A/N: Hiccup finally locks blades with his rival, Harald Haraldson. One shall stand, and the other will fall.
(Greenfang Plains)
Harald Haraldson was a man of ambition, he never bothered denying it. After all, he hailed from the Fairhair dynasty, and his ancestor, Harald Fairhair, had become the first King of Norway. His bloodline was meant to be rulers, and despite his ambitions to rule Norway, when all of Scandinavia had been ravaged by plague, he had the opportunity to become King of Vikings, of all Scandinavian people. Suddenly, his ambitions to merely rule Norway were long abandoned, and when the Scandinavian people decided to vote on who should rule them, Harald wanted nothing more than to become the king of all Scandinavian people. He was a strong leader in his own right, his bloodline was rich with history, and he was a warrior who would be able to defend his claim to the throne.
But his hopes were dashed by Stoick the Vast's whelp, Hiccup.
It was no secret that in the first fifteen years of Hiccup's life, he was regarded as Hiccup the Useless, an heir who was not worthy of even inheriting the title of Chief of Berk. But the moment the boy had defied centuries of tradition by bonding with the Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself and convincing his fellow Hairy Hooligans to make peace with dragons, everything changed. The Red Death, the monster of Helheim's Gate was slain, which ended the centuries of war between Vikings and dragons. Since then, Hiccup Haddock's fame and reputation grew, and after countless battles, adventures, and encounters with the deadliest dragons and beings who threatened Old Berk and Scandinavia as a whole, the Scandinavian people elected Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III to be King of Vikings...
...not Harald Haraldson, of the Fairhair dynasty, and ancestor of Harald Fairhair, King of Norway.
The disbelief, the outrage, but most of all, the jealousy, was too much for Harald to overcome. Despite being under Hiccup's command for a time, he didn't truly acknowledge him as his sworn lord, because he knew his worth, and he would not bow and scrape to a boy. Especially to a boy who didn't value the burden of leadership; it was no secret that when Stoick the Vast was grooming Hiccup to take his place as Chief of Berk, Hiccup would often flee from his responsibilities and duties to go out exploring and searching for new species of dragons, the behavior of an ungrateful child.
But now, as Harald Haraldson was in his tent, reading a message from Hiccup, delivered to him by two scouts and two dozen Kingsguard loyal to the Haddock bloodline, he was taking every word of the message to heart. Which read as follows:
"Harald Haraldson,
I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, King of Vikings, Son of Stoick the Vast, Dragon Master of the North, and the rightful sovereign of the Scandinavian people issue a holmgang, challenging you, Harald Haraldson of the Fairhair dynasty in a fight to the death to determine which one of us deserves to be king over the Scandinavian people.
Your quest to usurp the title of King of Vikings from me has resulted in you conspiring with the likes of Drago Bludvist, and those who would see our people wiped off the face of Midgard. Surely you are not fool enough to see that whatever promises our enemies made you would not have been honored. If our enemies had succeeded in destroying me and my family, they would turn on you next, and force you to watch as our people are put to the sword—from the infants to the elders, none would be spared.
That said, I am sending you this message because this feud between us has been prolonged for far too long. If you want to wrest my crown, my title, and my kingdom from me, fight me like a man, rather than hiding underneath the skirt of our enemies and your son's reputation, like a sniveling coward. If you have a shred of honor left, you will accept my challenge. If you refuse, however, and you slaughter my scouts and Kingsguard, I will dispatch my elite dragon riders and see you and the Blackstone Legion reduced to ash, sentenced to death by Typhoomerang fire. The choice is yours, Harald: either fight me with honor or meet an excruciating death and find the gates to Valhalla forever closed for your disloyalty to your king and people for the sake of obtaining power that you believe is entitled to you.
Signed,
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, King of Vikings."
Harald looked up at the scouts before him, who silently awaited his answer. By Harald's side was his son, Ulfbjorn the Undefeated, and Apollyon, leader of the Blackstone Legion. The air was thick with tense, the slightest show of aggression would surely lead to bloodshed, and Harald didn't want to lose any of his son's men or the men of his ally, Apollyon. Despite wanting to shred apart Hiccup's message, he spoke the truth, he had been hiding behind enemies of the Scandinavian people, including the reputation of his son, because he didn't want to fight Hiccup fairly.
But Hiccup's threat had now forced his hand.
If Typhoomerangs would descend on them, the loss of life among their ranks would be great, and all of Harald's scheming to secure his family's place as rulers not just of Norway but of all Scandinavia held in the balance. For the sake of his family's future and legacy, he needed to accept Hiccup's challenge.
