First off, I want to thank everyone for their passion for this story and their patience for this new chapter.
It's unusual for me to start off with an author's note at the beginning of the chapter (or actually, I think I used to do it but then shifted gears when I did my Skylanders fanfic ). I do want to apologize for not leaving any sort of word as to what happened during my long break. I finished my first fanfic around the middle of last year then intended to take maybe just a month of break and get back to it. Then classes started up and they were a little more difficult than anticipated, plus I enrolled in a contest of sorts for my degree. So, yeah, I had to devote all my time to that. But, you guys should have been given a heads up, and I'm sorry for that.
I did plan on making this my last post of 2019, but got tired due to work and New Years on top of everything. But hey, the first post of 2020 isn't bad either.
Another thing that factored in was the state of things regarding the franchise. With the third film out, the franchise is done, DreamWorks has closed the book on this epic tale. and updates and activity across fansites has been slower in general. I don't know what is going to happen with this franchise and its fandom sort of branching off and moving on, and Rescue Riders doesn't seem like it's going to keep people active enough, being a kids' show. Nonetheless, I will put the work in to at least finish this fic. More on this at the end of the chapter.
All rights to Httyd belong to Cressida Cowell and DreamWorks. All OCs and original story belong to NightShade248.
"Lads, we have much to discuss." Spitelout's muck-ladled voice dripped through his crooked teeth in the sincerest grin a Jorgenson could give. Or at least that's how a dark, torch-lit Great Hall behind closed doors where neither sunlight nor truth could peek through.
Even now, as opposed to weeks ago, no one guessed otherwise.
"Do we now, Spitelout?" Spoke a burly man with bits of meat caught in his black beard across the table.
"What, did you think I sent summons to your tribes all the way across the Archipelago fer a lunch invite!?"
"Might 'ave been the only way you could get us to come." He chortled taking a chomp out of his leg of mutton.
The alternate colors, cut of chain mail and small trails of furs from smaller animals showed he was not a man of Berk. Neither were any of the surrounding men, offered what little the Hooligan Tribe could spare of their rations and chewing greedily while staring beadily beneath their helmets. Though Berk was on the brink of collapse, there was still a range of meats and mead that could encompass the whole of their once plentiful forests and shores. Some foods had gone rancid with the stench of weeks' worth of death, but it was still likely better than these men had eaten in their lives.
Surrounding Berk and many of the greater tribes were lesser islands with infertile lands and the odd population. Some joined larger tribes while others waited for Hel's siren call. The common folk thought little of when their ships sailed to their shores, just more chaotic half-truths and secrets waiting in the shadows in the world turned upside-down. No secret that most only came for the free food and word of Spitelout's grand ideas.
"An' I've got proposals fer ye, now that I've got ya here." Spitelout slammed his palms and leveled with the man across from him. "Considerin' ye can spare the meat a few seconds."
"Proposals!" Another Viking guffawed, nearly bowling over and spilling his mead on the table. "Maybe ye haven't noticed, but yer tribe's hardly in any position ta be makin' treaties. At this point, ye'd practically be stealin!"
"So consider this a sign of generosity, that I'd be lettin' you all in on what Berk could take for itself. What if I told you of a way we could all make out like bandits, only to reign as kings in the end?"
The men laughed and continued to feed, like swine nearly devouring the plates their meals sat on. Though their shadows danced across the hall by the shifting flame, it exposed the tightening of their grips on their mugs and the glint of steel in their gazes. Much separated Spitelout from these men, from gold to bounty to the size and influence of their islands and everyone at that table knew it.
"We'd call ya daft and take our mead ta go," remarked a blond Viking. "Us chiefs of the lesser tribes know better than ta mess in the dealings of you and yers."
"So then consider how the tribe of Draak suddenly joined into the ranks of us and ours." Spitelout took a plate of a small speck of chicken that escaped the hungry Vikings grasp. It settled nicely next to the larger helpings of trout, sea bass and fruits. The scent of the foods mingled into one another. "They were not much different, weren't they?"
"Aye," the black-haired Viking chief spoke. "Word's traveled fast yer heir went an claimed it fer his own."
"Has it struck ye, how one runt that should have been fed to the sharks the day he was birthed, did that?"
"As was said, we know better."
"Dragons."
All that mead and meat was 'graciously returned' in plenty to the table.
The chieftains coughed and spluttered. "Dragons!? How's one runt manage to get dragons on his side?"
