Pre-AN: If you haven't yet, read "Roughest Part of Life" for an Auxiliary Fishlegs/Ruffnut baby story. It happens chronologically before Snotlout's chapter [ch 9], which I forgot to mention it then. I had it written a long time ago and so warranted its long stand-alone status as a one shot.

Pressures of the job had reared its ugly head once more. Everyone was looking to Hiccup to make things better. The village was beginning to thaw from the ice that winter had left in its wake. It didn't seem to matter how bright the sun shone, the cold was still encompassing.

The winter sickness had struck and taken with it a good number of villagers, among them the leather-tanner, Hoark the Haggard's widow, the tavern-keeper, and even a few of the elders and the young children.

Hiccup couldn't bear to look at the grieving faces of those parents knowing the sickness could have just as easily made its way to Svenan the younger. His heart caught in his throat upon any thought of harm overcoming his beloved son. Astrid had caught the sniffles, a much milder strain of sickness that was rampant in the winter season, and had recovered, thank Odin. Still, it prompted him to keep Svenan at the lodge Hiccup had grown up in under the uncontaminated watch of Hiccup's father. Just in case the sniffles should turn for the worst—he couldn't be too careful with his year and half year old. Any thoughts of his family, including Toothless, coming into harm or sickness fueled the Chief into a sadness he never knew he could have in him.

Though not all was lost in the depressing months of bitter darkness; his cousin's wife had delivered a healthy baby boy they had named Curran; Brynna must have insisted on her tongue's native names for her children. They were unique to say the least, though perhaps too lenient to ward off a gnome with bad intentions.

Ruffnut and her newborn daughter had managed to survive the cold all under Fishlegs's careful watch. Svenan was learning new words every day, and finally recognized the difference between a regular ol' 'dag'n' and Toothless, the Night Fury himself. Though Svenan didn't call Toothless by his exact name—only pronouncing as much as 'Toohluss' and expecting the dragon to come when called, only to be disappointed.

Stoick the vast also procured an identity from his grandson over the season—the eager shout of 'Grampy' could be heard from the boy at seeing his grandfather. Stoick couldn't have been any more pleased at his title and had spent the time with Svenan to bond.

Then there was 'Goob' or rather Gobber according to the young Haddock son. Astrid and Hiccup would both fail at sustaining their hidden laughter upon hearing young Svenan address the dual-limbed man. Gobber would always correct the child, but the non-subtle laughter from the chief and his wife fueled Svenan to only smile and repeat the name he had said in the first place.

Life it seemed had balanced out, at equilibrium with the new life and the recent deaths. Hiccup's mother had been taken by the sickness when he was only eight years old so he had a particular disdain with his personal history towards it.

He wondered if Camicazi had a fair winter on her isle, also wondering if her village had been struck with winter sickness. He found there was a value in gathering information from the surrounding establishments to better gauge birth and mortality rates of the Vikings—though he'd have to wait until the gaggle of trained Terrors returned to send and receive messages. The system still had flaws but the newest village healer in wound-concentration had developed quite a handy system to send messages across water by way of the small-sized dragons. Fishlegs had helped with development but the accreditation went to Slugwing, a young man with a bright future—expected to take Spitelout's place as the wrapper-of-wounds with village-folk's lacerations and other scrapes.

Hiccup had attended four funerals that week, and had just finished up with the last of the sickness's victims. The grass was beginning to grow, the bay was open again to incoming and departing ships except for the few ice hunks that were floating around the middle, gradually melting again. It was still cold, the long thaw would be over in a month or two. The dragons would return soon.

Hiccup just hoped it didn't snow again.

He had to mind the docks for awhile because Snotlout was out trying his best to catch some of the fish without aid of his Nightmare. The village was dwindling on food. Hiccup had rationed more than usual that winter which was hard on his wife and son. The harvest from the autumn before was less than desired, if anything the winter sickness preyed upon those who had little nourishment during the winter.

So he was helping in every little way he could. Snotlout was a good fisherman, better than he at least. Hiccup couldn't ever remember having fun fishing; his father forced him to many times as a boy.

So he was the one at the docks taking care of incoming ships that had managed to slice through the ice sheets farther out at sea.

It was a lonesome activity. Usually Toothless would accompany him but the Night Fury was content indoors and had been since the first frost. Hiccup bent his numbed fingers, he couldn't blame the dragon for wanting to stay cuddled up in front of the hearth.

