Chapter 30: Siege and Sacrifice

Nostrils overwhelmed with the smell of fish and sulfur, Tuffnut wished once more that his sister was awake and in his current position.

As children, she was always the first one to get into mischief. As her twin, Tuffnut would feel obligated to follow suit, resulting in an escalating arms race of offenses that left the two of them amused and the rest of the island worse off for it. They fell in with Snotlout's group of cronies and turned their destructive urges outwards, wherever the Jorgenson pointed them. Ruffnut led Tuffnut into that, as well. Eventually, once they'd grown away from Snotlout and his increasingly overbearing actions, they found themselves following Hiccup.

Although Hiccup had come to Tuffnut first, it was Ruffnut who had taken the initiative to stalk the pair and embed herself into their plans. Rather than being dragged along by whoever had a plan, she was proactive. She moved forward, plan or not, like the boulder they'd once accidentally knocked towards docks. Tuffnut was a follower, and he knew it.

But now, Tuffnut was a leader. He had built himself a meager empire of followers who trusted him to think ahead, prepare for eventualities and possibilities. The role was not one he always felt entirely comfortable shouldering, but it was his role nonetheless. The moment Chief Stoick had died, however, the weight on his shoulders had increased tenfold. It went from uncomfortable to crushing and suffocating. Before he'd even had the chance to uphold his side of the bargain with his Chief, he felt the need to fight for his position.

Ruffnut would make a better leader. Even if she was more careless, more spurred by fleeting interests and whims, she was decisive and confident. Her decisions were the type that fit the Viking way: fearless, immediate, carried out despite cost or convenience. Ruffnut would've fit the mold of Chief far better than Tuffnut ever could, and he knew it. Unfortunately, she was laying somewhere else on Berserker island, haunted by visions and feverish to a concerning degree.

And despite his regret that he couldn't help his sister, Tuffnut couldn't help but wish that they could swap places as a gnarled Zippleback sniffed at his face and hair.

Dagur, standing stiffly nearby, was being sniffed by the dragon's second head. Considering the magnitude of what Tuffnut had told him since landing on the Berserker island yesterday, he'd reacted surprisingly tamely. They had spoken at length, then slept long enough to undo most of the damage of their near-sleepless escape from Berk.

Tuffnut had explained his history, his plan, and Hiccup. Letting Dagur in on the secret of Thor's identity had taken some deliberation, but he would've figured it out one way or another. Hiccup was too deeply ingrained in their plan for him not to know. Not to mention, Dagur's ability would've prevented him from hiding the truth.

It turned out that Tuffnut's guesses about Dagur's ability had been surprisingly accurate. The Berserker could instinctively discern lies from truth, but the range of his ability was severely limited. According to him, half-truths were difficult to discern. More complex statements quickly became muddled with truths, lies, and unknowns that made unraveling their meanings a chore. "It's why I act like I do," Dagur had explained, "people get angry, they start yelling. They get a lot less complicated that way."

"Tuffnut. You're still sure about this…right?"

Tuffnut waited until he wasn't staring down the Zippleback's nostrils to answer. "Hiccup did it."

"We're not Hiccup." Dagur responded flatly with a sideways glare at his partner. By avoiding answering the question with a simple truth or false, Tuffnut had sidestepped Dagur's ability. A necessary deflection, since he was decidedly not sure about their current situation.

This was not the first dragon they'd come in contact with, although it was one of only two that hadn't immediately fled when approached. The other, a Grapple Grounder with a dull set of scales, had fled quickly after innocently eating the fish the Vikings had brought as a peace offering. Considering the sparsity of invasive dragons typically found on the Berserker's island, even the small handful they'd found was impressive, according to Dagur.

"So, are you sure about this? Because, if not…" Dagur made a slow but sharp gesture across his neck and cocked his head towards the dragon. It did not go unnoticed.

The Zippleback hissed sharply, causing Dagur to jump back and reach for his weapons, which Tuffnut had wisely required him to leave behind. At the same time, Tuffnut stepped back lightly. He reached out to the dragon slowly, feeling no gut wrench of danger.

Unfortunately, the creature had no such way of determining Tuffnut's intent. Huffing a thin smokescreen of gas that mingled with the misty air and caused the Vikings to step away, the Zippleback lumbered away. It took to the sky quickly, flapping its wings haphazardly and shooting distrusting glares towards the pair. They simply watched it go.

"Gods damn you, Dagur. That was going well."

"It could come back." the chief said with a sigh and a shrug. "It did for Hiccup, right?"

"I wouldn't count on it. It would be safer to stay away." he paused, then noted, "And Hiccup half-killed Toothless and left him trapped in a pit. It hardly had a choice in the matter."

"Toothless, huh? What about that Skrill of his? Do you think he'd let me ride it?"

