Chapter 5: Gifts

Snotlout rolled over, pulling the patchwork quilt higher as he tried to stifle a cough. He hated being sick; it was all damp, sticky, and hot. He cracked a bleary eye, peeking out from under the covers at his room. Well, sort of room. Several years ago when he'd started dragon training with Hiccup and the others his father had insisted that Snotlout quit sharing a room with his two siblings and have a space of his own. Unfortunately, the only space available had been the old cellar under the house.

It wasn't so bad if you didn't mind the occasional spider or cricket in your boots. At any rate, it was his and he quickly made the space his own. Using a wide mallet he pounded the dirt floor smooth and hard, removing any debris. The walls were covered with spare boards he scavenged from around the village; after all the boards had been left out for months and no one would miss them anyway. He even built shelves and pegs into the walls to store his weapons and belongings. His mother patched the old rug from upstairs and gave it to him to spread over the ground. All in all, it was pretty cool even if the ceiling was only about a foot above his head. It was not large but it fit his bed, trunk, and a chair with a little space left over. In the far corner was a ladder and a trapdoor that led to the main room above and in the wall above the chest at the foot of his bed was a small wooden door leading outside.

Sometimes Hookfang snuck out of his stall at the academy and came to stick his head through the outside door and onto Snotlout's bed. Not much beat sleeping with a monstrous nightmare. He was never cold and without prompting, Hookfang was always gone by morning, waiting for him back at the arena like nothing had happened. Snotlout shivered as a pricking sensation ran up and down his back. Too bad Hookfang wasn't here now. He'd been gone almost six days now for breeding and it would likely be another week until he returned.

Even without Hookfang to ride, Snotlout trudged out to the Helvig's to check on Sigyn and her father every day. With the dragon's gone for breeding, there was no training and little to no responsibility for the riders. It stunk to have the dragons gone but at least Snotlout didn't have to make excuses to the others to sneak away to visit Sigyn. A good thing too, because about the time Hookfang left Sigyn caught whatever sickness her father had. It hit her hard and she was in bed the last three days he saw her. With Sigyn sick, Snotlout spent even more time at her house taking care of them as best he could. It was mostly just tedious though. At least her father had recovered and they didn't have to worry about any more breathing attacks. Unfortunately, about the time Sigyn began to recover enough to move around the house, Snotlout began to see the same symptoms in himself.

He'd been in bed for two days now and it sucked. At least he hadn't missed much yesterday or the day before, but tonight was the Snoggletog feast at the great hall. For weeks he'd been trying to convince Sigyn that she should come to the feast in the village. After all, there would not be any dragons in the village. She hadn't wanted to at first because it meant leaving her father behind but Torben insisted she go. Only now, it didn't seem as though he would be going anywhere tonight. Not if his mother had anything to say about it. So much for all that hard work convincing Sigyn.

He groaned, driving further under the quilt as feet pounded eagerly across the floor above, raining dirt down on him. That was something that wasn't so great about being in the basement. He got regular showers of dirt. The trapdoor was thrown wide with a loud bang, making him wince.

"Notout," called the voice of his younger brother. Snotlout closed his eyes tighter, feigning sleep. "Notout! Wake up! It's Noggtog!" Giving in to the inevitable, Snotlout rolled over and pull the cover down. Geoffrey's head poked through the ceiling, the four-year-olds dark hair seeming to stand on end as he hung over the edge of the trapdoor.

"Hey Geoffrey," Snotlout mumbled resignedly.

"Mom! Notout awake!" called his little brother with a grin, wriggling further out over the edge.

"Geoffrey! I told you to let him sleep," snapped their mother. "And how many times have I told you not to dangle over the edge like that!" The smile fell from Geoffrey's round face as he was suddenly hauled backward out of sight. "It's a wonder you haven't broken your neck."

"Mom, can we exchange gifts now that Snotlout's awake?" begged his sister. Her name was Adelaide but from a young age, she preferred to go by Adele.

"Let me check on your brother and get some broth in him and then we'll see."

"Presents!" shrieked Geoffrey.

"In a few minutes," said their mother climbing down the ladder into his room. "Adele, watch Geoffrey please." She closed the trap door and turned to face Snotlout, a tall mug in her hand. The steam wafting from the warm liquid reached his nose making his stomach complain audibly.

"Do you have an appetite?" asked his mother, coming to sit on the chair beside his bed. If he played this just right he might be able to convince her to let him go to the feast tonight. Maybe...

"Yeah, I'm feeling much better." He sat up, trying to stifle a cough. He took the offered cup, enjoying the heat that leached into his hands. His room was always a bit cooler than the rest of the house. He siped at the broth, relishing the taste as its warmth slid down to his stomach. His mother handed him a large chunk of bread. It was fresh, warm, and slathered with yak butter.

"Thanks, mom," he said around a mouthful of bread. "When are we leaving for the feast tonight?"

She frowned. Standing, she bent over and kissed his temple, lingering for a moment. Snotlout held his breath, awaiting judgment.

