Takes place before Have Dragon Will Travel, but after Dagur breaks out of prison on Outcast Island.

Predominantly Heather-centric, and Heather x Eret but with some non-major guest appearances.

-HTTYD-

Dead. They were both dead. Butchered. Heather fell to her knees, choking on a few tears as she reached out to her mothers face. Barely recognisable, but Heather used her fingers to close her eyes anyway. Her fathers eyes were already closed.

"Check this way! Dagur said no survivors!"

Heather cursed silently, trying not to choke as the smoke and flames and gutting despair grew thicker in her chest. She threw everything she could fit into her satchel, fingers curling around the horn that was all she had of her birth family. The door flew open downstairs and Heather braced herself, leapt out of the window and felt pain lance up her calf at the rough landing.

She slipped past a group raiding the minimal armoury, tossing things behind them without a second glance. Heather picked up a discarded axe, small and usually only for firewood chopping but it was better than nothing, if she needed to defend herself. She grabbed the discarded fur pelt too, added weight not ideal but it could be the difference between freezing to death or not that night.

Though the prospect of not bothering was tempting; Heather had lost everything. Twice. First her birth family. Now her adoptive family. Her whole island. Her home was going up in flames, swallowing up her childhood with her parents bodies. Tightening her hand on the axe handle, Heather knew the docks were crammed full of murderous escapee Berserkers. Some looked a bit like Outcasts too... she shook off the thought.

Instead, she headed down to one of the fishing spots. Sure enough, a couple of little rowboats lingered there, still with fish-gutting daggers and a few nets in the bottom. Heather was no fantastic sailor, but she'd learnt enough to get away while the Berserkers tore her home apart for kicks.

She rowed, rowed until her arms burned and her shoulders felt like they would pop out of their sockets but she couldn't stop - the massive ships could catch her any second, with their huge sails and wind speed. Heather felt the current start to bob her along, opted to tie herself to the boat just in case it tried to throw her out. Kept the dagger close by should she need to cut herself free.

As what was once her home faded into the distance, Heather shivered under a mix of cold wind and wet air and heart-breaking loss. She cried silently and drifted, lost track of time as the sky darkened, the air grew even icier until the only signs of life in her little boat were violent shivers and the cloud of breathy vapours leaving her dithering lips.

She'd escaped the Berserkers only to find death at the hands of the elements, it seemed. The sun beginning to rise was almost welcome, but Heather was still so cold and tired she could scarcely appreciate it. The boat spun almost in place as a wave rolled beneath the flimsy wooden structure, and Heather wasn't sure if she was hallucinating or if tears were messing with her vision, but it looked like an island on the horizon.

Unclenching her frozen hands from beneath the not-quite-sufficient fur wrapped around her trembling body, Heather forced herself to row in the hopes of warming up her frozen muscles. It ached and hurt and she considered giving up, but as the sun rose a little higher in the sky she spotted there really was a plot of land in the distance. Not ablaze either, which meant she hadn't just drifted around in a circle.

The sun had risen fully by the time land became solid viewing, and though she was shivering Heather didn't think she was in danger of actually freezing to death any longer. Clambering 'ashore', Heather stumbled along the pebble-laden spit of beach, already looking around for things she could make a fire with. There were trees. She had an axe.

"Hey! You tryin' to avoid dockin' fees?"

Heather shook her head, tugging the fur around her tighter as the large man appearing from the nearby trees eyed her.

"I-I was set adrift" it wasn't totally a lie, just several years later on "a-and washed u-up here."

The man looked over her bedraggled frame, the tiny little vessel she'd floated up on.

"This be a traders island. No Northern Markets o' course, but we do alright."

Shivering starting to slow, Heather clutched her axe beneath her fur in case the guy had questionable motives.

"I just... I just need somewhere to buy food and warm up."

"Tavern up that hill. Jus' ask for Griselda's place if ye get lost. And uh... don' let anyone take ye there."

