A/N: Heyo, Welcome to the final season! If you are just joining us, I'd like to point you to three other collections to check out before you would start in on this one, just to be in the loop on everything that has gone down so far:
*The Winter Haul
*The Sting of Spring
*The Summer's Fervor
Also I would like to mention there are some subtle changes , why? Because Autumn is a season of change and so without further ado, I present "The Turning Autumn"
For the first time in a long time things were going just the way he wanted them to.
Again he held some sort of influence, he had respect, and had maybe even set a trend as more and more of the single young Vikings all over the barbaric Archipelago talked of the prospect of getting themselves a foreign bride—even Tuffnut, who had idly threatened he would leave Berk if he couldn't get himself a girl by the autumn harvest.
In any case the Vikings who had stayed in the Southern Islands to help rebuild the damage caused by the spring raid were finally returning and so the village was busy with traffic, trading and the like as those who had spent their summer in the south had managed to obtain some of it's riches through their reconstruction efforts. Members of Stoick's war alliance stopped to re-supply with fresh water and grain meal.
As Hiccup's right hand man—the high commander, Snotlout was assigned tasks to oversee in the new bustle. Berk was not a port by any means but it had become a point of interest for travelers on the seas. Berk had never been extraordinary by any account but now it was known widely if not more so than before to have dragons and also whispers of Hiccup's name among the other clans had only been increasing since the raid. People wanted to meet the man who had begun to calm the disdain between Celtic and Viking Culture.
Of all that Snotlout had though, the most important above all was his girl. He and his new bride had fallen through the sheets to somewhere between Midgard and Valhalla on the night after their wedding, and had been ever since. They rationed their wedding beverage to extend the length of their honeymoon and on the first night of the new season, but the last of their uninterrupted bliss, were merry on mead and found most events more than funny.
"I adore you, Bryn" Snotlout grumbled tenderly before chuckling at the roll of her eyes. He hadn't stopped telling her so since their marriage, and it was plain to see that the Celtic lass very much owned the gruff Viking's heart completely. She could render him a tame and willing husband with a flick of raised brow if he was acting ornery, a puddle of porridge upon a kiss, and a whirlwind of anger and jealousy if she stood too near another man when going about the village.
She was known as many names to her husband but he still had yet to call her by her one given name.
"Bryn-na" she reminded him of it—in case he had forgotten—and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him forward followed by a shriek of laughter.
Her hair was the deep color of wine and set in large tousled curls around her bare, freckled shoulders. No woman was more beautiful than his wife, he daresay not even Freya.
"Rock Girl!" he obstinately refused her prompts before burying his face to her neck with a onslaught of kisses to which she replied by chattering a slough of her native language in a mocking tone, which was what she often spoke under the influence of the potent alcohols of the North and he never understand a word of it.
"Okay, Okay," he laughed, not surrendering but generously willing to compromise "How about we strike a deal."
"What kind of a deal?"
"A trade."
She raised a brow, and he no doubt knew she was suspicious of that term considering her past experience with its actions. She propped her head on an elbow and adjusted the linens over her body to hear of his proposal. Their minds had been clouded by their own festivities, and they had playfully made bargains before—usually of no accord—and would break them by morning anyhow.
This time she seriously was considering him for what it would take to get him to say her name.
"I will call you by your name if you tell me how you learned to speak our language."
He and everyone else had been curious to how she knew it. She had trouble with some words but for the most part was clear on what she meant to say and her pronunciation of the letters.
Not even her father knew their language, and Snotlout knew this because the Lord MacVaren had attended their wedding the month prior with the return voyage of Berk's Vikings to oversee the contract and to give away his daughter. The Lord and about fifty of his men had stepped onto the island and they had been quite surprised to learn that the grooms had been switched. He really had meant for Hiccup to be the one she wed, but Hiccup pointed out that the translation was vague and required only a 'viking of the Elite'. So it was justified that Hiccup had met the terms of her contract fairly. Though, through the Lord's disdain, Snotlout's own wedding was delayed even further by a week.
The Lord was distraught at first of the arrangement but over the days saw Snotlout would be worthy of his daughter as a high Viking commander and also a relation of the Chief, so allowed it. Besides, Hiccup was already married by the time the Celts arrived and they could do nothing about it.
