The Heir's Odyssey
Chapter 1 – A World on Fire
Hiccup Haddock
His name was Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III — a strange name to some, perhaps, but it was considered a good name amongst his people. After all, Viking tradition warranted that all newborn members of a tribe be given a strong name which would ward off gnomes and trolls. Regrettably, Viking tradition also warranted that the runt of the litter be called a Hiccup, hence his oxymoronic name. He belonged to the Hairy Hooligans tribe — one of the fiercest, strongest, and most stubborn Viking tribes in all of Europe. Despite being born into a revered tribe, and even being the son of its chief, Hiccup wasn't much of a Viking at all.
Whereas other Vikings were broad, tall, and nearly bursting with muscle covered in a generous layer of fat, Hiccup was one of the smallest, skinniest Vikings to have ever been born. Even at fifteen he remained the runt of the tribe — no taller than five-foot-eight, and probably the weakest Viking around. That, in and of itself, wouldn't be an issue if he could just manage to do his part for the tribe. The Hairy Hooligans didn't care what you looked like, only that you could provide for the tribe. But for Hiccup, providing for the tribe was still a work in progress.
His home, Berk, was an island in the Barbaric Archipelago off the northwest coast of Europe, situated south of Iceland and west of Ireland. The island itself was average in size, mostly covered by coniferous forests and rocky outcrops. Surrounded by sea stacks of various sizes, Berk was divided in two by a tall mountain range, with its tallest peaks retaining a permanent dusting of snow.
At the tip of the southern half of the island was his village, built along a stream and around the harbour. The average-sized settlement stretched out from the docks to the foothills of Raven Point — an isolated mountain of average height, located well south of Berk's main range. It consisted of twin peaks, Huginn and Muninn — named after the pair of ravens who flew the world and brought information to the god Odin.
For most of the year, Berk was either being covered in snow or being showered with rain. Even in the summertime, the weather was mostly cloudy, with only a limited number of sunny days every year. And the lousy weather wasn't the only problem with Berk, its real problem was the pests which plagued the island. Now while most places had rats or insects to deal with, Berk was faced with beasts of a different kind altogether. Massive, flying, fire-breathing reptiles — dragons.
It would seem crazy that anyone would ever want to live in a place like that, but the Vikings that made up his tribe were a particularly stubborn bunch. They had lived on Berk for three-hundred years, and they weren't about to leave just because life was a little difficult. Still, their refusal to leave Berk had come with a heavy cost. The Hairy Hooligans had been in a never-ending war with the dragons for as long as anyone could remember. A war which had resulted in hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths and a village which was constantly being burned to the ground.
Hiccup awoke to the cacophonous sounds of chaos. Getting out of bed, he ran towards his window, looking through the cracks between the shutters to see the dark blue of the early morning sky and occasional flashes of orange and red. Dragons were raiding the village. This would mark the beginning of yet another pre-dawn dragon raid. The beasts were so regular in their attacks that everyone in the village knew to go to bed fully dressed, lest you waste precious moments getting dressed whilst their homes were burnt, and their livestock was stolen. Pulling on his brown, fur vest over his green, woollen tunic, Hiccup quickly searched his bedroom for his brown, fur-trimmed, leather boots. Once found, he swiftly put them on, ran down the stairs, and opened the front door of his house.
The minute he did so, a massive, red and black, Monstrous Nightmare dragon flew right over the front of his home and blasted a torrent of fire his way. Hiccup quickly retreated back into his home and slammed the door shut just in time to avoid being burned by the fire. He felt the heat of the dragon's blast through the door, with tendrils of flame shooting through the cracks between the door and the door frame. When the heat finally diminished, the boy slowly opened the door to find that the massive beast was gone, with the front of his home now looking like a charred, smoking, and still-glowing wreck.
He didn't have time to worry about that, though, the village fire brigade would get to it once the more serious fires were put out. He needed to get down to the smithy where he was an apprentice blacksmith to help his mentor. Gobber would likely need help making, distributing, and repairing weapons. Dragon raids meant Vikings looking for weapons and that in turn meant a busy forge. As he darted out the door, Hiccup could see that the village was in chaos, with warriors running in all directions — each engaged in their own melees with the dragons. Running past the busy Vikings and ducking under swinging battle-axes, he only managed to make it a few yards before a boulder blast from a Gronkle dragon flying overhead exploded a few feet away. He was thankfully far enough that the blast only knocked him down and dazed him temporarily.
Just as he was about to get up, a Viking jumped over him, only stopping for a second to yell a greeting at his face. The people of his village were just so charming. Pushing himself up off the ground, Hiccup darted along the dirt paths of the village, dodging oncoming Vikings as he made his way to Gobber's workshop. As he ran there, he could hear their shouts of surprise and consternation at seeing him out during a dragon raid. When Hiccup had said that his ability to provide for the tribe was a work in progress, he really meant that every previous attempt had resulted in catastrophic failure. And his tribe knew of every single one.
"What are you doing here?!" shouted a blond-haired man carrying a barrel of water.
"Get back inside!" yelled a red-haired woman wielding a battle-axe.
Unfortunately, those reactions upon seeing Hiccup outside during a dragon raid weren't uncommon. Hiccup was fifteen years old, an age where one was considered to be old enough to fight for the tribe, but he was still treated like a child. The villagers had witnessed all of his very public failures and had decided that it was better for him to be out of the way when they were all trying to protect their homes. The prevailing view of the village was that it was better to have him locked away indoors with the children rather than have him outside trying to help. And then subsequently fail in a disastrous manner, which would reinforce their opinion of him.
Hiccup didn't let that get him down, though. While he didn't have the physical prowess of a typical Viking, Hiccup had a keen mind and an above-average intellect. It would only be a matter of time before they would see that his intellectual acuity was a great contribution to the tribe. It didn't matter that his previous attempts to create new inventions and weapons had backfired, he was sure that at least one of his inventions would prove to be a smashing success.
Just as he crossed into the village's main square, he was suddenly pulled up and out of the way of a Deadly Nadder dragon swooping down to blast a beam of fire right where he had been. Looking up at the person who had saved him, Hiccup saw that it was his father, the Chief of Berk — Stoick Haddock. He was a strong, broad-shouldered, forty-year-old man with fiery-red hair, forest green eyes, and a large, braided beard. Standing at six-foot-four, Stoick the Vast truly lived up to his epithet. A warrior from birth, it was said that he was only a baby when he ripped a dragon's head right off its shoulders. In essence, Hiccup couldn't be any more different from his father.
"Hiccup!" his father yelled as he saved his son's life. "What are you doing out?! Get inside!"
