Prodigal Son 27

Fishlegs stared down at the page. Poetry tumbled down the rough paper, only to end halfway through a line. Several stanzas of his victory poem were already written, but he was woefully unhappy with the poem. He had set out to present his chief with an Edda by which to remember their victory over the dragons. Somewhere along the line, the path his muse had laid out faded like a forest trail at dusk, leaving him stranded in strange territory with no way forward.

"The ruler of Berk chose Astrid the Valiant;

Whose courage is known when dragons flee;

For in the tumult of battle he needs trusted fighters:

conquest follows a king who may count on his warriors.

"Hold firm your hilts, ye blessed fighters,

shield flung on shoulder, to show ye are men;

breast 'gainst breast offer we to our foes:

beak against beak, so shall battle the eagles.

Foremost among fighters, bold Stoick the Vast fares,

glorying in swordplay, in horn'd-helm dorn'd;

after him marching the martial hosts of Berk,

with ring-laid helms and rattling spears.

Flee ye demons, to Hel's hearth with thee;

Stoick Haddock and his fearless host shall crush the enemy;

Follow Valiant Astrid, set foot on fatal shore.

The last bit was giving him some trouble.

Fishlegs believed in the power of words. As a child he had listened to stories of great Viking kings and heroes, boasts of conquests and wars, of valiant deaths and evil destroyed. Whereas his friends and brothers had eaten it all up with shining eyes and eager hearts, a curious question had struck Fishlegs. One which had redefined how he looked at his own culture:

Who, exactly, had written these stories? History very much belonged to the victor, and words had the power to shape it both before in the form of speeches to inspire and terrify, and afterwards in tales to remember and learn from. Stories, when told to the young, had the power to shape the worldviews of entire generations, and through them to their children. It was a form of social control.

Of course every Viking knew dragons were evil, and that the greatest of Berk's heroes had conquered them, driven them off, or defeated them. Berkians believed that to this very day, despite the fact that the beasts still harried them on a monthly basis. It struck Fishlegs that those who suffered defeated were never given the opportunity to tell their side of the story.

Words held strange powers over people. Any ruler intent on keeping his throne and benefitting his kingdom, had better understand that power. Astrid did not. Neither did the Jorgensons, but there was no man on Berk who could match Fishlegs' poetry. He was greatly respected for it. Every House on Berk had commissioned a poem or two from him. He read regularly at weddings and funerals. While those honest words had earned him a living, allowed him to put meat and bread on the table for his wife and beloved daughter, the poem he was writing now was an entirely different exercise, with an entirely different purpose. One he felt he was born for: Helping Berk.

Astrid's influence would be much stronger if she came back with an Edda prepared, boasting of her triumphs, and offering homage to the power of the Haddock line instead of the Jorgensons. It was one of the reasons he stayed behind when the call went out for the raid, and his narrative skills were the reason no one questioned him. Every man on Berk was a warrior, but very few were good poets. It was something to be valued, and kept from danger. Besides, everyone knew his wife Ruffnut was the better fighter anyway.

Unlike Hiccup, Fishlegs had proven himself on the battlefield. With club in hand he had defended Berk, and contributed to the island's defense, yet he was not the best fighter, and he perfectly comfortable with his place near the bottom of the list. He had other skills to rely upon. Subtler ones.

His skills were failing him now. Fishlegs was horribly aware of the power of words, the power of lies. He understood the veil those simple childhood stories had drawn over Berk's eyes. This story of conquest Astrid required was not one he wanted to tell. Berk already had so many stories about mighty warriors slaying dragons. Yet Astrid's true bravery, her true brilliance in following Hiccup's footsteps was the far more interesting tale. The one that deserved to be told. Perhaps it would in due course, yet for now, another inspiring account of blade piercing hide…

Fishlegs hall echoed as someone pounded on the door.

"Coming." Fishlegs slid his chair back, holding it carefully so that he didn't knock it over, as so often happened; he had inherited his father's husky frame, and it sometimes took him by surprise. Particularly when he was so wrapped up in his own head. Ruffnut found it cute. Fishlegs found it irritating.

