Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for How to Train Your Dragon, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Rated M for suggestive themes, Dark imagery.

WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, AU (NO TOOTHLESS OR DRAGONRIDING), FEM!HICCUPxDAGUR. ADULT THEMES AND MENTIONS OF NON-CON.

Per Request.

OoOoOo

Bored!

Bored.

Boooooorrrrrrreeeeedddd.

Dagur cackled to himself. Red hair glinted in the sunlight as he attacked another stationary target with his throwing-axe. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy practicing, but to High Thor's throne did it all have to be so painfully tedious? He was already known for his... less than orthodox methods on the battlefield. As far as Dagur was concerned, dirty tricks were perfectly legitimate. Humans were crafty creatures, almost as bad as dragons really, and anything he did them to in combat was perfectly justified. After all, their goal was to kill him, and frankly Dagur didn't like that plan.

All things considered and what not.

His green gaze raked over the targets with contempt and some parts of distaste. This wasn't any fun at all. However, such things were required to keep his standing with the Berserker tribe. They were a rowdy lot. He cackled at the thought with glee. Now that would be worth his glory. Worth his time! This... this was just plain annoying.

Seriously though, who did he have to kill around here to liven things up a bit-

"Ship!" A guard shouted from the east and Dagur turned. His copper brow raised in a fiendish sort of amusement.

Ohhh! Goodie!

Something to do, or someone to maim. Not that he really cared which option it was. Dagur reassuringly touched the hilt of his sword. His veins thrummed with excitement. He nearly let out another round of crazed laughter, but refrained. His father said it upset the men. Especially when Dagur had weapons.

He wasn't exactly sure why.

But he would toe the line, so to speak, for now. The voices reassured him in a nearly crooning tone.

Yes. Yes, he'd be a good Viking for now. Well, mostly.

He raced to the nearest look out point, where the original call of the guard had come from. His emerald gaze greedily devoured the sight. The slightly singed sail and damaged hull of a...

Berk ship?

Oh Thor take it all. What in the name of Loki did they want now? His father was far too trusting of that Berkian Chief. Stoick. Bah! Who had need of that stuffy old Viking? Dagur knew he could defeat that lump (Of what he was certain was mostly beard hair) down, without much of a sweat. Oh! Was a nice thought. He loved these. Images bloomed in his head of savagery and dealing the final blow before collecting the glory due to him.

Ah, the small things in life.

OoOoOo

By the time it docks, his father, Oswald the Agreeable is already standing at the docks with a fierce look about him. After all, it was a huge violation of custom to come unannounced.

Well, that and something was clearly wrong. The ship barely looked like it was keeping above water. However, Dagur was all but dancing on the balls of his feet in anticipation. There could be war! He loved war! It was what Viking were made for and he had inherited the Beserker taste for blood. Dragon or human, it really did not matter all that much to him.

The grin on his face is nothing short of unholy delight, with his teeth gleaming like those of a beast's, as they wait. The silence is nearly unbearable. Honestly, was it too much to ask for someone to hurry up? He did actually still have things to do after this.

That chicken had been eyeballing him again. It was time for more target practice. Dagur huffed a small snort of amusement.

However, when a figure did appear, it was not the hulking and tall Stoick, he had been expecting. Nor that wood troll looking Gobbler. No.

It was Hiccup.

Hiccup who looked as if she had just come from the bowels of the dammed world, instead of her homeland. Hm. It wasn't what he'd been hoping for, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't just the tiniest bit intrigued.

Something had put that dead look in her gaze. The girl that had always managed to duck just in the knick of time from his daggers, stared at nothing. He tilted his head, watching her with acute interest. Her eyes did not even appear to register the dozen or more Beserkers staring at her. The wind nearly swallowed her voice in the soft breeze that blew.

"I am Hiccup," she said, which Dagur about laughed at. There was no need for introduction. Even they knew Hiccup's name and reputation as the worst Viking. Though Stoick did not exactly go spreading that tidbit around.

Her chin tilted up slightly, defiantly, though she looked as if the same breeze that made him have to strain to hear her, would knock her over.

"Chief of the Hooligan Tribe."

WHOA!

