Facing the crowd gathered in the Mead Hal tonight, Hiccup felt prouder than ever. He was no stranger to being in the center of attention, but never before has said attention been this positive. All the eyes were on him. Eyes belonging to robust, daring Vikings, who clearly considered him more interesting than their food and drinks. Not because he had made a mess of things, but because he had a brilliant story to tell. He was surrounded by people who genuinely wanted to listen to him. Who believed in him. It was the most empowering feeling in the world.
Hiccup smiled to himself, absorbing the atmosphere like a flower does sunlight. The times of being shoved out of the way like a rotten cabbage were over. He was no longer the kid who made his marks in the wrong places. Tonight, he was the hero.
He took a deep breath and started to narrate. "It all started one night, by all means as normal as any other…."
"Until dragons attacked!" exclaimed Snotlout, emerging besides the thinner boy.
"Hey!" protested Hiccup. But Snotlout was too excited to pay him any heed.
"Dragons snatching sheep from the ground!" he exclaimed, gesticulating widely. "People throwing themselves at them with whatever weapons they can find! Everybody maneuvering between flames! And then there's Hiccup, running for his life, with a Monstrous Nightmare right behind him! Hey, Hookfang!" the boy called to his dragon, "Come, chase Hiccup!"
Hookfang, meanwhile, lay by one of the side fireplaces, sipping yak milk from the barrel in front of him. He did not seem bothered by two children who pet his muzzle, nor to have heard his rider.
"Hookfang!" called Snotlout angrily. That, finally, got the dragon's attention. He roared and hurried towards his rider, reaching him with one powerful jump, raising the excitement of the audience.
"As I was saying, the Monstrous Nightmare was about to swallow Hiccup," continued Snotlout, gesturing for his dragon to charge at the thinner boy. Hookfang neared his head to the Hooligan heir, sniffing curiously. "But then," continued Snotlout, "the chief entered the scene!" he yelled, smacking Hookfang from the side. The Monstrous Nightmare growled in disapproval, the audience gasped, and Snotlout demonstrated further punches, attacking the air in front of his dragon and narrating vigorously. "Stoick was unstoppable, beating the life out of the beast with his bare hands! From left, and right, and right in the trap! And wham! The dragon was out of fire in split seconds! And then," Snotlout's eyes gleamed as he took a dramatic pause, "Then, the chief whipped some sparks off his shoulder, eyed the mess that surrounded him, and found Hiccup. And Hiccup looked at him, with those big eyes, and this stupid face," Snotlout bent his knees, slouched and looked up with as much guilt as he could faker, "and said: but I hit a Night Fyoolly."
The last sentence came in fake childish voice and earned quite a laughter from the crowd.
Hiccup sighed heavily and pat his cousin on the shoulder. "Thank you, Snotlout, for this lovely introduction," he said sarcastically.
"You're welcome," grinned the bigger boy.
Hiccup probably should be angry, but concluded it really wasn't worth it. He wasn't about to let such a minor disturbance spoil the night for him.
"Now," said the Hooligan heir firmly in the direction of the audience, reestablishing his position as the hero of the story, "as Snotlout said, I did hit a Night Fury. Of course, nobody believed me, so I had to go and retrieve it myself. This was when I first saw Toothless," he gestured the Night Fury. "Tied up in the bola I shot."
Toothless fell to the ground, drawing his wings close and assuming a hopeless pose. His rider smiled weakly.
"That moment… I was proud," he admitted reluctantly. "I thought I have finally proved myself. That I was a Viking, and not… well, a hiccup. Who'd want to be a hiccup if you can be a Viking?"
The boy smiled sheepishly, but that smile faded quickly. Telling jokes seemed so painfully inappropriate in this situation. Hiccup took a deep breath and approached Toothless, continuing the tale.
"All I had to do was to cut the heart out and bring it to my father. But then I looked at him… and I couldn't."
He had made this confession to his mother before, and he did feel uncomfortable speaking these words. This time was no less difficult. Still, the boy was determined to get his message across. To open the eyes of all these Vikings to the truth he had experienced first-hand. They may not understand him, but at least they'll remember.
