Author's Note: See the Prologue for a quick update.
Chapter Three: Axe Rattlin'
"I still don't get it," said Snotlout, rearranging the picture in his grimy hands for a third time and frowning. Clearly hoping that enough manhandling would produce enlightenment, he only succeeded at smudging the pencil drawing at the edges.
"How does it move with just… you know, bones?" he asked. "No skin, no meat, no anything. I mean, where's the rest of it? Is there a giant bag of skin walking around somewhere, looking for its skeleton?"
Hiccup wasn't about to re-explain things to Snotlout a third time. He had no reason to expect a different result. Snotlout's imagination was much like his hygiene – lacking.
"I think that's the metal-monster thing you're looking at," said Tuffnut, sitting across the table from Snotlout and inadvertently intervening on Hiccup's behalf. "You know, the one made out of this." He held out an inch-long metal sliver he'd been casually rolling around in his right hand. He was being careful now after nicking his thumb with it a minute earlier. Like the other shards currently laid out before everyone, the thing was small and shiny and surprisingly sharp.
"And that makes more sense how?" replied Snotlout, rubbing his thin beard absently.
Yes, the story was going about as well as Hiccup had expected. He was glad to be at the end of it, because even his visual aids hadn't succeeded in making the story any clearer to his friends. To be fair, though, it wasn't all that clear to him either.
Hiccup was glad that the Great Hall was as bustling and congested as it was this morning, with most of the tables filled with Berk citizens happily chewing the fat and chewing the food. Hiccup's Dragon-Rider group had staked out a table near the rear, the flickering torchlight ambiance diminished in the back and allowing them some privacy. The added noise level was a shield against prying ears. Rumors could fly very quickly in a small village and Hiccup was hoping to try out his story-telling prowess on his friends before moving on to others. The only other person in the village with any inkling of what had happened on the Mainland was his dad. He had told him a summarized account of his adventure after having arrived in Berk a couple of hours over curfew. His dad's overall reaction had not been positive. While his dad was still digesting Hiccup's story, he'd already put an end to further Mainland scouting for the time being, effective for the entire village. Since that edict only affected Hiccup, no one else really cared.
At least his friends weren't accusing him of being touched in the head. That was due to Astrid's story matching his, and the tiny pile of metal fragments he'd collected from the remains of the skele-bull. None of them were bigger than the palm of his hand, but the steel they were composed of was like nothing any of them had ever seen before. Hiccup hadn't had much of a chance to experiment with it, but for such lightweight steel it was incredibly sturdy.
Snotlout hadn't been all that impressed, having taken a quick look at one fragment and then tossing it back on the pile as he moved on to the skele-bull pencil drawing Hiccup had made from memory. Hiccup couldn't tell if Snotlout's dismissive attitude was due to his general blunt-tool disposition or if it was because it was Hiccup in the limelight once again. While they'd been far more civil to each other in the last two years than all the prior years combined, it was hard for Hiccup to call him a real friend. In a group setting, or while the group was flying off on some outing, things were peaceful. Away from the group, it was nothing but cold shoulder.
The two of them did had a pact of mutual respect – Snotlout's lack of insults and potential beatings, Hiccup's lack of quietly training Snotlout's Nightmare mount to chew his rider's toes off. Not that Hiccup would ever do that, but he hadn't bothered to correct the impression that he could.
Confused initially about Snotlout's continuing disdain, Hiccup soon realized that Astrid was the issue between them. Not long after Berk got dragonized, Snotlout had ceased his lousy attempts to woo her. He had finally, finally worked it out – her affections were pointed elsewhere. When he also figured out that it was Hiccup… well, Snotlout hadn't liked that at all. But with Astrid threatening a horrifying fate for anyone who put hands on Hiccup, Snotlout wisely kept his antagonism to an occasional snide remark and dirty look.
"Green Lightning," blurted out Fishlegs, who was studying Hiccup's picture of the foreign dragon with unmasked intensity. His bulky body was situated between Snotlout and Hiccup, and he was a welcomed buffer.
When the others looked at him for an explanation, he shrugged and said, "That's what we should name the dragon. The first person to discover a new dragon gets to name it, don't they?"
"Doesn't that mean Hiccup should get to name it?" said Ruffnut, sitting in-between her twin brother and Astrid and fiddling with the largest of the metal shards, absently scrapping it on the wooden table and unknowingly gouging a large rent into the treated wood.
