Yes, their original folklore is often very sad, but the concept of a supernatural child raised by humans (and a human raised by magic creatures) has so much potential for modern, more positive fantasy. And there’s a lot more variety to changeling myths than you might think! So here are my favourites:
The old changeling. Present in both Celtic (most notably Scottish and Irish) and Germanic folklore these are elves, faeries or dwarves left in place of the taken child that are actually fully grown and usually very old. This is the type of changeling that you meet most in simple folklore and they are usually found out by doing something surprising, so they accidentally betray their age and flee. They are usually described as ugly, withered little creatures.
The Celtic changeling child. A real faerie child, usually sickly and small by human standards. Sometimes they never speak and they often have strange eating habits. What sets these changelings apart is that their elven parents usually still care for them. They come to collect them if maltreated or secretly visit to entertain, wash or feed them. Some of these changelings, unlike their ever-ailing, never growing siblings, are described as beautiful and possessing hidden talents, like being able to dance or play music masterfully.
The Germanic changeling child. Once again a real child, left behind by the nixies from the water or the mysterious folk that live underneath the hills. (The brothers Grimm often speak of “devils” leaving changelings, but they are far too eager to call any old folkloric creature a devil). These inhuman children are said not to live long, either seven years, eighteen or nineteen years, after which they may “go home”. Unlike the Celtic changeling child they are often described as insatiably hungry and often very physically strong. They may even use this strength to be helpful. Just like with the Celtic changeling the original parents can often be persuaded to come take their child back, because they still care for it.
The Scandinavian troll changeling. Like the Germanic changelings these troll children are always hungry, but they usually have no trouble growing up. They are cheerful, noisy and disruptive, love to have fun and often end up stealing food and running amok. They are described as a handful to deal with rather than malicious and their troll parents often keep an eye on them as well and may be persuaded to take them back. In some stories the grown troll changelings eventually find their way back to their troll family, because they never really fit in with humans.
The Scandinavian log changeling. This type of changeling is also left by trolls, but instead of leaving a child of their own they leave a log of wood that has been changed to look like a human and then given life. They behave very opposite to the troll changeling, they are sedate and quiet, prefer being alone and lazing about in the woods. In some Scottisch stories the fae also leave a block of wood, but in these cases it is only glamour that makes it look like a child and it is never truly alive.
Interestingly, the folklore of the Shetland Islands specifically includes Scandinavian trolls, there called “trows” or “the grey neighbours”. One story states that a farmer caught a couple of trolls in the process of carving a likeness of his wife and baby to leave behind while taking them both.
As far as I can find out, despite all this variety, changelings happen for pretty much the same reason: because the fae, elves, dwarves, water spirits or trolls want human children on account of them being beautiful, a healthy addition to the bloodline, or in possession of talents only humans possess.
Hibiscus tea: What is a song you can always hear? between the bars by elliott smith, i listen to it on car rides a lot!
Earl Grey: Which countries have you visited? not that many, england, austria, italy, and ive passed through a few european countries on my way to another but that doesnt really count.
Seaside - Ideal date? i think going to the movies and just sitting next to each other in the dark and like maybe hold hands...afterwards get some street food and take a stroll through the city and then kiss
Succulent - What are you looking forward to? to uni starting and plans i have made with my friends, october and how beautiful everything will be, christmas and new years and next summer, moving out, and a million other things, i am always looking forward to so much, so many exciting things ahead
1. favourite place in your country? berlin, which is where i live, its just the best city i love it so much
7. three words from your native language that you like the most? Glückseligkeit, fleißig, Zärtlichkeit
18. do you speak with a dialect of your native language? no not really, most young people here dont speak with one or at least not the people i am surrounded with, i think i use certain terms or words that friends from other parts of germany dont use or dont really know but i dont speak with a real dialect
Happy Christmas everyone! As promised, a special edition Christmas Faestrid Fridays! Nothing is written beyond this point in the story, so if you want to know more, you are going to have to pry it out of the Writer part of me with questions and asks! Please forgive any typos - don’t quite have the chance to edit today with xmas lunch around the corner. Enjoy!
Happy Holidays!
acht - 2
Or: Why Hiccup Haddock promised not to kiss girls
Eight-year-old Hiccup knew very well that he was being naughty. Very, very naughty, in fact. The thing was, his papa always told him, again and again and again, that trolls didn’t exist and that it was very stupid do go out looking for them, especially when he was the heir of Berk, and he was going to be chief some day, and he had responsibilities, and what would his dad do if he went missing?
