Chapter Text
The early morning fog lingered well past dawn, fighting to keep its hold on the archipelago as the rising sun’s rays ate away at their edges. By the time the thick fog would fully dissipate, it would be well past morning, but that didn’t hinder the people of Berk. The Hairy Hooligan Tribe was tough as they were stubborn and were well on their way with their morning not impaired in the slightest by the haze. If there were a few more altercations and raised tempers due to the weather, well, that was to be expected from a village full of Vikings.
The inhabitants of the archipelago were very familiar with days like this when the fog decided to obscure the horizon from mortal eyes. More often than not, they were the days when surprise attacks from armadas hidden in the haze had a higher probability of happening than the norm. The sentries on duty near the coastlines would be wound tighter than a Viking on the eighth day of the Midnight Sun, jumping at every abnormal sound and attacking at the barest amount of provocation. Yet, a high-pitched whine and sonic boom that should have sent shivers down the two Berk Guards members’ spines currently on guard duty near the far North coastlines had them relaxing instead as twin orbs of gold and red lights rose from their shoulders, tinkering in excitement.
“Looks like you’re buying the mead tonight,” the first guard grinned unrepentantly, slapping his companion on the shoulder.
“I call foul. The fog’s too thick, you can’t see a thing, how do I know that wasn’t just some random wild dragon flying by?” the second guard complained, passing his pike from one hand to the other to prevent the distracted Wyldfae from brushing up against the iron-tipped weapon.
“Hey! You’re not gonna be weaseling me out of my winnings! I won the bet,” the tip of a spear was jabbed into the protective plating of his companion’s armor.
“Really, where’s the proof?” the spear was swatted to the side, muscles bulging.
“Proof? I’ll give ya proof right here,” the man held up a meaty fist.
“Or, you could just ask the Dragon Riders if any of them were in the area at the Great Hall tonight,” a pair of dainty battle-scarred hands landed on each of the Berk Guards’ shoulders. The two tensed and slowly turned to face the newcomer standing directly behind them. Twin looks of horror crossed their faces at the sight of the woman standing there. A trio of Dewdrop Faerie orbs circled blonde hair, giving her a far more angelic appearance than the menacingly mostly orange and pale green Deadly Nadder looming behind her. “After all, you’re supposed to be on watch, not fighting like the terrors that are my teenage twin siblings. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Commander, ma’am, sir,” the two sputtered, gulping as the hands on their shoulders tightened into a painful grip.
High up in the sky, unaware of the two guards being berated by the Commander of the Berk Guard below, a lean teenager with wind-tossed auburn hair and vivid green eyes sparkling in excitement and delight whooped with glee. The red long-sleeved tunic he wore was mostly covered by a scalemail vest made from thick pieces of light brown leather. The same material was used to make his worn bracers and double-layered shoulder guards. One of which was embossed and painted with the Berk Dragon Training Academy symbol—a black silhouette of a Night Fury with a single red tailfin—on the right shoulder. His brown leather pants were tucked into the thick boot on his right leg while the left leg was secured in place with a rope that doubled in keeping his prosthetic foot from falling off.
It was the red crest of a stylized Monstrous Nightmare curled up on the belt running diagonally across his chest—securing the left double-layered shoulder guard—that denounced him as a resident of Berk. However, it was a combination of things—such as the fact that the belt around his waist tethered him to the saddle secured to a Night Fury. That his prosthetic foot was fastened to a pedal connected to a series of cables, gears, and pulleys controlling a mechanized prosthetic red tailfin. A tailfin which happened to have the white Insignia of Váli painted emblazed across the leather—that denoted him as the Heir of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III.
“Okay, Bud, let's try the new move,” Hiccup grinned, reaching over to rub the Night Fury between his ear-plates. The dragon growled out his agreement and dove down only to abruptly change directions. Shooting back upwards at astounding speeds, powerful leathery black wings beat out a rhythmic tattoo.
“Woohoo! Yeah, baby! That's it, Toothless. Push it, you've got it! Climb higher!” The Viking’s boisterous laughter petered out as the once-taut safety lines slackened. “What the...” A hurried glance down had vivid green eyes widening at the lack of hooks attached to the metal rings on either side of his belt. “Oh no, not again!”
Hiccup reflexively tightened his hold on the saddle, but it wasn’t enough. Between the severed safety lines, their vertical ascension, and his momentary lack of attentiveness, the mere mortal succumbed to gravity’s hold. The feeling of weightlessness overtook him as he toppled backwards and away from the startled Night Fury. He was glad to see the new modifications to the tailfin held true and the prosthetic didn’t immediately flip closed as it would have in the past, rendering the dragon unable to fly.
