As some of the people I've exchanged PMs with should know, I haven't watched the TV series and have missed out on some of the important details established there... Because of this, I made a huge oversight last chapter that was pointed out to me by Angel Fantasy. You don't need to go back and look for it, since it's been dealt with and won't have any effect on the plot (again, thanks goes to Angel Fantasy for proposing an in-story fix that would have little effect on the story). Thanks also goes to swirlspot88 for supplying us with the information we needed to create that solution.

. . .

pls dont go back and look for it. i want to pretend it never happened

Chapter 46

"Chief . . ."

"It's okay, Astrid. Take Hiccup and go help the others." Dad said that without even turning his head. No, his attention was fully fixed upon the sweaty, bruised man before him. Drago was on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. A rut in the ground marked where he landed and skidded to a stop. The grooves between the dragon scales on his cloak and leggings were brown; dirt fell from them every time the man shifted.

Fishlegs and Meatlug took off for the beach, but Astrid's eyes darted between the two men. She scooped me up, hopped on her dragon, but said, "With all due respect, I don't think leaving you two alone is a good idea."

". . . Keep Hiccup out of the way." Dad trudged forward. He lifted his axe; the sunlight caught its edge and blinded us. Drago had gotten to his feet now and as his foe advanced, he bared his teeth and snarled like a cornered animal.

The snarl suddenly faded around the edges. Drago blinked once, and then his eyes widened with shock. "I recognize your face. You were one of those foolish Chiefs that rejected my offer! I didn't think that any of you survived -"

With a war cry, Dad charged. Despite how everyone liked to make fun of his 'vastness', the gods had clearly modeled him after a bear (a big chunk of muscle with a nice layer of fat to keep him warm in the winter). He was fast for his size, faster than anyone would expect at first glance, and I don't think Drago realized that until Dad moved. There must have been ten feet between them, but Dad cleared it in a second. Metal met metal as the two crossed arms.

"Do you regret refusing me, now?" Drago asked, leering at Dad over the top of their interlocked weapons.

Just then, Dad twisted his axe just enough to slide it up and over Drago's bullhook. He brought the axe down, then used the heavy momentum of the drop to bring his axe back up and swing at Drago again and again. Drago clumsily stumbled back each time; the slender shaft of his bullhook didn't look like it would be able to survive one of those blows. When Dad's momentum began to die, he brought the axe up one more time, and shouted. Cloudjumper bounded forward, bathing his enemy in hot flame.

Before Cloudjumper even stopped, Dad advanced. Embers floated through the air; he reached up and pinched one that had tried to nest in his beard. Drago swept his cloak back, recoiling when he saw how close the Viking Chief had gotten. He stepped off to the side, holding his bullhook like a pikeman waiting for a cavalry charge. Dad stood still, watching as Drago circled him.

"You could have been part of this," Drago said. "I gave Berk a chance. You –"

"Don't waste my time," Dad commanded. "I have no interest in what you have to say."

Drago scowled. "I see Hiccup takes after you."

Dad smiled crookedly. "That he does."

I preened.

Behind Drago and off to the side, Cloudjumper stalked closer. The Stormcutter clearly was aiming to get behind him. With sharp eyes, Astrid was watching the two men from Stormfly's back. A ripple went down the Nadder's tail, making the spines there rise and flatten in turn. I knew they were waiting for the right time to spring.

Drago thrust the bullhook forward. Quickly, it was deflected down and to the side, and then Dad swung upward along the bullhook's shaft. But there had been a slight delay between the two movements, and Drago had been able to use that to twist the bullhook and bring its spur directly into the axe's path. The blade sunk into the metal spur, sticking until Dad yanked it free.

They both took a step back. Dad scanned his axe for damage, and then advanced again with a slow, steady walk. Drago walked backwards, keeping a safe distance between them.

My breath hitched.

For the first time in memory, Drago Bludvist's scent contained something like fear.

Dad attacked. Drago held the bullhook steady, but he was dealing with a man, not a dragon. Dad bashed the bullhook off to the side with his axe's head, and continued to move into Drago's blind spot. In one, fluid movement, he brought his axe up in an overhead strike and if Drago had possessed a beard, it would have been shaved off from the narrowness of the miss. Drago moved backwards again – but that was perfect. Dad needed that room for his weapon. He swung diagonally from shoulder to hip, catching the bullhook's shaft. Drago, mouth slightly open in what may have been a silent shout, turned his bullhook so that the spur was facing Dad, and tried to slash him with that. It drove the Viking Chief off temporarily.

