Disclaimer: Wait... I own 'How To Train Your Dragon'! And Toothless too! Yes! This is too good to be... Oh, this is just a dream.

Whoa. It took me hours to type this out. Thank you all for reading and reviewing! So here's another chapter. Well, I hope you don't mind the lengthy paragraphs full of description. This chapter would deal with the measures taken by the people of Berk after the the rather violent storm. It had wreaked havoc on land. No Hiccup and Toothless in here though. So, if you don't mind not having that, I think that you would be able to put up with... this.

Thank you toothless-the-nightfury for suggesting that Stoick dip his hammer in eel's blood as a precaution against Toothless... although the duo won't be returning to their homeland for a long period of time. A lot is going through Stoick's mind and the first half of this chapter would be dealing with that... well, at least 75% of the 50% of this chapter.

All right, enough rambling. Let's carry on with this.

Chapter Five: Disaster Relief

The sun's rays poked through the dark clouds like a beacon. The howling winds have long since subsided and the storm's fury was already over. The last flashes of lightning streaked across the sky before the dark clouds gave way and dissipated into nothing. It may have been over, however, the responsibility of clearing up the damage that has been inflicted by the tempest would be shouldered by the inhabitants of Berk… or what was left of the original population. Houses were reduced into splinters and bodies were strewn messily over the place. It was a ghastly sight, a sorrowful reminder that there are forces out there that are stronger than humans, or dragons for that matter. But no matter what happens, no disaster was able to crush the human spirit. Men and woman were scuttling around, trying to salvage the situation. The residents of Berk had shouldered incidents far worse than this, because they were always busying themselves with repairs after dragon raids. This was no exception. A huge red man stood on top of a raised platform that had been erected in the town center. He was barking out orders to the survivors of the storm.

"Come on! Move along!"

The Vikings got busy, running across the village and rendered their services wherever they were needed. There was still a heck lot of stuff to clear out and the people wasted no time in hauling the broken pieces of wooden furniture into the disposal area, which was a flat piece of land with no grass, only a ground of sand. After which, they would get the dragons to set the pile of splinters on fire and let it burn to the ground, burying the ashes that were left behind. The same procedure was carried out for the dead bodies, only that it was messier. The infirmary was, mercifully, spared from destruction. However, it was flooded with so much patients, namely the elderly and the young, that the operations came to a standstill. There were too many patients, and too little healers. Some of the victims perished within the first few hours after the disaster, while others were left moaning in pain. The village elder, Gothi, had come down personally to visit each and every one of the patients so as to console them, and to calm down their family members. Blessings and prayers were said, but that did not help much.

Meanwhile, the rescue operations going on in the main village were going very well. Within the last two hours, the Vikings have pulled out hundreds of survivors from the rubble, mostly women and the young. Even at this rate, the number of people that were missing would be in the hundreds by nightfall, and that wasn't a good sign. So far, they have pulled out more bodies than survivors and the critically injured were currently being treated for their injuries at the overflowing infirmary. The rain only made matters worse. The ground was soaked to its core, if it even had a core. The muddy environment was more of a hinderance. And constant mudslides came crashing down from the hills in the forest and beyond. Stoick the Vast was very worried that the mudslides might just come into the equation and screw up the entire rescue operation. So far they were contending with the situation quite well, and what they don't need is for another natural disaster to come wreaking their day.

But it did. And it came, unexpectedly.

Apparently the gods were yearning for some more before-dinner entertainment, because a massive mudslide had come and swept away part of the village, hampering further rescue efforts. Stoick was furious. How many more lives needed to be lost before they could recover from the already worsening situation.

It also did not help matters that Stoick the Vast was worrying about his son, who had been missing for the last seven hours. He could not imagine whatever bad stuff had befallen the small Viking boy. Had they been caught in the storm, and stranded on a nearby island, waiting for someone to rescue them? Or are they already dead, lost in the depths of the ocean or being shredded into pieces when they crash landed in a forest? Out of desperation, the village chief had sent a small search and rescue team out into the ocean, to search for a certain Night Fury that could have very well been killed in the storm. The tempest had decimated an entire village, so Stoick did not think that it would hesitate to blow up a dragon that just happened to stray into its path of destruction. Then, he would have to prepare a funeral procession for his son. And he really hoped that it would not have to come to that.

