When Dagur had escaped from Outcast Island and had stolen Trader Johann’s boat, when he had returned to the remaining warriors of his Armada and had been prepared to retake command, he didn’t expect to see him still remaining, carefully watching over Savage with his axe drawn, always ready for a fight.
Bragi had been around since they were children training to take their respectful places in their tribe. Bragi’s father was their War Chief and Dagur’s father was Chief, their friendship, inevitable. Bragi was the one person Dagur humoured because Bragi would look him in the eye, not to mention Bragi was willing to rub it in his face when he was better than Dagur at… well everything.
Over the three years he’d spent imprisoned at Outcast Island, Bragi had somehow found a way to send him messages through rogue traders or informants to keep him informed. It was entirely the reason he had been broken out from Outcast Island in the first place.
Bragi welcomed him back with open arms, quite literally. His body slammed into Dagur’s with full force, wrapping his arms around him tightly as he buried his face into his shoulder with a sigh of relief. Tension faded from Bragi’s body as he relaxed. Dagur’s arms came up to wrap around Bragi’s shoulders reflexively and to press against his back with open palms, his fingers played over Bragi’s armour, firmly and grounding.
“Welcome back Dagur.” He breathed when he finally pulled away from him, looking up at him with bright, hopeful eyes, before he broke out into a smile and ran his fingers over the tattoos across his eyes. The tattoos had faded since he first got them at sixteen, from their strong vibrant blue to a soft shade instead, faded from the wind whipping salt into his face.
Dagur raised his hand to wrap around Bragi’s wrist, pulling it away from his face before he held it to his chest. His fingers tightened around Bragi’s bracer, digits pressing into the leather and metal.
“Bragi… it’s been a while.” Dagur murmured cheekily while looking him in the eye. His face snapped to the side as Bragi slapped him with his free hand. Some of the men on their ship gasped, others, who knew Bragi and their friendship just laughed and went back to their duties, watching with familiarity out of the corners of their eyes.
“Three years Dagur!” Bragi growled lowly, tugging his wrist away with a slightly petulant tone in his voice. “Three years of leading your armada and that’s all you have to say to me!”
“Bragi, I know you’re upset.” Dagur tried to say calmly, before he was poked in the chest by Bragi’s pointer finger.
“I’m more than upset you- you bastard. Three years!” He shouted at him. Dagur lowered his gaze, slightly worried he’d well and truly upset Bragi.
“It wasn’t that bad. And you got me out.” He retorted weakly, before he raised his arms in disbelief as Bragi turned away from him to bark orders at their men to man the ship. Before he could say anything else, the men complied and Bragi turned around and grabbed his arm, dragging him down below deck to the chief’s quarters.
“Sit your ass down at that desk and shut your mouth Dagur!” Bragi barked, marching through the doorway and kicking it shut behind him. As soon as he reached the desk and sat in the chair, Bragi turned around to glare at him. Dagur met his stare with a slightly sheepish expression. “Three years, of reining in your men, our men. Rogue Berserkers and Outcasts, fixing Savages messes. Running your armada for you while Haggard has been trying to get rid of me, trying to take what we fought for when we were younger.” Bragi ranted while he started pacing across the floor. “Then you stopped replying to my messages and I thought they’d killed you.”
Dagur flinched at that, scrunching his shoulders up to his ears. Bragi clenched his fists, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously—a habit he never had the chance to break—before he stared dead straight into Dagur’s eyes. “I thought you were dead Dagur. I thought I lost my best friend.”
Dagur stood from the chair at that, walking over to Bragi, lifting his hands from where they were clenched at his side. He slid his hands into Bragi’s, lifting them under his tunic to press them to his chest, directly over his heart.
“I’m still here, I still have a heartbeat Bragi.” He assured softly. Bragi shuffled closer, his hands still pressed to his chest. Dagur pulled him closer by his hands, before he slid his own down Bragi’s forearms and then down to his waist. Bragi rested his head on his shoulder. Dagur felt him relax against him and then nod into his shoulder, muttering a quiet string of curse words against it.
“You’re not alone anymore Bragi. I’m back and everything will be fine.” Dagur said as he tighted his grip onto Bragi’s waist.
Bragi pulled away from Dagur with his hands still pressed to his chest. Dagur caught the soft expression on his face for just a split second before it slipped away and his mouth turned up into a smile. Bragi poked at his chest. “Now change into some armour, I think we have some that fits.”
Dagur nodded and turned on his heel towards the chest in the room. Bragi backed out of the room to give Dagur some privacy, catching the sight of Dagur’s bare back as he pulled his shirt over his head, back muscles flexing as he raised and lowered his arms. When he turned around and walked back up onto the upper deck of the ship, he noticed a few Outcasts staring at him and the stairs.
“What are you staring at?” He snarled, his hand immediately going to his belt for the axe he had on its ring. The Outcasts backed away nervously before turning and minding their own businesses. “Good.” He spat, before moving to the front of the ship and staring over at the horizon and the rolling waves. As the sun rose over the horizon, Bragi rested his elbows against the edge of the familiar sound of Dagur yelling, in the high pitched tone that he missed over the last three years.
Dagur’s armour clinked together as he walked up behind him. A well-muscled arm wrapped around his shoulders as he leaned his other arm against the edge of the rail, mimicking Bragi’s pose.
“I’ve changed our course to the ship graveyard.” Dagur told him, turning his head to give him a knowing look.
“You’re going after Hiccup, so nothing’s changed in the last three years.” Bragi gave a strained chuckle as he stepped away from Dagur. Savage approached the both of them just as he did so.
“Bragi it’ll be alright.” Dagur turned right as Dagur interrupted them with an update. Dagur’s jaw clenched as he considered Savage’s words, before he turned back to Bragi with a frown. Dagur leaned in and pressed his chin to Bragi’s temple as he tilted his head to listen. “Looks like our trip to the graveyard is postponed until later this afternoon. Which means we have time to talk tactic, I want you sitting in on this meeting with me.”
“Gladly Dagur.” Bragi said smugly as he returned the glare that Savage was giving him from over Dagur’s shoulder. Savage had disapproved every single one of Bragi’s decisions since Dagur was imprisoned on Outcast island. Bragi had volunteered twice to break Dagur out himself, cursing the incompetence of the fools that Savage had sent in and failed, but most of their men were against the notion of sending him in. Despite their mutual hatred of each other however, Savage had also reminded Bragi both times, that if Dagur trusted anyone to lead his Armada, it would have to be him.
