#aurelia haddock

[tysonrunningfox]

Open Flames: Part 9

Someone help this boy, please.  Or talk to Hiccup, Eret.  I’ve never given you that advice in my life.  Just talk to Hiccup, he’d get this one.  

Masterpost

I don't mean to take a nap.  I especially don't mean to take a nap outside, head pillowed on Bang's tail in the clearing behind the chief's house.  I don't really notice that I'm taking a nap until I'm waking up, familiar sooty fingers on my cheek.  I open my eyes to Fuse leaning over me with a concerned expression, fingernails scratching gently in my beard.  

"Is it later?"  She asks, debating whether to sit down next to me or not and I interrupt the decision, wrapping a sleepy arm around her waist and pulling her down against my side.  Her head smacks a little too hard into my shoulder and I flinch, but if anything, the twinge makes me sleepier and I rest my cheek on her hair, shushing her gently.  

"Just a few more minutes."  

"Eret," she smiles through a stern tone, hand firm on the center of my chest as she sits up.  "You didn't leave."  

"I know," I sound whiny accidentally and clear my throat, "we don't need to talk about that when we could sleep."  

"We do need to talk," she thumps my chest with her palm and I sigh, opening my eyes and staring at the sky.  Perfect blue, small puffs of clouds drifting in front of a too bright sun.  Bang's scales are a perfect cool pillow and I almost roll over and capture Fuse again because there's only so much fight anyone could put up against napping right now.  

"Yeah."  

"About earlier."  

"I know," I huff, reluctantly scooting backwards to prop myself against Bang's tail.  I rub my eye with my knuckle and Fuse curls into my side a little more conventionally as my hand finds that waist that's not quite familiar.  Close, but new.  New enough to wake me up with an uncomfortable lurch from drowsiness. "Yeah."  

"You stayed," she sounds disappointed this time but not with me, and I squint down at her, seeing mostly shiny strawberry blonde.  

"I did more than stay."  

I kind of asked Fuse to marry me. In a weird, roundabout fuck-the-chief way, but still, I asked her.  And she didn't only not say yes, but she started crying, and it hurts in a way I don't want to deal with.  I know it shouldn't hurt this way because she loves me and she says it and she feels so good curled against my side.  So good and comfortable and familiar, and the more I rub my fingers over her waist, the more this feels like how it's supposed to be.  Bang is adding to it somehow, his eternally cool scales under my head and shoulders while the sun is warm on my face and again, I consider diverting this into naptime.  

Or, you know, something else.  If we weren't within sight of the chief's back door, that would be a distinctly more definite consideration.  

Wait, can you do that when the girl is pregnant?  

I frown involuntarily thinking about the fact that Rolf definitely has a book with that information in it.  I'm not asking him and if I ask Fuse, she'd probably ask him.  Not directly, or anything, but--well, if we were married, I could ask married people what you do about stuff when your wife is pregnant.  It stings in that still fresh scrape of a wound and I bite my lip.  

It was kind of a proposal.  I suggested going and getting married.  I thought about it.  I figured it out, I half planned what our house would look like and I liked thinking about that, so much.  But it wasn't real, necessarily.  It's not like I asked Tuffnut.  I didn't save up any silver or anything.  I have no money, I don't think.  I kind of just put all my money into that jar Aurelia collects coins in and ask her for it back when I need any.  I definitely didn't negotiate with my parents.  

It was a fake proposal, wasn't it?  I can deal with that.  

"Eret," Fuse sighs, heavy, her flat tone faltering at the edges as her fingers curl into the front of my shirt, one finger dipping into the V of it and stroking the edge of a fireworm scar.  

"You know I wasn't actually asking you to marry me or anything, right?"  I laugh, surprisingly convincing because Fuse lifts her head and stares at me, blue eyes narrowed.  "It was just...you know, a concept.  An idea. Not a real, typical proposal or anything."  

The pause drags out like a Whispering Death using my nerves as a shield to bore into solid rock, silent and painful.  Fuse sighs suddenly, tucking her face into my neck with a little too much force, her lips disproportionately gentle against my skin as she talks.  

"Good."  

My heart drops, the vision of a house that's ours depicted in a similar mental artistic style as my parents’ house in its prime disappearing to mist.  But it's a relief too, because Fuse's entire body relaxes as she leans into me, her stomach warm and solid against my side.  

"Yeah, I was just wondering where we were going to put a baby, so I said some hasty things."  It's a joke.  They don't feel hasty.  They don't feel as slow as the chief and my mom wish they did, but they definitely don't feel hasty.  

Fuse doesn't get the joke because she relaxes further, one leg sliding over mine as one hand slips under my shirt to brush against the edge of my scars.  

"Babies are small," I try to continue my streak of good luck, "I'm sure we'll find like a corner or--"

"You didn't have to stay because of me," she sound disappointed again, weirdly, but not in me, also weirdly, because she starts kissing my neck again, determined, the hand against my scars splaying slightly.  "Especially while you're gone fixing this."  There's a harshness in her tone that accompanies teeth on my collarbone and I don't really know how to argue, especially because everything she's saying is true.  She's at least factually correct and her hand is moving up as her mouth moves down and I nod.  

"Shouldn't take too long."  I'm not really sure what I'm talking about after the last few weeks, but it doesn't matter that much.  Not now.  

"Either way."  Fuse grins sympathetically and I close my eyes.  

Making Fuse a new vest is kind of fun.  Not only because it's a project that no one else has input in but because I get to sit in Smitelout's comfortable stool in front of the fire, stretching leather and stitching along my charcoal marks, focused on only one thing at a time.  Fuse doesn't think she needs a new vest, of course, she just keeps saying how she's supporting me and not asking for anything.  I guess this is for me more than for her.  And that's fine, it helps her anyway.  

And it has the dual purpose of calming me down, at least until the chief shows up at the forge window, knocking on the counter in a dorky way that made me laugh before he betrothed me to some random princess.  It doesn't matter that Elva is nice, I still flinch when I see him, feeling sixteen and unprepared.  There are some kinds of unprepared that my knife's weight against my leg doesn't help.

"Hey chief, Smitelout isn't here right now," I sit up, rolling my shoulders and stretching the stitch sore fingers.  "She said she'd be back whenever I was done."  

"Sounds like her," he leans on the counter.  His face is cautious, but just enough to feel vulnerable and I stab another careful stitch through the leather in my hands, checking the strength before going again.  

"What do you need?"  

"You, actually," he looks at me with that uncomfortable blend of understanding and assessment and I shift in the chair.  "I was just with Aurelia, she got a message from Arvid, something about dragon trappers."  

"Oh?"  I sit up straighter, "really?"  

"Yeah, he found something," the chief shrugs, shoulder bouncing under old, soft leather armor.  "That's what Aurelia told me to tell you, I didn't pry too much further."  

"I should go talk to her," I fold the vest carefully over my arm and stand up, "thanks for the message--"

"What are you making?"  The chief stares at the folded leather and I shrug.  

"Vest."  

"For you?"  There's no feeling in it, like he's asking for me to fill in self-incriminating gaps and I grit my teeth and shrug.  

"Maybe it'll fit.  How's Mom?"

"You live with her occasionally, you tell me."

"She seems...healthy."  I joke like I haven't been avoiding her.  I've been avoiding everyone, really, except for Fuse.  And villagers, of course, just...family.  As much as I feel like I need advice, I don't want it.  

"New vest for Fuse?"  He raises an eyebrow, leaning elbows on the counter like he expects me to talk to him.  I hate that I kind of want to, I hate remembering how easy it was even a few months ago.  We were ok, weren't we?  That's almost worse than the other changes.  

"Yep," I nod, "I can finish it later."  

I hate that he wouldn't be a bad person to talk to about this, all things considered.  He knows what it's like to have a child with someone he's not married to.  He knows how the relationship is with said child after they didn't grow up under his roof.  I hate that all he'd do is tell me to get married and I'd have to admit that it's the only path forward I'm seeing, which will sound like agreement instead of understanding.  

"Ok, I get it," he shakes his gray head and laughs, a bit sheepishly, "you don't want to talk to me."  

"Yeah, I don't."  I lie with a shrug, my face carefully flat like Aurelia keeps trying to show me.  I'm not good at it, not like she is, but the chief gives me a tired shake of his head.  

"I just wanted to tell you again that I'm proud of you for deciding to stay here this week."  He says it like a compliment but it doesn't feel like one, knowing I've got to go talk to Aurelia.    

"Yeah, great choice that was, considering Arvid found trappers without me and now I have to go get a message from Aurelia about it.  She worries about him like she forgets he's a giant man with a giant sword as soon as he's out of sight."  I scoff, cleaning up the needle I was using and probably putting it away in the wrong place.  Whatever, Smitelout is going to yell at me later no matter what. "If I'd been there, maybe I could have done more than send a message."  

"You haven't even seen the message yet."  

"I know it's probably about something I should have been there for."  

"You can't be everywhere at once," the chief sighs like he knows how true it is and I think of the vest in my hands, made to expand without my help or presence.

"I know."  

"Can I ask why you decided to stay?"  He can't know anything but I feel cornered anyway and frown at him.  

"You can, but I don't see what it'll get you."  I roll my eyes at him and it doesn't budge his concerned expression.  That pisses me off, because somehow, no matter what I do or don't do lately, he's completely immovable.  He won't get mad at me or react to me or make me chief and it makes me want to push him, but that's a sixteen year old answer to the problem.  I sigh and decide on a scrap of the truth, "I guess I just kind of freaked out a little bit.  It won't happen again."  

"Oh, don't be so sure about that," he reaches through the forge window to pat me on the shoulder and I let him.  Maybe I'm feeling a little sympathetic knowing there's some theoretical child of mine on its way. I'd hope that even if I mess up as much as the chief has, they'd at least let me awkwardly shoulder thump them.

Oh Gods, I've been so worried about where to put a baby that I haven't even really dug into how to not mess one up as it grows up.  That's something I definitely don't know how to do.  

"I guess that's fair, I am good at finding new things to freak out about," I clear my throat and try not to look at his face too hard.  The clueless, disconnected expression of parental concern with no idea as to the gravity of my situation is frankly terrifying.  I start flipping through everything Arvid and I ever got away with and everything the chief doesn't see and know about me and Stoick and Aurelia and my blood feels cold in my veins.  

"Anything I can help with?"  

"Nope."  My eye twitches a little and I blink hard to stop it, "just a normal...freak out, not really your department of expertise."  That feels a little mean to say but makes me feel better too, because I did stay when I thought Fuse was mad at me.  Maybe that's a tiny step in a different direction from the chief's footsteps.  Then again, I'm already on a different path because he was already chief when he was my age.  And I'm not going to be chief until I fix whatever Arvid found and Fuse is thinking about being chief's wife and I don't have time to go back around that bend right now.  I clap, bringing myself back to attention as much as the chief.   "I should go talk to Aurelia, then."  

"I'll walk that way with you," he narrows his eyes at me even as he smiles, a surprisingly authentic imitation of my mom's mind reading expression on his face, "I've got to go check in on something anyway."

"Something's not quite my name, but it's close," I try to brush him off, shrugging a stiff shoulder as casually as I can.  "I'm fine, I just need to go figure out whatever Arvid's message said." While not telling Aurelia that Fuse is pregnant and also that I've realized that I'm probably just as doomed to be a dad like the chief as I am to have red hair or be scrawny enough to get confused for Arvid's toothpick.  "It'll be fun."  

"Have you been having any of that?"  He jokes, falling into step beside me, and I ignore the sudden urge to whistle for Bang.  I don't actually want to get to Aurelia's house faster today and I also don't want the chief to see me avoiding him as I take a few laps around the island before getting back to work.  Especially when he raises his eyebrow and I wonder if he happened to look out the back door that afternoon I decided to stay here.  But he wouldn't keep quiet about that, and even if he did, Mom would get it out of him and there's no way she'd keep quiet about it so I divert him, holding up the half-finished vest.  

"Uh, yeah, I'm sewing."  

"Right, sewing, your favorite past time," he rolls his eyes, looking pointedly at my arms, "I should pick up a needle more often."  

"It gives you lots of time to think," I say honestly, hoping that it's enough to convince him to go away.  And that makes me think of the kid I haven't met yet, Fuse's eyes as disinterested in talking to me as I am about the chief right now and my heart stutters.  Worse, the chief seems to get the dismissal and decide, for some reason, that today is the day my stubbornness is to be heeded instead of argued with.  

"Well, if you want to talk about it--"

"I'm still squatting in your house, remember?"  It comes out a little bitter and I force a laugh, "I know where to find you."  

Aurelia writes off my twitchiness with alarmingly little interrogation as she explains what Arvid found out.  Letters are coming into the island from somewhere other than the main dock and that means that the trappers not only know about the current, but they know they're being monitored.  Arvid is planning to stay another week to wait for me and as much as I don't want to go, I'm a little relieved that we agree I shouldn't fly out early because waiting for the next shift change is less cause for alarm.  

That means I get time to talk to Fuse about it, at least, and she nods, steely and committed to the concept even as I want her to beg me to stay.  Or not beg, I don't want her to feel like she has to beg, but ask? Maybe?  Because I can't decide to stay, not now, but I also can't even think about leaving her alone in this without my throat feeling tight and we still haven't talked.  She has the new vest, at least, and that makes me feel better, but I don't understand how she can be so confident.  Or worse, maybe she's not and she's not telling me because she thinks it would make me stay, except that doesn't sound like her.  I can't start questioning that now.  

And it's not that Fuse can't handle herself, of course she can, of course I know she can.  I just can't stop thinking about something going wrong and no one knowing.  As amazing as it feels to see that this is all real, it also just keeps reminding me how real it is.  Women die from being pregnant and not just having the babies, I know that much.  

If Arvid were here, I'd tell him, honestly.  I could trust him to keep it relatively quiet and keep an eye on Fuse.  I'd probably only get a few bored looks about getting married, finally, at long last, and he probably wouldn't go out of his way to make me feel bad about Fuse rejecting the idea of a proposal to maybe get married somewhere else.  But he's not, because I was dumb enough to send him when I shouldn't have because I should be on that island and this problem would be solved already and--No.

I exhale, hitting my head against the nearest wall a couple times and leaning against it.  

I know the answer.  It's just going to hurt a bit.  

“Are you ready to go?”  Aurelia asks without looking up when I push her front door open an inch and peek inside.  It’s easier to stare at the redecorated wall than have her read my mind before I get the words out.  

I thought lying about this for so long would be harder, honestly.  I wonder if I should ask Fuse if I should tell Aurelia, but if she said no, how could I leave without anyone knowing enough to help her if something goes wrong? And I trust Aurelia.  I’ll tell Fuse when I get back, she'll forgive me.  This is a forgiveness situation, not a permission one.  I'm quoting Fuse quoting her dad there, so I don't see how she could see issue with the logic.  It’ll be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

“Uh...almost,” I step inside, stuffing my hands in my pockets and nodding at a map of the archipelago hanging on the wall.  “That’s new.”

“You’re being weird,” Aurelia looks up, eyes narrowed.  “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not, I just...I like the map.”  

“I’m not mad about you sending Arvid anymore,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m sorry, I just--I’m not used to you pulling rank on me like that, but of course, you get to.  And maybe it was better that he was there instead of you, I’m not sure you could have caught this without escalating.”

“Why is everyone so sure I escalate everything?”  I frown, scuffing my boot on the floor.

Telling Aurelia is the right thing to do, she can watch out for Fuse while I’m gone and keep things calm and it’s all going to be ok.  I just can’t figure out how to say it. Pregnant. I don’t think I like that word. It sounds so final and serious and doesn’t leave room for me to be happy about more Fuse in the world because it also means I’m going to be a father and I don’t know how to do that.  

Hel, Aurelia is the one person who might understand my logic on that one.  She’s also the chief’s child and while he hasn’t been dangling chief in front of her for four years, they haven’t always gotten along as I can attest first hand.  They’re like Mom and Arvid, honestly, their entire relationship changed when she moved out and he couldn’t nag her about dragons all the time.

If only she were as understanding about the fact that I'm also not a husband.  

“You came here to talk to me, why don’t you spit it out so that you can go pack?  I’m assuming you haven’t packed yet.”

“How much do I really need to pack?”  I pat the knife on my belt, “I should be good, given my reputation for escalating.”  

“I don’t really have time to chat right now, so if you aren’t going to tell me whatever it is you came here to tell me, I’d like to get back to work.”  She’s not kidding and I momentarily feel bad about what I’m about to drop on her. I hardly ever notice how tired she looks, but right now I’m just going to add to the dark circles under her eyes and I’m apologetic in advance.  

It’s for Fuse.  She needs someone looking out for her while I’m gone and worse than that, she doesn’t think she does.  I can trust Aurelia to slide food under her nose three times a day and make sure she doesn’t go blowing stuff up without backup.  

“I have to tell you something.”  I get the words out and pause, gesturing in front of me and looking for the next piece.  

“Ok, what is it?”  

“It’s...don’t freak out.”  I bite my lip, crossing the room and sitting down in the chair beside her, wringing my hands together on the table.  

“Why would I freak out?”  She raises an eyebrow, “what did you do?”  

That makes me laugh, a tired, nasal laugh that I probably should have held in, “it’s only partially something that I did--”

“Thor’s beard, I know that tone, you found another warlord didn’t you?” She starts shuffling papers around, reaching for what looks like some kind of inventory.  “How do you keep doing this? It's only been a few months--”

“It’s not a warlord.”  

“Ok, dictator, pirate king, invader, conqueror, whatever this one is calling themselves--”

“It’s not a warlord,” I flatten my hands on the table and look at them instead of at Aurelia.  “Or, you know, maybe it is. In about twenty years after I’ve been a horrible father.”

“What?”  Her eyes bore into the side of my head and I turn slowly to face her, wincing in anticipation of her reaction.  “Fuse is pregnant?”

“Kind of?  Well, not kind of, definitely.  She’s definitely pregnant. It’s starting to show, like, her stomach I mean.  Obviously.” I bite the inside of my cheek to shut myself up and it only works temporarily because Aurelia is staring at me with inexplicably silent judgement.  “I expected you to react. To say something or something.”

“That’s why you wanted Arvid to go, isn’t it?”  

“Well...yeah,” I wring my hands together, “and I really don’t want to go now, but if it’s this tense I don’t see a way around it and I just need someone that I trust to know, alright?  In case something goes wrong or--”

“Nothing is going to go wrong, I’m on it,” she nods, setting her small, cold hand on mine, “you’re--I know you hate hearing this, but you’re going to have to marry her now, you know that, right?”  

“You’re right, I do hate hearing that.”  I bite my lip, “but I know. I know you’re right and we’re going to have to get married but I can’t even think about that right now because I’m freaking out about the fact that I have to leave and I’m going to keep having to leave and I’m so worried I can’t think straight.”  

"Have you brought up getting married somewhere else?”  She asks innocently, like a reminder, and my heart drops into my stomach like a heavy, hot stone.  

I could tell her that the concept wasn't so much rejected as vaporized, but I can already imagine the pity in her face and I think if she directed it at me, I'd crack.  

“Not yet."  

"What are you waiting for?"  She rolls her eyes and I shrug.  

"I’m not chief yet.  I’m not even chief, how am I supposed to be a father?  I’m never going to be chief if I drop this peaceful solution halfway through because this entire thing started because the chief thought I couldn’t do anything peacefully.”  I stand back up and start pacing, yanking at my hair like it could help me think some way through this. It's more true than I want it to be. "And if I get married and then become chief, I'm always going to feel like the chief just made that decision because I did what he wanted as opposed to him actually thinking I can do it."  

“Ok, but what does that have to do with Fuse?”  

“Nothing,” I sigh, “it has to do with me.”  Or it would have nothing to do with her if I'd been smart enough to say 'Christians' instead of Elva.  Or maybe even then, it's not like Christians could make me chief, not without a lot more drama.  

“Yeah, and there's a new deadline on you figuring it out.  I'm just saying.”  

“Trust me, I know.”  I look at all the ways she looks like the chief and try to count the differences.  His eyes but she narrows them differently. His mouth but a different frown. “It’s not important now, I guess.  I have at least a week to think on it.”

“I don’t think there’s much to think on,” Aurelia shakes her head in fond annoyance and if I were feeling more mean and less exhausted, I’d tell her how much that particular motion looks like her dad.  “Or I guess you already did the thinking. Or the lack of thinking. Whichever gets your girlfriend pregnant.”

“Lack of thinking,” I nod to myself, “definitely lack of thinking.”  

“Does Fuse know you told me?”  

“Nope, she doesn’t want to tell anyone either.”  

“Have you asked why?”  Aurelia raises an eyebrow, “because if it’s about your marriage hangup--”

“No, I haven’t asked why.  She hasn’t really seemed up to it, honestly, she was throwing up and sleeping all the time and now she's catching up on work like...well, her.  And it’s a challenge to get her to stop working and eat under normal circumstances, you know how she is.”  

“So you want me to monitor and feed your pregnant girlfriend while not letting on that I know she’s pregnant.”  She nods to herself, looking remarkably like Mom accepting a challenge. That gives me hope. “You owe me.”

“Yeah, I do.”  

“And congratulations, by the way.”  She twirls her braid around her writing stick, half thinking and half dismissing me.  “Future dad. Gods, it’s weird to think of you as a dad.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  

Hey, at least Future Dad is guaranteed to take significantly less than four years to drop the modifier.  I think I already like it more than Future Chief.

[tysonrunningfox]

My girl! It's my girl! She's here and beautiful and vaguely scary because you never know what's going to come out of her mouth next and she's terrifyingly smart!! I love her. It looks so good. Thank you, I'm so excited.

@tysonrunningfox

She’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll try to overthrow your government and make you punch your brother in the face. She’s Aurelia Haddock; she’s tiny, terrifying, and too much fun.

I’m pretty proud of how she turned out. I hope you like her. 

[sassyandclassy94]

List 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms. Tag 10 people.

I was tagged by @zarinaa113 - Thank you so much!!! This is gonna be so fun! And hard being that I usually favor the male characters

1.) Emma Swan from Once Upon a Time (are you really surprised here?

2.) Queen Anidori Isilee from The Books of Bayern

3.) Aurelia from the book trilogy “Mark of the Thief”

4.) Astrid Hofferson-Haddock from How to Train Your Dragon

5.) Belle from Beauty and the Beast (I’m so much like her and she represents me in my group of friends)

6.) Eowyn from Lord of the Rings (her willingness to fight or die for her kingdom and for what she believed in is so inspiring and empowering)

7.) Kestra Dallisor from the series “The Traitor’s Game”

8.) Snow White from Once Upon a Time (though I really love and relate to everything Disney’s Snow White represents)

9.) Kate Beckett from Castle (I shoulda ranked her at number 2 - she’s just as awesome and badbutt as Emma Swan)

10.) Catherine Rollins from Hawaii Five-0

Honorable mentions: Judy Hopps from Zootopia; Erin Reagan and Eddie Janko from Blue Bloods; Maleficent; Aurora

10 tags: (I don’t think I have 10 people to tag so I’m gonna bend the rules there, lol) @fictional-at-heart @superseal76 @coneygoil @redbone135 @paradigmparadoxical @orngtrs @plasmabluefire and to whoever else who would like to do this, consider yourself tagged❤️

[ao3feed-hiccstrid]

Eret III Drabbles

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r9pP8l

by tysonrunningfox

Drabbles that take place during the story of Eret III, multiple POVs. Chronological Order.

Words: 8441, Chapters: 7/?, Language: English

Series: Part 7 of Festerverse

Fandoms: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/F, F/M

Characters: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, Original Child(ren) of Astrid and Hiccup, Original Children of Eret and Astrid, Original children of Hiccup and OFC, Eret III, Fuse Thorston, Arvid Hofferson, Aurelia Haddock, Ingrid Hofferson, Smitelout Jorgenson

Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson, Eret III/Fuse Thorston, Arvid Hofferson/Aurelia Haddock, Ingrid Hofferson/Smitelout Jorgenson

Additional Tags: eret iii - Freeform, festerverse, if you don't know who eret iii is this won't make any sense, like this goes with eret iii, in festerverse, not a stand alone, angsty, Kidfic, everyone's an oc

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2r9pP8l

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/business/brexit-what-trade-deals-has-the-uk-done-so-far/

Brexit: What trade deals has the UK done so far?

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption The UK-Swiss agreement signed in Bern on 11 February also applies to neighbouring Liechtenstein

As a European Union member, the UK is automatically part of about 40 trade agreements which the EU has with more than 70 countries.

If the UK leaves the EU without a deal on 29 March, it would lose these trade deals immediately.

To avoid this, Theresa May’s government says it wants to replicate the EU’s trade agreements “as far as possible” and have them ready to go in the event of a no-deal Brexit.

Liam Fox, the international trade secretary, told MPs in January last year that the government wanted to achieve “continuity and stability” by ensuring that the UK would continue to benefit from these arrangements.

So how much progress has been made?

Four out of 40

The UK has (so far) only agreed four deals. Labour’s Shadow International Trade Secretary, Barry Gardiner, said he understood that talks on 19 other deals were “significantly off track” and that “two are not even being negotiated”.

In response, Mr Fox said talks to replicate the remaining agreements will “go down to the wire”.

Such arrangements include relaxing certain rules, reducing taxes (tariffs) on imports and exports, or granting easier market access.

The government estimates that about 11% of UK trade relies on the EU’s agreements with 70 countries.

The agreements the UK has struck are:

Switzerland (signed 11 February)

The Faroe Islands (1 February)

Eastern and Southern Africa (31 January)

Chile (30 January)

Switzerland

Switzerland is the latest to be signed. The Department for International Trade says that trade between the UK and Switzerland was worth £32.1bn in 2017.

Under the UK-Switzerland agreement, which was confirmed in Bern on 11 February, tariffs (taxes on goods) will continue to be avoided on the vast majority of goods traded between the two countries.

Why Switzerland is worried about UK trade after Brexit

Without the deal, the UK government says the British motor industry could have faced up to £8m in tariff charges, while aluminium exporters could have faced up to £4m.

An additional agreement was also signed in Bern by Liechtenstein’s Minister for Foreign Affairs, Aurelia Frick. It applies the main parts of the Swiss-UK trade deal to her country too.

The Faroe Islands

The Faroe Islands is the UK’s 114th largest trading partner, according to the government. Total trade between the two countries was worth £236m in 2017.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption The UK imported more than £200m worth of fish from the Faroe Islands in 2017

Fish and crustaceans made up the vast majority of UK’s imports from the Faroes in 2017, worth £201.7m, while total UK exports to the country were worth only £6m – mostly machinery and mechanical appliances.

The UK government says that the agreement it has reached will mean consumers continue to benefit from greater choice and lower fish prices “such as Atlantic salmon, haddock and halibut”.

Eastern and Southern Africa and Chile

Trade between the Eastern and Southern Africa (ESA) region was worth £1.5bn in 2017 – about 0.1% of total UK trade. The UK-ESA deal covers Madagascar, Mauritius, Seychelles and Zimbabwe.

Meat and fish are the main goods imported from the region by the UK (£111m).

Signed at the end of January, the UK-Chile trade arrangement was the first to be done. Total trade between the UK and Chile was £1.8bn in 2017.

Fruit, nuts and drinks are the top goods imported by the UK. The government says the deal will help to protect parts of the UK’s wine industry.

Wine labelling

The UK has also signed deals with Australia and New Zealand, but these are “mutual recognition agreements” and not free trade agreements.

The deal replicates all aspects of the current EU agreements when it comes to recognising product standards, such as the labelling and certifying of wine.

Israel

At the World Economic Forum in Davos, Liam Fox announced on Twitter that the UK had “agreed in principle” a free trade agreement with Israel. A trade conference between the two countries will be held in London in the “coming months”, he added.

But it may not be possible to roll over all of the 40 deals by 29 March, according to one government minister.

George Hollingbery, a minister in the International Trade Department, told MPs last month that some of the EU trade agreements would be “challenging”, adding that “one or two” would be “close to impossible” to get in place by the end of March.

Turkey was highlighted by Mr Hollingbery as one country where a deal would be very difficult to achieve, given it is in a customs union with the EU.

The current lack of signed trade agreements is not a surprise to Alan Winters, director of the UK Trade Policy Observatory at University of Sussex.

“You can’t simply roll over everything – these existing agreements will have references to EU law, so you cannot avoid some negotiation,” he says.

Some countries may also be apprehensive in signing deals right now, given that it is so unclear what Brexit will ultimately look like, adds Prof Winters.

So what could the consequences be if trade arrangements are not fully in place by 29 March and the UK leaves with no deal?

With the countries where the UK has no formal trade agreement, both would have to trade under the rules overseen by the World Trade Organization (WTO).

Reality Check: What is the WTO option?

Trade would not stop if this were to happen but some barriers would go up, says Alex Stojanovic, from the Institute for Government think tank.

“There is a reason you have trade agreements, it’s that they give you better trade preferences than WTO terms.

“So some businesses will be harmed by tariffs coming into play,” he says.

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[tysonrunningfox]

I love them all so much I'm crying thank you

I sat down and did a binge re-read & catch up of @tysonrunningfox‘s fantastic “what if all of Hiccup’s (and Astrid’s) worst/most potentially harmful character traits were magnified in the aftermath of HTTYD2, and over a decade later everyone has to deal with the (incredibly snarky) fallout” How To Train Your Dragon fanfic, Eret III, and decided to have a go at drawing some of the OCs.

I’ve been trying to experiment more with brushes in GIMP so tried for something more like the ‘in film’ charcoal drawings and scribble sketch style of the book art. Featuring Fuse, Stoick II, Bang, Aurelia and Arvid.

[tysonrunningfox]

Open Flames: Part 4

Fuse is in this one and my heart is out of my body.  

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Fester

“Who figured out the code?”  Princess Elva asks, looking between me and Aurelia and cradling her bandaged arm.  The edges of her shirt where the sleeve was cut away are partially burned and I recognize the telltale pink hue sticking out of the end of the bandage.  I wish I had some ointment to share with her because seeing a burn that big makes the fireworms around my chest pang sympathetically.  

“What code?”  I look at Aurelia and she has that steely eyed expression she gets when she realizes the way through a conversation is direct and risky.  

“The code in the letter I sent.”  Elva looks at me and stutters slightly, wringing her hands together, “you know, the one about the betrothal.”  

“You sent that?”  

I’m going to have to tell Fuse that she missed her target, aren’t I?  And now her target isn’t just another royal kid in a tough situation, apparently she’s the one who sent the letter.  For everyone’s sake, if we manage to turn this awkwardness into an agreement, stipulation number one is keeping Fuse out of local airspace.  

“I broke the code,” Aurelia lies, because she didn’t get a chance to even see the letter, I know that.  I told her what was going on as I threw a bag of dinner onto the boat and threatened to load her up too if she didn’t move faster.  

“I wish you would have written back first,” Elva cradles her head in her hand and grimaces.  She has dark hair and pale features, sharp dark eyes darting over us like she doesn’t trust us at all but doesn’t have another choice.  “But all things considered, I’m not sure there would have been time.”  

“That’s what I got from the code.  A real sense of urgency.”  

That’s a thing that Aurelia and the chief have that I don’t.  Sometimes, they just lie.  They put feeling into it too, if I don’t know they’re lying, sometimes even I believe it.  I can’t lie without feeling Mom’s eyes digging into the back of my neck, even if she’s a six hour flight away.  

“Well, you got ten of them.  I think there are at least ten more still alive,” the princess looks at me, “and my father, he was with them, trying to keep up with their old world order.”  

“I’m sorry about that,” Aurelia’s sincerity is honest and it props up her lie.  “That wasn’t what we intended.”  

“Wait,” I frown at her, “are you saying we planned to bomb them on purpose?”  

“I broke the code, Eret,” she’s snaps, warning me to shut up with her eyes, but I’m irrationally irritated that she’d try to take credit for something that Fuse did.  And it sound like she killed some people that the de-facto leader of this tribe wanted dead, so that’s even more impressive, all things considered.  

“We didn’t know about the bombs,” I blurt, “well, Berk did--well, I guess not because we’re here speaking for Berk and I’m future chief so I am Berk--not that I speak for everyone on Berk because I didn’t know about the bombs--”

“What Eret is trying to say is that we didn’t know all of the targets, specifically, only the urgency--”

“No, what I’m trying to say is that Berk didn’t do it, it was F--I mean my...”  I stumble over what to call her, because I’m sitting in front of someone that sent a letter trying to betroth themselves to me, “my Fuse.”  

She gets to call me her prize yak, she can’t get mad about this.  

“Your Fuse?”  Elva frowns, “you made the bombs?”  

“No, Fuse did, I--”

“His girlfriend,” Aurelia sighs, “she wasn’t too happy about the chief getting a letter offering up a betrothal.”  

“You aren’t chief?”  Elva looks like this is all a little too much to take in at once.  

“Almost,” I insist, “he just has to say the word, any day now.”  

“Girlfriend,” she tries out the word like it’s not something she’s familiar with.  Her norse sounds like it’s her native tongue but she pronounces some things differently, an accent I don’t know that might be far enough away from mine to call it a dialect.  Or maybe she just doesn’t speak Haddock, that’s a problem more often than Aurelia likes to admit.  “You’re betrothed?”  

“No--”

“Honey, you just dodged a very pretty but very dim projectile with this one here, let’s keep figuring out your problem.”  

“I wouldn’t say she dodged it, she just said her dad died,” I whisper behind my cupped hand, “and dim?  She’s burned--”  

Aurelia cuts me off with a sharp, insulting look and I nod, blinking slowly at her.  

“You mean me, don’t you?”  I scoff, “when you said pretty, I thought you meant Fuse.  I’m not pretty--”

“That literally couldn’t matter less right now.”  Aurelia and Elva share one of those dangerous looks that means I’m somehow a man outside of their smarter than me little woman club and I stuff my hands in my pockets, playing with the flint Fuse gave me.  

“I have a beard, I’m not pretty.”  

“I think it’s the flowing hair,” Elva suggests quietly and I slump down under the uncomfortable weight of her examination.  

“And the big blue eyes with the inch long eyelashes,” Aurelia rolls her eyes and they share a diplomatic laugh at my expense before Aurelia turns back serious, “anyway, all of that start to this situation is...unfortunate, but it sounds like you wanted our help, and we’re willing to give it to you to prevent escalation.  What’s going on?”  

Elva trusts Aurelia, I can see it in the way she bites her lip and looks at me warily for a second, like she’s wondering if she can say this in my presence, but she decides I don’t look too suspect, I assume, because she starts talking.  I thought I wiped out all the trappers in this tribe a few months ago, but apparently we weren’t as thorough as we needed to be.  Aurelia asks a bunch of pertinent questions and learns that the trappers leftover were trying to take back control from Elva’s father, who let them move into the new houses first so that they’d think they were being catered to while everyone else tried to find a solution.  

That solution was apparently me, and the power of Berk behind me, and I don’t know how to feel about that but mostly, I’m a little preoccupied with what’s wrong with my eyelashes, now that I know Aurelia is on course to prevent a war.  Can eyelashes be too long?  What’s wrong with the size of my eyes?  

“I think we’ve got a plan,” Aurelia pats Elva gently on her unbandaged shoulder, “we’ll go back to Berk and assemble a first building crew and bring some materials.  We’ll stick to just a few people so that it takes long enough to root everyone out this time.  Eret, should you stay to make sure nothing escalates while I run back there and get supplies?”  

“Uh,” I look at Elva and the way she’s living and breathing and remember again that Fuse is unaware of that fact, “I’ve got to tell Fuse about...stuff.”  

Elva speaks up before Aurelia can insist that she could tell Fuse and not escalate the situation, “it’s best you two leave now, my guard...he’s not a friend, I don’t think,” she looks down at the blood seeping through my shirt from the mild spearing I experienced at the door.  “It’d be better if it seemed like I sent you away to come back with a better offer.  For now.”  