"That's Loki's riddle, isn't it?" Spitelout took his own cup of mead and reached to devour the chicken. "But it's nae the answer to that to be found more than it's the question that follows."
"Yer daft!" One red-haired man with a smaller beard cried. "There's not a soul that doesn't know of what happened the day that man came ta Berk's hall. Sever chiefs went in, only one came out."
"And that chief is a fool for not seeing the runes on the wall!" Spitelout cried. "Who's ta say history won't repeat!?"
A seat screeched along the stone, its echo silencing word and thought. The black-haired chief rose. "We know better, Spitelout. You seek to shepherd lambs to a cliffside with whatever thoughts stir in your head. The news of dragons and yer heir raising Draak is new to us, but what isn't is the Jorgenson line of thought when it comes to power."
"Aye," the blond chieftain stood beside him. "It entices you now as it did then. Best we take our meals to go after all."
"Go right ahead, then." Spitelout offered.
"Wha?"
"If you think this new Dragon Conqueror, this… warlord-to-be, who's already formed hostile relations with Berk will leave ya be, then off with ye. Enjoy the last meal you may have in your lives."
"Why not?" The red-haired chief spoke. "Hostile relations with Berk sound more like a 'you' problem."
"Listen to you lads, just as afraid of hardship as that lad was. He ran to the beasts as a result and now he'll be leadin' an airborne army to yer shores." Spitelout reached for the mutton bone and tore into its flesh. The chiefs were made to watch as his teeth looked like fangs soaked in juices. He swallowed and wiped his meaty fingers across his mouth with an almost bloody grin in place. "Be honest, wouldn't you rather be on the end that's lookin' down on someone else?"
"Yer proposin' we take the dragons fer ourselves." The black-haired chief asked. "How do we wrech 'em away from the lad? Ask nicel? Feed 'em our own stocks they tend ta take fer themselves?"
"Hiccup's way or Drago's way, whatever's effective. The key is gettin' the lad and Draak outta the way." Spitelout raised his mead to them beckoning to the table once more. "Why not let this one meal be the breakin' of bread, the start o' somethin' new?"
"Berk gets dragons, we get dragons. Another question comes up there… who's the next to fall?"
"I say we all rise… together." The mead went to his lips and down his throat. The Jorgenson head licked like it was victory itself. "What say you?"
It's as if the horrific scene came as soon as they blinked.
"A-Alvis!" Hiccup and Alta cried. "How… when…!"
The boy wormed through his captor's meaty arm grasping at the flesh. "Daddy, help!"
"Yuck." Snotlout cackled. "You hear that, daddy? Help!"
Everyone gaped with horror and disgust tangible, while the ocean itself raged against the rock. Not since the dark early days of the Viking Archipelago were there those who stooped so low as to target children, and the ones who did it today usually ended up on Outcast Island where they belonged. Every man and woman of Draak's hands gravitated towards their weapon handles. Dragons' maws went light with fire. The sweat on Hiccup's brow rippled down his face, contorted and clenched.
Astrid, out of breath and cradling her wounded limbs, stared with just the same look. "Snotlout… of all the idiotic and lowdown things you have ever done, this proves you have a death wish."
"You have two seconds to let my son go." Hiccup growled in a low voice. His dragon followed suit.
However, the ex-chief of Berk kept that arrogant look of control. "Sticking to the tough guy act, huh. I think we all know it doesn't suit you. Besides, do you even get how a hostage situation works?"
"You clearly don't with about a hundred dragons and armed Vikings around you on all sides!"
"And we're not thinking twice about having them roast you!" Ruoy called from the edge of the gathering drawing his sword. At his cue, the Bone Heads raised their weapons, the dragons opening their maws for flames to graze their lips. Toothless and Bois near leapt at Snotlout; even Stoick took a step, only for Gobber to pull him back. Even Snotlout would have to see his doom if that blade dug even half an inch into the dragon chief's son's neck.
"So a slit throat and a charred corpse!" The Jorgenson boy laughed. "Nice to know you've picked your kid's death for him, Useless!"
"Daddy! Mommy! I'm scared!" Alvis spoke again, kicking to break free. Snotlout's limited patience showed and the blade pressed his skin. Hiccup's scowl deepened at the first drop of blood that oozed down. Alta was heard gasping.
"Knock it off, Snotlout! Just tell me what you want!"
