Fire was burning bright in the Mead Hall tonight. Tables were arranged. Mugs and plates laid out. Barrels of mead stored by the wall. Boar roasting. Goulash cooking. Ornamental shields shining brightly. Musicians warming up. Everything infiltrated by excitement in anticipation of the upcoming feast.
There was only one formality left to be taken care of.
Stoick the Vast sat with his arms crossed, eying the barrel being placed on the table in front of him. Hairy Hooligans and Bog Burglars held their breath as the container was opened. Out of it sprung a stream of deep red liquid, like blood from a violently cut artery. And likely no less valuable.
Wine was a luxury good in the Viking world. Vikings commonly drunk water and milk, knew how to make beer and mead, but cultivating wine grapes in their climate was out of question. The drink had to be imported from southern lands.
Hairy Hooligans did not typically venture far beyond the Archipelago – since they have always had their hands full fighting dragons and searching for the Nest. Items from far away were delivered to them by traders in exchange for local wares – wool, lumber, weapons, tapestries, and other craftworks, also dragon teeth jewelry (particularly valuable).
Bog Burglars, on the other hand, spent most of their time sailing. They always knew what could be obtained where. And filled the Viking market with goods of extraordinary value.
Captain Bloodybee personally handed the Hooligan chief a cup full of wine. Stoick eyed the liquid carefully, shifting the container slightly. He breathed in the aroma of the drink. And took a sip. He did not swallow immediately, taking the time to savor the experience, letting the elixir leave its mark of his tongue. When all of it has made its slow descent down the chief's throat, the man eyed the cup again, letting out a hump of satisfaction. He then turned to the people standing directly behind him. The group consisted of Spitelout, Gobber, Valka and Hiccup.
It was the boy he summoned.
Hiccup was visibly startled. Yet, he approached his father. Stoick handed him the cup with the words "Taste it, son". The boy took it, albeit reluctantly. Following his father's example, he took a good look at the drink from a couple angles, sniffed it, and took a sip. Judging from his expression, the experience wasn't unpleasant, but left him quite confused.
Valka figured this must have been her son's first taste of wine ever. Or maybe he was offered a cup before, but ended up embarrassing himself somehow. If, by any chance, he spat it out in front of people, they probably still teased him about it from time to time.
Meanwhile Stoick smiled at his offspring. "Well? What do you say?"
Hiccup hesitated. "It's… rich," he said finally.
The comment won the approval of Bloodybee. "Isn't it just?" she asked, swelling with pride. "Southern Sun liquidized! The taste stays in your throat even a minute after you swallow it! This is the quality I could bet my good hand on!" she exclaimed, patting the barrel with said hand.
A sudden motion next to Hiccup caught his attention. Gothi the elder was tugging on his tunic, and looking at him expectantly.
"Oh. Yes, of course," the boy handed the woman the cup. She eyed it carefully, sniffed, and took a sip. After a moment of contemplation, she gestured for her assistant. A little girl – her great-granddaughter – approached, and placed a sandbox in front of her. Gothi then transferred her judgment onto the sand with her stick. The little girl watched, and smiled as the message was written down.
"She wants a barrel all to herself!" exclaimed the little girl. Gothi smiled in approval and pat her great-granddaughter's head.
"Of course, elder, of course," assured Stoick. He then addressed Hiccup again. "Well, son? How much do we charge them?"
Hiccup considered the matter carefully. They were asked to accommodate a crew of 25 for a total of 9 days, provide them with hot meals and sauna. Not to mention a perfect opportunity to acquire knowledge on dragon training.
"One barrel for every member of the crew," suggested Hiccup finally.
Stoick nodded in approval and turned to Bloodybee. "You've heard him: that's 25 barrels altogether," he announced.
The woman chuckled. "Silly boys. You think I let myself get scrod that easily?" she challenged them, hands on hips. "It takes three months of sailing just to find a vineyard this good. 15 barrels is most you'll get."
