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Chapter Text

Written by Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, the last of the great Viking heroes

Translated by Layla Tess (because Cressida Cowell should have done this but for some reason did not #pissed ( Edit: now she is!!! AHHHH!!!))

There were dragons when I was a boy. Tiny little nano dragons hiding in the heather, great sea dragons gliding through the deep waters of the Atlantic, invisible sky dragons flying so high they seem to touch the very moon with their wingtips. Sitting at my desk, as I do now, an old, old man so far away from that boy I once was, it is almost hard to believe. How on earth could it have been possible for creatures so large, so impressive to really exist? And by Thor, how was it that humans and dragons used to co-exist in the same world? Looking out of my window at the rebuilt once-ruins of Tomorrow, filled with bustling Vikings and not much else, it seems impossible to this old, frail brain. My ink-dyed hands shake as I write this, the thin fingers of my left hand now grasping a pen instead of a sword. But if I look up, I can see the lost things scattered about the room, reminding me of those adventures so long ago. The lessons of my childhood, still reminding me every day of what it means to be a leader, a king. And if I look carefully, I can see the claw marks on the Roman shield, the burnt edges on the hilt of my old sword, Endeavour. Crucial evidence I didn't imagine the whole thing. And, of course, there's Toothless. Sarcastic, loveable, infuriating Toothless. His perch on my windowsill is scratched by his claws- once tiny, but growing. One day he will grow to the size the Dragon Furious once was, a sheer mountain of hardened scales and raw power. But I know, in my heart, he will always be the same miniature, gummy little dragon I found in my basket all those years ago. 

I have already written about those years in journals, and locked them in a chest. I hope, someday, that someone from the future will find them and read them, and they will become a better hero than I was. However, I both rejoice, and regret, to say that there has been more to my young life than those eventful years. Collecting the ten lost things, learning to train a dragon, to sword fight, to speak dragonese, defeating my childhood nemesis; Alvin the Treacherous; these things filled my young life. They shaped me into the king I became that fateful day on the isle of Tomorrow. But I must confess, dear reader, that day- both dark and joyful- was not the end, but the beginning. The ordeal I, and so many others, went through, as a slave, as a warrior and as a child- for that is what I was- was not the darkest period to grace the seas of the archipelago. My kingship would go on to be a tumultuous one. Viking politics would develop (truly as hellish and confusing as it sounds), battles would be fought, and new wars would have to be won. I would have to grow up a lot more before I was ready to face the future. So, before my old, old heart finally gives in and I have a hero's death, there are a few more stories I need to tell. Some nights I can feel Valhalla calling me. The voices of my beloved, brave parents, and many old friends I made along my adventures. And on the coldest nights I hear my cousin Snotlout's voice, telling what I must do before I go to my final rest. That I must pass on the knowledge I have gathered throughout my long life. 

I know I have been putting this off. Reliving the best, and darkest years of my life has been something I've left in my nightmares for too long. So now, I will dip my quill in ink once more and hope, dear reader, that someone such as you will find this one day and learn from my mistakes. But I must warn you to be prepared for what is to come. We are now leaving behind the years of my childhood, and entering a new world. One with a lot more fear and horror than ever before, so hold tight to your courage and trust in hope, for it is the greatest magic mankind will ever know.

I will leave you with one last request, dear reader; don't feel too disappointed in my young self. We all make mistakes. I just hope you learn from my own as I have. I will begin where I last ended... The Night of the Black Star, the 12th day of doomsday.

Yours sincerely,

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III

Chapter Text

Hiccup still didn't believe it. Not really. The entire thing had to be some kind of dream he would soon wake up from, probably half dead on an island somewhere. But no, he could definitely feel the sharp pinch of Toothless' claws against his shoulder as the little dragon snored there. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore, mingling with the sound of Toothless breathing and the Windwalker's contented sighs. Hiccup had left the ruins of the old hall to find somewhere quiet, tired of the raucous celebrations and exceedingly drunk Vikings. It was a good tired, though. One that made his bones ache with happiness, knowing he could finally, finally rest. As the moon reached its peak in the cloudless sky, Hiccup struggled to process everything that had happened that day; waking up on Hero's End with no memories of how he got there or who he was, making his way to Tomorrow in a half-sunk boat, dragging himself up to where the coronation was taking place, somehow getting himself crowned instead of Alvin, and then fighting the dragon Furious. And the decision they'd made together. A tiny, injured runt of a boy-king, and mountain of muscle, teeth and fire power, making the decision they both hoped would save dragonkind for ever more. To make the very idea of dragons existing into a myth, a legend. To leave behind the years of slavery, war and loss and make something new, for a new world. 

