The Guardians Games: The Wrath of Five

Chapter 7: Moving Forward

District 13

The holographic screen laughed at him. Well, not the screen itself, but the voice behind it. Hiccup couldn't help but feel a little annoyed at least.

"I'm serious," he told the glowing screen. "I really have no idea who you are, Mister…Man-in-the-Moon?" He could barely believe the words that were coming out from his own mouth. Wasn't the Man-in-the-Moon some child's tale or something?

"I'm afraid it is impossible for me to reveal who exactly I am to you, Hiccup Haddock," the mechanical voice finally said after a bout of laughter. Despite the filter, the tone was rather warm and almost comforting. "But perhaps it would be ease your mind a little if I explain to you what I do."

The scrawny young boy twisted uncertainly in his chair, before giving a slight nod to the white circle on the screen. Some answer was better than none at all.

"During your weeks here in District 13, you might have become aware that we are preparing for war. Do you know who we intend to wage war against, Soldier Haddock?"

"The Capitol, sir." It was never said outright, but it was pretty obvious. Most training sessions dealt with defending themselves against Peacekeepers. All propaganda was fiercely anti-Capitol. To miss it was like missing a bullet training running straight your way while you were tied to the tracks.

"Exactly. But District 13 is not alone in the Rebellion movement. It is supported by other members of Panem – rebellion cells that have either started up on their own or have been implanted by our task forces. They may be ordinary citizens in the District, secretly gathering resources and recruiting more members to our cause. They may also be intelligence agents – infiltrators into the Capitol who retrieve vital information or carry out urgent tasks to further the rebellion cause." The faceless speaker allowed a pause, before carrying on, "As the Man-in-the-Moon, or MiM, as most call me, I'm in charge of the rebellion movement outside District 13. Our network works together with the District to further our cause – to overthrow the Capitol and return Panem to the people."

Hiccup nodded, his eyes widening with every new piece of information presented to him. He had heard stories in his days back in his home district, where the 'rebellion' was spoken about as if it were a plague. To many Peacekeepers, it was the plague, and it needed to stamped out with violence and ferocity. Having it told to him so plainly as if it were nothing more than a breakfast menu was something he took a while to get used to.

"No doubt, Soldier Hamada would have recounted his version of your extraction from the Hunger Games by now," MiM went on, crisp and business-like, though with a hint of amusement. "To clarify things, it was I whom he communicated with in order to arrange the details. My agents were also the ones who went back and forth to cover up the fingerprints of the Rebellion over the events that had occurred in 74th Hunger Games, of which one you have already met."

It clicked in the boy's mind. "Lieutenant Calhourn is one of your agents."

"Yes," the faceless voice confirmed. "Now she's under the authority of the President of District 13, but she still answers to me on certain matters."

"Excuse me, sir," Hiccup said, his voice sounding more high-pitched and nasally than usual due to his nervousness. It just struck him that this MiM, whoever he was, was not a person to be trifled with. Running rebellion matters under the very nose of the Capitol? That was a feat both to admire and fear. "What do you want with me?"

"I wanted a chance to talk to you face to face – or face to voice, perhaps more accurately." There seemed to be a light-hearted note in MiM's voice, before becoming serious again. "The President of District 13 had disagreed with conducting the extraction process, with good reason, and I was the one who vetoed his decision. Thus, the entirety of the extraction is my responsibility and that includes those who were extracted – all five of you."

The boy puzzled over this. "So … this is a normal thing? You've talked to all the others? Ralph? Hiro?"

"For security reasons, I've only ever talked to Hiro out of your group of friends, and then it was only for matters concerning the extraction." Hiccup grimaced at the word 'friends' – it was not how he would describe his relationship with the District 5 girl. "As Calhourn should have explained to you, this entire exchange must remain strictly confidential. Capitol spies are everywhere – even in District 13." He added this in response to the boy's surprised expression, "Don't be shocked. The Capitol is not made of fools. They know that we're readying ourselves. It's a matter of when and how we intend to strike them."

His voice shook, but he could not keep himself from asking, "Do you think I'm a spy, sir?"

"No. For now."

While he didn't want to appear too forward, Hiccup could not help asking, "What do you mean by that?"

"All those born in Panem are fed Capitol propaganda from young, but District 2 takes to it the most enthusiastically. Like it or not, it was your home district. You were brought up according to their ways and you still have ties there." Hiccup felt his muscles tense. Yep, this was it. This was his eulogy. He was deader as a doornail. "Some think we should have let you die in the Arena. Almost all here think it's only a matter of time before you turn on us."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," the boy couldn't help muttering bitterly.

"I would like to prevent that outcome. Permanently, if possible."

Oh, here it was, the death sentence. This was it. Goodbye, world. Goodbye, dowdy life. To be fair, life wasn't that great. His stump ached a lot and he couldn't really walk properly. He wasn't going to ever see his dad again (not that his dad would care that much… right?), Toothless was nowhere to be found. It wasn't as if he had much to live for.

"That's why I hope to secure your loyalty to our cause."

Well, his prosthetic would go back to the prosthetist. His books would go to Ralph. Hiro could have his sketches if he wanted and …wait, what did he just say?

"Secure my loyalty, sir?" the boy repeated, baffled.

"Hiccup Haddock, do you hate the Capitol?"

This question caught him off guard. "What?"

"It was the Capitol that took you from your home – away from your family and friends. It was the Capitol that placed you in the Games, throwing your life away for sport." The mechanical voice rose in crescendo, hard and stern."It was the Capitol that forced you to go against everything you really believe in, to have your innocence ripped away from you. Let me ask you again do you hate the Capitol?"

"I-I-I-" He knew he had always taken the words of Capitol with a pinch of salt, as he did with all the Peacekeeping propaganda. But had he ever hated them?

