Upon the horizon, leaping over the waves toward the smoke of battle, rode the strange fleet. It flew an outlandish flag- a blue squarish design on a forest green background. The fleet grew in size, speeding toward the retreating Scarhead ships and the fighting remains of the Berserkers. Hundreds of strange horns blew a battle cry never before heard in the land of the Viking. Across the battlefield, the faltering Vikings and the victorious Huscarls watched in wonder. Then, as the full fleet approached, an outlandish, deadly sound flew over the waves and onto the beach, stopping every fight and turning every head.
Dreadlac's eyes grew wide. The sound of Irish battle pipes was something he thought he had destroyed long ago. Then, as the sight grew clearer, the decks of the boats where seen to be crowded with thousands of shirtless, tattooed warriors, all with flashing green eyes, and spears raised to the sky. As one, the Irish army began their chant, voices flowing in tune to the trumpets and pipes- a beautiful and frightening melody of death. Thousands of bloodthirsty voices rose in a declaration of war, each warrior eager to revenge Ireland's defeat at the hands of Dreadlac and restore their tribes' honor.
They were answered with the thunder of hundreds of cheering Vikings and dragons, all who raised their weapons to the sky in joyful greeting. Dreadlac roared his frustration at the approaching fleet, his still-sizable army dissolving in panic. He ripped his head around to the squirming creature underneath his boot, his rage at his imminent defeat echoing in his eyes.
Freya, despite the pain, had almost begun to laugh in happiness at the beautiful sight of the Irishmen approaching, but Dreadlac's glare silenced her. He slowly raised his ax above his head, her death written in his face. She slowly stopped struggling and stared up, finally excepting the fact that she was about to die. She closed her eyes, another tear staining her cheek. Her thoughts first flew to her children, who she'd been with for only a short week. I'm sorry, she thought. I'm so sorry I'll never be able to watch you two grow. I'm sorry your mother will never be there for you. I just hope you forgive me for doing this. And Gunnar, I hope you remember: there's no other place I'd rather be. Goodbye, my love. I'll see you in Valhalla.
She heard the sound of the ax whistling downward and calmly braced herself. But instead of getting hit, she heard the metallic clang of metal on metal. She opened her eyes to find herself staring straight at a sword blade, quivering from the ax's impact but holding strong. Then she recognized the careful engraving on the blade- it was Dragonfang.
/
The sounds of battle echoed faintly in Gunnar's head. It warbled and shook, almost dancing away as he tried to focus on it. Suddenly, he heard a sound. Something that he hadn't heard in years and yet still stirred him to the depths of his soul. Irish battle pipes. The music seemed to be a lifeline, pulling him back toward conscience. He opened his eyes and the sounds became crystal clear. The ring of swords, roar of dragons, the rumble in the ground as thousands of feet pounded it, the groaning of Astrid lying next to him, the- wait, Astrid? He squinted, and the view became clear. Astrid was lying on the ground next to him, groaning in pain as she held her head. What was Astrid doing here? If she was here… "Freya" he mumbled. He struggled over, head swinging wozzily side to side trying to find her. He saw her riderless dragon fighting a ring of spearmen a good distance away. He saw Stormfly, a net snagged on her horns, blasting Raiders near Flashbang, oblivious to her rider's pain.
Then he spotted her. Dreadlac loomed over Freya, temporarily distracted by the Irish fleet approaching. He could see her writhe in pain, as his heavy boot slowly ground her into the dirt.
Something deep within him drove him up. Made his numb arm grab Dragonfang, and throw his helmet and mask away. Seemed to force his headache and confusion into a closet in the back of his head and drive him forward. A determined grimace laced his face as he staggered up and lurched toward the two. His steps gained in strength as he saw Dreadlac turn his enraged attention toward Freya. Nuh-uh. That wasn't happening. Not on his watch.
/
Dreadlac couldn't believe his eyes. How in the world did the damn Irish get here? They weren't even supposed to have enough people for a mere regiment of warriors- let alone an entire army! And who's ships where those? How? His mind went blank with rage as he realized that, in the end, the Butcher had outmaneuvered him. He slowly turned his head toward the Butcher's woman, and he could see her despair at his glance. It gave him a little bit of pleasure, but not enough to counter his rage. He raised his ax, wanting to see her blood splatter over his boot and the ground, wanting to see the Butcher's face when he awoke and realized what had happened.
He swung. But the blade caught on something. His eyes widened in shock. Gunnar stood there, for the first time helmetless and maskless, holding Dragonfang up and straining against the force of the blow. The thin sword hovering mere inches from the startled woman's face. The Irishman glanced at his surprised opponent, his face contorted with effort, and snarled at him. "Oh, ho-ho-ho, no you don't."
