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Chapter Text

As we all know, Snotlout died and it was all very tragic and sad, and he may have deserved it and he may have deserved a whole lot better. But that doesn't matter, because what you deserve and what you get are two entirely different things. But I want him to live, if it's just for another day. So here we are.

Snotlouts head popped above the surface of the raging sea. The water was at war with him, slapping him down with such violence, clinging and clawing at his legs, trying with all force to drown him, to snub out that treacherous light of his.

The sky was just as angry, if not more. Spitting down hail stones like bullets from its teeth. Lightning speared the sea and an avalanche of thunder followed it. Someone up there was trying exceptionally hard to make sure Snotlout went down and stayed down.

Snotlout gripped hold of a wreck. It spun in the wrip-jaw current. His left hand slipped and he gripped tighter with his right. A gale force wind carved through the waves with a billion years of expertise just to spit a family of sardines in his face.

Snotlout held on, wave after wave after murderous wave, until it settled.

How would he get out of this one? Stranded in the middle of the ocean, regularly slipping off the scrap of wood keeping him afloat and scrabbling back to get a grip. It couldn't be a worse situation, especially when accounting for the school of Winter-Fleshers following his trail of blood. But he wouldn't have to worry about that till later...

Chapter Text

Hiccup sat ruminating on Grimbeard The Ghastly's ancient throne, decked out in The Kings things that either hung, clipped or tied around him like ornaments on a twiggy, half-dead Christmas tree. He had defeated Alvin and his mother and given the dragons back their freedom, but at what cost.

The dragon-markers hurried around the entire Island of Tomorrow like a colony of disturbed ants.

Many friends were lost, their helmets stuck on spikes outside Alvin's old hideout. Hiccup grimaced as the image flashed in his head.

“That'll be the first thing I do as King.” He thought to himself.

“Once everyone is settled, we'll get those helmets back and give them a proper burial.”

Sensing his unease, The Windwalker propped his head on Hiccups lap and let him stroke his forehead.

Hiccup sighed and pushed the Windwalker off. There was no time to rest, he had to get The Dragon-markers on track before they starved or froze. The top of the back of Grimbeards Throne acted like a podium, Hiccup stood there, briefly losing his balance and wheeling his arms to get it back. The swelling in his arm had gone down, but it still had that ugly purpled colour to it. He took the horn from his belt and blew it, or tried.

What was supposed to be a deep resonant sound ended up sounding like a wet fart. Hiccup tried again, his face went red with effort but all he did was blow spit bubbles. The Vikings continued about their business without even noticing their so-called King.

“There's has to be trick to this.” Hiccup said, inspecting all sides of the horn like there was a secret switch he needed to press.

How can I be King if I can't even blow a horn? He thought dismally. He tried rattling it and holding it up to his ear to hear if there was anything lodged inside.

“How's the royal life treating you, Hiccup?”

The voice startled Hiccup and he looked up. Camicazi was hovering above him on her Silver-Phantom dragon. Her explosion of hair was extra messy today with bits of leaves and sticks tangled in it.

Hiccup hid his irritation. “Where have you been?”

After his crowning ceremony, his two closest human friends were no where to be seen.

Camicazi slid off the Silver-Phantom and dropped onto the Throne next to Hiccup. She patted the Silver-Phantom thankfully on its thigh and it went to nap in the heather.

“I had some business to attend to...” She said.

Unconsciously, a hand protected her pocket.

“Anyway, what are you doing with that, Hiccup?”

“I'm trying to get everyone's attention, but I can't seem to get this horn to work.”

“Let me have a go.” Camicazi said, taking the horn.

She took in one huge breathe of air, held the horn to her mouth and … BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARP!!

The sound blasted out, blowing the heather flat and blowing helmets off. It reached from the high hill to the beach and several kilometres out to sea. The Vikings stopped in their tracks, put down their tools and bustled towards the Throne.

Hiccup went slack-jawed.

“Don't worry, Hiccup.” Camicazi said, patting her friend on the shoulder.

“You're skills lie elsewhere. Like in strategy, and putting-yourself-in-others-peoples-shoes-ness.”

Hiccup considered this.

“You're absolutely right.” He said, a great confidence fizzled up from his toes and he addressed the crowd:

“Companion of the Dragon-mark! We have won the war,” Hiccup waited for the cheers to die down, “but now we face a greater challenge. It rests on all our shoulders to rebuild our world from the ground up. Our resources are running out and without buildings the winter will kill us. We must rebuild.” The crowd nodded to each other seriously. “I may have a plan to do this,...”-and then with slight uncertainty- “...if you'll follow me.”

The crowd murmured. Now the war was won, who's to say they had to take Hiccup as their leader? He was still a scrawny runt of a boy under those talismans. Did he really have what it takes to lead an entire archipelago?

We can be thankful that, before the first mutinous thoughts could solidify in the Vikings mind, Thuggory The Meathead, The Heir to the Meathead Tribe, shouted out from the crowd.

“We've followed you this far! We trust you, Hiccup!”

Thuggory thrust his fist in the air in a show of allegiance. The crowd grunted, and shuffled, then more fists came up, and more, until the entire crowd was holding fists, axes and swords above their heads in allegiance to the Dragon-mark.

“Phew.” Hiccup breathed. Note to-self, never give them the option to doubt you.

Hiccup straightened the crown on his head and started shouting as loud as he could.

“Right! Anyone who still has a dragon is on scouting duty- ride your dragons across the land and find places that aren't as burnt up. Peaceable tribe, as you are the best fisherman, take whatever boats are usable and fish, we need a back store of food. Anyone injured, and don't pretend that you're not, stay here so Old Wrinkly can treat you. The rest of you, split up the work load between yourselves.”

The Vikings understood and got to it, having not a second to loose. Two dozen Vikings stepped forward and called for their riding dragons, those were the Vikings who had treated their dragons as equals instead of slaves, Thuggory among them, then they took off, in groups of two, in every direction.

Hiccup got on the back of the Windwalker and he and Camicazi flew to the North.

They were speeding over the ocean for about an hour until they reached the first island. Hiccup scanned the land, it wasn't promising.

Furious had rampaged over every inch of land in search of Hiccup. The world was reduced to ashes. The woods still smouldered and smoked. The wind smelt of burning oak. What was left of the trees were charcoaled stumps as far as the eye could see.

So not here, Hiccup thought, but maybe, just maybe, a little further, and we'll find some land that's liveable.

He turned to Camicazi on the Silver-Phantom, her usually jolly face was pinched with sadness.

“Do you know where Fishlegs is?” Hiccup yelled over the roar of the wind.

Camicazi looked up and quickly switched her expression, a common practice for her.

“He did actually,” She wracked her brain for what he'd said, “oh yes! He said he was going to Outcast Island.”

Hiccup went white.

“What?! Outcast Island?! Why didn't you stop him?!”

Camicazi blinked. “Was I supposed to?”

“Right. We're making a detour.”

Hiccup said something to the Windwalker in Dragonese and they turned tail to Outcast Island.

“What about the scouting?” Camicazi called after him.

“Fishlegs is more important! Oh, Thor help me. What is doing now?”

Chapter Text

Windwalker steeled himself. The shadow of Outcast Island reared its head on the horizon like a slab of sweating meat.

He wanted to plead with Hiccup. “Let's turn back, please. These people are cannibals, murderers, slave traders...” But like always, the words died on his toungue.

Hiccup urged him forward, but an instinctual fear was pumping through the Windwalker. He clenched his eyes shut and flew forward. Hiccup felt the Windwalkers heart beat through his back and saw the sweat sap through his fur.

“Is everything alright?” Hiccup said in Dragonese.

Everything was fine, but when The Windwalker lifted his top eyelid, he saw Outcast Island clear as day, glowing, like the devils open mouth.

The Windwalker dived, propelled with a fear that infested his brain. Memories swarmed, ones he wanted to forget.

Windwalker swivelled and landed on The Outcast beach, there was no way he was getting any closer to that slaughter house.

“What are you doing?” Camicazi said, landing beside them.

Hiccup slid of his dragons back and prodded him for what was wrong, but sometimes the language barrier was just to big when your friend was a dragon who also didn't speak. Windwalker wasn't budging, but he did look apologetic about it. He would've followed his master anywhere, he had saved his life, but apparently not here.

“Looks like I'm continuing on foot.” Hiccup said.

“I'd better come with you.” Camicazi said hopping off the Silver-Phantom. “The dragons can wait here, it'll be safer for them anyway.”

Not waiting for a response, she stomped up the beach, inspecting the cliff before them for a way up on to the mainland.

“We'll get Fishlegs and be back here before the sun sets.” Hiccup said to the Windwalker. “If not, go get help.”

Windwalker nodded.

“Uhhh, Hiccup? You're gunna wanna take a look at this.”

Hiccup jogged over. It seemed nice enough for an Outcast cliff, there wasn't any obvious booby-traps or ominous runes, just an ordinary towering cliff. That's what Hiccup had been thinking of course, before noticing the army skeletons bolted to the rock with thick Outcast bolts. It reminded Hiccup of a tapestry he'd seen hung up in the Meathead Public Library, surprisingly artistic, for a Tribe of Barbarians

“This is barbaric.” He said.

“Hmm, yes, I know...” Camicazi said. “But it's also our way up.”

She kicked her foot into the nearest jaw and started climbing up the bones. Hiccup followed, reluctantly. He wasn't much off a climber to begin with and putting his fingers between a dead Vikings teeth wasn't exactly his flagon of mead.

Hiccup peered over his shoulder- big mistake. He reached for the next skull to grab hold off, but it was looking directly at him. Hiccup faltered and his hand slipped away. Hiccup could almost hear it murmuring to him in curses, then every corpse of the wall joined in.

