As soon as they were safely out of earshot of anyone not in on the secret, Fergus was full of questions. "I thought you lot were at war with the dragons."
"We were. For generations it was all the people of Berk knew. And then Hiccup showed us we'd been wrong all along."
"How?"
"By being a really bad Viking," the boy said matter-of-factly.
"By listening to his instincts instead of mindlessly following tradition. By using his skull for something other than headbutting."
Hiccup turned to Fergus. "You remember how scrawny I was back then." The king nodded; he'd been amazed that someone so small could be Stoick and Val's child. The lad was still on the skinny side, but at least he'd got taller. "Unlike some people, I couldn't exactly punch dragons out of the air, so I made a machine to try to shoot one down. And it actually worked. But when I found where the dragon had crashed, I couldn't kill him."
"Why not?" Fergus was fascinated. The boy had an unmistakable air of authority when he spoke, though at the same time he was rather unassuming.
He took a moment to answer. Admitting that he saw his own fear and weakness and failure when he looked at Toothless that first time wasn't something he ever wanted to do. He didn't want to give anyone the wrong idea about Toothless. "Lots of reasons," he said finally. "I saw that he was obviously intelligent, and afraid. No one had ever been afraid of me before, and it felt wrong."
"So what did you do?"
"I cut him loose. He could have killed me, but he didn't. I went back a few days later and realized that he was stuck in a valley in the woods because when I shot him down, I severed part of his tail. He couldn't fly. We made friends and I fixed him up with an artificial tailfin."
He'd made friends with a dragon. It was like Fergus waltzing into the forest and inviting Mor'du round for tea. And as if what he'd done wasn't surprising enough, the lad talked about it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fergus began to entertain the possibility that Hiccup was at least a bit mad.
"And together they discovered why the dragons had been raiding us and led the attack on the Red Death," Stoick cut in eagerly. Hiccup looked almost embarrassed at his father's enthusiasm. There must have been more to it than that; there were some obvious omissions from their summary, beginning with what exactly this Red Death was. Fergus knew the details would come out eventually, but he hated to have a story hang unfinished.
On the lakeshore Hiccup turned to Fergus. "Do you have any weapons with you, Your Majesty?"
"Of course."
"Dragons are sensitive to them. You need to leave them behind before you meet them." The king hesitated, so Hiccup went on. "Think of it this way: you don't take weapons when you're negotiating a truce, right? I promise you, you're safe with us."
Something in the lad's earnest expression convinced him. Fergus unbuckled the claymore from his belt and pulled the dagger from his boot, handing them to Hiccup. The boy nodded and laid them on a boulder before moving further down the beach. Fergus cast one last look at his things, feeling naked without them.
"On my honor, Fergus, no harm will come to you as long as he's here." Stoick nodded at his son, now striding ahead of them and disappearing into a stand of willows. "He'll not say it himself, but the whole village owes him their lives, several times over. The dragons would have starved us out feeding the Red Death, or we'd have had to turn to raiding. Because of Hiccup we're finally at peace."
They stopped and Hiccup reappeared, followed by a creature Fergus never imagined he'd see. His mouth dropped open at the sight.
"King Fergus, this is Toothless. He's a Night Fury." The dragon studied him with startling alertness, and he understood at once what Hiccup had meant about knowing the beast was intelligent. Intelligent didn't mean not dangerous, though, and Fergus' fingers twitched for his sword as the dragon blinked. "Toothless, this is Fergus of DunBroch, the king."
"I…" He was at a loss. He'd half been expecting something that acted like a hunting hound or a horse, but the dragon, though it had dropped to its haunches with Hiccup idly scratching its neck, was no pet. "I didn't think it would be black," he managed eventually.
"Like I said, he's a Night Fury. There are other types. Different colors, different shapes and sizes."
"Oh, aye?" he asked weakly.
"Yep. Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, Hideous Zipplebacks, Monstrous Nightmares—"
"Thunderdrums," Stoick added, and Hiccup smiled indulgently.
"They all have different strengths and weaknesses, different abilities, just like the variations in any other species. I may be biased, but I think Night Furies are the best." The dragon turned his big head and rested it heavily on top of Hiccup's.
"And you flew here on him?"
