Author's Note:
This idea was started thanks to Inspirational. I'm merely taking a whack at the idea that she gave me. If this seems to be popular enough, I might continue with it and make a whole story using it. If not, I'll just stick with random one-shots I suppose.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Just writing down ideas for all to see.

Blizzards. There is such thing as too much snow. Any ice thicker than a few feet was a royal pain to even the strongest axe thrower. Ice cycles as long as a man was tall were a common sight to be seen hanging from trees and roof shingles. It was also fairly common for them to fall down and puncture something or someone since their people were known to be so loud. Many a Viking has suffered a slice to the arm, shoulder, or back from these frozen spikes.

Most of them anyway...

One such Viking, easily one of, if not THE biggest of his people, was begrudgedly trudging around through the unrelenting downpour of snow. Stoick the Vast, who easily lived up to his name easily just by size alone, was weighed down by several layers of fur, wool, metal, and leather. When it wasn't falling from the sky, the white substance was soft, but when it was falling so fast and hard it was near impossible to see where one was going, snow loses its charm and becomes a serious nuisance.

Why was he wondering around in the snow? Judging by the steady stream of oaths flying out from his cracked lips, it was far from his idea. Why, for the love of Thor, WHY did the Elder need him now of all times! Trailing behind the burly man was a smaller, older woman; the Elder's assistant and caretaker. She trudged through the snow in his path, using the large man as a defense against the wind and the path he cut through the snow made traveling all the more easier for her.

If he didn't know Berk like the back of his hand, Stoick was sure he would have gotten lost by now. But, thankfully, he could have walked around the village blind and still get to wherever it was that he was needed. Good thing too. The snow was making it impossible for anyone to see more than two feet in front of them with the blanket of white and unrelenting wind. The ice clinging to the stone and concrete paths made the trip all the more impossible. Not a soul was out and about outside of the two of them.

…Lucky them…

It took far longer than usual, but the pair made it to the hut further away from the town than the bulk ot the huts. The reason for such a distance was to try and spar the Elder during the dragon raids of the past. It usually worked too. There were no livestock near the house, so there was no need for the dragons to even come close to the building. Once Stoick reached the door, he stepped aside and pushed it open with one arm, allowing the Elder's assistant to enter the house first before he followed suit, all but slamming the door behind him to shut out the cold.

There was a lively fire near the center of the main room, likely a common sight amongst all of the other occupied houses of Berk. The Elder's assistant immediately went to tending the fire, barely remembering to drop her outer furs caked in ice and snow before bringing a pot to hang over the fire. Stoick watched the mild interest, his attention going toward the small bundle huddled up near the fire.

The Elder was wrapped up in a thick bear skin. Clearly, in life, that grizzly had at least six and a half feet tall, making it taller than Stoick himself by a fair margin. It was a bit comical to see the Elder, barely as tall as the average youth's waist, wrapped up in such a large hide. Not that this was the reason for his visit or anything. The elderly woman looked toward the current Viking chief, placing the butt of her staff against the wood floor and easing herself up out of her stool. Her hand clutching the staff was covered by the arm of the bear skin, a thin leather strap around her wrist to hold the paw against the back of her withered and boney hands. The head of the once mighty beast was resting atop her head, the lower jaw removed so that the upper teeth hung down over his line of vision. It looked as if the grizzly was going to eat her in one bite and not the skinned hide of a fearsome bear.

Stoick instantly straightened his spine and pushed his shoulders back, ignoring the howl of the chilly winter wind against the door directly behind him. Ice hung from his furs, snow buried within his massive beard, and snot dribbled down from his red nose. The Elder gestured for him to come closer to the fire and join her and, without ever uttering a word, sat back down again to face the dancing flames once more. Stoick waited a moment before coming towards the flames, instantly relishing in the warmth but did nothing to show it. Vikings were supposed to be hard and unaffected by the things around them they disliked. He eased himself down onto his knees before the steady flames, watching them dance absentmindedly.

The pair sat in silence, the only sounds between them being the crackling of the fires and the assistant tending to the stew being cooked over the flames in an iron pot. Stoick was always an impatient fellow, but even he knew better than to cross the Elder. She wasn't a threat physically, but she was much wiser than him through years of experience and anything she said was listened to with rapt attention by anyone and everyone who called Berk home. Even some of the dragons had taken to listening to her when she spoke.

