Hello again everyone!
Thank you so much to everyone who wrote the kind reviews, they really make my day and motivate me to keep writing!
Sorry for the late update though, I hope to be able to update more frequently in the future, but again I am a student and my A levels have to take priority.
Not much happens in this chapter, but it is setting up for the next one!
Reviews:
Suahtloh: Yup! I decided that one on a whim; I thought it would be more interesting. Let's hope he doesn't regret his decision! But I'm glad you're enjoying it, don't worry there will be lots more to come.
Ghostkie: Welp, here's a new chapter! Bomb's gunna drop on the next one tho... Aside from that I love to hear that you like the story, thanks for the compliments!
Stardust333: Hehe... You'll have to wait and see!
Guest: Thanks man!
FullOfFaith: Here it is! Thank you for the kind words!
Chapter 8
Preparations were in full swing. Weapons were sharpened, stakes cut from trees. Battered ships were repaired, and sails resewn.
Astrid ran the whetstone over her axe for the umpteenth time that morning. It was already razor sharp, but it was a nervous reflex. The last time she'd boarded the ships, and sailed to Helheim's Gate she had watched ships burn, warriors killed by fire, claws, teeth, or even drowning as the metal armour dragged them below the waves to the crushing, black depths below.
At least this time, they would have the 'guide' – that being the blue nadder kept for training, but still the dragons would almost certainly attack relentlessly. This time, it would be the biggest fleet ever sent, crewed by the most warriors ever taken on such a mission. Stoick knew, as everyone else also did, that Berk would be extremely vulnerable to attack while they were gone. But also, if the nest was not destroyed, Berk could not hang on for much longer. The dragons had to go.
Astrid herself was assigned to Stoick's ship, along with Gobber and Snotlout, and the blue nadder as well. Her friends would all come too; this would be their first time on such a voyage.
Men ran back and forth, carrying supplies to the ships. Food, oars, weapons, supplies, and even parts of catapults were carried onto the ships. The hammers in the forge could be heard as a relentless barrage, smithing swords, axes, hammers, maces, spears, pikes, armour and shields.
The fleet numbered twenty longships: the largest fleet Berk had ever mustered, and over 300 warriors had come to finally defeat the dragons. Astrid's younger pupils would be left behind, but they still helped wherever possible. They weren't joking around right now.
"Astrid!" A Viking called Hadvar called her, and she looked in his direction, seeing the old warrior run up to her, panting. "Gobber told me to get you, to get the nadder on the ship."
With a nod, Astrid sprang to her feet. She'd been waiting for the order; it was why she hadn't been helping the others. Securing her cleaned, polished axe onto her back, she jogged lightly across the village, towards the arena.
Gobber waited for her, as did a group of eight men. A wooden platform was beside them, which was laden with chains and ropes; this was the device the nadder would be transported in. Said dragon was in its cage. It cowered away from Astrid, hiding in the corner as she approached. After Gobber saw her signal, he yanked the lever down, allowing the counterweight to lift the bar keeping the cage shut. Astrid latched her hand onto the muzzle of the nadder, holding her axe in her left hand lest it try to do something. Having no such intention, the dragon allowed itself to be led by the frightening young woman towards the platform, where it was chained down by the men.
The men grabbed onto the handles of the wooden platform, hoisting it onto their shoulders. Astrid and Gobber also helped carry it, and they led it down the ramp towards the docks.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Never been more sure, Heather. Besides, if I don't go now, pretty much everyone in the village is going to die."
Heather sighed in frustration. She of course knew he had to go, but she was still annoyed that this was the plan he had come up with. True, if it worked, it should be a great step towards ending the war between dragons and Berk, but the price of failure was a massacre: a slaughter of Vikings drowning in dragon fire. Besides, he still hadn't come up with a way of dealing with it.
"At least let us come with-"
"Heather, for the millionth time, I have to go alone. You can come after it's over, but not before."
"But what if-"
"No buts. I've already got enough lives depending on me, I don't need any more."
"What if you need help?"
"As I've already told you, Windshear may not be fast enough to avoid her. Toothless is the fastest dragon. Besides, I will probably have to come clean with the whole identity thing after the battle. I need to do that alone. I know some of the Berkians know you, but in the end, I need to do it without any others present."
"But what if you fail?"
Nameless was silent for a moment, before he spoke with finality.
"Then I, and most of Berk with fall to dragon fire and ruin."
He strapped Inferno, which he had just reloaded, onto his leg, before making his way outside to check the tack on Toothless. It couldn't afford to go wrong.
