Harrow hurried up the slope towards Haddock Hall. The party was still in progress behind him in the village center, with music and the carousing wafting on the air. The people of Berk had no idea that their heir was in danger. He had to give credit where credit was due: this was a great plan, making off with Hiccup while the rest of the tribe was busy making merry.

He wondered if Pike and Orley had a boat hidden somewhere along the shore of Berk, or if they intended to steal one from the harbor. He supposed that wouldn't matter if he did his job right, and Ruffnut was quick enough in rousing the chief.

Haddock Hall seemed undisturbed and tranquil on first inspection. There was no windows on the first level, but there was a couple on the upper story. The flicker of candlelight could be seen through the wooden shutters. Hiccup was home, upstairs, probably trying to put the events of earlier out of his mind. Harrow wondered if Astrid was up there with him. That would be a great relief.

And, probably, a great scandal.

As he approached the chief's house, a sound caught his attention. A kind of low whine punctuated with a warble. He focused on the noise and walked around to the back of the large home.

There, he found Toothless sprawled on his side, moaning softly in a dreamy manner. The dragon's nostrils flared as Harrow approached. Toothless shifted his head, opened his bright green eyes. Harrow observed with a sinking feeling that the dragon's pupils were far too large to be normal.

Toothless trilled querulously. It might have been a question. Harrow edged closer, put out a cautious hand, spoke softly. "Sorry, pal, looks like they already got to you."

Toothless moaned again, low in the back of his throat. He tried to pick his head up, flopped nervelessly back to lay in the grass. His wings rustled and his tail twitched, but there was no coordination.

"Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to Hiccup." Harrow promised, gently caressing the feverish scales at the top of the Night Fury's head. "You just focus on getting your head on straight."

The dragon huffed a sigh through its nose. Resignation or relief, Harrow could not guess.

A muffled sound floated out from the back door of Haddock Hall. A struggle, short and muted by distance and artifice. Pike and Orley were not wasting time.

Neither would Harrow.

He crept up the short stair and through the back door of the chief's home. He found himself in a scullery niche, the floor stone tile and the walls age-worn wood panels. A counter with a stone tub of cold soapy water was on his right, half-filled with soiled crockery, utensils and mugs. On his left, wooden cabinets and shelves for storage. Ahead, a doorway into a short hall.

He advanced carefully, crouched to ease his weight on the now wooden floorboards. He hoped to the gods that they would not creak as he stepped upon them. He heard muffled speech above as he moved.

The short hall lead to the main living area of the building. On his right, a stout wooden door. He carefully opened the door, hoping against squeaky hinges. The hinges were old but well-maintained. Beyond, he saw what he supposed was the chief's bedroom, complete with a massive bed piled with furs and blankets. He shut the door quickly.

Harrow prowled ahead into the main living space like a stalking wolf. A great stone hearth dominated the interior wall. The fire had been banked and the sullen coals provided a dim light, casting weak shadows throughout the room. There was a wide flagstone apron before the hearth and on it stood a heavy wooden table. Four ornately carved chairs could just be made out around the table, two on either long side. Iron hooks set into the hearth held utensils for cooking and for managing the fire itself.

There was a couch composed of long, low carved wood benches covered with cushions and furs. Before the couch lay a great bearskin rug, complete with the head and paws of the animal. Weapons and shields hung from the walls. In one corner, a small votive shrine to Odin and Baldr had been set up. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke.

Toward the far end of the living space on the other end of the house was the great front door of Haddock Hall, a sturdy thing of thick wood and iron studs. Hooks for hanging cloaks, coats, and helmets was set by the door's frame. A little step was situated underneath for boots. Across from the door there was a set of stairs that had been built out from the exterior wall. The stone chute of the chimney gave the stairs support on the interior.

