A Son of Ice and Fire

A/N: 50 chapters complete. It's been a long journey so far, and there's still so much further to go. So many more meetings between not only HTTYD, but GOT characters as well. There's still so many different interactions I would love to write, and any you want to see me include, I would love to hear your thoughts. Just writing these chapters now, I don't know why, but I like it that Snotlout isn't immediately against Hiccup. I've read so many fanfictions where the two are enemies and Snotlout is evil or jealous, but I like this way better. I like to think he sees Hiccup as what he wants to be, and looks up to him in a way, so I just love writing their interactions. This is especially important in this chapter, and shows they aren't too different after all :)

Guest: Spitelout probably deserves to die, but I don't think he is the worst out there. Believe me, the threat of Drago will soon have you hating him a lot more.

Guest: You'll be glad to know, I have no plans on killing off Gobber any time soon. In my original draft, it was Gobber that was killed in the S2 finale, so I bet you're glad I didn't go down that path. The Ironborn are already being kicked back to the sea in S3 of thrones (Theon captured by Ramsey etc.) so I doubt their hold on Dragon's edge will be that secure.

Chapter 50: An unlikely alliance

Astrid

The journey to the inn was a solemn as it was long. The four of us trudged across the heavy ground, the remnants of the snowfall of a few days ago now just soggy puddles soaking into my boots. Valka struggled, and by the time we reached the first sign of life after the castle, she looked as if she was about to faint. Luckily for us, the place was a large farm, and although reluctant at first, they allowed us to stay for a while to rest and recharge. For an overly-exorbitant price, they even sold us two of their horses, but the cost was the least on any of our minds. I rode with Valka, whereas Heather rode with Camicazi. That way we could react if either of those still suffering the effects of the poison started to feel unwell, or fell unconscious again. Surprisingly, the ride went without any hitches, but just being on a different horse just made me think about how scared Stormfly must be. All alone. They wouldn't be treating her well. Just something else irreplaceable that I left behind.

About a dozen times I had to fight the urge to just turn the horse around and ride back towards Dragon's edge at full speed. No. I need to protect them. He trusted me to protect them. I will not let him down. Heather and Valka will be safe. Heather, though still weak at first, grew stronger, and by the time we had reached our destination in the early hours of the morning, flickers of her normal self were showing through. As we reached the inn, I jumped off the all black horse, holding my hand out to Valka who gracefully climbed down after. Heather and Camicazi dismounted their walnut-coloured mare and then we tied them up with the other horses in the makeshift stable. The inn itself was a large, thin, two story wooden building that looked like it was one gust of wind from collapsing. The roof seemed to be completely missing in parts, with gaping holes leaving the room underneath vulnerable to the elements. A charming place, that's for sure.

Pushing open the heavy doors, the stench hit me almost immediately, and I had to resist the urge to throw up all over the grubby welcome mat. The smell, a mixture of blood and sick that was most likely the result off the previous night couldn't possibly be avoided. The only positive was that the place was now almost deserted, so we would had a clear path through. Seven empty tables sat in a random arrangement throughout, and the eighth only had two men on it who were engaged in an arm-wrestle. Thick wooden support beams poked up from the ground, but most were bent awkwardly and very few reached the roof exactly vertically above their base. How is this place still standing? Disregarding all my objections, I began to walk forward. Carefully stepping over pools of I don't know what, we made our way towards the main bar. A small man, with no hair and a thin, grey pencil moustache welcomed us. Sort of, anyways. A slight flick of his eyes upwards, and a single grunt sounded, before he returned to monotonously polish what must be the only clean surface in the joint.

"Excuse me, Sir, we'd like to book two rooms for the next few nights. Are there any available?" I asked, in my most polite tone possible.

"These are the rules. You pay in advance. If you die, everything you own belongs to me. If you shit on the floor, you pay double," the man said gruffly, his nasally voice eerily similar to Mildew's. Although a bit taken back, and momentarily lost for words, the terms were agreed. I paid the man for the three nights, and he handed over the two keys. Battered, and cracked in so many places, it looked as if they had been in just about as many battles as us. "Up the stairs. Third on the right. Fourth on left. Have a nice stay."

With the words of the innkeeper behind us, the four of us climbed our way up the rickety steps. I passed the other key to Valka, before I carefully opened the door to mine and Heather's room. It was the definition of desolate. The single bed sat plainly against the sidewall, and that was the only thing in the entire room. The floorboards creaked as we walked across them, and the faint dripping from the ceiling had formed a puddle in the corner of the room. It's better than nothing. At least we have a roof over our heads.

"You know I'm fine sleeping on the floor," Heather mumbled, "you can take the bed."