Now, that, got his attention. It was worth having to keep quiet to hear her. His Father, Dagur knew, was equally shocked by the announcement, but for different reasons. He had apparently considered Stoick ...a... Friend.

Dagur had no need of those. He was going to be chief. Respected, feared, adored... whatever.

It was then, that he noticed, she held her Father's shield. What remained of it at any rate. He recalled the kind of child Hiccup was, though to be fair, she was older now. But still, he could see that it should be too much for her to hold.

"I have come for... I have come for..."

Hiccup, to her credit, did not tremble, nor did move. He had to watch closely just to make sure she was breathing. She simply was. for a few heartbeats at least.

One of the guards, then another, boarded the ship. Hiccup stood still.

Dagur's mind raced. What had happened? A dragon attack? Had it wiped out the island? He gleefully sort of hoped that Hiccup would tell him about it.

"Chief! There are many wounded." One called, and Savage moved to board the ship as well. Dagur watched the expression on his face shift. Not a good sign. Even Dagur was given a moment's pause.

It was Savage that picked the unmoving Hiccup up, and lowered her toward his Father's outstretched arms. Her father's shield was carefully pulled from her stiff grasp. He set her down, rather gently, and Dagur noticed something else.

Hiccup... was missing a leg.

Okay, he had not seen that one coming. He glanced at it, seeing it was some crudely fastened pieces of metal, was part of it a sword hilt? What in the name of Thor-

He moved closer to her, until he was only inches away, and for once Hiccup did not flinch away from him. Nor did she sass him with a snarky comment. In fact, Dagur would hazard a guess that she was lost in some world of her own.

Boy, did he know how that went!

The voices agreed.

"Its women and children." Someone muttered from above.

"Mostly children."

Whispers. Oh, whispers sometimes crawled under Dagur's skin like little night terrors. But for now, his attention was reserved for Hiccup.

"Are they-?"

"Some, but not all." Savage said in a resigned tone.

But his face, so near hers, as he looked this way and that, caught her attention and seemed to rouse her from whatever stupor she had been under. His Father was dealing with what had none-too-gracefully landed on their dock, when Hiccup shifted slightly and looked right at him. She blinked, as if seeing him through a Fog, but he was right there.

"D-Dagur?" She questioned softly, a heart-clenching wistful hope, in the warble of his name.

One that had him stilling with the same poise one would show to a Nadder. The voices in his head were strangely quiet at her tone.

"Hiccup." He said, for lack of knowing what to say. He should call her Chief, but this was Hiccup and frankly he'd been beating her up a bit since they were very young. It was hard to stop right at this moment.

Her eyes filled with crystalline tears. The mask of blankness she had worn, too numb to feel, crumpled, and she shakily lurched forward. Her arms wrapped around him tightly. Well, tightly for Hiccup. And her face buried in his chest. She was too short to reach his shoulder. He could feel the heat of her tears soak into his undershirt. He should have worn his armor. This unsettled him. Hiccup never cried.

Usually. There was that time after he tried to drown her, but his father smoothed that over, and Dagur had been fairly certain some of that was sea water and not tears. Fairly certain. The voices told him so.

"Dagur," she said in a muffled and lost voice, "I need you. Please. He-he-help!"

Then she tried to bury her small frame deeper into his larger one. Huddling for protection. She was latched on tighter than a dragon to a sheep it was carrying off. He blinked.

Dagur's hands shook.

Need.

Need.

Such a strange word. It made something in his head twitch. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. That irritated him. He wanted to push her away, shove her off and demand she be a Shield Maiden like she was supposed to be. But, then again, this was Hiccup.

His right eyelid started doing that odd rapid blink it sometimes did when he couldn't make up his mind.

Need? She... needed him? A deeper voice, much more quiet than the others rang out in his thoughts. Something instantly riled to the forefront of the Beserker blood. No one had ever needed him before. His eyes glazed over slightly as he listened to the newest voice. The one that made him place a hand on her head. She smelled of smoke, rancid blood, and death.

He knew those smells well. They would never go with the scent of Hiccup's smelted metal and wood shavings.

Wrong! It was all wrong! The voice, this new and unknown one, screamed at him.

Something or someone had hurt Hiccup.