A second-story loft took up the space over the main living area and was accessed by those stairs. That was where the candlelight had originated, Harrow realized. That was where Hiccup must have his bedroom. Pike and Orley were speaking in hushed tones up there now, and by what Harrow could make out, they were worried. Pike wondered if Orley had struck Hiccup too hard over the back of the head. It sounded like Orley was only worried that they were taking too long to get away.

Harrow decided to lurk in the thickest shadows of the main living area. He plucked a mace off of its hook on the wall nearby. His idea was to ambush whomever came down the stairs second from behind, hopefully knock them unconscious. Then he'd rush the other bounty hunter before he knew what was going on. That was the plan.

He hoped it survived contact with reality.

He didn't have to wait long. The two bounty hunters came to a consensus and started down the stairs. Now they were not worrying about stealth. They had what they came for and were looking to get away from Haddock Hall, posthaste.

Pike came first. He didn't even glance in Harrow's direction. His gaze was fixed firmly on the back hall, on getting to the scullery and out the back door to freedom. Orley came second, with an unconscious Hiccup slung over his right shoulder like a sack of flour. The young man's arms hung loosely down and his head lolled on his neck. He also didn't notice Harrow crouching in the shadows. He was just as focused on making the getaway.

Harrow frowned, tightening his grip on the borrowed mace in his right hand. He waited till Orley had his back turned before he smoothly stood, took three quick steps to come up behind the big bounty hunter, then thumped him good on the back of the head. He struck as hard as he could given his diminished strength. He prayed to Thor that it was enough. He couldn't afford to fight two big bruisers at once in his condition.

Orley made not a sound as the blow landed with a dull thump. His grip on Hiccup's unconscious form slackened and he went down on his knees. Harrow tried his best to ease Hiccup's landing but he was dismayed to find his strength not up to the task. Orley made a grunting sound as he pitched forward onto his front. Harrow cursed. He hadn't thought the man would have been able to utter a sound.

So much for the gods-damned plan.

"Oi! Orley, what's wrong?" Pike demanded to know, whirling around. He had just reached the back hall. He squinted back through the dim light to see his partner down and unmoving on the floor. Then his gaze abruptly lifted and he made out the dim form of Harrow kneeling next to the fallen heir of Berk. "Loki's sagging balls!"

"You ought to run away now, if you know what's good for you." Harrow threatened, straightening up. He lifted the mace in his hand, hoping that it didn't tremble. Blood gleamed on the rounded head. "Unless you want to follow your brother down to Hel."

Pike stared coldly for a moment.

Then he laughed.

"You sure are full of yourself, lad! That was a pretty trick, sneaking up on ole Orley like that. Laid him out good. But I see you, now. How's about we see how well you do in a straight up fight, eh?"

Pike advanced, producing a long knife from his belt. The blade of the knife gleamed weakly by the light of the banked coals. It had a fine point and jagged edge.

Harrow carefully stepped over Hiccup, the mace out before him. It wasn't his preferred weapon, and he wasn't terribly sure how it would match up against a bigger man with a dagger. But, he had to keep playing for time. Help was on the way.

He hoped.

"You really want to have a good old-fashioned one-on-one, here? Now?" Harrow taunted the other bounty hunter. "Doesn't it bother you that I'm here?"

"Shut up, you little puke." Pike sneered, unafraid. "What are you on about? You're about to die, from where I stand."

Harrow grinned wolfishly. "I'm saying, I'm stalling for time, moron!"

Pike paused, his ugly face astonished as the thought finally occurred to him. Then it contorted into an expression of rage.

"You little bastard! I'll kill you quick, and then grab the runt and be gone long before whatever help you think is coming gets here!"

As if on cue, a horn called outside. The meaning was clear. Ruffnut had managed to find the chief, and the chief was raising the alarm.

Harrow favored the older man with a cheeky grin. "Better hurry up, then."

Pike bellowed incoherently in his building rage. He rushed forward, lunging with the knife. Harrow side-stepped to the left, swung the mace hard at Pike's outstretched arm. Pike snapped his arm back and narrowly avoided having his forearm shattered. Harrow didn't anticipate the weight of the mace and how hard it would be to recover for another swing.

