THE LOST BOY

Chapter Four

Borrowed Scales

Astrid stood amongst the mass of Vikings at the edge of the village green and resisted the urge to fidget. It would have been undignified. No matter how boring it was standing around idly.

At least the crowd was smaller than it had been the previous day. Much of the village had begun congregating around the field as the afternoon approached, but many had important tasks to attend to. Work that couldn't be put of for a mere spectacle, no matter how interesting.

Astrid bit back a sigh of boredom and tilted her head back to stare at the sky. The day was overcast and cloudy, though the Elder said there would be no rain this day. Still, a gray curtain was cast across the sky, allowing only a feeble fraction of sunlight through. Here and there a break in the clouds allowed the full power of the sun's illumination to shine through. Bright beams of light shone down from the heavens, appearing and disappearing, moving across the landscape as the clouds shifted and danced in the wind.

Looking up as she was, Astrid was one of the first Vikings to note Hiccup's arrival… as he and his flight of dragons burst through the clouds in a steep dive, zooming towards the ground.

Her gasp of surprise drew the attention of those around her, and in moments all eyes were on the descending dragons. Their wings were folded to their sides, and they were dropping towards the earth like an arrow fired from a bow. One by one they spread their wings, slowing their descent. All except the Night Fury bearing Hiccup. THAT beast seemed to have a suicide pact with the earth.

The black scaled beast and its armored rider waited until the last second… In truth Astrid thought they had gone well past the last second… before spreading its wings. There was a shriek of displaced air as the creature decelerated, and then a soft 'whump' as it set down with surprising gentleness. Atop its back, Hiccup appeared completely unaffected by the maneuver… Though it was rather hard to judge his expression through the blank visage of his helmet.

The Night Fury was quickly followed by the rest of the flight, which set down around Hiccup and his mount in the same formation at the previous day, the Nightmares arriving first, followed by the Nadder. The smaller Gronkle with its relatively tiny wings was last to arrive, seeming a bit put out at being left behind.

As Astrid watched, Hiccup slid easily from his saddle, dropping to the ground gracefully. His hands rose to his head, removing his helmet and revealing his cold, scarred, unsmiling face once again. He glanced around the circle of silent Vikings surrounding the field before focusing on the chief who was, of course, at the head of the congregation.

"What is your decision?"

Hiccup resisted the urge to grin as he looked through the eyelets of his helmet at the slack jawed crowd surrounding himself and his friends. Judging by the expressions he saw, they had certainly succeeded in making another impressive entrance. But he quickly banished the smile from his face. This was not a time or place for smiles. This was serious business.

And so he focused on schooling his features into a cold mask even as he slid off his best friend's back. It was the work of a moment to remove his tight, stuffy helm. It had its uses, looking intimidating as hell being one of the lesser ones, but it was far from pleasant to wear. Still, he didn't allow his discomfort to show on his face as he surveyed the crowd once again.

The villagers looked tense. And well armed. Prepared to leap into battle if it came, but not quite ready to start a fight themselves. At least not yet. In short, pretty much what Hiccup had expected. He didn't bother to turn around and look behind him. He had absolute confidence in his friends, and was certain they had deployed as he had requested.

Finally he allowed his eyes to settle upon the tall, powerful, red headed man before him. Stoic the Vast. Chief of the Village. A legendary figure to the people of Berk. And a man Hiccup had not seen in person for over six long years.

A man he could have happily gone another sixty without seeing again.

If only that damned ship hadn't arrived, bringing with it news of the Green Death and the attacks on Berk… but no. This was for the best. He would have learned of the situation eventually. And sooner was better than later. Even if it put him in this unpleasant situation. He had a duty, an obligation. One far more important than his discomfort at returning to this… place.

Hiccup refused to think of it as returning home.

Old memories made it a struggle to maintain his emotionless façade, but he managed to keep his expression under control. As did Toothless. He had spoken to his old friend after their visit yesterday, and the Night Fury was as good as his word. The dragon was refraining from growling at Stoic, though Hiccup was certain he was glaring daggers at the man.

Hiccup stared at the Chief for a few moments. There were a few more gray hairs than he remembered. Perhaps a wrinkle or two as well, though who could tell under all that facial hair? But his stance, his strong, broad shoulders, the aura of confidence, of absolute certainty…those were all exactly as he remembered. The passage of time had changed Stoic not at all.

Hiccup was certain that fact applied to the chief's mind as well as his body.

Glancing past Stoic at the group of especially rough and unpleasant looking men behind him, he fought back the urge to sneer. How typical of the chief to be so ready to do violence. The aged veterans seemed to be spoiling for a fight, or a reason to start one. Hiccup had no intention of obliging them today.

