AN: This is Part One of a four part arc, so...DON'T FREAK OUT.

He was twenty-five and she was twenty-four. The battlements on Berk had held fast through three months of constant assault. It was the kind of war that begged to be ended; that stubbornly continued despite heavy casualties on both sides. Hiccup couldn't afford to stop the fight. There were too many people, too many dragons that depended upon his insistent continuance. Drago had to be stopped.

Somewhere in Drago's ranks, there was a brilliant strategist. Somewhere there was a person who was anticipating all of Hiccup's moves. The anticipation was spotty and it had been Astrid who'd suggested that perhaps there was a spy amongst them. She and Hiccup had argued over that, but eventually he'd conceded and they'd kept their plans to themselves until the last possible moment. That hadn't stopped Drago's ever-changing strategy.

Hiccup was sure it wasn't Drago himself. The man barely understood anything beyond brute force and rage. No, whoever it was had perfectly married the dragon forces with their human soldiers. They didn't work together, not like the forces in Berk, but they did work harmoniously. A wave of soldiers on one side of the island; an air assault over top of the village; men using dragons to hammer down the walls Hiccup had erected. Toothless couldn't be everywhere at once and there were limitations to how he could exert his alpha abilities. He could stop one wave of dragons, but not all of them. Not with the coordination of the attacks. It was an exhausting, never ending battle. They were all being stretched to their limits, humans and dragons alike. Hiccup was tired of the constancy of the attacks; he was tired of war.

The argument raged around the table. Gobber and Spitelout were arguing about who should go out and distract the dragons; Snotlout and Astrid were shouting at each other about combat tactics; Fishlegs, Eret, and Valka were having a quiet conversation, likely about dragon strategy. Hiccup sat at one end of the table and let his weary eyes trace through the Great Hall. The walls were burnt in places, charred wood replacing the portraits of past chiefs. The hole in the roof from the Nadder attack last week had only just been patched and there was still a wet spot on the ground where snow had accumulated.

This wasn't working. They had done well up until now, but how long could they hope to hold out? Hiccup knew they'd all hold out until they were dead – they're Vikings, it's an occupational hazard – but he didn't want anyone else to die. They'd lost enough. Hiccup leaned his elbow on the table and ran his hand over his face. He felt her cool fingers against his wrist and opened his eyes to find Astrid looking back at him. This war wasn't doing her any good, either. Two weeks ago, she'd told him about the baby. She couldn't hide it, not with the way they all had to sleep now, curled up in the tunnels below Berk. There was no masking the sickness that came to her in the morning. They'd argued about that, too. He wanted her out of the fight even if her original argument still held. Hiccup tried to remember the last time he'd been able to hold his son while he was conscious. He was missing too much. This had to end.

Hiccup let his hand fall away from his face and land heavily on the table. It was a quiet sound, but one they'd all become accustomed to hearing. Hiccup was not Stoick the Vast. He wouldn't raise his voice and pound his fist for their attention. They'd learned to listen for that soft whump of leather against wood. Their conversations dwindled to silence; Hiccup never took his eyes away from Astrid's when he spoke.

"I'm going after him."

Astrid's brow came down in an expression that he was used to seeing by now. She was exasperated with him. "Hiccup," she said, her voice holding a familiar note of frustration.

"It's the only way."

Astrid's eyes studied his face, her frown growing. Everyone in the room waited for the explosion. This was not a new suggestion. This was not a new argument. No one said it, but everyone knew it – if Hiccup went after Drago, there was a good chance he wouldn't be coming back. Astrid would never allow it.

"There has to be another way." A whispered counterargument slipped from her lips.

It was weak and old and they both knew it. There was no other way. Drago had to be stopped. He wouldn't listen to reason. He had to be killed. And this time, Hiccup had to be sure he was dead.

Hiccup smiled at Astrid – a small, grasping grin – as he reached out and pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. There was no one else in the room in that moment. Everyone had fallen away from either of their minds. Tears welled in her eyes and Hiccup's smile faltered.

"It has to be done," he whispered.

"Why does it have to be you?"

Hiccup drew in a deep breath and released a wordless sigh. "A chief protects his own."

