I sailed so far to be a King but the time was never right I lost my way on a stormy past, got wrecked in starless night But let my heart be wrecked by hurricanes and my ship by stormy weather I know I am a hero, and a hero is… forever.
In another time, another place, I could have been a King But in my castle’s ruined towers the lonely seabirds sing I burned up my tomorrows, I can not go back ever But I am still a Hero, and a Hero is …forever.
I sailed so far to be a King but the time was never right I lost my way on a stormy past, got wrecked in starless night But let my heart be wrecked by hurricanes and my ship by stormy weather I know I am a Hero, and a Hero is… forever
In another time, in another place, I could have been a King But in my castle’s ruined towers the lonely seabirds sing I burned up my Tomorrows, and I cannot go back ever But I am still a Hero, and a Hero is… forever
horrible singing and photo/album art by jii Original song written by Cressida Cowell
This post is for the HTTYD Fandom, regarding one of its most deserving members, @jii-dragon / @jii-cos
From what I understand of the situation, someone has pretended to be a Dreamworks Representative and using this facade, contacted Jii, with the promise of making him the Official face of Hiccup. While there is far more to the story, I can not say at the time for I’m a simple second/third hand source. But what I can say is that we are supposed to be a fandom. We should stand together and support our fellow fans and their endeavours. So it’s time we supported Jii and help him to get this dream job. I’m not alone in my thinking and I know I’m not. We all need to try and get DW’s attention.
“The Haddock Philharmonic Orchestra is a world-famous ensemble, and with auditions less than a year away, Astrid will not let ANYTHING prevent her from earning her seat there. Especially not the distracted, fumbling, dazzlingly attractive pianist at the front. A steady-paced rewrite of the HTTYD story. Modern AU, hiccstrid other pairings (eventually). HTTYD is owned by Dreamworks.”
SO I WROTE THIS TODAY
And orchestra au has been rattling around in my head for a while now, mainly because I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before? In any case, here’s my stupid idea in nearly 3000 words or so.
I’m absolutely continuing with this. Looking at maybe a full sort-of-retelling of httyd in this au.
But yah if you could also give that ff.net link a click (because I obsess over stupid analytics like that) that would be amazing :)
Here we go
HICCUP?“ "unnnggghh” The voice was too loud. Worse, it
was his father’s. "Hiccup! He’s awake! Thank the gods he’s - “ "Sir, please try to
keep your voice down, there are other patients -”
"CAN YE HEAR ME SON?!
IT’S OK, AHM RIGHT HERE!“ He was just trying to sleep, who were
all these people?! "Ah think he’s try'na
say somethin’, Stoick.”
The giant’s voice softened
somewhat. “Son? Whot is et, son? It’s ok, am right here, ahm
There was a pause. Then -
"Whot did he say? Ah
couldn’t hear em right, thought ‘e said -”
"'e told ye t’ be quiet,
Stoick. Let’s just let em come to in his own time.“
"Oh.” Stoick sounded
a little conflicted at that; but still, he fell silent. What? Hiccup’s thoughts
were all woozy. 'Come to?’ What are they talking about? A faint beeping
reached his ears, steady and regular. Hiccup had seen enough hospital-based TV
shows to recognise that sound; the beeping jumped a little as realisation
dawned. I’m in a hospital?! Why am - And then it all came
rushing back. He had stormed out, thrown himself into the driver’s seat and
barrelled out of the driveway with the intention of blowing off some steam in
Snotlout’s gaming basement. Then, right as he’d approached the junction - That truck just came out of
nowhere! Gods, my car must be - shit, wait, I’m in hospital, am I ok?! His heart monitor was
beeping rapidly now. He forced himself to take deep breaths. Slowly, Hiccup
forced his eyes open. He could feel things getting clearer as whatever they’d
had him on wore off; a white ceiling swam gradually into focus. Eyes ok,
then. That’s good. The concert pianist in him
kicked in, and he immediately tried to wiggle his fingers, sighing with relief
when he felt them move. Ok, the most important things accounted for. He
wiggled his toes, right foot, left - …foot? The monitor bipped loudly.
mumbled, out loud this time. He tried to sit up, but a tall nurse materialised
and placed a hand gently on his chest.
