Time really gets away from me... anywho, here's to longer chapters!
-HTTYD-
Dragons could be complicated, Valka had found. They had complex needs, moods, emotions, and some were very hard work to win over, even with the soothing effects of the Alpha in their nest.
Men, on the other hand? Men were easy. At least, all the men Valka met in taverns were. All she had to do was make eye contact, look away with a demure, shy expression before peering 'shyly' over the cup she was drinking from. Within a minute or two, they'd be sliding in to the nearest seat to her.
It had worked every single time so far.
Valka wished she didn't need it, but there were a few things she couldn't get from dragons. Conversation, to some extent, yes, and Valka would have wagered she understood them more than any other human, but just sometimes it was refreshing to hear a human voice that wasn't threatening to kill her in surprisingly creative ways.
And aside from conversation, Valka couldn't really get sex from dragons either, and sometimes a tumble in someone elses sheets with someone she didn't know was what she needed to take the edge off the constant fighting that comprised much of her days. So when she needed it, Valka went looking. Besides which, taverns were often an amazing place to overhear the chatter of the Hunters, who gravitated to alcohol and women as much as they did brutalising dragons.
She dressed rather plainly; it was important to blend in to the background, only be noticed if she wanted to be. Had Cloudjumper drop her at least a mile or two away, and she'd walk. He didn't like it, but seemed to reluctantly accept that Valka was going to do it anyway, so he'd just grumble when he saw her get ready of an evening - if it was market stalls they were seeking, they'd go when it was light out.
Valka was no longer the naive girl who'd married before she saw eighteen summers though, and she always had a small weapon about her person. It hadn't been needed yet, but she never went without it. Just in case.
People in taverns were very different to Berk. On Berk, Valka's narrow frame had been something of a flaw to most, with poorly-stifled tutting that she wouldn't last a rough winter and her mother always adding extra layers to her clothing. Valka had always been rather fond of the cold, and frequently passed off the extras to the younger children before slipping off in to the woods to disable the dragon traps. In the taverns, her build was not disparaged, and when it was clear that both parties were seeking something that ended by next sunrise, Valka didn't have to hear comments about her shape being so ill-suited to bearing 'an heir befitting a chief!'.
That was the only thought of Berk that still made her throat tight with grief. Her baby boy. Frail and premature, but so bright and engaging. He was all she missed, even if she could picture Stoick now, working to grow him in to the perfect heir, until he was a teenager celebrating their very first dragon kill.
Shaking off the thoughts and memories as she felt Cloudjumper dip into a landing, Valka dismounted and thanked her dragon.
"I'll only be a few hours. You could go exploring, or find somewhere to rest, just stay safe."
He gave her an eye roll - letting her know he disapproved - before cooing softly as Valka rubbed a hand along his jaw, scratched gently under his chin. He shuffled back before taking off, disappearing up high. It was comforting for her, not having to worry he was on the island full of strangers. There were a few pretty empty islands nearby, and a nice expanse of ocean he could go fishing in without disturbing too many locals.
With a hood up to keep the dust and wind out of her hair, Valka escaped from the spot disguised by trees and darkness and headed down the path, hearing the sounds of traders closing their stalls, passed by people winding their way home after a long afternoon of drinking until she arrived at her destination.
The time just as the sky was dark, when afternoon and trade were over was a good time to slip in unnoticed, when it wasn't so busy Valka would feel a little out of her depth but enough that nobody paid new entries much mind, more focused on getting a beer and a stew into hungry bellies. She glanced around to ensure she hadn't accidentally wandered in to that kind of tavern again. It had meant an awkward conversation when she was propositioned, and earned the ire of the Madam there, who thought Valka was trying to steal her business.
But she saw only tired men and equally tired women, and the usual amount of fruitless, desperate flirting that a building swimming with intoxicants couldn't seem to avoid. She settled at the bar, stools either side of her empty as many had retired to tables to eat. Valka ordered briskly, ensuring the bar man knew she did not wish to be engaged, at least not yet. The ale wasn't spectacular, but it left that warm sensation sliding down her throat as she drunk, so that was good enough for her.
