Chapter Text
“Johann!” Stoick shouted merrily as he marched down the dock. He couldn’t help the grin tugging at the edge of his lips, pulling his red mustache upwards. Finally, something good was happening. There was relief in the chiefs shoulders as he galloped toward the docked merchant chip.
“Stoick!” Johan greeted, just as happily. The limber man rubbed his hands together as the chief approached. He was huddled over a bit, trying to shield himself from the early morning cold. “If it isn’t my favorite chieftain! Come to ogle the old merchandise before the rest of town?” The man asked slyly, gesturing to the gangplank of his ship.
Stoick shook his head and raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t supposed to be here for another two months. What brings you to Berk so soon? Pushed off track again?” He asked with a hearty laugh.
Johann had a bad history of ending up exactly where he wasn’t supposed to. The man attracted trouble like a magnet. Just last summer he had wound up stranded after his boat was sucked up in Breakneck Bog. And the spring before that he had gotten stuck on Outcast island after his ship came away with too many barnacles to sail properly. That was only after earlier in the fall when he had been attacked by a squad of Scauldrons and steered so far west that he nearly sailed off the edge of the world (or so he claimed).
Johann blinked at the man for a moment before laughing. “Why yes! Those Thor bleeding Scauldrons know how to keep my ship at bay. It really is quite a fascinating story, you see, I was traveling down the coast of-“
“Yes, yes, Johann. You can tell me all about it in the Great Hall later,” the chief cut the merchant off, raising his hand. Johann could go on and on for hours once he got started. “If we could do business first, please. Your ship will be swarming soon as the sun rises overhead. I won’t lie, you’ve come at a desperate time, Johann.” The chief started.
“Ah, well, it’s as my father always used to say ‘desperation is a merchants favorite barter’.” Johann rubbed his hands together. “I was expecting to be busy. I was further east and heard about the Thing- all of my best trading partners in one place- how could I pass such an opportunity up? Not to mention those nasty raiders pillaging up the coast… I was almost caught by them down south you know! It’s been harder avoiding them since, well- they’re very unpleasant people, I tell you. Soon as I saw they were on their way north, I knew I had to support my most valued customers.”
The chief nodded. “We’re glad to have you.” He said before peering around Johann, trying to get a look at the goods on the ship deck. There were many sealed barrels and crates, nothing particularly useful jumped out, though. “Tell me you have steel onboard? Preferably the sharp, well-lasting kind.”
Johann nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course! Anything for you, chief” Johann took a double glance around and leaned toward the man. “But, I actually have something that may peak your interest a little more, Stoick.”
The chief raised one eyebrow. “Oh? Well don’t be keeping secrets now, Johann. Feel free to share.”
“It’s best if I show you.” The trader nodded to himself. “Come. It’s been sitting in the brig for weeks and I’m quite eager to be rid of it.”
The chief rolled his shoulders back. “Lead the way then, Johann.”
The merchant scrambled onto the deck of his ship, glancing ever so often to ensure that Stoick was following him. The chief lumbered after the trader, scanning the ship deck for anything that he may purchase before word got out that Johann was here. There was one good thing about being chief, then: first dibs on trader wares.
Johann lead him towards the wooden hatch that led below deck, using a ring of clamoring skeleton keys to unlock the metal latch. The skinny man clamored down the dark steps, easily navigating the way on his own ship. There was faint light coming from farther down the hold, signaling that there were already lanterns lit somewhere downstairs.
The chief ducked his head as he stomped down the stairs, using a hand to ensure he didn’t bump his head on low ceilings.
Johann’s ship was full of junk. The merchant led him through a pathway, carved out of the piles upon piles of the stuff that filled his hold. It appeared to be mostly useless nicknacks to Stoick, with a few jewels and other valuables thrown in. All natural light was blocked off, the portholes covered with various cargo.
They walked the length of the ship, Stoick following behind Johann. He carefully walked the narrowed pathways Johann had carved through his wares. He had to turn sideways at some points to squeeze through without knocking anything over. It was all very precarious, and Stoick was sure he heard at least a few objects clattering to the ground.
The pathway widened at one point. The second it did, Johann side stepped out of the chiefs way, stopping in place.
Stoick also stopped, staring at the scene.
In front of him there was a large metal cage, tinted with an odd green color. It looked worn and old and completely out of place on Johann’s ship. It barely fit in the stuffed cargo hold, nearly scraping the ceiling.
What was more remarkable, however, was the being in the cage- a small Monstrous Nightmare. Judging by its size, it was clearly an adolescent of some sort. It was far too big to be a hatchling, but also too small to be considered full grown.
The dragon was a dull purple in color, with splashings of orange and yellow across its body. The beast was curled up in the corner, a muzzle on its face- made of the same strange, green metal as the rest of the cage. It peered at Stoick with reptilian eyes.
The chief was speechless for a moment. “I didn’t know you traded in dragons, Johann.”
“Traditionally, I don’t.” The trader started, hands folded behind his back. “But I know you’ve been struggling with the lack of raids these past few years. Regardless, the children of Berk need to know how to defend against the beasts, so I figured I would bring one to you.”
Stoick nodded absentmindedly, taking a few steps closer to the cage, trying to get a better look. He stopped when the beast started growling. The chief narrowed his eyes, glaring at the monster.
“Where did you get it? Nobody in the archipelago has seen dragon raids in nearly half a decade.”
“South,” The trader stated simply. “Far south. Dangerous people live there, but it is plentiful in the beasts. They fly around without a care. I had some friends help me wrangle it, for a price, of course.”
“How much?” The chiefs questioned, picking up on Johann’s insinuation.
“Well now, Stoick, it was quite a hassle to get the thing here. Not to mention I had to feed it, and it wasn’t exactly the most obedient of-“
“How much?” Stoick asked again, voice cold.
The trader pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin. “A good merchant never reveals his pelf.” He smiled.
Stoick side-eyed the man, standing up straighter. “I’ll take it. Whatever the price. Berk needs it.”
“Sold, then.” Johann grinned at him, he held out a hand for the chieftain to take.
