"The Thing is a subject that has the upmost importance in a chief's mind when it occurs every sixty moon cycles, or when a chief calls upon one. No Thing has held every tribe's chief in the Archipelago since the original, called The First. Well, none until Stoick 'The Vast' Haddock of the Hairy Hooligans called upon it."

-Excerpt from History of The Thing by Fishlegs Ingerman


-Regret and Change-

The sun was beginning to descend behind the horizon, casting the warm hue of its light across the sky, turning the passing clouds into swirls of oranges and reds. The ocean, reflecting the lights painted upon the sky, lapped against the rocky shores and cliff faces of Berk. It was at this time of the sun's descent when the tribesmen of Berk were either finishing their daily jobs, already in the Mead Hall, eating and drinking whilst becoming more and more merry, or gazing towards the horizon to was the sun disappear.

While the vast majority of Berk were in the second category, with almost half of those in the Mead Hall already incoherent with the amount of alcohol coursing through their veins, one man was still finishing his daily quota at the smithy, and another man was gazing at the sun, reminiscing about his family.

As Stoick continued to gaze upon the sun, he couldn't help but think of his missing wife and son. No matter how disappointed and angry he was that day in the Kill Ring, he missed Hiccup tremendously. He knew that he wasn't the best of fathers, putting the tribe first before his only child, the only memory of Valka. He knew how Hiccup was treated by not only his peers, but his cousin, his own flesh and blood. While he could have decided to punish those, it would be unjust and unfair.

After all, a chief leads by example, and if you show little care towards someone, the rest of the tribe would just follow suit.

If only he had treated his son better, even once, before he became the 'Dragon Whisperer', then maybe, just maybe his son would have not found comfort in their enemy. Stoick gave a light chuckle as he thought about it. A Night Fury, a bloody Night Fury. Out of all the dragons Hiccup could have befriended, it had to be the most powerful and deadly of them all. "Hiccup flair", as Gobber has called his son's style with the machines and contraptions he built. He couldn't just do something, he had to put his all into it.

The small smile that had grown on the ageing chief's face slowly faded as he let out a sigh, bringing one of his hands up to pinch the bridge of his nose, being able to feel the wrinkles setting in. He gave another sigh, as he moved his up farther up to brush strands of his greying hair out of his face. With the hair out of his face, he saw his arm as it went back to his side. He had become skinnier. Still 'Vast', as the joke amongst the older tribesmen was, but his constant stress and sadness had taken its toll on his physical prowess as well as appearance.

Taking one last look at the sun, as only the last top portion of it was still visible, he began to walk towards his house, which had started to feel too large for just him.

As he walked through the village, he could hear some houses with full families in them, laughing and enjoying their evening meal. He gave a small, saddened grin, as he thought to when the last time Hiccup and he had a meal such as that, before quickly realising that they never had one. They had meals together that were as merry, but it was most likely during a Snoggletog in the Mead Hall. The two never had a family meal, just the two of them, that was as happy as those that he currently heard.

He started up the path towards his home, pausing for a moment as he heard the whoops and gaily yells of intoxicated and overly giddy members of his tribe from the Mead Hall. Shaking his head lightly in mock sternness, he continued before glancing to his left, and freezing almost mid-step.

From his current position on the hill overlooking the village, he could see the entirety of the Kill Ring. Letting out what had to be his thousandth sigh that day, he just stared at was once the beacon of hope, honour, and valour, where the next generation of their tribe would learn their ways of combat to protect their home, and bring glory to them and their families from killing the reptilian beasts.

Now, he could only look at it, and feel regret. He could see the shiny patch of newly forged metal added to the chain roof where Hiccup's Night Fury had entered and exited. Even after all this time, that patch hadn't started to rust, almost as a reminder from the gods to all who saw it what had occurred that day.

Tearing his gaze away from the Kill Ring, he continued along the worn gravel path, and eventually reached his home. Out of pure coincidence, after Hiccup had left, the chief's house had been the only one to not be attacked during a raid. Every other homestead on the island, even Mildew's obscurely located shack, had been rebuilt at least twice, but here his home was, left exactly how it was when Hiccup was still there.

