Prodigal Son 25

Fishlegs stepped carefully over a fallen log, and held back a branch to let Astrid pass him. "Three years. An interesting development."

"You're getting off on this."

"Not true, and I resent the implication."

"Were they bluffing, Fishlegs? Can they just raise taxes like that?" she hopped from rock to rock to avoid wading through a thick set of prickly bushes.

"They can't just raise fishing fees at will. If they collapsed Berk's economy, everyone would know who was really at fault. Sooner or later someone would call them out. It would be a much more intelligent move to increase taxes incrementally over a number of years. Say, six or seven. That way Berk slowly sinks into poverty, people forget about what Snotlout did in the Kill Ring, and they blame Stoick for hard times instead of recognizing the true culprits. I would guess that sort of play is also why they choose to operate in the background while Stoick takes the public's attention."

"Sounds familiar."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

Fishlegs ignored her pointed look. He said, "Out of curiosity, have you spoken to any other possible suitors?"

"Why bother? The Jorgensons will have worked them over already."

"Yes, I was about to say."

"I had to cooperate with them anyway." Astrid said, as much for her own benefit as for her companion's.

"You think so?"

"It's only been three days since I signed the second contract, and already we have a fleet of a dozen ships in the water. Half of Berk is mobilized and ready for war. We've collected eels from all over the shallows, and we're going to hang them from the rigging the moment we get close to the nest. The Jorgensons held up their end of the bargain, for what it's worth."

"It's like making a deal with Loki, though. You'll never get quite what you expect."

They reached a small six-foot high cliff, overgrown with shrubbery and questing tree roots. Astrid scrambled up easily and lay on her stomach at the top. "Hand me that basket of fish."

Fishlegs obeyed, slinging the item off of his back and holding it up for Astrid to grab. As she pulled it up, she said, "I didn't have much choice."

"You could have said no."

"Here, grab my hand." She reached down for him. Fishlegs obeyed, holding onto her with one hand, and a thick tree root with the other. They both strained for a few seconds as he struggled up the cliff, but he managed to scramble over the top, and they both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily.

Astrid got to her feet and dusted herself off. "Said no and then what? Watch the Jorgensons start trouble on Berk? Whether they tax us to death slowly or not, it's bad for the island. This way, I get their full cooperation, I get a fleet to attack the nest with, and after we clear the nest out and end the war, I have three years to break them." She reached down and helped pull Fishlegs to his feet. Once there, she looked him straight in the eye. "I need to be powerful, Fishlegs. Strong enough to say no to a written contract, and stomp them flat if they try to start trouble over it. I need your help."

"And what do the Ingermans get?"

"I'm sure you'll be able to work in a few benefits for yourselves somehow. You aren't demanding marriage from me. Help me break Snotlout's clan, and the Ingemans will take their place."

"Works for us. Though perhaps third or fourth, publicly." Fishlegs said as they resumed their early-morning journey to the cove. "The trouble with obvious power is that it requires maintenance and defense."

"Fishlegs?"

"Mmm?"

"How do I break the Jorgensons?"

"Well… think it through, Astrid. What makes the Jorgensons strong?"

"They have plenty of warriors." She said slowly, "And they can tax the boats."

"And when one hand fails, they use the other."

"We're going to have to take down both at once, then." She decided, "We'll need a fleet. And an army."

"The Haddock clan has the money to build a fishing fleet to rival Spitelout's, and the moment you start handing boats to the fishermen, your support in Berk is going to rise. But the boat builders on Berk are all under the Jorgenson's thumb. If you want a fleet, you'll have to either bring in builders from outside the clan, or find a way to protect your workers from any blowback. We don't have an army, so secrecy is better than force of arms."

"That sounds complicated, though." Astrid said. "I mean, you need timber, iron, canvas, rope and plenty of hard labour, skilled and unskilled, to build a longship. Not to mention a shipyard. How do you keep all that a secret?"

"I don't know." Fishlegs admitted. "It's something to think about, certainly."

"I don't understand how Stoick let this happen. How did Spitelout gain so much power?"

"The Haddocks own the island of Berk. All the land, the farms and everything are Haddock territory, but the Jorgensons own the sea. When you live on an archipelago that gives you an advantage. It's just one they've never pressed before."

"Why not?"

"Because they've never had to. Stoick is a Jorgenson. Technically he's from the Haddock line, but politically, he and Spitelout are brothers. They're family. Besides, I know they're quarreling right now, but Stoick and Spitelout are at their core the same. They believe the same things. All dragons need to die, power is best wielded with a hammer. They both respect physical prowess in battle more than mental strength, or strength of character, even. Stoick has a much softer touch, but don't be fooled. Those two are very similar people and they'd run Berk in very similar ways."

