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Chapter Text

'CRAZY? ME?! I'LL SHOW YOU CRAZY!'

Stoik The Vast was STEAMING mad. His beard blazed like a wildfire and his belly shuddered with rage. He booted the front door so hard the storm-lock snapped off in a burst of sparks. Then, he grabbed Hiccup by the armpits and chucked him out.

Outside, the storm was raging. Icy ropes of rain pummelled down and clawed away the dirt. A fierce wind screamed through the bracken. And thunder quaked the already boiling sky.

'THAT IS IT!' bellowed Stoik, 'SOD WAITING FOR THE STORM TO PASS, YOUR EXILE STARTS NOW!'

'What sort of father sends his son into exile over a stupid hoary law!' Hiccup yelled.

'THIS ONE,' Stoik boomed, and as he did lightning shattered the sky. The flash reflected off the King Cobra Torc hooped around his girthy neck. The King Cobra Torc was forged in pure gold and was a bit like the Viking equivalent of a crown. Stoik wore the Torc to signify his status, and would one day pass it down to his son, Hiccup... Except he wouldn't, would he? Not if he was about to banish him to listlessly sail the cruel sea forever and ever until he eventually met his miserable end.

'It was my dragon who started the fight, so if your so set on sending someone to their grave send me and let the others stay' Hiccup said, suddenly regretting that he had poked the bear (his father).

Stoik shook his head in frustration. Hiccup was asking him to make a decision. He was far to angry to make decisions. He had to take action, and he had to do it NOW. He stormed off.

'For Thors sake,' Hiccup thought, scrabbling out of the mud to charge after his father, 'Now everyone is going to drown and it's all my fault, why couldn't I keep my mouth shut?'

To mad to think, Stoik barged into the neighbouring hut. He found his brother snoozing soundly in his sheep-skin bundle and shook him violently by the shoulders.

'Rise and Shine, Bright Eyes! The sun is shining~ The birds are singing~ And you're lazing in bed? Come on! Roll call, roll call, big day ahead of us!'

Baggybum The Beerbelly mumbled in his half-sleep, 'Another round for the fine young ladies. Hello darling, did it hurt when you fell from Valhalla? Might I say what monumental glutes you have.'

Baggybum The Beerbelly, being the high-functioning alcoholic that he was, always kept a horn of ale on his bedside table. Stoik grabbed the horn and doused his brother in ale. Baggybum spluttered awake and blinked at his brother in bewilderment.

'Is it Spring already?' he said, smacking his lips, '...I need a drink.'

Stoik ordered him to gather the Young Heroes (Ex-Heroes) at Hooligan Harbour. He then stomped off to ready the ships. Baggybum passed the order on to Yobbo of Bolsh, who passed it onto Dingus, who sprinted up High Hill and sounded the Warning Gong.

BONNNNNG- BONNNNNNG- BONNNNNG- BONNNNNNG-

The Hooligans hustled through the down pour, strapping on their weapons as they did, and gathered at the Emergency Fire Point just outside the village. The Warning Gong was only sounded in times of EXTREME DANGER, so naturally everyone was jazzed. There was a clamour of exited chatter and boasting and merry clashing steel.

'Wozzgoinon? Are we under attack?'

'Sure hope so, I haven't had the chance to spill blood since last Tuesday'

'I bet it's them Mouldy Meatheads, din't I tell you? Can't trust a Meathead. Give a Meathead a hand, and they'll take the arm.'

Baggybum The Beerbelly shoved to the centre of the hoard and bellowed above the din, 'QUIT DOZING, BADBREATH, I DON'T RECKON ANY AMOUNT OF BEUATY SLEEP WILL FIX THAT UGLY MUG. UNFORTUNATLY WE ARE NOT UNDER ATTACK,' -A collective moan of disappointment- '…But there are new orders from Chief Stoik The Vast- oh hear his name and tremble- Yadda yadda- ugh ugh,'

'UGH UGH!' chorused the Hooligan hoard.

Their chipper attitude didn't last long. As Baggybum explained Stoiks order a wave of gloomy silence settled over them.

'But what about the storm?' One of the Vikings, Bigoted Brad, yelled out from the crowd, 'They'll be tipped up and torn to bits before they even leave the Harbour!'

'Our Chief has generously decided to bequeath the Young Exiles with his two strongest ships- The Blue Whale and The Pandemonium- so that they may have a chance at besting the waves.'

'This is madness,'  Fishlegs breathed in horror.

Fishlegs was scrawny and raggedy and none of his tattered clothes fit him. He had eczema and asthma and had already gotten a cold from being out in the rain.

He clambered on top of a barrel of salted mackerel and searched for his best friend, Hiccup, in the flood of helmets. But he was no where to be seen. The Vikings ushered the Young Exiles down to Hooligan Harbour...

It happened so fast. To blink was to miss it. It was a hurricane of action propelled by Stoiks blind rage. The waves relentlessly crashed and clawed at the sodden sand of Long Beach. Hail pounded the dock like bullets. And the Vikings yelled and shoved in a dumb panic. Stoik was on the deck of The Pandemonium, struggling to unfurl the sail against the onslaught of wild arctic wind. Hiccup was yelling at him in desperation, but Stoik wouldn't listen.

The parents had barely enough time to hug their children goodbye before they were packed on the ships by Gobber. They had barely enough time to feel the stab of grief like a dagger to the chest. Barely enough time for their throats to go dry with dread. The Meatheads rushed out of the cave they had taken shelter in and their children, too, were packed on the ships.

Snotface Snotlout was the last on, and in those precious seconds before he became a fully fledged member of The Castaway Fleet, he crouched beside his little sister, Adelaide.

Adelaide was a toxic brat who swatted butterflies for fun and she wore her hair in two cute buns on the top of her head.

'You said I could come with you,' She grumbled. She crossed her little arms and gave Snotlout The Glare of Death.

'Well, you can't, ' Snotlout snubbed, 'Not if we're going out in the storm... You think it's breezy here? See how breezy it gets out on the open ocean...'

Snotface Snotlout was a six-foot blister of a boy. Everything he said had a nasty tone to it, and if he was an ailment, he'd be a red itching rash.

'The second we sail past those cliffs the Wind will SNATCH you up and DROWN you in the Bay. Do you know what happens to little girls that drown is Rock Salt Bay? The salt mummifies their corpse and they bob on the surface like dead jellies for years and years perfectly preserved, and no one ever goes to collect their bodies. There faces turn so slimy and pale it's enough to make a warrior gagg and blow chunks, do you want that to happen to you?'

Addelaide rolled her eyes, 'You can't scare me.'

Snotlout was fond of his sister.

'You swore,' She huffed, 'You swore on Dad's life.'

'Yeah, well...' Snotlout said, scratching his chin indifferently- He didn't find his Dad's life to hold much weight.

'Listen, I've got a plan anyway,' he whispered and leaned in conspiratorially, 'In a few days, when the storms calmed down, I'll sail back and sneak you out.'

'I don't believe you.'

'Believe what you want,' Snotlout sniffed, 'I'll be back in a few days, pack a bag, pack light.'

'Isn't that kidnapping?'

'Alright, goodie-two-shoes, I'll just abandon you then...' Snotlout nervously pulled at his ear lobe, 'I was only saying that, I am going to come back, I swear on my life.'

The exiled heroes of The Meathead Tribe were crammed onto The Pandemonium and The Hooligans onto The Blue Whale. Some were too dim to realize the peril they were in and waved merrily back to their parents. Others stood strong and severe.

'Bring up the anchors!' Stoik ordered, and the boys diligently turned the anchor wheels.

The anchors came up but the ships lurched and lunged in place because they were still tethered to the dock by the stern ropes. The ropes were pulled taught- you could hear them creaking under the strain- and here and there a few strings snapped. The ships were rearing to go. It gave the impression of two rabid dogs being held back by their leashes.

And Stoik was about to set them loose.

With a wild swing of his great muscled arm, he drew his cutlass and raised it above his head, ready to bring it down, down, down on the creaking ropes.

And that's when Gobber The Belch stepped in. He had been mildly hoping that Stoik would change his mind last second, but this was about as last second as it got and Stoik still had that wild look in his eye.

'Chief,' Gobber placated, placing a hand on Stoik's shoulder, 'Are you really, really, really absolutely sure you want to do this?'

Stoik paused with his cutlass raised and glared at Gobber like a methamphetamine addicted boar.

'Am I sure?' He howled, 'AM I SURE?!' …A moment of dull contemplation... 'By the quivering biceps and little twirly bits of the Great God Thor, WHAT am I doing?!'

The wild look faded from his eyes and he finally came to his senses. In his shock, he actually chucked his cutlass into the sea as if it had suddenly burnt him.

'Banishing my son... banishing an entire generation of warriors... what was I thinking, it's ridiculous, it's irrational, it's CRAZY.'

'No harm done,' Gobber cheered, smacking Stoik on the back, 'I'm sure everyone will let go of this whole boring banishing business as soon as you give the order to anchor the ships. Caught it just in time, I say! They're safe as long as those ropes hold up!'

And then the ropes snapped.

The ships shot forth like rocket-launches and vanished beyond the horizon in two seconds flat.

Stoik stared out at the frenzy of waves, his lip trembling uncontrollably.

'What have I done.'

Chapter Text

That electric night, Thor terrorized the Blue Whale. He staked white-sterile lightning so the ship flared with lunatic flame. The ravenous sea shrieked it's hungry song. Wave after wave swallowed the ship and galvanised the boys in teeth-stinging salt and festering kelp. The boys clung to the mast on the deck of The Blue Whale, lost in the frenzied sea, until, little by little, the storm fizzled out.

'You can open your eyes now,' Hiccup said.

Fishlegs hugged the mast tighter and refused to unclench his eyes. 'Are we dead? Are we in Valhalla?'

'We're not dead, we're just stranded in the middle of the ocean without any food or water or any hope of ever going home.'

'Good,' Fishlegs said, opening his eyes with bitter indignation, 'I never liked it anyways.'

The thirteen Hooligan Exiles each found a puddle on the cold, damp deck to catch 40 winks and, Soon enough, coalesced a snoring symphony.

'Good thing your father lent us The Blue Whale,' Fishlegs yawned, 'any other ship would've probably sunk.' He led beside Hiccup in a trough of icy water. 'I wonder how the Meathead's are getting on.'

Hiccup, for one, wasn't feeling very grateful. 'Yes thanks a bunch father, we didn't immediately drown in the storm YOU sent us out in. What a respectable father you are, and what a man to look up to.'

Fishlegs didn't respond. He had already nodded off and was wheezing terribly (he suffered from sleep apnoea). But Hiccup, despite the sea's cradling and the lullaby of waves, was wide awake.

'I understand why you'd send me away,' he murmured to himself, 'it must be hard having such a disappointing son, and you must have been worried that I'd make a useless Chief.'

He gazed at the ribbons of sail fluttering in the calm breeze.

'I would make a useless Chief... I'm not worthy of your name.'

Slowly, he sat up, took off his helmet and looked inside the inner rim. There, etched in the metal, was his name and address. He took out his dagger and carefully scratched out the address. 'If found, please return to (indecipherable scratchings). Then, he scratched off two thirds of his name. 'This helmet belongs to Hiccup H-(indecipherable scratchings).

'Just Hiccup.'

Chapter Text

Violently, all at once, the ship exploded with energy. The Exiles paraded the deck chanting the catchiest Pirate tunes. They couldn't help racing like rabid squirrels injected with double-doses of redbul. They were Exiles! Rogues! No-gooders! It was EXHILIRATING! They had woken up that morning feeling REBORN... Well, most of them- Hiccup had a migraine and Fishlegs was wilting like a sad, wet daffodil. They sat apart from the revelry, depressedly pouring the sludge from their seal-skin boots.

A fair-wind carried all the fresh, tangy aromas that the ocean had to offer. The zing of salt and the bollock-kick of seaweed. Fom the ship, black mold steamed off the oak planks and sweat dripped from adrenalized foreheads. This was the stench of real Swash-buckling Adventure.

The sky was drizzling grey, spitting politely, and surrounding, the sea of Freya's Potluck rolled out to the end of the world, deep emerald green, accentuated here and there by blurry, faraway islands.

'That's The Isle of the Skullions,' Speedifist squealed, pointing to one of the islands, 'and that's The Bog Burglar Bogs, and that- woah- that's The Outcast Octagon.'

'All enemy territory,' Wartihog reminded.

'Did you see that TYPHOONEROUS wave last night?' another Viking cheered.

'What I SAW was YOU wetting your little knickers and crying for your mother.'

'What did you say about my mother?' -And a fight broke out.

This was not unusual for a gang of raudy Vikings.

Bored, Fishlegs took his glazed stare off the chaos and scanned the horizon.

'We're in the middle of nowhere.' he said. 'What do you think, Hiccup? What'll be first? Are we going to die from starvation or because our cremates kill us?'

Hiccup considered, wringing out the end of his trouser leg. 'It's more likely we'll be eaten by a deep-sea Darkbreather... They're particularly ravenous this time of year because they've just come out of hibernation.'

A few feet away, on the starboard side, Clueless was dangled by his ankles, scooping the sea water into his helmet. When he drank it, even Hiccup winced.

'It'll be that or dehydration.'

Fishlegs took his time wiping his defeated spectacles. 'What are we going to do?' he finally asked.

'...I think our best option is to head to the mainland, try and find a society that'll take refugees.'

Fishlegs continued to wipe his spectacles in hopeless, rhythmic circles. This only spread the grease across the foggy lenses further.

