Chapter 7
This is just like when I used to hide from the Empire. Saphira rumbled low in her throat, her discontent rolling in waves across Eragon's consciousness.
In response, her rider emitted a long, heavy sigh and patted her neck. The dusty gloom of Mildew's house oddly reminded him of his old home in Carvahall, albeit the old Viking's shack was much more cramped and dilapidated than the house he'd once shared with Garrow and Roran. Their host was by the window, peering idly down at the village with one of Hiccup's spyglasses. There was a smaller one mounted on the sill, apparently for Fungus, who was using it with such a strange intensity Eragon was almost tempted to read the sheep's thoughts.
"The Berserker's have landed at the dock." The old man reported. "And there they'll stay until their chieftain's patience wears out."
"Thank you for allowing us to hide here." Eragon said belatedly.
Mildew grumbled to himself in response. "Dagur killed his father, you know." Eragon and Saphira raised their heads in alarm, but the elder took no notice. "Not that he ever says it out loud, but Oswald the Agreeable died by his son's hand. Or axe, depending on his mood."
So a kinkiller as well as a madman. Eragon leaned back against Saphira. He tried to focus on the potential threat, but instead, he found himself thinking of Blödhgarm and the others who'd accompanied them. How could he have forgotten them after all they'd done? They were his friends and protectors, and it took all his self-control not to fly out with Saphira in search of them. Common sense told him it was foolish. He had no idea where to start looking, especially since he didn't know when and where in the Sinister Sea his memories of them had been erased. Saphira was just as baffled, and he often found her frowning to herself in concentration and growling when she failed to recall.
Saphira, He asked. Did we even trade the Talíta for the Blatqnn?
Not that I recall. Although I do remember thinking it odd we exchanged a sure and graceful ship made by elven hands for a monstrous beast that seemed built for war.
And who in this part of the world would be strong enough to overpower a band of elven spellcasters and a Dragon Rider? Magic did not exist here, at least not magic with the Ancient Language. Had someone been following them, he wondered. But the only thing that could hide its consciousness was a Ra'zac, and those monsters were all dead. Something else? But what?
What did he remember from his days at sea?
Behind him, Saphira shifted so her bulk rested a little more comfortably in their restricting accommodations.
I'm sorry to make you hide again. He whispered to her. I know how much you hated that.
It isn't so bad. She brushed her muzzle against his head. I'm not hiding alone this time.
-0-0-0-
"It's been awhile, hasn't it, Hiccup?" Heather said with a small smile.
"Do you do know each other?" Dagur asked, looking back and forth between them.
"We shared a misadventure once." Hiccup crossed his arms. And what had happened since? The last time they'd seen Heather, she'd been sailing away with her parents, hopefully to return to her normal life on her island. What could have happened in between then? Her parents hadn't seemed the type to sell out their daughter against her will for wealth or status, and he'd always viewed Heather as sensible enough not to trust a madman for any reason, let alone marriage and sharing house and home with one. Not only that, Dagur most definitely had no interest in a wife.
Unless he'd suddenly decided to continue his line, but….Hiccup resisted making a face as his father stepped forward. "Welcome back to Berk, Dagur. And you as well, Heather. I hope you've been well these past years."
She nodded, holding her dress out of the way of her boots as she followed her chieftain and husband down the gangplank. A contingency of Berserker warriors followed, all of them armed to the teeth. Great Thor. Hiccup glanced at his father. It was as though they'd come to aid Berk in a battle, not sign a peace treaty. What was going on? Did Dagur intend to make war with them again? Stoick gave no reaction to the host, except to welcome them onto the docks.
Dagur wasted no time, insisting their visit begin with the annual tour, as though they were hiding something new from him every year. And for the first time in four years, he was right. Not for the first time that morning, Hiccup hoped the Brightscale eggs had been securely hidden. Sliding off Toothless' back, he bowed as politely as he could manage to Dagur, then a bit more sincerely to Heather, then led the way with his father into the village.
The traditional tour of Berk had increased in the duration of time it required over the years. Once upon a time, it had only consisted of the armory, the food storehouse, various shops throughout the village, the dragon arena, and the Great Hall. Now, however, it included all the dragon amenities scattered about the island: the elaborate stables, the fire prevention network, the feeding stations, and, of course, his personal favorite, the dragon racing arena. The population of dragons seemed to increase every year as well, something that both bothered and reassured Hiccup whenever he saw Dagur's annoyed face.