Ripping his blade over, he kicked Dreadlac back with full-on breaching kick, sending the monster hurling backwards. He glanced behind him, eyes asking whether or not she was ok. She gave him a confident nod, and he charged after the bloody beast that was scrambling up a couple yards away. She painfully propped herself up and stared after him. "Go get him." She whispered.
As Gunnar ran, he returned Dragonfang to his back in one fluid motion. He knew that the sword wouldn't bite: the only way to hurt the monster would be with blunt force. And he saw just the weapon to do it with. Dreadlac stood up from the blow and saw Gunnar, seemingly weaponless, charging at him. He swung his ax at Gunnar like a baseball bat, attempting to behead the enraging bug that refused to die. Gunnar slid under the blow leaning back on his knees, smashing his fist into Dreadlac's right kidney as he passed. The big man grunted from the impact and swung around, brandishing his remaining ax ferociously. He turned to find that Gunnar had slid past and grabbed a sturdy ax handle, wielding it and a broken spear shaft of similar size as a pair of batons.
The two of them collided, Dreadlac swinging in wild, powerful arcs like an infuriated boar. Gunnar was up in close with the monster, landing three or four blows between every swing Dreadlac would try to land. Every impact by the sturdy batons landed with a solid whack- every blow eliciting a grunt of pain. The battle seemed to be almost stuck in a rhythm for seconds of eternity: Swing-dodge-thump-thump-thump, Swing-duck-thump-thump-thump, Swing-weave-thump-thump-thump. Each blow targeted a weak spot- Dreadlac's face, kidneys, wounded arm, groin- anywhere that the monster's muscle and fat didn't serve as a shock absorber.
Dreadlac was getting angrier and angrier, each blow by the whirling batons feeling like a bee sting- alone, easily ignorable. But combined- a level of infuriating pain. He swung his ax and fist wilder and harder, desperate to land a blow on his opponent. Gunnar's brow was furrowed in calm concentration, landing his blows with surgical precision. Suddenly, an opening. Dreadlac swung his ax low, so hard that when it didn't connect, he hurled himself forward onto his hands. Gunnar saw the blow coming from a mile away- when it came he lept over the blade and brought his spear shaft down onto the snapped arrow still embedded in Dreadlac's back- hard enough to shatter both the spear and arrow.
Dreadlac roared in pain as the six inches of arrow disappeared deep into his shoulder. Pushing off with his hands and feet he hurled his full mass into the air (and Gunnar), knocking the Irishman away with incredible force. The landed close to each other, Dreadlac immediately launching a strike with enough force to have come from orbit. Gunnar rolled and lept to his feet, ax haft forward. He looked down at the weapon. All that was left was the lower eight inches, the rest a pile of shattered splinters underneath Dreadlac's body. He looked up in time to see that Dreadlac had moved to his feet and was swinging in powerful horizontal stroke at his head, clearly to be followed with another vertical blow.
Dropping his head, he had Dragonfang out in a flash of red steel- just in time to catch Dreadlac's ax as it came whistling downward. The force of the impact drove Gunnar to one knee, but his sword held strong, the well-designed blade proving up to the task. Dreadlac left his ax there and leaned his weight upon it, seeking to crush Gunnar where he stood.
At first Dragonfang held, but ten seconds into the pushing battle the blade was quivering as Dreadlac began to outmatch the pinned Irishman in the competition of strength. Dreadlac had his full mass behind the ax- the complete might of his all of his supernatural fury being put into the contest.
At first Dragonfang faltered and fell back an inch… and then another. Panic appeared in the soldier's eyes as his brain assessed the situation without finding a clear way out. A cry suddenly came from his left- he turned his head to see the helpless Freya, still clasping her injured midsection, staring at them with horror in her eyes. The two made eye contact, the shared panic evident. Time seemed to slow- Gunnar knew that if he fell, Freya was doomed. His brain raced to New Berk- he could see his twins, sleeping peacefully in their cribs, Valka watching them as she paced worriedly. If he fell…
He turned his attention back to the vicious, bloody snarl hovering above his sweating face. He gritted his teeth. "Not… today." A new strength unlike anything Gunnar had ever felt before coursed through his veins, and he started pushing his blade back upwards toward Dreadlac's neck, roaring in extreme exertion. Dreadlac strained with all of his effort against the force, but he could not stop the movement as his ax got pushed slowly backwards. The contest had changed- it was no longer a match of strength and of rage- but of will.
The wrath disappeared from Dreadlac's eyes and he stared at Gunnar, easily half his size, in amazement and confusion. Gunnar didn't have any hate in his eyes at all, just plain and simple concentration and determination as he stood up from his kneeling position, still applying an overwhelming force to his blade. Dreadlac couldn't understand it. He was pushing against the Irishman with all of his might, weight, and fury, but to no avail.