After being lost in thought momentarily, he entered, and gazed about. He noticed that there was no fire currently going as he felt the coldness of the seemingly abandoned hut, which, for most of the day, it was essentially derelict.

He looked around for the pile of standby logs, noticing that he would have to do more wood gathering soon as he grabbed an armful to place in the pit. After lighting the fire, he sat in his chair, which, besides the dining bench, was the only chair out in the open room. Both Valka's and Hiccup's chairs had been moved by Stoick to a storage area below the stairs.

The newly lit fire waved back and forth, its flames dancing upon the burning logs, as the wispy tips of them flickered every which way. Stoick sat there, and just stared into the fire, reminiscing as most aged men do about their life, what they could have done, and what they would do.

In the middle of his thoughts, he noticed something flickering, slightly past the fire pit, and near a small pile of discarded items. At first, he just thought that it was his old axe, the one he gave his son for Dragon Training when he left for The Nest. After the light caught the object again, he noticed that there was a small horn in the pile.

Getting up from his chair, he lumbered over towards the pile, and pulled the horned object out of the pile, and nearly dropped it after seeing what it was.

Hiccup's helmet.

He just held it, and continued to gaze at it. After an extended period of time, he walked back to the chair and sat down, continuing to hold the helmet of his son. He reached up to take his own helmet off, and then held them, side by side. He could still remember what he had told Hiccup when he gave it to him.

"Matching set… keeps her close… y'know?"

After staring at the two helmets, he got up once again, and walked towards the dining bench. He placed the two helmets, together, in the center of the table. Two parts of one set. United. As a family should be, but far from how his family was.

Before he was able to walk back towards his chair, he heard a knock on his door. Curiosity set in place, before he realised the only person it could be at this time, since it was that day. As quickly as he could walk in his sullen, but stoical, state, he reached the door and opened it, being presented with the sight of Gobber, holding two tankards in his one hand, while holding a barrel of what could presumably be mead, over his opposite side's shoulder.

"Aye Stoick… care fer a drink 'ith mae?"

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At the forge sat the shield maiden, four winters older with a matured body, practising the sharpening style that the aged smith had taught her no more than five moons ago. Using a combination of the sharpening wheel and a wet-stone, she could make the edges of her axe almost as small as a hair, giving the axe a sharpness only rivalled by the maintenance an auburn haired boy did in the past.

Letting her thoughts stray from sharpening the axe to the past, she slightly chipped the bottom edge of on side.

"...damn."

It was not anything serious, in terms of weapon damage. The portion of the axe with the chip would never touch an enemy, or tree, due to the curvature of the blade. Still, it was a slight wound on her pride, as she had claimed to Gobber not four days prior that she thought she mastered the technique.

She was wrong.

"Ha! Los' yer focus there? Don' worry, it 'appens to the bes' o' us." came the voice of Gobber, not looking away from the shield he was repairing. He heard the oh so clear sound of a stone chipping off metal, as well as the shield maiden's whispered swear.

Whacking a nailed into the shield, he gave it a quick glance over, before giving a pleased hum as he set it down, deeming it repaired. Turning around, he hobbled over to where Astrid was sitting, holding out his one hand. She handed it over, and he began to look over not only the small chip, but the sharpness of the axe, as well as the condition of its handle.

"Ahh. This won' be a hard fix. Shouldn' take more than a quarter of a day," Gobber started, before glancing out of the window that Astrid was perched on. Seeing the sky do its colour dance, symbolising the ending of the work day, as well as symbolising the time for rest or merrymaking, he glanced over to the smithy corner before finishing his statement, "...but… I'd have 'a work on it tomorrow. Something I need 'a take care of."

Handing the axe back to Astrid, who promptly put it on the counter, the weapon smith hobbled over to the corner, grabbing a large barrel that was filled nearly completely, as well as two generously sized tankards, he hobbled out of the smithy, and went up the gravel path, with the sound of wood hitting stone every other step.

