The scent of smoke spilled through the cracks of the wooden gate. The sound of battle sounded even from afar. With screams, shouts, and war cries mixed with the clanging steel as if accompanied by the dust in the air.
Fishlegs Ingerman held back a whimper as the nine year old boy held on to his mother. A beauty even by Berk's standard. Long wavy blonde hair flowing at her back with three braids draped over her shoulder tied by decorated straps with a dragon tooth dangling on each end. She has the motherly figure of most women. Buxom, slim waist and wide hips and thick legs but none for show.
Her arms were muscled, showing the strength she wielded as she earned her braids and honors. Her legs were just as strong, and her hips and breast... well, gorgeous and appealing. She was muscular for a woman, exactly what the men of Berk liked only falling short to in comparison to Big Boobied Bertha.
Yrsa Ingerman had been foraging for food to store when the Warhorn erupted. She could not help but regret bringing her son with her, believing they still had a day before their enemies came. Now she finds themselves trapped, unable to reach the Great Hall and forced to take shelter in one of the cells of the Dragon Pit.
The scraping of boots against stone made her flinch, she grabbed her son by his mouth. Grasping at the whimper as she moved further back, hiding behind the things stored within the holding cells.
The sound of rattling chains and the groan of wood echoed against the four stone walls. And then a yell, "Hold! Look! They stored their things her' aye'!"
Laughter responded, letting Yrsa know there were three men too many within the Pit. She ducked low as the gates holding their cell was pulled open.
"Hmm... wonder why this one wasn't closed." said an Outcast.
"They must've 'ave been in a hurry."
"Hn! Check the others. We have to set the Dragons free."
"Would it not be better to kill them?"
"You idiot! Chief wants them to sew chaos in the village! Kill one and I let Alvin know!" one of them grounded out.
As the rattling of chain continued, Yrsa gripped her son, ducking lower as she heard foot steps entering the cell.
"Hehehe... pretty things." Yrsa clenched her fists hard. While holding her breath as the Outcast drew closer. Inspecting every item within, running his hands through tapestries, carpets, decorated chairs to chests of gold coins.
"Barken!" shouted an Outcast from outside. "Third one's loot too."
"Then open the fourth cell!" Barken barks out.
"No-" Yrsa clenched her hand hard against her son's mouth. Her heart stopped as the sound of steel being drawn reached her ears.
"Come out." Barken commanded. But Yrsa didn't budge. "If I come to ya' I kill ya'."
Yrsa silently moved further in. Dropping her son in a box at the corner and draping tapestries atop him. She then knelt in front of her son. Silently signaling him to keep quiet. With a kiss at his forehead, she grabbed the nearest weapon, a sword, and crept away to the other side. While clenching her heart at what she was about to do.
—.—.—.—.—
Fishlegs was shaking in fear. His heart felt like it was trying to freeze itself and whatever warmth touched his skin felt sizzling. He closed his eyes. Dreaming of better days.
Of their early morning routine. A hearty meal, his ma' and da' laughing and being overly sweet as always. How his father would encourage him to train when he could but never forced him to.
And with that last memory, he felt a pang in his heart as his father's sadness, and disappointment flashed before his eyes.
He was no true viking...he knew that and the more he watched another... the more he was made to see the gap.
Fishlegs felt his heart melt and grow cold. His eyes drooping down, eyelids heavy and all the colors dulled. 'He' was no older than them and yet... he tried. He truly did, tried to run like 'he' did, tried to train like 'he' did, he swung a sword and shield like 'he' did and yet...
And as he saw his mom and dad grace 'Him' with their gratitude. Fishlegs felt envy.
But he was an Ingerman and if there was anything they were good at, it is that they learned from their enemies and their friends. So he followed 'him'. To learn 'his' secrets 'his' strengths and -a memory flashed through his mind bringing back envy in full force... but also a curiosity and hope.
Hope that all that they about them.... was wrong.
