I Did This - The Wounds of War: Part 3

by goodworthfightingfor31

Trouble is brewing in the Archipelago. A foreign enemy is pushing the limits. Astrid says New Berk should prepare for war. Hiccup has brought peace to the entire island chain and has kept it for the past 20 years; and he will do EVERYTHING in his power to keep it that way. But as events unfold, will a continuous peace even be possible?

7. Sons and Daughters

Glossary:

Eoghan - Celtic name; pronounced "Owen"

Cinead - Celtic name; pronounced "KIN - ed"

Seanchaidh - pronounced "Shan-a-kee", Celtic word for storyteller

Ausa Vatni - Viking naming ritual that happened at 9 days old

CHAPTER SEVEN: SONS AND DAUGHTERS

October 1st:

NEW BERK

Anika Ingerman stood at the workbench in the Healing House. Bunches of herbs and a bottle of oil were lined up to her left, the stone mortar and pestle in front.

The fire crackled to her right, warm against her side.

She quietly tore small bits of each herb, Comfrey and Calendula, and placed them in the mortar. Then, she grabbed the uncorked bottle and drizzled the oil. Taking the pestle in hand, she began to gently twist, the motion breaking and mixing, scents wafting, earthy and pleasant, the scrape of the pestle against the mortar soft.

Pausing, she reached to her right and grabbed Yarrowand added it to the bowl. She twisted the pestle again, harder, breaking up the root further, its own scent melding nicely with the others.

Anika hummed a song to herself as she worked, grinding until the mortar contents became a thick paste. When it was sufficient, she crouched down to the shelf beneath the workbench, and pulled a small clay pot and lid. Rising, she placed it next to the mortar and pestle, then, taking a wooden spoon from her apron pocket, scraped the paste into the jar.

As she did so, the door burst open, a gust of chill autumn wind snaking through the house, followed by the rush of heavy rain and that glorious scent of petrichor. Anika looked over to see Aerica Bengtsson, Ivar's mother, and her youngest, eight-year-old Einar, covered in mud and cuts and bruises, holding a hand to his head as he sobbed, blood tricking down his face.

"Oh my Thor!" Anika exclaimed as she put down the pot and wiped her hands on her apron. She pulled a clean rag from the basket on the floor at the end of the workbench, and tossed it into the pot of boiling water on the fire.

"What happened?" she said, glancing at Mrs. Bengtsson as she knelt in front of Einar and examined his head.

Einar stood straight and tall, trying desperately not to look weaker than he already felt, his breath hitching with each sob, but his blue eyes fierce.

"A mud fight turned into a rock fight which turned into a brawl," Mrs. Bengtsson replied. She glanced around the Healing House, keeping one hand on her son's shoulder. "Where's your father?"

Anika spoke as she guided Einar to the fire and sat him down on a low stool, then plucked the rag from the boiling water.

"He's out making the rounds and left me to manage here," she plopped the steaming hot rag into a bowl to cool a minute, then took it in hand, crouched to Einar's level and gently wiped the boy's face. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Aerica gave a rueful chuckle. "Most of the boys are pretty scraped up. Some went to find your father, the others to find Jorn."

Anika looked into Einar's eyes and smiled. "You have a nasty cut, but it's not deep. Heads just bleed a lot. Lucky for you, I just made a fresh poultice." She rose from her position and walked to the workbench, while Aerica ladled some hot water into a larger bowl and continued to clean her son's face and head.

"You fought well, my son," she said.

Anika noted the strain in Mrs. Bengtsson's voice. While settling disputes via fisticuffs was encouraged for boys of all ages (because to run away or decline was cowardly), most mothers feigned approval, especially when they were around Einar's age, when scrapes and bruises were commonplace. Fathers approved of fisticuffs because it made their sons men; it made them fierce. Strong.

She saw Einar wince and suck in a breath as his mother gently cleaned the last of the blood from his wound.

"But I—cried—when I—saw—you," Einar sobbed, "I—was weak."

Aerica shook her head as Anika knelt down and gently pressed the poultice to the wound.

"Ow!"

Aerica laid her hands on her son's shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. "No son. What counts is that you did not break during the fight. You held it together despite the hurt. It takes strength to keep fighting when it hurts."

Einar sniffled and wiped his nose across his arm. "It does?"

Mrs. Bengtsson nodded. "And you are strong. It's strength like that that sets you apart as a warrior."

"Like Papa?"

Aerica gave a sad smile. "Yes, like your Papa. He'd be very proud of you."

Anika gently wrapped the bandage around Einar's head as mother and son spoke. The rain from the still-open door drumming hard.

Mr. Bengtsson had died the night of the fire. Though engulfed in flames himself, he had forced his friends to catapult him onto one of the ships they had managed to strike, where he struck down as many as he could before succumbing to the pain of the flames. His eldest son, Ivar (and Thora's fiance) was now head of the family.

Anika tucked in the last of the bandage and smiled. "There. All done." She pulled a piece of licorice root from her other apron pocket and handed it to Einar, who took it eagerly.

"Thank you," Aerica said as Anika rose and turned back to the workbench. She placed the lid on the small clay jar and handed it to her.

"Put some on every morning and evening until it goes away—" she turned to Einar, who happily chewed on the licorice root, "—and no more fights until it does. Understand?"

Einar nodded. "Yes, Anika."

Aerica smiled. "Are you going to take your father's place as Healer? You're quite the natural."

Anika blushed at the compliment and glanced at the floor before cleaning up the workbench. "You're very kind, Aerica; while I do find pleasure in healing others—"

"She's a natural with delivering babies and will make one of the best midwives New Berk's ever seen!" a husky female voice boasted.

Both women turned to see Mrs. Jorgensen, Snotlout's mother, standing in the doorway to the Healing House, shaking the rain from her cloak. She looked directly at Anika and continued.

"Edda Haldansdotter's gone into labor and she's requested you. You are my best apprentice, after all."

