Disclaimer: This thing is full of tropes and anachronisms, and had a particularly uninspired title. Oh, and I don't own How To Train Your Dragon. You have been warned.
"We're leaving," Hiccup sighs, resigned to that fact. This isn't what he wants, but it's the only way forward left where everyone he cares about can be safe, even if that means being apart. "Let's pack up. Looks like you and me are taking a little vacation… forever."
He's calling it a vacation as if that will distract from what it really is: running away; the coward's way out. He can't kill dragons, so he'll go someplace he doesn't have to. Berk will survive without him – Vikings have stubbornly clung to this sodden rock for seven generations, and his departure won't change that.
So what if he discovered another side to dragons? It's not like the village would listen if he told them anyway, good intentions or no – they would brand him an outcast, or think he was nuts. He probably is nuts…
It may have taken facing down the spawn of lightning and death itself, but Hiccup has finally realised he doesn't belong here.
Hiccup shrugs the heavy, hinged basket from his shoulder and starts to triple-check his riding gear when a low growl stays his hand. He's spent enough time with Toothless to pick out his different warbles and he knows that this one means he feels threatened – a sound Toothless hasn't had reason to make since the afternoon he earned the night fury's trust in the fading daylight.
He darts further into the cove, skidding over patchy grass and kicking up a spray of dirt. Toothless is circling a petite figure – his eyes are narrowed to slits and his tail swishes like a serpent, poised to strike. Unleashing a sharp hiss, Toothless lunges – fast enough to scare, but only meant in warning.
He immediately recognises her graceful backwards-somersault from Dragon Training – Astrid. Axe-wielding Astrid. He needs to break this up. Now.
There's no time for brilliant plans, only desperate action. He throws himself between them, facing Toothless with his back to Astrid. She makes a short noise of surprise, but Hiccup doesn't turn. Toothless' pupils dilate in recognition, but the hostility doesn't leave him.
"Leave your axe and run!" he yells.
He wants her disarmed and it should fly given he doesn't have a weapon himself.
"Are you crazy!?"
She's probably staring like he sprouted a second head, but it's the best idea Hiccup's got. Now he needs to get her on board, and quick.
"Go get help – you're a faster runner than me." He appeals to her pragmatism – she's the most rational of their peers and must realise arguing over who gets to die for the other will only get them both killed. "I'll be okay. I won training, remember?"
He deliberately twists the knife, thinking it might spur her on – either because she would hate him for it, or because she might believe he can fight a night fury. Both are far-fetched and neither works.
"Get out the way, Hiccup! Do you want to die!?"
Astrid won't leave him – she isn't capable of abandoning anyone to a bloodthirsty monster, even to save her own skin, even if she barely acknowledges their existence.
He shakes his head. "I won't." It's the truth and the conviction in his voice must finally persuade her – or maybe she realises he inherited some of that Haddock stubbornness after all, that he's a lost cause.
Hiccup feels her press the handle of her axe into his palm from behind. "I want this back," she tells him, softly. The barest whisper.
It was her mother's, so he knows how important Astrid's axe is to her, but that's not what she means. She wants him to give it back to her alive at the end of this... probably – a guy can dream, right?
His fingers curl around the warmed leather, and with shaking hands, she relinquishes her grip.
Toothless shifts, uncertain. He snarls at Astrid and Hiccup tries to bring the dragon's focus to him.
"On my signal, run."
"Okay." Her voice cracks – a sound he didn't know she could make. "Okay – I'll get help. Just don't die. Promise me you won't die."
He doesn't answer. Were Toothless a wild night fury, it would be a promise he couldn't keep and, for appearance's sake, he is. Hiccup keeps Astrid's axe concealed behind his back, though he's sure Toothless knows it's there.
"Now!" he yells, praying to the Gods that she listens.
