AN: So, I'm aware, it's been a while. This is a heavy chapter, intense lore-drop, etc. etc. I don't know why, but I feel like the pacing of this chapter, compared to the last ones, was absolutely abysmal. Anyways, here we have some insight to Berk's social climate, Astrid's headspace (for a bit, only.) Anyways, enjoy!
"Ma…m… 's been so l'nng… Where've you… been…?"
Hiccup couldn't help but feel like he was intruding.
He shouldn't be listening.
He really shouldn't.
Toothless warbled slightly and looked down at Snotlout, a mix of disgusted apprehension and resignation on his face. Hiccup sighed.
Really, it was surprising how he'd changed since meeting Toothless. Before, he would've never thought about actually bodying a Night Fury into submission… (hm… maybe he's more Viking than he first thought…)
He just didn't have the self confidence to do it then.
Hiccup bit his lip and swapped out the wet cloth on Snotlout's forehead, and for the first time in a long, long time, he lamented over not accepting the apprenticeship offer from Gothi.
Perhaps then, he'd be more equipped to help Snotlout.
As it stood now, all he could do was swap cool, water-drenched cloth onto his forehead. On and off. On and off.
A breeze passed through the Overhang, and Hiccup's thin frame shivered from the cold.
On and off.
On and off.
Another breeze.
This time, Toothless glared at Hiccup pointedly, and Hiccup couldn't help but get the feeling that Toothless was saying 'I told you so'.
"Shut up, you giant lizard." Hiccup grumbled petulantly in response, dipping the cloth–a torn piece of his fur vest–into the haphazard water bucket and then on Snotlout's forehead.
Hiccup had absolutely no idea how to treat fevers. He remembered Fishlegs telling him, once, a long time ago, that you had to put a cold, wet cloth on the patient's forehead, but not much more than that.
Hiccup had tuned the rest out.
He was really starting to regret that now.
Snotlout suddenly started gasping, a horrible, horrible shaking, wet sound coming from within his throat.
He was really, really starting to regret that now.
"Hey, Snotlout–" Hiccup held his arm out, as if to pull Snotlout close, but before he could move that close, Toothless hissed and swatted his arm away.
"Toothless!" Hiccup hissed in return, rubbing his arm slightly, "I need to get him to Gothi!"
Toothless glared at him, eyes burning with green fire and conviction, all saying 'No. Absolutely not, you idiot.'.
"Toothless!"
The Night Fury snarled and got up, pacing around.
"Toothless, I promise." Hiccup reached for his dragon and placed a gentle hand on the side of his head, "I will be fine. It will all be fine. Don't worry."
The Night Fury narrowed his eyes and shook Hiccup's hand off. Then, the dragon bounded off to the side and blasted a clean circle shape into the ground, before settling down and closing his eyes.
Hiccup grimaced.
He'd need to make it up to Toothless after this.
But not now. Hiccup grabbed Snotlout's uninjured arm and slung it over his shoulders, I have bigger things to worry about.
Carefully, Hiccup stumbled out of the Overhang-cave, Snotlout dragging behind him. The rain had lightened into a barely-there drizzle, but Hiccup was under no illusions. He had only a small window to make it back to Berk.
The rain would definitely start again.
HIccup's legs quivered under Snotlout's full weight, and all of a sudden, he was sharply, distinctly, aware of his own weakness.
A sharp gust of wind tore through the cove, before suddenly dying down, leaving everything in absolute silence. Hiccup trudged forward, his gait uneven and stumbling. Beside him, Snotlout was heaving and coughing.
Hiccup grimaced.
The small teen stumbled up the incline of the slope leading into the cove, before stopping and heaving. After a few moments, he grabbed Snotlout's arm once more and dragged him along.
Freyr must be smiling upon us today. Hiccup thought woozily. The sky seemed to be lightening further. Perhaps he was wrong about his (and Snotlout's) impending doom?
A boom of thunder sounded out, and a gust of wind passed through the forest, as if to refute Hiccup's thought.
"Ah." The teen said weakly, shifting so more of Snotlout's weight rested on him, "Okay. Message received." And with that, he slowly trekked in the vague direction he knew the village to be in.
The cawing of the ravens continued above him, creating a horrible, discordant symphony that grated against Hiccup's ears and dug into his mind with malicious intent.
Hiccup gritted his teeth and pushed forward.
As he trudged forward, Hiccup began realizing something.
The birds were following him.
They were following him.
This wasn't good.
Hiccup grit his teeth as he stumbled over a stray branch on the ground. The mud made it hard to walk, and Hiccup's already weak body lagged further and further behind.
I'm running on fumes. He noted, shifting once more, adjusting Snotlout's arms around his neck. He winced when he felt Snotlout's shoulder wound reopen and stain the little cloth he put there to stem its flow.
The wind shrieked through the trees, and Hiccup barely stayed on his feet in the aftermath. "Come on." he gritted, "Would you guys just stop, for once?"
The wind surged once more, before dying down.
Hiccup sighed and trudged forward.
He didn't know how long it took to get back to the Village–the clouds had covered the sky the entire time–but the auburn-haired teen was thankful the rain hadn't started up again.