So he never went, and Dagur never came back.
Dagur can’t remember when Bragi hasn’t been around him while they were talking tactics. Really he can’t remember not having Bragi around. Tactical meetings when they were younger had always been Bragi’s favourite part of being next in line to be War Chief, honestly, Dagur was glad for it. Since he didn’t really like planning stealth missions—he preferred battle plans and long raids—he left their tactics mostly to Bragi once they took over the tribe.
They decided to have the meeting on deck, on the far end of the ship where the others couldn’t hear them without obviously eavesdropping. Dagur wanted Bragi to be on their ship when they reached the graveyards. Three years, and his need to show Bragi off while making Hiccup kiss his boots hadn’t dissipated. The tactics should have been simple. Bragi was his second, his back up, so why in Hel’s name was Savage suggesting that he’d stay behind? Dagur pursed his lips, fitting his fingertips together and tapping them thoughtfully against each other.
“We should have a backup plan though Dagur. In case this one doesn’t work..” Bragi’s eyes flitted over towards him for a split second. “...I agree with him Dagur.” Dagur’s fingers stopped tapping against each other as he glanced between them. Bragi was agreeing with Savage, despite their mutual hatred of each other?
Dagur puffed out his chest like a robin, before he narrowed his eyes at Bragi. “And why are you agreeing with him?” He questioned. Bragi huffed, albeit was hesitant as his shoulders scrunched up.
“Because sometimes…” Bragi started. “Hiccup tends to outsmart your plans, and he has a Night Fury Dagur.” And Bragi had a point. Still, Dagur pouted, eyes flitting back and forth between them before he stopped on Bragi.
“Then what’s the new plan?” Bragi flicked his eyes down to the wooden deck before he answered, sounding surer than he did a moment before.
“We infiltrate the Dragon Riders and Berk from within. Disable their defences, strike them when they’re relaxed and unable to prepare their defences.” Bragi explained with a low tone.
“I like it… I like it.” Dagur murmured thoughtfully. “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.”
“I’m going.” Bragi said firmly. “When you go to the graveyard… Savage and the others will take away my battleaxe. Put fake chains on me and call me a traitor. If plans go south, throw me overboard. Hiccup’s a bleeding heart, has been since we were kids Dagur, I’ll get Hiccup and the other Dragon Riders to rescue me so I can spy on them and offer them false information.”
Bragi’s voice had grown firmer during the explanation, but inside, Dagur felt sick. Putting Bragi in danger? Sending Bragi undercover into Berk when he was just as guilty of the same crimes Dagur was imprisoned for? Dagur paused, brow furrowed as he shifted his weight on his feet while thinking over the plan. Sending Bragi in without his battle axe, unarmed. His eyes flicked over to Bragi, who was now chewing on his bottom lip, the only sign he was even the slightest bit worried. It would mean they’d be separated again.
“What about the Night Fury, and the other dragons?” Dagur asked finally. Surely the dragons would be able to tell.
“I’ll be fine Dagur, I can lie my way out of pretty much anything remember?” Bragi said with a soothing tone. And Bragi could, he’d done it all throughout the both of them growing up. “Besides, if the dragons are suspicious, I’ll blame it on smelling like you.” That got a laugh out of him.
“Okay then, but we need a way from you to get out of Berk if your cover is blown.” He tacked on once he stopped chuckling. The look he got was pure Bragi, offended at the slightest idea that his cover would be blown. Bragi’s lips pressed into a thin line and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Bragi we need a back up plan for your plan.”
“We really don’t.” Bragi retorted. “It’s what I do Dagur. I can get myself out of Berk just fine if something goes wrong.”
“You aren’t listening to me Bragi.” Bragi scrunched his nose up in displeasure. Dagur huffed. “What’s the point of being my second in command if you won’t even listen.” He snarled, irritated. Bragi responded with his own snarl, his lips curling back over his teeth before he lowered his head in a submissive gesture.
“You normally have plans that work.” Dagur admitted to placate him. “So I’m trusting you on this, but I want you to have a weapon… Hiccup may be too trusting but his girlfriend isn’t.” Astrid may have proved to be his biggest underestimate when he’d tried to take on Berk. She was tougher than iron, and with her backing Hiccup kept his head better than he should have. Dagur met Bragi’s eyes. “You won’t mess this up, you won’t give anything away and you won’t touch Hiccup.”
“Like I’d want to anyway!” Bragi retorted, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging them close to his body. His hand struck out to his Bragi’s shoulder instinctively. He kicked back, rolling his eyes with a familiarity that made the tension in his shoulders slip away.
“I’m still the chief.” His voice sounded shaky, even to himself. “You still have to listen to me.” He managed to harden his voice on the last note while sending a glare to Bragi.” His shin throbbed where Bragi kicked him.
Three years ago, he wouldn’t have bothered to strike out at him when he didn’t listen. While he was still scrawny and an inch shorter than Bragi. Bragi seemed to not like it either, with the way 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 finally snarled, like he’d been thinking about what to say. “You’ve forgotten that I’ve been fighting by your side, for you since you were nine Dagur! Your threats don’t scare me Dagur, and neither do you!”
Savaged looked like he was about to back away from the both of them and the scene they were causing on deck since he was trapped with the both of them flanking his sides.
“Just do what you need to do.” Dagur waved his hand carelessly, but before he could walk away, Bragi’s hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist.
“There’s another part of the plan we haven’t discussed.” Bragi tacked on, not meeting Dagur’s eyes. “You have to hurt me.”
Dagur paused, head cocking to the side with curiosity and concern.
“You need to hurt me.” Bragi repeated slowly.
“Why do I need to do that.” Dagur’s eyebrows arched high.
“The Hooligan Tribe thinks you’re crazy Dagur. They hate you. If I’m going to convince them that you thought I was a traitor, I need to look the part.”
Dagur felt his insides twist. Nausea welled up in him as he scanned Bragi’s face before he shook his head. “Come up with a different story… I’m not hurting you.”
Bragi huffed, shaking his head.
“Just do it Dagur, you’re not going to do any lasting damage to me. Just leave a few marks, choke me, something to make it look like you’ve actually been able to hurt me!”
