Death of an Ordinary Man chapter two

Toothless had a sneezing fit. Berk’s tribal archives were little-used, and the disturbed dust had Hiccup’s dragon sneezing. Hiccup’s coughing has ceased, and the mug of water helped. Berk’s crisp air was a boon.

Hiccup had discovered little about Stilton Jorgenson: date of birth, the names of his parents and siblings, wife and children. He might have siblings remaining, but the only name of those that rang a bell was Floplout Jorgenson. Floplout was dead for decades, according to the records.

How was he supposed to give a eulogy for someone who made no mark? His dad said Stilton was ordinary, but this was ridiculous. He had no awards or accolades to his name, when Berk gave awards annually to its people. The greatest number of dragons slain, the best preserved dragon hide, the largest Nadder head.

There was nothing.

“Well, that was a waste of time, huh, Bud? I can ask his kids about him, but he’s dying and I don’t want to bother them. Besides, I think they would tell me what a good dad he was, and I want to say something else. I mean, Dad wants my best effort.”

Toothless cocked his head. “Umm.”

“Yeah, it’s a problem. I don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

Toothless lifted one paw and struck the ground with it. Thump, thump, thump, thump, as if he was hammering. “You think I should ask Gobber? He pretty much knows everyone, he’s got to have something to tell me. Thanks, Toothless.” Toothless nudged Hiccup’s side.

You’re welcome.

§ § §


Gobber’s morning began with Stoick’s arrival at the forge. Hiccup wasn’t going to spend more than an hour in the forge. He had to deliver a eulogy and was not going to ditch the research. No additional flying time with Toothless and no dragon academy work at all. Gobber responded with a “Righto,” and made Stoick an offer he refused to turn down. The smithy had been slow, and Gobber was happy to serve his Chief.

Now he heard conversation followed by a “ru.” The lads were here.

“Hallo, you two. Toothless, can you heat up the fire a little?” Toothless emerged from the back room, Hiccup behind him. He fired a precision blast, and Gobber ran his hook over the Night Fury’s scales. “What brings you to the smithy?”

“Well, I don’t want to fall behind in the work. It backs up, and I’m supposed to be here. That’s what an apprenticeship means, right?” Hiccup rubbed his neck, uncomfortable.

“This forge isn’t any busier than it’s been yesterday or the day before. You were grumbling about it yesterday. Are you hiding from your father?”

“No, no I’m not.” Toothless nudged him forward, opened and closed his mouth, then hammered on the floor.”

“Hiccup, what do you want to talk to me about? Is it the funeral?”

“Oh, you know about that, huh? Dad said it’s a dying man’s last wish, so I can’t turn it down. I have to give it my best effort. That’s fine, it is, I’m not going to shirk, but…” Hiccup slumped, “I can’t find any information on Stilton Jorgenson. How am I giving a speech on him if I can’t learn who he was?”

“Aye, that’s a problem. Have you learned anything from your father?”

“Dad said he was ordinary, a hard worker who minded his own business. He didn’t tell me the man was invisible. There’s nothing in the archive about him beyond when he was born and who his family was.”

Gobber listened to his lad rant. Hiccup had complained at him before, but rarely like this. The hand waving and drama was genuine.

“Hiccup. Calm down, lad, and we’ll see what we can do. So, he’s an elder—how old?”

“Grandpapa’s age, but they weren’t close friends; Stilton won’t be in his journals. Dad helped me, but most of what he said was no. Stilton never acted boldly in battle or won a contest. Dad didn’t recall him winning any awards. He’d come to Snoggletog celebrations and leave after a bit, so I can’t say he always drank mead or he was a good dancer, because I don’t know and can’t think of a way to find out. “

“Hmm. Have you asked his family?”

“No. He’s dying now and I won’t bother them while he’s still alive. Once he’s gone, I need to have the eulogy ready.”

Gobber hobbled to the wall and d swapped his hook prosthetic for the mug. “Did you speak with his clanhead?” It was the next reliable source after Stilton’s family, or should be.

