Hiccup's Bride Chapter 1

A/N Tribal politics may force Hiccup to marry a total stranger from another island! How will he (and Astrid, and Stoick, and everyone else he knows) handle this? How will the total stranger handle it? Movie characters, book characters, and OC's all mix together. Rated T for adult situations and some limes here and there; the language is all K.

Warning: Hiccstrid devotees should not read the first three-quarters of this story. People looking for WAFFs and fluff should also avoid this story. It's a love story, but it's not a completely happy one. This is an idea that just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. If other people like the way it comes out, I will be (1) pleased, and (2) mildly surprised.

o

"Raiders!" The night watchman's cry rang across the sleeping village of Berk, transforming it in moments into a hive of almost-panicked activity.

Everyone knew the drill, even though they hadn't had to fight for their town since the dragon wars ended. Men (and many women) leaped out of bed, grabbed weapons and shields off their pegs on the wall, and rushed into the streets. If they didn't see any obvious enemies, they ran either to the Mead Hall to get their orders, or to the harbor because that was the most likely place to find a foe.

Those foes had landed in the harbor in complete silence and darkness; they'd reached the town's main level before the watchman sounded the alarm. In most cases, that meant the raiders had five to ten minutes to help themselves to plunder and prisoners before the defenders got organized enough to threaten them.

But Berk wasn't the usual Viking town. As the raiders burst into the village, they realized that they'd had the bad luck to visit Berk in the middle of a dragon raid. The huge lizards were everywhere! In the confusion and the darkness, none of the attackers noticed that the dragons weren't flaming the locals or their buildings, but spent all their fury on the intruders. The raiders hadn't come prepared for dragons, either; they had no heavy weapons, no nets or bolas, nothing suitable for taking down a fire-breathing monster. After a few minutes, their chief decided he'd had enough.

"Back to the ships!" he shouted.

"We haven't taken any treasure!" his personal guard protested. "The men came here for plunder!"

"The only thing they'll get is a barrow if we stay here any longer!" the chief shot back. "Meatheads, back to the ships!" His men fell back in a fighting retreat, leaped into their longships, and rowed back the way they came. A few Gronckle fireballs pursued them as they fled.

Their chief, Mogadon, took inventory of his warband. His son, Thuggory, had gotten a nasty-looking burn from a Deadly Nadder's fire, but it was just a flesh wound and would heal into an honorable scar. He'd left four dead behind, over half his men were wounded, and they'd gotten virtually nothing in the way of plunder. The worst news was that Berk would surely raid them in return – it was the Viking way – and with all the casualties he'd suffered, Berk's raid would probably be a lot more successful.

Back in Berk, Chief Stoick was also taking inventory. They'd been very lucky, if you wanted to call it that.

"We lost three men," Spitelout was reporting. "We've got about twenty wounded, four of them seriously, and one woman is missing. They probably carried her off. I've gotten very few reports of missing property. It looks like the dragons did most of the fighting for us."

"We've gone through a lot of pain and confusion, adjusting to having those dragons around," Stoick nodded. "I never realized there might be an up-side to that. This is their nest now; of course they'd fight to protect it. Are the wounded in the Mead Hall?"

Gobber nodded. "Gothi's working on 'em now. She grabbed a few o' the teens to help her. She thought it'd be good to get 'em used to a little blood an' suffering before they go on their first raid."

Stoick nodded once in agreement. Then he went rigid. "Teens? Has anyone seen Hiccup lately?" His son had been through a lot of changes lately, most of them good ones, but he still wasn't a real Viking when the fighting got up close and personal.

"I think I saw 'im saddlin' up his scaly friend," Gobber offered. Stoick nodded and ran to his house. He didn't find the Night Fury's riding gear, which meant Hiccup and Toothless had made it into the air. What he'd done up there, if anything, wasn't the issue. His son was safe. The chief heaved a huge sigh of relief and strode back toward the Mead Hall. He had to speak to the wounded and encourage them.

Hours later, as the sun rose and the village cleaned up the last of the mess, Spitelout approached Stoick again. "Shall I start planning a return raid? Those Meatheads have got it coming!"