"I did; Dad rides Thornado. He's sleeping," Hiccup informed both of them. Then he turned to the king with a barely-contained grin. "Do you want to go for a ride?"
Fergus blinked twice, slowly, staring at him. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that someday someone would ask him if he wanted to ride a dragon, and he found himself unsure of what his answer was. Then he thought of how disappointed his children would be if they could see him right now. If they ever found out about his hesitation, they'd disown him. He nodded, more firmly than he felt. "Aye. I do."
"Hear that, bud?" Hiccup asked Toothless, and the dragon nodded. Actually nodded. Fergus wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse about agreeing. Toothless crouched on the beach and Hiccup swung easily onto his back, prosthetic clicking into a special stirrup. Fergus hesitated again for a moment before throwing a leg over the long saddle.
The dragon jumped into the air, and Fergus tried not to watch the ground fall away beneath them. They were probably only airborne for a few minutes, but it seemed much longer; he tried not to make his relief too obvious when they finally landed.
"It's not for everyone," Hiccup said kindly as Fergus waited for his stomach to stop churning.
Stoick suggested that they tell the rest of the visitors about the dragons as soon as possible in order to minimize the possibility of anyone stumbling across them unawares. They'd find out eventually; it would be better if they found out from the source.
Hiccup accompanied the king, who still looked a little pale, back up to the castle. To take his mind off the swaying feeling that lingered in his gut, Fergus asked about their common characteristic.
"How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?" He nodded at the boy's leg.
"Four years. I was 14."
Fergus shook his head. "And right in the middle of growing, no doubt. That must have hurt more than you care to remember. I at least had the good fortune to lose mine when I wasn't going to get any taller. How'd you lose it?"
"Toothless and I managed to bring down the Red Death, but it brought us down, too. Its tail knocked us out of the sky, and I fell. I was unconscious, so I don't really know what happened, but Toothless grabbed me the best he could. He saved my life."
Again he sounded so self-effacing. It couldn't be an act, Fergus thought; he put the dragon before himself, talked about the two of them in tandem. Another man would have given himself the glory, treated the dragon the way most treated their horses, but Toothless was more than a means of transportation to the boy. From what he'd seen before, the dragon was just as devoted to the lad as he was to it.
The king had already lost his leg when Hiccup had first met him, or first remembered meeting him. "How long ago was yours?"
"It was Merida's sixth birthday."
"That must have been a memorable birthday."
Fergus chuckled. "Aye. She got her first bow, and I got this." He patted his thigh above the polished wood peg.
"You know, if you want, I could give your leg an upgrade while I'm here. Make it a little more maneuverable." It was only when he'd finished his suggestion that he realized the king might not appreciate it. The guy did have more years of experience as an amputee than he did, after all.
Luckily Fergus just laughed. "Ah, no. I'm old-fashioned. Though I can see how the metal would come in handy. It'd surely make it harder for Merida to cut the leg out from under me again. You'll want to watch out for that," he added helpfully.
"She did that?" Messing with an amputee's prosthetic was one of the lowest things you could do. He felt disappointed in her.
Her dad didn't seem bothered, though. "Well, I was trying to kill her mum at the time." At Hiccup's dumbfounded look he laughed again and dropped a thick arm around his shoulders. "Come on, lad. We'll have a drink and I'll tell you the story."
Elinor could hardly remember the last time she'd seen Fergus so filled with awe over something. His description of the dragon was rather vague, but she got the impression of an inky beast with the expression of a particularly clever tomcat. Fergus glossed over the flight, leading his wife to the conclusion that he'd kept his eyes shut for much of it. As interested as she was in the dragons, she was far more concerned with other matters, and bided her time until Fergus had said his piece about them.
"Well?" Elinor said, finally settling into bed, where Fergus was already sprawled, having talked himself out. "What do you think of this crop of suitors?"
"Same as always, love. None of them are good enough for our daughter."
"Of course they aren't," she agreed with parental pride. She curled up on her side, and he turned his head to face her. "But what are your impressions this time around?"
Elinor was a blessing. He didn't want to imagine the state the kingdom would be in without her there to sort things out. She was brilliant, far cleverer than he'd ever hoped to be, but she never treated him like he was thick. She listened when he talked, and he loved her for it.
