'It wasn't supposed to be like this...' Hiccup thought as he stood atop a cliff.
He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the wind as it blew cold and frigid—a somewhat familiar whisper of winter just days away. But with how his heart had been aching recently, the salty wind instead became a welcome feeling, like ice on a burn.
Releasing a deep breath, he felt his shoulders slump—weak, relaxed. His eyes turned to his back, where his reliable shield hung. At his hips, a glinting sword and dagger were sheathed, and now his arms were wrapped in a pair of Gronckle steel-reinforced gloves, changed from leather to dragon hide.
The red scales shone through the silver steel. Steel now studded around the knuckles for more... punching power.
"*pft... hahaha..."
Hiccup snickered and laughed softly, knowing full well it was more of a fashion choice than utility. And as he looked down his pants. He saw them tucked within boots that donned the same style and materials as his gloves.
A sign of his courage, a token of his kill and most of all, a gift from his father.
"Come son! Come!" his father urged as he sat by the hearth of heir home.
And just as he reached him, Stoick smiled, nodding as looked to him, and holding his cheek with gentle care. He had seen his father laugh, smile, but never had he seen him shed tears while smiling.
Stoick the Vast, looked to him with pride and love. A feeling palpable to any child who felt their father's hand as it brushed softly through their hair.
"Here." Stoick then showed him a chest by his throne and from within, he gifted him a pair of gloves and boots.
"It was father's." Stoick whispers as Hiccup beheld them. "Much like him, his first kill was a Monstrous Nightmare too. Believe me I tried but... Hahaha, Gobber needed help from a nadded that tried to skewer him. Stupid old bastard costed me my kill. Ended up killing a Nadder instead!"
His tale and joy spilled through his charisma, making Hiccup himself laugh and smile at the memory.
"Alas... I thought that it should help ya' you know. That their spirits would guide ya'! Keep ya safe! And uhh... you know, keep 'em close."
"Dad... I didn't give the killing blow."
"I ain't giving you this because of a kill son." Stoick replies softly as he knelt before Hiccup. "I am giving you this... because you earned it. Defending our people. And just as my father passed this on to me, you shall pass it on to your son and your sons after them. A token of courage in the defense of those we cherish. Such is why... I gave ya' this."
The fresh memory will be forever engraved into him. That much Hiccup knew. And through his father's words Hiccup felt renewed strength fill him. To feel like he was part of something bigger. Something greater, and just as old as important as history.
It was... surreal. And in a moment of childishness, he liked how it looked good and embraced what came with it.
Yet... a memory resurfaced. Of brighter days. Of sunny days... and a green eyed boy who would chase a blue eyed girl. Laughing, smiling, and-
He shook his head. Swiping the memory aside back into the fog among his forgotten ones. The past was lost to him, and no matter how much his heart desires it, there was no point in him living by the standards of the past.
He huffed in anger, more towards himself for such blatant weakness. He clenched his fist, and instead immersed himself of the ongoings of the past three months.
Months that had been nothing short of stressful. Even after the funeral and the feast, the lingering danger did not subside. Berk remained on guard, the houses were the least of he priorities when fortification of the Hall, the Village and the islands had to be prioritize, all in proper order.
Merely a week into the moon, they spotted a ship just at the horizon. And with how it continued to circle the island, it had all but confirmed that it was a scouting ship. But no attacks, and so they fixed the Great Hall.
Three weeks passed, and news poured in from nearby settlements, villages, and tribes like the Berserkers, Bog-Burglars, and Uglythugs about how the conflict continued to intensify.
Help was requested but all were denied as there were none to send. And with all hands on deck, they fixed the village.
And for the rest of the three months, Berk found some normalcy in rebuilding and preparations, all helped as they fortified the island.
And now... the dragons were returning.
*Roaaarr!!!
The sound reached his ears, and he looked up to see them—dragons flying past Berk, each carrying an animal in their talons.
The village stirred, and clamour filled the air. But none moved, none bothered to attack, not when they were so far out of reach.
Wingbeats flooded the air. The wind picked up and seemed to crack against their membranes. Roars, screeches and even plums of smoke mixed with every passing beast. Some of the Dragons turned and looked—some even flew close, but none truly landed.
No fires, no claws... nothing.
All of Berk watched as the parade flew and vanished beyond the horizon. All headed in but one direction.
"Helheim's Gate." he mutters.
They had begun raiding once more and all knew that their clash was inevitable.
He looked to his hands, fist curled tight with the stretching of leather and the cracking of bones heard as he gripped his hand into a fist.
Such tiny hands, yet with so much expectations. So little time and so much to do.
With the danger now looming beyond the horizon, Hiccup felt a new surge of determination. He knew that physical growth could not wait—nor can he slack off when there were more pressing things to be done in Berk's defense.
So he ran.
—.—.—.—.—
Arriving at the forge, he nodded at the still-hammering smith who gave a nod in return and nothing more. Moving as if the dragons were never there. An obvious display of knowledge gained only through experience and that, Hiccup could take confidence in.
"You talked to my dad yet, Gobber?" Hiccup asked.
"Aye," the soot-covered smith answered, not losing rhythm with his hammer hand. "He ain't sure lad. Never done it before after all. He did say It could work."
"Could?"
"Well, the man himself didn't really give me an answer. Just kept running off. Would ya' believe that? Insensitive old bear didn't even thank me for the idea I pitched!"
"Uhh... Gobber. It was my idea."
"I know—and I pitched it!"
Hiccup simply smiled in defeat. "Well... you ain't wrong."
