For Milady

FORTY-ONE: The Return of the Heir

"You aren't serious, are you?" she asked him.

"As a Flier attack," he replied as he walked forward. "Okay, Dad..." he began.

"I knew it!" Spitelout exulted. "My son, Snotlout, the Heir, will step forward and lead us through this crisis!"

"What? NO!" the younger Jorgensen said urgently, standing forward, his fists clenched. Cami came to stand by him, her face puzzled.

"Are you sure that you were listening?" she asked him thoughtfully. "This crisis needs a leader and as Heir, you are the person chosen by Stoick and the Gods to take the lead!"

"But I'm not, Princess!" he reminded her sharply. "I'm awesome, brave, handsome and witty-but fate and Stoick chose his son and the only reason why I'm here is because you tried to trick him at the Betrothal ceremony into getting married on the spot!"

"Ah...well that was fate as well!" Spitelout argued as Gothi rolled her eyes and clouted him over the head, then scratched a few symbols on the floor.

"She says...not fate but Bog Burglar treachery!" Gobber read, fielding a glare from the irritated Camicazi. "Look-those are her words, Camicazi, not mine..."

"And do we really want Snotlout to lead us against the Fliers?" Sven asked in his ridiculously high-pitched voice. The man, with his bald head, jug ears and large bushy blond moustache was a consummate sheep farmer as well as a member of the A-Team but he was also wary of any Jorgenson, knowing too well their tendency to fight first and think later. "Maybe we should listen to the words of Astrid and Fishlegs. They have much more experience..."

"My son has been a rider longer than they have!" Spitelout snapped.

"By a few minutes!" Fishlegs protested. "And Astrid rode on Toothless long before Snotlout ever got in the air!"

"Ah-but I bonded with Hookfang before she did with Stormfly!" Snotlout retorted, his pride unwisely rearing its head.

"And that was the only time you were ahead of me!" Astrid snapped.

"Ah, Astrid-your jealousy does you no credit!" Snotlout said patronisingly. "I mean, I am awesome and amazing and I am a senior Rider to you..." The blonde folded her arms.

"Snotlout-I mean this most sincerely when I say-I have nothing I am jealous of you about!" she said sarcastically. "Not your fiancée, not your minimal abilities as a Rider or leader, not your position in the Tribe..."

"Hey! I'm the Heir actually, not some former..." he retorted but Astrid bunched her fists and scrambled forward, glaring into his suddenly shocked eyes.

"And I'm a Chief!" she growled.

There was silence

"Um...what?" Gobber asked, looking around. Ingvar and Ilsa Hofferson stared at their daughter: neither even knew she was back on Berk and both of them were saddened and hurt that she wouldn't come straight home to see them. Turning to face the two-limbed backsmith, she lifted her chin and cast him an imperious look.

"I am the Chief of Granite Isle," she announced proudly. "I won the Chiefdom in armed combat when their pig of a Chief, Thorgeir, tried to force me into marriage so he could kill my unborn child and use me as some sort of brood mare for his bastards. I was less than month from my time but I fought him and killed him-and his evil spider of an adviser. I am their Chief and I have documents and gifts in my pack to prove it. So no-I do not envy Snotlout but nor do I accept he is the correct choice. And I won't accept him as leader because he isn't the leader of the Dragon Riders."

"Then who is?" Camicazi asked pointedly. There was a small pause as Astrid gave a triumphant look.

"No Hooligan or Dragon Rider should ever need to ask that question," she scoffed and gestured to the shadowy corner. "And none of them would. Only you-an outsider who pretends to have some interest in joining our Tribe. It's Hiccup. Always Hiccup. And no one else."