Etymology

Blood-Eagle: Form of torture/execution where the victim's back is cut open, and their lungs torn out and hung like an eagle's wings.

Chapter III:

Perseus awoke to pain in his limbs and a loud ringing in his head, nearly slipping him back into the realm of slumber. Only conscious by the loosest definition of the word, thoughts came at a premium, flitting in one ear and out the other as he first took in the graying clouds above him. There was little to discern from the night sky, nor the water he faced, only that he was assuredly a long way from home.

In agony, he groaned and moved to stretch, only to come to the sudden conclusion that he had been tied to a stake driven into the ground. With the rope around his wrists being wound so tight he could scarcely feel his fingers.

Shocked and immobilized, he dredged his mind for any semblance of memories,

"We were attacked," he muttered, spitting out sand as he did, "We were fighting, I fell, there was the woman… the child. The child. Oh gods."

Guilt racked his chest, his breathing uneven as his head whipped back and forth, searching for the child he had so desperately tried to save. But alas, there was nothing else around except for him, with the clusters of jagged rocks being his only company.

More questions surfaced with little to answer them with as he came to grips with his new reality. The mere fact that he was being held meant that there were others nearby. He had been found but someone. Who? He shivered at the possibilities. He had to get out.

Testing his bonds, he drove his body forward as hard as he could, the rope biting into his skin as he pulled. Blood and puss oozed from the burns he had suffered, causing him to grunt out in pain. Desperately he pushed through it, the pressure on his temples building with each burning second; nothing but fire and more pain running through his pulsing veins. Only when he reached the point of blacking out did he stop, slumping his back against the wood in exhaustion. Despite the immense effort, the post remained unmoved, the rope just as tight as before.

Drained, the legionnaire sighed.

Defeat had never felt more solid. Aptly, he wondered if he was still living through the same nightmarish night. The sounds and flashes of the city's massacre still echoing in the back of his head as chilling winds blew off the shore. Trying his best, he drew his feet as close to his body as he could, scrunching himself into a ball in an effort to conserve warmth.

If this was how the Fates had decided he would perish, he resolved to face it with the utmost dignity.

Time passed slowly before the shocking sounds of footsteps shook him from his stupor, startling him so violently that his bound arms spasmed, eliciting screams of protest from his aching muscles.

"He's awake already?" A deep voice bellowed.

"Surprising." A lighter, more feminine one answered. "Figured it would take him until the roosters crowed."

Perseus strained his neck to see those approaching, his beating heart clutched in his throat as they finally entered his view.

"Well, hello there." A large, portly viking greeted. Thick furs covered his large belly, a long braided mustache falling underneath his nose.

Perseus's lips remained tight out of fear, his scared eyes taking in the viking's missing leg and arm. He had heard of the fur-covered warriors that patrolled the frigid seas, recounts that were far worse than those of the Gauls. If proven true, he knew it would not be long until he faced the infamous Blood-Eagle. Or perhaps something far worse. Whatever else it was they did to those that intruded upon their lands.

A girl, also dressed as a viking with snow blonde hair and skull-shaped shoulder guards, then appeared by the older one's side. She was beautiful despite herself, with her face resolute and arms crossed.

"You been tryin' to escape, I see." The older viking said with a grin, pointing to his wrists. "That rope's a gnarly one, isn't she?"

Perseus' chin touched his chest. There was blood all over his purpled body, his armor missing and his garments torn within an inch of their lives.

"Astrid and I here have a couple questions for you." The older viking asked, gesturing to himself and the girl. "If you're willing to answer them truthfully, then we may or may not be able to get those bonds off of ya."

Seeing no other option other than to comply, he sullenly nodded.

"We can start with your name, first of all. I'm Gobber, Gobber the Belch."

"Perseus."

"Perseus?" Gobber said, edging closer to him. "Got another name? A title?"

Perseus blanked. He had never been given another name. Orphans never were. They were simply wards of the state. Unwanted by all and loyal to one. As fun when he was young, his friends and he would address each other as Perseus Caesar, or Felix Caesar and so on. Because after all, Caesar was the state, making them all his children by association. But as an adult, he had never gone by anything other than Perseus.

"Just Perseus," he responded.

Gobber's fingers found his mustache. "Just Perseus?"

Astrid, showing little interest, spat into the sand.

"Well, Perseus, your name certainly sounds like a Roman's. You're a Roman, aren't ya?"

"Yes." He answered, understanding that it would do him no good to lie. Daring to speak again, he raised his head, "...How long have I been here?"

Gobber's fingers moved to his bare chin. "Just about a day now, I'd reckon. We weren't sure if we could trust ya, so we had to tie you up right here on our little beach. We didn't want to mess with you before we heard ya speak either, but maybe we will later, who knows?"

Whatever moisture was left in Perseus' parched mouth, dried in a hurry.

"Where am I?" He croaked.

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten to tell you. You're in Berk. The Isle of Berk." Gobber puffed his big chest out in pride. "Home to the Hairy Hooligan Tribe!"

