Chapter Text
Dagur had fully expected, once he returned to the remaining warriors within his armada, to not see his best friend as he climbed from Trader Johann’s boat. His imprisonment was tough on his mind, forcing him to think over every action, every consequence, every life he’d lost and every life he intended to take for his revenge. Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d failed the people he cared most about.
His sister, then his father… and now, his best friend.
Bragi held a deep love for their tribe. His role as war-chief had him play a prominent position in Dagur’s ruling high council. They had known each other for years. Their friendship was inevitable, tied together by their fathers positions, inherited far too young. For years, as they grew into teens and then adults, Bragi had been the one person who looked him in the eyes and treated him as an equal, before subsequently rubbing Dagur’s face into the dirt in training.
Correspondences had been far and few in between while he was imprisoned on Outcast Island. Most of them were from Bragi, at the time, still kilometres away beyond the borders of the Archipelago. It was only when the letters had stopped suddenly, almost jarringly, that Dagur had expected the worst.
Yet, as he climbed over the side of his ship with Vorg’s assistance, flanked by Savage and other Outcasts that despised the softness in Alvin after he sided with Berk and the Dragon riders, Bragi was there.
Bragi stood several inches taller than him. His tribal tattoos faded after a decade of salt, sun and sea whipping into his face. His hair was braided back tightly. Three years and the sight of him hadn’t changed.
He was there and at his first step, Bragi welcomed him back with open arms, quite literally. His body slammed into Dagur’s with full force, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Bragi buried his face into Dagur’s shoulder with a sigh of relief. The tension that was in Bragi’s body melted as soon as Dagur came up to wrap around Bragi’s shoulders reflexively and pressed open palms to his back.
His fingers splayed over Bragi’s armour, firm and grounding.
“Welcome back Dagur.” Bragi breathed when he finally pulled away from Dagur.
He stared for a good moment, saying nothing else, before he broke into a smile. A smile Dagur had missed, and ran his fingers over the tattoos on Dagur’s face. The blue claw marks over Dagur’s face faded since the first time he got them at sixteen from their strong vibrant blue to a soft shade instead.
Dagur raised his hand to wrap around Bragi’s wrist, pulling it away from his face before he held it to his chest. He glanced down to see, within Bragi’s half open fist, a raised scar on Bragi’s palm that only made him feel more at ease. His fingers tightened around Bragi’s bracer, digits pressing into leather and metal as if he could dent the piece with his mark.
“It’s been too long.” Dagur whispered, as he glanced back up, he met Bragi’s blue eyes.
There was a moment of silence where he held Bragi’s gaze.
His face snapped to the side as Bragi punched him with his free hand. The only reason he didn’t stumble back was due to the grip that he had on Bragi’s bracer, still holding him steady. Some vikings gasped. Others, who Dagur knew well and witnessed him and Bragi growing up together just laughed and went back to their duties, spying on the familiarity of their interaction out of the corners of their eyes.
“ Three years!” Bragi growled. He tugged his hand away from Dagur and poked him in the chest. “Three years without you, leading your armada for you! And that is all you have to say to me?”
“Bragi, I know you’re upset.” Dagur raised his hands in a placating gestured, before he was jabbed in the chest again.
“I’m not upset, you- you bastard! Three years!” Bragi shouted.
If Bragi wasn’t able to get his words out, usually the better spoken of the two of them, and usually the one with a better grasp of his emotions, then Dagur had well and truly upset his best friend.
“Say something.” He heard Bragi whisper.
“It wasn’t bad and I’m back now.” He replied weakly with a shrug.
Bragi’s expression was one of disbelief, before he turned away from him to bark orders at the vikings still milling around them. Before Dagur could do anything else, the men complied without question and Bragi grabbed him by his forearm, dragging him down below deck towards the chief’s quarters.
Dagur also didn’t expect his quarters to look exactly the same as he did when he was still a teen but not much had changed. Most of the things were exactly as he left them. The small cot that he often barely slept in, finding himself more often than not at his desk than in the comfort of a bed, had been exchanged for a larger cot that coil fit two grown men. A comfort that Dagur could not afford as a chief and bachelor while his armada starved on half-rations.
He tried to get an answer from Bragi by giving him a look as his best friend shoved him to sit at the edge of the desk, but instead he was met with a look that he knew well.
“Not a word.” Bragi said to him, his tone stern. He rounded the desk to reach for a small chest that Dagur knew contained a small healers box. Ingredients for a bruise poultice were laid out on the table next to him, he obediently kept his mouth shut as Bragi used his water ration from his water skin to grind the herbs together.
The process of laying the poultices on his wounds and dressing them was slow, and if by any other viking, healer or otherwise, Dagur was certain that his fuse for patience would not be as long as it was for Bragi. Bragi had divested him of his tattered rags from Alvin’s prison, tossing them aside. With nothing else to distract himself with, Dagur could only keep his entire focus on Bragi. The way Bragi’s breath caught at each mottled bruise or earned scar he wasn’t familiar with. The way his hands, steady and warm, were gentle when they smoothed over the poultice square.
He could almost hear Bragi’s heart within his chest.
“Three years.” Bragi said, breaking the silence as he smoothed his hands over the final poultice square on his shoulder. “I reigned in your men, I cast out rogues, I murdered Outcasts who questioned your right to rule, I killed Haggard.”
Dagur blinked in surprise at the vulnerability in Bragi’s voice as he admitted what happened in the time that passed. Bragi clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hands—a habit he never had the chance to break—before he stared dead straight into Dagur’s eyes.
