3 - Wake-Up Call

Skuf opened his eyes and jerked up in a cold sweat, his heart racing as he scanned the surroundings. The last thing his fuzzy mind could recall was laying on the top of a tall sea stack, bleeding out of his leg, and trying not to freeze in a yak hide. However, he found himself sleeping on a simple wooden bed in a plain room, warm under a pile of furs.

He slowly pushed the furs aside, sliding his feet over the side of the bed. His clothing had been removed and replaced with a rough canvas robe. Sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, in front of the only door, was a large man with almost no hair on his head, but a ridiculously long, braided, blonde mustache. He had a prosthetic left arm and right leg. Skuf squinted at the man, staring in thought.

Is every creature on this island missing some sort of appendage? Maybe it's a rite of passage? Maybe all these missing arms, legs, and tail fins are the liability of trying to befriend dragons?

"Ya can relieve yerself over there," the man with the blonde mustache said. "There's crutches leanin' against the wall there if ya need 'em."

Skuf slowly stood up, testing his right leg with the knife wound. It felt about as agonizing as he'd imagined a stab wound ought to feel. At least the blade was sharp and made a clean cut without much tearing. His urgency to answer nature's call made him arrive at the conclusion that his leg was good enough for a limping run in the indicated direction. His head spun, but he managed to remain vertical.

"I know what it's like to wake from a long sleep", Mr. Blonde said, chuckling.

After taking care of business, Skuf reappeared again from around the corner, feeling much better. He sat back down on his bed and looked around. The room was square, about ten paces wide. Judging by the type of timber on the walls, this must be the one and only room in the structure. Well, the adjacent outhouse - a luxury on Berserker island that few could afford - could almost be considered a separate room. A fire was stoked in an open hearth at the center of the room, casting a dim glow on the walls. Aside from Blonde's chair and Skuf's bed, the room was void of any other furnishings.

The cripple reached into a pocket and tossed a chunk of dried fish and what tasted like yak jerky at Skuf, whose hunger would not allow him to be cautious as he tore into it. If it was poisoned, then so be it. Besides, if they wanted him dead, he would have never woken up. As he ate the salty food, he could almost feel the hollow, dead feeling in his whole body from so much blood loss fade away to be replaced with a much more acceptable weariness.

This was all too good to be true. Berk had prisons. Every tribe had prisons. Dug into the cold stone with iron bars to hold you in. And pig slop for food. And buckets for doing your business - if you're lucky. Here, though… it was almost an entire home for Thor's sake! This cannot be common prisoner treatment.

The best Skuf could figure out was that maybe Berk does have dragon whisperers and that Night Fury… right, he called himself No Teeth or Toothless or something like that… maybe Toothless gave him a good report? On that note, where would Toothless stand on the pecking order? Beloved pet? An equal? Village overlord?

"With all the dragon raids we get," Blonde casually droned on, "We learned ta' build small, temporary living quarters like this for those who lose their homes. Since we had no such issues for a while, it'll serve fer a place ya can recover while we figure out what, exactly, you are."

{Surely Toothless told you?}

No response to the projected thoughts. Skuf was unsurprised and disappointed in equal portions. He's been to other tribes and never met another human who would respond to his projected thoughts. Toothless was very surprised to realize a human could hear him. The conclusion was obvious. Besides, humans are fairly weak compared to dragons at projecting thoughts.

As he chewed on the last of the meat, Skuf pulled up the bottom of his robe to examine the wound in his leg. It appeared to have been cleaned and wrapped in bandages. Clean bandages! They were changed recently, after the bleeding had stopped. These people were definitely treating him better than a common prisoner. He started to pick at the bandage to examine the wound, but Mr. Blonde tsked at him.

"I'd jus' leave that if I was you. Disturb the scab an' make a bleedin mess everywhere an' you're cleaning it all up with yer tongue. Seems the bastard that stabbed ya cut along the grain. Deep cut, missed the artery, little damage to the muscle itself. It'll heal up, just leave it be."

