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maedarakat · 4 years

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Storms

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“What is that?”

Normally Dagur never interrupted Boynut when he told one of his humorous anecdotes. Hiccup’s friend could be rambling and nonsensical at times, but he liked the rider’s voice.

He’d made an exception this time however, pointing at the strip of skin across his stomach that Tuff’s shirt was showing. He’d stretched his arms out wide, trying to convey just how big around the boar in his story had been.

Tuff stopped mid-sentence, realizing, and hurriedly dropped his arms, adjusting the shirt so it covered him. He wasn’t wearing his usual tunic and belt today, just a loose blue shirt and his leggings.

The Twins and Fishlegs had been assembling their winter gear from Berk and had returned to the Edge just an hour ago, far later than they were due to arrive.

Their arrival had been oddly tense and weird - Fishlegs had immediately apologized for their lateness before Astrid could demand what happened, saying that he’d been stuck choosing which books and how much ink and parchment to take. Ruff had been the very image of calm before a storm, hand on her brother’s arm, and Tuff had simply looked exhausted.

He was more animated now, with some food and warm mead inside him, and to all appearances it had just been the long ride that explained his earlier solemn mood. However, the glimpse of skin Dagur had just seen was dark and mottled. Something was wrong.

“What? Is it the color?” Tuff asked, redirecting. “I know, it doesn’t look as good on me as green. My tunic got covered with dragon slobber.”

It was a lie. The others did not appear to pick up on it, giving sympathetic groans. Snotlout commiserated by bringing up how badly Monstrous Nightmare drool stained in comparison to the drool of other dragons.

“Guys, come on, it’s not a competition,” Hiccup sighed.

“Shut up, Hiccup,” the others retorted amiably in unison. Hiccup grumbled but leaned back in his chair, scratching Toothless under the chin.

Fishlegs countered by reminding everyone that Gronckle saliva actually burned holes in things, and as things started to heat up in the dragon slobber fandom, Dagur caught sight of Tuff slinking back toward the kitchen area of the Clubhouse.

He excused himself after a moment and went into the kitchen, casually getting himself a mug to pour mead out of a barrel. Tuff wasn’t making himself any food or drink, just lurking in a dark corner. He startled when he saw Dagur but held still and said nothing, clearly hoping he went unnoticed.

It was a far cry from how friendly the boy usually acted, enough that Dagur set down his mead without drinking any and turned to face him. “You okay, Tuff?”

Tuff looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “I’m fine,” he almost snapped, arms crossed over his chest. “Everything is fine.”

It was clearly not.

When Dagur reached out to put a calming hand on his shoulder he flinched.

Tuff didn’t ever flinch from contact - not even from him.

Shocked, Dagur didn’t take back his hand, instead pulling him close into a worried bear hug, though gentler than the breath stealing squeezes he often inflicted on his ‘little brother’. Tuff froze tensely but didn’t jerk away or protest.

“What’s wrong?” Dagur asked firmly.

“Nothing,” came the muffled reply, though Tuff was starting to tremble. Eventually he leaned in, hiding his face against Dagur’s shoulder and returning the embrace.

“There he is,” Dagur teased gently, feeling some relief. “Where’d you go, Boynut?”

“Sorry,” Tuff sniffled. “Not trying to be a jerk, I just - I got in a bad fight. At home.”

He hadn’t been a jerk, but Dagur’s main concern was what he’d said after that. He let Tuff go, allowing him to pull back if he wanted. Tuff did, though he stayed close. “At home? Someone from home hurt you?”

Tuffnut faltered, then walked it back, sounding frantic. “I didn’t say I was hurt. It was just a bad fight. Dad said some words and Ruff stood up for me, then he said something about her and I threw a mug at him. Hard.”

Dagur remembered the red and darkening purples he’d seen across the boy’s stomach. “So you hit him with a mug and he whaled on you?”

“No. I missed him completely and it shattered. But it was his favorite mug that grandma got him.” Tuff sounded both proud and horrified at his transgression. Dagur put his hands on Tuff’s shoulders gently. He winced but this time leaned toward Dagur instead of flinching.

“What happened after the mug broke?”

Tuff bit his lip, going pale. “He got up.”

It was all Tuff could seem to say and perhaps all he needed to.

Dagur put an arm around his shoulders. “Okay. So when you guys visit Berk again for a holiday, could I come with you? I’ve been thinking, I’ve never met everyone’s parents. Next time I think I’ll tag along to your home and meet the Thorstons.”

Tuff looked up at him, considering that. “Well, our mom would like you. She said we actually have some Berserker blood in our family. She didn’t tell me who though.”

“Really? I’m not surprised, you two definitely have some Berserker traits. Your insane bravery for one. And your amazing traps, remember when you booby trapped the whole island after we kidnapped Ruff?”

A fond grin appeared on Tuff’s face. “I do. You talk about it a lot, especially when you’ve been drinking. I think one time you may have cried.”

Dagur burst into embarrassed laughter. “Right. That was a lot of mead.” He pulled Tuff a bit closer. “Not gonna lie, I’m glad I’m on your side now, so I don’t have your destructive genius aimed at me.”

“What makes you think you’re safe from that?” Tuff snickered but he was grinning as he said it and finally relaxed. He leaned into Dagur, shoulder and side pressing against his. “So I’m taking you home to meet my parents next month when the storms let up? Is that what we’re doing?” Tuff’s tone was playfully sultry.

“Yep,” Dagur said, face turning a bit red but going with it. “Gotta let them know my intentions toward their son.”

That sent Tuff into a blushing fit but he soldiered on. “You’re going to ask Papa for my hand?”

“And he’s going to say yes and offer to pay for the wedding, right before he passes out in my Berserker chokehold,” Dagur said matter-of-factly, and Tuff wheezed, covering his face and almost beet red.

“Okay,” he managed to squeak through his fingers. “Awesome.”

He was comfortably leaning against Dagur, who took the opportunity to wrap an arm around him again. Tuff relaxed, taking his hands away from his face and allowing the touch without further comment.

For a few moments neither of them spoke, realizing their exchange might have a little more weight to it than either of them had given thought to.

“They say arnica’s good for bruises,” Dagur suggested finally. “I’ve got some salve in my bags - I use it on Shattermaster’s wing every morning. He’s been recovering quickly. You want some?”

Tuff nodded, uncharacteristically quiet and still blushing.

Dagur released him from the embrace and led him to Fishy’s hut where he was staying for the storm period. Tuffnut remained at his side the whole way there, close enough to almost trip him, like a puppy underfoot. It was adorable.

