Interestingly, I it a bot of a wall in this chapter, and that was how the discussion between Stoick, North and Jack was supposed to go. I haven't learnt how to plan such things out yet... So my mother and I went to visit her parents, and somehow we started talking about parenthood. The results from that talk got me thinking, and I'm quite happy with how it turned out. It feels like it's within the boundaries of their characters too. A creator isn't supposed to play favourites, but I really like Stoick in this story :D

I swear I saw a dragon

North knew he was pushing them all, but he didn't want to stop when night fell. He wanted to be back in Berk, where there were people, where he could surround his family with walls and locked doors.

Jack had fallen silent again, trying to get his exhausted mind to come up with some way to tell his father he wanted to go back. Back to a creature North was so afraid of he became irrational, back to a warm sitting room where a fire almost always welcomed him, where silent furniture were happy to be used and where Jack had spent so much time reading and sharing the stories with anyone who was there at the moment. Back to a library that held a book about a guardian of childhood that looked like a being of nightmares.

"Angels can have any shape," Hiccup had said.

Jack wished he had the dragon's way with words and his calm.

They broke the treeline and Jack felt like he was walking to his own execution. The river hissed on their right. On the other side, basking in the faint light of the half moon, lay Berk. Here lived Snotlout who threatened to burn Jack's house down. Here was Pitch with his disturbing gazes and words. Here was Anna who Jack failed to force himself to have feelings for, whose father had accused Jack of courting without permission.

Flynn Rider was here.

No Fishlegs to spend time with reading books, no Dagur to cook and complain that Jack wasn't on time for him to serve hot meals, no Ida to talk to or Tuffnut to laugh with, no Gobber, Bunny and Astrid watching over him from the side-lines.

Hiccup wasn't here.

Philippe threw with his head and snorted. He remembered this place. This was home; a good place. As far as horse-minds go, Philippe wasn't unhappy to be here, and he was glad to have the saddle off his back. However, when he stood in his old stall with an armful of dry hay and old apples to eat, there were no invisible hands that tended to him and no voices to keep him company.

First chance he got, Philippe wanted to get back to that place that had a black creature that brought him fresh apples.

For Jack, being inside the house made him feel slightly better, the same way walking inside a safe room in a war zone did. The horror was still there, but at least here he had his own place.

"Dad," Jack started.

"Go to bed, son. Get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

Too tired to argue, Jack trudged up the stairs. He stopped halfway up, greeted by Sandy who came to meet him and rub against legs, purring up a storm. He picked the tabby up in his arms, buried his face in his soft fur. Sandy responded by gracefully allowing it where he would normally not.

His room was tidy, the sheets on his bed were clean and the bed itself made, unlike how Jack had left it. Everything was familiar and his and still it no longer felt like it was his room.

Tooth wasn't here to greet him or talk to him for however long it would take him to fall asleep.

Through the material of his bag, Jack felt the outline of the magic mirror.

Unable to stand it anymore Jack lit the lamp beside his bed and brought the mirror to the light.

"Show me Hiccup."

His image contorted.

The roars and fires had raged and echoed through the mountains and forests all day, across the abyss and through all that was Astrid no matter how much she tried to block it out. She regretted going to the west wing and seeing why Hiccup had suddenly lost it. He'd been brave and strong for them for so many years, without anyone able to give support to him. All of them knowing this only caused the distance to grow.

Now the rose was wilting, Jack was gone and someone had come here and left. Of course Hiccup would break.

His roars had hurt far further into Astrid afterwards.

When the sun set, the entire yard was coal and ashes, a few fires still going in the few trees that had been there. The forest outside was scorched and burning too. Behind the castle the wall had finally caved after the dragon had frown head first into it, and the entire backyard was now slanting dangerously.

Astrid found herself wishing the ground would give, that the abyss would swallow them all and put an end to them.

Of course that didn't happen. How stupid was she to hope for such mercy?

A cart and a couple rakes had gone out to collect the collapsed dragon and bring him inside. Astrid lit the fire in the sitting room and Hiccup was gently placed on the mat before the fireplace.

There were no words between any of them.

In his room, Jack stared at his own pale reflection after the image faded away. He needed to go back. But he had promised to convince North Hiccup was a friend. Jack truly wished he could say that everyone in the castle were friendly, but they were people! How was he going to make North see that?!

Hugging the mirror close to his chest, Jack closed his eyes and fell sideways onto his bed, burrowing his face in the pillow.