He opened the door a crack, and found it being pushed out of his grasp. A hooded figure stepped inside and closed it quickly. He balled up a fist, just to be cautious, but then the hood was lowered to reveal Astrid. Her face was pale and worried, yet her eyes shined with excitement of a sort he had never seen on her before.

"The fleet back already?" Fishlegs asked, smiling at her, "You must have been at the nest all of five minutes."

"He's back." She announced breathlessly.

Fishlegs' brow furrowed. "Stoick?"

"Not Stoick, you idiot! Hiccup! Hiccup Haddock is back!"

Fishlegs' mind ignited. Like a tapestry, the future crystallized before him with threads of possibilities winding through each other, each leading to a different vision of the future. What would Stoick's reaction be? What did this mean for the Jorgensons? Hiccup would fit right into the progressive movement, but would his name and face wield enough power to shift the balance?

"I hadn't anticipated this…"

"No kidding."

"Is his night fury with him?"

Astrid nodded silently.

"Does Stoick know?"

"I doubt it."

He turned away and began to rustle through his home, pulling out a satchel and filling it with a variety of items including food, quills, ink, and paper. While he worked, Astrid gave him a quick run-down of the journey to the nest, the great beast within.

"There's no way a spear or sword will hurt that thing, Fishlegs. It's too big. We're going to need a new plan."

"Perhaps." Fishlegs agreed tentatively.

Astrid moved on to the tale of Hiccup's timely rescue. "He just swooped out of the clouds and saved us. You should have seen it! He flew circles around the monster! And he can fly, Fishlegs. He made his own wings I saw it! And his night fury-"

"Yes, yes. I'm sure it's very impressive." Fishlegs said shortly.

Astrid fell silent. She planted her hands on her hips, and her eyes narrowed.

Fishlegs sighed, stuffing a loaf of bread into his satchel. "That Hiccup Haddock invented an interesting device is not the slightest bit surprising, Astrid." He paused, giving her declaration a more thorough examination. "…Though he may have outdone himself this time. I'm more interested in why he chose to come back, and what his intentions are towards Berk."

"He wanted to know what was going on." Astrid looked worried. "Fishlegs, I stole that sketch, and I gave my shield to Stoick. Hiccup is going to figure out pretty quickly that we lied. If he comes forward-"

"I'm sure it'll be fine." Fishlegs said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Everything could fall apart. All he has to do is tell the village-"

"Hiccup's a smart man, he never liked Snotlout, and let's not forget that the sketch in question was of you." Fishlegs smiled. "The game is far from ended."

Astrid did not look at all reassured.

They set off for the Cove separately. Astrid had snuck into Berk, and as such, needed to take the time and effort to sneak out again. Fishlegs, on the other hand, walked freely over to the docks, greeted the fishermen, retrieved two baskets of arctic cod, and set off into the woods.

As he traveled through the dense, foggy forest, he tried to keep his mind clear of assumptions. Eight years was a long time, and Hiccup Haddock could have changed in any number of ways. Though Fishlegs could theorize about the various ways the Heir's return could impact his plans for Berk, to make presumptions about Hiccup's behavior could be a costly mistake, starting with the assumption that Hiccup was there to stay.

Hiccup wasn't the first Viking ever to leave the Archipelago. King Oswald the Agreeable had led a small berserker fleet south to join the Rus; Viking traders in a distant land. He had come back with a fleet ten times the size of the next largest in the Archipelago, along with wealth and arms to match.

Trader Johann brought back stories of Vikings further south joining battle with kings and armies of vast size. Those far off places seemed another world entirely to the tiny, embattled island of Berk. The tales kept them warm during cold nights, and distracted children during the worst of the raids.

Yet Hiccup had actually experienced that other world, and after eight years absence, a spontaneous decision to come back was unlikely. Hiccup had been motivated by something. The wayward heir had his own reasons for returning, and until Fishlegs knew what those were, he decided he would have to tread carefully, and not make any assumptions.

The Cove was not deserted when he arrived. Stormfly was there. The Nadder was dozing, but perked up as he appeared, and tromped over to sniff at the baskets of cod. Fishlegs dumped one out for the dragon and sidled further into the cove, letting the nadder gorge itself. The stone-edged clearing was empty, save for the nadder. Fishlegs turned his attention to the black pines which rimmed the cove. The shadowy trees were silhouetted against the clouded grey sky.

