Chapter 13: Muninn

Thunder, followed by the crash of falling rocks, rolled across Berk while Stormfly swooped down towards the training ring. On her back, Astrid gazed in the direction of Berk's sea stacks, uneasy. It felt wrong leaving, but she knew their part in the battle was over - the final confrontation would be between Hiccup and the Night Fury, alone.

He'll be okay, she told herself, remembering how he'd flown in their desperate flight across the ocean to Berk.

He had reminded her why Night Furies held a position of mythical terror in the minds of most Vikings. He was a dark blur, weaving through the flock faster than the eye could follow. Every time his fires flashed, another dragon tumbled into a watery grave. She scarcely believed he was the same boy-turned-dragon who'd stumbled over his tail and struggled to even get off the ground a few days ago.

Stormfly snorted beneath her. Astrid started - lost in her thoughts she hadn't felt them landing. Her Nadder looked back at her with a single, golden eye, letting out a gentle croon.

"I'm okay, girl," Astrid replied, resting a hand beneath the crown of spines on the back of Stormfly's head - the scales were warm and soft beneath her fingers. "I'm just worried about Hiccup."

Stormfly chirped reassuringly as Astrid slid down from her back. She kept her hand in place, trailing down her dragon's neck as she dismounted. Above them, the clouds had parted as twilight descended, and brilliant green flashes - the last remnants of the aurorae - chased across the sky in their wake. Unwilling to end the moment, Astrid simply stared upwards in quiet awe.

Stormfly broke the silence. With a soft hum, she stepped forwards into the arena. Without thinking, Astrid moved with her, keeping her place alongside. Like that, they slowly crossed the arena together, towards the gaping black maw of the Nadder's cage. The whole way, Astrid's hand never left Stormfly's scales - she wasn't sure whether she did it to reassure herself or the Nadder; it just felt right.

Too soon, they arrived at the threshold of the cage. Astrid turned to face her Nadder, another apology on her lips. Stormfly stopped her, leaning forwards to lick from her chin up one side of her face. Astrid grimaced, but also felt a smile tug at her lips, recognising the meaning of the gesture;

It's okay.

Wiping her eye, Astrid looked up to meet Stormfly's gaze. Great golden eyes blinked slowly back at her. She grasped for words; Stormfly had saved her life before, but something had passed between them in the moment her Nadder broke free of the Queen's control. She didn't understand it, but she knew things were different between them now. She wanted to express her gratitude to Stormfly for saving her and Hiccup again, but something told her that the Nadder already knew how she felt.

Eventually, she raised her other hand to rest on the Nadder's jaw, and whispered "I'll see you again soon, girl."

Stormfly hummed in response, then pulled back, into the darkness of her cage. Astrid had to stop herself from stepping forwards and reaching out for the Nadder. Tearing herself away, she focused on pushing closed the great iron-reinforced doors.

The cell slammed shut with a thunk and a clank as the lock engaged. Astrid slumped against the door. The shadowy, empty arena suddenly felt lonely and oppressive. The dragon saliva on her cheek was cold against her skin. She shivered.

Astrid pushed herself up, striding across the arena. All the way, the doors tugged at her, as if she could feel Stormfly's eyes following her through the wood and metal. She hugged her arms tightly across her chest and pushed onwards; she needed to get home - the gods only knew what she was going to tell her mother after her sudden disappearance from the docks.

A shadow stepped into the mouth of the arena, blocking her path. Her hand flew to her waist, only to close on empty air - her knife had slipped from her fingers when Stormfly snatched her from the nest.

"Who's there?"

The sound of muffled activity came from outside the ring, followed by the striking of a flint. A second figure stepped into view; Gobber, carrying a lantern on his hook.

The flickering orange light illuminated the silhouette of none other than Chief Stoick the Vast.

Astrid's heart leapt into her throat. She was caught; it was over. "C-chief," she stammered, "I can explain, I-"

"Aye, lassie," Gobber cut in. "You've got a lot of explainin' to do."

The Chief was silent for several beats. He looked like a statue of an angry god; his eyes unreadable emerald chips. The only flaw in the illusion was the steady tightening of his fist on his sword-hilt. Eventually he spoke.

"You will come with us." His tone didn't leave any room for argument. "Then, you will tell us everything."

"Do it," The last Night Fury gasped.

"No," the stranger growled. "No more death."

For a time, the only sound in the cove was their panted breaths. True night descended. Nocturnal creatures awoke, announcing their presence to the night air, and slowly, the haze of shock and exhaustion receded, the reality of her situation setting in.

The Queen was gone.

Trapped beneath her, her wing ached. Her body heaved onto her front, and her tail - no - she swung her tail around, bringing her fins into view. She slowly fanned them open and closed.

