Happy 10th Anniversary, Magic of the North x
It's officially the 20th November here in the UK, so I can finally share this commemorative piece with you, drawn by my dear friend @mahoganyrust (Author of Forever Is My Tomorrow)
This scene is from Chapter 15, and it is both mine and Rusty's favourite scene, in which Hiccup faces the demons of his past, and is rewarded with a vision of a potential future.
Read Magic of the North here!
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When Jack first woke up, there was only one thing he had on his mind.
Oh Fares – why does everything HURT?!
He groaned as he slowly rolled over, only to catch himself before he rolled straight off the altar. He gasped a little, staring at the wall he’d nearly free-fallen to. He was pretty sure his stomach had still fallen down there, and was currently flailing around trying to get back up.
His head currently felt like someone was doing a Dunbroche jig on it – most likely Merida’s father, what with the furious thumping in his eardrums and dull, nausea-inducing pain lancing between his temples.
Jack sighed and voted to pull himself up slowly this time, gingerly swinging his legs over the altar’s side. He glared at the rune covered stone and sniffed derisively. Whose bright idea was it to leave him on a stone table? No wonder he was aching!
He tried moving his head back and forth to work out the stiff, painful knots in his neck, but quickly decided against that. He was having enough fun not throwing up as it was.
He was just attempting to lower his feet to the ground when he heard footsteps on the temple floor – soft and slow, not exactly Heather’s dainty pitter-patter or Astrid’s hearty stomp. He looked up, blinking the sleepy haze from his eyes.
Leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the serene room’s entrance, Hiccup gave him a small smile. “Are you alright?”
Jack gave him a puzzled look, taking in the numerous bruises littered over his skin, the dark circles beneath his eyes – or his good eye at least, the other was already black as pitch with a nasty bruise. He was a little paler than Jack remembered too. “You’re asking me that? Have you seen yourself recently?”
Hiccup gave a small laugh at that as he moved heavily forward, favouring his left side to his right. “You have a point there. But I’m not the one that just spent five days in a coma.”
Jack blanched, his body slumping a little as he took that in. “F-five days?! But- but your trials! I was supposed to be there, to help, to-”
Hiccup shook his head, the smile on his lips turning wistful. “I think there were a few times you did help, honestly…” he gave Jack a sideways look, his brow cocking slightly. “You don’t remember?”
Jack frowned. “Remember what?”
Hiccup sighed and shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re safe, and there are other issues to solve now. Starting with saving Caruselle.” He gave Jack a wide, toothy grin, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.
Jack’s own eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked quietly.
Hiccup paused at that, before shrugging nonchalantly. “I think it is more the other way around, but it doesn’t matter.” At the bemused look on Jack’s face, Hiccup rolled his eyes and relented, sitting himself next to Jack on the altar. “Before we left, Granora Sel told you something important.”
Jack blinked. “We met the Moon Dragon? The actual Moon Dragon?” Before Hiccup could reply, Jack vehemently asked “Did I slap her? Please tell me I slapped her. After the last six years of full moon mayhem, I think she thoroughly deserved it.”
It was Hiccup’s turn to blink down at Sel’a, before his lip quirked. He stamped his forefront teeth down on it as it began to tremble, but it was no use. With nowhere to go, his laughter bubbled up and erupted in an extremely inelegant snort. Jack turned red.
“Are you laughing at me?!”
That was it for Hiccup. With one hand clutching at his aching side, he let himself laugh out loud, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jack gave him a petulant look that reminded him of a younger and extremely unamused Toothless. It only made him laugh harder. “Yes!” he managed to choke out. “I am laughing at you! To think – I tell you we went into the Realm of the Phoenixes and met the Moon Dragon herself, and the first thing you ask me is whether you slapped her or not?!”
“It’s a perfectly good question!” Jack retorted, puffing his cheeks out.
Hiccup wiped a stray tear from his eye, giving Jack an endearing look. “I have my work cut out with you, don’t I?”
At that, Jack raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hiccup shrugged, and grinned at him brightly. “Nothing, I suppose. Only if you’re the type to go slap-happy on a Goddess, I really ought to keep an eye on you.”
Jack gave him a withering look. “I can keep myself out of trouble without your help, thank you.”
Hiccup said nothing to that. He merely cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Jack rolled his eyes.
“I would have figured out a way to escape Dagur eventually. I’d probably have thrown wine in his face, then legged it to the nearest exit.”
“That would have been a terrible plan.”
“It could have worked,” Jack insisted, “and then I would have made my escape.”
“Just like with the trogs.”
“Just like with the- Hey! How do you know about that?!”
Hiccup smiled cockily, amused. “Do you really have to ask?”
Jack glowered at him. “When I see Astrid…”
Hiccup sighed, shaking his head exasperated. Then, without a word, he reached out and wrapped one arm around Jack’s shoulders, before letting himself sag tiredly against the younger man.
“Maybe you would be alright without my help, but… can I still be at your side?”
Jack stiffened at the words. They were so meek, muffled against his tunic, like a small child curling into his parent’s arms. He looked down at Hiccup then. The sallowness of his face seemed much more pronounced, from this angle. He seemed so fragile; tired and small. Jack felt something tug in his chest – something that wanted to whimper at the sorry sight, and hold Hiccup until he was better again. With that, he wrapped his own arm around the Mûnthan, and rested his chin upon his crown of auburn hair.
“Of course,” Jack breathed, closing his own eyes. “How else am I going to protect you?”
-:-
Despite sitting right next to a roaring fire, Jack felt chilled to the bone.
The Chieftain’s house didn’t boast power and prestige like a king’s home should; the hut was a little more luxurious, in that it had two rooms on its upper floor, and a landing that overlooked the home’s great room. A hearth sat in the middle of the room, kept mostly clean, save the few stray wisps of ash, which had landed and blackened the edges of the rough-hewn rug that encircled the fire.
It was the first time Jack had stepped foot in Hiccup’s home. And whilst he truly wished he could savour the moment, and take in every detail Hiccup had grown up with, his attention could not be pulled from the overwhelming – and extremely intimidating – presence that was Stoick the Vast.
Even sitting down, Stoick’s own house seemed too small for him. Regardless, he was sat cross-legged on an animal pelt, busily whittling away. His wife was preoccupied with sheaths of parchment - correspondence between tribes, Hiccup told him – when Jack was pulled inside by Hiccup.
Jack hadn’t been enthralled by the idea of an audience with the Chief. Especially when he learned Stoick was the one that gave Hiccup the black eye. A part of him had been itching to punch Stoick in the eye himself as recompense. The other part was terrified of what would happen if he actually did punch Stoick in the eye.
But now, it hardly mattered. Now, he was sat primly next to Hiccup with his hands in his lap, eyes fixed on the fire. He’d tried excusing himself – ‘since obviously the Chief was busy’ – only to be told not to be ridiculous and to sit down by the man himself.
Jack swallowed down a gulp of air before cautiously allowing his Sel’a to lead them to the fireside.
And since, no-one had spoken yet.
The tension was getting to Jack, who wasn’t exactly known for sitting still too long. His eyes flicked to his right, only to bite down a smile. Apparently, Hiccup was just as bad – his fingers on his right hand were lightly tapping out a tattoo against his own thigh. His left was still preoccupied, curled around Jack’s as it was, with no apparent intention to let go.
Jack chewed his lip anxiously, before clearing his throat. “Erm, it is a lovely home you have here, your Majesty.”
Both Stoick and Hiccup gave Jack odd looks. Finally, the Chief chuckled. “ ‘Your Majesty’, hm? I do not think anyone has called me that. Call me Stoick, or Chief. Everyone else does.”
Jack pinked a little, scratching behind his ear awkwardly. “Oh. Alright then.” He peeked to his side, to see Hiccup watching his father with hooded eyes, like he was waiting for something. There was a tenseness in his jaw. Something Jack understood perfectly.
After all, here he was, facing the sole reason Hiccup had been kept from Jack for six years. Something twisted in him uncomfortably, his stomach knotting for reasons he couldn’t fathom. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, Jack felt like he knew exactly what Hiccup had been through these last six years, with this man to blame.
There was something else, too. A citadel of towers and battlements, all aflame. Stoick was there, and Ralf and Vanela too. Something was wrong… something was… something…
For the life of him, Jack couldn’t remember. It was like putting together a jigsaw through a distorted mirror. A pain started to grow in the centre of his forehead, and the more he tried to piece what he was seeing together, the more his head hurt.
Jack wrinkled his nose, letting the thought slip away. It wasn’t worth it.
He figured he must have been quiet for a while, because when he glanced at Hiccup again, his eyebrows were furrowed slightly with worry, and the grip on his hand had tightened slightly. He raised one brow in silent question; Are you alright?
Jack inclined his head slightly, blinking slowly as he did. I’m fine.
Stoick, meanwhile, looked between one boy’s face to the other’s, and felt his heart squeeze horribly. He cleared his throat, getting both their attention. “I, er… I wanted to apologise. To you. Jack,” he glanced briefly at the boy in question, whose eyebrows had suddenly got lost somewhere in his hairline.