Then he remembered the horror that sank into him when he heard his name called during the Reaping. He remembered the dread he felt on each training night, where he counted down the days to the imminent doom. He remembered holding the dying District 3 girl in his arms, feeling so helpless and lost in the bloodshed. He remembered befriending Toothless, and realizing the cruelty that the Capitol had inflicted on him as well. He remembered betraying allies. He remembered facing off enemies that weren't really enemies, but puppets for the Capitol's amusement. He guiltily remembered secretly hoping for the death of children barely his age, just so that he might stand a chance of winning.

He remembered what it was like to have a left foot.

This time, without wavering, Hiccup said to the white circle image on the holographic screen, "With all my heart, sir."

"Good, because nothing less than your whole heart will be expected from you," was MiM's grave reply. "The rebellion is only as strong as its weakest link, Hiccup. You are especially susceptible to turning on us due to your background. So every time you feel that temptation to do so, remember what the Capitol did to you. If the rebellion succeeds, all the children who died, the sufferings that you and your peers had undergone – they will all be worth it. There will be a new Panem. A free Panem."

"However,-" the volume dropped several decibels, but Hiccup could still hear every word clearly "-if you betray us, if you dare give in in a moment of weakness, understand this: you would not only be betraying the rebellion. You would not only be betraying District 13. You would not only be betraying peers and comrades who have trusted you. You would have betrayed the future generations of children – our children. I will hold you personally responsible for every child that dies again in those Games. Is that clear?"

The tone was so chilling, so harsh, that Hiccup couldn't help but shudder. He couldn't even speak, so he just nodded. He didn't dare look up at the image on the holographic screen.

"I'm glad that we've reached an agreement," MiM said with a sigh of relief. The severity in the tone had relaxed. "Because I do want to trust you, Hiccup Haddock." That made the boy lift his head up. "From what I have observed, you have compassion, ingenuity and courage. These are traits that I prize highly. I saw these too in Tadashi Hamada, which is why I chose him for the mission."

Hiccup caught on to the mentioned name. "That's Hiro's brother, isn't it? The one who died?" He winced inwardly after he said it. 'Died' was such a callous word, but 'passed away' made it sound too natural and 'murdered', while true, sounded too severe.

Fortunately, the MiM did not pick at him for his language. "Yes, it was him." It seemed almost as if the leader of rebels sounded regretful, but he reverted back to his brisk manner. "The night is no longer young. You must be tired. Go and have some rest." It might have been Hiccup's imagination, but he could swear that he heard the faceless voice sound … benevolent? "Good night, Hiccup, and sleep well."

With that, the holographic screen fizzled off and the darkness returned. At the very same time, the door of the meeting room zipped open. Hiccup wobbled back to his feet – ahem, foot and prosthetic – and took a moment to compose himself. Stepping back to the lights of the corridor, he could not help but feel that the entire experience was frightening surreal. If he didn't see Lt. Calhourn standing by the door, tapping her foot impatiently, he might have dismissed the whole thing as a dream.

"Well?" his superior asked him with folded arms. "How did it go?"

As he opened his mouth, Hiccup remembered what she had told him before he had entered the room. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, m'am."

There was the slightest, tiniest hint of a smile on the Lieutenant's greyed countenance. "Very good, Soldier Haddock."

He was dismissed to return to his compartment after that, and he was shocked to find that it was already midnight. The conversation that he had with MiM – whose existence he could barely believe (don't judge, how many faceless, secret leaders have you met today?) – had taken longer than he had expected. He hadn't even remembered to undo his prosthetic before tumbling into bed, which was quite unwise. His bruised skin needed to breathe and heal, after being buried and brushed against the brace all the day. By the time he woke up, rubbing his eyes and cracking his back, he needed the brace to stay clamped to his stump if he was going to be able to walk at all.

The day was started quite unremarkably, with breakfast being unexciting and tasteless. Ralph wasn't present as he was called to serve early morning duty, which meant that he would be eating at another shift. Merida was thankfully nowhere to be seen. Though he no longer hardened his heart towards her, Hiccup was still wary – he didn't want to lose another appendage.

Things started getting weird when he realized, according to the newly-updated schedule printed on his hand, he wasn't supposed to report to his usual barracks for training next. He was to go the Special Defense Centre.

The first time he had tried going into the Special Defense Centre, his way was barred. Two guards who had been standing at the lift landing literally pointed their firearms at him, then told him to get back into the lift and get out. It was one of those places that could only be accessed by people with special permission, and at that time, he was not one of those people. Now, when he came forward, favoring his right leg as he hobbled over to the guards, they checked the schedule printed on his arm and allowed him to enter without a word of fuss. Hiccup passed through the glass doors that were the entrance, took a swerve around the bend and his breath was stolen from him.

The Special Defense Centre was like an engineering paradise. Everywhere, there were scientists running around with papers, carrying out experiments and punching in data with enthusiasm and even excitement. He saw some large machines, small automatons and various strange devices that he could barely recognize.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Hiccup whirled around to face the owner of the voice, only finding him when he dipped his head down slightly. "Hiro."

"Hey, haven't seen you for a bit." There was an apologetic note in the other's boy voice as he proffered his hand.

Eager to show that there were no hard feelings, Hiccup took the hand and shook it. It took all of his strength to resist pulling away and gaping at the District 3-born genius, for Hiro's appearance had so much since their last encounter. He had certainly lost weight, by how much skinnier he seemed compared to the larger seat on his motorized chair. Hiccup could feel almost all the bones in the other boy's grip. He seemed so much paler too, and there were too many circles drawn under his eyes. Hiccup also noticed now that the boy seemed to be leaning constantly against the chair, not sitting upright as he had used to. The unused legs that dangled from the lower half of the chair were covered with a blanket, but Hiccup wondered if they would too be bony and gaunt, like the rest of the boy.