“Crablout Jorgenson, the man who hates me? I can’t see him helping, when he won’t even call me by my first name.”

“Talk to Spitelout then. He ought to know something.”

“Uncle Spite? I actually think that’ll work. Thanks, Gobber.”




“Man, this is a hassle. I’m happy about the growth spurt, but the leg doesn’t fit any more. At least working here makes it easier to build another peg.”

Toothless took a deep breath, before coughing. The coal dust never left the smithy, and the acrid flavor lingered on the dragon’s tongue.

The smithy was hot. Typically, it was broiling, but orders had been low all week.

Hiccup fiddled with his prosthetic, sketching ideas for the replacement prosthetic. This, at least, he could do something about.

“...got my wife with the ugly face, I’m a Viking through and through.”

“Gobber has a terrible voice, Bud. If it weren’t for his hammering drowning it out, the tribe would have shipped him off years ago.”

“Ah, Toothless likes my singing, don’t you?” Toothless nodded, and Gobber scratched the Night Fury’s forehead. Of course. Hiccup’s dragon wasn’t going to agree with him when scratches were on the line. “He appreciates my talent, don’t ya?” Gobber straightened up. I didn’t expect to see you here; there’s no orders, unless you have something planned,” Gobber said, eyeing Hiccup’s drawings.

“I have to talk to you. Do you know anything about a man named Stilton Jorgenson? He’s one of the elders.”

“Can’t say the name rings a bell, and I’m familiar with most of the tribe. What’s your business with him?” Gobber lifted a rag and began polishing his hook.

“He’s on his deathbed, and wants me to speak for him at the funeral, like he didn’t have a hundred better choices. So, I have to write a speech about a total stranger and deliver it to a bunch of grieving people. I’ve never done this before and Dad wants my best effort.” Hiccup fidgeted with his prosthetic. “I have to figure out who he was, and there’s no information on him anywhere. But it’s not like there’s any pressure.”

“Have you talked with your father? He’s kept up with this tribe since his childhood. He must have something to share.” Gobber poured a mug of water and passed it to Hiccup.

“I never asked. Dad told me everything Stilton never did. He never won a Thawfest medal, never traveled far from Berk, and never held any position of authority. He wasn’t great at or terrible at anything. I’ve asked all over this plaza, and most folk have no idea who he is.” Hiccup drank, easing his dry throat.

“Did your father tell you anything helpful?”

“Stilton came to eat at Mead Hall a few times a year, and on special occasions like Snoggletog or the Chief’s birthday. He stayed for a little while, then went home. Other than that, Dad couldn’t help me.” Stoick’s amazement at how little he could share about Stilton had surprised them both. “He says he knows everything that happens on Berk. It’s like Stilton never did anything to catch Dad’s attention.”

“Did you check Berk’s archives? Every member of this tribe from the beginning is in there.”

“I tried. I found a list of names—his parents, siblings, wife, and children—and nothing else. He’s a widower, and the last of his siblings, too.” Hiccup’s spent forty minutes looking at his sisters and brother, and came up empty.

“Did you talk to his children?” Gobber drummed his fingers on the anvil. “No, you’re better off leaving them alone.”

Hiccup nodded. “There’s no way ‘let me drag you away from your dying father to pump you for information’ is a good choice.”

“Hold on. Have you gone to his clan and asked? They ought to know something.”

“Crablout Jorgenson has always looked down at me, and now he despises me, because Toothless and I defeated that monster last year. If he did answer my questions, I can’t trust him to be truthful.”

“Well, then, talk to Spitelout. He’s the Jorgenson clanheir and your uncle. He won’t chase you off.”

“Yeah. Hiccup sat up and reattached his prosthetic. “I actually think that”ll work. Thanks, Gobber. Let’s go, bud.” Toothless helped Hiccup to stand.

“Good luck, lad.” Gobber picked up a rag and started polishing his hook. “Well, I’ve got my club and I’ve got my rope, and I smell like a yak ‘cause I don’t use soap…”

Hiccup and Toothless fled the smithy. It was definitely time to leave, but Hiccup finally had somewhere to be.