Chapter Seven.

He passed through the land quietly, no particular destination set in his mind.

Snotlout did not pick the best time of the year to set off on his own, for autumn transitioned to winter in the first few weeks of travel, and he spent most of his time cold. Fortunately he was accustomed to the freezing climate of the Archipelago, and the season in this land was rather mild compared to what he was used to… but with nothing to warm him except a cloak, he may have fallen to the cold if he were not of Viking blood.

Gunnar and Gertrude had explained to him that there were certain Holds that may be safer to pass through, for the Provincial Coast Company did not have major ties with their leaders, and he intended to head towards these areas. That was difficult to achieve, however, when he had no way of knowing where he was or where he even wanted to go.

He had crossed paths with several people on the roads - travelling merchants, families and horse-drawn carts. In the first few weeks of being on his own, he had been threatened with burglary twice. In both of these instances, the men had jumped out from hiding with a blade in their hand, counting on the element of surprise. But when they saw the size of Snotlout they faltered, and their demands for all of his goods seemed half-hearted. When he would not relent, one angrily went upon their way to wait for the next passerby, and the other pushed his luck. That robber learned his lesson and was lucky to leave with only several teeth missing.

Snotlout was learning that the majority of the people here were not very skilled at all when it came to battle. The thieves and bandits were more brazen than anything else and preyed on the fact most people knew little to nothing of how to use a weapon… nevertheless, he kept his distance to the road. He would stay close enough to barely keep the stone path in his sights and often used secondary trails instead, avoiding his chances of crossing paths with others. When it was time to sleep, he ventured far into the wilderness where he was sure no one would stumble upon him.

Just as he had anxiously thought upon at the lakeside camp, he truly was only existing and nothing more. He had never felt so alone and ached for his dragon and friends. He would travel, eat when possible, sleep, and repeat this everyday. He lived off of the hunting skills that Gunnar and Gertrude had shown him, selling what he did not consume himself. The nights were cold and froze him to the bone when there were no means to make a fire, and it was certainly better than the confines of a cell, yet he still carried a hollow emptiness in his chest.

He was passing through a wooded trail with hard snow to either side of the path when he suddenly came to an abrupt stop. Before him, crimson was streaked across the powder. Snotlout cautiously moved forward to investigate. There were remnants of a charred fire and a vacant tent was erected nearby. A figure laid face down in the snow and bodies of several large wolves were scattered about, some missing their heads. It was obvious to him this person was dead, for blood pooled about them. Using his foot, Snotlout nudged the frozen stuff body so it was facing upwards and winced at the sight. The person was half-eaten. Clearly the wolves had won.

A glint caught his eye and he bent down to wipe snow away from a greatsword beside the body, then took notice of a familiar suit of armor sitting inside of the tent. He went to it and held up the helm. This person was the sellsword that he and Gunnar had encountered on the road months ago. Snotlout frowned. He remembered the disgusted look that the man had given them, yet he still felt pity. It seemed as though the wolves attacked this person after he had removed his armor. Still, he returned to the greatsword laid upon the ground and lifted it. It was heavy and the blade was broad and longer than his arm, somehow familiar in his grasp.

Snotlout held it before him, both hands gripping the hilt, and the sword moved as if an extension of his own body. The air whistled as it was cut by the swinging blade, Snotlout swiping across an imaginary enemy in front of him, jabbing and slicing. Despite two years without practice, his footwork was near impeccable. He had missed training… Snotlout had practiced all throughout his childhood with both of his parents, determined to be the best warrior of the Jorgenson clan. Even after Hiccup had trained the dragons and hand to hand combat grew obsolete, he was one of the few of his generation that continued to train.

He looked fondly on the beautiful weapon. It did somehow feel wrong to take it, but if he did not, surely some bandit would stumble across it and think otherwise. Snotlout adjusted his cloak so he could attach the scabbard to his back and it could be easily drawn. It was common practice to give a weapon a name, just like Hiccup named his unique blade 'Inferno.' He held the greatsword affectionately before he sheathed it, it's weight comforting. Looking on the bloody scene before him and the bodies on the wolves, he decided on a name. Wolfsbane.