“I thought you were dead. I thought I was too late, when the hawk came from Savage-”
At that, Dagur took Bragi’s hands in his, uncurling Bragi’s fingers from his palm and pressed the flat of his hand to his chest, directly over his head.
“I’m here.” He assured softly. “I’m warm. My heart still beats for you Bragi.”
They embraced again. Bragi shuffled closer, allowing Dagur to fold him into a comforting hold despite being taller than the chief. Bragi’s head rested on his shoulder without the poultice square. Dagur felt him sag against his frame, the weight of Bragi leaning into the embrace comforting and warm.
“You’re not alone anymore.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to Bragi’s hairline. “I’m back and everything will be alright. I promise.”
“I know.” Bragi whispered in response, words pressed into the skin by the crook of Dagur’s shoulder and neck.
Finally, Bragi pulled away and cupped Dagur’s cheeks with his hands, holding Dagur still for a moment. He gazed into Dagur’s eyes, his smile genuine.
“Now get dressed. There’s new armour and clothes, take your pick.” Bragi said, nodding his head towards the cot. “Then come meet us on deck.”
Dagur nodded and turned on his heel towards the chest at the end of the cot. As he rummaged through it, he heard the door to the chief’s quarters open and shut, turning his head to find himself alone. Bragi had given him privacy to change. He glanced back down at the different types of armour and shirts that Bragi had seemingly collected for him to wear and stared at his hands, turning them over to look at his palms.
The raised scar on his palm was silvery, a stark reminder of every promise that kept him and Bragi together even when they were beyond the borders of the Archipelago.
He took in the other small changes of the room once he pulled his shirt over his head. Bragi had his own chest of clothes at the base of the cot, next to the one Dagur had just closed. On the cot was a blanket that Dagur recognized from Bragi’s family home on Berserker Island, knitted in blues and yellows by his mother when he was just a pre-teen. It was one of Bragi’s treasured items. Dagur reached out to touch it, feeling the softness of the material from years of well-loved use beneath his fingers.
This was familiar, homely— not home, it would never be home —but it was next to Bragi, and he could be happy here.
Finally, he examined some of the armour that Bragi had set out for him. There was an ornate piece with two stripes on the chest in a subdued shade of maroon that reminded Dagur of a ruby dulled by grit and dust. It was lightweight, but sturdy. Possibly Gronckle Iron. Another which was simpler, made of a dark metal but still lightweight. He decided to forgo both of them. He had his own plans for some armour once they managed to find the treasure supposedly hidden away at the ship graveyard. He made his way back to the deck, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the sun as it rose with the sunrise. On deck, Bragi was with Savage, Vorg and Jokul, all men that Dagur trusted, save for Savage.
As the sun finally rose over the horizon to properly bring the day into early morning, Dagur joined the quartet of vikings and met each of their eyes, stopping on Bragi who looked at him with a proud smile.
“Looking good chief.” Jokul complimented, tipping his head forward in a low bow. Vorg and Savage followed suit, muttering their agreement.
“Thank you.” Dagur beamed, before he clapped his hands together. “So what is our plan? Where are we going? Berk?”
“No. Our scouts have reported that Dragon Riders have been spotted heading towards the ship graveyard that we intend to sail out to.” Bragi replied, “The order’s been given, I've asked two ships to change course to the graveyard to intercept them with us.”
“You know me so well.” Dagur preened, happy with the fact.
“You have a revenge list on your arm, Dagur.” Bragi said, touching the tattoo in question. “The only thing that’s changed in the last three years is that you don’t look like the scrawny teen I dragged around our island.”
“The others on Outcast island, is there a plan to get them out.” He asked after a moment. His men had been loyal to a fault even while imprisoned.
“We have plans in place sir.” Savage said to their left. Dagur turned his head to watch
There was a visible tension between Bragi and Savage, as the Berserker held himself apart from the Outcast. Noticing that Dagur narrowed his gaze at Savage, causing the man to shrink.
“I’m sure you have everything handled.” He crooned. “Until we get to the graveyard, we can talk tactics about how we can take down Hiccup and his friends.”
“Gladly Dagur.” Bragi was smug.
Dagur was certain that the tension between Savage and Bragi was caused by the inability to break Dagur out of Outcast Island. Savage’s information, or purely just his inability to do a job right. If given the chance Bragi would’ve tried to break him out of Outcast Island, but disapproval from Savage when he offered to go to Outcast island was enough to stop him. Instead they had sent other vikings. Mercenaries. Bounty Hunters. None of them succeeded in infiltrating the prison.
So Bragi never went, and for three years Dagur never came back.
Until now.
Dagur couldn’t remember a time when Bragi wasn’t by his side.
They always shadowed their fathers when there were meetings with the war-council, despite the peace that his father maintained with a steadfast determination. Dagur always looked forward to those meetings. Bragi was enthusiastic about being next in line to be War-Chief, now at twenty-one, Dagur was glad for it.
He didn’t like planning for stealthy missions much—preferring battle plans for head on advances and long raids—rather than the cunning and intellectual volleys others favoured, so he left that to Bragi. They were two sides to the same gold coin. Together they acted as one balanced adversary.
“I like the plan we initially have.” Dagur said, stroking his chin. “The only thing I don’t like is having Bragi stay with the rest of the armada. I want him with me .”
Bragi nodded along with him.
Three years and he wanted to have Bragi by his side when he made Hiccup kiss his boots. He needed to have Bragi there with him. It seemed wrong not to have him there.