Once inside, he picked up his bag, rummaging around for the tin of salve and hoping he didn’t leave it all the way back at the stable. He heard Tuff sit down on the pallet of blankets and furs that Fishlegs had laid out for his Berserker guest.

“Is he taking good care of you? Fishlegs?”

“Yeah, he’s a good host. We’re morning meditation buddies, and he makes some really good herbal tea. Very cleansing.” His hand found the right shape and he pulled the salve out triumphantly, tossing the rucksack back into the corner.

Tuff had laid down across the pallet, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, his legs crossed. “Okay. Well, if he wasn’t a good host, I was going to tell you he keeps all the snacks his mom sends him in the upper left cabinet behind some books.”

Dagur snorted, amused he’d just told him anyway. He sat down on the bed, opening the tin. “I can help you put some on if you’d like me to.”

The blond rider looked at him a moment and then nodded, sitting up to take off his shirt. Dagur at once realized the reason why he had worn the shirt loose without a belt - this wasn’t just a few bruises. Wide swaths of dark red and purple wrapped around his ribs and shoulders. His back was the biggest mess of stripes, and Dagur could see older scars - from past ‘fights’ - faded beneath. Dagur swallowed.

“What did he use on you?” he asked neutrally, scooping some salve out and sitting behind Tuff to spread it across the inflamed skin. Inside him something was boiling over with dark rage but he kept his voice and his movements calm for Tuff’s sake.

“The strap for his shaving razor,” Tuff muttered. “He got the drop on me so it was easier to just hold still. If I lay still it’s over faster.” He furrowed his brow, looking angry at himself for saying that aloud. “Sorry -“

“It’s okay.”

“I sound pathetic,” Tuff argued.

“You do not. Getting hurt by family is way worse than getting hurt by strangers, because it’s not supposed to happen.” Dagur moved his hair aside, draping it forward over his shoulders so he could get the hand-sized bruise on the back of his neck. He rubbed the salve gently across it, listening carefully to make sure he wasn’t hurting him.

“Everyone gets punished by their dad once in a while,” Tuff dismissed. “I’m a trouble-maker, I get extra.”

That sentiment bothered him. Tuff shouldn’t be accepting this sort of treatment, no matter what he’d done. “I made a lot of trouble. Would it have been okay if my dad had beaten the crap out of me?” Dagur asked pointedly.

Tuff’s shoulders stiffened under his hand. “No! It wouldn’t ...” Stricken, he looked anxiously back at him over his shoulder. “Oswald didn’t ever, did he?”

“No. He didn’t,” Dagur answered quietly. “He would talk to me and make me understand what I did wrong, and I would either feel ashamed or I wouldn’t. But he never beat me.”

The worst thing Oswald had ever done was disappear, but that was a different kind hurt. He hadn’t meant to never come back, hadn’t meant for Dagur to feel like an unlovable monster whose own father didn’t want to be near him anymore.

Tuff’s dad though? That man had definitely meant to hurt him.

And judging by the blond’s sagging shoulders and look of quiet devastation, he was starting to accept that it wasn’t normal.

Dagur spread the salve everywhere he saw discoloration, then coaxed Tuff to turn around so he could get his chest and arms. He said nothing about the tear tracks on the rider’s cheeks, but they made him want to pay Berk a little visit before the storms landed and unleash some thunder and lightning of his own.

Tuff leaned into his touch as Dagur‘s fingers traced over his skin. One hand went up to move his hair again, intending to drape his braids across his back so he could get to his collarbone but it got lost and cupped his face instead.

Hitching, Tuff nuzzled his palm and kissed it and that was honestly all he needed.

Dagur capped the salve and tossed it aside on the bed, gathering Tuff against him and kissing him firmly.

The trickster kissed back enthusiastically, his long limbs wrapping around him tightly. When they came up for air, Tuff clung to him still, nuzzling his throat. He was shaking. Murmuring in concern, Dagur hugged him closer.

“You aren’t going to have to face him alone again,” he promised, kissing Tuff’s forehead. “Neither you or Ruff.” He kissed along the bridge of Tuff’s nose, caressing his face. “I’ll put the terror of Dagur into him.”

Tuff melted against him, grey eyes soft. “You don’t have to, you know. He’s got lots of mugs. Maybe one of these days, I’ll actually nail him with one.”

“Tuff,” Dagur sighed with exasperated affection. He cupped the rider’s face and kissed him. Later would be a talk about thinking better of himself.

For now, they were in his bed and together, while outside the storm-winds began to howl.

#httydrarepairbingo #tuffnut #dagur #tuffgur #rated pg #tw mentions of abuse

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maedarakat · 4 years

Text

Markless - Chapter 3

28th Oct: Soulmates AU // “I don’t need this now.”

Summary: A Mark showing up is like a rite of passage for young Vikings of the entire Archipelago. When Tuff gets his, he tells nobody - afraid it means what his Elders have always suspected about him. Likewise, Dagur’s own Mark remains secretive, due to his fear of making him seem weak.

Too bad the Gods never sent down instruction manuals, since they were so keen to pair humans up this way.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

—————-

Three blue lines.

That was the Mark on Hiccup; Dagur had seen it himself on their last encounter.

Granted, not in the nicest way possible - more like tackling him outright onto the forest floor on one of their many encounters. Dagur had paused to stare at Hiccup’s shoulder for far too long - enough for Toothless to swat him off his rider and nearly bite his face off in the process.

There had been three blue lines, just like Dagur had tattooed across his eye and arm. Not exactly the same angle or shade of blue, but who cared - it was close enough that it couldn’t just be a coincidence; Hiccup was meant to be his.

The initial plan had been to find the Skrill, tame it, and then ride it in battle against Hiccup and his Night Fury.

He figured the Greek chorus that rode around with him would be distracted defending all of Berk from his Armada, while he flew in and collected his soulmate.

Hiccup would probably thank him later; he was too good, far too clever for living some sad banal existence on Berk. Even his rider friends couldn’t possibly appreciate him as much as he deserved; Dagur had often felt deep pangs of sadness and loneliness whenever he looked at the Mark on his wrist.

Even knowing that, nothing could have prepared him for whatever he'd felt Hiccup experience just three nights ago.

Dagur had woken in a cold aching sweat, heart hammering in fear. His back and hips had been in unbearable pain, for no reason that he or the hastily summoned physician could determine.

It only confirmed the Berserker’s worst suspicions: his soulmate was being severely mistreated.

For that? Berk was going to pay dearly - just as soon as he captured and trained that Skrill.

Or so had been the plan. There was now just one teeny, tiny annoying little snag.

