Chapter Text
Hiccup never really thought much of the whole brother thing. Why would he? His mother and father had been content with one child, and the closest framework he had on how siblings worked were the twins– Hiccup knew that they weren’t the typical pair, so that data set was a total wash. Then along came Dagur with his absolute insistence on brotherhood. It was first odd, then troubling, somewhat disturbing after that, incredibly disturbing for a good year, deeply sad when he learned about Heather, and then a bit endearing later when Dagur joined their side fully. After that, the title of brother didn’t make his blood run cold anymore. In fact, he actually enjoyed it, even used it on occasion just to see the beaming smile Dagur would flash when he heard it. Not that he would ever tell Dagur that– the berserker would never let him hear the end of it.
So after all of that, no: Hiccup didn’t think twice about being called and answering to brother when Dagur and Heather called. In hindsight, though, he probably should have been a bit more careful about it. Not everyone had the luxury of knowing all that history.
Scratch that: he really should have been more careful with that, because now he was fairly certain the bounty hunter chasing him had called him Egilson spawn.
Which, to be clear, an Egilson he was not. Haddock, yes. Third in a series of three and counting, might he add. Egilson? Not on that bounty hunter’s life.
“Good Thor this is getting ridiculous,” Hiccup groaned, branches whipping past him as he dashed madly down the hill. “This was so much easier when it was dragon hunters. Toothless? Where are you?!”
The bounty hunter shouted something after him, but the blood pounding in Hiccup’s ears drowned him out. What did he even want with Hiccup anyways if he wasn’t a dragon hunter? More pressingly, if the stranger thought he was related to Dagur and Heather, that meant either or both of them were going to be in big trouble soon, provided they weren’t already in the thick of it. When he wasn’t being chased by a one-eyed man with an axe and a net he’d check up on it.
“Toothless, you good-for-nothing lizard!” Hiccup yelled. He broke the tree line. Still no flash of midnight-black, no sight of his friends, no nothing. Unless you counted the cliff face overlooking the ocean, of course. That certainly had to count for something.
There was nowhere left to run. He could throw himself off the cliff and hope for the best. Though, if the fall didn’t kill him, Astrid certainly would when she found out.
“End of the line, Egilson,” the man chuckled. He sheathed his axe and held his net at the ready. “You’re coming with me.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Hiccup replied. He took one step back, putting him that much closer to the edge. “You’re confused. I can’t imagine bounty hunting requires too many brains, but you can’t even get my family name right.”
The bounty hunter laughed. “You think me stupid, boy? You’re the peace-child. Took a lot of digging to find you, that’s for certain. So many dusty records to sift through, but you were there all the same. I think the Berserkers would pay handsomely for their lost heir.”
Hiccup took another step back. His metal leg kicked up pebbles and rolled them off the cliff’s face. He only had about one more step to take before he would plummet into the ocean.
“I don’t know what any of that means,” Hiccup said. A flash of black caught his vision, a few paces behind the bounty hunter. Stalling was the name of the game, and just for a few more minutes. “I don’t know what a peace-child is, I don’t know what records you’re sifting through, but you’re wrong. I happen to know both of the Egilsons and I can say for certain that neither of them are related to me. So now that we’ve got all that cleared up, why don’t the both of us go on our merry ways?”
He couldn’t take any more steps. It was either the net or the cliff. Hiccup didn’t want to find out what either of them felt like.
The bounty hunter looked him up and down thoughtfully. “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “You’ve got Oswald’s eyes. I’d recognize them anywhere.”
Toothless came roaring out of the treeline like an einherjar from Valhalla, mouth curved into a ferocious snarl and pulsating with violet plasma. That was the nifty thing about having a dragon: anyone with an ounce of sense tended to get out of the way fast when they came knocking. The man turned on his heel and fled, though if Hiccup had learned anything from the time he had spent in the Great Beyond, he’d be back soon enough.
“Hey, bud,” Hiccup smiled. He patted Toothless’ head. “I knew you would come for me. Now, let’s get back to– ow!”
Toothless swept his legs out from under him, then chortled as the human crashed to the dirt. Hiccup rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows.
“Okay, fine, I’m sorry. You’re not a useless lizard, bud, you’re my best friend who just so happens to be a bit tardy sometimes. Happy?”
Toothless let out a satisfied huff, then reluctantly offered his tail to Hiccup. He took it, and Toothless lifted him to his feet, then gently smacked his prosthetic fin against the back of the human’s head.