"There was something in his eyes that just touched me to the core," the boy spoke on. "I was scared. But so was he. He and I… we were so much alike. I realized, if I kill him, I will never forgive myself. So I set him free."
Toothless jumped to his paws, shook himself, and jumped aside. Hiccup continued the tale.
"I gathered myself from the ground and headed for home, accepting that I would never be like all the other Vikings. I would forget all about dragons and focus on my training in the smithy, where I didn't have to kill anything. But then my father says: 'Son, you get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning'. And I am like: Oh, just great."
(…)
The rest of the story was narrated without major disturbances. Hiccup spoke of his observations, of the mutual curiosity between himself and Toothless, of constructing the saddle and helping the dragon fly again. Toothless posed eagerly, helping him reconstruct their adventures. Other Berkian teens – mostly Snotlout – offered their comments every now and then. There were funny moments, scary moments, and everybody was captivated by the story. And Hiccup's parents were the proudest of all.
Hiccup was currently in the process of pushing Toothless away from Snotlout – who was pretending to be Stoick and has just interfered with Hiccup's final test at the old killing ring. Toothless heeded Hiccup's 'stop' and withdrew.
This was when an agitated voice from the other side of the room destroyed the mood.
"Spitelout!"
Everybody turned towards the Mead Hall entry. Towards the centre of the room marched Mildew, with his staff in one hand, his loyal sheep under the armpit, and a particularly nasty expression on his face. Many scowled in displeasure, cursing the old man for interrupting with their entertainment. It didn't affect his determination in targeting Spitelout.
"I need to have a word with you about that Bog Burglar spawn of yours!" he said without preamble.
Spitelout didn't bother standing up. "Bibi, this one's for you," he told the Bog captain, ignoring the old man, and returned to sipping his drink.
Bloodybee sighed and approached the newcomer. "Alright. What is it about my daughter?" she asked without much interest.
Mildew glared at her, boiling with fury. "I'll have you know, that this brat of yours tried to rob me!"
Bloodybee raised her eyebrows. "No," she said in surprise.
"Yes!" exclaimed Mildew. "I go to the outhouse, I hear some commotion, I ran back, and this little thief is in my storage room!"
"No!" exclaimed Bloodybee, genuinely moved by the revelation.
"Yes! Thank gods my little Fungus got in her way, or she'd have robbed me! You better take responsibility!" demanded Mildew.
The captain made a serious face. "You are right, Sir. This is unforgivable," she admitted. "No respectable Bog Burglar gets caught red-handed. I'll give the kid such a thrashing she won't get near you until she could steal the pants off of you without being caught. You have my word"
Mildew was beside himself with fury. "Such insolence! You!" he called towards Stoick. "You are the chief! Do your job and punish the criminal!"
The chief eyed him dangerously. He was not about to help anybody who used this tone against him. "I believe her mother already promised to do it," he said firmly. "Besides, from what I understand, Avalanche did not steal anything."
"No, but when she saw me, she took my poor Fungus and threw him at me!" shouted Mildew, gesturing his sheep. "The both of us were hurt! I demand compensation!"
Bloodybee didn't bother pretending to be impressed. "Too bad, Sir. I haven't anything valuable on me at the moment," she said in a cocky manner. Then, developing a mischievous smirk, regarded the old man in a sudden moment of inspiration. "But perhaps you'd be interested in a more... personal compensation?" she suggested in an unusually sweet voice.
Mildew was puzzled. "Umh, what?"
Bloodybee neared herself to him, her eyes sparkling and good hand tracing the feminine assets alluringly. "I could massage the parts of you that were hurt," she offered, reaching out for his hand. With just her thumb she eased his hold on the staff. As it fell towards his shoulder, she pulled the freed hand towards herself. "And other parts as well," she added, placing the wrinkled palm on her ample bosom, revealed by a low-cut blouse.