Heather knew she was annoying him, but also knew that he didn't know how to deal with the red death. Nothing could get past the armour plating that was her scales, and even if it did, there was no way to do substantial damage to the monster. Nameless was indeed creative, and could improvise, but she thought that he was biting off more than he could chew.
And if he did fail, it would be a slaughter.
Fishlegs helped to carry some of the medical supplies to the ships. Bandages, medicines and herbs, surgical tools – which even included saws, were all on his list. Over the last few years, he'd become an apprentice of Gothi's, learning to be a surgeon and healer. In the following mission, he was one of the assigned battlefield surgeons. He had always hated surgery, only performing it when he had to – the blood, screams, and grievous wounds of patients always terrified him – but his caring nature had eventually won out, and he eventually became one of the more respected healers. He carried his warhammer on his belt, and a shield on his back. Despite his timid nature, he was actually extremely strong, which was to be expected since he was very big.
Ruff and Tuff were close by, preparing too for the upcoming battle. Ruff carried a short pike into battle, roughly three metres long, which she wielded in conjunction with a shield, with surprising skill. Tuff wielded a spiked mace, also with a shield, though he was often known to drop the shield, and charge into the battle. Some thought the Thornstons had Berserker blood hidden somewhere in their ancestry, and the twins certainly supported that claim, often going completely berserk in battle, shrugging off blows that would have put anyone else down – in all the battles with the Outcasts, the enemy was afraid of the unkillable pair, especially when those two started throwing canisters full of flaming oil* at them.
In fact, Snotlout was the worst warrior out of the five in his age group, wielding his hammer with reckless abandon. He never seemed to hit his target. It was surprising, since his father Spitelout was one of Stoick's most competent húskarles*. He hardly ever killed any dragons, and was more likely to have to be saved from one. But luckily, it was easy to find him, for his high pitched scream could be heard from anywhere on Berk. He had been named as heir, after Hiccup became absent, but everyone in the village, including Snotlout himself, knew he was not at all fit to be chief. That was one of the reasons that his parents had arranged the contract with the Hoffersons. Astrid was competent and capable; as the chieftess she would help to lead Berk. Though no one had said it, Astrid would pretty much take over as chief, replacing Snotlout, and provide him with an heir.
When her parents had revealed that they had arranged the contract, Astrid had been livid. She had gone into the woods, before coming back late that night with bruised knuckles and a blunted axe. For the next five days, she had locked herself in her room, hardly eating and ignoring any attempts to pacify her. In the end she had had no choice, but that didn't mean she was going to like it. There seemed to be no way of getting out of it – even the legendary Nameless had tried, but that hadn't worked. Hiccup was her only chance.
Nameless checked the tack on Toothless another time. There was no room for error. He took a deep breath to try to stop himself from trembling. Why had he made the terror give Stoick that message?! He may well have doomed all of Berk. Their lives depended solely on him, and if he failed, the massacre would be his fault.
He was unsure of himself – Heather hadn't helped; she had simply highlighted the main issue with his quickly thought through plan. Nameless didn't know how he was going to kill the red death. But even if he did, what then? People would see Toothless, and certainly Astrid would recognise the night fury with the prosthetic tail fin. He couldn't just leave then, after lying to her and giving her hope for whatever she had needed him back for. But he also remembered why he left. On Berserker Island, with the façade of 'the Nameless One', he felt valued – loved even, by his greatest friends. He was an asset: everyone would turn to him, for to them he was a beacon of hope – this mystical warrior who rode a night fury, wearing nigh impenetrable armour and wielding a sword of fire, always fighting for equality and good in this world.
In his time away, he had almost forgotten his promise to return to Berk. He was happy, or so he had thought. But seeing his father, Gobber and Astrid again made his longing to come home return, to finally be able to step outside without wearing a masked helmet. But Nameless knew why he hesitated.
He was afraid.
Astrid lay in her bed, unable to sleep. They would leave the next morn, and for the first time in nearly 300 years, there was hope in such a mission. Even the simple writing of the mythical Nameless One had brought the Vikings together, to unite to finally end the scourge of dragonkind.
She hoped this time would be different. Even though they had a 'guide', Astrid still remembered the one and only search she had ever been on. Burning ships, men drowning as armour pulled them down, fire out of nowhere in the mists…
It was a miracle they always took as few casualties as they did.
However, if they did indeed make it to the nest, which everyone, including Astrid, assumed was an island, what would they find? Would it just be an island where dragons lived? If so, how could they be driven off, so they would not return?
