(Hello everyone! Sorry its been a while, reality bit pretty hard lately... Anyway, here's more of Disney and Dreamworks finest! Bonus points to whoever spots the HTTYD2 deleted scene I've converted!)
Of Reunions and Suspicions
"I don't see exactly why anyone would care about what I wear..."
"I'm not bothered particularly. But then, I'm not royalty."
"Neither is Hiccup!"
"But you are!"
Merida sighed. "This sounds familiar, Amelia..."
The young woman couldn't help smiling, even as she shook her head, setting her silvery blond hair braids swinging. Merida hated to argue with her, particularly since she had only just got over her latest bout of seasickness, and wondered -not for the first time either- if that had been her mother's major consideration in her choosing Amelia as a lady-in-waiting.
"We have had this discussion before, haven't we?" she agreed.
"How can the clothes I wear offend someone?"
"I have seen it happen in person..." Amelia said, in the tone of voice that implied she wasn't telling all of the story. Merida decided not to push the issue.
"Look, I can deal with the dress, its just the hair... thing..."
The disagreement was centred around a piece of cloth that was to be fashioned into a head covering, held in place by a circlet of leather called a Kransen, to symbolise the fact Merida wasn't yet married.
Merida, accustomed to her frizzy red hair flapping loose around her face, wasn't impressed.
Then she heard a voice approaching the curtain separating them from the rest of the space below deck.
"I know!" she said, brightly. "Let's ask!" And to Amelia's chagrin (though not, it must be admitted, to her surprise), she thrust the curtain aside, revealing Fishlegs Ingerman, making good use of his strength to help move some of the Scottish stores up from the hold.
"Master Ingerman, could you advise me on a matter of protocol?"
Her sudden appearance startled him and the guard he was speaking with, but he rallied fast as Merida made her enquiry regarding the head piece of her outfit.
"I... don't know so much about protocol, princess..." he said, "but no woman on Berk would like being forced to wear a head-dress that could catch fire so easily..."
Merida's cheeky grin abruptly vanished, and from Amelia's sheepish expression, it was clear that she hadn't thought of this.
"That's... a point..." the young princess admitted. She turned to Amelia. "We might need to rethink the wardrobe a bit..."
"As far as the hair goes," Fishlegs went on, gesturing as best he could with his hands full of stores, "you may want to keep the Kransen to tie it back... Maybe braid it? For the same reason."
Merida forced herself to keep her grimace internal. Her father had told her once that she would lose some battles regardless of what she did, both in the literal sense and in the political sense, and that part of the trick was to fight only the battles she must.
In truth, she wasn't finding this very easy at all...
That said, Astrid had looked quite attractive with her hair braided, and she supposed that if it was good enough for a chief's girlfriend, it would suit her fine. She was even more certain that having it burned off would not!
As she thanked Fishlegs for his help, Merida realised that she wasn't disappointed by the fact Hiccup was already spoken for any more. She did however, find that she wanted to do things properly in spite of this change.
I guess I'm growing up after all... she thought.
oooo
Astrid watched the four longships chosen to escort the two Scottish vessels into the docks pull away towards their guests, sitting not far out from the island. The island was in an uproar with final preparations, but she just couldn't summon the urgency to join in.
"Astrid?" said a voice behind her.
Oh yes, that was why...
"Hiccup. I think we're about as ready as we'll ever be," she said, without turning round.
"Good." he replied. "This has to work..."
Again, the tone in his voice that disturbed her for no reason she could explain.
Why was he so desperate to make a good impression? Why did it need to work so badly? What isn't he saying?
She exhaled; how did she articulate this? Was now the time, when things were so delicate?
She fingered her Betrothal necklace absently.
...and Hiccup surprised her by slipping his arms around her waist.
"You only wear that necklace when you're feeling neglected, don't you..." he murmured softly into her left ear. "I'm sorry..."
"What? No! No, I've... been wearing it under my tunic since we left the Edge..."
She felt Hiccup smile, and heard him sigh sadly. "Well, either way I haven't made time for you recently, and that's going to get a bit harder while our guests are here..."