What was more worrisome was that he had work to catch up on in the forge. Gobber couldn't do it all by himself, not anymore. There had been talk of bringing in Gobber's nephew, Rune to help out. Hiccup had to stop and remember how exactly they were related—the lad was about sixteen and the son of Gobber's sister. He was a good lad though, made his own dragon saddles and sold them. Indeed, a talented lad from what Hiccup remembered, maybe it was a good idea to keep Rune around after all.

A ship was spotted in the distance.

The dock market was slow on such a day but still villagers were mulling about and offering what they could afford for the fresh catches of the other fishermen. A lot were old school fishermen, ones who never picked up the dragon technique and kept use of the fishing tricks their forefathers taught them. It didn't render them more fish in comparison with the ones caught by diving dragons but in these thawing months the old school fish-seller reigned supreme and raked in all they could in exchange to buy bread for their families.

Berk had grown in commerce the last few years, in population as well. There were the folks that were rooted with the island, who had been there generations. Then came the wanderers who had heard Berk was a lovely, interesting place despite the nine months of snow and the three of hail. It might have been the charming view of the sunsets that sold those newcomers on settling there. Or their curiosity and fascination with dragons. Though Hiccup knew other islands had integrated dragons into society within the archipelago, and as far as was reported those settlements had seen growth as well.

It was tricky being chief in a place where the natives were suspicious of the newcomers but he firmly believed in acceptance, tolerance—and that was the path to a greater peace.

The ship was getting closer, it had dark red sails, but the emblem of them Hiccup couldn't quite see yet.

"Who's coming?" he heard a voice beside him.

"I'm not sure, one can never simply tell by looking—they look to mean well—perhaps a merchant ship?"

The girl nodded her head with disappointment.

"Why, who are you waiting for Harkin?"

Hiccup knew her mother had recently died, just another unfortunate victim of the winter sickness. He and his father were among those who attended the funeral out of respect and memory for her also deceased father, Hoark the Haggard—one of Stoick's former commanders in the battlefield.

"No one," she said quickly and quietly before turning to leave and he couldn't help but to hear, "there is no one left—"

He saw that it looked like she had managed to buy a whole carp. She was frighteningly skinny—more proof of the bad harvest and it's affects on the village.

Hiccup felt awful for the girl; the lodge she had lived in since was a babe had been possessed by a male relative. The man had ordered Harkin out for she was just another mouth to feed but Hiccup had stepped in and mandated that he keep her under shelter until the cold passed for she had no body fat and would freeze to death if put out on her own at so young. She didn't know he had done that for her but he wasn't going to tell her. It was just his job—to watch out for his village and its people.

The ship was closer now. Harkin was wrapped up in a thin shawl, her hair long and covering her shoulders as she held the dead fish close as if it were something she cared about, as if it was the only thing left to comfort her.

"How is Astrid?" She stopped to wonder.
"She's better. She had the sniffles for awhile but is up and about and her usual stern self."

He cracked a smile at his sarcasm but Harkin's face remained stone.

Suddenly one of the merchants began shouting, pointing down the dock at them.

Harkin's eyes flew open and she made a dart forward but Hiccup snatched her out of the bolt with a stern frown, "How did you pay for that fish?"

The seller was now stomping towards them both in a rage. He couldn't afford to be stolen from.

Hiccup sighed disappointed and dug through his pocket to find a few peningars.

Before the merchant could accuse her of her crime, Hiccup pushed the payment into the man's hands, "It's taken care of, she won't do it again."

He still had a firm hold of her arm, she was about Rune's age—a junior to Hiccup by nearly five years, and more wiry than he had ever been at that age. Yet she tried to escape, he pulled her back, "Why did you do that, I thought your father raised you well?"

His frown lifted at her sudden tears of which she seemed to fight back but had failed, "I have to feed myself now. I have no money or means for money."

She said it quietly, ashamed.

"You need a job," Hiccup proposed after a quick and unseen moment of sympathy.

"Who would hire me?"

"Well the tavern -keeper has passed this winter, and I'm sure his daughter would be looking for some help tending the joint. Why don't you pay her a visit, see if she wouldn't hire you."

Harkin swallowed her tears with a considering thought. Hiccup hoped she would think about it, for the next time she was caught stealing he wouldn't be so lenient. Theft was serious.

"Thank you Chief," she managed to whisper.

"Chief. Hiccup. The Useful?"

Hiccup's blood froze though it wasn't exactly a freezing temperature outside. He let go of Harkin with a nod towards the cliff face, signaling for her to get on and go. The voice was hard, and at the same time like sharp nails dragging across a stone. He glanced upward and spotted the red sails—the longship had finally arrived and docked. With it, the most dreaded of cargo.