"Is that it?" she thought, "All this time, and you throw me away without a care. Is that how little I meant to you?"

"Sorry?" The stranger asked.

She started, ear-fins shooting straight up. "I-" She hadn't realised she'd spoken aloud. She met the stranger's aurora-green gaze. Again, he seemed achingly, impossibly familiar to her. There was a long pause, as she found herself staring at him, unable to look away.

It had been so long since she'd seen another of her kind. She'd forgotten what a Night Fury's features looked like when not twisted into a mask of hate or fear. When she found her tongue again, she and the stranger spoke at the same time.

"Why now?" "Why me?"

The stranger nodded. "You first."

"Why now?" she repeated, "All these years I thought I was the last... where have you been? Why show up now?" As an afterthought she added "Are you alone? Did more Furies survive?" Hazy visions of a secret colony of Night Furies took flight behind her eyes. Trinity, it had been so long, she could hardly imagine what it would look like...

"I... uh..." The stranger hesitated.

"What is it?" She rose to her feet. "Please tell me, I need to know!"

The stranger tilted his head to the side. "You don't remember..."

"What? What don't I remember? Please..."

The stranger took a deep breath. "I'm not a Night Fury - or, at least, I never used to be one."

It was her turn to tilt her head in confusion; what was he talking about?! Of course he's a Night Fury!

"I was a human," the stranger continued, "a Viking, I shot you down, about a week ago." She winced, feeling a sudden pounding pressure in her skull. As the stranger spoke his next words, she felt she knew what he was going to say. "I let you go, and ..."

"I..."

The memories flooded back with enough force to physically stagger her.

She remembered the agony of being shot down, and the relief of finding herself beneath the human hatchling's blade. Then the moment of decision, when she tore this human from all he knew and threw him into mortal danger, on a desperate, foolish hope.

The ember of hope within her, that somehow her species had survived, died; she truly was the last. She slumped to the ground, looking up at the hatchling. "What was your name?" she asked softly.

"Hiccup."

"Hiccup," she tested the strange, foreign syllables. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve this."

Hiccup stared at her for a long moment. "It's okay, I understand."

"How...?"

"You were alone, trapped in a life that was slowly killing you, and you took a desperate chance. It shouldn't have worked; but you had to try." He took a breath. "I can't imagine what you've been through; but that I know."

She couldn't bear to look into his wide, compassionate eyes any more. Her hope began to rekindle. She shook her head. Foolish.

"Go," she told him. "The Qu-"

She cowered, pressing herself against the rock as a monster several times larger than her sire towered over her.

You belong to me now.

She shuddered. "S-She will come for me. You should go, fly south, get as far away from her as you can, try to live the rest of your life in peace."

"No," Hiccup replied firmly. "This is - or, was - my home. I can't abandon it. We have a plan, The Nadder, her rider, and I; with your help we think we can defeat The Queen."

She couldn't ignore the voice within her any more. Perhaps it's not hopeless, it whispered, He already did the impossible, freeing you, maybe he could beat her.

Hiccup suddenly turned tail and walked away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

He stopped atop a slight rise in the ground, flamed the grass beneath him, and settled down facing her.

"Come on." He tossed his head. "Get yourself out of the mud."

She pushed herself up, raised a forepaw and hesitated - it had been so long, did she even remember how to walk by herself? She shook her head, and shakily padded over to him

"Stormfly told me the history of the dragons," he began as she lay down on the edge of the blackened patch. "About you," he continued in a softer tone. "And what the Queen's control does to your mind.

"Do- do you remember your name?"

"I..." What was the point in a name when you were the last of your kind? "...no."

Hiccup was quiet for several seconds. His ear-fins twitched, and she heard him muttering under his breath.

"Toothless? No. Midnight? Too obvious." He spoke up. "How about Muninn?"

She blinked "What?"

"Your new name," he explained, "It's the name of a raven from my people's stories. It literally means 'memory'."

She wasn't sure how she felt about being named for a character in Viking myth, but the name did have a certain something to it...

Hiccup looked down at his paws. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. If you want to pick your own name, I understand."

"No," Muninn replied, "I like it."

Hiccup shuffled closer. He leaned in, and ran his tongue along her flank, cleaning away the mud plastered to her scales. The ghosts of long-forgotten memories shifted just beyond her perception. She couldn't help the shudder that went through her.

Hiccup jerked back. "I-"

"S-sorry," she stammered, "Carry on, it's been..."

"I know," he murmured, leaning in to clean her forepaw.

"You must have questions," he began. "Astrid - the Viking on the Nadder earlier - she was there when you transformed me..."

Between passes of his tongue, he told her a story of being chased into this very cove, of meeting with Astrid, convincing her of his identity, and then of the human fledgling befriending a Nadder the Vikings kept prisoner, whom she named Stormfly.

