Chapter Text
DREKI
i.
Drekinn Tannlaus
Toothless the Dragon
The clear night sky paints its reflection in the dark water of the natural cove, stars scattered and glimmering. The cove is shrouded in darkness, protected by tall pines and smooth, moss-covered rock; a hollow where it is easy to hide. Partly obscured by a large stone, a shadow lays curled on its belly, its dark scales blending into the night. At a glance, human eyes would not see it other than a ghost, a trick of the eye, an impossibly large bird. Black scales, deceptively smooth at a distance. The creature has its head resting on its large, clawed front paws. Black wings reach out from its back and are being held protectively, yet relaxed, around its sides like shields. An owl, awake, hoots distantly. A soft gentle wind, carried inland from the sea, rustles the brush and branches. Late spring is turning to autumn, the days shortening. A chill is in the air, but the dragon keeps itself warm by its inner fire. Despite its relaxed position the dragon is not asleep.
Large keen eyes, the only brightness piercing the night, are wide open and staring toward the other side of the cove where the rock is split in two unevenly—the result of the slow movement of the eons as the Earth turns and the ground churns. Beyond, the dragon sees more forest, wild and free, and wishes it could reach it somehow. The dragon observes this jagged opening for some time, heart heavy. It is too small for it to squeeze through, especially with the round shield stuck in the way.
The small-human-hatchling-no-danger had visited while the sun was still up. The hatchling had come with fish to eat, offering it, and the dragon ponders that act of kindness. The human was the smallest which the dragon had thus far seen up close, thin limbs—hardly a meal worth the effort of procuring if the dragon could be bothered. Humans are not good food, too much strange fake skin in the way and metals and sometimes wood where limbs should be; that is at least what the dragon has heard from others of its kin. There was a flame-self-at-will one time, back at the nest-of-the-bad-Queen, who claimed that humans were unsavoury, crunchy, and too much trouble to be worth eating. Better with stick with fish or sheep.
No human has ever before gotten this close to this particular dragon. Until the hatchling. The dragon is … intrigued. It has, for as long as it can recall, associated humans with screams of fear and fury, with gleaming weapons of metal and wood, waved in the air or thrown uselessly against them; nothing could match the dragon’s speed, so no such weapons have scared it. Before. Until now. Until it was pulled brutally from the sky and came crashing into the forest against its will.
No human had come so close, until this strange little hatchling. The hatchling had smelled of fear and guilt and curiosity, at least inasmuch the dragon could perceive these things and put words to them. The hatchling had freed them from the bonds trapping them after being felled from the sky.
The injures are healing now, only a dull pain, but the dragon would rather live with pain forever if it meant everything was whole and it could fly. But it could not. Cannot. Part of its body is gone forever and with it the dragon cannot properly stay airborne. The sky had been torn away violently and suddenly. At first, the dragon was angry. Very, very angry. It nearly killed the hatchling after it cut the ropes, until their eyes met and it saw purpose, fear, thought in the human. The dragon had never considered that humans could think or communicate. It had never mattered. But it had realized then, just then, that it could not hear the stinging commands of its Queen. Only silence. Freedom. No punishment, no call to return to the nest-where-it-is-unsafe. Only silence. As if by cutting the rope the hatchling had freed it from the Queen as well, and now it was its own dragon. So the dragon had held back its fire and only roared a warning before flying off—only to realize too late that it could not fly, crashing into the cove helplessly. Trapped.
The waters of the small cove do not hold much. By the time the small hatchling Viking came with food, the dragon had already hunted and eaten most of the fish to be found and there are no other animals save for a small bird’s nest out of reach. No doubt the noise and scent of the dragon will scare off any nearby wildlife. The sheer stone surrounds them like a prison.
The hatchling will return, it is sure. It has many times already, bearing food and vocalizing and drawing with a stick in the dirt. The last part was quite amusing and intriguing. The dragon had tried to mimic the hatchling’s motions, creating patterns of its own. If its survival now depends on the hatchling, it must make friends with it; perhaps drawing in the dirt is how Vikings do that. Before, when the Queen was all that mattered—(feed Her or be eaten)—the dragon had never considered anything about human behaviour except the best way to shoot down their wooden-devices-protects-nests with its shearing blasts of fire.
Then the human had danced around the dragon’s creation, and its small pale paw had touched its snout. The dragon wondered at that. Fear and tension evaporating. A greeting. The hatchling lacks scales, soft and colder than a dragon, explaining the layers of fake fur on its body. For a moment, they had connected; not out loud, not with a thought; but for a moment, dragon and human had felt safe with each other.