"Astrid saw it the same time I did," said Hiccup. "Wouldn't be right for me to take sole credit."
"I'm pretty sure I was staring at the bone abomination the whole time," countered Astrid. "Hiccup can get the credit."
"Uh… thanks, but we'll just put it to a group vote down the road," said Hiccup, trying to put off the impeding arguments over the matter until later.
"Green Lightning," Fishlegs whispered not-so-subtly to Hiccup before going back to the drawing. Hiccup swore he could hear the statistics compiling in the big guy's mind, threatening to spill forth if anyone dared mention the foreign dragon in any capacity.
The group pecking order had shifted somewhat in the last two years, with Fishlegs often getting the largest share of jabs, friendly or otherwise, due to his trying tendency of looking at life through a statistical prism. The comments were usually friendly, though – it was not smart to anger someone who could very well be the offspring of a frost giant couple, one who was accidentally diverted to Berk by the Gods. He'd only gotten bigger in the last two years, to the point where his Gronckle mount was only slightly larger than he was. Hiccup had offered to help Fishlegs connect with a bigger dragon, but Fishlegs wouldn't have it. He was too attached to his Gronckle, and the dragon didn't seem to mind the increasing weight burden.
Hiccup employed him for the Dragon Manual Revision Project, a task Fishlegs enjoyed way too much. Hiccup had to intervene frequently to remind Fishlegs that he didn't have to include the average length of each dragon's tongue or which kind of poetry they found the most soothing.
"Too bad the Mainland's off limits now," said Tuffnut. "They'll need a seasoned warrior to clean up the place." The cocky smile on his face made it clear who he thought the seasoned warrior should be… and that it was self-evident.
"Tuff, I don't think you've cleaned up anything in your entire life," remarked Ruffnut.
As hard as it was to believe, the twins still spent the majority of their time in each other's company. Perhaps it was the similarity of their personalities or just some hereditary desire to make each other miserable, but it was rare to find one twin more than ten feet from the other out in public. And they still rode the same Zippleback together, despite the plethora of other dragons they could choose from.
A manly yelp from across the room distracted everyone for a moment. Swearing bellicosely, a Viking male was angrily striding away from his table with a forlorn-looking Terrible Terror under his arm. Opening the main door, he tossed the little dragon out with a loud, "Be gone!" and slammed the door shut.
Moments like that happened frequently in the Great Hall. It was the only place in the village considered a dragon-free zone outside of one's own home, if you so chose. A compromise to the older generation who weren't all that thrilled with Berk's lifestyle change and wanted a place for themselves. It was easy to keep the big dragons out – Terrors, on the other hand, were frightfully good at sneaking in. Some Vikings tolerated their presence, feeding them scraps from the table. Others were not so easy about it, especially the ones who had the experience of accidentally sitting on or tripping over one.
"Doesn't sound like there's much point to going back," said Snotlout. "Between you guys frying the flying bone thing and that Nessie guy taking out the skele-bull, you're all out of monsters."
"Nestor," corrected Hiccup. "And aren't you guys even curious about why it happened in the first place?"
"I'm curious about my brother's room," said Ruffnut. "But I'm smart enough to know not to go in there."
"If they were coming here, it'd be a different story," said Tuffnut. "Then we'd get some action for a change. I mean, it's been over a year since anything burned down. That's got to be a village record."
"Maybe they will come here," said Fishlegs. "Maybe they're not dead. Wouldn't it be cool if all the bones from the bone thing and the metal from the metal thing combined in the sea and became this mega monster that could shoot black flame from its horns as it stomped up the shoreline, crushing everything before it and going ROOOAR!"
It took the group a couple of seconds to recover from that particular Fishlegs moment. Ruffnut finally broke the silence by saying, "If that happens, Fishlegs, you get to fight it."
"Point being that it's a Mainland problem," said Snotlout, "and we don't need to be sticking our noses into other people's business."
Hiccup didn't miss the underlying message behind Snotlout's words. Don't go luring monsters to Berk, Hiccup. Don't go poking your head into places and screwing things up. The worst part was that Snotlout wasn't entirely off base. Hiccup did worry that his involvement would somehow bring trouble to Berk, that some other horror would track him to the island and start ripping things apart. Perhaps his dad feared such a thing as well – thus, the no-fly-to-Mainland edict.