“Yeah, I probably deserved that,” Hiccup sighed. “Where’s the rest of the gang?”
As if cued, Stormfly shot out of the treeline, followed by Hookfang, Barf and Belch, and Meatlug. Hiccup braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming.
“Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, I swear to all the gods of Asgard I’m gonna lock you in my closet until you figure out how to go five minutes without attracting some sort of psycho every time we go shopping,” Astrid seethed. She was off Stormfly and marching over to him before the nadder even landed.
“Oh, you’re in trouble now,” Snotlout cackled. “She just full-named you. Quick, someone get me some popcorn.”
“Stunning display of maturity, Snotlout,” Fishlegs deadpanned. “But seriously, Hiccup, what happened? One minute you were looking at screws and the next you were gone.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hiccup groaned. He ruffled the back of his hair– a nervous habit he just couldn’t seem to shake. “Look, guys, I hate it more than you guys do. Personally, I’d love to go somewhere without being tackled or chased around by masked madmen wielding axes.”
“Y’see, dearest Hiccup,” Tuffnut said with the lofty air of a scholar, “you bring this upon yourself. The mere sight of your frail, one-legged being sends the average rogue into a frenzy.”
“Correct you are, dearest brother,” Ruffnut concurred. “And as such, we have prepared a list of suggestions so as to correct this egregious-”
“That’s enough out of both of you,” Astrid snapped. “Seriously, Hiccup, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Oh boy, where was he even going to begin to explain all of this? He put his hands on Astrid’s arms, and smiled when he felt the coiled tension melt out of them.
“I promise, I’m okay, Astrid,” he said. She smiled faintly at him, just the corners of her lips tugging up into a relieved grin. “I’m completely fine. Toothless scared him off.”
“But what was that bounty hunter even chasing you for?” Fishlegs dismounted Meatlug to examine the footprints the man had left in the dirt. “He didn’t look like any dragon hunter we’ve seen, and besides: I thought your bounty wasn’t active anymore.”
“Yeah, uh, about that,” Hiccup said slowly. “He definitely wasn’t a dragon hunter, I can tell you that.”
“But?” Snotlout promoted with a raised eyebrow. “You’re acting weird.”
The group looked at him with rapt anticipation. Might as well give the people what they want, he figured, even if it makes no sense whatsoever.
“The bounty hunter called me Egilson spawn,” Hiccup sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. “I… I think Dagur and Heather might be in big trouble.”
“Brother, have you ever considered taking a vacation? It’ll do wonders for your mind and really help you unwind. You’ve got so much tension in those skinny shoulders.”
Okay, so Dagur and Heather weren’t in any danger. In fact, as soon as they had arrived onto Berserker Island, Hiccup felt very foolish. Obviously the siblings weren’t in danger. Why would they be? Some random lunatic with an axe and an eyepatch wasn’t exactly the most sound source of information. Thor, he could practically feel the concerned press of Astrid’s brows that were sure to be aimed at him in no time.
“I’m sorry for bothering both of you,” Hiccup cringed. “It’s just…it’s just that–”
“Hiccup, it’s fine,” Heather cut him off. She smiled and punched him gently in the shoulder. “We’re always glad to have you here. Better safe than sorry.”
Hiccup kicked a stone down the path they were walking down. “I’m just being paranoid,” he sighed. “Gods, all of this must really be getting to me.”
“As I said: vacation,” Dagur said. “You and Toothless need to go fly to some desolate island and sit in a cave in complete silence and solitude for a week. I’m telling you, you’ll feel like a new person.”
“I’m fairly certain that the complete silence and cave-solitude would only work for you,” Heather said. “But he’s not wrong. Hiccup, you carry so much on your shoulders.”
“You’ll break if you don’t know when to take a step back,” Dagur added. He stopped, and put his hand on Hiccup’s shoulders. “We’re serious. You’re basically our family, Hiccup. If you ever need it, just come here for a few days. We’ve got woods and mountains you can roam to your Hiccup-y heart’s content until you’re ready to throw yourself back into the fray.”
Heather nodded. “I agree with my whole heart. You will always have a home on Berserker Island, no matter what. You’re one of us.”
Her words made Hiccup feel very warm inside. He had to look away from Heather and Dagur’s eyes
(green, with flecks of brown around the iris, like his. Round, like his. Familiar)
to keep himself from tearing up.
“Thanks, guys,” he said. “That really means a lot to me.”