The dragon stays awake the whole night. It looks, and longs, and waits.
The sun rises gently. The dragon moves from its perch of burned ground and goes to the water to drink. Every now and then it looks around, considering the stone walls. Perhaps it could try to climb again? Must sharpen its claws first. Or blast the rock until it falls away? It would take hours, maybe days, and the dragon is unsure how close the Viking-nest is, if that much noise would lead to discovery and death.
However, it is not long until the dragon smells the hatchling approaching. It is not very subtle even when it tries to be quiet. The dragon takes one final sip of the cool water before stepping closer to the opening, sniffing at the wooden shield. The hatchling comes into view and startles, seeing the dragon already so close. Its mouth moves as it makes some human sounds. Soft and careful. It steps closer. It does not smell afraid anymore, like it did the first time they met. This time the hatchling does not carry the fake metal claw, but a basket of fish. The dragon flicks its tail in excitement and gratitude. It was a long night and healing its injury makes it hungrier than usual.
It is still strange not to hear the Queen or her demands, to not be overcome by it. A marvel for which it is very thankful toward the hatchling. The hatchling keeps vocalizing as it tips open the basket and a dozen fish spill onto the ground. The dragon takes a step closer to start eating, grateful for the offering, until it smells and sees the eel—poison! danger!
With a shriek the dragon flinches back, wings raised and eyes large. It shows its teeth. Is it a trick? Surely humans cannot eat such poison!
The hatchling waves its front paws in a calming gesture and shakes its head. It grabs the eel and tosses it away.
The dragon relaxes slightly and noses at the rest of the fish, but does not eat until it is content that there are no more unpleasant surprises. Once it starts eating it realizes the depth of its hunger and devours one, two, three cods in rapid succession. Its tail wags back and forth in satisfaction.
Suddenly, in mid-bite of a salmon found at the bottom of the basket, the dragon realizes there is something on its tail, an unfamiliar weight being strapped onto it. And yet it is almost like … almost like it is being balanced again? But. Its tail? Was broken, gone, torn away painfully. Gone. But back now? How? Startled and a little afraid, it raises its wings. What is the hatchling doing?
With a mighty flap they are airborne.
Halfway across the water, the dragon glances back to see the hatchling clinging to its tail and there is something (not flesh, not wing) where the lost tailfin should be. Immovable, uncontrollable, heavier on one side. The imbalance is causing them to sink. The dragon flaps its wings panickedly with a cry and suddenly, the hatchling does something to the tail-not-tail and there is balance! there is force! equilibrium!
The dragon manages to move them up, up, up! to the edge of the rocks and above the trees. Freedom! Flight! Delight and hope in equal measure burn in its lungs and it catches the wind, a hot updraft, and it carries them higher and out toward the sea. The hatchling is shouting now, and dragon cannot understand the words but there is excitement and fear.
Humans do not have wings. They do not fly. That is why the hatchling is afraid? The hatchling is afraid, because humans do not fly! It does not fly, but know how to give flight back to a dragon, to make new wings. Afraid, and yet the hatchling has given them a new tail! They can fly again. They can fly together!
The hatchling manipulates the fin with its paws, veering them toward the left, circling back to the island. The dragon aims for somewhere to land and the hatchling guides them to the cove. But that is not good. Not good! The cove is unescapable without flight! Not a good place to land.
No! Too late. They crash into the water, the hatchling flung from the dragon. The moment the hatchling no longer controls the tail, the dragon also loses control, unbalanced and unable to steer. The dragon snorts and growls, displeased, shaking its head, water droplets cascading.
But the hatchling surfaces with a jump and a cry of victory, smiling. It swims toward the dragon and reaches out with small clawless a paw. The dragon accepts it, so small on its snout. The hatchling vocalizes excitedly and through the barrage of noise, the dragon makes out two things, although the words yet hold no meaning:
“flyagain!” and “toothless!”
Whatever it means it is making the human happy, and if the human could give them back flight …
They could fly together!
While the human is away at its nest full of Vikings-dangerous-angry during mid-day, the dragon sleeps. It prefers to stay awake at night and sleep when the sun is up at its highest, but the hatchling tends to visit at sunrise and shortly before sundown. Stuck in the cove the dragon is restless and finds it difficult to sleep, trying both lying on scorched ground and hanging upside down from a thick branch. Restlessness disturbs its dreams. In the dream, it is trapped in the nest-of-bad-Queen, surrounded by other dragons which are very angry and baring their fires and teeth, and they battle a long time for freedom.
