A/N: Omg. This is soooo going to take more than three or four chapters. The Battle with the Green Death alone will take at least three, maybe four (hey, it's like twenty minutes of the movie), not to mention "Where's Hiccup?" and the final scene and several more "missing moments" aftermath scenes I have planned. Psych! we're not that close to being done, so don't worry, it won't be ending as soon as I thought.
Also, thank you for all your reviews. We didn't break 300, but we did reach 290, so I'm giving you the early chapter anyway. Keep reviewing as frequently as you have, and you might get another early chapter! ;)
Good lord, what have I gotten myself into?
Chapter Twenty-Six: Fighting
Stoick stood with his feet planted firmly on the deck of the ship. In the early morning light (or what little of it filtered through the fog, the water was eerily still. Regardless, he still felt as if his entire world was rocking wildly. Although he tried to distract himself by diving into battle strategies and planning, he couldn't ignore the wild grief that tore at him from the inside out.
He'd disowned Hiccup, spurred into furious action by the betrayal from his daughter—
No! He had no daughter. He had no child.
He was alone.
Hiccup is still there. She's alive, she's healthy. You can fix it. Turn around, fix it, now! A faint voice called from the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Valhallarama's voice.
Stoick, too angry and confused and lost, squashed the notion. Hiccup had betrayed him, betrayed her people. She'd clearly shown the lives of many villagers were less important than the life of one Night Fury, one of their worst enemies. How could she? The betrayal cut him deeply, more deeply than he liked to show.
Another part of him wanted to fix things. Maybe...no. He couldn't.
He wouldn't know how to begin fixing things with his—with Hiccup. Even if he wanted to, and of course he didn't. He was chief. He would tolerate no traitors.
But he knew that although he was reeling from the hurt and grief, he had still tried to protect Hiccup. If he didn't take drastic enough action against the scene she caused in the Ring, the villagers might have chosen to act on their own. While most of him disowned Hiccup because of her betrayal, some tiny part disowned her because he was still trying to protect her.
And Stoick hated himself for it. She had been nothing but trouble for years – getting into danger on a weekly basis, deliberately disobeying him, being difficult and sarcastic and indecipherable and different. He didn't understand her, didn't understand how he saw one thing and she saw the opposite. He didn't like that she was so uncooperative all the time.
But he couldn't stop loving her. And he hated it.
The rattle of chains gave Stoick a welcome distraction, for the chief was eager to take out some of the pain and anger that he couldn't cope with on someone else. It just so delightfully happened that 'someone' was that devil, the Night Fury.
If there was someone he was angrier with than Hiccup (or himself, for that matter), it was the devil Night Fury. It was the center of all his problems – it had started with Hiccup claiming she'd shot down a Fury, and ended with her betraying her village for the sake of some friendship with the devillish Fury.
"Ye'll lead us to the Nest, devil," Stoick hissed at the dragon, who fought it's bonds and chains. "And then I'll end ye. Ye'll not have another chance to destroy what I hold dear. Ye've already love me so much, and I'll avenge that," the tall, broad man promised.
The dragon, much unlike the villagers, or even most of Stoick's opponents on a battlefield, did not shrink from the venom in the cheif's voice or his threat. The beast only returned the hatred with his pupils shrunk to black slits, surrounded by poisonously green eyes. Although it's mouth was bound, to prevent it from firing any fireballs, it managed a low, dangerous hiss that rather mirrored Stoick's own angry tone.
Stoick turned away, walking back to his men as their ships slowly glided atop the water. Standing back at the wheel, he could see the devil instinctively lean one way or another. Stoick smiled grimly. Well, he'd done one thing right, bringing the trapped Fury aboard so that he and his men could finally make it through to the Nest. The fog veiled treacherous rocks and turns that the ships could have easily hit without their draconian guide.
Perhaps another hour – it was hard to judge time – slipped away before a huge shape started forming out of the mist. Instead of the near trance-like leaning the devil had been doing previously, it suddenly gave a wild jerk, thrashing as violently against its bonds as it had when it was first captured in the Kill Ring. Stoick leaned forward in anticipation. They were almost there.
"It's getting shallower!" one warrior noted quietly. His voice carried far, across the still water and quiet ships.
Yes. They were here, at the Nest.
"Throw out the anchors! Ready the boats!" Stoick called. Suddenly, the air filled with a faint rush of noise – and it wasn't just the bustle of his warriors preparing the rowboats. In the background, there was a low, faint thrum, almost sounding like an unearthly chatter of voice. Even with his acute hearing, Stoick couldn't hear it well; it was more of a vibration that carried through the rocks and mist and waters. But he knew one thing – it must be dragons. No other beast he had ever encountered would be capable of making that noise. A grim smile stretched his face.