"I think what Snotlout's trying to say," said Astrid, flashing Snotlout a dirty look that humbled the surly teen and then turning her eyes back to Hiccup, "is that we have our problems to worry about."
"Problems?" said Hiccup. "These is the easiest Berk's had it in decades. People keep telling me, 'Hiccup, we've never had it this good.' Exactly what problems do we have?"
"Look behind you," Astrid said quietly. "Three tables down and two to the left."
Hiccup did, and he quickly spotted what she was referring to. The table in question had a group of five Vikings, all men, but they were not Berkian Vikings. The uniformity of their clothing was apparent, mostly crimson and red with black outlines and hornless caps. Unlike the jovial crowds around them, they ate their fish silently and guardedly. They eyeballed their surroundings as if they were expecting an attack, and they kept their weapons under their seats and within easy reach.
"Gunnarr," said Hiccup, feeling uneasy all of a sudden as he studied the newcomers. He hadn't noticed them earlier. He probably walked right by them without their presence registering on him. "When did they get here?"
"Yesterday, while we were out and about," explained Astrid. "They went to see your father and then stayed the night. I heard they were shipping out this morning."
"Dad didn't say anything," said Hiccup.
"He probably didn't want to worry you," said Astrid. "Besides, it doesn't look like they're causing trouble."
As Hiccup watched, a yellow-bearded Berkian Viking by the name of Loudbelch entered the hall and began looking for a place to sit. With the hall bursting with people today, the only readily available spot was at the Gunnarr's table. Perhaps feeling brave or not being good at reading moods, Loudbelch sauntered over to the Gunnarr's table and stood before them with a friendly smile.
"Visitors, I see," he proclaimed. "And with a vacancy to boot. How 'bout a fair exchange - my sea stories for a place at your table?"
The Gunnarr Viking closest to Loudbelch looked at him as if he'd just said something obscene. With raven-black hair, a short beard, and a pair of matching scars on his cheeks that looked too symmetrical to be anything but self-inflicted, he seemed angered by the very idea of Loudbelch sharing the same air as he did.
"I have no interest in your stories," said the Gunnarr, "and I do not share my table with cowards."
All conversations from the tables surrounding the Gunnarr came to an abrupt halt. Few words can set off a Viking as well as the word coward could. You're better off making lewd insults about a Viking's mother than to question his courage. To Loudbelch's credit, he didn't immediately slug the guy. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and said, "I don't think I heard you clearly. Could you repeat that?"
The black-haired Gunnarr began to rise from his seat, prompting several other Vikings to rise from their seats as well, which then prompted three of the other Gunnarr to rise in a show of solidarity, which then triggered other Berkian Vikings to stand up. The hall silenced in short order, all eyes on the brewing contest of wills in the center of the room.
"Ho, boy," said Snotlout. "This is going to get violent." He almost sounded pleased at the idea.
Acting as if the gathering throng around him didn't matter in the slightest, the Gunnarr Viking squared himself, took a step toward Loudbelch, and said, "Certainly. I said that I have no interest in your stories, and that…"
"Enough!"
It was an older Gunnarr rising from his seat behind him that preserved the peace, one with a graying beard and an eye patch over his left eye. He laid a powerful hand on his compatriot's shoulder and said, "Your father did not send you here for this, Cragfist."
Cragfist didn't look thrilled at the intervention, but the old Viking's words did have the desired effect. He gave Loudbelch an angry glance, and then motioned for his men to leave with him.
"Perhaps next time, we can continue the discussion," remarked Cragfist over his shoulder as he and his men left the Great Hall.
Hiccup let out his breath as the hall began to get noisy again, though the mood was not as chipper as before. He turned back to Astrid and said, "Yeah, okay, it's not giant-metal-bull bad, but we'll count it as a problem."
The first thing that Hiccup did upon entering Gobber's workshop was to trip over a broken axe handle lying on the ground, catching himself on the open doorway before he went sprawling. His second and third subsequent acts involved almost tripping over the other discarded refuse littering the shop's floor.