At some point during the tale, his words faded into a murmur, and she slipped into hazy memories of endless winter nights, being groomed by a faceless, nameless shadow. Her parents? Or a sibling she couldn't remember?

"Muninn?" She distantly realised Hiccup's ministrations had ceased some time ago.

She opened her jaw to respond, but her eyes watered, and all that escaped was a choked whimper.

"It's okay," Hiccup crooned, "It's over now."

"I know," she sobbed, "I know."

Wordlessly, Hiccup extended his wing and draped it over her.

With that, the hastily constructed dam against her feelings came crashing down. Waves of grief flooded through her; for her parents, and the siblings she may not remember; for the hundreds of dragons she'd been forced to kill; for the memories the Queen had stolen from her, and for the long years of her adolescence spent with only the bitter company of her thoughts.

There, beneath the wing of the human she'd transformed, for the first time since the Queen had taken her, the last - no, she, Muninn - wept.

The great hall was silent as a barrow when Astrid entered. The central fire was banked, the coals radiating a dull red glow that barely reached the perimeter of the great table enclosing it. Packed into the ring of ruddy light, augmented by a handful of candles, was Spitelout, Phlegma and the rest of Stoick's council. Off to one side, stood her parents, Balder and Gunhilda, and her younger brother, Orvar. Further away still, halfway into shadow, lurked the old man, Mildew.

What's he doing here?

The door slammed shut with a portentous thud. A small gasp came from her mother as the assembled people looked up. Her father's expression was stormy - she wasn't sure if his ire was directed at her or Stoick. Meanwhile, Orvar simply stared at her in mix of shock and confusion. She wasn't sure what they had been told, but Gunhilda looked physically hurt by the accusations.

"I'm sorry mother," Astrid gasped. "I can explain, I-"

"Quiet, girl," Stoick snapped, behind her. "You can explain yourself to the council."

The chief led her to the near end of the table, then walked around to join the council. He glowered at her down the full length of the table for several seconds, but rather than addressing her, he instead turned to the side.

"Mildew, tell the council what you told me earlier."

"Of course, chief."

Astrid scowled; according to her father, the only time the man showed proper respect for authority was when it benefited him.

"Well, I was tending to me cabbages one morning a few days past, when something caused a terrible racket, stirring up all the birds on my side of the island. I looked up, expecting to see a hawk or some such, but instead there was a Nadder, all alone, in broad daylight. Now, this was strange enough, so I looked closer, and I swear by Odin's sacrificial eye, that I saw someone riding on that dragon's back."

A chorus of surprised muttering rose from the council's end of the table.

"Now, I know me eyesight isn't as good as it used to be," Mildew continued. "So I told no-one about it."

"Only 'cos nobody can stand you long enough to strike up conversation," Gobber muttered.

Stoick shot a glare at his old friend. "Carry on."

"This afternoon, something spooked the birds again. I looked up and there was the same lone Nadder, coming from the direction of the kill ring. This time I got a clear look; I thought the dragon looked familiar, like I'd seen it before somewhere; Then I realised, it was the beast from the ring." The old man leered at her. "This time there was definitely someone on it's back, a young woman with a long braid."

Her father stepped up to the table, his face crimson. "Don't tell me you believe this nonsense, Stoick! My daughter is top of her class in training! She would never-"

"Where was your daughter this afternoon?" Stoick interrupted.

"I-" he floundered. "She disappeared after that scene at the docks, but-"

"Exactly," Spitelout cut in. "She has been spending a lot of time alone in the woods recently, hasn't she?"

"I-"

Her father cut her off. "What is this Stoick?! You've already cast out my brother and disgraced my family, if you want to exterminate the Hofferson line, just say so and let's be done with it!" His hand went to his sword.

The clatter of steel echoed off the walls as the council drew their weapons.

"ENOUGH!" Stoick roared.

The hall immediately fell quiet enough to hear the gentle crackling of the coals on the hearth. In a low voice, barely audible to Astrid at the other end of the table, the chief continued "You will restrain yourself Balder, or I will have you removed."

"Yes chief," he mumbled, dropping his hand to his side.

Stoick continued as if he had merely paused for breath. He turned to Mildew, who had retreated into shadow the moment tempers had flared. "After seeing this," he said, "you immediately came to me?"

"Aye," The old man croaked.

Stoick nodded. "Thank you, Mildew. Upon hearing this, Gobber and I went to the arena to investigate. We found the main gates open, and the Nadder cage empty. Only a fool would be so brazen as to try something like this without at least attempting to hide the evidence, so we waited to see if the culprit came back.