"This way." He directed, skirting a pair of Terrors wrestling in the dirt and ducking under a Nadder's tail. Dagur's company followed close behind, although accosted by a number of dragons eager to examine the newcomers. Every time Hiccup glanced back at them, he had to stop himself from laughing at the Berserker Chieftain as he found himself nose to nose with every dragon on the island and unable to do a thing about it without violating the treaty. Heather didn't seem to mind the attention one bit, tentatively reaching out to stroke a Nadder's nose or pat a passing Gronckle on the head. She did, however, return her hands to her sides whenever Dagur looked back to her.
The villagers of Berk played their part well, going about their daily lives as though Berserkers (and hidden dragon eggs) were just another chore to handle. On the other hand, maybe there was no time to worry. With winter fast approaching, it was entirely possible they were more worried about the harvest than someone stumbling across the cleverly stashed eggs. They're hidden well. Hiccup assured himself. All of them.
Or so he'd thought until the tour reached the armory. At once, Dagur took up one of their swords and swung it around. His wife and men jumped back and Toothless growled. The Berserker took no notice, twirling it in his fingers, lunging at imaginary opponents (or dragons), slashing, stabbing, cutting, no doubt killing something in his mind. Yet he did so in silence, almost absently, with a brooding expression on his face that Hiccup somehow found even more troubling than his deranged ranting.
"So, Dagur…." Stoick began. "How are the Berserker Isles faring? What with winter approaching earlier than usual, have you been able to complete your harvest?"
Dagur thrust the sword back into a barrel (not the one he grabbed it from) with such force, it toppled over. "Oh, very nearly. Perhaps. I don't know. The….domestic matters of agriculture are handled by my sister. You remember Indell, right?"
Hiccup stiffened as a purple egg suddenly rolled out of the upended barrel and into plain view behind Dagur.
Heather's eyes went wide with shock and she stared up at him, then suddenly dropped her shawl, letting it fall to the floor and cover the runaway egg before any of the Berserker warriors or her husband could notice. Instinctively, Hiccup turned to where Dagur was talking to his father, who had suddenly pounded his massive hand into the younger man's back and proclaimed in a loud voice, "Of course I remember Indell! How could anyone forget Oswald the Agreeable's favorite daughter?"
Dagur narrowed his eyes. "She's his only daughter."
"Why don't we head outside for some air? It's a lovely day, no?"
Whatever Dagur's response might've been was lost to Hiccup as the Berserker soldiers filed out and he turned to Heather. "Thank you." He breathed. That was too close.
Heather nodded, stooping to pick up the shawl and egg and cradling it in her arms like a baby. "Why is there an egg in here, Hiccup? Are there more? Is this what you're hiding from Dagur?"
He hesitated, sharing a glance with Toothless, then nodded. "Yeah. I-It's complicated."
"I see." She turned away, running her fingers over the smooth dragon egg. "It's so beautiful. Which species laid this one?"
"That would be a new breed we're looking into now."
"Ah, a mystery, then?"
Hiccup nodded, unwilling to divulge any more. It wasn't that he didn't trust Heather….okay, perhaps he didn't trust Heather as much as he wanted to. She was married to one of Berk's deadliest rivals now. Even if she wasn't fishing for information to pass to Dagur, he wasn't certain he wanted too much knowledge of the Brightscale eggs, or of Eragon and Saphira's existence for that matter, floating about in her head. "How is your life with Dagur?" He diverted. It was polite to ask, he felt, not just because he was genuinely curious what it was like sharing house and home with a madman. Heather's green eyes clouded and for a moment, Hiccup thought she was going to cry. Toothless noticed as well and padded toward her, rumbling and nudging her elbow. Gods, does he abuse her or something?
"Dagur is good to me." She said shortly.
Liar. "Are you sure?" Hiccup persisted. "I know we're not of the same tribe, Heather but if you're being mistreated, you have to-"
"Dagur is good to me." She repeated and elaborated no further, passing the egg back into his hands and striding out the door.
-0-0-0-
Berk had changed so much since her last visit, Heather thought sadly. Everywhere she looked, dragons of every species occupied the village square, sunning themselves on rooftops, chasing each other between houses, playing with their riders. A small smile spread across her face, but she made it disappear before anyone could see it. It was beautiful, though. The perfect harmony between man and dragon the Berk Tribe had achieved.
Compared to this, her tribe seemed so close-minded. Any mention of dragons was practically forbidden back home. Not that it was an official law, but one risked invoking Dagur's wrath when mentioning the great beasts.
