~Ouroboros~

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1st - 3. Dragon Raid

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The island of Berk was not the most habitable of places. For an island large enough to require several weeks to transverse across its shores until you arrived at your starting point, Berk had surprisingly little places where a village could be built – most of the island was densely packed with thousand year old trees and the ground riddled with chasms, cliffs, ridges, and other foreboding features that made hunting on the island an extremely dangerous and daunting task even without the nearly constant fog flowing across the landscape. With the fog though – it was really no small wonder that the Vikings that settled the island had found fishing (even with the unpredictably wild seas around them) to be a much more viable method for procuring food.

It speaks wonders about the hospitality of the island towards Viking settlers that the place they selected to build their village on was the nearby rocky islet outcropping bordering the main island – the cliffs of which were close enough to allow several trees to be dropped across and tied up to provide passage. Or it could have simply been that the first Vikings decided that a village built on such a location would be easier to defend against warring tribes – what with the ocean all around, no trees to provide cover or to set up ambushes, and the only method of getting from there to the main island being across a chasm several hundred feet deep ending in razor sharp rocks and the deadly tide of the sea that was narrow enough to easily build a crossing over while still being wide enough to prevent crossing without a bridge.

For four generations the village of Berk thrived and successfully defended against other tribes, thus proving in a trial-by-fire that the original settlers made a wise decision when they chose that islet to build the village upon. When in their fifth generation the dragon attacks started, the village was uniquely situated to defend against them – with the dragons always attacking from the seaward side instead of flying over the island it was possible to spot a raid and provide at least half a minutes warning before the dragons arrived – even with the raids always occurring in the late hours of the night.

Still, half a minute of warning before the dragons swarm over you is not quite that much time – especially at night – thus every Viking had long since learned to sleep with one eye open, an axe under the pillow, and dressed in nightclothes that would not look out of place on a battlefield.

Unfortunately for Stoick, the half a minute interval did not offer any leeway for regaining feeling in your legs after falling asleep in front of a fire in an awkward pose. So by the time he managed to stumble outside the air was full of Viking war cries and screeching dragons – the raid being already well underway.

Glancing over the battle from the high ground where his house was situated Stoick allowed his subconscious mind to expertly gauge the dragon raid and placed it firmly into the 'large and quite dangerous' category – the skies above him were choke full of Nadders and Zipplebacks while groups of Gronckles were flying close to the ground and stealing the meat that was left out to dry. In the distance he could hear the tell-tale vicious snarl followed by synchronized screams meaning that several Vikings have stumbled across a particularly vicious monstrous Nightmare.

Tearing his hungry and half-crazed glare from the Nadders above him, he sprinted in the direction of the screams. Don't lose focus – you are the chief of the tribe and have to shoulder the responsibility for its wellbeing – DO NOT run off like a grief stricken youngling… You will get your change at those Nadders…

Absentmindedly hammering at a passing Gronckle that was unfortunate enough to cross his path Stoick leaned down to grab a shield that lay forgotten on the floor and neared the yells and frantic scrambling. Judging by the flames licking at the houses and sticking to the rocky path to his sides, he knew that his guess at the breed of dragon was correct. Fortunately for him the amount of fire all around meant that the Nightmare was likely running out of flames – leaving him to have to watch out for only the spikes along its body, razor sharp teeth, feet long claws at the ends of its wings… and let's not forget the insanely quick reflexes or its capacity to withstand damage. Let's just hope that there is only one or at most two – they usually don't hunt in packs, but there seems to be too much damage and flames around here for it to have been caused by a single Nightmare, no matter how exceptionally determined it was.

A sliver of fear crawled into his chest and spread its roots – the air around him was a cacophony of screams and roars, but it's been several seconds since he last heard anything from the struggle he was rushing towards. If they can just survive long enough for me to get there…

There was a prickling in his neck when he turned the corner and Stoick immediately lunged into a roll to the side – and not a moment too soon as a cone of liquid flame sprayed at the spot he stood in just a moment ago. Thanking the sixth sense that all veteran Vikings had (for those that didn't did not survive to become such) and muttering a quick prayer to Odin, he rushed towards the Nightmare that shot at him while his mind was still in the midst of processing the carnage of the scene he stepped into.