“I want to be there too, but Dagur,” Bragi reached out and placed a hand onto his forearm. “we need a backup plan, in case this one doesn’t work. It’ll still be a small force, us against at least five dragons.”
Dagur puffed out his chest like a robin, before he narrowed his eyes.
Bragi wouldn’t have proposed a plan if he didn’t have one to begin with.
“What is it?” He propped his hands onto his hips. “What’s your idea?”
“Hiccup tends to outsmart your plans, so I was thinking we would play his game. I say we get into Berk and we take it down from the inside. Disable their defences and hit them with the full force of our armada when they’re weak.” Bragi explained.
“I… like it.” Dagur murmured thoughtfully. It had a good basis to work. The hooligan tribe were bleeding hearts. If they were vikings of any worth they would’ve killed him while he was still on Outcast Island so that he couldn’t come back for revenge. “But how are we going to do that? Stoick the Vast isn’t just going to let me onto Berk after what I’ve done.”
“Well, I’m going.” Bragi shrugged. “When you go to the graveyard Jokul and Vorg with strip me of my armour and weapons. You just have to call me a traitor.”
Dagur frowned, shaking his head rapidly.
“Don’t like it anymore.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
Danger on the battlefield was one thing, Bragi was well trained and strong, he could fight ten men well without breaking a sweat. Dagur had no doubt he was capable, but going undercover, without anyone to have his back. That was dangerous.
“No.”
“Hiccup has a bleeding heart, has been since we were kids. I’ll get Hiccup and the riders to rescue me so I can spy on them and offer them false information.” Bragi smiled, imagining the scene. “We could take them over in less than a month if you give me time.”
“I just got back .” Dagur huffed. “And you want us to be separated, again?”
“Everything will be fine, Dagur.” Bragi said with a soothing tone, aiming to comfort Dagur as he’d done for their whole childhood. “I can and have lied my way out of pretty much anything. If anyone’s suspicious I can take care of it.”
“Fine! But we need a plan to get you out if your cover is blown.”
“You can’t stay in Archipelago waters, Dagur!” Bragi protested.
“May I suggest-” Jokul cut in. “That a group of us stay close to Berk to assist Bragi if he needs an escape.” The older viking glanced between Bragi and Dagur, before he reached out and placed a hand on both their shoulders. He gave them both a squeeze. “You both know each other like the back of your hands. This plan has the potential to work and with a trust like you both have…” He trailed off.
“You normally have plans that work.” Dagur admitted to placate him. “But I want you to have at least one weapon. Hiccup may be a bleeding heart but the girl has a better head on her shoulders than he does.” Hiccup’s girlfriend had been what he’d underestimated from the beginning. He’d just chalked her down as a shield-maiden who was hanging off the son of the chief, until he saw her fight.
“You won’t mess this up, you won’t give anything away and you won’t touch Hiccup. I want to be the one who forces him to kiss my boots.” He said with a jab of his fingers to his boots.
“That honour is entirely yours, Chief.” Bragi said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll stick to running your armada and turning around to get you.”
Dagur’s arm snapped out to strike Bragi's shoulder instinctively, punching him right into the shoulder. Bragi immediately kicked back, rolling his eyes with a familiarity that made the tension in his shoulders slip away.
“I’m still chief,” Dagur protested, even if it sounded a little half-hearted at best. “You still have to listen to me.” He managed to harden his voice on the last note while puffing his chest. His shin throbbed where Bragi kicked him.
Three years ago he wouldn’t have bothered to strike out at Bragi at the sign of defiance, while he was still scrawny and short. Bragi seemed to not like it either, with the way that his eyes were flicking on and off of his frame, like he was assessing something.
“You’re forgetting that I’m older than you.” Bragi huffed. “I’ve been fighting by your side since you were six Dagur. Your threats don’t scare me and neither do you!”
Savage gasped and backed away from the both of them.
“Just do what you need to do.” Dagur waved his hand dismissively.
“There is something else Dagur.”
What? What else could there possibly be?”
“You need to make it look the part. You have to hurt me.”
“What?” Dagur’s eyebrows arched high, almost disappearing into his hairline.
“Your reputation has to stay solid. If I’m a traitor then I need to look the part. You have to hurt me.”
Nausea threatened to choke Dagur at the idea of hurting Bragi. Sure he was violent, eager to start a fight and even more eager to jump at the opportunity to wipe out his enemies, but to have to genuinely hurt Bragi, knowing what he had been through growing up.
“Try something else. I’m not hurting you.”
“You need to hurt me.” Bragi reached out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “You can’t give Berk any idea that you care!”
“Don’t push me Bragi.” Dagur warned, taking an aggressive step forward.
Bragi seemed to muse over the warning before he poked his tongue out childishly to antagonize him. It was something he’d done a million times before to tease Dagur and rile him up, and it always worked. Dagur impulsively launched himself forward at Bragi, knocking them both over. Bragi’s back hit the wooden deck with a crash and concern crack. His battle axe skittered across the deck as Dagur slammed his knees into his ribs.
Both of Dagur’s hands came to wrap around his throat, squeezing painfully tight.
Bragi reached up and grabbed Dagur by the front of his shirt.
“Dagur-” He choked.
Dagur felt Bragi’s throat flexing beneath his palms. He dug his knees against Bragi’s chest, until the older viking let out a choked wheeze.
Their eyes met, green meeting blue. Dagur’s eyes widened, realizing what he’d been goaded into doing. He released Bragi’s throat with a gasp, throwing himself back, leaving Bragi to wheeze where he lay.