"Stay back!" Dad held his hand up in Cloudjumper's direction. The Stormcutter had crouched, ready to pounce. "You'll only get in my way."

I whined and looked up at Astrid.

"It's okay, Hiccup. Stoick knows what he's doing," Astrid said that in a breathless whisper, as if the sight of her Chief's fight had sapped away her voice. "And if something does go wrong, we'll be here."

I nodded, more for myself than her. Astrid was right. Dad was a Viking Chief, a seasoned warrior, a man courageous enough to look a Bewilderbeast in the eye and face down the Red Death to buy his tribe time to flee. And like she said, if things did get sticky, I – and Astrid and Stormfly and Cloudjumper – would be right here to assist him. That felt . . . odd. The situation itself felt odd; seeing Cloudjumper ready to jump in, watching Stormfly track the fight, having Astrid's comforting warmth at my back . . . I'd grown so used to knowing I could only rely on myself as the tyrant's prisoner that it was almost weird to realize I had others backing me up again. Others that couldn't be forced to attack me by a whim of the tyrant.

I leaned back, snuggled up against Astrid, and inhaled her scent. By Odin, I had missed her so much.

Drago and Dad stalked each other. The madman had learned, and he was careful to keep space between them now. It made me giddy to see him so cautious, especially when Dad's body language screamed the Chief was hunting the other man. I wanted to ask Drago if he had always been so afraid of a fair fight.

"Something wrong, Drago?" Dad asked.

I don't know how to describe it. Drago made some strangled sound, barked at him or something. He spat onto the ground, not taking his eyes off Dad's face. Dad chuckled a little and with his fingers strangely splayed, lifted his hand in mockery of Stop.

Some memory stirred in the back of my mind, but I didn't take the bait. I wanted to concentrate on what was before me. Plus, my headache was starting to come back. I think my mistreatment in general was catching up to me, because my muscles were aching.

They continued to watch each other, but Dad was doing something weird. He held his axe with only one hand. The other rested on his thigh, and he was holding his fingers oddly. As they changed from one form to another, I finally remembered. Those were the hand signals we had taught our dragons! But Cloudjumper wouldn't know them, would he? Also, Dad knew better than to try and command Stormfly when Astrid was literally sitting on her back. Maybe he was using those signals to try to communicate something to Astrid –

Then, I knew. I looked at the rooftops behind Drago. It took me a while to make it out, but then I saw it: a big, black dragon with bright green eyes. Dad steadily moved forward, forcing Drago to move closer to Toothless. Then, his fingers formed the signal to fire.

Toothless did.

Naturally, the shot hit the cloak draped against Drago's back, but it wasn't so much damage Dad had wanted, but shock. Drago had been so focused on his opponent that the blast took him completely by surprise. It knocked him off his feet, and Dad took the opportunity. He rushed forward as Toothless swooped down from the rooftops, calling to me –

Crack.

Drago had gotten up to one knee, and had tried to use the shaft of his bullhook to deflect Dad's axe. While he did succeed in not getting his skull cracked, the axe had sheared through the bullhook's shaft, splitting it into two. Drago stared at the pieces with disbelief . . . and Dad bashed him in the side of the face with his axe's head. With a cry that echoed through the island and a gush of blood from his shattered nose, Drago fell onto his side.

"Yes!" Astrid lurched forward, as if about to jump off her dragon. Cloudjumper was barking in triumph, delighted to see his best friend's murderer defeated. Even the earth seemed to be rumbling in approval.

Dad kicked the top half of Drago's bullhook away, and just stared, catching his breath. Drago didn't move. His hand was pressed up against his nose, trying to stem the blood flow.

Toothless landed next to Stormfly, panting. He refused to let his right, front paw touch the ground and the wing on that side was being held funny, but he was wriggling his hindquarters and licking his lips since he didn't have me to lick.

I squirmed in Astrid's hands even as she lowered me. I never touched ground; I sprung straight from her arms into the dirty, dusty Night Fury and he rolled over with the force, clutching me close to his chest. He sniffed my snout, and then furiously began licking the small cut there.

"Not the time for this!" I complained.

Then, Dad spoke.

"Did you know who she was?" he said, making everyone freeze and fall silent.

"Huh?" Drago's voice came out garbled.

"That woman you killed in the Dragon Sanctuary. Did you know who she was . . .? Answer me!" He kicked Drago over onto his back. His axe shook along with the one hand that held it.

