#hookfang is an intellectual | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

athingofvikings · 7 years

Text

Chapter 3: Idle Hands...

Previous Chapter | Summary | Table Of Contents Main | Next Chapter

Winter 1040-1041 CE

~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Idle Hands…

What is often forgotten by many, being focused on Hiccup Haddock and his accomplishments, is that he had an extensive support network in the form of his friends and family. In particular, The Dragon Archivist, Fishlegs Ingerman, is often forgotten by popular histories or relegated to secondary consideration at best, despite the fact that his educational efforts allowed his friend's innovations to be retained as time passed…

…without Ingerman, Haddock would have been universally seen as a wizard or other arcanist within a generation of his passing. Instead, their joint legacy resulted in the establishment of some of the modern world's greatest educational and intellectual institutions…

—A History Of The Isles, Oxford, England, 1591

As the first truly heavy snows of the season swirled around on the sea breezes outside of the chieftain's house, Stoick sighed and looked at Gobber, who had a noteboard clipped to his arm and a charcoal stick in the other.

"How bad is it?" he asked, fearing the answer; in past years, they had needed to institute rationing. Five years ago, during the worst winter, they had needed to take the excess food stores from the Ingerman clan in order for there to be enough to go around. That had not made him popular with them, even after they had been compensated for their loss; they still grumbled about it when they had a point to make. Twelve years ago had been their best winter… when the pox had come and killed nearly a tenth of the village after the harvest had been brought in.

"Eh, not bad," his right hand man said, examining the figures on his notes. "With no risk of a raid over the winter, and the dragons helping with the fishing, we're looking just fine. Might get a little tight if more strays show up, at the rate they eat, and we're all going to get mighty tired of fish by the time the snow melts. Our biggest worry is clean water, with the spray off the sea during the winter storms, and Hiccup is on that."

"Oh?"

"Aye. Ever since the snow started flying, he's been doing some experiments. So long as we have dragons, we'll have all the salt and water we'll ever need," Gobber said with a grin.

"Oh, Odin," Stoick facepalmed. "What has he done now?"

Gobber shrugged. "He took a copper ale brewing vat and, uh, modified it a bit. Dump in water or snow, close it up, let some Terrors or Nadders breath fire at it for a bit. Water disappears from the vat, leaving behind salt, and the steam cools as it hits the next side, and drips out, clean, like rain. Chip out the salt, start over." He shrugged. "It doesn't do much, but a little dribble of water is a damn sight better than salt panning, that's for sure." He shrugged again. "Keeps the house warm too."

Stoick just looked at Gobber and sighed.

Gobber just looked at him, a smirk on his face. "Alright there, Stoick?"

"I'm just remembering that rock my father had me bang my head against," Stoick said. "And I am suddenly wondering what would happen if I told Hiccup that I wanted a rock split in two."

Gobber smirked. "What about the crushing mountains, leveling forests and taming of seas that a Viking could do?"

"Aye. Hiccup may not be that boy that I was was, but he is only a boy now, and look what he's done. What will he do as he becomes a man?"

"Build Mjolnir a larger handle?" Gobber joked.

"Aye. Probably. Heimdall has best keep watch. You've seen Hiccup eying the Bifrost when it appears. He might try to build one of his own."

Gobber laughed. "I did say that you could only prepare him. Maybe I should have told you to prepare the world instead!"

Stoick laughed a bit at that. "Aye, you should have. Him and Toothless… the world is not ready for them." He leaned back on the bench. "Aye. So, food is looking good. What about firewood?"

"Well, since that Timberjack, Felling, showed up, our primary problem has turned from chopping down trees to leaving parts of the forest intact. Dagny has been explaining to him the fine points of shaping wood in between scratching his back, and we've got rough planks and cords of firewood coming out of our ears now, even with the fuel demands for the hatchery. Plus, also, y'know… dragons. They breathe fire, and just about everyone has one now. Hiccup made this little hearth designed for Gronckle spit; I'll try to have more of them made for next year."

Stoick just sighed, his heart bursting with pride at how his boy had turned his world upside-down, and the two of them continued discussing the details of getting the tribe through the harsh winter.

###

Snotlout soared through the clear night sky, shivering uncontrollably. When he, Tuffnut, Dogsbreath and a bunch of their friends had first come up with the idea in the warm mead hall, it had seemed like a genius way to get some respect, good old Viking style.

Now, here, a few hours on dragonback from home, the full moon shining in the cloudless sky onto the snow below and having lost the feeling in his nose at least an hour ago, he was thinking that a nice old-fashioned cattle raid in the middle of winter maybe wasn't the best idea.