"You're not going anywhere," she said, pulling away and tucking the quilt back up around his shoulders. He groaned. "You're still hot and clammy and we don't want the illness to spread."

"Please? The food is always so good."

"It won't taste as good coming back up. Besides, if you get up now you'll make yourself worse than if you just stayed put. Do you want to spend extra time stuck in bed?"

"No."

"Then you need to rest."

"Dad says rest is for the weak," he grumbled under his breath before taking another sip.

"Perhaps," said his mother with a smirk. "But the dead rest forever. Besides just you see if your father is not in bed next week moaning and groaning like a pig in labor. It's bound to spread through the house. It's a wonder your siblings are still well."

"But everyone will be there," he said.

"Everyone except you. Who are you so anxious to see anyway?"

"No one," he said, not quite able to meet his mother's eyes.

"Then you won't be missing out on much, will you?"

Snotlout sighed knowing he wasn't going to win. "Fine."

"All right then," said his mother, satisfied. "Eat up. If Adele and Geoffrey have to wait much longer to exchange gifts they might just explode."

The bread was thick and grainy just the way he loved and in a few moments, it was gone. They sat quietly as he sipped slowly at the meaty broth. His mother had made a large batch of it last week some of which he had secreted away to Sigyn and her father. He frowned. He hoped they were doing okay. He ran a finger over the almost invisible line of stitches Sigyn had used on his pants the first time they met. How long ago had that been? Five, six months?

"So, how are the Helvig's?" asked his mother abruptly. Snotlout sucked in a startled breath, inadvertently sucking down some of the broth. He hadn't told anyone about his visits to see Sigyn. His mother rescued the mug from his hands.

"How... how did… you know?" he asked between coughs.

"A long growing suspicion which you just confirmed," said his mother leaning back in the chair with a satisfied smirk. "Contrary to popular belief among teenagers, parents are quite smart." She handed him back the broth. "Besides, it's a mother's job to know."

"But how?" He thought he'd been so careful.

"Snotlout, I wash and mend your clothes," she said, reaching to pinch the rip Sigyn had repaired in his pants. "I didn't mend this and you don't know this stitch as far as I'm aware. It's very neat work; there are only three tailors in the village. You avoid Gustave Larson so it wasn't his mother, and it wasn't Mrs. Blythe as she was having terrible pains in her hands at the time. That left only Sigyn Helvig who if I recall correctly is your age."

"A year-and-a-half older," he said under his breath between sips.

"Not only that but I saw the stitches in your shin. Since then, your scrapes and cuts have been better tended to. Odin knows you haven't been frequenting Gothi's. Given the fact that you encountered Sigyn earlier in the year and she has some knowledge of first aid to take care of her father, it wasn't hard to guess that you had been seeing more of her."

"But how did you know they were the ones that were sick?" She laughed.

"I know Torben Helvig," said his mother as though that explained everything. "After his accident four years ago Poppy Ingerman and her family have been checking in on them. But the Ingermans were sick two weeks ago. Last week your sister saw you sneaking away from the great hall with enough food to feed yourself twice over. But when you came home not only were you late but you were also ravenously hungry, so you weren't eating the food yourself, or at least not all of it. It wasn't hard to guess who you were sneaking off to visit or why. Why else do you think I made that large batch of broth last week and conveniently left it where you would see it?"

He'd been so stupid. It must have been so obvious. Had Hiccup or the others noticed? And why was he so concerned about it anyway? He never set out to intentionally keep Sigyn a secret, not really. Then again he'd never really expected to be friends with her in the beginning. It just sort of happened that way. But now that he thought about it he didn't want the others to know about her. Sigyn was his friend. Not that they had believed him when he had tried to tell them. But that was probably for the better. They would probably just make fun of him anyway. He would if it were them.

"Don't look so gloomy," said his mother, breaking into his swirling thoughts as though she had read them on his face. "Were you so set on keeping her a secret?"

"Dunno," he said, shrugging. "It just sort of happened that way and there's never really been a good reason to tell anyone else."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm probably the only one who knows. Someone would have to pay pretty close attention to you to notice; attention that only a mother would pay."

At that moment a chant of "Presents! Presents!" broke out right above their heads. Snotlout gulped down the rest of the broth and held the mug out to his mother who took it with a heavy sigh. Feet began to stamp on the floor above, showering them in dust.

"If I hear another peep out of either of you two again you won't get any of your gifts until next year!" yelled his mother brushing dirt off her shoulder. The chanting and stomping ceased immediately.

"Would she really do that?" came his brother's worried whisper. Adele shushed him. It was silent in the house for several seconds and Snotlout tried to smother his grin. His mother let the quiet drag on for a few more heavy moments.

"Alright," she said at last. "Grab your presents for Snotlout and come down." Her words were met with squeals of delight and more running feet. Snotlout hitched the quilt up over his head as a third dust shower commenced. His mother frowned. "I told your father the cellar was no fit place to stay," she said, brushing dirt off his bed.