Which was now a bad thing. It was a strange day, even for Dagur.

"They're dead." She sobbed into his tunic. "I... I couldn't-. They came under the cover of night. You have to- please...I-"

"Dragons?" Oswald asked, from above, his voice gentle.

Dagur drew Hiccup closer, wanting to smash his father's face in for talking to Hiccup. Strange. He'd never had that reaction before. At least, not over Hiccup.

She shook her head, and Dagur was keenly aware of the weight of her in his arms. The shivering of her frame against his. Protect. The voice whispered with conviction.

Hm. That was also a new idea.

"Who, lass?" His father urged.

Her tear stained face lifted, and Dagur had to hold her steady as she moved to turn, a hollowness in her eyes he didn't like. She seemed unsteady on the false limb.

"The Murderous tribe."

Dagur nearly crowed with delight. He wanted to pull her close again, though any sane person was usually terrified of Dagur being this close. He didn't understand that to Hiccup, he was known. He was an ally, no matter how deranged. In her distressed state, she had latched on to the first figure she knew.

As frightening as it was, Dagur was safer. Oswald understood. The new and very young chief of Hooligan had fled to allies for protection. He had seen the horror of the ship. If they were what was left... it was grim for her Tribe. She had only a handful of very young women and a few children. The number of living was no greater than seventeen. The eight or nine she had lost along the voyage would need buried. His men would see to the lucid wounded and ill. Disease had taken some on the voyage to this island.

That they had made it here was nothing short of a sign from Odin.

How the girl had managed to stay awake and fight the pain was beyond Oswald. It appeared Hiccup did have some of her father in her. From what he could see, she had been the only one in decent enough condition to steer the vessel. Which meant she hadn't slept much, if at all. With a leg lost to boot. He marveled that she wasn't delirious from thirst and hunger. Though, in her shape, she likely had not done much but try to function.

The ship was woefully under-provisioned.

It was also of great surprise that she hadn't been captured. He would of thought her to be among the first captives or casualties.

The Murderous were a tribe of nearly all men. It was easy to understand what they had attacked Berk for. Women and bloodlines. None would have them. No woman of honor, at least. Let alone any of the shield maidens.

Vikings took. It was their nature. They conquered, and The Murderous were lead by the ruthless and least honorable of the Viking lot. The devastation they could bring was nearly worse than the Beserker tribe.

"I saved as many as I could..." Hiccup trailed off with a sob. An apology of some sort buried in her words. "They just got so heavy after a while. I could on- only-"

Only save so many? Only do so much? Only escape capture for so long? What did the child witness? He would stand by the treaty. He would honor his slain ally, his friend. Stoick the Vast.

Dagur's eyes glazed over, and Oswald's heart clenched painfully for the girl. There was nothing to apologize for. What she had done was a great act of bravery, to see them avoid death or worse. Capture. Vikings were not ones to be taken. Not without a whole lot of damage along the way.

Wordlessly, he commanded his men to move the wounded. They would leave the dead for now. Oswald carefully held onto her father's shield.

He would watch over what remained of the Berk tribe as the Beserker's prepared for war. This was an insult against them. An audacity that could not stand. Oswald would no longer be so... Agreeable.

OoOoOo

It wasn't so terribly obvious at first, that Dagur is glued to her side like a faithful war-hound. After all, his father is off putting together the men and weapons for war. And, that takes a great deal of time. Much to Dagur's annoyance and dismay. He wanted to be mutilating bodies by this point, but he knows better.

Yet, it isn't all that terrible because he's watching the Hooligans. Well, mainly Hiccup.

Hiccup needed him.

His cackles of insane laughter don't seem to upset her so much, these days. In fact, sometimes she even falls asleep while he trains, but only in broad daylight, and then she wakes up screaming. Which did get on his nerves. Its not fun to listen to her terrified screams anymore. He is going to bury his axe so deep in someone's head because of that. He used to love going to Berk just to mess with Hiccup, the Fish-one, and that Snotrag.

It was Snotrag, wasn't it?

Not that it mattered. His green eyes gazed at the young boy who had been so cocky and self-assured with his bragging. Though the weak thing never seem to stand his ground when Dagur challenged him. Snotrag was a lot quieter now. The others had been cloistered off with the Berserker women until they... uh... well, Dagur actually wasn't sure how long they were going to be with the women.