'Duck,' he said.

'Duck?'

'DUCK!'

Fishlegs shunted Hiccup down and an axe went flying through the space between his horns.

'Missed me!' taunted Tuffnut. (Tuffnut Jr and Gladius Glum were playing a game of Axe Chase. Axe Chase: a proper good lark right up until someone gets 'tagged')

'WATCH OUT!'

Hiccup deflected an arrow coming straight for Fishlegs nose. (Speedifist was half way up the mast, showering the deck with arrows in his, so far, unsuccessful hunt on the circling albatross.)

'Why do they keep coming for me?!'  Fishlegs wailed, flailing out the way of another round.

'You must be very attractive...' Hiccup grinned, 'for arrows, that is.' He patted out an ember that was burning through his sleeve. (a small fire had started out on the starboard side).

'Um, Hiccup,' Fishlegs asked nervously, lurching side to side as the crew, with a show of teamwork Gobber would've been proud of, attempted to turn the boat, 'are you going to, you know, take charge? Get the crew in order? You are the next in kin, afterall, and, you know, if you don't, Snot-hole Snot-lout defineitly will... and I can't think of anything worse than lowlife SNOT-HOLE being our captain... He hates you and he hates me... Probably have us scraping limpets of the hull for the rest of our lives... that or toss us over the side in a barrel.'

Hiccup squeezed his fist so the nails made white crescent indents in his palm. He watched as these indents puffed out again. He was flesh. Only flesh.

'Well, that's the thing... I've decided I'm not really cut out for this whole leadership business... it's too much responsibility,' and, he laughed guiltily, 'responsibility that really shouldn't be allowed to me of all people.'

'That's okay,' Fishlegs cringed, already trying to work out how they could survive sailing the ocean in a barrel, 'What do you want to do then?'

'I don't know, maybe I can be a wandering bard, like you.'

'That's great! ...Do you know any songs?'

Hiccup looked away.

The chaos was increasing exponentially. The ship was truly very near to capsizing. That was, until, Snotlout stepped up.

'LISTEN UP YOU PATHETIC WASTES OF SPACE!' he bellowed, 'I HAVE A PLAN, AND IF YOU'D BE SO SWEET AS TO LISTEN, YOU MIGHT FIND IT TO BE A PRETTY GENIUS ONE.'

Snotlout was a pretentious rich-kid bully. He had at least foot in height above anybody else- if only for the fact that he strut the deck with his chin held high and his chest puffed out like a robin- and it was clear he took great pleasure in looking down at people. If only he knew, that from this angle, everyone could see the huge, chunky boogers strung up on the hairs in his monstrously large nostrils.

'you might want to blow your nose,' fishlegs said, 'looks like a couple of sand-fleas have gotten up there.'

'Quite, cripple,' Snotlout barked, whisking a finger up his nose, 'I'd say your family was ashamed of you, but, you don't have one, do you? It's just lonely little fishie and his worthless stringy friend... They should've left you in that basket they found you in, then atleast the gulls would've been be fed.'

It took a fair bit of carningaling to get the crew in order, but, eventually, Snotlout was scanning across an obedient line of warriors (ex-warriors).

'Right,' Snotlout said, his confidence slightly dragged, 'finally.'

He cleared his throat, stroked down the repulsive hairs on his upper lip and checked himself over. Deeming himself to be the singular example of Viking Hero, he continued with his speech:

'listen up you hoard of detestable, greasy leaches, I have a plan. A plan that won't only bring exsplendative honour to me- eh, I mean- to US, but will also FORCE Stoik to completely and utterly dissolve our banishment.'

The hoard shuffled uneasily. No one said it, but the novelty of Exile Life had already worn off. Wartihog was nostalgic for his mother's oyster pies. Irvin's back ached from the hard oak planks in which he slept on. And there was a creeping dread of what their future might hold.

Snotlout narrowed his eyes in glee. He had 'em now. He spoke on with sizzling, edge-of-your-seat intensity:

'Stoik will only dissolve our banishment if we prove that we are irreplaceable heroes. So, we must accomplish something no one in our Tribe has ever been able to do, no matter how much they tried... a mission so stupidly impossible that not even the demi-god Skadi risked to pursuit it... and, well, I might have something in mind...' He paused for effect, the boys leaned in, the sky tangibly darkened, 'OUR MISSION, FOR GLORY AND HONOUR, MUST BE-'

'Hold on a minute.'

Snotlout froze. Fingers half curled around the fluffy-nothing air and staring greedily at a prize no one else could see. Attention hopped to the boy who interrupted.

'Does this mean your our Captain?' the interrupter, Speedifist, finished.

Snotlout slumped. 'I did think that was sort of obvious.'

Silence.

'Back to what I was saying-'

'Shouldn't we vote on something like that?' Speedisfist, again, interrupted. 'Like, what about Hiccup? He is the Chief's heir, after all.'

'Hiccup?' Snotlout scowled, shooting a murderous glare at his cousin 'this is all his fault. It was only because of him that we failed the initiation exam, because he couldn't control his pitiful, nanoscopic dragon... And you want him to be your Captain?'

'He's next in kin, that's Viking Law.'

'Shut up, Speedifist,' said Gladius Glum, 'Snotlout is obviously the better option, Hiccup's all shy and ineffective, he'd be a terrible captain.'

'Exactly,' Snotlout beamed, 'If anything, we should be stuffing him in a barrel and throwing him overboard- him and his miserably, fish-faced friend.'

At this, the crew grumbled and gave Snotlout precarious side-eyes. Fishlegs cautiously backed away, wincing as the planks creaked beneath him.

'I think that's a bit too far,' Gladius Glum said, speaking for all of them.

Hiccup tucked his head like a turtle and tried to look as small as possible. He didn't want to be leader, knew he didn't have the chops, but it still stung that his peers thought the same. They stared down at him as if he was a delicate insect to be protected, but, to all else, ignored.

'Okay, so no barrel,' Snotlout said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice, 'But we all agree that I am the Captain?'

A resounding 'yeah, sure.'

Snotlout wrapped up his speech, quickly, before anyone had any more objections: 'My plan is that we sail to the the Sea of Certain Death and capture the Golden Gilt Swordfish.'

Now THAT was a plan.

The Golden Gilt Swordfish was a legendary creature. It's existence passed down solely through saga. It was said to be immortal, and blessed by King Mida's touch, so that it was plated blade to tail in the glossiest, glowing gold. It glided, or so was told, through the crystalline water of The Sea Of Certain Death, collecting the bodies of unlucky fisherman on the length of it's ten foot nose. Many a fleet had been lost to those waters in the Hooligan's obsessive hunt. And if the Exiles returned to the dingy shores of Berk with the mythical fish as a figure head, there'd be no doubt to their welcome.

'MAN THE OARS!'

The crew pounced, two to a bench, and pumped the splitting oars.

'WE'RE HEADING TOWARDS THAT BIG YELLOW THING, YOU MIGHT KNOW IT, IT'S CALLED THE SUN!'

The ship leapt from wave to wave, it's nose tipped to the sky. The air swelled with prideful song and the thrilling sting of sweat.

'Oh Thor,' Hiccup whimpered, collapsing over his and Fishleg's shared oar, 'we can't go to the Sea of Certain Death, that's the Darkbreather's hunting ground- They'll be swarming in their hundreds- their thousands...'

But there was no going back now. Hiccup had lost his chance to take charge, and it wasn't likely to come again...

'You were right, then,' Fishlegs said, voice flat, robotically working the oar, 'Our Death shall be at a Darkbreather's hand... or fin, I suppose.'

'Well, you never know,' Hiccup said, peeking up at Snotlout, 'there's plenty of things that want to kill us.'

Chapter Text

Forfeiting his leadership to his cousin was the best thing Hiccup had ever done! Or so he thought. Sadly, he’d be thinking something very different within the next hour.

The Blue Whale curved through the water like a silent scalpel. The ragged sail flapped in the hot, salty breeze and the dusty oak planks creaked and complained. Earlier, the Captain had called for a break, as the crew, if you could call the unlucky scruff of thirteen boys a crew, had been rowing tirelessly for three hours. This order was met with little resistance. The boys slumped into whatever flittering pockets of shade they could find and let their wasted arms go limp.

Fishlegs was draped over the side like a beaten carpet, his spectacles slipping down his nose as he watched the sea. The silky waves lapped the hull, while the air stung with the sea’s sandpaper hissing. Hiccup sat uneasily. Above, the clouds were slow and yellow with heat, but a dark purple smudge was staining the east horizon.

‘I think another storm’s coming,’ he said. 

Fishlegs side-eyed the advancing storm. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

Captain Snotlout, meanwhile, was busying himself with the ship’s storage. He knelt beside a hatch.Lifting the sunbaked slab of dusty planks revealed a cabby hidden within the hull, flanked with rows of shelves. There wasn’t much in there but black gulch and hopping mites. But there, huddled in the corner like a trio of frightened rabbits, were three ration packets.

‘Oh ho ho, what are you hiding?’ he grinned, disappearing into the cabby waist-deep and reappearing with a neat, brick-like packet. A handful of hopping mites had hitched a ride and jumped about his shoulders.

When one unfortunate black dot took a flying leap, Snotlout’s hand shot out and crushed it. He rolled his knuckles, smushing the insect into the crevices of his fingers, then wiped its juices on the nearest fabric—Dogsbreath’s shoulder. His eyes stayed glued to the package. 

Hiccup watched from afar. His cousin was doing a good job so far—at leading, that is. There was nothing to worry about. Hiccup didn’t have to pursue a career in Chiefdom just because his father had. Snotlout could do it. Snotlout could become Chief instead, he certainly wanted it more. 

But there was still an annoying nag at the back of his brain. An abstract feeling that something terrible would happen, and soon. Something terrible for, or because of , Snotlout.

He got up and tiptoed to his cousin. He loitered behind him, anxious, chin tucked to chest. His cousin had never liked him much.

‘Uhh–Are those, uhm, are those… uhm…’

Snotlout turned to see Hiccup, in all his pasty, ragged glory.

‘....Are they rations?’ Hiccup managed.

For a moment, Snotlout was mildly stunned, unpracticed in what to say to his cousin… when not insulting him. Their eyes locked, both equally unsure.

‘Yeah…’ Snotlout said, sliding his eyes away.

There wouldn’t be any need to insult him anymore. He was Captain. Hiccup wasn’t.

‘There’s three of them,’ he went on, in his usual snobby way, ‘enough to feed the crew for three days, I expect… if we exclude you and Fishfeet, that is. You can handle a few days without food, can’t you? I doubt you can get any skinnier than you already are, you little creep.’

Hiccup leant over to admire the packets where they sat, huddled in the cobwebs. He sighed in relief. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a disaster after all.

‘That’s great.’ He said. But then a thought struck. ‘But, uhm…’ He scanned across the famished crew clutching their tummies in hunger, ‘maybe, we shouldn’t- I mean- YOU shouldn’t, tell everybody? Not about all three, at least… If they knew how much food we have it’d be eaten up today and there wouldn’t be any left for tomorrow… If that’s all we have… and it IS all we have… We need to conserve it. Who knows how long this journey will take us.’

Snotlout sat still as a boulder. The only motion, his eyes, as they crinkled. Hiccup held his breath. The ship swayed as it rushed through the water. The scent of fresh rain drifted through the air.

‘Sure,’ Snotlout said, ‘and you can divvy them out, eh? Catch.’ 

He tossed the brick to Hiccup, who almost dropped it, and unbent from his kneel. 

Hiccup half laughed. ‘And you’d trust me to do that?’ 

‘May as well,’ Snotlout said, shoving his toe underneath the hatch lid, ‘I’m sure I can trust you with something so simple... you're not THAT useless.’

Hiccup smiled. Letting his cousin be Captain was turning out to be a good idea. Snotlout flicked the hatch lid with his toe. It sailed shut with a puff of dust and a hard thud and a squeak from the hopping mites. The thud made everyone jump, including Fishlegs, leaning over the side, whose spectacles slid off his nose and fell into the ocean.

‘Agh–’ he watched them sink. ‘... Damnit.’

Chapter Text

‘Well, all I know, is that MY FIRST BLOOD is gunna be something awesome.’ declared Tuffnut.

Hiccup scurried around, divvying out the rations, while the crew chatted easily.

‘You don’t know that!’ Killjoy sulked. ‘You can’t KNOW something if it hasn’t happened yet. Your First Blood could be a squirrel. It could be mole. It could be a tortoise. You don’t know, and you won’t know, ‘till you’ve actually done it.’

‘Oh, shut up Killjoy,’ Tuffnut said, ‘you shouldn’t even be in this conversation–You’re first blood was a common or garden, hardly nothin’.’

‘At Least I’ve had my first,’ Killjoy countered. Then, his eyes went all dreamy and he clasped his hands across his heaving chest. He sighed romantically. ‘Ah– You never forget your first time.’

What the boys referred to as ‘first blood’ was when, during a battle, you spillt the blood of a living creature- animal, dragon, or man- for the very first time. You didn’t have to kill the creature- simply drawing blood was enough. And it was important. Your first blood was said to colour the rest of your Viking career. If the red drain of a mouse was the first to stain your blade- your career would be singed with cowardice. On the other hand, If the scarlet drip of a Silver Phantom was the first to splatter your axe- your career would be clothed with GLORY.

Hiccup passed around the last of the food rations and wandered back to his blind friend.

‘Here,’ Hiccup said, handing his friend his portion of the ration (four cardboard-dry sardines, a stale slice of bread, and a fimble-sized bottle of seaweed-water). He sat rigidly beside him.

