Title: The Lost Heir
Summary: Hiccup goes through with his plan to run away, leaving behind no loose ends… or so he believes. After discovering the Nest, then fleeing north, Hiccup builds a utopia at the Dragon Sanctuary, working towards his ultimate goal: destroying the Queen. But no good deed goes unpunished and ghosts from his past are destined to resurface.
Recap: Stoick and the warriors of Berk sailed to Ísfjall, planning to get close enough to the night fury to enact his revenge. But Stoick fell victim to his volatile rage, landing them all in the dungeons. Meanwhile, Hiccup has a daring plan.
Chapter Four: The Bargain
The dungeons aren't… classically dungeon-y, as Astrid expected them to be. Not that she's complaining. She expected dank walls, wrought iron cells and ominous, damp smells. And, while tall bars pen the Vikings inside, the dungeons are rather… pleasant.
Astrid might consider this a design flaw—for how are you supposed to intimidate your captives if your dungeons are light, airy, and have a charming view of the sunset? If not for the fact that the dungeon's creator had a clear and practical vision, it would be.
The bars only encircle about three-quarters of the floor space, for, on the far side of each cell, there's a sheer drop over hundred-foot long ice formations, thrust up from the seabed.
And that part, yeah, that part's less pleasant, but kind of breathtaking all the same.
Astrid sits with one leg swung over the precipice and the other tucked beneath her, stewing in thought.
A few hours ago, she was standing in the Dragon Master's war room, head held high, flanking her steadfast chief proudly. Now she's at the mercy of the very man they came to punish.
Stoick acted on impulse. They had a plan, but she can only guess as to why it was not followed.
They were going to bide their time, lure the Dragon Master into a false sense of security and, once they were down to the semantics and his guard thinned as the evening wore on, they would strike—a full-on raid from within the heart of the arctic stronghold.
It wasn't perfect, but it was better than what did happen.
Yet, she can't find it in herself to fault her chief. The Dragon Master's cold indifference stoked the flames of Astrid's anger too. If Stoick hadn't risen to the bait, it would've been her who made an attempt on his life. Like her chief, in that moment, Astrid was blinded by rage.
Twice his beast has tasted the blood of good people. Not again—she swears—never again.
Stoick is lurking in the furthest corner of the Viking's cell. While she and the others may not attribute blame to their leader, there's no mistaking the man's guilt. He hasn't spoken since their incarceration began, hours before.
The sun is being swallowed up by the horizon and night is drawing closer. The dungeons are much colder than the rest of the city and she lifts her fur hood to cover her chilled ears.
The other warriors mill around the shared cell, looking for faults in the ironwork, but Astrid knows, with grim certainty, they will find none. They aren't getting out of here. The open shelf offers false hope of freedom, like dangling a carrot before a salivating mule.
With the wind howling and her furs pulled in close, she isn't aware of Fishlegs trying to catch her attention until he's on her left, fingers gripping the dividing bars tightly, knuckles turning white, calling her name. He inches closer, cautious of the ledge she's lounging over.
"Astrid!" She turns her head, eyes dulled by defeat. "Astrid, he's here."
She moves away from the edge and looks past the bars. On the other side of the locks is the Dragon Master, his face still hidden behind his odd-looking helmet. He's waiting, and it's only when he lifts his head to watch her saunter towards the bars that she realises he's waiting for her—until he has her undivided attention.
She makes him wait even longer, unwilling to concede to his wishes so easily. Her fingers curl around the cool metal bars and she offers her darkest glare.
"What?" she asks after a length of intense quiet.
But even after waiting for her to cross the room, he keeps up the infuriating silence.
"If you think we're going to beg for mercy, you've got another thing coming," she says, trying to elicit a reaction.
"Heh, I expected as much," the Dragon Master replied in an indecipherable tone, at length. "No, I have another much more palatable proposal. One that I think shall satisfy all parties," he adds cryptically.
"I'm listening," says Astrid, wary.
Of course, she doesn't get her hopes up, but his diplomatic act feels more than just a waste of her time, and the Vikings are hardly going anywhere, they have nothing to lose, so it follows they should hear him out.
He's standing a few paces away from the bars, so when he tosses something at her feet, it has time to spin midair and catch the light before clattering to the ground outside the cell.
"What is that supposed to be?" she asks, passing a cursory glance over the axe lying just out of arm's reach.
"Look closer," he tells her.
So she does. The axe looks painfully familiar, repaired and sharpened many times by the same hand—Hiccup's hand. It's not detailed or engraved, it has no precious metals inlaid into the handle, but it's perfectly balanced, incredibly effective and the best axe she has ever owned.
It has also been lost for five years and can't possibly be here right now. There's just no way.
Astrid's mouth is dry. "How…?" she asks.