As he heard the wings of a great dragon above him, invisible against the night sky until it materialised into a seriously huge triple header deadly shadow, with two very small humans on its back. Camicazi of the Bog-Burglars and Fishlegs No-Name, his two best friends. 

"Hello Hiccup!" Camicazi called down, her untameable blonde hair whipped up into thousands of knots around her face.

"We thought we'd find you here." Fishlegs peered down at him, a smile on his face. He looked the calmest he'd been in quite a few years now, and it was slightly too dark to tell, but Hiccup could have sworn his overpowering eczema had already faded just a little

There was a shuffling on Hiccup's shoulder and little claws dug in with annoyance while a sleepy voice said,

"S-s-selfish humans waking up poor Toothless after he's just spent the whole d-day being a hero."

"Yes I know Toothless, well done." Hiccup patted the small dragon as Toothless leant his tiny frame into Hiccup's head contentedly. 

Hiccup cracked a smile at his friends as they clambered down from the Deadly Shadow's back.

"Hello Hiccup." "Hello Hiccup." "Hello Hiccup." Arrogance, Innocence, and Patience chorused.

"You alright Hiccup?" Camicazi asked. Hiccup thought this was quite strange (for Camicazi, this level of caring about someone else's feelings was the equivalent of sending flowers and an emotional get well soon card). "You look like one of those grey, flabby deep sea dragons with nothing in their eye sockets." Nope, there she was, back to normal again.

He held back a laugh, "I'm okay, thanks. I'm just thinking about... everything, I guess." His words trailed off as his mind fell into the pattern of remembering again. Fishlegs and Camicazi sat down next to him, the latter's dragon, Stormfly, curling around Camicazi's neck. She winked at the sleepy Toothless, her tail swishing gently, and he went a deep shade of scarlet, attempted to violently wink back, ended up falling off Hiccup's shoulder, hit his head, and fell promptly asleep. Hiccup picked him up with a sigh, but a smile on his face. His entire world had changed over the course of one day, but of course sweet, stubborn little Toothless was still the same.

"I know," said Fishlegs, "I mean, if you told me yesterday that I'd find out who my father was, fight him, and then help to kill him all in one day... And he doesn't even like poetry. How on earth could he be my father. I was hoping for nice Peaceable farmer,  perhaps, or a maybe a bard, not Alvin the Treacherous of all people."

"I suppose it doesn't matter who you're related to by blood, so long as you choose the right people as your family," Camicazi put out a hand to Fishlegs, and he took it, gripping Hiccup's hand as well, "And you chose us, and we chose you so I think that counts better than anything."

"How touching." Drawled Arrogance, the first head of the Deadly Shadow as Innocence gave him a shocked look and they began to argue about Arrogance's cynical nature and how it would/ would not eat at his soul and corrupt his purpose in life. The third head lay silently in the middle- Patience, for that is what they had to have.

The three children, and most of the dragons, sat silently on the beach and watched the moon path as it rippled over the unusually calm waves. It was as if great Thor himself knew the war was over, and had ceased his torrential rains just for that wonderful, impossible night.

"Everything's going to change now, isn't it?" Said Fishlegs, to no-one in particular.

Yes, thought Hiccup, Yes it is.

Chapter Text

Exactly four years later

Hiccup stood alone at the edge of the world. Well, not really. He knew that the world didn't have an edge, but if there ever was one, he was standing next to it. Rough waves kicked at the base of the cliff, spraying up water to batter the nesting birds struggling to sleep. The mighty god Thor seemed to have gotten bored of the quiet seas he'd graced this day with the years prior, and exploded into a howling gale. The stars were blotted out by thick cloud, and as Hiccup looked up at the sky, he caught a glimpse of the moon, before it was wrapped in mist once more. He held a small candle in his hands, the feeble flame buffeted by the winds, but it did not blow out. It sat in a walnut shell, ressembling a tiny boat, on fire. They had never found Snotlout's body, so Hiccup gave him a walnut candle funeral every year on this day. It wasn't much, and if his cousin were here, he would probably laugh at the stupidity of it. But Hiccup needed to do it. Deep inside, there was still a part of him stuck as that 13 year old boy, watching Snotlout die for him as he soared through the skies on the Windwalker, a hero to the end.

He put his hand out to let the walnut be blown away by the wind, a tiny light falling through the sea spray until it finally disappeared beneath the waves. A proper Viking funeral.

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Old Wrinkly, his wisened, soothsayer grandfather behind him. The old man didn't seem to have changed one bit over the years, still hunched over his walking stick and 'spouting wishy-washy nonsense' as Stoick called it. He walked slowly to his grandson's side and hummed thoughtfully, looking out over the angry ocean.

