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Prince Jackson of the Kingdom of Hawthorne pressed his back against the cool marble of the wall. He was hidden between two armour stands, eavesdropping on the royal council meeting taking place in the hall round the corner.
The voices muttered anxiously as Jack pressed closer and peeked his eye out, careful not to catch his fine tunic on any armour corners.
The morning sunlight spread through the high windows. The long rectangular council table held twenty-two seats full, save of course for the empty throne at the head, which belonged to Jack’s grandfather, King Mim.
Two other seats lay empty, those that belonged to Jack’s parents. Prince Jeremiah was Jack’s father, and the youngest of King Mim’s eight children. And with his wife, Princess Sarah, Jack’s mother, he had been whisked off to the Northern Kingdom to visit Sarah’s elder brother, King North, Jack’s Uncle.
Jack had suffered a minor riding accident and sprained his ankle, forced to stay behind. They’d said the visit would be short, and that they’d return within the week, promising to not leave Jack alone at this toxic court for too long.
Luck had not been on his side however. Due to several blizzards, Jack’s parents had been unable to travel. One week had turned into two, and two in three. Fully recovered, Jack had been fending off his awful extended family by himself for over a month now…and he could sense that things were about to get so, so much worse.
“A decision must be made! Today!” Advisor Shen insisted, standing from his seat. “We are running out of time!”
“We should wait for the king to be well!” Princess Emily-Jane, Jack’s elder cousin, argued.
“And if he doesn’t get well?” Princess Gothel, Jack’s aunt, warned. “What then? We just let this savage viking approach our borders?”
“He’ll take us for everything we’re worth.” Another advisor whimpered over his tea.
“This is serious.” Aunt Gothel continued. “He has just taken Versia, a continental kingdom! He did it in one damn night! He’s shown that his eye looks to the East! Hawthorne will be next on his invasion agenda. We must act now!”
“And do what, Your Highness?” The advisor shot back. “Conscript? The army could triple in size and it would still not be enough to stop him and those dragons!”
A fork scraped the edge of a teacup, at the right hand of the empty throne.
Jack’s eldest Uncle, Crown Prince Pitch, took a slow contemplative sip. “There are other ways to turn his attentions.”
“Well.” Gothel urged. “Out with it, brother.”
“We need not be heavy handed. The warlord will only see it as insolence.” Pitch explained. “We must instead cater to what we know of his character.”
“Which is nothing!” Emily protested to her father. “Nothing but spun up rumours that no one can verify! We don’t even know what he looks like!”
“We hear whispers of his appetite, don’t we?” Pitch offered.
Emily rolled her eyes. She didn’t like Jack all that much, but she was, by far, Jack’s favourite out of them all. She was barely tolerable in a sea of snakes.
“Yes and that he eats babies when enraged.” She drawled.
“I heard a barmaid tell a story of his capability to transform at will.” Advisor Shen added. “Maybe that’s how he eats them? In dragon form?”
Emily chuckled, sweeping some of her dark long hair behind her shoulder. “You don’t honestly believe that one do you?”
“He’s the dragon Warlord!” Shen protested.
The Crown Prince ignored their squabbling, resting his eyes on his sick father’s empty throne. He came to his towering height, swirling a teaspoon through his drink as he walked slowly around the table.
“Many kingdoms have sent tribute to the warlord to earn his appeasement.” He began. “They have retained their autonomy in doing so. They send him ships full of gold and finery.”
“There is nothing Hawthorne could offer the warlord that he does not already have.” Gothel pointed out.
Pitch shook his head. “I speak of his sexual appetites, dear sister.”
Emily Jane narrowed her eyes at her father. “What are you implying, Dad?”
“We have all heard rumour that he is an insatiable beast. They say his tastes are varied, yet rare, and he is not insusceptible to particular beauties.”
“Beautiful enough to die in his bed.” Gothel grumbled in distaste.
Jack had heard these rumours about the viking warlord too. He assumed most were tall tales but it was impossible to know.
“No one has done it yet,” Pitch went on. “But I suggest we send him a very particular gift.”
Aunt Gothel frowned. “Sending bed warmers is a very old practice, Pitch. Rather dated, I should say.”
Pitch shrugged. “That may be true but our recent ancestors knew it worked wonders in tensions like these. That ‘old practice’ has saved many generations of soldiers from needless deaths when met with an unbeatable enemy.”
“But who?” Emily asked. “Who could possibly be condemned to such a thing?”
Pitch tapped his cup, placing it down so he could spread his hands on the table.
“We cannot send a peasant. That would be so insolent that it would be an invitation for invasion. It would be worse than spitting at his feet. We must show that we value his good will.”
“A noble ?” Shen asked, eyes wide in his pure disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?”
Pitch smirked. “Not just any noble…a royal.”
Gothel laughed. “He has lost his mind.”
The rest of the advisors and high ranking royal family soon dissolved into grumbling protests and denial, that is, until Pitch spoke a name.
“Prince Jackson.”
The hall quietened so much that all Jack could hear was the blood thundering through his ears. He stayed hidden, frozen in fear, rooted to the spot.
The silence was so tangible as each face contemplated the name, the option . Jack watched in horror as many of them reached the same conclusion.
“Well…” Shen began with a shrug. “He is a nuisance.”
