Dagur steered the vessel forward, trying to keep his focus on navigating. Random objects seemed to jump out at him, nearly causing crashes, only for the viking to realize that nothing was there. Full of relief, Berserker Island came into his sights and he pulled into the harbor, hands raised, peacefully. "Who are you, stranger?" Vorg questioned, aiming a crossbow at the viking. "Now, Vorg. You wouldn't want to shoot your own chief, would do?" Dagur inquired, a smug smile crossing his face. The captain's eyes widened, but he kept the weapon raised, "How do we know it's you? Someone could have told you my name." The chief nodded, thoughtfully, "That is true; however, it seems doubtful that anyone else would know that you are one of the best swimmers on the island. Still remember when I, accidentally, knocked you overboard." An ornery laugh emitted from the young man and Vorg's face was that of complete shock, "Dagur?" he said, disbelievingly, then growing into a wide smile, "Lower your weapons, men! Our chief has returned."
Expressions of surprise went through the Berserkers, followed by cheers. "We never thought that we'd see you again, Sir. Everyone thought that you were dead." Dagur raised his brow, "'Dead'? Me? Never." He disembarked off the ship and the captain eyed him more closely, "Dead no, but injured. Are you going to see the healers?" Dagur brushed past him, "I've already seen one on Berk. Didn't tell me anything that I didn't know prior. What I'm doing now is seeing Bluebolt." Vorg knew that nothing else he would say would be listened to and stepped aside. Dagur made his way to the stables and saw the Skrill, laying down, depressed. Upon sensing the Berserker, Bluebolt opened his eyes and flew over to him, scooping him onto his back and flying upwards. Dagur laughed, happily, at the thrill as they did a flip and landed back on the ground. Bluebolt snuggled against him with his head and Dagur put his forehead to the dragon's. A sudden sadness overtook his joy and he pulled away from the Skrill, hurt in his eyes. Bluebolt lowered his head, regretfully, and the chief blinked away the emotion.
"You've kept the others safe, I'll bet. How'd they manage without me?" Dagur inquired. The Skrill made a little noise of confirmation and Dagur gave him one last pet before heading down into tbe village. After everything that had occurred, he wanted to see his old hut again. Along the way, he looked at his Berserkers and was content that they had been safe. The chief had been concerned that they would have been laid siege to during his absence. He was grateful that the gods had granted them a safe existence for their weakest time. Something that he did not appreciate, though, was the way that they regarded him. It was an odd mix of pity, concern, and caution. There might have been more, however that was all he could see. The sun had started to go down and his sight was becoming clearer with each incoming shadow, but it was not ready quite yet. "Great. I'm nocturnal now." he thought, bitterly. His hut was a few yards in front of him and his heart beat quickened with excitement. Just before he reached the door, an unwelcomed voice called out to him.
"Well, if it ain't Dagur the Dainty. Back from the dead, it seems. Guess, I'll have to pray harder next time." Ansson stated, instigatingly. Dagur turned to look at the viking and his eyes widened at the sight of him. No longer was he a threatening man, muscular and towering. Over the three years, his limbs had become skinny. Not his torso, though, which looked, oddly, large for his new frame. Dagur noticed another tattoo on the Berserker's left arm this time, "A Scauldron tattoo?" Ansson's face held confusion, "A what? I don't have time for yer lunatic jargon, Dainty. This is a Thunderfish." Dagur rolled his eyes, "Idiot." he mumbled, "The new subject of your obsession, I'm guessing?" Ansson nodded, "I've been trying to capture it for the last three years. Got boring around here without having my favorite little target." He smirked, creepily, at the viking. Dagur looked at him, disgusted, "You gotta stop tattooing your hobbies onto yourself. It's kind of a creepy habit." The chief put his hand on the door.
"Whoever had ya captured makes me look like I didn't use to do a good job on ya. Never seen you look worse. Just ashamed that I'm not the reason." Ansson feigned hurt. Dagur frowned, "And you're really one to talk about new looks?" he questioned. The older viking did not catch his drift very well, but was undeterred. Eying the chief up and down, he, visually, scanned him, "Ya can't a thing, can ya? All ya can tell is that there're blobs and some of 'em talk." Ansson laughed, cruelly, "Would've been something, you bein' this way, back when you were a kid." Dagur's frown turned into a glare and he, subtly, looked for an ax. Mentally, he cursed at not being able to see if one were nearby or not. "Maybe I'll just break his skull." he pondered. Ansson left, striding off, arrogantly, before Dagur could attack him and the chief grunted. "Fine. There'll be another time." he figured and opened the door to his hut. He walked inside and slumped into a chair, painfully.