Stoick pondered for a moment. "No, not this time, Spitelout. We're too evenly matched. If it weren't for the dragons, they would have massacred us last night, and I don't think we can persuade the dragons to go on a raid with us. No, I think it's time we tried to make a treaty with them instead."

"Our warriors want revenge," Spitelout pointed out. "I know I do."

"My friend, when I was a young firebrand, I couldn't wait to wade into battle, crushing heads and stealing plunder," Stoick said sadly. "Once I became the chief of this village, that changed how I look at things. I look in the eyes of our wounded men, and I think of the pain they're in, and the hardship their families are going to go through...

"There's a time to fight, and there's a time to end the fighting. A wise man knows which is which. For the good of Berk and our people, I'm going to swallow my Viking pride and take the non-traditional way out of this feud."

"So, what do you want me to do?" Spitelout wondered. If it didn't involve fighting, he was out of ideas.

"Our largest ship is going to sail for the Meatheads' island in two days," the chief decided. "I'll be on it, along with an honor guard. Pick twelve good men with scars and missing body parts; we want to impress those Meatheads. My son will also go on this trip. It will be good training for him, seeing how he's going to take my place some day. Arrange for the ship to have a full crew; I want plenty of oarsmen, so my guard won't wear themselves out rowing. We'll be gone for four or five days. I'll be leaving you in charge until I return."

"Right, Stoick," his second-in-command nodded, and set out to find the perfect honor guards.

o

The rhythmic strokes of the oarsmen drove Berk's biggest ship steadily across the sea. It would be a two-day journey. The return trip would probably be faster because the prevailing winds would let them sail most of the way. The oarsmen were looking forward to that.

In the bow, Stoick and Hiccup kept a lookout for other ships. There wasn't much else for them to do until they reached land. Hiccup was restless.

"I'm not used to moving this slowly, Dad. Toothless could have brought both of us there by now."

"Remember, son, the Meatheads are not fond of dragons," his father cautioned him. "Their Book of Dragons still says, 'Extremely dangerous, kill on sight.' I know you don't want that for your dragony friend. In fact, it might be best if you didn't even mention our peace with the dragons while we're there."

"Okay, Dad," Hiccup sighed. "Now, can you tell me why I'm going along on this trip?"

"I've got several reasons," Stoick began. "I'm hoping that, if Chief Mogadon is willing to negotiate a treaty, you'll get to sit and watch how it's done. Any Viking lunkhead can start a war, but starting a peace is an art, and it's a skill that almost no one is born with. There are ways to handle people, to work out disagreements, to get them to give in without making them feel like they've surrendered... sometimes, a good treaty is even more satisfying than a victory in battle. At least, I've come to feel that way.

"I also hope that you'll make some friends among the people your own age there. It's always good to have contacts with other tribes, so you aren't dealing with total strangers if a misunderstanding needs to be ironed out some day. Who knows? You might even make friends with their future chief. That kind of contact can only be good for both our people."

"Unless their people make contact by a whack on the head," Hiccup said nervously. "After all, these are Vikings, right?"

"Classic Vikings, every one of them," his father nodded. "There's a reason I told you to wear your helmet on this trip. But you're clever, and I have faith in you. You'll find a way to get by. If nothing else, they're sure to respect your battle scar." He gestured at Hiccup's metal leg. His son nodded.

"What kind of a treaty are you hoping to get, Dad?"

"A simple peace treaty would be enough, but Mogadon is probably too greedy for that," Stoick answered. "We'll probably have to work out some kind of trade agreement, where we each accept some stuff that the other side has plenty of and doesn't want. If we're lucky, we'll be able to use the stuff he sends to us. If not, we'll work another treaty with some other tribe, and pass on the Meatheads' surplus stuff in exchange for something we actually need.

"The part I'm not looking forward to, is the part that seals the agreement. These treaties are usually enforced by a marriage."

"A... a... a marriage?" Hiccup did not like the sound of that.

Stoick sighed. "I've been putting this off for years, son. I never remarried after your mother died, because no one could ever take her place in my heart. But Berk has got to have peace with the Meatheads, and if that means I have to marry some relative of Mogadon's... well, being a chief means you do whatever it takes, for the good of your people."

Hiccup heaved a quiet sigh of relief. For a moment, he thought he was the one who'd be getting married.