Skuf nodded absentmindedly as he flicked the end of the robe back over his leg. Blonde was assuming he was stabbed by someone else. Toothless saw what happened. If there was a single dragon whisperer on this island, surely he or she would have told the very Viking overseeing this prisoner. Maybe Toothless was keeping certain details secret? If so, why? Embarrassment?

Blonde wiggled in his chair at the awkward silence from his prisoner. "So, uh, by the way, name's Gobber. And you are...?"

Skuf looked down for a moment, then up at Gobber, waving a hand over his mouth. Weakness overtook him, but he found the strength to put a hand down on the bed to support himself. He felt hollow with so much blood loss, but did not want to appear weak to these people.

"Silent type, eh?"

Skuf nodded.

"Oath 'a silence?"

Skuf shook his head, then rubbed his index finger over his throat and made a motion with his hands as if breaking a stick.

"Your throat... is broken? I guess the bottom line is ya ain't talkin'?"

Another nod.

"Well, just so ya know, door's locked an' we have guards. If ya think of using a burnin stick from the fire as a weapon, well, I'm a blacksmith. I'll grab the embers with me bare hand and smack ya with 'em. Stoick will want to talk to ya. Speaking of which..."

Gobber leaned back towards the door and shouted, "Grump! Call!"

A dragon roared from outside the structure. It sounded like a Gronckle, but deeper. Skuf was familiar with that type of dragon, with their bee-like body and stubby wings that beat in a blur to fly. Their thick hide and tough scales make them resilient and a spiked ball on the end of their stubby tail can crush every bone in a Viking's body with a single blow. The mouth is almost as large as its head and they can eat almost anything, including rocks. Especially rocks. For centuries, the Berserkers have used such caged dragons to process metals. Gronckles eat the raw ore and spit out molten iron ready for the anvil.

Skuf clicked his tongue to get Gobber's attention and gestured as if writing something in the palm of his hand.

After thinking for a moment, Gobber knocked on the door behind him and said to some unseen person outside, "Hey, Ack, see if ya can find a slate board and chalk. Gothi should have some."

A gruff voice responded from outside, "You got it Gohhh… berrr... How about this one Gothi's Terror just gave me." Grunting outside. "Damn bugger just dropped it at my feet. Made me bend all the way down to the floor to pick it up!"

Gobber's surprised look quickly shifted to annoyance. Skuf couldn't figure it out. Clearly, Someone knew he was mute and thoughtfully sent a slate and chunk of chalk… how low on the pecking order must Gobber be to have to watch the prisoner and not be told such important details that this "Gothi" clearly knew?

"Oh, ya poor wee li'l baby," Gobber teased as he cracked the door open. "All the way to the ground. The sacrifices ya make fer yer tribe. Skalds will sing o' this deed fer years ta come. Now give it here!"

As the slate was thrust through the doorway, a Terrible Terror poked its head in and looked at Skuf. Skuf projected a formless greeting, the thought equivalent of holding his hands out with his palms up. The little dragon just snorted with curiosity mingled with distrust, but nothing beyond that. Surprisingly, it wasn't constantly squirming about, seeking some shiny thing to distract it like any other Terror would do. Skuf had a feeling this one must be older than any of the others he'd seen.

Gobber stared at the slate in deep thought. "And how in Thor's name did she know ta send us a slate? I swear she can see the future, sometimes. Ya think the crazy old crow coulda told me last night so things wouldn't get so awkward-"

The Terror bit down on Gobber's good leg.

"Ow! You little- get!"

Gobber shook the terror off and it skittered away. Skuf scratched his head in confusion, but he thought he picked up some sort of imagery of a raven pecking Gobber's eyes out. Probably just his imagination.

Somewhere outside, a voice approached. Hiccup's voice! "No, really, Dad, I trust Toothless. He wouldn't have been so protective of him for no good reason."