In front of him were three dragons – the Nightmare that just tried to roast him and two Nadders who were fortunately still focused on the three Vikings at the side. Stoick did not even spare a wince at spotting the three corpses – two Vikings nailed to the wall with Nadder quills, one at ground level and the other one almost ten feet in the air, while the last one was little more than a still burning lump on the floor. Only veteran Vikings would understand the relief he felt along with the expected pang of sadness at not hearing the screams from the burning corpse and knowing that whoever it had been was mercifully dead.

That's three lost already, and the raid had only just begun… No time for that now though. He knew he was being callous, but against two Nadders and a Nightmare without any backup even he would need to focus completely on the battle. My body is a finely honed axe that my mind swings – there is no time for fear and hesitation that would blunt my strikes and dull my edge. There is no grief, there is no uncertainty – there is only my determination…

Pain, sadness, grief… There would be time after the raid for those.

Fifteen paces brought him almost half way to the Nightmare when it swung its head toward him and opened its jaw – he could see the glow emanating from deep within its throat signaling that it was just moments from incinerating him. His body was telling him to duck, to get away from it – and yet he forced it to remain on course, straight towards the open maw. From the amount of fire all around and the quantity it sprayed the last time it should be just about out.

Swinging his shield in front of him and angling it off to the side Stoick took the blunt of the liquid flames coming in towards him with his shield which splashed off it to fall harmlessly along the side of the road. The pressure of the stream was much weaker and he felt a tinge of satisfaction when it sputtered and died an instant later – he was right to bet on the Nightmare's flames running out; now all he had to do was reap the rewards.

Throwing the burning shield to the side – Useless now, and more of a hazard to me than a danger to the dragons – Stoick did a full rotation to build up momentum and backhanded the dragon with a downwards strike of his hammer. Such was the force of the blow that even a Gronckle's naturally armoured skull would have shattered – the relatively light armour of the Nightmare did not stand a chance as it's caved in head smashed against the cobblestones. Even though standard protocol would dictate smashing it again to guarantee its death, Stoick knew from the feel of his strike that it was not getting up.

He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at the broken body before him and cursed as he heard the piercing whoosh of displaced air quickly followed by five quills. Apparently the Nadders have gotten though their surprise and were now focused on him rather than the rapidly cooling corpses decorating the wall.

Refocusing himself on the two dragons in front of him Stoick silently thanked Gobber for the stellar job he did on his armour – while four of the quills missed him and were now stuck a few inches into the solid wooden wall behind him, the last one glanced off his left shoulder pad and careened off into the darkness. If the metal disk was of lower quality he could have been sporting a not so fashionable piercing through his shoulder which would have done horrible things to his chances for survival.

As with all dragons, the general plan for fighting off several Nadders by yourself at the same time was 'don't.' In their case this was because you needed to keep your attention on both of them as they were both equally likely to shoot at you with either their quills or their flames. Even worse for Stoick, the shield he picked up on the way here was going through its final stages of turning into ash somewhere behind him. Well, no one ever said that survival was easy. Besides which, he had been in worse situations before. All I need is a good distraction for one of them while I take care of the other… Glancing at his hammer he smiled into his beard. That would work.

With all his strength he hurled his hammer towards one of the Nadders as he jumped towards the other one. Without him on the other end to provide the necessary force behind it the hammer would do little else than disorient it, but that was all he needed. Halfway through is sprint Stoick heard the pained cries of a Nadder but resisted the urge to glance at it to evaluate the damage he had caused – which was fortunate as the Nadder he was focusing on prepared to release a spread cone of fire towards him. Listening to the frenzied cries of his body to get out of the way he curved off to strafe the Nadder instead of rushing head on and avoided the imminent flame that came a moment later.

This maneuver put him within range of the Nadder's deadly quills along its tail which it immediately tried to capitalize upon by swiping at him with its tail, but he was ready for that – without breaking stride he jumped over the tail and rushed towards its now exposed belly – it would take a few seconds for it to reverse the tail's direction and without being able to breathe fire too soon after the last time, there was a clear opening that Stoick could take.