The proud and mighty chief gazed at the horizon, pondering about his son's fate. All he could do now is to wait for the terrifying truth to emerge. The chief was very sure that nothing good ever came with the truth. The wind picked up speed and whipped his long, braided beard. It rippled along with nature's element, shining as it reflected the sunlight. Outside, he may have looked calm, reserved, but inside, he was really trembling from fear of his son. He turned his back towards the sun and started a long and sorrowful trudge back to his house. He wanted to blame somebody for this. He wanted to have someone to point fingers at. And right now, the only "person" that was on his mind was Hiccup's dragon. Toothless. Stoick felt rage towards the dragon. He knew that the dragon would not be able to fly without Hiccup's assistance, so if the dragon was to blame, he son also had a share of the blame. But it felt so good to have someone to blame. The chief decided that if the dragon and human duo were to return, he'd be ready to take on the dragon. The Night Fury would have to sleep outside, no matter what. But how to achieve that?

Stoick remembered something that Hiccup had told him a long time ago. Something regarding the weakness of the various dragons. Each species had their own weaknesses, however, there were two weaknesses that were common among all the dragons. One was that sensitive spot under the chin. Provided if you could even reach the chin. Then what was the other one? Stoick racked his brains for the answer. Hiccup had said something about a slimy substance. Something called ell. Ell? No. That was not it. It was more like eeel or something. Oh, that's it, eel! A smile made itself known on the Viking chief's face. If the dragon was going to attack him, he'd throw an eel. No, even better, he'd dip his hammer in eel's blood and smear the door with the same substance, so as to keep that wretched devil out of the house if he were dirty. If only he'd known about the eels a long time ago, they would have come out victorious every dragon raid. Something as simple as that. Eel. All the unnecessary loss of life would have been prevented. For good. Heck, the entire war between humans and dragons seemed stupid as of now.

Stopping in his tracks, Stoick made a U-turn and headed for the harbor, with the intention of grabbing an eel. He wanted to make sure that the dragon wasn't going to make a nuisance out of himself, or the consequences would be dire, very dire indeed. He passed by several Vikings who were hauling a large piece of splintered timber, and on it were stains that were dark red in color. He did not have to go up close to find out what it was. He had seen enough of that substance after dragon raids. And speaking about dragons, they were fluttering in the sky, circling Berk in search of their masters. Some Nadders were squawking on the shore of Berk while some other dragons were flaming the collapsed houses, setting off a pretty nasty fire. The chief shook his head. This was the type of disaster he did not wish to encounter. First, the storm. Second, the mudslide. Third, the dragons setting stuff on fire. Then, after that, there would be a severe shortage of food for a long time. A perfect recipe for the wiping out of a tough and resilient race. And winter was just around the corner. What more could befall them before then? Another storm? And not to mention diseases.

Picking up a mass of slime from the basket, Stoick proceeded to pound the eel in order to extract the blood. Once he had done that, he dipped his stone mallet in the red substance. Yes, his hammer will stink, it will reek and will feel uncomfortable, but if that was all it took to drive away the unholy offspring of death, Stoick could not have been any happier to do that. He then placed his mallet into its original position and carried the bowl back to his house. No doubt that this was going to be messy, but they were Vikings, and they had seen many battles. Especially with the neighboring tribes. Anyways, this wasn't going to turn out good. At least for the dragon. He went up the slope and reached the doorstep of his house. It was a very sturdy house, the Haddock Residence. It had been built out of ebony and the support structures were designed by the best architects. It was, in many prospects, almost similar to the layout of the Meade Hall, making it very sturdy. It had only sustained a few scratches and a broken roof tile during the storm, but other than that, it remained largely unscathed. And its door was about to get drenched in a bowl of blood. Eel's blood.

