Symphony of Shadows

64. Blast

A/N: I'm sorry in advance. Next chapter out Sunday at 9pm:)

Hiccup wanted to smack himself in the face.

Why hadn't I thought of this before?

Fishlegs's advice was genius, no doubt because of his continued research on the various species of dragons recorded in the Viking manuals. It was the one and only advantage Hiccup didn't have: insider knowledge. He'd flown Toothless as fast as he could back to the strait where the Submaripper had almost sunk Astrid's boat. It still had to be around the area. Hiccup scoured for a rickety-looking sea stack and found one quite easily.

"Let's hope you're right, Fishlegs."

He exhaled and signaled for Toothless to blast the rock. It took only four blasts for it to topple into the dark sea with a loud splash. The silence that followed was deafening. 

Had Fishlegs been wrong? 

His eyes strained to see the slightest movement underwater, but it was nearly impossible to see below the rippling waves. Toothless hovered over the sea for what seemed like an hour—but was actually around five minutes—when the direction of the waves seemed to change course. Weird, it couldn't have been the wind causing the change. 

No, the waves weren't changing direction—they were spinning. A foul stench assaulted his nostrils, and Hiccup nearly gagged. It smelled like year-old Yaknog. Or one of Gobber's farts. Despicable stuff. 

He opened his satchel and fetched the pouch of Shellfire scales. Fishlegs was a genius, really. And also a really big nerd. Apparently, he'd bought them from an exotic merchant some time ago. When Fishlegs gave him the bag of scales, Hiccup almost kissed him. This was the only solution. 

"Here goes nothing. Back to Berk, Bud."

He dropped one of the scales into the whirlpool and prayed for the best. It wasn't a given that the Submaripper would follow them, but Hiccup had to rely on the dragon's innate instincts. 

"They're natural enemies. The Shellfire and the Submaripper will hunt each other down, you just have to introduce the scent of one of them to the other."

After Fishlegs had told Hiccup his plan, he'd set off for the Submaripper. A nagging voice in his mind scolded him for not filling Astrid in, but time was of the essence. He didn't know how much longer Berk could hold Viggo and the Outcasts off for. It was strange to care for his former tribe again. 

"But at some point, you have to realize that the weight of the hatred you've been carrying is killing you from the inside."

"You can't live your life like this, Hiccup. Revenge isn't a plan. It's a drug that's so addicting, you don't realize that it's poison."

He hadn't realized until she said the words how much they rang true. The perpetual ache in his chest hadn't dulled since the day he left Berk. No amount of raids would ever lessen the pain. No amount of anger or hatred would replace it. He wasn't standing up to his fears—he was becoming something worse. And that scared him. What kind of man did he want to be? The one who indirectly hurt the vulnerable in pursuing revenge? Or the man who owned up to his past and didn't let it define him? 

He was too close to the former, and that wasn't what he wanted to be. 

Hiccup didn't know if he could ever be the man that Astrid saw him as, but he wanted to try. Gods above, he wanted to try. Not just for her sake, but for his own. He didn't want to be remembered as the Svikari—just Hiccup.

He'd tossed a couple more scales into the water and smiled as he looked back to see large bubbles of oxygen trailing behind them. The smile on his face vanished when the smell worsened. Great.