The Nadder must have realized his intentions and attempted to block his path with its wings – a last ditch maneuver considering that their wings were the most fragile parts of their body – but he was already too close. With a practiced hand he unsheathed the dagger at his belt, twisted it into a reverse grip and thrust it deeply at the dragon's chest, before viciously ripping it upwards to open up the wound even further. The dragon stumbled and fell as one of its legs bucked under it from shock and severed tendons – he knew that it was not a mortal wound as the beast's heart was on the other side, but he also knew that the shock of the wound would enable him to finish it off.

Grabbing at the base of the wing he pulled himself forwards and thrust like a viper at the neck, smiling grimly as his dagger tasted flesh once more and blood poured down the blade and along his arm – he knew that even dragons could not heal a slit throat, at least not fast enough for it to matter. Still, he was cautious, for even a dying dragon could kill you – and unlike the Nightmare this one could still strike back. He felt more than saw the neck muscles tense as the Nadder attempted to turn its head around towards him and prepared to defend himself Its neck is cut so it likely cannot breathe fire, but until its final breath it is still capable of mauling me with that jaw or nose-horn. Fortunately for him though, his thrust must have damaged some of the muscles which prevented it from moving its head all the way and only managed to rip open the wound even further.

Grinning savagely Stoick slashed the dagger out of the dragon's neck, further rending it apart. With a last gurgle the Nadder's head fell limply to the floor and the spasms of its leg that was attempting to push it away from the Viking attacking it ceased. Confirming that it was dead as blood was no longer spurting out of the gaping neck wound Stoick whipped around to try and find the last dragon – which by now should have gotten over whatever damage his thrown axe had dealt it. Considering its last position, he knew that the dead Nadder before him would at least be good for providing cover to hide behind – but even so he needed to confirm its location before he could do anything else.

This turned out to be simpler than he thought as he spotted it moaning on the ground not far from where he had seen it when he threw the hammer at it. Apparently the Nadder managed to sidestep the blow and instead of smashing into its nose horn, the hammer collided with its left wing – lacerating the fragile membrane and shattering its bones in multiple places. This was by far the worst place to get damaged for a dragon, as if it had taken the blow directly to its nose the most he could have hoped for would be a cracked nose-horn and a minor concussion which it would have shaken off within minutes.

The wings on the other hand… He grinned savagely at his luck, bloodlust glittering within his eyes – dragon wings and tails were prime targets for crippling dragons due to the high difficulty of healing wing wounds and because any amputated appendages could not be regrown – without wings or a tail a dragon could not fly and would not survive a single month. Most of those dragons that were thus damaged during the dragon raid actually took their own lives at the end when they discovered they could not fly away with the others, ripping their throats out with their claws, throwing themselves off the cliffs to break on the rocks below or drown in the unforgiving waters, or even in some cases simply falling down dead without anything to show why – almost as if their hearts just stopped beating between one moment and the next.

Still, it was better to be sure – even a downed dragon during a dragon raid was a threat to other Vikings who might not notice it sneaking up behind them. Making up his mind Stoick took out his dagger from the neck of the dead Nadder and with a battle cry rushed towards the downed dragon.

The Nadder was obviously in too much pain to do anything but move its head slightly and gaze at him with one of its eyes from the side of its face; and Stoick felt himself stagger for a second – those eyes… They were no longer the tight slits that all Vikings have gotten used to, nor were they consumed by anger and hatred – if he had to describe them, he would compare them to the eyes of the dragons they kept for training – at least when they were not actually battling in the ring. For the first time in his life he could see pain in the eyes of a dragon, pain and fear – almost as if it was afraid of him – afraid of the one that has come to kill it. He hesitated for a second – for a brief moment he considered just letting it live; it was going to kill itself in any case when it realized it could not leave with the others so it's not like it would matter if he granted it that small mercy…

…Mercy…

His eyes clouded in anger and he was no longer capable of discerning anything but the body of a Nadder lying in front of him – beckoning for him to kill it. The bloody dragons give no mercy to us – they raid us and kill us – they have cost many of us to lose their loved ones – THEY HAVE COST ME MY WIFE!