As the lights of Berk's village and the totems they were perched on became clear enough to see, Hiccup blinked, and suddenly realized that his throat was horribly parched and his head was aching hard enough that if he hadn't experienced the last… however long it was, for himself, then he would've thought he fell into a Thorston's Boar Pit. And lost.
Snotlout felt heavy on his back.
Hiccup bit his lip, readjusted, and with new vigor, walked on.
Then the rain started again, and his energy was sapped once more.
The ravens screeched above him (how were they still flying?).
Oh. My luck's ran out. Hiccup mused, eyes fluttering closed, and grip slackening, Damn it… This was a bad idea…
He vaguely felt himself tipping forward, Snotlout's weight helping him fall, but he never felt the crackling leaves and hard packed dirt of the ground against his cheek or body.
O~O
It started out innocently. An inconspicuous absence from Dragon Training that day.
That's fine.
Hiccup was normally a fleeting child–and despite the way he worked in the forge, he was very frail, too. Gobber didn't worry too much. (Hiccup had been trying to get out of dragon training for days now. Gobber would catch him eventually).
What he was truly concerned about was Snotlout's absence.
The lad was dedicated (even if most didn't see it) to the idea of becoming a dragon killer. And he was well on his way to becoming one. Perhaps, in another world, he would've been at the top of his class.
But in this world, the Hofferson girl was part of the class, which effectively destroyed any hope of that ever happening.
Either way, Snotlout was absent, and that was concerning.
Concerning because he'd seen the lad step forward, even when he was half-dead from sickness in the middle of a hailstorm for a spar with the Hofferson girl when he was younger.
Of course, he lost miserably, but that didn't change the fact that he did it. (Even if it was at his father's behest…)
Snotlout was dedicated, but missing.
Hiccup… was trying to dodge his responsibility, which was half-expected, but he was also missing.
(Gobber didn't feel right… Hm… Maybe it was something he ate…)
Gobber hummed as he watched the four teens left behind attempt to subdue the Nadder. Their whole synergy is thrown off, he observed, It seems Snotlout and Hiccup's absences are hitting them harder than expected… Well, then. Gobber stretched out, Time to put an end to this pitiful show.
"Pack up, laddies and lassies!" Gobber hollered, hobbling down into the ring, "Ye all suck, so we'll try again tomorrow!"
The twin Thorstons immediately dropped their weapons and shields and cheered. Ingerman smiled faintly. The Hofferson girl scoffed and adjusted her grip on her axe. Gobber raised the right side of his brow interestedly. Open disobedience? That's new.
"Hofferson." he called, and the Hofferson girl twitched, watching the Nadder hatefully through her fringe.
"I can do it!" she insisted suddenly, "I can do it, Gobber! I don't need them! Just let me do this!"
Gobber sighed tiredly–although, Hofferson mistook it for disappointment.
"Stop it!" she hissed, her grip tightening dangerously. Her eyes darted wildly around, settling on the Nadder every few moments, "Let me do it!"
Gobber groaned, "Yes, yes, we all know how tough ye are, Hofferson, now come on." Gobber hobbled over to the Nadder, who hissed and spat and snarled at him. "Oh shut up, ye overgrown bird." he grumbled softly, bodily dragging the Dragon over to the cage. As he shut the cage, Gobber called out, "Ye're all free ta leave! Consider this an off-an'-study day! I'm pushin' the test ta t'morro'."
By the time Gobber turned around, everyone was gone.
Except for Hofferson.
Gobber repressed an eye-roll, "Okay. Here we go. What do ye want?"
Hofferson's jaw was set, and her eyes burned with a fire so bright and blue, that if he didn't already face down death multiple times, Gobber would be shaken. "Why didn't you let me take her?" she whispered, "I could've done it. You know that."
The heavy clunk of the door caging the Nadder in, shut behind him, and Gobber sighed, now finally able to relax, "Lass, it doesn't matter if yer able ta do it or not." he murmured, "Even the chief needs a team ta find the nest."
"But this is just one dragon!" the Hofferson girl exploded, waving her arm indignantly, "I can handle one dragon alone!"
Gobber shook his head, "Yer still a child. Ye haven't killed yer first dragon–" he paused, and a sudden thought entered his head, "...This isn't about the Monstrous Nightmare, is it?"
The Hofferson girl shifted uncomfortably, and Gobber's suspicions increased. "Hofferson–"
"I feel guilty." she blurted out, suddenly, and Gobber reeled backwards from the sudden show of vulnerability the normally-tough girl had on her face. And surprise, too, he noted. It seemed that she herself hadn't expected this outburst at all.
"Guilty?" Gobber asked carefully, leaning back, "What do you mean, guilty?"
The Hofferson girl shifted again, this time casting her gaze down to her fingers. It was only through years of experience of dealing with Valka that he'd recognized the image for what it was.
Shameful guilt.
Guilt for an action.
Shame for feeling the guilt.
But there was no reason the Hofferson girl should feel guilty, unless–
"Are ye… perhaps… guilty abou' the Gronckle from yesterday?" Gobber asked slowly.