"Easy, Mr Haddock,”
she murmured. “Let’s take things slowly, yes? You’ve been through quite a
lot these last few days.” Days?! “Why
c-cann’t I ffeell mmy fffoot?” Words were thick in his mouth: he swallowed
hard, and tried to sit up again. “What’s wrong with my foot?”
spoke, then. Hiccup turned his head, and found his father sat a few feet away,
his broad frame completely dwarfing the tiny chair in which he sat. Stoick’s
eyes were fixed on his son’s, and they were - wet? Is my father crying? Beside him sat Gobber,
Stoick’s right-hand man. He was staring at the floor, uncharacteristically
"Son.” Hiccup looked
back at his father. Stoick forced a smile. “Tha most important thing is
that yer ok. At tha end of tha day, nothin’ else -”
This, of course, was only
feeding the dread growing in Hiccup’s gut. With superhuman effort, he forced
himself up, and wrenched the bedclothes aside, looking for the broken, mangled,
ruined remains of his -
- nothing. There was nothing
there. And somehow, that was worse. What had once been his leg now ended a
little below the knee in a stump, swathed in bandages.
The room was silent, aside
from the now fairly frantic blipblipblipblip blip blip blip, blip, blip…
blip… blip….. blip……. Gently, the nurse placed a hand on Hiccup’s
shoulder. She replaced the blankets, covering the stump.
But he could still feel it.
Or rather, its absence. The blanket settled emptily next to his right leg. He
felt suddenly nauseous. Dazed, he allowed the nurse to settle him backwards
onto the pillows.
voice was softer than he’d ever known. "Son?”
"Wh-“ Hiccup had to
pause to swallow, lest he throw up. "What happened to my car?”
There was a pause. Then a
heavy sigh. “Totalled. Tha truck that hit ye was doin near fifty. Driver
fared much better than ye did, admits t’ tryin t’ skip a light. Didn’t see ye
in time. Hit yer driver-side door dead on; they had t’ cut ye free. Ye were
stuck in there, unconscious, fer nearly half an hour.” He paused again.
“Are ye feelin’ alright, Hiccup?”
Hiccup had barely heard a
word, but at this a choked laugh burst from his dry, parched throat. “Oh
yeah, dad, just fine. Can I get some water? I’d get it myself but - well.
Yeah.” Without a word, the nurse handed him a filled plastic cup. He
sipped it slowly as his father continued to try and talk about anything besides
his son’s missing leg.
"Tha movin’ company are
takin’ full responsibility for tha accident. Ye were lucky - well, not
lucky,“ Stoick amended hastily. "But from an aftermath point o’ view,
they’re payin’ for all yer fees an’ th’ insurance for yer car -”
chimed in abruptly. "They’re givin’ ye a new piano!”
At this, Hiccup looked up.
glared at his friend. "I thought we’d discussed this.”
"Yes, we did.“
"I thought,” Stoick
growled. “We agreed not t’ mention -”
"Yes, we did. But I think
he’ll appreciate tha funny side.“
"Funny side?” Hiccup
was incredulous. “What the heck could possibly be -”
"Ye see, that
piano,“ Gobber went on, heedless and with a wide grin. "Ets special
fer a couple o’ reasons. Firstly, et’s a one-of-a kind, black Nigel Furay
make.” That got Hiccup’s
attention. “A Furay? For real?”
Gobber nodded. “Aye. I’ve
only seen a couple in ma’ life, an’ now yer’ve got one o’ yer own.”
"And they’re just going
to give me one? For hitting me with a truck?“
Stoick sounded resigned, but relieved that his son was showing signs of life.
“Et’s en somethin’ of a state of… disrepair.”
"Et’s a little smashed
up, true,“ Gobber conceded. "But not beyond savin’.”
Hiccup frowned. “Smashed
up? What does that mean?”