A moment later, Hiccup was back on the ground, and he almost flew in the direction of the forge when his father tried to direct him to Gobber. And that was with his father using his gentle touch. Turning back for a moment, Hiccup saw his father pick up an empty, wooden wheelbarrow and launch it up at a Deadly Nadder, which had a sheep in its talons and was trying to flee. The small, wooden cart shattered upon impact with the dragon, the beast now forced to let go of its catch. Crossing the last few yards between himself and the smithy, Hiccup saw the villagers raising large braziers on tall, wooden beams to help light the skies.
When he finally reached Gobber's workshop, he could see his mentor already busy hammering a bent sword back into its straight shape on the anvil. Gobber Ógæfason¹ was a bald, broad-shouldered, six-foot tall man of forty-five years of age with blue eyes, a bit of a pot-belly, and a long, braided, blonde moustache. Having lost his left arm and right leg to dragons in his youth, the man had a wooden peg leg and a prosthetic arm with interchangeable attachments. Holding a sword flat on the anvil using his right hand, the man used his hammer prosthetic attachment to beat down on the heated steel and mould it into its proper shape.
"Oh, nice of you to join the party," the blacksmith commented as Hiccup entered the workshop. "I thought you'd been carried off!"
Hiccup exchanged his fur vest for a leather apron, stopping only to pick up Gobber's mace prosthetic attachment and store it back on the hooks attached to the wall. He had been the man's apprentice ever since he was small, or at least smaller. Gobber had always been there for him when his father had been busy with his duties as chief. The blacksmith had watched over him, taught him, and cooked for him — the man was practically family.
"Who, me?" Hiccup said sarcastically, falling easily back into their usual banter. "Come on, I'm way too muscular for their taste. They wouldn't know what to do with all this."
The boy tried his best to flex his arms and puff out his chest, but both the blacksmith and the apprentice knew that it wouldn't do much. There wasn't much muscle on Hiccup to flex, anyway, he was mostly just skin and bones.
"They need toothpicks, don't they?" Gobber remarked.
Well, the man wasn't wrong, but Hiccup didn't have time to retort. Pushing open the shutters at the workshop's counter, he picked up a fresh batch of damaged weapons and placed them onto the hot coals. Walking around, Hiccup used his entire body weight to compress the bellows and release air onto the coals, causing them to glow brighter as the air fed the flames, and more heat was produced.
"Fire!" someone yelled from the main square. "We need the fire brigade!"
With the workshop's shutters now open, Hiccup could see his peers working as part of the fire brigade. They used buckets to collect water from barrels placed strategically around the village and threw them upon the burning buildings. There was Fishlegs Ingerman, an intelligent, rotund, blond-haired, green-eyed boy of fourteen years of age who stood at five-foot-ten. Beside him was Snotlout Jorgenson, an arrogant, muscled, fifteen-year-old boy who was five feet, seven inches tall, had black hair and grey eyes. He was, unfortunately, also Hiccup's third cousin. And the cunning, blond-haired, blue-eyed, fraternal twins who were fighting over a single bucket of water were Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston. The girl, Ruffnut, who stood at five-foot-nine, was slightly taller than the boy, Tuffnut, who stood at five-foot-eight.
Finally, there was Astrid Hofferson, a confident, strong, and competitive fifteen-year-old girl. Though she had the reputation of being aloof and short-tempered, the five-foot-nine, blue-eyed blonde was still the most beautiful and sought-after girl on Berk. In Hiccup's mind, Astrid was the most beautiful girl on Midgard — a goddess amongst mortals. He hadn't really interacted much with her, having only talked to her a few times when she brought in her axe to be sharpened. And even those short conversations had him tongue-tied. She was a brave, loyal warrior who the village believed would grow up to become a shield-maiden — a woman who pledged to be a maiden and fight in service of her tribe. She was way out of his league.
If he could only find a way to impress her, maybe then he could get her attention. The only problem was that Astrid was a warrior through and through, he would need to kill a dragon to even get noticed by her. Maybe Hiccup could use the mobile bola-launcher he had been working on — that would at least down a dragon. Hiccup hadn't even realized that he had drifted closer to the counter in his musings and was even leaning out to follow Astrid until Gobber had lifted him up and away from the window using his prosthetic arm. His mentor frowned, likely because Hiccup had stopped working in favour of staring at his crush.
"Eh! Focus, lad!" Gobber told him.
"Oh, come on, Gobber," Hiccup said, frustrated at being kept indoors. "Let me out, please. I need to make my mark."
"Oh, you've made plenty of marks," Gobber replied, putting him down and using his prosthetic arm to nudge him back into the workshop. "All in the wrong places, I might add."
"Please," the apprentice begged. "Just give me two minutes outside. I'll kill a dragon and I'll be right back. If I do that, my life will get infinitely better. I might even get a date."
"Hiccup, you can't lift a hammer, you can't swing an axe, you can't even throw one of these." Gobber said in exasperation, picking up a set a bolas to make his point.
A passing Viking plucked them straight out of Gobber's hand and threw them up in the air, catching a Grockle by the legs. The beast's weight was now unbalanced, and it struggled to keep itself in the air. Soon enough, it began losing altitude and tumbled to the ground where it was met by nets. The Gronkle would likely be captured and placed in Berk's Warrior Training Academy, where it would be used by young Vikings training to kill dragons.
"Okay, fine," he conceded, moving to the back of the shop and patting his bola-launcher. "But this will throw it for me."
His mentor may have had a point about him not being able to do all of the things he listed, but if there was one thing Hiccup was sure of, it was that when one could perform the task themself, then a machine could do it for them. Unfortunately, the bola-launcher was still an untested invention, and Hiccup's touch had caused it to spring up without warning and launch a projectile through the workshop's window and at a passing Viking. Gobber himself barely managed to avoid being struck by the projectile.
"See, this right here is what I'm talking about!" his mentor said, moving in his direction.
"It's just a mild calibration issue. I can fix that in no ti—" Hiccup tried to say before being interrupted.
"Hiccup!" Gobber yelled in frustration. "If you ever want to be let out there and fight dragons, you need to stop all of this."
The man gestured to Hiccup's general area to make his point. Though, if he was talking about Hiccup's entire person or the bola-launcher next to him was unclear. If he had to take a guess, he would say it was the former.
"You just pointed to all of me!" the boy replied.
"Yes, that's it!" Gobber said. "Just stop being all of you, and then you can go out to fight dragons."
Well, that hurt quite a bit. Even though Hiccup was used to having others be disappointed in him, it still stung when it came from his father or Gobber. So he did what he always did when he felt hurt or embarrassed, he used his patented snarky defence mechanism.
"Oh, no. " Hiccup said in warning.
"Oh, yes." Gobber replied back.
