Author's Note (7/5/2022):

Realized I made a blip in my planning earlier and added a scene to the end of this chapter to set up the next one.

Etymology

Mead Hall: Feasting hall made out of one large room under a roof.

Chapter IV:

The rays of Berk's sun slipped through the cracks of the forge's walls, adding to the sweltering heat inside it. For a forge, it was pretty orthodox. Everything that constituted the making of tools and weapons was there, the cluttered stockroom leaking all over the floor.

"First thing you must learn, Perseus, is to never look away from your hands." Gobber waved his prosthetic arm. "Unless ya want one of these pretty puppers right'ere."

Perseus' eyes raised. "How did that happen?"

"Ah, it was actually a Monstrous Nightmare that stole my hand and leg a long time ago. But trust that I'd already lost many a digit on both from working here." Gobber's toothy smile flashed. "Occupational hazards is how I like to put it."

"Monstrous Nightmare?"

"Nasty dragons, they are." Gobber spat. "The sharpest scales and horns you'll ever see."

Perseus tried to frame what the dragon might look like, but came up empty.

"Take another look around, lad." Gobber said, spreading his arms wide. "These four walls will be as much as a home to you as your room upstairs."

Swiveling, clothed now in boots and a brown tunic, Perseus did as he was told. The forge was by no means new, his footfalls wobbling the floor beneath. By the weathered look of the anvils, hundreds if not thousands of pieces had been forged here. He could not imagine though, what use they would be against creatures that breathed fire.

"All of this, to fight dragons?" He asked.

"That's right!" Gobber exclaimed. "For Berk's entire existence, those buggers have plagued us. You Romans never dealt with those?"

"We have monsters and gods, but I've never heard of dragons except in myth."

"Oh don't worry son, we got plenty of gods. Gnarly ones. Trolls too! If those count as monsters."

"You have gods as well?" The blood running through Perseus' veins seized at the thought.

"Practically one for every sheep on this damn isle!" Gobber laughed, scratching his chin. "But I'd be more worried about the dragons if I were you."

Running a hand through his hair, Perseus recalled the Roman tales of those who strayed beyond the lands of the gods. Journeys partook by those that found themselves under the jurisdiction of other deities. Never did any of the tales end in any good. Oftentimes, there had been no end to tell at all.

"It's been many winters since I had someone else inside these walls with me." Gobber said with a wisp in his tone. "It'll be nice to have you around to help, instead of only my bumblin' self trotting back and forth."

Taking another lap around the forge, Perseus was reminded somewhat of those back in the Empire. Although, the weapons made here appeared much too large to be of use in the legions. He could not imagine running into battle wielding a blade the height of himself.

Shown toward the back, away from the hearth, Gobber took him by the shoulder. "Since I was younger than yourself, I've run Berk's forges. It's in my bloodline, all the way back to my great-great-grandfather Bork the Bold, author of the first Dragon Manual."

"Dragon Manual?"

Letting go, Gobber hefted a large leather book on a shelf. "Everything there is to know about dragons resides within these pages. As the Dragon Training instructor, I also train every youngling whose bottom graces our shores."

With a loud thump, the book landed on a table. "This is what they're taught with. The Dragon Manual."

Leaning forward, Perseus studied the branding on the cover. "Will I be trained too? Trained to fight dragons?"

"That would have to be brought up with Stoick before anything. The fact you're standing here today is a miracle already." Gobber rummaged something from the stockroom. "For now, it's best you learn as much as you can here, about smithing, before we push your luck any further."

"And if they attack?" Perseus grew annoyed. "What am I to do?"

"You distribute weapons. And hide."

"That sounds like a child's job."

"We all start somewhere, Perseus."

"Some of the best in Rome trained me." Perseus' fists closed. "I'd like to think I would be of more use to start off with than just handing out weapons like fruit."

"I don't think you're in any position to bargain here." Gobber had attached the head of a mace to his arm stub, which he pointed with. "And I don't care what they taught ya! It'll amount to nothing against beasts you've never seen before."

Perseus opened his mouth, but found no argument to give.

"That's not to say I want you to forget everything you might've learned." Gobber softened his tenor. "Quite the opposite, actually. But I would advise you to not let the Roman inside ya make a fool out of you."

"What do you know about the Romans?"

"If they're anything like yourself, their fools."

"You say that, then you know nothing of what it means to be a Roman." Perseus turned his attention to the window. "If being a Roman makes me a fool, I might as well swim back."

"You'd really be a fool then." Gobber laughed with his massive chest. "The dragons patrol the waters around here. It's a miracle from Aegir that you washed ashore not charred to a crisp."

"Aegir?"