It was time for vengeance against the dragons, for all that they had cost him. Their village had lost lives and homes, but it was more personal than even that. They'd lost him his wife, and ripped his child away from him, and Stoick would wipe out every last one of them. Maybe doing so would wipe away some of his pain.
It took less than ten minutes to prepare all of the wide, shallow rowboats. While he waited for them to be ready, he considered the Fury chained at the prow. He supposed he could kill the devil now, it had served its purpose, but something held him back. Unbidden, the image of Hiccup in the Kill Ring yesterday sprang to the forefront of his mind. She was injured, weak, and crying out for the Night Fury as if her life depended on it, as if killing the devil would kill her too. Stoick shook of the thought, and moved to the nearly ready rowboats. He needed focus on the battle ahead, he reminded himself. He could kill the Fury afterwards. After all, it was hardly a threat right now, he mused as he clambered into the first rowboat.
Stoick stayed in the bow, standing straight and mighty and fearsome as he provided his warriors with a leader they could rally behind. The moments it took to row ashore were tense, and every human in them waited with bated breath.
The boat scraped ashore, the gravel-like sand crunching underneath the worn wooden prow. Stoick leapt over the side, boots landing on the small stones, hard packed by the water that lapped at the gloomy shore.
Suddenly, the vibrations, the almost-noise that came from the mountain emerging form the mists in front of them, vanished. The world was once more eerily silent, and Stoick couldn't help the creepy feeling that the out-of-sight dragons had somehow sensed his presence.
The burly red-headed man stayed in a fighters crouch for several more moments, waiting for something...anything. But nothing happened, and the silence only continued.
Stoick relaxed from his stance, although all his senses still stayed on high alert. Devils that they were, the dragons could attack at any moment.
"Ashore, men!" the Chief called over his shoulder. Rowboat after rowboat beached itself on the rough-sanded shore. "Push off for the catapults!" he added when most of the warriors had cleared off the boats. At his order, about half of the rowboats left for the ships again, the warriors rowing them assigned to setting up and manning the catapults in battle. Stoick paced on the shore, rapidly absorbing his surroundings and assessing the soon-to-be battlefield. The gloomy mists that clung to the island refused to lighten, making what should have been a bright morning into a murky twilight. Still, it might prove to be and advantage. Should the dragons attack from above, as Stoick rightly suspected they would, he and his warriors would not be blinded by the sun.
He continued to stalk towards the sheer mountainside, eyes further evaluating the grim landscape. The ground was mostly composed of small and large rocky rubble. That was bad, too easy for anyone to fall or twist an ankle. The towering mountain was too steep, too smooth to afford any attack by scaling. As he crept closer, he saw a small crack in the mountainside, and his eyes narrowed. There, that could be the chink in the armor. He approached it at a jog, peering inside. The crack wasn't wide, maybe four of him could have fit across at once. Perhaps one dragon at a time could squeeze through the opening, but Stoick doubted the beasts ever used this entrance. Perhaps this tunnel led to a larger exit somewhere else on the mountain – the tunnel was enormous, certainly large enough to allow a horde of dragons fly through it.
He retreated about halfway back to his men before he turned, raising his voice to his battle-pitch. It was clearest at this volume, not the rumbling, low gruff he relied on when in smaller groups, and carried well even in the clamorous din of a fight.
"Arm the catapults! Aim at the crack straight ahead. We break open their Nest, and then we take them out!" he roared, flinging his arm forward in an imitation of the catapults that would soon be unleashed.
The first of the large stone projectiles crashed against the small break in the mountain. Each deafening boom filled him with a sense of retribution. He was getting even for all that the dragons had taken from him.
Stone after stone smashed against the dragon's Nest, until – finally – Stoick heard it. The barrier to the tunnel cracked and crumbled, leaving the interior exposed to his warriors.
It was time.
Stoick gave a wordless roar, charging forward and loosing his favorite spiked hammer from it's holster. He swung it in his arm as he tore forward, building up speed and force in each loop of the weapon. Suddenly, a shape appeared out of the darkness, and red scales flashed by as a Nightmare rushed out of the cavern and into the open air. Stoick was slightly surprised, and a little disappointed that he didn't get the chance to wrangle with the beast, but was quickly distracted as more fast-moving shapes materialized from the heart of the mountain. He tensed, but like the Nightmare before this new flock of dragons, all of them flew straight past him, never engaging. Worried for his men, Stoick spared a glance over his shoulder.
