Last chapter before the final arc. I gotta say, I'm glad this part of the story is now over. This chapter is hardly my favorite, but I suppose there's a few cool things in there. I promise, next week's update will be the start of much more exciting things. I hope you'll all agree with me when the time comes.

20. Last Sunset

Valka looked up at the sound of wingbeats in the night sky, following Cloudjumper's observant eyes but seeing nothing until the shape intruded upon the glow of the fire. A hefty Hotburple fluttered into the firelight, hauling the two-limbed body of a very familiar blacksmith on its back.

Gobber the Belch eyed her from the back of his dragon as he landed, his mouth hanging slightly open as he took her in, twenty years older than the last time he'd laid eyes on her.

"Gobber?" Valka half-asked, hoping her voice would retrieve the smith from his trance. Gobber blinked rapidly at the sound of her voice and he drew his bottom lip in.

"Val. I… I had to come see ye. See if you were real and I wasn't just imaginin' things back there," the blacksmith drawled. He slid off of his Hotburple's back, reaching into the saddle bag once his feet (well, foot and peg leg) were on the ground to withdraw a flask of mead. "And it seems that I'm going to need this, after all."

Gobber unscrewed his prosthetic hand—presently in the shape of a hammer—and replaced it with the flask, revealing it to actually be an attachment. How inventive. Gobber popped open the cap on the flask and took a slow swig, exhaling tiredly as he lowered it from his lips. The smith looked at her again and began to waddle over, limping but determined. Gobber sat beside her on the stump, keeping a respectable barrier between the two of them. He sighed, relieved to be resting.

"I suppose I have a great many things to explain," Valka started.

"I 'ave a lot of questions, I'll admit. But you don't hafta answer them." Gobber took another long draw from his flask.

"What's his name?" Valka decided to ask, pointing to the Hotburple on the other side of the fire. The burly dragon was sleeping, having drifted off in a matter of seconds once he'd landed.

"That's Grump: the laziest dragon this side of Berserk," Gobber replied, "And your beastie?" he added, eyeing the tall Stormcutter casting its intimidating shadow over Valka.

"Cloudjumper," she answered curtly.

They fell into a painfully awkward silence, Gobber not even drinking from his flask anymore. A breeze whipped up, tangling the tongues of the nearby fire with each other so that they whispered hungrily in the silence.

"Why did ya leave, Val?" Gobber said unexpectedly. Valka looked at the blacksmith, the blonde hairs of his mustache glowing as they reflected some of the firelight, "The last five years've given us lots of time to look back. Were we so immovable, so impossible back then that ya thought it better to just take off?"

"I… made mistakes," Valka mumbled, "Terrible ones that I can never earn forgiveness for. I don't know… what I thought back then, exactly. Mostly, I thought Hiccup would be better off without me… without his crazy dragon-loving mother."

"It turned out, he was your crazy dragon-loving son," Gobber snorted, though not mockingly. Rather, he was grinning. He shook his fist at the sky, a wistful gleam in his eye. "I tell you, that boy… he used ta drive me up the walls with that head of his, always dreamin' up preposterous inventions that usually harmed the village more than they helped."

Valka frowned. "I'm sure his father took quite well to that."

"Well, of course," Gobber chortled. He offered Valka his flask and, surprisingly, she took it, unscrewing the little cap and tilting the little canister until she could drink from it. The mead inside still tasted terrible—it had been a long time since she'd ingested Berk's awful brews—but the fluid still brought a welcome warmth in her gut as she handed the flask back to Gobber.

"How long were you on Berk, exactly? Before Drago came," Gobber asked next.

"A few days. When I attacked Drago's fleet in the night, I unknowingly helped Hiccup and Astrid escape. I chased them down, thinking they were some of Drago's men forcing their dragons to help them get away. You can imagine my… surprise when I learned the truth." Gobber laughed with all his heart and swigged from his flask.

"Oh, aye. That I can," the blacksmith chortled upon lowering his drink, "Lemme tell you all about how we learned of Hiccup and his Night Fury pal. Looking back, I would've thought all of Hel was goin' to break loose that day."

Gobber recounted the whole tale, from the night that Hiccup had shot Toothless down to the day of the final exam, when Astrid had tried to show the rest of the village the truth and Toothless had torn his way into the arena to protect Hiccup from an enraged Nightmare. Valka's expression shifted many times throughout the story and crossed an entire battlefield of emotions, from surprise and awe to misery and horror.

"Hiccup's lived himself quite the saga," she said when Gobber was finished. The blacksmith chortled.

"Aye, perhaps I'll take charge of writin' one when all of this is over."

"I'd quite like to listen," Valka said, lips quirking up in a smile.

Gobber smiled thinly and took another sip from his flask. They swapped a few more stories, recounting the years between the last time they'd seen one another. He told her how he came to meet Grump, and she detailed her first flight with Cloudjumper, among other things.

Their conversation came to a screeching halt when Gobber accidentally brought up Stoick. It had been a spur of the moment slip-up, but the effect was instantaneous. Every ounce of mirth that Valka had stirred up dissolved, and silence took a grim hold over the campsite.

Gobber tried to salvage things. "We never did see a body, I s'pose. He could still be alive."

Val gave a weak, sad smile, grateful, but said nothing. Gobber set his flask down and extended his remaining hand (it was strange for Valka to see Gobber's prosthetics—he'd still had both hands and both feet when she'd left) to her.