He could see the others flying nearby, and they all looked fine and warm in their furs, so he just gritted his teeth and flew onwards.

Even if it was tempting to tell Hookfang to light up just for the warmth, he wasn't going to be the one that showed weakness in front of the others, not when they were all doing just fine.

One of the others waved and pointed down. Below and a few miles beyond, lights glowed in the small highland village, obvious in the darkness. Snotlout grinned, trying to keep from showing teeth, as he had learned that his spit could freeze in the wind. They were here. The raiding party began banking and drifting down as quietly as they could.

As they grew closer, it became obvious that the village had put its sheep and hairy cows into barns, and Snotlout could see a few guards walking the village with torches, two or three at most. Silently, they drifted down into the barnyard that was furthest out, the light from the moon on the snow giving them all they needed to see by.

Putting a finger up in front of his lips, Snotlout walked over to the barn doors with the others. Immediately, it became obvious that there was a lock on the door, holding down a door bar. Snotlout grimaced. Hiccup probably would have just taken a single look at the thing and been able to pick it. Ah, well. Hiccup wasn't here, and for damn good reason. He and the others were here to earn some respect, in the proper Viking way.

And that wasn't Hiccup's way.

He and Dogsbreath looked at each other; Snotlout pointed to the other side of the beam and mimed a yanking motion. Dogsbreath looked at him for a moment and then nodded.

Spacing themselves out on the door bar, the five raiding boys pulled and heaved at the bar, which cracked and gave way after a few moments, the sound echoing briefly before being swallowed by the snow.

The bleary bleating and mooing of the livestock inside the barn, however, wasn't as easily muffled, and the animals started panicking quickly.

Which was perfect, as far as Snotlout was concerned.

"Back to the dragons!" he called, trying to keep his voice as low as he could. "We take off, grab what we can, and fly home! Just like Bjorn Ironside!"

Ten minutes later, they were flying back to Berk, in as direct a line as Snotlout could remember. Hookfang was carrying a whole cow, which was bleating in his grip loudly, while Barf and Belch had two sheep, and the other dragons were carrying still more in the nets that they'd brought. Below them, Snotlout could see the guards moving to investigate the sounds, while the panicked animals were fleeing into the hills through the snow.

Snotlout smirked. As far as he could tell, the animals would have completely destroyed the dragon tracks in their rush to escape the barn, and their own footprints would have suffered the same fate—and, beyond that, the barnyard had already been well tracked over. A few more footprints weren't going to be exceptional. By the time the villagers had rounded up the sheep and cattle, and counted heads enough to wonder where in Midgard their animals had gotten to, he and his friends would be back in Berk, soaking in the pride and honor of a successful midnight cattle raid.

Oh yeah. Things were looking up.

###

Fishlegs and Meatlug were up before first light, as the winter day promised to dawn clear and bright. As Meatlug was a Gronckle, with the ability to eat rocks and teeth capable of chewing them, they, and the other Gronckles and their riders, were some of the biggest construction aids to Berk these days.

One of the tribe's best artisans had asked for their help, actually, and Fishlegs was jittery with excitement as he put on Meatlug's saddle and lifting harness.

"Today, we're going to help Rolf carve out one of the sea stacks into a new harbor statue!" he cooed at his dragon in an eager tone. "You're going to eat the bits that he tells you to. I know that you might still want dinner after that, so I'll be making you fish, but we're going to have a busy day, so be a good girl."

As soon as the last buckle was tightened, he hopped on Meatlug's back and the pair of them flew off through the chill and clear winter morning. The sky was just starting to turn that perfect periwinkle blue as the last of the stars winked out and the moon set, and there was not a cloud in the sky, and the horizon glowed a beautiful orange-red to the south-east.

At least… he thought that there were no clouds.

Fishlegs' eyes narrowed. "What's that, girl?"

He flew closer to take a closer look. Squinting to make out the shapes against the oranges and reds of the eastern sky, he tried to take a closer look. Birds…? And then the shapes resolves themselves into clarity. He hurriedly guided Meatlug behind one of the sea-stacks, the spray of the cold ocean below them sending up gasps of salty chilled air.

Peeking out from behind the stone, he saw the five dragons that he'd spotted, their wings drooping from exhaustion, their riders not doing much better, come flying in from the east. And they were carrying animals—or at least animal bodies, dangling in nets or from claws. Fishlegs could see at least three Alban Highland cattle, with their distinctive long hair, and at least two Highland sheep, all backlit by the rising sun. None of the almost-certainly-stolen animals were moving, and Fishlegs suspected that they had died of cold or fright or both. As the riders approached Berk, they drifted downwards, their every movement telling Fishlegs just how tired they were.