Isle of Berk? Hairy Hooligans? Perseus had never heard of either of those.

"Right," said Gobber briskly, rubbing his arm stump with his only hand. "Well, this certainly clears some things up. Astrid, go ahead and free him, will ya."

The girl's frigid expression poured ice water on Perseus' heart, as a devilishly sharp blade appeared in her hands. A few rough slashes later, his arms were finally free.

"Get up then, you miserable tadpole you," Gobber grunted. "It's time to go see the Chief."

"Chief?" Percy said weakly, graciously rubbing the feeling back into his sore hands.

Gobber smiled. "That's right. We gotta figure out what to do with ya!"

-Ω-

News of Perseus' awakening spread like wildfire through Berk. From doors and windows, heads appeared, all staring as he took in the halls, armories, and various other structures the isle had to offer. There were fires burning, food cooking, and animals running wild, all coming together to form a community unlike anything in the Empire. At the back end of it all rose massive cliffs from which shadows loomed, with more rising in the distance, connected by vast waters.

With one arm slung over Gobber's shoulder, Perseus eventually found himself at the front door of the biggest hall. Nothing like Roman architecture, it consisted of only one massive chamber, filled with long tables and raging fire pits.

Inside, it seemed like anybody who was anybody, was here. Every bench was packed full of vicious-looking warriors, all of them the size of gladiators, their eyes already on Perseus as he entered. Nervous, he watched as Astrid sat down at a table near the door, where others her age seemed to be congregated. They were all significantly larger than he was, their rowdiness evident as they accepted Astrid amongst their ranks.

"Gobber!"

The voice boomed across the great hall, immediately silencing the chatter with its weight. Perseus need not have looked to know where it had come from. Seated at the end of the room was the man that would decide his fate. The Chief, his eyes the color of steel against flame.

"Come forth!" The Chief beckoned, pointing his hand at what felt like his soul. "Show us what you have brought."

Gobber's peg arm prodded Perseus forward towards the throne, Perseus all the while trying to make sure that he not trip over his weakened self.

"Stoick the Vast!" Gobber bellowed back, his voice too drawing everybody's attention. "People of Berk! I bring before you Perseus! A Roman!"

At the word Roman, the hall erupted, loud shouts vibrating the floor beneath as Perseus continued his long walk. Each step felt like ten in comparison, every breath coming harder than the last. For a moment, he considered dropping dead on the floor and accepting his fate. And for a moment, he almost did, but a voice he did not recognize told him to remain strong. To keep going. Deciding to listen, he pressed onwards, swallowing hard to drown his doubts.

Eventually reaching the throne, Perseus boldly remained standing, as opposed to bowing or kneeling before the Chief. And with confidence he did not know he had, he looked directly into the eyes of the king.

The voices of the hall only grew louder as a result.

"Silence!" The Chief bellowed.

Again, silence bestowed itself.

Stoick's face formed a deep scowl as Perseus stared back. Up close, it was clear to see why the man had been made chief. He was by far the largest and tallest of them all, tree trunks for legs and a barrel of a chest. Red hair flowed over his fur coat and tunic, covering the beginnings of his wide shoulders. If it was not because of his stature, then it would be his eyes. Battle-hardened spheres that reflected an aura of authority as strong as Jupiter's.

Despite so many watching, waiting for Perseus to crumble underneath the pressure, he held fast, remembering the voice. Stoick remained his equal, unmoving from his throne, and so the two stared at one another, unrelenting even in the heavy silence.

"You come to us from the sea, Roman." The Chief finally said. "Badly hurt, on the near brink of death. All I can ask is, why?"

Perseus exhaled, steadying himself before he began, "We were attacked at night by Gauls. Our city was… destroyed. And in an attempt to save a child, I made way toward a river. After that, my memory draws a blank."

A few murmurs let themselves be heard from the crowd, many wondering about the child.

"A child?" Stoick asked.

"Yes, sir." Perseus answered guiltily, deciding to at least address the Chief as his senior through speech.

For a flitting moment, it seemed as if he had struck a chord within the imposing man. Or perhaps it was just Perseus hallucinating, the dehydration and hunger finally catching up to him.

"And the child did not make the journey?"

"No, sir."

More murmurs, louder this time.

Stoick regarded him with no small amount of curiosity. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen years, sir."

"Eighteen winters." Stoick repeated. "Perseus, you said your name was?"

Perseus nodded once.

"No father?" Stoick asked, noting the lack of a family name.

"Was raised an orphan." Perseus answered proudly, in spite of the situation.

Again, something seemed to shift behind the Chief's eyes.

"Are there many like you?" Stoick asked.

"Many orphans," Perseus recalled. "But few became legionnaires."

"And is that what you are? A legionnaire?"

Perseus nodded again.

"A shame. Boys should never have to grow up alone." Stoick said as his hand met his great beard, surprisingly sounding genuinely sorry for his loss. "Tell me, young Perseus, if your story is true, did our Gallic brothers attack your people without reason? Or did they fight out of a need to protect what was rightfully theirs?