"Stoick isn't like them!"

"He's not as blunt as they are, but he comes from the same camp. Appearances mean everything, and Stoick appears to be a moderate. He treats you well out of sympathy and a sense of duty to Hiccup's memory, but don't forget he tried to exile you when he felt you threatened those memories."

"I didn't, thanks."

They walked on in silence. Eventually Fishlegs asked, "Did you tell anyone else about the deal?"

Astrid scoffed. "No. how the hell am I supposed to break that one to my parents?"

"Don't" he recommended. "Leave it to me."

"Why? What are you going to do, Fishlegs?"

"Play the hand I'm dealt. We can turn this against the Jorgensons, you know. We just have to bring the truth forward at the right time."

"And now isn't?"

"It depends on how we proceed, but I think it's best we keep this one to ourselves for now. You lost some support when the Jorgensons started to rope everyone into another raid, saying you had a plan."

"I…I did?" Astrid hesitated, her heart sinking even further. She didn't want to be hated. This was the right way forward! They could end the war and solve the dragon raiding problem for good."

"Yep." Fishlegs nodded, "But it'll get worse when everyone finds out you have a dragon. The Jorgensons may have done you a favor. I'll keep my ear to the ground and we'll see if we can't turn this thing around."

Astrid stopped and turned to look at him. "You're a great help, Fishlegs, but I'm scared of the moment when you and I don't agree on what's best for Berk."

Fishlegs shrugged, once again twiddling his fingers innocently. "I can't really see that happening any time soon."

"I know. It's just a worrying thought."

They reached the cove at dawn, and shuffled through the narrow entrance.

"Stay here." Astrid ordered. She moved further into the clearing. "Stormfly? Stormfly!"

At the other end of the clearing, on the edge of the bowl, the Deadly Nadder appeared, chirping quietly in response to Astrid's voice. Fishlegs, already across the clearing, backed away a little further.

"There you are, Girl! Come on down here! There's someone I want you to meet." Astrid turned. "Fishlegs, grab a salmon and get- what are you doing?"

Fishlegs was busy flipping his way through the book of dragons. He had placed a pile of other papers on a nearby rock, and Astrid recognized it as the last remaining copy of Hiccup's journal.

"Are you serious?"

"According to the Book of Dragons, The Deadly Nadder is easily recognized by the bright blue body and brilliant yellow spikes that cover it head to tail. This colorful dragon is active any time of the day or night. Nadders are quick and agile in the air and can fly for long distances, but will almost always land before attacking. Nadders travel and raid in groups, making them especially dangerous. The Deadly Nadder isn't the largest or fastest dragon, but it possesses the hottest fire in the dragon world. The blast of a Nadder can melt steel, or turn a man to ash in seconds. But the dangers of the Nadder don't stop there. The tail of the Nadder can be whipped around, releasing a volley of giant spikes that can penetrate trees, walls, and Vikings."

"Fishlegs, put the stupid book down, get over here and give my Nadder a fish!"

"What if it bites my hand off? I don't want to end up like Gobber! I need my hands!"

"That's the point, stupid! It's a trust exercise. Like in Hiccup's journal."

"I'd really prefer to do the research and understand this first."

"You've known we were going here since yesterday! Why didn't you do your research then?"

"This seemed like such a good idea last night! And I have a baby, in case you forgot!" he shot back. "How am I supposed to hold my child if I don't have hands?"

Astrid growled in frustration, amazed that the man who normally had such a subtle intelligence about him, was reduced to this. Hiccup was right about one thing: the hostility and fear between Vikings and dragons was marrow deep. She said, "You're not going to lose your hands!"

"I don't have a weapon."

"You don't need a weapon!"

"I don't feel safe!"

"So that's it then? You're all for Hiccup's idea until it means you have to step in the ring with them yourself? You've faced down dragons before, Fishlegs. I've watched you kill them!"

"It's different when you're in a shield wall, and you've got a club and a shield and other Vikings with you. I'm not exactly what you'd call a 'hands on' person, Astrid."

"Stormfly?" The Nadder, who had been nuzzling her and pecking lovingly at her hair, which Astrid had carefully combed, remembering Stormfly's aversion to knots, perked up attentively. Astrid pointed at Fishlegs. "There's fish over there. Go find it, girl!"

Silence dropped across the cove as Stormfly looked up and met Fishlegs' worried gaze.

Then the dragon charged. Fishlegs let out a high-pitched yelp and dove out of the way as it rushed towards him.