“Come on, Hiccup.” He whispered. “You've been through ten times worse than this.”

The murmurings died down.

He gave the skull a warning look, and stuck his hand in its eye socket. As he continued, his thoughts went to the war, and his place in it. Perhaps he had killed him, the skull, or more its owner, inadvertently, by setting Furious free. How many people had died because of his mistake? How many more would he have to take fault for? He pushed that thought down and climbed up to the ledge, Camicazi pulled him over.

She shushed him and pointed to the Outcast camp. It was surrounded by a high stone wall topped with iron spikes. Not to delve into any backwards psychology, but it's interesting how the Outcasts built there very own camp to look so much like a prison. A foul stench radiated from it, smelling like rotten meat and puss, so thick you could feel it on your skin.

Camicazi pulled out two handkerchiefs and they tied them around their faces to block out the smell, otherwise they might have gagged and gave away their position. This was a dangerous mission, they had to be extra sneaky.

Hiccup noticed a boulder beside them with outcast runes etched into it. There's the ominous ruins I'd been expecting. Having learnt Outcastese during his time in the secret hideout, and he deciphered the runes.

'!Warning. Trespassers will be Invited to Dinner.!'

“How thoughtfull...”

They scaled the stone wall and spied down between the spikes. There was an Outcast guard patrolling up and down, armed to the teeth and stained pink. Every so often, he'd stop to stab an imaginary trespasser with his gold tip spear, giggle to himself, then continue on.

Camicazi waited for the guard to turn his back and she skid down the wall. She touched down like a feather and rolled between the huts. Hiccup followed, he touched down more like a peach pit and the guard swung around in an instant, but Hiccup had gone.

They kept to the shadows, peeking around every corner before turning it. The didn't meet any more Outcasts, except for a pair that they avoided by a thread. They were carrying a squealing boar between them and yelling to each other in Outcastese, so distracted as they were, when Camicazi and Hiccup dropped to their bellies on the track and kept still like logs, The Outcasts lumbered right over their heads with their enormous gaits, not stepping on them once.

It became increasingly obvious that a celebration was taking place at the centre of camp, that's why the rest of it was so empty. Smoke billowed from the centre and the sound of Outcast howls and pounding drums got louder the closer they got.

Hiccup and Camicazi avoided the centre, but had to get dangerously close to reach the cells on the other side. They tiptoed extra carefully behind the huts, when they reached a gap, they took a peek at the centre.

They could see the centre of camp through the gap, it was packed. The Exiles tore at each other like hungry dogs. They had to grab Fishlegs and get out of there. It didn't occur to Hiccup that Fishlegs wasn't in the cells at all.

They dropped to their stomachs and crawled across the gap.

The cells were kept in perpetual shadow behind the great hall. Hundreds of cold iron cages stacked on top of each other in piles like they were crates of cargo. The cages were so small, that a bigger Viking would have their shoulders squished to both sides, just another tactic to destroy their spirit.

They were empty now, and Hiccup couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. He shook his head. Don't think now. Find Fishlegs and get out.

“Fishlegs.” Hiccup whispered. He checked each cell he past, but their were so many, it would take all night to check them all. “Fishleeeegs.”

There was a shifting sound, but no answer.

Hiccup strained his ears and listened.

“Fishlegs, it's me. Where are you?”

No answer.

Chapter Text

Snotlout had survived the Winter Winds of Woden and the WinterFleshers, but then, ofcourse, against all odds, the fleeing Outcast Tribe happen to sail past the inch of ocean Snotlout was in, instead of the miles and miles of ocean in every other direction. Now he was in a cage, no doubt marinating for the psychos next meal.

He slumped against the back of the cell. The adrenaline had worn off. His lungs shuddered with every wheezing breath. His arms throbbed with pain, they were dirty with dried blood. The arrow in his chest had snapped at the base, leaving the iron tip lodged in his chest. He winced as he slid his legs out through the bars.

His body went catatonic. Hardly breathing. Hardly blinking. A fly hopped around his face, he made no attempt to wave it away. Even his thoughts came slow and morbid. What do you expect, he was ready to die, had it all panned out, wanted to go down fighting, but that wasn't an option anymore. It's a joke to think he'd make it to Valhalla now. It was always a sick joke. His life was planned out, beat for beat, by whatever cruel God had it in for him, and no matter how hard he fought to change it, it would always end the same.

He was through with this ride, it was making him nauseas. He just wanted it to be over...

Hours went by like this, until much later, when his ear twitched at an unfamiliar sound. Somebody whispered outside, almost hysterically. Snotlout drifted his gaze to the bars. Had his brain already devolved into hallucination, or did that sound awfully like his scrawny runt of a cousin.

He caught a glimpse, it was. Dammit.

Snotlout suddenly felt self-conscious. His firesuit was in scraps and there were ugly gashes all over his arms and legs from the Winter Fleshers. More than that, he was squished in a cage scarcely big enough for a dog. He looked week. He didn't want to be seen like this, he'd rather die.

The whisper came again, closer this time- Snotlout drew his legs back through the bars as quietly as possible as not to be noticed.

“Fishlegs? It's me.”

Snotlout pressed back into the dark.

“Where are you...”

Chapter Text

Hiccup stared goggle-eyed at Snotlout.

“What's wrong, Useless? Aren't you glad to see you dearest cousin alive and well?” Snotlout forced out.

It was difficult to sound mean when he was breathing through punctured lungs.

“I wouldn't say you're looking well, Snotnose. Maybe more... like a week old mutton stew?” Camicazi said, always quick to defend her friend.

Snotlout shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

“Still dragging around your dwarf of a girlfriend, I see.”

“I'm not his girlfriend.” She assured, “Let's leave him, Hiccup. He makes a bad Viking, but he might make a nice Outcast lunch.”

“Shut up.” Hiccup snapped.

He rummaged in his waistcoat for the key-that-opens-all-locks, wiped Toothless's spit off it with his sleeve, and stuck it in the lock.

“I was only teasing.” Camicazi said.

Hiccup wrestled with the key for a while, getting increasingly agitated, until it snapped off in the key-hole.

Camicazi took out her tool picking tools. “Allow me.”

Camicazi worked on the lock as Hiccup paced nervously behind her. She was an expert escape-artist and had picked at least a dozen outcast locks at this point, it was almost muscle memory . Snotlout didn't speak to her.

Camacazi didn't think much of Snotlout. He was a traitor and a coward, as far as she was concerned, but Hiccup seemed to see some good in him, and she trusted Hiccups judgement.

She stared at Snotlout through the bars as she worked. He really was in a pitiful state. His hair stuck flat to his forehead with sweat and his skin had a greenish pallor to it. Even the few wriggly hairs on his chin seemed to be straining themselves to get away from him.

“Creepy little bog-burgler.” Snotlout muttered, hiding his face with his hand.

Within minutes the door swung open with an over-zealous clang.

“For Thors sake. You do realise we're in an enemy territory. You're supposed to be stealthy.” Snotlout sneered.

Camicazi scoffed at his use of 'enemy'.

“...Can you walk.” Hiccup said eventually, since Snotlout had been eyeing the exit for the last two minutes without making a move for it.

“Can you?” He jeered.

That seemed to be all the motivation needed. He clambered out rigidly, trying to move his chest as little as possible. There was only a foot drop from the cages ledge to the ground but he still hesitated.

He tried lowering himself down gently with his arms on either side, but they couldn't take the weight. He got one toe down when his elbows buckled, dropping him to his feet. He sucked air between his teeth like his foot had just fallen on an upturned nail instead of the soft grass.

Snotlout had never felt so so ill, he draped over the cells to steady himself and fought to keep his eyes from closing. Camicazi packed her tools away, taking every effort not to look at him. Hiccup watched him with his tiny scrutinous face.

Hiccup checked the slice of sky between the Great Hall and the Outcast huts. It was a putrid yellow, very nearly sunset.

Hiccup was thinking. We have to find Fishlegs and get to the beach before the sun goes down, otherwise, The Windwalker is going to get reinforcements. I can't let it to come to that. My first day as King and I have to call my people to come save me? I would lose all their respect.

He made a quick judgment. He turned to Camicazi packing away her tools.

“Change of plans, Cami. I need you to sneak back to the beach and get the Silver-Phantom. At my signal, fly her here and pick up Snotlout, then immediately go back to camp. I'll find Fishlegs and get back on the Windwalker.”

“Spectacular plan, General Fish-stick. There's just one thing- everyone knows Bog-Burgulers can't fly for peanuts.” Snotlout said, every word dripping with venom.

“Watch it, Nostrils.” Camacazi snapped.

“Hiccup may have forgiven you, but I have not- you're not worth the effort. I swear I will leave you here.”

“Do it. I never asked to be saved... especially not by Mr. and Mrs. Self-Righteous. ”

Hiccup held Camicazi back from drawing her sword and attacking. Snotlout sniggered despite it sending spikes of pain through his chest.

Hiccup was not in the mood. His nerves were already electric with worry about Fishlegs.

“Cami, just get on with it, please. We're in a hurry.” Hiccup said.

Camicazi stopped struggling and looked at Hiccup.

“Why am I getting all the scorn here?” She exasperated.

Hiccup was careful to speak extra lightly. “Because you can take it.”

Regretfully, Snotlout still heard.

He snorted rudely and shook his head in disbelief.

“You think so little of me.” He said, a belittling smile plastered on his face.

Then, going over what he just said in his head and realising it to be terribly and irrevocably true, his smile faltered. He shrunk before their eyes, instantly proving Hiccups point.

Camicazi considered.

“Okay, but we're not leaving without you. We'll wait on the beach.”