“Me?” Jack squeaked, before coughing – trying to rid himself of whatever had just made him sound like a petrified mouse.
Stoick nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the firelight before him. “Aye.. I – I know I am a proud man, but I am willing to admit when I am wrong.”
Hiccup snorted derisively. “Since when?” he muttered, earning a sharp look from his mother. He ignored her.
Jack gave Hiccup a sideways look. He’d spoken in common on purpose. But – Jack supposed – when you had a shiner on one eye, sassing the man that gave it to you in a language he knew was probably a bad idea.
Stoick looked bemused for a moment, whilst Hiccup continued to glower at him. Jack chewed on his lip. If he tried hard enough, he could have probably cut through the tension with only a timber saw. As it was, he only had words.
He cleared his throat. “Chief Stoick, I do not see why you would apologise to me, of all people. I have not been here – or conscious when I was here – for you to do much wrong to.”
It was veiled, but still very pointed. Jack had to pat himself on the back for that diplomacy; Mother would be so proud. He’d pretty much turned the Chief’s offer of apology on its head:
I don’t need your apology. But Hiccup does.
He kept his eyes firmly in contact with the Chief’s, until Stoick finally sighed, resigned. “I know I have wronged you both. I am sorry - I should never have tried to keep you apart, especially since Granora Sel is so set upon the two of you being together. I have hurt you,” he gave a weighted look to first Hiccup, and then Jack, who blinked at the gesture. “Both of you.”
Jack wasn’t sure what to say in reply to that, but luckily he didn’t need to. Hiccup had beat him to it, his voice edged with an icy coolness that even Jack was unsure he could pull off, even with his powers.
“You have. You subjected us both to six years of Moon Mourning, yes. But you have forced us to grow up lonely and apart.” His voice seemed to get even lower, if possible. It made the menace in his voice seem to double. “You encouraged any doubt I might have had about Jack. You tried to poison any faith- You even tried to marry me off!”
Stoick flinched, but said nothing. Still Hiccup continued, “I will not even speak of your grievances against me alone, Dad. You crossed a line that not even Alverrus crossed.”
It was as if Hiccup had taken a whip, and struck Stoick across the face with it.
Jack clutched Hiccup’s hand, and squeezed tightly; a silent plea to stop. He’s trying to make amends – let him!
Hiccup turned his cold glare from Stoick, to look Jack in the eyes.
Hiccup’s eyes were incredibly green. Bright as emeralds, wild as a dragon, with amber flecks that glinted like firelight. It was such a clear colour, you could see the emotion hidden behind them as clearly as you could read a freshly inked book.
He was angry, righteously so. He was bitter – each memory a lasting scar upon him. He was hurt, and also scared of getting hurt again. So his father was apologising, so what? Why bother getting his hopes up for change, only to have them smashed down again.
Jack met those eyes with his own, filled with bright blue determination and trust. And a smaller, gentle request of his own: You don’t have to trust your Father. Just trust me. Hiccup seemed to falter for a second, before finally giving the tiniest nod of dissent. Jack smiled warmly, then turned back to face Stoick. “I accept your apology, sir.”
Stoick stared at him, disbelieving for a moment, before stuttering back “You- You do?”
Jack gave him a coy smile. “We are not all stubborn Northerners, Sir. I like to think I am quite reasonable.”
At that, Stoick seemed completely flabbergasted. Smiling smugly, Jack turned to look back at Hiccup, who gave him a small, feeble smile. He gave his Sel’a a dramatic wink and a cheeky grin. Sure, it wasn’t the best apology in history.
But it was a start.
-:-
Jack collapsed on his cot, in an undignified heap, with a groan. The Mûnthans clearly had no concept of ‘rest and recuperation’ – stubborn, hardy, weather-worn people they were. Mere moments after stepping from the Chief’s homestead, Jack had found himself inundated with the bushy-bearded people of the North, clamouring for his attention. Like some dam had broken down, or a cushy protective bubble that had surrounded Jack, was gone; now Jack was open to the tribe’s scrutiny. Or – more aptly – their demands.
Looking to Hiccup for help had proved fruitless also. As Jack turned his head to find his Sel’a amongst the crowd, he saw the familiar head of auburn hair being dragged towards the smithy by a disgruntled looking Gobber.
In the rush of confusion, only one fact – compounded by every tribe member Jack spoke to – was made abundantly clear: Tomorrow night was Faresflyte.
From what Jack gathered, whilst being pulled between numerous jobs around the village, it was a Mûnthan festival, celebrating the phoenix Fares and the people who lived under his patronage; the protectors of the tribe.
Not much else was clear, which left Jack feeling extremely puzzled – especially given the numerous wry looks the tribe’s folk kept sending him.
Now, Jack was aching throughout, weary to the bone, and all too happy to have finally found his cot. Fares knows what happened to Hiccup during the day. But – if it was anything like Jack’s – maybe Hiccup too was seeking out a dark, comfy hole to curl up in. Jack had been subjected to the whims of his Sel’a’s people, in form of list of tasks.
Thankfully, not those kind of tasks.
Jack had been out fetching kindling and brambles, before moving onto helping dig out whole tree stumps to burn on the colossal bonfire now situated in the tribe’s main square. A makeshift platform had been built, with two sturdy thrones covered in furs – for the Chief and Valka, respectively – atop it.
Then he’d helped drag cask after cask of mead and snow-apple cider into the square, before being pulled to one side by Gothi to prepare numerous paints made with crushed herbs, berries and clays.
When he got to the temple - dragging his tired, aching body with him – it was easy to see Heather had been busy also. Dozens of strings of blown glass cascaded like a waterfall down the cave’s face. They glittered a spatter of prisms in all directions, as the dying sun hit the shards that gently spun in the breeze.
Stepping through the now twinkling entry-way, he found the temple once again filled with candles, the scent of aromatic herbs and oils lingering in the air. He grinned brightly, making his way to the serene room, expecting Heather to be equally tired as him, possibly collapsed upon the numerous throws.
What he saw made him sober, like a bucket of cold water to the face.
Heather sat, crossed legged, upon the throws, her eyes pinned to the ragged scrap of parchment she held in her small, pale hands. Her face looked gaunt, haunted by a ghost Jack couldn’t see. Her hands were shaking as fingertips creased the yellow sheath.
Frowning, Jack moved to sit next to her, slowly – like one would approach a spooked wild animal. Heather’s eyes flicked to meet his momentarily, before switching back to look at the parchment again.
When Jack glanced at the script, he sighed. It was Mûnthan, naturally. Mûnthic runes, to be precise. And whilst he was finally getting a grip of the language verbally, writing and reading Mûnthan was a skill as yet beyond him.
So he stayed silent. And waited.
When Heather finally spoke, it was not what he’d been expecting. “Jack… if I told you to run, would you? No questions asked?”
Jack squinted at her, frowning. “Why are you asking?”
Heather refused to look him in the eye as she replied “It does not matter. I am asking if you trust me.”
Jack snorted. “Last time you asked me that, I ended up in a week-long, induced coma.”
“Do you trust me?”
Jack didn’t reply at first, still watching her speculatively. Finally, begrudgingly “Yes. I trust you. Only why would I need to run?”
Heather bit her lip, before closing her eyes and shaking her head. The parchment crumpled in her grip, scrunched into a thick, paper mass before being thrown on the hearth. Jack blinked at the sight, before turning back to face Heather with a raised eyebrow, waiting.
She sighed. “Because eventually danger will come. And you – Granora Sel’s chosen one – are the only hope the Greater Isles has.”
Jack blinked up at her again, then gave her a wry smile. “From what Hiccup tells me, Granora Sel’s choices and actions can be pretty questionable.”
Heather gave him a stern look. “It is not our place to question Gods.”
Jack didn’t get chance to retort back. Instead, he watched in silence as Heather got up from her seat and marched away, shoulders stiff and heavy with a weight Jack could only speculate about. He huffed, eyes wandering back to where the parchment now smouldered, its edges singed and glowing as the embers caught it.
Glancing back in the direction Heather had retreated, and finding her long gone, he carefully pulled the scorched mass from the hearth. He smoothed the blackened parchment against his thigh, glowering when the ash smudged into his breeches, leaving great long, black smirches in its wake.
Now, lying back upon his cot, he held up the salvaged letter to the dim light. It was covered in swirling, swiggly runes that he could make neither heads nor tails of. But – to a Mûnthan – it was still legible… despite the scorched holes and pockmarks.
He tucked it away in his cloak, his mouth set in a grim line, and stood to make his way to the cleansing pools. At some point, he’d have to find Hiccup to translate.
Because Heather was scared. And if Heather was scared, they all should be.
-:-
“This is an unexpected surprise.” A very familiar, teasing voice chuckled behind him.
Jack froze. And, funnily enough, so did all the hot spring water around him. Oh Fares, no. Not again.
