Three years had gone by since Stoick and Oswald had their disagreement. No quarrel occurred, but there was no visit to either kingdom even for the treaty-which they decided need not be renewed until further notice. The heirs missed seeing each other. Hiccup had a friend in Fishlegs, but it was not the same. He wanted a friend that was resourceful, adventurous, brave, and even a bit crazy. Fishlegs was a smart and kind-hearted boy, though not qualifying for any of those traits. Plus, there was no one to help him against Snotlout. Dagur was the only viking, that Hiccup knew, who was a good warrior and still did not treat him like he was less than a viking. Like he was a runt.
The Berserker heir, greatly, missed hanging out with the tiny Berkian. Hiccup was like his little brother and was fun. The boy was the only friend Dagur ever had. He did not cower in fear around him and call him insane or dangerous-as the other vikings his age would. Hiccup was never condescending or impatient when Dagur, genuinely, did not understand something. That you should not use your friends as target practice, for example. The Berserker could laugh and just be himself around his brother and Hiccup would not look ashamed. The boy was also the only one who had ever defended him in front of Ansson too and gotten him help.
Oh that Ansson. How Dagur hated him. The man still went after him, but Dagur was getting better at protecting himself. He no longer got serious injuries or would almost die, although he did not have any wins against the viking either. Ansson usually would tire out- due to the boy fighting back well-and decide to stop his attacks. Dagur trained and trained until exhaustion kicked in, and then he trained some more. In fact, he was practicing some combat drills when Oswald slammed the door on his way into the hut.
The chief slumped into his throne amd sighed, loudly. Receiving no response from Dagur, he sighed again. "I'm not fine, but thank you for asking." the man said, irritated. Dagur rolled his eyes and turned to face him, "No problem." he smiled. Oswald glared at him and the teenager grumbled, "What's wrong?" he inquired. This satisfied the chief and he stood, beginning pace around the room. "I can't stay cooped up here any longer. I have to leave. Go...somewhere."
Dagur rubbed his chin, "Where, though?" "Outside the archipelago." Oswald answered. The boy looked at him in surprise, "Outside? No one's ever heard of what's happened to vikings who go out there." he noted, quietly, excitement building within him. "When do we head out?" he smiled, crazily. The older Berserker gave him a look that implied he thought the boy had lost what was left of his sanity. "We?" he asked. Dagur nodded, enthusiastically. Oswald laughed, "There will be no we, Dagur. I will go alone." Dagur frowned, "Why? You aren't even bringing any other vikings with you?" The chief shook his head, "I've always wanted to travel around alone and survive the wilderness. Can't do that with an armada. Don't tell them either that I had planned this. They'll search everywhere for me."
Nervousness set itself into Dagur's core, "But, h-how long will you be gone and when are you leaving?" Oswald paused, "Not sure for either question. It'll be great fun." he beamed. "I've never led the Berserkers before." Dagur reminded him. "I know. I've been leading, have I not?" he inquired, arrogantly. The boy tried not to glare, "I mean that-" "Oh, it'll be great fun to see all there is." Oswald said, daydreaming about his future feats. The adolescent knew that nothing more that he might say would be heard and went to continue his exercises.
The next day, Dagur figured that needed to practice leading his people. He had tried before, but Oswald always got in the way. There was an argument between two merchants at the trading station. "I was here first! You have to leave." one bellowed. "Not on your life. I won't be tricked into believing you!" the other yelled. Dagur hurried over, "What's wrong? This place is coated in vendors. Since when does it matter when one comes over?" They looked at him, "That viking is trying to sell the same items that Iam. Trying to get me to move on top of it." The other Berserker scoffed, "Liar. I'm always here at this time, at this spot. Ask anyone." Dagur took the suggestion, "Is this true?" he inquired to some other vendors. They looked unconvinced, "Yes, but he normally sells something different. We can't blame the newcomer."
Before the squabble could begin again, Dagur looked at their items and spoke, "The two of you have scrap metal. They'll be different from each other, so buyers can come to both stands." The vikings looked over the other's stocks and, sheepishly, nodded, "You're right. He has more clunky metals and I have smooth supplies." A Berserker came from behind them and snorted, "You're not going to listen to Dainty are you? What does he know about anything?" Ansson questioned.
Dagur snarled at the viking, "Do you have a better idea?" Ansson puffed up, "Of course I do. Fight it out. Whoever's left standing can stay." he handed axes to the vikings. They shrugged and raised their weapons. "Stop!" Dagur said, hastily, "Kind of trying to avoid having them kill each other off." he, angrily, stated to Ansson. He turned to the merchants, "Save your executions for our enemies." They complied and Ansson snatched the axes back, pointing them at Dagur. "Should've known that ya'd do it the weak way, Dainty. Doubt you have a Berserker bone in your body. Maybe we should have a closer look to find out."