‘Have you heard what they’re talking about?’ Hiccup said.

‘No.’ replied Fishlegs. He’d been too busy coming to terms with his new found blindness to listen in.

‘They’re talking about their first times.’

Fishlegs raised his eyebrows. ‘They are, are they?’ He suddenly wished he’d been paying attention. ‘Aren’t we all a bit young to have had… you know.’

‘It’s only Killjoy who has done it.’

‘Killjoy?!’ Fishlegs spluttered. His spectacle-less cheeks went pink with jealousy. ‘Our Killjoy? The uppity one with the buck teeth? He’s done it? With who?’

‘A common-or-garden, apparently.’

Fishlegs throat went dry. Slowly, he leant back and spied the Killjoy-shaped blur from the corner of his vision.

‘I wish you hadn’t told me that.’ He rasped

‘I know, poor dragon, it was only protecting its eggs.’

In response, Fishlegs hummed uncomfortably.

‘Oh Thor, what's the point of it?’ Hiccup muttered, ‘Its such a silly thing. Why do they care so much? It’s cruel… I don’t think I want to have a first time.’

Fishlegs rubbed his small, blurry eyes. ‘Well, you might want to, eventually.’

Hiccup crumbled his bread in his fingers. ‘And you? Are you going to do it?’

Fishlegs squinted at… something (he couldn’t really tell what it was) and made a low, resentful grunt at the back of his throat.

‘I’ll be lucky if I ever get the chance,’ he answered bitterly.

‘Wait, haven’t you already? Remember that time Snotlout chucked you in a snake pit and you had to fight them off with your toenail?’

‘What are you implying?’

‘You didn’t manage to kill any, I remember, but you must have cut one–poor snake, it was only defending its territory–but you must have drawn blood, even if it was a little.’

‘Did I what? Draw blood? How does that have anything to do with… Oh.’

Hiccup’s eyebrows crossed in confusion.

Fishlegs lightly itched his nose. ‘I think we’re talking about different things.’

This only confused Hiccup further.

Whatever that meant, he thought. He brought a sardine to his teeth and crushed it. Ground it into dust and worked the paste to the back of his throat where he could swallow. It tastes like verruca. But Hiccup didn’t care. What little nourishment it gave would be vital. Especially if something was coming.

As the din of chewing, chatting, and the hypnotic hush of the sea coloured the misty air, Hiccup receded into himself. A dense, saturated version of himself. He sat like a golem: his knees under his chin, his arms packing them in. Only moving to bring another crumb of food to his mouth. He studied the grainy planks of the deck between his feet. His body was on edge. Every Muscle, inexorably tense. Ears strained. Movement’s slow and considered. For why he did not know. What was he waiting for? Nothing seemed a miss. What was the root of his terror?

From above, the ship looked like a white slice of almond. It drifted in a direct, bobbing line across the cement grey sea. Its nose tipped up and down on the crest of each wave, sloshing the contents of its hull and swaying the crew, as it smoothed its way toward an invisible boundary. Then, there, with two smooth glides, it crossed it. The invisible boundary between the open ocean and The Sea Of Certain Death. Unnoticed by all. All but Hiccup– who felt a freezing dread trail down his spine. 

‘What about you Captain? Have you drawn first blood?’

The voice rang out so crisp and clear that Hiccup felt as though it was said inches from his face. On its own accord, his neck jerked to the left, and where once his vision was planked by the dry, grainy boards of the deck between his feet, it was now bright with the lilac sky, the billowing, blue-striped sail, and the figure in question. Snotlout. 

Why his neck had known exactly where Snotlout was– leaning on the stern some distance away. Why it had twitched towards him instead of Wartihog, who had called out the question. And why his pupils had immediately focused. They knew something. Something intrinsic. Something unconscious. But Hiccup– the bearer of the eyes, and the neck– was kept in the dark.

The chatter pittered out and all eyes flicked to Snotlout. 

He scanned the expectant faces. Then closed his eyes.

‘I’ve had plenty of chances, more than you could even count,’ he said, a grin cracking through, ‘I could’ve done it ages ago… But I’m PICKY.’

A grating scratch peeled through the silence as Snotlout drew his cutlass. The sky radiated purple light, and above Snotlout’s right shoulder, the dark, blackberry cloud began to weep. Rain gushed down in white-silver flourishes, but even that silver paled beside the searing, gleaming edge of Snotlout’s blade. It stung to even look at. Framed in purple, the cutlass hung, as Snotlout admired its wretched, bone-hacking brilliance.

The first cold droplets burst on Hiccup’s cheek. Pearls hit and splattered on the blade. The water released it’s sweet, metallic smell. Snotlout watched, as the water pooled and trickled down the fuller. But before it could reach his hand, he shook it off and put away the cutlass.

He returned his focus to the crew, now surrounded by breaking rain. ‘I’m saving my first blood… for something worth bleeding.’

Chapter Text

Hiccup raised his shield a second before the dragon slammed into him. The impact shoved him onto his back, and the dragon fell with him, latched on with its talons. It clawed eight jagged lines against the grain of the wood. Vibrations rumbled into Hiccup’s hands. As he trembled to keep the shield from crushing him, the dragon curled its neck over the top like a swan. 

Its scaly, reptile skull drew closer. As it hissed, its forked tongue scolded Hiccup’s forehead. ‘Warm-blood invader ssssssssscum.’

The rain very much drowned the ship. It battered down, roaring, with musket-ball drops. The platoon of attacking dragons couldn’t well use their fire. Not, unless, they were close to their prey. 

The dragon unhinged its jaws. A fierce, orange glow pulsed from the holes at the back of its throat. With a sudden recognition, Hiccup realized. It's going to burn my head.

Imagine Hiccup– a bonfire with limbs, living and fighting, so ablaze not even the rain could put him out. And then, later, a still, charred stump.

But just as the dragon had its throat swilling with flame, someone rammed it to the side. It twisted off the shield. Its neck flung back. Its fire sabred through the rain, leaving a trail of steam, missing Hiccup entirely.

Cautiously, Hiccup peaked above the rim of his shield.

‘Snotlout!’ Hiccup said, astonished. Many times his cousin had tried to kill him, but never once to save him. 

‘GET. UP.’ Snotlout scolded, yanking Hiccup to his feet by the collar.  ‘...you mangy little runt. We are under ATTACK, if you haven’t noticed, and I’d appreciate it if you pitched in on the defence, instead of squirming in a puddle like a hepatitic leach… AND WHERE’S YOUR SWORD? For Valhalla’s stinking, septic sake, Hiccup, can you be any more useless?’

‘You saved my life. You actually saved my life.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Snotlout said dismissively, dropping Hiccup’s collar, ‘consider it an apology… for all those times I tried to snuff you out… Don’t expect another.’

Hiccup didn’t know whether to feel relieved or alarmed at Snotlout’s sudden change of heart. But there wasn’t time to dig into it.

Circling high above the battle, a truly terrific dragon– much larger than the rest– was keeping a tactical eye. 

‘HANG BACK. REGROUP. ARROW FORMATION. WE’LL TAKE ‘EM OUT WHILE THEY’RE LICKING THEIR WOUNDS.’

The orders didn’t sound like anything but aggressive shrieking to everyone but Hiccup.

‘YES, SIR, GENERAL SATAN, SIR,’ Screeched the dragon soldiers.

Twelve dragons, common corals, broke off their vicious fights. They flapped for a moment– just out of reach of the daggers and axes and bludgeons– before shooting up to swarm the purple sky.

‘What are they doing?!’ Killjoy frantically cried, crouching under his shield to mitigate the downpour.

The common corals vanished into the weeping clouds. 

‘Are they gone for good?! What do we do?!’ yelled Gladius Glum, ‘Captain!’

But Snotlout wasn’t listening. He had caught a glimpse of that terrific dragon– the size of a lion, armoured in iridescent scales, littered with battle wounds– and now his eyes were glued to its circling.

‘That one,’ he whispered.

The dragon platoon was a faint blur behind the clouds. They made a slow, large loop, gathering together, and circled back in a distinct arrow-head formation. 

‘Oh Thor,’ Hiccup stammered, ‘Oh Thor, oh Thor, oh Thor–’ 

He had to say something. They were coming right at ‘em. He had to warn the crew! He had to warn them now . But all he was managing at the second was to hop frantically foot to foot and make a nervous squeaking.

They’d ignore him. They wouldn’t listen. But he had to try! Otherwise, in a matter of seconds, they’d all be roasted golden, like a well-buttered boar.

The arrow-head formation broke through the clouds and tore towards the ship in a precise and deadly nose dive. Then something... finally... clicked.

‘Take cover!’ Hiccup yelled at the top of his voice. ‘They’re coming back! Aerial strike! Lock shields!’

Chapter Text

‘DIVE!!!’ Roared the dragon general, circling the angry, purple sky.

‘BRACE YOURSELVES!’ Hiccup shouted, squashed between his comrades.

The boys crouched under a roof of overlapping shields as the common-coral platoon dove down again and again, brutally bashing their heads against the boards. Then, after a moment to recover, they flapped off, rather dizzy.

Some say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. If so, the dragons were as nutty as a nut-loaf.

‘Keep it up, guys!’ Snotlout cheered. ‘I think we’re winning!’

They were nowhere near winning. 

They were sitting ducks.

‘DEATH OR GLORY!’ The hooligans roared, pumping their shields to the sky with pride– only for the dragons to slam them down again.

‘You call this glory?’ muttered Fishlegs. ‘I always knew I’d die in a damp, dripping pocket with a bunch of sweaty Vikings. I should’ve been a psychic. I’d nail it, listen: Forecast for the next two minutes– sudden and unavoidable death at the claws of a swarm of vicious dragons. There. Pretty accurate, wouldn’t you say?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Hiccup said.

‘It was your idea.’

‘I know, I know.’ Hiccup glanced between the thirteen pale faces– all very anxious, but trying very hard not to look it. ‘It was a short term solution,’ He continued, ‘but staying like this isn’t getting us anywhere. We’re at an impasse. The corals can’t get to us, and we can’t get to them.’

‘And what do you suggest?’ Fishlegs said. He took one hand off his shield-handle to readjust his spectacles, only to remember he’d dropped them in the ocean not ten minutes before. 

Hiccup sighed. ‘I’m going to have to go out there and speak to the general.’

Fishlegs looked at Hiccup. The thought was suicidal. Leave the safety of the shields? To negotiate with the war-crazed, reptile-brained general? It was the riskiest of business.

‘Yes,’ Fishlegs said, ‘that does seem like the only option. You’re the man for the job. You better go on and do it, chop chop.’

Hiccup rolled his eyes. ‘Thanks for the encouragement.’

‘Well, you are the only one who can do it, I mean that as a compliment,’ Fishlegs said. Then, he raised his voice so everyone in the cramped, damp pocket could hear. ‘And I think everyone has seen today, that YOU have what it takes… to be a leader… to be Captain... to be Chief.’

Everyone turned to Hiccup. A hopeful person might of thought there was a glimmer of begrudging respect in their dim, nervous eyes. But then again, maybe not. In any case, Snotlout wasn’t looking overly respectful.

‘Er… It’s… I… Well…’ Hiccup went. ‘I… I gotta go.’

Hiccup, as planned, rolled out from under the roof of shields, into the dangerous open deck. Under the safety of the shields, Fishlegs was muttering to himself. ‘’Gotta go’? Very heroic, Hiccup. Very heroic. It couldn't of been something like, 'have no fear, my fearless brothers, for I will scare off the reptile army, with my terrible wits and quick-Viking-brain'? Honestly, I try and give you a moment, and you waste it on 'I gotta go'?. Freya give me strength.’

The sky was purple, like a bruise, and sagging with rain. The rain streamed down Hiccup’s face and drenched his clothes so they stuck to his skin. He held up his shield as a pitiful attempt at an umbrella.

‘Wingless land-stalkers!’ shrieked a common coral, as the platoon swooped down in their arrowhead formation. Hiccup started and hunched just in time. 

Talons clawed across the dome of shields– trying to pry them off. Razor tipped wings shred the sails and gouged the mast. Like an ash tree that had taken the axe, the mast had a huge wedge cut out on one side..

‘Oh Thor, I really hope that doesn't fall down,’ Hiccup winced, ‘we’ve got spare sails, but without a mast to rig it up, they’d be worthless. We’d have to row, which is slow. We’d run out of rations before we even see an island to restock at.’

The mast teetered to and fro, but, with the loyalty of a soldier, it determined to stay upright.

‘Oh thank Thor.’ 

He should have kept his thanks silent. Two wolf-sized, jagged-toothed dragons shot round to see a small, defenceless boy huddled on the deck. 

‘Look, Snake-Oil, the warm-bloods have pushed out their runt,’ the first common corals hissed. It landed and began to prowl around Hiccup. ‘Didn’t I say they were barbaric, uncivilised savages? You wouldn’t catch a regal green-blood tossing out their own.’

The second dragon perched on the stern and started scooping out a fly that had got stuck under its eyelid. ‘Didn’t you push your brother out of the nest while he was still in his egg?’

‘That is completely different,’ the first dragon snapped, ‘but anyway, we ought to take a moment to skin the little invader, since he’s been so generously offered up.’

‘Good idea,’ hissed the second, slithering down from the stern. 

The dragons prowled in circles with crocodile smiles and alligator teeth. Snake-Oil pinched Hiccup’s shield and flung it into the sea. Hiccup’s heart hammered in his chest. He was frozen in fear and couldn’t say a word. 