"Our lord of the seas." Gobber told, walking around to Perseus' side. "Whether you like it or not, you're in a different world now. Very quickly, you'll discover that everything is not what you're used to. But there's a reason why we do the things we do. There's a reason why Berk has lived this long. You'll soon come to see it."

From afar, Perseus watched the dark waves crash onto the sands. "And there's no way I could make it back?"

"If it's your Empire you're talking about, I doubt it."

"Even Gaul?"

Gobber again gestured with his missing arm. "When you're dealing with fire-breathing pests, you'll find everything gets a lot harder. We sparingly get any news or visitors from even our closest neighbors. If you were to test your luck again, traversing these waters, I'd reckon you'd find no luck at all."

The prospect of never returning now fully settled into Perseus, as the feeling of cold metal touched his chest. Tilting his chin down, he found Gobber's mace resting there.

"Last night you told us that you were an orphan."

"Yes, sir." Perseus said, meeting Gobber's intense stare.

"By that alone, you've already been dealt a harder hand." Gobber expressed. "And I'm sure that you're proud of what you've accomplished."

Perseus hesitated, before nodding. The memories of the lost mother and child were still fresh in his mind.

"I want you to use that pride you feel for yourself, your people, for Rome. Prove me wrong. Prove to me that you're more than just a Latin-reading fool." Gobber's face hardened. "Once you've done that, you can prove yourself to the rest of my people. You've seen what they think of you, what the reputation of being a Roman has garnered."

Lowering his mace, Gobber grabbed his shoulder once more. "I see something within you, my boy. Granted, I'm not entirely sure what this something is, but by Odin's beard it's better than nothing."

Perseus swallowed hard, burying his runaway thoughts. "Thanks, I guess?"

"You can thank me afterward." Gobber proclaimed. "Right now, we get to work. I think we've done enough lollygagging for today."

Inspired, Perseus moved to pick up a nearby sword but was met with a swift slap on the hand.

"Ya gotta earn my trust before you can touch one of these." Gobber laughed, bending over to get the fallen blade. "For now, start with using the bellows first."

-Ω-

Perseus slumped into a table inside the Mead Hall, joints aching and muscles burning hot like coals. The hall was empty, save for a few seated on the other side, their voices lowering the moment he entered. Ignoring them, he broke apart his bread, dipping the two ends into his bowl of stew.

He was surprised he had been afforded some freedoms. To start, he half expected having to stick by Gobber's side at all times. But after a week, it appeared that being an apprentice was more like serfdom than slavery. Maybe being offered clemency by Gobber and the Chief had bought him a little respect as well. Although if it did, he could not tell.

A groan sounded from across the table. Looking up, Perseus was shocked to find somebody sitting down.

"Hey there!" The portly viking greeted, sliding four bowls of stew over.

Perseus blinked.

"Do you not speak anymore?" The viking asked, tilting his large head, where on top sat a comically small helmet.

"I do, sorry." Perseus coughed into a fist. "You're just the first person outside Gobber who's spoken to me all week."

The viking squinted at him, and Perseus recognized him from his first night. "Well, I'm happy to be the first! My name's Fishlegs. Fishlegs Ingerman."

"Perseus."

"Percy, you say?"

"No, it's Perseus." The Roman corrected.

"Why not Percy?"

Perseus blinked again. "Because Perseus was the name I was given?"

"Huh." Fishlegs huffed, scratching his shaggy blonde hair. If Perseus had to guess, they were around the same age. "And you got no family name?"

"Nope, just Perseus." The Roman said, switching his attention between his meal and Fishlegs. "Why are you sitting with me? Shouldn't you be with the others?"

"They get a bit boring sometimes." Fishlegs explained, shrugging his rounded shoulders. "And everybody's so curious about you, so I figured why not just talk to you."

Perseus snorted. "Well, that's one way to go about it."

Him being a Roman seemed to act like a plague, with nobody willing to do so much as breathe the same air as him, besides of course Gobber. But despite the many looks he always got, he did not mind being ostracized. It meant that nobody bothered him.

"So, you've been with Gobber?" Fishlegs asked, talking while also slurping stew. "How's that going for you?"

"About as much as I expected." Perseus swallowed a piece of bread. "Back when I was young, when I wasn't working by the docks, I was in the forges. So I was already familiar with some of it."

Fishlegs perked up. "Back in Rome? What is Rome like?"

"It's… different. A lot different." Perseus said, unsure of how to describe it.

"Wow, that sounds amazing." Fishlegs exclaimed, and Perseus could not help but feel that the viking was not the sharpest knife. "I've always wondered about you guys. You know, they told us some stories when we were young about the Romans. But I never imagined that I'd meet one in person."

"Me too, I guess. I've never met a viking until now." Perseus looked Fishlegs up and down. "What do you do here?"

"I track dragon attacks. Their frequencies and their patterns, so that we might know when they'll attack us again."