Stoick swung the bowl upwards and its contents were sent flying, making contact with the ebony door and staining it red, not before it emitted several splattering noises. The residence was all set. In case of a rampant dirty lizard, at least his house would be spared of the biohazardous mess. No way. Stoick was sick of all the consistent contamination of his house. He wasn't going to waste hours of his precious time cleaning up the house. The Romans were a more pressing issue. And he had just heard the news this morning that one of his most treasured spy had been killed in Rome by an unknown assassin. Things were going to get hairy. If their spy had gotten killed, and his cover blown, a full-scale investigation would follow, and Stoick would be in deep trouble. At least with the Romans. And getting on the bad side of the Romans would prove to be a very bad idea. The Vikings only had an army of about a thousand strong. And after the storm the numbers would have decreased significantly. While on the other hand, the Romans had a hundred thousand strong, not to mention that they were a technologically superior race of people. The Vikings would get decimated. And they weren't prepared for an all-out war, because they were currently recovering from a natural disaster. He did not know what was more terrifying.

Just then, Gobber the Belch came up from behind Stoick and patted him on the shoulder, catching the chief's attention. Gobber was the village's head blacksmith for as long as any villager could remember. He was pretty plump and had lost two limbs already. Although that allowed for much more flexibility with his prosthetic arm but in the place of his leg was a wooden stump. He could not have been more than forty-five years old, and his blue eyes twinkled in the sunlight, showing some hint of wisdom beneath that dumb, stubborn attitude. His house had been ravaged by the storm and he was among the hundreds who were now homeless, all due to this perfect storm. As if things weren't about to get any worse for Stoick. His blacksmith friend was frowning, with a worried look plastered on his face. The chief knew at once that his friend wasn't going to bring any good news, but still asked him anyway.

"So, any sign of Hiccup and Toothless?" he enquired, failing to hide the fear within his tone. He braced himself for the worse as the blacksmith opened his mouth to deliver the truth. And the truth always hurt.

"No sign of him. Yet." the blacksmith announced. Stoick sighed. The sun had begun to set over the horizon, casting a orangey-red hue among the clouds. It was nearing night time and it would have been pointless to send another rescue team out into the ocean to search for the boy. He decided that they'd deal with the more pressing issues at hand, which involves concentrating all their efforts into rescuing those that could be rescued. The chief walked down to the town square and started shouting orders again. This was going to be a very long night. For the rescuers and the victims. If they were still alive.

"Hoist the torches! We need enough light!"

The orders were given and the Vikings responded almost immediately, lighting the braziers and pulling the lever in order to raise the brazier into the air. This time, however, they would not be dealing with a sky swarmed with dragons, but a ground swamped by mud, splinters, blood and bodies of humans and dragons alike. The sun disappeared underneath the horizon and left this part of the world in darkness. The moon made her appearance and gazed down majestically on Berk, surveying the damage from afar. At least she did not have to join in the backbreaking rescue efforts. If that was going to be of any consolation to the Vikings below.

More bodies were uncovered as the night progressed. As they did so, family members rushed in to take a look, to see if the body belonged to someone who was one of their own. If it wasn't they would heave a sigh of relief and scuttle back to the disaster relief shelters. If it was one of their kind, they would break down and start weeping. Bodies of dragons were also uncovered. Although less dragons died during the storm. The scene at the mortuary was even worse. That was where the dead were piled up. Family members would be kneeling down beside the bodies of their loved ones and weeping. It was a very sad scene. Stoick wasn't about to do the same. He hoped that he would never have to do such a thing.

The supply of livestock had taken a toll as well. Numbers of sheep had decreased significantly and they were running low on food. Now, the danger of famine was much worse than the storm itself. With an extra population of dragons, a mere number of a hundred sheep would not be enough to last them for a few months. They needed help. Desperately. And worse still, the number of people missing was on the rise. From the initial number of five hundred to seven hundred. By midnight, the number of people that were missing reached nine hundred. The death toll was on the rise as well, averaging at around four hundred at midnight. At least thirty dragons died and ten more were missing. Among the missing dragons was Toothless.

By one o'clock, the rescuers have pretty much covered up the entire area that was once the village of Berk. The official list of dead and missing was written out and pinned up on a notice board in the Meade Hall, and was prominently displayed to the public. The official death toll was four hundred and thirty-two for the humans, and twenty-eight for the dragons. Eight hundred and seventy-three people were missing, among which was Hiccup. And eleven dragons were officially missing.