“With a father who thinks himself above the rest of the King’s children.” Pitch added. “With a father who is not here.”
They all mulled it over, some beginning to nod.
Pitch continued. “Prince Jackson, despite his insufferable attitude, is undeniably a very striking young man, uniquely so, even. Enough to appease a warlord definitely. And my dear siblings,” He addressed some of the royals. “Our youngest brother has all but estranged himself from our family and this kingdom. In a time of crisis he isn’t even here! He’s off in the North!”
“It would be convenient...” Gothel said. “It sure would teach our Jerry a thing or two. Imagine the look on his face when he comes back and we tell him his only child has been shipped to the Archipelago?” She cackled quietly.
“Jackson is dead last in the line of succession.” Shen added. “The throne can certainly afford to lose him.”
Pitch nodded emphatically. “And we would be losing him to an excellent cause, a cause that could secure the longevity of the kingdom against such a major threat. Jackson would finally be useful.”
Emily Jane had been quiet, her frown growing steadily stronger. “But can we send him to his death, father?” She asked, sending an uncomfortable hush down the table.
Jack, even as he felt the world falling out from under his feet as his own flesh and blood discussed selling him like some fucking broodmare, he felt a glimmer of hope and faith in his favourite cousin. Could she save him?
“You know he will not survive. He would die a horrible death at the hands of the warlord. It would not be quick and there would be no mercy.” She shook her head. “He can be a pain sometimes but he is still my cousin, he is still our blood. He doesn’t deserve this, no one does.” She turned up a defiant chin. “I will not support this. It is outrageous that Hawthornian pride should take such an assault.”
A few murmurs of agreement echoed down the table as Pitch and his daughter stared each other down. The two were usually in agreement on most subjects. This would not be one of them.
Pitch sighed, as if he was grieved by his conclusions, which was bullshit, Jack knew. He hated his uncle.
“It is a noble sacrifice and we’ve no other options. Difficult decisions must be made and the King is too unwell to be making them. Are we decided?” He addressed the table.
Shen stood. “All in favour of the Crown Prince’s proposal of tribute?” The advisor asked.
Jack leant further round the corner, his heart hammering in his chest as palms rose into the air. He counted them like his life depended on it, which it did, not that he would be able to do anything about it either way.
Out of the twenty-two seats, Jack saw as Emily Jane and several others kept their hands firmly down. It was nice to know that at least some of the Hawthornian Royal Council still has the most basic of morals.
But it meant nothing.
Eight hands stayed down.
Fourteen rose up, and to Jack, they may as well have been raised axes over his neck.
“And we have found the council’s majority.” Shen announced. “It is decided. Prince Jackson shall be escorted to the Isle of Berk, to be paid as tribute to the Dragon Warlord.”
The armour set fell, clattering to the ground and sending a horrible echo through the hall. Jack stumbled out from behind the wall, finding every eye trained on him.
Reduced to his most basic instincts, Jack did all he could ever have done.
He ran.
“Guards!”
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Jack could safely say that this was the worst journey of his life. Not because of the impending doom awaiting him at its closure, not sleazy sailors that leered at him through the bars of the brig, not because of the metal shackles that had rubbed sores into his wrists and ankles and not because of the fabric gag wedged between his teeth.
Sure, all of that sucked, but it was nothing compared to the smell .
The ship was damp and horrid, smelling of algae, rats, sailor’s feces or body odour. Not to mention the spoiled food in poorly sealed barrels.
If Jack was thankful for anything, it was the fact that he didn’t get sea sick. Dealing with all this on top of his own vomit would’ve been a step too far.
And to think…he’d been so close to avoiding all this.
After escaping the council hall, Jack, in all his knowledge of the castle, had actually managed to escape the dozens of guards that had chased after him. He’d even made it to the stables, thankful for the fact his dark stallion, Sparrow, was already tacked up for his morning ride.
He’d had no time to formulate a better plan nor grab supplies. His only hope had been to make it out of town and off road where he could navigate his way north, hopefully avoiding all main roads in a desperate attempt to reach his parents.
What he hadn’t anticipated was that his uncle had expected him to run. Pitch had known Jack would flee the second he learnt of the tribute, and had preemptively closed the inner kingdom’s gates. Jack had been entirely cornered by the entire royal guard, and had had no control since then.
He’d been taken from his horse, had his limbs chained and sent back to the palace. You’d think a kingdom would treat one of their own royals with more respect, but Jack had little to garner. He’d always been an outsider here, only protected by his parents, and now he’d been reduced to nothing more than a bargaining chip.
It was very sobering.
Escorted by twenty guards, it had been a day’s ride to the harbour, where Jack had then been pulled to the grimy ship, keeping one guard with him amongst all the weird sailors.
Seven long days had passed, and as horrible as it was, Jack didn’t mind staying if it meant he didn’t have to go to Berk.
The first three days had been tolerable, if only because he could annoy his single remaining guard with his dramatic laments of betrayal, but then that had earned him the gag so…you win some you lose some.
He’d taken to counting how many times the shipped bobbed up and down each day, if only to find the general average, for useless scientific data that served nothing but his eternally bored mind.
You can imagine his surprise when his counting was interrupted by a particularly violent lurch to the left. Jack was alright, since it only pushed him against the wall he was already leaning on. However, his guard was thrown from his chair and into the mopping bucket, making Jack point and laugh at him through the gag.
