A/N: There will be religious themes, some mild language, and some suggestive themes in this story.

Ch. 2 Chieftains of the Great Tribes

"The Dragon Slayer..." Hiccup whispered. He had heard the stories before, everyone on Berk had. Beowulf was the model of what every dragon killer should strive to be. But most of the Hooligans had pegged Beowulf to be just a legend, yet here he was standing before him. Now that he was closer he could see that his armor was more detailed then he initially observed. His breastplate was adorned with the same wolf symbol as the sail and his mail-shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun. At his waist was a dagger and a longsword that just had to be the legendary blade, Hrunting. Said to have been forged in dragon's blood, it did not resemble the standard longsword. The blade, hidden by the scabbard, was longer than most swords and the guard was wider and curved slightly towards the blade. The hilt, which was long enough to fit two hands but could still be wielded by one hand, was intricately designed with interwoven black leather and a rounded pommel with a small silver cross. As for Beowulf himself, he wasn't as tall or as broad as Stoick but he was still a man of great stature and very well lived up to the tales he had heard. When he was younger, both Gobber and his father would tell him stories about Beowulf's exploits, about the time he hurled a spear down a Whispering Death's throat and how he had torn the wings off of a Thunder Drum with his bare hands. But their was one story that was told more than the rest...

"Just one of the many names given to my lord," Unferth said, with unrivaled pride, snapping Hiccup out of his thoughts. Beowulf raised his hand to silence him. "That is enough, Unferth," he said. "I am Beowulf, chieftain of the Waegmunding clan..." He then turned to Unferth. "This is Unferth, son of Ecglaf. My most trusted thane." Unferth bowed at the introduction, a small smile playing on his lips. Unferth was a tall, slender man with pale skin and black hair and matching beard. At his side was a longsword and a pair of handles that Hiccup assumed were daggers could be seen from behind his back.

Beowulf then reached behind him and place his hand on the young man's shoulder, brought him to stand in front of him, then placed his hands on both his shoulders. Hiccup notice that there was much love in this action when Beowulf said, "...And this is my son, Wiglaf." Wiglaf nodded at the other men on the dock. Wiglaf was a bit taller then Hiccup as well as more muscular. His hair was a bright red with it tied in a small ponytail, like Beowulf's. Wiglaf's eyes then fell on Hiccup and he said, "You're the one riding the Dark Seeker."

"Dark Seeker?" Stoick asked, turning to Hiccup. "Its what they call Night Furies," Hiccup said, turning to his father. "So it was you," Wiglaf said with a smile. "Wait," Hiccup said, turning back to face Geats. "You didn't know for sure?" Wiglaf shrugged, "Why else would you be here?" "Wiglaf!" Beowulf scolded.

"He is my son," Stoick said, mirroring Beowulf's actions by bringing Hiccup to stand before him with his hands on his shoulders. "Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III," Stoick said before turning to Gobber. "This is Gobber the Belch, our smith." Gobber nodded. "...And I am Stoick the Vast, chieftain of the Hairy Hooligans." Beowulf nodded to the chieftain, stepped towards him and said, "We thank you, Stoick, for your generosity and your hospitality." Beowulf stood before Stoick his hand raised in greeting.

Stoick moved away from Hiccup, took the hand and shook it. "I have to ask," Stoick said. "For years I have heard the stories and believed them to be just that: stories. But tell me, are they true?" Beowulf shrugged as the two men released their grip. "Depends on which story you've heard." "How about the one about you and the Frisians," Gobber said, coming to stand next to Stoick. "I always liked that one." "That one is true," Beowulf said. "But that one also depends on which version you've heard." "The way I heard it," Stoick said. "Was that you personally lead your men to victory against the Frisians, defeating them nearly single-handedly."