"It's all right," he said, shrugging. "It's better than Geoffrey's feet constantly in my back and Adele's snoring." Although if truth be told Geoffrey still tried to sneak down to sleep with him sometimes and Adele was so loud you could usually hear her anywhere in the house. Only his father was louder.

The trapdoor banged open once again and Snotlout pulled the crate out from under his bed as his siblings practically fell down the ladder into his room. Both Snotlout and Geoffrey were the spitting image of their father in all save the eyes. Snotlout had clear blue eyes and Geoffrey's were dark brown like their mothers. His mother and Adele both had lighter brown hair filled with curls. But where his mother was plump like so many of the other women in the village Adele was thin and had inherited their father's trademark green eyes, something their father pointed out often.

"Where's dad?" asked Snotlout as Geoffrey clambered haphazardly onto the bed beside him.

"No doubt helping coordinate things for the feast," said his mother. "Odin bless Stoic for his patience with that man. Your father's as bullheaded as a yak in heat." Adele snickered. Geoffrey dove under Snotlout's quilt and popped up under his arm.

"Present Notout! Present!" insisted Geoffrey, reaching for the crate. Snotlout jerked it away with a grin. Geoffrey pouted, his bottom lip sticking out far enough for a dragon to land on.

"Alright, alright," relented Snotlout. The lip was sucked back in. Snotlout pulled a small wooden sword from the crate and held it out to his brother. Geoffrey took it with a look of awe, his mouth falling open as he examined the simple designs on the leather-wrapped hilt. He wriggled off the bed and held the sword high over his head in both hands as though he were going to slice the bed in half. His mother deftly snatched the toy away.

"Not in the house, thank you very much. You can play with it later. Outside."

"Not play, practice," said Geoffrey.

"Do your brother or father practice in the house?" challenged their mother. Geoffrey's shoulders fell. "I didn't think so."

"My turn," said Adele eagerly. Snotlout had already pulled out her gift and held the necklace towards his sister. She plucked at the colorful beads curiously.

"What is it made out of?" she asked, taking it in her hands to admire.

"Dragonscale beads."

"I like this one," she said, touching the large blue heart that hung at the center.

"A skill you picked up from a friend perhaps?" asked his mother with a knowing look.

"Maybe," he said with a shrug. In truth, he got the idea to make the necklace from watching Sigyn sew similar beads on the neckline of a tunic a few weeks back. He snuck shed scales from Stormfly, Barf, and Belch's stalls at the academy as blue and green were Adele's favorite colors. It had taken a bit of practice to get the shape of the beads just right but at last, he'd been satisfied with the necklace.

"It's beautiful!" squealed Adele, slinging her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "I'm going to wear it to the feast tonight!"

"Yeah, yeah, glad you like it," he said, scrunching up his face as he pushed her away. "What about your gift for me?"

"Oh, hang on." She pulled the necklace over her head and quickly climbed the ladder, stopping halfway out of the trapdoor. "You have to close your eyes," she instructed, peeking back at him. He snorted but shut his eyes all the same. The ladder squeaked as she climbed back down and moments later something soft was placed in his hands. "Alright open."

It was a stuffed toy of some sort. He held it at eye level examining it carefully.

"This is a yak, right?" he asked, poking gingerly at a place where the stitches had come loose and sawdust was spilling out of a leg.

"It's Yakkity!" said Adele excitedly. "Yakkity Yak, your favorite yak."

"You make this? All by yourself?" he asked.

"Yep!" she said proudly. "Mom has been teaching me to sew. Do you like it?" He examined the lopsided toy. There were a few places where the stitching had come loose and one of the legs was longer than the other three but she had gotten the white spot on the back of his neck just right and the horns. Adele watched him with anxious, eager eyes.

"It's great," he said at last. The stiffness melted from Adele's shoulders and she grinned.

"Mom says you used to sneak out to the barn when you were little and sleep with Yakkity." He shot a look at his mother who looked wholly unrepentant.

"Only because as a baby you cried constantly," he said defensively.

"I did not," she said, hurt.

"Yes you did," said their mother. "Trust me, I would know."

"Between your crying and Dad's snoring you couldn't sleep in the house," he added. Adele opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by their mother.

"Geoffrey, love, what are you doing?" called their mother, cutting them off. Geoffrey was at the top of the ladder trying to carry a large corked jug down with him.

"Notout's present," said his brother, puffing and almost losing his balance.

"But you don't have a present for Snotlout," jabbed Adele. "You're too young."

"Am not," said Geoffrey, puffing out his cheeks. "I got one."

"Hold still," said their mother, going to help Geoffrey down.

"You got me one of Mom's jugs?" asked Snotlout, raising an eyebrow. He had not been expecting anything from his brother. Hand-made gifts were exchanged between siblings the night before Snoggletog and the "God's" gifts were left overnight. But Geoffrey was only four. What could he have made by himself?

"What's in the jug, Geoffrey?" asked their mother apprehensively.

