Hadrian stands in a field of dry grass that comes up to his waist. The air smells like smoke and burns his nostrils. Above him the sky is bile – colored, and the sight of it fills him with anxiety, his body cringing away from it.

He hears fluttering, like the pages of a book blown by the wind, but there is no wind. The air is still and soundless apart from the flapping, neither how nor cold – not like air at all, but Hadrian can still breathe. A shadow swoops overhead.

Something lands on his shoulder. He heels its weight and the prick of talons and flings his arm forward to shake it off, his hand batting at it. He feels something smooth and fragile. A feather. Hadrian bites his lip and looks to the side. A black bird the size of his forearm turns its head and focuses one beady eye on him.

Hadrian grits his teeth and hits the raven again with his hand. It digs in its talons and doesn't move. Hadrian cries out, more frustrated than pained, and hits the crow with both hands, but it stays in place, resolute, one eye on him, feather gleaming in the yellow light. Thunder rumbles and he hears the patter of rain on the ground, but no rain falls.

The sky darkens, like a cloud is passing over the sun. Still cringing away from the raven, Hadrian looks up. A flock of ravens storm towards him, an advancing army of outstretched talons and open beaks, each one squawking, filling the air with noise. The ravens descend in a single mass, diving toward the earth, hundreds of beady black eyes shining.

Hadrian tries to run, but his feet are firmly planted and refuse to move, like the raven on his shoulder. Hadrian screams as they surround him, feathers flapping in his ears, beaks pecking at his shoulders, talons clinging to his clothes. He screams until tears come from his eyes, his arms flailing. His hands hit solid bodies but do nothing; there are too many. He is alone. They nip at his fingertips and press against his body, wings sliding across the back of his neck, feet tearing at his hair.

He twists and wrenches and falls to the ground, covering his head with his arms. They scream against him. Hadrian feels a wiggling in the grass, a raven forcing its way under his arm. His opens his eyes and it pecks at his face, its beak hitting him in the nose. Blood drips onto the grass and Hadrian sobs, hitting it with his palm, but another raven wedges under his other arm and its claws stick to the front of his shirt.

He is screaming; he is sobbing.

"Help!" he wails. "Help!"

And the ravens flap harder, a roar in his ears. Hadrian's body burns, and they are everywhere, and he can't think. He can't breathe. Hadrian gasps for air and his mouth fills with feathers, feathers down his throat, in his lungs, replacing his blood with dead weight.

"Help," he sobs and screams, insensible, illogical. I am dying; I am dying; I am dying.

Hadrian's skin sears and he is bleeding, and the squawking is so loud his ears are ringing, but he is not dying. He coughs, his ace wet with tears, and another raven has wriggled under his arm, and he feels the edge of its sharp beak against his mouth. Its beak wedges past his lips and scrapes his teeth. The raven pushes its head into his mouth and he bites hard, tasting something foul. Hadrian spits and clenches his teeth to form a barrier, but now a fourth raven is pushing at his feet, and a fifth raven is pecking at his ribs.

Calm down. I can't, I can't. His head throbs.

Breathe. He keeps his mouth closed and sucks air into his nose. It has been hours since he was alone in the field; it has been days. He pushes air out of his nose. His heart pounds hard in his chest. He has to slow it down. He breathes again, his face wet with tears.

It's useless.

Hadrian sobs again, and forces himself forward, stretching out on the grass, which prickles against his skin. He extends his arms and breathes. Ravens push and prod at his sides, worming their way beneath him, and he lets them. He lets the flapping of wings and the squawking and the pecking and the prodding continue, relaxing one muscle at a time, resigning himself to becoming a pecked carcass.

The pain overwhelms him.