Mildew backed off in such haste as if he burnt himself. Wide-eyed and red-faced, he struggled just to keep breathing. His hold of Fungus tightened so much the sheep cried in pain. For a moment it seemed that the old man would faint, or have a heart attack, or worse. He tried to say something, but it came out as incomprehensible groan. Anger, shame and disgust twisted his features, manifesting themselves in violent gestures and further inhuman groans. Finally the old man waved his hand and headed for the exit, muttering under his breath.
Bloodybee observed his departure in shameless satisfaction.
Meanwhile Snotlout stared at her in indignation. "MOM! You wouldn't!" he exclaimed, horrified.
"Easy, sonny," she waved her hand dismissively. "I knew he wouldn't have the balls to take me up on this offer. It's obvious that his equipment has the size of a dried grape, and about as much usability," she said simply. Ignoring the utter terror these words caused in her firstborn, she glanced around the room, becoming serious. "More importantly... AVALANCHE! Get your incompetent butt over here!" she yelled angrily.
The girl slowly emerged from underneath one of the tables. She looked no less scared than Mildew was a moment ago. And rightfully so. There was no doubt a major scolding was coming, even by Viking standards.
"Caught red-handed? Really?" the captain asked her daughter, when the girl came close enough.
"But mom, I was doing just fine!" said Avalanche defensively. "Before that sheep knocked a..."
"NO EXCUSES!" roared Bloodybee, almost blowing the child off her feet. "In this job you either are perfect or dead! There is no in-between! Weren't you listening when I told you all that?"
"I was," Avalanche said hastily, "but..."
But Bloodybee's attention was elsewhere. "All the hard work you put into your training," she growled, prowling around like a caged animal, "all the achievements, all the sweat, bruises and sore muscles, was it all for naught?!"
"No, I really...!"
"Sure!" Bloodybee threw her fists into the air. "Piss all over your reputation, if it means so little to you, go ahead! But what about me?" she looked down at her daughter, her eyes piercing Avalanche's. "I always brag about you, you know that. How skilled you are. What a fine burglar, wrestler, and what not you are. That no mother ever has had a finer daughter. I say that every chance I get!" she glared at the child dangerously. "What am I supposed to say to my crew now? You've made me into a laughingstock of the tribe!"
"Mom, I'm sorry!" Avalanche squeaked in despair.
Bloodybee shook her head. "No, Avalanche," she said in resignation. "I am sorry. For not teaching you well enough. But I will correct this mistake right now."
Her eyes hardened as she grabbed a hand attachment from a scabbard that hung at her belt – the same spike-ended attachment she had used earlier that day when battling Spitelout – and clicked it into the base on her glove.
Avalanche gulped.
"For starters," said Bloodybee, "let us review penalties that await burglars caught in the act."
Faster than a lightening, she grabbed her daughter's right wrist and slammed it against the table, twisting the girl's arm painfully. Avalanche whined, her wide eyes alternating between her captured limb and her mother's grave serious face.
"Most commonly," continued Bloodybee, "burglars caught in the act have their hand cut off."
The metal spike stroked the girl's wrist, subtle as a fly, and more intimidating than a hornet. As Avalanche held her breath, her mother spoke on.
"That is, if they are lucky. You just might be caught by a real peculiar fellow. He just might feel like having fun and ask you what you prefer, a long arm or a short arm, without explaining which of these means cutting your arm at the wrist and which at the elbow. I wonder, what would you choose?"
The captain's voice was as cold as the metal spike with which she traced her child's skin. Avalanche was paralyzed with fear, trying her hardest not to breathe, begging silently for her captor to hide the sting. Alas, Bloodybee was far from done.
"Of course, they could also throw you into jail. You probably could escape, but not before running into some senior prisoners. You think just because you're a child you'd get a cell all to yourself? No, they'd put you with the big girls. Or the big boys. And trust me, you don't want to know what big boy do to little girls in prison."
The more the woman spoke, the more her words reminded of leeches, slowly sucking the very life out of Avalanche. Meanwhile the blade traveled up, brushing the girl's jaw line, setting right under her chin.
"Also, we must not forget the death penalty. You wouldn't believe how many ways there are to kill a little girl."