The Outcasts had found the Skrill first.

Despite the fact Dagur and his clan had ancestral claim to the dragon, Alvin was not interested in handing the Skrill over. The only thing keeping Dagur from annihilating the entire island with his Armada was Alvin’s threat of outright killing the dragon if he tried attacking them.

Well. A dead Skrill was zero use to him.

Put out and without any alternative choice, Dagur grudgingly agreed to work with Alvin - putting his Armada on the table in the quest to attack Berk.

At least they had a common goal, but Dagur was still going to watch for any opportunity to change things around in his favor.

Currently, all Dagur's ships were docked at Outcast Island - which gave the local wild dragons pause in attacking the village. Alvin had moved his people to subterranean caves, which accounted for the pallor and obesity of most of his men; starved for sunlight and vegetables.

They were eating wild dragon meat, cave mushrooms, and the occasional potato - which was why Dagur agreed to Vorg’s suggestion to slaughter a few boar and sheep and share out better provisions. Better food definitely made these talks go smoother, and had raised the morale of the Outcasts greatly.

Huh. By comparison, they didn’t seem too happy with Alvin. That could prove useful later . . .

He nodded to Captain Vorg, who extracted himself from the group of mingling Berserkers and Outcasts, who were playing a game of dice and cups. The man joined him in stride, as together they walked toward the arena where the Skrill was kept.

Alvin didn’t care if he went near the cage, so long as it was under guard. Dagur wanted to take a good look at the Skrill to make sure the Chief hadn’t injured her, or caused her to be unable to fly, though he’d been warned not to get too close. The dragon was angry, and had already electrocuted the wits out of some old man who had made that error.

“Sir,” Vorg inquired, jarring Dagur out of his thoughts.

“What is it?” Dagur snapped, not looking at him.

“When we gain ownership of the Skrill from Alvin, how do you plan to keep it from flying away? Have you figured out yet how Hiccup subjugated his Night Fury?”

Dagur scowled. He hadn’t figured that part out, but how hard could it be? Dragons liked to fly, didn’t they? If the Skrill wanted to fly again, then she’d just have to realize he was the boss and therefore she would fly wherever he wanted her to. Otherwise? She would just have to sit in her cage and think about it.

“If the dragon won’t obey me, there’s always chains to keep her grounded. I have no idea how scrawny little Hiccup managed to chain down his Night Fury - probably had his little friends all helping him,” Dagur snorted.

He wouldn’t need anyone helping him, though. All that dragon hunting, sparring and training had paid off; Dagur was now much stronger and faster than he’d ever been.

It was too bad Oswald had abandoned him - the weak fool might have had a son to feel proud of, had he stuck around.

Oh well, all the more reason to let people believe he’d ended his father’s life. It was rather amusing, really - and it garnered him both respect and fear.

Vorg was talking now, going on pointlessly about some kind of repair work on one of the ships, and Dagur tuned him out, approaching the Outcast who was on guard duty.

Instead of the usual slouching idiot, this one was already standing to full attention and straightened further upon Dagur’s approach.

“Sir! Your man has already begun his preliminary inspection of the Skrill cage ahead of you. I hope you find his results satisfactory.”

“My what has done what now?” Dagur asked after a confused pause. He didn’t bother to wait for an answer, stepping past the guard and storming into the arena.

There was a thin blond boy sitting on the ground before the Skrill cage.

He was cooing at the dragon within, who looked decidedly less grumpy. She trilled back at him, blinking her eyes like an overgrown house cat.

Dagur scowled and stomped towards them both, dead set on hauling this intruder out of here and tossing him into the nearest Whispering Death hole. The Skrill hissed at him, retreating further into her cage, but the boy jumped to his feet and grinned at Dagur, running to meet him.

“Chief Dagur!” the blond shouted joyfully, and then hugged him - of all things.

As the young man’s arms encircled him, Dagur made as if to grab his elbows and shove him away. Upon skin contact, he froze - a plethora of emotions nearly crumpling him.

Relief, joy, anxiety - all crashed against his brain, leaving his thoughts a confused and tangled mess. Dagur stood still and stared at the intruder mutely, unable to help but listen to his strange babbling.

“The Skrill is doing just fine - she’s a bit under the weather, but if you feed her roasted hagfish with some onions and garlic, it’ll probably do wonders for her. Also, there’s a few patches of broken scales that need attention - I have some salve that should help. It’s got comfrey in it, which Mom says is great for healing wounds and skin irritations. It will help you bond with her if you put it on her yourself.”

Dagur shook his head, trying to clear it. “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to sound both scornful and imposing. It was not very effective, given that the boy was still holding onto him, and Dagur had yet to enforce some distance between them.

Captain Vorg stepped in, yanking the boy away and shoving him a couple of feet back. “Answer him! What is your name and why are you here?”

“Tuffnut,” the young man answered, not appearing bothered in the least. “I’m here to help Dagur train his dragon.”

“. . . Who sent you?”

“Uh, myself? Duh. I sent me.” Tuffnut shook his head, as though Vorg had asked a stupid question. To be fair, Vorg did that sometimes. “Chief Dagur, when’s the last time she got fed or pet?”

“Pet? He’s mad! She’ll have your arm off as a chew toy if you try to pet her!” Vorg scoffed to Dagur, shaking his head. He reached for his sword to chase Tuff off, but Dagur stopped him with a gesture.

“If you want to help me train my dragon, prove to me that you can.”

“Okay,” Tuff agreed, grinning. He walked over to the bars, and the Skrill perked up, sniffing at him as he put his hand in.

She licked her nose and stood up, stretching as best as she was able. It was a tiny cell, not nearly big enough for her to unfurl her wings.

“Aw, poor baby girl,” Tuffnut murmured soothingly as she got her head under his touch, moving around so his scratching fingers got all the best spots. “We’ll get you feeling better soon and out of this tiny little kennel, I promise.”

She purred loudly under his ministrations and eventually flopped onto her side so Tuff could get under her chin.

Dagur tilted his head, more than impressed. “Okay. So she won’t attack you - that’s a good start. How long until you can get her to let me ride her?”

“That depends on you,” Tuff grinned. “You have to bond with her even better than I do. Come here, give me your hand.” He reached out to Dagur, unflinchingly.

Dagur was unaccustomed to be reached out for; by now even his most trusted men had learned to keep a careful and respectful distance. Even Captain Vorg was wincing in anticipation that the boy was going to lose his hand after all - which honestly rankled Dagur.

Vorg didn’t know him.

