A commotion. That was the only way to describe what was going on by the docks on the day of the annual peace treaty, but it did not involve either chief. Instead, Berserkers were gathered to talk and bid temporary farewells to a certain abominable viking.
"Good luck, Ansson!" someone called out, waving.
The redhead mostly ignored him, focusing on the group of excited Berserkers rather than selecting only one. It felt great to be adored by so many. Anyone who did not love him feared him, and he could live with that. He still had a few supplies he wanted to take with him on his voyage, so he left his fans to return to the huts. On the way, he saw the Berserker heir coming down to his father's ship. Oswald had been sound asleep when Dagur awoke and he did not feel like trying to awaken him. When the boy saw Ansson approaching, he scowled. He noticed that there was a bandage on the man's upper right arm.
"Hey, Dainty," the viking greeted. "I'm going to be leaving too today."
"Ooh, so Odin did hear all those prayers. Good to know they weren't in vain."
A grin spread over Ansson's face as he removed his bandage. When it was revealed, Dagur saw himself. A new tattoo had been done of his face on the older viking's arm. Included in the design was Ansson's fist being brought down on his head.
"I made sure he put the chieftain tattoos on you," the bigger Berserker said. "That way, it's obvious who it is. I want everyone to remember the good times we've shared. Chief or heir, you'll always be Dagur the Dainty."
Dagur scowled at him, then smiled. "That's not how I remember our last fight going. If memory serves me correctly, I had my ax to your throat. Isn't that why you haven't wanted to fight since then?" His grin became more unhinged. "Better get used to that. When I'm chief, you won't be calling me dainty anymore. No one will."
"I'll call you whatever I want, Dainty," Ansson spat, looking down at him. "Why should I treat you with respect? What have you ever done to demand it?"
"I've protected our vikings from you. I've been training to become someone who can protect our home. The most you've done is try to kill Berserkers while they're at home, sleeping."
Ansson glared at him. "I'm going to get the others' respect by helping us catch more fish."
"What?" Dagur asked, wide-eyed. "How are you doing that?"
"You don't need to know the specifics. Just know that when I return," he said, stepping closer, "you won't be next in line anymore. The Berserkers already worship the ground I walk on. This will just ensure that. I'll even be able to take the throne from your old man if he hasn't croaked by the time I get back."
"You're never becoming chief, Ansson," Dagur snarled.
"Just try to stop me, Dainty."
"I can and will. You know I could kill you," the boy threatened, a twinkle in his eyes being a cross between insanity and deadliness.
"But you didn't. Your daddy didn't let you. It doesn't matter because you'd stop again on your own. You're not viking enough to go through with it," Ansson taunted. "Even if you tried and meant it, the others would stop you. They'll sooner kill you than let you harm a hair on my head when I'm done."
Dagur considered this and felt the knives he was hiding. Ansson was probably right. If he really did improve things around the island, the others would absolutely prefer him. They already did, but the only bit of comfort Dagur had was that Ansson was rough with a lot of the merchants and elders. They were no fans of his, but that could change depending on what he did in the future. The boy had no clue what his plan involved, but if it was successful, that could mean disaster for him. Even as things were, Ansson had a handful of vikings who disliked him and enough to fill an armada who loved him. Dagur just had a lot of the first type of vikings.
"Maybe I just need to kill him now," he thought, frowning in uncertainty.
He had not expected to kill someone that day. It would have been his first if he had tried, but he did not. No, the last visit with the Berkians ended with him getting to teach Hiccup how to punch. He did not want to get a taste of blood on the same day when he would spar with the younger viking. Knowing himself, he doubted that the taste would be something he would be satiated by after just one viking. Killing dragons was so easy and fun. He could go as long as he wanted and then stop so that he could train to kill more. Dagur was not sure how it would be when he finally killed his first viking. Would it be the same? Would he ever be able to stop? Part of him wanted to find out, but he heard Oswald walking down the docks.
The chief had a faraway look in his eyes as he walked. He did not really see the two vikings so much as items in their places. Oswald did not speak to either of them and walked right between them without realizing he had. Ansson's eyes widened at this and he almost called out the older man, but he decided otherwise. When Oswald was out of sight, the other Berserker smirked smugly at Dagur.
"I could've just taken over now, but I'll wait," he said, looking proud. "There won't be a Berserker left who won't worship me. When that happens, I'll have to let you know how it is to be loved, Dainty."
