Sometime in the Past
"Hear me now you dreadful beast! For I, Vincent Hofferson will never allow you to get away with our food!" Words spoken, an eight year old boy's feet jumped from a log and stood still on the ground. His right arm stretched out. Pointing his wooden-toy-sword forward. Narrowing his eyes at the black sheep that peacefully chewed on some grass.
"Prepare to die!" Vincent yelled, causing the sheep's eyes to widen as soon as she noticed the boy dashing toward her with an awfully determined expression.
The sheep made a quick jump and then started to run off.
"It's getting away!" Vincent said.
"Not for long!" Another boy said as he came in running from Vincent's right side.
This other boy, was more or less the same age as Vincent. He had a large horned helmet on his red haired head.
From Vincent's left, another boy came running. This one, had long blonde hair fixed in a braid that reached the middle of his back. "Let the arrows rain!" he yells, pointing his wooden-toy axe to the skies, "Aaaaauuuuu!"
"Gobber, you sound like a mad beast yourself." Vincent teased the other blonde.
"Funny, I thought that's what our parents often call us." Gobber laughed.
Soon, an arrow was shot at the three of them. Halting their feet as it landed right in front of them.
The red haired boy turned around and pouted at a girl holding a bow in her left hand as she stood at a considerate distance from them. "Phlegma, you were supposed to shoot the dragon, not us!"
Phlegma shrugged, "I saw something of more value than a dragon's heart." By the looks of her not so small figure, we could say that she was about nine to ten years old.
"And what may that be?" Vincent asked, curiously tilting his head to the right.
"Stoick's bum!" She quickly responded. Followed by a much louder laughter as she dropped her bow on the ground and walked up to them.
Stoick's serious stare remained as he watched her get closer. "Is that any way to speak to your chief?"
"You ain't my chief yet." Phlegma said.
"Hehe, even if he were the chief, his bum really is much more valuable than a dragon's heart." Gobber agreed.
"Shut it Gobber! Yer not helping at all!" Stoick hissed. Throwing his shield at Gobber—who ducked before it got him.
"There goes our badge of honor…" Vincent mumbles as he watched how their dragon—which was actually a black sheep—continued running further away.
Stoick's hand rested on Vincent's right shoulder, "We will get another chance."
Vincent was about to say something when a rather slim—seven year old—girl with long dark brown hair fixed in a ponytail came running up the street. She waved her left hand up in the air to have them notice her, "Come! Quick!"
"Valka," Phlegma said, "What is it?"
Vincent suddenly began bouncing on his heels "Did you catch the sheep?" Shakes head, "I mean, dragon?"
Valka rose a brow at him, "What?" pants, shakes head, "No! I come from the docks. A new ship just anchored here."
Many people gathered at the docks to welcome their new guests. Down the ramps of a large ship, descended a very tall and buff man of dark curly hairs. His expression was stern and unfriendly. Behind him, followed an elder woman. Her way down the ramp was being supported by a small girl—who held her hand.
The girl of dark hairs fixed in two braids resting over her shoulders didn't look up to anyone that greeted her. She wore beige trousers and a matching long-sleeved tunic. Over her shoulders, rested a beige colored fur cloak.
"Who on Jill's beans is that?" Gobber whispered to his friends.
All four kids hid behind a stack of wooden boxes near port. Poking only their heads out. Watching everything going on before their eyes. Stoick was in the middle. Vincent to his right, Gobber to his left. Valka to Gobber's left and Phlegma to Valka's left.
"Stoick, did your father mention anything about leaders of other tribes visiting us?" Phlegma asks.
"Not that I remember." Stoick responded.
"Well, whoever that is, she ain't looking happy." Phlegma said. Pushing her chin forward as to gesture at the girl.
"Maybe she isn't the friendly kind." Valka said. "We should ask her to play with us."
"Play?" Gobber coughed a chuckle out, "Since when do Vikings play!? That is ridiculous! We ha—"
"That's," Vincent interrupts him, "Not a bad idea…" looks up at Valka, "You ask her then!"
