Standard Disclaimer: This is not the official sequel to IHHS.
Just a quick note: I've never read the original HTTYD books. All my knowledge on the other tribes comes from the wiki (which doesn't say much), other fanfictions, and the TV series. That means most of the other chiefs and heirs will probably be OOC to some extent, if they aren't already. From what I've read, Norbert will be the most OOC of them all. Or maybe Bigjob, when I get to him.
"He who pays the piper calls the tune."
As soon as I'd said it was possibly possible to make a lightning-proof saddle, Dagur wanted me to plan it out ASAP. I don't like being rushed, but after I called him impatient, he called me a procrastinator, and that was the end of that little argument.
First I measured length and width of his torso for his body harness, then I got the details of his dragon's neck (surface area, texture, flexibility, that kind of thing) for the saddle itself. Even though I was kind-of expecting it, I'm still amazed at just how closely it matches up to the measurements I took of Toothless a week ago, the only major difference being all the (thankfully retractable) spikes.
The Dragon of the Sun was rising in the sky, still about an hour from high noon by the time we heard another horn hail from the sea. The instant we did, Dagur changed his voice and said "Burglars incoming". He's actually pretty good at imitation; I didn't need any context to hear Savage in the loud and annoying rasp. Key word: annoying. When I told Dagur it'd be his fault that his saddle doesn't fit right if he kept distracting me, I managed to get enough peace and quiet to finish.
Once everything was recorded, I began making a rough charcoal sketch. Dagur had me change it many times before he was satisfied with the look, not that I'm complaining. He is paying for it.
I was making the final adjustments when the Burglars announced their arrival with another horn, and I added the finishing touch – my signature – a few minutes later, giving a relieved sigh when the first stage of the project was done. Getting up from my hands and knees, I brushed the charcoal from my clothes and carefully lifted the sketch to show it to Dagur, who had been keeping his eye on the sea and the Burglars after I told him to stop annoying me. Dagur reluctantly nodded when he saw the finished sketch – we were both too pressed for time to argue about the minor details anymore, which is just such a shame – and two minutes later I was in the "Hooligan Hold" (a fitting name; thanks Gobber), tucking the design safely away with my gear.
As I climbed up the ladder to the deck, I was reminded of the whole 'draugr' business when my prosthetic missed a step, which then reminded me of the whole 'dragon' business happening on the other deck. I checked what half of the harbor the Burglars were choosing. As luck would have it, they docked next to the Meatheads. Another "yes, I'm alive, but wait till later" discussion is going to be hard enough as it is. At least now we don't have to add "ignore Dagur's extinct dragon" to the mix just yet.
Dagur and I were beginning to walk down our respective gangplanks for the "normal approach" when a loud whistle, much closer than the horn had been, stopped us before we could make it to the pier. Well, it stopped me. Dagur must not have been as surprised as I was, because he was already on the retreat, barely turning his head over his shoulder as he sprinted away.
"I'll handle the Burglars; you take the Nutjob!"
And that's when I noticed the raft that had just docked across from where I was standing Well, isn't that just dandy? Who needs to make decisions when you have Dagur around? He makes them for you!
"Oh well," I said out loud, sighing away as much of my annoyance as I could, since it's basically what I wanted anyway. Even if I had the choice, I'd much rather deal with Norbert the Nutjob – Chief of the Hysteric Tribe, renowned for his paranoia and insanity (and definitely the only Viking who'd be crazy enough to willingly cross the ocean alone on a thing like that) – than a bunch of angry, battle-hardened women who would probably remind me too much of Astrid. Plus, I won't have to be badgered by quite as prying eyes and trying questions this way.
"Incoming!" shouted a bodiless voice from below.
A hooked staff, decorated with strange markings and even stranger holes, latched onto the planks of the pier right before a very tall and very old man used it to hoist himself up. If it weren't for the clean shave, relative lack of body odor (which to anybody else besides me would be a complete lack of body odor), and chief outfit, he could have passed for Mildew back on Berk. Well, maybe. I haven't seen Mildew in over a year, so my memory might be a bit off.
After Norbert landed on the planks, he unhooked his staff from the boards and swung it around to his side, planting it by his feet. From the way he was standing, I could tell he didn't need it to support his weight. It was strange to see someone so old move with so much agility, and even stranger when he began to talk in a voice that didn't sound old or frail at all. His eyes were shining with interest when they met mine.
"My, my, my! What have we here?
A little lad, without foe or fear?"
Well, that's one way to make an entrance.
"Yup, that's me," I deadpanned. "Hiccup the Fearless."
I don't think he caught the sarcasm. "Perhaps a change brought about by a raid?"
"Ummm… no?"
His eyebrows rose in surprise. "Surely something happened in the last decade?"
"Define 'something'."
He scratched his chin with his free hand, his wrinkles becoming a lot more visible as his eyes went distant.