"It may not provide much comfort," Gobber said, "But why don't we share a prayer?"

Valka eyed the blacksmith's hand for several moments as if it were some foreign device, and then took it, interlocking her fingers with Gobber's. The old smith smiled through his facial hair and then dipped his head, letting his eyes drift closed.

There, under all the stars and by the light of the fire, Gobber and Valka prayed to every god that would listen for two things. If Stoick was indeed dead, let him take his rightful place in Valhalla. And if it was not yet his time, then lend him the strength to continue until all three of them could be together again.

"I don't get it."

Astrid looked at Camicazi. The blonde Bog Burglar was sitting directly across from her at the large table, halfway through a tall mug of mead. "You don't get what?"

"That was Hiccup's mom. She let everybody think that she was dead for… how long?" Cami repeated, taking a quick sip of her drink.

"Twenty years, to be exact," Fishlegs piped up from his seat next to Heather.

"I never asked, but what exactly was Aunt Valka doing all this time? Didn't she know Stoick thought she was dead?" Snotlout added, swigging from his own mug. Ruff and Tuff were across from him on Cami's right, two whole seats separating him from Astrid on their side of the table.

"He and I have already gone through it all with her," Astrid said, really not willing to get in the middle of things. She was tired and regretting her decision to even come to the tavern with the others in the first place.

"What she did doesn't upset you?" Cami pressed.

Astrid paused, offering a slow shrug. "I mean, I'm not not upset by what she did. But it's also not necessarily my business. She's Hiccup's mom, not mine. And she did a bad thing, sure, but we need her for this. Hiccup seems to have worked through his differences with Valka for the time being, so I'm just going to let him handle it."

"That's a mature way of looking at it, Astrid," Heather thankfully backed her up, sitting in the seat to Cami's left. The black-haired Berserker was also helping herself to her own drink. Astrid took a long glance at the tavern she'd followed the two women into. It was a packed house—the island's favorite (and only) watering hole had seen a sharp spike in business over the last few days. The Bog Burglars had claim to enormous stores of liquor, some of it made from scratch, some of it bought from traders, and some of it outright stolen from various places around the archipelago. With how the last few days had gone, though, Astrid expected that their supplies were close to running dangerously low thanks to the doubled consumption going on. That didn't stop the tavern from being packed full for yet another night.

Cami seemed to get the message and just shrugged. "I guess you're right. I'm just saying it would bother me a lot if my mom did something like that. I'm sorry."

Astrid shook her head, "Don't be. It's been a lot to take in for him, too."

"Yeah…" Cami murmured lazily, "You sure you don't want a drink, Astrid?"

Astrid held up a hand, declining the offer. "I'd rather keep my wits about me, if it's all the same." Cami scrutinized her for a few seconds, though it felt like a long while. Heather seemed to be eyeing Astrid, too, but she played it off well and Cami shrugged.

"Meh. More for us," she replied, and took another long swig. Astrid silently thanked the gods that Cami didn't pry any further.

Behind them a thump echoed into the tavern and the doors promptly opened, letting two men step into the room. They were practically mirror images of each other, both tall and muscular. The larger of the two men sported full red hair both on his head and face. Three claw-like tattoos scrawled across his eye, and he was wearing a set of light armor, a gold belt buckle bearing the visage of a Skrill completing the outfit. Dagur.

The second man was about a half-head shorter than the Berserker Chief, and his braided hair was a dirtied blonde. A helmet sat tucked under his left arm, and an inky black tattoo on his bicep formed the shape of two islands separated from one another by a narrow strait. The ink depicted his home, which the young man would one day inherit from his father. Thuggory, son of Mogadon and heir to the Meathead Tribe, laughed at something that Dagur had said and raised two fingers at a nearby barmaid, signaling for two drinks to be brought around to looked up and Heather caught his eye, waving him over. He nudged Thuggory on the arm and cocked his head in the group's direction, and Thuggory followed with a grin reaching from ear to ear.

"Dagster!" Snotlout called as the pair reached their table, exchanging a low high-five with the Berserker chieftain.

"Snotknuckles, my main man," Dagur chortled, standing on the end of the table as if he were the head of the theoretical household. Thuggory on the other hand slithered over near Astrid.

"Astrid Hofferson, looking as beautiful as ever," the Meathead heir flirted. He flashed a smile that was apparently supposed to be charming, but it had absolutely zero effect on Astrid.

"Step off, Thuggory, she's married," Camicazi interjected.

Dagur whistled in warning, counseling Thuggory to make amends for his indiscretion, but the Meathead heir was undeterred, smirking as he claimed the seat next to Astrid.

She knew he wasn't interested—or at the very least, that he knew she would never be interested in him and was okay with that. This little charade was part of the game he played with her every time they saw one another, a suggestive flirt here and a sarcastic rebuttal there, and then the two were back to normal afterwards. Thuggory himself was still a bachelor these days, but he had no shortage of Viking girls chasing after his—as Astrid had once overheard, buns of steel. Seriously. As if marrying into the family of the Chief wasn't the main draw.

Astrid honestly didn't see what the appeal was. Thuggory was a good lad, but he was basically a bigger, situationally smarter version of Snotlout. Astrid had first met Thuggory when they were sixteen, after the Meatheads had landed in Berk for the Thing, not long after the Thawfest. Since Astrid had never been qualified to make the trip for the meetings before, the year that the gathering came to Berk had been her first—as the heir's betrothed. Thuggory had briefly been smitten and tried to win her over, to no avail, and eventually they became friendly upon seeing more of one another. Still, Thuggory liked to ruffle her (or Hiccup's) feathers with a little casual flirting here and there.