When he spoke, it took no effort at all to make his tone cold and formal.

"What is your decision?"

Stoic stood tall and confident at the edge of the village green. Behind him stood some of the tribe's best warriors, fingering their weapons. They had gathered around him on their own, ready in case a fight broke out. Eager for one, in all honesty.

But, for once, a fight was the last thing Stoic wanted. Not when it would pit him against his own blood. Family he had thought lost forever. But he could hardly order them away. These were men who had fought beside him for years. Men with as much experience with dragon slaying as himself. He could hardly fault them for standing beside their Chief in the face of such beasts.

It was a struggle to maintain his stern, commanding pose before his son. All he really wanted to do was charge forward and pull the boy into a bear hug, status be damned. But he couldn't do any such thing. Not with the whole village watching. Watching and grumbling and eyeing the dragons belligerently. For the good of the village, he had to act impartial. For the good of the village AND for the good of his son.

But his position as Chief was not the only thing holding him back. No, those cold green eyes did their part, as did the words spoken the previous day. Words that had been replaying in Stoic's mind for years, now spoken aloud. Spoken with calm, cool precision by a voice so instantly recognizable, yet so strangely matured.

Surely it had been a mistake. Surely he had misspoken. Just as Stoic had misspoken those many years ago before departing to find the nest. He had not truly meant those words after all. Not in his heart, despite what had come out of his mouth. Surely it was the same for Hiccup. For his son.

But if that was the case, the expression on the boy's face gave no hint of it.

Stoic's gaze shifted then, from the man his son had grown into, to the beast that had returned him to Berk. The same creature that stole him from his home in the first place. The black scaled demon was silent this time, but its eyes were narrowed angrily at the Chief. The men behind him muttered lowly, still fingering their weapons, and Stoic himself clenched his fist, wishing for his war hammer.

Here was the source of his trouble. The monster that had corrupted his pure, if somewhat underdeveloped, son. The creature that had dragged him away from his home, from his family, from his FATHER. For more than six years his son had been lost, and all of that could be lain at the feet of that dragon.

Stoic narrowed his eyes in return, biting back a growl of his own as he met the demon's eyes.

Then his attention was focused on his son once again as the boy spoke.

"What is your decision?"

Stoic paid no mind to the distant tone of voice. Instead he allowed himself a small smile as he stepped forward.

"The village has come to a decision. And we have decided to accept your offer." Drawing closer to his son, he reached out his hand to make the deal official with a handshake.

For a moment, it almost seemed Hiccup would snub the gesture, his eyes drifting to the offered limb. But then the moment passed, and Hiccup reluctantly grabbed Stoic's hand with his own gauntleted appendage, giving the Chief's hand a brief shake.

Like the rest of his outfit, Hiccup's gloves were covered in smooth overlapping scales. His hand felt cool and smooth and strange in Stoic's grasp, but there was no doubt that there was strength in the grip. A fact that Stoic noted with pride.

Releasing Stoic's hand, Hiccup continued to speak loudly and clearly, making himself heard by the entire crowd.

"Very well then." He began formally. "I expect my fee to be paid so long as I slay the beast. If I should fall in battle along with the Green Death, my friends will collect my payment and return home with it." He began, and Stoic blinked in consternation, glancing at the Night Fury as well as the other dragons behind Hiccup.

That was a… peculiar request. Did he really expect the villages to hand sheep over to a pack of dragon? Clearly the boy's brain had been addled from spending too much time around the creatures! Not that it mattered. The boy wasn't going to fall in battle… COULDN'T fall in battle. Not after he'd just returned home.. It simply would not happen!

"My friends and I will make camp in a clearing to the south of the village. You will find it between Skorn's ravine and the river that flows from Thor's Peaks." Hiccup continued speaking, his voice calm and confidant as he addressed the crowd as well as Stoic himself. "I'll need to be informed of any attacks the Green Death makes, and where." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing, turning his head to survey the crowd as he spoke.

"My friends will do no harm so long as no harm is done to them. Do NOT attack them. You will not enjoy the consequences." His voice was cold and hard, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he met each person's eyes. As if to emphasize his point, one of the Monstrous Nightmares snorted, seeming to smirk at the portion of the crowd he was covering.

"Aside from that, all we need from you is to stay out of our way. We will deal with the Green Death. And then we will LEAVE." Seeing that the people of Berk had understood his warnings and his intentions, he nodded his head and began to turn, clearly intent upon remounting the Night Fury and departing.