Stoick looked down at the mans thin, wiry fingers and interlaced them with his own.
They shook.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
“How many time do I have to say it? Keep your hands away from the cage!” Astrid shouted, voice reverberating down the dock.
She was supervising the dragon transfer to the training ring- a seemingly simple task made infinitely more difficult when placed in the hands of men. There were far too many people on the docks than necessary. It seemed like every viking within a vei had heard and come to ‘volunteer’ for the task.
They were all trying to get an eyeful of one of the only sky dragons seen in the archipelago in over half a decade. Some had even come with their children, pointing out the beasts purple scales and sharp teeth. Men watched from all sides, even lining the decks on neighboring ships, observing and chatting as the beast was hauled from the bottom of Trader Johanns ship.
The dragon was secured in its cage. A harbor crane had been attached to the top of it with less care than Astrid would have liked. Some of these men were far too eager and too incompetent to be working this task.
Astrid cringed when one of the men reached the better half of his arm into the cage to loop chain around it. He was lucky the damn things was muzzled, but Astrid knew it was still dangerous, nonetheless. She yelled again in warning, but the men seemingly forgot her words. One grasped a corner of the steel cage, fingers dipping close to the dragons hide.
She could feel her face turning red, agitation falling in her gut. She was torn between gripping the end of her axe or facepalming.
There was soft laughter from behind her. Flaming hair strutted into view. The Bog Burglar heir stood beside her, head tilted.
“Did you know that many of the women in the archipelago envy you?” Camicazi asked, hand on her hip, a smirk on her lips. “Many of my Bogs can’t help but admire your position but, for the life on me, I cannot imagine why.”
Astrid narrowed her eyes, nearly growling. “With authority comes quandary, especially in situations like this.” She clicked her tongue.
“I suppose,” Camicazi responded.
Astrid ignored her, waving her hand in signal to the men on shore. Both women watched as the men dashed into position and the chains of the harbor crane began to churn, slowly lifting the cage off the ship deck.
The dragon spun around, panicked at the sudden movement. It couldn’t shoot fire with its mouth chained shut, but its limbs went wild. It thrashed around, spinning in a raid circle. Its tail whipped out between the slots of the bars.
“Watch the tail!” Astrid shouted, stepping forward so the men could hear her better.
But as always, hearing and listening were two different things and while viking men heard well enough, their listening was often subpar at best.
Astrid watched helplessly as the monstrous nightmares tail swung backwards, hitting one the viking men in the chest and sending him flying off the edge of the ship. She flinched as she heard his body hit the water.
Camicazi laughed again. “Delicacy is no mans forte.”
“Hence why I will never marry.” Astrid grumbled, eyes glued to the dragons cage as it hovered above the docks.
Camicazi raised one eyebrow at the valkyrie. “Hence why Chief Stoick put you in charge.” She corrected.
Astrid turned her head, staring at the Bog Burglar for a moment.
“You ladies look like you could use some help.”
Both of their faces immediately soured. They both withheld their glares as Snotlout approached them, chest puffed out, as if he could intimidate them with his girth alone. The man barely reached past Astrids chin, the horns on his helmet having to make up for his short stature.
“Why don’t you let the men handle this one?” He said, as if his words were remotely impressive.
The two female warriors exchanged an annoyed glance.
Astrid opened her mouth, some sort of clever, insult about to slip off her tongue. Camicazi was faster, though.
“Of course, Snotlout.” She said sweetly, an emotionless smile on her face. “I’m sure Chief Stoick will be glad to see you helping. Why don’t you take this one? Us ladies will busy ourselves with something else.”
Snotlout passed for a moment, his grin faltering. He clearly wasn’t expecting them to hand over control so easily. Neither was Astrid. Her head whipped toward the Bog. She gave Camicazi the best ‘what the hell are you thinking?’ Look she could manage. The woman ignored her, though, just nodding to Snotlout.
Camicazi took Astrids arm in her own and began walking away, dragging the valkyrie with her.
Astrid glanced back briefly to stare at Snotlout, who was suddenly shifting on his feet, looking very unsure as he watched the dragon above thrash about.
“I cant leave him in charge! The chief specifically instructed me-“
“The chiefs heir had dismissed you.” Camicazi said easily. “Whatever happens after this is no longer your problem.”
“It will be my problem when I’m tasked with cleaning up whatever mess Snotlout is about to make.” Astrid retorted, clearly unhappy.
“What are you, his General or his mother?” Camicazi asked the woman, who immediately closed her mouth. “He may not fumble this one. Perhaps what those bone-headed men need is another testosterone filled fool to boss them around.”
Astrid snorted, shaking her head. “You are a very poor influence.”
“To men? Certainly. To you?” The Bog heirs’ lips curled. “I suppose we will find out.”
Astrid rolled her eyes and glanced sideways, spotting the same man from earlier- the one who had been swatted into the ocean. He sat on a barrel, completely soaked head to toe. He had now been hauled from the water and was wrapped in a large fur as he shivered from the cold.
“I told you to watch its damned tail!” The valkyrie shouted over the crowd, grinning wickedly at the man.
He bowed sheepishly as they passed by. Camicazi threw her head back and laughed. Astrid smiled.
Still, though. Unease settled in her stomach. She looked back to watch the dragon cage swing through the air. Not a lot of movement had been made, yet.
She looked further down, analyzing the men on the deck on Johanns ship. They were all staring upwards, enamored by the dragon above them.
There was a set of movement out of the corner of her eye. The main doorway to the lower deck of Johann’s ship swung open. The merchant himself walked out, two figures close behind him.
Astrid paused for a moment, despite Camicazi’s dragging. She narrowed her eyes.
“Is there an issue?” Camicazi asked, frowning.
Astrid was still for a moment. She had ordered all of Johann’s buyers to be cleared out while they transported the Nightmare. Though, she guessed Johann was a man and thus, had equally poor listening skills. She made a mental note to scold the merchant later.
“No,” she stated. “No issue.” She turned her head back around. “What was it us ladies were going to busy ourselves with?”
