My throat is still raw from the screaming I unleashed at the men in the alley, and I can't stop shaking. I don't know what's happened to me, and I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. No one seems inclined to talk either, or maybe they all realized I'm not going to answer.

We walk side by side through the Plaza while a breeze plucks at whatever leaves remain on branches and tangles my hair, and the shadow of the day slowly stretches east. Slowly our numbers dwindle as everyone heads home.

When we reach home, I leave Dad and Gobber standing in the living area while I lock myself in the bathroom, draw myself a bath, and strip out of my garments. I slide into the bath and sink beneath its skin. It's quiet, the outside noise muffled and distorted by the water around me. I pretend I'm in a cocoon, asleep, the world passing me by, and when I wake, all of this will have been a bad dream.

The water's cooling when I finally decide to shampoo my hair and attack my skin with soap. I scrub until it hurts and I'm glowing pink. But I'm still convinced the crimson stains me deep within where no soap will ever reach.

The memory of Mulch, holding my hand with icy fingers while life spilled from his chest, is more than I can bear.

I comb through my water-heavy hair and it sticks to my scalp in damp strands. Pulling on a simple shirt and old pants, I open the door just in time to see Dad chuck a chair across the room. Landing inches from my feet. Then slams his fist onto the kitchen table and swears viciously.

I cross my arms over my chest and move to curl up by the fire pit. Closest to the staircase in case I want to sprint to my room. He meets my gaze with misery and fury in his eyes.

"Ah, hello son." He starts, and then awkwardly clears his throat. "Do you need anything?" he asks, and I know he's asking about more than food and water.

I shake my head, but Gobber stands and brings me a cup of water and a plate of goat cheese, dried apple slices, and a hunk of oat bread as if I never responded. I take a bite of apple to please them, but I can't taste it.

He kneels himself next to me, closer to me then the other end, but still keeping a careful distance between us. He's moving slowly as if he's afraid he'll spook me at any moment.

I want to tell him about Mulch. I want to open my mouth, let it all come gushing out, and find solace in weeping. But the words I need to rip Dad's world to pieces won't come. Instead, I take a tiny bite of cheese and concentrate on chewing. Out of my peripherals, I see Dad glance over at Gobber, then take a deep breath.

"I want to talk to you son. It's okay if you don't want to respond, but I need to know you're listening." He says quietly, and waits.

I swallow the cheese, take a sip of water, and set it all on the stone bordering of the fire pit. I owe him this.

I owe it to Mulch too.

The thought draws blood, and my eyes slowly fill with tears. I'm tired. So tired. I ache, inside and out, and nothing seems simple anymore. Nothing seems right.

"Alvin said something to you, did something to you," he says, waving his hand toward my old clothes. His voice is hard. "You don't need to worry, Hiccup. We're going to go to Alvin. We're going to destroy his army, then we'll bring him back here, and you can give him the justice you want him to have. He'll never get a chance to touch you again."

His expression is haunted, and I know he blames himself for today. I don't know how to comfort him when nothing soft and conciliatory lives inside me anymore.

Something catches my eye, and I turn to see my Dragon Conqueror suit handing on the back of a chair. Dad follows my gaze. I stand up and walk over to it, approaching it from the side, as if it'll attack me. I run the fabric through my thumb and index finger. I see Gobber's fingers curl into a fist.

Beneath my grief, uncushioned by my shock, a hard kernel of anger takes root and burrows in. I failed Mulch today, yes. But I don't have to fail him again. A debt is owed for his life, and I intend to pay it.

I glance around the cottage and find my knife, cleaned and polished, lying on the kitchen table, inches from my Dragon Conqueror suit. I want to hold the weapon, to feel like I have some way to keep the promises I've made to myself, but I don't know how Dad feels about giving it to me.

Or anyone for that matter.

"You can't attack everyone who pulls a weapon," Dad says when he sees me gazing at my knife.

He's wrong. If you don't attack first, you lose everything.

Everything.

"You scared me today," he says softly, and I look away from the knife. "They'd already demanded our money. The swords wee just to intimidate us into giving them a way to buy their next drink. It was a situation you could've talked your way out of with your eyes shut. Instead, you tried to kill them."

I can't look away from the worry on his face, even though I want to tell him I've learned my lesson. The lesson he tried to teach me when he made me promise to strike down Alvin if he ever threatened me. It's branded deep into the fibers of my being now, and I don't plan to act like it isn't.

