A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter. I had extenuating circumstances with my family. I have most of this story plotted out, it's just linking it all together that's taking up time. I hope to publish the next chapter next Monday because I want to get back on track. I didn't want to visually announce whose point of view it is, but I currently can't figure out how to get symbols and such workable in the site preview bit for pov changes. If anyone knows of a way to do that, please PM me. Thank you to everyone who's following the story for reading it! I hope you all are enjoying it!

Brief Glossary:

Folkvangr - Norse realm of the dead reserved for warriors (like Valhalla)

Helgafjell - Norse realm of the dead for those who didn't die in battle, but lived a good life

Helheim - Norse realm of disgraceful deaths (old age, illness, laziness, etc.)

WITH BAITED BREATH

ZEPHYR:

Zephyr sighed as she watched the sunlight sparkle on the shifting seas, the south eastern wind billowing the sail and pushing them forward towards home. A Northerly gust came in from the side. She shivered, and pulled her cloak tighter around her.

The chill wind felt both familiar and foreign; familiar because she instinctively had put her warmer clothes on after their first day, the wool and fur familiar to the touch, foreign because of their weight. She hadn't needed them for months. A part of her had become used to thinner clothes since the weather in the Mediterranean had been so mild. She frowned, missing it.

Her brows knit together as a thousand questions whirled through her mind. Where would she live if the home she grew up in was gone? Where was everyone staying now? Were they staying in Great Hall? Would Great Hall fit everyone? Just how bad was the damage? Was there really only ashes left of New Berk? How many people had died? Had they really lost all of the winter stores? Were they really risking starvation on top of homelessness? Why would the Picts burn New Berk to the ground? Why were they in the Archipelago in the first place? Had they really been overfishing on purpose? Why hadn't dad said anything about it? Was New Berk in a trade agreement with the Picts? Why would the Picts attack them if they were in trade together? Why would New Berk allow dad to do nothing if that were the case?

Round and round the questions swirled, always returning to why the Picts were in their territory at all, and why they would attack without reason.

"What you thinking about?"

Zephyr jolted and turned to see Erik to her right, his hand on the rudder, gently steering the ship due North, his shoulder length brown hair tied back into a ponytail.

Zephyr felt her cheeks turn pink. She sighed. "Everything."

"Home or us?"

Zephyr felt her cheeks grow hotter. "Home, mostly…" She had meant to speak with him about their apparent mutual attraction (according to Thora) the day they departed Brittany, but, seeing as the karve was small, there wasn't a whole lot of secluded space to talk about it. So she hadn't. And everyone noticed. Thora and Ingrid nudged her and gestured towards Erik at least once a day, and she'd heard Haldor whisper to Erik a few times to be a man and step up, Rangvald adding his (typical Thorsten) less-than-subtle two cent's worth.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you back at the tavern," she continued, "I'm also sorry I didn't pay attention to the group morale."

"I didn't mean to throw you off," Erik returned, "It was tough news. We were all in disbelief."

"Still, I should've known better."

Erik quirked a smile. "Well, we haven't killed you for inconsideration yet."

Zephyr gave him a look. "Ha, ha, very funny."

Erik continued to smile, then shifted his gaze, side-eyeing her. "So…is it true you find me attractive?"

Zephyr nodded, knowing her cheeks must be beet red. "Yeah. Is it true that you feel the same?"

He nodded. "Mm-hmm." Zephyr watched his posture preen. "What do you like best so far?"

She giggled. "Physically or character?"

"Both, I guess?"

"Well, obviously you're strong in a fight, and your combat skills are top notch; as Gobber used to say of your dad, "You have the body of a Norse god", which is very pleasing to the eye…I like how your eyes have little flecks of green in them, and I've wanted to run my fingers through your hair for about a month now—"

Erik pulled the twine from his ponytail and shook his hair down. "You want to now?"

Zephyr stood there, shocked, mouth agape.

Erik chuckled. He gestured to Rangvald. "Rangvald, you steer for awhile."

Rangvald hopped up from his place and walked to the rudder.

"It's about time you two had this conversation." he said.

Erik shoved him lightly before walking over to Zephyr.

"Did you think I didn't notice you eyeing me every morning?" He tucked a strand behind his ear as a gust of wind blew. "You really want to run your fingers through my hair?"

Zephyr nodded. She reached out her hand to touch his hair but pulled back.

"You can touch it, Zeph, it's okay," he said. He cleared his throat. "I, uh…I want you to."

