This plot was the brainchild of the incomparable psychicsaphie. Wellspring of ideas, sounding board and beta, thank you so much!

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, no sue.

My gorgeous reviewers. Thank you all soooooooooooo very, very much! (And Ze Great Camicazi, I'm just making the dragons up, actually!)

The games would begin for the day soon, and Hiccup had slept very poorly. He'd taken turns with the Briton to stay awake and guard, and the Morae had whispered obscene and frightening things in the darkness. Hiccup shuddered. Those three Thracians frightened him more than the Queen Dragon had.

The huge, genial Goth, whose moniker Hiccup had discovered was Atlas, had excitedly told their barrack all about Hiccup's encounter with the feathered dragon. As a result, he was now looked upon with either deep hostility or a smattering of awe. Hiccup wasn't a fan of either. The first was sort of new to him, and he'd had it up to his eyeballs with the second after the encounter at the dragon's nest.

They were herded back into the sandy practice yard outside the main arena to await the opening of the games. A fanfare made Hiccup jump, and the Briton smiled down at him wryly.

"This is the Emperor's music. He watches the games in the cloth box today, with his family."

Hiccup nodded dumbly. It meant little to him who was going to be watching him fight animals surrounded by criminals. He hoped it was a dragon again. Oh gods, he hoped it was a dragon.

Little by little, the group waiting in the antechamber depleted as the gladiators went inside the arena to participate in the barbaric slaughter. Hiccup felt sickened, watching the Briton shoulder his huge sword and walk with kingly dignity into the sandy circle before the doors slammed shut. Thankfully, he returned. Many did not, including the dark-skinned Gigantes with the startingly white smile. Hiccup closed his eyes as his mauled body was brought past on the messenger's cart.

Finally, he was alone in the practice square. The handlers gave him a superior little sneer as they opened the gates for him, and he walked as bravely as he could into the blood-flecked expanse, the sun's heat radiating from the sand. He looked up into the Imperial box, unhooking his hammer. The Briton had said it was customary to bow and pledge to the Imperial family, but Hiccup had no intention of doing such a thing.

The man in the purple toga surprised him. He didn't look much like an Emperor. He looked like a tired man just passing middle-age, his curly head a steely grey and his face deeply lined with care. He met Hiccup's eyes, and a certain acknowledgement of their circumstances passed between them. Hiccup, despite himself, inclined his head. The Emperor didn't really want to be one, he could see. He was as trapped as Hiccup, except his cell was gilded.

Beside the older man was a woman with a face that might have been beautiful, except there was a harsh sneer in the corner of her mouth and her eyes were as hard as steel. She was a dangerous lady, Hiccup sensed, and nodded to her as well. There was no sense of fellow-feeling with her as with the Emperor, and she curled her lip as she regarded him. Hiccup felt the need to retreat.

Either side of the pair were two young boys and a little girl of maybe six. The elder boy had a soft, petulant face, a pair of indulgent, rather pretty eyes and a weak chin. The younger boy was around nine or ten and had a practical looking brow and an unhappy expression as he held the little girl. Hiccup felt for him. A boy that young should not look so unhappy. He ignored the sulky-looking elder boy, and nodded to the younger. A whisper ran through the crowd, and the dangerous-looking woman half-stood in outrage. Hiccup raised his hammer and turned to face the opening gate.

The condemned were led through it, still chained and shackled together, their eyes hopeless and furious and desperate. Hiccup wished he could speak to them, but he tried to convey reassurance through his eyes.

The audience began to roar and whoop as the heavy iron gate of the animal pen opened. Hiccup was relieved to see his friend from yesterday emerge, the feathered dragon sniffing curiously at the air and her eyes widening in recognition. He dropped his hammer and raised his hand to her, and she whinnied in delight and pranced to him, her head dipping eagerly. He scratched at her ragged crest. "Hey girl," he said softly. "Glad to see you too."

But it seemed that wasn't all that was in store for him. The gate remained open, and two other dragons emerged. One was Nightmare-like, with a scarlet serpentine body and a horned head. Hiccup tensed immediately. Nightmares tended to be skittish and nervous, and he really hoped that this one didn't set itself on fire as a defensive measure the way the ones back home did.

The other was enormous, easily twice the size of the Nightmare-like dragon. Its head was surmounted by a crown of horns, and its body was a rusty bronze. It had a catlike face and brilliant golden eyes. Both the dragons also had the same long tears running along their wings and tailfins, crippling their flight.

