Rom-halan! Sos’eh du dungi-tal-tor Vahlihmaar. Dungi-tal-tor sos’eh ruhm-du. Rom-halan!”
“Ah! Like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees! The years have passed like swift draughts of the sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly.
Who now shall refill the cup for me?
For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the stars, from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow; and out of a grey country darkness lies on the foaming waves between us, and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya forever. Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar!
Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it. Farewell!”
You know what I want to see more of? Images of our gods in the modern age. They’re not just our ancestors’ gods, they’re ours too.
I want to see Freyr blessing migrant farmer laborers. I want to see Freyja watching over sex workers. I want to see Odin camped out under an overpass, swapping stories. I want Tyr marching with protesters and Thor fighting tyrants. I want Frigga as a high powered lady executive or attorney, Eir as a nurse in an overcrowded and underfunded inner city hospital
Our gods our more than gleaming steel and mead halls. Humanity has grown and changed, and of course the gods have come along with us!
Grog “How many times have my men, sworn to stay after dark And stem that horror with a sweep of their swords. And then, in the morning, this mead-hall glittering With new light would be drenched with blood, the benches Stained red, the floors, all wet from that fiend’s Savage assault-and my soldiers would be fewer Still death taking more and more.” -Beowulf
Vax “You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.” -Wild Geese, Mary Oliver
“They say you are made of clouds, they say you are made of feathers, they say you are everywhere or nowhere—we know you are both.” -If This is Your Final Destination, Nick Flynn
Keyleth “the last tribute of a daughter, I thought of something I remembered I heard once, that the body is, or is said to be, almost all water and as I turned southward, that ours is a city of it, one in which every single day the elements begin a journey towards each other that will never, given our weather, fail—” -And Soul, Eavan Boland
Pike “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!“ -The New Colossus, Emma Lazarus
Scanlan “Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury!
Futile – the winds – To a heart in port – Done with the compass – Done with the chart!
Rowing in Eden – Ah, the sea! Might I moor – Tonight – In thee!” -Wild Nights (249), Emily Dickinson
Vex “No, no, not that,—it’s bad to think of war, When thoughts you’ve gagged all day come back to scare you; And it’s been proved that soldiers don’t go mad Unless they lose control of ugly thoughts That drive them out to jabber among the trees.” -Repression of War Experience, Siegfried Sassoon
“My petty greed has often been met by petty donors Twice or so I was saved by the God on my shelf After safe escape I gave a smirk.” -My Petty Greed, Choudhuri Sukumar
“Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds, –and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of –Wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air… Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace Where never lark or even eagle flew –” -High Flight, John Magee
Percy “No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool.” -The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S Eliot
Trinket “[Animals] do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.” -Song of Myself, Walt Whitman
Vox Machina “The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes Till beauty shines in all that we can see. War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise, And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.
Horror of wounds and anger at the foe, And loss of things desired; all these must pass. We are the happy legion, for we know Time’s but a golden wind that shakes the grass.
There was an hour when we were loth to part From life we longed to share no less than others. Now, having claimed this heritage of heart, What need we more, my comrades and my brothers?” -Absolution, Siegfried Sassoon
BONUS - A FEW CR SHIPS
Vaxleth “i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)” -[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], E.E. Cummings
Perc’ahlia “She took my head between her fingers, squeezing till the birds began to stir. And then from out my eyes and ears a flock came forth — I couldn’t think or hear or breathe or see within that feather-world so silently I thanked her.” -After the Disaster, Abigail Deutsch
“My darling turns to poetry at night. What began as flirtation, an aside Between abstract expression and first light
Now finds form as a silent, startled flight Of commas on her face — a breath, a word … My darling turns to poetry at night.” -Darling Turns to Poetry at Night, Anthony Lawrence
Vaxilmore “Your absence has gone through me Like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” -Seperation, M.S. Merwin
Pikelan “I have to tell you, there are times when the sun strikes me like a gong, and I remember everything, even your ears.” -I Have To Tell You, Dorothea Grossman
Have you ever wished to experience living in the Viking age? Experience what its like to live in a viking village? To live the atmosphere of the Mead Hall with music and sagas? Trying your hand at many crafts and trades of the Viking world? Learning to stand and fight in the Shieldwall with with a variety of viking age weaponry? Or just simply escaping the stresses of everyday life?
If so, then Jorfor’s Hall are always accepting new members :)
the core of the group is based in yorkshire, but we have affiliated groups in several other parts of the country also :)
Wrote this today…
because I realized I don’t think I’ve ever written a canon fic/drabble for HTTYD.
I’ve written tons of au’s, but to be honest, I’m becoming quite discontent with
writing au’s. And so I gave writing something that takes place in canon a try.
This takes place before HTTYD2. And I’m rather nervous posting this, but I hope
you all like it :)
Hidden by one of the large pillars, and their position in a
darker corner of the Meade Hall, Hiccup and Astrid took a moment to themselves.
They had nothing to say to each other that had not been said before, and so
they sat in silence, backs against the great pillar, legs stretched out before
them, leisurely relaxing after a long day of energetic festivities.
