Alvin, standing atop the stairs to the Great Hall, admired the scenery. "It really is quite a nice village," he said aloud to himself, looking down on the tidy houses and clean paths.
"Tha' it is, tha' it is," Savage agreed behind him.
"Have the troublemakers met their… accidents?"
"All bu' one… 'E's bein' careful..."
Alvin nodded, going back to looking over the village. The rabble he plucked from the seas were, by nature, selfish and short-sighted people, but some of them were all too happy to take it much too far. Sowing discontent among his new subjects this early would undermine the control he had over the tribes, and it would not do for them to stage a coup before they even recognised him as their King.
He didn't need the Outcasts now anyway, other than to keep a thumb on the Hairy Hooligans; even disarmed, they were Vikings. He was free to bully the other tribes, to a point, purely by the fact that they all had a sword to each other's throats. The best part was that they were blaming each other for it, not him, though of course he was the one who had bribed and blackmailed their advisors into this situation.
All except the Bog Burglars, of course. But they would not be a problem. He had the perfect assassin for the job…
With that thought, he turned and strode into the Great Hall to behold his Night Furies huddling in the cage in the middle of the room. Despite the bright light spilling over it from through the tall doors, they seemed to make their own darkness and meld into it, like little pockets of night. They weakly fought the ropes being threaded through the bars around them, suffering from being kept awake for nearly three days straight. He was taking no chances with them this time.
But he understood them now. He had been so blind and foolish before, trying to train and break them to his will. He was certain he could do it, given time, but his mistake was in thinking of them as beasts instead of people; unlike beasts, people could be blackmailed and coerced.
He watched in satisfaction as they were encouraged into place by spears and tied to the bars until they were immobilised, then approached the cage. A marvellous contraption, he really must thank the young man who'd designed it for him with a knife in the back; men that intelligent would only be trouble.
But that was a job for another day. "I hope you've been keeping comfortable," he told his dragons, and they growled at him, staring at him with bloodshot eyes. "Yes, yes, all that and a barrel of ale. Let's make this quick, shall we? I'm a busy man."
He turned slowly to fix each of the eight Outcasts around him with a stern glare. "But first, let me make something clear, If you fight these dragons, you will die. If one of them attacks and you want to live, the first thing you need to do is kill the other one. Understood?" He nodded at the confused but accepting mumbles, then directed them to truss up his larger Fury and drag it out of the cage; it really had to be dragged, they were getting big.
"Untie that one," he directed, nodding at the Fury in the cage as he drew his sword and fitted it to his prosthetic. It had taken time to properly learn to swordfight without a wrist, but he had discovered opponents generally underestimated the strength and misjudged the angle of his strikes. He would need that later, but not with these two. Not now that he understood that the prophecy specified 'the' fang-free dragon because he could only ever use one at a time.
"You pair have given me quite a lot of trouble, you know," he said darkly, standing over the trussed Fury and waving his amputated arm. It lay on its side, glaring at him with a single piercing green eye. "Perhaps I should return the favour…?" The eye widened and the pupil narrowed, and his other Fury paced inside the cage – they definitely understood him. Not simple beasts, but people.
And people were easy to bend to his will. "A paw for a paw, shall we say?" he asked silkily, pressing the tip of his sword into the wrist of its foreleg. It struggled, but the ropes were thick, and a foot on its neck prevented it from rolling however big it had got.
Its hide was thick, so he adjusted his weight to lean more heavily on it, the Fury growling increasingly loudly. The one in the cage yelped frantically for his attention, and Alvin eased off, a wide smile creeping across his face at his smaller Fury lying prostrate, submitting itself to him with its head tucked under its neck.
People were so easy to manipulate with a loved one at risk. "Let it out," he ordered, moving the tip of his sword from the big one's wrist to its neck. "Don't make me repeat myself," he sighed when nobody moved.
The door to the cage was opened, and the Night Fury, totally unrestrained, hesitantly walked out into the open. So stupid, it would save itself so much effort by just flying away now, but he knew it wouldn't. It could also rush him and get all three of them killed, but he knew it wouldn't do that either; if he treated them poorly enough they would take that opportunity, but he had no intention of abusing them as long as they obeyed, so they wouldn't. People were so predictable.
"Tie it up," he ordered.
"Tie, untie, make up yer mind," one of the Nameless grumbled.
Alvin grinned; he was never one to turn down a good opportunity. "Don't kill him, just maim him a bit," he ordered his Night Fury.
The dragon hesitated, looking at the offender, who squeaked much as Alvin imagined a large mouse would sound while everyone else rapidly stepped back.
And then oh how satisfying it was when his dragon leaped at the man, moving in the blink of an eye and eliciting musical screams from someone hardened to the Outcast life. The sheer speed and power of the attack was beautiful, at least while someone else was on the receiving end. He almost shuddered at the sight, and then actually did when he thought of when they would be old enough to shoot fire.
Of course, he'd need to have them more securely under his control before that happened, but he had a whole year. The extremely detailed book on dragons he'd stolen from the Hooligans was very specific about that, so he wasn't worried.
"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" he said to it happily. "All this fighting each other we've been doing is completely unnecessary. You could have saved everyone a lot of pain by just cooperating from the start."
It stopped hissing at the back of the man's head under its paw, then stepped back and sat down to stare flatly at Alvin. The disrespectful Outcast scrambled upright and shuffled back on his rear, holding his arm to his chest – Alvin did a double-take as he caught a glimpse of multiple wounds on his front and arm. Whatever happened, Alvin knew he could not underestimate these two a fourth time.
"Any more complaints, or shall we try that again?" he said cheerily, and his subordinates hurried forward in an amusing mix of haste and caution.
Once it was secured – even more thoroughly than the larger one – Alvin strode over to it. "Now that one, but leave its back legs tied," he ordered. Something about it struck him as far more feral, more lethal, while the smaller one was more cautious and tactical. Alvin was more than happy to play to those strengths, and had several tasks in mind for each of them, but he also needed to remain just as wary of them.