When the hatchling returns with food in a small lidless basket, the sun is setting and the dragon is pacing impatiently. It has tried sharpening its claws against a rock in preparation of climbing, in case the hatchling fails to return. But it is back! Very good. And the smell of fish is unmistakable. The dragon warbles softly in greeting and wastes no time in eating. Sadly, there are only three fish. The hatchling laughs in amusement at the speed of which they disappear, no longer fearful of the dragon’s teeth in close proximity.
In addition to the basket, the hatchling is holding a broad patch of worked leather stitched together with more leather, and the human raises it proudly, vocalizing. The dragon sniffs at it and snorts in disappointment when it realizes it is not food.
“lookitsgood itwillhelpyou flyagain toothless.”
The hatchling reaches out, trying to put its paw on the dragon’s back, near its shoulder between the wings. The dragon huffs at it but allows it, for a moment. This behaviour is new. What does it mean? Then the hatchling slowly, gently lifts the leather device and tries placing it on the dragon’s back. That will not do! It looks and smells strange and no dragon has ever carried a human-made thing on its back. The dragon bucks and leaps away.
The human cries out: “nono! toothless! itisnotdangerous! toothless! itsallright!”
The dragon peers at the human for a while through narrowed, lidded eyes, suspicious. Is this a trick? But then it recalls the day before, the brief flight with the fin-not-fin tied to its tail. The hatching has brought the fake-tail today too: it lies on the grass, innocently folded up next to a coil of rope. It had given them flight. Is this part of it? To make them fly together?
One hesitant coiling step after the other, body more sideways than facing forward, the dragon moves closer and inspects the leathers with eyes and nose. It puffs it with its snout a couple of times. Nothing happens. A lick reveals it does not taste good. No, it would not be good food. The dragon shakes its head and snorts. If not food and if not a new tailfin, then what is it?
The human laughs. “itisallright toothless.”
The dragon looks at the boy. It wishes it could understand the words; the segments of noise have begun to separate in its ears, smaller units, but still it remains nonsensical. What if the hatchling could properly understand the noises, movements, and thoughts of a dragon? But its mind remains closed and the dragon must rely on basic bodily cues to get its point across.
“itsasaddle, withitwecan flyagain, trustme?”
The hatchling saved it when it could have killed it. Should have if it were fiercer and more like the usual human who fear and hate dragons. It keeps coming back with food and friendship and yesterday they flew. The dragon decides that for now it is trustworthy, and in a rare display of trust it lowers its belly to the ground and lifts its wings out of the way, letting the human put the leathers on its back. There are straps and coils which the hatchling attaches with certainty, securing it in place so that it does not slide. It is strange but not heavy or uncomfortable.
“thankyou toothless, fortrustingme, wow! Ididntthink itwouldactaullywork, theresagooddragon.”
A black ear twitches and the dragon hums as the human pats its head and scratches behind its ear. The hum turns into a purr. That is very nice. Very nice. The human paws can move much more delicately than a claw, calming an itch the dragon did not realize was there.
“toothless,” the human says, repeating that particular string of noise which the dragon has heard several times now. Is it a command? Or a designation? It must be important, the way the hatchling keeps adding it to its speech. “sometimesiwonder ifyoucanactually understandwhat imsaying.”
The human sighs and withdraws its paws.
The dragon raises its head questioningly.
“allright. weregoingtotrynow, willyouletme?”
The hatching places its paws on the leather and, taking a deep breath as if before a plunge into water, hoists itself up. It swings a leg over so that is sitting astride the dragon’s shoulder. The dragon tenses. What is this? Is this … good? Or bad? Dangerous?
Using the rope, coiled in its paw, the human gives an experimental tug. And the fin-not-fin moves, opening and closing. The dragon flaps its tail up and down, testing the weight. It feels almost like normal except the balance is wrong and it cannot actually move the prosthesis. This … will give them flight? This will give them flight!
“allrightbud, weregoingtotry trytoflytogether, yougotthis. yougotthis …”
As if sensing the hatchling’s wish and intent, the dragon spreads its wings and takes a leap.
Only to fall down moments later when the hatchling does not move the fin quite right and tumbles from the saddle, sending the dragon careening in the opposite direction. The dragon lands in a roll, righting itself swiftly before waddling over to the human, who sits in the grass rubbing the back of its head.