The Hofferson girl winced.
"Why do ye feel guilty?" Gobber asked softly, though slightly tactlessly, as was his norm.
Hofferson shrugged. "I don't know. I just… A downed dragon is a dead dragon." she parroted, "That dragon… It's downed. I… I downed it. What–what–"
"Hofferson," Gobber interrupted, raising his hand, "Stop. Look around." the Hofferson girl blinked and looked around, obediently. "What do ye see?"
The Hofferson girl squinted against the chain dome that covered the sky, "I see chains."
Gobber nodded, "These dragons are downed anyways. They were going to die anyway. Don't feel guilt, lass." It'll only hurt worse.
The Hofferson girl squared her shoulders and nodded–a manner eerily similar to what Valka used to do when she was trying to resolve herself to something, even when she knew she would eventually fail at it.
Gobber sighed, "If ye feel guilt, lass." he called out, as she walked out of the Arena, "Change yer approach! There's more than one way ta kill a dragon! More merciful ways, too." he muttered the last part, though from the way the Hofferson girl stopped cold in the middle of her step, she heard him anyways.
Gobber hid a smile when he saw the girl suddenly start up again and walk back home faster than she did before. "Well." he stretched, and looked to the sky, "Time ta track Hiccup down…"
As Gobber strolled through the village, on the clear path towards the Smithy, a heavy, lead feeling made itself known in his gut. Now, what is it… Gobber peered up at the sky again, idly noting the ominous dark undertones to the fluffy white clouds. Off in the distance, shrill croak-screeching could be heard–the telltale sound of the Damned Mountain's ravens.
Wonder what's got them so worked up. Gobber mentally grumbled, hobbling through the Smithy's door. "Hiccup!" No response. Gobber's heart did a short flip-flop. "Hiccup!" the one-legged, one-armed Viking pushed open the door to Hiccup's study with no small amount of force (the door broke, but that's fine, he'd fix it later–).
Hiccup wasn't inside.
Hiccup wasn't inside.
The heavy feeling in Gobber's gut settled, and all of a sudden, the ravens screeching in the distance made a lot more sense.
Without thinking, Gobber switched his Hook hand for his Torch hand and immediately ran–as best he could with a peg leg–in the direction of the ravens' sound. Even though the sun was out, the fire from his torch-hand would be useful. After all–it wasn't like the sun was able to pierce very well through the thick cloud-cover anyways.
The moment Gobber entered the forest, the ravens' screeching turned into an ugly cacophony of sound–a song of death and damnation. Gobber hissed and hobbled forward regardless. "Ye think ye stupid birds can scare me?!" he hollered derisively, waving his torch hand recklessly, "Ye can't do anythin'! I've faced down the throats of bone-white fiery beasts! Ye can't do anythin' ta me!" But everything to Hiccup, a smaller voice in his head whispered.
The ravens' screeches surged suddenly, before receding. The forest was now eerily silent. Then, everything exploded with a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The rain started again.
Gobber's torch doused.
The old Viking cursed, and pushed forward. As if to stop him, winds bellowed out of the forest, so strong, they threatened to topple him over.
Gobber ignored them.
"Hiccup!" his voice was drowned out by the howling wind (it sounded eerily similar to cries of pain–of sobbing children on dragon raid nights), "Hiccup!"
Eventually, he stumbled onto an old pathway–one that'd presumably been used and carved out by the first Vikings that settled on Berk. Presumably.
No one ever used it anymore.
And for good reason.
(Gobber didn't mind admitting it–admitting that the mountain known as Raven Point absolutely terrified him. He'd take the Boneknapper over that Thor-damned mountain any day)
And there was the problem.
No one ever uses this path anymore. Gobber's heart pounded, Why are there footprints?
In the dim light of the sun that managed to pierce through both the cloud cover and tree canopy, Gobber could make out the outline and tell-tale depression in the ground in the vague shape of a footprint.
"Hiccup." Gobber hissed, and he burst through the bushes off the side, where the footprints (hopefully) seemed to be leading. Sure enough, the moment he crossed the brush, he found Hiccup, half-delirious and muttering something about luck and bad ideas.
Then, he started falling.
Gobber lunged forward and, in his free hand, he caught the kid before he could hit the ground. It was only once Hiccup was in his arm that he realized–for some reason–Snotlout was there as well.
With a practiced eye that came from an old apprenticeship with Gothi, Gobber scoured Hiccup's body first for any signs of anything that would most likely make Stoick run after him with a battle axe whilst yelling bloody murder.
Minor cuts, bruises, scrapes. No visible signs of sickness or impending death. Gobber noted, before sighing in relief, Good.
Then, he turned to Snotlout.
Gobber blinked.
Then, again.
How is this kid still alive?
Gobber shifted Hiccup from his free arm to his doused-torch arm and propped Snotlout up on his free one instead. Dear Thor. Gobber prayed, Please grant us safe passage. Please.
Thunder boomed in the distance, and Gobber ran (as best he could) home.
O~O
Hiccup's eyes cracked open, and for a few moments, his heart seized in his chest when he realized the sky (roof) he was looking up to wasn't one he was significantly familiar with.
