So many thanks to my awesome beta for helping me round out this chapter! And thank you to everyone who left feedback on the last chapter as well, I always love hearing from you guys :) not much more to say about this one so enjoy!
Four Months Earlier
Argo breathed into his cupped hands and rubbed them together violently. Sitting under a broken shelter in the Northern Markets wasn't exactly how he planned to spend his winter, but he knew it wasn't worth trying to sneak back into his village. They made it very clear their decision of banishment would not be reconsidered. Whatever; it wasn't his fault repeatedly stealing from people rubbed them the wrong way.
But blast it, it was cold. He wished someone would be willing to hire him so he could at least afford a half decent shelter.
Then again, anyone working the Northern Markets nowadays wasn't much better than himself in terms of, well, "illegal activity." Probably wouldn't be an ideal arrangement, anyway.
He looked up to watch for an opportune moment as the crowds passed by, slinking into the shadows to avoid being noticed. The Markets were unusually busy this morning, and he knew he had to take the chance while it presented itself. He saw a particularly large crowd approaching his direction as the stalls around him began to open.
He timed his approach carefully, giving the crowd time to settle and mix within itself and eliminate any one-directional flow of movement. He slipped into the thick of the crowd, struggling to make his way from one end of the strip to the other as he pushed through the mass of bodies, though admittedly inviting the warmth.
He finally pushed out the other side, holding two new money bags in his hands.
He sighed as he made his way to the tavern. Well, this was much easier than being hired by one of those crooks.
The warmth of fire washed over his skin the moment he walked through the door. He wasted no time approaching the keep of the hall to pay for some ale and bread with his newly-acquired income. He found an empty seat at the end of a long table by the fire, letting the flames warm him from the outside while the ale worked to warm from the inside.
However, much to Argo's annoyance, a large, burly man sat with a bewildered huff nearby, clutching his own wood tankard of ale like it was a lifeline. Argo glanced around the hall, finding it empty save the presence of the keep, Argo, and this new man.
Asshole.
Argo turned back to his ale, not at all trying to hide the single humorless chuckle that he pushed from his chest. He took a deep breath and hunkered back down, trying to shut out the sound of the man's voice as he mumbled to himself.
Unfortunately, his words pushed through to Argo's ears anyway.
"Simply incredible..." the man muttered, staring through the table. "Incredible... Nothin' like I'd ever seen before..."
Argo looked up from his own tankard, allowing himself to focus more attention on the man. His knuckles were white as he clutched the tankard with both hands, eyes wide and absent, voice breathless. He was suddenly concerned for him. "Oi, everythin' alright over there?"
"Like armor, but... Everywhere," he muttered, seemingly unaware of Argo. "And the fire..."
Argo stood and approached the man carefully, slowly reaching out an arm to grasp his shoulder. "Sir?"
The man returned to the room at Argo's touch, his eyes finally falling on Argo. They were wild and wide, frazzled as his hair was tousled. His beard was unkempt, his clothes torn in various places, his face scratched and bruised. The wounds reached down into his clothing, and Argo silently wondered how deep under the torn cloth they extended.
"Sir, d'ya need some help?" Argo asked.
The man blinked a few times before looking around the room. "I..." he began, scanning the empty room before his eyes fell back to Argo. "Where am I?" His voice was deep and raspy.
"Northern Markets," Argo explained, carefully eyeing the man. "Meade hall."
The man's eyebrows stitched together and he looked down. "Ah. Meade. That what this is?" He asked as his eyes stayed on the liquid in the tankard.
"Aye, I'd imagine. Maybe ale."
The man nodded absently and took a careful drink. His eyes slid across the room until they landed back on Argo. "Do I know you?"
"Doubt it. Name's Argo. What happened to ye?" he cautiously asked. "Heard ye mutterin' somethin' about armor and fire."
"I did?" the man pondered, staring through the table again. "Sorry, I, eh... My crew... We ran into some trouble on the way over here." He hugged his tankard to his chest and leaned onto the table. "There were these animals... They soared through the sky like birds... Their flesh shimmered like armor... And there was fire, so much fire, and it erupted from the bellies of the beasts! White, hot blasts that seared through the air and lit anything it touched..."
Argo sat slowly across from the man, thinking hard and taking a draw of his drink. "Aye, I've heard o' a beast like that. The name, what was the name..."
"Wait, you believe me?" the man said, looking directly at Argo in shock.
"About dragons? Aye, of course. Anyone 'round here would. They've not been missin' that long." Argo scratched his beard. "Roaring... Raton... Rayon... Ah! Razorwhips! Sounds like yer crew ran into a pack o' Razorwhips."
"Razorwhips..." The man repeated slowly as he stared off into space. "Wait, you said they - the dragons - haven't been missing for long... What do you mean by that?"
Argo shrugged. "They used t'be everywhere 'round here. Used to terrorize villages and steal food, set everything on fire in the process. 'Specially that Berk tribe. Then the chief's son found a way to train 'em. Rode 'em everywhere for years, used them to protect the village. Quite an amazin' sight if ye ask me."
"Indeed..." he nodded as he listened to Argo, but his eyes were focused somewhere far beyond the walls of the tavern. "Berk, you say?"
"Ayep, but no use goin' lookin' for 'em now."
"Why?" he quickly asked. He seemed to compose himself after a moment. "Are they dangerous?"