Looking into the eyes of the scouts, Harald gave a firm nod. "Return to Hiccup and tell him that I accept his challenge," setting the message in his lap, Harald gestured outside. "We will battle at the Arena of Ancients for all to behold." Rising from his seat, he handed the message back to the scouts. "Ride swiftly, scouts," his tone was taunting as he gave them a dismissive wave of his hand, "Your sworn lord is waiting for you."
"You're making the right choice, Harald Haraldson," the head scout said after taking the message out of Harald's hand. "Just remember that King Hiccup is no fool. If you try and further disgrace yourself and your family name by committing treachery during this holmgang. You, your son, and all of your allies will pay the price."
The scouts left the tent, their Kingsguard escorts mounted their dragons before leaving the Greenfang Plains and returning to New Berk to deliver the news to Hiccup. As the scouts disappeared into the horizon, the weight of his decision settled heavily on Harald's shoulders. The flickering flames of the campfire cast shadows across his tent, and he could feel the eyes of his son, Ulfbjorn, upon him, filled with a mixture of pride and doubt. Apollyon, too, stood with a calculating gaze, assessing the implications of the challenge.
"Father," Ulfbjorn spoke at last, his voice low but steady, "are you certain about this? Hiccup is not just a king—he is a dragon rider, a battle-hardened warrior. He has the loyalty of the dragon riders and the support of the Scandinavian people. What if—"
"What if?" Harald interrupted, his tone sharper than intended. "What if we do not take this challenge? The answer is clear: we face annihilation. We must show strength, not just to Hiccup, but to our enemies when they come to these shores and try to destroy us. If we back down now, we will be seen as weak. Our cause will be lost before it even begins."
Ulfbjorn clenched his fists, his expression a mix of frustration and understanding. "But at what cost, Father? You speak of honor, yet you are stepping into a battle where the odds are stacked against us. Hiccup is no fool, should we try anything to disgrace our family name during this holmgang, the dragon riders will not sit idly by. They will kill us for the sake do their king."
Apollyon stepped forward, his presence commanding. "Strength is not merely about numbers, Ulfbjorn. It is about resolve and strategy. If Harald is to face Hiccup in this fight to the death, we must prepare. I can dispatch some of my men, disguised as Scandinavian peasants rouse the wolves among Hiccup Haddock's flock, and rally them to your cause, while my Blackstone Legion fortifies our defenses. We will not go into this battle unprepared."
Harald nodded, appreciating Apollyon's loyalty. "Yes, we will prepare, but we will not employ treachery. We will fight with honor, as Hiccup has demanded. If we succeed, we will have the crown, and with it, the loyalty of the people who have grown weary of Hiccup's reign. If we fail—" he paused, letting the weight of the words hang in the air, "if we fail, it is Valhalla we seek."
"Then let it be so," Ulfbjorn finally acquiesced, determination flickering in his eyes. "I will fight alongside you, Father. We shall train and strategize, ensuring that we do not walk into the Arena of Ancients blindly."
Harald felt a surge of pride at his son's resolve. "Good. We will gather our strongest warriors and prepare for the fight. This is not just about the crown; it is about our legacy. We will show Hiccup and all of Scandinavia that the Fairhair dynasty is not to be underestimated."
As Harald and Ulfbjorn dismissed Apollyon to discuss their strategies, the leader of the Blackstone Legion strode toward her tent, her presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure. The lieutenants waiting inside snapped to attention at the sight of the menacing woman, her long cape billowing in the breeze before the flaps of her tent fell shut behind her.
With sharp, determined eyes, Apollyon addressed her warlords. "Choose your best infiltrators," she commanded, her voice low and steady. "They will disguise themselves as Viking peasants. We need to rouse the 'wolves'—those who would turn on Hiccup Haddock's flock for power, wealth, or lordship. Our goal is to sow discord among his ranks."
Though she had allied herself with Harald and the Fairhair dynasty, she made it clear that she was no one's servant. This conflict between Harald and Hiccup was an opportunity—an opening to manipulate the Viking people into a full-blown war. She had played this game before, using the chaos of conflict to her advantage. In the past, she had negotiated with Drago Bludvist and his Northern Alliance, maneuvered against the New Romans, and outmaneuvered the Christians of the Roman Catholic Church, along with countless other factions throughout the world. Each encounter had only strengthened her resolve; each victory had added to her arsenal of strategies.