Stoick scanned the list. Among all the names, his son's and his son's dragon names stood out the most. He still could not believe that they were missing. This wasn't a good sign at all. He desperately hoped that they would turn up in the dead of night and say, 'surprise!' or something similar to that. The livestock was also running low. Not good. Looks like the disaster had left a greater impact on them than they had realized. So much for being a tough and resilient race. Stoick approached his brother, Spitelout, and asked him for the damage assessment.

"How many buildings?"

"About seventy-five percent were destroyed during the storm. Two percent were destroyed by a rampant Nightmare that had set itself on fire." Spitelout stated. Now all that was left to do was to start the repairs and get it done before winter arrived. This was going to be a very tough winter indeed for the inhabitants of Berk, especially in times like these. It was even worse than a dragon raid.

The village chief nodded grimly and turned his attention back to the list of names. That was when he saw a teenage girl wielding her axe along with her dragon scanning the long list. She finally put her finger over the names 'Hiksti' and 'Tannlaus' that have been written on the parchment. And with that, a tear rolled down her cheek. They had been lost for over eleven hours since the storm started. Where did they go? One moment they were racing, the other moment, the Night Fury had soared into the clouds above that cliff and was never seen again. That was never a good sign. People disappearing into thin air was not something you'd see everyday. Then, a storm followed shortly after their disappearance. Something was not right. She felt a hand rest on her right shoulder and she turned around to face the chief, wiping away the tear that had rolled down her cheek. She was mad. Mad at nature and its cruelty. But she greeted his to-be-husband's father anyway.

"Stoick." she acknowledged rather sorrowfully. The chief could sense that Astrid was also missing Hiccup already. There wasn't so much a trace of happiness in the teenager's blue eyes. Stoick couldn't blame her. Their relationship was going so well, only to be wrecked by a natural disaster. That was the sad reality of life. The chief then remembered that Astrid was the last person Hiccup was with, and thus she would have a clearer idea of where Hiccup could have been before he mysteriously disappeared off the face of the world.

"Do you know where Hiccup could have went to? I remember seeing you with Hiccup before he disappeared." the Viking chief enquired. There was silence between the both of them for a while as Astrid continued looking at the floor. Then, she raised her head and stared directly into Stoick's eyes.

"I don't know where he is. We were racing. He sped up ahead and disappeared over the cliff. I did not see him since." she replied. It took a while for the Viking chief to process the information. So Hiccup had disappeared over the cliff? If he did, then there was a very good chance that he was already dead. And so was his dragon. No one would be able to survive a day due to the harsh conditions present on the top of the cliff. Even the village's fittest Vikings had perished on the cliff. Hiccup would be even more susceptible to the threats the natural environment posed.

Stoick patted her shoulder and assured her that Hiccup was going to be found no matter the circumstances, although he doubted that he would ever be found after that storm anyway. Astrid nodded her head and walked her dragon out of the hall, disappearing into the dark of the night, leaving the chief to ponder about the whereabouts of his son. His son was one thing, but the villagers would need to get themselves organized as of today. The village would require some repairs. Major repairs. And it would be harder to carry out the repairs as they were short of people. Resuming his position at the end of the the huge table that contained a large hearth in the middle of it, he raised his right hand in an attempt to get the people to quiet down. When that failed, Gothi walked up to Stoick and faced the crowd, tapping her staff three times on the ground in another attempt.

"Everybody, quiet down!" Stoick boomed. It seemed to have done the trick, for thousands of heads in the Meade Hall diverted their attention to the huge, stocky, red-bearded man. Contented with that, the chief made his announcement which was, of course, about the calamity.

"We all know, that the tempest has claimed the lives of four hundred and sixty humans and dragons, and that many more are missing. Today, we gather here, in the hall, for one minute's silence, in remembrance of all those people and dragons who have lost their lives during the storm." he stated somberly. The Vikings all placed their hands together in front of them and put down their heads. A deathly silence settled over the place, with only the consistent rustling of the trees against the wind outside of the hall. Even the various dragons seemed to have joined in with their riders in this moment of silence. The atmosphere remained that way until the minute was up, during which the village elder tapped the floor of the hall three times, getting the attention of the masses. Stoick then continued with his speech.