Anika nodded as she hung the last of the herbs back onto the low rafters.

"I'll be right there." she removed her apron, hung it on a peg, grabbed her cloak from the one next to it, and put it on. She looked at each woman as she walked out the door. "I haven't decided which path to take, and I don't expect to make a decision anytime soon."

"What about the Volur?" Mrs. Jorgensen asked. "I heard from Ursa that she's taken notice of you. She says you'd make a powerful one."

Anika straightened at the mention of the "Wand-Wed", priestesses known for their supernatural powers in communicating with the gods, including the ability to see into the future.

Though she had a moderate respect for them, they made her feel ill-at-ease. Knowing in part that they used certain herbs and seeds in excess to obtain their visions—sometimes alongside animal sacrifice if the need were great—never sat well with her.

Anika never voiced it, but she thought it cruel to kill an animal to discern the future, and unhealthy to use herbs in excess to obtain the same; especially when, more often than not, they were wrong. She thought people placed too much faith and honor in a group of women—however wise they appeared to be—in return for mixed results.

"Ursa has not spoken to me," she replied, "but as I said, I'm not making a decision anytime soon." I'm only fourteen, she thought, and the Volur don't start training until at least eighteen. I've got time to refuse.

Anika turned back to Mrs. Bengtsson. "Will you close up for me and let my father know where I am?"

"I will," Aerica replied.

Anika smiled in thanks, then nodded to Mrs. Jorgensen as the two of them walked into the driving rain towards Edda's family's longhouse.

THE NORTHERN MARKETS

Astrid and Heather stood on the docks, stunned, as Picts and Vikings alike walked towards them in droves, clutching their cloaks tight and raising their hoods to keep out the pounding rain.

Astrid stopped a fellow Viking. "What's going on?" she yelled, "Why is everyone leaving?"

The man pointed to the sky. "The rain's gotten worse. They decided to close the market early since it's not letting up. Better get going if you want to catch whoever's still set up."

Astrid nodded her thanks and sped towards some of the market stalls still standing.

We just got here. Of course they decide to close early. First the rain, then the caution in getting over here in the first place, and now this. I'd better be able to get something after going through all this trouble.

It had been a bad day from the beginning—well, more like a bad week and a half. Today was just the culmination. Last week's venture to the market had brought little evidence of the Pict's involvement…again. Heather had managed to catch a conversation of mentions of unique weapons, but of course those were whispered in hushed tones, and they'd had to leave before they could find out more.

It was frustrating. She had expected to be right from the start, but nothing had gone her way, which made her cranky, and on top of that, she and Hiccup were still cool towards each other, despite the half apologies after the first trip. He'd continued to serve the village, and she training the warriors, and for the moment, he hadn't voiced that she should stop. Thankfully, everyone else's problems distracted him enough to where she could let the warriors train during down time, when there were instances of too many hands for one project, not enough work to go around.

The question of Hiccup's "secret" meetings with Wulf hadn't been answered either. She'd tried to slip into the Records Room unnoticed a few times, but Hiccup or Fishlegs were usually in there, or by the time they weren't it was late in the evening, and going in would have looked suspicious.

It was a week of failed attempts and getting nowhere.

Thor, please let me see some proof that I'm on the right track, she prayed, all this deception has to be worth it…

Astrid scowled at the sky. Loki seemed intent on frustrating everything today. She grunted as she strode through puddles to a fishmonger, who had just started packing up.

"I need fish," Astrid demanded. She pointed to two clusters of dried salmon and cod. "How much for those?"

"Depends on how much you got," the monger replied.

Astrid pulled five silver beard beads. "Will you take five for both?"

The fishmonger snorted in derision. "Ten for both, not five," He jerked his thumb behind him. "Getting that wasn't easy you know."

I bet is wasn't, Astrid snarked. "How much for one?"

"Four of those beads, at least."

Astrid closed her hand around the beads and glanced at the fishmonger across the street. "I'll take my business over there. Four beads is highway robbery."

"Two, then," the monger replied, "I gotta make some sales today."

Astrid handed the fishmonger two of Stoick's old silver beard beads and thanked him, quickly tucking the packet of dried fish under her cloak and raising her hood as the hard rain fell from the ashen sky.

Water met cobblestones in a musical splat, some tinkling light, almost inaudible, others forceful and constant.

Picts and Vikings alike hurried through the market, splashing through puddles, urging their mules and horses, their carts rumbling and clattering as they went.

Astrid rushed through the streets back towards the docks when the sound of breaking pottery sounded from the alley she'd just passed.

"Be careful with that!" A young man's voice spoke, the Norse spoken with a thick Gaelic accent. "Do you want to set the whole market on fire?!"

Astrid stopped. She carefully walked backwards until she reached the end of the alley and listened to the scrape of pottery shards being picked up.

"How could this stuff set the whole market on fire?" A second youth's voice asked, "It's pouring rain!"

The sound of impact, and an oof!, probably a kick, met her ears.

"Keep your voice down!" the first continued, "Cinead said absolutely no one is supposed to know about these weapons."

Cinead? Astrid thought, mulling the strange word over in her mind, Who's Cinead? And what do they mean by 'weapons'?

"Seems like awfully odd weapons to me," said the second, "They're just bottles of liquid."

Astrid listened as a clunk sounded, like a clay jar being placed on a cart, an urging call, and the squeaky clatter of wagon wheels and mule hooves clomping away from her.

She took the risk and darted into the alley behind them, using the sounds of the cart to mask her movements. She zig-zagged down the alley as the young men continued to talk, unawares.

She puzzled her brow at their mixed dress: a combination of the classic Pictish plaid and the sturdy Viking leather. These two wore Viking pants and tunics, but had Pictish plaid cloaks and woad knotwork tattoos snaking down their arms.

"These aren't just any liquid, Eoghan, these are what give Cinead his power. The gods gave them to him himself."

"But how did the gods get them?"

"Cinead said they come from dragons, I heard it myself."