Hadrian opens his eyes and finds himself staring into blackness. He screams and hits his arms and head and legs to get the birds off him, but they are gone, though he can still feel the feathers brushing the back of his neck and the talons in his shoulder and his burning skin. He moans and pulls his knees to his chest, burying his face in them. He runs his palms along his arms, still brushing off feathers, though he knows there aren't any. He rock back and forth in the dark. He should stand. Observe where he is and find the means to escape. Hadrian's body is trembling and he feels so weak he's not sure he can stand, but he has to try.

Hadrian hauls himself to his wobbly feet, leaning heavily on the wall. Feeling the surface beneath his fingertips, Hadrian can tell it is stone. He turns his head to find an opening, allowing light, dim light, to shine through. It was then he realizes he's wedged into a dark corner. The floor beneath him cold. He touches his throbbing head and liquid slips across his fingertips. Red-blood. His right arm is numb, and when he pushes himself out of the corner, there's a pool of blood where he was sitting.

Guiding himself towards the light, he watches as it expands and metal bars spread from its center and bracing against a doorway. As he reaches the front, placing his hands on rusted metal, there are more room across from him as well as beside him. A prison.

How did I get here? He thinks.

He remembers getting shot by the Berserkers after telling Hiccup to run and take Lightning. He slacked after the first hit so that the Berserkers couldn't do anymore damage. Dagur belched an order, but Hadrian can't remember what it was. They probably would've just dumped his body anywhere if Hadrian hadn't shown signs of still being conscious.

They were dragging him down the hallway. Hadrian felt numb inside, but outside, he was a screaming, thrashing force of will. He bit a hand that belonged to the Berserker soldier on his right, and smiled when he tasted blood. Then the man hit him, and there was nothing.

As Hadrian lifts his left arm, he hisses as the pain stabs him. Then as if it had awoken all his other injuries, a sharp throb to his side makes him cringe and drop to his knees. He breathes and tries to ease the throbbing. Adding onto his newly opened shoulder wound, he now has another in his side. The blood had clot, leaving him stiff and sore and sticky, but still alive.

Hadrian pushes himself to his feet and keeps his hand on his side as he gazes into the walkway of the prison. The entire facility itself was made of stone. The cells were basically cut into the stone; they looked at least ten feet deep and fifteen feet wide. The stench of smoke and mold assaults Hadrian's senses. Tripods of torches on pure ebony brackets illuminate the prison; placed between each cell, the entire compound glows a pale orange and yellow. The sound of struggles and men shouting, makes Hadrian instinctively withdraw to the shadow of his little cave.

The guards come running wielding metal spears; hustling their steps to a cell a couple spaces down from Hadrian's. Hadrian follows their direction all the way to the end, where he peeks as best he can out between the bars. They open a cell door across the hall and rush in. there's the sound of hissing, and green acid spits from the cage. One guard immediately comes running out with the top of his helmet hissing wit steam, the other stumbles out of the cage and slams the door shut with his foot.

"Stupid dragon." He mumbles in frustration.

He gets to his feet and Hadrian retreats into the cubby hole of his cell as the guard passes by. Hadrian doesn't pretend he's sleeping, but tries his best to blend in with the darkness as the guard passes in front of the cell door.

He stops, peaks inside and smiles. He's spotted him. Hadrian swallows thickly.

"Sleep well?" he asks.

"Why did you bring me here?" Hadrian snarls, ignoring his question.

"Does it matter? You're warm, dry and still very much alive." He replies.

Hadrian steps closer and finds that the guard is different than the others. He is younger, with a hard jawline and a blonde five o'clock shadow. His hair must be a dirty blonde underneath that helmet. He was built like Hadrian, probably a pinch stronger. When he smirks, a dimple appears in the right corner of his mouth.

"Why did you bring me here?" Hadrian repeats. "Why doesn't Dagur just kill me? Why don't you just kill me? Make it seem like an accident."

"I don't do favors. Plus that kid is so far off his rocker." He smiles. "My name's Brandr." He extends a hand, but Hadrian only glares at him. Brandr withdraws his hand. "It all right, I understand. Why trust an Outcast, right?"