"War is my domain," Apollyon continued, her eyes glinting with ruthless ambition. "And I will bring war to the entire world. We will turn this conflict into a storm that no one can ignore. The Viking people will rise, and when they do, they will not just be fighting for Harald or Hiccup; they will fight for power, for survival. And we will be the ones to shape that fight."
Her lieutenants nodded in agreement, the fire of ambition igniting in their eyes. They understood the stakes; they recognized the brilliance of their leader's vision. Apollyon was a master of manipulation, and this was merely another chess game, with the fate of nations hanging in the balance.
"Now go," she commanded, her voice a whip-crack of authority. "Prepare the infiltrators. We will fan the flames of dissent and watch as the Vikings tear each other apart. When the dust settles, we will be ready to claim what is ours."
As her lieutenants moved with purpose to execute her orders, Apollyon stood for a moment, looking out at the horizon. The winds of change were stirring, and she would harness them to her advantage. The world was a chessboard, and she was determined to be the one holding all the pieces.
(The Arena of Ancients)
The Arena of Ancients stood as a colossal testament to the history and valor of the Viking people, its structure reminiscent of the Roman Colosseum but imbued with a distinctly Nordic essence. The circular arena was crafted from rugged stone, weathered by time and the elements, yet it radiated a sense of majesty and reverence. As one approached, the sheer scale of the venue was awe-inspiring, with towering walls that reached high into the sky, inviting the gaze of anyone who dared enter.
Around the perimeter of the arena, grand statues of the first Vikings loomed, their stone visages frozen in expressions of fierce determination and bravery. Each figure was meticulously carved, capturing the essence of legendary warriors, chieftains, and dragon riders from ages past. These statues served not only as guardians of the arena but also as eternal witnesses to the countless battles fought and sacrifices made within its hallowed grounds. The inscriptions at the base of each statue told stories of heroism, loyalty, and the unyielding spirit of those who had come before, their tales echoing through the ages.
The arena itself was a vast expanse of well-trodden earth, marked with the scars of previous contests, where blood had been spilled in honor of valor and resolution. The ground was a tapestry of history, a somber reminder of the conflicts that had taken place, each battle a carefully measured sacrifice to prevent the horrors of all-out war. The air felt heavy with the weight of legends; those who entered knew they stood on sacred ground, where the fates of warriors had been decided in single combat rather than the indiscriminate slaughter of thousands.
Above, the sky arched wide and open, suggesting both freedom and the unpredictable nature of fate. The arena was often filled with the roars of dragons and the cheers of spectators who gathered to witness the trials of strength and skill, but it also served as a solemn ground for parley and negotiation, echoing the principles of honor and respect that the Vikings held dear.
In the center stood an elevated platform, a dais where champions would stand to accept their fates, flanked by intricately carved pillars that depicted scenes of past duels and victories. This was the heart of the arena, where the blood of the few would be shed to spare the many, a calculated dance of destiny that resonated deeply within the Viking spirit.
As the Scandinavian people gathered to witness this battle, the atmosphere was charged with a sense of history, the very stones beneath their feet whispering tales of glory and sorrow. In this sacred space, the weight of decisions loomed large, and the echoes of the past urged them to seek a path that upheld the legacy of their ancestors—a legacy built upon the principles of honor, sacrifice, and the hope for peace amidst the chaos of war.
As Hiccup stepped out of the dimly lit tunnel, the air shifted around him, electrified by the anticipation of the crowd. Clad in his ebony leather armor, each piece meticulously crafted for agility and protection, he felt a familiar thrill surge through him. The flight helmet perched atop his head was a symbol of his identity as the Dragon Rider, a crown of sorts that reminded him of the responsibility he bore. In his hand, he gripped Inferno, the flaming sword that had become an extension of his will, its fiery blade a testament to his resolve. His other hand held the sturdy Gronckle Iron shield, a bulwark against whatever fate awaited him in the arena.
Beside him, Astrid walked with fierce grace, her armor reflecting the vibrant colors of her beloved Deadly Nadder, Stormfly. The deep blues and shimmering yellows shimmered in the daylight, making her appear both formidable and beautiful. In her grasp, she held her trusty battle axe, a weapon that had seen its share of battles and was as much a part of her as her fierce spirit. Together, they formed a striking duo, united in purpose and unwavering in their commitment to one another.
As they emerged from the tunnel, the brightness of the day momentarily blinded them. Hiccup squinted against the sunlight, but as his vision adjusted, the breathtaking sight before him came into focus. The arena was alive with thousands of Vikings, their faces a mixture of excitement, anxiety, and expectation. The stands were filled, with a sea of colorful banners and fierce expressions, each spectator eager to witness the unfolding drama within the Arena of Ancients.