Immediately he realized that he couldn't just leave the sellsword like this, especially after taking his weapon.

Snotlout dragged the body away from the path, nose wrinkled as he tried not to look down at the half-chewn face. The ground was hard and he lacked the tools for a burial, so instead he gathered a large amount of fallen wood into a pile and hoisted the man on top. He considered taking the armor as well, but it would have been much too small for him and selling it felt wrong anyhow, so instead he placed the helm in what was left of the man's hands. He sparked the funeral fire, and when the flames began to lick at the sellsword's form, he set off on his way, the billowing smoke at his back.

Months passed, and his main concern was survival.

When he did pass through small villages, the people seemed very suspicious of him. He was exchanging a pelt to a trader inside his shop one day when the man asked, "And what is your name, sir?"

There seemed to be an accusation is his question, and with a slight falter, Snotlout answered. "Ralof - Ralof Haddock."

He had not thought of what he would go by before, but the name came out naturally. The trader furrowed his eyebrows and seemed to question the reply, but said nothing more. And so that was the name that Snotlout gave himself to those who asked, and as time went on, it was almost as if he started to believe it himself.

He was unable to keep track of where he was. And worse, he soon found that even though he shared the same tongue with the people about him, their written word was entirely different. Occasionally he would encounter signs erected along the main roads for direction, but the words were just strange symbols to his eyes. He had learnt long ago to drop certain sayings from his vocabulary when in the villages - using the Gods names as an expression was a sure way to bring attention to him as a Viking: Oh my Thor, Odin's Beard. He would go several weeks at a time without even speaking, and he grew more and more quiet in his interactions with people so as to hide his accent, appearing mute to many.

The villages were sparse and dotted throughout the landscape - only little pockets of civilization amongst expansive wilderness. When he would stumble upon these places, he would ask for little bits of work to trade for a meal or a few items in many cases. It was hard - Snotlout always had a lazy disposition, but that simply was not an option here. In these cases, he would usually be told to go on and mind his business, but occasionally a villager would take one look at his brawn and take advantage of it. He had worked a mill one day, lifted heavy stone from a quarry, and harvested farm vegetables amongst many other odd jobs. One day he was even offered work by a married couple that owned an apiary. They had given him a large jar of honey as payment, after rolling over laughing at how uneasy he was around the bees, afraid of being stung by an insect smaller than a fingernail. Nevertheless, it was worth it… anything helped.

There was a time he was travelling away from the path when the trees became sparse and the land opened before him. A few leagues away sat the first city that he had ever laid on. Snotlout had stood there for some time, just taking in the sight before him. A massive castle towered in the heart of the city, amongst dozens and dozens of homes and buildings all encased within high stone walls. This must have been one of the major cities of the Holds that Gunnar and his wife told him about. He had never seen anything like it before an was intimidated by the sheer size of the place. But he did not make his way towards it, instead turning to safety of the woods, not willing to risk someone taking him for a Viking in such a populated place.

The harsh winter passed on and flowers opened under the warming sun.

Snotlout was trudging along, tired and hungry, as always. The land about him was rugged mountain, forcing him onto the road, for any other way would not be easy to manage on foot. He looked on in concern as he approached a sort of scene before him - a loaded cart with a wheel in a deep ditch, tied to a shrieking and whinnying horse. There was a stout and fat man yelling and cursing, pulling at the horse's reins and stopping to strike the animal with a whip.

Snotlout felt his hands curl into fists. This man was practically beating the horse senseless, and she was frantically heaving against the cart, sweating with fear. Every crack of the whip made his body tense, and his back prickled in a phantom pain. He watched as he raised the whip again and again to hit the mare, with full force, across neck and breast. Something in Snotlout snapped.

This man was not even aware of him until he strode quickly within feet of him, and had no time to react when the Viking snatched the whip. He threw it far, and got right in the stranger's face, stooping low and eyes intense. Through clenched teeth he spoke. "Untie it."

"W-What? Who the hell are you?"

"You heard me. Untie the horse, NOW."