That one always hit him rather hard. When his papa was angry, Hiccup tended to get angry too, although he didn’t show it in the same way his papa did. His papa yelled and threw his hands around and paced and yelled some more. He went red in the face, and sometimes Hiccup found it funny - when his papa wasn’t angry at him. But Hiccup still got angry; why did he always have to get yelled at so much? He saw Snotlout, and Fishlegs. They got into messes too, sometimes. Snotlout that one time had decided to go rolling in the mud like the piggies, and his papa had laughed and his mama had cuffed him on the head and dumped buckets of water on his head in front of the house and sent him to bed without dinner, but the day after Snotlout had been in the hall, eating a big breakfast, none the worse for wear. Fishlegs was even worse, as in he made Hiccup even more jealous. Not only did he have a mummy too, the way Snotlout did and Hiccup didn’t (as Snotlout liked to remind him), and Fishlegs sometimes got lost picking flowers and herbs and taking note of strange leaves and insects under rocks. When he came in late, his mama would glare at him for a little while, but then she’d hug him and kiss him and Fishlegs never, ever said that his mama yelled at him.
So Hiccup was jealous, sometimes, and sad, other times, that his papa didn’t seem to love him like the other papas and mamas. But then one day, his papa had said that sentence, and Hiccup understood. It still made him angry, when his papa yelled and yelled and paced around the room as if Hiccup had done something so very bad, even when all the other boys only got their ears cuffed and everything was alright in the morning. His papa could be angry at him for days, and it used to make him cry when he was little. Littler. A baby, like Toenail Hofferson. He wasn’t a baby now, he was eight, and he knew why his papa got so mad.
It was because he was afraid. It had been so strange to think about at first - his papa was the chief of Berk! He was the biggest, biggest man, a mountain! He fought dragons and won and he never even blinked when they shot fire at him. Hiccup was going to be just like him when he grew up.
But then papa had been yelling this one time, because he’d fallen asleep in the forge, and had come home very late, and his papa didn’t know about that tiny back room because Gobber was sick and couldn’t tell him, so he’d been looking everywhere for Hiccup, and he’d been so worried, and he’d gotten so mad when Hiccup had come home. Hiccup had still been sleepy, and tired, and had started crying and called him mean and cruel, because he only fell asleep, and it wasn’t his fault his papa didn’t know about the back room, and he wished his papa didn’t hate him so much.
And then papa had stopped yelled, and hugged Hiccup hard, and told him that he did love Hiccup, very, very much, and so because of that, what would he do if Hiccup went away and left him alone?
Then he’d understood. It had been strange to think that his papa was scared of something, but Hiccup was afraid of being alone, too, so he understood that. With mama gone, he didn’t have anyone but his papa, and papa didn’t have anyone but Hiccup, so he understood. It had been a big thing, when the idea (it’s what Gobber called it) came into his head like a squirrel entering a house, and then he could see things he didn’t see before, and he’d hug his dad more, before bed or in the morning. He didn’t tell him he knew he was scared - men didn’t talk like that - but he wanted his papa to know that he knew. So when his papa used it against him - said he was disappointed, said ‘what would I do’? - he was going to feel very sorry later.
But not right now. Right now it was so very exciting.
The fact of the matter was that his papa was wrong (that had been another very strange day, when Hiccup had realised that his papa could be wrong). Trolls existed. In fact, everyone knew very well that trolls existed because they had taken Astrid Hofferson, the eldest sister of all the little Hofferson boys, who would have been Hiccup’s age, and probably the only girl Hiccup could have known. Because of the trolls, there were no girls on Berk now, and Hiccup always found that so sad, and so funny. He didn’t have a mama, and his friends were all boys - well, Fishlegs was his friend, Snotlout was an annoying bully, but he was his cousin so he couldn’t send him away. Hiccup and Fishlegs liked to hunt bugs and butterflies, play-fight at dragon killing (even Snotlout liked that one), and make up scary stories to tell one another (Fishlegs didn’t like that one much, but he still came every time). But more than anything, more than anything else. Hiccup and Fishlegs liked to hunt trolls.
As they grew bigger, and they started being let out more, Hiccup and Fishlegs began to better understand what had happened to Astrid Hofferson, and why all their mamas and papas told them about trolls, and hangbui spirits and elfs and elfrings. Then her little brothers had begun being born and had joined in the god-given fight that the boys had taken on themselves. They were too young for dragon training yet, and the adults had that covered most days anyway. So it was up to them to hunt trolls and get revenge for Astrid.
That is what they were doing right now, and why Hiccup knew he was being so naughty. His papa had told him again and again that the trolls didn’t exist, that the spirits were worse than the dragons and would take him away like they took Astrid. But the spirits only took babies, and Hiccup wasn’t a baby now. He was grown up. And he was hunting trolls.
‘Alright, do we have everything?’ Hiccup asked, turning to Fishlegs. Fishlegs was only seven, but already he was much taller than the rest of them. Snotlout was trying to reach him, too, and usually tried to stand on tip-toes and puff his chest out to look bigger whenever they were standing in line. Neckbeard, the eldest of the Hofferson boys, was only six, and his other brother was five. They were babies, so they needed more protection. But Hiccup was their leader, and wore his mother’s pin to prove it; because Hiccup would be the next chief, and Fishlegs said that Hiccup came up with the best plans. The last time Snotlout had tried to be leader, Fishlegs had almost drowned in the brook, and they had not played with him for two months.
