Chapter Text
Chapter Eight
The Jorgenson home, Oaksend, was a stately brick manor on the outskirts of the village, smaller than Lambourn Hall but still quite spacious. Hiccup assumed the house got its’ name from the towering trees lining the drive. He and Stoick arrived in a dark grey Bentley limousine just before seven in the evening.
The car eased to a stop before the entrance and while Stoick thanked the chauffer and climbed out, Hiccup hesitated. He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about this dinner. He wasn’t very good at small talk and always felt a little uncomfortable when meeting strangers. Considering that the Jorgensons were another set of potential relatives that he had never met, and he really wasn’t sure how to act around them, or even what to call them.
If he were Hamish Vastley, by some miracle, and the fire had never happened, then he would have grown up knowing them and having an Uncle Spite, Aunt Helen, and a cousin Scott. But as things stood, they were mere strangers and he would likely never see them again after these two weeks.
Don’t make too much of this, Hiccup scolded himself. He always overthought things. It should only be a simple visit, having dinner and meeting some of Stoick’s friends (or were they family?). Surely he could manage to smile and be pleasant and have an enjoyable time.
Hiccup straightened his navy-blue tie and got out of the car, following Stoick. The Jorgensons’ butler opened the door and ushered them inside, where the family was waiting in the front hall to greet them.
Spitelout Jorgenson was tall, though not quite as tall as Stoick, and stocky with dark hair and eyes. Helen was short with light brown hair that brushed her shoulders and bright blue eyes. Their son seemed a mixture of the two. Scott Jorgenson was about Hiccup’s height, but more muscular, with his father’s dark hair and his mother’s eyes.
Helen wore a blue woolen dress and a pearl necklace, while all the rest wore button-down shirts, sport coats, and khaki trousers. When Stoick had mentioned that he might want to wear a coat and tie for dinner, Hiccup had wondered if all these people normally dressed up for dinner together, or if it were simply in his honour. He still didn’t know, but he had been thankful that he had packed some of his nicer clothes.
Helen came forward to greet them, taking Stoick’s hand and turning her head slightly so he could kiss her cheek. “Stoick, we’re so glad you could come this evening.”
“Thank you for having us,” Stoick responded. He turned to usher Hiccup forward. “Hiccup, this is Helen, Spite, and Scott Jorgenson. Everyone, this is Hiccup Haddock.”
Helen smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you, Hiccup. Of course we’re all hoping that you are Hamish. It would be such a miracle, and we would love to have our nephew back.”
“We would indeed,” Spite stepped over to shake hands. “It seems incredible, but you do look extraordinarily like my sister. I can see why Gobber is convinced.”
Hiccup smiled. “Thank you.”
Scott Jorgenson stepped forward, hand outstretched. “You write the Dragon Quartet books.”
Hiccup couldn’t tell from his tone if Scott meant it to be a question, or a compliment, or whatever.
He just nodded. “Yes, I do.”
Scott didn’t comment further, but simply shook hands. It might have been Hiccup’s imagination, but it seemed to him that Scott squeezed his hand rather forcefully for an instant.
But then he let go and grinned. “You can call me Snotlout, by the way. Everyone does.”
Hiccup blinked. “Everyone calls you…Snotlout?”
Scott (or Snotlout) waved a hand casually. “It’s a long story.”
His mother sighed. “Darling, I wish you wouldn’t go by that horrid name.”
“Mum, you know we all give each other crazy nicknames,” Snotlout protested. “Ask Dad, or Gobber.”
“I think dinner’s ready,” Spite smoothly changed the subject. “Why don’t we go into the dining room?”
Dinner was more relaxed than Hiccup had expected. While they dined on Dover sole, peas, and roasted potatoes, Stoick and Spitelout reminisced about their old schooldays and various exploits that they and Gobber had gotten up to, with Helen chiming in every so often. Apparently, the adults had known one another all their lives.
Hiccup enjoyed hearing the stories, but he was less comfortable later when the conversation turned to him.
“We’re all so impressed with your books, Hiccup,” Helen remarked. “They really are fantastic. How in the world did you write them at such a young age?”
“Oh, thank you. Um, I didn’t have many friends at the Children’s Home. So I just made up all my stories and then I started writing them down,” Hiccup answered honestly. He was a little embarrassed to have to admit to such a lonely childhood. But it seemed everyone knew it already, and Hiccup didn’t want to lie.
“Valka had a good imagination too,” Spite mused. “I remember she always wanted us to play pretend games when we were children.”