"Prize for Notout," said Geoffrey, wiggling till his mother sent him down. His brother bounced over and presented him with the jar.

"Uh, thanks Geoffrey," said Snotlout, taking the jug hesitantly. He reached for the cork. "What's in it?"

"Pet mouse," said Geoffrey, one finger in his nose. Snotlout froze. He was all too familiar with the fate of his brother's erstwhile pets.

"Umm...how long have you had this pet mouse?"

"I caught him in the barn last week." Snotlout held the jug to his ear. There was no noise inside.

"Have you fed your mouse?"

"No," said Geoffrey simply. "Mouse has been dreaming for three days."

"You mean he's been asleep for three days?"

"Yep," said Geoffrey. "He's boring. You can have him now."

"Geez," said Snotlout, setting the jug on the far side of the bed. "Thanks, Geoffrey... just... just what I wanted." Adele burst into giggles.

"At least I know what happened to my missing jug," said their mother with a sigh.

"Alright, you two, back upstairs." She ushered Adele and Geoffrey back up the ladder. "And you," she said, pointing Geoffrey's toy sword at him. "Back to sleep."

Several hours later Snotlout awoke to a quiet house and an empty stomach. The sleep had done him some good. His body no longer ached and he wasn't as clammy. He stood in front of the hearth upstairs munching another hunk of bread smeared with Yak butter. Tucked under his belt was the stuffed Yak with one of his mother's needles and some thread sticking out of its side. Just as he bent to poke at the fire the front door opened, a cold gust of wind filling the front room as his father stamped inside.

"It's a mite bit nippy out there Boy-O," said his father, brushing a dusting of snow off his bare arms.

"Oh, hey dad," said Snotlout, straightening hesitantly and cursing his lack of boots and helmet. "I was just ah… stoking the fire." His father shuffled over, dripping slush all the way.

"What are ya doing here?" asked his father, eyeing him. "Shouldn't ya be at the feast with the other Riders?"

"Haha… yeah," said Snotlout rubbing a hand through his hair and over the back of his neck. "Mom told me not to go. Something about not wanting to get the others sick."

His father glanced down at him. "Have ya been sick then?" asked his father with mild interest. "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh really?" He tried to ignore the sinking sensation in his stomach. "Well, you have been pretty busy helping prepare for the Snoggletog feast."

"You got that right Boy-O. Stoic is working me like a mad. Tonight after the feast he's got me out on watch duty. Got to make sure that old Widder Johnson makes it home to her own house this year. And someones gotta keep those Thorston twins from wreaking havoc left and right. Anyway, I only came back to get my good mase." His father riffled through the collection of weapons beside the hearth.

"I could help you patrol," said Snotlout hopefully. His father glanced over at him.

"Ya look peppy enough to me," said his father.

"Yeah, you know I'm feeling a lot better tonight than the last few days." His father frowned and then shook his head.

"If yer mother told ya to stay put ya better do as she says. Wouldn't want ya lazing about the house longer than ya have to. Not fit for a warrior to laze. Shame ya had to be sick at all. At least ye're not missing out on any important training with that lizard of yers gone. Jorgenson's don't fall behind even if we are sick. Rest is for?" prompted his father.

"Rest is for the weak," answered Snotlout by habit, but he couldn't help but tack on his mother's addiction in his mind. He'd almost learned that one the hard way with Hookfang years ago.

"That's right. A true warrior doesn't let anything stand in the way of duty." Snotlout couldn't help but remember the last time his father had been sick. Spitlelout had been in bed for days moaning and coughing. Yet the village had not sunk to the bottom of the ocean.

"Are you sure I can't help you Patrol?" he asked even though he already knew the answer. He was sick of being in bed. It was boring… and he was starting to feel a little better.

"No, I can handle it on my own. Besides Hiccup and the Night Fury will be on patrol till midnight. At least Hiccup's lizard isn't playing hooky like all the rest of them."

"Yeah, playing hooky," said Snotlout with a frown. Of course, it was Hiccup. Always, it was Hiccup this, Hiccup that. It never used to be before the dragons were trained. Snotlout didn't bother to point out that the only reason perfect Toothless was still around was that it's kind of hard to breed when you were the last of your kind.

"What's that tucked under your belt?" asked his father, catching him in his thoughts. Snotlout pulled his tunic lower trying to hide the stuffed yak.

"Nothing, just a Snoggletog gift from Adele."

"That ratty thing she's been stitching all week?" asked his father. "Let me see." Reluctantly Snotlout pulled the toy from his belt being careful to pull the needle and thread out and hide them in his hand behind his back. His father examined the yak.

"Shoddy workmanship," said his father, prodding a hole where the sawdust was falling out. "Adele would have better spent her time sewing replacement bracers for you." Snotlout glanced at his arms. The bracers were getting pretty old and they were covered in scorch marks.

"I was just going to leave it out where Mom could fix it," lied Snotlout, the needle pricking his palm.