"You, sir, are playing a dangerous game. Keeping this much raw Viking-ness contained?" Hiccup said, gesturing to himself. "I'm warning you, there will be consequences!"
"I'll take my chances." Gobber said. "Sword. Sharpen. Now."
With that command, the blacksmith tossed a sword at his chest and turned back to his own work. Hiccup sighed in resignation and used all the strength in his body to move the heavy sword to the grindstone and press it firmly against the rapidly-turning rock. One day, Hiccup would be let outside with the others and would finally be treated like an adult. And when the time was right, he would seize the opportunity and kill a dragon.
Maybe he could kill a Deadly Nadder, those were considered to be a kill good enough to get noticed as an up and coming warrior. Having sharp, detachable, poisonous spines running the length of their tails and one of the hottest flames known to man, they were not easy prey. Or maybe Hiccup could kill a Gronkle, a dragon with an especially tough hide, and a mace-like tail which was known to eat rocks and turn them into lava. Killing one of them would definitely get him a girlfriend. Or maybe even a Hideous Zippleback, an especially exotic beast with two heads — one for spewing flammable gas and another for lighting it aflame. Killing a beast with two heads meant receiving twice the status. Then there was the Monstrous Nightmare, a dragon with an especially large wingspan and the ability to set itself on fire. Only the best Vikings went after those dragons.
"Night Fury!" someone outside yelled. "Everybody, get down!"
In the distance, Hiccup could see a blast of purple flying towards a catapult tower and then a massive explosion. One blast had managed to destroy the entire structure, the wood splintering into small pieces and collapsing. Not even the tower's stone base had survived. The Night Fury was considered to be the ultimate kill for any Viking. No-one had ever seen the dragon, only the purple blasts that it sent raining down upon them. The beast never showed itself, never stole food, and never missed its target. Nobody had ever killed a Night Fury before. Hiccup was determined to be the first.
"Man the fort, Hiccup!" Gobber called, as he exchanged his hammer prosthetic attachment for a double-bladed axe prosthetic attachment. "They need help out there."
His mentor hobbled out of the workshop and into the square before stopping like he had forgotten something and then turned back to face Hiccup.
"Stay. Put. There." Gobber ordered. "You know what I mean, lad."
With that said, the man let out a battle cry, raised his double-bladed axe prosthetic attachment, and moved into the melee.
If Hiccup was being honest, he would admit that it was a bit humiliating to be ordered to stay put as if he was a dog. Even Gobber had been asked to fight, and the man was missing two of his limbs. If a Viking missing half his limbs was going to help repel the raid, then surely Hiccup could be of use. After all, the boy still had all of his limbs. Yes, this time would be the time he would succeed. He would go out and shoot down a dragon with his bola-launcher, and once it was incapacitated, Hiccup would kill it and finally get the respect of his tribe.
Swapping out his leather apron for his fur vest, Hiccup closed the shutters, which hung in front of the workshop's counter, and headed to the back of the shop. Using the two handles at the back of the bola-launcher, he picked it up and began wheeling it outside. Pushing past a few people who had lined up to get their weapons fixed, he crossed the village square and headed to the edge of the village. He would have a better vantage point from there.
"Be right back!" he yelled as he passed some villagers who were heading to Gobber's workshop.
Darting through alleyways and between homes, Hiccup soon reached the cliffs near the outskirts of the village. Once there, he deposited his machine and quickly assembled it, aiming it at the skies above the sea. He could hear a faint roar coming from over the water, but he saw nothing. The Night Fury had to have been flying over the nearby waters, circling the village from above to look for targets.
"Come on," Hiccup muttered to himself. "Give me something to shoot at. Give me something to shoot at."
The young Viking heard a roar and began to scan the pre-dawn sky to look for the beast. Squinting, he could see a dark shape passing over the twinkling stars, blocking out the starlight temporarily. This was it. Hiccup had found the Night Fury. A familiar whistle began building up, as the beast sped down towards the village, and mere seconds later, one of the last standing catapult towers was reduced to rubble. The flames from the explosion provided the young Viking all the light he needed to see his target.
Aiming at the dark shape, Hiccup fired the bola-launcher and sent its payload hurtling toward the dragon. The recoil from the machine caused him to fall to the ground, but Hiccup quickly steadied himself and looked at the bolas flying through the air. A moment later, he heard a deafening screech of pain. Then, a dark shape fell rapidly in the direction of the woods near Raven Point. The dragon had been hit! Hiccup had managed to hit a Night Fury!
"I hit it! Yes, I hit it!" he cheered loudly.
Turning back around to face the village, he yelled "Did anybody see that? I hit a Night Fury!"
There was, of course, nobody who answered. The villagers were too busy fighting off the dragons to notice what he did. It didn't matter, though, he would lead a hunting party toward the downed beast, and then they would see what he was capable of. They would see just how valuable he was to the tribe.
Hiccup's jubilation didn't last very long as his celebration had distracted him and led him to forget that he was in the midst of a dragon raid. In that time, a red and black Monstrous Nightmare had managed to scale the cliffs and smash the bola-launcher. The deafening growl that came from behind him brought the boy back to reality, and he turned around slowly to see a deadly beast standing mere feet away. It was the same dragon that had attacked his home earlier and had almost burnt Hiccup to a crisp.
"Except for you." Hiccup said, realizing that the only witness to his success had been another dragon.
Screaming, the teenager ran for his life in the direction of the village. It turned out that being inside might have been what was best for him, after all. What use was shooting down a Night Fury if he was too dead to show his father what he had accomplished? The young boy managed to use the dragon's size against it by darting through small alleyways back into the main square. Unfortunately, the dragon was blessed with keen senses and had followed him using the larger thoroughfares.
Dodging the streams of fire being thrown his way, Hiccup managed to get behind one of the tall, wooden pillars which supported the braziers lighting up the skies above the village. Maybe if he stayed very still and was very quiet, the beast would lose interest and then give up hunting Hiccup in favour of another target. After all, Gobber had said that he would just be a toothpick for the beasts, so it wasn't like a dragon would get a decent meal from eating him.
The flash of heat that the boy felt behind him meant that his strategy hadn't worked after all. The Monstrous Nightmare hadn't given up, and now it was either going to turn Hiccup into a pile of ashes, or it was going to eat him whole. Maybe he shouldn't have started celebrating before he could get back to his father and tell him of his deed. People had always said not to count your chickens until they hatched.
Just as the dragon moved around the pillar, Hiccup saw his father run into the square, leap and grab hold of the Monstrous Nightmare's jaws and twist them away from his son. The dragon tried to let out another stream of fire, but it seemed that all the blasting it had done earlier had tired it out, and there was no fire left in it. His father must have come to the same conclusion as the older Viking smirked at the beast.