"Oh boy," Hiccup said under his breath. "This could prove a bit more challenging."

The condemned prisoners stood petrified in fear, rattling the chains. The crowd screamed its approval as the Nightmare-like dragon swooped upon two of them and summarily tore them apart. Hiccup averted his eyes. How horrible.

His feathered friend had moved to stand protectively before him, her growl of warning deepening as the huge bronze dragon crept closer. Hiccup noted with horror the huge gash along the dragon's side. The poor thing was almost mad with pain and starvation, and he would have bet that infection had set in. As the Nightmare swooped upon more of the hapless criminals, Hiccup patted Feather's side comfortingly. "Let me, sweetheart," he murmured, and she grumbled as she shifted reluctantly to one side.

The great dragon's golden eyes were incandescent with pain as Hiccup began the same slow, careful walk towards its head. The crowd shrieked its disapproval as he made his painstaking way inch by inch to stand before it, a tall slim figure before a mountain. The dragon twitched in pain and disbelief, its expression clearly suspicious, as Hiccup extended his hand slowly.

Feather crooned querulously and nudged Hiccup's back, and he shushed her gently. The bronze dragon flinched like a dog that has been beaten once and fully expects it again. Hiccup pitched his voice as low and soothing as possible.

"Hey big guy," he said softly. "You poor thing. Look at your poor side. Someone took a stab at you and no mistake. I'm not like that, promise. I'm a friend, you can trust me. Smell, go on. I'm not an enemy. I don't want to hurt you. It's okay, big fella. It's okay."

Hiccup turned his head away and let the dragon snuffle cautiously at his hand. The dragon growled in the back of his throat, and Hiccup felt his insides knot with fear. Had this dragon been treated so horribly that he could never trust a human again? For the first time since he was fourteen, Hiccup felt truly in danger from a dragon.

Feather made a sweet noise of affection and pushed her snout against the bronze dragon's head. The huge beast snorted in irritation, and Hiccup felt a wild stab of hope. Finally scales pressed tentatively under his palm, and he raised his head to see the giant dragon's eyes less than a thought away, their golden depths full of fear. He scratched at the warshield-sized scales and the dragon lidded his eyes in bliss.

"Good fella," Hiccup breathed. "Good boy."

A whistling shriek behind him alerted him to the presence of the arena's other scaled occupant, and Hiccup resisted the urge to whirl and face the Nightmare-like dragon. He continued to scratch gently at the giant bronze cheek, his other hand reaching to pat over his massive horned crown. "There's always someone who has to crash the party isn't there, big fella?" he said wryly to the bronze dragon, who opened his massive eyes and looked at him with awed longing.

The Nightmare-like dragon had corralled the remaining prisoners into the narrow end of the oval below the Imperial box, and was stalking them with dreadful intensity. Hiccup gave Big Fella one last pat, and turned to see the remains of four, maybe five men scattered over the arena floor. He retched.

Feather whickered in concern, and Big Fella looked on with surprise as Hiccup mastered his rebelling stomach. Swallowing hard, he started to walk to where the scarlet beast was hissing at the criminals. The two dragons began to follow him, but he held up a hand to stop them.

"Sorry, guys," he said regretfully. "She might get spooked, and then we're all in trouble."

The Big Fella snorted in reluctance but hung back. Feather growled and shook her crest in angry denial, her elegant forepaws scrabbling at the sand. Hiccup gave her eyeridge a comforting rub. "Sorry, girl," he said apologetically. "You just keep an eye on me, all right?"

She growled some more, but there were overtones of acceptance. Hiccup rubbed her eyeridge again, and squared his shoulders, turning to the snake-like dragon. "Here goes," he said nervously. "Want to bet I can't get three for three?"

Surprisingly, the Nightmare-like dragon had turned from her possible lunch to stare penetratingly at Hiccup and his scaled entourage. Her long, sinuous neck waved from side to side as he approached, and he swallowed as she closed the remaining distance with a predatory prowl. He raised his hand carefully, and turned his head. Closing his eyes, he prayed he hadn't made a really, really big mistake.

Nothing happened.

When Hiccup opened his eyes, the Nightmare-like dragon had rolled onto her back and was baring her belly, her eyes pleading. Hiccup laughed in hysterical relief, and began to scratch. Scarlet rolled like a puppy, her head writhing in ecstasy. He babbled comforting nothings to her, wishing he had some kittygrass. That'd really make her wriggle.

