Chapter Text
She's so small! Are you sure she's yours?
I thought you wanted a son, Stoick?
She can't do anything right!
Shame you were given a girl, Stoick.
Shame she was born early, Stoick, no one will want her.
Are only some of the things I've heard said to my father all throughout my life. I don't know where people get the audacity to say such things to the chief about his daughter, and in front of said daughter, too, but the people of Berk are a bit stupid, so I can't really put it past them to think that what they're saying is completely warranted. They don't even say my name either, just call me 'she' or 'that daughter of yours'. The adults of Berk's words aren't the ones that hurt the most though, it's the fact my father agrees with everything they're saying. He laughs when they ask if he's sure that I'm his, he agrees when they say that they thought he wanted a son, he agrees that I can't do anything right, he does think it's a shame he was given a girl, and he definitely thinks it's a shame I was born early and that no one would want me. If I had been born when I was supposed to be born - not early, like Iactually was - my father would have married me off to the son of one of our allies to keep up the years of alliance we've had. The people of said alliance disagreed when they heard I had been born early, said that I wouldn't be able to complete my tasks as the chief's son's wife. I was happy about that, to be honest. Dagur Oswaldsson scares me, even though he has a weird fascination with me. I mean, what sane Viking tries to drown someone and calls it 'having fun'?
So my father doesn't know what to do with me. I'm not like him, or anyone in the village for that matter. Gobber - my dad's best friend and my uncle in every way but blood - says that I'm like my mother and that's why my father doesn't know what to do with me. I think it's just because he had been planning to marry me off and didn't prepare to actually look after me, so he doesn't try to. He leaves me with Gobber or Gothi - she scares me into learning all of her healing lessons, which come in handy when you realise I spend most of my time in the forest, and calls me her granddaughter - and goes to do his chiefly duties instead of his fatherly ones. My only goal in life since I was old enough to form one was to make my father proud of me, to prove that I can be just as good as the son he always wanted, to prove that I can do things right and to prove to the village that I am my father's daughter and don't need a husband to be wanted or useful.
That leads me to now, searching through the woods to find the Night Fury I had shot down before. I saw it go down, I know it did, so my dad can suck it. I spent all of my childhood either in the forge or the forest, and that means I know everything about it and the entire map of the place. So all that's left is to find where the dragon landed, kill it and bring its heart or head to my father. Easier said than done, apparently, because I've somehow managed to lose the damn thing. Some Vikings lose their dagger, or their favourite mug! Nope, Sif Valkasdottir - the chief's disappointment of a daughter - manages to lose the most feared dragon in Barbarian history. Some heir I am, though my dad would probably prefer literallyany one of my soulmates to be Chief. Women can't be Chiefs anyway. The rights for women on Berk are weird, likereally weird. Women are respected and allowed to fight in wars and battles and have all the rights men have normally, unless you're apart of the Chief's family. Then you have no rights whatsoever unless you count being married and having children for your husband rights. Because you're royalty, technically, and have to follow rules to pop out heirs to make sure there's someone other than yourself to take over the throne.
Unless you only have a daughter before your wife gets carried off by a dragon and you're stuck with a child that can't do anything, legally and literally, and can only marry and have babies. Amazing life goals I have. Truly wonderful. My father truly just does not want me, I'm sure. He's tried to marry me off three times already and I'm still only fourteen winters, including mine and Dagur's arranged engagement, and all of them rejected, since I was born early and have a lot of defects, apparently. What's wrong with using my left hand instead of my right hand, I'll never know. Anyway, little monologue finished. It seems I've actually lost the dragon. Like, there's literally no sign of it anywhere. I huff and sit down against a tree, but something stabs me in the back and I jump up quickly. It's a snapped branch, and when I look up, half of the tree it fell from is snapped away from the other half and hanging limp. There's skids in the mud and bushes in the way the half of the tree is hanging. Yes! The dragon must have fallen through here!
I follow the destruction for a few minutes and then come to a rather steep hill that I usually roll down when the weather is actually nice for once. I climb to the top of it and then duck down behind it. The dragon is there, all tangled in the bola I had shot at it at least an hour ago now. I knew I had shot it! I scramble to get my knife from the belt of my skirt and slowly inch down the hill with it pointed outwards with my right hand. It feels wrong to hold it with that hand, despite only ever being taught how to hold it with my right hand. Oh well. The dragon does not move as I approach it slowly. It's not dead, I can see it and hear it breathing, so it must still be knocked out. I'm right next to it now, and the warmth radiating from it is something I've never felt before. Berk is eternally cold, even in the summers we have to wear more layers than the other tribes in the Barbaric Archipelago. The Beserkers never have to wear extra layers unless they visit us, too. I'm always jealous of the warmth Dagur gets to feel every day. When you're small and sickly like I am, the cold bothers you a lot more, knocks you out of commission for days on end, even weeks. It's even worse when there's no one there to look out for you. Gobber does what he can, but he can never stay all the time. My father comes in to make sure I'm not dead and then leaves me to my own devices. Gothi would probably hit me with her staff for getting sick in the first place.
I press the toe of my boot against the dragon's front paw and it grunts and pushes my foot away. I breathe heavily and raise my dagger. The dragon opens its eyes and my hand tightens around my dagger. Its eyes are the same colour as mine, deep forest green. Its paws spasm and it groans, closing its eyes and baring it's neck and stomach to me. I don't know who I'm kidding, I can't even kill insects, never mind dragons. "I'm sorry, I did this." I whisper, kneeling down and beginning to saw at the rope of the bola. Its eyes snap open and look at me, grunting as I saw through the last bit of rope. Then it pounces, pinning me to the forest floor with a paw on my stomach, nails digging painfully into the skin of my breasts. Ow. The dragon breathes heavily, staring down at me. Its a lot warmer this close to me. I close my eyes and tilt my head, baring my neck to it. It doesn't move for a while, so I open my eyes, just to peek, but it pounces again, landing with its front paws either side of my hips and roaring deafeningly into my face before slinking away and trying to take off.
