Thorfinn POV
I was sitting on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling precariously over the side as I carved another dragon from a piece of driftwood. The sound of waves hitting the stone of the mountain reverberated in my mind, almost enough to drown out the other noise in my head. Almost.
The wood felt rough under my fingers as I worked the knife carefully around the curves. Each cut had to slow, especially since I was working on the details of the wings right now. I'd gotten better at this over the months, much better than when I first started. Ot at least I liked to think so.
I sat alone, staring into the blue horizon. The chief should come back soon, any day now. It had been almost two months since his ship disappeared beyond the waves, taking him to that meeting Gobber had mentioned. Something about dragons, about solutions. I didn't understand all of it.
The wind picked up, ruffling my white hair and making me squint against the salt spray that occasionally reached this high up the cliff. Below me, the waves crashed against the rocks, water and salt which would chip away at this side of the mountain, little by little, day by day.
It was one of the few sounds that could quiet the screaming in my head.
I looked down at my carving, holding it up to let the high noon sun illuminate my face along with the figure of the wooden dragon.
Two long, serpentine necks with rounded spikes from head to tail. At the end of the necks were two short heads.
Each one had a large horn on each nose, and two thinner horns on top of them. Like all other dragons, it had slitted eyes. I had made the teeth in their lower jaw seem longer than the ones in the upper jaw, sticking out. It also had two tails.
The end of each tail possessed a fin-like structure shaped like an arrowhead.
The wings had been the hardest part to carve, as they had to look somewhat tattered.
"Hideous Zippleback," I murmured, staring intently at my piece. "Fear class. The attack of a Zippleback is like no other. Instead of breathing fire, a Zippleback makes explosions. One head breathes gas, and the other head lights it. Extremely dangerous. Kill on sight."
I paused, running my thumb over the carved scales. "They have one set of internal organs, so go for the heart."
I enjoyed reading the dragon manual, it brought me a kind of peace, that we knew so much about dragons, so many ways to kill them, that was all except for one, but I still hadn't seen one in a dragon attack.
I placed the carving at my side, my back falling to the grass as I watched the clouds drift by. I didn't know why exactly but clouds over Berk always looked otherwordly like Asgard itself had descended upon us.
"I should probably go help Gobber," I said to myself, rising from the grass. "It should be around feeding time for Hiccup."
Hiccup had become... attached to me over the months. It was strange, having someone depend on me like that. When he cried, he'd often only stop when I picked him up. When he was scared during dragon attacks, he'd reach for me first, even before Gobber. It felt good and terrifying at the same time.
I looked once more toward the horizon, and that's when I saw it.
A boat. The boat.
My eyes squinted as I focused on the distant shape cutting through the waves. But something was wrong. Why were there only three figures on deck? I squinted harder, shielding my eyes with my hand.
And why did the boat look... singed?
The hull had dark marks along its sides, and parts of the sail looked torn. Did they get attacked on their way back? My stomach clenched at the thought. Stoick had taken six of Berk's finest dragon killers with him. If only three were returning...
My eyes indirectly looked at the water, which made a shiver crawl up my spine as I recalled the first thing that had happened when I woke up on Berk's shore, vomiting out seawater. It wasn't a fun experience, and seeing that damaged ship brought back memories I'd rather keep buried.
The boat was moving fast, around twelve knots, give or take. The wind seemed to be in their favor today, pushing them toward the harbor quickly, at least quicker than when they had sailed off. I began running down the mountain, to tell Gobber.
I reached the house and burst through the door. There on the sofa was Gobber, blowing on a spoonful of soup and slowly feeding it to Hiccup. The toddler sat in his lap, opening his mouth like a baby bird whenever the spoon came near.
"Stoick's back," I said, my breath ragged from running.
Gobber looked up, his expression lightening into a smile, even though I knew he'd been waiting for this news as anxiously as anyone, month long journeys on the water weren't exactly safe especially with dragons being able to swallow an entire viking ship whole.
"I'll go down to meet him. You finish feeding Hiccup."
The toddler in question seemed to understand something was happening. His green eyes looked between us, and then he muttered, "Stoick? Dad?"