Stoic frowned slightly, the expression hidden by his beard. He could hardly let the boy leave so soon! They had so much to do, so much to say!

"There's no need to leave so quickly son!" Stoic began, forcing a smile on his face. If nothing else, his words garnered Hiccup's full attention, as well as that of his dragon. Both of them were focused on him, two sets of green eyes narrowed in anger.

"I told you not to call me that." If his voice had been cold earlier then now it should have been leaving a trail of frost. Stoic did his best to ignore the implications.

"Well, what am I supposed to call you then?" The chief asked, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation.

It was a simple question. Yet strangely enough it gave the dragon rider pause. It was clearly a question he had not expected, and one for which he had no ready answer. For the first time the young man lost control of his features, his cold mask slipping. A look of mild confusion crossed his face, if for but a moment.

And for that brief moment, Stoic could see the boy he remembered. Small and frail and oftentimes strangely puzzled by the orders of his elders. What as so difficult to understand about being told to bang your head against a rock anyways?

And then the moment passed. One of the beasts, Stoic could not tell which one it was, made a strange growling sound. And suddenly Hiccup's mask was back up. Though this time there was a slight smirk on his face as he nodded his head, glancing back at the dragons behind him. It was almost as if the creatures noises had some actual meaning to him, and wasn't THAT a ridiculous thought!

After a moment's consideration he returned his green eyed gaze to Stoic, his eyes still cold even as his lips curled into what might be mistaken for a smile.

"I have had no need for a name that could be spoken by Vikings. My friends…" He emphasized the word, letting it linger for a few moments. "Call me many things. The simplest would translate to 'Borrowed Scales.'"

Stoic could do little more than blink as he tried to wrap his mind around his son's words. Surely he wasn't claiming to be able to SPEAK to the beasts? They were little more than animals! Cunning, dangerous animals, yes, but still no more than clever beasts! Had so much time alone truly caused the boy to lose his mind? But Stoic had little time to consider the matter as Hiccup continued speaking.

"But… That sounds odd spoken in Norse." He continued to smirk, his lopsided smile causing the scar across his face to shift and move. "So Hiccup will suffice, for what little time I plan to be here."

Stoic couldn't help but frown at the boy's words. Not the part about his name. Nor the fact that he acted as though he could actually speak to the beasts. No, it was the last part that disturbed him.

What does he mean, what little time he'll be here? He thought to himself. He can't be planning to leave so soon, not after finally finding his way home!

Can he?

Astrid was paying surprisingly little attention to the conversation between the Chief and his estranged son. Oh, she was listening to them of course, as was the rest of the crowd. But her focus was rooted firmly on the dragon before her, her hand resting loosely on the shaft of her axe.

Not that she was eager to draw her weapon and charge into battle. Though a part of her WOULD enjoy a good fight at the moment. Beating the crap out of something was always cathartic, and an excellent way to deal with stress. Something she, like the rest of the village, had been under a great deal of lately.

But regardless, her focus on the beasts wasn't based on a desire for battle so much as curiosity. It had been some time since she'd been this close to a live dragon. And never one that was quite so… stationary.

The Monstrous Nightmare closest to her was just… sitting there on its haunches. Its tail flicked occasionally, and its head was constantly moving back and forth, watching the crowd around it. But other than that, it was surprisingly still. It was almost unnatural. And Astrid couldn't help but study it.

She had, of course, seen plenty of dragons over the years. She could hardly forget the memories from her childhood. Dozens of dragons flitting through the skies, stealing sheep and, sometimes, lives. Dangerous, frightening winged forms cloaked in shadow, flicking between darkness and light as they passed around the great bonfires the Vikings lit to illuminate the skies.

But those dragons were always in motion. Always on the move. A blur of wings and claws and flames. And they always struck at night, struck from the darkness. Creatures of fire and shadows. Not something one could take the time to examine closely.

Dead dragons were the exception of course. With them you could take all the time you liked to study them. But it was never quite the same. A dragon's remains simply lacked the… Vitality… of a live beast. Hardly a surprise, since it was dead. But there was more to it than that.

When a Viking was laid out, you could still see who and what it had been. The strength of arm, the scars of battle, the lines of age and wisdom… All those things remained, even after life had fled. You could look upon the fallen and say "This was a Viking!"

But Astrid had never felt the same way about dragons. A fallen Viking was still a Viking. But a fallen dragon… A dead dragon was just a carcass. More than just blood poured out of the creatures when they were slain. Everything that made them powerful, everything that made them terrible, everything that made them dragons… seemed to leave them along with their final breath. Astrid had always had a difficult time associating the unmoving mass of wings and scales to the fiery, energetic beasts that haunted the skies of Berk.