"Hiccup?" he called out. His voice sounded lonesome and frail, echoing across the hollow. He set down the second basket, and wondered if the man had simply taken off again. "It's Fishlegs. Astrid said you'd be here. I brought some fish for your dragon. I just want to talk."

He heard a leathery noise behind him, and a reptilian hiss. Fishlegs turned, and found himself face to face with short, sharp fangs, smooth ink-black scales, and narrow, intelligent green eyes. The night fury circled him in a quiet, cat-like manner, looking every bit the nightmarish, unholy demon which the book of dragons had expressed. Hiccup's sketch, while technically accurate, had failed to capture the creature's predatory mannerisms, or the coldness in its eyes. He wished desperately that he had thought to bring a shield.

"Fishlegs." Hiccup Haddock was seated on a nearby boulder, watching them with the same cautious intelligence his dragon displayed. He was wearing a strange brown leather suit with black armour padding his chest, back and shoulders. A black eagle crest adorned his right pauldron.

Hiccup had very much grown into himself, with sharp, angular features, a messy mane of auburn hair, the lightest dusting of a beard, and thick brows, all of it a little more delicate than Stoick's stern face and bushy beard. Fishlegs suspected strongly that Hiccup had taken after his mother, though he couldn't remember what Valka had looked like. No one could anymore, except perhaps for Spitelout, Stoick and Gobber.

Hiccup slid lightly down the boulder and landed near them. As a younger man, Fishlegs remembered staring down at a shrimp of a child, with barely enough meat on him to hold his bones together. Now Hiccup towered over him. He was still skinny by Berk's standards, but his shoulders were broader than before. He had plenty of the lean quality of muscle which daily riding produced. The boy was a man, and he had a physical presence now which had never been there before.

Fishlegs nodded at him, keeping an eye on the dragon, which was still circling them both. "Hello Hiccup."

Hiccup glanced at the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, and sighed. "Give it a rest, bud."

Immediately, everything about the dragon changed. It sat up on its haunches, wings folded against its flanks. Its eyes, which before had been narrow slits taking a hostile inventory of Fishlegs' very soul, were wide and friendly. The beast's ear flaps, which had been pressed back against its sinuous neck, were standing straight up, and twitching in time with its rider's voice.

Hiccup had wandered over to stroke his dragon's side, whispering a few comforting words in a dialect Fishlegs could not understand. Then he turned and extended a hand. "Good to see you again, Fishlegs."

"And you." they grasped each other's hands and shook, each man using the guise of good manners to give the other a more thorough investigation.

Fishlegs nodded at Toothless, who was peeking curiously over his rider's shoulder. "So… a night fury."

"Yeah." Hiccup gave his dragon a fond look. "He's alright once you get to know him. And you. You have a kid."

Fishlegs thought back to his little bundle of boundless joy, and glanced at the night fury. One day he hoped his daughter would understand the risks he had taken to make a better world for her. "I do. I'm looking forward to watching her grow up."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

They fell silent, each unsure how to approach the deeper subject of Berk's future, and Hiccup's return.

"I brought a game of King's Table." Fishlegs suggested. He shook his satchel, "If you still remember how to play."

"It's been a while." Hiccup admitted. The night fury was beginning to nose the basket, and Fishlegs pushed it over with a cautious kick, spilling fish out onto the ground. The dragon dove in immediately, paying the humans no further attention.

Hiccup moved aside, gesturing over to the rotting table he had built eight years before. It occurred to Fishlegs as he stepped forwards that the young man had yet to turn his back on him. Caution? Likely. Or perhaps, once again, politesse hid another agenda. Either way, trust was far ahead on the horizon. Not entirely comfortable with this, Fishlegs slowed his pace until they were walking in step, side by side. He eyed Hiccup's shoulder pad, and the strange symbol emblazoned upon it. "A black eagle?"

"The flag I fought under."

"You're a warrior?"

"Not when I can help it."

"Whose flag is it?"

"Byzantium's."

"Were they worth fighting for?"