The hut felt more empty than ever before and ominous as well. A chill went down his spine as Dagur thought that he had seen a figure moving. The Berserker put his face in his hands, "When is that going to wear off?" he wondered, miserably. Exhaustion was finally beginning to rear its unforgiving head and Dagur made his way to his old room to get ready for slumber. Dust coated everything in a blanket and he frowned at having something else to do prior to sleeping. After a thurough cleaning, the room was, once again, habitable and he climbed into the bed. The soft covers, the quiet room, they were welcomed changes to what he had been subject to. Almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, he was out like a lamp. It had been three years since he had genuinely gotten any sleep and he was going to make the most of it that night.
Just as Dagur had fallen into deep slumber, two hands yanked him upwards and one grabbed his neck. Through the darkness, he saw Alvin and Ryker in his room, both giving death glares. "Ya ruined my deal, boy." the Outcast said, choking the Berserker. Dagur went to remove the hand and realized that he was chained up again, "No." he thought, in a panic. "Now, Ryker here'll get ya back." Alvin informed. The hunter smirked behind him and drew his sword, "And I will restart our visits. Looks like that leg's healing up." he sucked his teeth, "Can't have that." With a swipe of his blade, it dug into Dagur's knee again. The Berserker let out a strained yell and the two cackled. "Don't worry. Ryker won't get ya quite yet. First I'll deal with ya. Never got to finish our week together." the Outcast stated. A punch knocked the remaining air in Dagur's lungs out and his squeezed windpipe kept him from replinishing what was lost.
"What do you have to say to that?" Alvin inquired. The Berserker clenched his teeth and glared at the Outcast, "Die." he hissed. The Outcast's ax cut the side of his head, letting blood flow down his face. "Aw, you're makin' me feel like ya don't want to be around me, Dagur. Ya'll grow to like me plenty." An evil twinkle glimmered in the man's eyes, "Or, maybe you and I don't have to do this at all." Dagur eyed him, cautiously and Alvin continued, "That sister of yours-" Pure, unmitigated rage filled Dagur and he moved his arms forward, breaking the chains-to his, subconscious, surprise. He knocked the ax out of Alvin's hand and dug it into his chest, "No one touches my sister!" he roared. He began to hack the ax into the Outcast, but Alvin only laughed, "Ya can't stop me." Ryker faded into nothingness and Dagur was left feeling lost, "Another hallucination?" he wondered, aloud. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it's over, ain't it?" Alvin stated, a blade appeared in his hands and he moved it to slit Dagur's throat.
The Berserker jolted awake, shaking. He looked around the room and when he saw nothing, he ran an icy hand over his face. Dagur panted and his breathing was labored due to his prior injury. He clutched at his ribs, wishing that he had not been slashed. His knee burned like fire as well and it hurt as he paced in a circle. As much as his body begged him to lay back down, he could not. He rushed to the washroom and then limped around Berserker Island. He had a question that he wanted answered, however no one was up for him to ask. Voices rang in the young man's ears. Threats and cruel promises. They were booming and yet, eerily, quiet. Illusions of hunters and Outcasts followed Dagur everywhere he moved. "Leave me alone!" he yelled, throwing a knife into the head of Ryker. It went through the hunter and landed in a tree's trunk. A thought passed through Dagur's mind as he looked to where the stables were, "A little lightning strike would be nice." He, quickly, shook his head to shake the idea away, "That wouldn't help anything. I just have to wait until somebody gets up and I'll do what I have to do."
Dagur spent the rest of the night sharpening his knife, waiting to hear the first pitter patter of Berserker feet. As soon as he did, he exited the hut-practically hissing from the sunlight-and went over to Captain Vorg, "I have a question for you." The Berserker stopped, "Aye, Sir?" The chief's gaze was deadly, but not intended that way for the captain, "Do you know where Alvin is now? Back on his island?" Vorg shook his head, "Far from, Dagur. He's in our prison. Took him captive just after we lost you." Dagur's gaze softedned, "You did?" he inquired, touched. "Of course. Only have fed him enough to keep him alive, so that he could stay in his cell forever." The chief perked up, "Then, I think, he'll have a visitor today." His expression was unreadable, but there was a slight something in his eyes that disturbed the older Berserker, "What are you planning?" Dagur began to walk to the jail, "I'm not planning anything. Already've done that. Right now, I'm executing." he laughed, derangedly.