Bragi knew the marks would mottle and turn ugly, as he lifted his hands to hover over his throat. They would bruise by the time they arrived at the ship graveyard. Jokul hovered over him, concerned, reaching a hand out to help him to his feet.
Dagur may have had the moniker of Deranged for as long as bragi knew him, but he was sensitive, especially when it came to his loved ones.
“Are you alright?” Jokul asked him.
Bragi nodded, eyes only focused on Dagur.
“Leave us.” He ordered the remaining vikings on deck.
Dagur jerked in surprise at the sudden order, but the vikings on deck, including Jokul once he had pulled Bragi to his feet, slunk away, leaving only the two of them staring at one another. Bragi closed the gap between them, reaching out to take Dagur’s hands in his.
“Why would you do that?” Dagur asked, his voice low.
He was tense and upset at being manipulated into doing something he did not want to do.
“I had to. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t touch me.” He snapped and jerked his hands out of Bragi’s.
“Dagur.” Bragi reached out and grabbed his wrist, tugging him back.
They stood, locked in the moment. Dagur’s hands were trembling. Bragi held onto his wrist tightly and looked into Dagur’s eyes, seeing fear and anger. Dagur saw remorse in Bragi’s blue eyes, open and apologetic.
“You didn’t fight back.” Dagur raised a hand to cup Bragi’s cheek. Bragi leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut as Dagur held him. Dagur then slid his hand down to his throat, fitting his hand back over the prints of his fingers. You just lay there and took it.”
Bragi’s throat was warm from the blood flushing his skin. It was heated under his palm and Dagur thought he could feel the slight throb of his pulse as his palm grazed Bragi’s throat.
“You had to do it, Dagur, it was the only way to make it real.” Bragi said softly.
Dagur’s brow furrowed.
“I could have killed you.” He said. It hurt and confused him. “If I didn’t stop I would’ve killed you.” He stared at his hand on Bragi's throat, like he couldn’t believe it was a part of his body. Stupid and impulsive, he’d acted without thinking and he could’ve taken Bragi’s life if he hadn’t snapped back into a more stable mind frame.
Hastily, he pulled his hands away from Bragi only to be caught again by the other viking who dragged him even closer despite Dagur hitting at his chest in an attempt to get Bragi to release him.
“Damn you Dagur. Listen to me!” He raised his voice.
Dagur inhaled sharply.
“Listen to me.” Bragi repeated. “You could never be him. You could never harm me. Hurting me was necessary but you will never be someone or something I am afraid of.” Bragi said firmly. “Do you understand me?”
He found Dagur’s hand and pressed their palms together, holding them between their chests , silvery scars matching in length and size, mirrored across both their palms.
“You and me, together.
Dagur remembered the night that Bragi brought his dagger to both their palms, slicing them open without a second thought if anyone would come and find them. All that mattered at that point was that Bragi wanted them to stay together and has tried to keep it that way despite the years.
“You’re hurt because of me.” Dagur muttered.
“I do this for you Dagur. So we can bring glory back to our tribe. A few bruises mean nothing if you and I get our future back.”
Overwhelmed by the genuine and heartfelt admission, Dagur cupped the side of Bragi’s cheek.
“I’ve truly missed you.” He whispered, as though it was a secret meant for the two of them. He leaned in closer, eyes drifting down to the faint scars that littered across Bragi’s cheek and nose from his childhood, to the one that cut his bottom lip in recent years that Dagur didn’t know well yet.
“I stared at the stars every night, begging for the Gods to get you out.” Bragi whispered back, he squeezed Dagur’s hand and stepped closer.
Dagur stepped closer too, his free hand rested on Bragi’s waist and brought him impossibly close.
“Say it.” He whispered, his nose bumped one of the blue lines of Bragi’s tattoo on his cheek.
“I love you. Nothing will make me stop.” Bragi whispered.
Dagur’s eyes flicked between his gaze and Bragi’s lips, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he leaned in even closer.
“I love you too.”
One of them moved first, closing the final gap between them, lips pressed against one another. Dagur was elated at the happy noise Bragi made, before he felt an arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.
*
Arriving in the ship graveyard later than intended proved to be beneficial. They sailed in on a single ship, Dagur diverting the armada as to not arouse suspicion. Bragi noticed that the dragon riders were already there, having split up on different ships to cover more ground.
He started taking his armour, grabbing Dagur’s attention while the chief ordered his men onto the ships to capture the riders.
“What are you doing?” He asked.
“Getting ready.” He said as he handed his armour off to Jokul.
In just his plain shirt, his tattoos and tribal markings were on display, and despite no weaponry or well-loved armour, Bragi still looked every bit of the Berserker War Chief that he was. His blue tattoos were faded from the sun and sea, but they still wrapped his arms as a permanent brand, similar to the ones on his face.
“Are you sure?” Dagur asked, giving him one last out.
“I’m sure.” He said, reaching out to reel Dagur in. “Let me do this for you.” He whispered, a hair’s breadth away from his lips, before Bragi kissed him. Dagur gripped tightly onto his biceps, holding him until Jokul cleared his throat.
They pulled apart with a sheepish expression on both their faces.
Jokul came forward with a pair of shackles. Bragi clasped his hands behind his back and let Jokul place the shackles on his wrist. There was still a dagger within his boot, as promised to Dagur, but he also looked every part a traitor. The marks on his neck from Dagur’s attack had begun to darken, his hair was beginning to escape from his braids.
He looked dishevelled. Humiliated.