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
Gustav clumsily brought his hammer down, stone clashing with hot metal as he beat out the sword in his grip. Sweat beaded on his face as he did his best to focus, centering his swings to bend the iron like Gobber had shown him. No matter what angle he seemed to hit at, though, the sword bent awkwardly. Every swing seemingly made the issue worse, causing dents in opposite directions. It definitely wasn’t an even job. The thing hadn’t even cooled down completely and Gustav already knew it was hopeless. The iron near the swords hilt was too thinned, the top too thick.
He huffed to himself and wiped his forehead, frustration rising in his chest. The metals orange glow was rapidly fading, meaning he had run out of time to make adjustments. This was as good as it was going to get.
He dunked the sword into the bucket of water adjacent to his anvil, watching as bubbles rose and boiled off, causing steam to hit his face. He winced back as the water touched his skin, uncomfortably hot. He would never understand why Gobber liked this so much. The forge was terribly warm, especially once Gustav was wearing his thick leather gloves and long apron. Its was muggy, too, and almost always filled with awful scraping noises.
Gustav sighed as he brought his sword out of the water and admired his not so handy work. He frowned, running his finger from blade to hilt. He was right- the differing thickness was an obvious problem, only exacerbated by the hardening of the metal.
He groaned and threw the sword into a pile of extra scrap metal. He jammed the heels of his hand into his eyes, scowling to himself.
“Wow! Gobber really did get a replacement Hiccup!”
Gustav startled in his seat, whipping his head around with wide eyes. He immediately flinched back as the other mans face was only inches from his own. The viking was bent over with his hands on his hips. He smiled as the two made eye contact.
“You look just like him too! Even down to the green eyes,” the man said, a twinge of amusement in his voice. “Your hair is a little dark, though.” The man, thankfully, leaned back, putting his fingers on his chin.
Gustav blinked a few times, mouth pressed in a thin line as he processed who was standing in front of him. He had flaming red hair and face paint over one eye- resembling the shape of claw marks. A long, straight scar ran down the opposite side of his face. And- ah- there was a familiar crest scrawled onto his belt buckle.
Gustav swallowed. “Chief Dagur.” He nodded respectfully, praying this man would disappear as quickly as he came.
“Not such a great smith though, I see,” The man mumbled, more to himself than Gustav. The sword Gustav had just discarded was now somehow in the chieftains hands. He was analyzing it with great interest for all of three seconds before tossing it behind himself, obviously uncaring of where it may land.
Gustav winced as it crashed into a rack of tools, sending many of them falling to the floor with a loud clash. The chief didn’t even glance to see the damage he had done, just continued staring at Gustav, an uncanny grin on his face.
“So, how do you like working with good ol’ Gobber, huh? Hiccup always enjoyed being in here. I can see why…” The man trailed off as he got distracted, bounding over to the far wall to pick up a freshly sharpened mace, giving it a few practice swings.
“Uhm, that’s not…” Gustav’s didn’t finish his sentence. That weapon belonged to a Berkian man who had dropped it off for some basic maintenance. Dagur really shouldn’t have been touching it, but Gustav was far too frightened by the chieftains unhinged attitude to really say anything.
“Put it down, Dagur. That ain’t yours.”
Gustav’s shoulders slumped in relief as the familiar, baritone voice sounded from behind him. Gobber stepped into view, using his one real hand to snatch the weapon away from Dagur and return it to its rightful place.
Gustav expected the chieftain to look offended, or angry at the blacksmiths dismissive tone. He carefully stared at the Berkseker, watching his face to see what would happen next. He was waiting for a scowl, or a pinched brown or gritted teeth.
To his surprise, Daurs eyes lit up. The man threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Gobber!” He greeted the viking joyfully, lips curling further upward.
“I would appreciate it if you stopped harassin’ my apprentice. He’s got important work to do.” The smith said levelly, staring at Dagur with a neutral face.
The Berserker chief nodded rapidly in agreement. “Of course, of course,” He said hurriedly, stepping towards Gobber and slinging one arm around the taller man. “It was you I wanted to talk to anyway!”
Gobber raised one eyebrow. “Oh?” He asked, more cautious than curious. He leaned away from the mans touch.
“Yup!” Dagur said. “I had some questions about our dearly departed counterpart.” The deranged man glanced around, both eyebrows lifting. He craned his neck towards Gobber, speaking a bit quieter. “How is Hiccup? You are still writing him?” The chief asked, lips curling.
Gustav watched as Gobber froze up a bit. The blacksmith straightened his back, plucking Daggers arm off of his shoulder. He took a long moment to reply.
“Stop talkin’ like he’s dead.” The smith said, irritated. “Yes. We write occasionally.” Gobber said with a small nod.
Gustav glanced between the two, sensing Gobbers immediate discomfort. The boy curled in on himself, slowly untying his apron so he could escape out the back door, away from whatever interrogation this was about to become.
“What is my brother up to lately?” Dagur asked, a light tinge in his voice. “Last I heard-“
“Gustav.” Gobbers voice cut him off. Gustavs head snapped to attention. “Why don’t you leave early today? Go on and head out. You can use the extra time to catch up in training.”
Gustav nodded, not saying a word. He knew a dismissal when he heard one. It felt like he was being waved off frequently lately, especially by Gobber. The blacksmith didn’t usually keep secrets, but whenever Hiccups name was brought up, he always got tight lipped.
It caused a pang of something in Gustav’s chest. Jealousy, maybe. He thought that Gobber was being more open with him, pushing past the memory of his old apprentice. Gustav was transparent with Gobber, usually spurting out all his emotions and feelings in an overbearing, jumbled mess. The blacksmith didn’t return much of his own emotion, though, outside of the comforts he gave Gustav. A small part of Gustav couldn’t help but feel insecure whenever someone brought up Hiccup’s name.
He had seen Hiccup’s shop. Gustav knew that Hiccup was a far better apprentice than he could ever hope to be. He was just praying that nobody ever say it to his face, especially Gobber. He wasn’t sure how he would react if his mentor pointed out his sub par blacksmithing skills, especially in comparison to someone so obviously brilliant.