"Who's a good girl?" Astrid called out dotingly, from somewhere in the background.

The Nadder pinned Fishlegs to the ground and leaned down to sniff at him. It licked him several times, but grew bored when it realized he wasn't a fish, and moved on to sniffing at the basket he had been carrying. The dragon emitted a triumphant squawk, then picked up the basket in its teeth and trotted back to Astrid.

"Good girl! You're such a good girl, Stormfly! Yes you are!" Astrid crooned, scratching the dragon's scales and smoothing her spines. She paused to open up the basket, snatching a few fish away before the dragon dove in.

Fishlegs had recovered by this point, and marched up to Astrid, shuffling Hiccup's journal back into proper order as angrily as he could. He jabbed a finger at her. "That was not dignified!"

"Oh, suck it up, Guppielegs." She handed him the fish. "Hold it out for her."

"I don't like Nadders." Fishlegs babbled as she shoved him towards her dragon. "They're- Please don't push me- they move too fast."

Stormfly whirled around, having finished her meal. She sniffed at the salmon in Fishlegs' hand, and chirruped at h, twitching her head back and forth to examine him with both eyes.

"You're doing great, Fishlegs. Now hold your hand out."

The man extended his arm, cringing. "A Nadder killed my uncle, you know."

"Everyone's lost someone to a dragon." Astrid said grimly, remembering the way the Flightmare had gobbled up Fearless Finn, "That's what we're trying to beat here, isn't it?"

"I'd still feel safer with a shield."

Stormfly sniffed at the fish, and then curled its tongue around Fishlegs' hand, slurping up its treat, and leaving his limb intact. The man stood there, stiff as a board, while the dragon sniffed him up and down, looking for the other fish, which he was holding behind his back. "This is the most nerve-wracking thing I've ever done." He said shakily.

"Easy. She just wants the other fish."

"Oh. Well that's easy!" he made to hold it out, but Astrid stopped him. "No… she has to give you something now. She has to let you pet her. Hold out your empty hand."

Fishlegs laughed. "Okay, you know what? I'd be happy just giving it to her."

"In one day I'm leaving for the nest. If we fail then you'll be Berk's last chance." Astrid pushed Stormfly out of the way and planted her hands on her hips, "I've told your lies and gone along with your ideas and you've turned my life upside down. I said you owed me now it's time to pay up! Can you do this, or not?"

Fishlegs sighed and stared down at his slobber-covered hand. "Alright. Alright. But when I get a dragon, it's going to be something slow. Something predictable. Like a Gronckle."

"Just do it!"

"I'm going, I'm going. Don't rush me!" He held out his hand and tensed as the Nadder leaned forward for a closer look. Stormfly sniffed his hand, and then nuzzled it with a gentleness which surprised him.

"That's a good girl." Astrid comforted quietly as Fishlegs slowly forced himself to relax. She moved to the side and began to stroke her Nadder's flank. "There's a good girl. You can give her the other fish, now."

Fishlegs held out his other hand, a little more confidently this time. The Nadder gobbled up the treat and, after making sure he didn't have a third on him, curled up in a contented circle. Astrid led him around, letting him pet the Nadder, and talk to her quietly.

"It's strange." He said, looking down at the lethargic creature. "It would be so easy to kill her."

"There was a moment where I could have." Astrid admitted. "She was curled up like this and I had my knife with me. But I just couldn't do it. Once they trust you, you can't kill them. It'd be like… killing a puppy or a calf or something. It's just… the wrong thing to do." She took a deep breath. "Fishlegs-"

"I know what you're going to ask, Astrid. And yes, if you don't come back, I'll take care of her."

"Thanks." She said quietly, staring down at the sleeping dragon, and wondering what tomorrow held in store.

Astrid was in command of the lead boat. She and Stoick together. Snotlout with his entourage took up the second, and Spitelout with several supporters took up the third. They had fourteen ships in total, each commanded by a Jorgenson warrior or one of their allies.

Stoick had been correct when he said it would take all three of them. The poorer clans had fallen in line, though Astrid was unsure how many of them trusted Stoick and herself, and how many were doing it merely to please the Jorgensons. They had warriors from every clan on the island. Hundreds, in point of fact. It was the largest attacking army Berk had ever assembled for a raid. As per Astrid's instructions, all metal objects had been stowed away in the loot chests which served double duty as rowing benches. Each boat had a barrel full of water and live Eels, to be killed and strung from the rigging as they approached Helheim's gate.