"You and your mother need the beds much more than I do. Stop being stubborn." I argued, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I laid my axe to lean against the side, as I pushed my hands down onto the mattress. It was firm, feeling more like a solid wooden block than anything comfortable, but it still beat laying on the ground. I allowed myself to fall back, letting my arms stretch wide, as I collapsed fully onto the bed. I can take a moment to relax. Just a moment.

"Astrid, look at you. You've haven't slept a wink since we left the edge," Heather sighed, shaking her head. "I'm going to go check on Mum, you might as well get some sleep. You won't be useful to anyone if you can barely keep your eyes open."

"I'm fine, I…"

"There's nothing more than can be done now. You know that. Do us both a favour, and just give yourself a break. Now all any of us can do is wait," Heather said softly, before she turned and headed for the door.

I saw her give me one last look, before she closed the door gently behind her, leaving me in almost darkness. I swiveled myself around, so I was laying the correct way on the bed. I sat up temporarily, pulling out the drawing from my pocket, before I pulled my coat off and allowed It to spiral into a pile on the floor. I unfolded the paper, and a sad smile crossed my lips. I stared at the smudge mark, where my tear drop had smeared the ink, all those months ago. I quickly folded it, clutching in in my palm, as I turned to lay on my side. "Now all I can do is wait," I whispered to myself, as my eyelids began to close.

Hiccup

"They'll only give me a minute lad, so I'll be quick," Gobber stated quickly, as he rushed into my cell. The burning pain erupted once more, but I pulled myself from the ground just in time for him to pull me into a hug. As I glanced over the smith's shoulder, three Ironborn men guarded the door, all eyeing with me with hostility, and with their weapons out, jut in case.

"It's great you to see you, Gobber, it is, but why are you here?" I asked with a smile.

The man's embrace only tightened, to a point equalling the bone-crushing ability of my dad. "Apart from to say thank you for you saving this old fool's life this morning, I just wanted to make sure yer alright?"

"Well, the company's not great, and I think I'm turning into even more of a fishbone, but apart from that, I can't complain," I grinned, before I realised I hadn't much time and had to rush to the more important questions. "They haven't caught them, have they? Please tell me they did get away?" I asked nervously.

"No-one's seen any sign of them, if yer on about who I think yer on about," Gobber nodded, finally releasing me from his hold.

"Thank the Gods. At least something positive came out of this," I said, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

"Lad," Gobber sighed, "I'll do all I can to help you, but don't do anything stupid."

"Stupid?" I exclaimed. "When have I ever done something stupid?"

He just looked at me with a blank expression, before pulling me into a hug again and whispering into my ear, "I know you want to stay and protect your people, but if you do get a chance to go… Go." He stared me in the eyes, as his hand brushed mine. His rough fingers were soon replaced by the cold of steel in my hand. My eyes must have shot open, but thankfully I was looking at him, out of view of the guards.

I clasped my fingers around the dagger, sliding it slowly into my back pocket, before I turned back to him, "I thought you told me not to do anything stupid," I chuckled, "But even if I could get out, I can't just leave you here."

"We will suffer with or without you here," he said gravely. "But if you are no longer their prisoner, the people here can fight back and not have to worry about you getting hurt for it. They all appreciate how much you have done for them, and they won't hate you for leaving. If you do get a chance, go find Stoick. Bring him back here, and together, you can shove these scum back to the sea where they belong," Gobber laughed, releasing me again and nodding.

"RIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH! CLEAR OUT!" Ordered one of the guards.

"You get a chance, you go," Gobber said under his breath one last time, as he started walking backwards out of the cell. I fell backwards, dropping against the back wall, as he was shoved by two of the guards out and away from the cells. I subconsciously fiddled with the blade's handle, closing my eyes and thinking of how I could get out. His words rebounded over and over again in my mind, and I nodded to myself. If I get a chance, I will go. Then I will come back with full force, and they will suffer.

Snotlout

"Right. I'll just go and get my father then," I stated coldly to the guards, "I'm sure he would love to be woken up at this time at night, just because two of his men are incompetent."

"But. My Lord…" One of the guards protested. "Okay then, it's settled, I'll go and get him. I'm sure he will be very lenient with your punishments," I pressured them, and started to turn around. They looked across at each other nervously, and I could see the panic on their faces.

"No. You don't have to do that," the other man called out. "Go through." I nodded at him with a straight face, but the moment I'd got past them, a victorious smile crossed my lips. I suppose this does work better than yelling at them.

Past the guards, it was only ten or so steps until I was infront of the cell. "Can you give us some privacy?" I asked, but with a tone telling both men it was more of a command than a question. One of them raised his hand slightly to object, but immediately put it back down to his side. A few seconds of intense staring followed, but reluctantly the two men turned and headed up the steps. I kept my eyes only on them, as they ascended the stairs, and bit by bit their outlines were lost to the darkness.