"We all know that we have lost a lot of people and dragons during the storm. We have never had a death toll that high ever since The Hurricane. But, however violent the winds may be, it will never be able to blow away the very foundation of we Vikings. It will never crush our Viking spirit, for this is just another occupational hazard. In the morning, we will commence the funeral procession. The rescue mission is still ongoing, and we will try our best to find all those people who have went missing. Tonight, seeing that our houses have been destroyed, we'll all sleep in the Meade Hall. That is, until we get the build orders finished."

A murmur of approval passed through the crowd and Stoick dismissed them all, and the hall was soon filled with talking and weeping as they swarmed around the notice board. As the minute passed, Stoick grew more and more lonely. He was already missing his son, even though he was only missing for half a day. He sighed. As he thought back on how he had treated Hiccup back in the days when humans and dragons were enemies, he was filled with guilt and regret. He had never treated his son fairly. He had never treasured him, only let him live a life of self-depreciation, hatred and consistent bullying, from the other kids of course. What was that proverb? You wouldn't treasure something until you've lost it. Was that it? Because he was feeling that way right now, just as he had after Hiccup fell into the firestorm created by the exploding Red Death. He should have listened to his son, to have put his trust into his own flesh and blood. Instead he was too clouded by his own visions that he had disowned his own son… in order to lead his men into a suicide mission. It was a no-win situation. He had failed in his mission. He had failed to see the potential in his son. His own son.

The huge stocky Viking towered over the frail, weak one. Green eyes met green eyes. There was a definite tone of seriousness… at least only the big Viking had the "serious" mindset. He thought that the small one was just a nuisance that liked to cause mass havoc.

"So, you been to the nest?" he spat with disdain. The frail-looking one was intimidated and looked as if he wanted to speed out of the Meade hall that instance. He wasn't used to his father being angry, and especially if he had the intention to kill.

"Di… did I say nest?" he stammered, although he lost the will to articulate the last word of his sentence. The huge, stocky Viking disregarded that statement and directed another question at Hiccup.

"How did you find it?" he enquired. After centuries of finding the elusive Dragon's Nest, it had been found by… this? A pathetic good-for-nothing? It did not make sense. And he wanted so desperately to find out the answer. How did his son find it? Could all the loss of lives been adverted if Stoick had asked his son earlier on?

"No, er, I didn't… er, Toothless did. Only a… a dragon could find the nest." like before, his voice trailed off at the end of the sentence. A million thoughts were racing through Stoick's mind. He may be a stubborn meathead, but that did not mean that he did not have the powers of logical reasoning. It did not take long for the Viking chief to put two and two together.

So, you have been riding on the back of the Night Fury all the while?

Hiccup was a traitor. He had harbored and protected a dragon. That was against the Viking law. He was no less than a criminal, punishable by exile. Yes, that was it. Rage surged through Stoick. After all he had done for his son, he had betrayed them. He wasn't a Viking. He will never be a Viking. The small boy tried to do some damage control.

"Oh no, dad. Its not what you think it is…" he began. Stoick the Vast grunted and pushed his son away, making his way to the harbor. He was going to end this war once and for all. No matter how it ends, it will end today. And this boy will not be stopping him.

"… you don't know what you're up against, dad. Its like nothing you've ever seen."

Pah! Throughout his entire career as a Viking, he had seen every species of dragon that ever existed on this world. This mission was no different. What could be more dangerous than a Night Fury? And they had a chained-up one that was going to lead them straight to the den. After that, he could dispose of the damned beast.

"No, dad." the boy started to run in order to keep up with his father. No. This could not be happening. The Viking chief trudged on, picking up speed.

"No!"

Out of desperation, the Viking boy grabbed onto his father's arm and exhaled, "For once in your life, would you please just listen to me!"

To his surprise, his sire flung him onto the floor like some toy. It took him awhile to regain his bearings. When he did, he looked into the eyes of the person he once looked up to. The very person who had given him a horned helm of his mother to him yesterday. It seemed like a million years ago. For the look in Stoick's eyes were not that of love, but of hatred and coldness. The words that came out of his mouth were in an emotionless tone. A tone he only reserved for dragons that were about to get beheaded.

"You've thrown your lot in with them. You're not a Viking."

Hiccup did not mind if he were exiled or anything. He just wanted someone to love him. To share his experiences with. Most of all, he wanted a father. A real father. The person who was standing right in front of him.