"Not sure why ya'd want to. Yer past the age of toys. Still, yer mother can no doubt fix it. Marvelous woman, yer mother. Always has things just so. When you look for a wife Boy-O, find yourself one like your mother. One who will serve you well. Quit mooning after Astrid. She's too close to Hiccup."

He wished people would quit saying that like Hiccup and Astrid were already a couple. Hiccup was too cowardly to make any kind of move toward Astrid and she was too focused on training to pay any attention to any boy. She regularly ignored his advances so even if Hiccup ever made a move, it wouldn't get him anywhere.

"Do you hear me Boy-O?"

"I heard you," said Snotlout, not meeting his father's eye.

"Good. Find a girl who you can control, not one who will want to control you." Snotlout nodded noncommittally. "All right then," said his father, swinging the large mace up to rest on his shoulder. "I'll be off. Got a village to look after all don't I." He tossed the stuffed yak on the table and disappeared out the front door.

Half an hour later found Snotlout back in his bed stewing in his thoughts as he stitched the holes in the stuffed yak. One good thing about moving to the old cellar was that the trapdoor was too small for his father to use. His mother and siblings could descend and pester him but he had privacy from his father. He tied off on the thread, snipped the string with his teeth, and moved to another hole. Adele really hadn't done a bad job with the toy. Some of the stitches had come loose but it wasn't a big deal. Why did his dad have to pick apart everything and everybody anyway? Astrid would no doubt make a great wife for him one day when he finally proved himself to her. He just hadn't quite discovered a good way to do that yet. But he would. He was a Jorgenson and Jorgensons always found a way.

The needle slipped, jabbing his finger and a bead of blood appeared on his fingertip. Cursing under his breath he popped it into his mouth, sucking at it as he leaned back against the wall. Stupid toy yak. His father was right; he was too old for toys anyway. He would be 18 in a few months. He'd be considered an adult then. Not that he hadn't already taken on the responsibilities of an adult along with the other Riders… but soon it would be official.

What exactly was he going to do with himself? Before the dragons had been trained he had a clear idea of what he wanted to do. Be the best dragon slayer in the village. It had been the epitome of a viking, strong leader, provider, and protector. But now training dragons had become the center of village life. He'd gone from being totally on track to be the best to starting at the bottom all over again. He'd worked hard learning to train Hookfang and hone his skills as a Dragon Rider, but being a Dragon Rider was much more complex than being a Dragon Slayer. Not that he would go back in time for the world. He'd never say it out loud but he loved the bond he shared with Hookfang. And there was nothing that beat the rush of flying.

His father expected a lot of him and he knew it. He even understood why. He was the oldest; it was his job to uphold the family name of Jorgensen. But what exactly did that mean now that everything had changed? Something great for sure, but great in what way? A position of power and prestige? After all his father was brother to the chief. If something were to happen to Stoic and Hiccup then it would be his father who would be responsible for the village of Berk. But that was unlikely to happen and where exactly did that leave him?

Then again it didn't seem like the other Riders knew what they wanted to do either. Anytime Stoic mentioned anything that had to do with Hiccup becoming Chief, Hiccup was running out the proverbial or literal back door. Fishlegs constantly had his nose in books but hadn't said anything about what he wanted to do with all that knowledge. The twins were hopeless. Anything they set their hand to turned to disaster; unless creating a disaster was their intention in the first place, which it often was.

Astrid was the only one who seemed to have a clear goal in mind. Protect the village. But bonding with Stormfly had just given her a better way to do that. In a way, protecting Berk was the goal of all the Riders. But what were they protecting Berk from? They had trained the dragons and made peace with the outcasts. Even the Berserkers were not a problem anymore with Dagur the Deranged locked up on Outcast Island. Maybe that was the real problem. What good was a warrior in peacetime anyway, even a warrior who rode a dragon?

In a way, he envied Sigyn. She already had her life figured out. She had picked a trade and as far as he could tell was good at it. Besides, her father wasn't constantly picking at her to "Do better Boy-O" or "Uphold the Jorgenson name".

He sighed, picking up Yakkity and continued sewing. So what if he was too old for a stuffed toy. Adele had made it for him. Besides, it was not like anyone other than his family would ever know. Outside the wind buffeted up against the door at the foot of his bed. He needed to tighten the latch that held it closed. Cold air sometimes seeped in around the edges. Tomorrow. He would do it tomorrow. He returned to his sewing. The door rattled again, but this time the latch jiggled. What on Thor's green earth? He set the yak aside and crawled out from under his quilt reaching for the ax beside his bed. The door rattled again. No, that was someone knocking on the door. Who?

"Snotlout," called a muffled voice. Whoever it was, clearly knew who they were after. Maybe it was the twins starting their shenanigans early.

"Go away, Tuff! Go bother someone else tonight."

"Snotlout! If you're in there, open the door. It's freezing out here!"

He frowned. That wasn't Tuff's voice. The door rattled again. Axe still in hand he flipped the latch that locked the door from inside and pushed it open a crack. Eager fingers gripped the edge and pulled it wide.