Tension levels rose as Stoick's eyebrows lowered. "You're the one who's trying to screw everybody, Bloodybee. A blind man would have noticed these barrels are smaller than Standard Viking Beverage Barrels."
The Bog Captain shrug her shoulders, smiling innocently. "True, the barrels are smaller, but the beverage is richer. If standard beverage is like standard blood, then this here wine is like the blood flowing in my children's veins. Finest of the finest, unbeatable, top sort. And not a drop of water mixed into it. One good warrior is worth more than a handful of mediocre warriors, wouldn't you agree, chief?" she asked with mock sweetness.
Stoick hmh-ed, narrowing his eyes and folding his arms. When he next looked up at his opponent, he appeared less tense. It was with a sigh that he returned to negotiations. "I insist by 25 barrels, Bloodybee. However," he added quickly, "I will have three of them offered to everyone – your and mine people likewise – at today's feast. Another six at Snoggletog feast. And one will be given to your son Snotlout. Are these terms acceptable to you?"
The woman hmh-ed. She appeared to be thinking heavily, weighing the pros and cons, but the mischievous smile she sported mere seconds later destroyed the impression. She has already made her decision. It was just that she enjoyed the drama.
"Fine, Stoick. We have a deal."
Rather than shake her hand, the chief folded his arms and cleared his throat.
Bloodybee sighed with a weak smile. "Right. Bare-hand shake. I always forget that," She loosened the straps of the leather glove that held the base with male coupling, to which she attached her prosthetics (currently empty). Underneath was a protective sleeve made of linen, which she pulled off. Interestingly, she didn't toss either of the elements onto the table, but kept them both in a firm grip of her good hand. She must have felt vulnerable without them. As she offered her crippled, bare hand to Stoick, she did not tremble, nor hesitate, but her expression was that of peaceful politeness, as opposed to the shameless bravado she typically exhibited.
Valka was surprised – as she didn't spot any sign of self-consciousness in Bloodybee's behavior before. She concluded the Captain doesn't mind interacting with other women without protection, but men were a different story. Especially ones she didn't get along with, like Stoick. Who just so happened to have quite a firm grip.
"Now," said Stoick, shaking Bloodybee's hand, "we have a deal."
The two tribes rejoiced. Formality was done with!
"Alright, girls, you know the drill!" Bloodybee exclaimed joyfully, hurriedly putting her sleeve and glove back on. "Bring one barrel to the elder's hut, one to Spitelout's house, and 22 up here. Avalanche," she turned to her daughter, "you show them how to reach your father's basement."
"Aye aye, Captain!" the girl saluted her mother and dashed after the grown crewmates.
"You go with them, Snotlout," Spitelout told his son. "You need to guard your property."
"Sure dad!" said the boy eagerly. He headed for the exit, but stopped momentarily to address a peer of his. "You've heard it, Astrid? I've got a barrel of wine all to myself! See you in my basement if you ever want to try it!" he winked at the girl and bolted to catch up with his sister.
Astrid rolled her eyes – much to the delight of Hiccup.
Gothi's great-granddaughter also exited the Mead Hall in hurry, which meant she was ordered to take care of the delivery on the elder's behalf. As for Gothi herself, she stayed where she stood, contemplating the wine cup with undeniable pleasure.
Meanwhile Spitelout slapped Bloodybee on the shoulder "Alright, woman!" he exclaimed jovially. "Now that the business's done with, we're going to dance!"
The woman's eyes lit up and her bravado returned with full force. "Get me a bowl of goulash and I might consider it," she grinned.
"And what makes you think I won't spit into it?" Spitelout grinned back.
Bloodybee waved her hand. "Sweet scoundrel, with the amount of body liquids we already exchanged, one spit more won't make a difference," she chuckled.
Excitement flourished on the man's face. "You know what? This wine of yours will be perfect with our roasted boars," he grinned, leaning towards her, practically devouring her with his eyes. Her gaze was no less intense as she grabbed his arm.
"Then go and get it, my mighty hunter," she ordered through a devious smile.
