Chapter Six.

Shadows moved beyond Snotlout's closed eyelids as he struggled to wake.

He was aware of something soft against him and enticing smells were in the air. His eyelids were heavy and body noncompliant. He could have slept for a lifetime, especially with an unusually comfortable bed about him, but that alone told him something was amiss. Had everything been a nightmare? He had dream-like memories of a horrible lashing, being pulled from his prison cell, and an enraged Gronckle that had her egg stolen. Snotlout, laying on his belly, pushed himself up onto his elbows with a groan. Everything hurt tremendously.

He rolled over onto his back and was met with a dagger pointed at his face. All of the prior night's events snapped to his attention. It was no dream, and the danger was not over.

Snotlout froze.

The man crouched before him was middle-aged, with dark short hair and a thick moustache. His face was grave. "I see you've been marked," the man said, eyes flicking to the brand above Snotlout's hip. "Tell me now. Does anyone follow you?"

Snotlout's mouth opened and closed, unable to form words. The man leaned forward urgently, brandishing his knife. "Tell me son, is anyone following you? Will men come looking for an escapee?"

The Viking wordlessly shook his head 'no.' To his relief, the man sheathed his weapon with a sigh. Now that he was no longer vigilant of a dagger in his face, Snotlout could see he was in a tent and was still in his small clothes, and there seemed to be some sort of bandages placed along his backside.

"Time's are changing and one needs to be careful," the man said and wiped the sweat from his brow, "Forgive me."

Snotlout did not say anything, elbows propping him up to study this mysterious person. He continued. "My wife and I were sure you would be eaten. We stumbled upon you passed out with a dragon just sitting an arms-length away, drinking water. Had we not chased the beast off, you surely would have been devoured. You've been out for two nights."

Clearly this person did not know that the Gronckle had actually saved him. It almost seemed that this stranger wanted to help him as well, but Snotlout's mind was still reeling as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him.

The man reached into a bag and handed him simple clothes. "This will be small for you but it is all I have. I washed your wounds as best I could as well. Come outside when you are ready."

This person probably thought he was in the company of someone incompetent, because Snotlout had yet to speak. His thoughts raced, unsure of what to make of the situation. After two years of abuse, the idea of someone helping him was unfathomable. He cautiously took the clothes, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Um, thanks."

He was left alone when the stranger muttered something and exited the tent, and Snotlout dressed himself quietly - as always after a lashing, he was unbearably stiff and tried not to reopen his wounds with excessive movement. His body hurt all over, and would for the rest of the week as his broken ribs and cheekbone healed. The clothes, a simple shirt and leggings, were in fact quite small for him and tight against his skin, but it worked nonetheless. When he cautiously stepped out of the tent, his mouth fell open at the sight before him.

It was dawn, and they were on the edge of a massive lake. Its water was so still it resembled glass, its surface reflecting a mirror image of the towering mountains in the distance. Their rocky peaks were capped with snow, and billowing clouds rose high in the air, soft pink in the early rays of sunrise. All was quiet and peaceful. He had become so accustomed to the bleak views of the fortress and shipyard he was almost taken aback by the beauty before him. The man was sitting on a log beside a fire, where a cooking spit hung and a sort of broth simmered in the pot. A woman was with him.

"Come, sit," he said and gestured to a seat next to him on the log. Snotlout was still taking in his surroundings and he obliged. "My name is Gunnar, and this is my wife Gertrude. We are hunters, always on the move and following the animals."

Gertrude, also middle-aged, had friendly eyes and copper hair coiled about her head. She ladled some broth into a bowl and offered it to Snotlout. "It is not much, just a simple venison stew. Eat."

He didn't need any more permission, tucking into it hungrily. He was absolutely starving and it had been two years since he had a hot meal. Snotlout sighed at the sensation of a full stomach, and Gertrude even chuckled. "What is your name young man?"

"Snotlout," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He actually may be able to trust this couple after all if they were clothing and feeding him.

The couple exchanged a look. "Snotlout? If your looks could hide where you may have come from, your name certainly doesn't. Tell me, are you a Viking of the Cold Sea?"

He faltered, wondering if it was safe to confide in the two, and nodded doubtfully. As if they could sense his thoughts, Gunnar gave him a stern look. "So, it's true. I have heard stories about your kind. Fierce, they say you are. However, I would not go sharing this information so freely. The slave trade is thriving and I hear that many a rich man covets ownership of a Viking. But, I'm sure you are well aware of that… it may be hard, but I would try to pass yourself off as one of our own."

Snotlout could feel his face redden as their eyes rested where the brand lay beneath his shirt. "Your mark. It's of the Provincial Coast Company. They are on their way to becoming the largest of the trade, or so I have heard. I don't understand it, how one could even think that a human being is something to be owned."