"Ah, Hiccup," said Gobber, bent over his workbench with a hammer in his right hand and a prosthetic set of pliers composing his left hand. "I was just saying to myself that since I have twelve saddles orders, four repair jobs, and a growing pile of wood axes that need to be sharpened, I should really get myself an apprentice. Oh, wait…"
"I know, Gobber, I know," said Hiccup, carefully picking his way through the debris field that used to be an orderly blacksmith shop. He safely made it to his private workbench and grabbed his apron. "Don't worry; you're penciled in for the rest of the week."
"Darn nice of you, lad," replied Gobber, who was currently fighting with a wrecked harness configured for a Nadder's build. So far, the harness appeared to be winning the battle. "It's not like your schedule suddenly became free or anything."
One of the side effects of Hiccup's new life was that Gobber now had to share him with the rest of the village, and Gobber had gotten the short end of the new arrangement. Even back when dragons were the enemy, few Vikings wanted to have their children grow up to be blacksmiths. Most of them preferred to swing weapons, not make or repair them. Other than substituting dragons for weapons, the village attitude toward the blacksmith profession hadn't changed. That left Gobber with one part-time apprentice and a surlier attitude than usual.
Hiccup found a measure of comfort in the blacksmith shop, even when Gobber was in a foul mood. It had been his second home for the longest time, though sometimes it felt more like a distraction designed to keep him out of the way during dragon raids. Once upon a time, he envisioned that he'd be taking over the trade once Gobber could no longer do it. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but at least he'd have a place in the village hierarchy that didn't involve constant mockery.
Of course, that wasn't the case now, along with so many other things.
Realizing that the shop was close to becoming a hazard zone, Hiccup stooped to pick up some of the tools and junk on the ground. Then he picked up on what Gobber had just said about his schedule being clear.
"Dad talked to you, didn't he?" said Hiccup.
"'Course he talked to me," said Gobber. "You didn't think he'd keep your little gem of a story to himself, did ya? I'm shocked that you didn't come to me first. But no, you probably went and told your friends all about it, despite the fact that I'm the one with all the experience and all the insights."
Hiccup sighed. He wasn't looking forward to Gobber's "insights." If there were a medal for super-fantastic tales of Viking heroism, Gobber would have won it thirty times over. To say Gobber embellished his stories a little was to say sheep ate grass a little. If he thought Gobber actually knew anything helpful, he'd have already gone to him.
Might as well get it over with.
"Okay, so do you have any insights?" asked Hiccup.
"About your story?" Gobber ceased his battle with the mangled harness and turned to Hiccup. "Well, I believe you, for starters."
Hiccup shrugged. "That's reassuring."
"Plus it sounds like the Gods were giving you a grand test, which you surely passed."
"Also reassuring. You wouldn't know any legends about skele-bulls and floating bone things and guys who can take horrendous blows without dying and dragons that shoot lightning out of their hands?"
Gobber shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Even that odd-fish dragon you described is out of my field of expertise. But there's a bigger point here."
"Which is?"
"That for one glorious moment in your life, you were part of something big. Maybe the Gods were doing battle with the foul legions of the underworld, or maybe some dark mage summoned up something he shouldn't have. But you lived it, you survived it, and now you can treasure the story and save it for your grandkids."
Hiccup frowned at Gobber. "So that's it? Chalk it up to one of life's mysteries and don't bother to investigate it further?"
"Well, you could go searching for answers. You could search your whole life for them. But even if you found them, you sure you'd like them?"
"I don't want to go on some quest, Gobber. But everyone around me seems to be okay with just letting it go. Something's happening around us and I'm being told to ignore it."
"There's always something happening around us, lad. The world's pretty big to just have your problems and mine alone. The trick is to focus on what's ahead of you, like that." Gobber pointed his pliers-hand at a pile of axes next to the shop's grindstone.
"Right," said Hiccup glumly. He did understand what Gobber was getting at, but it still felt wrong for some reason. Then again, where would he even begin to look for an explanation? He had stumbled into a battle through happenstance alone. He couldn't hope to be fortunate enough to stumble into the answers as well.
"Oh, before I forget," said Gobber, "your dad wants to see you after you get off-shift. Don't go running off for a flight."
"What about?" said Hiccup, picking up an axe as he pedaled the grindstone into motion.
"Didn't say. Father-son stuff, I'd imagine."
Towards the back of the store, a popping-whooshing sound erupted out of nowhere, followed by a chirping sound and something else squeaking in distress. Gobber cringed and rolled his eyes. "Also, Bitty needs a refresher on rat-catching."