“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, and it always worked. Dagur launched himself forward at him, knocking them both over despite the obvious stance he’d fallen into to brace against him. Bragi’s back hit the wooden deck with a crash and a concerning crack. His battle axe skittered across the deck as Dagur slammed his knees into his ribs.
Both of Dagur’s hand came to wrap around his throat, squeezing painfully tight. Bragi gave a few halfhearted wriggles before he relaxed, body going limp against the wooden deck as he felt his lungs protest at Dagur crushing his hands against his windpipe. Dagur felt Bragi’s throat flex underneath his hands. Dagur pushed down on Bragi’s chest with his knees, until he started to wheeze underneath him. Their eyes meet, green latching onto blue. Dagur’s eyes widened and he let go of Bragi’s throat with a small gasp. He left Bragi on the deck, standing and dusting himself off before he stormed down below deck, leaving Bragi to wheeze while watching his retreating back.
Bragi knew the marks would stick, as he lifted his hand to hover over his throat. They’d be bruised by the time their plan would begin. His lungs protested as he set up, drinking in air as a Berserker helped him up carefully.
“Are you alright?” He asked. Bragi nodded, coughing as he lifted his head to eye the stairs.
“It needed to be done Jokul. Nothing I can’t handle.” His voice was hoarse but he waved Jokul off and steadied himself. He coughed as he made his way down to the chief’s quarters, shrugging off Jokul’s extended hand and the others on the ship.
Dagur may have had the title of Deranged as they grew up, but he wasn’t as bloodthirsty as everyone thought he was. He needed to reassure Dagur that he was fine, because knowing his best friend, Dagur was about to beat himself up for this.
Bragi didn’t knock on the closed door to the chief’s quarters, pushing it open with his right hand as his left hovered over his ribs. Dagur had his back to the door, his arms were gripping the edge of the desk in the room, his arms and back tense. Even from the doorway, Bragi could see that his blunt nails were digging into the grain of the wood, leaving shallow crescent shaped indents as he stared at the wall in front of him.
“Dagur.” He muttered from the doorway, making his presence known. He walked over to stand next to him, his eyes dropping onto Dagur’s trembling hands as he dug his nails further into the wood. “ Dagur I’m okay.” Bragi reached out to touch his hand gently.
“Don’t touch me!” Dagur snapped, jerking his hand away the moment his fingers brushed against it.
“Wait, Dagur.” He grabbed Dagur’s wrist, tugging him back. Bragi curled his fingers tighter around his wrist, gazing up at him. Dagur stared back, his face twisted into anger and fear, eyes glinting from the fires that lit up the cabin.
“You didn’t fight back.” Dagur murmured while scanning his face. One of Dagur’s hands reached up to touch his cheek, his large palm pressing over Bragi’s cheek. Bragi leaned into the touch, eyelashes fluttering before Dagur’s hand moved down to hover over his throat, fitting his hands 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, so much so that Dagur could feel a slight throb as his palm grazed Bragi’s throat. If he didn’t stop, Bragi would be losing that heat up on deck, lifeless.
“You had to do it Dagur.” Bragi said softly. “It was the only way to make it real.” Dagur’s brow furrowed, a dark expression sliding over his face.
“I could have killed you.” Dagur said, his voice filled with concern and confusion. “I’d have killed you if…” He stared at his hands like he didn’t believe they were a part of him. “If I didn’t look at you! Thor!” His hands dropped from Bragi’s neck like they had been burned.
Dagur pulled away from Bragi hastily, dropping his hands as he tried to turn away. Bragi lurched forward, grabbing onto his wrist, holding onto him. “ Dagur hey!” The Berserker Chief wasn’t listening, as he began to breathe heavily, shaking his head, trying and failing to tug his wrist from Bragi’s grip.
Bragi hesitated, before he twisted the wrist he had in his grip and hooked his ankle around Dagur’s, bringing his friend to the ground before he wrestled him onto his back. Bragi sat on his stomach, crossing his arms over his head as Dagur bucked and struggled beneath him.
“Dagur! Listen to me.” Bragi shouted, wincing when Dagur lashed out and freed one of his hands, striking him in the chest.
Dagur stilled, tense on his back, chest rising and falling as he painted harshly. He stared up at Bragi with wide eyes. Bragi sighed as his head hung forward. “Damn you Dagur.” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m fine… I was dealt the same from my father, you know this. I can handle you, I’m alright…” Dagur’s breathing was softening, stabilizing as Bragi continued. “I’m fine… I’m fine and I’m here and you can’t hurt me. ”
Brgi opened his eyes and the look in Dagur’s green ones when he met them was heartbreaking. Dagur locked eyes with him for a second before the tension bled out of his shoulders and his eyes fluttered shut. Bragi let go of his wrists and Dagur brought them to Bragi’s sides, mindful of his ribs.
“I can’t- can’t kill you.” He muttered. “I’d never, can’t do it. Can’t hurt you like he did.” Bragi hushed him by squeezing his sides gently with his knees.
“Look at me.” Bragi ordered softly. “Look at me Dagur.” He opened his eyes. “I’m fine, see.” Bragi motioned to himself. Dagur nodded, eyes still trained onto his throat despite the nod. Bragi relaxed, slumping forward as he instead placed his hands onto Dagur’s chest.
Dagur ran his hands up Bragi’s sides, before he tangled his fingers into the loose hairs at the nape of his neck. “You’re hurt because of me Bragi. I did that to you.”
“Oh my Thor, Dagur.” Bragi sighed with a hint of exasperation before he ducked his head down and pressed his lips to Dagur’s, shutting him up effectively. Dagur reared forward, teeth nipping at Bragi’s bottom lip, kissing back with the same enthusiasm. Dagur used the grip on his hips to drag them flush together. Bragi let out a soft moan when he tugged on the length of his braid. Dagur pulled away, eyes wide and pupils dilated as he stared at Bragi, breathing heavily.
“Bragi…” He breathed, lips parted slightly.
“Been wanting to do that for fucking years.” Bragi complained. “Haven’t been able to since you’d gone and left Haggard in charge.” A crimson flush spread to the tip of his ears as Bragi wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Dagur chuckled and leaned forward to press a kiss to Bragi’s jaw.
“You’re still mine you got that.” He murmured into Bragi’s ear.