A shaky breath escaped her. "Oh, gods…"

Zephyr gently touched the ends of his hair. It was indeed soft. Her hand moved slowly upward, her fingers trailing through each section. She paused as she reached his temple, noticing how his hair formed a perfect Widow's Peak, and fell in waves all the way down until it hit his shoulders. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through it, all the way down, reveling in the smoothness of his strands.

A wolf-whistle shattered the moment.

"Shut up, Ingrid!" Zephyr voiced.

"That was Thora!" came the response.

Zephyr whipped her head around to see Thora smirking at them.

"Seriously?"

Thora laughed. "It's better than listening to you gripe about it all night!"

"Well, I might do that again tonight just to annoy you!" She sighed and looked at the floor, embarrassed. "That is why I didn't want to have this conversation while at sea, because there's—"

"No privacy," Erik finished.

Suddenly, Rangvald leaned on the rudder, turning the karve to the right.

"LAND!" he called.

Zephyr left Erik and walked across the deck to the starboard side of the karve, looking out.

Islands large and small jutted from the sea on both sides of the longship, some inhabited, others empty. That was part of the fun, part of the mystery of the Archipelago; it snuck up on you when you were least expecting it.

Home. Tears of joy and relief pricked the corners of her eyes. She did not need the sunstone to tell her where to go; she already knew. Sail past some of the smaller Archipelago tribe islands to the northeast, then change direction and sail northwest until the island of New Berk jutted from the sea. It was only a matter of hours now. They should reach New Berk by late afternoon.

Zephyr fingered the pendant of Njord around her neck and whispered a quick prayer of thanks for the relatively safe return. Choppy waters and stormy skies had slowed them down on the second day—Njord's payback, Zephyr believed, for Thora's comment about her owning the waters—luckily, a storm had not followed, and the following days were blessed with fair winds, albeit trademark Archipelago overcast skies.

Zephyr turned to Rangvald and shooed him away. "Move. I'll sail us home."

Rangvald released his hold on the rudder and stepped aside. "Aye, Captain." he said.

Zephyr pushed the rudder hard to the left. "Hold down the rigging and adjust the sail!" she commanded, Erik and Haldor obeying. The karve creaked as it slowed, then the wind picked up, billowing the sail and turning the ship northeast.

Haldor and Erik released the lines, and the ship sped forward. Zephyr smiled as wind and sea spray misted her face.

Some Hours Later…

Unease settled in as she navigated the Archipelago, islands inhabited and empty drifting past the karve on both sides. New Berk was less than an hour away now, but she could see what her mother had meant in the letter.

Fishing ships, large and small, dotted the Archipelago waters, flaunting their mainsails symbol, an upside down Crescent and Bent Arrow.

Zephyr furrowed her brow. She hadn't seen that Pictish symbol before. During their brief raid back at the beginning of their seafaring, all of the symbols she'd seen were animals. The only reason she identified these ships as Pictish was because of the intricate knot work on the sail's border. She looked at the men aboard one ship as they passed. Pictish men wore those knee-length skirts…kilts she remembered, the word foreign to her mind; the interwoven lines of colors indicating which tribe they hailed from. These men were definitely Picts—their blue knotwork and symbol tattoos gave that away—but the pattern on their kilts she didn't recognize. Even though they hadn't been in Skotland long, the tribe colors were more or less the same: blues, greens, reds, yellows and whites, with black for definition.

These Picts' kilts used black as the main color, woven into a deep green so dark that the two colors practically melded together. The only trace they were not, a striking silver.

Where did they get silver thread? she thought. The Chieftains she'd seen on the raids had been wealthy, but that was in livestock, and not the precious metal she'd seen so much of in Barcelona. Are there silver deposits in Skotland? Are the Pictish chiefs hiding wealth?

Zephyr tried to get a second look at the kilts, but the fishing ship had moved on.

"New Berk ahead," Erik voiced.

Zephyr turned her attention straight ahead as her home island jutted before her.

She straightened and sucked in a breath. This is not how New Berk should be.

The sight of new wood, new structures popped against the island's rocky landscape, but there was an air of heaviness about. The autumn wind bit colder, heralding the coming of winter.

She searched for familiar buildings, familiar houses, the bright colors, but there were none. Where the docks should have been were half-built new ones, most only the pilings. The frames of two new houses faced what was the harbor, naked. As her eyes traveled upwards, half-built structures became less and less, interspersed with blank spaces where groups of houses should have been. The only building untouched was Great Hall, positioned in its usual place midway up the cliffs, overlooking the harbor.

"Prepare to come about!" Zephyr called. On cue, everyone on the ship took their places as the dock pilings slowly approached. She steered the ship towards the shallows, in that small place where sea met shore, where she had first learned the ways of the sea, built the karve she now sailed.