Ansson did not say anything else as he kept walking to his hut. The heir just glared after him, unable to get his words out of his head. He needed to demand respect from the others as well, but he was not sure how he would accomplish that. His thoughts were interrupted when he saw a ship pulling out of the harbor. Quickly, he ran down the docks and jumped, landing on the side of the ship with one knife digging into it so that he would not slide into the water. Dagur brought out another blade and climbed until he reached the deck.
"Thanks for waiting," he said sarcastically.
The boy did not really expect a response, but what he saw still surprised him. Usually, Oswald seemed to have a disapproving look on his face, but that was not there. It was not that he looked happy–he just looked like his mind had been brought to a place his body did not accompany. He seemed like he was somewhere else entirely. This is because he was. Oswald realized one thing brought him some semblance of joy those days. That was pretending he was on an adventure. It was like daydreaming, but it was also much stronger. By using what he had studied with meditation, it was as though the chief could put himself in a trance. Through these means, he could practically transport himself to any place in the world and require no ship.
Currently, Oswald was imagining that he was on a tropical island, trying out the best delicacies of the people. Everyone was speaking French, him included. The sun was bright and the ocean was a light blue with a gradient. It was serene. There were ships he could call his own, each with its own specific purpose such as relaxing, battling against hostile vikings, or adventuring to new lands. It was perfect. It was everything Oswald wanted out of life. So, he did not see the Berserkers when he was looking at a plate of new foods being brought to him by the friends he had made. These friends understood him. They knew how much he loved to travel and explore as well as how much he enjoyed his alone time, so they knew when not to bother him. They also were perfect. Oswald did not hear Dagur's remark or notice that he had set sail without him having boarded. He did not notice that the sun he was basking in was actually hidden by dark clouds. When a rain droplet hit his hands, he felt nothing, and he especially did not notice as a clap of thunder followed a near blinding flash of lightning.
"Dad!" Dagur called out for the fourth time.
Oswald still heard nothing, but the boy could hear the waves crashing against the ship. What could have been a bit of bad weather was turning into a violent storm. Another wave pushed the vessel, but the chief just seemed stuck in place, saved by his obliviousness. Dagur caught his balance after he almost toppled over and raised a hand above his eyes to shield them from the hard rain. The clouds were getting darker by the second. Lightning flashed again and was too close for comfort. They needed to change their course, but the chief was completely unaware of this. The ship began to tilt and Dagur ran over to the helm. If Oswald would not do what was needed, he would. Before he reached the man, lightning flashed again and hit their sail, setting it ablaze.
With horror, Dagur went to the mast and began untying the sail. The fire was catching quickly and went down the ropes, burning his hands as he worked. He had wanted to keep the ropes if possible, but when he saw this would not be an option, he cut them and let the sail fly away in the rough wind. He had worked fast enough so that nothing else was caught on fire. Unhappily, he watched as a burning Skrill insignia sank in the wild waves. He could not watch for long because he had to go and get a new sail from the lower compartment. The Berserker went faster than the lightning bolt had and was soon back with a new sail and ropes to repair what had been ruined. It was difficult to redo everything as the ship was thrashed about by the waves. Spurring on his frustration was seeing Oswald at the helm with a calm expression on his face.
"What is he doing?" Dagur wondered. "I can't be the only one seeing all this."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a massive wave. It was taller than three of the Berserker ships stacked on top of one another and they were heading straight into its center. The only saving grace was that it was not right next to them. There was still some time (however minimal). Dagur quickly finished with the tying and rushed to the helm, bumping Oswald away. Even then, the chief barely responded besides lowering his hands so that he no longer looked like he was holding onto spokes of the wheel.
Dagur spun the wheel, turning the ship as a result so that they went to their left and away from the wave. Pulling on one of the newly tied ropes, he allowed for more wind to hit the sail and speed up their pace. They needed to go faster or else they would be brought underwater and he doubted the vessel would withstand something like that. It was sturdy, but it was not that sturdy. Praying to the gods, the boy kept one hand firmly on the wheel while the other gripped the rope. He almost did not dare to look back, but he had to know how far away they were. Peeking with one eye, Dagur began laughing as he saw that the wave was a safe distance from them.
"Yes!" he cheered. "I did it!"