“Playing Camelot was her favorite.” Helen smiled fondly as she explained to Hiccup. “Stoick was always King Arthur, but ironically Valka didn’t care about being Queen Guinevere. She said Guinevere was boring, and she was happy to let me dress up in long gowns and wear a toy crown. Valka wanted to be involved in the action. She was always one of the knights.”
“Valka loved Camelot, but I enjoyed Viking games more,” Stoick remarked. He too turned to Hiccup. “My cousin Ian got me started on that. Back in the Middle Ages, Vikings colonized the Northern Scottish islands and parts of the Highlands. Some artifacts were found at the Inverness estate, oh, maybe a hundred years ago, and they keep the collection at Raven’s Point-that’s the name of the estate. I remember Ian showing me the collection when we were about nine or ten. We were particularly fascinated with an old helmet and sword, and for the rest of my visit, we pretended we were Viking chiefs, exploring and going into battle.”
“I remember once when we tried to make a curved bow and stern to attach to an old rowboat to make a Viking ship,” Helen said.
Spitelout laughed, “Yes, I remember that too. We had some idea that we would sail it down the River Lambourn through the villages for everyone to admire our prowess. Instead the rowboat promptly flipped over and tossed us into the water. Luckily, the river’s not much more than a stream and pretty shallow at that point so we just splashed our way back to dry ground. And so ended our dreams of Viking glory.”
The adults chuckled at the memory and then Helen changed the subject. “Is everything ready for the Harvest Ball, Stoick?”
“Yes, I think so.” Stoick turned to explain to Hiccup. “The Harvest Ball is a charity dinner and dance that we host at Lambourn Hall every year. This year the proceeds are going to the British Red Cross Society. It’s to be held on Saturday, the second of November. You’ll be here, so of course you’re invited.”
“Oh.” Hiccup wasn’t sure what to think of that, actually. He was happy to donate money to a good cause, but he had been to several charity galas since becoming famous and he usually didn’t care for them. He was trying to think if there was a way he could politely decline when Snotlout grumbled.
“I don’t have to go, do I? The twins and I want to check out this new club that’s opening in Camden.”
Spite gave his son a stern look. “You’ll be there. The Harvest Ball is a family event and now that you’re eighteen, you’re expected to attend.”
“And I do hope that you and Rachel and Timothy are behaving responsibly when you go out?” Helen added firmly.
“Of course, Mum,” Snotlout sighed. He looked at Hiccup. “Then you’ve got to go too. I don’t want to be the only person under forty there.”
Hiccup repressed a sigh. “All right.”
“Good, it’s all settled then,” Stoick seemed pleased. “It’s black tie, so we’ll need to see about getting you a dinner suit, Hiccup.”
“I already have one, but I didn’t bring it with me,” Hiccup told him. “I’ll have to go back to my flat to fetch it.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Stoick assured him.
“Snotlout goes to London during the week for university,” Spite said. “Maybe you could ride with him one day. You only have a couple classes on Thursdays, don’t you?” He turned to Snotlout. “You’re usually back home by early afternoon.”
Snotlout nodded. “Yea, I leave at eight and get back between two and three.” He looked at Hiccup. “If you want to ride along this Thursday.”
“All right, that would be good. Thanks,” Hiccup told him.
They finished dinner with treacle tart for dessert and as everyone headed to the drawing room to chat and enjoy an after-dinner drink, Snotlout turned to Hiccup.
“Do you like cars? I got a Spitfire for graduation. Want to see it?”
Hiccup nodded. “Okay.”
A covered walkway from the back of the house went to the garage, a detached brick building that housed several cars. Snotlout flipped the light switch on and led the way past a sedan and an SUV, to a red sportscar convertible.
“She’s a Mark IV, originally built in ’73. But she’s been completely redone since then, of course. Gobber helped—he’s really good with mechanical things. But I did most of the work myself,” Snotlout announced.
He glanced over and said defensively. “Maybe she’s nothing compared to what a billionaire would buy, but…”
Hiccup shook his head. “No, this is awesome. It’s beautiful.”
Snotlout faltered. “You really think so?”
“Yea, I do. I don’t even have a car at all.”
Snotlout stared in disbelief. “Really? If I had all your money, I’d have a car for every day of the week. A Bugatti and…”
Hiccup laughed. “I’m not that rich, and I don’t really need a car in London. I can always take the Tube or a bus.”