"Is that really how it happened, father?" Wiglaf asked as he grabbed his knapsack off the boat, his sword, a quiver of arrows and a bow strapped to the back of it, then throwing it over his shoulder. "No Wiglaf," Beowulf said, shaking his head with a smile. "The Frisian encounter was far less dramatic then most people would say." "Well," Gobber said. "What really happened?" "I'd be happy to tell you any tale you wish, but first I wish to offload my men and get them on solid ground." He then turned to Stoick and asked, "If that is alright?" "Yes, of course," Stoick nodded.

Beowulf turned to Unferth and said, "Signal the men to make port and to began offloading cargo." "It shall be done, my lord," Unferth said, taking a bow, then getting back onto the boat. He moved to the stern and began to release caged birds. The men on the dock watched as the birds began to fly out sea and Hiccup, with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun, realized they were messenger birds. He continued to watch the birds until they were out of sight. Beowulf then went over to Stoick and said, "I have more than fifty-thousand men at arms. Many have lost supplies, my main concern is that they have some hot food and warm beds. Can you accommodate us?" Stoick turned to Gobber, who shrugged. "It might be a tight fit, but we may be able to squeeze everyone in."

Beowulf nodded. "Beowulf," Stoick addressed. Beowulf turned to him and asked, "Yes, Chieftain?" "What are your intentions?" Stoick asked. "What do you mean?" Beowulf asked. "I mean," Stoick said. "That you have a great army here. What do you intend to do with it?" "Something that I do not wish to be spoken about without my captains," Beowulf said. "Is there a place we can speak?"

"The Great Hall is a good as a place as any," Gobber said. "And even better for stories and merry-making I imagine," Unferth said. "A few stories and a song or two would be nice," smiled Gobber. "You may have as many stories and songs as you wish, Gobber," Beowulf announced. Then he turned to his thanes offloading their cargo.

"But the merry-making belongs to all of us!" Resounding cheer among the men, then Beowulf turned back to Stoick and said, "But before there is any merry-making to be had, I must know Stoick: how is it that you've been able to bend dragons to your will?" Stoick then smiled and said, "That would be Hiccup's doing." Beowulf turned to the young Hooligan, a surprise look on his face, mirroring that of the other Geats.

"You," he said, gesturing to Hiccup. "You're the one who tamed the Dark Seeker?" Hiccup smiled sheepishly. "Yeah," he laughed nervously. "This...boy," Unferth stammered. "Has tamed the same dragon as the Grendel-beast?" "Grendel was a Night Fury?" Gobber asked. The story of Beowulf that everyone knew was his battle with the dragon, Grendel. But there are conflicting accounts, from him being a Monstrous Nightmare to a Skrill but never as a Night Furry. "A demon as black as a night," Unferth stated. "Scourge of the Geats: Grendel."

"That will do, Unferth," Beowulf said, nodding to him. Beowulf stepped towards Hiccup and began to circle him, his hand on his chin. A knot began to form in Hiccup's stomach and time seemed to slow, he felt like prey under Beowulf's eyes; as if at any moment, this great hunter will sink his claws into him and rip away the flesh from his body. 'This must have been how Grendel felt at the end,' mused Hiccup.

After only one pass, Beowulf lowered himself before Hiccup, so they were at eye level. He then took his small hands into his own large ones, his eyes combing over them, as if searching for something. Beowulf's grip was gentle, which Hiccup did not expect, his fingers grazed over his palms and fingers. "You work in the forge," he stated, not taking his eyes off his hands. "For quite sometime, it seems. But you prefer the pen over the hammer." Hiccup's eyes widened, 'He can gather all this information just from my hands?' He then rolled up Hiccup's sleeves, inspecting his wrists and forearms. "You are no Ilmarinen," he continued. "But you do have some skill."

Hiccup knew of Ilmarinen too, he was one of those figures from legend that you heard about growing up, just like Beowulf. Beowulf's eyes then locked on Hiccup's and he asked, "So how was it that you were able to tame the Dark Seeker." Hiccup stood silent there for a moment and felt as if the eyes of the world were upon him. He exhaled and said, "I didn't tame Toothless. I befriended him."