Eoghan snorted. "Horse shit, Drust; everyone knows dragons don't exist; they're just folk tales."

Drust held up one of the jars and tilted it so the bottom showed. "Then how do you explain what a Deathgripper is?"

Astrid barely got a glance at the jar bottom before Drust put it away. Are those Viking runes?

"He could've made it up. He is a pretty goodSeanchaidh."

Drust smacked Eoghan upside the head. "Skald, here, you idiot. Remember, we're Norsemen now; we speak and act as they do."

Astrid continued to follow the young men through narrow alleyways until they reached an old wattle-and-daub shack, supported by the shut-up buildings on either side. She kept to the alley entrance, shielded by a stack of crates and barrels, and watched as the two carefully unloaded their haul of heavy crates and jars, taking note of the runes inscribed on the sides—Viking runes.

Monstrous Nightmare Gel. Zippleback Gas. Speed Stinger Venom. Deathgripper Acid.

Bile rose in her throat, righteous indignation and anger swelled. I was right, she thought, I was right this whole time.

"Think we'll get to see any action?" Eoghan said as he plunked a crate atop another, its contents rattling. "If what Cinead said is true, there's enough here to burn every village in this Archipelago twice over."

"I hope so," Drust replied, "But Cinead said we have to wait until exactly the right moment, until then, we deal with the shipments and act like nothing's wrong."

"Why is this shipment here, anyway? I thought they all went directly to Outcast Island?"

"They do; this cargo got turned around in the storm today by accident. Another one's coming from the island at sundown to take this load, and then it's business as usual…"

Astrid nearly jumped out of her skin at a light touch to her shoulder. She drew her dagger and whipped around as quietly as she could without knocking the crates in front of her, to see Heather crouched down, holding her hands out in defense.

"We have to go," she whispered harshly, "Now. If we wait any longer the weather will turn for the worse and we'll be stuck here."

Astrid nodded and exhaled, releasing the spike of adrenaline. She stayed crouched and followed Heather back up the alley, the youth's voices drowned out by the steady whoosh of rain. She pulled her cloak tighter as they turned the corner and sped towards the docks, the rain pelting, hard and cold.

NEW BERK

Anika crouched on one side of Edda, Edda's mother on the other, and Mrs. Jorgensen on her stomach on the floor.

Edda panted and groaned, her face covered in a sheen of sweat, bits of hair stuck to her face.

"Baby's head is out," Mrs. Jorgensen said. She glanced up at Edda. "One more long push and baby will be here."

Edda whimpered in exhaustion.

Edda's mother smoothed her daughter's hair back. "I know it's hard, but it won't be long now. You can do this."

Anika said nothing, but braced her position and firmed her arm across Edda's back, letting her know she was there as well.

Edda's fingers squeezed her shoulder in return, then her grip tightened as another contraction came on. She groaned, loud and long.

"Keep pushing! Keep pushing!" Mrs. Jorgensen demanded.

Suddenly, there was a squishing wherp! and the sound of liquid splattering the floor.

Anika held Edda up as she gasped in exhaustion, followed by a smack! and the lusty wail of a newborn.

"It's a boy!" Mrs. Jorgensen announced, "Ooh! And what a set of lungs he's got!"

Anika gently leaned to the right, letting Edda rest into her mother's arms. She smiled and squeezed Edda's shoulder. "Congratulations, Edda!" She whispered.

"Welcome to motherhood, my daughter," Edda's mother said, "You did beautifully."

Anika stayed crouched and looked at Mrs. Jorgensen, who had wiped the boy clean and swaddled him. She handed the boy to Edda, who gave a joyous, albeit exhausted laugh as she put him to her breast.

Anika shuffled around in front of Edda and waited for the afterbirth.

Mrs. Jorgensen tapped Anika's shoulder. "You head on home; I will take care of this."

"Are you sure?" Anika replied, rising. "I know what to do."

"I know you do, but Edda's labor was longer than expected—"

"Is there something wrong?" Anika interrupted, lowering her voice so only Mrs. Jorgensen could hear.

Mrs. Jorgensen smiled and shook her head. "No, thank Thor, but the afternoon has waned and I don't want you getting home after dark."

Anika breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay." She quietly padded across the room, grabbed her cloak and donned it, then headed back out into the village.

Thankfully, the rain had lessened; it was now soft, almost misty in the dimming grey late afternoon.

She smiled at the sound of the new baby's fussy cry and prayed to Frigg that he would live the nine days until the Ausa Vatni, when he would officially become the newest member of New Berk and receive his name.

Anika turned her face upwards, the misty rain cool against her skin, as she walked through the village, up towards her family's home.

"Anika!"

Anika turned to see Aerica Begntsson wave as she trotted over to her. "Did Edda's baby arrive?"

Anika smiled from ear to ear. "She did! A healthy baby boy."

Aerica gave a happy sigh. "Frigg be praised. New life is just what we need. We could all use something to celebrate."

"Thora and Ivar's wedding will be a much needed celebration too; how is Ivar?"

Aerica smiled. "He's been walking on air ever since Thora returned. He feared for awhile she would not, but she is like your mother—"

"When she's made a decision, she sticks by it."

"Exactly. Her return also made my Lars' death easier to bear for Ivar. I know he did not plan on becoming head of the family so soon."

Anika placed a comforting hand on Aerica's arm. "Thora knows how to share burdens well. I would not be as close to her and Sigrid if she had not confided in me these past two years."

"It's wonderful to be so close to your family; I look forward to Thora joining our family."

"We look forward to Ivar joining ours as well."

"How is Thora these days?"

"Overjoyed to be marrying and starting a new part of life, but frustrated with the situation, as we all are."

Aerica gave a solemn nod, then gave her a playful nudge. "And what of you? Any strapping young lad you fancy, or are you still besotted with the Chief's son?"

Anika straightened and tilted her chin. "Nuffink Haddock is free to pursue whomever he pleases; why should that matter to me?"