Astrid watched as he went up towards the chief's house, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she realised what day it was. As she thought about it, she propped herself into a more comfortable position on the counter, with on leg sticking straight out, with the other bent up and an arm resting on it. Her head leaned back against the wooden frame of the service window as she gazed up and the dancing colours in the sky.

It was the day of his birth, and the sky always seemed to be more colourful on this day more than any other.

It had become a tradition of sorts, from her observations, for Gobber and Stoick to meet and share a drink… or a couple dozen. The first time was within six moons of his departure, as it only took one for the chief to realise his mistake, and Gobber stopped by with a drink to console his friend after his condition became worse.

It just so happened that when Gobber did this, it was the ostracised heir's day of birth. Due to this coincidence, and the small comfort that Stoick took in drinking to his son's name with his friend, it had become a reoccurring event each winter on the same day.

The five that joined him in Dragon Training also had their own personal event to remember him after the second winter from his departure, with the exception of Snotlout. Since the day his cousin left, he had always had some semblance of someone in mourning, no matter the amount of bravado and egocentrism that covered it.

Astrid knew that all five of them had started to do something, but she knew not what the others did. What she did was leave a small leather band that she would craft whilst becoming more skilled in leathercraft in the cover where she presumable thought that the dragon and boy resided in, as when she found it, reminiscent of fish bones, small bonfires, and black dragon scales lined the center of the place.

Astrid was not one for prayer, nor the preachings of those who believed to be religiously inclined, like Mildew, but she did believe in reparations, and her belief was that she needed to make them, as a sign to the gods, if nothing else, that she wanted to apologise to him for her actions towards him.

It was no secret to anyone that he admired her, or used to at the very least. Her short temper, and wounded pride in regard to her honour caused her to seek him out, delivering what she believed to be just punishment for his actions and the secrets that he kept.

Each time she hurt him, she could see more and more of the brightness he held in his eyes slowly fade away into a bleak nothingness. His change in demeanour from a bright, wide eyed child into the slouched, seemingly emotionless adolescent was due to a variety of factors, but, as she told herself, one of the most prominent ones was how she disregarded him, and later became nothing but hostile towards him.

She needed to make amends, and tell him she was sorry, not just due to her guilty conscious, but also because she secretly wished to see the brightness that he once held in his eyes return, and hoped that her apology to him would help it return.

She was pulled out of her thoughts as she heard a pair of voices approach. The first one was the former bane of her existence, and the second was, surprisingly, Tuffnut.

Snotlout, over the time since Hiccup disappeared from their lives, had grown up. Not in the sense that his body became more muscular, which it had, but in the sense of his mentality. He no longer acted egocentric, at least not more than the common Viking male, and started to take his position as the replacement heir much more seriously.

Due to this new found seriousness towards his future position, as well as his other duties, such as helping his father with the family business of Berk's entire fishing enterprise, he had become not only more friendly with the smartest youth on the island, Fishlegs, but also begun to treat him as an equal, respecting his slightly weaker strength but far superior mind, in relation to him of course.

This is why it was a mild surprise that it was not Fishlegs that was accompanying Snoutlout, but instead one of the Loki worshipping twins.

The twins have, over the course of the winters since that day, calmed down… sort of. The amount of so called pranks that the two would pull on the tribe have gone down considerably. They still did them, of course, but they were not as devastating as they were prior.

...with the exception of the exploding chickens. They had somehow managed to make the chickens volatile bombs that would explode into a plume of smoke and feathers. When the angry farmers and Stoick confronted them about it, they claimed that it was a dedication to Loki, as a token of favour so that the god of mischief would watch over his champion.

The villagers, while still angry, did let them go without any serious punishment, as they realised that this was, in their own twisted way, a form of reparation from them in memory of the 'lost heir', as some of the villagers have begun to call Hiccup.

Pulling her thoughts once again out of the past and into the present, she noticed that Snotlout had one of his cousin's journals under his arm. A sign that he was coming to the smithy to talk to Gobber about another one of the inventions that Hiccup had left blueprints for in his hasty departure.