‘It’s what he gets,’ snarled the first dragon, raising his scythe-like talon, ‘for being a poaching, dragon killer. We’ll take his skin… like he has taken from thousands of us.’

The scythe came down in a blur.

‘ Wait!’ Hiccup cried, in perfect Dragonese. His arms shot up to protect his face. 

‘I’m not a dragon poacher. We are not poachers. We’re just a clumsy group of boys on a ridiculous quest. We’re lost...in a lot of ways…but we mean you no harm… And I, if anything, am on YOUR side.’ 

The dragons were shocked to say the least. Never had they known a Viking to speak their native tongue. Lizards? Yes. Snakes? Yes. But a Viking? Never. They froze in place and the first common coral slowly pulled back his scythe-like talon, from where hovered, inches from Hiccup.

‘By my scales and tail,’ said the first dragon, ‘a Viking that speaks Dragonese, it’s not everyday you see that.'

'It's because we live side-by-side with dragons, as equals, as it should be everywhere,' Hiccup blurted out, maybe sweetening the truth a small bit.

'Unlikely,' scowled Snake-Oil.

'It's true! We are against poaching entirely, and only use dragon-skin and dragon-claw alternatives, like dolphin-hide and mammoth-tusk. This has really been a big misunderstanding.'

Snake-Oil barred his teeth and got ready to pounce, but his comrade held him back with a wing.

'Are you tryna tell me,' he began, still with an ounce of suspicion, 'that this ISN’T a poaching ship? That you're NOT a gang of hunters? And our platoon have been relentlessly attacking for half an hour, during what should have been our lunch-break, for no real reason?’

Hiccup nervously clenched the bottom of his drenched-through tunic. ‘You could put it like that.’

Chapter Text

The pair of dragons flew up to meet their general, to explain that it was all just a big misunderstanding… and, hopefully, convince him to let the troops go on break.

The general glided through the air with graceful beats of his twenty foot wingspan, while the two dragon messengers blustered to keep up with him. The message was conveyed between loud bursts of the general’s orders, that, at close range, were really quite an assault by themselves.

‘MAINTAIN SPEED… DIVE!!! – What’s this about a half-dragon, half-boy? Speak your mind, soldier, come on, every second– PULL BACK. SPEAR FORMATION. LET’S HIT ‘EM WHERE IT HURTS. READY? …DIVE!!! – every second counts in the heart of a battle.’

‘They’re not poachers, sir,’ panted Hell-Hawk (the first dragon), ‘they’re just a bunch of banished Hooligans, and, apparently, they all speak the serpent’s tongue.’

‘DIIIIVE!!!......…And Private Snake-Oil can corroborate your claim?’

Snake-Oil nodded.

General Satan watched as his troops fiercely followed orders, descending like bullets and smashing against the wooden back of the Hooligans hide-out. Wet cracks rang out. They’d get through eventually. But his troops were exhausted. And was it worth it? For a squall of banished children? That was something else to consider– they were only children. They knew nothing of slaughter. Nothing, whereas the general knew too much. Had seen too much. Had caused, and received violence beyond violence. And to cause it again? To a splodge of children, out of place and out of their depths. He was a general, not a killer. 

General Satan called off his troops.

The common-coral platoon hovered a safe distance from the ship, beating their weary wings as the rain pummeled down. Far below, the Hooligans cautiously peeked out from under their overlapping shields. 

‘A thousand fires in hell! Look, they’re coming out! We can get ‘em! We can scratch their eyes out!’ seethed one of the soldiers. ‘GENERAL SATAN, SIR, WITH THE DEEPEST RESPECT, SIR– LET’S TEAR ‘EM TO BITS WHILE THEY’RE LEAST SUSPECTING!’

‘STAND DOWN, THAT’S AN ORDER,’ General Satan roared. He gazed down at the tiny, beaten specks as they broke apart their only defence and moved about the deck. They wouldn’t have stood a chance. ‘This battle is over.’

Hell-Hawk was hovering close by. ‘...Does that mean we can go on break?’ 

‘Yes, at ease, soldiers, you are dismissed…’ 

The common-corals didn’t argue with that. In a minute, they’d all zipped off to the far corners of the sea to catch themselves some lunch and find shelter on a cliffside. All except Hell-Hawk, who the general held back, and promoted to Corporal. 

‘Are you going on break, sir?’ Corporal Hell-Hawk asked.

‘No. I’d like to see this crew that can speak the serpent’s tongue for myself… Gather the troops at HQ in half an hour.’

The Corporal left. That just left General Satan, alone.

His scapula worked beneath the scales. The endless, pounding rain bubbled in the space between them and gushed, like rapids, down the two sides of his spine. He raised his great, soaking wings and brought them down, again and again, slowly and controlled. And though his body swayed, his skull remained centred. Water washed every feature. Choked in every white, indented scar. Splattered every war-hardened scale. Coated his piercing yellow eyes. He was a beast of war. His blood, thicker than syrup. His heart, afraid to beat.

‘That,’ Snotlout whispered, staring up from the Blue Whale, ‘that will be my first blood.’

Chapter Text

The boys were in the middle of giving Snotlout the Hooligan Hurrah when the dragon general flew down and landed on the ship. He was a tank. The boys went silent.

Only Hiccup stepped forward. 

‘Thank you for calling off your troops. We’re not poachers,’ he said.

The general grunted. ‘And your fathers?’

Hiccup looked at his shoes.

‘Who taught you dragonese?’ The general demanded.

‘I taught myself.’

‘Why?’

Hiccup didn’t have an answer.

‘Am I right to assume there are no books on the subject?’ asked the general.

‘Yes.’

‘You learnt by observation.’

‘Yes.’

‘Hours?’

‘Many.’

Slowly, the general pulled back. He inspected the scrawny, drenched boy standing below him. The boy’s expression was severe. His freckles popped against the pale skin. He was the smallest. 

‘Then you are a remarkable boy,’ the general finally said. ‘Do you know where you have taken your ship?’

‘The Sea of Certain Death,’ Hiccup answered.

‘Is that what they call it?’ the general chuckled sadly. He composed himself. ‘It is the last safe haven we green-bloods have, and I would defend it to my last dying flame. You are invading.’

‘We didn’t mean to. We came for a fish– but it doesn’t matter. We’ll leave. You won’t see us again.’

‘I could easily kill you,’ the general said, ‘but I won’t, if you give me your word… Our two species are stuck in a cycle of violence, where Vikings enslave dragons for our labour and hunt them for our skin, and dragons slaughter entire tribes and burn their villages to ash. I’d lost hope that the cycle would ever break. I thought I’d seen it all, but I’ve never seen a boy who could speak dragonese… If you try as hard as you can to change the minds of your generation, to turn them against slavery and make them see dragons as equal, If you promise to do that… I’ll let you go with your life.’

‘I promise,’ Hiccup said, and he meant it.

The general gave a heavy sigh. ‘It’s worth a shot,’ he said to himself.

He never had any intention of killing them.

‘What do they call you?’

‘Hiccup, and you?’

‘Satan.’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Well, Hiccup,’ the general said, ‘I do hope you keep your promise, it could be the small shift our two species need to finally come to peace. I wish you luck on your journey.’ 

The general solemnly bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Hiccup did the same.

And it would have been alright if Snotlout hadn’t stomped on the back of the mast. The mast fell like a tree and clocked the dragon general. He blacked out and his head made a thud on the deck.

Chapter Text

Hiccup was stunned. Snotlout lurked forward and drew his blade. It made a stomach-twisting shriek. 

Shrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-uuukkkkkkk-k-k.

The Hooligans chanted his name, ‘Snotlout! Snotlout! Snotlout!’ 

Some of them egged him on, ‘MURDER ‘IM!’

Snotlout ate it up.

He locked-on to the dragon’s skull through a veil of hurtling rain. The rain came down so hard you had to shout to be heard. It made a sound like cracked ceramic as it burst on the deck. 

Snotlout sloshed three more steps through the ankle-deep water.

The dragon slept beneath him. Snotlout's lips curled apart in the slimiest of all slimy grins. He put both hands on the hilt and raised his cutlass.

‘SNOTLOUT! SNOTLOUT! SNOTLOUT!’

‘Wait!–’ 

Hiccup lunged for Snotlout’s arm, barely reaching a wet, flapping sleeve. Snotlout paused, his grin dropped. His eyes slid in their sockets and glared down at Hiccup. Gallons of water streamed off his face as the rain screamed around them.

Suddenly, Hiccup lost his voice. But he wouldn’t move.

‘Now–now, Hiccup,’ Snotlout said, ‘it’s only a dragon.’

‘I know you’re weirdly fond of them, much more than you should be, but they’re only dragons. They’re bred to be slaves, and this one needs to be brought back in line.’

Hiccup stared up with pleading eyes. He tried to speak, but couldn't. What could he possibly say? 

Meanwhile, Snotlout was getting tired. 

‘Get off.’ 

Hiccup’s fingers slipped away. 

‘Fine,’ Snotlout said. ‘And,’ he added, hesitantly, ‘that was a quick idea you had with the shields, you might not be so much of a disaster as I thought. If that means anything to you...’

It meant everything.

‘Now, stand back, will ya?’

Hiccup faded to the side and watched. Snotlout tensed the muscles that had gone slack waiting. The cutlass boosted up. Rain splattered off it like liquid sparks. 

As Snotlout leered at the dragon laid out before him, his ugly grin returned.

He felt his back burn as the crowd stare-ed in anticipation. He suddenly felt grateful for the dramatic weather.

'Thank you, Thor,' he sneered. 'They’ll never forget this.’

They never did.

Hiccup’s heart was pounding. He had made a promise to that dragon not five minutes before.  If Snotlout killed this dragon, what would happen then? Revenge. But if Hiccup could stop it here... 

His vision narrowed so all he could see was the blade's sparkling silver point. It moved, he moved. He forgot everything and ran. 

With a massive splash of water, he appeared out of the blue between Snotlout and the dragon, his arms reaching out to block, his head half turned, wincing.

If Snotlout had seen him in time, he’d have stopped mid-swing. But he didn’t.

The rain cast a blurry veil. He distinguished Hiccup far too late, and was powerless to stop his starving blade. It hacked Hiccup across the face, from the left brow to the right jaw, splitting the ridge of his nose. The rain drowned out the sound. Hiccup's head was smacked to the side. His eyes clenched shut. He stumbled back. Bright, almost glowing, blood oozed from the gash. The rain scooped it out, but more bubbled up to fill it's place. It drizzled to his chin and began to seep into his collar.

The blade hung low, licking it's lips.

Snotlout brought it to his face and gazed at the splatters of blood mixing with the rain. The dilute, red liquid trickled over his hand like roots.

It hadn't hit him yet.

He had drawn his first blood.

...

Chapter Text

For a bit, it all went black. Black and spinning and stinging out of nowhere. Hiccup forgot where he was and expected to wake up warm and cosy in his lamb skin bundle back on Berk with Toothless curled up by his feet like a hot brick. But his right eye slit open with blinding, burning white and his left eye stayed stuck shut by somin’ tacky. The first thing he made out, two figures fading into one another with a feverish ring. The boy standing in front of him. His cousin. 

His cousin was hideous. Scowling at him and you could see his eyes were sobbing even when no tears came out. Hiccup hadn’t a clue why he should look like that. The rain was thinning. Hiccup, thinking nuthin’, turned so he was facing right up and let the faint, soothing rain pitter over his face. But the rain stung. Only in certain places did it sting, but it stung like it shouldn’t. And the feeling of the rain built a mental picture of the score across his face. He remembered what had happened. What he, Hiccup, had done. 

And the guilt killed him.

‘No, listen, that doesn’t count,’ Snotlout said, turning to the tribe behind him. Completely ignoring Hiccup. It starts of laughing, nervously, ‘That was… I didn’t mean to do that... I was GOING for the dragon,’ but then turns severe, ‘ Hiccup got in the way.’

It made no difference to the Tribe.

What was left of them, Hiccup thought, then startled. Why’d he think that? There were plenty more Hooligans bustling about Berk, weren’t there. They weren't all that were left.

Most of them wouldn’t look Snotlout in the eye. Clueless was staring at Hiccup, at the gash still pumping blood. He looked frightened. Others made a last flicker of contact with Snotlout (pity) before staring between their toes like guilty dogs. 

They all knew what it meant. Snotlout knew. Hiccup knew.

Snotlout had drawn his first blood, and it was that of a mans. A boys. A part of his tribe. it shouted all kinds of BAD and VILLAINY and TREACHERY. It didn’t matter if Hiccup had caused it by sprouting up in the way. That was Fate. And Fate knew her business. 

So Snotlout frantically stared boy to boy, looking for anything that was on his side. But there weren’t none.

‘It was Hiccup who got in the way, I wasn’t meaning to hit him.’

Dreadfully, Snotlout realised he was still wielding his cutlass, flailing it about as he spoke. He put it away. Another ghastly shriek as it scraped the scabbard.

Some of the boys were heaving heavy sighs and slowly turning their backs. More followed suit. Till’ all backs were turned to Snotlout.

Snotlout watched as everything he had fell away. He was further from them than ever could be.

Fishlegs, who couldn’t see much of nothing without his glasses, was putting things together. 

‘Hiccup?’ he called, scared.

‘I’m okay,’ Hiccup said, but it came out scratchy.

And that’s when Snotlout’s went dark with hatred. Not only hatred but grief. And he looked over his shoulder to the one who had caused it all. His cousin.