“Maybe you’ve got a shot at this,” Aurelia says appraisingly, shaking Elva’s hand.  I do the same and she grips my hand a little harder, like she’s trying to seem more serious with me.  

My new best friend Gunther is standing outside but it doesn’t appear that he heard anything because he just sneers at us and returns attentively, and a little maliciously, to guarding his princess.  He doesn’t wave back when I wave at him and I can honestly say I’m a little hurt.  He stabbed me, I thought we were going to be close.  

“Not the worst in there,” Aurelia ignores John as we get back on board the boat and I jump onto the bench to grab my axe from the mast.  “If I could make one suggestion though, it would be, oh, I don’t know.  Maybe it’s about time to marry your Fuse so that you have a word to call her that scares off betrothal offers.”  

“I have a Fuse to scare off betrothal offers.”  I sit down, “are you going to give me extraneous advice the whole way back or are we going to talk about how to smoke these assholes out?”  I push away from the dock and Aurelia takes the sail, turning the boat back towards home.  

“Eh, I was going to mix it up.”

“Of course you were.”  

00000

It’s past midnight when we get back to Berk and Bang grumbles at me when I swing onto his back and offer a hand to Aurelia.  

“Ride home?”  

“No thanks,” she yawns, “I’ll walk.  I’ve got to figure out how to tell Arvid that I’m sending him on construction duty.”  

“That won’t work?  You can’t just say ‘Arvid, you and Eret are going on construction duty to root out some dragon trappers that escaped the last purge’?”  

“It’ll work, but he won’t want to go, and he’ll pout.”  She shrugs, “and if we’ve only got twelve hours before he has to leave for a week, I really don’t want him to spend it pouting--”

“Lalala!”  I shove my fingers in my ears, “that’s what I get for offering you a ride home?  You just...bring that up...with my brother and the you…”  

“Just because you have to tell Fuse that her target escaped doesn’t mean the rest of us have to be miserable.”  

“I just have to be double miserable, ok.”  I shake my head at her, “Arvid at the docks, mid-morning, no mention of what happens between now and then, alright?”  

“Sure, Eret,” she waves and starts walking home, hands gesticulating as she talks to herself.  

Another reason I’m glad Fuse and I aren’t married.  I can just tell her things.  I mean, that might have to do more about Fuse being Fuse and Arvid’s tendency to pout but it’s just another thing to add to the list of things that would change if I did marry her.  She wouldn’t get to blow up anyone trying to betrothe themselves to me, the chief would have a say in our relationship, I’d take a bunch more time trying to tell her things in a husbandly way and I don’t know how to do that.  

It’s not worth thinking about now and I kick Bang into the sky, spotting the telltale orange glow of a Thorston bonfire on the ridge and steering him towards it.  

How am I going to say this?  I have to say it so that she doesn’t think finishing the job is on the table, because Elva seems kind of nice and harmless and incredibly understanding, all things considered.  That and she’s helping us get rid of the rest of her dragon trapper problem, and she and Aurelia got to a solution pretty damn quickly, it’d be nice to have an ally that doesn’t try and pick fights before me so that I have to come in and clean up the mess.  

But Fuse isn’t going to like any of those reasons.  She’s especially not going to like the fact that I’m going to be leaving for a week at a time and she can’t come with me.  

And I left when she thought I was mad at her.  

Fuck, maybe there’s no good way to say this.  

She’s standing and walking towards me before Bang even lands and when I jump off to face her, she’s wringing her hands, still looking at the middle of my face instead of my eyes, like she waited almost three solid days for me to answer if I was mad at her.  

“Come here,” I throw my arms around her shoulders, pulling her into a too tight hug that traps her hands against my chest as I bury my face in her braid.  “I’m not mad at you.  I missed you.”  

Her whole body relaxes and she wiggles her hands out from between us and wraps them around my lower back, sighing into my shoulder.  

“How was it?”  

“Three days almost solid on a boat with my sister, my inferiority complex is at full steam,” I stall, holding onto the hug for another second before I have to again, deliver bad news.  I swear, most of being chief is just hearing bad news, figuring out how it’s not that bad, and then telling it to people who assure me that it’s worse.  “Did you wait up?”  

The crowd around the bonfire isn’t the usual Thorston-Ingerman group of twenty but I don’t really have the attention span to count everyone there.  Two nights of sleeping in shifts when the water was still enough for me to trust Aurelia’s steering is catching up to me and Fuse takes most of my focus when I’m well rested.  

“Eret,” she grabs my waist and pushes me back a few inches to see my face.  There’s a shiny flecked smudge of something across her forehead and I try to rest mine against it.  She leans away so that I can’t, eyes serious and blue even in the dark and I wish her tactic of shoving me somewhere private worked on her, but there’s no way I’m breaking that focus.  “How was it?”  

“We should go somewhere and talk,” I sigh, reluctant to let go but making due with holding her hand.  

I’m leaving in the morning and she doesn’t know.  I’m going to be gone for another week and she doesn’t know.  I want to tell Elva where to stick her giant craters, and for the record, that’s immediately and wholly into the her problem bucket.  

But I promised.  And it’s the right thing to do.  And I can list out all the reasons why but I don’t want to think about them.  Even though I have to, because I have to be at the woodpile in six hours with the chief’s clearance to load up building materials.  

Ugh.  

“We’re at war?” She doesn’t move when I tug on her hand and Darren hoots behind her from the log he’s sitting on.  

“Did you hear that?  My little sister started a war!”  

“We’re not at war!”  I call back to them, silencing tired cheering into grumbles.  “It’s a long story, can we just go somewhere I can sit down to talk about it.”  

“Yeah, my parents are asleep,” she guides me towards the front door with a purpose, ignoring her brother hooting again.  I glare at him but the effect is lost in the dark, even though I’m still blushing when she practically drags me into her room and shuts the door quietly behind us.  

Oh gods, her bed looks so comfortable.  My back hurts so much.  I haven’t sat on a cushion, let alone slept in a bed since she beat me up with the floor of her shed.  Everything hurts.  

“You said you wanted to sit down,” she gestures impatiently at the bed and starts pacing, hands behind her back.

“If I sit down I’m going to fall asleep,” I wipe my sea salty hands over my face and groan.  I should stand.  At least to talk through this.  “Ok, ok.  Let’s just talk through this really fast and then I’ll take a quick nap, assuming you aren’t mad at me after I talk to you, and then I’ll go start talking to the chief before I leave tomorrow--”

“We’re leaving tomorrow?”  She picks up a rucksack from the rack on the wall and starts stuffing clothes into it.  I reach out and pat her arm, wincing before I even say it.  

“You can’t come with me.  I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”  

“What?”  She drops the half filled rucksack and I can’t even look at her without wanting to abandon the whole idea.  I look at her shelves instead, rebuilt after the fire and fuller than they used to be.  It’s not just clothes and drawings now.  There’s that book of old designs I had Rolf bind for her for Snoggletog, its cover always slightly open because of the wrinkled pages I couldn’t quite get flat.  That was right after the fire, most of her things were gone but I had a few old things stored in the backroom of the forge.  There’s her old vest, positively dingy next to the new leather one.  There’s her ready tied pack of blankets, always ready for me to tell her we have to go somewhere.  

I promised.  

I’m the worst.  I deserve how mad she’s going to be at me.  

“That tribe you bombed...what we really didn’t expect is there were trappers within them that they were trying to figure out how to surrender to us.  Apparently the letter the chief got had some sort of code in it, asking for our help and well, you happened to take out most of the trappers with your uh, little bombing trip.”  I pause and wait for her to form an expression.  She’s still blank, staring at me, hand outstretched from dropping her rucksack on the floor.  

“What about the princess?”  She asks.  I edge between her and the door, chewing on the inside of my cheek for a second.  

“Her name is Elva, she’s  pretty severely burned, her dad is dead, but she’s in charge now.”  I put my arm out to stop her if she makes a move towards the shed, “she asked for our help rebuilding and rooting out any remaining dragon trappers still with them in exchange for...I mean, I don’t think she could wage war on us, it’s a pretty tiny new tribe.  But she’s smart and Aurelia seemed to like talking with her.  And that is valuable water.  And we have to take care of the trappers that we know about.”  

“She’s alive.”  

“Yep.”  

“I missed,” she crosses her arms and sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.  “And you talked to her.  And she sent a letter betrothing herself to you.”  

“Ruffnut told you that part, huh?”  I sit down next to her, leaving a couple of inches of space for her to be mad, and the bed is so soft I could melt into it.  It smells like Fuse and soap and soft warm blankets and I’m aware of how bad I smell.  Oh gods, I need a bath.  That’s not going to happen, probably.  “I didn’t know she wrote it herself until I was talking to her.  Not that it matters.  Not that I would marry her--”

“I trust you,” she cuts me off, “it’s her I don’t trust.  It’s anyone who doesn’t know about…”

“Hey,” I risk putting an arm around her and she’s rigid but doesn’t shove me off, “I’m the only one you need to trust.”  

“I don’t trust myself,” she shakes her head, “I’d push harder to go with you but, what would I do if I saw her?  On top of sending you that letter, now she’s the one target I’ve ever missed.”  

“Something crazy, probably,” I kiss her temple and linger there for a second, the comfort of the mattress leaking up my spine like a slow bloom speed stinger hit, rendering me slowly useless.  “I half expected you to try and get past me to get more bombs and try again.”  

“I thought about it,” she nudges my head away from hers and shifts to rest against my shoulder, head heavy on my collar bone.  “But if I do, you might have to leave for longer.”  

“I’m sorry,” I rub her back, trying not to melt backwards into the mattress, “I hate it.  It’s the right thing to do but I really don’t want to do it.”  

“How long are you going to be gone?”  

“A week.”  

She groans.  I give up and lay down, kicking off my boots and curling up around her.  I shouldn’t fall asleep here but I don’t think I really have a choice at this point.  

“I forgot to mention.  A week at a time, it might take a few to get everything figured out.  Maybe longer if it leads to other dragon trappers.”  

She groans louder, grabbing my arm over her waist with both hands and pressing it into her stomach.

“Of course.”  

“Are you mad at me?”  I yawn, nuzzling against the nape of her neck and adjusting the pillow under my head.  Pillow.  An actual pillow.  

“Not mad enough to be worth missing you for a week without this.”  

“Fair enough,” I close my eyes, “can you wake me up before dawn? I’ve got to go haggle building materials from the chief.”  

“Yeah, I’ll come with you for that at least.”  She strokes the back of my hand with gentle fingertips, and I feel momentarily guilty for getting salt all over her bed.  “Get some sleep.”  

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Goodbyes

But not forever because I’d die like...please keep talking to me about the boy?  And the siblings?  And the Fuse, my girl, and fifty one year old second chance Hiccstrid who stole my heart and just...that’s an open door, alright?  Like, please keep it open?  I know I need to write something else but damn, I can’t have a complete separation here.  I can’t.  

Tumblr (Will be overhauling soon) | AO3

The noise in the Mead Hall hits me like a physical weight after almost two months in the chief’s house and I pause in the doorway for a second, searching the crowd and maybe even waiting for a lull.  For the crowd to pointedly look away like they all know something I don’t and confirm that the last year has been an elaborate dream during a coma from some unrelated head injury.  At some level, it still makes more sense for me to have knocked myself out in that forest fire a year ago than it does for me to be at Arvid and Aurelia’s wedding feast with the Haddock crest on my pin.  But the Hofferson sword he dug up this morning remains firmly planted in the center ceiling joist above me.

“I figured you might need this,” the chief appears out of the crowd beside me, holding a mug of what smells like mead towards my left and only unbandaged hand.  The smell turns my stomach with its sickeningly sweet familiarity and I shake my head.

“Nothing hurts. Promise.” I try to show him by lifting my bandaged right arm as much as I can against the sling and the thick wool shirt and cape combination that Mom insisted I had to wear, but I don’t get too far.  Stupid fancy clothes.  Pouting got me out of some of the jewelry, although I’m still not sure how worth it that was, given how Ingrid was glaring at me the whole time from under her own pile of new clothes.

“No, I just--I mean, good, that’s good news, but I thought you might need it because your half-siblings just married each other.”  He shrugs, wincing slightly like he’s not sure it’s something he should say, and it probably isn’t, but his daughter just married his wife’s son so I’m not judging the word vomit too much. 

“That’s not the hardest thing I’ve made peace with lately.”

Maybe it’s temporary, but I can’t get annoyed at him the way I want or even the way that I used to. Maybe being stuck inside the last couple months with a rotating shift of family who all worked together to make sure I didn’t do anything myself or have any fun at all made the chief feel more like part of that family.  In some strange, annoying, non-parental way, but part of it just the same.

Like Rolf keeps saying, it’s a documentation nightmare, and like with all documentation nightmares, I’m trying and succeeding at not getting too hung up on it.

“Are you sure?”  He offers the mead again and if I’m not crazy, he’s swaying a little bit.  “Might be your last wedding feast for a while without people pestering you with advice the whole time.”  He raises an eyebrow at me.

“Whatever that means…” I laugh, brushing him off.  As little I’ve been allowed out, it’s not really at the top of my freedom agenda to figure out whatever cryptic thing the chief wants to talk about.  

“Well, are you going to see Fuse tonight?”  This eyebrow wiggle is definitely drunk and it looks dumber against silver hair that it looks like he tried to comb.  More likely Mom insisted on combing it, considering how many times today she threatened to trim mine.  “Liquid courage in case you need to have any big conversations…”

I saw Fuse at the ceremony, but she was further back in the crowd.  And I know she comes by the chief’s house almost every day, but seeing her will be different when she’s not taking care of me.  Even though I haven’t needed that much care, because I’m fine and I’ve been fine for weeks.

“I spent enough of the last two months drunk, chief, I think I’ll sit this one out.”

“That makes one of us,” he sighs and the red shade of his face is sneaking past jubilant, heading quickly through tipsy and coming out somewhere in trashed drunk, “I avoided it for years, but it finally caught up to me.”

“What are you talking about?”  I resist the urge to laugh at the way his head is bobbing slightly off center, even though it’s kind of my turn, given that everyone has repeated the greatest hits of my drunken sleep talking back to me for months now.  But sometimes, a future chief is the bigger person.  

Well, that and I’m hoping he says something ridiculous.  I’m not chief yet.  

“I have a married daughter,” he drinks from the mug he brought for me, “I’m old.”

“Is that how that works?” I snort, “I hate to break it to you, but I think you’ve been old for a while.”

“That’s what Astrid said,” he shakes his head, “guess I should just accept it as truth at this point.” He raises his mug in a sad sort of cheers and something over my shoulder catches his eye.  Before I can check what it is, a familiar hand slides into mine.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Fuse squeezes my fingers and drops them and no matter how comfortably she’s been touching me, somehow it’s never enough.

It’s definitely not enough when I look at her and she’s smiling at me unguarded, her hair pulled back from her face with soft, pink-hued braids.

“Huh?”

“You know,” she tugs on the edge of my bear skin cape and bites her lip like she’s looking for the right words.  “In actual clothes.”

“Oh,” I slide my arm around her waist, the ends of her hair tickling my wrist, and it’s still thrilling that she leans into me.  “You should have seen me trying to get a shirt on over this,” I hold up my bandaged arm and the armpit of my crisp new shirt tugs at my skin where it’s not hanging quite straight.  “It took me three tries. Ingrid was laughing so hard I thought she was going to pass out.”

“Maybe you need help out of it,” the chief says and I’d entirely forgotten he was standing there. I jump, reflexively pulling Fuse closer as she flushes, looking down at her feet.  The blush adorably reaches her earlobes and stretches partially down her neck in a way I never get to see when her hair is in it’s usual messy braids and my chest tightens.

And of course, in parsing through that, I realize that the chief just has to make me sound like an idiot who can’t take care of myself when Fuse is around.   I try to tell him to go away with my eyes but unfortunately, the last couple months have vastly depleted the potency of the Hofferson glare and he wasn’t ever that susceptible in the first place.

“I can get it off by myself,” I huff at him and he snorts.  Fuse looks at me and blinks like Aurelia does when she’s waiting for me to catch up and I freeze.

Oh gods.

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” my face feels like it could light the forge from a distance and he still looks so smug and drunk and oh gods, that even worse.  “But you did, that’s...disgusting, for one--”

“Eret,” Fuse laughs, tips of her ears bright red as she pats me on the shoulder with a rare, unbandaged hand.

“It’s just,” I look up at the chief, “not funny.  And none of your business.  And I���m going to go find Arvid and Aurelia now so…” I try and tug Fuse with me but of course the chief has to keep talking.

“Wait, just a second, while you’re here there’s something I actually wanted to ask you about,” he looks at Fuse, patting his pockets and spilling mead down his arm, “I don’t have my notes right now, but there’s a cliff over on Bogsbreath island that looks like good granite for the sea wall that we talked about--”

“Sea wall?”  I hate being out of the loop with everything that’s going on.  I keep hearing snippets and seeing half finished drawings, but apparently a broken arm means my head is useless. “What sea wall?”

“With that volcano gone, waves are higher from that direction.  Last week’s thunderstorm had them breaking about five feet below the hanger.”  The chief is one of the only people who can talk to me about what happened without staring at my arm or my scars and I appreciate it even more when Fuse flinches, eyes darting to my sling as the corners of her mouth tilt down.  I pull her closer to my side with the hand on her hip and she lets me, her shoulder curling under my arm.  “I was thinking a kind of primitive sea wall a couple miles off of the coast might fix it without getting in the way of the thermal vent.” It’s the chief’s turn to be sheepish, but it’s different, because it’s about him being wrong not me being hurt, “dragons are still migrating towards it.  Mostly old ones, and numbers are stable but--”

“It’s probably best we stay out of their way.”  I’ve earned the right to be smug about it but the chief sighs at my tone anyway.

“But, as I was saying, we don’t really have the material available right now so…” He looks back at Fuse and she’s surprisingly silent, leaning into my side a little harder and staring flatly at him.  “Ok, I’ll spell it out, I was wondering if you could try to break down this cliff I found on Bogsbreath island into usable material.”

“I…” Fuse exhales and shakes her head, oddly stiff, “a whole cliff?  And granite?  I…” She looks up at me, fully regrown eyebrows knitting together, “that might be a little...out of my abilities, Chief.”

“Fuse,” the chief chuckles, “it’s not like it’s an entire volcano.”

“No, I mean it.”  Fuse shrugs and definitely doesn’t sound like she means it.  Her voice is thin, like her usual firepower isn’t there to back it up, “I’m not sure how to take down a cliff.  And Eret needs me here--”

“I’m fine.”  I’m not really, I’m worried that there’s none of my favorite giddiness on her face at the prospect of taking down an entire cliff. “You should go.”

“I really don’t think I know how to do what you’re asking.”  She shakes her head, shoulders stiff under my arm.

“You just blew up an island, I bet you can figure it out.”

“Really, Chief,” she shakes her head, her hair tickling the back of my hand, “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

That’s even more obviously a lie.  And a lie she sounds sad about, like there’s something in her way she doesn’t think she can ask for help with.

“Do you need parts or something?”  I look around the room, “is Smitelout giving you trouble?  I’ll--”

“No,” she steps out from under my arm, “I just don’t know if I can.”

That’s honest.  I look between her and the chief, who’s drunk enough he seems content to watch us talk with that weird smile on his face, like all his plans are working out.

“I’ll go scout it out with you.”  Those are truly the magic words, or more likely, any words suggesting I do anything fun or more than ten feet off of the ground, because Mom chooses this moment to walk up next to the chief, leaning her head on his shoulder.  Her mug of mead looks less than full and her face is almost as red as his is.  “Hey, Mom,” I try to act casual, “great feast, right?”

“You look suspicious,” she smacks her lips and takes a drink, “what’s going on?”

“He wants to come scout a cliff with me,” Fuse crosses her arms, making eye contact with my mom, I’m assuming to avoid my betrayed expression.  “That I’m supposed to blow up.”

“And who told you that you were supposed to blow it up?”  Mom glares at the chief and he’s drunk enough to be brave enough to tap her chin with his knuckle in answer.  She sighs, nostrils flaring and eyes sappy and fond and I look away because that’s still gross.  “Hiccup...”

“I want to go, Mom.” I look back at Fuse and her eyes are oddly, pleadingly wide.  “It’s been two months.  Imagine what a pain in the ass I’ll be if you try to keep me locked up any longer.”  I point at my arm, “these bandages?  Coming off next week, allegedly, just try keeping me inside when I’ve got two arms at my disposal.”

“Locked up? Uh huh, I can see how shackled down you are right now.”  She shakes her head and the chief grins at her again, all lovesick and gray-haired and irritating and I should have walked away when I had the chance.

“Doesn’t seem like he minds that much.”  

“I’m right here,” I look at Fuse for backup, “I want to go with you.”  I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mom drunk, but I hope she actually is as I weigh my next tactic.  “I mean, I’m still the future chief, I’m pretty sure I can go without asking anyone, but I’d rather go with you.”

Fuse’s cheeks color a little more and I jut my lower lip out like worked when I was newly injured.  I thought at some point, she’d realize how stupid it looks and stop falling for it, but that hasn’t happened yet.  Hel, maybe she does know it’s stupid, but still likes it for some reason because she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking back at the chief and my mom.

“I really don’t think I can do it, but I’ll scout it out.”

“And I’ll go with you,” I nod, waiting for my mom to shut me down.  She’s tired when she sighs and takes more of a gulp than a sip out of her drink.

“I know how trying to stop you works out.”  There’s a strange moment of that terrifying female telepathy that I’ll never understand when she nods at Fuse.

Even with the look, it doesn’t feel like permission and I relax.  After months being chief or at least partly in charge, going back to being someone who had to ask for water was more shocking than I could have anticipated.  And this is just another piece of proof that things have changed and the changes are sticking.  Mom can’t tell me not to do things.  She can give advice and I should probably take it the majority of the time, but they aren’t orders anymore.

“In that case, I should go tell Stoick I’m taking my dragon back tomorrow,” I offer Fuse my hand and the escape from the chief’s weird attention that it implies and she takes it. She follows me towards the other end of the hall but more importantly, away from the chief and my mom before they can make any more gross faces at each other.  Or comment anymore on Fuse and me.  Especially that one.  Especially the chief.

But I also need to talk to her, because Fuse not wanting to blow something up is unheard of and she has some reason she wouldn’t say in front of the chief. I pause in a slightly quieter bubble next to the line of ale casks against the wall and Fuse drops my hand to pick up a mug for herself.  I can’t help but notice that her long pale fingers are uncharacteristically soot free and unbandaged and I feel bad that she’s spent so much time with me that she hasn’t had any in her workshed.  

It’s silly, but I miss the soot.  I like how her bandaged fingers leave streaks on me that I find later, like greasy little souvenirs.  

“Do you want some?” She offers, voice brightly off kilter and I narrow my eyes, leaning back against the edge of the table.

“You’re trying to distract me.”  I gesture at her and my eyes follow, lingering for a second on the deep green belt around her waist before flicking back to her face.  “Why don’t you want to blow up that cliff?”

“The chief said it was granite,” she shrugs one shoulder, not quite holding eye contact.

“You love blowing up granite.”

“No,” she sighs, mouth twitching to the side slightly and I try not to smile at what a profoundly bad liar she is.  She avoids me for her mug for a second before looking back at my face and shaking her head. “It’s my third favorite, maybe, but how did you know that?”

“I just knew you liked it, I didn’t know you had a definitive ranking.”  I tease her and she blushes, always unsure if I’m insulting her until I smile.  This is better than being so drunk it reoccurred to me that I was nearly naked every few minutes and sputtered about it all over again.  Sometimes, I almost hate how much I remember more than I hate the long fuzzy periods that I can’t quite put together.

“I don’t,” she shrugs, a strand of shiny pink falling over her shoulder, “I should have said in the top five, but—”

“But what?”  I reach out and grab her wrist, sloshing ale on the ground between us but pulling her in anyway.  I don’t know why it’s cute that she has a ranking system or cuter that she’s defending it.  I do know that it almost makes me more concerned that she’s so hesitant to blow something up, because that means something might really be wrong.  “I’m sorry, I’m just going to need an actual, scientific reason to believe you can’t at least try to obliterate something.” My hand slides from her wrist to her shoulder and I kiss her forehead.

“Eret,” she sighs, almost chastising, and it makes me all too aware of my knee against hers and her shoulder blade that’s obvious against my palm without the vest I haven’t seen in weeks.  And as overwhelming as the crowd was when I first walked in, now the background hum is only making it easier to focus on her, even if being this close makes it hard to focus on anything except the fact that she’d let me kiss her.  

More than that, she’d kiss me back.  Maybe I could use my fully clothed disguise to convince her that I’m not hurt and she’d keep kissing me instead of acting like I’m going to break.  

“What?”  I pull her closer and she freezes when her arm bumps against my sling, pulling back slightly.  “It’s fine.  It doesn’t hurt.”

“You wouldn’t tell me if it did.”

“Probably not,” I look down at my pale hand sticking out of the linen and wiggle my fingers, “but it doesn’t.”

She looks up at me through her eyelashes and if it weren’t for my brother appearing in my peripheral vision, I could almost pretend that we were somewhere more private.

“There you are!”  He points at me, the new silver ring on his finger startlingly obvious in a way I wouldn’t have expected.  I stand away from the table and Fuse shifts away from me, tucking her hair behind her ear like she can hide her red face behind her hand. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He’s too loud and I almost expect everyone to be irritated at a Hofferson acting up, but the people who glance over at us laugh and shake their heads.  “Thorston!”

Fuse opens her mouth to respond but doesn’t get the chance because Arvid hugs her, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her a good foot off of the ground.  She yelps, looking at me with adorably wide eyes and he squeezes her another second before setting her down and turning to me.  He wobbles slightly and I raise my eyebrow.

“Are you drunk?”  I ask and he shakes his head.

“I’m married.”  He shows me his silver band.  I recognize a ring of Wingspark’s scales inlaid in divots that are Smitelout’s obvious handiwork.  It doesn’t look half bad, not that I’m going to tell her that.  “Look at this, I’m completely married.”

“As opposed to partially?” I look at Fuse, who still seems a little startled, and pat her shoulder.  “You’re actually drunk, aren’t you?  I didn’t think that was possible.”

“You’re my favorite brother,” he grins and claps his hand on my shoulder hard enough that my teeth clack together.  “Where’s Rolf? Fuck that guy, you’re my favorite.”                  

“He’s drunk,” Aurelia walks up next to Fuse and shakes her head, sighing with obvious fondness at my brother.  Somehow, it’s weird that she doesn’t look any different than she did this morning, and it occurs to me that my younger sister is someone’s wife.  “He’s so drunk.”

“I’ve never seen him drunk,” I laugh, “I didn’t think it was possible, honestly.”

“He’s a friendly drunk,” Fuse frowns, patchy red clinging high on her cheeks.  I’d guess she’s used to being explosive and even after a couple of months defused -- ok, that’s funny-- she’s probably not used to bear hugs sweeping her off of her feet.  I’m just glad she and Arvid have reached some kind of truce after a decade of stinkbombs and glaring at each other.  

Arvid kisses Aurelia on the temple, picking her up with one arm and swinging her in a circle. She’s resigned to it but smacks his forearm after a second, signaling for him to set her down and he does, remarkably gently considering how hard he squeezed Fuse. Aurelia shakes her head at him and looks at her own ring with an almost calm smile.

“Apparently,” Aurelia sighs, “and he chose a great day to do it.  Really,” she looks at Fuse for another of those confounding female moments. “I’m guessing he’ll fall right asleep tonight.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” I look him up and down, taking in the slow sway of his shoulders relative to his feet.  Being the only drunk one is miserable, being the sober one while my drunk siblings make a fool of themselves isn’t as bad.

“It’s not.”  Aurelia shakes her head and Fuse grabs my hand.

“Why not?”  I try to intertwine our fingers but she seems more interested in steering me than actually holding hands.  “Sleeping it off is usually a good tactic.”

“You wanted to find Stoick, didn’t you?”  She tugs but I don’t move, looking between her and Aurelia.  It feels like another secret and I narrow my eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t done with the rare opportunity to make fun of Arvid while he’s drunk.”

“Hey,” Arvid frowns. “I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re drunk enough, husband,” Aurelia smiles through what seems like secret-associated irritation when she uses the title and I get a little stuck on the fact that Arvid is someone’s husband.  Arvid has a wife.  “Drunk enough that I don’t think that title will actually be official until you’re done nursing your hangover.”

“What?”  I look at Fuse for clarification and her nostrils flare slightly as she tugs on my hand again.  That’s the face she makes when she’s embarrassed for me, and I’m more familiar with it than I should be comfortable with, but I don’t see what I’m doing right now.  If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s Aurelia, of course he’s her husband—“No!” I glare at her, my sling straining against the reflex to point at her, “no, don’t talk about…that—”

“It’s my wedding, it’s kind of a part of a wedding,” Aurelia rolls her eyes, apparently too irked with my drunk brother to be embarrassed, “the consummation is implied—”

“I’m your brother. He’s my brother,” I take my hand from Fuse’s to point at Arvid and he laughs, sharing a mushy, mutual expression that makes fun of me in a context I don’t want to think about.  “You guys are so gross.”

“Gross?”  Arvid snorts and Aurelia shakes her head at me before looking at Fuse.

“Good luck with him,” she scoffs, a tinge of the chief’s joking suggestion in her expression and I shake my head.

“I’m going to go find Stoick, who isn’t gross—”

“Because he’s nine?” She has to try and get in the last word and I scratch the back of my reddening neck where it’s chafed against the strap of my sling.  Fuse links her elbow through mine and I let her tug me away this time, shouting over my shoulder.

“And congratulations, by the way, because at least one of us has manners!”  I shake my head when Arvid laughs and look over at Fuse.  “I didn’t need to think about that.  I was doing so well not thinking about that.”

“I tried to interrupt,” she must see Bang’s tail slash above the crowd when I do because she changes direction towards it without me nudging her, “but you were determined.”

“I’m too stupid for you to protect, apparently,” I sigh, bumping my shoulder against hers and grinning when Bang spots me and warbles, shaking his wings and making Stoick laugh from where he’s perched on his back.  “Hey bud,” I untangle my arm from Fuse’s to set my hand on Bang’s nose and he croons, tail whisking across the wood floor.

“Hi Fuse,” Stoick greets her before me and I can’t really blame him, especially when she seems so pleasantly surprised, her eyes lighting up even as her shoulders stiffen slightly. She still doesn’t quite know what to do with him and she waves, chewing on her bottom lip.  “Hey Eret.”

“I’ve got some news, dude,” I lean on Bang’s head with my left hand, scratching behind a short frill on his neck.  Mom hasn’t been letting him inside enough because she has some crazy belief that if Bang and I were left even momentarily in the same room, I’d suddenly be in the sky and far away from the chief’s stuffy house.  She’s right, but it’s still not fair.  “Do you want to hear the news?  Oh hey, guess what, I’m telling you anyway.  I’m cleared to fly,” I pat Bang’s head again, “so tomorrow morning, you’ve got to give me my dragon back.”

“No,” he whines, laying down across Bang’s back and hugging him, “who am I going to take to class?”

“It’s terror training,” I nudge his back, “you have your own terror—”

“But then I can’t fly there,” he sits up cross-legged, “you could just fly with Fuse and I could keep him one more day?  Pretty please?”  He asks Fuse more than me and she shrugs.

“He could, but I think he’s been missing Bang as much as he’s been missing flying.”

“Fine,” Stoick puts his biggest, greenest eyes on, “could you give me a ride to training then? Please?  If Eret is taking Bang away?”

“Squirt, I already told you I’d take you to training,” Ingrid walks up behind me and when she doesn’t give me her usual punch in greeting I look and see her holding Rolf’s baby.  My half-nephew, or whatever the term for that is.  He’s been around the house a couple of times since I’ve been coherent enough to help Rolf flesh out a few pages in the dragon manual and it’s not as awkward as it could have been.  Rolf even let the chief help, some, likely because he was constantly pre-occupied with the fact that Ingrid kept practically stealing his firstborn.

“I’m hurt,” I put my hand over my sling in the vague location of my heart, “squirt is supposed to be my nickname. You’re replacing me?”

“Don’t be such a baby,” she rolls her eyes, bouncing her nephew on her hip and cooing at him.  He takes her metal hand in his pudgy, tiny one and starts gumming at it.  “We’ve got enough of those around here.”

“Speaking of that, does Rolf know you have him?”

“What?  Are you going to tattle on me to Rolf?”  She laughs, “that would make your Uncle Eret a traitorous little twerp.  Yes, it would.”

“Ingrid,” Stoick clambers off of Bang’s back and adjusts his stiff new clothes, standing in front of Ingrid and tugging on the baby’s sock.  “Fuse can take me to training tomorrow, you don’t have to.”

“I didn’t actually say that,” Fuse looks at me a little panicked, like she’s not sure how to get out of it, “Eret and I are supposed to go scout something for the chief.”

“Mom’s letting you leave the island?”  Ingrid raises her eyebrow at me, “are you sure that’s safe?”

“I’ll be with Fuse.”

“That didn’t protect you last time,” Ingrid doesn’t snap but it’s not gentle either and the baby hiccups around her metal finger, his little face crumpling like he might cry that easily. He looks like Rolf more than his wife, I think, and maybe I’m projecting but there’s something like Dad’s brow there above warm brown eyes.

“That’s not fair,” I sigh and Bang presses his face to my leg.  Stoick gets bored with the lack of attention and runs off and Ingrid and Fuse stand tensely opposite each other for a minute.

They didn’t hit it off right away, or so I heard.  I was mad when I first heard it, because Ingrid owes Fuse more than anyone except for me, because Fuse was the one who talked her down when I didn’t know where to start, but they came to some kind of an arrangement after a couple days. Or I think it was a couple days. I don’t remember much except it was a lot easier to be quiet when Fuse was holding my hand instead of a family member looking at me like I was going to break.

“It kind of is,” Fuse says simply and I shake my head at her.

“No, it’s not—”

“I’m not even bringing any bombs.”  Her voice is as serious as the determined look in her eye as she looks between me and Ingrid so quickly I’m not sure who she’s trying to convince.

“Dad’s been out a few times,” I add, “he hasn’t seen any signs of trappers anywhere nearby.”

“You don’t have to convince me that I can’t change your mind,” Ingrid shakes her head, adjusting the baby’s weight against her hip, “that’s why I have a new squirt.  He still thinks I’m cool enough that he listens to try and impress me.”

“I still think you’re cool,” I make some stupid face that makes the baby smile and tug on her fingers. I haven’t minded having him around. Maybe that’s because no one makes me hold him or change his diaper, and he always laughs at my funny faces.  Not that it means much, he laughs at the chief too, but I like to pretend it’s nicer when it’s me.

“Really Hofferson?” Smitelout spills half a mug of ale on Bang’s back when she stomps over, pointing at Ingrid’s hand, “you’re letting the best contender for this year’s ugliest baby contest chew on that?”

Bang nips at her heel and I nudge him away with my foot, glaring at her.  

“This is my nephew,” Ingrid rolls her eyes, taking her metal fingers out of his mouth and wiping them on her new dress.  Mom made her dress acceptably too and I think she hates it as much as I do if the way she’s really rubbing that baby drool into the wool is any indication.  

“Well,” Smitelout blushes and stutters, taking another gulp of her ale before continuing, “look at him, how could I have guessed that?”

“Oh my gods,” Ingrid cocks her hip, ignoring her nephew tugging on her loose hair as she turns on Smitelout.  “You can’t walk around insulting people’s babies.”

“I knew it wasn’t your baby,” she rolls her eyes and Fuse raises her eyebrows at me in a way I read as her wanting us to make our exit.

“Ok, but you still shouldn’t really insult babies—”

“There you are,” Rolf steps nonchalantly over Bang’s tail and holds both his hands out, lifting his son under his armpits and cradling him comfortably with a glare at Ingrid. “You can’t just walk off with him.”