‘Iron necklaces,’ Fishlegs began, reading from a list he and Hiccup had compiled together. Everyone brought out their own piece of chord or leather, adorned with a nail or an iron ornament. ‘Iron buckles on our belts, wooden swords.’ Again, the boys all twisted and turned to make sure the iron pieces sewn into their belts hadn’t come off during any horsing around. Much to Berk’s seamstress’s credit, they hadn’t. Mother Hofferson knew what she was doing. ‘And left socks,’ Fishlegs finished. Everyone fished one from their pockets. Snotlout couldn’t find his, and just took it off his foot, bragging all the while that he’d planned it that way, because why would he carry one when a left sock was right there?
‘Ok, men!’ Hiccup said, trying to sound important and impressive like his papa. ‘Let’s go hunt trolls!’
They charged into the bushes yelling ‘death to trolls’ and other things they’d heard the adults say - mostly in relation to dragons. Of course, there is nothing in the woods, but they are not deterred. Holding their socks out, they begun making chirping noises that they were told that trolls made - so they should beware of those noises. The crept slowly, knees bent and backs bowed, trying to keep close to the ground.
They heard a rustle of bushes, then another. There was movement, and all the boys froze, Hiccup’s heart beating in excitement. There was no movement at all from either side of the bush for a few moments, then the boys moved as one, yelling and screeching, swords raised and socks waving, diving into the bush.
They were rushing out the next moment, screeching even more loudly, and followed by an entire pack of terrors in a variety of colours, considerably angry about being jumped on and stepped on and woken up. The boys ran and ran, screeching and waving their arms and losing their socks and their swords. Finally, Hiccup tripped, falling face first into the grass. He still had his sock, but his sword was gone, his necklace had snapped and a left sock was little help against an angry dragon.
He turned around, coming face to face with one of the pack that had followed them. It growled at him, but approached cautiously, sniffing and snuffling at him, suddenly not appearing so frightening, because it was really very tiny indeed. Hiccup blinked at it, and it blinked back at him, then it sat down three feet away from him and tilted its head.
‘Are you going to eat me?’ Hiccup asked, trying to be brave but trembling despite himself. He knew that a whole pack of terrors could carry off a big Viking. Hiccup wasn’t a big Viking, so maybe this tiny dragon was enough to carry him off. Then a thought struck him. ‘If you take me away, will you take me where you took my mama?’
The dragon made a whirring, chittering noise at him, tilting its head this way and that, almost looking like it was answer or asking a question of its own. Hiccup giggled; he didn’t know dragons could be so cute. Well, these tiny ones could. Hiccup crossed his legs and reached for the dragon, who backed away, not quite growling, but not really wanting to be touched.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said, making the same noises he had before for the trolls. The terror seemed to like them, and came forward slowly, sniffing in the direction of Hiccup’s pocket. Remembering he had some yak jerky with him, he brought it out, and the tiny dragon immediately brightened. ‘Oh, you want some?’ He threw a bit of the food, then watched as the dragon ate it hungrily and began sidling up to him again, this time with much friendlier eyes.
Another rustling in the bushes behind him startled them both. The terror tensed, then gave a cry and flew away, ignoring Hiccup’s dismayed cries for it to come back. Who knew that terrors could be cute? Hiccup turned around towards the bush, jerky in one hand and sock in the other, ready to try to touch the terror this time.
Instead he found himself staring into three pairs of blue eyes, two of which were surrounded by the strangest, grey and scaly skin he’d ever seen. Mops of blonde hair decorated all three heads, and Hiccup gasped.
Trolls. He’d found trolls!
He stood there for a moment, just staring, and they stared back at him. He could see nothing else of their faces except their eyes and foreheads, and one of the faces actually looked human enough. They all blinked at him in unison. he blinked back, and in the split second it took to open his eyes again, they were gone.
‘Hey wait, no, don’t go!’ he called out. He held out his hand, realised he still held the jerky, and exchanged it with the sock. ‘I have this! I’ll … I’ll give it to you, if you tell me a secret!’
Now this, this was something that his papa had told him never, ever to do. Games and tricky deals with the Folk were strictly forbidden on Berk by law, but Hiccup had always had a mind of his own - so his papa said - and he was sure he could pull if off if HE was the one to set the rules before the trolls even spoke.
The rustling in the bushes stopped. Hiccup stopped moving too and held his breath, wondering whether the trolls had run away. Hesitantly, he lowered his sock, looking around trying to peer over the light green leaves at the edge of the bushes. An instant of silence prolonged into a full stretch of nothing but wind hissing through the forest, and Hiccup sighed.