"Rawr!" he chomped at the air in front of her face and backed off to retrieve the food. She meanwhile returned to the table where the wine barrel stood, grabbed two mugs from a collection somebody had since delivered, and joined the line of Vikings waiting for their chance to access the luxury drink.
Meanwhile Hiccup stared at her with jaws wide open. His brain shut down due to mature content overload.
He felt a tug at his tunic. Gothi was offering him the cup of wine she had claimed earlier. The boy took it and emptied in one go. The elder smiled reassuringly and pet his back. He was so innocent it was adorable.
Meanwhile Stoick had filled two new cups and handed one to his wife. Following his example, Valka examined the liquid visually, olfactory, and gustatory. And was overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience.
"It's really good," she said, looking at the liquid in acknowledgement. Who'd have thought people were capable of making something this delicious? This could very well be the drink they served in Valhalla.
"Isn't it?" laughed Stoick. Judging by his merry tone and wide smile, he wholeheartedly agreed with him wife.
Gobber, who was also sampling the drink, had an expression of utmost relief and bliss. "Odin's beard, this stuff is good!" he said dreamily. In the next moment he was marching briskly towards the music corner, sprouting positive energy. "Alright, people!" he called jovially. "Let's get this party started! You, Rusty!" he hopped towards the secondary laeknir and urged him towards the band. "You sing that slow number, will you, boy!?"
"Yes, of course," muttered the young man, letting himself be pushed forwards. It didn't seem like he had any choice.
"Oh!" Stoick's eyes lit up as he turned to his wife. "Are you free for this dance, fair maiden?" he asked with a dashing smile.
Valka couldn't help but smile widely. "But of course, oh noble warrior," she replied, flattered. This was turning out to be a very pleasant party.
Stoick took both their cups and handed them to Hiccup. "You keep an eye on these, son," he ordered and immediately turned his attention back to Valka. She took the arm he offered her and they entered the dance floor.
Viking music was usually loud and lively – just like the Vikings themselves. The dances were meant to make blood flow faster and chase the coldness away. The number requested by Gobber was supposed to be a slow one, so the dance floor was taken over by couples. With the corner of her eye Valka noticed Bloodybee and Spitelout joining in, and smiled to herself. Then the band started to play and all her attention fell on the man before her. He was regarding her with so much love and awe that she couldn't help blushing. And thank every deity she could think of for such a wonderful husband.
She found herself being lead into a gentle motion. In a blink of an eye the dance floor transformed into a sea and the couples into boats, rocked by the delicate waves of music and a young man's voice.
And what a voice he had.
I see you sail away again
Never looking back
Just like the day you left my life
Not knowing that it broke my heart
The melancholic melody penetrated Valka's heart, touching her deeper than she thought it could. Rusty was a good singer, capable of pulling high tones – but it was the lyrics that really captivated her.
I toss and turn and cry for you
And hate myself for doing so
I should have stopped you when I could
Instead I stared and watched you go
Valka's heart pounded. Anxiety begun to brew at the bottom of her stomach. Suddenly she remembered dangling in the air. Fire consuming her house. Stoick desperately crying her name, holding their whimpering son…
The next verse continued in the sorrowful tone, full of genuine resignation and regret.
Would that have made you change your mind
If you had known how much I cared
If you had known there was someone
Who loved you just the way you were
Tears were forming in Valka's eyes as she pressed her face into Stoick's beard. He loved her, has loved her all along, just the way she were. And she still left him.
The part that came next was slightly livelier, like a firefly suddenly emerging from the depths of the night.
I guess I'll never know for sure
No use in wondering what went wrong
I'll hold on to your principles
So loving you would make me strong
The storm raising within Valka came to a halt. Clouds begun to drift away, letting in the sun. The light was frail, but it was stubborn. And continued to glow as the song went on.
You worked so hard your whole life long
You wasted no time whimpering
And through fate dealt you many blows
You took them all with dignity
She could feel Stoick leaning in, his lips brushing her earlobe as he whispered the next verse.