Drawing himself up, Dagur put his slightly larger hand in Tuffnut’s and allowed the scrawny Viking to direct it - palm outward - to the Skrill. The dragon regarded him with an odd purring growl, but she didn’t snap at him.

Tuff sweet talked her into drawing nearer to the bars, where she sniffed suspiciously at Dagur’s fingers. Eventually, she nuzzled the Berserker’s palm and Vorg let out a breathy exhale of relief. Dagur glared at him.

“What? Didn’t think I could do it?” he snapped, tone dangerous.

“No, of course not, Chief! It’s just, you know, dragons are dangerous and unpredictable -“ the man stammered.

“Eh. They can be, it’s true,” Tuff put in amiably. “Just like people. That’s what makes them so awesome, though. Dragons aren’t meant to be broken in - you have to earn their loyalty and trust.”

Dagur made a noncommittal noise, watching the Skrill with open admiration. “So . . . how do I do that exactly?”

“Well, you could start by trying to see things from her point of view. Some big smelly men caught her in a gross fishing net and tossed her into this awful cell - with no food or water or enough room to lie down properly. I mean, what would you do?”

“Well . . .” The Berserker Chief paused, thinking about it. “I’d start zapping people too, honestly. Huh. Good point, uh . . . What was your name again? Buffnut?”

“Tuffnut. You can call me Tuff.”

Normally Dagur would snap that he could call Tuff whatever he felt like, but he didn't quite feel like himself.

“Nice. Tuff. I’ll remember that. What do I feed her?”

The boy smiled at him rewardingly, making something in Dagur’s chest feel warm and cozy. “How about it girl? Do you want fish? Mutton? Boar meat?” The Skrill perked up at the last food mention, charring and licking her chops. “Boar meat it is then.”

Dagur grinned, surprised the Skrill was so intelligent. He liked her, and he liked this weird boy too - even if he had come out of nowhere to help him. Maybe this would be easier than he thought. “There’s a banquet this way, and I know for a fact there’s some boar roast, because it came from my ship.”

He slung an arm across Tuff’s shoulders to lead him there, not noticing when the boy hitched in pain.

Tuff kept pace with him nonetheless, offering a shaky grin. “A banquet? What’s the occasion?”

“Oh we’re just celebrating a new alliance. Us Berserkers and the Outcasts against that sorry pile of volcanic puke that calls itself Berk.”

The boy let out a scornful laugh. “Yeah, Berk. I’ve heard of Berk. West til you smell it, North til you step in it, am I right?”

Dagur laughed, surprised, and tightened the hold on Tuff’s shoulders. His pained whimper was too faint to be noticed.

“You should eat something too. You’re way too skinny and scrawny for someone who trains dragons. Try some mutton and barley cakes. They’re my Mom’s recipe.”

“. . . Okay,” the boy said eagerly, and if Dagur thought he looked hungry now, it proved to be an understatement once they reached the banquet itself.

Tuff tore into his plate of food like a starved pup, eating like it would be wrested away from him at any moment. Dagur watched him carefully as he ate his own meal, more than once having to admonish Tuff to slow down. If the men looked at him oddly for the unusual care he was showing a complete stranger, Dagur didn’t notice - mostly because none of them dared to question him out loud.

After his second full plate, Tuff finally slowed down, looking beyond exhausted. Some of the Outcasts had unfortunately decided to sing as entertainment, despite the fact they could neither carry a tune nor remember how the song went.

Dagur left Tuff’s side briefly to load a platter with chunks of boar roast and bone for the Skrill, preferring the relative quiet of the arena to this cacophony. When he turned around, it was to a raucous cheer, mad gibberish, and the sound of blows falling.

Fantastic. Some idiots had started a brawl.

He wouldn’t have cared if not for the long blond hair of his companion visible on the floor. Dagur gaped in shock for only a second, then roared and charged forward, shoving Outcasts twice his girth out of the way.

The scrawny old man that the Skrill had electrocuted was straddling Tuff, trying to choke him. Furious beyond measure, Dagur grabbed Mildew’s arms and bodily lifted him off Tuffnut, throwing his attacker at the table with enough force to send dishes and mugs flying in all directions. His sword’s edge pressed across Mildew’s throat, irises shrunk to pinpricks of rage.

“How DARE you lay so much as a finger on MY companion?! Give me one good reason I shouldn’t RIP YOUR LEGS OFF and throw them down a Whispering Death hole!” Dagur roared.

Mildew only whimpered and babbled nonsense, pointing to Tuff, who was groaning on the floor. The attack had caught the boy by surprise it seemed, and now Dagur noticed vivid bruises on his arms as he shakily tried to lift himself up. He gestured to Vorg, who stepped in to help Tuff right himself.

Alvin wasn’t present and it must have been the leader of the Outcasts that Mildew’s frantically rolling eyes were searching for, because when they came back to rest on Dagur’s infuriated face, the old man whimpered and fainted dead away.

Dagur snorted in disdain and let him fall limply across the table. “When your village idiot here wakes up, tell him how lucky he is to still have his legs,” he snapped at the gathered men. They laughed and cheered in amusement; clearly there wasn’t too much concern held for the old goat.

He stormed over to the table and picked up the boar meat, gesturing for Vorg and Tuffnut to walk back to the Skrill’s cage with him.

Tuff, he noticed, was shaking.

“Are you alright?” he asked immediately, not liking the way his own voice trembled or the confused look Vorg was giving him.

“I’m fine,” Tuff promised, giving Dagur a strained grin. They walked toward the arena in silence, Dagur’s brain sorting through possible reasons why anyone would have attacked the boy. He had gotten the message through that it wasn’t to happen again - but he still wanted to know why.

It wasn’t until after the Skrill greeted them with chirps and excited wriggles and tucked into her platter of boar meat that Dagur asked about the incident.

“What was that back there? Does the village idiot know you?”

“. . . Mildew? Yeah, we know each other. He, uh, really doesn’t like dragons,” Tuff supplied nervously.

“Oh.” Well, that explained it. “You like them, though. So I guess he just doesn’t like you.”

When Tuff nodded hesitantly, Dagur relaxed. “Well, he won’t bother you again. You’re with me now, and he knows that. In fact, nobody will ever hurt you again.”

Tuffnut looked at him with a sharp inhale and Dagur felt his face grow warm, not sure why he’d said that. Vorg wasn’t in earshot - talking to the Outcast guards that Tuff had past earlier.

“. . . you guys are planning to attack Berk, right?” Tuff asked, and Dagur was surprised to see his face was also a bit red. “Can I ask what you’re after? I mean, I’ve been there before, and I’m good at stealing - if there’s something you’re after, maybe I can help?”