This short person was red in the face and reeked of alcohol. He stuttered. "It's just a beast of burden!"

That remark made him think back to words his father once spoke regarding Hookfang - comparing his friend to a tool or a sword that could be easily replaced - and the fire in him grew. Snotlout didn't say anything else. He threw a meager amount of gold coins - surely nowhere near enough to cover the cost of a horse - at the man's feet, and though he truly didn't intend to use it, reached back and put his hand on the hilt of Wolfsbane. This got his attention.

"You're a thief!" the man snarled and detached the bits securing the horse to the cart, shaking with what could have been anger or fear. He roughly yanked at the reins and the horse nervously pranced out. There was a slit in the skin of her snout, trickling blood. "I'll have the guardsmen on you!"

But Snotlout said no more, simply taking the horse by the harness and walking away to leave the fuming man with his cart.

He had never ridden a horse before, let alone see one before coming to the land.

Berk had utilized them at some point, but eventually gravitated to raising the yak in its place. Many other tribes followed suit: when one lives on an island, it wasn't practical to go about on horse back when one could simply walk across the land within a few days. Also, yaks provided meat and milk and were much more hardy than their equine cousins in the wintertime. So he was quite out of his element… despite having flown through the skies on Hookfang's back, this was something quite new to Snotlout.

The mare was a deep russet color with a black mane, muscular and lean. She was skittish and nervous, clearly a product of her abuse. Snotlout did not even attempt to ride the horse for several weeks, just holding her reins as he went about his business and she leisurely followed. Slowly she grew more relaxed in his presence, and even one day as he slept on the ground, he woke to her laying around his head, snuffing at his hair.

There finally came the day when Snotlout decided he would try to ride the horse. He had picked a name for her: Juniper. It was not an intimidating name at all, but she was far too skittish to ever be a war-horse. Nevertheless, Juniper seemed more than comfortable in his presence by now and already had a saddle from the previous owner, so Snotlout finally thought it was time. "Alright," he said to himself as if to prepare, "You've tamed and ridden a Monstrous Nightmare before, this will be no problem."

Immediately when he tried to mount, she shied away and he fell. And he fell many, many more times, his clothes becoming dirty and disheveled. After being thrown repeatedly and sufficiently bruised from it, Snotlout finally managed to sit up in the saddle, and tried to replicate what he had watched others do on horseback. Just as he saw those people do, he held the reins before him and kicked her haunches… possibly just a bit too hard. Juniper whinnied and reared back, front legs kicking. So he fell. Again and again.

It took him time to get used to riding in this manner. It was entirely different from having Hookfang beneath him - the dragon could understand most human language and despite what the rest of the Riders thought, the two were bonded and could move as one with little need for signals. It was quite unlike horseback, yet he still tried to learn. The two took it slowly as he learned to work the rein and apply just enough pressure to his kicks, and just enough force to steer her into turns. They paced about leisurely, walking and trotting. One day, when they came across a wood where the trees grew sparse and far apart, he finally ventured to ease her into a gallop, and then a full sprint.

Juniper whinnied and tossed her head when he nudged her haunches - she was eager to run - and she lurched forward. It was as if he could feel the ground rumbling beneath him as her hooves pounded, and his hair was swept back in the wind. He experienced something similar to when he rode Hookfang for the first time - a leaping sensation, and he felt one of his rare smiles cross his face. He tucked himself low to her neck just as he would with Hookfang to become more aerodynamic. Juniper was incredibly fast and responded to his light tugs of the reins easily, her mane flapping about his face. He had never moved so quickly on land before. How someone could have beat this animal as if she was only a working beast perplexed him, and when they were done galloping, he patted her long chestnut snout affectionately and gave her one of his apples… though she was just an animal, Snotlout finally had a friend to keep him company in his lonely travels.

Snotlout and Juniper continued on.

The landscape around them was changing - though he could have been walking in circles for all he knew, the region had been mountainous for the most part of his journey and now flattened into a massive wooded valley. He found himself coming across a village that was a bit larger than what he was accustomed to one rainy day - there were dozens of people walking about it's main road and even armed men of the Hold stood watchfully. They eyed him suspiciously, but no one stopped him.