"That isn't a bad excuse, as they go," Astrid replied, half-turning towards him. Hiccup chuckled half-heartedly.
"Well, I certainly think so..."
And don't you feel selfish now!
Astrid exhaled again. Her thoughts abruptly derailed.
"Astrid?" Hiccup asked, sounding concerned.
Astrid swallowed her turmoil.
He needs me.
"It's fine, Hiccup. You have a village to worry about." She embraced him, laying her head on his shoulder. "I'm with you..." she whispered, trying to ignore the tightness in her chest. She absently noted the cool cloth of his best clothes in place of his leather armour against her cheek.
Hiccup opened his mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by Gobber telling him the ships were on their way in now. He squeezed her waist briefly.
"We'll talk later," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'll make time."
Astrid had to stop herself from clinging to him as he pulled away.
Hiccup, don't go... I need you... I love you... I love the man you are, not the infallible Snotlout clone you're trying to be... No, that's not what I mean... I...
Hiccup was already gone.
She'd said none of it.
She didn't know whether that was a good thing or not...
oooo
Berk was certainly impressive, Merida had to admit. The massive rock stack that contained the great hall (according to Fishlegs anyway) itself dwarfed by the mountain behind it.
The young Princess was quite glad to get ashore, even if she did need to find her 'land legs' after such a long time at sea. Fishlegs had given her quite the information overload of Dragon facts and figures over the last few hours, some of which she had no frame of reference for, and she was eager to see the creatures in the flesh.
Which was why she was mildly disappointed when the only dragon to greet their party at the dockside was Toothless himself. It seemed that they were being kept out of the way temporarily until the visitors were used to the idea of them. Fishlegs had told them if they wanted to meet them under controlled conditions, they could ask instead.
In truth, she was bored all throughout the formal introductions, which (as usual) went on far too long and said very little in a lot of words.
She tried hard not to fiddle with her loose hair braid and Norse-style Kransen. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, she just wasn't used to it.
She did wake up a little when Tomas Macintosh handed over a draft of the treaty they'd proposed between Dunbroch and Berk.
When did he get the chance to write that? she wondered.
Her father seemed to be faintly wondering this as well... Mind you, this was part of the reason Tomas was along with them. And he was a mean man with a quill and ink, there was no denying that, however annoying he was.
"Spitelout Jorgensen!"
Merida jumped in surprise at her father's reaction to Hiccup saying he was assigning someone to guide them around Berk. Clearly, he recognised the individual in question.
"Fergus a'Dunbroch!" The man laughed, a wide grin on his face, uncaring or unaware of how Macintosh was grimacing at his failure to use his title.
Not that Fergus cared. He laughed as well, clasping the man's hand.
"How's the wrist?" he asked, gesturing at Spitelout's shield hand. The Berkian paused for a second, then recalled the old injury and glanced at the offending appendage.
"Oh, that's fine now." He lowered his voice sufficiently that only Merida and her father were near enough to hear him. "...It's my back that's the issue right now. A going away present from Drago Bludvist..." he added quickly. He seemed unaware that his tone of voice fooled no-one.
Especially not Fergus, who gave him a sympathetic smile for a moment, before he gestured to Merida. "Do you remember my daughter?"
"I do indeed." Spitelout grinned, bowing slightly in her direction. "Not afraid of anything as I remember it." He looked her up and down. "Pardon my saying so, but you've grown a bit..."
"After fourteen years, I'd hope so!" Merida replied, earning her another Macintosh wince. But even he acknowledged that she was good at reading people and getting the tone right in situations like this. And so it proved to be, if Spitelout's laughter was any indication.
Hiccup excused himself at this point on the grounds of having a few things to do before the feast began, the thought of which brightened everyone's day, and let Spitelout lead the Scots away to their quarters as he turned to deal with the miscellaneous prisoners.
It seemed they were going to be left to sweat for a few days in the cells before Hiccup and her father came to deal with them.
As they filed after their guide, already swapping stories about old times with her father, Merida spotted Astrid staring hard at her, looking distracted. Not knowing what else to do, she dropped a curtesy in her direction.
