Chapter Text
Barbaric Archipelago - a cluster of more or less miserable islands, heaps of rocks and soil littered with occasional handfuls of forests and other flora that adapted to the biting cold reigning over many land masses separated from one another by a vast expanse of ocean embracing them from all sides. Many of them are pure and wild and uninhabited, untouched by human presence. And some of them are tame and hospitable enough for settlements to be established. One of those islands was Berk. Home to the tribe of iron-willed Vikings known as the Hairy Hooligans for seven generations now. With sheer cliffs contrasted by admittedly pleasant woods, the island would seem almost serene and welcoming despite the usual low temperatures as well as frequent snow and hail. Unfortunately, this is but a mere illusion. Every now and again, Vikings had to brace themselves as fire rained from the skies upon them. On leathery wings, with fangs and talons, ravenous monsters straight out of horrible legends would descend upon the village to raze the land and pillage for the livestock and supplies of valuable food. Dragon scavengers and the boar-headed Vikings have been at war for centuries, ever since their ancestors met here for the first time when the first settlers set their feet on the shores of their new home. To survive in such hostile and dangerous circumstances among bloodthirsty beasts, to prevail through the worst, people of Berk had to unite in strength, courage and sturdiness. And nearly all of them had all three of those things. But “nearly” means there are still exceptions - those unfortunately deprived of one or more of the aforementioned traits..
Since the very first time he stepped outside to try and participate in a defense against a dragon raid, the son of the Chieftain of Hairy Hooligans was widely known as the biggest troublemaker on Berk. Ironic, one would say, if taking into consideration he is inarguably the least imposing Viking ever to be seen in this village. Hence the name he was given. Hiccup. A gangly runt. The walking disaster of the Barbaric Archipelago. An auburn-haired mess of a scrawny, freckled teenager with lust for adventure in his green eyes inherited from his father, the Great Chief of Berk - Stoick the Vast. With limbs as thin as twigs and barely enough strength to drag a sword to the whetstone, he was considered useless in battling the fire-breathing beasts and just an obstacle to trip over. Whenever he tried to offer assistance, it was always followed by some calamity, try as he might. The only help acceptable was when he would stick to the forge and assist his mentor to make, repair and hone weapons. The one thing the lad is good at, some tend to say.. And while the access to the blacksmith's stall allowed him a wide range of possibilities, he still was looked down on.
Frail in the physique he might be but blessed with intellect and ingenuity. And while Hiccup himself was pretty proud of his inventions, nobody took him or his projects seriously. Although mocked by other teenagers and disrespected by adults, the Chief’s son did not allow any of this to break his determination. Despite every metaphorical push, kick and endless ridicule even from his own cousin, he just kept trying. And trying. And trying… Every failure knocked him down for just a short time and then turned into determination to find another way or make the former way better. One day, he would get out there and kill a dragon, prove his mettle and make his mark in the right place this time. And not just any dragon.. for Hiccup had his eyes on a very specific species. Every invention he made was created with the intention of striking down one particular type of beast, the greatest prize and the most feared dragon on the island.
Night Fury.
Faster than anything he's ever seen. Precise to a fault with its lethal blasts of violet fire. And one of the most elusive creatures ever known to mankind. Scales dark as the night in its name allow the mysterious dragon to blend in perfectly with the sky after dusk. When the threatening whistle heralding the coming of the demonic beast would ring out, everyone took cover almost immediately. No one in his tribe ever dared to go against a Night Fury and those who did, never lived to tell the tale. No one has ever managed to land a killing blow on it. And if that would mean finally being seen as something more than a burden and a problem… Hiccup was going to be the first to do so. This was his goal and nobody would take it from him. His father finally would look at him without disappointment shining through his gaze..
Determination alone, however, wasn't going to be enough. Time and time again, he would set out during a raid as soon as the familiar, eerie shriek slashed through the chaos over the roars of other beasts, followed by a purple explosion and a black shadow zooming past almost too fast for the human eye to catch it. Time and time again, he tried to shoot the black dragon by using his bola launcher. Time and time again, he would fail. He would either miss, the contraption would block and fail to fire or the bola would be mislaunched as the mechanism malfunctioned. And it frustrated him to no end. Five failed attempts left his father even more disappointed, especially when Hiccup tried to play it off to make the situation slightly less embarrassing and just plainly horrible. Laughter, mockery and belittlement got worse and worse with every failure. Again and again, and again…
…until he hit it.