There would be no mercy for the bloody dragons, just like they did not give any to us. The eyes of the Nadder continued to stare at him, but he could no longer see anything in them – they were nothing more than orbs of tissue, and just as capable of expressing feelings as the rubble under his feet. It was foolish of him for even a second to contemplate the idea of them feeling scared – for what would a bloody beasts only interested in destruction know of emotions.

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The cursed darkness that had surrounded my mind was starting to disperse, the fog that had permeated far enough to surround my soul finally loosening its hold upon me ever so slightly, and for the first time since what felt like forever I could think again.

The eternity was coming to an end.

I dared not look at my mind, for I could feel that it was in disrepair – and if I broke down from seeing it the darkness may return and I may lose my chance.

Instead I searched out for the bond that I knew must be there.

The nigh invisible connection between mind and body.

A sliver of fear passed through me and my mind's flame flickered faintly.

I could not feel it.

How was that possible?

I searched again…

And my mind was assaulted by pain as the link snapped back into full view.

What in the name of the endless abyss!?

I couldn't even get a general picture of what my eyes were seeing since the entire connection to my body was focused on nothing but unadulterated pain! I could already feel my mind shutting down from all this punishment, even as I fought against that.

If I fell unconscious now, it was highly doubtful that I would wake up again.

Attempting to block out the pain I steeled myself for what I knew I had to do.

With a final prayer to the twin goddesses I threw myself into the link between my mind and body, fighting all the while against the flow of pain coming out of it.

I awoke out in the real world to chaotic shouting, angry roars of other dragons, burning flames all around me, and blinding pain from my left wing. Snapping my head towards it, I stared with disbelief at what had at one point been a healthy wing.

It took everything for me not to faint from the sight – as it was I could not stop myself from recoiling and closing my eyes in the forlorn hopes that this was all a dream.

What had once been my perfectly fine left wing was now a mass of tatters, broken bone, flesh, and blood.

Disbelief still prevalent in my mind I attempted to lift it up and could feel my very soul rend itself into a thousand pieces as I heard the nauseating sound of bone grating against bone and saw what was left of my wing lift off the ground by the few threads of membrane that still held it together – the bone having been shattered in so many places that pieces of it were dangling down, barely attached to the flesh as it is.

I felt the torturous pain that stabbed at my mind and could not decide whether it was from the destroyed nerves of my lost wing or a mental response to knowing that my wing was far beyond repair.

In my mind, I knew with all the certainty of the immortality of my soul that there were only two paths left for me – death… or the cursed existence as a NaaiNe. So only one path really, death – I would never allow it to take over my body.

Yet another loud scream pierced through the air – but this one was close by, unlike the rest.

I dragged my head along the ground to move whatever was made that sound into my left eye's field of vision – as much to be able to see what it was, as to be able to open my eyes without having to see that again.

Somehow I was not surprised by the heavyset Viking that was now approaching me. I knew of the god forsaken war that was destroying my kind – even now a fallen RunaEfai was lying in a slowly widening pool of blood to the side and a dead MaegNur like me behind the Viking – likely his latest kill – not counting me.

I had lived for a long time before the darkness, and have diligently trained my skills all the while. I knew that the shadow that smothered my mind had attempted to tear it down to nothing – leaving me as nothing but a soul within a body – a puppet for it to use. It had likely succeeded with the young ones, but I was stronger than them. Nowhere near strong enough to rival it, but still strong enough to get flashes of what my body was doing even through the darkness – strong enough to see both of its ethereal bodies through the darkness it surrounded itself with.

Looking straight into the eyes of the approaching Viking I silently pleaded him to let me go. I was already as good as dead – none of our kind can survive with our minds intact longer than a single moon cycle without touching the sky at least once. I knew that even if he let me go I would end this life to stop my mind from plunging into insanity within the next few sun cycles, but perhaps I could make a difference before that.