But he'd broken Savage's arm in three places for trying to take Hiccup with them. His father had scolded him for upsetting the wounded more, but Hiccup had looked up at him with those wide eyes and there had been trust in them. Her hand had been reaching toward him. Trying to hold onto him.

It shook Dagur to the core.

That one voice was louder than the rest. It prodded at him to keep Hiccup close. And, he'd only hurt Hiccup as much as he absolutely had to. Which was still undecided at this point. She didn't even flinch anymore when he knives at her. So, he grew bored and stopped. With her. His own men were not so lucky.

He was by no means, less deranged than before. However, now he did not randomly run off. His green eyes always noticed, slicing across the distance between them like a hot knife through butter, where Hiccup was. And, if anyone distressed her, Dagur dealt with it.

Gleefully.

And, he still refused to acknowledge, out loud at least, that he sometimes made sure to leave Hiccup where she could not see him so that he could swoop in and beat someone when she became scared. Well, swooped in to save her really. Because it was Hiccup... and Hiccup needed him to save her.

From the Murderous bastards that had destroyed her tribe and home land. Dagur didn't need to guess, he knew they had likely razed everything to the ground. There would be much that he would pay them back for, and he was never one to leave a debt unsettled.

OoOoOo

She was Hiccup, Chief of the Hooligan Tribe.

If fourteen clansmen could be called a Tribe anymore. Three more had succumbed to fever or their wounds. Hiccup sat beside them, and said the prayer to their ancestors as they died. The Berserk Shaman was behind her, giving parting words to the souls as they headed toward Valhalla. Guilt, fury, shame, and penitence were eating her alive. She hadn't told Oswald the Agreeable. Nor Dagur the Deranged.

She could not utter the words. Could not speak the vile truth.

It was her fault they were dead. All her fault.

She had finally, finally, started to erase the curse upon her existence...Hiccup had proven to be of some value. She had even... even made friends... and the Gods punished her, by striking down her Tribe. If she hadn't made Gobbler see! If she hadn't begged her father with fiery determination to try out her new weapons!

They... wouldn't... they wouldn't be dead. So, it could only be her fault. Oh, she seethed in rage toward the Murderous tribe. She wanted them dead. Wanted them to be banished to the hear after, never to harm another Hooligan soul again. However...

However, Hiccup was no true Viking.

She could not kill.

That horrible night had shown her that. Even as her father was slain, and her other kinsmen. Her hands had shaken around the hilt of her dagger, her arms felt far too heavy as she pointed her weapon at the unknown warrior. The one that had been attempting to subdue Astrid and do unspeakable things to her. Hiccup, had been able to must the courage to strike and wound.

But, she had not been able to kill him. She had looked into his eyes as a sick pit of could terror welled in her. She had struck over and over again. The wet squelching of flesh and blood. The warmth that had poured over her hands, making her grip slippery. The howls of his pain. Stabbing him. It had hurt him greatly, but that final blow...

She could not deliver.

Though blood had been spilled everywhere, and the fires loomed bright as the puffs of smoke and ash spread like a blanket over the island, Hiccup had only been able to come up with one plan. Seek out the Berserkers, their strongest allies, with whoever she could save. Bile in her throat, as she dragged a wounded Astrid to the nearest ship, which was already damaged in the attack, and hid her under fishing nets.

Of finding Ruffnut weeping over the body of her brother, who had stopped an Murderous Warrior from absconding with her virtue. Or of Fishlegs, who had been brutally dismembered with his father.

When she found Snotlout, standing over a corpse, with a wound which mirrored his Father's with bitter irony. She had tugged at him, screamed at him to come with her. Finally, Hiccup had slapped him with enough force to get him to move.

The moments of sheer quaking fear, as she snuck around the village she called home as it burned. The screams of her people ringing in her ears and she could do nothing. Scrambling back after dragging children, and women who were shattered into the boat. Struggling and clawing at the face of a man who came for her, until red blood coated his face and ran freely under her finger nails as she scampered away with her Father's shield.

