The Imposter

Chapter 1

As soon as he heard the bellow from the guard captain, Hiccup Haddock knew he was in trouble.

His head snapped up from the hunched position he had been working in for the last couple of hours and he frantically tried to tidy up the polish and cloths from where he had been cleaning the mountain of swords, axes, daggers, halberds, helmets and breastplates that had been dumped on him only two hours earlier. There hadn't been a hope in Helheim he could complete the task though he had made an impressive dent in the pile. But for Spitelout, that was never going to be enough.

He grabbed his polish and rose-just as a hand swung round and impacted his cheek. Off balance, he stumbled sideways and slammed to the stone floor, instinctively curling to protect himself as a heavy boot hit his side. He gave a strangled yelp but chewed his lip to prevent any other sound. Spitelout liked to know he was hurting his victims and Hiccup had learned the hard way that beating or kicking a silent menial grew boring for him quite quickly. But he still fielded another four kicks before the man stood back, unsatisfied by the lack of response.

"Clear up this mess, serf!" he sneered. "You won't be permitted food until you finish this work. Maybe that will teach your lazy carcass to move faster!" Trembling, the young man looked up, his emerald eyes wary and he nodded.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled and gritted his teeth as Spitelout kicked him again.

"Skip to it!" he shouted and Hiccup wearily picked his battered shape up, wincing as he pulled his new bruises. Tall and skinny, topping the other menials and most of the knights in training, Hiccup was unusual with his dark auburn hair and bright emerald eyes, his pale, slightly freckled face wary. But he was definitely nobody: that was obvious from his patched and slightly ragged tunic and the fact he was treated like dirt. 

It hadn't always been that way: until three years earlier, he was the son of the famous and trusted knight, Commander Stoick Haddock, a legend in the Kingdom. But Stoick had vanished, never returning from a vital mission and presumed dead and a failure. His name was shamed for his disappearance with gold and vital letters from the King had imperilled the Kingdom and the Royal family. Orphaned and dishonoured, Hiccup had been thrown out of his place in Knight training and with no home, family, money or prospects, he had been sent to serve among the menials, performing the back-breaking and mindless labour that the lowest and least regarded were forced to do. And though it was grossly unfair, he had attended to his new duties with the diligence that had characterised his time as a Knight in training. There was no job so small or grim that he would not attack it with good heart and do the best possible he could, no length he would go to so he could do what he was ordered-even when the orders were unfair and impossible.

No one had really spoken up for him when the news of his father's disappearance and dishonouring had come through and the fifteen year old runt of a boy that Hiccup had been found himself isolated and scorned by his fellow knights-in-training rather than supported. He had kin, a cousin and Uncle, who disowned him instantly rather than risk their own precious honour in giving a home to the suddenly friendless boy. And the disdain in the faces of young men who had an hour earlier been his close friends and allies had hurt him beyond words. But he had appealed to the King as was his right-and he had been flatly and harshly rejected. Stripped of everything except his name, Hiccup had been devastated and had silently gone to the kitchens as directed to face his fate.

The intervening three years had seen him grow taller, skinnier and more wary-but his innate optimism and sarcasm had kept him going. And he did have one real friend: the blacksmith, Gobber Belch, who had been an old friend of Stoick until wounds in the wars had retired Gobber from the soldiery to the comparative safety of the forge. And he alone had offered friendship and support to the disowned and distraught boy, training him in smithing as well as honing his weapons skills. Of course, Hiccup had hardly any time to work on his weapons skills, slaving from dawn to dusk and beyond, frequently shorted food and abused for fun by anyone who wanted to. But he never argued, though he tended to back-sass when he was being shouted at unjustly and more than once, he had been beaten for his pains. But he was kind and generous to the younger serfs, protecting them from the crueller masters at his own cost. But Gustav, Ella, little Nils and Synnoeve all trusted him to protect them and they usually warned him if someone-usually Spitelout-was after his hide.