I knew that he was coming to kill me – both my knowledge of the war and the twisted hunger within his eyes made that obvious, and yet I could not die here! I had to do something to stop all this useless slaughter! I could hear all the others of my kin mindlessly ravaging the village – and what was worse; I could feel their minds around me. Minds surrounded with that same vile darkness as mine was just a few moments ago. My strength was nowhere close to the forsaken one's, but it should still be enough to allow me to free some of them – the beast was too far away from the village and its influence spread too thin over all the others in our tribe to stop me from doing that much…

Even crippled as I was, I should be able to do that much before I let the eternal abyss take me…

Right?

The Viking staggered in his approach as our eyes locked and I could see doubt seeping into his eyes. For a moment I allowed myself to hope – hope that had been so prevalent when the darkness left my mind; hope that had been ruthlessly drowned in pain and loss upon finding out about my crippled wing. And yet at the same time it was different – It wasn't hope for myself, but for the my kin flying around me.

Alas, all my hopes were for naught.

The human's eyes, so undecided and uncertain just a moment ago had once again hardened back to the solid steel-like orbs that they were before. The connection between us broke – the venom had returned to his eyes, and I let my eyes close.

So much hatred and anger in them…

So much pain…

I knew that even as the avatar of my death approached me, he did not see me.

The greatest difference between us and humans, my mother used to tell me, is that we live in the present, while humans are stuck in the past.

I had seen her words be proven true countless times – for as the saying goes, 'dragons forgive, but never forget; while humans forget but never forgive.'

Even now, as my death approached, I had already forgiven the Viking for deciding to kill me – just as I had already forgiven him for likely being the cause of death of the other two dragons; and for probably being the one to cripple me. He on the other hand, did not even see me – I knew that from my last look into his eyes. My death was nothing more to him than fruitless vengeance.

Vengeance… Such a human concept…

There was a sharp pain within my chest, and my abdominal muscles clenched involuntarily before relaxing as numbness spread through my body. I was knowledgeable enough to feel my heart splutter uselessly and stop from the piece of metal stuck in it.

The numbness had now consumed my entire body, and I felt my consciousness be thrust out of it and back into my mind.

Turning my perception inwards I gazed at my mind – completely unsurprised at its wretched appearance.

I was right that time when I first awoke – my mind's condition was just barely better than my wing had been.

Not that it matters now, I thought as I watched the connection between my mind and body slowly disintegrate as my body died. Naturally the rest of my mind was not faring any better – already the flame had gone out and my soul was shedding everything that made me, me – my memories, personality, and emotions.

The connection works both ways after all – just as the body could not live without the mind and the soul, the mind could not remain stable without the body. With my body now dead, my mind was losing cohesion and breaking apart.

At the very least, in my last moments I had been free. In a way, I was one of the lucky few; countless of my kin had already died and would continue to be slaughtered without even awakening from the darkness.

I am not even dejected about my death – after all, even death is a small price to pay for this brief moment of freedom.

The last flakes of myself disintegrated and all that was left of me was my soul –

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- still an unblemished and undefiled obsidian like sphere as it had been when she was gifted with it upon her birth.

With all her memories gone, with her thoughts halted, she stared uncomprehendingly into the abyss that her soul was sinking into.

And then there was true darkness.

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Turning away from the downed dragon Stoick absentmindedly wiped the blood off his dagger and surveyed the scene – besides the three dead Vikings and the more recently added three dead dragons he spotted a group of Vikings rushing towards him. Finally!

"By gods chief! What happened here?"

"The dragons killed three of us before I got here but I took care of the damn beasts. Never mind that for now – more importantly what are the dragons concentrating on?"

"Mostly on the sheep as always, but – "The ground shook from another explosion close by as pieces of wood rained down.

"No time for that now! Just take care of the damn Zipplebacks destroying the houses while I take care of the Nadders stealing the sheep! – Oh, and light the damn torches will ya? We have them for a reason, and they aren't doing us much good unlit on the ground – at least with them above we will be able to see what is attacking us!"

Not giving the others a chance to reply Stoick ran off towards the main hall. The meagre pastures available on this islet were close to it and with the dragons concentrating on stealing the sheep it would be much simpler to capture them with nets or just downright kill them. If he could just marshal the others to take care of that, he would be able to take over on the towers to handle any of the monstrous Nightmares that usually tried to burn them down.