A Bog Burglar barmaid hustled over with two fresh mugs of mead in her hands, setting them down in front of Dagur and Thuggory. The latter whispered thanks to the barmaid and returned his gaze to Cami, shrugging as he lifted his drink in one hand and grinning conspiratorially.

"I know, I know, but since I'm not seeing Hiccup here, I figure the gentlemanly thing to do is clarify that the offer will always stand if she grows bored of her husband, the Night Fury conqueror!" Thuggory referred to Hiccup with a sort of awe there, playing up her husband's legend all for his own amusement. He took a sip of his drink.

"Well, Thuggory, like I've told Snotlout dozens of times over the years—you couldn't have me if you were the last man on Midgard," Astrid fired back, wearing a wicked smirk as she shoved her hand into Thuggory's head, nearly knocking him over. The table erupted with a rush of ooh's led first and foremost by Ruff and Tuff.

"It's true, she really has said that—" Tuff cackled.

"Astrid with the zinger!" Dagur howled over him, slapping his hands onto Thuggory's shoulders and shaking the heir. "You got served, Thugs!" he shouted right into Thuggory's face, and some of Thuggory's drink stirred up from being shaken and spilled over the rim of the mug, splattering on the table.

"Oi! Keep it down, o'er there!" a large and threatening Bog Burglar tending the bar snapped in warning. Dagur rolled his eyes and released his hold on Thuggory, crumpling into an open seat next to Snotlout.

"So, fill me in. What's the latest gossip around here?" Thuggory asked in an effort to kickstart a new conversation.

"We're just talking about Hiccup's undead dragon-riding mom," Tuffnut blurted out, like it was the coolest thing he'd ever heard of.

Fishlegs sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head in disappointment. "She's not undead, Tuffnut. The probability of that is exactly zero."

"Oh," Tuffnut blurted out lamely, going slack as he stared into the table. "Well, that's not as fun," he grunted, lifting his hand to scratch at the ultra-thin stubble sprouting along his jaw that he swore to the high heavens would soon be a magnificent beard.

"So, hold on, that rumor is true?" Thuggory asked, "Hiccup's mother is alive?"

"Yeah, and she's gonna help us kick that asshole Drago's…" Ruff said, trailing off as she struggled to find the word she was looking for. "Uh… ass."

Tuffnut rolled his eyes, "Ugh. You're such a moron," he complained, and swigged from his mug.

"A beautiful moron," Snotlout whispered cheekily, trying to win points with the Thorston girl. Tuffnut peered over the lip of his mug, still force-feeding himself more mead, and narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry, 'Snotknuckles'," Ruffnut drawled, shoving Dagur's odd nickname for the Jorgenson man back into his face, "But I'm spoken for."

Tuffnut loudly spit his drink back into his cup. "By who?"

"The man of my dreams: Eret, son of Eret!" Ruffnut swooned. Snotlout's eyes widened and he straightened his back, raising a hand to his mouth and pathetically brushing the beginnings of a goatee that was not yet thick enough.

"But baby, I grew facial hair for you," he whined.

Dagur looked away from the exchange, puckering his lips as he silently whistled. "Oh, this is embarrassing…" he muttered, and hid his face in his drink. Astrid concurred, almost wishing that she could have a drink just to distract herself the same way. Ruffnut's claim wouldn't deter Snotlout from his advances, she was merely stringing him further along.

"Tell you what, Jorgenson, you manage to grow that thing into a full-on muzzle," Ruffnut gestured below her chin to relay what she was picturing, "then maybe we can schedule a meeting. I'd hurry, though, my front door's packed with suitors!" she bragged.

Astrid rolled her eyes. "She was talking about Drago," she clarified to Thuggory after poking him on the arm. The Meathead heir let out an 'ah' and nodded his head carefully.

"Yeah, Dad told me all about that guy. Sounds like a real piece of work, building a dragon army and invading Berk and killing Stoick."

"We actually don't know if Stoick's really dead or not. It's on the to-do list to find out," Heather corrected.

Thuggory shrugged. "Well, I hope he's alive, then. I've always liked Stoick—he's a great leader. And it would really suck for Hiccup to get his mom back and then immediately lose his dad." On that note, Thuggory brightened up, eager to move on to a less miserable topic. "Speaking of our beloved Night Fury conqueror, where is Hiccup, anyway?" Thuggory asked, looking at Astrid pointedly.

"Getting some sleep up at Bertha's. He's had a long couple of days and needs the rest," Astrid replied. Thuggory groaned irritably, throwing back his head in dramatized dejection.

"Boo, weak!" he complained, "I never get to have a drink with Hiccup when it's not official Viking business. So much for being Berk's closest ally."

"Closest ally? I think you've got the wrong tribe there, Thugs," Cami interrupted, wearing a devious smirk.

"You lot, Berk's closest allies? Please! Bog's as far as you can get from Berk without hitting the open sea," Thuggory refuted the blonde pirate.

"I agree!" Dagur added, "Obviously it is Berserk who is Berk's closest allies. Hiccup's my brother, for Odin's sake!"