“Dude, you should at least take a cab.” Snotlout shook his head. “I can see what you mean though. Driving in all that traffic and then trying to park--it can be a pain.”
“What are you studying at university?”
“Business and Finance,” Snotlout told him. “Uncle Stoick gave me an internship at Vastley Enterprises last summer and I really liked it.”
His chin jutted out and he spoke defensively again. “I’m good at it too. Uncle Stoick’s going to have me take over his business someday.”
Hiccup just nodded. “That’s good.”
Snotlout nodded too, and spoke more calmly. “You’ll be busy writing your books anyway, and being the heir to the estate and all that. You’ll have enough to do, without taking over Vastley Enterprises.”
Hiccup frowned. “What? Snotlout, I really don’t think that I’m…”
Snotlout waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, come on. It’s pretty obvious that you’re Hamish. They never found a body. You have no known family or history. You’re the exact right age and then there’s the whole leg thing. Plus, you do look a lot like my Aunt Valka, at least the pictures I’ve seen of her.”
Hiccup abruptly turned and paced restlessly around the garage for a minute, before stopping and saying quietly, “Everyone keeps saying that, and I don’t even know what she looked like.”
“You haven’t seen any pictures?” Snotlout seemed surprised. “Hey, I can show you one before you go. But first, why don’t we take the Spitfire out for a quick spin?”
He reached into his pocket for the keys and then tossed them to Hiccup. “I’ll even let you drive.”
Hiccup automatically caught the keys, but just stared at them for a moment before handing them back to Snotlout.
“I…um…I don’t actually know how to drive,” he mumbled.
Snotlout stared. “How do you not know how to drive?”
Hiccup shrugged. “No one ever taught me.”
“I could teach you,” Snotlout offered.
Hiccup wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but he didn’t want to offend the other young man by saying so. He did have a better excuse though.
“I don’t have a driver’s licence.”
Snotlout just shrugged. “We’ll just go down the drive, turn around and come back. It’s fine if you’re on our private property.”
Hiccup hesitated. He still wasn’t sure, but the red sportscar was sleek and intriguing, and he supposed he did need to learn to drive.
“All right.”
They slid in and fastened their seat belts. It took a few minutes for Snotlout to explain how the gear shifts and headlights worked and for Hiccup to manage, but then they backed out of the garage and with only a minor jump, inched down the drive.
“It’s pretty dark. You can put the brights on. We’re not going to meet any traffic here,” Snotlout told him.
Hiccup risked giving him a quick glance. “What?”
“You know, the bright lights, so you can see better.” Snotlout undid his seat belt and reached across Hiccup to adjust the lights. “Like this.”
“Oh.”
Snotlout just shook his head as he sat back and re-fastened the safety belt. But a moment later he complained, “You know, I think I saw a turtle over there that’s creeping along faster than we are.”
“It’s too dark to see anything over there,” Hiccup retorted. “And you don’t want me crashing your car, do you?”
Snotlout heaved a big sigh, but didn’t say anything else.
They reached the end of the drive and Hiccup struggled again to change the gear shift to reverse and turn around.
“No, no, not like that,” Snotlout began, but then suddenly yelled. “Watch out!”
For a split second, Hiccup thought he was doing something wrong, but then he too saw headlights coming towards them, far too quickly, as some other car sped along the public road.
He worked the gears frantically and stomped on the gas pedal. At the last second, the Spitfire leaped down the Jorgenson drive as the other car rushed past them.
Hiccup somehow managed to bring the Spitfire to a stop and he leaned back against his seat, taking several deep breaths.
Snotlout looked a little shaken himself. “You all right?”
“Yea. You?”
“Yea.” Snotlout also took a deep breath, and then scowled. “That crazy fool could have killed us! He was going way over the speed limit! I mean, I don’t always stick to the speed limit myself, but I don’t go a hundred miles an hour.”
“Could you tell what kind of car it was?” Hiccup asked. “Or see the driver?”
“No, it’s too dark. I just saw the headlights…and my life flashing before my eyes.”
“I know what you mean,” Hiccup agreed.
They sat there another moment and then Snotlout said, “Well, let’s get back.”
Hiccup swallowed. “Do you want to drive?”
But Snotlout shook his head. “You’re doing fine. It’s not your fault some idiot was going way too fast.”
Hiccup took one last deep breath, realized he had a death grip on the steering wheel, and forced himself to relax. He concentrated carefully as he eased the car into the correct gear and drove cautiously back to the garage, where Snotlout walked around the Spitfire, examining it with an eagle eye.