“slightcalibrationissue … dontworry, toothless! illfigureitout.” The dragon can smell no blood which is good; if the hatchling was injured, they would not fly every again. The human bends its knees and crawls to its feet. “ineedtogetbacktoberk andfixthis intheforge. ihavesomeideasbut illbebackas soonasican allright, toothless?”
The dragon is fairly sure the utterance ends with a question rather than statement, but what about it cannot tell. It allows the human to pet its snout for a moment and scratch behind the ears before the hatchling removes the leather contraption and fin.
“andillbringfish!” the human shouts over its shoulder before it leaves. A promise? A goodbye?
The dragon grunts and snorts, digging into the soil for a moment with its front-claws, before huffing, shaking itself head to tail before walking to the water for a well-earned drink. Then it flames the earth to make it nice and warm to rest on.
And it waits.
The saddle is different but the human sits more comfortably, using its foot rather than hand to control the fin. It is much better. They manage to stay airborne for a long time, but the dragon finds it ridiculous that they do it this way: instead of soaring free over the forest or sea, the human insists on tying them to a tree stump. They catch the wind but do not move anywhere. But the dragon notices how the human’s control of the fin is better each time they lift off the ground, translating movement from its foot to the tail.
And so it goes, for several days and nights. The hatchling returns and each stay is longer than the last. They fly briefly in segments—training, not true flight, mostly tied to the stump—and they eat together. The human does not like it when the dragon offers half a regurgitated fish, unlike proper dragon hatchlings. It rather scorches food over a fire, making the meat crispy before eating it. The dragon thinks that is strange and wasteful but maybe humans need to do it that way because their teeth are weaker and bellies so small, no fires of their own. Of course! The fires must be made outside, not inside.
After eating, the hatchling often gives nice pets and scratches, especially behind the ears and under the dragon’s chin where it feels so good.
The human sometimes sits by the waterside and scratches with dark coal onto a strange flat piece which the dragon has not seen before, drawing symbols and things, like it had done with a stick in the dirt a fortnight ago. The hatchling does not mind the dragon peering over its shoulder. The markings designate human-language-words, the dragon thinks, and the drawings show the likeness of many things, but mostly the dragon itself, whole or in detail: a wing, a tailfin, a claw. Once the dragon understands this, it proudly strikes a pose, making the human laugh.
After a while—days turning to weeks—the human is comfortable enough to stay through the evenings into late night, napping under the dragon’s wing, and the dragon is happy to let the human do that; the hatchling is small and fits easily in that space, where normally a dragon would reverently guard eggs or newly hatched little ones. The human is tiny and weak and obviously needs to be protected and better fed. Do the other Vikings at their Viking-nest not care for their young?
When that thought strikes the dragon, it does not want the human to leave. Young hatchlings are to be protected, kept warm through winters and well-fed. Even Vikings should know that! This one is merely a fishbone and that cannot be right. All other Vikings the dragon is aware of are louder and larger, tall and broad. Do they not feed this hatchling? Is it because it is a runt of its litter? The dragon will make sure it eats! Many, many fish!
But the human leaves, again and again, especially during mid-day so that the dragon can sleep on its own. The human sounds apologetic and guilty:
“ihavetogo, toothless, orthe otherswill getsuspicious. Ihavetobethere fortraining andtheforge forgobber. butdontworry! Illbeback, toothless.”
The reverberation of the word toothless stays with the dragon once the human has gone back to its Viking nest. What does toothless mean? Is toothless—dragon?
Dragon is toothless. Toothless is me, the dragon realizes that night while resting by the side of the lake, watching its dark waters and the stars above. Toothless is a name!
Toothless likes it.
I will find out the hatchling’s name, Toothless decides. It is only fair.
“itsgotime, Toothless, itsgotime. weregonna takethis niceandslow.”
Toothless is happy. They are flying—together—for real this time! Not tied to some silly stump. The wind carries them higher, out of the cove and across the woods and toward the sea; the boy sits in the saddle, controlling the tailfin. Struggling a little to synchronize it with the real one.
The sea froths beneath them and Toothless roars joyfully to greet it. Freedom! Freedom! Flight!
“allright positionthree! nofour.”
Higher, and then lower, over fern and pine and shore and they approach the seastacks rapidly. Water briefly splits beneath them as a wingtip touches the waves, for a moment unbalanced before they regain it together. Toothless chooses a path between two tall outcrops of rock.