She was mildly surprised that the response was a tight smile, and a curt inclination of the head, before the Berkian Thane turned hastily away.
Merida wondered briefly at this, then shrugged to herself. She couldn't win everyone over...
oooo
"Most of your men will bed down in the great hall after the feast." Spitelout explained, "But for you and your immediate party..." he gestured around the house expansively.
"Excellent, Excellent." Fergus replied, looking about as his guards made as unobtrusive a search of the house as they could. He noted something that intrigued him, then turned to Spitelout. "I haven't seen Finn Hofferson yet. How is he?"
"Oh, he passed on soon after we last saw you." Spitelout replied. "It's a hard life here." He added, noting Fergus' expression at his matter-of-fact tone. "It's only by Odin's grace and heroic efforts by Hiccup and his father that it's not harder than it is."
Hiccup and his father, Fergus noted absently, not Stoick and his son. Worth remembering...
"Is there anyone else left I'd know here?" Fergus asked, hoping the cold breath of mortality he'd just felt wasn't audible in his voice.
"There's about... eight... ten...? Aye, that'd be about right... ten men that remember that campaign. I'll see if I can- YAK DUNG!" Spitelout abruptly lunged for the open door, as a large red and green shape with wings came bounding towards it.
Fergus turned in time to see Spitelout catch the creature in an embrace, the impact of which almost lifted the man from his feet.
"Down boy, down! They're guests, not toys, boyo! BONESNARL!"
Fergus put a protective hand on Merida's shoulder as she moved forward for a better look.
Several people went for weapons, but before any misunderstanding could occur, a deeper roar sounded.
The apple-coloured dragon froze in place where Spitelout was wrestling with it, and Fergus was incongruously reminded of his sons caught in the act of mischief. An apt comparison as it turned out!
An older dragon with armour around its head was trotting towards them, growling sternly at the younger one, which seemed to try to shrink behind Spitelout as he disentangled himself. A final snap, and a sharp jerk of the head, and the older, darker-scaled dragon had had its say. The smaller one slunk away, looking crestfallen.
"Sorry about that," Spitelout gasped, getting to his feet again. "Baby Scuttleclaws get a bit excited with strangers around. They don't mean any harm, they're just playful. Best keep him away from the Dragon-Nip, Bonesnarl!"
Bonesnarl growled low, as if faintly offended that Spitelout thought he needed the reminder. He rumbled gently in Fergus and Merida's direction when he saw them.
Fergus chuckled, clapping Merida on the shoulder, "It's fine, I've been apologising for this one and her brothers for years!" Merida elbowed him in the belly.
Bonesnarl erupted into low rhythmic snorting, his head nodding.
Fergus blinked. He'd spoken out of habit, very much like he did with his dogs. He hadn't expected Bonesnarl to understand that he was making a joke, much less laugh at it.
The armoured dragon gave Fergus a wise, knowing look, then turned and shepherded his charge away.
"He's not the same species," Merida said, her voice mildly curious. She was clearly loving the chance to encounter more dragons.
"Aye... he adopted those little guys... guess he felt lonely..." Spitelout was out of breath with exertion. "Thunderclaws are... social... 'scuse me..." he sat down on the ground just outside the house and tipped his head back against the outside wall.
"Why the armour?" Macintosh asked, looking suspicious. Spitelout shrugged.
"He wanted to keep it. Beats me why, when Drago practically nailed it onto him and all... But he gets really aggressive when you try and get it off him. Otherwise he's as gentle as..." He paused, considering the sentence to come. "Well, he's no kitten, he is a Dragon after all. But he's alright."
Macintosh might have said more, but a look from Alec MacGuffin made him subside. Spitelout got to his feet again, having caught his breath sufficiently.
"I'd better give my boy some attention too. Baby Scuttleclaws are one thing, a fully grown Nadder like Kingstail is another!"
"Wasn't so long ago you told me the best way to kill one of those," Fergus chuckled. Spitelout smiled ruefully.