She had sat before a tribunal of Jorgenson warriors and explained her plan. A few had laughed. One or two had called her crazy. Then Spitelout and Snotlout had stood and proclaimed their support. Stoick had as well, and they made it clear that nothing she said was up for negotiation. Protest had died there and then.

Bard Barrason was on Astrid's boat, and she met his eye several times during the journey. The look he gave her was not exactly hostile, but certainly not friendly.

The sudden decision had thrown the island into confusion, and no one seemed to know exactly what part Astrid had to play. Rumors had spread that the plan was hers, but whether Stoick and Spitelout had heard of her theories and decided to chance it, or whether she was the architect was unclear. Arguments had flown back and forth across the rapidly fracturing island. Those who sided with the Jorgensons declared their support for Astrid's leadership. Those who didn't felt that she was being used.

Staying true to the promise she had given Fishlegs, she hadn't told anyone of the deal she had made with Spitelout. The look of shock her mother Brunhilda had given her upon discovering that Berk was once again sailing off to war was going to haunt her in the wee hours of the morning.

Astrid wore the blackbear furs which the Jorgensons had given her, and a tunic made of the green cloth the Thorstons had supplied. It was important to present a united front. Especially given the apparent insanity of the orders their troops would have to obey. Authority had to be absolute. No metal could be worn openly, and they would just have to trust that the eels would drive the larger dragons away.

"They're keeping watch even now." Stoick said, nudging her side and pointing skywards.

Astrid looked up, and say a flask of blue and green; the tiny shape of a Nadder.

Stormfly was following the boats.

"Steady!" she called out as a few other sailors began to point skywards. "Steady! Remember: no weapons. Not until we reach the nest itself." She could hear similar orders being passed along the fleet. She looked skywards and prayed that the dragon stayed away.

"How are we supposed to protect ourselves?" Bard Barrason demanded.

"The eels will do that for us. But if you lose your cool, we won't survive."

"Eels?" the crew scoffed.

"Dragons hate eels. It's in the Book of Dragons!" Astrid shot back coldly. "Are you saying Bork the Bold was wrong?"

They quieted. No one wanted to contradict an ancestor like Bork. The man was a legend. Second only to Hamish II Haddock, the man who had transformed the Isles of Berk from a Meathead fishing outpost into its own tribe, and carved out a large slice of the archipelago as Hairy Hooligan territory. Even if they were suspicious of Astrid, Stoick and Spitelout, they knew they could at least rely on Bork.

"My ass is on the line too." Astrid reminded them. "We're all in this battle together."

"There's another one!" Someone else called out, pointing upwards. Astrid squinted and shaded her eyes from the sunlight. There was indeed another black speck against the blue. A dragon, its wings spread, riding the winds high above their heads, though it was too far away to make out what breed.

The wall of fog was visible from a mile off. As soon as it came into sight, Astrid turned to Stoick. "Order the other boats to hang their eels from the rigging."

The order was passed across the water from boat to boat. Each captain, A Jorgenson or a Thorston, handed out instructions to a few of the sailors. Astrid rolled up her sleeve, took the top off the barrel she had been keeping by the bow, and thrust her hand in, grasping a slimy creature and pulling it out. It slithered and struggled in her hand so she slapped it against the gunwhale as hard as she could, killing it. She pulled out her knife, bore a hole in its tail, and ran a small leather strap through. She handed the dead eel to Stoick and it was passed gingerly down to the back of the boat, where a Sigurdson sailor tied it to the sternpost.

The procedure was repeated across the fleet, with eels being passed down and fixed to the shrouds and rigging, and tied to the gunwhales. It was fortunate that eels were a common catch in the waters around Berk. Eggs were carried by ocean currents from the distant Eel Island, and left in tidal pools and inlets all around Berk. It had simply been a matter of picking them out from the fishermen's latest catch and saving them instead of throwing them away.

By the time the fleet was done hanging the creatures from their rigging, they had reached the wall of fog. Each ship looked strange, garnished as they were with the long, slimy, dead shapes. The Viking sailors examined each other's boats with trepidation. None of them looked overly confident in Astrid's plan. Yet they obeyed their skippers, and their skippers answered ultimately to her.

"All metal stowed away!" Astrid called out. "I don't want to see a single knife out, or you'll doom us all!"

Perhaps the thieving dragons would steal the weapon. Perhaps they would steal the Viking carrying it as well. Either way, Astrid knew that seconds after one Viking was touched, every ship would be bristling with metal objects and then the entire raid, all her preparations, and the promises she had made to Spitelout and his bastard son would be for nothing.