He didn't mean to, but he fell asleep.

Chief Stoick was an early bird. Once upon a time he'd go outside in the dawn, watch the village wake and feel pride that he was their leader. Now it was a comfort. He'd go out and sit on his porch and watch lights and smoke start to emerge from the different households. It was comforting to know they were all there, that there were still people here and not just a field of empty houses.

Every morning he also searched the sky, and had to remind himself the dragons that had once shadowed the morning stars were gone.

The baker's house of course was always alive with activity long before Stoick started brewing his morning tea.

On the other side of the river were fewer houses, the hunters' homes.

Stoick noted that the Overlands were unusually early today and took a sip of tea.

Then he looked again, awareness creeping up on him. The Overlands!

Tea forgotten, as well as the fact he hadn't put on a shirt, Stoick ran around the village, across the bridge and straight to the Overland home. He banged hard on the door.

After a while, the door opened, and a dishevelled North stood there, rubbing his eyes.

"What time is it?" the toymaker asked groggily.

"Morning, early," Stoick answered, pretty much automatically, because he was stunned. North was back. North was still alive! How many others had gone and not returned over the years?!

"I must have fallen asleep. I was only going to sit down for a little while," the toymaker said and rubbed his face. Then he looked at his guest. "Chief? Why are you not wearing a coat? Come in, it's cold outside."

Whether that was true or not Stoick was unaware, but stepped inside anyway.

"What about Jack?"

The toymaker was about to answer when doubt flashed across his features, then anxiety and he turned to dash up the stairs.

Stoick didn't follow. He was still reeling from the fact North was here, and immensely worried about Flynn Rider. According to the other hunters Flynn was good at catching game. Tracking them however was someone else's job. Best case scenario Flynn was at home, or simply lost and all Stoick would have to do was traverse a short distance north and send up a flare or blow a home-call horn to guide the youth back.

North returned from upstairs. With Jackson in tow.

Stoick felt lightheaded.

"You're back," he whispered. He needed to sit down, needed a moment to steady himself in this new world where people returned from the north-east.

"I'm… I'm sorry to say we'll be moving out," North said.

Stoick heard the toymaker speak but couldn't pick out a single word. He finally located a chair and sank down on it.

Jackson stared at the large, shirtless man who he had respected since day one. Right now he was acutely aware of what this man could do to Hiccup, but he wasn't blind to his state of shock.

"Did Flynn Rider bring your home?" Stoick asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Flynn? I… I haven't seen him since… October," Jack said hesitatingly, glancing at his father who also shook his head.

Stoick just nodded and sunk even deeper into the chair. "Where have you been, Jackson?" he asked. "Was there… anyone else there?"

North hadn't forgotten Jack's threat of hating him, just like he hadn't forgotten the boy just needed time to come back to his right mind.

"He's been held captive by a dragon!"

"DAD!"

"Dragons don't keep prisoners!"

Both Overlands jerked back at the sudden sharpness of Stoick's voice and the wild look in his eyes. He stayed seated, and his face was tense as he regarded the two before him.

"Is it true, Jackson," he asked at length. "Have you been kept safe by a dragon?"

North's and Jack's eyes widened almost comically, but for completely different reasons.

"KEPT SAFE?!" North hollered. "Have you lost your mind!? That monster put me in a cell and awaited my slow death. It's a monster! I demand that you…"

North voice died away when Stoick stood and stepped over to the toymaker in an unhurried, stalking way, towered over the other man in a manner that reminded North, and Jack too, so much of the dragon.

"I know what a man who has succumbed to fear looks like and how he reasons," Stoick said in a level tone and a clear warning in his voice. "And I fought enough dragons in my youth to know for sure; dragons don't keep prisoners. They always, always, go for the kill if you're a threat, and they care for you if you are not. Now sit down."

Beside them Jack was gaping. Stoick had been a somewhat withdrawn man since Jack had known him, but he was still chief, and Jack hadn't forgotten it was this man who had taken him to the elder and poked a hole in the rumour that Jack's white hair was because of something supernatural. He'd known Stoick wasn't a push-over in any sense of the word, but it was still a shock to see him exude his power.

No wonder this man was so respected in the village.

With North under control, the chief turned his intense look on Jack. He searched the boy's face for a minute.

"Your face look haunted, but rather than fear, you seem concerned," he stated with the conviction of one who had seen it all and still wouldn't look away. "You have been cared for by a dragon."