"You… you're against it?" Snotlout gaped. Finally, after his two years spent in slavery, there was finally a name to the group of people that had held him captive. He was extremely aware of the split skin across his back and furrowed his brows. The Provincial Coast Company.

He watched as Gunnar and Gertrude's face darkened. "Oh yes, we are against it," Gertrude said, "The people who partake in the act are monsters. Anyone who thinks that a life can be bought and exploited is scum. They took my nephew when he was just a boy… never saw him again."

Snotlout looked hard at them. So even people in this land were affected by it as well? "Don't be mistaken, though. There are plenty in these parts who have no qualms with what goes on in the trade," Gunnar added, "And you will need to be careful. Many would gladly tell a local trader that they suspect you to be Viking, and only for a few gold pieces."

Snotlout was conflicted. His first moments spent as a free man were not going at all how he imagined they would. He was no longer a slave… but the way these two made it sound, it was as if he would need to be in a constant state of watchfulness, always wary of his own existence in… wherever he was now. "Listen," Gunnar said, "We are sure that you will try to find your homeland, or village, or wherever it may be that you were taken. It was clear to us when we first set eyes on you that you were an escapee, so we understand that you have don't have a single belonging to your name. Do you have a skilled trade that you can survive on in the meantime?"

Snotlout blinked. "A trade?"

"Can you hunt? Or farm? Tailor? Unless you have a job, you will not last long in these parts. The land alone is not enough to provide, and you will most certainly need to purchase a weapon to defend yourself against robbers and bandits. You may be able to make a decent amount of coin to survive if you bring your work to villages."

He thought for a moment. Snotlout was a Dragon Rider before coming here, and that was his service to Berk. He had nothing else. "I… don't have any…"

"Well then," Gunnar replied, "Gertrude and I discussed this possibility while you slept. Though we cannot have you stay with us permanently as it is too risky to live alongside a wanted man, we will help you. We can teach you to hunt, and with your kills, you may be able to gain enough coin to be on your own. As long as you do your part, we will work together."

"Wait, a wanted man?"

"As long as you carry that brand, you are marked as a piece of property to that Company. You are a deserter now, and that is a punishable offense," Gertrude answered. "At least, for those who side with cretins such as them. We will help you. Hide that mark well, young man."

He resisted the urge to claw at the raised, white seal on his side - to peel it from his skin. He attempted to hide his escalating panic and set his clenched hands in his lap, trying to still himself. It was true. He really wasn't free, just released from confinement. His eyes darted between the two fearfully at this realization. "Why are you helping me?"

Gertrude gave him a small smile and he saw pity behind it. "After what you must have been through, you deserve a bit of human kindness. And I'm afraid that may be hard to find in your new home."

Gunnar and Gertrude were true to their word and diligently taught him their ways.

Snotlout was wary in the beginning. Though the older couple did seem quite genuine in their offer to help him, he struggled hard to unravel two years of mistrust. He was on edge and felt as though Carlisle's men would appear for him at any moment. Every snap of a twig in the forest would make his head swivel and body jerk, and he did not react well at all if Gunnar or Gertrude unintentionally startled him, often frightening them in return. As days passed into weeks, however, the men never came, and he found himself relaxing bit by bit. They moved campsites frequently to stay upwind and make their presence unpredictable to the local fauna, but they stayed at the lakeside site most often.

One evening as twilight moved in, Snotlout stood at the edge of the glass-like water and saw his reflection for the first time in two years. He was now twenty-two summers old, and the person he observed was a stranger. He had indeed grown quite a bit. It was hard to tell without familiar faces around to compare himself to, but at this point he was probably half a foot or so taller than Hiccup. His hair had lost the signature plume that he inherited from his father as it grew longer and he continued to fashion his hair in the way Vilega had styled it. Though he was muscular and shoulders still broad as ever, his waist was thin and lean from starvation. At first glance, Snotlout almost swore he was seeing his father in the reflection, but his countless scars shown differently.

He was not a complete stranger to hunting. Spitelout had taken him a handful of times in his youth, but his father had done most of the work then, and his mother Calamity preferred to take her son fishing. So Gunnar and Gertrude would take him out on excursions where they each had a stout hunters bow. Snotlout, despite being skilled in all sorts of other weaponry, was out of his element with the bow and arrow. Vikings favored the sort of weapon that allowed you to be face-to-face with an opponent, and most viewed the bow as being inferior and a sign of cowardice - it was not the way of the warrior to stand on the edge of a battle and attack from afar. But he worked hard on mastering the weapon, often practicing into the night when the hunt was over. His skillmanship improved drastically - when he began, he could not hit a target to save his life and once pulled the string so far back it snapped and nearly took off his fingers, but his arrows began finding their mark more and more.