"Hey babe!" The black haired teen called out to Astrid.

Astrid's face went from a lofty, dreamy look, as one looks like when reminiscing about the past, to one of mock anger.

Alongside Snotlout's maturing in respect to jobs and positions, he had also given up his pursuit of Astrid. Two winters after Hiccup's egression, he requested to speak to her in private, but not with the usual shit-eating toothy grin, and arrogant behaviour. He was very serious and very composed. He asked Astrid a few questions, namely if there was ever a possibility of him being the one she would fall for later in life. Upon her answering not being yes, he declared that he would cease his attempts after her.

Since then, they have grown together as good friends, and as things are with good friends, an inside joke or two was always present. Such is the case of Snotlout calling her "babe".

Keeping the mock glare as best she could, with the ghost of a smile on the corner of her lips, she replied to Snotlout. "I do believe the word that you're looking for isn't babe, Snotty."

Snotlout proceeded to clutch his chest with one hand, whilst reaching out with the other to grab Tuffnut's shoulder. "Ahhh, my… heart… wounded…. I… die." He finished, and collapsed on the ground. To his credit, he did 'die' well, and the only thing that gave it away from someone have a heart attack was the huge grin on his face.

After a moment, he popped back up, dusting off his breeches from the negligible amount of dirty and smithy smoke that was acquired from the ground, picking up the journal he dropped during his charade, he and Tuffnut finished walking up to the forge.

The two glanced around, shared a quick glance, and glanced around some more. Astrid stifled a small laugh from the look of utter confusion the two had on their face, and decided to enlighten them on where their target was.

"Gobber just went to the chief's home." She said, and noticed they still had confusion on their faces, added, "…with a barrel of mead and tankards."

The effect was instantaneous, as almost no one in the village didn't know what it meant when the villages only blacksmith was en route to the chieftain's home with the aforementioned utilities.

"Well, that is unfortunate." Snotlout stated, with the glimmer of understanding plastered on his face.

"I didn't know you knew words that long Snot."

"...shut up Astrid."

Both of them had small smiles on their faces, but ones that showed the tiniest bit of sadness behind the smiles. The two did enjoy the friendly banter that they, and the others of their age group, spoke to one another, but it wasn't enough to replace his banter and sarcasm, which was one of the best parts of their early adolescence, which none of them would attest to of course.

"...regardless," Astrid began, curious about why Snotlout was seeking out the blacksmith, with Tuffnut of all people, "what brings you here?"

A small flash of happiness flashed over his face, as he brought up the journal from his side. Astrid chest constricted, just for a millisecond, as Snotlout was replaced by him. That small smile Snot had has he was about to discuss something in the journal was exactly the same smile Hiccup had when she saw someone take an interest in his inventions.

She needed to apologize to him, lest this dread and regret would eat her from within.

"We found another design for a machine," Snotlout started, "that is able to 'fire large harpoons or ballistas', as the description says." As he finished, he handed Astrid the open journal, showing the design for a ballista launcher, but one more streamlined than she ever saw, as well as what appeared to be a ammon reserve attached to the launcher.

"This… this is brilliant!" She exclaimed, before frowning slightly. "...but Gobber isn't here right now to assist, and probably won't be until late tomorrow if his drinking habbits and previous hangovers are anything to go by."

"Maaan..." Tuffnut said, with actual sadness. "I was hoping that we could get one made, and then use the sheep that's been plotting against me as a test round. I tell you! Every time, that damn sheep gives me the evil eye and..."

"Alright!" both Astrid and Snotlout said, hoping to cut off Tuffnut's sheep rant before it became like every other one. Somehow, this side to the Thorston coin had convinced himself that the sheep are out to get him, and that the hoofs of the sheep hold some of Berk's most respected families as pawns.