You are the star that's guiding me
The fire you lit still keeps me warm
Though we may never meet again
It's loving you that makes me strong
A pleasant warmth spread all over her body, melting the tension and brushing sorrows aside. Her husband's voice was like an answer to a prayer, his whole form a shield that protected her from all harm. She rubbed her cheek against his, getting lost in a sense of profound peace. Tears escaped her eyes yet again, but those were born of relief.
The rest of the dance was a pleasant cruise.
(…)
A couple songs later the party was in full swing. Pairs and small groups danced all over the place, laughing and singing. Others sat back to catch their breath and socialize. Vikings of both tribes feasted on roasted boar and venison goulash, exchanging jokes and gossip. In this happy atmosphere, Stoick and his family sat down for a meal. Right now they were just one of many groups in the spacious hall, which was heartening, especially for Valka. She found comfort in the intimate atmosphere they managed to create in the middle of this commotion. Fortunately, the Mead Hall was designed to hold the whole tribe. Even with such a large number of people, the place didn't feel crowded.
When the chief and his wife decided to take a break from dancing, they located the table where their son and his mentor sat over half-empty bowls and mugs. They joined in with trays of their own. Much to their approval, not a drop seemed to be missing from the cups they had entrusted to Hiccup a while ago.
Stoick immediately smirked at the lad. "Good job, son. Not a drop is missing."
Hiccup did not appear particularly happy. "I'm having mead," he explained. "Wine really isn't my kind of thing," in his thoughts, he added: Even more so that it brings to my mind the picture of Bloodybee and Spitelout exchanging body fluids.
Gobber seemed to find it amusing. "Oy, too intense for yer delicate throat?" he teased. "Don't worry, you'll love it when you're older."
"Sure," replied Hiccup dryly. He then switched his attention to his parents. "You guys enjoying yourselves?" he asked, hoping to get the conversation onto some safer grounds.
Stoick was delighted to answer. "Sure. We're having the time of our lives," he announced, beaming with happiness, pride and love for the world. Especially the woman by his side, whom he regarded with affection. He really did look like the happiest man alive.
"We are indeed," confirmed Valka, her opinion sincere. She had completely forgotten what a festive atmosphere this community was capable of producing. And tonight was particularly empowering. "And that first song was simply beautiful," she remarked, remembering the catharsis that piece had given her.
The remark pleased Stoick. "I knew you'd like it," he said with a hint of pride. "I always think of you when Rusty sings it."
That bit of information intrigued Valka. "So the song is his?" she asked.
"Aye. There was a woman he loved, apparently, but it didn't work out. Writing it down helped him cope with the grief," the chief swallowed another mouthful and smiled. "I'm just glad Decay convinced him to sing in public. We never would have heard it otherwise."
"I see," Valka nodded. She now understood why the laeknir sung with so much passion. Those lyrics were his actual love story. An unfulfilled love story.
She gazed at the table occupied by Gothi and her closest kin. Rusty was scratching the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly at two young Bog Burglars who appeared to be hitting on him. The elder seemed amused, the primary laeknir annoyed, and the two youngest children confused. Not even a minute later the Bog Burglars backed off, laughing benevolently. As soon as they were gone, Rusty sat down, breathing a sigh of relief. The primary laeknir pat his back.
Valka felt a wave of compassion for the young man. Rusty was in mid-twenties. True to his name, he had bright red hair, about an inch long and rather messy, and a matching beard. He sported some fine muscles, but his figure was noticeably slimmer than that typical of Hairy Hooligan men. He likely used to be skinny as a teenager, and worked hard to build himself up. Despite his rank he was very modest and kind, sometimes coming off as awkward. He reminded Valka of her own son to a degree. Only that he lacked Hiccup's dry sense of humor and overconfidence.
It might have been the similarity, or plain empathy that made Valka turn to Stoick with the following question. "That woman, do you know who she was?"
Stoick shook his head. "No idea. Rusty never told anybody. Not even Decay," he remarked before taking another mouthful of venison goulash.
