IN DRAGONS WE TRUST

AN:I created a patr*on. Its new and needs work if want to support me then come join. Patr*on.com/Hela698

Hela's eyes narrowed as she absorbed the details Hiccup had just disclosed. "So, if I understand correctly," she began, carefully choosing her words, "while I was off pursuing a lead from Saphira, you decided to take a baby dragon—"

Hiccup interjected, "I prefer to think of it as a rescue, not a theft."

Hela fixed him with a pointed gaze. "Unfortunately, the dragon's mother didn't see it that way," she remarked wearily. "The potential consequences of such actions could have been dire. Our already fragile alliance with dragons could have been severely compromised if the mother had retaliated against the village."

Hiccup looked down, admitting, "When you put it like that, I realize it might not have been the best decision."

Hela placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he looked up at her. "I know how passionate you are about anything dragon-related, and encountering a new species must have been particularly thrilling for you," she said. "Just be more cautious next time, okay, little brother?"

Hiccup nodded in understanding. "Okay."

"Now then tell me everything you've learned from that Dragon," Hela asks, smiling when she sees how his face lights up as he starts telling her everything.

~~~~

The forge is a chaotic blend of order and disorder—tools are meticulously arranged yet seem to be in perpetual motion as if the very essence of creation is alive. Heavy anvils and forges occupy the space, while the walls are adorned with relics of past creations: axes, swords, and hammers, remnants of a more straightforward craft.

The forge comes to life as the fire crackles and roars, a dragon's breath consuming the iron. Hela carefully places her scales into the flames, watching as the colour changes from a deep black to a bright orange. At just the right temperature she knows it will be at its most malleable. She reaches for her tongs, gripping the glowing piece and withdrawing it from the fire with a practised motion, the heat radiating against her leather apron.

With a swift motion, she brings it down onto the anvil, the contact sending sparks flying like fireflies on a summer night. Each strike of her hammer shapes it, elongating it into the form of a blade. She strikes hard, shaping the tang and the blade, which will be concealed within a mechanism that allows for swift deployment. The rhythm of her hammer is purposeful—deliberate. Each blow reflects years of knowledge passed down through generations, a mastery honed through blood, sweat, and countless hours in the forge 'it also being an outlet for her rage at the loss of her mother'.

As she works, she envisions the one who will wield this blade, Astrid. The blade not only needs to represent a weapon of precision but also become an extension of Astrid's very being. It must be swift, discreet, and deadly.

Once the blade's shape is satisfactory, her attention shifts to the mechanism that will allow for its concealed engagement. This component is something she's been working on for a while—wheels and springs that must be machined with a tolerance so precise that any flaw could lead to catastrophic failure as she learned from past trials. Hela expertly forges intricate parts from brass and steel, ensuring that each piece meshes perfectly. Just to make sure she made everything she reviews her drawing one last time.

The air in the forge is thick with the smell of burning coal and the sound of metal being worked. The intense heat from the fire dances across Hela's face as she continues to craft the blade, pouring her skill and dedication into every precise movement. Sweat glistens on her brow, but she remains focused, knowing that this blade will be more than just a weapon—it will be a masterpiece, a testament to her artistry and a symbol of Astrid's strength.

Just as she was finishing putting it together Gobber comes in.

"Ah there you are lass your father's been looking for ya,"

"Something dragon related?" She asks taking off the apron.

"Add a bit of Hiccup flavor to that question," Gobber says.

She sighs, "Of course, you can't have one without the other,"

~~~~~

Stoick and Hela are standing over a sitted Hiccup glaring at him intensely. Hela has a clip over her nose which earned her a weird look from Hiccup but a sharp glare shut him up. Stoick places a broken piece of wood on the table.

"Shingle again?" Hiccup jokes, "Didn't we have roofing material for dinner last night?"

"Out of all the houses on the island why did it have to be Mildew's?" Hela asks as she crosses her arms.

"It was an accident. I'm sure Mildew's making it sound worse than it is," Hiccup says.

"A dragon and a huge, obnoxious boy crashed through his roof... twice!" Stoick remains him.

"Well, sure, it sounds bad if you're gonna... stick to the facts,"

"You know he hates dragons more than anyone else!"

"I know...You guys might wanna talk to him about his attitude,"

Hela sighs before sitting next to him, "Listen to me, Hiccup. I gave you the responsibility of training those dragons. Everyone knows that! All eyes are upon you brother. Whatever those Dragons do not only reflects on you but on me as well. And whatever we do reflects on dad,"

"I'm sorry," Hiccup says apologizing. "You're right,"

"You and your friends are gonna go back to Mildew's and fix that roof." Stoick tells him, "Without your dragons!"