It wasn’t Valka this time. But why was it that he couldn’t have a single bath in peace? He glared at the water, which had clouded again as the natural heat of the spring began to thaw out the frozen slush around him. Thank Fares for small mercies.
He turned where he stood and glared up at the intruder, only to be met with bright green eyes that positively glittered in their amusement. He’d seen the very same thing in Valka’s eyes, when she’d pulled him out of his bath for the full moon ritual.
Only there was something slightly different in these eyes. Something slightly darker. Something primal, like a hungry wolf. Or a dragon.
Hiccup stifled another snigger into his fist as he padded, barefoot, over to the pool’s side. Jack could feel the blush in his cheeks creeping down his neck and shoulders. His ears were burning too. What a sight he must be – blue and white and clashing red.
Hiccup didn’t comment as Jack firmly kept his eyes on the water, instead the Munthan prince nonchalantly sat at the pool’s rocky edge, dangling his feet into the water, breeches rolled to his knees. He smirked.
“Jack, why is the hot spring cold?”
“Becauseyoustartledme.” Jack mumbled out, his chin touching his chest as he pointedly didn’t look up.
Hiccup smiled down at his sel’a fondly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
Jack harrumphed, partially annoyed with Hiccup for making him act like an awkward, bashful clod… and part annoyed with himself for actually letting him. He spun in the water, set on repeating himself with a little more force and clarity, only for the words to die in his mouth.
Hiccup simply smirked down at him, eyebrow raised. “Yes?”
Oh, that was not fair. Jack licked his lips, desperately trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, which suddenly felt like a desert. Hiccup – damn him – had wandered into Jack’s bathing time wearing nothing but his breeches. His chest was slim and broad, chiselled in a manner that suggested long hours of swordplay. The honey colour of his skin, against the cool silver of the chain around his neck, also suggested those long hours had been spent under the hot, sun.
Then came the unbound images of Hiccup practicing. With his bare chest, dripping with perspiration. With Jack’s compass swinging like a pendulum in its wearer’s momentum, all under the warm, hazy mountain sunlight. He could feel himself getting redder by the second.
Contrasting with the warm tones of his complexion were Hiccup’s exotic tattoos; a swirling spiral of deep blue, the runes only adding to the mystic, ethereal look of his Sel’a. The curve of them - how they twisted around his arms and draped over his shoulders – was familiar to Jack now. The cool blue was a comfort – no longer muddied red, like rust or dried blood. No longer symbols of pain and loss.
Jack’s eyes traced those tattoos to Hiccup’s neckline, where they disappeared into his hairline. That same, soft, shaggy auburn hair. The very hair Jack remembered, all those years ago, glinting red and gold in Carusellen sunlight. And then, finally, Jack found himself drawn back to Hiccup’s eyes.
Hiccup was no longer smirking. He smiled a simple, gentle smile, waiting patiently as Jack traced his features. A small part of him felt a familiar twinge of self-consciousness, and his hand twitched with the habitual need to cover himself. But when Jack met his gaze – finally – the fear and discomfort melted away.
In those bright blue eyes, he could see no disgust. Only compassion… acceptance… and… Hiccup fought the urge to smirk again. It was really difficult. Instead, he cocked his head at Jack, looking as innocent as possible.
“Do you need some water, Jack? I can get you a goblet.”
Jack blinked at him – once, twice – then, without warning, he ducked his head under the water of the pool, the surface clouding up again as more frost appeared, swirling over the spring’s surface, before instantly beginning to thaw again.
Hiccup stared at the water, perplexed. He was half-tempted to go in after Jack, especially – to Hiccup’s growing anxiousness - when he didn’t surface after a good thirty seconds. When Jack finally broke through the surface - gasping for air - Hiccup had to grip the side of the pool so hard his knuckles turned white.
Rivulets of water chased down Jack’s front, from his sopping, snow white hair, down his cheeks and neck, running in tiny streams down his naked, milky white torso.
“I think I’m good now.” He replied breathily.
Hiccup swallowed. “Good,” he replied, wincing internally when he heard how choked he sounded.
Jack exhaled smoothly, pushing damp locks away from his face before locking eyes with Hiccup. He felt a twist in his stomach when he noticed the flush now painting Hiccup’s cheeks. It felt hot – a bubbling, squirming thing pooling low in his belly. Ignoring it, he pinned Hiccup with an admonishing glare.
“May I ask why you are interrupting my bath?”
Hiccup seemed to take a second to gather his wits again, before he replied “I-it’s customary. The night before Faresflyte, the Dragon Riders have to do this cleansing… ritual… thing.” He coughed, words officially failing him. He ducked his head. “At least it was me that walked in on you.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “Why ‘at least’?”
Hiccup gave Jack a pointed look. “If it had been Snotlout walking in on my naked Sel’a – accident or not – I may have had to remove one of his limbs.”
Jack can say he stared at Hiccup blankly for at least twenty seconds, waiting for the punchline. Or at least a show of humour. When none was forthcoming, he finally murmured “I’m not sure if you’re joking or not.”
Only then did Hiccup duck his head, chuckling as he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Neither am I, to be honest.”
Jack blanched. “Oh,” he said loftily. He glanced at the cave’s entrance before slowly lowering himself into the water, hiding his bare chest.
Hiccup snorted. “I’d like to clarify that this is new to me too. I’m not a violent person.” He had a far off look on his face. “But when it comes to you… I don’t know anymore.”
Jack lowered his eyes to the water, something uncomfortable twisting in his chest. Then something occurred to him, something that made him frown at the misty water below through narrowed eyes. Looking back at Hiccup, Jack gave him the most deadpan glower he could manage.
“Cleansing ceremony.”
Hiccup nodded.
“As in, you and all the other knights. Together.”
Hiccup cocked his head at Jack - confused by his tone - as he nodded again, slowly. Jack took a quick inhale, puffing his cheeks, before letting it go in one swooping exhale.
“Does that mean I get to be macho jealous too?”
Hiccup blinked at Jack a couple of times, before he gasped, realisation dawning on him. Then he laughed.
“That really isn’t necessary, Jack. Honestly.” When Jack gave him a peevish look, Hiccup bit his lip, trying to strangle another round of laughter. “I’m serious – it’s more likely Toothless will eat five barrels of eels before I even think of anyone but you like that.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “So how come it’s different when it comes to me?” Hiccup flushed, before shrugging helplessly. Jack’s eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lip tugged into a fiendish smirk. Without warning, he dipped his hand into the icy slush beneath him, and flung it directly at Hiccup.
Hiccup’s eyes widened in that split second, then he braced himself on the pool’s edge, waiting for freezing cold impact.
It was like being hit in the face with snow-wraith breath. He gasped, the air leaving his lungs in one swoop. Blinking the slurry from his eyes, Hiccup stared at his grinning, naked sel’a in disbelief.
Jack folded his arms, a smug smile spread across his face. “I’m not some feeble maiden in need of a big, brawny boyfriend. So don’t go doing silly things on a whim.”
Hiccup gaped at him for a second. Then he just shook his head, smiling. He really needed to stop underestimating the southern prince.
“It’s just as well I’m not big and brawny, huh?” he replied, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Although, you’re argument is a little null – you are a moon maiden after all…” he dodged another handful of ice water, rolling away from the pool’s edge with a bright laugh of his own.
Jack just deadpan stared back at him, his expression telling Hiccup exactly how unimpressed he was with Hiccup’s comeback. “Tell your knights to come back in five minutes,” he snapped, “give a guy a little privacy in the meantime.”
Hiccup gave him a sly look. “I was enjoying the view, though.” Another fistful of water. “Alright! Alright! I’m going!” he laughed, finally turning around to leave.
Jack watched his sel’a’s retreating form, following it until he was out of sight. Then he finally let out the groan he had been holding in, letting himself fall back into the water with a gentle ‘splash’.
He closed his eyes as he felt lukewarm water fill his ears. He couldn’t quite shake the blush that seemed to have permanently imprinted itself on his face, but that probably had something to do with a certain image at his mind’s fore-front.
That image, namely, being a very stunned Hiccup, with little shards of ice and water trickling down his pebbled, amber skin, those bright green eyes trained on Jack’s face, the pupils blown out and dark as sin.
Jack bit his lip, then dunked his head under the water again. Fares knew he needed it.
HAVE THIS INFERNAL CHAPTER. HAVE SOME SIN WHILST YOU’RE AT IT.
I felt like I was writing soft pornz ._.
This should have had the faresflyte festival in it, but the chapter would have been waaaaaay too long. (Aka: I’ll be updating far sooner than four months this time!)
I’m writing the Fifth Task. I’ll cover the other tasks briefly, but I don’t care. They are not important to storyline. Fifth task is - but it’s still boring to write. You know those chapters with lots of relavent information that the readers really need? But the chapter itself is ...blah? Like - I know all this lore that I’m writing about. Nothing new for me as the writer to uncover. No development in characters or stuff. It’s just info I need to pass onto you.