He curled one big hand around her waist. "The Macintosh lad looks the same as ever. Like as not, he's smarting over the fact that Wee Dingwall got himself wed first. I don't think Merida will have him, no matter how charming he tries to be."
"She doesn't appreciate artifice."
He nodded before going on. "Young MacGuffin, though, he may have a chance. He's not a bad sort, if anyone can ever understand him. And he's strong, even if he's not a good shot. Their strengths would complement each other, there." Elinor made a face as he laughed humorlessly. "But I don't know what kind of king he'd make. He's got no authority, no confidence. Merida will be the queen, but you know how some men are; they won't listen to her just because she's a lass, and if it looks as if the king is weak, they'll be open to attack."
"I wouldn't mind if she truly loved him. But the idea of her choosing a husband because he's the least objectionable pains me."
"And me. But she's determined to pick someone, so we must give her all the support she needs."
"Anyone else worth mentioning?"
"The Viking." Elinor made a noise of distaste. "Now, dear, they're a little rough, but wasn't I when we married, too? And you soon cured me of all my bad habits."
She reached up to stroke his cheek and kissed him briefly. When she broke the kiss he recaptured her lips, hand sliding up her side to pull her close. The next time they parted she was breathless and her porcelain skin, still lovely as the day they'd met, was rosy. "Almost all of your bad habits," she said, smiling coyly.
"You ought to talk to him," Fergus suggested. "He's a clever lad, and a good leader, according to his father."
"Fathers have been known to embellish upon their sons' merits when there's a crown to be had."
"Aye, but I think this one might not be. At least not as much as some of them. And Hiccup is…he's not like the others."
"Do you think she'll like him again, now that they're grown?"
"Maybe. But I hope she does."
Elinor smiled knowingly. "You just want a dragon of your own."
"You know me so well." He kissed her again and despite their concerns they fell asleep, safe with each other.
It was a speech he'd made a few times now. This time was pretty important, even though he was sure the Scots would react the same way many of the other tribes had. "Dragons exist," he said, "and most of them are not a threat to us."
As expected, a stunned silence followed; Hiccup pressed on, not giving them a chance to interrupt. "It's possible to live in peace with them. They can be partners and friends to us. But they're like any animal: if you mistreat them or threaten them, they will protect themselves. And I'll protect them, too."
"I think your laddie's touched in the head, Stoick," called a voice in the crowd, and they all laughed, though the mocking had an edge of tension to it. Hiccup let himself look bored with the attempted insult; "crazy" didn't bother him anymore. He could use crazy. Unfortunately, now that someone had had the courage to speak, others took up heckling.
"I reckon next he'll tell us that only he can control the things." Another chorus of laughter and jeering greeted those words.
Right on cue there was an unearthly shriek outside, like Thor tearing apart a huge sheet of metal, followed by an explosion of blue-white light. Ever since the dragons had stopped raiding, Toothless lived for things like this, Hiccup thought, the showoff. He wondered what the noise had sounded like to someone who hadn't grown up with dragons around—pretty frightening, judging by the expressions on most of the men's faces. Maybe he could ask one of them later. At the moment they were too busy clutching their weapons and muttering what he suspected were charms against evil spirits. A guard burst in, gibbering and wild-eyed, though he was soon confused when his shouts about dragons were not met with the proper response.
The royal family was behind him, seated in their thrones. More than anything he wanted to see Merida's reaction, but to do that he'd have to be really obvious about turning around and looking. He fought down the curiosity for the moment.
"If he is the only one who can control them, I'd recommend showin' a bit more respect," the king suggested reasonably.
"Dingwall was right," MacGuffin muttered.
Macintosh cut his eyes at the other lord in disbelief. Then he demanded, "King Fergus, you believe this utter codswallop?"
"I don't have to believe it. I've seen them."
Stoick stepped forward then. Hiccup never liked having to tell the story, and by now the chief knew the details well enough to tell the parts that he'd been absent for, gleaned from Gobber and the other young ones and Hiccup himself. Besides, the boy tended to lose the plot when he went off on tangents about his inventions and plans. "For centuries Berk had been plagued by dragons that destroyed our homes and stole our livestock. Generations of Hooligans lived only to protect themselves from the dragons."
"Generations, it's been? Centuries?" Macintosh interrupted. "Why have we not known of this before now?"