"You're all out now." his father said, throwing punches and kicks at the dragon's head. In no time, Stoick the Vast had managed to get the dragon to retreat, the beast flying back to its nest.
Just as Hiccup was going to try to thank his father for his second save of the morning, the now charred, wooden pillar supporting the brazier groaned and gave out. The beam thankfully didn't hit him or anyone else, but the brazier that had been held atop it separated from the beam when it hit the ground and rolled over the edge of a walkway towards the harbour. Hiccup could hear the screeching of Vikings dodging the flaming obstacle that was rolling its way through the village. As the sun began to rise above the horizon, Hiccup could see that the raid was ending, with the dragons carrying off their catch towards their nest.
"Sorry, dad." Hiccup said dejectedly.
His father wasn't impressed. A large frown was on his face, and one of the veins on his temple was visibly throbbing in anger. It wouldn't be good for Hiccup's self-esteem or social status if his father decided to dress him down in front of the village yet again. Maybe he could try to salvage the situation.
"Okay, this looks bad. But I hit a Night Fury!" the young man said.
His father didn't listen, instead grabbing him by the back of his vest, and dragged him away from the wrecked square and in the direction of their home. As they crossed the square, the previously busy Vikings were now free to gawk at them and whisper about Hiccup's latest failure.
"That boy is a menace." someone muttered from among the crowd.
"Every time that boy leaves his home, chaos ensues." another anonymous villager mumbled.
"Hiccup the Useless strikes again," someone else said. "As if the dragon raids weren't bad enough, we have to deal with that little pest's trail of destruction."
And that last comment showed the true scale of the challenge that Hiccup faced. Far from respecting him, the village was actually ashamed of him, and some of the villagers even despised him. To them, he would always be Stoick's failure of a son. The epithet that some of the villagers had taken to using when talking about Hiccup said it all. One was typically given an epithet by the chief in a grand ceremony as acknowledgment for great deeds done for the tribe. Those who were more hostile to Hiccup had given the boy his own unofficial epithet, and it definitely wasn't one to be proud of.
"It's not like the last few times, dad!" Hiccup said as he was dragged away. "I really actually hit it! You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down off Raven Point. Let's get a hunting par—"
"Stop!" his father yelled as he let Hiccup go. "Just stop. Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is just a few months away, and I have an entire village to feed!"
"Well, just between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding." Hiccup said, making use of his typical snark.
"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" Stoick said angrily. "Why can't you follow the simplest orders and just stay inside?"
"I-I can't stop myself," he replied, stuttering for just a moment in the face of his father's anger and disappointment. "I see a dragon and I just have to kill it, you know? It's who I am, dad."
"Oh, you are many things, Hiccup," his dad said, holding his head with his hands in frustration. "But a dragon killer is not one of them. Get back to the house. Now."
Calling for Gobber to come to them, his father gave his friend an order. "Make sure he gets there, Gobber. I have his mess to clean up."
His mentor nodded to his father and gently flicked Hiccup's head using his flesh arm. It looked like the blacksmith was mad that Hiccup had disobeyed him as well and had left the forge unattended. As Gobber led him home, he could see his peers who had been helping put out fires earlier. They were in the crowd with the other villagers, watching as he was escorted back inside.
"That was quite the performance this morning, Haddock. Even the great god Loki himself couldn't dream of causing this much destruction on Berk." commented Tuffnut. "Respect."
Tuffnut's twin sister, Ruffnut, giggled at her brother's remark.
Fishlegs, one of Hiccup's few friends, gave him a small smile and a shrug as if to say that accidents happened.
His third cousin, Snotlout, had something less kind to say. "I've never seen anyone mess up that badly. Were you trying to help the dragons?" the boy taunted.
The one person whose opinion he actually cared about only silently gazed back at him for just a moment before locking her gaze on her axe. Great, just great. It looked like Astrid Hofferson was so ashamed of him that she couldn't even bring herself to look at him anymore. Instead of impressing her this morning, he had ended up embarrassing himself even more. He could hear Snotlout's guffaws at his failure, and Hiccup retreated back to his old defence mechanism.
"Thank you," he said sarcastically. "Thank you very much. I obviously was trying to do just that."
Gobber, at least, had his back, flicking Snotlout's head with such force that it caused the short and stocky boy to fall to the ground. That only managed to quiet his third cousin for a moment, but Hiccup was glad for the reprieve, however brief it might have been. With no battles raging around them anymore, Gobber had gotten Hiccup back to Haddock Hall in no time at all. The front was still a bit charred from the Monstrous Nightmare's fire, but he was sure that his father would have it fixed by the end of the day.
"I really did hit a Night Fury, Gobber." Hiccup muttered as he was led up to the door by his mentor.
"Of course, Hiccup." the blacksmith replied in a tone which implied that he didn't really believe Hiccup.
"He never listens." the boy complained.
"Well, that seems to run in the family." his mentor pointed out.
Hiccup didn't argue with that point. "When he does listen, it's with this disappointed scowl, like someone skimped on the meat in his sandwich. I guess that's what he finds wrong with me — someone skimped on the meat for his son."
Reaching the front door, Hiccup turned back around to face his mentor. "Excuse me, barmaid." Hiccup said, mimicking his father's voice. "I'm afraid you brought me the wrong offspring. I ordered an extra-large boy with beefy arms, extra guts and glory on the side. This here, this is a talking fishbone."
"You're thinking about this wrong, lad." Gobber said. "It's not so much what you look like that's the problem, it's what's inside that he can't stand."
"Thank you for summing that up." Hiccup said sarcastically.
"Look," the blacksmith said. "My point is stop trying so hard to be something you're not."
"I just wanna be one of you guys. I want to be a good Viking." he replied, entering his home and closing the door behind him before Gobber could say anything else.
He heard the man sigh from the other side of the door and waited until he heard footsteps leading away from the door. As soon as the sound of Gobber's footsteps faded, Hiccup raced up to his room to grab his journal and his dagger. There was no way he was staying inside when there was a downed Night Fury in the woods, waiting for someone to find its carcass. Running back downstairs, Hiccup sneaked out the back door and headed towards the forest near Raven Point. If he was lucky, he might be able to get to the dead dragon before midday and get back home to lead his father to it.
Stoick Haddock
Having made one last round through the village to examine their defences, Stoick headed back up the winding paths of Berk to the Great Hall. Sentries had been posted along the village's roads, the strategically-placed water barrels had been topped up, and the catapults had been readied with enough ammunition. All in all, it looked like the village was well prepared to fend off another dragon raid. The monsters that plagued the archipelago liked to raid his island regularly, usually every two weeks. The raids peaked in frequency during the summer with attacks occurring practically every week and they lulled in the winter when the raids usually came on a monthly basis. It was currently autumn and they hadn't faced a dragon attack in twelve days. That meant they were due for one any day.