What wasn’t funny however, was the red tail that drooped down past Jack’s tiny barred window.
A dragon’s tail…followed by what were clearly reptilian noises from above and the rustling of big wings.
Oh god…
“Yohan?! State your business!” A tired voice hollered from the deck.
“Hello master Snotlout! A bit different today! My ship has been commissioned to transport tribute from the Kingdom of Hawthorne to your Dragon Warlord of the Archipelago!” A sailor replied.
“Hey fifteenth tribute today.” A gravelly voice chuckled. “Is that a new record?”
“Keep em coming boys!” A raspy, slightly feminine voice cackled. “I found gold teeth in the last one!”
“The tribute is down under I assume.” The first tired voice, Snotlout presumably, asked.
“Yes sir.” Yohan affirmed.
“Good. We’ll escort you to the harbour.”
And with that, the ship lurched again as what felt like two dragons pushed off consecutively.
Dragon riders. Oh god. This was actually happening. Jack was actually- He did his best to hide his panic. The man had said a harbour, and a harbour meant land, land that Jack might be able to escape into if only he could get out of these damn chains!
“Don’t get any ideas.” His guard warned.
Jack ignored him. He was too busy trying to keep himself from panicking as his doom rushed forwards, manifesting in the sound of ropes being thrown and voices calling in the ship’s landing.
The vessel lurched again with that massive weight.
“Right.” It was Snotlout back again. “How many carts will we need to call down?” The man asked, with the sound of his footsteps being led down the stairs.
Jack’s guard pulled out his keys and unlocked the rusty bars of the brig.
“None I should think.” Yohan replied. “Here it is.” He gestured, coming into view.
The dragon rider came into view too. He was a bulky guy, with a light stubble and sharp blue eyes. Spikey black hair emerged from beneath his horned helmet and matched with his black bear fur spread across his upper chest and shoulders.
He looked down at Jack in confusion, then around to the otherwise empty brig.
“Here’s what?” He asked, he was missing a tooth.
“The tribute.” The guard answered.
Snotlout blinked. “Him?” He asked, pointing a finger.
“Yes. C’mon, get up, Your Highness.” Jack’s guard stepped in and hauled him to his feet before pulling down his hood and removing his gag. “This is Prince Jackson of Hawthorne.”
Jack licked out his mouth, removing the dull taste of the rag.
Snotlout was still staring at him, as if waiting for the punchline of a joke.
“Is the tribute in his pockets?” He asked, somewhat comically.
“I wish.” Jack grumbled, finding his voice surprisingly hoarse.
Or maybe not a surprise. They hadn’t given him a whole lot of fresh water.
Snotlout looked between Yohan and the guard. “Wait, so Hawthorne has sent a person as tribute to the Chief?” He echoed. “A Prince?”
The guard nodded, pulling out a scroll, sealed with Jack’s uncle’s emblem. “Here.”
Snotlout took the document, opening it and scanning it, growing more and more concerned by every line.
He swallowed, folded it into his back pocket and sighed. “Holy shit. Um. This has never happened before.” He frowned, eyeing Jack’s restraints. “Why’s a prince chained up?”
“Take a wild guess.” Jack said lowly, hoping his deadpan made him look grittier than he felt.
He wanted it to be very clear he was not here by choice.
And now that the wheels were beginning to turn, Jack felt an odd calmness descend onto himself then. It was a cold chill that nestled into his soul and froze all of his nerves into quietness. Maybe this was the first stage of acceptance he was experiencing.
It was happening.
Jack was going to die.
Snotlout looked like he had something sour in his mouth. “Unlock him.” He ordered.
Jack’s guard did so, and he resisted the urge to rub his red wrists lest he look like a weakling. What surprised him was Snotlout snatching the chains from the guard, like he didn’t trust him to keep them.
The four of them stepped out of the brig, and Jack shielded his eyes after a week of no daylight.
Curled around the bow of the ship, with most of his upper body resting on the front of the deck, lay a massive red dragon with a long neck and tall dark spikes protruding from its back.
Normally, Jack would jump and marvel in the face of such a new and amazing sight, but right now the poor prince could only see a creature symbolising his fate. His reaper, so to speak.
He was being sent to the dragon warlord.
“I’ll take him up,” Snotlout said, climbing onto his saddle gesturing for Jack to follow on behind him.
He did so rather robotically, which was sad, considering it was his first time touching a dragon. The beast’s yellow eyes beheld him curiously as he climbed on. If Jack didn’t know any better, he might’ve called the expression worry. He sat between two of the dragon’s spinal barbs.
Sure, Jack was free from the chains, but looking at the multilayered harbour as it was now, filled with bustling vikings, there was no chance Jack could make it. His lacklustre plan crumpled.
He contemplated throwing himself over the side in a last ditch effort to claim his own fate, but drowning yourself was rather difficult when you were surrounded by creatures that could simply pluck you out of the water.
“You guys can be on your way.” Snotlout told the sailors.
“Who’s that?” The raspy feminine voice called from up high.
Jack raised his eye to find the second dragon curled around the mast. It was a green two-headed one with two riders, peering down with four eyes. It was clear that the riders were twins.
“I’ll explain later.” Snotlout replied. “You guys go do the other ships.”
As the other dragon took off and disappeared round the bend of the Isle, one of the sailors cleaning the deck threw Jack a yellow grin.