The heir was so excited by this that the smaller waves no longer seemed concerning. They would not have been had the chief still not been in his trance-like state. When a particularly strong one hit the right side of the ship, he was finally moved from where he was standing. Oswald imagined that he was merely learning a new folk dance with the people of a different island. This one was to a song with a fast tempo and he had to keep going to the left quicker and quicker or he would be off beat. A hand clasped his arm before he could be flung into the still aggressive waters. He was not necessarily a light viking, but neither was Dagur a weak one. With a grunt of mild strain, he hauled the chief back onto the ship, but he could not catch his breath. He ran back to the helm and locked his gaze on the worst-looking part of the ocean. It was the eye of the storm. That was where he needed to steer them.
The rain beat down on Dagur and the thunder seemed to issue warnings, but he was not dissuaded. More lightning kept getting closer and closer to the sail; however, he could not control that. He could only control how he steered. With skillful sailing, he got them to the eye of the storm. Gradually, the waves calmed and the dark skies became brighter. When he was sure they were not about to die, Dagur leaned his back against the helm, panting. With a lifted brow, he saw that Oswald was still blank-faced.
"Um, hello? We almost died! You're welcome for not letting that happen," he said, crossing his arms.
He received no response and glared. Dagur turned back to the wheel and decided to just get them to Berk.
"Should've let him go overboard," he said under his breath.
The rest of the voyage was extremely calm in comparison. When the Berserkers reached their destination, it was clear that the ship had experienced some rough times. The usual three Berkians were there to greet them and had wide eyes when they saw that.
"What happened?" Stoick asked, concerned. "It looks like you were attacked."
Dagur started to respond, but Oswald got to it first.
"We ran into some bad weather, but it was nothing which could not be handled."
The Berserker heir's face scrunched into an annoyed scowl, but he did not say anything. Instead, his eyes brightened with memories of the last time. He went over to Hiccup who could not help but step back.
"Want to fight?" he asked.
Before Hiccup could answer, Dagur's eyes moved to what Oswald was doing. He was walking in the wrong direction. Despite Stoick and Gobber leading the way to the Great Hall, he was going towards the huts. Slyly, Dagur went over to him and pointed.
"Oh, you guys added some new huts from last time," he said.
"Yeah, they got burned down in some dragon raids," Hiccup told him.
Dagur just nodded, nudging Oswald in the right direction so that he was following the other chief. He let the three walk for a short distance before he went back to Hiccup.
"Scratch that about the fight. I want to see the treaty signing," he said, eyes moving back to his father.
"Um, okay," the brown-haired boy said, thoroughly relieved.
One punch did not mean that he wanted to have to throw another or that he believed a second fight would end as well for him. He was curious, though, as to why Dagur had the sudden change of heart. His questions would go unanswered because the redhead quickly caught up with the older vikings and followed closely behind. He was not sure what was going on with Oswald, but he could not let anyone else find out. If their home had a weak spot, that vulnerability could be exploited. He was not about to rely on his trust of the Berkians to ensure that his vikings would be safe. They were vikings too after all and that meant taking out anyone as soon as a weakness was spotted. A lot of good that treaty would do when all the members of one party were dead.
Oswald kept nearly walking off or into someone, so Dagur put an arm around his shoulder to guide him. This was how he really knew something was going on because not once did the chief push him away. The Berkians just regarded them in mild concern.
"Since when is Dagur so chummy with Oswald?" Gobber asked Stoick.
"The day I understand that boy, feed me to a Monstrous Nightmare."
"Can do."
They finally reached the Great Hall and Dagur did not let go of Oswald until they were at the table. Stoick said what he usually did with the treaty and signed his part. As he pushed it to the visiting chief, the man just regarded it as though he had never before seen something similar. An uncomfortable silence followed this and Dagur felt his nerves multiplying. He secretly threw a knife to knock over a small barrel near the entrance. When this caught the attention of the Berkians, he grabbed the treaty so that he could forge Oswald's signature. Only Hiccup looked back in time to see him.
"What are–"
Dagur shot him a warning look which made him stop talking. Hearing him, Stoick glanced back at the boys, seeing how the Berserker was still glaring at Hiccup and how Hiccup was looking down.
"Is something wrong, Dagur?" he asked, frowning.