When he stood, Feather rubbed her head affectionately along his shoulder and the Big Fella was purring at him in adoration. Scarlet had curled at his feet, her pupils wide with happiness. He smiled fondly at them, rubbing the Big Fella's head. "You guys aren't so bad, are you?" he murmured.

When he glanced up to the Imperial Box, the Emperor was slack-jawed in shock, and the woman and the older boy had calculating expressions on their faces.

But the little boy and his sister were beaming.

"How do you do that?"

Hiccup raised his head from his pillow to glare at the Briton. "It can't be time yet. I only just put my head down! Can't an enslaved dragon-tamer for public entertainment get any sleep around here?"

"Was not me," the Briton shrugged, and then looked pointedly over to Hiccup's other side. He rolled awkwardly (over the metal shape of his leg under his covers, which would really bruise) to look groggily into the face of Nemesis.

"Oh, hi… uh, Nemesis," he struggled to sit up.

"You tame them," she whispered, her hand fidgeting with the silky edge of her war-axe. "That is incredible. You are a Viking, aren't you?"

Hiccup's face twisted. "Uh, yeah. I mean, that's where I'm from. It's a little village, called-"

"So you're not a Viking?" she interrupted, and he sighed.

"No, I am," he said reluctantly. "And my wife would punch me if she heard me saying this, but I've never really been a good one. A lot of what I've achieved was through luck and good timing and the help of others…"

"And bravery," she said firmly. "No Viking I have ever known would think to walk calmly up to one, unarmed, and offer his bare hand. That is tantamount to suicide, where I come from. None would ever think it. And yet, you did. You have taught people another way, a better way. Not all people like change. That is exceptional courage."

Hiccup ducked his head, abashed, and he could feel the hot blush spreading up his neck to his ears. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"She speaks truth, Smith-god," the Briton said quietly. "I try to tell you, this is story for bards and minstrels. You are great man."

"You can stop now," Hiccup squirmed in pleased embarrassment. Nemesis's lips quirked, and Hiccup blinked at the unexpectedly quizzical expression on her face.

"I can see why your wife would punch you," she said, the lilt of amusement in her voice. "You seem young to be married, Vulcan. Are you even grown?"

"As much as I'll ever be, except sideways," Hiccup said ruefully. "I mean, get a load of this Viking physique."

Her eyebrows rose. "You are quite thin for a Viking man."

"Don't know why, my dad looks like he was built, not born," Hiccup shrugged. "But yeah, I'm just eighteen. Married what… seven months now. Four of those I've spent away from her. Not my idea of a good time."

"Only eighteen, and only three months," Nemesis murmured, and there was a tiny smattering of something vastly sorrowful in her face. "I am sorry. It was a love match, then?"

Hiccup found the lump in his throat prevented him from answering her, so he simply nodded. She sighed, and then diplomatically changed the subject.

"So… when I overheard your tale, you said you tamed a rare dragon. Which was it?"

Hiccup grinned at her. "A Night Fury."

She actually gasped in amazement, and Hiccup was astonished at how much younger she seemed when her face was not set into its usual stony, bitter lines. "That is impossible. Night Furies cannot be caught."

Hiccup fumbled at his throat and pulled the two scales from his pouch. "There," he said triumphantly, "Proof positive. That's a Night Fury scale."

She picked up the pair of scales tied with red threat and touched the black one wonderingly. "They are black, then?" she asked in awe.

"They're black with green eyes," Hiccup confirmed. "Hang on… if you can pass me – thanks – here…" and he drew a quick sketch of Toothless with the tip of the Briton's dagger on the dusty floor of the barrack. "Fins here… although my friend only has one. Wingspan is fairly standard, but they have these smaller secondary wings by the tail, under the main wings, and that's what gives them the ability to be so crazily nimble in the air. The forelegs are heavily scaled and kinda blocky, and they have a sort of frill at their ears. Head is sorta triangular and blunt. Very, very agile body. And they can retract their teeth into their gums – thus, Toothless."

She shook her head, eyeing the dusty portrait. "And his expression? This is… almost human. He looks curious."

"They're pretty close to having human intelligence," Hiccup agreed. "Different kind, but they're smart enough. And yeah, Night Furies are curious. I've lost track of how many experiments he's ruined because he stuck his big black head into them before I was done. He thinks every bucket in the whole village should be full of fish just for him."

She snorted, and then unbelievably, the corners of her mouth turned up a little. "A good friend, though," she said questioningly, and Hiccup paused.