Those damned beasts and their continuous raiding had resulted in Berk always struggling to collect and store enough food for the harsh, winter months. As Chief of Berk, it was Stoick's job to ensure that his people were safe and well-fed, but the man didn't feel like he was succeeding in either task. The autumn would last only another two months and then, before they knew it, winter would be upon them. There would be no more time for them to prepare for it, and the coming winter was looking like it would be an especially difficult one. Stoick had been taking inventory of their supplies and, to his dismay, they had less food in their stores now than they had at the same point the year before.
If only they could find the nest of those monsters, he could lead an expedition there and finally put an end to this long war. Their conflict with the dragons had lasted for so many generations that Stoick could barely even imagine a world where Berk was free from such a threat. How peaceful and prosperous would his island be if they could only rid themselves of their most persistent pests? He needed to make one last effort this year to set sail and attempt to find their nest, one last try before the winter came and ice formed around the island.
Nearing the Great Hall, the chief decided to made a quick detour to his own home before going to the village's main meeting place. He had wanted to check on his son before he went about with his duties for the night. Entering Haddock Hall quietly so as to not rouse his child, he climbed the stairs as silently as a six-foot-four man could in a relatively small space. He opened the door to his son's room and peered in. There was his little Hiccup sleeping soundly in an equally tiny bed. His son had always been small and even though the boy was now fifteen, his frame was not yet large enough to be that of a young man.
Hiccup was an intelligent and curious child, but not one who was particularly strong or adept at physical tasks. That was a problem in Viking society, but one which Stoick hoped would resolve itself as the boy matured and grew. Though he sometimes seemed more intelligent than most, if not all, of the island, the boy was prone to being easily distracted. Sometimes, Hiccup just couldn't seem to hold his focus on a single task, a personal failing which more often than not led to serious consequences. Stoick had tried being more firm with the boy but that approach had yet to yield any results. And if the man was being honest with himself, he didn't know if it ever would.
Being a single parent meant that Stoick never quite knew if he was going too easy on the boy, excusing him of bearing any responsibility for his actions, or if he was being too hard on him, placing too heavy a burden on his shoulders. He didn't have his wife there to bounce ideas off of and critique his decision-making. Even with his best friend, Gobber, there to help him, the chief knew that it wasn't the same as having his Val there. Stoick had been a single father for almost as long as Hiccup had been alive. His dear wife had been killed in a dragon raid when Hiccup was still a baby. She had been plucked straight off the ground by one of those demons and flown back to their nest to be devoured. It made his blood boil just to think about it, but along with the rage came a deep sadness. His late Val had never gotten to see their son grow up and would never get to see him become a man.
Shaking himself out of his melancholic musings, Stoick quietly entered the room and placed a gentle kiss on Hiccup's forehead. His son seemed to stir for just a moment before he turned onto his side and settled back into sleep. Leaving the room as quietly as he came in, the chief made a silent prayer to the god Thor to protect his son while he was away for the night. Satisfied that his son was safely in bed, Stoick went back down the stairs and left his home for the Great Hall. The others who had been assigned to lead the night patrol would be waiting for him with their reports on the rest of the island's defences.
Needing a structure that would be protected from the elements and be durable enough to last through any manner of catastrophe, Berk had built its meeting hall into the base of a mountain. Stone steps ran from the upper village to the building's fifty-foot tall wooden doors, with large, bronze braziers standing at equal intervals along the sides of the stairway. Flanking the doors were a set of stone statues depicting Viking warriors, each seventy feet in height and with a large, stone brazier at their feet. Carved from the mountain's own rock face, they truly were a sight to behold. Though the Great Hall was as old as the Hairy Hooligan tribe itself, Stoick still marvelled at the sheer ingenuity of his ancestors.
Pushing open one of the large doors, Stoick entered the cavernous building and shut it behind him so as to not let in the cold, night air. The massive hall's interior was mostly devoid of people at this time of the night, with the many tables scattered around the room empty and the torches nearby extinguished. The small amount of light in the room came from the back of the hall, at the large, circular table surrounding a hearth. It was customarily used for meetings of the Council of Berk.
Most of the seats around the table were empty as the council was not in session, but in the four occupied chairs sat Viking warriors. Sitting next to the large, wooden chair that served as Berk's throne was Spitelout Jorgenson, the chief's second cousin and the last of his living relatives. Slightly shorter than Stoick at six-foot-one, Spitelout was a forty-two-year-old man who had short, spiky, black hair, grey eyes, and a layer of stubble dusting his jaw. The scar running across his right eyebrow to his cheekbone completed the look of a fierce, if a bit impulsive and unruly, Viking warrior. On the man's right was Helga Sigridsdóttir², a forty-five-year-old, five-foot-ten woman with red hair and brown eyes. She had pledged herself to Berk as a shield-maiden two decades ago and had been serving the Hairy Hooligans well ever since.
Across from her was Egill Hofferson³, a blue-eyed man the same age as Stoick who had short, brown hair and a neat beard. The man's clan, House Hofferson, had a history of producing strong, dutiful warriors but its honour had been stained by a tragedy a few years back. Egill's brother, Finn, had been trying to fight off the mysterious dragon known as the Flightmare when he had frozen in fear of the beast and was killed by it. It was a heavy blow to the honour of the clan, especially since Finn had previously been nicknamed Fearless Finn by the tribe. When people spoke of the late Finn Hofferson now, some called him Frozen Finn Hofferson. The Hoffersons had been trying to make up for that unfortunate incident ever since. Next to him was Gunhilda Sólveigson⁴, a thirty-seven-year-old, five-foot-eight woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. A mother to two young children, Gunhilda had often said that she would do her best to rid the island of its dangerous pests before her children reached adulthood.
"I hope you're all well-rested for the night." Stoick said as he reached them. "I don't think that I need to remind you that it's been almost two weeks since the dragons' last attack and that we're due for one any time now."
When the group saw him arrive, they rose in respect of their chief but Stoick quickly gestured for them to retake their seats. While he appreciated the show of respect, he didn't care much for such formalities — especially not when they had bigger things to worry about.
"Spitelout, what's the situation with the livestock?" the chief asked as he sat down.
"I've checked in with all the farmers and they've followed your instructions, Stoick." replied his second cousin. "The animals have all been moved from their usual pens and have been placed inside the specific barns we've cleared for them. I also made sure the barns that aren't holding any livestock have been filled with sacks of sand to prevent fire."