"Some of the Viking tribes have not exactly had a friendly history with the Scots, either. We had lean years, with barely enough food to get us through the winter; if we'd had to contend with other human threats, we wouldn't have survived. And you think we should have revealed that weakness to outsiders?"
Macintosh's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he snapped it shut. "No," he admitted finally, though his eyes were narrowed.
"Go on with your story, Stoick," Fergus directed. Hiccup moved back as unobtrusively as possible, giving his dad the center of attention and turning slightly, angling his body away from the crowd. Their attention would be on him soon, and he didn't want to face it head-on, didn't want to deal with their incredulous scrutiny.
Stoick wasn't nearly the storyteller her dad was, but he spoke with authority and a surprising dose of humility. Time and again as he spoke he related the mistakes he'd made, how neither he nor anyone else in the village had believed in Hiccup, or even listened to him; Merida saw Hiccup shift awkwardly more than once, though his father's praise was matter-of-fact. When the story reached its climax, the giant dragon climbing into the air and fighting Hiccup and his dragon Toothless amid the clouds, she saw his chin drop, his gaze fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him.
"The Red Death fell to earth, its own fire and Toothless' burning it from the inside out. Most of our casualties came from the crash and the fireball when the Red Death hit the ground, but even so, we lost far fewer people than we would have otherwise. Between the explosion and the smoke we lost sight of Hiccup and Toothless; I was afraid we'd never find them, that they'd been incinerated or blown far out to sea somewhere beyond our help. We spotted Toothless first, lying on the beach, on his side with his wings curled around him. When he saw that there was no fire, no danger, that help had come, he opened his wings and there was Hiccup, wrapped tight in the dragon's embrace, alive."
In the silence of the hall Merida was sure she heard someone sniffle.
As Stoick explained how Hiccup's leg had been seriously injured, dozens of pairs of eyes swung to Hiccup, and then more than a few went to the king. The Viking chieftain ended by describing the foundation of the dragon academy, under Hiccup's leadership, and declaring the Hooligans' desire for a friendly relationship with the Highland kingdom.
Before anyone could react Hiccup stepped forward smoothly, head high once again. "Two dragons have traveled here with us. They're the reason we made camp apart from everyone else. If you want to see them, come talk to Stoick or me, but don't go without us. If you do something stupid and get yourself killed, King Fergus has agreed that we won't be held accountable." It wasn't the most diplomatic warning, but it ought to get the point across.
"How do we know you lot can be trusted?" It was the blue guy again. Macintosh? "You could attack us all while we sleep."
"Yeah. The first thing I'd do if I wanted to ambush a kingdom would be to get all of its warriors together and tell them how I'd accomplish my evil plot." His tone was perfectly dry, and though she could no longer see his face, Merida could imagine his blank expression.
Stoick sent his son a look. "The dragons are our companions, not our weapons. And you'll remember the princess saying we're here at her pleasure. We were invited, just as you were."
"I can assure you that you're in no danger, so long as you listen to what Hiccup says," Fergus said. Once the king had dismissed them all, the two Macintoshes marched up to Hiccup, followed closely by the boulder-like blond MacGuffins. "Take us to see the beasts," Lord Macintosh demanded sharply.
"No problem," he said easily. No sense in letting one guy wind him up, even if he was a pain. "But just the four of you—I don't want anybody to get scared and overreact."
The lord scowled at the implied slight and nodded tightly before stepping back to let Hiccup pass. "Lead the way."
"One more thing." From the way the guy was glaring at him Hiccup knew he was pushing his luck, but he just couldn't help it. And the king would back him up if he needed it, which at this point, from his short acquaintance with Macintosh, he was kind of expecting. "You'll have to leave your weapons here."
Macintosh stared, mouth hanging open and eyes bugged out wide. Combined with his wild hair, it made him look even more unstable. "You must be joking if you think I'm going to see a dragon unarmed, like I was goin' to have tea with my mum!" His voice rose steadily to a shout.
Hiccup hid a smirk. If he were going to have tea with Macintosh's mom, he certainly wouldn't go unarmed. He shrugged helplessly. "Sorry. It's for your own good, really. The dragons have developed a violent conditioned response to weapons over the years."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"They're much more dangerous if they think you mean to attack."
