Author's Note: This little ditty was inspired by a "Big Hero 6" Fanfiction one-shot that I can't quite recall, but it was very good. To get a hype, I tried to write something similar. Hehe. So please refrain from suing me.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own the rights to "How To Train Your Dragon" franchise. If I did, Valka would be pushing up daisies. *chuckles* I hate her.
...
"To ensure our safety, I strongly suggest that everyone quiets his or her voice and subdues all movement," the Roman prefect calmly advised with a smile. He waited for quiet and placed a gold-banded palm upon a large wooden door.
Behind him stood five excited young Spartans, ranging from ages twelve to twenty-five and situation from scholar to soldier. They had seldom things in common: all currently his students, all taught the beauty of Europe and war, and were equally excited to discover what wondrous thing lay behind the door. It was something new every week in the Educationem Locus.
"Did yah find a new species?" The tallest one asked enthusiastically. He'd always been the excitable type, nearly chewing off his fingernails in any important situation, and this was no exception.
The Romans had a habit, or interest, shall we say, in traveling far into the Archipelago and returning with treasures by which none of them had ever seen. The only problems we're the pesky Vikings, who unfortunately had stubbornness issues and territorial pride. They were the reason it was such a trivial task to retrieve such artifacts from Scandinavia. They were the obstacle.
In Rome, the Vikings were deeply frowned upon and viewed as nothing but savage, barbaric animals that happened to inhabit the islands. With their eye-catching horns, dragon-skin armor, and gargantuan physique, it was difficult not to compare them to the demons that they were. Pillaging villages, murdering innocent lives for their own sadistic pleasures... If a Viking should ever anchor upon Roman shores without consent, it would be put to death immediately. After all, the only good Viking was a dead Viking.
"You could say that." The prefect puffed out his chest, his gold, Spartan armor glistening in reciprocate to the torched hallway. "Gather 'round, my young soldiers and knowledge-seekers," he instructed, patiently waiting for their chatter to die down. When everyone was silent, he clasped his banded hands together and grinned.
"You are all a very lucky bunch today," he declared. "Our sailors and merchants, as you know, have managed to sail past the outer isles with no attacks, and have captured a very interesting specimen. A Viking. And you," he happily enunciated, "are the first to have a look-see."
The youngest Spartan raised his eyebrows in slight discouragement. "Just a Viking?" He inquired in disappointment. "Forgive me for my lack of decorum, but how exactly is that an interesting specimen?" The other young Spartans nodded in disappointment at the downer. Of course, there was nothing more honorable than caging one of the savages, but for the sake of their education, they'd been expecting something a little more potent. Vikings, to most, were all the same.
The prefect grinned. "Not just any Viking, but an alpha Viking."
At this, the children gasped and stared at each other. This was different. "An alpha?" The strongest soldier trainee inquired, his thick eyebrows furrowed together. "How did ja manage to capture such a beast?"
"Oh, it wasn't easy," the prefect informed them proudly. "Hairy Hooligans are especially stubborn, territorial, and very difficult to catch."
The soldier paled and glared at the door, his body tensing. "It's from the Berkian tribe?"
"Yes. Two, to be precise. They belong to the a small tribe, a few degrees north. Their isle, Berk, from what I've heard, is even harder to anchor at, due to all the sea stacks and such. So capturing them was a difficult process, but now that we have them, we can study them further. With that being said..." he pushed open the door, "Enter."
The young Romans scrambled in, the tallest shoving past to get a glimpse of what was displayed for all to see.
It was a small room and every Spartan just barely managed to squeeze in. In said room sat a large cage with hulking metal bars that no amount of chiseling could break through. The youngest Roman leaned in to get a closer look amongst his taller counterparts.
Sitting hunched in the dark corner was a huge, burly Viking with a magnificent scarlet, braided beard. Magnificent horns stuck out from either side of his head, gave him a striking appearance, and his emerald eyes flickered upward to meet the teenagers' gaping ones.
"Whoa," the tallest boy breathed, placing a small hand on the rusty bar of the cage. "That's the Viking? He's a lot bigger than I thought he'd be."
"We managed to capture this one a few days ago," the prefect smiled, gesturing toward the gargantuan being that hunched over. "The leader of his population."
"Wow! The leader? You mean to tell me that he's the King of the Vikings?" The youngest boy asked in disbelief, keeping a safe distance from the bars. The eldest rolled his eyes.
The prefect laughed. "No, he isn't a King. The Vikings have no king, remember? He's a Chief. A chief that only has the dictatorship over one tribe. There are many, many other tribes. The Berserkers, Bob-Burglars, the Meatheads, the Peaceables, the Visithugs, Frenetics, the Outcasts-"
"How come he's not moving?" The smallest girl interrupted in confusion, her large chocolate irises gazing upon the creature within the cage in an almost frightful manner. "Most would be trying to escape, right?"
The youngest boy snorted. "It's not like he's going anywhere anyways... Heh, r-right?"
The medium-sized Spartan let out a hearty laugh. "Vikings are smarter than you think," he declared with a smile. "I believe that with our subject here, we should collect much research on the Vikings, and what their niche-"
"Wait! Where's the other one?" The tallest boy cried, back away from the cage. The Viking within only blinked. "You said you captured two, right? There's only one in there!"
The Roman prefect laughed once more and tilted his head toward the hunched Viking. "Have a closer look, my boy."