It’s SO aggravating - because I know what happens in the next chapter - Baptism through Fire - and it’s like ‘C’mon c’mon C’MON let’s go already!’. I want to get back to the story. Don’t you?
...Sorry. Being cooped up in hospital the last four days hasn’t helped me or my patience with this one bit. Sorry I fell off the side of the earth, guys.
I told you this was coming. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! XD
It's been I while, I know. But I have been utterly blown over by the support this story has. I am so sorry it's taken me so long to get back into writing, but give me a couple of chapters, and I'll be back on track.
As to the blazing question: No, I am not better. Positives? I have been properly diagnosed now, and I'm getting the treatment I need. Hopefully it's not going to be a lifelong problem. In the words of my consultant: "You could be completely cured in ten years time!"
... cheery thought. Thanks Doc.
Anyway - this hasn't been Beta'd, but thats because I've been AWOL for so long, I'm not sure Swifty even wants to beta anymore. (Can I catch you on skype? Or email me...?)
But now - the long awaited chapter 14. Enjoy.
Chapter XIV
The Affliction of Wisdom
A fool is not a foolish man,
but tis he that strikes with no forethought or plan.
In this task, you indeed must make haste,
but heed these words, lest all lay to waste.
An hour’s nigh is all ‘twill take
for Charis’ prisoner to finally break.
The Zenith alone can help you look
for that which retrieves the one poison took.
First, seek out under the sixth starry sign
that which under sunlight seems dull and benign.
From it weeps truly a terrible tear,
that heals all when heated by embers of fear.
Second, the wicked web weaved ‘round their heart,
must be banished, lest under swathes they’ll depart.
Crush the blued beast of which this trap made –
Only with’t may rosy hues of your love be saved.
Third, that which hurts may heal -
in the heart of the herb may poison conceal,
but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell;
the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel.
Fourth and last, I say only this:
To drink is to kill, to save is to kiss.
This method alone will still the souls traverse.
Heed me, else fall to the Black Plague’s Curse.
-:-
Six hours earlier…
“You want me to do what?”
Heather winced as Jack took a step back from her, the sound of utter betrayal in his voice wounding her. “It is tradition, Jack,” she replied sadly.
“That is not an excuse! I need to be there for Hiccup! There is no way I can- why would you even ask me to- this is insane!” He pointed at the altar viciously, “You want me to drink that of my own free will?!”
Astrid raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You do not trust Hiccup?”
Jack blanched at her words, but didn’t reply. She narrowed her eyes at him. “It sounds like you do not believe he can beat these Tasks.”
“I never said that I doubt him. He will pass the Rites just fine.”
“But you do not trust him.”
“I-” Jack bit his lip furiously, stopping himself from blurting out every insecurity he had inside of him. “I am his Sel’a. I am supposed to believe in him.”
“But you do not.”
“I do!”
“Prove it,” and with that, she shoved the strange smelling vial from the altar right under his nose. Jack felt queasy just looking at it. He could feel the heavy weight of Astrid’s scrutiny upon him, but he couldn’t bring himself to down the vial. Finally, he looked back at Heather, who seemed to have become very pale. “How does this work?”
She exhaled slowly, a watery smile on her face as she explained “It is an infusion of Hemleaf and Nightlock. It puts the drinker into a death-like state of sleep, to only be awakened by the correct antidote.”
Astrid stepped forward at this. “The Tasks are a means of accumulating the correct ingredients for the antidote.” Jack glared at, utterly unconvinced. She bit her lip, “Even if Hiccup fails, we still have some emergency antidote to wake you. But it is crucial that you are under the poison’s influence, Jack.”
“Why?” Jack hissed, “Why is it so important?”
“The fifth Task.” Heather replied quietly, staring at her hands clasped in front of her. “You will need to be Hiccup’s guide during the final Task. The closer you are to death, the longer you have had to acclimatise yourself… the easier it will be.”
Jack gave her a hard stare. “And what exactly is the fifth Task?”
Astrid plonked the vial into his hand. “Drink up. Then you can ask the Great Moon Dragon yourself.”
Jack gave her a bewildered look, panic building in his chest. He glanced back down to the foreboding vial, the black, congealed sludge inside it vaguely reminiscent of coagulated blood. His stomach heaved. He looked back at Astrid, who merely raised her eyebrow again in challenge. Then, a look at Heather, who gave him another encouraging smile. With a sigh, he uncorked the vial’s stopper. The thick mixture smelled like rotten seaweed and copper coins, and it made Jack want to retch. Instead, turning his face away from the potent smell, he sucked in a breath of fresh air before wrenching himself back and downing the entire vial in one gulp.
“There,” he gasped. “I did it. I di-”
Jack didn’t get chance to finish his sentence. A dull, thudding sensation filled his head, like being beaten repeatedly by a mallet. His eyes rolled back in his head, and everything seemed to dissolve around him; colour, texture, scent and taste – everything bubbled away like a boiling pot, and something was pulling at him from all sides. Was he going up or down? Was it getting darker or lighter? Was he spinning? Or was the world spinning? He tried to gulp for air, but found he could not breathe. Panic filled his chest, and suddenly it felt like he was swimming through an ocean of the vial’s contents, the sticky, tar-like substance pulling at his limbs as he tried to claw his way to the surface. It was lighter at the surface – Jack could see light. He kept going, kicking madly in his plight. Almost there. So close…
Jack gasped, his eyes flying open before suddenly slipping closed again. Astrid and Heather knelt beside him where he lay. The spasms had stopped now – the Carusellen Prince could be asleep, he looked so peaceful. Heather stroked his snow white hair sadly, watching as his chest seemed to falter more and more, until it looked utterly still. The pulse at his neck was so weak, it was barely there.
Astrid nodded slowly. “It is done.”
“We should have told him,” Heather whispered brokenly.
“If we had, he would never have drunk the poison.”
“The second Task…”
“It depends on Hiccup now. The effects will not start to truly kick in until Gemini is at its summit. That gives Hiccup until midnight to finish the first Task, and get back here in time to complete the second.”
“But what if he does not make it?”
Astrid stared at her Sel’a, before looking back at Jack’s limp body, his head cradled on Heather’s lap. “Then we have lost a good friend. And we have doomed another to the Black Plague.”
-:-
Hiccup blamed himself. Sure, Astrid had handed Jack the bottle, and Heather had prepared the poison. And yes, Stoick had initiated the Rites, and heck – even the reason for Jack being in the Archipelago Mountains was beyond Hiccup’s control.
But that didn’t stop Hiccup feeling in the pit of his stomach a thick, cold, churning guilt. That Jack – had they never met – wouldn’t be lying on that altar. The very same altar that Hiccup himself had bled out on not six years ago. The very thought made Hiccup feel sick.
The room felt hollow and cold now. Everyone had left Hiccup to his own, leaving only a large Timeglass in their wake. The sand fell continuously, an ominous herald of impending doom. Hiccup did his best to ignore it. Looking at it just made him feel even more ill.
Instead, he started bustling about the temple room, the scroll left on a simple workbench that Astrid must have dragged in from the apothecary. Upon it, a number of tools had been painstakingly prepared; pestle and mortar, crystal vials in a neat line, a crude, iron-wrought clamp and stand, but no ingredients. The most aggravating thing for Hiccup was that the lack of herbs meant he had to fetch them himself. Did he even have time for that?
The pressures of this task were mounting up, slowly but surely, and it wasn’t helping that Jack’s frail form lay mere feet away from Hiccup; a constant and bleak reminder of what Hiccup had at stake. Hiccup placed a shaky hand upon Jack’s forehead. He was colder than usual – a bitter, frosty temperature, compared to the usual gentle cool of Jack’s hands, like a fresh spring. Hiccup pursed his lips into a thin line. At least it wasn’t Vorpent Venom. If it had been, Jack’s pulse would have been racing, his body flushed with burning fever. Jack would be writhing upon the altar, gasping in short breaths as the venom choked him from the inside.
Hiccup was familiar enough with Vorpent Venom. It had been pure luck that the antidote - an ancient root vegetable from the Old World - had been on hand. Otherwise, Hiccup would not have even made it to the age of eleven.
Jack was cold. His pulse was weak, and his eyes – when Hiccup gently pried one open – refused to dilate. This was a herbal poison. It would not be remedied by potato starch alone. Hiccup bit his lip – a habit he berated Jack for constantly, and the irony was not lost on him – as grim determination settled in his stomach like a lump of lead.
He once again picked up the scroll, and his eyes – weary, bloodshot, watery eyes – finally came to rest on the first clue: …that which under sunlight is dull and benign. From it weeps a terrible tear…
Estoralia. It had to be. Hiccup prided himself on his general knowledge – since a very tender age he’d soaked up all he could like a cerebral sponge, and his intelligence had even led him to unravel riddles and find treasures that even his father could not.