The atmosphere was thick with tension, the shouts and cheers of the crowd echoing off the stone walls, a chorus of hope and fear intermingled. Hiccup could feel the weight of their gazes upon him, a reminder that today was not just about him and Astrid but about the legacy they represented. They were the leaders of their people, and in this moment, they stood on the precipice of history.
Hiccup took a deep breath, centering himself amidst the cacophony of voices. He exchanged a resolute glance with Astrid, her fierce blue eyes mirroring his determination. Hiccup was ready to face the challenge that awaited him. Today, we would fight not just for himself, but for the future of the Barbaric Archipelago, Scandinavia, and all its inhabitants, along with the ideals they held dear.
With a shared nod, Astrid hung back near the base of the stands where the Fair Queens were all seated as well as the other lovers of Hiccup. Once there, the Queen of Vikings stood beside her friends and their dragons while over two dozen Kingsguards circled the arena as a precaution against treachery. The roar of the crowd washed over them, a wave of sound that filled the air with an intoxicating blend of fear and excitement. Hiccup could feel the presence of the arena's history surrounding them, urging him onward as he prepared to confront the challenges and the looming specter of conflict. Today would be a day to remember, a day where legends would be born or reforged, and Hiccup stood ready to carve his name into the annals of the Arena of Ancients.
As Hiccup stood in the center of the arena, the atmosphere crackled with tension and raw emotion. He could see Harald Haraldson striding forward, his presence commanding and fierce, a stark embodiment of the ambition that had driven him to this point. The crowd erupted into a chaotic symphony of sound, a mixture of cheers for Harald from his loyalists and thunderous applause for Hiccup from those who stood with him.
"Harald! Harald!" Rang the voices of his supporters, a chorus of fervor filled the air with a sense of impending conflict. But those who backed Hiccup were equally passionate, their voices rising above the fray as they shouted with conviction, "Hiccup! Hiccup!" Their cheers mingled with jeers and curses directed at Harald, echoing the deep-seated anger and resentment that many felt toward him.
Among Hiccup's supporters were familiar faces—Thuggory of the Meatheads and members of the Outcasts stood prominently, their expressions fierce as they rallied against Harald. They were a reminder of the bonds forged through struggle and loss. The memory of Alvin's death in Paris hung heavily in the air, an unspoken truth that added fuel to the fire of animosity directed at Harald. Many in the crowd had witnessed the chaos that had unfolded during that fateful battle, and the pain of loss still lingered in their hearts.
As Harald entered the arena, he surveyed the crowd with a smug grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle of his followers' loyalty. "You think you can drown me out with your pathetic cheers?" He shouted, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you can turn the tide against me? I am the rightful king of these lands! I will show you the cost of defiance!"
The jeers from Hiccup's side grew louder, fueled by memories of the bloodshed that Harald's ambition had wrought. "You're a coward, Harald!" Thuggory shouted, his voice booming over the din of the crowd. "You're nothing but a traitor to your people!"
Hiccup felt the swell of support from his allies, their voices lifting his spirit as he prepared for the confrontation ahead. He knew that the battle would not just be a physical clash but a confrontation of ideals—the hope for a united future against the darkness of vengeance and ambition that Harald embodied.
With a deep breath, Hiccup focused on Harald, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for the fight. He understood the stakes all too well; this was a chance to confront not only Harald but the legacy of pain and division that had plagued their people. The arena was more than just a battleground; it was a crucible where the future would be forged.
As Harald raised his sword, the arena fell into a tense silence, anticipation hanging in the air. Hiccup tightened his grip on Inferno, the fiery blade reflecting the determination burning within him. He was ready to face his opponent, to fight not just for himself, but for the memories of those lost and the hope for a better tomorrow. Today, in this arena of ancient legends, their fates would be decided, and Hiccup would not back down.
The atmosphere in the arena thickened with anticipation as the two Viking elders approached the combatants, their presence commanding immediate respect. The first elder, with a long, white beard and weathered skin, raised his gnarled staff to silence the murmurs of the crowd.
"You have chosen your weapons," he announced, his voice deep and resonant. "You are entitled to a second shield if the one you wield is shattered or rendered useless." His eyes bore into both fighters, conveying the gravity of their choices.
The second elder, his gaze sharp and piercing, stepped forward. "This is a fight to the death. You both entered this sacred arena, but only one of you will leave it alive." He turned to Harald, his voice a mixture of warning and disdain. "If you die, your ambitions and treachery end with your name forever disgraced."