As the dinner rush passed, the usual rowdy air returned, men drinking and chatting, occasionally with an irate looking wife nearby. Valka had never gone drinking in the Meade Hall with Stoick, because she detested hearing them crowing with triumph about killing dragons. Plus, as a seventeen year old bride, she often heard "this isn't talk for a young wife" from the older women, who shooed her back to things like cleaning and cooking. Neither of which she was very good at.
If anything, life in the nest had made her excellent in one and lazy in the other - cleaning was a necessity, especially wounds and any tooth or claw shed by a dragon, because babies would pick them up and hurt themselves. But with only herself to cook for, Valka had never felt the need to improve. She could feed herself, and the dragons ate raw.
Shaking off all those thoughts - it wouldn't do to stop paying attention to her surroundings - Valka lowered her hood properly and began to casually peruse the patrons. Sometimes there was nobody who she truly took a liking to, but that was rare enough. She had standards for behaviour, but for looks? A man who didn't resemble Stoick was usually enough for her, in all honesty.
Finally, her eyes landed on someone she did like the look of. Tall and broad, but less 'vast' than Stoick, and no beard or flaming red hair. Dark hair and an interesting tattoo along his strong jaw. His skin was sun-weathered, and he looked a little older than her, but that didn't bother her.
She let their eyes meet. Lingered just a second before turning away, doing her best to appear shy and surprised before the surreptitious glances over her cup. And just like all the other times she'd employed it, it worked like a charm. Valka tried to avoid vanity, and wondered if it was actually her, or the illusion of subservience that drew them over. There had been some looks and sounds of surprise when they found her thin body surprisingly strong and sturdy.
Of course, they didn't know she spent her life around dragons, which required a fair bit of strength. Especially carting around precocious babies who liked to be doted upon.
He landed in the stool next to her, and when he spoke Valka noticed his Norse was a little broken - not from these parts. Which she liked. Less chance they might have made contact with Berk.
And, some nights, she was thankful because it meant less chance they'd want to talk.
"Mind if I sit here?"
"Not at all."
He ordered a refill for his drink before turning back to her.
"I'm Eret. Son of Eret. Father to the next."
It rolled off his tongue rather easily, and Valka got the feeling he always introduced himself that way.
"I don't want to hear about your family."
He let out a low chuckle.
"Fair enough. I don't wanna hear about yours. What's your name?"
"Rona."
Always a fake name. Always a different fake name per tavern. They chatted rather clumsily, with his command of the language not so great and Valka's absolute disinterest in conversation that night. Still, she was polite enough to let him finish his drink first.
"Do you have a room here?"
"No, but my ship isn't far and the crew are all here. I'm captain, so I have my own cabin."
Valka tended not to let them take her away from the populated area, but he didn't come across terribly threatening. Maybe a bit full of himself, but he had the familiar scars of a fisherman on his hands that told her his life likely revolved around his ship, rather than whatever distant land he might have hailed from. She gave him a long enough look to let him know she thought about it, tracing a finger around the rim of her now-empty drinking cup.
"You go on ahead. I'll be along in a moment. It wouldn't do to be seen leaving together."
"Fair enough. I'll be waiting."
He gave her one last once-over before taking his leave. The way he looked at her was frankly obscene, particularly when they weren't alone, but Valka found herself minding very little. She could have done without the knowing looks of the barkeep, who this Eret had slipped extra coins and a wink before he left. Discretion? Or perhaps an apology for the others with him - now she was looking, Valka noticed a group of men that looked a little like him, each with tattoos on their faces and unusual fur trims on their clothes. She didn't recognise the language they spoke.
After a minute, Valka got up to use the facilities, which left much to be desired but it was better than finding out what sort of 'facilities' were going to be available on a ship entirely crewed by men.