Pike laughed nastily, stepped inside Harrow's reach as he was hopelessly out of position, and slashed with the dagger at his stomach. Cursing, Harrow threw his hips backwards, felt the tip of the dagger slice effortlessly through the material of the shirt he wore.

Pike threw a surprise left hook and caught him on the chin. Harrow reeled back a step, tried to wave the mace in a defensive pattern against a quick stab to his vulnerable front, and felt his wrist seized in a vise-like grip. Pike twisted sharply, forcing Harrow to drop the mace's handle or have his wrist snapped like a twig.

The big bounty hunter went to stick Harrow in the stomach with the dagger. Harrow grabbed the oncoming blade with his free hand, felt the blade bite deeply into the flesh of his unprotected palm. He felt blood start to well up in the wound.

The two men struggled and strained against one another for a moment, each not daring to relinquish their hold on the other. They were almost nose-to-nose in the fitful light, shadows crawling and dancing over them.

"Well, looks like you can put up a good fight head-on after all." Pike mused tightly, baring his teeth. "But you really are stupid, grabbing a naked blade with a bare hand!"

"You're the stupid one, trying to fight me while the chief and his men close in!" Harrow grunted back, determined to not give away how quickly his reserve of strength was fading. His arm muscles screamed at him. His left hand throbbed as hot blood dripped down on the dagger's edge and gathered on the floor.

Pike rasped an amused laugh. "They're taking their sweet time, lad. I think maybe they're too drunk to be much help for you! Ain't that too bad?"

Harrow wondered if he was right. It wasn't far from the village center to get to Haddock Hall. Where in Hel was his back-up?

His foe sensed an opening. Pike suddenly yanked Harrow forward and savagely slammed his left knee up into Harrow's ribs with a meaty smack. Right over the healing spear wound. His vision lost focus and he made a strangled sound, would have screamed bloody murder if he still had breath.

Down he crashed to the floor. He instinctively curled to protect his wounded side, feeling like his insides had been shattered. Hot tears spilled unbidden from his eyes.

Pike loomed over him, panting. He roughly toed the younger man onto his back and laughed as he leaned down.

"Ah, I thought you was familiar! Harrow Gudmunson, the infamous Hel's Hound. As I live and breath! Are you out for Viggo's bounty, too?"

Groaning, Harrow would have swore a blue streak if he could. This situation was going from bad to worse fast. He willed the pain to ease up, tried to ignore it but it felt like a hot auger had been driven into his side. Had his ribs been broken?

To make matters worse, Orley moaned like he was coming around.

The gods must hate me. Harrow thought miserably. Thought I killed him.

Pike looked over his shoulder as his partner and brother slowly pushed himself up on his hands and knees. "Glad to see you haven't gone to Hel just yet."

"Nah… but I have a bastard of a headache…" Orley muttered, hauling himself up, reaching with a hand for the Haddock's table for leverage. He gingerly touched the back of his head and winced as it came away wet with blood. "What happened, Pike?"

A horn called again outside somewhere much closer now. Pike scowled at the sound. "Don't worry about it, partner. Just grab the runt. We'll fix you up when we're clear of this place."

Orley grunted in reply. He glanced down at Harrow, a trifle unsteady, eyes unfocused in the uncertain light. "Who's that, now?"

"Just a washed up bounty hunter, Orley." Pike replied, dismissive. He planted a foot on Harrow's chest and leaned his weight on it. Harrow whimpered as his already aggravated body was abused further.

"Nothing to worry about."

The sneering bounty hunter flipped his dagger point-down in his hand. He prepared to jam it down. From Harrow's perspective, it looked like he wanted to punch the blade through his good eye and into his brain. At least it would be a quick death.

But fate had other plans for the Hel's Hound.