The moment he tucked the sock into his vest, the hissing started up stronger, but the wind didn’t pick up. A slither of fright went up his spine as he realised - no, the trolls had gone nowhere.
He began backing away from the bushes, but the quick rustle of leaves, like a squirrel or a terrible terror sprinting through the undergrowth, rushed past the vegetation behind him. He jumped and turned, and then jumped and turned again when the noise repeated itself. Snickering and high-pitched laughing and low, scruffy snorting came from all around, and Hiccup’s heart began beating so very fast.
‘Sock! He has a sock!’ one of the voices hissed.
‘Why do you want it, it’s probably stinky.’ That sounded like a girl.
‘Stinky is good! The stinkier the better. It goes well with the curtains in the soggy alone place.’
‘Well, that’s my sock!’ Hiccup said. ‘I don’t have to give it to you!’
Hiccup bucked up a little bit, feeling a little smug. He’d trade his sock, like the smart heroes in the stories, tell them he’d give them the sock if they told him where they kept Astrid Hofferson. He didn’t know why, but he’d always thought of her as a princess, who needed rescuing.
He didn’t expect the nasty pinch to his cheek. It burned and he yelled, batting the hand away. By the time he turned to see who it was, however, they were gone, and then another pinch came, this time to his side. He yelled even louder, because that hurt, and another one came to his thigh, and his butt cheek, and his ear. He kept batting the hands away, but he never really saw them, only a pale-grey flash and then nothing but the smarting pain it left behind.
They began making chirping and hissing noises, telling him to give them the sock, and that they would kill him if he didn’t, pinching harder, and pinching places they had already pinched before which made it hurt worse. Hiccup curled, wishing more than ever that he’d been good and obeyed his papa, but he refused to give them the sock. Once he gave them the sock, he didn’t know what would happen.
Then came a pinch to his chest, right below his pin. There was a shreak and a hiss and a moan. When Hiccup looked up, the prettiest girl he had ever seen was standing on top of him; her skin was fair like his, with a few freckles, and she looked his age. Her hair was gold, with shiny things in it. She was wearing green leathers and red wools with silver embroidery on it. She was very, very, very pretty.
She was also crying, and her finger was bleeding.
Two more children suddenly appeared next to her. Their skin was grey, with strange scale-like things in places that made them look like half-dragons. Their hair was long and tangled and blond too. They looked like one another.
‘Shit,’ one of them said.
‘Huh,’ the other one of them said with a wondering snicker in his voice - he seemed to be wearing trousers while the other one wore a skirt. ‘Now you’ve done it.’
‘I didn’t do anything! You were the ones who were being mean and pinching me!’ Hiccup protested, tears springing to his eyes. It was always like this - Snotlout would do something and blame Hiccup, and Hiccup would get punished for it no matter how much he protested. It wasn’t fair.
‘Yes you did, you made her bleed!’ one of the scaly children said. They looked like children at least, if half-dragons and half scary scaly things. The humanest thing about them was their eyes; the fingers were long and tapered into claws, and their clothing was rugged and smelly. They didn’t have shoes, and their toes were a strange shape, almost triangular.
‘I didn’t! She cut herself on my pin!’ he protested again, feeling bold. He stood up again, angry now that they were hurting him first, and then accusing him of hurting them right after. ‘Suites you right for pinching me!’
He was about to bolt when a strong hand grabbed his arm and yanked. He gave a yell and fell to the ground, but then quite accidentally rolled into the feet of his attacker, knocking them right down as well.
‘We can eat him,’ the one still standing still suggested. Hiccup panicked and kicked the one on top of him - a troll! they existed! - and tried to scramble away.
‘You can’t!’ the pretty one said, still holding her finger out as it bled, and Hiccup was sad to see her beginning to cry. ‘I have to marry him now!’
Hiccup stopped moving long enough to gawp at her, but also to get seriously tangled in the troll sitting on his chest. Now their legs were all wrestled up together and there was no way Hiccup could escape.
‘We could kill him and then you’d be free, no?’ asked the troll who was still standing next to her. The other one smelled nasty up close.
‘I’ll die too,’ the girl said, still crying, but scowling now. She pouted next. ‘Let him up, Tuff.
Hiccup was hauled to his feet with little ceremony, the stinky boy-troll - because he was sure the other one was a girl troll, though not utterly sure - staring at him weirdly. Hiccup couldn’t look away from the pretty girl. She was pretty, but he was also sorry for her. And afraid of her. It had suddenly hit him that trolls served their masters, the elfs in Vanir. And a girl that pretty could be nothing but an elf.