She glanced up again at the emptiness encircling her home. What are we going to do now?

ASTRID:

…163…164…165…166…167.

Astrid exhaled as she recorded the number of spears in the armory log. The numbers were the same as they had been just after the fire. 166 spears, swords, shields, axes, daggers, and maces, each, give or take a few. Enough for everyone in New Berk aged sixteen and older to be well armed.

She pulled the armory door shut and locked it, replacing the key back on her belt. She sighed as she turned around, facing the remnants of the barracks.

Piles of black ashes dotted the quarried arena, built a year or so after the dragons had left, similar in its make up to the one that had trapped them on Old Berk, its stone walls high and smooth, only with this one, there was no cage over the top.

The black ash piles were all that remained of any wooden and cloth structure: sparring dummies, archery targets, the doors leading into and out of the arena. The only reason the armory had been spared was because the door sealing it shut was metal; Gronckle Iron to be exact.

Hiccup and Fishlegs had taken the materials to the Hidden World in the spring following the dragon's departure, and had built the door with Meatlug's help, one last reminder of their unity before goodbye set in for real.

Astrid made a mental note to get the barracks and arena cleared and cleaned as soon as possible so the warriors could start training again. There would certainly be time for it during the winter; something was going to have to keep everyone occupied. Plus, spring and summer were the best times to wage war, and their home being razed certainly justified that.

The distant whack and grind of trees being felled and logs sawn drifted, giving way to further off, but nonetheless heart-wrenching wails of those in mourning. Light smoke drifted into the sky from the funeral pyres that had continued to burn for the past week.

Astrid shook her head, her heart heavy. Ninety-three lives lost. Most of them families. Only after the fire had died, and the dead counted in full, was the destruction fully realized. The flames had burned so bright and so hot, that in most cases, there were no remains left to find, every trace turned to literal ashes. Those whose remains had been found were burned, as was Viking custom, the ashes placed in urns, any remaining material possessions taken to the family burial mounds alongside them, there to await Ragnarok, in hopes of rising again to fight one last battle.

But so many won't, she thought. Valhalla and Folkvangr were only for warriors. She prayed that those who had been lost made it to Helgafjell and not Helheim—especially the children. The idea of all of those young ones in dark and cold Helheim sent a chill down her spine.

Astrid rubbed her arms as she walked out of the arena, the autumn breeze cool and the afternoon sunlight warm.

She looked around her as she entered what was left of New Berk.

Charred skeletal frames of what had once been houses, businesses, poked their gnarled fingers into the sky, interspersed with blank spaces, raked and scraped spaces empty of even charred remains, ashes unable to be gathered left to renew the soil.

Despite the lack of structures, New Berk buzzed with activity. Carts rumbled up and down the hills, removing debris of all kinds. The carpenters had managed to set up a makeshift lumber mill, the popping grind of wood being sawn and the sweet and earthy scent of sawdust a constant. The pilings for the docks were finished and one was complete, but they had a ways to go before anything would be even close to finished.

The blacksmith forge had been another trade rebuilt, Hjalmar and his sons working night and day to re-forge everything: tools, rivets, door hinges, fireplace hooks, iron cauldrons and kettles. The familiar ringing clang of hammers fused the soundscape of New Berk being rebuilt.

The Potter also had been busy, making all manner of dishware as fast as he and his family could turn them on their large wheels.

The Healing House (and Ingerman residence) was the first home completed. They needed space to store all they had left of medicinal herbs, somewhere to bring in new batches…and somewhere to lay the dead before burning.

Astrid hadn't been entirely surprised that Fishlegs had taken over for Gothi once she passed. He was skilled in the minute knowledge of every plant and its healing properties on the island; and he had a gentle way with people that soothed even the crankiest Viking.

"Astrid!"

She turned to see Heather, her best friend, wave to her before dumping ashes into a boiling pot of water in a fenced off portion of the front yard.

Astrid waved back. "Making more potash?" she said as she walked up to the fence.

Heather stirred the mixture and nodded. "Not much else we can do at this point," she glanced at Astrid. "If everyone else in New Berk has the same idea and makes enough, we could probably trade it for supplies. Has Hiccup heard anything from the other chieftains?"

"We've heard from the closest ones, and they're all sending aid—Thank Thor—but the first round won't arrive for another three days."

Heather looked at her. "Any idea what they're bringing?"

Astrid shook her head. "No idea. At this point I'll be grateful for anything." She took a moment to look at the new house, admiring the sturdiness, albeit plain woodwork. "How are you liking the new house?"

