Broken

by Athenaeum

Six months after defeating the Red Death, Hiccup feels there are still many problems between Vikings and dragons as well as many unanswered questions. Some answers will bring far bigger problems.

43. Oblation

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Broken

Chapter 43: Oblation

Folkvardr landed, tired and hurting. The spines lodged in his haunch, leg and neck sent bright, sparking pain into him with every movement. As much as he wanted to yank them out with his teeth as soon as he touched ground, he refrained. His partner was dealing with her own wounds. At least the spines didn't hurt as much when he wasn't moving. He looked over his shoulder at her.

For her part, Astrid was in worse shape but only in spirit. Her ears were ringing from the incredibly loud sound the wounded Red Death had made. At first she'd thought it had indicated a successful strike. To her dismay, the enormous dragon had stayed upright. Folkvardr's uneven flight had kept her from getting a good look at the damage she'd done until they were nearly on the ground. Bitter disappointment turned sour at the back of her throat as she saw the arrow clearly lodged in the bony ring supporting the badly damaged eye. The few seconds she had to look let her see the eyelids closed on the offending shaft, blood and ichor running from them like ghastly tears.

Competing for her attention was the fact that hers was not the only dragon that had landed. A quick scan of the sky showed it to be entirely empty. From the ground it was difficult to tell if all the dragons that had been fighting in the air had landed with them or gone elsewhere. She heard only the labored breathing of her companion, mixed with her own panting as she struggled with her situation.

Her leg was in bad shape. She grimaced at the sight of the large patch of raw skin and bleeding muscle. Getting off Folkvardr a second time seemed like a bad idea, since she didn't know if she would be needed again. She also doubted she would be able to remount once on the ground.

Staying in the saddle, she drew her leg up until her foot rested against the back of Folkvardr's neck, hissing at the pulling of injured muscles. Yanking her work knife from her belt, she sliced her legging around her thigh, above the injury. She leaned forward with a grunt to make another cut above the top of her boot. Turning the blade toward herself, she slid it inside the legging and slit it lengthwise until it fell away. The portion damp with blood stuck and took longer to remove. Once she had the long piece of fabric loose she wrapped it over the wound and tied it as tightly as she could. The bleeding wasn't as bad as she'd feared.

Her injury tended, she lowered her leg, just missing the spine jutting from the flesh of her Nadder's neck. She stared at it a moment. Leaning forward, she gripped it gently and looked up at Folk's head. Her dragon was watching her closely. When she went no farther, the Nadder gave a soft groan and moved his head up and down to signify his agreement. Astrid nodded, getting a firm grip so she could twist the spine as she withdrew it. Long experience had taught Berk the best way to pull those sharp, barbed weapons from the flesh. Folkvardr's neck rippled as the spine came out but there was no other sign of distress. A narrow line of crimson trickled from the puncture.

She carefully dropped the spine to avoid having those same barbs take pieces out of her hand. Looking up to see if Folk needed more attention, she saw the Red Death before them. The scene was so strange it caused her to react the same as the other dragons. She simply stared at it. Perhaps the dragons were waiting to take their cue from it. Astrid was too, in a way. But it was macabre fascination that held her pinned. The Red Death was nearly motionless, one large foreleg raised toward its injured eye. That leg was trembling slightly. A moment later she realized she could hear a sound coming from it. The low, scratchy growl might have been its equivalent of a pained whine. Assuming it was capable of such a thing.

Her shot had done some good, then. It might not have killed it but it had certainly reduced its aggressive posture. Perhaps there was some satisfaction to be had from changing the momentum of the battle. But where did they go from here? Habit forced her to locate Ivarr, draped over the horn of her saddle. She reached behind and felt the last two shafts in her possession still in her quiver. The aching burn of her arms told her she probably did not have it in her to use him again without some rest. A stray thought crossed her mind and she looked to the Red Death's back, looking for-

The unfamiliar Viking was still there, and he wasn't alone. She was shocked to realize she knew who was standing there with him, atop their common enemy.

It was Hiccup.

---

Fishlegs lived because of the sharpness of Stoick's axe and the strength of his arm. The chief hadn't been close enough to do more than open a long, shallow cut along the lumpy dragon's flank. That minor injury was enough to cause the Gronckle to flinch and spoil its shot at the young man. Stoick kept his momentum going as he rushed forward to put himself between the dragon and Fishlegs. The Ingerman lad stepped to one side and moved up next to him, unwilling to let his chief fight his battle for him.

Before he could direct the young dragon rider to turn his attention to the injured Ruffnut, a loud and strangely distorted roar echoed from both behind them and outside. The Gronckle's eyes seemed to lose their focus. Then the dragon slowly turned its head to stare at its fellows outside. Ready to resume fighting in an instant, Stoick only allowed his eyes to shift the slightest bit. He looked outside, saw nothing more threatening than the Gronckle and turned his attention back to the immediate threat. A heartbeat later he frowned, realizing there was something unexpected going on. The Gronckle hadn't resumed its attack. More importantly, Stoick realized the dragons beyond the Gronckle weren't a threat because they weren't moving. At all.

Those inside the tunnel were looking outside and those outside were looking up. The fighting had stopped completely. Dragons who had been fiercely battling each other stood motionless, scanning the top of the mountain. After a bit, several took off; that started a lurching migration. Those in the tunnel with them went outside. Then they, too, left the beach.

The only remaining dragons were their partners, each seriously battered but very much alive. The sudden quiet allowed Stoick to hear Ruffnut's pained moans. He turned to find her twin brother hovering over her, looking worried and uncertain. Her lower left leg had a simple break a hand's span above her ankle. He touched Fishlegs on the shoulder and pointed to Ruffnut, saying simply, "Bring her." Stoick himself wasn't certain he was up to it with the way his ribs were aching. He turned back toward the tunnel's entrance, looking for Gobber. The smith was on his feet, looking outside.

Gobber had put his helmet back on but it did nothing to cover the mild burns he'd gotten on the back of his neck and shoulders. It was possible the man might not even notice them until later. "What do you see?"

The smith shook his head slowly, not seeming to comprehend the scene before him. "None left but the dead ones," he said quietly. With the limited view he had Stoick might have guessed at roughly a dozen who had given their lives. "So many," Gobber muttered. Something caught his attention and he moved out among the bodies.

"What do we do now, sir?" Fishlegs was standing beside him, Ruffnut easily cradled in his arms. Tuff continued to hover near, wanting to help but obviously uncertain how.

"The beach. We'll take her to Freygerd." He eyed the Ingerman with concern. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" He gave the slightest shrug. "Banged up and bruised, I guess. Nothing worse."

Stoick allowed himself an easier breath. They had done reasonably well, all things considered. "Good." He nodded, indicating the exit. "Let's get her to the boat."

They moved out, their dragons staying close to them as they surveyed the carnage left behind. A low, pained growl arrested them all. Stoick turned to see every one of their dragons turn toward Gobber, who stood near a downed Nightmare that wasn't yet a casualty. He frowned, uncertain what he was seeing.

"Sir?"

Stoick pointed Fishlegs toward the beached ship in the distance. "To Freygerd. We'll catch up." He glanced around at the empty skies. "Something's happened. We'll have to get up there as soon as we can." Looking to Gobber, he found his friend looking back at him, a disturbed expression on his bruised face.

The twin's Zippleback was chattering to the wounded Nightmare. Stoick approached, his axe still in his hand. The closer he got, the clearer the situation became. He brought his weapon over his head and settled the heavy blade into the protective pouch strapped across his back. The Nightmare, a bright red creature with odd tinges of green to its scales in places, seemed to watch him exclusively. One of the Zippleback's heads turned briefly to consider the chief before bumping snouts with the downed dragon.

It was a female, an older one to judge from the few long-healed scars along her body. Despite numerous new gashes along her neck and tail, she looked fit enough. Her right wing, however, was almost a total loss. The main bones were intact but more than half of the critical webbing was lost, along with several of the central 'finger' bones. The bleeding was relatively slight but the look in her eyes spoke of a mortal wound.

"What do we do?" Gobber's voice was subdued, likely knowing the answer as well as Stoick did. He shook his head slowly.

"Nothing to do that I know of."

Thunderguts and the twin's dragon apparently did know. Fishleg's Gronckle began 'speaking' to the wounded Nightmare, along with Bjalki and Bjarki. Eventually the female Nightmare responded. The conversation became more animated as it went until some decision was reached.

To the men's astonishment, Bjalki and Bjarki turned their large, wide body around and carefully backed up to the Nightmare. The wounded female tried to lift herself off the ground with her good wing but was having trouble. Instantly Thorithr and the other dragons moved in to give her support. As the Zippleback moved backwards it slid its twin tails along each side of the Nightmare's narrow body. They pushed themselves under her until she was sliding up onto their broad back.

Bjalki and Bjarki finally stood, the flightless Nightmare's body resting atop their own central spine and her long neck wedged between both of theirs. The Zippleback spoke to the dragons around them before walking toward the Tonna.

Stoick stood motionless, trying to absorb what they'd just witnessed. "I'd... never have believed... if I hadn't just seen..." Thorithr gave a soft croon and nudged his shoulder gently. His hand came up automatically to caress her jowls, still watching the dragons rendering aid to a wounded comrade.

"We never really gave them the chance to show us, did we?"

Stoick was taken aback by the soft yet intense tone of the smith's voice. He stared at his friend, not quite sure what was going on in the man's mind. Gobber watched the retreating dragons a moment before addressing him.

"Three... hundred... years." The anger in his eyes was a rare thing. Normally given to either optimism or realism, such venom was practically unheard of for him. He pointed at the Zippleback. "We..." He could manage nothing more.

"Were wrong," Stoick finished for him, suspecting that his own feelings were similar to what his friend was trying to express. "We were always wrong." He looked up to see Thorithr watching him closely. He patted her chin. "Thank the gods Hiccup got us turned around, eh?" Between his lighter tone and mentioning Gobber's favorite apprentice he hoped to help ease the tension in the man's heart.

Gobber blinked and considered things a moment before turning back to watch the departing dragons. "Yeah," he finally answered, his tone noticeably softer. He huffed a large sigh. "Now I really miss George. Great bony bugger."

Getting back to the Tonna seemed to take longer than getting to the tunnel had, likely because of the persistent ache from his ribs. Stoick wondered if perhaps some of them might be cracked. He saw Fishlegs reach Freygerd who directed him to set Ruffnut down next to Hogknee. The fisherman had apparently gotten injured in a way similar to the female Thorston. His broken ankle had been splinted and he was resting on the beach. Freygerd had set Stonetoss to tending a fire over which a small iron bowl was simmering. As they neared she gave instructions to Ingifast on how to prepare the medicine she was concocting in the bowl. She then turned her attention to Ruffnut, running light fingers over the break and determining how best to set the bone.

Eyvind was back with his ship, as was Kelda. The woman gave Stoick a sour look as he and several dragons approached. "What kind of insanity was that?" She waved a calloused hand at the distant beach where the deceased combatants were plainly visible. "You still think we should have these things in the village after seeing something like that?"

Stoick gave her a stony glare before declaring, "You didn't see everything."

Kelda wasn't fazed. "Saw enough."

"And didja happ'n ta see tha?!" Gobber's sudden shout, coupled with a muscled arm vigorously pointing toward the laden Zippleback took everyone by surprise. His anger was rising again and Stoick took a step closer in case things got too... impassioned. "Do ya still think they're mindless beasts after seein' 'em do tha?!"

The woman refused to look at any of the dragons. "I know what dragons are."

Freygerd's voice interjected before the next round could begin. "Stoick, do you think they succeeded? When they all left..."

He looked at her, holding a small clay cup to Ruffnut's lips to drink some of the medicine she'd been brewing. The girl's boot was off and the legging slit to the knee. Once the medicine had taken effect, they would be able to set the leg without distressing her overmuch.

"It's what I'm hoping for. We need to get up there quick, in case there's need of us."