The captain's emotionless eyes penetrated her child's, wide with fear, surrounded by cold sweat. Bloodybee took a couple of intense seconds just staring like this, as if she wanted to make sure the message sunk in. Then – slowly – she withdrew her blade. A blink of an eye later she slammed it onto the table, between two of Avalanche's fingers.
Time appeared to have stopped at this very moment.
Avalanche looked at the blade, stuck so dangerously close to her fingers, and failed to comprehend how it happened. She looked up at her mother, her gaze confused and begging for answers. But Bloodybee was no less cold than the blade she swung. Indifferent as a rock, she drew herself closer, looked her daughter directly in the eyes, and spoke in a tone deprived of all emotions.
"This was the last time you embarrassed me. Do I make myself clear?"
Avalanche nodded, or at least she hoped she did.
"Good," decided Bloodybee. She then let go of her daughter's wrist and pulled the blade out of the table. She disconnected the spiked attachment from her glove, put it back into the scabbard, and turned her back at the girl. She then sat herself back at the table, grabbed a mug, and took a big sip. Anger has left her features. She now bore the look of somebody who has just returned home after a whole day of hard labor. She was tired, and little else.
Meanwhile Avalanche was still staring at her with wide eyes. The scolding may have been over, but her body did not register it yet. Every muscle, every inch of skin and every organ within her told her she was not safe yet. The memories would stay with her for a long time. The fact that her mother moved on so easily only intensified her inner turmoil.
Unbeknownst to the child, the majority of the Vikings who had witnessed the scene understood what she was going through. Memories from such events were like an infection. They spread all over the body, impairing all the inner organs, causing unmanageable pain. One could fight an infection, but it was a demanding battle. For how could but you really defeat something you couldn't see? You had to be a real tough person. A true Viking. If you weren't, you were not worth the attention.
This was why majority of the Vikings in the Hall followed Bloodybee's example and returned to their food, drinks and conversations. The child received some proper scolding. Now she had to be left to her own devices. Time would tell if her mother managed to make a Viking out of her.
There were, however, a couple of individuals eager to twist the blade in the wound.
"Congratulations, Avalanche," said Snotlout mockingly, emerging besides his sister. "You didn't pee your pants."
His input served to remind the girl that time was still flowing. And helped her regain control of her own body somewhat. "Shut up," she muttered and started to walk away.
"Oh, but I really am impressed," insisted Snotlout, following her. "I don't think Hiccup ever got told off quite as bad as you did just now, and that means something."
That did it. Avalanche turned back and threw herself at her brother in blind fury.
He got out of her reach and pushed her off course, whereupon she fell flat on the floor. Whereupon he hopped onto her back, almost making her spit out her own lungs.
"You disappoint me, Ava," he said in mock sadness. "I thought you were better than this."
The girl attempted to lift herself, but could not bear the weight of the boy on top of her.
"Let go of me!" she demanded angrily.
Snotlout's eyes sparkled in triumph. "Not until you say please."
"Buzz off!" Avalanched squirmed and struggled, but she had no leverage. Snotlout had her trapped. And was enjoying every moment of it.
"Say please!" he repeated.
As the siblings wrestled, everybody else observed in anticipation. Nothing excited Vikings as much as a fight. Some cheered, some whistled, some yelled "Blood, blood!". Spitelout looked as excited as a kid on the Snoggletog morning. Bloodybee looked like she couldn't care less. Neither of them moved from their place.
Hiccup, on the other hand, hurried to Avalanche's aid.
"Knock it off, Snotlout!" he demanded firmly. "She's had enough for one night!"
The Hooligan heir's agitated tone had no effect on the bigger boy,
"Hiccup, can't you see I'm teaching my sister how to stick up for herself?" he asked in a patronizing tone, as if he were explaining the obvious to a complete moron.
"As a matter of fact, no, I don't," said Hiccup, annoyed. "All I see is you torturing her."
Snotlout snorted. "Torturing? Phew! This is how we have fun! Right, Ava?"
"Go suck rocks!"