“They won’t suspect a thing.” Dagur said as he gave Bragi a onceover. With that, they climbed onto the Reaper, the large ship creaking and groaning beneath them, to set their trap.
One by one, their men began to return with the dragon riders, captured and defenceless without their dragons over their shoulders. Osgard dropped Astrid at his feet. Bragi blinked in surprise at the sight of the blonde teenager. When he’d last seen little Astrid Hofferson, he had been a teenager himself, and her older sister was being offered up as his potential bride by her father.
Aldis Hofferson was the perfect candidate and Bragi still didn’t want her, because she wasn’t Dagur.
Judging by the sounds below deck, the only remaining Dragon Rider was Hiccup, and he was below the deck of the Reaper investigating something that possibly would be of interest to Dagur. Jewels probably, which was one of the reasons why they had planned to go to the shipyard, even before they had received news that Hiccup and his riders were spotted on route there.
He was surprised that they were split up without the protection of their dragons.
When Astrid caught sight of him, her eyes widened almost comically. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Bragi?” She gave him a quick once over, before stopping at the bruises on his throat.
Bragi didn’t answer her. He shifted his weight, making a show of his hands being behind his back as the shackles clinked together at his wrists. Jokul and Vorg grabbed him by the biceps and held him still, their grips not as rough as they should have.
Before anyone else could make a comment about him or the fictitious situation that he was in, Hiccup popped out of the hold frantically, followed by the Night Fury. There was only a moment for him to catch his breath before he lifted his gaze and spotted the situation in front of him. The Night Fury’s mouth glowed purple with a shot of plasma.
His friends, captured.
Dagur, proudly puffing his chest.
Bragi, in chains beside him.
“Hiccup!” Astrid called out from inside of the cage. “We’re sorry! He got the drop on us while we were searching-”
“Uh, quiet!” Dagur snapped, holding a hand out to silence Astrid. “Can’t you see that my brother and I are having a moment!”
“I’m not your brother,” Hiccup frowned. “And we definitely aren’t having a moment!”
“Huh, I was. Look at you, all grown up, and quite the ladies man I gather? Hmm?” Dagur cheerfully teased, unbothered by the teenagers in the cage or the fact that the Night Fury was staring him down.
“Dagur, what do you want?” Hiccup huffed.
“Duh he wants the jewels.” The shorter, stocky teen grumbled. Bragi could vaguely place the boy as a kid next to a similar looking man the last time he was on Berk with Dagur, Chief Osvald and his father, but he couldn’t match a name to his face.
“He’s not getting my family’s jewels, and I’ll protect them at all cost.” One of the twins inside the cage announced dramatically. Bragi assumed it was the boy twin, though he didn’t remember which clan they came from.
“Haven’t gotten rid of the Greek chorus I see. Anyway, yes, I’ll take the jewels, his too.” one of their men elbowed the other blonde within the cage, forcing them to spit out the jewels they had in their mouth.
“Watch it pal.” She growled, narrowing her eyes at the viking.
“Oops, thought that was the guy.” Dagur shrugged. “Never can tell with those two. And I’ll also take whatever it is you’re hiding behind your back.” At Hiccup’s hesitance, he crooned. “Come on, hand it over like a good boy. Brothers share you know.”
“You know you’re not going to get very far with that thing right?” Hiccup muttered, handing over a cylindrical treasure that looked intricately carved. Dagur snatched it from Hiccup’s hand and held it onto his hip, as he threw an arm around Hiccup’s frame.
“Oh boy here we go, must we always do the same dance, you and I? Not that you aren’t a fabulous dancer.” He let out a chuckle as the Night Fury growled.
“Toothless, no!” Hiccup ordered, crouching down to soothe the dragon.
“That’s right, Mister Night Fury, today is not the day but it’s coming, and soon.” Dagur crowed, leaning over to meet the dragon eye to eye while he spoke. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got people to see, an army to build, revenge to plot, traitors to remove. So much to do and so little time.” He crowed, waving at Vorg and Jokul with the signal. “Isn’t this exciting, Hiccup? You must’ve been so bored these last three years.”
“Dagur, what are you-” He looked over at Bragi, as if finally noticing the other Berserker in chains. “Bragi?” He blinked in surprise. “Bragi, hey… it’s been…” Hiccup trailed off when he noticed the bruise around Bragi’s neck and the shackles around his wrists. “What’s going on? What did he do to you?”
“Alas my time here has come to an end. Send the traitor overboard, the eels can have him” Dagur said with a dismissive wave of his hand, ignoring Hiccup’s questioning protest. Vorg and Jokul dragged Bragi towards the side of the Reaper. “Until we meet again on the field of battle.”
“Dagur, wait what are you doing? Let him go!” Hiccup shouted.
“Hiccup you have to stop them!” Astrid called out as she watched the scene unfold in front of them. Jokul and Vorg grabbed him by the biceps and beneath his knee, forcing him off balance. Bragi thought he would have remained calm, but the sound of hissing eels and the rush of waves as they stirred beneath the surface made panic rise in his throat. He kicked against their hold without success as they lifted him over the edge and threw him over.
He could barely gasp a lungful of air before he crashed painfully into the dark, churning water. Water rushed past his ears and his eyes struggled to adjust to the dark. The chains weighed him down as the eels began to dip curiously around him, snatching at his clothes and the chains to pull him in different directions. Teeth grazed his calf, causing him to help and loose another mouthful of air.