"What!?" Valka's eyes widen. "Why!?"
"It was your idea." Vincent says, then shrugs and looks back at their guests, "Besides, girls understand each other better than boys do, right? Should be easy for you."
Valka's cheeks inflated and her nose looked like it had been pushed out by her disappointment. She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, "No way. I don't want to."
Stoick moved to crawl toward her and sat in front of her. Tilting his head to the side and with a shy voice, he said, "I will go with you," clears throat, "If you like, of course."
Valka looked up at him, hesitated for a few seconds, and then silently nodded. Standing up, she waited for Stoick to finally realize the answer she had given him so he'd stand up too and walk with her to the girl that now was standing just a few long feet from the pile of wooden boxes they were using as a hiding spot.
What seemed to be the girl's father, was listening to directions given by one of the local sailors.
Stoick stepped closer to them first and waved his hand at the girl. "Hello. My name is Stoick." offers his hand out to her, "Welcome to Berk."
The girl didn't answer. She just stared blankly at his hand that still waited for her to take.
Seeing how she wouldn't take his hand in, Stoick retrieved it and scratched his chin to avoid some of the embarrassment when Valka stepped in and gifted the girl a tiny smile.
Before she would even think of how to spell her own name out, Stoick quickly pointed at her and said, "This is Valka."
Valka frowned at him. Sending him a straight glare that clearly yelled I know how to introduce myself.
Stoick just shrugged in response.
The girl didn't greet Valka. She didn't even bother to look at either of them. She just remained in silence. Having the other two kids feel undoubtedly uncomfortable as they shared a confused glance.
"Let's go, Bertha." The elder lady that came with them gently rested her hand on the girl's back and gave her a light push forward. "Time to meet the chief."
"The chief!" Stoick quickly said, "That's my dad."
Hearing him, the girl whose name now they knew was Bertha, glanced back at him, eyed him from helmet to boot and then continued walking.
"Was it me or did she just check you out?" Valka said.
Stoick brought his shoulders back, pushed his chin up in pride and stretched his lips in a very wide smile as his knuckles rested on his hips. "Well, a man this handsome cannot be ignored for that long."
Valka clicked her tongue at him, "Seriously?" Crosses her arms over her chest, "Don't you think it's a bit strange that she only looked at you after you said that you were the chief's son?"
Stoick blinked at her, "So?"
Valka shook her head, "Never mind…"
Years Later
Snowy evening.
Chopping cabbage into smaller chunks, Bertha's attention was brought to the door when it suddenly opened and her husband walked in. Holding a large closed sack over his right shoulder.
Vincent kicked the door closed and dropped the sack on the dinning table. "Add this to tonight's menu, will ya?"
Bertha nods, "What did you catch this time?"
Vincent sat on a chair—facing Bertha—and sent her a proud grin, "Elk."
"Mm, not bad." Bertha said.
Vincent chuckles, standing up and walking up to his wife. Gently resting a big hand on an eight-month big baby bump. "Our baby will love it."
Bertha's hand moved his to a low-left side of her bump—where she felt the movement going on at the moment. Showing most of her teeth in utter enthusiasm, she says, "I cannot wait to have this baby in my arms! Almost every night, I dream of him."
Slightly taken aback, Vincent blinks back at her, "Him, you say?"
But as if she wasn't even listening to him, she kept on, "How do you think he'll look like? Oh, I wish for him to resemble you the most!"
Pulling away from her, Vincent took in a deep breath and turned his back to her. Running his fingers down his beard as he paced forward and then sat back on one of the chairs in the dinning room.
Noticing how he didn't share her enthusiasm, Bertha tilts her head to the left. "What's the matter?" Steps closer to him.
By the time Vincent looked up to find her, Bertha was already only two feet from him. "Do you wish for a boy above all other matters?" he asks.
"What is more important than a good heir?" Her tone almost mocking.
"A girl may be perfect for that job as well." Vincent responds. "Don't you think?"