He was waiting several feet away, leaning against a packed up stall and looking quite casual. That worked, really, since all either was after was casual.
"After you."
He gestured, but Valka baulked at the suggestion - he'd already drawn her away from the tavern, he wasn't going to get her to turn her back so easily.
"That would achieve very little, I don't know where we're going."
He hummed.
"A fair point."
And he turned his back happily, heading down a path where only half the street torches were lit. Still, before long Valka could see the outline of ships, smell the wind coming in from the sea. She checked, as they approached his ship, and didn't see familiar sails. Definitely not Hunter sails.
It had been a while since Valka was on a proper sailing vessel for something other than a fight, the sound of wood thunking under her boots with no competing noise surprisingly loud. The cabin was easy enough to spot even before Eret headed to it. Valka followed him in.
He kissed her. Valka was often on the fence about it; it was rarely done with talent, and given the mix of tavern food and bitter ale, it wasn't often a pleasant taste on their mouth. But his wasn't terrible, and those who kissed also usually took at least a little time to try and make sure Valka enjoyed herself too. That wasn't guaranteed with such brief encounters, and Valka had more than a handful of disappointing nights in her memories.
Things didn't turn badly until he took off his vest, pulling up the thick tunic he wore under it to ward off the chills of the sea.
They were smart enough not to have something too blatant as a marker, and even then, it was technically voluntary - the only ones marked by force were those who'd pissed off their bosses, from what Valka had seen.
But the scarred brand, traditionally placed upon the side of the hip was all too distinctive. Dragons head, sword through the middle.
"You're a hunter."
His face creased in confusion, looking down to his marking before looking back at her.
"Well, I... wait. How do you know what that means?"
The symbol was not yet common knowledge enough for her to know it simply in passing. Valka swallowed thickly as he surveyed her more closely, though he didn't immediately invade her space until he seemed to settle on what could have easily been absolute madness.
"Are you that vigilante who frees the dragons?"
Her silence seemed confirmation enough, as no excuse about knowing a hunter seemed forthcoming. He lunged. Valka stepped aside, fingers fumbling before they gripped the reassuring weight of a handle.
It was no thought out plan, no carefully planned attack. She thrust the blade out to defend herself as he leapt at her again. His weight and momentum combined with the lack of layers on his top half were enough, and the blade disappeared into his chest surprisingly easy. Even as Valka moved to pull the blade back his weight had pressed down enough that, as he started to bleed, the dagger slipped through her fingers, nicking her hand as it fell to the ground. He stumbled back, hands rising to his chest. There were still fur wristbands on his forearms, the grey fur quickly staining a dark red before he slumped to the ground.
Valka stepped back, partially to avoid the blood spreading across the wood, and partially just to try and distance herself from what had just happened.
Yes, she'd rather given up on any guilt over killing hunters in a fire fight. How was she to feel about this? His blood dripped from her hands even as she still tasted his drink on her lips.
Shaking her head to clear it, Valka looked around. She grabbed some fabric to wipe her hands, another to wrap the cut so it wouldn't leave an obvious trail. She had to leave before his crew returned to find her standing over his corpse. Heart pounding, shoved the dagger back in its hold and fled.
She'd probably only been gone an hour or so, but she found the spot where she'd left Cloudjumper before and sat, back resting against a tree trunk when she slumped down to the ground. What had just happened? Valka had gone out to get some stress relief, blow off steam. Instead, she found herself standing over the body of a hunter, only discovered by the brand on his hip that barely anybody knew how to recognise.
Pressing down hard on her cut hand to try and stem the bleeding, Valka drew in some deep breaths, pain helping to clarify her thoughts a little as she came to a surprisingly guilt-free conclusion.
What was to stop her doing it again?
-HTTYD-
I apologise to little Eret (as in, HTTYD2 Eret) who is only about 15 at this point.