Bragi let out a genuine laugh, dropping his head onto Dagur’s shoulder before he lifted it back up to look Dagur in the eyes. “I laid a claim on you since we were five Dagur, you’re a little late.” He smirked.
They both laughed, the shared memory passing between them. Dagur sat up, bringing Bragi with him before he cupped Bragi’s face with both of his hands, leaning in to steal another kiss.
They spent the journey to the Ship Graveyard in each others laps, reminiscing, just talking. Bragi had brushed his hair back, admiring Dagur’s new mohawk while Dagur rebraided Bragi’s hair. It was a process, to relearn each other. Dagur had gone from a scrawny teenager. Bragi was mouthy, stronger, older. They went from crazy teenagers trying to fill boots too big for them, to being in their mid twenties and free.
They arrived at the graveyard just as the sun was beginning to go past the horizon. Dagur diverted the armada as to not arouse any suspicion and they sailed in on a single boat. It took Dagur a while to release Bragi from his arms but eventually Bragi was stripped of his armour and his hands were bound behind his back. His tattoos and tribal scarring were on display and to Dagur, he still looked like every bit of the Berserker War Chief he was.
He still had a Dagur hidden inside his belt, but other than that, the only thing of value he had on his person was his belt, emblazoned with the Berserker crest, and his life. Dagur had spent a good ten minutes with Bragi’s face in his hand, concerned and needing reassurance.
Dagur easily caught all the Dragon Riders but Hiccup, their inexperience making easy to lure them all in a trap. Dagur had Bragi waiting next to Jokul and another Berserker, waiting on the deck of the Reaper for Hiccup to arrive. At first the riders were too busy antagonizing Dagur and trying to escape to notice him, but then Astrid caught sight of him. Her eyes widened almost comically as she gasped, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Bragi?” Astrid gasped, her eyes scanned his body, stopping on his throat.
Bragi didn’t respond, instead he tugged at his chains and rattled them, before shooting a glare over in Dagur’s direction without any real heat behind it. Before Astrid and the other riders could make a comment about him, Hiccup popped out from the hull of the ship, carrying a cylindrical object in one hand while his Night Fury crawled out with him.
“Hiccup! We’re sorry! He got the drop on us while we were searching-” Astrid tried calling out. Dagur interrupted them smoothly. Dagur smiled at Hiccup with a dangerous grin. Hiccup glanced between Dagur and his friends trapped in the cage, before they stopped on Bragi in his chains.
“Bragi, hey… it’s been…” Hiccup trailed off with a choked laugh when he noticed the bruise around Bragi’s neck and the chains around his ankles and wrists. “What’s going on? What did he do to you?” Hiccup asked defensively. It made Bragi chuckle internally. Hiccup was always so empathetic. Dagur shot Bragi a silent glance from where he stood, slightly annoyed that Hiccup ignored him.
“Come on brother, no time for games. I need whatever you’re hiding behind that back of yours.” Dagur crooned with a smug tone. “Let me get on with business and then I can throw this traitor to the eels.” Dagur tacked on. Bragi flinched at the pure venom in his voice. It sounded so real. Dagur waved his hands around erratically before he gestured over to Bragi while he fake struggled against the outcasts.
Bragi couldn’t help but feel slightly cowed. Dagur said the words with so much conviction and determination that he felt a wave of nausea hit him. Bragi shoved Jokul off of him, lunging half heartedly at Dagur before he was reined back by Jokul.
Dagur only chuckled, masking his surprise before he turned back to focus on Hiccup. “What will you do Hiccup? Save the people? Or fight me and kill them all?” Dagur taunted. Bragi shouldn’t have felt afraid from Dagur’s threat, but his chest tightened all the same.
“He’s not lying.” He called out, purposely trying to make his voice sound hoarse. “He doesn’t care whether his own men live or die against you Hiccup!” With a wave of his hand, Dagur had Jokul slamming an elbow into Bragi’s side, causing him to double over with a gasp.
Hiccup’s eyes flicked back and forth between the three parties. Bragi looked exhausted as he clutched his arms around his sides. He felt sick to his stomach as he took in how hurt Bragi looked, how debased and humiliated it seemed to have his armours and weapons stripped from him.
Dagur held a hand out for the cylindrical trinket, while with the other, he motioned to the Reaper’s rail. The other Berserker and Jokul began to drag Bragi to the rail, although it was a bit hesitant. At first, he was calm, while he walked along with them, except as he reached the rail and caught a glimpse overboard, panic siezed him. There wasn’t a boat, or a safety net, just dark water churning with eels awaiting their next meal.
Dagur wasn’t playing a role anymore. Dagur was laughing hysterically as Hiccup gave up the trinket in his hand. The rest of their men began to abandon the Reaper, until it was just Bragi, Jokul and Dagur along with the Dragon Riders. Jokul kept a steady hand on him, until Dagur made an aborted noise and gesture.
His panic turned into fear as Jokul tipped him over the rail. He heard Astrid and Hiccup’s shouts, the sound of hissing eels, and then the rush of water as he slammed into the churning waves. Water rushed into his ears as he kicked against the chains, trying not to sink. They weighed him down, as the eels began to dip curiously around him, snatching at his clothes and the chains.
His lungs protested as he was dragged further into the murky depths, he couldn’t fight against the eels, nor could he kick himself up to the water’s surface. He saw out of the corner of his blackening vision, the Reaper being dragged down by the eels. He resigned himself really, as he got lower and lower.
A light blasted past his face before he passed out, giving in to the sinking feeling in his chest. The last thing he felt was something gripping his arm.
“Is he okay?” Astrid asked over the wind from Stormfly’s back. The Reaper had sunk, and after Hiccup had stolen the trinket he found on the Reaper back from Dagur, he’d helped Astrid fish Bragi out of the water.
They’d all known Bragi from being in the same circles. He was the son of Cnut the Cruel, Oswald the Agreeable’s most trusted general. He was Dagur’s best friend and the centre piece of one of the biggest scandals in the Archipelago. While Dagur had tried to make Hiccups life miserable, Bragi had gotten along with him for a number of reasons. Bragi had a little brother who was a runt, and his father had beaten the baby to death when he was seven days old.
In retaliation, Bragi had challenged his father for his position as War Chief and had taken it, coming out of the challenge half-dead, with a broken arm and all sorts of injuries, leaning on Dagur’s shoulder and blood splattered on his face.