"Good work, Spitelout. Keeping the animals in only a few barns should limit how many are carried off by the beasts, and the time they'll spend searching the empty barns should give us extra time to repel their attacks." Stoick said, turning to face the other side of the table. "What of the harvest, Gunhilda?"
"Any crops that haven't already been placed in the winter stores have been put inside wooden barrels and thick, fabric sacks in the cellars, chief." the woman responded. "Like Spitelout, I also made use of sandbags to prevent fires. The farmers have placed them in the cellars, around the stored harvest to make it is less likely for a fire to start."
"Well done, Gunhilda. Hopefully that means that we'll see less of our grain going up in smoke this time around." the chief said. "Helga, what about the ships?"
"All good there, chief. The fishermen, traders, and other shipowners have moved their boats from the harbour." replied Helga. "Most of them are moored away from the village, near the training academy. The rest of the ships have been anchored in a sheltered bay, about three-hundred yards off the southeast coast of the island."
"Excellent, Helga. Separating the ships into two groups moored away from each other should mean that even if one group is attacked, the other will be safe." Stoick said. "Egill, what of the timber stockpile?"
"Since the last raid, the stockpile is being built back up again, chief. Today, I visited the woodcutters' camps, east of the training academy, and they have been felling more trees than usual in order to replenish it. The woodcutters have kept the wood stockpiled in the forests, away from the village, so it can't be burnt in the raids." the man replied. "We should have enough wood to repair any damage done fro a raid and still have some left over for building new homes."
"Thank Odin for that." the chief said. "With winter coming, I don't know what we would do if there wasn't enough timber for building new homes."
"Chief, I do have one concern though." Egill said. "While keeping the wood stockpiled at the woodcutters' camps will keep it away from the village and safe from the dragons' fire, it will take much longer to transport it to the village. It might slow down the pace of construction and tire the workers faster with all the trips they'll be making to and from the eastern woods."
"I see your point, Egill, but there is nothing else we can do." Stoick sighed. "Either we keep the lumber far away so it's safe but inaccessible or we keep it nearby, so it's accessible but not safe. Until we can find a better place to keep the timber, it will need to be stockpiled in the eastern forests."
"We could always bring in some of the older children to help move the timber, chief." said Helga. "If we give them some carts and ask them to ferry the timber from the forests to the village, they can do the work instead of the builders. This way the workers won't get tired from lugging materials to and from the village."
"That will mean delaying the start of training." Egill said, referencing the upcoming start of a new class of fighters at Berk's Warrior Training Academy. "Repairing the damage caused by a raid usually takes at least a few days, and this won't even include the time it will take to build the new halls."
"Maybe we could ask the woodcutters to transport the timber themselves to the village?" questioned Helga. "If they brought the wood over while the builders continued with their task, then the builders would not have to fetch materials from far away and will not be too tired."
"I don't think so, Helga. The woodcutters need to continue stockpiling wood for the winter." replied Egill. "Not only for use as building materials but also for use as firewood. Once the frost sets in, they won't be able to fell any more trees. And we need them to collect enough timber to last us through the winter."
"Both of you have raised good points. Helga, you are right about the children being able to help, and Egill, you too are right about training needing to start on schedule." said Gunhilda. "I suggest we exempt the children who are signed up for classes at the training academy from having to transport the lumber. There should still be plenty of them left to help out."
"I agree with Gunhilda." added Spitelout. "My eldest boy is due to start training soon and I don't want anything to delay that."
They had all raised some good ideas. Well, all of them except Spitelout, but Stoick didn't hold that against the man. His second cousin was more of a man of action rather than a man of thought. As chief, Stoick had to be both. Egill was right that the pace of construction might be slowed down by the builders needing to transport materials from the woods to the village. The man was also right that the builders would tire out faster if they had to lug timber from the forest to the building site. Helga had made a good point that the children could be asked to help out, but Egill's objections were also sound. In the end, Gunhilda had given the best suggestion, to ask the children who were not involved in training to help transport timber to the village. It would allow the builders, woodcutters, and new students to do their respective jobs and it would save all of their time and effort.
However, they were also getting off topic. He didn't resent the Hofferson man for having raised his concerns about the consequences of keeping the timber so far away from the village. In fact, it showed that he was both a good warrior and a good leader for having thought of the possible unintended consequences of an action. But that wasn't the point. The purpose of the meeting had been to discuss the actions taken to ensure that the island was well-defended in the coming dragon attack. It was not intended to be a discussion about how to best manage the time and effort of the builders, woodcutters, and students. Stoick needed to retake control of the meeting before they could descend into a grand debate about the merits of following one course of action versus another.
"What do you think, chief?" asked the present shield-maiden.
"You have all made some good points, but keep in mind that we are discussing matters which have not yet occurred. We don't even know what the damage will be given the raid hasn't even happened yet." Stoick replied. "I appreciate your suggestions, and I am inclined to follow Gunhilda's advice, but now is not the time for this discussion. I'll have a decision on the matter after we have repelled the coming attack and have taken stock of all of the damage."
"Of course, chief." Egill said. "I apologize if I overstepped."
"You don't need to apologize for anything, Egill." the chief said. "We will take up this matter at the next meeting of the Council of Berk, and you will all have a chance to raise your arguments there. If there is nothing else to discuss, I suggest that you all go home and say goodnight to your families. I'll be waiting here when you are finished."
Stoick waited a moment to see if anyone raised any objections, but thankfully no-one did. With the meeting now concluded, Egill and Gunhilda left to go back to their homes and wish their respective families a good night. Helga, being a shield-maiden, didn't have anyone waiting for her at her hall and stayed back with Stoick at the table. The chief's second cousin, being a man who showed little affection, also stayed back at the table.
When the Egill and Gunhilda had returned, the five of them assembled back at the council table. To pass the time, the five of them had taken to sharing stories of their fiercest battles with the dragons. Of course, being Vikings, they got competitive and therefore tried to outdo one another. Thus began a competition to see who had faced the most dangerous dragon in battle. Helga, being the oldest of the group, and a shield-maiden, had been declared the victor of that competition for having slain the most Monstrous Nightmares. Later in the night, Stoick had asked the others to try and sleep so that they wouldn't be too tired to face the beasts. It wasn't too difficult to get the tired Vikings to take him up on his offer, but as chief, Stoick needed to be the one to stay awake.
It had been quiet for most of the night and it was probably only a few hours before dawn that it happened. Stoick had been taking trips outside regularly so that the cold, night air could briskly remove the drowsiness from his body. At first, it didn't seem like anything was wrong. He could hear the gentle rustling of a breeze, and the crackling of fire from the braziers, but then he heard a noise. It was quiet, but it was steadily growing in volume. Wingbeats. He raced back inside to grab his gear and wake the others. It would only be mere moments until the sentries would finally take notice and sound the alarm.