I swivelled back to face the cell, where I expected to see Hiccup sleeping. But instead, he was just staring at me, as he rested with his back to the wall. He was spinning the bracelet thing around on his wrist, just above the jagged red marks, where the handcuffs had obviously been clamped too hard. He sat with one leg fully outstretched, while his other was bent so his knee was up to chest. He looked at me curiously, "I didn't expect to see you again. Especially after what happened today."

"Especially after that, I had to come. I thought it'd be best if I came late, that way I could give you this," I smiled. Careful not to unfasten it too quickly to dislodge what was pressed against my chest, I unwrapped my thick cloak slowly and plucked the sketchbook out.

His eyes lit up, "You actually brought it!"

"I said I would, didn't I?" I smiled. He slowly began to shuffle himself forward, wincing with every movement of his right leg. "Do you want me to get you something for the pain?"

"Nah, I'm good," he grunted, "Mildew, the old bastard, he's probably pushed back recovery for a week or so, but I can manage. I always have." With almost animalistic sounds as he pushed himself towards me, he hauled himself forward until he had made it to the front corner. Sitting unceremoniously with his back to right side of the cell, he gripped a bar strongly with his left hand, as he breathed heavily to manage the pain. I didn't know what to say, and just stood awkwardly in silence for a few seconds, before he spoke again, "We don't have to be enemies, you know."

"I didn't think we were. I've tried as much as I can to help you," I snapped, pulling the book back closer to my chest.

He just began to laugh, "No. I didn't mean you and me. I meant the Haddocks and the Jorgensons in general. It doesn't make sense."

I inched closer to the bars, slowly beginning to sit down opposite him, "What do you mean?"

"Our two houses at war. It's ridiculous. We share blood for fuck sake!" He growled, his knuckles glowing white as he clenched the bar.

"WHAT?" I exclaimed loudly. "Since when?"

He must have seen the confusion in my eyes, as his anger seemed to fade, "You don't know?" I shook my head, as he pursed his lips and looked at the ground. "It was one of the first things I was taught. Where we came from. Our history. But I'm not surprised your father never mentioned it. I suppose it would be hard for him to tell you that the founder of House Haddock… He was a Jorgenson."

"No. No. He would have told me. He would have said something. Surely." I argued.

"It was a dark time in the history of your House. It nearly fell completely," he informed casually, as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Tell me more," I urged him, "what happened?"

"If you go all those years back, there was one man who appears in both our histories. We both descended from him. He had two sons, and one of them was the founder of my house. My ancestor didn't agree with the Ironborn ways, whereas yours lived only for the reaving, raping and pillaging. When Aegon Targaryen came, one brother, my ancestor, he had enough of the fighting. He took his men and left the Iron Islands, starting new in the North with a new name, and he never looked back. The brother you descended from, he wasn't as wise. Both he and his father fought the Targaryens, and they didn't survive Aegon's conquest. All that remained of the mighty House Jorgenson was his infant son," he informed me, as I just sat there wide-eyed with my mouth open.

"I've never heard of any of that," I admitted weakly, still trying to get my head around it all. Me and Hiccup, we're distant family. Like great great great great great cousins or something? How the fuck has this been hidden away?

"It was probably erased from your history. Definitely not something to look back on with pride." He sighed heavily, "Listen to me. The longer you stay here, the greater the chances both our houses will be gone come winter. You better believe that if anything happens to me, my father will not stop until your future is gone as well."

"Believe me, the last thing I want is mutual destruction," I reassured him, "Why do you think I'm down here?"

"To give me that book, I thought," he chuckled.

"Oh yeah, the book," I laughed, "here you go." I carefully slotted it through the space between the bars, and he reached forward and grabbed it, before resting it on his lap. I continued to stare at the cover for a few seconds, and he must have noticed, as he looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "The dragon," I blurted out, "Why the dragon? If Aegon and his dragons killed most of your founder's family, why would he use it as his sigil?"

"I'm glad you asked," he said eagerly, with a wide smile. "My dad told me a bit about our history last year, but I was still interested, so I went through all the castle records to find out more. Turns out the founder of House Haddock married with a Targaryen Princess. Tell me honestly, if your wife is from a family that is known to ride the fire-breathing lizards, I guess it's only realistic that they chose a dragon for the sigil."

"I suppose," I said hesitantly, "so that means your part Targaryen as well."

He abruptly opened the book, and flicked through the pages, until he reached the one he was aiming for. "I think I'm just a slight bit more than part Targaryen. My mother is one," he grinned, pointing to the drawing near the end of the book.

"I was wondering who that was," I mumbled thoughtlessly, and he snapped his eyes up towards me judgmentally. "What? I had to make sure there wasn't a lock-picking set in there. I'm not totally stupid."

"I never said you were. The fact you're down here might just mean you're the least stupid Ironborn here. You can't win this war. I promise you that."

I shook my head furiously, "Please can we not talk about the war any longer. I've had enough of that from my father. Can we talk about something that doesn't involve death?" I asked, eyeing down at the book in his hands.