He sounds worried and that just reminds me that Rolf is a dad and Ingrid is an aunt and Arvid is a husband.  I’d say I’m the only one lacking a new title but it hits me that it’s future chief and I really wish I’d been allowed into the public before this because all of these changes at once are overwhelming for all the right reasons and that’s a phenomenon I’m not used to at all.

I’m good at dealing with parallel lines of sadness, but tonight feels like so many happy strings weaving with the ends of the sad and towards a future I hope is better than the last year has been.  And I know that making it better is more my responsibility than ever because my title carries a different kind of pressure than anyone else’s.

“Oh, it’s Rolf’s kid?” Smitelout snorts, “the ugly makes sense.”

“Always a pleasure,” Rolf sighs, his voice taking on a deep, bitter character like he thinks better of himself than to stoop to this level, “Jorgenson.”

“Yeah sure,” Smitelout waves him off.

“No, not yeah sure,” Ingrid doubles down on the argument with her hands empty, poking Smitelout in the shoulder, “that’s my nephew.”

“And that wasn’t enough to overwhelm the Rolf in his appearance, that’s all I’m saying…”

“Let’s go,” Fuse takes my elbow and scratches Bang with her other hand.  He accepts it as a temporary goodbye, snuffling against her palm and crooning at me as we walk away from Ingrid and Smitelout’s escalating argument.

“At least they sound like they’re having fun,” I lean back on the table when she pauses to get herself another drink.  I can’t tell if it’s affecting her at all, but then again, she hasn’t really had a chance to drink much without the next interruption.  

“Who does?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug, “Ingrid and Smitelout in particular, but it seems like everyone is having fun.”

“Yeah,” she looks around and then back at me, the corner of her mouth twitching into half a smile. Her lower lip is damp and the shine makes it hard to look anywhere else, especially because the longer I’m out of the house, the less I feel like an invalid.

I know that the last few hundred times Fuse kissed me, it wasn’t strictly out of pity.  She did want to.  She wouldn’t have kissed me at all if she didn’t want to, but I can’t say that they all felt like kisses.  A lot were trying to keep me grounded and more were in an attempt to keep breathing worth the pain while my ribs formed back into one piece, and I appreciate them, but they didn’t do anything to quell the constant heat in my chest whenever I’m around her.  

And now I feel like I’m at a feast with Fuse and she looks beautiful in a clean, nervous way that I hardly ever get to see and my wrist tingles from where her hair has been tickling it all night.  And no matter how close to me she’s been, she was never wearing a dress that makes it so obvious how well the curve of her hip fits in my hand.  

“What?”  She cocks her head at me and I shrug.  “You’re staring.”  

“You just look really pretty tonight.”  Out of all the things I’m thinking, it’s the right thing to say out loud because she steps closer to me, resting her hand on my ribs on one of my fireworm scars. They’re still sensitive, not in a bad way, but I shiver slightly at the drag of clean wool against the edges of it.

“You too.”  She says quietly, biting her lip, and I frown.  

“Did you just call me pretty?”  

She blushes, stuttering slightly like she’s worried I’m actually offended. I don’t think I am, but I’ve also never been called pretty before.  Not that I’m drowning in praise about my appearance, but it still strikes me as weird.  I’m not sure I want Fuse to think I’m pretty.  

“I meant you look good tonight.”  

“But you said pretty. I’m pretty?”  I scratch my chin, “not that I don’t like a compliment but aren’t I a little...bearded to be pretty?”  

“What would you prefer, then?”  She sets her drink down and cups my jaw with her now free hand, fingernails scratching through my beard.  I rest my hand on her hip and her fingers curl slightly against my ribs.

Maybe she meant that we should leave further.  I’d be ok with that, I made my appearance.  

“I don’t know. Handsome, maybe?  Rugged?” Gods, I want my other hand back.  Next time I almost die, I’m breaking my left arm.  I feel like every time I touch Fuse, I’m getting inferior information.  “Because you’re pretty, and if you’re pretty, I’m definitely not pretty.”  

She kisses me, soft lips lingering a little longer than she usually lets them as she cups my jaw more firmly, her fingertips grazing my ear with a tickle that sends lightning down my spine.  I follow her as far as I can when she pulls back, getting in one last peck before my arm gets in the way.  

And I don’t want to be here, I’m sick of sharing Fuse with families and crowds.  She’s finally looking at me like I might be durable enough to kiss again and I really want to convince her that she’s onto something there.

“When you said let’s go…”

“What do you mean?” She cocks her head and picks up her drink, her blush highlighting freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“I just…I don’t know, we could keep talking somewhere that my crazy family doesn’t keep appearing.”

She narrows her eyes at me, the tips of her ears going a warm, pale pink shade that almost matches her hair.

“What do you want to talk about?”  Fuse is awkward and pretty and sweet when she asks questions she doesn’t know the answer to. It makes me want to hug her and again, this stupid sling is in the way of absolutely everything.

“Not much.  I’d just like to be alone with you,” I shrug, stroking the line of her hipbone with my thumb and smiling when she bites her lip. Her house is empty, I bet.  

“I figured you’d want to stay out as long as possible.”  

“Eh, crowds are overrated.” I kiss her forehead again and kind of miss her hair’s usual acrid smell.  I hope she does bring bombs tomorrow, I’m ready for some action and for her to be sooty again.   “And it’s a lot, you know, no one let me out of the house and suddenly the whole village is here.  I think I have a legitimate phobia that Mrs. Ack is going to spring up next and pinch my bicep.”

“The bandages should deter her,” Fuse looks at my sling again, frowning.

“It doesn’t hurt.”  I remind her, rubbing the side of her waist and stepping back to lift my arm as high as the sling will allow. “Really. No pain.”  

I’m not lying.  Worse than that, I’m scared about how my arm is going to look and feel when I finally get it back.  I tried not to care when the healers tightened the bandages but there’s that looming feeling that when it comes off I’m going to look scrawnier than I did a year ago, like the chief’s influence finally found a crack to manifest in.  

She doubts me.  Then she looks over my shoulder and sighs, her cheeks puffing out with a momentary roundness that makes me want to kiss them.

“My dad’s walking over here.”

I drop her hip and stand up straight, tugging at the seam of my shirt that isn’t quite right against my side.  She shakes her hair behind her shoulders and takes another sip of her ale before raising it in a feeble toast.

“Just the adorable young couple I was looking to interrupt,” Fuse’s dad—and he feels like Fuse’s dad and not Tuffnut right now when I’m thinking so hard about how good her side feels under my hand—sizes me up like a dragon he doesn’t know is threatening yet or not.  I stand up straight.  The sling digs into the back of my neck and I swallow, fidgeting to shift it sideways.

“Dad,” Fuse glares at him, shifting half a step away from me and crossing her arms.

“Uh, good evening.”  I hold out my left hand and he shakes it with is right, grinning like the awkwardness of the grip is a good thing and not like it’s making my heart drop.  “Sir.”

“Pretty sweet feast,” he looks around and nods and then looks back at me, “a wedding feast, even.”

“Uh,” I look at Fuse, wondering if there’s some secret way to answer her dad and she shrugs, “yeah. It is.”  

“You said you were looking for us,” Fuse prompts him and he looks at me another second before shrugging. He’s not hostile, like I guess I was scared of after seeing some fathers’ opinion of Arvid.  If anything he kind of reminds me of the chief in that he’s happy to see us standing together.  This is more of a vicious happiness, like he’s thriving on the awkward anxiety I can feel leaking out of my pores, but I’ll take it.

“Yeah.”  He nods.

Especially because I keep thinking about how many times Fuse and I have napped in the same bed and I didn’t ask her dad’s permission and I don’t know how to do this.  He’s staring right at me, does he know how much I want to kiss his daughter?  Did he see us kissing a second ago?  Does he know that I’ve been in her bedroom?  And that she talked like she was planning to get me there again even after I well...was really happy to be there.  Or parts of me were.

He’s staring at me. What if he can read my mind and I just gave away everything?  I’m not really sure what to do with my hand.  The sling is finally making a positive impact on my life because I only have one arm to flail around.

“Is there anything I can do for you?  Like, do you need me to do anything or talk to the chief about anything or--I can weapon?” I cough, “I mean, I can make weapons. Theoretically,” I point at my sling, “when this comes off.  If my arm still works.”

“You don’t know if your arm is still going to work?”  He raises an eyebrow and looks more like Fuse than usual with the expression.

“I’m assuming it is.” I shrug, “hoping, really.  I guess.”

“Hmm,” he strokes his chin and looks between Fuse and I again before laughing, reaching over and trying to ruffle her hair.  “That was fun.  Ok, that was really fun.”

“Not for me,” Fuse glares at him, straightening her hair.

“I just had to make you squirm a little bit,” he explains with another shrug, “it’s tradition.  Or it is now, because that was hilarious, you look like you think I’m going to beat you up.  Or hang you upside down off of some precarious perch.  Which I’m not.  Probably.”  He narrows his eyes and I shake my head.

“No, uh, sir, I wouldn’t do anything to make you have to beat me up.  Or...the other thing.”

“Sir?  That’s funny, kid.”  He pats me on the bad shoulder and I’m relieved when my arm doesn’t throb. “No, really though, if you weren’t good enough for my Fuseykins, you not only wouldn’t be standing here, you would have ceased to exist in solid form long before I ever got the chance to threaten you.”

“That’s not funny,” Fuse says with that vulnerable edge I can’t quite place and her dad scoffs.

“You think I’m funny, right Eret?”

I think that this is bizarre and uncomfortable, but in a very real way I want him to like me.  I want him to like me the way that I wanted the village to like me when I was first trying to fill the chief’s shoes, but it’s more important because it’s about Fuse.  If I’ve learned anything about romance, it’s that for everyone around me, it ends up being filled with hard choices, and I want to be the easy choice. I want to make things easier for her, finally, after so much time tangling her in my impossible problems.

“Yeah,” I nod, “I bet I looked really scared.”

“I like you,” he claims, pointing at me, “and I mean, I’m like the lowest possible bar here. You’ll have to talk to her brothers. And her cousins.  She’s all of our little girl--”

“Stop,” Fuse cuts him off, voice hushed and almost nasal, like it’s half a whine.  And that’s cute the way that all cracks in her calm exterior are and I try not to look like I’m thinking about how cute she is.  “Just invite him for dinner like we talked about, this is all unnecessary.”

“But also fun,” he turns back to me, “tomorrow night?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Right, good answer,” he points at Fuse, “now I’ve got to talk to you about something, oh daughter of mine.”

“Can it wait?”  She leans back into my side, glancing purposefully at the side of my face, “I’m a little busy.”

“Nope.”

“Dad, please.”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he scoffs at her, “and there’s a certain ambiance of the space right now that--”

“Fine,” she looks back at me and sighs before walking away with him, “I’ll see you later.”

“Or tomorrow morning. Either way.”  I hope it’s later tonight, but from the way her dad puts his arm over her shoulders and starts telling her something about ‘The Island of Thorstonton’, I kind of doubt it.

Without Fuse, the room is instantly overwhelming and even though I see my siblings sitting together, I almost think about grabbing Bang and going home.  Maybe I could even fly, considering Mom appears pretty busy with Rolf’s baby--her grandbaby, because she’s a grandmother now too-- and the chief and isn’t watching my every move.  Then again, there’s something kind of exciting about my first flight in two months being off island with Fuse tomorrow.  Waiting would make it more of an event, I guess.

I yawn, looking around until I see Gobber sitting in the corner, tapping his foot and looking bored. Or maybe me being bored makes him look bored, whatever.  Either way, he gestures at the bench next to him when I walk over and I take a seat, leaning my good elbow on the table and resting my chin on my hand.

“It’s good to see you up and about.”  He pats me on the back and I sigh.  

“Oh trust me, I’ve been up and about for a while,” I shake my head in my family’s general direction, “it’s just that I haven’t been allowed out.  It seems like everyone’s very sure I’ll spontaneously combust if I see the sunlight or an ounce of freedom.”  

“Well, you did give it your best shot,” he looks at my arm, “how much longer are you stuck in that thing?”

“I get it off next week, thank Thor,” I wiggle my fingers, “I’m worrying what’s left under it at this point.  I thought I was skinny before.”  

“Well, if you need to help out at the forge to get back up to well...I was going to say strength, but you’re still you.  I shouldn’t expect too much,” he laughs at his own joke and I roll my eyes.  

“What a kind and generous offer, rife with opportunities to make fun of me.  I’ll think about it,” I sigh, “I probably won’t have time though, I’m assuming, the chief needs someone to help him hold this place together.”  

“Now that all the drama settled down around here, I’m sure there’s something else on its way.  It’s never quiet for long.”  He looks at me strangely and I refuse to acknowledge that he’s aged from the image of him I have in my head, the one who scared me into showing up on time every day and kept me honest with a steady hook hand.  

“This is Berk when it’s quiet?”  I look back out at the crowd, now more adult than child, the liquor flowing a little more freely.  Arvid and Aurelia are kissing and a few rowdy voices usher them towards the door with suggestions I don’t want to think about.  “I’m not sure it’s ever quiet.”  

“You’re starting to get it, lad,” he uses my shoulder to stand up, “I should be getting to bed. Have to save some energy for the next wedding.  Coming up soon, I’m assuming...”  He laughs like that has something to do with me and pats my back.  

“I have no idea, the chief hasn’t told me anything.”  I shrug and he shakes his head at me before limping towards the door, peg thudding on the wood.  

I hear him mutter something about me being clueless, and that’s something I’m glad hasn’t changed.  

“I didn’t want to interrupt your date, but I wanted to say goodbye,” my dad nods at Gobber in passing before restraining himself from helping me up.  I appreciate it more than he knows.  

“Date?”  I laugh, “my date with Gobber?  I think it was going well.”  

“You know what I mean,” he adjusts a sac over his shoulder and I frown.  

“Wait, goodbye? You’re leaving now?” I knew he was leaving after the wedding, but I didn’t realize he meant the middle of the night.  

“The tide’s going out soon and I’ll make better time out of the archipelago,” he glances at Arvid and Aurelia.  She’s dragging him away from the mead, laughing, her feet slipping across the floor. “And I don’t think they want me in the house tonight any more than I want to be in the house tonight.”

“Gross,” I wince, “why does everyone have to keep reminding me that my siblings are going to...you know, tonight?  Wait, don’t answer that, then we’d have to talk about it more and...no.”  I shudder, shaking my head like I can rattle the thoughts out through my ears.  

“Come here,” he pulls me into a hug, ignoring the sling and squeezing a little too hard.  “Don’t grow up anymore while I’m gone, alright?”  He looks older too, but in a different way than Gobber does.  It’s a sturdy old, like an island that’s finally stopped shifting enough to be habitable.  I wonder if he still loves Mom and then kind of hate myself for even thinking that. Of course he does, otherwise I don’t know how I could be so sure that he still loves me.  

“How long do you think you’re going to be gone?” I pat his back and he stands back to look at me, like he’s taking a mental picture.  

“A few weeks, maybe six. I’ve got supplies for six but we’ll see how it goes.”  

“Maybe I can go with you next time,” I offer and I’m looking for acceptance more than permission.  I want him to be happy at the thought of me going along with him.  

“If you think the chief can handle Berk without you.”  He weighs the option and smiles, “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“Really?”  I grin, “I’ll try and be back in fighting shape.”

“I can’t wait,” he ruffles my hair and it feels like as much as he wishes I were a little less grown up, he’s glad to have the offered backup.  

“Can the tides wait a minute?”  Mom’s voice is hesitant but not unkind as she approaches with Rolf’s son in her arms. The baby laughs and reaches two pudgy arms towards Dad, fingers wiggling in the air, “someone else needs to say goodbye.”  

“There’s my big boy!” Dad takes the baby and holds him over his head for a second before hugging him and Mom’s eyes go distant as she watches.  I wonder how much the baby looks like Rolf did and I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of what existed before I showed up and changed everything, for better or worse. “I couldn’t find him earlier, I thought he might already be asleep.”  

“Ingrid had him,” Mom scoffs, “as always.”  

“You’re just as bad,” I look at Dad and think Grandpa and another thing clicks into shape in preparation for whatever’s coming next. “Let me guess, Rolf doesn’t know where he is right now.”  

“Rolf knows everything, you know that,” she shakes her head at me, “and I’m just enjoying having a baby around.”  

Some things I’m not too sad about leaving behind and I can tell she shares that opinion from the way she looks between me and the baby with Rolf’s sandy hair and Dad’s eyebrows.

“You got everything?” The chief is a little more sober than he was earlier but he still leans on Mom’s shoulder, tickling the baby’s foot when Mom takes him back.  Now Dad is the one looking lost and I hope he finds what he’s looking for.  Maybe he can show me when he gets back because I’m still missing pieces.  

They feel like my ribs though, painful and slow closing, but healing in time.  It’s deciding which gaps I’d like to force back open, which ones are meant to be lessons and not scars.  

“Everything’s packed up, I’m looking at six weeks on the outside.”  

“Write when you can,” the chief instructs and it’s almost a friendly order, like the ones he gives Fuse. Transactional, like my dad is part of the chief’s sphere again instead of being a thorn jabbed into it.  

“Eret said he might want to come with me next time,” Dad squeezes my shoulder and Mom looks between us before deferring to the chief with worry in her face where anger used to rest so easily.  

“Depending on what you find, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a future chief of Berk investigating whatever’s going on.”  He shrugs and Mom gives me a stern look.  

“Provided that future chief of Berk is entirely healed.”  

“Of course, Mom.  I don’t have a deathwish.”

“No, you tried one of those and it didn’t stick.”  The chief holds his hand out and Dad doesn’t hesitate before shaking it, his grip just a little too firm if the chief’s white knuckles mean anything.  “Be careful out there.”  

“Yeah,” Mom gives him a brief, awkward side hug with a babbling baby between them, “take care of yourself, alright?”  

Bang chimes in with a croon from across the hall like he’s been listening this whole time and Stoick laughs, patting him on the head.  Dad hugs me one more time before walking out of the hall and Fuse catches my eye from where she’s still sitting with her dad, asking me if I’m ok with a twitch of her eyebrow.  I nod and she smiles at me before going back to listening to her Dad, pink hair glowing in the torchlight.  

Mom goes to give an impatient Rolf his baby back and the chief lingers, pausing for a minute before resting his hand on my shoulder.  I don’t shrug him off.  It would be ruining the wrong moment and I don’t have time for that.  

“You know, I don’t think you getting out there is a bad idea.  I have missed your help these last couple months, but maybe it’s best for you to see what you’re dealing with before I retire.”  He looks at me the way that Gobber did, like I make him feel younger or older and he’s not sure if he wants to narrow down which.  “I’ll work on your mother.”

He looks the same he always has, but the absence of fury about it makes him seem smaller, more human. Maybe that’s what the last year really did to us, we’re all more human than when we started.  

“I don’t think she’d stop me,” I shrug and look back at my family, the big, scrambled group of them, “until then, sticking around here isn’t so bad.”  

“No, it’s really not.” He squeezes before letting go and he feels just as much a part of my picture as everyone else does.  

This is Berk.  It’s more than the cliffs and dragons and seas. It’s the people.  The people in this room, my family and friends, the ones who pretend not to rely on me as much as I pretend not to rely on them. It’s the dragons.  The dragons who came back even when they could have left. It’s the collision of the two, the place where my family came together again and again until finally, one of them was right.

Because we’re Vikings, and that means danger is implied and stubbornness can sometimes win over sense and logic.  It means that fights only fizzle out when we stop picking them and that only happens when someone wins or a bigger enemy brings us together.  And it won’t stay calm for long, it never does, but when proverbial flaming shit hits the fan next time, at least now I know we all have each other.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Feret Fluff

Kind of.  I don’t know.  It has angst too.  I hurt the girl.  I...am really struggling.  My epilogue is increasingly feeling like the beginning of a story I don’t get to write.  But here is feret.  Because. 

 00000

Fuse knew Eret through what had to be the most complicated year of his life, but that doesn’t mean she knows everything about him.  It’s not that she presumed to, even, but she learns a lot in the first three weeks after what illogically feels like his resurrection.

He’s more stubborn than she understands, especially because it makes things more difficult for him a majority of the time.  He’s determined to be upright, no matter how much it hurts and no matter how much everyone wants him to lay down.  Before he jumped, Fuse always knew him as someone who collapsed to sit at the last possible instant, but she never realized how exaggerated it was until he insisted on staying awake as much as possible, even though he’s so hurt it hurts to look at him.  Fuse doesn’t understand that either but when his mom pulled the healed stitches out of his shoulder and temple, her stomach hurt like she was the one who’d been sliced open.  

Most of all though, he’s clingy.  Clingy in a sweet, unavoidable, flattering way. And every time she enters the room that Eret is in, it’s obvious and immediate in a way she doesn’t know how to deal with.  He’s all drunk, gentle hugs and big blue eyes and beseeching requests that she stay and get closer and she gets used to sleeping on the edge of the bed, his hand intertwined with hers and his head tilted into her shoulder.

But it’s Eret, and he’s strong and stubborn and insistent and before three weeks have passed he’s on his feet and answering the door when Fuse knocks.  She blinks at him and then at his chest, because instead of the crisp, white bandages she’s gotten so used to, the fireworm shaped scars across his ribs are exposed and his bandaged arm is hanging in a loose sling that looks way more comfortable than what he had before.

“Thank Thor you’re here,” he grabs her hand and starts dragging her inside, the lone fireworm scar on his arm flexing when his elbow bends.   They’re red but definitely healed, the edges of them crisp against pale skin that’s losing its freckles the longer he’s stuck inside.  “I’m so bored.”

“You got your bandages off,” Fuse states the obvious, looking down at his chest again and trying to get used to it.  Of course pulling a shirt over his broken arm is too much effort, considering it’s summer and he’s not going anywhere.  He was shy about it at first and until yesterday, bandaged enough that there wasn’t really anything exposed except collarbones and pale, ointment covered stomach.

Even with his arm in a sling, there’s more to look at now.

“Yes, and he’s obsessed with his new scars,” Aurelia says out of nowhere, startling Fuse enough that she looks away from Eret.  “I’ve got to go check on Stoick, apparently he was being a show off at dragon training yesterday.  You got him?”  She points at Eret, who rests his forehead on Fuse’s shoulder, his hair tickling her jaw.

“You could tell him to bring Bang back,” his breath still has an edge of mead to it but he seems clearer than he has.

“Why?”  Aurelia pauses in the doorway, “you aren’t flying until your ribs are healed.  Healer’s orders.”

“Mom paid them off to say that,” he huffs, standing back up straight and glaring outside.

“They still said it.”  Aurelia shrugs, “see you guys later.”  She shuts the door and Eret groans, staring up at the ceiling for a second before looking back at Fuse.

“I’m not obsessed with my scars,” he clarifies, like that matters, and all it does is make Fuse look back down at them.  She reaches out and touches one without thinking, her thumb tracing the warm edge, against his rib and he hisses.

“Sorry--” She jerks her hand back and he catches her wrist.

“No, it’s fine, it just--they kind of feel funny, I guess, and I think the ointment made my skin sensitive or something.”  He laughs, shifting his sling to the side and looking down at himself.  “They are kind of cool though, right?”

She looks up at the crescent of barely healed dragon tooth marks around his shoulder, each ringed with a yellowing bruise, and at the line across his collarbone and its twin on his temple.

“I don’t like you being hurt.”  Her voice seems too small under the high ceiling and Eret takes her hand, gently placing it flat against the scars and pressing it to his skin.

“They don’t hurt anymore.”  He’s smiling at her and she keeps waiting to get used to the warmth in her chest and the way her heart stutters, but maybe it’s not something she can get used to because she feels herself flush.  “Turns out whatever Rolf said about Fireworm mucus or whatever is actually probably true, they healed faster than my other burns.”  He frowns and moves his hand from the back of hers to her upper arm, rubbing lightly.  “Not that I’m happy about mucus, because that’s weird.”

She can feel his heartbeat in her palm and the unscarred skin under her fingertips is smooth and warm over his ribs.  It takes self control she hasn’t been using much lately to pull her hand away, especially because Eret starts playing with the end of her braid, his finally focused eyes drifting over her face.

“If it helped you heal faster, I’m happy about it.”

“But it’s mucus,” he shudders, rolling his shoulder and wincing when it nudges his ribs. He blinks against the pain and shuffles closer to her, bare foot nudging the toe of her boot.  The lack of boundaries that was endearing when he was nearly incoherent is different now that he’s upright and making sense.  “Which I’m still talking about for some reason.  Mucus.  Blech.  I’m going crazy in here,” he tucksher hair behind her ear and looking out the window, fingertips lingering against the side of her neck.  “And it’s such a nice day,” he pouts, jutting his lower lip out and looking at her meaningfully, his hand sliding down to her shoulder.

“What?”  She swallows, glancing at his lips.  He’s still hurt, even if he’s doing better.  And he’s stubborn and in pain and refusing to admit it.  And the idea of kissing it better is absurd, and not based in logic, and he just keeps asking because he wants to kiss her.  It wouldn’t actually make him feel better.

“Can we go outside?”  He sighs like she missed something obvious and his lips quirk into that uneven smile he got in the habit of when the bruise on his jaw was still black and blue instead of the nearly faded yellow it is now.  “Please?  It’s not like I’ll explode if I set foot across the threshold,” he gestures at the door and she misses his hand on her shoulder as the guilt she can’t seem to shake swirls in her stomach.  She crosses her arms and takes a step back.

“You’re just asking me because you think I’ll let you.”

“I’m asking you because you’re logical,” he reaches for her waist and pulls her back closer to him.  He bats his eyelashes like it’s a joke and Fuse can’t figure out what part of this is supposed to be funny.  “And pretty.”

None of it is funny.  Not the way he’s looking at her or the fact that he can bring up blowing up so casually.  Or his bare chest covered in scars reminding her that he came so close to not being here at all.  Or his gentle hand on her waist and the way that he keeps touching her while looking a lot less hurt than she knows he actually is.

Everything about him makes her want to act before thinking about it.

“Who told you that you couldn’t go outside?”  She forces her full attention back to his face and that doesn’t really help anything.  Oddly, he’s better rested while healing and there are no dark circles under his eyes to distract from that focused blue.  It’s darker around his pupil and maybe that’s why he can seem so intense even while he’s goofing off.

“That’s the thing,” he lowers his voice like it’s a secret, “no one has explicitly told me not to go outside, they’re all just very adamant that I stay right here.  So, to go outside and get some sun on my pasty, pasty face is only violating the spirit of the thing.”

Fuse purses her lips and swallows, glancing down at his sling and the scattered deep red scars and the way that they almost match the strip of red hair leading down from his belly-button.  And it’s quiet and the weight of her vest doesn’t remind her to move slowly or carefully, because the roof isn’t going anywhere.

So maybe they should.

“Fine.”  She steps away with a full chest exhale and opens the door, squinting at the suddenly harsh light.

“That was easier than I thought,” Eret walks past her, holding his good hand up to block the light.  The bruises on his back stand out against the pale glow of his skin and that sends another pang through Fuse’s chest, because those have to still hurt.  Either he’s pretending they don’t or everything has hurt so bad it warped his perspective. “And see?”  He turns and grins at her, looking down at his arm, “no spontaneous combustion.”  

“That’s not funny.”  It comes out more harshly than she intended but she doesn’t want to take it back either, even when Eret’s smile fades and he cocks his head at her, corners of his mouth downturned.  

It was hard to be mad at him after Snoggletog.  It’s harder now, because he’s hurt and she was more scared than she was mad, anyway, but the fear is fading faster than the anger.  

“Fuse,” he says her name gently, like he’s the one comforting her, and she feels as bad for bringing it up as he should for making her.  

“No, it’s not funny.  You shouldn’t make jokes about blowing up.”  She clears her throat because seeing all those scars in the sunlight makes them look like they’re still burning.  “Because you almost did.”

“But I didn’t,” he reaches for her hand and folds their fingers together, because his first instinct when either of them is upset is to touch her and she wouldn’t have known that if he’d…blown up.

“You did your best.”  She pulls her hand away and crosses her arms, like he won’t read her quite as well if he’s not touching her.  That doesn’t make sense, but he started answering questions she hadn’t asked yet right around the time he started touching her at every opportunity.  And it is Eret.  Logic and science haven’t ever applied to him the same as they do to everyone else.

“Look, I get—that was bad phrasing,” his hand flails by his hip for a second like he’s not sure what to do with it if she’s not letting him hold hers, and that piles onto the guilt in her stomach like a glaze that’s meant to set and hold.  “I won’t say it again,” he snorts to himself, that little half laugh that means he thought of something funny at an unexpected moment.  Usually, she wants to hear what it is, but when he opens his mouth to keep talking, her stomach drops again, “Odin knows if I actually wanted to get blown up, all I’d have to do is piss you off.  Which I’ve done,” he blanches, reaching halfway for her hand before stopping himself, “I’m sorry.”

She knows he’s not being literal.  She knows that.

But she also knows she hasn’t been able to think about lighting anything up without imagining him in the way of it.  She hasn’t thought about getting a new knife in case it leads him to something else as dangerous as the first one did.

And somehow, he’s going to be ok.  In spite of her, not because of her.  She came to terms with the fact that accidents don’t matter with explosives years ago, the first time she took off an eyebrow because her hands were shaking.  But until Eret was dumb and brave and determined enough to jump straight into the path of her biggest explosion yet, it was only ever her risk.

And her risk was always calculated and rewarded and worth it.  His wasn’t.  Isn’t.  

How could he ever trust someone who blew him up?  Why does that feel like something she can’t ask him?  

Part of her thinks it’s the first time since he was clueless about the chief that she’s ahead of him on something.  She’s thought of an angle that he hasn’t and she really doesn’t want him to catch up.  

“You really scared us,” she clears her throat, looking back up at him and sighing at the way he’s standing, like it’s difficult for him to give her space but he’s trying.  It makes her giddy and furious and guilty and she feels like one of the bombs she isn’t making right now, all powerful feelings mixed in unknown proportions, liable to explode.  “You really scared me.  I thought...I thought you were gone.”  

“I guess I wasn’t there for that part,” he frowns, looking at his feet, and she puts two fingers under his chin, lifting it until he looks at her, eyes sheepish.  She’s happy that he’s listening and guilty that she brought it up and the two mix with the anxious flutter in her chest when he bites his lip and exhales.  Something about Eret makes it impossible to keep things separate.  It’s like all the walls inside of her turn to mesh and the space in her own head without boundaries almost scares her.  “I...my family used to think I was so fragile that they wouldn’t tell me the truth about anything.  I didn’t--I mean, I still don’t want them to start thinking that again.  I can’t...I don’t think I can convince them again, you know, it was really painful the first time and...” he waves his hand around like it can speak for him and she takes her fingers off of his chin, catching his flailing fingers in hers.  

He squeezes her hand and looks relieved and it makes her want to say something.  She doesn’t understand it yet, but the more he talks to her just for the sake of talking, the more she feels like she should say things to him.  She doesn’t know what she’d say, honestly, because everything in her head is dark and sad and muddled but he’s looking at her like he wants her to say something encouraging.  Or do something, maybe.  

And he’s hurt.  But he’s vertical.  And mapped out with scars and ribs and muscles as landmarks and looking at him is almost as confusing as touching him.  

“You’re not fragile,” she tries and his eyes light up like he’s been waiting to hear it.  And he expects her to keep talking, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t start talking himself.  

A silent Eret isn’t really something she should waste, especially when he’s also upright and mostly sober, so she leans up onto her toes and kisses him.  He makes a surprised, muffled sound against her lips and she leans into him, placing the hand he isn’t holding on his chest, her thumb against one of those new smooth scars.  

They’re warmer than the skin around them, almost as warm as Eret’s lips moving sweetly against hers and he’s so alive and himself that she can’t stop worrying about him.  She’s scared he’s going to go do something like that again and she wants to give him a reason to stay.  He’s got enough scars, he doesn’t need any more of them.  She slips her tongue into his mouth and must lean against his arm too much because he grunts, pulling back slightly.  

“Sorry,” she drops her hand from his chest too quickly and jostles his sling.  He winces again and her palm tingles where it’s not touching him anymore.  

“No, don’t be.  What was that for?”  He tries and fails not to smile, his joking tone warmer than usual.  “Because I want to be sure to repeat whatever I did to make you kiss me like that.”  

Her heart thuds and she shakes her head.  

“You don’t have to do anything.”  Especially not repeat anything that makes her remember how miraculous it is that he’s still here with her.  “Just keep getting better.”  

He grins and raises an eyebrow, “is it the scars?”  

“No,” she frowns, her face heating up when he narrows his eyes at her like he’s got her all figured out.  She looks down at his chest again and shrugs, shoving the urge to touch him again down and pressing her free palm against the side of her leg.  “I’m just glad you got the bandages off.”  

“Me too,” he’s authentic and then nervous, his hand stiffening in hers, “oh.  I--I mean, I don’t know how I’d get on a shirt over my arm, so I just didn’t.”  He shrugs and winces, the motion pulling on his ribs.  

“It’s fine,” Fuse looks at his shoulders, the pale freckles asserting themselves already after only a few minutes in the sun.  

“Gods, Eret,” Arvid appears out of seemingly nowhere, Wingspark walking behind him with her scaly head hung low.  “There should be a warning, I tried to fly over and your pasty chest practically blinded Wing.”  

“No, it didn’t,” Eret drops Fuse’s hand and tries to cover himself, squirming for a moment before giving up and slouching.  

“She’s traumatized.”  Arvid scratches Wingspark’s chin and gives Fuse a lukewarm nod in greeting.  

“What are you doing here?  Aren’t you supposed to be working with Dad?”  Eret shuffles halfway behind Fuse, like he’s hiding, but he rests his chin on her shoulder and wraps his arm around her waist too, like he’s enjoying it.  Fuse blushes and Arvid either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.  She bets it’s the second, given how many times he’s caught them close to each other in the last few weeks.  

She’s not sure why she still cares, honestly.  But she does, and as with everything Eret influences, she’s learning to accept it as it is.  

“Looking for Aurelia.”  Arvid shrugs.  “Fish ran dry, all the dragons are really hungry, apparently.”  

“She went to pick up Stoick, I think.”  Eret sighs, “you want to wait for her?”  

“Sure,” Arvid points Wing to the barn.  

“If that’s ok,” Eret mumbles nearly in Fuse’s ear and she jumps, her hand landing on the arm around her waist.  

“It’s fine,” she shrugs, twisting gently out of his grip.  He checked with her because he wants to be alone and he’d ask Arvid to leave if she asked him to.  She knows that.  

And she wants him to, almost, except she’s not sure what she’d do and she doesn’t like that feeling.  As much as she’s fine with Eret overwhelming her, she hasn’t really accepted the idea that she’ll end up overwhelmed.  

[tysonrunningfox]

After

I...know this isn’t the ideal time to post this.  But...it made me cry today, so, here we are.  I’ll reblog as I deem necessary. This is not the end, actually, this is the straight up rock bottom, and it’ll get better from here, but it’s still so hard.  

Tumblr | AO3

Fuse

The North wall of the volcano splits vertically.  Perfectly.  Exactly how it’s supposed to. 

Sheets of granite fall into the sea, which seems deeper than it was a minute ago, boiling with the force of lava pouring upwards from underneath.  A wave surges outwards, barely dampened by the teeming sea dragons all fighting to get closer to the island.  

Fuse’s ears ring.  She wasn’t close enough to the blast for that, but they ring anyway. 

The volcano is all lava and crumbled rock and she doesn’t see Eret anywhere.  The spot where he landed doesn’t exist anymore, it bubbled away and he probably went with it. 

Into the lava that went into the ocean that’s boiling with the newly opened thermal vent. 

“Where is he?”  Arvid shouts, panicked like he already knows the answer, his dragon crying out and tugging to fly lower.  The island is so packed with dragons that they can’t see the ground, but Eret isn’t on the ground.  Eret isn’t anywhere.  “Do you see him anywhere?” 

