Chapter Text
Toothless knew something was off. He was waiting for what he wasn’t quite sure.
Perched on Dragon’s edge, the Nightfury held a watchful gaze among the growing sea of white. Every now and then, he’d perk up to the left, then to the right, and back to center. All he could hear was the wailing of the gales and the waves clashing against the shoreline. He unconsciously fidgeted with his new tail to hear a soft click click click as the gears opened and closed the fin. He sat there, knowing that the others were safely behind him and enjoying the festivities they'd been planning for in the previous months. The other dragons, mucking about in the snow or inside enjoying the warmth and food, did not share his growing feeling of uneasiness. Stormfly, a few minutes ago, offered an incredulous look and gestured to join the rest of them inside. He simply shook his head with a huff and gestured back into the abyss. The look he gave her, whatever it was, must have revealed how serious he was about staying outside. She sent one last look and turned back.
Snow began to pile up around the Nightfury, with the occasional flake hitting the inside of his eyes or on his nose. But he couldn’t afford to shake them off. One miscalculated blink, one sneeze, he could miss what he was waiting for.
Guests finished arriving, with their baskets of aromatic foods and barrels of juice, they greeted the Nightfury with short phrases and waves. He recognized some as Berkserkers, some from home, some Wingmaidens, all arriving to celebrate a festival of harvest (the name of which Toothless could not make out). But he couldn’t acknowledge them for too long. And despite the growing cheers and chatter behind him, the smells making his stomach rumble, the other dragons beginning their games, and the fact that Hiccup may wander outside looking for him, Toothless was waiting. For what, he wasn’t quite sure.
“You feel that lads?” Toothless, along with the circle of children around him and his meal, looked up at the Berkian Blacksmith. “Devastating Winter is nigh!”
He knew this tone. Gobber often chatted endlessly to the Nightfury during Hiccup’s late nights at the forge, or during meals at the Great Hall, or on long flights back to the Edge, and back home… There's no wonder where Hiccup learned his love for words. With a long sigh out through his nose, he lowered his head to rest on some random Berkian hatchling to prepare for a long tale. The festivities for the night were winding down, where people were dancing and hollering their strange tunes, and the mood transitioned into a quiet feast of whatever food was left over. And juice drinking. His main family, the Blacksmith, the Deranges, and a few others, were left to sit and enjoy the rest of the evening. Or, at least, enjoy whatever is left of their evening.
Behind him, he heard Hookfang’s rider shriek.
“Gods! Who’s the genius that decided to leave the door open during a growing snowstorm?” Snotlout grumbled.
“You are, Snotlout.” Fishlegs, a little ways away from him, offered. Toothless snorted.
Where the typical banter should have been, Gobber probably caused whatever juice was in their hand to spill out as he continued.
“That shiver down yer spine! Frost in yer mead, fingers blue and frozen no matter where they be, but a viking knows that it ain’t just yer normal winter… oh no,” the viking wove through the crowd of friends, swinging his tankard hand around and stopping at the center firepit. “It’s him.”
Toothless followed his gaze back outside. His tankard-arm points out into the abyss. He felt his tail swish to the side, and a couple of the kids laughed in shock.
Fishlegs, uncomfortably close to the Blacksmith and holding his juice close, stared with worried eyes. “Who… who do you mean, Gobber?”
The blacksmith turned his head to meet his gaze.
“The Frost Giant of the North…”
Toothless perked his head up.
“The icy imp of the isles…”
His ears strained and reached past the walls, past the white abyss, past the howling winds and dancing forests. If he closed his eyes and waited, he could have sworn he heard it again. The wail.
“The original Snow Wraith…”
The wind picked up, causing a surprised yelp from Fishlegs, the Twins scrambling for their respective dragon heads, and the children around the Nightfury to huddle closer. Toothless offered a wing, like a shield.
“Jokul Frosti.”
For a moment, all he heard was the sound of the abyss. Until Snotlout barked with laughter.
“That ol’ elf? That’s just a stupid kids' story to make them keep their socks and boots on, right Fangster?” Hookfang, curled up around his rider, humored him with a soft huff of smoke. “It’s a silly tale.”
The Thorstons, from across the room, looked like they'd just been slapped.
“Woah, woah, woah--”
“Curb thy tongue!”
“That isn’t any ol’ elf Snotlout--”
“That ‘silly tale’ is what haunted House Thorston for decades--”
“Centuries!”