In truth, the first time Astrid had even gotten a clear look at a dragon in daylight was the first day of dragon training. And even then the beasts hardly stood still long enough for her or the other trainees to get a good look at them. There was no time for observation. Far too often there was barely enough time for dodging! Goober had always had an… interesting teaching style.

And then came the Battle of the Nest. The training arena had been left empty of beasts to train AGAINST. And following the battle, dragon attacks had dropped down to a trickle. Opportunities to capture more of the creatures became scarce. Especially since most 'raids' these days rarely consisted of more than a single dragon, usually a Gronkle or Nadder, swooping down out of the night to steal away a single sheep. By the time the alarm was raised, the beast would be gone.

So this was, in fact, the first time Astrid had ever been this close to a dragon AND had the leisure time to really observe at it.

The Nightmare before her definitely cut an imposing figure. As was the Deadly Nadder, from what she could see of it. The Gronkle… Less so. But knowledge of the havoc it could wreak gave it a certain respectability, despite the fact that it appeared to be half asleep. The Nightmare on the opposite side of the formation was mostly blocked from her view by the other beasts. And, of course, the Night Fury could hardly be forgotten. It was by far the sleekest and most ominous looking of the dragons, crouched low to the ground and giving the impression of a spring under tension: content in its current state, but ready to leap forward the instant it was released.

Still, despite the mystique of the Night Fury, the Monstrous Nightmare was closer, and thus the recipient of most of Astrid's attention. It was a large beast, clearly a fully grown adult. Its form was mostly covered in bright red scales, though there were spots of mottled black as well. Its underside was a far less eye catching tan color, the scales almost seeming to glow as they reflected the diffuse sunlight.

Its long narrow head was attached to an even longer and more slender neck. Teeth jutted out of its jaws in an almost random fashion, and two long, twisting horns grew out of the back of it's skull. All along it's back were a series of spines, and its claws looked both massive and powerful. All typical traits of a Monstrous Nightmare.

This PARTICULAR Nightmare however had quite a few quirks. Most of them in the form of scars.

The beast's scaly sides were covered with thin, ragged lines where new scales had grown in over injuries. At night the wounds would likely be nearly invisible. But in daylight they stood out clearly. The Nightmare's hide was practically a map of scars, crisscrossing its body. And those were hardly the only old injuries visible. Several of the spines on its back were clearly missing, and one of its horns had several prominent gouges.

Astrid was not quite an expert on dragon injuries, but she was quite familiar with weapons and the damage they could do. Many of those scars looked as if they might have been caused by the hands of men. Many and might. But it was clear that just as many had not been caused by any sword or spear Astrid had ever seen.

In any case, it was clear that this beast had had a run in with someone or something even meaner and tougher than itself. And it had managed to survive the encounter. Not a reassuring thought should she have to fight it.

Of course, a portion of her mind had been categorizing each and every weak spot the dragon had as she looked it over. Astrid had a more than passing familiarity with dragon anatomy. It was a very practical knowledge for a Viking. But as she went over the best places to strike to disable a Nightmare, she noticed another oddity. The scars were not limited solely to its body. There were, in fact, several long thin lines along the creature's wings.

And that was more than slightly strange. Wings and tails were favored points to attack, since damage to either would quickly ground a dragon. And as Gobber had said years ago, a downed dragon was a dead dragon. Whether it was a quick death at the hands of a Viking, or a slow one at the hand of nature. Astrid had not thought that a dragon's wings COULD heal and be usable again.

But further contemplation of the situation or the Nightmare would have to wait. The conversation between Stoic and Hiccup had moved on to the topic of names. A subject that, surprisingly enough, the dragon in question seemed to have an opinion on. As ridiculous as that might be.

The Nightmare's head remained facing the crowd, but it's eyes darted towards the red headed young man, and it made a strange low growling noise in the back of its throat before returning its attention forward. Astrid met its eyes for a moment as it examined the crowd. The beast's expression almost appeared... amused.

But that was ridiculous as well. Clearly she was reading too much into its behavior. It was just an animal after all. No more able to understand her than a squirrel or a goat. A bit smarter perhaps, certainly cunning enough to make a dangerous opponent. But no more than that. Right?

"They call me 'Borrowed Scales.'"

Is he saying he can actually TALK to a dragon? Astrid was taken back by the very idea. Too much time alone has clearly left him touched in the head.

Astrid's thoughts were hardly unique. And across the circle of Vikings, another young man was echoing her opinion.