‘Well, give me your hand, then,’ she said impatiently. Hiccup shook his head rather tremulously. All the warnings and all the stories his papa had told him - about how wicked the Folk were, about poor little Astrid who’d been taken as a baby and probably eaten in a stew began hammering at his head. He was trapped and he was held tight, but if he stalled long enough maybe one of the others would stumble across them, and everyone knew elfs and trolls were shy. They picked you off if you were on your own, but if you were at least in two they ran away.
‘Oh shut up,’ the girl troll said. She grabbed his hand and punctured his thumb before he could do anything. He cried out in pain and tried to pull his hand away but her grip was so strong it may as well have been his papa doing the holding. Tears pricked his eyes as the prettier one took her bleeding finger and pressed it to his thumb. The blood stopped dripping from both their wounds, but Hiccup’s burned like someone was pressing a hot poker to it. He bit his lip to make no noise, but when he looked up at her she was also pinching her face.
Finally she let go. ‘Ow,’ she said quietly, waving her fingers, and Hiccup felt safe to cradle his aching hand to his chest. Taking a quick glance down, he noticed that there was a new scar running down his thumb pad, and instead of being pink or white, it was green. He almost felt sick; the colour was so bright that there was no way he could hide it from his papa.
‘Now you have to marry him?’ the boy troll said glumly. He was still holding Hiccup tight, and the other boy tried to evade his grip again. No luck.
‘Yes,’ she replied. Panic swept through Hiccup’s belly. He didn’t want to get married!
‘Do we have to do it now?!’ he asked, squeakily. He was so glad Snotlout wasn’t here. He’d make fun of Hiccup for being afraid for sure.
‘Yes,’ the pretty girl pouted. ‘I cannot go home anymore. I might as well marry you.’
‘You cannot go home?’ Hiccup asked, feeling faint. And feeling increasingly sorry for her. He imagined what it would be like, if they took him away from his papa, the way Astrid Hofferson had been. He imagined his papa being sad and him being sad, and he was sad for her. Hiccup thought he would be very afraid; she must be afraid too, he realised.
‘No,’ she replied and frowned at him angrily. ‘Now that you spilled my blood you have marry me.’
‘You spilled mine too,’ he tried to reason. ‘Can’t we make a promise to marry later?’
All the Folk looked at one another. Clearly, they hadn’t thought of that.
‘Can you?’ the girl troll asked, scratching her shaggy hair. Flux and dust came out in clouds and Hiccup grimaced. ‘I mean, if you make a solemn promise, the gates of Vanir should let you back in, right?’
‘I don’t know…’ the pretty one replied. ‘We can try I guess. The gates could turn me back anyway, but I can only try.’ She turned to him, and Hiccup tried not to shrink back. She was taller than him, and so, so very pretty with her blue eyes and blonde hair. ‘Ok, boy. We promise to get married.’
‘Yes,’ he replied, unsure. The boy twin beside him slapped his face and sighed, and Hiccup tried not to faint at the smell that came out of his mouth.
‘You gotta have a time, you know,’ he said. ‘Like, when you’re older, when you will get married. The magic’s set, you have to marry him, but you have to set a time for when you do or the gates will definitely not let you through.’
The girl looked lost. ‘We get married at 16,’ Hiccup supplied helpfully, and then could have kicked himself for how silly he was. He should have said 40, so he was old and ugly and almost dead. He should have said 80 so that he would be dead and he wouldn’t have had to worry about it at all.
‘Ok then, 16,’ she replied. She held out her hand again, and Hiccup was confused whether he should shake it or kiss it. Kissing a hand is what you did with a lady, but was she a lady anyway? ‘We will get married when you’re 16.’
‘On his birthday,’ the girl troll said helpfully. Hiccup pouted; on any other year, he would not have had a proper birthday, and the promise could have been side-stepped. He’d just had to say 16.
‘On his birthday. Alright then, if you promise that you’ll marry me, when you are 16, on your birthday, I should … I should be able to go home.’ And she looked so relieved and so happy that Hiccup felt sorry he’d been trying to trick her.
‘Hold on,’ the boy troll replied. ‘He can’t marry anyone before!’
‘I can’t do it before I’m sixteen,’ Hiccup replied. Gobber was right; trolls were stupid.
‘Yeah, but what if you want to?’ the boy troll persisted. Hiccup just wanted him to shut up, and promised he would never ever skip brushing his teeth with the pine leaves again. Not if that smell could happen. And he also wrinkled his nose at the idea. There were no girls; who was he supposed to marry? Bofface to bow face? Kickhilda the lame?
‘Yeah, you human boys like ladies too much,’ the girl troll snickered. Hiccup grimaced at her.
‘No we don’t,’ he protested, folding his arms as much as he could with the boy troll holding them in place.
‘Oh yeah, prove it!’ the girl troll said. The elf girl nodded, folding her arms to match his. He pouted at her - he’d done it first!
‘I already promised we’d be married. See?’ He held up his thumb. They all frowned at it, and for a moment they were all friends.