"Toothless?" Beowulf asked, releasing his hands. "From the retractable teeth, correct." "Yes," Hiccup answered, nodding. "Does he have a mustache yet?" Beowulf asked. "A what?" Hiccup asked, confused. "Grendel was an old dragon," Beowulf said. "At a certain age, Dark Seekers grow two long 'whiskers' just below their nose and it resembles a mustache. So it can be assumed that your 'Toothless' is still young." Hiccup stood there with his mouth agape, so little was known of Night Furies in general that Hiccup was amazed at any new information.

"How much do you know about Night Furies?" Hiccup asked. Beowulf shrugged as he stood up to his full height. "Only what I've learned from Grendel. Yet, what I have learn from slaying dragons probably pales in comparison from befriending them, which is no small task, I imagine." Hiccup gave a small chuckled, remembering what he had to do earn Toothless' trust. "It wasn't easy," Hiccup admitted. "But it was worth it to have friend like Toothless." "If only there were more of you out there, Hiccup, son of Stoick," Beowulf remarked somewhat sadly. "There would be a lot less pain in the world." Hiccup wasn't sure what Beowulf meant by this but before he could, Beowulf turned to Stoick and said, "Lead on to your hall, Stoick the Vast."

Stoick nodded, turned, and began walking back towards the village, with Gobber, Beowulf, and Unferth following. As the men passed by Hiccup, Beowulf took a long sidelong glance at him. Time slowed again and Beowulf's blue eyes bore into him like an arrow. When he turned his gaze away, Hiccup released the breath he wasn't aware that he was holding. He watched Beowulf walk away from him, a tight grip on the scabbard just below the hilt of his sword. That's when Hiccup noticed something tucked underneath the vambrace of his left arm. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look, and saw that it was a piece of cloth.

"How'd you do that?" Wiglaf asked, snapping Hiccup out of his thoughts. "Do what?" he asked turning to Wiglaf. "That," he said, nodding to Hiccup's prosthetic leg. "Dark Seeker do that?" "No," Hiccup said flatly. "Didn't think so," Wiglaf said, shaking his head. "No dragon has ever cared much for man-flesh." "Then why'd you ask?" Hiccup asked. Wiglaf shrugged, "First time for everything. So how did you lose your leg?"

"A dragon you wouldn't believe did this to me," Hiccup answered. "Size of a mountain? Scales as hard as rock?" Wiglaf asked. "Six eyes?" Hiccup's eyes widened, "How did you-" "Its the same kind as Grendel's Mother," Wiglaf interrupted. "She killed my grand-father. Then my father killed her." He then turned and followed the other men up towards the village, along with Beowulf's thanes, carrying his banner. Hiccup stood there for a moment, then ran after the group.

::

"How long do you suppose we have to wait?" Naimon asked, staring anxiously at the island from the Paladins' leads cog. "Until Beowulf gives the order to advance," answered Naimon's chief, Roland, who was tending to his hawk, David. Although sitting, Roland was a tall man with long black hair, fair features, stubble and brown eyes. He wore a black tunic, dark-brown trousers, brown leather boots, and black cloaks. All of which was the dress of most Paladins. Unsatisfied with Roland's answer, Naimon began to pace the width of the deck, a tight grip on his sword. "You areimpatient," Roland declared, feeding David a small piece jerky. "I just don't like being cooped on these boats, is all," Naimon said.

Naimon was older then Roland by more then two decades, with long gray hair, matching beard with a small patch of black on his chin. "Have peace, my dear Naimon," Roland said. "Soon we shall be on solid land, with a warm fire at our feet and a hot meal in our bellies." "But how many hours is it from now 'til then?" Naimon asked. Roland shrugged his shoulders and asked, "Who knows?" Then he turned to the island, then to the sky above him as gulls cried out of hunger, smiled and whispered (more to David then anyone else), "He knows."

"Dad," Oliver, Roland's son, called. He was a boy with bright, blond hair, who was a bit small for his age, and as a child, had been prone to illness. Despite this, Oliver was one of courage, determination, intelligence, and a deep love of animals. "What is it, Oliver?" Roland asked. Oliver held up his arms and in his hands was a bird. "A message," Naimon said. "from our Lord..."