The cells were on the far end of the island, that way fewer civilians would get hurt in any possible breakout. The walk felt endless and with each painful step, Dagur felt butterflies in his stomach from anticipation. An object appeared near him and he blinked hard, trying to clear his head, "Stop showing up out of nowhere." he stated, annoyed, and swatted at the form. When he felt his hand make contact, his eyes widened and the chief squinted to see what was near him. "What are you talking about?" Hiccup asked. Dagur held near the sides of his eyes for a moment, "Sorry, I was just...what can I do ya for?" he inquired, brightening. Hiccup observed him, susipciously, "Just wanted to make sure that you were all right." The chief gave a smile, "Great. Feeling even better now that you're here. I have a question-or favor, moreso-to ask of you." Hiccup walked with the Berserker, "What is it?"
"Well, like I mentioned, there are dragon hunters outside the archipelago. Figured that I could track them down and stop them. You could help too if you want, but, mainly, I want another dragon." Dagur stated. Hiccup stopped moving forward, "Why?" Dagur halted as well, "Because they're faster and more stealthy than ships and I can't fly on Bluebolt and fire at targets." The Berkian frowned, faintly, "What kind of stuff would happen after you track them down?" Dagur shrugged, "Not like I can see the future, Brother. Will you help me?" Hiccup bit his lip, "I've been pretty busy, lately. I'll..have to see about that." The chief's look turned cold, "All right. Just let me know what you decide." he replied, politely, "I'm busy right now too, actually, so I'll have to talk you in a bit." Dagur continued on his way and Hiccup started again after him, "Where are you going? Those are the prisons up there." The Berserker scoffed, "Don't have to give me the blueprints to my own island, H."
The heir was not finished, "But, why are you going there?" Dagur patted Hiccup's shoulder, "Don't worry about stuff that doesn't involve you." Before the Berserker could move his hand, Hiccup grabbed it to stop him. Instinctively, anger flashed in Dagur's eyes and the hand balled itself into a fist. The Berkian, hastily, released the chief and Dagur looked away. "Were you about to punch me?" Hiccup asked, shocked. The chief kept his eyes diverted from the younger viking's, "I'd never do that." he replied, quietly. Hiccup studied him, "You're going into that prison to see Alvin, aren't you?" Dagur pursed his lips, "We have some unfinished business." Hiccup's brows furrowed, "What kind? Revenge?" The Berserker felt his face twitch, "What else?" he snapped. His friend stood his ground, "This won't make you feel better, Dagur. He's a prisoner. You can't attack him. Torture, death, they aren't the answers." Dagur rolled his eyes, "Too noble for such atrocious acts, Hiccup? I don't care what's moral. Alvin is going to pay."
Hiccup regarded the Berserker sadly, "Does he deserve to be treated that way? He's still a living being." Dagur laughed, scornfully, "Does he deserve it? More than anyone else I know. Though, there are some close seconds-which is why I need that new dragon." The Berkian's face was morose, "What did he do? What did the hunters do? Why are you so angry right now?" Dagur kept his eyes on anything but the other viking, "I'm not going into that. Now, please move." Hiccup moved to block his way, "I won't let you succumb to their level. If you want to go down that road, you'll have to do it all the way." Dagur stared at him, confused, "What are you talking about?" The Berkian straightened his back, "You'll have to be willing to do anything for revenge. Even hurt me." Dagur's eyes widened and he glared at the heir, "Move." he ordered. Hiccup stepped in front of him no matter where he went. Dagur let out an angry roar, "Move!" The Berkian cringed, moderately, at the rage, but did not budge.
Rapidly pacing, Dagur's gaze shot knives at the Berkian, "Are you going to help me with a dragon? That's my proposition. Take it or leave it." Hiccup sighed, "Fine. I'll help." Dagur, immediately, grinned, "Great! Al should thank you. Come on, let's go back to the village." He wrapped his arm around Hiccup's shoulder, leading him back into town. When he was certain that the older man would not lash out, Hiccup spoke, "I have another question for you." Dagur side-eyed him, "What is it?" "About Heather. I was wondering why you said that you sent her adrift." The Berserker kept his focus forward, "Because I did. What more do you want to know?" Hiccup stopped, "I don't believe that. You're too protective to try to hurt your own sister, so why did you lie?" Dagur was silent for a few moments, "I didn't lie. I did send her adrift, so stop being so inquisitive." Hiccup frowned, "There's more to it than that. Why did you do it then?" Dagur laughed, "Why do I do a lot of things? Just leave it, will you?" Hiccup frowned, but complied for the time being.