“No,” she shakes her head.  She stares at the thermal vent but feels cold anyway, the wind from a few thousand sets of flurrying wings licking across her.  Some of the dragons are flying away from the island.  The ones still crawling all over it are mostly white, the sickest of them all. 

The volcano is gone and so is Eret. 

“Help me look for him!”  Arvid yells, diving down through the swarm.  A bright green gronckle runs into him and he ignores it, dodging and weaving around a couple of Hobblegrunts that look downright young.

They aren’t going to find him.  There’s nothing to find. 

She follows anyway, slower, circling the island below the thinning swarm, staring at the ragged edges of the island.  The blast was perfect.  A whispering death that’s entirely covered in chalky scales slithers into the sea. 

Seventeen silent laps of the island later, it’s almost empty, a few fireworms skittering over the volcanic rock.  It’d be the right kind of rock for stink bomb substrate.  Thinking of bombs makes Fuse nauseous and Hotgut lands with a heavy thump on the edge of the rock.  Fuse climbs off of her and pats her head, her hand still clammy even against warm dragon scales. 

“Eret!”  Arvid lands, leaping off of Wingspark and cupping his hands to his mouth.  “Eret!”  He turns to her, “do you see Bang?” 

“No.”  She crosses her arms, chest feeling oddly hollow.  It’s like she’s a drum and her heart is rattling around inside her, bruising her lungs but making noise that she feels but can’t make come out of her mouth.  Her nose is numb like the weather’s colder than it is and this would have been worse in winter.  It would have worked differently in the winter.  The blast couldn’t have gone if all that lava had solidified.  

That was the only way this could have gone.  Eret didn’t have to be the one to jump. 

“Little brother!”  Arvid sobs like he’s the one boiling in a thermal vent.  “This is when you choose to shut your giant mouth?”  He picks up a boulder and chucks it with a frustrated grunt and it tumbles off what’s left of the cliff and into the sea.  “Eret!”  He calls again.

He’s crying.  Fuse blinks, eyes dry and prickly. 

“He’s gone,” she croaks, her voice coming out almost dusty.  Like she already forgot how to use it because Eret isn’t going to hear it anymore. 

“He’s probably just hurt somewhere,” Arvid shakes his head, “we’ve just got to find him—”

“Where he was standing—it’s gone. He’s gone.  He was too close to the edge.”  She doesn’t recognize her own tone above her still ringing ears.  Her nose is numb and her teeth start to chatter.  It’s not cold and nothing makes sense.  Nothing except for the fact that Eret’s gone and she handed him a knife.  That she can still feel the imprint of his touch on her shaking hand. 

She swallows even though her mouth is dry and her eyes are dry and she feels preserved.  Like someone is freezing her so that she doesn’t go bad before she’s needed again.  Fuse jerky ready for a long period of hibernation.  

“He jumped where you told him to,” Arvid points at her, furious.  Still crying.  Shaking with a huge feeling she doesn’t have room for next to all this empty, cold numb.  She can’t bring herself to care. 

“I didn’t want him to.” 

“He still did it with your bomb—”

“Yeah.”  She gestures at the ruins of the volcano, “and it worked.  And the dragons flew away.”  She starts hiccupping.  Or maybe it’s shaking.  She’s not entirely sure and her eyes are so dry that the sun looks too bright.  Her knees wobble and Hotgut steps up next to her, offering her head to lean on.  “And he’s gone.” 

“Shit,” Arvid deflates, “you don’t look so good.” 

“He’s gone,” she repeats in that tired voice that doesn’t sound like her.  The island spins, the ragged shore blurring against blue water.  No more dragons are thrashing, the sea is almost calm.  The island is calm now.  It’s not a bad place, it’s not its fault. 

“Hey, Thorston,” Arvid walks up to her, shaking her shoulders with hands that might as well weigh as much as the baffle.  The baffle that’s gone too.  Not that it matters, it did its job.  “Look at me.” 

“He’s just…gone.” She stumbles even though she’s standing still and Arvid catches her.  He hugs her and it’s more of a bandage than anything as he starts crying, chest shaking and making the rattle in hers louder and worse.  She should comfort him.  She doesn’t know how.  

“Stubborn Asshole,” he lets her go, wiping his forehead, “always had to be the fucking hero.” 

Had.  Like in the past.  Fuse’s stomach lurches again. 

“The chief’s going to be here soon.”  She doesn’t look at the water because it’s still spinning.  Only her feet seem still.  “We’re going to have to tell him.  We’re going to have to tell everyone.”  She doesn’t say that they’re going to have to live with it because she’s not really sure how she’s going to. 

Aurelia

The dragons come all at once.  It looks like a cloud, for a moment, when the wave of them first comes over the horizon.  Aurelia doesn’t remember being this happy to see dragons, ever, but something feels right about Nadders crowding the feeding stations, grayish scales flaking off to reveal new, shiny ones underneath. 

“Get inside,” her mom calls from behind her. 

“Aren’t you seeing this?”  Aurelia gestures at a trio of young monstrous nightmares soaring up above the house.  One lands on the roof and Stormfly squawks, scaring it off.  “The dragons are back.” 

“Hiccup did it?”  her mom appears in the doorway, pushing her hair behind her ear and staring at the dragons like she’s looking for a Night Fury. 

“Or Eret was right.” 

“You can’t know that,” she shakes her head, “your dad has an alpha dragon, that’s more likely to work than—”

“Whatever.”  Aurelia scoffs and walks back inside, avoiding a swarm of terrors eagerly drinking from the watering station.  They’re shedding too, and small.  Most of the dragons look young, or at least they do in her narrow understanding of dragon biology.  There aren’t many big ones, but it’s still not exactly her crowd. 

“Hey,” her mom steps back inside, “we’ll talk when everyone gets back, alright?  But I have to ask now, did you…coach Eret or anything in speaking against your dad that way?” 

“What?”  Aurelia scoffs, “no—this isn’t about being chief, it’s about helping the dragons.  And it looks like it worked so…” 

“We’ll talk when everyone gets back, you don’t know what worked.”  She shakes her head and looks tired, “and I do know you tried to stall your chief’s plan—”

“My dad’s plan.”  

“It’s both, you don’t get to pick.”   

Aurelia knows what that means.  It means that a bunch of kids spoke out of turn and the real adults are going to have to remind them that they’re kids.  It means rewriting the past few months.  It means she can get married, apparently, but nothing about that says anyone is going to listen to her yet.  She’s shocked it extends to Eret too, honestly, after he did such a decent job basically leading the whole village, but the lack of favoritism in the negativity is refreshing. 

The dragons are louder than she remembers, their wingbeats and squawks and the way they scramble across the roof.  Aurelia doesn’t know how she picks out Wingspark’s cry in all the noise, but she does, and she knows that it’s not a happy cry.  

Eret offered for Arvid to stay back.  It could be dangerous out there, after what happened to Ingrid, and after the last year, Arvid wouldn’t let Eret do the dangerous thing.  It can’t happen like this, not now, not when they’re so close to everything they’ve talked about.  

“Oh no,” she runs back outside, expecting Arvid to be hurt, or even worse Wingspark to be alone, but Arvid looks fine, if pale.  “What is it? What’s wrong?”  

“How’d you know something’s wrong?”  He jumps down off of Wing’s back and pulls her into an almost bruisingly tight hug.  He smells like smoke and anxiety and she pushes on his chest until she can see his face.  

“Wing sounded sad, what happened?  Where is everyone else?”  She looks around, “did my dad catch up to Eret or something?”  

Arvid sighs and takes a second to make eye contact and when he does he’s guilty.  Guilty like he was when they went too far and realized they’d stuffed all their blame in exactly the wrong direction.  He cups her cheek in his clammy hand and shakes his head.  

“What’s that mean?” Her eyes prickle because her brain is going faster than it will let her accept.  “Where’s Fuse?  Where’s Eret?”  

“Fuse is riding back on the boat with her dad and the chief,” he sighs, “Eret is…he’s…”  

“You’re back?  Where’s Eret?”  Her mom runs outside and freezes.  

“Mom, I…” He stumbles over the title and she’s clearly his mom right now, not Aurelia’s, because he’s biting back tears.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t see what he was doing, I tried to find him but—”

“Arvid, where is he?” She whistles and Stormfly glides down from the roof, landing neatly beside her.  “I’ll go get him, just tell me where he is—”

“Oh no,” Aurelia’s heart drops and her knees tremble as she shakes her head.  “No, that’s not possible.”  

“He didn’t make it out,” Arvid shakes his head and swallows hard.  

The dam breaks and Aurelia doesn’t recognize the sound coming out of her throat or the fact that it makes her more upset, more heavy.  More confused.  

He was just here.  He was just flying too fast and making a fool of himself in front of everyone.  He was just making her so proud and embarrassed and tired, because she thought she talked fast.  She presses her face into Arvid’s chest and he cradles the back of her head, sobbing quietly himself.  Arvid doesn’t cry.  If Arvid’s crying, it’s real.  

Her mom left her, but her mom wanted to.  Eret didn’t want this.  He wanted things to be better.  That’s all they wanted.  

“What are you talking about?”  Eret’s Mom asks, her voice trembling, “he didn’t make it out of where?  Where is he, Arvid?”  

“He’s gone, Mom,” Arvid sobs.  He’s shaking. Aurelia’s shaking.  The world is shaking.  

“That…no, it—Hiccup will bring him back.  Hiccup will find him, it’ll be ok.”  She’s crying too though, shallow little sniffs that Aurelia can barely hear.  

Arvid shakes his head and holds Aurelia closer, stooping down to cry into her hair.  She doesn’t know what to say.  Hel, she doesn’t know what not to say.  Her mind is as silent as the forests were yesterday.  

Hiccup 

“Why isn’t anyone helping me?”  Hiccup jumps off of Toothless as soon as he lands on the lead ship, pointing up at empty skies.  The dragons left, thousands of them passing overhead when they were about three quarters of the way to the island.  “We need eyes in the sky, now!”  He uses what’s left of his biggest voice and Snotlout shakes his head.  

“We need to think about getting back.”  

“What in Thor’s name are you talking about?”  Hiccup clears his throat so that other boats hear him, “we need to start sweeping the island, I’ll start in the northern caves but let’s break it up into sections—”

“That won’t help.” Fuse cuts him off from where she’s sitting with her gronckle, paler than he’s ever seen anyone and wrapped in her dad’s outer fur.  “He’s gone.” She stares at her lap, back stiff and straight.  

“I’m going to get him back,” Hiccup tells her, voice starting to shake even though he believes it. He has to.  This isn’t how this ends.  There has to be another way for this to end.  

“He’s gone,” she shakes her head.  

“If everyone would just help me, we’ll find him and get him back!”  Hiccup isn’t sure when he decides to yell it, but the last word tears out of his throat like it’s reopening an old wound he’d forgotten about.  

“No, there’s nothing to find, he’s gone.”  Fuse’s voice is smaller but no less flat and the fur around her shoulders starts to fall off until Tuffnut sits down beside her, readjusting it and putting his arm over her shoulders.  

“Snotlout might be right, Hiccup,” Fishlegs steps forward, wringing his hands together and looking at Ruffnut for what looks like encouragement.  “Those dragons that passed over us looked like they were headed towards Berk—”

“I know that!”  Hiccup snaps, because Eret was right, at least some of it was right.  And he didn’t listen.  And now he has to bring him back, that’s how these things go.  He has to get his son back.  “It’s Berk, it’ll be happy to have its dragons back, we need to be here, now—”

“Hiccup,” Fishlegs tries again and Ruffnut puts her hand on his shoulder, “they could still be sick. They could need us.”  

“I don’t care about the dragons right now,” Hiccup stares daggers into everyone who’s just…standing. They’re all just standing. Shoulders slumped and dragons sad, their heads hung low.  And it’s quiet except for the waves lapping at the sides of the boat.  Hiccup’s words echo in his head and off the sails and Toothless nudges his hand as if accepting a wordless apology.  “I need…I need to find my son.”  

“He’s gone,” Fuse whispers, her gronckle trying to lick her face as she bats it away with a limp arm, knocking the fur off her shoulders again.

“Hiccup,” Tuffnut puts his fur back around his daughter’s shoulders, “at least some of us need to get back.”  

“Fine, take half the ships.” Hiccup looks over his shoulder at the island, Bang splashing through the surf in a frantic lap.  At first he thought Bang could help him, but he’s distraught, crying out and flailing briefly through the air before diving back into the sea.  “I’m staying.”  

“We’ve been here for hours, Hiccup,” Snotlout’s belligerent tone fades enough to make Hiccup nauseous at whatever he’s about to say, “don’t you think we would have found something by now?”  

“There isn’t anything,” Fuse shakes her head, “the vent opened up just like we said it would. It’s all gone.”  

“We did find something,” Tuffnut stands up, “my daughter who needs to get home.  Ruff, come on.”

A couple of other people move towards their dragons and a ship at the back of the fleet starts turning around.  Eret knows these people, he’s been chief to these people.  And they’re all so quick to leave.  It’s only been a couple of hours, he’s on that island, somewhere. It doesn’t end like this, it can’t.

“I need a ship to get him home if he’s hurt,” Hiccup clears his throat and tries to give an order, but they’re all starting to sound like pleas. “And I need enough people to get it back fast—”

“Hiccup,” Gobber takes a slow step forward between Snotlout and Fishlegs, his limp more obvious than Hiccup has ever seen it.  “Don’t make me say it.”  

“How can you leave? You know him even better than I do.” Hiccup doesn’t know where to aim the flare of desperate anger at seeing dragons take off of ships as more and more peel away from the back of the fleet and head towards home.  

“I know him enough to know…he’s not you.”  Gobber sighs and he looks old and sad and Hiccup shakes his head.  

“No, he’s—I’ve got to find him.  I’ve got to fix this—”

“The village needs you,” Gobber swallows, “Astrid’s going to need you.”  

“Astrid needs me to bring our son back!”  Hiccup shouts, voice cracking, a tear leaking from the corner of his eye.  Snotlout looks away.  Fuse is muttering something under her breath while her dad kneels in front of her, holding her hands.  

“She’s going to need you more than ever, chief.”  

The title is a slap and terse reminder that he can’t be Hiccup right now, he can’t be a father. He can’t think about Eret, the boy, his son, it has to be Eret, future chief.  He doesn’t grieve for the latter at all, but looking at Bang frantically splashing by the shore, the grief for the former hits like a Warhammer to the chest.

He’d prefer a Night Fury blast, honestly, and he’s jealous of his dad’s choices all over again.  

“Toothless,” his voice shakes and he wipes another tear before it falls.  He can cry later.  “Get Bang to come over here.”  

Toothless croons and the spines along his head glow weak blue for a moment and Bang pauses, turning towards the ship and swimming forward with a couple splashing wingbeats. He croons louder, like a scream, like the sound Hiccup’s heart is making when he thinks about going home empty handed. He doesn’t want to imagine Astrid’s face when he tells her, but he can’t think of anything else.  

Bang stops splashing and lets out a weak blast, rocking the boat slightly and blowing it back towards Berk with a burst of wind to the sails.  Toothless’s head stops glowing, immediately, and he looks up at Hiccup with big green eyes.  Hiccup wishes, for the first time, that he couldn’t read Toothless quite so well.  

“He wants to stay,” Hiccup wipes his eye with the back of his hand.  He’s going to fly back, maybe it’ll dry him out enough to talk to Astrid. “Bang wants to stay.”  

“Toothless can’t make him come?”  Snotlout asks and Hiccup barely bites back a sob.  

“Won’t.”  

And it’s quiet.  And no one is going to argue with him, now no one is going to be better and be so brave and stubborn and stupid that an island bends to his will and tens of thousands of dragons follow the course he laid out for them.  

“I’ll fly back, ships can follow.”  He avoids looking at anyone else before taking off, tears biting into his cheeks as he urges Toothless too fast, hoping the rushing wind can make him think of anything else.  

Astrid 

“They should be back by now,” Ingrid paces back and forth in front of the Haddock fireplace, arms crossed and twitching.  

“They’ll be back soon,” Astrid rubs her temple, trying to focus on fixing the shirt in front of her. She doesn’t know why Eret can’t go a day without destroying some item of clothing, Stoick does better than he does.

Aurelia sobs upstairs and Astrid pricks her finger, swearing and setting down the needle entirely.  

“The island isn’t that far away, Mom.”  Ingrid tosses another log on the fire, just looking for something to do, and Eret sighs a pointed sigh at her.  

It’s absurd to be in the same room with him like this.  At the Haddock table, in Hiccup’s house, Hiccup’s ring around her finger.  She wouldn’t say that they’re getting along, it’s more like they’re ignoring all communication aside from the necessary and after Ingrid got hurt, they agreed that the necessary must include their children.

Eret included.  

Hiccup will bring him back. If he’s hurt, they’ll figure it out. Arvid shouldn’t have scared Aurelia, but he seemed sure enough that Astrid thought he could use his father. She was shocked, initially, that he wasn’t on the ships with everyone else, but it makes sense, he’s more ostracized than ever without his attachment to her.  

“The pacing isn’t helping anything.”  Eret tells Ingrid gently and she scowls at him.  

“It’s not hurting anyone either.”  She looks at the staircase when Aurelia sobs again and her face goes pale, “what all did Arvid say again?”  

She looks worried and it makes Astrid’s stomach churn with the horrible shadowy feeling that something about Arvid’s account might be true.  But even if it is, Hiccup will find Eret.  Hiccup has pulled people out of worse situations than this and more than that, Hiccup has been pulled out of worse situations than this.  This wasn’t a bewilderbeast or a red death, this was just an island and Eret’s strong.  Too strong. Strong enough to take the whole world on his shoulders and fight when someone tries to take it back.  

“Hiccup will bring your brother back, alright?”  Astrid doesn’t know how many more times she can say that today.  

Eret catches onto her stress, the infuriating way that he always has, and she sees his hand twitch towards hers on the table top, twenty five years of habits dying a slow, brutal death.  She hardens her expression and hopes he can’t see through this one and his hand on the table curls into a loose fist.  

“The chief always has a miracle up his sleeve.”  

“It’s not a miracle,” Astrid fights to keep her voice level as the crying upstairs slows, a raw pained sound pulsing with her measured heartbeat, “Arvid doesn’t know what he saw.”

“What did he say he saw?” Ingrid asks.  

“Don’t worry about it.” Astrid can’t say it without thinking about Arvid’s face, how sure he was, how impossible it all is, “we’ll get the whole story when—”

“Hiccup gets back, we get it.”  Ingrid kicks one of Stoick’s blocks with enough force that it flies across the room and plinks off of the window.  

“Hey—”

The door swings open, creaking and letting in two streams of early evening sunlight on either side of Hiccup.  Astrid can’t see his face, but she can hear his steps, heavy, defeated footfalls that don’t make any sense.  She stands up as he shuts the door behind him and his red-rimmed eyes meet hers.  

“Where is he?”  Ingrid runs up to Hiccup first and he shakes his head at her.  “What’s that mean?  Where’s my brother?”  

“Astrid,” he gently pushes Ingrid out of the way so that he can see Astrid clearly and his eyes aren’t red from flying.  They’re red from crying.  “I…”  

“Is he at the healers?” Astrid’s mouth goes dry as she says it, “do I need to go be with him?  Is it—”

“Answer her,” Ingrid shoves on Hiccup’s shoulder, not hard enough to make him stumble, and she starts crying, the sound weaving with the crying upstairs and echoing off of the wall. “Why aren’t you answering her?”  

“Ingrid,” Eret stands up and hugs her and she shoves at his arm.  

“Why aren’t you answering us?  Where’s my brother?”  

“We…” Hiccup swallows and sniffs and his voice catches on a knot in his throat, “I couldn’t find him.”  

“You couldn’t find him?” Astrid repeats the answer.  The idea that this is where Hiccup failed, that this was the unanswerable question, doesn’t have a place in reality.  “Did he run away?  Or…”  

“No,” Hiccup looks at the floor between them and Ingrid’s crying dries up to defiant little sniffs, “Bang was there.  He was—he wouldn’t come back with us.  I—he…”

“He’s dead?”  Eret asks, a careful tenderness in his voice that she couldn’t ever match.  Not that she needed to, he always had it covered, and it does to Hiccup what it used to do to their children.  It brings him back to the moment and he wipes his face, jaw set forward.  

“We couldn’t find him today, but I’m going back tomorrow, Astrid.  Hel, I’ll leave now, I’ll get Toothless some food and—”

“He is dead, isn’t he?” Astrid cuts across his frantic hope, because he’s cushioning himself, she can see it in wide, teary green eyes that won’t quite focus on her face.  

“No one has seen him since the blast and—”  Hiccup’s arms flop to his sides and he looks smaller than usual, like he lost another part of himself, and Astrid’s knees start to shake.  She forces them steady.  “And the volcano was erupting into the sea and—”

“Eret’s dead,” she whispers, voice shaking out of her control.  She tries to swallow it and tears well up in her eyes, hot enough to burn as she struggles to keep them open.  Through the teary film, Hiccup looks too similar, like he’s from a reality where Eret got to grow old or Hel, even just grow up, and she cries out because there’s not enough room inside of her for all of this.  

“I’m sorry, Astrid.”  Hiccup’s arms wrap around her, too tight, like he’s trying to hold her together and she doesn’t think that’s possible.  “I’m so sorry.  It’s—it’s because of me, I should have listened to him.  It’s my fault.”  

That drags another harsh sob out of her throat and she buries her face in his neck, inhaling sea spray and leather and trying to breathe.  It feels like she’s suffocating, like the air in the room is fleeing from her and Eret was dead hours ago, wasn’t he?  Midgard has been without him for hours and she didn’t know. She didn’t listen.  

“It is your fault,” Ingrid shouts, “you said no one else would get hurt.  You said you’d protect us—”

“Ingrid,” Eret—the only Eret, now—herds her towards the door, “come on—”

“You said you’d make sure no one else got hurt.  That’s why I told you everything,” she barks out a single, violent cry, “and now Eret’s dead.  It’s my fault.  Fuck, it’s my fault—”

“It’s all our faults,” Aurelia’s voice appears at the bottom of the stairs and Astrid manages to look up at her.  Her face is puffy and Arvid’s standing behind her, hand on her shoulder.  “More than that, it’s his.  It’s his own damn fault.  Dumb, stubborn—”  She inhales a sob and her shoulders shake, “I—he made his choice and our dragons are back and I still don’t think I can ever forgive him for it.  I…”  

She doesn’t know what to say.  There’s a space that Eret would have—should have—filled and it hangs heavy in the miserable air.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Bad News

This is one of the last 3 chapters of this like...what I told myself I had to do to call it finished.  I edited through the rest again today and like...I’ve worked up to the next week for like three years.  And this is totally going to get buried by rtte but I’m not really operating on the idea that those two things have the same people paying attention to them so I’m keeping as close to on schedule as I can anyway.  (This didn’t feel like a valentines chapter so I gave it an extra day) 

Tumblr | AO3

It’s too early to be awake after a long, mostly sleepless night when someone knocks at the door. Or at least I think it’s someone, because it sounds more like a hollow metal ball than it does a hand.  I wait a moment for someone else to deal with it but Mom doesn’t appear and Aurelia doesn’t come bounding down the stairs so I wrap my blanket around my shoulders and trudge over there, not bothering to put away my glare as I open it.  

It’s Ingrid with what looks like breakfast that she mercifully didn’t cook and I reach out and grab a roll, biting into it and miming shutting the door in her face.  

She reaches out and stops the door with her bad hand, that metallic sound ringing out again, and my eyes widen when I actually look at her fingers.  

There are three metal fingers where yesterday there was blank space, a leather holster covering half her hand and attaching to a latch around her wrist.  Another leather strap is around the base of her thumb and when she moves her hand away from the door, I can see that each finger has two carefully wrought, ratcheting joints.

“Let me see that—”

“Good morning to you too,” she pushes past me, stepping on my dragging blanket with a muddy boot and setting food on the table like she owns the place, even though I don’t think she’s ever been here.  “Did you sleep out here?” She pats Bang’s head with her good hand—I mean her flesh and bone hand, and wrinkles her nose at the rumpled blankets on the floor.  

“Bang won’t fit in the upstairs bedrooms.”  I shut the door, “and can you please show me that?”  

“What?”  She holds her hand in front of her, reaching up and bending the fingers with her other hand.  They hold whatever angle she puts them at and she grins, a shadow of her old confidence in it.  “You have to be more specific.”  

“Your hand, obviously.” I shove the rest of the roll in my mouth when she holds it out in my direction, dropping the blanket to hold it in both my hands.  

“I brought you breakfast to be nice, you could at least chew it.”  

“Where’d you get this?” I turn her hand over in mine, looking at the way the leather strap crosses her palm, holding the three metal fingers carefully in place over what’s left of her own.  The clasp around her wrist is freshly oiled, the gronckle iron pounded thin and pulled smooth to make it lay flat against the strap.  It’s stitched into place with what looks like sealskin thread, so that it won’t go slack when it gets wet and the fingers move smoothly with tactile little clicks.  

“Smitelout made it,” she scoffs, “charged me about half my savings for it but hey, I’m not going anywhere else to spend those now so…”  

“Smitelout made this?”

“Yeah, she said my axe was wrong for lefty wielding and it’d be a pain in the ass to change it so—”

“So she made you a hand?” I let go of it and she takes it back slowly, staring at it the whole time with a weird, almost content look on her face.  “That’s a lot harder than switching a balance on an axe.”  

“She did say that the next time she kicked my ass, she wanted me to be at my best so I couldn’t use this as an excuse,” Ingrid plops down into my normal chair, kicking her feet up on the chief’s table and picking up a piece of bread.  “As if.  But whatever her motives, I mean…I can swing an axe again.  It’s a little slippery on the down stroke but maybe if I wore a leather glove or something…”  

“That’s…that’s great.” I don’t know what else to say so I sit down across from her and pick up more food.  “Does Arvid know you’re here?”  

“Nah, he’s still asleep.”

“Well he’s off watch duty for the foreseeable future,” I take a bite and she rolls her eyes.  

“Aren’t you the one who left me alone at the Ingermans’ last night so you could go make out with your girlfriend?”  She wiggles her eyebrows at me and I blush.  “And I don’t need someone to watch me, squirt, I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine.”  

“I’m close enough,” she nods, like she’s telling herself more than me.  “Closer now.”  

“Did you and Spitleaf work things out last night?”  I ask, because she really does seem better.  Not good, not even normal, but better, and I know Spit was always good for her.  

“We talked. Kind of.” She shrugs, “I don’t think it’s something that can be worked out and I told her that and she seemed to understand even if she wasn’t happy about it.  I just—I’m busy, right now, with getting back into fighting shape and keeping you and Arvid from making fools of yourselves.  Oh, and keeping Dad company.  I’ve got a lot on my plate, I need to focus on that.”  

“So, you’re not together anymore?”  

“There really is no keeping you from making a fool of yourself, is there?”  She says a little more sharply than I think she intends to.

“I’d say that’s largely true.”  

“Does that mean you embarrassed yourself in front of Fuse?”  She grins, “tell me everything.”  

“What?  No,” I huff, “I’m not telling you—did you do this with Arvid? Ask him all the sordid details—”

“No,” she snorts, “he’d just lie and give way too much information, frankly.”  

“So then why ask me?”

“Because that’s not the face of a little brother with gross things to tell me,” she points at me with one neatly extended metal finger.  

“Oh, shut up.”  

“Stoick incoming!” Aurelia calls down the stairs seconds before Stoick sprints down them, tiny bare feet smacking the floor as he runs around the table to shout ‘good morning’ at Bang and nearly crashes into my chair, catching himself on my shoulder.  He frowns at Ingrid.  

“You must be Mom’s other kid.”  

“Ingrid Hofferson,” she holds out her hand, her right hand, all the fingers extended, “nice to meet you.”

“Whoa!”  He doesn’t shake her hand, grabbing her fingers instead and pulling hard enough that I reach out to stop him.  

“Gentle, bud.”  

“Sorry,” he grins, like he knows he’s cute enough to get away with it and honestly, he is, “cool hand!”

“Thanks, it’s new.”  

“Mine aren’t,” he holds up his hands for her to see and Aurelia finally makes her way downstairs, braiding her hair over her shoulder.  

“She’s not even my real sister and she brings me food,” Aurelia looks at me pointedly as she grabs breakfast and sits down.  I huff, combing through my hair with my fingers and trying to reclaim the tie tangled in it.  

“You didn’t ask me for food.”  

“I didn’t have to ask Ingrid for food.”  

“You got off of the wrong side of the dragon this morning,” I roll my eyes and Stoick finally drops Ingrid’s hand, satisfied that he knows how it works enough to leave it alone.  

“She doesn’t have a dragon,” he reminds me, rolling his eyes with far too much intention for someone that young.  

“Just a saying, bud.”

“Did you know that Eret looked exactly like you at your age?” Ingrid leans down a little bit to talk to Stoick and I wish again that she’d been here to help me when I was first getting used to him, “he burned down the forge though, you haven’t done anything like that, right?”  

“No,” he shakes his head, “Mom would be so mad.”  

“She was,” Ingrid nods. “You didn’t get to ride Bang for what? A week.”  

“She said I wasn’t supposed to.”  I wonder if I’m being a horrible role model when I look and Stoick and continue, “I did it anyway.”  

“I always knew I was the good kid,” Stoick sighs and shakes his head at me and Ingrid laughs.  Even Aurelia snorts at that one, even though I know it’s not quite a joke to her.  “Can I play with Bang?”  

“Of course, dude.” I almost regret saying it because as soon as he runs away and starts whispering secrets to a dragon on the other side of the room, both my sisters look at me like it’s a little disappointing how little I’ve embarrassed myself today.  

I’d like to think that last night is enough for this lifetime but mostly I’d like to not think of last night in front of anyone, including myself, honestly.  

Well, the bad parts of last night.  And even the bad parts weren’t bad, per say, they were just uncomfortable because I was out of control and Fuse noticed and made me think about things I haven’t in a long time.  And even then it was different, it was…incestuous, yes, but otherwise innocent. I didn’t want to be like Arvid, not really, I wanted it to be some romance from the stuffy section of Fishlegs’ library.  And it’s not that I’d be opposed to a little more romance with Fuse, that’s not what I was so enthusiastic about last night.  

I try not to think about her saying she was flattered or her shoving me back onto her bed like she really wanted me there.  Last night, I had enough trouble holding back the idea of what might have happened if I’d stayed.  I’m not sure how I feel about it and I don’t want to have that revelation with both my sisters staring at me like they’d love someone to advise.  

Surprisingly, Aurelia cracks first, and just in time too because I can feel Ingrid reading my mind.

“I think Arvid is mad at me, has he said anything to you?”  She asks me but Ingrid by extension, hesitant for a second like she’s not sure she can.  

“He doesn’t have conversations with me that don’t start with asking if I’m ok,” Ingrid shrugs, “but he hasn’t seemed mad.”  

“He doesn’t talk to me unless he wants a brawl,” I laugh before remembering yesterday, like that important embarrassment just got buried under the chronological next until this moment.

The good news is, I’m not blurting this one out because the only thing worse than my brother marrying my sister is being the one to ask her for him.  

“He hasn’t said anything to you?”  She asks again, nose twitching like she smells something suspicious and I shrug.

“He asked me if Ingrid is ok.”  

“If no one asks me that ever again it’ll be too soon,” she huffs, kicking her feet back up on the table and freezing when Mom walks out of the bedroom and sees her.  

“Feet.”  

“Sorry.”  

“What brings you up here?” Mom walks up to her and hugs her even as Ingrid makes a show of rolling her eyes.  She notices Ingrid’s hand and looks at me but I just shrug, because I don’t know how to silently communicate that Smitelout has been hiding both her talent and smidgen of compassion remarkably well for someone who’s so loud and annoying all the time.  

“I brought breakfast,” she gestures at the basket on the table, “and I wanted to see how last night went because Eret left the Ingermans’ to hang out with his girlfriend.”  

“Fuse Thorston?”  Mom turns that disappointed in dating look I’ve only ever seen her give Arvid on me for the first time in my life and it practically stings.  “She’s your girlfriend now?”  

“She’s not my girlfriend.” I shrug, and it’s true, because we haven’t said anything like that and she doesn’t want to get married.  I just occasionally kiss her in her room on her bed and feel really…happy about it.  That’s all.  

And, you know, I’m currently trying really hard not to remember how her hip felt under my hand or how good she smells.  

Not that I’m going to tell my mother that.  

This is the first thing I’ve ever had that I really can’t tell Mom, isn’t it?  

“Maybe not in so many words, but he does realize that she is in fact a girl.”  Aurelia isn’t upset enough about Arvid not to join in.  

“I’d wager that he might even think she’s pretty.”  Ingrid pokes me irrationally hard in the arm with one of her metal fingers and that’s probably why Smitelout did it, to torture me from yet another angle.  

“Well, maybe he should think about making decisions based on pretty,” Mom gives me that look again.  

“Who’s pretty?”  The chief walks out of the bedroom and Ingrid blinks at him for a second, alarmed like she never is.  I realize it’s the first time she’s seen it, Mom and the chief so casually together like it’s not completely absurd after a lifetime of Mom and Dad.  The chief puts his hand on Mom’s back and reaches for some bread.  “Good morning, Ingrid.”  

“Uh, hey Chief.”  

“So, who’s pretty?” He kisses Mom on the cheek like that much is obvious, and I look and Ingrid and shrug.  She’s a little pale and I don’t blame her, honestly.  

“Fuse Thorston is, in Eret’s humble opinion,” Aurelia looks at me, daring me to argue with her and I know that’s a trap.  

“I told him to think twice about decisions made on pretty.” Mom looks at the chief like she wants his support in whatever her problem is with talking about Fuse and the chief gives her a look that makes me feel surprisingly vindicated.  

“I’m not sure that’s great advice, Astrid.”  

“I’m just saying—”

“I get what you’re saying, Mom.”  I leave it at that, because I do, because I’ve made decisions based on pretty and that led to following Aurelia around like a lost fireworm.  

“You’re being respectful, right?”  The chief narrows his eyes at me and it’s almost authentically stern.  I laugh.  “No, really, Fuse is a great girl—”

“You’re being serious?” I laugh again, waiting for him to stop and say he’s just joking with me or something.  Because that’s another face that Arvid got, the ‘am I going to have to clean up your romantic mess’ face.  I always got the go-get-‘em face with the bald implication that I would fail. This is a better new face.  “You think I’ve got enough of a chance to be disrespectful?”  

“She’s a good kid.” He reiterates.  

“I know, chief.  I’m not—I’m being respectful.  Or whatever.”  Or at least most of me is.  

I did leave last night. I stopped as soon as it went further than I expected it to.  She was the one following me out and talking about stuff and things and making me blush.  And putting things in my head that probably should have already been there, but now that they’re new, they’re a lot harder to avoid.  

“Glad to hear it.”  He nods, still fatherly but a little less annoying than usual.  “Also, get dressed, there’s a report of a Thunderdrum attacking some boats up north, we should go before it moves on.”  

“Now?”  I frown, “I’m not done eating yet.”  

“Bring it with you.”  

What the chief didn’t tell me at home is that the Thunderdrum was described as covered in flaky, white scales and that it’s nearly half a day’s flight north.  The chief and I spend the better part of three days cruising around at low altitude looking for it.  I have to physically bite my tongue a few times to keep from telling him we should go East, towards the sick dragon island, but having him on my side won’t help us now anyway so I don’t bother.  That and it feels like laying out breadcrumbs for him to come find the plan we’ve managed to keep underground for this long.  

“It might be about time to give up,” he shouts over the cold wind on our way back to Berk mid-afternoon on our third full day of searching.  “It must have moved on from here, if it attacks any more ships, we’ll hear about it.”  

“Thunderdrums don’t attack for no reason, it must have felt threatened.”  

“Or it was old and sick,” the chief lets that hang for a minute and I look at him.  He’s staring pointedly ahead.  “Sea’s looking pretty empty these days.”  