“Uh—hey, Toothless!” the Viking called to the dragon looking frantically about for his missing rider.
Ear-plates first locked onto his voice before acid green eyes found him. Black wings folded in as the dragon dove down towards the Viking only to flare out slightly once he caught up to Hiccup, matching the teen’s descent. Two pairs of green eyes in different shades met as they kept on their continuous descent. Toothless gave out a questioning croon, tilting his head to the side which was answered with a nonchalant shrug. “Hey… So, just plummet, or, uh… any ideas?”
The dragon gave his rider an unimpressed look and tucked his wings in. Skyrocketing downwards, Toothless adjusted his position the best he could with his tailfin fixed in place, so he was underneath the auburn-haired teenager. Hiccup, reading the Night Fury’s intentions, flipped his body and landed on the dragon’s back as black wings flared out. Once situated, he hastily reattached the safety lines and let out a huff of relief.
“I seriously have to get my own pair of wings.” Toothless grumbled, tilting his head to glare at the idiotic human on his back. “Oh, quiet, you. Don't even start. It wasn’t on purpose; unlike somebody we know.”
Toothless snorted and shook his head, producing a laugh from the teenager.
“Come on Bud, let’s head home,” Hiccup chuckled, shifting his weight as the dragon did a right wingover and headed back towards land.
As they flew towards the isle, the seventeen summers old Viking couldn’t help but bask in the beauty of Berk as Toothless glided above the village. A few of the villagers waved as he flew level with the village’s huts before veering off towards the cliffs where the new hanger leading into the caves created during the Whispering Death incident was under construction. He was happy to see the dragon feeders—completed only a week ago—had been filled for the morning and were well on their way to being emptied. The sole windmill was working perfectly, and Hiccup already had plans for a few more of them in the works.
“It’s hard to believe a little over a year and a season passed since the war with the Berserkers. And Berk has changed a lot,” Hiccup commented, earning him a whine of confusion from the dragon. The Viking smiled down at Toothless and shook his head to prevent his thoughts from following a familiar path down memory lane and in the process caught sight of a familiar mop of dark hair climbing up a catapult. “But then again, so have we. Snotlout works at the armory now. Gobber gave him the title of ‘Official Weapons Tester.’"
The Night Fury duo hovered over the smithy’s roof to watch as the short and stocky brunet’s foot got caught in the mechanism assembly. A sympathetic wince crossed Hiccup’s face as his cousin fell into the bucket. Snotlout, quick to recover, shot back up. Adjusting the spiral sheep horned helmet over brown locks of hair, blue eyes scanned the area surrounding him to see if anyone had noticed his blunder. Seeing that none of the villages at ground level noticed, a superior smirk crossed his face.
Casually, he began brushing down the black bearskin fur fashioned into a cloak to lay flat against a leather sleeveless tunic dyed a green-blue color. He then rightened the large belt with an equally large buckle of the Jorgenson’s crest and winced when he pulled his grey pants a little too high. Spiked-emblazoned brown bracers and studded boots were left untouched, but only because—in his carelessness—he accidentally hit a lever and triggered the launching mechanism of the catapult.
Despite being launched through the air unintentionally, Snotlout Jorgenson was laughing joyously. “It works!”
Hiccup could only groan as a pair of dirty blond-haired twins rushed forward with a wagon stuffed full of sharp pointy weapons. The twin to the right had dreadlocks while the twin to the left had two sets of braids—one short and to the side of the head and the other hanging down in a knotted mess with leather bindings holding them in place—done up in a facsimile of pigtails. Both wore helmets with two sets of horns on either side of the head and a row of short teeth going down the center, there was a slight difference in the size of the horns between the two but not by much.
Despite their many similarities—from the style of their boots to the cloth bindings wrapped around their forearms to the twin dragon fang necklaces they both wore—it was easy to tell the twins apart. Tuffnut Thorston favored a faded green thigh-length tunic with a leather studded sash tied around his waist and a dark brown long furry vest over the top of reddish-brown pants. Ruffnut Thorston, in hopes of looking more feminine without compromising her Viking reputation, had taken to wearing a yellowish-brown dress over her old brown leggings and a tan fur vest under a dark leather tunic-like vest which covered her torso and stopped at her waist, opening in the middle, with a red cloth belt.