Then, he blinked, and his heart calmed down from its jackrabbit pace. Oh. he thought tiredly, Gothi.
"Really." Hiccup's heart jumped again at the sudden voice, "Ye must really be tired, 'iccup. Ta think that ya wouldn't pester me with questions about how ye got 'ere." the voice Hiccup now recognized as Gobber intoned, a mild note of amusement interlaced with it.
"G–obber." Hiccup croaked, internally wincing at the broken, dry sound of his throat, "T–hanks f-for remi–" he coughed, and wordlessly accepted Gobber's offering of water, "reminding me." he finished.
Gobber raised the right side of his brow, beckoning for Hiccup to ask.
Hiccup rolled his eyes and felt a smile twitch at his mouth, "So, what happened? How did I get here–Where's Snotlout?"
Gobber smiled, twirling his hook in the air. If it were anyone else, they'd have passed it off as a lighthearted gesture, but Hiccup was Hiccup, and he had spent more than half his life in Gobber's presence.
Gobber was nervous.
"Ye know, when I found ya both, Snotlout was halfway ta death!" Gobber said cheerfully, "And ye were a step away from planting yer face inta the ground and growing a sorry-looking Hiccup-y tree!"
Hiccup stopped listening after the words 'halfway ta death'. "Is–" he croaked, "Is he–Is Snotlout okay?"
Gobber stared at Hiccup indecipherably, before sighing, suddenly looking every bit his age, and a good amount older, too. "It's yet ta be decided." he said somberly, "According ta the Hag, the Jorgenson-boy's shoulder wound is probably the biggest problem he's got."
Hiccup sighed in relief–
"It's eatin' him alive."
–Hiccup's gaze snapped upward, searching Gobber's face for any sign of prank or deceit. "It's what?" he choked, "You're kidding–shoulder wounds don't eat people, Gobber!"
Gobber shrugged, before pinning Hiccup with a pointed glare, "Well, Hiccup, as ye know, Raven Point tends to have rather interesting things ta leave those who cross it."
Idly, Hiccup thought of Finlay the Insane, who was never actually insane, until he crossed Raven Point on a new moon night and never came back the same.
"Is–Is the…" Hiccup winced, "Flesh-Eating sickness… known?"
Gobber shrugged, and picked at the base of his hook–another nervous tic, Hiccup identified. "There are a few cases of it happenin' before." Gobber revealed, "About… five. Of those five… only one recovered, and that one that recovered was never the same."
Hiccup grimaced, "How long ago?"
Gobber remained quiet, before– "125 years ago."
Hiccup couldn't say anything.
Gobber couldn't find it in himself to console the kid, or even apologize. He knew it would only make it worse. (Fire, blood, raining ash–a blonde Viking child cradling his little sister, barely an infant as he wept and screamed towards the Heavens).
An apology would do nothing.
"Do you…" Gobber started, "Do you want ta see him?"
Hiccup nodded stiltedly.
Gobber jutted his chin out and got up from his stool. He already knew he'd be bonked multiple times upside the head by the Hag for doing this, but he couldn't help but find it worth it. The old blacksmith held out his hand and grasped Hiccup's colder, tinier one within it.
"He's in the next room." Gobber said, pointing his horned helmet in the direction, "Technically, he's bein' isolated right now, but I think we can go in." (AN: Disclaimer! If someone's isolating for a disease, DO NOT GO INSIDE.)
Hiccup nodded, and got out of the healing-bed. "What…" he paused, "What did Snotlout look like when you saw him?"
Gobber hummed and hobbled over to the side door, Hiccup trailing close behind, "Like I said, halfway ta death." he paused, shaking his head, "He was so pale, 'iccup." Gobber murmured, "I can't describe it. The best way would be ta show it to ye." and he opened the door.
Hiccup peeked through, and his heart stopped cold.
When Gobber had said Snotlout was pale, Hiccup had assumed that the old blacksmith meant slightly pale. The Snotlout that was before Hiccup was not that. The Snotlout that was before Hiccup was such a pasty pale, that he looked like a corpse already.
The purplish-black bruise-looking thing spreading from his shoulder wound didn't help either.
Then, Gothi entered. Hiccup didn't recognize her at first. She looked so haggard–a good twenty years older than she actually was, when she entered the room. She cast a look at Gobber and Hiccup off to the side and sighed silently. She pointed her staff at them, and then out the door.
"She's sayin' 'Get out'." Gobber translated helpfully.
"Yes." Hiccup didn't take his eyes off of the old Healer and Snotlout, "I'm aware."
Once the two backed out of the room, and Gobber had closed the door behind them, Gobber stretched and mentioned offhandedly– "By the way, Hiccup, Gothi said ye were free ta go. Just need rest, and whatnot, ya know. That means," he shot a meaningful look at the auburn-haired teen, "Ye will actually have ta sleep at night, got it?"
Hiccup nodded, and wordlessly exited the hut.
Gobber watched as he left, a weird sense of foreboding filling his gut.
O~O
"...More merciful ways, too."
Astrid growled and slammed her head into a wooden beam at her house.