With that awful crack across his face. Too awful to look at. The one that Snotlout had put there, but hadn’t meant to. It was Hiccup’s fault. Hiccup had ruined it all. 

Hiccup froze.

‘Hiccup? Keep saying things,’ Fishlegs said, stumbling forward, past Snotlout, arms outstretched like a zombie, trying to use Hiccup’s voice as a sonar.

Hiccup said nothing. Fishlegs found him anyway.

Fishlegs grabbed his shoulders, more to steady himself than to give any comfort, and squinted proper hard at what looked like a blurry, red bluzz.

‘Oh, Thor,’ he said, his voice trembling. Snotlout heard him. The Tribe heard with their backs sadly turned. ‘What’s he done to you?’

‘I DIDN’T DO NOTHING!’ Snotlout screamed.

‘Yes you did, COWARD !’ Fishlegs screamed back.

And that’s when– BUFF. Snotlout ran and thumped Fishlegs about the head. And then again– BUFF. Bringing him down. Fishlegs caught up and the  BERSERKER RAGE speckled his cheeks and– THUD. He rammed Snotlout in the stomach with his horned helmet, puncturing the fabric of his shirt and maybe a bit further into the flesh, and Snotlout wheeled back in pain and stumbled over his feet and fell to the floor and– ’AAGH!’ Fishlegs was on him. Punching without the advantage of sight. So maddened by past grievances. Every time Snotlout had hurt him. Beat him without pity. Humiliated him for his own entertainment and –CRACK. Snotlout knocked him right on the nose and then in his neck without a second between and then– ‘I DIDN’T DO NOTHING!’ and ‘COWARD!’ and then Fishlegs is smushing his face like it’s some laundry in a bucket and then Hiccup is pulling him off and the Berserker Rage has worn him out in no time and he’s panting and Hiccup’s dragging him off and blood is flooding from his nose and

Snotlout and Fishlegs were as far apart as you can be on a Blue Whale. Fishlegs scratched the dried blood from his upper lip. Snotlout twisted his body so he wern't facing noone, looking grim. The Hooligans were at the aors, rowing for rowing's sake... or to keep their minds off Hiccup's wound. Their not rowing in any particular direction, though they all want to head home, though they knew they never could, never again. They don't have any bandages so Hiccup lays back with his face split open to the elements. But Hiccup wasn't in any huge pain with so much adrenaline running through his system. The wound's clotted. Dark, dark red. Almost purple.

Hiccup scanned across the crew, rowing nowhere for no reason. He stood up and almost fell over, his head spinning. 'Let's go home,' he said. Everyone listens.

Chapter Text

They rowed for a day and a half. Mast broken. Rations destroyed in the rain. The sun set and roze in dazzling pinks. No storms. No rain. Just a dense, white fog as they approached the shores of Berk.

Anything more than five feet ahead was hidden like it was behind a thick curtain. Or a thousand curtains all gossamer-thin. Hidden. Hiccup wondered if that was kind. The thought unsettled him.

The silence was heavy. The fog dampened any sound that wasn’t close by. But the close-by sounds got sharp. The oars through the water. The creaking boards. The squawking of a common or garden as it startled and flapped off with an injured wing. 

They drifted into what had to be the harbour. A light knock. A crate, bobbing on the slightest wave. It knocked along the length of the hull as they passed.

Nothing wrong with a lost crate.

More bits knocked the hull but they thought nothing of it. Drift wood, brought in by the storm. More, though. So much bobbing and floating you could barely see the water underneath. A sail, too. Some rope.

On the left, too far to see it clearly,  a dark shape jutted out of the water. Like a rock but too jagged and where a rock had never been. And the Hooligans would know, they knew this Harbour like the back of their hand.

It looked a bit like an upturned– 

Then there were more. Coming out of the fog, but still so pressed back it was like they were nothing.

‘Are those?’ Tuffnut said, in a small voice he was maybe hoping no one would answer.

‘Why are they– what’s–’ 

And why no sounds coming from the village?

Nonone answered and they rowed to shore. Over the side, splashing in the water, planting their feet in the sand after days on a rocking ship. Hiccup felt so weak he could just about drop-dead but he helped the others push the boat above the water line.

The salt spray had done a lot of work at cleaning out his wound and face, but the front of his top was gunked and there were muddy globs in the corners of his eyes and clumped in his hair. The startings of a scab were forming. Yellow and wet and not pretty. Hiccup tried not to blink or talk or breathe or have any expression at all because when he did a pain shot through him and came in waves. 

But he looked up at Snotlout, pushing the boat on the other side. Snotlout who couldn’t care less about the wreckage in the harbour. He’d wasted his first blood, the dragon had flown off, none would look at him and it was all Hiccup’s fault. Hiccup’s brows pinched together and there goes the wound, crying like a baby all over again.

Hiccup deserved it anyway. The pain lasted till the ship was above the water line.

The boys began to trudge up the hill to the silent village. 

‘There’s a chance they won’t let us come back,’ Gladius Glum said, quietly, to not disturb the fog. ‘In which case they are our enemy, and we’ll have to fight them.’

Noone wanted to fight their tribesmen. Their tribe was their family.

Speedfist made a side glance at Snotlout. 

Hiccup wanted to speak but he didn’t want the pain. We’ll convince them, he wanted to say. Stoik didn’t want to banish us. He was just mad. At me.

‘This was all Hiccup’s fault,’ snarled Snotlout. He hadn’t spoken in a while, it came as a surprise. ‘Remember that. He’s the one who got us banished, mewling at his gummy, little dragon and embarrassing our entire Tribe, remember that? And then he went crying to his daddy and blamed it all on us. It only takes one measly Viking to tarnish a Tribe, and we got two, don’t we? Hiccup the Unbearably Ugly and whatever that is they dragged out of the foam…Can’t even control a dragon,’ and Snotlout’s mumbling to himself now because no one will even look at him let alone respond, ‘can’t even control a dragon, not even a real Viking… he got in the way.’

Hiccup needed to say something. He had to say sorry and first blood is just a superstition, it doesn’t mean anything and I can’t be responsible for you all turning you’re backs on Snotlout so stop it, turn them back and–

But before he can get it out, there’s a body on the hill. It’s Erma The Undefeated. And she’s dead. Definitely dead.

Chapter Text

The fog was kind. It hid things. Revealing only what was needed. As the boys moved forward each gossamer-thin curtain drew back to take them in, and closed silently behind them. 

The gate was gone. Just gone. Two deep holes where the stakes would’ve driven into the earth. Filled with muddy water the colour of chocolate milkshake. The palisade was gone. A line of deep holes trailed off into the fog in both directions, all full of milkshake. The boys went through the space where the gate would've been. 

The first hut was fine. But there was a scorch mark all over the side that faced on towards the village. The door was wide open. They don’t check inside. That was Erma the Undefeatable's hut. Erma who did the boy’s laundry and led the Hooligan’s to victory in the battle against the Lavalouts, long ago.

The second hut hadn’t fared too good. The second wasn’t even a hut anymore. Just a pile of charred timber collapsing inward on a bed of wet ash. No place to live. No place to rest or eat or talk to your family. A fire had gobbled it up. Ate the roof and the floor and the walls and didn't leave hardly any left, not enough to live in, not enough to rest or eat, not enough for anyone else, not enough to share, not to blame 'em, can't blame the fire, a fire needs to eat, needs to eat somin', gotta eat somin' or it dies, gotta eat lots and lots and not stop till it's full and it must have been STARVING.

Clueless threw up in the heather. 

Burnt heather. 

Burnt to nothing.

Hiccup sniffed the air. It smelt like coal but more sour, and of damp earth. The fog was soothing on his skin. The fire must of taken up the whole village because it was all made of wood. Silly, really. He listened out for the sound of people, but they had probably fled. No sound from any animal either. Just the sound of Clueless sobbing.

They left him there.

More ash and coal and scorched metal and fog and charred stumps where trees used to be, but no people.

‘We search the village,’ Gladius Glum said, and it takes him a moment to realise that he’s the one who’s said it. ‘Then the fields.’

Chapter Text

‘Whaddya make of that, then?’ Thaddues Nuts said, pulling on his suspenders. 

Him and Killjoy are standing side by side in the furthermost field, looking down at a huge, oak slab laying half-sunk in the earth.

‘Well, it’s the gate, isn’t it?’

‘In’t it? But how’d you ‘spose it got all the way over here?’

‘No idea.’

‘Must’ve flew.’

‘Unlikely.’

The fog can’t climb this far upland and you can see for miles. They walked up a hill and looked down at the next bit of grassy plain, and there’s the palisade, still bound together in one long piece, flopped like a dead snake.

‘Do you think they coulda lugged it here?’ Thaddeus Nuts whispered, ‘To save it from the fire?’

Killjoy gulped. 

‘It’s a long way to haul something so heavy.’

…

Snotlout stomps away from the group until he’s deep enough into the fog that they wouldn’t be able to see him (not that they looked at him anyway) and only then he starts running. 

‘ADELAIDE!!!’ he yells, and it’s angry.

Jumping out from the fog is his hut, falling in on one side, and he storms up the steps and kicks in the door. 

‘ADELAIDE!!’

But the beds are empty and dinner’s been swept off the table and onto the floor, a gang of nanodragons lounging in it, and clothes are taken, probably packed in a getaway bag.

And that’s good.

That’s good.

No point waiting for your brother, now is there?

Snotlout finds a chair laying on it’s side and rights it, sits. 

Whatever happened here they must’ve gotten out alright.

He crosses his legs up on the table, shoving off a remaining plate that clatters on the floor. The nanodragons hiss and buzz off.

Killjoy and Thaddeus are searching the fields.

The fog drifts in from the caved-in wall, cold and eerie. Snotlout crosses his arms behind his head and relaxes back into the chair.

If they're not on the island, then they’re out to sea.

He closes his eyes. 

Beerbelly probably scooped up his mother with one hand and dragged Adelaide behind him with the other. To the beach. Laid his mother in the Sparrowhawk, told Adelaide to GEDDOUT OF ‘ERE YOU HALF-PINT BRAT and turned back to help in whatever trouble was going on. 

Snotlout smiles. 

Adelaide and mother would’ve sailed off out the Harbour in the Sparrowhawk… only the very best built ship this side of the--

His smile drops dead. 

Ships. The ships were wrecked. In the harbour all the ships were smashed to bits. They weren’t anything but broken and he almost slips in the dinners as he lunges off the chair and starts sprinting to the beach.

Chapter Text

Fishlegs has his hand on Hiccup’s shoulder as they walk through the pines. Over stones Fishlegs can’t rightly see and roots that are eager to trip him up. They’re searching for their Tribesmen.

‘Do you think they’re dead?’ Fishlegs asks. His voice isn’t looking for comfort.

While still walking, Hiccup puts his hand over top Fishleg’s on his shoulder. He taps his finger twice– which means ‘no’.

‘Erma the Undefeatable was dead.’

Hiccup taps once.

The pines get too dense and spiky to walk through so Hiccup leads Fishlegs into the stream so they can walk up it like a track. Fishlegs doesn’t startle at the cold because he’s heard the water rushing and he understands without Hiccup needing to tell him.

Blind and mute. They really are useless.

‘Hello-o-o-o-o-o-o?’ Fishlegs yodels to the blur of brown and green, ‘Is anyone here-e-e-e?’ 

A few ravens caw and a dragon snarls from the undergrowth but other than that there’s no answer.

‘What’s happened here? Where’ve they all gone?’ Fishlegs says. He knows Hiccup can’t answer without ripping his scab.

But Hiccup can still think.

A dragon set that fire, he thinks. Erma died a hero’s death, fighting, spear clutched. A dragon attack. And by the state of Erma’s body and the stench that came off her… it was a few days ago. No other bodies, so... The others must’ve fled.

So why hadn’t they come back yet? 

Because the dragons were still here.

That, or the Hooligans had been eaten and their bodies were in a hundred different bellies.

Or a single big one.

The thought comes completely out of the blue and Hiccup startles because what are you talking about, Hiccup? There would have to be atleast a hundred-- t here isn’t a dragon big enough to scoff an entire tribe in one sitting.

But if there were. 

And then both Hiccup and Fishlegs hear something. They stop and listen. Whistling through the trees and rising above the rushing of the stream, sweeping over the fields too, flooding the village and rushing down to the beach… there’s this singing.

‘The Hooligan National Anthem!’ Fishlegs gasps with joy.

And that is the song they can hear.

‘Aha! They’re not dead! What a relief!’

Hiccup’s expression stays flat. The singing gets louder, clearer, as if whatever it’s coming from is rising out of something that was smothering it up. Water.

It’s coming from the South Cliff.

Chapter Text

Everyone hid in Fishlegs’ hut. It was an outhouse built on stilts over the swamp. Faint, red paint read ‘OuT oF OrdeR’ above the entrance. (Fishlegs painted it there himself– the first three words he learnt how to spell).

‘I’ve got the best hut on Berk,’ Fishlegs grins. ‘And it only took every other hut on the island being burnt to a crisp.’ He grins and grins and makes sure everyone in there gets a good blast of his grinning. ‘You lot are lucky I’m such a courteous host.’

With eleven burly boys stuffed in at once there’s no room to move. The stilts are bent like bows and they’re creaking. Speedifist winces as he hears one keen and crack. ‘We better make this quick,’ he says.

But no one starts. They flick about nervously. 

Gladius Glum grits his teeth and slams his fist on a toilet seat. ‘WE KILL IT!’ He barks. 

‘Keep it down, Glum,’ Tuffnut says, very sad.