"The Skrill…I don't know how Hiccup came into contact with it, but―" Tuffnut cut off, staring at the fleeing dragon with a frown. Even considering the absurd tales he'd been telling Dagur over the past day, it seemed beyond belief; at least the Berserker could determine he was telling the truth. "―that Skrill is Fenrir."

That made Dagur pause. "Fenrir, as in the Fenrir? Spawn of Loki?"

"That's what Hiccup said. In all honesty, I have trouble believing it as well." It was unfortunate, but Tuffnut only knew the overview of Hiccup's time off Berk. Hidden in plain sight as Thor, Hiccup had been limited in the time he could spend along with Tuffnut. With what time they had been able to spend, Hiccup had focused more on the future: fighting Nidhogg, protecting Berk. Ironic, that his friend had been torn from Berk―the home that scorned and hated him―but returned to save it.

Yet Berk was gone, ashes and ruins at best. Only its Vikings remained.

"Let's head back, Dagur. We'll try again tomorrow." Tuffnut said. The Chief grunted in response, turning to walk alongside him. It was growing late in the day, although the misty air of the Berserker's island barely showed it. The fog never quite disappeared, only became fainter over the day, then strengthened itself overnight once more.

The two of them did not speak as they walked. Despite the rest that they'd been able to take since their arrival yesterday, they were still exhausted. Organizing and feeding the refugees took time and energy from them both, and while Dagur could delegate his duties to his lieutenants, Tuffnut was alone. He'd spent over half his day walking from one house to the next to check on the remaining Berkians, only to find that Snotlout had been doing the same thing, garnering as much, if not more, support.

Based on his time spent from the day, Tuffnut had started to piece together the alliances and loyalties of the remaining Berkians. His family, the Thorstons, had lost nearly all of their able-bodied fighters. His sister was still unwakeable, and some of the elderly were too weak to do much more than her. They were loyal to him, though, and he needed their support more than ever.

The Ingermans had been similarly culled, although they had a larger number of Vikings fit to fight. Tuffnut hadn't seen Fishlegs during his rounds―hopefully, he'd only missed his heavyset peer. They had welcomed him, although they had shown some doubts about his step up to the role of Chief.

The Hoffersons had the fewest number of Vikings remaining, but their clan had never been full of fighters in the first place.. Erick, Astrid's father, was a skilled healer. Many other Hoffersons had talents not meant for battle―not to say that they wouldn't fight, but their strengths lay off the battlefield. Astrid still hadn't spoken, but she'd kept her eyes on Tuffnut with a dark look the entire time he was in view. It was unnerving. Their support would not go to Snotlout, Tuffnut was sure, but they had the potential to nominate Astrid as their new chief.

Finally, the Jorgensons. And the Bog-Burglars as well, by extension. They were both led by Snotlout: as a leader, and as Gothi's replacement as sage and soothsayer. It was common knowledge that Spitelout had died in the raid. Bertha had not been on the ships sailing to the Berserker's island either, although some of the Bog-Burglar women claimed that she had survived until the end, and would've been wise enough to escape. Either way, the Bog-Burglars now followed Hilda, who had been one of Thor's personal students and obeyed Snotlout's orders.

The Jorgensons and Bog-Burglars together made up nearly half of the remaining Viking population. The Meatheads and Visithugs, on the other hand, were scattered and, likely, many of them would be folded into the remaining clans over time. Both of their leaders had been killed in battle, and their islands would not be safe with the meager numbers they had left: not from dragons, nor from raiding parties of hostile Vikings. It was safer and wiser to let their old bonds die for the sake of staying alive, unfortunately. Some would resist, but their clans would not recover.

Based on his understanding, the clans would break down into a two-way, maybe even three-way struggle for power. The Thorstons stood on unstable ground, and if it devolved to fighting, Tuffnut―even backed by Dagur―would hardly be comparable to Snotlout's entourage.

If he could harness the strength of dragons, work alongside them like Hiccup learned to do, he could pull ahead. He could assist his friend, fight back against the devil that had brought hell to Berk. It would simply take time. And he didn't have time.

"We'll search the island again tomorrow," Dagur said, catching Tuffnut's attention out of his quiet musings. They were approaching Dagur's private hut: barely large enough for one man, too small for two. Less cramped than the rest of the island, however. "Dragons aren't too common here, but after Berk, I get the feeling that they've been scattered all over the Archipelago. As long as we can find some fish…"

Tuffnut nodded as Dagur trailed off. Their priority was―had to be―the Vikings. Feeding them was hard enough without their leaders frivolously spending food on an uncertain, possibly futile goal of taming dragons.

"What dragons do you―"

"Astrid! So good to see you!" Dagur interrupted Tuffnut with a subtle nudge. Startled, Tuffnut looked up to find Astrid Hofferson sitting in the entrance to Dagur's home. "You should really be resting. Wouldn't want those god-given injuries to get worse!"