Cami, Thuggory, and Dagur immediately descended into a spirited argument about whose treaties said this and whose treaties said that and how Dagur was most certainly not related to Hiccup and a whole dragon-load of other talking points. While the twins and Snotlout appeared completely drawn in by the useless debating, Astrid threw a sideways look to Heather and rolled her eyes possibly harder than she ever had before.

"I can't believe this is what we're discussing when there's a war to win," she grunted. Heather and Fishlegs more or less nodded in concurrence.

"That's these dolts for you. You think they'd notice if we just took off?" Heather wondered aloud, getting no answer from the quarreling Vikings taking up most of the table. Astrid shrugged and slid out of her seat, testing the waters and raising her eyebrows in surprise when no one bothered to turn her way and ask where she was going.

"I'd be alright with going, I-I don't really have much of a taste for this stuff, anyway," Fishlegs stammered. Heather was already getting up, and she smiled down at the husky Viking.

"Well, come on, Fishlegs. You don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said, and offered her hand to him. Fishlegs stared at her hand for a split-second as if it was some previously unknown dragon that required studying, and then took it, rising from his seat as well. The husky boy flashed a meek smile at Heather, which Astrid definitely took notice of. Heather had once shared that she liked Fishlegs as more than a friend, but the distance between them had prevented any sort of relationship from blossoming. Eventually, Fishlegs' sights had become wholly focused on pursuing Ruffnut instead. In this unusual reunion, Astrid could see that the spark still existed, whether they knew it or not.

Astrid signaled to Ruffnut that she was leaving, and the female twin nodded at her before returning to try and sneak a charcoal pencil into Tuffnut's ear canal while he was distracted. Not exactly the kind of thing that she wanted to see Ruff doing, but then again, it was hardly the most harmful prank she'd attempted on her brother. One time, she'd set his bed on fire while he was sleeping. One way or another, Tuff would be fine.

She briskly walked to the door after that, letting out a sigh of relief as Heather and Fishlegs tailed her, the latter mumbling conversationally with the pretty black-haired girl. No one else from the table called after them, thankfully. The idea of the relative silence outdoors was enormously relaxing compared to the noise of the crowded tavern.

It was dark outside when Astrid pushed the door open and stepped out, holding it open so that Heather and Fishlegs could exit behind her. As she'd hoped, it was blissfully quiet, the only sound being the buzz of dragons settling down for the night. Meatlug, Windshear, and Stormfly were gathered near the tavern with their other dragon friends, including Thuggory's dragon, a green Shockjaw named Boltbite. [1]

"So then where are you headed, Astrid?" Heather asked, snapping Astrid out of her brooding. Windshear and Meatlug noticed their companions and came wandering over.

Astrid shrugged. "Probably just back to Bertha's. I could use a night indoors with Hiccup." Stormfly perked up at the sound of Astrid's voice and immediately ambled over, squawking eagerly at her girl's return. A soft giggle escaped Astrid's lips and she reached up to scratch the Nadder's neck; the dragon purred as she leaned hard into her touch.

"Sounds romantic," Heather cooed, if only to tease Astrid as she stroked Windshear's scales. The blonde responded with a roll of her eyes.

"Please, he's definitely out cold already. I'm more concerned about where exactly Toothless is sleeping."

"I guess I'll be retiring, too. It's a little early for me, but I've got nothing better to do until the meeting," Heather said, resigned.

Fishlegs started spouting off in agreement, "It's getting to be Meatlug's bedtime. She's going to want all of her rituals done extra special tonight, she gets so nervous sleeping in an unfamiliar place." The husky boy caressed Meatlug's head, earning a lick from the loving Gronckle. Astrid glanced over at Heather and noticed her watching Fishlegs with interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Hey, if you two can squeeze it in…" Astrid spoke up. Fishlegs and Heather both looked at her, oblivious. That reinforced Astrid's desire to try and nudge them in the same direction. The interest was obviously there. "Cami told me the other day about this meadow in the woods pretty close to the cliffs. Something about lots of dragon nip growing there. Maybe you two check it out and pick some, that would help Meatlug settle down for the night, right?"

Fishlegs frowned. "Oh, I don't know, that sounds like a real hike, and I don't want Meatlug wearing herself out and getting hungry before she goes to sleep—"

The Gronckle nudged him, cutting him off. Meatlug's tongue lolled out from her mouth and she bustled about. Fishlegs brightened, "Well, I can't argue with that. If you're sure, girl, we can go have a look." Meatlug apparently approved of that idea and Windshear squawked softly at Heather. Maybe the two dragons were working together in a secret plot to get their riders together, too, Astrid thought.

Fishlegs met Heather's eyes, nervously glancing her up and down. He rubbed his large hands together anxiously. "Erm, Heather? Would… would you like to come with Meatlug and I to find this meadow?" an uneasy smile crept onto Fishlegs' face, hopeful and trying to stay awkwardly positive.

Windshear very obviously nudged her rider in the back, knocking Heather straight into Fishlegs. The husky boy startled and reached out to catch her, wrapping his arms around Heather's back to steady her. Heather groaned in annoyance at Windshear's antics, only to look up and find herself mere inches from Fishlegs. The realization rooted her to the spot, and recognizing that Heather was looking him in the eye seemed to spark something in Fishlegs that persuaded him to drop his arms and take a step back.

"My apologies," he blurted and averted his eyes.

Heather grinned. "No, no, Fishlegs. I think going to the meadow sounds nice. I'll promise not to get in yours and Meatlug's way," she said respectfully, but with a teasing glint in her eye.