"So then," he addressed his smaller Fury while they worked, "I owe you doubly much. This," he gestured to his missing eye, "was particularly painful and crippling. I can't even begin to describe it. But, there is another way…"
The larger Fury barked, clawing at the ground, and then assumed the same prostrate position the first one had. Hmm… There wasn't enough desperation yet. The Fury whined under its breath as he tapped his blade against its clenched eyelid – there was the desperate yelping, wordless and submissive pleas for mercy.
"That's better," he said gently, moving the sword to the dragon's neck. "So long as you remember that I am in control, there won't be any problems. What would I even do with a weak and starving Night Fury? It's in all our interests to play nice with each other, hmm?"
"Uh… You know they can't-"
"Understand?" Alvin snapped, digging the sword into the Fury's nape, and both dragons nodded stiffly; everyone else's gawking was as amusing as it was satisfying. "Excellent. Now then… You, untie its legs, and then you can go back into the cage." Even his men were starting to get more comfortable with the situation, seeing that he had it under control… Under his control, they would have no illusions who held the power here. Perfect. "You can go get it now," he said as the key to the now locked cage was handed back to him.
A ballista, carted up from one of the Bashem Oik ships, was uncovered and trundled over. "You're coming with me," he told the smaller Fury, idly working his sword through the ropes binding it while the ballista was loaded and aimed. "Any harm that befalls me, by you or anyone else, will be repeated onto him. Got it?" It nodded slowly at him. "Marvellous. And you lot, if anyone other than me or Savage enters that door, shoot the dragon first."
His Night Fury guard hesitantly followed him outside, a huge black vessel of raw strength at his beck and call. Finally. "You'll get used to this," he told it conversationally, and it growled quietly back at him. It would be bitter about it now, and it still hadn't been allowed to rest, but everyone adapted after a while. When this settled down into routine and he didn't need to actively threaten them to ensure their cooperation, their relationship would work much more smoothly.
He couldn't help but smile and strut through the occupied village, at the wild and fearful looks he received from the Vikings and Outcasts alike. Right now, he was the most powerful man in the Archipelago. Time to make sure everyone knew it.
It didn't matter that his village was occupied by a madman. It didn't matter that five tribes were knocking on his door with armies. Stoick Haddock was still the Chief of his tribe. While the other Chiefs bickered about stabbing each other in the backs – and he held no illusions as to how that had happened – Stoick made sure his tribe had roofs over their heads and meals in their bellies, and were treated fairly by the scum loitering in the streets.
He'd even managed to get away with tossing a few of Alvin's thugs into the sea, when nobody was looking. There must be hundreds of them, but every one he kicked off his island was one they wouldn't need to fight later, if it came to that.
The dragon riders would have checked in already, but there had been no mention of anyone as much as seeing them. Dragons did not fight quietly, so they were still out there somewhere, waiting. Stoick didn't know what they were planning, if anything, but Spitelout was with them. He had to trust.
Most of his difficulty came from the Outcast invaders, who partially recognised his authority but would usually ignore him when it suited them. Pretty much all their livestock was in the process of being culled. They had managed to secret a portion of everything away to rebuild with, but they would be eating a lot of fish for a long time if he couldn't secure some replacements from the other tribes.
The ones who were currently invading them. Stoick sighed, disappointed they had all, with only a single exception, fallen for such an old trick; if you have an enemy you can't beat, point someone else at them and then kick them while they're down. Still, he had the future to think about, and jumping right into the fray and pointing his finger around would accomplish nothing now, not with them all doing exactly that to each other.
So while they brawled – quite literally, it had reached a point they'd had to be thrown into the training ring without weapons and told to just get it out of their systems – Stoick even managed their armies for them, directing them around to the main island and providing them somewhere to make shore and set up camp. He could have led them around to the other side of the island, where they'd have much more comfortable camps, but that would be pushing his charity.
At noon on the second day, the Chiefs were summoned to the steps of the Great Hall. They weren't actually allowed inside, the doors were always guarded, and a few large covered wagons had been painstakingly dragged through the village and up those steps the previous evening. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
The other Chiefs arrived promptly, still full of bluster even while sporting black eyes. Well, except Boulguhr, but then he always moved with an inexorable steadiness, as if he were made of iron.
"Feeling any better?" Stoick asked Mogadon.
"Shu' i'," Mogadon grumbled back, sounding a bit strained.
"Ah, fine Chiefs of the Archipelago," Alvin announced as he descended the stairs. "I hope you're all feeling…" He grimaced at them. "…well today?" The Chiefs just stared flatly at him. "No matter. We've had some time to get comfortable, let things simmer down a bit, so let's start talking about how we can resolve this pickle you're all in. Any ideas?"
"Yeah," Oaken grunted, "Ahm gonna sail back, pick up the res' of mah flee', then go 'ome."
"Ahh, yes, what a wonderful idea. Tell me, what are you going to do about the Meatheads on your island?"
"Slaugh'er 'em to a man," came the callous reply.
"I see, I see, but I don't think the Meatheads would be happy about that," Alvin said before Mogadon could object. "But what about you, Boulguhr? Do you trust him to peacefully withdraw, without taking your women and gold?"
"I trust him to sail about as far as I could throw him," Boulguhr droned, sizing up Oaken. "I'll kill you myself if you try to leave before me."
"And that's the problem isn't it?" Alvin sighed smugly. "None of you will let the next one leave first, all the way around in a circle. And even then, Mogadon, the rest of your fleet is much further away than your island. Hammerhead could wait a full day and still beat you there." A round of arguments and protests started up, which he patiently waited through.
"Enough!" Stoick snapped after a while, when it was clear they weren't going to stop on their own. "Hurry up and get to the part where you offer a solution that has us all bow to you."
Alvin glared at him as the other Chiefs chuckled; good, he'd undermined whatever the bag of scum was going to suggest. "Now, now, Stoick, don't be like that. Look what happens when you're all left to your own devices. Look what happened to the Hysteric tribe."