A long, thoughtful pause followed as they each pulled a rotting log up to the table and took a seat. "No."

The logs were not very long either, being chosen as the perfect height for a fourteen year old boy. Now Hiccup's knees were around his ears. Fishlegs was not doing all that much better. His size was making balancing an issue, but they both smiled politely at each other and said nothing.

As he set the board, Fishlegs parsed hiccup's statement. "So is Byzantium a kingdom like Berk?"

Hiccup chuckled. "The city of Byzantium alone I think covers more ground than this entire island. It's a big place. And it's just the capital city of an enormous kingdom."

"Ah." Fishlegs set the last few playing pieces on the board with deliberate clicks. "With so much land and so many people at his disposable, this Emperor must have been a very wealthy man. And a very powerful one."

"I suppose. But nothing changes. It's like Tribal politics, but on a much larger scale. When two empires go to war, fleets stretch to the horizon and hundreds upon hundreds die in every battle." Hiccup shook his head. "It's so very productive."

There was sarcasm at least. That had stayed the same. Fishlegs noted the scar on the man's cheek. "And you fought in these battles?"

"A few of them."

"Sounds horrific."

"I'd rather think of it as a learning opportunity.

"And what did you learn?"

"That I hate fighting." Hiccup gestured at the board. "King's Men, or Attackers?"

Fishlegs gave the board a look. He had played King's Table all his life. His father had taught him early on. The square board was thirteen spaces a side. The King's men were arranged in a diamond patter at the center of the board, with the King's Stone at the very center. The attacking stones were more numerous, and arranged around the outside of the board. The objective of the King's Men was to get the King's Stone to any corner of the board. The objective of the attackers was to capture the stone.

Common sense dictated that the Attackers held all the cards, yet in Fishlegs' experience the King's Men usually won the match. He decided to play as the attacking forces, giving Hiccup a chance to defend, though the tables could turn at any moment, and they would have to, if Hiccup wanted to win.

"You go first." Fishlegs suggested.

"Sure." Hiccup slid a piece across the board, testing Fishlegs. "How is Berk doing?"

Fishlegs countered with a move of his own. "We've managed."

"It's been a long time, but the first thing I see when I get back is Astrid Hofferson riding that nadder over there. Clearly something interesting happened." Hiccup moved up another piece, forcing Fishlegs to flee back to his lines. He responded with another cautious advance on another section of the board. Once again, Hiccup drove him back "You've spoken to Astrid?"

"All she said was that I should talk to you. But so far, that hasn't proven very helpful."

They maneuvered in silence, each trying to simultaneously flank the opposing pieces and protect their own. Very soon the board was covered in scattered black and white pieces, mingling as armies would. Battle had been joined.

"I can guess a few things, though." Hiccup said as he and Fishlegs moved and countered. "For whatever reason, you and Astrid figured out the truth about Dragons. But Berk hasn't. Berk doesn't know that Astrid is hiding a dragon, and like a bunch of whooping, hollering idiots, they attacked the Nest without doing any reconnaissance. That means my dad's still in charge, and Snotlout's probably next in line. The Jorgensons have a stranglehold." With a few clicks, he scooped up three of Fishlegs' pieces, the first captures of the game. He looked up and smiled. "How am I doing?"

"A good start." Fishlegs congratulated, smiling inwardly; he had anticipated the captures, and planned for them. The move put Hiccup's King in jeopardy. He moved his own pieces turn by turn, forcing several of Hiccup's other pieces to back off. "But I don't know what you planned to accomplish here. Berk still hates dragons. If you were planning to merely swoop out of the sky, pull your helmet off and declare us all freed, your flapping tongue would likely meet the blade of an axe before your words reached people's ears."

"Fishlegs…" Hiccup shook his head, disappointed yet amused. "One of the advantages of coming in from the outside world is the sense of perspective it can give you. I can see the whole board, and I was planning a subtler approach."

One of Hiccup's pieces had been lingering in a different section of the board, chased there, in point of fact, by one of Fishlegs' earlier moves. Fishlegs groaned as he realized that in retreating, Hiccup had created a straight path to the center of his opponent's embattled formations. An opening the young man took full advantage of. He swept in, and removed three more of Fishlegs' pieces. Of more concern was the sudden gap in Fishlegs' line. A gap a smart player would take full advantage of.

