Sigrid The Relentless - How to Train your Dragon

68. Merry Snoggletog!

"Fruit, furs, plushies, binkie and extra clothes..." Dagur trailed of, brow furrowed as he went through the self-made list in his hands. "Check, yes, got that."

"Did we pack the chicken pops, for the kids?" Sigrid spoke up from behind him, as a thought popped in her head.

Dagur nodded, patting the sachet around his waist. "Got it right here, baby."

Today, the Berserker household was getting ready for their long trip to New Berk, to visit Hiccup and his family for the greatest fest of the year; Snoggletog. A family tradition that started ever since Hiccup and Astrid officially tied the knot. One year, Sigrid and the gang would go to New Berk, and the other Hiccup and the gang would come to Berserker island.

Now, with more children, the travel had become more and more tedious. But after years of parenting experience on their backs, Sigrid and Dagur could handle themselves just fine... but not without complaints.

Tyra whined. "Mom, are we there yet?"

"Daddy, I'm boooored." Tove cried.

Meanwhile, their older siblings sat perfectly still, even when Oswald was slowly starting to look more and more green. Sitting against the edge of the deck, the ten year old tried to focus on the horizon, and not on vomiting.

Sadly, it turned out that the lad got very seasick. Something that they honestly should've expected, looking back to when he was a baby. Not very handy when there's no dragons to fly around on anymore, so instead of a two hour flight it was now a week trip by boat. Poor Oswald.

"It'll only be a few more hours, sweethearts." Dagur assured. "Can you sit still for just a little longer?"

"No!" The twins rejected in harmony. "We're booored."

Their youngest sibling, Feyris, giggled in his mother's lap. Much like Oswald when he was a baby, Feyris thought everything was funny. Seemed to be a boy thing.

"Here, how about you draw mommy and daddy a picture?" Sigrid suggested, pulling the labeled sketchbooks and two pieces of charcoal out of the 'parent emergency bag'.

"A picture of what?" Tyra pouted with a huff, as if the suggestion was offensive.

Tove seemed just as negative. "Mommy, I can't even write, nevermind draw."

"Well, since you're both so angry, how about you draw exactly how you're feeling?" Dagur suggested, gesturing to the girls' sketchbooks.

Without a word of acceptance or protest, the girls grabbed the sketchbooks and charcoal and started scratching messy lines into the paper. They might only be three years old, but Thor are they dramatic. An exact copy of their father, with his dark red hair and green eyes, with not a single freckle on their blushy faces. It wasn't only their appearance that connected the likeness, also the attitude.

"Is this my punishment?" Dagur had asked his wife one night, after the sun had long set.

Only after having two maniacs of his own did Dagur fully understand what his father must've been going through, when raising him. He'd never had as much respect for the former-Chief as he did in that moment, and has had ever since. There was no doubt in Dagur's mind that he loved his children, but man did Tyra and Tove love to make his life just that much more difficult.

Speaking of difficult, the twins seemed to behave decently today, but how long would that last?

"Mommy, do you know what we're going to do on Berk?" Sylvie questioned, popping up by her mother's side.