Camicazi started sneaking between the huts like before and Hiccup skirted the Great Hall to find Fishlegs, leaving Snotlout by the cages, deeply irritated that he was being 'rescued' yet again by the two shortest vikings in the Archipelago.

Hiccup kept flank to the wall of the Great Hall and inched forward. The drumming and Outcast howls got louder and louder.

If Fishlegs isn't in the cages, Hiccup thought, where would he be?

Hiccup had a rising suspicion that whatever the Outcasts were celebrating at that very moment may be Fishleg-related.

Oh Thor, what's he gotten into now?

Chapter Text

Snolout waited until Hiccup and Camicazi were out of earshot, then he groaned and slid to the ground. Being exposed to the air made the wounds on his arms and legs sting. The arrow head lodged in his chest was the big problem. The waves of pain made him want to close his eyes, but he kept them open.

He couldn't let himself get comfortable. He couldn't wait to be rescued by his heart-of-gold cousin, his salmon-faced sidekick and their bog-burgerler third wheel.

Because then what? They'd carry him home, injured and pathetic like a dead rag, and miraculously convince the Dragon-markers that he was worthy to join their tribe again? After being named 'The Traitor Of All Traitors'?

Snotlout could already imagine the repulsed looks Gobber and his Father would give him. He couldn't meet them like this. He needed to meet them again already redeemed.

Snotlout clenched and unclenched his hand, wincing at the pain. He built a plan in his head.

“Hiccup has probably completely botched up the plan by now, he's probably turning on a spit with his web-toed friend at this very second.” Snotlout muttered bitterly.

“If it wasn't hurting so much... I could save them. Then I could ride back to Tomorow carrying Hiccup. Then the Dragon-markers would be really impressed, since they're just soooo obsessed with their little infant king.”

Snotlout struggled to his feet, causing fireworks in his vision.

“That's the only way this is going to work. There has to be a doctors hut in this stinking camp, if I could find some pain-killers.”

He limped out of the cell yard, swallowing down his vomit, and between the huts. Each hut had axes, daggers and swords sticking out of their sides where the Outcasts had thrown them with their brutish strength. Snotlout lent on an axe handle and levered an scuffed dagger out of the wood. He might need it.

Snotlout strained to look up. A flag was fluttering above the roofs, it had a veiny heart painted on it in red paint. That must be from the medical hut. Snotlout turned the corner and dragged his feet exhaustively the last few feet to the medical hut.

Two body bags were dumped outside the door. Snotlout stepped over them and creaked the door open. It was dark and seemingly empty inside, but Snotlout was still on guard. He gripped the dagger tighter.

In all his time working for Alvin, Snotlout had never met the Witch-Doctor, but whenever her name was mentioned the Outcasts would go white, and he knew of many with putrid wounds who still refused to see her. She must be scary, I mean, she is Excellinors sister.

Alvin The Treacherous had spoken fondly of her-

“Ah- Auntie Skellatig! Lovely women. Really, I wish I had gotten her as my mother instead.”

Snotlout didn't trust Alvin's idea of a Lovely Women.

He limped over to the cupboards and rummaged around for bandages, he didn't manage much but to drape the bandages over his arms, where they promptly slipped off when he moved.

Giving up on the bandages, he turned his attention to the shelves of bottles. There were jars of neon pills and solutions and dried leaves in boxes. Snotlout strained to bring down five jars of pills, all with labels writtin in Outcastese.

Snotlout groaned.

“One of these should be pain killers. I'll just take all of them, that ought to do the trick.”

He popped the top off the first jar and it clattered on the ground.

That must of woken someone up, because just as Snotlout was about to tip the pills out into his mouth, there was a horrified screech.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

Snotlout dropped the pills and looked up, a spidery figure hung from the ceiling, a finger bone pierced through her nose- Doctor Skelletig.

She dropped onto the surgery table in the middle off the room and gave Snotlout a stern look. Her bones popped and squeaked as she twisted her neck. Her viens were visibly pumping under her paper-thin skin.

Snotlout felt for his dagger, but when Doctor spoke, it was so unthreatening, that he left it on the counter.

“What do you think you are doing? You can't be taking tablets willy-nilly like that- it's not healthy.” Dr. Skelletig tut-tutted as she scuttled over to the shelves and put the jars back in their place.

She looked Snotlout up and down.

“Do you have a prescription?”

“Uh- no, but I need some pain-killers.” Snotlout said, quite taken-aback by the Doctors casual demeanour, despite having just dropped from the ceiling.

“I'll need you to fill these out.”

Dr. Skelletig pulled a stack of forms out from her armpit and dumped them in Snotlouts hands, they were expectedly damp and smelly.

Snotlout leafed through.

“...With what?” He asked.

“BLOOD... “ Dr. Skelletig said, leaning in so close Snotlout could see the red veins in her eyes, “... Ha, ha. Just kidding. Here's a pen.”

Snotlout accepted the pen and scribbled his name on each page in smudgy squid-ink, not bothering to read them, they were written in Outcastese anyway, hopefully he wasn't signing away his soul.

He handed the forms back to Dr. Skelletig and she crumpled them up an ate them. After a minute off chewing, she swallowed and pulled a jar off the shelf.

“Okie-smokie. THESE are the tablets you need, but not all of them at once, two at a time if you please, and only every two hours, no sooner, NO LATER.”

Snotlout snatched the jar and popped the top, he rolled two pills out, they were green and surprisingly hot in his palm, he knocked them back and his body immediately went numb, he sighed in relief.

“Why no later?” He asked.

“Do I look like an encyclopaedia?” Dr. Skelletig said, twisting the bone in her nose.

“You look like a spider.”

“Thank you. Anyway, don't think you're leaving until I've dressed those wounds. They might get infected- infection isn't healthy.”

Snotlout didn't protest, not even when Dr. Skelletig drooled into each wound with her black spittle and strangled them in bandages. She used two spoons to scoop the arrow head out of his chest and stitched up the puncture.

“So... any plans for the weekend?” She said between spit bubbles.

“Well, I'm going to rescue my cousin, his friend and a tiny Bog-Burglar, Woden help them if I don't- they're useless at almost everything. Then I guess I'll take them back to Tomorow and regain the respect of my Teacher, my Father and my Tribe. Probably spend Sunday basking in their admiration.”

“Bog-Burglar...” Dr. Skelletig said thoughtfully, knotting the last bandage.

Snotlout stood up. His arms and legs were tightly bound with bandages. It felt like someone had glued him back together when he was in pieces. He had never felt more grateful, well maybe one other time, when he was on a boat, being forgiven yet again by the person he had only ever shown hatred toward.

He looked at Dr. Skelletig, mildly upset that he'd never see her wrinkly face again. More wrinkles seemed to sprout as she thought deeply.

“I'd love to stay and chat.” Snotlout said, forcing himself to sound sarcastic. “But I am rather busy.”

He sauntered to the exit when an icy wind rammed the door closed.

He turned to see Dr. Skelletig scuttling back to her spot on the ceiling.

“Before you go, I have a mission for you.” She said, “This Bog-Burglar you speak off.... see, she's stolen something very precious from me. I need you to get it back and bring it to me.”

Snotlout scoffed. “And why would I do that?”

Dr. Skelletig regurgitated the partially digested forms from her stomach and they dropped from her mouth and smushed on the ground ten feet below in a wet mush.

She cleared her throat. “Read the small print.”

Snotlout gawked at her as she folded her legs over her eyes.

“You have, indeed, signed away you're soul.”

Snolout left the Medical Hut and trod over the body bags.

“Well, that shouldn't be too hard.” He thought. “Camicazi is only a bratty little girl...”

“Anyway, back to the problem at hand. I can hardly rescue Hiccup without a weapon.” Snotlout side eyed the hundreds off weapons stuck into the huts begging to be taken.

“I'll just have to sneak in to the armoury and find My StormBlade.” He sighed, hurrying towards the armoury.

...

Chapter Text

The Outcasts had been especially grouchy to one another, losing the war and their chief in one afternoon hit their ego's hard. They were tripping each other up by the peg-leg, pulling on each others piercings and calling each other awful names.

These micro-agressions might have escalated so that the entire tribe ended up murdering each other, as is the Outcast way. They needed an enemy to vent their frustration. So it was good, in a way, that that afternoon, Fishlegs flew in on the back of his Three Headed Stealth Dragon and gave the Outcasts something to stick their teeth into. Murder really brought them all together.

The Outcasts swiftly over powered the trespassers and chained the Three Headed Stealth Dragon to the base of the large stone statue of Alvin The Treacherous, their former chief. They tossed Fishlegs around a bit, for fun, before hooking a huge iron cauldron over the firpit and dunking the boy in.

The flames licked up the sides of the cauldron and trapped Fishlegs inside, as the water slowly heated up around him.

Fishleg whined from the Cauldron.
“Listen to me. I am Alvin The Treacherous's son. Look I brought his hook and eyepatch to prove it. Can't any of you speak Norse?”
None of them could speak Norse. Dr. Skelletig could, but she only came out at night, Fishlegs would be bones by then, and bones can't exactly make their case.

That was the one fatal mistake Fishlegs had made. In the depth of rumination, it had completely slipped his mind that the Outasts spoke Outcastese instead of Norse. If they understood him, they might've given him a chance at being chief, since he was the rightful heir.

Fishlegs might have finnaly found a place where he belonged, these were his people after all, despite being blood-thirsty pirates who used cutlass's to eat their porridge and had deep white scars on their faces and teeth sharpened into spikes. They had been cast out just like Fishlegs, they knew how it felt.

But instead he was going to be their rebound kill.

Mercilessly cooked and eaten along with his dragon.