Jack stared into Stoick's face. There was something there that reminded him so strongly of Hiccup that it ached in his heart.

"Please don't hurt him," Jack heard himself plead. "He's… crippled. He can't go too far and he can't leave the castle."

"A cripple you say," Stoick said distractedly with a slight nod and a hand pulling his beard, then he smiled lopsidedly and asked with a light voice. "He wouldn't happen to be black with green eyes and listen to the name Toothless?"

Jack blinked, taken aback. "No. Hiccup."

All colour drained from Stoick's face. He wobbled, but stayed up with visible effort.

That's when it suddenly dawned on Jack. "You're his father."

It made perfect sense. The people who had disappeared ten years ago were from Berk, Stoick's son had been one of them, Hiccup was a leading figure who took care of everyone best he could. And hadn't he just thought Stoick reminded Jack of Hiccup?

Beside them, North was lost. "The dragon?" he asked out loud.

Stoick's eyes cleared, but his face seemed as if he was swallowing needles. "Is it true? Snotlout has said for years Hiccup was eaten… that he disappeared into the Night Fury. Is that true, Jackson?"

That, Jack didn't understand at all. To him Snotlout was a madman who just bullied him and would stop at nothing to hunt dragons.

"I… I don't know? I mean, Hiccup is a dragon right now. He said he was lured out by Alvin and encountered the Enchantress who cursed them all."

Horror settled in every cell of Stoick's person. Alvin. All. More than just Hiccup. Them all. The Enchantress. Crippled. Couldn't leave. Couldn't come back. Night Fury. If Hiccup had indeed turned into a crippled Night Fury through the Enchantress and couldn't come home, what had become of everyone else? If they could, they would have sent word to Berk for help. Stoick knew this like he knew days were light and nights were dark. After so many years of people only disappearing in the direction of the north-east, Stoick's heart hurt as he realized why.

"What have I done?"

"Chief?"

Jackson stood before him. Jackson who had come back, who wasn't dead. Who pleaded for Hiccup's life. Hiccup who couldn't come home.

"You need to take me there," Stoick said. "Please take me to my son."

Jack cast a glance at this father who sat beside them imitating a bird house. This was everything Jack could have ever asked for and more. With Stoick's help he could convince North Hiccup wasn't a monster, just like he'd promised, and he could go back to the dragon.

"Of course."

"Tomorrow," Stoick decided, like the chief he'd always been. "You both look exhausted. Eat, rest and talk. I must prepare the village for my leave."

And with those words Stoick the Vast squeezed out of the door, strode through the village towards his home with his chest bared for the world and more straight-backed than anyone had seen him in years.

Including Pitch Black.

The gravedigger stared after the chief in shock before swirling around towards the Overland home.

Jackson stood in the doorway, staring after the chief before turning around, looking at someone inside, nodding and closing the door.

They were back. They were both back!

Pitch stumbled over his own legs as he turned and hurried through the village towards the inn. Ulrika, Flynn's mother, was outside inspecting the front face of the inn with a critical eye.

"Mrs Rider!" Pitch called as he approached. "Mrs Rider! Your son! Has your son returned?"

Ulrika looked up, seemingly unfazed. She had the physique of a woman who had done heavy labour all her life, the same brown hair and eyes as Flynn and the earliest signs of aging at the corners of her eyes. An average woman with smile that never failed to make you smile right back. She smiled even now, though it was tainted by lack of sleep.

"Good morning, Mr Black. I haven't seen Flynn since he left, and Merida is still missing."

Pitch took deep breaths and did everything he could to make it look like all hope was gone. "Forgive me, Mrs Rider. I saw your son leave to fetch the Overlands, and this morning the toymaker and his son are both at home. I saw them with my own eyes. I had hoped that it was Flynn that had brought them home during the quiet of the night. But if he isn't here…"

Ulrika's smile wobbled. "I see. Thank you very much, Mr Black, for worrying."

"Of course. My apologies, Mrs Rider," Pitch said and backed away, bowing, before hurrying after Stoick.

The chief had already reached his house. Pitch saw the door closing and quickened his strides. He had to make sure. He had to know where Flynn was! He banged on Stoick's door like a desperate man.

"Black? What is it?"

The gravedigger looked up at the bigger man who seemed to just have thrown a shirt over his head.

"Flynn!" Pitch gasped. "I saw you leave the toymaker's house and saw Jackson in the doorway. But Rider! Where is Flynn Rider?!"

