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Lonely voices talking to me
The dragons were gone one morning. Like they had never been there.
And the volcano was spilling, hungry lava lapping at the houses with greedy intentions.
‘The Protector has abandoned us!’ Voices cried, as their blood spilled by their homes as they were swallowed by hungry lava.
Dagur held his young son, Hiccup, close to his chest and stared death in the eyes.
Now I’m gone, now I’m gone, now I’m gone
Even Sleuther and Windshear were gone, horrifyingly out of character for them. Dagur’s chest ached and he wondered if Toothless, too, had abandoned his brother right before their island burned. Is that why all of Berk was gone, their island razed and devoid of life? But what would scare off the dragons- what would cause them to abandon their humans?
And my mother told me, son let it be
‘Death comes for us all,’ Oswald had told Dagur once. ‘She either guides us to Odin’s hall, or drags us to a barren hell. And there is nothing we can do about it. Part of life is the end. It is natural.’
But this. A death like this wasn’t natural. Death should be quick, not drawn out with terror.
Dagur wondered if this was the Gods punishing him for his sins, and he winced.
Please, just let Mala and my son live,
he begged the Norns, o white-faced spinners of fate, silently.
They didn’t deserve to pay for his crimes.
Sold my soul to the calling
Sold my soul to a sweet melody
He knew. He had sealed his fate the moment his heart had started beating in sync with Mala’s. But as he held her and their son, knowing they couldn’t escape, he knew he didn’t regret it.
He just wished he’d been able to say goodbye to Hiccup (Haddock; not his son) and the others. But at least
Now I’m gone, gone, gone
The last thing Dagur the Deranged, son of Oswald the Agreeable, remembered in his mortal existence was holding his wife and son close as death closed.
He closed his eyes and whispered:
‘See you soon, brother.’
*
There were heroes when I was a boy. They are all dead now.
I am the last one left. The dragons are but a distant memory, and so are our former allies.
The Defenders of the Wing died out after the Protector left for the Hidden World- with nothing to stop the lava, and most of their admittedly small navy stuck in the path of the lava, they were lost.
I lost a brother, then. A brother, a sister, a nephew. Not by blood but by something stronger than that, forged in hellfire.
I will never forget them. I cannot. It is my duty as the survivor to remember, no matter how much it hurts. They deserve to live on, if only in my memory.
And they stand in the Halls of the Slain even now, awaiting me. And I long to see my lost family again.
For what is grief but love persevering?