After many unsuccessful tries, Hiccup could hardly believe it when he heard the shocked and pained shriek of the demon of the night, plummeting like a falling star towards Raven's Reach until it was gone from his sight. He hit it. He actually hit it. He finally did something right, he did something no one else had accomplished before him and took down one of the most dangerous dragons in these parts! He invented the contraption that allowed him to do it. He lined up a perfect shot, he took down the member of the infamous species terrorizing Vikings all across the Archipelago, and he will be the one to finally kill one and earn the praise he longs to hear so much and-
Nobody believed him.
Nobody. Not his father, not his teacher Gobber (even though he agreed when Hiccup said the Night Fury went down, probably out of pity), not anyone. Snotlout mocked him and the twins laughed. But it's not surprising, honestly… After so many times he failed, he wouldn't believe himself either. He didn't believe for a few seconds after all. So why would anyone else..? Alone at home, after Gobber escorted him at his father's request, Hiccup didn't wait or beat himself up about any of this. Non believers need proof. Without it, he won't be anything other than the usual mess-up and a liar at that. And a proof was exactly what he intended to give them. Grabbing his sketchbook where he had a map of Raven's Reach and the closest areas drawn, a charcoal and his dagger (he didn't expect much trouble from an incapacitated or even dead dragon so a small blade should suffice), Hiccup rushed out of the back door and towards the woods, unseen. Not that anyone would care either way. If no one wanted to help him, he would find that Night Fury by himself and he would show them. At long last.
He would show them all.
Stoick had no idea what to do with his boy anymore. He tried what feels like everything. Letting him out into the field had resulted in a calamity when he ended up chased by a Nadder and five men got injured while half of the sheep herd was decimated. And trying to keep him out of trouble awoke a spirit of rebellion and caused a collapsed shed and half a dozen dead yaks. Nothing seemed to work. Every time Stoick thought things would finally turn out alright, Hiccup would get in some fresh hot mess and give him more than one reason for a headache. This boy will be the end of him one day.. Unable to focus on anything and when he does focus, he cannot be pried away from what he's doing even with an iron bar. And usually, it's looking for yet another way for his physically weak and clumsy self to kill a Night Fury. At this point, his engagement in catching this beast was starting to spiral into an unhealthy obsession. Telling him to give it a rest only made the boy claim this is who he is. And that he can't let go just like that. Every discouragement worked in reverse and made him try harder. Admirable on the one hand, this determination of his, but on the other hand, so unbelievably insufferable and problematic! He can never do what he's told, only what he wants to do. The only instance he obeys any instructions is when he decides he feels like it or when he works at the forge with Gobber. And even that obedience isn't a given. At times like this, more often than he should after almost fifteen years of trying to come to terms with his loss, he wished Valka was here to help him raise their son. Teenage years are the roughest for most parents to endure and when one parent is missing, it is ten times worse for all parties involved. No third party to mediate a conflict. No reassurance in difficult moments. No one for either the son or the father to turn to… And it was taking a toll on both of them.
On top of all his worries of fatherhood and chiefly duties, Stoick had the matter of finding the Nest of dragons as well. Attacks on Berk were becoming more destructive. One of these days, their village was going to crumble and not recover, and he couldn't allow that to happen. Hence why he needed to get to the Nest. Destroying it would guarantee peace for Berk, for the first time in over three hundred years. Peace, safety and stability. Although the idea is enticing, it's easier said than done… So many expeditions have set out, so many brave men and women.. No ship has returned so far. No one has ever laid eyes on the Nest. Those brave enough to try were lost in the impenetrable mists of Helheim's Gate. This is why he decided to set sail and come along, to make sure everything goes as well as it can and to make sure the Nest is finally discovered and the beasts banished into some distant lands where they won't threaten Berk anymore. And if it isn't found, then if only to ensure they return home safely. But leaving for the expedition to the island of dragons meant Hiccup would remain here with little to no supervision. When Gobber would be busy training the young recruits, Hiccup would be free to get in more trouble than Stoick can imagine. He could get hurt or - Odin forbid - killed in the process. Valka would never forgive her husband if their only son died.. And sending him to Dragon Training was almost guaranteeing it, even though Gobber believed otherwise. This would only mean more opportunities for Hiccup to hurt himself or make a mess. And yet.. Stoick wondered if perhaps Gobber speaks wisely.. Despite being off his rocker a little, his friend often was capable of giving good advice and right at that moment, Stoick really hoped for one.. To help him set Hiccup on the right path. To help this boy discover himself..