It couldn't be. It really couldn't. The owner of the voice had to have been dead.

Yet, Hiccup tested it, his hand slowly moving to the dagger that was kept in his belt. He spoke a voice dry and even, "Alvin."

Camicazi had said he was alive and looking to meet with Berk's chief, but really the man should have been dead—half his body was gone, he was old, and he had been last seen on a bridge, burning under flame. Did the man just always cheat his way from death? Hel was sure to have a bounty on his head by now.

Hiccup turned, anticipating to be killed or attempted to be slain in some way—simple or elaborate—Alvin had never been so close to the russet-haired Viking since the undersea caverns.

Yet, Alvin the Treacherous was simply standing there, the ugliest man known to men—his nasal cavity in view, a patch over one gouged eye, bald, haggard and scarred. His face, was the worst. There was also his prosthetic hand which he gestured toward Hiccup's left leg upon seeing the Chief staring at it.

"I see we have something in common now."

"I'm nothing like you!" Hiccup hissed.

Alvin wasn't alone. There was a man of his same build right behind him—who was watching the skinny girl dash up the wooden planked pathway, back toward the village. It must have taken Alvin years to find another person gullible enough to follow his crazy schemes to destroy Hiccup. He was smart to strike in the cold, for Toothless was not around to tear his innards out at the mere scent of malevolence that seethed from his being.

Except he hadn't struck yet.

"Uh...why aren't you—uh," Hiccup raised a suspicious brow, "trying to kill me?"

Alvin threw back his head to laugh, a hearty laugh that only made Hiccup look to be the fool.

"Kill you? Why would I do that? You are much too important to destroy."

Hiccup felt his jaw drop incredulously, "That's what you've always done."

"No no you silly boy, I'm here to learn—learn form the best Viking the Archipelago has ever bred."

"About what?" Hiccup saw past the flattery. Alvin wanted something.

"Dragons."

"Forget it. Get off my island. Now."

Hiccup held out his dagger to Alvin, and the man held up his arms in surrender. "I recall someone saying you were the one not to exclude, that you pardoned enemies even made alliances with them. I thought you were the one that has been trying to create peace—is the great and honorable Hiccup I hear so much about really that much of a contradiction?"

The last of his words were of near scorn and Hiccup did not appreciate being insinuated a hypocrite. He was suspicious of Alvin, but it was true—he did yearn for peace, had even hoped that Alvin would hear of the Chief's efforts and take to them; it was nearly a dream come true but yet he couldn't get over the feeling that he was being tricked.

"No need to be worried I will leave on good faith, and I have brought you baskets of grain as I heard your Island didn't have such a great harvest in autumn.

"Did you poison it?"

"How rude! I bear gifts and you—yet you think—?" He seemed rather put off before narrowing his eyes with a patronizing grin, "How does one even poison grain?"

Hiccup still didn't trust him, Alvin had been a chef once, and he could have known something Hiccup didn't about food and how to poison it. He didn't reply, only kept his unwelcome scowl.

"Anyhow I will leave my brother here to be taught in the ways of dragon training."

"Brother?"

"Oh yes, my mother informed me I had one. Who would have guessed?"

"You're mother lived? How did you even live?" She had been left on the burning bridge as well, she was a crone! She should have been dead.

"I won't bother you with details, but as you know she is a witch—she can do anything."

Hiccup doubted that, but maybe had a better understanding of Alvin's ability to not die—it was hereditary.

"I'd like you to meet my brother, Calvin the Lecherous."

Calvin stepped forward and stuck out his hand in greeting. Hiccup apprehensively took it and actually relaxed a bit when Alvin made no moves to yank his dagger away or shank him with his own.

He eyed the brother, still as suspicious but what else could he do? He had made it known his goal was peace and to turn away former enemies outright would be viewed as a contradiction, he didn't want his reputation marred—knowing Alvin would probably go about blabbing it if Hiccup didn't cooperate. Plus if the grain was good, his village could sure use it. Who was he to deny his people food on the basis of bad personal history?

He swallowed his hesitation and against his better judgment nodded, "Very well."

"I've heard a lot about you," Calvin the Lecherous gushed, but it was obvious he was sucking up to gain favor in the way Alvin did—though Calvin was much better at sounding sincere.