Perseus swallowed a rock. For a moment he thought about lying, as if felt like he was writing the lines to his own eulogy. But one look at Stoick, and he knew that would be a mistake. This was a man who valued honor and integrity above all else.

"To tell the honest truth," Perseus started, "I arrived at the city long after it had been erected. What they did to the land before then, I have no idea."

Jabbering once more sprung from the long tables, the Vikings hastily discussing his words.

"Silence!" Stoick once again called for. However this time his yell went unheard,

"SILENCE!"

In the short time that followed, Perseus could hear his own heart beat against his chest.

Stoick cleared his throat, resting his fists against the arms of his throne. "People of Berk, a precedent has already been set on what is to be done with those of the enemy that wash upon our shores. Enemy by act or allegiance." The Chief's eyes fell back on him. "As it was before, we will hold a vote. Those in favor of this legionnaire's death, and those not."

Pandemonium ensued. From his vantage point, Perseus could not discern between those in favor of sparing his life, and those vehemently opposed to the notion. Yet, no amount of the shouts and yells could drown out his own fear.

"If I could say something, before we vote!"

The familiar bellow sliced through the upheaval, the commotion quickly dying down upon its recognition.

Perseus in surprise turned to Gobber, who he had forgotten was standing behind him.

"If I could say something, before we vote," Gobber repeated. "We are all aware of what the Romans stand for, what they have been known to do. But never before have we had a Roman visit our own shores! Perhaps, this one may prove himself useful."

Stoick leaned forward in his seat. "Are you serious, Gobber? What good could he do?"

The Chief spoke not in disbelief, but with a line of curiosity. Clearly, he saw Gobber as his second-hand, if not his equal.

Gobber's mustache moved as he spoke. "The Romans, while dim-witted, do know a thing or two about weaponry. Perhaps some information the boy can give may prove useful. And I could always use some more help in the forges. With the dragon attacks increasing with each passing winter, we need all the help we can get."

More murmuring, more uproar, the majority of which seemed to be against Gobber's proposition. All the while, Perseus was fumbling over the word dragon. Dragons? Like, the fire-breathing kind?

"Are you sure?" Stoick asked.

"I'll keep him in line." Gobber nodded, his peg leg tapping rapidly against the weathered floors. "And who knows, I see a young man who we may be able to mold."

The voices within the hall reached new heights. Many were calling for his head, arguing that he should pay for crimes he did not commit. A few on the other hand argued that maybe he should be given a chance to prove himself. If there were those who said nothing at all, they were lost amongst the fold.

"Enough!" The Chief hollered, raising his meaty fist in a call for silence. "That's enough!"

Their yells died out like flames in the cold, and again silence ruled the large hall. Once more, all eyes turned to Perseus. He fidgeted where he stood as Stoick leaned back on his throne, an unreadable expression guarding his face.

"There also stands a precedent for those among us that have wronged. Given the chance, these wrongdoers can earn back their respect through acts of labor or valor." The Chief was looking at Perseus directly as he spoke. "Perhaps, a Roman can as well."

Perseus watched the room. Not a single man dared to speak out against their chief.

Stoick gestured behind Perseus. "Gobber, as my brother, the offer is yours to extend, if the boy accepts. If he declines, we will put his life to vote."

Gobber turned, his fatherly eyes meeting his. "Perseus, the choice is yours, to become my apprentice, or leave your fate up to the hands of many."

It was then that Perseus realized that they were testing him. Seeing whether he would leave the state that had raised him, trained him, or choose to value pride over his life. It was a decision he never once imagined he would have to make. At that moment, the voice spoke to Perseus again. And again, he listened.

"I accept your offer." Perseus spoke hesitantly at first, then louder. "I will become your apprentice."

Gobber's face broke out into a smile, while Stoick's remained unchanged.

Clapping his hand against Perseus' shoulder, with enough force to rattle his spine, Gobber turned him to face the hall,

"It is official then, Perseus. Now, the real test begins."

Author's Note:

Appreciate the feedback I've received on the first two chapters. I know that HTTYD is kind of a dying fandom, so to those that left reviews of encouragement, I thank you.

Another big thanks goes to Stellarys and IDKHowToWritePlzHelp for their continued support :)

Also, I started a Percy x Jane Foster story if anybody's interested!

Also again, I'm currently planning another story, and I'm trying to test the waters to see if people are interested in the premise. It's called Ex Machina. Summary: Falling alone into the Pit, Percy finds himself resorting to darker methods, crossing uncrossable lines, all in order to survive. Or, on the run, Sylvie finds herself in an apocalypse like no other, in a hell filled with monsters, with seemingly no way out but forward. PJO/Loki AU.

So yeah, basically it's a Percy Tartarus journey, but with a Loki twist. Been wanting to write a story about Sylvie for forever, and since she grew up in apocalypses, I figured that this would be almost perfect. Let me know your thoughts :)