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: Hiccup promised to tell Stoick what happened to his lost heir if he and his warriors permitted themselves to be trained in Ísfjall's ways.
Chapter Five: The Bewilderbeast
Gobber isn't entirely sure what to make of Aesir. Back on Berk, Gobber is the one in charge of training the recruits, so he thought they might have something in common. As such, he expected someone muscle-bound and intimidating; someone who earned the Dragon Master's respect through battle hardiness and pure strength. Someone with a very fetching moustache, perhaps…
When a small, lithe figure enters the training grounds where the Viking hoard has congregated, dressed in tan leathers smeared with bright blue paint, Gobber is surprised to discover this is Aesir.
Aesir detaches his cloak, draping the blood-red fabric over a nearby rock, then unclips his vambraces and pauldrons to set them aside too, revealing slender wrists and narrow shoulders. Like the Dragon Master, he keeps his mask firmly in place—the design vastly different from his leader's sleek helmet. With its sharp spines, it reminds Gobber of a nadder's crown.
He notices that Aesir doesn't carry a conventional weapon either, just a weird staff that doesn't look to be particularly useful in combat situations—besides giving his opponent a good wallop to the cranium. At least, that's Gobber's professional opinion as Berk's finest (and only) blacksmith-slash-weapons-expert.
But what does he know?
Painfully little, it would seem. He didn't know their true reason for voyaging to Ísfjall. He doesn't know why the Dragon Master decided to take mercy on the attacking Hooligan forces. He doesn't know why the man is wasting his time trying to convert them, either.
But the real mystery is whether there is any truth to the Dragon Master's revelation about Hiccup.
Gobber spent all of last night lying awake, turning his mind over the man's claim—over everything he spoke of. Can it be that Hiccup has been alive all this time? If so, where is he now? And more importantly, what has kept him from coming home? He can't help but picture his little apprentice—in a cruel twist of irony—incarcerated in the very same dungeons they were locked up inside only yesterday, wasting away for five long years…
The more Gobber tries to understand the Dragon Master's motivations in trying to convince them Hiccup survived the encounter in the forest, the less sense it all makes. If his endgame is peace with Berk, why not simply broker a treaty? His position is strong enough that he could easily force on them whatever terms suit him. But if itʼs total war heʼs after, why not press his advantage and dispose of Berk's fighting population in one fatal blow?
Why bargain? Why coerce? What is the advantage of giving them the honey and the hatchet—as Astrid likes to say—to ensure their cooperation?
Gobber can't make heads or tails of it, just as he can't figure out why a character such as Aesir should be the fearsome Dragon Master's second in command.
Stoick must be thinking much the same, but sees it as a point of weakness rather than for reasons he doesn't yet comprehend. "You're Aesir?" he scoffs. "I was expecting a real warrior."
There are times, thinks Gobber, that he wishes Stoick would use his head for something other than splitting rocks apart.
Aesir slinks over to Stoick, his movements animalistic and inhuman. He turns his staff quickly, hooking the chief's wrist. Then, in an amazing feat of acrobatics too fast for Gobber to follow, Aesir vaults over Stoick's tall frame, twisting his arm awkwardly over his other shoulder and finishes him off with a well-placed kick to the back of his knee.
Stock's face contorts in rage and discomfort.
Of course, it's only because he caught Stoick off guard that Aesir can beat him with such ease, but Gobber is begrudgingly impressed. Not that he's stupid enough to let it show on his face, of course, and watches on with aloof indifference.
"Do I disappoint?" Aesir asks smugly.
Gobber squarks. "You're a woman!?" he can't help but exclaim, his earlier composure lost.
"Is that going to be a problem?" she asks crossly, letting Stoick up and turning her ire on Gobber, who shrinks under the heat of her attention.
Gobber hastily shakes his head. Many of Berk's greatest warriors are women—including Stoick's late wife, and now Astrid, who is shaping up to be the very best in Berkian history. But he was picturing Aesir to be the Dragon Master's battle brother—like he is to Stoick—and once again finds his expectations subverted.
"For the record, I advised against this venture," says Aesir matter-of-factly, without being prompted for her opinion on the unwilling arrangement.
From what Gobber can tell, she and the Dragon Master must have a very different dynamic to him and Stoick if she's so quick to outwardly criticise his decisions in front of their enemies.
"I doubt you have any intention of learning from us and teaching you is going to prove a great challenge, I'm sure." Aesir sounds weary, probably from disputing this with Ísfjall's leader over the last few hours and, ultimately, being overruled.
"So why bother?" Stoick questions, rolling his shoulder, which is probably still tender from her assault. Gobber gets a distinct impression that if she meant to hurt him, he would be suffering permanent injury, but keeps this to himself.
Aesir seems to contemplate this for a moment. "Because I hope he's right. I hope you can be taught."
"There's nothing you can teach us," says Stoick sharply. "Run back to your master and tell him this is a waste of everyone's time!" he bellows.
Cheers of "Yeah!" and "Too right!" sound from the Viking rabble and Gobber adds his voice to the crowd, echoing the sentiment.