Frowning, Heather followed the direction indicated for her up a steep hill, which had her going from cold to sweaty enough to take her pelt off and wrap up the axe in it, affixed it to her satchel and scanned for the universal symbol of a tavern - the aged wooden sign with a faded picture of a flagon of beer on. She could smell wood smoke, burning yak meat and her stomach growled despite the cloying smell of ale overlaying it.

Pushing the door open, Heather quickly scanned the interior. Nothing fancy, but totally functional. And warm. Her stiff body thawed the closer she got to the fire, though the crow-like woman behind the counter watched her amble to the flame with a hawk eye.

"Can I help you young lady? You're not one of mine are you?"

One of her what? Oh. Oh. Heather quickly realised why that man had said not to let anyone bring her there. They would think she was a courtesan.

"N-no. Just trying to thaw my hands out so I don't drop my money everywhere."

The elderly woman clicked her tongue as Heather warmed herself a little, resolving to sit close to the fireplace when she'd ordered something to eat and drink. She couldn't afford to do anything like this regularly with the minimal gold her parents had in their home - they were simple folk, lived mostly off trade in their village.

Which made her wonder why Dagur had felt the need to burn it down. Other than a deranged delusion and enjoyment of ruining and murdering.

"What can I get you?"

Heather ordered warm yak milk - the only hot drink available - and a meal, handing over the adequate amount of coins for it and the woman waved her off to her seat, said she'd have it brought over. The place was pretty empty, only a half-asleep bearded guy nursing a drink the size of Heather's head other than her.

But then it was early morning. It was rather amazing the place was even open. Of course, Heather was thankful that it was.

The thick yak stew was a little chewier than she was used to, but the bread wasn't stale or moulding and the stew was hot, filling and seemed to completely thaw her from the inside out. As Heather practically scraped the bowl, a girl maybe only a year or two older than her appeared through a door to the side of the bar, showing out a scruffy looking sailor, who declared he would see her again when he was next sailing by.

The girl was coy and fluttery as she waved goodbye, but once the tavern door swung shut behind her, her face dropped to tired and irritated. She pulled out a money pouch, counting out the 'bosses cut' of presumably her takings.

"Rough night Lei?"

"Eh. He wants to pay me to watch him sleep with two minutes before and after? He snores though, didn't get a wink."

"Off to bed with you then. Need you rested for tonight."

"Night Elda."

The woman - Elda, apparently - patted the girls cheek and sent her on her way. Heather had never seen anyone in so little clothing, but then the tavern was warm and it wasn't Berk's devastating winter or her own island's vicious sheets of icy rainfall in there. And the cropped vest paired with tight shorts probably came with the job.

Downing her yak milk before it went cold and thick, Heather asked for a water and went back to her seat, needing to think. A couple of other girls came down to vacate their nights... work, but Heather tuned it out. She had revenge to plot.

"Hey, you?"

A voice interrupted her dwelling, turning to find the old woman loitering closer to her table than Heather felt she should have been able to get. Her instincts needed work.

"Yeah?"

"You got somewhere to be?"

Was she being kicked out? She hadn't finished her water, but then she hadn't paid for it either.

"I'll get out of your way?"

'Elda' clicked her tongue, shook her greying head.

"Not what I meant. One of my girls has come down with eel pox, so I need to replace her tonight."

Heather stared, in disbelief that this woman was straight up asking her to become a prostitute.

"I uh... I don't do... that."

"Serve drinks?"

"Wait. That's all?"

"Pour ale, pass food orders through the back to the guy burning yak by the pound. You'll get free dinner and a few coins. You game?"

Clearly, Heather looked in need. She nodded, still a little dumbfounded.

"Sure. I mean yes! Thank you."

The old woman held out a clawed hand, which Heather reached to take awkwardly.

"I'm Griselda."

"Heather."

"Charmed. You can clean up in the back."

Heather hadn't realised til she said that that she was dirty, soot and smoke lingering in her clothes, on her skin from running away from the blaze that was once her home, her family.