"Wake up!" he bellowed. "The raid is about to start!"
At first, his words didn't seem to register to any of the sleeping warriors. For a moment, Stoick thought that he was going to have to physically shake each of them awake, but then they started stirring. One by one, they all lurched back into consciousness, looked around blearily for a few moments before they understood what was happening and focused. Stoick grabbed his war hammer and shield, the others mimicking him as they, too, realized it was time to get to work. Leading the group back to the doors of the Great Hall, the chief pushed them open to reveal a world on fire.
By that point, the sentries had taken notice of the dragons and had sounded their horns. Warriors poured out of their houses, armed with their weapons, and ready to fight. Though they, too, like the warriors who had been sleeping in the Great Hall, looked a bit dazed, Stoick was sure that the adrenaline of the raid would soon wake them up. All of them ran down the long, stone stairway to the upper village.
"To your positions!" Stoick ordered.
The other leaders of the night patrol nodded and raced to their assigned locations. Each one would be in charge of directing the response for their specific area. The chief, himself, needed to get to the main square to organize his warriors and begin repelling the raid. Sprinting, Stoick reached his assigned position in just a few minutes and quickly surveyed the situation. A Deadly Nadder was circling above, just waiting to strike, and a Gronkle was making its descent into the plaza.
As the beast landed, the chief darted around it and swung his war hammer at its jaws. It dazed the dragon for a moment, but the beast's thick hide protected it from the worst of the blow. The Gronkle soon regained its focus, twisted its body, and swung its heavy, armoured tail at him. Jumping out of the way of the mace-like appendage, Stoick saw that the beast had unintentionally exposed its underbelly, and the man swung his hammer with all his might. The dragon recoiled at the blow, and that was when the chief knew he had hit a soft spot. Grabbing some rope from one of the nearby villagers, Stoick tied down the Gronkle's legs and mouth, preventing it from attacking or escaping.
That was one dragon taken care of, but the Nadder that had been previously flying overhead was now diving down to shoot its flame before going back up to avoid their weapons. Just as he was about to try and deal with the Nadder, which had now managed to set a few houses on fire, he saw a small shape dart between the chaos. His son had left their home and was now running carelessly through the village! Stoick just barely managed to pull his son away from the Nadder's fire in time. If he had been there just a second later, Hiccup would have been roasted alive. The boy really needed to pay attention to his surroundings.
"Hiccup!" the chief roared. "What are you doing out?! Get inside!"
Not giving his son the time to reply, he dropped the boy back down on the ground and gently pushed him towards the forge. His best friend, Gobber, ran the smithy and could at least ensure that his son would be out of the battle. Stoick waited for his son to stumble through the plaza and enter the blacksmith's workshop before he went back to the melee. Above, he saw that at least one of the passes the Nadder had been making had been successful, with the dragon now carrying a sheep in its talons. The dragon hadn't managed to gain altitude yet, so there was still a chance to save the livestock. He spied a small, empty, wooden wheelbarrow nearby, and that gave the man an idea. Picking it up with both hands, the man swung it with all his strength at the beast. The cart splintered upon impact, and the Nadder dropped its catch safely back onto the ground.
"What have we got tonight?" Stoick asked the villagers in the square.
"Gronkles, Nadders, Zipplebacks." replied a man. Oh, and Hoark saw a Monstrous Nightmare."
Overall, that wasn't too bad. Only four types of dragons were involved in the attack. The more species of dragons that were involved in a raid, the harder it became to fend off their attacks. While one type of dragon would be very affected by one of their tactics, another could simply be immune to it. So, the fewer species of dragon involved in a raid, the better. However, there was one dragon which didn't seem to have any weaknesses, and Stoick prayed that it didn't rear its head.
"And the Night Fury?" the chief asked.
"We haven't been able to spot it so far." the villager said. "But you know as well as I do that a Night Fury is impossible to see."
"I'll take it as a good sign nonetheless." Stoick replied.
Large, bronze braziers were being hoisted upon wooden pillars to light up the early morning sky. They revealed a chaotic flurry of activity above, with all kinds of dragons flying in every direction. The raid was definitely in full swing. They were simply too many of them to engage in one-on-one fights. The Vikings needed to mount a counter-attack, fast, if they were going to have any hope of defending the village.
"Move to the lower defences!" Stoick ordered. "We'll use the catapults to mount a counter-attack!"
The warriors nodded and raced down to the lower village's catapult towers. Berk's dirt paths were lined with Vikings, either engaging with the beasts or carrying off some of their property. Even in the dark, Stoick could tell that there would be lots of repairs needed once the beasts ended their attack. Finally arriving at the lower defences, Stoick climbed a catapult tower and ordered his men to get ready to fire. Hearing his name being shouted, the chief turned around to see a man race towards him.
"Chief, I have bad news from the farmers." the man said. "The dragons have managed to find the livestock. We're doing our best to fend off their attacks, but we should expect to lose a significant quantity of livestock."
Those damned beasts! They had managed to figure their plans yet again. It worried Stoick that they were going to lose some of their farm animals, but he didn't have time to dwell on the fact. If only they could kill or injure enough of the beasts, they would retreat, leaving Berk with some much needed breathing room. Stoick nodded to the man, dismissing him, and got back to the task at hand.
"Concentrate your fire on the flock over the lower village!" the chief ordered. "All catapults, fire at will!"
Boulders flew overhead as the catapults were released. Many of them actually managed to hit their enemy, downing them. The rest of the flock scattered to avoid the onslaught of flying rock. Unfortunately, his moment of satisfaction didn't last long as he saw a Monstrous Nightmare begin to climb the catapult tower. The beast set itself on fire, the flames spreading quickly throughout the stone and wood structure. All of a sudden, it surged up towards him, and Stoick was forced to react quickly or be burnt alive. Swinging his war hammer, he managed to catch the beast in its jaws, knocking out a few of its fangs. As more and more of the dragon's blood sprayed out, the beast seemed to reconsider its attack and retreated.
"Reload!" Stoick bellowed at the catapult operators.
Their respite ended up being short-lived, with a high-pitched, whistling sound breaking through the chaos. All Vikings knew what it was, and all of them knew what was to follow. The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself was coming. The Night Fury was here. His warriors didn't even have the time to follow through with their orders before a purple blast flew towards the catapults.
"Jump!" he yelled, leaping off of the collapsing structure.