Seeing Bragi now, slumped over Hookfang’s back behind Snotlout, soaked to the bone, stripped of his armour, debased and humiliated. It was nothing like the boy that ran in their circles when they were all children. The Monstrous Nightmare was the only dragon large enough to carry an unconscious passenger, the others flew close as a precaution.
“I think Dagur did that to him.” Fishlegs mumbled, frightened by the dull tone of Bragis’ skin. “Did you see how easy it was for him to just throw Bragi overboard and they’ve been friends of years?” He questioned, frantic.
“Dagur called him a traitor remember? Maybe something happened when Dagur was on Outcast Island.” Hiccup replied rationally, eyes straying to Bragi. Bragi’s braid hung wetly over his shoulder even with the wind drying it.
Their arrival in Berk didn’t go unnoticed. Bragi had woken up halfway through the flight home. He sat up dizzily, panicking and had almost fallen off Hookfang if Snotlout hadn’t spun around to grab his arm and held him steady. Bragi looked green around the gills, leaning forward and doubling over to hug himself to Hookfang’s body. It might have been the flight, it might have been the fact that he was on a dragon, but he was relieved when they landed and Snotlout helped him off Hookfang.
Hiccup took a moment to let Bragi steady himself before he strode up to him and held out his hand. Bragi hesitated, shaky on his feet, before he took Hiccup’s hand and was pulled into a hug.
“Thank you.” Bragi admitted in a whisper. When Hiccup pulled away, his eyes dropped down to the bruises ringed around his throat.
“Did he do this?” Hiccup asked softly. Bragi ducked his gaze, Dagur’s tenderness from earlier barely lingering in the light of getting thrown overboard. Bragi nodded in reply. Hiccup opened his mouth to say something, before they were interrupted by an indignant yell from behind them.
Hiccup spun around, immediately raising his hands defensively as his father approached them. Bragi twisted around, eyes widening as he spotted Stoick and shrunk back. The Chief’s own eyes widened, before he strode straight up to him, pushing past Hiccup to drop his hands onto Bragi’s shoulders.
“Bragi. It’s been years since I’ve seen you…” Stoick trailed off as he scanned Bragi’s frame. “And…. you’re not wearing any armour.” He raised his gaze back up to Bragi’s eyes. “Dagur did this, didn’t he!” Stoick raised his voice. “You were always too sane to be friends with that boy!” He growled loudly.
Bragi shook his head and raised a hand, pausing Stoick and his raised voice.
“I goaded him into a fight Stoick. He’s strong, faster now. I underestimated me and he pinned me and he just…. He had his hands around my neck and he wouldn’t stop.” Bragi lowered his gaze and scrunched up his shoulders. The Dragon Riders gathered around him and Stoick, along with a few Vikings who were lingering nearby. “I was meeting with a rogue trader without his knowledge, he got mad about it and I challenged him.” Bragi forced himself to shake, continuing on with his story. “I’d met the trader when I was leading half off the Berserkers Armada outside the borders of the Archipelago, when I heard about Hiccup fighting the Red Death on a Night Fury. My duty didn’t allow me to return to Berserk when Oswald had disappeared, and when the treaty renewal rolled around, I was sent off to another mission by Haggard, Dagur’s great-uncle, outside the Archipelago, near the Warkens tribe. Haggard was trying to keep me away from Dagur, claiming I was a bad influence.”
He paused to take a deep breath. “By the time I had come back to Berserk, we were falling into ruin, my half of the Armada had hardly any supplies at all, Dagur had sided with the Outcasts and Alvin the Treacherous. My half of the Armada refused to join the war. We wanted to keep the peace. I pleaded, pleaded with Dagur to stop but…” He trailed off, head dropping and shoulders slumped. “Haggard had too much of an influence by then.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him from attacking you Hiccup.” Bragi turned his head to look at Hiccup with pleading eyes. Hiccup himself looked heartbroken, as did the other riders along with the people of Berk who were listening in.
“It wasn’t your fault Bragi. You had good intentions.”
“It is. The trader I was meeting, he gave me information on Dagurs whereabouts, he helped me plot and arrange for Dagur’s escape. I thought that if I could free him I would get my best friend back.” Bragi sniffled, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand theatrically. “But I goaded him and then I was pinned and all I could see was anger and hatred in his eyes. He didn’t let go until I stopped fighting back.”
“Fishlegs, take him to Gothi to get something for the bruising, you can decide among yourselves who he can stay with.” Stoick ordered before he gave Bragi a soft, fatherly look. Growing up around the Berkians had been something different. It wasn’t like Berserk at all. He’d become a war chief young, had responsibility beaten into him the hard way. As Bragi was led away from the crowd of vikings that had gathered around the commotion, he felt Fishlegs’ eyes on him.
“I’m not going to try anything.” Bragi said softly. Fishlegs head snapped up to look at him with frightened eyes. “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 Dagur from throwing you overboard.” Fishlegs apologized. The sincerity of it overwhelmed Bragi, making him stop in his tracks for a moment before he was urged along by Fishlegs.
“I’m not.” Bragi hissed, feeling a hint of hurt as he thought about it. “It would hurt less if he actually cared about me.”
“Maybe he does, in hos own… weird way.” Fishlegs offered up nervously. Bragi rolled his eyes and shrugged in response. Right now this was all he had, infiltrate the Berkians, gain everyone's trust, and then go home to Dagur.
“So Gothi’s still around?” He changed the subject hastily. Gothi had been around since he was ten and Dagur was nine and the both of them were as thick as thieves as they visited Berk. There was a time Bragi remembered Gothi. He used to take Dagur to see her, interested in what a Volva of her skill could show them, really, they just got smacked on the head by her staff, especially when she caught them chewing Fire Root. That day had been the absolute worst, filled with silent lectures and bruises on their heads.
“She’s still going strong.” Fishlegs said excitedly. “She’s still learning new ways to treat us.” Bragi smiled at the enthusiasm before rubbing the back of his neck.
“I haven’t seen her since, I think before Oswald died, at the last treaty renewal before Dagur became chief.” Bragi answered, tilting his head to the side. Eventually, they climbed the stairs to Gothi’s hut, smiling at the old lady when Gothi waved her staff at him.