"Thor isn't happy." He said, in that wisened voice Hiccup had grown to trust indefinitely. Ruling a kingdom as a 13 year boy wasn't exactly something he ever could have done on his own, and Old Wrinkly had been there for every question, along with the rest of his human and dragon friends. He owed them all his life a million times over.

"Something new is approaching, but the ashes won't tell me if it's bad, or good." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

One thing Hiccup hadn't grow to trust indefinitely was Old Wrinkly's powers of foresight. He still hadn't quite let go of the time he'd gone on a deadly quest to save Fishlegs from dying of Vorpentitis, and it had turned out that he simply had a cold, and it was Hiccup himself who was, in fact, dying.

A strike of lightning split the sky ahead, illuminating the murky shapes of islands scattered in the ocean. A few years ago, this view had been one of fire, chaos, and destruction, but after four years of rebuilding and replanting, Hiccup could just make out the edges of buildings and young trees, growing into a new world.

"You should come back before you catch hypothermy-thingy in this wind," (Old Wrinkly was the most astute doctor on the archipelago. Sadly, considering the average intelligence of the every day Viking, this didn't mean much) Hiccup shuddered. His grandfather's remedy for hypothermia was a particularly horrible one, consisting of fish scales, sea sponge and charcoal, "And someone's arrived who I think you'd like to see." He finished with a smile, and pottered off back towards the celebrations.

Hiccup stayed for a second, staring out at the horizon, before turning and following.

.......................

The Great Hall of Grimbeard the Ghastly's old castle had been nothing but ruins the first time Fishlegs had seen it. Looking up at it now, it seemed to be a symbol of all the progress the Vikings had made. They'd used the wood from wrecked ships and houses and although it was a little rough around the edges, it encompassed everything the new world stood for; building something new with the lessons of the past. That's quite poetic really, thought Fishlegs and made a mental note to add it to his latest ballad, 'The Rising Sun Catching Fire and Melting Into Golden Peace While the Ashes Settle on a New Day'- a brief summary of the end of the war that only took two hours to recite now he'd whittled it down. 

It was considerably warmer inside and Fishlegs, for the first time in about 20 hours, felt a little dryer. He had been a little worried ( 'a little worried' for Fishlegs was a few thoughts away from a panic attack) that he wouldn't make it this time. The storm had tossed his little ship all over the place until he couldn't quite believe it was still afloat. Horrorcow had fainted, but by some miracle, he'd made it. His occupation as a traveling bard (the only traveling bard. Vikings didn't tend to approve of poetry- it didn't include enough character building, or alcohol) meant he was away most of the time, and didn't get to see his friends as much as he'd have liked. Luckily Fishlegs was a fan of quiet alone time. In fact, most of his life these days consisted of quiet alone time, which he decided had been gifted to him by the Gods after many years of very very loud time. But the Day of the Black Star was something he would never miss for the world. There was an agreement between him, Hiccup and Camicazi that they would always be together on that day, to remember, and grieve.

"Fishlegs!" He spotted Hiccup immediately, his lopsided crown, still slightly too large for his head, glinting in the firelight.

"Hiccup!" And just like that, all the cold from the storm melted away and he was hugging his best friend. To tell the truth, Hiccup was more like a brother. They'd grown up together, and survived together- everything from trivial bullying to being half-dead slaves to winning a war. They understood each other in ways noone else ever would.

"How did it go?" Asked Hiccup excitedly. For a moment Fishlegs had no idea what he was talking about, his memories blasted away by the storm, and then his usually-constantly-slightly-depressed face broke into a smile.

"It was the first time no-one laughed at me!" He said enthusiastically, with an optimism that was rare for Fishlegs, "I remembered the whole thing, and I think Princess Helena might have glanced at me for a second." His face took on a dreamy look.

Hiccup frowned at him, "Camicazi just rescued you from the last time you got imprisoned by a warrior princess's father."

"I know, I know. But it's good to have muses, you know? On the way here I was trying to think of rhymes for ginger to distract myself throwing up. Where is Camicazi by the way?" He looked around for their small, viciously blonde friend, who was usually quite easy to spot, or at least hear, in a crowd. But Fishlegs didn't see a single concussed Viking looking for their mysteriously missing axe anywhere. He turned back to Hiccup, who was now looking worried, but clearly trying to hide it (it was never a good idea to look worried around Fishlegs. He tended to catch it like a disease).

"She's not here yet, but you know Camicazi, she'd probably off somewhere swindling some gold from a Roman and'll be back in time for the pickled cheesecake." (Yeah. I know. Unfortunately Alfonse the talented but emotional french cook was no longer present to advise.)