Driven to full retreat, Fishlegs pulled his troops back and tried to salvage a defensible line. All the while, Hiccup harried him, forcing dodging movements upon him, and disrupting his retreat. He only managed to escape by sacrificing another two pieces, putting Hiccup's advance forces on the defensive, and capturing a few of the King's Men in the process. In the end, he had lost seven pieces, and Hiccup had lost three. A sense of stunned panic gripped him as he realized he might lose the game, but he also felt exhilarated; Fishlegs had not lost a game of King's Table in six years.

All the while, Hiccup had been talking. "There's a great Greek poem called The Odyssey. It's about a King name Odysseus who sails off to war, and doesn't return home for twenty years. He encounters all kinds of monsters along the way, but the most important part is what happens when he gets back. He doesn't march through the front door of his castle and greet his wife and son. His child has all grown up, and his wife has been fighting off suitors who were after his land and money. If any of those men knew he was back, they'd kill him out of hand.

"So Odysseus waits. He disguises himself as a beggar. He makes a few allies on the inside. He figures out who his enemies are, and how many of them he faces. He lays the groundwork for a battle and he picks the right moment to reveal himself. That's what it's about, Fishlegs. The Right Moment. Hiccup Haddock will not return to Berk until Vikings already like Dragons. I need to lay groundwork, and I need to win this battle before it starts."

With these last few words, he captured two more of Fishlegs' beleaguered pieces, and took a corner of the board for his own. They each sat back. Fishlegs was stared down at the board. His face blank. In a few moves, Hiccup's defense would be airtight, and his king would be in a position to take the corner and win the game.

Hiccup was staring across the table at him, wearing a friendly smile, with undertones of worry. He said, "I need allies, Fishlegs. I need people on the inside. People who know the lay of the land, politically. I saved Berk's fleet but right now I'm just a beggar at the door. I want to be King."

Fishlegs looked up at him and met his gaze. "The important question is what kind of King? What would you do differently?"

"Look, I know I've been gone a long time, but Berk is my home. It's our home. The outside world is full of relentless and crazy people who start terrible wars for terrible reasons. But there are also ideas and dreams about who we are, and where we can go, what we can be. The world needs a voice that stands for peace, and it needs warriors willing to fight to keep it. I can't think of more stubborn warriors than Vikings. Even three hundred years of constant war with dragons hasn't ended us. We may be small in numbers but if we stood this long against dragons, then from dragonback we could stand for something greater than anything the rest of the world can pit against us."

From his pocket, he produced an intricate gold disc, inlaid with smaller, spinning discs and inscribed with a foreign language Fishlegs couldn't understand. But he could appreciate the object's beauty.

"That's called an Astrolabe." Hiccup explained. "It tells you the time of day, and the year. It predicts the movements of the stars and the changing of the seasons. It belonged to a friend of mine. Someone who stood for peace. I have the ability to change a part of the world for the better. I promised her that I would, and I intend to follow through on that promise. Will you help me?"

The device sat snugly in Fishlegs' palm. He reached out with a tentative finger and spun the inner disc, watching the symbols flow in and out of one another. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before. He found himself intensely curious about this friend, and where Hiccup had been for the past eight years. He handed it back and stared down at the board, and Hiccup's victory, nearly assured. In a few moves, Berk's Lost Heir would win the game.

Unless he slipped up somehow…

Fishlegs said, "Alright. But if we want to move forward, there's a few things you should know." He moved a piece across the board to trap one of Hiccup's vulnerable pieces. If it succeeded, it would also leave the King vulnerable. He knew a player as shrewd would already have spotted the risk and accounted for it.

"Go ahead." Hiccup drove the attacker off with a piece of his own, shoring up his advancing line in the process

"Snotlout's not the heir. Astrid is." Fishlegs made another move, once again laying siege to Hiccup's line.

Hiccup stared at him, game forgotten. "How in Hel's name did that happen? Is Snotlout dead, or did the village actually make a halfway intelligent choice?"