"C'mon," Hiro beckoned him, jerking his head towards one of the walkways. "We've got places to be, and I think you'll like where we're going." He still sounded like the same, enthused robotics prodigy that he had met before the Games, but Hiccup could not help but wonder if the other boy was trying a little too hard to sound normal.

Hiro led him through a maze of laboratories, which either consisted scientists running tests on robotic prototypes or conducting experiments with unknown substances, or …staring at a holographic screen? Hiccup wasn't sure how that was considered productive by defense technology standards, but to be fair, he knew very little about this place.

"Over here, Hiccup." Hiro had led them both to a hall opening, which was guarded by not two, but six guards all standing at attention. Hiccup, with his metal leg, was not able to travel as fast as Hiro on his motorized chair, so he only managed to spare a look at the markings over the entrance after he caught up. For the second time that day, his breath was stolen from him.

The hall was marked MUTTATIONS RESEARCH & STUDY.

Even as they went through the security checks, Hiccup could not keep his jaw from hanging open. A muttation research centre? That actually made sense. Like in the story that Merida told, District 13 had found its strength through these biological weapons; born from tubes and nurtured into savage killing machines. If there ever were a place that District 13 would have its 'secret weapons', it would be here. It then occurred to him that the numbers of those given access to this area could not be large, so why was he, suspected spy for the enemy who could compromise their secret advantage, be allowed here?

"This way," he heard Hiro call to him. The boy had been transferred to a plastic chair after they had gone through the security scans. Watching how much effort it took for him to roll the chair forward, even if only by a few inches, Hiccup offered to push him. Hiro rejected it kindly, insistently wheeling himself forward.

Unlike the outside, which had been a clamor of machines whirring and people talking, the interior of this research department was almost completely silent. There were no see-in glass panels for people on the outside to watch experiments, only code-locked doors that probably led to private labs. There were occasional officers and lab techs that passed them by, but the words exchanged were far too few to friendly and there was an aura of solemnity over everyone who here, as if they were priests tending to a sacred altar.

"Don't know if you still remember the Snow Queen, but that's where she stays." Hiccup followed Hiro's finger to the rather inconspicuous grey door that read, 'CAUTION: THERMOSTATIC CHAMBER. APPLY REQUIRED SAFETY MEASURES.' "If you're free sometime, you should visit her. She's probably tired of seeing me all the time." The black-haired boy let out a little laugh, before quickly hissing behind his hand, "Don't tell her I called that. She doesn't like the nickname that much."

This door was not their stop, however, so they moved on down the imposing grey tube that was the walkway. Sometimes Hiccup noticed that passerbys would stop to stare at him coldly, but they said nothing to him or Hiro, nor did they do anything to prevent them from going about their way. The mistrust was present still, but it was no hindrance.

They finally arrived at their destination, which was again one of the unremarkable-looking doors that flanked the passage. It was labelled plainly as '15-DG' and held a sign warning those who entered to wear the appropriate safety gear.

"It takes only one person at a time," Hiro told him. The boy nodded to the control panel, which held a scan. "You go first."

It took Hiccup a moment to adjust his arm under the scanning contraption, but once he did it, the scanner read his tattooed schedule and the door zipped open. A box-like elevator just narrow enough for one person to fit comfortably was revealed. He stepped in per Hiro's instruction and was about to ask on what to do next when the door swung violently to a close. The box then began to move, not down or up, but sideways and he quickly grabbed the handrail to steady himself. When he did, he realized that the walls of the elevator were actually transparent, which allowed him to watch in perfect clarity as he travelled away from the door that he had entered in and began moving through dimly-lit tunnel. It only when he gazed down to check that his prosthetic brace that he noticed the metal track that the 'elevator' was travelling on.

After a few seconds of darkness and one of two flickering lights, a flood of light suddenly rushed over him, clawing into his eyes like talons. He quickly shaded them with his arms, turning his head away as he allowed his pupils to adjust. Warily, his eyelids parted again.

Third time was the charm, for this sight put everything else in his life to shame.

He was in a cavern of some kind – a large one, built with ice and stones and vines that had grown to gigantic over the years that it had crawled the surfaces. He could hear water splashing from somewhere below him and lush greenery covered the hard rock platforms and stalagmites. He couldn't really see where the light-source was, for it felt as if the interior of the entire cavern was glowing.

But none of these compared to the dragons.

Winged creatures of various shapes and sizes flapped over and under his transport vehicle, flying in loops around the stone formation of the vast cavern. Gorgeous wings of iridescent shades gleamed in the light as the reptiles soared. Caws and cries were heard, but they did not sound distressed.

Hiccup could barely keep his head straight as he tried to name them based on what he remembered from the Muttation Manual - the book of muttations that had been in his possession during the Games. Was that Monstrous Nightmare? No, too small, though features-wise it looked like one. That one was with four heads – could it be a Snaptrapper? It looked move fearsome in real life than it did in the drawings. Oh! That one was definitely boulder-class, but it was too large to be a Gronkle. He wondered how closely they were related.

He couldn't believe it. He was surrounded by dragons. Wild, free flying dragons. He had been so amazed by the creatures that he had never considered the possibility of them creatures attacking his transport vehicle, and this thought did not occur to him until he had arrived on the landing.

The elevator carriage left him in a glass laboratory, decorated with the usual computers and holo-screens, except with giant glass windows that allowed him to look out into the paradise of cavern at the dragons around him. He hardly noticed the door of the elevator close behind him after stepping out, before running back up the track. He was too busy staring at the flying reptiles; some in the distance, flying in circles. Others were set on the stone platforms, either resting or wrestling playfully with one another. He watched the beasts of different species living peacefully with one another, not like the battling creatures he had seen in the Arena. There seemed to be no strain in their movements, nor anxiety in their manner, for they felt no danger here. This was not a prison, but a home.