As they moved out of the light of the morning sun, Fishlegs was able to identify them all easily, just from the body shapes of the riders and the colorations of the dragons… and, well, he wished that he hadn't.

A few minutes later, the dragons and their prizes and riders were out of sight, having landed somewhere in Berk… and leaving Fishlegs with a bit of a problem.

While it was certainly possible that Snotlout and the others were playing a prank of some sort, that idea didn't make any sense. They'd been flying out over the waters of the Sound between them and the Alban mainland, so even for a bunch of idiots like Snotlout and his friends, that just seemed bizarre as a way to play a prank by taking animals from Berk. No, the simpler explanation was that they'd gone raiding on the mainland to add the animals to their own flocks here on the island.

Oh, Hiccup and Stoick were going to be so angry when they found out.

And Snotlout was going to be so angry if he found out that Fishlegs had tattled.

Oh, what to do, what to do?

A few more minutes passed as the village awakened in the sun's light, and dragons started flying about. Within about twenty or thirty minutes of Fishlegs having watched Snotlout and his friends return with stolen animals, a small flock of Gronckles, Whispering Deaths, and their riders were approaching him and the sea stack, led by Rolf astride his own beast, Chisel. Back in the village, more dragons were clustered near Hiccup's latest creation, down by the old ruined catapult mount. Fishlegs, despite chewing over what to do, had to grin at that when he saw it. They found it so much fun, and it was fun to watch.

Tamping down his worries as best he could, Fishlegs joined up with the rest of them, as Rolf began giving directions to the crowd on what to do to help create his new masterpiece, the first new harbor statue in a generation.

An hour later, the Gronckles merrily helping chew away between the painted lines that Rolf had left, Stoick turned up, riding his new Thunderdrum, Thornado.

"Rolf, how goes it?" the chief called from the back of the blue toothy beast.

"It goes wonderfully! Look! They are doing such a good job with the rough carving," Rolf said, bursting with joy. "It took years to carve the last one because disposing of the excess rock was so hard. But, in a week, two at most, the rough will be done, and I will be assembling my scaffolding shortly so that I may begin to carve!" The big Viking was ecstatic as only an artist can be when handed a new tool, and Fishlegs smiled at his enthusiasm.

"Aye, Rolf. That is wonderful to hear!" the chief said with a wide grin. He flew in slow circles around the sea stack, looking it over with approval. He'd commissioned the statue to be modeled after Tyr, to match the pair that were already sculpted after Odin with his spear and Thor with his hammer.

Fishlegs thought about speaking up, but the likelihood of the chieftain listening to him seemed to be pretty low, and he didn't want to take Meatlug away from her snacking on the rocks, plus Rolf needed him for this.

Maybe at dinner he'd say something.

Or… well…

He wasn't the little guy that Snotlout had bullied just a few years before. Not anymore.

As Meatlug chewed at the rock of the sea stack and spat the flaming leftovers into the sea, he chewed over his own problem. Could Snotlout still beat him up?

He grimaced.

Yeah, probably. The smaller boy fought dirty, and wasn't a pushover, even if Fishlegs had grown taller than him this past year.

But…

He looked at the sea stack. It was already starting to become more and more shaped into the rough outline of a man. Together, they, people and dragons, were making something beautiful.

He thought on that for a moment and then directed Meatlug up to where Stoick was talking with Rolf. Waiting patiently for them to finish, he thought over how to say what he had to say… but not whether he should say it.

###

Stoick pounded on the door, the smell of roasting meat drifting out from behind it. There was suddenly a flurry of noise inside and he shared a glance with Gobber, who shrugged and smirked. Figuring that that was enough warning, he roughly pushed open the door, which immediately hit resistance of the fleshy sort as Snotlout went flying with a yell.

He charged into the house's main room and looked around, scowling.

"Are you utter fools, or merely witless idiots!?" he thundered. Behind him, Gobber followed him in, sniffed the air appreciatively, and whistled.

Snotlout, flat against the flagstones nearby, slid a touch before getting to his feet. The rest of the room was frozen in the face of the chief's anger.

A mutton hindquarter roast was on the spit, the handle currently unmanned, while more fresh meat simmered in pots; Snotlout's mother Serena, Stoick's sister, was in the process of mincing what looked like mutton and various organ meats in preparation for making haggis. She just gave him a level look that hearkened back to their childhoods, of "I'm staying out of this." Spitelout was at least absent. That was probably for the best; butting heads with his chief marshal was not how Stoick had planned to spend his afternoon.