"Things change, old friend," he said, eventually. He shook himself, and straightened up. "If you need anything, just sing out."
Fergus clasped his hand once more, then let him get on.
"He's mellowed a lot," MacGuffin said quietly as the Berkian walked away. Fergus nodded. He had the feeling that a close encounter with a mad-man and an ice-spitting Behemoth would do that to a man, and expressed as much.
Captain Gordon came up, the search complete, bearing a piece of paper. "All in order sire, even an upstairs space for the ladies. We also found this." He reported, handing the paper to the king. It was crumpled, but proved to be an incomplete drawing of a Night Fury, curled up in sleep.
"Given that the only one able to capture such an intimate depiction of this Dragon would be the chief, it seems he gave up his own house to us." The captain went on.
"I could have told you that," Fergus murmured, walking over to the hearth, where there was already a healthy blaze going, and taking an object from the mantle-piece. It was a whittled wooden duck, one of many. "I remember Stoick whittling one of these by the fire by night..."
"Which one was it?" Alec asked. Fergus paused, duck still held in his hands as he gazed blankly at its fellows on the mantle.
"I have no idea..." he said at last.
That fact bothered him for no reason he could explain.
oooo
Leaving her father to his memories, Merida had Amelia and the guards move her chests of clothes into the upstairs space. There were only a couple of them, so within only a few minutes, she and Amelia were on their own.
Strangely, the bed held less attraction for Merida than the stone slab covered in furs on the floor. Amelia's mild exasperation with this fact lasted right up to the point she was persuaded to sit down upon it herself. As she did so, some furs shifted, revealing the blackened marks that spoke of a dragon's fiery attention upon the stone.
"I guess if this is good enough for the King of the Dragons," the princess said, grinning at her lady-in-waiting.
"Fair words," the woman acknowledged. "I might even take my expected place sleeping at your feet..."
"Amelia! That's humiliating!" Merida replied.
"It's also warm, and has the potential to do wonders for my back!" Amelia responded calmly, laying back in the furs, looking smug.
Merida shook her head in wonderment. "Where did my mother find you?"
"Cromarty."
The habitual, laconic and factually accurate response caused Merida to smile as it always did. "You're not what I expected when she said I was to have a Lady-in-waiting."
Amelia smiled, sitting up again. "You're not what I expected either, princess."
Merida rolled her eyes; she'd given up trying to get Amelia to use her name months before. One thing was certain: she wasn't the stuffy moral guardian that one of Young MacGuffin's sisters had been lumbered with. She was much closer to her in age, bright, politically astute, and spoke Latin and English as well as Gaelic and Norse.
She also knew how to shoe a horse and pick locks. That she was a farrier's daughter explained the first skill, but the second she had always resisted telling Merida how she had learned...
"There is another advantage to sleeping down here." She added, brushing her sliver-blond hair out of her face and grinning cheekily. "You can honestly say you've not slept in the chief's bed!"
Merida frowned. "Where is he sleeping anyway?" She asked, ignoring the deliberate attempt to bait her.
"Probably not with his Thane." Amelia concluded, standing up again. "They do have some standards here."
"Who would be better prepared or motivated to give a would-be assassin a nasty surprise in the bedroom?" Merida shot back.
"Point." Amelia admitted after a moment considering this. She opened a chest. "Now, let's get you dressed for the feast."
oooo
"You're sure you don't mind sleeping down here?" Astrid asked, looking around at the Dragon stables beneath Berk.
Hiccup nodded, sitting down on the bunk in one of the closed off stalls normally used for when riders wanted to stay with sick dragons. Toothless curled up on the slab on the floor beside him.
"If we have guests wandering around, I'd sooner be somewhere they'd hesitate to go if I need to retreat for a while," he said. "Are you sure you're alright?" he added. "You've been really quiet..."
Astrid wasn't sure what to say to this, but she never got the chance to try. An angry delegation of Berkians were approaching, Valka and Gobber flapping ineffectually, and with increasing exasperation at their heels.