Bertha scoffs. Resting both hands on her belly and leaning her shoulders back to release an even louder laughter, "If I ever have a girl, then I will have her become a strong shield maiden, yes. But she won't inherit all of our goods. Over my dead body, she will."
Hearing this, two massive hands slammed against the table. Making the empty mugs waiting to be filled fall over and the bagged elk give a slight move. "Enough," the man stood up from his seat. His eyes squeezed shut in annoyance. "Is having wealth all that truly matters to you? Whatever happened to wanting a family? I have grown sick of hearing you say the same thing over and over for the last eight months. Never said a word about it, for I always hoped you would one day change your mind and accept whatever will come with joy." When his eyelids uncovered his eyes, they revealed a pair of pale blue gems that had flamed up with fury. "I would throw all of our goods to the depth of the ocean if having a girl means so little to you. A person, is a person. Just because our society grants much more attention to a man's potency, does not mean a woman is less valuable. Was I the only one desiring for a family?"
Feeling as if he dared say more, he might lose his control, Vincent turned on his heel and began walking to the door.
"What has gotten into you now?" She asks.
"Constant questions about your true intentions with my child concern me." He flatly responds.
"What?" She lowly growls, "Yeh speak as if this baby only belongs to you."
Turns halfway to her, pointing a long forefinger at her. Having her stop from getting any closer. "If you continue speaking like you only have specific intentions with it, then I will have no other choice than to do everything in my power to keep it far away from your grasp. I will not have yeh turn him or her into a puppet for yer own benefit."
Seeing how her body had practically frozen in time after hearing his unusually storming tone, Vincent dropped his finger and both of his shoulders relaxed. Releasing a loud sigh, he somehow then managed to keep his tone at a considerate volume, "Listen, Bertha. I only wish for a progenitor that I could give love to. The kind of care my father and mother could never show me and my brother as we grew older, for they were always too busy assisting the chief. Whenever the chief had to go on a diplomatic voyage, my parents also left with him. Whenever we were at war, my parents never hesitated in stepping forward. At first, Finn and I thought that they were invincible in battle. They always found their way back home. But one day, they didn't."
There was a long gap of silence between them. Bertha wanted to say many things in return, but she didn't seem to find the correct words to describe everything going on in her head. It was then, when Vincent took in a deep breath and without even bothering to look back up at her, he said, "Humbly, I only seek for my child's happiness. Inheritance and power will come in later."
As if being shaken by Helheim herself, Bertha snapped out of her own barriers and backed one step, "How can you say something like that?! Our son can be the chief of this tribe if we work hard enough for it. Or we can marry him to a princess if we train him adequately. We can even—"
"Have you not listened to a single word I just said!?" Vincent shakes his head. Hoping that his ears were playing tricks on him. But apparently, they were not. Bertha had definitely been blinded by greed itself.
Unable to keep his voice at a normal tone much longer, Vincent snapped, once again pointing a long forefinger at her, "Now you listen ta me, Bertha from the Bog Burglars. Stoick the Vast's eldest son will be chief when he reaches maturity. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third. Not ours! If we have a daughter and she marries him, then it better be because they love each other and not because of a cursed agreement between both families for some sick alliance. If we have a son and he wants to be a shepherd, then I will have the biggest field be his if he so desires! I will never allow my offspring go through the same hel I did and I forbid you ta ever move a finger against their will!" Steps closer, only inches from her. "Do you hear me?!"
Her eyes narrowed. Both of her palms pressed against his chest and pushed him away from her already invaded personal space, "So you expect us to live in poverty and misery!?" She asks, "My father would have never allowed our marriage if he knew this would happen."
"Yer father, wanted you to marry Stoick." Vincent said, "Do you remember what happened the day you first came to our grounds?" grins daringly at her as he watches her walk further away and gift him her broad back. "Do you?"
"Hush it." She says.