Bitty was the store's Terror, a red-skinned female that had been reluctant to learn how to chase down rodents. Hiccup had only just recently gotten her to take an interest.
"Is she not going after them?" asked Hiccup.
"Oh, she goes after them," said Gobber. "Only she's not so much eating them as frying them. The shop can't take the abuse."
Hiccup couldn't help but snicker. No matter how much his life changed, his role in Gobber's life was never in any danger of changing.
With unusual care, Astrid placed the last metal shard into the small woven basket Hiccup was using for a container and sealed it with a strap. She and Ruffnut were still at their table after Hiccup had realized he was running late for his shift with Gobber and the other guys had gone off to pat Loudbelch on the back for standing up to the Gunnarr.
Astrid was doing Hiccup a favor by cleaning up his visual aids, but she wasn't in any rush to get back home and do chores anyway. Hiccup wanted to keep the metal shards in particular, probably as mementos of what might be his last trip to the Mainland for some time.
Ruffnut had decided to stick with Astrid instead of running off with her brother. She even helped Astrid clean up the shards, receiving a cut on her middle finger as a reward. A bit out of character for Ruff, but Astrid didn't mind the company.
"Yeouch! Sharp little things," said Ruffnut, sucking on her finger. "I'm glad I didn't see that skele-bull in person."
"It did suck the fun out of the trip," said Astrid. "It's a shame we couldn't recover more of this metal, though. I bet you could make something amazing with it."
"You mean something other than monsters?" said Ruff. Then she adopted a goofy smile and said, "Sooo, I think it's safe for you to tell me about the rest of the trip."
Astrid put down the shard basket and stared at Ruffnut. She wasn't sure where her friend was going with this. "We just told you about it."
"No, the rest of it," said Ruff. "You, Hiccup, alone…"
"Oh…" Astrid stammered for a moment. She wasn't actually used to genuine girl-talk, especially not from Ruffnut. "Ah… well, actually…"
"Yes?"
"What we told you was all there was. We were too busy staying alive to think of much else."
Ruffnut didn't look convinced at first, but after staring at Astrid's sincere face for a few seconds her smile sagged into disappointment. "You're serious. Dozens of miles away from any prying eyes and… nothing. You two, geez."
"What do you mean, you two?"
"I mean that the two of you are driving me crazy. Will they, won't they? Will they, won't they? Did you know there's a betting pool? Half the village is in on it."
"Wait, wait, wait. First off, why do you care?"
Ruffnut shrugged unhappily. "You're the only one of us with anything resembling a love life, all right?"
"You might have one if you didn't spend all your time with your brother."
"Can you blame me? You've seen the guys in our age bracket."
Astrid had no response to that, so she didn't attempt one. "And second, Hiccup and I are okay with being friends."
Ruffnut gave her a strong who are you kidding? look. "No, you're not. You're really not. When Hiccup goes to the effort of making a two-person saddle for Toothless, you're not just friends. When you threaten to pull off my ears if I ever go near him, you're not just friends."
"I wasn't serious about that, Ruff," defended Astrid.
"I like my ears, so I'm not taking that chance. Astrid, we're at that age when our fathers could spring an arranged marriage on us at any moment. I wake up every morning fearing my dad will be standing at the foot of bed with some dumb smile on his face as he says, 'Ruffnut, good news…'"
"Well, I don't. My father wouldn't force me to pick someone I didn't approve of."
"Yeah, but why not try for someone you do approve of?"
"Can we drop this?" said Astrid, avoiding Ruffnut's question. "This is far more important to you than me."
"Fine," Ruffnut sighed sourly. She made to leave the table, but only got two steps before turning back to Astrid. She wore the most earnest expression Astrid had ever seen on her friend's face. It unnerved Astrid to a small degree.
"You're my friend, so I'm just going to say this once and then bite my tongue," said Ruff. "The friendship you have right now with Hiccup isn't going to last much longer. Deep down, I think you know that. And you two are likely to mess things up with the way you're going about it. So for your sake, and his, reel him in or cut him loose."