"As the sun set, we heard explosions and the sounds of a Night Fury coming from the sea stacks." An uneasy murmur passed through the room. "A short time later, the Nadder landed outside the ring." He turned to her father, "On its back was a makeshift saddle, and your daughter, Balder."

Her father staggered back a half-step, opening his mouth, but no words came out.

"Gobber, is this true?" asked Phlegma the Fierce.

"Aye," the smith replied, unusually serious. "She petted the beast like it were the family dog, and it followed her into its cage without a complaint. If I hadn't seen it with me own eyes I wouldn't have believed it."

Stoick turned his steely gaze on her, pinning her, alone, at the far end of the great table. She suddenly found she couldn't look anywhere other than down at the wood in front of her.

"Astrid Hofferson, you know the punishment for betraying the tribe and treating with our enemies. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Oh gods, Chief, I'm sorry, it wasn't meant to happen like this..."

She stopped herself. She had the whole council in front of her. If her part of the plan was ever going to work, now was her chance. She took a deep breath, then forced herself to stand up straight and meet the chief's glare.

"Yes," she began, "I have been spending time with St- the Nadder from the ring."

Another wave of uneasy muttering came from the council.

"Astrid," her father spoke over the noise, "Think about this."

She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze. "Please, let me finish. In the few days I've spent with her, I've learnt more about dragons than we have in seven generations!"

"Quiet!" Stoick barked, "We owe her the right to speak." He turned back to face her.

"Her," he said.

"What?"

"You called the dragon, 'her',"

"Yes," she replied, "She's female." She hoped she sounded more confident that she felt. "That's not all I learned; the dragons, they're kind, merciful creatures."

Spitelout scoffed audibly.

"Gobber," Astrid began, turning to the smith, "You remember about a week ago, I slashed the Nadder's wing in training?" He nodded. "Did you see any sign of that injury today?"

"It was dark, but I can't say I did."

"Because that night, after training, I went back to the arena and treated her wing; I opened her cage unarmed, and she let me help her. Then, when I was trapped by the storm, she sheltered me beneath her wings. She saved my life, when she had every reason to leave me to die."

"And where did you get the supplies to treat this dragon?" Spitelout sneered. "I suppose you stole them from the village? From supplies needed for the warriors who defend our home?"

Astrid despaired inwardly. How could they not see what her words meant? Had she really once been so blind?

"If we keep fighting as we are, we won't have a home to defend much longer!" She gestured to the great doors behind her. "We've lost half the village! Do any of you honestly believe we'll be able to survive the winter and fend off more dragon raids?" She met the gaze of each of the council members one by one. Nobody spoke.

"We need a new way to fight, and the dragons are giving us that chance. They're intelligent, they don't want to fight us; they're being forced to by their queen. They hate her as much as we hate them; if we free them they'll join forces with us to fight her and end the raids once and for all."

Stoick regarded her for a moment. "And where is this Queen?"

"In their nest."

Spielout guffawed. "No Viking has set foot in the nest in seven generations. Stoick, this is nonsense, let's-"

The chief held out his hand. "How do you know this, girl?"

Astrid took a deep breath. This was it; her next words would either save or condemn her. "Hiccup told me."

Stoick's eyes darkened like approaching thunderheads. His hand dropped to his waist to clench on his sword. "My son is dead."

"With respect chief, he isn't; I saw him earlier today."

Nobody dared to make a sound in the great hall. The look in Stoick's eyes told her everything; Explain yourself. Or else.

She took a breath. "I should start at the beginning. The night Hiccup disappeared, he said he shot down the Night Fury. Like you, I didn't believe him, but when I saw him slip out of the village at dawn, I followed him. He led me into the forest towards Raven Point, where we came across a downed dragon, tied up with bolas. It's scales were pure black; it had to be the Night Fury."

Stoick leaned forwards, bracing his hands against the table.

"Hiccup moved in for the kill, then..." She hesitated; did she tell Stoick his son had turned traitor before his transformation, and make her story all the harder to swallow? All the times she'd deceived the villagers she'd told herself that she was still loyal to Berk - that all she did was for their own good; she couldn't lie to her chief.

"Then what?!" Stoick pounded the table with his fist. "Tell me!"

Astrid flinched. "He let her go," she blurted out. "Before I could react, the Night Fury was on top of him. She was moments away from killing him, when she broke free from the Queen's control, and she..." her courage failed her.

"And she... what?" Stoick asked quietly.

"...she changed him, transformed him, into a Night Fury."

The great hall rang with shouts of disagreement, first from Spitelout and her father, and then from the rest of the council as they weighed in with their own views. Astrid heard them distantly; she saw only Stoick's face as he stared back at her, silent and motionless.

