V for Viking

AN: Yeah, it has been longer than I would like. For some reason, I lack the motivation to do much of anything during the summer. Something about the lazy atmosphere keeps me from getting things done. I honestly get more time to write during a busy schoolyear where I monopolize my time and have a sense of urgency and importance about me. Meh. Here it is.

Chapter 10

Normally, I don't mind having company during lunch. I'll invite my trusted friends, or sometimes my best fighters, maybe the best thinkers, or occasionally call up some low-level scouts or foot soldiers just for some relaxing facetime. Running a small army is easiest when it feels like everyone knows you, and it is much easier when you know everyone. You can diagnose problems faster and identify leaders much more quickly that way.

Today, despite Hiccup switching my statements last night, despite the utter confusion that was this morning, despite the further-complicated political and actual battlefields, today I am eating lunch alone in my quarters. I need to think.

Or maybe I need to stop thinking. At any given time earlier I was dealing with ten simultaneous problems, and that was when I was lucky. Once word had been received that Spitelout and Stoick had a small skirmish in a pivotal chokepoint and that both sides had begun setting up encampments there, things got worse. Now, it seems likely that they will initiate a massive winner-take-all battle there; both Stoick has grown impatient and knows he cannot hold out forever, and Spitelout knows he can exploit this.

There are any number of things I should be doing while I eat: I need to formulate a plan for intervening in the battle, I need to review scout reports that have begun piling since that first report earlier, I need to think of a way to save face after my 'announcement,' but no matter what I do I can't help but think back to last night.

Hiccup. I am so utterly confused on what to do. I saw it in his eyes last night. I saw the proof that I needed: I saw the pain and guilt and sadness and timidity and innocence that are so wholly Hiccup. They never went away. He's still in there and it hurts to think what that part of Hiccup—the old Hiccup—would say if he were now. But the other part—the new Hiccup—is so enraged I'm not sure what I can even do. I want to give him a chance. I want to believe that there is something I can do, some right combination of words and circumstance, that can snap him out of his stupor and bring back the old Hiccup.

I want so very badly to believe that I can save him. I just don't.

I can't believe that I can save him. I can't truly trust that he will return to me—to us. All he told me last night had to be true because of the pain it caused him. His pain was genuine and heartbreaking to watch unfold, but it's his reaction to that pain. He must have spent years closed off to the world, and after he had been coaxed back into loving and trusting others, they were taken from him brutally. I can understand how that changes someone and I just don't think I can see it being reversed.

Maybe. Maybe if he hadn't brought me out to the cliff so he could get to my written statement. Maybe if our heart to heart wasn't a cover for a dirty trick that would ensure more violence. Maybe if whatever feelings he stirred last night weren't caused by Hiccup's plan to murder Berk. Maybe then I could have been able to believe it possible. Maybe I would truly trust that I could save him and reopen him to the world.

Even if I did, then I would have to make sure he died before I did, or I would start the cycle all over again.

I looked down and noticed my food was gone and realized I had spent enough time daydreaming. There's a war going on outside these walls and I'm the only one trying to save us. I spend time pining over what-ifs.

Once I rejoined the world, I ordered Fishlegs to come with me. I decided to head a small raiding exposition based on two reports confirming that Spitelout was storing small amounts of supplies behind their encampments for quick restocks. These caches are out of sight for any of Stoick's spies, but being this far out of town means my spies have access to far more routes and thus can get me more information.

As I walk about the makeshift barracks, mainly consisting of tents on the far side of the compound (away from the village), I feel the weight of eyes upon me. I know that all of them are watching me while thinking of my statement. If they are still here, then they are basically pledging their allegiance to me over Stoick or Spitelout. And I have nearly a third of the village, maybe close to a fourth. All of these people chose me, and this isn't lost on me.