‘Yeaaah, but you didn’t promise you’d like being married to her,’ the girl troll replied. Hiccup was horrified.
‘I have to like it?’ he asked. He didn’t like girls even if they were pretty! Not that he knew any girls who weren’t old or babies anyway.
‘Duuuh,’ both trolls said together. He and the girl glared at one another.
‘She has to like it too!’ Hiccup said.
‘Yeah, OK,’ she muttered back, still pouting and frowning. ‘I promise …’ she smiled suddenly. ‘I promise not to kiss any boys but you. Till I see you again.’
Hiccup thought about it. Then he smiled too. He didn’t know any girls who weren’t old or babies. And he didn’t like girls either. This would be easy.
‘Ok! So I also promise not to kiss girls but you till my 16th birthday,’ he replied. He spit on his hand and held it out. She looked at him with a bit of disgust, but when he rolled his eyes at her she frowned, did the same and shook his hand very hard. Hiccup was satisfied. In a way, he felt like he had made a friend.
Once they let go of each other’s hands, they stopped for a moment, not quite sure what to do next. Everyone looked at each other, and finally the girl troll just shrugged.
‘Let’s try going back then,’ she said. The other two Folk nodded at her, and the boy troll threw Hiccup to the ground. He hadn’t been expecting that, and stumbled down onto his butt.
‘Hey!’ he protested. The other three had already started heading for the bushes. He hadn’t meant to stop them, only to protest the way he’d been shoved down, but they turned to look at him, obviously expecting something. Quickly, he made something up. ‘I don’t even know your name!
The pretty elf girl went white. Hiccup had the time to stand up as the other three froze and looked at one another. The elf girl bit her lip and looked terrified once again, like when she’d just pricked her finger on his pin.
The silence stretched on, and the elf girl looked more and more white. Finally Hiccup got very nervous.
‘My name’s Hiccup,’ he said, ‘And if we’re going to get married we should know each other’s names at least.’ The silence continued, and it took a moment for Hiccup to remember the stories that old Goethi told them when they went to her during raids; Folk put lots of power in names. He had given the elf girl power over him. But he had asked for her name directly - she had to tell him now.
‘You are kind,’ the pretty girl said at last. Hiccup wasn't quite sure what to reply, so he didn’t. Meanwhile, she looked uncomfortable. ‘Hildr,’ she said, and still didn’t look well.
‘That’s your name?’ he asked. Hildr; it was pretty, like her. But she shook her head, and he was confused.
‘It’s one of my names. I’ll tell you when we are married. If you want,’ she went on. She seemed to hesitate. He didn’t know elfs could hesitate. He felt a bit sorry for her again, with so many magic rules. Hiccup didn’t like his papa’s tough rules either.
‘Ok,’ he said, nodding. She smiled again, and looked happier. Colour went back into her cheeks, and Hiccup smiled back. She’d looked terribly sick for a moment. She walked up to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Hiccup wasn’t sure whether to blush or wipe it off with a grimace. It was a girl.
‘You broke your promise already,’ the boy troll said.
‘No, you numb skull,’ the girl troll answered, whacking him on the head. ‘She promised not to kiss boys but him. Do you ever listen? In any case, both of them will die if they break the promise.’
‘Don’t care.’ He shrugged, completely uncaring as he stuck his pinky claw into his ear. Hiccup, on the other hand, cared very much. He hadn’t known that!
‘Let’s try going to the gates, then,’ Hildr replied. ‘Maybe they’ll let me through.’
‘Yeah, and your mum is going to be so mad,’ the girl troll replied. The pretty elf girl looked less happy all of a sudden, and dread took over Hiccup’s own belly as he realised that his papa was going to be so mad.
‘Well, ba-bye,’ Hildr said, waving her hand. She jumped into the bushes, the two trolls following, and all was quiet. A few moments later, Hiccup cautiously stepped forward, peering over the leaves. The woods beyond were empty of Folk. Only more leaves and trees, and an elf-ring around an oak stump.
‘Hiccup!’ Fishlegs and the others suddenly broke through the trees and he turned around. They looked breathless and flushed. ‘Where have you been! We’ve been calling you for hours!’
‘Hours?’ Hiccup asked in confusion. That couldn’t be right; he couldn’t have been talking to the Folk for more than a few minutes. The feeling of dread increased. ‘Did you … tell my dad?’
Fishlegs looked sheepish. Oh no, Hiccup thought.
‘I’m sure he won’t be too angry with you,’ Fishlegs tried to comfort.
About faestrid: How does the whole fairy stuff work exactly? Is there another world where they take the babies to? Could one get there without being taken? How did the dragon integration work when Astrid hadn't been there to stop Hiccup from fleeing?
The short answer is, yes, there is another world.