A flock of seagulls cry above them, fleeing from their shelter when the dragon glides beneath them. Some other time Toothless would have liked to go after them, a playful hunt (birds are not good food—too many feathers and too little meat—but are good for play). The dragon’s wings are spread wide and it seeks the next updraft.
“yesitworked!”
The human struggles with control. They dive, unintended, first to the left and then right, bumping into a small seastack, the rock hard and unforgiving but Toothless bears the brunt of it. Toothless growls and shakes his head. Hatchling must be more careful!
“sorry! sorry! thatwasmyfault! sorry! allrightletstry togoup, Toothless.”
Sensing the hatchling’s intent from the adjustment of the pedal and fin, Toothless angles his body and flaps his wings to gain altitude. The human’s shouts are happy and wonderous. Marvelling at their speed and ability to climb the air. This is their first real flight; and the hatchling is awed and joyful and unafraid. Like a dragon. Yes, Toothless will make a dragon of this hatchling yet. Fly together! Hunt together! Free together! Hatchling just needs to learn.
“ohthisisamazing! thewindinmy cheatsheet! STOP!”
Almost vertical, a sudden loss of speed—but the hatchling is carried onward by momentum, slipping loose. Toothless senses it the exact moment it happens, the weight (slight as it is) lifting from his back and the foot coming away from its pedal. All of a sudden there is no control, no control at all of the fin, and they are fall. Falling! Oh no! Toothless roars and spins and tries to find the hatchling, falling beside him. The ground is rapidly approaching and below is not sea but forest, a long sloping hill. If they land like this they could both be injured or die, crushed, especially the little hatchling without scales.
The hatchling shouts words and Toothless tries to roll so that they are level, side by side—if the hatchling could just reach out and grab ... There! A hand and then a foot and then the boy settles, and if not for the roaring wind Toothless would have heard the boy’s panicking breathing, loud pounding heartbeats.
Toothless spreads his wings fully, front and back, and the boy deploys the tail to catch as much air as possible. They strain. Toothless cries out. The ground is so close and they miss it narrowly, the shape of it being to their aid. The fog parts to reveal more rocks beyond the trees, meeting a frothy sea, and they gain control—together—just in time to avoid them. A tight turn, then another. To a dragon this kind of manoeuvring is instinctive, and the boy lets go of the parchment to rely on instinct too. Trusting that together they can do this.
Together—as one—Toothless and his human fly in-between the rocks until they reach open water, stretching endlessly free before them. Toothless aims for the horizon, full of glee, and the boy cries out triumphantly at their success. The dragon lets out a small, controlled burst of fire as it is wont when very happy, only realizing too late that the human hatchling is not born-dragon, fireproof.
Toothless wants to apologize. But human ears cannot understand the intent of every dragon noise and their minds are closed off.
[Did not mean to burn you], Toothless says anyway and offers half a fish. Luckily the hatchling is all right—Toothless has smelled and also licked it to be sure, and the skin is whole, unburned. No blood, no damage. The hatchling grimaced at the latter, a token protest, and had wiped its hand against its fake furs. Toothless had caught many, many fish in the sea and tries to get the hatchling to eat most of them once they find a cliff to set down on, far from humans. It is peaceful here. The sun is beginning to set.
“nothanks. imgood.” The hatchling is happy with one fish burned over fire.
Toothless grunts and huffs. [Eat too little, too small!] Human hatchling needs more food. But the human is very stubborn and it’s too bad any dragons’ words go unheard and unheeded. He nudges the human with his snout. [Eat more!]
They are interrupted by three small-fires-puffs, who approach the catch of fish all too unafraid. That is typical of small-fires-puffs. They are careless. Toothless bares his teeth and growls, even if the human hatchling seems more curious than wary. [Food! Food! Food!] They chatter and one bodly grabs a fish right in front of the large black dragon’s snout. Worse, one tries to take hatchling’s food. No! That is not right. A low growl builds in Toothless’ throat.
[No. Ours! This food is not yours. Toothless caught it! Go! Do not take Hatchling’s food. Go away.]
The small dragons tilt their heads in confusion and stare at Toothless and the human. [Hatchling? But it is not flying-kin?] They try to wrap their heads around this conundrum, and one of them concludes: [It came from a bad egg!]
Toothless grunts at the insult.