Fishlegs blustered, "O-Oh, you won't be in the way, I—" he huffed and steeled his nerves, trying again in a calmer voice, "It'll be more fun having you there with us."

Astrid almost squealed. Fishlegs Ingerman was growing up right before her eyes, in his own awkward way. He and Heather were smiling like idiots. Astrid cleared her throat and the two instantly took an extra step back from each other, flustered.

"Well, you two have fun, I'm going to go get some sleep," she reiterated. Stormfly squawked as if to supplement her.

Heather nodded fervently, stammering as she found herself inexplicably thrown out of whack, suddenly a shadow of the steely young woman that she normally was. "Yeah. Okay. Great. Um—I'll see you at the strategy meeting tomorrow?"

"Count on it," Astrid promised. She turned on her heel and headed down the hill with Stormfly in tow, only to stiffen as Heather called out to her.

"Oh, Astrid! Wait up a sec," Astrid looked over her shoulder, turning completely around as Heather jogged over. She was halfway down the hill, out of earshot as Fishlegs waited patiently at the hill with Meatlug panting up a storm.

"What's up?"

"Just wanted to say," Heather said, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper that only Astrid could hear, "I'm sure you know what you're doing, but still, take care of that baby, you hear?"

Astrid's back went rigid. Her gaze darted over in Fishlegs' direction. Thankfully, he was busy doting on Meatlug, but Astrid did her best to correct her startled expression in case he turned around to look back at them. Knowing Fishlegs, he'd notice something was amiss and start asking questions.

Astrid put on the coyest look in her repertoire. "I'm sorry?" she said, and she impressed herself with how calm she thought she sounded.

"C'mon, I wasn't born yesterday," Heather said, "You can drink anyone under the table, even Snotlout. You're expecting me to believe you weren't going to seize the chance to get a pint of mead?"

Oh, Heather was perceptive. Part of Astrid wanted to applaud the Berserker woman for her shrewdness, but the stronger, more defensive part decided to reaffirm the ruse.

"You've got the wrong idea, Heather. I'm just not feeling it tonight," she said casually.

Heather smirked at her and it made Astrid want to rip her friend's hair from the roots. "Alright, whatever you say, Astrid. By the way, thanks for that back there. I owe you one." Heather flicked her eyes to the side to make it clear she was talking about Fishlegs.

Now Astrid found it in herself to smirk. "Owe me? Now you've gone and done it."

"We'll discuss the terms later," Heather quipped. She raised a hand and patted Astrid's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Enjoy your date," Astrid said under her breath as Heather peeled away, and the black-haired woman waved behind her to say thanks before bolting back up the hill toward Fishlegs. Astrid remained where she was, watching as Windshear and Meatlug led the way in the opposite direction, giving their riders some space. She smirked as she saw how close Heather's and Fishlegs' fingers were. With a little luck, the two might make a real connection tonight and get Fishlegs' eyes off of Ruffnut.

Satisfied with herself, Astrid turned around and headed for Bertha's house with Stormfly in tow, already relaxing at the thought of getting to sleep in her husband's arms tonight.

Morning sunlight peeked through the open window, filling the loft with a warm glow. Astrid's ears filled with a low humming sound, and the lingering glare of sunlight reaching through her shut eyelids started to slowly force her awake. She coughed once, and blood seemed to rush away from her chest to every other part of her body, filling her with sudden life.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn't sure where she was for a moment. The wooden walls were so unfamiliar, and the bed so much smaller than the one she'd become used to back home. Part of that was because her husband was finally sleeping at her side again—a welcome change, even if it left her feeling a bit cramped.

The humming noise irritatingly persisted, seeming to bounce off the walls and directly into her ears as if targeting her specifically. Astrid leaned up, ruffling the furs covering her up to look around the small loft. Curled up on the floor and sound asleep was Toothless, the offending noise coming from his icily consistent breathing. The dragon's chest was rising and falling as he burrowed his flat head in between his legs for warmth. That was another thing she wasn't really used to—Toothless sleeping in their room with them.

"Good morning," Astrid's back seized as she almost leaped out of bed, only to calm as she recognized that it was Hiccup's voice speaking to her. She looked over her nearly bare shoulder at him, lying flat on his back and looking up at her with a wily smirk.

"Did I wake you?" she asked.

Hiccup yawned, which made Astrid yawn. Damn him. As he smacked his lips to chase the sleep away, he answered, his voice coming out all distorted here and there from a second yawn. "I've been kind of awake for a few minutes now… trying to will the world to go back to nighttime so I can get extra sleep."

"I don't think you've moved since you walked into this room. You didn't even flinch when I came in last night," Astrid recalled. Hiccup shrugged slowly, his naked shoulders peeking out from underneath the fur in the process.

"What can I say, I needed my rest."

"That you did," Astrid chuckled lightly. She laid her head back down on the pillow and shuffled closer to Hiccup, resting her head dangerously close to his. Underneath the furs, her hand found his.

"Though I will say that I'm used to getting up to the sounds of Terrible Terrors singing on the rooftops. Maybe that's why it's been tough waking up," Hiccup theorized, giving her a toothy smile.

"Maybe they just don't do that here."