He knew that he had large shoes to fill and was barely even toeing the line of mediocrity. He didn’t need any one to highlight that fact for him, he knew it well enough on his own.
Then again, Hiccup had secrets of his own. He must have, judging by the brief glimpses Gustav got of his journal. For whatever reason, nobody knew as much about dragons as he did, nor did anyone realize the boy was so well informed. Not even Gobber (A fact that brought Gustav some comfort- knowing that Gobber’s last apprentice was more of an ideal than a real person gave Gustav some feeling of retribution). At least Gustav wasn’t a blatant liar. He exaggerated things, yes, but he never told bold face lies. He wasn’t sure he was brave enough to.
Gustav brushed his ashy hands on his apron before removing it. He ignored whatever Dagger began rambling about, collecting his things bitterly as he exited the forge. He thought they were making progress. He though that being allowed in Hiccup’s workshop was a start, but apparently Gobber still didn’t trust him that much.
He shot a bit of a glare over his shoulder, envy still running through him. He regretted it immediately when he saw Gobber staring at the ground with downturn eyes.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
Snotlout moped down the edge of town, staring at his feet while he walked. His arms were crossed as he kicked a stray rock down the path, watching it roll helplessly across the dirt. His arms were crossed, face contorted into a snarlish pout.
The path before him was empty. Good. It meant he didn’t have to hide his visible deflation.
He had tried to step up earlier- at the docks. He did his best to relieve Hofferson of her duties and take control of the dragon transfer himself. The men weren’t really listening to her anyway, obviously in need of direction from a real leader, not a lowborn girl.
He had been surprised when Astrid walked away, leaving the task to him. She usually couldn’t stand him. She would wave him off or ignore him or downright refuse to give him an ounce of power over various situations. She always claimed that Stoick put her in charge, as if that gave her leverage to do whatever she wanted.
Snotlout was Stoick’s heir. That made him automatically outrank her- regardless of what control the valkyrie thought she had, Snotlout was the one with real faculty. Snotlout’s chiefdom was imminent, meaning Stoick’s orders were temporary. She had no right to lord anything over him. He should have been satisfied that she walked away without a fight.
He wasn’t a child- not one of her little trainees- he was the future chief of Berk. He was a fully grown man and deserved to be respected. Astrid, though, never took him seriously. She would always just lash out at him. Aggressive and bold were synonymous with her character, even back when they were kids.
She had dismissed him for years- waved him off like he was nothing. Astrid always thought she was better than him just because she could throw an axe or dodge an arrow. She acted like she was above everyone else, when in reality she came from a disgraced family and had to painstakingly crawl her way into command.
When she had refused Snotlout’s marriage proposal around a year back it wasn’t a complete shock, but was still a slap in the face. She should have been grateful to Snotlout for even extending such an offer. It was a ticket to the top for her, but she still refused.
It gave Snotlout comfort to know she had now reached the height of her prowess. She was a General and valkyrie, but that was as high as she could climb without a marriage pact.
Despite that, though, Astrid Hofferson refused to acknowledge Snotlout in any capacity. His status should have overshadowed her abilities, but it didn’t. The woman constantly gave him trouble, trying to dominate every affair the village faced.
He was genuinely surprised when she turned and left the Monstrous Nightmare to him. There was no bickering or sighing. She didn’t put up any sort of a fight, just let him take it.
For a moment, there was a flash of gratification. It quickly turned, however, as a heaviness curled in his gut. The yelling of the surrounding vikings caught up to him. The dragons screeching filled his ears. Steel clashed together and Snotlout quickly realized he had not control over the situation and- despite his best efforts- all his commands proved futile.
Ultimately, the dragon got to the kill ring. It was locked in one of the stone cells and trapped behind rusted hinges. Three men were injured and their harbor crane would need some new beams, but the task was completed. It got done, and that was all that mattered.
Or at least that’s what Snotlout tried to convince himself as he zoned out, eyes focused on the dirt. His ego was throughly bruised for the time being.
And Snotlout did not- did not- jump when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders and a shrill voice shout into his ear.
“Snotface! I heard you captured a dragon!” Dagger’s words rang loud. Snotlout’s head whipped to the side to make eye contact with the Berserker.
“Uhh,” he started, unsure of how to address the chief and still slightly taken back. He cleared his voice. “There is a dragon- But I, uhm, I didn’t exactly capture it. Chief Stoick-“
“Bought it from Johann, I know,” Dagur groaned, as if already bored. “But that doesn’t make for a very good story, does it? Exaggerate the truth! Just a little bit! It’s way more fun.”
Snotlout passed for a moment. “But isn’t that just, er, lying?” He asked, unsure.
Dagur stared at him with a blank face far longer than Snotlout was comfortable with. He then burst into laughter. “Of course not! You were in charge of moving it anyway, which is practically half the battle!” The arm around Snotlout’s neck got a little tighter. It was starting to get hard to breathe. Snotlout’s hand came up to grab at the mans forearm, preparing to pry it off. “Sometimes us heirs just have to stretch our words. People don’t really notice the difference and, who knows, it may garner you some semblance of the attention you crave.”
Dagur slapped Snotlouts back, releasing his grip on the Berkian’s throat. Snotlout took a deep, shuddering breath in. Dagur was already walking ahead of him, back turned away. Snotlout glared at the man.
“Say, I was about to head into the woods, find something to hunt,” the Berserker chief said. He looked back at Snotlout, a careening grin on his mouth. “Care to join me?”
Snotlout pressed his lips together. His fingernails dug into his palms. He wanted to refuse- to walk away. He was internally screaming at himself, knowing that following this psycho anywhere came with a high risk of injury, or even death. He didn’t feel like being gutted, or drowned or mysteriously going missing.
But he was an heir, wasn’t he? There was no way Dagur would try something like that- not unless he wanted to risk war with Berk. Their tribes had been at peace with one another for generations, surely he wouldn’t throw all of that away?
Besides- he seemed amicable to Snotlout, compared to the other heirs, at least. He was the only one who really addressed him in line with his title. Dagur’s emotions, while admittedly inseam and unpredictable, seemed genuine enough. He was the only one of the heirs to try to create some sort of real bond with Snotlout since the Thing began. The way the chieftain treated Snotlout was similar to how he used to treat Hiccup, as far as Berk’s heir could tell.