Hadrian sneers.

"What? Not going to talk to me anymore?" he amuses. The smoothness of his voice makes the words fluid as they stream from his lips.

"You haven't answered my question, so what good are you?" Hadrian snaps.

Brandr cocks his head slightly and walks up to the forefront of the cage. "Dagur wants to make your execution public. And I can't kill you because, I like living."

"You like living like this? Torturing people while under the rule of a psychotic jackass?" Hadrian says, stepping closer.

"Everybody has their calling."

"But you didn't deny Dagur's psycho." Hadrian catches.

"Can't deny the truth. Fact I think he takes you words as a compliment." Hadrian eyes Brandr carefully. Is eyes are do deep-set that his eyelashes tough the skin under his eyebrows, and they are a dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping waiting color "So, where are your little dragon riding friends? They're always fun to play with. Especially Stoick's little boy. I like him."

Brandr folds his arms and leans one shoulder against the cell door. Hadrian has the brief mindset to bolt forward, snatch his hair and keys, but Hadrian knows that he'll be outnumbered, and the others come, then he'll be beaten unconscious until his execution.

For a moment, that sounds better. Just to sleep until he's hauled to the chopping block and scent to sleep again forever. Just float in blackness until Hades comes to claim his soul. Hadrian shakes his head and walks up to the cell door, still maintain a fair six inches of space between him and the iron bars.

"They, he, is none of your concern." He finally replies.

"You're awfully protective of him. How cute." Brandr smirks.

Hadrian snorts. "Believe me, he doesn't need protection. But what about you and you buddies? Seems to me like you two clans only put up with one another because of Dagur."

"Please, the Berserkers are not in my league." Brandr snickers.

"And what, you think you're in mine?" Hadrian arcs an eyebrow.

"Who knows?"

"I think you do."

"I do actually. What about you? Do you know?" Brandr reaches a hand through the bars and grabs a fistful of Hadrian's tunic. He doesn't jerk Hadrian, but tugs him so that Hadrian's six inches of space gets smaller. Hadrian reflexively wraps a hand around the bar. "Where is little Hiccup when you need him?" he asks, his tone above a whisper.

"I don't."

Brandr raises his hand higher, resting it on an intersection of bars. "You sure about that?" he whispers.

"Why are you even doing this?" Hadrian asks. "Why talk to a prisoner of the enemy clan?"

Brandr smirks, a seductive look that emphasizes the dimple in his right corner of his mouth. "Because you're the only person interesting enough to talk to."

For some stupid reason, Hadrian can feel his cheeks grow warm.

"Glad to have a chat with you before your execution." He then adds.

Hadrian's body grows numb with cold. His fingers prickle with pins and needles. "What will they do afterwards? Will they attack Hiccup and Lightning?" Hadrian asks, surprising himself when his voice is steady.

Brandr's smirk goes away, and replacing it is a look of, a mixture of things. Observant. Curious. Sternness. Maturity. Sanity.

"I don't know." He answers.

Hadrian finally looks way form him and faces the darkness of his cell. He flattens his back against the bars and slides down to the ground.

"Be seeing you." Brandr says, and Hadrian listens to his footsteps as they soon fade out and the slam of the metal door finalizes him leaving.

Hadrian can't panic. The worst thing that can happen to him now is that he gets executed. He leans the back of his head against the bars and laughs. That is the worst thing he can imagine. His laugh turns into a sob.

If he refuses to give up now, it will look brave to whoever watches him from the balconies above the prison, but sometimes it isn't fighting that's brave, it's facing the death you know is coming. Hadrian sobs into his knees. He's not afraid of dying, but he wants to die in a different way, any other way.

It is better to scream than cry, so he screams and slams his fist into the bars behind him. His hand bounces off, and he pounds again, so hard his hand throbs. Hauling to his feet, Hadrian pounds again and again, then pulls back and throws his right shoulder into the door. The impact makes the wound burn like it got stuck with a hot poker. Hadrian uncurls his fists and drops to the floor, his left shoulder pressed against the rough-iron bars. They probably expect him to cry. To prove that he's a coward.