A home which he was apparently invading.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Hiccup jerked sharply around, startled to hear a human voice when seemed surrounded only by dragons. When he laid his eyes on the armored figure, he wondered if what he heard was indeed human.

By the way it hunched forward and bent its knees, the figure before him seemed bear a feral quality. When it approached him, its gait was crooked, yet graceful. Its movements were rough, yet balanced. It donned a curious blue mask over its head, with two tusks sticking out from under the chin and four horns curving up from the forehead. Shoulder-pads, chest-plate and armguards were all-sewn together from a hard, rusted material that looked like painted dragon scales. The figure also wielded a weapon, or at least Hiccup thought it was a weapon. It was a long staff with a hook on each end. The hooks were blunted, but they looked heavy, as if they were meant for bludgeoning rather than piercing.

One of those hooks was pointed at his face right now. Almost automatically, Hiccup raised his hands up in surrender."It's on my schedule!" He used his right arm to point to his left. "Not my idea! I swear!"

The figure then lowered its weapon, to which Hiccup sighed in relief to. But then he heard the hoarse voice behind the mask say, "Hiccup?"

The boy blinked in surprise, but then remembered that his name was actually printed on the label of his uniform. Of course, that's how the figure knew. He reckoned that whoever this was probably his superior, so he straightened himself up for a salute. "Hiccup Haddock, reporting for duty, sir-"

The figure drew itself back and removed its heavy mask. Then the auburn-haired boy realized his error.

"-erm, I mean, M'am. Definitely, m'am."

The woman's face was thin and slender – a little gaunt, perhaps from her age. Her hair, which was a rather plain shade of brown, was tied neatly to the back of her head. Her eyes were unremarkable blend of green and grey, crafted too in a shape that was not the most imposing. Her lips were thin, as if from years of pressing themselves together in self-imposed silence. If it wasn't the impressiveness her armor, Hiccup would have thought her as a rather mousy, meek-looking person.

She stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds, straightening herself up as she did. He, not knowing quite what to do, stared back. It took a few more seconds to click, but he realized that he knew her.

"You," he gasped, involuntarily raising a finger towards her. "You're the SWWW! You're not a hallucination!"

The woman blinked at him, drawing herself and her quarterstaff back in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"You were the strange woman who I've kept seeing around the District!" he exclaimed, feeling almost dizzy by his own revelation. "You're always there watching me from the corners. Yes, I did see you. You were in the canteen, in the hospital, sometimes even in military class! You're real!" He let out a shocked chuckle to himself. "Well, that marks insanity off the list. For now."

"So … you've noticed to me," the woman murmured in a rather uncertain tone, not looking at him in the eye. Both her hands went to grasp the staff in her hand and she held it against the ground, as if steadying herself. "I-I-I see."

Now that she, the 'Strange-woman-who-watches, was here standing before him in the flesh, he could not help but inquire, "What were you doing there? Did you want to talk to me? Were you testing something out?" He frowned a bit tightly. "Are you one of those people whose supposed to stalk me and make sure I don't sell Thirteen's secrets to the Capitol?"

"What? Goodness, no!" the woman in the dragon-armor answered that with such vehemence that Hiccup took a step back. She then noted his reaction and quickly composed herself, trying to express in a kinder tone, "Well, ah-ah-ah-I was just trying – I supposed I really wanted – what I meant to say is that-"

"I see you've met the Professor, Hiccup." The uneasy dialogue was cut short when the travelling carriage brought in the boy on the wheelchair. Hiro rolled himself down the ramp of the 'elevator', into the laboratory. There was a grin on his face as he gazed at the woman, then at the other boy.

The latter peered at the woman more closely. "I didn't know she was a professor."

"Oh, no name-intros yet? Okay." Hiro sucked in a breath, then gestured from the woman to the boy. "Professor Vogstein, Hiccup Haddock." He did the same thing in reverse order. "Hiccup Haddock, Profesor Vogstein."

"You can just call me … Valka," the woman said with a note of hesitation as she held a hand for him to shake.

As Hiccup reached out to shake it, he noticed how her armbands had spikes adorned on its sides, adding a measure of ferocity to herself, ferocity that she herself did not really possess. "Then just call me Hiccup then, m'am – I mean, Valka."

The woman smiled a little sadly at him. He wondered if the way he addressed her was not actually the way that she wanted to be addressed.

The District 3 genius decided that now was a good time to elaborate on his introduction. "Prof. V is in charge for all things dragon here in District 13. Species, wingspan, fire-power – she's the top man – sorry, woman - here. Since Hiccup-" he thumbed the boy playfully "-seems to have some affinity with dragons too, he's been allocated to work here. Sorry, man-" swerving his wheelchair around to be able to face Hiccup better "-but you've been let off military training. From now on, your focus is dragon training. I know this is obviously a big loss to you, so try not to cry yourself to sleep about it."

It took a while for it to really hit him. "Train … dragons?"

Hiro was grinning away like a bobcat, and he nodded.

"And no more military training?"

"I think they insisted on you having fitness training and self-defense classes, but other than that, you're off the hook for most part."

Hiccup had to pinch himself to make sure that. He stared out of the glass windows, to vastness that was this dragons' haven – haven which was soon to be shared with him.

"And that's not all. Prof. V?" The boy in the chair nodded meaningfully to the professor. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, Hiro." Despite his first impressions of her, Hiccup realized that her plain features lit up with life when she smiled, especially if she smiled as she did now, with excitement dancing in her eyes. Swerving herself hurriedly, almost bouncing her feet, she waved a hand toward to Hiccup, beckoning in silent yet almost mysterious manner.

Hiccup could not help be both baffled and intrigued as he followed the woman in the strange armor. The passageways that she led them through were tunneled through cavern, with more underground cubicles containing study quarters and research labs. As they passed these by, Hiccup realized that other the two of them visitors, the professor Valka Vogstein was quite alone here in this part of the research centre. Were there not enough willing scientists on the field? Or were the rest just on break right now?