Hiccup died holding that axe, he had it with him when the night fury carried him off. It should be at the Nest—or, better yet, buried in that same dragon's skull. But there isn't so much as a shadow of the boy's blood on the worn leather grip, as there should be; as she endlessly pictured there to be.
How did the Dragon Master come to have it? Did he rip it from Hiccup's cold, dead fingers once his beast finished the boy off? She shudders at the thought.
"I got it from Hiccup," the Dragon Master says simply.
Every Viking in the cell snaps to attention at the mention of their prodigy.
"You mean you stole it from my son!" the chief bellows, accusatory.
The Dragon Master turns his head, probably fixing his gaze on the older man, but Astrid can't be sure. The helmet hides his wicked eyes and the cruel, mocking grin she can picture painted on his lips—despite not knowing what the canvas of his face may look like.
"True, it doesn't belong to me," says the Dragon Master. "But I didn't steal it, either."
Just because your beast murdered him first doesn't mean it's not stealing," Astrid bites out.
His moral code is nothing short of delusional, she decides.
"Wrong again," says the Dragon Master, relaxing into the conversation a little.
He's toying with them, Astrid realises.
Growing tired of his games, Stoick spits gruffly, "Get to the point."
The Dragon Master appears to back down for the briefest of moments. Though Stoick's rage-fuelled attack was unsuccessful, the younger man's brush with death at the chief's hands may still have left its mark, Astrid thinks, for he complies with Stoick's wishes and cuts to the chase quite suddenly.
"Hiccup is alive."
Stoick laughs dryly. "I don't see your angle, boy."
"I don't have an angle."
Astrid can feel the many gazes of her tribe flitting back and forth between speakers at her back. This could go on forever.
"Prove it," Astrid challenges.
"I already have."
"The axe? That proves nothing," she dismisses.
"Doesn't it?" He pushes away from the wall and stares her down with the empty slits of his mask. "Ask yourself, how would I know it ever belonged to you?"
Lucky guess," she suggests weakly.
But it couldn't have been. If he found it alongside Hiccup's body, he would've assumed it belonged to the boy and no one else. No, the Dragon Master must've been told by Hiccup himself that this was Astrid's axe. But just because he was alive when the axe changed hands doesn't necessarily mean the lost heir is still alive now.
"I will tell you what happened to Hiccup if you agree to my terms," says the Dragon Master.
"Yeah, right—we do as you say and when you eventually deign to reveal the truth, you tell us he bled out while he was telling you those things," says Astrid bitingly.
"If that's what you want to believe, go right ahead," he says flippantly, shrugging. "But you know that's not likely. I, at least, like to think Hiccup is smarter than that."
His words give her pause. Hiccup's intelligence couldn't be invented—a detail lost on Stoick, who never took note of anything outside of Hiccup's dragon-fighting ability and his capacity for chaos. The Dragon Master has met Hiccup, that much Astrid is sure of.
"I don't believe you. I don't believe a word you've said… but what is the alternative? Stoick questions, believing he already has the answer.
The Dragon Master shifts his weight in meaningful silence. Death. And Astrid believes he won't hesitate to carry out such a sentence. But maybe he's given them a chance to buy themselves some time—maybe Stoick senses it too.
"And what might these terms of yours be?"
"I call it The Ísfjall Experience," he says with a flourish. "Every warrior here will learn our ways; you will live and breathe our teachings and you will learn to train dragons."
"—And if we can't?" interjects Stoick, bristling at the gall of the Dragon Master to assume they would all roll over and be good students.
"You mean if you won't. And if you won't, you'll depart Ísfjall, never knowing what became of Hiccup. Must I repeat myself?"
Stoick shuts up this time, colouring at being treated like a child by someone so many years his junior.
The Dragon Master continues. "You will be separated into two classes. Your younger warriors will join me, while your older warriors will be taught by my trusted second, Aesir. You will be free to explore the city—under supervision, of course—and you will be well-provided for while you are here."
"How long will be here?" Astrid asks.
Those last terms sound too good to be true, so this must be the catch, she thinks.
"Well, that's up to you, isn't it?" he replies. "Who knows, maybe you'll even want to stay."
He must be joking.
"Now that—" she says, "—really is the most ridiculous thing you've said all day. I've been here before and I never wanted to come back. Not after what you and your pet monster did to one of your people."
She doesn't demand an explanation for why H had to die. He'd probably tell her it was H's punishment for helping her escape, or weasel his way out of taking responsibility for his dragon's actions. She can see right through his act. He isn't a reasonable man, so expecting him to stick to his terms is a lost cause. He's probably setting them up to walk willingly into his dragons' jaws come breakfast time.
"What are you talking about?"
Tch—she should've expected this, that he would omit anything from his speech that doesn't fit his narrative, and H's untimely death certainly paints him in a bad light.
