In this version: 1) Hiccup was not the first to tame a dragon. By the time he was born, it was common knowledge for roughly ten years. 2) Stoick is not a chief, his only purpose is a parent figure for Hiccup 3) Astrid is technically the "heir" because her uncle is the chief of Berk and she is his last relative. 4) There are mentions of other tribes and islands. It's all a mix of the books, films, and tv series. 5) Drago is mentioned but he is not the direct opponent of this story. 6) Basically, forget about everything canon story wise, I'm only using the characters, correctly I hope. () This is rated M because it has some unpleasant material (non-con, character death, infidelity, angst, some gore)
Prologue
The small ones woke up early this day. In particular, the young boys could not contain themselves for it was the day of the execution.
The sun had not yet risen from its slumber when the first three or four of them sidled out of the huts, sneaky as terrible terrors in their yak-fur boots. A layer of fresh snow covered the little village like a new coat of paint, and theirs were the first footprints to blemish its perfect surface. They slithered their way through the huddled wooden huts and dragon posts, through the streets of frozen muck to the silent village center, where the platform stood waiting.
The boys despised everything their elders valued. After all, their Emperor Drago Bludvist was the ultimate idol for the young vikings and only five years have passed since he took the title. Juvenile vikings now scorned beauty and mocked goodness. They would hoot with mirth at the sight of a cripple, and if they saw a wounded forest animal they would bludgeon it to death. They, of course, boasted of injuries and wore their scars with pride, and they reserved special admiration for mutilation: a boy with a missing limb could be the next emperor, a high honor indeed to the current one. It was never argued that they loved violence. They older ones were willing to ride for hours to see bloodshed; and they never missed an execution.
One of the boys climbed on to the base of the platform. Another mounted the head block, put his hands to his throat and slumped while mocking the sounds of an ax chop. The others whooped in admiration. A very young one recklessly began to eat a small piece of bread, and one of the older boys punched his nose and took his breakfast. The young one relieved his feelings by throwing a stone at a terrible terror snoozing on a nearby rooftop, startling it awake. Then there was nothing else to do, so they all squatted on the dry pavement.
Fire light flickered behind the shutters of the substantial wood and stone structures around the square. The color of the sky turned from black to gray. Not long after, the villagers came ducking out of their low doorways, swathed in heavy cloaks of coarse wool, and went shivering down to the nearby river to fetch water.
A group of young men of apprentice age swaggered into the marketplace. They turned the small boys out of their spots with cuffs and kicks, then leaned into the stone arches of dragon feeders, scratching themselves and spitting on the ground. The old women formed a group on the opposite side of the town center, far away from the young hoodlums.
More people flooded the square. Every now and then people would cock their heads, like a wary monstrous nightmare, and glance up at the Grand Hall on the hilltop. Then, at about the time the sun must have started to rise behind the thick gray clouds, the mighty wooden doors opened and a small group came out. The village chief was first, leading a gronckle by foot, followed by a yak cart carrying the bound prisoner. Behind the cart strode three men, and although their faces were covered by hoods, the villagers recognized their chief's second-in-command, the blacksmith, and the High General by their gate and their clothes.
They had all been seen gathered at the hall the day before. The blacksmith had caught the thief red-handed, the general had identified the handcrafted longbow and staff as belonging to the chief's ancestral armory; the thief had been under the temporary shelter of the second-in-command, who had identified the thief as a nomad, a runaway. The chief condemned the fate of death.
While they progressed slowly down the hill, the rest of the village gathered around the recently erected platform. The mood of the crowd was odd. Normally they enjoyed a sentence being carried out on the condemned. It was usually a thief, and they hated thieves, only a little less than traitors. But this thief was different. Nobody knew who she was or where she came from. She had not stolen from them, but from a sacred building halfway across the island. Not to mention she stole a decorative, ancestral longbow and staff, items whose values were so noted in the village that it would be virtually impossible to sell, unlike a new knife or a good belt, the loss of which would hurt someone. They could not hate a woman for a crime so pointless. There were a few jeers and catcalls as the prisoner entered the heart of the village, but the abuse was half-hearted, and only the small boys mocked her with any enthusiasm.
Most of the village folk had not witnessed the trial since they had to still make a living, so this was the first time they had seen the thief's identity. Some recognized her vaguely, most dubbing her the woman they saw once or twice, maybe a year ago, before suddenly disappearing as fast as she appeared. She was quite young, somewhere between sixteen and twenty years of age, and of slightly above average height. Her skin was smooth and pale, she had a strong tear-drop shaped face and big eyes of emerald green, and her hair was the color of cherry oak, pulled into a tight braid down her back. She was dressed in a yellow tunic with a red sash and a thin, dark cover-up around her waist over dark pants. The young men might have found her appealing if they looked past the grubbiness and dark circles. The old women, however, noticed something of difference; she had a thicker waist than they remember and fuller bust, in which they concluded, with confidence from years of experience, that she had bared a child recently. When the cart rolled past the elderly ladies, their faces reflected one of greatest sympathies, their heads full of prayers for her soul and that of her child's, as well as questions to why the gods led this new mother astray.