Heather quirked half a smile. "Grateful to have it, guilty that I don't have ten hands to help everyone else out," she looked over her new home. "It's smaller, but with Sigrid and Freyja married, and Thora soon to be so, we don't need as much room…but it doesn't feel like home yet."

"Well, you've only been in it for the past three days. How are Sigrid and Freyja?"

"They're fine, Thank Thor, their husbands too, everyone managed to get out in time, babies too."

Astrid smiled and nudged her friend. "Grandma," she teased. Heather's eldest daughter Sigrid had given birth to her second child only last month.

Heather nudged her back. "Just you wait until it's your turn, Astrid Haddock, it might be sooner than you think. Have you heard back from Zephyr yet?"

"I received her letter yesterday; according to her, they restocked as soon as they could and set sail immediately, so they should be here any day…the land they were in was called Brittany, a supposed three days sail away from here. Crazy to think there's so much more out there…" she thought of her husband and smiled, "Hiccup would have gone in a heartbeat, especially if we still had the dragons."

"Has he been back to the Hidden World since introducing the kids to them?"

Astrid shook her head. "That Snoggletog when Zephyr was eight was the last time. He wants to see Toothless again though. I've caught him looking in the direction of the Hidden World a lot lately."

"Easier times?"

Astrid half-shrugged tilted her head back and forth. "Not necessarily, just…missing his best friend. Thor knows I've missed Stormfly on many a day."

Heather nodded. "I still miss Windshear, especially on days like today. Overcast skies made us invisible, perfect for scouting."

"Thor knows we could use them right now; and if we did it'd be like the old days, 80% of the problem solved because of fear of dragons and/or the people behind whoever's doing this." She paused before continuing. "I'm planning on getting the barracks and arena up and running before winter."

"Think we'll go to war come spring?"

"I don't see why not. We've got the weapons and the fleet to do so. It's going to be a hard winter, but it will also give us time to find out exactly who attacked us, and hone our skills so we can wipe them out as soon as the harbor thaws."

Heather stirred the potash again. "Well, the sooner the barracks is up and running the better. I know I could use a good sparring bout. Plucking chickens only releases so much tension."

Both women turned their heads as a horn sounded, heralding the arrival of a ship. Astrid ran part way back up the hill so she could get a view of the harbor.

A small karve cut through the water, swift as the wind pushed it along, it's sail billowed full. Astrid's heart leapt with joy and relief; the Haddock family crest, woven in bright colors, instantly recognizable. Zephyr!

"It's Zephyr and Thora!" she cried as she ran past Heather's house, "They're home! They made it!"

Energy renewed, Astrid ran through the streets, zig-zagging her way down to the docks, Heather running behind her, calling out to others to spread the word.

Astrid slowed to a jog as the karve pulled up to the beach spit, all six Vikings pulling the ship ashore, her daughter at the head.

She had forgotten how tall her daughter was; she took after Hiccup that way…and in most of her ways. She had the same wanderlust as he did, the same inquisitive mind, the same thick auburn hair…Astrid noticed it's style,a fishtail braid raised so it sat on her hair, making it stand out.

"Zephyr!" she called.

Her daughter turned at the sound of her name. When she caught Astrid's eye, a relieved smile spread across her face as she ran from the longship towards her.

"Mom!"

Astrid held out her arms and wrapped them around her daughter as they embraced. "Thank the gods you're home," she said, her voice tinged with tears, "Oh, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you too," Zephyr replied, her own voice teary, "I didn't realize how much until I saw you." She looked at her mother. "Is everyone okay? We saw the damage on the way in, Pictish ships free sailing the Archipelago, is it true that all of the winter stores are gone? Where is everyone living? Can we get enough rebuilt before winter—?"

Astrid stopped her. "Whoa, one at a time, Zeph. First question: in terms of our family, everyone's fine. I injured my leg in the fire, but it wasn't serious and it's healing nicely. The only danger your father's in is exerting himself too much."

Zephyr creased her brows. "How is he?" she nodded to the state of the village. "This is a lot to deal with."

Astrid squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "He's doing the best he can with what we've got in the situation we're in, but it's not easy. He's…under a lot of stress. To answer your second question, yes, all of the winter stores were burned. It was the first loss we recorded. In terms of living situations, most of the village is living in Great Hall. Thank the gods it had the advantage of being sunk into the cliffs."

She shook her head as she gazed towards the empty spaces dotting the land. "For all the good that did," the bite of sarcasm dripping her words. She sighed. "I don't know how we were caught so unprepared…as for your last question, you'll have to ask your father about that. He sent out word to all of the tribal chiefs in the Archipelago, and we've received word from the closest ones that they're sending aid, but it won't arrive for another three days."