He lets the axe slip from his hand and shink into the damp ground at his heels. He listens, eyes closed, for her footfalls racing away – she's at the gap in the rocks in a heartbeat – then presents Toothless with his empty hands. Iridescent green eyes follow Astrid's flight from the cove, then snap back to Hiccup, confused and unsure.
"It's alright, bud," he says – far calmer than he feels. "She's gone now. You did good."
Toothless preens and presses his nose into Hiccup's chest in comfort. He pets his head distractedly.
"We can't be here when help arrives," he realises.
They will kill Toothless. But if he's gone… they're going to think Toothless killed him. Before, it was just vanishing without a trace – Dad could believe what he wanted, that he was still out there, somewhere, even if he would forever think Hiccup was too cowardly to fight the monstrous nightmare, which isn't untrue.
This… This is faking his death. It's worlds apart. Dad would mourn him. Is he being selfish in leaving anyway?
No – Toothless needs him. To Berk, he has always been a nuisance… Hiccup the Useless – that's who dies today.
He sets his jaw. Then there's not a moment to be wasted.
Astrid's feet pound on the dirt trail leading back to the village. It's too far – she'll never get help in time, even at her fastest.
She banishes ugly thoughts of Hiccup's body being tossed around like a ragdoll and instead focuses on a memory that has done nothing but vex her all day – of Hiccup, in the ring, bringing down a gronckle with his bare hands. She knows what the village has been saying – that he's the best, better than she ever was. It smarts, but she really hopes it's true.
She sees the village just up ahead and puts on even more speed. She's calling out to someone – anyone – before she's even close enough to hear the racket of the square.
"Dragon! Hiccup needs help!" she shouts, over and over till her lungs give out and longer still.
Half the tribe has been roused by the time she reaches Haddock Hall, abandoning their tasks and taking up the nearest weapon. Word spreads faster than wildfire, her panic contagious. Moments later, a large group of Vikings, led by Astrid and rallied by a near-hysterical Stoick the Vast, troop through the woods towards the cove.
Astrid explains as best she can along the way. She describes the dragon that ambushed her – sleek and black, unlike anything they were pitted against in the ring, or any species pictured in the Book of Dragons. Which can only mean one thing – it must be a night fury; the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.
There is no fighting this dragon, there's no place to hide and pray, and outrunning it is a ridiculous notion. If not for Hiccup, she would be dead by now. But there's a chance, however small, that he knew what he was doing; that he leapt between her and certain death because he had a plan to save them both...
The cove is just down that slope. It's quiet, and Astrid doesn't know if that's a good sign or a terrible omen. There's a shield, still wedged in the gap, which she can slip under, but the others are too broad-shouldered and have to climb down the sprawling tree roots on the far side.
"Hiccup!" … No response.
She's standing where she last saw Hiccup, but there's no sign of him or the dragon. Astrid sprints over to Stoick over by the edge of the cove. He wipes his moss-covered hands down his tunic, his searching eyes meet her worried ones.
"Where's my son?" he asks.
She falters, then shakes her head. He brushes her aside, determined to scour every inch of the cove personally for any sign of Hiccup.
"There's something in the water," says Gauk Jorgenson, wading out to investigate.
Astrid sees it too, floating on the surface of the pool. Gauk paddles in and fishes it out, bringing it over for everyone to see.
It's matted fur, heavy with water. Stoick snatches it from Gauk, who looks down at his wet hands, stained a reddish colour that didn't show on the brown fur. Blood. At the same moment, Stoick holds it up, the creases fall out, and Astrid realises she's looking at Hiccup's vest. Hiccup's bloodied vest.
The night fury took Hiccup; Stoick's heir is dead.
"NO!" Stoick cries, dropping the fur vest with a jarring splat. He falls to his knees in despair.
Tears prick Astrid's eyes. She left Hiccup to die. She's disgusted at herself for her weakness and feels bitter bile burn the back of her throat. Why did she listen to him when he told her to run? Why did she part with her axe when she could've stayed and fought, as he did in her place?
Her axe is gone too, she realises. But all she can hope for now is that it grants him safe passage through the gates of Valhalla.
