The Gift Of Power | Wattys 2020 (Dance of Power Trilogy: Book 1)

Travels

To anyone just starting to read this, I haven't added AN to pretty much any of these chapters, save for a few. This is really only due to the fact that I have been uploading multiples at a time, rather than because I have any aversion to typing them in. I'm honestly not even sure if people care to ready AN's anyways.

That being said, if you would like to see more notes or descriptions at the beginning/end of chapters, I will definitely start adding them in. I will even go back to already uploaded chapters to add in relevant info if you guys decide that you want it. Just mention it in a comment if you do. Otherwise, enjoy :)

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Hiccup awoke to the sound of birds singing and a large black membrane stretched over him. He could hear the deep, even breaths of the large and warm body beside him which meant that he was the first up. Damn! Guess it was his turn to catch breakfast. Groaning, he nudged Toothless in the belly. Causing him to roll to the side and retract his protective wing from around Hiccup. The sky was a soft shade of pinkish-orange so it must still be close to dawn. With one last glance at his slumbering friend, he grabbed the make-shift fishing pole off the ground and headed down to the creek.

Biding his time on the shoreline, Hiccup began to reminisce about the events that had brought him to this place. First was shooting down Toothless. He still felt extreme remorse over hurting his friend and taking away his ability to fly. Despite having done his best to return it, Toothless still needed him. No matter how good of friends they seemed to be he would always wonder if, deep down, the dragon only put up with him to avoid death. After all, a downed dragon is a dead dragon. Shortly after that, they had left the only home he'd ever known. In the dead of the night after Astrid had kissed him goodbye! He still could hardly wrap his head around that.

It had been just over a moon since they had left Berk together and they had spent most of that time hop-scotching their way across the various small islands of the archipelago. Days had been spent finding a secluded spot away from a village to set up their poor excuse of a camp where no one would find them accidentally. Nights had been spent sneaking into the village proper under cover of darkness to steal whatever supplies they had been unable to do without.

Hiccup did feel bad about this theft at times, but most of the currency of the North was traded goods or services. Neither of which he could provide at this time. He could hardly waltz into a Viking village with a night fury and ply his trade to the nearest blacksmith in exchange for provisions. Especially not with the constant worry that his father may have parties out searching for him at that very moment. He just couldn't risk anyone seeing and recognizing him. No, he was sure it was better to just return one day with something of value to leave in each village he had stolen from.

Recently their situation had improved slightly though. After many long hours spent over open water (Hiccup had not enjoyed this part at all) the pair had finally arrived at the mainland. It was a place he had only ever heard about in epic poems sung on drunken nights in the Great Hall. Eddas of exploration and discovery shared alongside the classic sagas. They were not very numerous, but always exciting. Told in often embellished detail by the seasoned old sailors that visited from other tribes. All of them tales of apparently legendary men that no one had ever heard of. Most believed they were just fantasy stories.

Few Berkian natives had left their small island in almost 300 years except to visit neighbouring tribes for trade or to renew treaties. Near constant dragon raids had led to food, timber, and weapons shortages. In such times as these, no one would dare waste the village's winter larder on a fools journey to some place that likely didn't even exist. He could confidently say now that it was real. Hiccup had joined the ranks of those mythical heroes and no one would ever hear about it. No epic poems would be written about him. An outcast on the run.