A/N: Well, I'm back with another chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: How to Train Your Dragon belongs to Dreamworks, and Cressida Cowell.

The reaction of Berklander scouting party was understandable: shock. Before them stood what was once a pristine and bubbling fishing village, occupied by members of the Peaceable Tribe. Hiccup and his party stood in wonder as the scene unfolded before them.

The villagers were putting up stiff resistance to the Roman raiding party, but for every corpse in Roman armour, there were two in the distinctive woven garb of the Viking Tribe. It was clear that without intervention, the village would be lost.

Motioning his friends towards him, a hushed discussion began. However, before Hiccup could even start the impromptu war council;

'I say we charge down the hill and kill all the romans' interjected Snotlout 'with our faces.'

The rest of the group sighed. 'Look,' began Hiccup 'if we just charge them, we'll all be dead before you can say "do they look like Roman archers to you?".' The group nodded.

'Then what do we do?' enquired Fishlegs. 'They outnumber the villagers, and have an equipment bonus of +15. Even with a proper Viking war party, we only have a … he paused, brow contorted in silent calculation. '60% chance of victory.'

Hiccup nodded. 'We need a Dastardly Clever Plan.'

Astrid gave him a look brimming with excitement. 'Something crazy?'

Hiccup smiled back. 'Something crazy.'

On a particularly large and wonderfully ornate Roman vessel, a man in golden armour was watching the conflict with glee. The raid was going better than expected. The Barbarians' had abandoned the regimented defence which had cost so many of his men's' lives, and the fighting was now house to house.

'What I wouldn't give to be on the front lines!' grumbled the Centurion. 'Pillaging, burning and looting the village. And its occupants.' A dangerous gleam came into his brown eyes and his cruel mouth twisted into a snarl as he recalled dozens of raids like this one, only with him wading into the sea of blood and bodies.

However, his ruminations were cut short by the arrival of one of his junior officers. 'Greetings and Salutations to Julius Tyrantius, esteemed leader of …' the messenger, still only a boy, fell silent at the ferocious gaze of his commanding officer.

'What do you want, boy?' The inflection on the last word making it sound like a horrible insult.

'I w-w-wish to r-report t-t-t' he stopped mid stutter, gazing wide eyed over the Centurion's armoured shoulder. Tyrantius followed his gaze, and gasped in horror as a group of Vikings jumped onto the boat and, with a loud cry, laid into his crew with their weapons.

To his left, two blond youths were working in perfect tandem to take down sailors, beating them over the head with the blunt end of their spears.

To the right, a mountain of a Viking with madness in his eyes was bringing an equally massive war hammer down on a legionnaire's head, the soldiers surrounding the immense Berserker slowly backing away.

On the bow, a smaller, but still impressively built youth was spinning a dirk with shocking speed and dexterity, looking expectantly at a lithe blonde female, who was shaking her head in what appeared to be exasperation. The centurion, astounded at this blatant lack of battlefield awareness, was even more shocked to see the reason for their apathy: the entire bow was covered in the prostrate forms of soldiers, all unconscious.

Stunned that his men could be bested so quickly and easily, Tyrantius ran for the stern, and the warning bell mounted there, only to have the mountainous warrior grab him by the helmet plume and lift him into the air.

Fishlegs regarded him indifferently. 'Uhhh, what do I do now?'

This sparked a whirlwind of voices

'Throw him here, 'legs! I'll show him what happens when people mess with the World's most deadly weapon.' This from one of the blonde spearmen.

'Aww, thanks bro, I didn't know you thought I was that good!' Julius was amazed to hear that the other spearman was, in fact, a spearwoman.

'I meant me, troll face.'

'Did not!'

'Did too!'

A brawl erupted between the two blonde twins.

'I'll beat him up!' shouted the brunet standing on the bow, lazily spinning his dirk. 'Do you want to watch how a real man beats up his captive?' This was directed to the blonde axewoman leaning on her weapon. 'I think we should ask the boss.' She replied.

Astrid turned, and leaned over the side of the boat. 'Hiccup? It's okay to come up now.'

The captured centurion, still struggling in the Fishlegs' powerful grasp, saw brown auburn hair appear over the side of the boat, cautiously followed my emotive green eyes. As Hiccup struggled over the bulwark, Tyrantius ceased his ineffectual squirming, to gaze at the gangly leader of this band of Vikings. How could such an unimpressive specimen be the leader? With a false leg, no less!

Tyrantius' wonder increased tenfold as he noticed the awkward way the boy held his sword, and his obvious discomfort towards the abundance of weapons scattered on the deck. Such a weakling could only command if he was the son of an important member of his tribe. Perhaps even the son of the chief! A plan started to hatch in the back of his mind, as the weak looking Viking took a deep breath, and addressed him in perfect Latin, much to Tyrantius' surprise.

'I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, the Hope and Heir to the Tribe of the Hairy Hooligans, Son of Stoick the Vast, O Hear His Name and Tremble, Ugh, Ugh.' This horribly long and convoluted sentence seemed to inflate the boy somewhat. 'and I demand that you cease all hostilities on this Village at once.'

'aha!' thought Julius, 'I was right! The heir to the tribe no less.' He composed himself, and replied to the boy in Norse: 'and if I don't? What are you going to do then, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third?'

The boy smiled, switching back to Norse. 'ah, but the question is, what is the man restraining you going to do?'

All attention was on the two leaders. All Tyrantius had to do was to keep it there. Feigning defeat, he once again addressed the child before him in Norse, 'I will tell my men to stop the attack on one condition.' He paused, and the band of Vikings waited on expectantly. Looking around, the centurion nodded, and continued. 'Try again when you're older.'

Tyrantius twisted savagely to escape Fishlegs' grasp, before ramming his shoulder into the blonde berserker's chest, knocking him over the side of the boat and into the water. Shocked that Fishlegs had been overcome so easily, Hiccup made to attack the man with his sword, but was easily disarmed and restrained by the more experienced Centurion. Holding his dagger to the neck of the small Viking heir, Julius Tyrantius watched as the remaining Viking teens approached him menacingly. Particularly fearsome was the blond axewoman, whose visage was twisted into a cacophony of emotions.

Astrid was furious.

Grasping her axe, the axe Hiccup had made for her, she stalked towards the Centurion, only to have him shake his head and press the blade harder against Hiccup's throat. This froze Astrid in her tracks. Hearing the frantic shouts of her compatriots as they fought to push back a new wave of Roman soldiers, soldiers attracted by the sound of Fishlegs hitting the water, Astrid caught Hiccup's eyes. The look that passed between them said more than words ever could.

'Go.' Mouthed Hiccup. And Astrid did.

Diving into the ocean, the remaining members of the Berklander scouting party swum away from the ship towards the dock. Surfacing under its protective bulk, they moved swiftly and silently towards the shore, before sprinting the final distance into the dark of the forest. Astrid could only watch in hopeless despair as the Roman fleet, led by the trireme of Julius Tyrantius, sailed towards the horizon.

A/N: The plot thickens :-) Tell me what you think! Also, calling all Beta readers! I could really use someone to Beta my work, in order to avoid any more mistakes

Regards,
Beaver Wakeboard