This most likely wasn’t a scheme to murder Snotlout. It was just an invitation. A chance to build rapport with another important political figure.
Snotlout swallowed and slowly nodded his head. Dagur’s eyes lit up with glee. He bounced toward Snotlout and grabbed his arm, hauling the man with him as they raced toward the woods.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
Snotlout slouched, his chin resting in his hands as he sat on a large rock next to a stream. He let out a sigh, surprisingly bored.
Dagur was waist deep in the water several feel away, sporadically lunging and dunking the rest of his body as he tried to fish with his bare hands. His armor had been discarded to the side- splayed carelessly across the bank. He was only in his pants and a soaked undershirt that clung to his tanned skin and showed off layers of thick muscles.
Snotlout flexed his own bicep weakly, a twinge of jealousy shooting through him. He grumbled to himself. Dagur was taller than he was, it was easier for the other man to build muscle.
The chieftain had been at it for over an hour and had caught absolutely nothing, yet showed no sign of slowing down. Every time he made a failed grab he would emerge with the same grin and wide eyes, clearly enjoying his repeated failures. It was as if the man never fatigued.
“I’m not sure you’re going to catch anything, Dagur,” Snotlout tested, the words coming out uneasy.
The chieftain just laughed wildly. “Ah, pessimism. That’s your problem, Snotbrow! Fish can smell that!” Dagur flicked his dripping hair from his eyes. “You’ve gotta believe you’re going to catch something.” He glanced down and dived into the water again.
Snotlout groaned and rubbed at his eyes.
The chieftain emerged a moment later. This time, his hands emerged holding a squirming silver fish, its tail slapping wildly against his wrist. He held it triumphantly over his head. “See? Faith.” Then, without hesitation, he tossed it to the shore near Snotlout, where it landed with a wet slap and flopped around wildly.
Snotlout cringed and reluctantly used one hand to pin it down by the neck, to stop it from moving. He got a grip on the creatures slimy gills and held it up. “Hah. Okay. Got one. Ready to go?”
Dagur waded toward the bank and flopped onto the grass beside him, soaking wet but grinning. He ignored Snotlouts question
and laid back on the mossy bank, arms tucked behind his head. “You’ve been looking glum lately, Snot. Trouble in paradise?”
Snotlout rolled his eyes, but the weight in his chest stirred again. “Just... Chiefing. Nothing I can’t handle, really.”
“Ah.” Dagur shut one eye and squinted up at the canopy above them. “Stoick not showing you the ropes?”
Snotlout hesitated. “…Not really. He just doesn’t say much to me. Not much of talker, I guess. I ask him questions, and he’ll dismiss me or tell me off. He only lets me observe- tells me I’m ‘not ready’ for any real responsibility.” His voice twisted at the end, bitter and flat.
Dagur scoffed. “Typical. Big men like Stoick, they only know how to lead by doing everything themselves. Never teach the next in line until it’s too late. My old man was the same.”
Snotlout turned to look at him. “But you’re chief now.”
“Exactly,” Dagur said, teeth flashing. He sat up. “Because I took it. Stepped in. Seized the reins before he drove the tribe into the dirt.”
He made eye contact with Snotlout, voice low and coaxing. “Stoick’s stuck in the past- the glory days when he was a great dragon killing chieftain. He was a strong leader when the dragons were here, but the dragons aren’t around anymore, are they? He’s stuck mourning his son and pretening like Berk’s failures aren’t his fault.”
Snotlout paused. “You think if Hiccup was here, things would be different?”
Dagurs smile careened into something wider. He shrugged. “He coddled him. Only trained him behind closed doors. Probably taught him all the tricks you’re now clawing to learn. And for what? He’s gone. You’re here. You should be leading already.”
Snotlout’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He didn’t know what to say.
Dagur leaned closer, voice almost a whisper. “Don’t wait for your moment to be handed to you. Take it. Demand it. That’s what a real chief does. That’s what I did. It’s what Hiccup would’ve done.”
He sat back with a satisfied hum, as if he hadn’t just carved something deep into Snotlout’s psyche.
Snotlout stared down at the fish in his hands. It was still twitching, fighting instinctively to live.
“Right,” he said quietly, more to himself than Dagur. “That’s what a chief does.”
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
“-now that we have an actual dragon!”
“I want to kill a nightmare!”
“Do you think Astrid will actually let us use it in training?”
“Why wouldn’t she? That’s why the chief got it from Trader Johann-“
Gustav stood a pace back from the rest of the teens. He watched them, his axe dragging across the ground, limp in his grasp. He wanted nothing more than to go home. Or better yet, back to the forge.
The other teens stood a few feet ahead of him, talking to each other with eagerness dripping from their voices. Gustav stood in the back, shoulders drooped as he stared at the ground.
His mouth felt dry. He wanted to say something- to go and talk to them, but he had no idea how to naturally integrate himself into the conversation. Words coming to mind, but he dismissed them- knowing that if he started running his mouth it would just annoy the other teens. There wasn’t any room for him to push his way in, anyway.
Maybe if he just stood back here- pretended he was zoned out, not paying any attention, it will look like he’s purposefully excluding himself. Like he could be part of the group is he wanted to, but just wasn’t feeling it.
Someone cleared her throat, effectively silencing the group of teens. Astrid stepped into Gustav’s peripheral vision. They all turned towards her attentively. Many of them shifted on their feet, eager.
She skimmed the group, left to right. Her eyes halted on Gustav standing at the end, a bit far from the others, out of place. He squirmed uncomfortably beneath her gaze, glancing at the floor nervously.
“I’m glad to see everyone is on time today,” she said sharply. Gustav could feel some of the teens turn their gaze onto him. There was a light round of snickering. He could feel his ears turn pink as he gripped his weapon tighter. He supposed Astrid still wasn’t over his accident earlier in the week, despite him fulfilling his punishment with minimal complaining. “This morning we will be doing basic combat drills. I want you all to-“
“Are we not training with the Nightmare?” Rurik interrupted, the large teens hand raised over his head in question. Solveig elbowed him in the gut, shoving him backwards, clearly agitated at his interference.