Still, everything was going well (he tried not to think about the three dead Vikings and possibly countless others whose bodies he hasn't seen yet) and from what he could tell no flame pillars or Nightfuries have yet appeared. Possibly even better he could not spot any telltale signs of his son which hopefully meant that Hiccup would not be causing any major disasters this time around.

"What're you doing out!?"

"Get back inside!"

"Sorry – excuse me – passing through…"

Oh by Odin's single all-seeing eye! – is it possible for me to have just one dragon raid without his interference!? Stoick would have banged his head helplessly against the wall if he had not been in such a hurry – further expounded by the need to take care of his son before he got himself killed. Picking up his pace he rushed in the direction of the commotion. At the very least he seems to be heading towards the Meade hall as well; if I catch him fast enough I can get him to Gobbers and get that status update with hardly a detour. Strangely enough he did not seem to be gaining on his son. Never thought he was that fast…

The chase continued until Stoick breathed a sigh of relief in front of the Meade hall when he caught Hiccup by the scruff of his neck just moments before he would have jumped straight in the path of a Nadder's flames.

"What are you doing out again!? I thought I told you to get to Gobber's when I left!" he bellowed.

"Hey dad – I was just – "

"I don't have the time for this – just get back inside, stay at Gobbers and try not to destroy everything this time – Ok?" he quickly cut his son off to prevent himself from having to listen to whatever hare brained scheme his son had come up with now. Pushing him off towards Gobber's house Stoick looked around. Now with his son out of the way he could focus on more important things.

Like for example that Nadder flying by. Quickly grabbing the partially destroyed cart lying conveniently nearby, he threw it at the beast. The throw was nearly perfect – a wonder really for an object never meant to be used in such a way – but the dragon managed to right itself mid-flight as the remains of the cart fell to the ground below it. Damn – it was such a good shot too. He knew he did not have enough time to chase after it, but that still did not prevent him from hoping that he could – it was a Nadder after all.

Sighing he turned towards the other Vikings. "What have we got?"

Bert was the one who answered due to his position as the closest available Viking who was not busy fending off the damn beasts. Good man Bert – good dragon fighting instincts, and nigh invaluable on fishing expeditions, almost as if he has a nose for good locations and approaching storms. Stoick idly noted recognizing the Viking.

"Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks, - oh and Hork saw a monstrous Nightmare" That was more or less what he had expected. He kind of hoped that Hork was not one of the three he was too late to save, but it was too late now in any case.

Heedless of the nearby explosion that rained flaming bits around him Stoick continued. "Any Nightfuries?"

"None so far" They all knew that both the question and the reply were unnecessary – it was impossible to miss the arrival of a Nightfury into battle – but sometimes the question came unbidden, almost like a reflex. Besides which, it always felt like the situation was so much better than it was whenever such a question was answered in the negative.

"Good" he acknowledged while absentmindedly flicking off a charcoaled piece of debris from his shoulder. Now if we can just take down the dragons swarming around the sheep and trying to carry them off without too much collateral damage or any more casualties this will be one of the better raids – good thing too, I was worried for a second there and thought that it would be a major raid when I first came outside. As long as there are no unexpected surprises…

That was when the sky lit up a bright blood red color as a pillar of fire rose to the heavens from one of the houses closer to the docks. Gods damn it all… He had really hoped to have at least one raid without a spontaneous combustion of a draconic corpse. No one really knew why, but while dragons were completely fireproof while alive they literally became exceptionally susceptible to draconic (and only draconic) fire – fortunately only a direct hit would cause one of these pillars, and the dragons seemed dumb enough to not attempt to intentionally set fire to their fallen comrades (he could only shudder at the devastation that would cause), but when they occurred the pillars were an order of magnitude more dangerous than their regular fire.