However, what his father said next hurt him as if someone had run a sword through him.

"You're not my son"

With that, the Viking left the hall, slamming the door behind him, abandoning his only son in the dark. Hiccup was bleeding from his various wounds. He crawled along the floor, reaching his hand in the direction of the door. His entire body hurt. However, none could have compared to the hurt he was currently experiencing in his heart.

Emotional pain.

"Stoick, ya all righ'?"

Said Viking was immediately shaken out of his reverie. Looking around, his eyes met a huge hammer that was connected to a fleshy arm. Gobber the Belch was standing next to the village chief. He put a hand on his friend's shoulder and patted it.

"Thinkin' about Hiccup, eh?" he asked.

Of course he was thinking about his son. Who else? Odin? Sighing, he said, "Yes." There was an odd pause for a moment. "Still no sign of him?"

Gobber remained silent. When Stoick pressed him again for the answer, he answered somberly, "No. The search party 'ave searched the islands around Berk. They are empty."

Stoick went silent for the rest of the night and Gobber left the hall after giving his best friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. The rescue operations continued well into the night until daybreak, where three more survivors were pulled out of the rubble and fifty more bodies were uncovered, adding to the list of the dead. It was a grim and gruesome sight at the mortuary, and the village chief had an uneasy feeling that he would be amongst the people who were mourning very soon.

The morning arrived quickly, bringing the start of a new day along with it. However, it would not be a good day for the Vikings. They were still recovering from the damage sustained from the tempest. Once they had been done with the rescue operations, the rebuilding operations began. The new day was a signal for the workers who were currently hauling in the heavy timbers that have been imported into the village, fresh from the forest. There was still a mountain-load of work to be finished with and they did not even sleep a wink.

Things were worse at the infirmary. Ever since the recent mudslide, people have been dying of some strange disease, and the water from a nearby stream tasted as if it were contaminated. Soon, it was over-flooded with cases of bloody diarrhea and vomiting. The disease continued on its rampage, claiming the lives of fifty more people and incapacitating dozens more. The victims of the disease said that the water that they drunk tasted horrible and stung their mouth. Puzzled, the chief matron of the infirmary had to switch water supplies in order to prevent this from happening again; but it seemed like every river that had its sources traced back to the mountain tasted the same, and they also stung. In the end, the matron was forced to get their water from the ocean, utilizing the method of distillation to get rid of the salt. The water tasted better, but that did not stop the disease from claiming more lives. By the end of the day, the disease had killed a hundred people; the bodies of all of which were placed in the mortuary as new additions.

More homeless dragons emerged. A Stray Division was created to deal with the situation, normally attempting to set the dragons free. Most were unwilling to leave and stayed with their dead owners, and the mortuary therefore became a house for the homeless dragons.

Another day went by and the situation seemed to have alleviated. However, it has gotten the attention of the locals that the plants that were found next to the complex river systems on Berk had yellowed and animals which have drank from the rivers have died. That was particularly puzzling. Berk had never had a full-scale biological contamination of the river system before and the medics had little knowledge of dealing with these type of situations. In the meantime, more and more survivors were migrating to the nearby islands in search of a better place to live, at least until the time came when the damage from the disaster has been dealt with. That action made Berk less crowded than usual; but they did not mind. The less people, the better because they were currently making repairs and less people meant less obstruction. Gothi the village elder insisted to remain on Berk despite the danger of contracting The Disease, as the ex-locals have named it.

The remaining Vikings on the island decided to hold a council deciding on the fate of Berk. The Viking's dragons were positioned beside their masters, crooning ocassionally. At one point of the council, a Gronckle snarled so loudly and consistently that he had to be put outside of the hall.

Spitelout declared that they should follow the other locals and flee to the other islands until the biological situation got better. Stoick decided against it and said that they should deal with the problem with all their might. Several people of the council supported Stoick, several others went for Spitelout's plan, the rest remained as indecisive as ever. They could not bear to leave Berk and they did not want to die of this disease either. After a moment of arguing, it was decided that they should stay and deal with the situation. It had its benefits and its own risks.

"But how?" asked Spitelout. "It seems to me that this is impossible to solve."