Decay was Rusty's older sister, and they were appeared to be very close. The young man was often seen playing with his nephew and niece, and Decay dotted on him. Her husband even said that Rusty was to them like a brother and son combined.
Valka took another sip of wine. It really did underline the taste of venison goulash she was eating. She then eyed the liquid, shifting her cup gently. As if the motion could inspire her somehow.
"I see you sail away again… that seems like a clue," she concluded finally. After all, women don't typically just sail away.
"We've had a few departures in the last couple of years," said Stoick. "The woman might have joined the Bog Burglars. Or married into another Tribe."
"I think," Gobber suddenly cut in, "she might still be living on Berk. She might even be a close friend of Rusty's. The part about sailing away is to deceive us," he declared, shaking his mug for emphasis.
Valka turned to the blacksmith, her curiosity perked. "You think so?"
"Aye," nodded Gobber. "She's lost to him in that she's happily married to somebody else. That's why he won't tell anybody who she is. If people knew, her reputation would die a gruesome death. That would be the end to both her and Rusty. So he puts on a brave face and lies, to protect the both of them," the blacksmith took a sip from his mug and melted into nostalgia. "Ah, to love somebody you could never be with. I know how it feels." he sighed dreamily.
Valka smiled kindly. "You're such a romantic, Gobber."
"You have no idea," he chuckled.
The blissful atmosphere was disturbed by a smack to Valka's back. Delivered – unsurprisingly – by Bloodybee. A very delighted and cocky Bloodybee.
"Valka! Enjoying yourself?" the captain laughed, putting her arm around her victim. "Cause I could use some more entertainment! Come," she pulled at the other woman's arm, "tell us all about your life with the dragons!"
The suggestion was immediately applauded by the surrounding Vikings. Excitement spread like fire, and so did Valka's anxiety.
Stoick's reaction was instant. "Hold it!" he demanded, jumping to his feet. "Who gave you the right to boss my wife around?"
To his credit, Bloodybee let go of Valka's shoulder and took a step back. Yet, her insolence did not weaken a bit.
"Oh, but I'm merely making a request," she said sweetly. "On behalf of all of us, I believe."
Most of the Hall reacted in applause. Comments like "Yeah!" and "Story time!" could be heard.
Valka swallowed hard. She was outnumbered.
Stoick's reassuring grip was firm on her shoulder, and his face determined. "You don't have to do this," he told her.
She didn't, of course. She could very well tell the intent and expectant crowd they would not be getting a story out of her. Only she doubted they'd let her off the hook just like this.
It wasn't that she was uncomfortable with speaking in public. She's given enough dragon-related lessons and lectures to get over the fear. The problem was, this particular public was not interested in studying. What they sought was entertainment. They wanted her to brag about her heroic deeds, like a proper Viking should. Preferably displaying an ego the size of a Bewilderbeast. By all gods, she was not going to do that.
"Me!" Snotlout exclaimed, appearing by his mother's side. "Mom, I'm gonna tell you a story! You're gonna love it!"
For once, Valka was glad the bulky boy was such an attention seeker. Bloodybee, however, had a different opinion.
"Oh, how cute" she chuckled, petting her son on the helmet. "My little piglet thinks he's a battle-ready boar. Sorry, son, but tonight's not your night," she added in a patronizing tone. "Who'd want to listen to a boy, even as fine as yourself, when there's a real hero sitting among us?"
That comment was backed up by a loud wave of approving shouts. "Yeah!", "Well said!",
While Snotlout glared daggers at his mother's crewmates, Valka wondered whether to laugh or cry. She was not a hero. She was anything but a hero. If it wasn't for her stubborn son she wouldn't even be here.
If it wasn't for one boy's blind faith, she wouldn't even be here.
Not quite knowing what she was doing, the woman drew herself up and walked to the center of the room. She could literally feel her husband's worried gaze drill a hole in back, his concerns more intense than the excitement of Bog Burglars. The dragon lady took a firm stand, and a moment to contemplate the sea of faces that followed her. Acknowledging that she had everybody's attention, she spoke.