They went to sit down in a quiet corner together and talked and talked about what had happened in the last months. How the first dragons were starting to disappear, how the newly established 'democracy' was going- here's a hint, only Hiccup himself had got the grasp of pronouncing it yet- and Fishleg's newest poetry which took up the majority of the conversation due to its staggering length.

......................

The hours flew by until the moon was high in the sky and Camicazi still hadn't turned up. It seemed she would miss the pickled cheesecake after all. As the minutes ticked by and the candles burned low, the time approached for Hiccup's speech. It had become an annual tradition ever since the day he first stood up in front of the peoples of the Archipelago and changed the course of history. As always, he avoided the bloodstained throne he'd always regarded as slightly cursed and sat atop the large rock next to it. He pulled a small green whistle from his pocket and blew it gently. If you were watching him, you might think he was a little mad, as the whistle made no sound whatsoever. But dragon's ears are of course a lot more sensitive than our imperceptive human ones, and Toothless launched from his perch by a gargantuan cauldron of stew, and flew over. His face, and even some of his tail, were covered in sticky brown sauce, and he had on a very disgruntled expression.

"I was just in the m-m-middle of a very nice meal thank you very much," the tiny dragon stuck his nose righteously in the air as he landed on Hiccup's head, letting drops of stew dribble over the crown. Toothless leant over, putting his upside-down forehead on Hiccup's so that his hypnotising green eyes glared into his master's, "And you p-p-promised that Stormfly would be here."

"I don't think she'd be very impressed to see you in this state." Hiccup sighed, plucking Toothless off his head and doing his best to rub the greasy essence of venison-and-whatever-they-could-find stew from the crown, "This is centuries old Toothless!"

"Well it's n-not the most important Lost Thing, is it?"

"Of course not Toothless." Hiccup gave in to those enthralling eyes and scratched him on the head, "So, as the most important lost thing, would you mind getting everyone's attention please?"

"Toothless is v-very good at getting attention." Nodding sagely, he took off into the air and opened his jaw in a shrieking COCKADOOODLEDOOOOO so painful on the ears it shocked the hall into a resounding silence.

"Thank you." Hiccup whispered in dragonese, and Toothless flew away to find something else to eat.

The boy-king looked out at the crowd of red-faced hairy Vikings and felt his palms begin to sweat. Although it was generally an important quality of a king, he'd never quite gotten used to public speaking. The first time he'd done it was six years ago*, when he, Humungously Hot-Shot and Camicazi had ended up in a kind of ball game to get his father's firestone so they could warn everyone about the thousands of deadly super-sense dragons about to raze the Archipelago of all life (Read the book. It's a long story). Surprisingly, (or not so surprisingly, Vikings weren't generally known for their astute talents for attention to detail) no-one had listened to him then. But now, as he sat alone on the rock, now they listened.

"Tribes of the Archipelago," he began, "It is an honour to welcome you once more to the Day of the Black Star celebrations."

Cheers erupted across the room.

"In these past four years, we have come so far. We have rebuilt our homes, our villages. Adjusted to our lives once more, even after the devastation of the war. We could have let what happened destroy us, we could have carried on enslaving people, caging dragons to do our work for us. But we did not. And that is the true extent of the Viking spirit. We will always fight until the very end for a free world, breaking the chains of that dark time to live in a better place. Let us not forget however, the sacrifices made to get us to where we are. Each and every one of us knows what it is to lose our friends, be they dragon or human. Four years ago today, my cousin Snotlout died for me. Died so that we could have this chance, to hold on to hope even when it seemed none was left." Hiccup spotted Baggy Bum the Beer Belly, Snotlout's father, sobbing over his roast chicken as Stoick patted him on the back. It suddenly hit Hiccup, how he was older now than Snotlout would ever be. He struggled to keep his voice steady for a moment.

"And I will never forget how he died; singing the song of a hero, riding the winds with a true heart and a brave soul. How we should all aspire to live. I-"

He was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash above and the ceiling gave a great shudder, before a cascade of planks came tumbling down. There were screams as people and dragons scrambled to get out of the way and a large pearlescent shape with something on top of it crashed violently through the ceiling. It smashed into a table, which luckily had been vacated, as it crushed everything in its path. Hiccup was frozen, terrified. Was this a second dragon rebellion? Was it not over? Was it some kind of descendant of Alvin the Treacherous come to exact revenge? But no, as his limbs finally began working and he ran towards the thing, he saw it unfurling its bruised wings and showing its face. It was- some kind of dragon? As Hiccup got closer he saw the shape on top of the dragon was not, in fact, a thing, but a girl. A girl with wild blonde hair, an excess of armour and... was that blood?