Good! He made it out just fine. But what about Dagur?

Skuf recognized Stoick's voice rumbling in response, "We'll see. Patience, and let me do the talking."

After some unseen greetings of "G'mornin, Chief. Hiccup," the door opened and the massive bulk of Stoick wedged its way through. He looked to be in his mid-forties, very large and strong, wearing a silly-looking horned helmet, a green vest that extended down to his knees, a large studded belt, and an iron mail skirt. Skuf was trying to figure out why a person's only armor, aside from the pauldrons, was only between his waist and his knees when he suddenly realized that this was the first person seen today with all his appendages intact.

Hiccup followed at his father's heels. He looked just as lightweight and unassuming as Skuf remembered, although the calluses and burn marks on his hands showed that he probably apprenticed as a blacksmith. Maybe sharpening blades and doing fine detail work or something like that. He had shoulder-length auburn hair, green tunic, and dark olive leggings, but he also wore some sort of brown leather harness that fastened around his shoulders and waist with straps running diagonally across his torso.

Wait just a moment, here! A harness on a person? Exactly who has tamed who? This is weird.

Stoick spoke up in an impatient, down-to-business tone of voice. "Well, hello there. I'm Stoick, this is Hiccup. I gather ya already met his best friend as this is a very unusual situation now, isn't it? Berserker tribe on my island, stabbed in the leg, and found on a sea stack with a blanket that came from a saddlebag on one of our dragons. And Hiccup can't decide if his dragon mauled you and took off with you or if you rode him and worked the tailfin so he could fly. Judging by how you look, I'm guessing somewhere in the middle."

Skuf nodded, causing Stoick to frown at the lack of a verbal response. He made eye contact with Hiccup, tappen a knuckle to his tooth and motioned his finger up and down, pantomiming the way the Night Fury could retract and extend his teeth as demonstrated last night. Hiccup balked as recognition dawned on him, not quite sure what to make of it.

"Oh, by the way," Gobber leaned over and quietly said to Stoick, "He told me he's a mute. He can't speak."

Stoick raised one eyebrow. "He told you he's a mute?"

Gobber chuckled. "Very clever with his hand signals. Almost as if he's had ta tell this to everyone he meets for the last umpteen years."

"Right, then," Stoick continued. He tossed the slate and chalk to Skuf. "Name." It was probably a question, but sounded more like an order.

Skuf complied and wrote his name to show them.

"Berserker tribe your whole life?"

Skuf nodded.

"Trained warrior like everyone else there?"

Another nod. Skuf held one hand flat in front of him, then with the other hand, pointed his thumb at himself and held that hand above the other.

Stoick scratched his chin. "Ummm, oh, top of your class, eh?"

Skuff smiled.

Stoick's face remained true to his namesake, as did his uninterested voice, but his passive hum betrayed skepticism. "Uh-huh."

Hiccup excitedly jumped in. "What did you do with Toothless? That yak hide you had came from his saddlebag, so I know he flew you up there to the top of that sea stack. Did you get him to let you ride him? How? And how did you know how to work the tailfin? When we were reunited, he took me to you and curled his tail around you protectively. What did you do?"

Stoick slapped a massive hand to his face. "You're almost as bad as Fishlegs."

"Almost?" Gobber tossed in.

Stoick returned with a flat stare, "Nobody can out-Fishlegs Fishlegs."

In answer, Skuf gestured as if pulling a sword out of its scabbard and tossing it to the side. He then held an imaginary blade in his hand and plunged it into his leg over his bandaged wound.

"You... stabbed yourself?!" Hiccup asked wide-eyed. "To gain Toothless' trust?"

Skuf nodded.

"That's insane!"

A throaty chortle rumbled outside the building and Skuf heard some projected thoughts he recognized as coming from the Night Fury.

{I'm not the only one who thinks you're insane, it would seem.} Skuf could envision the dragon smirking as he projected that.