“You can't stop him, Stoick. You can only prepare him.”
Gobber finally declares grimly, drawing Stoick's skeptical stare to himself. Like he hasn't been trying to do that… Of course he's tried to prepare Hiccup for what fate has in store for him but all attempts seem to fall short despite his efforts. This child just… can't seem to fit in no matter how one looks at it. He has no idea who he is, who he will be or what he's searching for. Hiccup was just so different from everyone else, so.. well… Hiccup. Dragon Training seemed like the only option but was the risk even worth it? He doesn't know.. Seeing his morose and doubtful expression, Gobber continues his string of thoughts after a beat. And Stoick hates how much sense he makes.
“Look, I know it seems hopeless, but the truth is you won't always be around to protect him. He's going to get out there again, he's probably out there now.”
The realization dawns on the Chief that Gobber likely has a point. Sometimes, he thinks that the one-armed and one -legged blacksmith knows his son better than he does and thinking about it now, Hiccup almost certainly is out Gods know where and doing Gods know what. Stoick almost, just almost gets up to leave and to prepare for the voyage to the Nest when Gobber chimes in again.
“This lad needs guidance, Stoick. And if you don't feel capable of preparing him for the future, you need to find someone who will..”
A brief silence falls between the two Vikings when the last sentence is spoken. The words in it give Stoick a pause. As usual, Gobber is making a good point. If he cannot handle Hiccup and his troublesome, borderline self-destructive tendencies, he needs help from someone who can. Someone more patient than your average, hot-headed Viking, someone respectable and with loads of experience. And ideally, someone who could potentially see eye to eye with Hiccup. Someone who would give this boy full, undivided attention, which is not possible with five other recruits at Dragon Training. But he has no clue who would be up for it and capable of facing the challenge.. Or… Stoick straightens up, when an idea sparks in his mind. And this expression of clarity is followed by a light frown. Or does he..?
It has been an admittedly long while since Stoick's thoughts have drifted to this one specific person. Trust is not exactly the first thing that comes to mind when thinking about this individual but there is no denying that his exploits and reputation warrant respect. And what's better, his hunting expertise seems to align with Hiccup’s recent interest almost too perfectly, giving them at least one common ground to start on. His methods might be… questionable in more than one meaning of the word but it might be just what Hiccup needs. Killing a dragon in the name of bringing peace to humanity means the same no matter how it's done, after all. To some, how the killing itself is done isn't important, just the intent behind it.
Now… the issue is that it's been years since Stoick has heard anything about the man. No idea where he might currently be or if he is still out there to begin with. Life of a solitary dragon hunter is often a short one, after all, no matter the skill. But if there is a chance for Hiccup to finally fit in, to finally stop unintentionally wreaking havoc and causing more complaining from other Berkians than imaginable, Stoick decides to take it. It's risky but might pay off in great results. Besides, there won't be a safer place for Hiccup than under the wing of a professional dragon killer as his teacher. And if the man just happens to hunt down that Night Fury (or more of them, no way to tell if it's constantly the same dragon) that has been striking fear into the hearts of his people, the better. Two birds with one stone. Then again… the problem is that agreement isn't guaranteed from a lone wolf of this kind. He might not want to lend a hand in the first place and Stoick honestly wouldn't be surprised by rejection of his request but, hopefully, mutual respect and a promise of a reward will spark interest enough to at least consider. A message might also not reach him, a strider such as himself is difficult to find unless he wants to be found. But hope, as faint as it might be, is still better than sitting with arms crossed and grumbling while doing nothing. Might as well try.