Having said her piece, Ruffnut left the hall. Astrid stayed behind for a time longer, marveling at how well Ruffnut hid her insightful nature (and wondering if her brother shared even an ounce of it). Less happily, she also wondered what she was supposed to do with the advice she'd been given. But with the day's routine calling to her, she shoved it into that corner of her mind devoted to uncomfortable subjects and managed to dismiss it.
As she would learn later on, dismissing something doesn't make it go away.
Some late-afternoon fog managed to obscure the horizon to the east, though it did little to mar the pleasant feeling of the day. An expected storm front had gone further north, dumping a fair percentage of its load onto the uninhabited island chain that direction. Thank the Gods for small favors, but the weather might still behave itself for another few weeks before the long winter began.
Rather than be corralled into the War Room, addressing the countless menial tasks that came with chiefdom, Stoic had managed to sneak off to the vista point above Berk's docks. The sea was churning slightly, a little stirred up by some of that wind from the north, but its overall tranquility managed to put the old veteran at ease, if only for a brief moment.
He was trying not to look too nostalgic. He did have an image to uphold, after all. But there were times he wished he could be on one of those patrolling longboats, feeling the sea beneath him, the wind around him, and an adventure ahead of him. He felt heavy sometimes, weighed down by a chief's life and responsibilities. It would be nice to feel light again, if only for a moment.
His son had a standing offer to take him on a dragon flight. So many other Vikings had suggested the same thing. It changed your perspective, they said, seeing the world from on high. And today would have been a nice day to do so.
But someone had to stay grounded. Someone had to keep their head level. Someone had to take the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"There you are," rang a welcome voice from behind him. "You could've said where you were going to be so I didn't have to run around everywhere looking for you."
"Sorry, son," said Stoic, turning to Hiccup as his son walked up to join him at the vista point. "Needed a breath of air. And I needed to make sure our guests made it off the island."
Stoic gestured at the fading ship on the horizon, too distant to make out discerning features without further aid. The fog was about to swallow it up, and Stoic found himself wanting to wish that the problems that went with that ship were swallowed up as well. But he was too old to make foolish wishes like that.
"The Gunnarr, I take it?" said Hiccup. "Why didn't you tell me they were here?"
"They're my problem, not yours," replied Stoic. "And at the time it sounded like you had plenty of scares for one day."
"Still, Dad, they were here… on the island… with their weapons."
"It was an envoy ship, Hiccup. By law, they couldn't draw blood."
"They seemed ready to test that law this morning."
Stoic shook his head. "I heard about that. Thor Almighty, they're getting bold."
"I heard they came to see you yesterday."
"That they did." Stoic pulled a scroll from out of his fur vest and held it like it was a snake in need of strangling. "The Gunnarr chief sent his own son to drop this off. I suppose I should be glad he's agreeing to this, but that arrogant boy of his makes my punching hand ache something fierce."
"Agree to what, exactly?"
"A summit," said Stoic. "This scroll in my hands is a treaty of temporary non-aggression. Stonefist will be coming here in two weeks."
Hiccup's eyes widened at the news. "Stonefist himself?"
"Him, every member of his family, and a hundred of his best warriors."
Hiccup shook his head in amazement. "I knew you were trying for a summit, but I didn't think they'd go for it."
"Honestly, son, neither did I. Then I actually read over these documents and I realized why he agreed."
Stoic separated one of the scrolls from the others and handed it to Hiccup. He patiently waited for his son to recognize the familiar design and handwriting, and once Hiccup let out a groan of dismay he was satisfied that his son understood the implications.
"My schematics," Hiccup said quietly. "I thought I had thrown them out several months back when Gobber had me toss out most of the dragon-killing gear."
It was the one effective contribution to dragon-fighting Hiccup had made in his life, if you didn't count Toothless – his bola launcher. Deadly enough to take down a Night Fury, at night no less, Stoic had dismissed it as another Hiccup-created failure at the time. Hiccup hadn't built another one, nor had anyone else tried to replicate it.
Until now.
"I'm thinking Eelbladder took it," explained Stoic. "Or maybe Speartongue. They were both pretty angry when they left the village all those months ago, and I heard they joined the Gunnarr not long after. It's even possible a Gunnarr spy dug through our garbage and found them. Cragfist gave these back to me with a smile and said to thank you for lending them to him, but they won't be needing them any longer."