"And here I thought you'd trained them," the lord sneered.
"They're trained, not stupid." Unlike some people. "And I won't put them in a position where they might have to do something they'll regret later."
Macintosh appealed to Fergus. "Your Majesty, this is absurd. Surely you can't expect us to walk up to a beast like that without any protection."
"Why not? I did. I'll only say this once more: when it comes to the dragons, do as Hiccup says."
"Look," Hiccup said, taking the knife from his belt, "I'll leave mine, too." He set it on the dais in front of the thrones. The lord glared for a while longer, but after only a brief pause the MacGuffins relinquished their daggers as well. When Macintosh's own son tossed down his knife in feigned nonchalance the man finally gave up.
The sun was hanging a hand's width above the horizon as they left the castle grounds. A dim shadow passed overhead and one of the men behind him shouted. Toothless shot toward the lake and then started to climb with powerful beats of his wings. The men were saying things, talking to each other, but Hiccup was focused on Toothless as his climb started to curve backward. He jogged to the middle of the arching stone bridge, where he stood listening and counting, eyes closed. Now would not be a good time to be wrong about what the dragon had in mind. Three…two...one…
He jumped.
Toothless growled as Hiccup landed too far forward. "Sorry, bud!" he called, scooting back and sliding his feet into the stirrups with ease, disengaging Toothless' control and taking over the steering himself. On the bridge he heard the men shout and he grinned, happy to be away from them for a minute and a little smug about scaring them. The two looped through the sky, dipping and spiraling, until Toothless landed at the far end of the bridge. He introduced the dragon to the men, the latter looking far more impressed than the former. Oddly enough, none of them wanted to go for a ride.
When they'd settled down for the night, Toothless curled up nearby and Stoick snoring slightly, Hiccup thought about what he'd seen so far, and mostly about Merida. Something was different about her. Of course she was taller, and, um, curvier than he remembered—he wasn't sure how he was supposed to court a girl when he blushed just thinking about her physical changes. She'd grown up, that was all, the same way he had, and Fishlegs, and Astrid.
He flopped onto his side, as if he could bodily escape thoughts of her. She was… That was in the past now. He had a task here, a new thing to puzzle out. That it was a princess who he might end up marrying was not important.
It kind of was, though. He was here, they all were, because Merida was the princess and needed a husband. She didn't, though, or at least the Merida he'd known didn't; he could picture pretty clearly the look she would have given anyone who'd dared to suggest it. She was strong enough to stand alone, crowned or not. And surely her dad had taught her things, tactics and leadership and command. Maybe DunBroch wasn't like Berk that way, though. Maybe, even if she was the one born to the throne, the queen was just supposed to stand aside and let her husband rule.
That couldn't be right. She'd never agree to it, and besides, it was obvious that her mom wasn't letting King Fergus make all the decisions in the kingdom. If they weren't looking for someone to rule instead of Merida, then maybe they were looking for someone to help her. Make alliances, like the one they'd mentioned, but also maybe keep her in check a little. Stop her from starting any wars by acting too quickly.
And the monarchy was hereditary. She'd need heirs to ensure a smooth succession, with no power struggles disturbing the kingdom's peace. Heirs meant kids, and kids meant a man to father them. With Merida. Who had, since he'd last seen her, become a young woman. Without his brain's agreement he pictured the flare of her hips, accentuated by the gently clinging fabric of her skirt, and the swell of her breasts. He groaned quietly and hid his face in his arm until his mind came back from its unauthorized wandering.
When they'd all been gathered to present themselves to the royal family, he almost hadn't recognized her. Okay, maybe that wasn't quite true: she was impossible not to recognize, with the ginger curls and the blazing blue eyes, her face still fair and round, though no longer babyishly so, her voice still loud enough to be heard at a great distance. But her presence had been different. The girl he remembered was willful and insistent, the same one Fergus had described when he'd told the story of how he lost his leg. Now she was restrained, in a way that made him feel stifled to watch. Until she'd burst out demanding to be taken to see the dragons she'd seemed like a shadow of herself. The maturity and responsibility hemmed her in, like a too-small tunic. She couldn't move, couldn't be free. She may have been doing the right thing, but she wasn't happy.