Her claim for aid would need proof. She had rand down the dock, screaming at them to push the boat away. Those capable had been ready, lurking in the shadows, and took her order to heart.

It had cost her, her leg. A blade had come from nowhere, an axe, that had buried deep into the bone. Severing the muscles, mangling her leg, as she pulled herself over the boat's edge in a spurt of blind desperation not to die.

Praying to Odin, who loved her not, to protect them. As she ripped the axe from her leg with a howl of agony and cut the knot that kept the ship from leaving, as the thunder of many booted feet tore down the wreck of a dock that she had once fished with Gobbler on. Snotlout had been so brave...

He'd been the one forced to lop off her leg, if she was to survive. The wound would never heal. She would do best, Hiccup knew, to lose it and tend the stump left behind. Snotlout kept her alive until she regained consciousness. And Ruffnut held her down as they stitched it closed.

Then the sickness had set in, some had trouble drawing breath, others ragged with fever. Snotlout, collapsed after tending to the heavily wounded with Hiccup. Ruffnut had developed an infection from a wound given to her by her attacker. Astrid had yet to wake. A nasty blow to her head kept her between worlds.

Hiccup... Hiccup remained.

Tending the others in silence except for moans and wails. Steering the ship to where memories told her Oswald the Agreeable lived. Her mind in a loop over the last time she had seen her father.

He had been smiling. Boasting that she deserved a new name for the prosperity she had brought Berk. How the weapons had made slaying Dragons all the easier and lives had been spared.

Father...

Father had called her Hiccup the Clever.

However, in her heart of hearts she was Hiccup the Curse. And the last true Chief of Hooligan had died where he was born. On an island full of ghosts and memories.

OoOoOo

Hiccup keeps her people close.

Dagur, doesn't mind all that much. It just annoys him when she's not where he thinks she should be. It happens more than he likes to admit. It makes his skin itch, which then makes his nose crinkle, and he cracks a mad grin. That is usually when the other warriors choose to find something else to do.

He passes the time, by fighting and pestering Hiccup. A favorite pastime, because she doesn't wander all that far from him. Oh, farther than he thinks she should, but never very far.

"Does it hurt?" He asked her once, point to her ramshackle false leg with genuine curiosity.

"Yes," Hiccup answered steadily.

It made Dagur laugh until he fell over. She amused him. It was true. Hiccup only watched him enjoy himself. Her mind drifted to her people.

The 'Chief of Hooligan', however, has to watch over them. Its all she has left. Though Oswald has not demanded anything of them, Hiccup's pride demands they give back what they can. Now that the physical wounds have healed as much as they will.

Astrid was left blind in one eye, and her right arm still did not work properly. Though her friend was frothing at the mouth, near the level of a Berserker at full rage to avenge her family. Hiccup understood. Though it did not seep out of every pore, her rage was no less. The weak, one legged daughter, of the Great Stoick the Vast.

No one claims her a fault, but Hiccup knows. Oswald the Berserker Chief had summoned Hiccup for details about the attack, and Dagur had been there the entire time. She was... grateful for his presence. He had been the first face she recognized. The first one that wasn't an enemy of her mind waiting to slay her people. To destroy everything. And, somehow, the insane gaze that watched her made her feel as if nothing could happen to her without Dagur being aware of it.

On some level there was a twisted comfort in that. No surprise attacks under cover of night.

Snotlout doesn't speak, unless its to Hiccup. She had never believed there would come a day where she missed him fawning over Astrid like some love-sick pup. Nor a time where she would long to hear the Twins arguing.

Ruffnut always looked lost now. Searching for her brother the way Hiccup wakes at night clutching for a part of her leg that no longer exists. A fierce light in her eyes as she trained with Astrid and Snotlout. Blessedly, no one comments that they train because they are now the oldest fighters left of Hooligan. Nor that Hiccup is the eldest among them by three hours.

At the tender age of twelve to thirteen, as Oswald looks for ways to legally challenge the Murderous tribe without violating a treaty with the Outcasts as they mercilessly prepare for war, Hiccup steps back into a forge for the first time in year.