The chief and his followers were familiar figures to the community. The second-in-command, named ominously Madguts the Murderous, was a huge fellow who didn't say much but did not often need to to get the people to bend to his will. The High General, Alvin, was bulky and intimidating as well; he commands his soldiers with unwavering confidence to compensate for his dull intellect. And last but not least was the local blacksmith. He was old in age but was considered a master of his craft.
A small boy wanted to prove his bravery to his friends and ran up to the approaching cart. With swift movements, he reached into it and yanked hard on the young woman's braid. She turned to him with a snarl on her lips. The incident was not remarkable except that the words she spoke next were not all Norse, the language of the gods. They were a mix of draconic growls, clicks and Norse phrases in a heavy accent that no one could understand. Was there something wrong with her upbringing? Or surely she must be a long way from home? Nobody knew.
The cart halted by the steps to the platform. The chief pulled down the lip of the gate to the cart and climbed on to grab the prisoner. The prisoner started to struggle, much to the boys amusement. The woman's movements were restricted by the ropes tied to her wrists and ankles. Her jerky movements had made manhandling her off the cart and to the platform too difficult so the chief haphazardly flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Her grunt of pain due to landing on her lower stomach was audible to those surrounding the edge of the platform. She was then dumped on shaky legs before the pedestal.
This was the turning point. If she struggled now, or made a move to escape, she would only die sooner. She was then pushed to her knees and torso secured in place.
There was often a disturbance at this point: whether it be the prisoner's mother screaming, a beloved pulling out a knife, or a call to Odin from the prisoner. The four sentencers prepared themselves for any incident.
It was at that moment when a quiet tune of whistling was heard throughout the square; it started softly and grew to carry across the crowd.
Followed by a voice, a deep one with a heavy accent and a plaintive melody that was of sadness and loss.
I'll swim and sail on savage seas
With ne'er a fear of drowning
And gladly ride the waves of life
If.. you will marry me
The gentle voice cracked on the line.
The prisoner swiveled her head around as soon as the whistling began, desperately searching for the maker. By the third line, both the prisoner and the crowd found the vocalist. Gradually a space formed around the person, and everyone could see him as he kept going.
He was a young man of at least twenty. When people looked at him they wondered why they had not noticed him before. He was a tall lad for his age and almost matched the General in muscle bulk. He had dark red hair and a full beard. But what stood out the most to everyone's eyes was the wee babe in his arms. The old women immediately saw the connection between the stranger, thief and babe. Most of the villagers did not make the same assumption because they were too focused on the man's face, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes.
Until the thief began to sing with him when he drifted off.
And love me for eternity
My dearest one my darling dear
Your mighty words astound me
But I've no need of mighty deeds
When I feel your arms around me
The prisoner's face expressed utter devastation and yet happiness as she looked upon the strange man and small infant. As they carried on the slow, haunting tune, the gruff general nudged the chief who was holding the ax, but he took no notice. He let the thief carry on singing. The square was frozen while the battered woman and her lover held death at bay.
I only want you near me
To love to kiss to sweetly hold
For the dancing and the dreaming
Through all life's sorrows and delights
I'll keep your laugh inside me
I'll swim and sail on savage seas
With ne'er a fear of drowning
And gladly ride the waves of life
If you will marry me
The voices ended surprising strong for such a sad and bittersweet moment between two bonded souls. The eyes of the two never drifted too far from the other. The woman soaked in as much as she could of the two best things that ever entered her life.
Even the young boys had no reaction to such a display.
In the next moment the chief handed the ax over to the General who did not hesitate in his intended action. The motion was smooth and quick, effective.
Before anyone could absorb the fact that it was all over, a feminine scream was heard and a loud thud. Everyone looked to the source and found a large hammer embedded in the platform, inches from where the chief stood. All heads turned to the large stranger who began to speak clear and loud, with deliberate timing in his words and eyes roving the three men beside the chief: "I damn you with sickness and sorrow, with hunger and pain; your house shall be consumed by fire, and your children shall die dishonorably; your enemies shall prosper, and you shall grow old in sadness and regret, and die in foulness and agony…" At the end of his words he brought his free hand up to his mouth to create a sharp whistle that was almost immediately reciprocated by an incoming roar. Around the shingled roof tops came a large, deep blue Thunderdrum that quickly scooped down and allowed the stranger to hop on his saddle. The General saw what his next intentions were but acted too late and before anyone knew it, all four men were flat on their backs in the dirt.
The strange man took off on the back of that Thunderdrum and was never seen again by the villagers. Over time, everyone present that day forgot about the unusualness of that day. They easily put it all behind them.
All except the four men of the sentencing, whose lives changed permanently that day.