The chief stood before Pitch with a frown on his face, and Pitch had to look again. Stoick looked… different somehow.

"I asked the Overlands about Flynn. Neither had seen him. I have heard from the other hunters though that the Rider son isn't too good with tracking. Hopefully he just got lost."

"Let me go look for him!" Pitch said earnestly. "Please, let me do this! I worry. There are too many empty graves in the graveyard. Don't let them make me raise another tombstone without a body underneath! We don't need any more lost souls!"

This Pitch Black knew for certain had always been an issue for many elders in the village, and everyone knew it was a personal issue for him. When family members of the people who disappeared ten years ago gave up hope one by one they had asked Pitch to give them graves in hopes it would lead the lost souls home. Stoick was the last one, the only one who had refused to give up hope and Pitch was silently, genuinely grateful for it. Empty graves was wrong. Tombstones raised where nobody was buried was bad luck. It was said to attract feral ghosts and evil spirits, Pitch was certain of this and had given this argument out every time someone wanted him to carve a name into a rock. But closure had always been more important than the superstitiousness of a gravedigger.

Stoick looked at him for a moment, then lifted his gaze towards the horizon. The sun was coming, not yet rising but lightening more and more of the sky. He seemed to see further, eyes searching places far beyond that of his vision.

"Yes," Stoick said at long last. "You should go look for him. For this, I will trust you."

Pitch let out a winded breath of relief. "Thank you, chief. Oh! Flares! Do you have them? Or should I bother the hunters?"

Stoick waved a hand. "Wait here a minute."

As he waited, Pitch spied at Overland's house, wishing the baker's house didn't obscure his view of the bridge and that he had a clear view of the main street. The toymaker had only been gone for three days and Flynn for two. Unlike the Overlands, Flynn would definitely not return quietly. The whole village would know the moment Flynn was back and Pitch had to stop that from happening. He had to stop Flynn from coming back!

The chief came out with two sticks in his hand and handed them over with some reluctance. Pitch stared at them for a second, because these weren't the kind of flares the hunters used. These were the original invention containing dragon gas and spark.

"I am honoured," the gravedigger said tactfully as he accepted them.

"Tell me something, Black," Stoick said. "Why weren't you like this when Jackson and North disappeared?"

"Because nobody would have asked me to raise a tombstone for them, chief," Pitch sneered and left, ignoring how Stoick's face had tensed at his words. It was the truth and the chief couldn't deny it.

So Pitch hurried home with the flares tucked close to his body. They had dragon designs all over them, and Pitch could almost hear them laugh at him, at what he'd been forced to become, been denied and reduced to.

Long ago, Pitch's father had been a highly respected man. A dragon hunter like no other, the best of the best. He'd been so admired in fact that he'd denied the post as chief, because he felt more powerful knowing that even the village leader, Stoick's father at the time, couldn't measure up to the prowess of Mildew Black. Stoick too had been second to Mildew and the old hunter had never failed to rub that in.

Then Hiccup Horrendous Haddock had happened, born small and too early, a failure in every sense of the word. This was the one who had torn Mildew's life down, and in addition; Pitch's. Hiccup had tamed the dragons, had made them listen to him, changed people's minds about them, spearheaded a reform of values and ways of life, and suddenly hunting dragons had been a thing of the past. Mildew, who had been so powerful he stood above the chief, had had his pride turned into something he should be ashamed of.

Pitch had no interest in his father's fame or pride, but now he felt like he had a chance to make room for himself in the village, and get rid of Flynn Rider at the same time.

When the reform of their society had taken place, Mildew had not been asked to remove the trophies decorating his house. Hiccup had explained to the village as a whole that the dragons had not forgotten, but were willing to forgive the ones who showed remorse and willingness to change. The way to do so was to clean away once prideful memorials of people's battles and victories over dragons. Claws, teeth, skin, heads, tails and any other dragon parts saved had been buried or otherwise hidden away. Hiccup had asked nobody to do this, and instead left it to every household to decide.

Mildew and a few others had been happy to ignore Hiccup's warning about dragons being petty and vengeful. At least until they learned that petty and vengeful meant exactly that. Pitch might have felt more than nothing for his father if Mildew had cared about him done something about the different venoms Pitch had suffered from by dragons who weren't shy about ambushing him, but he couldn't quite forgive the old man for taking down his trophies only in order to save his cabbage field.

Either way, Mildew had been a dragon hunter all his life with skills that brought him power and fame. Such a man would never be able to let that go.