Now that was a grim reminder to sober the mood. The Hysterics had been completely insane, but geniuses in many ways as well. It was said they'd sailed off the edge of the world, carried their boat along under it, then hauled it up on the other side; it sounded like nonsense, but the tribe had taken a hard fall some forty years ago they couldn't recover from, and everyone had felt the effects; it was easy to dismiss another tribe, but they all relied on the Lava Louts' gold, the Visithugs' herds, the Meatheads' wild game, the Bashem Oiks' iron, and the Murderous' looting of the South. Even with the Berserkers merely dysfunctional, he knew some of the other tribes were suffering the drop in trade.
No tribe was entirely self-sufficient, not indefinitely. That was one of the reasons the Hysterics were no more, they had not reached out for aid while their people grew sick, and then starved with too few workers to till the fields and manage the herds.
"But yes, I have a solution", Alvin continued. "I can pass a message to all of your villages, near enough to all at the same time. You can all sign an order to your forces, an identical one, to peacefully withdraw and leave everything intact."
"There be problems with that," Hammerhead growled. "I don' think I be trustin' whatever thugs be on mah island wha'ever their bloodthirsty Chief be signin'. If they do be ignorin' the order, wha's to say you lo' gonna be makin' 'em pay for i'?"
"Good points-" Alvin started.
"An' I prefer solutions grounded in Midgard," Oaken growled over him.
"…As I was saying, good points, but not without solutions. What you all need is a leader, a King of the Archipelago- SILENCE!" The angry shouting of the Chiefs did not abate at his request, and Stoick, though he was shouting in outrage along with them, was at least a bit smug his jab had helped.
But Alvin didn't look overly concerned. He rolled his eyes and bit his bottom lip to whistle… and then Stoick's mouth fell open with all the others'.
One of the Night Furies, a large black dragon that just radiated strength with its presence, suddenly flapped into a landing beside Alvin.
And then it bowed to him, dropping a paw and smoothly lowering its nose to the ground.
Everyone stood there in dead silence, staring at the dragon while Alvin looked down on them with a sick grin on his face.
"…Hiccup?" Stoick eventually managed, unable to rationalise what he was seeing. The dragon sagged and looked away. How had this happened? No, that wasn't even a question. Alvin had clearly captured them when they'd flown to kill him, and was holding one hostage while the other did his bidding.
"Was that its name?" Alvin said mildly. "No matter. What matters is that my Night Fury can carry a message and ensure it is followed, and be around the five villages before any two armies meet each other. But what also matters is that this Night Fury is mine, and I'm left wondering why I should be helping a bunch of backstabbers."
Hammerhead shuffled nervously. "We can pay you-"
"With what?" Alvin cut him off. "Who else has a Night Fury, or any dragon, right here right now? Who else is impartial in all of this? The entire Archipelago teeters on the edge of a knife, and you want to pay me in…? Sheep? Trinkets? No. Besides which, I would need control over you all to ensure you all stay in line and actually do as you're told. If the Murderous tribe does pillage the Visithugs on their way out, I can ensure they pay recompense."
"We do not need a King," Stoick growled. "You don't control all the dragons, and a Deadly Nadder and rider could do the same thing." Something suddenly occurred to him. "Why is this a problem at all? What, are these armies going to just sit there and wait for the larger enemy fleet to come home?"
But Alvin only smirked. "Yes, essentially. When I became aware of the situation, too late to catch up to you, I sent certain messages around so that there weren't any unfortunate accidents. Nothing is changing for now."
"And how, exactly, did you know?" Mogadon growled.
"A King should know everything going on in his kingdom," Alvin replied flippantly, "consider that an advantage of joining me."
Stoick had already told them of the Outcast spies; reiterating himself would only make them defensive. He sighed and looked pityingly at the Night Fury, who still refused to meet his gaze. How far would they go for each other? Would they kill for Alvin? He wouldn't blame them for valuing their own lives over those of humans, even those of the Hooligans, given everything that has happened…
"We're off course here," Stoick sighed, forcing himself back to the situation at hand. "We don't need him," he said, addressing the other Chiefs directly. "He's clearly manipulated the situation to his own advantage, this can be settled peacefully among ourselves without bowing to anyone, least of all him."
"Are you so sure about that, Stoick?" Alvin asked, his smooth tone somewhat marred by his missing nose. "The others were so keen to stab each other in the back when they thought they could get away with it. Now is no different. If they think they can, they will."
More like, as long as they thought everyone else might, there would be no resolving this.
"If one person already owns everything at stake," Alvin continued, "it would be in their interests for it to all go back in its rightful place. Don't worry, you'll keep your titles and life will go on as before, you'll just be set to working with each other rather than against each other. And you will be my next in command, taking your shares in all the glory we could achieve together and with the dragons' might. Or, you could sail back home and undo everything you've all built."
On one hand, near certain destruction, or at the very least crippling injuries to most tribes. If even one failed to recover, that would make it much harder for the others, and could even trigger a total collapse.
On the other hand, unity and glory, a promised share in wealth and prosperity. To make matters worse, Stoick's own pushes for peace had only worked towards this man's goals, sowing the seeds of the possibility of openly working together and with dragons. The others were going to be difficult to talk out of it once they started thinking, especially with this man feeding them his poisonous words.
But Stoick knew Alvin, what he was. No doubt he would deliver exactly as promised… for as long as it took to have the Chiefs killed and replaced with someone who would blindly follow him out of greed. That might not even be necessary for the likes of Madguts, who would be happy just as long as he had someone to raid.
They needed a different approach. "You're not even a Viking," Stoick said disdainfully, his words dripping with scorn. "What do you know of our way of life? Such a King would need to be chosen in our ways, and witnessed by the gods."
The other Chiefs nodded and grunted their agreement – but unfortunately, somehow, Alvin didn't seem fazed in the slightest. "Very well. Shall we agree then that we shall leave it to fate? The strongest of those who would challenge in single combat to draw first blood? I must insist that killing your opponent would disqualify you, for obvious reasons."
He was met with general mutters of agreement. "And as we are leaving it to the gods and fate, there will be no do-overs. Nobody can complain if something unfortunate happens, that is just fate's will."
There were various rules introduced, such as what would happen if someone interfered, until everyone was satisfied, Stoick only realising after the fact that Alvin had just expedited the decision by moving straight into planning until everyone was too committed to want to back out.