"Uh… is this one of those trick questions?" Tuffnut voiced from his chair; Stoick noted in passing that the black eye Astrid had given him a few days before had faded to yellow. "Because I'm not sure."

Stoick scowled at him as Gobber choked down a laugh. "You went out and raided another village. Worse, you raided them using dragons. And, most boneheaded of all, you did it without telling me first."

"Well, yeah. You would have said no," Tuffnut said, displaying the fearlessness of madmen and fools.

Stoick purpled. "You blistering imbecile, what you just did makes all of your previous stupidities pale in comparison! Who else could have stolen their cattle but us? You have just started another grudge feud with another village on behalf of all of Berk, and they will not believe me when I say that you numbskulls did it all on your own!" He pounded on the table, where a rack of ribs from one of the cattle lay in a bed of coarse salt. "And, worse, you killed the animals, so we can't even return them! We can't even acknowledge this and use it to count coup like a normal spat between neighbors. No, the only smart thing you've done is hide the evidence."

To the side, Gobber took up a spoon and gave one of the simmering pots a stir, and then scooped up a spoonful for a taste.

Dogsbreath spoke up hesitantly. "We was going to keep em, but theys all died on the way back."

Stoick slapped his palm to his face. "Of course they did, you fool! Hours dangling from the claws of a dragon on a night where the bay started to frost over? Of course they died, either from fright or frost. Is this a shock to you?" Dogsbreath opened his mouth, and Stoick said hurriedly, "Don't answer that."

Snotlout, having regained some of his courage, looked up at the chieftain. "But we're Vikings. We pillage and plunder. Half the reason we never left Berk for seven generations is because we couldn't stand someone else doing it to us!" Gobber made a nod of agreement, and then turned the roast on the spit so that it wouldn't burn.

Stoick looked at the young fool and growled. "Aye, but you are forgetting one thing, Snotlout. We may be Vikings, but so are they. Do you think they'll take it any more kindly than we did?"

"Uh… probably not?"

Gobber, standing behind the boy, rolled his eyes and mimed a mute sarcastic echo, before taking a knife from his belt and started to carve off some of the crispy-crunchy bits from the roast.

"And who will they blame? A pack of idiot teenagers, or their leader who is responsible for the whole tribe—a tribe that is well known to have a difficult time getting through the winter?"

"Oh." Snotlout swallowed. "Oops. Uh… sorry, Stoick." Still standing behind him, Gobber popped the crinklings into his mouth, and then chewed appreciatively. Smiling, he gave Serena a thumbs-up.

"Aye. You have shamed yourselves. You're an embarrassment to the tribe. Hiccup may have messed up in ways worthy of comedic sagas, but he, at least, was trying to help and win glory for the tribe. You, you all just did something for your own glory, and damn the tribe for the consequences!"

"Stoick, what is going on in here?"

Stoick turned, to see Spitelout standing in the doorway.

"Your son and his friends raided another village last night, without telling me first, and I'd wager without telling you either. And they didn't have the brains to keep their prizes alive through the night, either."

"Ah. I see." Spitelout looked at the boys, who cowered further. Gobber was just nonchalantly carving off a leg from the roast.

Stoick grinned. It wasn't a happy smile. "Spitelout, now that I've had a chance to remind them that Loki's daughter awaits those who break oaths, I'm sorry, but I have to do this." Gobber, having finished cutting free the mutton, gave a final wave to Serena and sidled out the door, mutton in hand.

Stoick rolled his eyes at his friend fleeing, and stood up straighter. "Spitelout Jorgenson, as your son was the leader of an unauthorized raid, I am afraid that I must see justice done in the eyes of Odin, Thor and Tyr on my honor. As we cannot confiscate the beasts that your boy and his cohort carried off, if the offended ones come asking for their cattle and sheep, the compensation will be taken from your own clan's flocks." Spitelout stiffened and glared at Snotlout, who was presently trying to hide in the cracks of the floorboards. "The meat taken from the raid will go to the community pot, from which the boys will be forbidden to eat." He looked at his marshal dead in the eye. "Thus I pronounce sentence. Further punishment," Stoick said, moving towards the door, "I leave to your own wisdom. May Odin help you judge fairly." And, with that, he shut the door behind him.

The silence on the far side of the door was absolute for a moment, and Stoick shook his head.

Then the shouting started.

Stoick stepped away from the door, rubbing his temples under his helmet.

Gobber moved from where he'd been standing outside the house waiting; he had the leg off of the roast in his hand and a smirk on his face. "Well, that went well."

"As well as could be expected. Hopefully some of it sank in." He started walking towards the mead hall, Gobber keeping pace.