For a moment, Stoick's impassive visage cracked, sorrow and grief crossing his features. "So, the Night Furies that attacked the Meatheads, one of them was..."

Astrid nodded solemnly. "...Hiccup, yes." When she looked up, Stoick's face was blank and emotionless. Her heart dropped into her stomach. "Chief, please," she begged. "It's not his fault! The Queen forces the dragons to fight for her, but Hiccup broke free! He saved my life!"

Stoick straightened up. "Where is my son now?"

"There's a cove just south of Raven Point," she guessed. "Please, let me come with you, we'll show you that it's still Hiccup in there, and-"

"Spitelout!" Stoick barked. "Gather twenty of our best men, and wait outside my hut; tell them we're going to avenge Dökkhöfn." He turned to her father. "Balder, take your daughter away. She's not a Viking. I'll deal with her when we get back." With that, he stepped away from the table and marched purposefully towards the doors.

"Stoick, No!" Astrid shouted, desperate. "We can't do this alone! The Queen's a hundred times bigger than any dragon you've seen! We need Hiccup's help!"

Stoick stopped, and slowly turned to face her. "You've seen her. So you've been to their island."

"Yes, but only the dragons know how to get there, I-"

"Gobber," Stoick commanded, "Ready the ships. We sail at dawn."

Stoick managed a single stride towards the door before Gobber called out. "Pardon me for questioning your orders, chief, but which ships exactly do you want me to ready? All our remaining warships went with you on the last hunt."

"Then use the fishing ships if you have to!" Stoick snapped. "The war ends here!"

Before anyone could raise any further objections, the chief turned on his heels and stormed out, the great oaken doors booming like thunder in his wake.

When Hiccup awoke, the moon hung high in the sky, turning the world below into delicate silver sculpture. He felt Muninn shift beside him, still huddled beneath his wing. He'd done what he could to comfort her as grief overtook her, but what could he - what could anyone - say to ease her pain? Mercifully, after a few minutes she'd succumbed to exhaustion.

The Night Fury beside him stirred again, and he looked down at her. Her eyes blinked open, her pupils expanding and contracting before focusing on him.

"Hi," he blurted out. "Are you..." He paused, 'okay' didn't feel right. "...better?"

Muninn pushed herself up onto her paws. He pulled back his wing as she trotted down to the shore, then stepped up beside her as she took a drink from the lake.

"I... I'll live. Beyond that..." she sighed.

She turned to face him. "Sorry about earlier. You know I haven't had any contact with other Furies in... a very long time. I let my emotions get the better of me... you didn't need to see that." She looked down at her paws. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Hiccup said softly. "You've been through more than I could possibly imagine; you'd have to be made of stone to not feel something about what happened to you."

Muninn darted forward, touching the tip of her nose to his shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured, then jerked away, staring across the moon's shimmering reflected surface. After a moment, she spoke again. "You said you and the Nadder, Stormfly, have a plan to defeat the Q-" she seemed to choke on her words for a moment, "her, and you need my help."

"Yes," Hiccup replied. "If we're going to take on the Queen, we need dragons on our side, and the only way to get them is to free them from her. So, if the next time they raid us, we can knock a couple out while they're distracted, the Queen won't know what hit them. Then we can free them, and persuade them to join us; weakening her forces and growing ours at the same time."

Muninn was silent.

"What do you think?" he asked. "It won't end the war tomorrow, but raid by raid we'll grow stronger, until we can take her down."

He cringed internally at his final words. How did it come to this? When did he go from being unable to kill a single dragon, to plotting to kill another, and send many more to their deaths in the process?

"My whole kind went to war against her," Muninn whispered, "and they lost. The few that survived... didn't live long."

"I'm sorry..." Hiccup began.

"No," she shook herself, and turned back to him. "I don't know... it could work. She doesn't keep as many dragons by her side as those days, but you'd still need hundreds to get through to her. Surely the Flock or the Vikings would find you before then?"

"That's where Astrid and Stormfly come in. They can't do anything about the Flock, but they're working to show the Vikings what free dragons are like. If she can get through to them that we want peace as much as they do, they'll ally with us, and join us when we attack the nest."

"Will they listen to her?"

Hiccup sighed. "They're Vikings, and they're cornered; who knows what they'll do?." He yawned, and half-stretched his wings before his over-exerted flight muscles cramped up, a bark of pain escaping his maw.

"Ow," he groaned, pushing himself to his feet. "Come on." He inclined his head, then padded off to find a fresh patch of grass to lie on. He flamed a new swathe of ground and settled down. "You don't have to make a decision tonight. Hopefully Astrid and Stormfly will come out here in a few days and we can discuss our next move then." After a few moments, Muninn came over and laid her head down on her paws beside him.