"It's your move." Fishlegs said. As Hiccup turned his attention to the board, Fishlegs added, "Astrid and I found your notes in the Book of Dragons, and we found your sketches and your journal. But Astrid got caught taking them from your dad's home, so we had to think of an excuse."

"How does one turn from criminal to Heir?"

Hiccup ran his eyes over the board several times, trying to track the progress of the game, and parse the new information at the same time. He eventually made the right move, driving off Fishlegs' attack, and limiting his options ever further. Yet the distraction was noticeable. One more push, and Fishlegs knew he could turn the game around. He reached out and once again moved for the attack, moving a piece into a sacrificial position to open up Hiccup's flank for an enemy waiting across the board. It was a risky move; if Hiccup allowed his own piece to be captured next turn, he could recover and complete his defensive positioning, making his King invulnerable. Then it would truly be the end of the game.

Fishlegs decided to gamble. He set his piece down and said, "During the trial, Astrid declared her undying love for you."

"What?" Hiccup's head snapped up so fast that Fishlegs heard his neck crack. His eyes were wild with a maelstrom of confusion, amazement and disbelief.

Fishlegs suppressed a smile. "It's your move."

Hiccup was staring at him, pale-faced. "Astrid didn't love me. Astrid didn't know I existed."

"It's your move, Hiccup."

Hiccup grunted in frustrate and captured Fishlegs' attacking piece, giving the board only a momentary glance. He looked back up at his opponent. "What do you mean Astrid said she loved me? What does that mean? What happened?"

"It was a lie told at her trial to gain public sympathy." Fishlegs moved his secret plan into action, capturing two of Hiccup's pieces and peeling open his line for further attacks. "Among the things Astrid had stolen from Haddock Hall was a sketch you had made of 'The Most Beautiful Girl in Midgard'."

A glimmer of vague recollection shimmered in Hiccup's dumbstruck gaze. It was his turn, but the game couldn't be further from his mind.

"Your father was ready to exile her when I suggested the possibility. The crowd loved it, so Astrid and I simply let them keep on believing it. A few days later, Stoick bought her as the Bride you would have taken and the Queen Berk should have had. It's your move, by the way."

Hiccup glanced down and did a double-take, realizing what had just happened. His defenses were in shambles, his plan to Crown the Corner of the board obliterated, and his army at very real risk of being destroyed. He looked up and scowled. "So you just used me? You just used my memory like that?"

Fishlegs shrugged. He reached down to the board and began a ruthless assault, routing Hiccup's forces. Hiccup countered as best he could, but there was no doubt he was on the run, and about to suffer heavy losses. Fishlegs said, "Politics is a fickle thing, my friend. I find it plays to emotions and moods and sympathies as much as it does to anything rational. We thought you were dead. Well everyone else did, anyway. Astrid and I knew you had flown away on a dragon. We didn't think you were ever going to come back. It was a convenient tale, and it put Astrid ahead of Snotlout in the running for Chieftainship. That was good for Berk."

"…And then I came back." Hiccup was paying far more attention to the board, and despite Fishlegs' best efforts, he was starting to rally. He had lost another four pieces in the routing, and his King Stone was being driven back across the board, but he was gathering his forces quite effectively.

They both heard the nadder begin to chirp excitedly. Astrid was emerging from the Cove's entrance, carrying another basket of fish. Toothless, who had curled up for a snooze near the riverside, tilted up his ear flaps, listening intently, though his eyes were shut. Hiccup had turned in his seat to watch her approach, the game once again forgotten. All of this stopping and starting was grating on the one hand, but as an observer of human behavior and a political advisor intent on setting Berk on the right course, he knew that cataloguing Hiccup's emotional, sore spots, blind areas, and pressure points would pay off in the long run, when such pressures needed to be applied.

After eight years, Hiccup Haddock still carried a torch for Astrid. That was painfully obvious. It could be a very good thing for Berk, particularly if Astrid took the 'Anyone in Midgard or Hel's Realm except Snotlout' approach to choosing a husband. Her choices would be pretty much limited to either one of them anyway. There was no way Berk would accept a third option. Berk's Rightful Heir could take his place, with his rightful Queen at his side. Long Lost Loves reunited. No one could argue the case, signed contract or not. Astrid had wanted power. This was an excellent way to obtain it with the village's blessing and little to no bloodshed.