Freygerd nodded. "This needs to wait a bit before setting. Got some strong arms here to help with that." She stared closer at her chief. "Something wrong with you? You're holding yourself kind of..."

Stoick looked down at the arm he was holding across his middle, trying to mitigate the ache in his ribcage. "Nothing troublesome yet. Though I might want a nip of that before we head back." He motioned to the steaming bowl.

The elder nodded. Pointing up at the summit she said, "Sooner gone, sooner back. Don't take too long, though."

He smiled slightly and started to turn toward Thorithr, then hesitated. "Er, I know you've no practice at it, but if she'll let you... would you mind just having a look?" He pointed to the Nightmare whose head was cradled between two supportive necks, looking weary and miserable. "It's her wing. Not much to be done, I'm thinking but... anything you could do to help would go a long way, I'm sure."

Freygerd considered the wounded dragon a moment, seeming to be at a loss as to how to respond. Then she put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath. "Well, I suppose someone's got to start learning how to treat such things. Might as well be me."

Stoick cast a last glance at Ruffnut, her brother at her side looking worried. With her injury and their dragon providing assistance to the Nightmare, those three were all better off staying with the boat. He turned to Gobber, who was still glaring at Kelda.

"Fishlegs," he called. "Gobber. Check your dragons. See if they're in good enough shape to get us up to the top. I want to know what pulled the rest of the dragons away." He glanced up toward the peak of the mountain. "It's been quiet so far. Might be we're done here."

He kept that hopeful thought in his mind as he gave Thorithr and her saddle a brief inspection. His gentle touch at each of her wounds caused the Nadder no obvious distress. The small cuts in the membrane of her wings seemed innocuous to his eyes. The bite on her leg was probably the worst she'd taken, though she didn't seem to limp much. Standing before her he pointed up toward the top of the nest. She understood his request, as far as he could tell. She looked up to where he pointed, staring for several moments. He wondered at her hesitation and was all the more grateful when she made her decision. She lowered herself to allow him onto her back.

Fishlegs and Gobber were similarly mounted by the time he was ready. He noticed that Bjalki and Bjarki were chattering to Ingifast's Zippleback. Apparently those two decided to trade off, as the shipwright's dragon moved closer and prepared to take flight with them. More signs they'd never before witnessed of the true nature of dragons.

The end of this day, Stoick realized, would see Berk as drastically changed as it had been after Hiccup's battle with the old Death. This time, he vowed to himself, the changes would be deep and permanent.

---

Fear was for lesser Kin. And yet fear ruled his frozen liver. Did that make him a lesser Kin than the one biting his eye with sharp, unseen teeth? Smoketail had no way to argue against such a thought. His body was held in check by the pain radiating through his head and focusing on his damaged eye. This kind of unimaginable strength must have been brought to bear against the old Gatherer. Surely that was how the ghostwing had grounded her so easily.

The pain from the ghostwing's teeth was terrible. He wanted to rub at his eye but remembered what happened to his snout when he did so. He also came to understand that if he held the bitten eye still it didn't hurt as much. It took some concentration to look through his other eyes without moving that specific one.

Despite the throbbing agony which threatened to spill from his head and consume the rest of him, Smoketail was grateful he was not being attacked any further. He was still alive; perhaps the ghostwing wouldn't ground him after all. He still couldn't understand how the tiny Kin was doing it. It made no sense. Was it something else his dam had failed to warn him against?

He slowly managed to use his other eyes to assemble the scene before him. The Kin of Fire Nest and those attacking them had done as he commanded. They had all stopped fighting, though that hadn't been the reason for his panicked plea. Now they simply stared at him. It was unnerving, though not as much as being continually bitten by a Kin he could not see. Slowly and deliberately he lowered his foreleg and stood, shivering slightly as he worked to adjust to the constant pain in his head. Fear still gnawed at the lump of ice where his liver used to be. He eventually spotted the ghostwing, once again on his side and fidgeting with something along his belly. Forcing his body to still its tremors, Smoketail addressed his adversary with a quiet growl.

"Why have you attacked my nest? Why are you trying to ground me?"

---

Hiccup was having a hard time dealing with so many problems and puzzles at once. He and Toothless had been attacked in the cave at the top of the mountain. Immediately after that he'd been left with another dragon a safe distance away from the fighting. Hurting from bruises and burns, he'd convinced his minder to return him to the battle. Now he found himself deposited directly on top of the new Red Death's shoulders and in the company of one of Berk's villagers, a man who looked vaguely familiar. Hiccup couldn't fathom what the man was doing there or why he was glaring hatefully at him. At least he was helping to hold him steady, although his painfully tight grip had shifted from the back of his tunic to his upper arm. He would have complained except that the man was giving him the stability he needed to take his weight off his hurting stump.

Several moments of tense silence passed as they stared at each other. Hiccup was having trouble placing the man's face, partly because it was looking unusually haggard. He seemed to be missing most of his beard as well. There were rents in his tunic that seemed to be stained with blood. He wasn't even certain knowing the man's name would help because he could think of no one on Berk that had any business on the back of this Red Death. How could he have gotten here? Did he come on Eyvind's ship? Or had he been here all along?

Eventually he couldn't take the glaring any more and blurted out the first question that came to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Training my dragon!"

Hiccup felt a glimmer of hope. If the man had a dragon he'd been training it might answer a few of the questions he had.

Naturally he scanned the ground surrounding their unusual perch, noticing for the first time that all the dragons were staring up at them. Or at the Red Death. Where was this man's dragon? There were so few adults who rode dragons on Berk that he felt he should know his name; why couldn't he remember? Oddly it was a completely different memory that surfaced as a result of his line of thought. He remembered asking Toothless if Bitequick was of breeding age and therefore susceptible to falling under the Red Death's control. Was that what had happened to this man? But that still wouldn't explain why he was standing on top of it.

"Why here?"

The man shook his head slightly and managed to look even more disgusted. "Because this is where he lives, you fool!"

Now he was really confused. How had he partnered with a dragon on this island? Did he live here? But it still didn't explain why the man was on the Red Death's shoulders. Unless...

"Did he bring you here against his will? Have you seen-"

"I'm not talking about that runt! I'm talking about Alrekr!"

Once again Hiccup's thoughts were thrown askew. "Al... who's Alrekr?"

He gasped as the grip on his arm became painfully hard. He was jerked forward until their foreheads almost collided. The furious shout was matched with a violent stabbing motion of the man's other hand, pointing straight down. "Al-re-kr! The ruler of all!"

Hiccup frowned. Then he gaped as the man's words finally became clear. "How could you possibly-"

"What's it matter? I'm doing it! He's accepted me! He lets me ride him!"

He was thrown further off balance with each statement. Was this how his father had felt when Hiccup had first proclaimed Toothless to be harmless? It was an idea so crazy it had never once crossed his mind. Train? Ride? The man seemed to be reading the disbelief on his face when he offered the hardest claim to grasp.

"I've been feeding him!"

Hiccup blanched. "Y... you- fee... feeding?"

"Yeah, that's right! Eating right out of my hand!" He was given another hard shake. "And now you're trying to kill him!

His stomach flipped, making him swallow hard. A brittle knot started forming in his guts and he felt breathless. He had no answer for the accusation. It was true. They were there to kill the Red Death. And this man had-

Once more Hiccup was dependant on the man's unrelenting grip; he was swamped with sudden relief and his good leg abruptly felt weak. This man, this angry Berk Viking had done exactly what he'd begged Toothless to allow him to attempt. The answer to their problems had been found! It wasn't too late! Everything had stopped and there was still time to work the problem out. If he could just explain, apologize, perhaps even make amends to the dragon on whose shoulders he was standing, then Berk could survive. The dragons could thrive, on their own.

"What right do you have to kill my dragon?!" The man's eyes narrowed, his anger sliding into a fierce suspicion. "Or are you trying to take him from me, make him your own?"

Hiccup tried to frame a denial, a reassurance that they were actually on the same side. It was a misunderstanding that could easily be remedied if they just talked for a few minutes. Unfortunately the man's anger surged into control once more. His hold on Hiccup's arm had to have left a bruise by now. His words were filled with loathing and his tone pushed reconciliation further away.

"You haven't got the guts to handle this thing! You're too soft, too weak. You have no idea how to use a gift like this!"

The words 'use' and 'gift' caught his attention, like the creaking of a bow string being pulled taut. An unpleasant chill took hold of him as he began to realize what the man meant.

"None of you do! You can't even begin to see the power I can wield with Alrekr under my control. The things I can accomplish! The battles we could have!"

Fear ran an icy finger up Hiccup's spine.

"The Valkyries would come in flocks!"

The finger plunged like a dagger into his heart.

---

Curiosity finally got him moving again.

Einarr was alone in the cave. Everyone and everything else had gone outside. It took a few minutes to convince himself that it was safe to move. During that time he carefully checked himself over and examined his weapon. Both he and his bow were in good condition, all things considered. He did have some bruises on his back and legs, the result of the Red Death slamming its huge paw down onto the half-eaten corpse of a Gronckle and shoving it back until Einarr got pinned between it and the wall.

He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead. He'd certainly pushed his luck firing that second lit arrow at the beast's head. Now he was certain his plan to take the monster down was unworkable. At that point he was quite willing to help Stoick and his group if it would improve his chances of finding Jaspin and getting off the island alive. He wasn't willing to leave the cave, though. At least, not yet.

Shouldering his quiver he moved toward the entrance, keeping to the shadows as much as possible. He'd rather not give himself away to anyone who hadn't already figured out he was there. And if there was anything he could do with his bow to help, he'd rather not lose any tactical advantage.

There'd been a really loud screech just before everything pretty much went silent. The Red Death was still alive but not moving. And it looked like most, if not all, the other dragons had landed and were watching it to see what to do next.

What was going on out there?

Once he settled on a spot near the entrance that allowed him to see most of the Red Death, he pulled his fire arrows from his quiver. He quickly stripped off the tinder rags tied to their heads. He wished he'd thought to bring a few arrows with killing points. Still, the shafts were heavy and the pointed metal caps could be a serious deterrent even if they couldn't drop most targets. Without knowing exactly what he might need to deal with, he felt it best to be ready for anything.

From his new hiding place his eyes swept over the scene. There were dragons everywhere. He thought he could see two or three lying still, perhaps injured or dead from the fighting that had gone before. He cast a dubious glance at the Red Death, only to feel his jaw drop open. There were two men standing atop the beast, having a discussion of some kind. How surreal. One of them was much smaller than the other and reminded Einarr strongly of...

It was Hiccup. How in all the realms did that twig wind up there?

Einarr dismissed the distraction and watched them for a minute. The larger man, whoever he was, was holding on tightly to the boy. He heard a few words drift down from their considerable height but could make no sense of them. Their posture and general attitude didn't seem to indicate the conversation was a happy one.

Looking around as best he could, it occurred to him that those two bore watching. He decided he would keep his eye on them as he waited to see how the whole thing played out.

---

Two Hearts still couldn't get his sticks to work properly. He was worried that being hindered in his flight could be a crushing weight during this critical time. Should Smoketail discover his weakness he might come after him. Without the ability to fly, the Gatherer would have size and power in his favor. Only the strength of his fire would keep the ghostwing from being completely helpless. It alone couldn't bring down the huge Kin.

He was terribly disappointed that Flicktail's rider hadn't been able to deal a killing blow. When Smoketail first reacted, he thought their fight was over. To see him still standing dampened his liver's fire. The sharp metal had caused the Gatherer much pain, though. Two Hearts took advantage of the distraction and tried to free the lines running to his dead tail. He rolled once more onto his side while holding the troublesome stick in his hind paw. He twisted the stick while batting at the joint with his forepaw. He saw the line of bleater skin moving a little but it still wasn't completely free. A low, rough growl from powerful lungs had him back on his feet, warily watching the Gatherer.

Smoketail's foreleg was trembling slightly as he lowered it. The large head moved slowly to one side, all its eyes carefully searching the top of the nest. Two Hearts was certain he knew what the Gatherer hoped to find. On his back he could just see the horned head covering worn by Iceblood. That one was standing with his back to Two Hearts. He was moving oddly. Smoketail spoke and he ignored the preytooth.