For a time they were silent; Muninn alone with her thoughts, and Hiccup taking in the sounds and scents of the night. A burst of high-pitched staccato clicks caught his attention. His ear-fins pricked up and his gaze turned skyward. There was a pause, then it came again; a sound not too dissimilar from the chattering of the flock. A wave of unease swept through him, before he spotted the small, dark shapes flitting between the cliffs, and realised what they were; bats.

Huh, Hiccup snorted. He turned his gaze back to the cove, and the Night Fury beside him. "Muninn," he whispered.

She blinked and looked up at him.

"I know you don't remember much, but is there anything you can tell me about our power - The Aür?"

Muninn stared off into the distance for a while. "I don't think I was old enough to have proper lessons when I was..." she trailed off. "All I remember are scraps of what my sire told me. What do you want to know?"

Hiccup thought for a moment. "For a start: How did you transform me?"

"I'm not sure. The Aür can be used to change one material into another - every hatchling knew that - but as far as I know transforming one living thing into another was only done in stories. It took almost all the power I'd built up while I was under her control."

He took a deep breath. "When this is all over, could you change me back again?"

Muninn looked down at her paws. "I don't know. Transforming you was... instinctive; even if I had enough power, I'm not sure I could do it again. Going the other way... you need to be able to visualise what you want to change something into, and I barely know anything about what you were like as a Viking. Maybe you could do it yourself, but my sire always warned me never to try and change myself...

"I'm sorry, Hiccup."

"It's okay," he murmured absentmindedly. Inside, his mind whirled. This was it. This was as close as he was going to get to an unequivocal statement that he was stuck like this. He felt strangely calm; he expected the news that he'd never be human again to be more devastating.

He wasn't sure what unsettled him more: being told he'd be a dragon for the rest of his life, or that his heart already seemed to have accepted it.

Stoick the Vast, chief of the Hairy Hooligans of Berk, prowled silently through the forest, his fist clenched tightly around the shaft of his warhammer. Behind him ranged nineteen of Berk's finest warriors, all of them veterans of numerous dragon raids, not one with fewer than fifty kills to their name.

A flicker of motion ahead caught Stoick's eye. He raised his hand for the men to stop, adjusted his grip on his hammer, then crept forwards. Somewhere in the trees in front, a lone owl hooted. Stoick lowered his weapon, letting out a slow breath. To the untrained ear, the sound had been just another nighttime animal; but the chief knew it as a signal.

Sure enough, crouched at the base of a nearby pine, was Hoark, the village's senior scout. The chief dropped to one knee beside the man. "Anything?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"There's a crash site just over the ridge, a few days old at least. I found these," he held up an iron ball attached to a length of severed rope - clearly once part of a set of bolas. "No sign of the Night Fury though."

Both men turned sharply at the sound of footsteps behind them. Spitelout stepped out of the shadows and joined them beneath the boughs.

"What are we doing here, Stoick?" he asked in a gruff whisper. "The girl was clearly making up stories."

"You didn't see her with the Nadder," Stoick replied. "The thing was meek as a housecat around her. There's something going on here, and I plan to get to the bottom of it."

"Maybe the girl found some way to control the beast," he argued, "But the rest of her story? I'm not sure which part was more unbelievable: the Night Fury transforming Hiccup into one of them, or that he managed to shoot it down in the first place."

Stoick's eyes narrowed minutely. His son may have been, well, Hiccup, but he wasn't as stupid as much of the village believed. He kept his glare fixed on Spitelout slightly longer than the other man was comfortable with before he spoke.

"This is Astrid we're talking about, Spitelout. What happened with Finn was unfortunate, but she's the best Viking of her generation, we both know it." Secretly, he'd been waiting for Hiccup to mature - at least a little bit - before arranging a marriage contract with Balder Hofferson.

"You heard how she fought in the raid," he continued, "She was certain to win Dragon Training and reclaim her family honour; why would she give that up unless she was telling the truth?"

Stoick's father had told him that there were two types of chief: those who can't tell when a man lies to him, and those who reach old age. The girl hid it well, but he'd seen the fear in Astrid's eyes when she spoke to the council, and heard the desperation in her final pleas; she was telling the truth, he was certain of it.

"What if she was cheating in the ring?" Spitelout retorted, "We know she has some way to control the beasts."

"In battle too? That's enough, Spitelout."

"But-"

"I said, that's enough!" he snapped, barely managing to keep his voice at a whisper.

"Yes chief," Spitelout spat, retreating back to his position in the line.

I shouldn't have done that, Stoick thought.

Regardless of whether or not he believed Astrid's story, deep down, in the core of his being, he refused to accept that his son was dead.

Gods in Asgard, he thought. I know I've been a bad father to him, but if he was gone I'd know it, I'd feel it.