"Why are you helping me? I'm not complaining, but..."

Griselda waved dismissively, leading Heather toward the door that would lead to 'the back'.

"Most of my girls have run away from something. I know the look."

Heather thanked her for the water and cloth, wiping her face and hands before trying to at least remove the blackened residue from her clothing. There was little to be done for the smell, she supposed, short of walking outside in the wind to blow away the residual smoky scent.

"Anna! Watch the bar. Heather, with me."

"Where are we going?"

"Running errands. It'll help you find your way around this port if you stick around."

This woman was offering her food and work for the evening, so Heather got up and followed her instantly. Griselda was clearly known as the madam of the brothel - no man dared look cross-eyed at her. Heather presumed that was because they didn't want to get banned from her tavern. She was a severe looking woman, aging skin pulled taut over a strong jaw framed by greying hair tied back almost brutally.

But she was well-spoken, didn't talk down to Heather and indicated quietly toward places that sold fabric, weapons, exotic fruit, herbs and spices or hearty slabs of meat. Heather carried the large linen package full of pouches of yak jerky, a commonly requested bar snack, back to the tavern, rushed back to help move the wheelbarrow of barrels of ale and mead.

Griselda carried a crate of what Heather thought was wild boar, probably a more expensive meal option, and a sack of vegetables. Watching the woman at work with the vendors, Heather got the feeling Griselda got amazing deals.

Some of the traders eyed Heather in ways that made her uncomfortable, but Heather knew it was down to who she was with and kept her mouth shut. Upsetting Griselda would be a bad idea. She stayed quiet, at least until they stopped to buy herbs and spices. The quantities were a little astronomical, even for the most discerning cook.

"You uh, like your flavours?"

"Hm? Oh, no. These are for my girls."

Heather tried to work out what the girls could possibly need all those herbs for, but maybe they were very discerning eaters. Or it could be to do with sex. What would Heather know? She'd never had sex.

"What do they need them for?"

Her curiosity got the better of her as Heather helped unload the wheelbarrow - she needed to return it.

"Oh, you really are new to this world. Moon tea, Heather. Drank daily by any working girl, or even any married woman who simply wishes to reduce the chance of conception. Unless the gods will it, of course."

"And... that works?"

"I've a dozen girls working for me at any given time. Less than a dozen pregnancies in three years here."

"Oh. Ok. I didn't know."

"Virgin then?"

"I better get this wheelbarrow back!"

Heather stumbled slightly in her eagerness to escape answering the brothel running woman about her chastity. She was only eighteen, and her parents had never been insistent on trading her off in marriage nor did she have any serious offers on her island.

Fishlegs flashed across her mind, his sweetness and intelligence utterly charming. She missed him. She missed all the riders back on Berk. Maybe she could go to them... No.

Heather was cursed to be alone, that much was clear. Separated from her birth family. Never really popular, few friends to speak of. But she had always had her parents. Until now. Her fists curled tight around the handles against her palms, sparks of revenge threatening to fire her up but she shouldn't go back to Griselda in a bad mood. Plotting how she could kill Dagur most painfully would have to wait.

When she got back, Griselda was in the back room with her bags of herbs and spices, wizened old hands exceptionally quick still.

"Come here. You ought to know how to make this."

She watched and counted the measurement of herbs, the order they were added and how long they were stewed. Heather jumped when Griselda rapped the hefty spoon against a metal plate on the wall, which made an ear-splitting sound the woman barely seemed to hear. The reason became clear quickly, as nine women with quite an age range appeared in the room in a single file line holding small wooden bowl-cups.

"Where are Anna and Helga?"

Griselda began dispensing a scoop of the brew into each cup, medicating her girls against pregnancy it seemed.

"Anna is out front"

"And Helga's covered by mother nature."

"Heather, take this out to Anna for me."

The working girls looked at Heather as she passed, though none of them said anything to her as she carried the cup of brew to the girl at the bar. Anna thanked her, downing it in one swallow and grimacing.