"Well then, allow me to clear the skies for you my dear!" takes in a deep breath and lets it go tangled in with rough words that were sent right at her backside like hot knives. "Your father insisted to make an agreement with the chief to have you and Stoick get married once you reached the appropriate age. As an act of peace between the Bog Burglars and the Hairy Hooligans even if your father was actually banned because the Bog Burglars, is no more and no less than a tribe of only female Viking warriors. But our chief didn't agree to a contract that soon. He wanted to wait until Stoick reached maturity and gave him the last word. Unfortunately for you and yer father, Stoick was already interested in Valka. Seeing how the chief considered his firstborn's choice above all else, your father then insisted in having you wed a man that stood almost at the same level of the chief." Leans back, both arms stretched to the sides as he then spoke the following with a hint of sarcasm dripping from his lips, "And who better than the Captain of our troops!? Heir of a very considerate amount of gold and the biggest fool of the Hairy Hooligans for thinking that one day, you might grow to actually like him the way he has liked you all these years!"
"Hush, I say…" She mutters. Clenching her jaw and balling her hands into fists.
"No." Vincent frowns, "I still have one more thing to say to you." His hand found her shoulder. Turning her to him, leaning his face closer to hers, whispering words mixed in low growls, "That greed that flows through your veins, will not reach my child's spirit. If you as ever so try to use my child as a marionette for your own benefit, then I will be the first one to vote in favor to have your neck hung." pauses, "Have I made myself clear?"
The disappointment in her eyes gave him the answer he was expecting. Without any other word spoken, Vincent turned his back to her, opened the front door and walked out of the house. Slamming it behind his back.
About Three or Four Months Later
For centuries, time has had the power to mend broken hearts. To distract bothersome thoughts. To heal wounds. To make the ghost of our past go away.
There hasn't been enough generations to step up for their rights and change the patterns established by our ancestors. At least, not yet.
Born from a woman that fought against her own village's rules to keep the man she loved nearby. At least, until her child reached her sixth year of age. Which was enough time to teach the child the differences between a man's love and that of a woman's. Both similar, yet both so different. One, disguised itself as over protection. The other, as discipline.
It was a scandal. The chief's youngest daughter had gone against the rules of their tribe. Instead of sailing to neighboring tribes to take away a man's seed and give birth to what will one day become warriors that will bring down their enemies, her eyes got lost in those of a stranger that had filled her mug of fresh red wine about three to four times that first night at the tavern.
When her mother heard of the rumors of her youngest daughter hiding a man in an abandoned cabin deep into the forests, the young lady was already bearing a child in her womb.
The Bog-Burglars' chief ordered the man to leave. For it was against the rules of their tribe to have men wandering around unless they were part of a visiting tribe. The man refused. Steamed by his bold behavior, the chief gripped on her axe, drew her arm back over her head and right before she would bring her hand back down on the man's body, her daughter stepped between them.
Begging her not to kill him, the youngest daughter offered anything that might be of interest to the chief. Considering the offer, her mother agreed to have the unborn child's father close by but only until the child's sixth birthday. In return, the youngest daughter had to give in her half of the inheritance and never again claim her place as one of the chief's daughters.
It was a fair pact. To them, the name of their tribe had been stained. Someone had to pay the price for it.
But things didn't exactly turn out the way the young lady hoped they would. Having a man in a tribe full of only women, brought more troubles not only to her, but to the chief as well. Rumors spread, that this man spent most of the nights at taverns. What did he do during his time of countless mugs of mead and wine? No one knew. Rumors say that he sold information and secrets about the Bog Burglars to their enemies.
Both, the young pregnant lady and her lover tried to run away several times. But it was especially hard to sneak out on the guards. Also, the ships were all tied together to avoid being stolen so easily.
As time went by, both lovers got used to living through their part of the deal. The child was born. A lovely baby girl.
For the first time in the history of their tribe, a child was being raised by both the mother and father.
Although time was being kind to the child, the father grew sick and tired of the misery they were in. On winter, the food in their hut was limited for it wasn't enough to satisfy three Viking stomachs. So the mother tried her best to make sure their child had her meals without any trouble. Of course, she would have rather starve herself to death before leaving her daughter without something to eat. But the husband didn't share that thought.