The fog grew closer and closer until it swallowed them. The world vanished, replaced with fog, preventing them from seeing more than a few meters in any direction. The boats which had been following so close behind them were mere shadows in the murky, colorless gloom.

"Steady!" Astrid called out, aware of the way the fog deadened her voice. "Steady! Captains sound off!"

"Aye!" Called out Spitelout from a shadow to starboard.

"Aye!" shouted Snotlout, somewhere to port.

The other captains echoed the call from down the line.

"Remember, all metal stowed away!" Astrid called. Confirmations sounded from the rest of the fleet.

"Take down the sails, and ready your oars!" Again the orders were passed down, their voices faint, deadened by the oppressive fog.

Astrid stared in the mist ahead of her. She took a deep breath, remembering the disaster of their last attempt. Stock's large hand gripped her shoulder. "Everything alright, Astrid?"

"I'm fine." She said, collecting herself. "It's just the moment of truth, you know?"

"I trust you." He said, and the vote of confidence was intensely comforting.

An undulating, thrumming noise filled the air. It was an alien, and hostile sound. A night-time noise, like crickets, or hooting owls, but corrupt and distorted. The sort of vibrations which crawled up one's spine, and left hairs standing on end. One thing was perfectly clear: the dragons everywhere were being made aware of their presence. The nest was on high alert.

There was a difference, though: last time they hadn't heard this. The noise of a hundred beating wings. Calls for calm and steadiness rang from every boat as shadows and shapes began to dart back and forth in the fog. A dark shape came towards them, slowly gaining detail as it drew nearer until it halted in front of Astrid at the bow of the boat. The crew tensed as it fluttered to a halt, but she held up a hand to the side, willing them to stay calm. If any of them so much as drew a sword, it would all be over.

The creature hovered in front of her, a foot away. Astrid held her ground, aware of the edgy Vikings all around her. She could see its rippling dark grey scales, and the beady yellow eyes, narrowing into hostile slits as it gave her a thorough examination. The mouth was small, but its jaws were wide and intensely powerful. Powerful enough to cut and shape metal. The skull-like formation on the top of its head was bone-white and scarred. She could smell its foul odors as it sniffed her up and down, circling slowly.

The sailors on her boat all tensed up. Stoick's hands had formed into fists, and he stood to the side, ready to grab the creature if it decided to attack her. Astrid did nothing at all, aware that showing fear would weaken the crew's resolve. Instead she remembered Stormfly and that vital fact of Hiccup's journal: Dragons were animals. They attacked when given reason, but were otherwise gentle. It was difficult to believe, staring into the creature's angry yellow eyes, but Astrid steeled herself and waited.

The dragon sniffed her a couple times and then, to the astonishment of the crew, lost interest and began to wander the boat, sniffing for metal. The sailors ducked and swore and struggled to keep out of its way, but none of them raised a hand against it; they had all seen Astrid's display of restraint, and they took strength from her confidence and resolve.

The tiny dragons circled the boats for an entire nerve-wracking hour before taking their leave. It took the Vikings almost half that time to work up the nerve to start rowing. The swarm weaved in and out between the ships, sniffing around and searching for metal, but the sailors had the disciplined Jorgenson warriors, and determined captains at the helms of their ships, and Astrid's orders were carried down through the ranks effectively. No swords were drawn. The weapons were kept locked safely away in their trunks.

Slowly but surely, the fleet began to wind its way through the fog, following Astrid and Stoick's leading vessel. Seat stacks began appearing around them, growing thicker and thicker as they sailed further and further in. Occasionally they passed rotted wrecks, centuries old, covered in barnacles and seaweed; other failed attempts. With each one they passed, the Vikings' confidence grew. They were getting closer than their ancestors had done. As they meandered further and further into the mist, the swarms slowly wore away, their slow ominous hum replaced by a far more worrying noise: the whumph of large wings, and the guttural calls of the larger dragon breeds. Shadows began to filter through the fog, forming shapes on the water's churning surface: Gronckles, Nadders, Zipplebacks and Nightmares. The smaller fog-breathing dragons dissipated, fearful of their larger brethren.

There was an angry roar, and a Monstrous Nightmare coloured in purples and dark orange patches swooped out of the sky and banked around towards their boat. Bard Barrason stood up in his seat and fished around for a weapon. In three strides Astrid reached him, pulled him away, and slammed the lid shut. The Nightmare was nearly upon them when she held up a dead eel, tossing it into the ocean between them and the dragon. She saw the moment when the Nightmare picked up that hated scent. Its eyes and nostrils widened. It let out a strangled cry and flapped wildly, trying to slow its approach and gain some altitude. A gust of wind struck the boat, rocking it dangerously from side to side, but the Nightmare was already fleeing.