"What? Not tight enough? Here you go!" he promptly grabbed both her wrists and pulled her arms towards himself, which caused her to cry out in pain.
"Snotlout, stop it!" demanded Hiccup, increasingly worried about Snotlout possibly causing serious damage to Avalanche.
"Not until she says please!" insisted Snotlout, amused with both Hiccup's miserable attempts at rescue and his sister's helpless squirming. "Say please!"
Hiccup's mind raced. Snotlout won't let go willingly, cause he loves tormenting people. Avalanche won't break, cause it would mean even more embarrassment than she's already had tonight. Their parents won't move a finger, cause their kids' problems aren't their own. Astrid might've been inclined to help, but her parents surely were keeping her in place – Avalanche was, after all, a Bog Burglar, and Snotlout a fellow Hairy Hooligan. To support a member of another tribe, even an allied tribe, over one of your own could be interpreted as disloyalty. Hiccup knew his own father would probably scold him for interfering with the fight for this very reason, but no major repercussions will follow – people knew he had his own way of doing things. He just wish some of these people would support him on this.
As if to answer his wishes, a figure appeared by his side and shouted "Let go of her!"
It was his mother.
For a moment Hiccup was startled. He seriously didn't think anybody would back him up. For one thing, the incident he was trying to stop was, by Viking standards, a regular scuffle between two siblings – something he shouldn't feel the need to interfere with. Furthermore, he made a demand he proved incapable of enforcing, which put him in a bad light, and Vikings typically didn't side with losers.
Fortunately, Valka was not a typical Viking. She was not okay with what Snotlout was doing to Avalanche. She was not okay with the siblings' parents acting like it wasn't a big deal. And she sure as hell was not okay with her son becoming an object of ridicule just because he stood up to a bully.
Hiccup was glad to have such a mother.
Snotlout, meanwhile, was puzzled.
Valka eyed him dangerously. "Haven't you heard? Let her go, this instance!" she demanded, her tone deadly serious.
Snotlout was visibly at a loss. He did not expect an intervention from an adult. He failed to process why Valka would become involved in his private matters. She was the wife of the chief. She shouldn't care. It was something new. And made no sense.
"Why?" he blurted finally, incapable of expressing his concerns in a more complex utterance.
"Cause if you won't, I'll tell everybody what you did back at the Sanctuary," threatened Valka.
Snotlout faltered at that. "You wouldn't," he said.
"The night before we left the Sanctuary," started Valka loudly, "Hiccup's condition worsened dramatically. This was when Snotlout…."
Snotlout jumped off his sister in such haste as if she just caught fire.
"Okay, okay!" he called in panic. "I'm off her! You happy now?"
Fortunately for Snotlout, Valka wasn't about to spare him any more attention. As the boy backed off, she approached his victim, who was still laying on the floor.
"Ava, are you alright?" the woman asked, her concern genuine.
Avalanche looked up at her, terrified and confused like a Terrible Terror cornered by Monstrous Nightmares. She needed a moment to comprehend that she was free again. And when she finally grasped it, she hurried to her feet and away from Valka, her features twisted by anger.
"I had it all under control!" she yelled in fury. "Stupid dragon freak!"
With that she turned and bolted out of the Mead Hall. Still, not fast enough for Valka not to notice tears forming in her eyes.
The Dragon Whisperer stared after the girl, taken aback by the child's hostility, but understanding that Avalanche needed to get away from this place. It was only in solitude that she could allow herself to cry, to truly come to terms with what she's been through. Poor, poor child.
"What, you thought she was going to thank you?" asked Bloodybee from her seat. "Girl, you really spend too much time in the clouds."
Valka whirled to glare at other woman. "Why didn't you stop this?" she demanded. "Hasn't your daughter suffered enough?"
The Bog Captain was unaffected by the accusation in the Dragon Whisperer's tone. "If she lets herself be provoked like this, then no, she definitely has not suffered enough," she said firmly. "Besides, if she cannot hold her own against one boy, she deserves all the thrashing she can get."
Valka could not help but feel increasing hatred for this woman. "What sort of a mother stands by when her child gets tortured?" she asked, outraged.
