What at exactly do people feel when they had taken a life?
...I don't know to be honest. Nor was I curious enough to Google it.
I spent most of my time working. Most of my work finding strength through dedication for my loved ones. From parents and a wife waiting at home and with that image, I endured.
I endured being another cog in a machine... a disposable cog with extra details. And for every growth I spurned, I grew in pride. Something my limited ambition relished in.
Because as much as I regret my past, my parents and the wisdom and strength they gave me will never be one of them.
My father is a soldier. Stoic, reserved, firm and near immovable. I still remember the way he walked and stood. Like a piece of a wall with legs... hahaha! and I admired it!
Even as a kid, I looked up to my father and a tide and I knew... my dad could take the tide on and win.
That was how incredible he was in my eyes. And for a child eager to show himself as strong as he is. I boasted loud and wide...
"I'm gonna be Soldier too one day!"
He would smile, small and soft...
But now that I look back at it. His eyes held more than I knew. There was sadness within them and a firm strength that I never quite understood till now. It took years after getting through the absolute naivety of childhood that I realized why...
I brought back straight A's. Strongest and fastest in my class. Physically fit and even receiving a sponsored scholarship and my father... he shed a tear when he saw it, I had a bright future ahead of me.
Only to frown when I said,"I'm joining the Army."
He had nearly failed to convince me had my mother not told me to look into his eyes when I answer him... I didn't want to. I knew I would cave-in should I do. Yet now... I am glad I did. Because it showed me how desperate he was to guide me away from that path.
I thought he just wanted me safe, he wanted me in good health, that it would be making less money... Dad threw everything he got at me to keep me from that life.
And it was only now that I understood. That there was just nothing in the world that could possibly tell someone... what it feels to fail in defending your own.
Now that I know why, I wish he was here to tell me anything.
Just so I could feel whole again. Some magical words that would make me forget it all.
Because now, I can't help but hate the world. To feel rigid, like every step felt questionable. Still I walked, and I knew... this anger has to go somewhere and for my own sake... I need something, anything...
Anything that would make these deaths hold meaning.
—.—.—.—.—
Berk had mostly met sunrise with an orderly bustle. But now... even those spared from the chaos of the night found little strength to continue when dawn itself was met with a bloody daylight.
The air was thick with the scent of iron, puddles of them could be found littering everywhere with corpses bleeding out more into the air and the soil.
The scent of burnt wood accompanied by the cracking of fire on barely extinguished flames still filtered an eerie light. Their noises sounded like sticks snapping, as if someone had stepped on them... as if there more of them coming their way. Making some flinch at the mere sound.
And through it all, people worked in silence. And they did so listening to the sound of crashing waves, and the scent of salt. As if the scent and sound of the sea would wash the horrors away.
Gobber stood by the foot of the hill, overlooking the village of Berk.
His eyes scanned his home and found a rekindled hurt within him. A reminder of life's cruelty.
"Heave!!!" "Push!!"
Not far from him, several men worked together as they lifted a whole roof off a home. Half collapsed, and leaning heavily against a single wall. And what greeted them was a sigh of relief and joy with a pang of envy, as a father reunited with his wife and child. Both looked ragged, covered in soot with several scratches here and there. But Gobber could tell, they were luckier than most.
His eyes trailed at the men and women, crying and mourning as they covered the bodies of their loved ones.
Friends, family, husbands and wives and even children.
Releasing a painful breath, he turned his attention to the piles not far from him, sneering at the mere image of it.
Several weapons and armor on one.
Bodies of their enemies, dragged and tossed into a pile like yak dung. And another... one people were careful to move or dared not disturb at all.
Someone spoke next to him. He could tell another was trying to get his attention. Yet he dared not turn. He dared not listen. But the moment he felt a hand on his shoulder... sound exploded into his ears.
The sobbing of children as they knelt before their father's corpse, the cry of anguish as a mother clutched a bundle in her arms, the barely extinguished flames and the groaning wood of collapsed homes. It hammered not at his ears but at his heart, that he staggered a step. And with practiced clench of his heart, he hardens his resolve.
"What is it?" Gobber grounded out.
"The Elders had received word, the Bog-Burglars and the Meatheads are also being hit. They want to know how much of our forces can be sent to aid."
"None." Gobber answers firmly.
With his answer obtained, the runner left. Only for Gobber to felt a rising irritation as the Elders started to slowly approach him not long after.
Yet as the Elders slowly begun to trek towards him. His eyes caught Hiccup, as the boy gently grips a bloody axe in his hands.
Gobber said nothing as they boy just stood close to him, both of them overlooking the village as it slowly picked itself up.
With no words to share, Gobber's hands, firm, callous, bloodied and gentle held the boy his shoulders instead.
The boy was bloodied. His nose bore a fresh scar that ran across the bridge of it. Another dried cut at the corner of his brow. And his hands and fists, both soaked in dried blood with a strong scent wafting off of them.
His clothes is marred, and dirtied but not worst off than his bracers that looked like they had been used as a bludgeon.
His waist bore a warped, and chipped sword with dried blood all across it's length. And a dagger not better off right next to it. Their size, despite being a standard viking sword, looked comically oversized for his young frame and yet... seeing the bloodied warrior viking next to him, it didn't look that out of place.