Though she didn't want to admit it, the reason why Astrid still believed the trip to be necessary, was because of Nameless' letter to the chief. It had indeed been his writing, and though she didn't know why, Astrid trusted him, despite his unexpected nervousness and weirdness. He just had a familiar, trustworthy air about him, and he was definitely a respected dragon killer: his armour was of the scales of a night fury after all, which was a dragon no one in Berk had ever brought down. Well, except Hiccup, but of course, being Hiccup, he had somehow befriended the thing. Sure, the fury had killed neither Hiccup nor her, but that was a single almost-friendly dragon compared to thousands of others who raided and killed Berkians.
Still, hopefully Nameless' letter would not send them to their demise.
They were all up at dawn. Final checks were made, before all of the warriors had boarded their ships. The ropes were cast off, sails unfurled, and oars pulled them away from Berk, towards Helheim's gate.
Astrid was on a ship with the chief. The blue nadder from the arena was tied down near the bow. It was muzzled and shackled to the platform with many ropes and chains. It certainly seemed uneasy, but also it did not struggle anymore.
The men and women were silent; the absence of sound was only broken occasionally by quick orders, the rattling of the nadder's chains, or the flapping of sails. Berk slowly receded under the horizon. The sky was grey: great plumes of fog and mist blocked the warmth of the sun. The sea was still, a lifeless mirror upon which the fleet of silence sailed.
Everyone on board was on edge. All had their weapons close by, and the men and women scoured the skies with their eyes uneasily, trying to spot any possible oncoming threat. The sails were taunt, and the sea breeze carried the ships softly across the depthless water.
The wall of everlasting fog remained on their port side, stretching up into the sky: an impenetrable fortress that no ship had ever gotten through. Its wispy tendrils stretched towards the fleet, almost as if it wanted to grasp at the Vikings.
Helheim's Gate.
A name spoken with fear, and utter contempt. Somewhere in the vast expanse of fog, and the labyrinth of sea stacks was the home of the dragons, which had never been found. It was the graveyard of countless Vikings, ships, and dragons alike, their rotting corpses littering the unseen sea floor.
Stoick's voice broke the silence, and he spoke softly, almost as if he didn't want to be detected. "I can almost smell them. They're close. Steady."
Indeed, the fog of Helheim's Gate had a tinge of smoky smell mixed in. The Vikings all said that the fog was the smoke of countless dragons. Standing there on the ship for the second time in her life, feeling so small compared to the cliffs of fog, mist and smoke, Astrid could believe such a tale.
"Take us in," Stoick ordered.
"Hard to port for Helheim's gate!" a Viking shouted.
The fleet slowly began to turn towards the fog. The wall loomed up ahead. The ships crept forwards, the oars dipping in and out of the sea, marring the mirror of water below. No wind blew now, and it never did here. Many Vikings tensed as the smog approached, and some closed their eyes or held their breath.
Stoick stood at the head of the leading ship, showing no visible reaction as he was enveloped completely by the fog: his body swallowed whole. Soon the rest of the fleet followed, and each man and woman prepared to fight the last battle against dragonkind.
Nameless was silent too. He flew among the clouds upon Toothless. The fury bore a grim expression, knowing where they were headed. Weapons were strapped all over Nameless' body, and he wore the dragon scale platemail. The silver shield was strapped to his back, and Inferno to his leg. Sea surrounded him on all sides, only far off on the horizon could he see the faint specs of islands.
The masked man had left his worries behind; his mind was focused and determined to complete his task. Heather was going to set off two hours after him, there had been no deterring her from that. He hoped that she would not find a wasteland of fire and charred bodies.
The grey fog of Helheim's gate appeared over the horizon. He had been there once, narrowly escaping death with Heather. The Gate came closer quickly, due to the incredible speed of Toothless.
He looked straight ahead though as the fog devoured him, only concentrating on the great task ahead. Failing would mean dooming his whole tribe to their fiery demise, and with that, all of Berk. Those dragons would stay under the relentless tyranny of their queen, forced to raid, pillage and kill against their will. Other Vikings would be put under the same barrage of attacks that Berk had faced for over three hundred years. But now, that didn't matter. Only one thing did.
For the first time in his life, the Nameless One had to kill a dragon.
As I said, not much happens here, but alot is going to happen in the next one...
Please review, they really make my day, and constructive criticism is very welcome! If any of you guys have any suggestions or questions, be sure to leave them in a review and I shall get back to you in the next chapter! I do love to know what everybody thinks about my story!