“You might be right… Thank you, Gobber.”
Stoick says, earnestly grateful, hardly registering a “anytime, friend” from the blacksmith as he walks to the door of the Great Hall. The plan formulates in his head. The voyage will be put off for a few days as he waits for response. If not a word comes back by then, he will set out and ask Gobber to train Hiccup with others since this seems to be the only other option that makes sense, unpreferable as it might be. More beneficial for Hiccup would be a personal tutor focused fully on him, of that Stoick has no doubts. But all of this is not his main concern. Once he has an answer, he will have to talk to his son about it, but first… He must write an important letter.
An hour could've passed. Maybe more. Yet Hiccup was still wandering around the woods, frustrated and angry with himself. The forest in the light of dawn was calm and peaceful, morning dew sparkling on the blades of grass and leaves like tiny crystals and a thin fog still hung in the air, limiting one's field of vision, even if only slightly. Though, hindrance or no hindrance, the gangly teen walked around for a long while but the woods are empty save for birds occasionally crying out in the canopies, no dragon in sight. Shuffling through the thickets, Hiccup crosses out yet another spot on his makeshift map before frustration takes the better of him and has him angrily scribbling random lines all across the map before slamming his sketchbook shut and sliding it beneath his fur vest into one of the pocket on the inside before groaning.
“Oh, the Gods hate me.”
Defeated yet still mad, he kicks a small stone, not stopping his stride to watch it bounce down the short, rocky path before him as he continues to talk to himself, hoping to at least somewhat vent his frustrations to whatever might be willing to listen, even if it would be a bird or some rodent hiding in the foliage.
“Some people lose their knife or their mug. No, not me, I manage to lose an entire dragon!”
To fully express the extent of his anger, Hiccup sets his eyes on a dry branch that suddenly appears in his path and whacks it with all his strength. Only for it to snap back in its place which is now occupied by the boy, resulting in it lashing him across his right cheek, drawing a noise of pain at its sharp sting that leaves a few red lines on his freckled skin as a testimony to his previous claim that Gods must despise him. While recovering from the minor but no less painful hit, Hiccup looks up and something out of the corner of his eye prompts him to turn his head slowly to the right. That branch he hit… is attached to a tree that was broken in half and splintered. The jutting spikes of wood beneath the broken bark are bright, indicating the damage happened recently and there weren't any storms in the area lately. Besides, This doesn't look like something naturally occurring, no. This looks… like something slammed into the tree with an unimaginable force and at breakneck speed. Astonished, Hiccup lets his eyes wander across the entire length of the ruined tree to find a deep, long trench in the ground. As though something big and heavy crash landed here.
His heart hastens. Could it be? Has luck finally smiled upon him? Pain in his cheek is all but forgotten as he jumps down into the trench and follows it, regarding the deep scratches across the roots bare of any soil. Claw marks.. Hope, fear and excitement rise the further he goes until he climbs up the raised ground and looks around.
His eyes find a huge heap of black just ahead.
With a gasp, Hiccup curls up in an instinctive attempt to hide as he feels his heart leap into his throat in both fear and surprise. Oh Gods. Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods. He saw it. He saw the dragon. I found it. Breath in, breath out.. Slowly, the shaken teen peeks out again, his wide eyes now prepared for the sight ahead of him. It wasn't his imagination. It's just laying there.. just a few meters ahead. Frantically, Hiccup scrambles to find his dagger at his belt. Fingers of both his hands wrap tightly around the small hilt as he holds the blade up, seeking reassurance and courage in its gleaming edge. What little he finds, gives him the will to move. Swiftly crossing a small clearing and putting his back to the last large rock separating him from his prey. Breath in, breath out… Mustering enough bravery, Hiccup finally abandons his hiding spot and comes out into the open to take in the fallen creature.