"Camicazi?" Fishlegs got there the same time as Hiccup and they stared at her with a combination of confusion and horror.

"Camicazi?!" A loud foghorn of a voice echoed from the other side of the room, and Camicazi's mother, Big-Boobied Bertha, began to bound towards them. She was too late however, as Camicazi murmured something like,

"Not my blood... Romans... Lock and key." And then passed straight out.

*I might be wrong about that I cant remember if How to twist a dragon's tale was after A heros guide to deadly dragons and his 12th birthday

Chapter Text

Many hours earlier

Camicazi had first killed a man when she was 15. She hadn't told anyone for two weeks and then showed up in her mother's bedroom in the middle of the night and cried until morning. The second time had been somewhat accidental, but the nightmares had lingered for months. She wasn't quite sure if today would constitute the third time, but she was indefinitely prepared for it. It was raining, hard. The Romans weren't used to it like she was, and they shivered in their ranks, their polished boots sinking into the mud of the courtyard.

Camicazi was irritated. It was getting late, and her fingers were starting to cramp from holding on to the rafters. And she had somewhere to be tonight. She thought longingly of the roaring hearth and hot stew waiting for her at home, and promised herself a large helping of every single dish. If these stupid Romans would just move for once instead of standing there like insufferable soulless statues, maybe she could avoid developing hypothermia and actually do what she'd come for.

It had all started two years ago when her fourteen year old self had gotten so bored with hunting deer and teaching sword fight manuveurs to veritable toddlers that she snuck on board a spy expedition. By the time she'd been discovered, it had been too late to send her back, and she'd charmingly convinced them to let her come (Camicazi's charm is very unique; it involves constantly talking at the victim in question until they give in). By the time the small group had completed the mission, she'd known. It was what she was meant to do. Nothing else had ever suited her quite like it. It was stealing, but on an empiric scale. She'd spent two years feeling somewhat purposeless; while Fishlegs was busy rewriting history into legend, and Hiccup was constantly occupied learning to be a king, all she'd had to do was practice fighting enemies that no longer existed. But here was something she loved, something literally noone else in the Archipelago was better at.

It had taken endless persuasion and a lot of aggressive optimism, but eventually the elder council had let her. Once the silly and baseless arguments that she was 'still a child' and 'couldn't even understand Latin' had been crushed, it had all begun. Lonely flights on the Windwalker half way across the world to find mysterious jewels, stealth missions to infiltrate Roman palaces, intricate disguises that often involved oversized moustaches. Even dragonese and Latin lessons with Hiccup and Old Wrinkly, which, unfortunately, Camicazi had taken to like a duck to a boiling vat of sugar, but still gave her all at.

Of course, it hadn't all been sunshine and rainbows (who am I kidding? Neither of those things exist in the Archipelago). By the age of sixteen, she'd seen things that would make the common teenager (and this is saying something, teenage Vikings are not delicate creatures) run screaming in the opposite direction and/or faint. Horrible things, things only the pure cruelty of the human mind could possibly imagine. And she'd had to do things, too. Some of which not even her own best friends knew about, for fear they'd never look at her in the same way again. Her involvement was a constant battle between her mother, her older sisters, Hiccup, Fishlegs, and herself. It was her mother's point of view that (as Camicazi interpreted it) she should be wrapped in cotton wool and have a constant platoon of six foot Viking warriors following her around just in case she tripped and stubbed her toe. Hiccup and Fishlegs were both of the adamant opinion that she was far better at strategy than at hand to hand combat and should use her talents by being on the council (they had given up on the route of convincing her to care about the 'made-up and stupid' concept of safety and instead persued the idea of strategic flattery, which Camicazi enjoyed mightily, but took absolutely none of to heart). The council disagreed with this almost as much as Camicazi did, although she did appreciate the acknowledgement of the extensiveness of her skill. Her older sisters, however, seemed to be the only ones to agree with her. Calamity, her oldest sister, had a high up position position in THOR (The Harassing Of Romans committee) and they all agreed that she was vital to their aim. And even her mother had to admit that the information she brought the Wilderwest was invaluable.

So here she was, not so much having the time of her life right at that moment, but certainly passionate. Those Romans had still not moved. Camicazi considered just dropping down there and knocking out as many as she could, but she had to admit that even her insurmountable skill might not be enough to overcome three dozen armoured Romans single-handed. A girl can dream though. She satisfied herself with swearing so vivaciously, and describing in such detail what her heroic, bloody revenge would look like, it probably would have made Fishlegs faint dead away.

