#dragonpox

Lily returned to the Heads office fully supplied and with a helping hand to find James unmoved from his position on the couch, face buried in his hands, glasses discarded.

“Come on, Prongs,” Sirius coaxed he assisted James out of his school robes, replacing them with a freshly laundered pair of pajamas. 

“Drink this,” Lily placed a straw to his lips, knowing he was not stomaching much at the moment aside from water, “There you go,” she murmured gently, turning to cast a cushioning charm on the rug in front of the fireplace. 

“I don’t want you-”

“We’re not leaving you,” Lily’s tone was soft, her conviction firm. Sirius helps usher James in between him and the headgirl on, a makeshift bed already prepared by Lily who ensures they are all properly tucked in. 

Because there is nothing you can say, when the person you love most loses the two he loves most. So they stayed and simply held James, unable to stop the bleeding as a fresh slice of anguish cut his heart up into pieces. And shared in his grief to prevent the burden of having to suffer alone.

Quote from David Kessler:

Things had gone quickly after that. He’d taken Nuffink to Valka, with the specific instructions that he could not be in contact with his sister or any of the other children on the island. His mother was quite solitary regardless, and Nuffink loved to stay over at his grandma’s, so he’d figured he’d be safe there. In the meantime, Astrid had gotten Zephyr dressed and had called in New Berk’s healers. Who’d confirmed their worst fears.

Dragonpox. The illness had been with them on Berk for as long as dragons had raided them. Dragons were wild animals after all, carrying things with them that Vikings normally weren’t exposed to. It didn’t strike often; even during the raiding years, only those who were already very frail or sickly had been known to contract it. But with dragons coming to Berk and becoming a daily part of their lives, the combination of gradual exposure and immensely improved dragon hygiene had made it so that the disease was nothing more than a distant memory.

They’d forgotten it existed. It’d become a thing of their dragon-fighting past on Berk, and no one had been brought down by it since they’d settled on New Berk either. Until now. And now, he was forced to watch his little girl tremble and writhe underneath the covers as the rash continued to conquer her skin. Which was his fault.

Zephyr didn’t know that. She smiled at him whenever he entered the room, her blue eyes lighting up as they always did when she saw her father. But a little less so every day.  She hadn’t noticed he’d started to wear gloves yet, as there were simply some responsibilities he couldn’t avoid, and he had not wanted to risk spreading her illness any further. He’d done his job, called a village meeting on the first night she’d gotten sick, warned everyone to watch themselves, their children and their elderly. Some had felt he was overreacting – the disease hadn’t claimed any lives on Berk for years, so why would it now? Surely, Zephyr wouldn’t be the first? That’s what he tried to believe as well.

But Astrid was with their daughter at all times. And every time he returned after he’d had to leave for some agonizing emergency, he’d ask her if Zephyr was doing better yet. And every time, she’d shaken her head.

Now, exactly two weeks after Astrid had first spotted the marks on Zephyr’s skin, Hiccup slumped back into their home. His metal foot sounded hollow on the wooden floor, the heavy cloak around his shoulders not quite measuring up the sense of guilt that rested on them. He was startled by the two women coming down the stairs, who almost froze in place at the sight of their chief.

All it took was a questioning look from him for them to shake their heads. There was nothing more they could do. He couldn’t blame them. They’d tried all they could to help, using Gothi’s old notes to the best of their ability. But with their old healer’s passing, a lot of dragon-related healing knowledge had faded as well.

No, the only person he could really blame was himself. For forcing a reunion with Toothless and the others. For refusing to stop chasing his lifelong dream of dragons and Vikings living together in peace. For wishing his children came to know that part of his life too. And now he was paying the ultimate price. With all he could do being praying to the gods not to take his little girl from him.

He walked up the stairs of their home, his every step heavy and loaded. The door to Zephyr’s bedroom was open and he found Astrid inside, sitting on a stool at the side of their daughter’s bed. Astrid looked exhausted, her cheeks hollow, her eyes red and swollen as she did her best to wipe her tears away. He crouched down next to her, letting her lean her against his shoulder as her own shuddered.

“We never should have taken them,” she told him, her voice so hoarse he almost couldn’t hear her. “Gods, Hiccup, why did we go?”

There was nothing he could say that would justify their decision. There were no words that could be said, no reason that could be given that would erase what they’d done. What they were now responsible for. No dragon that could cure this kind of pain. Watching the 10-year old girl he’d loved from the first moment he’d seen her, lying there, shaking in her bed as she fought against a fever that refused to release her from its hold.

All he could do was take off his gloves, wrapping his arm around Astrid’s shoulder as he reached out towards Zephyr with his other, taking the hand that laid on top of the covers in his. The sheer heat of her skin almost made him flinch, but he carefully enveloped her little fingers in his nevertheless.

Every now and then, she writhed, squeezing her eyes shut even more as her lips trembled. Her skin was flushed, the colour of the rash and blisters that’d covered her almost matching that of her reddish brown hair. He’d never seen her look this small, or this vulnerable. She was losing the battle inside of her. Which her father should’ve protected her from in the first place.

They sat there for what seemed like eternity. He tried to keep himself together as best as he could as Astrid continued to sob, the past two weeks which she’d solely spent taking care of her daughter taking its toll. Eventually however, he watched Zephyr’s tired eyelids open, a little touch of bright blue still left in them.

“Daddy?”

The weakness in her voice broke his heart as he watched her struggle to produce the words. He swallowed his own tears away before he spoke. “Yes, Zeffie?”

Zephyr shivered, her face wrinkling as she did. “I’m cold.”