Hiccup turns to toothless, "You get a break there bud,"

"Hey how come the fledgling gets a break and I don't?" Troels says as he walks out of Hela's room. She turns to him and gives him a 'are you serious' look. "Shut up. Today doesn't count, and what is that smell?"

"That would be fathers boots," Hela says.

"Ah! That's right," Stoick says in realazation before taking off his boots and holding them over to Hiccup, "It's boot night! They need to be aired out,"

Troels, Toothless, and fenrir all lay down and put their paws on their noses not liking the smell one bit.

"And that's why I came prepared," Hela says with a smug smile. Troels wips the clip off her nose with his tail, "UGH! Why?"

"If we have to suffer so did you," He says as Stoick laughs out loud at his daughters betrayed look. Fortunately, Hiccup takes them out before anyone losses their sense of smell.

~~~

The villagers' boots disappear during the night. The next morning, they discover that the boots are missing.

As Stoick reached for his boots outside the door, a sense of confusion and concern overcame him. "Where are my boots?" he muttered to himself. To his surprise, Gobber, Mulch, and Bucket walked up to him, all barefoot.

Stoick, bewildered, asked, "Where are your boots?"

Gobber responded with frustration, "They've all been stolen! Every last one!"

Bucket chimed in, "Oh! That explains why my feet are so cold."

Mulch, scratching his head, pondered aloud, "Who could have done such a thing?"

Mildew interjected, "All I know is that they left a mighty big footprint." He pointed at dragon footprints in the snow with his cane, signaling a potential clue to the mysterious disappearance of their boots.

At The Arena

Fishlegs pointed to the ground, his eyes widening. "Oh! Those are Hideous Zippleback tracks. You can tell by the half-moon shaped arches. That's Dragon 101, guys, I don't gotta fill you in on that."

Hiccup furrowed his brow. "So, a dragon walked through here - a Zippleback, according to my friend, Fishlegs. But that doesn't mean he took everyone's boots."

Mildew, with a skeptical expression, chimed in, "Well, there's just one way to find out. Follow the footprints."

As everyone followed the footprints to the Arena, they discovered Barf and Belch, the Zippleback, sleeping soundly and covered in the villagers' boots.

Hiccup observed the scene and remarked, "So there's a bunch of boots piled around a Zippleback. That doesn't mean-" Stoick interrupted, holding up a torn boot, "Okay, fine, he took the boots."

Instead of arguing, Hela went over to the footprints to examine them closely. 'These are not deep enough to be a Zippleback's,' she thinks, casting a suspicious glance at Mildew. If anyone would do anything to blame the dragons, it would be him.

Amidst the commotion, the villagers expressed their frustration. "How are we supposed to do any work in this weather without our boots?" one of them exclaimed.

Mildew seized the opportunity to voice his concerns. "Now, how long before something's done about these creatures, Stoick? How much more can we stand?!"

Gobber intervened, addressing the agitated crowd. "Listen to yourselves. 'My feet are cold!' You're Vikings! Everything is cold! I'll fix your boots for ya. You'll be back to work in no time."

Stoick reassured the villagers, "You all heard Gobber. You'll be getting your boots back as good as new."

Mildew persisted, "That's it? No consequence for these dragons?"

Stoick responded firmly, "They took our boots, Mildew. The world isn't coming to an end!"

Mildew retorted, "Oh, don't be so sure. Dragons are wild beasts. There's no telling what else they'll do behind our sleeping backs."

Hela stepped forward, trying to reason with the crowd. "They don't destroy things on purpose!"

Mildew scoffed, but Hela continued, "But you do have a point, Mildew."

Mildew seemed surprised, "Uh-whuh?"

Hiccup raised his voice to address the crowd. "They are wild animals. And they need us to keep an eye on them. And rest assured we will do just that!" He then whispered to Barf and Belch, annoyed. "Will you get out of there?" The dragon left the Arena.

~~~~

The dragon riders gathered at the vast catapult, an imposing structure perched precariously on the rugged cliffs of Berk, where the land met the roaring sea. The sound of crashing waves echoed below, a constant reminder of nature's might, while seagulls called out overhead, their cries piercing the crisp evening air. The salty wind whipped through their hair, carrying with it the briny scent of the ocean mixed with the earthy aroma of the village. Their breath formed frosty declarationhe chilly twilight, a sign that night was approaching.