“Poor Aunt Agnut, both her pointers blackened from her blunt fingernail down to the knuckle--”
“Isn’t that the knuckle that fell into the pot of soup--”
“Dullnut’s entire flock of sheep, with thickest wool, frozen the next day--”
“The whole generation of woolies could never look at the forest the same way--”
“--Same as Loki! The Frost Giant?! How could you ever--”
“Alright! Alright, I get it.” Snotlout was not going to win against a pair of frantic Thorstons.
Toothless decided that they would be bantering for a while, and rested his head back on top of the unfortunate hatchling that was below him. They giggled and scratched the underside of his scales at least, so he had no reason to feel guilty. He peered open an eye, scanning the room. Some of the hatchlings, with worried looks, were asking Gobber for more about ‘Jokul Frosti.’
“He’s an evil thing, stalking our livestock and bringing that cold to nip at ye’ wee fingers and toes,” the Blacksmith, backlit by the light of the little fires, created shapes in the shadows. “Like a wolf, he pounces on the weakest of the bunch, and pulls you down into the depths of the cold waters he came from.”
There are gasps, some holding onto a couple of Terrors for warmth, comfort.
“That Frosti, he used to be one of us, ye’ know? A troublesome wee thing like the bunch ye’ are.”
“What was he like?” A soft, hushed voice questioned.
“Ma’ told us that he used to be like us,” Tuffnut swirled the little juice he had left. “He was a devout follower of Loki, big respect, but he took it way, way past the typical Thorston shenanigan.”
Snotlout rolled his eyes and took a swig. “Like what?”
“He terrorized his village.” Gobber, holding a stick against the wall to create the shadow of a boy, loomed over the hatchlings. “Often telling the wee ones of horned creatures of the forest, leading them to angry lakes and rocky hillsides. Oh, how he got them into trouble.”
“His own family hated him!” Ruffnut leaned her head over her tankard, a couple of braids falling in. “Even the Gods! Do you know how annoying you have to be to get the Gods’ attention?”
“I can hardly imagine.” Heather, sitting next to Astrid, smiled into her cup.
“Odin himself, or… was it? No matter, the Gods knew that this boy could not live a life without consequences. So! They put a big ol’ curse on him.”
A kid raised their hand. “What kind of curse?”
“The kind of curse that makes him roam the world, trapped in a terrifying, monstrous form. He brings trouble everywhere he goes? Ha! An understatement!” Gobber drank a mighty sip of juice. “They made ol’ Frosti into an indicator. A sign that Winter, Devastating Winter, was coming fast. That the harvest is over, game is sparse--”
“-- He’s a symbol of death itself.” Fishlegs summarized.
“Bingo!”
“A point to you, good sir.”
The Thorstons clanked their tankards together and took their respective swig.
Snotlout, having collapsed onto Hookfang, looked into his own juice with a tight expression. “So hypothetically speaking -- and this is entirely in a fake, made-up scenario -- Jokul could just be out there? Here? In the Archipelago?"
“They got to you huh.”
“Shut up Astrid! Gods, why do I even hang out with any of you?”
“Aww, you love us don’t you Snotty?” Ruffnut looked like she could fall out of her seat.
“Alright, this conversation is over. We are changing topics.” Snotlout got up, probably to get more juice.
The Twins and Fishlegs accompanied him, finding their way through guests and tables of food. Toothless, still relaxed in his spot, watched how others trickled out of the warmth of the clubhouse. The children disbanded to meet with the other dragons, many flaunting to the Monstrous Nightmare to roast food over his fire, but some remained with Gobber to hear whatever tale he decided to illustrate with shadows and props. He watched how, despite a lighter atmosphere in their conversations, the riders sometimes looked out into the abyss. Hofferson often did so in habit, Ingerman as well. The wind was getting stronger.
Conversations flowed in and out of the Nightfury’s mind, but he knew that one topic lingered. Toothless, still rattled from the earlier events of the day, knew that Hiccup was listening as keenly as he was. Still lying down, he perked an ear up, left, then right, until he sensed his kin behind him. With a turn of his head, he spotted the nest of hair hidden behind the barrels of juice and stacked tables. Hiccup, still lost in thought, met his eyes. He looked better. Not alright, but better than earlier. He’s been waiting as well.
Toothless knew that there was a reason why Hiccup never hurt him that day, that whatever he saw in his eyes, it was enough for him to spare his life. It was enough for him to give his kind a chance.
So it does not surprise him that Hiccup found a reason to spare the Frost Giant’s life as well today.