Fishlegs looked into their hungry shark eyes. How could he of made such a foolish mistake. But he knew, it's because I'm Fishlegs, Fishlegs the squid-hearted failure of a Viking, and everything I try comes out backwards.

He sighed and drooped down into the pits of the cauldron, with just his nose and eyes peaking out over the the increasingly hot water.

“Well, it's not what I hoped for, but then, when is it ever.”

Chapter Text

Hiccup snuck round the Great Hall and quickly assessed the situation. There were about a hundred burly Vikings prancing around the firepit like mad dogs on a fullmoon. Hiccup saw his friend Fishlegs, looking like a doused and drooping sunflower, sticking out the top of the cauldron.

“Oh, Fishlegs.” He sighed.

Hiccup crept to the back of the Stone Statue of Alvin The Treacherous, where the Three Headed Stealth Dragon was chained up. He inspected the heavy lock.

“Are you hurt?” Hiccup whispered in Dragonese.

“Never mind us. Save the boy.” Hissed Arrogance, one of the three heads.

“Don't worry, I've got a plan.”

“I knew you would.” Innocence hissed, wide eyed and naïve.

Hiccup checked the sky again, it was getting a dark orange- this would have to be quick. Hiccup unclipped his sword belt and hung it around Patients neck.

“It would be foolish to try and fight that many Outcasts. Plus, I need to look as unthreatening as possible for this to work.”

Hiccup climbed up the stone statue. It towered ten feet high. Hiccup took a minute to appreciate the workmanship. It was Alvin in his early days, striking a heroic pose and clad with every type of villainous weapon he could screw on to his hook. Hiccup made it to the top without slipping and stood up on Alvins forehead, like a man riding a gaint, his cape fluttered in the wind.

He cleared his throat purposively loud.

The Outcasts stopped their prancing and slowly turned towards the statue. Fishlegs popped his head out of the water and beamed. Within seconds, every Outcast pulled out their bows and arrows and angled them at Hiccup.

“Before you shoot!” Hiccup shouted in perfect Outcastese.

A single arrow released with twang and arched straight to Hiccup, who ducked just in time.

“BEFORE YOU SHOOT!” He shouted sternly.

“I have a proposition for you. I'm sure you have heard of Grimbeard The Ghastly's Lost Treasure...”

The audiences eyes glinted with greed and cruel smiles scrawled across their faces, packed with a million pointy teeth.

“Let my friend go, and his dragon, and I will lead you to this Treasure. It's actually on your very own beach. What are the chances, right? But you will never be able to find it without my help.”

They had dreamt of such treasure, rubies and pearls and gold and silver, artefacts from the far corners of the world, money and riches. They drooled as they pictured it. What they could do with all that wealth! They could take over the Archipelago! This child couldn't possible know what he was giving away. It was madness! Which meant... it was a trick. But they couldn't disregard such a promising offer.

The Outcasts grunted to each other and pulled their bows back tighter. The bow strings squealed. Then one of them lumbered forward, a mammoth of a man, with a face blacked out in tattoos and two lower teeth that curved up like tusks. He put away his bow and arrow and barked at his men to do the same.

“WHERE'S THE TREASURE!” The Outcast barked, giving Hiccup the crazy eye.

“I told you. Let my friend AND his dragon go, only then will I tell you.”

The Outcast screwed up his nose in thought.

“NO FUNNY BUSINESS?!” He barked.

“None at all. Look, I even came unarmed.” Hiccup raise his arms to reveal zero weapons on his belt.

The Outcast looked Hiccup up and down. He was teetering on the side of this boy being incredibly stupid now, instead of tricksy.

“LET THEM GO!” He ordered.

The Outcasts put their bows away and begrudgingly made their way to the cauldron where Fishlegs was smiling cheekily. He knew Hiccup had a trick up his sleeve.

It would have turned out completely according to plan too, if not for Snolout. He was hidden in the shadows, unable to understand what had been said in Outcastese. He assumed Hiccup had failed miserably and the Outcasts were seconds away from killing Fishlegs on the spot. So he decided to do something incredibly dumb.

Chapter Text

Snotlout admired himself in the steel shield hung up on the wall of the Outcast Armoury.

“Looking sharp. Speedifist is going to be so jealous when I arrive in this.” He said, twirling his precious Stormblade in his hand.

Snotlout had put on the most obnoxious ornamental armour he could find. Pieces burgled from all over, The Romans, The Tang Dynasty, The Byzantine Empire. Notably, a pair of boots burgled off the feet of Rasputin himself, far too big for Snotlout.

“Yep, that's what its all about. Being a hero is half how you look, Hiccup never got that.”

He flexed his muscles in the reflection. There was a twinge off pain from under his bandages. Snotlout frowned. He popped the vial of black pills he'd tied to his belt.

“What did that old crow say? Every two hours? Eh- what's the harm?”

He rolled another two pills out and gulped them down. Whatever the witch put in those pills worked wonders.

Snotlout stood up straight and puffed out his chest, feeling like a hundred gold pieces. He pushed his hair back and stroked the five wriggly hairs that made up his 'goatee'.

“Guess I should save that slimly little cousin of mine now.”

Snotlouts eyes went dark.

“Unless...”

I could just leave them here, couldn't I? Tell the Dragon-markers that I tried to save them, 'Thor knows I tried really hard to save them'. I wonder who'd be King then.

Snotlout shook his head. Shut up. You really are a Treacherous Worm aren't you. Hiccup is going to be a good King. A better King then you could ever be. That's just what fate has said it to be.

Snotlout scowled. He took one more look in the shield. His reflection was warped. He looked smaller and weaker then he had before. He grimaced and stomped out of the Armoury, slipped through the shadow towards the centre of camp, and waited. When is the right moment to attack? When is my perfect moment.

Chapter Text

Snotlout roared out a Hooligan war cry and sprinted out of the shadows, seizing a gold-tipped spear from where it stuck out the hut as he went.
The bulging Outcast line flipped in shock. Snotlout rammed the gold-tip spear into the dirt and pole-vaulted over their helmets.

“Snotlout!” Hiccup and Fishlegs exclaimed simultaneously.

Snotlout landed in the flames and tossed the spear.

“In the flesh! Don't worry, guys. Snotface-Snotlout's come to the rescue.” Snotlout said.

“Oh, Wodens third leg. This isn't good.” Hiccup said, dropping his head in his hands.

Snotlouts armour protected him from the flames, so he could heave the massive soup cauldron off of its latches. Gallons of water sloshed out, dousing the fire, Fishlegs sloshed out like a drenched rag.

He landed in the mushy ashes, spluttering out soupy water.

The Outcasts fumed, they billowed to twice the size, forming an impenetrable, steaming wall of muscle around the pit.

“Watch out!!” Fishlegs yelled.

They all dived into the pit, barking “HE'S MINE!” and “TRAITOR!” in Outcastese.
Snotlout laughed, he yanked Fishlegs and himself under the massive upturned cauldron and closed it over them. The Outcasts slammed into the cauldron, leaving pug-ugly face dents in the iron.

They bounced off like bucky balls and rolled into the dirt clutching their noses in agony.

Snotlout and Fishlegs peeked out from under the cauldron. Snotlout held it open as Fishlegs scrambled out like a centipede. They hopped on to its top.

Hiccup watched in absolute horror.

He yelled down from Alvin's Stone forehead. “Snotlout! Stop! We can't fight our way out of this- there's a hundred of them and three of us- I need them to trust us. You're messing up my plan!”

Snotlout waved his cutlass dismissively. “Ha-ha. Don't mention it.”

Hiccup was getting more and more frantic by the second. “What?! I'm not THANKING you!”

The Outcasts recuperated. They dragged themselves to their feet and drew their swords, nun-chucks and daggers.

“Brace yourself.” Snotlout said and grabbed Fishlegs hands.

“Brace yourself? Brace yourself for what!?”

Snotlout spun on the top of the cauldron, whipping Fishlegs limp body around in circles. It took seven spins for him to get fully vertically and then Snotlout let go at just the precise moment. Fishlegs flung through the air, spinining like a high speed boomerang, and hit Hiccup in the chest. Hiccup stumbled off the statue and they plummeted to the ground.

Luckily, the Three Headed Stealth Dragon caught them in his wing just before they hit the ground and break their backs. A very close call.

Hiccup blurted out a strew off curses that he could not restrain any longer. He checked the sky- blood red- they had maybe a four, five minutes before the Windwalker flew off and got reinforcements- that would be a disgrace.

Fishlegs went red. He couldn't believe his best friend, Hiccup, of all people, could put those words together, in that order.

Hiccup tore round the statue. Snotlout was performing the Traditional Hooligan Kick-Dance, booting several Outcasts in the face, but they were closing in.

“Snotlout! Stop that right now! I swear to Thor. What on Earth are you wearing?!” Hiccup yelled, slipping into the tone he used for Toothless.

Snotlout seemed to misinterpret was Hiccup said. “Save you're praise, Hiccup, I've got to focus here!”

The Outcast with the tusks grabbed Snotlouts boot and grinned maliciously, he had a large bruise on his eye already. Snotlout wriggled his foot out of the oversized boot and the Outcast fell backwards. Knowing when to give up, he leapt over the warriors, skimming the horns on their helmets, and came to a skidding stop in front of Hiccup.

“I know what you're thinking. How could my big cousin have forgiven me after all those years I was such a pest? Well, save it. We still have to get out of camp...” He said between panting breaths.

He glanced at the advancing hoard of Outcasts.

“...and I'm, uh, still wracking my brain on that one.”

Hiccup did not look impressed. The Outcasts crept closer, daggers between their teeth, but Hiccup was so fed up, he didn't even care.