"About time!" A lantern-lit face peered in at him, all red cheeks and nose tucked behind a scarf. Brown eyes flashed at him and blonde hair stuck out from under the hood of a large furry cloak.

"Sigyn? What are you doing here?" He let the ax clatter back to the floor.

"What do you think? I came to see you. Are you going to keep me out here all night?"

Hastily he moved out of the way so she could clamber down onto the trunk of the end of his bed. She wore one of her father's old cloaks. She pulled the door closed and jumped down from the trunk. Setting her lantern on a free space on his shelf nearby she turned to face him unwinding her scarf.

"Hi," she said, shrugging out of the overlarge cloak and dropping it on the floor. She sank onto his bed with a please sigh.

"Sigyn, what are you doing here?" he asked again, not quite able to wrap his brain around the fact that she was here sitting on his bed.

"I told you, I came to see you. You weren't at the feast."

"You went to the feast then?" She gave him an odd look.

"You've only been talking about it for weeks. Anyway, you weren't there but I overheard one of the twins...Ruffnut... or Tuffnut…?"

"Girl or boy?" he asked. The twins often got mixed up by those who didn't spend time with them. She shrugged. "Braids or dreads?"

"Dreads."

"Tuffnut then," he said, sinking to sit cross-legged on his bed facing her.

"Anyway," she said, rambling on unfazed. "I heard Tuffnut ask your mom where you were. She said you were sick. So I came to see you. I figured you got sick from me and my dad."

"Probably," he admitted, crossing his arms over his chest. "But how did you find me? I mean how did you know which house? You've never been here before." She looked at him blankly and then laughed.

"You mean other than the big sign that reads Jorgensen above the front door?" Oh, of course. He'd forgotten about the sign. "It's not like I never come to the village," she continued. "I used to come a lot more before the dragons moved in. Plus you said you lived in the basement. This was the only door besides the front door. Anyway, how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he said, suppressing a shiver. He glimpsed Yakkity out of the corner of his eye and surreptitiously pushed it under his pillow. Luckily she didn't seem to notice as she was busy looking around his room.

"Was your room once…?"

"A cellar, yeah," he finished. She stood, walking around his small space examining everything. He took the chance in turn to examine her. She looked a lot better than the last time he'd seen her. The color was back in her cheeks and her eyes were bright with energy rather than dulled with fatigue. Her hair was done up in the new style tonight. He had missed her hairstyles while she and her father were sick. Her hair looked fine loose and wild, but neat hair meant that all was well in her life. He wasn't quite sure how she'd managed the bunch of braids tucked up off her neck. In the loops and curls of her hair rested what looked like a hair comb carved from bone. He'd never seen it before.

"It's so… tidy." She turned to face him, biting her lip. "Not quite what I was expecting."

"Well, not all of us live in Clutterville like you and Hiccup," he said, remembering how messy Sigyn's room had been when he went over last. "Can't grab your weapon and be ready at a moment's notice if you can't find it to begin with."

"No, I suppose not," she said, sinking back onto his bed. It was quiet for a moment.

"Is the new hair comb a Snoggletog gift?"

Her hand went to the back of her head instinctively. "Oh, it's not new. I don't wear it very often but it's one of the few things I have that was my mother's."

She didn't say much about why she feared dragons or what happened to her father, but her father had once said her mother died of illness when Sigyn was only two.

"It's nice," he said awkwardly.

She smiled, her fingers tracing over the smooth bone. "I like it." It was quiet for a moment.

"So how was the feast?" he asked, tucking his bare feet under his legs as he pulled the quilt back up around his shoulders. She had let in quite a draft and he could feel the chill creeping deeper into his body.

"Oh, it was okay," she said, picking at a fingernail. "It was actually kind of boring if I'm honest."

"You mentioned you had friends before. Didn't you see them?" A sad little smile crept across her face.

"Well, it's just kind of awkward, you know. I'm older than you but out of my group of old friends, I'm the youngest by almost two years. A lot of them are already married. A few even have kids." She sighed and leaned back on her arms. "Add to that the fact that I haven't spoken to any of them in years and well... you get the idea."

It sometimes slipped his mind that Sigyn had already reached the age where it was normal to begin thinking about marriage. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that idea. When she did get married it would put an odd twist in their friendship. He wouldn't be able to just go and visit her anymore.

"Do you want to be married?" he asked.

She snorted. "Yeah right. Who would want to marry me," she said, not meeting his eye.

"Dunno," he said, shrugging. It's not like Sigyn was ugly or anything. To the contrary, she was pretty in her own way. Not exactly hot like Astrid, but she was easy on the eyes and had some nice curves. "Why not?"

"Snotlout," she said, looking at him and rolling her eyes. "I'm a recluse who is afraid of dragons. Put on top of that the fact that I am a package deal with my dad to support and well, suitors are not exactly lining up outside my door."