"How can I trust you to carry your weapons if you don't know who deserves a death sentence and who doesn't?" he asks, and slides next to me in the next chair over. When I look back to the suit, he stands up and wraps his arms around me in a hug, pulling me into his chest. "Hiccup. I should've been with you today. I'm so sorry."

It's not his fault.

I should've killed Alvin. I should've entered the wagon and attacked without hesitation.

I should've kept my promise to Dad. If I had, Mulch would still be alive.

A small whimper escapes me, and tears spill down my cheeks. I try to tell him. To make the words come, but sobs choke me instead. My fingers are icy, trembling as Dad guides me to my bedroom. He tucks me in and leaves as Toothless nestles down next to me.

I stare out of my skylight, watching the sky darken as tiny stars tear holes in its velvet surface until I cry myself to sleep.

The next morning, I sneak downstairs and ruffle through the pocket of my Dragon Conqueror suit until I find the arrowhead that was given to me by the Outcasts who aided me when I was invading the tower.

I roll it through my fingers. Playing the words he said to me. About shooting straight and that this'll take him down. I still haven't figured it out yet. And as much as I want to, I just can't. I don't know why.

A voice from behind startles me, "Nice to see your awake."

I turn and find Dad, who looks like he just got up considering he's smoothing down his hair. I nod, not knowing what else to do.

"I've been thinking. About yesterday."

Mulch. I have to tell him. Now.

I struggle to talk, but Dad silences me with his "Stop" hand that I've seen him use in meetings to quiet people before he talks. "Please. Just listen for a minute."

I stop struggling, but tension coils within me.

"I don't know what happened. But I need to tell you, to convince you, that if he . . . if there was anything . . . if he hurt you in the way a man can hurt a child, it wouldn't change how I see you. He can't break us, Hiccup, unless we let him.

I lower my head and go back to rolling the arrowhead between my fingers. "I also want to make a promise to you. Will you look at me?"

I lift my head and stare into his eyes. He raises his hand and strokes the side of my face. His touch is far gentler than his words.

"I'm going to make Alvin pay for what he did, Hiccup. I swear it. And if he dares lay hands on you today, I won't stop until he's dead."

This kind of response will ruin everything. All Alvin needs is one tiny excuse to take my Dad and friends away from me forever. And I'm about to tell him something that will make his anger so much worse. Suddenly I realize this is what Alvin's banking on. Dad will try to protect me from Alvin, and I'll blindside him with Alvin's plan. The only one who benefits is Alvin.

Unless Dad knows.

The shadows of grief and loss can't obscure the startling clarity of this thought. I feel like I've emerged from a long slumber, awake and ready to act.

I'd be a fool to take Alvin at his word. I have to protect my Dad, and everyone else I love, and the only way to do that is to trust him the way I promised him I would.

"Now listen, I need to head to the Great Hall to discuss the next maneuver for the war. Would you like to join us?"

I think about it, and I realize I'd be better if I talked about it in front of everyone, so they know why I acted out, and why I haven't been myself. I nod and follow dad to the Great Hall.

The walk through the Plaza was gut-wrenching since everyone stared at me. No doubt the news of what happened yesterday spread like wildfire. We walk up and two men open the giant double-doors. We walk in to find Skullette, Astrid, Gobber, Fishlegs and everyone gathered together.

Eyes go to me, shocked, alarmed and on edge as I follow Dad to the head of the table. He goes through some war plans and strategies were bounced around the crowd. During that time, Skullette walk up next to me and takes my hand.

Suddenly I feel so much more grounded than I did when I first came here. To know that she still loves me, and cares for me, even after everything that's happened and how I've been treating her, just wants to move me to tears. I pull her close and she naturally hugs me and lays her head on my chest.

Dad purposely avoided bringing up anything that had to do with me, though I bet it's the one thing everyone wants to discuss. Once he starts to discuss about the city and how they plan to invade, I snap back into the conversation. Now's my chance.

My voice is still horse from the screaming I did yesterday as I look dad in the eyes and say, "Alvin has a plan, dad."

He looks to me with mixed emotions on his face since these are the first words I've spoken since . . .

Skullette lifts her head in relief and happiness as joy overtakes her face at the sound of my voice. Everyone's faces register happiness to hear me speak.

I force myself to continue. "He told me when he-"

My throat closes as the memories hit. Being inside the wagon. Mulch. Crimson everywhere.

Dad reaches up and places his hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me, Hiccup. You can take this one piece at a time. We're in no hurry. Tell me about what happened. We'll start from there."

"He wants me to claim a surrender to him, today."

"What for?" Dad asks. And I can almost see the gears in his mind working.