[Food, food, food! I will take], another one of them says. It scratches the ground with its claws in challenge, the tiny fool, and Toothless’ eyes narrow dangerously with a snarl. It is not a real threat. The small-fires-puffs draws a breath and gathers its gas to light its fire, and just as it opens its mouth Toothless sends a small—almost harmless, were it not for the other dragon’s tiny size—burst of fire into it. The small-fires-puffs makes a pathetic noise as it falls, then scrambles to get back on its feet, wobbling uncertainly for a few moments. At least it realizes that stealing will not work. Not from Toothless and his human!
“huh. notsofireproof onthesinide areyou.”
Toothless blinks in surprise and growls quietly in dismay when the hatchling actually gives the annoying little terror a fish. One that Toothless had just defended for them! Silly hatchling is being too kind. It even lets the small dragons, all three of them, crawl closer. One of them settles by the boy’s leg to accept scratches and headrubs.
[No! This food is for hatchling and Toothless only!] Toothless glares at the small-fires-puffs in warning.
“itsallright, Toothless. idontmind.”
Toothless stretches a wing lazily and bumps the hatchling’s face with his snout. He still requires a name.
There is wonder in the hatchling’s voice:
“everything weknow aboutdragons…is wrong.”
With time, spending weeks together eating and resting and training to fly as One, Toothless has listened to quite a lot of human speech. And slowly the segments of noise are breaking down into smaller pieces. Toothless is Toothless. Fish is all kinds of fish, grey and brown and slimy and crunchy and even eels. There is also something called a Fishlegs, which is not a fish with legs but a Viking person, Toothless deciphers. And, finally, the boy says his own name. It takes some time to figure out where it begins and ends in the boy’s long sentences, but he says it a few times. It sounds like he is complaining, speaking of some other person, other Vikings. The little human does not sound happy when talking about his nest. His nest is called Berk, and Berk-the-nest is not a good place.
“everyonesgangingup onme but nowitsridiculous. Hiccuptheuseless nomore everyonesuddenly wantstoknow hiccupthedragonfighter ohÞórimnotafighter andworstthingis dadwillsoonbeback andhellsay …” And at this point the boy’s voice changes, as if in imitation of someone with deeper, raspier, grating tones: “hiccup! tellme son howyoure goingto defeatthe nightmare itwill makeareal viking outofyou.”
A sigh, and the hatchling deflates and sits heavily on the ground, slumping over, and Toothless nudges him gently and drapes a wing over him.
Hiccup. Hiccup is the name. Toothless is pleased to finally know, even if the introduction is late, and he cannot even let the human understand that is listening. He has tried many times, but it seems humans cannot hear with their inner voice. Do they not have one?
“thanksbud. Idontknow whatim gonnado oncethey getback … itsonlya matteroftimenow. ifimknot hiccup thehorrendous haddockthethird slayerofdragons! dadwillbe sodissapointed…”
The boy is quiet for some time, not even drawing in his notebook, just looking at the water. They are back in the cove which is safe and hidden. The meal was good and the flight before better, and Toothless is ready to sleep for awhile once the hatchling has returned to Berk-the-nest. But he does not want Hiccup to go. Hiccup is unhappy there and not fed enough and sometimes he returns with bruises or cuts, smelling like other Vikings.
Those times Toothless is angry and licks Hiccup’s wounds, despite the boy’s initial protests, but they heal fast after that. Toothless commits those scents to memory: the Vikings are hurting Hiccup, and if Toothless ever meets them they shall know the full rage of this dragon. They shall know fear. For a brief time before they die, anyway.
Days pass and the first snows of winter hang threateningly in the air; soon they will fall. The boy wears thicker fake furs but returns every day with food nonetheless, even days when the wind howls icily. They fly, training together to be better and stronger and faster. Each flight is easier than the last and they go further: reaching beyond the island to various rocks and seastacks and the neighbouring island, which is empty of people but sometimes dragons stay there.
There they meet the small-fires-puffs again and a wild stone-eater, who is suspicious at first but accepts Toothless and Hiccup once it is clear they do not intend to harm or steal its food. The stone-eater is alone, without a flock, lost. Its family heeded the call of the Queen a long time and it dares not leave the barren island, afraid of being caught again. They return three more times to that island, and Hiccup brings his notebook to write about and sketch the wild dragons.
It should be a free and happy time. They keep flying and Toothless is tempted to steer them away from Berk, the Viking-nest, forever, but Hiccup insists they go back. something is wearing Hiccup down; it is more and more noticeable every day. Guilt, fear, something else which Toothless can taste but not name. Toothless, too, is restless. Two moon cycles he has now stayed here, and when not airborne with Hiccup on his back he is trapped in the cove.