Astrids gaze sharpened. Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, leaning into one hip.
Astrid’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “No. You’re not training with the Nightmare.” She paused, letting the disappointment ripple through them. Their grumbles seemed to light a spark of irritation in the valkyrie. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not anytime soon.”
There were groans. Rurik opened his mouth again, but Astrid didn’t give him the chance to speak.
“We only have one dragon,” she snapped, stepping forward. “And none of you have proven you’re disciplined nor skilled enough to handle a living, fire-breathing creature. It has its own instincts and movements. There’s only so much the Book of Dragons can teach you. You want to fight a Nightmare? You’re going to die doing it.”
She pointed her axe to the center of the ring.
“Pairs. Now. Weapons only. No claws, no fire, and no dragons. Yet.”
Gustav’s stomach twisted. He frowned, glancing around. The others immediately scrambled to pair up, grabbing each other’s arms and forming their cliques like it was second nature. They automatically teamed up, subtle glances and nods automatically making signaling one another. Gustav took a hesitant step forward, just enough to be noticed—hoping, perhaps, someone would glance back and wave him over.
“Gustav,” Astrid called, already turning back toward the edge of the ring. She had quickly picked up on his social distancing and the lack of attention he was getting from the others. “You’re with Thora.” She declared firmly.
Gustav cringed, embarrassed that Astrid had to assign him someone to spar with. Still, he supposed it was better than floundering around and begging anyone who made eye contact with him to be his partner. Besides, Thora wouldn’t be a terrible opponent. The girl was rather meek. She had some skill with a bow, but wasn’t very advanced with any other weapons. Gustav was klutzy and skinny. The two of them were probably a rather equal match.
He dragged his feet forward, feeling the weight of every footstep as he dragged his weapon with him. He swung his axe up, letting it rest on his shoulder as he got into something resembling a combat stance. Still, though, he felt weak on his feet- awkward and unnatural.
Thora walked across from him, a sword the length of her forearm clutched in her right hand. Her stance was much better than his, well studied and easily graceful.
Gustav let a long breath out o this nostrils, swallowing nervously. He couldn’t lose here- he couldn’t. Not to gentle, healing Ylva who spent more time reading than touching grass. His fingers tapped nervously against the worn leather handle of his axe.
Gustav glanced around the ring, watching all the other teens size one another up. Rurik and Brynjar were already fighting- swords clashing in strong, brutal blows. Gustav’s eyes flickered nervously around.
In his peripherals, he caught a glimpse of a long shadow—a figure was leaning against the chained barrier of the ceiling.
He tilted his head to look further up. His breath caught.
His father. Arms crossed. Was watching.
Gustav’s fingers fumbled around the haft of his axe. He swallowed. It was fairly common for parents to show up when their children were training In the ring. He had seen Solveig’s mom several times- Rurik’s and Bynjar’s fathers had also appeared regularly. Ylva’s older brothers regularly came to cheer her on and Gothi usually came to observe all the teens, though her gaze often lingered on Thora.
Gustrav forced himself to send his father a small, sheepish smile. His gut fluttered- but not in the excited, happy way, but the oh Thor everything is about to go wrong, way.
A part of Gustav wanted his parents to show up for him- to give him some words of encouragement. He would be lying if he said he never thought about them giving him advice and clapping him on the back. Now, though? Gustav wanted nothing more than for his father to turn away now. Perhaps he was over exaggerating and it wouldn’t be so bad. His father new the extent of his sons capabilities, what would this show him that he didn’t already know? Maybe Gustav’s dad would see that he was trying. Maybe that counted for something.
Still, when Gustav looked at his father’s steely gaze, he couldn’t help but wish for him to be replaced. He imagined Gobber in the same position, offering an encouraging, toothy smile.
Gustav looked forward and breathed out shakily. Thora lunged.
Steel met steel in a jarring clash that rattled Gustav’s arms to the elbow. He stumbled back immediately, nearly tripping over his own feet as he blocked her follow-up strike too slow, too sloppily. She swept low, hooking his ankle with the flat of his axe blade, and he slammed down into the dirt with a grunt.
The world spun. His cheek stung. He blinked rapidly, disoriented.
From the ground, he turned his head just enough to catch the edge of the arena—and the figure that had been there moments before.
Gone.
Gustav’s lungs burned. Something twisted inside his chest—not anger, not yet. Just the old, familiar feeling of not enough.
Boots crunched in the dirt beside him. A second shadow fell over his face.
Astrid didn’t crouch. She didn’t offer a hand.
“Get on your feet, Gustav,” she said coldly. “Nobody gets better lying down.”
Gustav squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat, then pushed himself up, mouth tight, fists clenched.
One more time. Just one more time.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
“Bet that makes for a good view.” Eret said sarcastically, his speech slurred as he clapped the mug in his off hand.
Hiccup ignored him, staring out into the sea with his telescope. Both men were on the upper deck of the ship, which was mostly void of crew. Night had already set in, swallowing the sky in a dark abyss. The ship and its fleet glowed a low orange due to the lanterns scattered across deck, but their surroundings were pitch black.
Eret leaned his back against the ship railing, propping his elbows up on the edges. His drink swing precariously over the edge. “Beautiful evening to be on the water. Too bad you can’t see shit this time of day.” He continued to speak, taking sips of his mead and watching his chief carefully as the man lowered his eye glass.
Hiccup looked at him for long moment, face carefully neutral. Green eyes glared at the cup in Eret’s hand.
Eret tilted his head. “I would be more concerned if staring into nothing wasn’t such a routine for you. Alas, you seem to be drawn to peculiar habits.”
Hiccup looked away, tucking the scope into one of his pockets. “I’m just scanning the horizon.” He said, surprisingly gruff, clearly uninterested in the drunken mans ramblings.