Ah... the dragons... Such a hardy bunch. Hard to believe that less than two months ago 300 years worth of fighting had been rendered pointless and useless by one odd-ball pair. But that is a story we all well and know. In fact, the pair in question was huddled up near a fire, one wrapped around the other to fight against the cold his frailer body stubbornly fought against. It had taken countless nights and far too many close calls to bother counting before Stoick had gotten used to seeing the black beast within his household. But he owed the dragon. The Night Fury had seen past the screw-ups and small stature of his son to see what really mattered underneath. Despite the mistreatment they had all placed upon the beast, it had still helped to save them and protect his rider. And for that, Stoick owed the beast more than he felt comfortable with.

But that was not the topic for discussion. At least, Stoick sincerely hoped the Elder didn't send her assistant out into the cold to fetch him to talk about his son and his ebony companion.

The silence was broken when the Elder's assistant offered Stoick a bowl of piping got stew. The man accepted the offering, but stopping himself from digging in when the Elder finally decided it was time to speak up.

"I fear for our future here, Stoick."

The sentence was barely an octave above a whisper and her voice was cracked from lack of use, causing Stoick to have to strain his ears to hear her speak. The Elder was one of very few who could get away with addressing him by his first name without some sort of title tacked onto it. The larger man didn't like what he heard in the least either. He placed his bowl down and turned himself fully to face the Elder to his right. He spoke not a word, encouraging her to continue with his facial expression alone.

The Elder wasn't even looking at him. She continued to eye the first, ignoring the bowl she held on her lap with one hand while the other continued to clutch her oaken staff. A minute passed in silence before the elderly woman chose to speak up again, ignoring the rapt attention with which Stoick was watching her with. She was used to being the center of attention when she spoke after all.

"The Gods have sent me a vision. A vision of a possible future for Berk."

Stoick could no longer keep quiet. If this threat was so big, he must know everything he can about it to make preparations to stopping it. "What have they sent to you, Elder?"

"Visions of beasts as black as the night sky with eyes as yellow and round as gems."

"Black beasts...?"

"Yes... They called them... the Heartless."

Stoick stared at the smaller, frailer woman as if she'd grown a second head. Heartless? What the devil was she speaking of? And apparently his question was easily written across his face, for the Elder slowly turned to look at him now and gave a small nod of her round head.

"Aye. The very same from the tales of old."

And that was when it hit Stoick. Little was known about the Heartless. In fact, less was known about them than what had previously been their limited knowledge about the Night Fury. At least they knew the Night Fury was a dragon and could easily kill a man. Heartless had never been proven to exist out of old wise-tales and a child's occasional nightmare. Hardly any proof there.

But that was just scratching the surface of the stories of old. A little known tale, rarely told in the last 125 years, was that of a weapon cast of an unknown metal and infused with magic the world had never seen before or since. A sword wielded by someone of unknown intent. Conflicting versions of the tale told very contrasting stories. One told of a hero who sought to bring peace to the world, while another said the weapon's bearer had far darker intentions and sought the destruction of all known life. The two tales contrasted in so many ways that it was unanimously decided to be a drunkard's tale and almost everything known about it was forgotten ages ago.

Stoick blinked out of his stupor and looked toward the Elder once again. She had long since returned to watching the flames and enjoying her stew, having known Stoick was lost his thoughts and respected that enough to ponder in silence.

"What does this mean?" Stoick finally spoke up, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even.

The Elder paused for a moment, clearly trying to think of an answer. "Tell me Stoick... Which version of the tale do you believe?"

He was a bit perplexed by the question, but his answer was honest none the less. "Neither. I've always believed it to be nothing more than a story."

"And what do you think now?"

Stoick knew better than to question the Elder. But he also didn't believe the story was any serious threat despite what the Elder said of a warning from the Gods. "I... I do not know..."

It takes a lot for a man to admit when he is at a loss for answers, especially when that man was a Viking. But after having 300 years worth of fighting add up to nothing when compared to son, Stoick was trying to be a more cautious in his decisions involving the unknown.

There was yet another part of the two tales that he did know about. Two parts that were never spoken about amongst the common folk for fear of someone taking the tales too seriously and going mad with worry and anticipation. One part of the unspoken tale was that wherever the bearer of the Keyblade, the fabled sword, was located, the monsters of the dark would not be far behind. That if the sword should ever show up in the hands of a Viking, then it would be best to get rid of the person for the sake of the village and all its inhabitants. And the other part of the hidden story was that whoever wields the sword should never be underestimated, for they will have powers beyond the Viking imagination. Neither detail was to Stoick's liking in the least.

"What do you think, Elder?"

"I believe the sword will show up here very soon."

Stoick nearly froze at the news. He was afraid of that. The Elder might even know about the tales than he himself did. If the sword did show up within Berk, what were they to do to counter the situation and stop the appearance of the black beasts of night? Having no answer for his own question, Stoick forced himself to speak out and hope for an answer from the Elder.

