Chapter Text
Your footsteps rung hollowly, the sound of thick leather rubbing against stone nearly drowned out by the distant sound of bustle and the ominous creaking of the Great Hall’s large doors.
Similarly, you remembered the way the wood sounded against your hard soles, the sound of the gently rushing water and mindless, careless chatter- how your heart felt as you very certainly ignored the small form of Hiccup and his Night Fury fading off into the skyline.
There was no one capable of avoiding your sour eyes as you meandered, feeling sort of potently, upsettingly upset in a way that you thought shouldn’t have been natural. It was so intense that you had no grasp on any part of the world, empty hands grasping at loose threads, slipping past all but the one that decided that, in this moment, you should struggle heavily against the full weight of years and more than a handful of nasty, lonely tears, all of which eager to burst past the safety of your eyelids.
You surely didn’t miss his griping, or his judgment, or any of his whining. You didn’t miss the feasts, the dark nights, the hiding away, the moping and you certainly didn’t- You didn’t miss- You grit your jaw holding steadfast in the same way a jailer did before a break, a warrior before he swung his sword, wishing dearly that you’d anyone else- any other friend.
You wished you had some larger rocks to kick, too.
“Forgot my fucking coin pur-“ Your shoulders jerked as you startled, chests meeting with a force that was dull but no less breath-taking, not not nearly as startling as the feeling of stone cracking against the hard bone beneath your skin, the slamming of teeth against each other, deeper than you could have every though they could go, grit as they were, and the way the earth seemed to dissipate around you, making way for air and vertigo as you nearly slipped backwards down the stairs of the Great Hall.
“Gods,” You hissed, thick bits of gravel digging into the sensitive skin of your palms, stinging as you lifted them. You pushed yourself upwards, running your hands down the backside of your skirts, urging away dust and grime.
You squinted. So we meet again .
“Watch it,” Snotlout ground out, looking quite annoyed with his arms crossed, standing as if he was a taller man than he was a step or so above you.
You glared at him… then you smirked. The first thing you noticed- Hookfang was missing. Absent.
It was surprising but not shocking. The Riders and their dragons had separate lives, of course, the Jorgenson Rider and his steed more so than the rest. Even as, in the minds of most, they remained so closely associated.
Hookfang was quite the socialite, or at least a watcher. The Nightmare was also just as revolted with his Rider as he was foul when it came to others speaking ill in his presence, which usually made back-talk quite difficult.
“What are you doing here?” You shot at him. It was a stupid question, a simple one. It didn’t matter what was siad, though, not really- it was more about the fight laying underneath, or the lack of, or the mix of both.
You’d been seeing him much too often nowadays, though truthfully, now more than ever, his face hadn’t been one you hated. It was as pleasant to look at as he was a wordsmith, which was to say that it wasn’t pleasant-looking at all. Still, it was a balm to your aching guts. And so, in place of genuine conversation, if his jeering was all you had to work with, you found you didn’t much mind it.
You’d never show it, though.
You took a determined step forwards, glaring straight into his eyes as other Vikings came and went, brown-furred and tan-tunic-ed shoulders knocking into yours and passing through the open doors of the Great Hall like schools of fish.
Snotlout huffed, furrowing one large brow, open-mouthed frown exposing one large, missing tooth, “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
You adjusted your shoulders, stepping up with your other foot and crossing your arms, nearly meeting him chest-to-chest.
“None of your business,” You grumbled, feeling petty. “ Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“I’m here for the grub,” Snotlout scoffed down at you, “ That’s where I have to be. Not my fault you’re too busy skulking to watch where you’re going.”
“I don’t skulk?” You asked incredulously.
“Not in a million years, and unless you’re offering to pay, then I got no time for you, small fry.” He grunted.
You hid your wince. That was a nickname born only after Snotlout had trained his dragon and the Riders had fought larger battles. You resented it, sometimes, just as much as you embraced it. It was a token of something else, a name perhaps mostly meant to show you how little you meant in the grand scheme of things.
“Like you’re much of a catch, either,” You shot back gleefully, roughly huffing away your discontent. It was easy to smother as you rolled your eyes and grinned for the first time in what felt like a long while, forcing the ends of your mouth tightly upwards.
Snotlout scoffed at you condescendingly, looking up at you with his arms crossed and stance stout, cocky as ever.
“I don’t have a dragon,” You grumbled under your breath, feeling scales catch against the rough padding of your fingertips, struggling to keep a hold as tough muscle writhed like silk between your fingertips.
You tossed down the Terror perhaps a bit too roughly, wincing as it caught on to your sleeves with dull claws, spine twisting as it made a valiant effort to land on its feet. It was by some miracle that it landed anywhere else, meeting flesh instead of dirt or hand, quickly grabbing hold of Snotlout’s face.
You hid your grin behind a pitiful wince, watching an already grumpy, irksome viking become frantic below. The Terror screeched as Snotlout hurried to try and push it off, shouting and irritated, both of them flailing around, fingers scrabbling at claws which dug into his jaws and cheek in turn.