"Alright, listen up! Fish and I are leading a small raiding squad, twenty Vikings maximum! We're looking for speed, then power, then stealth. All captains, I want your recommendations!" Our forces were split into Groups of around ten with a Captain in charge of that Group. Captains reported to one of my ten Generals who report to me. Spies are different in that they all report to Fishlegs who shares that information with a few men he handpicked to help him, and they present their findings and recommendations to me.

Within minutes, we had assembled a fine-looking raiding party with everything I needed: we were all fast, those who weren't were strong enough to carry more things than the others, or you were a mix of the two and very sneaky.

We approached the village without incident. Fishlegs had one of the spies whose report had led us to these caches lead our squad, and we were able to sneak behind Spitelout's defenses quiet easily. The front line and encampments were about fifty yards away, and we slowly made our way towards them. As we got near, we noticed that most of the men were asleep in tents, and some lookouts were placed on roofs to watch over Stoick's movements. If we were quiet (and lucky) we could get close enough, grab whatever we could, and hall ass before they would notice us and raise a cry.

Once we were within ten yards there were no more hiding spots between halls, so we prepared ourselves. All roles had been assigned beforehand, and we went over hand signals as we sat silently. Once we were pleased that everything was ready, the men moved forward. Fishlegs had nominated our scout as this squad's commander and so far she was doing a flawless job.

The first men got to the boxes but froze as someone began walking their way, and signaled for the others to do the same. The crates were tall enough that they couldn't been seen over, but if the person walked past the edge and glanced down the alley he would have seen twenty grown-ass Vikings sneaking around and using hand signals to steal his stuff.

My eyes were glued to the edge of that box, mentally preparing for what would happen if someone came around it. Leaning against the side of the box and waiting was Torchwax; personally, I wasn't a fan of the guy. He is both one of our fastest and strongest, and is stealthy to boot, but is also full of himself and was not thrilled to not have been chosen as captain.

Surely enough, I saw someone walk past the box and keep going, their head turned away from the alley and their body turning to go away from us anyways. I thought we were about to get extremely lucky when he stopped and turned around, and my heart sank to my stomach. Without hesitating, Torchwax reached up and slit the man's throat and yanked his body back behind the crate, effectively saving our operation and ending the guard's life. From there, the men wasted no time taking what they could and scampering off like planned, and I was left dumbfounded before I remembered that I, too, should flee.

With every step I took towards our camp, I got a little madder. Anger brewed inside of me until I made it back to camp, and every second I waited as we counted heads and assessed our booty just made it worse. The crowd cheered when our commander announced that the mission was a flawless success.

I calmed the crowd down. Once I had their attention, I made my play.

"I would like everyone involved in the mission to line up; no particular order." I called out. They complied, slightly puzzled but said nothing. Even Fishlegs lined up, seeing as though he stuck with me and did not do much, he was still there. "It's true that our commander led a flawless mission; there is not a thing wrong she did, and everyone here needs to go out of their way to congratulate her on a job well done. However, the mission itself was not flawless!"

I walked down the line slowly, counting the number of steps before I made it to my target.

"What was this mission's purpose in the grand scheme of our battle? I am here to reunite Berk under one banner, and this mission served to strength ourselves and weaken our rival. However, want I do not want, and what happened…" I trailed off, only two steps from Torchwax. Once I reached him, I abruptly stopped and let loose a fierce punch to the gut that doubled him over and knocked his breath away. "…was the murder of an enemy. Torchwax here decided that a man no longer deserved to live. As an enemy nearly spotted us, he chose to slit his throat rather than knock the man out. That is NOT what we are here for!"

I weighed my options. I'm pissed and am going to make this fucker remember this, but killing him would contradict my message, and injuring him would make me one man weaker in the long run.