A few Vikings nodded in agreement at that statement. The problem was indeed impossible to solve. Even Stoick had his thinking cap on. Gothi, who was usually silent, tapped her staff on the floor and garnered the attention of the council. The Vikings of Berk had looked up to her due to her immense wisdom. She was silent for most of the time and rarely spoke. Unless it was really important.

"My fellow friends…" she began with a voice that had a tone of mystery. "It seems that the problem at hand is impossible to tackle. I understand that. Even after praying for a long time, the issue with the rivers have not yet been solved."

Stoick, who was listening with rapt attention, broke the silence by asking, "Do you have a solution to this?"

Gothi the Silent One remained silent. Then she said, "If you can tackle the source of the problem, everything will correct themselves eventually."

There was a long silence after that statement as the various members of the Disaster Council considered what Gothi had just said. It did not make any sense to them. How can they tackle the source of the problem without even knowing what the source is? Gobber spoke up first.

"What de yeh mean by tha', elder?"

Everyone moved closer to the elder in their eagerness to hear the answer. They were very confused.

"What I mean is that you must find the source of the problem, then tackle it." was Gothi's simple reply. It, however, wasn't making any sense either. Why can't she just speak in an understandable manner. The village chief, who had been taking in every word the elder had just said, was in deep thought. The gears in his head were turning. Then, the true meaning of the elder's answer struck him.

"You mean to say that we should send some men up to the source of the river and check it out?"

Gothi nodded her head and a tone of uneasiness settled over the Vikings in the Meade Hall. They weren't keen on going upstream towards the source of the river. If the water was enough to kill, they couldn't think of the consequences that would befall them should they approach the possible source of the disease. It was like the meeting they had before the last dragon nest expedition; only that this time much lesser people would be going. Stoick stood up.

"I'm going along on this trek. Now who's with me?" he declared. No one answered. There wasn't going to be another good excuse. The chief sighed.

"Fine. If none of you are going, then I'm going. Alone. Council dismissed." he announced before heading for the huge wooden doors. Just before he stepped out of the hall, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw that it was just Gobber. He had a smile on his face.

"I'm going with yeh. Just in case your thinkin' of doin' something crazy."

That was so Gobber.

"Is that it?" quipped the blacksmith three hours later somewhere deep in the forest. They had arrived in a rather less treaded on road that led off Raven Point. They were standing right in front of a thirty meter cliff that had slopes angled at ninety degrees to the ground. One part had collapsed, making this the obvious cause of the mudslide that had ravaged the part of the village nearest to Raven Point. It was several kilometers from where Hiccup proposed to have found Toothless and nearly five hundred meters away from the village. A torrent should have run under the cliff, but was now reduced to a shallow stream of water now. Behind the blockage of rocks was a pool of water, and beyond that was a hill where this section of the river broke off from the much larger one.

But what was most amusing about the cliff was that it was stained crimson red. And so was the water.

"That explains the redness of the water at the infirmary." Stoick pondered aloud. "But that does not explain why the people died."

"Could it be poison?" suggested Gobber.

"Look like poison. But if it were poison, then it would be a natural one. I've never seen a man-made poison of this color before."

Gobber reached out his artificial limb and gave the red substance on the mud a prod. Nothing happened. Except for the fact that the substance fell apart and dissolved into the wet mud. That was peculiar.

"What do yeh think it could be?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

Then Stoick said, "If this is the source of the disease, then I suggest that we cordon of the entire section of the river to prevent further leakage. I'll leave the job to you, Gobber. Take some men with you and get it done by next week."

The blacksmith nodded his head.

"Get movin'!"

The shout rang out eerily through the dark forest. It was already nightfall and the various sounds of the forest at night could be heard. The moon shone with white brilliance and it hurt just to take a look at it. At that shouted command, the dull thudding of leather boots was heard and in an instant, four men carrying sticks and boulders materialized out of thin air, as if they were just there. They lugged their heavy load with little problem. The men were flanked by two other men who wielded torches that were lit, bathing the forest floor with the soft amber glow, providing ample light that allowed for the other men to carry out their duties. The torches were also a precaution against the animals of the wild, although the men had swords for that purpose. They ran forwards, in the general direction of the cliff that was the source of the problem. When they arrived there, they were joined by ten other men who were standing guard by the crimson-red section. The men planted their torches alongside the other torches on the ground. A huge wooden and stone barrier had been erected to close off the area, and it was nearing completion. The man in charge was Gobber, and he stood by a tree, supervising the entire event.