Hiccup lays flat against the leather saddle, blocking the pinkish glow of the setting sun with his forearm, his feet still resting in the stirrups.
"I have to go back," he says. "What was I thinking? This is crazy!"
He can't survive away from Berk. He can barely survive with the protection of the village; striking out on his own is suicide! He doesn't sit up and change course, though. He didn't the last ten times he declared they were turning around, either, and Toothless has long since stopped taking him seriously. Deep down, Hiccup knows he can't go back. It isn't just that he would be expected to kill the nightmare, Toothless was in danger every day he was grounded on Berk and now they don't even have the secret of the cove to protect them.
He has to keep moving forward. And that will be much easier with a map. Although cartography is an uncommon profession in the Barbaric Archipelago – what with all the dragon-fighting-Vikings, bread-making-Vikings and small-home-repair-Vikings – if an accurate map exists, he knows where he can find one. The Northern Markets aren't too far from Berk, even closer with Toothless – though he'll have to take precautions so he isn't recognised, as well as making sure no one sees his dragon. That they'll arrive under the cover of darkness works in their favour, not to mention he's always considered himself unmemorable, easy to overlook in a crowd, with an almost entirely forgettable face.
He puts off making any more of a plan until he has a map. That's future-Hiccup's problem, he decides. Right now, he's free to soak in the wonders of dragon riding. He lifts his arm and opens his eyes, feeling the wind play with his hair. It's the most amazing feeling, leaving the ground, and all his earthly troubles, behind. He can't express how grateful he is to Toothless for showing him what it's like to fly, but he likes to think Toothless already understands. He leans forward in the saddle to pet the spot just behind his ear-flap, right where he likes it when, suddenly, Toothless is shot through with rigidity. Hiccup feels the dragon's muscles bunch between the stirrups and bolts upright.
Something's wrong.
Dragging his left wing in the air, Toothless veers off their north-bound course, as if he's being pulled by something from the west. Confused, Hiccup tries to recentre their flight path, but something else tugs at him stronger and Toothless won't listen.
"Uh, Toothless, where are you going?" Hiccup asks the wayward dragon.
At the very least, he expects a throaty growl or guttural rumble in response but, instead, he's met with an eerie silence. It isn't like Toothless not to vocalise whenever Hiccup talks and now he's starting to worry.
"Bud?" he presses. Nothing.
The further west they push, the thicker the fog rolls in. What first seemed a soft haze suspended beneath the clouds now fills the sky with a tangible screen, blending with the ocean in one murky blur. Even though the sun is just starting to sink behind the horizon, the fog blots out nearly every warm ray of light, sapping the last vestige of evening heat.
Movement on his left drags Hiccup's gaze aside, and a beat of shadowed wings clears the blanket of fog long enough to reveal a blood-red flank and razor-sharp talons. Clutched tightly in its claws is a dead yak, head lolling limply from a broken neck. More wings join the first set, the air currents whipping at the heavy curtain of fog until it mostly dissipates, revealing a flock that's hundreds – maybe even thousands – strong. Each dragon is hauling in their kill and icy dread settles at the bottom of Hiccup's stomach. In the thick of the flock, trying to adjust the tailfin while Toothless is this uncooperative would most likely send them careening out of formation and into the hide of a wild dragon so Hiccup can do nothing except crouch lower in the saddle and surrender control.
Without warning, Toothless folds his wings, sending the pair into a nose-dive down a narrow cavern. The rush of air thrashes at the prosthetic fin, threatening to pull the leather membrane from the metal rods, but Hiccup reacts quickly and closes the fin, preventing damage but at the same time, unwillingly assisting the dive. Normally, he can read his dragon's movements, but tonight his course remains a mystery and Hiccup can only blindly respond, praying the stretched webbing doesn't rip. After a series of hairpin turns and jerky weaves between huge stalactites and stalagmites, like a mouth of mottled, jagged teeth, the tunnel opens into a vast chamber, its width tapering to a small opening at the zenith. Where the floor should have been, blackened plumes of steam rise from a glowing, red pit – the fumes clouding the far wall. Dim light paints long shadows across shallow ridges jutting out from the sides of the cave, the black shapes stretching and shifting as dragons buzz overhead, some choosing to perch on a ledge, settled but still alert. If this is their nest, the dragons certainly don't look at home.