"Perhaps I can't, but there are things I can show you. Things that will make you realise that everything you think you know about this war is wrong," Aesir replies confidently, cutting through the wall of noise.
"Try me," Stoick challenges.
Aesir has the guards assigned to the older warriors escort them from the training grounds to another huge caldera, roofed in ice and at least twice the size of the residential district where their lodgings are located. They emerge at the top of a ridge that drops off into a valley of mist below.
"We call this the throne room," informs Aesir.
This revelation prepares Gobber for when the Dragon Master arrives moments later, entering at the opposite end of what must be his throne room. Heʼs with the younger warriors, accompanied by an outfit of guards bringing up the rear and flanking him either side.
Strange, thinks Gobber, I donʼt see a throne…
They keep the two groups a fair distance apart, but close enough so that everyone can hear Aesir when she speaks again.
"It is important that you remember this is not a threat," she announces mysteriously.
Translation: We are 100% threatening you right now, Gobber thinks with mounting apprehension. But whatʼs so threatening about a throne room? he wonders, casting his gaze about the bright cavern.
… Unless… theyʼre planning to make an example out of an unfortunate tribesman by tossing him over the cliff. The old blacksmith wouldnʼt put it past these savages to pull a stunt like that and he gulps audibly.
"—Nor is it a display of power," adds the Dragon Master, now the one commanding everyone's attention. "We have brought you here to bring you closer to the truth—about the war and dragons."
Gobber looks over Stoickʼs shoulder at the seemingly bottomless pit, imagining what an ugly end it would be when something shifts underneath the smokescreen…
Something huge.
Then out of the depths rises a gigantic head, so big that Gobber can see nothing else. It belongs to a dragon the size of a mountain, covered in huge spikes, and as white as snow. The leviathan grunts, sending vibrations through the sole of Gobber's one good foot, and sizes each Viking up—probably deciding who to eat first. Gobber knows all too well that dragons find him delicious and doesn't fancy his chances. He whispers a quick prayer to Odin, hoping for a mercifully quick death.
"You've brought us here to be fed to your beast!" Stoick decides, elbowing his way out of the crowd.
The Dragon Master face-palms, perhaps louder than intended as the ring of his vambrace sounds against the metal of the helmet still concealing his face, and suddenly everyoneʼs looking his way.
"Are you not listening?" he questions incredulously. "This isn't a threat; this isn't a game. This is the reality of the war. The truth is, you have no idea what youʼre up against!" shouts the Dragon Master, his fuse finally spent.
Gobber can't help but agree—he had no idea that creatures as indomitable as the one before him walk the earth. Likewise, the Vikings shift uneasily—doubt, for the first time, creeping in.
"Beyond Helheim's Gate is a dragon who can match our alpha for power, only she has been warped by an insatiable hunger. She can control and summon dragons and unless they bring her food, they'll be eaten themselves," the Dragon Master explains gravely.
"Yak dung! Where's your proof, boy?" Stoick asks.
"—I've been to their island! I know it sounds crazy, but this is proof that there's a whole other side to their world that none of you knew existed," he fires back.
"—Dragons are monsters! They kill without reason and you're a traitor to your people if you're convinced otherwise!" Stoick roars as if the louder he says it, the truer it stands.
But Gobber isn't so sure anymore. He remembers the ferry ride to their lodgings after they were released from the dungeons. A pair of scauldrons swam alongside the punt boat, which made him nervous each time they circled too close to the hull, but now has him thinking about how they didn't attack, instead, playfully chasing the ripples cast out by their wake. Maybe dragons aren't different here; maybe it's something close to Berk that drives them crazy.
"Mark my words, your refusal to look at the bigger picture will lose you this war, Stoick," Aesir tells him coldly.
Gobber's gut—which has never led him wrong before—is telling him she might be right.
oOo
The training ends shortly after the demonstration. The Dragon Master told the recruits he was giving them time to think about what he has shown them before the real training gets underway the following day.
Astrid wishes they were given longer—it's a lot to process and she's used to having the chief as a sounding board and well of wisdom. Instead, she has Snotlout.
"It wasn't even that big," says Snotlout. "I bet I could've crushed it with one hand behind my back," he brags, flexing his biceps.
Astrid doesn't buy it and—under the bravado—she's pretty sure Snotlout knows he would be squashed like a bug if he went up against such a gigantic creature too. He's only trying to lighten the mood, though, so she doesn't call his bluff like she usually would and just rolls her eyes with newfound fondness.
They're back at the apartment and Fishlegs has fixed the gang some lunch to give his shaking hands something to do. Tuffnut is leaning back in one of the kitchen chairs with his feet propped up on the table. He looks calm, but that's just it—nothing can keep the twins this quiet and it's alarming to see them both so reserved.
Even Astrid is at a loss. If a dragon that powerful truly is pulling the strings behind the scenes, what hope do they have for securing victory for Berk? Do the people of Ísfjall have the right idea in joining forces with the dragons, or are they simply playing the victims to avoid taking responsibility for their petsʼ crimes?