{Silence! I am not insane.}

{So now you can hear me without contact.} There was a surprised sort of glee in Toothless' "voice".

{I guess I'm getting better at it. Each dragon's projections are different and takes me a while to recognize them. Your projections are easier to hear, but I suppose that only makes sense.}

He suddenly realized Stoick was talking.

"Hiccup, does this mean anybody could gain your dragon's trust and fly him wherever they want just by disarming himself?"

Gobber couldn't resist chiming in. "Maybe Skuf gave him a fish!"

A draconic snarl grabbed everyone's attention.

{Badger, you have my permission to knock his teeth out!}

"W-what? N-no," Hiccup stammered. "And don't be silly. You remember the last time you tried bribing Toothless with a fish, Gobber? The shop reeked for a whole week! Besides, Toothless wouldn't let anyone else ride him. I could barely get him to allow Astrid to fly him and that was only when I was sitting right behind her... and that's, well, Astrid for Thor's sake. There's gotta be something more!"

Skuf wrote on the slate, 'I can speak to dragons.'

"Umm, anyone can talk to a dragon," Stoick said in an annoyed tone. "I can even talk to walls. And rocks and trees. They never argue with me. Ever! Excellent listeners!"

Annoyed, Skuf rapidly clicked his tongue twice and wrote, 'Dragons speak. Not words. You're deaf, but I hear unspoken words. I talk to dragons. They talk to me. I made deal with Toothless.'

Hiccup scratched his head, deep in thought, smoke practically pouring out of his ears as he groped for an understanding. "Speak... without... words. I've always known Toothless could understand me, somewhat imperfectly, but he's gotten pretty good at it over time. I just thought it was just the bond between us… but you somehow learned his name without anyone telling you and… and the way you were staring at nothing and Toothless reacted to… something… and, wait, you made a deal?! Toothless didn't really attack you last night. You really got him to help fake your death! It sure worked as Dagur forgot I even existed, so that could only-" His face lit up as he squirmed on his feet with giddy excitement. "Dad! If Skuf really can-"

Stoick facepalmed again. "Oh boy, here we go."

"No, Dad, listen! If Skuf really can hear our dragons then just-"

"Hiccup…"

"Imagine what we could learn and-"

"Hiccup!"

"If I could learn how to hear Toothless then-"

"HICCUP!"

The heir cringed inwardly at the bellow. Silence reigned for a moment. With a single eye squinted open in trepidation, Hiccup squeaked out, "Can you hear Toothless talk to you now?"

Stoick face-palmed as both he and Gobber groaned in unison. Outside, Toothless huffed in annoyance.

{Tell him no, Badger. We were enjoying a nice flight before you woke up. We all know where this is going and I don't feel like playing this game.}

Skuf frowned at the wall. {Don't be silly, Toothless. What are you, a Terrible Terror? Have some patience and I can teach your rider to hear you for himself. Wouldn't you like that?}

{I don't believe you and I won't let my rider get his hopes up only to endure heartbreak in the future. If it was possible, he would have figured it out long ago. Just go back to sleep. If you're not tired, yet, stab yourself again. I've had enough of you for one day.}

Skuf slowly nodded. Maintaining a relationship with this dragon was his highest priority. Other ways would arise to get closer to the dragons and gain favor with the Hooligans.

He was startled, though, when Hiccup squealed with delight. It took a moment of going over the conversation to realize Hiccup interpreted that nod as confirmation that Skuf could converse with dragons. Toothless groaned and projected an image of himself tearing chunks out of Skuf's dead body.

Hiccup looked at his father, who refused to acknowledge the existence of his son.

"Okay! Okay!" Hiccup exclaimed, hopping on his toes. "I taught Toothless to count. Tell him how many fingers I'm holding up!"

Outside, Toothless let out a petulant whine, wishing to be soaring through the clouds or playing "catch" with his rider, where rider and dragon free-fall for a bit before getting back into the saddle.

