The Berserker War Chapter 01
A/N Welcome to the next installment in the "Lightning and Death Itself" timeline. This story will be a little bit different from the others. A lot of readers seem to like my dragon battle scenes, so this story will be battle scenes and not much else. There may be a little character development, because our characters are so rich that it's hard not to develop them; and there may be a few WAFFs here and there, because I can't seem to avoid them when I write; but for the most part, this story will be about dragons doing what dragons do best – DEALING OUT FLAMING DEATH!
This story will get my usual T rating for possible future violence, just to be safe, even though I could probably get away with K+. As usual, the language will be all K-rated.
o
New-night-fury and Night-fury-mother-of-twins were enjoying the pale sunlight as it streamed down onto the second floor of the Nest. As humans, they'd never seen any value in sunning themselves, but as dragons, stretching out in the sun was a relaxing way to spend an idle morning. Their twin children were on the island somewhere; they were now yearlings and were well-able to take care of themselves. Their tiny daughter, Night-fury-smallest-girl, was dozing nearby on the stone pad that was meant for Toothless when he visited Berk. She'd staked out the very center of the pad, which meant she left no room for her parents; they had to share their own pad instead of spreading out. Of course, they had no objection to being close to each other.
Hiccup heard approaching human footsteps and lazily opened one eye. It was his father, Stoick, headed for the Nest, and walking rather awkwardly. The Night Fury rose and shook his head to help himself wake up. He was standing next to his sand table when his father finished climbing the stairs to join him.
ARE YOU OKAY, DAD?
YOU LOOK UNCOMFORTABLE
"It's this ceremonial belt!" the human chief burst out, slapping the golden buckle. "It isn't big enough for my ceremonial waist! I actually needed Gobber's help to put it on this year – and you will never reveal that to anyone else, is that understood?"
IT'S LIKE I SAID A LONG TIME AGO. THIS
VILLAGE COULD USE A LITTLE LESS FEEDING
"Actually, it's your fault, Hiccup! Now that the dragons aren't raiding Berk to steal our food any more, we all have plenty to eat, and..." He slapped the buckle again.
DOES THE BELT MEAN IT'S TIME TO RENEW
THE TREATY WITH THE BERSERKERS AGAIN?
"Yes, it's time for Oswald the Agreeable and me to go through the motions, sign the paper, and go our separate ways for another year. But I need something from you, Hiccup. I need you to hide all the dragons."
HIDE THEM? WHERE? WHY?
" 'Where' is up to you. 'Why' is... well, the Berserkers don't know about you and us, and it might be best if it stayed that way. They've been peaceful for years, but dragons scare people sometimes. I know it's an inconvenience, but it's just for today."
ASTRID AND I WILL RELOCATE ALL THE DRAGONS.
IF YOU NEED US FOR SOME REASON, WHISTLE
"Thank you, Hiccup. That's one less thing for me to worry about." The chief stomped back down the stairs.
Hiccup turned to see Astrid gazing at him through half-closed eyes. "I take it that's the end of our nice, lazy day?"
He nodded. "This is the part where we earn our fish. We'll have to round up every dragon and get them into the forest, on the ground, and keep them there until the Berserkers are gone. We've got a bumper crop of newly-hatched baby dragons who aren't very good at taking orders, we've got their mothers who get indignant at the idea that their precious little ones might need a good talking-to..." He shook his head again. "The sooner we get started, the sooner it'll all be over with." They leaped off the edge of the Nest, took flight, and began telling every dragon they saw that Berk village was off-limits until further notice.
The first of the Berserker warships drifted into the harbor about halfway between sunrise and lunch time. It docked, and a burly herald went into a lengthy introduction of its principal passenger. But, to Stoick and Gobber's amazement, that passenger wasn't Oswald the Agreeable, but his bloodthirsty, half-lunatic son, Dagur the Deranged. He glared around him.
"So where are you hiding him, Stoick?"
"Hiding who?" the chief asked.
"That charming little son of yours," Dagur demanded. "He was so entertaining the last time I was here!"
Stoick thought fast. The fact that his "charming little son" had been turned into a Night Fury was the last thing he wanted to admit to a stranger, especially this one. "Hiccup will not be joining us for the signing ceremony," he bluffed.
"He's on a mission to another island," Gobber added.
"What a pity," Dagur said mournfully. "I was so looking forward to seeing if his dodging reflex was still good." He plucked a dagger from somewhere and flung it into one of the pilings. "Now, let's cut to the chase, shall we? I have it on good authority that you're amassing an army of dragons here. And if I find that it's true, my armada will attack with the force of fifty thousand brave Berserker warriors!"
"Stand down, Dagur!" Stoick exclaimed. "As you can plainly see, there are no dragons here. Shall we go sign the treaty?"