His pain brought you joy.
It was a malicious joy, one born partly from the feeling of victory, something small and petty left over from an old, fading rivalry, the other majority born from the fact that you'd been dragged along on a chore that had never been yours to begin with and it was his fault.
Your thighs relaxed slightly as you shifted, straddling a thick bark body and wooden spine. You sat up high in the trees, leaning against an old, heavy trunk, feeling the points of any branches and the folds of leaves pressing against you through your clothes, feeling quite loathed to make things easy for him.
It was by the hand of a tall, burlish woman that you’d been rushed into your quest, lips nagging with such an intensity you’d been startled into silence, pushing as if the crying mouth of her child had been a timer by which she had been bound and had then bound the two of you.
She had been quite standoffish and brash, preoccupied and frazzled, yet sharp- one of the more warrior types, covered in armor with large spiked helmets. The kind who, when they eventually had children with the least suited fathers, looked awfully out of place, busy and regretful.
You were sure, in a few years, her kids would be quite the hellions. You almost felt a little bad for them, between your efforts to wipe their spittle from your face and back far enough away with enough time to spare to keep your hearing intact.
So, you almost hadn’t held it against her.
Of course, you were about the right age to be a Rider, the only demographic who was, in name, saddled with a duty to manage the dragons, to change the minds of many in favor of the good of all. However, you weren’t one, though you doubted she cared much at all what creed you belonged to as long as someone got her job done and it didn’t have to be her.
You found conflict in the sentiment the same way you found conflict in the fact that you’d been robbed of any of the benefits of any title that came from living on Berk- you failed to understand why their hardships fell to you as well.
In regards to Snotlout, this was the one instance in which he’d offered no rebuke.
So, instead of leaving, which you supposed would have been a very viable course of action, and not at all because you had nothing better to do, you settled for trouble.
You smiled as the Terror left a particularly hard bite on Snotlout’s nose.
“You know what you need?” Snotlout complained, roughly tugging a branch from his shoe, hopping on one foot as he kicked aside a particularly feisty yellow-and-purple Terror.
“What?” You hissed, glaring at him stubbornly. Privately, for all the trouble it had wrought, you thought it served the little pest right.
“You need a dragon.”
You snorted, looking down at your hands. You wondered when you’d stop being dragged along on chores with Snotlout. It was becoming a pattern. “A dragon?”
You glanced upwards. You had an idea of the load- of the tasks, the jobs, the chores, but good Gods . It was nearly getting to be too much.
“It would make things a lot more convenient. For me .”
“If you can get me one,” You rolled your eyes and your neck, shoulders cracking as you picked a long stick-with-leaves out of your hair. “I would be happy to have it. But I’ve not had very good luck yet.”
“Then-” Snotlout seemed to pause, but only momentarily before yelling again as the Terror launched itself at him again.
You shook your shoulders loose then winced, stepping forwards again, a pain both dull and blooming bursting through the sole of your foot.
You lifted it up, hopping and pulling up your sole to see a hefty thorn stuck right in the middle, squinting, using dull nails to pick fruitlessly at it, efforts half hindered by the setting sun and dimming light.
“Meet me back here tomorrow. If I’m going to be stuck with you, then-” Snotlout lifted a finger into the air, quite clearly still off-put by the terror’s attack, something odd and purplish bleeding where it had split skin.
He inhaled deeply before stumbling off the path.
You waited for a moment, watching, before shrugging gaily and deciding that it was probably fine. The paths here weren’t that steep, you knew.
“Sure,” You said simply, continuing on your way walking down the path. You decided that whichever foul soul thought Terrors would be a great starting dragon for the children deserved to be hung.
You promised yourself you would give Hiccup a piece of your mind later.
“-Right, yeah, uh, so, I- well,” Hiccup said, shifting from one leg to the next, before stilling completely.
It looked like you’d caught him fresh from flight-and-crash as the browns of his leather were more mud than hide. His hair was a mess, more of an ugly bed-head than wispy and windswept, though you found it endearing all the same.
“Hey,” You scuffed your feet awkwardly into the dirt. You had dressed lighter for the occasion, something less green and blue- you glanced down before staring straight ahead, meeting Hiccup’s eyes head-on.
There was an odd, reddened, blotchy quality to his face in a way he hadn’t had since he’d just started riding Toothless, before soft, land-bound skin had gotten used to the winds whipping past his cheeks.
You were careful not to stare too long lest you somehow accidentally revealed your affections, thin as a spider’s web though just as elegantly woven, spreading wide and reaching many parts of you you’d rather keep hidden. In many instances, you found it entwined with a braid of bitter something, knotting and pulling, weighted. In the moment, you were most focused on keeping your basket, and therefore its contents, out of view and out of discussion.
Your nose twitched.
Dragon-training, to you, at least, felt as if it was a personal affair. In that sense, to involve hiccup, someone who was, at this point, an outside part, felt most definitely like interloping, and so, in that sense, he was most definitely not welcome.