Hiccup's heart sank as he saw that Sven, at the head of the group (being propelled by the crowd rather than leading it, and looking very much like he'd rather be anywhere else in fairness to him), was brandishing the treaty Fergus' man had given him.
Given that they were all talking at once, and agitating the dragons around them into making more noise in doing so, Hiccup didn't even try to but in, but gestured to Toothless. The Night Fury rolled his eyes and let out an authoritative sounding roar. Amplified by the cavern walls, it left everyone in the room disinclined to further shouting.
"Sven, what's happened?" he asked, when the echoes had died away. The once elective mute handed him the scroll, which was now looking more than a little tattered around the edges.
"I gave it to the council to read like you asked, and then it got out of hand..." he said.
Hiccup's brain belatedly untangled the words 'Tear it up!' from the prior cacophony, and he handed the scroll off to Astrid, as far from the group as he could.
"Who is this Southlander to tell us who we can and can't sell our Gronkle Iron to?" someone asked.
"He's trying to make sure his enemies don't get their hands on the stuff," Gobber put in, trying to be placating. It didn't work.
"What about that passage about trade tariffs? That's just punitive!"
"Or where we can fly our Dragons?"
"Enough!" Hiccup called out. "I said, ENOUGH!" The angry comments died away, but slowly.
"Did I choose to let Krogan capture Berk?" He asked, when he had most of their attention. "Did I choose to let Viggo chain up a Submarripper in the Straights of Baldur?" This wasn't working the way he'd hoped, as they just looked confused now.
"Hiccup, have you even read the thing?" Someone shot back. The speaker was abruptly clouted over the head by Gobber.
"Show the chief some respect!" he snapped.
"Thank you Gobber, but that's not necessary," Hiccup replied, pretending not to hear the target of Gobber's well-intentioned retribution muttering something about earning it.
"Are you even taking this seriously?" someone else put in. "We're strong enough to stand on our own without some Southlander sticking their nose in!"
Hiccup sighed and looked directly at the speaker, who had taken Sven's place at the head of the group.
"Are you taking ME seriously, Mrs Ack?" he asked her. "Because if I'm allowed to finish what I started saying earlier: Do you seriously believe that I would choose to blindly sign something that would obviously make you all this unhappy?"
Mrs Ack opened her mouth, then shut it again. Her expression however, implied very heavily what it was she had been about to say. Nor was she the only one who felt that way, clearly.
"It's a first draft, in any case," Hiccup went on, "no-one expects you to agree right off the axe unless the other side have a waiting army."
"And we're the ones with that..." someone muttered, eyeing the dragons around them. There was a muted groundswell of agreement.
Seeing his mother's shocked expression, Hiccup stepped in. "I've a better idea. We show them Viking hospitality like Dad said he would. It's the right thing to do, and if there is any malice aforethought on their part, it shames them. Either way we win!"
Gobber seized the opportunity to usher the crowd away at this point, but the manner in which they departed left Hiccup in little doubt that they left because they didn't think he was listening to them.
"Astrid. Go put that somewhere safe 'til tomorrow," he said quietly. "I don't have the head-space to think about it right now."
oooo
Astrid moved away.
Now wasn't the time to bother Hiccup with her personal problems...
Absently, she fumbled open the treaty scroll and skimmed it. Nothing jumped out at her as being particularly troublesome...
Provisions for alliance in Marriage.
Wait... What?
Astrid read that paragraph properly. It was couched in hypothetical language and made no assumptions at all about whether or not such a thing was likely. But the fact that it was included in the first place made her wary.
Suddenly, the young princess' presence made a lot more sense to her apprehensive mind. As did the fact she had grown a maiden's Kransen like hers in between being rescued and arriving on Berk.
She shook herself. This Was Silly!
If she went back and spoke to Hiccup about this he'd explode that theory right away. Then he wouldn't have to worry about her any more, and the problem would be solved.
How did you introduce this kind of thing in conversation though?
She turned and walked back to where Hiccup had set up his temporary accommodation.
"...like I've never had any choices in my life at all!"
She stopped dead. That statement had been directed at Valka, and she was loathe to interrupt a mother-son chat, since they had twenty years of catching up to do already.