"Elder, what do you propose we do?"

"When the sword appears, I'm afraid we'll have to get rid of it. That should stop the beasts from appearing."

It made sense, but how were they to know who wielded the blade? Would it just appear out of the sky one day or did somebody in Berk already have it? And, if somebody did have it, would he be able to tell? What if it was just a child? Could he bring himself to send a child out to sea on its own in order to save the rest of the village? By Thor, what if he had the sword and didn't even know it!

"Fear not, Stoick the Vast. For the blade is not within our ranks as of yet."

"How can you be so sure, Elder?"

"The Gods have told me so."

Well, there was no point in trying to argue against the Gods now was there? Stoick gave a small nod of his head before looking away to the fires, which had been holding the Elder's attention for quite some time. Something about it seemed off to him though. The larger man leaned forward, close enough that a tip of his beard caught fire for a brief moment on accident before it went out on its own.

It was then he finally heard the first tiny gurgling yawn. Stoick blinked several times, looking between what he was seeing and the Elder and back before trying to wrap his mind around what was lying before him. With a faint hiss, something within the middle of the fire came to life and stretched out. The creature crawled out of reach of the flames, coming to curl itself around the Elder's feet quietly. The tiny, scarlet beast was that of a baby Monstrous Nightmare. Stoick had never seen one so young before; it was barely the size of a fully grown Terrible Terror. To see one so young and so at home was astounding.

The Elder let out a wry chuckle before reaching down and gently massaging the beast between its growing head horns. "Strange little thing. I keep trying to make it leave yet it always comes back the next day." The assistant rose to offer her help when the Nightmare rose up and place its head on the Elder's lap, but the Elder quickly waved her off. "It's all right dear. These old bones could use a good heated massage," she said quietly while she continued to let her fingers dance across the scales, causing the young dragon to purr with content.

The room remained in silence for several minutes. The only sounds being heard were the pleased grumbles of the Nightmare, the crackling of the fire, and the sound of wooden spoons against stone bowls. Never a patient man, Stoick eventually opted to get himself up off of the floor, having already finished the stew he'd been given. When the man began to move, the Nightmare ceased its sounds, as if it had just noticed the man's presence. The dragon gave several rapid clicks before retreating back into the fire.

"Thank you, Elder. I shall see to it that this threat does not come to pass." Stoick spoke in his usual tone of authority before adjusting his furs on his shoulders to prepare for the long walk home.

The Elder gave a slight nod of her head. "I wanted to wait until this storm passed to tell you to, but I felt that if I gave you more warning you would be better prepared."

Stoick said nothing at first as he brushed his hand through his beard absentmindedly. "You are to kind, Elder. This weather is but a spring breeze to me."

Of course he was joking around, but Vikings must be tough no matter what nature through at them. This stubborn view was probably the leading reason they hadn't moved in 300 years despite the crazy winters and abnormally short spring and summer. At least, Stoick was told it was abnormal by the other tribes they traded with. He'd grown up on the isle of Berk, just like his father, and his father, and so on and so forth.

Stoick was preparing himself for his departure when the Elder spoke up suddenly. "A quick warning before you depart, Stoick." Hearing this, the larger man became stock still and listened with rapt attention. "The error of youth is to believe that intelligence is a substitute for experience, while the error of age is to believe experience is a substitute for intelligence." Having said this, the Elder took a bite out of her stew and returned to her usual silence.

Not knowing just what the Elder meant and knowing he wasn't going to get an explanation no matter how much he pestered the frail woman for one, Stoick gave a curt nod of his head before turning to face the door. Stealing a quick breath and reveling in the heat a second longer, he pulled the thick oaken door open and quickly stepped outside, nearly slamming it shut behind him to prevent the heat was escaping and being snuffed out by the icy wind.

The snow was still falling in heavy torrents, but it seemed to have a lightened a fair bit. Great news since that also lowered the chances of hail falling. Stoick stiffened his shoulders and started the trip back home, ignoring the nail biting cold and the lack of vision as best as he could. Stoick was barely a fourth of the way home and the blanket of snow coming down acted as a sound barrier, making it impossible for anyone to hear anything that didn't come from their own mouths. Which made it pretty fair to say he missed out on the cry from the town's only Night Fury, which during clear weather would have pierced through the entire village and then some.

It wasn't even noon yet and Stoick had no clue that his day was just getting started.

Quick Note:
The warning from the Elder is a quote I found. I have no idea where the quote is from though since its source was not listed.