But this… wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Stoick was confident in his swordsmanship, and he fully expected that if any other Chief won they would lord on about the title for about a month before everything went back to normal. Of course, if he himself won he would only keep it as long as it took to sort out everyone else.
Alvin was missing two limbs and an eye, and his build wasn't nearly as heavy as any of the Chiefs. He wouldn't win.
Dreamer felt worlds better after finding some sleep, short though it had been. The only way either Nightstriker could rest was huddled in the embrace of the other, who kept watch, so while he was still exhausted he wasn't about to pass out from it. And true to Alvin's word, aside from the threats and almost permanently having one of them at sword's point, he wasn't treating them poorly, providing ample food, water, and opportunities to stretch and fly while they acted as his personal bodyguards.
More worrying was that Wanderer had been somewhat vacant when he'd been returned to the cage, but finding his favourite scratchy spots had quickly snapped him out of it. Still, Dreamer didn't want to know if this was the sort of thing that would get harder and harder to come back from; just as always, they needed to escape quickly.
He tugged futilely at the shackles around his forelegs, anchoring him to the floor of the cage to make him an easy target for the loaded ballista that was pointed in his direction. The weapon made him uncomfortable, but at the same time he knew that these Outcasts feared Alvin more than the Nightstrikers, at least while they were… he didn't want to think of himself as under control, but he was, really. So they would be very extra certain not to let it misfire and hit him.
And right now, there was very little he could do about it. Alvin was being extremely careful, acting under the assumption that they could kill him in a heartbeat – which they could, and would if given the chance, so it wasn't as if that caution was unwarranted. Still, Dreamer thought they'd at least have an opportunity to use Wanderer's fire by now, but it seemed Alvin was even prepared for that.
Besides that, these measures were only temporary. Once Alvin had some resources, Dreamer was certain he'd find even more secure ways of ensuring they did his bidding. Whatever that would be. What did Alvin want with them, anyway? Once the Archipelago was under his control, what more was there?
He busied himself with such thinking to pass the time, as close to sleep as his body would allow him to get with the ballista pointed at him, to be finally 'woken' by Alvin entering the Great Hall.
Alone.
Dreamer growled, struggling to interpret the vile man's despicable expression-
"Calm yourself, he's fine," Alvin said with a roll of his eyes. Dreamer snorted at him; he would believe it when he saw it. "As long as you cooperate, anyway."
He took a key to the manacle around Dreamer's wrist, removing it, then opened the door. Undoubtedly Wanderer was again under threat of injury or death, Alvin was far too careful to bluff about that. Dreamer took a moment to lick his newly-freed wrists, easing the aches from the hard metal that had been weighing on them these past few hours, then languidly stretched before stepping outside.
And that was the extent to which he dared defy his captor; a depressingly short distance. It simply wasn't worth it, not when a petty retaliation could be met with equally petty distress.
"Don't look so glum," Alvin said in a patronisingly cheerful tone as they walked. "When everything calms down, we'll see about getting you set up more comfortably, with more space to live in and some privacy. We can both have what we want here, this doesn't need to be unpleasant."
For the most part, Dreamer tuned him out, partially because he was suddenly and unwillingly preoccupied with designing a nice little habitat for them that was ready to be dropped into the sea at the pull of a lever. But then a lever was too simple a system for such a failsafe, perhaps two levers that why was he even thinking about this!?
He shook his head and focused on where they were going. This morning was the day of the tournament, as it had been affectionately designated, that would determine who would be handling the tongs to pull the tribes from the fire they'd managed to light under themselves.
Surprisingly, they were not going towards the training ring. Dreamer thought that would have been the ideal place, with a reasonable amount of room for everyone to crowd behind suitable barriers, but they were heading down the village rather than across the bridge to the main island.
Apparently, someone – probably Alvin – had decided the village square was the best place, in front of the forge. It was still being set up, nearby houses being raided for whatever could realistically be used as a seat and two concentric circles being drawn in crushed chalk.
Larger, more prominent chairs had been made or pulled from somewhere and were being set up on small podiums, seven of them, one for each contender. Dreamer breathed a sigh of relief at the black tail venturing out from behind one of the chairs – then rolled his eyes with a quiet snort as he noticed that specific chair had been set slightly higher up the hill than the others.
There was nobody actively threatening them, but most of the dozens of Outcasts stomping around had bows, strung and ready to be used. Assuming Wanderer was being held down somehow, he would be full of arrows at the very least before Dreamer could reach even most of them.
"Hup!" Alvin directed, gesturing to the platform, and Dreamer dutifully hopped up and quickly discovered his place by Wanderer in front of the chair, clearly meant for him with its light chains sprouting from the wood. His friend appeared to be sleeping, but cracked an eye at him as he settled in, and there were some subtle details that belied his apparent ease.
Alvin strode up and sat leisurely in the chair behind them, giving Dreamer a creeping feeling down his back – at least he never tried to pet them or anything, that was a mercy in itself – while Savage fit the thin chains. One went over each of his forelegs, another over his shoulders in front of his wings, and then a fourth across his rump behind his wings.
He might have been able to break them, given the right leverage, but the ones holding his paws under him held him down firmly, while the other two prevented him from wriggling out. It forced him into a prim position of readiness, a tidy mirror of Wanderer, while the dark chains were mostly hidden under his wings.
"I regret to do it, but it is necessary while we sail these new waters," Alvin said sadly, though the tone was feigned and had a greedy, amused undertone that sounded far more genuine. "I will not immediately punish more minor transgressions here, but they will be dealt tenfold later. Am I clear?"
Dreamer nodded and Wanderer grunted an acknowledgement.
"Good. Now we wait for the others to arrive."
It did not escape Dreamer's notice, while the arena was finished and tribespeople started filtering in, that Alvin was performing a perverted version of what Stoick had at the Thing last year. Although the Nightstrikers in this case were being held against their will, that wasn't immediately visible and Alvin was sitting in a position of superiority over them, while the Chiefs didn't even have a door to slam open. Alvin seemed incapable of walking five feet without manipulating someone, and Dreamer could only hope it would come back to bite him in a way that somehow left the Nightstrikers free dragons, as ridiculously unlikely as that was.