The path was winding to its end where the siblings’ hut was silhouetted in the setting sun. For a moment, Hiccup seriously considered taking them up on their offer. It would be nice to stay away from the edge for a while, it would be nice to unwind and not have to think about the Dragon Eye or Krogan and his enslaved singetails. A lot of things would be nice, but how could he just abandon his mission like that?
When everything was done, he decided, that’s when he would take a breather. When Krogan was gone for good and the dragons of the Great Beyond were no longer in danger at every turn. That’s when he would rest.
The gang was waiting for them inside expectantly. Well, at least Hiccup’s news was expected and non-earth-shattering for once.
“So?” Astrid said from her perch atop a crate. “Care to fill us in?”
“I’m telling you, there’s no way Hiccup and Dagur and Heather are related,” Snotlout said. “Me and Hiccup were babies together. I think I would have known if Stoick stole him from the Berserkers.”
“My dad wouldn’t steal me, Snotlout,” Hiccup sighed. “But you’re right. I don’t even know why I freaked out. Bounty hunters will say anything to get under your skin, and I let this one win.”
“You didn’t ‘let him win’,” Astrid punctuated with air quotes, “you were just checking out a lead. If some random bounty hunter was chasing me and said that I had Spitelout’s eyes I’d be pretty freaked out too.”
“I guess,” Hiccup said. But if Astrid was right, why was he still feeling that nagging sensation in his chest?
“Do you guys want to stay for dinner at least?” Heather asked. “We’d be more than happy to cook for you.”
“Oh Thor, I thought you’d never ask,” Tuffnut said. He clasped his hands together like a beggar. “Heather, I dream about your cooking all the time. We’re stuck with Fishlegs’ cooking now, and let me tell you, sister, that man can’t cook worth a-”
“Do you ever stop talking?” Snotlout cut in. “Obviously, we’re staying for dinner. Sorry, Fishlegs.”
“None taken,” he grumbled. “What can we do to help?”
Tasks were passed out, and soon the little hut became lively with the sounds of chopping vegetables, bubbling broths, and chatter. Outside there may have been a war, but it felt more like a distant nightmare as they cooked. Hiccup had been charged with bringing vegetables from the garden and washing them off for Dagur and Heather to prepare, though his progress was slowed by the fondness for his friends warming his chest. He watched the twins bicker over who got to salt the fish, he watched Astrid half-lecture Snotlout about how to properly add spices to the stew, he watched Heather and Dagur laugh together and move like extensions of the other as they cut vegetables and couldn’t help the overwhelming wave of affection washing over him.
Family, Hiccup figured. That’s really what this was: a family.
“Fishlegs?” Astrid asked, batting Snotlout’s hand away from the stew. “You’ve been pretty quiet all night. What’s eating you?”
“Not the stew,” Ruffnut joked.
Snotlout rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense, Ruff.” He stole a bowl from the table and ladled himself some of the steaming stew despite Astrid’s protests.
Fishlegs blinked and shook his head. “Nothing, it’s stupid.”
“If it’s bothering you it’s not stupid,” Hiccup said. “C’mon Fishlegs, what’s wrong?”
Fishlegs’ eyes settled on him, then slowly moved to Heather, then to Dagur, then back to Hiccup.
“It’s just that…” he said hesitantly. “You guys really do have the same eyes. It’s uncanny, actually.”
“Fishie, not everyone that has green eyes is related,” Snotlout groaned. “I told you, Hiccup is for sure Stoick’s kid. We did all this the first time around we met Heather, remember? No secret half-siblings here.”
“I’m not saying they’re related because they have green eyes, Snotlout,” Fishlegs argued. “Just look. Have any of you ever actually looked at the three of them side by side?”
Hiccup looked at Dagur and Heather, who looked just as confused as he was. “Fishlegs, I think you might be a little off on this one,” he said slowly. “Even if we had the same eyes, so what? We look nothing alike at all.”
“Well that doesn’t technically mean anything,” Tuffnut said. “Heather and Dagur are actually related and they don’t look anything alike. Resemblance isn’t a requirement for being related.”
“Wait, why are you suddenly on Fishlegs’ side now?” Snotlout snapped. “I told you guys, they’re not related. The words of some crazy bounty hunter aren’t a qualified paternity test.”
“I thought we all knew that Heather is basically girl Hiccup and just weren’t saying anything about it” Ruffnut shrugged. “If you wanna go down the whole ‘siblings look alike’ thing. Or would Hiccup be boy Heather?”
“What the Hel are you two talking about?” Astrid asked. The twins shared a knowing look, then set down their utensils and pulled Hiccup and Heather forward.