The front door suddenly slammed open. Torchlight spilled in from outside, silhouetting Astrid in all her fierce glory. She seemed like an avenging valkyrie, deadly and proud. Her axe was in her hands and when her eyes fell upon the still form of Hiccup, her fury could not be contained.

Orley, disoriented as he was, decided rather foolishly that he could take the young shieldmaiden down if he tried to rush her. He bellowed a warcry. The big oaf took all of two steps before the blade of Astrid's axe slammed into his chest. His eyes bugged stupidly in his head.

"Shit!" Pike cried out in dismay. Orley made a disbelieving noise as he fell backwards to the floor, tugging the handle of the axe from Astrid's hands. She turned her icy gaze on Pike, her fists clenching until her knuckles were white. Her gaze promised a much slower end for him.

Pike didn't wait around. He aimed a hasty throw and hurled his dagger at her before turning and bolting for the back hall of the house.

Astrid dodged the knife with contemptuous ease. The dagger lodged itself at head-level in the front door and quivered in place. She plucked it from the wood without looking, stalked after the fleeing man with a snarl on her lips. She went straight to Hiccup's side when she returned, apparently satisfied that the villain had fled for good.

"Come on, Hiccup! Wake up!" She softly pleaded with the unconscious young man. "You have to wake up! Please!"

Harrow forgot his own plight for a second, ignored the pain. His endeavors would be for naught if Hiccup didn't come around. If he died, then everything had been for naught.

In the flickering light that now streamed in from outside, Harrow watched as Astrid knelt beside Hiccup and gathered him up in her arms. She cradled his head against her breast and spoke softly to him. What she said at that moment, Harrow couldn't hear.

Miraculously, Hiccup stirred in her arms. He coughed, then groaned. "Ugh… did anyone get... the name of the jotun who hit me?"

"Hiccup!" Astrid exclaimed, her voice breaking with emotion. "Oh, Hiccup! I thought… you were so still... "

Hiccup coughed again, and the sound turned into a weak laugh. "I'm not… I wouldn't… Argh, I'm still here! Don't… don't squeeze so hard!"

Astrid laughed, a relieved sound.

Another sound came from the back hall. Harrow heard an uncoordinated scratching like claws on the stone and wood floor. Astrid whipped her head around, tensed with the dagger in hand. She was primed to throw.

"Toothless!" Hiccup cried.

Sure enough, the faithful Night Fury was stumbling on all fours across the intervening space toward his stricken friend, crooning softly. Astrid relaxed, moved aside as Toothless sprawled himself in Hiccup's lap.

The dragon warbled sadly, like maybe he was trying to apologize for not being there to protect Hiccup.

"It's okay, bud. I'm okay now." Hiccup softly said to him, grimacing at the dragon's weight rested upon him..

"Hiccup!" A thunderous voice cried from outside. Heavy footsteps approached the open door at a full run. A vast shadow blotted out the torchlight and cast the room into darkness for a moment.

Stoick had arrived.

At his back, the sounds of voices and the jangle of harness and weapons. It sounded like the chief had brought a large contingent of Berk's warriors with him.

The chief spared them not one more thought as he caught sight of his son safe, Astrid and Toothless close at hand. He fell to his knees and took his son's face in his huge hands and nearly wept with relief.

"Hiccup! Thank the gods you're alright, son!"

Hiccup put a hand on his father's arm. "I'm okay, dad. Just… have a monster of a headache. Ouch!"

The chief felt around the back of his son's head and his expression hardened. Behind him, Gobber hobbled into the house. He took one look at the dead Orley and whistled low appreciatively.

"Gobber!" Stoick thundered. "Send someone to get Goethi! Hiccup needs a healer!"

"Right you are, Stoick!" Gobber replied cheerfully. "I'll send Fishlegs. Now, didn't Ruffnut say that Harrow lad would be around here, somewhere?"

"Harrow?" Stoick echoed, mystified.