There was no doubt in his mind that it was Estoralia the riddle was indicating. The herb could easily be mistaken for a bushel of dried thorns in daylight, but under the stars, the thin, twig like branches would glow; thousands of tiny veins gleaming a gentle, silvery colour. But that wasn’t all.
Estoralia was poisonous, especially the root. When unearthed, the long, bulbous roots would gleam with a strange, clear slick. Hiccup frowned as his studied the text, before glancing back at the tools laid out for him on the desk. Heated by embers of fear… Apparently, heating the mucus of the root would help make the antidote. But Estoralia was renowned for bursting into flame if it got too close to an open fire, mostly because of the high amounts of sugar in the syrupy substance.
Hiccup stared at the sentence, rolling it around in his head, furiously trying to ignore the niggling voices that kept reminding him that Jack is in trouble. Jack might be in pain. Jack is practically lying lifeless behind you – HELP HIM HELP HIM HELP HIM YOU USELESS-
His eyes snapped to the next stanza, cutting off the vicious thought. Self loathing wasn’t going to help Jack at all in the long run. He’d done enough of that at Mount Lavlo.
‘…the wicked web weaved… crush the blued beast of which this trap made…’ Again, obvious. Hiccup would have rolled his eyes if not for the severity of the situation.
Blue was a sacred colour to Mûnthans. They had been stoic followers of the Blue Phoenix right up until their god had swallowed the Black Plague whole, in a bid to save everyone. The phoenix had then gone mad, dying slowly. Fares’ own pride and self-assurance had been his undoing. Regardless, the Mûnthans had avenged their god, and still held him on high. Blue was the colour of strength. Blue was the colour of power.
In contrast, white – the traditional colour of the Moon Dragon – was the colour companionship, undying love and loyalty. The colour of purity and devotion.
Blue and white. How fitting that Jack, clearly a loving, strong, beautiful soul, now wore these colours permanently. But Jack’s eyes… Jack’s power… Hiccup would lie to himself no longer. From the moment he’d seen Jack’s new powers for himself, that night they escaped from the Besikians, he’d been afraid. Not of Jack himself. Never Jack.
But that power? The fact that Jack lost control of it, and nearly plummeted to his death as consequence? That was dangerous. That alone nearly stole Jack from Hiccup, mere moments after they’d finally been reunited.
That was Hiccup’s greatest fear. And Fares, he could also loath himself for this, but he truly hated the colour of Jack’s eyes.
Blue.
Like a power-mad Phoenix whose very sensibilities had been stolen away by the Black Plague.
Blue…
Like the Azuran Spyder. Focus focus focus. The spider, crushed. That was what the mortar was for. That was the second ingredient. And again, the Azuran Spyder was known for its itchy, venomous bite, but Hiccup also knew for a fact that Heather used crushed Azuran Spyder as a key ingredient for her anti-septic salves. The venom would sting upon contact, but it would immediately negate any impurities or toxins that were already in the system.
Hiccup nodded to himself, adding it to his mental checklist and pushing aside those speculative thoughts from before. Now was not the time. Ignore those fears, the memories that had been ripped out and displayed for all to see by the Rapturer. Ignore the growing sense of hate and self loathing, because Jack wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for you. Your fault, your fault, YOUR FAUL-
IGNORE. IT.
Hiccup took a long, deep breath through his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and slowly unclenching the other. He could feel the vague throb from his furled fist, and grimaced when he realised it was his injured hand, already split with oozing blisters and angry looking burns, the wounds packed in with volcanic grit. He needed to clean it. Even so, it may well scar.
He snorted derisively at the sorry sight of his hand, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the scroll.
"...the heart of the herb may poison conceal... but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell; the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel..."
Hiccup frowned. The content was simple enough; much like Estoralia, whatever herb the riddle was referring to was the cure to its own curse. 'The fruits of the tree will its poison dispel' - it made sense. The leaves were likely poisonous, whilst the fruit was the cure.
But... it also made no sense. Naturally, fruits like berries would be brightly coloured and easy to spot. They would need the best natural defences. Usually, the fruit of a plant would be the cause of the poison - not the cure.
Hiccup was well and truly puzzled. His confusion only made him angrier with himself, because precious time was slipping away before his eyes and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
There was another part of him that said the 'heart' bit of the riddle was important. It niggled at him, teasing him with that crucial information that was just beyond his reach. But what was it? Hiccup growled angrily at the scroll, glancing back at the hourglass. Ten minutes gone. He knew two ingredients - he couldn't waste any more time. Not with Jack like that. Not with every passing second, Hiccup could almost see the life draining from his Sel'a, could see the distance between them getting greater and greater...
Hiccup stuffed the scroll into his belt, hissing slightly when his injured hand brushed the coarse leather. No time to give a damn about that.
He made his way out to the temple's entrance, where waited a nervous Astrid and Heather, a solemn looking Stoick, and - finally - the one being Hiccup knew he could rely on to get the task done with him.
"Come on, Bud." he muttered as he mounted Toothless' saddle. "We have work to do."
He paid no heed to the guilt on Astrid's face, or the way Heather periodically wiped tears from her eyes. He could care less for the worry on his father's face, or the knowing look that passed between Stoick and Valka. They knew the consequence of not passing this test. Knew what the outcome of this task would be if he failed.
But he couldn't fail. He couldn't. Because there was more powers at work than just fate and destiny. More rode on this than Hekairen could ever understand. But now was not the time.
Hiccup had enough to worry about.
-:-
"Steady, Toothless, steady..." Hiccup grit his teeth through the wind. As if the task itself wasn't enough, now Hiccup had to contend with the elements - more specifically the hurricane gale force - that seemed hell-bent on keeping Hiccup from his prize.
Estoralia grew only in the highest most points of the Archipelago, where the air was thin, and the wind blew rampant like wild stallions, cold and unforgiving. Dust blew up from the dry mountain surface - a place so rarely visited by cloud, beaten and chilled by the wicked wind - straight into Hiccup's face, making his eyes sting. After a further ten minutes of searching, he finally spotted the tell-tale glimmer of the luminous plant… and groaned.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
It was growing out from a rocky outcrop, the thin branches rattling in the wind. The ledge above it made it impossible for Toothless to get any closer, what with his large wingspan. Hiccup glared up at the Estoralia balefully. “We need to rethink this…” he muttered, looking around the summit for anything he could use to try and latch onto the plant and yank it out from a distance. No such luck.
Hiccup growled through gritted teeth. “Come on! I do not have time for this!”
“Hiccup!”
He glanced down towards the wind-battered ridge beneath him, only to see not only his cousin Snotlout, but Fishlegs too, waiting for him with both their dragons in tow.
He glowered at them, eyes narrowed. “What are you two doing here?” he called over the howling winds.
It was Snotlout that replied “We are here to help! Astrid said you were out here struggling, and you have only got about forty minutes left.”
Hiccup bit his lip, shaking his head against the thrashing winds. “I do not think Charis would like me taking help in her task, guys. I have to do this alone!”
Fishlegs stepped forward, glowering at Hiccup. “You cannot do this alone! You will never reach the Estoralia in time on Toothless. His wingspan is too wide, and he is already struggling to stay steady in these winds!”
“It is my task!”
Snotlout growled furiously. “For Fares’ sake, Hiccup! Take the damned help! If you fail this task- if that Carusellen kid does not wake up- what will it do to you?!” Snotlout’s fingers curled into his riding gear, his knuckles turning white. “You will go back to being that shell again! That empty, cold person that would not let anyone near him. We all nearly lost you to the Black Plague once – let us help you, because we cannot live with that happening again!”
Hiccup blinked at his cousin, the winding flicking his hair into his eyes as he did so.
This was the boy that used to torment Hiccup relentlessly. Endlessly teasing, with snide comments about his weak form and hare-brained inventions, the continuous probing and prodding, saying he was a sham of a prince, and that he would never be the chief of Berk Mountain.
It had all changed when Hiccup returned from Caruselle. His antagonists – mainly Snotlout and Tuffnut – had distanced themselves. Or maybe he was already too distant for them to reach? He hadn’t really paid them much mind. He was too preoccupied with other problems at the time.
-Nursing his wounds from the binding ritual… Moon Mourning without Jack at his side… Memories… Trapped in a dark box with no room to breathe… feverish, unwanted touches all over his trembling body… blood so much blood-
Yes. He’d been preoccupied.
No wonder Snotlout had left him alone.
Little had Hiccup realised how acutely his distance had effected everyone else. Snotlout’s eyes were pinned on him, his face pinched but determined.
“I heard laughter, Hiccup. This morning, coming from the Moon Temple. Your genuine laughter – something I haven’t heard in years. Because of that guy.” Snotlout growled, biting his lip against the savage winds. “You can’t lose him again. Not now. Let us help you... I want my cousin back!”
Hiccup had never heard anything like it from Snotlout. It was completely out of character for him, usually so brutish and stand-offish, self-assured and boastful. Now he stood, fists clenched, glaring impassionedly at Hiccup, as if daring him to refuse.