He actually thinks he can talk to dragons? Well, this just gets better and better. Snotlout snorted at the very idea. His second time back to the village, and he's already showing everyone that he's insane.

Well, that worked out just fine for Snotlout. Raving lunatics rarely ended up Chief. Though there HAD been a few historical exceptions... But that was hardly the point. The point was that Hiccup was already discrediting himself in the eyes of his fellows. Not that the red head seemed to care. Sure, he'd made another flashy entrance. But that hardly made up for proving to be touched in the head!

Snot had placed himself closer to the front of the town square, and as such was in position to get a good look at both Hiccup and Stoic as they spoke. Hiccup was already turning away to leave, but it was clear that Stoic didn't want the boy to depart so quickly. He took a step forward, calling out.

"Wait… Hiccup…" The Chief paused, and Snotlout could see the uncertainty on his face. An unusual expression for the always confident Stoic. Hiccup stopped, turning his head back to look at his father, but not bothering to fully turn around.

"Now that you're here, you're welcome to join us in the Main Hall. We'll have a feast to celebrate your return."

Hiccup blinked at his words, staring at the Chief for a moment before speaking.

"Celebrate. My return." He raised an eyebrow, then turned his head from side to side, looking up and down the crowd of men and women before him. Men and women with weapons in their hands and, at best, neutral expressions on their faces. Many were flat out scowling, or eyeing him with suspicion. Snotlout himself was no exception.

"Celebrate MY return." He repeated to himself, as if tasting the words and finding them strange on his tongue. Snot could see how the scarred red head's eyes focused on the group of armed veterans being the Chief. Their faces were far from neutral as they focused their gazes upon Hiccup and the beasts he had brought with him.

After a moment a smirk spread across the dragon rider's face. His scar seemed to writhe across his face at the change of expression, the dead tissue pulling at the edge of his lips. The left side of his smirk was just a tad lopsided and slow to respond as a result.

"I'd like to accept, but…" He spoke slowly, spreading his arms out to draw attention to the dragons behind him. "I don't think my friends would fit in the hall."

Does he actually think we'd let Hel-spawn into the main hall? Snotlout felt his jaw go slack at the very IDEA. The only way a dragon could get into the Hall was if it was stuffed! In Odin's name, the centerpiece of the hall was a statue of a dragon impaled on a sword! The very thought was a step away from blasphemy! And a damned short step at that! It was preposterous!

And it was clear to Snotlout that he wasn't the only one who felt that way.

"Dragons? In the Hall?" Stoic sputtered, his face turning red. "Are you MAD? Those beasts will NEVER be welcome there!" He all but roared. Snotlout could see the Chief's eyes narrow as he turned his head to glare into the eyes of the Night Fury, which was more than happy to meet him glare for glare.

But Snotlout was paying the dragons little heed, instead focusing on Hiccup. Snot had to admit that the Chief's abrupt little tirade would have set most men in the village back a step. He could even admit, grudgingly, that he'd be on the defensive himself if the Chief had gone off on him like that. But surprisingly enough, Hiccup seemed more or less unaffected.

Instead of cringing or stepping back, Hiccup merely lowered his arms slowly and allowed the smirk to slide from his face. Once again his expression was a chilly mask of indifference, not a hint of humor or amusement in his posture and bearing as he began to speak once more.

"Then I suppose I must decline. If my friends" he emphasized the word with a frosty hiss. "are unwelcome, then I am unwelcome."

Hiccup's words were enough to draw Stoic's attention back to his son. He pulled his gaze away from the black scaled dragon, his hatred of the beast still burning in his expression as he focused on the boy. Their eyes met, Stoic's red hot anger opposed by Hiccup's icy indifference. The tableau stood for several long seconds, neither man budging.

Stoic's stubbornness and iron will were well known across Berk. The man could be as immovable as a boulder when he believed her was right. Worse than a bolder, many would say. With a good hammer you could smash a boulder into gravel if you had to. Stoic on the other hand could and would mash right back. The Chief of Berk was not a man easily cowed.

Which is what made it so startling when he was the one to lower his gaze, tilting his head to stare briefly at the ground. He took a deep breath to calm himself before lifting his eyes, opening his mouth to speak.

"Hiccup…" He began, only to find himself addressing an empty space and his son's receding back.

As soon as the chief had looked away Hiccup had turned on heel. He didn't smirk. Didn't smile. Didn't even sneer. He didn't do anything to acknowledge his little victory at all. He simply walked away without a word and gracefully swung himself onto the back of the Night Fury before looking up.