Anytime the doors opened, though they were situated on the opposite
end of the hall, a cold wind blew in. But the heat of the fires and dragons and
people crowded in the great room combatted the bitter cold outside.
“We might be stuck in here if things don’t end soon,” Astrid
said quietly, holding her mug of mulled wine in her hands. It was only half
drunk, which was just as well, as Astrid had drunk her fill throughout the
night. And the day. Festivities tended to start rather early, sometimes up to
or more than a week, during Snoggletog. And lasted often longer.
“I think people would like that,” was Hiccup’s reply. “An
excuse to use up all the food and drinks available in here. What a thrill for
AU where the twins notice Hiccup through his flailing, disastrous attempts at killing dragons weeks before the Night Fury Incident.
They approach him with their signature, predatory grins slathered across their faces and Hiccup, like a panicked rabbit, slinks away from every attempted thrown arm-over-the-shoulder. The twins find him scarce after that.
They won’t be deterred. Not with the explosive result of a mis-aimed, oil-coated bola into the coals of a pyre still fresh in their minds from the last raid. That sort of power needs to be harnessed. Late at night, with a single candle casting ominous, reaching shadows across the walls of their shared sleeping quarters, they whisper a plan of approach.
The next day they get him while he’s eating, alone, at the corner of a Mead Hall table. As soon as they sit, one on either side, he tries to stand.
“Will you relax?” Ruffnut says, yanking him back down by the side of his tunic. “We wanted to ask you about that thing you used in the last raid.”
Hiccup’s still wary, suspicious, but he settles back down and answers their questions. They’re nice to him–no pinching or poking or making fun. They seem genuinely interested in his work.
So Hiccup allows the twins to hang around as he’s working. They’re amazed by how quickly, how smoothly, his brain comes up with methods of destruction. And he can bring them to life. Well, sort of. They offer their own ideas–most of which he dismisses immediately as purely impossible but, hey, they’ve got time.
The twins start sitting with Hiccup at meals. They invite him to hang-outs. They lift the heavier things in the shop when Hiccup’s working and Gobber’s not around. They convince Stoick to let Hiccup join the Fire Brigade. Ruffnut douses Hiccup by “accident”. Hiccup kicks the bone of her ankle the way he’s seen Tuffnut do it.They both get yanked from the path of a Nightmare flame by Stoick. Tuffnut cackles as they both get lectured about awareness; Snotlout sneers, probably following the lead of Astrid shaking her head, but Hiccup isn’t quite so put out this time around. Ruffnut’s at his side, wincing at the brunt of Stoick’s disappointment, and Hiccup makes a quip about practically being fire-proof being this wet.
Hiccup’s funny, the twins realize. He’s more–what’s the word?–reasonable than them but he’s willing to make jumps. He likes climbing things. He’s fast. He’s not completely hopeless. He doesn’t care much about rules and holy shit their future chief doesn’t care about rules.
If he makes chief. And with that, the twins decide it has to happen. Hiccup has to be chief. They take to training him. Unorthodox though they might be, the twins are still capable fighters. They play ‘target practice’ in the forest and Hiccup gets to utilize his speed and agility in a more dangerous fashion. They make him eat more meat, carry more weapons, push more wagons full of Thorstons. He whines that they’re torturing them. Sometimes in French, so that they don’t know how nasty that whining gets. But it’s fun, he realizes through a sore body. He feels… included, at least.
Dragon training commences and Hiccup’s a part of it–shocking both him and the twins. The training turns out to be invaluable for the late-afternoon smith sessions. Hiccup knows what to focus on now (wings and tails, sound and blind-spots) and the slow honing of certain designs brings new weapons to fruition. Rather than partnering with each other all the time, the twins take to switching off with Hiccup, where they’d hiss strategies to each other. Ridiculous, hare-brained, only-try-this-if-you’re-nuts strategies. Sometimes they end in disaster, sometimes they end victorious, with a greatly annoyed Astrid scowling at their backs.
They sneak a barrel of Mead into Hiccup’s house when his father is out on the last raid and they drink and draw designs and fool around and Hiccup doesn’t think he’s laughed that much in a long time. He feels encouraged. He’s inspired now–not just with a thirst to prove himself, but with the incredible motivation that someone believes in him. It gives him a boost of confidence that makes a world of a difference.
He perfects a hand-launcher. The twins help him in dragon training and in return he lends them proto-type weapons to use. Gobber watches, amused. Snotlout complains that they’re cheating. Astrid begrudgingly admits that it at least yields results. Fishlegs is hesitant to be a part of it. He yearns to be included on treading new grounds, but the twins terrify him. The twins, who had taken a more protective stance on their half-friend/half-investment…
Hiccup’s skill improves, as does the accuracy of his weapons. The twins in have a steady hand in his creations and Hiccup, in turn, manages to curb their more destructive tendencies. The village considers it a small blessing in the coming months, even if the initial friendship had everyone nervous. Stoick tolerates the twins, seeing how his son’s life had brightened and that Hiccup now seemed to take the overall safety of the village more seriously… even if his personal life included more tomfoolery.