That his place in his home had simply been yet to be found. This was what he wanted, the source of all his courage.
Steel clashed against steel. Unable to stop himself despite the shaking of his round frame. Fishlegs stepped out of the covers and as he crept to a view of the Pit, he peered at the fight.
His mother engaged an Outcast but despite her attempts, she could not strike him down. And when his little eyes saw the mocking of three others at the side, his heart froze. He shook his head shaking away any thoughts and unsteady breaths, clenching his cold hands and flexing his shaking feet. He willed his eyes away, sneaking around the things to the edge of the cell.
He hugged the wall. Threading silently at the sides till he saw it. The entrance wide open.
"""Hahahaha!!!"""
The laughter of the three men pierced his ears and heart, till it grew cold with his mother's shout. "GET OFF OF ME!"
His spark of courage exploded into a burst of flames, spurring his heart into action and with fear and desperation, he ran for the fourth cell.
"Hey! Stop!" shouted an Outcast.
But Fishlegs didn't listen and with the lever within reach, he jumped and pulled it down.
*Bam! Clink- clink-clink-clink *Bam!
Relief flooded him for a second till Fishlegs yelped as he felt a hand wrapped around the back of his neck. He then saw the ground slowly distance itself from him and in an instant, he was too close that it was all he could see.
The world instantly changed. He felt his head reeling, spinning and shaking from it. He could feel the bones in his face. The cold stone floor felt too hot for his liking with the taste of iron touching his lips and tounge. His eyes blurred and slowly came to focus with the muffled sounds filtering into his ears.
And with shapes slowly returning. His eyes refocused, finding himself down at the ground while his mother's shouts felt like wool pressing softly against his ears. But his eyes, he couldn't stop them from leaking with tears as he took in his mother's desperate expression as she tried to free herself off of two Outcasts. Her only free hand used to claw it's way to him.
Despair slowly crept around his heart, as if clenching in pain for every beat... till a familiar rumble pierced it all.
The confusion in him slowly faded, and his senses returned as the soft pattering of feet reached everyone's ears. All paused and turned to the fourth cell and from its shadows, a Gronkle appears.
It stood there tilting it's head as if confused. It's attention changed from one person to the next. Slowly snarling at every weapon that grazed it's vision. It was when it saw Fishlegs that the dragon paused.
It raised it's tail, wagging in joy. While it's tounge lolled out, smiling as it shook at seeing a familiar face among the crowd, one that used to watch him with a smile of wonder.
Fishlegs whimpers, his feelings conflicting chaoticly and with one more attempt and with every bit of courage he has left, he did as he saw Stoic did before. He raised his hand, palm forward, fingers closed and waited as the dragon slowly made it's way towards him. It flew aloft, flying gently towards him only to plant it's belly against the stone floor as it sniffed his hand. Smiling at the familiar joy.
The same hands he had been using as he secretly fed it with fishes. And as his hand touched the Dragon's snout, he felt the world explode in both warmth and colors.
Strong and unyielding like a rock but warm like the fire of the hearth. In the dragons comforting presence, Fishlegs whispers.
"Help... please."
The Outcasts looked horrified, silent and bewildered at what was happening. They were now seeing a practice they had believed to have been limited to another, only for it to now show itself at one of Berk's.
And with a whisper, Barken said the word that solidified their fears.
"... witchcraft." the word jolted them back to reality. "Kill 'im!"
The Outcast atop Fishlegs raised his axe. "Fishleeeegs!!!" his mother shouts and-
*Booom!
Fishlegs felt his his lungs heave as the man was blown away.
He rolled on his back, eyes turning to see the outcome. Only to see a charred corpse with a caved in chest laid sprawled lifeless against the corner of the Pit with blood spilling from it like broken barrel.