"I know," the man replied, nodding knowingly.
"So tell me, oh-so-gracious one. What do you think?"
"Bah... you think I would've told him if I wasn't sure, eh?"
"Makes sense," Hiccup deadpanned, shaking his head with a smile.
"Hehehehe."
Hiccup walked to his personal room deeper in, under the boastful laugh of his mentor.
As his hands tidied up the place, his mind wandered and remembered how he was reminded how dragons hated eels. A fact brought back to his attention when Yrsa approached him. Telling him how the Gronckle panicked after she brought it a basket of fish. Its reaction was important, and with a small display in front of the Chief, Hiccup had successfully put forward an idea. He had wanted to surround the animal pens with eels. Even a small swamp of eels among the pigs would help.
But his father immediately disagreed. And so after some thoughts on the matter, Hiccup approached Gobber to pitch forward a new idea.
Animals couldn't be covered in eel. Berk was old enough to know that allowing stress to build up in animals was as dangerous as a contagious disease. Something he had overlooked.
But their scent—it could be of use. 'Could' being the key word.
They planned to smear eel scent on the fences or walls in the barn. And if that wasn't enough, freshly caught eels tied on ropes would be used to enclose animals—like a layer of nets along the windows and any possible entrances to the barns.
And while it wasn't perfect, it was only meant to slow them down in the first place. To buy Berk time as it actual works in a real deterrent: a device that could shoot bolas at both great speed and distance with accuracy.
A weapon that could take down a Night Fury.
Hiccup pulled a large scroll from a barrel and laid it on his table, showing a drawn blueprint of said device—something he knew would take some time to get right, let alone to finish.
"Back to work."
—.—.—.—.—
Astrid gritted her teeth as her feet thudded heavily against the rocky pathway with every step, her sneer following every person they passed.
And while some took it with either dismissal or a good natured smile, there were those who sneered back at the girl.
Astrid couldn't help but curse, remembering when one lifted a hand as if to take a swing at her, making her stumble back in fear.
She couldn't help but tear up and cry at the memory, biting her lip to stop the sob from leaving her lips. But with all her effort, she couldn't stop her whimpers—not when she felt her world suddenly fall apart.
Her days used to begin chasing the light before sunrise. She would go downstairs to the welcoming smile of her mother and the approving nod of her father. Help around their home, making it stronger, cleaner, and better. Have her midday meal among her tribesmen at the Great Hall. And in the afternoon, she would train with her uncle's sword, sometimes even with her father's axe. She'd spend the rest of the day listening to the soft voice of her mother, kept warm in the hearth of their home, wrapped in her embrace and the tales of her father and uncle.
And then... the Night of the Frozen Warriors came.
And her uncle fell from grace.
All seemed fine within their home. She didn't mind the scoffs, the veiled insults, and the constant dismissals towards her uncle—not when he had vowed to clear his name someday.
And when trouble came, she thought this would be the day. And yet... it was 'his' name they all whispered.
She didn't believe it. Not at first. Because if there was anyone who would know her friend, it would be her. And yet... he had changed...
All the doubt she harbored, all anger, all her resentment for the disgrace her uncle had fallen into, the disgrace upon her family—shimmered into confusion.
After all, how could she doubt what she herself had seen?
And so she found no one to blame... none but the unfairness of it all.
And with each passing day, her heart aches even more. Waking up to the same divide in her family, growing larger with every morning. Her father and uncle no longer spoke. The same uncle who had taught her how to fight had now been forced out of their home.
Still, uncertainty weighed in on her. She could never bring herself to fault her family... nor could she fault him.
So she embraced her ignorance and chose to held on to her family's faith in her. At their belief that she could restore their honor. And so, with that... she was given away.
Astrid sighed, her face impassive and the tears drying on her cheeks.
She was a Shield Maiden now—an honor reserved for the truly skilled. And while she wasn't ignorant as to why her, she was still determined to be the best there was.
But first... the Dragon Pit.
Arriving at the edge of the enclosure, she walked along the edge, looking down at the arena. From there, she watched as her uncle... scrubbed a dragon.
Her fist clenched at the sight of the punishment her charge had given her uncle. The highest humiliation to this day was to have him debase himself at the very thing he was meant to kill.
And with that wide smile, wagging tail, and lolled-out tongue... the dragon was clearly enjoying it.
"Come on, Flynn! If I wanted a woman's hands scrubbing the lass, I woulda done it meself!" shouted Yrsa as she strolled to the pit holding a large basket full of fish.
"You said not to hurt it!" her uncle responded.
"'Not to hit her,' Flynn. That's what I said. Now put some more muscle into it!" The woman then turned to the dragon, standing right in front of its face as she washed the creature's eyes and nose with a cloth. "Who's a good girl? You're a good girl, aren't you!"
The Gronckle, for all the stories she had heard and seen, wagged its tail like a puppy, smiling toothily at the splash of water.
Astrid couldn't believe what she was seeing. A Viking woman... mothering the creature like it was a pet? That was just... wrong!
"Where is Fishlegs? I told that boy to be back here as soon as he could!" Yrsa complains.
"He did. Placed a basket in the cage. Then ran off to the forge. Said he saw Hiccup walk in."
"Makes sense..." Yrsa sighed. "That boy admires the lad after all... a little too much recently, I admit." Yrsa looked around until her eyes landed on Astrid. "Astrid! Would you mind getting me boy—Fishlegs?"
Astrid just nodded and ran off, not wanting to stay a second longer.