I am not a coward.

His slides to the ground. Hadrian brings his knees to his chest and rocks back and forth, banging his head against the metal. After an hour of this repetitive notion, Hadrian is sure that a bruise has formed and since spread its colors of blue and purple along the crown of his head.

It's a struggle to get to his feet and he limps back into the small corner where the pool of blood has since softened into a stain.

No matter what Dagur decides to do, Hadrian doesn't care. For all he cares about, is that he accomplished his mission. Lightning is free from Dagur's grasp, despite him being caught in it himself. But with Hiccup sure to be back, and Dagur already planning an ambush, Hadrian needs to think of a plan to avoid being used as bait or leverage.

So with his victory in mind, and the small seed of triumph burrowing and taking root in his heart, Hadrian allows himself to smile and lets tears of achievement escape from his eyes.

He curls himself back up on the bloodstain, tucking his knees to his chest and focuses on the manner, of his suicide.

Meanwhile, the ride back to Berk for Hiccup couldn't have been more excruciating. What normally felt like minutes of a travel, somehow turned into hours, if not days, but Hiccup knew it hadn't been that long.

When the island came into sight, Hiccup couldn't stop the screams that ripped his throat if he tried. He nearly woke half the village as he landed Toothless just outside the Academy. Stoick was the first to embrace him, but it wasn't what he had expected.

Hiccup broke down.

He stumbled off of Toothless, Lighting at his side, and the moment he felt his father's strong arms wrap around him, the tears seemed to flow without consent. Hiccup burrowed his face into his father's chest and wailed uncontrollably, not even caring that everyone's attention was probably on Lightning, or that they had their assumptions of what befell Hadrian. The last thing he remembers is Stoick lifting him in his arm and carrying him home.

Now, in the dawn of a new day, Hiccup wakes with his name on his lips.

Hadrian.

Before he opens his eyes, he watches him crumple to the ground again. Blood dominating the blue of his tunic.

Dagur's doing.

Hiccup takes a deep breath and holds it in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that builds in his chest.

Hours ago, nothing that happened felt real to him. Now it does.

He breathes out and the pressure is still there.

His eyes open, facing the wall that is decorated with his many sketches of dragons, ideas for new inventions and detailed blueprints of a new pen for Lightning. Hiccup would've sprung up from the bed and hurdled downstairs and to the Academy if it weren't for the heaviness infusing his body. He never would've thought that the combination of failure and guilt could combine into such an oppressive weight. A weight that Hiccup refuses to lift until Hadrian is back home on Berk.

The mere thought of him being alone in the prison, with hundreds of soldiers with nothing better to do but . . . The possibilities make Hiccup feel so heavy he could break through the floorboards.

Oncoming footsteps make Hiccup alert as his head snaps to the stairs. "Hiccup?" the voice is Astrid's. She carries a tray of foo, which she sets down on Hiccup's end table. She softly smiles and sits on the bed, tucking one leg underneath. "How do you feel?" she asks, her smile fading.

"I'm . . ." Hiccup shakes his head a few times. "I don't know Astrid. I'm awake. I'm . . ." he's still shaking his head. Astrid slides her hand over his cheek, her dainty fingers cupping the side of his face. She tilts her head and kisses him, sending a warm ache through Hiccup's body. Hiccup places his hand over hers, and holds it as long as he can. When she touches him, the hollowed out feeling in his chest stomach is not as noticeable.

"I know." She says. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

For a moment, all Hiccup could think is, How could you possibly know? But something about her expression reminds him that she does know something about loss. She lost her uncle when she was young. Hiccup doesn't remember how he died, just that they attended his funeral. Hiccup sighs and brushes his fingers through his hair.