"I was only teasing, Anika," Aerica said, lowering her voice.

Anika inhaled and swallowed, biting back the tension pulling at her throat. "You, and everyone else in the village for the past two years." She looked Aerica in the eye, "Enough is enough." She tilted her chin higher. "I might choose someone else just for spite. Good day, Mrs. Begntsson." She looked straight ahead and walked away.

"Anika!" Aerica called, but Anika kept walking.

GREAT HALL

Nuffink tried not to look bored as he drummed his fingers on his knees under the table. Dad was sitting to his right, trying to quell yet another dispute over whose longhouse got built next, the villagers crowded in a semicircle around him.

"We've been waiting almost a whole month for a new house," Mr. Knutsson complained, "I don't know how much longer I can stand living in that tent!"

"You can't stand living in a tent?!" Mrs. Tryggsdotter cut in, glaring at him, "You don't have five children climbing all over each other and everything every five minutes! It's just you and your wife, you can handle a few more weeks in a tent."

She stared at Dad, her face red with frustration and jabbed her finger at herself. "I deserve a house next, because if I don't, I'm either going to slap someone, or kill them for lack of space. I need a house now for my sanity!"

Young Einar Ragnarsson shoved his way forward. "Your parent's aren't getting on in their years, Elsa! You haven't heaped every single blanket on them at night to keep them warm because the tent walls are too thin!"

Nuffink glanced at his father, elbows on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose, his shoulders tight with stress. He slapped his hand onto the table and glared at everyone.

"Could all of you please voice your concerns one at a time? I have no intention of being here until the early morning hours settling this, and I know you don't either."

The raised voices quieted to low murmurs.

Dad continued. "Look, rebuilding the village is going to take time; every single one of you knows that. I don't like having to choose who gets a house next, but—"

"Rebuilding would go a lot faster of we had the dragons to help." Mr. Knutsson muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Dad set his jaw and gave Mrs. Knutsson an exasperated look. "Trust me, no one wants the dragons back more than I do, but they're not safe outside The Hidden World, so there's really no point in bringing it up, is there?"

Mr. Knutsson cleared his throat and shook his head, glancing at the floor.

Nuffink rolled his neck, groaning internally. Ugh, whine, whine, whine! All they do is complain! Why can't they just get their acts together and help each other get shit done so there's less worrying to do?

There were at least five things Nuff could think of to do that would make his father's day-to-day process go a lot faster and a lot smoother.

1. Make a list of all the remaining elders and young families who were currently sheltering in tents.

2. Employ those whose longhouses were finished to help build the new ones.

3. Have those whose longhouses were finished to take in a family or two while they were waiting on a new house.

4. Put other trusted tribesmen and women in charge of the really petty stuff so they only came to his Dad in the event of a real problem or emergency.

5. No dispute settlements after dinner. Late night squabbles had been happening a lot lately. Honestly, sometimes I feel like I'm the only competent person in the entire room.

His attention was drawn back to his father as he looked at the space in front of him, covered in scrolls and papers, and shuffled them around, something out of place.

Hiccup gave a frustrated sigh and looked at Nuffink. "Can you go to the Records Room please and get the—"

"Way ahead of you, Dad!" Nuffink said as he whipped out of his chair. His foot caught the chair leg and he stumbled, knocking the chair over. Luckily, he caught himself before he fell to the floor, steadying himself against a pillar. He nonchalantly ran his hand through his hair. "You need the current supplies list, right?"

His Dad smiled. "Yes, it's on my desk, it should be dead center."

Nuffink nodded, righted the chair, and sped off, his Dad calling after him to not run. Nuff continued at the same pace, straightening his posture to make himself look more in control.

He slowed as he entered the Records Room, and attempted to slide to a stop (because that always felt cool), but slipped on a stray piece of parchment.

"Whoa!" Nuffink exclaimed as he fell backwards. He tried to grab the edge of the desk to break his fall, but he overshot and ended up swiping the contents from the desk.

"Gods damn it!" he swore to himself as he waited for the desk contents to finish hitting the floor. He grunted in frustration as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself to his hands and knees.

Something wet hit his hand.

Nuff looked to see splotches of ink. His eyes widened and he whipped his head to the desk, where the ink bottle lay overturned, ink spilling over the edge.

"Oh, man!" Nuff berated himself as he shot to his feet. He picked up the ink bottle and placed it right side up, then grabbed all of the unused parchment he could see and mopped up the spill.

"Why do I have to be such a klutz?" He waited for the parchment to sop up all the ink. When most of the pages were full, he balled them up and put them in the waste basket under the desk, wiping his hands on his pants, smearing them with ink.

He picked up everything that had fallen to the floor, including the current supplies scroll, and placed them back on the desk, and organized it as well as he could based on how he remembered it looking.

Thank the gods I didn't knock over the candle! he thought to himself. The lone candle in the upper lefthand corner sputtered softly. He'd had one too many instances of knocking candles and lanterns over and causing a fire.

Nuff rolled his eyes towards the sky. Why is Loki so intent on messing with me? Is it because I'm the Chief's son? Is it because I have the potential to be great?

Mom said it was to keep him humble, make sure his head didn't get too big, but Nuff just wished he'd finish growing up soon; that this klutziness would go away so that he could finally be the best in all the sports and combat like he knew he could be.

A metallic glint caught his eye. Nuff stopped organizing and looked to the left, seeing a small metallic tube shining in the candlelight. He picked in up and examined it.

It was a thin gold tube, detailed in knotwork, and what appeared to be an eagle or raven, its wings spread outward. It was the kind of tube used for short messages, most likely sent by pigeon or hawk.

"Terrible Terrors used to carry the mail, back when I was your age," he remembered his dad saying the other day, as he'd sent a message via hawk to another Archipelago Chief. "Of course, getting it on time proved easier said than done, but once they knew the routes it was smooth sailing…or soaring in their case."