Laying in front of him was a medium-sized dragon. Lean, four-legged beast with a long tail and shining, black scales. But not fully black. Here and there, one could see slightly brighter patterns which could easily be mistaken for dirty spots were it not for their intricate shapes. In contrast to many dragons Hiccup had seen, the Night Fury had no spikes or horns anywhere on its body, only a row of flattened spines (or protruding scales more like) down the length of its back. Instead, the smooth, blunted head with large eyes and almost a cat-like nose has several fleshy protrusions which brought ears to mind. Large wings are held by the taut ropes tangled around the slender body perfectly built for slicing through the air like an arrow at insane velocities. As the first Viking on Berk, first to do so alive, Hiccup was allowed to behold the notorious Night Fury, right there in front of him, a sight for his shocked eyes to consume. And the dragon wasn't moving. It appeared… dead. Actually dead. Tension in Hiccup's lithe form dissipates and leaves only shaky softness as his heart beats fast, now with joyous disbelief. He did it. He hit the Night Fury. He killed it.
“Oh wow, I did it.. I did it, this- this fixes everything! Yes! ”
Finally! Oh, just imagine what his dad will say! He will be bursting with pride that his only son, his runty failure of a son, killed a dragon - a Night Fury! - without anyone's help! And they didn't believe they could do that. He could already imagine rubbing it into Snotlout's face. Into everyone's faces! Maybe Astrid will finally look his way with something other than pity? She surely would be impressed by an exploit that is slaying the cursed devil spawn. With pride swelling in his chest, Hiccup plants one foot on one of the front paws of the downed dragon in a triumphant pose.
“I have brought down this mighty beast-”
A sudden shift beneath his foot, a shove, and a yowl send him reeling back against the rock he hid behind with a yelp. Panic returns and grips him like vice as he stares at the Night Fury in shock. Its body moves. And moves. And keeps moving. And moving. Heaving in audible, labored breaths. Turns out it's… not as dead as Hiccup thought. He's been fooled, it was so still! Was it playing dead before? Maybe, some animals do it as a defense mechanism.. Whatever the case, Hiccup approaches the beast again. This time, knowing the dragon is actually alive, his bravado wanes and he holds his dagger out at arms’ length as he stands close and lets his eyes wander across the Night Fury's body from its torso, up all the way to its head.. only for a spike of fear to penetrate his chest like an icicle when he meets the gaze of one, green eye with a slitted pupil, staring at him coldly. Just… staring… For a moment, Hiccup looks at the dragon's torso again to avoid this stare but it's like a string was suddenly attached to his head, forcing him to look into this piercing eye again as a soft moan comes from the Fury. It looks to be in pain.. From all the scuffs from the ropes and undoubtedly from the fall itself. Breathing just as deeply as the beast, Hiccup braces himself and turns the blade of his dagger downwards, fighting the tremor in his hands, trying to keep the hilt still as it starts to slip in his clammy palms. Even his voice shakes with little to no confidence in it.
“I'm going to kill you, dragon.. I'm gonna cut out your heart and bring it to my father. I'm a Viking.”
He assures himself at the end. All of this, in fact, is self-assurance. He isn't talking to the dragon, that would be ridiculous.. He is steeling himself for what must be done.
“I'm a Viking!”
He yells, this time actually at the dragon which moans miserably again. It's definitely suffering… Why does it matter to him though? He's about to kill it anyway. It won't be in pain much longer. Putting an end to it will be a mercy on his part. Right? He breathes in and out through his mouth, raises his dagger, poised to deliver a strike and stab into the thick, well-muscled neck… but then his eyes are drawn back to this stare. What at first appeared cold and unfeeling, is far from it. He sees something in this eye. Hiccup doesn't know if dragons are able to shed tears or not. They might just not be built for it, he wouldn't know. But the Night Fury sure looked like it was moments from doing so. It looked sad.. It knows what's about to happen. This gaze, pleading, begging, as nostrils flare with every rapid breath that matches Hiccup’s. His heart is pounding. Pounding. Pounding… like a hammer on an anvil. As so is this dragon's. He can feel it in the air, almost, the aghast, erratic pace. Hiccup tries to dismiss it as his imagination but… it looks terrified. It's scared.. just as scared as the boy that gazes at him from the reflection in the surface of the green eye.
No.