“Stayhere, itis safehere,” Hiccup says, sensing the dragon’s frustration. This is their secret place; no other Vikings come here, nor other dragons. There have been no raids since Toothless was shot down from the sky. Toothless wonders if the Queen is content with raiding other human settlements or if winter has come early to the bad-dangerous-nest and She has gone to sleep to awaken in spring.
Toothless is ready to leave, to travel afar; free from the Queen, free to fly where they want, hunt their own food, and share it only with the human hatchling. But Hiccup insists they stay here, close to Berk-the-nest, even if the place makes him unhappy. Because the boy does not know where else to go, and Toothless cannot speak with him, cannot communicate all that he knows. And since the Queen’s presence was cleared from his mind, Toothless cannot remember much of Before. There was time before he was in her thrall; he knows, because he is full-grown now and is not sure he was when she caught him.
There is a whole world out there they could explore, flying far away to settle in a new nest, a good nest. But Hiccup does not want to go.
Not yet.
It is sundown when Hiccup reaches the cove. His smells of distress and guilt and shame—Toothless approaches at once, wagging his tail in greeting and sniffing the air. Hiccup is alone and has brought fish.
The saddle, fin and other flight gear are already stored here, nestled between two rocks at the far end of the cove; Hiccup tired of carrying it back and forth between here and the village many days ago. Toothless thinks it is also to withdraw suspicion. For two moons they have flown together without any other Vikings noticing, but luck never holds forever. Surely some Viking will notice how much time Hiccup spends away in the forest and try to follow him, eventually. Not that one or two Viking warriors would be much issue for Toothless to fight off.
“Wecant stayhere, Toothless.” The tone is dejected.
Toothless lowers his head and croons, sensing the boy’s fear, grief, hesitation. Something is not right; it is that feeling before something bad happens; before a storm, raging violently across a whole horizon, one which is impossible to escape no matter how fast your flight. And this is a storm which is clear to Hiccup but not to Toothless, not yet. He will try his best to support the boy, to protect him. He must. Together they fly free. They must stay together.
[Stay here in-cove tonight?] he asks. [Safe and warm.]
To the dragon’s distress, the boy starts smelling of salt as his eyes suddenly start growing wet and droplets of water roll slowly out of his eyes, down across his cheeks. What is this? This has never happened before! Is it normal? It cannot be normal. Can it? Toothless makes a worried noise.
“We can’t stay here!” the boy says, as if meaning to shout but it comes out as a hoarse whisper. Toothless focuses on listening. He can understand more and more words, give the noises meaning. Not-safe-here, Hiccup is saying. Not-stay-here. Hiccup sinks to the cold ground in a crouch, rubbing at his face. His eyes are still leaking.
“Toothless, they’ll killyou and, and, and thenI’ll haveto k…” there is a strange noise: an actual hiccup: “killthenightmare.” That is the second time he has said that: kill-the-nightmare. The words ‘kill-you’ and ‘kill-the-nightmare’ are similar. What is ‘kill’?
The boy’s breaths hitch, words ceasing momentarily, and his heart beats too fast and it is all wrong. Toothless is very alarmed now and he does not know what to do. Lacking other options, he wraps himself around the boy, forelegs and wings a firm gentle embrace where it is warm and safe. The dragon tries to lick away the wetness from Hiccup’s face. It tastes salty. It is as if seawater is raining from his eyes.
Hiccup shudders and suddenly laughs brokenly; not a happy sound, not at all. “And here I am, crying likeababe, comfortedby adragon … Thanks, Toothless.”
Toothless warbles softly as if Hiccup were newly hatched from a shell and scared of the wide new world; and Toothless vows to protect him—no matter what.
[I know you not-understand Toothless, Hiccup], Toothless reaches out with his inner voice. [Toothless not-like when Hiccup is hurting. Toothless wants Hiccup to stop-hurting.]
“I know you don’t understand,” Hiccup sighs, and his words are clearing; “but. I’ve been training and learned so much from you, how to calm dragons down, to subdue without hurting them, and now it’s gone too well. They all think I’m this…this fierce dragon-killing Viking, except Astrid … who hates me.” Again, Hiccup says, through sniffling, congested sounds: “if they choose me, I have to kill the Nightmare, and I can’t. Can’t do that. And then Astrid will. It’s going to die, Toothless.”
Toothless licks his face, which finally as ceased leaking water. Hiccup does not protest, for once. He is red but no longer shaking and his shoulders are less tense.