"What a terrible way to live," said Hiccup. Astrid laughed under her breath with him for a minute, sighing as she came down and focusing on the green of his eyes. "You're so beautiful," Hiccup blurted out. He coiled his hand with hers and started to rub his fingertips against the back of her palm. With his other hand, he reached out to graze his fingertips against her blonde, sleep-tousled hair. The mere sensation of his combined touch was unnaturally tantalizing, giving life to a burn within her that fed her naughtiest thoughts.

"Careful," she said instead, though she was staving herself off just as much as she was him, "We do have that meeting to go to. And I don't think Bertha would appreciate any funny business happening under her roof."

"'Funny business'?" Hiccup half-mocked her, again laughing under his breath, "What are we, sixteen?"

Astrid shrugged, eager to throw a little shade right back in his face, "Well, you and your dragon sure act like it sometimes." Hiccup replied with a taunting gasp, and without warning, he started tickling her. Astrid recoiled and flipped over under the furs, which only succeeded in making it easier for Hiccup to grab her and tug her against him, playfully wrestling.

"You take that back!" he demanded, voice hushed and full to the brim with mirth.

"Never," Astrid teased. She snatched one of his arms and twisted, curling his hand and arm in an uncomfortable position. She knew that he hated that.

"Ow! Okay, okay, you win!" he complained, slapping the sleeping fur with his free hand. Astrid released her hold on him and smirked, proud. On the floor, there was a low moan and a black shape appeared in sight over the edge of the bed, closely followed by a pair of curious chartreuse eyes. Their commotion had woken Toothless.

"Morning, bud," Hiccup greeted brightly. Toothless reciprocated it, parting his lips in a smile with no teeth. He looked like he wanted to get up on the bed, but something—that something being Astrid's warning glare—held him back from doing so.

"I think he's telling us it's time to get out of bed," she suggested. Hiccup let out an exaggerated groan, like a sulky child that didn't want to go to lessons. Without another word, though, he yanked his side of the furs up and off of him, letting go of Astrid so that he could swing his legs out and stand up. Astrid mirrored him, sliding out from her side of the bed. Her nightgown, spun from white silk and as thin as could be, flowed all the way down to her feet. For a moment, she felt Hiccup's eyes on her back, but the sensation was gone almost as quickly as it had come.

They dressed themselves without a word, Toothless wandering back and forth across the room and begging for scratches. Astrid donned her crimson tunic, noticing not for the first time that she thought her breasts were starting to get bigger, if only slightly. Ruffnut had often mocked her in their later formative years for her 'tiny tits', but Astrid hadn't cared. Mostly. If only Ruffnut could see her now. Well, not yet. She still didn't want anyone besides Hiccup knowing. Ever since she'd heard from Gothi, she'd made sure to put on an extra layer in an effort to disguise what anyone (especially Ruffnut's oddly trained eye) might end up noticing. It wasn't the most comfortable way she'd ever dressed, but the weather had still been cold enough on Berk and in the north that she didn't get overheated.

With the tunic and an extra layer underneath pulled on, Astrid mounted her shoulder pads and slithered into one of her armored skirts, the same one she'd been wearing for days now. They hadn't exactly had time to pack during the retreat. She'd probably go find a creek later to wash her clothes in. Once her boots were on, she completed the outfit with her beloved furred hood, tugging at its ends absently until it fit just right.

Astrid took up a piece of reflective metal that she could see herself in and examined her blurred image in it, brushing individual locks of hair back and forth. Normally she wasn't that concerned about her appearance—she let everything else about her do the talking—but everyone was going to be at this meeting and Astrid felt that as the wife of the Acting Chief, she needed to try and look her best; both beautiful and ferocious.

Once everything was in order, she cast a passing glance at Hiccup and, noting that he seemed ready to go, she nodded and made her way toward the door. Before she could fasten her hand around the knob, though, Hiccup's soft voice reached her ears and rooted her in place.

"Hey, wait," he said softly, pausing with bated breath. Astrid cocked her head so she could see him out of her peripheral vision, and when he didn't so much as move, she turned all the way around to face him. He was wringing his hands together, looking terribly nervous.

Astrid tightened her lips into a thin line, and she stood limply, her fingers just barely brushing the smooth metal of her skirt. "Is everything okay?" she asked, forcing her hands to remain at her sides.

"Yeah," Hiccup answered quickly, which didn't really dispel Astrid's growing concern, "I've just been thinking about something, and I want your opinion first."

That helped Astrid relax, and she nodded positively. "Shoot," she said.

"It's about me being Chief. Whether Dad's alive out there or not, I'm going to be the Chief. There's no way around it. So, that means I need to be thinking about my advisors and their roles…" Hiccup explained, "I'm obviously going to keep the Berk Council together, but that doesn't necessarily solve everything. If Berk goes to war, they need someone to give out orders. Thor knows I'm no general."

Astrid shrugged absently, "That's why you have Spitelout, right? He was your dad's master of war; he can still do that for you."

Hiccup sported a clever smile, his emerald eyes positively gleaming like he was oh-so-proud of himself. "Yeah, but I had someone else in mind for the position."

"Who?" Astrid asked bluntly. Her brain was a muddled mess right now, and her confusion increased tenfold when Hiccup's face fell. His smile turned into a puzzled frown as he stared at her. "What?" she blurted out, demanding an answer.

"It's… taking you longer than I thought it would," Hiccup said. Astrid narrowed her eyes, mind racing as she scrutinized him.

And then it hit her like a Gronckle at high speed.

Oh. Oh. He wanted—she…

"You want me to be your master of war," she realized. Hiccup regained that big, beaming smile he'd just been sporting and nodded excitedly.

