HTTYD: Footprints Part 2

In theory, it was the easiest thing in the world. In practice, however, it was a whole other story. Hiccup stood on the threshold of the Hoffersons' dwelling – which, by the way, had become somewhat bigger, due to a certain Deadly Nadder Astrid had succeeded in taming – completely motionless, his fist raised in the air, seemingly ready to crash down on the massive wooden door. But Hiccup could not bring himself to actually knock. The freezing wind kept howling, sending whirlpools of snow that whipped mercilessly the faces of all who were crazy enough to dare exposing themselves to its wrath while Hiccup was getting lost in his thoughts.

Giving a sword to a Viking was anything but trivial. Quite the opposite, really. Swords were sacred for Vikings, and ranked on top of their most personal items. It was no wonder Vikings gave names to their cherished, long blades. Swords were no random weapon; they represented a warrior's very spirit. They were the soul one would bear on his/her flank and unsheathe to protect and defend what and who was loved; the shining, vengeful extension of a powerful arm. And Dagmar, without the slightest doubt, was one marvel of a sword. Hiccup lowered his gaze to observe the scabbard the sword was dressed with, and gulped. Usually, it was the sword's bearer who was supposed to name the blade, not the blacksmith who had forged it. However, Hiccup had willingly broken with that tradition – he briefly wondered if there was a tradition he had actually not broken with – and had given Dagmar its name. That magnificent sword, he had imagined it and created it so it would fit Astrid's hand and become the inimitable, perfect reflection of she who had been willing – although reluctantly – to give him a chance. Each and every inch that constituted Dagmar had been designed for her and her only. And if Astrid accepted Dagmar, it would mean she accepted him.

"Okay, Hiccup, relax…You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. All you have to do is knock on the door, face Astrid's parents and Astrid herself, and give her Dagmar. Piece of cake! Right, Toothless?..."

The black dragon only cocked his head to the side, his eyes confused but full of sympathy at the sight of his rider talking to himself. The young Viking chuckled nervously, and ran a cold hand through his hair as Toothless nudged him encouragingly and sat down, wings folded on his flanks and tail curling around his body. Hiccup took a deep breath, focusing on both the door in front of him and his still-raised-in-the-air fist.

"Right…On the count of three…One, two, and-
"You asked him to do WHAT?!?"

Hiccup froze at the sound of Arvarodd the Bold's voice thundering in the house. He could have sworn the walls had shaken for a second. Whatever Arvarodd was talking about, it was not good, and Hiccup took silent relief in the fact that he was not the target of Astrid's father's wrath. Curiosity taking over him, he lowered his fist and pricked up his ears, wondering what could possibly make Arvarodd so mad. Another voice made itself heard, and Hiccup identified it as Astrid's mother's, Svanhilde the Honest.  

"Why do you want me to repeat what you perfectly heard?"
"Why did you ask him to do that, for the love of Thor?? You know what it implies!"
"And you know Astrid needs a new weapon!! Do I need to remind you who broke her axe?"
"NO!!"
"Besides, you never had to reproach the boy anything regarding weapons."
"Except the fact that he can't lift them, you mean?"
"Arvarodd!! May Odin blast that dumb head of yours!! Hiccup proved himself! He deserves our respect!"
"One brave action is not enough to erase the cowardice of a whole life. He's not a Viking! He never was, and he never will be!!"
"Who's not a Viking?"

As the third voice resounded –Astrid's voice- Hiccup found he was having trouble swallowing his saliva because of the lump that had formed in his throat. His whole body was stiff, and he had to remind his lungs to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, and breathe out. He did not notice his knuckles had turned white for clutching the scabbard too hard. All he could focus on was the rather heated conversation he was eavesdropping in spite of himself.

"Astrid! You woke up early today! Earlier than usual, that is."
"Morning, Mom. Well, with the both of you arguing as if Thor's hammer had hit the house, I wonder how that can be surprising. Even Starkad doesn't make that much noise.", Astrid grumbled, remembering how loud her Deadly Nadder could be, and then added, "So? Who's not a Viking?"
"Who do you reckon isn't?!?", Arvarodd thundered once more, "Hiccup, for the Gods' sake!! Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III!!! Odin help us, that boy is so clumsy he could provoke Ragnarok all by himself!! And it'll only get worse now that he is crippled!"
"Arvarodd!!"
"Dad!!!"
"WHAT?!? Don't tell me it isn't true, you know it is!! Even you, Astrid, said so!!"

CLUNK!

The three Hoffersons froze as they heard the metallic sound rise in the air and turned their heads towards the door. On its other side, Hiccup could only stare at the sword that had slipped from his trembling hands.

