Chapter 1
Heather sighed softly as she walked towards the forge. She was unsure of how to give him the information: she alone knew how trying the next week or two would be for him. Nevermind, it had to be done and he deserved to know. The clanging of the smithy's hammer grew louder, and she reached the forge, situated right at the edge of the village.
"Nameless!" she called, knocking on the door before entering.
The rings of the hammer ceased.
"Heather! You're back already? How was it?" The masked man then turned to the black, excited form beside him, "Go on and say hi, bud."
Heather quickly sidestepped as Toothless bounded out of the door and began to play with Windshear, who had been following her.
"Yes, we're back. Mala and Throk came with us, and most of the Defenders are following them by ship. They, and the other guests should be arriving over the next couple of days, which seems to be around half of the Archipelago!"
They shared a quick laugh, and Heather stepped inside the forge. The fire blazed bright, heating the building to a stifling temperature. Due to this, the resident smith wore nothing besides a pair of boots, trousers, and his iconic masked helm. Heather could see the emerald eyes through the slits in the visor turned to her, before looking her up and down, focusing on the polished plates adorning her armour. "How's the platemail holding up?"
"Good, thanks, it's very light and unrestrictive, I almost feel as if I'm wearing only normal clothes."
The smith nodded slowly. He was referring to her new suit of armour he had made for her, which she had requested after being envious of his own: a suit of mail covered with the plates of her dragon's scales.
When he didn't reply, she continued, "You know, with the upcoming wedding and all that, everyone's going to want to get their weapons sharpened, even guests from other tribes, simply just to meet the legendary Nameless One."
He scoffed, "I'm not all that special, besides I don't really mind too much: I am the village smith after all. It's my job."
"You know my brother wants you to meet the guests too, right?"
He sighed and nodded, before putting whatever he had been smithing back into the fires of the forge. Without even turning around, he said, "That cannot be all you have to say to me, what is it you really came here to tell me?"
Heather began fidgeting even more nervously then she had before. Her weight shifted between on leg to the other, repeatedly, and after a moment of silence, she sighed and said in a much lower voice, "Berk is one of the invited guests," she paused as he turned to look at her, eyes widening, before they narrowed through the slots in his helm.
He then spoke softly with a sigh, "I can face their chief if I must."
"But I don't think you understand. She may well come."
He gasped before attempting steeling himself again, but this time Heather could see the face of regret and sadness, even under the masked helm which now turned to the floor. After a moment's silence, he spoke again "I am over her."
"Really? Really, then otherwise why would you refuse the advances of maiden, fair or not? Even refuse me?" her face flushed with embarrassment as she recalled her time of doting upon the dragon rider. Of course, he had never returned any of it, probably for the better.
The smith didn't speak, head facing the ground, and Heather continued, "You should tell them who you are. You have nothing to prove anymore."
He shook his head slowly, and in a tone of sadness – but also finality – said, "Let us not speak of this anymore. Is there anything else you wished to speak to me about?"
"No, that's all." She noted in sadness how once again he had refused to talk about to returning to his old tribe. After all, he had promised he would do so after around five years. That time was upon him.
At this moment, as if sensing his friend's troubled sadness, the night fury game back into the forge, warbling softly at the smith, who greeted him softly, "Hey Toothless, you back?"
The dragon rubbed his head against his master in reply. Heather turned to leave, knowing she had told him what he needed to know, and now sensing that he should be left alone.
Before she stepped through the door, the smith spoke again, to her this time, "Anyway, I have a lot to do. Can you ask Dagur if I can borrow Shattermaster again? I'm running low on gronkle iron. Besides, I'm sure he will enjoy having something to do since Dagur rides Sleuther now."
Heather laughed briefly, "Oh, Dagur may not ride him much anymore, but Shattermaster is pampered to no end. He's more like a pet, whereas Sleuther is a workhorse. But yes, I will ask my brother for you. Anyway, I'd better be going. There's a lot to prepare for the wedding."