"Maybe we can do this regularly," Alvin said behind them, though Dreamer initially wasn't sure whether he was talking to them. "Though, don't count on it being your way out. Oh yes, I know exactly when you'll have your fire."
Both Nightstrikers went stiff, Wanderer's eye snapping open and staring at Dreamer.
"One year from now. We have a year to enjoy this, or come up with some other way. The latter will be easier if you cooperate, you know, it just makes things easier for everyone."
Dreamer felt as if he'd been hollowed out, the dread replaced with tentative excitement. How in Odin's name had he ended up at that conclusion? "When you say four warm-seasons…" he breathed to Wanderer. "Fish-Legs put in word marks…"
Wanderer's breaths were short and tense. "He think we get-"
"He know we get fire next warm-season," Dreamer hurriedly cut him off, thinking of what else Fishlegs had recorded.
He received a sceptical look back, but then Wanderer groaned in terribly fake distress and dropped his head on his paws. Hopefully Alvin hadn't picked up on it, he always seemed to know everything… but then again, his façade was obvious as well, and everyone was falling for that. Dreamer just forced himself to slump, keeping his attention on everyone filing in through the buildings.
A good portion of every tribe eventually settled in around their Chiefs, respecting the outer chalk circle but otherwise pushing and shoving to their hearts' content in true Viking fashion. Dreamer noticed that none of them held weapons, despite the armed Outcasts, and the various Chiefs looked quite worse for wear, as beaten up as they had been the day before but also now tired and weary.
"Sleep well, Stoick?" Alvin casually called over the din.
"Aye, quite well, actually," Stoick replied enthusiastically, though Dreamer was still too ashamed to look at him. "I did have one interruption," he continued mildly, "but it was just a bit of clutter that needed throwing off the cliff."
Dreamer snorted, imagining the glowering rage that was probably almost showing on Alvin's face.
Though it was in his voice, masked under façades that Dreamer suspected were not obvious without a dragon's ears. "People of the Archipelago!" Alvin shouted, quieting the crowd. "Your Chiefs have decided we need a King! One who will not allow us to lead ourselves to ruin! We will unite, and become a mighty empire to rival even the filthy Southerners!" His words were met with cheering, somehow convincing the Vikings of the Archipelago that this was what they wanted, catching them up in the moment like flies in a web.
"To keep things fair, names will be drawn from a helmet, and then the named contenders will fight until first blood! A reminder that if any of you interfere at any point, your tribe's contender will be disqualified, and further punishments enacted if necessary!" That was only common sense, though it prevented the Outcasts from interfering as well, and the direction of any thrown weapons would be clear with how the tribes were segregated. Any perpetrator would be quickly flushed out.
"Let us begin the first match!" Alvin announced, and then an aura of excitement hung in the air while a young girl, barely old enough to be steady on her feet, stomped into the middle of the ring while an Outcast offered her a helmet to draw from.
"Mo-ga-don!" she bellowed into the silence, and a loud and adoring cheer erupted. Dreamer wished he could glare at Alvin; he hadn't even walked five feet for this one.
A tense silence settled while she fumbled for the next name, then squinted at it. "Boll… Bull… Bull-goo-her!"
"Boulguhr," the Chief corrected her in his usual monotone as he entered the ring, though he was smiling.
"Bull-ger!" she hollered, and everyone cheered again.
As she returned to her seat near the front of Berk's section, Dreamer watched an Outcast take the helmet from her and replace the contents while everyone was distracted by the Chiefs' opening strikes. In similarly astonishing news, water was wet.
Though both Chiefs looked exhausted from the start, they fought hard, bending and blunting the light swords they used in place of their usual heavy ones, which would be a disadvantage in this style of fight. Eventually, Mogadon got around Boulguhr's guard and slashed his shoulder to the uproarious shouts of the crowd.
But everyone, even the disgruntled Lava Louts, calmed and quieted as the girl walked back into the ring with the scraggy Outcast offering her the helmet.
"Sto-ick!" she shouted, and Dreamer sagged. His old name echoed in his head, the way his sire had said it yesterday, so full of shock and sadness. If they'd never tried to kill Alvin, this wouldn't…
"Moga-don!" the girl yelled.
"Oi! I jus' fough' a match!" Mogadon shouted angrily.
"We agreed to pick names out of a helmet, this is fate's will," Alvin intoned, the undercurrents of his voice drenched in smugness.
"Ah'll fate you in a minute," Mogadon growled as he stomped back into the ring.
The fight didn't last as long as the last, partly because Stoick was fresh while Mogadon was a fight and probably a night's sleep behind, but partly also because Stoick was genuinely the best fighter in the Archipelago. Dreamer wasn't at all biased in making that statement.
But his eyes dropped of their own accord when Stoick looked his way. He just couldn't deal with that burden right now, whichever way it went.
Dreamer sighed silently, then tried to guess who Alvin would pit Stoick against next while Wanderer craned around to chew an itch on his side. He watched his sire fight off the other Chiefs in turn; Hammerhead, Oaken, and then Madguts. The Chief of the Murderous tribe truly lived up to his name, striking with a fury that would have done a Berserker proud, that fight lasting longest of all. Stoick weathered the brutal assault, conserving his strength, and then shoved back with a shield bash so forcefully that it hit Madguts in the face and split his lip wide enough that blood dripped from his beard.
The Hooligans cheered louder than everyone else put together, flattening the Nightstrikers' ears to their necks, though Dreamer was silently elated. But this last fight would be one to watch very, very carefully. He just hoped his sire knew to do that too.
Alvin leisurely fit his sword into his prosthetic – it seemed to have some sort of mechanism that clamped down onto the hilt of a regular sword by twisting the wrist, very clever – and gave it a few experimental chops, adjusting the angle until he was satisfied. Stoick simply remained in the ring, projecting his image of a steady mountain, but Dreamer had no doubt he was wearing down.
Still, he should be more than a match for Alvin. And then nobody could deny his claim, having beaten two thirds of the Archipelago's Chiefs in back-to-back fights, however rigged it had been.
