30.A new light from now on

Harold stood on the small hill his house was situated upon, simply staring out at the horizon as his daughter had when waiting for Hiccup. A blank expression crossed his face entirely, the hairs on his beard and his tunic fluttering in the cold winter breeze, creating goose bumps on his thick skin. For all the cold temperature did, he just continued to stand like a statue. For the first time in his career as chief, no, for the first time in his life, he had never felt so... unsure.

Two weeks had passed since that fateful day when his daughter and her friends had brought Hiccup in, unconscious and injured. At first the villagers nearly had heart attacks when they saw the dragon fleet following them, and they instantly drew their weapons ready for the full-out assault their ancestors had prophesized would come. Syn, however, managed to reassure them that all the dragons were harmless, with Toothless running up out of nowhere and barking out in a full-blown panic. Once Syn brought up Hiccup's condition, he was brought to the healer's hut without a moment's delay.

The healer had to angrily chase all the humans and dragons crowded at the windows brawling to get the better view to get any work done. After 6 strenuous hours her work was done, much to everyone's relief: Hiccup's fever had broken and his injuries were treated, but unfortunately there was nothing that could be done to save his leg. The Vikings all had to corral the dragons away, terrified that they would burn the whole village in panic once they saw the huge blade Harold had cleave his leg from right below his knee. To have to remove the limb of someone so young – Harold swore he would never forget such a terrible feeling for as long as he lived.

Hiccup remained comatose for the whole time until just yesterday, when he finally woke up to see Toothless at his bedside. He came out of the hut leaning on the head of his dragon like a crutch, his face covered in happy Night Fury slobber. Most people rushed to him and insisted he rest further, but no one argued when he claimed he was fine as they were all dying to hear about what he had discovered on that island.

No one was prepared for the tale of the grandiose battle he and Toothless had fought, against an evil Queen Dragon, the Red Death as she came to be known, and her mind-controlled subjects. Hiccup had risked his very life to save them and put an end to the suffering of humans and dragons alike, so now, what was there for men like Harold, who had spent his entire life fighting dragons? He had said that he didn't expect Hiccup to change the world in a single night, he recalled; expectations like that were simply too much to place on a boy, and yet here he was having done just that and lived to tell the tale. Should Harold have been happy that this terrible battle was done, or mad that Hiccup robbed him of his purpose in life? Honestly, he just didn't know.

Asmund walked up behind Harold's still form and placed a hand on his shoulder, then man giving no reaction to the sudden contact. "Silver for yur thoughts, my old friend?"

"We have lived our lives, as our forefathers have..." Harold started after a short pause, looking down to where the teens and younger children were, playing with some Terrible Terrors, "... and expected out children to do the same. Through battle, inherited from one generation to the next..."

"Aye, that we have." Asmund agreed.

"Did any of us truly believe that it would be our age when it would all come to an end? Did anyone know beyond any doubt that the day when peace would finally come was within their own lifetime waiting?" He bowed his head continuing, scoffing at the ridiculousness of it all. "Those who had been raised as warriors – we resigned ourselves to death knowing that we'd laid down our lives defending what was ours, and aided in carryin' on what we figured a proud legacy. A sweet dream: that was all it truly was, the dream of a future where bloodshed was but a sour memory."

Harold shuddered at the thought of his daughter laying as a corpse on the field of battle, a sword protruding from her chest and her life blood spilled on the earth. He'd spent his life ensuring that that horrible sight never came to be, willing to believe that if his death came to pass, Syn would somehow make it on her own. But only now, when it was all done, did he realize how foolish that was: he would die, and she'd be left to grieve and take upon herself his mantle and all the burdens that came with it. Death only provided release for the ones who died, he realized.

"Nuthin' wrong with dreamin'," Asmund reasoned. "Yur daughter's livin' proof o' that."

"Dreams such as hers are meant for those who dream beyond war; ours were for men that had given up the war before they'd even fought it." He chuckled ironically. "We'd trapped ourselves and our children in an endless cycle; to think it took a boy losing his leg and come close to dying to help us see that."

"Aye, he's somthin', all right." Asmund agreed – to think a boy would accomplish what no Viking before him could, all because he was wise enough to find another way. "But then, you already knew that, didn't ya?" He playfully nudged Harold's arm with his elbow to try to lighten the mood, but Harold's solemn face remained, much to Asmund's disappointment.

"All that remains is to accept things as they now are, but for those who'd practically been born wielding a sword." Harold looked down at the dragons who were just standing around, watching the proceedings of the village, still just as confused and probably just looking for something to do. "Or otherwise..."

"Easier said than done," Asmund finished.