"Now you're getting it, Useless. But hmm… what I want…" He hummed while keeping the blade pressed. Alvis gasps could barely be separated from his sobs. It was nothing short of torture and the swine knew it. "Just give me a minute, I wanna enjoy reliving my glory days."
"Snotlout, this is madness and treason!" Stoick's tone and hand could barely be controlled." We did not come here to threaten!"
"Says you, old man! This loser had the nerve to beat my girl in a race, and more important, make me look like a fool. When you take all that in, I'm thinking one dragon won't be enough to cover the damage." The smirk on Snotlout's face went crazed as he turned to him. "So I figure, you give me every last dragon you've got on this sad rock, and if I'm feeling generous, I might make you the official boot licker to boot! Get it?"
"I actually don't. But I can tell you that's a real position." Tuffnut commented oblivious.
"Oh, yeah," chimed Ruffnut. "Weren't you Uncle Gorstaag's official boot licker for a month or something?"
"No way would I ever-" Hiccup stopped short as his friend's head brushed his palm. Toothless looked at him and back to Alvis and gave a confident snort.
"Toothless…? You can't be-"
There was no way Toothless would consider giving himself up to Snotlout to live out his days as a whipping dragon, Hiccup thought. But as he looked at his friend again, the young chief saw it was the same look that every citizen of Draak, skin and scale alike was giving him. Some still waited to taste the screams of the villain before them, but others simply looked lost. Even nature silenced and the sun aimed its rays directly onto him. There was nothing but the thunder of his heart beat and breaths slowed to a crawl.
Despite his father's terrible work as a father, he still exemplified what a Viking chief needed to be. Someone who knew how to walk the line between war and mercy, strength and compassion. He had seen it in his own journeys and as he fought his own battles, like it was Odin's test of one who would bear the mantle. A choice fell to him that would affect the future of the tribe one way or another.
Why did it come to this? Sacrificing either his child or his best friend, giving up his dreams either way? All he could do was bite his lip and clench his fists at the crossroads. This was all his fault. He had invited a clear threat, someone who couldn't be trusted. Now his loved ones were paying.
No doubt about it. He had to be the worst chief ever.
"Tick-tock, Hiccup." Alvis's scream brought him back. "Your kid may not live to see this afternoon if my hand slips any more." Snotlout's knife came in deeper.
Alta charged out. "Hiccup do something! This lunatic's going to-"
"Hiccup, do not give in!" Hairke called. "That is what this monster wants!"
"I always get what I want from you, USELESS! Give me the dragons!"
What to do! Hiccup yelled all his anger out.
A lone chirp called back.
"AAAAAHHH!"
A flash of green darted from nowhere and crashed onto Snotlout's face. The knife vanished, and Alvis plopped like a sack to the ground. Before anyone could reason it, the hostage-taker was clenching at a tiny Terror at his face, chomping and yanking at his nose and lawing at his face.
"Fafnir!?"
"Get 'em Fafnir!" The boy cheered in between coughs.
"Alvis, run! Come over here!" He heeded his mother's call as soon as Snotlout tried to grab him again.
"Alright, let's rain the pain down on this jerk!" Ot called spinning his daggers. The other riders and their dragons were ready to move in with intent to kill on the rise.
"No!" Hiccup called with a hand out. "He's ours! Toothless!"
The Night Fury clawed fissure and gave a roar that near tore apart the earth. Fafnir turned and heeded his call retreating to his boy's side. Before Snotlout could react, he came face to face with the unholy offspring of lightning and death's maw as he pounded him into a small crater.
Burning gas leaked from Toothless's maw and the heat seeped through Hiccup's leather as he marched to his fallen cousin. Hair a mess and bloodied scratches all over his mug, a fresh pall came to Snotlout as Hiccup grabbed him by the scruff. He slammed his back into the wall of a nearby hut, making sure Snotlout could see nothing else but the force of rage like the Red Death's flame in him.
"You scum… attacking me is one thing but going after my son! Is there anything you won't do for power?" Hiccup seethed. His breaths came hard next to Snotlout's shortness, near hyperventilation. He couldn't bear to look at what was his own mistake or wondered in his gut if he could control himself if he looked any longer. "His breaths oHis
Berk has changed, and so have all of you. You're even worse than you were back then!"
He tossed the scumbag to the floor. The others watched him walk away, heaving relentlessly to take control back.