Then he shifted his attention to Hiccup, his expression softening slightly but remaining stern. "If you die, King Hiccup, then Harald will take your place as King of Vikings." The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, echoing in the hearts of every spectator present.
"This is the law," the first elder reiterated, his tone final as he nodded to the fighters before turning to leave.
As the elders stepped away, the tension in the arena reached a fever pitch. Two hofgothi approached, their long robes trailing behind them as they carried bowls filled with bright red blood, a sacred offering to the gods. The priests moved with ritualistic precision, flicking the blood onto Hiccup and Harald with branches adorned with sacred runes. The crimson droplets splattered across their faces, marking them as warriors prepared to fight for their lives and their legacies.
With the crowd roaring, a symphony of cheers and shouts echoing across the arena, Hiccup and Harald faced each other, the din of the spectators fading into a distant hum. They began to circle one another, each step deliberate, each breath measured. Hiccup's heart raced, adrenaline coursing through him as he focused on his opponent. He could see the fire in Harald's eyes, the determination to seize the throne—and it ignited a fierce resolve within Hiccup as well.
In this moment, with the weight of their destinies hanging in the balance, they were no longer just adversaries; they were warriors, bound by the ancient laws of their people. The time for words had passed; their fates would be decided by steel and skill. As they prepared to engage, the world around them faded, leaving only the two of them locked in a deadly dance, each knowing that only one would emerge victorious from the blood-soaked arena.
"There's still time to surrender, boy," Harald taunted.
Glaring at his opponent, Hiccup retorted fiercely. "Then feel free,"
Scoffing with a smug grin, Harald shook his head. "How many must die so that you can hold on to your crown?"
"Many have, and many more will," Hiccup said regrettably. As he lowered his riding mask to cover his face, he glared heatedly at his rival. "But you will never have that kind of loyalty, should you become king. And you never will."
As Hiccup and Harald's swords collided, the sharp metallic ring reverberated through the Arena of Ancients, cutting through the roar of the crowd like a clarion call. The sound was a battle hymn, a fierce declaration of defiance against the encroaching darkness. Spectators erupted into cheers and shouts, their voices rising in a thunderous chorus of excitement and anticipation.
With each clash of their weapons, sparks flew, illuminating the intense expressions on the faces of the combatants. Hiccup moved with fluid grace, his ebony armor allowing him to dodge and weave, while Harald struck with brutal force, his determination fueled by the desire for power and revenge. The crowd leaned forward, riveted by the spectacle, their breaths held in suspense as they witnessed the struggle between the two leaders.
Hiccup's mind raced, strategizing each move while simultaneously drawing on the teachings of his father and the wisdom he had gained from countless encounters with dragons and foes alike. He knew he was fighting not just for his throne, but for the very ideals of peace and unity that he cherished. With each strike of his flaming sword, he aimed not only to defend himself but also to inspire confidence in his people, to show them that hope and honor could prevail even in the direst of circumstances.
Harald, relentless and fierce, pushed forward, his strikes filled with the raw power of his ambition. "You're just a boy playing king!" he taunted, sweat glistening on his brow as he swung his sword with ferocity. "You'll never understand the sacrifices needed to rule!"
Hiccup grunted, deflecting a blow and countering swiftly, his sword arcing in a blaze of flame. "And you'll never understand that true strength comes from protecting your people, not conquering them!" he retorted, the conviction in his voice clear as he pushed back against Harald's aggression.
With a snarl, Harald lunged forward, his sword aimed at Hiccup's midsection. Hiccup barely had time to react as he raised his shield just in time to deflect the blow, the impact vibrating through his arm. The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out, intensifying the cheers and roars of the crowd that surrounded them.
The two rivals engaged in a fierce and heated battle, each determined to claim victory. Harald pressed the attack, swinging his blade with brutal efficiency, aiming for Hiccup's limbs, his head, and any exposed part of his opponent's body. Hiccup danced back, his movements swift and calculated, expertly using his shield to block each strike that came too close for comfort.
Hiccup retaliated, his sword slicing through the air as he aimed for Harald's side, but Harald swatted it away with a powerful swing of his weapon. The clang of their swords echoed through the arena, a symphony of battle that fueled the frenzy of the spectators. Each exchange was a deadly game of wits, where one misstep could mean the difference between life and death.
As they circled one another, the ground beneath their feet became a battleground marked by their movements—footprints in the dirt, splatters of blood from previous clashes. Hiccup's mind raced, calculating each move, each feint, and counter. He could feel the heat of battle rising within him, fueling his resolve.
