Edited.

They watched everything.

Well, everything they could. Which was nowhere near enough, by the way. As soon as Hiccup and Toothless went for the skies, for the clouds, it all became a show of mere shapes and fire looking like thunder, as if Thor himself had allowed them to watch the horror of two simple creature outsmarting this beast.

When they made their way into the maze of thin stones across the sea, the Vikings were sheering, rooting for the duo in a never-seen-before epic fights amongst the species. Then, that damned queen bee started to just cut her way, destroying the stones like they were made of paper, effortlessly. Too close. They were too close. Then they aimed for the storm clouds. Flying against it, inside it. Eventual blasts of fire guessing their position and shapes against those vapor made curtains.

And then, they fell.

Fast.

Artichoke couldn't make up for whatever Hiccup's plan could be. They couldn't overpower it, as it was clearly shown. Despite the human army having near immediately start to retreat, nothing seemed to hurt that thing. Annoy, maybe, but not wound it enough to take it down.

Hiccup must have a plan, he kept telling himself, muttering low that it would soon be shown, nearly full ally tribes as witnesses. Then they were falling, the thing opened its mouth, sucking air. He remembered that awful gas-filled breath, the strength of it all, the Nadder couldn't even keep herself in the air and he was sure they'd be eaten if Hiccup hadn't intervened, if Toothless hadn't broke its balance with that shooting blast. Who could do that now? Except then, Toothless herself turned around and shot her own purple fire.

The queen be soon combusted, its wings poking holes covered in embers, like papers being thrown at a fireplace, the whole beast, all of its hundreds of meters length and height, exploding from inside out. Dragons aren't fire-proof on the inside? But how would the Vikings know this? Who would shoot fire inside a dragon's mouth for Odin's sake?

She would. That's who.

Soon before the monster collapsed itself on the island floor, shaking their ground and lifting so much dust and fire Artichoke and the others were all forced to close their eyes and turn away, as if a mountain had just fallen from its post, reshaping the earth beneath their feet.

It took a few moments, and he felt a little dizzy until it all finally went quiet.

They won. But it wasn't over yet and the blindness of all that situation…

Fog, smoke, and dust, all blended in for far too long, far too many pounding in his chest, far too many questions…

"Hiccup!" a strong, masculine voice yelled out, one they all knew it well "Hiccup!", it was still too gray out there, his eyes still burned with the exposure, few blades here and there and the utter smell of burnt flesh filling the whole place. Artichoke couldn't help but let a cough clear his lungs, others around him weren't far better, but Stoick's calling didn't cease. "Hiccup! Kid…".

Nothing answered into the quiet. Only coughing and dread filled the silenced, tensed air. She- she couldn't be… Squeezing his eyes, forcing his sight to see further, Artichoke saw his Chief run towards some place specific, tripping and panting, still running to reach it. Soon he saw a huddle of black scales, her wings were covering most of it, but he couldn't remember ever seeing a pure-black dragon that wasn't Toothless.

Finally, the air was cleaning out and Vikings of different tribes approach their oldest warrior leader fall into his knees, defeated. No… Artichoke ran amongst the crowd, he had to see it closer, but stopped mid-track. Toothless was breathing heavily and there was no sign of Hiccup. Only the older Haddock remained there, down and still. All faces turned blue, they were all, all in there. Artichoke didn't had to ask to know all the ones present were grateful for the unexpected hero his wife turned out to be. They were all sharing the growing grief and lost of a warrior way too young to go to Valhalla. No, Hiccup wasn't a warrior. They might start saying she was from then on, just because that was a common praise amongst their culture, but she wasn't a warrior. She was so much more, she was a strategist, an inventor, a dragonologist, an insane, born-to-lead bright mind who could be good in everyone, even in the beasts they were taught to kill since birth, and he had never even tasted her lips. Artichoke felt his expression twinge with pain, but his face was too dry and dusty to feel any tear then.

The three hundred years war against dragons was over.

And Hiccup was dead.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Breathing. The dragon was breathing. It was the first thing Stoick noticed as he ran towards it. Running towards a dragon for the first time in his life, without the intention to hurt one. It was in pain, moaning and barely keeping its eyes open, but Hiccup was nowhere to be seen.

"Daughter…" the dragon looked into his eyes, like he taught himself they did because it would distract them, but it had proven him wrong many times just today. Exhaustion filled those green eyes. And something like regret. "I did this…".

Stoick didn't know when his knees had given in, didn't know when he reached it, but he just had known, just like he had known Valka was gone to never coming back, but this time, he'd already waste his energy for despair, this time he just went numb, feeling the emptiness of another unreplaceable life.

He barely took note of hundreds of steps approaching him and the dragon. Groggily, the Night Fury lift its head, looking right into him again. "I'm sorry, kid, I'm sorry…" was all he had to say, all he could say into the wind and pray his daughter's spirit could listen and forgive him from somewhere.

Slowly, the dragon lifted a wing, then opened another. Hiccup's body was nested between its paws, like a rescued, unconscious baby. Gasping, Stoick grab the chance of hope, approaching, hands shaking with prayers and fear, he lifted her closer, her face was completely out. Tossing his helmet off, he tuck his ear onto her chest, unceremoniously.

One.

Two.

And so on.

Her heart was still beating.

"She's alive", he gasped, looking back at the dragon again. "You brought her back alive!", he yelled this time. Not just for the others beside him, not only for those the lives she just saved and changed today, but so he could believe it himself. That despite all this craziness, all that massive monster and all the flying on the back of a dragon to outsmart them, his baby was still alive.

He heard loud sheering and happy growls in the back, Vikings and dragons celebrating their saviors' safe return. Stoick leaned in, placing a large hand on the side of the Night Fury's head, gently. Probably sore and tired, the dragon just laid its head back on the ground, eyes still open, daring to close, so he said, made sure to say it case this one wasn't as lucky as the other still in his arms "thank you for saving my daughter".

"Well… You know, most of her", Gobber's voice broke his moment of acceptance off, making him look confused, then down at the pouring blood on her foot.