By this time he had a decent amount of coin to his name - though he had often traded the spoils of his hunt, he only tried to spend what was necessary. There was a busy tavern in the town with its own stable - a luxury he was not accustomed to. For the first time since being on the hard road, Snotlout took advantage of an inn.

After he had stabled his horse and stepped inside, he was met with skeptical and blatant stares - Snotlout was clearly an outsider and looked the part. But no one said a word to him aside from the innkeeper neutrally asking him if he wanted a room. He obliged, and stood in the room staring at the bed for quite some time. This was his tonight. It had been a very long time since he had a bed to himself… and he was reminded once again at just how bleak his life had become. Nevertheless, he was quite content to find that food and drink were included in the cost of the room, and he ate well and passed out drunk in his bed that night.

The next morning Snotlout woke (with quite a hangover) and shuffled into the village as people bustled about. He was painfully aware of a loud clanging that made his head pound and grumpily looked over to see someone working a forge not far from him. He may have still been a bit drunk, and Snotlout rubbed sleep out of his eyes as he wandered over, ready to ask if the noise could be kept down. A man hammered at a piece of glowing hot metal, hands covered in gloves, and embers flew with each strike. He had a thought. "Hey!"

The smithy met eyes with him, distracted from his work. "Can I help ye?"

"How much for a suit of armor?"

The man looked him over and burst out laughing. "We don't have anything that can fit ye!"

"Then how much for a custom suit?"

"It's an expensive job, and not many go about asking for armor around here. And I'm one of the best so I charge extra. I don't think ye could afford it, son."

"Maybe not," Snotlout said and pulled out his bag of gold. He poured all of the coins into his hand and offered it. "How about this? And I can help you with work around the forge. I can tan leather and give you hide."

The man before him furrowed his brows. He was older and years were etched into his wrinkles, dirty from the smoke of the forge. "That would be a task that could take months."

"I want the best, and if you say you are, I'll stay and help as long as it takes. If you'll let me."

The man seemed to consider this, every thought passing over his face, and he finally nodded. "Aye. You can split the wood for the forge, and sharpen the swords and axes if you can. I won't be paying you, but you can sleep out here if ye need. But it'll take time, I'll warn ye."

So it was settled. Snotlout worked for the smithy, helping with any work that he could. He worked the leather rack just as he had offered, and cut wood to fuel the ever-burning forge. He would feed ore of many varieties into the smelter and it would come out hot and malleable where the smithy would expertly hammer it into new solid form. One day the smithy even tried to introduce him to forging the metal, but that was quickly decided against.

He had struggled in finding the right temperature of when to temper the bright orange ingot, and the material would come out misshapen and need to go straight back to the smelter. Snotlout once struck the cooling material so hard that the plate almost snapped beneath him, and the man exclaimed loudly and pulled the sheet away. "Good God, do ye mean to break it? Lessen your blows!"

It was frustrating to the Viking, and he recalled the times he had taunted Hiccup over spending so much time at the forge of Berk. Real vikings, he had claimed then, used weapons… not made them. And now he felt quite foolish making those assertions. This art was difficult to learn for him, and he thought to all of the inventions that Hiccup had made, and just how delicate and precise everything must have been. He had watched Hiccup forge metal rods no thicker than his finger before… and here he was, struggling to do a fraction of the very thing he mocked Hiccup for.

After nearly destroying several pieces of expensive metal, the smithy finally declared that the Viking would not work the hammer anymore and he humbly obliged, feeling quite the fool.

Snotlout - or Ralof, as he now called himself - had stayed in this village for several weeks, and then months. Aside from taking Juniper to the woods for rides and hunting, he spent almost all of his time at the forge and even slept under its outdoor roof.

The smithy had him measured, and commented disbelievingly on just how abnormal his size was, but Snotlout shrugged as if he didn't have an explanation. The two of them sat down and planned out exactly what it was Snotlout wanted - something light but impenetrable, made of a material that allowed him a lot of movement, and a suit that he would be able to put on and take off himself.