"Why have you attacked my nest? Why are you trying to ground me?"

Two Hearts stared at the young Gatherer. He hadn't expected questions. He had expected only fighting; anger and claws and a liver seething with fire. For several moments he didn't know how to respond. It occurred to him that this was what Featherstone had wanted; to speak with the Gatherer. The opportunity had come and he didn't know what his flight mate had wanted to say. Probably to ask him to leave.

What should he say?

There was only one thing he wanted to say.

"This is not your nest. You took it from these Kin and enthralled them. You are not wanted here."

---

Cloudbiter managed to find a place among the nests to land, not too far from where Smoketail still stood. The male cast a quick glance at the Gatherer, noticing the large Kin's unusual stillness. He didn't understand the reason for the powerful, panicked screech that one had given. If the bonded Kin and their preytooths had managed to cause it, he could see no sign of what had been done.

Looking closer at his immediate surroundings, he saw that they were relatively safe for the moment. Smoketail's call had the attention of most every Kin around. Turning his thoughts to the female, he gently twined his neck around hers and closed his eyes. He pressed against her mind, hoping for some reaction from her. He was still confused as to what had happened to her.

He gave the soft, gurgling call to wake as he would if she were merely sleeping. Nothing happened. He nipped gently at her lower jaw, which could rouse her from even the deepest dream. Still nothing.

This would have worried him enough at any other time. To have it happen when Fire Nest was trying to rid itself of another Gatherer was too much. He had to know what had happened to her. He pushed against her, seeking to control more and more of their body until there was only her mind left. He pushed against that, trying to get a response from her. Finally he felt it; resistance. She was in there. She had only turned inward until she'd practically separated herself from their body.

Now that he knew she had done this on purpose, he was left with the vexing question of 'why.' Glancing once more at Smoketail, he knew they needed to answer that question as soon as possible.

---

Thorithr was tired, that much was obvious. She was also hurting. Stoick hated to ask her to fly him all the way up to the top of the mountain. But Hiccup was up there. If the fighting was over, he needed to see where things stood. If it wasn't then he definitely needed to bring what help he could to finish the task.

Not that the four dragons and three Vikings working their way up toward the summit could add much as a fighting force. Stoick and Gobber had plenty of fight left in them but they'd been working hard for a while and needed some rest. Fishlegs was in much better shape, though not prime warrior material. Among the dragons, only Ingifast's Zippleback was uninjured and able to give its full potential to a fight. It was also riderless, therefore undirected and not something Stoick would lean on heavily in combat.

Stoick could feel the tremble of straining muscles beneath him. He reached with one hand and stroked the Nadder's neck, speaking quiet words of encouragement. He imagined she was as grateful as he to see the sloping sides of the mountain fall back to its plateau. The scene before them was stunning in several regards, all of which he had only moments to take in. The stillness and the relative silence were encouraging until he saw the hulking form of the new Red Death still standing among so many attentive, smaller dragons. It rose above everything else the same way the mountain towered above the island.

The scene appeared to indicate an end to the conflict. Whether they'd won or lost could only be determined by speaking to someone, preferably Spitelout. The only one of the five who'd gone up top that he could see was Spite's son, Snotlout. It bothered Stoick a great deal that he could easily spot Toothless on the ground but failed to find Hiccup near him.

Thorithr knew where to go. She hugged the rocky landscape to land near the Night Fury. The dark dragon was looking up and growling loudly at the Death - was he speaking to the monster? His Nadder immediately lowered herself to the ground, her wings partially spread and drooping. Stoick heard her labored breathing as he dismounted. Her sides were a great bellows, pumping much needed air to restore her fires. He went first to her head, bracing both hands against her neck and jaw. Their eyes met and he knew she needed to be left out of any conflict that might immediately follow. "Rest easy, you've done all you can." He glanced at the Gronckles Fishlegs and Gobber brought down close by, noticing they were in similar shape. Ingifast's Zippleback circled the gathering from a higher point before landing out of sight.

They hadn't brought much to offer their side in any impending fight. He could only hope there had been some kind of resolution that wouldn't need physical combat. Such hope could only be sustained with Hiccup's involvement. Which led him directly back to the question: where was his son?

The one to ask was nearby. He motioned to Gobber and Fishlegs to stay where they were and stepped over to the Night Fury. Hiccup's dragon was concentrating on the Red Death and was plainly unhappy with the current situation, whatever that was. Stoick glanced up once more at the Death to find that one staring back at Toothless and rumbling in response. If those two were talking and Hiccup was not involved... what did that mean? He moved forward until he was certain he was in the black dragon's field of view.

"Toothless."

The wide head shifted slightly, the nearest eye coming to rest on him.

"Where's Hiccup?"

The Fury gestured with his snout and a soft huff. He indicated almost directly behind them. Stoick turned to look and saw nothing but jumbled rocks, a few nests and many dragons standing their ground and staring back at them. Frowning slightly, he looked closely for any sign that Hiccup was among those dragons and saw nothing. He considered for a moment.

The Red Death was alive, Toothless was unhappy and, judging from the scene, the fighting up here had been just as intense as it had been below. Wherever Hiccup was, Toothless wasn't concerned enough to be actively protecting him. The Fury was also growling at the Death, who was growling back. Negotiations? Was their situation more tenuous than he'd realized? He studied their common enemy, seeking any signs as to the nature of the apparent truce.

There were no clear signs of injury from where he stood. The Death's unnatural stillness suggested something had happened to affect it. Despite it being much smaller than the one they'd lured onto the beach, it was certainly powerful enough to do a horrible amount of damage to them if it felt threatened.

A man's voice reached him, strident and perturbed. It sounded like it either came from behind the Red Death or...

Motion near the creature's neck frill caught his attention. Stoick's brow furrowed and he stalked around to Toothless' other side, trying to get a better view. He could see a horned helmet, bobbing and twisting slightly. Bewildered by the idea, he moved further around the immense body until he could see a head and the shoulders to which they were attached. Unable to comprehend how one of his group had come to be there, he shouted up at the person.

"You! Who are you?" The helmet swiveled, one eye and a scraggly-bearded cheek coming into view. "What are you doing-"

The man moved forward a step, revealing his face. An oddly familiar face. Surely it couldn't be...

Kettlecrack stared down at the other half of his problem. His time was up. If the Haddocks were intent on taking his dragon from him he would be hard pressed to defend himself. He knew he couldn't count on Alrekr being anything more than an impressive bluff. He stared at the chief of his tribe, watching him display a confidence none should have around a Red Death. Either Stoick felt they could easily take his dragon from him or they didn't believe it was a threat to them.

"Please, you have to listen to me!" Hiccup shifted slightly in his grip. "Could you maybe ease up on-"

"Shut up," he commanded, giving the young man a warning shake.

They'd come for him or for Alrekr. Astrid directing Hiccup to attack him earlier was proof. Luckily, Grimjaws had finally proved his worth and somehow separated Hiccup from his dragon, then brought the boy to him. That was leverage he could use if he needed it.

But did he truly need it? Stoick had just asked who he was. Were they only after Alrekr or was it a ruse?

Stoick was on the ground. So were the few Vikings he'd seen earlier. Hiccup was trapped with him, up on Alrekr's back. The idea bothered him but he was rapidly running out of options. Still, he saw no need to go that route unless they forced him to it. Either way, he couldn't stand on top of the Red Death and remain silent. It was time to take the gamble.

"It's me, Alrekr's trainer!" His heart thrilled to hear those words come from his mouth, shouted down at the man who'd claimed dragons couldn't be used as weapons. He knew he was committing himself with those words, taking the high ground for himself. Literally. He hesitated, but only for a moment. This was his chance to offer proof, even if it was thin and weak. Alrekr gave it the strength it lacked. He just needed the right words. He let go of the dragon's neck frill and gestured to the whole of the nest. "This is Berk's future, Stoick! Unlimited power, ours to control!" Yes, he realized. 'Ours.' Don't use the power to threaten, offer the power to threaten. A smile played across his face as he realized he was exactly where he needed to be. Everything was laid out before him, ripe for the taking. Offer it all to the chief and quietly make certain he was part of the deal. The words seemed to come from thin air, helping him when he needed it most. "Berk will be the unchallenged power in the archipelago! There will be such battles as Midgard has never seen!"

Hiccup, of course, had to meddle. "No, you don't understand, they won't-"

Stoick squinted up at the deranged man standing where no man should have ever stood. He knew that voice, recognized the argument. "Anvindr?"

"I said shut up," Kettlecrack muttered harshly to the boy. He raised his unoccupied fist, more in the hope of triumph than in actual celebration. He was so close! "Aye, it's me! Look at him, Stoick! He's perfect!" He waited, giddy at the thought of accepting the chief's conclusion. How could they not see? It stood before them, quietly accepting their presence. It had to work! After several seconds without a response, he could no longer contain his enthusiasm. "Valhalla awaits," he shrieked joyously.

A sick feeling wormed it way through Stoick's guts. Behind him he heard Fishlegs gasp and Gobber give voice to his skepticism with a muttered, "Is he joking?" Stoick held up a hand in their direction without looking. He was just as confused as they were. This was far too dangerous a situation for rash actions or words. A crazy Viking standing atop a young Red Death wasn't the most mind-warping thing he'd ever faced but it was near the top of the list. There was something odd about the way he was standing, the small, jerky movements of his shoulders.

Anvindr wasn't alone.

"Who's that with you?"

He saw Anvindr turn his head and address the other person. Another head came into view, all too familiar. He winced, partially from seeing his son someplace less than safe and partially because of the angry roar that Toothless gave. Doubtless the Night Fury hadn't known he was up there. Stoick wondered for a moment if the black dragon's vocalization had contained any of the words that flashed through is own mind at that moment.

Hiccup raised one hand and gave a weak smile. "Hey, dad."

---

Smoketail was well and truly caught. He had the power of his body, the knowledge of his dam's lessons and the support of a healthy nest. He was also facing a ghostwing who had grounded the nest's old Gatherer, claimed a nest full of preytooths and was capable of biting other Kin without actually touching them. He honestly had no idea if he would win or lose a fight with the small, powerful Kin. The unrelenting pain in his damaged eye held him immobile. He feared the ghostwing could burrow into his skull if he wanted.

Even so, to hear the little Kin claim that his nest did not want him there brought some of the heat back to his liver. Could this ghostwing not know about Gatherers? Despite the sharp teeth still gnawing on him, he answered the black Kin's words. "I strengthen the nest. I give it purpose."

"You weaken us. You ground us. You devour us! You hide in the nest like a hatchling and have others feed you."

"Word twisting! Look at the nests here. Look at the eggs getting ready to hatch. Fire Nest grows, it thrives!"

"By lifting food from everywhere it can, including the preytooth nest."

"Preytooths are nothing. I have seen their kind. They are misnamed. They have no teeth."

Two Hearts growled angrily, thinking of the many Kin grounded by preytooths for the sake of the Great Eel's appetite. "They have more teeth than you do! They ground Kin to protect themselves from us. Kin kill them to take their food. All for you! We fight and die to feed a wingless eel who cares nothing for us!"

Even with the sharp teeth firmly lodged in his head, Smoketail could not accept such words. "It is your place!"

The ghostwing had expected as much. Featherstone had never understood that his desire to speak to the Gatherer would have no lift with the oversized Kin. He replied with calm determination. "No. I decide my place, not you. My place is with my preytooth flight mate. His Kin need you gone. My Kin need you gone. You will go or you will be grounded."

Two Hearts could still scent fear coming from the Gatherer. He wasn't sure what was to happen next. Flicktail's rider still had her weapon, he could see. She and her brightscale, like all the other Kin there, were still on the ground. Had the preytooth's plan changed?

He heard sire calling up to Iceblood. They were chattering to each other, though Iceblood seemed rather fervent about whatever he was saying. Sire asked a strange question. 'Who is with you?'