The tube must have belonged to a different chief, because New Berk's weren't made of gold—theirs were made of tooled leather—at least, they were the last time Nuff remembered seeing one. Either way, he stuck it in his pocket to put in his treasure box of odds and ends for later.

With the desk back in relative order, Nuff grabbed the supplies list scroll and walked out—slowly this time—and back into Great Hall.

He cleared his throat as he approached his dad and handed him the scroll, careful not to leave his hands visible for too long.

His dad gave him a quick smile. "Thank you, Son."

Nuff bent next to his Dad's ear and spoke softly, "I'm going down to the docks to see if Mom's back from the Northern Markets."

His Dad nodded. "That's fine; thank you for your help today."

Nuffink smiled back and slinked around the table, his footsteps echoing off the stone floor as he walked through the hall and out the door.

He smiled as misty rain cooled his face as he walked downhill, his hand in his pocket, fingering the gold message tube. It would make a cool necklace, he thought. It would be easy to drill a small hole in the top and thread either a ribbon or piece of leather string through it.

Two women's voices caught his ear as he walked.

"…otted with the Chief's son?" the first voice said.

Nuff stopped at the mention of himself and ducked behind a longhouse corner. He peered around to see Anika Ingerman talking with Mrs. Bengtsson. His heart leapt to see her, but it was quickly tempered at the way she stood: rigid, her chin tilted.

"Nuffink Haddock is free to pursue whomever he pleases," he heard her say, "Why should that matter to me?"

Nuffink felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. He slipped around the house and walked another way that led to the docks, not needing or wanting to hear anymore. He shook his head.

Why can't they just leave her alone? he thought, Can't they see that it embarrasses her every time they bring it up?

So what if she'd had a crush on him? They were still friends…weren't they?

The rain turned from mist to light, the pitter pat barely audible on the leaves.

Nuffink reminisced all the times he and Anika had played together with the other village kids, as well as just Ingermans and Haddock's. Of course, because she was a girl—he'd thought many times—she wouldn't be able to keep up with whatever he and his other guy friends had been doing, but she had always managed to surprise him by meeting the challenge, triumphant in the way she sat or stood straight, her chin tilted in pride, and that small quirk at the corner of her mouth her only tells for self-confidence.

He admired that about her—the fact that she wasn't boastful as most in the village were. Anika was quiet about it. She was quiet about most things, but Nuffink could have sworn there were times her thoughts were the loudest in the room.

At least, it had been that way before.

Before Kjartan.

Before he, Nuffink, had stepped in, defending her honor.

Anika wasn't just quiet now; she was…reserved. She played everything close to the vest since that day. They hadn't played together since then either.

Nuffink shrugged, trying to roll that hurt feeling off his back. It was silly to be upset about that…but he missed the comraderie they'd had.

Of course, the village playing matchmaker after that didn't help. He knew that embarrassed her, so he never brought it up, left her alone when he noticed her eyes darting around whenever they spoke together for too long, never sat or stood too close to her, never stopped by for longer than a few minutes.

Nuffink sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets as he continued to walk towards the docks, the rain slowly getting heavier once more. His fingers touched the tube. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at it, rolled it around in his palm.

Anika would look pretty wearing this, he thought, Gold's always been her favorite…

He smiled at the memory of her at her sister Freya's wedding last fall, bright smile on her face, bedecked with gold hair beads, necklaces, bracelets, and earrings. Her cheeks had turned light pink when he'd complimented her.

She wasn't embarrassed that time…he placed the tube back in his pocket again as his thoughts drifted back to the snippet of conversation he'd just heard. Anika's tone had tried to sound ambivalent, but there was always that streak of defensiveness, always on the cusp of quivering, holding back emotion.

She has every right to fight each person who wags their tongue; and she would beat them too. Man, I would love to see that! She was downright lethal the last time I saw her wield a dagger…Nuffink sighed and looked over his shoulder…but she can't fight half the village…I guess that's why she threw herself into working with Uncle Fish and the midwives—she's got to prove herself somehow.

He understood that, the need to prove oneself. It was why he'd given her space after Kjartan. He saw that she needed to prove to the village that she was more than just a silly girl with a crush on the Chief's son.

"But why did our friendship have to be the cost?" he said.

THE DOCKS

Heather shook her head in disbelief. We can't be attacked again, she thought, Who would hate us that much to attack after razing our village to the ground?

Viggo Grimborn would have been her first suspect; he would have done something like this purely to mess with Hiccup. I should know; I was a double agent for him for months. But Viggo had been dead for years; killed by a Skrill Shock.

The only other person Heather could think of who could have this much animosity for Hiccup was Wulf Buchan, the chieftain of the Picts who had moved here.

But what reason does he have for hating Hiccup? He barely knows him. It was far more likely another Archipelago chief to have hate, maybe some of the disgruntled Vikings who'd lost the Archipelago War and been exiled to Outcast Island…a lot more people had made their living from Dragon trapping, hunting, and the black market than any of them had realized.

Heather puzzled her brow as she and Astrid stepped from below deck, to on deck, and pulled her cloak hood over her head, the rain hard once more.

"What if it's not the Picts?" she shouted over the rain as they walked down the plank and onto the docks.

Astrid looked ready to blow a gasket. "They have crates of illegal dragon goods, including Deathgripper Acid! What other proof do you need?"

"The Picts barely know us, and we them. They've only been in the Archipelago since the harbors thawed in spring. They don't know us well enough to have the animosity to burn down New Berk."

Astrid stopped just as they entered the village. "What are you saying?"

"I think we should look inside our own borders for the culprit of the razing."

Astrid gestured outwards. "Where would you suggest we start?"

"Outcast Island. Remember the hundreds of Vikings who made their living from Trapping, Hunting and the black market? Eret, Son of Eret used to be among them. Remember how hard they fought in the beginning of the Archipelago War to keep their livelihood?"

Astrid nodded slowly. "There were many times I wasn't sure we would win. We'd underestimated them—badly. But three years of constant fighting would wear anybody down. You think one of them's responsible for razing New Berk?"