Suprisingly not one of his craziest theories. He fully believed for one winter that Hiccup was actually a half dragon spawn, and that's how he was able to do what he did. Eventually, the chief had enough of the insinuations that his beloved was somehow part dragon, and threatened to tie Tuffnut to the stern of the lead ship next time they searched out The Nest if he didn't stop with that 'theory'.

"Sorta miss him, ya know?"

Astrid, taking a second to hear what was spoken, as well as another second to hear who spoke it, responded with a very intricately weaved and beautiful question. "Hmmm?"

"Hiccup. I miss having him around."

Astrid let a brief flash of bafflement cross her face, before returning it to her previous, sly-grin one, for she saw how serious Snotlout looked when he asked her this simple question. This statement meant a lot to him, and, if she had to wager, is something he had answered to himself more times than Fishlegs could count.

Astrid took a pause to digest what Snotlout had said, and without another second of hesitation, added to it. "I do as well."

Snotlout did not try to hide his bafflement.

"What? You? Really?"

"Yeah… even if he didn't go about things the Viking way, he still tried to help. If we'd listened more instead of berating, we could have had this," she gestured to the various towers with defensive machines. All of which were Hiccup's design. "many winters ago. Food would be more plentiful. Lives would have been saved."

She gave a small, regretful sigh. "We were all fools."

Snotlout took a moment to think upon what she had said, before a look crossed his face. It was a look that only occurred a few times. His eyes would largen, the corners of his mouth would curve upwards, he posture would straighten.

He had an idea.

"It might not be too late you know. There's the talks of The Daemon along the Easter parts of the Archipelago. Hiccup could have met this Daemon. Could have worked with him."

He took a breath, as he was about to express an unpopular opinion in Berk, for ignoring this opinion allowed most people to live in ignorant bliss.

"Hiccup could even be The Daemon."

Astrid stilled for a moment, before relaxing once more. The thought had occurred to her many times, but if she were to accept that he was The Daemon, she would also have to accept the fact that he seemingly abandoned them to the mercy of dragons and helped out other tribes, villages, and islands instead of his own birth home.

She knew why he wouldn't come back to Berk, for what impression did he have that there would be people willing to accept his ideas. It took all the former Dragon Training adolescents, a handful of Astrid's current Dragon Trainees, Gobber, the chieftain of Berk, and a handful of the elders of the council to convince people to allow the creation of defensive machines invented by Hiccup.

Not that anyone minded the machines being made now after they have helped out greatly with raids.

There was the other fact that The Daemon is said to have a missing leg, as well as a sword made of pure fire, as well as having dragon skin, as well as the tales telling how The Daemon cut through legions of Roman soldiers, leaving none standing. Hiccup may have been creative, but the tales make this Daemon sound like a human-dragon hybrid that could kill people easily.

That does not sound like the sarcastic skinny boy she knew. It was better to believe that the Daemon and Hiccup are not one in the same to keep her mind at ease, and make it easier for her reparations to not be towards a Roman manslaughterer.

Pulling her mind from her thoughts, once again, she cast a glance at Snotlout, before sighing and relenting slightly. Her answer would give him the benefit of the doubt as to what she believed to help appease whatever plagued his mind that caused him to bring him… them, up.

"It's always a possibility."

Snotlout gave a small nod, appreaciating the answer she gave, before giving Tuffnut a small nudge, and gesturing his head away from the smithy, probably the docks. As they walked away, Astrid gazed back towards the horizon, where the smallest glimpse of the sun could still be seen, and let her mind wander once more.

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Saying that on his son's day of birth, disowned or not, Stoick looked worse for wear was a gross understatement. Had anyone of the villagers passed by the aged Haddock, they would have seen a stonily faced chief, with greying hair and a fair amount of forming and formed wrinkles, as well as the ever so slight glaze on the eyes that comes for all with age.

To Gobber, he could see all of that, as well as the expressions hidden behind the stoic mask. The amount of regret, despair, and hurt. Before Gobber was a chief on the outside, and a saddened, broken man on the inside.