Harrow groaned in the darkness away from the front door. "Here..."

"Harrow!" Stoick cried, surprised. He left Hiccup in Astrid's care. He knelt by the fallen young man and looked him over. "Are you alright, lad?"

"No… sir." He rasped, grimacing. "My side… the spear wound…"

Stoick nodded his understanding and looked back over his shoulder. "Gobber?! Where is Goethi!"

"Fishlegs is on it, chief." Gobber told him, frowning. "He can only run so fast, you know!"

"It's okay… sir." Harrow grunted to Stoick. "Look... after Hiccup."

"I can't thank you enough, lad." Stoick told him quietly, his features softening. "You have done a great service for me, for all of Berk. You didn't have to do this!"

"Yes… I did." Harrow sighed, breath becoming harder for him to catch.

If he wanted to save Signy. If he wanted to keep his oath.

If he didn't want to hate himself.

Stoick took up one of Harrow's hands in his own and favored him with a paternal smile. "Rest now, Harrow. You've done enough."

Then he was up, turning as Spitelout stepped through the front door and hailed him. "Chief, we've locked down the harbor like you wanted us to. Not a single boat is headed out any time soon. What are your orders now?"

"Post a few men to guard my house." Stoick ordered. "Astrid, did you see where the bastard went?"

Astrid shook her head, blinking away what may have been tears. "No, chief. I… I was just so focused on Hiccup…" She cleared her throat, her expression regretful. "I'm sorry, chief."

"No fault of yours, lass." Stoick told her gently. To Spitelout, he said, "Call out some tracker-class dragons. There are some amongst the Berk Guard. Take your son and the Thorston twins with you. Start sweeping the island. Leave no stone unturned!"

Spitelout nodded, his face grave. "Aye, chief. The whoreson couldn't have gone far. We'll find him!"

"Make sure you do!" Stoick growled, his brows knitting in anger. "He has a lot to answer for!"

Spitelout hurried out the door, bawling orders to those outside like the old veteran he was. A chorus of gruff affirmatives came back. The warriors of Berk were on the move.

Gobber and Fishlegs appeared next, Goethi hobbling only a step behind. Heather brought up the rear, her own axe in hand, her expression heavy with worry.

Goethi went to Hiccup first, but he waved her off. "I've just got a bump on the head, it's Harrow who really needs help!"

"Hiccup, you might have a concussion!" Astrid scolded, grabbing a hold of his hand.

But he wouldn't have any of it. He was adamant that Harrow needed the healer's attention first. Stoick looked on silently, tacitly approving of his son's decision. Though it defied every fatherly instinct he had, he was certain it was what a chief would do. This was a glimmer that his son perhaps was taking the chiefing lessons to heart.

Goethi looked to Stoick, her gaze questioning. Ultimately, his was the decision. Stoick nodded back stiffly.

The old mystic hobbled over to where Harrow lay. She motioned impatiently for Fishlegs to come near. The husky young man had the wax tablet and a stylus of tapered bone that the old mystic used to communicate with others using runes.

Fishlegs went to the little old woman and handed her the tablet. She scrawled something onto its soft surface and passed it back to him.

"Goethi asks what happened." Fishlegs read, licking his lips nervously.

"Knee… to the ribs…" Harrow gasped. "Hard…to breathe…"

Goethi shook her head, pulled up his shirt so that she could inspect the site in question. Fishlegs couldn't help but watch from over her shoulder. The wound was badly bruised and blood seeped from between the stitches. Goethi grunted, unhappy, and waggled her hand at Fishlegs. He gave her the tablet, she wiped it clean and wrote again, then handed it back.

Fishlegs paled as he read. "Goethi says that you're bleeding again in the wound, that the bones may be broken. There may be a danger to your lungs, too. She needs to open you back up to assess the damage."

"Is he going to be alright?" Hiccup asked, worried. Astrid had him in her arms again, helping him to sit up so he could see. She seemed unwilling to go without touching him for the moment.