Dagur's inflammatory gibe did nothing. Astrid stood, staring the men down. She had been acting strange since her fight with Hiccup―no, even before Hiccup had come back. Since they'd all finished their training, Astrid had transformed from a star pupil into a sullen, unpredictable fighter who only seemed to live for combat. Her fight against Hiccup was simply the most public, most recent oddity.

"What have you two been doing?"

"We've been scavenging for food," Dagur lied smoothly. "Hardly enough to go around with so many mouths to feed. I brought Tuff along to help."

"Oh." Astrid seemed disappointed. "Tuffnut. I need to speak with you."

She wants to be Chief, thought Tuffnut immediately. "Of course. What do you need?"

"I…would rather speak to you alone. It's important."

Odin almighty, she doesn't want to be Chief. She probably just wants to kill me. Tuffnut couldn't help but to feel hesitant, but he felt no spike of danger in his gut. At the very least, he was in no direct danger. "Dagur, I'll be back once I speak with Astrid. Thank you for advising me, one chief to another." Tuffnut walked towards the hut, trusting that the Berserker would catch his lie. With any luck, it would assuage any suspicion that Astrid may have developed.

Tuffnut and Astrid walked until the silhouette of Dagur's hut was barely visible through the misty twilight air. They slowed, and Tuffnut waited for Astrid to speak. She seemed conflicted. One moment acting as though she would speak, the next biting her tongue.

"Astrid, what is it that you needed to speak with me about?" Tuffnut eventually asked.

"I…don't want to be chief."

Tuffnut paused. "And you came to me…because you think I should be?" Astrid shrugged in response, but even that was a reassurance. If the Hoffersons weren't against him, he only had to fight the Jorgensons. A neutral clan was hardly ideal, but was far better than a second set of adversaries.

"I want to kill Nidhogg."

At that, Tuffnut froze. All thoughts of power squabbles between Vikings disappeared, replaced by dozens of questions bubbling up in him: How did she know to come to him? How did she know what Nidhogg was? How did she even know its name?

Despite there being no warning from his danger sense, he decided to play it safe. "Nid…Who is Nidhogg? A Viking…no, is that what the giant dragon is called?"

"You knew that Thor was Hiccup all along, didn't you? Even that first night, when we were destroying Hiccup's private cove, you―"

"We?" Tuffnut interrupted. It had been long enough for him to forget the exact list of events that night, but he was quite certain he hadn't helped her destroy anything of Hiccup's. Astrid had stopped speaking abruptly with the face of a child caught attempting to steal their father's favorite axe. Caught in the act of…something, she wouldn't meet Tuffnut's eyes. "What do you mean we?"

Astrid hesitated. Slowly, she spoke.

"Me…and Nidhogg."

Tuffnut made no reaction, just stared at Astrid, who continued to stare at the ground. He sighed.

Being a chief was seeming more and more difficult by the moment.

"Follow me." He said, turning back to Dagur's hut.

The two of them entered; Dagur turned, then raised his eyebrow at Tuffnut and gestured at Astrid with a questioning look.

"Astrid, tell Dagur what you told me."

Astrid finally looked up into Tuffnut's eyes with a betrayed glare. "Do you follow him now? You're going to let Berk die, just like that? Turn it over to the Berserkers, of all the clans?"

"I'm right here, you know…"

Tuffnut raised his hands in front of him. "Astrid, I need you to trust me. Please, tell him."

Still angry, Astrid glared at the Berserker and said, "I destroyed Hiccup's private workshop with Nidhogg's help."

"Oh? Truth. An interesting enough truth that I'm willing to get past your rude implications towards my clan, as well. We're not the Meatheads, at least." Dagur chuckled at his own hypocrisy.

Truth. Tuffnut had trouble wrapping his head around it―how long had Astrid been working with Nidhogg? But the more he thought, the more pieces seemed to meld together. Her odd actions could all be traced back to Nidhogg's corrosive influence.

"When did this start, Astrid? How did Nidhogg first…connect with you?"

"It was after Hiccup disappeared." She answered, now more confused than angered by Dagur. "It was before our graduation. I was able to dip into Nidhogg's strength to fight the Monstrous Nightmare. I was faster, stronger, more precise. I used more during dragon raids, even little fights I could've won on my own. But…"

"Eventually, it dipped into you?" Tuffnut spoke for her. It was eerily reminiscent of Hiccup's experiences, when they'd first been confronted with powers beyond their understanding. Astrid nodded. "How did you―you're not connected to it now, are you?"

"It was…" For a moment, Astrid seemed concerned. "It was Thor. During our fight in the Kill Ring―"

"I know that Thor is Hiccup. And truth. Continue." Dagur interrupted. Astrid glowered at him, but did as he ordered.