The smith waved her goodbye, and she exited the forge, noting that the hammer did not start ringing again. Heather alone knew the hardship he was going to go through. She wasn't even sure if he knew himself, but she knew that when his eyes lied upon his childhood crush – the girl he still could not let go, and remained faithful to for so many years – it could break him. He had tried to escape his past, but as always it caught up eventually.
In all honesty Heather did not know why he seemed to have no intention of revealing his identity. She saw a longing for that fantasy in his eyes, but she also knew that it would not be brought to reality. He had left home to prove himself – and he had done what he set out to do and more – but still seemed not to have the courage to do it.
She would never tell anyone though, as the only person in the whole world who knew who the legendary Nameless One really was, she was also his best friend, besides Toothless. Over the years they had great trust in each other, and even the thought of betraying that was preposterous.
An hour after Heather had left, the smith had composed himself, with the help of comforting Toothless. He did not know what he would do when he saw his old tribe – his father, and especially Astrid, concerned him the most. He had tried to get over it, and tried to tell himself that, but inwardly he knew he hadn't.
Also the five years that he had promised to be away for was coming to an end. He knew Heather was right – he'd become one of the most feared and revered men in the Archipelago – but still he was beyond nervous. He didn't know how his old tribe would react. Many of them had bullied him and put him down, either purposely or subconsciously, while he had been there.
His father might want him to become chief; he was nowhere ready for that. He had led nearly every operation to do with dragons in the past three years, but leading a tribe and village was a whole other thing.
But what he feared the most, which he had finally admitted to himself, was the worry that Astrid was betrothed, or married, and had found someone she loved. He knew it was selfish – he should be happy for her – but the thought still plagued him so. His childhood crush, the beautiful warrior he had looked up to, high up upon a pedestal of valour and glory in his mind; he still couldn't get over her. In his letter to her five years ago he had professed his love for her, due to a moment of courage while writing it which he had cursed every day since.
Sitting there thinking though, he knew he was wasting time. He called Toothless to relight the forge and picked up his hammer again, to finish smithing the ceremonial swords and wedding rings.
The next day, he had finished the pair of swords and rings, which was a good thing, for he was to greet all the guests. This alone wouldn't have been too bad, for the only guests left to arrive that day were the Wingmaidens. Atali had brought Minden, to his surprise, and instead left Nadia in charge of the island and village. A contingent of fifty Wingmaidens had come, roughly a quarter of the entire population of their island.
However, when pretty much every single Wingmaiden asked to meet the Nameless one and get a signature, and being the fair and kind man he always had been, he was out of commission for the whole day. If that wasn't enough then he had to organise where all the baby Razorwhips and other dragons would go. Usually, they would be allowed to roam around Berserker Island, but Berk had not made peace with dragons, and were thought to be still at war. Of course, it wouldn't be good if they saw all the friendly dragons, and attacked them. Due to this, Nameless had to round all the reptiles and keep them in the stables on the cliff, where they would remain out of sight, which was a tall task considering the sheer amount of dragons around.
Another thing to struggle with was rumours getting into Berk about the peace with dragons. Surely they must have heard from various traders and merchants that the Berserkers, Defenders of the Wing and Wingmaidens had all forged an alliance with dragons, or at least that the Nameless One rode a night fury?
It worried him as he put Toothless into his stable, making him acquiesce the demand that he was not to come out until Nameless came back for him. It had been talked through with the others, and they had decided that they would simply say that rumours, as always, were greatly exaggerated, and simply they did not get raided by dragons anymore, and in kind, did not seek to them unless they must. As for the problem of Nameless himself, he would just claimed he had killed a night fury in battle, making his fame. That's where he got the scales for his platemail. They couldn't know about how much dragons shed, could they?
Still the plan was not fool proof. He was especially worried about the possibility of Astrid showing up, for she was the only one that knew his secret before he left. That is, if she hadn't ratted him out to everyone.
He prayed to the gods that no dragon would disturb them, for surely absolute chaos and anarchy would ensue, even the possibility of severed alliances.