The silence rang through the entire household, so similar, yet so, so different from how it was before the final Nest Hunt.
And of course, just like all the other times, Astrid couldn't help but worry on the idea that perhaps–just perhaps her parents wouldn't return.
And of course, just like all the other times, Astrid would console herself again, that no, she should not worry, her parents were warriors in and of their own right, and they knew exactly what they were getting into.
The blonde girl let loose her braid and idly carded a hand through her hair. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what she did, she couldn't banish Gobber's words from her mind.
"...More merciful ways, too."
Astrid cursed loudly, free to do so in the privacy and emptiness of her home, before grabbing her axe and leaving. She needed to blow off some steam. (And the best way to do that was preferably through repeated pummeling of the trees in the nearby forest).
Astrid wasn't quite sure what expression she had on her face, for everyone to be parting around her, but she didn't mind, if it gave her freedom of passage. And so, she marched forward.
Then, at the entrance of the forest, she stopped.
What– "What in Thor's name are you doing here?" Astrid growled, stalking up to the scrawny teen and jabbing her index finger into his chest.
Hiccup gazed off into the forest, blankly, shifting slightly into a combative stance, yet still so painfully detached, it just pissed Astrid off–
"Why are you so interested?"
And everything froze over.
If Astrid wasn't Astrid, and didn't have the self-control that had been bred (beaten) into her by her parents, her jaw would have dropped.
No one defied her.
No one had the guts to defy her.
(No one except the so-called fishbone, apparently)
She respected that.
Astrid took a step back and reevaluated her position, as she was taught to do, "I'm interested," she evenly replied, the firm grip she had on the handle of her battle-axe solid and grounding, "Because I'm going this way as well. I need to," shred some trees, "Practice my axe-throwing."
Hiccup nodded, still looking off into the darkness of the forest, "Right. Go ahead. I'm not stopping you."
Astrid raised a skeptical eyebrow, tracking Hiccup's gaze into the forest in curiosity. She squinted in confusion, the thickness of the trees drowning everything within in darkness–what could Hiccup even be looking at?
She turned around, to ask the teen, only to find that Hiccup's gaze had now transferred to her. Astrid's throat went dry.
Hiccup's eyes were a vibrant forest-green, but at the same time, dark and cold like the light of the moon on the mountain of Raven Point. She couldn't help but be afraid, yet entranced by the shadows lurking behind his eyes, the cold detachment with which he made his decisions visible through it.
(Deep down, Astrid knew, without a doubt, Hiccup was going to be an amazing leader. Even if the rest of the village couldn't see it yet, she knew he would.)
"Where are you going to be training?" Hiccup suddenly asked, breaking Astrid out of her reverie.
Astrid regally tilted her chin up. Even if Hiccup would be an amazing leader, she would be the best warrior in the tribe. The best. With conviction, she pointed her index finger into the forest, where she normally went for her training.
Hiccup blinked, then nodded, before walking away. Or, well, trying to, apparently. He took three steps, and then stopped, looked at Astrid over his shoulder, a dry smile on his face, and said, "Your hair looks good today. Nice style."
Then, he turned forward, as if he hadn't just thrown Astrid's entire balance, both mental and physical off-kilter, and walked off.
O~O
Tuffnut Thorston was worried. Well, that wasn't accurate, actually.
It was more of a sinking feeling in his gut–a gut feeling, that is. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Or, maybe it could've just been the giant bruise spreading across his stomach courtesy of dragon training.
Nadders kick very hard, apparently.
"Why did no one put that in the Book of Dragons?" Tuffnut groaned dramatically, draping himself over his sister, who looked one step away from kicking him in the stomach, discarding the bruise's existence.
"Tuffnut, I swear to Loki, Thor, Odin, and whoever the Hel else," Ruffnut snarled, "If you don't get off me right now, I'm sending you to Valhalla."
Tuffnut immediately surrendered, "Okay, okay, fine–Hey, would you look at that? We're here!"
Gothi's hut loomed before them, a strange aura of depression hanging about it.
"Well, that's odd." Ruffnut vocalized, and Tuffnut nodded in affirmation. "Where's the screams of disgust?"
Gothi's hut was eerily silent.
"Ah well," Tuffnut shrugged, "We could just go in and find out."
A multitude of emotions crossed Ruffnut's face, before finally settling on apprehension, "Are you sure, brother? I don't think–"
Tuffnut waved her off, "Don't worry! It'll all be okay, besides–"
Ruffnut nodded, finishing her brother's statement, "There is always a backup plan."
Tuffnut smirked, "Always."
With that, Ruffnut steeled herself and pushed open the door.
Tuffnut peeked inside, and let out a low whistle of amazement, "Wow, the hag is normally so organized. Didn't think she had it in her to have this mess around."
The ground was cluttered with papers and diagrams–old, old documents of the first Vikings to ever scour Berk's land. But that was all fine–what really made Ruffnut stop cold and reconsider her decision was the symbol that had been carved threefold into the wall beside the side-door.
A Monstrous Nightmare skull drawn in garish red coloring, with the eyes blank and unseeing.
The Berkian symbol of disease.