"Over here." Valka stopped them by a door labelled 'VETERINARY'. She was about to place her hand over the keypad when she paused. She then looked over her shoulder towards Hiccup in a rather apologetic manner. "Just to let you know, I usually don't kept the dragons confined in such a closed spaces. But he was so upset that I feared that he would hurt himself." Her face bore a downcast expression, before brightening again. "But don't worry, now that you're here, all will be well again."

Hiccup was about to ask who 'he' was, but when the door slid open, he didn't need a spoken answer. He'd know that dragon anywhere.

He hadn't noticed how Valka had subtly stepped away from the opening so that he could walk into the veterinary first. He hadn't known how Hiro craned his neck forward from his chair, trying to get a better view of the going-ons. His eyes were fixed on the Night Fury curled up on the stone platform, gazing out morosely out of the glass-panes windows. He noted how the scale-lined flaps by the round head had perked up upon the sliding of the door, yet it had only bothered to turn his head around after he had stepped in.

"Toothless?"

Black lids drew themselves back as green eyes turned towards him. He watched as the reptile slowly rose, first by its hinds legs as it slipped itself off the platform, crawling cautiously towards him. Toothless cocked his head to the side a little at first, considering him.

Had he forgotten? Hiccup shuddered at the thought, a pit forming in his stomach.

Slowly, the boy went forward, bending himself down a little more with each step he took. "Hey, bud, remember me?"

The creature adjusted its gaze on him, daring a blink. Hiccup heard a low croon – a sad, questioning croon. He watched the dragon inch closer, sniffing pointedly, stopping right before the boy. Keeping a distance between the two of them, the dragon rose on its front legs, such that its stout was at Hiccup's height.

Not sure if he should look yet not daring not to, Hiccup lifted his palm towards the dragon, but not touching.

The Night Fury, without a cue or hesitation, shut it eyes and rested its snout in the hands of his boy. It was then Hiccup felt a renewal of that bond that formed in the cusp of the Arena – a bond between what should have been predator and prey.

He was once again with his dragon, and Toothless was once again with his boy.

Hiccup was not quite prepared for the incoming attack, but he did not really mind it that much. Immediately after drawing its head back, the Night Fury had pounced on him, literally knocking him to the ground while grinning down at him areally biggummy smile. The overjoyed reptile then proceeded to express its elation and affection through the lavishing of saliva over his boy.

"Urgh, Toothless! No – hahaha, NO! Stop!" The boy tried to push the dragon away, but his puny arms were no match to strength of the beast, who insistently licked every inch of his faces, warbling its happiness. Eventually, Hiccup surrendered and allowed himself and his uniform to be drenched in dragon spit. Why did it matter? They were together again.

Then suddenly, the dragon paused, its eyes suddenly narrowing. It drew itself back, which rather alarmed. Hiccup quickly sat himself upright, ignoring the smarting bruises that had been inflicted on his back during his fall. "Toothless?"

The reptile turned its gaze toward his metal leg, nudging it curiously, then sniffing it. The Night Fury then drew its snout away from the stump and turned his eyes back to his human, seeming rather sorrowful.

Hiccup merely shook his head. "It's okay, bud. I mean, it hurts now and then, but it's-" he ran his fingers down the crown of the beast's head "-it's okay. I've got you now, and you've got me."

The boy shifted himself forward, albeit a little awkwardly, and then he wrapped his dragon-drool covered arms around the scaly neck. The stench of raw fish and rubber were oddly comforting, and the warm vibrations he felt whilst clinging to the scales of his dragon brought a peace to his heart. He felt the dragon shift slightly as black wings were unfolded to be wrapped around himself; an imitation of his actions.

For the first time in District 13, Hiccup really felt at home.

Valka had the doors of the veterinary closed after it was determined that the Night Fury and his boy were fine. The two deserved to spend some time together after being kept apart this long. She understood the depth of bonds between a dragon and its chosen rider, for she had experienced it herself.

"Well, I consider that quite a success," she heard the boy from the wheelchair sigh in satisfaction. She turned to Hiro, who grinning happily, though tiredly at her.

She folded her arms, peering at him with amusement. "Are you the orchestrator of all this?"

The black-haired boy made a noncommital shrug, winking at her. "I may or may not have pulled some strings."

"I didn't think the President would ever allow such a thing," Valka exclaimed, glancing at the door of the veterinary. "He has strong prejudices. He's also very picky about the people who deal with muttations, especially the dragons. After all, dragons are our strongest advantage -" she used the word in a halting manner, barely able to hide her own disgust "-against the Capitol."

"It wasn't the President."

Valka looked at him in surprise, before it clicked. "Oh."

Hiro nodded, bearing a slightly rueful expression. "Yep."

She had to admit that she found this piece of news a little disconcerting. "Well, I can't say I think that our dear Mr. President would take this very well."

"Probably not." Hiro shrugged again, pulling a face. "But, eh, that's politics. Let them deal with it. We just do what we do best." The boy gave a small yawn, then glanced up at clock on the wall of the lab. "Well, I best be off. I've got work to do."

"Yes. Of course." Valka nodded.

That was taken the parting 'see-you-later', so Hiro spun his chair around and began rolling himself back to the entrance of the research centre. Before he rolled himself out of this passageway, she found a panging in heart that made her call out to him, "Hiro?"

The young genius twisted his head back to her. "Yes, Prof?"

She wanted to thank him, but then checked herself. It wouldn't make sense for her to thank him – not if he didn't want she was thanking him for. "What you did today was a good thing."

She just barely noticed it, but she saw how Hiro dropped his head and slumped himself forward. It was then that she realized how the young boy, who had just taken refuge in this District a mere six months ago, suddenly seemed so fragile and broken. His whisper could barely be heard. "It's the least I could do."