“Looks like the warlord’s gonna have some fun tonight.” He jeered, elbowing one of his friends. “I’m jealous.”
Another one sent a sickening wolf whistle from further down the ship, making some of the crew chuckle.
Oh good. That was good. At least Jack’s death was amusing for everyone. Small victories.
Snotlout didn’t appear to find it funny. “Hookfang.” He said lightly to his equally unamused dragon.
The beast let out a short and sharp burst of furious flame right at the ship’s sail, setting it alight to the dismay of the sailors as they scrambled to put it out.
“Oh whoops!” Snotlout called as they took off into the air. “Sorry guys! Hooky has a cold! He sneezes a lot!”
Jack should’ve been whooping himself, laughing at the fact he was flying on a dragon. But he couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but feel sick. This wasn’t fun.
He was being brought to the warlord.
“Did they hurt you?” Snotlout asked tonelessly as they scaled the isle, turning to soar over what appeared to be a very busy village. “On the voyage.”
“No.” Jack replied.
It was true. His guard was an asshole, but cargo or not, Jack was still a prince of Hawthorne, and the guard had taken care of any handsy sailors who’d had too much to drink during the night.
“Hmm.” Snotlout grunted.
After a moment of flying, it became clear to Jack that maybe Snotlout didn’t know where they were going exactly. He kept looking down, surveying the streets.
It was only when he zeroed in on a very large blonde viking carrying a bunch of tomes when Snotlout sent Hookfang down to hover.
“Hey! Oi! Fishlegs!” He called.
Fishlegs, apparently, spun around squinting upwards. “Yeah?!”
“Where’s the warlord at?”
Fishlegs paused, before smirking. “Why are you calling him that? You never call him that-”
“ Ahem ,” Snotlout cleared his throat, jabbing a finger in Jack’s direction. “Trying to keep up political appearances here, Fishface!”
“Ohhh.” Fishlegs chuckled. “Right. He’s in the great hall with Astrid.”
And with that the viking veered his dragon to the left, flying up past the village to a long set of stone steps leading to two massive doors, bigger than any in Hawthorne’s palace.
Hookfang touched down smoothly, and Snotlout slid off. Jack followed, finding his legs decently sturdy, even if there was static in his ears.
Snotlout threw him a weird look before pushing the doors open, revealing the great hall.
The space was simply monumental, taking up what seemed like the entire hollowed out, first peak of the cascading Isle of Berk. The ceiling was so tall it simply disappeared into darkness, held up by multiple giant pillars assorted near the central hearth.
Several benches and tables were littered chaotically here and there, so Jack assumed this place was frequently used for feasts, yet at this time of the day it lay empty.
Or almost empty.
Three figures sat at the head table, one of them in what appeared to be some kind of wooden throne adorned with carved ravens.
Jack first saw the blonde shieldmaiden with a stern brow scrutinising him as he and Snotlout approached.
Second, he saw the heralded Night Fury, the steed of the Warlord, staring at him with slitted eyes sharp enough to cut paper.
And thirdly, and finally, sat in his throne, with papers strewn out before him, lay the man Jack could only deduce to be the Dragon Warlord of the Archipelago. The man who would seal Jack’s fate.
…
…
He was not quite what Jack had expected.
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Hiccup heard the great hall’s doors creak open, but he didn’t look up just yet. It was probably just Snotlout coming with the weekly voyage report. Instead he spent a few moments longer dealing with the maths he was stuck in, counting supply forms, taking stocks and handling correspondence etcetera etcetera rise and repeat.
He’d already worked his way through three ink wells today. It made sense. They’d tackled the Kingdom of Versia a week and a half ago, after discovering a black market circle specialising in the dragon trade.
Taking the kingdom had ruffled some feathers and now Hiccup had been dealing with the fallout, even if the actual invasion had gone very smoothly with an almost immediate surrender.
Doing all of this weekly paperwork was quite possibly his least favourite day of the week. He called it warlord-day. It was so unbelievably boring that Hiccup could only get anything done in the great hall since anywhere else was far too distracting.
Astrid, as his right hand, usually took pity and lent him a hand to get things done quicker. Toothless stayed because he knew as soon as warlord-day was over, it was right up into the air for a night flight to stretch their limbs.
But fate would have it that tonight went slightly differently.
Hiccup’s ears absently picked out the sound of two sets of footsteps. He finally glanced up.
It was indeed Snotlout, but he’d brought someone with him.
It was a young man, with striking white hair and chilly blue eyes. The first thing Hiccup’s mind could register was that the stranger was absurdly good looking, with a pair of almost sweet ears framing his perfectly angular face.
But that wasn’t all…his eyes were fogged over and tired. His thin lips were dry and cracked, and a bobbing throat betrayed his dehydration. His pale skin, while smooth, was troublingly sallow.
What threw Hiccup the most was the fine set of clothes he was in. Beneath a finely woven cloak, his blue tunic was clearly continental and embroidered with silver, matching his dark breeches and boots. Despite the expensiveness, Hiccup found various rips and tears here and there, as well as scuffs of mud.
Astrid asked the question before Hiccup could.
“Who’s this?”
Snotlout took an apprehensive breath. “For our dear fearsome warlord,” He began, instantly making Hiccup roll his eyes. “I present a tribute from Hawthorne.” He paused. “To appease a non-invasion apparently.”