The long one is that I did some (a lot) of research, and I’m using the traditional levels of existence on the Tree of life in the Norse mythos; with some changes for artistic license. Astrid has been taken by Trolls, who serve under Elfs and Vanir. There are mostly female Elfs, with the Elf King being one of the only males, and considered to be the ‘father’ of all his subjects. Due to this, the Elfs go out and steal human babies - both male and female - who they find beautiful enough to join their ranks.
Astrid isn’t the only changeling either. All of her sisters are taught the ways of Elfs, and share the food of the fae at Vanaheim, and their ‘mother’ is the Elf who sent the Trolls out to recover the baby, with the Elf King acting as all the Changeling’s father. Astrid’s brothers and sister are sent out onto Midgard, to have dealings with other humans and either bring new blood to the Elfs and Vanir, the gods who live in Vanaheim, or just keep those pesky humans under surveillance. Vanaheim is under Freya and her brother’s command, while Asgard is ruled by Odin and Thor, but Astrid and the Elfs mostly deal with Freya and her people.
Through an unfortunate accident, involving Fae laws and rules, Astrid ended up in a strange arrangement with Hiccup - I do have a written chapter about this, which I’ll post next Friday.
Getting to Vanaheim is possible…. on a dragon. :3 Especially if you’re invited - or dared - to go.
And the dragon integration goes down as planned, mostly because while Astrid is absent, two other folks aren’t. Two folks you know well. They’re twins. And they’re trolls in this one.
Some people expressed some interest, so I’m putting the first chapter up. This fic has possibilities, but I can’t seem to get them out in chapter form. So maybe i’ll manage drabbles and asks.
Wisselkind
1.
één
Or; why all the children of Berk have horrible names.
There was a reason every single child on Berk had terrible names. Terrible, that is, by the standard of common decency. Who in their right mind would call their child ‘Booger’? Or ‘Footsore’; ‘Moldy’ had been very popular at one point (so popular that they’d all ended up being called Bob, somehow), and so had ‘Bat’, ‘Toothache’, ‘Ulcer’ and ‘Snot’.
There was little-a-to-do when a new baby was born into the tribe. Parents all thought their child was the most beautiful, squealing thing that had ever popped into the world looking like a wet red pig, but alas, no names of the gods for them. No, no way were babies going to be called Baldr or Thor, Finnegar or Jarl. Girl-children were no exception; if anything the prejudice against a girl-child carrying a pretty name was even more violent. ‘Toenail’ was accepted as a borderline alternative of the ‘cute’ variety, but virulent names, like ‘Pestilence’, ‘Plague’, ‘Pox’ and ‘Polly’ were all mostly favoured, together with more mundane ones like ‘Ladle’, ‘Apron’, ‘Slippers’ and ‘Spoon’. Some of the older generations still carried names that could be considered normal, even decent or beautiful; most married women sported names like Glenda, Brunhilda, even extravagances like Hild and Gerda. But none of the younger children, born after a certain year, had anywhere close to a name that could be called pretty by anyone outside of Berk.
Yes, there was a reason for this. The reason being that Astrid Hofferson had been taken.
The child had been one of the most beautiful babes to be born on the island for a long time. Even when she’d come into the world, crying and kicking, she’d head a crown full of golden hair that shone in the firelight despite the bloodstains. Once she was washed and fed, her large blue eyes, clear as ice crystals from the mountains, had followed everything around her, as if trying to discern the whole world at once. Her parents had been instantly enamoured; a couple newly married, their first child coming into their arms as the most charming baby girl Berk’d had in a generation. The child had been complemented and cooed at by all who saw her, and she responded by frowning and smiling or chucking the rattle at your head - already a Viking at age three months. By the fourth month, it had been deemed safe to begin thinking of naming her. By her fifth month a name had been decided upon and the child was presented at the hall. The Hoffersons had had the added honour to present their beautiful baby with one other child - not so pretty, certainly not so hearty - older than her and still a smaller infant, who was being presented late at 10 months of age, because he’d been small and sickly, come early into the world. Still, he was the chief’s son, heir to the throne of Berk, and the two babies had been presented side by side. He, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, son of Stoick the Vast and Valka the Strong; she, Astrid Hildr Hofferson, daughter of Brunhilda the fair and Hacknee the Brave. By the end of the ceremony, the babes had been put side by side, and Astrid had begun gnawing at one of Hiccup’s tiny feet, no doubt thinking it was her own, much to the amusement of the parents and the other baby, who laughed at his foot being tickled. Great revelry was had, mead was drunk and ale was imbibed alongside. It was a happy day for the tribe.
It was one of the last happy days.
The dragon attacks had always been, and everyone thought they would always be. It was normal, everyday life on Berk. Wake up, brush hair, grab children, put with the Goethi and go out to fight fire-breathing reptiles, shake axe or mace or hammer at them as they fly off, possibly with some livestock, probably leaving something burned - scratch that, several things burned. They hated the dragons, and the dragons hated them. Up until that year, the dragons had been Berk’s greatest enemy for three hundred years.