The man decided that steel would be the best answer - it was lighter than iron yet just as durable, but the cost of the material was high. So Snotlout worked hard to cover the price, and it was fascinating to see the drawn out plans come to life. Over a month, a cuirass was shaped to fit him, and it took a week to finish the boots. Then came the gauntlets. He was surprised to see that he could move his fingers just as well as not having any armor on them, and the little metallic clinks of their joints was oddly satisfying. Even after some time the smithy, whose name was Holvur, admitted that in his old age he was never given projects such as this, and had grown quite excited to show off his skills in the endeavor.

Finally, everything but the helmet was created. Snotlout stood before Holvur, trying to follow the directions on how to take the armor on and off. "It is tricky," the smithy said, "The most defensive suits require a second person… if ye don't have anyone to help, ye are essentially stuck in them. I tried to make this an exception. Here, look how I put the straps where ye can reach."

It was a tedious job. From boot to collar, it took about a solid fifteen minutes to put the suit on and about ten to remove. But it was worth it, Snotlout thought. Without the suit seeing battle or the elements yet, the steel shone like Razorwhip scales in the firelight of the forge and he was more than happy with the result. The way Holvur worked was masterful - just how perfectly the plates fit together so only small cracks exposed him, yet the edges would glide just out of reach of each other to allow a full spectrum of movement - he was still able to reach his arm back to draw Wolfsbane and could even crouch, jump, and run. When they were drawing up plans for the helmet, Holvur looked down at Snotlout's crude sketch and raised his eyebrows. "Ah. It's different… but it's your suit, so ye can do what ye want, I suppose."

So on the day of the armor's completion, the smithy approached Snotlout carrying a helm adorned with steel dragon horns, their shape very similar to those belonging to a Monstrous Nightmare. "Well, son," the man had said and looked in satisfaction on the Viking before him, covered completely in shining steel armor. "It has been quite some time since anyone has let old Holvur really get his hands dirty with work. I can say I'm proud of this one. Thanks for yer help and patience, boy."

Snotlout was admiring the helmet in his steel-tipped fingers. "I'm lucky to be the one wearing it," he said quietly.

He reached up and worked the helm over his head. His vision was only slightly limited, and to Holvur, only the shadows of his bright blue eyes could be seen. Fully suited, Snotlout worked his fingers and flexed his shoulders, the metal clinking. The horns added even more height to his already tall frame, and Holvur flicked his eyes to see some villagers pausing about their day to take in a good look… he really was quite the sight. The smithy folded his arms, scrutinizing the person before him - the quiet young man who had helped him so much about the forge suddenly had a new air about him, and he realized that he might have greatly misjudged this 'Ralof' lad.

"I never asked ye," the older man said, "What exactly ye intend to do with such an intricate piece of armor."

Snotlout was strapping the greatsword scabbard across his back, and donned the cloak about his shoulders. "Something that I'm good at for a change," he responded vaguely, and gave the smithy one last look. "Thanks. For everything."

"Aye," Holvur said, "You're bound to have folk asking about that suit of armor, so ye send them my way. Safe travels, then."

He watched as Ralof turned, cloak billowing as he approached the stables. His chestnut horse snorted and shied away with flat ears, but the young man pulled of a gauntlet and allowed the mare to smell. The animal instantly relaxed and allowed him to attach the saddle, which he jumped on to with ease. The old smithy even smiled at this, pleased with how nimble the suit allows the wearer to be. Ralof and the horse trotted into the lane of the village where some stopped to watch, giving Holvur one last nod before galloping off.

A/N. Hey, there! My apologies for the long wait on this chapter. I originally planned to make an update at least once a month, but life is kind of crazy right now... I've had a recent breakup that requires me moving to a new apartment, plus I've got family issues as well as some legal problems that require me going to court. So, it's kind of hard to find the time to keep writing at the moment. Once again, I appreciate any patience from the readers, because I know the pacing on this is slow. But, I promise things are going to pick back up soon! As always, reviews always make my day and help the creative juices start flowing. -Rummybones