Chapter Text
Hiccup is seven winters old when he hears that the heir to the Berserker tribe will be accompanying Oswald the Agreeable to the treaty signing. Hiccup hopes that Dagur is nicer than the rest of his own tribe. Hiccup has not been around too long, but he knows that he is a nuisance, not an asset. He spends most afternoons hiding from the judging eyes of adults and the painful interactions with other teens.
He used to go and spend time with his Grandfather, Old Wrinkly, who indulged his questions and curiosity with a smile. But Old Wrinkly had been dead two years and Hiccup had to find new places to hide. No one else smiled at him really. He misses the warmth of his grandfather and his hearth as the old man told him stories and explained the world beyond the door of the hut, beyond the edges of Berk, and beyond the islands of the Barbaric Archipelago.
Gobber smiles at him sometimes when Hiccup is allowed in the forge to spend time hiding and helping with small things. He has not been allowed to pound metal but he has gotten very good at using the billows and passing over tools as they are needed. He likes how warm it is in there. It is not as warm as Old Wrinkly’s where he had always been welcome and wanted. Even in the forge, there are times that he feels in the way and out of place. But at least he is not being hit, tripped, poked, stabbed, jeered at, laughed at, or sent face-first into the dirt and forced to swallow down tears for fear of his father’s disappointed looks.
So one could say that Hiccup was very hopeful that Dagur will be something different. Maybe nicer? Or at least ambivalent to Hiccup’s existence.
Hiccup finds himself having a hard time keeping up with his father on the day that the Berserkers are scheduled to arrive. His ribs scream with each breath and his left ankle throbs, both gifts from the twins and Snotlout respectively.
It makes Hiccup wonder what it would be like if he could build up the courage to sail off into the vast seas alone if he would have as much bruises and pain when faced with the freedom of the sea. But he would probably die pretty quickly. From dragons or other Vikings or knowing his luck, the ever distant Romans. Maybe all at once in the midst of a storm.
He shakes away the imaginative thoughts and takes a breath that hurts. But he keeps his face from showing it. He is used to hiding pain. His step wobbles for a second but he corrects it quickly.
They stand on the docks, watching the ships of the Beserkers sailing to their shore. Hiccup tries to stand as straight as his father. But he feels like a speck beside Stoick the Vast.
What title would follow his name when he got older?
Hiccup the useless?
Hiccup the runt?
He liked what Old Wrinkly had called him.
Hiccup the Wise.
He had not felt too wise, but Old Wrinkly had assured him that with all his questions, thoughts, and little invention ideas, he would become wise with time and a little more age. He had so hoped that his grandfather would be around long enough to see him have a title. But the man had been killed during a dragon raid and Hiccup had spent three days sobbing. And hiding.
Hiccup is still mourning if he is being honest. He is not sure how he could stop mourning. He wonders how his father managed to not be constantly sad over the death of his mother. Hiccup was not as sad about her, because he had never really known her and-
He takes a deep breath and lets the pain ground him into the moment. The other chief is stepping off the ship. Behind him is a very bored-looking heir.
Hiccup tilts his head a little to better study the heir as his name is announced as Dagur. Dagur’s hair is a brilliant fiery red that looks like it would spark and light up the nearby wood if given the chance. Sunlight glinting off of it reminds Hiccup of the warm fires of the forge.
Hiccup likes fire. Warm, useful. A little dangerous, but manageable if you just know how. It is-
He hears his name and flinches back into focus. He needs to stop daydreaming, really he does. He is pushed forward a little by his father and hides a wince of pain from the world. He gives a respectful little bow to Dagur who looks like he was moments away from dying of boredom. Hiccup feels a rush of nervousness and has to keep himself from biting his lip. He is responsible for keeping the other boy entertained while the treaty is being signed. Hiccup was not yet considered old enough to be in the Great Hall during the negotiations. He hopes he can entertain the other. He had settled on taking Dagur to the places that Snotlout favored and a few that Hiccup liked.
“Er, hello.”
Hiccup wants to die. He stumbled over his first sentence. He is a disappointment to his tribe and his family name. Dagur looks him up and down and folds his arms.
“Hi.”
“Dagur…”
Oswald the Agreeable’s tone is full of warning and Dagur rolls his eyes in reply. Hiccup swallows and speaks up again, hoping to keep the peace.
“I’m supposed to, uh, show you around. Would you like to see one of the training areas?”
Not the dragon arena. Too dangerous. Hiccup is banned from that area till he is older. But there are many other places set up to throw axs and swing swords. Dagur gives him a considering look.
“Fine. Fineeeeeeeeeee . Hopefully, it’ll be more fun than staring at stupid paper or crashing waves.”
Hiccup silently nods. Maybe Dagur was more like Snotlout… Hiccup shoves the thought away. No. He is going to try and make a friend, by the gods. Even if Dagur is exactly like Snotlout, he is not vying for Hiccup's position as heir of Berk and so might be nicer to him like Snotlout is sometimes nicer to Ruff or Astrid. The adults start to head off to the Great Hall and Hiccup starts to lead Dagur to the training area. Hopefully, the other kids will stay away for a bit so that Hiccup has a chance to-
“Gods, my dad is so lame. I wanted to be there to see the dragon killing to get blood for ink.”
The ten-year-old Dagur huffs loudly interrupting Hiccup's thoughts. Hiccup looks up at him and takes a breath, a question escaping before his mind can trap it.
“Have you killed a dragon before?”
Dagur scrunches his nose and gives another huff.
“No. Not yet. But I've been on hunts for them before. I even caught one in a trap!! But my dad said it was too dangerous for me to get close and cut its head off.”
Hiccup finds more questions tumbling out as they keep walking.
“What kind of Dragon was it? What kind of trap worked on it? How did you bait the trap?”
Dagur looks at him with narrowed eyes and Hiccup finds a flush starting to stain his cheeks. He never could get his mouth to stay shut. It got him into too much trouble really. But the older boy starts to answer as they arrive at the training area.
“Deadly Nadder. And mackerel. It was a Beserker strangle trap.”
Dagur then starts to explain the trap while eyeing up the weapons and targets and Hiccup's hands itch to record the information. Dagur hefts up an ax, weighs it in his hand, and chucks it, getting a bullseye. Hiccup takes this bit of distraction to pull out his notebook and charcoal. He starts noting down what Dagur had said and trying to sketch out what the trap may have looked like based on the description that Dagur had given
“It tried to scare us off by shooting its tail. And I got hit, but a little blood never stopped me bef- What are you doing?”
Dagur is facing him again and Hiccup feels his grip go white knuckle as he clings to his notebook.
“I… Well, I like to take notes.”
He explains lamely. Dagur scrunches his nose and leans over, looking at the doodle. Hiccup feels embarrassed. Stupid. Dumb. A normal Viking would just nod and be excited by the rush of blood that comes with a good hunt, not try to jot down the methodology!!
“You wrote down what I told you.”
Dagur's voice is blank.
“It was interesting?”
“ You were paying attention to what I said!”
Dagur looks pleased and puffs up a little. He looks at the sketch of the trap and taps it.
“Give me a bit of rope and a few other supplies and I can show you the trap so you can draw it correctly. It doesn't really look like that and while I'm really really good at setting traps, giving a verbal artistic rendition of them isn't something I've focused on learning.”
Hiccup nods eagerly and shows Dagur all the supplies that he asks for. Then Dagur grabs his arm and drags him into the woods to set up the trap. Hiccup barely feels the pain from his ankle and ribs as Dagur begins chattering excitedly about the trap and explaining how to set it up and all the different animals he had caught and the few unlucky tribesmen.