The Berserker snorted dismissively. “I know Alvin wants vengeance. Some long ago exile or something, it doesn’t interest me really. What I want is . . .”

Dagur trailed off, confused. It had been so clear in his mind what he’d wanted - less than an hour ago.

Hiccup. He’d wanted to kill that Night Fury and whoever was hurting Hiccup, and take him to where he’d be safe. But now it didn’t seem as urgent as before. “You’ve been to Berk before, you say? Do you know anyone there?”

“Yeah, I know some people,” Tuff answered guardedly.

“There’s a boy. Reddish brown hair, pretty green eyes. Missing a leg. He’s the Chief’s son. He knows how to tame dragons too.”

“I can do it better. I promise, I really can,” Tuff interjected immediately.

Dagur looked at Tuff and saw hurt written all over his face. Oh no. He was messing everything up, wasn’t he?

“Oh - don’t worry. I know you can, and I want you to. Hiccup would never help me train a Skrill, or any dragon. He hates me too much.”

Tuffnut seemed to relax almost instantly. Dagur glanced at Vorg, who was watching the guards instead of them. He leaned closer to Tuff to whisper in his ear. “Does he . . . do you know if . . . if Hiccup’s been injured recently?”

Tuff’s expression changed from heart sickness to confusion. “If he’s been injured . . .?”

“Has anyone been hurting him? That you know about? His father?”

The boy looked bewildered for a moment but swiftly shook his head. “No, his father is kind. To him at least. The Chief would die to keep Hiccup from harm.”

That brought some peace to Dagur’s mind and he sighed in relief, turning back to watch the Skrill lick the now empty platter. She picked up a nearby rib bone and sat down to gnaw on it happily.

“You care about people a lot more than you let on, don’t you?”

The question caught him off guard, as did Tuff’s sudden adoring look.

Dagur huffed and shrugged, feeling his face heat up. “No. I mean, I guess. Nobody’s son deserves to be mistreated, is all. Because ... more fathers should care about their kids. There’s no point in having a son and just knocking them around all the time. Or abandoning them when things get hard,” he sneered, crossing his arms. “Would have been better to just not have had a kid if they didn’t even want one.”

Tuff stood a little nearer to him. “Yeah. That’s true. They didn’t want to treat us better, so they got exactly what they had coming to them,” he said quietly. The boy’s words were odd, but Dagur didn’t put any thought into why.

“Right.” It was a comfort that Tuff seemed to know what he was talking about. Anyone else would have probably given him some Odin-loving drivel about how one should always be a dutiful son.

Dagur offered him a grin and decided to change the subject. “Well, Tuff - the Skrill is fed and she looks happy. What do I do now?”

“She needs salve on her wounds. Here.” Tuff walked over to a bundle of cloth that turned out to conceal a bag made of burlap. He rummaged through it to produce a tin of greenish-looking slime. “I’m gonna have you do it. But first, let’s tell her what we’re doing.”

Dagur blinked and turned back to the dragon. “Uh. Hey. So we have this stuff - smells like medicine. Does it sting?” he asked Tuffnut. The other boy shook his head. “Okay, it doesn’t sting, and it’ll heal you, so just . . . “

He didn’t need to explain any further; the Skrill purred and got to her feet, turning in the small cell and lifting a wing until her flank was pressed against the bars. Dagur beckoned for Tuff to bring one of the torches closer so he could see better, internally marveling at how smart this dragon was.

She had framed the wounded area of her scales between the bars, allowing him easy access to spread the salve over the reddened sore areas. She even raised her scale plates a bit so he could coat in between them.

“Pretty girl, clever girl,” Dagur crooned, without really thinking about it. He didn’t care how silly he sounded; in the moment, nothing seemed to matter but tending to the comfort of this dragon.

The Skrill turned and circled until he got all her trouble spots, then tried to make herself comfortable with what room she had. Dagur pulled out the platter but left the bones to give her something to play with.

“We’ll be back in the morning with something tasty, I promise. You sleep well, okay?”

A purring trill was his answer and the Skrill licked his hand before curling up, tucking her nose into the curve of her tail.

It was ridiculously adorable and Dagur found himself unable to look away until Vorg coughed. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man tilt his head meaningfully to the Outcast guards, who were watching them closely.

Tuff touched his arm, bringing Dagur out of whatever spell the Skrill had him under. “It’s okay, we’ll come back to her in the morning, like you said. I can distract the guards again.”

Dagur regarded him for a long moment. “You know, wherever you’re from - I’m really glad you’ve showed up. I don’t know why. Usually I don’t care much for strangers. Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

Vorg gave him a look, but Dagur glowered at him until the man sighed and let it go.

“N-No. I was hoping to find someplace to lie low until morning.”

“Well that sounds dangerous, considering you were already attacked once today. You can bunk with me.” Putting an arm around Tuff’s shoulders pointedly, he started steering them toward the docks where the Armada was waiting. Tuffnut winced as though his touch hurt, but gave him another bright smile.

“Okay. You want me to take the floor?”

“The floor? Are you being bashful?” Dagur teased. He gave Tuff a friendly side-hug, leaving his heavy arm across his companion’s shoulders. Tuffnut swallowed, looking pained again, but he didn’t duck out from beneath Dagur’s arm. His paleness sent a spark of concern through Dagur.

“Did you eat enough? I can have more food sent to the cabin. You never got to try the mutton stew or any of the bacon-fried bread - it’ll put some weight back on your bones. You still look way too skinny.”

Tuff glowed at the attention, pressing against him. It made Dagur’s heart flutter almost annoyingly. “I’m okay. Though I wouldn’t say no to mutton stew and bread - that sounds amazing.”

Why was this guy growing on him so fast? Dagur didn’t even consider himself a friendly person, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tuffnut was somehow meant to be here - now, and with him. And not just because he was useful and smart and interesting . . . there was just something special about him.

Despite the stress of having to work with Alvin, Dagur had to admit - he’d never felt so calm in his life. The moment Tuff had embraced him, everything had changed. It wasn’t as though the feelings of painful anger and despair were gone; no, they were still there, but there was a difference to them. They felt bearable now.

On top of it all, a Skrill liked him - a dragon actually liked him. He wondered if Hiccup might be proud of him for that, if maybe even Oswald would.

Tuff was going to have to show him all kinds of things - like how to fly on her at breakneck speeds and train her to do barrel rolls. Eventually he’d have to get himself a dragon too - probably a Nadder or maybe a Razorwhip. Or maybe he had one already.