"Should we tell Hiccup? You know how he's been talking about not wanting to push the dragons back to their old thieving habits," Gobber asked, as he gamely used his winter peg to step lightly through the snow drifts while taking a delicate bite out of the greasy mutton.

"Aye, but what's done is done, Gobber, and I did the best that I could. What would Hiccup do? Repeat me? What good would that do? Especially in the eyes of those boys. If he finds out on his own, I expect him to talk to me first, but, for now, let it lie." He kicked aside a larger drift and gave a harsh chuckle, and then a more mellow one. "Besides, telling Hiccup anything right now would require getting the boy's attention."

Gobber smirked. "Aye, that's a touch difficult right now."

"Before I thought he had the attention span of a sparrow. I was wrong. He's very very focused. On his girl, on his dragon and on his forge work. Everything else doesn't exist."

Gobber laughed. "Too right that is. Just the other day, I walked into the smithy and found him hunched over something on the anvil. Tried to get his attention, and the dragon dragged me outside and set me shoe on fire."

Stoick quirked an eyebrow at that.

"Small fire. Stamped it out in the snow quick. 'Course, the dragon had a point, because a minute or two later, I heard a loud bang and Hiccup swearing fit to curdle milk."

Stoick snorted and laughed. "Aye. Well, at least we haven't had any of his messes to clean up lately. I thank that dragon and his girl for that. They've worked wonders on his clumsiness. We haven't had a mess since—"

An astonishingly loud BANG sounded from the lower banks of the village, followed by an even louder crashing noise. A deeper rumbling noise finished shaking the snow off of the houses that hadn't already had their white blankets knocked loose by the first two sounds. An earsplitting CRACK of wood splintering sounded a moment later, followed by Ruffnut's shrill scream, which faded quickly before ending with a splash. A thud, as if an immense weight had fallen into a pliant snowbank, echoed up the hillside, and then there was silence for a brief, taut moment, before something else softly crunched. And then, almost apologetically, some small piece of metal far below them hit the ground with a musical dink!

Stoick heaved an enormous sigh, as Gobber just looked at his comrade with an innocent expression. "Miladies of the Norns, I live for your amusement. Come, Gobber, let's see what just happened."

###

A few weeks later, after the self-destruction of Hiccup's dragon-launching catapult, Toothless and Meatlug carried the Yule Log to the mead hall's doors, and Hiccup, smiling broadly, waved to Astrid to untie the ropes. A few moments later and the stout Vikings dragged the tree into the mead hall, where it would be burned.

Thanks to the hatchery underneath the stones of the mead hall that they had spent the last three months frantically building, it was toasty warm in the hall, the heat bubbling upwards from the spaces below. Hiccup had had an interesting time getting the system set up right, but now they had firepits dug into the rock below as a separate chamber, with some doors and shutters to control the airflow through, and the hatchery above.

While they were now literally writing the new book on dragons, every farmer with a chicken coop had said how important it was for eggs to be brooded properly and kept warm. Given that they had found over a thousand dragon eggs—sadly, not all of them intact—glued to the walls and floors of the Green Death's sweltering cavern, it had been pretty obvious that they needed to be kept at a temperature that would cook a hen's egg—and probably the hen, too.

And now the heat from the chambers below kept it actually rather nice in the mead hall, even now, during the darkest and longest nights of the year. The stone floor was still cool, and Hiccup anticipated that it would take a long time to fully warm, but the tunnels that the Gronckles and Whispering Deaths had helped dig down to the chambers they had carved ducted up the heat nicely.

As the preparations for Yule and the Blot were underway, Hiccup went off to his house, Toothless walking in the snow next to him. They had experimented with having him use his breath to clear a path, but the melted water had turned to ice and mud, so they had just spread sand on the pathway and called it a day.

Already inside was Astrid, her hands spread to warm them against the flames as she sat by the fire. One of the village washerwomen, Astrid's great-aunt Ragna, was puttering around the back of the house, cleaning up after the widower chief and his son… and not incidentally keeping a chaperoning eye on the two unmarried teenagers.

"Hey," he said, sitting down next to Astrid, Toothless curling up next to them.

"Hey yourself," she said, smiling.

They sat that way in contented silence for a moment before she shifted, turning away from the fire and towards Hiccup. A moment later, he felt her hands begin playing with his hair.

"A lot of the ends here are singed," she noted with a tone of laughter in her voice.

Hiccup shrugged, relaxing and luxuriating in her touch. "Well, I work with dragons and over a forge. I'm just glad that I've still got my eyebrows."

"Point," she said with a smirking laugh, and her hands kept running through his hair, making him give a happy moan.