Hiccup opened his mouth. “He’s here to give a tribute?” He asked, leaning forward.
“No.” Snoutlout gestured at the foggy eyed young man. “He is the tribute.”
Meaning dawned on him then, and his mind zeroed in on how the man held his hands close together in front of him naturally, as if they had been bound not too long ago.
He shared a wary glance with Astrid.
“...They’re sending people now?” She asked, half in shock, half in disbelief.
“Apparently.” Snotlout shrugged. “It’s not just that either, they’re sending their own blood too.”
Hiccup managed to tear his eyes from the stranger, who was watching him with a strange kind of resignation. “What do you mean?”
“The guy said he’s the prince.” Snotlout replied.
“ A prince.” The stranger interrupted with a hoarse voice. “I’m not important.” He murmured. “That’s why.”
“Oh.” Snotlout swallowed, reaching to awkwardly pat the guy on the back. “That’s rough buddy.”
“What’s his name?” Hiccup asked.
Snotlout was about to answer, but his memory failed him. “That’s a good question actually.”
“You don’t know?” Astrid huffed.
“I forgot.” Snotlout grumbled. “I was focusing too hard on the prince bit to remember what came after.”
“Jackson.” The man said.
Hiccup leaned back in his father’s throne and pinched his brow. “The carts were useful in the beginning but now they just take up space.” He sighed. “But people? They’re sending people ?”
“Shackled people.” Snotlout added, throwing some chains onto the desk.
He then grabbed Jackson’s wrist and pulled down the sleeve, revealing a nasty sore.
Hiccup gritted his teeth. “I thought Hawthorne was among the more tolerable Kingdoms.” He growled.
“They are…” Astrid confirmed. “But they must be pissing themselves if they’re sending a prince , low succession or not.”
Hiccup gestured a flippant hand. “What am I even supposed to do with a prince?” He asked rhetorically.
Yet, as always, Snotlout was more than happy to oblige any and all of Hiccup’s rhetorical questions.
“Well…”
“What?” Astrid prompted.
Snotlout scratched the back of his head, glancing at Jackson, as though uncomfortable to bring this up around him. “The guys on the ship did make some…implications. I think Jackson here may have been sent to uh… satisfy the warlord’s needs.” He explained sheepishly. “Y’know what all those rumours are like, Hiccup.”
Hiccup’s jaw dropped.
“You mean they-” He put his face in his hands. “Oh Thor Almighty, give me strength.”
Astrid beheld Jackson with a new found gentleness. “They sent you as a…bed warmer?”
Jackson glanced at her, something thinly veiled and careful passing over his face. “This has not been my most dignified week.” He admitted quietly.
Hiccup’s hand was over his mouth, and his heart couldn’t help but break for the young man stood before him.
Hiccup knew what those stupid, outlandish and vile rumours said about him. If he ever found the person who had started circulating them he- Oh he didn’t know what he would do.
But that’s the thing about rumours, people believed them. Too many people, too many to stop the circulation of them.
Gobber said Hiccup should just let people talk. That he should let them weave their wild stories and that fear mongering could be useful. Beyond the confines of one’s own people, it was a valuable thing to be feared.
Hiccup didn’t know how he felt about being feared by foreign kingdoms, as he would quite frankly rather if everyone left him, his people and the dragons well alone, but no one seemed quite capable of that.
It had all started in the archipelago a decade ago with Berk and then a few more islands to call friends. Dragons in need drew the riders’ presence and Hiccup would do his best to help them.
At the time he had considered his actions as the simple liberation of dragons, not conquering, but that’s what it evolved to. The only way to truly stop people was to survey them.
Exploiters would be targeted, dragons would be freed and sent on their way, trusted allies would then be placed in locations to ensure the dragons in the area stayed free and that any lingering enemies were dispatched.
Soon he had gone from the mere Chief of Berk, to the Dragon Master of Berk, to the Dragon Lord of the central Archipelago and then finally to the Dragon Warlord of the entire Archipelago.
He didn’t want to build an empire, he wasn’t trying to be a dictator, but he had learnt from his youth that men who kill without reason, cannot be reasoned with.
Any lingering guilt about the lives that were taken were extinguished when he saw dragons returning to lands from which they’d been driven years prior.
So yes, these days he was feared. But that didn’t warrant a response like this . He wasn’t evil . He didn’t want people sent as tributes. Slavery stood against every he stood for .
Hiccup could only imagine what the last several days had done to Prince Jackson’s head.
Good gods. The guy had been bound and shipped off against his will by his own kingdom- He had every right to look as wary as he did.
“This was sent with him by the way.” Snotlout said, producing some parchment from his pocket.
Astrid rolled her eyes in exasperation as she leant over the table and took it from him. “Oh you could’ve led with the political document, Snotlout.” She jibed.
Hiccup watched patiently as she unfolded and began scanning the text.
Worry coiled in his gut as her expression grew more disgusted.
“Oh my gods.” She swallowed. “They’ve officially disinherited him. He’s been removed from their line of succession and is now a prince in title alone. He’s been… gifted to the Haddock name.”
“Let me see that.” Hiccup snatched it to read himself.
It was from the Crown Prince of Hawthorne, Jackson’s uncle, if Hiccup was remembering his royal lines correctly.