A familiar face showed itself. Snow and fire both threatened to consume his liver.

"Featherstone!" Many furious thoughts chased each other through his mind. Most of them involved flight and fire and various levels of destruction. "What are you doing?! Why are you-" He crouched for an instant, intending to launch and retrieve him. His dead tail was still in doubt, however. More, he didn't know how Featherstone had gotten up there or what danger he might be in. Rash actions might cause more problems rather than solve them. With a low growl rumbling in his throat he managed to keep himself on the ground.

Three eyes regarded him with a darkening curiosity. Two Hearts had no idea if Smoketail knew of his flight mate's presence or his importance to him. The Gatherer didn't seem to pay Iceblood any attention; perhaps it didn't care about Featherstone's whereabouts either. How long could that ignorance last, especially with Iceblood there with him?

Despite the pain lancing into his head, Smoketail's attention was drawn to the ghostwing's strange words and actions. He knew Iceblood was still on his back, trapped and out of the way. Why had the dark Kin named him Featherstone? Crush Claw was the one bonded to the lumpy creature, not-

The little firescale's words came rushing back to him: 'He bonded with a preytooth.' The ghostwing had just said his place was with his 'preytooth flight mate,' whatever that meant. And the ghostwing was obviously unhappy now, having seen Iceblood on his back.

Smoketail lifted his head slightly and drew in a long, deep breath.

There were new scents near him that he hadn't noticed before. One was the biting scent he associated with the preytooth's long claws. It was different this time, far stronger and bitterer. Crush Claw had claimed preytooths had 'sharp metal' that was dangerous to Kin. Was that what he'd meant? Could that be the source of the destructive pain in his eye?

There was something else, something harder to get his claws into. He inhaled again, realizing there was another new scent teasing him. It was a preytooth, but not those ranged around him on the ground. It was closer. It was also strongly mixed with the scent of a Kin. It took him a moment to understand.

The scent of the ghostwing was coming to him from two different places; strongly from in front of him and weakly from behind. The dark Kin's preytooth was close by! He twisted his head slowly, bringing his good rear eye around to scan his back.

There were two preytooths clinging to his spines! The one with Iceblood was smaller, much like the last one that had attacked him in the cave. His liver gradually warmed to a healthy glow. The ghostwing's bond partner was trapped with Iceblood on his back! He had no idea how it had happened but it gave him much lift. His moment of discovery served as a distraction and his wounded eye shifted, reminding him he was still in danger from some unknown and unseen force. He shivered slightly, understanding that, despite being larger and more powerful than those arrayed against him, his place in his new nest was not a certainty unless he was careful with the ghostwing.

Smoketail stared at the ghostwing for many heartbeats. The black Kin's threat drifted in the air between them, not quite reaching him and not retreating. He considered his opponent, his actions and his claims. An idea he'd had before came back to him, strong and clear. As it reformed in his mind, he spoke.

"You are the watcher of the preytooth nest." The ghostwing did not respond. "They have named you First Hunter. You protect the preytooth nest. You protect your preytooth partner."

The little Kin crouched and snarled, as if even mentioning his partner was offensive to him. He lowered his snout slightly, puffing a bit of the smoke from his liver's restored fire. "Bring them here. Fire Nest will protect them and I will protect Fire Nest."

The snarling stopped. The wide head rose slightly and the wings dropped a bit. His words were being heard.

"They can be of the nest. I have seen Iceblood, been serviced by him. It is a good arrangement for all. Fire Nest will be stronger than ever."

The ghostwing was quiet, staring at him as his words took hold. Or so he had hoped.

"This is not their nest. It cannot support them."

"Kin can support them. Such simple beasts will be easy to protect."

The ghostwing screeched with surprising anger, "They are not beasts!"

Smoketail was truly puzzled by such a forceful statement. "Then why are they named prey?" There was no answer. "Bring the preytooths here. They will support me and all will grow strong. It is fitting."

Finally an answer came, but it gave him no lift. "Preytooths are badly named. They are a Kin. Featherstone is Kin and kin to me. He is my flight mate. He will not support you."

The pain in Smoketail's head slowly turned to fire. It filled him and gave him back what had been taken from him. Crush Claw had deigned to carry Iceblood and ultimately been weakened by it. His liver told him the watcher of the preytooth nest had done the same. This would be the difference between him and the old Gatherer.

He lifted his head, straightened his stance. Staring down at the ghostwing with three good eyes, he made his position clear. "Then preytooths are worthless to me except as meat." He lifted his lips slightly, letting thin streams of smoke drift upward. "Especially yours."

---

It was taking too long. Kettlecrack began to wonder if having Hiccup with him was more a liability than the safeguard he had imagined. The boy was certainly more annoying than he'd once thought. He'd been going on since his declaration to Stoick about how dragons were this and dragons were that. The twig had even used the word 'people,' a ridiculous notion proving how little the chief's son truly understood about the best way for Vikings to use dragons.

It didn't help his mood, or his position, when Alrekr started growling at Toothless. No doubt the flightless dragon saw the threat Hiccup's position posed. If the beast could see it, then so could Stoick. He was trying to think of a way to keep Hiccup's presence neutral without giving up the security it offered.

And that was hard to do with Hiccup spouting the worst kind of nonsense right in his ear. His attention was suddenly diverted by what he'd just barely heard.

"What?" He eyed the boy with open disdain. "Talk to Grimjaws? Are you serious?" This was Berk's future chief? Did Stoick know how far gone his offspring was? "You may as well spend time talking to the sheep and the yaks."

"You don't understand," Hiccup insisted. And that pushed a little too far. Kettlecrack had the presence of mind to keep his voice down but he refused to listen to the boy's insane ramblings any more.

"I don't understand? It's you that's got his head stuck under a dragon's wing. You who could never be a true Viking, who couldn't even defend himself. You couldn't do anything except cause problems until you found that dragon of yours. And all you've done since you tamed it is use it to shield yourself from your true heritage!" He let go of Hiccup's arm and waved out at the dragon riders waiting on the ground before them. "And if that wasn't enough, you tried to get all of Berk to hide behind dragons! Never once did you see their true purpose: to be the flaming sword of strength in our hands! We're Vikings, boy! Vikings conquer! They don't make friends with beasts. They take them in hand and make use of them!"

Hiccup actually managed to look seriously disgusted at the idea. He answered with the little bit of spine he'd grown since he maimed the once feared Night Fury. "You're talking about making them into slaves when they want to be our friends! And to do what? Destroy other villages we haven't even seen yet? What good will that do you?"

It was getting almost impossible to keep his temper in check. "Idiot! I didn't just do this for me! I did this for all of Berk!"

Hiccup shook his head. "Berk doesn't need help! The dragons do!"

"You care more about dragons than you do about your own people! Your heritage! Your responsibility! Dragons are tools and tools are-"

Trust Alrekr to add to a problem. The Red Death shifted beneath them, catching them by surprise. It rose up and turned its head slightly. Neither was prepared so Kettle was shoved off balance while Hiccup went to his knees and slid toward the opposite shoulder. Luckily for both of them he was able to wrap his body around one of the spines before he slid too far.

Hiccup's anger vanished in a puff of cold fear as he barely kept himself from once more falling off the Death's back. His bruises and burns didn't take well to the new abuse. He gritted his teeth and fought to get his breath back under control. Something caught his eye as he considered the long fall he'd narrowly avoided. There was an odd glint of something shiny lodged in one of the Red Death's large scales. When he raised his head to get a better look, he recognized it immediately. He reached out to tug on the arrow.

One edge of the triple bladed head was embedded in the dragon's protective hide. Apparently the point of it never had the chance to penetrate anything and it wound up caught there. It resisted Hiccup's pull for a moment before coming loose.

---

Stoick fumed as he watched Hiccup trying to talk to Anvindr. He feared his son was going to upset an already unstable mind. When the man turned his full attention to Hiccup, he stepped closer to Gobber. The smith recognized the situation for what it was and knew his chief was working on a plan. As such, all he said was, "So what now?"

Stoick looked around before answering. He finally spotted Spitelout standing next to his Gronckle and set off at a quick walk. Fishlegs followed, determined not to be left out. Stoick's brother understood the dilemma before them as well as anyone.

"This is a sticky one, eh?"

"Where's Mord?"

Spite shook his head. "Dunno. Lost track of him when that thing squawked and everyone landed." He glanced up at the Red Death's head, able to spot only the horns of Anvindr's helmet from where they stood. "Which is a problem, by the way. With nothing in the air, we can't take off without being spotted immediately."

Stoick only grunted an acknowledgement. Spite looked him over a bit closer. "You alright?"

"I'll manage. You?"

Spitelout nodded. "Fine. A bit bruised. Not much fun to ride a dragon that thinks it's a flying battering ram." Fishlegs frowned at the statement but said nothing.

"You hear his little speech," Gobber asked with a toss of his head toward the dragon looming over them.

"Most of it. Didn't much care for what I heard." Spite turned his eyes upward, glowering at the beast and its two passengers.

All four of them started when the Death addressed the Night Fury. Complex groans, growls and screeches were passed back and forth. Stoick's face darkened at the display.

This time it was Fishlegs who spoke up. "What should we do?"

Stoick answered through gritted teeth. "We don't have any options I care for just now." He turned decisively away from the massive dragon and faced the other three with him. "But we can make preparations. Knowing Anvindr... and Hiccup, for that matter... this calm won't last. When things start happening, we need to be ready to snatch Anvindr off that dragon. Or knock him off if need be. Someone also needs to be ready to go after Hiccup as well. Thorithr's tired, I don't want to push her right now. Spite, Fish, your dragons are the best at maneuvering and the least stressed at the moment."

Fishlegs looked doubtful. "Yes sir, but...if I may?"

Stoick glanced at him, curious despite the gravity of their situation.

"I'd be happy to go after Hiccup, I really would. But in all honesty, a Nadder is better suited for, um, 'snatching' someone."

The chief considered a moment before turning to his second. "I don't remember. Is Mord on a Nadder?"

Spitelout nodded. "Aye, that purple one."

Stoick returned the nod. "Alright. Find him and Astrid. Whichever one is in better shape gets the job."

"And Anvindr?"

A dark look was cast once more at the scourge of Red Death Island. "I'll see if I can't talk some sense into him. Keep him occupied. Or at least distracted."

The four of them split up, Stoick heading back around the lumbering form that currently defined the center of their conflict. He considered what he might say to Anvindr that could calm him. Above all he needed to avoid pushing him to use Hiccup as leverage.

No good could come of that. Not for anyone.

---

Hiccup held up his arrow, wishing he'd never thought of it. If only he'd known Anvindr was working at training the Red Death, he could have helped guide him; shown him what was really possible. It staggered his imagination to consider the possibilities of such a relationship. He showed his arrow to the man, wanting to make his point as clear as he could.

"This isn't the answer. We don't need more fighting. Everyone would be better off if we-"

Kettlecrack wasn't listening. His attention had been taken up by the odd sounds Alrekr was making. And where those sounds were directed. After nearly dumping the both of them, again, it had started this weird chattering. He'd heard it before, between Grimjaws and Alrekr. It was annoying but harmless, as best he could figure.

But this time his Red Death was chattering at the small black form down on the ground. That bothered him for some reason he couldn't quite define. And there was something else wrong with the scene below them. He wasn't certain until he saw Stoick walking back around to Alrekr's side. The chief had been out of sight for some minutes. And now that he looked closer, the other two that had been with him were gone.

Still ignoring the boy's yammering, Kettle moved carefully across the width of his dragon's back to look out at the broken stones of the mountain. It took him a few moments to find the Hofferson girl, astride her Nadder and in possession of her bow. She was staring up at him, doubtless wanting another chance to put a shaft through his chest. Her eyes were suddenly drawn down and moments later the Ingerman boy and his Gronckle both waddled up and started talking to her. Kettlecrack couldn't believe the conversation would go well for him. His suspicion was confirmed when they both looked up at him, their faces drawn and pensive.