"How about a little deal, Stoick?" Alvin offered casually, his overconfident demeanour tugging at Dreamer's hackles.
"What did you have in mind?" Stoick asked cheerfully, though there was tension and distrust under it.
"The other Chiefs are necessary, but your island has a new Chief. A King, even, if I win this. You are not needed here. Why don't we make this match a fight to the death?"
Oh no, no no no no no, that was a bad-
"No holds barred," Stoick readily agreed. Tossing aside his sword and shield and gesturing for new ones.
Silence met that answer for several heartbeats. And then intense muttering broke out, a loud and steady murmuring that was impossible to pick anything out of.
Alvin had walked around the ring a little, and gave the Nightstrikers a smug smirk before hefting his shield and raising his sword, out to the side. Unlike when Dreamer had seen him fight before, his stance looked firm and his blade steady; he actually looked like he knew what he was doing now.
Wanderer craned around again, bumping repeatedly against Dreamer's wing until it was absently raised out of the way, but Dreamer was focused on the fight and what Alvin would inevitably try. Not that he was really sure what he could do about it.
Hot breath blew down his side. Very hot breath. Actually, that was uncomfortably-
Dreamer hurriedly angled his wing to better cover Wanderer's head. "Now?" he hissed, this didn't seem the right time for that, but of course Wanderer was busy melting the chain and couldn't reply.
The thin line of pressure over Dreamer's back went slack, and he had to resist the urge to stretch. Alvin was focused on the fight, as Stoick was really doing his best to kill him, but they looked pretty close to evenly matched.
Dread settled over Dreamer, and he awkwardly began shuffling his paws backwards out from under their chains, a possibility now that he could arch his back, under the disguise of shuffling to get comfortable. "What you will do?" he asked Wanderer, trying to encourage the chain over his hindquarters to slide down his tail a bit.
"Not worry, just distract. Five life-beats all I need."
Wrrr, he couldn't just kill Alvin then, the Outcasts around them had orders to instantly kill them if he attacked.
Creak
Despite the clashing of swords and gasping of the crowd, a sound pricked at Dreamer's ears, one he had learned long ago to mean pain and grief. He abandoned all attempts at subtlety, wrenching his right paw free and shoving the last chain back with his wings.
The rasp of wood against wood, the thrum of taught string. There was no time to see exactly where the arrow was coming from, and Stoick was not the sort of Viking he could just shove out of the way. Dreamer leaped from the platform-
A yelp involuntarily left his throat as an impact struck him solidly in the neck, and he tumbled across the ground, sliding over the loose dirt to the other edge of the arena. Unlucky, that it had struck him there where his hide was slightly thinner, but lucky, so lucky, that he had made it at all.
There was silence for a moment. Alvin took an angry breath-
Thinking frantically, Dreamer hastily flipped upright and wrenched the arrow from his own neck, wincing at the red coating the iron head. That didn't matter. He whined submissively, taking a step forward to drop the arrow at Alvin's feet, and then limped backwards. Maybe, just maybe…
"Hah, ya got 'em trained well!" a familiar voice shouted from the Outcast section of the crowd. Why would that be familiar…
"…Yes, I do," Alvin said darkly, then sighed.
"Who fired that!?" Stoick roared into the crowd, though there was already a commotion going on behind the crowd.
A woman was dragged forward, still clutching a bow and kicking frantically. She was young, a few years older than Astrid, slender and with a braid of long hair whipping around. Dreamer had been hoping it was an Outcast, but there weren't any involved in this scuffle… Alvin's plans always had backups…
"Does anyone recognise this woman?" Alvin asked the crowd, his nasally voice insufferably smug.
"…Why…?" Stoick breathed at her.
"Ohh, she's a Hairy Hooligan?" Alvin asked as he held his sword to her throat, sounding anything but surprised.
Dreamer pressed his eyes closed and sagged. The worst had been averted, but this outcome was still far from desirable.
"Well then, nobody was harmed, but you did try to kill a Chief."
The woman paled. "What? No! It was just until first blood-"
"No, it wasn't," Dreamer heard Stoick say sadly.
"Silence," Alvin hissed. "You failed to kill your target, but you interfered and disqualified your tribe." He stood there for a few moments, then glared over his shoulder.
"Oh, er, Alvin wins!" Savage stuttered. "All hail King Alvin!"
Dreamer looked helplessly to Wanderer, but he still appeared to be firmly tied down. Five heartbeats he needed, a big enough distraction that he would get that without the Outcasts standing right next to him wouldn't notice whatever needed to happen.
Alvin gave Dreamer a look that said he would deal with him later, and he whined miserably. It would be clear the chain had been melted. He dreaded to think about the security they would be put under now.
A tall gold crown appeared from apparently nowhere, Savage carrying it in on a fancy pillow. It was really happening, and they were powerless to do anything about it. The crown was delicately set on the vile man's head; with his mangled face and gold nose, it looked gaudy and tacky, like painting over rust.
But it was done. Alvin was being recognised as King of the Archipelago.
"Well, let's not hang around!" he crowed. "Chiefs, go wait for me in the Chief's hut, I have some messages already arranged for you to sign. Don't want to leave your people in the fire too long now do we?"
That was the cue for people to start dispersing. There was no applause, no cheering. The Outcasts jeered happily, laughing with each other. Everyone seemed stunned.
"And my first business as King, is killing this traitor," Alvin snarled down at the woman, raising his sword.
"No, wait!" she shouted frantically at him. "You lied to me! Don't-"
Dreamer squeezed his eyes shut, feeling violently nauseous, but snapped them open again at the sound of metal meeting metal instead of flesh. Stoick stood there, holding his sword to Alvin's where he had blocked the strike. "What do you mean, he lied?" he asked loudly, loudly enough that everyone quieted and turned back to watch.
Her face scrunched up and she shook her head. "I'm so sorry!" she suddenly blurted out. "I thought it was to first blood, he said you wouldn't be hurt! After I caught Outcasts sneaking mites into Mogadon's hut, he kidnapped my nieces, and now he's going to kill them! Please!" She broke down into grieved wails, clutching at Stoick's clothes.