His lungs protested as he was dragged further into the murky depths, unable to fight against the eels or kick himself free up to the water’s surface. He saw out of the corner of his blackening vision, the Reaper being dragged down by more giant eels.
He struggled to keep his eyes open, his lungs burning and his heart pounding in his ears.
The last thing he felt before his vision blacked out completely was something gripping his arm and feeling like he was about to throw up.
*
“Is he alright?” Astrid asked over the wind, leaning forward on Stormfly’s back to get a good look at the Berserker on Barf and Belch’s back. The Reaper had been dragged under the waters surface by the eels just as they got onto their dragons, leaving them to search frantically through the churning waves for the Berserker war-chief while Hiccup flew after Dagur’s ship.
The twins managed to find him, pulling the unconscious Berserker from the depths and draping him over Barf and Belch’s back. Ruffnut was quick to turn him onto his side and slam a firm palm into his back, causing the Berserker to immediately cough water, but he hadn’t regained consciousness.
Astrid had known Bragi since the teenager had come to Berk with his father and Dagur’s father. He was the son of Cnut the Cruel, Osvald the Agreeable’s most trusted war-chief. He was Dagur’s best friend, one of the best up and coming warriors within the tribe and also the centrepiece to one of the biggest scandals within the Barbaric Archipelago.
When her father suggested that her sister marry him to unite the tribes Astrid had only been envious. Status, position and pride. He had it all, not to mention rumour was he was kind and sweet. Then came the news.
It spread like wildfire across the archipelago.
In the dead of night, Bragi’s little brother who had been born a Hiccup, was brutally beaten to death by his own father when he was a few months old. Rumour was, Cnut had gone mad trying to care for the baby after his wife had died in childbirth, spurred by the baby's wailing. Bragi, at age fourteen, challenged his father to a trial by combat for retribution and had won; coming out the victor half-dead, a broken arm, and he had fallen into Dagur’s arms on the battlefield.
She had no idea what it was like to face such violence from a loved one, let alone a father . Nor would she ever know what it felt like to kill her own father. Seeing Bragi now, slumped over a dragon, soaked to the bone. Debased and humiliated. It was nothing like the warrior she spied talking to Aldis. When the scandal broke her parents rescinded the offer of Aldis’ hand and her sister eventually became a shield-maiden in the Berk Guard, where she still was today, but Astrid had always wondered why.
“Is that what Dagur meant by traitors to remove?” Fishlegs mused as Meatlug hovered alongside Barf and Belch.
“That is what he said.” Snotlout pointed out. “He said ‘send the traitor overboard’ before they threw Bragi into the water.”
“Seems strange for him to just throw away years worth of loyalty to Dagur.” Ruffnut said as she glanced down at the unconscious Berserker.
There was a moment of silence as they all shared glances with one another, before the sound of a sonic wave as Hiccup returned to them cut the silence short.
“Got it gang!” Hiccup announced, waving the cylindrical trinket in his hand. He spotted Bragi on the back of the zippleback and sighed with relief. “Good, you managed to get him, I wasn’t sure those eels would’ve snapped him up.”
“It was close.” Astrid said, her shoulders drooping as she leaned forward on Stormfly. “Hiccup we need to get him back to Berk. He needs Gothi. We can’t treat him out here.”
“You’re right.” He agreed. “Let’s go back to Berk, we can figure out everything else after we help him out.”
They arrived in Berk by noon.
Bragi had woken up halfway through the flight, sitting up dizzily and almost throwing himself off Barf and Belch in a panic if Tuffnut hadn’t spun around to grab his arm and keep him on the dragon as they swooped in over the open ocean. He went green at the gills, doubling over on the Zippleback.
It might have been the flight.
It might have been the fact that he was on a dragon, but Bragi’s face of relief as they reached dry land and he was allowed to fall onto the ground to his knees, arms still shackled behind his back, was comical.
“Someone get those shackles off him.” Hiccup said as a crowd gathered around them and the dragons. Bragi felt someone haul him up by a grip on the back of his shirt, and a heavy weight struck the shackles at his back, and suddenly he was free to move his hands forward. He rolled his shoulders, feeling them ache from being forced to hold them back.
“Bragi,” Hiccup’s voice was soft, his tone careful, like he was approaching a wounded animal. Bragi lifted his head to see the younger viking watching him with concern.
“What happened to you?” He asked.
“Dagur happened.” He admitted in a whisper.
It felt so wrong to blame Dagur for the damage done to him.
He loved Dagur, ever since they had made a promise to each other that nothing would come between them. Ever since Dagur had supported him out of their arena. Ever since Bragi had promised to be by his side when he became chief. It felt wrong to blame and betray him-
But this was for him . He reminded himself. This was for Dagur.
Hiccup opened his mouth to say something, but an indignant yell interrupted whatever it was. Hiccup spun around, immediately raising his hand defensively as his father stormed up to him.
“Hiccup, what have you done now!” His father’s voice carried.
Bragi remembered Stoick the Vast as a good man, a kind man who gave his son a fighting chance at life— Stoick was nothing like his father— but he instinctively reached for Hiccup anyway with the intention of pulling the young teen behind him, expecting violence from the large viking chief. The chief’s own eyes widened at the action, slowing his steps before he raised his own hands, palms facing Bragi in a placating gesture.
“Peace, Bragi the Berserk.” Stoick said calmly. “I won’t hurt my son.”
“Bragi, it’s okay.” Hiccup said from behind the Berserker. “My dad’s not like that.”
“Yes sir.” Bragi straightened his back and stepped to the side, allowing the older viking to step forward and embrace his son. He had to turn away from the scene, an ache in his chest at the sight.
