A whistle...
"Nightfury! Get down!" shouted Findar as he jumped to cover his wife and son.
*BOOM!
Findar felt himself thrown off to the side.
His ear rang incessantly, while heat licked the edges of his vision. With a shake of his head and a breath leaving him in heavy waves, his brown eyes blinked out the spots and what he saw made his blood run cold.
Fire. His home was on fire. He snapped towards the bed and saw his son and wife, more unconscious than asleep with blood dripping from Yrsa's forehead.
Grunting, Findar picked himself up, only to stumble on a knee. Pain shot through his leg with a groan, and he looked down to see splinters planted along his calf.
His eyes turned to his wife and kid and felt renewed strength filling him. His eyes hardened, his blood felt cold and with a suppressed groan, he picked himself up and limped towards them.
Every step felt like a mile, threading a path carved of rocks and flames. Yet he moved, feeling as if Hel was just a step behind. Till the groaning of wood reached his ears and dust fell in front of him.
His breath hitched just as his eyes widened to look up and see the roof about to collapse. Held up by a lone pillar about to snap in half.
With a loud roar against pain and one that echoed of desperation, he reached his wife and son. And then *bang! thundered the pillar as it snapped.
Findar could see it fall as if slowly motion. His lips snarled beneath his blonde beard and mustache. His eyes shone through his fading golden locks. His scarred arms flexed, fingers went rigid with his legs bent just right and just as the roof reached him, *Hn!!! he grunted. As he raised his arms against the gigantic debris.
*Bam! *groan~~ went the wood as it slowed significantly, its lower momentum crashing loudly against the viking. Halted by the bulging muscles of the father of the house.
Findar gritted his teeth against the offending wooden logs. His head bowed, arms and legs flexed and his feet felt like they were digging through the soles of his boots
The groaning of wood continues, dust filling his neck and hair, the noise kept rattling his ears along with the cracking of fire somewhere outside of his vision. Till with a loud *thud! the groaning stopped, and the weight of the roof lessened considerably.
"...Findar..." Yrsa whispers, snapping his attention to his wife, trying to shake the confusion away.
"Yrsa, love. Are-are you alright? Can you move?" Findar mutters calmly, careful of his form as he could still feel the weight of the roof shift slightly.
"I-I'm..." Yrsa mutters before her eyes regained its focus and widened at the image of her husband. Bleeding and frozen like a statue holding up the world. "My lo-love..."
"Listen to me Yrsa. The roof will cave... I can felt it, I can hear it." as if to accentuate the situation, the roof *groan! loudly. "We will be trapped here in minutes. I need ya' to take our son and go..."
"I...I can't just-"
"Woman." Findar nearly spat out. "The only way out is through that window." Yrsa turns to and saw the window... closing slowly as the roof groans lower and lower, causing several wooden beams to slowly pile to block the entrance.
"Go." he urges, making Yrsa hold back a sob as she gathered her unconscious son in her arms and slowly crawled their way to the window.
A *Crack! of woodmade Yrsa's heart leap with the window suddenly blocked halfway through by several planks. She sped up, refusing to turn to the loud grunt of her husband. And just as she shoved her son out and herself through the dust covered hole, she turned to her beloved and froze...
How... she asked herself. Her mind went blank just looking at him, see how far back into the collapsed room he was.
How is she going to get himself out of there. Her breaths left in fast and rapid heaves, her eyes became misty with unshed tears and all she could do was look around finding... no one.
Nothing but fire and the distant clash of steel, wood and screeches and roars.
"Findar-"
"I'll be ok love." he tries to reassure, his voice slipping through the lone path to safety. But his shaking arms, spoke otherwise. "Go get help for Fishlegs. I'll be here-"
"No! NO! NO! HELP! HEEELLLP! HELP US PLEASE!" Yrsa shouts and screams, as she carries her son forcing her legs up and seek aid.
"Yrsa-"
"PLEASE HELP! MY HUSBAND!"
"Yrsa..." Findar whispers till a loud groan made them pause.
Yrsa's mind was still in panic. She then softly laid down her son. Grabbed a broken wooden pillar and hefted it, planning to place it at the entrance just to hold the roof long enough for her husband.
Til a shout came just beyond the hill.
"Nightfury! Get down!"
*Whistle~~~ *BOOOM! went the nearby catapult and *swoosh! went the air.
Yrsa's eyes opened and found herself curled down and end up crying as she noticed how she had abandoned her husband, jumping to cover her son.
"Go love." Findar whispers as if carried by the wind to her hears. "Go... and live."
—.—.—.—.—
"Har!!" grunts Stoick as he pushed off the Nadder's talons pressing down on him. He rolled on his back. And stood when he felt no heat, no sound and no shift in movements.
Stoick took his stance, ready for the next clash. Waiting for the aged old dragon to make his move.
Sounds of battle slid into his ears and in his peripheral, he saw others fighting off various dragons on the lone plain fields.
Stoick had led the men to the barn, hoping to fend off Dragons away from the yaks and various stored furrs, crops and even dozens of sheeps. But when he arrives and found nearly half a dozen dragons circling and screeching at the barn instead. It made his heart leap with hope.
It was working he thought. His son's plans and discoveries were working. And now... now they just need to keep the fighting to them. And so they crashed into the fray, engaging six dragons with his men. And him brought to a standstill against an 'Olden-One'.
A title bestowed to those of Dragon's who had survived far– far too long.
Stoick snarled against the Nadder's screech. Hefting his Warhammer as his eyes drunk in the various scars, old and new, that adorned the body of his old foe. But now... now he could see it.