"Tastes like yak shit but it works."

Heather could only nod in agreement, taking the empty cup back to where Griselda was tidying up her 'work' and the majority of the working girls had gone again.

"This is Heather. She's covering for Erina on bar tonight."

The three women still there introduced themselves surprisingly politely, given that Heather felt like an intruder amongst them. She reckoned some of them went by names not given to them as babies, but Heather could certainly relate to troubled pasts.

"We're low on firewood Elda. And I don't wanna give Helga the axe right now."

"I can chop wood?"

Heather volunteered, and she felt Frieda's eyes on her narrow build, rather skinny arms.

"You?"

"Yeah. I mean, I've done it before."

It was a little surreal and hit a little too close for Heather to be sent outside with an axe and some hefty logs, much like being back with her parents when her father broke his arm and it fell to Heather to chop their firewood.

Oddly, it also made her miss Astrid. Gods that woman could throw an axe.

Going from frozen nights drifting to sweaty days errands and wood chopping, Heather had successfully stayed busy enough to not think too long about what would happen to her next. She had to live. That meant finding somewhere to sleep, and a way to earn money. Not to mention a place to plan how she could best avenge her family.

"Not bad new girl."

Heather looked up from her chopped stack, each one a slightly straighter split than the last, to see Anna leaning against the wall out back, lighting something rolled tightly and sucking it in with a deep, low breath. The cloud of smoke that left her mouth was heavy and pungent; Heather was surprised Anna wasn't coughing on the herb smoke.

"Thanks?"

"You want a drag?"

She shook her head, tempting as the prospect of doping her brain into submission was.

"No, but thanks."

"Suit yourself. There's a tub for the firewood just there, save you carrying it in bit by bit."

Though suspicious and wary of the 'new girl', Heather found that most of the women working the brothel were cordial with her, chatting between the slow trail of midday-customers - apparently it wasn't only a night job, though that was when it would pick up. When Griselda began preparing for the evening rush to begin, she had Helga show Heather which barrels contained which drink.

Mind whirring with names and ages of mead and ale and a sweet fruit wine or two, Heather was grateful for the break to eat dinner. There were chunks of boar in the yak stew this time, and a rich dark bread accompanying it. The watered-downed fruity wine left Heather feeling warm inside, not enough to get her drunk but it certainly seemed to help Heather brace up for the night.

Despite her nerves, the work was actually not bad. Most of the patrons were happy, rowdy types who wanted copious amounts of alcohol and yak and boar. They could pay a small amount to have one of the girls join their table, and Heather was initially surprised to see that relatively few men got too handsy with the woman in question. Anna explained it to her though.

"That's Gunt" she indicated the sleepy looking alcoholic "and he's basically security. Got a steel trap memory. Anyone who tries to get the milk without buying the cow is beaten up, tossed out and banned. Elda takes good care of us."

Heather wasn't sure she had ever been so tired, running back and forth for fresh barrels or collecting cups, carrying meals everywhere and dodging guys who asked "how much?" in slurring voices. She personally felt her outfit ought to say she was only a server, not a courtesan but she supposed some were very, very drunk.

"You can sleep in Erina's room tonight. If you can handle the noise, that is."

Griselda led her to an empty room - nothing exceptional, a wooden bed and four wooden walls with a tiny little wooden dresser. Heather shoved the bed pelts off - she couldn't be sure when they were last changed, and sat on the bed. She probably wouldn't sleep, even without the jeering laughter and high-pitched moans coupled with drunken curse words and comments about particular girls anatomy echoing through the walls.

Her eyes closed, but flames and bodies filled her mind as Dagur's maniacal laughter rang in her ears. Heather curled up in a ball, fists tight with rage as tears of loss ran unchecked. She hadn't known she could feel so strongly in two warring ways at once.

Dagur had to pay.

She had to mourn.

He had to die.

Heather needed to live.