Goethi erased the tablet and wrote again, fast as she could. Fishlegs read it. "It was very foolish of him to get into a fight, he wasn't fully healed. She'll try her best, but it's much worse now than it was before."

"Do you need us to carry him back to your hut?" Heather asked.

Goethi shook her head vehemently. She grabbed the tablet, wrote something without erasing the last message. Fishlegs moaned when he saw the message. "Goethi says there is no time! She has to operate soon, here, or he won't make it till morning. She lists some things she'll need."

"I'll go and get them." Gobber offered. "Heather, come with me. It'll go faster with two of us making a single trip to Goethi's hut."

Heather nodded. "Right." She spared Hiccup and Astrid a sympathetic look before she and the Master Blacksmith left. Stoick looked worried where he stood, shifting from one foot to the other

Goethi wrote another message. Fishlegs read it and turned to Astrid and Stoick. "Make sure Hiccup's comfortable, then put some water on to boil. Find some clean linens."

Astrid nodded, once, sharply. "Got it."

She put a shoulder under Hiccup's left armpit and helped him up. Then they realized that he didn't have his prosthetic on.

"It's probably upstairs still." Hiccup muttered, frowning. "They probably took it off so I couldn't run away."

"Don't worry about that now." Astrid murmured. She helped him over to the couch and got him down onto it.

Toothless followed and laid down at his foot. Stoick went to the hearth and grabbed the little black iron kettle used for cooking. He lumbered outside as fast as he could, came back with the kettle half full of well water.

"I don't think it'll come to a boil fast enough." Fishlegs observed dubiously as Stoick went to go hang it over the banked flames of the hearth.

Stoick glared. "What would you have me do, then?"

"Don't worry, dad. We have it covered." Hiccup gave Toothless a pat on the snout, smiling. "Go on, bud. Give it a low power blast."

The Night Fury warbled and shot at the kettle where it hung. The kettle absorbed the reduced yield plasma blast and set the water to an instant rolling boil.

Stoick was suitably impressed. "That will do."

A scant while later, Gobber returned with Heather. They both brought an armload of healing supplies with them.

Goethi directed them to set their burdens down by her. She knelt with a grunt by Harrow's side. She once more took the tablet from Fishlegs, erased the previous messages, wrote another long one.

Fishlegs took it and read. "Okay, Goethi says she's going to need help. Astrid, bring the water and linens over. Heather, hand Goethi the tools and other things you brought from her hut when I prompt you to." He cleared his throat. "Oh, and Gobber?"

"Aye?" He asked, perking up where he waited by the front door.

Fishlegs simpered. "She wants you to drag the dead man away, please."

"Oh. Sure, no problem. I'll just…" He worked Astrid's axe loose from the poor man's chest cavity with a wet sucking sound. He winced, the blade was notched where it had bit into the man's breastbone. "Eh, er…. I guess this'll need some... er, work."

Astrid frowned at the sight of her axe. "Worry about that later."

Gobber wisely decided to just get on with his business. He grabbed the dead man by the ankle with his good hand and hauled him out like a freshly slaughtered side of yak-meat.

Shivering, Harrow looked up as Astrid and Heather joined Goethi at his side. Fishlegs peered over Goethi's shoulder, tablet in hand. Stoick looked on from beside the couch, towering even so far away. Hiccup strained to watch, concern on his pallid face. Harrow idly wondered if he'd ever see these people again should he close his eyes. The pain was steadily getting worse, radiating throughout his body from his wounded flank. Breath was becoming a great act of will. A pressure in his side seemed to be stealing his air.

Goethi presently uncorked a small brown bottle. She tried to offer him a comforting smile. The smell coming from the open bottle was awful. More of the old woman's pain killer potion, he supposed dimly. He would have sighed in long sufferance if he could have drawn the breath to do so.

Things were going to get much worse before they got better.

He drank the foul medicine, and knew no more.