Vikings followed her father, circling them. Hela knew it was too much at the all too familiar show of her being scolded by her father. Sometimes, when she screwed up in a particularly sad way, they even laughed. Not out loud, of course. Making Hela feel worse she already was, was acceptable, but laughing at the Chief was not.

(Sometimes, she thought people forgot that she was the Chief's daughter, and mocking her was mocking him.)

Dragons growled in the background, carrying baaing sheep in their claws. Hela couldn't help but wince, the heated glares of the crowd feeling heavy on her skin.

She just knew those dragons got away because of her.

Ok, ok, she thought, maybe I can fix this.

"I hit a Night Fury," she rushed to say, cringing even before she had finished her sentence.

A big hand grabbed at the collar of the back of her shirt. Hela didn't flinch at the sudden firm grip as her father dragged her along, staying silent as she rambled.

"It's not like the last few times, Dad! I mean, I really actually hit it!" she kept on insisting, regretting all those times she went running to tell him about hitting a Night Fury. Every single time, it had turned out to be just Snotlout wearing black while sneaking around during the dragon raids. But she had to make him listen, had to make him believe. "You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down, just off Raven Point. Let's get a search party out there before it-"

"Stop!" Stoick demanded, the word coming across like a shout in his deep voice. The sigh followed, and Hela had to do everything in her power not to cry in front of the village. He let her go, forcing her to face him. "Just stop. Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter's almost here, and I have an entire village to feed!"

The retort was out and in the air before she even thought about it. "Between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding, don't you think?" She saw a Viking rub his stomach subconsciously while a shieldmaiden next to him glared. Hela pursed her lips; she knew she was going to get punished for that one.

"This isn't a joke, Hela!" Stoick said sternly. Then, he continued softly, "Why can't you follow the simplest order?"

Hela shrugged her shoulders. What could she say to that? The truth wasn't an option. Spilling her heart out to these people was practically offering herself to be sacrificed. Besides, she knew none of them would understand, her father being the least understanding of all. They knew their place and who they are because they set the example of what was expected for the newer generation. The teenagers she spotted hanging at the back of the crowd had it much easier than she did; they just woke up and belonged. Helo woke up and fell flat on her face trying to.

How can Hela tell her dad that she did what she did because all she wanted, more than anything else in this world, was the people of Berk to accept her? To look at her and see her as more than just a hiccup? A name given to her when she was only a child by her lovely cousin Snotlout during one of his many tangents where he bragged about being the future Chief.

Hela, the Hiccup.

An accident. A problem. Not even an issue worth paying attention to. Just a hiccup, an irritation you tolerated because you didn't know how to get rid of it; a mild discomfort you ignored because, eventually, it just went away by itself.

How did she say that to a man named Stoick the Vast, a man known for being the ideal Viking, the man everyone wanted to be?

Instead, all she said was, "I can't stop myself. I see a dragon, and I have to just kill it, you know? It's who I am, Dad." The words felt wrong.

Stoick shook his head sadly. "You are many things, Hela." He leaned down and cupped her cheek, his hand large, as his finger grazed the back of her head. "But a dragon slayer is not one of them. Get back to the house." He turned to Gobber, hand falling to his side. "Make sure she gets there. I have her mess to clean up."

Hela didn't protest, walking to Gobber and falling into step in front of him. It was times like these where she wished the world would open her up and swallow her whole. Stoick's anger she could deal with, Hel, it was preferable, but his disappointment? Her shoulder hung despondently, and she kept her eyes firmly onto the ground. She didn't want to see the glares of the older people, their stares feeling too much like a question: this is who's going to lead us when Stoick is gone? This failure?

They passed the giggling teenagers who couldn't let the opportunity to mock Hela slip them by.

"Quite the performance," came Tuffnut's gruff voice accompanied by the snickering of his sister. Hela didn't know where he got the courage to laugh at her when he was seen crying last week as his mother dragged him and Ruffnut through the village.

Then, of course, Snotlout took his chance. "I've never seen anyone mess up that badly." Liar. The twins constantly messed up that badly; they just got away with it because, unlike Hela, they weren't kept to the standard of the future Chieftess. "That helped." He lost himself in his amusement.