“Do you have a dragon?” Dagur asked once they got to the door of his ship’s cabin. Tuff had gone a bit glassy eyed, but he looked up sharply at the question, like a deer caught in the hunting lanterns.

“Uh. What?”

“You know, a dragon. Surely someone who knows how to train a Skrill has his own dragon. I understand - it probably would have caused some alarm if you just flew in here on one, so you must have told the dragon to hide in a cave somewhere. Right?”

Tuff blinked and then shook his head. “No, I rode a Gronckle here, but I told him he could take off. I figured I’d just meet another wild dragon and coax them to take me somewhere else - you know, if you’d told me to get lost.”

Dagur stared. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t tell you to get lost. But seriously - you can just go up to wild dragons and ask them for rides and they don’t bite your head off?” He looked Tuff over critically. “Are you a sorcerer?”

The boy snorted with laughter, apparently finding that hilarious.

“Okay, not a sorcerer, that’s fine. Still pretty cool. In you go. ” He opened the door to his cabin and put a hand on the middle of Tuff’s back, gently pushing the boy in ahead of him.

That wrung a sudden yelp out of Tuff and he jerked away. Dagur felt a surge of panicked loss, automatically reaching out to grab the other boy’s arms so he couldn’t retreat any further. “Sorry! Are you okay?”

Tuff blinked but instead of pulling away, he drew closer to him.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he grinned, apologetically. “Old wounds acting up. You know, Viking wounds - it’s an occupational hazard, right?”

Wounds? Frowning, Dagur lit a lantern and pulled Tuff further into the light, looking him over carefully. If that Mildew jerk had injured Tuffnut after all, he swore he was going to use the old fool’s severed head as a tether ball.

The dragon-rider swallowed nervously, but said nothing until Dagur touched his shoulders, tugging at the material of his tunic. “I can’t have you wounded and going untreated for it. Let me see?”

Tuff looked anxious for far too long a moment - making Dagur’s chest ache.

“It’s okay. You can say no. Nobody will hurt you, remember? That includes me. But if you’re hurt, I’d like to help.”

Gray eyes widened, then filled with tears. Dagur stared but didn’t mention them, even when they spilled over to fall freely down Tuffnut’s face, leaving him shivering and leaning in close.

Where had Tuff come from? Had his family abandoned him too? Dagur made his best attempt at soothing noises and tugged again at his tunic, until Tuff nodded reluctantly and assisted in removing it.

Dagur drew in a sharp hiss of air at the marks on his body; dark purple lines of bruised flesh and inflamed blood-crusted weals. He recognized infection when he saw it.

Tuff’s wounds had been washed and treated a few times, but clearly by himself more often than with any help. As a result, he’d missed several areas and now Dagur knew why he’d been carrying that tin of salve in the first place.

Where was the salve now? He had to help Tuff treat these first - then he could maim whoever was responsible. He’d chop their hands off, he decided. So they could never hold a whip or anything like it again. Yeah, that was what he would do - but later.

“Sit on the bed,” he muttered and Tuff nodded, obeying him.

Dagur opened the cabin door, bellowing for Vorg. His captain showed up within moments, with his ever-present scowl. He opened his mouth to give an order and then shut it when he saw that Vorg was not alone.

The captain had in one hand, Tuff’s satchel. In the other hand was the scruff of the scraggly old man who had earlier attacked his companion. The old man was stubbornly clinging to something leathery.

“Thought your guest might want his things,” Vorg explained. “So I went back for them and found this guy going through his pack like a filthy Bog Burglar. He’s apparently found something he wants you to see.”

Mildew’s beady eyes were full of terror and malice as he thrust the object out in front of him as though it could ward Dagur off. The Berserker sneered at the man but glanced at the object.

“Okay. A saddle. Was it a worthy find, you goat? Now not only have you attacked my dragon trainer, you’ve gone through his personal belongings. If he’s not offended by that, I am.” Dagur made as if to draw his sword, but Vorg stopped him.

“Sir, you should know something first. Mildew here is from Berk. He’s a traitor who has told Alvin many secrets - from Hiccup’s dragon-taming techniques to details of Berk’s new defenses and where their guards will be during an attack. It’s likely he knows your companion better than you might.”

Dagur scowled. “Wherever my companion is from, I think it’s safe to say he doesn’t miss home all that much. I need that salve.”

Vorg handed the bag over, still frowning. “Whether or not you trust him, sir, if Alvin finds out Tuffnut is from Berk, he may demand you hand him over.”

“Too bad for him because I won’t. Alvin can huff and puff all he wants. Technically, I caught Tuff, so that makes him my prisoner,” Dagur said distractedly, feeling through the bag for the salve. He found the tin and set the bag down on the floor of the cabin. Then he yanked the saddle away from Mildew and whacked the old man over the head with it.

“Listen up, old coot! I'm going to give you some free advice. Right now, my companion is injured - injuries that you no doubt aggravated with your pointlessly stupid attack. When I find out the person responsible for him needing this in the first place -“ Dagur waved the tin under Mildew’s quivering nostrils - “I’m going to hunt them down and make them wish they had never been born.”

He gave Mildew one of his sharpest most devilish smiles. “So I advise you to think about that, before you say or do anything that might cause my friend further discomfort or pain. Think about the lengths that Dagur the Deranged might go, to protect what’s his. Nod if you understood all that, and I’ll permit you to leave my sight with every limb still attached.”

Mildew, eyes wide as saucers, nodded frantically. Vorg let him go and he scrabbled frantically off the ship and down to the docks, clearly terrified Dagur would change his mind.

Dagur took a breath, pulling himself together. He noticed Vorg staring at him oddly.

“What?!”

“Sorry sir, it’s just . . . Are you certain you don't have a Mark?”

Dagur blinked, too taken aback to fume. He had assumed everyone figured it was Hiccup, that Hiccup was who the Gods had given him.

But then - why would they? Dagur had never given anyone an explanation as to why he wanted to hunt Hiccup down. For all they knew it was a vendetta thing. The son of Chief Stoick had humiliated the entire clan by his treatment of Dagur, after all.

And yet here they were - all still following him.

Dagur swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, temporarily unable to meet Vorg’s gaze.

Maybe his people were hoping his Mark would come soon to calm him, like his mother had calmed his raging father? Oswald had been a madman in his day; Dagur had grown up knowing all the legends, but he’d never actually seen his father rage.

As annoying as it had seemed to have such a kind and understanding father . . . he sort of missed it. He even missed the stupid smacking noises when Oswald chewed.

Dagur frowned, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “I . . . will go check,” he muttered distractedly. He went back into the cabin and shut the door behind him, leaving behind his very perplexed and concerned captain.