“You have completely screwed up the plan.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Thank me later.”

“I told them Grimbeard's Lost Treasure was on the Beach. I was going to lead them there, where me and Fishlegs could have made a sneaky escape on the Windwalker- then, while the camp was empty, Camicazi could've swooped down and rescued you. No violence needed.”

“Yeah, that's great- wait a minute." Snotlouts easy expression instantly snapped to one of resentment, slithery eyes and gritting teeth. "What are you talking about, you little weed. I found Grimbeard's Treasure AGES ago. You know, the one his HEIR was supposed to find? And it wasn't on any stinking beach.”

At this point, the Outcast were inches from Hiccup and Snotlout, all foaming mouths and glistening eyes, and don't ask me how, perhaps Outcasts are exceptionally good at reading tone, but they understood what Snotlout had said. The boy-King had been playing a trick afterall.

Hiccup sighed. “Oh, Thor.”

Chapter Text

Arrogance released his hell-fire and blasted the exiles back. The boys took their chance and scaled the statue.

The exiles wiped the soot off their faces and pinched the singing ends of their beards. Their eyes blazed with a long burning injustice. Barking savagely, they strung their bows, took aim, and fired at the boys.

“CAMICAZI! THIS IS THE SIGNAL!” Hiccup wailed.

His voice died on the wind.

Fishlegs ducked behind the statue's head just in time to miss five arrows that pinged off the spot he'd been.

“Use the horn!” He begged.

A cast-out rushed to the catapult- they had constructed it to take down dragons during the war. He racked the sling back, loaded it with whatever projectile he had to hand, bones, and released the arm.

Arrows and bones hurtled through the sky.

Skulls of Noble Vikings rammed and shattered on the Statue. The boys danced over its stone shoulders, unable to stop for a second or they'd be easy targets..

Hiccup fumbled with the horn that had tangled in his cape, torn between what to focus on, the untangling, the sun hitting the horizon, or the hoard of exiles attacking from all sides.

He ripped the horn free, at the same time drawing his sword and splitting a pelvis bone down the middle before it could hit him, but when he put the horn to his mouth, despite Hiccup going red and breathless from the effort, it still would'nt work for him.

Snotlout watched, ful of resentment. He looked up at the sky as if to say “THIS is the guy you picked?”. Qualms with Thor could wait, he snatched the horn and blew it.

BWA-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-RP

Each and every spear, sword and dagger resonated with the booming and trembled. The air fizzled like static-electricicty. The Outcasts stood dazed.

Snotlout handed the horn back to Hiccup with a condescending bow.

“I think this is yours, your royal uselessness.” He sniped.

Seconds later, Camicazi zoomed in on The Silver Phantom, she was shadowed by the setting sun, she dove down and made circles over her pathetic group of friends.

The bowmen jumped and shot at the boys at twice the speed. The boys got hot on their toes once again.

“Patience, Arrogance and Innocence are chained up by the ankle!” Hiccup yelled up to Camicazi. “We have to take the statue with us.”

Camicazi nodded. She whispered something to the Silver-Phantom. The Silver-Phantom gripped Alvin The Treacherous's hooked hand in her claws, as he posed in his memorialised stone, and lifted the statue off the ground.

“Help- (ping-ping-ping-ping) -her!” Hiccup yelled to Patience, pinging another round of arrows off his helmet.

The Three headed stealth dragon unrollled his twenty foot wingspan and launched into the air.

A plume of dust, Patients chain crumbled the rock on one end and rubbed the scales raw at the other, but with the strength of both dragons, they could just lift the ten tonne statue into the air.

The Tribe gawked as the last remnants of their Great Chief got carried into the air. They leapt head-first and grabbed on.

The Tribe pulled the statue down, the two dragons couldn't lift the whole ten tonnes PLUS an entire tribe.

Snotlout slammed his heel on an exiles fingers and twisted. The exile yelped and lost grip. Snotlout punched another square on the nose, and another and another.

Fishlegs hung back. “Could you perhaps not hit them so hard? We're somewhat in the wrong here...”

He was feeling a little guilty.

Hiccup tried BORING the Outcasts off by telling them Dragon facts in Outcastese- surprisingly effective. After a while, the Outcasts within earshot groaned and let go.

The dragons rose- but not enough.

“We need to lose weight!” Hiccup ordered. “Snotlout, throw down that army, it has too weigh a tonne, and you look like an idiot anyway.”

“Can't we throw Fishlegs over instead?” Snotlout moped.

Fishlegs adjusted his shattered glasses.

“We should throw YOU over!” He said.

A small squabble, then Snotlout took off his over-sized, overly ornamental armour and chucked it down, hitting another couple Exiles.

They rose over the walls of the Outcast camp. After one last lack-luster catapult shot, where the string went slack and hurtled the bones only a few feet, the Outcasts gave up on attacking and started hurtling insults instead, insults Hiccup could only truly appreciate.

Camicazi had been hurtling insults of her own the whole time, except now, she was unusual quiet.

They soared out of camp and over the ocean, the statue acting as a bridge between the two dragons. The Outcasts howls got fainter and fainter.

Hiccup let his muscles relax. He felt salt water splatter on his cheeks and he watched the Sun finally vanish beneath the Horizon. Beams of light slid away from the expanse of deep blue ocean.

Windwalker had already gone to get help. That's fine, we'll arrive just after him and call the recruits off, no disgrace needed, thought Hiccup.

He looked at his friends in the limited light- Fishlegs wrung out his hair, Snotout fiddled with the edge of his cutlass. They were safe, they were all safe. Hiccup felt a momentary feeling of complete peace.

He let out a long, happy sigh. But it was cut short- a low keening came from the Silver Phantoms back, where Camicazi was curled over in agony.

“Cami? Are you hurt?”

Hiccup stumbled to Camicazis shadowy figure. He'd never noticed how small she really was, not until now.

She struggled to face him, covering her eye with her hand. But even in the limited light, it was clear that what stuck out between her fingers was the end of an Outcast arrow, the gold-tip embedded in Camicazis eye.

Chapter Text

Fishlegs felt all the blood in his body rush to his face in an instant. His body trembled with anger.

“This is all YOUR fault!” He burst out, directing the full storm of his Berserker Rage on to Snotlout, accidentality spitting on his face with the force of his words.

“If YOU hadn't screwed up Hiccup's plan, we could have gotten out safely and Camicazi would never have been shot. “

They all looked at Camicazi, blood oozed from between her fingers and poured down her arm from where she covered her eye.

Snotlout ignored Fishlegs, he didn't care what that haddock-faced moron thought of him. He turned the vial of pills in his fingers instead, wondering if he should offer one to Camicazi. He counted the remaining pills, only eight left.

He hid the vial in his waistcoat and kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, or the ocean, anywhere but Camicazi's shaking, bloody face. He listened to the grinding of the iron chain, anything to drown out the girls seething.

“Calm down, Fishlegs. It's no-ones fault.” Said Hiccup, grasping his friends hand, but his voice had a sour edge to it that he couldn't conceal.

Fishlegs yanked his hand away and stomped forward.

His voice rose, like a fire engulfing a forest. “YOU are a squid-hearted, jelly-fish livered, FAILURE of a Viking!”

He bit his lip.

“And everything you try comes out back-wards. Everything you try fails at best, and at worst hurts the people around you.”

Tears beaded in the corners of his eye, the last flecks of Berserker Rage faded from his cheeks. He stared holes in to his sandals and continued in a whisper.

“You don't deserve friends or a family or a Tribe. This is all your fault.”

He slumped to his knees, defeated, tears streaming down his face, because he had only been talking to himself.

Chapter Text

Snolout and Fishlegs sat as far away from eachother as possible in solemn silence. Hiccup sat next to Camicazi on the back of the Silver-Phantom, rubbing her back and speaking in soothing placidities.

“It'll be alright. We'll get you back home and my grandfather will fix you right up, better than new.” He said.

That wasn't strictly true. She'd survive, but would be half blind for the rest of her life, Old Wrinkly couldn't work miracles.

It took all Camicazis will not cry. Bog-Burglars never cried. She looked at Hiccup with her good eye, in his tiny scrutinous face. She tried to lighten the mood, but when she spoke, it came out a desperate sob.

“Atleast it wasn't my right!”

The floods gates opened, flooding her with emotion she couldn't handle.

“The left has always been my weakest!”

She didn't want to lose either. The thought of it made her blood run cold. The thought of being crippled, and loosing her independence- but there she was, at the door of a fate she considered worse than death, dependency.

Hiccups soothing was like stubbing out a hot coal on her skin, but she didn't have the strength to push him away.

She choked back her sobbing. Her arm went numb and tingly, but she couldn't bare to move it, as if it was the only thing protecting her eye from rolling out of its socket and dangling down her cheek by its strinew.

The vial of magic pain-killing pills burned in Snotlouts pocket. He plugged his ears to block out her sobbing and gritted his teeth.

“Can't you shut her up?!”

It slipped out before he had a chance to stop it. He got his answer as two disgusted glowers. Even Hiccup, who usual looked on him with a smidgen of hope in his heart, had twisted his expression into an empty snarl.

Was he second guessing? Had all the chances he'd given gone to waste? Had he trusted the wrong person? Now he was King, he couldn't make silly mistakes.

Snotlout turned away, and it couldn't off been a worse time, just as his peers opinions of him had dropped to what seemed to be their lowest, for Dr. Skelletigs putridly sweet voice to impose itself into Snotlouts mind.

“We're commminggg.”

And indeed they were. The boys startled- a Viking ship was splitting the ocean, sailing with the unnatural speed of a Seadragonus-Giganticus, straight towards the escapees on their shim-sham dragon chariot.