"Oh," he said, frowning. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about that.

"Oh, is right," she said. "Besides, I'm used to the idea. It's a simple life with Dad for the most part, but it's not bad." He wasn't sure she sounded very convinced of that though.

"So how was the food at the feast?" he asked. Sigyn brightened visibly.

"Oh! I almost forgot." She crawled back toward the door and cracked it open. The snow swirled in little eddies around her as she reached outside. When she turned to face him again she held a small wrapped bundle in her hands. "I brought this for you," she pronounced. He took it.

"What is it?"

"Unwrap it and find out," she said with a grin. He did. It was a bowl with a plate over the top. Lifting the plate he couldn't help the squeal of delight that escaped him.

"Yak butter parfait!"

Sigyn dug in her pocket and produced a spoon. "You said it was your favorite and I felt bad that you didn't get to go to the feast because of me." He took the spoon eagerly and in moments the sweet creamy flavor was spread over his tongue. He leaned back against the wall with a contented sigh.

"You are the best Sigyn."

She laughed. "Are you sure? Usually, that's your job," she teased.

"At the moment I don't care. You can be the best, so long as I get to eat." He licked the spoon savoring the tastes of the desert.

"If all it takes is yak butter parfait then maybe I should learn how to make it," she said smirking.

"Yes you should," he said around another mouthful. "So long as you invite me over every time you make it."

"I don't know, maybe I should make you work for it."

"It wouldn't be the first time. Just do me a favor and write a list," he said grimacing. Ruff and Tuff and their stupid emergency bunker. "And no adding to it once it's written," he added. She watched him with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, there's a story there."

"None of your beeswax," he said, taking another bite. "Just know that it's nearly impossible to get your hands on a rainbow chicken, a sturgeon dressed as Stoic, and a singing terrible terror all in one night."

"Did you get your yak butter parfait in the end?"

"No," he said, running a finger along the inside of the bowl trying not to miss a smear of the desert. "That's another thing, the twins… not trustworthy in most cases."

"Ready for a drink?" she asked, lifting Geoffrey's mouse jug off the floor next to the bed.

"Not from that jug."

"What's wrong with this jug?" she asked, perplexed.

"For one thing, there's most likely a dead mouse inside that one."

She instantly held the jug a bit farther away from her body. "Do I want to know why you are keeping a dead mouse in a jug?"

"It's not my dead mouse," he said, taking the jug from her and setting it on the ground again. "Not really." She looked at him, one eyebrow raised in her nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Well someone put a mouse in there."

"Yeah, my four-year-old brother Geoffrey," he said defensively. "He got bored of his pet mouse because it was sleeping for three days."

"Asleep, for three days?" she said skeptically.

"Yeah, it's totally dead," he said. "Most of his pets wind up that way, but somewhere in his four-year-old brain, he thought his sleepy pet mouse would make a good Snoggletog gift." She was quiet for a moment her face shifting between disgust and... well he wasn't quite sure.

"I suppose, in a weirdly demented way that's kind of cute," she said at last. He shrugged.

"That's Geoffrey." She watched him, her expression unreadable. "What?"

"Nothing," she said absently. "Just wondering what it would be like to have siblings."

"A nuisance," he quipped.

"You don't really mean that," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well, maybe not all the time," he admitted. "Just most of it."

"You get more Snoggletog gifts if you have siblings," she pointed out.

"If it makes you feel better you can have this one?" he said, grinning as he pointed to the mouse jug.

"I'll pass thanks. What are you keeping it for anyway."

"Not what, who. You would be surprised at what Hookfang likes to eat. Let's just say dead mice don't even register as gross."

"Yeah, I'd rather not know," she said, sticking out her tongue in disgust. "But that does remind me. I have something for you."

"If dead mice remind you of it, I'm not sure I want it."

"Oh, I'm positive you want this." She dug through the folds of the large coat on the floor.

"A Sonogletog gift?" he asked, keenly aware that he had no gift for her.

"Sort of. I was always going to give it to you but I finished it this week." She turned to face him again, the green dragon scales in her hand catching the light from the candles in his room.

"My tunic! You finished it!"

"All that time stuck in bed was good for something," she said, handing it to him. The tunic slid through his hands like emerald waves rippling as it bunched and pulled this way and that. The surface of the scales was cool and smooth while the leather inside was soft and pliant. He glanced up at Sigyn. It was probably the nicest piece of clothing he'd ever had. He tugged his old tunic up over his head.

"Snotlout!" protested Sigyn.

"What?" he asked, picking up his new tunic. Sigyn had her eyes closed and her face turned away from him.

"At least wait until I'm gone."

"Why? It's not like I took my pants off."

Sigyn huffed irritably and keeping her eyes closed snatched up the heavy quilt and flung it over him. Perched precariously on the edge of the bed as he was with his arms half in and half out of the sleeves, the quilts added weight and momentum were enough to send him toppling onto the floor.

"Ouch! Thor's hammer Sigyn. What did you do that for?" He flailed under the quilt trying to sit up.