However the entire thing could backfire if Hiccup didn't first reveal his face to Berk. If the two of them grew close while he kept his identity a secret, he could actually undermine Astrid's power within the village, and force a wedding between her and Snotlout, just to keep the village out of the hands of a dragon-loving foreign stranger. This dance had to be delicately and carefully monitored.

Fishlegs was looking forward to the challenge.

Stormfly had tromped over to her rider, and was nuzzling Astrid's shoulder. The shieldmaiden in turn pulled fish from her basket and tossed them into the air for the nadder to catch, grinning at the resulting display.

Hiccup turned back to Fishlegs, his eyes wide and glazed over. "What do I say to her?"

Fishlegs shrugged.

"We're married, right?"

"No. You're dead, remember? It's a complicated legal situation. If anything, she's like… a sister."

Hiccup turned a very putrid shade of green.

"Your move, Hiccup."

"Umm…" Hiccup stared down at the board, trying valiantly to put aside his distractions and confusion. He moved another piece into place, rebuilding his defenses, and blocking Fishlegs' flanking maneuver. Fishlegs responded with a move of his own trying to keep up the waning pressure.

"Hey boys." Astrid was striding over, and once again Hiccup's attention was gone. He leapt to his feet, very nearly knocking over the board. His hand leapt nervously to the back of his neck.

"Ah-ha-ha-ha… hi Astrid. How are you doing?"

"Fine." Astrid squinted at him. "You look… green. Oh my god, Fishlegs, what did you do to him?"

Hiccup was wringing his hands together animatedly. "So… I… I heard you found the sketch, and I just wanted to apologi-uuummph!"

Astrid had grabbed him by the face and pushed him back down onto his seat. Her gaze flickered between them. She said, "So… do we have a plan yet?"

"Not yet." Fishlegs admitted, examining Hiccup's renewed defense. Hiccup was far from losing. His flanks were well covered, and though he was being besieged on all sides a few of the King's Pieces which were scattered around the edges of the board could make very quick work of Fishlegs' surrounding barricade if he gave them but a moment's inattention. Meanwhile Hiccup could sacrifice them turn by turn, rally in the center and strike out once again for a corner. The game was, in fact, turning in his favor, and with Astrid present, Hiccup probably felt he had more to lose if he were defeated.

"Well," Astrid said in a faux pleasant voice, "It's nice to know you two haven't been sitting here wasting all this time playing a board game."

"That might be a little bit unfair." Hiccup suggested mildly.

Astrid kicked the table over, spilling game pieces all over the soft ground. She pulled out her axe, ignoring the boys' protests. "Stoick's fleet is getting closer by the minute. They can't be more than a day away! What are we going to do?"

Fishlegs crossed his arms and sat back. He felt a mild stab of irritation at Astrid's blatant contempt for their game. It was the closest game he had ever played, and the closest he had come in six years to losing. He made a mental note to challenge the rider again when they had the time. He could tell by the look Hiccup subtly shot him that he wasn't alone in his frustration.

"You'll have to present yourself to Stoick." Astrid told Hiccup. "You're not just going to fly away again. If you do I will hunt you down and castrate you."

"You're a fantastic motivational speaker, Astrid." The rider said dryly.

Astrid scowled and kicked a clod of dirt at him.

"Ach! Hey!" Hiccup brushed himself off.

"I want to know what your plan is!"

"I can see how kicking dirt at me would help with that."

"Maybe you'd prefer a punch in the face?" she asked sweetly.

"Astrid Hofferson: Born Diplomat."

She raised her axe threateningly.

"Alright, alright!" Hiccup rose to his feet and turned away, pacing back and forth across the wet moss. Astrid and Fishlegs watched expectantly. The dragons watched too. Toothless had been woken up by Astrid's outburst, and now both he and Stormfly were following Hiccup's movements. As the heir talked, he waved his arms animatedly, as if the thoguhts themselves were giving him more energy than he could contain. To Fishlegs, who thought best in moments of quiet stillness, and Astrid, a stoic warrior, he looked a little mad.