Just when the sun was beginning to set and Camicazi was actually considering just jumping onto the head of the soldier below her and giving them a proper whacking, there was movement by the huge iron gate to the front of the courtyard. Finally , she thought. Her body came alive, the aching muscles suddenly thrumming with electricity. It was time.

She began to edge her way across the rafters, trying to spread her weight as much as possible so as not to break the thin wooden bars. As she went, she listened as hard as she could, but the rain still pounding down drowned out any speech. The gate was now grinding open to let a tall woman on a horse through. She was clearly exhausted, half slumped over the horse's back, and clutching a small leather pouch to her chest. There. That was it. Camicazi had spent months doing the work that would lead up to this moment. Finding out as much information as possible so she could get this right. Clearly, she'd underestimated the time it would take to get here from the South, but it had been close enough. She was ready. The horse was still under the the gateway as she arrived overhead. Perfect. All she had to do was wait until the right moment... Now! As a Roman in heavy golden armour put his hand out to receive the package, she let go, and fell. It was a slightly larger drop than she had expected, and the fall seemed to stretch out over seconds, minutes, as air rushed in her ears. But then she was reaching out, and felt the leather in her hand, saw the nonplussed expression on the Roman's face as he stared at her, and ran.

For a moment, all she could feel was the adrenaline rushing through her blood, and the cool rain hitting her face as she sprinted away, and then chaos broke out behind her.

"Child! Child has steals my importants!" Golden boy was shrieking- or at least that's what Camicazi heard (I've already mentioned her lack of innate talent with languages). What she did understand was what came next, "After it!"

It? She thought, first 'child', now 'it'? She had never been very fond of Romans ever since she'd been kidnapped, locked up, and forced to fight to the death by them five years ago, and now her hatred of them was boiling especially hot. Once she got away, she would make a note to come back to this particular fortress, find golden boy, and hang him by his ears from the walls.

But first she needed to concentrate. Her advantage had been the element of surprise, but now the soldiers had gotten over their shock, she could hear footsteps pounding behind her, and after that, hooves. Camicazi was very fast for someone who had never quite reached 5'5", but even she could admit that outrunning a horse was beyond her. Fine, all she had to do was change the playing field. She was the slower one on flat ground, but she doubted the Romans, in their clunky armour, could catch her on a rooftop. The main fortress was encircled by a towering wall, and had only one entrance, which she had just escaped from, but there was a cluster of smaller buildings surrounding it inside a shorter, lengthier wall. She darted towards them, hearing shouts closing in behind her. The wall of the first building approached,and she leaped. Her hands met the edge of a drainpipe and she grinned, pulling herself up. There was no way they would catch her now.

But before she could begin running again she felt something slice across the back of her leg, cutting deep. She cried out in pain and turned to see a sword sticking into her leg, a soldier with a nasty smile on his face at the hilt. With her other leg, she managed to kick him violently in the face, and he fell backwards clutching his nose in agony. The sword slid out of her leg and she gritted her teeth. This would be a lot harder with an injured leg, but she hadn't spent hours and hours training for nothing. Camicazi was always aware of the possibility that she could be captured and they would realise her importance to the Wilderwest. The Romans liked their torture methods, and she wasn't planning on giving up any information that could hurt her friends. She would die before she let that happen. So she'd trained herself to endure pain, to ignore it until it became like a phantom limb that didn't exist. She sucked in a breath, and began to run, leaving a trail of blood as she went. That's gonna be a problem. She thought vaguely, trying not to think about the pain too much. If she did, it would become real. All she had to do now was get past the outer wall, past dozens of soldiers, and meet the Windwalker at their meeting place. Easy peasy. There was also the added problem that there were soldiers now climbing up behind her. Even if she could break out, they still had eyes on her, and she definitely couldn't outrun anyone now with her leg the way it was.

But that was a problem to think about later, because she hadn't exactly been looking where she was going, and suddenly she was falling again. For a second, she was completely disorientated, and then as her eyes adjusted to the light, she realised she must have fallen into the stables. She heard heavy footsteps pounding overhead and realised with glee that, in the confusion of the storm, her persuers hadn't noticed that she was no longer ahead of them. Climbing out of the large pile of hay she'd fallen into, she looked around. It seemed to be completely empty of horses, apart from one strangely white shape hunched at the back of one stalls. Perhaps if she could persuade it out, she could outride the soldiers! She crept closer, still keeping an ear on the yells echoing from above- she knew she didn't have forever before they discovered she'd disappeared.