Hiccup soon left to return to Berk-with the promise that he and Dagur would meet up on Dragon Island the next day to start their dragon training-and Dagur watched him fly away. The chief had felt, almost, lightheaded for an hour or so and he, finally, went back to his hut. More images flashed in his mind and eyes as he made his way. "I don't have time for this. Go away." he thought, helplessly. Dagur's head throbbed with memories that pleaded to be rehashed. Memories of one fateful day that changed the lives of his family members and not for the better. His freatest efforts were no match for his vivid memory and they flooded in like a broken dam, nearly, drowning him.
Dagur's mom had been dead from an attack for a week and Oswald's work had more than tripled. He was exhausted and could not bring Heather around with him into the village. He had errands that needed to be run and some that he could not do alone. Dagur was trying help as much as he could, make meals, grab items from the trading post, things like that. Unfortunately, he was a very young child and he could not do it all. Oswald dealt with the chiefing matters and Dagur dealt with the behind-the-scenes matters. Whenever Heather would cry, could not sleep, or hurt herself, he would take care of that. A song, silly faces, a little game that seemed idiotic to his father, and first aid, these were the things that he would do. One day, Oswald had an awful headache, "Go to the trading lost and get me some ice blocks, Dagur. I can't stand your noise anymore. It's making my head pound." Slightly, hurt, the boy nodded and started for the door. "Take Heather with you. Her laughing has begun to sound like yours."
A smile lit up the little boy's face as he scooped up the little girl, "I can show you the post. You'll love it, Sis. There are a bunch of cool weapons over there." "Quietly, Dagur. I thought that I had been clear about that." Oswald complained. The boy frowned and he left the hut. The siblings went down and Dagur purchased some ice blocks, "Thanks." he stated, grinning. Heather poked at the ice and her brows furrowed at how cold it was. Dagur chuckled, "Yep, only good if you're hot or achey. Lucky you didn't learn it the hard way." They were making their way back to their hut when an imposing figure blocked their way. Dagur held the baby viking closer to him, protectively, "Go away, Ansson." he said. The man eyed him up and down, "Didn't your parents teach you manners? Have anything special for me? Just see ice." He started to march over to the boy, who backed away. "No, I don't." Dagur responded, firmly, "Even you don't care about ice." Ansson glared, "Right about that." He smiled, cruelly, "I see more than that, though."
Dagur kept backing away from the older Berserker and started to run before he could. Ansson tackled him and pinned him to the ground. Dagur had to move Heather in a way so that she would not be hurt and Ansson snatched up the child. "Don't touch her!" the boy yelled, furiously. He tried to push the man off of him and started to. Ansson's eyes gaped as he noticed the boy's strength. He flung the child aside and Dagur knocked him off, running to catch his sister. Heather was in shock, but unharmed. Tension filled Dagur's body as he heard the slick sound of a blade being drawn, "Hold still." Ansson ordered. He walked over to the children and pointed the blade at Heather. The Berserker heir was overcome with rage, but he would do nothing that might endanger his sister, "You don't have anything against her, Ansson. Leave her alone." The elder Berserker smirked, "She's your sister, isn't she? I have that against her." Dagur's heart beated out of his chest, "There's gotta be something that you want in place of hurting her."
Ansson was pensive, "Beg." he stated. Daur bit his lip and went down onto his knees, "Please don't hurt her. Whatever you were going to do, just do it to me. I can take it." Ansson twirled his knife, thoughtfully. "Please." Dagur pressed, "I won't even fight back. Just hand her back to me first." The man frowned, "And how do I know, you won't just run?" The boy regarded him, "You'd catch us anyway. Why put her at risk?" Realizing that he was correct, Ansson handed the child back to her brother and Dagur nuzzled his head against her, "It's going to take a little longer getting back home, but we'll get there, I promise." He cooed and set her down on a crate behind some bushes, so that she could not see what was about to happen. The boy returned to Ansson and the viking slapped his face, leaving a stinging sensation. Next, a punch was sent into his gut, reeling him over, and Ansson kicked in the back. He bodyslammed Dagur and landed on him, crushing the boy and sending various punches into his body.
While Heather could see nothing, she heard the grunts of pain from her big brother and waled. Dagur hated for her to cry, but there was nothing that he could do. His body went rigid as he felt Ansson's blade cut down his back. He was flipped back around and Ansson grabbed his jaw, "Open." Reluctantly, the boy complied and the blade was placed in his mouth, "Ya talk a lot. I don't like it." Ansson tapped his tongue with the knife, tauntingly, and cut just under the boy's throat. He yanked some hair out of the boy's head and pushed him back into the dirt. Ansson scraped his face against the ground and snarled at Dagur. With a devilish grin, he executed a kick that hit the boy between the legs, dropping him. "You're pathetic. Take all this just because ya love yer widdle sista. No one will ever respect ya, Dainty. Never." Ansson started to walk away, but balked, "Since the novelty will be gone next time, don't count the little brat as safe." He left, leaving the boy to try to breathe through the pain.