"Where's Lightning?" he asks.

"They placed him in the Academy." She answers.

"And my dad?"

"He's there now, but I promise you he's not mad, for now. Just worried about you."

Hiccup sighs. "I almost don't want to go if it means that he'll blow up one he knows I'm fine."

"Hiccup you're not fine." Astrid says.

Hiccup doesn't say anything, he merely shakes his head, folding in his lips.

Astrid fidgets with her fingers. "I'll just let you get ready." She then leaves the room, heading down the stairs in a rather hurried pace. Toothless comes up after she leaves and comes up to Hiccup, nuzzling into his hand, cooing.

"We need to get back to Outcast Island. But how? Dagur will know I'll be coming back, with the riders or not. But I can't leave Hadrian there for one more minute. I need to get to him before he does anything stupid or irrational-" Hiccup rambles. He physically needs to clamp his hands over his mouth to stop himself from spilling out more meaningless words.

If he were to get back to Outcast Island, something inside Hiccup just told him that he needed to be alone. It was Hiccup who got Hadrian into this mess; he needs to get him out. But the obvious fact that Dagur's just using Hadrian as bait only adds that he needs his father's help. Yet Hiccup doesn't want to put the others at risk of getting captured. But after his stunt, Stoick would never let Hiccup go alone without proper convincing.

Pulling himself out of bed, Hiccup draws himself a bath, making sure to add extra soap so that the entire top layer is covered with suds, much like the delicate whipped cream on top of a warm mug of yak milk. Hiccup lowers into the tub, enveloping his body in bubbles. He scrubs away the dirt and sweat, when his hands slightly sting small blisters dot their territory along Hiccup's palm. Probably from his vise grip on the handles of Toothless' saddle.

When he gets out of the tub, Hiccup goes back upstairs to find a stack of clothes on his bed. A new tunic and fresh pants. Most likely it's from Astrid. He tries to pull a pant leg over his thigh and it sticks just above his knee. Frowning, Hiccup stares at his leg. A bulge of muscle is stopping the fabric. He lets the pant leg fall and looks over his shoulder at the back of his thigh. Another muscle stands out there.

Hiccup steps to the side so that he stands in front of the reflective metal of Gronkle Iron he keeps leaning against his wall. He sees muscles that he couldn't see before in his arms, legs, and stomach. Hiccup pinches his side, where a layer of fat used to hint at a slim figure. Nothing. Training with Hadrian and Gobber over the past years has stolen whatever softness Hiccup's body had. Is that good, or bad? At least he's stronger than he was before. He leaves them and goes into Hadrian's room.

Walking through the threshold, the pressure in Hiccup's chest intensifies to where he has to breathe through his mouth from a lack of oxygen. He pushes himself up to the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, Hiccup slips on a dark blue tunic that is too big for him. The sleeves come down past his fingers, so he rolls them up. The hemline covering half of his thighs. Then he takes a pair of brown pants – fitting, but so long that Hiccup has to roll them up three times.

Though he has newly developed muscles, he still feels small in Hadrian's clothes. At that moment, his smell, which is an even mixture of pond lilies and fresh air, wafts upwards, and it fills his nose, fills his entire head with him. Hiccup clenches his hands so hard into fists that his fingernails dig crescent shapes into his palms. He wraps his arms around his middle and backs up until his legs hit the bed, and he sits down on the edge.

Hiccup tucks his head towards his chest, the neckline of the tunic braising under his nose. He lets the scent of Hadrian numb his insides, allows it to help him forget all the trouble he's bound to face, and give him a clear head.

Think! He yells to himself. Think, Hadrian needs you! But all it does is bring more tears to his eyes. Why though? What's making him act this way? He should be determined, planning to ambush Dagur.

Then it hits him. He thinks Hadrian's dead. He let the enemy snatch him from his grasp. Bringing back the painful memory of Lilith, a deadly succubus as she practically made Hadrian shrivel up with a simple closing of her fingers.