As he disappeared around the corner, Valka's eyes turned back to the door of the veterinary, then to the clock on the wall. In five minutes, she would have to pull him out. They had work to do and District 13 had no skivers. He would be happy to work, anyway, and she would let the dragon stay by his side as much as possible.

All the same, when the broken words of her black-haired collegue rang in her mind, she also remembered how young these boys were and worn they had been from the Games. They both deserved comfort and rest, but District 13 could not and would not offer it to them. District 13 needed soldiers and workers, not boys.

It served to confirm what she had known all along – District 13 was no place for children.

Capitol Undergrounds

Butterfly Room

His name was Jack Frost.

How did he know that?

Because the man in black robes told him so.

The man in the black robes also had him chained up to a long, metal chair, which would send painful – no, agonizing - burns through him, making him feel as if he was being ripped apart, then joined back together, only to ripped apart once again. He had never known such pain before, yet he could not help but anticipate each shock they sent through him. It was unpleasant, yes, but it also made him feel alive. He could feel his entire being, from the tip of his fingers to the hair-ends on his neck. He could feel air rushing into his lungs and his heart beating behind his bruised chest. After his body had been asleep so long, movement and feeling of any kind was gift to be taken with open palms.

Well, mostly

There were all these people in white coats who surrounded him. They took orders from the man in the dark robes. They often had their heads buried in study pads and blue screens, with faces that never seemed to smile or frown, forever frozen in a cold impassivity.

Sometimes after hours of wrangling, they'd leave him alone in a dark room. He liked those times, when they let him be. He would reach out to the walls and start painting them with frost, letting the fern-like patterns spread themselves across the room. He would try to making new and different things too, like little snowstorms between his hands and blowing life into the shapes he carved on the walls. He crafted snowflakes and flung them up in the air, watching as they pelted down from the ceiling over his head. These little moments gave him reprieve in between the times that they barked questions at him and the times that they plugged him to the wires for another burn treatment.

They asked questions. A lot of questions. The first few times his mind could not put together the words that fell from his mouth. The next few times when he did understand them, he did not know the answer. Some words sounded familiar to him, but he had no idea what they were talking about.

"How old are you?"

"Where were you born?"

"What is your name?"

He didn't know the answer to all these, even the last one. It was only then that the black-robed man told him his name.

After this particular interrogation, he had gone back to his room – his prison, to be more accurate. He had traced his name into the snow of the wall, made sure that he got the spelling right, then breathed over it until it hardened into crystal. He did not want to forget his name so soon after learning it.

Some days, they would not tie him to the metal burn machine but sit him down in front of a small plastic chair. They strapped him to a small device that measured his heart rate – to check for lies, he found out later - and showed him images from a holographic screen. They would ask him if he could name them.

A big glowing blob. "Sun?"

A face. "A person?"

"Can you name the person?"

He squinted harder at the image, then shook his head.

Next image. A tall, green structure. "That's a tree."

Next image. A body of water. "Lake."

Dark brown grains of solid. "Dirt."

A face of a woman with dark brown hair. He shook his head.

A vast blueness peppered with clouds. "Sky."

A face of a young girl with dark brown hair. She looked kind of like the woman they had shown him earlier. He shook his head.

A warm-colored shape. "Bread."

Another face. "Nope."

A type of livestock. "Sheep."

Another face. "Nope."

They went on showing him various images, some people, some of places, some of objects. He could recognized most of the third, half of the second and none of the first. It then occurred to his examiners that he had knew very little people. To make sure, the unexcitable people in white coats had shown him dozens more faces of various people.

"No. No. No. No. No. No. N-"

He broke himself off suddenly, leaning himself forward as he examined the image. It depicted a young woman with white-gold hair, fair skin and dark red lips. Other than being very beautiful, she would have blended perfectly into the swarm of other faces had he seen her before. At least, he thought that he had seen her before.

"Who is it?" he heard his interrogators demand grimly. He felt a hard hand grab him firmly by the hair, making him wince as his head was forced towards the holographic image.

"I don't know," he hissed, trying to bury the anger in his voice. Wherever he got angry with his interrogators, they would punish him by putting him back on the metal chair and burning him again with the frantic fire. The grip on his head tightened, so he did reveal a snippet of a fact that he knew. He didn't know how he knew it, but perhaps it was from his dreams. He did have rather strange dreams from time to time."All I remember is that she's called the Snow Queen."

He felt his head being freed as his interrogators glanced at one another. Then one of them asked him, "Is there anything else you can tell us about her?"

He didn't actually know anything more, but when he involuntarily glanced down at his own hands – the hands that could do such wonders with ice and snow. And then it struck him that these gifts that he had were not exactly his own.

There were rough sketches in his mind, fragmented pieces of memory that he could not fit together. He remembered being stabbed as well as kissed; killed as well as revived. He remembered pangs of affection as well as pangs of anxiety. He remembered wonder and awe mixed with betrayal and gloom. And somehow, all this was linked to her.

His hands ran over the fabric of his gown, idly tracing over the black scar over his heart. Ever since he had woken up in this strange, foreign blue place that people called the Undergrounds, he had felt the scar throbbing and burning him on the inside, like a fire he couldn't snuff out it. Beneath that burning … well, he couldn't feel his heart at all. He wondered if he had ever could.

He turned his eyes upwards, towards the white strands dancing along the edge of his forehead. "I think," he murmured, so softly that he was almost talking to himself. "I think she froze my heart."

District 10

Abigail Overland, or better known as Mrs. Jackson Snr. Overland, was becoming quite impatient.

"Emma!" she called once again, flinging open the bedroom door, letting her eyes run over the floorboards. The bed was neatly made, as it had been the last time she checked it. The drawers were all closed and the wardrobe was untouched. Letting a heavy exhale, she headed over to the kitchen again, checking under the table and around the shelves just in case. Her daughter was too old to be crawling around her knees or hiding in cupboards anymore, but at this point, Mrs. Overland wasn't sure what the girl would or wouldn't do anymore.