He really was a smart kid. Too smart sometimes. He would make a great chief in the future.
"Dad, dad, dad," he repeated over and over again, his voice getting higher and more urgent, almost on the verge of crying as Gobber and I looked at each other.
"I guess this little scamp wants to go too, huh," Gobber said as he lifted the toddler, who immediately started clapping his little hands. "Well then, let's all go down."
I nodded, scooping up the bowl of soup and setting it aside. Hiccup wouldn't be finishing that now, not with his father coming home.
We made our way down the mountain, following the wooden ramps and steps that connected the different levels of Berk. Other villagers had seen the ship too, and were making their way toward the harbor. Word traveled fast on Berk, especially when it came to the chief's return.
I noticed some of the faces around us. Worried wives, anxious parents, children who didn't quite understand why everyone looked so tense. They all knew six vikings had left with Stoick.
As we reached the pier, I really looked at the entire ship. The damage was worse than I'd thought from the clifftop. The edges were singed black, the wood charred in places. Parts of the railing had been completely burned away.
I watched as Stoick and two other men whose names I didn't know stepped onto the pier. They looked haggard, exhausted beyond belief. One of them was even walking with a slight limp.
Everyone fell into an awkward silence as they looked at each other. The returning men seemed reluctant to meet anyone's eyes, and the crowd of villagers didn't know what to say. The tension stretched until a familiar jolly voice broke it.
"By Thor's beard, what happened to you? You look like a troll stole your left sock!"
Of course, who else could it be but Gobber. Trust him to break tension with humor, even in a situation like this.
A few other vikings stepped forward then, mainly three women and two men of differing ages. I didn't recognize them, but I knew who they probably were, the families of the men who had gone with Stoick. Their eyes searched the boat desperately, looking for husbands, wives, sons, daughters, brothers or sisters who weren't there.
Stoick didn't answer Gobber's question. Instead, he took off his helmet and held it against his chest in the traditional gesture of mourning. The simple action made everyone know what had happened.
When he did speak, his voice was heavy with regret. "I'm sorry. We were attacked by a pack of Sliquifiers. Freydis, Leif, and Bjorn didn't make it."
The families held strong at the news, tears held steadfast behind stoic expressions. If there was anything that could be said about Berkians, it was that they were tough. They wouldn't cry in public, ever. Only behind closed doors, in the privacy of their grief.
This was the sad side of viking life, most of our lives were short, filled with glory, murder and love.
I looked once more at the singed parts of the boat, my mind working through what I knew. Sliquifiers were supposed to shoot acid, weren't they? Corrosive streams that could eat through wood and metal. But these burn marks didn't look like acid damage. They looked like burn marks from... stoker class dragons.
I studied the two men who had survived alongside Stoick. They looked as haggard as their chief, but their gazes were what caught my attention. They never once looked up since Stoick had spoken about the attack. Their eyes remained fixed on the ground, their bodies tense with something that looked almost like... guilt?
Stoick continued speaking, his voice carrying across the pier. "They are in Valhalla now, enjoying the feast with the other einherjar. We'll make the funeral preparations soon."
The families nodded, accepting his words with the dignity expected of vikings.
Stoick put his hand on the shoulders of each of the grieving family members, giving them what comfort he could. It was a gesture I'd been told meant solidarity, shared grief, the understanding that loss was part of their way of life.
After speaking with the families, Stoick began walking toward us. His gaze immediately found Hiccup, and his entire demeanor changed, as a small smile crossed his lips.
He picked Hiccup from Gobber's arms, and the toddler immediately grabbed at his father's thick red beard, babbling happily. "Dad, dad, dad!"
For just a moment, Stoick's face lit up with genuine joy at seeing his son safe and well, which I couldn't blame him for, Gobber wasn't exactly the best caretaker, and neither was I for that matter. But then, so quickly I almost missed it, I saw something else cross his features. An expression I recognized, somehow.
It was the look of someone carrying a lie.
My eyes found the singed parts of the boat one more time as the other two vikings finally stepped onto the pier. The burn patterns, the survivors' reluctance to meet anyone's eyes, Stoick's momentary expression, it all pointed to the same yet baffling conclusion.
Stoick the Vast was lying.