Astrid gestured to the beached longship. "Did you bring supplies?" noticing the Eretson's unloading crates and oar chests.

Zephyr nodded. "We managed to squeeze in an extra two day's worth. I wish it were more, but any extra weight would have slowed us down further."

"Did you have rough seas?"

"Only on the second day, and that was Thora's fault. She insulted Njord before we left by saying I command the seas. Needless to say I prayed extra hard to him for fair winds and weather the rest of the way."

Astrid chuckled and placed her arm as they walked towards the karve. "Let's grab your oar chest."

As they approached, Erik Eretson jumped from the main deck, Zephyr's chest in both hands. "I got your chest, Zeph," he said.

Astrid noticed how muscular Erik had become, talking after his father in build as well as handsomeness. She also noticed Zephyr's cheeks tinge pink as she took it from him.

"Thanks," Zephyr replied.

"I can take it home for you if you want?"

"That would be wonderful, Erik," Astrid cut in, noting Zephyr's dumbstruck look, "Thank you. Our new house is in the same place as the old one."

Erik nodded and took the chest from Zephyr. "See you later, Zeph," he said, he turned to Astrid and gave her a respectful nod. "Chieftess."

Astrid nodded back and watched him walk up the beach into New Berk.

Zephyr turned to her. "We're not living in Great Hall?"

Astrid smiled. "That's the one piece of good news—aside from your arrival—we get to move into our new house tonight. The village insisted we rebuild our house first, but your father being who he is, insisted the trades get settled first," she nodded as she and Zephyr began walking back into the half burnt, half built village, "Thora and her family were the first to enter a new home, attached to the new Healing House of course…we have to have somewhere to lay the dead before burning."

Zephyr paused before voicing. "How many did we lose?"

Astrid sighed. "Ninety-three."

Zephyr's eyes widened and she gasped in shock. "What? That many? Anyone we knew?"

Astrid counted on her fingers. "The Jotunson's, the Hjelmstad's, the Einarsson's, the Bjorklund's…too many…and no remains between them."

"That's a lot of bad deaths…"

Astrid nodded. "All families, most elders and children…" she wiped a tear from her face and looked at her daughter, seeing the same mixture of emotions in her eyes: grief, anger, disbelief, the need for payback. "Pray they made it to Helgafjell."

Zephyr nodded, solemn. "I will."

Astrid hugged Zephyr as they walked. "I'm sorry you had to cut your journey short." She noticed Zephyr tense slightly.

"You needed me," she replied, keeping her tone even, "Dad needed me…I couldn't dishonor you by saying "no"."

"While I appreciate that, I know it wasn't easy for you to give up your travels."

Zephyr exhaled as she shrugged. "No, but as Erik said, "We can always come back.""

Astrid quirked a smile as they walked up the hill. "Speaking of Erik, I saw you blushing when he handed you your chest. Mind telling me how that happened?"

HICCUP:

"Here's the report, Chief."

Hiccup took the scroll from the villager he'd asked to take inventory of what remaining food supplies they had left. He walked over to the workbench where Fishlegs was mixing an herb poultice, stood at the end, and unrolled the scroll. Please let us have enough to last three more days, he thought.

His heart sank as he looked at the statistic. Even though they'd found cellars both full and half-filled with food after the fire, each being moved to Great Hall's storage, it wasn't enough. It was a miracle they'd lasted this long. Now they barely had enough for tonight. After that…they'd be starving until the first round of aid arrived.

It's only three days, he told himself, we can hold on for three days…His thoughts rolled with numbers and statistics, each more grim than the next, weighing heavier and heavier each day, his heart despairing a little more with each new wail of mourning.

Ninety-three lives lost in this fire…forty-two of them our children and youth…

He had been spared the loss of a child, Thank Freya, but he was still no stranger to loss. Hiccup grimaced. There was only so much comfort he could give, so much empathy he could show, because he only understood his people's grief to a point. He wished with all his heart he could wipe away the memories of the funerals, all of which he'd attended, for children and teens who would never grow up.

He sighed, trying to bear the weight of responsibility that pressed heavier each day.

"How bad off are we now?" Fishlegs asked as he scraped the poultice into a small clay jar.

"The food will be gone after tonight," Hiccup replied, looking up, "and we won't have any more until aid comes in three days."

Fishlegs sighed as he placed the jar on a nearby shelf, wiping his palms before carefully checking the herb bunches hanging from the rafters. "Did the other chiefs say what they'd be bringing?"

Hiccup shook his head. "I asked them to bring whatever they could spare: food, clothes, tents, tools, extra hands. We won't know until they arrive." He scoffed, sarcasm dripping off his words. "At least we have our warships and the armory."