A single tear brimmed over and slid down her cheek – crystal against rose and alabaster. Gods, she was beautiful, even now. Her brows came together and he could see her forming her argument, ready to come up with another plan that just put countless more of his people at risk. He pressed two fingers against her lips and her eyes locked on his.

"It has to be done," he repeated.

Beneath his fingers, he could feel her lips trembling. More tears escaped her eyes as her face crumbled with the stark realization that he was right. That they'd given it their best shot. That it had to be done. Her nod was a tiny, jerky motion before she whipped her head away from him, shoved back her chair from the table and briskly walked out the front door. Hiccup stared at the heavy door of the Great Hall, swinging in the frigid wind of late winter. She'd come back in clear-headed and calm, and no one would ever mention that they'd seen Astrid Haddock crying.

The room buzzed with conversation again and Hiccup found himself nodding to suggestions with grim determination. He'd never been afraid of death. He'd known it would come for him eventually. He hoped it wasn't tonight.

But if it was going to happen, it would be tonight.

Nighttime warfare had been an early strategy in this war, but Drago's forces soon learned that nighttime attacks against an army with a Night Fury wasn't exactly wise. Nighttime was usually unspoken peacetime. But Hiccup wasn't playing at keeping his people safe for one more night anymore. Hiccup was planning to end the war.

He had one chance and one chance alone. Drago was always on the ship to which he'd chained his Bewilderbeast. Always. Hiccup was sure this was a fact that drove his strategist mad, which was why there was always a swarm of armoured dragons around the ship. This attack was going to take everything that Berk had. Every able-bodied warrior; every dragon that could fly. It would have to be fast and distracting and Hiccup would have to stay out of it until he could see Drago on deck. He'd have one chance and he'd have to trust his friends to watch his back.

Hiccup was adjusting Toothless' saddle when she found him.

"You're coming back, right?"

Hiccup forced a smile and turned to face her. "My personal plan does include returning."

Astrid didn't smile and Hiccup let his false grin fall away.

"I have to try, As."

"I know," she spat. Her anger faded as quickly as it had come on and she gave him a desperate, pleading glance, "Just promise me it won't go wrong."

Hiccup opened his mouth to speak just as Gobber touched down heavily on Grump.

"We're ready, Hiccup."

Hiccup nodded and glanced back at Astrid before climbing onto Toothless. She rushed him and yanked him down by the front of his flight suit into a vicious kiss, lips mashed together and teeth clattering.

"Come back to me," she whispered.

Hiccup watched her force her helmet on her head and take a running jump onto Stormfly's back. She was in her flight suit, too. She was his absolute backup and he wasn't happy about it. But like they all kept saying, there weren't any other options.

His role was simple. Get up high enough that he wouldn't be spotted, hover over Drago's ship, wait for all Hel to break loose, and attack as soon as he had an opening. It was practically a suicide mission for everyone involved. They hadn't used this sort of desperate, kamikaze technique before. Hiccup hadn't allowed it. The truth was, Hiccup thought as Toothless pushed off the ground and they rose higher and higher in the blackened sky, that they didn't even know if this would work. Without Drago, would the war stop? Without Drago, would his forces back off? Hiccup worried about the strategist amongst their ranks. Was he a madman, too? Would he continue the assault on Berk? Hiccup had to believe that it would stop. Everything about this war stank of personal vendetta. It had always been personal for Drago – a personal mastery over dragons and men; a rancorous campaign against Hiccup for daring to fight back. Hiccup knew he had to be the one to end this.

As Hiccup and Toothless soared soundlessly toward Drago's ship, Hiccup closed his eyes and drew in a long, soothing breath. He might die tonight. So many of his friends might die tonight. He only hoped it would be worth it. If he could stop Drago, if he could protect Berk, it would be worth it. Somewhere far below, Hiccup heard the sound of dragon fire on wood, of men and women shouting. His eyes snapped open. It had begun.

"Come on, bud," Hiccup whispered to Toothless, "We just need to do this one thing. We have to get it right."

They dropped through the clouds and hovered. Hiccup watched the spiralling cyclone of armoured dragons rising from the ship and forming a barrier from outside attacks. There was weak protection from overhead attacks, but Hiccup and the others had learned the hard way about how quickly that space could be filled. They'd lost Fatface Olhouser and his Gronckle, Bonecruncher, the night Hiccup had been overconfident about the gap. He had one chance.