The next day was upon them, and time seemed to slow down. The morning preparations for the wedding taking place in two days were longer than ever.
Nameless had his eyes glued to the horizon, gazing through his refined spyglass, a device that he named a 'telescope'.
When a single Berkian ship bearing the crest of a dragon stuck with two swords emerged, the heart of Nameless as already beating like a drum. He was surprised that only a single ship had been sent, they had expected around five. Still, it would take at least an hour and a half for the ship to dock, where then he would have to face his past. He already felt his nerves acting up.
The next two hours before the ship made port was agony, and his eyes widened as he saw the massive form of his father come up the slipway where he, Dagur, and Heather waited. Gobber followed, his limping gait caused by a missing right leg. Then who he recognised as Snotlout stepped off the ship. He was much taller than he used to be, but still stood shorter than Nameless. He was bulky, nowhere near the level of his father, Spitelout, but much more than the lean man Nameless had become.
However, his head swooned and he nearly fainted as Astrid stepped onto shore. His feelings for her returned tenfold. She had grown taller with a thin, but womanly figure. Her golden hair was much longer than before, sporting a single braid that glistened in the morning sunlight. She wore a short red vest over he classic steel blue shirt. She still had her pauldrons, and a variation of her spiked gladiator skirt. Nameless' heart melted when he saw the axe carried on her back – the same axe he had forged five years ago and gifted to her before he left. Turning to her face, her azure eyes still bore the steely determination that had always embodied her, but she seemed sad, and unhappy. Frustrated. But oh so beautiful.
As they approached his heart and breathing rate ascended into the clouds, speeding up even more if that was possible, and his limbs started to shake.
Heather watched them approach. Stoick the Vast had gained his title aptly. He really was vast, a tower compared to anyone she had ever known, besides Alvin the Treacherous perhaps. A man missing an arm and a leg followed, almost as tall as the chief of Berk. This must be Gobber, the smith that had taught Nameless everything he knew. Behind him followed a shorter man that Heather did not recognise. Then finally, a beautiful woman with an axe slung on her back. This was Astrid, she was sure of it. Nameless had droned on about her so many times. She really was beautiful though, Heather had to admit. She looked like a great warrior, lean and agile but also strong. She also looked down though, annoyed and sad.
She was then aware that Nameless had started breathing as if he had just run a marathon, and was shaking. He was wearing his leather flight suit, with his masked helmet on. Even so, she could sense his nervous desperation to be anywhere else but right there, facing the past he had fled from so long ago.
Heather put her hand on his shoulder to calm him, and after not too long his breathing had slowed slightly and his shaking ceased.
Dagur then spoke, his shrill voice projecting far and wide. "Welcome, Stoick the Vast, chief of Berk, to Berserker Island. Thank you for coming to my wedding with my lovely, darling bride. Who, is currently not here, and is doing other things," he added quickly, much to Heather's amusement.
"Aye, it is good to be here again, Dagur. I would have brought more men and ships to celebrate with you, but the dragon attacks back home have been getting worse and worse. We need all the hands we can get to help defend. Even bringing our smith Gobber, was a tough decision." The voice of Berk's chief boomed like thunder.
"Ah you are unfortunate, my friend. The dragon attacks here ceased many years ago." Dagur replied, "Anyway, let me introduce my cohort. Here is my wonderful sister, Heather, and here is the Nameless One. He is the finest warrior and smith in the known world. Just call him Nameless though."
The Berkians' eyes widened at this statement. If Dagur named someone a better warrior than himself, he surely must be mighty indeed!
Heather than heard Nameless speak softly from behind his mask. "The compliments are undeserved."
Both Heather and Dagur shook their heads with a smile, knowing in truth the words were real. Nameless' skills in fighting were nothing to be scoffed at – equalling Dagur, Atali or Mala at least, but his equipment made him come into his own. His sword, inferno looked weak but was nigh unbreakable. It was incredibly sharp, and could light on fire at his command, or release explosive zippleback gas from its pommel. His shield was nearly impenetrable, and could turn into a crossbow, or even a grappling hook to pull whatever he desired towards him. His armour was near impervious to all attacks, forged from gronkle iron and night fury scales. And add Toothless into the mix, and they alone were a force to be reckoned with.