But a small seed of hope, or denial, is what's giving him little strength to move forward. Hiccup grasps to the hope with desperate fingers. If Hadrian was really gone, he'd feel it. Maybe his mindset isn't right because the last thing he saw was the guards dragging him away. Whether it is hope or denial, he doesn't care, Hiccup just needs something to keep him going.

Perhaps if he were to think like Hadrian, try and figure out the plan, Hiccup could feel better.

But he doesn't have time to think as footsteps thunder up the stairs, to the room. Hiccup curls deeper into himself, not ready to face his father. The heavy footsteps were a dead giveaway. Hiccup forces himself up from the bed and walks to his bedroom. Then with hurried feet he goes and sits on his bed, swiping an apple from the tray of food Astrid brought. He huddles himself on his bed, knees to his chest and takes a big bite. Stoick steps into the room.

His eyes flick from Hiccup to the apple, then back again. He sighs and pinches the bridge between his eyes. "Look Hiccup, I am mad at you for leaving without proper artillery, but I know that something happened to Hadrian on Outcast Island." He says. "So I'm getting past that so that we can focus on the matter of getting him home."

The apple becomes stone in Hiccup's throat as he swallows. He needs to cough and gulp down some water before he sets it back on the tray.

He sniffles. "We might not be able to get him home."

"What do you mean-?"

"The last thing I saw," Hiccup interrupts. "was him getting shot and the Berserkers dragging him away."

Hiccup's voice catches at the and from a pinch in his throat he takes a breath, swallows hard, blinks a few times and then looks to Stoick again.

"You had better hurry on that forgiving-me thing because we don't have much time."

Hiccup's voice cracks and he can't hold himself together anymore. He starts sobbing. His hands shake violently so he clutches his middle. His eyes are too blurry to see him, but Hiccup feels Stoick when he wraps his arms around him and squeezes so hard it hurts. Stoick smells like bonfire smoke and he feels strong, exactly the way he was when Hiccup was only a babe. Back then, he made Hiccup feel weak, but now his strength makes Hiccup feel like he could be stronger too.

They sit together on Hiccup's bed, and Hiccup clutches Stoick as tightly as he clutches Hiccup.

"It's already done, son." Stoick says. "That's what I meant to say. The forgiving is done."

After his emotional breakdown, Hiccup and Stoick walked together to the Academy that afternoon. Lightning was out of his cage and walking freely around the arena Fishlegs was scribbling frantically in the Book of Dragons while Astrid and Stormfly keep Lightning occupied. Lightning seems pretty calm around them, but he's constantly turning his head side to side in search of Hadrian. Hiccup's chest tightens. When he notices Hiccup, he croaks and approaches him. Stoick takes precautionary steps back, and Lightning nuzzles into Hiccup's hand when he hold sit up.

"I've never seen such a drastic behavioral change." Fishlegs says. "It's incredible."

"Yeah," Hiccup faintly smiles. "he did a great job."

"So," Astrid says. "How will we be getting Hadrian home?"

Hiccup looks to her, confused. "I . . ." his voice cracks as a pinch in his throat chokes him back. "I don't even know if he's alive."

"I'm sure he is." She assures.

"How do you know?" Hiccup challenges.

"How do you not?" Snotlout interjects. "You're the one with the special powers. Can't you just teleport him here?"

"It's not that simple, Snotlout!" Hiccup barks. He shuts his eyes, takes a breath and sighs. "I'm not that advanced in magic, and even if I was, it doesn't exist."

"Well can't you track him Hiccup?" Fishlegs gently suggests.

Hiccup ponders over this, and he can vaguely recall Grandmamma mentioning how every living thing is surrounded by a sort of energy. What was it she called it?

"Grandmamma might've said something about that . . ." Hiccup mumbles.

"It's called an aura!" a voice calls.