The younger viking shook his head. "Nope. Dad signed it. Here you go," he said, sliding the scroll his way.
Gobber checked it, feeling like something was wrong but seeing no evidence to prove that. He looked at Hiccup who confirmed what he was thinking. Still, it did not really make a difference as long as it was signed. Stoick did not understand Dagur and neither did he. The bigger heir got up, pretending to stretch.
"Well, we should be heading back. Good signing with you as always," he said, trying to get his father to stand up and head out of the door.
"You seem to be in a rush today," Stoick mentioned, suspicious.
"It's boring here," Dagur stated. "It's signed. What else do you want? I thought peace was enough for you."
The last part he said with a certain level of mockery that made Stoick's blood boil. He decided it was best for the Berserkers to go. The boy kept pushing Oswald out the door, but suddenly he was met with resistance.
"Have you worked on any new inventions, Hiccup?" Oswald asked.
Dagur gave another hard shove, half to get him to leave and half out of anger. This time, Oswald was fully aware of what was going on and frowned at him before turning his attention to the smaller boy. Hiccup glanced at his father and Gobber before answering.
"I haven't made anything else, but I have added more to the sketchbook."
"Can I see what you have?'
"Sure, I'll go get it," Hiccup said, going off to his home to retrieve the object.
He had been a little surprised by Oswald's request. It was not that it was out of character for the man, but it had been a few years since he had seen the sketches and it seemed as though something was wrong with him this time. Considering this more, Hiccup reached home and got his sketchbook out from under his blankets. He supposed that he had no reason to hide it, but he always thought Stoick would find it and be disappointed at yet another sign of him not killing dragons. It just made everyone happier if it was nothing that was in plain sight. Of course, everyone excluded Oswald. He seemed much happier when he was looking at the different ideas of the youth. While Hiccup was getting the book, Dagur was frowning at Oswald.
"Shouldn't we just go already?" he complained.
"There's no need to be rude and leave in such a haste," the Berserker chief said.
Dagur silently mocked him and sighed heavily when he saw Hiccup return with the book. Excitedly, Oswald went over to him and began flipping through pages. There were a lot more inventions he had yet to see and each fascinated him more.
"Hiccup, you could be an explorer with these ideas," he said.
The boy appeared thoughtful. "An explorer? Do you really think so?"
"Of course! With your brain, you'd be able to outwit any foe you faced. That's assuming you even find any. You'll probably make friends everywhere you go."
This put a smile on Hiccup's face but a concerned look on Stoick's visage.
"I don't know if we should be filling his head with ideas of leaving Berk, Oswald."
"It doesn't have to be anything permanent," the other chief clarified. "But it does help to see what's out there. How can we even be sure of our own competency if we don't know what others are capable of? For all we know, we could be savages and the rest of the world is far more civilized."
Stoick's frown stayed on his face. He did not like the thought of his son going off anywhere he so chose. Not only was it reckless given his status as an heir to their people, but it was dangerous. Clever or no, Hiccup would be in severe peril if he had to go up against vikings who wanted him dead. That was nothing his father wanted for him. At least if he was on Berk, he could keep an eye on him and make sure he stayed alive.
"Have you done any traveling?" Hiccup asked Oswald.
The chief shook his head regretfully. "I have not, so I'm a hypocrite for suggesting it would be foolish not to. That doesn't change how I feel, but maybe it's the chief's fate to remain a prisoner of his tribe."
Hiccup looked horrified by that idea. "I'm sure tribes wouldn't fall apart if the chief had to leave. Like you said, it wouldn't have to be permanent or anything."
"But a lot can happen even in a day," Stoick chimed in, stepping over to them. "In just an hour, babies can be taken from parents and the elderly can be slaughtered. It's not a matter of being gone long–it's just a matter of being here when you're needed."
"What about having a second-in-command who could fill in as acting chief?" Hiccup offered.
"That probably could work," Gobber admitted, getting a frown from his friend. "But of course, it wouldn't be what's best," he quickly added.
Stoick put his giant hands on the small viking's shoulders. He had a stern look in his eyes as he spoke.
"Being a chief is no light task or burden, Hiccup. It's a responsibility and a serious one. Vikings rely on us. We can't give into every whim. We have to be dependable and there for them whenever we're needed."
"What if we want something besides just leading?"