Squinting his eyes against the exceptionally bright flames lighting up the night like a continuous lightning bolt, Stoick attempted to discern the location it was coming from. Each pillar was extremely focused, so while they would incinerate the dragon and anything within (more or less) its wingspan around it leaving behind nothing but black charred ground, ash, and a weird fist sized obsidian marble; anything outside those strict confines was mostly left intact. He cursed – judging by the width of the pillar the dragon was either an exceptionally large Nadder or a monstrous Nightmare, and even worse it was between two houses when it was set off; meaning that both houses would require major repairs even if the younglings could get the fires from spreading fast enough…

Make that one house would require major repairs… He corrected himself as one of the houses turned into a flaming fireball – likely the pillar ignited a nearby Zippleback's gas cloud.

"That was the first fire-pillar of the raid wasn't it?"

Bert could only nod in response, incapable of speaking or of tearing his eyes from the sight. Stoick could understand him – the battle had come to a pause for a moment as the Vikings and dragons alike turned to look at the fiery spear piercing into the heavens. It was an almost instinctive reaction – only the gods knew why they did that. He himself had to push the words out of his mouth and only managed to force himself to look away from it after years of experience – even now it was nigh impossible to turn his head far enough for the pillar to disappear from view. He would have thought it as yet another part of the dragon's demonic powers, if it wasn't for them also becoming enthralled in that fiery spear piercing the heavens.

He could not stop himself from closing his eyes when the pillar suddenly tightened into a thin line and seemed to shatter into glowing white embers, finally releasing them all from its hypnotic embrace. He sometimes wondered what it was about Vikings and dragons that caused such a reaction, and why sheep and other animals were not captivated the same way.

At least that is over with. With a sigh he turned back towards Bert and idly noted a small tear streaking down his left eye. It was yet another strange reaction to that pillar, and almost without thought Stoick reached out and wiped his own tear. Not that it mattered really – nothing more than a simple reaction of our eyes from gazing at something so bright… And yet he could not quite bring himself to believe that.

He shook his head. Not the time for such idle thoughts! Concentrate! You have an entire village to protect!

Shaking the last of the effects of the flame pillar from his mind, Stoick pulled himself together and turned back towards the other Vikings milling around him.

"I want you all to concentrate on the sheep – the dragons will be trying to steal them and be easy pickings for you. Use nets if you spot them in a group – doesn't matter if you get some sheep along with them; just make sure that none of them escape or even worse carry off any sheep! Dead sheep we can work with, eaten or carried off – not so much."

Turning around he was already heading off when Bert yelled out after him "What about you chief? You know – In case we need to find you."

"I'll take command at the catapults – shoot down any dragons that you do not reach – by now it's really all about the sheep!" Not even bothering to look back or break his stride Stoick yelled over his shoulder.

The road to the catapults was through the center of the village, and gave him an unparalleled view of the fighting happening on both sides of him. From the brief glances he could spare it seemed that his Vikings were doing reasonably well – he could count over ten dead dragons laying around and at least twice that amount captured in nets with Vikings vigorously hammering at them. He could see several unnaturally still human bodies lying around as well – some burnt until they were barely recognizable, and some with their blood seeping into the cobblestones around them from obviously fatal wound. He could even spot some looking as if they just keeled over and fallen asleep in the middle of battle, he could only hope that they were simply paralyzed from a Nadder's poison rather than being downright dead from a Zippleback's acid or unseen wounds…

I just hope that Gobber is keeping an eye out for Hiccup – he could really get hurt badly one of these times…

If there was anything that could bring out Stoick's deeply buried parental instincts, it was seeing the mangled bodies of his fellow Vikings and realizing that there was a very real chance that one of these days, his son would be lying around like them – with glazed eyes staring into nothing and his heart having released its last beat.

He just didn't know if he could survive that – while he simply could not be proud of the way his son had turned out (and proclaimed often to others), he still loved his son and would have protected him with his life even without that promise he made to his wife.

In more ways than one, his son was the only thing keeping him sane – that and the heavy duty towards his villagers as their chief; after all, everyone around him relied on him to make sure they lived through the harshest of winters and the largest dragon attacks.

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A/N

Hiccup, Gobber, Stoick, and lots of battle. What is there not to like?

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Saienai Signing off.