All eyes turn in unison and in come walking the woman herself, wearing a simple robed tunic and a necklace of small bones about her neck.

"An aura, is a force emanating from somebody or something. A force that is said to surround all people and objects, discernible, often as a bright glow, only to people of unusual psychic sensitivity." She explains.

"Good to see you Grandmamma." Hiccup smiles as he hugs her hello.

"Boy, have you gotten yourself in a pickle. Or whatever is more complex. Like maybe an eggplant. No, no not that. What is it with people and pickles anyway? Hmph, now I'm hungry."

"Grandmamma." Hiccup diverts her attention. "So, how do you do it how can you track, an aura?" Hiccup asks.

"Well, you're not as advanced, but I know a spell that can help." She says. She walks over to Hiccup and pinches some of the fabric of Hiccup's borrowed shirt and rubs it between her fingers. He smacks her lips a couple times then waves her hand over Hiccup the section she has pinched. She then closes her eyes, and when they open, they're a soft pale pink. "Silicus Miles Sastiatio."

There's a nip in the air. A soft but chilling breeze floats through the arena, and then settles as gentle as a moth's landing on the petal of a flower. Grandmamma opens her eyes again.

"Hadrian's alive. He's in the dungeon, but barely scraping by." She announces.

Hiccup feels his heart pound against his ribs. His breathing becomes shallow, and so he turns to face Toothless, pacing a hand on the Night Fury's head to steady himself. He presses his palms against his cheeks, feeling a smile that's so wide it must look like a grimace.

"He's alive." Hiccup whispers. He laughs as well, a rather psychotic sounding one, but he doesn't care. He clutches his hand to his chest and laughs.

"Uh, is anybody else freaked by Hiccup's laughing," Tuffnut speaks, "I mean, it really can't just be me."

"Hiccup?" this voice is Astrid's.

"Hadrian's alive." He repeats.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

"I'm better than okay." Hiccup replies. "Now that I know he's alive, I can start to rescue him."

"We're coming with you." Fishlegs says.

"No."

"Yes." Stoick adds. Hiccup turns to him. "I know, you want to rescue him because you got him in this mess. But Dagur will not only be expecting you, he will use Hadrian as leverage. And I know you, son. You don't want to lose him. Not again."

Hiccup stares at his father. "How could you possibly know?" he sneers.

Stoick's demeanor remains calm, but he still takes a deep breath. "I may not know exactly what went on between the two of you back when -" Stoick stops and clears his throat. "But I do know that you two have a very special bond, something I've only seen with you and Toothless. But this is something greater, and I know that you'd do anything to save him. Just as you would for me, or Toothless."

"I can't endanger you for my mistake. And I can't bring the Berk fleet since Dagur travels with a hundred ship armada." Hiccup breaks the options down, and grunts in aggravation. "I don't know what to do."

"What you need is an army." Snotlout says. "And you've got on, right here."

"Snotlout's right, if we can sneak onto the island -" Fishlegs starts.

"What are you talking about? I meant me." He says and he flexes his muscles.

"And my lunch is in my throat." Astrid says. She shoves Snotlout aside and approaches Hiccup. "Hiccup we can help."

"I know but -"

"Stoick! Hiccup!" they both turn and Gobber comes running into the Academy. "You have to come to the village!"

"What is it Gobber?" Stoick asks.

"We've come to have an unexpected guest."

Stoick and Hiccup look to one another and charge out of the Academy. They run straight to the Plaza and near the Great Hall. A crowd had gathered outside of Gobber's shop.

"Alright, break it up." Stoic orders and the people form a path for them straight through. "What's all the ruckus -"

Stoick stop mid-sentence, and Hiccup looks to him and then ahead, and his heart sink to his stomach. As if things could not get any worse. He stands with that same amount of pride he always had, even now in the center of his rival tribe.

"Alvin?" Hiccup breathes.

"Alvin." Stoick says.

~Crow nightmare inspired by Divergent~