She knew that very instance she shouldn't have. That getting into an argument with this particular person in this particular time and place would end badly for her. Still, she just couldn't stop herself. And was about to regret it.
Bloodybee looked puzzled, as if she truly had no idea what Valka's problem was. The next second she was annoyed, obviously deciding the other woman was starting a fight for the sake of starting a fight. And produced the most stinging reply she could have come up with.
"You, of all people, should not be asking such questions."
This might have led to bloodshed if the chief hadn't interfered.
"Enough!" roared Stoick, approaching the two women hastily. He was pissed and not about to tolerate this commotion any longer.
"Listen up, Bloodybee," he addressed the Captain. "Valka is my wife, and mother of my heir. And you WILL address her with due respect. Otherwise I will send you back home with a letter to your chief, describing what an incompetent oaf she chose to represent her tribe. And I WILL shove a copy into every cavity there is in your body. Do I make myself clear?"
Bloodybee shrugged her shoulders. "Geez, what's the big deal? Yes, you do, chief," she added, putting her arms between herself and the not so patient man.
Deeming her answer satisfactory, Stoick turned to his wife.
"And you, Valka," he spoke, just as seriously as he did to Bloodybee. "You have NO right to lecture commanders from our allied tribes how to discipline their subordinates. I FORBID you. Do you understand?"
A part of Valka wanted to be angry with him, feeling that she didn't deserve such harsh treatment. Another part was frustrated with herself, for allowing this to happen. The most dominant emotion, however, was frustration with this entire situation. She's been there before, she knew that she was doomed the moment she opened her mouth. It hurt her more than it probably should, given the experience she's had. What did it matter that her anger was justified and Bloodybee's actions worthy of contempt if the society thought otherwise? Stoick, Bloodybee, and all others were against her. They made it clear that she was not supposed to feel the way she did. And though she felt like they were depriving her of the most basic human right, she had no choice but accept defeat. And this was what she did.
"Yes Sir," she said quietly.
"Good," nodded Stoick. "Now shake hands and make up."
Like children – thought Valka, not without disdain. She looked up and saw that Bloodybee was taking off her glove – showing absolutely no signs of discontent. She likely decided not to over-think Stoick's orders and do as he says, so she could return to her mug and forget about the whole affair.
But then – to Valka's utter astonishment – the Captain slid off her linen sleeve.
When they first shook hands back at the docks, Bloodybee only took off the glove. When she had to shake bare hands with Stoick, she did so with apparent discomfort. The hand she offered to Valka now was bare and vulnerable. Yet, the captain herself was perfectly at ease.
"No hard feelings, Dragon Whisperer," she said, smiling innocently.
The meaning behind this subtle gesture was clear to Valka. In Bloodybee's eyes, her husband was a force to be reckoned with. She was not.
Even in going along with Stoick's wishes, the Bog Burglar managed to slap her in the face.
Still, there was nothing Valka could do to return the blow. Suppressing the pain she shook the other woman's hand.
"No hard feelings, Captain," she muttered. In thoughts, however, she decided that Bloodybee the Steelsting would never be her friend.
"That settles it," announced Stoick. "Party on, everyone. The night's still young and the tables full! Musicians! Play something lively!"
He didn't need to repeat himself – the band started a happy tune and the Vikings returned to feasting. As if virtually nothing had happened.
In the noise that filled the Mead Hall, nobody paid attention to Stoick whispering to his wife: "Meet me at the latrines."
Valka nodded. Of course, she still had to get a proper scolding.
(…)
Walking towards the spot designated by Stoick, Valka didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This situation was painfully reminiscent of so many others that took place in her youth. Again and again she tried to change the world for the better. Again she started with all the right intentions and all the right reasons, only to learn that not a single person saw eye to eye with her.
Back when Bloodybee was delivering the scolding to her daughter, a few of the spectators appeared scared. Most of them, however, seemed amused, impressed, or both. Many exchanged looks and nods of approval and satisfaction, silently praising the captain for the intensity with which she disciplined her daughter. The overly dramatic insults and unnecessary physical violence had their acknowledgement. In their eyes, that woman was a great mother.