Chapter Text

Snotlout should not have blinked, for when he did, the world around him vanished and was replaced by four walls of a box. Outside this box, there was nothing but an infinite abyss, stretching further than human comprehension.

He stood up and dragged his hand across the ceiling. It didn't feel like anything he had ever felt before, not iron, not lumbar or skin.

The Witches disembodied voice came.

“I thought I'd remind you of our little agreement.”

Her voice held a cheekiness to it alike of a grandmother offering you butterscotch from her cardigan pocket.

As Snotlout spoke, he scooped out a fat, goopy booger from his nostril and smeared it on the wall.

“Stealing back that trinket of yours? I was thinking about that, and... no, I don't think I will. You will just have to do it yourself.”

The witch sighed, “Oh, but you will. They always do.”

The walls began to move in, the box Snotlout was in got smaller and smaller, tighter and tighter. He rammed against the sides, but it was no use, the ceiling pressed down on his head an forced him to the floor.

“Stop it! You're going to kill me!” Snotlout cried, sweat dripped down his forehead.

“That would be the point,” Said The Witch, her voice swirling in his head like smoke. She began to ramble:

“Tell me, how do you fit a six-foot man in a two foot box? Much the way you are now, but its only getting smaller.

At some point, there is no room left for them to compress themselves. The first thing to go are the bones. Popping out of their joints, snapping, slicing through the flesh. Then the organs burst. Fluids gush out. Really disgusting stuff.

And have you noticed the temperature? Oh, if only you could witness it. That must be the only true purification of a human, when they are reduced to liquid. Don't you want that? To be liquid? To be pure? Free of any lump? Allowed to flow and fit to any space?”

The witches voice darkened.

“But it doesn't last long, good things never do. These walls are relentless, they'll keep going, long after you are slush. As they come closer and closer, the liquid gets viscous. Disgusting, like thickening gravy. Still they will not stop. My sweet soul, do you know small you really are? When all that empty space between your atoms is squished together? You're no bigger than a fleck of dust.”

“Okay! Okay! I'll do it! I swear! Just let me out! PLEASE!” Snotlout choked.

His body was contorted in order to take up the least space, still there was hardly space for his lungs to work.

“I'm glad.” Dr. Skelletig said. She snapped her fingers, that sounded like a breaking bone, and the walls went away.

Snotlout panted and hugged his head in his hands to comfort himself.

Dr. Skelletigs disembodied voice came again, “The Bog-Burglar is very weak, isn't she? This is the perfect time to retrieve what she has unrightfully stolen. When you find my 'little trinket', as you so put it, just throw it down to the boat,”

“...And make sure you have a hearty meal and at least eight hours of sleep tonight, I wouldn't want you to get fatigued.” She added quickly.

It took a blink, and the boy was back in reality.

The war ship had advanced, it skipped on each wave with mechanical efficiency. It became clear, that what stood on the deck was the catapult from earlier, now loaded with it's intended projectile, a great heaving boulder.

Properly used, the catapult was a deadly weapon that would hit the dragons out of the sky and plummet them into the ocean, where The Three-Headed-Stealth-Dragon would drown.

The dragons could fly much faster and dodge the projectiles as easy as a fly avoids being swatted, if only they didn't have to drag a ten tonne monument between them.

Fishlegs pulled at his hair and paced circles around his friend, Hiccup, who sat motionless, hand to his chin with deep thought. Snotlout looked past them and stuck hi gaze on Camicazi.

He tried clearing his mind, what he had to do now, required a complete lack of thought. It would be one of the most despicable actions he had ever taken in his eighteen years, and what would make him an instant enemy to his cousin just as he had regained his trust. He'd have to wrestle the Witches trinket out of the injured warriors hands, after she had sacrificed so much to save him.

Snotlout could already imagine how Gobber would scream across the Archipelago.

“DISHONOURABLE WORM!” “DISGRACE TO HIS FATHER, AND HIS FATHERS FATHER, AND HIS FATHERS FATHERS FATHER!”

No doubt he'd still be able to hear it, on whatever isolated island he'd have to retreat to, being loathed by the entire Archipelago. It would plague him everyday, he'd taste their hatred in his dinner and hear their heckling in the wind.

There was no point feeling sorry now, it had to be done.

Chapter Text

Snotout was never one to beat around the bush, so he simply got up and went over to Camicazi and started refiling through her pockets, perhaps he could do this without even being noticed.

But of course, Camicazi kicked up a fuss about it, wrestling and screaming like she was toddler and Snotlout was taking away her prized Teddy Bear.

Hiccup was meditating almost like a yogi, trying to look at the situation from all angles, but this cuffuffle was taking place to his right and knocking his focus.

“Wha- what are you doing!”

Hiccup was at the end of his tether at this point. He knew his cousin had some major social problems about him, he could accept that, but did he have to do it right now, while Hiccup was right in the middle of formulating a plan.

Fishlegs wasn't going be much help, he tried pulling Snotlout off, bless him, but the brute could push him to ground with his pinky. Once again, the responsibility of keeping everyone sanguine fell onto Hiccup. He'd really brought it on himself, by being such a level-headed and mindful leader.

There was a definite surge of urgency to Snotlouts movements as he heard his little cousin stand up behind him.

“Will you just- just SIT STILL.” He seethed, pinning Camicazi down, but she kept up the fight, biting Snotlouts wrist with her sharp little teeth.

“OWW!”

Snotlout pulled his hand away and shook it in the air, vaguely hoping he wouldn't contract rabies from the feisty little thing. At the same moment, both Fishlegs and Hiccup grabbed his waist and pulled him back.

“Get off of her!” Hiccup wailed.

Snotlout rolled his eyes, they about came up to his shoulders, maybe his chin if they stood on their tippy-toes. It was then he noticed a bulge in Camicazis blood stained pocket.

“Aha-” He said, it came out a lot more villainously then he would have liked.

Camicazi screamed as he reached into her pocket and pulled out The Witches Trinket. He didn't spend a lot of time admiring it, it was nothing special anyways, a bone-comb of some sort, missing a few valuable teeth and yellowed with age. The boys were kicking and punching him at this point and he wanted to get it over with, so he reeled back his arm and chucked it over the side.

“NOOOOOOOOO!” Camicazis voice was absolutely broken, as if he had just torn away a mothers new-born baby and thrown it into the ocean. She started weeping into her hands, the arrow still wedged in her bloating eye socket.

Snotlout eyed her with a little judgement, he had generally respected her stoic nature, but this was just embarrassing.

Hiccup and Fishlegs didn't have to know the details. They immediately turned on him, backing him away from their friend and to the very edge of the statue.

Below them, The Witch shrieked with joy, having obviously caught the comb.

“Listen, I can explain.” Snotlout said, taking another step back. The edge of the statue crumbled under his feet.

“What are you doing?! I TRUSTED you! I wanted to give you a chance!” Hiccup said, crippled with disappointment.

Fishlegs rolled up his sleeves and eyed him like a blood-thirsty dog.

“I had to- The Witch- I- I didn't want to go out like that.” He stuttered.

But he was cut short, down below, the Outcast were rigging up their catapult and they launched the first projectile.

“DUCK!” Hiccup yelled.

The dragons yanked in their wings, and for a second they were free falling towards the ground. The heaving, bouldering projectile arched over their heads and hit into the ocean, causing a splash a like a smashing watermelon.

Hiccup woed at their state.

“Oh, Odin and Frigg and Thor and Freya. I'll deal with you later. We've got bigger problems right now.”

The exiles put another boulder in the catapults basket, and this time, for style, they doused it with mead and set it ablaze.

Hiccup clambered up the chain and onto the Deadly-Stealth-Dragons back. Then, with incredible bravery, he shimmied along Patients neck and took the two pieces of broken key out from his waist coat. He asked Patients for a low flame and welded the pieces together, languishing for a moment in the sweet metallic smell.

He called back to his team. “This is the best plan I could come up with. We hang back, directly over the Outcast ship, and on my order, we drop the statue right down onto them.”

Fishlegs sucked air between his teeth. “That sounds a little harsh, doesn't it?” He said, his eyebrows twisted together with guilt.

“It's kill or be killed, Fishlegs.”

Hiccup continued, heart beating fast. He was a born a leader, this was his strength, he knew, he had always known, that battles were won by smarts, and not by brute-strength.

“I inspected the lock. It was old. It may be that the key-that-opens-all-locks will work on this one. It's our only hope. Snotlout, you have the greatest reach, so you will sit on the Steath-Dragons back, reach down, and unlock the lock on his ankle. I am trusting you. Odin save me I am still trusting you. But you betta have darn good explanation for what you just pulled. On my order, we will drop the statue and sink the ship, before they can sink us.”

They nodded in agreement.

Snotlout and Hiccup swapped places, exchanging the key along the way. Hiccup held it back for a moment and searched deeply into his eyes.

“Snotlout. Are you okay.” He said, quietly, so the other couldn't hear.

Snotlout snarled and snatched the key away. He got in position on the Stealth-Dragons back. Hiccup and Fishlegs sat on the other dragons back next to Camicazi, now catatonic with ache.

The dragons slowed their pace. Another boulder whipped through the air and The Silver-Phantom moved her wing just in time not to be hit. Now they were flying directly over the ship, this gave them vital seconds as the Outcasts adjusted their catapult to shoot at a higher angle.

“Okay, Snotlout! Unlock the chain!”

But just as he said it, Dr. Skelletig yelled up from the stern of the Outcast boat. That caring voice, so perfect for persuasion, for corruption...

Chapter Text

Snotlout side-eyed his companions from across the ten foot gap. What the Witch was offering... It was too good to refuse.