He was losing again. Everything had been there, in place, ready to be taken and held. Now it was all spinning away like leaves in a storm. Some force had to be working against him, tripping him up at every critical moment. Was he defying the gods? That made no sense. His path held nothing but glorious combat and conquest, the truest test of a Viking's mettle ever conceived.

Hiccup? A hindrance, surely. But still too young and ignorant to be so aggravatingly effective at thwarting him.

Stoick?

"Anvindr!"

Kettlecrack carefully gripped Alrekr's frill and stepped back across to the dragon's right side. Below stood the man he'd tried to raise to the most powerful position imaginable: chief of the Red Death tribe.

"I'm impressed!" An empty hand gestured to the gift he apparently wanted for himself. "Makes all of ours look rather... small!"

"Doesn't it though," he muttered quietly.

Stoick paused, trying to find words. "So... this idea of yours. It looks like you've made progress. I think we should talk about what we do next."

It all became clear to him at that moment. He'd been a fool, allowed to do the hard work and take all the risks. Now Stoick was poised to take it all away. He'd offered it openly, sincerely. But that had obviously never been the chief's intention. There would be no sharing of power or glory.

"Why don't you, er, come down from there and we can discuss it."

There was no sharper knife than betrayal. It slid neatly between his ribs and cut him deeply.

The familiar burn started in his gut as his anger began to build. Stoick was talking friendly words while the others set up an ambush. Kettle stood atop an uncontrollable dragon with the potential to incinerate all of them in one breath. That potential was out of his reach. The only thing he had within his reach was-

"What," Hiccup muttered nervously at the look he gave him.

He turned and shouted down to Stoick, "You'll not be taking my dragon from me!" He immediately turned back to Hiccup and added, "Neither of you. Put down the arrow."

Hiccup was confused. He was also on his knees, having only gotten that far in getting back up from his spill. He looked up at the man and in bewilderment asked, "Why?"

Kettlecrack remembered his fight with Jaspin, only days ago. He recalled telling the boy to hand over his sword. Jaspin had been armed and angry. Hiccup was in no real position to be a threat but he had to be certain. He could make no mistakes this time. He knew the dragon riders were down there, waiting for their chance. He had control of the situation, but only barely.

He looked up, thinking of his father and the others in Valhalla who were watching him at this very moment, looking to see how he handled the impending fight. Somehow he'd lost the argument and they were going to kill him and take Alrekr away. But he knew he was right. And he wasn't going to give up. Vikings didn't surrender.

"I said, put down the arrow. Now."

Hiccup glanced at the shaft in his hand, back up to Kettlecrack. There was concern in his eyes now, a true understanding of his position. Still he didn't move, perhaps worried that even a nearly useless weapon like a spent arrow was better than nothing.

"What was that" came drifting up from the chief. "I couldn't hear you. Come down and let's talk about this."

"Put it down," he insisted.

Hiccup's worries deepened to real fear as he realized the danger he was in. "I- I..."

"Anvindr!"

"Drop the arrow, or so help me..."

Hiccup's eyes widened as the implied threat changed everything. Kettle had him. He pulled his sword and shouted, "Drop it!"

Several things happened simultaneously at that moment.

Kettlecrack barely had time to savor the panic that bloomed across Hiccup's face. Something odd moved down below them, just at the edge of his sight. It rose up in an instant and punched him in the thigh. He yelped in pain and was alarmed to see a heavy arrow jutting from his leg. Stumbling backwards with one arm clutching Alrekr's neck frill, he sank to his knees then to his rump. Holding himself up with the arm bearing his sword, he let go of the neck frill and wrapped a meaty hand around the arrow and pulled. He'd always heard that when struck by an arrow it was better to break the shaft off and leave the head in until it could be properly removed. He didn't care; he just wanted it out. It slid out with surprising ease, having penetrated to a depth no greater then the length of his thumb. The pointed metal cap was not meant for hunting and spared him having to pull a barbed tip from far deeper in his muscles.

With a satisfied grunt, Einarr backed himself out of sight behind the cave's entrance. He set another shaft to his bow and kept a close watch. If that fool tried something like that again, he'd see if he couldn't find somewhere more painful to plant a tinder-less fire arrow.

Astrid, seeing Anvindr draw his sword on Hiccup, snatched one of the two remaining arrows from her quiver and tried to take a shot without pausing to think. To her dismay she failed to get the bone hook set on Ivarr's string properly. Worse, her arms, hands and fingers were still terribly weak from her exertion. She wasn't able to get much more than half a draw when her fingers let the string slip. The arrow buzzed away before she had even finished raising the bow, just clearing the top of Folkvardr's head. She heard its metal head slam into one of the rocks between her and the Red Death, ricocheting away at an extreme angle and doing no good. Cursing herself roundly for not only wasting an arrow but for unwittingly risking her dragon's life, she glared up at the slope of the Red Death's shoulders. Fishlegs had said she might have to catch Hiccup if he wound up falling from his perch. She urged her Nadder a few steps closer to the monster and waited to see if they would be needed.

Two Hearts hadn't been watching Iceblood or Featherstone closely as he was arguing with Smoketail. A heated command from the large preytooth alerted him to trouble. He saw sharp metal in Iceblood's foreclaw, threatening his flight mate. Fire surged through his liver and into his mind, pushing him to react immediately. He leapt into the air, fully intent on killing Iceblood even if he was a member of Featherstone's nest. He managed to rise several lengths before he realized his mistake.

The ghostwing started to slide quickly to one side, unable to fully counter with his dead tail. Worse, Smoketail saw his sudden flight as a threat and immediately opened his mouth. Gas was already collecting at the back of his enormous maw. A direct blast at such a close range could easily destroy the thin webbing of his wings. Even if he risked folding his wings and letting himself fall to the ground, the bleater skins he wore would be incinerated, leaving him permanently flightless.

In a single beat of his heart, his focus shifted from Iceblood to Smoketail. As he unintentionally drifted to one side, he was carried far enough past the Gatherer's blunt muzzle to see the shining shaft Flicktail's rider had left lodged in the vulnerable eye. He instantly understood the weakness it inflicted. Two Hearts quickly charged a small, compact shot and spat it at the wound, hoping to wound Smoketail or at least distract Iceblood.

It struck a serious blow. Smoketail screamed again. Two Hearts had to concentrate on landing safely with his bad tail and so didn't see the results of his strike until he'd gotten settled. He was only barely aware of the Kin gathered around Smoketail moving away, many taking briefly to the air before resettling at a safer distance. He came down only a few tail lengths from Flicktail. Turning, he saw the results of his efforts.

The small blue ball of fire he's shot had hit the sharp metal lodged in Smoketail's eye. Able to use the opening it provided, it breached the eye socket, doing even more damage and obviously causing Smoketail horrible pain. A small bit of the bone ring that formed the socket was visible among the torn flesh and dripping fluids. The Gatherer raised his foreleg again and pressed against the wound, groaning miserably.

For a moment, Stoick could only watch in helpless anger as Anvindr threatened his son. He forgot Thorithr, forgot Toothless. All he could remember was the idea the man had pushed at him; using dragons as weapons of war. Now that temperamental man stood atop a Red Death he claimed was 'his' and pointed his sword at Hiccup. He heard the Night Fury roar and felt the hard rush of air as he tried to take flight. That moment had to fight for his attention because his eyes caught sight of something he couldn't understand. It looked like a large, slow moving arrow rose from the mouth of the cave to hit Anvindr somewhere on his lower body. Stoick looked to see where the arrow had come from but could discern nothing around that shadowy entrance. When he looked back up, Anvindr was out of sight. He then heard the familiar sound of Toothless firing at something and he looked for the black dragon.

He managed to see Toothless flailing badly, trying to compensate for some problem. The Fury twisted in flight, working his wings hard to land without injuring himself. There was another ear-splitting shriek from the Red Death as a result of the black dragon's attack, drawing Stoick's gaze upward again. It was obvious Toothless had seriously hurt the beast, for it backed up a step while pawing at its head. He could no longer see Anvindr or Hiccup. He turned to Thorithr. She was crouching low, her wings splayed in exhaustion and her chest still working hard. Like all the other dragons around, she was staring at the focus of everyone's attention. As he approached her she met his determined gaze.

Despite everything going on, that moment was frozen in Stoick's mind for the rest of his life. Thorithr had little left to give him. She still needed rest. Yet when she saw him coming close, she hissed softly and forced herself up. Her wings shivered noticeably as she took a step forward and moved to allow him to get in the saddle. This dragon, an unknown being to him only days ago, was willing to give the last of her energy and possibly her life to help him. Such sacrifice was seldom known outside of the sagas sung at feasts. It filled Stoick with warmth that gave him strength as well. He stopped at her snout, placed both hands under her jaw and touched his forehead to the tip of her muzzle.

"My beauty," he breathed. A soft trill answered him.

Getting on her wasn't easy. His ribs were just enough of a hindrance that mounting the saddle took longer than it should have. He'd only managed to get on when he looked up. Neither he nor Thorithr moved after that.

Kettlecrack was furious and just about ready to kill anyone in his way. Even so, he still recognized Hiccup for what he was. He stared a moment at the hand pressed against his thigh to slow the bleeding, then glared at the boy stranded with him on top of a small mountain of dragon flesh. He'd heard the Night Fury breathe fire at Alrekr and suffered the brief thrashing of the Red Death's reaction. In the moment of relative quiet that followed, he considered his position. It wasn't good. Berk's future glory faded and disappeared from his mind. The only thing left was his own battle with the small minds around him that were cursed with feeble vision.

Hiccup was still on his hands and knees, his arms wrapped around a thick, scaly spine. In one hand was the arrow he'd found. Kettle took the opportunity and grabbed it, savagely yanking it from the boy's grip. He swore loudly as his bloody hand slid along the arrow's metal shaft and rammed into the wickedly sharp head. As he slung it away to clatter and clang among the stones below, it opened up several deep cuts in his palm. Hiccup yelped as well, as the thin metal fletchings did nearly the same to his hand.

Seething at the new injury, Kettle drove himself up. With Alrekr shaking and groaning beneath them, he latched onto the neck frill and forced himself to stand. Still clutching his sword, he grabbed the neck of Hiccup's tunic and lifted him. He forced the boy to stand next to him, between himself and the source of that previous arrow. Looking around, he spotted Stoick mounted on a Deadly Nadder that looked ready to collapse beneath him.

"You can't have him!" He shook his head wildly. "He's mine!"

Stoick leaned forward in his saddle slightly, putting one hand on his dragon's neck.

"NO!" Kettlecrack brought his sword around, holding it at the back of the boy's neck. "Down! All of you!"

Stoick leaned back again and waved at someone off to his right that he couldn't see, motioning them to remain on the ground.

Hiccup's breathing was labored, his eyes clenched in pain. Yet he still managed to annoy Kettlecrack with his pointless jabbering. "This is stupid," he rasped. "You've already solved our problem for us. If you'd just let me-"

Kettle pressed the sword harder against the vulnerable neck, having just enough presence of mind to turn the blade sideways. "I told you, you can't have him. You had your chance and all you did was turn a Night Fury into a worthless, crippled pet."

The offspring of lightning and death may have been crippled but it was still dangerous. He heard it shriek in anger and looked off to his right. From the center of Alrekr's back, he could just see Astrid, Fishlegs and the Fury clustered together. The black dragon's pupils were mere slits as it crouched to take off. Amazingly, the hefty boy next to him put a calming hand on its neck and the Fury remained where it was. Its burning gaze never left Kettlecrack.

Hiccup's dragon couldn't fly without him, but it continued to pose a threat. He needed to deal with it as much as he did Stoick. Kettle scanned the area around them, looking for the one dragon that might be able to solve his problem. He checked everywhere, even the tumbled slopes of the mountain above the cave behind them. And there it was, perched safely out of the way and quietly watching them all; the only beast that would listen to his commands.