"We are here to save Berk, not destroy it! We're waging war against our own brothers and sisters! There is no reason to kill anyone unless your own life depends on it! One day soon, we will all wake up and go about our lives as normal and will have put this 'war' behind us. When that day comes, do you want to look over at a widow and her children and remember how you killed their husband and father over something so trivial? If you're still here with me, then you don't believe in Stoick or Spitelout; you believe that they are taking things too far and that neither are fit to lead. You're here because you believe, as I do, that the Hairy Hooligans shouldn't be killing one another. So as long as we still draw breathe, we DO. NOT. KILL. UNLESS. FORCED!" I yelled the last part, the clasp my hands together and spun, swinging my connected hands like a fist until I smacked Torchwax upside the head. He slumped to the ground, knocked out cold for the time being.

I decided that no more words were needed, and so I silently walked myself back inside headquarters and left the crowd to settle itself.

As I made it inside, I noticed a few new scout reports that must have come in while I was on the mission. I sat down and mulled them over all while something was nagging at me.

There's something I feel like I should be seeing. Some picture, some grand move by someone that I feel like I should have already recognized. I just haven't. Hiccup's occupied my head all day he's clouding my judgement and slowing my thought process.

I thought back to the raid we just completed; more specifically, how I felt and what I thought during the mission. There was no cloudiness, no distraction, no heartbroken homicidal heir hell-bent on hounding his home. It was clear in the way that a battle focuses and sharpens the mind and senses.

I tried to call back that feeling, that focus. Tried to make my mind and body realize the urgency I felt in my soul and the life-or-death decisions that I need to be making right now. I closed my eyes and let out a breath and summoned that battle clarity I desperately need, then as I opened them I trained them onto the scout reports with renewed focus.

I caught I glimpse of something, but it started to fade so I reimagined myself on the raid. I was scanning there, scanning over Spitelout's supplies and setup, and watching how empty and lifeless it all was. They're sleeping; saving and restoring their strength I remember thinking.

But why?

As I thought back I remember during the chaotic scramble to get away that I moved into a position that gave me a clear view beyond the boxes of supplies and straight down the middle of Berk's main road. I could see past the defenses and tents, all the way to Stoick's side. There were matching hastily-made walls and tents behind those, but there were also very few lookouts. A bare minimum of lookouts, much like Spitelout's side.

Suddenly, the pieces fit. It made sense. Both armies are resting with minimal lookouts because they're both preparing for a fight. They both want to be at full strength for a battle. The men in the tents must have been assigned to protect the front lines, and the rest of the men must still be back at their main barracks. They're probably sleeping there too. Judging by the absurd amount of supplies being stockpiled at this battleground… I would have to guess that they're both planning for an all-or-nothing confrontation. They must have grown cocky when my men started deserting and written me off as a non-factor, and they're both stubborn enough to believe their forces will come out with a resounding victory. If they're resting in the daytime then all odds point to this fight happening tonight, maybe just before or right at sunset.

This… this isn't something I'm going to be able to stop. This is a sign that Hiccup won; not that he was right, because he had to cheat me to get it. But it does mean that he won.

So now I'm left with two options. I can bring my entire force and make it a three-way battle, and hope that the element of surprise is enough to turn the tides, or I can wait it out and attack whoever is left at the end of the battle. From a tactical standpoint, that last option is the best, but there are two reasons I can't bring myself to do that. To wait would mean I would chose to let Stoick and Spitelout kill as many Vikings as they can, which is an idea that sickens me and that I have been foundationally against since heading my own army. The other reason is that if I waited for those two to destroy each other, it would be a perfect example of the ruthless nature of Vikings that Hiccup is so intent of destroying; to do so would be to surrender in yet another battle with him. He cheated for the overall victory, but I won't let myself lose this battle all on my own.

My decision practically made itself. It's a longshot, but I have no other choice at this point. Tonight, if Stoick and Spitelout are dead-set on destroying the Hairy Hooligans, then they'll have to make sure I'm dead first.

I walked back outside, and as I exited the door I found Fishlegs there about to come inside.

"Ah, Fish, good. Stoick and Spitelout are gearing up for an all-out battle tonight."

"I know. My scouts just found me and gave me verbal reports and I come to the same conclusion. What's the plan?" Fishlegs asked. I noticed that all my generals had not-so-subtly gathered around close enough to hear my answer.