::

"What does it say?" asked Jason, son of Iolaus. "A moment, Jason," Iolaus said, removing the message from the bird's foot. Iolaus, son of Heracles, was like most Marathoners, a tall and in peak physical condition with dirty-blond hair. He most distinct feature was, however, was the piece of black cloth covering the hole where his left eye used to be. And also like all Marathoners, he wore a dark-purple cloak, matching leggings, sandals, bronze breastplate, vambraces, and grieves. "Come on, come on," Jason said impatiently. "Calm yourself, Jason," Iolaus said.

He then passed the bird off to Ajax, his best warrior and friend. Ajax was a man of large stature and strength, who was renowned for his courage and fierceness on the battlefield. Despite these qualities, Ajax had a gentle hand and an appreciation for the small things. "Does it say we can go yet," Jason asked. "Your father said to wait, Jason," Ajax said.

"That's all we've been doing," complained Jason. "When are we going to get to the North?" Jason was one to never stay in one place, he just didn't like to. But what he really wanted to be in a phalanx, to stand shoulder to shoulder with the other Marathoners in battle. 'He'll get his chance,' Iolaus thought. Iolaus unrolled the small scroll the held the message from their commander. "Well what does it say?" asked Jason.

::

"It says to make port," Vainamoinen said, answering Lemminkainen's question. His brother Ilmarinen, is the one that brought him the message from their great war-chief, Beowulf. "Too bad," Lemminkainen said, sharpening his sword. "I was hoping to reach the Northern Lands for some fun." "In time, Lemminkainen," Vainamoinen said, as he picked up his staff that he had leaned against the forward prow of the ship with his right hand and resting his left hand on the hilt of his sword.

Vainamoinen was among the older soldiers of the army but still had a young man's strength. He had a long white beard with matching white hair. He wore a light-blue tunic, blue cloak, and a tall, red cap that curved forward at the top. Vainamoinen was known among the army as a magician, alchemist, and inventor, always dabbling with some contraption. "But the men need their rest." "Let them have their rest," Lemminkainen said, sheathing his sword. He was a man at home with his Norse heritage, he wore his long, red hair braided in twin tails going down his shoulders and had a long mustache. He wore a fur cape covering a light-purple tunic and light-blue trousers. "Meanwhile, I'll take all the women and gold for myself."

"Don't count on it," Ilmarinen said, setting down the hammer he was cleaning, then standing up. Ilmarinen was known throughout many lands as a skilled smith. He had short, blond hair and matching beard, he wore a bright-yellow tunic, a leather-studded breastplate, and light-green trousers. "If Beowulf is right, then we'll all be going home very wealthy."

::

"So long as we all do our duty," Vercingetorix said as he explained to his men what riches await them in the lands of the North. He was a tall man, but not as tall as some of the other army captains. He had long, wavy brown hair and a long mustache but lacked a beard, his dark-brown eyes still held the fiery passion of his youth and not let them be extinguish for anything. "But do not forget our true purpose here." His men looked at him with stern faces, they knew first hand the evil of the North and now, with Beowulf, they had the strength to exact retribution. "For years, we battle it out with our neighbors, not knowing that there was an even greater threat to us beyond the waves. So great is this threat, that we have made 'peace' with our enemies."

The neighbor that Vercingetorix spoke of was Cicero and the Centurions. The animosity between these two great tribes ran farther back then most scribes could tell, few actually even knew how this feud started. That is the very reason why Vercingetorix's own son, Viriathus, thought the war between the Celts and Centurions was pointless and stupid. A rebellious son, Viriathus was always getting himself into some kind of trouble; he remembered a time that his father woke him up after a night of drinking much mead and inquired as to why the family horse wasn't feeling too well...

On the roof...

Of a house on the other side of the village.

That was a feat that has yet to be bested. But what truly earned him the irk of his father was his befriending of his nemesis' son, Quintus.