Gothi welcomed them with a few waves of her staff before she pointed at Bragi and rattled the staff. She then turned around and rummaged through a chest before coming out with a leather cord with beads on them. It was old and worn, and it looked a bit too small with some of the braiding on the cord coming undone, but Bragi recognized it immediately.
“That…” Gothi nodded enthusiastically as he reached out to take it from her. “Dager gave that to me.” He slipped the necklace over his head, wiggling it a little as it caught on his braid before it finally settled against the bruises on his throat. Noticing them, Gothi frowned and shook her staff again, before she went back to rummage through her things and pull what looked like a balm from a chest.
The balm was sharp-smelling and tingled when he smeared it over his throat, liberally applying it to the bruises, before he capped it once more and turned back to Fishlegs. “What now?” He asked curiously.
Fishlegs looked thoughtful for a moment, before he nodded to himself and made a small “ah”. He led Bragi down to the Great Hall through Berk. The village had changed its layout again since the last time he’d been there. He didn’t recognize the alleyways or the houses, probably rebuilt from dragon attacks, before the beasts were tamed.
The fact that it was getting well into the evening by the time they got there meant that dinner was getting into full swing in the hall. It seemed to be some event or another, where people were cheering and drinking and lining up for good food, roasted boar and what not. It smelled amazing, Bragi felt himself salivating as he eyed off a roast boar rotating on a spit.
The only downside was the fact that Berserkers survived on very little, even more when they were chewing Fire Root. Any food would make him sick, nauseas and possibly incapacitate him. It pained him to turn away free food, especially since Berserk and their Armada was on limited rations.
It was all for the sake of the mission. He reminded himself. The mission and then he could return to Dagur.
Bragi’s first night on Berk wasn’t so bad. The riders decided to rotate his living space between their houses, and he’d spent the first at the Jorgenson home. Snotlout was much more reserved in his house rather than with his friends. Bragi sat on the mattress in Snotlout’s room as he peeled off his boots before dropping them onto the floor. Snotlout’s room was covered in fine weaponry. Some of them were decorative, some weren’t, but what caught his attention wasn’t the axes and knives, between them there were books, strewn out and stacked in piles.
Bragi picked one up curiously, scanning the runes on the cover. Snotlout’s Guide to Catching Dragons, Volume One . It sounded interesting.
“Hey!” Snotlout yelped from across him. The book was snatched out of his hand quickly and it was tossed aside. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Sorry.” Bragi eyed the book where it landed. “I just didn’t expect to see something like that, you write?”
Snotlout’s expression turned sheepish as he rubbed the back of his neck while averting his gaze. “I mean yeah, kind of.” He shrugged. “My dad doesn’t really like it to much but if I don’t do it outside he doesn’t care.”
Bragi nodded and let his arms fall by his side as he went back to his mattress, sitting back down on it. “Fair enough. It’s good to see you doing something you like though.” Bragi gestured towards the piles of books.
Snotlout’s cheeks pinked, and he turned away with a stutter in his words as he let out a small “thank you”. Bragi gave him a smile even though Snotlout couldn’t see it, before he swung his legs up onto the mattress and laid down with his arms under his head to stare at the ceiling.
It wasn’t long before Snotlout was snoring quietly in his bed that Bragi let out a breath of relief and let the tension slip from his shoulders. He sat up. The Jorgenson house was quiet, but Snotlout’s dragon was outside and Bragi wasn’t sure if the beast was awake. Bragi made one small round of the house, taking note of escape routes and trinkets of interest, avoiding Snotlout’s sleeping father in front of the fire downstairs, before he crept back into bed and pretended he was still asleep until morning came.
Fishleg slept in the same bed as his dragon, which honestly, should not have been surprising. Bragi had his own room this time, opposite the younger boys room. The Ingerman family seemed to be well off by Berkian standards. They fed him a generous portion for dinner, which he squirreled away into the pocket of the vest that Fishlegs’ parents had given him.
Eating a full meal still made Bragi nauseas. He had small leather pouch of Fire Root still tucked into his boot which he was chewing every second day. It kept him alert, kept him going for the mission. He nibbled on the bread when Fishlegs was too engrossed in writing dragon cards to notice him watching from across the corridor.
Later that night, when both Fishlegs and his Gronkle were asleep. Bragi crept barefoot into his room to sneak a look at the cards, memorizing the dragon statistics as best as he could before he left them where he found them, thanking Thor that Fishlegs left his information out without a care in the world.
If Bragi was being honest with himself, the Thorston twins were probably the people that gave him the most trouble. They were Berserkers on their grandmothers side. She had married into the Thorston family and died after her children were born. They were closer to his age than the other Riders, at seventeen rather than fifteen. It felt like betrayal for Bragi to try and spy on them. Not to mention the twins were always awake, either both at the same time or one after the other and it was impossible to sneak into their shared room.
However they lived on their own and what information he couldn’t steal, was greatly compensated. Chalk marked the floor in one of the Thorston’s spare rooms. Tuffnut had shown Bragi the room in passing during a house tour before he was dragged to go hunting.
That evening, Bragi slipped into the room while Tuffnut was muttering to himself and grinding up a set of herbs in a mortar.
“You know you’re using the wrong weed right?” Bragi finally said after a moment. Tuffnut’s head snapped up with alarming speed as he fumbled with the mortar before eventually shoving it behind his back.
“What? No. What are you talking about?” Tuffnut drawled as he scrambled to push the mortar further behind him.
“Those aren’t the recels you should be using. For a seidhmadhr anyway. Or does Berk prefer vitki since Seidhr isn’t common?” Bragi repeated. “I’m a Berserker remember, I’m guessing your grandmother or mother took to training you.”
“Berserker?” Tuffnut repeated shakily before his eyes landed on the tribal markings across Bragi’s face. “You’re a seidhmadhr too? Berserkers are okay with that?”
Bragi nodded with a small sigh before he sat down onto the floor, opposite Tuffnut. The blonde had his shoulders up past his ears, looking skittish, like he wanted to run out of the room. Seidhr wasn’t commonly practiced on Berk if Bragi remembered correctly, at least not by men, not even by women, only a select few individuals trained for the craft. “Berk’s not like us right? It’s meant for women, for the spákona , rather than men.”
Tuffnut nodded slowly, eyeing Bragi curiously. “We’re not. Berserkers aren’t. We’re just as important you know. Just as powerful.”