"Hiccup…" Stoick murmured.
"W-What are you gonna do?" Snotlout asked, a waver in his tone, with low volume suggesting he was still looking at the dirt. "You aren't gonna feed me to your dragon or throw me off the cliff?"
"Sounds like you've picked out your own death." The dragon chief took in as long a breath as his could and exhaled.
"But I'm not like you… Get on your boat right now and go."
"Hiccup, Snotlout did this on his own!" Astrid marched to the front of the group of visitors. She winced as her bad arm made contact with Fishlegs who nursed her broken form. "We had nothing to do with any of this! Please believe us!"
"Astrid is right." Stoick spoke next. "Hiccup, do not make your people victims in this."
"You're the ones who have made my people victims since the moment you set foot on this island. But no more. You will return to your ship and to your island. Whatever agreement we might have had is off." There was no emotion in his tone, no warmth from either love or hate. Just the visage of a chief whose people had been threatened; a straight back and not a trace of mercy for his enemies. "Berk will be given nothing for this assault. No retaliation, no food, no supplies, no thought whatsoever."
"Son, do not do this to us!"
He whipped his face to them, steeled like an unbreakable armor. "And if anyone of or associated with the Hooligan Tribe dares to set foot on this island again, it will be considered a declaration of war. I'm not going to be the one to spill blood first, no matter how much you deserve it."
"No, no this isn't fair! It's not fair!"
"You can't do this! Listen to me!"
"Get them off the island. I never want to see them again."
The Bone Heads' stronger warriors took them by their arms and began the solemn hike to their shores. With this final severance of the past, Hiccup marched away in silence to wherever he could be alone and find peace. He should have been making sure his son was safe and embracing his family, and he would, but he just needed the time.
Or that's what he intended, when a dark chuckle came out of nowhere.
Alta stared at him keeping Alvis close. "What's so funny, Chief Snotlout?"
"A declaration of war." Hairke and Logo took him by the sides, taking no chances. Snotlout just stared back at Hiccup, still sporting a grin like he'd won that war. "You already made it yourself when you hogged all the dragons, all the power… But that's all about to change."
A horn bellowed from across the water.
"What is that?" Hairke asked. All followed his lead turning to the sound.
"Niart, Ot, let's get a look." Nogard called.
Like a well-trained unit they were on their dragons and airborne. Nogard pulled his spyglass and zoomed on the horizon. Hiccup couldn't see what they saw then but saw the Whispering Death rider's arm go slack above. He reached for his own spyglass and looked.
And the reason became clear. Hiccup shuddered, eyes widened.
Soon others were looking out and gasping as the sight became clear. Large ships peeked out from the edge of the water. They started in twos then multiplied, legions of wood arks peeking from a watery ground into a sizeable fleet. The spyglass in the young chief's hands dropped to his feet. Snotlout laughed seeing his grim and shaken look.
"That's right. It's already starting. I gave my girl a chance to get her win not just because I'm caring, but it was also a good distraction. My dad rallied all the lesser tribes into a new army." Snotlout sneered.
"Like I said. I always get what I want."
Okay, so one cliffhanger right into another. But hey, at least Alvis is okay for now.
Again, I want to thank everyone for sticking around thus far. I know, putting it lightly – as lightly as possible, that his fic was a hot mess and I am not the best writer. Seriously, I looked back at my previous work on this story and… yikes.
But I wanted to address again how things have been moving lately. I don't know how things are going to play out, or what the direction is for HTTYD moving forward as far as Deblois and DreamWorks are concerned. Everything is sort of ending, and I know Dean said spinoffs are always a possibility, or we can wait for what might be a reboot of HTTYD 10 years down the road or something, but everybody's going to be doing their things until then. Nothing lasts forever, you know.
I plan to wrap this story up in at least a few more chapters. Don't worry, though, I won't give it some super abrupt ending like the original version of this fic. But I wondered if people would be willing to stick around for another HTTYD fanfic I had in mind. I don't know if I'm going to do it, since I've been caught between it and ideas for my first original work. It would be my attempt at a modern-day HTTYD with dragon racing as the focal point. I just figured I would want to do something proper in terms of a HTTYD story, where people aren't OOC and there's a coherent plot. But again, I don't know if it will come to that, for several reasons.
Anyway, thanks for sticking with it and reading this newest chapter. Stick around for how things wind down to the end.
As always, review, favorite, follow! Until next time!