The whole village had been slightly scandalized to find out that Hiccup had given Rock Girl to Snotlout in secret, but only slightly—they could all see plain as day Hiccup only had eyes for Astrid. A happy Chief made a happy village. When the fact went widely public, they had a far grander and jovial wedding prior to Snotlout and Rock Girl's by a month.
Lord MacVaren—or MacDaddy, as 'Lout referred to his father-in-law behind his back—stayed awhile to work out a new and unheard of alliance with the new Chief. Now that Rock Girl was a part of the Viking Culture, they couldn't just go raiding her people if they pleased and were obligated to fight with the Celts if anyone else thought to attack the Southern Islands. Snotlout also received a good amount of wealth as part of Rock Girl's dowry—MacDaddy indeed. All 'Lout wanted was the daughter but the wealth didn't hurt at all—it actually provided more than enough to pay for the new lodge built for the newlyweds.
MacDaddy called into question the use of dragons for military endeavors but Hiccup refused flat out to endanger them. They were their own beings, not slaves—and not a means to and end. That put tension on their relations somewhat but by the end of the week they at least had a trade agreement. Snotlout knew because he had attended the meetings, it was a perk to know the inner-happenings of Berk.
Rock Girl hadn't spoken a word of Viking to or around her father the entire length of his stay and it caused 'Lout to wonder if her father knew at all or paid enough attention to notice his daughter's abilities. Or perhaps she hid it from her father for reasons unknown.
So he stared at her, the candlelight flickering across her face and casted shadows—waiting for her answer. Her usual bright, beautiful eyes narrowed and she bit her lip in thought. She opened her mouth with a sudden frown, hesitated, as if remembering something unpleasant "A Viking taught me."
He was rather startled of her answer as he knew hardly any Viking would be willing to be so close to a Celt without wanting to kill them, much less teach them—well in the years past. Now it was slowly changing, they were integrating. Some of the Vikings even opted to stay and settle in the Southern Islands. It was warmer, wetter, and the women were witty.
Still, she would have had to have months to practice to become fluent—and it didn't seem possible that before the raid anyone would willingly give a single lass lessons in phonetics. His thoughts weren't the most coherent and he didn't press his wife further because she grabbed at his shoulders so they could go back to their previous activity.
That night he forgot his promise like all of the rest he made under the influence, and in the morning when she actually reminded him—although he didn't see how she could have remembered if he hadn't—he duly blamed it on the mead and assured he would remember next time.
Truth be told, he avoided using 'Brynna' if at all possible. He called her everything else by habit, and it was hard to break a habit and call someone what he'd never called them before. He never thought of her as 'Brynna' because 'Brynna' wasn't his wife, 'Brynna' was the Celtic girl who was trapped into an arranged marriage due to a Viking's negotiations, she was the prisoner of her own melancholy and anger at not having control over her own life completely.
Rock Girl was the girl he met, had fallen for, who was a lady of sly mischief who knew how to push his buttons and still make him laugh—even Bryn was happy and willing.
He wondered why she would try to hold on to that part of herself drenched in bad memories, and why she was suddenly less content to be called all her nicknames.
"Husband!" she chirped forcefully on a mid-autumn morning as he dressed for the day. He turned as she was giving him a sultry eye from where she lay in their bed. Their honeymoon had ended awhile ago but it still felt like it was still going on. Her smile was tempting but he merely laughed heartily and kissed her on her forehead, "Get out of bed babe, there's stuff to do today."
"Like what? Sell your fish?"
"For starters," he snorted, not that he would have time. He had to be at the docks to check on incoming vessels.
"But there's so much! Your nightmare could catch the entire bay!" she exaggerated in a goran and rolled over to her back, letting her arms dangle over her head and off the side of the bed. He gave a grunt of amusement at her—she was making a tangle in the linens even without him to help.
"Well…I suppose you could deliver a basket to Astrid and Hiccup as a gift. The rest will have to be sold."
The fish caught from the afternoon before were cooled in barrels in the cellar. Rock Girl did not like touching the fish, she claimed they were slippery and unpleasant and he only could roll his eyes and tease her of her delicate upbringing as a Lord's daughter. Sometimes his taunts spurred her to do things she wouldn't have otherwise, just to prove him wrong.