And Toothless understands. The insight comes upon him while the hatchling is speaking, as the words emerge and settle in Toothless’ mind not as large inexplicable chunks but as smaller understandable pieces. These units have meaning, connecting to make sense, and now he understands; how, exactly, he is unsure, but they will figure it out together. Yes. They will figure out everything together.
[Hiccup], he says with his inner voice and tries, in vain, to form a noise with his throat and tongue similar to human voices. The closest Toothless comes is an exhale-sharp grunt-warble-click. Nonsensical to human ears, but the boy glances up at him anyway, blinking a couple of times.
[Must leave], Toothless says, projecting as clearly as he can, [because Hiccups has to … fight-and-kill Nightmare? And you not-want fight-and-kill Nightmare.]
A Nightmare? A Nightmare, Toothless realizes then, is a dragonkind. A human name for not an individual (not like Toothless) but for a group. It matters not what particular type, although in this case Toothless assumes a Nightmare is one of the larger ones, vicious in human eyes, something to be feared more than, say, small-fires-puffs. The boy has been coerced to train to fight dragons, as is wont for his kin; all Vikings of Berk do that; a rite of passage, as obligatory as flight is for a dragon. Hiccup has talked about this, ranting his complaints, unaware of Toothless’ listening ears or memory of the words, which he now in hindsight is beginning to unravel.
[You not-want to kill dragons, so we must leave.]
“Yeah,” the boy sighs, and Toothless momentarily holds his breath.
Is the boy listening?
Fire! Foes! Attack! Flee!
Toothless smells them before he hears them. The whine of a hundred wings rising and falling, coming closer and closer. Far above in the night, blotting out stars. Tense, ears straining and eyes large, Toothless crouches to make himself smaller, harder to spot. He peers upward. There is a trail of dust and fire: dragons. Many dragons. A raid!
They are heading for the Viking nest. It is not a good place and Toothless would not care if it burned, but his human hatchling is there. Unprotected without Toothless. A worried growl burns in his throat, alongside his fire which almost reaches his mouth before he swallows it back down.
No. He is on his own and no longer answering to the Queen. The other dragons will see him as outsider, as a threat, as a stranger and without flight he cannot escape them, and even his fire is no match for so many angry, hungry, desperate kin. They would not recognize him as one of their own in this state.
Their voices, inner and outer, are unclear, thoughts shattered by the Queen into submission and Toothless is angry for them. No dragon deserves such a fate, being a shell of their former self, knowing only the fear for the Queen and hunger, hunger, hunger unstilling because at the bad-dangerous-nest they are not allowed to eat their fill.
But Hiccup! Hiccup is not a warrior, even if he is training, returning to the cove day after day smelling like other dragons’ wrath: stone-eater and sharp-spikes and small-fires-puffs. And Toothless does not trust the other Vikings in the least to care for the hatchling and provide enough shelter. No. Far too often Hiccup has come with bruises and cuts and the scent of other Vikings on him, confirming the humans, not dragons, are to blame.
The sky darkens as the great mass of dragons—a dozen, two dozen—move over the area, past the cove. Toward the village. Hiccup!
The dragons shriek and shout and yellow fire casts a trail like shooting starts from a flame-self-at-will. There are sharp-spikes and two-heads-one-body and many more that Toothless can see. They fly overhead, not noticing Toothless or not caring: their quarry lies ahead. Then they are out of sight.
Toothless scrambles at the rock, tries to climb. Tries to fly. But Hiccup removed the tailfin and the saddle before he left this morning, not wanting Toothless to be uncomfortable. He rolls down the steep slope, aching at the impact. No! No! Must get out of here!
And there is other noise meeting the chaos of the dragons, coming from afar: Viking voices echoing across forest and water, battle cries, fear, anger, hostility. Berk is awake. A horn blows a warning, and Toothless hears explosions as fire meets wooden huts unforgivingly.
Weapons of metal and wood are thrown but Toothless only hears it, too far away and too far down inside the cove to see. The black dragon leaps across the soil toward the entrance of the cove, digging and clawing and gnawing helplessly at the sundering rock. A plasma blast destroys the round shield but is not enough. Too small! He crams his wings tightly against his back and tries worming through, in vain. No!
Hiccup. Toothless must get to Hiccup. Must protect Hiccup!
Snarling, Toothless sends another blast at the rock. The shield is completely disintegrated, charring ash, and the stone groans and cracks a little at the force of it; but it will not yield. Toothless throws himself at it. Must get out! Must protect Hiccup!
[Hiccup! HICCUP!]