He cannot falter. Not now. He has to prove himself. He has to show his people he is not worthless. He has to kill. It no longer feels like a triumph however… more like.. a sad end. No glory.. What am I thinking? Of course there is glory in slaying a dangerous dragon in the name of his fellow tribesmen! He must do this. He's come so far.. His dad would be ecstatic! Everyone would go insane if he brought the Night Fury's heart. He has to! Turning his eyes away again, he braces himself again, failing to ignore a soft coo and a light thud as the beast lays its head down and resigns to its fate. It's not even fighting… Is that even fair? Hiccup prepares for the third time to plunge the blade into the black scales but it's like something is holding his hands still in the air. Gripping so tightly he cannot move them. He tries. He fights. He has to do it…
But he can't…
The invisible rope around his wrists lowers his dagger and rests his hands clutching it onto his head in defeat. Then, his arms drop and he looks at the small blade now loosely in his hold.. then at the dragon now with eyes closed again. Waiting for what won't come. Until he came here and faced the Night Fury, he had no idea what it's like to actually try and take a life. Life of a defenseless, frightened creature. Just as frightened as he was. Never before had he considered how difficult it would be to deliver the final blow. Not until he saw how much pain he had caused this magnificent dragon. He can't do this… Hiccup regards the black-scaled beast and something new clutches at his heart. Burning. Squeezing mercilessly.. An ache somewhere deep inside his soul. Guilt. And not just because of the sight at his feet. He came here to prove himself. And he did… He proved them all right…
“I did this…”
He whispers shamefully and turns to walk away but only a few steps are taken before he comes face first into a nonexistent wall and halts.. slowly looking back at the downed beast. Still tangled up in the bola. Still in pain and still bearing chaffed wounds from the ropes digging into its body. Leaving it here like this is still killing it. It will either be killed by some other animal, some other dragon or plainly die of starvation and dehydration. The great Night Fury will perish.. and no one will have the faintest clue. Sighing in defeat, Hiccup turns his head away… before steeling his face in determination and going back to take a knee near the dragon.
Stupid. Something tells Hiccup when he grabs one rope and begins to saw through it with his dagger. Stupid, stupid, stupid. The rope snaps and falls as he glances over his shoulder with a paranoid fear that someone might have followed him and could be witnessing what undoubtedly looks like an act of betrayal. But no one is nearby to see his disgrace. Not a soul. Just him and the beast as he grabs another rope and cuts it. And another, causing the bound paws to fall limp to the ground. And another…
When the dragon suddenly springs free and launches itself at Hiccup. The back of his head connects with a rock harshly as a clawed paw pins his chest to the ground, deadly talons on both sides of his neck as he draws a few terrified gasps and looks up into a pair of wrathful, emerald eyes. His heart goes into a frenzy with the crippling panic and the realization that he is about to die. Of course! Of course, idiot, of course the dragon wasn't going to follow any morales. They have none. All they can do is hurt and kill. This momentary glimpse of what almost seemed human-like in the Night Fury has been a ruse. Or maybe a fabrication of his frightened mind? Either way, this is it. Hiccup knows as he looks into those eyes and feels the claws grip him tighter, a low growl vibrating through his frail body. He is going to die, die a fool. A worthless disappointment. Not a Viking. Just a fool. And no one… will even know. And yet… it doesn't move. It just stares. Eyes boring holes into him and peering right into his dismayed soul. Why isn't it doing anything? Just as this thought flits through his head, the Night Fury rears back, teeth bared and wings flared. This is it. Nature herself... the soil, the flora and all animals in the forest... everything seems to hold any breath in. The growl at the back of its throat no doubt means it will blast his head off, this is it, oh Thor, this is it…
Two paws slam on both sides of him and a piercing scream is released right into Hiccup’s ear. And suddenly, just like that… the dragon darts off into the woods with one flap of wings. It slams into a nearby cliff face and glides out of sight with a shriek, leaving Hiccup out of breath, with his ear full of nothing but ringing, and clutching at his heart, which was mere seconds from tearing itself out of his chest, but alive. No coherent thought passes through his head - his entire short life just flashed before his eyes - he can't even ponder why the Night Fury didn't kill him, instead granting him this mercy, as he staggers up to his trembling legs that, much like his gut, feel simultaneously hollow and wobbly like jelly. His skin is clammy with cold sweat and nausea grips his stomach. A cry of the fleeing dragon rings out again as the black silhouette flaps about far ahead, soon vanishing in the white fog..