His warriors swung at the demons at they flew past, but the dragons stayed out of reach and ignored the armed humans. His men were as befuddled as he was. They refused to attack, and they always attacked Berk.
It was almost as if they were fleeing. But this was the dragon's Nest, what reason did dragons have to flee from it?
Confused and wary, Stoick turned back to the exposed tunnel, only to have his eyes widen as he dropped to the ground. Thousands of dragons poured out from the Nest, movements frantic and causing a sense of panic in the air. He lay low on the ground, and out of the corner of his eyes he could see the warriors in the front lines duck and crouch as well, while those further back stood gaping at the departing creatures.
A sudden sense of foreboding swamped Stoick. He waited for the tidal wave of fiery creatures to pass, ducking his head whenever a wing swung low over his head. No way of knowing if one of these dragons was a Timberjack.
Finally, the rush of wings subsided. Cautiously, he rose back into a crouch, peering into the tunnel with keen eyes. No more wings, not a single rustle came from within, and Stoick rose back up to his full height. Anxious for his men, the chief turned and rushed back to them, but was relieved to see no one bore worse than a very confused face (and for the clumsier ones, perhaps a scratch when they stumbled away from the onslaught of fleeing dragons.)
Stoick sighed in relief. No men were lost, and with bewilderment, he thought, the dragons are gone?
Although he wanted to celebrate the victory – if it could even be called that – this whole situation didn't sit well with the Chief. He'd been in far too many battles, a warrior experienced and hardened by the years...and it was never this easy with dragons.
What would make the dragons flee in terror from their own home? He knew it wasn't the mere arrival of his men.
Suddenly, it clicked in his head. Hiccup's desperate attempts to keep him from going on this expedition, they were related to this. He knew she was protesting, frantically trying to plead with him...but he couldn't remember what she had been warning him of.
Suddenly, a distant, menacing thud shook the entire island. It was followed by another, and another, and Stoick's eyes widened with panic.
"GET BACK!" he roared at the other Vikings. "GET BACK, ON YER GUARD! THIS ISN'T OVER!"
The warriors snapped to attention, rushing to retreat behind the small security their line of catapults afforded them. Stoick followed them, and Gobber rushed to his side, easily spotting the barely restrained terror on his friend's face.
"There's somethin' in there, Gob!" Stoick blurted to the blacksmith. "Something that's enough to make thousands of dragons run!"
The other Viking's eyes widened, but otherwise stayed calm. The chief was glad his friend was by his side, for despite missing two limbs, he'd rarely come across someone so level-headed and skilled in battle as Gobber was.
From within the mountain, a roar burst forth, so powerful that the shaking of the ground was worse than the painful volume of the cry.
Ahead of them, chunks started to break away from the mountainside. Stoick noted with horror that they traveled far higher up than he could have imagined, maybe a hundred times higher than the largest dragon he'd ever seen, a Timberjack that had dwarfed him.
From within, a creature like no other burst forth. The sheer power of it's movements caused the remaining barrier of rocks to explode outward, raising a blast of dust that temporarily blinded the Vikings. When the rubble cleared, Stoick gaped in terror.
Why didn't he ever listen to Hiccup?!
The beast – it was so enormous that despite the teeth and wings and scales, Stoick didn't know it could be called a dragon – had a head larger than their largest ship. Each horribly long, pointed tooth was as tall as a mast, each scale the size of Stoick. Red spikes jutted out from it's colossal, sickly gray-green body at random places. It had six eyes, three on each side of it's head, and something that looked like some gruesome twist of what could have been horns on the crown of it's head.
Also, it was furious. It's behemothic, perilously spiked tail lashed back and forth, pulverizing every rock – including the mountainside! – that barred it's path. Smoke trickled from the enormous nostrils, and it's cloudy eyes were narrowed in wrath. The Cheif had thought that dragons, especially that Night Fury, were demons.
He was wrong.
This...this Green Death was the demon, something that could have only come from Hel.
His people would be killed by this Death, their entire force wiped out in seconds. And it would be all his fault.
As the demon advanced on them, Stoick wracked his brain for a solution. Something, anything, to save his people from the horror he had unwittingly led them to.
He cringed as the Death's tail splintered a catapult into dangerously large splinters. A shard, about as long as he was tall, thick, and with a pointed end, landed by him, and suddenly he had an idea. Perhaps he could distract the Green Death.
As he hoisted the wrecked piece of catapult onto his shoulder, a hand gripped his upper arm and demanded his attention. Stoick turned to see Gobber with a grim smile, waving his hammer-attachment.