"What you want to hear," she begun carefully, "is a story of a hero. A hero who ended the 300-year-long war between Vikings and dragons," she glanced around the room. Everybody was listening attentively. "But I am not the hero."
The public's faces dropped in confusion. "I really am not," continued Valka confidently. "My story is one of a an ordinary woman, whose only merit was seeing dragons as something more than vicious beasts. And even that did not help my tribe a tiniest bit. I have always believed there had to be an alternative to mindless killing, but I could never offer actual ideas. I have pleaded to stop the fighting, to find another answer, but what good has my talking ever done? Absolutely nothing," she waved her head, taking a quick glance around. The audience was increasingly confused, but that didn't bother her a tiniest bit.
"As of today," she continued, "I am, without a doubt, the most knowledgeable dragon expert in existence. However, it has never been my intention to become one. In all honesty, I became what I am today, because I had no choice. I was scooped from the ground and taken away. Thrown right in the middle of a foreign world, inhabited by creatures I knew next to nothing about. It was a sink or swim situation. If I were to survive, I had to adapt. Cloudjumper, quite literally, took me under his wing. Saw in me something that was worth his time and effort. It was him who trained me, not the other way around. He allowed me to become a part of his world, to get to know dragons like no human had ever before. Alas, if I were left to my own devices, all this knowledge would have died with me."
The dragon lady sent a look towards her family. They looked worried. She gave them a reassuring smile and went on.
"The story you really want to hear begun not that long ago. And it had nothing to do with me. The hero you really want to hear of found himself in a situation similar to mine, yet very different at the same time. Our hero had wanted to kill dragons. Had, in fact, trapped a dragon. Had him at his mercy. Any other Viking would have happily killed the beast and kept the corpse as a trophy. But not our hero. The moment he looked into that dragon's eyes, he knew he could never do what he had been raised to do. He looked at that dragon and he saw a soul. A soul that reflected his own."
The Hall was steaming with anticipation. Valka had them all at the edges of their seats. And enjoyed the feeling of absolute power.
"Our hero chose to set the dragon free. Chose to put his own life on the line rather than take the dragon's. The story might have ended there, but the hero chose to seek out the dragon, again exposing himself to danger for the sake of acquiring knowledge. He had this one dragon to study and observe, and no guarantee the benefits would be worth the risk, and he still did it. And arrived at some very solid conclusions, showing that his mind was as brilliant as his heart was strong. But his most notable trait was the blind faith in his own people. I can tell you, without a doubt: had it not been for this exceptional young man, this war would have lasted until we all wiped each other out."
That being said, Valka walked over to where her family sat, smiling gently. She gestured for her son to stand up. He stared at her is surprise, completely at loss. Then, hesitantly, he got up and approached her, not once breaking the eye contact. Valka put her arm around his shoulder and addressed the crowd.
"I give you the true hero of this story. Hiccup the Useful." to Hiccup, she said: "I am proud to have you as my son."
His mouth dropped open a little. Then a lot, shifting into a shy grin and then a wide smile. The, as tears of joy begun to form in his eyes, he threw his arms around her and held on tightly. She embraced him back and the crowd "awwwed".
Hiccup giggled through tears, happy beyond reason. And grateful that his mother thought of him in her moment of glory. No one had ever spoken of him the way she did. And when he looked into her eyes, he saw that she had meant it. She thought him a hero. And it meant the world to him.
It didn't matter if everybody else laughed or ridiculed him. He already had all the recognition he needed.
After they broke their embrace, Valka regarded him with genuine pride. This was the right man for the job. Of that, she was sure.
"This story is yours to tell," she said gently. She then gave her son a final pat on the shoulder and backed off. Her part was finished. All that was left to do was to sit back and relax.
When she returned to her seat, Stoick neared himself to her. "I still think you're awesome," he said, visibly proud of how well she handled the situation.
"Of course I am," she chuckled. "I churned out an heir unlike any other."
Stoick smiled in approval. "Aye. You so did."