Suddenly, Fishlegs was a lot more interesting.

"They attack here often?" Perseus questioned.

Fishlegs started on his second bowl. "This time of the year, they do. According to my charts, it could be any day now."

A tingling formed in the pit of Perseus' stomach. After hearing Gobber spout about dragons for the entire week, he was dying to see one in person.

"So you get to be around the dragons?" He asked, leaning forward. "The ones near the arena that Gobber trains with?"

"Oh yeah, all the time." Fishlegs nodded with vigor, picking up his third bowl of stew. "You haven't seen them?"

Perseus shook his head. "Anything having to do with dragon training is out of bounds for me. That entire part of the island is the only place I haven't been allowed to go to."

"Well, that would make sense." Fishlegs frowned, his mouth also small compared to the rest of his face. "I'm headed back there after I finish eating, if you'd like to take a peek."

Perseus' jaw dropped. "You'd do that? Wouldn't you get in trouble?"

"Oh I'm sure I'd get in trouble, but not if we're sneaky about it."

Looking at Fishlegs, Perseus was not sure how he could be stealthy at all, or why he had been given a name with fish in it. The viking was nearly the size of a grown bear.

"No, I wouldn't do that to you." Perseus waved his hand. "I don't want to give any more reasons for people to hate me. And I especially don't want to break Gobber's trust. But thank you, Fishlegs, for the offer."

"Are you sure?"

Perseus stared long and hard at the viking.

"It's not that far away." Fishlegs smiled. "Come on, follow me!"

Disregarding his final bowl of stew, the viking shot up, and despite Perseus' best judgment, he did as well.

"This is a bad idea." Perseus hissed once he caught up.

"Don't say that." Fishlegs countered, taking them down a path that led to the highest point on the Isle. "You'll speak it into existence."

In front of them, Berk's cliffside loomed, the wrangled structure of the arena before it. From the outside, it was not nearly as much of a spectacle as the Colosseum. The crude cage-like design was a far cry from the intricate stone workings of Rome. But Perseus knew that what lay inside was a hundred times greater than anything Caesar could produce for show. Already, they could hear shouts and screams, as beastly roars erupted at an unearthly volume.

Fishlegs' brows perked up. "Ooooh! Sounds like they're training with a Rockspitter!"

"Rockspitter?"

"Medium-sized dragon, the name speaks for itself. All four of its stomachs can hold more pumpkins than you could ever imagine." Fishlegs picked up his pace. "Come on!"

A rock formed in Perseus' throat as they grew closer, the stench of something foul wrinkling his nose. But before they could get within a stone's throw, a voice called out behind them.

"Hey, Fishlegs!"

Turning around, Perseus cursed. He knew trouble when he saw it. The viking who called was shorter than Fishlegs but twice as stout, the sneer on his face extremely punchable.

"Snotlout, hey." Fishlegs answered with a stutter. "What's up?"

Snotlout trotted up to them, and Perseus also recognized him from the first night. "Oh you know, the usual. Been bashing heads all morning."

Fishlegs smile was pained. "Well, that's great!"

"Yeah yeah. So, what you doing bringing him around here?" Snotlout pointed at Perseus' chest. "This Roman scum is not supposed to be near the arena."

"Scum?" Perseus tilted his head.

"Yeah, you heard me."

"What did I do to you?"

"Oh please, don't pretend to act like this is anything personal." Snotlout took a step forward. "You Romans have a stench that carries over any sea."

"Leave him be, Snotlout." Fishlegs interjected. "I was just going to show him the arena. He wanted to see the dragons."

"Gods you're so dense Fishlegs, did you not hear me say that he's not allowed?"

"Hey!" Perseus moved in front of his new viking friend.

"What do you have to say?" Snotlout's sneer grew wider, pointing again. "You want to fight Roman? Come on, you look like you want to fight!"

Perseus looked down, only realizing now that his fists were balled.

The biceps on Snotlout's arms bulged. "What's the problem? Too scared?"

"No." A weird, pulling sensation began in the pit of Perseus' stomach. "I just—"

"Perseus, this isn't a good idea." Fishlegs muttered.

Snotlout snarled. "Oh shut up, Fishlegs. If he wants to fight, let him fight. I'm sure Gobber won't care if his little Roman slave got beat up."

Perseus stared down the challenging viking, the swelling pride inside him refusing to be bottled. All thoughts about the arena and dragons were long gone, as was the rest of his thinking.

"You want to fight?" The Roman gritted his teeth. "Then let's fight."

Author's Note:

Appreciate the feedback this story's received so far :) As you can see, I've been blending both book HTTYD and movie HTTYD, as well as changing a couple things. Hopefully gonna be pushing out a couple more chapters for this one shortly. Lot of action in the next one!

Thanks :)