A/N: This is where the actual crossing over occurs, so please don't get confused. Also, How to Train Your Dragon belongs to Cressida Cowell and DreamWorks Animation. I'm posting this chapter now because I'm leaving tomorrow for vacation and I don't want to make anybody have to wait all weekend for a new chapter.
Also, big thank you to the four readers who have reviewed it so far. Guest and Guest: your ideas are tons of fun, and made me laugh quite a bit. Something may come of them in the future, albeit in a slightly altered form. More on that after you read this chapter. So, without further ado (or "further adieu," as Ruff and Tuff would say) . . .
Chapter 2: Meeting
"Okay, that's . . . big."
"How did they do that?"
Hiccup frowned at her, as if surprised that she would ask such an obvious question. "How am I supposed to know?" he said, answering her question with one of his own.
And truly, he didn't know how such a thing was possible, for he had no frame of reference for what he saw, no prior experience with anything like it. He'd been training dragons for the better part of four years, he'd brought down the Red Death, and every day it seemed he discovered something new on his travels, but this, this was beyond even his wildest imaginings.
He circled around a few times in the sky, Toothless obedient to his hesitation; Stormfly and Meatlug followed, taking their cues from the Night Fury.
They were on a long exploratory trip that had taken them farther west than ever before, in search of new dragons to study and, eventually, train. It was all because of the Dragon Eye really: a completely accidental mixture of Nadder and Night Fury flame (Fishlegs didn't even want to know how that had happened) had revealed even more maps, all of them pointing west, far beyond even the Great Beyond. But it had taken a long time to convince Stoick that the trip was a good idea; with his inevitable retirement drawing ever nearer, he was reluctant to let the Hope and Heir of the Hooligan tribe wander too far outside of his exploratory borders. But with the help of Gothi's approval and more than a little persuasion from Gobber, they had prevailed. Stoick had sent them off with a stern warning to be back on time, without starting a war.
Not starting a war was the easy part; getting back on time would remain to be seen. For the moment, Hiccup, Astrid, and Fishlegs were content to just look at the spectacle laid out on the ground below them.
It was a town, but more than a town; a city, in fact, stretching as far into the distance as they could see. From above, they could see the dark shadows of people in its streets, the shapes of doors and windows marking where houses stood, and other unmistakable signs of habitation. It was a perfect diorama of survival in a harsh climate, man's dominion over his environment.
And the whole city was carved out of ice.
It was located in a glacier, centuries old, miles deep, and packed tight. They'd flown over it most of the day, but stopped when they found the city, pausing at the sheer magnitude of the feat and the audacity of those who had accomplished it. Whoever they were.
Below the glacier's wind-swept surface, buildings, statues, and columns rose in fantastically contorted imitations of stone and wood, every surface marvelously decorated. Crystal towers rose in the middle of arenas hollowed out of the glacier's many-layered skin, pointing to the sky above like flowers that reached for the sun.
But there could be no flowers in such a place, nor trees, nor grass, dirt, and stone. There was only ice, stretching beyond the edge of the horizon. It was a world of harsh beauty, of exquisite, unending warfare between man and the elements.
Astrid sucked in a breath sharply and pointed downward, drawing Hiccup's attention to an icy structure immediately below them. It was larger than the others, wider and taller, many-windowed and bearing the marks of a communal hall or chieftain's dwelling. An open space lay before it, from which many narrow streets and walkways branched off to other parts of the city. Within the open space, a small crowd had gathered, dark figures against glimmering white and icy blue, watching silently.
Hiccup led the way, directing Toothless downward until the three dragons landed together in the center of the square. The crowd edged away, giving them room, but made no move either to attack or to run. They only stared curiously.
With one hand raised high and the other held out before him in the gesture of peace, Hiccup approached the small group, and spoke.
"Greetings," he said, maintaining a carefully-measured tone. "May I ask, what is this place?"
Behind him, Astrid and Fishlegs scanned the crowd carefully, watching for threatening reactions. A few people whispered with their heads together, or drew small children out of sight behind them. Finally, one man, larger than the rest with a long, fair beard, stepped forward.
"This is Ísaland," he said, "and we, the Ice Diggers, welcome you." He spoke Norse, thickly accented but intelligible. "I am Igdir the Cold, chief of this place." Without warning, he stepped forward and grasped Hiccup's hand in his own, squeezing it firmly in a gesture of greeting.
Hiccup returned the gesture, then surreptitiously wiggled his fingers to restore the feeling. "Hiccup Haddock," he said. "And these are my friends, Astrid Hofferson and Fishlegs Ingermann." He indicated the others behind him. "We come from the island of Berk."
"Berk?" Igdir mused, rolling the word off his tongue as if it tasted strangely. "And your winged friends? It has been many a year since dragons appeared on our horizons, and never before have we seen folk riding them."
Hiccup hid his surprise with a small bow and gave a discrete sign with his hand; the dragons trotted forward, Meatlug smiling, Stormfly preening, and Toothless warbling with his teeth retracted. "It is the hope of our chief, Stoick the Vast," he said, straightening, "that the folk of Ísaland will join us in alliance with the dragons."
Igdir's eyebrows rose, disappearing under his thick fringe of blond hair. "It seems we have much to discuss," he said. "You will stay with us? I would hear more of Berk and your dragons." He cast his eyes over all three dragons, his gaze lingering on Toothless.
"And I would hear more of your city and people," Hiccup replied evenly.
"Then come." Igdir turned and gestured toward the large structure behind him. "Tonight we shall feast and tell tales. Fridda, send word to the cooks. Bento, make beds ready for our guests."