::

Cicero placed on his son's shoulders, trying to ward off the tremors shaking his body. Quintus didn't like large bodies of water, never had since childhood. "It's alright, Quintus," Cicero whispered in his ear. "We'll be on solid ground soon enough." Quintus nodded, trying to calm his breathing. "The sooner the better," he said, through gaps of air. Cicero nodded and turned his gaze to the island.

'I just hope the sea will not prove safer than this island,' he thought. Like many of the other captains, Cicero had seen the dragon. The Geats, renowned for their dragon slaying skills, referred to this kind of dragon as a Dark Seeker.

They had dragons in Centuria, and they do have dragon slaying abilities but not as good as some of the other tribes, so if there were to be any dragon fighting, he would have to rely on the General and his people. "What are our orders, Captain?" a voice asked from behind him. Cicero turned and saw Aurelian, his most beloved commander, coming up from the hold below.

"We've been ordered to make port," Cicero said. "With dragons about?" Aurelian asked. "The General and his men are scouting the area themselves." Cicero answered. "If there are dragons to deal with, then he will take care of them." "And the Celts?" he asked. "So long as their swords remain sheathed." Cicero said. "Then so will ours."

::

Tarabai, daughter of Pratap, watched as the other Rajput began to ready themselves for war. They had all seen the dragon and it had opened old wounds. Tarabai was barely old enough to remember how dragons nearly destroyed her home of Mahabharata. Unlike the Geats, the Rajput didn't know how to deal with dragons, despite being the fierce warriors that they are.

Many brave warriors died before even the first dragon was brought down and every dragon that was killed took ten Rajput with it.

That was before he came...

Before the Dragon Slayer came to their shores. He showed them how to fight those winged demons, how to strike when they're most vulnerable and before long, the tide had turned. Her father swore an oath to come to the Geats need when ever they called for them.

A few months earlier, Beowulf called upon the Rajput for their support in his war; that's also when she met Wiglaf and his 'merry' band. Tarabai soon found herself among the group and had grown quite attached to the youngest, Quintus. Not romantic feelings, mind you, but that of siblings. Quintus, being the youngest of the group, was cared for as a whole but it was Tarabai and Viriathus who looked after him the most.

::

"He's going to be so mad at me," she declared despondently, staring at the all too familiar island. She pulled her cloak made of reindeer fur tighter around her, trying to ward off the chill that was coming over her. Aelfhere placed a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder, his knuckles brushing against the long black braid of her hair. "I'm sure he'll understand," Aelfhere said. "If its one things the Geats are known for, it is forgiveness." Heather smiled and placed a hand over her father's and said, "Thanks, dad. I hope your right." Aelfhere chuckled to himself. "I am right," he said. "Besides, Wiglaf already thinks the world of you, always has." "And if it comes down to it," Aelfhere added. "I'll take the blame." "No," Heather said, shaking her head. "I am the one who didn't want them to be found, I will explain myself to Wiglaf and Lord Beowulf." Aelfhere turned her around and embraced her. "My brave little girl," he said. "Wiglaf is certainly fortunate to have you." Heather returned the embrace and whispered, "It is I who am fortunate. To have both you and him."

::

"They're coming up," Astrid said, walking back to the other teens that had assembled with their dragons. "The man we saw earlier is with them." She went over to Stormfly and began smoothing down her scales, deep in thought. "I wonder who he is?" she thought aloud.

"Maybe he's a pirate looking for treasure," suggested Fishlegs, sitting atop Meatlug. "Maybe he's a warlord bent on world domination," Ruffnut suggested. "Or a brawler looking for a good fight," Tuffnut suggested, pounding his fist into his hand. Both of the twins were next to the respected heads of their Zippleback, Barf and Belch. "Maybe he just wants to bask in the glory of us dragon riders," Snoutlout said, from atop Hookfang.

"Well, I guess we'll find out soon," Fishlegs said, pointing at the men who had just come up from the docks below. Astrid turned and saw the men from the docks below walk into the square.