Arriving home, Pitch placed the flares on the only table he owned, wiping his hands on his clothes, and went to a part of the house that he hadn't been to since he was a child.

After his fall from grace, Mildew had had a lot of time to spend with his past. He'd built this extra cellar with his own hands, carved each shelve and even written down detailed retellings of how he'd come in possession of each and every piece. A set of teeth that he'd dug out of his own body after an especially close call rested on a pedestal at the head of the room, once polished white, now they were grey and almost seemed like they had shrivelled. On the wall behind it Mildew had hung his weapons. Pitch stared at it all. He'd planned this for some time but something had stopped him from coming down here. Now he wondered why. He felt nothing, nothing but frustration that most of the trophies down here were completely useless to him. His gardening tools were more intimidating than most of the garbage here. Mildew's weapons were all rusty and rotting, some even having fallen from their places on the walls.

Then Pitch turned, fuming, and his eyes landed on a price that came with a sense of almost nostalgia.

When he was still in his prime, Mildew had made a costume he'd used to get Pitch used to the fear-factor of dragons. Gloves from dragon skin with hollowed out dragon claws, a mask from a dragon skull protected by layers of glue and paint. Pitch remembered his father chasing after him in this outfit, had gotten a bite from this mask and been scratch by those claws so badly they'd left scars.

"Have pride in them, son. Scars are the only trophies that will always be yours alone."

Pitch's face stretched in a sinister grin.

Ruffnut stood on the bridge, torn about how she felt seeing North and Jackson Overland working on the farm. She watched them for a minute; North feeling over the body and legs of the horse while Jack checked through the small patches of soil around the house where they grew vegetables and tomatoes. Ruffnut had been here almost every day, so there was probably not much for Jack to actually do.

Standing up and clapping dirt off his hands, Jack turned and spotted her. He waved and her with a hesitant smile.

"You're back," Ruffnut said lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah. Thank you for taking care of the place for us."

Ruffnut stared at the younger boy, even more torn than before, because they were back. They wanted their farm back of course, the farm that had been Ruffnut's escape. She'd loved to be here, away from the village and the ghosts that haunted her there, away from Snotlout and Dogsbreath that never hunted on this side of the river. But Jack and the toymaker were back! They weren't dead!

"What happened?" she asked. "Nobody's ever returned from the north-east before. I'd started to view this farm as mine."

"You can have it," the toymaker grunted.

Ruffnut's eyes grew large in surprise.

"We're moving out," the Overland elder elaborated without looking up from inspecting the horse's shoes. "Leaving Berk."

The woman stood stock still. A part of her was elated that she would be given the farm, the rest of her was cold with fear. She didn't even dare to ask the questions that was growing in her mind.

"Stoick asked me to… show him where I've been," Jack said quietly. "Hey… you had a brother, right?"

"I did," Ruffnut said automatically, caught on the detail that Stoick… that the chief was… "Why?"

"What was his name?"

"Who? What? You know Stoick."

Jack blinked up at her. "Stoick? I was asking about your brother. What is his name?"

Ruffnut shook her head violently. Too many questions were buzzing about her mind for her to properly process what the teen was asking. "Brother? Tuffnut. but Stoick is leaving? Why is…? Where have you been?"

Jack grabbed her by the arms. "Calm down. I'll bring you some water. Here, come and sit, you look like you've seen a ghost."

With an arm around her shoulders, Jack led Ruffnut towards the stairs leading to the front door. He sat her down and was about to go inside when the woman grabbed him roughly, jerking him back. She stared towards the bridge where yet another sight met her.

Pitch Black was pulling a cart behind him, whatever tools he had on it carefully covered by sacking. He looked towards them, nodded in greeting, and turned north.

"What is going on?" Ruffnut asked tensely.

"I don't know. Is someone dead? I've only ever seen Pitch with that cart when he's out to pick up a corpse."

"The hunters bring their own back," Ruffnut argued. Because those were the only ones who would be in the forest.

But nobody hunted in the north where Pitch was headed.

"Maybe you should go home, Ruffnut?" Jack said kindly. "You don't look too good."

The woman only nodded and stood on unsteady legs. She left the Overland farm without looking back.

North stared after her too and caught the concerned look of his son.

"The villagers are terrified of the north," the old man explained quietly. "It's the direction everyone disappeared ten years ago."

"And I already explained to you; you met the people who disappeared," Jack pouted and went around the house to see to their apple trees. Maybe they needed some grooming.