Eret glanced out to the dark sea. It was near impossible to see anything more than a dozen meters out from the ship. He looked back to his chief. “Bullshit.” He slurred. “Only one whose seeing that far out it your damn night fury.” He took another long swig and glanced around. “..where is the night fury?”
“Downstairs in the holds. Some of the Changewings were getting restless.” Hiccup responded, swiveling his head. “Was there something we needed to discuss? Or is this all just the booze talking?” The chief asked slyly, resting his chin on his hand, resting his elbow next to Erets.
The man shrugged loosely. “‘Was gonna invite you to drink.” He said, “But here you are, sulking away. Never too late to turn ‘round, you know. You don’t owe those viking bastards anything.” Eret gestured forward with his mug.
Hiccup snorted. He placed a hand on the rim of Erets mug as the man tried to have another sip. The chief removed it from the mans hands and quickly raised it to his own lips. Erets eyebrows drew together as he shot Hiccup a look of indignation.
“I know.” Hiccup nodded after taking a long swig. The chief was quiet for a moment as he thumbed the handle of the drink. “I know I don’t owe them anything.” He looked out to the dark sea.
Eret stared at the brooding man. He squinted his drunken eyes. “The fuck we out here for then?!” He said in a high pitched voice, gesturing out to the sea in outrage.
Hiccup threw his head back and laughed. He gave the man his cup back and braced both hands on the railing. He looked down and shook his head. “I know I don’t owe them anything,” he repeated. There were a few moments of silence before he continued, where a frown developed on his face and his eyebrows pinched together, thoughtful.
“When I left Berk, I thought it would be easy. I knew there wasn’t much for me there. I didn’t have any friends, I barely had any family.” Hiccup stared solemnly downward. Eret lowered his cup, frowning. “I thought I could just walk away and never think about it again, but I couldn’t. It was hard to leave the people I cared about behind, even if I know they didn’t love me as much as I loved them.”
Hiccup had a sad little smile on his face. Eret’s lips pulled further down, suddenly sobering up.
“In my head, I know I don’t have to go back. They don’t deserve anything from me, I know that,” Hiccups voice cracked a bit and he took a long breath to calm himself. “But my heart says differently. I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I had the power to do something and chose not to. I stepped in with Drago and Grimmel- I should have stopped these raiders a long time ago, too.”
Eret stared at the man for a long moment before huffing. He swept his hair back and shook his head. “Taking care of the entire archipelago isn’t your responsibility.” He started.
Hiccup opened his mouth to counter, but Eret cut him off, raising his unhindered hand. “It’s not. You’re one man. A chief who has his own people to look after and put first.”
Hiccup frowned. “You think I shouldn’t be doing this? Putting everyone in danger to help Berk?”
“Now, I didn’t say that.” Eret said, scoffing a bit. “Don’t put words in my mouth. There’s not a man on this ship who wouldn’t give his life for you, you know that.”
Even in the dark, Eret watched Hiccup’s ears go a little pink. The chief grumbled a bit under his breath. Eret couldn’t help but grin.
“You are our leader,” Eret continued. “The one who dragged us all into the light, gave us freedom and a greater purpose. You represent all of us, speak for all of us. You are the embodiment of our passion and dreams. You are our happiness and sadness. Our-“
“Fury!”
Both mens head snapped to the side, the nickname quickly grasping their attention. Hiccup had already pushed off the railing and was halfway down to the lower deck by the time Eret processed what was happening. His slightly drunken feet quickly scrambled after the chief.
Hiccup had already intercepted the man calling his attention- one of the sailors on watch duty. Eret recognized him as one of the newer cabin boys. He was a younger man with mousy brown hair and rounded features. He stood tall as he addressed his chieftain, holding a spyglass in one hand.
“-closing in on the ship lights. At this pace, we’ll encroach on the raiders fleet by next dawn.”
Hiccup nodded. “Instruct a pull back of our ships- I don’t want them to know we’re on their tail. We make contact after they reach landfall, no sooner.”
The young sailor gave a structured nod and darted away, disappearing beneath deck to find his Captain.
Eret rested an elbow on Hiccup’s shoulder, looking at the man expectantly, a smirk on his face.
“What?” The chief asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Nothin’,” Eret said with a grin. “Just ready to watch this plan of yours unfold, Fury.”
Hiccup groaned. Eret raised his cup, offering up the last of his mead with a nod.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
Hiccup rummaged through one of the merchants chest. He skimmed various book titles as he did, sorting them into various piles. Most of them were copies of novels he already had, others were in different languages. Only a few actually seemed interesting to him. He stacked those ones to his right.
He rubbed at his cheek and immediately winced at the sting it caused. He knew the reddened mark would probably leave a nasty bruise. He internally cursed Snotlout and his friends, mentally trying to come up with some sort of excuse to tell Gobber when the smith inevitably asked about it.
“Find what you’re looking for, Master Hiccup?” A gentle voice said from behind him.
Hiccup didn’t turn around to answer. “Yeah, thanks, Johann.” The boy kept his eyes glued on the books in front of him. He took one out with a green, leather cover. He flipped to the first page, running his eyes over the table of contents.
“Always a curious mind, yours.” Johann commented, creeping up closer to stand over Hiccups shoulder. His arms were folded behind his back. He eyed the book in Hiccup’s hands. “Ah, that one I picked up in the far south. Quite a hassle to get my hand on really. You see, I was sailing down by the range of-“
“Oy! Merchant!” A masculine voice with a heavy accent said. Hiccup and Johann turned their attention in tandem to a small cluster of men approaching them.
Hiccup pressed his lips together. He recognized these men. They had docked at Berk’s ports a few days ago and had bought various supplies from their island. Grain, iron, fish- the sort of things any good expedition required. They claimed they were just there to recharge and restock, which seemed to run true for the most part.
They all wore dark leathers and had heavy weapons at their side. It made Hiccup and many other villagers uneasy to be around them. They hadn’t shown any outward aggression, besides the usual boisterous and obnoxious activities of weary sea-legged men.
Hiccup knew the man at the front of the pack- Halfdan- was his name. Or so he had heard the others call him.