Something that gave Gobber relief. That young as Hiccup is, means he will outgrow a them sooner than later. A strength he quite doesn't know how far could go.
He then noticed the twitching of the boy's fingers that obviously bore great strain, possibly even fractured or broken. He remained strong, breathing raggedly by his side. He stood, slightly slouched but his eyes...
"Well done lad. Well done."
Simple words, consolation? Or acknowledgement? Gobber himself doesn't know. Nor does a viking have the time to think on it as Elders suddenly reached them.
But before any of them could speak, another entered the fray. The youth, five years older than Hiccup, Dogsbreath was his name came in running.
As soon as his eyes noticed Hiccup, who was standing silently with his eyes never leaving the village, Dogsbreath sneered.
Only to flinch as Hiccup's green eyes suddenly shifted to him without turning. And with the sudden stare, Dogsbreath realized that the boy has his hand on his sword. Blood still dripping from within the leather scabbard.
"Boy!" Gobber barked. Snapping him out of a stuppor he didn't know he had been in. "I asked what are you doin' here?"
"What do you mean?" the boy said, confused about the question yet Gobber sneered, his thick jaws looked ready to clamp down on his neck. Showing his growing lack of patience.
Something the boy didn't pick up on.
"I told ya to guard the pit..."
"That thing doesn't need protection Gobber. It should be lucky it's even alive."
"What of the dragon boy!?" Gobber shouts, earning him the attention of several nearby villagers.
"It's asleep! Ok.!? It's fine!"
"Then why aren't ya guarding him!?"
"C-Cause the village needs help!" he answers with a bit of crack in his voice.
"Aye it does... and I was making use of tha' by making ya guard him."
"Its a dragon Gobber! It's supposed to be dea-" his words cut short as Gobber griped the boy by his neck.
It was sudden, with no warning what so ever. As if the very skies turned dark and the eyes of the village in one place... each tense and silent as they watched if another blood is to spilled.
Gobber's hands were so big he could fit the boy's head in between them. His meaty hands, clamping tightly at the neck, where Dogsbreath could barely breath.
"Listen to me boy... and listenr to me well.." Gobber whispers, but in he silence of he village might as well have been an announcement. "We had lost fifteen good people among our warriors tonight. And that is despite the overwhelming odds stacked against us... our saving grace? was a scout... and most of all are the weapons and armor crafted from! That! Dragon!" Gobber then tosses the boy on his back, cutting off his wheezes by pressing his peg leg at the boy's chest.
"We survived because the armor! Did not dent! The shields did not cave! Their swords cut through their swords and shields! Because their edges did not chip! And all of them combined, is lighter! than a Warhammer!"
"That dragon eats fish! Rocks! And stones! And it gives us the means to survive and prevail where our enemies had failed! And I will not have you or ANYONE! in this village harm our source of survival just because you can't follow orders! Or some drunken viking that wanted to vent his frustration on that thing!!!"
"You will go back boy and you will safe guard that dragon because if it dies... I kill ya too... do you understand me lad?"
"Ye-yes... Gobber." the kid chokes out, with a face, red from embarrassment.
It was then that Hiccup left. His footsteps were light, yet loud amidst the silent village. And as Dogsbreath watch him walk away, he also noticed how most of the warriors were now glaring at him. Each holding their silvery weapons and shields.
And with their judgemental stares... he ran.
Gobber then snapped his attention to the Elders a few steps behind him and sneered. His throat released a growl of barely restrained anger. His face, red with rage. And with his sheer size who was a head taller than them and still twice as wide. Mildew and two other Elders stumbled back. Each of them clenching their jaws shut, not wanting to disturb the angry beast.
Satisfied with their reaction, Gobber spat before turning his attention back to the village. Prompting the people, to get back to work, with the warrior amongst them in silent contemplation of what he had said.
—.—.—.—.—
Three days passed in silence, each soul moved in preparation for their fallen.
At the docks, stood most of the villagers. Friends, husbands, wives and children of the seventy who had died. Gently laid the wrapped bodies of their loved ones upon their boats.
Each adorned with items, most of them their own belongings, totems of their gods, with bronze, gold and silver among them. And as they drifted into the waters, Gobber offered up a few words in tribute to their fallen.
Atop a cliff, surrounded by two children and a mother, stood Hiccup. His hands, gently holding a decorated sword.
While he mother, sobbed as she carried the body of her son. Wrapped in a beautiful blanket, with intricate stitchings decoratings it's hems. She laid her son down atop his final resting place. And as she laid a wooden shield at his arms, Hiccup laid the sword down right next to the child and gave a few parting words.
"Yours was a tragedy that should never have been. A future, forever denied to Berk and it's kin. But for all the pain of your loss may entail, know that actions will never be forgotten."
"For if someone as young as you could garner the courage to stand and fight, then know that all men who failed to do the same would be lesser."
"May your father and your fore-fathers know of your courage, and our Gods of your Valor."
And as arrows lit aflame flew across the sky, Hiccup placed a torch at the funeral pyre.
Berk stood in silence, heads down in a small bow. Born of respect for those who fought. For the future of the village, just so that those who stayed may endure.