“Y’see, there’s two types of twins,” Ruffnut said over Heather’s protests. With quick fingers she undid the berserker’s raven plait. “There’s identical twins: that’s when only one egg is fertilized in the womb. It’s also known by the term monozygotic. As the name implies, one fertilized zygote split into two will produce two genetically identical people.”
“Then, of course, you have twins like us,” Tuffnut continued. He passed hairpins to Ruffnut as she worked on shaping Heather’s hair. “We’re fraternal twins: dizygotic. We’ve got different DNA, which is why one of us is a girl and one of us is a boy. Two fertilized eggs, two different people.”
“All of this to say is that twins recognize twins,” Ruffnut proudly proclaimed. She presented Heather to the group. “Ta da!”
“…whoa,” was the only thing the group could muster, courtesy of Snotlout. When Heather’s hair was like that, all pinned back short and sticking ever which way, she…
Well, she really did look like Hiccup.
“Okay, okay, let’s just think about this logically,” Hiccup said, trying to ignore the fact that looking at Heather was like looking into a mirror. “Our birthdays are five weeks apart, guys. We can’t be twins on that fact alone. Secondly, again, just because we all have similar eyes doesn’t mean we’re related, for Thor’s sake. By that reasoning the twins aren’t even related.”
“Hiccup…” Astrid started. He took a breath. Gods, not her too.
“What, Astrid. What?”
There it was: the concerned knot formed by the tension of her brows pulling together. Hiccup hated that look: usually, it brought conversations he really didn’t want to have.
“Hiccup, you don’t think that it’s just a bit weird that you and Heather look that much alike?” she asked. “And, I mean, that bounty hunter said that he had searched through records to find you. He wasn’t operating off of hearsay or a delusion.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything either,” Hiccup argued. Frustration began to bubble up in his chest, though along with it was something like fear. “For the last time: there’s no way we could be related. This is just a weird coincidence and nothing more. Now can we please drop this? I’m regretting even bringing it up in the first place.”
Heather blinked. “Wait, the hunter said he looked through records for you?” She shook out the pins in her updo, her hair falling down and around her face. “You didn’t tell us that part.”
“I…I didn’t think I needed to,” Hiccup said. “It was just some crazy guy. We’ve heard weirder.”
Heather raised an eyebrow. “Well, did he say anything else to you?”
“Yeah, he, uh, he did.” Why was he feeling sheepish all of the sudden? He felt like he needed to fiddle with the edge of his tunic like he was fifteen years old all over again. “He called me a peace-child and said I had Oswald’s eyes.”
Dagur, who had been completely silent and contemplative during the whole rigmarole, dropped the knife in his hand, the blade clattering noisily onto the table. His green eyes blew wide with shock.
“A peace-child?” he said, like he didn’t believe his own ears. “You’re sure? You’re completely sure?”
“What? Yes, Dagur, I’m completely sure that he called me a peace-child. What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dagur was out the door and into the night before Hiccup could even finish his sentence. Heather wasn’t far behind him, looking as confused as Hiccup felt.
“Hey!” he shouted after Dagur. He shook his head and motioned for the rest of the gang to follow. “Gods, come on guys.”
He trampled down the path to a towering building on the outskirts of the village. An archive, if the stone statues of Mímir holding the roof up had anything to say about it. In the glowing light of the moon he caught Dagur slipping through the doors, and Heather following not far behind him.
Hiccup crashed through the doors. A pool of warm light from the lantern in Dagur’s hand was already lit, though beyond the yellow flame there was only darkness. He was frantically tracing his fingers across shelves of thick, dusty tomes, muttering to himself.
“Dagur, you can’t just run off like that,” Heather said at his side. “What are we looking for? What’s a peace-child?”
The doors banged open, bringing in the rest of the dragon riders. It’s a party now, Hiccup thought ruefully.
“Would…would it kill you to…to ever not be crazy for a second and tell us what’s going on?” Snotlout panted. “Oh Thor, I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“Do it away from me,” Astrid said with a curled lip. “But actually, Dagur: what are you talking about?”
“The gift of a peace-child is an old Berserker tradition,” Dagur explained. He pivoted to another shelf, still searching. “When Berserkers make peace with another tribe, a Berserker child is presented to the other village as a symbol of building community or some dragon-shit like that.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Fishlegs said, holding up his hands. “Berserkers just give away children?”