“Alright,” Hiccup relented softly, dipping Toothless down to meet them at the cliff’s outcrop. He slipped off his dragon’s back, meeting his stocky cousin’s gaze. “What would you suggest then?”
-:-
Wherever he was, it was very bright.
He peeled himself from the soft earth beneath him, groaning as he did. He felt really stiff, his vertebrae clicking as he stretched, trying to get some feeling back into his pins-and-needles body. With a great effort, he rolled over and got to his feet, blinking against the garish light that assaulted his senses.
“What in the name of the Moon Dragon happened?” he mumbled, shaking out his strangely weakened arms.
You reached out to your Sel’a in the physical world, despite my warnings.
He started at that. A gentle, motherly voice that resonated within his mind. He dug a finger into his ear, wondering if he was hearing things. The voice continued.
And for your information, I do have a name. I just would rather it not used in vain. The voice said with a curling hint of amusement. He blushed.
“Sorry Ma’am,” he mumbled, biting his lip. There was nothing to see – an endless blinding white in every direction. It was disorientating. “Where are you? I can’t see anything.”
A chuckle. You aren’t looking hard enough.
He pouted, hands on hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
What are you looking for?
That… was a good question. What was he expecting to see? He didn’t know. So he got this. What was he looking for? He didn’t know. Hence the blank space. What did he want to see right now?
“Hiccup…” he mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The voice took a quick inhale, before softly saying
Careful, Jack. We don’t always find exactly what we seek.
Jack’s eyes opened, and he fought not to scream.
He recognised the winding trail, slipping like a serpent between the eerie trees of BenHul Forest. This was Elior’s Corridor. But he’d never been to Elior’s corridor, how could he recognise it?
The answer came to him, unbidden. He’d collapsed, drained of strength, having spent himself restraining his Sel’a, stopping Hiccup from walking into the Rapturer’s trap. He’d seen the horrors Hiccup had been subjected to, watching a younger version of himself being molested by that filthy mongrel. It was strange and sickening to watch. Jack had focused on Hiccup, calling out to him, pulling him away from what Jack alone could see was the lava lake’s precipice.
Watching his younger version had been harrowing, yes. But he hadn’t quite understood Hiccup’s horror at it. Until now.
Before him, at the edge of the corridor’s road, a naked boy knelt beside a muddy puddle, dabbing a ratty cloth into the putrid water and then slowly washing the blood and crusty remnants of his abusers from his skin. The boy was so small; Jack remembered the boy standing in his throne room, in bronze chains. He’d been small then too – but he hadn’t looked half as broken.
Green eyes had dulled from iridescent jade to a slated grey, the light in his eyes seeming to have faded into nothingness. The windows to that boy’s soul were nothing more than lifeless, black pits of darkness, revealing a creature that was cold and dead inside.
The boy rubbed dirty water into his wounds, barely hissing as his hands touched plum-coloured bruises that bloomed across his body. Jack trembled, watching at a distance. He wanted nothing more than to run over and wrap his arms around the broken boy, crying out for the life in his eyes to come back.
There was a gentle touch at his shoulder. Jack spun on heel, ready to fight off whatever horror had snuck up behind him, only to halt mid-movement.
The figure behind him was not the grotesque slaver from years ago, but an ethereal looking woman. Her hair floated behind her, as if caught in a constant, gentle breeze. Her skin was like ivory, carved around her delicate features and perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Her eyes was enchanting – a shade of blue not of this world. It was a blue that lingered between frosty glaciers and roaring, searing flames.
The woman gave Jack a very weary smile. I did warn you. But you are just like your mother – curious to a fault, relentless regardless.
Jack blinked up at the woman in awe. “Who are you?”
A kindly smile. The Mûnthans know me as ‘Granora Sel’, but you may call me Jacquelina.
Jack stared at the woman for a very long time. “Jacquelina? I’ve heard that name before…”
The woman – Jacquelina – gave him a secretive smile. I know.
Jack narrowed his eyes at her, before shrugging it off with a sigh. “Granora Sel, huh? You’re telling me you are the Moon Dragon herself?”
Is that so hard to believe, young Prince?
Jack scratched behind his neck, rolling his eyes. “I have white hair and magic ice powers, shadow creatures are stalking me throughout the Greater Isles, and I just exhausted myself trying to stop Hiccup from diving into a lake of lava. At this point, I think I could believe anything.”
Jacquelina nodded her head. I caution you not to believe everything you are told, little dragon.
Jack stared at her. “Little dragon?”
She nodded solemnly. Something is coming. The stones are re-awakening, and it has always been the duty of the Moon Dragon to protect the Chamber of Silence. I can no longer protect that chamber, Jack. A new Moon Dragon must awaken.
Jack felt his entire body go numb. His jaw dropped as he openly gaped at her, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. Jacquelina watched him speculatively. Jack was almost waiting for her to laugh at him, to point and screech “Haha! Tricked you!”
Because what she was saying…what she was implying… it was insane!
“A-and you want me to be this new Moon Dragon?! I’m sorry lady, but you are chasing the wrong rabbit here. Why me? Don’t you think I have enough on my plate already?!”
The woman shook her head with a sad smile, her hair lapping over her shoulders like liquid as she did so. Jack, my dear… you know why you have been chosen. Think hard. Remember who you are.
Jack stared at her, incredulous. “I’m Jack. I’m just the Prince of a fallen kingdom, with an idiot for a soulmate - who is likely to get himself killed with his recklessness – and an army of shadows at my heels. Exactly what possessed you to choose me?!”
I didn’t, she replied softly as she faded away. I merely gave you the tools to fulfil your destiny.
“WHAT DESTINY?!” Jack howled as the woman seemed to vanish into thin air, until nothing but the impression of her sad, pitying smile remained.
Remember who you are, Jack…
And she was gone. Jack seethed, his eyes fixed on the space where the ethereal woman had been sheer moments before. Stupid girls.
With a roar of pent up fury, Jack collapsed back on the soft ground beneath him, tugging his arm up to cover his eyes. The spongey ground of this spiritual demimonde wrapped around him like a blanket, cradling him in its wispy haze. Jack paid it no mind.
Remember who he was? What was that supposed to mean?!
-:-
In one corner of the room, Fishlegs and Snotlout carefully drained the Estoralia root, the clear juices filling a glass phial that was held precariously above the firestone Hiccup had collected from Lavlo Mountain. To their left, Astrid was pummelling a small mortar with its own pestle, as if crushing the poor arachnid into the finest powder possible would somehow give her some kind of reprieve from whatever guilt was gnawing her insides. It had been pure luck that – whilst hanging from an impromptu sling that he and Fishlegs had strapped to Meatlug’s belly – Hiccup had reached for the Estoralia plant, only to catch his hand in thick spiderweb. Not moments later, the angry resident of said webbing had appeared, crawling over Hiccup’s gloved hands, searching for somewhere to bite.
It never had the chance.
Now, as Astrid crushed the Azuran Spyder into a pale blue pulp, Hiccup sat next to the temple’s altar, one hand closed around the pale fingers of his Sel’a, the other desperately tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck. He was hunched over the altar’s surface, the riddling recipe to Jack’s salvation mere centimetres from Hiccup’s tired, bloodshot eyes.
Third, that which hurts may heal -
in the heart of the herb may poison conceal,
but conquer this foes with its own hardened shell;
the fruits of the tree will its poisons dispel.
Hiccup was grasping at straws, but nothing he thought of fit. Every tree he knew that bore fruit was either just commodities – snow apples, gooseberries, blackberries – or poisonous. What did the riddle mean by ‘heart of the herb’? Hardened shell… what the riddle referring to tree bark? Perhaps the fruit he was looking for had a hard shell with healing properties? His fingers tensed into claws, digging into the skin at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t getting anywhere!
Fifteen minutes left.
Hiccup pulled his head from where it hung, poring over the ancient parchment. He gave a despairing whimper as his eyes trailed over Jack’s prone form. The boy seemed to get paler and paler with each passing moment. His skin seemed to have become translucent, and thin as paper. Beneath his skin, you could almost see the poison as it crawled through his system. His veins seemed varicose as they pressed up against the skin’s surface, their colour – once dainty, royal-blood blue – now black like tar.
Hiccup’s eyes roamed from the spiderweb blackness that slowly spread over his love’s cheeks, turning Jack’s lip a blackening blue colour, like a deep and painful bruise. They skimmed down his neck and over his chest, where Jack’s tunic barely rose and fell with his breathing. And there – clasped in his hands - was the spyglass.
Without much thought, Hiccup ran his finger over the silvery metal, feeling the bumps and grooves of the intricate engravings that Hiccup had never thought to add as a fourteen year old. The metal was still a little warm – the only lingering heat left from Jack’s touch. Hiccup’s heart clenched. No. No, he refused to let it be so. He refused to have his last piece of solace, his last shred of hope, be torn away with only an embellished spyglass and a silver compass to remind him of what he lost.