Deranged emerald orbs watch her intently. Cackling as Hiccup stares at the embers with a wisp of a fond smile. The first she had displayed since she came. Hiccup doesn't notice the way his face goes strangely blank, nor how his eyes turn slightly brighter as she picks up tools and inspects them. He's not all there and she has known that since their youth. But he has taken to only addressing her by her name, and not her title.

An insult as much as an endearment, because nothing is simple with Dagur. It is the reason they no longer go swimming since that incident when she was eight. But if someone else called her by her name, they were punished by Dagur. Hiccup did not interfere with the workings of another tribe.

OoOoOo

The first time the dragons attacked, after Hiccup came, Dagur ripped the wings of a Hideous Nightmare, because Hiccup is utterly hopeless at staying where he puts her. Idly he wonders why Stoick never taught her to stay away. Yet, she runs toward the Hooligan Children, clustered among the various families that had willingly taken them in. The Hooligan Tribe had never betrayed the Berserkers, even when others wanted them too.

"Thor take it, Hiccup!" Dagur said with a snarl. "Stop trying to get yourself killed!"

Her eyes widen, and she looks at him. Peers up at him with large and guileless eyes. He watches as she swallows, her mouth opening to say something, only to close again.

"Fascinating," he rumbles as he turns to fend off another dragon, slicing at it with his sword.

He almost missed the shy and sad words she stated next.

"Thank you, Dagur."

His veins thrum and part of him is buzzing with a vast amount of pleasure and there is a thrill making him howl with delight.

Hiccup needed him, and Hiccup thanked him.

Dagur decides he likes the voice that tells him to watch over Hiccup. He smiles with bliss as he chops the head off the dragon that dared to challenge him.

OoOoOo

Dagur likes how is Father is now. His father far more... blood thirsty. He takes the men to task, training them ruthlessly. Its like the glory of old has been restored. He had been thinking about 'usurping' power because of how slowly this was going, but now... NOW he could talk with his Sire about things! They strategized about the best ways to kill, all the spots that rendered a man useless in battle. Of blood and honor. Of vengeance and a lack of mercy his people are renowned for.

But... Dagur gets distracted...

By that voice in his head that is changing. The one that makes his thoughts about Hiccup turn...

More obsessive.

That smile, the one she had in the forge, tells him she's still in there. What's more, something in her seems to come alive as he watches her create drawing after drawing of weapons. Like a crossbow hidden in a shield! That's just, awe inspiring to him. The frail young woman offers to make enough to help the Berserkers in battle.

Time passes, when she works over the forge. A steely determination in her normally soft gaze. The emptiness seems to recede when she is there, or with Dagur. It grows worse with her fellow Hooligans. But here, oh, watching her at night, as he tells her about his day, makes Dagur... content.

Dare he say, happy.

Not a normal Berserker emotion, but he's going with it on this one. Hiccup always listens, and now some of her biting sass comes out, if Dagur waits patiently enough.

"You don't need a longer sword, I made you a crossbow-shield."

Dagur huffed.

"I wouldn't need the crossbow if you gave me more reach with a longer sword."

She gives him a look. Its a vague similarity to the looks she used to give him on Berk.

"Uh Huh. And how would you lift this longer, and let me remind you -heavier-, sword for over an hour in battle."

He cackled.

"No battle with me lasts an hour."

"No," Hiccup agreed, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "But you will be charging all over the place from one enemy to the next, and that could be over an hour."

He eyed her balefully.

"I have stamina." He leered.

Then Dagur caught himself. He's older than Hiccup. A man that had already proved himself on the battlefield and with dragons. However, he's not that much older than her. And, somewhere -the voices whispered- he knew that. He's been glad of it. The Hooligan didn't understand the tone the Berserker used, and huffed a breath dismissively.

"No one can last that long."

He winked, before he could stop himself, as he leaned closer toward her and the heat of the forge.

"You haven't dealt with me."

Something in his twitched uncomfortably hot, thinking that Hiccup had better not deal with anyone else. Other than him. His eyes dropped lower, to her covered chest, and the swell of femininity that is had just begun really starting to appear. Dagur swallowed. Blinking that it was strange to think that gangly little Hiccup...

Hiccup...

His Hiccup.

Dagur paused. What had he been thinking? What in the Hel had he been thinking? It was Hiccup! Hiccup who needed him.