“Is it all right?” Hiccup asked nervously. He hated to think that he might have caused some damage to Snotlout’s obviously beloved car.
“Yes, she doesn’t have a scratch on her, thank goodness. Well, I guess we should go back inside.”
Stoick, Spite, and Helen were standing in the front hall, chatting desultorily as they waited for Hiccup and Snotlout to return.
“Are you ready then?” Stoick asked Hiccup.
Hiccup nodded.
But then Snotlout exclaimed, “Oh, I was going to show you a photograph of Aunt Valka.”
The adults looked startled and Snotlout explained. “Well, Hiccup’s never seen her so I said I’d show him a picture.”
“I can show you her portrait when we get home,” Stoick said quietly.
They said their good-byes and on the way home, he spoke again. “I’m sorry. I should have thought to show you her portrait already.”
“Oh no. It’s all right.” Hiccup felt a little guilty for some reason. “I mean, I’ve only been here for a day. It’s just that everyone says that I look so much like her, and I wondered…”
His voice trailed off uncertainly.
But Stoick only smiled, though Hiccup thought that his eyes looked sad. “There is a strong resemblance, and it’s only natural that you would want to see her.”
Once back at Lambourn Hall, they went upstairs but then Stoick turned in the opposite direction from the family wing. At an open doorway he paused to turn on the lights, and Hiccup saw that a long and wide corridor lay before them. Several chandeliers hung at intervals from a high ceiling decorated with plasterwork scrolls. The walls were painted a pale yellow, although very little of the walls could be seen for they almost entirely covered by gilt-framed portraits.
“The portrait gallery,” Stoick said, rather unnecessarily.
He led the way to a particular portrait and nodded to it. “There’s Valka.”
The painting showed a slender woman standing by the grand staircase, one hand resting lightly on the balustrade. She wore a long-sleeved dark green gown and a pair of diamond and emerald earrings. Her reddish-brown hair was piled high on her head and she looked straight out at her audience, her lips curved in a small smile.
Hiccup studied Valka’s thin face with its high cheekbones. He thought that there was something slightly mischievous about her smile and her eyes sparkled as brightly as the emeralds.
He wasn’t prepared for the confused tangle of emotions that swamped him. He still didn’t know whether Valka was his mother. He could see some resemblance, but for Hiccup, that wasn’t enough to convince him. But he did feel a sharp pain that he would never have the chance to meet her, to speak with her. If she were here, what would she think of him? Would she recognize something in him that was familiar? Would she believe that he was her son?
Stoick must have been thinking along those same lines.
“I wish she were here,” he said in gruff tone. “I wish she could have met you.”
Abruptly, he turned away. “I realize it’s early, but I’m getting a headache. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the night.”
He left before Hiccup could respond.
Hiccup watched him go, and then turned back to look at Valka’s portrait, staring into her bright gaze.
“What do you think?” He asked softly. “It’s impossible…isn’t it?”
But Valka could never answer, and after a moment Hiccup left the portrait gallery, switching off the lights at the doorway, and made his way back to the Highlands room. He grabbed his flannel pajamas and went to take a long, hot shower.
When he re-entered his bedroom, he was rather surprised to find Toothless lying on the bed, waiting for him. Hiccup flopped down beside him and leaned his forehead to touch Toothless’.
“Hey, bud. It’s been a long day, huh? Have you been hanging out with your new pals? Well, I guess I’ve had an interesting evening.”
He told Toothless about the dinner, meeting the Jorgensons, about the speeding car almost hitting Snotlout and himself, and finally about seeing Valka’s portrait.
“I just don’t know what to think, Toothless,” he murmured. “I guess I do look like her. But it’s just a coincidence, right? There are a lot of coincidences, though. But I can’t let myself think like that. I always wanted a family of my own, so much, but it just never worked out for me, and I can’t start hoping now.”
He looked into Toothless’ pale eyes. “I can’t figure Stoick out either. I mean, I’m here so that we can get to know each other better, and a couple times he’s said something that seemed like he was trying to open up to me, but then he just hurries away and leaves.”
“But it’s my fault too. I keep getting all bristly and rude, so I guess it’s no wonder he wants to get away from me.” Hiccup sighed and then gave a short laugh. “Someone must not want me here though. It’s only been my first full day and I’ve almost gotten run over twice.”
Hiccup stopped and his smile faded. He had been joking, but suddenly it didn’t seem funny.
It didn’t seem funny at all.