His brow furrowed as his fingernails caught on the engravings, his eyes fixed on the swirling patterns. Peonies and wisteria, interlocking with the northern hemleaf, the characteristic, heart shaped leaves intertwining with-
Hiccup blinked. Once. Twice.
He wrenched away from the altar with a strangled cry, half euphoric, half self-deprecating. The entire room seemed to stop at the sound, each head spinning to see Hiccup, whose eyes seemed to dance in the flickering candlelight.
With startling speed, he made a beeline to Heather, who had been lingering like a shadow at Astrid’s side. Her eyes widened as he approached, but a small smile tugged on her lips at his renewed energy.
“Heather,” he spoke breathlessly. “Please, for Fares sake, tell me you have Hemleaf nuts in your stores?”
Heather blinked at him, before letting her lips pull into an ear-splitting grin. “I knew you would figure it out.”
-:-
Five minutes. That was all the time left, as shown by the looming hourglass, where merely a trickle of sand remained in the top sphere, slowly spilling down into the spent minutes below.
Sweat gathered on Hiccup’s brown as he mashed the hemleaf nuts into a greasy pulp, before snatching up the scrap of muslin cloth they were using to filter the precious oils from the nuts remains. His armour lay abandoned a foot away, the leathers too hot.
The knights, plus Heather, watched in silent awe as their leader began to mix the components of the much needed cure. So rarely had they ever seen Hiccup in such a state, where frantic emotion ran through his eyes, gathering in his coiled muscles and hunched back for all to see. Even rarer – his tunic sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows as he worked, his collar gaping open. Hardly anyone had seen the runes. Hiccup had kept them covered like some shameful brand or scar. Sometimes they would catch glimpses – in battle, in training, checking in on him whilst Gothi tended to battle wounds – and therefore they knew of the ugly red the enchanted tattoos used to be.
Now, they flowed blue, curving around his neck and forearms like a blessing from Fares himself. It was enchanting. Awe-inspiring.
And – much as they’d loath to say it aloud – it was also a little terrifying. What was the meaning behind it? Why hadn’t the spell simply faded? The knight gave each other sideways looks, but none of them made comment.
Hiccup frowned in concentration as he infused the warm, treacle-like substance that was the Estoralia root essence with the hemleaf nut oil. Then he added the crushed spider, one spoonful at a time. The mixture took a faint bluish hue, the smell that wafted from the antidote’s surface something akin to liquorice, only more bitter. The consistency was thick, like a grainy syrup that sucked at Hiccup’s mixing utensil. He grimaced.
“Is it supposed to look like this, Heather?”
The high priestess gave the mixture a contemplating look. Her face looked pinched. “I sorely hope so, Hiccup…” she replied.
He gave her a terse nod, picking up the mortar and pouring the blue, sluggish mixture into a crystal phial. Hiccup took a deep, steadying breath as he made his way over to the altar, using one arm to prop up Jack’s limp form and the other to hold the phial aloft and ready.
Fishlegs made a strange, squeak-like sound, then clasped his hands over his mouth in horror. Hiccup’s attention snapped to the scholar, eyes wide with questions. Fishlegs shook his head minutely, his eyes fixed upon the mixture Hiccup was about to pour down the dying prince’s throat. Everything about Fishlegs screamed ‘Don’t do it!’
Hiccup let a small growl slip from between his teeth. “What is it, Fishlegs?”
Fishlegs said nothing, his lips a thin, pursed line. Without a word, he picked up the riddle, and set it in front of his captain. He gestured furiously at the final paragraph, before diving back to where Snotlout, Astrid and Heather stood, watching. Hiccup raised his eyebrow in question, before glancing back down at the riddle.
“To drink is to kill, to save is to kiss.”
Ah.
Hiccup gave Fishlegs a pointed look and nodded his gratitude. Fishleg’s nodded back solemnly. Drinking the entire antidote would have killed Jack via overdose. There was only one way to administer the medicine.
Hiccup gently placed Jack back on the altar, his eyes flicking over to the hourglass. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart clenched, jarring horribly inside him like it was being squeezed by razor-like threads. One minute.
The pressure was building, and with it Hiccup seemed to suddenly become all the thumbs and fumbling. His hands shook as he held the bottle, pouring a little of the substance into his outstretched palm. Using his index finger, he dabbed at the mixture and hap-hazardously rubbed the strange syrup onto his own lips. He cringed at the acrid taste – so much more bitter and salty than its scent would suggest.
20 seconds.
He placed the phial to one side, and fixed his eyes upon Jack’s fading body. Then – the worst thing that could have possibly happened, happened. Doubt.
It tore at Hiccup sharply, like a razor that sliced at his chest – cutting through flesh, bone and sinew like butter, only to twist in his heart like a wrenching knife, wielded by a creature of torment. What if he’d miscalculated? What if he was wrong? What if Jack woke up, but never trusted him again? What if Jack never woke up? What if Jack woke up, but didn’t remember Hiccup at all? What if- what if-
“HICCUP!”
The Mûnthan prince tore himself from his internal downward spiral, instead fixing his eyes upon Astrid. She wore a familiar face; a face that said she knew what was going through his mind. Her eyes spoke of the thousands of times they’d had the same conversation, over and over like a mantra.
‘What if it all goes wrong? If I fail? If I really am useless?’
‘Hiccup, you know the outcome if you do not try, don’t you?’
‘I fail regardless.’
‘Exactly. But if you do try?’
‘…I could fail. But I could also succeed.’
‘See? What have you got to lose?’
Jack’s face, fading more and more as the seconds flitted by, death sucking him dry of vitality like a sickly parasite. Hiccup looked down upon his Sel’a, resolve returning.
You know the outcome if you do not try. What have you got to lose?
Jack. He had Jack to lose. Hiccup’s gaze hardened, turning into glowing, fiery steel much like the swords he’d spend hours forging.
7 seconds.
He gripped Jack’s cloak as he leant down, nerves clawing at his stomach.
5
Inhale. Exhale.
4
Too late to second guess anything now.
3
Hiccup let a tiny broken whimper escaped from him, before pressing down, his lips meeting Jack’s.
2
His lips were cold and dry. The skin on his lower lip was slightly cracked. From all his chewing it. Hiccup thought belatedly. His stomach churned as he tried to pry Jack’s lips open with his own, praying some of the mixture coating his lips would find its way to Jack’s system.
1
Hiccup pulled back, gasping.
-:-
When Valka and Stoick stepped into the temple’s main chamber, they stepped into a freeze-frame. The room was deafeningly silent, the held breath and thudding heartbeats saying more than any cry of anguish ever could. None of the Dragon Knights seemed to notice their chief’s entrance, each pair of eyes fixed upon the centre of the room.
Valka drew a deep breath, preparing for the worst. Then, with a resigned sigh, she turned to look upon her son.
Hiccup was still as the dead, his arms resting upon the altar, with his head buried under them. Next to his arms, the Carusellen Prince remained motionless, his skin now slowly turning grey, the poison seeming to pool into his very pigment.
Very slowly, Valka reached forward, touching Hiccup’s shoulder in comfort. He flinched away with a pained gasp. “Do not touch me.”
“Hiccup…” she spoke soothingly. He paid no mind. His shoulders seemed to tremble where he bowed over the altar surface. Great, staggering, quaking breathes shuddered from his lungs, like his entire being was filled with suffocating cobwebs. She carefully took her son’s face in her hands, cringing only briefly when she felt her fingers slip on the tear-tracks on his cheeks.
Hiccup never cried. Not outside of a full moon.
The few that had seen him during the throes of moon mourning would say her son cried very prettily. His eyes would glow a bright green, made all the more vibrant by the glossy sheen of tears yet unshed. Small drops would fall, silent and unbidden, down his freckled cheeks. Even though he’d be in great pain, Hiccup wouldn’t make a sound.
This time, it was a totally different story. His eyes were swollen and puffy, rimmed red and bloodshot with fatigue, pain and indescribable loss. His nose was bright red from sniffing. As she pulled him from his curled up, fetal position next to his Sel’a deathbed, Valka watched him clutch his chest. It was as if he was fearful a hole had been punched right through it. Where usually you could trace the individual tear-tracks on his sun-kissed cheeks, there was no definition now. These tears were no slow trickle, but a heart-wrenching deluge.
She gathered Hiccup into her arms, hugging him and hushing him, like a child. He hid his sobs in her cloak, stifling his wails of fury and defeat. As his fit subsided, Valka exchanged a look between Stoick and Heather. Both were grim faced as they nodded in unison.
“I failed him, Sherlen[1],” Hiccup whispered, his voice cracking with anguish. “I failed the rites, I failed the tribe, but most of all I failed him and now he’s gone.”
Valka took a deep, slow breath. “Child, do you feel the emptiness? The void his existence used to fill?”
Hiccup pulled away, only to stare at her. His expression sat somewhere between outrage and confusion. “I know he’s gone! I was too late – see!” He gestured furiously at Jack’s still body. “Jack didn’t wake! He will never wake! I failed!”