The catapult itself was a monumental feat of engineering, its massive wooden frame standing tall and proud against the backdrop of a fiery sunset. Each timber beam, roughly hewn and meticulously fitted together, showcased the villagers' unparalleled resourcefulness and craftsmanship. Intricate iron and rope bindings twined around the structure, glinting in the fading light, suggesting both strength and careful consideration in its design. As the sun dipped lower, glimmers of light danced upon the iridescent scales of their loyal dragons below, each creature vibrant and alive, painting the ground with mesmerizing reflections in brilliant shades of emerald and sapphire.

At the forefront stood Hiccup, his posture steady and authoritative despite the gentle thrumming of apprehension in his chest. He raised his voice above the harmonious symphony of the sea. "We're going on night patrol tonight," he declared, his expression a mix of determination and urgency laced with the weight of responsibility.

"Night patrol! I love it! What is it exactly?" Tuffnut exclaimed, bouncing on his heels, the sheer thrill of adventure igniting his enthusiasm.

Hiccup explained, his voice steady, "It's where we patrol… at night. We need to keep a close eye on the dragons and ensure they don't get blamed for any mischief that might happen while we're all asleep." His keen eyes scanned the horizon as if anticipating trouble lurking in the shadows.

Fishlegs, ever the cautious one with wide, worried eyes, shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Um, have you cleared this with our parents? Because some of us might not be allowed out after dark, you know," he pointed out, glancing uneasily at the thinning light as dusk settled over the village like a shroud, casting ominous silhouettes against the darkening sky.

"Not allowed? Or afraaaaaiid?" Snotlout scoffed, a playful smirk etching a mischievous glint in his eyes, clearly unfazed by Fishlegs' trepidation.

"Hey! Things happen after dark," Fishlegs shot back, his worry evident in his tone, his eyebrows knitted as he recalled the stories of misadventures that had unfolded in the shadows of Berk.

"Guys! We have to do this. You heard Mildew," Hela insisted, her voice firm yet empathetic, her blue eyes gleaming with resolve. "He's been spreading rumors that our dragons are dangerous and wants them banished from Berk. We can't let that happen." Her chestnut hair caught the last rays of sunlight, framing her determined face.

Ruffnut, ever ready for a bit of chaotic fun, raised her hand with a cheeky grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Permission to shoot first and ask questions later?" she announced, her playful spirit infectious.

"Permission to skip the question?" Tuffnut chimed in, clearly unimpressed with Hiccup's cautious approach, his tone lighthearted but his intent mischievous.

"Permission granted," Hela declared with a mischievous flick of her wrist.

"What? No," Hiccup sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "We're just patrolling! No one is shooting anyone!" He reminded them, desperately trying to regain control of the conversation while a small part of him warred with the thrill of their rebellious spirit.

Tuffnut furrowed his brow in genuine confusion. "But what's fun about that?!" he asked, genuinely puzzled, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.

Astrid crossed her arms, glancing at her sister, a slight smile forming on her lips as she watched the interplay of emotions unfold among her friends. "It's not supposed to be fun. It's a 'Haddock' idea," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief, knowing well Hiccup's unusual blend of caution and creativity.

"Exactly," Hiccup replied, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he glanced at Astrid. "What?!"