With a swift pivot, Hiccup launched a series of quick strikes toward Harald, aiming for openings in his defenses. But Harald was relentless, using his shield to absorb blows and countering with powerful attacks of his own. The combatants were locked in a deadly rhythm, each trying to outmaneuver the other, their breaths heavy with exertion.
Despite the intensity of the fight, Hiccup's mind remained clear. He knew that it wasn't just brute strength that mattered; it was strategy and heart. He had to outsmart Harald, to anticipate his moves. With a sudden surge of adrenaline, Hiccup feigned a strike to the left, then quickly spun to the right, aiming for Harald's exposed flank.
The crowd gasped as Hiccup's sword grazed Harald's side, drawing a thin line of crimson across his skin. But the blow was not enough to incapacitate him. Harald snarled, anger boiling in his eyes as he retaliated with a wild swing, forcing Hiccup to leap back just in time to avoid a potentially lethal strike.
The battle raged on, the air thick with tension and the scent of sweat and blood. Each combatant pushed themselves to their limits, their wills unyielding. They were warriors of the North, forged in the fires of conflict, and neither would back down easily. As they clashed again, the roar of the crowd surged, a reminder that only one of them would leave this arena alive.
The audience roared, a wave of sound that surged through the arena with every clash of metal. They were witnessing a battle not just of swords but of ideals—Hiccup's hope for a united future against Harald's thirst for power. The stakes had never been higher, and the weight of their ancestors' legacies hung heavy in the air.
As the duel raged on, the sun began its ascent, casting golden rays over the arena, a stark contrast to the dark intentions of the man facing Hiccup. The ground beneath them was stained with the echoes of past battles, reminders of the sacrifices made for peace. The crowd sensed the gravity of the moment, their chants and cheers swelling with fervor, urging their champion on.
Hiccup felt the heat of Inferno in his hand, the flames reflecting his determination. He could not lose. Not today. With a swift maneuver, he feinted to the left, drawing Harald in, then pivoted and struck, aiming for a decisive blow. The arena erupted once more, a cacophony of voices rising to a fever pitch as the two warriors clashed, their fates intertwined in this epic struggle.
As Hiccup and Harald continued their fierce duel, the cheers of Hiccup's friends rang out, reverberating through the arena. "You've got this, Hiccup!" Shouted Fishlegs, his voice filled with unwavering support. Snotlout pumped his fist in the air, urging Hiccup on with boisterous enthusiasm.
"Go, Hiccup, go!" Ruffnut howled like a wolf.
Tuffnut too joined his sister as he howled. "Yeah! Beat his arse, Hiccup!"
The camaraderie of their group provided a heartbeat to the battle, their encouragement fueling Hiccup's resolve.
Among the crowd, Astrid stood with her arms crossed, a proud smile on her face as she watched her husband engage with fierce determination. The way he moved, with a blend of agility and strategy, reassured her that he was more than capable of handling the challenge before him. She felt a mix of pride and admiration for Hiccup, knowing the risks he faced but confident in his abilities.
Nearby, the Fair Queens gathered, their expressions a tapestry of emotions—pride, anxiety, and concern woven together. Heather stood with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes fixed on the fight, her heart pounding with every clash of swords. Elsa and Anna exchanged worried glances, their bond as sisters deepening in this moment of uncertainty. Camicazi clenched her fists, her warrior spirit ignited as she cheered for Hiccup, while Atali's steady gaze reflected her confidence in the young king's skills. Fiona, with her fierce spirit, shouted encouragement, her voice rising above the din of the crowd. Mala, always attuned to the emotions of those around her, felt the tension in the air and reached out to comfort Valka, who watched with a mixture of pride and concern etched on her face for her son and lover. Rapunzel and Arianna stood together, their hearts in their throats, silently praying for Hiccup's victory while anxiously biting their lips.
As Hiccup executed a series of swift maneuvers, expertly dodging a particularly vicious strike from Harald, the crowd erupted in a roar. The cheers echoed around the arena, a chorus of support that surged through him like a powerful wave. Hiccup glanced up for a brief moment, catching sight of Astrid, her unwavering gaze filled with encouragement. It gave him the strength to push forward, to fight not just for his own life, but for the future of those he loved.
With every clash, every maneuver, Hiccup could feel his friends and the Fair Queens rallying behind him. Their presence infused him with a sense of purpose, reminding him that he was not alone in this fight. He was fighting for a future, not just for himself, but for his family, his friends, and his kingdom. The stakes had never been higher, but he was determined to emerge victorious, no matter the cost.