"Do, uh… do you accept?" he asked meekly.

Astrid scoffed, blurting out, "Of course I accept," and rushing Hiccup. They met in a fierce hug, both of them laughing. When they pulled away from one another, Astrid giggled to herself and spoke with a hint of crippling embarrassment. "I'm sorry I drew a blank there… I'm kind of turning food into a human here." She gestured to all of herself. "My brain's been a little fuzzier than I like it these days."

Hiccup smiled. "You don't have to apologize for anything. It's going to be an honor to work with you, General Haddock," his grin grew impossibly wider. Astrid matched his smile and tightly gripped his hand, proud.

"I'll do my best to make you proud, Chief," she replied, playing along.

Hiccup beamed again. "You've already done that ten times over, milady," he leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, short and sweet. "Now, let's say we snag some breakfast and hustle over to the Great Hall. I do believe we are expected."

Together, they bustled down the steps from the loft to the main floor, finding Bertha's house empty. The Bog Burglar Chieftess and Camicazi must've already gotten up and left. Keen to not waste any more time, they each snatched a cut of warm bread and shuffled out the door, sights set on the Great Hall and thoughts turned to the impending war meeting behind its doors.

The war table was packed. Now that everyone that was necessary had arrived, it was time to truly devise a strategy for retaking Berk, and everyone that was needed had shown up and then some. Bertha and her closest advisors, Camicazi, the Berk Council, Dagur and Heather, Hiccup and Astrid, Valka, Eret, Mogadon and Thuggory, and Fishlegs had all found a place to stand, and overall everyone was practically standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Even Alvin, once Berk's greatest enemy, had answered the call, and he was perhaps as devoted to avenging Stoick than Hiccup himself.

"Alright, let's begin," Bertha insisted, "Hiccup, Astrid, will you start things off for us?"

Hiccup nodded and cleared his throat, stepping up so that he splayed his hands on the table. His gaze was fixated on the map's depiction of Berk and all the little pieces representing Drago's army that surrounded it.

"First off, thank you all, sincerely, for coming to our aid. It's times like these that you appreciate having allies," most everyone else at the table nodded their heads. Hiccup blinked and sucked in a preparatory breath, "Now, as far as Drago's army is concerned… As you can see on the map, Drago has an enormous collection of ships, soldiers, and dragons at his disposal. We don't have an accurate count. This is going to be the biggest enemy any of us have ever faced. With our forces combined, we should be able to match him in numbers, but I would expect to still be outnumbered. He's traveled far and wide to gather so many men, and they won't drop their weapons at the sight of a Viking army sailing in."

He looked at Astrid for support, and she gave it gladly, picking up where he was leaving off. "Drago means to subjugate us and take our dragons. He's spent years trapping and capturing as many as he could and putting them in chains, torturing them until they break. But he still needs a way to ensure their loyalty and also claim the loyalty of other dragons. He accomplishes this with the Bewilderbeast, an ancient Alpha species. Like I told Dagur and Heather, this thing is big. Really big."

"So, how d'we beat it?" Alvin asked, arms crossed over his chest. He was much like Stoick, very much a charge-headfirst-at-the-problem-and-hit-it-until-it's-fixed type of Viking, but considering that Berk's people had nearly been halved and relocated to Bog, even "the Treacherous" recognized that the old Viking Way wasn't going to apply here.

"We don't know," Hiccup replied, "But we do have one dragon on our side that has proven itself capable of resisting the Alpha: my mom's dragon, Cloudjumper." Valka gave a sheepish wave as people looked in her direction. "We believe she and him are the key to beating the Alpha, maybe even distracting it enough to prevent it from taking control of our own dragons."

"But we're not going to risk just going in dragons blazing, so here's what we've come up with instead," Astrid added. She reached out and touched the end of her finger to Berk, "First we'll split the armada up—half will sail close to Berk and drop anchor out of sight, half will pass the island by before coming back around and docking on the north side of the island where they won't be spotted. Everyone from those ships will get onto the island from the cliffs and take position in the woods. Once we're there, two small teams will move up and infiltrate the village. One team will sneak to the ships in our port, and the other will head for the prisons."

"Prisons?" Alvin drawled.

"We had people taken prisoner during our retreat, including, hopefully, my father. If he's alive, he should be there. Before everything goes down, I need to know," Hiccup explained, holding Alvin's stare. The Outcast Chief tensed and answered with an accepting nod.

Mogadon's brow furrowed and he interrupted with a deep rumble like a growling bear, his yellowed teeth peeking through his thick, unkempt beard. "What about this other group? What're we jumpin' on the ships for? Shouldn't we be focusin' on pressing our attack?"

Instead of Hiccup or Astrid, it was Eret who answered. The ex-trapper was up to date on the plan already and had been called upon by Bertha the other day to divulge everything he could tell her about Drago's army. After hearing his tale, Bertha had decided he'd earned his place at the table. "Our goal is to release as many enslaved dragons as we can to cut their numbers. I'll be leading the people in that team—I spent years trapping for Drago, so I know how he runs things. All of the army's dragons are kept in big, dome-like traps. The team that gets on the ships will be tasked with discreetly opening as many traps as they can and releasing the dragons inside."

Mogadon looked Eret up and down suspiciously. With narrowed eyes, he glanced at Hiccup with discontent. "Ye want to put one of Drago's lackeys on those ships? He could turn on us in an instant and expose your entire plan."