A cheer went up from the boats behind, ones who had seen the creature turn its tail and flap away as fast as it could go.

"Still laughing, Bard?" Astrid asked through gritted teeth. The Viking warrior stared up at her in amazement.

"How did you know?" He asked.

"I already told you, idiot! They hate eels. It's in the book of dragons." She tossed him back onto his seat and addressed the rest of her stunned crew. "Oars out! Keep rowing! Let's see if the beasts test us further!" She strode easily back up the length of the ship to join Stoick at the bow.

The warrior pointed ahead. Past the sea stacks, they could see the faint outline of a tall, volcanic mountain.

"Great Odin's ghost…" she said, "The Nest." Above them, dozens of dragons wheeled, but none dared approach. The smell of the eels was too strong, and it drove them all away.

Stoick smiled like a lion. He clapped her on the shoulder, soldier to soldier. "You did it, Astrid. You got us there. After three hundred years and fifteen generations, you've brought us to the nest. This is a new chapter of Berk's history."

The grey pebbled shore of the nest itself lay before them. The worried thrumming which had permeated the air was louder than ever before. Dragons wheeled high above the heads of the apprehensive Viking fleet, circling the mountain itself. The volcanic behemoth towered over their trifling ships; a titanic black monolith. A stalagmite from depths of Hel's realm which had pierced straight through the heart of Midgard, and carried the disease of dragons with it to the world of men.

The first vessel reached the shore and ran aground, pebbles scraping along the keel. A shroud hung over the scene, as if the ships had passed through the foggy void, and had entered another realm entirely. One made of cold, dark waters, joyless grey sky and bitter black stone.

Stoick leapt over the side and landed on the shore: the first Viking to ever set foot on that godsforsaken, tormented land. The moment his feet touched the ground, the thrumming noise stopped. Silence hung breathless in the air as every Viking awaited the black mountain's answer to their leader's trespassing.

It offered them nothing. Yet a sudden seed of doubt arose in the back of every man's mind. They were somewhere they weren't supposed to be. In this war, a line had been crossed. Stoick rose from his crouch and pulled out his hammer. He turned back to the boats, and shouted "Arm yourselves and assemble the catapults! We've a war to win!"

Astrid obeyed, pulling out an axe, along with a bow and quiver full of arrows. Other Vikings followed, growing more apprehensive with every step they took on the dragons' island. They were in the heart of enemy territory, and they knew instinctively that the battle ahead would redefine the entire war. Whether or not it would end in their favor remained to be seen.

Two hours later, Berk's forces had set up according to Stoick's instructions. The mountain was volcanic, and hollow. They could see clouds of dragons high above, streaming in and out of a gaping maw at the monolith's peak. The surface nearest to their boats was an almost vertical flat rockface. The fog around it was constantly churning, being sucked inwards through invisible cracks in the wall, as if the mountain itself were taking a breath. It was chosen as the breach point.

Siege engines, carried from Berk, were constructed on the beach. Stakes were cut and placed in defensive lines across the beach to protect the Viking army from charging gronckles. Net traps and razor-wire bolas launchers, all of them of Hiccup's design, were set up at strategic points, defending troop formations, but primarily the siege engines, from an expected arial assault. The troops themselves were split up into divisions. The burliest Vikings were at the front, forming shield walls. Behind them came pikemen and archers, all facing towards the mountain. Astrid had the right flank, Spitelout and Snotlout the left. Stoick took the center.

"When we crack this mountain open, all hell is going to break loose." He said, tracing their battle plans in the sand.

"We're ready, sir." Astrid said confidently. Spitelout and Snotlout both nodded.

Stoick rose to his feet and took a few steps towards the mountain. "No matter how this ends, it ends today." He reached up into the air, and closed his hand into a tight fist. Immediately the catapults began to bombard the rock wall with massive chunks of stone.

It didn't take long for them to break through. The wall was already full of cracks. It was a simple matter of finishing the job. Projectiles pounded into the rock face, knocking crater after crater into the wall until it finally collapsed inwards, forming a large triangular cavern. Berk's army tensed, expecting a sudden rush of angry dragons, yet once again the mountain failed to answer their challenge.

Stoick clambered up the debris to the cavern's edge and peered into the darkness, his hammer at the ready. He signaled for a ball of flaming pitch to be flung into the breach.