Or maybe they're all crazy—the one Ísfjallan she spoke with properly certainly was…
She needs a different perspective, but she still doesn't trust the Dragon Master and her go-to consultant is being detained elsewhere in the city. Maybe it's time to see if the Dragon Master told the truth about one thing at least—that his dragon hadn't eaten H.
Astrid hasn't allowed herself to get her hopes up—she knows what she saw that day in the harbour. But the Dragon Master seems to think the night fury doesn't have H's blood on its claws. Besides, a little exploration will clear her head and let her test her freedoms around the Ísfjallan guard.
Her mind made up, she pushes her plate away. "Sorry, Fish. I canʼt eat. I'm going for a walk," she says to her friends.
"Like… outside?" Tuffnut checks, all four legs of his chair clattering back to the floorboards.
"Want me to be your escort?" Snot offers, leaping to his feet. He still fancies himself Astrid's knight-in-shining-armour, even though she has never been appreciative of his chivalrous hero act before.
"Guys, guys, Astrid can take care of herself," says Ruffnut. The others don't see her send Astrid a wink, mouthing go get him behind her hand.
In response, Astrid shoots her a withering glare that has little effect on the blonde's relentless teasing.
She catches the guards stationed outside as they're changing shifts. The fresh garrison is disembarking their ferry as she steps outside and they quickly snap to attention.
Instead of turning her around and shepherding her back inside, the new captain asks, "Can I help you, Miss?"
She blinks twice, surprised. "Yes—I want to see the botanical gardens. Take me there."
She fully expects him to tell her no, maybe even crack up at the ridiculousness of her demand, but he doesn't. "I'll make it happen. Skuf! Naddod! Take Miss Astrid to the botanical gardens," he orders two of his subordinates.
Naddod looks roughly her age, with flyaway white-blonde hair, while Skuf is a few years older and already able to grow a full beard. Both are wearing standard Ísfjallan armour with the city's crest stamped proudly over their hearts.
They climb into the now-empty boat and Naddod tries to help Astrid get settled on the bench. She knocks his hand aside and they float along in silence, which suits Astrid just fine. It isn't long before they dock at a stone pier with a stairway that connects the upper castellations to the residential district. Skuf and Naddod help her retrace her steps of that fateful night and soon she finds herself back at the botanical gardens.
There's a lone figure toiling at the workbench—his back is turned and an ember of hope flickers in her chest.
"H, is that you?" she calls out.
The figure turns… and Astrid's heart plummets. This person is much older than youthful, cocky H, with crow's feet stamped around his eyes and silver strands peeking through his brown locks. He brushes his hands down his front and looks at her questioningly.
"Are you alright, miss? You look upset," he observes.
"Do you know what happened to the other herbalist?" she asks, dreading any answer besides him telling her that it's H's night off.
"Other herbalist?" He tilts his head in confusion.
"The young man, with auburn hair, green eyes and who went by the name H?" she clarifies. How many herbalists can there be in a city this big? she wonders. Back on Berk, there's only Gothi, and her responsibilities extend way past simple medicines and remedial cures.
"You're mistaken," replies the herbalist, with a shake of his head. "I'm the only full-time herbalist in Ísfjall and my apprentice is your friend Naddod's youngest brother—that bright blonde hair runs in the family, I'm afraid. I hope you find who you're looking for, Miss. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."
What? "Please—he worked here about a month ago. Is the Dragon Master keeping you quiet?" she asks in a whisper, too low for the guards shadowing her to overhear.
"I truly have no idea who you're talking about," the old man replies helplessly. "I've been the master herbalist for two years and, in all that time, I never met an H."
But that's impossible! Unless… the Dragon Master did have H killed and then covered it up by pretending he never even existed. Maybe that's what he was getting at in the dungeons—that H isn't dead, but that his whole life has been erased, just for one misstep.
And it's all her fault.
She can't be here. She hates this city and she hates the people here who are so complacent to have their leader disappear one of his people on a whim.
Her feet have carried her out of the entrance to the botanical gardens before she even realises she's running. She doesn't go far—not wanting to cause a political incident for her tribe—but far enough away from the network of caves that more people are wandering around. It isn't crowded, but she still manages to run headlong into a passerby heading back down the way she came.
Hands reach out to steady her shoulders.
"Sorry—I should watch where I'm going," apologies an easy-going voice that moments before she was certain she would never hear again.
Sky blue meets emerald green and Astrid's heart takes a sudden trip to her throat.
"H!?"
A/N: Well done to MarauderPrime12 for correctly guessing that Valka is Aesir. I like it when readers guess what I have planned because A) sometimes it gives me new ideas and B) it lets me know if things are coming across clearly to readers, so thank you!
Thanks to William0312, Silvolde, CajunBear73, OechsnerC, Xivu, 22, YaAz97, Full Of Faith and a guest (you know who you are!) for all your wonderful reviews. The positive feedback from last time gave me back my writing bug and I churned this out so much faster than last time.
I'm super excited for the next chapter as the romance ball is going to start rolling. Sorry if this felt a bit like a filler chapter, there were just some elements that needed to be addressed before I could sink my teeth into the whole mistaken identity plot.
Until next time!