—

Tuff was on the far edge of the bed, his tunic wadded up in his hands and currently hiding his face. His body was curled over and trembling, and Dagur approached slowly, so as not to alarm him.

He wondered how much of all that Tuff had heard.

“Hey there,” he muttered awkwardly, sitting next to him. “Um. You alright?”

After a long moment, Tuff lowered the tunic to peer at him, looking only slightly calmer.

Dagur didn’t know what to say, but he knew he could at least do something. He opened the tin and coated his fingers in salve. “We found your medicine. Lay down so I can treat you. However comfortable you can make yourself.”

He tried to keep his tone calm, like his mother’s had always been. Tuff responded to his efforts like a kitten to cream. He crawled toward him immediately, draping himself across Dagur’s lap and burying his face in his arms. Oh … okay ….

Dagur felt his pulse kick up at the eagerness Tuff showed to be so close and vulnerable to him but kept his movements slow and purposeful, gently moving Tuff’s long hair so it hung away from his back. As gently as he could manage, he started to coat the welts curling over the tops of those thin shoulders. “Who did this to you?” he asked after a while. “And … when?”

“My Elders,” came the mumbled answer after a long silence. “About three days ago.”

A formal beating. And … three days ago? Dagur's heart did a funny skip in his chest and he paused, processing that for a moment. Shaking his head, he moved on to the next cruel laceration on Tuff’s back.

“Why did your Elders have you whipped?”

Under Dagur’s fingers, Tuff started trembling again.

“Oh. You don’t have to be ashamed,” Dagur assured him. “It’s me, the ‘evil’, deranged Berserker Prince, remember? Go on, try to impress me.”

Tuff either hiccoughed or snickered, Dagur couldn’t tell. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up over his shoulder. “I - I released a dragon. I wasn’t supposed to. The Skrill.”

Dagur stared at him. He’d expected something like a carelessly broken wagon or shattered prized dishes, or maybe even a theft of sheep. But releasing a dragon . . .?

“Are you Berkian? Did Hiccup catch the Skrill first? Was he trying to train her himself?” Dagur blurted. Tuff made a thin noise of distress, starting to look panicked.

“Of course you’re from Berk. It explains how you know so much about dragons and why Mildew attacked you and also why I’ve never met you until now. Look, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you for not telling me. Because of you, I have my Skrill, so why would I want to?” Dagur reassured him, beginning to treat the lash marks further down his back. “Looks to me like you’ve been punished enough.”

Tuffnut swallowed and looked up plaintively, trying to gather his nerve.

“It’s more than that, actually. I . . . I was a dragon-rider - one of Hiccup’s.”

Dagur stared at him, trying to jog his memory. He'd never really looked close enough at Hiccup’s Greek chorus but he’d figured there were about four others. “I don’t remember you fighting me.”

“I … generally I was just air support,” Tuff said, flushing. “We never … we never fought up close. My sister and I rode the Zippleback.”

“Oh yeah, the green one. So what made you not want to be a dragon rider anymore? Leaving Berk I understand, but … your sister? Your dragon?”

Tuff looked sad, but nodded. “My sister will take care of Belch. I couldn’t stay on Berk anymore. Some people in my family … didn’t think I’d been punished enough.”

“What?” Dagur asked, fury swelling inside of him. “What does that mean?!”

“I’m okay,” Tuff said quickly, sounding scared. Dagur took a breath and tried to calm down.

“Sorry. You’re just … I think you were overly punished for letting some dragon out of a cage.”

“She wasn’t in a cage. ” He hesitated, but went on. “She was completely frozen in a block of ice. Hiccup knew Berserkers revered the Skrill and he was scared of you getting a hold of her. But I couldn’t leave her like that. I decided I wanted her to be free to find her own way, even if she was dangerous and even if it did mean you’d find her. Hiccup went off to talk to his father and I was left with my sister and Snotlout to guard her frozen body.”

“So you just - what? Chipped her out? Melted her out?” Dagur asked, entranced.

“Blasted her out,” Tuff admitted sheepishly. Dagur gave a delighted cackle. “And within minutes, she thawed out and was able to fly away, no problem.”

“Bet old Stoick and Hiccup had piglets! Oh boy, if I could have seen the looks on their faces! I bet they didn’t like that one bit!” Dagur laughed. Tuff shifted with a pained expression on his lap and that smacked the jubilance right out of him. “Oh, sorry. Right. Yeah, that probably wouldn’t have been so great for you.”

“It’s fine. It was worth it. Hiccup wasn’t going to train or even revive her, he was just going to keep her in the same big chunk of iceberg we found her in. He cared more about you never getting to fly than what became of her. Dragons aren’t problems to solve - they’re living, breathing, harboring era of destruction and chaos! Hiccup needs to realize and respect that! I thought … I really thought we were the good guys, but I guess I was wrong.”

Dagur blinked, made solemn by Tuff’s sorrow.

“Well, it sounds like you had a good reason to free her and then leave. Now you’re here and you get to help me. I can help you find a new dragon. Probably not another Zippleback though. Oh, ooh, awkward memory - that wouldn’t have been your dragon I almost killed for dragon blood ink, was it?”

Tuff regarded him with surprise and nodded, in a way that made Dagur flush self-consciously. Of course - it had to have been his dragon that Dagur had nearly beheaded, all for the sake of exposing a theory that Berk was secretly raising a dragon army.

Well, he’d been right about that part, sort of.

“Really sorry about that. Wish I’d had a better introduction to the fact you Berkians all loved your dragons. I mean, the Skrill is just - she’s amazing. If I’d just known what they could be like - I mean, I don’t think I ever would have lifted a finger to -“

He was cut off by arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug. Dagur nearly dropped the salve. He stared down at Tuff, who had curled closer to bury his face in Dagur’s chest.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Tuff hitched after a long moment, pulling back so he could talk. “I knew that and I tried to tell them that everything was because we lied to you. We made you think dragons were still the enemy because Hiccup wanted to protect them - he wants to keep it all a big secret! I told them that if they just had explained, and given you a chance, maybe you wouldn’t have been our enemy. Everyone told me that was treasonous to say - even the Chief -“

He was getting wound up again. Dagur hushed him and coaxed Tuff to lay back down across his knees. “It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. I get it. I’ve always been the troublesome kid, so it makes sense that nobody would trust me. I’m not mad at you about it though, so just try to relax, okay?” Looking shocked, the other boy obeyed, again resting his head on Dagur’s thigh.