Fitful, not terribly restful sleep passed the time until dawn rose, when Heather crawled from beneath her fur and checked her axe was still close by. Everything in her bag was still there, and Heather stretched her stiff limbs, re-did her messy hair braid and stepped back into her boots.

"Ah, Heather."

Did that woman ever sleep?

"Yeah?"

Heather tried not to yawn in the woman's face, still waking up.

"Here you are. You were exceptionally efficient last night, and if you have no need to be anywhere soon, I'd like to hire you for the short term."

"Oh. Uh. Yes! I can't deny I need the work and the time to get myself together. But I thought the girl I was replacing was only off sick with eel pox."

"That was what I thought, but as it turns out, she is in fact with child. She came to see me this morning" when? It was barely even dawn "and informed me she wishes to keep the child. Erina worked hard, and I've little doubt she'll manage just fine. If you wanted to earn more gold, you could of course take on more duties."

Heather shook her head.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather stick to just the bar work to be honest."

"Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I've little doubt a pretty young lady like yourself could do quite well."

Griselda didn't push the matter, and Heather quickly found herself absorbed in the constant cycle of sleeping, eating and working. Griselda, upon discovering Heather could cook quite well, gave her some shifts back in the kitchen. Which meant still getting paid and not getting hit on. Heather was alright with that.

"How much for the black linen?"

Heather's clothes were starting to wear out, and while she hugely appreciated that Lei gave Heather her old sleep tunic (she'd gained some weight, it no longer fit comfortably) she was in need of day clothes. Purchasing a pile of black linen and some strong sewing material, Heather went back to 'her' room at the brothel. It felt strange, being the only girl there who never took personal customers.

It wasn't for lack of offers though. Heather was propositioned regularly, but she would turn them down politely and one of the other girls would come take over. Looking at her small amount of coins, Heather couldn't deny considering the work, knowing she realistically needed to have a decent amount before she moved on. But she hadn't managed to consider actually... doing it.

"Hey Heather. Whatcha got there?"

"Oh, hey Nea. Just some fabric. Need warmer clothes for the cold season coming up."

"Fair enough. Honey brittle?"

Nea had a terrible sweet tooth, was almost always chewing on the nuts stuck together with honey and dusted in spice. Heather took one piece, thanked Nea and headed into her room. She measured against her tunic, subtracted a little since the tunic was a touch baggy and started cutting and shaping torso, then sleeve fabric pieces.

Stitching was by no means Heather's strong suit, but she had dexterity and determination so she went slowly and methodically until the stitching was fairly uniform. Having a fair bit of spare material, Heather measured out a hood. If she moved on, she wouldn't want to be easily recognisable.

"Hey little miss domestic, how about coming to do some real work?"

Anna stuck her head around Heather's door, indicating it was time to have a quick dinner and get on with her evenings shift. After over a month there, the working girls pretty much treated her like one of the group. Ribbed her over breakfast about being 'too pure' for real work and laughing about the strange ways she was chatted up, some guys seeing her refusal as a challenge for being more charming or something.

"The one who offered you armour polishing lessons was my favourite."

"The armour in question was on him!"

Heather drank her yak milk quietly, wary of getting too friendly with any of them. She wouldn't be here forever, nor would Heather want these girls to be touched by her curse.

"I better go check the herb cupboard, think we're low on ginger."

Griselda swanned into the room, saw Heather checking the various pouches to ensure the stock was good.

"Anything low?"

"Ginger and rosemary. I'll run out for some now."

"Thank you Heather."

Heather strolled along, familiar with the regular vendors though still slow on the seasonal visitors. The stand that traded spices and medicinal herbs was used to her coming in for Griselda, gave her the proper price rather than try to take money from her because the boss wasn't there. Arms full, Heather headed back toward the tavern and kept a wary eye on the ones she didn't recognise.

"I'm tellin' ya, this place has better food than the Northern Markets!"

"It's a three and a half day sale in the wrong direction. Dagur ain't gonna be happy we took this detour for better figs."

