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Most True Vikings don’t live to see the inside of the Meathead Public Library.
(He has spies everywhere, the whispers say. The little things that whisper in the grasses all answer to the dragon Furious, and thus, to the boy who freed him.
Yes, the boy who would be King is very hard to kill.
He killed your chief, UG, and the witch, and Alvin the Treacherous, and many other people who would otherwise be considered hard to kill.
(“Caught another one, boss.”
“You sure we need to bother the King with this?”
“Look-- he brought an axe. Isn’t that adorable? ”)
And you don’t see any of it, it’s true (your blindfold smells heavily of seawater and sweat), but you hear the lock unlatch before your captor pulls down your blindfold and drags you inside.
The King of the Outcasts turns around, rising to his feet with the lazy grace of a cat.
Tall enough, perhaps, but skinny, as easy to snap as a twig.
Blue eyes, sharp red hair his only crown.
The green beast on his shoulder hisses at you before scuttling out of sight.
“Thank you, Camicazi,” he says casually.
A great map of the world hangs on the wall behind him. The map is spattered in suspicious brown stains. A small red herring winks in the top left corner.
You can’t wonder what it means for too long.
“Perhaps we should make a new sign," the boy pretender muses. "Everybody keeps trying to sneak in."
“I’m not here to peruse your shelves of lies,” you spit, trying to rear up to your full height.
“Don’t be rude,” the boy says patronizingly. “Most of these books were here long before you or I were born. I didn't magick them out of thin air to hypnotize you all. Though you lot might learn a thing or two if you bothered to open one during your… visits.”
“I learned a bit about our guest,” Camicazi volunteers, as if this is some inane conversation over tea on the mainland with your mother. "I can force it out of him, if he doesn't want to tell you himself."
Haddock raises his eyebrows, as though waiting to be surprised. “Do you know how many assassins we’ve intercepted in the past week alone?"
Silence.
“Seven. Seven of you tried to murder someone under my protection.”
The edge of Camicazi's knife makes a shallow cut against your throat, biting into the vulnerable flesh. Not fatal, not yet. “Umbert the Uglithug. Four-time loser of Sheep Rustler-mania.”
“Fine. I— I am an Uglithug, but it’s not what you think—" You gag through your next excuse.
“How should you know what I think?” Haddock says evenly. “I think your message consists of my librarian’s head on a plate. Perhaps the rest of him scattered around the library in pieces."
It wasn't your idea, but you did like the sadistic creativity of it. Bit of a time-waster, but you were counting on not getting caught...
“You came to threaten me, because you Uglithugs can’t bear the idea of change.”
He’s guessed exactly right.
“You and your army of beasts tore our home apart."
“The old Archipelago was weak." Camicazi had an ugly grin on her face. "If it fell so easily, did it deserve to rule in the first place? Frankly I think we've been rather merciful." She made a face. "Boring."
“And what does your father think of your mercy?” you spit. (You’re still a Viking, after all. Sabotaging your own chances of survival are second nature, as long as you go out in a blaze of glory.)
This is the first time true anger darkens Hiccup's eyes.
He kneels down, eye to eye. The politeness, the sarcasm, all gone between one moment and the next.
“What happened to my father was a tragedy," he says softly. "Which could have been easily avoided if they all had listened to me while they had the chance.”
Camicazi’s grip clenches around your shoulder, the knife scraping deeper against your skin Blood slid down your collar, as fast as your heart pounded.
You’ve always thought an honorable death would be preferable to slinking back with your tail between your legs. (Will they let you into Valhalla if you don't have legs?)
Hiccup stands up, clears his throat, sliding the image of a thoughtful boy-king back on. “I want you to remember my message, Umbert. Can you do that?"
“You’re... letting me go?”
Hiccup smiled. “I believe in second chances.”
Fool. Making a library his stronghold, to weaklings and runts and beasts, and letting you go… perhaps he’s not as smart as the Chiefs curse his name to be.
"What do I have to say?"
"You don't have to say anything." Turning his back to you, Hiccup unmounts the map on the wall, rolling it up and putting it in his empty scabbard. Only remember."
Before you can ponder what that means, the knife at last leaves your neck, and you suck in grateful gulps of air.
"Camicazi, knock him out first,” Hiccup says coolly. “I don’t want to hear screaming.”
Something hard and heavy collides with the back of your head. The dark seizes upon you, and you feel no more.