“Not in three hundred years, we haven’t,” Dagur replied. “There hasn’t been any record of a peace-child in generations. Some chief down the line figured out that gifting babies is a pretty fucked-up thing to do, so we stopped doing it.” He paused his search, and looked at Hiccup with wide eyes. “If that hunter knows what a peace-child is, he means business.”
“What are you even looking for?” Heather asked. She peeked over her brother’s shoulder as he pulled out a book the thickness of a small tree and slammed it down on a rickety table by the shelf.
“This is a record of all Berserker births since our tribe was created.” He flipped through the pages haphazardly. “If there’s a record of a peace-child, it’ll be here.”
The pages stilled. Hiccup looked at the small print: at the top was the year, or rather, the year nineteen years in the past– the year she and Hiccup had been born.
“There’s me,” Heather pointed out. She laid her finger on her name. “But no Hiccup.”
“This whole thing is ridiculous,” Snotlout grumbled. “Dagur, you would have remembered a whole baby going missing from your house, right? People don’t just forget they have siblings.”
“I mean…” Heather shrugged. Snotlout waved his hand.
“That’s a special case. Dagur: you would have remembered it. If you don’t remember a baby Hiccup, that’s the end of the story.”
“That’s the problem,” Dagur replied. A shadow passed over his face. “I think I would remember. I don’t know.”
“You think?” Fishlegs asked, but Dagur was off once again, this time counting quietly to himself and staring directly at the cobbled floor. “Dagur, what do you mean you think?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Dagur snapped. “Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four–”
He was counting the cobbles, Hiccup realized, and when he stopped at thirty-seven he dropped to his knee, pulled a small knife from his belt, and began to carve into the mortar around the stone. When the stone was loose he pried it from the ground, and from the hole he created pulled out a dusty wooden chest with the berserker symbol carved onto the half-rotted lock.
“What is that?” Heather asked. Dagur set the chest on the table and drove the handle of his knife against the clasp. The metal snapped and clattered to the floor.
“It’s dad’s private records,” Dagur explained. “Every Berserker chief keeps a record of his days and any other information they’d like to keep on the down low. I remember watching dad bury this the night before he disappeared. I’ve never cracked into it before because I didn’t think there would be anything useful in here.”
Hiccup looked into the chest. It held a leather-bound journal, a stack of letters tied together with twine, and a pendant in the bottom. He reached in and pulled the necklace out, turning it over in his hands.
“A newborn charm,” he said to no one in particular. “Why would there be a newborn charm in his chest?”
“We’re about to find out.” Dagur flipped through the journal. Finding the proper spot, he began to read out loud.
“I, Oswald Egilson IV, Chief of Berserkers, present the account of my days.
My wife has finally given birth. The process was arduous and painful; she sleeps now– I can hear her breathing as I pen this. The birth of any child, especially that of a chief’s, should be a cause for celebration. Yet, I see no happiness in her eyes. I can only hope that with the coming days she will fully enjoy the children Frigg has given her.
Dagur muttered through a few lines, then resumed.
“Peace has been brokered between us and the people of Berk. It is a fragile, tenuous peace, once that must be strengthened if there is any hope for the both of us to endure. An action this unprecedented requires an equally unprecedented offering.
It has been four weeks since my wife has borne children. I have not seen her smile for some time. Three children–”
He paused, and looked up at Hiccup.
“I think you’ll probably want to read this part,” he said. He passed the book to Hiccup, who accepted it with hands that just wouldn’t stop shaking. Hiccup cleared his throat, trying to ignore the burning anxiety rising in his chest, and resumed:
“Three children is too great a burden for my wife to bear. A shadow has passed over my wife, one that I cannot chase away. The youngest of the twins has not yet cried, not even upon his birth. He is silent, and it frightens me. I believe he must be cursed by the gods. In more barbaric times, I would have taken the weakest child and left it to the wilds, either to pass to Hel or be rescued by one more philanthropic than me. We are a civilized people, though, and nothing so horrific shall be done.
Instead, the child shall be a symbol of peace and prosperity. In one week my family will travel to the island of Berk to cement the unity we have fought so hard for.”
Hiccup swallowed back the knot forming in his throat. He gripped the book tighter, his fingers crinkling and creasing the old pages. He wanted to believe that this was all just a misunderstanding, a hoax, or just some crazy coincidence. The words in front of him told a very different story.
Hiccup fought to control his breathing. With a trembling voice, he finished the words on the page.
“I, Oswald Egilson IV, Chief of the Berserkers, shall offer up my youngest son to Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk, as an assurance and a token of the peace that will endure between our people for years to come.”