"I wasn't in control during that fight―I hadn't been for weeks, maybe months. But when Hiccup struck me with the lightning, I woke up. I was able to take back some control over myself."

Tuffnut glanced at Dagur, who nodded. All truths.

"―But I was still connected to Nidhogg," Astrid continued. "And it was still in my head. That's how I know what happened to Berk. I saw it firsthand, through Nidhogg's eyes."

Both Tuffnut and Dagur stared at her, speechless. Astrid had gained a momentum that caused her words to spill out of her, and she continued rushing headlong into her story.

"Nidhogg lured Hiccup away―it controls other humans, only a few, but so many dragons. The whole swarm that attacked Berk, they were all under Nidhogg's control. It's scared…no, it's a coward. Nidhogg chose to isolate Chief Stoick because he was strong. Stronger than Hiccup or the Night Fury…but easier to kill. Less dangerous…somehow." She was practically gasping for breath. "It was targeting Berk. Nidhogg wants…wants to dominate the Archipelago. But it's afraid of other gods. It was trapped, alone, for so long that it doesn't know how to fight. Just how to control." Finally, Astrid stopped. Tuffnut was speechless; after becoming accustomed to a cold and aloof Astrid, he was seeing her frightened and helpless. He wasn't sure which disturbed him more.

"How does that help us?" Dagur asked in the silence following her outburst. "If it's only afraid of gods―"

"You two are blessed, aren't you?"

"How did you know that? Does Nidhogg know that?"

"Nidhogg isn't worried about humans. It let you escape―or it doesn't care to chase you. There was something on Berk that it wanted to find." Astrid said. "I don't know why. Nidhogg was…looser with its thoughts when controlling me. Maybe because I never tried to fight it."

Rather than asking Astrid more questions, Dagur turned to Tuffnut, who had been standing quietly to the side. "Nothing but truths. This is worse than we thought, Tuff. If Nidhogg can control the Vikings this eas―"

"He can't anymore." Astrid said abruptly. "Fighting Stoick…he lost it. Or the range it had has been cut. I don't know. Hiccup woke me up, but I wasn't free until we left Berk. No, we need to kill Nidhogg now―it lost its swarm, its range of control, and it's distracted."

"How?" Tuffnut asked. "Even with all the Vikings left in the Archipelago, we wouldn't be able to get close to it. It's the size of a small mountain, Astrid. It turned Berk into a mass grave in minutes. How are we supposed to do anything?"

"Hiccup." Astrid said, sounding unsure. "He's the one Nidhogg is the most afraid of…for some reason. But we need him."

"That brings us back to one of our first problems. I'm trusting Hiccup to find us, but we don't know where he is." Tuffnut said. It all revolved around Hiccup. From start to finish, his friend had been in the center of the gods' attention.

"We should wait. If he knows about Berk's destruction, he'll try and find survivors."

"If he doesn't, he might fly back and come face-to-face with Nidhogg. It's not a risk we can take, Dagur!"

"What, then, do you suggest?" Dagur was growing irritated at the futility of their options.

"I might know where he is. Or at least, I know how Nidhogg lured him away." Tuffnut and Dagur turned to Astrid again, who avoided their heated stares. "Stoick wasn't its only target. There's another dragon's lair, with more gods, to the north. Nidhogg has been leading Drago Bludvist―a southern warlord―to them."

Dagur hissed out a tight breath from his clenched jaw. "We're staying away from it, then. I've heard enough stories from my old man―Bludvist is bad news." Tuffnut made a noise as if to object, but Dagur cut him off. "I'm planting my axe here, Tuff. We wait until Hiccup comes to us."

Tuffnut hated to back down, but he knew it was the right decision. Hiccup would find his way back to them. And despite the implausibility, he felt confident that his friend would know how to defeat Nidhogg.

He just had to wait.

A thumping at the door startled Tuffnut. He jumped out of his seat, as did Astrid and Dagur, both of whom had also settled into a thoughtful silence. The Berserker chief walked to the door and flung it open, glaring at the young Thorston who was revealed to be behind it. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Chief Dagur, but…Tuffnut! There you are―come quickly!"

"What is it, Agnut? This meeting is―"

"It's Ruffnut―she's awake!"

Tuffnut didn't wait to hear her explanation. He was out the door, sprinting into the dark, misty night in moments.


Toothless was aware that something strange was happening to him, and that it had been for quite some time.

He was strong, both physically and in battle. Stronger than Hiccup; stronger than Fenrir, even. But his growth was abnormal, and it should have slowed, eventually. Instead, his strength seemed to keep growing, without clear reason or peak. He had the energy to fly days-long flights in half the time, with hardly the strain to show for it. His wounds seemed to heal in days, not the weeks or months they should have required.

A blessing from some vaguely-defined deity was one thing, but his strength surpassing even Fenrir―a fully formed god in a mortal body―indicated an unknown factor.