Hiccup eagerly held up four fingers. Unsure of himself, Skuf decided to comply and passed it on to the Night Fury. For an indeterminable amount of time, everyone held their breath. The excitement quickly flushed its way out from Hiccup's face. Toothless's claws could be heard scratching plaintively on the door.

Stoick rolled his eyes and finally broke the tense silence. "Maybe all that banging and ringing in the forge is getting to him-"

"Now don't even try blaming this on me," Gobber said as though speaking to a pupil. "I know workin' at me smithy ain't what's makin' yer boy loopy. C'mon, Hiccup. Let's get back to work. I got some dull axes with yer name on 'em. Astrid should be swingin' by soon and if you chip another blade while pretending ya ain't staring at her, I'll take a chip out of your hide."

Gobber strode outside, swinging the door hard to bang against the outside wall. Hiccup looked between his dragon and Skuf with a look of utter disappointment and betrayal on his face.

"But Gobber, wait! It's the only logical explanation. Bud, you know how to count, right? Skuf, are you doing it right? Am I missing something?"

Gobber leaned back to grab the front of Hiccup's tunic, hauling him out. "Enough, Hiccup. Skuf is a prisoner an' he knows it. It's probably all just a trick to gain favor an' I can't blame him. Let's go.

Hiccup fluttered his feet to regain his footing as Gobber set him down, head hung in defeat. "I was so hopeful, Gobber. Just think… if I could hear Toothless talking to me, just think of how much better I could understand him and how it would strengthen our bond. It was just too good to be-"

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

Toothless slapped his tail against the ground in rapid succession as a certain somebody just had a change of heart. Stoick lost his namesake for a moment. Gobber threw his arms up and spun around.

"Maybe yer right, Stoick. Maybe I'm goin crazy as well! I'll get ear plugs fer the both of us with all that mind-numbin' hammerin' goin on. And filin' and grindin' and yappin' at angry customers. It's drivin' us loopy!"

Hiccup bolted inside again, out of view of his dragon. He held up seven fingers with the most hopeful expression on his face. Skuf relayed it to the dragon, who counted again by slapping his tail against the ground. The boy looked like he was about to faint. He held up three fingers. Just to be funny, Skuf projected the number six to Toothless. The dragon only snarled. Right, dragons can smell a lie. Or maybe it's carried in the passive hum. Skuf projected the correct number and the dragon counted accordingly.

Hiccup dashed out, shouting his glee and cooing at his dragon. Technically, this only proved the dragon can hear the human, not the other way around, but it was enough for the boy, apparently. Skuf could just feel an entire array of similar tests coming up in the near future. He projected his gratitude to Toothless. If the dragon continued playing stupid, that would have put him in a bad spot.

"Ya know," Gobber sighed at Skuf in an annoyed voice, "We Hooligans is simple folk. Dragons raid us, we fight em off. Dragons act all nice to us, we act all nice to them. Vikings attack us, we concave their face. Why ya gotta ruin such a wonderful life? Stoick, why haven't we offed this feller, yet?"

"Apparently," Stoick ground out, "Because a dragon counted to seven and can apparently hear silent words."

"Ya," Gobber squeezed out in a fit of laughter. "With those qualifications, I vote Toothless emperor of the world!"

With the excitement dying down, Skuf noticed his posture was slouching terribly and scraped up whatever energy he could muster to sit up straight again. Nobody ever told him that getting stabbed was such a tiring ordeal.

THUMP!

Skuf jerked his eyes up to see a book slammed down on his bed next to where he sat. Stoick looked down at him with an expressionless stare, but his passive hum gave away hints of curiosity and sympathy.

"A'ight. I got chiefin' to do. You'll be staying here until we figure out what to do with you. We took the liberty of reading your journal." He tapped the book.

Skuf nodded with great enthusiasm. That was his goal in the first place, now that he knows he may find some answers here. The journal would have already answered a lot of questions about his history.