Stoick pulled back, feeling as though he had been punched in the gut. Hiccup saw this and regretted his words. He supposed that he should have been fortunate his father was not looking for a different heir. As chief, he could have given the title to someone else if he decided to, but he had not. Even if it was nothing that Hiccup wanted, maybe it was something he should have appreciated. Though he was not the only one considering Stoick's words, Oswald was not. He was looking through the book again and thinking of what he had heard Hiccup say. A warm smile spread over his face.
"The way you speak, Hiccup," he said, a soft chuckle building in his throat. "It's almost as if…"
He stopped himself, not hoping to cause any tension between the Berkians. Instead, he put a hand on Stoick's and Hiccup's shoulders.
"He'll be ready, Stoick," he assured the other father. "It'll be a great day when he is." With a wink, he said, "If you don't make him chief then, I might have to crown him my heir."
Hiccup jerked as the hand on his shoulder was forcibly removed. A thud sounded before he realized what was happening. Dagur had tackled Oswald to the ground with an enraged look in his eyes. He was tightly gripping the man by the neck and banging his head against the ground. Oswald had been too taken off guard to immediately respond. Once he realized what was happening, he clenched one hand into a fist and prepared to strike, but he stopped. Stoick and Gobber were pulling Dagur off of the Berserker, both admittedly struggling to do this more than they expected. Oswald pushed up with his hands so that he was sitting. He rubbed his throat and just quietly stared at his son who seemed to be fighting with everything he had to get past them and attack him. It made the man sick to see how someone who had come from him could be so violent. Suddenly, the sick feeling faded into something else entirely. Oswald stood up and straightened his tunic.
"I appreciate you both helping, but you can let him go," he said.
Gobber raised a brow at him. "Are you sure, Oswald?"
Stoick did not ask, but he doubted this was a good idea. He wanted to knock the wild viking senseless and call it a day, but a look from Gobber reminded him that it might not be best for peace. Still, after that attack, would Oswald care that much?
"I'm sure," the chief confirmed. "I'm also sure that you both won't always be around, so I'd appreciate it even more if you did not assist me."
Reluctantly, the Berkians released Dagur who glared at them, then at his father. Oswald had a strange look in his eyes which made the boy tilt his head in confusion. To add to this, Oswald gestured to himself.
"You wanted to fight a moment ago," he said. "Is your fighting spirit extinguished so quickly?"
Dagur did not respond to that. Something was wrong. What was he planning?
"Did you stop because you realized there's an audience?" Oswald asked, voice becoming lower. "You'd kill me if you got the chance, wouldn't you?"
The heir just gawked at him. "I don't–"
"It's probably a risk to even go back on the open seas with you, but I'd rather do that than risk the lives of the Berkians by having you remain here."
"What? They're not in–"
"Thank you again, Stoick, Gobber," Oswald said, shaking their hands. "I will ensure this treaty remains unaffected by his antics."
Stoick nodded, not sure if he felt reassured by this or not. The Berkians watched as the other chief grabbed Dagur's arm and began heading to the ship. Hiccup picked up his sketchbook which had fallen to the ground and turned to the adults in confusion.
"What just happened?"
"Berserkers," Gobber said, shrugging.
An uneasy feeling hit Hiccup. "Do you guys think Oswald was right about what Dagur would do?"
"I wouldn't put it past him," Stoick said, glaring after the other redhead. "He's trouble to put it lightly. You heard him with the treaty. He wants power, Hiccup. No viking who wants power that badly will be persuaded by a conscience to not do whatever he thinks can help him gain it."
Hiccup just nodded and still felt strange. It was not that he trusted Dagur to be nice or sensible, but to think that he would kill his own father was unsettling. On the battered Berserker ship, Dagur snatched back his arm and glared at Oswald.
"You're not making Hiccup chief," he warned. "Not him, Ansson, or anyone else. That's my throne."
Oswald sighed. "I don't even have a throne, Dagur."
"I'll make one for myself, but I'm going to have it. You're not taking this away from me. I'm leading our vikings."
The chief just smirked and returned to the helm. "I'm counting on that."
Without explaining further, he hoisted the sails and began their voyage home. He had the makings of a new idea and was rather fond of this. For the first time in years, it gave him some hope. He missed that feeling; it was wonderful. He could live that life he imagined. He could be the traveling viking he wanted to be. All he had to do was get killed.