"I'm planning on throwing my helmet into that ring. If you still support me, then I expect you by my side." I announced to moderately surprised faces, but everyone took the news without any comments. "Go tell your men to make all preparations then get some rest. As soon as it seems that the battle will start, we will march down there. And spread the word that in battle our goal is to dismember our foes. Losing a hand will stop an enemy in his tracks without killing him."

They all grumbled something in compliance that headed off to examine their men and deliver the news.

"What do you need me to do?" Fishlegs asked.

"Keep all the spies in the field. I want constant updates. As soon as there is movement I want to know about it within two minutes." I said. Before I went back inside, I decided to give one parting remark. "And have one of your spies wake me up when that happens. It wouldn't do for a commander to be sleepy during battle…"

Fishlegs chuckled quietly, more out of a need to ease the tension of our situation—balanced on the brink of a battle—then out of any humor. I hardly noticed. I walked back into the main room of headquarters and quickly made my way to my quarters. As soon as my head hit my makeshift pillow, I was out.

I was awoken to the face of a young teen—if I were more alert I would recognize her as one of our scouts—who urged me to get up and go see Fishlegs. In only a few short moments I realized why I had been awoken, and I sent the scout out of the room so I could prepare myself. Sure, all I had to do was put armor on top of what I was already wearing so it would have been fine for the scout to stay even if she had been a male, but I wanted privacy of mind, not body. After all, I was gearing myself up for what could be the last time, and if I did something wrong it very well would be the last time, so focus was needed. There was an odd feeling in my stomach, a mix of dread and nervousness and anticipation and adrenaline, and all of it mixed into that ever-familiar feeling that I was about to have a performance. This was pre-game, pre-battle, pre-life. What will happen out there is all that will matter.

Once ready, I hurried outside to find a commotion of people preparing for battle. Last minute weapon sharpenings, men and women focusing and finding their game-faces, a few faces being painted, and a few people have nervous breakdowns and their friends standing there ready to slap sense into them. Through the commotion I saw a mass of people huddled around a table and recognized them as generals, commanders, and Fish so I made my way over to them.

"What've we got?" I announced loudly to make everyone aware of my presence.

"We were right about the scale. Looks as if no side left anyone behind; this is for Berk." Fishlegs announced.

"Aye. Spitelout and Stoick both have the same idea. The houses and halls along the front lines—it seems that the battle will be fought along the main road—are being stripped down to make more portable shelter, and its doing a good job at making the battle zone much wider. Save for a few halls right in the middle that are along the neutral zone, they've turned the area into almost an area." That analysis came from one of Stoick's old think-tank members. He was underutilized and I don't think Stoick realizes how valuable he is to an army.

"What's the timetable for the battle to begin?" I asked.

"Ten minutes at the most." Fish replied.

"Shit." I exclaimed.

"Aye. Shit indeed, miss."

I took a moment to process everything—a last moment to gather my thoughts—as my eyes stuck themselves to the hilt of someone's sword.

"How quickly can you get everyone gathered so I can say somethings?"

No one answered, but instead Fishlegs mustered the courage to spin his finger in the air and then point behind me, and I got the hint and turned around to see my army standing there silently, waiting nervously for whatever may happen.

I quickly realized that they weren't looking at me; they all knew what was going on and I'm sure they've spent time debating what we should be doing. They're all looking to me.