He scanned over the pompous nonsense Astrid had explained. What drew his eye were the conditions of the tribute listed below.
Hiccup paled.
“The good warlord may do with the tribute whatever his heart desires.” He read out shallowly, with a furrowed brow. “If need be, the tribute may be used for any of the warlord’s spiritual rituals- my what? - requiring sacrifice…”
He looked further down the paper. “If the good warlord should take a liking to the tribute then he may have him installed as a concubine?” He continued, growing more nauseous by the second. “If the warlord wishes to express his healthy bloodlust - what the hell!- the tribute may serve and have his life ended under the warlord’s blade?”
Jackson shifted uncomfortably.
All in the hall were silent for several long moments. Toothless growled at the paper, which went on and on with more sickening absurdities that Hiccup refused to read out, especially with Jackson in such clear discomfort.
Snotlout leant against the table with his arms crossed. He blew out his cheeks. “Well Hiccup…at least they got your type right, huh?” He chirped.
“Snotlout!” Astrid and Hiccup chided in sync.
“ What? I’m just saying.” He shrugged, gesturing at Jackson. “He’s not bad to look at.”
The prince managed the closest thing to a smile he’d shown yet, he inclined his head at the viking. “Why thank you.”
Hiccup drew in a long breath through his nose.
He really hated warlord-day.
“Astrid…” He began. “Please would you prepare some terror-mail for the kingdoms? No more people, especially unwilling people, shall be sent as tribute.” He scowled. “Trafficking of dragons is illegal, but remind them that that doesn’t suddenly mean human trafficking isn’t.”
She nodded, making her way from the hall.
“Snotlout, thank you, you’re dismissed. Go rejoin the twins. We’re still expecting a few ships before midnight.”
“Yes Chief.” He nodded in faux obedience before leaving too.
And soon it was just Hiccup, Toothless and the prince.
“Jackson.”
The man kept his head bowed. “Yes my lord?”
“How do you wish to proceed?” He asked carefully, stepping out of his throne and round the table to lean against it instead. Jackson glanced at his leg.
“Me?”
Hiccup nodded. “Well you’re on my island and therefore under my care.” He said. “While this whole thing is a mess, I’m not sure I want to just send you back to Hawthorne, back to people who are happy enough to ship you off at the drop of a hat. In fact I won’t do it.”
Jackson raised his sapphire eyes slowly. He said nothing.
“What shall I do with you?” Hiccup mused.
He’d meant it as a joke, but watched the fear flick over Jackson’s face. He was clearly still terrified.
“I uh,” He cleared his rough throat. “I think the letter had a few ideas, my lord.”
Hiccup picked up the letter, crushed it in his palm and threw it behind him, where Toothless set it alight midair. The embers dissolved to ash and died before they hit the stone floor.
“Hawthorne needs some fact checkers.” Hiccup ruled. “So to clear any confusion up, I do not kill people for fun or ‘spiritualistic rituals’. And Snotlout is right, you’re certainly a handsome prince, but I’ve no intention of taking any concubines,” He chuckled. “Gods forbid one that’s brought to me in chains .”
Jackson’s breathing quickened. “And you- you don’t have the ability to turn into a dragon?”
Caught entirely off guard, Hiccup huffed a laugh. “I’m sorry?”
“Rumours.” Jackson shrugged.
Hiccup actually had to have a proper giggle at that. Turning into a dragon , that was a new one. “No, Jackson. No, I’m not a lycanwing.”
“And you don’t eat babies?” Jack asked.
Affronted by the existence of such stuff, Hiccup turned to Toothless in offence. “Who’s coming up with these?! Do I look like I eat babies?” He turned back to Jackson. “Do I?”
Jackson actually managed a snort. “No, my lord.” He shuffled his feet, swaying a little. “So…what you’re telling me is that I…I-” He fidgeted with his fingers glancing at the ash on the floor.
Hiccup pushed off the table, reaching over to drag a spare chair for Jackson. “You will not be sacrificed or murdered or forced into anyone’s bed or whatever that despicable uncle of yours had in mind.” Hiccup promised. “Not on my watch.”
Jackson nodded, inhaling shakily. “May I sit- Yeah.” He collapsed into the chair, burying his face in his hands and breathed harshly. “Oh thank god.”
Hiccup kept his distance, deciding a pat on the back from the warlord might not be the best idea. Instead he reached over for a keg of water and his barely touched supper, pushing them in front of Jackson. “Here.”
The prince’s eyes flicked to the keg and his hand quickly flashed out to grab it and gulped down the contents greedily. “Thank you.” He gasped in between.
Hiccup cursed himself for not doing this the moment the man entered the hall.
“When’s the last time you ate?” He asked.
“Uhh.” Jackson wiped his mouth. “They gave me some bread yesterday, but I haven’t had water in a while.”
“Have this.” He pushed the mutton closer. “I’m not gonna finish it.”
Jackson’s hand twitched towards the plate, but he hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Go on.” Hiccup ordered.
Jackson needed no more encouragement before wolfing the thing down in a manner that was actually quite impressive for a continental prince.
As he feasted, Hiccup’s mind began formulating a plan of action.
“What skills do you have?” He enquired.
Jackson swallowed heavily, making sure he didn’t speak with his mouth full, which Hiccup admittedly found rather endearing. “Skills?”