"You're really interested in this?" Hiccup asked, motioning to the book. I nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, if you insist." He slowly turned so that we could both see the drawings. "Like I said before, this is my mother, Valka. I really hope she does get to see Dad again." Before I could ask questions, he flicked over to the drawing of the stunning girl with the black braid. "This is my sister, Heather. If you couldn't tell already by my rant yesterday, Mildew poisoned her, and she wasn't even awake when I sent them all away. I hope she's alright," he trailed off sadly.

"Sent them away?" I questioned.

"You really think I'd keep the people I care most about here, to be used as bargaining chips? Where they could be beaten, raped, even killed. When I said to Mildew that you wouldn't find them, I wasn't lying. You won't find them," he stated bluntly.

"Does that include this blonde girl?" I asked, as he was about to turn to the last few pages page. Only then did I see his hands slightly shaking. "Is she the one Mildew called a whore?"

"SHE IS NOT A WHORE!" He immediately roared, curling his fist into a ball.

"Okay. Okay," I backtracked, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend. Is she your wife or something?

"She's something, that's for sure," he sighed, resting his head back against the bars and closing his eyes. "It's complicated. If you gave it six months, maybe a year, we could have got there. But no. Your stupid father on his idiotic revenge mission just had to go and ruin it didn't he? Just had to go and smash everything we'd built. For what?"

"The reasons are hardly important now," I sighed, "it's happened, as hard as it is, you need to get over it. There's nothing you can do. I'm giving you as much as I can here, just…"

"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK WHAT YOU CAN GIVE, SNOTLOUT. IT'S WHAT YOU TOOK THAT MATTERS," he bellowed angrily, allowing the book to fall onto his lap as he gripped the bars with both hands. "You can let me out and actually make a difference, then you can say that you helped me.

"I can't do that."

"Then why are you still here? If you let me out now, I can still get to them. I can stop all this suffering. Just let me get back to them," he pleaded

"You leave like this, with your leg like that, you'll be dead in days. You can't even walk on it, never mind ride. It's not happening," I said firmly.

"You think a dodgy knee will stop me getting back to my family, and the woman I love? THINK AGAIN!" Hiccup protested, attempting to lift himself to his feet.

"Hiccup, don't." I said strongly, but that didn't stop him from using the bars as his support, as he pulled himself to his feet. I followed him in standing up, shaking my head at how stubborn he was being. I should just leave now, that way he won't do any more damage to himself.

Standing firmly on one foot, but putting as little weight as possible on the other, he finally stood up tall, towering over me by at least half a foot. "See, I'm fine," he huffed through grated teeth.

"You're not fine. You need to rest. Putting too much pressure on that is not good. You'll lose the foot if you keep putting pressure on it like this. You've already lost a lot of blood. This is not a good idea," I said firmly.

"Lose the foot? Stop overexaggerating. I would never lose the foot!" He laughed, before he put a hand through the bars and onto my shoulder, "You want to leave here, just as much as I do. I can see it in your eyes. You get me out of this cell, I can get you out of this castle."

"No," I rejected instantly. I have to stay here. I have to. But why? Just to sit and watch Dad and Viggo make all these people's lives a misery. Maybe I should have gone with Dagur after all. "No," I repeated again. "I have to stay here to stop them from making life here unbearable. I won't just run away."

"The longer I stay here like this, the worse it will get for these people. They know if they step out of line, or try to fight back, your father would be happy to show them my head on a spike," he told me in a hushed voice.

"He wouldn't do that. Not now. I'll stay and make sure it won't happen," I protested again.

"If that's your choice," Hiccup sighed, turning and hopping slowly to the back of the cell, before slumping against the wall. "You are mistaking a mistake, my friend. Staying here will only make things spiral until you get in too deep. Just come and get me when you realise that. I'll be waiting."

He flicked through the pages of his sketchbook, now ignoring my presence, and I just stood there unsure of what to do. I eventually pulled a small pot of ink and a quill to write with out of one of my pockets. "Don't you want these? You can hardly draw things with only your fingers?"

He raised his eyes from the pages, "Thank you, but I didn't ask for this so I can draw."

"Then why did you ask for it?" I challenged him.

"Because if I am to die here. I want to remember the faces of the people that mean the most to me. It looks like I'll be here a while." His eyes immediately flicked back down to the book, and he reached a hand out to softly touch the page with cupped fingers. Well, now this conversation is over. I leaned down, and reached a hand through the bars, placing the drawing tools just on the inside of the cell. With that done, I gave him one last look, and then I turned away to leave. It had to be done, I told myself, as I left the cells behind me. As much as I want to, I can't leave. Dad would call me a traitor. He'd name Viggo his heir. No. This way is better. I hope so, anyway. It can't get as bad as he says. It can't.