The Berserker swung the axes and slashed, wildly. Dagur, expertly, side-stepped and threw a knife at Ansson. The blade pierced the man's shoulder and he cried out. In a rage, he charged and was pushed into the scrap pile. While in the metal, Dagur managed to take an ax from the viking. Feeling his hand empty, the adult Berserker sent a hard kick into the teen's stomach. He, narrowly, missed lopping off the boy's leg as he sliced around. Metal clanged as the vikings brought their axes together in combat. Dagur went for the head and when Ansson moved, grazed his right eyebrow. Their quarrel moved around through the island and the older viking began to show fatigue. Exploiting this, Dagur went for the viking's right hand, causing him to drop his weapon. With disbelief and joy, the young Berserker raised his ax and went for the kill.
"Put down that ax, Dagur!" Oswald's voice resonated. The boy stood, numb, unable to release the weapon. He had come so close to ending Ansson. The Berserker ruler walked up to him, "Your chief gave you a command." he hissed. Dagur just stared at Ansson, so Oswald, forcibly, snatched the ax away from the viking. Grabbing him by his braid, Oswald marched to their hut. He swung the door open and flung the boy inside.
"You're trying to kill my Berserkers now? Is there no end to your savagery?" the chief inquired. "I'm not going to kill the others. Just Ansson. They'll never listen to me unless I have a kill like that under my belt." Dagur protested, "If anyone deserves it, he does." "Dagur, you know that I try to not get involved in what you do, but now you're affecting my people." Anger rose in the youth's chest, "They're my people too. The only reason the ordeal with Ansson happened in the first place was because I had almost resolved a conflict. Not sure if you realize this, but whenever you leave, I'll have to take over. I don't know how to lead a tribe! It doesn't help that half of the Berserkers think I'm a menace while the other half think I'm pathetic." "None of that is my problem, Dagur. They respect me. Am I to blame for your mental instabilities?" Oswald questioned. Dagur grunted, loudly, and threw a knife at the drawing of Ansson, imagining it to be his father. "I'm going to see if anything needs to be done that I can take care of." the boy said and walked out the door.
The next morning, Dagur got ready for the day and went downstairs. He gathered up some breakfast and went to check on things with the island. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, so he made sure that the trading stations were all right that time. They had used what he suggested and the vikings had no disputes. Some hours passed and Berserkers began to look ansy. "What's with everyone?" he asked. "We haven't seen Oswald all day." Herald answered. The boy went to their hut and looked around the place. Going into his father's room he saw that all the chief's belongings were gone.
Dagur scoured the area of the hut. No signs of Oswald anywhere. "He left. He just upped and left without giving me any ideas as to where or how long. I didn't even know he was going to leave today. Could've at least said goodbye." Dagur thought. He peeked out the door and saw all the vikings outside. Nerves worked double time, "What do I say? He didn't want anyone to know. What if we get attacked? How do you lead a battle or make battle strategies?" he felt himself begin to panic and took a deep breath. He knew he had to say something, so he exited the hut and faced the Berserkers.
"Your previous chief will not be leading you anymore." he stated. Murmurs followed and some vikings looked scared, "You two never got along." one said. "Yeah, and he had an ax in the hut last time I saw. Wouldn't want to be around you with a weapon." Dagur looked at them, shocked, "They really think I killed him. I'd never-well, it does seem like a nice thought sometimes." he saw their frightened faces and had a devious idea, "This could be what I was looking for." Dagur squared his shoulders, "As you can see, I'm the new chief." "We'll never listen to you." Ansson called out. Dagur grabbed a sword from a Berserker and put it at the viking's throat, "What makes you think you have a choice?"
Hesitantly, the Berserkers bowed their heads in reverence and Dagur gave Ansson a cocky smile. The Berserker did not bow his head, but backed away. It was arranged that Dagur would get the customary chieftain tattoos on his eye and bicep. The process hurt, but he liked every bit. Each sting felt like power surging through his body as a new era came, a new dynasty; however some things will never be too new as Ansson soon had a tattoo as well. His was of him hitting Dagur on the head and was on his bicep. It even had the detail of the new blue claw tattoos on his face. "Like it, Dainty." he asked, instigatingly. Dagur growled, but knew it was pointless. Ansson did not matter anymore anyway. Berserker Island was his and there was no one to tell him what or what not to do. "Better stay on your toes, Ansson," he thought, "there's a new alpha in this wolf pack." Dagur howled at the full moon's glory. The glory that seemed to reflect his own.