...Wouldn't I?

Hoark shuffled nervously beside him. Stoick's mind snapped back to the present. Get a hold of yourself, you're on a hunt.

"Anything else?" he asked.

"There's a break in the trees and and a drop in the ground that way," Hoark gestured off into the darkness, "It's probably this 'cove' the girl spoke of, and there's a crevice a few yards back, that looks like someone's been through it several times recently. You may be able to slip a few men onto ground level that way."

The chief nodded to the man, then raised his hand and signalled to the rest of the warband; follow me, stay low.

Stoick rose to a half-crouch and picked his way forwards, squinting against the darkness, watching for anything that would alert the dragons to his presence. He heard barely a rustle of undergrowth, or muffled clink of metal, as they slipped through the final ranks of trees and paused at the barrier of bushes protecting the rim of the cove.

Stoick's heart pounded and his skin pricked - old battle instincts kicking in. He held up his hand for the men to halt, then dropped to the ground - ignoring the slight twinge of pain he felt from his back at the movement.

Hardly daring to breathe, he inched forwards, cringing at every noise the bush made as he pushed his way through. Oh, to be twenty years younger... he thought.

After nearly a minute of crawling and cursing silently, he broke through to the other side, and his breath caught in his throat.

Lying below him, their scales dully reflecting the silver moon, were two sleek dragons as black as the sky above. He breathlessly murmured a prayer to Thor as he stared down at the Night Furies - for what else could they be? With a start, he realised that they were awake, their attention solely on each-other. A low current of grunts and growls drifted up to him on the breeze.

Snapping himself free of the trance-like state of shock, he backed out of the bush and crept a few paces away from the edge before beckoning Spitelout and Hoark to join him.

"So?" His half-brother demanded. "Was this all a wild Terror chase?"

"No," Stoick breathed, "They... they're here."

"They?"

Stoick mentally slapped himself. "Yes," he said sharply, "Both Night Furies."

Spitelout cursed under his breath, and Hoark's hand went to an amulet of Mjolnir hanging from his neck.

Spitelout recovered a moment later. "So chief," he began, "How are we doing this?"

Stoick rested his shield against a tree. While he thought, he ran his free hand through his beard, combing out the leaves and twigs it had picked up in the bush. "Do the men have ropes with them?"

"Of course."

The corners of Stoick's mouth twitched upwards - almost imperceptible beneath his beard. "Do you remember Outcast Island?"

Spitelout's eyes brightened, some of his earlier irritation vanishing. "Aye Stoick, I'll remember that until the day I die."

"Hoark?" Stoick turned to the older man. The scout nodded back.

"You both know what you need to do."

"Yes sir."

"Aye chief." Spitelout turned to leave.

"One more thing," Stoick called him back. "Tell the men they are not to kill the Night Furies under any circumstance. We need them alive."

"Stoick..." Spitelout began in a warning tone.

"That's an order," Stoick snapped. "Astrid said we need them to find the nest, so we're taking them alive. Don't make me tell you twice."

Spitelout grumbled an affirmative, and span on his heel, stalking away into the night.

Stoick sighed as he bent down to pick up his shield. If it had been anyone other than Spitelout questioning his orders so brazenly, he would have had them mucking out the dragon cages for a month. Deep down, a small part of him wondered if his half-brother's implications were true; despite his attempts to justify capturing the Night Furies, was he endangering the village by clinging to a desperate hope that his son, his Hiccup, might yet live?

Another bird-whistle cut through his thoughts; the men were in position. He drew his warhammer from his belt and gave it a few practice swings. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and blew it out between gritted teeth, shoving unnecessary thoughts and feelings to the back of his mind.

His warriors didn't need Stoick Haddock, father of Hiccup; they needed Stoick the Vast, Chief of Berk.

"What Stormfly told you is true," Muninn explained, "Yilbegän is the spirit of the third Alpha. Though they had five bodies, they were of one mind; their souls united by their power. My sire... he told me stories about the five who came together to become Yilbegän." She turned her head skywards, eyes distant.

Hiccup followed her stare, gazing upwards at the gently twinkling points of light.

"First," she began, "There was Zarlith. Every female hatchling wanted to be like her, bravest of the Five. It is her light that appears at sunrise and sunset, reminding Koyash that Yilbegän is always watching.

"Then there was-" She stopped suddenly, ear-fins shooting straight up.

"What is it?"

"Listen!" she hissed.

Hiccup bit back his reply, focusing on the sounds around him.

Silence.

"I don't-" Then it hit him; he couldn't hear anything. A moment ago, the night had been alive with the sounds of nocturnal creatures.

Hiccup opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the silence was shattered by a ferocious roar.