Though you doubted he would, if he asked, you would loathe having to explain, or having to come up with an explanation for, well, anything. It felt sort of wrong to share something your heart urged you to hold so preciously, Snotlout aside, and so, in that sense, like most of your precious things, it was of the utmost importance that you keep it hidden.
From Hiccup to dragons, precious thing to precious thing, an affection prone to hurt and a bond intended to be, new and violate- perhaps it was exactly Snotlout’s apathy that made him easier to deal with, the certainly that each of his words would be just as biting, an equal amount sharp, all just as meaningless. The lack of hope a balm, each word more flat ground than a toe teetering on the edge of a string, wobbling and ready to fall either which way.
“Let me just-” You shifted to the side. The two of you were standing face-to-face in the open door to the newly minted dragon stables.
There was plenty of space for you to move, though you did so more to graciously cut through the awkward atmosphere, to split the spell that had broken between the two of you as of late, though you were hard-pressed to understand why.
You met each other step-for-step as you attempted to pass, and through that there was born a sparking frustration in your lower stomach.
You weren’t sure where the feeling had come from, or maybe you were, but in that moment, you felt foully towards him. You cursed him, who had shown his face just as you had begun to muster up some excitement for something new, with the audacity to look so dazed and joyful after having the gall to leave you feeling so alone for such a long time over and over.
His fruitless search for things nearby would lead him to leaving, you were sure- leaving permanently without so much as a care or a goodbye, leaving you destitute, with nothing better to do than butt heads with petty cousins… if he didn’t take the cousin with him, that was.
“You should stop giving the children Terrors.” You wanted to say something worse, feeling sort of haughty, mouth twitching as you made a considerable effort to smother all the bitter feelings broiling in your gut.
“Uhm,” Hiccup nodded, twitching to life suddenly, as if he’d just come back into himself, “Right?”
You crouched behind a sizable rock, one hand clutching tightly at a sharp, pointed ledge, nose wrinkling at the sour smell of fish which had followed you even long after you’d discarded your hefty basket.
You were on the far side of the island where most of the dragons here lounged, unclaimed.
Dirt and sharp pebbles ground into your palm as you peered over the top, rocky ledge giving way to reveal a vibrant, blue-looking Thunderdrum. It was standing in a way that was quite posed, on all fours stout as it nosed around in a small clearing, strong breaths pushing against a healthy dusting of grass with each exhale.
Despite its oddness, it was quite frightening. The dragon was sort of small in the back, but its jaw was large enough to make up for it, and it had a large, beefy set of arms for a Thunderdrum, which made you a little nervous.
Its mouth opened oddly to grasp the small strands of grass and leaves, its neck clearly not built for that kind of consumption. It ended up tearing up dirt whenever it pulled too hard or bit too deep, and whatever it could get ahold of was only roughly nibbled before being quite accidentally dropped.
Thunderdrums didn’t come into the forest that often, so this was your lucky break.
Maybe it will work this time?
“Are you sure this isn’t going to be too much for us to handle?” You shifted, scales shifting against your own hand, which was feeling both quite damp and warm, slime dripping from the ends of your fingers onto the dry crushes of grass by your feet.
You hoped you’d be able to please at least something with your meager offering before it gave your fingers wrinkled, though you were afraid you were much too late.
Most of your morning was spent speaking away from Hookfang, who gorged himself quite readily on your catch, watching cautiously all the while as if he knew the two of you were about to do something stupid, yet too bored to do much to stop it. The rest of it was spent putting your ancestors to shame, failing at a great number of things- finding a dragon most particularly.
“Like I said. I’m not gonna help you tame some lame dragon,” Snotlout scoffed, “I don’t do small fry, small fry . So are you going to get it or what?”
“Alright, Chief, keep your trousers laced,” It took you a considerable effort not to make an ass of yourself as you spoke, scowling.
You furrowed your brows with determination, setting your jaw assuredly, shifting on your feet behind the rock. Snotlout peered over the top too, horns sticking out obviously over the edge of it.
“So I just, what- give it the fish?” You asked, half in a whisper, “Should I, like, toss it, or hand it over, or…?”
“How should I know?” Snotlout asked exasperatedly, at a pitch that was perhaps just a bit too loud, “Do I look like the ‘ Dragon Master ’ to you?”
He asked that last bit mockingly, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly, using his fingers to make air quotes.
“Are you serious?” You asked, gritting your teeth. “But you have a dragon .”
“Well,” Snotlout shot back. The two of you turned to gripe at each other, barely noticing as you were overshadowed, though not caring very much as to what was doing it, “That’s wimp stuff. Hiccup did all the taming.”
You opened your mouth wide, tongue lit with a scathing rebuke. Before you could respond, a loud, malicious, echoey rumbling seemed to fill the air around the two of you.
Slowly, you looked up, shivers, dread and the phantom of a cold sweat gathering around your temples and your spine. You heard the shifting of fur against helmet that dictated that Snotlout was doing the same.
“Oh, Thor.” You managed to squeak, staring up at a long row of sharp teeth and a wide, angry blue face.