Once again cold, green eyes drifted across the assembled Vikings as Hiccup surveyed the field along with his mount, both staring at the same point in the crowd as they swept their gazes from left to right and back again. Snotlout couldn't help but feel a small shiver run down his spine as those piercing green eyes passed over him. It was strange and unnatural watching as dragon and rider moved their heads in tandem, both meeting the eyes of each Viking they passed over, seemingly perfectly in synch. Strange and unnatural, but undeniably powerful.

Finally Hiccup and his beast finished their sweep and the young red head allowed his gaze to settle in front of him. Not on Stoic, but on the vanguard behind the Chief. Snotlout had recognized them as some of the best warriors of the previous generation. And they were clearly some of the Vikings most eager for a more… hands on form of diplomacy.

"Remember my words. Restraint. Information. Non-interference. These are what I need from you in order to slay the Green Death." He spoke loudly and clearly, addressing the entire gathering. His eyes lingered upon the men behind Stoic however, and the edges of his mouth curled up into a small sneer.

"I know all three of those are foreign ideas to some of you. But for your own sakes I suggest you focus on restraint around d my friends." Without another word he slid his helm back over his head, blocking his expression from view. The Night Fury was already crouching low to the ground, and a moment later dragon and rider were airborne, with the rest of the flight following as they had the day before.

Most Vikings lifted their eyes to the heavens to watch the beasts vanish through the clouds. But not Snotlout. Oh, sure, he glanced upwards as the dragons left. But the bulk of his attention was focused elsewhere. Focused on Stoic the Vast.

The village needed a strong leader. A man with strength, confidence, and power. So it was just as well that no one else was paying much attention to Stoic. So no one else saw the way he stared at the heavens, his normally imposing visage blank and slack jawed. No one else noticed the way the Chief's broad shoulders were unusually slumped. Or how his normally impeccable posture left him, leaving him looking smaller and frailer than Snotlout would have believed possible.

The bearded red head seemed to shake himself once the dragons vanished from view, quickly regaining control of himself. His back straightened, his shoulders firmed up, and his expression hardened into its usual grim features. But Snotlout had seen the truth. Had seen that moment of weakness.

Snotlout wanted to be Chief. That was his grand ambition. The goal he strove for each and every day. He planned and plotted. He worked hard. He fought when possible and talked when necessary. He tried to make sure that each day brought him a step closer to his objective.

The village needed a strong, confidant, powerful Chief. Especially in times like these.

And Snotlout knew he needed several more years before he could convince the rest of the tribe that HE had the strength, confidence, and power necessary to fulfill that position.

A weak, uncertain Stoic beset by emotional turmoil benefited no one. It was bad for Stoic. It was bad for Snotlout. And perhaps more importantly, it was bad for the village at a whole. In time, Snoutlout was confident that he could become Chief. But he understood that the important part of that statement was 'in time.'

And now is NOT the right time. He thought to himself as he watched Stoic interact with the rest of the tribe, speaking and nodding to various Vikings before turning away and heading back towards the main hall, the crowd once again parting before him.

Snot turned his head up to face the clouds above, glaring at the overcast sky.

Damnit Toothpick. Not even back for two days and already you're causing a mess.

Interesting. Very interesting.

The Elder stared up at the clouds long after the rest of the villagers began to disperse and return to the more mundane matters of daily life. She paid the others little heed as they wandered off, her attention focused on the sky, seeking omens and signs in the shifting of the clouds.

She had missed Hiccup's initial visit the previous day. That was hardly surprising. He had not stayed long after all, and her home was on the outskirts of the village for the sake of privacy. She had long ago passed the age where she could run across half the village on a whim, or for such a minor matter as a dragon raid. So this was the first opportunity she had to observe Stoic's son in person.

Interesting certainly fit.

The changes time had wrought in the boy were substantial and fascinating. The bit with the dragons was curious as well, but that was a peripheral matter. A sideshow. It was Hiccup himself that held her attention.

When she had declared him the victor in dragon training years ago, she had not done so solely on his sudden and surprising performance in the ring. There had been more to it than that. Looking down at him on that day, she had felt deep in her bones that the boy deserved first place. That, somehow, he would prove to be a dragon slayer of the highest caliber.

And despite the... unusual circumstances, events had borne out her decision. The fate of the Red Death could attest to that.

Like most of the village, the Elder had never had high hopes for Hiccup. Not until his sudden turn around in dragon training. It had seemed such a waste. Stoic the Vast was of a proud lineage. His father had been Chief before him, as had his father's father, and so on. His family had produced many fine leaders over the generations. Strong, proud, skilled warriors and talented commanders all. And then there was Hiccup.