Several Vikings had left Berk in the last two years, Stoic opting to let the dissatisfied and disgruntled leave rather than force them to adapt to Berk's new lifestyle. It was mostly the older generation; the ones that just couldn't accept that everything they'd fought for had been over a Red Death-sized misunderstanding. Dragons were devils, through and through – no quarter, no understanding, and definitely no cohabitation.
Stoic had feared a large exodus from the village, but it had ultimately been a mere trickle of die-hards. Unfortunately, it was those die-hards that had spread the word about Berk's newfound love of dragons and they weren't casting it in a positive light. The people of the Gunnarr Clan were especially disapproving.
Panic was evident on Hiccup's face now. "Might just be a bluff. The Gunnarr aren't mechanical geniuses."
"No, they're not, but apparently your notes are easy to follow. I saw their ship, Hiccup. They had two of these installed on it, and they could easily fit more. This is their way of saying that they're not scared of our dragons, Hiccup. This is axe rattlin'."
Stoic wanted his son to understand the seriousness of the situation, and in that regard he'd been successful. Too successful, as Hiccup turned away from the view, his schematics crunched between his hands, and looked on sorrowfully at the village.
"So… my fault," he said. "The Gunnarr wouldn't be breathing down our necks otherwise."
"Son, I don't want to hear that from you ever again," said Stoic, putting a strong arm around Hiccup's shoulders. "The Gunnarr are the ones at fault here. They're the ones who have a problem with all… this."
He made a wide sweep through the air with his other arm, prompting Hiccup to look at him warily and say, "You just gestured to the entire village."
"It's the truth, I fear," said Stoic. "We've changed… they haven't. We've been lucky that all they've done so far is harass our patrols from time to time, but it'll escalate eventually. So I've got to make peace with Stonefist. Unfortunately, trade deals and marriage treaties won't cut it with someone as militant as Stonefist. We have to show them how much damage we could do if a war began."
Hiccup's wary look was quickly morphing into alarm. "Dad, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
Stoic nodded grimly and stepped back from his son so he could look at him squarely. "I've respected your wishes until now, son. I know how you feel about the matter. But if we can't demonstrate our strength to the Gunnarr when they arrive, we'll be bargaining from a very weak position. You're the only one I know that might be able to pull it off in two weeks."
Hiccup wasn't happy in the slightest about this, and he said as much. "Is this why you put an end to my Mainland trips? So I can devote my energies to this?"
"I put an end to your trips because you were somehow tripping over giant abominations, Hiccup. I'm asking you to do this because we need you to do it. If we're fortunate, it won't go any further."
"And if it does go further? Have I ever mentioned that I sometimes have dreams about screaming Vikings covered in flames?"
"Hiccup…"
"Dad, I get it," said Hiccup, sighing deeply once more. "I guess I was hoping for too much. But… I'll do it."
Stoic squeezed Hiccup tenderly, trying to reassure his son that he was making a sound decision. He hated having to push him into this. It was his son's better nature that had led to Berk's transformation from a besieged settlement to a haven of mostly-benign coexistence. Stoic had his own reservations as well, but they paled to his fears of what a war with the Gunnarr would mean for his people… and for Hiccup.
"Then you can start tomorrow," he said. "Gobber will be a part of it as well, and this time I think it's only fair that he be your helper for a change."
Hiccup looked up at his father with an odd smile on his face. "Me? In charge of Gobber? That almost makes it worth it."
One final pound with the hammer, one last scrape of the chisel. And the result was the same as before – another chisel point breaking off and bouncing to the ground.
The shard wasn't even scratched.
Hiccup whistled as he put down his tools, still amazed by the little metal fragment despite now owing Gobber a second chisel. The polished surface of the fragment reflected the flickering candlelight as surely as it had before all the pounding and prodding and scrapping. There wasn't a tool in Gobber's shop that could dent or even blemish the metal.
From an open window, Toothless watched the proceedings with his head cocked and his eyes wide and alert. Hiccup was surprised that his dragon friend had decided to take such interest in his metallurgy experiments. Sometimes it was hard to gauge how smart Toothless was or how much he took in, but he did like watching Hiccup fiddle with things. Especially on days when their flying time was cut short and Toothless hadn't burned off enough energy.
He'd already tried heating the fragment in the forge, had left the fragment in the fire long enough to turn any other steel into a molten lump. Not only was it not molten, it wasn't even blackened. It was slightly warm to the touch, so heat could affect it eventually. But the fire had to be a lot hotter than a blacksmith's forge could manage.