North let him leave. He was still coming to terms with the absurdity of the situation. The objects he'd met at the castle that according to Jack were the missing people from Berk, and the dragon was Stoick's son?! North was having a hard time digesting that, and it had put up a silent wall between him and Jack.

What if they were wrong and the dragon had set up a clever trap? But that didn't make sense even to North. How could the monster know the name of Stoick's son? It wasn't a common name even in Berk. The elders of Berk said "Hiccup" about mistakes, but how did that tie into anything? The dragon could manage human speech, and it wasn't until now North had started asking why. It did make sense if the dragon had been human once. It didn't explain the talking candlestick.

The Enchantress, Jack had said.

North shook his head. The Enchantress was good! A good witch who protected the humans from calamities. That's what he'd learnt growing up. Why would she put a curse on anyone who didn't deserve it?

How can half a village deserve to suffer in prisons made of their own bodies for ten years? Jack had asked back and left the room.

North hadn't expected his son distancing himself to hurt more than the thought of Jack dying.

Pitch walked for a good four miles before stopping, deeming he was far enough away from the village that he wouldn't risk anyone coming after him. It was midday by then and the skies hung low over the mountains. At the start of winter, it was eerily silent.

The gravedigger took out one of the two flares Stoick had given him. He knew how a flare worked, in theory. The ones they used today had black powder, sulphur and a colouring mineral mixed in them that shot a ball of fire and a tail of smoke into the air. Everyone who moved in the forests always wore one, and nobody moved in the forests alone. There was also a colour for each trade; hunters used orange fires while trackers had green, for example. Anyone who was lost or, more commonly wounded in the forest, would send up a flare to alert their comrades and simultaneously scare off wild animals.

It was a much simpler version of the original invention. Pitch loathed to admit it but Hiccup Horrendous Haddock had been an innovative genius.

Hiccup's flares were made of iron and quite heavy, with a thin line around the middle separating and binding the two pieces together. You were supposed to know which side was up and down (Hiccup had solved this by making the design a head and a tail), pint it straight up and twist the two parts as fast as you'd light a match and the flare would go off.

These flares were ten years old, and Pitch had to hold them quite close to his body to be able to twist it hard enough, but there was nothing wrong with the performance. Pitch coughed in the resulting smoke and thanked the earth he hadn't had his face over the opening. Dragon fire was no joke.

The fireball hung in the air for a whole minute, burning a bright red against the grey skies.

Just as Pitch watched the last of the fire burn out and the smoke having already disappeared in the gloom of the day, he heard the sound of horse hoofs.

Flynn Rider appeared between the trees, filling Pitch's heart with glee.

"Pitch Black!" the innkeeper called and jumped off the horse. She was lathered with sweat and hung her head as if she was about to topple over, but Flynn ignored her. "Gods, by the Gods, I'm so happy to see you. It was terrible! There's a monster. There really is a monster, a dragon, a black dragon in the castle! It was all black and roared at me. It was like nothing I've ever heard!"

"There, there, Rider. Take a deep breath and tell me slowly. Have you gone mad the same way Snotlout has?"

"I haven't!" Flynn cried, his voice echoing between the trees. "I swear. To the heavens and back I swear I saw a dragon! And a… no," the innkeeper swallowed whatever he'd been about to reveal, but Pitch didn't care. A dragon. There was a dragon!

"Just one? Flynn, are you sure there was only one dragon?"

"I'm certain!" Flynn shouted enthusiastically.

Pitch just nodded and reached for his cart, hand searching under the sacking. Flynn was too frazzled to notice anything was off.

"You have to believe me. We need to talk to Stoick right away. Jack might have been turned into a field decoration! I saw it! I swear it!"

Pitch's hand closed around the handle of his scythe. Not was he was looking for, but it would do. He made sure the blade was turned away and swung the weapon with all his might and hit Flynn at in the temple. It didn't knock him out, but it did give Pitch the time he needed to find a rope with a loop that he put around Flynn's neck. Then he pushed the innkeeper into the nearest tree, threw the other end of the rope over a low branch and around the tree to keep the man in place, pulling at it with all his might so that Flynn's hands would be occupied with the rope squeezing his throat.

"Pitch?! Why?"

The gravedigger already had the second flare in his hand and was pressing it into Flynn's chest.

"I don't want to put up another gravestone over an empty grave, Rider," Pitch smirked. "And I don't want you alive."

He fired the flare of dragon fire into Flynn Rider's body.