And then one day, of course, shortly after Astrid Hildr was presented side-by-side with the future cheif, the iron nail fell out from one of the windows, and Hacknee Hofferson did not notice it until it was too late. It wasn’t even a raid-night; it was the night after a raid-night, admittedly, and everyone had been so shocked when Valka the Strong had been taken from her home, carried off to the gods only knew where, to a fate that probably didn’t bear thinking of. The whole village had been distraught, their chief inconsolable and a little baby Hiccup crying all day. Brunhilda had offered to be his wet nurse, and had gone to the Haddock hall after having put her own child to sleep. Hacknee had been there, to keep an eye on the bairn, and everything had seemed like a completely normal day in the life of Berk.
Then Spitelout came by with some ale, sitting down to talk about children and newborns and change, as he was newly married, and his wife was expecting any day. They sat outside, just beyond the threshold, sipping and talking and laughing, unaware of what was happening inside.
And what was happening inside was a kidnapping, of course.
The great theft was not even recognised right away. Brunhilda had come home, Hacknee had greeted her with a kiss and a smile and Spitelout with a wave as she walked in. Their girl had been quiet, her husband had said, and so she found her when she peeked into the cradle. Fire stoked, preparations for dinner made, Brunhilda had gone to wake her child for her evening feed, curious that her healthy girl had not already woken crying her heart out. It was when she lifted her from the cradle, nuzzling her with her face, that she realised what had happened. In carrying what she thought was her child, she dislodged the piece of enchanted fetch that had been attached to the doll made out of turnips that had been placed in the crib, and it was revealed for what it was. Brunhilda’s scream was heard clean across the village.
Later, the crueler-tongued people would say that the Hoffersons were asking for it. Who thought it was a good idea to name a girl-child that pretty Astrid, after all. How in all common decency was it a good idea to name a child ‘divinely beautiful’. That was practically an invitation to the Folk, an open letter to come and take the babe. Those who knew the family and how they suffered would say nothing of the kind, of course, for years to come; not when they knew how Brunhilda blamed herself for not taking the girl with her when she went to feed Hiccup; not when they knew how Hacknee had taken to drinking, when he found the missing nail, him also blaming himself for the loss. Not when they had almost divorced, living estranged in their own home for two years before they reconciled, and began to share a bed again - and consequently, began to have children once more.
Seven boys followed Astrid Hilr, none so beautiful but all as fair. And this time, the Hoffersons had learned their lessons. All their names were appropriately appalling, decently repulsive and suitably obscene. Neckbeard, Tailfin, Toenail, Crabclaw, Hatchet, Turnip and Spearhead. All strapping boys, all given iron ornaments and iron toys to chew on, never a scissors too far from their cradle, never missing an item of clothing with a rune on it, or a piece or iron hanging from their neck.
So were the Hofferson boys, and so were all the boys, and all the girls, of Berk. The dragons, for all their savagery, became almost an honorable enemy in comparison - dragons attacked your home and your lifestock, burned down your hall and your carts. Carried off your wife and your pigs. But dragons, at least, were upfront. They could be fought face-to-face. There was honour in a battle with a dragon - there was little honour in the Folk, with their tricks and their underhanded ways, and with their theft of little pretty babies.
So it was that Berk became severely belligerent towards the Folk. Figures of elfs and trolls were burned at the harvest festivals together with dragon shapes, and mothers told stories of fear and dread to their children, about how they should never stray far, how they should never walk alone or talk to strangers, no matter how beautiful. How they should always be wary of strange things and too-pretty things, and food left seemingly unattended in the middle of nowhere. Together with stories about dragons and raids and burning halls, parents on Berk told stories of gnomes and dwarfs and shadows in the night, nightfuries and fairies, zippleback fog and elfrings.
That is, until Hiccup Haddock turned sixteen. On the day Berk’s heir turned his sixteenth summer, becoming a man and rightfully taking his side by his father as an adult of the village and a proper heir to the tribe, the sun rose to find the tribe in worried celebration. Everyone wanted to congratulate the boy; but everyone was also terrified for him. Before the sun crept over the horizon completely, Hiccup, his father and trail of people and dragons - now tamed - belonging to their clan and their allies walked into the forest, dressed smartly, as if for a wedding.
Because Hiccup Haddock was going to meet his bride again today. He had made a promise, many years ago; and he’d kept it, too. So by the laws of the gods, his bride was supposed to appear in the very spot he’d first met her, many summers before.
How he met her was as odd and as strange and as fortuitous as how the eldest Hofferson baby was taken from Berk, and how in the end, it all became as round a story as an elfring itself. But that is a tale for another time.