Leaning close to Hiccup's ear, Kettlecrack growled, "Here's a lesson for you, boy." His breath stirred the sweaty locks above Hiccup's ear. "Dragons are weapons. And broken weapons are useless."

With a cruel grin, Kettlecrack let go of Alrekr's neck frill and pointed to his other dragon.

"GRIMJAWS!"

The stunted Nightmare cocked its head, clearly listening.

He pointed to Toothless.

"KILL!"

Two Hearts saw Iceblood point. He heard the command. When he looked up at the mountain's rocky flank and discovered Crush Claw clinging there, he couldn't even name the feeling that swept through his liver. It was born of neither heat nor cold. It was empty, dark and hopeless. He called to his nest mate.

"What have you done?"

Crush Claw shrank, his neck rubbed the stones in misery. "He asked me. He wanted..."

The ghostwing did not take it well. "You've grounded me!"

"It wasn't... I didn't intend..."

Two Hearts snarled. "Where is my flight mate?! Where did you leave him?!"

"He..."

"WHERE IS FEATHERSTONE?!"

Kettlecrack scowled at the two dragons yowling at each other for several long moments. This could seriously undermine him. Without bothering to point, he shouted again. "KILL!"

"This is why we called him Iceblood! He wants you to ground me. He's threatening my flight mate. Your bond partner is brain sick and he wants you to continue carrying his weight!"

Crush Claw raised his head slightly. "What can I do?"

"You want to help? You want to undo the things you've helped cause?"

"Yes!"

"You want forgiveness?"

"Yes!"

Two Hearts stepped away from the others and lowered his head. With a furious roar he challenged the firescale.

"Then fight me!"

The undersized Kin blinked at the ghostwing, hardly daring to move. Slowly his head came up, his wings bracing his stance.

"Fight me, Blind White!"

The small firescale winced, not understanding. He glanced at Braintwist, seeing the threat his partner was using against Featherstone. Looking back down, he tried to discover the purpose of wanting to fight.

Slowly, the ghostwing spread his impressive wings to their fullest extent. It was a threat display, and now he understood. He narrowed his eyes at the dark Kin below him and shrieked his answer to the challenge.

"I am Crush Claw! I am big enough!"

The red and yellow Kin launched into the air with all the energy he possessed. He curled around to spray a long line of burning sputum between the ghostwing and the others nearby who might try to interfere. Knowing his fire could not injure the other, Crush Claw dropped like a rock onto the ghostwing's back. Two Hearts screeched as the slightly smaller Kin slammed into him, driving him physically across the nest.

Those around them watched in either horror or fascination as they tore at each other. Gouging, biting and clawing, they rolled and jumped vigorously across the nest. Torn scales flew; yellow, red and black. Two Hearts bit hard on a clawed wing joint until sharp teeth penetrated his ear flap. Over and over they came together and separated. A thin trail of blood painted the stones beneath them, leaving the story of their contest behind.

A particularly vicious bite to Crush Claw's tail forced him to take several flapping hops backward, toward the edge of the nest. Not far behind him was the drop off to the beach far below. His tail switched angrily behind him, slinging blood everywhere. He spat a provocative arc of fire at Two Hearts. The ghostwing charged, using his wings to thrust him across the ground at his target.

The two Kin slammed together, the sound of the impact audible over their enraged snarls. Though not built like a stonebelly, Two Hearts' thick neck and powerful chest gave him the strength to push the firescale back. Bites and slashes were traded, quick as thought and leaving dripping wounds behind. Crush Claw managed to curl his long neck around and snap his jaws closed on the back of Two Hearts' neck from above. The ghostwing thrashed as the firescale's teeth sunk deep in his flesh. The red and yellow wings flashed out and down, dragging the writhing black body with him until they were over the edge. The firescale abruptly folded his wings and the two combatants disappeared.

Hiccup stared, his muscles frozen. He'd been thinking furiously, trying to figure out a way to break loose of Anvindr's grip. Even if he could get away, he didn't know how to get down to help his friend. Toothless' fight with the small Nightmare was baffling; he couldn't understand why they would be going after each other. Now he was left like everyone else, staring at the empty spot where the two dragons had just been and trying to comprehend what they'd just seen.

Unbearable seconds passed. Finally a single winged form coasted back over the edge. The young Nightmare landed shakily, bleeding from several bite wounds. He looked back over the edge, as if to make certain there was no threat remaining. Then he turned to see the entire nest staring at him. He stood his ground as best he could. Taking a single step forward, he raised his head and bellowed fiercely at them all. No one answered.

Hiccup was shaking his head slightly and denying what he'd just seen with a tremulous, "No," over and over. Kettlecrack saw Stoick turn from Grimjaws to look up at him. Alrekr was still moaning and shifting about beneath them but he ignored that for the moment. He held his sword steady at the boy's exposed neck. "Stoick!"

The chief glared at him, the unspoken threat as clear and powerful as the sun.

"Back to Berk! All of you, now!"

The leader of the village didn't answer immediately, likely not used to taking orders. He risked a quick glance over at his right. Astrid, Fishlegs and their dragons remained where they were, watching closely.

"Not without my son," was the eventual reply. Kettlecrack had expected that. He turned back to Stoick.

"I'm ready to see Valhalla! Are you?!" His challenge was a scream, raw with intent and holding nothing in reserve.

"He wouldn't do that," Hiccup muttered, his voice strained and shaking. He shook his head again. "It doesn't make sense. He wouldn't do that."

"I swear on Thor's hammer if you don't shut up..." Kettle growled.

Hearing Kettlecrack's voice reconnected the man to the actions he'd just seen. The shouted commands had preceded the fight. He'd just caused Toothless to be thrown off a cliff. How could he have done that? "Dragons-" Hiccup's hand, with two red lines scored across palm and fingers, came up and gripped the neck frill. " - are not mindless animals. They're people. There's no reason for them to fight." The young man turned his head to stare at his captor, their faces uncomfortably close. "You can't train a dragon to do that."

"You're blind as well as stupid, boy," Kettle sneered. "I just did."

Hiccup stared at him, his face becoming harder with each passing moment. It wasn't the sullen pouting of a scorned child. Something larger and sharper was forming. It was possible he was seeing the first expression of raw hatred Hiccup had ever worn. Kettlecrack had a bad feeling.

"Don't get any ideas."

"You're the one who's blind," Hiccup grated. He waved a blood-stained hand toward the scattered dragons across the nest. "Surrounded by a mountain full of dragons who could be your friends."

Kettlecrack was unbearably tired of hearing that nonsense. "Useless twig," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "You'll never learn. They're weapons, tools. Nothing more than clever animals."

Hiccup's expression suddenly changed, his eyes losing their focus. His gaze darted around for an instant. Then he settled into a faint smile, staring at him as though seeing him in a new way. "Oh, they're clever all right." The smile tightened, became a fierce grin. "Cleverer than you, anyway."

For an underdeveloped kid with a sword at his neck, he suddenly seemed awfully sure of himself. Kettlecrack felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. He tightened his grip, making sure the boy stayed put. The narrowed green eyes bore into his as if daring him to look away.

Forewarned, Kettle scanned the area quickly. Stoick was in place, the others were as well. Nothing had changed.

Then he heard it.

Two Hearts had kept his midwings tight to his body to reduce their characteristic shriek during a dive. He didn't want to give his position away before his strike. His liver was an ocean of fire and he fed it into the back of his throat, building the charge. Overwhelming anger kept him forcing more and more gas into the chamber that would hold the blue fire until he spat it out. The heat and pressure built until it was causing him pain. He ignored it. He worked his wings and his barely working dead tail fin to keep his aim true. There would be only one chance.

Fear began to corrupt the anger. He'd never withheld a charge like this before. He felt his insides protesting, telling him he would hurt himself if he didn't release the charge very soon.

Still he held it. The two preytooths were too close together. And he was too angry. He would pour every breath of fire he could onto the one threatening his flight mate. Despite his efforts, his midwings began cutting the air, making the wind cry out in pain. There was no time left.

Featherstone moved.

A normal shot would be almost entirely blue; a powerful one would be laced with writhing white light. What left his mouth was pure, blinding white. It seared the inside of his mouth and slashed down with an awful tearing sound, as though it were ripping the air apart.

It took Kettlecrack a moment to locate the black speck falling toward him once he knew to look in the sky for a dead Night Fury. He was astounded. It wasn't possible. He'd seen the flightless lizard go tumbling off the cliff with Grimjaws...

He'd been betrayed.

Hiccup saw his distraction and acted. He felt the weight of Kettlecrack's sword against his neck. He thrust away, hard against the flat of the blade; one hand shoved against the Red Death's neck frill and the other against the bulk of his captor. He stumbled backward and fell between two spines. Above him Kettle recovered from being thrown off balance and snarled at him. The heavyset Viking took a step forward just as a blur leapt up from below and slammed into his helmet. He could barely make out the form of a heavy wooden arrow as it skipped off to one side, knocking the helmet off and bringing a grunt of pain from Kettlecrack's throat.

The man staggered but didn't go down. He looked stunned, then furious. They heard the Night Fury's screech get louder. He glanced up, knowing he'd reached his end. But he wouldn't go alone. He defied his approaching death with a harshly bellowed, "NO!" He turned and brought his sword down on Hiccup's prostrate form.

Had he the time, Kettlecrack might have been surprised by the blatant anger on Hiccup's face. He might have even recognized it as a mirror of his own. He might have also noticed that the useless twig had raised and drawn back his left leg, which he thrust with all his might squarely into Kettle's stomach.

As his body folded and fell, his sword continued its arc toward its target. The only thing he noticed beyond being kicked was a ripping sound, like the world was being pulled apart. Then the sun swallowed him whole.

For Hiccup, too much happened at once for him to immediately sort out. Pain swamped his thoughts as Anvindr's sword came down directly onto his iron leg. It made the breathtaking shock of punching it into the man's gut even worse. At the same moment, Toothless' fireball passed directly between them, wiping everything Hiccup could see from existence. He barely had a second or two to realize he wasn't dead.

The ground beneath Hiccup twitched abruptly, sending him skittering to one side. A short slide down a slope quickly became a heart-stopping fall. His eyes closed and watering from the brilliance of Toothless' attack, he could only flail wildly as he continued to slide off the Death's shoulders. He felt one spine, then another, fail to stop his uncontrolled descent. He thought he heard shouting and a dragon roaring close by. His heart was in his throat as his cut hand managed to latch onto a stub of some kind, possibly one of the warty growths that spread along the dragon's jaws and flanks.

Hiccup had only a moment's relief before the pressure on his injured and blood-slicked hand proved too much. Unable to bring his other hand around to help hold on, he lost his grip and fell. He barely managed a gasp of fear before something slammed into him mercilessly, pinning him against the Red Death's side. The pressure would have made him groan had he the breath for it. An instant later the force was gone and it felt like iron rods were wrapped around his chest and stomach.

Sudden wind buffeted him and he was jerked backward, away from the huge dragon. He felt his body dangle and was pretty sure he knew what had happened. Hearing a Deadly Nadder's happy trilling just over his head convinced him. He'd been caught by a dragon. He wondered briefly if it was Folkvardr and Astrid before the pain of his burns caught up with him. He was breathless once again and couldn't ask for release.

Stoick leapt off Thorithr's back the instant Hiccup started moving. He had his axe in hand, wanting to deal with the traitorous whelp that dared to threaten his son. Throwing an axe was never a skill he'd developed to any degree so there wasn't much he could do. A light as bright as the sun slashed across his vision, briefly warming his face. He was stunned, unable to understand what he'd just seen while he blinked the after image out of his eyes.

Mord's voice forced his eyes open. He was shouting something moments before Stoick was brushed by the disturbed air of a flying Nadder. He locked onto the purple dragon's scales as it dove toward the towering form of the Red Death. It was only as it raised its talons as though to attack that he noticed a slim body dangling helplessly from its shoulder. His heart froze and his lungs locked up. He raised a hand toward his boy, the axe that had occupied it seconds before forgotten as it clattered to the ground. Were Hiccup's clothes... smoking? And where was his iron leg?