Toothless was not one for deep, laborious thoughts that wasted his time and exhausted his mind. He was a fighter, a hunter. His bloodline, as little as he remembered his family, was born to kill. Night Furies were the sleekest, deadliest creatures on the planet: built to strike before his prey could notice his presence, then flit away before anything else had the chance to.

His ability only enhanced that. Invisibility, possibly even more to prevent detection: his echolocation, at the very least, could not recognize his own body while invisible.

Building strength with no goal was pointless, and Toothless had fallen into that trap once before. But now, he took his newfound strength greedily―he had a newfound goal, since escaping Nidhogg's control. Years ago, he'd taken the god's power willingly, overwhelming both himself and his opponents with newfound strength. Eventually, it had led to his first time being controlled by Nidhogg, lowered to nothing more than a favorite pawn in the swarm. It was the god's negligence, and more than a little luck, that allowed him to escape control the first time. Hiccup's metal contraption tearing his tail off had been enough of a shock to separate him from the deity.

But he'd been trapped, relying on a waif of a human to deliver food and assist his recovery. His captor was connected to Nidhogg as well; he could sense the god's presence. Nevertheless, it was the boy's help or death.

It was through Hiccup that Nidhogg gained control the second time, as well. Rather than a favored pawn, Nidhogg used the two of them to terrorize helpless towns and fly out over the northern oceans―if there was a deeper meaning to Nidhogg's actions through them, Toothless had not found them.

Eventually, Fenrir rescued them. He had them both trained, taught them about the secret existence of gods hiding under the skin of ordinary men and dragons. Toothless was grateful to his mentor, but that was not why he fought.

He was closely entwined with Hiccup. The boy was a fitting compliment to him: the analytical, plotting mind to his overwhelming strength. They had grown close during his forced captivity in the Cove, then their shared trauma under Nidhogg's control had pushed them closer. Toothless thought highly of Hiccup, even despite the boy's emotional unpredictability, but neither was he Toothless's reason for strength.

It was not for his family, who he'd left long ago. It was not for Berk, or for the Haven, or for the thousands of dragons Nidhogg had controlled. Toothless wanted strength only for revenge. He would be the one to defeat Nidhogg―to tear the god apart and force him to admit Toothless's superiority.

So Toothless readily accepted the odd growth. It was abnormal, it was hardly explainable, but it was welcome nonetheless.

The Night Fury peeked out of the clouds as a faint signature of power entered his consciousness. Weaker than a god's blessing, somehow, but strong enough for him to sense from a distance. Stronger than he'd last felt. Far ahead of him and hardly treading above the ocean, Hiccup was attempting to return to the Haven on an exhausted Nadder.

Toothless dove.


Hiccup should've felt as tired as his Nadder, but he was surprisingly refreshed. His return from the root's cavern had been slow and exhausting: he'd run out of magic in his hammer halfway through. He'd been able to claw his way back up the rocky wall eventually, but without the physics-defying abilities Mjolnir granted him, he was only as strong as a Viking. Even so, the climb had hardly been as stressful as it should've been, and he'd quickly recovered from it.

He would've sworn that he'd had a far larger reserve of magic saved in Mjolnir. It had run out faster than it should've―Hiccup had tested its capacity many times over, both under Fenrir's eye and on his own. Still, it stayed bonded to him and he could summon it to his hand, so he thanked the gods for their small favors and allowed his confusion to pass. He would just have Fenrir refill it―or Toothless, if he would be willing to try. He'd blown up at both dragons before fleeing the Haven, and was not looking forward to confronting them again.

His father was dead: the neglectful, borderline abusive man who had tried to fit his son into a Viking-shaped hole and been surprised when it didn't fit. The leader of the Viking coalition and a champion among men across the archipelago. A flawed, abrasive man who went to extremes when halves would do. He was dead.

And Hiccup felt empty. Despite all his father's mistakes.

He should've felt pain over Berk's destruction, or Nidhogg's calamitous strength and planning, or anything else, but it was Stoick's death that cut deepest.

Nidhogg would pay―but Hiccup could only do so much. He felt as though he was being pulled from each limb: to protect the Haven, to help the Vikings, to defeat Nidhogg and reclaim Berk. He wasn't strong enough to do any of them on his own.

The Haven had to be first. The root's vision was brief, but a massive fleet of ships holding both warriors and dragons had been encroaching on the dragon sanctuary's waters. Whether it was the warlord his mother had been worrying over, Drago Bludvist, or some other warlord with the urge to conquer, his blunder against the Trappers was likely to be what had led them to the remote island.

But his Nadder was, as aforementioned, exhausted. It was struggling to stay above the water, and its talons skimmed the waves more often than Hiccup was comfortable with. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to push her. He'd been foolish enough to fly off on a mortal, mundane dragon, and he'd have to suffer its mortal endurance.

