How to Protect a Dragon Conqueror, Chapter Two

The bellows hummed like a dormant bear as I reached behind the tongs for the green tunic dangling on the wall. When I was littler, Gobber had taught me the first rule about making weapons: always have a spare outfit. His clothes were decked with burns and scorches from flying sparks, and mine had suffered no less.

The tunic was snug around the chest as I pulled it on; little threads were snapping. I made a face and kept pulling it over; it wouldn't budge. Must have been ages since I had left it on the hook, since the last dragon attack.

When I resurfaced with new clothes, Toothless was still moaning. His eyes stayed shut, although the lids twitched. Each Viking woman cut around a single arrowhead before teasing it out of the skin. They would then wipe down the area with a soaked cloth and Toothless would grunt. The surreal sight held me.

"You can gawk later." Gobber used his hook hand to hoist my shirt up. The sleeves tore. "Well, all for the best," he said, cutting a slit of shoulder off to examine the intact skin. "No flint for you, but you'll need yarrow. Doctor's orders."

The cloth made a wet slap as it hit my skin, but I did not flinch, although I made a face at him. A saccharine smell clung to the air.

The door banged open behind us. Four pairs of boots tromped in.

"We just took on five Outcast ships!" Snotlout burst out, striding in like a triumphant bull. "Guess whose dragon landed on one and set the whole thing on fire?"

"The same Viking whose dragon lit their trousers on fire," I commented.

Snotlout stopped swaggering. His pant bottoms were smoking slightly. He gave a sheepish smile and stumbled to the bucket where we cooled swords.

"It was a masterpiece," Tuffnut and Ruffnut said at the same time. They rubbed their fists and punched each other. "So much wood burning and you missed it."

"They've gotten more accurate catapults." Fishlegs was talking rapidly; his face was streaked with sweat. "Also lots of poison-tipped arrows; Meatlug got dizzy from all the spinning."

Astrid was pounding her fists on Spitelout, the older Viking carrying her. "For the last time, I'm perfectly fine! Put me down!" A chunk of her braid had been chopped off and there was a large scratch on her right cheek.

"Astrid! What happened?" I ran towards her and Spitelout.

"Alvin the Treacherous aimed most of the catapults at her and Stormfly," Fishlegs replied. Astrid shot him a death glare; he continued nervously. "He grabbed her by the hair and tried to pull her to the deck, but Storm snapped her away to safety."

Astrid gave a huffy roar. Fishlegs backed outside. Spitelout put her down and held her as Gobber rubbed the damp across the scratch. She winced as the yarrow juices did their work.

"Where's my father?" I asked, looking among them.

"Having fun with some Outcast prisoners," Snotlout answered from where he soaked in the bucket. "His dragon Thornado managed to pick up a few of the scrawny ones, so he's interrogating them to find out why they're attacking in the daytime."

"Yeah, you gotta see." Tuffnut and Ruffnut grabbed me by the shirt and ran outside. Astrid broke away from Gobber to punch me.

"OW! Astrid!"

"Do you have to fly Toothless by yourself every morning?" she gestured at my prone dragon. "None of us knew where you were! Your father was very worried!"

"Astrid, I was fine; it was Toothless-"

"You could've been killed and no one would have known!"

"We're Vikings; dying anonymously is an occupational hazard, Astrid."

She grabbed me by the front of my too-small shirt. "You promised you wouldn't scare me anymore."

"I promised no such thing, and I wasn't hurt."

"Don't tempt me to change that," she replied, pulling her free fist back.

Ruffnut and Tuffnut tried to pull me away.

"Guys, stop it!" I said. "It's going to-"

There was a loud ripping sound. Astrid pulled back with a large piece of cloth. Ruffnut and Tuffnut had my shirt sleeves.

"-tear," I finished.

"Eh, you're not the first Viking to go shirtless." Gobber approached us. He wrapped a strip of clean gauze around my bruised shoulder. "Good way to attract the ladies with a war wound, and to show your father you've been treated." He clapped me on the shoulder and made shooing gestures at the others. "Now all you get; we have a sick dragon to take care of. Go knock your heads together or something."

Ruffnut and Tuffnut led the way into the bright sunshine. The torchlight had made my gaze bleary, so it took time to adjust to the glare. A loud sound cut through the bustle and left everyone fleeing the scene. I listened.

"That's not my dad," I said in wonder. "My dad is not-"

"Singing the saga of Siegfried and Brunhilde off-key, in three-part harmony?" Fishlegs finished. "What better way to torment our godless enemies?"

"I can't listen to this," I said, but my feet kept moving to the source.

"No one can listen to it," Tuffnut supplied. "That's the point."