It had been going on since the night Emma insisted that a fairy had saved her from drowning in a lake. A fairy! Of all things! As if she had been a character of some child's tale, where magic was as real as dirt and godmothers blessed good children. Mrs. Overland had been patient then, because Emma had promptly fallen ill after the incident, running a high fever for over two weeks. The expenditure on medication wouldn't have been possible if their income was made by her earnings alone. Fortunately, the money that Aster Bunnymund had given to her – money earned by her son during the Games – she had been able to foot the bill. She had been so thankful to see Emma out of bed again that she let the matter go. She had not been prepared to lose both her children, and certainly not within a year of each other.

But health had given Emma a new disease – wanderlust. The girl was always flying to strange places nowadays, no longer doing her chores or going to school, but heading into the forests and staying there till the brink of sunset. She said that she had been speaking to the robins and the crows. Mrs. Overland, guessing then that the girl had been merely daydreaming and had forgotten her duties, had sarcastically inquired what she talked to the birds about. Emma, having thought the questions was sincere, had answered then, "Why, whether they've seen Jack around!"

It was just a coping mechanism, Mrs. Overland told herself over and over. She herself had experienced great loss when her own family had died at the hands of the Capitol. She was just a girl then too and had her own erratic ways of expressing her grief at the time. Emma was in a phase, and the phase would pass.

Except that it didn't seem that Emma wanted to let it pass. With each day, the flights of fancy grew stronger. The girl started first with still insisting that the fairy lady existed, then went on to talk about her other encounters with the fairy lady, and then she would talk about these pictures she saw in the air. Mrs. Overland had tried to handle these with great composure, carefully dissecting each fantasy and logically explaining why it couldn't be. But Emma was stubborn. She spoke of a horrid snowman that lived by the lake, who was thankfully melted away now. She often stayed up late enough in the night to watch the moon rising, so that she could talk to it. She refused to join her in visit to the grave of her brother, for in her mind, her brother was not there.

That was not the only problem. Tension in the District was growing. Mrs. Overland's job as a laundry maid kept her away from the pens and coops, but she heard the gossips in the market. She heard the grumbles in the streets. People had always been unhappy under the rule of the Capitol, but angry? That was an emotion too costly to express. Yet, more and more dared to express it now. Something about the 74th Hunger Games had changed the way people. Now when the foreman bellowed out orders to work harder or longer, resentment brewed. Random abuse spewed by Peacekeepers, which was deemed as commonplace and even merciful in the past, was now the subject of scorn and deep-seated dissatisfaction. Unwarranted pillaging, burning and destruction of property, including lives, were eyed with hardened jaws and clenched fists.

The Capitol was not blind to the changes in its people. Curfews were tighter than ever. Surveillance patrols were increased. Random abuse and unwarranted attacks were now made public spectacles. The burden of labor was increased threefold. Mrs. Overland found herself rinsing out blood from the clothes of her customers more often than she liked.

Though she held no love for the Capitol, she did not allow herself to listen to the whispers of a new tomorrow. To her, it was as much a fantasy as the tall tales that Emma told herself.

"Emma Overland! If you do not come here right this second-" When Mrs. Overland flung open the front door, she realized that heard the sound of weeping. Stepping outside, she glanced around, before following the sound into the garden.

Before her son's death, they did not have a garden. They couldn't afford to. With Jack's sponsorship money with them now though, they could afford to be a little more extravagant, though not too much or the Peacekeepers would come checking up on them. So Mrs. Overland had invested in flower bulbs and stalks, and these she planted around the cottage upon winter's departure. When she was younger, she had been very fond of gardening, with her own father often commending her green-thumb. She had certainly not lost her edge, it seemed, by the lilies and convulouses that bloomed in patches around their wood cottage. Being fond of variety, she had grown numerous breeds around, from hyacinths all the way to snowdrops. Emma had not shown much interest in the gardens before, though, so Mrs. Overland was surprised to find her daughter there, and even more to see her daughter sitting in the middle of the wash of flowers, rubbing her eyes.

Her anger towards the girl melted as she ran towards her. "Emma?"

Her daughter lifted her tear-streaked face from her own lap, sniffing morosely. Mrs. Overland sighed as she kneeled herself down to where the girl was, wiping the tumbling the tears from her the red cheeks.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked gently, brushing back the tear-soaked locks from her daughter's face,

The girl sniffed more sharply, rubbing her nose against the back of her hand, then said in a wobbly voice, "T-the roses."

Mrs. Overland turned her head towards the rose bush. She had groomed it from a wild rose bush she had found in the woods, trimming it and pruning it so that its flourished gloriously the way it did, from delicate red blossoms peeking out from the buds to the resplendent crimson blooms that wore the majesty of queens. As nearly perfect as the rose bush appeared to be, the branches were laced heavily with thorns, so she then asked the girl, "Did you prick yourself? Are you hurt?"

She took the girl's hands in her own and unfolded the fingers, examining the palms then turning them over. She could not see any cuts or scars.

"It's not that, Ma," Emma said between a swallowed sob, drawing back her hands to herself. "It's just that-" her voice broke a little "-it's just that he loves roses. He'd tell me such stories about them sometimes."

And then Mrs. Overland understood. Emma's favorite tales for her brother to tell was of Jack Frost and Snow Queen and other ice creatures, but Jack himself had been fonder of warm things, like roses. Roses, he would tell her sister, were enchanted, with magic powers. Why, it was even said that once there was a prince that was turned into a beast who was held captive by a wilting rose and a curse to find true love! For indeed, roses were the truest symbols of love, he had once told his sister whilst tapping playfully her on her nose; white for purity, pink for admiration, yellow for friendship, and red for the deepest, truest, most passionate of loves.