Once she even milked a goat.
Though she wasn't all fragile as she seemed, her stubbornness could uproot a tree and she could handle rocks better than anyone he ever knew—whether it be skipping stones or using them to assault someone—she had perfect aim. She could sew. Most females knew the craft but his girl could sew—a skill she had gotten quite good at while being supervised by governesses her entire life—and though not as excellent in skill to the Widow Thorston, it was good to know that if the primary seamstress ever retired, Berk would be threaded in good hands.
"I can't take them to him, his wife hates me," she protested about the fish. He heard her whines as he went to the basement to gather the fish in a basket.
"She shouldn't anymore," he called up—Astrid rarely hated anything for long, though it sure seemed like she could. No, she only intensely disliked a number of things.
"Then why does she always give me a horrible look when we cross paths?"
He finished loading the basket and returned to her. He gave a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed to tug on a remaining boot, "It's not just her, everyone will be weary of you for awhile—they just don't know you like I do. Someday they'll understand how awesome you are."
"They came to our wedding."
"Because it was a diplomatic wedding and I am the chief's commander, it would be in bad form not to pay respects."
Her shoulders sulked. He knew it was hard for her but he gave her another quick kiss on the cheek. "I will take the fish to the chief's lodge if you sell the rest at the docks today. I will see you soon after, when I arrive to check on vessels."
"Sounds like a compromise," she raised a brow—"Speaking of which, you haven't yet said my na—."
"I have to go. I will see you soon," he cut her off hurriedly, well on his way out the door with the basket of fish on his shoulder.
The autumn was a good season, his favorite. Most people preferred summer but there was that old nostalgic feeling that grasped him and it only did so when the leaves changed from green to red. He liked a predictable life, and embraced the Viking way. Only a few times in his life did he accept a drastic change to his lifestyle. The autumn reminded him of when he was young, those eager days of dwindling light and helping with the harvest. Though, near the latter part of the season a frost would set in as a brief warning they would be engulfed in a brilliant white cold. He didn't have any ill thoughts about the upcoming winter once he realized he could just stay snuggled into the bed covers with his wife on those icy cold mornings. Being married is freaking awesome!
Those men who humorously warned him before his marriage, that after a month he would be yearning to be single again were so wrong.
He finally found himself at Hiccup's lodge and knocked on the door in wait. Astrid answered it looking a little worse for wear. Housekeeping probably didn't suit her.
"Hey," he smiled holding the basket of fish out to her.
"Hi," she gave a smile of greeting but took a sniff and covered her mouth sounding disgusted, "Oh great Odin, is that all fish?"
"Yeah, trout. Fireworm caught extra so I was gonna see if you and Hiccup wanted some."
"Sure," she said after a moment's hesitation and he handed her the basket. She retreated inside to set it down. Snotlout stepped in and looked around the place. She must have been weaving a rug or something by looks of the half-finished material hanging from the loom in the far corner of the main room.
"So where is Hiccup?"
"He left earlier—I think there was a property issue with a newborn lamb. Skorund the shepherd's ewe gave birth but it was on Gunnar the grower's land. Hiccup went to settle the matter."
Astrid suddenly looked a bit dizzy as she set herself to a chair at the dining table.
"You okay Ast?"
"Fine, just a little sick today—I think the fish from last night's dinner is causing me upset. I should get over it."
"Well, now you got a whole basketful of trout—those should be delicious," he smiled.
"Thank you 'Lout," she smiled again. He always enjoyed it when Astrid smiled—she was usually so serious and focused and it was good to know she could let herself relax.
He paused, realizing she was probably his oldest friend, even older than Tuffnut so asked, "Could I ask you a favor?"
"What?"
"Well, my wife—she thinks you hate her and I was just wondering if the next time you ever cross paths with her, could you smile at her the way you're smiling at me now—I think it would make her feel better."
Astrid looked offended, "She thinks I hate her?"
"Do you?"
"No, I hardly know her!"
"Maybe you should get together for tea or something. I think you'd like her—she reminds me of you sometimes." Astrid raised a doubtful brow and he retreated back to the entrance, "Well I'm off to the docks, you have a pleasant day and feel better soon."
"See you later," he heard her call in a thoughtful tone as he departed.