Everyone's faces show surprise.

"He wants me to claim a surrender, so that when we go, to the city, he can claim me as an Outcast."

"So that he can have you as part of his army. . ." Dad starts.

"And he'll have me and my knowledge of dragons." I finish. "He said . . ." Greif surges through my chest, burning a path to my throat.

"Tell me."

"He's going to kill you." Suddenly the words are there, rambling over themselves in a rush to be heard. "He said I'm loyal to a fault, and I'll do anything to avoid having him kill someone I love."

The wagon bed. The cloth-covered lump. Crimson everywhere.

I can't breathe as the blood-soaked image of Mulch burns itself into my brain and stays. Pushing away from Dad, I rush to the double-doors, wrench it open, race across the stone steps and fall onto the grass, retching.

He's behind me in seconds, rubbing his hand on my back. Then people gather around me as I vomit.

When my stomach is empty, he helps me sit on the bottom stone steps, while Gobber goes into his house and returns with a glass of cold water and a sprig of mint.

I chew on the mint and sip the water in grateful silence, but it's a brief reprieve. He needs the rest of the story, and I have to find a way to give it to him. The sight of Bucket twists my stomach to the point where I have to hold my middle to dull the pain. I would've resorted to rocking, but that would've discouraged them into thinking they're not going to get much more out of me.

Then I'll never be able to tell them. So I need to tell them now while I still have the strength.

Skullette sits beside me, her shoulder touching mine, and says quietly, "Did he claim to have your father killed?"

I shake my head and set the glass down before my hands drop it on their own. "He took me. In a wagon. There was a cloth-covered lump. And he said we were scheming against him behind his back." My voice rises as I rush to get through it all. "I thought it was you. I thought he'd taken you." I gesture to Skullette. I thought he'd taken you, and I prayed it would be a stranger. Another guard like the one in the tower. But it wasn't."

My voice trembles. "He stabbed the person beneath the cloth, and there was blood everywhere, and I tried to reach him, but I couldn't." I reach a hand out for Skullette, for absolution or for comfort, I don't know. "I couldn't save him. I thought he was safe, waiting for me back at the camp, and I didn't save him. I'm so sorry!"

My voice breaks, and I drop my hand as terrible awareness comes to Bucket's eyes. "Mulch?" he asks in a voice that begs me to lie. To make the truth something he can still fix.

I don't do anything as I begin to sob again. When I calm for a few seconds, dad asks, "Son?"

I nod.

Everyone stares at me, eyes glassy with shock, then dad jumps to his feet and strides across the Plaza. When he reaches a sparring area, he takes a vicious swing and sends Bob flying along his wire. Minutes pass as Dad pounds his fists into Bob as if by obliterating the dummy, he can obliterate the truth.

Some eyes turn to Bucket to see his reaction, but from the looks of it, the news hasn't settles in. Either that or he's in denial. Gobber secretly talks with some other Vikings to assign a new guardian for Bucket. But all he does is walk away, wide-eyed.

He doesn't get far, though. As dad finally drops his arms, they both fall to their knees on the grass. I go to Bucket and lay a hand on his shoulder. My father's condition is concerning, but the fact that I know that he was more concerned with me than Mulch, urges me to comfort Bucket first. Turning to me, he wraps his arms around me and drags me against him.

I hold him and vow I will make Alvin hurt for what he's done to us. When Bucket's finally lifts his face to me, I can see he feels the same. His eyes are haunted, his expression hard.

"I'm sorry." My voice is small against the weight of our loss, but it's all I have to give.

Dad slowly approaches us as I help Bucket to his feet. "I can't believe he's gone." His voice chokes on the last word and he scrubs his hands over his face.

"Where is he?" Bucket asks so innocently it stabs my throat.

"I don't know."

"They took him away in the wagon?" Dad asks.

"Guards came in and took him." I can't look at them. I can't bear to see the shadows in their eyes. "They just . . . dragged him away."

"I want to see him. I want to . . ."

Say good-bye. Say the things he now wishes he'd said the last time he saw Mulch. I don't know if it would make it any easier, but I know he, they, need it. I do too, but we aren't going to get it. We aren't going to get another word to say on the matter that doesn't involve the sharp end of a sword.

"He should have a proper burial." Bucket says. I look down and almost flinch at what I see.

I no longer see a Viking. No longer a warrior. All I see are the desperate eyes of a young man, who'd just lost his father, and now wants nothing but this simple act of kindness. And he can't even have that.