The flickering projectile passed over his head and down the length of the tunnel. Light from its flames illuminated the walls, every surface crawling with dragons of all types. Hundreds upon hundreds of them. Writhed and skittered through the meager light. Stoick roared at them and charged in, hammer swinging. At the same time, like a swarm of bats they burst from the darkness and flooded the open air. The Vikings responded immediately, firing waves of arrows, nets and razor-wire into the swarm. Dozens of dragons dropped out of the sky, dead or wounded. Pikemen moved in to finish them off. The flood itself ended, but instead of the pitch battle the Vikings had expected, the swarm was heading skywards, flying away from the mountain as fast as they could go, and ignoring the Berkians entirely. Soon enough, the skies were completely empty.

The Vikings muttered to eachother in confusion, glancing around for some explanation. "Is that it?" a few asked. "We came here for a battle, and now they flee?" Stoick reappeared at the cavern's mouth, looking as befuddled as the rest of them. Spitelout threw up his hands and turned away.

Astrid was watching the wounded dragons which were scattered across the beach. They were yowling and yammering and struggling weakly, crawling towards the water as fast as they could with their torn wings and bleeding hides. She felt a twinge of pity for them, accompanied by a great deal of shame. She suppressed both feelings, aware that it was neither the time, nor the place for a crisis of conscience.

Besides, the dragons were terrified, but not of the Vikings. They were fleeing the mountain itself. A sense of dread overtook her as she realized the Nest had something else to offer. Something even the dragons feared. "Reform your ranks!" she ordered, turning to her flank. "This isn't over! Reform your ranks! Hold together!"

At that very moment something in the mountain roared. A long, rending cry which shook the very earth on which they stood. A blast of hot air rushed out of the cave along with the smell of foul dragonbreath. A steady rumbling began to shake the world, but Astrid was truly worried when Stoick the Vast, who had been standing inside the breach itself, leapt down onto the beach and began to sprint towards the Viking lines at high speed, a look of terror on his face.

"Get clear!" he shouted, waving his hammer, "Get to the boats!"

The shadows in the breach behind him were moving, fading. The gaping cavern emitted a breath of dust, and then a massive creature crashed through the rock face to confront the Viking army. The titan stood taller than any tree in Berk's forests. Its feet alone could crush buildings, and the coral-like spines which ran down the length of its back were each taller than a man. Its jaws opened wide enough to swallow a longship, and when its roar split the air, the power of its breath was enough to catch the sails of two of the longships and forced them back out into the inky water.

It had a boney frill on top of its bulbous head, like a horrible twisted echo of Stormfly's beautiful spines. The beast was old, too. Its horns were broken and dulled through centuries of use. The skin was black and grey, covered in ash, as if the creature were hewn from the very rock it had lumbered out of. There was only one explanation for the horrendous beast which towered over their heads, roaring into the foggy maze of sea stacks: The black mountain really was a stalagmite from the underworld, and one of Loki's twisted children had crawled up through it into Midgard.

The beast reared onto its high legs until it stood high above the fog, able to see to the edges of its domain, and when it landed, its weight drove its massive clawed feet meters into the ground. The shockwave ran through the Viking ranks with the power of an earthquake, sending entire divisions stumbled to their knees. Arrows began to fly from archers around the battlefield, thumping into its thick, tough hide like pine needles in the fur of a wild, angry boar. The darts did nothing, and Astrid was not even convinced the creature had noticed the arrows at all.

Stoick was beside her, having survived the beast's initial charge, when half the mountain had collapsed around it.

"What is that thing?" She demanded.

"Odin help us…" he said, his eyes wide. "We can't win this."

The behemoth roared again and turned its attentions downwards at the beach, and at the Vikings who stood upon it. Their carefully arranged battle lines had vanished. Panic-stricken Berkians were running in any direction possible, so long as their feet carried them further from the god-like monster.

"Catapults!" Stoick shouted, gathering his wits. Thankfully several crews were still responsive to orders. The machines were adjusted, and they let fly enormous stones which struck the beast's head and shoulders, though they might as well have been tossing pebbles at a yak for all the harm it did the creature.

They drew its attention at least. The beast bent down to give the siege engines a closer look. Then all at once it moved. With a speed and ferocity which terrified everyone who saw it, the behemoth reared up once again and dipped its head, clamping an entire catapult in its jaws and crunching it easily into so much kindling. The crew who manned it survived, thankfully, and fled towards the boats, which was where most of the Vikings were headed.

Astrid's world crystallized when she watched the beast's alien eyes. Its angered gaze flickered from the fleeing Vikings, to the ships, and back again.

It was thinking, she realized, dread seeping through her. It knew what the Vikings were trying to do. It began to breathe inwards, collecting its breath for a fireball which would no doubt take out the fleet, and three quarters of Berk's army in one blast.