Being forced onto his back had let some of the blood from his nose fall into his mouth, and Drago coughed that up now. "Some vigilante."

Dad went perfectly still. Drago tried to sit up.

That was a mistake.

One hand snapped out. It locked around Drago's throat, and squeezed. With impossible strength, Dad forced him up onto his feet. Then, Drago was up on his tiptoes, and then his toes weren't touching ground at all after Dad slammed him against a wall and slid him up higher.

Something dark and terrifying passed over his face. "That was my wife!"

The dragons and I stared, shocked by the uncharacteristic viciousness. Astrid gasped. He heard that. I saw the moment Dad remembered he had an audience. The shadow fell off his face as he glanced at us, and visibly tried to calm himself. Things were quiet. If you didn't count the furious rumbling and the destruction in the background –

Oh, no. Oh, no.

Stormfly shrieked. Toothless rolled back to his feet, and grabbed me in his mouth before I could do anything. I poked my head out to see Cloudjumper flare his wings, staring in the same direction the other two were. Grains of dirt were bouncing up and down all around us.

"Stormfly-!" Astrid held that last syllable as her Nadder took off without her command. Toothless followed. Cloudjumper lunged at Dad. The dragons and I had realized the same thing. When Drago went down, his shout had been loud enough that any nearby person would have heard it.

Or any nearby dragon.

The tyrant smashed through the buildings. He would have killed Dad if it wasn't for Cloudjumper; the Stormcutter snatched him up and away before the tyrant's claws found him. In our minds, the tyrant howled in rage, and then his ice reached us. Cloudjumper spun around and unleashed a huge pillar of flame, keeping the ice off us with pure heat. Stormfly added her flame to his. The air quickly became muggy and hot as water evaporated at a silly rate. The ice kept its distance, forming a cavern above and below until we were encased. But I blasted through it and the three dragons quickly flew through the tunnel.

Toothless turned back to look, allowing me to see, too. Thankfully, the tyrant no longer seemed interested in us. He was staring down at the spot where Drago must have been, making soft, quiet noises not unlike the ones Toothless made to me. He didn't even notice the king heading toward him, not until the king tackled him from the side. His tusks slid under the tyrant's belly. The tyrant roared, barely keeping his footing as the king tried to flip him.

"Yeah, let's stay far away from there." Astrid urged Stormfly to fly away, which she gladly did.

We landed nearby. Astrid looked over at Dad, and said, "If we fly high, we could stay out of the Bewilderbeasts' way and we might find Drago again."

Dad clenched his fists. With effort, it seemed, he tore his gaze away from where the two alphas were fighting. "No. We got Hiccup. Now, we need to help the others. We can find Drago once the fighting ends."

Astrid nodded.

I poked Toothless. "Uh, could you let me down now?"

He had to think about it. But he did.

Together, we flew toward the pandemonium that was the beaches. The alphas, in their transition from sea to land, had punched a huge hole in the defenses that the Vikings had been quick to take advantage of. There no longer was a defensive line, just groups of defenders and Vikings running amuck. The Vikings generally stuck to their own tribes. Berk was easiest to find; they had paired up with their dragons, or else partnered with the king's, and were targeting Drago's war machines. Actually, I thought I saw an Outcast or two riding a dragon. The Hysterics, ever so wary, never forgetting their alleged, disastrous fight with the skraelings, remained near the ships, fending off those who would wish to destroy our way off the island. The Raiders had pushed through to the top of the beach, and were gleefully torching the nearby structures. The tribes engrossed in the thickest of the fighting appeared to be the Outcasts, the Louts and – surprising, considering our history – the Berserks. They were literally targeting the places where Drago's forces appeared to be strongest, unlike the Bog Burglars and Meatheads, who were going after stragglers or groups that had been split from the crowd.

"What's the plan, Chief?" Astrid asked.

"Take down his dragons." Dad pointed ahead at a Nightmare grappling with an armour-plated Hotburple. "They're the ones the rest of the tribes will have trouble reaching."

"Got it!" She immediately directed Stormfly to where Meatlug was struggling to fight an agile Typhoomerang.

"Keep him out of trouble," Dad said to Toothless. Then, he slapped Cloudjumper's side. "Let's go!"

As the two glided off, Toothless gave me a glare that said, Just try to get in trouble. I dare you.

I eyed his stiff wing. "You okay to fight?"

Toothless looked from me to the wing, grumbled in annoyance, and did a loop just to prove he could.