Landing safely on the ground below, Stoick heard the panicked screams of warriors who hadn't been able to escape the blast. Their voices were quickly silenced by the explosion that followed. They would need to collect the bodies later to give those men a proper funeral. Steeling himself, the chief made his way back up the paths of the village to try and help where he could. With the catapults destroyed, all the could do now was to try and limit the amount of damage done.
Some of the dragons which had been downed by the catapults were now slowly regaining consciousness and tried to attack once again. As other the Vikings threw down nets, Stoick leapt onto one of the beasts, wrestling with it until he could tie the ropes around its jaws. He only just managed to secure a Deadly Nadder's jaws when he heard a scream in the distance. It was his son! He had somehow gotten out of the smithy and was wandering through the village yet again.
"Do not let the beasts escape!" Stoick yelled as left a task yet again to go save his son.
Running back up the winding paths of the village, the chief reached the plaza in time to see his son hiding behind one of the large, wooden pillars holding a brazier aloft, and a dragon slowly moving around said pillar. Before the dragon could reach Hiccup, Stoick leapt into the square and grabbed hold of the Monstrous Nightmare's head, twisting it away from his son. The dragon tried to let out a stream of fire but it seemed that it had used up all of its energy already.
"You're all out now." he said, throwing punches and kicks at the dragon's head.
The fight didn't last long, with the dragon quickly retreating as it realized that it couldn't win the battle. Though he would normally enjoy having caused one of the beasts to run scared, Stoick was very displeased. This would mark the second time that day that his son had gone out and had needed to be saved from a dragon. The only good news was that just as the sun came up over the horizon, the raid seemed to finally be over. That meant they would be free of attacks for the next two weeks.
His morning went from bad to worse as the now-charred, wooden pillar his son had been hiding behind groaned and fell over. The beam didn't hit anyone, but the brazier that had previously been attached to its top broke free as it hit the ground. The smouldering container rolled over the edge of a walkway towards the harbour. Stoick could hear the screams of Vikings trying to avoid it as it rolled its way down the dirt paths of Berk.
"Sorry, dad." Hiccup said sheepishly.
The chief wasn't impressed, and Stoick was sure that it showed on his face. The boy hadn't listened to anyone's instructions and had caused a mess. One which would have to be cleaned up along with the mess that the dragons had caused. As if the destruction the beasts had caused wasn't enough for Stoick to handle.
"Okay, this looks bad. But I hit a Night Fury!" his son said.
Gods. Now Hiccup, the son who couldn't even save himself from a dragon, was trying to tell him that he had managed to down the deadliest beast known to man. That was the last straw. Hiccup would go back to their home and wait for him there, where he couldn't cause more destruction. Grabbing his son by the back of his vest, the man dragged him away from the destroyed plaza, up the paths of the village to their home. The villagers who had previously been fighting now gawked as he led his son away. Stoick was so frustrated that he tuned out the sounds around him. He didn't want to hear Hiccup's pleas or the village's mutterings. But his son didn't stop his protests, and eventually, Stoick had heard enough.
"It's not like the last few times, dad!" Hiccup protested. "I really actually hit it! You guys were busy, and I had a very clear shot. It went down off Raven Point. Let's get a hunting par—"
"Stop!" he roared as he let Hiccup go. "Just stop. Every time you step outside, disaster follows. Can you not see that I have bigger problems? Winter is just a few months away, and I have an entire village to feed!"
"Well, just between you and me, the village could do with a little less feeding." his son replied snidely.
"This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" Stoick said angrily. "Why can't you follow the simplest orders and just stay inside?"
"I-I can't stop myself," the boy replied, stuttering for just a moment. "I see a dragon and I just have to kill it, you know? It's who I am, dad."
"Oh, you are many things, Hiccup," Stoick said, holding his head with his hands in frustration. "But a dragon killer is not one of them. Get back to the house. Now."
Seeing his best friend in the crowd, the chief called for the blacksmith to come to them. Stoick needed time to cool off before he said something he would regret. Someone else would need to take Hiccup back to Haddock Hall.
"Make sure he gets there, Gobber." the chief said to his friend. "I have his mess to clean up."
It broke his heart to see the look that his son had on his face, but Stoick couldn't afford to be too soft with the boy. He was the chief, and the village would expect him to discipline Hiccup. A harsher man would have punished the boy by making him do all sorts of gruelling, physical tasks, but Stoick wasn't that kind of father. He was stern, stubborn, and was known to have a short temper, but he still loved his son. Stoick hoped that his son understood that, and that the boy would try harder to be a better Viking. With one last look towards the retreating form of his son, the chief set out to take stock of all of the damage done to the village in the raid.
1: According to York University's English—Old Norse Dictionary, ógæfa means misfortune and sonr means son in Old Norse. When used as a suffix, sonr becomes son. Therefore, adding the suffix -son to the word ógæfa creates ógæfason, meaning son of misfortune. Gobber is said to be the great-great-great-grandson of Bork the Bold, a Viking who was initially given the epithet of Bork the Very, Very Unfortunate so I thought Ógæfason would be a fitting last name.
2: According to York University's English—Old Norse Dictionary, heilagr means sacred, sigr means victory, fridr means handsome or beautiful, and dóttir means daughter in Old Norse. Two names, the masculine Helgi and the feminine Helga, are derived from the word heilagr. The name Sigrid is derived from the words sigr and fridr. When used as a suffix, dóttir becomes sdóttir. Therefore, adding the suffix -sdóttir to the name Sigrid creates Sigridsdóttir, meaning daughter of Sigrid. Given that the How to Train Your Dragon franchise takes quite a few liberties regarding the historicity of its depictions of Viking society, I felt that it would not be too anachronistic to showcase egalitarian leadership in Berk's armed forces. Thus, I created the minor, original character of Helga Sigridsdóttir.
3: According to the University of Pennsylvania's Old Norse—English Dictionary, agi means awe or terror in Old Norse. The name Egill is the diminutive form of a name derived from the word agi. House Hofferson is said to consist of warriors so I thought Egill would be a fitting first name for Astrid's father.
4: According to the University of Texas at Austin's Old Norse Dictionary, gunnr means war, hildr means battle, sól means sun, sonr means son, and veig means strength in Old Norse. The name Gunnhildr is derived from the words gunnr and hildr, anglicized here to Gunhilda. The name Sólveig is derived from the words sól and veig. When used as a suffix, sonr becomes son. Therefore, adding the suffix -son to the name Sólveig creates Sólveigson, meaning son of Sólveig. Note that I am using the suffix -son to denote a last name, not a literal title. Given that the How to Train Your Dragon franchise takes quite a few liberties regarding the historicity of its depictions of Viking society, I felt that it would not be too anachronistic to showcase egalitarian leadership in Berk's armed forces. Thus, I created the minor, original character of Gunhilda Sólveigson.
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