Who trusted him.

Who spent the majority of her days in his company.

"Very few people can deal with you Dagur," Hiccup reprimanded him lightly.

His grin had been wide, but it grew wider. He eyed her a moment longer.

"You can."

She said nothing, and returned to her work. Dagur gloated from his corner. His eyes twitched to the left and right. No one had better have been watching her as he was. Only Dagur was permitted to watch her. Only Dagur could...

A chicken clucked, and it was the last thing the poor bird did. His knife flew across the yard and embedded in the bird from thirty paces away.

"Really, Dagur? Stop killing the chickens."

He howled with laughter, under Hiccup's disapproving stare.

OoOoOo

The Hooligan Chief, is fourteen by the time war finally comes.

The tiny band of four warriors is outfitted to the teeth, literally for Snotlout, who they had quietly named -as per tradition before heading into battle- Snotlout the Silent. Hiccup granted Astrid the title of Astrid the Vengeful, once she returned victorious from battle. A rank of shield Maiden would also be granted to her.

Ruffnut asked for one that would befit her as she once had been. A tribute to her fallen brother. Hiccup smiled, gently in understanding. The bond of the Hooligans was so tightly-knit that even Dagur was getting a cramp from trying to muscle in-between them. He'd been doing that a lot lately. Especially if Hiccup was alone with Snotlout. Or Oswald...

Or any male for that matter.

Hiccup names her Ruffnut the Wild. Something that makes a grin appear for a few heartbeats.

"Yes, that sounds like him." The single twin agrees, her voice roughened from shouting war cries for the past two years in her training.

Oswald swore they were ready.

Dagur inched closer, though precious little room was there to be had, as Hiccup let the others leave. A want was there, to let the dead rest in peace. Her father would not calm in the halls of Valhalla, until Hiccup had seen his murder struck down.

Hiccup had been forbidden to go. Oswald the Chief of the Berserkers had made it part of their continued good will toward the Hooligans. Also, should Hiccup fall, Oswald knew that his friend's line would fail to continue. And, he had sworn on pain of dishonor to protect Hiccup to the Ancestor's of the Slain Chief.

Dagur had laughed and nearly danced as Hiccup argued for a good two hours. At last, Dagur had flung her over his shoulder, and carried her back toward the dwelling she had been granted.

Hiccup raged until she was spent. Some very interesting and creative insults had been hurled at every person imaginable, and Dagur had crowed at what a funny girls she was.

"I am a Chief!" The Hooligan snarled, when he set her down.

The male Viking cooed.

"Aw, that's so adorable. You think I care!"

That brought her up short. Her wide eyes blinked in confusion.

Hiccup redoubled her efforts, after a chance to glare at him.

"I am your ally, I -"

Dagur stepped closer, staring down at her intently. Grinning like a lunatic.

"You are my ally," he said seriously. "Of a whopping fourteen people."

It was a low blow, it was unspoken and they both knew it, but it was correct. She grit her teeth, body shaking in rage, prepared to lunge at him.

"And, Hiccup, you might lose three of them."

Her heart slowed in her chest, until the beats where painful.

Dagur, though, did not seek to spare her the truth.

"You know our way, Hiccup. You know as well as I, that they are prepared to die. And that it is very possible that they will. And if they do, you will be Chief of eleven people. Including yourself."

His eyes glazed over for a moment, then he grinned.

"So, ten really. And thirteen right now."

"I am counting myself." Hiccup hissed.

His face scrunched up and he stroked his chin where his beard was filling out nicely. Green eyes caught her gaze and held it.

"You're not really all that good with numbers, are you?"

Hiccup cursed at him again. But it only amused him even more, as he circled around her like a predator. Hiccup took a step back, something in his gaze had changed. The way he watched her now, was... different. Though Hiccup did not understand it. She did know that he made her feel nervous. Yet, it was not an unwelcomed nervousness. He was Dagur the Deranged, he did whatever he wanted anyway.

She stood there as he moved about her, eyeing him balefully.

"You will wait for me, Hiccup." He commanded suddenly, towering over her with that odd leer on his face.

Where would she even go? She wasn't going to leave the island. Her weaponry had helped them through every Dragon attack since Dagur had snapped her out of her stupor. And now, her people and his were going off to war.