"Tsk, tsk. Here horsy horsy." Camicazi did her best impression of Hiccup when he was talking to an injured dragon, and tried to look as aprroachable and not-scary as possible. Considering the fact she was now somewhat covered in blood, the effect wasn't very pleasant. As it turned out, however, the horse was certainly not scared of her whatsoever. Since it was, in fact, not a horse. As she approached the gate, a low growling rumbled in the creature's stomach, and it's entire body seemed to coil up like a spring. Camicazi probably should have taken this as a sign not to open the stall and go inside, but she wasn't exactly at the height of her mental proficiency in that moment, and she hadn't eaten in hours okay? Hunger makes a girl do things she wouldn't usually do. By the time Camicazi's addled brain caught sight of the flashing reptilian eyes that definitely, definitely, did not belong to a horse, it was too late.

The next thing she knew, a scaly head was bashing into her abdomen and she was on the ground, winded. For a moment, she could do was stare up into the reptilian eyes, flashing with anger and fear, and then some kind of haze came of her. Tentatively, she raised her hand up slightly, watching the dragon's face for signs of aggression, and, slowly, brought it to rest on the hardened snout. The dragon stared at her in complete... bafflement? Could dragons be baffled? But it didn't attack her. And Camicazi knew what to do.

......................

By the time Camicazi was on the dragon's back and flying high over the battlements, she was incredibly, ragingly, intensly angry. More so than usual, I mean. The poor dragon had flinched away from her each time she'd approached it, and similarly to the Windwalker, seemed to have lost its ability to speak. At first, it had been so terrified of her that it wouldn't let her get up until she carefully removed all the knives from her person. She'd recognised the savage fear in its eyes when it had seen them- the same fear that lived in every person and dragon who'd been enslaved. There were still fresh wounds on its back, refusing to heal, and she vowed to bring it straight to Hiccup as soon as she got back.

They were now soaring over scores of heather and wild grass, leaving the fortress far behind them. Camicazi wooped with joy, and despite the pain still radiating from her leg, she was ecstatic ally happy. The mission was a success; she'd got what she came for, evaded capture with relative ease, and freed a dragon to top it all off. All she needed to do now was call the Windwalker, and fly home. Home. It had been a little over a month since she'd last been, seen her mother, her friends. She missed them terribly, even if she would rather compliment a Roman than say it to their faces.

She blew on the small black whistle hanging around her neck. Hiccup had carved it into the Windwalker for her, and every time she looked at it, it was a reminder of home. As the wind and rain battered at her face, she caught a glimpse of a large black shape descending from the sky. The Windwalker! Camicazi had never really had a riding dragon of her own, and she liked to think that the Windwalker, although it belonged to Hiccup, liked her as much as she liked it.

As they soared towards each other, Camicazi couldn't help but rejoice in how easy it had all been.

And, in the way that all stories must, this one is about to take a turn for the worse.

Picture, if you will, the two dragons riding the storm winds, rain and hail hammering down around them, and the promise of thunder hanging in the distance. One is flying for home, the other for freedom. The small blonde viking on the latter's back is the very personification of glee. Then look a little harder, look at the sky behind the victorious escapees, and you might see it before it's too late. A fourth player. But the two dragons and the girl, they won't. They'll wish for years after that they had turned, glanced back just in case. For if they had, perhaps none of this would have ever happened. But they are all young, and they are all scared. These types of people, and dragons, tend to make mistakes. So, dear reader, we must forgive them this. Everything will be alright in the end... won't it?

Now let us return to the story....

All Camicazi heard before the world shattered was a sharp cry to her left.

And then the Windwalker was spiralling through the air beside her, rapidly losing altitude. Catching sight of a bit of glinting metal poking out of its stomach, she yelled and tried her best to yank the white dragon down to follow. Instead, it whined in terror and put on a burst of speed that its injured body didn't seem capable of. Something streaked through the air by her ear, missing her head by a fraction. Another arrow. She wasn't sure if she was screaming, or if it was the dragon, or just the wind still shrieking around them.

The Windwalker was fading to a black shape down behind them, and as she desperately looked over her shoulder, pulling at the dragon's scales with all her might, she felt something plunge into her back. White hot pain seared into her, but she barely noticed it, still looking desperately at the outline of the Windwalker, now so blurred she could barely make it out.

"Please!" Her throat felt raw as she screamed, hopelessness sinking into her chest like a cold metal weight. She could not do anything. If she jumped, she would die. If she let herself be carried away, the Windwalker would die. For a pain-crazed moment, she imagined Hiccup's face as she told him what happened. That she had let his dragon die. He wouldn't be angry, he never was. He would go quiet, and that would be worse than anything else. No. No. Camicazi would not, could not let this happen.