He whistled as he walked down the hill to the docks. It was a great day to be outside—a picturesque autumn day. He took in a breath and started a new tune, stopping every so often to greet familiar faces or give directions to the visiting Vikings who were docked and looking for the forge or the tavern.
He stepped lightly across a roped bridge that led to the cliff face, which had a winding path to the bay. Already he could smell the sea air, being brought up by the wind. It smelled of salt and fish and he was one of the few that actually liked that kind of scent. As he made his way down, he counted four new ships from his vantage point. It looked like two had departed earlier. He saw the dock vendors and could make out Rock Girl as an auburn blob, holding out a fish. Ha, so she did obey him and work up enough nerve to touch them. When he neared, he saw she wasn't alone.
Astrid's brother, Sven was right next to her smiling and talking, and naturally flirting. This fired Snotlout into a dangerous fury, and he all but marched forward, also making them out to be speaking in Celtic at one another. It just made him more jealous and angry—knowing it was something he could never do with her.
"Svenan!" he growled.
"Snotlout, forcing poor Brynna to sell fish this day?" Sven looked up and had the remnants of a teasing smile.
Rock Girl dared crack a grin. Snotlout found nothing humorous about the situation.
"I take it you have nothing better to do than to hassle married women this day?" Snotlout snapped. Sven knew they had been wed, he acted as translator at the wedding—seeming to have become one of MacDaddy's favorites while he stayed in the south. One of many reasons he deserved the title Svenan the Suave.
Sven held up his hands innocently, but Snotlout knew there was nothing innocent about Svenan Hofferson, especially when it came to pretty females.
"I was merely conversing, ask her yourself." He angled his neck and turned his head to ask her, "Brynna, did I try to seduce you?"
Snotlout didn't appreciate the man's patronizing tone or the way he kept saying her name.
"Not today," she raised a brow thoughtfully—if not today he could tomorrow or the next and that thought was all it took for Snotlout to lunge forward and grab the insolent playboy by his vest.
"Be gone!"
"Do you own the docks, Jorgenson?"
"Do you know who you're dealing with? I am the high commander, now get your rear outta here, Hofferson."
He let go, and Svenan regained composure, "Fine, but remember who I am and who my sister is and who she is married to."
Snotlout grunted and watched through a scowl until Sven left the docking area.
Rock Girl gave a light chuckle, "Do you ever suppose you are too protective of me?"
He whirled on her, not in the mood and his words came out tersely, "We will discuss this later at home. Continue what you were doing."
His command warranted him a frown and he turned to continue forth to do his assigned task, checking in the new vessels, but felt something hit him. He turned and saw a dead fish at his feet. He looked up and spotted Rock Girl walking away with the basket of unsold fish.
"Bryn!" he called angrily and breathed in deep to his chest, only to shout a breath louder, "BRYN!"
"It's BRYN-NA!" she whirled around and screamed, her freckles sharp and her curls untamed. She gave him a particularly nasty look before just as quickly turning around and continuing on her way.
He was so angry and he couldn't even go after her because he was already late to checking the new ships in. It didn't help circumstances that the villagers, vendors and visitors were staring at him from all the shouting. He threw his hands up in an angry growl and went about his business, though thoughts of Sven and his wife occupied his mind furiously.
Sven had been so familiar toward her, even calling her by the name that Snotlout did not. Did he think he could get away with that behavior just because he was brother to the Chief's wife? Snotlout was even jealous that Sven could speak her native tongue, already they could share secrets and that ability alone probably increased the chances of her to be attracted to him as the numerous other females were.
Suddenly there was a puzzle in his mind, he was struggling to solve—barely remembering her to say a Viking had taught her their language. What if Svenan wasn't just being Svenan, what if Svenan had known her previously? It was known that he traveled a lot and he had been gone for a nearly a year before the spring after last—enough to stay in one place and possibly teach a language and in turn learn another—even seduce a number of women.
Snotlout's eyes bulged, suddenly recalling those smiles Rock Girl had thrown at Svenan the day of the raid negations. He had chalked it up to a mere pull of attraction but now suspected it was because they had known each other at that time.
His fists crunched with anger and hurt, feeling betrayed, and he hurriedly finished conversing and checking with the docked vessels and their captains. Time couldn't have gone slower as he did his duty—he wanted to find his wife and voice his concerns.