That name sent ice down her spine and Heather slipped between two stores, taking back paths to the tavern at a quicker pace until she was back inside familiar walls.

"You alright Heather?"

One of the girls - she couldn't remember who in her sudden panic - asked, and Heather nodded, hastening to the back room. Only there could she start to breathe again, knowing Griselda would let not a single man back here aside from Gunt and the cook, who didn't really speak and had no interest in women.

She was harshly reminded that saving money and moving on was a pressing need, unsure what she could specifically do until the girls were lining up for morning birth control. Then it became eerily, brutally clear. Waiting until the others left, Heather - who's job it was to clean up after breakfast on weekends like today - saw there was a dose left, ladled it into a cup and, with a grimace, drank it.

Whatever it took to get back on the path of avenging her family.

But Anna was right. It tasted terrible.

Finished with her stitching, Heather pulled on the new hooded jumper and felt satisfied it fit, the hood obscuring her face well. Her belt fit around it, hugging the slight dip between waist and hip. Stacking the leftover fabric for repairs or to put toward something else, she headed down for her shift. Helga was in the kitchen chewing yak jerky after a morning customer, eyed Heather's new jumper.

"You make that?"

"Yep. Is the back alright?"

"Your stitching is awesome. Only Elda is really any good here. I mean, we're all functional but none of us girls are housewife material. You cook and sew. All ya need now is the bedroom action."

Helga giggled, and Heather was very uncomfortable given her mornings decision. She continued to act normal as best she could though.

"Pass."

"Suit yourself. There's some new sailors in, tribal tattoos and freaky boat sails but damn some of them are cute."

Heather shuddered, hoping with every fibre of her being that the Berserk Outcasts didn't come in and see her in the tavern. Ever.

"So anyway, what brought you here? I left a husband who tried to kill me."

The smell of fire, the sound of screams, the sight of death as her parents laid on the ground about to be swallowed by the blaze... Heather shook where she stood, the wounds of loss still raw and acutely painful.

"Heather?"

"My uh... my home burned down. I had nobody. Escaped on a fishing boat and washed up here. If Griselda hadn't of hired me, I don't know where I'd be now."

"Wow. Sorry about that. But hey, you got this place til you're back on your feet."

"Thanks. Better get to work."

Helga left Heather to cook, which left her time to think. Mostly about axes. Heather wasn't a mace girl, nor really one for swords. But she'd used an axe since she was a little girl. Maybe she would build her own super deadly weapon, extra kill-worthy to end Dagur with.

When the cook guy relieved her for the evening, Heather barely stomached her dinner, nerves building as she contemplated possibly actually taking up a... more active job.

There were definitely new sailors in, several sporting similar tribal ink patterns on their faces. Heather dispensed drinks and meals, hands shaking every time a customer took a girl upstairs. Griselda lingered at the end of the bar, usually the first port of call for any who wanted to pay for one of the ladies... time.

As Heather walked past to grab a new mead barrel, she overheard Griselda talking to one of the tattooed sailors.

"She isn't available."

"Damnit!"

"Come on Teeny, don't make a scene or we'll get banned from all the bars."

One of the others led the disgruntled one away, though since he fell asleep the second he hit a seat Heather reckoned Teeny had saved himself money by not paying just to hit a bed upstairs. The restraining friend came up to the bar, and Heather would be lying if she didn't agree with Helga that some were kinda cute. This one was, with a bit of a swagger to his stocky build and a cocky smile on his face.

"He's a lightweight drunk. You have any water?"

"Sure."

Heather poured him a water, smiled politely at the stranger.

"Thanks. I'm Eret, by the way."

"Heather."

"Bar wench!"

"Duty calls."

Heather left Eret to go and serve the shouter several more flagons of ale, calling back for a few bowls of wild boar in gravy. As she turned back, she saw Eret talking with Griselda. Her eyes met the elder woman's, and when Eret was faintly gestured to Heather took a deep breath.

And nodded.

-HTTYD-

This first chapter got sooooo long.