The young Spartan obeyed and along with his friends, peered closer into the cage. The creature glared at them and huffed, drawing his large knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around something. They all stepped closer to the bars but saw nothing until the lump in the Viking's lap shifted and an auburn head with big eyes popped up to peek over the larger one's arm. Everyone stilled. He had a shockingly small stature. Auburn bangs curtained his pale, freckled face, which brought out the sharp emerald of his eyes. He was clad in a green tunic, tan belt, and a furry brown vest was draped over his scrawny shoulders. The only thing about the boy's physique that would fit an intimidating category were his horns. Large, handsome ones that were much like his father's, poking out beneath his hair just above his ears and curving upward to create an almost demon-like appearance. They almost seemed too big in proportion to the rest of his lithe little form.
The eldest boy smirked a little at the sight of them, picturing how nice they would look as a collector's item.
The eldest girl sucked in a breath and felt something twinge in her chest. "It's... It's just so young." The young Viking locked eyes with her before moving to the next, observing them nervously yet curiously. "He doesn't look anything like the..." She trailed off.
"Ikke flytte en muskel!"
The older Viking barked something in the language that only his kind could understand, and the young male's head quickly disappeared behind his thick arms. His deep, guttural voice caused everyone in the room to jump.
"Beklager," they could hear the boy mumble in a surprisingly nasally humane voice, and he tucked his head out of sight. "Jeg tror ikke de kommer til å skade meg."
"Sh!"
The tallest boy was in awe. "Is that it's...child?"
The prefect nodded. "Yes, indeed. That's what made the capture far easier." He laughed and shook his head. "All we needed to do was lure the Chief in with his son, and voilà! We have ourselves subjects. But they are going to be difficult to tame."
"Tame? He looks pretty subdued already," the tallest Spartan pointed out, gesturing toward the father.
The prefect chuckled. "Think again." He took his sheath and poked it through the cage bars, effectively nudging the large Viking, who did nothing more than twitch irritably and tighten his grip around the child. "And now..."
The sheath went back in, this time aiming for the small, skinny bundle in the Viking's lap. It never even brushed against the child's skin, for the father moved with surprising speed. And with his anger and strength, he broke the sheath into four little pieces before the group of Romans could even blink.
"Tror ikke du tør røre min sønn!" The Viking roared, causing the auburn-haired male in his lap to bury his face into his beard.
"Don't you dare touch my son!"
"Skitten romerne!" His booming, gruff voice echoed harshly off the walls. The young Spartans all yelped and jumped backwards, while the prefect hardly even flinched.
"Filthy Romans!"
"Oh, I guess I was wrong," the tallest Spartan mumbled, backing away from the cage. "Kinda protective..."
"That's an understatement," the prefect sighed. "He's a tricky subject. We need to gain the trust of the elder," he instructed. "If we can do that, he will let us study the young one."
The eldest girl gently placed her callused hand on the metal bar and whispered, "Hello," with a gentle smile adorning her face. She sympathized the boy in the cage.
The Vikings, Chief Stoick and his son and heir, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, stayed as stationary as they could, though, the younger Viking was curious about the other teens.
"Beasts," his father cursed angrily. He never took kindly to gawkers, and being trapped in a cage like some sort of show animal was no exception. "And to think that the dragons were pests; these Romans have taken the yak!"
The eldest girl looked about twenty to Hiccup. She had leaned forward and whispered something that he couldn't pick up on because of her low volume. But since his grandfather, Old Wrinkly had taught him a bit of Latin, he could catch a few words here and there.
"Nolite timere," she spoke soothingly, and Hiccup twitched. She didn't...sound like a monster. "Nos non laedere."
"Don't be afraid. We are not going to hurt you."
"Don't be too sure about that," the eldest boy snorted.
Hiccup peeked out over his father's arm and spoke before he could do anything about it. "Tibi gratias agimus quod in complexionem inferamus."
"Thank you, for summing that up."
The prefect gasped and gripped the bars of the cage, causing everyone to tense. "He can speak Latin?"
The father's eyes widened and he gave the boy a rough shake, whispering to him furiously. "Snakker ikke et ord!"
"Don't speak another word!"
"Oh, this-this fixes everything!" The prefect happily cried. "Yes!" He looked to the boy, ignoring the death stare of the older Viking. "Little Viking, are you fluent in Latin?"
"Fluent in Latin es? Parum Viking?"
Hiccup winced as his father mushed his face into his chest, grabbed a part of the broken sheath, and chucked it at the prefect's awaiting face. "Don't answer his questions," Stoick growled as the Roman yelped and jumped back. "Gods only know what these Spartans are planning to do with us. Stay quiet."
"To be fair," came Hiccup's annoyed muffled reply, "I don't think communicating with them would be as bad as throwing debris at their faces."
The prefect quickly recovered and asked again. "Parum Viking?"
Hiccup gulped.
...
Author's Note: *sigh* Yes. I used Google Translate. Forgive me to confess.
Fanrats: BOOOOOOOOOOO!
Oh, COME ON! D: Ugh... Well, time to work on Mishap by Mug. But before I do, I just want to tell everyone that in this story, Vikings have horns. Like, real ones sticking out of there heads. To get a proper visual, just imagine their helmets with the horns on them...but without the helmet part. There. That ought to do it.