Fishlegs furrowed his brow. "You think we'll go to war?"

Hiccup exhaled. "I don't know at this point. As useful as they are, they won't keep us sheltered or fed over the winter; and that need becomes more pressing with every passing day. I'm not so sure we should go to war, simply because of that fact alone."

"A lot of families have voiced their need for vengeance in their grief, Hiccup…child deaths don't mend easy."

"I know. I don't want to add insult to injury…" Hiccup looked around the newly built Healing House, the wood bight and new, the scent of sawdust lingering in the air. "How are you and your family taking to the new place?"

"Grateful for it. It's just not home; but nothing feels that way right now, except for Heather and the kids." Fishlegs shrugged his shoulders, "You know, we're faring as well as everyone else: everything is still sinking in. There's everything to think about, everything to remember…and everything to forget. How's Astrid's leg doing?"

"Healing well. She hasn't limped for…oh, the past five days, I think? It's hard to remember, they all run together lately. Thank you for asking."

"You're welcome. Are you two all right? You both seemed pretty tense the night of the fire."

Hiccup shrugged his shoulders. "We…disagreed. We haven't had much time to discuss it what with each of us being so busy, but we'll work it out. We always do." Hiccup folded the report and put it into his pocket. He gestured towards the door. "I'm going to head over to the forge and see how we're faring there."

Fishlegs nodded in understanding. "Thanks for helping me with the funerals earlier. I know it hasn't been easy."

"Just…part of Chieftain duties."

"Oh! Before I forget…" Fishlegs bent over and pulled a large book from the shelf beneath the workbench. He handed it to Hiccup. "I managed to save this."

Hiccup's eyes widened and he chuckled with relief as he took the book. "The Book of Dragons!"

It had not been untouched by the fire, for the bottom half of the front cover was gone, the pages beneath browned and curled all around the edges, the back top corner of the cover gone as well.

Hiccup held the book to his chest. "I was so afraid we'd lost it. It's so much of our history…" He looked at his friend. "Thank you for saving this."

Fishlegs clapped Hiccup on the shoulder. "From one nerd to another."

Hiccup smiled and laughed. It felt good to do both. He thanked Fishlegs again, and walked out of the Healing House, down the street to the forge.

Wafts of heat, the familiar clang of pounding hammers, and the scent of burning wood and metal met his senses as Hiccup walked into the forge.

Hjalmar, the Viking who had replaced Gobber after his passing, pulled a white hot ingot from the kiln with a large set of iron tongs, and placed it on the hammering place, where his two sons and two apprentices waited, hammers in hand, to begin shaping the ingot.

Hiccup watched as the young men took turns beating the ingot, its future shape and form yet to be determined, and Hjalmar, taking the tongs in hand again, grabbing a red hot ingot from the fire, in a loosely shaped pickaxe head, alternating betwixt hammer strikes and flipping the axe head to shape it further.

"Hjalmar!" Hiccup called.

The head blacksmith raised his head and met Hiccup's gaze. He put down his tools and walked towards him, hand held out in greeting. "Chief! What brings you here?"

Hiccup tucked the Book of Dragons under his arm, then with his free hand, took the smith's and shook it. "I've come to see how things are going. How are you and your family holding up?"

"We're doing all right now that we have a roof over our heads. You're an honorable man, Chief, for getting us trades settled first."

"It was the least I could do."

"Looking forward to moving into your new place tonight?"

Hiccup gave a small smile and chuckled. "It will be a relief, for sure, but I won't rest easy until the majority of us have at least some kind of roof over our heads."

"Is aid still coming, sir?"

Hiccup nodded. "It is, it just…won't be here for another three days."

Hjalmar nodded, solemn.

"Do you have any reports on inventory and production since the fire?" Hiccup continued, "I know it's only been a week, but knowing what we have and where we are makes planning easier."

Hjalmar nodded and beckoned Hiccup to follow him. "Sure, Chief." They walked over to a workbench, covered in scrolls, rivets, hinges, nails, and small tools. Hjalmar picked up the topmost piece of paper in a pile in the center of the bench and showed it to Hiccup.

"We were lucky, Chief," Hjalmar continued, "We managed to save most of the inventory—tool and weapon heads since their handles burned away—and my sons and I have been taking orders as soon as the building was up, but at the moment," he pointed to a small statistic, "That's all we've been able to complete."

Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. That's way further behind than I expected. "Is there any way we can up the pace of production?"

Hjalmar placed the paper back onto the pile and began organizing the workbench, placing the rivets, hinges, and nails into their prospective barrels lined up against the wall, barely a quarter full each.