"You there, put the log down."

Said Viking placed the piece of timber that he had been carrying and went off to help the others. Once all the materials were placed at the designated area, it was now time for another group of Vikings to do the building of the final part of the barrier: the part which seals off the river's flow to the other parts of the river system. The reason it had been done last was that the Vikings feared that if they had blocked it earlier on, the water would have gotten stuck and the entire place would flood, hampering further construction efforts.

The Vikings worked relentlessly, carefully laying the boulders into place and putting the logs over them, essentially creating one gigantic dam just like the beavers. The shape and construction method was derived from watching the beavers building their own water dam, although most have died during the course of the contamination. Once this dam was done, they hoped that further contamination would halt and the remaining contaminants would be washed into the ocean, diluting it into a harmless solution.

That was just a plan though. It was still to be finished.

"By tonigh', we'll get this done."

Just as a Viking was carrying a boulder with the intention of placing it over a hole in the barrier, he accidentally knocked a torch to its side. It rolled down the river bank and gained momentum, headed for the heavily polluted river. The Viking thought nothing about that. He just thought that the river would extinguish the fire.

He was so wrong.

The torch rolled into the river with a soft plop. But, instead of the water evaporating around the fire and the fire going out, it burned as steadily as before, if not, much more ferociously. Curious, the Viking stopped in his tracks and looked at the torch. For one moment, it seemed as if the entire stretch of red water was glowing.

Then, it happened.

It started as a spark in the water surrounding the fire. A bright spark. Then, the red water caught fire simultaneously, going up in bright white flames. There was a loud crack as the flames consumed the entire stretch of water, hissing and emitting sparks with such violence that was not possible for any normal fire. The river bank began to smoke. Terrified, the Viking dropped the boulder and ran for the exit. By now, it had gotten so hot that the wooden barrier was starting to burn.

Gobber had also noticed the fire. The barrier was glowing with such intensity that he had to order his men to fall back just as several Vikings came running out from the barrier exit.

"What happened?"

The Viking was too frightened to reply. Actually, it was better that he did not reply at all, for the next moment came an explosion that was sure to drown out anybody's voice.

BANG!

The barrier exploded from within. A shockwave emanated from the point of the explosion and flattened the forest, knocking Gobber and the other Vikings over in the process. Parts of the barrier were blown out, hitting some unlucky Vikings. The heat was unbearable, and it scorched the surrounding forest. The fire roared, releasing tons of thick black smoke. As Gobber began to lose consciousness, bleeding from the multiple cuts on his head, the cliff exploded, showering them with boulders of all shapes and sizes. The ground shook from the sheer violence of it all. The last thought Gobber had was:

What the hell just happened?

And then he passed out, unaware that another person was standing by a tree from a hill not too far from the explosion. He could see the angry tongues of flame licking at the cliff in pure fury. The roar was comparable to that of a lion. A smile crept across his face and he started to write down something on a piece of paper. His charcoal stick made a black imprint against the brown parchment. There was a scratching sound as the tip of the stick rubbed against the rough paper. When he was done, he rolled up the paper and took out a messenger pigeon from under his clothe. Tying it to the pigeon's leg, he said to it.

"Romam volare."

The bird consented and it spread its wings, fluttering into the air. It did not take long for the avian to disappear into the dark of the night. The fire continued to rage on for hours on end until the sun came up. The mysterious man had long since vanished when the Vikings came to find that the barrier had been incinerated, along with an entire section of the cliff.

On the piece of paper was:

Sed quantum.

It is here.

End of Chapter 5

Confused? Not sure where this is heading? Don't panic. A lot will be revealed in later chapters towards the end of the story. There will be a chapter deep in the middle of the story that will reveal more about this mysterious red... substance. Also, the mysterious man will prove to be consequential to the Romans because he is working for... shhh! This is classified Roman stuff. I can't reveal it!

Well, I hope that I did not screw up the latin translations.

Thank you all for putting up with this chapter and reading it! Reviews are sincerely appreciated!