Not the demon, not the devil, not the monster he had always known.
But a warrior. Old, proud and brave.
Stoick flared his nostrils, spun his warhammer into a steadier grip, tightened his helmet, grabbed d his shield from his back and sent a nod at the beast.
As if in response, the Nadder screeches loudly while billowing its fire upwards. It refocused on Stoick, stomped one of it's feet and dug the spikes of it's wings to the ground. The Nadder now poised forward like a beast of four legs instead of two, ready to charge at him.
Heat exploded in his chest and a sense of pride filled Stoick, unable to fight the toothy smile gracing his face. And with a warcry of his own, he charged forward to meet his enemy.
—.—.—.—.—
The Nadder moved with the joint spike of its folded wings grazing against the grass. And just as Stoick swung, it jumped back spun with its tail aimed at the man's torso.
Stoick parried with his shield, not stopping and swung his warhammer down. Only for the Nadder to jump, its horned snout meeting his Warhammer prematurely. And flexed its talons dropping down on Stoick, who rolled to the side.
He pulled on his warhammer and flowed with the momentum. Swinging wide into a spin aimed at the Nadder's knee who instead jumped back.
Its tail flexed and hurled spikes. Stoick blocked while closing the distance as he dragged his warhammer. The Dragon breath fire, yet Stoick didn't relent and with a flex of his arm, he swung his warhammer diagonally from below.
Landing with a loud *bang! Like a hammer to a rock against the Nadder's jaw. As the Dragon's head was hurled back. It flapped its wings with such strength, that Stoick who stepped forward to capitalize was hurled on his back.
The sound of unsheathing blades simultaneously reaches his ears and he curled behind his shield that was pattered by Nadder spikes. Landing against his shield, his pauldrons and even his helm that was blown off. He felt a stinging pain and saw a thin trail of blood on his bicep and another on his thigh.
He saw the orange light first, before he felt the heat and he rolled just in time as dragon fire burst and swerved in his running form just a step behind.
He ran in curved path towards the dragon who stoped its flames when Stoick was close enough, and again, met the viking with its tails flexed, wings at the ready and fire still licking the corner of its mouth.
The two danced against each other. Kept a good distance from other fighters who could only watch with great unease as their Chief fought a Dragon that could actually keep up with him.
They fought without mercy. Each strike intended to deal great harm or kill. A crash of a hammer here, a shield there, met with a spike and fire, sometimes both at the same time.
In minutes, the two stood paces apart. Both injured and bleeding in various parts. With bruises adorning the Nadder in both the legs and belly. And fire licking Stoick's furr, both around his boots and his back.
They stared at each other, both heaving heavily with frost leaving Stoick's lips and embers from the dragon. With a flare of their nostrils, and a snarl at each other, neither seeing the smile they seemed to share. Stoick flexed his arms and legs, and the Nadder flexed its wings and tail ready for the clash.
Til–
*Boom! Exploded a heavy fireball, landing at a young Zippleback's side. Bringing the dragon rolling on the ground in pain.
*ROOAAAHG!
Vikings and Dragons turned to the source and flying not far from them appeared Meatlug. Snarling and swerving as it approached.
The Gronkle landed next to the vikings and roar's once more against the Dragons.
Confusion, doubt, uncertainty... all undone in the face of a collective threat. With a shake of their heads, and a roar of their own, the Vikings resumed the clash and this time, they were winning.
—.—.—.—.—
They won....
"""""YEAAHHHHHH!!!!!"""""
Stoick watched as the Dragons flew and left, none of which carried any price but a handful of sheep, no more.
Stoic then runs to the Barn, and opens the doors to find all the animals there.
"Someone make count of the animals. Make sure all are accounted for."
"Aye Chief!"
"A need two more to check on the place. Make sure for unchecked fires and snuff it out."
"Got it Stoick!"
"The rest of ya! Round up these Dragons!"
"Chief. Would it not be easier to just kill the beast?" asks one.
Stoick paused and turns. His eyes scanning the face of every warrior near him. And while there are those who were with the same thought, he didn't miss the fact that there are those who felt uneasy, those sending glances at a certain Gronkle and one more person standing in front of it, as if shielding the dragon with his glare.
His indecision felt heavy. Not answering would be a mistake but... so was saying yes.
He could feel it in his bones–
"Please Stoick! There must be a better way!"
A whisper of a memory. And for the first time in years, he could actually hear her voice, her beautiful hair and bright green eyes.
"No." the words left his lips like a breath, and with a deep one, he straightens his back and answers. "Berk has not known a victory as grand as it is today. I will not throw it away out of hate. Of fear. Of doubt."
Stoick turns to his men an spoke. "Taking them in? I agree, is a move rifled with uncertainty. We do not know them! They! Do not know us! But perhaps... it is time that we do. If one Dragon could mean victory for Berk, then we will raise more! To finally win this war! For another way! Another path! One of uncertainty and hope! And with the usual viking occupational hazzard! We! Will! Prevail!"
*ROOAAAHG! """YEAAHHH!!!"""
Stoick looked at his men. Each raising their weapons, some couldn't contain their emotions but most still hears him. Most understood him. And while there are those who were frowning and those confused, he was fine with that.
He is a Haddock! and a Haddock knows change never comes easy.
"HEEELLP!"
Stoick turns to the village, recognition filling his eyes. "Yrsa..." he whispers.
*ROOAAAHG! roared the Gronkle and behind the dragon is Stoick arriving at a collapsed home. With its mother and child, just at its doorstep.