He gave her the most reassuring smile he could as he unwrapped his cloak from his shoulders, reaching out to give it to her. But she latched onto the fabric of his tunic rather than that of his cloak, the look in her eyes pleading. “Daddy.”

He quickly wiped his eyes with his other sleeve before he got up, removing his prosthetic before he climbed into his daughter’s bed as he’d so often done. He held his arms open for Astrid to crawl into as he pulled Zephyr into his lap, wrapping his cloak and her blankets around her as her little hands buried themselves in his tunic as well as they still could.

Sitting there, leaning against the headboard with the two most important women in his life in his arms, he softly brushed Zephyr’s sticky bangs out of her face. “Is this better?”

She nodded against his chest, the heat from her little body almost warming his heart, which was growing colder and aching more by the minute. Zephyr stayed silent for a bit, until another question crossed her lips. “Where’s Nuff?”

Astrid answered before he could, softly rubbing Zephyr’s back. “He’s with grandma.”

“He’s not sick too, right?”

“No,” Astrid reassured her, her voice thick with tears. “Your brother’s fine.”

“G-good,” Zephyr nodded, shivering as she did.

She stopped talking for a while after that, curling up against Hiccup’s chest, shivers still wrecking her. When he was sure she was about to fade into sleep, she spoke up again.

“I’m scared.”

Zephyr’s eyes were closed as the words left her mouth, her voice as small as he’d ever heard it. Astrid looked up at him, biting her lower lip as tears started to flow down her face once more. He could only barely contain his own as he stroked Zephyr’s face, trying to put her at ease.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he told her. “It’ll pass. How about I tell you a story?”

Her head moved against his chest, the motions weak but her agreement clear.

“Any particular one you’d like?”

“About dragons.”

Dragons. Of course, he thought as a dagger slowly made its way into his heart. “But I’ve already told you so many!” he said, trying to fake a laugh. “Let me try to think of a new one.”

He searched his mind, trying to find a story he hadn’t told her yet. Eventually, he did. “Did I ever tell you about Vanaheim?”

Zephyr’s blue eyes opened slightly as she shook her head, too weak to form words.

“Well, then I’ll tell it. In the life of every dragon, there comes a point at which they can no longer stay with the rest of their pack, because they are getting old and fragile. So they take one last flight, all the way to the island of Vanaheim. It’s a sacred place, meant for dragons alone. But your mommy and I once had the honour of guiding a dragon there,” he lied.

“To die?”

“No, on the contrary,” he laughed, partly to suppress the tears that were becoming harder to hold back as he watched Astrid silently weep from the corner of his eyes. “It’s a place for all sick and tired dragons to go to, and there, they can live forever. Like they’re young again. They’re never in pain, never hungry and never ill. There’s no one to hurt them there, and they’d never hurt each other. They just live there, all dragon species together, without a sense of worry on their minds. For all eternity.”

“I want to go there,” Zephyr managed, trying to look up at him but failing to keep her eyes open.

“Then we’ll go,” he told her, pulling her closer against his chest. “Once you’re better, we’ll go find Toothless and Stormfly and mommy and I will take you there. And Nuffink too. We’ll go to Vanaheim, with just the four of us. No chiefing for your mom and dad. A long holiday, during which you will able to see more dragons than you’ve ever seen on the edge of the Hidden World. Cuddle them, play with them, fly on their backs. Anything you want.”

The kind of foolish fantasies that’d landed her on her deathbed in the first place. But she didn’t know that. And he wasn’t going to tell her. “Would you like that?”

“Yes,” a soft voice told him.

“Then we’ll go,” he repeated, rocking her in his arms as he felt her shudder against him once more.

“Tell me more.”

And so he did. He made up all kind of stories about the version of Vanaheim he’d created for her. As she’d never get to see the real island. He used what little he’d seen in the Hidden World, and what he’d experienced on all his adventures throughout his years with Toothless. He thought about all the things he’d wished for in his life with dragons and described them to his daughter. All the long-lost dreams that’d never come true. But which filled her with wonder nevertheless.

It wasn’t until Zephyr eventually fell back asleep that he allowed himself to cry, tears streaming down his face as he tried to keep his body as steady as possible, so he wouldn’t disturb her. One of Astrid’s arms was around his neck while her other was in their daughter’s hair, softly stroking it as Zephyr’s chest heaved. Slowly, the time between her inhales seemed to increase, every muscle movement starting to cost more effort. Until her breathing stopped altogether.

“Zephyr?”

They’d known it was coming. But still, nothing could compare to the freefall his soul took right then, as he couldn’t do anything but shake the little girl’s body in his arms, somehow, somewhere expecting her to open her inquisitive blue eyes again. But she didn’t. No matter how hard he tried, or how often he called her name, she didn’t wake.

Astrid cried out, the sheer agony in the sound of her voice tearing him to shreds. He pulled Zephyr closer to him, looking for anything, any sign of life at all. But he found nothing. The fever she’d tried to fight off so desperately started to subside, her body growing cold. Too cold.

She was gone. His little girl. One of the three people he was supposed to protect above anything else. Dead. And it was his fault.

There was nothing he could do then but hold her frail shape to his chest as his shoulders shook, an indescribable pain and anguish flooding his entire existence, making him hope he’d drown in it so he’d have to feel it no more. Although he deserved to.

All that was left for him to do was to pray that the Valkyries would welcome her among them, taking her to Valhalla. Where he hoped, prayed, wished his father would take care of her. After he’d failed them both. Through his ‘love for dragons’, through his ‘good intentions’. Both of them, dead by his hands.