“Hekairen.” In a manner that only a mother could truly achieve, Valka silenced her son with one word, her eyes severe as she stopped him on his downward spiral. “Stop this now. Look inside you – is he gone? Search out the bond between you, follow it as far as it allow.”
Hiccup stared at his mother again, but this time only bewilderment was written on his face.
Valka watched as Hiccup slowly closed his eyes, focused on breathing deeply – in and out – slowly bringing his heart to a regular rhythm. His face contorted a little with concentration, the muscles around his eyes and lips crinkling with effort.
Slowly, he opened his eyes again. The emotions she saw streaking through his eyes were as clear as crystal; flashes of disbelief, confusion, realisation, elation… and finally, relief.
“He’s alive.” Hiccup breathed, his eyes falling once again on Jack. Now he looked closer, with clear eyes no longer blurred by blind grief, he could see the faint rise and fall of Jack’s ribcage. Hiccup pressed his lips together as he mopped his face with his tunic sleeve. “My Jack is alive.”
“Men es lib’a.” Valka confirmed, nodding her head with a warm smile.
A short laugh, like a bark, flew from Hiccup’s lips as he sank back down to his knees, back to Jack’s side. He tenderly ran his fingers through the Carusellen’s snowy locks, a tiny line of worry appearing between his brows. “Why doesn’t he wake?” he asked softly.
Valka knelt at her son’s side again, using a placating hand on his shoulder to settle him. She rubbed small, soothing circles into his shoulder-blade. “The antidote does not reverse the poison – it merely stops it. Jack will stay sleeping until you seek him out in the Realm of Phoenixes.”
Hiccup’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “How am I supposed to go to the land of the dead?!” he asked shrilly, eyes widening again with panic.
Valka hushed him again. “All will be explained, tomorrow. For now, see to your injuries and get some rest.”
Hiccup found himself biting his lip. A habit he chastised Jack for, but now he couldn’t care less. “How can I sleep, when Jack is in some kind of purgatory, waiting for me?”
Valka shook her head. “You are no good to the man nor beast if you are stumbling around like a walking corpse,” she chastised brusquely. “Sleep. I am sure if Jack were here, he’d say the same thing.”
It looked like it pained him to admit it, but finally Hiccup nodded his head in consent. Valka jerked her head at the audience behind them, and immediately Heather and Astrid rushed forward, poultices in hand.
Heather plucked and pinched at his tunic, until – with a scowl and a grunt – Hiccup dragged the linen shirt up and over his head, revealing every bruise and scrape he’d received whilst fleeing Mount Lavlo. Heather tsked and set to work, dabbing at his wounds with some herbal remedy. Astrid pulled at his burnt hand, and he hissed before glaring up at her. She met his glare with a cool, even stare of her own.
“We need to have a long talk,” he growled up at her.
Astrid sighed, holding her hand out for his burnt one. Begrudgingly, Hiccup offered his blistered palm, wincing as she rubbed healing salve into the puckering wound. “Honestly, Hiccup? I would have questioned your worthiness of Jack had you not wanted to talk.” Her eyes flicked to one side, distracting herself with a coil of bandages. “I too have become fond of him these past weeks…”
“And yet you poison him.” Hiccup hissed through his teeth. Astrid flinched as if she had been hit.
“Not through any choice of my own,” she grit back, wrapping his hand with the clean bandages and tying the ends in a neat knot. She pinched the tip of his forefinger, satisfied when the blood refilled in the whitened cuticle quite easily. “Do you really want this argument now, though?”
Hiccup glowered at her with hardened eyes, before finally letting his shoulders sag. Astrid had never seen him look so weary in her life. And that was saying something. “No,” he murmured, eyes watching listlessly as Heather began treating one of the worse welts on his stomach. “This conversation can wait until I have the energy for it.”
Astrid gave him a sad smile. “Probably wise.”
Finally, the fussing Moon Maiden seemed to be satisfied with her patch-up job, and told him to head for the sleeping quarters. Hiccup raised a brow. “And you intend to leave him there?” he asked, nodded towards Jack, delicately arranged on top of the stone altar. Heather guffawed at him.
“Do not be stupid,” she scoffed. “I will have him moved to the serene quarters. He will be comfortable there – plus better privacy.”
Hiccup cocked his head, before asking gently “Would it be alright if I stayed with him?”
Heather gave him a coy look, glancing at the Chief and his wife, who stood near the cave entrance with the rest of the Knights. Stoick narrowed his eyes and clicked his tongue. “It is not proper, really…”
“Oh – hush, Storekin!” Valka tsked, cuffing the large man upside the head. “You expect your son to be untoward to an unconscious body? The body of his Sel’a, no less?!”
The chief turned bright red, clashing horribly with his fiery mane. “When you put it like that…” he muttered, glowering at the floor. Valka rolled her eyes.
“We have no problem with it, Heather. If you sit fine with Hiccup staying, so do we.”
Heather’s eyes flickered back to meet Hiccup’s earnest ones. She shrugged one shoulder, saying “I see no problems.” With that, she seemed to float back to Astrid’s side, taking her knight’s hand when she reached it. As she passed Hiccup, she gave him a wink and a small smile, which he returned in kind.
As the entourage of Mûnthan knights, nobles and temple priestess left the temple, Hiccup moved to the altar. With fastidious care, he gently pulled Jack into his arms, hooking his arm under his knees and clutching Jack’s back with the other. The Carusellen’s dead weight made him slip in Hiccup’s hold, until he leaned heavily against the Mûnthan’s shoulder. His head seemed to fit perfectly in the crook of Hiccup’s neck, and Hiccup was gratified to feel the tiny, gentle puffs of warm air against his skin, just below his ear.
As smoothly as he could, he carried his kindred through the temple until he came across the serene quarters.
It was the very same room Jack had met Valka, with the snowy, soft furs littering the floors, and teardrop crystals that fell from the ceiling like rain frozen in time. The candlelight would catch on the crystals, and shatter into fragments of colour that danced on the cavern wall, just as they had before. It was the perfect place for Jack to wake.
Hiccup grimaced at the thought, lowering his precious cargo onto one of the thicker fur pallets. Slowly and carefully, nimble fingers unclasped Jack’s hood and set it to one side. Then he removed the boy’s boots, then his own. Sighing, he settled himself onto his side, curling around Jack’s prone form much like Toothless used to curl around him as a child.
In the silence, Hiccup could make out his Sel’a’s heartbeat – soft murmur that it was. He closed his eyes, laying his head on Jack’s chest, listening to the continuous reminder that his Jack was alive.
What a stark difference a mere 24 hours could make. This morning, Hiccup had woke up in a position much like this one – wrapped around Jack for the first time ever. He’d been content… heck, he could even stretch to say he’d been happy! Now?
Now he was clinging onto the sound of Jack’s heart like a lifeline. A promise that Jack was still within reach.
In the space of 24 hours, he’d faced down every fear the Rapturer could throw at him, only to then be pushed to wits end – literally! – by Charis’ riddle. He was scared, bruised and battered, and exhausted beyond reason – not just physically, but mentally too.
Hiccup sighed, burrowing deeper into Jack’s warmth, intent on sharing his own heat too.
For the life of him – Hiccup thought with a hitching breath – he just wished Jack was here to hold him.
Once you get this, you have to say 5 things you like about yourself publicly, and then send it to 10 of your followers (non negotiable)! Positivity is cool!
*sigh* I was tagged by Mr kit-replica.
1. I have a cavernous imagination that I never really hit rock-bottom with. There is always more to be discovered; I know my characters are part of my imagination, but they are the ones telling my stories. I’m just the scribe. Sometimes I’ll be minding my own business, gardening or something, when someone like Hekairen will whisper in my ear ‘You know I reacted like that earlier, but you weren’t sure why it fit? Well, here’s why...’
It’s like being a reader myself. My characters throw plot twists at me all the time, which is y my family hears me yelling “BUT WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” and “OH GOD YOU CLEVER SHIT” at random intervals whilst writing.
2. I like my sense of humour. I generally am good at making people laugh, and I’m not afraid to say I laugh at my own jokes when I’m rereading my work.
3. Whilst I’m terrible at handling my own crisis's, I am excellent at helping others through theirs. I am a good listener, and I’d like to think I’m a good friend.
4. I’m crafty as fuck. I draw now and then, but that’s not all. I knit, cross-stitch, garden, cook, bake, dabble on the piano, and - of course - I write. I’ve also got a performer streak in me: before I got sick, I spent two years at Winchester University (Yes SPN fans, it exists) doing a drama degree. I also learnt how to sing at the age of 7. (I was taught by the village vicar.)
5. I hate my appearance, bar one thing: I love my eyes. I’m so proud of my eye colour. When I cry, they go acidic green, but otherwise... just think Hiccup Haddock. :) All the little hazelly flecks included.
NOW TO TAG: yourthree-tailedfox, littlemisswiseass, manapimp, ac3-of-cups, blitz-lili