"I know what yer doin', Stoick," the blacksmith said, a fierce look in his eyes to accompany the warrior's expression on his face. "And I'll double the time ye can buy them."
"Thank ye," Stoick said, clasping the other man's good forearm with his free hand. They held each other's gazes for a moment, knowing full well they would die in a matter of moments. Hopefully, in sacrificing their own lives they could save a number of their fellows.
"OVER HERE, YE BRUTE!" Stoick hollered. Even over the screams and the crashing and the crunching, the demon heard him, swinging it's monstrous head and six evil eyes to observe the Viking chief.
"NAH, OVER HERE!" Gobber countered, chucking a large rock that hit the corner of one of the dragon's eyes. Stoick always forgot how frighteningly fantastic his friend's aim was.
While the monster swung back around to face Gobber, Stoick hurled the wooden spike still propped of his shoulder. It hit the underside of the beast's neck, splintering on impact. Stoick noted with satisfaction that some of it was embedded in the thinner scales, and was that a little bit of blood seeping out around the wood?
Perhaps his aim wasn't anything to sneer at either.
His momentary victory was quickly forgotten and the demon let out a fearsome roar, rearing back and then thundering back to the ground, the impact of it's feet nearly tossing Stoick flat on the ground. Hurt and angry, it threw it's head back and forth, spewing out a mountain of fire.
Horrorstruck, Stoick watched as it engulfed their fleet, the only hope his people had of escape. He would not give up, he would go down fighting, but hope rushed from his veins in a flood of despair.
And then a small explosion reverberated around them, and he looked up quickly. This time, however, it didn't come from the Green Death.
Was there something even worse about to expose itself?
And then the fire cleared, and four normal-sized dragons swooped around the Death. Squinting, Stoick could just make out figures – human figures – on the dragons' backs.
There were a couple of whoops of joy, and then a voice that he recognized.
"Look at me! Look, we're riding dragons!" his nephew Snotlout shouted. He certainly took after his father and Stoick's side of the family, voice carrying easily over the clamor of battle.
Straining his eyes, he saw the reckless Thorston twins astride a Zippleback, one twin for each head, and the quiet but powerfully-built Fishlegs holding onto a Gronkle. Snot was on the back of a Nightmare, looking both astonished at the fact that he was actually riding a dragon and yet entirely pleased with himself. On the final dragon, he spotted the Hofferson boy, and (his heart leapt and flipped over, Stoick couldn't tell whether from happiness or pride or worry) Hiccup.
"Snot, Ruff, Tuff, Fish, distract the Queen!" she called out, still holding on to Astren as she looked over her shoulder at the others. The three dragons separated from the blonde boy's Nadder.
"Is that...is that?" Stoick whispered hoarsely as he watched the other teams obey his daughter's command.
"Seems that I recall another Viking being just as stubborn as Hiccup is, back when he was just a boy," Gobber nudged the thunderstruck father, who had eyes only for his child. Her orders, her peers distracted the Green Death, allowing Stoick to marvel at the moment.
His Hiccup, frail and tiny as she was, was trying to save them. She was trying to save them even though they'd scorned her, ostracized her, and even though her father had disowned her.
And she'd never been in more danger. Stoick knew, he felt it in his bones, that she was here to take on that demon. He didn't have the slightest idea how she planned on doing it, but that didn't matter to him.
He'd never felt more proud of Hiccup – not even when she was chosen to fight the Nightmare – or realized just how much he loved her, how very precious she was to him, until this moment. How terrible, to realize just how much potential she had, and how much it would destroy him if he lost her, at this very moment, when was almost certainly going to die.
He wanted to call out to her, beg her to go home and stay alive, but the words stuck in his throat as the corners of his vision swam with moisture. All he could do was watch as his baby girl swooped over the burning ships, searching for something as if her life depended on it.
A/N: So, I didn't mean for this to turn out all from Stoick's point of view, but he does undergo a major change here, and I needed the space to fully explain and show it. First of all, his animosity for dragons begins to wane in the face of the Green Death, and he finally realizes how much Hiccup means to him, and how wrong and misguided a father he'd been. See? He's not a bad person, just a confused and conflicted single father who struggles...a lot. I hope I've changed you're view on Stoick for the better, and would greatly appreciate feedback about how realistic this change in him comes across. I think it works, but hey, you're the reader! You know how you view things far better than I could ever guess. Also, thanks for all the reviews! Keep it up, please, and you may just be rewarded a second time ;)