"Yeah, but he isn't going to get it." The rods, taste worse than they sound. Bucket lowers his head, eyes squint, on the verge of crying. I rush to get the words out. "He isn't going to get it, but he can have justice. If we work together."

I palce a hand on Bucket's shoulder again, and he looks to me in the eyes. I can just see the tiniest glimmer of hope ignite in his eyes. I make sure Dad meet my eyes and say, "You can't claim a surrender, or Alvin will turn it against us and separate us."

"But how do you suppose we can use his plan against him?" Gobber asks.

"I'm not sure if we can." I admit.

I think back to the original plan of coming to Outcasts Island. My plans to join the army. I joined to help protect the people I care about. If Alvin were to toy with them, he'd have to face me first.

As for coming to the Island; I came to help Dad and the others take over the Island one tower by one. Then once we captured the city, if we did, we were going to drag Alvin back to Berk so that I can kill him. In the arena. In front of the entire village.

Now, he wants me to claim a surrender so that he can brand me as an Outcast, and therefore have my knowledge of dragons.

I try to incorporate both plans to my benefit.

I could go to Alvin and claim surrender, then when he's not expecting it, I'll assassinate him on the spot. Down-side: He won't be taken back to Berk, and there's the possibility my opportunity will come later when we're all in dungeons, or even killed. And the guards could also stop me in time, and Alvin will end up killing me instead.

Astrid's tried to pull a surprise attack before, and it epically failed, but it wasn't a bad effort on her part.

We could storm the city, secretly, since they'll probably be expecting me to surrender. Then lay siege to the entire village. I don't think Alvin could have an escape route or secret bunker. And with the dragons, things will be made easier.

We could also try and set up a trap. I would lead Alvin out of the city, after trying to attack him if we went with surrendering. Without their leader, the Outcasts won't know what to do. But Alvin's too smart for that. And yet, something about the plan seems like it could work, but why?

I don't know, but we might even have to mush them together.

I look to dad and the others, their eyes look fierce. "Come on." I say.

I lead everyone back to the Great Hall, where everyone sits in around the fire pit as I explain my plan. "We're going to go to the Outcast City and pretend to surrender. From there, the dragons will fly overhead, distracting Alvin and the others. I'll try my best to take him down as we invade the city. But the really important thing is those buckets of Monstrous nightmare saliva. Gobber?"

"The last shipment went out about a week ago. So they all should be there and ready for use, thanks to our undercover Outcast members." He clarifies.

"Good."

"Wait, you said you'll try, to keep Alvin busy." Astrid interjects. "What does that mean?"

"Astrid, I know I can't stand against Alvin unless he's chained and/or tied. I mean, you've tried and he caught you. I can't make promises I can't keep." I say.

"Now the barrel's will have to be spread out in these specific places for the entire city to catch." I say as I gesture to spots on the map "From there, either Alvin will come after you, or me. Either one he chooses will lead him to the Cliffside, where we'll have an ambush team attack and tie him down. Just like you and Gobber did that day they invaded." I motion to Dad.

"But what happens if you get caught?" Chief Boggs asks.

I look down for a minute. What will happen? Will everyone I know die? Will I die? If I do, I'll die a hero.

"I'll keep fighting Alvin until my last breath." I say to him hardly. Then I turn to the crowd, making sure to eye Skullette, Dad and Astrid. "If something, goes wrong, you are all to flee the city and retreat back to Berk."

"Hiccup . . ." Astrid's about to argue, but I stop her with my hand raised in the air, as to say, 'Let me finish.'

"Listen to me; I joined the Viking army so that I could protect the people I care about. If you just come and attack Alvin if he has me, it'll be all for not. I want to die knowing I saved the people I love. That is a victory for me. And if I die, you can't let my sacrifice go in vain. You have to avenge me, like I'm going to avenge Hunter and Mulch, and all of our other fallen men."

I can feel the energy rising in the room. A small clap begins at the back of the crowd, and then slowly makes his way up to the front. Soon men are cheering and pounding their chests.

Dad adjourns the meeting and as we're walking, he places a hand on my shoulder, "Son, I, I'm so sorry you had to see Mulch die."

"No, I'm sorry. If I'd just killed Alvin like you said-"

"This wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it is. Dad, people are dying because of me. Dying to protect me. And I joined so that I could prevent that from happening." I argue.

"No, no, no, son. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't mine. It was Alvin's. And one day, I'll make him pay for it in full."

"No, one day we'll make him pay for it in full." I say.

"Yes," he says, holding my shoulder. "We will. Starting today."