Wheezing and with his heart near to bursting, Hiccup slowly turns away, absolutely ready to go home and never stick his nose out ever again. He staggers in the direction he came from… but world does a flip in his vision and color drains from his surroundings as his weak legs buckle. Then and there, the son of Chief collapses on the forest floor face down like a sack of potatoes but never feels the impact. Instead plummeting into the dark, dark abyss…
As black as the Night Fury's scales…
Cool winds howl mournfully above the vast expanse of the ocean in tandem with the hum of waves. Clouds coat the sky in a thick layer which darkens with each hour as afternoon turns to dusk. The sea is uncharacteristically calm, inky waters gently swaying and undulating. Across the firmament and the tight covering of clouds, a small winged shape soars, weary and slowly losing altitude. Rustle of black-feathered wings weakens with every hour as a charcoal-colored bird makes its way over the sea, its clever but tired eyes searching for a place to land and rest the tired limbs. Eventually, after dreadfully long hours of ceaseless flight, an island comes into view and the bird immediately sets course towards it. It flew for too long and rest is well needed before continuing the journey to a distant land that was its destination. With a soft caw, the raven swoops down and unfolds its feet from where they were tucked into the feathers. Hooked claws latch onto the first branch it finds and it settles happily and begins to nip at its own chest feathers, passing each through its beak as it grooms its soft, black coating.
Once it's done with the self-care routine, the raven settles on the branch and ruffles its feathers for some additional warmth and prepares for a nap. With passage of time, it needs more and more rest in between flights which get increasingly shorter.. Tomorrow it would set out on its way again. Then, in the forest ahead, a flicker of warm light gets its attention. Fire. Normally, an animal would avoid flames and steer clear. But the curious,domesticated raven unfolds its slightly sore wings and takes off to take a closer look. It settles on a branch again, near the source of the light which turns out to be coming from a campfire made in front of a plain tent. Well used to human presence, the tired bird lets its guard down and makes itself comfortable where it is, no longer interested in the fire. However… a spark from something shiny reflecting the warm glow snaps it back into attention. Something was on the ground near the tent. Light bounced off the smooth surface enticingly and the corvid couldn't help its curiosity. It glides down and halts its momentum with a few wing flaps. In short hops, it travels across the small clearing, past the bonfire and the tent, before coming to a stop above the object of its interest. Its head cocks in curiosity as it regards the oblong, translucent thing with a narrow and long metal topping it and what appears to be feathers in the back. The avian cannot help itself and lowers its head to peck the object slightly, its beak making a soft clink as it connects with the hard surface and the object rolls away barely half an inch away. While the raven has no idea what it could be, it knows it shines. It looks pretty and interesting. It pecks a few times and tries to pick the thing up but its beak keeps slipping on the rounded, tube-like shape.
Engrossed in this inspection, the raven doesn't notice a pair of ravenous, yellow eyes watching it, slitted black pupils trained on it. A shadow lurking in the foliage, prepared to strike. Stalking closer and closer to the unsuspecting bird, a pair of protruding tusks sliding out of the lower jaw. It doesn't see the dangerous predator crawling towards it. Not until the huge silhouette of a jagged-looking dragon pounces and the poor corvid has only a moment to caw in panic before it's surrounded by deadly fangs, threatening to crush it with one snap. The yellow-eyed monster doesn't, however, instead letting it flutter and squirm frantically, cawing with desperation and trying to free itself, sometimes almost letting it go free before clamping its jaws shut again, taking the illusion of freedom being just in the claws’ reach away. Taking enjoyment out of playing with the bird for a while before devouring its unfortunate catch. The struggle lasts maybe a few seconds before a sharp, piercing sound makes the dragon stop chewing the terrified bird in a mock display of wicked playfulness. The raven knows that sound. Humans often make it with their mouths at it, sometimes creating little tunes it has learned to repeat and whistle along but usually, those sounds are way gentler. Less firm and quieter. This one, was a short, stern sound emanating with dominance. Light jostle makes it freeze up in the horrifying jaws its wing is sticking out of. The previous noise is followed by a few clicks, then suddenly… the pressure around blessedly lessens and the slobber-covered raven is let go of, right into the familiar hold of human hands. Although scared into utter stillness, exhausted by both long flight and struggle with the much larger beast and with its tiny heart going a mile a minute, and all muscles quivering, the hands around its body are gentle in a reassuring manner. Another red-and-black monstrosity comes near, licking its chops with a forked tongue, causing the raven to shiver even more violently, its chest clenching with pain. Two fingers carefully seize its right leg where a now rumpled roll of parchment is held in place by a piece of twine.