With a powerful thrust, Hiccup slammed his Gronckle Iron shield into Harald's gut, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through both men. Harald doubled over, gasping for breath, pain etched across his face as he stumbled back, momentarily disoriented. The crowd erupted into a frenzy, their cheers rising in a deafening roar as Hiccup seized the opportunity to press his advantage.
"Now!" Astrid shouted from the sidelines, her voice piercing through the noise, urging Hiccup on. "Take him down, babe!" He could feel her unwavering support bolstering his resolve, and he took a deep breath, focusing on the moment.
With Harald reeling, Hiccup advanced, his fiery sword raised high, the flames licking the air in anticipation of the decisive strike. He moved fluidly, every muscle in his body honed from years of training and experience. Channeling the spirit of the Dragon Riders, he danced forward, his heart pounding with adrenaline and the weight of responsibility.
"Your treachery ends here, Harald!" Hiccup called out, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. "You will not bring ruin to our people because of your greed!"
As he swung Inferno, the blade cut through the air with a fierce whoosh. Harald, recovering from the blow to his gut, managed to raise his sword just in time to block the strike, but the force of Hiccup's attack sent him staggering back once more. The arena vibrated with the intensity of the battle, the energy of the spectators fuelling their champion as they watched their king fight for their future.
"Is this all you have, Hiccup?" Harald grunted, trying to regain his footing, his eyes glinting with desperation and fury. "You think you can defeat me with mere words and feeble attacks?"
Hiccup's resolve only hardened. "I'm not just fighting for myself! I'm fighting for everyone who believes in a better world, one where we don't have to sacrifice our brothers and sisters for power!" He lunged forward again, his fiery blade aimed directly at Harald's defenses.
The two warriors clashed once more, swords ringing out in a symphony of metal against metal, each movement fueled by their conflicting ideologies. Hiccup's strikes were precise and calculated, each one designed to disarm and disable rather than to kill, while Harald fought with the reckless abandon of desperation, his strikes fueled by a dangerous ambition.
With a deft sidestep, Hiccup ducked under a wild swing, pivoting to deliver a swift kick to Harald's knee, sending him sprawling to the ground. The crowd erupted again, their voices a mix of encouragement and disbelief as Hiccup stood over his opponent, sword poised for the final blow.
"Yield, Harald," Hiccup urged, his voice echoing through the arena. "It doesn't have to end like this. We can find a way to coexist!"
Harald's eyes narrowed as he struggled to rise, his pride warring with the realization of his precarious position. "You think I'll surrender to you, boy?" He spat, but the defiance in his voice was laced with uncertainty.
The arena held its breath, the outcome hanging in the balance. With his heart racing and the weight of his people on his shoulders, Hiccup prepared to make a choice that would define not just this battle, but the future of the Barbaric Archipelago. The flames of his sword flickered in the sunlight, a reminder that hope and honor could shine even in the darkest of times.
In a sudden surge of desperation, Harald lunged forward, his determination to claim victory driving him into a reckless attack. Hiccup's instincts kicked in, honed by years of battling hostile dragons and foes alike. With a swift, calculated motion, he sidestepped the attack, his fiery sword poised for action.
In one fluid motion, Hiccup delivered a swift, decisive strike that severed Harald's sword hand. The blade flew from Harald's grip, as it descended as he staggered backward, shock and pain etched across his face as he clutched his heavily bleeding stump. The crowd gasped, their cheers momentarily silenced by the brutality of the moment.
But Hiccup was not finished. As Harald's severed hand fell, there was a split second where time seemed to freeze. Hiccup caught the falling sword in midair, his reflexes sharp and precise. With the weight of the blade in his hand, he turned and, fueled by a mix of adrenaline and resolve, ran Harald through with his weapon.
The arena erupted in cheers and shocked gasps, the spectators caught between horror and celebration. Hiccup's expression was one of grim determination, not triumph. He had not sought this outcome, despite Harald's constant defiance and getting countless people killed back in Paris, but he understood the weight of his actions; he had fought for the lives of his people, for a future free from tyranny.
Harald gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief as he felt the cold steel pierce his heart. Hiccup held the sword steady, their eyes locking in a final moment of understanding—a clash of ideals that had brought them to this point.