“I know that,” I pat Bang’s head urging him faster to keep up with Toothless’s easy gliding, “so are the forests.”  

“I wonder if it’s some sort of disease,” the chief slows down and he’s still not looking at me, more thinking out loud and hoping I’d rather have answers than fight with him. Maybe I’d feel different if I didn’t think I already had the answers, but I’d rather get home than fight.  “If it is, there has to be a cure.”  

“What if they’re just dying?”  

“Or going somewhere else,” he looks East like he’s been thinking about it this whole time, “maybe someone needs to bring them back.”  

“If they want to leave, I don’t see how bringing them back could help anything.”  It’s true but it feels like diversion too, because we’re so close and the problem should solve itself.  I’ve got to believe it will, because otherwise, I don’t know what I’m going to do.  All I know is that it feels wrong out here without dragons, too quiet, too still. Like I’m existing after the end of something.  

“I don’t know,” the chief shakes his head and looks at me, a nostalgic smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and making him look older than he usually does, “maybe it’s because it’s a Thunderdrum.  I always kind of look for my dad’s, I guess.”  

“Could they really live that long?”  I pat Bang’s head again and he warbles like he’s offended at the suggestion.  

“I’ve seen them so big that there’s no way they could fly anymore.  We know they become mostly aquatic after fifty years or so but…I don’t know.  I hope so.” He sighs, “maybe I just like thinking parts of him are still out there.”  

I get the feeling he’s talking about me.  The comparison gets heavier every time I hear it and I clear my throat.  

“How—how did he die?” The question falls out, clumsy, too loud over the dragon-less waves, “I know it was—you know, Toothless, and you told me when, I just—”

“Toothless was under the control of an alpha.  My dad jumped between us,” he looks down at his hands, “we glamorize it for the plaque but…it was what it was.”  

“He saved you,” I nod, thinking that through.  It’s an instinct I understand better after Ingrid.  Not that I didn’t understand it before, but there was always an element of heroism to it.  I understood being the hero, taking the brunt, but always with something on the other side.  

Spitleaf didn’t stay and Ingrid’s forever damaged for it.  I would have stepped in front of that axe in an instant, but she wouldn’t have wanted me to.  

Maybe sometimes, leading is making the hard choices for everyone else, but most of the time, it’s making the hardest one for yourself.  

“He didn’t think twice.” The chief looks at me strangely for another second before clicking at Toothless.  “Come on, let’s get home, I’m about numb from being in the saddle two days straight.  I’m finally getting old, I guess.”  

“I think that started a long time ago,” I joke because I don’t know what else to say and he laughs because I get the feeling he needed a joke.  

In a way, the last couple days have been a slice of what was normal for so many months.  Sure, I didn’t drop all chiefly duties while helping get Ingrid re-settled, but I can’t say they were an all day, every day activity anymore either.  And even though it’s not as much work as when I was doing it alone, I’m itching for a break. Not that I even know what I break is these days.  I don’t know what I even used to do when I had all that free time.  

The good news is that the blasts of cold, salty air keep me from thinking too hard about Fuse, at least while we’re actively flying.  The rest of the time, at home, Aurelia talks my ear off about how Arvid is acting strange and I help her hack through a few of the more difficult treaties she’s working on.  It all has the feeling of filling time when I should be doing something else, something important.  The next day, I take the first chunk of freedom I can get when the chief asks me to check in on the second round of dam repairs while he has a secret meeting that I largely suspect is with Arvid himself.  

The dam looks like it’ll hold this time and it better because the next thing the chief wants to try is bracing it with a metal substructure, and that might lead someone to discover just how low the store of scrap iron is at the moment.  Smitelout’s doing a decent job of hiding the lack of pile but if anyone really went looking for it they’d notice.  Most of it is finally shaped into shells that Fuse should be filling and…

Fuse.  There she is.  

Thinking about her makes my hands itch.  And my chest feels tight.  And I think about her hair and her room and the way she kissed me with so much intent, like she’d been thinking about it even more than I had.  How she didn’t get mad at me when she had every right to and how it felt like the edge of something new but in a good way this time. A way that makes all the nervous energy swirling around my head at the thought of her feel more like a promise. Like something resembling intent.  

I almost wonder what I could get away with, but it’s different, it’s more wondering what would happen if I didn’t stop her.  If she got to kiss me in private all that she wanted to.  

Now, I might be a bit dense and damaged in this department, but I also grew up with Arvid as my older brother.  And somehow, I can’t stop thinking about the brushed red patch on Fuse’s neck from my stubble and the way she kept running her fingers through my hair and it would almost be easier if she’d been offended.  Hel, if she’d been anything but flattered.  Because I’m a bit flattered that she let me that close to her.  I’d kind of like to flatter her more.  

Bang and I get to the edge of the village and I should go back to the chief’s house to hear the news about Arvid and Aurelia and figure out what he wants me to do next.  That would be the right thing to do, but it’s hard with all these half thoughts about Fuse in my head, and I think about heading to her house to see if she’s there.  Maybe no one else would be.  

And like all of the other women in my life, Fuse must read my mind, because as soon as I land she appears out of seemingly nowhere, running up to me and grabbing my arm.  She yanks hard enough to pull me off of Bang and I stumble a couple of steps to catch my balance.  

“Nice to see you too.”

“I have to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”  I can’t stop the dopey grin spreading across my face even though I know it can’t possibly do anything good for me in this situation.  

“It’s serious,” she starts dragging me towards her workshop.  “Come on.”  

“Ok,” I catch up to walk beside her and she drops my arm, chewing on her bottom lip.  “What’s wrong?  Are you ok?”  

“Why wouldn’t I be ok?”

“Because you look upset—”

“Keep your voice down,” she looks around like she’s checking if anyone heard, remaining mostly silent until we get to her workshop.  She lights the lone candle on the counter inside and shuts the door behind us, ignoring Bang’s pathetic croon at being out of my sight for even a minute.  “I talked to Spitleaf last night—”

“Is she ok?  I know Ingrid broke up with her—”

“Why would I talk to her about that?”  She shakes her head, “I was asking her about the dragons because she’s been way further out than either of us and apparently there aren’t any left on the mainland. Like, at all.  And that’s why she and Ingrid got attacked, dragon leather’s selling for its weight in gold.”  

“Dragon leather? That’s barbaric.”  

“It’s disgusting,” she shakes her head, “and it’s worse, they flew past the island on the way back and what she described?  There must be twice as many dragons there now, and she said she didn’t see any babies but some of them weren’t old.”  

“So, it’s spreading.”

“It’s spreading and—and I don’t…”  She looks at me, hands limp at her sides and I lean back against the counter.  She rarely looks helpless and her eyes feel like a physical weight adding to the looming one on my shoulders.  

“And people are going after dragons now.  So that means…” I wave my hand at where Bang is surely crouched outside the door, “places with dragons are in danger too.  And people with dragons.”  

“That’s what it sounds like.”  

And I can’t help but think about her encountering people like the ones who hurt Ingrid.  I should have protected Ingrid in the first place, that’s what chiefs are supposed to do.  I’m not going to let the same thing happen to Fuse just because she’s out on some dangerous adventure I prompted her into.  Maybe she doesn’t even need to be there, maybe I can help the dragons and know that she’s safe.  

“Is there a way to do this with less people?”  I try and wrap my head around the whole of what Fuse just told me, of the fact that even leaving Berk with a dragon right now could be seen as an invitation for trouble.  The fact that what happened to Ingrid isn’t an isolated incident and that it could happen again, so easily.  

“Like less people in the air?  Because I think I need everyone helping me build if it’s—if we need to rush it this much. Because if hunters are hurting the dragons, we have to get them out of there.”  She looks at me more rigidly than she has in a while and I realize she’s pushing the timeline herself without asking me.  That’s a relief, honestly, because I don’t want to ask for more from her when she’s already doing so much.

“Agreed.  But what do you thing?  Could we do it with less people flying out there.” I look at her face, slanted with shadows from the flickering candle.  It makes her looks softer and that makes me feel more determined. “Like, could it be staged in phases from a single dragon?”

“It’s too heavy for a single dragon, let alone a dragon with two riders.”

“What about a Thunderdrum with one rider?”  I regret getting there so quickly as soon as I do, because her brow crumples and her nostrils flare and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that brutally irritated face directed at me.  She looks me up and down like she doesn’t quite recognize me and maybe it’s closer to fury than annoyance.    

“You can’t do this alone.” It’s an insult, not a plea to come along, and I realize I made a mistake with a significant potential to be fatal to people she doesn’t like as much as me.  I inadvertently stepped between her and her bombs.  “You don’t know how to prep the charges, you don’t know—”

And if me standing my ground here keeps her safe from some crazy dragon hunting barbarians off island, well, this is my soon to be vaporized rock to die on.  Fuse is quite the blast to jump in front of but I’m not letting anyone else get hurt.  

“You could teach me. I could learn, it could be fun—”

“No.”

“Fuse—”

“No, I’m going, and if you won’t help, I’ll find someone who will.”  She crosses her arms and looks past me, eyes flicking briefly to my face like she’s assessing the impact of her words.

It’s not small.  It stings like a burn, a burn I don’t want to ice because I want to use the pain to remember not to touch that again.  She’s the one person I’ve managed to keep on or near my side through all of this and to think that I’m messing that up now, so close to the end when everything’s only getting more dangerous and difficult. I bite back a bitter surge of exhaustion and sadness and pride that makes me want to tell her to go ahead and try. But it’s Fuse, and she’d take me at face value, and that means I have to make my face value higher.  It has to say what I’ll always want to say and not what I want to say now, when I’m scared of how different it’s going to be out there when we leave.

It might be loud with barbarians instead of quiet without dragons and again, I don’t know how I’m handling all this change.  

“You just said it yourself,” I look at my feet, boots muddy from examining the dam and then being dragged to her shed.  Maybe I can only have one person with me at a time and now that Arvid’s finding some resolution to his slow swing back to my side, I have to scare Fuse off.  “Just having a dragon is looking for trouble—”

“And if it finds us,” she picks up a clay jar from a shelf above her workbench and shakes it at me, not quite threatening but enough to make me worry if she’ll still even like me after all of this.

“What if it’s not enough?”

“I have dozens of those.”

“What if those aren’t enough?”  I snap, “we don’t know what we’re going into and I can’t—I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you, alright?”  I throw my hands up and sigh, “ever since I thought of it, I can’t stop. Just—me not being able to do anything about it and…”

“You’re trying to protect me?”  She cocks her head, hair shining in the sunset light leaking around the door. The candle makes it bright enough not to trip over her but not much more than that and it makes it feel later, like we’re existing in the twilight of this big plan more than we are in today. “I don’t need you to.”

“Neither did Ingrid, until she did.  Neither did anyone until…until every decision I made started to impact all of them.”

“You can’t decide anything for me,” she’s quiet like she’s trying to comfort me and I try to feel that. I try to feel the strength that’s always made her someone I could lean on when no one else was standing up straight. She’s the one tree in the forest still standing after a microburst or a timberjack tantrum and I try to let myself believe it.

“I just…I don’t want you to do anything stupid for me that gets you hurt.”  I gesture at her, at the way she’s standing, Hel, the way she’s just existing there.  Calm and furious and controlled, beautiful and dirt smudged, uneven braids and tangled hair.  “I’m not worth that.”

“That’s not your decision to make either.”  The corner of her mouth twitches and I want to wipe the smudge of soot off of her chin. I want the dragons to come back, I want none of it to be real and more, I want it not to sit so squarely on me. “Plus, it’s for the dragons.  It’s only for you in a secondary way.”  That’s almost a joke and I get that she’s trying to cheer me up on my level, even if it’s hard for her.  I almost ask to go blow something up but she continues. “Who protects you?  If you’re so cut up protecting everyone else, who’s protecting you?”  

I shrug, “I don’t know, some chiefly aura that’s kept the chief alive all these years?”  

“He’s missing his leg.”

“Yeah, but he survived.” I sigh, “and given he’s still alive even with all this messing with my family of all people, I’m just hoping it’s strong enough to be genetic.”  

“That’s stupid.”  

“Yeah, but it’s what I’ve got.”  Part of me wants to ask her to protect me, but she’s right, I can’t decide anything for her.  She can’t decide anything for me either though and that means she can’t stop me from doing everything in my power to keep her as safe as possible.  To keep everyone as safe as possible.  

“You still think it’s right for the dragons, right?”  

“I think if it’s not, it won’t matter.  I think they’re going there to die and whether they want to do it under or on the island, it’s happening.”  

“And if doing this could make it better for them—”

“We do it. Obviously.”  I look at my feet, “I think it’s time to tell the chief though. Not about the dragons or any of this,” I gesture around her workshop, “but…but if people are hunting dragons and they’re the people that hurt Ingrid…”  

“We need to be ready for that too.”  She nods, “especially because we have an alpha here, dragons should stick around longer than anywhere else.”  

“Huh,” I nod, “I always forget about that.”  I look back up at her and sigh, “start working on how to do this with three. Arvid might want to stay back if it’s this dangerous, or Aurelia might want him to.  I don’t necessarily hate the idea of that anyway.”  

“You, me, and Smitelout?” She doesn’t put any special emphasis on herself and she’s almost daring me to bring it up again.  

“Yeah, and…and I should set up the interior charge, the one in the volcano on that lip?”  I ask to make sure she understands and she looks like she’s going to fight for a second but seems to abandon that idea.  She sighs and almost cautiously rests her hand on my cheek, like I’m the thing in this shed most likely to blow up if handled improperly.  

“Ok, I’m not sure there’s room for two of us down there anyway and I can’t lift the baffle as well by myself.”  

“You stay in the air, over the water, and hit the lava flows.”  

“I don’t need you to protect me,” she says again, gentler this time, “you don’t have to.”  

“Maybe that’s why I want to,” I lean my face against her hand, trying to find the right words, “because…because it feels like the only thing I can’t mess up.”  

“There’s a lot you can’t mess up,” she leans onto tip toes and kisses me on the other cheek, “not that you haven’t tried.”  She doesn’t object when I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in to a hug, my chin fitting almost too neatly over her shoulder.  

“I’ve got to go talk to the chief, don’t I?”  

“Yeah,” her breath is warm even through the shoulder of my shirt and I must smell like salt and murky dam water but she doesn’t seem to care.  I squeeze tighter before I have to let go and feel her heartbeat against my chest. “And I’ve got to start packing up everything.”  She sighs and pulls out of the hug, slowly, like she doesn’t really want to. “That’s my least favorite part.  I build all these bombs and it looks like so many until they fit into a few saddle bags.” She taps my chest with the back of her hand and takes a step back, “three people, right?” 

“Three people.”  I’m suddenly tired, just thinking about what I’m about to have to do, and I push away from the counter, finding a tired smile for her.  “Next time when you come find me, it should be good news, ok?  You’ve got to at least alternate or it really starts to wear a guy down.”  

“Good news,” she nods, “I’ll try and remember that.”  

“Ok, I’ll let you know how it goes.”  I kiss her on the forehead again and it almost feels like habit, like the good kind of habit that I want to keep.  “I’d say wish me luck but—”

“You don’t need it.” She nods at me and I get the impression that’s a nicer version of her saying I don’t have it but well, that’s the last thing I need to remember right now.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Interruptions

I’m posting at lunch because I’m impatient and this chapter has a lot of good things in it and I’m excited.  

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Aurelia’s sitting at the table in the chief’s house, surrounded by stacks of letters, Arvid sitting across from her and staring at her in a way that kind of makes my stomach hurt.  I can’t help but think of Ingrid earlier, because that look on Arvid’s face, well…he’s in the chief’s house for her, he’d die before he flew off without her. Aurelia waves with the end of her writing stick before scooting down in her chair to write another line.  

“How’s Ingrid?”  She asks, not really looking up and Arvid looks at me, interest piqued.  

“She’s uh…” I shrug, looking for a half decent lie, “coping.”  

“That bad, huh?” Aurelia looks up at Arvid and they have a silent conversation mostly made of eyebrows.  

“I was thinking,” Arvid says almost like he’s daring me to start a fight.  

“Yeah?”  

“About Ingrid.”  He continues like he wasn’t entirely sure he’d get this far and Aurelia’s the one with that disgusting fond face now.  “We could take shifts, maybe, staying with her.”

“That’s a good idea, in theory,” I pause there waiting for him to pick the fight and when it doesn’t happen I walk the rest of the way up to the table, hands on the back of an empty chair.  “But she’s pretty upset, she doesn’t want to feel like she has to comfort anyone else.”

He flexes his jaw and I half expect for him to kick my feet out from under me.  Aurelia looks at him, expectantly blinking, and he shrugs.  

“She doesn’t have to comfort me.”  He looks at the table, tracing the grain with a fingertip and not so expertly avoiding eye contact, but we’re talking and no one is bleeding so I’m going to take it as a win.  “I just wasn’t expecting—it’s Ingrid.”  

“I know.”  

“And…” He looks up like he’s debating with himself and Aureila stays out of it this time, writing away in neat little runes and making me really glad I convinced the chief to share that load.  “And I think she’s lying, it’s Ingrid, she’d never accidentally cut off half her hand. I don’t buy it.”  

It’s kind of a nice reminder of the days when Arvid and I used to operate on the same wavelength. I guess that’s true of Ingrid, in general, she left when we were still friends.  Maybe after he’d decided I wasn’t his brother anymore, but we were still trying to hold onto some part of that.  

Until I lashed out at him and called him stupid for not seeing what we both missed.  I hate looking back at that now, at that feeling that if I hurt him, somehow I’d have less hurt to deal with myself.  

“That’s a good guess,” I sigh, “don’t ask her about it, I’m hoping she’ll tell us all when she’s ready.”

“She told you?”  He doesn’t sound offended so much as left out and I get that entirely.  

“Not really by choice, it was right after she got back, she was really upset.”  I wince at the memory, “she cried.”  

“I saw that.”  

“No, she cried more than once.  But don’t tell her I told you that, because—”

“Got it,” Arvid crosses his arms and goes back to mostly ignoring me.  “I can be over there tonight.”  

“You—Dad—Er, your dad has been sleeping there, you can—not that I can tell you where to sleep or—”

“Can’t you?”  He snaps at me and Aurelia kicks his shin under the table.  He doesn’t quite flinch and I refuse to back off, but I get the feeling neither of us want to fight.  That fighting would just be clinging to the old newly established social order, that Ingrid is back and she’s hurt and everything feels different again.  Our parents are talking and we have to define our roles all over again and just thinking about it makes me exhausted.  

“I don’t want to.  Go sleep in your normal bed, if you want, ask your dad, I haven’t been forcing heart to hearts on him or anything.”

“Alright,” he drops it. For now.  I want it to be the final drop but I don’t feel particularly optimistic about it, even if Aurelia appears to be fully on my side for once.

“So you’ve got part of an afternoon off Ingrid watch,” Aurelia waggles her eyebrows at me in a way I really wish she wouldn’t in front of Arvid, “any plans?”  

“When have I ever had plans?”  

Arvid snorts then glares at the table, like he doesn’t want me to know I amused him even at my own expense.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “I just thought you might like to start with someone who’d like to have plans with you.”  

I glare at her.  She looks up at me and grins, and it kind of looks like a threat.  At the same time, someone threatening me with Fuse, who happens to like me and who I’m only now realizing I haven’t seen since the middle of the night when she slipped out from under my arm.  My glare turns into something goofy and she raises her eyebrows.  

“I’ll see you guys later.”

I go back outside and get on Bang, urging him into the sky and coating in the direction of the Thorston house.  I don’t know where I’m going to go if she’s not there, because it’s Fuse and she’s building bombs and that could mean day trips off island looking for supplies, and as willing as I am to follow her, time is shorter than I’d like it to be. How have I gone days without thinking about it? About her?  About the fact that she kissed me and we talked and she fell asleep under my arm like she fit there.  

I guess I’ve been busy.

I get lucky and spy her pink tinted head and Hotgut outside of her shed just as they’re about to take off. I land and she stares at me for a second before smiling, a nervous smile like she’s happy to see me but is also worrying about what bad news that implies.  Bang whuffs at Hotgut, dragging his tail back and forth across the ground and Hotgut snorts.  

“Hey,” Fuse cocks her head and her hair is shinier than I remember it, “I figured you wouldn’t be around for a while.  How’s Ingrid?”  

“She’s doing as good as could be expected,” I sigh, “Arvid offered to take a shift without pummeling my face in though so…”

“I was going to eat at the mead hall, my mom’s not cooking because my brother stole a stink bomb and set it off in the kitchen.”  

“Long story?”  I laugh and I can’t help but notice that she’s wearing a different shirt than the last time I saw her which means she must have changed at some point and existed in that temporary unclothed state.  

“No, I just told you all of it.”  She frowns at me like I hit my head and I practically feel like I must have.  

“I haven’t eaten all day. I could go for some food.”  

“Ok, let’s go,” she swings onto Hotgut and takes off before I can say anything else.  She lands before I do but waits and I’m not sure what to do when I step away from Bang’s side.  I think about hugging her, but that seems sudden, but everything’s going to feel sudden when each and every new thought about her hits like a physical blow.  

“Should we uh...go inside?”

“What else would we do,” she laughs but it’s not really at me but she doesn’t wait for me either and I don’t realize until I see her cheeks flushing that she doesn’t know how to do this either, whatever this is.  

We get food and sit down at the end of a table across from each other and she stares at me for a weird, warm moment I don’t quite understand.  I wish it were dark, somehow, it was easier to talk to her then, when she wasn’t blinding me with all of her everything.  

“What have you been up to?”

She smiles down at the table, a little of that dangerous edge sneaking in, “collecting Meatlug’s spoils. My uncle never lets me use her, something about keeping the peace but…it’s looking good.”  She nods, trying to force her trademark pragmatism over genuine excitement.  Her eyes are almost too blue to be real and I want to tell her that but my mouth’s dry. “I could probably have it done in three weeks.”  She smiles at me then, an awkward, off center smile that looks like flirting and my face is so hot it could restart the forge.  “Two if you had any time to help.”  

“I don’t.  But I want to.”  I take my first bite of food and realize how fully hungry I am, shoveling in two more.  Fuse wrinkles her nose and I remember that girls don’t like that, for some reason, wiping my chin with the back of my hand.  “It’s crazy how close we are.”  

“If we’re right,” she frowns, “it’s all going off of my hunch about that thermal vent.”  

“Hey,” I reach across the table and set my hand on hers and she doesn’t move away, “you’re right. You’re always right.”  

She smiles.  I’m not sure what to do with my other hand or my food now that my stomach is churning, excited and nervous.  

“That’s not true,” she shrugs, “you must be biased.”

“I probably am.” I wish we were on the same side of the table.  Why’d I sit across from her?  Why would I ever purposefully put anything between us at all?  I wish it was dark again, I wish we were alone.  I try not to look as out of control as I suddenly feel but it doesn’t work because I jump about a foot in the air when someone’s hand lands on my shoulder.  

It’s the chief.  

“Hey, you two, how’s it going?”  

At least I jumped high enough that my hand came off of Fuse’s so he can’t tease me about that. I don’t really feel like dealing with the chief’s teasing on top of everything else.  

“Fine.”  I shrug.  Fuse takes a bite that’s almost disappointed and I realize that she’d rather be alone too. Her gray sweater sleeves are pushed halfway up her arms, showing skinny, freckled wrists and the chief is staring creepily at us, vague half smile on his face.  

“Just fine?”  

“Do you need something?” I huff and turn towards him, easily finding my most annoyed face.  

“How’s Ingrid?”  He asks with enough legitimate concern that I’d feel bad for glaring at him if it were anyone else.  

“Arvid’s with her.”  

“She still won’t let a healer look at it?”  He asks like he’s tired of asking and Mom’s probably been on his back about it even more than mine.  

“No, but I did convince her earlier to let Gobber look at it.  I thought Mom might take Gobber’s opinion as an answer even though she won’t take mine.”  

“She’s just worried, it’s not that she doesn’t trust you.”  He nods, “and Gobber, that’s a good idea.  What did he say?”  

“I couldn’t find him so he hasn’t seen her yet.”  

“I’ll let him know to come find you if I see him.”  

I look at Fuse and back at the chief, trying to silently tell him why I maybe don’t want Gobber finding me exactly right now.  He doesn’t get it, just awkwardly smiling at us when I don’t say anything immediately.

“Or maybe you could just tell him Mom wants him to look at Ingrid’s hand.”  

“I haven’t seen it myself,” the chief shakes his head, “I wouldn’t know what to prepare him for.”  

“It’s a hand without some of its fingers, I bet Gobber can figure it out.”  

“It’s better if you ask him.”  The chief almost orders and I sigh.  He’s probably right, Ingrid will be more likely to go along with it if it comes from me.

“Ok.  Sure.”  

“Also, just wanted to give you a heads up but Sven was asking me about that dam that’s apparently leaking over on Brinhild’s creek?”  The chief points in the vague direction he’s talking about and I can feel Fuse staring at the side of my face as he does and I wipe my chin again, self-conscious about being at the other end of her critical gaze.  Fuse could probably look at me long enough to talk herself out of the insanity of liking me and it’s going to be all the chief’s fault when it happens.  “I told him to come find you too, you just know more about it—”

“Sure.  Fine.”  

“Ok,” he looks between us again, that stupid smile like he has something to do with anything about this on his face, “well, you two have a good night.”  

“Bye, chief.”  I turn back to Fuse and look at her almost cautiously, “sorry about that.”  

“You’re busy,” she takes an almost dainty bite and she’s still just…looking at me and I try not to do anything weird with my face, but that’s probably impossible at this point. “I didn’t realize you were handling so much on your own.”  

“Not really on my own,” I shrug and do I always shrug like that?  Or does my shoulder usually move more normally?  I’m suddenly aware of how wide I am and it feels like the edge of my shoulder is really far out there and I’m not sure what to do with my hands because they feel limp and itchy just sitting on the table.  “Everyone’s been helping out but…”  

“But it sounds like the chief’s trusting you with some actual decisions.”  

“He didn’t really have a choice,” I snort, “someone had to step in when he was…you know, all…sad about—gods, that’s not a very cheerful conversation.  Why would I bring that up?  Sorry.”  

“It’s fine,” she smiles, “I’m used to your stream of consciousness word vomit routine by now.”

“Trust me, it’s not stream of consciousness.”  I look at her sweater again, like a tick, this time fixating on the point of her collarbone just barely visible outside of the stretched out collar and gods, I shouldn’t be in public, I’m making such a mess of this.  I especially shouldn’t be in public with Fuse, but that makes me think of the alternative of being in private with Fuse and I half expect her to read my mind and like…plant something deadly in my pocket.  

“You’re trying to tell me you have any kind of filter?” She laughs at me but it doesn’t feel mean, it’s like the Fuse version of a joke and I laugh too.  

“I’m filtering most of it right now.”  I tap my temple with my finger and it feels dorky and she looks at my arm like she’s not sure why I have to be so embarrassing and I wish I had an answer for her.  

“Why?”  She frowns and it’s the first time in my life I wish she weren’t so perfectly direct because now I have to tell her something that doesn’t make me sound like a pervert or an idiot.  

“Because you’re pretty.” I blurt, successfully sounding halfway between pervert and idiot.  “And I have a lot of thoughts about it.”  

Her expression doesn’t move but she turns red, redder than I’ve ever seen her, and I can’t help but wonder if it makes her skin feel hot to the touch.  And then I’m thinking about touching her face and how it’d fit in the palm of my hand and maybe I should ask for something to blow myself up before I dig any further into this pit.  

“Oh.”  She nods, still red but smiling slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards just enough that I relax.  

She likes being called pretty.  Ok. That’s good to know.  

“So uh…bombs?”  I fall back on something else I know she likes and she nods like she’s glad for the change of subject.  “What’s uh…what’s the coolest thing you’ve ever blown up?”  

“Probably that ice I cleared out of the harbor last year,” she grins at the memory and she’s so literal I want to hug her.  

“I didn’t mean coolest like…coldest,” I laugh and she turns red again, “but I remember that, that was pretty awesome, it made all that green snow.”  

“It was also one of the coolest.  I like the water ignited stuff, it’s so counter-intuitive.”  

“Because water should put out fire.”  It’s nice talking to her.  Like, actually talking to her.  Not her giving me advice, not planning something with her or clarifying some stupid misunderstanding, but getting her to share something.  She does that so little that everything she says feels like some secret she’s trusting me with.  I want to ask more about it, like if she has any idea how it works and I’m trying to figure out how to say it when Sven appears out of seemingly nowhere and interrupts.  

“Eret! Just the man I’m looking for,” he leans on the table between us, blocking half my view of Fuse and turning everything fun about this into torture, “the dam leak’s worse, too much water’s getting through to repair it with rubble from the new wood storage. It pushes those rocks down river before you can say flooded hanger.”  

“Did you tell the chief that?”  I ask, mostly to get rid of him and he shrugs, shaking the table.  

“He said you knew more about the problem.”  

“I’ll think about it and try and get some decision to you tomorrow, alright?”  

“Gustav wants us on it bright and early tomorrow morning, I wasn’t kidding about the flooded hanger, lad.” He looks a little awkward and lowers his voice, “not enough dragons in there right now for me to trust them to keep it dry.”  

“Is there a way to stem the flow up stream to slow it down enough for repairs?”  

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs, awkward again, “we used to use a whispering death to dig a new diversion trench but I haven’t caught any around yet.  It’s early season for them, though.”  

“Let me…oh!”  I draw with my fingertip on the table, “there’s that tributary halfway up the mountain, the one by that cave…do you know what I’m talking about?”  

“The cave,” he thinks for a second and I can feel Fuse looking at me again, her eyes hot on my face and I don’t know if I want to hide or look back at her.  “Right!  Just south of the point.”  

“Yes, that little creek flows into the bigger creek, but I bet it could be temporarily blocked with a boulder long enough for the repairs downstream.”  

“We can try that,” he stands up, nodding to himself like he’s thinking through it, “I’ll let Gustav know.”  

“You aren’t going to run it by the chief or anything?”  I don’t know why this decision feels more important than all those I made when I was alone, but somehow it does.  It feels like the first one of a new era, I guess, different because the chief could shut me down but won’t.  

“Don’t have time,” he shrugs, “I was lucky to find you before I had to bring another excuse back to Gustav.  I’ll let you get back to your meal,” he looks almost suspiciously at Fuse, who doesn’t seem to notice, and I sigh, relieved, when he leaves through the main doors.  

“Sorry, about that,” I gesture at the doors and Fuse shakes her head.  

“Don’t be,” she fiddles with the end of her braid, almost shy for a moment before that feeling that she can see straight into my thoughts comes across me, “just maybe next time we want to talk we should stay away from people who want you to make decisions.”  

“Right,” I sigh, “we should have never left your work shed, honestly.”

“Next time,” she suggests. Her cheeks turn red again and I almost ask why until I realize that she’s talking about being alone in her work shed the next time we have a chance to talk.  

And that the idea is something to blush about and she’s been staring at me so long that she can’t hate it as much as I feared.  And I remember what kissing her felt like and the warmth of her under my arm and it feels like there’s not enough room in my chest when I think about being alone with the air as clear as it is between us.  She likes me.  I look down at her sweater again, remembering how soft she felt when she hugged me and the tips of my ears feel so hot I’m scared they’re about to spontaneously catch on fire.  

“Y-yeah,” I stutter out, ever eloquent under pressure.  She raises her eyebrows and breathes out a single laugh, almost relieved that I made a bigger fool out of myself than she did.  

Like she ever even makes a fool out of herself.  I can’t remember a time she didn’t come out of a conversation sparkling clean while I was an embarrassed mess.  I must have liked her longer than I knew to be so stupid around her for so long. Hel, maybe my body knew before me from the way I keep wanting to lean into her, like she’s a magnet pulling on me in particular.  

“Hey twerp,” Smitelout sits down beside me and I jump, glaring at her and hoping my red face makes me look as angry as I suddenly am and not embarrassed.  “Can I measure your hand?”  She holds out a piece of leather with a few marks on it at even intervals and I reflexively hold my hand to my chest.  

“What?  No.  Of course not.”  

“Ugh, they’re gigantic anyway,” she looks at my hands before doing the same to Fuse’s and it feels oddly violating in a way I don’t totally understand.  “And Thorston’s are too skinny.  You guys are no help at all, where’s your mom?”  

“I don’t know!”  I snap, “go find her yourself, it’s not that big of an island.”  

“Just asking,” she stands up, rocking the bench as she does so and making me feel even more off kilter. “Oh yeah, and Fuse.  I’ll have the uh…stuff,” she whispers as loudly as anyone has ever whispered, making it seem like she’s talking about something secret and also like she wants me to punch her, “ready pretty soon.”  

“Thanks Smitelout,” Fuse’s tone is clipped and she’s annoyed and that means she was thinking something that got cut off too.  

And she liked whatever she was thinking about enough that it’s annoying to have it truncated and I don’t know what to do with that.  Or any of this.  She likes me, that’s impossible enough.  Just look at her and it’s impossible and it just gets even more improbable when she opens her mouth.  

“Have a good rest of your date, nerds,” Smitelout just has to get in one more comment before walking away and of course it’s the worst of them all.  

“This isn’t—I mean, maybe it—”

“Does it matter?”  She shrugs, “I don’t care what you want to call it—”

“I mean, date is a word.” I cough and stutter over nothing because I can’t make anything not stupid come out of my mouth.  

“Yeah, I know that.” She laughs at me like she still somehow likes me and I have no idea how I haven’t messed this up yet.  

Someone else taps me on the shoulder.  Every bit of anxious hope in my chest instantly turns to intense frustration and I snap, loud enough that someone drops a plate across the room.  

“What?  What do you want?”  I look over my shoulder and it’s Gobber, eyebrows raised.  “Oh.  Hi Gobber.”

“Smitelout told me you were looking for me.”  

“That’s uncharacteristically helpful of her.”  

“Was it to apologize for yelling in my face?”  He asks, not quite annoyed, and I’m getting dragged into another conversation against my will, aren’t I?

“Sorry.  You just…uh, scared me.”  I look apologetically at Fuse and she shrugs like she somehow already accepts that this is just the stupid new order of things.  “What I actually wanted to talk to you about is—well, I, uh…” I struggle to think about anything other than Fuse and date and the fact that she blushes when she thinks about being alone with me, “Ingrid. Right.  I wanted to talk to you about Ingrid.”  

“I heard she’s back,” Gobber shrugs, “well, most of her.”  

“Yeah,” I hold up my right hand and mime cutting across three fingers, “that’s what I wanted your help with.  She won’t let any healers look at it because she’s as stubborn as a Rumblehorn with a yak carcass and my Mom doesn’t trust me that it’s not rotting off.  I was hoping you could look at it and reassure her.”

“Well, is it rotting off?”

“No.  No swelling either, no fever, no uh…signs of infection,” I try to say delicately, because it feels like a bad plan to say ‘pus’ in front of a girl on something that might be kind of a date, “since the first time I cleaned it right after she got back.”  

“Yeah, sure, I’ll take a look at it.”  Gobber holds up his hook, “my lifetime of experience should convince Astrid.”  

“Thank you, that’s what I was hoping for.”  

“Where is she?”  

“She’s up at my old house. My dad and Arvid are there if you want to drop by now.  Or tomorrow is fine but—”

“Let’s get it over with now, in case you did miss something and your Mom has reason to worry.”  He looks between me and Fuse and raises an eyebrow, “I don’t have Grump with me so you’ll have to give me a lift, if that’s not a problem...or is it?”  

I sigh and try to say sorry to Fuse with my eyes.  I’m lucky, because she gets it, even though she looks so disappointed it hurts when I stand up away from the table.  

“It’s not a problem. You’re right, we should do this now.” I take a second to look forlornly at my half eaten food before waving at Fuse, “I’ll…see you later.  Sorry it’s just—”

“I get it,” she’s so understanding I could kiss her.  If we weren’t here in the center of all annoying, interrupting people, I’d get to.