As she hurried back to the Berserker party, she sensed Hiccup and Toothless following close behind. He'd been trying to meet her eyes ever since she arrived, as though trying to ask what happened. How had she come to be the bride of the Berserker Chieftain? Even Toothless was rumbling plaintively at her. I'm sorry. It wasn't as though she chose this, she wanted to tell them. But not now. Not in front of so many people.
She quickly caught up with her clansmen and bit her lip to avoid crying out as Dagur grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. Belatedly, she realized their tour was complete and they were to be taken to the Great Hall for a feast to welcome the Berserker Tribe. Her people now. "Are you pleased with the tour, my Lord?"
Dagur scowled.
This was not missed by the Berk heir, whose green eyes twitched in suspicion. He was wary of them, she noted. Far less trusting than the boy she'd met a few years ago, who believed everything she said without question. Granted, her lord husband had given Hiccup far more reasons to distrust him than she ever did, but she couldn't deny he'd changed as much as his home had. He seemed more resentful in their presence, or cautious. Even Toothless kept his distance from them, which hurt surprisingly more. To be rejected by a dragon, especially when he'd just demonstrated his concern for her….she wanted to pull her shawl up and bow her head in shame, but she knew Dagur wouldn't let her. It would disgrace him as well. So, forcing a smile, she drew herself upright, standing tall with the pride a woman of her status should have.
-0-0-0-
Astrid took her seat among her friends, exempting Hiccup, who sat at the high table with his father and Dagur. None of them said a word, still reeling from the revelation Heather was the new Berserker Lady. Certainly, the notion Dagur had taken a wife seemed absurd the other day, but the notion that wife was their old friend seemed like some kind of a joke! Heather kept her distance from them, picking quietly at her food, not making eye contact with anyone, even her own clansmen. Well, those stern or drunk Berserker soldiers certainly didn't look like they'd be very good company. So far as they'd seen, Heather was the only visiting female. Not even a handmaiden or servant of some sort had accompanied her. That was to be expected, of course. The finances of the tribe had been crippled in the war, so the extravagance of hired hands or the loathsome practice of thralldom was too expensive.
But what of Heather's home tribe? Astrid narrowed her eyes in thought. "Fishlegs, in the short time we knew Heather, did she ever say where she was from?"
The scholar of the Dragon Academy looked up from his plate in surprise. "I don't believe so. Why?"
"Just a hypothesis."
"Big word!" Tuffnut cut in, closing his eyes and holding up his hands. "Hold it. Hoooold it. I got this one, I got this one….a hypothesis is….ohhhh!" He scrunched up his brow in concentration. "An untested theory! A proposed explanation born out of speculation and minimal evidence."
"Very good." Fishlegs nodded. "I'm impressed."
"Thanks." Tuffnut grinned in satisfaction, then murmured to his sister. "Now what's a theory?"
Astrid cleared her throat to gain everyone's attention. "If I may continue, it's about Heather."
"What about her?" Snotlout waved a dismissive hand.
"About her sudden marriage to Dagur." She crossed her arms. "We don't know where Heather's from offhand, but could she be from a wealthy tribe? Surely, if her family intended to marry her off, then they would've provided a generous dowry to her husband, especially if she was an only daughter. Perhaps Dagur's planning to use those funds to rebuild his army?"
"Hate to burst your bubble," Ruffnut spoke up. "But did you notice what she was wearing the first time she came to Berk? She was all rags and tags when we met her. No way is a rich family sending their daughter around without dressing her up like a pretty, little doll."
That was true, Astrid thought. But what other explanation was there? "Dagur can't possibly love her, right? Could I just be looking for trouble where none exists?"
"I'm sorry." Snotlout turned to face her. "But did I just hear you implying that Dagur-crazy, deranged, psychotic Dagur, the same Dagur who's tried to kill us with a Skrill and dragon root and Smokebreath Dragons and crossbows and armadas and a Screaming Death-is capable of any kind of affection for anything outside his vast array of killing utensils?"
"For once, I agree with him." Fishlegs stated sagely. "I don't think Dagur really cares for anyone outside himself. He killed his father after all."
"We never proved that." Astrid pointed out.
"It doesn't need proving."
Astrid sighed and glanced across the Hall. As unlikely as it was, it was the only explanation she could think of. Aside from Heather being the daughter of wealthy chieftain, of course. She didn't think that was likely, though. She'd seen her father, after all, and he was definitely no chief in the Archipelago. But Dagur loving Heather? Not with the way he'd been pulling her around all day, like an unruly slave girl.