"My best friend," he said plainly. "My best friend in the world."

She raised an eyebrow. "And your wife?"

"Is herself," he said, folding his arms. "If she wasn't, I wouldn't love her. She's my wife. He's my best friend. It's not like they're mutually exclusive."

"This is a Nadder-scale," she said, tapping the blue one thoughtfully. "Do you also keep a Nadder?"

"Spike," Hiccup confirmed. "She's my wife's dragon. Vain, finicky thing who roosts up on the roof like a rainbow chicken. She even squawks at dawn. I think she has serious identity issues, but my wife says I just don't understand her. Which is totally fine by me – I mean, do you even want to understand a dragon who thinks she's a chicken?"

Nemesis actually chuckled, and the Briton laughed his deep, booming laugh.

"You are Viking, then?" asked the Briton, and Nemesis glared at him.

"I am nothing now, just a slave. Just Nemesis," she growled, tossing the scales onto the blanket and stalking away. Hiccup watched as the night gloom swallowed her.

"I wonder why she wanted to talk to me?" he said, puzzled, and the Briton shrugged.

"You do not… what is the word? You make yourself to be not great in your mind. You are, you know. Maybe she wishes to find out for herself your greatness. Maybe she wishes to talk the language of home. Maybe you remind her of a place she can never return to. Many reasons, perhaps."

Hiccup hmm'd noncommittally, before slipping the scales back into the pouch and pulling the blanket back up. "Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Smith-god. I wake you at second hour over midnight."

"Your Norse is getting really good," Hiccup said blurrily, and dropped into a deep sleep.

It was slow, slow going through the strait.

Toothless watched the currents unblinkingly. His huge green eyes were locked to the foamy spray before the ship, his head swinging left to right occasionally. Astrid didn't think he was spotting fish. The horn of Hispania could be plainly seen, as could the tip of Mauritania (1). The water was moving fast against them, and was far saltier than the great ocean they had just left. (2) She could feel it tightening the skin of her face where it hit.

Toothless indicated that they swing portside with the raising of an ear, and Stoick obediently leaned hard on the tiller. Thankfully there was a strong following wind, as Astrid would have hated to be rowing through that white foam. Not that any would have allowed her to row, of course.

It was kind of a relief, having the Tiny Haddock common knowledge. She no longer had to hide her eating, or her occasional fits of sleeping or insomnia. Phlegma was a huge help, and Astrid was secretly ashamed that her stubbornness had almost alienated the woman, not that she'd ever admit it. The initial shock of the others had calmed down over the past week, though Gobber's enthusiasm was undeterred and was quickly growing embarrassing. There were a still few lingering reactions however that made Astrid irritated over the whole business.

Snotlout had simply dismissed it, unless he was trying to make a joke about sex. Tuffnut was sulky about the whole thing. Ruff was plainly fascinated, and Astrid had caught her staring at her belly more than once, a speculative look on her face. Fishlegs still couldn't refer to it without mumbling and turning beet-red.

The adults weren't any exception. Stoick was clearly still turning to emotional putty every time he looked at her, and Gobber was no better. Spitelout was gruff and obviously jealous that he wasn't an incipient grandfather like Stoick. Hensteeth Ingerman was treating her like polished amber. Only Phlegma really spoke to her, and not to her belly. Which, incidently, itched.

There was a stretched itchy feeling across her lower abdomen now, and it was driving her bonkers. Phlegma had given her a smooth paste to spread on, but it didn't help all that much really. Astrid scratched at her belly absently as she sat by Toothless, watching him watch the waves. The lump hadn't grown over the last week, so she expected she was due a 'popping out' at any minute. She wasn't looking forward to it. The sunshine was a heavy hammer in her hair as she closed her eyes against the glare from the water.

It was a surprise to her when she found she had nodded off for a few hours, but then it always was. The unmerciful southern sun occasionally had a somnolent effect on her, and she had been leaning against Toothless as she dozed. He was still focused on the rippling foam before the ship, and she rubbed his head even as she rubbed her eyes. He rumbled at her in acknowledgement, but his gaze didn't falter from the water.

Astrid stretched lazily and cricked her stiffened neck, when something in the distance caught her eye. She frowned.

"Anything in the water ahead for a minute or so?" she asked Toothless, her eyes still fixed on the black dot.

He made a little descending hum, and then snorted a negative, his eyes unwavering. She pursed her lips suspiciously.