It was clear the Thorston twins intended to catch the flying Jorgenson with said wagon full of weapons that had Hiccup mumbling his next comment. “The twins, to absolutely no one's surprise, have decided to dedicate their lives to Loki: The God of Pranks. Lucky us.”
Thankfully, the auburn-haired teenager needn’t step in as his cousin caught sight of said twins and their wagon. “Uh, Hookfang! Hookfang!”
A large, red and orange Monstrous Nightmare came barreling through the sky, just managing to grab hold of his rider before a single weapon could pierce his skin. Hookfang proceeded onwards, choosing to allow the hysterical Viking to dangle from his teeth rather than setting him down anywhere near the twins high-fiving each other while the two heads of the Hideous Zippleback behind them headbutted the other for a job well done.
“You just have to cut it that close, don't you? Hookfang!” Snotlout babbled as a way to dispel the panic from his body. Said dragon wasn’t impressed and tossed his rider up at just the right angle that he did a complete flip before landing on the saddle attached to the Monstrous Nightmare’s long serpentine neck. Once settled, the stocky Viking turned his displeasure to the real source of his ire: Ruffnut and Tuffnut. “Ugh! There will be repercussions for this! Repercussions!”
Hiccup shook his head once more and urged Toothless on, away from the violence which was undoubtedly about to take place. It wasn’t long before they stumbled across another first-generation Dragon Rider. He couldn’t keep a smile off his face at the sight of Meatlug, a heavyset Gronckle, with a trio of tiny tots that made up the Berk’s Dragon Explorers on her back. Faithfully, the Boulder-class dragon followed after her equally heavyset rider as he lectured the group of children with blue eyes and blond hair quite similar to his own.
In recent years, Fishlegs had taken to wearing the traditional Ingerman heirloom Viking helmet. The thing plastered blond hair against his head due to it being a little too small, yet he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Not when it was one of the few helmets that had little Gronckle wings in the place of horns. At least he’d replaced his old worn-out tunic and boots with something newer, even if the ankle-length light brown fur tunic and yak-hide boots looked exactly the same as what he always wore. Still, the fur arm warmers and leather belts with large pockets were definitely new.
“And then there's Fishlegs, who has really found his calling, teaching the children of Berk the history of dragons,” Hiccup mused quietly to himself so as to not disturb the class.
“And if you look closely at the walls of the Great Hall, you'll still see puncture marks where the Speed Stingers attacked. Interesting fact about these dragons—,” Fishlegs’ trailed off, coming to a stop at the bottom of the steps to the Great Hall where two older Vikings had just come out of. “Oh! Oh, look kids! We're in luck. Here come two of Berk's most famous heroes—!”
The larger—in height and mass, the majority of which was muscle—man perked up upon hearing the teenager’s words. His aged green eyes softened in the presence of the much younger Vikings, but it was his wild mane of red hair and bushy beard tamed at the ends by various braids that had grey slowly creeping into it which showed the man’s age. He lacked his usual fur cloak—it having come to an unfortunate demise at the twin’s hands—making him appear more intimidating with a chainmail tunic over an ankle-length green tunic with striped pants barely visible underneath. The fur boots, spiked wrist bracers, and a large horned helmet were of the highest quality but it was the large belt buckle with the crest of a chieftain that indicated his position.
Next to him was a quite a bit shorter, but still large, muscular, balding—his yak-horned helmet helped to conceal that fact—Viking with a long, braided blond mustache. He too was missing his signature fur vest, having lost it in the same incident as the chief’s cloak, but at least he’d replaced it with a dark brown hide for the time being. His tan sleeveless canvas shirt, striped wool pants, and lone boot were of far inferior quality, but still durable having to hold up to the abuse that came from having a peg for a right leg and a stub for a left arm. The fact the stub had various different prosthetic attachments wasn’t a surprise since the man was the blacksmith of the tribe and a very talented one at that.
“The Chief of Berk, Stoick the Vast of House Haddock, and Gobber the Belch!” Fishlegs’ introduction was nearly drowned out by the Dragon Explorers’ cheers.
“Ho ho; heroes?” the Hairy Hooligan Tribe’s chief chuckled. “I’ve got some chiefing to do, but I guess I could spare a moment for the youth of Berk, what do you say Gobber? You gotta head out right away?”
“I’ve always got time to tell a tale or two,” the blacksmith replied, which was very true of the man. Though, one had to be skeptical when listening to Gobber because he was known to tell tall tales. Hiccup decided then, that it was time to move on before he was wrangled into listening as well.