"Dangerous? Please. That new chief o' their's preaches peace. No, they abandoned the island years ago, no one knows where they went. 'Cept those Berserkers, far as I can tell." Argo though for a moment. "Well, maybe not. But occasionally the Berserker chief acts as a... Representative of sorts." He shrugged. "They're out there somewhere, just nobody cares 'nough to find out where. But when they left, the dragons did too. Eventually disappeared all together."
The man pondered for a moment, but eventually brought his attention back to Argo and looked him up and down. "And what about the dragons? Did they have a lot?"
"I saw a good mix with 'em. Some Monstrous Nightmares, mostly Deadly Naddars and Gronckles, a Razorwhip once," he remembered, pointing at the man. "Ah, let's see... Well, that whole annoyance of Terrible Terrors that just came out o' nowhere." Argo nodded in thought. "I'm sure they had more, but those seemed t'be the ones they chose t'ride. Supposedly the dragons on the island outnumbered the Vikings 5 to 1. And there's the new Chief's legendary Night Fury of course," he concluded with a slight air of sarcasm.
"Legendary?"
"It's the only one o' its kind left," Argo clarified with a bored shrug. "Looks more like a giant puppy dog than a dragon. Though it can do some mighty damage when angered."
The man nodded slowly. "You seem to know quite a bit about these beasts. My crew... We're new around here. Would you mind telling me about some more history? About these... Dragons?"
Argo laughed humorlessly. "I name the beasts and ye think me an expert?" He shook his head and looked into his drink with a sigh. "People 'round here, dragons are common knowledge to 'em. They're more likely to question ye sailin' in the winter than confrontin' dragons. Razorwhips specifically we hear 'bout a lot 'round the Markets, though. We thinks they have a nest nearby from the attacks we hear 'bout. Violent and frequent. Sounds like that must've happened to yer crew, too."
The man nodded absentmindedly, seeming to be lost in thought. After a moment, he spoke carefully, "Do you know how to defend against these beasts, Sir Argo?"
Argo scoffed. "No need for 'sir' nonsense. I don' think I'm the man ye need." He started to stand with his mug, draining it in one long pull and planning to return to his stall.
The man reached out and grabbed Argo's wrist with surprising strength, causing Argo to turn. There was a strange look in his eyes, almost... Desperation? Determination? "Please, sir," the man said. "We don't need an expert, just a... A man with enough familiarity to help us figure out the rest."
"Then I'll give ye some advice - Don' go back the way ye came."
"What if we run into more dragons?"
"Shouldn' be a problem. That nest o' Razorwhips seems like the only nest left at all."
The man's eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he regained his composure. "What's holding you back, young man? Do you have a family here? I can offer them a home as well. I'll give you a position of rank, you'll be able to provide for them well. I'm unfamiliar with these territories down here, and your advice would be greatly appreciated."
Argo was going to pull away again, but he hesitated. A position of rank? That would be nice. Security, warm housing and food and all. But did he want to be at the mercy of another man to get it? His set up here wasn't awful, after all. Sure, it was tight at times, but...
"You have my word, they would be safe. Respected, even."
Argo shook his head. "I have no family."
"Then what's holding you here?"
Well, nothing, but Argo wasn't going to admit that.
"You could be respected, still. Family or no, your knowledge would be seen as invaluable among my men. We are foreigners to this place; you know more than any of us could hope to know."
Argo sighed. What could go wrong? He wasn't living much of a life here, anyway. Even if things did go south with this mysterious man, at least it'd be interesting. Put him out of his misery, even.
But then a thought occurred to him.
"Foreigners? Why are you here then?" he asked carefully.
The man sighed heavily, dropping his arm and leaning over the table and his tankard. "My people... We were a small village, surviving well enough on our own and happy that way. We didn't need the help of anyone else. But then..." He closed his eyes. "Crops started dying, famine and sickness spread, and a massive fire swept across the village. I took it as a sign from the gods that we had to move on. So I gathered what was left of my people onto a ship and set off." The man scoffed bitterly. "It wasn't a well thought plan. We had no knowledge of the land or sea around us. We drifted for a long time before we found even a speck of land. And then those... Those 'Razorwhips,' as you called them... My people barely scraped by. We lost so many more... This is the first settlement we happened across that was peaceful enough for us to dock and resupply."
Argo suppressed a laugh. Anyone who described the Northern Markets as "peaceful" was sorely mistaken. But maybe that just showed how much this tribe had gone through.
The man looked up to Argo with pained eyes. "I don't know why the gods have cursed me so, but it is not my people's fault. I'm just trying to find them peace."
Argo contemplated for a moment. But eventually he sighed and sat across from the man. "What's yer name, sir? And what d'ye need from me?"
Was there a chance this was all a lie and this man had other intentions? Of course. Could it be any worse than how Argo was living his sad little life now?
Well, Argo didn't see any way that it could.
The man smiled sadly and reached out his hand. "Just advise my people and me of the people and places of this area. Maybe help us find a more permanent settlement."
How bad could it really be?
Argo took his hand and shook it. "I accept, Sir...?"
"Boyra. The name's Boyra."
Argo nodded. "I accept, Sir Boyra. Or should I call ye Chief?"
Boyra smiled. "Chief, yes, that sounds fine. Let me finish my drink, yes? We can talk specifics on the walk back."