Without warning, a sharp crack of wind whipped past them. Hiccup flinched, and the Nadder perked up with a squawk of alarm. The ocean below them hadn't become any choppier and the sky was still dappled with slow-moving clouds. The wind, however, seemed to whirl around the two despite the otherwise docile weather.

Unnatural, but Hiccup had used a similar trick to fool the Vikings, during his first return while disguised as Thor. He knew Toothless's tricks almost as well as the Night Fury knew them.

Smiling, but still tinged with shame for his outburst when he'd last left the Haven, Hiccup sat up straight and reached his arms up for Toothless to lift him. The gust slowly became visible as a stark black dragon with an unamused expression. Even so, Toothless glided over and hefted Hiccup off the Nadder and, with a smooth twist in the air, swung him onto his back.

"Thank you, Toothless." Hiccup said, then shouted out to the Deadly Nadder, "Go home, girl! Stay away from the Haven for now―go home!" The dragon didn't hesitate; it turned and began flying away, back towards the dilapidated mountain Nidhogg had once lived in. He couldn't blame her.

As soon as the Nadder turned away, so did Toothless. At a speed fast enough to make the air itself scream in Hiccup's ears, the two sped towards the Haven.

"I'm sorry, Toothless." Hiccup yelled into the wind, hoping he was loud enough to be heard. His outburst towards Fenrir had been justified, but Toothless hadn't deserved his poor treatment. "I shouldn't have tried to go back to Berk―I'm sorry for trying to force you to bring me!"

Toothless shrugged dismissively and made no further indication that he had accepted or rejected Hiccup's apology. If anything, he didn't seem to care. Hiccup didn't push, but he would bring it up again, when the situation allowed. For now, he would focus on saving the Haven.


Drago was thorough. His siege began by surrounding the dragon island, and continued by boxing them in.

His traps were set and baited on the beaches―they wouldn't catch anything on their own, but his men could use them as adequate ground defenses, if needed. They looked like giant, metal jaws that clamped towards the sky in a half-dome, trapping anything unfortunate enough to set it off. Effective against some dragons, useless against others.

The skies, on the other hand, were monitored constantly by his catapults. Some were armed with nonlethal ammunition, while others had no such limitations. He wanted to control the dragons, after all, not eradicate them. He'd taken some inspiration from the Vikings and Trappers: he used bolas, nets, and other projectiles meant to rob dragons of their flight and mobility. His catapults were set to aim near each opening in the icy mountain; they waited for any dragon clever enough to imagine a plot to escape or fight, but foolish enough not to see the futility.

The dragons had stopped trying to fight, after their first offensive had gone so poorly. None of the smoke-breathing dragons had escaped, and barely any of the dragons fighting under their cover had, either. Since then, they had hidden in their cavern. Some had attempted to escape, but they had been shot down quickly.

Drago's final act of siege tactics was to prevent the dragons from feeding. He'd personally led his Bewilderbeast along the perimeter of the island, plugging holes of escape―and more importantly, places fish might enter the Haven as an unseen food source. It wasn't long before jagged chunks of ice covered any underwater entrances.

The dragons were surrounded, isolated, and could only grow hungrier and weaker as time passed. He knew it, and they had to know it, as well.

Why, then, did they wait?

A last-ditch effort to break out, overrun his troops, perhaps even attempt to kill him and scatter his army―any of these would be wiser than sitting in wait. They were at a stalemate for now. He could not attack: his soldiers would be at a disadvantage on the terrain in and around their giant cavern. But Drago could wait them out.

Irritated that he could not understand his adversaries' hesitance, Drago turned away from the mountain. He stepped from cold sand onto the solid wooden warships he'd built, then to his quarters. It was time to offer gifts to Mars.

He missed an invisible dragon and his rider flying overhead, quietly diving into the Haven.


Valka was, unsurprisingly, incredibly tired.

Not from the stress of living under siege by one of the greatest warlords of the southern mainland, though. Valka instead found her greatest challenge was working as peacekeeper and correspondence between the dragons and gods.

Fenrir had hidden himself away in the Haven since his return from Berk. Valka had to rely on Cloudjumper to find him―she'd never learned how to sense gods, although she knew it was possible. Once found, however, he refused to fight. Neither pleading nor anger had budged him: he felt that his failure was proof enough to show his unworthiness. Valka's nerves had grown thin, hearing his self-pity and refusals, but his help would be vital, so she restrained herself.

Ymir, the alpha Bewilderbeast of the Haven, had other intentions that Valka had to curb. He felt that they should attack, destroy the humans intruding on sacred, god-touched land. Valka could speak more frankly with him than Fenrir, logically explaining the costs such an offensive would take, and the deaths it would cause his dragons. He was stubborn, but was unwilling to sacrifice the dragons he saw as family.