"Uh." Tuffnut squinted at the symbol, "There hasn't been an outbreak of the Scourge of Odin recently, has there–agh–!"
Ruffnut elbowed her brother in the ribs. "Don't." she hissed, "Joke about that."
Tuffnut looked away, properly chastised.
Truth be told, the Thorstons were never really accepted as genuine Vikings. A few hundred years ago, when the Scourge of Odin broke out, it wiped out all the Viking clans far south–closer to the continent.
The only reason Berk had been spared was pure chance.
Pure chance that it'd been higher North than everywhere else.
Pure. Chance.
It was also pure chance that the Thorston family–which had traveled farther up North to escape the Scourge of Odin–had their tiny, mutilated, sorry-looking ship found by the Hairy Hooligan Tribe, which was, at the time, under the command of Blair the Benevolent.
There were a lot of talks as to whether or not to keep the Thorstons around, but eventually, the discussion was closed, and the Thorstons were accepted as Berkians. However, because of their background and why they came to Berk to begin with, they were often treated as a walking disease that no one really wanted to associate with (minus the Jorgensons, but they were just… mean).
Since then, the Scourge of Odin was always a taboo topic in the House of Thorston.
That didn't stop Tuffnut from occasionally making mocking jokes at it.
(After all, if the entire island mocked them even centuries later for the matter… why should Tuffnut not think about the matter? Not speak about the matter?)
"–ever it is, the room is contaminated." Tuffnut was snapped out of his musings when his sister tapped him lightly on the shoulder, "We should probably go and come back another time."
Tuffnut scoffed and pushed the door open. His mood was sufficiently soured enough to not care of the possible disease floating in the air. "Gothi has the best medicine on Berk," he insisted stubbornly, "And I don't have the patience to wait any longer." And she's the only one who actually gives us time of day…
Ruffnut grimaced, not really finding the energy nor the words to refute her brother, and stepped into the room with him.
Then, she froze.
Tuffnut paled.
"So," Ruffnut began conversationally, as if that would hide the quiver in her tone, "Has Gothi started doing Human Sacrifices now, or something?" Because why the Hel else would Snotlout be there, on the Healer's Cot, with his right shoulder looking dangerously close to withering off his body?
Tuffnut couldn't find it in himself to answer.
It was at that exact moment, where Tuffnut was reaching for Snotlout's oddly purple-and-black shoulder-hole-wound-thing, that Gothi walked into the room.
All Tuffnut could remember was an all-encompassing blackness, and then…
And then he woke up.
Ruffnut placed her hand on her brother's abdomen, glaring at him slightly, "How are you feeling?" she gritted out.
Tuffnut tilted his head, "Why are you mad?" he asked instead.
Ruffnut ground her teeth together and flopped backwards onto the grass, "Because for your stupidity, I got yelled at by Gothi!"
"Well, technically," Tuffnut started–
"I KNOW GOTHI IS MUTE, YOU IDIOT!" Ruffnut screeched, smacking him upside the head.
Tuffnut groaned in pain, "Well, I'm sor-ry, sister, but I was kind of preoccupied with looking at Snotlout's–quite honestly–horrific shoulder wound!"
Ruffnut groaned, and fell backwards, "What even was that, anyways?" she wondered aloud.
Tuffnut shrugged, the line on his shoulders tense, "I don't know. Honestly, it looked a bit like a Wither-Flower."
Ruffnut tried to scoff noncommittally, but from the way her fingernails dug into her elbows, Tuffnut's words definitely reached her. "You realize that thing doesn't" shouldn't, "even exist on Berk, right?" she asked.
"Then what did Snotlout have?" Tuffnut questioned.
Ruffnut couldn't answer. For a few moments, all was silent, and then the female twin sighed. "Fine." she grumbled, "Say it's the… thing for a bit. Then where do you think he'd got it? The only place you can really get this is on a mountain, and there's only one–" she stopped.
Tuffnut sucked in a sharp breath, "Raven Point."
Ruffnut felt a sinking feeling in her gut. Oh no. "What would Snotlout even do on Raven Point?" she tried, "It's a–no, the–Damned Mountain! You know how superstitious Jorgensons are!" The only clan on Berk the Jorgensons were outdone by in terms of superstition were the Thorstons, and even then… It was a close count.
"I. Don't. Know." Tuffnut gritted out.
"What are you thinking, brother?" Ruffnut asked, "Please tell me you're not thinking what I think you're thinking…"
Tuffnut smiled grimly, "I'm thinking exactly what you think I'm thinking." he promised, "But before that… Do you still remember the pattern to the Thorston vault?"
On Berk, few clans kept physical, written records of their discoveries, or life stories, or anything, really. Most clans never saw the need to. Really, only four Houses on Berk actually had more than a single shelf of books passed down from generation to generation.
The House of Ingerman.
The House of Haddock.
The Healers' Hut.
And… The Thorstons.
The Thorstons' library could be more attributed to the fact that they never really came from Berk to begin with, so they needed to prove their worth in different ways. That 'library' of sorts, was the reason Blair the Benevolent decided to live up to his name and actually let the Thorstons stay on Berk.
