The Northern Market was a wild swirl of color and noise of rchants hollering over one another, spices thick in the air, and the constant clang of blacksmiths hamring steel.
Hiccup and Lucian moved through the throng, blending as best they could.
Well, trying to, anyway.
Lucian had Simba tucked awkwardly in his arms, the lion’s tail poorly hidden under a rough cloth like a sad attempt at a travel sack which didn’t help.
Still, despite their attempts to blend in, they earned plenty of curious stares. Lions weren’t exactly a common sight in these parts.
Lucian threw a glance sideways at Hiccup, frowning.
"Was it really smart to leave Toothless back there?" he asked under his breath.
Hiccup casually tossed an apple up, catching it one-handed.
"Relax. Toothless is smarter than... pretty much everybody here," he said, flashing a quick grin.
He bit into the apple, chewing thoughtfully.
"So, what’s the plan, General? Stroll around aimlessly, or actually do sothing useful?"
Lucian’s eyes scanned the crowd, sharp and focused.
"We need information."
Hiccup gave a lazy salute with two fingers. "Aye aye, Captain Serious."
They pushed deeper into the market until Lucian suddenly stopped cold.
His shoulders stiffened. His eyes locked onto sothing, no, soone... ahead.
Without a word, Lucian spun on his heel and veered sharply into a side alley.
"Lucian?" Hiccup called after him, half-shouting over the noise.
The person Lucian had spotted paused, head lifting, scanning the crowd toward the voice.
______
Across the Market
Near the weapon stalls, Prince Eric wandered among the vendors, flanked by a few royal guards and Grimsby.
He stopped at a sturdy blacksmith’s booth, where a large mason was hamring away at a half-ford blade, his back turned to the street.
"Excuse ," Eric said politely.
The mason turned, took one look at the fine clothes, the polished boots, and the crest of a rmaid and seashell stitched on the guards’ cloaks, and instantly straightened like he’d been yanked by an invisible string.
"M-My lord, how may I help you?" the mason stamred, almost dropping his hamr.
Eric smiled warmly, "I’m looking for weapons. Sothing... durable."
"Ohh I got one for you young Lord" Eager to impress, the mason scrambled to display an array of gleaming swords, axes, and spears, each forged from rare materials dragonbone, hardened iron, steel treated in volcanic fire.
Eric picked up a sword first, feeling its balance, then gave it a casual swing.
"Not bad," he muttered.
Before the mason could stop him, Eric turned to one of his own guards.
"You, there. Sword."
The guard hesitated, eyes flicking nervously to Grimsby, but unslung his weapon and held it out.
Eric raised the blacksmith’s blade high and slamd it against the guard’s sword with a sharp tallic CLANG!
The guard visibly winced.
Both blades shuddered from the impact but held firm.
Eric nodded thoughtfully, tossing the blacksmith’s sword back onto the table with a loud THUNK.
"Decent," he said, unimpressed.
The mason, sweating slightly, quickly offered a heavy battleaxe next.
Eric tested it too, another swing, another sharp CLANG against the poor guard’s sword.
This ti, a faint nick appeared on the blade’s edge.
The guard shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.
Eric clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Getting closer."
The mason, now bordering on panic, disappeared into the back and returned monts later, holding sothing carefully wrapped in cloth.
He peeled the cloth away, revealing a heavy mace, shimring with a faint silver gleam.
"This," he said, trying to sound calm, "is forged from Gronckle Iron. Strongest material known to man. Nigh unbreakable."
Eric’s eyebrows lifted slightly in interest.
He hefted the mace. It was heavy, but balanced the head dense and perfectly forged.
Without a word, Eric turned back to the sa guard.
The guard, now pale, shakily raised his sword in defense.
Eric gave a friendly grin.
"Hold steady."
Then he swung the mace down with a smooth, practiced motion... not even full strength and SLAMD it into the guard’s blade.
CRACK!
The sword bent almost in half with a tortured screech of tal.
The guard yelped, staggering backward, holding the ruined weapon up in disbelief.
Eric whistled low under his breath, genuinely impressed.
"Now that’s quality," he said, admiring the mace in his hands.
The mason bead like a man who had just been saved from execution.
Eric turned it over once more in his grip, clearly considering a purchase —
And that’s when the guards began murmuring about soone approaching.
Grimsby leaned in, voice low.
"Sire. Soone approaches."
He turned slightly just enough to spot a small group of guards clearing a path.