"I'm doing my best, Chief, but even with shifts going night and day, having to re-forge almost every tool and weapon we have…I simply can't keep up." He finished arranging the small tools, then walked back to the pickaxe head and took the hammer and tongs from the smith who had replaced him when Hiccup walked in, and began shaping the tool. Hiccup followed behind him.

Hjalmar glanced at Hiccup as he continued. "The apprentices I have are all doing a fine job, including your son. I'd take on more simply because I need more hands, but it takes time to teach them. Time we don't have."

Hiccup nodded, creasing his brows and frowning. "I understand." He let his hand fall to his side as he looked at the smiths and apprentices hard at work. "Are there any shifts where you're particularly low on hands? I might rearrange my schedule so I can help out if you don't mind?" I need something else to occupy my time besides reading dwindling statistics and attending funerals.

Hjalmar stopped hammering and wiped the sweat from his brow, eyebrows raised in surprise. "I'd be honored, Chief, but are you sure?"

Hiccup quirked a smile. "I used to be an apprentice, remember? Plus, smithing gives me focus when there's a lot on my mind." Which is everything these days.

Hjalmar chuckled and stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee, remembering the scrawny lad the Chief had once been. "At this point, it's the fourth watch that has the lowest number of hands. No one wants to be up that early, except for myself and my oldest son since we rise that early to get started anyway. You'd be welcome to join us then if you don't mind less hours of sleep."

Hiccup shook hands with the head blacksmith. "Deal. I haven't been getting much sleep anyway, so this will be a welcome respite."

"No problem, Chief, and you know you're welcome to stand in anytime. Thor knows we could use your experience. Maybe now we can up production."

Hiccup chuckled.

Suddenly, his ears pricked at the sound of a familiar laugh, a nasally one, similar to his own…one he hadn't heard for almost a year.

He turned his head and saw his daughter, her braided copper hair shining in the sun, arm locked around her brother's neck as she nuzzled his head with her fist. Astrid standing by, laughing.

His heart swelled with joy and relief as he trotted out of the forge. "Zephyr!" he called.

His daughter's bright blue eyes shined as they met his. Nuffink pushed her off. She squealed as she ran and leapt into his arms.

"Daddy!"

Hiccup squeezed her tight, tears brimming at the feel of his little girl in his arms once again. "Oh! How's my girl?" He ran his hand down her braid and hugged her tighter. "Thank Thor you're safe," he breathed. He pulled her arms length away, looking her up and down. "Your journey home was okay? You didn't have any bad weather, did you? Were you able to get any extra supplies? Did your mother tell you we're moving into the new house today?"

Zephyr chuckled. "Yes, Mom told me about the new house," she embraced him again. "I'm just glad everyone's safe." She released her hold and gave a small smile. "The journey home was fine; we had choppy seas on the second day, but nothing I couldn't navigate. Yes, I did bring extra supplies."

Hiccup breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, Thank Odin."

Zephyr glanced at her mother before continuing. "Mom said aid won't arrive for another three days? I brought two day's worth for at least fifteen, but it won't feed the entire village—"

Hiccup held out his hand, stopping her. "Don't trouble yourself with that. You brought what you could. We've been rationing what we have left so we'll make it work. We may still run out, but at least there'll be more to go around."

"We're on the last of the rations already?" Astrid said.

Hiccup nodded. "I wish we weren't. Whatever we can hunt, fish, and forage for will have to suffice until aid arrives."

"What's the book, Dad?" Nuffink asked.

"Is that the Book of Dragons?!" Astrid exclaimed as she recognized what was left of the front cover.

Hiccup nodded and handed it to her. "Fishlegs managed to save it."

"Chief!"

Everyone raised their heads as Tuffnut Thorsten came running down the hill, arms waving. He skid to a stop, bent over, and placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. "There's a dispute between the carpenters, the potters and the weavers over who gets their house built next," he glanced and nodded at Zephyr, smiling, "Nice to have you back, Z."

Zephyr chuckled. "Thanks, Uncle Tuff, it's good to see you too."

Tuffnut turned back to Hiccup. "I tried to smooth things over, but no one's having it, H."

Hiccup gave an exasperated sigh. "My work is never done." He turned to Astrid. "I have to go handle this."

Astrid nodded. "Zephyr and I will go gather pine boughs for bedding. We'll see you for supper."

Hiccup turned to Nuffink. "Let's go. You'll have to learn how to negotiate petty squabbles as well as serious ones."

Nuffink nodded and followed behind him and Tuffnut. "Even the small tasks are important, right Dad?"