Then, in a lightning flash of movement, Gunnar swept Dreadlac's leg out from underneath him, sending both crashing to the ground. Gunnar was now kneeling on top of Dreadlac, pushing his blade downward onto his neck. Dreadlac's ax fell to the ground, and he grasped the blade with both of his hands, fighting for his life- real fear echoed in his eyes. All of his previous confidence was gone. His right hand started groping wildly for a weapon next to him, anything, as the Irishman on top of him continued moving his sword inexorably downward.
The hairs on his huge black beard where starting to snap at Dragonfang's slow advance when he felt his hand grasp something. Gripping the blade firmly, he swung it up and buried it in Gunnar's side, ripping through the leather and chainmail and biting deep into flesh.
/
Freya gaped in utter amazement as she saw Gunnar begin really pushing back. She couldn't understand what had changed after their wordless exchange. She saw him pull his favorite take down move, pressing down on his sword with incredible force. Dreadlac was struggling, legs writhing as he began groping on the ground next them. She gritted her teeth and began dragging herself, ribs screaming in protest, toward the still wrestling pair. She suddenly realized what Dreadlac was trying to do- but before she could yell a warning Dreadlac had grabbed Gunnar's broken knife and buried it in his side. The Irishman screamed in pain, seeming to crumple forward slightly from the impact.
"Gunnar!" Freya cried. He was still pushing downward, but his strength was waning. She reached behind her and grabbed the large knife that every Viking carried with them. As her husband still strained with Dreadlac she dragged herself up next to them, snarled, then buried it in the massive body next to her, ripping the blade downward with all of her strength to create as much of a gash as possible.
Dreadlac's face went gray. Despite the fact that Dragonfang had stopped on his throat, his protective spell still in effect, the Viking's blade in his side had bitten deep. Very deep. So deep he could feel his life leaking out of the enormous tear in his gut. Gunnar could see that something had changed. Pushing through the pain of the shattered knife in his side, he summoned the absolute last of his reserves of strength- pressed down with everything he had left in his body. Suddenly, through the ugly coating of blood covering his face, Dreadlac's eyes went wide. Dragonfang was biting. Then, in a flash, the Gronckle-iron sword sliced through the monstrous man's neck in one fell swoop, his body going limp all at once.
The sudden give caught Gunnar off guard, almost sending him tumbling forward. He stared in amazement at his sword, and the head on the ground. He had done it. Dreadlac was dead. Dreadlac was dead! He reached down and snatched the horrible-looking lump off of the ground and staggered to his feet. Lifting the trophy high in the air, he roared in utter triumph, wounded but victorious. All around him, Vikings, Irishmen, and Dreadlacians stared at what was in his hand in wonder.
He stood there for what seemed like eternity, watching the chaos around him. Dragons swooping, Irishman storming ashore, Vikings and Huscarls fighting. Then his adrenaline left his body in a flush. He shakily fell first to his knees, then his back, feeling so utterly drained that he didn't think he could even lift his fingers. He saw Freya stumble over to him, hand worriedly pressing to his side to staunch the flow of blood trickling out of his stained armor. He turned to her, clutching her dirty forearm as if it was a lifeline- gasping in pain and total exhaustion. His next words were almost a whisper.
"Are you- are you ok? Did he hurt you?"
She shook her head and smiled unsteadily through her tears. "Just a couple broken ribs and a frayed nervous system from, you know, both of us almost dying. Nothing I can't get over. W-what about you?"
He grunted as he shifted, gingerly feeling the condition of his semi-crushed throat. His next words were raspy, so much so it hurt Freya's throat just to hear them. "Well, I have an arrow in the back of my left leg. No idea how, but I can feel it now. Something's stuck in my side, and my throat hurts like hell. Other than that, I'm fine." He saw her worriedly glance down at the object still lodged in the side of his cuirass. "Don't worry about that, whatever that is didn't hit anything (mmmmgrph) vital. The blade caught on a rib going in." He grasped as she touched it. "It is, in fact, still caught on my rib."
They stayed there for a little bit, holding each other as the final slaughter commenced. Dreadlacians fled for their lives away from the beaches as agile Irishmen mercilessly pursued, swords flashing, javelins flying, and slings twirling. Freya laughed a little bit and glanced down guiltily. "I feel really bad." He mumbled something questioningly.
"The knife that he stabbed you with. Its uh… it's the knife I gave you for our betrothal gift."
He shifted again and yanked it out, slamming his hand on his side with a small cry of pain. Freya immediately put her hand on his and almost clucked disapprovingly. He looked at the blade curiously through the haze trying to drown his eyeballs. "Huh… Actually though," he groaned as he moved his arm back. "I feel bad for breaking it on something as stupid as an eyeball."