Dreamer had thought it was quiet before, but now the woman's piteous cries seemed to echo in the stillness.
"They did WHAT!?" Mogadon roared.
Simultaneously, the Hooligans and Meatheads turned on the Outcasts, attacking from either side of their portion of the crowd. The Outcasts were the only ones with weapons to start with, but that quickly changed as they were wrenched away, and more mundane weapons such as prosthetics and rocks joined the fray.
"Protect me, and he lives," Alvin snapped at Dreamer. "Put an end to this now, and he keeps his wings!"
Dreamer took a step forward, but staggered, feeling lightheaded. His body felt light and empty, and he didn't have the strength to move it properly. He dimly noticed a pool of blood around his paws. That probably wasn't good… Stoick was with him a moment later, locating the wound and then applying pressure to it as he carefully lowered himself to the ground.
With an angry shout of frustration, Alvin turned to Wanderer. "Protect me, and- wait, who are you?"
Dreamer pulled his vacant gaze to Wanderer, and the scruffy Outcast next to him, one with a wiry beard and a helmet low over his eyes. "Jus' a nobody, really," he said in Spitelout's voice as he shoved down on the axe handle at Wanderer's flank with a crack.
Alvin spun and leaped at Dreamer, but his foot didn't even touch the ground. Wanderer lunged and grabbed him by the shoulders and thighs, then his huge and powerful wings thrust down and lifted them both into the air.
The mad shouts quickly faded into the distance as Wanderer gained altitude, catching a stiff wind and suddenly soaring high, until he was a speck against the bright sky.
The speck became two specks.
One of the specks disappeared in a flash of blue light.
Kra-KA! came the crisp explosion a few moments later, echoing briefly and stilling everyone to silence once again.
A long, shrieking roar of triumph, fury, pulled at Dreamer's hackles, eliciting wary and frightened shouts of alarm that only intensified as Wanderer dove, the air screaming as he cut through it.
"Nigh' Fury!"
"Ge' down!"
Dreamer weakly barked in alarm as the Outcasts suddenly surged forward, desperation in their eyes, but where the Meatheads were distracted, the Hooligans headed them off and formed a line of defence with shields that had been passed from the forge. They only made a single push before Wanderer landed heavily on the roof of the forge, snarling at everyone with a lethal glow in his mouth. The threat of fire was new, but the Hooligans were accustomed to living with the Night Furies and continued fighting with renewed enthusiasm; they knew the dragon's ire was directed with their own.
With a sigh of relief, Dreamer closed his eyes, knowing all was in hand. He couldn't even bring himself to be horrified at the slaughter of the Outcasts, they knew the penalty for trespass, particularly after taking over the village as they had. His own possible death was far more concerning right now.
An enquiring warble lifted his ear, and a scaly nose brushed his face. Dreamer hummed reassuringly and waved a wing.
"Ach, leave home fer a few days an' look wha' 'appens," Spitelout's voice said jovially as it neared. "Is 'e gonna make i'?" he asked more seriously a moment later.
"Aye," Stoick said proudly. "He's a tough one."
And then the world faded away.
Wanderer stalked into the den, wary of the trap. He had been trapped in these dens before, but he was much, much bigger now. He'd feel safer if he had any fire left, but most of it had gone to freeing Dreamer and then the rest to ridding the world of another monster; he'd barely had the dregs to light his mouth afterwards. His capacity would improve quickly, but that didn't help him here.
Although, strangely enough, knowing it was a trap somewhat helped. There was no uncertainty. The trap wasn't for him anyway, so there was that also.
After a heartbeat for his eyes to adjust, he stared levelly at the scruffy Long-Paw holding a fish over the fire, then casually walked through to the back of the den. There was a door in the way, but that posed little barrier to him now. He nudged the metal bar with a claw and pushed it open.
Another scruffy Long-Paw sat in the room, lazing in the light of a small flame, but he quickly sat up and put his paw to his claw as Wanderer strode inside. Just try, Wanderer dared him with a look, but sadly, indecision held him back.
Two terrified Long-Paws huddled on a low flat-tree-thing, one very young and the other barely older than a hatchling. He crooned at them, keeping his eyes wide and relaxed to keep the dangerous one in his sight as he walked over. They needed teasing out from the wall, but eventually the older one carried the younger out of the room, sheltered between his body and wing, and then outside without incident.
Almost immediately after stepping outside, the fledgling rushed for her dam, making all sorts of horrible noises. But it was heartening, seeing how incredibly happy and relieved they all were. A smaller Long-Paw, the one that had shot Dreamer, thanked him profusely, eyes leaking water, though he blocked her off from wrapping her forelegs around his neck.
The dam and her sister argued briefly, handed the young to a male who held them tightly in his own relief, then hefted their claws and stormed inside. Wanderer left them to it; that was their fight.
He hopped into the air and soared over the nest, quickly picking out the two Long-Paws carrying Dreamer on a flat-tree-thing, and coasted down to them. They had a guard of several trusted nest-kin, two of them on the backs of Spine-Tails, so there was not really any concern for his safety, but Wanderer felt better being there himself. He thought Dreamer would feel better too, were he awake to know.
They carried the Nightstriker into the alpha's den, the only one they would feel remotely safe in. Strange that it did not smell of the vile greedy Long-Paw, typically when taking over a nest the first thing to do was take the alpha's perch, but this one had not. Perhaps rot truly had taken him in the head. It didn't matter now, anyway.
Dreamer was gently lowered next to the fire, one he had once nestled into but now dwarfed with his size. Yes, they were finally free now, free of the ones hunting them and free of their dependence on protection. Wanderer purred happily as he settled down with him, inspecting the binding over his wound and deeming it acceptable; clean and holding a wad of soft not-skin firmly in place, but something they could claw off on a whim.
He wondered when Dreamer's fire would come in. Wanderlust would come soon after, a drive for independence and to fly new skies that Wanderer was starting to feel already. Soon, no doubt.
A smile crept across his face at the thought of his Dreamer learning his fire. He was looking forward to it.
Astrid forced herself to remain upright in the saddle, projecting an image of authority – however much she wanted to just beat her head against the flat of her axe.