“I can’t in good conscience send you back there,” He explained. “Which means you’re staying. And if you’re staying you should have some kind of position. So Jackson, tell me, what are you good for?”
Jackson chewed and swallowed another bite. “Uh…I’m not bad with a sword,” He began. “Better with a spear, or daggers. I’m good at languages. Not talented at hunting I’m afraid but I get by. I know a thing or two about woodwork. I can play music- Oh I’m great with youngsters!” His eyes lit up excitedly. “Any babysitting needed?”
Hiccup smiled, glad to see the foggyness long gone. “No…not babysitting.” He replied, scratching his chin.
“Is that because you ate the babies, my lord?”Jack asked, and it took Hiccup a second to realise that Jack was already feeling good enough to joke .
Hiccup shook his head with a petulant grin. “ No , it’s because lots of Hooligans prefer to let their little ones run wild. But y’know…” Yes, he thought, that could work. “We are in need of a teacher.”
“A teacher?” Jack echoed, perking up.
Hiccup nodded. “My tribe doesn’t tend to be very bookish, and while I am, I don’t have time to teach. Fishlegs has been holding the fort all by his lonesome since Gobber’s had to invest more time in the forge.” He relayed. “So…how about it?”
Jackson nodded vigorously. “I can do that. I can definitely do that!”
A realisation popped up in Hiccup’s mind.
Jackson was from the continent, so his dragon knowledge was probably lacking.
Hiccup leant over the table, reached under some papers and other books, trying to remember where he’d left them- Aha!
“Here.” He said, pushing the two volumes to Jack, who quickly started eating with one hand as he flicked through in interest. “I’m sure a royal education served you well but I imagine the continent is quite lacking when it comes to dragons.”
Jackson nodded, marvelling at the old illustrations. “What are these books exactly?”
Hiccup planted a finger on the older one. “This is the Book of Dragons. It’s a manual from the before-times; keep that in mind when reading it.” He warned. “It has some good information but it’s very fear-mongery.”
He picked up the second one, his pride and joy. “I wrote this updated edition a few years ago. It fills some gaps and adds missed species and is better toned. It’s important you know your stuff in the Archipelago. It can make all the difference.”
Jackson had finished his plate, the books now had his full attention. “Thank you…I’ll start as soon as I can.”
Hiccup smiled at the thought that he might’ve discovered another academic.
And speaking of academia…it was still warlord-day, and he hadn’t finished his work yet. He sighed.
“Toothless will take you to Gobber. He’ll get you sorted into a guest cabin.”
Toothless came to sniff at the prince’s side, and warbled for him to follow. Jackson gathered his new homework and stood, giving Hiccup a quick bow. “Yes, my lord.”
“None of that.” Hiccup grinned. “I’m a chief, not a lord. And you’re a prince who has no business using such titles anyway. Call me Hiccup.”
Jackson smiled, fully, properly for the first time. His eyes twinkled. “Thank you, Hiccup, for not…y’know, murdering me.”
Hiccup provided his own little bow to the prince, the newest member of the Isle. “You’re welcome, Jackson.”
“Just Jack.” He called, walking backwards as Toothless guided him out.
The chief waved. “Good night Jack.”
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Jack stood at the late-night forge with his two big books in his arms. The smith, Gobber, Hiccup had called him, pulled up his welding mask to look him up and down.
“Snotlout wasn’t kidding.” He said to himself. “They really did send a person.”
“Hello.” Jack greeted, holding out his hand, then quickly switching to the other when he clocked the fact he was dealing with a double amputee. “I’m Jack.” He said.
It felt right to introduce himself like that. No one gave a shit that he was royalty here, so what was the sense in using his full first name? It’s not like the kingdom that had given it to him gave a damn either.
Possibilities had opened themselves to Jack tonight. It was a change of pace, a new world to explore, one that held no monotonous future of balls, horrible families and uncomfortable clothing.
Here…here he might be able to just be Jack. And oh how addicting that thought had become in the last ten minutes.
The viking shook his hand firmly. “Gobber.”
“Chief said you could get me set up for the night.” Jack explained, deciding referring to Hiccup by his first name to others would be a little odd so soon.
Gobber nodded, yet frowned, pulling Jack’s hand closer to examine the welts on his wrist. “Yeah, sure thing. Let's get these handled first.”
He reached over to a shelf, pulling off a buckled box that opened to reveal bandages and jars of ointment.
When the clear paste met the wounds, Jack almost hummed at the wonderful cooling sensation.
“I know right.” Gobber chuckled as he helped Jack wind bandages around his ankles and wrists. “That’s Gothi’s work for you. She’s our elder and healer. Now follow me.”
Gobber led them, yes them , because Toothless had decided to stick around for some reason, down a few tight village alleyways before a strip of six or seven nondescript houses appeared.
“We get a lot of fires ‘round here so spare cabins are awful useful.” The moustached man whispered.
They crossed over the threshold and Jack was unsurprised to still find the inside rather blank. It had everything one needed, but as Gobber had said, it was a spare cabin, and therefore it had zero personality.
Well…if Jack ended up staying here he would definitely change that.
Gobber opened the wardrobe, pulling out a bunch of dark blankets and tossed them over to Jack who caught them with a laugh. “Make sure to shove one under the doorway, the drafts can be nasty. More blankets are in the bottom shelves, use as many as you like, it can get pretty brisk.”