The shout struck him like a physical blow. Light flashed before his eyes. He staggered, almost drunkenly, to his feet. He sunk his claws into the soil and shook his head rapidly, fighting to clear his vision.

There were Vikings everywhere. Standing on the clifftops surrounding them. Climbing frantically down ropes that had appeared from nowhere. Hiccup's ears rang, the echoing shouts pounding at his head again and again. Another chorus of screams joined the cacophony. Hiccup spun around to see a knot of men charging out of the crack in the cliffs, brandishing weapons over their heads as they pelted across the grass.

"Fly!" Muninn screeched.

Woosh! Thwack!

Hiccup turned in time to see Muninn fall back to the ground, her wings tangled in a set of bolas. Behind her, the warriors on ropes dropped the last few feet onto the grass. The men already on the ground were nearly on top of him. Hiccup didn't move, his eyes locked on a pair of heavy, booted feet that landed in the mud on the far side of the cove.

His gaze travelled up, past the boots, and the mail skirt above them, to the ornate studded belt, then the green tunic, the oversized brooches at his shoulders, the fiery beard, and finally, the hate-filled green eyes.

"Dad," he whined.

A sword whistled through the air. As he leapt out of the way, he recognized the man with a graying beard who swung it; Hoark. The men from the ropes rushed forward.

"No, no, no," he whimpered.

An axe swung at him. He leapt backwards.

"Please," he gasped.

He ducked a hammer blow. His tail brushed against the cliff wall.

"No," he pleaded, "Not again."

A man lunged forwards, swinging a sword Hiccup had straightened not two weeks earlier. Hiccup tried to dodge, but he had nowhere to go. The blow caught him on the outside of his foreleg.

Fury and agony blazed through him. He snapped his head to the side and fired at the offending Viking. The man caught the shot on his shield, but the blast threw him and the men beside him backwards.

He pounced on the opening, lunging forwards, snapping at the men around him. They danced out of his way. He roared, spinning about and leaping over their heads onto the men still trapped in formation. One of them went down beneath him.

His head darted downwards, teeth unsheathed, ready to open the Viking's throat. In a flash, Hiccup recognised the man beneath his claws; Spitelout.

He couldn't.

As much as his cousin had made his life miserable, he knew what it was like to live without a parent.

A great weight crashed into his flank, sending him staggering to the side. Before he could recover, another weight landed on his back. His claws slipped in the mud, and he sprawled onto his stomach.

The Vikings roared, and more bodies piled onto him, driving the air from his lungs. A pair of hairy arms clamped around his muzzle, forcing his jaws closed. His wings throbbed, pinned painfully to his back. He couldn't breathe. What little air he managed to get burned with the stench of human.

Hiccup panicked. He thrashed madly, snarling through clenched teeth in primal terror, his efforts only managing to excavate a crater in the mud beneath him. All the while, his father stood a few paces away, watching impassively.

Then a warhammer struck him in the temple and he saw no more.

Mythology:
Huginn and Muninn - A pair of ravens that fly all over the world and bring information back to Odin. Their names derive from the Old Norse for "Thought" and "Memory".

Author's Notes:

Friendly Greetings!

Between working over summer and then going on holiday it took a few months longer than I'd like to get this out, but here we are. One of the advantages of being currently unemployed is that I've managed to get into a rhythm of working on this story most days, so, I know I say this every time, but hopefully productivity will improve going forwards.

And we're back to me ending the chapter with Hiccup in a sh*tty situation. Originally I had planned to have the first scene, with Astrid getting caught, at the end of the previous chapter, but after the feedback on chapter 11, I moved that scene here. I think it worked out for the best, as it makes this chapter flow better, and to be honest, chapter 12 was long enough already. Also, thank you to everyone who came out in the reviews and said that you understand that I have to do bad things to my characters in order to tell a good story, I appreciate the support!

I don't know if I have any biology geeks in my audience, but you may have noticed the scene with the bats. The series has established that Night Furies have some form of echolocation and therefore it follows that they must have ultrasonic hearing, hence why Hiccup was able to hear the echolocation pulses of the bats in the cove. (According to my quick 5-minute glance at Wikipedia, I believe there are species of bats that live far enough north to plausibly inhabit Berk)

My fanfic recommendation for you this time is Another Nightmare by Stig92. This is another entry in the fanfic genre I lovingly call "telepathic dragon shenanigans", again featuring a telepathic bond between Hiccup and Toothless. The story starts out as a fairly standard HTTYD retelling, although it does interesting things with the bond, and how it mentally effects Hiccup. After the first "book" it takes a turn into a different take on the "Hiccup runs away" formula.

And last, but not least, thank you to everyone for reading, whether you've just picked up this story or have been with me from the start.

Please leave your thoughts in a review!

~Superbun