Fishlegs just gave her a small smile before looking away, as if he was embarrassed by her but didn't want to hurt her feelings. Aron was simply sharpening his axe, only lifting his eyebrow as their eyes met. Hela didn't know why his lack of reaction hurt worse than any of the other's words or pitying smiles did. Yes, she might have the biggest crush on this boy, but it wasn't as if he had ever stood up for her before. It shouldn't hurt that he didn't do so now.

Hela walked past them without responding, head hanging as she shuffled home. However, she didn't miss the glare Gobber shot them, cowing them into silence.

As Chief, Stoick lived above the village, on the topside of a hill overlooking the town, with a great view of the ocean and sunsets. Except for the Mead Hall that was built into the enormous mountain, the Chief's home was the longest standing building on Berk, going on three years without being burned down.

Only when Hela started walking up the hill, finally away from all the villagers, she began talking.

"I really did hit one," she mumbled, making a last-ditch attempt at getting someone to believe her.

"Sure, Hela," said Gobber.

Hela shook her head. She didn't know why Gobber, of all people, didn't believe her capable of doing it; he believed in just about everything. For gods sake, he was the one that believed the mythical Boneknapper dragon was chasing him everywhere. It wasn't like she told him she was befriending dragons and riding on the backs.

"He never listens," she complained.

"Well. It runs in the family."

Hela didn't listen to him. "And when he does, it's always with this... disappointed scowl. Like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich." She sucked in a deep breath, puffing but her chest and made her best impression of her father. "Excuse me, barmaid! I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large child with beefy arms. Extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone!" If Hela wasn't feeling as downtrodden as she was, then she might have applauded herself. It was her best impression yet; all those hours practising really worked off.

(She really needed friends.)

They finally reached the front door.

Gobber waved her off, slightly amused at how much she sounded like Stoick. "Now, you're thinking about this all wrong. It's not so much what you look like; it's what's inside that he can't stand."

Sometimes Hela wondered if speaking before thinking was a Viking trait. Surely, he didn't think that was a comforting thing to say to someone?

"Thank you for summing that up," Hela said dryly.

Gobber backtracked quickly, seeing that his kind words weren't being received the way he wanted them to be. "Look, the point is, you have to stop trying so hard to be something you're not."

Hela sighed. Gobber, for all his strange beliefs and eccentrics, was a Viking through and through. He had thick skin; he could just shake off the other's negatives opinions of him. Hela, on the other hand, couldn't.

"I just want to be one of you guys." The admittance came out softly. Hela didn't stop to consider Gobber's response before entering her home, closing the door behind.

She stood there for a moment, considering her options. She could go to her room and cry out her frustrations onto her pillow. Maybe it would tire her to the point of a coma, and then she would never have to see anyone ever again.

Or – and Hela's entire faces lit up at the thought – she could prove them all wrong.

Quickly, Hela ran upstairs, grabbing her notebook and charcoal before exiting through the back door and running towards the forest.

Her father said she had to head home; he never said anything about staying there.

#

Cleaning up after a dragon attack was worse than experiencing a dragon attack. The adults of Berk had to work through their aching bones and bleeding wounds as they accounted for the damages done to their homes. There was no time to be injured. They had to see to their livestock, count the number of eatable chickens, yak, and sheep they had and had to check up on the fish they had left. Afterwards, the physical buildings had to be assessed – how many buildings have been destroyed? How many of How much of it can be saved? How much wood is needed to replace it? Only then can the Berkians pay attention to their own injuries.

But the work didn't stop there. The number of injuries had to be counted, and healers should be called to assist them, only after they were reassured that everything they needed would be there. After that, the healers had to report the necessities in need of replacement. Then, the dead would be accounted for; they first need to ensure the cause of death before notifying the family and rearranging the funeral.

Every single thing had to be reported back to Stoick.

The man himself sat in his designated chair in the Mead Hall, nursing a headache, wishing to be at home. His chair was placed at the opposite end of the hall, his back to the wall and facing the entrance. His position allowed him to see almost everything in the large hall, except for the shadows of the pillars.

The sun was high, the battle over, and everything was in order, but Stoick could still hear the thundering rhythm of his heart roaring in his ears. It wasn't similar to the excitement that used to thrum through him as a young man after a raid, but rather the restless need to go home and see if his daughter was alive.