He nearly burst the door to his lodge open when he entered.
"Bryn, where are you?"
He should have looked before he had asked for she was there to his side and seemed to be taking another try at bread-making.
She only looked at him, didn't say a word and continued to knead the dough on the tabletop.
Was this how it was going to be? A month of nothing but absolute perfect and then a downward spiral to marriage oblivion?
"Damn it, answer me! I'm your husband!" He slammed his hand on the table.
"Change your tone and maybe we can talk," she sassed and looked at her dough instead.
He grabbed her away from her activity, though he wouldn't hurt her—just felt like chiding her for her disobedience and for causing a scene. However he was shocked to feel a sharp slap to his face. A hand-print of flour imprinted his cheek.
"Stop it! You're acting like an animal. I swear to the Daghdha your head falls off every time you feel the need to protect me. You don't realize I can very well tell other men off."
He rubbed his face, still stung, and accused, "Yeah, but not Svenan. Why shouldn't I lose my head? You spent a year with him and neglected to say anything about it."
Her scowl lifted to surprise, "How do you know that?"
So it was truth. She had lied.
"I figured it out. He had to have been the one that taught you how to speak this language. Why didn't you tell me?"
"It wasn't important."
It was important though—to him.
"Do you love him?"
She gave him an incredulous look, "Of course not. It's you that I love—" she crossed her arms and added smartly "I married you didn't I?"
"Yeah, because you really didn't have a choice! How can you even love me if you lied to me?"
"How can you love me when you don't even call me my own name?"
He winced at her venom, but avoided the answer, still suspicious.
"Did you love him?"
Her arms dropped, and she gave a disheartened sigh which caused his own heart to drop from the high it had felt the previous months.
"I thought I did. He was a handsome, charming, foreigner and brought knowledge and stories from across the sea—and I was young and bored, how could I resist?"
Snotlout nodded with devastation, feeling miserably inadequate and felt the first cracks wrench into his chest. She saw it, lost her frown, stepped forward and took his hands in hers, "I didn't know you existed until the day you chased away those crude Vikings—I learned there were better men and you cannot say you haven't ever loved another girl before I came along. Believe me, you are the only for me."
He only sniffed, wishing he could believe her. He released one of her hands and wiped the flour from his cheek. Her hand lifted and turned his head to make him look at her again. She had lied to him, what was truth now?
"Listen to me, Hiccup asked me who I would have if given the choice, and out of anyone in the world I named you. You—Snotlout. Not anyone else and not Svenan. I certainly did have a choice."
He glanced at the silver ring on her finger and knew she was right; he had loved another before her—Astrid. So he couldn't condemn her for a previous love. And though she claimed she had no lingering feelings for the wretched flirt, 'Lout was still jealous they had spent far more time together. To rid himself of it, he thought of a reason to why he was superior to Sven.
"Even though we both fought in the raid, I was the one that ended up saving you from those jerks."
Her eyes narrowed, "What?"
"I protected you even then. I think I'm always going to be that way."
"Yes," she answered and let go of his hands, drawing back, "but Svenan was in the raid?"
He didn't like how she was fixating her concern on another man, it caused him to doubt her previous words. "Well, yeah. He is a Viking and it was before the negotiations. I saw him out in the fortress courtyard myself, taking out the last line of defense. "
She seemed to halt all movement, weighing a consideration with a sudden dark look about her. He had never seen her face in such an expression, and in all honesty, never wanted to again.
"There's something you ought to know, " she let a torrid breath escape. She stepped forward and lifted on her toes to reach his ear and she whispered something—a truth that was absolutely shocking though made every bit of perfect, tragic sense to him. Her words changed everything but if he could take anything positive from them, it was that he knew without a doubt, she loved him the best.
"I'm sorry," she withdrew herself but he caught her.
"No, I'm sorry," he swallowed his rage and wrapped his arms around her and still couldn't get over the feeling of how wonderful she felt in them—of how he could completely engulf her in one embrace. He shouldn't have doubted her love and never wanted a reason for her to doubt his—"Brynna."
*Edit: There is also a cute and lovely artwork of Snotlout and Brynna up on my DA account now, for those interested.