There was a day when he and Gertrude went out into the woods, and she showed him how she tracked and looked for signs of prey. She moved quietly, and they came upon the large elk they had been following. The elk's majestic head was bent to the ground, rooting. Snotlout saw the opportunity with the animal distracted, and suddenly leapt from the bush that concealed them, quickly notching an arrow and aiming. The elk bolted, and his arrow whistled far into the woods.

"Damn!" Gertrude cursed as she stepped into the clearing, hands on her hips and disappointment in her eyes. "We had tracked that elk for two days! What a waste, it will be long gone by now."

Snotlout wasn't too pleased either, and she turned to him, trying to hide her frustration. "Snotlout, you need to practice your stealth. I know you were a warrior in your previous life, but learning to sneak and not fling yourself into battle will do both of us a great service."

So he listened to her words and worked harder, learning to become quiet and slip through the forest like a shadow.

Every other week, they walked to a nearby village where the local merchant would exchange gold coins for their fish, venison and furs. As promised, with each kill that Snotlout made, he kept a fraction of the gold for himself.

One of these days, as they walked down the road towards their campsite, another traveller appeared. He was on horseback and Snotlout looked up in interest. This man was fitted in shining armor all over that glinted in the sun, and through the man's helm, he could see judging eyes narrowing at him as if disgusted. It was war attire unlike anything in Berk - the Vikings did occasionally adorn themselves with a piece of iron as a shoulder or breast plate, but they mostly wore thick hide and studded leather armor. Shed dragon scale armor was also a concept that Hiccup had been tinkering with… but this person was a sight, adorned completely in metal with barely a crack for a weapon to pass through. The workmanship put into the suit was like art, and a massive greatsword was sheathed at his back. He could see the hilt glistening - it was fashioned to look as if serpents twisted about the pommel.

Gunnar had rolled his eyes when the man on horseback passed them by. "What was that?" Snotlout asked.

"The armies of the Holds typically do not wear such fine suits. I reckon he was a sellsword. Did you see that condescending look he gave us? They think so highly of themselves."

"Sellsword?"

"Men who are skilled in battle," his companion replied, "If one can afford it, they can be bought for protection or jobs that require brute force. It's not uncommon for them to be bought by Noble folk to take care of especially pesky bandits, or to collect bounty… but the corrupt ones have no qualms with murdering an innocent man for gold. It is a dangerous way of life, and they are few and far between."

Snotlout thought on this, turning to watch the sellsword trot away on his horse.

As Gunnar and Gertrude taught him how to hunt and skin, they also gave him knowledge of the world around him. The Gronckle had flown him far from the coast in which he was held as a slave to Master Carlisle, and one day when he explained the fortress and the nearby mines, his new comrades guessed that he had been on the opposite side of the continent. Whereas he may have been close to the south east before, they now explained that he was near the north west. They described the size of the continent to Snotlout, and just the idea of how large it was made him dizzy… prior to that moment he had always thought of Berk as being the largest piece of land in the Archipelago. One day when they stood on a high point near the mountains and could look out over the lake and woods, it went on and on, never ending. Oh, how had he been wrong.

They explained the culture to him, as he did not have the chance to learn about the world about him as a slave. They belonged to one massive Kingdom ruled by an elderly King who lived in a booming city somewhere in the heart of the land. The country was split into several Holds. These Holds were led by Noblemen, and Gunnar and Gertrude explained to him that each Hold operated independently from each other and had their own individual armed force, but all fell under the rulership of the King. It was common for there to be conflicts of interests between those who controlled these Holds. In the past even civil wars had broken out over these disagreements.

This was all alien to Snotlout, and he tried to compare it to his homeland. He supposed it was somewhat similar to the differing tribes of the Archipelago, but Gertrude gave him information that contradicted this. Whereas each tribe was very communal and would look out for their own, the Noblemen here were quite indifferent to their people. A tribe would provide for each other and their way was based on mutual benefit… but it was every man for himself here. He was learning that robbers, bandits, and murderers thrived in these parts and the armed forces were far too indifferent to upholding the law.

He asked his new companions a question that had perplexed him since his arrival on this continent: where were all of the dragons? Aside from the flock of Deadly Nadders that passed over the shipyard and the Gronckle that came to his rescue, he had yet to see a wild dragon in this place. The two hunters seemed to shrug at that - they had an answer similar to Ralof. Though they had caught a small handful of dragon sightings in the past, it seemed as though they were slowly fading from their land. Snotlout could not make sense of this information - in the Archipelago, it was not uncommon to stumble upon dragons in the wild, and there were even islands completely crawling with certain species. So where were they here, and where were they disappearing to?