"Then could you take a look at that?" she pointed. "Is it a rock?"

His head remained still for a moment, before his great green eyes flicked up to the distant thing. He made the snort that meant no again, and then scratched a forepaw on the bow's railing. She peered at the distant shape.

"A ship?" she asked, and he barked assent, his head tilting at her, before he refocused on the water. She scratched his head in thanks, and quickly strode to the stern to speak to Stoick.

"Ship in the distance," she said tersely, nodding to the slowly growing black dot. "They're going to pass us in this narrow strait. What do you think?"

Stoick's brow creased as he eyed it suspiciously. "Could be nothin'," he said darkly, "could be somethin'. Tell everyone to ready their weapons. Not you," he added sternly, and she bristled.

"I can still fight," she hissed, and his eyes blazed.

"Aye, but you're not goin' to."

"What if there's no choice?" she challenged. "There's not so many people on this ship that you can afford to lose a warrior. Look, Stoick, I'm good at this. I'm not about to just let someone hurt me. I'll be fine."

"No, Astrid," he gritted, and she clenched her fists.

"I'll be ready," she said angrily.

"Astrid-" Stoick began again, and then sighed. "You look after yourself, girl."

She snorted. "Of course."

His eyes dropped to the scrubbed deck, and he muttered, "It's just, well... you're the only one left."

Her jaw dropped.

"Um," she said, and then in a softer tone, "I'll be fine. Besides, we don't even know what it is."

"With our luck?" Stoick's jaw tightened, and she had to concede the point.

"Look, I promise. I'll be fine." She swallowed. "We'll be fine."

His eyes flicked down to her belly and back to her. "You'd better be."

She nodded.

He sighed again, and his face turned toward the rapidly approaching ship. "They've got the tide on their side," he said in a level tone. "I'd say we have half an hour, maybe an hour. Get the others ready."

"Right," she said. "Right."

It didn't take very long to alert the others. The minute the possibility of a fight was raised, Gobber had responded with customary briskness. "Now, you lot," he said, sounding for all the world like their instructor again. "Time to give you a quick run-down on sea-fightin'. Whatever you do, don't swing on ropes. Clear target, plain as day. Looks impressive, I'll grant you, but swing the wrong way an' someone's got your leg off quicker than you can say 'rigging.' Which some bright spark will most likely climb. Don't. Your opponent will simply cut the sailropes, an' you'll fall straight to the deck, break your head, and to top that off you'll have no sails. Best thing is to allow them to take all the risks. Let themgrapple the ship an' cut their grapples the minute they catch on the rails. Let them swing across an' take them out as they do. Ruffnut, Tuffnut, you brought your bows? Good, though you need to wax the cord more often, Tuffnut. No good if this snaps in your face the minute you draw. You two need to take out as many of their incomings as possible. We put the bruisers mid-decks. That's me, Stoick, Spitelout, Phlegma, Fishlegs, an' not you, Astrid. No fire at all on deck – you don't want to give anyone any ideas! Got the idea? Now, then…"

Gobber took a deep breath. "Astrid, I want you with Toothless."

Astrid scowled. If she had to fight the whole ship to prove she could, then by Odin she would. "I can still-"

"This isn't about that," he snapped. "You connect wi' that dragon the best. Get him to fire the other ship while they're on ours. It's too bad we can't have him in the air, that'd be…"

"We could," she said suddenly, her eyes widening. "We could. I have his rig here." She looked expectantly at Gobber, who rolled his eyes.

"An' you know how to work it, do you?"

"Yes," she retorted. "I do. Hiccup showed me."

Gobber raised his eyebrow. "Oh? An' did he show you how to remove your foot so you can work that pedal?"

It was Astrid's turn to roll her eyes. "He replaced the pedal you made when he made his new foot. The new pedal can fit a normal foot as well as his. There's a strap you pull, and a toeguard that-"

Gobber pinched his nose, and closed his eyes. "Mimir give me patience," he groaned. "All right, try. No falling off the dragon, Astrid. An' no losing any babies, you hear me?"

"Oh, for the love of Thor!" she said in exasperation. "I'll be fine! I'd have thought you'd be happy to get me away from the fighting on-deck!"

"You'd think," Gobber said dryly, "except the alternative is fifty feet in the air above a raging current on a dragon with stubbornness issues."

Astrid smiled a little. "He's a Viking's dragon, after all," she said, folding her arms.