In all honesty, the best the Elder had been able to hope for was that Stoic would live a long, healthy life, and that Hiccup would find a strong woman to settle down with and raise a family. Perhaps the next generation would produce a more… capable heir.

Though that hardly seemed likely. It wasn't as if Hiccup's skill with the opposite sex were any better than his skill with a sword or spear. The girls of Berk were hardly beating a path to his door. The odds of the Chief's son catching a proper wife were, well, low. VERY low.

Almost as low as his odds of actually downing a Night Fury with one of his insane contraptions.

In any case, the Hiccup that left Berk, the OLD Hiccup, had never been what she would have called proper leadership material. But this NEW Hiccup…

There might be some potential there. She mused, reviewing the boy's behavior in her mind's eyes. He certainly didn't make any friends today. But there is more to being Chief than making friends.

True, his attitude and behavior had not been endearing. But his actions HAD been… Powerful. Forceful. Confident. There was strength there, and determination. He had COMMANDED the crowd to remember his words. And the Elder had no doubt that no one who had been there would forget them. Oh, they might not FOLLOW them, but they would certainly not FORGET.

Yes, there was definitely some potential there. There were obstacle of course. And not minor ones either. It was clear that her fellow Vikings were viewing the boy as a potential danger, a threat. Since his departure, the tale of Hiccup the Horrendous Haddock had been told and retold many times across the island, and with almost as many variations. Was Hiccup a hero, or a villain? Was he a brave warrior who slew the Red Death, or a craven coward who abandoned his home and people? Was he a genius who somehow downed and then trained a Night Fury? Or a weak minded fool who was somehow bewitched by the beast? Stoic's son and the events of the Battle of the Nest remained a topic of contention to this day.

Not that any such dissention was apparent on the village green this afternoon. Vikings were a pragmatic people. No matter how much they may have argued over the role Hiccup had played in the battle and what light he should be viewed in, a flight of dragons led by a strangely dressed Viking was a deadly danger, and would be treated as such. Vikings were Vikings and dragons were dragons. It didn't matter WHO seemed to be leading them. If Odin himself had shown up with a half dozens dragons, he would have gotten the same tense reception.

But even in their wariness, the tribe was doing something it had never done before. Treating Hiccup as an equal. Or perhaps even a superior. Standing your ground in the face of the Chief's anger was no small feat. And it was clear that the boy had his own principles and standards (however skewed and bizarre they might be) and that he had no intentions of violating them. That was good. That was very good.

A Chief was often called upon to make decisions his people would disagree with. There might be anger and grumbling and arguments. But at the end of the day, a Viking could respect a chief who stood up to everything that was thrown at him and stood by his decision. Even if that decision proved wrong. To a Viking, standing the wrong ground was a lesser crime than not standing your ground at all.

Of course, a chief still needed to be smart enough to know when he was wrong, and know when to listen to others. But the fact remained that the tribe would sooner forgive stupidity than weakness. And this new Hiccup was certainly not weak. Keeping his back to a flight of dragons. Standing up to a crowd of unhappy and heavily armed Vikings. Staring down his father, the Chief of the village, a man not known for backing down.

Yes, there's definitely some strength there. She thought to herself, fingers drumming on the wood of her walking stick. But is that good for Berk, or bad?

But she already knew the answer to that question. Just as she knew that Hiccup deserved first place in dragon training, she could sense that the boy wasn't a danger to the village. He was bringing a storm with him, no doubt. And storms inevitably do damage. But the village would endure, as it always did. The boy was not SAFE, per se, but he was no real threat to the island.

The rest of her tribe might not feel the same way however.

Still, the slaying of the Red Death was no small thing, and was a matter never far from the minds of the people of Berk. With time, wariness and enmity could change to respect. There had always been an intense curiosity and uncertainty surrounding the red headed boy. It was hard to say how people would react to his return in the long run.

Then there was the matter of the dragons, of course. Did he really believe he could speak to the beasts? It seemed unlikely, but… The Elder had lived a long and full life. And over the years she had seen many, many strange things. Some awful, some wonderful, and most just peculiar. Someone that could speak to dragons would not be the strangest thing she had seen.

Though it would certainly be towards the top of the list.

That was always assuming that the boy was not just touched in the head. Who knows what effect being separated from his people might have had on the lad, besides clearly toughening him up? It was quite possible he was slightly mad. And if that were the case…

Well, Berk has had its share of Chief's who were naturally three sheets to the wind without a drop of mead in them. She stroked her chin, still staring at the sky. Being crazy doesn't rule out being a good leader.