Hela frowned slightly, her brow knitted. "My plans aren't that bad, right?" she asked, glancing between her friends who all found something interesting to look at.

~~~~

That evening, the Dragon Riders were out on patrol, making their rounds through the quaint village that thrived beneath the protective gaze of its dragons. The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the cobblestone streets as Astrid and Snotlout strolled, proudly wearing matching sashes emblazoned with the bold print "D.U.M.B."

Astrid approached a neighbor's door, her confidence slightly wavering as she knocked. "Hello, sir!" she called cheerfully, but her bright demeanor faltered when she caught sight of the neighbor's astonished expression. "Ah, umm, ah—ma'am. My name is Astrid, and I'm with the Dragon United Monitoring Brigade."

The woman peered out, confusion knitting her brows. "D.U.M.B?"

"Yes, that is correct," Astrid replied, trying to maintain her composure. "Not my idea, but it is easy to remember! If you have any dragon-related problems, you can contact us. Just cup a hand on either side of your mouth and yell at the top of your lungs..." Astrid's voice trailed off as the woman abruptly shut the door, leaving her standing with an exasperated sigh. "DUMB," she muttered, clearly frustrated.

The scene shifted to Snotlout, who was monitoring another part of the village, his eyes alert for any sign of trouble. Suddenly, Gobber materialized from the shadows, a roguish grin on his face.

Snotlout took a defensive stance, exclaiming, "Halt! Who goes there?!"

Gobber chuckled, "Take a wild guess."

Snotlout bristled. "I don't think I like your attitude."

Gobber shot back, "Right back at ya."

Snotlout huffed, "Yeah... but I'm the one with the sash."

Gobber smirked, "Let me take a closer look at that." With a quick flick of his hooked hand, he lifted Snotlout by the sash, inspecting it with mock seriousness. "D.U.M.B? Well, that suits you," he said, his laughter echoing in the night.

Snotlout crossed his arms, feigning indignation. "Okay, I think we're done here."

The scene transitioned to Fishlegs, who was gently guiding Meatlug down the street. The duo suddenly halted as the mischievous Twins, Tuffnut and Ruffnut, loomed in the background, casting eerily exaggerated shadows against the ground.

Fishlegs gasped, "Oh! What was that?" His heart raced as he spotted the shadows, quickly realizing that Hookfang was hovering just behind the Twins. Panicking, both he and Meatlug bolted in the opposite direction, leaving behind the oblivious Twins, who were completely unaware of Hookfang's presence.

Tuffnut laughed, eyes wide with excitement, "Whoa..."

Ruffnut chimed in, equally exhilarated, "Whoa."

Both whirled to each other, boasting, "Did you see me scare him?"

Ruffnut declared with conviction, "No, I scared him!"

Tuffnut challenged her, "No, I scared him!"

Ruffnut insisted, "No, me!"

Tuffnut retorted, "No, no, no! Hey! Ugh!" Their playful banter echoed through the village as they resumed their antics.

Meanwhile, high above the village, Hiccup and Toothless soared gracefully through the night sky, the chill of the evening air rushing past them. Hiccup contemplated the peaceful scene below. "Well, Mildew will be happy to know what dragons do at night: they sleep, just like everyone else."

However, unbeknownst to the village, a sinister presence slinked into the now-empty Great Hall. In the darkness, someone began viciously slashing at the beautiful tapestries, walls, and pillars, mercilessly wreaking havoc through the silent expanse.

The next morning, alarm bells rang through the village as the villagers discovered the chaos left behind. Stoick surveyed the devastation, his brow furrowed in disbelief. "Who could have done such a thing?"

Fishlegs, ever the eager detective, examined the claw marks etched into the walls. "Oh, it looks like a dragon to me!" he exclaimed, pointing at the deep grooves.

Hiccup, trying to stay calm amidst the mounting panic, replied, "We don't know for sure, Fishlegs..."

Fishlegs continued with fervor, "Sure, we do! Look at these claw marks. It was obviously a Monstrous Nightmare. The spacing of the talons is dead on."

Hiccup attempted to hide his exasperation, replying sarcastically, "Once again, thank you, Fishlegs!"

Fishlegs shrugged, confidently asserting, "Oh, stop, it's just basic stuff."

At that moment, Hela strolled over, a wolf named Fenrir trotting faithfully by her side. She knelt to examine one of the scratch marks closely. "No burn marks," she observed, her voice steady, a note of concern breaking through.

Astrid, brows knitted in worry, added, "But how could this happen? We had every dragon accounted for at all times! Right, guys?"

Snotlout interjected, "When you say, 'at all times' and 'every dragon,' what exactly do you mean?"

Hiccup, facepalming in frustration, pressed, "Okay, what happened, Snotlout?"

Snotlout, puffing out his chest, declared, "Well, I was detaining a suspect who wasn't showing sufficient respect to the sash." He shot a pointed glare at Gobber.

Gobber shrugged, smirking. "I think I showed sufficient respect to a sash that says 'D.U.M.B.'"

Astrid shook her head, exasperated. "We've got to change that name."

Snotlout continued, "Anyways, while I was questioning said suspect, Hookfang may have... and I'm not saying he did, but it is possible that he wandered off for a few..."

Ruffnut piped up, "Seconds?"

Tuffnut added, "Minutes?"

Snotlout shrugged, "Hours."

Tuffnut's eyes widened, "Oh, that's way longer than minutes."

In a sudden uproar, Mildew burst into the Great Hall, his voice dramatic and filled with dread. "Oh, no, it's true! The Great Hall! So many memories—my three weddings, their three funerals. Oh, the funerals!" His lamenting echoed, amplifying the villagers' anxiety.