When Valka defended Avalanche, the non-verbal feedback was way different. People shook their heads and sighed. The looks they gave her were those of pity. In their eyes, she was ignorant.
Moments like this reminded her why she had written this population off all these years ago. Vikings were a hopeless case.
Still, she had promised she would try and fit in. She had committed herself to overseeing the integration of dragons and Vikings. She had claimed she was willing to accept the obligations vested into her as the chief's wife in exchange for freedom in training the Dragon Riders. She belonged to two worlds and had to act accordingly. And be prepared to face the consequences of failing to do so.
Finally she reached her destination. One of the corridors lead from the Mead Hall to a room in which a couple wooden shacks were built and a pile of buckets stood by the wall. Vikings came here to satisfy their physiological needs during feasts (female Vikings, that is – drunken male Vikings had no problem using a fireplace for this purpose). Stoick was leaning against a wall. As Valka approached him, she noticed that he wasn't angry. He was sad.
She decided to save him the trouble of pointing out what she did wrong.
"I know what you're going to say, Stoick," she said promptly. "Here I go again, making a scene, acting like an outsider and not a proper Viking, causing you problems and tarnishing our family's name. You've told me so many times that my way is not the way things are done, that there are times when it's okay to be a defiant, crazy nuisance that I am, and times when I have to act like a proper chief's wife, but of course, I never listen. Not to mention I'm probably the last person who should ever be lecturing others on parenting."
She grinned despite herself, albeit only for a second.
"But, Stoick, I had to," she continued in all seriousness. "I may be a stupid woman, an outsider, but I don't understand how purposefully humiliating your child is necessary to make a Viking out of her. And why? Because she made a mistake? Does that justify treating her like garbage? Why should one failure overshadow all those successes she's supposedly had throughout her life? And since when does being a Viking mean being perfect in everything? What's wrong with being average at something?" she revolted, giving voice to the outrage and disgust she harbored towards the Viking ways. She couldn't help it – she had to let it out.
"What Bloodybee and Spitelout do to those kids is no different than what we do to livestock. The moment they stop giving milk or laying eggs, we slaughter them. Am I really the only person in this tribe who is not okay with people treating their children like cattle?!"
She yelled, staring into her husband's eyes, surprised by her own boldness. He watched her, stoic as his name suggested, concerned, but not angry. As she caught her breath, she could feel her intestines falling into place, like sand onto the ocean floor. She already regretted yelling. She regretted many things. Arguing a point was pointless at this point.
"This is why I had to stay away," she continued sadly. "If I had been here when Hiccup was growing up, we'd probably argue about what's best for him all the time. He'd be torn between his model Viking father and his crazy mother. And he'd end up hating himself for not being able to please us both. I just wanted to spare him this. If I had known he'd turn out to be just like me, even without me being there…"
She stopped mid-sentence. Was there a point in venturing into what ifs? There wasn't, she concluded. She's made enough excuses. She's spoken her mind. It was Stoick's turn to speak now. Thus, with a heavy sigh, she hung her head and waited for what he had to say.
Stoick considered her solemnly for a long moment.
"This wasn't about parenting, Val," he said calmly. "It was about leadership."
She looked up, slightly surprised.
"Believe me, I have no problem with you breaking fights between kids," he assured, somewhat motivated by having earned her attention. "Bloodybee was done yelling at Avalanche at this point, so you showed her no disrespect. But the way you handled Snotlout... you embarrassed yourself as a commander."
She looked intrigued, so he proceeded to explain – trying his hardest to be substantive and delicate at the same time.
"You are the Dragon Master. Snotlout is a Dragon Rider. Your subordinate. If you want him to do something, you give him an order. If he disobeys, you punish him. Make him clean dragon poop for a week or something. If that doesn't work, you exclude him from your forces. This is how it's done."
He looked at her, troubled, maybe even embarrassed for lecturing her like this, but determined to finish what he had started.
