Sped up plans
As we made our way toward the village hall, I carried Moon gently in one arm while holding Merida's hand with the other. Her fingers were cold—nervous—and she clung to me like she might disappear if she let go. The streets buzzed with murmurs and laughter as villagers paused to watch us pass. Some chuckled openly, others gave a few exaggerated whistles. I felt their eyes on us like a tide pressing in from all sides.
Merida kept her head down the whole time, her cheeks flushed with deep crimson. She was shy by nature, and now, with so much attention, it looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping she could feel my calm through it.
When we reached the steps of the village hall and walked through its heavy oak doors, a voice echoed from the front:
"Now entering—Erik, accompanied by Merida and young Moon."
The room fell into a hush. All heads turned to us, a sea of eyes, curious and weighing, as if trying to fit us into a story they'd already written in their minds.
But I had expected this.
I leaned toward Merida and offered her a small, reassuring smile. "We've got this," I whispered.
She didn't say anything, but her hand tightened around mine.
As we walked toward our seats near the front, past rows of villagers dressed in their finest, I couldn't help but recall the conversation Merida and I had shared just an hour before.
….
"Merida," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
She turned to me with a questioning look. "Yes?"
I hesitated for a moment, my heart thudding in my chest. "I… I want to get married sooner," I said, gazing into her eyes with as much sincerity as I could muster.
Her eyes widened, surprise flashing across her face. "B-but… we're still young. And besides, you said it yourself—we'd be wedded in less than two years."
"I know," I murmured, looking down briefly before meeting her eyes again. "But that thousand years I spent trapped in that realm… it changed me. Time doesn't feel the same anymore. I don't want to wait—not if we don't have to."
A soft flush crept into her cheeks, and she looked away, suddenly shy.
"I understand if you don't want to," I added gently. "I'd never force you into something you're not ready for—"
"No," she cut in quickly, her voice trembling but firm. "I want to get married sooner too."
I blinked in surprise, then a wide grin spread across my face. Before I could stop myself, I scooped her up in my arms and spun her in a circle, her laughter ringing out like a melody I never wanted to stop hearing.
"We're really doing this?" I asked, setting her down gently.
She nodded, breathless but smiling. "Yes. Let's do it. Let's not waste another moment."
We spent the rest of that evening wrapped in each other's arms, whispering plans and possibilities. In the end, we settled on a date just one month away. There was so much to prepare—but we didn't care. The thought of calling her my wife felt more real, more right, than anything else in the world.
And between the two of us, she was even more eager than I was. I couldn't stop smiling.
….
I walked forward, Moon cradled gently in one arm, with Merida close beside me. The crowd parted as we approached, all eyes fixed on us. When I reached my seat at the front of the hall, I carefully set Moon down into a cushioned chair prepared for her. Then I turned to face the crowd, who had fallen into a respectful hush.
"I thank all of you for coming here today," I began, my voice steady and clear, echoing through the grand hall. "But I have something far greater to announce."
The crowd stirred, murmurs rising like the rustling of leaves in a restless wind. I let the silence stretch, let the anticipation build just long enough to hold them.
"In one month's time from today," I said, locking eyes with the villagers and visiting clansmen alike, "I will wed Princess Merida of Dunbroch."
The room erupted into noise—cheers, gasps, and startled whispers filled the space like a wave crashing against stone.
"Silence," I said calmly, yet with authority.
And the hall fell still, like the breath before a storm.
"I have also prepared a gift to mark that day. A challenge. A competition, open to all. On the day of the wedding, any who wish may compete. And to the champion—" I raised my hand, palm upward "—this shall be your prize."
A flash of light shimmered, and a sword materialized in my grasp. Its blade gleamed silver-blue, runes glowing softly along its length like moonlight etched into steel. Magic pulsed from it in slow, rhythmic waves.
"This," I declared, lifting it high, "is Dawnbreaker. Forged from Gronckle iron, and etched with ancient runes of resilience and renewal. Should it break, it will mend itself in the light of the moon. It is light as wind, and sharp enough to cleave stone."
I tilted the blade downward and released it.
The sword dropped—piercing the hall's stone floor as if it were warm butter. A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Then, just as quickly, the blade shimmered and vanished, fading into sparks and mist.
I turned without a word and returned to my seat. Merida smiled at me, Moon smiled softly, and beside us sat my father and Hiccup—silent but proud.
As the hall settled back into order, the tribal presentations began.
"Macintosh!" Gobber bellowed.
The chief of Clan Macintosh stepped forward and bowed. "I have brought a treasure from our lands—the Sun-Kissed Gem. Whether in daylight or darkness, this jewel gleams with golden fire."
I nodded, offering a respectful thank you.
"MacGuffin!" Gobber called next.
One by one, the clans came forward with offerings—fine weapons, rare ores, crafted goods. I accepted them all with courtesy, but none stirred anything within me.
Until—
"Outcast!" Gobber announced, his voice sharper now, tinged with unease.
A tall figure stepped forward, wrapped in a dark cloak.
"I am Alvin the Treacherous," he said, his voice oily with false charm. "And today, I bring you a gift most… unique."
He laughed—a low, mocking sound—and gestured to his men.
They rolled forward a large, iron-barred cage. Inside was a Skrill—its eyes wild, lightning crackling faintly across its hide. Gasps erupted around the hall. Those who had bonded with dragons tensed, their instincts flaring.
Before anyone could move, I raised a hand.
"Stay your hands," I said firmly.
Everyone froze, surprised at how quickly calm returned.
I turned my gaze on Alvin. "Alvin the Treacherous. You know who I am. And you should know how this village treats dragons now."
I let a fraction of my power leak out—my presence pressing down like a gathering storm. Alvin stiffened under the weight of it.
"I know, Erik," he said cautiously. "But this Skrill came to our island uninvited. It slaughtered my men and would not be driven away. I meant to kill it. But when I heard there was a new chief in Berk, one who had changed things, I thought this might serve as a fitting tribute."
I nodded slowly, then stood and removed my cloak, handing it to a nearby Viking.
"Release it," I said.
There was immediate protest from several sides, but I raised my hand again. "Release it."
The guards hesitated, then obeyed.
The moment the cage door opened, the Skrill lunged at me, lightning flaring across its body. The crowd cried out in alarm—but I didn't move. I raised one arm and caught the dragon by the neck mid-lunge. It thrashed, electricity arcing wildly, but I stood unmoved, my grip steady.
"Surrender," I said calmly.
The dragon shrieked, fighting against me. But slowly, the struggle weakened. Its resistance faded. I could feel it—not fear, but recognition. It had seen the strength it could not overcome.
When it finally stilled, I released it gently.
"Hiccup," I said, still facing the dragon. "I leave the rest to you."
He gave a solemn nod and moved toward the creature, speaking to the handlers in a soft voice.
I returned to my seat. The hall was silent—stunned. I could hear someone gulp. Even the torches seemed quieter.
Then I spoke, voice low but commanding.
"Continue."