"Ah, ma favourite
bit!“ Gobber grinned again. "See, they were transporten’ this
instrument between concert halls a few day ago. An’ tha driver was runnin’ a
little late. So when 'e gets t’ a red light, does 'e slow down? No, 'e puts his
Realisation dawned. Hiccup
stared. “Are you telling me -”
Gobber chortled. "Of all th’ trucks ye managed t’ get hit by, ye managed
t’ get hit by th’ one with th’ rarest make o’ piano in existence in et! Talk
about silver lining, eh?”
Astrid carefully laid her violin and bow down on the empty chair beside her. A
moment longer and she would have hurled it at trombones in rage. She took a
deep, careful breath, and sat back in her seat as Gobber turned to the Brass
section to rehearse the line for the thousandth time. Rehearsals aren’t for
PRACTICE, they are for REHEARSING, she wanted to scream at them. She knew
whose fault it was, of course. First trombone, a broad-shouldered lout named
Scott, had lungs to match an elephant’s, but the sight-reading skills of a
toddler. It wouldn’t matter, of course, if he’d learned his part before
coming to rehearse.
"This is so dumb,”
he was complaining now, squinting at his sheet music. The other two boys in his
section, who clearly knew the line well enough, shifted uncomfortably. “I
mean,” he went on, “who gives the trombone section demisemiquavers?” "They’re only semiquavers,
Snotlout,“ replied Gobber, shifting through the score in front of him.
"And I did. If ye don’t like my arrangement ye can give yer seat t’
one of tha others. They don’t seem t’ be strugglin’.”
Snotlout grumbled something in
response, but sat back again. Astrid smile a little. She liked Gobber.
Conductors who knew exactly what they wanted from their orchestra were a
godsend, and Gobber had a way of addressing them that was both firm and laid
back. True, it was only her fifth rehearsal with this orchestra, but so far she
had never heard him raise his voice. Not even at the twins.
flipped back a page or two. "Take five. I’ll call ye all back and we’ll go
over Romantic Flight. Put our new orchestra leader t’ the test.” He
winked at her, unscrewing the conductor’s baton the end of his arm. She shook
her head. Romantic Flight was a wonderful piece, opening with a lovely
violin solo - but it wasn’t hard. Stretching, Astrid rose, and looked around
The Haddock Youth Orchestra
was about as prestigious as you get in this part of the world, for her age
bracket. And every year, it was primarily from this ensemble and the Berkian
Symphony Orchestra that Stoick Haddock selected musicians to move up to the
world-renowned Haddock Philharmonic Orchestra. Astrid had worked herself to the
bone to get into this group. She had moved away from home and taken a day job
in a local coffee shop just to be here: the Haddock Philharmonic was her dream. The Youth Orchestra was
her way in: by the time auditions for the Philharmonic rolled around, she would
be old enough. Now she just had to prove she was good enough. So, when
Gobber had called her to tell her she hadn’t only landed first desk, but also orchestra
leader, Astrid had all but passed out from joy. She had danced around her
room; she had hugged her violin. She’d called her mother and they had screamed
joy down the phone to one another for nearly half an hour.
And yet, looking around, she
didn’t really get the impression that anyone else particularly cared about
being here. There were around 50 kids in the Youth Orchestra, all of them
extremely talented in their own way. Even Snotlout, obnoxious as he was, could
really make his trombone sing when he tried - she knew this because he
had flirted with her relentlessly from almost the moment she had entered the
room on her first day. Having failed to sweet-talk her into his arms, he
appeared to have decided that serenading her was the best course of action. If
only he put as much effort into learning his parts as he does trying to seduce
me, she mused.
Gobber was still engaged in conversation with Jarlha, the lead horn player, so
Astrid went to the side of the room to the water cooler for a drink. There, she
found the twins.
"But what if we had,
like, twelve?“ Tuff was saying. He held a pair of sticks in one
hand, and was examining the cooler excitedly. "Like, we could pitch them
by filling them to different levels and -”
"You’re such an idiot,“
Ruff groaned. She rapped on the side of the cooler, producing a low thonk
sound. "You think that’s gonna carry through a concert hall?
With an orchestra playing?”
Tuff was silent for a moment.