The remaining dragons residing in the Haven were frantic, scattered, and often did not obey Valka as she would've hoped. They had stopped attempting to escape or fight, but as the feeding pools grew less and less fruitful, the dragons became restless. It was only due to the Alpha's influence that true pandemonium had not broken out among them.

Valka waited for Hiccup to return. He was vital to fighting Drago, regardless of Ymir's distaste for her son. She was neither a fighter nor a leader, although she could do both if pushed. Her son was both. For better or worse, he'd grown up exposed to the tough life of a Viking and been expected to grow into the role of Chief.

He would know what to do. How best to fight Drago―or how best to cut their losses and run, if there was no other option. She was loath to admit it, but she wasn't blind to reality. An army couldn't be overturned by a disorganized rebellion of dragons. They would only survive with forethought and a decisive leader.

Valka had lost track of time. She ran from dragon to dragon, calming them from fear, anger, or simply restlessness. It felt like Hiccup had been gone for weeks, although she knew it had been a few days at most. Maybe less.

It felt as though it had all been premeditated: Hiccup's scattered mental state, the ambush on Berk, and the siege surrounding the Haven. They had all happened so smoothly, so simultaneously, that Valka couldn't help but be suspicious of their origins. Fenrir and Hiccup seemed to believe that Nidhogg had been orchestrating it all. She couldn't help but see their point of view becoming more and more likely as the siege went on.

So Valka worked to calm the volatile storms brewing in the gut of every dragon living in the Haven. Hundreds of dragons, each with their own quirks and destructive ways of handling the stress of a warlord's direct attention on them.

And finally, when Valka felt that she could not hold the Haven together any longer, he arrived.

"Valka!"

She turned to see her son dismounting from Toothless, who still shimmered with near-invisibility. Relieved, she slid off Cloudjumper as well, running to catch him in an unexpected embrace.

"Thank you, Hiccup. Thank you for coming back."

He accepted the hug―not returning it, but not disengaging, either. She was barely a mentor to him, and was far from being the parent she should've been. But Hiccup still came back to help defend the Haven. He still chose to stand with and protect them, despite the danger it posed to both him and his intent to fight Nidhogg.

After a few moments, Valka let go, stepping back until the tension buzzing in the air dissipated. "I'm…sorry." She said, hoping her son wouldn't be offended by her outburst of emotion. "Oh, your ribs! I'm sorry―did I hurt you? Are―"

"It's alright, Valka." Hiccup said, sounding oddly strained. "They're…healed, I think." He prodded at his side with a finger, and seemed surprised when he had no abnormal reaction. "I'm fine."

"That's good." Valka almost asked more questions, but decided against it. Hiccup's abnormal healing was hardly worth ruminating on―not when a warlord stood at their gates.

"Drago hasn't attacked?" Hiccup asked, sounding confused. "I thought he had―or would have, I mean―"

"He's only prepared a siege. Some dragons fought, but we've been waiting since then." Valka said, interrupting Hiccup. He'd likely learned of the situation through Toothless, but things had changed since then. "We can't escape, and fighting…until now, didn't seem possible."

"Until now?" Hiccup asked, then understood. "Until I arrived."

"I can't lead the dragons, Hiccup. They trust me, but I'm not a leader―I'm hardly even a fighter. With your guidance, we can fight back against Drago's army." Valka said with a twinge of guilt for placing her son in such an undesirable position so quickly after returning. "I know it will be hard, but I trust you."

"I've hardly stayed long enough for all the Haven's dragons to trust me." Hiccup said, brow furrowed as he began to think of ways to mount an offensive. "They won't listen to me."

"We can work together with them. Please, Hiccup. It's the only way we can fight back. You can give the orders, and I can pass them on―they'll listen to me, and―"

"Not all the dragons listen to you, though." Hiccup interrupted, surprising Valka with the bluntness of his words. "If I'm going to lead you, I want all the dragons following me."

Valka paused for a moment, confused. She may not rule the Haven, but there wasn't a single dragon she could think of that wouldn't obey her; especially on the brink of destruction, they would follow her directions more closely than ever. Save for the gods―

She took a quick, sharp breath. "Hiccup. Do not antagonize Ymir. Fenrir, maybe, you could persuade better than I. But Ymir will not fight with us, and he will not take kindly to you speaking to him. You will only make things worse."

Frowning, Hiccup shook his head. "There are thousands out there, Valka. Ymir is the only way we have a chance of surviving this fight―if he won't listen to reason, then he'll be letting his family die." He was stiffly uncompromising, and as worried as Valka was, she couldn't discredit his statement. She'd already spoken to the Haven's Alpha. But if anyone could convince him, Hiccup could.

"Fine. But I warned you."


Hiccup had forgotten how massive the Bewilderbeast was.