She could barley see them with the crowd gathering around them, so she climbed atop Stormfly to get a better look. With the better view, she was able to see Stoick, Gobber, Hiccup, the leader she saw earlier; a tall, thin man in a black cloak, a few warriors carrying battle standards, and a young man who, due to resemblance, must be the leader's son. "My friends," Stoick announced with raised hands. "We have been given a great honor this day."

"This Great, err..." Stoick paused for a moment, then continued. "...Wolf Army means us no harm. I have spoken to their leader and they offer us friendship and trade in exchange for safe port, but I think I should allow this great hero to explain himself."

Stoick then stepped to the side and the army commander stepped forward and addressed the mass of people, "Good people of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe," he spoke in a loud voice, laced with authority. "Your noble chieftain has promised my men and I a place of rest and safety and for that, I am eternally grateful. Should anyone ask whose gratitude you shall always have, you will be able to say, without having to taste a lie, Beowulf, Ectheow's son." There were gasps and murmurs amongst the crowd and Astrid was surprise to find that one of the gasps had escaped from her lips. So the stories are true, Beowulf was real. She had been right all along.

::

All of a sudden, Beowulf was flooded with people asking him questions or just even trying to touch him. At first it appeared that he would be smothered by the crowd until the man the black cloak wedged his way between the crowd and Beowulf. "Enough," he said, waving them off. "Do not suffocate my lord. Any question, you may direct to me."

Beowulf put a hand on Unferth's shoulder. "Thank you, Unferth," he said with a laugh. "Your 'assistance' is appreciated." Beowulf then turned back to the crowd and said, "Good people, I have already promised your blacksmith, as many songs and tales as he desires." He then went silent for a moment, before his voice returned, "AND THAT GOES FOR ALL OF YOU!" The crowd cheered, while the dragons looked about wondering what all the excitement was about. One must wonder what they would do if they knew how many of their kind he had slain.

"To the Hall," Stoick said, pointing to their hall. "Break out mead, ale, and beer. And meats, meats of all kinds. Nothing is too good for our guests." "You honor us, Stoick," Beowulf said, the two chiefs following the crowd to the hall. "Putting on a grand feast just for us."

"It is we who our honored," Stoick said. "The stories we heard about you got us through some dark times." Then Stoick stopped and chuckled, "And in a way, lead us to where we are today." "What do mean?" Beowulf asked. "Well," Stoick said. "Your exploits had a strong impact on my son when he was younger. There was an instance where I took Hiccup fishing once and..."

"Almost got it... almost got it," Stoick said, reeling in a fish. With one more great pull, he wrenched a large pike from the lake. "Ha ha," he laughed triumphantly. "You see that Hiccup? Its not so difficult. Its..." he turned to show Hiccup the fish but only found a discarded fishing rod that he had made especially for his son. "Hiccup," he called. No answer. "Hiccup!" this time louder.

Silence still.

"HICCUP!" a fear one could only experience from losing their child overtook him. He cast aside his rod and ran through the woods, calling Hiccup's name.

He ran all over the forest until he was breathless, he placed his hand on a tree to help steady himself. Where had that boy run off to? He just had to find him, he just had to. Dejected, he gave one, last, loud, "Hiccup". Immediately he heard "Dad" from up above him.

He looked up and saw his son struggling to stay on of the tree's lower branches. "Hiccup!" he said, relief flooding over him. He reached up into the branches and plucked Hiccup from the bows before he could fall and gathered him into his arms. He looked down at the young child in his arms, his bright green eyes starring right back at him. He was such a small child, even for his age, that the most constant thought to cross his mind was to keep him safe; which proved quite difficult at times. "Hiccup," he said, "I told you not to wonder off."

"What where you doing up there?" Stoick asked. "I didn't like fishing very much," Hiccup said. "So I went looking for trolls." "Trolls?" Stoick asked. "Yeah," Hiccup answered. "Gobber told me Beowulf killed thirty trolls when he was barely a man. If I could get me at least one troll now, then I could become a hero just like him." Stoick sighed and said, "Hiccup, trolls don't exist. And neither does Beowulf."