Toothless and Stormfly were just looking at each other with an air of two individuals who weren't really friends being forced to make conversation. So, how's the weather? Oh, fine, fine. Your day working out alright? Oh, sure, sure.

After a few minutes of this, Stormfly huffed to her feet and walked out the door.

Astrid looked up at her dragon quizzically. "You okay, girl?"

The Nadder chattered for a moment and made a shooing motion with her wing. Astrid just shrugged and went back to playing with Hiccup's hair, her fingers starting to make little braids out of his shaggy mane, only to unravel them again when she combed his hair with her fingers.

Hiccup cracked open one eye, having closed them to fully focus on the fact that the woman he had been infatuated with for a good chunk of his life was here, with him, and that they were getting to have sweet little moments like this. If he had been a cat, he would have been purring. Eye opened lazily, he said, "I think she headed out because it's too crowded in here, and this is Toothless's home, not hers."

"Mmmh. Probably." She looked at Toothless. "Are you two friends at all, or do you just tolerate each other because of us?"

Toothless cocked his head from side to side and gave her a look of mild bafflement.

"Never mind," she said, smiling. She ran her nails across Hiccup's scalp, making him shiver with enjoyment. "If I had some ties, I'd finish up these little braids so they won't catch fire as easily."

Hiccup just tilted his head back at her, a deadpan look on his face. "You're just saying that because you like to play with it."

"Well, yes, but also braided hair doesn't burn as easily," she pointed out with a hint of laughter in her voice.

Hiccup just smiled, and took her legs into his lap, his strong fingers massaging her calves. She sighed with enjoyment, and the two of them sat there, enjoying each other's presence for a long, quiet moment, the crackle of the fire and Toothless's breathing being the loudest noises. Astrid's great-aunt, having finished her cleaning, settled into a nearby chair and worked on some naalbound shirts quietly. For a golden time, perhaps a span of an hour, the rest of the world ceased to exist, as they retreated to a little corner filled with peace. Their chaperon occasionally sighed with irritated amusement and a fond smile at the young pair as they traded those the sappy and honestly somewhat obnoxious endearments that are murmured between those in the first blush of young love.

It couldn't last, of course.

An angry screech of a Nadder and the sound of dragonfire, and the sudden crackle of flame intruded on their peace.

It took an instant to register the sound, but the pair leapt to their feet, or at least tried to, as they had been cuddling and giving each other kisses in a chair sized for Stoick.

Legs tangled with each other, they fell to the floor, Hiccup knocking his head against the edge of the firepit and seeing stars for a few moments. But they both scrambled to their feet and darted for the door, which Toothless had already pulled open and gone through.

More screeching and the sound of additional dragonfire echoed across the snowy ground, and the glowing blaze of that fire became obvious as they ran as quickly as possible, Astrid half-dragging Hiccup across the snowy ground as he tried his best to keep from stumbling on his peg.

Within perhaps half a minute from the noise, they turned the corner and saw the source of the screeching.

It was laid out like a tableau before them, and Hiccup froze, Astrid clutching at his hand.

Stormfly had been wrestled to the ground by a pair of husky Hooligans, clearly fighting to break free and attack, while Toothless was standing between her and Mildew with his wings spread. Mildew was lying in the snow. In his hand was his glaive, which was half the length it normally was and had one end still on fire. He was also missing the ends of several of the horns on his helmet. There was a broad melted patch stretching across the ground next to him, that tracked up the side of the nearby house, which was still smoldering, even as the snow around it on the wall melted and quenched the hot cinders. Stormfly had a hefty wound in her side that was bleeding freely, clearly inflicted by Mildew's glaive. Off to the side, Bucket stood, flapping his hands in distress.

Astrid gave a cry of distress and ran over to her dragon, who settled visibly, even as the two burly Vikings kept a hold on her wings and jaws. Others were arriving too, and a crowd was beginning to form.

Mildew wasted no time. "The beast attacked me!" he said, pointing an accusatory finger at Stormfly. "I was doing nothing, and it came up and attacked me! I had to defend myself! I demand that it be put down!"

Astrid immediately rose to the defense of her dragon. "You must have provoked her, otherwise you'd be dead if she got in the first shot!" she said hotly.

"Ask them!" Mildew said, pointing a finger at the two strapping Vikings who were still holding down Stormfly, Hork and Mulch. Mulch's own dragon, a Gronckle named Spade, was sitting nearby, lapping at the snow.

Meanwhile, Toothless, who had stopped protecting Mildew and was now giving the old man a disgusted look, walked behind Hiccup and started sniffing around.

Hiccup shook his head at Mildew. "We're not going to put down any dragons, Mildew. You're not the injured one here."