"I'll bet," Hiccup shot a dark look toward Alvin who was unloading his barrels and baskets of grain with his one good arm. They were probably stolen if not poisoned. Nothing but the most treacherous involving Alvin.

Calvin at least had all of his parts, wasn't even scarred. Yet there was something unsettling about the man Hiccup couldn't put his finger on, but it could have been a born bias from the fact that Calvin shared a string of genetic similarity with the nemesis of his childhood.

Alvin offered to carry the grain up to the mead hall but Hiccup declined. "So all you would like in exchange is to know the aspects of dragon training?"

"Simply."

"Why?" Hiccup raised a brow.

Alvin put his hand over his heart in which he meant to be true but Hiccup couldn't fathom the sincerity by the gesture, "I was moved by what I heard. I spent the last fifteen years hating you for what you did to me—"

Hiccup wanted to object that he never purposely meant to abandon Alvin to wander the sea caves, or all the mishaps that led to missing body parts. He also wanted to point out that Alvin also had wanted power the last fifteen years, only another motive behind trying to destroy the newest Chief. Though now Alvin was too late, Hiccup had an heir and would do anything to protect him.

"But nonetheless! I agree we can find peace...just like you did with those dirty Celts. I even heard you were engaged to one. What happened with that?"

"Politics," Hiccup answered simply, not elaborating—wondering where Alvin was getting his information in the first place and how much.

"Very well then—farewell, I will return in a few weeks to check up on Calvin and the process. I expect you'll treat him fairly despite our rocky history for he has done nothing to invoke your wrath. Good luck!"

Hiccup could promise to treat Calvin fairly but also could promise he would scrutinize the Hel out of the brother's every move.

Hiccup didn't know if Alvin's good luck was addressed to himself or Calvin but either way he didn't like it. That feeling still had hold of him, like he had let a wildcat into a bird's nest. Calvin looked harmless at the moment, whistling as he hauled the gifted grain on his shoulders, waiting for Hiccup to take the lead. He was younger than Alvin, looked to be younger than even Stoick—but still appeared to be years older than Hiccup.

He scanned the horizon for any other ships while he waited for Alvin's to depart—he wanted to make sure the man was good an gone before he turned his back.

"Well I suppose we should find you a place to stay," he lifted his own weight of grain onto his back and started up the plank-way once Alvin was good and gone.

"That would be much appreciated," Calvin replied.

Calvin was polite, which impressed the Chief—though still caused suspicion to surround the Treacherous's brother.

"Though I don't know how long until the dragons return. Hopefully a few early migrators will come back in the next few days and I can start showing you the ways of dragon training."

Again, Calvin thanked him. They neared the village and Calvin's eyes immediately latched onto the Viking ladies wandering toward market in hopes of securing a deal on any edibles.

"So how did you find out that you were brothers?"

"Alvin found me one day. He told me he was my brother and that his mother told him. I was adopted and lived on a small island in the Sullen Sea. We grew grain and I had never imagined ever leaving.

"You married?"

"No sir."

Hiccup gave a shrug, "So is this grain from your island?"

"Yes sir, we had more than enough and so Alvin thought to gift it to you since we heard Berk had the worst growing season since one could remember."

"Yeah, the frost came pretty early," Hiccup grumbled. He would usually enjoy winter to an extent, especially since he had wed for he could stay curled next to Astrid on those cold mornings, but even this year he couldn't enjoy that perk because she was shivery and full of sniffles. He slept in the main room, away from her so he wouldn't become infected.

"Where did you get this information from anyway? Gossips?"

Calvin paused to think, "A short woman, she was very pretty but I wasn't allowed to touch her."

That is vague, I bet most woman wouldn't him to touch them.

"She was a sassy thing—she commands the village of the Bog Isle."

Leave it to Cami to blab everything,Hiccup thought sourly. He had told her harvest was not going as well upon her visit—he thought she'd keep it to herself. Alvin must have gone back to her to check-up on Hiccup's pending decision to grant him an audience and took 'I'll think about it' as 'Why sure! Come on over!'

"So what sort of dragons are you used to?" He switched his train of thought—what happened had happened and he'd have to do his best to roll with it.

"We hardly were ever raided since we lived off grain but there were Doomfangs in the waters we had to watch out for when we went fishing. But I've seen Deadly Nadders and Terrible Terrors fly by in flocks."

"We'll use a Nadder then to start you off with when the dragons return."

"Where do they go then in the winter?"

"Their nest in Helheim's Gate."

Calvin gave a low whistle, probably because of the location. No one entered that soupy haze unless necessary.