Gobber made an irritated noise in his throat. "Right then, Astrid, you're up above. Don't show yourself until they're committed to the fight. Once they're on our ship, get Toothless to fire theirs. Keep hittin' it, lots of noise, keep 'em off balance. All right, you go kit him out. The rest of you are on deck, an' keep down. Ruff, Tuff, no hitting Astrid while she's in the air. Now get moving!" With that, he pulled off his hook and reached for the double-bladed axehead, clicking it into place.

Toothless had abandoned watching the currents and rocks, and was now eyeing the approaching ship warily. It was now recognisable as a longship, larger than theirs, its sides painted black and the eyes at its bow red and glaring. Astrid worried at her lip as she dumped the saddle and tailfin down by Toothless. The ship hadn't changed course – rather, it was bearing directly for them.

"Not reassuring," she muttered to the Night Fury, who purled in concern. His blunt head swung around, and his eyes widened at the sight of his equipment.

"Okay, Toothless," she said softly, taking his head in her hands and rubbing at one smooth, scaled cheek. "I'm not Hiccup, I know. I'm not going to be as good at this as he is. But we need to defend our ship. He showed me what to do once, and I think I can do it if you don't go too fast for me. Would you let me?"

He growled defensively, his massive expressive eyes betraying shock and hurt. She rubbed his head some more.

"I wouldn't ask, if it weren't for that," she indicated the fast-approaching ship. "Please, Toothless."

He looked down at his rig, and then bowed his head, his tail thumping once. "Oh thank you, thank you…" she breathed, and picked up the saddle. "Okay, this first."

It took almost twenty minutes to saddle Toothless correctly. He nosed uncomfortably at his rig, unused to it after so long without it. Astrid scratched under the saddle for him even as she scratched her own belly. "We look like we have lice," she said to him in an undertone, and he snorted loudly.

She pulled on Hiccup's leather flying tunic, and thanked Frigga that he had eventually grown taller than her, otherwise she'd have never fitted into it. As it was, it was tight around her stomach and loose at her shoulders. She looked wryly down at the crescent moon. "Thanks a bundle, kid," she muttered to it, and pulled herself up onto Toothless' broad back.

"We need to crouch," she whispered into his ear, which flicked. "We've got to hide until they're closer."

Toothless whined, and she scratched under the saddle again. "I know," she said sympathetically. "But we have to protect our ship. Or we're never going to get Hiccup back."

Toothless whined again, louder this time, and she leaned her forehead against the back of his smooth head. The Tiny Haddock pressed against the saddle uncomfortably. "Do you trust me, Toothless?" she said against his scales softly.

He huffed, and then gave a soft, grudging whuffle. She smiled.

The longship drew closer and closer. Gobber directed everyone down against the deck, and their motley crew silently dropped as low as they could. Stoick met Astrid's eyes from his place crouched at the stern of the ship, and his face paled at the sight of her on Toothless' back. She mouthed, "we'll be fine." He grimaced with reluctance, but nodded anyway.

As the black, dark-aspected ship drew alongside, ropes with heavy hooks snaked over its side and scraped along the Berkian longship's deck. Snotlout and Tuffnut immediately set to cutting through them with their daggers, their eyes tight and their movements absolutely silent. Fishlegs was cannier, and simply slashed through three or four with his axe, the whistle of its passing lost in the roar of the surf.

Shouts of anger and surprise could be heard from the other ship, and Gobber nodded grimly to the others. "Here they come," he said in a tight, low voice.

Large, burly men in a mixmatched assortment of armour swung over on ropes onto the Berkian longship, and Ruff and Tuff immediately loosed their arrows. One fell heavily to the deck with an arrow in his leg, shrieking, and another landed unmoving with an arrow in his eye. Ruffnut smirked at her brother, who pouted a bit and redrew his bow to aim at yet another man.

Gobber had slashed at the legs of one man, and though he hadn't lost the limb he was gravely wounded, blood seeping onto the deck. Others had reached the ship unharmed, and the Berkians sprang from their hiding places with roars of challenge. Another wave of attackers swung across, arrows zipping through the air towards them. Gobber immediately engaged one and began fighting in earnest, and Fishlegs was fighting another, concentration written all over his round, bearded face. Phlegma was stabbing with her spear as the men sailed through the air towards her, incapacitating and wounding them with sharp, savage jabs. Spitelout and Hensteeth were fighting together to bring down a huge man armed with a great longsword.