Over time, though, the 'library' had lost its original value, and just… started gathering dust.
When Ruffnut and Tuffnut were children, and they fell into the Vault room, after playing around with the pattern mechanism, they were the first Thorstons in about 100 years to actually see the place for themselves.
Naturally, they decided to ransack it.
A good portion of the books that were really, really old just crumbled to dust at their fingertips, whereas others, they just ripped apart by hand.
They only stopped when a black book, with a heavy metal lock on the cover fell down. From that moment, everything they worked on was just to get that lock to open.
(It was how they got their… less than desirable reputation, from that young age)
Eventually, around three years later (and with increasingly creative and more dangerous attempts), they did get it open, but after the first page, they shut it, and vowed to never open it again.
"It seems like we'll have to break that now, yeah?" Ruffnut muttered, facing the old Vault.
Tuffnut hummed, and squinted at the pattern.
It was a three by three square, each block inside it being one by one, with a different symbol. Tuffnut pressed on the middle top, the middle bottom, and the rightmost of the middle row. The door to the vault swung open.
The twins crept down silently, into the darkness.
"Well." Tuffnut snorted, trying to lighten the mood, "This is just as nerve-wracking as the first–what? Ten times?"
Ruffnut made a short noise of amusement, but said nothing.
When they made it to the bottom of the house, where the cellar was located, Ruffnut grabbed an old set of flint and steel, one that they hadn't touched in a near-decade, and struck it over a dry branch.
Immediately, the room was illuminated in a soft, orange glow, and sure enough, right there, in the center of the area, lay that nameless, black book, with the broken lock still on the cover.
Ruffnut wordlessly picked up the book with her free hand and set it on the old, stone study. She set the torch down in a semi-stable position, and beckoned her brother over. Once they were both situated, Tuffnut turned the first page, and the two were immediately reminded of why they swore to never open the book ever again.
On the first page, there was an explicitly detailed image of a human body with a hole in the center, black lines protruding outwards like some kind of shadow creature was eating it from the inside. (And in the background, a short sketch of a mountain…)
It was eerily similar to what Snotlout had on his shoulder.
At the top of the page, in clear, neat print (so unlike the Thorstons of today) it was written–Flesh-Eater.
Ruffnut stole a worried glance at her brother, though Tuffnut was just staring intently at the page. Then, after a few moments, he turned it.
On the next page, was a different diagram, one of a flower with petals so droopy, one would think it was withered instead of alive.
Wither Flower
A flower with gray petals, a singular purple-like stripe running down the middle. It's found only on mountains, and is most effective in warm, humid environments.
It reproduces by attaching bundles of its seeds to a living being, preferably via an open wound. While the seeds are growing, they feed on the blood and flesh within their host. Once they sprout, they start spreading across the host's body, and once it reaches the heart, the host dies.
The flower then bursts forth from the body and blooms anew.
Tuffnut was–for once in his life–speechless.
Ruffnut couldn't believe what she was reading. "We're not actually going to believe this garbage, are we?" she asked.
Tuffnut set his mouth into a hard line.
Ruffnut rolled her eyes and looked back to the page.
The Flesh Eater flower petals can be used in many a poison–if handled correctly. A singular petal can fell a hundred men. However, to acquire them, one must–
"Skip a few pages," Tuffnut muttered, "We don't need this."
"Right now," Ruffnut reminded, flipping the page, "But I concur."
If one is infected with the Wither flower seeds, they are most likely to be affected with the symptoms of fever, fatigue, pain, and frequent hallucinations (both auditory and visual).
These symptoms are worrisome in and of themselves, and therefore, attention is often diverted to treating the symptoms rather than the root cause. Do not let this happen.
Tuffnut hummed.
To drive out Wither flower seeds, one must trick the flower seed bud into thinking the body is already contaminated with a different Wither flower seed.
To do so, find the entry wound, and rub a solution of the following into it–
2 scoops honey into boiling water. Mix for a while, until the honey fully settles. The solution must be very thick, with more of an abundance of honey than water. Powder willow bark and put into the solution as well. Once the water settles, it should be a murky brown color. Then, handle the 3 Wither flower petals with CARE.
"Okay, okay, stop!" Ruffnut waved her hands around dramatically, before pointing to the book, "Why are we even doing this? Why did I not ask this earlier?"
Tuffnut shrugged, "I adopted Snotlout!" he thumped his chest and laughed, "He is now an honorary Thorston!"
Ruffnut gaped, "You do not get to decide that on your own!"
Tuffnut gasped, affronted, "I can too! Just watch me!"
"Tuffnut!"
Before Ruffnut could lay into him, Tuffnut flipped back a page and shushed her, "Hush, sister. You can deal with me later. Right now, let me do this."
Ruffnut's face cycled through many-an-expression, before ultimately settling on something indecipherable. Though, only for a moment–then, she turned back to the page and started reading once more.
…to acquire it, one must not make direct contact. Hold it from the base of the stem, and with tools of your choice, one must peel off the petals themselves. The petals themselves are only loosely attached to adult Wither flowers, so taking them apart will be simple.