I sit up shakily and try to walk off home, but faceplant the dirt instead and it's light's out for me.
~
By the time I wake up the sun is already going down and I curse, combing the twigs out of my hair while I run back to the village and to my house. My dad is sitting at the fireplace, stoking the fire to keep it going. I sneak past him and quietly make my way up the stairs, crawling on all fours to make sure I don't slip and fall off the side. I get to the top before my dad's head snaps up and he says my name. I groan and slowly slide down the stairs on my ass so I'm sat on the third step. "Dad, uh, I have to talk to you..." I mumble, fiddling with my necklace. The gem encased in it is red sea glass, like my matching leather headpiece that hangs over my forehead. Anything red is a symbol that the person wearing it is apart of the Chief's family, clothes, jewellery, paint,anything. It's only on Berk, the Beserkers don't need to be reminded of their Chief's family, but my father's line, the Haddocks, have always had problems with one of my soulmates, Snotlout's line. Jorgen, Snotlout's dad, has tried loads of ways to steal the throne from my father, even attempting to poison him once, but my dad just ate it anyway and had a bad stomach afterwards. Jorgen tried to get my dad to marry me off to Snotlout so he could be Chief when we're older, too, but my dad shut it down, said that it was expected that we'd marry, because we're soulmates, and that we should just wait. My dad only stopped trying to marry me off when the parents of all of my soulmates come forward about the fact that there was plenty ofboys to marry me to that are my soulmates. Funny that Astrid and Ruffnut ended up both being girls, instead.
"I need to speak with you, too, Sif." My heart drops down through my asshole. This is the end. He's gotten someone to marry me, finally, and I have to pack my bags and move to their island with them and I'll never get to see Gobber and Gothi again, and I won't get to figure out why the Night Fury didn't kill me when it had the chance. While I'm stewing in my bad thoughts, my dad starts speaking. I don't catch what he says, and when I look up at him sheepishly he sighs and repeats himself. "You get your wish. Dragon training. You start in the morning." He says, and my heart lifts slightly at the fact that he hasn't married me off, but it plummets again when I realise I'm going to be in forced proximity with my soulmates - who hate my guts, did you know? - and that I'd learn to fight dragons. Ijust realised I couldn't kill a dragon a few hours ago, and now I get the news that I'm going into thekill ring? Man, the gods really do hate me. Sorry, Odin, Thor, Loki or whatever god is mad at me for whatever I did. My dad looks at me expectantly. "I don't want to anymore, Dad." I tell him, but he shakes his head and picks something up from the floor. It's the first ever axe I made in the forge under Gobber's watchful eyes. I made it tailored to me exactly, the handle, the weight. It's perfect in my hand, well, it would be if it was in my left hand and not my right one.
"You'll need that," my dad says after handing me my axe. "I don't want to fight dragons, Dad." I tell him and he just laughs, waving a hand at me. "Oh, yes you do!" He starts walking off into the living room, but I stay sat on the stairs. "Rephrase: Dad, I can't kill dragons." I say, fiddling with the comfortable leather on the handle of my axe. "But youwill kill dragons," My dad says, pointing at me. I sigh. He's not listening to me, as usual. "No, I'm very, extra sure, that I won't kill dragons, Dad." My dad turns around and takes his helmet off, laying it on the table. "It's time, Sif." My eyes start to water, despite me not really wanting to cry. "Can you not hear me?" I ask, quietly. He doesn't give a sign that he hears me. "This is serious, Sif. When you carry this axe, you carry all of us with you." He puts his finger on the blade of my axe and it starts to bleed immediately. Well, no one can say that I'm bad in the forge. My dad picks me up off the stairs and forces me to stand and then fixes my posture and the way I'm holding the axe. He takes it from my left hand and shoves it into my right hand. "You walk like us, you talk like us,you think like us." He repeats the word 'us' like I'm something different, something abnormal that no one will or ever could understand I feel like screaming and crying and ripping my hair out from my scalp. I also feel like jumping from a cliff, just to see if my dad cares. Ifanyone cares, actually. "No more of... this." My dad gestures to my entire body with both of his hands and my entire world stops spinning. My world crashes and burns and I'm left with the ache of my own father's disappointment in me.
What father wouldn't love his own daughter in the way that she came? With Gobber saying it, it's okay, because I know he loves me despite the fact that I'mthis and notthat. He loves me, Sif, not the good, obedient little wife my father expects me to be. Gobber loves me for me, not what I can or could be. What evenis the difference between this and that? Skinny and brainy against thick and stupid? No, there's plenty of Vikings who are brawnsandbrains. I realise that he's waiting for me to answer him, so I look into my father's eyes and hope to whatever god or gods are listening out there that my dad can see the absolute despair in my eyes. "You just gestured to all of me." My dad - the best Viking in the Barbaric history but the worst father in the archipelago - nods happily, like he hasn't just confirmed my long-lasting suspicion that even if he may love me, he doesn't like me. I nod back at him and take my axe upstairs. I hear him leave, and then I start crying. I cry and cry until I cry myself to sleep and don't even care that my heavy emotions are affecting my soulmates. I couldn't care less, actually. Let them feel the large shadow of a parent's disdain and disappointment for once.