No…This can't be real…Astrid…

His breathing hoarse, Hiccup took a few steps back, still staring at the door and shaking his head in silent denial. He missed the two steps that led to the threshold, which caused him to fall backwards. Toothless reacted instantly and caught his rider before he touched the white texture that covered the ground. The dragon rolled worried eyes, whining softly as he felt the shaking body of his human on his black, glimmering scales. Hiccup looked up at Toothless, wanting to thank him but unable to do so as bitter tears rolled freely down his face. The part of his mind that was still thinking properly screamed to get up and get away before Arvarodd, Svanhilde or Astrid opened the door and found him there. Struggling to his feet –or foot- while Toothless lend him his powerful shoulder for support, he clenched his teeth so hard to ignore the searing pain that shot through his leg that one drop of blood leaked from his bottom lip. Hiccup heaved, every fiber of his being trying to register what he had just heard, and he began to run as best as he could but fell flat on his face almost immediately. The snow molted under him to marry his body, and as he raised himself off the ground and onto his knees, he could feel it covering his features. It was so cold it hurt. But, at least, it hid his tears. What were tears in a snowstorm, except liquid snowflakes that had not had the time to take their shape? Nobody would notice them. Hiccup looked behind him, and felt rage curl inside him at the sight of the peculiar footprints he had left behind him. Why did the weather have to remind him of his crippled condition every time he stepped outside? He wanted to cry it out to the heavens, and suddenly felt himself being lifted up and sitting on the back of his dragon. Toothless could sense Hiccup's distress, and as soon as he was sure the pale hands were wrapped tightly around his neck, the dragon unfolded his wings and took off as fast as he could. He didn't need his prosthetic tail to fly a couple of feet above the ground, as he had demonstrated when rescuing Hiccup from the rogue Monstrous Nightmare in the Kill Ring. And so, soon enough, no trace of either the dragon or his rider could be found as the winter wind continued to howl relentlessly.


Astrid rushed to the door, not bothering about the fact that she was wearing nothing warmer than her usual clothes. She had heard a dragon whine, and there was absolutely no doubt that it had been Toothless. He was the most expressive dragon of all, and was so vocal it was becoming increasingly easy to understand what he wanted or felt like. And that whining, she knew, had been meant for Hiccup. But as she stormed outside, she could see nothing but the un-tiring snowstorm that engulfed everything in Berk. Looking around in alarm, she let her gaze fall to the ground and spotted two things. The first one was two sets of footprints that she recognized easily as being respectively Toothless's and Hiccup's, and which were slowly being erased by the continuously falling snow. The second one was a beautiful scabbard and the sword it protected that lay abandoned on the threshold of her house.

Frowning, she bent over and picked it up, brushing the thin layer of snow that had started to cover it away. Dagmar. That was the name she could read around the pommel of the sword. Slowly, her fingers curled around the grip, and she couldn't prevent a gasp from escaping her mouth as the sword left its scabbard and revealed itself to her, shining as if Heimdallr himself was casting his light upon it. She certainly wasn't ignorant when it came to weapons, but never, absolutely never had she seen this sword's equal. It was so light in comparison to her usual axes that she knew it would take some time before she could get used to it. Giving a whistle in both appreciation and admiration, she tried a few sparring moves and was amazed at seeing how easy to handle Dagmar was. Every movement felt natural, smooth and limpid like a stream of water. Perfectly balanced, the blade fitted her hand as if it had been made for her. And that, Astrid realized suddenly, could well be the case. How fast her brain worked as she put the pieces of the jigsaw together again, she would never dare to imagine.

Oh, no…Hiccup…

In one swift movement, Astrid did the scabbard up to her belt and returned inside to find her parents still quarrelling loudly. Cursing inwardly, the toughest girl in Berk tried several times to make herself heard, unfortunately to no avail. Several moments passed until the last shreds of her patience evaporated, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"HEY!!! WOULD YOU STOP FOR A MOMENT AND LISTEN TO ME??"

Arvarodd the Bold and Svanhilde the Honest looked at their daughter as if she had grown a second head, but at least they had quieted down.

"Now, by all the gods of Asgard, can you please explain what on earth is going on? Why did Hiccup come here with this?!?", she asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she held Dagmar at arm's length so both her parents could see it in all its glory. Both gaped, but Arvarodd was faster to snap out of it than his wife.

"Your mother here thought it smart to ask Hiccup to forge a sword for you to replace your favorite axe. The one I've broken, you remember?"
"Yep, I remember, thank you very much. Why?"
"What, why?"
"Why did you ask Hiccup to forge a sword for me?"
"Because," Svanhilde cut in, "you do need a new weapon. And besides, it can help to officialize your relationship a bit."

Astrid could only glare at her mother.

"I don't recall asking anyone to help me officialize my relationship with Hiccup."
"Ha! You see? I told you so, woman! Astrid's smart enough to know who is worthy of her and who isn't! Who would want to date the worst Viking in history?"
"AND," Astrid retorted immediately, her voice growing in volume, "he is definitely NOT the worst Viking is history!! Who I think deserves me is up to me, father!! Right now, Hiccup thinks I've been making fun of him ever since he came back around!! He heard everything you said!"
"So? What do I care?"
"So, I'm going to find him and try to repair what you've done! But mark my words; I won't let anyone insult Hiccup again, not even you!"
"Know your place, young lady!! Don't forget you're talking to your father!!"
"My father used to respect the choices I made."

Arvarodd the Bold stared at his daughter as she put a fur coat on, gave a high-pitched whistle to call for Starkad who came as soon as she heard it, and disappeared into the snowstorm, mounted on her Deadly Nadder while Dagmar hang at her side, dangling gently. Soon, she wasn't anything but an undistinguishable retreating form that merged with the blizzard. Suddenly, Arvarodd realized his daughter wasn't much of a girl anymore. Without him truly noticing, she had turned into a young Viking woman.