Stoick had entered the fray with a giant bellow, and he fought with furious abandon, heedless of his own safety. His hammer held in one hand and his axe in the other with the battle-madness touching his eyes, he looked like a frost giant, a god of war. "Go!" he shouted to Astrid, "go!"

"Okay, Toothless," she said, and she felt the huge muscles bunching under her. She pressed back the pedal into the position Hiccup had shown her for takeoff, and closed her eyes. "Let's go!"

He whipped into the air so fast it made her head snap back, and her eyes opened with a cry. The ships below receded rapidly, and she peered down at them. Toothless gave a hoarse bark, and she hurriedly pressed the pedal again. The tailfin flapped into the wrong configuration, and they fell some feet before she pushed her foot into the right angle.

Toothless growled under his breath, and she said, "sorry, sorry!" The wind whipped against her face and took her headcloth, the salt tang stinging her eyes. She swallowed and tried to remember which position to use for a dive.

Toothless was obviously enjoying being in the air once more. His wings had locked as they coasted over the two vessels, and he shook his head loosely in a shiver of pure pleasure. She rubbed his neck again and leaned over to his ear. "We need to dive! I'll give the countdown, and you fire their ship! Okay?"

With a snarl of readiness, Toothless' shoulders bunched, and Astrid began the count. "Three… two… dive!"

She pushed the pedal forward to the last setting, hoping she was right. It seemed that luck was on her side, as Toothless dropped gracefully into a screaming dive. She felt his lungs expand in readiness for his lightning-firebolt. "Go!" she yelled against the shrieking wind, and he spat out the ball of purplish death. Astrid felt his wings extending, and she pressed back with her heel instinctively. They span out of the dive near as neatly as Toothless did with Hiccup, and she pounded his back in gleeful congratulations. He warbled in agreement, and they circled the now-burning ship, watching the sailors scurrying in fear from the dragon above.

Those men still aboard were abandoning the flaming hulk, swimming for the Hispanic coast, and the eyes of those fighting on the Berkian ship were growing desperate as their fellows fell around them. As Toothless swooped over their heads, screaming his warning cry and firing yet again at the blazing black ship, Astrid felt a momentary flicker of pride in her village. There may not have been many of them, but they were a dangerous group. Eventually there were only three of the attackers still standing, and they dropped their weapons reluctantly as the ring of Berkians closed on them. Their eyes were wild and terrified as Toothless backwinged onto the deck, causing hair and clothes to ruffle and blow in the gusty draft.

"Surrender!" Stoick snarled, his axe dripping gore and pointed directly in the face of their leader, a man with close-cropped blond hair and a mouth full of crooked teeth.

"We have," the man rasped sarcastically. "Or didn't you notice?"

"Who are you, and why attack us?" demanded Phlegma.

Astrid clambered down from Toothless and drew her axe in readiness. "They're pirates," she said flatly. The blond man gave a mocking bow.

"At your service, lady," he said in his deep, gravely voice. "Regin the pirate an' what's left of the crew of the Redbird."

"Regin!" Gobber said in surprise, and turned to Stoick. "So this is the one…?"

"You stole my son," Stoick said in a dreadfully quiet voice.

"Ah, so you're the boy's father?" Regin chuckled. "Should have guessed when I saw that devil lizard in the sky. Aye, I had the boy. But it weren't my plan, t'was just a job."

"Alvin," grated Astrid, and pushed her axe into the pirate chieftain's face. "You were working for Alvin the Treacherous."

"Aye," he regarded her with some amusement. "An' you must be the lad's wife. Mentioned you, he did. Didn't say you were gravid, though – ah," he nodded in realisation, a snaggle-toothed smirk spreading over his face. "He doesn't know, does he?"

"Shut up," Astrid snapped, jerking her axe closer. "You took him to Ostia. Where?"

"He's been sold into slavery, lady." Regin seemed highly amused at the reaction this received. Astrid's face paled, and Stoick's mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. "Aye, your precious hero's a slave now. In a fine state, last I saw him. Drugged out of his mind, filthy as a bilge-hold, an' sprawled on the floor of the richest slave trader in Rome, a nasty piece of work, an' his bodyguard's as mad as a badger. He'll be dead by now, no doubt. I overheard 'em telling Alvin that they were to put him in the stables."

"Stables?" Fishlegs asked hesitantly, and the man's grin grew.