Hiccup had to think of where to stash Calvin for his stay. There was no room at his own lodge, and he doubted he would put Calvin up there anyway just because of the inherent suspicion. His father had room, and he knew the Widow Thorston had at least two rooms available since Ruffnut had made her own home with Fishlegs and Tuffnut had assumedly passed to the realm of the dead.

However, those glances Calvin was throwing at the females they passed caused Hiccup to subconsciously make the decision to ask Stoick take the man in as a charge.

They brought the grain to the Mead Hall and set the baskets and barrels down against the outer-wooden containment of the fire pit.

"What is all that?"

Hiccup looked to a girl that had approached curiously, yet another of the village youth about five years younger—which only reminded him how old he had become—doing this Chief thing and always having matters to deal with.

He knew her as Ireth, and apparently she had seen them carry in the bundles.

"It's grain. What are you doing in here all by yourself?" He wondered because Ireth lived with the village elder since her father was out at sea and her mother was deceased. Why come to the drafty Mead Hall when one had a perfectly warm home?

"I was taking inventory on my dried herbs, I can't do it at home because all of the Terrible Terrors—they try eating them. I didn't pick enough last summer—" she ended in a mumble with a slight blush of shame. Hiccup wasn't one to judge though; there wasn't enough of anything around Berk anymore! Unfortunately for Ireth, Toothless wasn't the only dragon that stayed in Berk during winter, all the Elder's Terrors stayed too—but only hers.

He knew Ireth liked to help people, to ail people and so he caught his breath from all the uphill carrying and asked, "Do you mind staying here and distributing grain? I will have the word spread that we have enough now. When they come, tell everyone each household is allowed—" he eyed the amount with hesitation, "three bowls."

Ireth nodded, "Of course!"

"Thank you," Hiccup nodded and gestured Calvin away quickly, ignoring that lecherous look about him.

They emerged back into the cold and Hiccup grabbed the arm of a villager and told him to spread the word to all he could that Berk had grain for bread and other food now. A renewed spark of hope renewed in the villager's eyes and he went off to do just that.

Hiccup felt a little better about the grain, maybe Alvin had changed—it was downright benevolent to gift a struggling village what they had lacked in harvest.

The two men found themselves in front of the elder Haddock's lodge, and Hiccup entered whilst giving the door a few knocks to warn his father of his arrival.

Stoick was sitting by the hearth and sharpening a blade with granite stone and smiled at hearing Hiccup's foot-steps—the lightest footing on a man Stoick had described it as. He always said if Hiccup weren't so bumbling he would have made an excellent sneak.

"Ah! My son!" Stoick greeted and then regarded Calvin—the obvious stranger—with one raised brow.

"Father, this man has come to the isle in hopes to know how to train a dragon—as of now he has no place to stay so I was wondering if he could take my old room?"

"But son, I have no food for an extra mouth," Stoick frowned.

"That is taken care of, he has also brought enough grain to satiate the hunger we all have been feeling. I'm sure master Ingerman will have trays of bread lined up at your door once you order them."

Stoick was happy indeed to hear such news and welcomed Calvin in gladly. Hiccup did not tell the truth however, leaving Alvin's name unmentioned. Stoick knew the trouble Alvin had always caused and might have felt the same suspicion towards Calvin as Hiccup did. However, Hiccup took that burden of truth upon himself. Calvin was his responsibility now. Besides, how bad could this polite, clean, modest, man be?

Post A/N: sorry for all the A/N-ing but this chapter has a lot of thanks in order, which was why it took awhile to get posted. As you can see it is infused! [in more ways than one!]

*I posted a chapter entitled 'Perfect' [about the birth of Svenan the younger] since the posting of Snotlout's chapter, but I moved it back to 4th chapter to be in chronological order so anyone who got the email that said there was a new chapter or checked up seeing this had been bumped to the top of the page - it took you to Snotlout's chapter since it was viewed in the system as newest chapter'. Just an FYI if you missed reading it because of technical difficulties.

*Special thanks to Backroads for previewing this chapter for Alvin character content and assuring me it was all okay since I have never read the books. Backroads is a premiere author in the HTTYD fandom, she has the longest Fishlegs/Ruffnut-centered story in the archive :)

*MEGA thanks to Yamilink on Deviant Art for giving me permission to infuse her two HTTYD OC's 'Rune' and 'Ireth' into my after-verse. Those are not mine, they are hers completely! She does a lovely comic over at the site that revolvs around Ireth– please check it out if you are intrigued :3