Gobber, now serious, stated grimly, "A dragon must have gone on a rampage. I hate to say it, Stoick, but you're going to have to—"

Stoick cut him off, a steely determination in his eyes. "I know what has to be done, Gobber."

"Before you make your decision, I would like to try something to disprove this accusation," Hela declares loudly, her voice resonating through the vast Great Hall, which is dimly lit by flickering torches affixed to the stone walls. The hall is adorned with rich banners displaying the fierce colors and intricate patterns of their clan, a visual testament to their storied heritage.

"Bhh! It's obvious that a dragon did this," Mildew interjects, his voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd. He gestures dramatically toward the wreckage that lies scattered around—the slightly splintered beams overhead, which once held vibrant decorations of swords and tapestries now ripped to shreds.

"And if this is true," Hela adds, her voice steady and unwavering, "then this investigation will only further prove that." Her gaze sweeps across the assembled villagers, whose expressions range from skepticism to curiosity.

"What do you have in mind?" Stoick, the chieftain, inquires with a mixture of intrigue and caution, leaning forward in his grand, intricately carved chair. Shadows play upon his rugged features, accentuating the deep lines forged by years of leadership and the weight of responsibility.

"Let Fenrir catch the culprit," Hela proposes, a glimmer of determination in her emerald eyes as she affectionately scratches the thick, dark fur of her formidable wolf companion. His muscles ripple beneath his coat, and the warm glow of the torchlight makes his fur shine like polished obsidian. Hela can't help but smile as she catches fleeting looks of apprehension on Mildew's face—his bravado beginning to crack under the intensity of the moment.

Mildew huffs, his indignation clear as he crosses his arms, the fabric of his tunic straining against his body. "You're just trying to delay the inevitable," he scoffs, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Ignoring his dismissive remarks, Hela turns her gaze to her father, hoping for his support. Stoick, taking a deep breath as he assesses the chaos around him, finally nods in agreement, the creases in his forehead softening, "Do it."

With a quick, almost imperceptible nod to Fenrir, Hela signals her wolf. In a flash, he springs into action, immediately focusing on the faint, lingering scents that dance around the claw marks etched into the wooden beams. His nose hovers close to the ground, and a low, deep growl reverberates in his throat, a warning that he has picked up an intriguing scent. Without hesitation, he bolts, following the trail that leads directly toward Mildew.

"This is ridiculous!" Mildew bellows, his face blazing with a deep shade of crimson as he takes a fraction of a step back. "This is obviously the work of a dragon! There's something wrong with this dog!" His gestures become more frantic, but his voice betrays him, revealing a tremor of panic as the eyes of the crowd turn toward him.

"First of all, Fenrir is not a dog; he's a wolf," Hela retorts firmly, her eyes narrowing in determination, a sliver of steel behind her words. "And second, he's never wrong when it comes to scent tracking." The conviction in her voice cuts through Mildew's bluster like a knife.

"Well, he must be wrong now! How could I have caused such damage to the Great Hall?" Mildew's shout echoes in the hall, prompting a ripple of murmurs throughout the crowd, their anticipation palpable as the tension mounts.

"Didn't you have stuffed dragon parts as trophies?" Astrid asks innocently, a teasing glint igniting her bright blue eyes as she watches Mildew's bravado begin to crumble under the mounting pressure, his face reflecting an array of emotions from uncertainty to dread.

Hela's smile widens as she observes Mildew's expression shift from arrogance to despair, and she turns to Astrid, a playful spark lighting her features. "Gods, I love you so much," she exclaims, her voice bubbling over with genuine affection as she catches Astrid's shy smile in return, a blush creeping onto the other girl's cheeks like dawn breaking over the horizon.

With renewed composure, Hela twirls back to face Mildew, her expression shifting to one of feigned sweetness. "Well then, let's go make a visit to your house, shall we?" she suggests, a mischievous glint dancing in her eye.

~~~~

At Mildew's, a fog of tension hangs in the air as Fenrir guides Stoick and the others to the damning evidence tucked away in the shadows. They uncover a weathered pair of Zippleback foot marker boots, their scuffed surface hinting at a recent struggle, and a sinister Monstrous Nightmare claw affixed to a sturdy stick, still glistening with remnants of a recent confrontation.

Stoick, his jaw clenched in anger and frustration, turns to Mildew with burning fury in his eyes. "I want that Great Hall restored to its former glory, Mildew. I don't care if it consumes the very rest of your life. And you will also help Gobber repair those boots you so carelessly ruined," he demands, his voice low and threatening.

Mildew's brow furrows in indignation as he crosses his arms. "This is ridiculous. Those dragons don't deserve to live amongst us; they are nothing but a scourge," he states, his tone dripping with disdain.

Stoick steps closer, his towering figure imposing, and counters sharply, "How about I sentence you to a lifelong task then? You'll fix those boots and restore the Great Hall—or I can explain to the villagers what we found and let them decide your fate." At that, Mildew's bravado falters, and he reluctantly backs down, knowing he has been cornered both in reason and authority.