Hiccup's side of the conversation was mostly blocked by the wall of the stall, unless Hiccup got heated, or stood up to pace around as he was making a point, as he often did. Not so much on this occasion sadly.
"Never mind... on... own! We've had to... far too many... put a stop to it!" Hiccup explained, disjointedly. "That's why... use the protocol to... the princess..."
"I'm just not sure poor Astrid is going to be okay with that idea..." Valka replied. "Noble intention or not..."
"...relationship can't... chief now. Her words."
"Have you explained your thinking to anyone else?"
"...saw how they reacted just now..." Hiccup sighed, finally getting to his feet and allowing her to hear him properly. "I need to earn their respect still. Building a statue of Dad is one thing, making an alliance with a Scots Kingdom is another..."
Provisions for alliance in Marriage.
Alliance.
Astrid began to feel very cold.
The idea that Hiccup would betray her so callously, having her find out after the fact, was unthinkable. But if King Fergus had made an assumption, and Hiccup didn't have the mental space to argue, something he seldom did with his father, who Fergus was very much like...
Don't pretend you haven't done that yourself. And over the stupidest things too... Like when Dagur and Mala announced their engagement.
How had she put it?
They've known each other for a few months and they can't bear to be apart. We've known each other our whole lives and I've never felt further away from you.
An observation based on a couple in the early stages of their relationship, when it was all so new and exciting for them. A phase that had been abruptly terminated for her and Hiccup a couple of months previously when Krogan's Dragon Flyers had attacked their outpost while they were out enjoying some time alone.
In hindsight, everyone agreed it was more Johann's fault than theirs, but at the time Hiccup had blamed himself, as he tended to do.
He had taken pains to correct this seeming mistake, as was also his habit.
Net result: passive aggression from her, culminating in a stupid argument.
She'd not realised how dependent his self-confidence was on her belief in him. Which she should have, given that he'd been on the verge of running away from Berk when she accidentally discovered his friendship with Toothless in the first place.
Given all of that, she might as well have told him that whatever he did was wrong. Gods knew he'd had far too much of that in his life.
It had hurt, she could tell...
...and he'd still given her the most romantic apology she'd ever heard.
She'd sworn not to do that to him again.
Which meant that her emotions were piling up on her, until she didn't know what to do.
"This isn't just about Berk's future." Hiccup told his mother as they walked past where Astrid had hidden herself, without even being aware she was doing so. "This is about our future too. Astrid will understand."
Astrid, hidden in the corner, suddenly unable to see the bright future he'd made speeches about in the last few months.
It seemed cold, dark, tunnel-like.
Lonely...
oooo
Viking hospitality was every bit as impressive as Stoick's boasting, despite Hiccup's apologies about the meagreness of the feast.
King Fergus saw nothing meagre about it.
There was hot food, and plenty of it. More pertinently, there was sufficient Ale to muddy the lines his men seemed to have drawn between them and the Berkians, and vice versa.
Oh, there were still the inevitable few who glared sidelong at their fellows swapping tales of the old campaign with Stoick, but the convivial time these ones were having was rippling out across the hall slowly.
"They'll come round eventually."
Fergus came to himself with a start. He hadn't even realised that Hiccup's mother, seated on his right side at the high table, had been observing him.
"I used to think that people weren't capable of change," Valka went on, moving her hand in a strange motion as if to punctuate her words, that briefly distracted him. "Then I saw the miracles my son had worked." She abruptly stopped gesticulating, and firmly placed her hands on her lap and began to look embarrassed.
Fergus had heard she had lived among Dragons, without human contact, for longer than he had known Stoick, so he wasn't surprised she had some mildly odd mannerisms.
"I've known some hard-heads in my time," he replied. "Some of them I'd happily throw off a mountain if they weren't so useful."
Valka noted the direction of his gaze, toward Tomas Macintosh further down the table. He was seated next to Gobber, who was wearing his 'I-want-to-be-polite-but-I-am-struggling' face at whatever he was saying. Bucket, on his other side, was achieving this by virtue of being blissfully oblivious to everything his neighbour was talking about.