Every night, he would speak of how better things would have been if she speaks with her mother and arranges a trip to another tribe. For matters of alliance. That way, chances of gaining a fair amount of goods would increase.
But the wife refused. She spoke of how happy she was with only the fact that she had a child to care for. She wasn't interested in gold, or silver.
Unable to remain calm, the husband lost his control and warned her of her actions. For they would bring her to the end of her days.
Frightened by the threat, the wife silently waited for time to mark her daughter's sixth birthday, and disappeared.
You could be the strongest warrior in all the world. Fearless, without a doubt. But when someone that means so much to you treats you so violently—even with just words—then all of that strength that once belonged to you feels as if it was never even yours to hold. At first, you don't know what to do, or how to react. Some are fast in recovering their senses. Others delay a bit longer. But this kind of behavior, is always truly unpredictable.
By the time the youngest daughter left, the chief had given her place to the eldest daughter. The father tried one last time to convince the child's grandmother to let him leave. This time, the former chief accepted. But with the only condition that she was to accompany them and make sure her granddaughter earned the kind of fortune her mother threw away.
They waited until the girl was eight years of age, when they arrived the Hairy Hooligan's tribe.
Time went back to its original course when Bertha Hofferson found herself standing in front of her newborn child's crib. Remembering the past that haunted her thoughts on most of her days.
There was a baby in the crib. Sleeping. Resting the back of its right hand on its red nose. Wrapped in a soft green blanket with a brooch that read the name 'Astrid'.
Bertha's eyes were sharp down at the child. No doubt, she had been utterly disappointed when they came to her with a girl instead of a boy. But that didn't stop her from managing to think of other—and better—ways to regain the riches and honor she so much desired.
"I'll make a true warrior out of you." She mumbled.
Seconds later, the baby began to whimper. Kicking her tiny legs and waving her arms as she opened her mouth and emitted loud cries.
Hearing her, Bertha turned her back to her and walked away. "We'll begin by teaching you how useless tears are to me." Just then, the hut's front door opened and Vincent Hofferson came in. Carrying a baby boy that clearly looked a few months older than the baby girl.
"Oi, why do I hear my girl's cries all the way across the street?" Vincent says. Stepping right in front of her, the boy in his arms peeked into the crib. Seeing the girl still crying to the top of her lungs.
Two big hands slid under the boy's armpits and took him from Vincent's arms.
"Stoick, what surprise to have you here." Bertha said as she poured some yak milk on three mugs.
"Hope it is not too much trouble, Bertha." Stoick says, "Thought I could come and visit for a while when I saw Vincent on the way."
Vincent had already managed to pick the baby girl up in his arms and slowly rock her as he rubbed his big fingers on her small back.
"No trouble at all." Bertha said. Offering him a mug. "It is always an honor to have you around."
He shifted the boy to one arm as he took the mug with his other hand. Mumbling his gratitude before sipping from it and then bringing the mug to the boy's lips. The boy tried to grab the mug. But his hands were still too small. So he just patted it as he drank from it.
Astrid's cries had finally gone off as Vincent whispered a soft lullaby to her and walked to stand behind Stoick.
Stoick turned to face Vincent and smiled brightly at them. "Ah, she takes a lot after you, old friend." His eyes move from Vincent, to Astrid. From Astrid to Vincent, then he laughed, "Although I believe she'll be much more beautiful in a future." Pauses to mutter the last more to himself, "Hopefully..."
Vincent shot a quick glare at him before noticing how curiously the boy in Stoick's arms watched his daughter.
Astrid still had her eyes closed. But the constant movement of her fists against his tunic gave him the thought of her still awake. She took in quick breaths every now and then. When her eyes finally opened, they revealed a quite dark color. It wasn't green, or blue, or gray. It was...more like an evening dark.
The boy in Stoick's arms laid his head on his dad's shoulder while still silently gazing down at the girl. He stretched his lips to smile at her, but she only blinked back at him in what seemed like utter curiosity.
No one ever imagined, that those two pair of innocent eyes, were the ones meant to change the future...