"Oh, Emma." Inwardly, she wanted to scold the girl for getting overtly emotional again, but Mrs. Overland did not have a heart to. She instead embraced her daughter, who was still sobbing as she clung to her mother.

The woman took her daughter back into the cottage, because dusk was falling soon and the curfew would be locked down any moment. She helped the girl wipe her face, brushed her hair back and finally got her a cup of milk. As the girl slowly drank from her tin cup, her mother sat herself across her at their table, trying to think of the best way to convey her thoughts.

"Emma," she finally said. Her daughter looked up at her. "This has been going on a bit too long, don't you think?"

"What, Ma?" the girl asked with wide, red-rimmed eyes, before taking another gulp of milk.

There was a heavy silence before the woman finally dared to say, albeit hesitantly, "You know, and I know, that he's not coming back."

She watched as her daughter, just barely nine years old, pause at the words. The girl quietly removed the tin cup from her lips and said softly, but certainly, "Yes, he is."

"No, he's not, Emma," the mother contradicted firmly, raising her voice unintentionally, before quickly lowering it again. "Emma, you saw the Games on the television. You know the truth. He's-" Mrs. Overland sent out a silent prayer to the heavens before she went on "-he's gone. Emma, you have to let go."

"No!" The girl's protest lacked vocal power, but the ferocity in her expression certainly made up for it. "He's alive! I know he is. We just have to believe hard enough."

"Emma,-" Mrs. Overland was rubbing her forehead vigorously as she tried to phrase her thoughts better, "-this is not a fairytale. Jack's not going to come back if you just wish hard enough."

"That's why you cannot just wish," Emma retorted, not backing down. Her small fingers curled fiercely around her cup handle, her chocolate brown eyes seeming to catch flame. "You have to believe with your heart. If not, it won't come true."

"Jack is dead, Emma!" She was almost screaming it. "Why can't you see that?"

The girl seemed genuinely taken aback, stunned by the outcry. Mrs. Overland slumped herself back against the chair, suddenly feeling horribly exhausted. She could not take this anymore. No, she couldn't.

"Go to your room, Emma," she told the girl hoarsely. "There'll be no supper for you."

The girl rose to her feet, meekly setting her empty cup on the dining table and walking towards the door that led to her bedroom. Before she entered, however, she turned back to her mother. Her gaze was soft, a little sorrowful even, and strangely, it also seemed wise – wise beyond her years.

"Jack isn't dead, Ma," the girl said gently. "Why can't you see that?"

After the girl's bedroom door was shut, Mrs. Overland just sat alone in the dining room, trying desperately not to weep. She pressed her lips together, staring determinedly upwards for a long silent moment. One of them in this household had to keep it together. One of them in this household had to protect this family. It had once been her husband. Then, it became her son. Now, it had to be her.

When she rose to her feet, she was a woman on a mission. She searched the dish cupboards first, empty out every third piece of cutlery and every third set of utensils. She also removed the larger lunch pail, though keeping the smaller one under the sink, as she always did. These removed items she transferred to another cupboard which was beyond Emma's reach.

She then went up to her own bedroom. There was only one bed there, for they hadn't been able to afford another one then. She and Jack had taken turns sleeping on it, but in the end, being a faithful son, he had always insisted on sleeping on the floor whilst she enjoyed the comforts of the feather-stuff mattress. Now, she headed to the wardrobe and empty it out of all his clothes without so much as a flinch. Those that were still usable, she set aside. Maybe she could barter them away for some food or more useful wares. The other dilapidated pieces of fabric, she decided, would be turned to rags for cleaning.

The last task that she needed to do was in the garden, so she wrapped some of the old rags around her hands like gloves. She then went to retrieve her gardening tools, which she kept in the kitchen (leaving them outside left them prone to be stolen). She then headed out of her door, into the garden.

The sun was going down. She did not have a lot of time.

Mrs. Overland took up her shovel and began digging determinedly into the dirt. Clump by clump flew over her shoulder as she got deeper into the ground. Her arms ached and her bones burned, but she worked at the ruthless pace she had set for herself. She could not leave this till tomorrow. She could not live through this again.

The roots of the rose bush were soon completely uncovered. She lifted it up, which was not difficult, since it was not very large. Hugging it to her chest, she scanned her surroundings for any Peacekeepers, before darting out of the gardens, through the fields, into the woods.

If she had a choice, she would burn the bush and rid them completely of it, but the smoke would attract the Peacekeepers' attention, which she did not desire. So she took it deep into the woods, going to the one place she knew her wandering daughter would avoid.

Darkness had fallen once she had arrived at her destination. She had not brought the shovel with her, so she could not dig into the soil and replant the rose bush. To be perfectly honest though, she was not sure she wanted the bush to continue thriving, especially not since its flowers were nothing but toxic to her daughter's sanity. So she left the uprooted rose bush by the tombstone of her son, tossed away like dust in the wind.

Without loving care, the damp and the cold of the forest would kill it. Bright red petals would tumble to the ground as the healthy blooms sickened to wilting. Leaves would shrivel up and the branches would be cracked by dehydration. It would rot away and die, the way her son had, for such was the way of the world.

Unlike the fairytales, roses were not magical, believing things did not make it come true and love could not conquer all.

S/N:

MiM is a strange one, but I enjoy writing him.

Valka, as Prof. Vogstein, had her first cameo in Chapter 3. I'm finally bringing in HTTYD2 material. And Toothless is back! Yay!

Jack Overland is dead. Jack Frost is alive. Can't say who's sadder – Emma or Mrs. Overland.

Up Next: Hopefully more Elsa, a little Hiro and who knows?

A/N:

Thank you, SpinItHypo for helping edit this on the last minute and for all the suggestions.

Life's good. God's good. I'm starting school soon.

See you next time.

Review. Ask questions. Critique.