Gobber could try to relate, but it isn't everyone that willingly disowns the last of their family. Before Stoick and Valka wedded, the village that Valka was from was attacked by a warring splinter faction from the Piast Dynasty. The Germanic and Slavic vandals that formed the group were purely after the high caused by bloodlust.

Some could say that they were "wannabe Berserkers", in the sense of the old tales of men that would transform into beasts during the heat of a battle.

Due to these former Piasts, the entire village was slaughtered. It wasn't until a few moons after Stoick and Valka were wedded that they decided to visit family, only to come upon the still smoking ruins that were once Valka's home.

The former Piasts were eventually stopped when they tried to attack the actually Berserker tribe, but the damage had already been wrought. Valka was the last Valhallarama, and she was now a Haddock, which Stoick was the last of due to casualties in battles against other tribes and dragons.

After what happened in the ring, Stoick was now the sole bearer of the name Haddock, and that has taken its toll on the man.

Gobber thought about this as he followed Stoick into the Haddock household. They sat at the dining bench as Gobber opened the barrel of mead and place the two tankards down on the table.

As he opened the barrel, he saw a slight reflection of the light from the fire bouncing of of a metallic object. After taking a moment to finish opening the barrel, and filling the two tankards, he looked back towards the glint and saw the helmet.

"So… ye didn' ge' rid of I' like ye said ye would." Gobber stated. He didn't have to ask why he kept the helmet. It would be like asking why Astrid used to train so much.

"Aye Gobber. It was in the scrap pile for… I don't actually know. Never really clean up, so the scrap just sits there."

Stoick's gaze fell upon the helmet, and the old man started to zone out, most likely with thoughts about Hiccup. What happened to him. Where he could be now. Gobber let the man have his thoughts for a moment, before trying to lighten his spirits.

"He's fine Stoick. He's much more resilian' than we gave 'im credi' fer." The fake tooth strikes, much to Gobber's chagrin, as it makes him have issues with pronouncing 't', and that's on top of his accent. "Even af'er… tha', he's still yer son. If he ever comes back, jus' tell him yer sorry. He is one of the more fogivin' people I know."

Stoick took in a deep breath, and let out a sigh. "What about if that's not enough. What about if he never comes back?"

"Well… all ye can do then is hope he's doin' well with wha'ever life he's livin'. Dragon or no dragon, he's yer boy, and all ye can do is hope he's doin' the bes' he can."

Gobber let out a chuckle. "He's yer son. He's go' tha' Haddock blood, as well as yer stubbornness. Wherever tha' lad is, he's fine."

Stoick took a moment to ponder what he said. "Well, nothing much more I can do 'cept drink to his health, wherever he is."

"Aye!" Gobber yelled as the two downed the nearly full tankard in only a few gulps.

As it was with most of the Hairy Hooligans, as well as most Vikings in general, most all people were functioning alcoholics, as water usually made people sick, if not bedridden. Mead being the most prominent and easiest drink to make in the Barbaric Archipelago mean that most people drank it neigh all the time, with most children around the age of five drinking it, in smaller portions of course.

As a result of most of the people being in some non-sober state near all times, one full tankard of mead would barely affect a fully grown male, especially one as large as Stoick 'The Vast' Haddock or Gobber 'The Belch' Ferguson.

The mead being having essentially no impact on the two men was especially good, as before Gobber could refill the two tankards, they could hear the warning horn letting out two long blasts. Had it been one blast, then it was an indication of ships approaching.

Two blasts meant the thing that most of the Barbaric Vikings dreaded the most.

A Dragon Raid.

Stoick and Gobber eyed each other with a slight bit of worry in their eyes. They both left the Haddock home as Gobber hobbled as fast as he could to the forge to be prepared for any and all quick repairs as Stoick went to the usual position for commanding the troops that would repeal the attack.

As he went towards the center of town, he could see some of the defensive towers already launching boulders, rocks, and arrows at the approaching threat at what was previously an impossible rate. What ideas Hiccup had, when properly worked on, proved to be more than reliable, but also beneficial. As a result, a few of his defensive structure designs had been created by Gobber, with the help of Fishlegs, Astrid, and Snotlout.