"I'm sure you're all aware what Stoick and Spitelout are about to do. They're going to start a battle that will end Berk. The time for talking or maneuvering or spying or scouting or waiting is over. The lines have been drawn and everyone knows who fights for what. Tonight, we are going to go down there and fight to save the future, and the present, of Berk. If we wanted Berk for ourselves then we would let them destroy each other, but that's not why we are here. We're here because we don't want to be the last generation of Hooligans. We know that if we weaken ourselves then we won't be able to survive even the feeblest of threats. So tonight, we are going to march down there beat some fucking sense into those fools! Tonight the kiddie gloves come off and we put away the wooden swords. As your commander, my orders are for you to maim and de-limb as many foes as you can; they'll live without a hand but they won't keep fighting like that. As your shield maiden…as your sister…as your neighbor…as your friend, if you don't have the luxury of lopping their arm off, if it comes down to your life or theirs…then I fully expect to see you try harder to maim the next guy. No one is going to get angry if you kill a man if you had no choice. We are fighting to save tomorrow, and that starts with you living to see it!"

If I was nervous about what the reaction might have been, I didn't need to be. The men cheered, stabbed their weapons at the heavens, and gave me all indications that they were committed to fight, kill, maim, and die for me tonight.

I'm not sure why, but I find comfort in that. It feels relieving.

My next few minutes flashed before my eyes. My body functioned just fine on its own, shouting orders and tweaking preparations as we marched to the battlefield. It felt as if I was a stranger spectating the actions of my own body through my own eyes. I finally gained control as we neared the battleground as evidenced by the ringing of steel.

"It's already begun…" One of my generals mused aloud, prompting a sarcastic remark from one of his men.

"Really, Svuckr? I never would have figured that out…"

"You know I could kill you, right? There's a battle right there and no one would ever know…"

I blocked them out before they distracted me. A passing thought mused that that could be the last sarcastic exchange I ever hear.

"Alright, split up." I ordered as I broke off to go around the far side. I had Fishlegs come with my group because there are no scouts to order anymore and if I get a moment of peace then I could pick his brain for battle tactics.

I assigned our group to one of the flanking sides because I wanted control over the timing. We sprinted our way back towards the woods and went around the far side of the village until we were in the tree line on the opposite side of the battle. We had a great angle to pinch both Stoick and Spitelout's forces against the main bulk of our army, and when the time was right I ordered the charge and had the men holler the whole way to intimidate our foes.

And like that, my battle instincts kicked in. I made the decision to charge with the men without any hesitation, and although the setting sun is in my eye that didn't deter me.

I first came upon two Vikings locked in battle, with one of Stoick's men with his back slightly towards me. Both men looked over at my forces and I with bewildered eyes and I wasted no time hacking off Stoick's man's sword-hand. His foe was too shocked to move before I rolled and brought an upper cut to his gut then knocked him unconscious with my axe hilt as he bent over in pain.

It felt weird to be aiming for hands and arms and disarms and knock outs, but there was a rhythm to it that I felt I could tap into. I didn't need to completely outplay a man to take his life; I just needed to get him sloppy enough to expose a wrist.

Both the opposing armies were confused and in chaos as the beauty of our flank, along with the rest of our army, came to fruition. Enemy commanders were calling for regroups but in the distance you could hear bellows from higher-ranking soldiers and occasionally Stoick and Spitelout themselves saying to push forward.

One of Spitelout's bruisers—a fucking bull of a man—saw me with no ally within ten feet and charged. He saw an opportunity to make his mark and he was coming for it.

I didn't fully dodge his shield-ram and ended up on my back in a daze. He walked over me and twirled his sword with a smile that would normally chill the bones of men, but I wasn't in the mood for that sorta shit. I had fallen on my right hand and it was almost too easy to grab one of my spare daggers and fling it into the man's abdomen. It didn't penetrate his chain mail but caused an uncomfortable poke that bought me the time to jump to my feet and lunge at his throat with my other dagger. I didn't even have time to slit it; I just jammed it straight through.

I backed away and realized I should be assessing the battlefield. I started heading back to the woods to climb a tree and get a better view and silently cursed Hiccup for hogging dragons. I spotted Fishlegs and was relieved to see that he was coming with me.

We got to the woods and I quickly scanned the area for a good tree before settling for a decent one.

"Fish, give me a boost here." I said, turning around to let him lift me up.

I was met with the hilt of his sword connecting to my temple and my world went black before I hit the ground.