"Aye," he sneered. "The stables for the arena. They kill men by the dozens there, every day. An' games are bein' held for the Imperial triumph over Britannia, so the festivities have doubled. I wager the boy didn't last ten minutes."

Astrid felt the knot in her throat travel to her stomach, where it froze. Her grief began to rise, but she squashed it implacably. "Kill him," she said flatly.

As Stoick began to raise his axe for a killing blow, one of the other two survivors darted for the rail. "Ruff!" Astrid barked, and Ruffnut nodded tersely. She nocked an arrow to her bow and it hit the man solidly between his shoulderblades. He gave a startled shriek and toppled over the rail - and Regin took advantage of their distraction to grab Astrid's arm and yank her close, bringing her own blade up against her throat. She cried out in outrage.

"Astrid!" Stoick shouted in horror, and the others tensed, their eyes wary and their limbs completely still.

"Let me go," she hissed, and the man chuckled again, her axeblade scraping her neck. Astrid gritted her teeth. Hiccuphad always sharpened that blade for her. He'd replaced the handle. He'd maintained it for her with the total devotion he always displayed towards anything to do with her. How dare this filthy mercenary even touch it.

"No can do, little lady," Regin was rasping into her ear. "Now, I suggest you come along quietly an' show me where your longboat is stowed, or that baby of yours might meet with a little… accident…" and the blade traced obscenely over the curves of her chest to rest threateningly on her stomach.

Astrid saw red.

With a howl of fury, she bit down hard on the pirate's bare, suntanned upper arm, and he swore loudly as she span out of his momentarily lax grip. Her fist connected with his eye and her other with his mouth, and as he reeled she snatched her axe back and smoothly buried it in his stomach.

He choked, eyes wide, his body bent over the blade. Astrid yanked his hair back and spat into his face.

"The slave trader's name," she whispered into his pain-filled eyes, "and I make this quick."

He gasped and wheezed, his throat working furiously, before he managed to whisper back, "…Ba… Balbus…"

She nodded, blue eyes glittering like steel. "Thank you."

She pressed her knee against his chest, pulled her axe free, and slashed it across the man's throat. His mouth worked uselessly for a moment, blue eyes staring right through her before rolling into his head. Then he hit the deck face-first, dead.

Astrid span her blade in a practised arc to flick the blood from it, and turned to face Stoick. He hesitated for a moment, before enfolding her in a shaking, fatherly embrace. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She patted his huge arms. "I told you we'd be fine," she murmured back, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Aye, you did," he said under his breath, and pulled back reluctantly. "You did."

She felt along her neck and discovered a small gash that was dripping blood down her shirt. "Phlegma, do we have…"

Ruffnut held out a damp cloth from where she sat, tending her brother who had caught a swipe along his upper arm. "Here," she said absently and turned back to Tuffnut. He for once was not moaning, but sat white-faced as she wound a bandage around it.

"Is anyone else hurt?" Astrid said briskly, but suppressed emotion was creeping up on her. She could feel it in the wobbling of her knees.

Hensteeth had received a nasty concussion, but would be fine. Apart from that, she and Tuffnut were the only ones injured. Gobber and Stoick quickly threw the remains of the pirates overboard, as Spitelout tied the final survivor to the mast. Astrid rubbed at her neck even as her vision swam a little. Just as she was about to crumble to the deck in delayed reaction, a warm presence at her back supported her and she turned to see Toothless propping her up.

"Oh Toothless, you were amazing," she said in a shaky voice, before pulling his large head close and holding it tight. The dragon crooned and whirred in concern as she began to tremble, far more violently than Stoick had.

Regin had threatened her baby. For the first time, she was forced to acknowledge how much she wanted this child, how much she already loved it. She would kill for it. In fact, she just had. It was more, so much more than the weight gain and sickness and itchiness and sleep pattern madness. She wanted their baby so much she could feel the ache in her teeth.

She refused to believe the pirate's assertion that Hiccup was dead. He was alive, she knew it, she just knew it. She would know if it were otherwise. She wasn't going to raise the Tiny Haddock alone. He was alive and she would find him and after she'd punched him, they were all going home to be a family.

Toothless purred and cooed as she held him close. Astrid shook and shook, her eyes screwed closed and her teeth gritted in a silent snarl. No tears fell, but her hand pressed against the dome of her belly and tightened protectively.

(1) Morocco.
(2) The Mediterranean has far higher salinity levels than the Atlantic, and is subject to huge internal tides spilling out from the sea into to the ocean through the Strait of Gibraltar.