"It's a possibility; they were already disgruntled when the Dragons left, and pretty begrudging when they signed the Archipelago Peace Contract, and the last time I looked, they don't have allegiances with anyone in the Archipelago anymore. They keep entirely to themselves."

Astrid grunted in frustration and started walking. "You make a good point, but if that is the case, then who is behind all this? It could be any of them—it could be all of them!"

Heather followed her uphill. "Either way, we can't find out unless we go to Outcast Island. You said yourself that the crates you saw today were headed there."

"And therein lies the problem—it's a four day's sail from here. I can't go without—"

"—Without good ol' Hiccup finding out and losing his marbles!"

Both women drew their daggers and turned towards the voice that had spoken.

"Snotlout?!" they said together.

Snotlout stood just outside the doorway to his longhouse, arms crossed, that typical cocky smile on his face. He looked both of them in the eye and pointed to each.

"What are you two planning? Neither of you just "decide" to make trips to the Northern Markets every aid day unless you're trying to investigate something. Are you investigating the razing?"

Astrid sheathed her dagger and looked at him. "What makes you think I'd tell you, Jorgensen?"

Snotlout straightened, pointing to himself. "I'm second in command under you, Haddock. As a general, I have a right to know, especially if it involves our safety and ability to defend ourselves."

Heather tilted her head. "He does have a point."

Astrid cringed. "But it's Snotlout," she said, facing her, "He can't keep a secret to save his life. As berserk as he is, Tuffnut's a better secret keeper."

"I'm standing right here, Astrid. Don't talk over me like I don't exist. I've had moments of contribution to the Riders."

Astrid sighed, then pushed him around the outside corner. "Fine."

The three of them waited a moment, certain there was no one listening before Astrid continued.

"I was certain I saw Picts manning the ships that razed New Berk to the ground. I also found out a few weeks later that Deathgripper Acid is what caused the fire. Since then, I've been traveling to and from the Northern Markets trying to find out more information, and today I did. I found out that there are large shipments of illegal dragon goods on the black market at Outcast Island. You heard the rest."

"So we need to prepare for war," Snotlout stated.

"We need proof though," Heather added. "Otherwise Hiccup won't believe us. And for my part, I'm not sure it is the Picts, my reason being they haven't been here long enough to warrant the rage required to burn our village down, but the—"

"But the Trappers and Hunters we fought in the Archipelago War, do." Snotlout finished.

Astrid and Heather looked at him, impressed.

Snotlout rolled his eyes. "You two aren't the only one's who've tried putting the missing pieces together."

"The point is, you can't tell Hiccup," Astrid said, "especially now that we have to sail to Outcast Island to further investigate."

"What excuse have you thought up for that?"

"I don't know yet…do you have any devious ideas?"

Snotlout snorted in derision. "You want devious, ask your blue-eyed bestie here. She's the one who was a double agent for Viggo back in the day."

Heather rolled her eyes. "My eyes are green, and you know it."

Astrid waved her hand. "Enough." She locked eyes with Snotlout. "I need your word that you won't tell Hiccup. No casual slip because you forgot, not intentionally because he forced you to, or because I may or may not be in danger. Got it?"

Snotlout crossed his heart. "Hela take me if I do." he swore.

Astrid drew her dagger and touched the point to his throat. "Swear on Solvi's life," she demanded.

Snotlout's eyes glinted as he shoved her away. "Would you swear on Zephyr and Nuffink's lives if I demanded it?"

Astrid swallowed guilt and sheathed her dagger. "No."

Snotlout rubbed his throat. "You know better than to demand that of me, Astrid."

Astrid sighed. "I'm sorry. I went berserk for a minute there." A thought struck her. "If I put you in charge of training the warriors while Heather and I try to solve this, will that keep your mouth shut?"

A mischievous grin tweaked the corner of his mouth. "Keep my mouth shut about what? Are you guys doing something?"

Astrid smiled back and shook her head. "Nope. Nothing at all." She held out her hand, which Snotlout grasped, and they shook on it.

"Mom!"

Both Astrid and Heather looked up to see Nuffink's gangly frame coming towards them.

Heather and Snotlout said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Astrid hugged her son as he came up.

"You're back from the markets!" he said.

"Yes," Astrid replied, "Unfortunately this blasted weather forced a speedy return so I wasn't able to find much." She pulled the packet of dried fish from beneath her cloak and handed it to him. She noticed the dark stains on his pants.

"Is that ink?"

Nuffink's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment.

Astrid tilted her head and looked at him. "Were you running and trying to slide to a stop again?"

"I cleaned it up as best as I could, honest. Dad needed me to get a document from the Records Room. I slipped on a piece of parchment and knocked everything off the desk."

"You didn't knock over a candle, I hope?"

Nuffink rolled his eyes. "No mom, I didn't."

Astrid gently hit his shoulder. "You know better than to use that tone with me."

Nuffink tried to make himself look smaller as they turned and walked further uphill towards their house. "Sorry. What were you shaking hands with Uncle Snotlout about?"

"I've asked him to take over training the warriors since I'm too busy with traveling to the markets."

Nuffink's eyes widened in excitement. "Really? Can I start going? Please?"

Astrid chuckled and clapped her arm around him. "Of course! Combat skills are just as important as diplomacy; you never know if or when you'll need to fight a war."

"Thank Thor! I've been itching to stab something lately. I don't know how Dad handles all that whining and complaining all day every day."

Astrid chuckled. "I don't know either, but being Chief isn't all guts and glory, Nuff, no matter how your Grandpa Stoick would have painted it that way. Actually, it was he who said that 'no deed was too small'."

Nuff pulled the gold message tube from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers. "I know; Dad tells me so all the time."

Astrid noticed. "What's that?"

Nuff held it out to her. "I found it on dad's desk in the Records Room while I was cleaning up. It looks like a message tube, but ours aren't gold, that I know of. I'm thinking of either putting it in my treasure box or making a necklace out of it for Anika." He placed it back in his pocket.