Toothless was more than happy to oblige and headed back out across the water to blow off some excess energy between the sea stacks. It wasn’t long before a light blue Deadly Nadder joined in darting through the precarious stacks of rock to catch up with the Night Fury duo. Hiccup didn’t miss the unnecessary but showy maneuvers the dragon did and couldn’t help but match the grin on the Deadly Nadder rider’s lips. It was hard not to, what with the smile being on the face of a beautiful blonde shieldmaiden.
Her long blonde hair was styled in a braid down her back with bangs swept to the side and a small side braid running behind her right ear. The blue of her tight, sleeveless shirt with matching legging complimented the color of her eyes while her dark brownish-red spiked skirt offset the ensemble. Metal shoulder guards were secured to a brown leather holster by metallic bird skull-like clips, the same clips that also surrounded her waist having been sewn into her skirt. Off-colored arm wrappings provide little protection in comparison to the brown leather kneepads and thick boots. It was the Hofferson-style axe strapped to her back which was her real form of protection.
“Hey, Astrid, there you are,” Hiccup shouted in greeting.
“Hiccup, I've been chasing you since the armory,” Astrid huffed, shaking her head.
Her exasperation was lost on the auburn-haired teenager, who was preoccupied with various thoughts and plans for the day. “Well, I thought we'd try out the far North today—”
“Uh, can we talk about something first?” the Hofferson hurried to cut him off, knowing she had to stop him before he really got going and got lost in his own head.
“Yeah, sure—” Hiccup paused, a mischievous gleam entering his eyes, “—if you can catch me.”
Before she knew what was happening, Toothless shot forth at astounding speeds and Astrid could only blink in disbelief. A race in all but name. Hiccup had—in a roundabout way—had just challenged her to a race. Hiccup, whose competitive nature only appeared after a challenge had been issued, not only issued said challenge but also bolted right after. It wasn’t cheating per se, but it was close enough, and very unlike the Head of the Dragon Training Academy, and more like a certain brunet currently not present.
The chase ended with the sun well on its way to the zenith and not because Astrid had caught up with her leader. No, Toothless had come to a stop near a group of rocks halfway between Dragon Island and Berk. The Night Fury hovered there, giving his rider the time to look through his spyglass for anything other than rock or water.
“I'm just going to say it. I have a really good feeling about today, Astrid,” Hiccup acknowledged the Deadly Nadder and her rider when they finally caught up.
“You say that every time we go searching for new dragons,” the shieldmaiden reminded him. When he made a noncommittal noise in reply and continued to gaze through the spyglass, she rolled her eyes but took the silence as an opening. “Hiccup, while we have a second, I wanted to talk to you about—”
She didn’t get far with the single-minded Dragon Rider cutting her off, throwing the spyglass her way. “Whoa, look, look, look, look! Did you see that? There's definitely some movement up ahead. Long neck... Large head... Behind that rock formation.”
However, Astrid could be just as single-minded as the auburn-haired Viking and didn’t bother to look through the spyglass, instead persisting onward. “Yeah, anyway, I wanted to tell you—”
She missed her chance as Toothless took off towards said rock formation. Letting out a mangled noise, a mix between a grunt and a groan, she followed after. It wasn’t hard, as the Night Fury was going only a fraction of his normal speed, allowing her to hear Hiccup’s excited chattering.
“This is it, Toothless! A new species of dragon, Bud!”
His excitement tapered off as they rounded the rock formation and Astrid soon saw for herself why a moment later. There, behind the cluster of rocks was Barf and Belch with their necks twisted around one another and their riders firmly situated on their respective saddle.
“Loki'd!” two voices overlapped in sheer glee, accidentally banging their helmets together due to their close proximity.
“You totally thought ‘Barch’ was a new dragon!” Tuffnut laughed, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, come on! Did not!” Hiccup was quick to cover his disappointment and rising frustration; but with the twin’s continued laughter, he felt his already tattered emotions stretch to his limits. He needed to get out of there, or he was going to snap. “Let's go, Bud.”
Tuffnut blinked in confusion, sharing a look with his sister as their dragon’s heads unwound. “Wow, who yakked in his mutton?”
“Muttonheads,” Astrid stared down at the twins in disappointment before flying off in the hope of finding the auburn-haired teenager before he could disappear. It took more time than she would like to admit to track Hiccup down again. He’d gotten pretty far in the short amount of time they’d been apart, but his habit of perching on the tallest sea stack made locating him only slightly easier.