Harold gave a long, heavy sigh, keeping his eyes on the dragons. "Am I supposed to just let these dragons in, after all that's happened? Would anyone else? Would you?"

"What's done is done, Harold," Asmund answered. "Trust me, I get it: it's not easy to just forgive and forget in the face of all we've lost." He paused to recall his dear apprentice, who had been so young and still had so much to live for when he died. Asmund had to wonder himself if his apprentice would welcome the changes; he was so much like Hiccup, so maybe he would. Logo could almost picture that boy befriending a dragon and changing everything for Selardalr just as Hiccup did. "But I think it's gotta be fur the sake of all that we've lost that we have to make changes."

"Change is not an easy thing, my friend." Harold argued.

"An' you've got just about every Viking in the archipelago ta back you up on that." Asmund chuckled. "But like it or not, it's a necessary thing, and if you think about it, it's pretty much unstoppable." Harold turned to him, raising an eyebrow in confusion. "Kids who've been born with swords in their hands, as you said, they grow up to swing 'em, don't they? I'd say that's some pretty big change right there."

"How do you figure that?" Harold asked. "Babes can swing around toy bludgeons just fine, what separates that from a sword?"

"Simple," Asmund started. "It comes down to why you swing 'em. Ma father always said a sword, or any weapon for tha' matter, is heavier than it appears ta be. You prove yourself a warrior when you learn to handle that weight."

A warrior always carried a heavy burden – the weapon they wielded was an incarnation of that. They carried the fates of the ones they fought for and took the lives of the ones they fought against, even if those who wielded them never considered all that in the heat of battle. Blood was much heavier than anyone though, especially now, knowing the woes of the dragons they used those weapons to hurt. Killing them was no different than killing any human. Hiccup was sure to now understand that feeling himself, even if he had no weapon to see it with; a person's hands could carry the same stains. As evil as it was, and how many good things came with its end, the Red Death was still a dragon, a living creature – thinking of that last part only made Harold sicker. Now that Hiccup carried its death on his conscience, he was sure to see things much more differently, and Harold realized, that that in itself was a form of change, as Asmund said.

"Let's just look a' the bright side of things fer now. War's done, whatever comes after, we'll find out when we get there." Asmund slapped Harold's shoulder lightheartedly to once again drop the serious mood. This time it worked as Harold let out a soft chuckle.

Harold walked forward to the very edge of the hill to observe all his people, both old and new, down in the plaza and all throughout the village. They all turned up to face him; everyone needed to know what came next for them, in these days of going through the motions, trying to adapt to these new surroundings. It was a leader's duty to guide his people, especially in times of uncertainty; Harold only felt more pressure realizing that, wondering if he might guide his people down the wrong path. Then again, Hiccup must have wondered that himself when he went to face the Red Death, if what he did might make a difference or if he was just writing his own death sentence. Leaders, he reasoned, were no different than anyone else, though, at that point, Hiccup probably didn't think of himself as a leader, even though he showed many of one's traits. He figured in the end, both of them would simply do their best and see what came after.

"My people..." Harold called out to the gathering crowds below. "Today is a new dawn for all of us, and there is no going back to what once was. We turn our backs on the traditions that guided us, made life easier for us, however brief it might have been; customs and rites that seemed natural to us, only revealed to be barbaric excuse that gave us an excuse to spill blood."

Everyone looked down at this: no one on either side was truly innocent, but what mattered was as the chief said, abandoning what stupid rules they chose to follow in the past. People wanted to change, for the first time, the different things in life seemed a lot more inviting to them.

"Whatever our own dilemmas may be, let us not forget of the greatest good that has come off this: we are free of the hatred that once bound us, and now our grandchildren will never know of the evils of war." This statement perked everyone up as they looked to their chief again, small smiles appearing on everyone's faces. "What lies before us, though, that is the difficult part. I cannot truly say, in fact, that I have an answer: perhaps that is a question that can only be answered by the one who showed us the good in change. If I may speak for him, though, I'd say that now we can begin to walk the proper path. A time of both challenge and prosperity faces us, but one thing that has not changed, and I know doesn't need to change, is that we will be ready to face it. Together, we can rid ourselves of the scars and lines that divided us, and create something much better from the ashes of old. Who's with me!?"

Everyone cheered loudly, both Vikings and dragons letting out roars of pride and confidence. Who was to say what lied in their future, but they were indeed ready to face it, and perhaps the path was already shown to them. Asmund walked over to his friend's side and gave him a look to communicate this.

"Ah, no tellin' where this is gonna go," Asmund said while folding his arms with a smile.

"I know, old friend," Harold said. 

"What becomes of this change... is up to him."

TO BE CONTINUED.....