"The herbalist, from the botanical gardens. The one you murdered."
"You cared what happened to him?" the Dragon Master asks disbelievingly.
"That makes one of us," she grinds out, teeth clenched.
"Huh," he remarks blandly. "Wait, you think he's dead?"
"I saw him die."
"Did you?" he asks simply… almost genuine?
What kind of question is that? She saw the night fury tackle him in the harbour; she saw it bare its teeth, with H's chest pinned under its huge paws, unable to escape. How could he survive?
"So…?" he asks, leaving her to fill in the blank.
"You want me to believe he's alive too," she states, with a heavy dose of scepticism. She was wrong before—he isn't even lying by omission, he's just flat-out lying.
"It's the truth. But don't take my word for it—you'll be able to see for yourself soon enough," he tells her. She fumes silently at his brazen lies as he turns to her chief. "So, do we have a deal?" he asks.
Stoick studies the Dragon Master's outstretched hand with a large helping of suspicion. Threatening Stoick's life alone isn't enough to ensure his cooperation, but with the promise of information—especially of something so personal and important—and playing on Stoick's duty to protect his warriors, they just might have a deal.
Astrid isn't sure how she feels about this. On one hand, she doesn't trust the Dragon Master as far as she can throw him and, from this side of his cell, that's precisely no distance at all. But what if the Berkian heir didn't perish that day in the forest—what if he still needs their help!? Horrible images of an emaciated Hiccup bound by chains and enslaved by these lunatics fill her head and she digs her nails into her palms.
She needs time to look for him—to look for H too. She'll have to play along, it's the only move she has left.
"I've heard your terms, now hear mine. If anything happens to any of my people, the deal's off. When your plan to convert us fails, you will send us all home," is Stoick's answer.
The Dragon Master agrees easily—too easily.
Stoick reluctantly takes his outstretched hand and shakes on their agreement, but Astrid wishes Chief had bargained for better insurance. Though, as sure as she is that the Dragon Master will renege on their deal, it wouldn't have done much good anyway.
"So, who's this H guy you and the Dragon Master were talking about, eh?" asks Ruffnut, supporting her chin with her fist and playing with her chunky braid.
The teens have been put up in one of the waterside apartments, far away from the adults, so they can't work together to escape. Smart, thinks Astrid begrudgingly. Neither group will leave the other behind and there's no way to get a message to the chief, so she's stuck having Girl Talk with Ruffnut, apparently. Joy.
If this persists, she'd rather sleep in the boy's room across the hall and, according to 'Legs, Snot snores. Loudly. She's pretty sure she can hear it too, over the quiet lapping of the canal outside her window. That boy can sleep through anything—even during daylight hours, something they might all have to learn to do while in Ísfjall.
"Just a herbalist," she answers quietly. "The one who helped me escape with the cures," Astrid mumbles, rolling over and turning away.
Her bed was three layers of soft fur, and nothing like she expected to enjoy when they were taken from the dungeons. Truth be told, she expected some kind of inventive torture, or to be instantly fed to the dragons. This… isnʼt so bad. But it would be a stretch to say sheʼs optimistic.
"Ooh, is that a blush I see?" asks Ruff, reaching over to part her bangs.
Astrid swats her hand away. "No. He may have helped me escape, but he's still one of them—was one of them. Odin, I don't even know if he's still alive."
"But you want him to be, right?"
"...Yes." Of course, she does.
"Thor almighty! Astrid Hofferson not wanting a boy dead. I think I hear wedding bells," Ruff cackles.
Astrid bunches her pillow up to her ears. I was wrong, thinks Astrid, this is torture.
When she drowns out Ruff's teasing, her mind turns to what tomorrow might bring. They're supposed to start training with the Dragon Master. What exactly that's going to achieve, Astrid doesn't know, but maybe afterwards, she can begin her search. Will she have to shake the guards shadowing the teens, or did the Dragon Master mean it when he told them they would be free to explore?
Either way, if Hiccup is in the city, Astrid is going to be the one who finds him.
In Viking military ranking, Aesir means the strong elite, willing to train other fellow clan members, which I thought both sounded nice and made sense. You can probably guess who Aesir is.
A/N: Woah, it's been some time, huh? I hope you'll be pleased to know I haven't given up on this story. While I feel like the start of this isn't my best work, there are some elements that I still like about this, so I've decided to keep going, so I can become a better writer for my next multi-chap. Yep, I already have plans for two others :)
A special thanks to CajunBear73, Steampunk Wilson, OechsnerC, Silvolde, Untraveled, Kacper983, GoDrinkPinesol624, Loralie Gold Dream, Trygve11, kappet67, Shizuka Taiyou, and any guests who took the time to review! You're the best!