Beating his wings to reach a higher ledge, closer to the exit, Toothless positions himself next to a stone column and backs up so his body is hidden behind it, then waits. With dragons practically breathing down his neck, Hiccup doesn't dare try to talk Toothless back to normality and joins the night fury in silent vigil. He watches as each new wave of beasts hovers above the chasm to drop their kill into the lava below. Even for a dragon, cremated food would probably be inedible, so he wonders why they do this. He doesn't have to wait long for an answer. Lagging behind a group of nadders, a weathered monstrous nightmare flutters into the cave and circles the pit. Its wings look tattered and its flight is laboured. All it's caught are a couple of fish heads, mouths gaping and silver scales catching the crimson light. Hesitantly, it lets them drop before frantically flapping its flimsy wings and climbing towards a small gathering of nightmares…
But it isn't fast enough.
Out of the lava rise a gigantic, draconic set of jaws that snap shut, trapping the nightmare between its crusted lips. The smaller dragon shrieks as its wings are pierced and shredded by broken teeth and it's dragged into the smoke. After swallowing its snack, the massive dragon pauses, as if sensing Hiccup's foreign presence, and the loose skin of its gullet ripples with a primal growl. One large eye rolls in its socket and locks onto the rock formation Toothless is hidden behind. Suddenly, Hiccup isn't worried about being spotted by a lesser dragon, all that matters is breaking the trance trapping his friend in place, and fast.
"Toothless. You've got to get us out of here, bud." He wills Toothless to take flight, but it's as if he's anchored to the ledge, immovable.
The monster angles itself to lunge and, frightened, Hiccup pulls on Toothless' ear flaps. When other dragons start to break away, the flurry of wings jolts the night fury out of submission and they leap into the air. Toothless shoots vertically upwards, quickly overtaking the other dragon species as they try to gain altitude on a corkscrew flight path. The pair burst out of the narrow opening, into the cool night air, shaken but alive.
The creature lurking within the belly of the mountain leaves both dragon and rider spooked and they continue flying straight, long after they're leagues clear. Pure luck finds them heading north once more, but with no sun to lead the way and the stars obscured by heavy rain clouds – a permanent fixture along the Meridian of Misery – they have no form of accurate navigation beyond instincts. When the sun rises and the sky clears, Hiccup realises they left the Northern Markets far behind. The weather is even colder than on Berk and Hiccup supposes they've wound up somewhere over the icy tundra of Freezing to Death.
With daylight now upon them, Toothless becomes sluggish, reminding the young Viking of the dragon's nocturnal nature, and two sets of eyes stay peeled for somewhere to make camp. Up ahead, they spot a stack of rocks with a slab balanced over a small opening, offering shelter. Tiredly, Toothless drifts down to land and, once inside, he pads in a circuit of the floor while flaming the stone before curling up in the centre. Hiccup practically collapses against his flank. His legs are stiff from the bend the stirrups fixed his knees into, and it feels like lead weights are glued to his boots. But this arrangement isn't quite good enough for the caring night fury, who protectively tucks the boy under a midnight black wing, keeping him safe. It isn't long before a dreamless sleep takes them both.
A/N: Welcome and thanks for reading the first instalment of my take on the running away trope! Our TV broke, so this happened. You'll notice some nods to the series, but I'll mostly rely on the world info from the films. Updates won't be very regular, but I will try and put up a meaty chapter each time to make up for it. But just to be safe, don't forget to hit that follow button. Reviews are my lifeblood!
Until next time!
Originally published 15/12/19