Snotlout, as he became adept at the bow and the gold in his pockets steadily increased, was having a large internal debate. He had no idea what he would do when the time came for him to be on his own. A part of him ached to return to his homeland. But a nagging voice in his head would quickly convince him otherwise; they would not come for you then, so there isn't anyone there for you now. What will people think of you, having been caught so easily and broken by your captors. You're not even a real man anymore after what those men did to you.

These thoughts would push an immeasurable sadness into his heart, and he often stayed awake long after Gertrude and Gunnar went to sleep, sitting by the fire and contemplating. Yes, this life was leagues better than his time in captivity, but he was becoming more and more aware that at this point he would just simply be… existing. With Hookfang, as a dragon rider, and a Jorgenson on Berk, he had a clear purpose. But now, he would be going day to day trying to evade capture by the Provincial Coast Company and trying to survive. Sometimes these thoughts made his breath quicken and mind race, and other times he was numb and bitter.

The day finally came.

Snotlout had acquired enough gold that he would be able to afford his survival, and it was time for him to go. It was a somber moment... these people had taught him much and showed him a level of kindness that he hadn't even received from anyone in Berk. But if he stayed, it would potentially endanger them, and he did not wish that upon Gunnar and Gertrude. It was a serene midday as the fall season came to an end, the sun offering it's last bit of warmth. A light breeze blew, stirring ripples in the lake. Snotlout had little to take with him, only a bag of coins that sat in his pocket and the clothes on his back.

Gunnar and Gertrude stood before him. She stepped forward and gave him a quick hug, and he resisted the urge to shudder from the contact and possibly offend her. Gunnar faltered as if he considered doing the same, but thrust out a hand instead and they shook. "You be safe out there, lad."

"I'll try," he said and looked apprehensively in the direction where the road was.

"There's something we'd like to give you," Gunnar said and then moved towards the tent, He came back with a bundle. "It's a few old items of mine. They're not in the best condition and I'd like to offer you better, but it should help."

Snotlout took the bundle and opened it up - a hooded cloak, slightly dulled dagger and a pouch for water. The Viking put the dagger to his side and donned the cloak, and he felt a familiar pang of guilt - just like with Vilega, he had nothing to give in return, and knew that the two before him did not have much to spare. He was never very good with expressing gratitude, and awkwardly struggled to find words. "Thank you… I really do appreciate it. Everything."

Gertrude gave him another hug and pat on the back and her husband nodded to him. "Good luck in your travels. Maybe one day we will meet again."

So he set off.

Snotlout walked alone through the woods, cloak billowing behind him in the cool breeze. He became vigilant as if at any second Master Carlisle's men would leap from behind the trees to arrest him. But he only heard birds calling and dying leaves rustling in the wind. It was peaceful, but now that he was alone it was almost uncanny. He knew the direction that the road was in, for he and Gunnar would often take it to the closest village for trading. But beyond that, it was an entire open country he knew close to nothing about. After a few hours passed, he came to the edge of a tree line where wide a stone path laid before him.

Snotlout stood in this spot for a very long time, just looking upon the road. If he took the western route to his right, it led to the small village where the trader bought the furs from him and Gunnar. Maybe he could find a way to make that village his home... perhaps he could establish himself there and learn a trade. It seemed safe and was somewhat familiar. To his left, the road ran East. He knew nothing of what laid in that direction, and he recalled his time in the ship that captured him long ago, when he had looked at the sun to see what direction they sailed. Through the massive scape of the country and across an expansive ocean, Berk was somewhere in this direction, sitting on the fringes of the world. The Viking looked anxiously upon the road, turning his head this way and that, unable to make up his mind.

He stepped to the right briskly, striding to the West.

He only made it a few paces before he suddenly swirled around, something drawing him in the opposite direction. So Snotlout moved toward the East, into the unknown.

A/N. Hey everyone! It's been a few chapters since I've done a legit Authors Note so I figured now would be a good time. I'm super excited to see I have a couple followers for my story, it really makes my day! Thanks a ton for all of the reviews, as always. So, you're probably wondering 'where the hell is Snotlout right now.' Aaand, you won't know for a while (sorry heh). I actually was really conflicted over where exactly that would be because I'm torn between accuracy and fantasy. And, I personally view the films and series as fantasy first and foremost. So, this may not be taking place in the Europe that we know. I was also heavily inspired by my favorite games of all time in creating this world, and I'm sure anyone who has played it instantly noticed the similarities. I won't say where that is though, maybe someone can guess it! Also, thanks for everyone who is being patient, because I know that so far Steel and Spice is moving at a much slower pace than the majority of fics out there... I think a lot of people really like the writing where it's constant action, constant drama, and here I am keeping things moving at a glacial progression. Oh, and Gunnar and Gertrude are mine. Like I said, there were be lots of little OCs scattered throughout this piece of work. Thanks guys! - Rummybones