Bile rose to his mouth and in the stunned silence. The Gronkle's smile faded. Replaced by a snarl so wide, its teeth looked like it bore rage and anger. And with a stomp of it's heavy tail that cracked the ground as it kicked up the dust and a snarl leaving it's still smoking mouth. It roared, loud and heavy. And then it flew like a batterimg ram, only this time, no gates were there defend the Outcasts.
The two Outcasts that were stunned jolted enough just in time to see the dragon charge.
Its body moved like a rolling boulder — low, heavy and unstoppable. The first raider barely raised his sword before the Gronkle collided with him. The man flew through the air like a thrown log, his breath torn from him in one violent grunt before his back cracked against the stone wall.
The Barken scrambled for a shield while Yrsa twisted her legs up and kicked the last man off her, scrambling back as the dragon landed beside her with a snort.
It stood there, head low, wings flared wide, growling between her and the raider.
The Outcasts looked between the beast and their fallen ally and finally to themselves. And with a nod of understanding, the two hefted their weapons for a fight while Yrsa readies her sword.
The air was tense, both sides measuring one another. And as the thrown raider groaned into consciousness, a warhorn erupted.
Loud, heavy, and booming.
And while the Outcasts grew pale, Yrsa smiled and said. "The Chief! Is home!"
And they ran leaving their comrade behind.
The Gronkle didn't chase. It turned to her, slow and curious, and sniffed her hair with a low hum. Yrsa, wide-eyed and shaking, simply stood rigid. Letting the dragon satiate it's seeming curiosity. And as it saw the sword in her hand, the dragon paused. Eyes wary, shifting from the weapon to her. Yet Yrsa also noted another peculiarity.
It is that the dragon continues to shield her son from her own eyes. She gulped down her fears and she straightened herself, she sheathed her sword while holding her hand just as her son did. Only to gasp at the warmth and hum of strength as the Gronkle pressed her snout on her hand.
"…Goo-Good boy," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Behind them, Fishlegs sat, only to feel surprised to see the Dragon plop itself right next to him. Gone was it's snarl, replaced by a wide smile. It's roar replaced with the low hum of satisfaction. And it looked to him... like a puppy waiting to be complimented.
"G-Good job!" Fishlegs shouts with a bit of crack in his voice. But the hammering of his heart told him how happy he was nor did he care if the Dragon could see his tears. For now, he was thankful and that was enough for him.
With the Gronkle, still wagging its tail as it gently nosed the boy's arm as if checking for damage. His mother walked towards him with slow and deliberate steps. Her hand found his face, tracing every inch of it, and with a blur of movement, hugged him fiercely. Embracing her son in the warmth of her bossom.
And as the Gronkle plopped itself at her back, she leaned tiredly. Sighed in relief. Closed her eyes in peace and said.
"Thank you... for saving my son."
—.—.—.—.—
The sparks flew with every blow. Their ferocity was so dangerous that any man died just by getting close.
Gobber the Belch and Alvin the Treacherous clashed relentlessly in the middle of the square. Gobber's axe met Alvin's, their face snarling at one another. With a shove, the two separated but Alvin pressed back quickly before Gobber's peg leg could stabilize his footing.
Gobber spun back as he redirected an overhead swing. And rolled away as Alvin swung horizontally. Gobber grabbed a stone hammer from the ground, and attacked with his Axe Hand, locking Alvin's weapon in place. Alvin kicked but Gobber merely met it with his knee and swung with his hammer only for Alvin to duck low, punching Gobber by the gut who headbutted him in return.
The former teacher and student clashed beneath the shadows of the burning village. Their weapons remaining steadfast as themselves yet despite their desire to kill each other... a warhorn erupts from the distance.
Loud. Heavy and Booming. The familiar warhorn that announces the Chief's return.
Alvin suddenly felt uncertain, silently signaling for a retreat. Gobber on the hand has a smile on his face and an evil glint in his eyes and with a loud warcry that cut through the whole village, he shouts.
"THE CHIEF! HAS COME HOME!"