She was mercifully interrupted from her thoughts when Stoick to his feet, holding a tankard aloft, "A warm welcome to our guests. We give thanks to Ægir and his lady, Ran, for granting safe passage across the Sinister Sea to Dagur and his tribe." The assembly raised their tankards in agreement, though there didn't seem to be any heart in them. No one at their table raised their voices and cheered, and their individual drinks were consumed in silence. "And to Heather, the lovely Lady of the Berserker Tribe, mistress of the fen, and daughter of Frigga. May her days be happy ones."
Heather's toasts garnered more cheers, Astrid noticed, which made the young woman flush and turn away in embarrassment, and not the good kind. The good kind of embarrassment was the bashful modesty a young bride should've felt, yet Heather looked as though Chief Stoick had just brought up the most humiliating moment of her life and embellished it in great detail. Poor thing. She wished she would look her way, just so that she could give her a nod of encouragement. Or maybe I should go talk to her. She hesitated on that matter. What if Heather preferred to be left alone? Astrid knew she would want to be alone, wouldn't want another's pity. But the support definitely wouldn't hurt.
She was so deep in thought she barely noticed Hiccup coming to sit beside her, pushing Snotlout out of the way in the process. He put a hand on her shoulder, touching her with such awkward caution there was almost no affection in the gesture, as though he feared moving too quickly would garner a punch to the stomach. She smiled indulgently to herself, then scooted closer and leaned her head into his shoulder, pulling at his hand so his arm rested more snugly around her. Hiccup stiffened, spine tightening at the sudden proximity, but she felt him relax a moment later, resting his head against hers and sneaking a quick kiss to her temple.
He's getting braver. She mused, closing her eyes in contentment. Toothless arrived a second later, rumbling as he rested his head on the bench beside her. Astrid smiled and scratched at his ears.
"You look troubled." Hiccup noted.
Astrid caught sight of Heather's gaze then, and how alone she looked, ignored by her husband and clansmen. Their eyes met, forest green to sapphire blue, and she turned away in shame. We're alike now. Astrid realized with a pang. Heather and me. She's married, unlike me. And unlike Heather, her prospective husband loved her and openly showed it. Heather had certainly gotten the wrong end of the dragon in that arrangement. She could only imagine what she felt being snubbed like that. Or perhaps, since it was Dagur, it was better she was ignored.
Still, sitting with Hiccup like this….it felt like she was rubbing in her own happiness. Astrid swallowed and put some distance between them. Hiccup glanced at her in surprise. Wordlessly, she nodded toward their old friend. With a nod, he rose to his feet and began to pick his way across the Hall. She moved to do the same, but she noticed two Berserkers, one with a familiar, demented stride, making their way toward the great doors. Now what are they up to?
She glanced at Hiccup, who was halfway to Heather by then, looked to the doorway as Dagur and his clansman vanished through them, then crept to her feet and started after them. Stormfly saw her go and extricated herself from the tangle of dragon limbs she and Toothless had formed to follow her. The black dragon raised his head to watch them go, rumbling in concern.
The cool night air kissed her skin as she exited the stuffy Hall and spotted the Berserkers cutting across the village square. Climbing atop her dragon's back, Astrid followed close behind, relying on Stormfly's stealth and superior eyesight in the darkness. The village was abandoned tonight, both because of the hour and the welcoming feast. Here and there, a few candles were lit in homes, likely belonging to mothers staying home to take care of their smaller children. Stormfly cut through the village, weaving her way between houses and shops as they followed their quarry.
Where are you headed? Astrid frowned, wishing she'd had brought her axe. It was sitting at home, the terms of the new treaty prohibiting weapons in the Great Hall during feasts. What was Dagur after? Certainly not to his ship. He knew the way around Berk, and he'd missed the turn to head toward the docks. So why-The Nest? Astrid tightened her grip on Stormfly's saddle. The Dragon Nest had taken the bulk of the Brightscale eggs, small handfuls of them hiding in plain sight, disguised as clutches laid by Tidal dragons on the beach. Since no one knew what Tidal Class dragon eggs looked like, none would be the wiser. It didn't matter if Dagur saw them here. Dragon eggs in the Nest wouldn't be unusual in the least. The only flaw in that plan was the sheer number of eggs, which he might've seen as 'army-building' aggressive, leading to the relocation of the remaining eggs.
Dismounting, Astrid scurried after the pair as they slipped inside, one of them taking up a torch by the entrance.
