Chapter Text
Hilda “Hillie” Horrendous Haddock knows quite well that she is not viewed very… kindly by most of Berk. If their general scorn and degrading attitudes towards both her herself along with her inventions wasn’t enough to drive that point home, then the way at least half of Berk seems to call her a “Hiccup” when her father isn’t around as if that was actually her name would certainly do the trick.
She thinks she gets why, but getting why doesn’t make their treatment of her feel any better. Hilda knows, though, that as the chief’s only child… the people of Berk expected more from her… and got stuck with a small girl, born early and born weak, motherless and with a father so busy he hasn’t the time to teach her much, who’d rather be building something in the forge than anywhere else, who’d rather try and help a hurt animal than see it put out of it’s misery without ever giving it the chance to heal, who… isn’t very viking-like by their standards at all.
Hilda may have been born weak, but she was born with a natural aptitude for wit to make up for it. Of course, in a place where wit isn’t exactly valued above strength, that doesn’t do much for her. Hilda thinks that perhaps the worst part about that is that she has strength as well— you don’t start working in the forge years before you’re even ten years old without growing strong quickly, she just remains lean and short and her looks are deceptive, hiding her strength.
Either way, though, she wishes that everyone on Berk would realize what she has to offer and finally stop with their poor treatment of her just because she isn’t how they think the daughter of their chief should be. She may not be viking-like how they want her to be, but surely she’s still one of them…
Sometimes, she wishes she had the seiðr that Mildew is always claiming she does, trying to blacken her name with all the negative connotations of it, if only so she could weave a spell that would shut the cantankerous old man up and get everyone to view her more kindly, were it possible. She isn’t a seið-kona, though, so she’ll have to settle for avoiding Mildew instead and putting up with all the harsh comments and teases of her being a hiccup and useless and not the type of child deserving of being next in line.
Beyond just being next in line and needing to learn how to be a proper chieftess, Hilda knows that she’ll need to marry and beget an heir of her own in the future. Not altogether a hard task, she likes men as much as she likes women and so finding a husband won’t be a hardship for her, but what will pose an issue… right now, the only person she currently can imagine a future with is Astrid—who probably doesn’t even like her back. The opposite, if Hilda had to guess—and, also, she doesn’t think she’d want to marry any of the boys her age in the future. Maybe Fishlegs, but that’s a big maybe. She just can’t imagine a future with any of them.
She knows, though, that without an heir of her own, Berk will strip her of her title of chieftess and install someone else as chief or chieftess. So, she’ll need to find someone who can give her a child eventually— and not just because having an heir is a duty she’ll need to fulfill, but because she wants children of her own anyways. Obviously not right now, though, of course, she is only fifteen currently after all. She only hopes it will be someone she can love and be loved by in return. But that is many years off from now, and not something to worry about in the moment when there are more pressing concerns.
Like the raid in progress, and the fire just outside her house. That’s a pretty pressing concern, after all.
Ah, good old Berk. Charming sunsets, hunting, fishing… and dragons.
Hilda runs outside to find Berk in the midst of the usual chaos caused by a dragon raid. Houses on fire, vikings fighting dragons in the streets, everyone running from place to place. What a lovely early morning.
She takes off down the street, ducking behind and weaving around anyone in her way as she makes her way to her job at the forge. The vikings that notice her clearly don’t appreciate her presence as they yell at her to get back inside.
And that’s about when she’s yanked back out of the way of a stray bit of fire a dragon shot in her direction— something she normally would have noticed if she hadn’t gotten distracted by Phlegma’s shout, but trying to argue that in her defense would not go over well, even if it’s the truth.
“Hilda?! What is she doing out agai— what are you doing out? Get back inside!”
When she’s set back down, she takes off immediately again, continuing her way to the forge where Gobber is surely hard at work. Finally, she makes it inside, and quickly sets about pulling on her apron.
“Ah good! You’re here! Nice of you to join the party— I was beginning to think ye’d been carried off!” Gobber greets.
“Who, me? Nahh Gobber, you know they wouldn’t know what to do with all of…” she gestures to herself, “...this! Too muscular for their tastes, probably.” She jokes as she grabs a pile of swords, hefting them up into her arms with ease and bringing them over to sharpen them.
“Ehhh, they need toothpicks, don’ they?” Gobber jokes back.
Hilda just laughs and continues sharpening the swords in front of her.
Outside the forge, a nearby house is hit and it goes up in flames quite quickly.
“FIRE!”
“Alright, let’s go!” Hilda hears Astrid call out, and she turns to watch as Astrid and the other teens carry over buckets of water, though admittedly most of her focus is on Astrid.
Without realizing she’s doing it, Hilda finds herself leaning on the counter window to get a better look. In fact, she only realizes she had been doing so when Gobber tugs her back inside.
“Oh come on!” She complains. “Just let me out for this one raid, please? I need to make my mark if I’m ever going to be liked around here!”
“Ye’ve made plenty o’ marks already, Hillie, and all in the wrong places,” Gobber sighs.
“Two minutes!” She tries to bargain. “I’ll get out there and I’ll… I’ll kill a dragon—” she doesn’t necessarily want to kill a dragon for the sake of killing a dragon, but she does, however, know that killing a dragon would get people to treat her better, because then she’ll have proved she can be just as good as any of them, and that? That she does want. “—and my life will get infinitely better! Maybe I’ll even get a date finally,”
“You can’t lift a hammer,” In battle, maybe, but she can lift one just fine in general! Hel, she’s made half the hammers the others on Berk use. “You can’t swing an axe,” only because no one ever took the time to teach her! That isn’t her fault. “And you can’t even throw one of these!” Gobber holds up a bola, which another viking then grabs and tosses it at a dragon, taking it down.
“Okay, fine,” she has to concede to that one, however, “But this! This will throw it for me!” She drags forward a wooden machine, and when she pats it, it opens up, the mechanism inside triggering and launching a bola… which accidentally hits a passing viking.
Oops.
“See, this is what I’m talking about!” Gobber gestures to the viking that’s now holding his head in pain.
“Mild calibration issue, but—”
“No— don’t you— look, Hillie, if you ever want to get out there and fight dragons, then you’re going to have to stop all of…” he gestures at her, “...this.”
“But you… you just gestures to all of me,”
“Yes, exactly! You’ve gotta stop being all of you!”
It stings to hear, but she tries not to let it show.
“Ohhh you, sir, are playing a dangerous game… keeping this much, uh, raw viking-ness contained… there will be CONSEQUENCES!” She shouts with false bravado, just trying to mask her hurt.
Gobber tosses her another sword, “I’ll take my chances. Sword. Sharpen. Now.”
Hilda sighs, and sets about doing as she was told.
One day… one day she’ll prove to everyone just how wrong they are about her.