He strode off toward the hall, still shouting orders, while Hiccup and his companions walked behind him. People had begun to move at Igdir's command, but still a group remained behind, watching with wide eyes and frozen faces as their strange guests entered the hall of the Ísalanders.
That night, they feasted at Igdir's hospitality and exchanged their tales of training dragons for the history of Ísaland and its people eking out a difficult existence on the surface of a glacier.
The food was strange, mushrooms of fantastic colors and unfamiliar funguses that tasted of foreign air and water. There was roasted fish as well, comfortingly warm and familiar in such strange surroundings. Igdir's hall was wide and spacious, with several openings in the ceiling; Igdir explained to them that these could be closed with blocks of ice in the event of a storm. The floor below was covered with furs, on which everyone sat together, for there were no tables.
Bitter ale flowed through their veins and the cold flames of carefully-shielded braziers danced in their eyes, lighting but not warming. Surrounded by his children and grandchildren, Igdir told them his people's history, a tale so strange that he held his listeners rapt with every word.
"Long ago and far away across the sea, my people lived in the West, in a land of frozen fjords and impenetrable ice, where the seas made war on the land, with ice and snow as their weapons. During a winter of great suffering, the gods desired to walk over all the earth, so they froze the sea and made of it a bridge between the realms. My people in the West, fearing the tread of the gods upon their soil, crossed the sea in a long march and found this land under the dominion of the ice.
They claimed it for their own, and set about conquering it. They carved the first of this city far to the east of here, and set themselves up as kings of the ice, defying even the gods their dominion over this realm. But the gods were angered, and declared war upon the people. Many died of starvation, or in the storms that raged on the surface of the glacier.
But then the winged ones came, messengers of peace from the gods in their mercy. They brought gifts to my people, of fish and fire and the mushrooms that grow in the cold and ice. And for a time there was peace."
Hiccup stirred, as if he wished to interrupt, but Astrid laid a hand on his knee, bidding him keep silent. Igdir continued with his recitation.
"But war with the gods had left my people with a taste for blood; the ice is harsh and animals are scarce, so they hunted each other. A faction broke away from the tribe and began to carve their own city farther to the west, near the edge of the land. There is more fish there, and for a time they prospered. Their own city grew as they carved eastward and began to encroach upon their neighbors. Then there were meetings between both groups, and territorial disputes, then skirmishes, and finally, war.
War between men, more vicious than with the gods. The winged ones, friends of both gods and men, fought on both sides and there was much destruction. The ice was stained red with blood and the bodies were buried under the snow. Then the gods sent a great storm, in which the opposing armies could not see to return to their own cities. Lost in the blinding snow and wind, they found shelter where they could.
When the storm ended and the sky cleared, the armies awoke to find themselves mingled in both cities, enemies sheltering in each other's arms. Peace was made and the twin cities joined in one tribe.
The war was many generations ago, and there has been peace since then. But the troubles of my people did not abate. On the western edge of the glacier, where the world ends and the ice meets the sea, the glacier falls into the water in mountains of ice that float away we know not where. So it was one summer; the glacier cracked and the westernmost edge of the city fell into the sea. Many people were lost that day; those who were left fled east, fearing for their lives. They continued to flee, carving the city ever eastward and always living in new-made dwellings, for it is death to live on the surface.
But still the glacier falls, and now we know that this surface on which we built our homes, which once we thought solid and immovable, is not. It is a river, a great river of ice that flows slowly and unremittingly into the sea. We cannot escape our doom, so always we carve eastward, in hopes that someday we may reach the sun."
Here Hiccup did interrupt. "Couldn't you travel somewhere else? Get off the ice somehow?"
Igdir looked at him with a sad smile. "If only it were that simple. The bridges between the realms have long since melted, and men cannot long survive on the surface of the ice. We can only carve onward."
"But what of the dragons? Could you not fly with them?"
There was a pause, then Igdir breathed a heavy sigh. "When the city began to fall into the sea, the winged ones left us. The fish had grown scarce then. Perhaps they hungered for meat, or perhaps they feared that they too would be lost. We have not seen them in Ísaland since my childhood. They are long since gone."
Silence fell, the guests thinking over Igdir's tale. Then Fishlegs spoke. "How quickly does the river flow?" he asked.
"No man knows that, but dozens of ice-mountains fall into the sea every day, faster than my people can carve."
Fishlegs nodded, frowning slightly. Hiccup and Astrid could practically hear the gears clicking in his active brain. Wind whistled around the sharp corners of ice, softening them by slow degrees. Fire crackled in a brazier, and two of Igdir's grandsons began to scuffle on the floor. Igdir stood and clapped his hands. "Bento," he called sharply, "show our guests to their beds." A tall, lanky boy stood up quickly, blinking; he had dozed off during the story, one he had heard on many occasions. Igdir turned to his guests one final time. "Sleep well, my friends," he said. "Tomorrow we shall speak more."
Their beds were little more than fur-lined alcoves hollowed out of the walls of the main hall. Hiccup, Astrid, and Fishlegs laid themselves down to sleep with their dragons in front of them. Lulled by the wind and the fire and the rustling of bodies, they slept, dreaming of ice and war.
A/N: From here on out, this fic will alternate between two distinct timelines centuries apart. Should that change in the future, I will make it abundantly clear. Also, so far this fic has had a teeny-tiny, little readership. I don't normally ask for reviews, but I've already put a lot of work into writing this and I don't want it to feel like a complete waste of time. So, if you like it, please let me know. If there are things I could do better, please let me know. If you hate it and think it really is a waste of time . . . you get the picture. And those of you who have a lot of friends and contacts on this website, please spread the word. Let's see if we can build some support for this thing. Thanks!