"Only out of luck and experience!" the cranky old man said. Behind him, Bucket, having calmed down, stepped forward and bent, reaching for something in the snow.

Hiccup turned to Hork and Mulch. "What did you see?"

"Uh…" Mulch said, thinking. "Mildew was walking by, and the dragon here started following him. He tried to push it away, it got really insistent, and started making noises at him. Uh… I think he slashed at it then, and she breathed fire at him, doing… that," he pointed vaguely at the melted snow.

Mildew crawled to his feet, joints audibly creaking. "You forgot to mention that it was going to bite my hand off before I had to defend myself," he said. "I was just minding my own business, getting ready for Yule, and then this dragon comes up and starts getting ready to make a snack out of me! I've been fighting dragons for fifty years, of course I defended myself when one of these devils tries to eat me! I still have all my bits and pieces, I'm not getting fitted with a hook now!"

Hiccup just looked at him, and said, "You done? You're not injured, and if you're that upset about your staff, I'll make you a new one and pay you a geld for your property, and then you can pay Astrid for injuring her dragon."

"Me? Pay her? For defending myself?"

A couple of approving voices called out from the crowd. "It's only been a month or two, you can't blame him!" "It's practically reflex!" "What would you have done?!"

Hiccup just turned and looked at Stormfly, who was bleeding profusely from the wound on her flank. Astrid had pulled off her arm-warmers and was trying to use them to staunch the bleeding, and the dragon was visibly calming. He walked over, saying to Mulch and Hork, "You can let her go now."

They looked at each other and shrugged, and then let go of Stormfly, stepping back quickly. Mulch just walked over to Bucket and patted his partner on the shoulder, while Hork joined the crowd.

"And what's to keep her from attacking me now?" Mildew demanded behind Hiccup.

"Me," Hiccup said, scowling at him.

"Ha. That's a good one, boy. Admit it, you just want to let the beast eat me so that I'll be out of your hair. Cute braids, by the way." He waved at the dragon as Bucket walked over, holding something in his hands. "Look at this! The boy is biased! He can't do justice! His head is fogged with lust for the girl, and it's her pet that attacked me!"

Stoick arrived at that moment, shouldering his way through the crowd. "What's this?" he said to Hiccup.

Before Hiccup could answer, Mildew pushed forward and said hotly, "Your boy's woman let her dragon off the leash, and it attacked me!"

Stoick just looked at Mildew. "You're still standing, and the dragon isn't. Is she okay, Astrid?" he said, concern in his voice.

"I think so," Astrid said testily. "But I need proper bandages!"

"Don't bother!" Mildew sneered. "Your animal is going to get put down if I have any say in it. Save the bandages for some person who gets their guts clawed open by the next dragon that runs amok!"

"Why you—!" Astrid starting rising to her feet, hands balled into bloody fists, her face set in fury. Stormfly gave a cry of pain as the bloodstained armwarmers slipped free, and tried to lick at the wound, which was staining the snow around her into deep redness. There was nothing redder than fresh blood on clean snow.

"Ah ah, young lady," Mildew said tauntingly. "You're not helping your case. Or your beast."

Visibly controlling herself, Astrid turned back and replaced the arm warmers on the deep gash, trying to keep pressure on the wound as she had been taught, muttering a stream of encouragements to her dragon.

There was silence for a brief moment as Stoick looked over the scene, and then Bucket stepped forward and handed an earthernware mug to Mildew. "You dropped this," he said thickly.

Mildew snatched away the mug from the simpleton. "Thank you," he said testily.

Hiccup just glanced around. He didn't believe that Stormfly would have just attacked the old man unprovoked, so there had to be a reason for it. He wouldn't have believed it at all if not for Mulch's testimony. But he was sure that he was missing something. He didn't trust Mildew at all where dragons were concerned—or where anything else was concerned, for that matter.

The world was white with snow, which made the red drops of blood stand out all the brighter. The pathways were well trodden, with most people having walked them over and over. Spade was licking at the snow at his feet determinedly, and had a heavy-lidded look on his face that Hiccup recognized.

Walking over, he took a close look at the snow; a dent nearby showed where something had landed, maybe the size of someone's hand, but someone had clearly reached in a hand into the hole. A pair of footprints stood nearby, which Hiccup vaguely recalled as having seen Bucket standing there.

But the oddest thing was that the snow was grass-green.

And that was what Spade was licking at enthusiastically. And having a heavy-lidded look that Hiccup associated with Gronckles high on dragon-nip. Crouching down, he sniffed at the green snow and recoiled slightly at the strength of the grassy-minty scent of the dragon-nip.