Nidhogg was half its size, maybe. The few times he'd seen it, either face-to-face in its volcanic cavern or in his vision of Berk granted by the root, it had seemed gargantuan. Something so giant, spears were like toothpicks and dragons like minnows to it. Nidhogg simply broke the human-sized scale that Hiccup had grown used to, even living among dragons.

Ymir did the same, but to an even greater effect.

The Bewilderbeast was like a glacier, thousands of years old, that had shaped itself into a life of its own. It was pure white at first glance, but closer inspection revealed scattered silver-gray spots down its legs and sides; its fins were similarly colored, but tipped with black that accentuated the bright coloring of its body.

Hiccup had left his mother behind, finding the Alpha without much difficulty. He'd gone to it and explained his need for the Bewilderbeast's strength as best as he could, but its face was frozen in a frown through the entire plea as though it had been chiseled out of ice that way, and had never held another expression. Hiccup couldn't help but feel like a child again, standing pitifully in front of Stoick. He bit down a surge of bitterness at the thought of Berk's fate, and waited for Ymir's response.

"I will not be ordered about by you. I do not trust you, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock." With a single line, Ymir crushed Hiccup's plea for help, to protect his own sanctuary that he oversaw. "I love those who live among this sanctuary like my own children―but you, you are a stranger to us. You hope to command us like pawns in your games, all for your own vengeance. You do not care for dragons, nor for men. You do not care if we live or die, as long as we serve your needs."

"That is not true," Hiccup said heatedly, "I care for the Haven. My mother brought me in, and the dragons have welcomed me; I've been living here long enough to call it my home."

"Your home is Berk." The Bewilderbeast said plainly. "And you plan to reclaim it―fine. Do not attempt to deceive me. Your goals do not, and will not align with mine."

Hiccup couldn't hold himself back any longer. "Fine, then!" He burst out. "If you want to stay hidden so badly, fine! Leave me to lead your family into the jaws of an army bent on conquering and enslaving them―at least that way they'll have someone looking out for them!"

"You misunderstand me."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies," Hiccup said with a theatrical gesture. "For a moment, I thought you were refusing to fight. Thank goodness I only misunderstood you, Lord Ymir." His words were purposefully sharp. If he couldn't fight alongside the Bewilderbeast, perhaps he could goad it into simply rampaging against Drago. Hardly ideal, but without any of its help, Hiccup had a far slimmer chance of success.

"The opposite. None of the Haven's dragons will be fighting against Drago."

"What?" Hiccup asked, entirely confused.

"If not for your interruption, I would have already begun spreading my message. All are to desert the Haven―no more of my children will die in fights that do not concern them."

"They…even if they would flee, Drago has the island surrounded. The only way to escape is by breaking through their perimeter." Hiccup said incredulously. Surely, the ruling god of the Haven wasn't fool enough to think he could just send the dragons away without fighting.

"That is one method. It would work―but at the cost of many lives. There are elderly, or children, who should not have to fight. You are too used to the Viking way; while dragons are different." The Bewilderbeast huffed a chilled breath at Hiccup, and he could feel frosty bits of ice forming on his eyelashes. "And they will flee―even if I must force them. I will fight Bludvist's army personally."

"That's suicide."

Ymir barely reacted to Hiccup's flat tone. "It is a worthy, willing sacrifice. Something you have yet to understand." The Bewilderbeast sighed, then stood, towering many times over Hiccup. "You are still so young. I would not have you fight either, if it were not your choice."

Hiccup said nothing; Ymir stared down at him somberly. Somehow, it had never occurred to Hiccup that such a massive creature could have a gentle, pacifistic nature. Despite the thriving world inside the mountain and the tranquil dragons who resided inside of it, he had been blind. This was not the den of a killer. This was something far more.

"I will not refuse your assistance, if you are still willing to give it." Ymir said, almost tentatively, as if worried he might offend the boy. "But you will fight by my lead, not the other way around. I do not want to cause unnecessary death to any but my enemies."

"Alright." Hiccup answered. There was nothing else he could say. He was reminded once more of his father: this time, it was of his overbearing, chiefly sense of command. Every word he spoke was law, even if it wasn't meant to be. Ymir had the same sense of overbearing power. Hiccup turned to leave, feeling chastised and confused.

"In exchange, allow me to assist you in another way. The metal in your arm; it is from the chains of Fenrir's imprisonment, correct?"

Hiccup's expression morphed into that of confusion, but he looked back and answered. "Yes? Why?"

"Those chains were forged by gods." Ymir said, nodding down at the boy. "I was long dead when they were created, but I have heard rumors. If you only use them as raw scrap, you are wasting what could be a weapon against Nidhogg." Hiccup nodded mutely. He had some mastery over the metal's unique abilities, but it was good to know why they existed.

"Now go, Hiccup. I have my decree to spread."

Hiccup left. He needed to prepare for war.