The haven't had raid results as incredible in a long time.

As Stoick saw a squadron of Gronkles fly towards the Southern portion of town, most likely towards the food reserves, he saw Astrid running through the crowd, trying to rally fighters and repel the odd dragon.

"Astrid! Take charge of the South! They're going after the reserves!"

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Astrid nodded her head towards the chief, before she saw him rush off along his path. She pivoted on her heel and rushed towards the Southern food reserves.

Berk had a total of four reserves. Two of them, the Northern and Southern reserves, are along the outer rings of the village, with the Northern reserve being close to the fishing dock, and as a result, where most of the preserved aquatic food is stored, and the Southern reserve being close to the edge of the forest, where most hunting game is stored, as well as the sparse freshwater fish.

The third and forth reserves were located within the Great Hall, or as most of the Hairy Hooligans called it, 'The Hall', with the forth reserve being always opened. The Hall was build with a side of it in a mountain. As the generations passed, paths were carved into the mountain connecting to The Hall, with massive rooms at the end of the paths. The third reserve is the farthest down, into the earth, as it is cooler, and the preserved food can last longer as it is what will be opened in the time of an emergency when people have to take shelter within The Hall. The forth reserve is where most food is for the hall chefs, and as a result is almost always opened, as there is always at least one family clan eating in the hall at any given time.

The previous raid hit slightly into the Northern reserves, well, reserves, but the village hunters had a string of bad luck, and the Southern reserves where starting to wane just enough to be troublesome if the dragons got to it.

The thought of Stoick giving Astrid the commanding authority of the protection of a key, if not the key, location for this raid made her feel a mixture of emotions ranging from giddy to prideful. It was not a feeling she'd experience since Hiccup delivered her an axe for her twelfth winter celebration.

She was pulled out of her giddy thoughts, and reminiscing about the past, when she saw what most people describe as 'Mini-Snot' running past, with the new generation of the fire team in tow, shouting "Oi! Oi! Oi!".

Shaking her head lightly at the antics he no doubt picked up from the original, she called out towards him. "Gustav! Your team handling the fires alright?"

Gustav came to a screeching halt, slighting a little ways on his heel, before turning towards Astrid and giving a salute. "Yes ma'am!"

Shaking her head again, mainly at the salute, she gave him a nod, and continued towards the building with the reserves as Gustav led his team towards a house that had just been lit on fire, with the culprit, a small Gronkle, being furious assaulted by the angry slaps of the woman of the former house.

Hel hath no fury like a woman scorn, or in this case, a woman who just had her home burnt down.

She finally reached he destination, where a small group of Vikings were at, defending the storage building from a light assault wave.

"Report!"

"A few Gronkles, a Nadder, and a Zippleback." One of them responded.

"Well… that's nothing too bad. We should be able to do–"

A loud, reverberating screech was heard in the sky, cut off whatever Astrid was about to finish saying. As the defending group looked up, whispers of 'Oh Thor...' and 'Shit' were heard, as the largest Dragon Raid force seen since some of the first raids on Berk enveloped the sky.

"...spoke too soon." Astrid said with a sigh, as she unhooked her axe from her back. Glancing back up at the sky, she saw the first of the dragons start their descent. "Here we go..." She muttered, before letting out a war cry and rushing to meet the oncoming dragons alongside her fellow Vikings.

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Stoick walked around the village after the dragons were finally repelled… or they gave up. It was never exactly certain to anyone of the Hairy Hooligans what caused the dragons to stop any given raid, especially one as large as this.

There was not a single building that was not scorched or on fire, if not completely collapsed. The North reserves took a small hit, which would be easily fixed with an increase in the number of fishing vessels that the Jorgensons sent out. It was good that this raid happened right after the thaw, for if it was before the freeze, then the hit on the reserves would have been far more devastating.

Much to Stoick's joy, Astrid's performance commanding the defences of the Southern reserves was nearly flawless. The large amount of dragons meant that most all of those defending had some sort of wound, and also a few deer and yak carcasses were taken, but for the most part the reserves barely lost anything.

