagers debated with one another whether or not they should be insulted or worried.
"He is uncomfortable with crowds," Thuggory was trying to explain nervously. "And while we left the dragons at the edge of the village, the night fury won't do that. Toothless's protective of him, and won't let him get out of his sight; he didn't want to make the village uncomfortable."
"Be that as it may," Stoick replied, chest puffed out. "You said yourself that he is the one who the Meatheads follow on dragons. He is to be here."
Dogsbreath observed all this silently, resting against one of the columns as he stood with Heather and the blonde woman from the Hooligan tribe behind the two arguing men. Cami had been sent to bring the stubborn Cattongue here, as she was the only one capable of doing so.
"Why did he not come into Berk?" the blonde Hooligan asked in a low voice, seemingly to no one in particular. She was looking around the hall, her brow creased with worry, her arms folded tightly against her chest. Dogsbreath exchanged a look with Heather at this; obviously, the Hooligan woman had her own reservations about their friend, and his behaviour must have justified them further.
Almost as if to answer her, the doors of the hall opened, and Cami strutted in. She was followed by Cattongue, who Dogsbreath immediately realised was more than a little reluctant from his stiff stride and rigid shoulders. And just as Thuggory had predicted, Toothless had not consented to being left behind. Like a stalking shadow, the black dragon walked right behind his rider, head swerving in all directions at the cries of alarm given by the Hooligans. Cattongue stopped, bending down to rub the dragon's head and soothe it in the way that was unique to him; he had a gift with the animals that even those under his training had yet to achieve. Dogsbreath suspected they never would.
After a few more moments, Cattongue moved forward, a much calmer night fury still close at his heels. The people parted quickly before him as if he were either a god or diseased. Dogsbreath tilted his head; the contrast tickled his intellect. From the gronkle rider's point of view, the set shoulders, armour and helmet made Cattongue forbidding and intimidating; he could understand the Hooligans, and was interested to see how it would all pan out.
"Look who's finally showed up," the blonde said confrontationally. Dogsbreath blinked at her, and then suppressed a smirk. Smart; she must have already taken Cattongue's measure and seen that he was not prone to violence first and words later, so she was testing him, to see how far he took words before the violence came out to play. She was on her home-ground now, so this is where it was safest for her to do so.
"Someone was needed to remain with the dragons. I volunteered because I am not familiar with … this, and am familiar with dragons." Diplomatic and polite, as usual.
"And what is this," she replied, waving a hand to all of them. Cattongue suppressed a flinch, Dogsbreath noted with interest.
"I am a stranger to you, but my friends are not. The dragons are comfortable with me. It just seemed like the more sensible solution," he said calmly again. Dogsbreath felt there was something strange about Cattongue's demeanour and voice, but he couldn't quite put his hand on it. Still, he had to applaud the way he skirted her question. The Hooligan woman could learn from him, if she holstered her axe long enough. She seemed about to retort before her chief intervened.
"Peace," he told her quietly. "I understand," he went on, addressing Cattongue, "that in the other tribes you have visited, you have taught them what you know about dragons. Thuggory has been telling me that you are well respected on Freezing to Death."
"I … yes." Cattongue seemed immensely uncomfortable. "If he says so." Sometimes, Dogsbreath thought he was too modest. If he didn't know that he became a different person in a smithy and on the battlefield, Dogsbreath wouldn't have believed he was a true Viking.
"I would ask you why you have not yet visited Berk, but under the circumstances of our meeting, I would much rather like to know why you have helped us, when as you say, we are strangers to you. Thuggory assures me that the intervention you young ones mounted was all your initiative." Cattongue's head swerved towards Thuggory; Dogsbreath bemoaned the fact that he wasn't at the right angle to see his friend's eyes through his helmet. "We owe you a debt of gratitude. Please, name a reward you wish of Berk and it will be granted."
Now Cattongue was really uncomfortable. Dogsbreath almost sniggered; the man was ill-at-ease when his smithing talents were praised, which were considerable and ingenious in their own right. This amount of attention had to be driving him mad. And Cattongue did not disappoint, as he raised a hand to his helmet ineffectually, before letting it drop on the night fury's head.
"I would rather discuss the more urgent matter, if we are to speak about one," he replied, his tone worried and anxious.
"What other …"
"The possible … return of the queen dragon." Cattongue straightened, his demeanour returning once again to the one Dogsbreath admired in battle. "I was not joking when I said there was a danger from her."
"I …see." The head of the Hooligan tribe was obviously not used to being contradicted, probably never had been by someone Cattongue's age and size. Still, he knew his diplomacy well, as he invited Cattongue to continue. The younger man looked around himself.
"Should it only be the war council, perhaps?"
The suggestion seemed to send a hush over the whole hall, before a nasal wailing voice rose up in protest.