"But Gobber-" Hiccup began but was interrupted by his father. "Hiccup, the things Beowulf has done couldn't possibly have been done by one man. Beowulf is just a story to inspire us to be more...viking-like." Suddenly a hint of sadness appeared in Hiccup's eyes, "But I want to be a viking, dad," he said. "I want to be just like you." Then a pang a sadness entered Stoick's heart but he did not show it outwardly.

Hiccup was the smallest of the children born around his time and it was assumed that he would not grow to normal viking stature. But still, Hiccup had a heart like any other viking. "You will, Hiccup," Stoick said, holding his son close. "You will. Just when you're older, deal?" Hiccup pushed away from Stoick to look him in the eye. "Deal," Hiccup said with nod. "Alright, let's get back," he said, as he carried Hiccup back to the fishing spot.

When they returned, they saw that the pike had wriggled itself off of Stoick's hook and had disappeared back into the water and the sun was already setting. Stoick sighed and said, "Well looks like its leftover stew for supper tonight." Hiccup stuck his tongue out in disgust and openly cringed. "You wanted to look for trolls instead of fishing," Stoick said, picking up the discarded rods with his free hand. "And leftover Eel Stew is your reward." With their little escapade over, Stoick turned and headed for the village.

Beowulf smiled, "A good story, Stoick." "Thank you," Stoick said. "But I take it you really didn't fight trolls, did you?" Beowulf smiled and shrugged, "Depends on what you mean by trolls," he said. "I do have a few stories of my own if you recall." "You're going to tell one about me, aren't you?" Wiglaf asked his father. "Why not?" Beowulf asked with a chuckle. "There are so many good ones of you and Heather growing up."

"Heather?" Hiccup asked. "A girl with long black hair that she wears in a braid? Green eyes?" "You know her?" Wiglaf asked. "She came here awhile back," Stoick said. "Her parents where captured by outcasts of our tribe and coerced her to steal our knowledge about dragon training. Luckily, Hiccup and his friends managed to rescue them and we sent them on their way home."

Beowulf turned to Wiglaf and asked, "Has Heather ever spoken to about any of this?" "Not a word," Wiglaf answered, shaking his head. "Neither has Aelfhere," Beowulf said. He turned to Stoick and asked, "When exactly did this take place?"

"A little more than a year ago," answered Stoick. "That's before Frisia answered the call to arms," Wiglaf said. "But that still doesn't answer why they didn't tell us about the dragons," Unferth said. "If its Aelfhere," Beowulf said. "Then there must be a reason."

"I will speak to Heather when I get the chance," Wiglaf said. "And I'll do the same with Aelfhere." Beowulf said. He then turned back to Stoick and said, "To your hall, Stoick." Stoick nodded and lead the way to the Great hall.

Wiglaf, Unferth, and the thanes followed the two chiefs, while Hiccup went off to rejoin his friends. Beowulf turned to Wiglaf and said, "Go with Hiccup, Wiglaf. Treat with him, take him into your fold as you did the others." Wiglaf readjusted the weight of the pack on his shoulder, "Never made friends with a dragon rider before," he said. "This should prove interesting." He then turned and went to catch up with Hiccup. "Others?" Stoick asked. "Wiglaf has befriended some of the children of the other chieftains," Beowulf answered. "Its as if he's their leader."

"Its the same with Hiccup," Stoick said. "Perhaps my boy could teach yours dragon riding," Beowulf chuckled and shook his head. "Thank you, but no. Wiglaf is not one for cavalry. He can ride a horse, quite skillfully and with pleasure, but he prefers having his feet on the ground." Beowulf then smiled and said, "Just like his father." "So you have not intention of learning to ride dragons?" Stoick asked. Beowulf shrugged, "I may dedicate a squadron or two to learn your techniques, but I do not believe dragon riding is for me." He paused and then said. "At least until I know more about your methods of taming them."