Hopefully Snotlout, with how he has been improving mentally in regards to his ego and putting the duties of a chief first, would recognise Astrid's prowess with battle command and planning. After all, he confides in Fishlegs for perspective and insight into decisions of value, so it would not be unlikely that he wouldn't trust most of the defences of Berk to Astrid.

Looking over the village again, he noted that even with the usage of Hiccup's defences and fire-prevention systems, it was one of the most devastating raids with damage to property. He didn't need to hear the damage report from Spitelout or Fishlegs to know this.

Speaking of the former…

"Spitelout!" Stoick called out, seeing him pass by with some destroyed lumber, either to be used for the light towers, or The Hall.

Spitelout stopped, and turned every which way, before seeing Stoick. He must have had a blow to the head during the raid, as he appeared to be very disjointed as he approached the chief.

"Aye Stoick?" The chief's step-brother asked.

Stoick took a small sigh, bracing himself for any retorts from his second in command, before uttering the request. "Get Fishlegs and send out a summon to every tribe."

Stoick cast a glance around the village once again. "I am calling upon them for a Thing."

Spitelout joined Stoick's gaze as the two looked upon the devastated village. Some screams of agony could still be heard calling out, whether from inside a burning and destroyed house, or outside was unknown.

"Aye Stoick." The step-brother responded, and was about to turn around to locate Fishlegs, before stopping to ask one thing. "...by every tribe, do you mean every tribe, not just our allies?"

Stoick brought a hand up to his face, brushing some of the singed hair away from it, before running his hand down his face, as one would do when either faced with a choice, or extremely tired. He thought about what would happen if the Bog Burglars, Visithugs, and Outcasts were in the same hall, but it was something that needed to be done.

"Every tribe Spitelout. We must try for an alliance with everyone."

"What for Stoick?"

"...to finish the problem, once and for all."

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In the Northern most part of the Barberic Archipelago, the dragon riding man that has been dubbed 'The Daemon' by most all, either as a complimentary or derogatory moniker, and the Night Fury he rode, were flying over a seemingly endless span of oceanic water.

A few icebergs, non larger than a Titan Wing Nadder, were dotted here and there, indicating that the two were going in the correct direction at the very least. This was good to the rider, as it had started to rain, with nearly half of all the rain drops freezing as they hit him. This, coupled with the fast speed that they were flying at, made for a relatively uncomfortable flying experience.

It was unfortunate that they were looking for a specific landmass, as if they weren't, the two could fly above the clouds and avoid the sleet.

The specific landmass was something they heard of during their stay on the Island of Nowhere. The local Nowhere Men had described a large landmass Northwest of their island that had seemingly nothing on it, and as such, it was called The Nothing.

It was also more of a legend if anything else to the residents of Nowhere, as no one that ventured out in that direction made it far enough to see if it was real. Either sea dragons that lived in the frigid water would harass and destroy ships, or icebergs and the water freezing would do the dragons' job for them.

Hiccup and Toothless could avoid both hazards, and if the legend of The Nothing turns out to be real, then it was another land mass that they could add to the ever expanding map. So far, that map had most all of the Archipelago on it, as well as a fairly large chunk of the Norther Roman Empire. It was exciting to Hiccup that there might be another land mass that he hadn't added yet, for it seemed like he had explored and mapped everything in the Archipelago, and he had no desire to go back to any place with Romans.

As the sleet began to lighten up slightly, Hiccup could make out what appeared to be a very large iceberg on the horizon. As the two neared it, it began to show more and more promise of being an actual island.

"Bud, look!" Hiccup exclaimed, excitement being barely contained in the skinny young adult. The dragon was also excited to see a land mass, but not because he wanted to add another scribble on a piece of paper though.

He had been flying for a long time now, and he was tired.

"Let's see if the Island of Nothing has, in fact, nothing, eh bud?" Hiccup asked Toothless as he flicked the pedal in a different position, allowing the two to approach the possible unknown land at a faster speed.


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