Hiccup tilted her head, and crossed her arms, knowing that Dagur's moods changed suddenly, but she would wait here and not leave. Even if she hated it. Dagur was a bit crazy, but she also knew he was right. And, that Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Astrid were prepared to die for their Chief. However, Hiccup should be with them, out there on the battlefield!

This didn't feel honorable, it didn't feel right. But...

But it was smart. The only way to preserve what remained of the Hooligan line. Outside of those that had been taken by the Murderous Tribe.

She nodded stiffly, agreeing to his statement.

"Fine," Hiccup said steadily, "If you will do me one favor."

Dagur watched her, like a predator or a Dragon about to go for its target. All Hiccup could see was the eerily happy smile he held, and the intense green of his eyes.

"Anything," he promised.

She glanced away and back toward him.

"If you see a man... with many scars that look as if they came from the same knife," she paused to take a shaky breath. Her gaze locked with his and Dagur was hypnotized by the sheer seriousness of her stare.

"Kill him for me."

She thought he might laugh, or even reject her favor. Instead Dagur nodded once. His voice was even and mild.

"He will die slowly."

Tears prickled her eyes, but they were of gratitude.

OoOoOo

It takes a full year to for the Berserker clan to have their chief stand proud upon their shores again.

Only now, Oswald had been succeeded by his Son. Dagur the Deranged. Having achieved the greatest honor a Viking can. Dying in honorable battle for a noble cause. Upholding his word.

Hiccup, his Hiccup, is waiting at the docks, having grown since he saw her last. Dagur has been keeping the voice at bay for far too long. It slips in his thoughts, demanding that he return to check up on the Chief of Twelve Hooligans. His fingers ached to pick up his axe and bury it in that Snotrag's head. but, that might anger Hiccup and Dagur needs to be near her.

Because Hiccup needs him. Hiccup has to need him. And if anyone has looked at her... has touched her... he'll kill them. With as much satisfaction as he would take harming the Snotrag. Its not really all that personal, he just doesn't like men that talk to Hiccup.

But, he does honor the fallen, and he doesn't really want to tell Hiccup that Astrid went down taking four Murderous warriors with her. The woman would have been a fine berserker. The power and fury with which she struck, even made Dagur get chills. A warrior through and through. He had given her the rites of one. He also doesn't want to have to tell Hiccup that there are only twelve Hooligans, not counting herself.

They hadn't kept the women they had taken very long. After they had their fun, they had disposed of the women. Seemed a little unfair, and needlessly cruel. Even for his tastes.

The voices told him that they had been after something, but it hadn't been the women. Hiccup would know. She was the Clever sort. The kind that made his head feel fuzzy and ache when she rambled on too long.

He grins and waves at her, lobbing a stray spoon he found on the Murderous Tribe's homeland. Hiccup doesn't even duck, and gives him a questioning look when it bounces off her armor and lands harmlessly on the ground.

Dagur laughed, long and low.

The moment of absurdity doesn't last though, as Hiccup counts the heads of those as they come off the ship.

His smile disappears, and he glances down at the ground. He figures he won't have to tell her...

Hiccup likely already knows.

OoOoOo

It takes a month. For everyone to settle into some sense of normalcy. Dagur knows the Hooligan Chief just turned sixteen summers. And, he has been a man for longer than when he left for war.

Lust is a hard emotion for him. A lot easier than that 'protective' feeling for the woman before him. Just a lot more distracting.

It starts to burn under his skin, the want for Hiccup.

It is powerful, like a drug or a madness. And, Dagur knows a bit about both. Yet, his eyes don't wander from her, as they stare into her forge. Hiccup misses Astrid, which both chafes at his pride and doesn't. Dagur is enough for her. He knows he is.

He has to be.

Or the other voices get mad.

However, Hiccup doesn't pull away from him entirely. And, he admires how much she has grown. Watching her with a devouring gaze. He hasn't stopped thinking about Hooligan from the day she showed up on Berserker Island.

Now he's chief...

And he killed the man she asked him too. Just like she wanted.

Now Dagur... he wanted to have...

What he wanted.

The voice agreed.