"Yes, well, considering your animosity towards Dagur, I'm guessing you're in no hurry to get back to Berserker island?"

Skuf's head shot up in alarm. He clicked his tongue and shook his head vigorously, waving his hands in front of him.

Collecting his thoughts, he grabbed the slate board and wrote, 'Dagur thinks I'm dead. I worked hard to make it look that way. Toothless helped fake death.'

Stoick groaned. "If anyone mentions that dragon one more time…" He started pacing and settled back into his business tone. "Add anything that comes to mind as noteworthy. Things like why Dagur came here in the first place. Why ya so desperately want him to think you're dead. I hate that slate board, it's so tedious, so we'll get you something to write with."

The chief stopped for a moment, trying to remember something. "Your journal… did Dagur really murder Oswald the Agreeable?"

Skuf clenched his teeth hard as he slowly nodded. He stuck a thumb to his chest, then pointed at his eyes. He was there. He saw it. He watched a good man die and the tribe descend into depravity.

Stoick groaned, punching one fist into the palm of his other hand. It was actually very comforting to know that somebody else respected Oswald. And a Hooligan at that! Maybe they weren't so bad after all. Oswald was a good chief. Perhaps a bit soft when he should have been hard, but the tribe prospered with him.

"Also include what ya hope to do if you're not going back to Berserker Island."

Stoick spun around with a flick of his bearskin cape and strode out.

{I will admit I'm not disappointed that you survived, Badger.} Skuf flicked his head to the wall that he figured hid the Night Fury outside. {I'm sure my rider would have been fine last night without you, but your little plan did work. If you really can teach him to hear me, then you will truly have my gratitude. Don't do anything stupid and get yourself killed, now.}

Skuf smiled at that. That was the most flattering thing any dragon has ever said to him.

{You really do love your rider, Toothless?}

{I would kill without hesitation and die without remorse for him. The day you forget that will be the day you die.}

And there goes the flattery right out the window. For how casual that reminder was, as if there was no need for the dragon to elaborate or defend his stance, Skuf took heart that there really was something special here on Berk. Elsewhere, dragons have been subdued with varying degrees of success, their bodies broken, their spirits crushed. Here, though, the dragons lend their wings and fire out of pure love.

Just sitting and listening left Skuf drained of energy, so he settled back down on the bed with a smile on his face. Before sleep overtook him, he knew how to begin his next journal entry.

Trust is the mother of cooperation.

A/N:
BTW, If you've read my latest story, Hookfang's Tale (#ShamelessSelfPlug), you may have caught a reference to a certain dragon named Nose and a certain land-strider named Raven.

Also, I realize the chalkboard wasn't invented until the 1800's, so I may have taken some poetic license in giving Skuf a small slab of slate and a chunk of chalk. In this time period, I know people could draw on cave walls, bark, vellum, and paper, but I really dunno what else could serve as an erasable medium for writing for Skuf, aside from scratching in the dirt like Gothi.

Lastly, to all who left feedback, thank you! Mariah, I'm gonna hesitate to add straight-up dialog tags. I don't mean to appear ungrateful for you taking the time to voice your suggestions, so please allow me to explain.

This whole telepathy dialog stuff is serving as an opportunity to really practice indirect or subtle ways to indicate who's doing the talking. I think one article I read referred to such things as "beats". Whenever I end up writing, "Toothless projected/said/etc, {I merely chewed in self-defense, but I didn't swallow.}" I feel like a smarter version of me would have come up with a better way. However, I think I gotta admit I broke some basic rules, like adding Skuf's actions in the same paragraph as Toothless's dialog or vice-versa, which would certainly lead to confusion.

Anyway, long story short, while I plan to keep doing my current style for now, if I get more comments saying it's confusing, I'll gladly concede and adjust accordingly. Also, if anyone sees ways to improve dialog tags using this sorta style, I'd be in your debt to glean any advice.