Out of the plethora of thoughts that entered her mind, she decided to answer the former.

"Can I see that again, please?"

Nuff pulled the tube from his pocket and handed it to her as they entered the house.

Astrid examined the tube in the gray light of the open door while Nuffink started a fire.

She knew instantly that it wasn't New Berkian. Theirs were tooled leather; gorgeous in their own right, but nothing as ostentatious as this. She noted the bird amidst the knotwork, either an eagle or a raven, both symbols of Odin, which meant it was Viking…but New Berk was the wealthiest of the Archipelago islands since the war, so the only other explanation for it's Viking make was that someone inside the Archipelago had enough gold stashed away to make them…and the only other place left was Outcast Island.

"You said you found this in the Records Room?" she asked.

"Yeah, on Dad's desk," Nuff replied as he dusted off his hands and rose to his feet.

Astrid gave it back to him and shut the door. "You didn't see anything else unusual while you were in there, did you?"

Nuff shook his head and shrugged his shoulders."No. Why? Is something going on?" His eyes widened in excitement. "Does it have to do with the Picts?"

Shit, Astrid thought. Nuffink was too smart for his own good sometimes.

I can't have him get involved—my going behind Hiccup's back is bad enough. If Nuff were to do so based on what I've said…Hiccup would never forgive me.

"I don't know," she replied, trying to remain vague, "Since we're not sure who razed the village—"

"But I thought you said it was the—"

"I know what I said." She swallowed the rising bile as she continued the lie, "Appearances can be deceiving. Speaking of appearances, you mentioned making a necklace out of the tube for Anika?

Her son's cheeks turned pink. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck.

Hiccup does the same thing when he's nervous.

"What would you say if I said I think I like Anika?"

Astrid chose her words carefully. "Certainty would be better; do you or don't you?"

"That's just it, I don't know. I mean, I miss our friendship. We haven't really been friends since the whole Kjartan thing and then the village making a big deal about the crush she had on me."

Astrid did a double take. "Wait a minute, you knew about the crush she had on you?" That's new. I'm going to have to talk to Heather about this.

"The whole village talked about it, Mom. Kinda hard to ignore. It's why I've given her space all this time—because the village gossiping about it just embarrasses her."

"First of all, I'm very proud of you for respecting her need for space. That shows you have honor. " She quirked him a smile, "All the best warriors have it. Second, have you told Anika any of this?"

Nuff shook his head slightly and looked at the floor. "No. She gets really antsy if I stick around longer than a few minutes because people start gossiping and it makes everything worse for her."

"I see."

"What should I do?"

"Think about your feelings for her, whatever they may be. I want you to be certain of them—and you do need to talk with her about everything you've told me."

"Okay. When?"

Astrid chuckled. Brass tacks. Just like me. "Let me speak with Aunt Heather first, then I will let you know."

Nuffink nodded. "Okay. So, can I still make her the necklace?"

Astrid paused before speaking. "While that's very sweet of you, I think you should wait on that for now."

"Why?"

"Because it could send the wrong message. If you only care for her as a friend, giving such a gift might be considered romantic when that isn't the case."

"Oh."

Astrid gestured for him to sit at the table as she pulled up a chair. "Since we're on the topic, though, I would love to hear your thoughts on that."

MEANWHILE…

Heather sighed with exhaustion as she walked up the hill to her family's new home. Thor help us to figure out what's going on, she prayed.

So much about everything she and Astrid were doing didn't sit well with her—the sneaking off, the lying—a wry smile tweaked her mouth as she chuckled to herself. That hadn't been a problem for her back when she'd been moonlighting for Viggo all those years ago, but of course, she'd been willing to do anything then to avenge her father's death, and she'd cut herself off from her peers which, to her mind, had justified the sneaking off and the lying.

Thoughts of Fishlegs came to mind, his eyes always kind, always willing to listen to her and give her advice. He had always been an anchor for her, a calm in her always present storm. She had learned calm from him in all their years of marriage, and had learned to listen and mull things over before making a decision, which clashed with her charge-in-and-take-it berserker blood, but she was a better person because of that calm. He made her want to be a better person…and the secret keeping was the worst part of this whole ordeal.

Fishlegs, however, had been busy keeping up with the healing duties and funerals and hadn't asked twice when she'd said she'd be accompanying Astrid on aid days. I hope he asks me soon. I don't know how much longer I can keep this to myself.

Her attention was drawn to the front door at the sound of teasing tones. She opened the door to see her eldest son Anders walking back and forth around his older sister Anika, who stood at the fire stirring the pot of weak fish stew, voicing in a sing-song way:

"Anika and Nuffink! Anika and Nuffink!"

Heather was just about to reprimand him when Anika whipped around and smacked him hard across the face, her own beet red in anger.

"Tease me again and I'll slap you clear into next Thor's Day!"

"Anika!" Heather exclaimed, shocked. Her youngest daughter never raised her voice and never lashed out physically.

Anika turned away from the stew, picked up a cooled iron pan, placed it on the table and began scrubbing it clean with salt.

Heather walked up to her son and knelt in front of him. His hazel-flecked eyes filled with shock and tinged with tears as he held his hand to his face, already red and starting to swell.

She smoothed his light brown hair and gently pushed him towards the door into the Healing House. "Go get a cool rag from your father. I will speak with your sister."

Anders nodded, still stunned, and walked away.

Heather waited until the door had closed, then grabbed a dirty pot and some lye, stood next to her daughter, and began to clean the pot.

"What happened?"

Anika thrust the pan away with a dull clang, a whimper escaping her lips as hot tears ran down her face.

"I'm so tired of everyone in the village commenting on Nuffink every time love is mentioned! Yes, I adored him then, he protected my honor; how could I not? But all anyone remembers is how besotted I was with him, and no one will let me forget it!"

Heather took a breath, quelling the urge to fight whomever in the village had teased her daughter, again.