When Stormfly eventually touched down on the rather wide stack her missing leader had taken up residence on, Hiccup was seated at the edge of the rock, legs dangling down into the open air with Toothless lying to his side. The dragon was almost purring in bliss, acid green eyes closed as his rider scratched at a particularly hard-to-reach spot just behind the nub nearest to the human. Astrid slowly dismounted, giving Hiccup the time needed to compose himself if necessary while also allowing her a moment to prepare herself for the long-overdue conversation.
“Hiccup, those guys are muttonheads. But you have to admit, we've visited every island, every sea stack, and every rock in the archipelago. And we haven't spotted a new dragon in a long time,” the shieldmaiden recited, just as she’d practiced with only a slight variation to her opening.
“This can't be all there is! There has to be something more out there!” the stubborn teenager was quick to deny, but she couldn’t tell who he was trying to convince more: her or himself.
Astrid took a deep breath and looked down, straight into vivid green eyes staring up at her. “What if there isn't, Hiccup? What if we're done? What if the search is over?”
“It can't be,” Hiccup answered with much more conviction in his voice than before. His eyes, however, said otherwise, pleading with her to believe him in hopes of finding the truth in his own words.
Blue eyes were forced to look away or else she would lose what little remained of her resolve. “Well, it's over for me. I've been trying to tell you. Stormfly and I... We're joining the Berk Guard.”
“Oh,” the vibrancy contained in those very expressive green eyes dimmed as shoulders slumped down. Still, Hiccup tried to remain cheerful for her sake.
He knew she’d been spending time with Huffnut Thorston, the Commander of the Berk Guard, whenever the older blonde shieldmaiden was free. Hiccup just thought it was to help the Commander weed through the ranks of soldiers to pick out those with the potential to become part of the future Berk Dragon Flyers division the Commander was attempting to lay the groundwork for. In return, Huffnut allowed Astrid to shadow her a few times, teaching her the various aspects that came with being a part of the Berk Guard.
Hiccup knew all this, not just because he was the tribe’s heir, but because Astrid had told him so. From their various conversations, he never got the inkling she wanted to join the Berk Guard. The shieldmaiden had been steadfast in her devotion to being a member of the Dragon Training Academy. He didn’t know when that priority had changed, but he would never hold her back if she chose to leave.
So, like any good friend, he pushed aside his own feelings and plastered a smile on his face. “That's great... I'm happy for you guys...”
He knew he was more transparent than he would have liked and wasn’t the least bit surprised when Astrid offered up some parting advice. “Look, maybe you should give some thought to what's next for you and Toothless.”
With that, she walked back to Stormfly and mounted the dragon, taking her leave.
“I guess it's just you and me for now, Bud,” Hiccup sighed, resuming petting the Night Fury on the head. Toothless didn’t move but did begin to purr louder, hoping to soothe the ache in his rider’s heart.
Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, and father of one Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III immediately knew something was wrong with his son when the boy slipped through the front door of their hut just as he started on his midday meal. He didn’t even need to look up from his leg of chicken to see the teenager’s downcast eyes to know there was something wrong. Just the fact Hiccup was back before dinner without some kind of crisis bringing him running through the door was enough of a tell.
“Hiccup! What are you doing home so early?” Stoick inquired, giving the teenager the benefit of the doubt and not immediately jumping to conclusions. Valka—may the Valkyries of Valhalla protect her departed soul—tried to instill in him the need to listen first and act second and for the sake of their son, he was trying.
“Oh, I just... wanted to spend some time with my Dear Old Dad. Yeah, you know, we never get to talk anymore. So...” Hiccup hummed and hawed out an excuse as he crossed the room, looking everywhere else but at his father.
Stoick decided then he should have just gone with his first instinct and demanded answers as soon as the boy came through the door. It was still an option. One he would take, right after he downed his mug full of mead.
“Alright,” the chief said, slamming his mug onto the table to look straight into those vivid green eyes that reminded him so much of the boy’s mother. “What is it?”
Sadly, his son was a teenager and still thought he could fool his father. “What's what? ‘What is it?’ Can't a son spend some quality time with his father?”
A single bushy red eyebrow rose up. “Not this one. Not usually, at least. So, let's hear it.”
The unimpressed expression combined with the aging redhead’s words had Hiccup’s doggedness crumbled. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the pitcher of mead and refilled his father’s mug before taking a seat across from the man. Before he could cross his arms and slump down onto the table as he was intending to, a plate filled with food was pushed in front of him.