Hiccup was pinned. Mord's dragon wasn't entirely gentle as it rushed to catch the falling boy. Frantic thrusts of its wings kept it aloft with its claws pressed against the Death's shoulder. Then it was pulling away, Hiccup's loose legs and arms dangling like a doll's.

They brought him down, not far from where Stoick stood. Another motion caught his eye as Toothless managed to land gracelessly nearby. As soon as all four legs met earth, he was moving toward the same goal as Stoick. Mord, his chief and the Night Fury met at more or less the same moment. Toothless was a step closer and had his head pressed against Hiccup's stomach the instant Mord's Nadder gently released him. Stoick noticed the Fury's mouth hung open, thin tendrils of smoke curling up over his lips and his tongue a disturbing shade of bright red.

His son slowly sank to the ground. "Hiccup!" Stoick winced at the pain in his ribs as he knelt by his son's side. The boy had one arm slung over his face and was moaning quietly. "Did he hurt you?" Toothless was making sounds much like Hiccup was. The black dragon lay beside his rider, draping one wing over his body like a blanket and nuzzling his neck. Hiccup's other arm came up to lightly rub his companion's snout.

"Burns," the boy mumbled. Stoick ran his fingers over the auburn hair, grateful to have his son away from both the Red Death and the man who'd claimed it. He then caressed the thin neck, looking for blood. There were only traces; the sword had barely nicked Hiccup's skin when he pushed away.

The chief looked up to see Snotlout, Astrid and Fishlegs moving toward them, their dragons in tow. A sudden, surprising thought rushed through his head. 'We all lived. I didn't lose anyone this time.' The three teens and their companions froze in their tracks as a long, low stuttering growl came from the Red Death. All eyes rose to see that heavy muzzle aimed right at them. They had its full attention. For a moment, a dreadful feeling of vulnerability swept over Stoick. Toothless raised his head and seemed to answer the huge dragon.

Smoketail, unknowingly, felt much more vulnerable than the cluster of preytooths before him. He was right back where he'd been when he'd fled his egg nest; painfully injured and facing expulsion from a place he considered his home. Still not fully understanding how the small black Kin had the power to wound him so, he'd been baffled by the ghostwing's fight with the small firescale called Crush Claw. From his vantage, he'd seen them go over the edge of the nest, fall a ways and separate. The ghostwing had dropped far below the top of the nest and rushed his way around the mountain until he passed from sight. Watching warily, the Gatherer had seen him reappear well off in the distance. The ghostwing rose quickly until he had enough height for a powerful dive.

He was young and strong yet Smoketail feared his grounding was imminent. He saw the Kin diving toward him, wings tucked for speed and mouth open to charge a devastating shot. Even the pain spiking into the side of his head couldn't tear his attention away from what he feared was his last sight. The faint hint of blue between the ghostwing's jaws grew brighter with each heartbeat until it was the same color as the sun. It looked like the ghostwing had a hole in his body that let the light of the sky pass through him. Smoketail knew he was too large and slow to dodge such a blast.

His relief was profound when it proved to be a warning shot. He felt the heat of it pass just over his shoulders. The angle of it allowed it to skim over the top of the nest and burn itself out over the waters far away from Fire Nest. He understood that while he wasn't being made to flee that instant, he was outmatched. Any trouble he caused could lead to his immediate end.

There was some activity; one brightscale came close to him and plucked one of the preytooths from his shoulder. A careful adjustment of the hindmost eye on that side found the other preytooth had vanished. Where could it have gone?

The preytooths and their bond partners gathered below him. The ghostwing landed and became obviously possessive of the preytooth taken from him. That, he realized, was the flight mate of the ghostwing. The missing one must have been Iceblood.

He waited, his thoughts writhing. He wanted to deny what had happened despite the proof all around him. Fire Nest had thrown off one Gatherer; now it would throw off another. His damaged eye, likely gone for good, was still making him tremble with pain. Why had his dam not warned him? Why had she fired his tail so hard? All his fire seemed to have gone and he did not truly know if it would ever return. Many heartbeats passed until he could stand it no longer. The words fell from his mouth, brittle with cold.

"What will happen now?"

The ghostwing looked up at him, his wing lying over his flight mate. "You will leave."

It was a chance to live. Even so it felt like death. He'd claimed a nest, made it his own. If not for the preytooths...

"You will not let the preytooths come here? You will not let us all share the safety of Fire Nest?"

The tone of the ghostwing's words changed, colored with the heat he'd just witnessed. "This is not their nest! It is not your nest!"

"But-"

"Go, or you will be grounded!"

A Kin near him spoke up, a stonebelly standing next to a thick bodied preytooth. "Two Hearts, where will he go?"

Two Hearts? Was that the ghostwing's flight name?

"I don't care." Two Hearts turned back to his flight mate, pressing his nose to the scorched coverings with undisguised tenderness.

The stonebelly stepped closer. "You should."

"Fire Nest will be free." The preytooth next to him made a soft sound. The other preytooths around him looked from him to the other Kin, as if only now aware that there was a conversation being held.

Coming close enough to touch him, the stonebelly softly asked, "And what of the next nest he finds?"

The ghostwing turned a slit-eyed gaze to the Gatherer. He answered with only an angry snarl. Oddly, the stonebelly leaned close and gave a brief lick to his neck. "Your liver is heated. You do not see. You do not scent."

"I see an unbearable weight."

"One you would not push off to another nest. You are not so careless of others."

Two Hearts rose to his feet. Smoketail quivered slightly at the movement. "Then he must be grounded."

The stonebelly spoke as a parent to a fledgling. "Do you see no other path? Even when you have followed it yourself?"

The ghostwing's gaze was drawn to the stubby Kin. "What path..."

"What do you scent from him? What does his liver hold?"

Deep breaths told him but did not answer the question. "Ice. Ice and fear."

Again the stonebelly brought her broad snout close to his. "I know your story. You've been here before. Another held at your mercy. What did you do then?"

Two Hearts' angry posture softened. His gaze dropped to the stones. "That... that was..."

"That was the start," she told him. "This is another." She nuzzled him a moment. "Do you think he should lie down to die? Leave to enthrall another nest?" She let him consider it in silence a moment.

Two Hearts looked again at the Gatherer. There was a struggle within, obvious in the tiny twitches of his wings, the hesitant emergence of his teeth from his overly red gums.

"Then..." Something squirmed in his innards. It didn't feel right but Yellowbreath's words had much lift. Featherstone hadn't plunged sharp metal into his chest. He hadn't fired into Featherstone's face. They had backed off and taken a different path. His liver cooled enough that he could find the words. "Then we will... we will find another way."

A splitneck some distance away shrieked and took flight, wings pumping furiously away from the top of the nest.

Two Hearts looked at all the Kin around them. He hadn't realized how quiet it had gotten since the Gatherer had settled the nest with his howled plea for mercy. Many Kin were beginning to also realize that there were injured and dead among them that needed their attention. He heard the first soft sounds of mourning rising over the broken, bloody stones of the mountain. For perhaps the first time since his sire's failed attempt to drive off the Great Eel, Fire Nest responded to more than a Gatherer's compelling scent. It was hard to dampen the fire in his liver at such a thought. Yellowbreath was right, however. Grounding Smoketail wasn't a truly balanced solution. It tasted too much of how many Kin viewed preytooths.

Featherstone's sire was talking to the others of his nest. It seemed he was making arrangements to return to the beach and go back to their own nest. Two Hearts needed a solution to Smoketail's presence. In his desperation, he could only conceive of one. It would take a great deal of trust for it to work. Otherwise they would all be here again in the near future and more would likely die. When several of his flight mate's kin moved to care for him he settled his wings, ignoring the pained twinges along his back and pinions. He stepped closer to the Gatherer.

"Smoketail! Do you truly wish to strengthen this nest?"

The large Kin paused before answering, almost petulantly, "That is the purpose of Gatherers."

Anger rose at the words and he roared his response. "NO! Gatherers seek to strengthen themselves by letting smaller Kin carry their weight! That is not how Fire Nest will grow strong!"

Massive paws clenched the ground while Smoketail's jaw worked in small movements, holding in words that might trigger another attack.

"If you are to be allowed to live here..." A heartbeat passed as Two Hearts wondered at his own words. "... you must do more than enthrall Kin. You must..." He lost lift for a moment, trying to see the path they needed. How would it work? He glanced back at Featherstone. Sire stood over him, directing the others to their bond partners. Sire saw Two Hearts staring at him and nodded, giving him reassurance.

His liver settled instantly. There was the path, wide open and as free as a cloudless sky. He turned back to Smoketail.

"You must be as a sire to Fire Nest!"

Smoketail had trouble understanding. "A... a sire?"

"Yes. You must direct the hunts away from the preytooth nest."

The Gatherer blinked and trembled again at the pain still tearing at his head. "How can I do that?"

"Be as a sire!" Two Hearts extended an aching wing toward the egg nests nearby. "Hatchlings will soon be testing their wings. They can hear your words. Speak to them. Let them know the weight they carry. Let them be Kin and kin to you. Tell them preytooths are not truly prey. The skies are large enough for all."

The ghostwing's words gave him hope, slowly giving Smoketail the lift he needed. "Yes," he rumbled softly. "Yes, I can do that."

"I will range here at times. I will help when I can." Two Hearts cast a quick gaze at Swimmer, who had recovered herself enough to stand closer to sire. "So will the fledglings from the far shore. Our three nests will be as one."

Smoketail calmed, feeling the ice fade from his liver. He would not be grounded after all. The First Hunter of the preytooth nest had given him enough lift to carry him through the healing he would need. The thought of conversing with so many hatchlings was oddly appealing. He would need to think much about what he would say. Perhaps the ghostwing could help with that, when the time came.

---

Cloudbiter finally released her painfully harsh control when she landed them among the farther egg nests. The male portion hissed and shook at the twisting, hurtful course she had taken with him. She opened her mind to him and begged a moment to explain. Worried about the sudden, unhealthy discord between them, he grudgingly agreed.

As their thoughts merged, he quickly understood her intent. More, his fears were the same as her fears. The idea that had burst into her mind at the ghostwing's words was one he never would have considered. Yet he did not doubt it would work. He banished the sick taste their course left in his mind and agreed with her intents. They would act for the good of Fire Nest and the breeders of the far shore.

Scenting among the temporarily unguarded egg nests, they quickly found what they needed. There were always some during the breeding season, those few orbs that failed to sustain viable Kin. They carried one in each mouth and one in each forepaw, heading back as quickly as they could.

---

Stoick had a hard time taking his eyes off the Red Death as it chattered and growled at Toothless. The two of them seemed to have quite a lot to say. Considering they'd come here to kill the monster, he had to wonder what was being discussed. Could dragons negotiate? Was it even possible to have a truce with so powerful a creature? And what of all the older dragons who served it? Weren't they all still under its control?

When he noticed that Astrid seemed to have a rather serious leg injury, he turned his attention to getting them organized to return to the beach. Freygerd would have quite a lot to do before they set off to return to Berk.

Hiccup seemed relatively well off despite being scorched on one side and bleeding a little bit from his shortened leg, which was missing its lower half for some reason. The boy kept complaining, saying 'Burns' over and over while holding his arm over his face. Granted, the skin of his face and arms was looking like he'd gotten a serious case of sunburn, probably from that overpowered shot Toothless had used to take out-

Where was Anvindr?

"Did anyone see where Anvindr got off to? Did Toothless... did..." He found his eyes drawn to the Night Fury. Anvindr, Stoick realized, was almost certainly dead; killed without doubt by the dragon with whom he had an accord. But where was the body?

"Um, chief, sir?" Fishlegs held up a hesitant hand. His voice was subdued and he looked unsettled. "I happened to be watching when... when he-" He glanced down at Hiccup a moment, his distress evident. "Toothless' shot, it was so powerful... I think he, that is..."