“My sister practices too.” Tuffnut said in a whisper. “The others don’t know, we’re already the black sheep of the family. If word got out that we practiced, that I…” Tuffnut trailed off and shook his head, like the threat was too horrible to say. It probably was and Bragi didn’t push for a continuation.
“Because of your grandmother.” Bragi tacked on. Tuffnut gave a nod, before he hunched in on himself. “It doesn’t matter what they think about you. Odin, was a seidhmadhr , I doubt none of Berk would give two sacks of shit if they knew their history well enough.” He added.
That got a laugh out of Tuffnut and the young blonde leaned forward, taking the mortar from behind his back to show it to Bragi. The herbs inside it were musehd into a green paste, ready to be smeared.
“You know I saw Ragnvald Rettilbeini practice this when I was a boy.” Bragi said conversationally as Tuffnut let him take the mortar from him. Tuffnut’s eyes widened in the corner of Bragi’s vision and he bit back a smile. Tuffnut shuffled closer with curiosity evident on his face. “Hmm, yeah, he conjured a storm with this mixture, lighting and winds whipping through our hair… Dagur and I…” Bragi trailed off for a moment before shaking his head. “We held onto each other through the entire thing, until he brought us into the eye of the storm. It was beautiful.”
He ground the pestle into mortar once more before leaning in to sniff the mixture. “You’re missing some henbane and salt, you could substitute the henbane with blue oleander if you had it.” Bragi offered the items back to Tuffnut. “I’m assuming you’re not using this to summon a storm, so if it’s poison, henbane or oleander will do the trick. Maybe henbane if you don’t want to poison your dragons.”
Tuffnut’s cheeks pinked, but he nodded and sprawled his long legs outwards before he pushed himself off the ground and walked over to a herb cabinet. Tuffnut barely glanced at the jars of herbs before he came back with salt and henbane.
“You’re well stocked.” Bragi complimented as his eyes scanned the shelves.
“We’ve been doing this for years.” Tuffnut replied as he kept his head down, grinding the salt and henbane into the mixture.
“That’s good, it’s your birthright, don’t let it go.” Bragi answered instinctively. It send a pang of longing through his chest thinking about birthrights. Dagur flicked through his mind, so did pure want. By Thor he missed Dagur, so much.
Tuffnut seemed to sense his silence, because when Bragi looked back up from his lap, the blonde was staring at him, paused mid grind, with curious and comforting eyes.
“You miss him, don’t you?” Tuffnut asked. “Dagur? I know it’s only been three days but you spent your life with him.”
Bragi inhaled sharply, darting his eyes across the floorboards before his shoulders slumped forward. “I miss him so fucking much that it hurts. Dagur has been my best friend for years, he… he carried me out of the arena when I fought my father.” Bragi clenched his fists and crossed his arms over his chest, it being his turn to hunch in on himself. “I love him I think, more than anything in the world.” He admitted softly.
“I get you.” Tuffnut replied with the same soft tone. “It’s like Ruffnut and me, except you know, Ruffnut’s my sister and Dagur’s pretty much your soulmate.”
Bragi’s head snapped up, eyes wide in alarm as he glanced at the easy smile on Tuffnut’s lips.
“Chill, chill, only Ruff and I have noticed. You guys were way too obvious when you were kids.” Bragi blushed then, feeling slightly embarassed as he ducked his head. It felt nice, to talk to someone about Dagur like this, to be open and honest. It was probably because Tuffnut had the heart of a Berserker, probably because it meant he was somewhat family. Probably because Tuffnut, with his blonde hair and blue eyes reminded him of his baby brother with a tuft of gold on his head.
Bragi leaned back on his arms, watching as Tuffnut puttered around and finished off his poison before using a wooden spatula to scrape it into a small jar. It was labeled accordingly, and then kept away, back into the herb cupboard, before Tuffnut turned to him with a cheek smile.
“Want to go wrestle boars with Ruffnut?” Tuffnut asked. It didn’t matter that the sun was already setting or that the boars would be a lot more dangerous when irritated in the dark. Bragi got up onto his feet and met Tuffnut’s smile with his own. Tuffnut held his arm out for Bragi to link, and he took it after a moment of hesitance, before Tuffnut dragged him out of the room to go find his twin.
Bragi hated the Hofferson household. If there was ever a household that made him think of his own broken family, it was this. Astrid Hofferson was the princess of Berk. Her family came from a long line of warriors, her parents were fearless, as were the rest of her extended family, down to her cousins who had to be younger than ten. The Hofferson parents stared at him like he was a bit of dirt underneath his boot.
His room was the attic, cramped and small. They didn’t allow him to go near astrid’s room, even as the girl shot him apologetic glances from across the dinner table.
One good thing Bragi supposed, was the lack of food they gave him. He still had food squirreled away from the Ingerman house, since he now had a bag with actual belongings, courtesy of the Thorston twins, so he nibbled and chewed on his Fire Root while sitting in the dark of the attic, staring out at the window .
He didn’t get a single chance to scour for information at the Hofferson home, he was closely monitored and one of the Hofferson parents stayed up in turns to keep watch over the house. The evident distrust was clear and yes it was necessary, but it made him angry. He just wanted to do his job and go home to Dagur.
Before they could kick him out of the house in the morning, Astrid had dragged him out by his wrist and deposited him into the dragon training arena.
“I’m so sorry.” She muttered in disbelief as she paced in front of him. “They’re normally so polite.”
“I can’t blame them.” Bragi replied, albeit with a tone of bitterness. “If I were them I wouldn’t let a psychopath near their daughter either.”
“You’re not a psychopath.” Astrid protested as the other riders began to trail into the arena.
“I’m Bragi the Berserk for a reason. I beat my father to death with no mercy and came out fucked up in the head.” Bragi said bluntly. “Your parents wouldn’t want someone like that near their kid.”
“I know I wouldn’t have let anyone like that near Sverri.” Bragi tacked on in a soft mutter after a moment.
“Sverri?” Hiccup asked from behind them. Bragi didn’t even realize he was there, let alone listening.
Bragi turned around, meeting Hiccup’s curious green eyes. “My little brother.”
“I didn’t know you had one? Is he still on Berserk?” Snotlout asked from his right despite the obvious gestures to stop talking from Hiccup.
Bragi snapped his eyes shut and shrugged with clenched fists. “I guess you could say that.”