"Are you sure about this, my lord?" She heard Captain Vorg's gruff voice. "The Berkians have been very generous these past few years. Lenient in the terms of the new treaty even when our tribe betrayed them. All these years, they've done nothing to indicate aggression, except in self-defense. I beg you, my lord, let the sleeping dragon lie. It wouldn't be wise to rile them up again."
"The new treaty?" Dagur's voice answered. Astrid peered around the twist in the caves to see them standing side by side before the sealed nursery doors, Dagur holding torch above his head.. "The new treaty is nothing more than Berkian pity on our people. Terms set to control and humiliate the Berserker Tribe, and our people have suffered the humiliation of defeat for long enough. When I rebuild my army, Captain, there'll be no need for the new treaty. And with Menafora's help, we'll be unstoppable. We'll retake our former glory and avenge our honor against Berk."
Rebuild his army? He can't mean the Brightscale eggs? There's no way he could know about them….unless someone in the Great Hall said something they shouldn't have. It wasn't as though they'd sworn everyone to secrecy, but with the way everyone had participated in concealing the eggs, she just assumed….Astrid shook herself. Enough, maybe someone had drunk too much mead and it slipped out. But what else could he be talking about? Was her theory about Heather right? Was Dagur building an army of mercenaries? And who is Menafora? That wasn't a familiar name. She ducked as the Berserker captain glanced her way. A Berserker Elder maybe?
"What is it, Captain?"
"I thought I saw someone, sir."
Astrid stiffened and started to back away, only to be stopped by Stormfly, who fixed her with a glance that seemed almost disparaging. It was a very odd feeling, being stared down by a disparaging Nadder, but she took her dragon's hint. Why am I sneaking around on my own island? She asked herself irritably. This is my home, not theirs. What's Dagur's excuse? With that, she rose to her full height and strode into the Nest. The Berserker Chieftain and Captain Vorg froze in their tracks, startled. Astrid feigned a surprised look, as though she hadn't expected to find anyone in here. "Oh! Good evening." She said, bowing respectfully. "What brings you to our humble Dragon Nest?"
She watched their eyes flick toward one another, as though evaluating how much of their plan had been eavesdropped on, if at all. Astrid clasped her hands nervously, hoping her smile looked genuine enough. Then Dagur smiled his twisted smile. "Nothing, my good woman. Nothing but simple curiosity. You see, I'm very intrigued as to what lies beyond those doors. Your chieftain skipped over them during our tour this afternoon. Would you mind-"
"Not a problem." Astrid stepped past them and, without a moment's hesitation, heaved the great doors open. "This is merely the dragon nursery, where the queen dragons lay their eggs and raise the hatchlings for a short time before we relocate them to an outdoor enclosure where they can enjoy the sun better. Dragon's get very melancholy when they're locked up, you know. I expect Hiccup and Chief Stoick neglected to tell you about it because it's empty now."
"Is it really?" Dagur asked in a displeased voice.
"Indeed. We're nowhere close to the breeding season." Astrid swung the door shut and leaned against it, casually waving her hand about. "So it'll be a while before we have baby dragons to deal with. Boulder, Sharp, and Stoker classes normally breed at the same time unfortunately. They are cute beyond belief, but they can be quite a handful. Even their own mothers have trouble-"
"You're Hiccup's, aren't you?" Dagur interrupted.
"Excuse me?"
"You know what I mean?" Dagur waved a hand in front of him. "That specific girl, the one he has a liking to. You're his, right?"
Astrid planted her feet apart and crossed her arms, all pretense of good manners forgotten. "I don't belong to anyone." She said in a hard voice. Sensing her rider's irritation, Stormfly hissed in support.
Captain Vorg raised his spear in defense, but his chieftain waved him aside. "Stand down. I meant nothing by it, woman. I was just curious to know." He leaned forward. "Is your envy the reason you've been watching my Heather all night?"
Astrid clenched her jaw. "I think it would be best if you left now." She warned, then added in a mocking tone. "My lord. Stormfly's not the only dragon in here, and even though spears and swords may be cleaned, some say dragons can still smell the blood of their cousins on the iron."
-0-0-0-
Author's Notes: Just for the record, anything that happens in Race to the Edge….is irrelevant to Bond. This was plotted out long before the new season aired. If there is anything in the new season that can be incorporated, it will be. Accuracy went out the window and burned in the opening of episode one.
This is a tough point in the story to write. (Hence the slow update.) I have an ending in mind, but I'm having trouble connecting here to there.
Thank you to Scordatura for proofreading.
I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Inheritance.