He had scraggly brown hair that was long and unkempt. His beard was unbraided and curled at the edges. The man had dropped by the forge earlier in the week and demanded to have a few swords and axes polished, throwing gold coins and insults around freely. Gobber had done his best to appease the gruff man and pushed the work on Hiccup, who completed it as quickly as possible so he wouldn’t have to deal with the lingering strangers.
Hiccup knew from their general attitude and demeanor that they weren’t about to go easy on Johann. Halfdan had gotten right into Gobber’s face with little worry for his tongue, and Gobber was one of the more intimidating vikings- with the missing limbs and all.
Johann was a soft man and could be a bit of a push over at times. Hiccup wouldn’t go so far as to call him a coward, he had seen glimpses of a steel spine before- a straightening of the shoulders or a quick tongue- but it was gone as quickly as it was appeared.
Johann chose to keep his head down and stay out of trouble. It was admirable, in a way. It wasn’t how vikings did things, but Hiccup could see how picking fights could affect the merchants image. He had wares to sell, and Hiccup assumed he wasn’t eager to lose his money or his teeth for talking back to the wrong person.
Besides, Johann was quick if nothing else. He was personable and could talk until his head fell off. It was annoying at times, but served him well to smother hot tempers.
“Ah, gentlemen! I see you’ve made your way to my keep. What valuables can I aid you in searching for, today?” Johann said in his usual, cheerful, business voice.
“Lookin’ for extra hands.” The man said deeply, voice a low grumble. He almost sounded annoyed.
Johanne’s voice rasied in pitch. “Well, Master…” Johann waited for the other man to finish his sentence. He didn’t.
Hiccup spoke up instead. “Halfdan.” He said to Johann.
The merchant gave him a quick smile. “Master Halfdan,” he completed the name. “I unfortunately don’t have any crew to spare, but I am close friends with the warden of this island. Chief Stoick is a very reasonable man. I can pass along a message if you would like to ask for-“
“What ‘bout him?” Halfdan asked. Johann froze.
It took Hiccup several long moments to realize that the man was staring straight at him.
His eyes went a bit wide, his hands went rigid, clutching the book in his grasp a bit tighter.
Johann let out a little, desperate sort of laugh. “Master Hiccup is not one of my deck hands.” The merchant said, a bit squeakily.
Halfdan ignored him. “You’re the blacksmiths boy.” He said, more telling than asking.
Hiccup stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to respond. He opened his mouth but was cut off.
“Aye, that’s my apprentice.”
Hiccup nearly melted in relief as he heard the familiar tone of Gobber’s voice, followed by the step, clunk of his prosthetic leg. Hiccup thought Johann would relax, too, but the man remained stiff.
“Why don’t you run along and find your own help? I need this one in the forge.” Gobber used his hook to scoop up the back of Hiccup’s tunic, bringing him to his feet from his previous kneeling position on the floor. Hiccup wrung his hands around the book he still held.
Halfdan glowered at the blacksmith, lip curling up a bit. He looked as if he was about to respond, but Gobber didn’t seem eager to hear what he had to say. He shoved Hiccup in front of him, forcing him to start walking.
He trailed his apprentice all the way back until they reached his hall.
—∙∘ 𓍼ོ ∘∙—
Gustav laid in the top bunk of his bed, internally screaming.
A shoddy old curtain was pulled across the ceiling, giving him some semblance of privacy, but he could still hear the squealing of his siblings and the patter of their feet. His parents exasperated shouts reverberated throughout the house. The events of the day zoomed through his mind, combining with the excess sound to give him a headache.
He had a small candle in the bed with him, propped up in its metal candle holder. He knew he wasn’t supposed to have it in the bunks. His Mom didn’t like him having flammable material near open fire, but she was too distracted with his siblings right now to notice and Gustav didn’t particularly care. He just wanted some peace.
He closed his eyes, sighing to himself. He rubbed his hands down his face. He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mistakes he had made recently- the moments replaying themselves in his mind over and over. Each one made him want to curl in on himself and hide away forever.
He couldn’t stop thinking about his fathers clenched fists and angry scowls- or the other teens snide remarks - or his constant failures to complete the most basic of tasks as an apprentice (He was sure Gobber was going to run out of patience for him soon. The man was a viking, not a saint and Gustav knew from experience that adults only tolerated so much failure). He had been trying, really trying his best recently. Despite his best efforts, though, he couldn’t seem to do anything right. Dread pooled in his stomach as he bit his lip, covering his eyes with his hands.
He took long deep breaths, in and out. The distant screaming did not help him calm down. It did quite the opposite, in fact.
Gustav felt his chest tighten, frustration curling in his gut. He threw his head forward, then back down on his pillow. He flinched and jolted when the back of his head hit cushioned hardness.
The boy sat up, craning his neck down as to not hit his head on the ceiling. He reached a hand under his pillow and pulled out the notebook he had stolen from the forge. He had kind of forgot it was there. He stared at it for several moments, heavily debating whether or not to open it.
Part of him wanted to pretend like he didn’t take anything. If he just put it back in the forge tomorrow it would be like nothing happened. Gobber would never find out he stole from his sacred room and Gustav would be able to breeze by, undetected.
The other part of him was beyond curious. There was a little voice the back of his head that wanted him to open it- to unveil whatever dark secrets were inside. It was like a constant itch in his brain.
Gustav was young when Hiccup Haddock left Berk. He didn’t know much about the boy, and nobody ever talked about him, especially around the chief.
The whole situation surrounding his leaving was mystifying to most. Nobody knows where he ended up or what he was doing now. Gobber seemed to be the only person who really cared that much, and even he didn’t share anything substantial with Gustav.
Hiccup was a good smith apprentice. Gobber clearly had some sort of regard for him, meaning he must have done at least something right.
Besides, there were dragons in this book. Gustav had seen it earlier on accident. This was practically studying- almost like training, in a sense. It would help him in the ring, if nothing else.
Gustav cracked open the spine, flipping through the first few pages of incoherently scribble runes and unidentifiable sketches.
He made it about twenty pages in when a certain title caught his eye.
The Monstrous Nightmare.
Gustav grabbed the candle next to him, raising it to the page, then began to read.