Gobber and I walk outside and I try to ignore his look, so he intensifies it as I help him onto Bang.

“What?”  

“Fuse Thorston, eh?”  

“Shut up,” I climb on Bang in front of him and kick off just fast enough that I can’t hear him tease me on the way to my old house.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Mending Bridges

So this is so late that it’s early because I needed to add the whole giant scene that’s most of it because I was missing some fuse/feret/smitelout/smingrid/arvid development as I read through.  So it’s like 8000 words.  I’m not even going to apologize.  

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Ingrid doesn’t cry when Gobber sees her hand.  She unwraps the bandage herself and holds it out, more annoyed than anything, and like I expected, he declares it clean and healing.  I give Gobber a ride to the chief’s house but come back afterwards, feeling like I need to check on her because bringing Gobber in was my idea in the first place and after this morning, I’m not really sure what might set her off.  When I get back, she’s asleep in the chair in front of the fire where she’s slept every night since getting home and I cross the room, thinking about taking her boots off for her but well…that’s the kind of thing she might react badly to, isn’t it?

I build up the fire and look at Arvid’s cracked opened door down the hallway.  He’s snoring but he’s here and I can leave and go get some actual rest but I feel bad.  

Arvid doesn’t know the truth. Dad doesn’t even know the truth and what if she gets upset again? What if it’s as bad as earlier or the other day?  

I sit down at the table and rest my head on my hands, trying and failing not to think too hard about it. It’s Ingrid.  She was never affected by anything, let alone a week later.

And I can’t help think about all of us, about how it was safe enough off island for the chief to be gone for months at a time and nothing like this ever happened to him. And yeah, he had a night fury but…it’s Ingrid.  Ingrid who never lost a fight, Ingrid who was strong and with someone and had a dragon too. What if it’s not just the dragons leaving Berk, what if the whole world is changing?  What if I’ve been looking at one tiny part of a whole big problem?

Or what if it was just random?  

That’s almost worse, because well…I’ve always dreamed of leaving, in some way.  Not often, not for forever, but there’s a whole world I’ve never seen out there and never before now has that fact felt threatening.  It makes me think about Fuse, going to neighboring islands for supplies and just…being a fixture there even though it could be dangerous.  And Fuse isn’t someone I’ve ever felt I had to protect, maybe from my own idiocy, but neither was Ingrid.  

If this can happen to Ingrid, it feels like it can happen to anyone anytime and that’s terrifying.  

If the dragons are sick, does that mean people are turning on each other everywhere?  When there’s no monster in the woods does something have to replace it?  

And that makes me want to go out there and fight it, it makes me want to push back.  And that’s scary too because well…when Arvid fought me, I fought back.  That was the last time I made a decision like this, really maybe the only time because yes, I’m a Viking, my childhood was skirmishes and bloody noses and hiding torn clothes from Mom but none of those people actually wanted to hurt me in any real way.  Arvid did, for a while, because like me he thought that if I hurt he might hurt a little less, but even then he was my brother.  He’s tough but—

Well, he’d never cut off half my hand.  

For the first time, going out there, beyond the extension of Berk’s reach feels truly dangerous. Flying out there with a bunch of bombs like I know what I’m going to find when I haven’t been to the dragon island in months feels dangerous.  Like it could fail.  Like someone could get hurt.  

The door opens and Dad walks in, pausing when he sees me.  I nod at him and look back at the table, thoughts jumbled but still very much there and very much depressing.  

“Are you staying here?” He asks and I almost don’t look up, because it seems more likely that I’m finally snapping and imagining things. “Arvid said he was taking a shift.”

“He is.”  I look around, trying to find something to focus on other than him and the weight of the stretching silence.  “I’m just…here.”  

“Do you not trust him?” Dad asks me like he actually wants to hear an answer and I shake my head.  

“I trust him fine. There are what?  Three dragons in the barn, Bang’s…” I gesture to him where he’s snoring gently in front of the fire.  “Nothing’s going to happen to her, I know that.”  

“You look tired.”  He looks at his old chair like he’s thinking about sitting down but I don’t hold my breath.  

“You care?”  

“Odin,” he looks old and sad and I miss him like it should be impossible to miss someone right in front of you.  I miss him calming me down and building me up and being there, steady the way the chief isn’t, the way the chief could never be.  “Of course I care.”  

“Of course.”  I mimic, tone hollow, and he sits down, the chair dragging loud across the floor.  Ingrid shifts in her sleep, curling further into the pile of blankets on top of her and I’m not sure where to look.  Dad’s looking at me like he used to when I was doing something he didn’t understand. Something that wasn’t part of him or Mom or the part of the chief he accepted as necessary.  

“It’s been good having you here.  It almost feels normal again.”  He doesn’t sound like he’s lying and I hate that I know what his lies sound like. That my definition of normal is shattered while other people’s still exist.  

But I can’t help but hear that maybe in some way, I’m still a part of his normal.  

“Normal but without Mom.” It comes out at the same time as I’m thinking it and I remind myself of Arvid earlier, poking old wounds just to check that the conflict is dead.  

“Maybe it was always without her.”  He’s the sad kind of resigned that I can’t get to.  He and Arvid and even Ingrid can let things go, they can give up without falling apart.  They don’t drive themselves insane for months, pecking at the same problem even if they know they can’t get anywhere.  

“That’s not true,” I shake my head and look up at him, feeling my placid mask start to slip.  I want to talk to him, I want this to feel final the way that everything else is starting to and I want it to be somewhere else when it does.  “She was here every day.  If anyone was half-hearted about it, I’d have to put that on Rolf.”  

“You’re not wrong about that,” Dad rolls his eyes, “now that he’s heard a council seat might be empty soon, he’ll barely talk to me, let alone in public.”  

“I’ll keep him in line,” I mime punching my palm, “the council pretty much follows me around all the time and asks me to make their decisions for them so…”  

“The chief thinks you’re doing a good job.”  Dad passes on the compliment like a package he didn’t necessarily want to deliver but got roped into it and it makes me feel strange because I shouldn’t care but I do. “He told me.  You’re about the only thing he can talk about without me wanting to throttle him.”  

“I’m the new ‘how’s the weather’?” I weigh that for a second before shrugging, “that’s kind of a compliment, I guess.”  

“Do you want to talk about it?”  

“About the weather?” I think of Fuse as I say it and that makes this even weirder because he doesn’t know and he always knew everything about me.  

“About whatever has you sitting in the dark and staring into space.”  

“You aren’t really someone I talk to about stuff like that anymore.”  I don’t say it to hurt anyone but his face falls.  

“And that’s my fault.”

“I haven’t been the most exemplary son this year either.”  I look at my hands, “if, you know, for the record, you still think of me that way after—”

“Of course I do.”  

“Of course.”  I repeat, nodding to myself and trying to count all the things I should have known but didn’t over the years.  “If…can it be a secret?”  

“That’s not what I like to hear.”  

“I mean—it’s Ingrid’s secret.”  I bite my lip, betrayal foreign and acrid in my throat, “and if you keep a secret like that from Mom it’s not like it’s in the way of your marriage or anything, right? Ha, that’s not funny.  None of this is funny.  I—I’m sorry.”  

“No, I’m glad to know you aren’t quite as grown up as you were pretending to be.”  He looks at me with some of that old, confused fondness I never quite understood.  “And if it’s Ingrid’s secret, she should tell me herself.”  

“She’s not going to.” I sigh and rub my eyes with my knuckles, pressing until my vision goes fuzzy like out of the snow some perfect clarity as to what I should do will appear.  But that’s never how it works, it’s all just…binary decisions that don’t line up with right and wrong or smart and dumb and somehow, I’m supposed to know better. “It’s just…it’s something that could hurt her, and I’m worried it’s something that could hurt someone else and—and it’s…if we’re going to help her, she needs us to know even if she doesn’t know that.”  

“I can’t tell you what to do.”  

I snort, “a year ago, that would have been pretty much my favorite phrase in the whole world. I—growing up sucks.”  

He laughs and shrugs like he doesn’t have anything to say and I missed that.  I missed his patience, the way he’d wait until I wound myself down before trying to get through to me instead of winding myself up until I end up dizzy but somewhere in the vicinity of the right answer.  I wonder if Mom misses it too.  

“I—she’s lying.”  I start, pausing and waiting for a reaction.

“Ingrid’s lying about something?”  

“About how she got hurt. It wasn’t an accident.  She and Spitleaf got attacked by some obviously sadistic and horrible excuses for human beings and she…didn’t win, which, I don’t even want to think about who she was fighting.”  

“She knew it was dangerous when she left, we’ve always told her how dangerous it is.”  

“But she’s lying about it, Dad, she’s lying about it and crying and—she told Spitleaf to give her space and she—when she saw her earlier, she hid and I stepped in front of her and for a second I swear she saw someone else and…Spitleaf had to leave her? To save the dragon she had to leave and come back and…”  I trail off, and swallow, “she’s not ok.  It’s more than her hand, she’s not ok and no one knows why except me.”  

“It’s not going to get better overnight.”  He’s pale and his hair is grayer than it was at Snoggletog and I steel myself reflexively before he continues.  “It was years before I didn’t see Drago Bludvist in crowds, before I really accepted that he was dead—”

“At least he was dead! At least you knew that!  The people who did that to Ingrid are still out there and no one’s going to do anything about it unless they know which—”

“Is this about helping your sister or is it about getting revenge?”  

“Both!”  I cross my arms and sit back, “I don’t know.  It’s not revenge if they deserve it.”  

“That’s not how revenge works.  It’s revenge if it’s about yourself.”  

“Maybe it is,” it sounds selfish and I hate how he makes me admit that to myself.  “Maybe I’m supposed to be chief or something, I’m sure working enough for it, but—but I’m still not making anything better.  I’m not protecting anyone, I—Ingrid isn’t the first or last person to go out there and now they’re all my people too.”  

“It was always dangerous.”

“Yeah, but I never saw it like this.”  I look over at Ingrid again and think about her flying away, excited if weighed down by her stupid little brother tagging along.  “I could have been with them.  I was but I left, and if I’d been there, I could have done something.  She wouldn’t have been left behind, I—It’s my fault.  Oh my gods, it’s my fault.”  I sag down in the chair, “if I’d been there—”

“You have no way of knowing what would have happened if you’d been there.”

“Not this—”

“You can’t blame yourself for everything.”  

“You say that,” I shake my head and look at her, “you say that, but it always comes back to me.”  

“Well, Eret,” he says my name like it’s significant, like he’s claiming me again like he did when I was born and I think about Gobber telling me about my mopey third like it had something to do with my Dad.  And maybe it does, but maybe moping is just another word for thinking about the dark angles, the sad angles, the regrettable things I can’t change but should still recognize.  “You can’t choose your family, and you happen to have one that always ends up at the center of everything.”  

“I’m not sure about that either,” I blink, more earnestly, calmly tired than I’ve felt since Ingrid came home, “I think I’ve spent about a year choosing my dad.”  

He doesn’t say anything and I clear my throat.  

“You, just to be clear.”

“I missed you,” he points at the door, “and I hope you keep coming around, but right now, you should go sleep in your own bed and stop thinking about chasing anyone down.”  

“I thought you couldn’t tell me what to do.”  I yawn and stretch my arms over my head.  

“I’m your dad, let me pretend.”  

00000

When Fuse asks me to help her build some bombs, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t show up early on purpose. I’d be lying even more if I said I wasn’t disappointed when she’s already sitting between Aurelia and Smitelout in her shed, all three of them loading jars and shells and muttering to each other.  I was hoping we could have a few minutes without everyone needing something from me, but she’s happy to see me anyway, smiling briefly over her shoulder before turning back to whatever she’s doing.  

“Then you tie the top off with the oil slicked cord…triple knot…” she demonstrates, bandaged fingers knotting quickly and when she wipes her forehead she leaves a deep blue streak along her eyebrow.  

I pause in the doorway, staring for a minute and trying to decide how this isn’t weird even though I feel weird about it.  Only Aurelia knows about me and Fuse, I guess, Smitelout’s just guessing.  Well, Fuse knows, and I’m not even sure what she knows. She knows we went on half a date until everyone interrupted us and I haven’t seen her since, because between the chief keeps still assigning me things and watching Ingrid, I’ve been a bit busy.  

“Are you going to help?” Smitelout huffs, struggling with a second attempt to tie the knot that Fuse got easily the first time.  “Your girlfriend needs someone else to boss around.”

“You don’t have to help,” Fuse is measured like whatever she’s touching is extremely explosive and like Smitelout calling her my girlfriend doesn’t make her heart jump, “Arvid should be here soon to help you pack some of these into bundles…” She puffs a lock of hair out of her face and ties another careful knot in the twine before pushing the jar away from her.  

Then she smiles at me again and my face heats up.  

“Hi.”  Why did I say that?  She knows I’m here, I don’t need to say hi for no reason.  

Aurelia rolls her eyes at me and this is so much harder when other people are around.  Especially people who have so much vested interest in making fun of me.  All I need is for Ingrid to show up and they can go around in a circle pointing out the goofiest things about me until Fuse decides that letting me use the ‘date’ word was a mistake.  

“Hey,” she points at the tall shelf on the wall of her shed behind her.  “Can you hand me that green jar?”  

“Oh?  Yeah, sure.”  I should probably use the stool she has leaning against the back corner but it’s easier to jump, grabbing the jar and turning to give it to her.  She frowns at me.  

“This is a stabilizer,” she takes it, her fingers brushing against mine and making me feel even redder than I already did.  “Which is lucky because if it hadn’t been, you would have just blown the roof off.”

“Nice going, Twerp.” Smitelout snorts, tying a knot so messy even I know it’s wrong and pushing her jar away from herself.  

“Nothing happened,” Fuse gives Smitelout an almost dirty look and opens the green jar.  I’m still standing behind her and it’s a view I’m not used to, the pale back of her neck under her tied up hair and the tense line of her shoulders.  She’s focused, because she doesn’t have time to say anything else, muttering under her breath as she counts spoonfuls of bright yellow powder.  

“That reeks,” Smitelout comments, ever useful, and Fuse’s shoulders tense up further.  

I don’t think I’ve ever seen her stressed but it strikes me that this is what it would look like.  I look around at the dozens of mostly assembled bombs strewn across her work space and feel bad that I haven’t been helping more.  I know I’m busy but I didn’t intend to put this all on her.  At least Aurelia seems competent, working without instruction and stacking another sealed jar against the wall.  

“Maybe if you didn’t have to comment so much, you’d be keeping up,” Aurelia gestures at her pile of completed jars and Smitelout frowns.  

“It’s not my fault you skinny fingered twerps tie faster knots than me.”  

“…ten, eleven…” Fuse counts louder, like their bickering made her lose her place, and her hair smells like smoke and I don’t know why I’m still standing here right behind her. It’s probably creepy.  I feel kind of creepy.  Maybe I only feel creepy because I want to touch her and while I don’t think she’d say no, Aurelia and Smitelout are here and that makes it different.

Aurelia looks over her shoulder like she can hear my internal panic and raises an eyebrow.  I shrug.  She shakes her head like she’s embarrassed for me and Fuse sets down her spoon, pulling a spool of coated string towards her and measuring it around a couple of fingers, the twine digging into the bandage around her middle finger and leaving a gray smear across the clean fabric.  

“What else do we need to get done today?”  Smitelout leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the workbench.  “Believe it or not, I actually have plans elsewhere so…”

“Leave whenever,” Aurelia reaches for another jar and starts filling it, “I bet we figure it out without you.”  

Her animosity towards Smitelout seems a little more cutting than anyone else’s and I know at some level, it’s more about someone infringing on the original group than it is on the inevitable personality conflict at hand.  

“Hey, I’m here to help—” Smitelout insists.  

“So.  Help.”  Fuse halfway snaps, unraveling the twine from her hand and starting again.  My hands kind of hover in front of me, still debating on touching her, and Aureila gives me one more unimpressed look that pushes me over that awkward edge.  I take a step forward and put my hands on her shoulders and she relaxes slightly, rolling her head from side to side and spooling the twine a little faster.  

She’s cool to the touch, which seems strange because of how warm touching her makes me feel, and I tentatively rub the knotted muscle at the base of her neck with my thumb.  She relaxes even further and snips off the twine, pulling the loaded jars into a circle and wrapping it around all of them to tie it off.  Aurelia finishes the one that she’s working on and Fuse sets it in the middle, tightening the twine around the outside to hold everything in place.  

“What can I do?”  I lean forward to look down at her face over the top of her head and she blushes slightly, shrugging under my hands.  

“You’re good there, but Smitelout, if you could start taking the finished shells outside and sorting them by size?”  

“Can’t Eret do that?” Smitelout whines, “it’s not really skilled labor.”  

“Eret’s busy,” Fuse sighs, leaning back into my hands slightly. I rub the back of her neck a little more firmly and she hums, a content little sound that I can feel in her shoulders.  

“Sheesh, get a room,” Smitelout stands up and pushes past me and Fuse’s head bumps back into my chest.

“Sorry,” I take a step back but my hands feel like they’re glued to her shoulders.  And she’s not shrugging me off, so I start rubbing again, working outwards along the stiff muscle between her shoulder and neck.  

“Why are you sorry?” She goes back to working, braiding some twine into a thicker cable.  “My neck’s been killing me.”  

“Because he’s an idiot.” Aurelia stands up and looks down the hill, “isn’t Arvid supposed to be here by now?”  

“I told him to come at the same time as Eret,” she threads the thicker cable through slits in the leather on top of the jars.  

“I was early,” I admit and Fuse pauses.  

“Oh, that makes sense, I thought we’d have more done by the time you got here.”  

“Still, Arvid’s not usually late,” Aurelia wipes her hands off on her skirt.  “I’m just going to check down the hill.”  And then she leaves and Fuse and I are almost alone. Almost because Smitelout is outside, sorting bombs and of course she has to make some comment about how lazy Aurelia is as she walks by.  But aside from that, we’re alone.  

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” she looks over at my hand on her shoulder, “Smitelout isn’t interrupting me every few seconds, I’m not that tense anymore.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind.”  I stop anyway, because maybe it’s weird and now it definitely feels weird.  Maybe she thinks it’s weird.  “Unless you mind.  Then I mind.”

“I don’t mind,” she grins, “like I said, my neck was killing me. Sit,” she pulls Aurelia’s stool back out with her foot, “I need steady hands for this part anyway.”  

She leans down, threading the cable through the last lid and tying it off with a tight knot.  There’s a smudge of something blue on her chin and her teeth dig into her lower lip as she tucks the knot carefully into the tight groove between two of the jars.  A piece of hair slips out from behind her ear and she puffs it out of her face, adjusting one more thing and sitting up to wipe her hands on her knees.

“What’s this for?”  I point at whatever she just finished and she smiles a smaller version of the smile she saves for when something very large is on fire.  

“I’m going to tar coat it and mount it to the baffle charge, it should heat the shell more evenly and cause a hotter, more front facing blast.”  She tucks her hair back behind her ear and leaves a sooty streak across her cheek.  And she’s still smiling that half-crazy smile and we’re the most alone that we’ve been since the night Ingrid came back.  

“Cool.”  

“I wish we had time to test it first, but it’d take another month to get this many supplies again, so I think at this point we’re better off just going for it,” she picks up a writing stick on the counter and makes a couple notes on a wrinkled piece of paper. “Maybe even amp up the charge in the main shell, that couldn’t hurt anything.”   She laughs to herself, “or it could hurt a lot.  It is an island, after all.”  

“Remind me not to piss you off,” I laugh and she narrows her eyes, still smiling.  Joking with me in a way that makes my skin feel too tight because it can’t be real.  Out of everything that’s happened this last year, somehow Fuse looking at me like that is the most unbelievable.  Also, the best.  Not that it’s competing with a bunch of sunshine and dragon kisses, but still.  

“Was that ever the plan?” She stands and offers me her hand.

“Oh yeah,” I let her help me up and wiggle my other hand at her, “I was just going to lull you into a false sense of security with my magic fingers and then just…piss you off.  I hadn’t worked out how yet.”  

“Magic fingers?”  She raises a half-singed eyebrow and her cheeks flush slightly.  “That’s bold.”  

“Are you minimizing my shoulder rubbing skills?”  I step closer and it’s the first time this has felt easy.  Hel, it’s the first time I’ve managed to joke with her since realizing that looking at her made my heart beat in my throat.  

“Not exactly,” she turns redder and coughs and she’s still holding my hand from helping me up and it makes me want to pull her in closer.  

“Are you two going to fucking help me?”  Smitelout sticks her head through the doorway.  “Or are you just going to stand in the dark and hold hands.”  

I almost blurt out that I’m going to stand in the dark and hold hands but Fuse drops mine, cheeks still pink as she peeks around me to look at the piles outside.  

“Is everything sorted?”

“Go see for yourself.”

Fuse doesn’t get a step closer to the door before Aurelia reappears, dodging around Smitelout and nearly running into me.  

“We’ve got to get everything back inside.  Now.” She starts shoving things across the workbench to make room.  One of the jars smacks the wall a little too hard and starts smoking and Fuse steps between her and the bench.  

“What’s going on?”  

“Arvid’s coming.” Aurelia is out of breath like she just sprinted up the hill, “and Ingrid is with him.”  

“What?”  I look at Fuse but she’s already looking at me, like she’s waiting for my reaction.  

“Ingrid’s coming,” Aurelia repeats, dodging past Smitelout to grab an armful of loaded shells and carrying them inside.  

“Did you have to mess up my piles?”  Smitelout whines, “really?”  

“What do you want to do?” Fuse asks me and of course the split-second decision in on me, again, and I knew I should have picked the stand in the dark and hold hands option.  

“Fuck, we have to hide everything.” I follow Aurelia outside and start grabbing shells, handing them to Fuse over my shoulder while Smitelout continues to complain about her piles.  “Ingrid can’t know, she’s got enough going on without thinking about dragons.”  

“So I literally sorted all of that for no reason?”  Smitelout, against all reasonable odds, starts helping, handing larger shells off to Aurelia, who stashes them under Fuse’s workbench.  

“Yes,” Fuse and Aurelia snap in unison and we’re just cramming the baffle into the shed when Arvid’s head crests the hill.  He’s walking backwards in front of Ingrid, trying to block her view and maybe some of that old ability to reach each other’s minds is back because as soon as we shove the door shut, he turns around.  

“You’re late,” Aurelia says, too loud and out of breath, walking up to hug him and whisper something in the direction of his ear.  He shrugs and looks frustrated.

“He was being suspicious,” Ingrid tucks her bandaged hand in the pocket of a jacket I think is Dad’s and steps up closer to Fuse’s shed.  “Outhouse?”  

“Workshop,” Fuse lunges to shut the door tighter when it tries to creak open under the weight of the baffle rocking against it.  

“Can I see?”  Ingrid reaches for the handle and I step in front of her.  

“Nope,” I shake my head and look at Fuse for an idea, “I…spilled something.  Because I’m so clumsy.”  

“Yeah,” Fuse nods, “and it may or may not explode.”  

“So better safe than sorry,” I clear my throat, “which is my idea because that’s a sentence a Thorston has never said.”  I punch her in the arm because it feels casual but it must be harder than I intended because she rubs the spot, elbowing the door shut one last time and stepping away from it.  

“And I thought Arvid was acting weird,” Ingrid frowns.  

“If he was acting so weird, why did you want to go with him?”  

“Because he told me no,” she shrugs.  Smitelout barks out a laugh and Ingrid looks at her like she’s the craziest of all of us. “What are you guys doing, really?”

“Nothing.”  I lie, badly.  Aurelia glares at me and I shrug, urging her to come up with something better.

“That’s convincing.”  

“We’re having…a double date,” Aurelia gets out, grabbing Arvid’s hand like that sells it.  Ingrid narrows her eyes at me and I loop my arm over Fuse’s shoulders, pulling her into my side.  She fits there better than I remember and I hope she doesn’t mind, because it’s going to be hard to let her go.  

“Isn’t that weird?” Ingrid looks between Arvid and me and I shrug, my arm sliding down to Fuse’s mid-back.  That lines my hand up with her waist, which makes her feel even closer, and she doesn’t shove me off.  

“Why would it be weird?” Aurelia bumps her shoulder against Arvid’s side, smile stiff and unmoving on her face.  

“It just seems like there’s a lot of…siblings for a double date.”  

“That makes it better,” I nod, “sibling bonding and a date. Two dragons, one stone.  I’m a busy guy.”  

Arvid laughs he expected everyone else to, but he’s the only one, and he cuts it off as quickly as possible. Ingrid crosses her arms, looking between us like she’s not buying this in the slightest.  

“Why’s Smitelout here?”

“They invited me,” Smitelout shrugs, “well, actually my date cancelled—I mean, I totally had a date. That I ditched.  I did the ditching.”  

“To hang out with my little brothers on their double date?”  Ingrid raises an eyebrow and Smitelout scoffs.  

“Yeah.  Keep up.”  

“What was the plan for this double date?”  Ingrid looks at me and Fuse in particular and I lean my head against hers.  

“A…bonfire.”  Fuse bounces slightly when she thinks of it, and it’s adorable, and I almost forget that this is a lie for a second because that sounds like fun.  It’s definitely nowhere near dark and it’s not cold either, but still.  And it’s a distraction, and it sounds like something that we might actually do.  You know, if Arvid and I were even on the kind of speaking terms where we’d ever consider a double date.  

Fuck, if Arvid and I having nothing to talk about is what messes this up I’m going to have to attempt to kick his ass again.  I give him a stony, don’t-blow-this-for-us look and he looks down at his feet like if he’s not willing to have my back, he’s at least not going to get in my way.

“Which is why we needed stuff from the workshop, to start it,” Aurelia explains, “but then Eret was clumsy and spilled it and now we’re here.”  

“Guilty.”  I nod.  

“I’ve got flints though,” Fuse pulls some out of her pocket and her knuckles glance across my hip as she tosses them in the air so they spark and then catches them.  And she’s cool and she has to show it now and I can’t believe she likes me.  And our last date was a mess that I didn’t even mean to be a date and our second date is now a lie and both my sisters are here and I can just feel that I’m messing this all up.  

“The clumsiness is redeemable.” Aurelia squeezes Arvid’s hand and tugs him, “the firepit is over here, right?”  

“Yep,” Fuse leans against me a little harder for a second before pulling away and walking a little too fast, like she only does towards fire.  Ingrid falls into step next to me and elbows me in the arm, always too hard.

“I was just trying to get out of the house, if Arvid had just told me this was a date I wouldn’t have followed him.”  She looks genuinely apologetic and I can’t help my eyes flicking to the hand still tucked in her pocket. I sigh.  

“Well, since Smitelout already crashed, we might as well back the title back from date to a more generic group activity.”  I scratch the back of my head and she looks at me for a second with narrowed eyes.  

“You couldn’t put on a not wrinkled shirt for a date?”  She tugs at my sleeve with her good hand and I bat it away.  

“You know what?  No, you’re uninvited if this is a game of tease Eret in his unnatural habitat.”  I glance up at Fuse to see if she heard any of that but she’s helping Aurelia stack a pyramid of kindling into the center of a well-used fire circle, rimmed by flat rocks.  

“You don’t let me have any fun,” she sits down on one of the three logs around the fire pit and Smitelout freezes.  

“I was going to sit there,” she points at Ingrid who rolls her eyes and scoots over from the center of the log.  

“I bet there’s still room given it’s about ten feet long.”  

“Fine,” Smitelout huffs and sits down hard enough to rock the log slightly, “just don’t make me sit next to any of those twerps, I don’t want to catch the lame.”  

“I’m not,” Ingrid looks at her good hand, nibbling on her nail and watching Fuse strike her flint next to a handful of dried grass and push it under the kindling when it catches. I move towards one of the other logs but Arvid is doing the same and he freezes, pointing at it.  

“Do you want—”

“I’m fine with either—”

“You can have this one, it’s fine,” he backs off and I almost wish he’d fight me for it.  Or act like he knows me, at all.  Like we could be on the same side here too, when we’re both hiding the same thing from the same person.  

“Thanks,” I sit down instead of arguing about it and Fuse feeds the fire a couple of dry logs before sitting next to me.  Close next to me, close enough that the length of her thigh is pressed against mine and there’s not really room for my shoulder until I wrap my arm around her, hand on the log beside her other hip.  

Aurelia sits between Arvid and Ingrid, holding his hand but looking purposefully at me like I’m supposed to start talking.  I don’t know why she’s putting it on me, I don’t know how to be on a date, let alone a double date.  I can barely hear myself think when Fuse shifts and her shoulder presses into my chest and reminds me how close she is and her hair is still pulled back so I can see her face better than usual.  And she smells like wood smoke and girl and my whole side is starting to feel too warm and I don’t think I have anything to say that wouldn’t be mortally embarrassing, especially with the way Ingrid is looking between me and Arvid.  

“Are they going to talk or do people not do that on dates anymore?”  Ingrid jokes with Smitelout and her eyes widen.  

“Normally I can’t get them to shut up,” she coughs out, too loud, and Ingrid raises an eyebrow.  

“Maybe we don’t have anything to talk about,” Arvid mumbles, glancing up at me like it’s meant to be an insult and that makes me want to laugh.  Even more so when Aurelia elbows him and he sighs.  “I’m just saying, it’s not like Thorston and I ever had anything in common.”  

“We had dragon training together for eight years.” Fuse reminds him.  “Didn’t you call me your sworn enemy or something?”  

“That was dumb kid stuff.” Arvid shrugs and looks at Aurelia for help.  

“Yeah, I guess you moved on to a new sworn enemy,” Fuse laughs like it’s a joke and sets her hand on my knee and I don’t know how she says stuff like that or touches me so easily or how I’m not on fire being so close to her for this long.  

“Thinly veiled threats are not a normal date activity, guys,” Ingrid shakes her head and leans forward, chin on her good hand.  

“It’s not a threat,” Aurelia sighs and shakes her head at Arvid in a way that manages to be fond and irritated all at once.  “I think they’re bonding.”  

“Yeah, it wasn’t all bad,” Fuse shrugs, drumming her fingers on my knee, “I perfected my stink bomb recipe years earlier than I would have otherwise.”  

“You should name it after me,” Arvid suggests and Fuse cocks her head.  “You know, for my pain and suffering.”  

“It never hurt you,” she shrugs, “but I’ll think about it.”  

It’s petty, but I don’t like that I’m on a fake date and Fuse is looking at Arvid instead of me. After trying to get a couple hours alone in the mead hall and then this, I don’t think group dates are my thing. I think I’d rather have her full attention, my eyes flick to her hand on my knee and I remember what that might imply and my heart jumps in my chest.  

“That’s not fair,” I say and she turns her head to frown at me.  And again, if all of these people weren’t here, I could kiss her, and it’s worse that they’re my family.  Well, except Smitelout.  Second cousins or whatever doesn’t count.  “I want an explosive named after me.”  

“I’ll name one of the new ones after you.”  She offers, wrinkling her nose.  And I don’t think it’s normal to get the impulse to kiss someone’s nose, but I want to kiss hers and I’m never consenting to another double date again, even a fake one.  “Not a stinkbomb, that’s not a comparison I’d like to make.”  

“You haven’t smelled his socks,” Aurelia interrupts and Ingrid laughs.  

“I said no commentary.” I point between the two of them, “especially because it’s not fair because no one is picking on Arvid.”  

“Thorston picked on me.”  He points out, actually managing eye contact and Aurelia nods in agreement.  

“When you were nine.” I adjust my seat slightly and Fuse doesn’t seem to mind when my hand rests against her hip.  If anything she leans closer to me, the knot of her hair pressing into my shoulder.  

“I hold a grudge.”  He shrugs and it’s half a joke and I half want to laugh at it but I still feel like that’s going to pull me into another brawl I don’t want to have.  

“It’s like watching a yak learn to fly,” Ingrid rolls her eyes and looks at Smitelout for back up.  It makes sense that somehow they ended up paired up here, because they’re both older and everyone else is coupled off, but it still doesn’t make sense to look at.  Maybe it’s because I can’t believe that Fuse is choosing to be this close to me or because seeing Arvid look so normal with Aurelia still doesn’t make sense. “I was never this stupid, right? Someone would have told me?”  

“I did,” Smitelout inflates slightly, “still do.  Because you are.”  

“Oh my gods,” Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I almost forgot who I was talking to for a second.”  

“Fire’s getting low,” Fuse uses my knee to stand up and I’m instantly cold without her under my arm. She grabs a log off of the stack behind Arvid and tosses it on the fire, wiping away some ash that lands on her arm and leaving a gray streak on the back of her hand.  Her sleeves are pushed up and she’s not wearing her vest and I realize she’s been leaving it off a lot lately.  Like she’s actually making that effort to occasionally not be around explosives.  

And that just makes me think of being alone in the forge with her and my face heats up.  I lean forward to try and blame it on the fire but it feels different when she sits back down next to me, I’m too aware of her hipbone against mine and I jump when she puts her hand on my back.  

“Sorry,” she tries to pull it off and I shake my head.  

“No, it’s fine, I’m just jumpy.”  

“Why?”  She looks self-conscious, briefly, eyebrows furrowed, and I hate it.  

“Because three of my siblings are here and I don’t think group dates are my thing,” I blurt out and Arvid meets my eyes across the fire.  He nods in agreement and Aurelia looks slightly miffed at me.  

“I thought it would be fun,” she lies better than the rest of us seem to be able to, “I won’t suggest it again.”  

Meaning, next time she’ll just let me bumble through the lie alone.  She doesn’t know what a bad idea that is, last time that happened I spilled the secret to Smitelout.  

“Plus it’s not a group date,” Smitelout holds her hands out to Ingrid like she’s trying to pacify her, “not that—”

“Yeah, I know we’re not on a date,” Ingrid shakes her head, “you don’t have to clarify that.”  

Fuse’s hand starts moving on my back, not really rubbing, just sort of tracing the line of my spine and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.  It feels better than it probably should, relaxing in a way that’s going to make me say something else stupid.  

“I was just going to say that twerp commentary is more fun than a random bonfire when it’s not even dark yet,” Smitelout tosses a chip of wood into the fire and Fuse tenses like she doesn’t want anyone else feeding her fire.  It’s cute that she’s possessive of the fire.  It’s weird that she’s still feeling my back, because I don’t see how it could still be interesting to her, but I guess I didn’t get bored rubbing her shoulders.  Not that it’s the same thing, because glancing sideways at her profile and the way her sharp blue eyes are taking in the interaction, I’m hit with another wave of disbelief that she likes me, of all people.  

“Yeah, kind of a weird choice of activity, guys,” Ingrid agrees, just for the sake of teasing me, I’m sure, “maybe Smitelout shouldn’t have ditched her date.”  

“I’m playing hard to get,” Smitelout looks at Ingrid like she’s stupid.  

“Isn’t that self-defeating when you’re also playing hard to want?”  Ingrid snorts at her own joke and Smitelout tosses her braid over her shoulder.

“You know, your axe is in pretty rough shape, I might not have time to get it fixed before Thawfest this year…”  Smitelout sighs like this is deeply tragic for her and I tense when Ingrid glances down at her bad hand.  I know she said it’s just Smitelout but still.  No one gets to mention it.  

I can tell Arvid agrees with the sentiment from the way he gently disentangles his hand from Aurelia’s and glances at me.  

“Right.  Thawfest,” Ingrid deflates as she pulls her hand out of her pocket, “it might just be your year, Lout.”  

“Yeah, no, I don’t want to win like a loser,” Smitelout scoffs, “I don’t care if you borrow the twerp’s axe, it’s not a win if you don’t lose, fair and square.”  

Ingrid stares at her for a second before nodding, “it’s almost like you’ve been hiding an honorable streak this whole time.”  

“Don’t tell my dad,” Smitelout snorts and looks around at the rest of us and our collective expression that she just grew a second head.  “What?  Thorston’s the one with something on her face.”  