She ran forward, taking up a fallen spear in her hand. She had no energy to scream. Instead she put all of her effort into throwing it like a javeline. The projectile arced upwards, and hit the beast in the eye. It slammed its eyes shut and lurched sideways, blowing a cloud of undetonated gas out into the open air, a safe distance from the Viking fleet.

Then, ships forgotten, it turned to the side, focused entirely on her. All she could see was its bulbous head, with enormous jaws, fangs like spears, and those beady grey eyes which bored through her soul. It had intelligence, of an ancient, fiendish and bestial variety. All of its hostility was now focused directly on her, memorizing every line in her face. She had managed to bother it, and now her life was at an end. She slung the axe off of her shoulder and gripped it tightly. If this was the end, then she was going to die holding a weapon. She was going to Asgard! Air rushed around her, pulling her towards its cavernous maw as the behemoth breathed inwards.

"Astrid!" she heard Stoick yelling faintly behind her, but sound had nearly ceased, perhaps it was being pulled into the creature's powerful lungs along with everything else including her. The pull stopped suddenly, and Astrid saw more green gas gathering in the creature's mouth as it prepared to flame.

She heard a faint chirping noise, and saw a green and blue blur, whipping along the behemoth's body.

Stormfly arrived as the monster's flame arced out. Nadder claws gripped Astrid's limp shoulders and she found herself being carried off into the sky, even as the sand and pebbles beneath her were turned to smooth, molten glass. The heat was unbearable, and she shut her eyes and turned her head away. The wolrd inside her eyelids turned a bright orange, and she felt the skin on her face redden and burn, as if she had spent several afternoons out on the water without a cap. All at once it ended, and she opened her eyes.

The monster shrank by a small amount as Stormfly gained some height. It glared up at them furiously. Behind it, Astrid could see the longships, filled with Vikings. The first was starting to push away from the shoreline and out towards the sea stacks.

Even as the world shrank away, the behemoth was turning away from her, back towards them. Her fellow Vikings. The very men and women she had led to that godsforsaken island.

If even one of them died…? No!

She began to kick and scream impotently. "Stormfly, stop! Put me down! We have to go back! We have to go back!"

The Nadder flipped her up into the air, and for a moment she was free-falling. Then she landed on Stormfly's back. But they were still going in the wrong direction! She tugged impotently at her dragon's frill. "Let me back you stupid beast! We have to save them! If we don't do something, they're all going to die!"

The Nadder let out an alarmed squawk, and halted, flapping her wings to keep them airborne, and staring straight ahead of them, into the clouds. Astrid struggled for a moment longer to turn them around, but she too came to a halt, finally noticing what lay ahead of them.

Something strange was happening to the cloud formations. They were being altered. Sucked together into a cone, as if painted on a canvas where a loose tread was being tugged. They were forming a swirling cone of mist, at the tip of which was a tiny black shape, growing closer by the millisecond, and moving at a speed Astrid could scarce imagine. She ducked low against her Nadder's back, preparing for a fight.

Like an arrow, or a bolt of black lightning, the shape flashed past her, stealing the breath from her lungs. With it came a mighty gust of wind which nearly knocked Stormfly out of the sky. Yet what was more important to Astrid was the sound the apparition had made. A high-pitched whistling noise which brought back ancient memories of darkness, fear and blue fire.

Then the apparition spread its wings with an audible leathery whumph, and what had been faint, wild, and momentary speculation became instant, harsh reality. For the briefest moment she witness the dragon's profile, Astrid recognized in it the sketch Hiccup Haddock had left in the book of dragons. She noticed the muscular, bat-like wings, shuddering against the air pressure, the diamond-shaped head, with its strange nubs and elongated ears. She noticed the two lower fins and the long black tail. She noticed the prosthetic leather fin, and the careful machinery which traced lines across the body of the Night Fury.

Astrid noticed the tall, lanky rider, hunched in his saddle, who had turned back to look at her as they flashed by. For a moment, through his mask, she met his brilliant green eyes. She knew that the only thing in the world which could have matched the stunned look in his eyes, was the equally shocked expression on her face. The apparition vanished into the fog of Dragon Island, which curled after it, sucked into its wake.

Astrid knew then that all of her expectations, all of her hopes and dreams for Berk's future, all of Fishlegs' best laid plans were about to come undone. Stoick was right: this was a new chapter in Berk's history. A page had just been turned. After eight long years Hiccup Haddock, Berk's lost heir, was back.

Now it gets fun ;)