Disclaimer: How to Train Your Dragon and all related characters and events belong to Cressida Cowell and DreamWorks Animation.
Chapter 2: What's in a Nickname?
Life in Berk is difficult. Nearly every task and activity that occupies our time and strength is related to our survival on this tiny, inhospitable island. We labor and strive for our daily bread in close proximity to our neighbors every day. It is for this reason that we have no hierarchy of blood ranking or family power. Yet we recognize a chief, for every society must submit to the protection and governance of one individual in order to maintain a mutually beneficial way of life. Such has been our way for generations.
But the chieftaincy of Berk is based on the individual's contribution to the group: qualities such as leadership, courage, a strong work ethic, physical prowess, and personal achievement are highly valued, so much so that no man can be considered for chieftaincy without them. Thus, the passing of the rod of authority from one chieftain to another is not necessarily a hereditary action. For this reason, among others, most of the villagers of Berk can claim a chief somewhere in their family's bloodline. My family is no different.
My great-great-great-great-grandfather, Bludlust Hofferson, was one of the first and fiercest chieftains of Berk. Our legends tell of his great deeds, how he drove the dragons back night after night and raid after raid; how he explored the furthest reaches of our island and those nearby; how he fought off the attacks of hostile tribes and cunningly forestalled treachery within his own; and most of all, how he wielded his mighty battleaxe like a whirlwind of power. Every Hofferson since has favored the battleaxe: it is a symbol of our history and our time of leadership. It is also my own most prized possession.
No-one in the village remembers the days of Bludlust's supremacy; but Gothi, our elder, the oldest among us, has said that no Hofferson in her memory (and no other villager, for that matter) could wield the axe as I do.
Imagine my chagrin then when Snotlout heard about that particular statement. For days on end, he wouldn't let it go.
"So, Hiccup, what are you gonna' do when Astrid becomes the next chief?" Snotlout taunted, casually leaning against the saddle on Hookfang's neck.
"That's not up to me, Snotlout," Hiccup replied evenly as he examined the delicate mechanism connecting Toothless' fin to the saddle. "The new chief will be whoever my dad decides is the best."
"Berk's never had a chief who was a girl," Ruffnut piped up. "That would be cool."
"No it wouldn't," Tuffnut protested. "If Astrid becomes chief, she'll probably make us take baths everyday."
Ruffnut dug an elbow into his side. "That would be the best chiefly act ever!"
"Listen up, all of you!" I shouted. Fishlegs opened his mouth to speak, but I'd had enough of the conversation already. "That means you too, Fishlegs." He shut his mouth quickly.
"It doesn't matter what Gothi said, or what any of you think: I'm not going to be chief, so I don't want to hear another word on the subject. Understood?" Mute nods gave me all the answer I needed, and my peers began filing out of the arena one by one. Hiccup lingered, waiting until the others had left.
"You know," he said, "you could put down any kind of trouble in the village just with that tone of voice."
I punched him in the arm for that. "Ow!" he exclaimed, rubbing it gingerly. "What was that for?"
"You heard what I said, Hiccup," I replied sternly. "The subject is closed."
Hiccup looked at the ground for a moment and I wondered if I'd overdone the punch. Then he looked up, grinned at me cheekily, and said, "Understood, . . . m'lady!"
Apparently that's his nickname for me now: M'lady Hofferson, the chief who wasn't.