“Not again,” Fuse mutters, taking her hand from my back and wiping her cheek.  It just leaves a new black streak on top of the old one and I don’t think before reaching up and wiping at it with my thumb.  That just smears it around and I laugh.  

“And I just made it worse.”

“Really?”  She looks embarrassed and that’s another reason to punch Smitelout.  

“Here,” I take my black smeared thumb and wipe it on my cheek, “now we match.”  

“We should go see if my shed blew up or not,” she almost deadpans, color rising high in her cheeks, “I think I know how to clean up what you spilled.”  

And of course she’s brilliant, that’s a way out of this disaster of a fake group date.  Maybe we can even hide the bombs better while we’re at it.

“Yeah, sure,” I stand up and offer her my hand, “my clumsiness in the first place.  Yak butter fingers, am I right?”  I show the hand she’s not holding to the group like they’ll take it as an explanation.  

“Oh shit,” Fuse curses under her breath and drops my hand and I’m sure I said something wrong until she waves up the hill.  “Hi dad, what are you doing?”  

“I heard teenage merriment and thought the firepit must be haunted,” Tuffnut walks up to the firepit and puts his hands on his hips, “because there’s no way that my lifelong dream of my daughter having friends over is finally coming true.”  

“Dad,” Fuse flushes up to her hairline, crossing her arms, “Darren has friends over all the time.”  

“Which makes it less of an occasion,” Tuffnut looks at me in particular and it hits me, specifically, for the first time that he’s her father. Before I guess I haven’t thought about it except in the context of avoiding repeating the Aurelia situation, but now I’m just picturing every angry father figure I’ve ever seen glaring at Arvid.  “And a part time Acting Chief in attendance, this is quite the high brow chill sesh.”

“Oh my gods, Dad, don’t say that.”  Fuse hides her face in her hands, “I’ll be in later, alright?”  

“Now I just feel like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Tuffnut—or is it Mr. Thorston?  Am I suddenly supposed to call him Mr. Thorston because I’m hoping to kiss his daughter again sometime soon?  Oh Gods, I shouldn’t think that now—sits down between Ingrid and Smitelout and claps Ingrid on the shoulder.  “I haven’t seen you since you got back, glad we get this chance to hang.”  

“I am trying to get rid of you,” Fuse looks at me apologetically and I’m as disappointed as she must have been when Gobber interrupted us the other night.  

“No, I think we want to chill with your dad,” Smitelout laughs and Ingrid nods along.  

“I don’t remember the last time we hanged.  Hung?” Ingrid looks at Tuffnut and cocks her head.  “What is the past tense of to hang?”  

“Who cares?”  Tuffnut shrugs and Fuse’s nostrils flare, cutely, and that’s another thought I shouldn’t have when her dad is here. “I’m a cool dad, grammar is lame.”

“Dad, why’d you come out here?”  

“Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Ok, let’s go inside then,” she gives me one last sad look and walks behind her dad to grab his arm and tug.  He falls backwards off of the log and Ingrid shoves his feet to the side, laughing. “I’ll see you,” she says to me in particular and I wave, trying not to look as miffed as I feel about it.  She looks disappointed enough for the both of us.

“Well, this has been lame,” Smitelout stands up next, rubbing her hands together, “I better go get to salvaging that axe.  Assuming you’re still ready to pay for it.”  

“Like I said, I think I lucked into chief money,” Ingrid stands up and loops her good arm through mine, “but take your time.  I don’t want you questioning your craftsmanship when I still kick your ass. Come on, Fuse will still be there tomorrow.  I’m hungry too,” Ingrid starts dragging me back down the hill towards the old Hofferson house and I’m surprised when Arvid and Aurelia follow.  

“Remind me to never have friends over,” Aurelia shudders, “it’s bad enough when my dad tries to be cool to get Eret to like him.”  

Arvid falls into step beside me and watches me look back at the Thorston house twice before it’s out of view.  

“Do you think he wants to beat me up?”  I ask him, because he’s the authority on this that I’ve wanted this whole time.  He’s silent for a second and I think he’s not going to answer but then he shrugs.  

“Probably.”  

“Great.”  

[tysonrunningfox]

Smingrid Is Ruining My Life

Part 1 | Part 2

Why.  They just keep...doing this.  Smut incoming tonight after I get home, still haven’t decided how I’m going to post it but whatever.  I can’t sit on it anymore.  I’m so tired.  I need to write an epilogue and smingrid won’t let me.  I hate them.  

Eret offers to fix Ingrid’s hand about three days after he wakes up, the kind of cavalier offer for help he keeps throwing out there to remind himself that he’s not in bed forever.  It should be cheapened by the fact that he’s drunk and his head is on a sleeping Fuse’s lap, but Ingrid can’t help but be offended.  Smitelout made her this hand and now she has to fix it, clearly.  

But that means Ingrid going to the forge and asking her to and that’s not something she wants to do.  

It’s not her problem that Smitelout suddenly likes her.  That’s not something she has to deal with.  She doesn’t have room for it and even if she did, she’s not sure why she should care.  It’s Smitelout.  Smitelout who has thrown a million petty little tantrums about losing to her.  Smitelout who threatened to spread rumors about Eret’s real dad.  

Smitelout who treats Ingrid like she did before she left.  Smitelout who makes Ingrid a new hand without even being asked.  

Ingrid still appreciates it even if it’s bent now.  She didn’t bend on purpose or anything, it honestly surprised her when the healer was trying to set Eret’s arm and he resisted with that much force.  And her fingers fit well enough that she just didn’t think about it, she braced him as well as she could and noticed after that they were bent out of shape.  

She lives with it for a while.  It’s hard to hold her axe but no one points it out until Aurelia is watching her attempt to hit the target in the chief’s front yard.  The first two throws clip the side but the third misses entirely and Aurelia narrows those chiefly but less irritating eyes and pauses, bag of tightly rolled scrolls on her hip.  

“What?”  Ingrid collects her axe, holstering it and adjusting her fingers back to neutral.  They still ratchet but not as well, the bend in the first digit making everything in them harder to move.  

“Nothing,” Aurelia shifts the weight of the scrolls onto her slim hip and when she cocks her eyebrow, she looks so much like Eret a year ago that Ingrid can’t help but feel like she should listen.  “Just that’s not really Hofferson aim.”  

“I just lost half my hand, what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “it seems like the new one was working out for you pretty well before it got bent.”  

“It’s a grip thing,” Ingrid clears her throat and she knows that a glare won’t help her.  Aurelia wouldn���t be so comfortable with the rest of the family if glaring did anything.  

“You know, I’m sure Smitelout could fix those.”  

“What?”  Ingrid hides her fingers behind her and Aurelia shrugs.  

“She made them, I bet she could fix them.”  

Aurelia was there.  She heard all of that.  Not that it should matter, because Ingrid doesn’t care, but it makes her feel like she needs to try.  Like this stupid situation is something she needs to fix, like all the others were.  A Jorgenson telling a Hofferson something like that with no answer is reason for issue.  

Or it was, back in the world before Eret was next in line for chief.  Ingrid isn’t quite sure how all of that works but she’s sure, at some level, that it’s ultimately in her favor.  

“Like I have money for that,” Ingrid rolls her eyes and Aurelia contests Eret’s best deadpan with far less effort.  

“Right.  That’s the problem.  It’s not that you don’t want to talk to her.”  

“Why wouldn’t I want to talk to her?” Ingrid reaches for her axe to make an argument ending perfect yak’s eye before realizing it’s not guaranteed anymore and pausing.  

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs, “I’m just thinking about how many weapons you have that need sharpening occasionally.   And if Eret isn’t working in the forge anymore, are you planning to leave Berk to get that done—”

“No,” Ingrid scowls.  “You were there, do you think I could just walk in and ask Smitelout to do something for me?”  

Ingrid hates the idea that she could.  That Smitelout might do it just because she likes her, and that’s fake too.  If Smitelout really does like girls and she hasn’t minced words before so why would she start now?  And that means that Ingrid is the only option Smitelout has ever known, aside from Spitleaf.  And Spitleaf never had the same problems that Ingrid did with the forceful proposals.  Her face isn’t so loud and people aren’t so presumptive.  

“I don’t know,” Aurelia shrugs and for a moment, Ingrid sees how pretty she is and how firmly she guards it.  It makes Ingrid jealous, suddenly, because her looks are still causing problems for her and she doesn’t know how to stop them.  But with Aurelia, it’s all words and no bite and somehow it works. “Have you tried?”  

“My hand is fine,” Ingrid lies and Aurelia knows it just how Eret always used to.  It’s irritating, she really didn’t need another Eret running around, especially one who seems to need less advice.  

“Yeah, I can see that.” She rolls her eyes and Ingrid tries not to seethe.  

Before her fingers bent, they were almost as good as the real thing as far as her axe was concerned.  A good solid throw was a single ratchet and it happened perfectly halfway through the swing, just in time for the axe to release at the right angle.  It felt alright if not perfect and that’s all she can ask for.  Except she didn’t ask for it, Smitelout just decided to give it to her.  

It was nice before Ingrid learned why.  It kind of felt like maybe they could be friends or at least consistent rivals, the way they used to be.  But now she knows that Smitelout wants something from her.

“It’s just bent.”  Ingrid ratchets her fingers, acting like it’s not difficult and Aurelia blinks.  

“Just a suggestion,” she rolls her eyes before starting down the hill without finishing the argument, like she knows she won without dealing the final blow, and Ingrid can’t say she’s currently overjoyed with having a new sister.  

She knew it was an inevitability, what with having so many brothers, and Rolf’s wife is great but also more attached to Spitleaf than Ingrid wants to be.  And it’s complicated, like everything is.  But mostly, Aurelia is annoying and pushing her when she doesn’t want to be pushed.   And that’s new too, she’s never had pressure feel so oppressive.  It always felt like something to push back against, people who doubted her were just waiting to be proven wrong.  

Now everything is a little more daunting and she’s lost her taste for being daunted.  

What if Smitelout says no?  Does she suddenly have to leave the island to get anything sharpened?  

That scares her.  She’s not doing that.  Fuck that.  

“Ugh, fine,” she stalks down the hill after Aurelia, turning before she sees the long red braid and almost jogging towards the forge, because might as well get this over with.  It’s not like she’s going to fly off island to get her axe sharpened, that’s a fair point, she has to work this out at some level or she’ll be defenseless.  

The forge is quiet and Smitelout is pounding away at some red hot hunk of metal on the other side of the window.  Ingrid doesn’t let herself pause, she doesn’t let herself feel fourteen and confused and lonely and see Smitelout as safe, because at least she’s predictable.  She doesn’t let herself see Smitelout’s arms, sweat slicked and intentional, or her hands, comfortable around her hammer.  

She doesn’t take the hammer as a potential weapon and she doesn’t think of a thousand ways to stop an attack.  She definitely doesn’t notice the way that Smitelout’s concentration looks more like avoidance, like she knew Ingrid was coming and didn’t want her to.    

“Hey,” Ingrid starts, trying to be neutral and Smitelout fumbles and drops her hammer on the floor.  It’d be funny if Smitelout didn’t like her.  

“What?”  

“Nothing,” Ingrid tosses her braid over her shoulder, “just wanted to ask if you could fix my fingers but if you’re busy…”

“What needs fixed?”  Smitelout doesn’t make eye contact but she moves purposefully, wiping off the counter with a wet, smudged rag.  

“They got bent.” Ingrid avoids the eye contact that Smitelout attempts to make.  

“So explanatory,” Smitelout rolls her eyes, “I need to see the actual damage to fix it.”  

“Here.”  Ingrid unstraps her fingers and throws them on the counter, wincing at the thunk of gronckle iron on wood.  She didn’t mean to hurt them more.  Hel, she didn’t mean to hurt them in the first place.  

Smitelout picks it up, ratchets the joints that she made and sighs.  

“What’d you do to it?”  She glares, heavy eyebrows low over those hostile blue eyes.  That look has always pissed Ingrid off and that’s no different now, except for the fact that she’s still preoccupied with the fact that Smitelout likes her.  

Why?

She knows why, rationally.  It’s always because she looks how she does.  It’s because she’s this perfect Viking wife.  Except Smitelout can’t be concerned about her line or the heirs Ingrid would make and there’s no carrot of redeeming the Hoffersons through marriage to dangle in front of her.  Smitelout can’t have thought that admitting it like that would go well.  But she still did it and it doesn’t make sense and Ingrid has no room right now for things that don’t make sense.  

“I held Eret down while the healers were setting his arm,” Ingrid shrugs, “he’s stronger than he looks.  Don’t tell him, because I can’t take his ego getting bigger than it is but…”  She trails off.  Smitelout looks between her and her fingers, frowning.  

“Why would I tell him?”  Smitelout picks up the fingers, quickly diassembling the rivets that hold leather to metal and moving it to her anvil, like she’s actually going to fix it.  

“I don’t know,” Ingrid crosses her arms, her bad hand folded under her good arm so that no one looks at it.  Smitelout doesn’t even try and that’s worse.  “You might think it’s funny that he can gloat, or something.”

“He’s pretty hurt, isn’t he?”  Smitelout starts taking apart the fingers, treating each part with delicate care that makes Ingrid feel not only guilty but ungrateful.  “Yeah.”  

“Is he…” Smitelout looks up at her and then back down, sorting the parts of her fingers into two piles, presumably damaged and undamaged.  Not that Ingrid cares.  She just wants them fixed.  “Is he going to be ok?  Or…”  

“He’s going to be fine.”  Ingrid sighs and she doesn’t remember the fight leaking out of her this quickly.  The longer she tries to work this out, the less tainted the gift seems.  Smitelout started in on insulting her the second her feet touched Berkian soil.  Hel, she charged Ingrid for the hand in the first place.  “Scarred up, but fine.”  

“He looked pretty fucked up.”  

“Yeah.”  Ingrid leans her elbow on the window and looks across the square.  

Smitelout rustles with the parts on the counter for a second before pausing, her voice rising in pitch and volume when she does speak again.  

“Is it because of what I said?”  She squawks, kind of like a baby terror and Ingrid looks at her slowly, cocking her head.  

“What?”  

“Are you acting weird because of what I said?”  She clears her throat, slumping her shoulders forward and looking anywhere but at Ingrid.  “About the liking you, or whatever.  Is that why you’re being weird?”  

“I’m not being weird.”

“You’re kind of being weird,” Smitelout snorts.

“I’m not.”  

“You—”

“It wasn’t the time to do that,” Ingrid snaps, slamming her good hand on the counter like punctuation.  Smitelout doesn’t flinch.  “I don’t care that you like me.  I’m just here to get my hand fixed—”

“After you broke it.”  

“After I bent it.”  

“It’s pretty fucked up,” Smitelout holds up one of the finger joint pieces, running her finger along the pale seam where the metal bent.  “Like, this used to be flat.”  

“I told you, Eret’s stronger than he looks.”  

“So are you,” she scoffs, “this took a lot of force from both ends.  I can fix it, but it’s going to take a couple of days, I might have to re-forge a couple of parts.”  

Ingrid doesn’t feel strong, not anymore, and the sideways remark resonates as a compliment in a way she doesn’t like.  It feels like it might matter more because Smitelout likes her, and that’s absurd, because she really doesn’t care.  

“How much?”  Ingrid tries to bluff and Smitelout hems and haws, inspecting a couple more pieces with squinted eyes.  Her face is sharper than it was when Ingrid left.  Not lighter, but more purposeful.  It’s not a face that can hide things and more importantly, Smitelout has never been tactful.  Hel, any bartering she’s planning to try is already undermined by the way that she’s blushing.  Ingrid wouldn’t have taken her for someone who blushes, honestly, she never seemed to get embarrassed about anything else.  And in Ingrid’s mind, at least, throwing a tantrum about losing Thawfest is a lot more embarrassing than liking someone.  

Ingrid catches herself staring and looks away.  Smitelout doesn’t comment, for some reason, even though she’s never let Ingrid get away with anything, ever.  She’s the one acting weird.  

“I’ve got some scrap from making…the bombs,” Smitelout stutters through it, “it’s not good metal but this is just a draft, obviously, if you and Eret can fuck it up this bad.  I’ll do it for free with shit materials but you’ll have to pay for the next try.”  

“Fine.”  

“Really?”  Smitelout’s voice cracks again and Ingrid tries not to care that she’s nervous.  Even so, it’s a weird thrill to make someone nervous even with her hand off and taken expertly apart in front of her. It makes Ingrid feel significant in a way she’s been missing ever since Haddocks started talking over her all the time. “I mean, it’s a deal, you should take it.”  

“I already did,” Ingrid stands up, debating for a moment before leaving her bad hand out of her pocket, “that’s fair.  When can I pick it up?”  

“I’ll let you know,” Smitelout shrugs, “depends on how busy I get, it’s been pretty busy with kid saddles since the dragons came back.  But I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”  

“Don’t rush it for me,” Ingrid clears her throat.  “I just mean—”

“I’m not going to make it weird,” she tosses the pile of good parts into a leather bag and sets it on the shelf beneath the counter.  “I get it, I—”

“Ok.”  Ingrid shrugs.  

“Ok what?”  

“You don’t get it,” she bites her lip and sighs, “but you won’t make it weird.  That’s good, considering this is the only forge on Berk.”  That’s too harsh and Ingrid sighs, “I don’t know what weird is.  Everything is weird.  I came back to a different Thor-damned island.  You overcharging me for repairs is about the only thing that feels normal.”  

Smitelout is quiet for a moment and it’s almost comfortable.  

“This one’s free, Hofferson, in what world am I overcharging you?  You’re just looking for something to complain about.”  

Ingrid can’t quantify her relief and she doesn’t try, standing away from the counter and shaking her head at a very red Smitelout.  

“Let me know when I can pick up the hand.”  

“Fine,” Smitelout huffs, “don’t expect me to rush on it or anything though.  It’s a free job—”

“I get it,” Ingrid takes a couple of backwards steps, heels dragging across hard packed dirt, “you know where to find me.”  

“Fine, give me more work, now I have to come get you when it’s done,” Smitelout rolls her eyes even though she basically volunteered for it and if she’s putting on a show to make Ingrid feel better, it’s not exactly failing.  

“I’ll come pick it up, you just have to let me know when.”  

“Whatever,” Smitelout shrugs, picking her hammer up off of the floor and twirling it absentmindedly.  “Are we done here?”  

“Sure.”  Ingrid rolls her eyes, “I’ll get out of your hair.”  

Smitelout waves her off and Ingrid pauses another second before turning back towards the chief’s house.  She’s not entirely sure what just happened.  Smitelout likes her, it’s obvious and she didn’t take it back, but she didn’t shove it forward either.  She didn’t expect Ingrid to do anything about it, at least.  Maybe that’s ok, maybe it can just exist and Ingrid doesn’t have to do anything about it right now.  Maybe it can just hold steady for a while and Ingrid will deal with it when she’s ready to.  

For the first time, everyone’s constant advice that she doesn’t have to take everything on at once makes sense.  This can wait.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Aftermath

Yeah, I didn’t manage to write shit, so I’m posting this.  It’s a roller coaster of emotional whiplash.  I love it.  Eret’s sisters antagonize him.  Smitelout makes a guest appearance.  Good shit.  

Tumblr | AO3

It’s cold the next time I’m aware.  It’s cold and my ass hurts and Fuse is talking to me.  

“Hey, Eret.”  She must be the one touching my cheek and that wakes me up.  She’s standing over me and the fire’s crackling like she just fed it.  It’s still warm under my arm where she was last night and Gods, that was real?  All of that was real?  

I sit up enough to see Ingrid, still curled under a blanket in the chair, bandaged hand hanging down almost to the floor.  

“What?”  I sit up straighter and Fuse’s fingers tangle slightly in my hair and she’s almost smiling as she looks down at me with a half panicked expression.  

“We fell asleep.  I have to get home before my parents wake up.” Her hair is mostly out of her braid and there’s sleep in her eyes and she’s pretty enough to make me glad to be awake even though the sun’s not up yet.

“Ok,” I reach up and touch the back of the hand that’s on my cheek and I’m not sure how much of this I’m going to remember but I want it to be all of it.  “I’ll see you?”  

“Yeah, sure.  Can you move to the chair?  My back hurts from half the night.”  

“Can’t see the door from there,” I sigh when she pulls her hand away.  

“See you later.”  She pauses for a second with the door half open and smiles, “Eret.”  

I try not to go back to sleep.  I really try. I try to hear Bang’s snores as a warning, as Ingrid being unguarded, but it’s not true because Fuse is outside and even though the floor is deeply uncomfortable I end up slumping down onto it and resting my head on my arm.  

The next time I wake up, Ingrid is standing over me.  

“You couldn’t find a blanket?  Or a chair? Or a bed?”  She pokes me with her toe and I groan.  “And here I thought you were so mature.”  

I groan again.  My butt feels like it’s never going to wake up.

“I couldn’t see the door from a chair.”  

“Bang has been watching the door awake all night.”  She kicks me a little more firmly in the hip, “you could have found a bed.”  

I glare at her.  

She looks more like herself. Skinnier, more tired, her hair hanging in tangled mops around her face like it never is, but she looks like Ingrid. Ingrid irritated that I’m running her late for something.  

“I’m up, just give me a minute.”  

“There’s no food here, I’m guessing.”  She walks away and looks on the shelves on the other side of the hearth.  She sweeps a bunch of dust off of one and I sneeze.

“I don’t know,” I groan as I push myself to my knees and try to stretch my back out.  “It’s not my house.”  

She’s quiet.  Silent even.  

“Anymore,” I amend, sitting back on my heels and stretching for a minute before staggering to my feet. “It was, I’ve just been at the chief’s for a while now.”  

“He and Mom are together, aren’t they?”  She doesn’t look fragile when she asks, but I can’t help but notice those gray eyes that don’t exist on Berk except for her and Dad and Rolf.  I shrug.  

“Yeah.  It’s kind of gross.”  

“It’s sad,” she frowns, “this place used to be nice.  And full of food.”  

“They’re married,” I walk over to her in case she needs another hug, but of course she’s stronger than that, “before they got together, but…they’re together and married.”  

“Huh.”  

“Huh?”  I toss a few pieces of kindling onto the coals. “What’s huh?”  

“I’m just…thinking.” She leans against the table, catty corner from her usual chair, like she’s pointedly avoiding where I think she’s supposed to sit.  “So. Arvid is dating Aurelia Haddock. And it’s serious enough that she can talk to Dad which…and Rolf didn’t show.  Not exactly surprising but…where does Thorston fit in?”  

“With me.”  I blurt before coughing, “I mean, she’s my friend. She was just…nearby.”  

“Right.”  Ingrid crosses her arms, bandage on top, staring down at her hand like it’s not hers.  It doesn’t seem like hers to me either.  

It’s different than the chief’s leg or Gobber’s arm.  It’s more abrupt, more startling.  There’s a hand and it’s right until it’s not.  There’s no line, it’s a curve, a gray area between normal and not. Between Ingrid and bare space.  

“Are you hungry?”  I ask, brushing some more dirt off of my sleeve, “I could go get food or something.”  

“Are you and Arvid still fighting?”  

“I don’t know.”  I answer in the name of honesty and keeping this easy, “we were, then he kicked my ass, then I kicked his ass—”

“And he started dating your sister you used to have a crush on,” she raises an eyebrow, “that’s a used to, right?”  

“That’s why you chose me for this, isn’t it?  This whole, catch Ingrid up on Berk gossip task.”  I can’t ignore the red cheeks and antsy stomach that come with thinking about Fuse and Aurelia and this morning, which still feels mostly fake.  “Because I’m easy to make fun of.   You know, you can bring humor to anyone with a little effort—”

“Dad?”  She cuts me off, “he didn’t seem like he’d seen Mom in a while.”  

“He hasn’t.”  

“Yeah.”  She nods, bandaged hand tucked beneath her good arm against her chest.  

Someone knocks on the door and we both tense.  She reaches for an imaginary axe on her shoulder with half a hand and I clench my fists.  Whoever it is knocks again.  

“Neutral third party messenger here bringing breakfast and about a ton of bandages.”  I recognize Aurelia’s voice, strangled like she’s actually carrying something heavy.  

“Coming!”  I walk around the table and open the door.  It’s more basket than Aurelia and she stumbles inside, handing them off to me as she goes.  Ingrid shuts the door behind her and looks at me like she needs a cue to start talking.  “Breakfast for twenty?”  

“Mom loaded me up like a pack gronckle,” she huffs, as miffed as she used to get before things were weird and she looks at Ingrid like an afterthought.  “Good morning.”  

“Good morning,” Ingrid crosses her arms, “the other sister brings breakfast, I’m not measuring up yet.”

“The other sister?”  I ask, stomach growling but not loud enough to get between Ingrid and food.  

“You’ve only got two,” Aurelia explains like I’m stupid before looking at Ingrid, “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”  

“This is a double meeting,” Ingrid offers her left hand and Aurelia shakes it without question, which is a mistake because Ingrid holds on tight, “you’re Arvid’s girlfriend too. It’s weird but efficient.”  

“That’s one way to put it,” Aurelia yanks her hand away, rubbing her knuckles and looking at me out of the corner of her eye.  

“Food?” I open the basket and take out a loaf of bread, offering it to both of them.  They both stare at me for a moment before looking back at each other, engaged in something I don’t understand.  

“Both getting Arvid to settle down and bringing Eret food in the morning,” Ingrid shakes her head, “it’s like you’re actually trying to take my place.”  

“I’m bringing you food, not Eret,” Aurelia rolls her eyes, “Mom is forceful.”  

That’s important. That it’s Mom, not your mom or our mom.  Just Mom. Awkward as the rest of this but also just as significant.  

Ingrid sits down in what used to be Rolf’s chair and starts digging through the food.  I half expect Aurelia to leave, but I’m not that lucky because she sits down across from Ingrid and rests her chin on her hands. I know what she looks like, refusing to back down and wondering if it’s worth it, and Ingrid seems to find it interesting.  Distracting like Fuse’s half a bomb.  

“So.  Aurelia.  I get where you fit in.  You have the same dad as my brother and you’re dating my other brother.”  

“It’s not as weird as it sounds.”  

“Yes it is,” I complain, wondering if Aurelia could handle this if I just left.  I hate that the answer is yes, but also, I’m not leaving Ingrid with anyone who’s not bodyguard material.  

“It’s not that weird.” Aurelia shrugs, “they aren’t so tight these days.”  

“I heard that,” Ingrid mulls over a piece of bread that she would have shoved in her mouth all at once a few months ago.  “But Eret and Thorston, huh?”  

“Oh Gods, what did they do now?”  Aurelia shakes her head, “I didn’t see Fuse leave but—”

“But it’s none of your business.”  Maybe Ingrid wasn’t sleeping.  That thought feels creepy, looking back, like they think I’d try and benefit from last night’s situation or something.  And I mean, I guess I did, but I—what was I supposed to when Fuse Thorston was looking at me like that and telling me that she liked me?  I’m not stupid enough to think that’d happen twice.  

“He’s defensive,” Ingrid grins at me, smug and thankful and alive and I think about just telling her, because this isn’t the kind of secret I’ve ever kept from her.  

“He’s clueless.”  

“He is right here,” I huff, crossing my arms.  I almost want to tell them the truth, just because it’d feel like winning. “And I’m not clueless—”

“About Fuse?”  Aureila laughs, eyebrow quirked like she’s not scared to be mean to me for the first time in a long time.  “Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”  

“Maybe he’s telling the truth,” Ingrid raises an eyebrow and my stomach drops, because that’s Mom’s caught face with all of Ingrid’s willingness to let me dig myself deeper. It’s the first time she’s really acted like herself since she’s been home and I sit down, pulling some bread out of the basket and eating half of it in one bite.  “Maybe he’s got something to be defensive about.”  

“I’m not defensive.” I look between them and try to imagine what Fuse would say in this situation.  Except she wouldn’t be in this situation because she’s not an idiot and she doesn’t have evil sisters.  

And Aurelia, well, Aurelia looks like she’s caught me, like we’re at that definitive point in maces and talons where I don’t know I’m out of moves.  But Ingrid looks how she always used to when I was too small to win a fight or home when Arvid was out doing something exciting with a girl who wouldn’t look at me.  She looks like she wants to help, like she’s the one person left in my family who doesn’t think I’m beyond a little mostly unsolicited advice.  

“Fuse snores,” she rolls her eyes, “not that you don’t, but I know what my little brother’s snoring sounds like that that was far more impressive.”  

“Fuse slept here?” Aurelia practically shouts and I wince.

“Do you want Mom to hear you and come kick my ass?”  

“Oh come on, Mom would only kick your ass if you weren’t snoring.”  Aurelia picks at the edge of the table.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  It takes me an embarrassingly long time and a pitying look from Ingrid to get it and I flush, “no!  You are my sister, my younger sister even, you don’t come in here and imply—”

“I didn’t imply anything!” She holds her hands up.  

“Yes, you did,” I cross my arms, ignoring the bemused expression on Ingrid’s face as she shakes her head at me, “and you shouldn’t even know anything about what you implied until you’re like forty, at least so—”

“Eret,” Ingrid reaches across the table with her good hand and touches my arm.  “That sounds like a painful conversation.”  

“This is all a painful conversation.”  I take another bite and sigh.  “And not that it’s any of your business,” I direct at Aurelia in particular, “but I’m not clueless.”  It feels like everything will suddenly become real if I say it out loud and as much as I want that, it’s scary too.  “I’m less clueless than either of you because last night, Fuse told me that she likes me.” They look at each other then back at me and I blink.  “I thought that’d get more of a reaction but ok…”  

“You think that makes you not clueless?”  Aurelia laughs, “did you also know that the sky is blue?”  

“What?”  

“She told me months ago, dummy, as if she even needed to tell me it’s so obvious.”  Aurelia looks at Ingrid for corroboration.  “She looks at you like you’re the only thing she doesn’t occasionally think about blowing up.”  

“Months?”  I frown, “you knew for months and you didn’t tell me?”

“You said you weren’t clueless, it was obvious,” she rolls her eyes, “almost as obvious as all of your weird flirting and staring—”

“I never flirted with her.”

“Uh yeah, you did, all the time.  You’d be in the forge like,” she flexes her arm and puts on a stupid sounding deeper voice that I guess is meant to be me, “Fuse, watch me lift this really heavy thing. Look at me flexing my muscles—”

“I don’t sound like that—”

“You kind of do,” Ingrid laughs, putting her fingers on her temple and sighing.  Her bad hand is still under the table and I’m not sure if she’ll let me change the bandages later.  “And Thor, you two talk fast.”  

“I don’t sound like that.” I repeat, deflating slightly, “and I never flirted with her because I didn’t even—I mean, I only realized she was like…a girl a couple of weeks ago.”

“You didn’t realize she was a girl?”  Aurelia deadpans, pressing her fingertips together, elbows on the table.  “What did you think she was?  A scale-less dragon?”  

“That’s not what I mean, of course I knew she was a girl, but—but I just didn’t think of her like that, like someone to be nervous around or someone…” I struggle to find the right words and Ingrid nods at me, supportive and embarrassed for me in equal parts, “you know, think about as having…all the girl parts.  I guess.”

“Girl parts?”  Ingrid sighs.  “You’re doing this to yourself.”  

“Which parts are the girl parts, exactly?”  Aurelia is surprisingly stony faced, like maybe I’m grossing her out the way she does me, which if that’s true, she should be embarrassed because it’s not like she’s related to Fuse or anything.

“You know, like—her being too pretty to talk to or…” I gesture in front of me and Ingrid nods like she’s getting it in spite of me talking, not because of.  “And then she hugged me and all those parts were just…there, all of a sudden.”  

“I’m pretty sure she had breasts even before she hugged you,” Aurelia says, almost authentically disappointed in me and Ingrid laughs.  

She laughs hard enough and long enough that waiting for her to stop gives me enough time to start to parse through what Aurelia said and again, of course I knew that.  Of course I knew that Fuse was a girl this whole time but I haven’t thought of it, of her, that way really aside from noticing the warm softness when she hugged me.  But now I’m thinking about it, and it makes my stomach feel warm and weird even as I try to shut it down.  

I think of how she looked in the forge the other night, thick wool shirt sticking to her sides from the heat and then all I noticed was that she’s smaller than I thought, but now I can’t help but think about how it would feel to touch her.   To see her in something other than her typical long-sleeved thick wool.  I was so excited about her lack of explosives filled vest that I didn’t even think about more.  Or less.

“Oh Gods,” Ingrid wipes her eye with the back of her bandaged hand, wincing slightly and staring at it with a single, shuddery breath before diving back into making me miserable.  “I never imagined two of you,” she points at me, “it’s exhausting.  Poor Mom.”  

“Poor mom?”  I scoff, “how about poor me? This is sibling abuse.”  

“Ok, ok.” She makes her face serious and sets both hands gingerly on the table.   “But seriously.  She likes you, you like her.  Why so awkward?”  

“Did you really just ask him why he’s awkward?”  Aurelia laughs and Ingrid purses her lips like she wishes Aurelia would stop helping for even just a second.  

“He’s my awkward,” she sets her hand on my arm and I can’t help but feel ten again and for once, feeling like a kid isn’t so bad.  “I…” Ingrid glances at Aurelia before setting her chin and dropping her voice slightly, “I know what it’s like to not know why you feel how you feel about someone, ok? With Spitleaf,” she says the name like it hurts slightly and I want to tell her she doesn’t have to continue, but it’s Ingrid, and no one’s ever talked her out of anything, “I—we were friends and I didn’t know why that didn’t feel quite right.  And then I realized it could be something different and…well, it changed everything.”  She looks at her bandage, hand twitching like she’s trying to move fingers that aren’t there.

“Hey, nothing seems that different to me.”  I pat the back of her hand on my arm and she sighs, “I mean, everything is, because I don’t live here and Mom’s married to the chief and well—this feels the same. I’m glad you’re home.”  

“You’re so grown up,” she tugs at my hair and grins, “and who told you this was a good idea?  There are still scissors on Berk, right?”  

“Yeah, ok.  Good talk.”  I stand up and stretch, looking at Aurelia.  “How’s everyone at home?”  

“I think they’re hoping you’ll check in at some point,” she looks at Ingrid and back at me, asking the silent question if she should be alone.  

“I’ll go do that now if you two want to tell embarrassing stories about me to each other without me interrupting.”  

“You really do think the whole world revolves around you, don’t you?”  Aurelia cocks her head and Ingrid snorts.  

“Uh, I am future chief of Berk,” I cross my arms, “at least this island and the surrounding atolls definitely do.”  

“I have naked toddler stories,” Ingrid offers and Aurelia grins.  

“I’ll leave you two to it.”

I feel strange taking Bang, because it feels like a dragon should be standing guard, but when I walk outside I see Stormfly, curled in front of the door, staring out at the horizon. She squawks a greeting when she sees me and I scratch under her chin for a second before taking off.  The flight seems longer than it should, but maybe that’s because I don’t know what I’m flying into and I don’t really have a reason to think it’ll be anything but agonizing.  It feels like eons ago that everyone was fighting, that Dad was snapping at Mom and the chief was just…there like he had any right to be.  

Bang lands in front of the chief’s house and snuffles my hand when I swing off and walk past his head. It makes sense to leave him outside, I think, just in case I need a quick getaway.  

I pause outside for a second, half expecting a dose of the yelling that used to be so common.  But it’s quiet, not silent, but quiet.  I hear Stoick laugh, so it can’t be too bad.

I open the door and blink, trying to parse through what I’m seeing.  

Arvid is holding Stoick under his arm and swinging the giggling kid around.  Even Arvid looks halfway happy about it.  The chief’s drinking a cup of tea in the corner and most shocking of all, Dad is sitting at the table across from Mom.  It looks like they might be talking.  

I clear my throat and Arvid almost drops Stoick, catching him upside down and fumbling to set him on the floor.  Dad takes a second to meet my eyes but when he does, he looks uncharacteristically apologetic.  

“Hey…everyone,” I shut the door behind me and Stoick runs over to hug my leg.  