"I see," she managed to say, "So Anders isn't the only one who's teased you today?"

Anika shook her head and sniffled, wiping her face with the palm of her hand. "No. I'm sorry I hit him."

"We'll talk about that in a minute. Who else teased you?"

Anika's cheeks turned pink. "Mrs. Bengtsson."

"Aerica?!" Heather exclaimed.

Anika looked at her. "It was in jest, Mama—"

"But it clearly still ruffled your feathers, and Aerica knows better! The whole village knows better and yet you're still getting teased? I can see why you slapped your brother, but that's still no excuse." She scrubbed a particularly stuck spot before continuing, "What does Nuffink have to say about all this?"

Silence met her ears. Heather turned her head to see Anika looking into the pan once more, barely scrubbing.

"If he knows anything, he hasn't spoken to me," she replied, her voice small.

Heather placed her hand on her hip. "You haven't talked with him about this?"

Anika shook her head, her face turning bright red.

Realization struck like lightning. How did I not catch this? Reprimand immediately followed. Oh yeah, because I've been traipsing the Archipelago with Astrid and literally haven't been here. "You still have feelings for him, don't you?"

Anika nodded and looked at her. "It's not just a crush, Mama; I care for him. He's good. I see it every day, and not just because he defended me. He cares about the village and everyone in it, he's strong, always willing to lend a hand, he's quickly becoming one of the strongest warriors…sure he's a bit of a bull in a china shop, but I love that about him. Any girl would be lucky to have him…"

Heather ran her hand down her daughter's straw blonde braid, the only one of her children to have Fishleg's hair. "I sense a 'but' coming."

Anika hung her head. "He's learning to be chief. And with the fire and everything, he has enough to worry about. He has no reason to take notice of me."

"Is that why you've been making yourself busy helping your father and the midwives?"

Anika nodded. "I want to be known in the village for more than just my feelings for Nuffink."

"And that's to be commended."

"Then why is relationship status all that matters to everyone else?"

"I don't know, sweetheart, but I do know that you need to tell Nuffink how you feel."

Anika's eyes widened with fear.

"Unspoken words just makes for more hurt later on," Heather continued. Speaking of which, now's as good a time as any to tell Fishlegs. "How long have you cared for Nuffink this way?"

Anika hung her head in embarrassment and stared at the ground. "Since summer, when he started learning how to be Chief from Uncle Hiccup." (about 4 months)

"I see." I'm going to have to talk to Astrid about this. "Would giving you a deadline to speak with Nuffink help you or make it worse?"

Anika stood silent as she contemplated her answer, then said: "It would help, so long as it's not too soon."

Heather nodded. "All right then, the deadline is Snoggletog. Does that sound fair to you?"

Anika nodded. "Yes, Mama."

Heather smiled and embraced her daughter. "I love you."

Anika squeezed her tight. "I love you, too." She then pulled herself arms length away. "I'm going to go apologize to Anders."

"That's my girl," Heather replied, "While you're there, could you tell your father I need to speak with him?"

Anika nodded, then turned and walked away.

Heather sighed as she finished scrubbing the pan Anika had started, the weak stew bubbled softly over the fire behind her.

"Hey! You're home!"

She looked up and smiled as Fishlegs entered the room, walked up, wrapped his arm around her, and kissed her lips.

"How was the Northern Markets trip?" he continued, "Anika said you wanted to speak with me?"

Heather paused a moment before responding. "Yes…Fishlegs, I haven't been entirely honest with you…"

LATER THAT NIGHT…

Hiccup put down the charcoal pencil as he sat at his desk in the Records Room, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the ever-mounting stress.

The limits to what he could do for the village were growing smaller by the day, and come winter…there would be nothing left to do but watch his people starve.

He hung his head, staring blankly at the new lower statistic of food supplies. There were only two more aid days left; and that would barely bring enough to last December. Come New Year, they would have nothing.

How did I let this happen?

Fluttering wings drew his attention. He turned towards the open window and saw a small falcon perched on the sill. The bird adjusted his wings and folded them, then cocked his head and placed a dark beady eye on him.

Hiccup's heart sank. Great, he thought, What does he want from me, now?

Hiccup paused before rising, listening to make sure no one was around. Satisfied, he rose form his desk and walked to the window.

He stroked the bird's feathers before untying the tooled leather message tube from the bird's leg, popped the small cap, and removed a rolled piece of paper.

Hiccup leaned against the window sill as he unrolled the paper, and read the familiar writing:

You're overdue.

Pay up, or the peace you cherish so dearly really WILL come to an end.

Hiccup clenched his jaw and crumpled the paper, mentally kicking himself. My father would never have done this, I never would have done this…were I a different man…

He winced as Drago's wound throbbed. When it had subsided, he walked back to the desk, pulled a fresh piece of message paper, and scribbled his response.

It's all there.

Keep your end of the deal by making sure that grain gets here.

Hiccup pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and removed the false bottom, revealing a bank of gold coins. He pulled out ten, and a rag, and wrapped them. When he had secured them to the falcon's leg, he went back to his desk, and rolled up the message. As he reached over by the candle, where the gold tube lay, he noticed it was missing.

Panic spiked. Where is it? It was right there. He pocketed the rolled message and searched his desk, all around the surface, in the drawers, underneath, but it was nowhere to be found.

Odin's beard, he swore as he ran his hand down his face, I can't lose that…

A/N:

Aaand enter Anika! I had a lot of fun writing her character because she's a bit like me. I'm so glad I finally finished this chapter, my longest one yet! I had a lot of plotting work to do, which was done piecemeal since I started a new job, moved to a new town, and dealt with two family bombs :( BUT, get ready for lots more story, because I am DETERMINED to finish it for y'all. I got a lot of great stuff planned that I want you all to see. Once again, thank you to all of you who read this fanfic and have marked it as a favorite and have update alerts on it! I hope you all enjoy this long-awaited chapter!