“You have been fed not even an hour ago. Why would you try to eat a messenger raven, you gluttonous, insatiable-...”
The human starts with a dangerous, admonishing edge to his tone but trails off in mid sentence. Then, instead of whatever half-comprehensible words the man was going to say, a soft sound of amusement, a chuckle, rocks the still petrified bird.
“Well, well, what an interesting coincidence. Let's see what you brought me..”
A light tug loosens the twine and the parchment is removed from the raven's leg as it rests in the warm crook of the man's arm, trying to come back to its senses from the debilitating panic it was subjected to moments ago. Scent of earth and leather is somewhat soothing but it will be a while until all terror goes away. The absence of a message on its leg is a small relief. Being freed of the burden usually means permission to return home. Either with or without another letter. It would love to get as far away from this island as possible. The further away from the dragon, which tried to eat it, the better.. Still startled, the raven looks up at the pale human who rescued it, watching idly as his keen and seemingly soulless eyes dart across the unrolled parchment in his hand quickly and attentively, and fill with light of cold inquisitiveness, more and more with every word he reads. A smirk pulls at one corner of his chapped lips as one eyebrow wanders up. Another series of clicks with a tongue is produced by the man who holds the letter up. Then lets it slip from between his thumb and pointer. The beast that made an attempt on the raven's life along with its other companion, trails the falling parchment. And the moment it touches the ground and the pale human snaps his fingers, the dragon spews a spurt of green liquid which catches fire as it lands on top of the letter, incinerating it in seconds and leaving not a trace but a spot of bald soil without so much as a blade of grass where the message once was. The sudden movement from the dragon scares the raven again, prompting it to wriggle and caw with distress from the human's hold. Approach of the other hand clad in a fingerless glove makes it freeze up and quiver… but instead of anything it had been expecting, the man gently brushes his knuckles across the feathers on its head in a calming manner.
“You've done well, my feathered friend.”
It almost feels soothing.. but the pain in its chest was intensifying, crippling its ability to move in any way, taking away vision and breath as its poor heart kept hammering unevenly against the inside of its ribcage until… everything stopped.
The pale hunter stroked the raven's head until it ceased quivering. However, once it did, he noticed that shivering wasn't the only thing to go away. Along with it, the frantic beating of the little heart was silenced and breath was no longer being drawn. It was no longer alive. Combination of severe shock, fear, possibly some injuries and exhaustion was unfortunately lethal for the raven. It didn't look too young either so age likely did its part too. Frowning lightly, the tall, lean man turns away and walks towards his tent. But not before carelessly tossing the now deceased bird to the dragon which caught it to begin with. Pity a good, well trained messenger raven but oh well.. It probably would've given in to its age sooner or later. Crunching of bones and snarls between his two bloodhungry beasts quarreling for scraps disturb the silence as he enters the tent and leaves them to it. Tonight, he rests here but with the first light of dawn, he will set out on his next voyage. Seeing the Chief Seal of none other than Stoick the Vast of the Hairy Hooligans on the letter addressed to him was no small surprise, he has to admit. But the contents of the message sparked his curiosity.. What has been requested of him normally wouldn't interest him - he has always worked alone, with no other people and it suited him just fine - but several points the Chief made convinced him otherwise. The fact he just happened to be in the area, merely a couple hours of flight away, also encouraged him to at least investigate. And honestly? It will be a nice break from his usual, boringly mundane routine he's fallen into lately.
It would seen its time to visit Berk again..