He said, "I can't just march into the village and take my helmet off. That would mean revealing who I am, and what I've done. It would put Toothless at risk, and solve nothing. I'd be amazed if Berk didn't just run me off the island there and then."

"I dunno…" Astrid began doubtfully, "Things here are pretty bad. And now that you've rescued them-"

"No." Fishlegs interrupted they both turned to him. "Hiccup's right. I know right now it looks like a tall dark stranger swooped in and saved the fleet, but we shouldn't underestimate Berk's hatred towards dragons, and while they might tell stories of the dragon rider, I don't think they'd look as kindly on Hiccup's return. Not when he's already proven himself a coward."

"Standing right here, Fishlegs." Hiccup murmured.

Fishlegs ignored him. "They'd ask difficult questions: why he left, and chose a dragon over his village. He's untested, and what little Berk knows of him is not enough to make them trust him. We have to free them of their preconceptions if we want to reach them."

"Exactly." Hiccup said. "Berk has to be ready to receive dragons, and I have to prove myself capable of leading before I take my helmet off."

"So stay as the mystery rider. At least for a little while." Astrid replied.

"We'll still need leverage to prevent them from just shooting you out of the sky the moment you start to propose change, but we get past that initial reaction, then Astrid and I can publicly support you and your crazy ideas as Berk's best hope. We build on the rescue, instead of your cowardice-"

"Gods, how I'm loving that word."

"-and reintroduce you as a leader before they even know who you are. We take Berk heart by heart and mind by mind. We gain the town's loyalty, and then you reveal yourself as a savior and a proven leader. Instead of Hiccup the Useless: the boy who ran away."

"You'll need a name." Astrid added. "Something catchy. Nightblade. Nightrider. Blackwing or…"

"Menacing might not be the best idea." Fishlegs told her. "We don't want the dragon-riding idea to be scary."

"Alright." She shrugged. "Windwalker, Skywalker, Skyrider… Windrider!"

"Too flightly. We need something friendlier. More diplomatic. Indicative of peaceful change."

Astrid rolled her eyes, "Loki's balls, Fishlegs! What about …Cattongue?"

"Prometheus." Hiccup declared, with a certainty in his tone which brooked no argument. The other two fell silent, watching him. Hiccup had spent the last half a minute in complete silence, on hand cupping his chin, the other balled underneath his elbow.

"Pro-what?"

"Prometheus."

"That's…" Fishlegs frowned. "That's not even Norse! What language is that? What does it mean?"

"Doesn't matter, Fishlegs." Hiccup's arms dropped to his sides, and he strode over to Toothless, who sat up, tail waving cheerfully from side to side. Hiccup unhitched his helmet and held in his hands, staring down through the eyeholes. "What matters is what it means to me." He slipped his helmet on, his voice slightly muffled, but still intelligible. "I am Prometheus. I saved Berk, and you owe me a blood debt. That's all the leverage I'll need to start this whole thing."

Fishlegs and Astrid exchanged a confused look. Then he shrugged. "Alright… what's your plan, Prometheus?"

"Well…" Hiccup sighed and planted his hands on his hips. "Stoick's fleet is a day out, yet. I think I'll give Stoick back his lost warrior. As a token of good faith in future negotiations."

Astrid took a wary step back. "I'm not going to like this part of the plan, am I?"

"Depends," Hiccup's green eyes glinted mischievously, "How well can you swim?"

This chapter was late due to a number of factors including politics, a job hunt, several parties, and (hopefully) a professional writing opportunity. I'll try to update more regularly.

Lines from Fishlegs' poem were shamelessly stolen and adapted from actual Norse poetry. I can't write poetry myself. I just don't have the knack. But I can steal it.

The board game scene between Fishlegs and Hiccup was inspired by a moment in one of the late Sir Terry Pratchett's novels, Thud. Terry Pratchett was one of the best fantasy writers in the history of the genre, right up there with Tolkien in influence and originality. Very different, but equally as important. My favorite fantasy novel ever written is Night Watch, and his works as a whole take up an insane amount of space on my book shelf. When he passed away, I cried.