But Gladius Glum stands up and roars, ‘WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO? WE ARE VIKING’S! WE GET ALL OUR WEAPONS AND WE CHARGE– AFTER ALL IT’S DONE– HIT IT WITH ALL WE’VE GOT! GO OUT FIGHTING, LIKE WARRIORS! LIKE HOOLIGANS! DEATH OR GLORY!’ He thumps his chest twice and salutes, expecting everyone to do the same.

But they don’t. They sit there and try not to feel like cowards.

‘I’m sure that’s what the others were thinking too,’ Tuffnut says, very very sad.

Then the singing comes. The Hooligan Hurrah. It's cheered in a hundred distant voices. Voices of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters. Swirling like milk in oil. Singing proudly like they don't know where they're singing from. That they're already gone. Swirling like milk in oil. And the boys gotta drink it down.

It bends around the cliff, getting louder and louder, swims across the bay, lingers, lingers like it knows the boys are listening, then fades behind the next set of cliffs, chuckling to itself. 

It’s taunting them. Circling the island because it knows there’s no way of escaping. 

Clueless uncovers his ears, sniveling. 

Gladius Glum sits down, tears at his eyes.

‘Then what do we do?’ He says. 'What are we meant to do?'

And again, no one starts.

Fishlegs is staring out the little crescent window (though it's blurry). You're plan betta work Hiccup.

Clueless sees Gladius Glum’s tears and kindly hands him the bog roll.

Chapter Text

Hiccup trudged the water-clogged hills of Berk, the sea to his back, grey like cement, his feet squelched with every step. Unavoidable was the wretched shade of the Green Death as it circled around the island. The song gurgled from its innards. Hiccup more than anything wanted to plug his ears and bury his head in the soft, sopping ground but he couldn’t. He couldn’t let that monster win. 

Keeping his gaze severely straight he made his way to the peak of High-Hill where you could see for miles in all directions. He followed the immense shade of green as it spiralled. His wound had grown a scab, yellow and grizzly, that drizzled foul tasting liquid down towards his lips. He’d already spoken to the dragon a few days before, tried all the tricks he knew, all that was left was to kill, which was impossible. 

Or,  the voice imposed itself into the centre of Hiccup’s brain, merely improbable.

‘You’re going to kill us,’ Hiccup said, the movement crackling sparks of pain.

The dragon spiralled the island, ruminating as it stroked its wings through the water. Yes, it said, once I’ve built an appetite… an army, feeble as it was, is quite a thing to digest.

As if the dragon had forced it, the Hooligan Hurrah soared across the landscape and mingled in Hiccup’s ears, sweet and slight as honey. Hiccup closed his eyes and turned his head away as if from a raging fire, but he would not cover his ears. Even if, amongst the cries, he could hear the resounding, prideful voice of his father, gone like the rest, gone forever, leaving Hiccup alone in the world. What was done was done, what was dead was dead. Shrugging its existence wouldn’t make it any less real. Hiccup pried open his eyes. 

You are a tough bone to crack, said the voice, and surely a bitter hide to chew. The voice laughed and it was like Hiccup’s entire tribe was laughing along with it, overlapping sickly like shrieking clowns and gawking donkeys. Hiccup’s fists clasped into fists, his body tensed and his shoulders tremoured. Oh, the voice mocked, do you despise the sound of your kin? Do you wish it would be silent? My poor, poor pudding. If it’s any consolidation, once you are inside of me, you will think different, you will love the song, the singing, it will be the last of anything you are. See, I am considerate, I allow my meal to leave in joy, prancing to their deaths, happily, is that not a way to die?

‘I’ll kill you.’

Hiccup’s bleary gaze followed the dragon like a scythe. 

The dragon lapsed into silence. Even the Hurrah faded slightly, but not entirely, still a whisper that continually reminded of what was lost. It made another round of the island, working off its dinner. It stopped, hovered just beneath the surface like an algae.

You already have.

Hiccup watched. Miles below, the sea bulged and burst as the dragon rose its goliath head out from under the water, like an island itself bubbling up from the depths. Its cold black eyes bore into Hiccup’s across the miles of slanting, grassy land. You already have.

Something blasted into Hiccup. His mind boiled as the dragon sent him the memory of a separate universe, one where Hiccup had stood before his peers on the South Cliff, where he had defeated the Green Death, where he had saved his Tribe. The way it could have gone if Hiccup hadn’t enraged his father and gotten the Young-Hero’s banished sooner rather than later. It was Hiccup’s fault. If he had been there… Hiccup slammed his hands over his ears to try and drive it off and shook his head violently side to side.

‘Stop! I don’t… That wasn’t what happened! I wasn’t there, I couldn’t help– I… I wasn’t there to help them… I couldn’t– I wasn’t– No!.. That … It isn’t even real!’

Ignoring its existence doesn't make it any less real.

Hiccup’s eyes peeled open, red and sore like bullet holes, and he stared hatefully at the dragon miles below. 

You said you would kill me, the dragon said, almost solemnly. It bowed and began moving towards the shore, lifting one scaly foot with waterfall splashing and resting it on the sand, then the other, hauling itself from the sea and finally feeling the full weight of its mass. It sunk into the sand. It was hidden behind the cliff, until it raised itself on its hind legs and slothed up onto lip of the land. A heavy, tiresome creature, so heavy it didn’t know what to do with its limbs. 

Hiccup, still standing on the peak of High-Hill, stared down at the Green Death that, from miles away, looked the size of a well-fed crocodile, but of course would be whole lot bigger up close.

The dragon, somewhat humbled by his clumsiness, stared back. Its voice boomed in Hiccup’s head, like a taunt: Will you kill me?

Chapter Text

Hiccup scrambles over the rocks and practically falls down the side of High Hill. What starts as an effortless downhill sprint quickly becomes a strenuous flailing jog as the ground levels out. He propels across the field, lurching forward on all the uneven boggy bits and grass lumps. He trips, rolls, gets up and keeps going. The Field slopes away into a river that he crashes through. The current claws at him, but he kicks it away and splashes over to the bank. He tears up the next hill, bending at the waist and panting. His clothes flap and fling water as he swings his arms. His legs wobble, and his chest burns. The stitch he got 500 yards back still hasn’t left. The sky is clear and blue. Five long, stretching fields lay before him, after that a dark ridge of pine trees. Somewhere to hide. His only chance. He looks over his shoulder. High Hill looms over him, bouncing and jerking as he runs. The Green Death is waiting patiently behind it with his eyes closed.

The Green Death gave Hiccup a courteous head start, and as much as Hiccup felt wretched in taking it, and as little help it would actually do him, the alternative was standing there all proud and puffed up as the Green Death counted down from a hundred, where after Hiccup would presumably meet his heroic yet unhelpful end.

Time’s almost up, my morsel.

The voice slithers and coils in Hiccup’s mind. 

And when it’s up,  I shall come after you.

A cold shadow swarms across the land and a whoosh of air follows it. Hiccup strains over his shoulder and sees what looks like a dark, shiny dome rising up from behind High Hill. Rays of sunlight scatter over its top. It rises further, forming a thick black arch, like a doorway. The sun blazes through the middle. Hiccup quickens his pace, his feet pound the earth, his heart feels like it’s trying to break through his chest. The shape moves further, and forms a great, heaving loop, then it pulls its end up from behind the crest of High Hill. At its end is the dragon's pointy horned face. Eyes still closed, thank Thor, otherwise the dragon would see exactly where Hiccup was heading. Slowly and steadily, the Green Death uncurls his neck and drags his goliath skull up through the air. He stills, curled like a black hook, the sun sitting there in the centre. Algae glimmers at the very edges of his form, but the rest is in shadow. Clouds form above it. It’s too huge to be real. Hiccup’s throat goes dry.

I’ll count you down, shall I? …Five.

Hiccup’s head swings back round and he uses a burst of adrenaline to triple his speed. ‘Just get to the woods,’ he cries. His knees buckle under an uneven patch of turf and he staggers out of it.

Four.

‘Just get to the woods!’ Sweat streams down his face and down his sides. The grass rushes beneath him in a green, scratchy blur. His heels kick out clods of dirt as he runs the length of the dragon’s evergrowing shadow

Three.

The dark line of pines speeds up to meet him. Individual trees jerk and shudder in his view. Hiccup stretches out his hand, despite it making his run even more junky. 

Two.

Hiccup’s hand reaches out and touches the rough bark of the first pine. He makes a little gaspy cry of relief. The safety of the woods is there! He made it!  Which meant, he wouldn’t die immediately. But he couldn’t stop now. His hand slips off the pine and he staggers further into the shadows.

One. Time’s up, my little morsel. The Green Death opens his eyes. Now… Where are you? Are you over there? Hiding in the woods?

Hiccup stares behind his shoulder through the bunches of green needles as he stumbles exhaustively on. The Green Death shifts. He hunches, like a hawk, and his wings outstretch to their widest, dizzying extent. He seems to move deceptively slowly, as unfathomably big things in the distance do. His head bows, his scapula pull together, and in one repulsively slow movement, like the lurch of a slug, the dragon springs off his feet, beats his wings and launches into the air.

The dragon’s wing beat sends a wave of howling, screaming air that smashes into Hiccup and flattens the trees. Hiccup flips head over heels and sweeps across the ground. He digs his fingers into the mud and lays flat as the wind barrels over him, but then the ground begins to tremble and shudder and jump up and down like its coming alive. Hiccup loses grip, and spirals back like a dead leaf in the wind. The pines sway and some bend so far they snap and collapse into their neighbours. Hiccup snatches a branch and the needles cut into his palms.

Despite the chaos of the moment, Hiccup can’t help staring at the mind-shatteringly colossal dragon as he soars overhead like night chasing day. It’s a sight that makes him think: How can something so massive, so unbelievably heavy, escape the pull of gravity? Why doesn’t it fall right down on top of me?

The wind passes over with a hiss, and continues on to rifle through the woodland ahead. The pines surrounding Hiccup gently sway back to their vertical positions, and Hiccup slides off the branch. 

Where are you, my morsel? Are you hiding in the trees?

Hiccup winces at his bloodied palms, wipes them on his trousers. He searches between the gaps of the canopy, and spots the Green Death circling an area of woodland not half a mile to the East. His wing tips leave a trail of puffy clouds, and the sun rays dazzle of his slick, scaly back… but Hiccup doesn’t have time for dragon watching. Even if The Green Death was the most fascinating dragon he had ever seen. No. The woods were only a temporary hiding place. He had to get out and find the others. He starts staggering forward. They could put their heads together and come up with a plan to get out of this mess, to get off the island… At least that’s what Hiccup told himself… secretly, maybe subconsciously, he just didn’t want to die alone…

He glances once at the Green Death, and is about to tear his gaze away when he catches something awful.

The Green Death’s jaw drops open. His open mouth is black, gaping hole, and from that black, gaping hole pours a column of liquid fire. The fire guzzles from the back of his throat, chokes over his tongue and cascades over his front teeth, and falls from his mouth like sick. It spreads as it falls the high high distance from the dragon’s gaping mouth to the ground and douses the woodland. 

Burning bright orange flames burst from the trees. The woodland screams and claws at it’s burning branches. Thick, black plumes of smoke billow out, smelling like burnt wood and fire. Hiccup stumbles back, and leans his back on a trunk. Heat rolls over him, warming his cheeks. He’s completely dumbstruck.

The fire spreads, and The Green Death does not break for breath. He continues to pour the liquid fire from his mouth like a deadly, flying waterfall. He’s still half a mile away, and the flames have not yet spread to Hiccup, but soon enough the Green Death will be over him too, drowning him and everything in roaring orange flame.

Hiccup feels a pang of grief and guilt knotted tightly together. The woods he had grown up with, the woods he had led the dragon to, are burning up before his very eyes.

And the loss of the woods reminds him of all the other things he’s lost.

He shakes his head. He couldn’t think about that now. He kicks off the tree and runs. He tears through the trunks another mile until the woodland thins out. Further on there’s an open field that leads to the bog and then onto the wrecked village. Hiccup checks over his shoulder to see if the dragon’s looking his way, and sprints out of the cover of the pines and over the next field with the flaming, smoking woodland at his back.

Chapter Text

Hiccup ran up to his father’s partially burnt hut, swung open the door and slammed it shut behind him. The rafters shuddered and one of the beams fell to the floor with a thud. The bear skin rug was curled and black where the flames had touched it, and the room smellt of burnt oak. The throne, the bed, and the breakfast table were all in their usual places but now paled with ash. 

‘I’m home!’ Hiccup cried as a sob caught his throat.

He pushed off the door and crossed over to the large iron hatch in the ground. Its lock had been broken off and lay half hidden in the grey ashes of the cold hearth. Hiccup wished good fortune on whoever had broken it. He knelt and grabbed the iron handle but the hatch wouldn’t budge. Is it too heavy for me? He tried with both hands. Is it jammed? He took out his knife and sliced around the first edge of the frame before he recalled the lock. Is someone holding it back?

‘It’s Hiccup!’ He slammed his fist on the iron. ‘Let me in!’

He yanked the handle again. 

The Green Death soared above with empty eyes, endlessly pouring the liquid fire from his jaw. He swept over the hut. Everything inside went orange as the flames smothered the exterior like a thick blanket. Hiccup jolted back from a lick of fire roaring through the shrunken wood work. The roof whined as the weight of the blaze bore down, and the rafters crackled as the fire made its way inside and crawled all over them.

Hiccup got up and stomped on the hatch. 

Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and into his collar. The bright orange flames danced on the walls and reflected in his eyes. 

‘If you do not let me in–’ the smoke filled his lungs and he coughed uncontrollably. He stomped on the hatch some more while coughing into his fist, but soon the smoke became too thick to see and too hot to breathe. He collapsed to his knees. 

He reached out to where he thought the iron handle was and curled his fingers around it. It was hot like a pan, but Hiccup yanked and the hatch flew open and he launched himself inside. The hatch fell with a crash behind his heels. 

He tumbled down the cool dirt steps to the main basement. Stoic The Vast had built the basement during Hiccup’s childhood. It was meant to be a sort of ultra secure underground safe for all the splendid treasure and riches Stoik was sure he’d accumulate through his pirate and viking exploits but it never got much use other than as a wine cellar.

Above ground, the hut finally collapsed into a heap of black beams, making a truly dreadful sound as the wood hit the iron hatch. I hope I can lift it open with all the debris on top of it, Hiccup thought, or I’ll be trapped down here. 

He sat on the bottom step hugging his knees, waiting for his headache to pass. I’ll have to wait for the debris to cool down before I try anyway. In the pitch black, it was easy to find the embers that still clung to his clothes. He brushed them off onto the floor, and watched the orange glow before it went out. 

The Green Death probably thinks I’m dead now. I can use that to my advantage. If I could slip away and deliver a message to The Meatheads or The Bog-Burglars, ask them to form a huge army that could take out The Green Death…

Hiccup let out a long breath through his nose. All their boats, even The Blue Whale, had been destroyed. To get the neighbouring islands he would have to swim. The Green Death would spot him and kill him. 

Hiccup didn’t want to think about it anymore. Instead, he thought about how thirsty he was. His throat felt like a dry tunnel leading down to a pit of gurgling acid. He got to his feet and blinked in the darkness. 

Waving around the dark his palm met the rough grain of a wine barrel. They were kept on two parallel shelves in the main space of the basement, Hiccup knew that. His father had taken him down here a few times when he was a lad to play ‘hide in the dark’. Back then the basement hadn’t felt so cold and empty. Hiccup trailed his hand down the circular front of the barrel to the tap, put his lips to it and drained off some of the wine. It was bitter. It was then he noticed his knees were on something soft and plushie. He pulled the blanket to his face and wiped his mouth. Oh right, Hiccup thought. Someone is down here with me.

The silence suddenly felt threatening. Hiccup felt that all-too-familiar prickling at the nape of his neck, but it wasn’t of much locational use; the Somebody could be anywhere, not just behind him.

‘Who’s in here?’ 

His voice was weak and scratchy. 

‘Who’s in here?’

The silence thickened, but then, in the far corner, there came a light scuttling. A muffled scratching like talons against wood. A bump, a shift, then nothing.

‘H-h-hiccup?’ 

Oh my Thor. 

Hiccup scrambled to his feet and ran to the far corner as quickly as if he could see. He grasped the rim of an upright barrel in his hands.

‘Toothless?’

‘Hic-cup!’

  It was clear by the sound of the dragons shrieking that he was crying desperately.

‘G-g-g-get m-me out of h-here!’ 

‘Okay, Toothless, I will. I will.’

The dragon slashed his claws on the interior of the barrel. 

‘GET ME OUT! GET ME OUT!’

‘I am, Toothless! I am!’

Hiccup got hold of the barrel’s  round top, and used all of his strength to slide it off. 

Toothless hopped up, his scales glowing slightly green like a glow-worm, and perched on the barrel rim. He yawned, then:

‘W-w-where were you!’ Rubbing his eyes. 

‘I’m so sorry, Toothless. I thought you had retreated with the other dragons. I had no idea you were trapped down here.’

‘You should have known!’ 

Hiccup winced at the piercing octane in which Toothless screeched. 

‘How did you get in there, anyway?’

‘Stinking Fireworm tr-tr-tricked me!’ Toothless’s glow flared with emotion. ‘T-t-toothless was in that b-b-barrel for y-y-years! And the only thing to eat was p-p-pickled haddock!’

‘Oh, then, that’s a relief, you love pickled haddock.’

‘I HATE PICKLED HADDOCK!’

Hiccup didn’t feel a whole lot of sympathy for the dragon. Toothless could only have been in there for a few days, and by the look of his droopy eyes and lazy demeanour he must have gone into one of those long hibernation-like sleeps. It couldn’t have been all that bad.

‘Y-y-you leave T-t-toothless in a barrel while you go off on a boat trip and have the time of your l-life! SELFISH! Why couldn’t I go on a boat trip? It’s not f-f-fair! You have all the fun!’ 

‘Fun?’

For a second, Hiccup was appalled at even the assumption that anything that had happened in the last few days was ‘fun’.

Banished.

Attacked by dragons.

Gaining an ugly scar across his face. 

Returning home only to find his home destroyed and his entire tribe dead. 

What did Toothless know? 

‘Yes, Toothless. I am sorry you had to go through that.’ 

Hiccup studied the dirt floor within the circle of neon green glow. The end of a worm was wriggling on the surface. Hiccup crouched, pulled it out of the earth and fed it to Toothless. 

It was while watching the little dragon chew on the worm that an idea struck. ‘A message.’ He whispered. ‘Toothless, I need you to do something for me and it is very important.’ 

He held the dragon like a little glowing lizard. 

‘I need you to take a message to the Bog Burglars. It’ll be a long flight over the sea but I’m sure you can handle it, Toothless.’

The dragon swallowed his last bit of worm, and turned his snout contemptuously. 

‘Why sh-should I do anything fo-for the m-m-mean master?’ He sniffed harshly. ‘Master never does anything for me. Master leaves me in a barrel.’

‘Toothless, people's lives are at stake,’ Hiccup whined. ‘Oh Thor. Please, for once in your life, could you just do what I ask?’

That was the last straw for Toothless. 

‘Toothless doesn’t want to. D-d-do it yourself. Toothless has been in that barrel for too long– deserves a snack and a nap and a warm b-b-bed b-before I is expected to do an-anything.’

Hiccup felt a rise of dread slither up his spine.

‘I can’t get you any of that now, Toothless, but I promise once we’re all safe I’ll get you the warmest, softest bed you can imagine, and a crate of winkles, and anything you want but–’ 

‘T-toothless is-is g-gunna smell like pickled haddock for the rest of his life! And Master doesn’t even care!’

‘-but I just need you to do this for me, Toothless, it’s important. Can you do it for me? Pretty please? I need you to do it because you’re the smartest most speedy little dragon this side of the archipelago, no other dragon could do it. Come on, Toothless, come on.’

‘Toothless is the b-bestest dragon,’ the dragon agreed. ‘But the b-bestest dragon does NOT send messages!’

Hiccup hadn’t anything to say. Toothless, on the other hand, had plenty. His pink gums flashed on and off as his mouth jabbered, spilling out complaint upon complaint. Stacking them up, smashing them down to make room for more. Blaming Hiccup, Fireworm and the world for treating such a sweet innocent dragon like himself in such a cruel way… And a realization crept into Hiccup.

My dragon is the most ungrateful, disobedient, petulant little lizard I have ever met.

And he suddenly decided to try a new approach.

‘M-m-master doesn’t appreciate Tooth-MMPH!’

Hiccup wrapped his hand around the yapping snout, dropped the dragon into the barrel, and quickly shut the lid. 

‘Right,’ he said sternly. ‘You are going to deliver this message, or stay in that barrel indefinitely… and you're going to do it not for any soft bed or crate of winkles, but because I told you to, understand?’

It hardly needs mentioning that this took a long time for the dragon to wrap his head around, but eventually Toothless agreed, and Hiccup let him out.

‘Mean mean master,’ he mumbled.

Begrudgingly, he perched on Hiccup’s shoulder. The neon green light flushed from his scales and coloured one half of Hiccup’s sooty, worn face. The other half was in shadow. The green light illuminated down to his chest, but there it faded out. It was anyone’s guess whether his legs were still there or not. Eaten by the black. 

Toothless went slack jawed as he noticed the scar for the first time. His big, dopey eyes flickered across it. He gulped, and looked away, suddenly a lot less sulky on Hiccup’s shoulder.

Hiccup took a deep breath. The basement smellt like wet clay. 

‘That wasn’t so hard now was it,’ he whispered, more to himself than Toothless.

His body ached. His neck, his back, his legs. He stepped backwards, felt the dirt wall with his fingers, and slid down to the floor. He groaned and closed his eyes. 

‘M-master?’ Toothless chirped softly. ‘What about the–’

‘We have to wait for the debris cool off.’ His eyes kept shut. 

His heart pumped miserably in his chest. His stomach stabbed with hunger and residual fear. He felt like crying, but couldn’t summon the tears. 

There wasn’t anything left. His father. His tribe. His home. His beauty. 

And there, tears started to spring. How silly is that? His cracked face was the least of his problems right now. In all the chaos, Hiccup hadn’t managed to check his reflection yet, his appearance was a mystery. He raised a shaky hand to feel across the scar. Flaky, ruptured skin. Up to his temple–across the bridge of his nose– down towards his jaw. Hiccup The Unbearably Ugly, that’s what Snotlout had called him. Hiccup The Unbearably Ugly. The tears dried up. Hiccup lowered his hand to the floor, where Toothless nuzzled his snout into it.

With a groan, he stretched out his legs, and they clattered on something. It was a wooden bowl. Hiccup studied it in a small, wondering way. Smeared his finger through the left over porridge. It was still mushy. What reason would this bowl have for coming down here? The blanket, too.

‘Oh right,’ Hiccup said distantly, as if in a dream. ‘Someone is still down here with us.’

Chapter Text

‘Who’s there?’ His back pressed into the dirt wall behind him.

The stairway was directly opposite some 20 feet away. Two sets of racks sat facing each other making a sort of corridor straight down to the stairway. The air was so thick with dust it looked like swamp gas. Hiccup dragged his gaze along the green tinted kegs stacked on the green tinted racks, his eyes catching on each dimly glowing tap. Toothless scuttled into Hiccup’s arms. His scales throbbed with the soft phosphorescence that didn’t quite reach the corners of the basement. The corners were void black, and there was no doubt that in one of them someone was hiding.

‘Are you hurt?’ Getting to his feet. ‘Say something and I’ll help you.’

The dirt walls dampened his already muted voice. No answer. Whoever it was had been listening in to Hiccup’s gibberish dragonese without comment, lurking just out of sight. They had held back the hatch when Hiccup had begged to be let in, and only let it go at the last minute. Why? Hiccup hoped it was a survivor from the Green Death’s first attack, injured and suspicious, perhaps his father or mother, Gobber, or anyone other than that one person, that one boy who had vanished after the first futile search, the one who when everyone else had gathered together at Fishleg’s hut, hadn’t joined them, and instead went off on their own to Thor knows where.

‘Where’s your sword, Useless?’ The voice had an edge to it. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost it.’

It was Hiccup’s turn to be silent.

A shuffling came from the far right corner. Hiccup’s eyes darted towards it, and watched a shadow rise up from the floor. The shadow’s shape was obscured behind the kegs.

‘Are… are you alright, Snotlout?’ Hiccup asked hesitantly. Without thinking about it, he hugged Toothless closer to his chest.

His shadow moved past the kegs and into the gloomy green haze. He stood between Hiccup and the exit, the gleam playing off his helmet, his belt buckle, and the pommel of his sword.

He unclipped his dagger and tossed it over where it fell at Hiccup’s feet. ‘Pick it up.’ Hiccup picked it up, and Snotlout drew his own sword. ‘You can’t ever say I didn’t play fair, Useless.’ 

Hiccup had the dagger led uncommittedly on two flat palms, Toothless had snaked up to his shoulders. ‘Why have you given this to me?’

‘Because,’ Snotlout spat, ‘one of us won’t be leaving this basement alive. You take that dagger, you little runt nobody, you take it and aim right for my throat. I’ll allow you that, Useless, and in exchange I expect you extend the same courtesy to me… and we’ll each take our chances.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Snotlout.’

Snotlout took a harsh breath through his flared nostrils. The green bounced off the whites of his violent eyes. 

I already have, Hiccup realised, all of this can be tracked back to me. Snotlout’s reputation was ruined by striking Hiccup. If Hiccup hadn’t gotten them banished they could have helped their tribe. His face contorted with guilt. He still held the dagger as if he didn’t want to touch it.

Snotlout clenched the hilt of his blade. His breathing came short and shallow as he regarded his opponent. At that moment, he felt such a foul, amalgamated blend of emotions, he couldn’t tell one emotion from another. 

‘Do you know how gross you look?’ He took a step forward.

Hiccup reached one hand to the wall behind him.

‘I mean, have you even seen your reflection in all this time?’ 

Snotlout raised his polished blade up to the level of his chest, and Hiccup met his reflection. Maybe the green lighting made it look worse than it was.

‘Oh Thor.’ Hiccup’s hand trembled around the dagger.

For a moment, Snotlout frowned at the floor, then:

‘Come on, Useless, don’t you hate me yet? Come at me! Kill me!’

‘I don’t hate you Snotlout! I understand why you are angry, and I am sorry.’

‘It’s kill or be killed, Hiccup.’

‘But it doesn’t have to be!’

‘And I’m saying it does!’ Snotlout charged to cover the last few feet between him and Hiccup. The green light rippled off his helmet, and his sword looked like a sharp blade of grass. With a second to react, Hiccup fell to the side, and Snotlout’s blade plunged hilt-deep into the dirt wall where he had been. 