"He's gone, sir." Astrid's assessment was just as quiet but she sounded certain of herself. "I doubt there's anything left of him at all." She grimaced slightly as she leaned forward in her saddle. "He just... vanished, from what I could see."

Stoick stared at her a moment, uncertain how he felt about it. Anvindr had threatened Hiccup and he couldn't honestly say he would have held anything back had he been able to get to the man. Toothless had apparently done what Stoick couldn't and protected Hiccup by removing the threat.

Another thought trailed immediately after. A dragon had killed a Viking, in front of half a dozen other Vikings. And the Red Death they'd come to kill was still alive and rumbling quietly to that very same dragon.

If the Death and Toothless came to some kind of workable solution between them that would let them leave and live in peace, Stoick found he had little trouble accepting the situation. The question was: could the Fury work out some kind of deal with the behemoth and the older dragons it controlled? Would that end the raids and the needless conflict between Berk and the dragons? It didn't seem to offer the same certainty that the Red Death's demise could.

He was stunned to see someone walking from behind the Red Death's still form. Had Anvindr survived? The man was the same general size and shape...

Einarr passed out of the shadow of the Death, glancing up casually at the monster as if it were of no more consequence than a tall tree. He slowly made his way over the uneven ground toward them, a bow over his shoulder and a half-filled quiver in one hand. Stoick eyed him with suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

The man swept his gaze over those collected at the top of the nest, noting that all of them had a dragon standing close by. He let a grim smile play briefly across his lips. "What I do best," he answered softly. "Hunting."

Snotlout spoke up for the first time since all the dragons had calmed down. "Was that you, in the cave earlier?"

Einarr declined to answer, but he did hitch a thumb over his shoulder at the cave behind him. "There's something in that cave." His smile faded and he suddenly looked tired. "Found it just now. You might want to see." He paused, as if he might be having second thoughts about what he was saying. "On the ground, just inside." He turned and walked off toward the edge of the nest.

"Where are you going?"

"Back down. Ship's waiting for me."

Spitelout spoke up. "One of us can carry you down faster-"

Einarr whirled. "NO!" His grip on his bow was tense but he made no threatening moves. "No, I told you I'll not ride one of those..." He looked again at the people arrayed opposite him, each with a large and dangerous companion. He took a breath. "I made it up here, I'll make it down." He pointed at Astrid, then Hiccup. "You've got wounded. You won't be leaving before tomorrow, will you?"

"Not likely, no." Stoick waved him off and turned back to the rest of the dragon riders around him.

"I'll be down by then," he muttered. He said no more as he strode off.

Stoick frowned and turned back to the task of getting his own group down to the beach. He spared a moment to look at the Red Death, still not entirely comfortable with it just sitting there among them. It still shivered slightly, probably in pain from the wound Toothless had inflicted to its eye. He noticed for the first time that there was a thin line of blood drizzling down the far side of its head, spattering the stones beneath it.

It was while his head was tilted up to consider their allegedly vanquished enemy that he saw a single Zippleback diving toward them. It was odd behavior for a species that wasn't built for strenuous flying. Stranger still, it let go of several small objects and banked away. The objects, looking like four round stones, pelted the Red Death. At first the huge dragon didn't seem to notice.

Then reality slipped away and insanity once again thundered across the hollow mountain.

Cloudbiter came to a hover over the bulk of Fire Nest's breeders and shrieked in alarm. With only a slight stutter to betray the stress the splitneck was under, it howled out in dual voices to all Kin.

"Smoketail has taken eggs! He has killed your hatchlings in their shells! He is an egg eater!"

The Gatherer snorted, enraged by such a claim. Then the smell came to him. It was a scent that spoke to the center of his liver. It told of madness and disaster and a need to destroy whatever had caused the death of unhatched Kin. It was more powerful than his own scent of wounded Kin and it demanded an instantaneous response.

Fear pierced his innards and ice was warmer than what now filled his liver. The smell was coming from him.

Two Hearts, having only seen the small objects splash across the Gatherer's hide, didn't understand right away. It was only when Cloudbiter called out to the nest that he realized what the splitneck had done. He, too, felt a deathly chill explode within him when the first wispy tendrils of broken eggs made themselves known. He'd experienced the scent once before and had seen the result. He knew what was about to happen. Panic filled his head and he roared out to the Kin above him, "Cloudbiter, no! Why would you do this?"

The scent crept among the breeding Kin collected there at the top of Fire Nest. Two Hearts heard the first feral growls, saw horned heads lift and eyes blaze with fury. One was a brilliant red and gold firescale, crouched over the remains of a deep orange Kin, possibly her mate. She hissed a single phrase with such hatred that smoke issued from the back of her throat and leaked from her nostrils. "Egg eater!"

A nearby stonebelly took up the call, its limbs shifting and its small wings flicking in agitation. "Egg eater!" A brightscale croaked the words with such intensity it sounded like a call to join a hunt. "Egg eater!"

Nervously glancing around at the large group of Kin around them, Two Hearts feared they might not survive this hunt after all. He spun around and faced Swimmer, who looked as stunned as he was. "Stay down! Protect your partner!" He turned and roared as loud as he could to the rest. "Bonded Kin! Stay down! Cover your partner as best you can!" He heard the echoing cries of 'egg eater' growing until it threatened to break the mountain. Sire locked eyes with him, clearly frightened by the sudden storm that threatened to ground them all. He gave the large preytooth a single commanding bark of, "Hide!" Then he crouched over Featherstone and covered him closely with both wings while keeping his eyes locked on the Gatherer.

Smoketail was desperately trying to deny the claim being made against him. "No! I am a Gatherer! I strengthen the nest, I protect all Kin within it! I would never take your eggs!" A stonebelly rose, wings buzzing harshly and mouth open to show a glowing fire. A brightscale lifted next, chittering angrily. "Listen to me! I promise I will take no more Kin! I will speak to your hatchlings, I will teach them to follow the ghostwing! The nest will be..."

More Kin rose, bodies rising and snouts facing him. This was worse than having his tail fired, worse than the hole the ghostwing had burned in his eye. Smoketail tried to think of any words he could use, having just agreed to the ideas the small black Kin had given him.

He knew with dreadful certainty that the scent clinging to him would turn his words to meaningless ash. The whole of Fire Nest wanted his blood now. And the stonebelly with the preytooth partner had been right.

Smoketail would not lie down to die.

Claws hit him before he was prepared, tearing into the wound on the side of his face. The pain was so intense he whipped his head around and snapped, momentarily pleased to feel the soft body of a firescale give a satisfying crunch between his teeth. It didn't last, though. The air around him became wings and claws and teeth. Small bodies landed on him, raking and gouging and tearing at every tiny weak spot they could find. But it was the ones that kept after his bleeding eye that caused him to lash out.

A pointed snout thrust into the aching cavity of his injured rear eye and destroyed any meaningful thoughts Smoketail could possibly have had. Death was worming its way into the Gatherer's head and he acted without reserve.

His massive jaws opened, a hard breath mixed with gas and an inferno was born atop the mountain's bloody crown. Several nearby Kin in flight lost the webbing of their wings and dropped like rain. Preytooths hiding nearby with their partners felt the heat sweep among them, leaving smoldering clothes and reddened skin in its wake. Screeches of anger changed to howls of pain and the battle became a living thing that sought to devour all those participating.

Smoketail spread his wings to flee. He turned to launch and slammed into the mountain's rising flank. Swinging his massive head, he tore across the nest in the other direction, obeying the only thing inside his mind; the singular need to escape, to survive. Stone spires snapped and rolled around him. Boulders were flung aside. The noise filled his head until it was battling the pain that had claimed his brain as its home. His wings spread and swept, knocking several smaller bodies out of the air. He fired again, unable to even hear the sound it made. All his eyes had become targets, forcing him to shake his head violently. He could neither see nor hear as a few more Kin lost their wings to his fire.

He was in the air, aloft and working his hardest to put distance between himself and the unmitigated rejection of his nest. This time there was no smoke drifting from his burned tail. There were only the unrelenting teeth and claws of the Kin that followed him out over the waters as he fled. Some landed on his back and tried to rip at the roots of his wings. He bellowed in fear, in anger. No matter how loudly he called to them, this time they did not stop.

Stoick groaned, unable to piece together how he had survived or why their lives had been inexplicably threatened. He felt like he'd been thrown into Gobber's forge furnace and left to cook for a few seconds. He smelled burnt hair and heated leather, a familiar odor that came of close calls when fighting dragons. Something was smothering him and suddenly the air was too close. His lungs were crying for a clean breath. He pushed against something that covered him and to his immense relief it lifted, letting cooler, soothing air reach him. The smells of battle intensified, calling him to alertness. He needed to check the village, to make sure they could put out the fires and save any livestock-

He blinked. This hadn't been a raid. The rattled pieces of his mind came back together, not quite fitting as tightly as they should. What had just happened? Why was there a dragon nuzzling his forehead?

A rather large, Nadder-shaped piece slotted itself in place and he closed his eyes in blissful relief. Whatever else had happened, he was alive and so was Thorithr. He reached up with a hand and slid bruised fingertips along a warm, round snout. A hot, wet tongue gently touched his palm. "Thorithr," he mumbled.

With a grunt, Stoick managed to get himself sitting. The fragmented memory of being pounced on by his dragon and forced to the ground as a wing pressed down hard on him came bubbling up. He gave himself a brief check. Reddened skin in patches, one side of his proud beard charred at the edges and the soles of his boots smoking just slightly. He shook his head in disbelief. Too, too close.

The world slowly knitted itself into some recognizable shape as he stood and moved among his fellow riders. Many had burns though none were life threatening. Fishlegs had suffered the most; he'd been forced face down by Thunderguts and her wings hadn't been able to cover his hefty frame without leaving his lower legs exposed. His trousers had protected him somewhat but the burns to the backs of both calves were bright red with some minor blistering. Spitelout and Gobber both had the presence of mind to curl up when they felt the fire seeking them out and so had escaped with scrapes and smoldering clothes.

Hiccup's condition hadn't changed; the Night Fury's body and wings had covered him completely. Stoick took a step toward his son to check on him and stopped as his eyes caught sight of the spectacle playing out over the vast ocean surrounding the nest.

The Red Death had managed to get a good distance away. Even so it wasn't far enough that he couldn't see the cloud of angry dragons still swarming around it, harrying it mercilessly. He thought he saw one of those smaller forms crumple and fall to the water below. And still the angry, writhing mass of dragons moved away.

Stoick was caught up in the sight, and so saw it reach its conclusion. The Red Death's flight began to stumble and falter. The relatively small dragons around it never ceased in their attack and soon it became clear what would happen. Lower and lower the Death sank in the sky until it crashed into the empty waters below. Still those dragons who surrounded it worried at it, like seagulls clashing over fish guts thrown into the harbor waters. Eventually they lifted from the waves and made their way back toward the nest.

Stoick shuddered. It seemed like a good idea to leave as soon as possible.

He knelt next to his son, proud and worried and angry by turns. Relief was the undercurrent that kept any of those emotions from getting control of his voice. He saw Hiccup's steady breathing and heard him quietly mutter some question to the gentle snout pressing against his cheek. He worked large fingers beneath his son's neck and cradled his head, noticing the bright red of flash burns on his face. His son would need a good deal of care.

"It's over now, Hiccup," he reassured him. "We can go home."

The boy's eyes opened, pupils shrunk to pinpoints and the whites of his eyes bloodshot something awful.

"Dad," came the tremulous reply.

"Aye, you did grand Hiccup. Can you sit up?"

"Dad... I... I can't see you."

---

(c)Wirewolf 2016 "How to train your dragon" and all attendant characters are copyright Dreamworks Animation and used without permission

AN: Wow. That was a lot less fun that I'd expected. 20K words and three months of work, but at least it's done.

There will be two more chapters, basically one to 'cool down' and one to 'conclude.' They won't take as long as this one did, I'm sure.

And by the way, don't feel bad if the title didn't make sense to you. "Oblation" essentially means 'sacrifice'.