“All right. Did you know Astrid just joined the Berk Guard?” Hiccup busied himself by picking at the food on his plate with a fork so he didn’t have to look at his father.
“I’d heard that. Good for her,” the chief raised his mug to salute the shieldmaiden not even there, and gulped down half of the contents.
“And the other Riders have got their different things going on?” the auburn-haired Viking stabbed a piece of blackened meat on his plate.
Slowly, Stoick set his mug down, hoping he hadn’t heard the despondent tone in his son’s voice he must have misheard. “What are you saying, son?”
“I'm saying… I don't know,” Hiccup shoved the fork into his mouth and immediately grimaced. Placing the fork back down, he grabbed the nearest cup of water and chugged it down to wash away the taste. Seeing his father’s eyes were still on him, the young Viking shrugged and pushed his plate to the side. “Maybe it's time for me—"
Whatever the Dragon Rider was going to say was drowned out by a loud bang coming from directly behind him. Both Vikings reacted on instinct, Stoick reaching for the axe resting up against the leg of his chair. One which he just as quickly dropped in favor of lunging from his seat and hurrying towards the door. Hiccup was slower to return the dagger to its concealed sheath from which it came as vivid green eyes took in the sight of the newcomers.
The worst of them wasn’t able to stand on his own two feet, being heavily supported. Dark brown strains of hair were dripping with water, plastered to the man’s face and it was difficult to tell where his locks ended and his facial hair began. The off-white sack hat was less on his head and more tangled in his hair while the usual gold trinkets in his beard were long gone. His clothes were a mess, covered in mud and other unidentifiable substances which meant the blue long-sleeved shirt and deep red sari probably wouldn’t be worn again. At least his bracers and brown belt had survived, while the multi-colored pinstriped pants should just have been tossed out on principle.
“Trader Johann! What happened to him?” Stoick asked the man currently supporting the bulk of the trader's weight.
Unlike the fellow he was supporting, the other man looked immaculate. His long black tresses, dry and combed to perfection, swayed in the warm breeze coming in from outside. The dark flowing fabrics of his attire were pristine, allowing the various bits and bobs held in place with tassels and decorative ropes to catch the sun and reflect the light in a truly memorizing way. Most would say his eyes were a dark brown, but there were times when they shined a fathomless black which was currently the case.
“Guild Master Typhan,” the chief barked, snapping the tall man out of his stupor and causing his eyes to revert back to their dark brown shade. But it wasn’t the Head of Berk’s Crafts Guild who answered.
Blue eyes fluttered open and glanced up at the chief with a wild gleam to them. “D—D—Da-agur!”
“What about Dagur?” Hiccup demanded, coming up to stand to his father’s right.
The battered trader took in a shaky breath which didn’t hinder his words in the slightest. “He's out! He's more berserk than ever! And from the way he was talking, Hiccup—”
Johann didn’t get the chance to finish, letting out a gasp of pain before collapsing. Typhan, unable to compensate for the entirety of the trader’s weight, allowed the other man to slip through his grasp instead of going down with him. The craftsman didn’t look the least bit apologetic and, normally, the chief might have had a few words for the man about hospitality and more or less dropping an ally of Berk on the ground. Yet the figure now visible without Johann in the way—who picked up where the trader left off—held his tongue.
“We’re number one on his revenge list,” amber eyes rolled from underneath a mop of messy, windblown brown hair. Draped across lean shoulders was a mantled blue hooded cloak, the white fur lining contrasting with the darker blue scalemail jack of plates underneath it. An arm bracer made from the same scalemail was strapped to his right arm while his left arm was covered only by a thin blue cloth arm warmer secured in place with leather cords. The slender teen looked especially thin wearing form-fitting brown deerskin pants bound at the legs with a leather cord that disappeared underneath white fur-lined boots.
It was the silver triskele pinned to a leather leg pouch secured to the teenager’s right leg and the gnarled crook with a white strip of cloth wrapped around a portion of the upper section where his left hand gripped that denoted the brunet as Berk’s only Druid residence. The three charms tied to the bottom section of the crook further denoted who the brunet was; a clear crystal—from the Crystal Cave—meant he was of the Taliesin Clan, a black dragon scale—from a Night Fury—told all he was a Dragon Rider, and a silver snowflake—that matched the delicate oriental silver armlet currently hidden but no doubt wrapped around the brunet’s right bicep—signified he was a devoted follower of Jökul Frosti.
“And by we, I mean you and me, Hiccup,” Jackson Overland said with such indifference that one might take it as apathy instead of the carefully constructed shield that it was.