Dagur’s mind was a maelstrom as he worked, reanalyzing the Mark on his wrist, and how it applied to Hiccup. How and why would the Gods give him someone who didn’t trust or even like him, when this boy - this complete stranger - saw enough worth in him to help him train a Skrill? Trusted him enough to let him clean and treat his wounds?

He couldn’t help but notice each time Tuff’s breath caught painfully whenever he touched a point that two lashes had intersected. He was so thin - almost as scrawny as Hiccup - how had this not killed him? Dagur ran a careful hand across Tuff’s sides, not liking how each rib felt defined through the skin. The way Tuffnut had bolted his food earlier made too much sense for his comfort.

Normally, Dagur loathed traitors, but there was no way on Midgard that Tuff had done any of this through malice. Rather, he had spoken up against injustice and had been punished like a criminal. Dagur couldn’t honestly claim he wouldn’t have switched sides had his own family treated him like this.

If anything … if anything, Berk had betrayed Tuff.

When all Tuff’s welts and lacerations had been cleaned and coated, Dagur’s fingers smoothed down across his ribs once more, then hesitated at the boy’s waist.

“Is there any more?” he asked awkwardly. He could see the beginnings of a red welt curving down across a hip to disappear beneath Tuff’s belt. “I mean, this is the only beating you got for all this, right?”

Nobody could have punished him more, surely. Nobody could be that cruel.

Wishful thinking … hadn’t Tuff said some of his family members didn’t think he’d been punished enough?

Tuff closed his eyes, hesitant to answer. “There’s . . . a little more. It’s okay, I’ve been treating it. I can get it myself.”

“It’s not okay,” Dagur snapped and cursed himself inwardly when Tuff flinched. “Sorry. I’m not mad at you,” he reminded, voice gentle this time. “All I want is to just take care of you. My mom was a healer - she taught me a lot. This salve has comfrey in it, which is a good move. Did you make it yourself?”

“Mom made it and sent it with Ruff. My sister. She helped me get off Berk the night it all happened, and treated my wounds.”

So his sister and mom were the good guys here - that was useful to know. “What about your dad? Did he help get you free?”

Tuff swallowed and went silent, not answering. He’d started shaking at the mention of his father though, which spoke volumes.

Gut dropping, Dagur carefully started to undo the boy’s belt, sliding it off him. When Tuffnut didn’t stop him, he eased down the waistband of his leggings to be greeted with yet more welts and bruises - and something far worse.

There was a horrible burn on his hip, and worst of all, it looked intentional, as though made with a branding iron.

Dagur’s blood ran cold. “Is . . . that a . . .?”

“I'm sorry.” Tuff muttered, hiding his face behind his hands, “I’m sorry, he thought it was a tattoo - and I couldn’t get away - I couldn’t stop him -“

What? Dagur looked closer and saw a shape beneath the branded circle. He realized instantly the horror of what had been done.

“Who did this - who dared brand your Mark? Was it your father? Did he leave all these welts too?” Dagur demanded, fury thick in his voice. He was going to kill the man slowly and enjoy it. There was no excuse whatsoever for anyone to treat their own son like this.

Tuff had started shaking hard, starting to cry. Dagur cursed again as he realized his anger was probably affecting Tuffnut.

“Hey, Hey, I’m sorry - “ The Berserker murmured, leaning over Tuff. He pressed a palm to Tuff’s cheek, stroking away the tears. “I’m mad at him and your Elders, not you, though me yelling about it is probably the last thing you need to deal with right now.”

Sobbing, Tuff nuzzled Dagur’s palm, clutching his wrist tightly. “It’s fine, it’s okay,” he managed. “H-He didn’t know it w-was a Mark and then he - I had to -“

“Shh, you’re safe now, just let me see.” He stroked Tuff’s hair trying to calm him, and looked again at the Mark, making himself focus on the shape of it rather than the scarred flesh beneath it.

A Skrill. Not just a Skrill, but fashioned after his own tribe’s symbol. His heart started to pound. There were a million questions he wanted to ask Tuff, but now wasn’t the time, not with Tuff’s current state.

Dagur banished all thoughts of vengeance from his mind and leaned down to kiss Tuff’s temple gently, stroking his hair again - the only area that didn’t look too painful to touch. Tuffnut hitched and started crying harder, but he sat up on his uninjured hip and wrapped his arms around Dagur’s neck, holding on to him tightly.

For the first time in a while, Dagur felt tears on his own face. He cupped the back of Tuff’s head and held him close until the storm passed. Eventually the rider relaxed in his arms, breathing steadily and only sniffling.

Gently, Dagur coaxed him out of the rest of his clothing, then got him to lay on his stomach. Tuff nestled across his lap again, hiding his face in the crook of Dagur’s arm, leaving the other free to tend to the rest of his injuries. Tuff’s arms moved to Dagur’s waist, clinging to him as though he was a lifeline.

He trusted him, utterly, and maybe it was the Mark, and maybe Tuff was just a brave soul - brave and courageous in ways Dagur couldn’t understand.

It boggled his mind, honestly, why the Gods thought he, Dagur the Deranged, was worthy of this boy. He wasn’t even worthy enough for Hiccup.

And a chicken? Really? The idea Tuff could appear as a mere chicken on anybody was laughable. Well, one thing was certain, he should probably end his long-fought crusade against all poultry kind and leave the poor birds alone.

He put the thoughts away for now, closing the tin and putting it aside. He drew one of the fur blankets up over Tuff’s body to give him cover and laid his back against the wall, blowing out the lantern so Tuff could sleep.

In the dark, Tuff hitched his name, sounding terrified, uncertain.

“It’s going to be okay, Tuff,” Dagur murmured. “You’re safe now, with me. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you like this again.”

Tuff gave a few shuddering breaths, saying his name again. He shifted until he could rest his head on Dagur’s shoulder, nuzzling under his chin. “N-No-ones going to hurt you either. Not Hiccup, not Stoick - nobody.”

His bold promise was utterly charming, not that Dagur didn’t believe him. It was just … nobody had ever vowed to defend him.

Come to think of it, nobody had ever wanted to cuddle with him before either.

Dagur felt a surge of protectiveness and carded his fingers through Tuff’s hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb. He was not at all prepared for Tuff’s hand caressing his face, or pressing soft lips against his. The Berserker’s heart fluttered and started to pound.

“Are you mine?” he murmured in a daze, as soon as the spine-tingling kiss was broken.

Dagur could make out standing tears in the silvery gray eyes before him, and thought to himself ‘how pretty’ before Tuff’s mouth hungrily met his again in answer.

****

Tbc

#tuffnut #dagur #rtte #httyd #tuffgur

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