Then, “But if we hit them really hard -” "Don’t you guys have
enough on your plate already?“ Astrid pointed out, filling a cup. The twins
were the only two percussionists in the whole ensemble, which was absurd,
considering the number of instruments they had to deal with. Astrid had seen
some of the bizarre rigs they had constructed to help them reach everything in
time, and had quickly realised why no other percussionists would join the
"Wow get a load of miss
anti-fun over here.” Ruff’s sarcasm was legendary in the ensemble. She
would roll whole sentences around her mouth when she spoke; it was really quite
Her brother didn’t seem to
have even noticed Astrid’s arrival. “But think about it Ruff,” he was
saying. “We could play them and drink from them. It would be so
"You’re so dumb. Drinking
from them would de-tune them, you moron.“
"Well, then we just have
to pour twelve cups at once to keep them in tune -”
"And what about everyone
"They can have some too,
but -” Astrid left, shaking her head. Gobber was back at the conductor’s
stand, and people were taking their seats. Fishlegs, she saw, hadn’t moved from
his seat, and was rubbing at his piccolo again, mumbling under his
breath. That boy, she thought, cares a little too much. Astrid
loved her violin, but Fishlegs obsessed over his instruments like nobody she
had ever met before. There didn’t seem to be a single instrument in the
woodwind family he couldn’t play, but most often he sat as second flute
or solo piccolo. She had liked him instantly - there was something so pure,
something genuine in his voice - but she had found that spending more than a few
minutes alone in his company only led to lengthy conversations about his
treasures, his beauties. As she reached her seat,
something caught her eye. There was a piano. A baby grand,stood
by itself, covered by a large sheet. Where had that come from? She
frowned. It definitely hadn’t been there in previous rehearsals. Where they
expecting a pianist this week?
called, as she sat down. "Romantic Flight! Watch yer dynamics - am
lookin’ at you, Snotlout - an’ do not get ahead o’ me. This is nice,
steady one, an’ I’m expectin’ ye all t’ get et in two attempts tops. One, if
the Brass remember the key change first try.” There was a low chuckled
from the back row. “Alright!” Gobber finised screwing the baton back
into place, and raised his arms. The orchestra raised their instruments. And
then two things happened.
The first was the doors at the
far end of the room opening to admit one of the most attractive young men
Astrid had ever laid eyes on. Tall, in a slightly rumpled shirt and jeans, with
a strong jawline, a mess of auburn hair and shockingly greeneyes.
So green, she could see them from the other side of the hall.
The second thing was complete
silence as she missed her cue to begin playing. Fuck. Gobber looked at her
strangely. “Y’ alright, Astrid? Still with us?”
sorry,“ she flustered, shaking herself. There were little titters from
around the group, and she forced herself to laugh with them, swallowing her
pride a little.
"Okay! Take two!”
Gobber raised his arms again, but then the doors clunked shut again, and
he glanced back. “Ahhh! Well would ye look at that. The prodigal son
"Hey Gobber,“ the
boy chuckled. He carried a folder of music under one arm, and was walking - no,
limping over to the covered piano. The limp was only a slight one, but
Astrid noticed. Whoever he was, he was clearly no stranger to the orchestra: at
the sight of him, people called out in greeting. "Hiccup!” some of
them shouted; Snoutlout let out an exaggerated groan that nobody seemed
to hear. The twins outright cheered from the back. Popular, is he? Astrid
mused, watching him as he reached his instrument.
With Gobber’s help, the
newcomer manoeuvred the baby grand into position at the front of the orchestra,
behind the conductor’s podium. He tugged the sheet, and swept it from the instrument
in one fluid motion.
Astrid let out a small gasp.
She was not the only one. The sleek, black finish was nothing special in itself
- but the surface of the instrument was littered with small, intricate
etchings. They didn’t cover the
whole thing, but around the edges, in every corner; tiny line drawings, some
just symmetrical patterns, others beautifully realised pictures of creatures.
Dragons. Astrid had never seen an instrument like it in her life. And there, on
the front, picked out in gold lettering:
N. F U R A Y
Hiccup looked around with a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I,
uh, kind of upgraded a bit while I was away.”