Never make direct contact.
Tuffnut turned back to the recipe page.
Add the flower petals in raw. Do not tamper with them. Preferably, put them in right after you pluck them from the flower itself. The fresher, the better. Once in, stir gently until the color from the petal seeps into the water. Do not pierce the petal and let the fluids inside leak out.
Once the petals are in, let it cool down, and then send to drink.
A simple recipe, but the properties of willow bark and honey together nullify the significant effects of the Wither flower. Once rubbed into the wound, it will be harmless, and drive out the existing seeds as well.
Tuffnut grinned, and turned to his sister. Ruffnut stared back, uneasy. "Guess what we're doing today?" he chirped.
Ruffnut tilted her head, "Going home and eating mom's delicious yak chops…?"
Tuffnut laughed, "Nope! We're going to go pick flowers!"
Ruffnut groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose slightly, "After this," she promised, "After all… this is done, you will tell me why the Hel you suddenly want to adopt…" she made a face, "Snotlout."
"I promise I'll tell you," Tuffnut swore. I will dodge the question for as long as possible. "Let's just do this first."
Ruffnut glared at her brother, "Fine. But we do this tomorrow. I don't know about you, but I'm quite famished, and my stomach is asking for mom's famous yak chops."
Tuffnut grinned, "You and me both, sister!"
With that, they both traversed up the stairs, reversed the pattern, and made to go pester their mother.
O~O
.
.
Gothi shivered in her hut. The door was open… She should close it.
But…
But…
She was just so tired—
She'd spent the whole day and night searching through her documents–through every single one of her healing scriptures and records, and could only find documents relative to three of the five cases similar to what Snotlout had.
Three.
She knew there were others–that the healers before her had kept records, but she–she just–!
My organization system is terrible, Gothi sighed. She leaned on her staff and glared down at the three documents she managed to obtain. So much trouble…
At least… I got it. Gothi was too exhausted to try for a smile, instead letting her eyes slip shut for a moment. The third document she had gathered was the one detailing the contraction and recovery of one Angus the Apocalyptic of the Flesh-Eater disease.
Although…
Gothi's eyes narrowed as she skimmed through the document. Most of why the man had even recovered was attributed to luck. Luck and sheer stubbornness.
Apparently, Angus the Apocalyptic had retained most of his cognitive thought after becoming infected, and had experienced slightly different symptoms from what Snotlout was having. Compared to Snotlout, who had vivid dreams and a full set on of fever, Angus the Apocalyptic only had the beginnings of a fever and waking nightmares–dark visions. Hallucinations.
At one point, it got so bad that he ran out of the healing hut and into the forest where he got infected–a place shared by all five infected individuals–Raven Point's Forest. Eventually, after four days and four nights, Angus returned–though, no longer as Angus the Apocalyptic, but as Angus the Delusional.
It was written that Angus had continuously blabbed on and on about dragons–tiny dragons of various colors, though mostly in a horrifically bright green, that apparently glowed and healed his wound, along with his visions, as well as his fever.
Of course, no one believed him, marking his words off as another side effect of his affliction, but he insisted. From then on, Angus had never participated in another dragon raid, instead opting to lay back and isolate himself from the village. He transferred his home and items to Raven Point, leaving his wife and three children back on Berk with nary a word as to why.
From Gothi's understanding, the young shield-maiden he had for a wife was not very happy about that, so she did a few things… Well, most of that was just gossip. (Angus seemed to be very bad at making good decisions, Gothi observed)
Of course, Angus was painted in quite the incriminating light here, but Gothi could see beyond that. She knew, that before Angus was dubbed Angus the Apocalyptic, later Delusional, he was also viable to be called Angus the Painfully Honest.
Angus never lied.
And even if he was hallucinating… the way he insisted about those tiny glowing dragons…
Gothi narrowed her eyes. At least she's got to try.
AN#2: So. I know you guys probably don't want to read a SECOND AN. *le gasp* but here I am! Anyways, so Freyr is the Norse God of fertility, sunshine, RAIN etc. etc. More information- topic/Freyr
The disease Snotlout has on his shoulder, is actually inspired by a real-life thing (I just took some creative liberties and tweaked it... Needed to make it less lethal for Vikings, yaknow? Heh) It's called Necrotizing Fasciitis, the pictures are disgusting, and it's fairly accurate when it comes to what Snotlout's going through right now. Also, it's passed through breakages in skin. Hehe.
ANYWAYS! I headcanon the Thorstons as not from Berk, or at least, originating from somewhere around the Continent, mostly because they are NOT BUFF. They're built like Hiccup and they're strangely well-connected and ahead of their time for Vikings isolated on a singular island. I just wanted to touch upon that, and I ended up crafting an entire backstory for them lmao.
Btw, I know I probably should've said it earlier, but some parts of this draft are supposed to be crossed out (like, on purpose. A strikethrough). But, unfortunately, Ff . net doesn't really let it stay, soooo... If some parts just feel like they're disconnected from the rest, then they're probably supposed to be strikethroughs. That's all!
So, anyways, that's it! Tell me how this chapter was! Thanks for reading.