"Don't just get naked while I'm here."

"I wasn't getting naked," he groused. "Everything important is below the belt. I was just trying on the new tunic." His elbow and hip throbbed where he had struck the floor. The edge of the quilt lifted.

"Still, you could have warned me," said Sigyn. There was a slight flush in her cheeks. She pulled the quilt off him and he sat up, slipping the tunic on all the way. Sigyn still wasn't looking at him.

"You're right," she said with a smirk. "I should have known my Thor-like bod was enough to make any girl blush."

"I'm not blushing," she said, her attention snapping back to him as the heat in her cheeks crept further.

"Tell that to your face." Her eyes flashed at him. He leaned forward smirking, elbow on knee and chin in his palm. "Come on Sigyn. Why deny what we both know to be true in our hearts. Admit it. You're attracted to me. All the ladies are." She seized his pillow and served him with the hearty smack over the head.

"Shut up Snotlout!" He laughed, blocking the pillow with a fist as she swung it a second time.

"You know you want me," he teased, ducking under a third swing.

"You're being complete... "

But he never did find out what he was being. At that moment he broke into a fit of heavy coughs. Sigyn let the pillow drop, her face creasing with worry.

"Snotlout are you okay?"

He held up a hand, nodding as he continued to cough. After a few moments, the fit had subsided. He pulled the water skin from where it hung on his bedpost.

"Sorry," she said after he had taken several deep gulps.

"For what? Being attracted to me?" She swung at him half-heartedly with the pillow.

"No, muttonhead, forgetting you're sick." He capped the water.

"It's no big deal. I'm not dead." He rubbed his hands over his torso admiring the green scales. The leather had been smooth and his hands but it felt even better on his skin. He looked down at himself wishing he had a mirror.

"Admit it," he said, spinning in a slow circle with his arms partially raised. "I look pretty awesome!"

"It looks like it fits you well," she said, standing to circle him. "Can you move in it?" He did a few stretches and pretended he was swinging his ax.

"Much better than my old one." She came around to face him. She was frowning. "What?"

"You know I made this big enough to actually fit you."

"Yeah, what about it?"

She moved closer.

"So you don't have to wear it open like that anymore," she said, reaching for the laces on his chest. He snatched her hands.

"But I like it open. It always feels weird tied shut." She pursed her lips.

"But I want to see you wear it the way it was meant to be worn. At least once. Then you do what you want with it."

"Alright." He let go of her hands. Her fingers brushed over his chest as she pulled the cord and tied it shut. He shivered.

"You okay?" she asked, glancing at him.

"Your fingers are cold," he lied, not sure why he'd shivered.

"Sorry. I forgot my gloves. I had to keep switching hands for the lantern on the way here." She patted his shoulders and tugged the tunic straight before stepping back to examine him. She frowned.

"Now what?" he asked.

"You know… I think you're right. It looks funny closed on you for some reason."

"I've always worn it open."

"I can tell," she said grinning.

"How?" She chuckled and pointed to his chest. "What, the hair?" He was rather proud of that hair, especially as none seemed to want to grow on his face yet. His mother said that was a common trait in the males on her side of the family.

"No," said Sigyn, rolling her eyes as she stepped forward to undo the laces again.

"Well, what then?"

"You have a very predominant "V" of freckles here." She pulled his tunic open and traced her finger over his chest. He shivered again. "It means your chest has seen a lot of sun.

"So you were ogling me."

"You keep telling yourself that if it makes you happy," she said, turning to gather her cloak and scarf from the floor. But her cheeks were a bit pink again.

"Are you leaving already?"

"People will be headed home from the feast soon," she said, slipping into her cloak. "I don't think you want your mom to find me in your room. She might get the wrong idea. People would talk."

"So?"

"So you might lose your harem of girls if they thought you were with someone," she said, smirking. "Besides I want to check on dad and I have to take the dishes back to the great hall."

"Oh, right." He didn't want her to go. He'd been so bored the past few days. "What about the tunic? How much do I still owe you?"

"Don't worry about it," she said, winding the scarf around her neck. He frowned.

"That's not what we agreed to. You said something like this would bring a good price."

"This one brought me a good friend," she said, waving him off.

"But Jorgensons always settle their debts." She laughed.

"Then consider if your debt settled."

"But..."

"Snotlout," she said, collecting the dishes and stashing them in the cloak pocket. "I'm not just saying that. How many times have you come over to help me in the past six months on top of all the scales you have prepped for me."

"Are you sure?" he asked uneasily.

"If you still don't think it's a fair trade then just consider the rest as a Snoggletog gift."

He ran his hands over the green scales again. It really was fine workmanship. Even he could tell. But who was he to fight her if she said it was his.

"Thanks."

"You more than earned it," she said, turning toward the door. "Anyway, I'm sure it won't be the last time I see you around."

"I'll be around," he said.

"Good." She grabbed her lantern and with a wave disappeared into the swirling snow.