Hiccup smiled. "That's right."

"Onward, Young Nuff!" Tuffnut called, "Petty squabbles, prepare to be dispelled!"

ASTRID:

Astrid exhaled as she stoked the fire, smiling as wafts of heat warmed her face. While the fireplace was built properly from the outside, and while there was a hearth, there was no mantle. They'd have to either mortar and place the stones themselves, or just find a large beam.

One way to make this house our own, she thought. She sat back on her knees and looked around their new house, empty except for her and the kids. A last minute meeting had kept Hiccup after supper.

The large open space she sat in was to be their kitchen. No furniture yet, since the carpenters were focused on actual houses, but the cast iron pots, pans, and utensils she'd managed to find in the wreckage lay to the left of the fireplace. She made a mental note to ask Hjalmar to make them a hook so she could start cooking again. She didn't mind the communal meals in Great Hall, but was during times like this that she just wanted to be around her family.

Astrid stood and turned around. The room where she and Hiccup would sleep directly across from the fireplace. Zephyr's room was next door to the right, and Nuffink had his own space in the loft above accessible by the back staircase.

The scent of clean cut wood touched her nose. The village carpenters had done a marvelous job. This house was sturdy, strong. She smiled, surprised at how much the house already felt like home, simply because she knew where the kids were. It was hard, not seeing any of their familiar material possessions to reinforce the feeling of home; but knowing Hiccup and the kids were alive and safe brought much ease.

Both Zephyr and Nuffink had turned in for the night, so Astrid had the house to herself until Hiccup returned.

It had been a long day, a busy day, and a joyous one. Zephyr and her friends had returned from afar—safely—bringing much needed supplies. While the rations at supper had been meager as usual, just knowing there had been more to go around had lifted the village's mood, along with celebrating Zephyr and her friend's return. A small comfort, a little bit of happiness in an otherwise dark time.

Astrid pulled one of her daggers from it's sheath, and the whetstone from her leather hip pouch and sat. She ran the stone along the blades edge, the grating ring familiar, comforting. She ran through her plans for the arena in her head.

We'll set up makeshift dummies to practice on for those with less experience. Trained warriors can spar each other: one on one and in groups. Experienced warriors can also mentor newbies. We'll practice the usual tactics: guerrilla warfare; attacking in small groups, hard and fast; We'll set the Berserkers loose, really put the fear of the gods in them. We'll train in each weapon, the battle axe, the sword and shield, and the mace, daggers and hand-to-hand.

Astrid smiled to herself. We'll be ready, come spring. The Picts won't know what hit them.

She stopped sharpening her dagger as a faint scent caught her nose, instantly familiar. She looked at the fire, but there was nothing unusual about it. Her gaze shifted to the Book of Dragons, lying a foot or so away.

Astrid leaned over and picked it up, carefully placing it in her lap. Some of the browned and curled edges crumbled at her touch. She lifted was was left of the cover and began flipping through the pages.

Boneknapper…Screaming Death…Thunderdrum…Skrill…

The scent touched her nose again as she turned three pages at a time. Astrid puzzled her brow and flipped backwards, one page at a time, until she came to the following page:

Deathgripper

Fear Class

Attack: 27

Speed: 12

Armor: 20

Firepower: 12

Shot Limit: 8

Venom: 12

Jaw Strength: 16

Stealth: 6

The Deathgripper was the only dragon in the book whose information hadn't been changed. It was still listed as a threat, to both humans and other dragons, its stats and information hastily written. There had been little time to figure them out because their own dragons had needed saving. And when they had left for the Hidden World, the Deathgripper had disappeared with them, leaving no trace, be it bone, fang, or tusk.

Astrid read the entry out of curiosity.

Aside from its tusks and venomous stinger, the Deathgripper projects a corrosive and highly flammable acid from its mouth, instantly setting alight whatever it touches. The fire borne from this acid is extremely hot, fast catching, and secretes an intense sour smell when burning…

Astrid's eyes widened as she read the sentence again. An extremely hot fire, fast catching, and the sour smell…

Memories flooded her mind. Memories of that same fire licking its way through Hiccup's house in Old Berk, rising up all around her as they scrambled from the dragons, snapping and clawing at them, dodging falling beams. Watching those dragons roar and growl, spewing that acid everywhere as they attempted to catch and eat them. The sight of Old Berk in the same flames…

"It's Deathgripper Acid," she said aloud to herself, shocked, "They used Deathgripper Acid to burn us down."

Two thoughts struck her simultaneously. Where did the Picts get Deathgripper Acid?, and How did they get it when all the dragons were gone?