"Hmmm," she said, non-committally. Fergus frowned.
"Please tell me he wasn't terribly rude to you earlier..." he muttered. He knew for a fact that Macintosh had been suspicious and doubtful about Valka literally being Hiccup's mother, and had meant to engage her in conversation in the hope of catching her out. Valka looked him square in the eye.
"That depends, your Majesty," she said quietly. "I am a poor liar, much like my son, so likely the both of you would know everything you would wish to know from me in short order, if he framed his questions right. Does he defend his chief in such fashion effectively?"
The clumsy attempt at tact wasn't lost on Fergus.
"He does, though he could be a little less cynical about it..." he sighed, "If I might be equally frank with you, Lady Valka; if your resemblance to Chief Hiccup, and his to Stoick, was not obvious to anyone possessed of a working pair of eyes and an absence of obstructive cynicism, I would not care of the truth of his parentage!"
Valka digested that for a moment. "You're as uncomfortable as I am," she said, dropping the attempt at elegant speaking.
Fergus chuckled. "I've sat through too many protocol infested occasions like this to be anywhere nearly as comfortable as you seem to be."
"Then I am better at pretending these things than I thought," Valka replied, "and you are certainly better than me!"
Fergus couldn't help grinning, though sheepishly, as he made a mental note to have a word with Macintosh later.
"I know hard-headedness well," Valka went on, her face softening. "I married Stoick after all!"
"He was a good man to have at your back..."
"Under the dysfunction, stubbornness and survivor guilt, you mean?" Valka scoffed, to Fergus' great surprise. "I'm sorry," she added, on seeing his expression, "but I knew him too well, and I've heard too much about how he was during my absence, to think of him as a perfect man. Besides, I'm... trying not to think about the time we lost because I was as stubborn as he was..." she trailed off, looking embarrassed again.
Fergus thought back to a couple of years previously, when he had almost killed his wife without realising it, and come close to losing her in either case. Would he have thought like Valka did now?
What would he have wanted to hear?
"There were good times as well, though I know only a couple of them..." he probed "...if you've not heard your fill from Spitelout and the others," he added. Valka looked across at him, clearly not fooled for a second, but grateful none-the-less.
"How did your people take to him then?" she asked, playing along.
"Well, the first one to speak to him was four-year-old Merida..." Fergus began. "...scared her mother and I half to death..."
oooo
Protocol had seated Merida on Hiccup's left side at the high table, her father on his right, next to his mother. Given that the king was speaking to Valka right at that moment, it gave Merida a prime opportunity to speak to the young chief.
He was pleasant enough company, but Merida got the impression that he had a million and one things on his mind, and attempted to say so, gently.
"You could say that," Hiccup agreed. "I don't think I'd have gotten as far as I have already without... oh..."
Merida followed his gesture to an empty chair quite a way further down the table. A moment's search found Astrid walking towards the door of the hall. The set of her shoulders suggested she wasn't happy in the least.
Something clicked in Merida's head. "I'm in her seat, aren't I?" she asked.
"It's not your fault." Hiccup replied. "I've not been a very attentive betrothed these last few months. I need to make it up to her somehow." He smiled ruefully at her. "Any suggestions?" He asked in partial jest.
Betrothed!
Merida was faintly relieved to have a line under her vague musings about what a relationship with a Viking chief actually involved.
She hadn't expected him to ask for relationship advice however, but she thought for a moment. "Well... some of my suitors try singing to me...?" she said at last.
"Key word being try?"
"Sadly, yes."
"Heh... since I sing like a Gronkle with toothache, I can relate! Besides, the only song I could sing in this situation... I still think of..." his gaze wandered to his mother.
Merida had tried to avoid bringing Stoick up in conversation up to now. "I'm sorry."
Hiccup waved this off.
"No, no. I do miss him, but he wasn't the easiest of men to get along with, and we just didn't understand each other until... well..." he trailed off, absently reaching down to his left leg.