Still, talking to dragons was a fairly major eccentricity for a chief to possess. He would likely have to give up that little peculiarity, or at least curb it severely if he were to become Chief. Still, there was potential there.

Oh, Odin, please don't call me just yet. She smiled up at the sky as the sun began to break through the clouds. I was right. These times are going to be very interesting. And I very much want to see them through before I move on.

The elder let out a little cackle as she lowered her eyes from the heavens and began to hobble back to her home.

Ruffnut growled angrily as she hauled a fishing net across the dock, carelessly dropping it to the wood planking. Someone would be along to mend it eventually. Or so she assumed. Ruff was no expert on fishing equipment. Her skillset was firmly focused on hurting people and breaking things. Especially dragon shaped things.

Which explained why she was working on the docks at the moment.

'There is important work that needs to be done.' She snorted to herself, mentally mimicking the Chief's words in a high pitched voice. 'The fishing boats need a few more hands to prepare their nets for the next fishing trip. I need you to help them.' Ha! What a load of crap!

The blonde Viking rolled her eyes as she stomped down the docks to grab another net. Ruffnut was nobody's fool. Sure, they needed a few more people to help down at the docks. But she knew damned well why SHE had been given the job. It was to make sure she was kept busy. And kept far away from the center of the village.

The place where the dragons would arrive…

She growled to herself, hands clenching into fists at the thought. Dragons. In the village. Allowed to land without a fight. Practically INVITED in, Loki take it! And they had the nerve to think SHE was insane?

And supposedly Hiccup was back too. That was pretty unbelievable. She had always felt a bit of kinship with the red headed boy. He was crazy after all. Not the proper sort of crazy, like Tuffnut and herself. Instead he was always focused on his bizarre contraptions and weird ideas. It was a sort of pathetic, looser style of crazy, but it was crazy none the less. And crazy was something Ruffnut could approve of. Usually.

But not this time. Not when she heard that Hiccup had returned at the head of a flight of dragons. As opposed to returning with the HEADS of dragons on pikes. THAT she would have approved of wholeheartedly. No, being on friendly terms with dragons was NOT a good way to be on friendly terms with Ruffnut. Not these days.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Oh, the whole 'hanging out with dragons' thing was bad enough to be sure. But I was his intentions that had her blood boiling. It was what he said he was here to do that infuriated her.

Hiccup claimed he was going to kill the green death.

And that could not be allowed.

That damned beast is MINE! Mine and Tuffnuts! She pulled the scarred remains of Tuff's spear off her back without conscious thought, her eyes unfocused and filled with madness and violence as she held the weapon in front of her in a white knuckled grip.

She stood there in silence for several moments. It wasn't as if anyone in the village would be stupid enough to try to snap her out of it. Everyone knew that Ruffnut was one VERY short step away from a berserker rage since her twin passed on to Valhalla. The Vikings working the nets gave her a wide berth and continued on with their work.

It was the sound that brought her back to the present. It was distant, and barely audible over the sound of the waves splashing against the boats and pilings of the dock. But the sound of a dragon's wings was one that drew one's attention. A survival trait bred into the people of Berk over generations.

Ruff's head shot up as she glared in the direction of the village green. As far away as she was, she could still clearly see the mass of dragons ascending into the clouds. With a vicious sneer, she lifted the spear into the air, staring past the tip.

We'll get them Tuff. Don't you worry. We'll get that big bastard, and every other dragon that gets in the way. She swore once again as she sighted over the steel tip of the weapon, moving it along to follow the beasts until they vanished into the skies.

The entire time she kept the black scaled beast in the lead on the tip of her spear.

That was, after all, where a dragon belonged.

Finally! It took me FOREVER to write this chapter! As I said, my muse has abandoned me, and I've had a heck of a time getting myself to sit down and write. An evening where I added a paragraph or two was a good evening. To be honest, I think this needed a bit more polish, but I desperately wanted to finish and post it.

Alas, I'm not certain there will be more to post. I have the bare bones of the rest of the story planned out in my head. And I've written a few paragraphs of the next chapter. But without the return of my muse and/or a sudden increase in ambition and motivation, I'm not sure I'll get around to future chapters. Definitely not in a reasonable amount of time given my current rate.

I almost included the early bits of the next chapter in this one, so they would at least be published... But this is really an ideal spot for a chapter break. Unfortunately I didn't slip in any more flashbacks / history in this chapter, but there will definitely be a bit more back story in the next chapter, should it ever be finished.

In any case I hope the lack of polish isn't too bad, and that people enjoyed this chapter!