“Why didn’t you ask him to come here? We’d protect him from Dagur.” Snotlout continued on. Bragi inhaled slowly through his nose.
“He doesn’t need protecting from Dagur, Snotlout.” Bragi said firmly.
“I mean if Dagur hurt yo-”
“For Thor’s sake Snotlout! Sverri’s dead!” It wasn’t Bragi that shouted it out loud. Tuffnut had his own fists clenched at his sides when Bragi opened his eyes. It was clear that by the way everyone was staring at him, that he was the one that yelled. Ruffnut was standing next to him, but her eyes were trained onto Bragi and the look in them had Bragi’s knees feeling weak.
Damn the twins for looking so much like his little brother. A part of him guessed Sverri would’ve looked like them if he had the chance to grow up.
“Oh.” Snotlout said in a small voice from next to him. “Bragi. I’m sorry.”
“It’s been a long time Snotlout, really, I was fifteen when it happened. Don’t worry about it.” Bragi rubbed his hands over his face, before he shot the twins a grateful look.
Hiccup felt bile rising in his throat when he heard the full story from his father. They’d sat down on the first night Bragi had stayed on Berk, next to the fire as Hiccup nervously asked his father about Bragi’s.
“Cnut the Cruel was a horrible father Hiccup. That boy fought for his freedom, just as much as he fought for his little brother.”
“He really beat Bragi’s brother to death for being a hiccup?” Hiccup paused before glancing down at his own hands. Bragi’s behaviour through their childhood made a lot more sense now he knew the whole story. Most of what everyone knew was that Bragi had challenged his father and had beaten the man to death in a fit of Berserker Rage. Only the Berserkers really knew why.
“He did.” Stoicks eyes softened and he reached out to pull his son into a hug. “Berserkers had very little leeway for weakness, but we’re different. You’re different.” Hiccup stared up at his father, tears pricking his eyes.
“He can stay here can’t he. Bragi? We won’t make him go back?”
“Not after what Dagur did to him son. He can stay.” Stoick said while patting Hiccup’s shoulders gently.
Staying in Hiccup’s house to say the least, felt awkward. Stoick was awkwardly hovering over his shoulder like a concerned parent as Bragi spent some time with Hiccup in the house.
It was different. Bragi was so used to little sleep, barking orders. The sawy of the ship underneath him that even though he’d been spending a week on dry land, he found it incredibly hard to get to sleep.
He told Hiccup he was going to take a nap, but as he laid in his makeshift bed next to Hiccup’s he was stuck staring at the ceiling, not knowing what to do. A few months ago he was working to break Dagur out of prison. He’d been leading the Armada, he’d been fighting Haggard for command the entire time.
Bragi sat up when he heard a creak at the stairs. The Night Fury was staring at him with big green eyes, looking wary but curious. It sniffed the air carefully before it approached him. Bragi stilled as it nudged his boot, sniffing what had to be the Fire Root on his body before it turned away and bounded back down the stairs.
“So that’s what a Night Fury looks like.” He muttered to himself before he sat up. His stomach rumbled and he reached over to his bag to nibble on a strip of dried meat the Ingermen had given him. He had it with some Fire Root, before he kept his things away and rubbed at his eyes, feeling a hint of exhaustion catch up to him.
Dinner came and went. Roast boar that Bragi could barely stomach, ale that he drank half a cup of before he gave up, feeling his stomach cramp. They were expecting him to eat, but the Fire Root made his appetite completely disappear. Stoick watched him from the end of the table with concern, his fingers steepled together as he leaned his chin on his fists.
“Bragi, son, are you alright?” Bragi lifted his head from his plate, eyes darting around the room quickly before his eyes landed on Stoick. He nodded hastily.
“I’m fine.” He said quickly. “Just not used to having so much food. The Armada is on strict rations since Berserk stopped dealing with traders.” Bragi picked at his plate. “I don’t mean to make you waste your stores.”
Stoick immediately shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Eat what you can, Hiccup and I can handle the rest.” The look Stoick gave him wasn’t something he’d seen before, at least not from his own father. Bragi felt his chest tighten with longing, before he ducked his head and averted his gaze.
Stoick glanced between bragi and his son before his shoulders relaxed. “Alright, I’m going to the Great Hall, I’ll see you two when I get home this evening.” Stoick said with a nod. Bragi voiced his agreement along with Hiccup, without lifting his head as Stoick’s chair scraped backwards and he made his way out of the house.
“Bragi. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine Hiccup. Really.” He finally looked up at Hiccup from across the table. “Just getting used to life being different now.”
Hiccup frowned but didn’t say anything else, before he continued to pick at his food in silence.
Bragi shouldn’t have snuck out of the Haddock household thinking he could have gotten away with it. Even if Stoick and the Dragon Riders had their guard down, the rest of Berk clearly hadn’t. There were a group of Berkians that eyed him warily as he stood. He’d forgone his belt just in case, but tattoos and tribal markings were much harder to hide. Once they got a good look at his face, he was done for.
Bragi didn’t recognize them, didn’t know them or why they thought of him as a threat when he didn’t have any weapons, but he moved away from the group as soon as he could.
That was a mistake. He didn’t know the alleyways of Berk like he did Berserk island. He cut through the houses of the village, getting himself lost as he had to backtrack from dead end after dead end. Frustrated with himself at the next dead end Bragi spun around, ready to just run to the Great Hall to try and find Chief Stoick when the Berkians had come into his view.
“What’s a Berserker doing on Berk, all defenceless-like.” One of the jeered, tilting his head curiously. Bragi raised a hand to placate them, eyes darting around for an easy escape route.
“That’s none of your business, sir, if you’re curious perhaps you could ask Chief Stoick.” Bragi retorted before internally berating himself. He could see only two ways outs. Jump the fence behind him and deal with what was on the other side, or fight his way out and get in trouble.
“It is now. You’re here. On our island, in our village.” Another sneered. He stalked forward. Bragi fell into a stance, digging his boots into the ground and lifting his feet.
“It’s none of your business!” Bragi hissed.
“You’ve made it our business.” The third viking hissed. He was the first to lunge forward. Bragi dodged to the side, before he rolled out of the way and turned around to grip the edge of the fence. Forget getting in trouble and ruining the plan. He heaved himself over the edge, with barely enough time to glance over the other side before he was falling.