“Bragi.” The chief said, voice careful as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “What happened boy, why are you here with my son and his friends? Why aren’t you on Berserk?”
Bragi could feel Stoick’s eyes giving him a once over, burning with questions that were answered when they caught sight of the bruises on his throat.
He had lived with violence and violence followed him no matter where he was.
Stoick’s hand was firmer on his shoulder, before he was drawn into a hug that almost squeezed the life out of his bones.
“Dagur did this to you, didn’t he?” Stoick rumbled as he hugged the Berserker.
Bragi froze, surprised by the sudden affectionate embrace and the sheer sturdiness of the chief’s frame as he was held. He hadn’t been embraced in the kind of hug that currently had him stunned in years. He wanted to sink into that warmth, to hide in it forever until he could see Dagur again, but he couldn’t.
And there was a part that needed to be played.
“It was my fault.” He said into Stoick’s frame. “I’ve always been able to handle him, but three years on Outcast Island changed him. He’s faster now, stronger, no longer the scrawny kid I used to drag around.”
“You were always too well-behaved to be around that boy.”
“I goaded him into fighting me.” He forced himself to continue his story, the fictitious lie. “He just snapped and attacked me. I’ve never seen him look at me with so much hatred in his eyes.”
Liar. His conscience scolded him.
This is for Dagur, he argued back.
He pulled away and looked up at Stoick, pulling upon his studies and all the sincerity that he could manage.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from waging war, Chief Stoick.” He said. “I wasn’t there. His Great-Uncle Haggard staged a coup and sent me away. I’d only just returned to the armada from North beyond the borders of the Archipelago.”
He turned his head to look at the Dragon Riders, along with other vikings who had gathered around them as the commotion drew them in. They were all staring at him with a mixture of heartbroken expressions, or pitying looks. Hiccup himself had a heartbroken stare, mouth parted in a disbelieving gasp.
“Fishlegs, take him to Gothi to get something for the bruising on his throat.” Stoick ordered the young teen, before he placed both hands on Bragi’s shoulders, and in a softer, fatherly tone, said; “You can stay on Berk as long as you need, as long as it takes for you to decide what you want to do next.”
It was far more kindness and opportunity than his father had ever given him . Suddenly his eyes burned with tears that were more real than fake. He had to look away from Chief Stoick, ducking his head as Fishlegs made his way over to him.
Berk was nothing like Berserk. If that had been his father in front of him, he would’ve been given a thumping and sent back into his training with instruction to teach the teen that hurt him a lesson. He couldn’t stop thinking about the differences even as Fishlegs began to lead him away.
He felt Fishlegs watching him even as they walked towards the isolated hut that belonged to Gothi, the village elder.
“I’m not going to try anything.” Bragi said after they’d left the crowd behind. Fishlegs’ head snapped up to look at him with frightened eyes. Bragi huffed. “Dagur had me thrown overboard, so unless you’re going to do the same to me, I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t stop him from throwing you over.” He apologized, holding his hands together in front of him.
The sincerity of it overwhelmed him, making him stop in his tracks for a split second to stare at Fishlegs in disbelief.
“You don’t have to apologize.” Bragi hissed. “It’d hurt less if he actually cared about me.”
“Maybe he does?” Fishleg squeaked nervously. “ In his own weird way?”
He didn’t want to talk about Dagur caring, about the love he’d know Dagur reserved for him and only him. The way his entire life revolved around Dagur.
“So Gothi is still around?” He changed the subject hastily.
Bragi met her once, around the same time he had been introduced to the Hofferson’s oldest daughter. A wise older woman who practiced being a seer. He was surprised that Berk allowed runes and bones and the word of a volva. He had excitedly brought Dagur along with him to receive a rune reading, only for the both of them to be whalloped over their heads by her staff when she found them chewing Fire Root.
It had been the worst lecture of his life, and compared to the harsh yelling of Berserker lifestyle. That was saying something.
“She’s still going strong!” Fishlegs said excitedly, clapping his hands together. “She’s still learning new ways to treat us.”
“I haven’t seen here since before Osvald died, at the last treaty renewal before Dagur became chief. I would’ve been fourteen maybe?” Bragi answered, curiously tilting his head to the side as they came to a familiar suspended hut and a set of stairs. They climbed the stairs, finding the old seer standing at the top with her staff in hand. She welcomed them with a few waves of her staff before she pointed at Bragi and rattled her staff.
“Alright.” He raised his hands in a gesture to get her to stop and he followed her to her hut, where she opened a small keepsake box and dug through it, until she pulled something out into her hand. She held it out to him, the item still enclosed in her fist.
Curious, he reached his hand out , palm up, and waited to see what she would give him.
It was old and worn, leather cracking in some places, but Bragi recognized what it was the moment she had dropped it into his palm. A braided leather bracelet with two beads, one green and one blue lay in his palm, parts of the cord unfurling and coming apart, but Bragi recognized it immediately. The green reminded him so vividly of Dagur’s eyes he felt like crying.
“This..” He breathed in disbelief, holding it up to his face to stare at it closely. He hugged it close to his chest and gave the old seer a grateful nod. “Thank you. I thought I lost it years ago.”
“Uh Gothi, we’re just here for Bragi to get something for the bruising.” Fishlegs tried to interrupt.
Noticing the bruises, Gothi frowned and shook her staff again, before she turne daround and went back to rummaging through her bottles and potions. Bragi slipped the worn bracelet onto his wrist, smiling to himself until something strong and sharp-smelling was shoved underneath his nose.