"What you did back there, that was unprofessional. That kid openly disrespected you. You had all the right reasons to discipline him, with words as well as your staff, and how did you get him to obey you? With blackmail. And everybody saw it."
There was a hint of anger in his voice and on his face – as she did let him down – but mostly there was concern.
"Val, you know as well as I do that we are going to need an army," he continued sadly. "An army of Vikings and dragons working together. I trust you to prepare our people for war with Drago Bludvist, you know I do. But if you can't get your students to obey you, how can our people trust you as their commander?"
Valka looked down, feeling silly. Her husband made a good point. Why should anybody care what sort of a mother she was? They had no need for a mother. They needed a teacher, a warrior, a Dragon Whisperer. This was what they expected her to be competent at, not handling children. She should have realized that, but of course, she let her guilty conscience ruin everything.
As she was getting angry at herself, Stoick addressed her gently.
"Like I said, I don't want you lecturing others on discipline. Not when you can't get your own students to behave."
Valka took a moment to process the lecture she's been given.
"I see," she said finally.
"I'm glad," said Stoick.
"I should be more like Bloodybee," she said in resignation.
"Nonsense," he protested. "You are in no way worse than that Thor-damned Bog Burglar. You could take her, and I bet you can burgle just as well as she can. You are brave, strong and smart. It's just that you're too modest. You have the power, Val, and the brain to know how to use it. You just have to use it."
She smiled weakly. "If only it was that easy…."
Suddenly, a noise caught their attention. In the corridor leading to the latrines stood Hiccup, in a rather awkward pose, as if he had been about to trip a second ago. Behind him stood Toothless, displaying a toothless smile of encouragement.
"Umh," muttered the boy, correcting his stance. "Don't mind us. We were just… Alright, we were listening," he admitted with a sigh. "And we are going to speak. That is, I am going to speak, but I'm sure it will be on behalf of both of us."
He gave the Night Fury a nod and they both approached the two adults. The boy was bold and the dragon pleased.
"Mom, I wanted to thank you," Hiccup addressed Valka. "For Ava. What you did for her was endearing. And I'm sure she's grateful, only she cannot admit it."
The woman responded with a genuine smile. Those were simple words, but they made her feel a whole lot better. "You were rather endearing yourself, son. You stood up for Avalanche," she remarked, proud of her boy. "I'm sure she will appreciate it."
Hiccup shook his head. "Not a chance," he stated a matter of fact. "In the end, I couldn't help her. And even if I did, I am 'only' a boy. And the only thing worse than being beaten by a boy is being rescued by one," he chuckled. "It's probably good that I failed to help her."
"Oh well," said Valka, amused. "I still think you did the right thing."
"So did you," said Hiccup. "And, for all it's worth, I think you are a great teacher. And a great person. And I'm really glad you're here. And that you're not like Bloodybee. Really, thanks for that. And to you, Dad," he nodded at Stoick in a sudden moment of inspiration. "You guys are both great."
The next moment the boy found himself embraced by his mother. The chief embraced the both of them and Toothless rubbed his head against them. Valka was so touched she almost cried tears of joy. Stoick, who rarely heard his son praise him in any way, was no less moved. That moment titles and cultural norms did not matter – only love could squeeze in between the family members. They had each other and nothing else mattered.
"And Mom?" whispered Hiccup.
"Huh?"
"What was it that Snotlout did to me back at the Sanctuary?"
Valka chuckled. "You know what? I'll tell you if he ever gets out of line again. But don't worry, it was something really nice."
"Oh," Hiccup rose his eyebrows. "Now this is surprising."
"Isn't it just?" agreed Valka happily. "Turns out even Snotlout has a nice side."
Then, in a moment of a rather surprising switch in the atmosphere, her smile turned into a mischievous grin. "As for myself, I have a nasty side. And I think I should explore it tonight."
The father and son exchanged puzzled glances. This didn't sound good. "What do you want to do?" Stoick asked.
Valka was pleased with herself. And emanated with the aura of conspiracy. "You wouldn't, by any chance, happen to know the layout of Bloodybee's ship, do you?"