Hela.

Gods, he thought, ignoring the whispers from the gathering Vikings. Stoick had faced dragons on a daily, had sailed the rough seas during such thunderous weather most of his people were convinced he had been there during one of Thor and Jormungand's battles, had been leading his tribe since his twenty-fourth winter, stories of his achievements had spread all across the archipelago. Hel, he was known as Stoick the Vindictive before he was named Stoick the Vast! Yet, nothing – nothing – was as terrifying as hearing his daughter scream whilst running from a Monstrous Nightmare of all things.

I should have handled it better, Stoick thinks, catching sight of Gobber shuffling through the crowd. He didn't know what he should have done; all he knew was that he could've done better. Not for the first time, he wished for Valka. She always knew the right thing to say.

He eyed the familiar faces, noting everyone being accounted for and huffed a breath in frustration.

Stoick stood up; his height alone made him noticeable, but standing in front of his Chief chair, a step higher than the rest of them, was enough for the hall to silence. He internally winced at the cracking sounds of his bones, hoping to Valhalla that nobody heard it. But by the smirk on Spitelout's face, it was clear he did.

Stoick had to fight every urge to not roll his eyes at his brother in law, wondering, once again, what Valka's sister saw in Spitelout to marry a Jorgensen.

He shook off his worries, walking to the centre of the hall where a giant map laid on the table and begun to tell his people his plan.

"Either we finish them, or they'll finish us!" he said, loud voice shaking the very cracks of the hall. It was enough to get the Vikings in the hall riled up. "It's the only way we'll be rid of them! If we find the nest and destroy it, the dragons will leave." Riled up himself, he dug his dagger into the map, the tip piercing the drawn fog where they suspected the dragons to be. "They'll find another home, and I can bet it will be Berk. I will not allow that! One more search. Before the ice sets in."

Stoick didn't ask as much as he demanded, yet he was answered with doubt.

"Those ships never come back."

"We're Vikings!" Stoick said, not even looking to where the voice came from. "It's an occupational hazard! Now, who's with me?"

Again, he was met with hesitance.

"Today's not good for me. I've got to do my axe returns."

"I've finally found enough toenails to build the ship."

"Aye, I've got to water my yaks."

Stoick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, rolling his eyes in that particular way he knew his daughter did when he had his back turned. Guilt already churned in his stomach for what he was about to do.

"Alright. Those who stay will look after Hela."

They immediately changed their tune, eagerly throwing their hands in the air.

"To the ships!"

"I'm with you, Stoick!"

Stoick nodded, unimpressed with his people. He wondered how they would react if he told them that insulting Hela was like insulting himself. Hela might have been a clumsy wreck on the best of days, but she was better behaved than most of their children. Snotlout, Spitelout's boy, came to mind, especially the way he treated Hela during the previous Thawfest Festival.

The Chief dismissed them all with a wave of his hand. Steadily, they exited the hall to prepare for the trip. Stoick left his position to join Gobber, already pint deep in ale.

"Right," his oldest friend slurred. "I'll pack my undies."

Stoick took a seat next to him. "No, I need you to stay and train some new recruits."

He couldn't help but wince at his request. Gobber was an excellent blacksmith and an even better Viking, but he wasn't the greatest teacher. Hela herself was one of the many victims of his teaching attempts. The few days under his tutelage at the forge had left his daughter with burn marks and scars littered across her arms. Stoick had to learn all the necessary salves and herbs needed to treat them from Gothi after the old woman had knocked over the head one too many times.

"Oh, perfect," said Gobber, slumping back onto the bench. "And while I'm busy, Hela can cover the stall. Molten steel, razor-sharp blades, lots of time to herself. What could possibly go wrong?"

Stoick's eyes widened with every word. Right, the forge was dangerous and without him here, who was going to clean Hela's wounds and ensure her safety? While he trusted Gobber, he was as gentle as an axe to the neck, and Gothi had the bedside manner of a pinching grab. Hela didn't cry whilst receiving any of her injuries, but she sure would whilst being treated by them. As a man who had experienced both Gothi's and Gobber's healing hands, he couldn't say he would blame her for it.

The Chief groaned. "What am I going to do with her Gobber?"