Gothi held a balm out to him. It was pale green in colour, reminding him of a crushed-mint paste that the healers on Berserk used to give him when he was injured. The small jar was pressed into his hands.
“Rub it onto your throat, twice a day.” Fishlegs translated the drawings Gothi left in the dirt at his feet.
So he did as he was told, dipping two fingers into the balm and massaging it over the bruises. They ached, nothing too painful but enough to remind Bragi of what had happened. The balm tingled where it was applied to his skin, making him feel cold, before he capped it.
“What now?” He asked curiously.
Fishlegs looked thoughtful for a moment, before he nodded to himself and let out a small ‘ah’ before perking up. “Since you haven't been to Berk in a while, why don't we give you a grand tour, and then we can decide where you'll be staying?” He proposed as he gestures out towards the village beneath and in front of him.
“That would be really neat Fishlegs.” Bragi smiled.
It would be beneficial to learn where everything was. Berk had changed so much since he was last there. The houses were new, he didn't recognize most of it. The only thing that had seemingly stayed the same in the almost ten years since he'd been on the island was their Great Hall in the distance, flanked by stone carvings of past chiefs.
“We'll start on the far side of the island where the farms are and work inland towards the main village. Then we'll meet the others for dinner in the Great Hall.” Fishlegs said as he led Bragi down the steps from Gothi’s hut, excitement filling his voice. “You can treat Berk like your new home!”
It was getting well into the evening by the time Fishlegs had shown him how much Berk had grown and expanded now that the island wasn't being plagued by dragon raids. None of it was recognizable from his past visit to the island. They entered the Great Hall, well lit by burning fires and lanterns on the walls. Bragi took in the tapestries that decorated wood and stone, until Fishlegs led him to a table with the other dragon riders.
“Bragi!” Snotlout called out. The short, stocky teen shoved one of the blonde twins aside to make space next to him. “Come sit down, get some food!”
“Hey! I wanted him to sit next to me.” The blonde twin on the other side of the one that was shoved. The boy. Tuffnut, Bragi’s brain supplied, called out instead, shoving his sister aside.
“He’s going to sit next to me.” Astrid said, levelling a glare at both rambunctious teens, before making a space next to herself. “I’m sure he wants a quiet dinner after everything he’s been through today.”
Bragi blinked at her in surprise, before nodding and making his way around the table to climb into the spot next to Astrid.
“Why are you being so nice?” He asked as a plate was pushed across the table, piled high with food, towards him.
Astrid reached out and grabbed his hand just as he reached for one of the pieces of cutlery on the table. He tensed up at the sudden touch, eyes drifting down to her hand, smaller than his. He could shake her off, yank his hand away like the touch burned him.
“Less than six hours ago we watched your best friend throw you overboard calling you a traitor.” She said bluntly. “Don’t you think you deserve a little bit of kindness?” She tilted her head to the side curiously, waiting for an answer.
For once, Bragi didn’t have an answer to the question posed to him.
The chatter between the other dragon riders trailed off as he sat there, silent. More eyes turned to him in search of a response, their expressions varied from concern to understanding. He’d been banking on the Hooligan tribe being bleeding hearts but this was even too much for him, he would’ve never have invited an enemy, previous or otherwise, to dine at his table.
“I’m a Berserker.” He said finally. “Kindness is a luxury we can’t afford.”
“That’s going to change.” Hiccup said firmly from across the table. “You’re here now.”
Bragi swallowed, shifting his gaze from the intense stares. The food in front of him was inviting, meat drenched in juices, framed by plated greens. A healthy, hearty meal for a viking. It was a shame that looking at it made him feel ill.
With their armada on strict half-rations, he was sure that any amount of hearty food wouldn’t stay down. He picked at it half-heartedly, not wanting to draw anymore attention to himself than he already was by simply existing among the group and hoped that no one else would notice that he wasn’t really eating.
At the other end of the table, separated by the chatter of the Great Hall and engrossed in their own conversation. Chief Stoick glanced over at his best friend of many years and wondered what could’ve caused the two young men to split so violently. Dagur and Bragi were akin to him and Gobber, fast friends from childhood and even tighter knit as they grew older. The idea that Bragi would’ve betrayed him was baffling, but the older Berserker had always been less hot-headed and far more open to reason.
“It wouldn’t be so bad to have him here.” Spitelout commented between bites of his food. “We could get an inkling of what Dagur could be up to.”
“I doubt he would want to betray Dagur, no matter what went on.” Gobber said with a wave of his hook hand, gesturing to Spitelout. “He was loyal to a fault that one.”
“Bragi loved that boy.” Stoick said into his cup of mead. “You should thave seen him the night the Hoffersons tried to offer him Aldis’ hand when he was a teenager. Gave the poor girl a once over and turned his attention back to Dagur instead.”
“Aye, I remember the look Dagur had too. Almost like someone tried to take his favourite toy. Then Bragi took his hand and it was like the devil had left him.” Gobber said, leaning closer to Stoick to tell him more without others hearing. “I think he was about as smitten as you were with Valka.’
“Which makes you wonder why Dagur’s great-uncle was so eager to get rid of him?” Spitelout mused, propping his chin onto his hands clasped together. He watched Bragi interact with the other teenagers kindly, though a bit separated from their group at the end of the table. Whether due to age, discomfort or something else, he didn't know.
The three older Vikings watched the scene in front of them, numerous questions on his mind, the most important being; What would Bragi do now?