He looked Jack up and down, feeling the fabric of his cloak between his index and thumb. “Speaking of brisk, is this all you got?”
“Yeah.”
Gobber hummed. “Eh, it’s fancy but too thin. You’ll need some more layers under it. You continentals tend to get the shivers. I’ll get some furs from Sven to you tomorrow. Some more sets on linen and leathers while we’re at it too.” He looked down. “And shoes.”
“That sounds great.” Jack cringed down at his uninsulated boots. “My feet are about to fall off.”
When he looked up Gobber was deadpanning at him.
What?
Jack gasped. “I’m sorry -”
Gobber barked a hearty laugh. “I’m jus’ messin’ with ya lad don’t worry!” He swept a fake tear from his eye and patted Jack on the shoulder as he went to kneel by the dead fireplace. “Basins over there and rain barrels are always on the right back corner. Meals are in the great hall at dawn, noon and dusk. If you miss any and are feeling peckish jus’ drop by the forge I usually have something on the simmer.”
As Gobber loaded in a few logs, Jack put down the blankets and his books on the table. He unclipped his cloak and hung it on a peg, staring up at the beams. “Berk really isn’t what I thought it’d be.” He said quietly, almost a little reverently.
Gobber snorted, piling the logs. “If you’d showed up years ago then it probably would’ve been. Hiccup’s turned things around that’s for sure.”
Jack went over to the basin and started washing his hair and face. The water was cold, but he desperately needed it. “...He’s very kind.”
“Dragons aside, it’s probably why he’s ended up with half the world in his hands.” Gobber remarked, a little like a proud parent, though Jack doubted they were related. “Kid picks up loyalties like pennies.” He chuckled.
If tonight was anything to go by, then certainly. “I don’t doubt it.”
Toothless helped light the fire and soon a pleasant heat was beginning to fill the space. Jack did as Gobber said and placed one of the blankets by the threshold to stave off any drafts from outside.
Gober pushed off his knees and dusted his hands together, looking very much like he was about to ask an awkward question.
And he did.
“Soooo…what did uh, you two end up arranging?” The smith asked. “Snotlout told me a thing or two y’see and well…”
Jack swallowed, water dripping from his face, he was glad the coldness handled the heat in his cheeks. “No. Oh no no. That’s- Hiccup refused Hawthorne’s… ideas . He said I can be a teacher here instead.”
“Oh!” Gobber pointed at the books in understanding. “That’s not a bad idea actually. I used to handle the wee ones so I can show you the ropes. How bout I take you to the training arena tomorrow after breakfast?”
They had a training arena?
“Absolutely.” Jack dried his hair. “I do need a tour.”
“Great. Well.” Gobber made for the door. “Pleasure to meet you, Jack. And if no one’s said it yet, welcome to Berk.” He grinned.
And with that he was gone. And Jack was alone with the warlord’s night fury.
“You can go back to Hiccup now, y’know.” Jack reminded the dragon. “I’m all sorted.”
Toothless squinted at him, coming to some kind of decision, like he was looking at a runt.
The dragon grabbed Jack’s blankets and stole them away, using them to make a bed by the fireplace.
“...Or not.” Jack pointed a finger. “Don’t you get me in trouble sir.”
He was about to climb into bed, when he realised that said bed, was in fact made of wood.
“No mattress huh.” He hummed.
He wondered if back issues were part of viking culture?
It didn’t matter, Toothless had read his mind. Jack grabbed his books and a couple more blankets for pillows and joined the night fury by the gentle warmth. It was a good thing too; Jack, who was accustomed to a different climate, would have shivered himself half to death otherwise.
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Much later that night, a certain Chief, finally all done with warlord-day, went on a late night stroll peering around for his dragon.
When he found one of the spare cabin’s windows glowing gently, he silently peeked his head round the door.
Snoozing softly by a small fire, Toothless had Jack sleeping against his side, having bundled themselves in blankets.
Hiccup, grinning, approached slowly, making sure his prosthetic didn’t wake them.
Jack seemed to have fallen asleep with Hiccup’s book in his lap. The Chief, ever so carefully, knelt down and eased the object from Jack’s hands. He plucked one of Toothless’s scales off the floor and used it to mark Jack’s page, setting the book and the mantlepiece for Jack to find tomorrow.
Toothless’ ear plate twitched, and he creeped one eye open, grumbling softly in greeting when he saw who it was.
“Yeah yeah, don’t mind coming home with me.” Hiccup teased under his breath. “You seem just fine here with your new favourite person. Never mind poor old Hiccup.”
The dragon replied by snuggling further into his position and going back to sleep. Hiccup rolled his eyes, even though Toothless was truly just thinking ahead. The recent nights had been pretty harsh, and Jack wasn’t acclimatised to the archipelago yet. The body heat was useful.
The sleeping prince looked much better after being watered, washed and fed. Hiccup even saw bandages peeking out from the blankets, so Gobber had obviously handled the welts. That was good. The last thing Jack needed was an infection.
Hiccup leaned down and pulled Jack’s blanket a little higher, taking a tiny moment to really appreciate the prince’s beauty.
What a shame that such a silly kingdom had just thrown him away.
On his way out the door, for the first time, the warlord began daydreaming about invasion truly being a good idea.
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