"This stuff's unreal," said Hiccup, talking at Toothless. "But you managed to damage it, and that guy Nestor somehow dented it with his bare hands. Any secrets you want to tell me?"
The blank look on the dragon's face suggested there were no secrets hiding within, or at least none he was willing to share.
"One of life's enduring mysteries, right?" said Hiccup, deciding not to ruin any more tools as he placed the fragment into its storage basket. Astrid had dropped off the fragments earlier in the day, but Hiccup hadn't had any time to play with them until after dinner. He thought about letting Gobber have a go with them, but… no, this was his discovery. Besides, he needed the contemplation time. He began the day with one vexing issue on his mind and he was ending the day with two. The problem was that he really only had room in his life for one of them.
"So how do you feel about being on a dragon death-squad?" asked Hiccup. "Bet we'll make a killing."
Toothless narrowed his eyes, either not liking the death-squad idea or not liking the bad joke, or both. Hiccup went up to him and put his hand on the dragon's snout-region. "Trust me, I'm not wild about it either. But Dad makes a pretty good argument. Maybe all we need to do is show the Gunnarr we have teeth and that'll be it."
Toothless managed to look skeptical, though it might have been confusion over what Hiccup was talking about. Again, hard to judge a dragon's intellect at times.
Maybe he was just projecting his own feelings onto Toothless. He'd been against the idea of training dragons for war since the get-go. The idea had been raised a few times before, but it never really found traction. The Berkian Vikings were too busy still learning to live with their dragon comrades to consider going into battle with them. Not to mention that for three centuries the village hadn't had any enemies of note besides the dragons, so whom would they be training their dragons to fly against? And finally… well, Berk had dragons. Reputation alone had kept any potential foes from causing trouble.
Until now, Hiccup had been more afraid of what war training would do to his people. Dragons were fierce creatures in their own right, not even taking into account the fact that each one of them was a flying artillery piece. The temptation to misuse them for raids and conquest would be overwhelming. They were Vikings, after all.
But the Gunnarr were a different matter. They were the number-one reason the Mainlanders hated Vikings. All the time Berk had spent fighting dragons was time the Gunnarr had spent fighting humans, and they were good at it. Their clan had twice the population of Berk, and they were always looking for hospitable land to occupy. Until recently, they had left Berk alone because they considered the Berkians an important obstacle against the dragon hordes. Now, in their eyes, the Berkians were dragon-collaborators.
One of the reasons why Berk had survived the numerous dragon raids in the past was because the dragons were a disorganized, motley bunch that had no real overall battle strategy. They came on in overwhelming waves that then scattered into random skirmishes, the dragons stealing food and picking fights based on their individual natures. If they had assaulted Berk as one coordinated army, Berk would have been incinerated within minutes.
Even a small squad of dragons, trained to fly and fight as one, could be absolutely devastating. And that was what Hiccup's father had just told him to put together… within two weeks. No pressure.
Giving Toothless another pat, Hiccup turned back to his basket of shards and picked it up. He rattled it once, just to hear the little fragments clink against each other. Yup, they were still there. It was all the evidence he had of having been involved in something truly fantastic. It had only been yesterday, but it felt like years ago.
Something to tell the grandkids. Don't stick your nose into other people's business. Stop tripping over giant abominations. Focus on what's ahead of you.
"I think I get the message," said Hiccup aloud. He went over to a set of shelves next to his work desk and, using a stepstool, placed the basket on the highest shelf he could reach. For the sake of his village, he had to put it out of his mind. There were more immediate things to worry about than the affairs of strange beings at war with each other on the Mainland.
"Bed time, Toothless," he said as he blew out the candles and began securing the shop. "Tomorrow, we get serious."
Hiccup had cleaned the shop's floor of perilous debris earlier that day, but he didn't clean every nook and corner. If he had, it was possible that he might have seen a perfectly clean dragon skull the size of a Terror's head underneath Gobber's personal workbench, hidden behind oily rags and sawed-off bits of lumber. It had found a nice place to be, somewhere it could hide and yet keep an eye on its subjects. In time it would change its location as it gathered information, but for now it was safely obscured.
Here it would wait for some time – observing, listening, and waiting for further instructions.