His friend's suggestion came out way too casually to have not been considered before. "Put her in training with the others."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"She'll be killed before you let the first dragon out of its cage." Not only was Hela clumsy, but she was also very small, especially compared to the other children. The girl Thornston was the same age, yet she was already taller, with more meat on her arms than Hela had on her entire body. In a group with the large Ingerman boy, Hela would be seen as the weakest of the bunch, and the dragon would immediately single her out.

"Oh, you don't know that," said Gobber,

"I do know that, actually," Stoick replied

Gobber refused to back down. "No, you don't."

"No." Stoick was just as stubborn. "Actually, I do."

"No, you don't," Gobber snapped.

Seeing that he wasn't going to change his friend's mind, he sighed and said, "Listen, you know what she's like." He stood from his seat, the bench groaning from the sudden loss of weight.

Great, he thought idly. Not only are my bones creaking, but my weight also makes things creak as well.

Hela would have a field if she ever found out.

"From the time she could crawl, she's been," he said, pausing briefly to consider his description before settling on, "different. She doesn't listen; she had the attention span of a sparrow. I'll take her fishing but find her hunting for trolls!"

"Trolls exist!" Gobber interjects excitedly. "They steal your socks. But only the left ones. What's with that...?"

Stoick paced, ignoring Gobber as he continued. "When I was a boy-"

"- Oh, here we go.

"My father told me to bang my head against a rock, and I did it. I thought it was crazy, but I didn't question him. And you know what happened?"

"You got a headache."

Stoick didn't let Gobber's deadpan answer deter him. Why would he take advice from a man currently hammering his own rock tooth into his jaw?

"That rock split in two. It taught me what a Viking could do, Gobber. He could- He could crush mountains, level forests, tame seas!" Stoick exclaimed passionately. It drained out of him as he sat down, thinking of his daughter. "Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Hela is not like that."

Stoick could understand her eagerness to kill a dragon. Hel, he's proud of it! But he knew, deep down inside, that it just wasn't her. And some part of him was terrified of allowing her to join in with the dragon attacks and raids. That was his daughter; every time he looked at her, he saw that tiny, sickly babe he cradled in his arms, green eyes – so similar to his Valka – wide open as he sang her off to sleep. One of the many dreams that plagued him at night was his daughter's dead body on a battlefield.

Just thinking about it was enough to shake his core.

Gobber sighed, seeing the troubled expression on his friend's face, realising that he wasn't talking to Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk. He was talking to Stoick Haddock, a single parent to a child he didn't understand.

"Look," he sighed. "You can't stop her, Stoick. She's just as stubborn as her father."

The two men shared a laugh at that. If there was one Viking trait Hela inherited, it was her sheer force of will to ensure things went her way; when she failed, then she simply tried again.

"You can only prepare her," Gobber said when the amusement died down. "I know it seems hopeless, but Hela has a good head on her shoulders, most times, and she can learn to throw axes and wield swords. You did, and you were a scrawny git back then!" Stoick glared at Gobber. "The point I'm making is that you won't always be around to protect her. She going to get out; she's properly stumbling around Raven's Point right now. The best you could do is train her to defend herself."

Stoick sat down again, resting his elbow on his knees. He knew Gobber was right; letting go was the right thing to do. It didn't make it any easier to consider.

Hela was his daughter, the most incredible thing the gods had blessed him with, the second being the time he had spent with Valka. She was also the last thing he had of Valka, having nothing in his home to represent his late wife due to the number of times it's burned down.

He admired her drive to kill a dragon. Hel, if it were any other child on the island, then he would've been encouraging it. Give the child an axe and tell them to aim for the legs!

With Hela, it was different. She was his daughter. One of his worst nightmares was finding her dead after a dragon attack. Stoick didn't know what he would do if he lost her too.

Besides, contrary to popular belief, Stoick knew his daughter. She didn't have a violent bone in her body. Her passion was in the forge, in the many papers of drawings – each in a different stage of completion – scattered across his home. She was her mother's daughter through and through.

But she needed to know how to defend herself, and if this was what she wanted, who was he to deny her?

His mind heavy, Stoick nodded to Gobber. He ignored the shocked look and went to the exit of the hall. He needed to be prepared for what's to come.

And as he counted the necessities to ensure Berk would stand until he got back, his heart ached for Valka.