"He won't," Hiccup replied confidently, "I've been working with Eret for some time now and I know we can trust him." Not really a lie, he supposed.

Eret nodded fiercely and reached up to pull back his collar, revealing the gnarled flesh of his burn scars in order to prove Hiccup's point. "Drago did this to me. I'm looking forward to returning the favor. You can trust me, sir."

Mogadon scrutinized the burns marring Eret's chest until the trapper let go of his vest collar, letting the fur slide back up and cover all but the edge of the scar. With nothing more to look at, Mogadon met Eret's eyes again, and the large man combed a few stubby fingers through his wild facial hair, his stare burning into Eret's and searching for any sign of pretense.

"That's Chief to ya, but all right," the Meathead chieftain finally relented, "I'm gonna be watchin' you, trapper. My son'll go with your little team an' ensure that nothin' gets out of hand."

Thuggory balked, looking positively ruffled, "D-Dad, I mean, are you sure? This sounds like a serious stealth mission."

Mogadon scoffed, "Aye, it is. Anything that a mainlander can do, a Meathead can do. Remember yer training, and ye'll be fine," the Meathead Chief insisted.

"I—" Thuggory started, but Eret interrupted as Mogadon's stare shut his son down.

"I accept those terms, Chief. Your son will be in good hands, I swear it," Eret vowed. Mogadon nodded absently, his suspicion not entirely quelled but placated for now.

"Don't worry, Thugs, I'm coming with you lot, too," Camicazi piped up, grinning from ear to ear. She was dressed in light leather armor, three throwing knives pocketed in sheaths sown into the tunic's left shoulder for easy access. "Without us Bog Burglars, you'll be dead in the water opening those traps. Staging prison breaks is just one of our many talents. I'll get my best women together and throw our helmets in the ring. You'll want 'em."

Hiccup spoke up, eager to regain control of the meeting. "Excellent. Thank you, Cami. Back to the matter at hand—while the traps are being opened, the ships to the south of the island will make their approach, under the cover of groups of Smothering Smokebreaths. Do we have enough of those, Bertha?"

The Bog Burglar woman nodded firmly, "More than enough, Haddock. To Drago's men, it'll look like your usual sea fog rolling in."

Hiccup breathed a quick sigh of relief and nodded, thankful. "Excellent. Once the armada is close enough and we've freed as many dragons as we can, the approaching ships will open fire using the dragons on board to sink as many ships as we can. The element of surprise is going to be key, and once that distraction draws most of the men towards the port, everyone from the ships that docked near the woods will charge so that Drago's men are fighting a battle on two fronts."

"Paint 'em with fire. Nice," Dagur drawled, a mad grin pulling at his lips. The Berserker looked thrilled, the whole picture coming together in his crazed little mind.

"That's when Drago's dragons will come out. Drago will call for the Alpha the second he sees our dragons. The team on the ships will need to shoo away as many captured dragons as they can. That's where the army's strength is, and the more dragons that we can chase away from the fight, the more of an advantage we'll have. Once the battle begins, we need a few riders to go with my mom and Cloudjumper to attack the Alpha and keep it from intervening while we take care of business on the ground. If we press that attack and keep the Alpha preoccupied, we should have enough time to separate Drago from it and wrap things up."

"That's a lot of presumin' for a battle plan," Alvin said, his lower jaw jutting out deliberately. "What if we can't shoo away his dragons, or this Alpha beast thwarts your whole plan?"

"Those are chances that we have to take. We can't fight this kind of enemy with only our people, and Drago is the only one that the Alpha will listen to. We get to him, the battle's as good as won."

"Hmmm," Alvin hummed, thinking aloud. "I s'pose it's a better plan than anything yer father woulda come up with. Stoick, gods love him, he would want to rush in and crush these invaders over his knees. I'm not accustomed to fightin' in many other ways, but ya have the Outcasts' support, boy. This bastard'll go down for what he did, I'll make sure of it."

Hiccup nodded, accepting Alvin's pledge. Not for the first time, he was glad his father had mended fences with the Outcast Chief. The Viking formerly known as Alvin the Treacherous had proved himself to be an unwavering ally in the years following the Outcast War.

"Any other questions?" Hiccup asked, surveying the assembly around the table. Vikings exchanged silent looks with one another, debating with their eyes.

"Are you sure this'll work?" Thuggory asked.

Hiccup grimaced and wrung his hands together. "I'm not. But what other choice do we have? If we don't do this now, Drago will come for all of us, sooner rather than later."

He looked around the table again, wordlessly asking for any further questions. When none came, he cast a look at Astrid, willing himself to relax and finding himself unable to do so. "Alright," he managed, "Let's get started. We leave at sunset."

[1] A Shockjaw is a dragon species first introduced in the Dragons: Rise of Berk game. It is a Tidal Class dragon that can both fly and swim very fast and generates electrical blasts, much like the Skrill. I picked this dragon for Thuggory because I wanted a different type of dragon for him that could also give him some personality. His dragon in the book canon is a Monstrous Nightmare named Killer, and that just doesn't do it for me. Also, "Boltbite" is the name of a Shockjaw individual that appears in Rise of Berk, and I decided to keep it because it was too good of a name to only ever show up in a mobile game.

As always, reviews of any kind are sincerely appreciated. I invite you all to make predictions on what's to come! It's certainly action-packed, that's for sure. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all again next week.