"I remember a troubled lad, lost and alone,
stumbling among us without muscle or bone.
Knowing his place and kicking at stone…"
His eyes refocused and he looked back to me with a smile.
"Remarkable to see how much you've grown."
"You call this grown?" I asked, accompanied by the usual gesturing.
"Very strange indeed, this new behavior.
I didn't think we'd meet so soon, young… ah, blast it all!"
"Ah… Um… Huh?"
That was my last attempt to make sense of this guy, in literal speechless form.
"Rhymes are quite the tricky prospect, you know. Too amusing to drop, too tiresome to maintain. That one was on the tip of my tongue, too. Ah well. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance after all these years, young chief."
"Um… likewise. But I'm not the chief yet."
"Oh, potato potahto. You are young, and it is your responsibility to protect your people. My own son is a young chief, even if he's not the chief quite yet. You see?"
"I guess..." I just stared at him until I realized he was waiting for me to add more. "You're not, um, surprised I'm here? You didn't hear the rumors?"
He waved his staff dismissively. "Oh, I heard all the rumors." He paused, glanced at the Berserker's ship, then gazed back with a piercing stare. "All the rumors."
I tried to keep the nerves out of my voice. "What… sort of rumors?"
"Oh, the usual sort. The depressing, the tragic, the ironic, the hilarious, the serious – my village has quite the rumor mill, mind you – and each and every one of them was utterly absurd. 'Surprise' is hard to come by when folk are particularly fond of using dragon magic to make up anything they please, and your father's ambiguity didn't help matters. If I wasn't surprised at the tale of 'Hiccup the Ruthless Sorcerer, who bathed in dragon blood to access their magic and seek revenge on all who had called him weak,' I won't be surprised at the tale of 'Hiccup the survivor, who wasn't quite as dead as we thought.' And speaking of surprises, where's your friend? I was under the impression-"
"He's greeting the Burglars," I cut him off, not eager to hear any more of his impressions.
He looked at the distant form of Dagur. "Hmmm..."
"Where's the rest of your crew? And your own heir?" I asked. Come to think of it, I probably should have asked that in the first place. Diplomacy and what not.
The second I brought the conversation to him instead of me, his entire demeanor changed. His body began trembling, his eyes grew frantic, and he spoke in a higher-pitched voice. "Crew? Heir? Why would I risk bringing them? Too dangerous, I said! Never know when a wild Flame-Skin might strike."
"I guess that's-" and then I almost choked on my own saliva, just barely managing to avoid falling into a coughing fit. "Flame-Skin?"
He waved his staff in front of him again. "Oh, just the name I made up for the, uh, well, you know…" He leaned in close as he mouthed Monstrous Nightmares. "Wouldn't want to use their real names, after all. Bad luck."
Not knowing how to respond to that convoluted claim, I fell back on the 'curious kid' routine. "So… is that why you use that raft? To keep the dragons away?"
The eyes of the Chief of the Hysteric Tribe widened and he got, for lack of a better word, hysteric. "Oh, no no no! I use this to keep the evil spirits away! Don't got a clue why it works, just know it does. I won't let those wolves get me a second time!"
This time I did choke. "W-wolves?"
"Bloody things won't leave me alone." Without pause or transition he turned and shook a fist at the island. "YOU HEAR ME?! If I see you take one step out of those trees, I'm touching my raft!"
I instantly turned to look, only to see the same sight I've always seen: a dense tree line that was definitely clear of spirit wolves.
And I wasn't the only one to respond to that shout, because a few annoyed and confused chirps came from the only ship that was closer to the island than we were. Personal experience was enough to give me a good guess at what he might be complaining about (rudely interrupted sunbaths have been the cause of many arguments and brawls), but I still couldn't understand much of it. I caught the word "what" in a questioning tone, but that's about it.
Norbert, on the other hand, must be the expert on extinct dragons, because he answered without hesitation. "Those two, of course!" he exclaimed, pointing at the forest. "Sorry, by the way."
A few even more confused, but less annoyed chirps later, and I was (thankfully) all but forgotten by the Nutjob.
"Oh absolutely!" he asserted, before making some very strange grunts and chirps himself.
I couldn't tell if he was actually speaking the language, or if he was just messing with me. Either way, in a few short minutes he managed to go from just plain nutty to completely insane.
Norbert interrupted himself mid-chirp after a glance at the Sun. "Would you look at that?" He looked at me expectantly. "It's almost high noon!"
I nodded. "I think we should start walking, then." For the first time in my life, I'm not at all against the idea of going back to the usual type of Vikings. "My dad'll be angry if I'm late."
"We wouldn't want that, would we?"
"Nope."
I kept my mouth shut and my head down as we made our way to the island. After a morning with Dagur, I'd gotten my fill of crazy for the day.