Hiccup crawled behind the kegs. ‘Go, Toothless,’ he whispered, but Toothless shook his head and dived down Hiccup’s waistcoat. The glow diminished, but Hiccup’s position was still painfully obvious. 

Snotlout glanced at the kegs, put a foot up to the wall, and pulled out the blade. 

‘Do you think I WANT to kill you? You don’t kill because you want to, you little nerd, you do it because you HAVE to. You think you’re so smart but you don’t even know that. Your father knew it, I know it. That is why I will make a better chief than you. You don’t only die for your tribe, you kill for it.’

By now, Snotlout was around the back of the kegs, and he slashed his blade back and forth into a blur as he advanced. 

‘I can’t kill anyone,’ Hiccup pleaded. He scrambled back with his palms, muddying the short dirk dagger still clutched in his hand. ‘Don’t make me do it, Snotlout. I already feel guilty enough.’

‘Guilty?!’ Snotlout’s blade swung too far and embedded in the wood of the keg. Dark wine trickled out of the breach, ran down the grain, and drip-dripped from the base. 'You won't kill me because you're afraid of how it'll make you feel? You're such a whiny little loser.'

‘Of-course, the tiny little heir was forged by the hands of Odin! He should not feel guilt, for he is never guilty.’ Snotlout aggressively yanked at the blade but it was caught. Hiccup got to his feet and ran around the kegs and up the stairway. 

‘YOU THINK YOU’RE SUPERIOR TO ME? YOU THINK YOU’RE ABOVE IT?’ Snotlout was now yelling to be heard. ‘Oh Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, what a saint, what a hero,  he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, get this, Worthless, you’re nothing more than a tiny speck of violent viking scum like the rest of us– you’re just not as good at it!’ Snotlout yanked the blade free and dark wine sloshed onto the earth with the sound of spilling. 

Hiccup glanced behind his shoulder, laying the dagger by his side, then back to the large iron hatch above him. He reached up, hesitated, and then curled both hands around the handle. ‘Gagh!’

His hands flew off instinctively, almost sending him tumbling backwards down the steps. His palms and the crooks of his fingers were white with burnt skin. Which meant, the debris of his old house had not cooled off, and had heated the hatch to a grilling temperature. 

Snotlout appeared at the bottom of the green-tinted stairway.

‘Snotlout, listen,’ Hiccup begged, turning around to face him in the cramped space, ‘if I am stopped here the Bog-Burgalers will never know we need help.’

Snotlout started creeping up the stairway, his blade poised protectively across his chest. His eyes never left Hiccup’s. 

‘Snotlout, It is my responsibility to give Toothless the message so he can pass it on, I am the only one who can communicate with him.’ His burnt palm fell on the hilt of the dirk dagger by his side. ‘If I die here, that’s the Hairy Hooligans done. The Green Death will pick us off one by one.’

‘Well, la-di-da,’ Snotlout said. ‘The Useless has a plan to save us all, too bad he’ll never get to show it off.’

‘Snotlout, this is for the sake of everyone who is left of our tribe.’

‘If it is so important, Hiccup.’ Snotlout scowled. He was nearing the top step; Hiccup could see the hairs on his upper lip catching in the phosphorescent light. ‘Kill me, nothing’s stopping you but your own inflated sense of honour.’ 

Hiccup’s jaw went slack with terror.

What happened next seemed to move in slow motion. The blade flashed a viscous grass-green as it tore through the air. The wet of Snotlout’s teeth glimmered, and his hateful narrow eyes reflected the horrified image of Hiccup. In that image, Hiccup gripped the dagger. He had to do it. He ducked below the swing of the blade and it scraped across the iron hatch, causing a shower of red hot sparks. He drove forward, eyes clenched shut, and pushed down with both hands and all his weight on the hilt of the dagger. It puncture flesh. There was a terrible searing sound, and Snotlout's mouth fell open in a silent scream. Then a harsh intake of breath. He shoved Hiccup back with the palm of his hand, his foot dropped down a step and he steadied himself with one hand on the wall. Hiccup wiped his face, panting hard, and stared at the dagger hanging in the meat of Snotlout’s armpit.

‘You-’ Snotlout’s speech was woozy between breaths. ‘You really– don’t know anything- about killing someone– do you?’

It was true. That wound was hardly fatal. The dagger had gone in just below his collar bone, slipped across the curve of his ribs, and curved out so the bloody end was peeking from his armpit. Like an over-zealous piercing. 

Hiccup shuddered with fear. That was his last chance. He’d lost his only weapon. Once he recovered, Snotlout would attack again.

Snotlout’s head bowed and his breathing came shallow and soft. A line of blood trickled down his arm. The frayed cloth around both the dagger’s entry and exit wounds was soaked with blood. 

But not enough to die from, Hiccup thought. You should have gone for his heart. Your mistake has not only killed you, but everyone else. 

He regarded Snotlout; his fingers were slipping from the hilt of his sword. Of course, Hiccup felt sorry for hurting him… but he also felt sorry that he hadn’t killed him. He was right. A chief kills for his tribe, and Hiccup had failed. Right then and there, huddled in the cramped green-tinted stairway beneath the iron hatch, he promised to never make the same mistake again… as if it would matter now.

The sword slipped and made a damp thud on the earth. 

Hiccup looked up in bewilderment. 

‘Wooooo,’ Snotlout said dizzily, as if he was recovering from a spin-ride. ‘That– that–’ 

And his left knee buckled. His hand trailed down the wall and he fell backwards in a wobbly, teetering way. He went limp, head-below-feet, on the incline of the steps. Hiccup stared in disbelief. Laying there with his eyes closed and his chin tipped up, Snotlout started to snore. 

‘By the stringy beard of the great god Odin,’ Hiccup smiled. ‘He’s fainted.’ 

It would be a very strange thing to happen–adrenaline usually kept a person wide awake during a fight– but Snotlout’s mother, Fainting Freda, had a certain disorder, and Snotlout must have inherited it. 

Snotlout’s chest rose and fell on each loud piggy snort. The rumbling made the hilt of the dagger wiggle back and forth like the end of a worm as it stuck out from the meat of his armpit. 

Hiccup stifled a giggle. 

‘M-m-m-m-master?’ Came the trembling voice of Toothless from inside the waistcoat. ‘I-i-i-is ev-ev-everything o-okay?’ 

‘Everything is fine, Toothless, don’t come out just yet.’ 

He could at least spare Snotlout the dignity of not being cackled at by Toothless.

‘O-o-o-okay….’

From there it was relatively easy. Hiccup used the sword to lift up the hatch and then hold it open. He and Toothless crawled out and through the warm ash and blackened stumps of the burnt hut, and scanned the sky for the Green Death. Then they sprinted across the open field that had its grass burnt to stubs. Constantly checking the sky, they crept their way to Long Beach where Hiccup guessed the remaining Hooligans were taking shelter in the cave. 

The basement would have been a good hide out, but Hiccup didn’t want to risk being there when Snotlout woke up.

Chapter Text

Check the inky sky. Clear. Sneak shadow to shadow. Tread softly through the twilight so as to not make a sound. Duck between the junipers. Hiccup’s skin prickled and his heart beat fast. The Green Death thought him dead, and he’d like to keep it that way.  

Hiccup crouched in the shrubs. A star twinkled behind the dark swaying branches, and  the breeze blew up from the beach sweet with brine and salt. 

The other men must believe myself dead the same, Hiccup thought. An exhilaration  washed over him. He liked being dead to the world. It was a freedom. For a second he considered aborting his trip to the cave, listing the woods free and forgotten till the end of days. But that wasn’t an option. Check the sky. Lock sight on the store house. He scurried across the star-lit clearing and slithered through the door that creaked a welcome.

He blinked in the interior dark. Toothless whiddled up from the waistcoat and sniffed the barny air. Kegs of milk credit to the goats, may they rest in peace. All the eggs in one basket that Hiccup left be, hoping some had plans of hatching. Strips of hanging meat. Hiccup stuffed his pockets, packed his helmet, and hitched a keg up under his arm. 

Then he left the store house, feeding a slither of raw pork to Toothless. 

Toothless gulped and quietly smacked his lips. 

‘Shhh!’ Hiccup hushed angrily.

Toothless huffed, and peeled out of the waistcoat. Hiccup watched him flitter like a bat up ahead towards the dunes. A toad croaked in the night-time.  Frowning, Hiccup waited till Toothless was a blip before creeping on himself. Thor forbid his lean taste of death got spoilt by the dragon.

Sand whipped over the crests of the dunes. It was the light, dusty kind that got caught in your tear ducts. Hiccup rubbed his eyes with his free hand as he trudged along the beach. The sand swallowed his ankles on every step. The tide-line lay high, the waves lapped, and the sea shimmered like ink. 

Far too soon, the cave slid into view from behind the jagged rocks, and Hiccup paused. Firelight danced on the stone roof and the trenchy sand beneath. Voices echoed out. As Hiccup predicted the men were holding out inside. Afterall, the cave was much safer than Fishleg’s janky out-house. 

He hitched the keg and pressed on. The angle increased until Hiccup saw directly into the cave. The men were huddled around a drift wood fire, their shadows thrown against the smooth stone walls. There was eleven there of the remaining thirteen of the Hooligan Tribe. Excluding Snotlout presumably still dreaming in the basement and Hiccup staring in like a bruised and emaciated scarecrow. Some stared up from the flames. Hiccup felt like he was about to lose something forever. 

Gladius rose to his feet. ‘Haddock!’

‘Hiccup?’ That was Fishlegs. ‘Oh brother of Thor.’

‘Haddock! Get in here!’

An all-too-familiar breeze lifted Hiccup’s hair. He looked up. Above, The Green Death swept across the sky, blocking out the stars. Hiccup gulped, levelled his gaze, and stepped forward. 

…

Inside the cave, Hiccup explained his plan and the boys listened with unwavering attention.

(The boys:

Thaddeus Nuts.

Fishlegs.

Wartihog, Clueless, Speedifist.

Gladius Glum. 

Tuffnut Jr. 

Killjoy, Greg, Ballsuck Jr, and Dogsbreath.)

Hiccup’s voice was hoarse like a man who had run miles without water, which in a way was true. He was uncomfortable; he cleared his throat between every few words, couldn’t meet eyes with his audience, and shuffled his feet. And this is why: 

The boys were desperate. They sat around the campfire like men stuck in a bunker. There was no hope! What did the boys have now their families were gone? What were they to do? Before Hiccup had turned up, their eyes flickered left and right, searching for ANYTHING to bring them out of the hole they were in. Then when Hiccup arrived, of course, their gaze set to him. Their saviour, supposedly. The person who would tell them what to do, when they didn’t have a clue. And this, the fact that the boys were fragile and frail and desperate and would follow him anywhere, this made Hiccup squirm.

Hiccup finished his ‘speech’ and the boys nodded respectfully.

…

Gladius un-corked the keg and dished out milk to all the men. Clueless had no drinking horn so Gladius sloshed milk into his helmet. Hiccup limped, handing out jerky.

The last piece went to Clueless.

‘Thank you,’ Clueless said in a very quiet voice. ‘…Chief.’

Hiccup recoiled. He did NOT like being called chief. Especially so soon after being predominantly called ‘nerd’ and ‘freak’ and ‘runt’. He turned, and paced back to where Fishlegs slumped against the smooth stone wall and Toothless pounced at the sand fleas. 

‘Why are they acting in this way?’ Hiccup said, sliding down the wall. The men had looked at him with hope, reverence, respect… 

‘What’s happened to them?’

Fishlegs sniffed. ‘The same as you, Hiccup.’

His blurry eyes stayed glued to the sand between his feet, and he continued to chew his jerky in silence. Hiccup scrunched and unscrunched the hem of his shirt. 

‘But we’re okay,’ he whispered. ‘We’re okay.’

By his heels, Toothless cocked his head to listen. There might be an opportunity here to use his master words against him. 

‘Ma-a-a-a-ster?’ he wheedled. ‘If we are okay, I guess Toothless doesn't really need to take that message to the Bog Burglars, does he? Toothless can stay here, can’t he? …Where it's warm and there's plenty of grub.’

‘Sorry, Toothless, you will still need to deliver the message.’

‘Rats!’ Toothless hissed angrily. His cloying smile immediately dropped. ‘I have to do EVERYTHING! Why doesn’t Master just d-d-d-deliver the message, if he is so in love with it? Why don’t he just MARRY IT! Lazy stinking land-walker making his poor ittle dragon do everything ALL the time. Toothless betta get a BIG reward for this.’

‘He will,’ Hiccup smiled. At least Toothless was acting normal. He went to pat the dragon’s head but Toothless snubbed him, and flapped off to the fire to snag more sand fleas. 

Hiccup’s fingers twitched where they hovered in the air. ‘He’ll be back,’ he said, and leaned back on the smooth stone. ‘Then I’ll teach him enough Norse to relay the message to Big-Boobied Bertha. She’s the Chief, that’s what father said.’ 

Fishlegs watched his friend mumble to himself. 

‘It’ll take a day for him to fly to the Bog Burglar Bogs,’ Hiccup yawned, ‘and another to return.’ 

His eyes drooped and the fatigue finally hit him. 

‘The Bog Burglars will bring an army… take out the Green Death… save us…’

His words trailed off, and sleep took him. He bowed his head like a puppet and a line of drool poured from the corner of his mouth. 

Fishlegs watched his friend.

‘Unless they don’t,’ he said to himself. ‘Unless they can’t, unless they fail. And what if they simply don’t want to? I know I wouldn't.... Oh brother.’