"What is this!" A thin, foul-smelling old man came forward waving his staff. "This man, this foreigner to Berk, comes here and summons our war council? After walking in here with a night fury, no less! Who does he think he is!"
"Mildew!" Stoick barked, but some of the people who had been shifting uncomfortably before were looking like they were about to join the old man's voice in the choir. Emboldened by this, the smelly elder went on.
"Tell us; who do you think you are? Debt or not, why should we listen to you, boy, when you're nothing but an unnatural dragon lover?"
Toothless started growling, and this time, Cattongue did not calm his dragon. Dogsbreath stopped leaning on the column, straightening to look at the other man better. This was interesting – the old man had managed to do what Dogsbreath had very rarely seen. He'd made Cattongue angry.
"Ooh, shouldn'a done that," Cami whispered at his elbow, where she'd joined their group to, apparently, get front row seats of the show. The blonde Hooligan woman turned to look at them all shrewdly, if worriedly, before tensing and turning back to the scene. Heather and Thuggory seemed about to intervene but they didn't get the chance.
"I do not think I am anyone. I only asked your chief to call a war council because in all the villages I have been, matters of this importance are usually discussed by the village leaders and elders before they are brought to the rest of the people. Some things are unnecessarily alarming, and there are children here," he said coldly, standing at his full height so that he towered over the bowed man. Some jitters in the crowd were silenced as he turned stonily toward the Hooligan chief. "You have said that you owe me a debt. Very well, here is my price; in matters of dragons, and especially in the matter of the possible danger we discussed on the way here, I will help you, and you will do everything I tell you to. I will need the forge, the carpenters, and I would like to train a number of your own to properly deal with dragons, so both sides can reduced the number of casualties and so that the village can be ready for any danger. I would appreciate if you could let me know when you are ready to refuse or accept this price, and should you accept I will wait for you to let me know when it is convenient for you to summon your council."
Dogsbreath would have laughed if it had not been inappropriate for the moment. Cami beside him had a grin as wide as her face would stretch. The Hooligan woman looked like she'd been forced to swallow the bitterest ale.
"We can hardly refuse," Stoick replied stiffly. Cattongue's anger seemed to abate slightly, and he finally placated his dragon, stopping the subsonic growl that had been setting everyone's teeth on edge. Nodding towards Stoick in acceptance of his decision, Cattongue turned towards the door.
"Then please, let me know when the village council would like to speak with me. I will be awaiting in the forest – Thuggory knows where the other dragons are."
"Cattongue, wait!"
Cattongue jumped and turned, looking at the blonde Hooligan woman. "You didn't answer the chief's first question. Why did you help us?"
This woman wasn't as dull as he thought she was; she wasn't just smart – crass and brutal, yes, like any Viking, but it hid a very sharp intellect, and Dogsbreath was surprised at himself for not noticing how far it went beforehand. That she'd asked this question, after Cattongue's peculiar demands for a price, showed clearly enough that he should have seen better signs.
"Because it was the right thing to do."
Cattongue all but fled after looking at her for a moment longer, leaving a Hall in an uproar of questions and displeased voices. Most, he was pleased to see had turned on the old man for provoking the anger of someone they were indebted to, landing them in a very strange place; Cattongue had after all just made himself both a servant but also de facto leader of this tribe for the foreseeable future where the dragons were concerned. And as this was Berk, almost everything concerned dragons. Had he wanted to take Berk for his own, he couldn't have done it in a more subtle, non-violent and indisputable way. It was a pity that Dogsbreath knew Cattongue had no intention of taking over the Hooligan tribe. It would have been interesting to watch.
Stoick turned to Thuggory.
"How trustworthy did you say he was?" the large man said in a neutral, flat voice. Thuggory gulped, and he had good reason to, since he'd just been tacitly made the guarantor of Cattongue's good behaviour.
=0=
1 Troll Peak is a tribute to Troll Valley, and consequently to one of the best stories I have read in this fandom, When in Rome. I suggest that anyone who has not yet read it should definitely give it a go, after reading Talking in her Sleep, the first story of that continuity. It has some mature content, but is otherwise an invaluable addition to this fandom.
Cultural Notes:
1) Some aspects of Viking law will be used, again with some authorial license. However, a blood oath/debt was something taken very, very seriously, and was incurred when a life was saved from certain death by intervention of another. In this case, Hiccup – or Cattongue – has saved all of Berk, so their debt is enormous. He could, conceivably, ask to have anything, from all the land of the island to all the animals they herd, and Berk would not be able to refuse. What Mildew is proposing here is tantamount to treason, as it would make the Hooligans look dishonourable in the eyes of all their allied clans; only the Outcasts do not follow Viking law.
This update took place on February 18th 2014. Next update will be Friday February 21st 2014.