He could feel her head tilt slightly in curiosity. He just closed his eyes in fatigue. "I'll- I'll tell you about it later."
She nodded. "Fair enough. But Gunnar- what happened? How did you defeat him? It looked like he was about to crush you." A slight smile appeared on his grimy and scratched face. "Mmm. I just had to remind myself what the key difference between me and him was." He cracked an eye at her, as traces of his old tender glance showed through his weary expression. "Motivation. There isn't anyone I can't defeat when I'm protecting you." His other eye opened and he looked at her teasingly. "Didn't I already tell you that though?"
A little laugh burst through her watery eyes as she gave him a gentle kiss on his forehead. "You sweet talker. Yes, you did. Last night, in fact. Man, that seemed like a long time ago."
A voice came from above them. "Are you two all right?" Freya looked up to see her mother gingerly holding her head, a little bleary looking but otherwise alright. The armored brunette nodded quietly. "Yes. We're alright." Astrid smiled. "That's my girl." She glanced down at Gunnar, laying there as still as a statue in Freya's arms, eyes closed. "You sure about him?"
Gunnar wearily opened an eye. "We should really by asking whether or not you're all right. You were out like a light when I (mgrph) woke up. What happened to you?"
Astrid shrugged. "No idea. I was checking on you and something wacked me on the head. I think Freya saw what it was, though." Freya shuddered a bit. "I don't want to talk about it right now." Most of the battle had moved on farther into the valley, leaving the beach relatively quiet. A loud cry echoed from above them. Toothless, followed by a squawking Shock, came barreling out of the sky and landed with a slam next to the little group. Hiccup leapt off of his dragon and ran up toward them, flustered as normal. But before he could say anything though, he froze and gaped at the massive headless body laying nearby.
It was also right about then that he realized that the hundreds of fresh troops running down the remaining Dreadlacians weren't Vikings, and that a brand-new fleet was off-loading more. He slowly turned to his wife with a glum face on. "I missed something, didn't I?"
Astrid nodded. Gunnar cracked opened eye with a weak "Ya think?"
Freya looked up from her kneeling position next to Gunnar and glared at her father, anger echoing in her eyes. "Oh, hey dad, nice of you to show up. Where in the archipelago did you think you were going when you left?! Almost all of the wild dragons went with you and we were all but defenseless back here! I was literally half an inch away from dying!"
Hiccup rubbed his face tiredly and took off his helmet. Astrid walked up and put her arm around his waist as she looked at him quizzingly.
He reached behind him and gave Toothless a scratch as the dragon worriedly sniffed at the pair on the ground. "Baby, I didn't mean to leave. Apparently, Dreadlac found Dragon's Edge and had a fleet assaulting it. Toothless heard about it and sent his fastest dragons (i.e, most of them) to go help - just in time as it turns out. They had almost broken through the last line of defense."
Gunnar's eyes flew open and he stared at his chief in surprise. "You mean to say that they didn't actually get to the civilians?!"
Hiccup shook his head. "Nope. Dragon's edge is a tough nut to crack, especially when it's manned. You know all of the warriors who we thought were too old for our campaign? They were quite happy to have a go at the people who burned down their ancestral homes."
He gave his wife a grin. "Speaking of which, I got quite a few compliments on your ballista network left over from our adventure days- they apparently proved key to the island's defense."
Astrid almost purred with pleasure. "Well, if you happen to meet them again, tell them thank you for the compliment." She turned to great Stormfly, who had just run up with Flashbang close on her tail.
Gunnar let his head fall back into his wife's lap with a tremendous sigh of relief. "Oh boy, I thought- oh man. That was close." He smiled tiredly as he looked up at his wife. "What do you say we get patched up and head home?"
Hiccup glanced down at the two of them in surprise. "You're seriously going to skip the victory celebration for a 10-hour trip home in the condition you're in?! Why?"
The young couple glanced up incredulously as Astrid punched him, hard enough to elicit a loud yelp. "They have babies waiting for them at home, hello! Your daughter gave BIRTH a week or two ago!? Remember that? Your panic attack? 'Most traumatic event you've had to sit through' since I gave birth to Freya!? What in the…" She punched him on the upper arm again. "Seriously!? You 'forgot'?!"
He backed away from his wife defensively. "Aughow! Sorry! I've just had a lot on my mind recently!" He rubbed his arm and glared at the couple laughing on the ground in front of him. "What? It is not that funny. Her punches still hurt."
Gunnar was laughing so hard he was almost hacking up bits of blood from his ravaged throat. "You- you forgo-" The exhausted man bent at the middle, clutching his wounded side and laughing so hard that almost no sound came out as tears rolled down his cheeks.
Freya said afterward that Hiccup was the one who came the closest to killing Gunnar that day, simply with laughter.