"Well, good for you. As for me, I'm pretty sore. And I still haven't cooled down from you guys blasting the ice." It almost felt like I had a fever, but there was no way I could have gotten sick that fast.

It was closest, so we aimed for a bola-shooter first. Toothless destroyed the mechanisms as I followed behind him. The machine collapsed on itself as we soared past, and I could hear Gobber cheering at my appearance. I chuffed in his general direction, and kept my eyes on Toothless. Good thing I did, because he turned sharply, and caught the stare of one of Drago's Thunderclaws. The two squared off, hovering, growling.

Thunderclaws were big dragons, so that meant it was hard for this one to avoid Toothless's lightning-fast strikes. Toothless strafed it – ducked in close to the other dragon's side, and then blasted it as he soared past. But the Thunderclaw's hide was tough, and it had armour protecting its more vulnerable head. The dragon wavered, but shook off the blow, roaring after Toothless as he moved out of range. I, on the other hand, circled the two, doing nothing useful. I had my reasons: firstly, I doubted I could do damage and secondly, Toothless would probably find a cage of his own to put me in if I kept throwing myself into danger.

Toothless strafed it a couple more times, twisting out of the way of the Thunderclaw's retaliatory flame. Thick drops of metal started to roll down its helmet as the heat took effect. The Thunderclaw roared, but this time it was facing me and I fired – not even Toothless could get mad at me for jumping in now – into its open mouth. My fire hit its target with a muffled boom, and the Thunderclaw started to slowly descend in dizzying circles.

Toothless helpfully sped up its descent by body-slamming it from above.

"You don't need to look so smug," I told him.

Toothless snorted. He suddenly veered toward the settlement, and to my surprise, landed on one of the buildings that the Raiders weren't burning. I looked at him questioningly, then saw that while his left wing was tucked in against his side, his right wing remained open.

"Hey, take it easy, bud." I slunk around to his front, and stared at the gashes in his shoulder. "You've been through a lot. You don't have to fight if it hurts."

But the sight of the battle was agitating him. He suddenly started licking my snout again.

I shied away. We could worry about that small cut later. This was too important. True, I didn't want Toothless to fight as we normally did . . . but it's not like we actually needed to get close. Night Furies were part of the Strike Class, after all, and I was more than ready to take advantage of that. Fire was boiling in my chest again, spreading through my veins in waves of heat and drowning out the soreness of my body.

I flicked my ears at an enemy with his back to us, and spat out a mouthful of air. Fire, there.

Toothless shot the ground behind the man, and we watched with cruel amusement as he cartwheeled through the air. I scratched a line into the wood in front of Toothless.

Toothless glanced down at the line, then at the man he had taken down, and made the connection. He warbled. I like this game!

He stole my next target. And the next. Toothless was literally waiting for me to shoot, so that he could shoot right after at the same person and steal the point (technically, we seemed to hit at the same time, but the power of the strike indicated that it was Toothless's shot that actually mattered). In-between targets, he'd sidle close and lick my cut. He'd stolen five of my points by the time I finally faked him out and got one.

My first thought upon seeing the ground explode was that somehow, that devious dragon had still managed to get there before me; that explosion couldn't have been mine. It was too big, too powerful. At the least, it had been on par with any of Toothless's regular shots. Yet Toothless seemed as stunned as me.

Toothless cocked his head. You, fire, how?

I shook my head. I didn't know. If anything, I would have thought my fire had weakened from disuse. I mean sure, my chest was boiling and churning and it felt like pins were sticking into my legs, but over the weeks, I hadn't noticed any increase in firepower. Not until today when I –

. . .

I'm such an idiot!

Toothless squawked in concern as I gagged and coughed. I pushed his snout away with my paw, concentrating on the unpleasant task that needed to be done. Come on! If I could spit up fish on command, how hard could it be to cough up a rock? Apparently though, my stomach liked the dangerous foreign object, because it was holding on tight. Finally, something hard wedged in my throat. I gagged once more, and the rune slid onto my tongue. I spat it out.

With it done, the heat coursing through my veins weakened. Toothless sniffed at the rune, and growled.

"It's okay. It's over. We won. We just have to finish up-"

Toothless screeched and dove on top of me as the building buckled. What -? Oh. It wasn't even our building the alphas had crashed into, but an armoury a block away. The aftershocks were so great that the building next to the armoury had collapsed, too. Men and women alike, upon seeing the alphas close to the beach again, took off for the other side. They didn't even care if it was friend or foe they ran next to.