"It's really no' tha' difficult," Spitelout sighed. "Yeh'll peacefully withdraw, because if you don', weh'll burn yer sails an' leave you 'ere for when their ships ge' back."
"Is tha' a threat!?" the Murderous warrior yelled enthusiastically. At the moment it was a fitting name for the tribe, saving Astrid from adding an adjective in her own thoughts.
"It's no more a threa' than you lo' stayin' 'ere to pillage," Spitelout replied with a roll of his head, exasperated. "Jus' do as yer Chief says. Actually, you know wha'? Wha's yer name? Ah'll tell 'im how devoted yeh are ter this even after 'e's told you ter back off."
"Ge' outta my way, gotta ship to load," the man growled, walking straight between the two Nadders towards his ships, shouting orders as he went. Thankfully, those orders were to leave everything intact.
Well, as intact as everything still was. A few buildings were little more than black smudges, and there were bones littering the paths and in alleys. Hopefully Stoick wasn't relying on the Visithugs to replenish Berk's livestock, it looked like they were going to have their own problems.
That, she couldn't help but smile smugly at. Stoick had renewed the promise to provide each tribe with a dragon, but only until the end of autumn as originally agreed. No doubt they would be invaluable in getting everyone back on their feet. The Bog Burglars were probably laughing their heads off, enjoying their stability and security, though Stoick had plans to get their aid in return for another dragon rider and better deals going forward. Astrid didn't mind that, she liked Bertha and Cami.
As they took off and rose away from observers, she let herself deflate and slumped forward to lay against Stormfly's neck, allowing her exhaustion to take over; it had been a long week.
"Yeh really should no relax like tha'," Spitelout chastised. "Yeh need everyone ter see you a' yer strongest, includin' yer Marshal. Don' want 'im gettin' any ideas."
"Yeah, that's why I'm doing it now, while I still can," Astrid groaned into Stormfly's warm scales, not loud enough for Spitelout to hear.
They gradually drifted away, keeping an eye on the boats until they were as sure as they could be that they wouldn't just turn around. This whole trip had been an uphill battle, but it was over now. By the time she got back, the other tribes would have left and hopefully Hiccup would have recovered.
"I still wish you'd let me fight those filthy Outcasts," she grouched conversationally as they flew.
"Oh yeah, 'cause yeh blend in so well wi' the vagabond look," Spitelout shot back sarcastically.
"While you fit right in, I bet!"
"Watch i' lassie! I 'ad plenty o' suspicion."
His tone suggested she'd struck a nerve, and she smirked. "I'm just saying, I'm an adult now. We all are, we could have helped."
Spitelout laughed loudly at that. "Ah dear, ah needed tha'," he chuckled. "Firs' rule o' growin' up, lassie. As long as yeh think yeh are, yeh ain'."
"But… that doesn't make any sense!"
He laughed again. "Aye, welcome to adulthood!"
She rolled her eyes while he chuckled to himself, and focused on the waves swiftly passing far below them. He was probably just going senile.
A low purr rumbled through Dreamer's throat as he lay in his den high up in the cliff, trying to find sleep. It was a bit odd, as he wasn't really happy enough to be purring, but it was making his wound feel better so he didn't stop himself. Maybe it was along the lines of the old adage to 'keep smiling until you're happy,' which always amused him because it implied one would stop smiling when they were happy. Either that or just smile all the time and never stopped, like some sort of crazy person.
He flexed his neck, groaning through a louder purr as pain shot down through the wound, then cursed himself for not learning his fire sooner; though Wanderer assured him it was normal. If he'd had his fire as well, any number of better outcomes would have been possible. Then again, this outcome was not nearly as bad as it could have been. The only way it could have realistically gone better was perhaps if they'd succeeded in killing Alvin on his ship. But then who knew what would have happened? Maybe the five tribes who had been duped would have all gone to war with each other and everything would have gone to Hel anyway.
He tried again to find his fire, to give him the peace of mind to finally ease the tight tension that still gripped his chest. But he didn't feel any different than he ever had. Maybe he didn't have any fire, and never would…
Wanderer stirred next to him, then resumed his quiet snoring. Dreamer hoped he would have fire, he didn't want to rely on his friend for everything, or to be unable to protect him in turn. It would be naïve to think Dagur and Alvin were the only threats they would ever face, though he hoped he would never again face anyone quite so deplorable.
It brought forth a chuckle, thinking about how he was wishing for it. Years ago he would have snatched at the chance for such power, then probably tried to shoot dragons with it and ended up destroying half the village. After shooting down Toothless, he would have shunned it, and even as a younger dragon he had thought of it warily.
Three and a half years now, he had been a dragon. They felt the longest he had ever lived, and he'd certainly been through more than he had as a human.
As a human… Those memories were so very distant now, as if they belonged to someone else. There was a possibility they did belong to someone else, but he didn't want to be that person anyway. Hiccup had been a clever Long-Paw, but foolish and brash, determined to force the world into his own narrow view of it. He had discovered he was wrong about dragons, and the guilt he had felt in trying to kill them – and almost succeeding, in such a terrible way – drove him to push that lesson onto everyone else.
Dreamer was not that person now. Dreamer was a clever Nightstriker, fierce and strong, who loved his best-friend with all his heart and wasn't afraid to show it. He was a fighter, despite what his past self had thought, but one who fought with words first and claws last. Amusingly, he now had trouble with the verbal part instead of the physical.
He sighed, ready for these thoughts to leave his head and allow him to rest. He was done with that part of his life now, all that was behind him. It was time to move on to brighter skies.
Author's Notes
And so we conclude Act 1. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, fav'd, and followed, and special thanks to VigoGrimborne for his assistance here and prior. This might be a small subset of a comparatively small fanbase of a franchise that is fading into the past, but the people who follow Dragon Hiccup stories, this one and others, have repeatedly proven themselves superb company over those I've talked to in others. I mean it, you guys are awesome!
It is now time to move on to something different, with Act 2. Each of the four acts have very different themes, but the second act is probably the most fun out of the four, what with the game we will be playing throughout…
(( ukgvTE3A0Ic ))
"To The Sky"