Stoick the Vast then introduced his company. "This is Gobber, the village smith and my right hand man. This here is Snotlout, my nephew, who is acting as heir while my son is absent." Nameless beside her drew in breath quickly at this statement. "And here is Astrid Hofferson, the finest warrior of her generation, wielding the legendary axe forged by my own son."
Dagur replied, a huge smile on his face that was characteristic of him. "Welcome, all! Make yourself at home. The wedding is the day after tomorrow. Also if any of you are interested, in true Berserker fashion, we will be holding many friendly bouts between great warriors. And, if you wish to get your weapons repaired or polished, make your way to Nameless' forge, he will service your weapons. You can also go there, if you wish, to watch the many maidens attempt to woo him over. So far, none have succeeded though."
With a laugh from everyone, the meeting was absolved. Heather saw Nameless walk back towards the forge, and decided she would leave him alone for a while, and visit him later. She knew what Dagur said was true. She was sure numerous women, probably especially the Wingmaidens, who revered him as a great hero, would try their luck with him. The fact that he was always masked seemed to be an enigma for them, as if the ultimate reward were to be able to see his face. People didn't know why he wore the mask, and he never answered any questions to do with it. Some assumed he was scarred or disfigured, some assumed he didn't want to be recognised, which was true in a sense. The more outlandish claims were that he was an embodiment of a god themselves, or perhaps that he was part dragon.
Heather of course knew that he actually had a handsome face under the helm, but she would never reveal that to anyone. It was his secret, and she would respect his wish to keep it.
She walked over to the great hall to see how the food was coming.
Astrid was still very annoyed and frustrated and sad and about every other emotion in league with those few.
However, her spirits had been slightly raised since they had arrived on Berserker Island. Dagur's personality switch was still a surprise after so many years. From what little Astrid could see, she liked his sister, Heather, and decided she would meet her later. Heather just had this air of kindness and warrior spirit that Astrid felt she could get along with.
The Nameless One had her confused the most though. His green eyes and voice had been vaguely similar. Also, Dagur never, never said anyone was a better warrior than him. He was a Viking through and through in that sense; he had stubbornness issues. Nameless must really be a great fighter then. She had heard tales about him, him wielding a flaming sword and crossbow. Some even suggested he rode a dragon into battle, a night fury at that. But she knew the Berserkers were not friends with dragons. Though the attacks had ceased, relationships between man and reptile was troubled. Of course, Hiccup rode a night fury, but that was Hiccup. He had never been one for tradition.
With Nameless though, she started to doubt the legends and Dagur's claims. He seemed nervous, incredibly so. If her eyes hadn't been deceiving her, he looked like he had been shaking before Heather had apparently calmed him down. Also, he only had one leg. It looked masterfully crafted, but still. How could someone fight so well with one leg? Astrid knew Gobber's fighting capability had been compromised with his loss of limbs. He was still formidable but not the great fighter he had once been.
Astrid decided to make her way towards the forge, joining the long queue of mostly women, wearing strange silvery armour or clothes. Her axe needed servicing, and besides it was a good way to escape Snotlout for a while. Hel she might even go to the arena later and watch the bouts. As a warrior herself, she always found such things entertaining; maybe she'd even join in herself. She was just glad to be off the stifling atmosphere that was Berk these days.
Hope you guys enjoyed the first proper chapter! As you will soon realise the narrative will be very rarely told from Hiccup's POV, mostly Heather and Astrid, and later pretty much exclusively from Astrid's POV. I plan to do a sort of epilogue summarising the story from Hiccup's POV. Throughout the story, what happened to him over the 5 years, and his state beneath his facade (physically and mentally) will be revealed gradually.