“Is Bang here?  I have to show him something.”  

“Uh yeah, bud, he’s outside.”  

“I’ll be right back!” He nearly pushes me over on his way outside and when the door shuts behind him, it’s almost stiflingly quiet.

“How is she?”  Mom speaks first, frowning and looking older than I think I’ve ever seen her.  

“I—She seems better today but—”  But it’s not going to be something that heals overnight.  It’s not a small deal.  It’s big enough to bring this group of people into the same room and somehow, I’m the one closest to understanding it.  “But still shaky.  It’s a lot.”

“It’s Ingrid,” Dad says to Mom and it’s hard to look at them, to see them sitting across from each other like it’s a year ago and they’re happy or pretending to be.  “She just needs some time.”  

Mom nods and rests her head on her hand.  The chief takes a step towards them then hesitates, looking at me like…like he wants an opinion, almost.  I shrug. He stays where he is for a second before walking the rest of the way to Mom and resting his hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll get her to see a healer today if I have to personally haul one to your house.”  The chief addresses my Dad.  

No one punches anyone else.

“It’s clean,” I re-iterate, specifically to Mom.  “She let me clean it yesterday and the bandages are still clean this morning.”  

“It’s Ingrid,” Mom nods to herself.  “Why’d it have to be Ingrid?”  I don’t think she means anyone to answer but Dad does anyway.  

“Because she’s the one tough enough to get through it.”  

The chief nods.  Like Dad’s right.  Arvid’s just standing there, out of place but not hostile and I think I’d rather talk about Fuse’s body parts with my sister than stand here another minute.  

00000

“Careful,” I hold a branch out of Ingrid’s way on the overgrown path from my old house to the village.  “I should really come through here and clear it out, this is ridiculous.”  

“Eret—”

“Hey, watch out, I think I see a wasp nest in that tree up there, let me get on that side of you—”

“Eret—”

“We should have flown, I could have stayed low—”

“Eret!”  She punches me with her left hand and if I didn’t see her do it, I’d swear it was a war hammer.  I yelp, holding my arm and glaring at her.  

“What was that for?”  

“Stop,” she shakes her head at me, “there’s no wasp nest, the branches are not coming to get me, I wanted to walk because I’ve been cooped up for the better part of a week. If you can’t chill out, you can’t come with me, ok?”  

“As future chief, I don’t think you can technically give me orders.”  I take a step back when she raises her fist again.  

“I’m your big sister, I don’t care if you’re king of the world.”  

“Fair enough.”  

“Good,” she nods and starts walking again, fast enough that I have to jog to catch up.  “Just be…cool, alright?”  She looks both stubborn and nervous, jaw set forward at a hard angle.  She’s let me change her bandages every day but hasn’t let anyone else see it yet. Half of me going into the village with her today is I’m hoping to try Gobber.  

That should get Mom to calm down, Gobber took care of the chief’s leg and well, has personal experience with the topic at hand.  

Gods, that’s bad. Spending so much time with Ingrid and mostly only Ingrid is ruining my sense of humor.  

She’s got her axe strapped on her back and that makes her look almost normal.  The set of her shoulders is right, if stiff, like she’s pretending to be confident where before she always just was.  Still, it’s a huge improvement from a few days ago and she hasn’t cried since the second time I changed her bandage.  Even that was different though, accepting, grieving kind of.  I almost want to ask the chief to talk to her about it, but I’m not sure how that would go over with Dad.  

Dad spent the last two nights at the house in his and Mom’s old bedroom and Ingrid seemed to appreciate the silent company, but it’s been driving me out of my mind.  He won’t look me in the eye unless he’s asking about Ingrid and even then it’s quick and stiff and awkward.  I keep thinking about just hugging him and seeing what he’d do, if he’d shove me off or not.  It might be worse if he just stood there, stiff and awkward, like he doesn’t even have an opinion about it anymore.  

I wonder if Arvid told him about our fight.  Probably not, but it could have gotten back to him some other way.  

“Is anyone working at the forge?”  Ingrid reaches back with her bandaged hand to touch the handle of her axe.  I don’t know how she’d draw it with only half her grip and she seems to realize the same thing, her face hardening slightly as she tries to clench a fist that’s only part there.  She’s going to have to relearn how to fight and that’s going to drive her crazy.  

“Yeah, Smitelout is,” I shrug, kicking a rock out of the path, “and it’s not going horribly, to be honest.”  

“You’re so enthusiastic.”

“I apprenticed for eight years and Smitelout came in and replaced me,” I laugh, “you can’t imagine the emotional pain of seeing Gobber move on to someone new to yell at.”  

“Sounds like a really tough breakup,” she doesn’t laugh though, just walks a little faster like she’s actually trying to ditch her dorky little brother.  “You don’t have to come with me, you know, I’m sure you have something else to do.”  

“Eh, not really,” I shrug, “nothing that’s going to fall apart if I don’t touch it for a day, anyway.”

“It’s Mom that put you on guard duty, isn’t it?”  She looks at me like she already knows the answer.  

“No one put me on guard duty.  It’s not guard duty, I can’t want to spend time with my sister I haven’t seen in months?”

“You tried to protect me from a wasp nest.”  

“Who wants to get stung by wasps?  I think that’s kind of a universally hated experience—”

“It’s Berk, what do you think is going to happen to me here?”  She sighs and it’s the first time I think I’ve ever heard her sound so bitter.  “I’m less marriage-able than ever, it’s probably the safest I’ve ever been in my life. The fucking chief is my new step-dad. I don’t need my little brother to play bodyguard, alright?”  

“I’m not worried about anything happening to you,” I’m sure she’s going to punch me again but I continue anyway, “I’m worried you’re going to get upset again when you’re alone.  Or around people who won’t get it, or—”

“No one gets it.”  She snaps, and I should have thought this out better, because we’re in town now, passing houses on either side of the path. A terror skitters across in front of us, chasing something and Ingrid pauses, exhaling like she’s stunned by the crowd in the main square.  

I’m not sure I’d really call it a crowd, maybe only thirty people are walking around and going about their business, but I guess after the last few months she’s had, it might look like more.  She heads straight to the forge first, reaching up with both of her hands and fumbling the axe over her shoulder.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that clumsy with an axe, not even when she was eight and she stole Mom’s and took down the sapling in the front yard.  

She drops the axe on the windowsill and Smitelout swears, jumping and dropping her hammer on her anvil with a clang.  

“What the Hel?”  She turns around, crossing her arms, “of course it’s Hofferson.  Who else would appear from nowhere just to scare the thor-loving shit out of me?”  

“I don’t really have time to spell that list out for you,” Ingrid scoffs, sliding her axe closer and pointing at the blade with her bandaged hand, like she forgot to hide it. “I need—”

“Just about everything,” Smitelout whistles under her breath and I’m ready to jump down her throat the second she looks at Ingrid’s hand funny.  It takes her a moment to notice what’s weird and she pauses, face pale for a second before she picks up the axe.  “It’s out of whack, the blade’s filthy with what I’m pretty sure is a fuckton of blood, it’s dull as a rock.  The handle’s about three good hits away from splintering—”

“Eret says it’s your job to fix it now so…”  

“I can see he fixed it last time by how fucked up this sharpening job is,” she looks at me, not as smug as usual and…and well, things keep getting weirder, because she seems to be handling this better than pretty much any member of our families.  

“No, that was some asshole masquerading as a blacksmith down on the mainland,” Ingrid sighs, “I should have known it was going to be a hack job the second he started banging on the thing.”  

“Maybe Eret can get a lesson from him.”  Smitelout swings Ingrid’s axe slowly like she’s testing the balance.  “It did look a little clean for your work.”  

“Some things never change,” Ingrid rolls her eyes, just now pausing and remembering to hide her bandaged hand under the edge of the counter.  Smitelout sees her do it but doesn’t say anything.  

“Also, do you know where Gobber is?”  I ask and Smitelout shrugs.  

“He doesn’t need to babysit me, twerp.”  

“He’s the future chief,” Ingrid buts back in, a hint of that old Thawfest season venom in her voice. “It’s Mr. Twerp to you.”  

“That’s so helpful, both of you, really.”  I scratch the side of my head, “no ideas on Gobber?”  

“Nope,” Smitelout sets Ingrid’s axe down and looks at her for a second, “normally, you know, I’d give you our customary farewell salute,” she holds up a half committed rude hand gesture and I regret not being close enough to throttle her immediately, “but that doesn’t seem super fair so…”  

Ingrid stares at her for a second and then snorts.  

“Fair’s never really been your thing, no point in starting now.”  She pushes away from the counter, “I’ll pay when it’s fixed.”  

“It’s not going to be cheap,” Smitelout shakes her head and Ingrid starts walking backwards with a shrug.

“Whatever, I think I’ve got chief money now.”  She brags, punching me in the shoulder again and turning around to walk off.  I fall in step beside her, huffing slightly and looking back at the forge.  

“You don’t have to let her talk to you that way.”  

“It’s Smitelout,” she scoffs, “why would I care about her being an asshole?  At least she didn’t try to protect me from a tree branch.”  

“I was just—”

“I know what you were doing and you can stop now.”  She nods, “I’m good.  Why are you looking for Gobber?”  

“Well, if I can stop being nice to you, I want you to let him look at your hand because Mom won’t stop nagging me about getting you medical help and I figure she might listen to Gobber.”  

“Ok,” she nods, “Gobber is ok.”  

“Why is Gobber suddenly ok?”

“Where could he be?” She cuts between some houses to avoid some of the crowd, making her way up the hill towards the great hall with long-legged strides that I didn’t used to be able to keep up with.  She’s officially shorter than me, but it doesn’t seem like something I should point out, even if she thinks she feels fine.  

“I don’t know, home maybe?”

She turns a corner and stops so short I almost run into her back.  Spitleaf is ahead, with Ruffnut, and Ingrid grabs my arm, pulling me back around the corner where they can’t see us.  She swears and leans back against the wall, closing her eyes.  

“What’s going on?”  

“Be quiet,” she urges, pulling me back into the alley that we came from.  She drops my arm just as my fingers are starting to go numb and I rub my wrist, looking back over my shoulder to see if anyone followed.  

“Why didn’t you want Spitleaf to see you?”  

“Because I didn’t.” She snaps, grumbling under her breath and taking another shortcut that seems intentional.  

“Ingrid—”

“Because I asked for space, ok?”  She stops and tugs on the end of her braid with her good hand looking like Mom when Arvid and I would drive her to want to actually pull her hair out.  “It isn’t space if I’m the one walking by her.”  

“Wait,” I step in front of her when I catch up and she looks at me like she doesn’t quite see me for a wild second.  Like she’s seeing someone else.  Someone that makes her scared and angry and terrifying in a way she’s never aimed at me. I take a step back.  “Hey, whoa—”

“Because she left, Eret.” Ingrid’s voice is a raw, tiny whisper, “because when it came down to it, she left.  And I know she had to, I know she had to get the dragon out of there and she wouldn’t have been able to come back for me if she was dead.  But she left.”  

“Ingrid, I’m so sorry—”

“And now I can’t look at her without being…without being back there and—how do you forgive someone for something like that?  Something that isn’t their fault and—it was my fault, I know it was, I should have just kept it clean and quick and…”  She looks at her bandaged hand and swallows hard.  “It was my fault but she wasn’t even mad about it.  She just kept saying sorry, sorry, sorry and I know she had to leave but I can’t figure out how it’s ok that she did.”  

I have no idea what to say to that.  Something tells me that touching her would be a bad idea so I just stand there, staring at her slow heaving shoulders, the panicked red of her cheeks.  

“You should talk to Mom.” I take a step towards her, hand outstretched like she’s a frightened dragon and if I can just get her to come to me, everything will be ok.  “Or Dad or the chief or…Hel, Gobber.”  

“No,” she shakes her head, swallowing hard and trying to force her expression normal.  “No one can know, I—if anyone knows they’ll go out there after them—”

“And maybe someone should—”

“Don’t even think about it,” her voice shakes, “I shouldn’t have told you.  I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”  She stalks off back towards home without another word and it feels wrong not to follow her, but I don’t know what to say so I just stand there, watching her weave back through the crowd and into the woods.  

[tysonrunningfox]

Group Projects

So I’ve had a Hell of a Few Days but here is the boy and he is CUTE and an idiot, frankly.  It’s just five thousand words of that.  

Tumblr | AO3

The only crush I’ve ever had was on my sister.  It felt different.  Looking back, it felt bad.  Heavy and stupid and like another thing to live up to.  

I’m struggling to call this new, strange, incredibly determined set of emotions I’m having with regards to one Fuse Thorston a crush.  Because she’s—because—I want to hug her.  Again.  Just to feel it again and at a lesser level, just to make sure.  But mostly to feel it again.  Just…

I don’t know.  I really don’t.  

I know that I’m meeting her and Arvid and Aurelia and Smitelout of all people sometime around midnight and I haven’t seen her since…since she hugged me.  With all her self and her smoky hair and…and…

“Are you about ready?” Aurelia asks, a shadow of her usual sureness as she grips the strap of a bag over her shoulder.

I almost don’t say anything, but I don’t want to be mad at her and that requires actually not being mad at her.  It takes effort, but I stand up and turn around.  

“I’m good.”  

“You didn’t shave.”  

Normally, I don’t care, to be fair.  I don’t care until it itches and when it itches I shave but…but what if Fuse cares? What if she’s particularly annoyed by a scruffy random weirdo staring at her?  How am I not going to stare at her?    

“How long do I take to shave?”  I blurt, scratching my chin and Aurelia pulls half of a cautious face.  

“I don’t know that information.”  

“Fuck.”  

“Ok…we’ve got to go,” Aurelia looks out the window and scratches the back of her neck.  Her hair’s braided, it looks like Mom’s and I wonder who did it.  

“You think I’m fine without shaving?”  I ask even though I can’t fathom her having an opinion.  She never noticed me when I was suffering that unfortunate crush and now that I might have something halfway real, why would she be able to tell? I’m an enigma, as far as girls are concerned.  Undercover.

“You look scruffy, no one cares,” she rolls her eyes before leading the way down the stairs with a suddenly silent trot.  I follow her outside and it’s too silent as we jog down the hill and out of sight. We don’t see the forge yet when she starts talking in that easy way we used to.  “Any particular thing you want to drill into anyone’s head tonight? Best to get that straight early because of the…you know, stubbornness.”  

“Do we have to talk?”

“I thought you weren’t mad.”

“I’m not.  I’m just not feeling very chatty.”  I cross my arms, exhaling until I see a white cloud in front me.  I scratch my chin, it’s not that much stubble.  I shaved like a week ago, it’s not bad.  

Fuse wouldn’t care.  

Oh Gods, Fuse liked my beard at Snoggletog.  I remember her commenting on it.  I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to never shave again.  Oh Hel, why would she comment on it?  What if she was making fun of me?  What if it is still patchy?  

I rub my hand over my chin, feeling for sparse areas. There’s one on my jaw but that’s a scar so that doesn’t count as patchy, even to girls, right?  And Fuse is a girl, I can’t separate that now and I don’t know how I got so far without putting it together.  And more than that, I like her, I like talking to her, I like being around her, and now when I think about her there’s this fog and she seems pretty where before I never thought about it.  But she must have always been pretty.  She’s so pretty, too pretty to actually compliment my beard.  

“I can practically hear you thinking too fast, it’s making my head hurt.”  Aurelia tries to joke, but her tone is wrong and I don’t have the energy to call her out or comfort her about it.  

“I’m just…thinking about what I’m going to say tonight.”  It’s true, in a way, because now I’m thinking about how in the Hel I’m going to say it with Fuse looking at me with those eyes.  

“What are you going to say?” She clears her throat, “if I can ask—”

“Stop being so nervous, you’re making me more nervous.”  

“Why are you nervous in the first place?”  

She’s trying.  I almost wish she wouldn’t.  

“Because we’re ready,” I shrug, “we’ve got the firepower to get through the wall we need to.  Or at least we have the knowledge and ability to make it.”  

“You mean Fuse does,” she elbows me like it’s not stiff and strange to tease me and I think of Fuse again. Fuse and her half eyebrow and her scarred fingers and the way the tip of her tongue sticks out when she’s thinking really hard and Gods, if she felt that good to hug, I can’t even imagine what kissing her would be like.  

Shit, I don’t know how to kiss.  I especially don’t know how to kiss with a beard that she either made fun of or liked.

“Yeah.  But we can help.”  

“When do you think we’ll be fully ready?  Like, any idea how long it’s going to take—”

“I don’t know,” I snap, “I was going to get everyone’s opinion before making decisions that affect others.”  

She sighs, “sorry. I’ll shut up.”  

“I don’t quite believe you but I appreciate the effort.”  

Hotgut and Wingspark are outside the forge with Arvid and he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at the ground when he sees me.  He looks smaller until he pushes off of Wing’s side and stands up straight and my shoulder throbs a little, part pride and part hesitation to fight again.  He nods at me.  The black and green under his eyes makes me equal parts proud and nauseous as I nod back.  

“Fuse inside?” Aurelia asks him, hesitant in that direction too, and it hits me for the first time how it must have felt when she set him up to win and then he lost in front of everyone.  

To me.  

Which, if I’m feeling as mean as I want to be, that’s pretty hilarious, but more than I want to be mean, I want all the stupid animosity between us to be over.  If he has to ignore me, fine, but I’d like to stop looking over my shoulder.  

“Yeah.  Jorgenson isn’t here yet.”  He glances at me before turning around and walking inside.  

It’s tense enough that I almost assume it’s going to be business as usual when I see Fuse, that the way I’ve been feeling the past few days is just a fluke and I’ll see her as just…my brilliant friend who I can rely on.  Which would be fine and kind of a relief but also a loss in a way I don’t quite understand.  It’s been nice, feeling something new that didn’t suck.  

Arvid grunts something like hello at her and when I see her she’s frowning, whittling a hunk of wood with a deadly looking knife and my heart jumps into my throat so hard I almost throw up.  Aurelia runs into my back and opens her mouth to say something insulting before stopping herself and stepping carefully around me.  

Fuse raises an eyebrow and half smiles, that cute little half smile that reminds me I’m never as funny as I want to be, and both my knees turn to useless goo simultaneously.

“You’re letting the warm out,” she prompts me, “shut the door?”  

“Sorry,” I stumble inside and slam it shut behind me, “sorry, sorry.”  

“It’s fine,” she cocks her head and her pretty hair falls over her shoulder and I remember how soft it looked at the Snoggletog feast and I must have forgotten my brain to not notice it then.  “Are you ok?”

“Great!”  I almost yell and Aurelia’s staring at me with that blank expression she’s been making when she’s trying to be nice.  Arvid’s staring at his feet, arms crossed.  

“He’s just excited,” Aurelia says almost gently, “I heard you guys had a successful test.”  

“We did,” Fuse nods, that beautiful, scary, manic smile she has when something blows up just right spreading across her face.  

I want her to aim it at me, suddenly, I want to make it happen.  I want to be the explosion that makes her that happy.  

Then she shifts, her face falling to a steady glower as she stares at Aurelia, icy in a way that’s terrifying and impressive and beautiful in a completely different way.  “Are you going to use me again?”  

“What?”  Aurelia has the good sense to look scared and she takes a cautious step back, towards Arvid but not behind him, because she’s not hiding behind him anymore.  “No, I’m sorry—”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”  Fuse says it like she’s signing something and she stares at Aurelia for another even second before relaxing.  “Back to that successful test, then.”  

“It was great,” I fumble over something that feels dangerously complimentary and stutter, “Y-you were great.”  

“Like I said, I wouldn’t have thought of it at all without you.”  She shrugs like her being nice to me didn’t just set my entire gut on fire.

“Congrats,” Arvid looks up just long enough to grumble and Fuse narrows her eyes at him. “What?  I mean it.”  

“You do?”  Her nose wrinkles and there’s soot on it and I take a step to lean against the counter a few feet away from her, because maybe if I’m looking in another direction I can stop staring.  She’s bound to notice me staring.  She should stop having such a cute, expressive nose if she doesn’t want me to stare.  

“It’ll be good to finally do something,” he picks up a hatchet blade off of the counter and stares at it instead of meeting anyone’s eyes, “instead of just standing around all night arguing.”  

“I agree,” I pause and wait for him to argue or glare at me, but he doesn’t and it feels as weird as Aurelia’s silence, “once Smitelout’s here we can talk about that.”  

“We could start without her,” Aurelia shrugs, “I mean, the original crew is all here.”  I know that it means something to her to be part of some original group, but I can’t help but hear her trying to steer.  I clear my throat.  

“I don’t really feel like saying anything twice,” it’s pointed enough for her to look ashamed, “and we need her.  I haven’t had time to forge anything and don’t tell her I said this, but she did a decent job with the baffle.”  

“Better than decent,” Fuse grins again like she’s remembering the blast and my cheeks feel hot. She catches me staring like an idiot and frowns, “what?”  

She’s beautiful. She’s so smart.  Why is she so nice to me?  I’m an idiot.  I’m staring again.  

I cough.  

“You’ve got soot on your nose.”  

“Oh,” she reaches up to wipe it off.  

“In a good way!” Aurelia just has to say something, because being silent is beyond her.  

“Where the Hel is Smitelout?”  I try and peer through the shutters over the window and Fuse leans back to do the same. And I’m crazy, because we aren’t even touching but I swear I can smell that intoxicating girl-soot smell and if I close my eyes maybe I could feel her breath on the back of my neck.  I stand back up and stare straight ahead, trying not to look at her out of the corner of my eye.  

It’s impossible.  

“I could go look for her,” Arvid offers, probably just hoping to escape, but he at least looks at me when he says it.  I don’t recognize his expression and it makes me wonder if I’m forgetting how his face moves. How Dad’s face moves.  

“If you don’t want to be here, just go,” Fuse shrugs, nonchalant, “we can tell you where to throw things once we’ve made them.”  

“I can help,” he snaps, a flash of irritability extinguishing as quickly as it came on. “I can do more than just throw things.” He looks at me again.  

It sounds a lot like his version of a scroll I didn’t ask for.  

It’s different with him, though.  It’s an older wound, deeper, but closer to healing.  And I know an Aurelia idea when I see one, Arvid doesn’t stage his ambushes verbally.  

Fuse looks over at me like she’s waiting for my answer before she says anything and I’d never noticed the rim of gray in her eyes right by her pupil.  Or the triad of freckles on her left cheek that twitches when she frowns.  Or the way her teeth leave little indents in her chapped lower lip when she’s worried about something.  

I swallow hard and look back at Arvid, “you have to let Fuse teach you because…well, explosives but—”

“I can listen to Thorston,” he sets the hatchet blade down and crosses the room to throw a log onto the fire.  A flurry of sparks bursts into the center of the room and Fuse scoots closer to me to avoid the wave of heat.  Her vest touches my arm.  

Arvid puts his arm around Aurelia’s shoulders and she perks up, leaning against him like she didn’t expect the attention.  

Fuse tucks her hair behind her ear and her elbow brushes my shoulder and I wonder what she’d do if I put my arm over her.  Probably laugh at my beard.  I scratch my chin and she glances at me and the door, like she’s silently asking if she should go look for Smitelout.

The door opens and Smitelout walks in, grinning when she sees Arvid.  

“Heard you got your ass kicked.”  

“Good to see you too,” Aurelia scoffs, all the venom she’s been holding back from me poured into those five words.  She leans further into Arvid’s side and he stiffens slightly before shaking his head.

“Not by you.”  

“No, better, by the squirt,” Smitelout tries to ruffle my hair and I catch her wrist, glaring at her for a second before dropping it.  “I’m just trying to congratulate you—”

“Who told you about that?”

“My dad was there,” she shrugs.  

“Yeah, but he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone and by extension, neither are you.”  I try for some semblance of that chiefly presence I can convince most people of, but Smitelout rolls her eyes.  

“Right, like I’m going to go around saying you are now the toughest Viking on Berk?  Please, I’d be a laughing stock.”  

“Too late for that,” Fuse scoffs, chewing on her pinky nail and looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

Arvid snorts then quickly forces his expression neutral.  

“Let’s get started, I guess,” I looks around the room, “since everyone’s finally here.”  

“I was just letting you dorks get all the making out done before I got here and threw up,” she grins like she said something hilarious and fuck, now I’m thinking about it again. Just…the fact that Fuse’s lips are right there and suddenly really interesting and fuck.  

Smitelout thought Fuse was my girlfriend months ago.  Like, right after Snoggletog.  She always thought we were flirting.  What does that mean?

I get a flash of her standing closer to me, like Aurelia does to Arvid, just close and comfortable without even thinking about it and my palms feel hot.  I’m so stuck on the odd, new feelings that I didn’t even get to what they could mean or what I’d want to do about them.  

“We had a successful test yesterday,” Fuse looks at me like she thinks I’m broken and I realize how long I must have just been standing there silently, “took down a cave wall with one blast and the baffle stayed in tact.”  

“Right, yeah,” I nod, “thanks for uh…starting that.”  Looking at her is a mistake because I freeze again, mouth half open for a second before I remember how to talk.  “Yeah, Fuse is great.  I mean Fuse is right, we had a successful test yesterday and we think we’re ready to start planning the final…full on plan.”

“Start planning?” Smitelout raises an eyebrow, “you don’t already have a plan?”  

“Well, the plan is to blow up the volcano,” I roll my eyes, “especially the north side of the volcano. But I don’t know how many bombs we need yet.  I thought I’d get an opinion before I asked you to make about forty scrap metal hemispheres, but hey, if you want to do the extra work—”

“Whatever,” she rolls her eyes but shuts up anyway.  

“Do we have any paper or anything?”  Fuse asks me even though I don’t work here anymore and I point vaguely towards the back room of the forge.  

“There might be some in there.”  

She grabs what looks like an old axe drawing and flips it over, smoothing it on the counter and pulling a pencil from behind her ear.  She has cute ears.  I didn’t know an ear could be cute but hers are and my mouth feels dry.  Her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she starts to draw and I look away.  

Aurelia catches my eye and raises an eyebrow.  

I shake my head, trying to silently communicate something like ‘Smitelout, right?’

Aurelia blinks, slowly, like I’m disappointing her, before walking across the room to stand on Fuse’s other side.  

“Doesn’t the north wall come up a little more?”  She points at Fuse’s drawing of the volcano and Fuse measures it with her index finger.

“Are you going to use me again?”  Fuse turns all that focus onto Aurelia in a way I’m miraculously not jealous of at all, because it’s terrifying.  

“No, I—I’m sorry.” Aurelia shakes her head and Fuse mulls that over for a second.  

“Don’t.”  

“I won’t. Really.  I’m so sorry—”

“You’ve been to the island?”

“Arvid took me,” Aurelia doesn’t look at me, “it’s…something.”  

“Wait, so all you twerps have been to this island and I haven’t?”  Smitelout complains even though no one’s listening to her.  

“It’s not a vacation destination,” I scoff and Arvid and I manage to share one of those mutually annoyed looks without trying to kill each other.  We should have invited Smitelout earlier, she has a way of bringing us all together.  

“The West coast is a little oval, right?”  Fuse shades a large portion of the drawing and Aurelia nods, asking for the pencil with an open hand and adjusting the shape of the mouth of the volcano.  Fuse seems to agree and she waves everyone over.

Smitelout jostles to see better and bumps me into Fuse, her shoulder slipping slightly in front of mine so she can keep drawing.  Her shoulder blade presses slightly into my chest and I still don’t remember being taller than her but I am and that makes me think of how she’d fit under my arm again. I lean forward to try and focus on her drawing but that just makes it worse, because her drawing’s perfect and I don’t understand how she remembers things so clearly.  

When I try and picture the island in my mind, all I can think of is those dragons.  Old and sick and scared.  And once again, my emotions are getting in the way of my capability and Fuse doesn’t have that problem.  She’s cool under fire where I’m not and it makes me feel like we could fit if she had any flat spots I could compensate for.  

And sense of humor doesn’t count.  She’s just discerning.  

“So, this wall is the one I think we need to blow out.  This is where those old maps said there was a thermal vent, so I’m going to assume that whatever’s blocking it is under here,” she retraces the line she’s talking about and shades beneath it with a different stroke than the rest of the island to make it stand out.  “This rock is still young and porous, so we’ve got a chance to get through it.  We tested yesterday on a wall about a foot thick and made of much harder rock, so I’m going to say that the blast yesterday could get through about three feet of this soft stuff.”  

“And you said we could make it bigger?”  I try and think about the inside of the volcano, the scale of the cliff there.  

Fuse smiles at the suggestion and my heart lurches.  

“I think we can double it and still maintain baffle integrity,” she points at Smitelout with the end of the pencil, “it’s super sturdy.  That leaves us with the other side of the wall there and…hmm…there are these old lava flows into the water that might block a large scale collapse like I’m looking for.”  

“Someone on a dragon could drop something there, right?”  Aurelia points to a vague indent at the bottom of the wall we’re attempting to eliminate.  “Something weighted that would sink fast.”  

“If both of those went at the same time, the internal shockwave in the rock could lead to vertical shatter…” she mumbles to herself for a minute and try not to look at the pale skin of the back of her neck where it’s peeking out between her braids.  I swear I can see her pulse, fluttering a little faster as she starts scrawling numbers on the corner of the drawing. “Three standard auger bombs, the ones I make for new storage caves all the time, I know they can move…this much rock each,” she draws three wedges onto the mountainside right above the underwater lava flows.  “If we can get vertical shatter with the big bombs at either edge of the wall, we could send the whole cliff into the ocean and open the thermal vent right back up.”

She stands up, seemingly unaffected by her shoulder bumping my chest, and stares down at the drawing with a confident nod.  

Aurelia starts pointing at other points on the island and Fuse responds, making notes of other, smaller charges to direct new lava flow another direction and away from the open thermal vent.  Arvid even joints in, almost sheepishly mentioning monstrous nightmare gel as a way to clear dragons away from targets before dropping the bombs.  Smitelout starts piling scrap metal in the back room, weighing it in her hands and asking Fuse to get her a list of parts.  

“How long’s this going to take?”  I ask Fuse as Smitelout and I get the last of the scrap metal piled in some kind of organization.  

“I can have the big shells done next week, probably,” she assesses the stack of weapons on the anvil, “Unless we go to war by then, that is.”  

“Doing my best to prevent that,” I nod, remembering what the chief said about going to a council meeting next week.  That might free up my schedule at least a little bit, “next week we start assembling bombs then.”  

“I’ll have the supplies for the first three by then,” Fuse frowns, recounting a patch of tally marks on the edge of her page.  I see why all her drawings are so messy now, she just starts writing wherever she happened to be looking when she had a brilliant thought.  And because it’s her, that’s almost everywhere on the paper. “I wish I had a second gronckle, Hotgut can only do so much at once and the water activated charges need a completely clear stomach.”  

“How’d you learn that one?” Aurelia snorts.  

“Did you ever see my old shed?”  Fuse smiles and shakes her head, “lava puke.  Lava puke that smelled like death and threw all these green sparks everywhere. My dad was so pissed that it happened outside and not in the great hall or something.”  

“I can see if Rolf will let me borrow Slugwing,” I offer and Arvid looks at me, progressively less cautious from last time.  

“You’re talking to Rolf?”

“We aren’t friends or anything but…I’m helping him with cataloging some things.”  I shrug, “I don’t think Slug’s getting much attention with the new baby and everything though.”  

“What color is she?” Fuse frowns, drawing a line and splitting her notes in half.  

“She’s yellow, does it matter?”  

“Not really,” she shrugs, “it’s superstition but I’ve never gotten a good batch out of a green gronckle. If you could ask him, that’d be great.”

She’s superstitious and that’s cute and I forget how to say anything else for a moment.  

“I mean, I’m not going to guarantee anything, but…”

“It’s basically the difference between one month of work and two.  Either way, we can do this in the summer when we don’t have to contend with ice,” she efficiently rolls up her drawing and then folds it, jamming it into the pocket of her vest.  

“Sounds good,” I look around and everyone seems tired but content, and like Arvid said, it actually feels like this is moving forward.  If nothing else, it doesn’t seem openly hostile anymore.  “I think we should call it a night. Smitelout, let me know when you’ve got those first six shells done?”  

“Got it Chief Twerpling,” Smitelout fake salutes me and I roll my eyes.  

“I’m going to ignore that.”

“So sensitive when your girlfriend’s around,” she closes the door to the back room and I swallow hard, trying not to look at Fuse.  Aurelia stares daggers at me and I open the forge door, gesturing everyone outside like I have the power to do that.  I guess I do, because they all walk outside, and I lock the door behind me.  

“Can I come with you?” Arvid startles me, half lurking in the shadow of the forge.  “When you talk to Rolf.”  

“He’s your brother too,” I shake my head, “I mean, he’s your real brother.  Why do I have to be there?”  

“Because he’s a dick,” Arvid shrugs.  

I laugh.  It takes Arvid another second but he cracks half a smile, and I’m more relieved than I expect when I recognize Dad’s smile on his face.  

“Yeah, sure.  I’ll let you or Aurelia know.  Or something.”  

He nods but doesn’t say anything else, pushing off of the side of the forge and walking to talk to Aurelia.  Smitelout’s already gone and Fuse waves at me, adjusting a bag over her shoulder. It looks heavy.  Aurelia is paying no attention to me and I jog up next to Fuse.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“You really don’t have to.” She doesn’t tell me to go though. And it’s Fuse, if she wanted me gone, she’d tell me.  That’s one of the most comforting things about her and it still makes me feel calm, even when I look at her for a second too long and my heart starts trying to escape.

“I really don’t want to see Arvid and Aurelia make out.”  I half lie.  I don’t want to see that, of course, but well, for the first time in a long time, something in me wants to move towards someone instead of away.  “I could help you carry your bag.  I mean, if you want—”

“I’m good,” she adjusts it on her shoulder, bandaged thumb flexing around its strap, “I’d like to keep my explosives unshaken.”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

“You’re jittering out of your skin,” she looks me up and down and I think I catch her eyes sticking as they drag over my chin.  “I’m excited too but slow down, it’s still going to take a month.”  

“I know that,” I exhale, looking down when I see her house on the horizon, like if I don’t stare at it we won’t be getting any closer.  “I’m just—it just feels like a long time coming.”  

“What does?”  She pauses, frowning at me before her cheeks darken and she shakes her head.  “Nevermind. We have been planning for this most of a year.”  

“What did you think I was talking about?”  I stop a few feet short of the path up to her house and she stops too, looking up at one bright window and then back at me.  

“I never know what you’re thinking about.  Well, not until you tell me, unprompted and in specific detail.”  

“You prompt me.”  I laugh but feel embarrassed anyway. “You’re just easy to talk to, sue me.” And she’s beautiful.  And scary.  And all of my skin itches when I look at her for too long, like I’m allergic to being close to her but not close enough.  

“Must be why Smitelout keeps calling me your girlfriend,” she rolls her eyes.  I feel my face flush and take a step back, hoping she can’t tell.

“Right?  What is that?”  I draw air circles by my temple with my finger, “delusional, am I right?”

“Someone’s delusional,” she sighs, deflating slightly and shaking her head, “I should get inside.”

“Yeah, it is late.”  I fake a yawn, like there’s any chance of me sleeping after looking at her all night.  

“Goodnight, Eret.”  

My stomach jolts when she says my name.  Not because she never says it, but something about her tired, vaguely stressed delivery makes it sound new.  It might be the first time in almost a year that my name feels like mine, instead of a misplaced hand me down, and I almost keep following her when she takes her first few slow steps towards her house.  

In fact, following her might be better than what I actually do, which is to stand right where I am and call after her, clearly too tired to think.  

“Did you mean it when you said you liked my beard?”  

She turns around quickly enough that her bag jostles and sloshes.  

“What?”  

“Before Snoggletog. You said you liked my beard.  Did you mean it?”  

“Why would anyone lie about that?”  She shakes her head and waves one more time.  “Goodnight, Eret.”  

“Night, Fuse.”  I stay where I am until her front door closes behind her.