And at the center, walking like he owned the whole island, was Prince Hans.
Eric’s jaw tightened instinctively. Still, his face remained calm as Hans approached, hand extended with the smoothness of a seasoned politician.
"Prince Eric," Hans said warmly, flashing a disarming smile. "What an unexpected pleasure."
Eric shook his hand briefly, stiffly.
"Prince Hans," he returned. "Didn’t expect to see you this far north."
Hans gave a light shrug, casual as you please.
"Trade negotiations. And maybe... a few other profitable ventures."
Eric offered a tight smile. "Your kingdom must be thriving, then."
Hans’s smile sharpened slightly.
"Managing just fine without ," he said easily.
"They didn’t even need you, did they?" Eric said with a small smile.
Hans frowned slightly, then recovered. "Might be."
Then, leaning in with a voice like honey laced with poison, Hans added, "I’m sorry to hear about recent... troubles. Especially involving my brother."
A gleam of mock pity entered his eyes.
"You might not see your friend again."
Eric’s fingers flexed around the mace for a heartbeat.
But he said nothing, his expression unreadable.
Hans’s smile widened, smug.
Before Eric could formulate a response, a voice cut sharply through the market:
"Lucian!"
Both princes turned instinctively toward the sound.
The crowd was a mass of moving bodies, colors, and noise but Eric caught it.
A glimpse.
A flash of white hair.
Without thinking, Eric thrust the mace back into the mason’s arms and pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on the vanishing figure.
Behind him, Hans watched, his pleasant mask slipping just enough to reveal a glint of suspicion.
_____
anwhile
The market noise faded behind them as Lucian and Hiccup slipped into a small, crooked tavern tucked between towering warehouses.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the sour tang of spilled ale. A few rough-looking sailors lounged at tables, muttering over mugs. The place was dim, lit only by sputtering lanterns hanging from beams overhead.
Lucian led the way to a battered table near the back, sliding into a chair with his hood pulled lower over his face. Simba crouched under the table quietly, invisible to most.
Hiccup sat across from him, glancing around warily.
"You sure this is the place?"
Lucian didn’t answer imdiately.
Instead, he lifted his gaze to the heavyset bartender wiping down glasses at the counter.
Without a word, Lucian stood and approached.
The bartender looked up, unimpressed, then returned to polishing his mug until Lucian spoke.
"I need information," Lucian said flatly.
The bartender paused. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in a silent, universal gesture: Pay up.
Lucian pulled out a small, gleaming gold coin and flipped it onto the counter. It spun once, catching the dim light before clinking to a stop.
The bartender’s eyes lit up greedily. He snatched the coin and leaned in, voice low.
"What do you wanna know?"
Lucian didn’t hesitate.
"Auction."
The bartender grunted, glancing around before speaking in a hushed tone.
"Tonight. Sundown. Back side of the island. Viggo himself’s runnin’ it."
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
"Dragons," the bartender continued. "All types. So rare. Even heard a whisper... ’bout a Night Fury."
"Different figures comin’ to bid," he added. "Big ones. Three royal houses. Famous pirates. Bloodthirsty Vikings. All gonna throw gold and favors at that Night Fury."
Lucian nodded coolly.
"Thank you."
The bartender grunted and turned away, already pocketing the coin.
Lucian strode back to the table, Hiccup standing up to et him.
"Did you get anything?" Hiccup asked under his breath.
Lucian gave a tight nod. "Yeah."
"Hey, where’d you get those coins?"
"Pickpocketing," Lucian replied coolly.
Without another word, they headed for the tavern door, weaving through the drunken crowd.
Lucian reached for the handle and pushed it open—
And froze.
Standing just outside the tavern, grinning like it was a festival day, was Prince Eric.
His clothe was dusted from the road, but his familiar smile hadn’t changed a bit.
"HAHA! Lucian! You’re not dead! That’s good, that’s good!" Eric bellowed, stepping forward without hesitation.
Before Lucian could react, Eric wrapped him in a fierce hug, clapping him on the back hard enough to nearly knock the breath out of him.
"Long ti no see, my friend," Eric said warmly.
Lucian stood there stiffly for a heartbeat, stunned by the sudden reunion.
Then he muttered, voice low and almost disbelieving,
"Yeah... too, Eric."
Behind Lucian, Hiccup blinked, completely lost.
"Uh... okay, I’m guessing you two know each other?" he said, glancing between them.
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