When he was well-enough to get up, Dagur went over to Heather, who was still crying, "Shush, it's all right. Let's get back." He grabbed the bag of half melted ice blocks in one hand and Heather in the other. They entered the hut and Oswald picked up Heather, "Are you all right, Babygirl?" he asked, worried. "She's okay." Dagur told him. Oswald paid him no heed and grabbed an ice block, "Rather melted, aren't they?" he noted, frowning at the boy. Dagur was appalled, "Kind of had a detour!" he stated, upset. "Failure is failure." his father told him. Dagur blinked the expression away from his face and crossed his arms, "Well, here's a reason fo you to finally stop Ansson. He threatened Heather." Oswald scoffed, "Nonsense, Dagur. Why would he do such a thing? Heather is lovely." The chief placed the young girl down in her cradle and Dagur stared at him, mouth ajar.
Dagur went to his room and paced back and forth. "I can't let Heather stay and get hurt." he mused. A terrible thought went through his brain, but he could think of no other solution. The boy snuck over to the main room where Heather was, grabbed her blanket, a few toys, and a horn-just so that he could know it was her, should they reunite. Carrying all these things, he brought them outside and put the belongings in a little boat that he had fixed some time before. Done, he turned to his sister, a lump forming in his throat. He lifted her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, "I love you, Heather. Please never forget that." he pleaded. She did not seem to understand what was going on, but smiled at him, brightly. Singing a quiet melody through a cracking voice, he placed her in the boat and pushed it far into the sea. "Stay safe, Sis."
Miserably, Dagur returned to his hut and went to his room. He could get no sleep, but an hour later, his door was flung wide open, frightening the boy. "Where. Is. My child?" Oswald boomed. He stormed over to the bed and grabbed Dagur by the braid, yanking him out, "What did you do to her?!" The boy fought to keep a tremor down and gulped, "She's on a boat in the sea. That way, she can't be hurt. She'll be safe." Oswald let go of him and stumbled backwards, like he had been stabbed in his heart. He even grabbed at his chest and turned to face a wall, "Can I have no family, Odin? You took my wife and now, my daughter." To Dagur, he spoke louder, "You little demon, she was safe here with me. Who is to say how she will survive? She could die out there and that is because of you." He slumped agains the wall, tears welling up, "My babygirl." The chief covered his face with his hands and bawled. Dagur looked with horror and regret at what he had invoked.
"I never wanted to hurt you, Dad. Only save Heather." the boy choked out, tears filling his own eyes, "I'm sorry!" Oswald stopped crying and rose to a standing position, going over Dagur. He began to back the boy into a wall, "Yes, you are sorry." The man's fists balled and Dagur started to tremble, "You are, also, psychotic, maniacal, stupid, cruel, and hateful. Acts of undiluted evil would seem pleasurable to you. Acts of such a cruelty like making me lose the only child I've ever loved!" The chief threw a punch across the boy's face, knocking him down to the floor. The man was stronger than Ansson and the force-coupled by who had given it-made the hit hurt more than any other had. Oswald lifted his foot to kick him in the head and Dagur covered his head with his arms, protectively. When no attack came, Dagur saw Oswald's leg shaking midair. Abruptly, the chief rushed out of the house and the boy curled into a tight ball.
Unbeknownst to Dagur, Oswald had gone to Ansson's hut and pounded on the door. Sleepily, Ansson answered, "Yes, Chief?" The Berserker barged into the home, "I need you to do something for me." "Aye?" Ansson pressed. Oswald was pacing back and forth, quite ansy, "Make Dagur's life a living nightmare. I don't care what you do as long as it's against him. Make him pay for losing my baby." Ansson nodded and that was when things really began to get rough for the boy. Of course, Dagur did not know of this and could only recall tears that wanted to flow, freely, but were not allowed passage.
Even all those years later, he felt similar emotions. Pain that had never ended; wounds that had never healed. His spirit longed to cry and hug someone, but his willpower did not. Pushing the memories back into the far corners of his mind, Dagur rose from the ground, shakily, and went to check on his Berserkers. It had been a while since he had been a chief and needed to get as much done before he had to venture out, purposely, this time.