He watched as a blue Nadder shot out of the clouds at breakneck speed, its rider nearly undetectable in her flight suit. Hiccup bit his lip and tried to watch her as she wove through the dragons cluttering the sky. They were fast, Drago's dragons, but they were hindered by their armour. They were no match for Astrid on Stormfly. No one was save Hiccup on Toothless. He glanced down at the ship below and spotted his target. Hiccup couldn't waste any more time on Drago. He needed to take him out quickly and unexpectedly and if he wanted to do that effectively, Toothless could not use his full speed. The enemy could not hear them coming.

"Okay, bud. This is it. We need to go down fast, but not too fast. Like we practiced. As soon as you have a clear shot, we take it," Hiccup whispered, leaning his body into his dragon.

"Go," he breathed.

They fell and Hiccup was overtaken by the momentary thrill of the dive, as he always was, but his stomach turned knowing that this could all go so very wrong. They needed to be right. They needed to hit Drago. As they drew closer and closer, Hiccup knew he should give Toothless the order to shoot Drago, but he wasn't satisfied with the proverbial knife in the back. His blood burned for Drago to see him and to know that it was Hiccup who stopped him. For his father. For his tribe. For all the lives lost.

"Faster," he hissed at Toothless.

Toothless tilted his head in question, but picked up speed. The sound of an approaching Night Fury filled the air and the armoured dragons shifted their focus. But Hiccup didn't care about the dragons, not when Drago's startled face turned up, not when his eyes locked on Hiccup's. The older man smirked and held his good arm open in a welcoming motion. Hiccup scowled.

"Now, Toothless."

He could feel the strength of the plasma burst building in Toothless' throat, the scalding heat through his scales, and the inevitable release. Hiccup watched the blast hit Drago in the chest, watched his body fall to the deck of the ship, and waited for the relief to set in. It didn't. Hiccup still felt the pain of all the losses that Berk had suffered. He still felt the emptiness of the absence of his father. When he looked at the lifeless body of his foe, he felt only pity for a man who'd given in to hate.

"Let's get out of here," Hiccup said to Toothless.

But they'd waited too long and Hiccup had counted on some catastrophic enemy response to follow Drago's death. He'd been counting on confusion in their ranks. He'd been counting on a retreat or a surrender. Instead, they were surrounded by armoured dragons and human warriors. He and Toothless were dodging arrows, bolas, and charging dragons. Hiccup urged Toothless upward, looking back over his shoulder and finding him finally – the strategist.

He was a tall man, thin like Hiccup, his hands clasped calmly behind his back. It was clear to Hiccup that he'd anticipated this type of attack at some point. He'd known that Hiccup would come for Drago. Even from this distance, Hiccup could see the man's face, his eyes watching Hiccup with interest. Drago had been nothing, Hiccup realized. Drago had been a figurehead, a large, hulking reason to go to war.

"We have to take him out," he mumbled to himself, "Toothless, we have to go back!"

Toothless warbled incredulously, leaning into the turn Hiccup was forcing him into.

"It's him. He's the one we need to," Hiccup paused and thought about what Astrid would say, "eliminate."

They dove again, this time dodging projectiles and dragons, swerving with single-minded drive toward the man who stood calmly on the deck, never sparing a glance toward his dead comrade. Hiccup realized too late that the man had anticipated this, too.

"Oh no."

It was all he'd managed before the armoured Thunderdrum that appeared on his left had released its concussive blast. Hiccup recognized the weightlessness of falling without the protection of Toothless. His head ached from the Thunderdrum's blast and he couldn't move his hands quick enough to open his flight suit. Something sharp hit his face as he fell, narrowly missing his right eye as he pulled his face out of the way. An arrow, maybe? He could hear Toothless' panicked roar somewhere nearby, but he couldn't see him for the blood streaming down his face. When he looked down at the ice-dotted sea below that he was approaching at undoubtedly lethal velocity, he could only think of one thing. He squeezed his eyes shut before impact: I'm sorry, As.