"We'll get there, my big, impatient friend," Dagur smirked. "First, I believe I'm entitled to a tour of Berk. A nice long tour!" He began singing about "a three-hour tour, a three-hour tour" to an oddly menacing melody. Gobber shrugged, and they set off to show their barely-sane guest all the sights.
He looked around at everything suspiciously, as though Stoick might have hidden a Zippleback inside every house. The night-vision torches were especially interesting to him.
"Your torches don't have any wood in them! You're unprepared if the dragons come! Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy!" He sniffed the air. "Why do I smell fish?"
"We must be downwind from th' harbor," Gobber suggested. Dagur licked a finger, held it up, scowled, and continued the tour.
"Thanks for thinking to get rid of all the dragons' fish," Stoick whispered to the old smith.
"It's hard, hidin' all the evidence o' dragons in th' town, but I did th' best I could," Gobber whispered back.
They were leaving the armory when Dagur noticed the Nest. "What an odd building!" he exclaimed. "It ought to have another floor in the middle. What would people use a building like that for?"
"It's still under construction," Stoick tried to explain.
"It's going to be a fish warehouse," Gobber added.
"Really?" said Dagur; his tone betrayed the fact that he didn't believe it. "I'd like a closer look." He climbed the steps, two at a time, and looked around. "Two big flat rocks... a sand table... what's this about?" Stoick felt his blood run cold. If the young Berserker chief read Hiccup's last message, about relocating all the dragons... he ran up the stairs as fast as he could, not sure what he would do when he got to the top.
The sand table was bare. Hiccup had cleared it before he left.
"Huh." Dagur seemed disappointed. "There's nothing up here. This is such a strange..." His voice trailed off as he looked down. Slowly, a vicious smile crept across his face.
"Aha! I knew it! Oh, I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" He hugged himself in delight and danced in little circles, which ended when he suddenly stopped in front of Stoick, waving an accusing finger in the bigger chief's face. "All right, Stoick the Liar! You said there weren't any dragons here! Then how do you explain those?" He pointed downward with his other hand.
The ground under the Nest was covered with the footprints of every kind of dragon.
"Pray to your favorite god, Stoick! And do it fast! All I have to do is whistle, and my warriors will swarm off my ships and turn this island into a smoking wasteland!"
Stoick slapped Dagur's hand aside. "All I have to do is whistle, and my army of dragons will sink your ships and chase your warriors into the sea!"
"Ha! I'd like to see that!" Dagur scoffed. "I must outnumber your dragons by ten to one or more, and every Viking knows you need only five to one to kill dragons!"
"Tell me, Dagur, how many bolas did yer men bring with ye on this trip?" Gobber needled him. "How many nets? How many 'eavy weapons? None?! Could it be that ye dinna come prepared to fight dragons? Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy!"
"Neither of us can defeat the other," Stoick concluded. "So shall we sign the treaty and call it even?"
"There will be no treaty with dragon-lovers!" Dagur roared. "Not now, not ever! Maybe we aren't ready to wipe you and your cold-blooded friends off the face of the earth today, but I'll soon fix that! The Berserkers are marching back to greatness, and Berk will be our first stop along the way!" He turned, left the Nest, and stalked back to his ship without another word.
As the Berserker ships left, Stoick put his fingers in his mouth and whistled. Within moments, dragons were rising into view from all over Berk's cliffs and forests. The Night Furies were the first to return to town.
HOW DID IT GO?
"Not well," Stoick said mournfully. "Dagur is their new chief, and he saw all the dragon footprints on the ground below us. I'm afraid it's going to be war."
WE GOT YOU INTO THIS MESS.
WE'LL HELP FIGHT FOR BERK
"Hiccup, fly up until you can see their fleet, and count their ships. Fighting for Berk is going to mean a quick trip to Valhalla, nothing more. I know your dragons can fight hard, but there aren't enough of you to defeat an army that big!"
THEN WE'LL HAVE TO FIGHT SMART,
NOT HARD.
WE'LL START BY PATROLLING SO THEY
CAN'T TAKE US BY SURPRISE
Stoick rested a hammy hand on his son's nose. "Hiccup, there are just too many of them! No offense, but I know how dragons can fight. You're powerful, but not clever. This is a war we can't win."
YOU KNOW WHAT A DIFFERENCE
GOOD LEADERSHIP CAN MAKE.
YOU HAVEN'T SEEN DRAGONS FIGHT
WITH ME AND ASTRID IN CHARGE
Stoick looked thoughtful and nodded. "I'm hopin' ye're right," Gobber said. "If Dagur gets 'is way, Berk will become another Dragon Island, bare an' desolate, only fit fer dragons."
Hiccup-the-dragon hesitated before he wrote again.
IF DAGUR GETS HIS WAY, THERE WON'T
BE ANY DRAGONS HERE, OR ANYWHERE ELSE.
THIS IS ABOUT SURVIVAL OR EXTINCTION