The king and the tyrant took a moment to rest. Together, they sucked in enough air to make one worry that there wouldn't be enough for the rest of us. Two long gashes, similar to the ones that now laid on Drago's cheeks, stretched along the tyrant's abdomen from where the king had struck him earlier. Although the bleeding was shallow, it filled the air with its coppery stench. His majesty seemed okay, despite the snapped spines along his brow.

The tyrant stood first. He swung his head sideways to slash with his tusks. The king tilted his chin up, meeting the tyrant's tusks with his own. It bought his majesty time to stand as well, and with a jolt of worry, I realized that it had taken him effort to do so. Once on his feet, the king seemed steadier, so maybe it was just the transition he had trouble with. The dragons went forehead-to-forehead, pushing, until it became apparent the king was winning. The tyrant quickly retreated, but his majesty did not pursue. They stared at each. I thought I could see the air shimmering from the intensity of their mental conversation.

And the tyrant bellowed. He slammed into the king. His claws kicked up dirt as he pushed. We could see it. It like the shifting of a mountain before a landslide as the king's weight was forced back . . . but then with his weight now fully on his back legs, the king shoved back, forcing the tyrant off and to the side, where his back collided with the rock arch that separated beach from camp. The tyrant hit it hard, and we could hear something in the arch break. Some debris fell from the section above his head, but the structure remained standing.

I thought – I hoped – this would be it. But as the king wheeled about for another blow, the tyrant rolled up with speed born of anger and fear, and it was his tusks that slammed into the king's neck.

Your majesty! every dragon must have cried.

The king staggered. The tyrant head-butted the king's shoulder, forcing him to turn until the king could break away. Now, the king had the arch to his back. The tyrant knew enough not to charge him head on, and opted to rear up instead. The king met him up high, their tusks locked with the tyrant's tusks on the bottom, and their comparatively pathetic claws tried to scratch at each other.

There was no warning. The tyrant dropped down, tearing his tusks away. Without the tyrant to push against for support, the king stumbled and began to fall, too. The tyrant tilted his chin so that his tusks curved upwards, the way Drago might hold his bullhook when fighting a dragon. The tyrant thrust up –

The king howled in agony.

He'd fallen straight on the tyrant's tusks, and they had punctured his chest. The tyrant jerked his head up, once, twice, driving them in deeper. The tyrant dug down low, heaved, and then lifted the king up onto his back legs. They buckled beneath the king as the tyrant drove him back and smashed him into the rock arch. The tyrant stepped back a little, dragging the king with him, and then forced him into the arch again.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The tyrant's tusks slid out, covered in blood.

The king fell. He was on the ground, two gaping holes in his chest. His breathing was heavy and fast, and one of his lungs must have been punctured because there was a trickle of blood coming out from the corner of his lip . . . more like a river – no, no! That's just because of his size. He was fine, he would be fine and –

Go. Run!

The king's mental voice boomed in every dragon's head. Almost his entire flock immediately took flight, dumping Vikings off their backs before they headed out to sea in an attempt to get out of the Bewilderbeasts' telepathic range. The king's head hit the ground as he laid there on his side, panting.

Cloudjumper screamed. The flames that escaped from his mouth would have vaporized any human in its way. The tyrant didn't even notice; they broke over his scales uselessly. He stepped backwards, giving himself room to attack again.

Stop! STOP! I didn't know who I was screaming at. Maybe the tyrant, maybe the king, maybe everyone. You won, okay? You did it. You're stronger than him. You don't need to keep going. Please, please just leave him -!

Hiccup . . . I'm sorry, the king whispered.

Don't say that! I hissed. I knew what he was really saying. I knew why he said. But it would be okay –

The tyrant charged. Time slowed.

The king stood and turned, bringing his tusks around in one last, desperate blow. But he didn't aim for the tyrant.

His majesty's tusks slammed into the cracked arch a second before the tyrant's tusks found his heart. The tyrant pulled his tusks free –

Just as the arch fell.

On both of them.

For anyone who's concerned that the whole threat of the magic rune ended rather anti-climatically, don't worry. The story's not over yet!

Review Responses:

Jazz: Oh, forgive me for being dumb then. I'm afraid I don't know much about that part of the world.

Exactly!

The Outcasts are already here. Their tribe has become one of Berk's closest allies, after all, so they would be happy to help. Unfortunately, Snotlout is not with them.

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Snowflake: I didn't kill Toothless!