She yelled up from the Outcast ship in Norse, loud enough for them all to hear.

“My sweet Soul! Come down from there, I couldn't bare to see you fall. Come and join me and my Tribe. I can make you Chief of them all. Isn't that what you have always wanted so desperately? So strongly that it made your senses melt? You can have it.”

Her arms outstretched as if to bring him into a motherly hug, one that would hurt due to her dagger-like knees and elbows.

“You just have to do one little thing- throw those pesky children into the sea. You know you should. You have rotten, my child, but that isn't a bad thing, we will accept you, even rotten as you are.”

Snotlout could easily overpower all three of his comrades. Just a year ago, this would have been a dream come true, the chance to kill that glory-stealing cousin of his, and the cherry on top, to kill his friends too. But dammit, he didn't feel that hatred any more. Why couldn't the Witch have offered this to him back then? When his mind was clouded with hate?

Hiccup drew his sword and Fishlegs clenched his fists ready to defend. Snotlout had nothing left to lose with them, they already saw him as a villainous traitor.

He palmed the vial of pain-killers in his pocket, and remembered with sharp truth how he'd chosen not to offer one to his wounded comrade, though she bled and wept in pain.

Maybe I should just accept that I am rotten to the core, and take the Witches offer. He tried to convince himself, but there was something that held him back.

It was Hiccups fault, as always, he's the one who had forgiven him outside the Alvin's-men hideout. Snotlout had accepted that he was rotten, had turned his back on himself, but that cousin of his, that stupid, weedy, irrevocably kind-hearted cousin of his, had lit glimmer of hope in his heart, and he had unturned his back. Now he had that weaseling hope, that maybe, just maybe, he could still be a hero.

He glanced over at Hiccup, and only then noticed that his black star was still hanging from his neck.

He groaned.

“Damn it, Hiccup. You just keep ruining my chances at greatness, don't you? You don't even mean to.”

Hiccups face turn from one of aggression to one of confusion, it was funny how similar he looked like his father when he was confused, doll eyed like a sheep.

“I refuse!” Snotlout shouted down to Dr. Skelletig.

She merely smiled. If she really wanted him to do something, she could've just transported him back to that hell-scape of hers, and trapped him in that ever tightening box.

Hiccup actually cheered! Overcome with joy, his eyes lit up like diamonds and he leaped into the air. If it was because he actually cared for Snotlout, or if he only saw his potential as a soldier in his new kingdom, not even he could discern, but still he leapt with joy.

Dr. Skelletig consulted her troop and they resumed their attack. Ringing back the sling to fire another boulder. At such close range. This one would surely hit, the Dragon-markers had one chance.

Hiccup remembered himself and sat down.

“Okay! Snotlout! Unlock the lock!”

“Yes sir!” Snotlout said.

He hooked his thighs around Arrogances neck and swung down so he could hang upside down. He held the key and stretched out his arm as far as it could possible go, and The Stealth-Dragon hinched up his ankle as far as he could, but it was still too far to reach. It was then, as Snotlout struggled not to lose grip of the Stealth-Dragons neck, that both him and Hiccup realised that the only way anyone was reaching that lock, was if they were standing on the statue, and went down with it.

Chapter Text

“Snotlout. You don't have to do this. I'll think something up, I always do, I swear, there has to be another way.” Hiccup wracked his brain, but it had been completely fried by the days events, each thought came lumbering and slow and useless. At one point, he started thinking about dinner, and shook his head in frustration.

“This can't happen, not again.”

Snotlout was already climbing down from the Stealth-Dragons back and onto the statue, where he had ample reach of the lock. From here, he could actually hold it in his hand. This was the only way it could of ever been.

It was, indeed, very old. There were scratch marks all around the key hole from ages gone by. He hovered the key-that-opens-all-locks over it, unnaturaly calm. He looked the lock dead in the eye, an object so simple and inanimate, lacking a heart to feel malice, and yet, it would kill him.

He looked over at Camicazi, she was already staring back, an indeterminable feeling in her one good eye, the other, pulsing and bruised.

Snotlout took the vial of pills from his pocket. “Give her some of these.” He said, tossing the vial to Fishlegs. He returned to the lock. “I won't need them anymore.”

“On my count, Hiccup, tell the Silver-Phantom to let go.”

The shakes began to take hold, but he couldn't hesitate, not now. He thrust the key into the lock.

About a yard below, the Outcast were in chaos, arguing over whether to set the boulder ablaze or not, just to save their ale for later, but soon, Dr. Skelletig would step in, with her sacridly soothing voice, and resolve the matter with a sentence.

“I can't let anther person die because of me!” Hiccup exploded.

A field of spikes, all topped with Viking helmets, burst in to his mind.

Snotlout stared at his cousin, it was now his turn to comfort.

“It's okay... I'm actually relieved!”

He returned to the lock.

“Tell me... what are they saying?” He said, almost shyly.

“Who?”

“You know, My Father, Stoik, Gobber... Do they still think of me as a traitor?”

Hiccup thought. He reserved his sweet lies for those he knew were going to live.

“I told them how you flew into the Alvin's-men to protect me.”

“Good.” Snotlout said, his voice cracking. “You can tell them about this too, and leave out the bad stuff.”

“I will.”

Snotlout held his breathe, he counted down from ten in his head, then, when he got to one, he turned the key in the lock.

The chain holding the Three-Headed-Stealth-Dragon swung away, Hiccup told the Silver-Phantom to let go of the hook, her claws opened, and the monument of Alvin The Treacherous fell, along with Snotlout.

The Outcast startled. From their perspective, the last remnants of their great chief came plummeting down over them, with his smug smile and belt of appendages. It would completely destroy the ship. They dived of the sides for their lives.

Then CRASH, BASH, BOOM. The ship split into splinters and the statue sunk beneath the water, down, down, down, to the depths of the ocean.

The Dragons flew apart, free at last. They rocketed up to the stratosphere, but there was no need, the ship had sunk, the danger evaded. They flew on at a steady pace, on their way back to The Island Of Tomorrow, where the rest of The Dragon-Markers would be waiting.

The sky became black, the only light coming from the vial of glowing pills in Fishlegs hands. He gave Camicazi a pill, now she wouldn't feel the pain, but the outrage was just as bad, and even worse by how complicated it was.

Snotlout had come full circle, returned to the watery grave that was so avid in keeping him. Hiccup was silent, he never wanted to be king, to feel this burden. A bitterness was growing inside of him.

Chapter Text

Hiccup huddled in with his friends as the night got colder. Their only source of light was the vial of glowing pills Snotlout had left them. Hiccup and Fishlegs spoke in soft whispers, not to disturb the silence around them, or their wounded friend who flitted in and out of wakefulness beside them. The conversation was easy, if not solemn, as it is with a friend who has always been by your side to share the burden.

Never had they known a night to be so thick with darkness like this one, where you couldn't tell up from down or left from right. Hiccup trusted the dragons to find their way home, he had the comfort of knowing how dragons have magic rocks inside their head that worked like a compass, and smelling glands the size of a Meatheads fist that could sniff out a spoon from twenty miles away.

Fishlegs did not have this comfort, most of what his friend told him about dragons went in one ear and out the other. He had his own way of staving of worry, when the conversation died away, he'd look deeply into the glowing light and compose little sonnets in his head. They were about love, I hate to admit, it seems even in the most depressing situations he still had his brain on his heart, or a heart for a brain.

Camicazi shifted uneasily and Fishlegs gave her another pill. They went through them at an alarming rate, and with another gone the glow dimmed an ounce more. Now they could barely see the tips of their fingers.

Fishlegs was picking bits of dirt out of Camicazis hair.

“Do you think there's long to go?” He asked.

Hiccup sighed.

“Hours, probably.”

But he was wrong on this occasion, because just then a crescent of light bloomed in the distance.

The Windwalker got it across to Stoik The Vast that his son was in danger and had to be rescued from Outcast Island. Stoik wrangled his strongest warriors and they stood on the deck of The Blue Whale, minutes from setting off.

Now, he should've been discreet, being rescued by your father didn't give you the best reputation in Viking society, but years of training his voice to boom across the landscape wasn't going anywhere now- the DragonMarkers knew what's up.

The North side of the Island filled with Vikings, each holding a flaming torch, this was, pathetically, the most interesting thing to happen all day. They packed the dock, then the beach, then when that was filled, they peered down from the neighbouring cliffs on either side. It almost looked like the scene of a Viking Funeral.

On the deck of The Blue Whale, Valhalaramma slapped her husbands shoulder and stuck her thumb in the air gesturing 'up'.

He looked up, his son waved from the back of one of his dragons, was that one Toothie? He made a descent towards the beach, The Vikings would have to make some space out of nothing.

Stoik returned the wave limply, then got back to what he was really good at, shouting.

“RIGHT! FALSE ALARM! HICCUP IS SAFE! YOU CAN GET BACK TO YOUR SNIVVELLING SELVES NOW! MAKE WAYYYY.... MAKE WAYYYY....”

The Vikings groaned and squeezed together to make a clearing big enough for The Dragons to land.

Hiccup was reasonably ticked off, they were surrounded by a sea of Viking helmets with no space to sneeze. He turned to Fishlegs.

“Take Camicazi to my grandfather.”

Fishlegs nodded and scooped Camicazi up in his arms. He leant over the Stealth-Dragons hide and knocked politely on the nearest helmet.

“Hello, excuse me. Can you take me to Old Wrinkly, please? It would be a great help.”

The Peacable shrugged and held Fishlegs over his head, who held Camicazi, and they waded through the crowd on their way to find Old Wrinkly, who was probably sitting on the Cliff somewhere, giving out free future-readings to the bored Vikings.

