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...
Astrid was the first to notice their trade ships were back. Things on Berk had been different since Hiccup's death and the escape of the Arena dragons. Everyone'd always assumed that with Hiccup gone many of their problems would be gone too. But instead, things had become much harder even though the dragon raids had stopped. There was never enough hands in the forge. Gobber was struggling to fill all the orders. Fishlegs had to pick up some slack and had to leave training to do so.
No one had expected to miss the uselessness of the smaller boy. They had not realized how much the other had done until they were without him. It was a hard and sobering lesson to learn. Then with the dragon raids dwindling to almost nothing they were without any true purpose anymore. What did a dragon killer and fighter do when the enemy was gone? Most of their jobs had revolved around fighting the dragons. Without the battles and the constant threat, the entire village seemed aimless.
The biggest change was with Stoick. He had withdrawn from the people. The man spent most of his time in his house. Occasionally Gobber would drag him to the Great Hall to eat. Otherwise the Chief kept to himself. Some had tried to make the man feel better. Told him that he was better off. That his son had been an embarrassment and that Snotlout would make a better Heir. All that did was earn the speaker a week in the jail cell. No one talked to the Chief about his late son again. Mostly, the village just hoped that the older man would recover and move on eventually. Astrid heard that Council was considering forcing him to remarry if he didn't choose a new Heir amongst her age group.
So that was why she was the first to greet the returning traders. She wanted to hear the news and rumors from the markets. Maybe there would be something that would lift their spirits. She approached the men as the ship was docked and the gang plank lowered.
"Welcome back," greeted the female, a small but genuine grin on her features, "What did you bring home?"
"We brought fish," said a male named Njal, his tone flat, "And a few tools for the Blacksmith. Nothing special."
"Any interesting information?" she asked.
"Aye," responded a sailor, rubbing the back of his neck, "The markets are using dragons to send mail to different tribes. A lot of tribes are beginning to pick it up."
WHAT?
"Dragons?" Questioned the blonde, her brows furrowing, "How is that possible?"
"No clue," admitted the merchant, his tone nonchalant, "Rumor has it that a masked figure calling himself the Dragon Master is teaching the tribes how to coexist with them. Apparently, the guy is a genius. It started with the Dragon Hunters, Grimborn's tribe if the rumors are to be believed."
That was... unbelievable. How could a person, a human, teach a dragon to deliver messages. Dragons were monsters that couldn't be reasoned or bargained with. They were beasts that were dangerous and evil.
"This is crazy," argued Astrid, shaking her head, "Are you certain that the stories are real?"
"Positive," stated a vendor, his voice sure, "I've seen the Terrible Terrors delivering letters to the merchants. They said the Dragon Master rides a Nightfury."
"That's impossible," scoffed the girl, crossing her arms, "Everyone knows that the unholy offspring are too wild to tame. They don't allow humans to get close. Let alone ride them. There is no such thing as a dragon rider."
"I am just repeating what they said, Astrid," he retorted.
She scowled. Her name was the Dragon Master. What kind of person would choose a name like that? A crazy one. They'd need to discredit him if he was really working with dragons. Working with dragons made him a traitor.
...
When the news reached Stoick, his eyes had widened in disbelief. A man who rode a Nightfury. It was insane. Yet, the information came from several people. Including an eyewitness. The woman had claimed that the man was in his early twenties. With shaggy, auburn colored hair and a lean body. The mask covered his face and was worn to hide his identity. Only those within the Hunters Tribe had ever seen his face.
It was not possible. Stoick refused to believe that anyone could truly control a dragon. Especially a Nightfury. They were the devils of the sky. No, it couldn't be true. However, the idea stuck in his mind. What was this young man thinking? Did he not realize the dangers that dragons posed to him? To the world. Why was the man working to ally humans with the beasts?
Stoick would refuse to allow such ideals to come to his people. It would only get them killed. So that was why the next day the Chief addressed the village. He'd gather everyone in the Great Hall and was now standing in front of them. Addressing the crowd, the leader spoke loudly and clearly.
"Many of you have heard the tales of a Rider from the Northern Markets," began Stoick, his tone serious, "Who calls himself the Dragon Master and teaches the tribes to live in harmony with the beasts. This is wrong. We will continue to kill and fight the dragons that come to Berk. Any attempt to communicate or bond with these monsters will result in banishment. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Chief," replied the Vikings, their voices loud and strong.
The only ones that Stoick worried about were the children. Honestly the adults knew better. But the kids, they were a different story. They were more open minded than the older generations. If the mysterious trainer would approach them, the children might be swayed to his cause. That wasn't something that the Chief could risk. Not after the loss of his own son. Who was the fool to think that the dragons could change? They were savage, evil, and would slaughter anything in their path. It wasn't in their nature to care. They deserved to die and if this man protected him then he did too.
...
Gobber didn't spend much time with Stoick anymore. Stoick was grieving but he wasn't the only one. Stoick didn't really know Hiccup before the boy died. He didn't know the kind and gentle soul that his apprentice was. The clever mind that created inventions to make life easier. The compassionate heart that wanted to help everyone. The shy, awkward kid that didn't have any friends. How the boy loved to draw. None of the villagers did.
Gobber saw it all. Whenever the young man was out of something he did his best to replace it within the day. When the child was lonely the smith would try to include him and give the younger some attention. When the teenager was hungry, the blond would sneak the growing male some extra food. He'd done his best for Hiccup. Just because the lad wasn't his, didn't mean that he didn't love the other.
He was devastated by the boy's death. It hurt to enter the forge. Everything reminded him of his late apprentice. Every project that the kid had worked on or started was still in there. Incomplete. Waiting for the inventor to return and finish his work. But the genius would never return. The space that was his was empty. Gobber couldn't bring himself to touch any of it.
It was a passing trader that mentioned the Dragon Master that was the first time he heard of such a thing. It wasn't possible for someone to tame dragons. Especially not a Nightfury. It couldn't be true. Still, the thought did not leave his mind. Even when he was in his forge working on a sword or hammer. The concept refused to go away. Maybe Stoick was wrong. He missed Hiccup.