CAUTION: Spoils aspects of Innocent Hopes, Twisted Realities.

Seriously, major spoilers here.

Assuming you wish to continue, read on…

Background: I have plans for this series. These plans, I don't think it's much of a spoiler to say, involve a certain place we've left behind for 2 books now. That said, those plans are always changing. This here is a small scene that was left behind by those changes, and as such is incredibly out of date.

Berk was a place of war, plain and simple. Even when the ones who lived there would prefer to not be at war, conflict of some sort always found them.

Fishlegs had once theorized that the constant conflict with enemies from other places was a good thing. If Vikings, and now dragons, did not have someone to oppose, they might be more inclined to oppose their friends and allies out of sheer boredom. Thor knew it was hard enough to keep the peace between the Vikings of Berk when there was a common enemy, let alone between them and their dragon counterparts.

The idea, in essence, was that being attacked occasionally was good for them. Fishlegs didn't really believe it, for all that it was his own theory.

Not when he was in the middle of a war zone.

"Duck!" he screamed, too terrified to be ashamed of his high-pitched shriek, as Meatlug flew just under a volley of flaming arrows. An instant later the archers responsible for those arrows were on fire and probably sorry for shooting them, but that didn't make him feel any better.

Yes, the idea of having enemies was a fine one. The reality was that he would rather be doing almost anything else.

"This is a waste of lives, their lives," Meatlug growled as they spiraled down to land behind Berkian lines. "When will this boy-leader give up?"

"Never?" Fishlegs guessed, peeking out from between the lines of reserve troops. The current conflict was not a big one, a few small groups sent through the forest and caught before they could get anywhere near the village. Two sets of archers, both of which were down, and a few dozen big Berserkers meant to cause havoc killing anyone or anything they found, and if they were very lucky, looting the outskirts of the village.

"He spends-" Meatlug cut herself off to bull through the reserve line and hock a large glob of magma at a charging trio of men, totally blocking their path with a puddle of molten rock. It wasn't even a full blast, just the Gronckle equivalent to a cough. Fishlegs might have been impressed by her control under different circumstances.

"You were saying?" Fishlegs asked after they retreated once more, trying to regain his cool. They were behind friendly lines now, and this wasn't even the real battle. Astrid–

"Need some help?" a brash, infinitely irritating voice called out, and two Monstrous Nightmares landed on either side of him, the four roaring loud challenges at the enemy, who promptly broke and ran.

"Yeah," that's what I thought!" Snotlout crowed, jumping down off of Hookfang and waving his sword rather recklessly. "Looks like another Berserker raid comes to nothing, all thanks to me!"

"All thanks to them being as rock-headed as you are, but without the firepower to back them up," Hookfang corrected, knowing Snotlout wouldn't be able to understand his growls. The other Nightmares all coughed in laughter. They had probably spent their fire recently, which Fishlegs was told could irritate the throat if done all at once.

"So the fight is finished there too?" Meatlug asked. She sounded relieved, a feeling Fishlegs wholeheartedly shared. He was no coward, but big battles… or little ones… made him nervous. He was a scholar, a learner, a researcher. That was his niche, one Meatlug shared. They really shouldn't have been in battle at all.

But, then again, they were Berkians, and there was something about the Chief rallying the warriors that made him feel like a total coward for doing anything other than following her into battle, even if she had directly told him he didn't have to.

"Done," Hookfang respectfully confirmed. "The alpha has called a meeting of her advisors in the usual place."

"Great." Fishlegs walked over to Meatlug, and they took to the sky together. "This one wasn't so bad."

"No, it was not, but it also was not much of an attack," Meatlug rumbled contentedly. They were not the fastest dragon and rider duo, so it would take a few moments to make it to the Great Hall. "As I was saying, when will this boy-leader learn sense and stop raiding? More than a pawful of failures without a single success is a long time to beat one's head against a stone, especially when the stone is a boulder that could crush him if he ever managed to move it."

"It's Dagur, he'll stop when he's dead." Fishlegs chose not to think of Dagur any further than that. At this point, he was to Berk what the dragons had been in the past. A constant, repetitive foe that was just dangerous enough to be a threat. Unlike the dragons, he wasn't dangerous enough to totally eliminate them unless they were stupid, or under the command of someone like Snotlout.

Luckily for them, Snotlout had no more rank than he had possessed two years ago, which was to say he had no rank at all, not even that of an heir. Astrid had yet to do anything about that particular part of being Chief, but nobody minded. She was young, as Chiefs went, Fishlegs' age, and one of the best Chiefs they had ever had–

In Fishlegs' opinion, anyway. He was aware others weren't as full of praise for her, but that was just because they didn't like a young, some would say inexperienced warrior leading them, or thought she was too cautious in planning fights, if not leading or winning them. The fact that Berk still hadn't taken the fight to the Berserkers on their island was a sore spot for many Berkians.

But for Fishlegs, one thing outweighed everything else when it came to whether or not Astrid was a great leader. How she dealt with the Berserkers wasn't it, especially as he agreed with her reasons for remaining on the defensive for the time being.

Meatlug dropped like a stone to land right in front of the Great Hall, where a small crowd of Berk's more influential and important Vikings had gathered. They would not be meeting in the Great Hall, as that was where any wounded or temporarily homeless would be staying, but the front steps were an acceptable substitute.

"Good, Temar is here," Meatlug rumbled. "Fishlegs?"

"Go ahead," Fishlegs granted, sliding out of the saddle and landing on the steps leading up to the Great Hall, catching himself easily enough. Temar made him nervous, though he was an amiable dragon. There was just something about him. Maybe it was his teeth, or maybe it was the way he literally made everyone's hair stand on end when he was around. As a Skrill, that wasn't his fault, but still.

"Fear of a friend is a bad fear," Meatlug chastised, before buzzing off. She didn't share his unease about Temar, even though they'd both seen exactly what he was capable of if convinced to take action.

The Skrill in question – the only Skrill on Berk, thankfully, though Temar was apparently exceptional even compared to his kind – was perched on a rooftop nearby, looking over the village like an ever-watchful sentry. He only rarely took part in any of the skirmishes, despite holding a grudge against the Berserkers... Or, the tribe the Berserkers had become.

There was more there, talk of strange things in mountains and making things that lasted, but Fishlegs was not one of the few people Temar had decided to confide in, so he didn't know exactly what it was. All he knew was that Astrid knew what Temar really wanted, and had convinced him – or been convinced by him – that him sticking around was good for everyone. Most Berkians didn't even know that much; they just thought the odd Skrill had decided this was his home now.

"I hear the side-raid wen' well," Gobber called out, approaching Fishlegs with an easy smile and a blood-soaked hook prosthetic, which was an unnerving combination.

"Nobody died except the Berserkers," Fishlegs agreed.

"As should be, wit' a piddly raid like this," Gobber asserted. "What'dya think Dagur's plannin'? This is jus' embarassin'."

A Hideous Zippleback landed at the foot of the steps, and bowed both heads. Astrid, who had been riding bare-back, quickly stepped down the offered easy path. "I don't need that," she commented idly, knowing as well as Fishlegs did that the Zippleback in question didn't understand her. "But thank you for the ride."

"Always good to help the alpha," the Zippleback's heads hissed.

Author's Note: Like I said, short and outdated. From the premise (Dagur harrying them? No, not going to be at that point in the timeline), to the characterization (Hookfang reads too generic and well-spoken) to basic concepts. The things I like, I've already mostly improved upon in that Skrill-centric entry earlier (also, Temar is definitely a placeholder name).