With a swift, decisive motion, Hiccup took Inferno in both of his hands and without hesitation, delivered a brutal coup de grâce, decapitating Harald in one fluid arc. The head fell away, rolling to the ground, while a geyser of blood soaked the ground, and the crowd erupted into a cacophony of mixed emotions—almost all the spectators gathered were cheering for Hiccup's victory, those who followed Harald were mourning the loss of a leader who had once been a part of their own.
Hiccup stepped back, breathing heavily, the weight of what he had done crashing over him like a tidal wave. The sword, still alight with flames, hung limply at his side as he surveyed the arena, the faces of his people reflecting a wide array of emotions—relief, fear, and sorrow.
He had won, but at what cost? The echoes of the battle still rang in his ears, the cries of the crowd mingling with the weight of his conscience. This was not a moment to celebrate; it was a moment to reflect on the sacrifices made and the bloodshed that had been necessary to protect what he held dear.
As he turned to face his people, the enormity of his role as their leader washed over him. Hiccup knew that the fight for peace was far from over. Today had been a victory, but the true test of his leadership would be in how he would guide them through the aftermath of the brutal conflict that was on the horizon. With a heavy heart, he lifted Inferno high, its flames flickering defiantly in the sunlight, a symbol of hope for a new beginning, a future where such sacrifices would not have to be made again.
Hiccup stood amidst the chaos of the arena, the echoes of battle still ringing in the air as he pointed Inferno toward Ulfbjorn, Harald's son, who sat at the front row of the stands, his expression a mix of shock and simmering rage. The remains of his father lay behind Hiccup, a stark reminder of the brutal conflict that had just unfolded.
"Harald Haraldson is dead," Hiccup declared, his voice steady and resolute, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "This feud is done."
Ulfbjorn's eyes narrowed a flicker of defiance sparking within them. "You think you can just end this with words, Haddock? My father—"
"Your father's path was riddled with pettiness, foolishness, and treachery," Hiccup interrupted a calm intensity in his gaze. "You are not bound to follow in his footsteps. I will not condemn you or your warriors for his sins."
The arena fell silent, the tension palpable as Hiccup extinguished the flames of Inferno, the fiery sword dimming to a mere ember as the blade retracted back into the hilt in his grip. He extended his hand toward Ulfbjorn, a gesture of peace that resonated with the weight of their shared heritage. "Swear loyalty to me. Join your sister, Aud, your mother, and the rest of your people; stand with the Fairhair warriors who are loyal to me, and together, we can ensure that Drago Bludvist and all our enemies never threaten us, our lands, and our dragons again."
The offer hung in the air, a lifeline thrown amid turmoil. Hiccup's heart raced as he awaited Ulfbjorn's response, knowing that this moment could change the course of their histories. It was a chance to break the cycle of violence, to forge a new alliance that could unite their divided people against a common threat.
Ulfbjorn's gaze flickered from Hiccup's outstretched hand to the remains of his father, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation, the outcome of this moment poised to reshape the future of the Barbaric Archipelago.
"I...I am not my father," Ulfbjorn finally said, his voice trembling slightly as he wrestled with the turmoil within him. Jumping down into the arena and approaching his father's killer. He was within his right to take revenge, but he had seen what the Scandinavian people were to face, and if he acted on revenge, it would to a civil war that would weaken their people, and allow their enemies to crush them easily. "But can I trust you, Haddock? Can I trust that you won't turn on me or my family as my father turned on you?"
Hiccup nodded, the sincerity in his eyes unwavering. "I swear on my sacred arm ring. My only wish is for peace, for all of us. I have fought with your father for too long and lost too much. I want to build a future where our children don't have to carry the weight of our past mistakes."
Slowly, Ulfbjorn approached until he was inches away from Hiccup, his expression a mixture of conflict and hope. The crowd held its breath, the tension thickening in the air as he stepped forward, closing the distance between them. With a deep breath, he extended his hand, grasping Hiccup's firmly.
"I swear loyalty to you, King Hiccup," Ulfbjorn declared, his voice gaining strength. "For Aud, for my mother, and the future of all our people."
Cheers erupted from the crowd, a wave of sound that filled the arena, a mixture of relief and joy as alliances shifted and hope blossomed in the aftermath of bloodshed. Hiccup felt a surge of warmth in his chest, the promise of a new beginning igniting within him.
As they clasped hands, Hiccup understood that this was not just an end to the feud; it was the dawn of a new era, one where unity could prevail over division, where their shared histories could be woven into a tapestry of strength and resilience. Together, they would face any threat, standing side by side as allies, forging a future where peace and loyalty reigned supreme.
A/N: Two chapters left! Stay tuned for the conclusion of this story!