Toothless was sniffing around as well, and started to lick at the snow. "Don't!" Hiccup said, and Toothless froze, tongue half-out of his mouth.

The crowd was still muttering as Stoick looked over the wounded dragon, and the arguments were getting louder, while Mildew kept trying to rouse them, Stoick interrupting him each time he tried to call for Stormfly's death.

"Dad, come here!" Hiccup called.

Stoick thumped over through the snow. "What is it?"

Hiccup held up a handful of green snow. "Smell this."

Stoick looked skeptical, but sniffed. "Aye, that's a powerful odor. What is it?"

"Dragon-nip, I think. But boiled, like in a tea." Hiccup's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Mildew, can I see that mug for a moment?"

The old man suddenly looked startled.

"My what, now?"

"The mug that Bucket gave you." He pointed. "The one in your hand, that you dropped in the snow here."

"I don't see how my drinkware has anything to do with this!" the old man said angrily, but he sounded worried to Hiccup.

Stoick turned and held out his hand. "Mug. Now."

Grumbling, the old man handed it over.

Stoick sniffed and visibly recoiled. "Aye, that's the same stuff."

Hiccup turned and looked at the old man, Astrid staring at him as Stormfly's wound was finally staunched. "Of course she was getting into your space," he said. "You had dragon-nip tea in there! She smelled it!"

"And what difference does that make!?" Mildew demanded. "So I drink grass tea. Helps with my digestion," he said with a sneer. "Want details?"

Some people in the crowd voiced a profound negative to that idea.

Stoick just gave the old man an unamused look. "If you drank tea like that regularly, I'd have noticed given how often you breathe in my face to complain. Try again."

"I be telling you the truth!" Mildew insisted. "The beast still attacked me!"

"After you stabbed her for sniffing at your mug!" Hiccup said back strongly. "It'd be like kicking a dog and then being surprised when it bites back!"

"But we put down dogs that bite, boy!"

"You still provoked her!"

"How was I supposed to know that she would try to take away my drink?" Mildew demanded. "Can a man not have a hot drink on Yule?"

Stoick again looked at the elder with irritation. "Hiccup!"

"Yes, dad?"

"Take this mug and get as much of that stained snow into it as you can. We're going to heat the elder's drink back up for him," he said, "so that he can drink it."

Mildew's expression began to look somewhat trapped as Hiccup worked to quickly scoop as much of the green snow into the mug as he could manage.

Holding it away from himself, he handed the mug to his father.

Stoick just looked at it. "Even watered down with snow, by the gods, that's strong!" he said. "You drink this?"

"Aye," Mildew said, clearly lying, but having no other choice but to stick to his story.

At that moment, Fishlegs came up with some bandages and a covered pot that steamed.

"I brought bandages and boiled water to clean the wound," he said, and Stoick smiled.

"Boiled water, you say? Fishlegs, here, give that to me," he said, taking the covered pot and pouring in some of the steaming water.

The crowd was watching with interest. Nobody liked Mildew, but there were still murmurs going on about getting attacked by a dragon.

The mug refilled and steaming, Stoick, a deadpan look on his face, handed it back to Mildew.

"Here. Your drink, elder. It's Yule, after all. I am sure that Astrid apologizes for her pet's actions causing you to drop it." His voice hardened. "Now drink."

Mildew, his face set, took a gulp and immediately gagged, spewing out the mouthful of green such that a few people in the front of the audience yelped and tried to jump back. The mug sloshed in his hand, and, before he could drop it again, Stoick reached out and grabbed it.

Bending down, he put it in front of Stormfly's face, who immediately perked up and started purring, sticking her tongue out to lap at the mug.

"Right. You drink this. Of course you do." Stoick's expression was unamused. "Mildew, you will pay a geld to Astrid for the damage to her dragon, and, if you try a stunt like this again, I will make you drink an entire flagon of that 'tea'. Am I understood?"

"Aye, Chief."

Stoick stood and addressed the crowd. "The matter is settled! Go forth and enjoy Yule!"

The crowd, laughing at the expression on Mildew's face, dispersed slowly, as Hiccup, Astrid and Fishlegs worked to bandage up Stormfly's side enough that the scab wouldn't pop open again.

Mildew shot them a poisonous look as he walked out, rubbing at his mouth with his forearm and spitting as he walked away.

Previous Chapter | Summary | Table Of Contents Main | Next Chapter

Author’s Note: And here we go. Chapter 3 already. At least it’s winter, right? Nice, calm, peaceful time for everyone to relax, enjoy themselves... :D

#httyd #httyd fanfiction #httyd fandom #a thing of vikings #how to train your dragon

6 notes · View notes