Hiccup tangled his way through a jungle of hairy legs to reach the Dock, where his parents were waiting to give him a warm hug that he wasn't getting out off.

It got easier and easier as the collective Tribes realised that there would actually be NO SHOW and trudged back to their beds, thinning out the crowd.

That was until something caught their attention and they turned back. It might have been a sound that caught their attention first, or a jolting shadow or the general vibe of ill-intention the boy seemed to carry around with him... but the crowds eyes were fixed to the sky.

Hiccup tripped over himself to reach the Dock where he could get a better view. He looked up and watched goggle-eyed as none other than Hurricane, Snotlouts pug-ugly Riding Dragon, bucked and zig-zagged through the air.

And who was on his back? None other than Snotface Snotlout, Hiccups repulsive cousin, two times thought dead, currently alive and kicking, and clinging on for all its worth as Hurricane brought them both down in a spiralling nose dive towards the dock.

Snolout yelled something but it was too far to hear. Stoik cupped a hand to his ear.

“What did he say?”

“GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU WALNUT-BRAINED, PIG-BELLIED IDIOTS!”

They heard him this time and franticly leapt to the side, either into the water or onto the ship, but they needn't have, The Hurricane fell short of the Dock by eight feet.

The collective Tribes of Barbaria recognised him immediately with a flush of anger, and they watched, as that Traitor Of All Traitors, Snotface Snotlout, crawled out of the water and onto the Dock like a wet, unwanted rag.

They growled like dogs, hurling insults at him and tossing sand that just flew back in their faces, but it was the thought that count.

Snotlout looked between them all from his puddle on the edge of the Dock. He'd made a terrible mistake. He just kept on making terrible mistakes one after the other. Why did he come back? This hurt more than any wound. His Tribe had rejected him, and not just them but all the Tribes, and they were making it abundantly clear. Snotlout was less than worthless to them, despite all his fine Viking qualities, he was worthless. The embodiment of absolutely good-for-nothing, plaguing, leeching worthlessness.

He looked up from his knees and caught Gobbers eye in the hoard, another mistake. Gobber wasn't shouting insults like the others, he was very still, his expression flat, but Snotlout knew it was disappointment.

There was nothing to do now. Snotlout would have to get back on his Riding Dragon and retreat like the coward he was before the Vikings could find something heavier to throw than sand.

Snotlout tried to stand but the whole weight of the ocean was pressing down on him again. He caught himself from stumbling with one muscly arm and winced as the Tribes heckled and laughed.

This is when Hiccup stepped out from the deck of his fathers ship and stood on the Dock.

Such a small boy, but in that moment, he was giant. His presence quieted the Vikings and they waited, baited breathe, for his decision.

His gaze never left his cousins as he walked. He remembered how Snotlout made Fishlegs afraid to leave his hut. He remembered how he'd pinned Camicazi down and stole from her when she couldn't defend herself, and done it without remorse. He remembered every time he'd been pinched, punched and humiliated by his cousin. And for what? Because it was his Doom to become King instead of his. And by the time he reached Snotlouts bedraggled figure at the end of the Dock, he had made his decision.

He drew his sword and it screeched against the scabbard.

Snotlout eyed the rusty notched blade of Grimbeards second best sword. “Just get on with it.” He said, drooping his head.

The Vikings gawked at their King, horrified. Some of them shifted their weight foot to foot, urging themselves to stop him, but they were locked in place. Something about their Kings movements was hypnotic.

But Hiccup wouldn't kill him, he'd do far worse. He extended his hand out to Snotlout. Snotlout lifted his head then, and, why he couldn't help himself, gave his little cousin a deeply derisive look.

“This Again? If I knew I'd have to touch you TWICE I think I would've stayed with the Outcasts. At least they don't expect you to be all sweet and cuddly.”

“Can you please just take the hand. I'm trying to prove a point here, and it'd be a real help if you could play along.”

Snotlout took the hand and Hiccup helped him to his feet. The collection of Tribes breathed a sigh of relief and watched as their King shook hands with Snotlout.

Snotlout expected more applause, really, but the Vikings were never that bothered anyway. They yawned and lumbered back to their beds, in this case, comfy spots they found in the heather, you had to make do when recovering from an inter-species war. One by one the torches went out.

Only a few people stayed. Snoltouts little sister, Adelaide, ran to fetch the branding stick, it took both her arms and all her strength to carry it back down to the beach. When she returned, Hiccup gave Snotlout the Dragon-mark on his forehead. Snotlout was decently happy with how it looked, the blazing purple fitted well with his other tattoos, and he had learnt that it wasn't a slave-mark after all, especially not now he had it embezzling his forehead.

Stoik, who stayed for Hiccups benefit, patted his nephew on the back and toddled after his wife, who was already halfway up the hill.

BaggyBum The BeerBelly was planning to give his son a big bear hug and apologise profusely as he did, but when Snotlout stepped away from him, he lost his nerve, and instead gave his son's shoulder a squeeze and smiled awkwardly.

“Good to have you back, son... Err, I'm glad you're not dead? Yet! HA HA!”

The last part was supposed to be a joke but Snotlout didn't laugh.

“Well, I've got to put your little sister to bed. Come find us when you're done.”

He scooped his daughter up from where she'd latched herself around Snotlouts ankle and fallen asleep and they shambled up the hill.

Snotlout hadn't said a word since he'd gotten the Mark. He wanted his first words to be good ones, not anything like “GET OFF ME YOU MISERABLE SLOB!” or “If I do come find you, it'll be for her sake, not yours.” or even “How could YOU turn your back on me? I only ever did what you taught me to do. Well, I know why, to save your own sorry skin.” It couldn't be anything like that.

Next was Gobber The Belch, in all his bulging, farting, spirited glory. He gave Snoltout a look, his expression hadn't changed since The Hand-Shake. He didn't go over but stood strong in place like an anchored war ship, obviously expecting his former student to come to him. Snotlout plondered over, it was the least respect he ought to give, having being partly the reason why his teachers once noble and ferocious beard was cut short.

The eyed each-other. Before the war, Gobbers students came at most up to his chest, and perhaps his waist for the especially short ones, Hiccup and Fishlegs. But the war lasted a long time, his students had grown up to his height. A strange feeling for him, to look at what once was his prized student at eye-level as a MAN instead of boy.

“STAND STRAIGHT.” He ordered., to test his authority more than anything.

Snotlout, who had been slouching in a manner Gobber deemed insubordinate, took his formal stance by reflex, arms by his sides, chin up, back straight, just as Gobber had drilled into them.

“YOU HAVE LET ME DOWN, SNOTLOUT, WERE YOU NOT LISTENING AT ALL IN MY LESSONS?” Gobber began to berate. “WERE THERE DAISIES IN YOUR EARS? COULD YOU NOT HEAR MY LECTURE ON HEROIC ATTRIBUTES?”

This continued for a while, and Snotlout may have well become deaf by the end of it by how loud Gobber was shouting in his face, certainly everyone up hill could hear. He just replied “YES SIR”, “NO SIR!”, “Well, at the end of the day, that was always sort of Hiccups fault- YES SIR!”.

Eventually Gobber paused to think of what else he wanted to say. He scratched his choppy beard and looked up to the left in thought.

“At ease.”

Snotlout deflated.

“But listen here,” Gobber said, suddenly mean. “I'm going to keep an eye on you. Maybe as your old teacher, I should take some responsibility for your actions as my student. But your a man now, whatever choices you make now are YOURS and YOURS ALONE.”

Snotlout understood, and he showed it not by nodding, which would have proved nothing, but by staring at his steel tipped sandals in distress.

“Good Man!” Gobber said, thwacking Snotlout on the side with the force of a walrus.

With that done, he marched up the hill, hollering the Hooligan National Anthem at the top of his lungs. Very patriotic.

However grating the interaction was, Snotlout felt a little better because of it. Then he grit his teeth, realising his first words as a new man were “Yes sir.”

“Miserable, limpet eating, walrus armed, Gobber The Big, fat, munching, sardine smelling...”

His murderous muttering were cut short by Hiccup, still waiting patiently behind him.

“And what about it?” Snotlout spat defensively.

“Here,” Hiccup said, waving it away. “You told me you wanted this back right?”
Hiccup held the Black Star Medallion around his neck. Snotlout looked at its worn sides, from all the nights he'd spent holding it, trying to convince himself that he was meant for something, that all of it meant something. What was once shiny, was matte. They were so worn down that the black paint was close to flaking off.

That would not be a good look, Snotlout thought, grimacing. But I doubt Hiccup would know that...

“Hmmm, nah. Keep it. It looks good on you, Hiccup.”

His little cousin smiled, this was the first 'gift' he'd ever really received from him, if you didn't count knuckle-sandwiches.

“Anyway, I'm gunna get another one.” He assured.

From now on he was going to be pure as gold, the most heroicly acting hero the Wilderwest had ever seen... in it's so far two days of existence. Then he could be awarded a whole new Black Star! Maybe a few of them! Yep, he'd never say another harsh word about Fishlegs, even if he was a lousy poet who ran like a girl and had a face that could make a stink dragon gag. Nope! He'd stop tying his sister to tree branches above bushes of thorns when she was being a pest.

He'd apologise to Camicazi, and see if he could get those brilliant little pills back, not forcefully, mind, but staying completely rational. He just really needed them, you know, because of the pain of his wounds, and no other reason.

He'd be a clean bladed, top notch, HONOURABLE Viking from now on.

Snotlout and Hiccup talked about this as they swaggered up the hill. Hiccup didn't mind that the entire conversation centred around Yours Truly Snotlout, and Snotlout probably couldn't stand talking to such a weed as Hiccup if it wasn't to brag, so it worked perfectly.