"The Red Death?" Merida asked quietly. She still wasn't sure what that was all about, but it was apparently a very large dragon Hiccup had defeated, losing his leg in the process.
"Well, that helped." Hiccup chuckled, "but even then we didn't always see eye to eye. He was right about Drago though..." he went quiet again.
Merida wasn't sure what to say, particularly since she only barely remembered Stoick. She thought of the clan gathering two years before, arguing with her mother, almost starting a war because of that.
Then...
"I know how that feels..." she said, quietly. "I almost lost my mother a couple of years back. I blamed myself too." She wasn't sure how tell the tale of how she had ended up being stuck looking like a bear in the first place. "We didn't really get on for a long time..." she started.
"Let me guess; ever since she was young, she knew what she was, and what she had to become, and you weren't it?" Hiccup interrupted.
"Oh, she had no idea what she was, and just took for granted what she had to become." Merida replied, recalling a long conversation with her mother in the weeks afterwards. "No wonder she wasn't happy when I complained about having no freedom..."
"I hear that! I'm still not sure what the hell I am!"
"Besides a chief?" Merida grinned. Hiccup snorted.
"Oh yeah. He still guilts me to do what he wanted, even in death!"
There was a spike of bitterness in that last sentence. So much so that Merida was surprised when Hiccup chuckled to himself and smiled.
"You know, however miserable he made my childhood without realising it... there were moments, when we flew together, I got back something I didn't know I'd lost..."
Hiccup turned to Merida, smiling crookedly.
"That's the part I'll choose to remember."
Merida remembered reconnecting with her mother while she was stuck in bear's shape, and felt her own face lift. Accepting a refilled goblet from a Viking woman doing the rounds with an ale keg, she lifted it likewise.
"To Stoick the Vast?"
Hiccup's expression remained somewhat distant, but his smile widened, and he brought up his own Goblet.
"To Stoick the Vast."
oooo
The guards at the prison were taken completely unaware, being vaguely resentful at drawing the short straw and missing the feast as they were.
Their assailant began to draw his sword as they lay senseless on the floor.
"Wait!" Matthias called from his cell.
"What?" the assailant growled.
"Better they are left alive to give a poor excuse for their failure."
The assailant paused for a moment, then kicked one downed guard that had started to stir, before grabbing his keys.
"You sound like Viggo," he hissed in a warning tone, turning his hood to glare at Matthias.
Matthias had the sense not to rise to that, but he wasn't surprised when he was the last to be let out.
"You understand what you have to do," he said, pointedly directing this statement at two of the men with him instead of their rescuer. "Move fast and decisively, and no-one will think to question you."
They nodded and moved away.
Professionals, both of them. Unlike the men he had inherited from the late Viggo Grimborn's tribe. What was left of it...
Still, they had their uses.
"Right, what now?"
Idle conversation was not one of them.
Fortunately, the hooded man had a lower tolerance for such things, and clouted the speaker round the head. Some of the others sniggered, almost covering someone else muttering about how hard the hooded man was to kill.
"Now," Matthias replied, being in a magnanimous mood, "we wait."
The hooded man turned the top half of a scarred face toward him. "This had better work!" he grumbled. "We've lost one ship already!"
"We could nick one from the docks," someone suggested.
"We only need one." Matthias insisted. "Besides, they won't notice ours is missing in the confusion."
"And we'll soon have enough money for a few more," one of the former Dragon hunters added, before turning to glare pointedly at Matthias. "Right?"
"Well if that's what you want to spend it on, go ahead. I have... different plans for my share."
There was a brief flurry of nervous laughter. Matthias realised he quite liked these men actually. None of them had the imagination to realise any one of them could do him serious harm with a casual punch, and he mentally thanked Viggo once again for instilling them once again with this mindset. All he had to do was remind them of him.
Well, with one exception, he reminded himself, as the hooded man scowled at him.
"Within the hour, we will have earned our pay and be well away," Matthias soothed.
(Things are starting to move along now! I'm curious about something by the way; can anyone guess who the hooded man is?
Thanks to my wife for grammar and spelling checking, and just generally being awesome!)