A burning rage filled her chest, and taking her eyes off the ground, she looked up to see a glint of shining metal, and then nothing. An invisible dragon. It had to be. She didn't stop to question how on earth the Romans had one, or how they had trained soldiers for aerial combat when a few years ago the Romans had understood as much about riding dragons as they did about effective Bog Burglar disguises [please see How To Speak Dragonese for more details], she just leapt.

Her hands scrabbled at thin air for a second, before grasping a scaly foot made of air. This moment would probably be the one where most people would realise how incredibly impossible their predicament was, and start screaming for some means of escape. Camicazi, however, was fuelled by something deeper than loyalty, something even deeper than rage. Although she was incredibly angry, it was the mind-numbing terror at the idea of failure that made her do what she did next.

-------

The white dragon was now watching the proceedings from a distance, her mind torn in two halves about what to do. For one, freedom was close, freedom was here. She was touching it with her outstretched wings, and it had been so long since she had last flown like this. Alone. Unbound. Unrestricted. But she couldn't help but look back at the small Viking, now swinging back and forth from a dragon pelting through the sky. This girl was the only human that had ever shown her kindness, the reason that the white dragon was no longer dreading tomorrow. And what had she said? About the world where she came from. Where dragons and humans were equals. Where they were free to do as they pleased. So the dragon hung, paralysed, watching the fight, and thinking.

------

Camicazi hauled herself up onto the dragon's back with a dagger in her hand and rage in her eyes. She immediately dived at the soldier, crashing a well placed kick into their abdomen. And then she was on top of them, hacking at the armour with crazed stabs. One landed, and when she pulled the knife back out, blood was dripping over her fingers. Good. This was good. This was not terrifying and she did not want to stop. She was angry. This soldier was the reason she'd failed. She wouldn't fail in this. The soldier recovered from her attack quickly, shoving Camicazi away with force. Ignoring the pain now burning from the injury in her back, she sprang upwards and resumed her assault, focusing on the armoured head. If she could just get that helmet off, she could deliver the death blow. She knew exactly where to slice, knew how to break the spinal cord in the most delicate place. As the soldier fixed hands around her throat, she noted distantly how small they were, not anything like the usual six-foot-tall, overly muscled Romans assigned to attack roles. She knew Roman strategy well, and this was abnormal. But at that moment she was too busy being strangled to think about it too hard. She pretended to slump into unconsciousness, and waited until the pressure on her throat was gone before opening her eyes, and grasping the helmet edge. Her knife was at the ready, she was ready.

But as she pulled the armour free, the eyes that looked back at her were nothing like she'd expected. They were warm, and brown and very, very scared. A girl was staring at her, a teenager similar to Camicazi's age. Camicazi held the knife to her throat, paralysed with shock. She heard the girl murmur a few words, something like "I'm sorry, I'll make sure they look after your body. A proper Viking funeral, i promise. ", and then Camicazi was sliding off the back of the dragon, and falling.

..................

By the time Camicazi awoken, she was very convinced she was dead. Her body was a ball of pain, and the world around her was entirely black. And she was cold, so very cold. Something shifted a little beneath her, and her brain awoke slightly to realise her cheek was pressed against something hard, and warm. For a moment, she forgot everything that had happened over the past 24 hours and nuzzled her face into the surface, thinking it was the Windwalker that carried her, and she was safe, flying home from another mission. But then she opened her eyes. And the dragon was white, not black. And a storm still raged around her, the icy wind making her fingers numb with its bite. There were lights in the distance. Small, but warm, like tiny lamps floating in the ocean. They felt like home.

Managing to lift herself up off her stomach, she winced in pain. Her hands were bloody, her calf was still boasting an open wound, and she had the vague suspicion that there was still part of an arrow in her back.

With a sudden shock of anxiety, she reached down to check the bag hanging over her shoulder. Thank Thor. It was still there. And then she began to cry. Well, perhaps not cry, because Bog Burglars never and I repeat never cry. But the white dragon warmed below her, the glow of fire rising deep within its stomach, and it whispered, so gently it might have been the wind, "I caught you.".

The lights were closer now, and even through the blur of her vision, she could make out the outline of Tomorrow in the distance, the vague silhouette of a castle atop its shaggy cliffs. She held tight to the dragon below her, and they flew, both so exhausted that the sea and sky were beginning to merge into one, confusing up with down. The dragon and Camicazi tipped. Lights were spiralling, or were they stars? Waves rose up to meet her, but they were hard. They shattered as she crashed through them. The sun must have risen, because suddenly her vision was exploding with light, and noise, and then silence.

And then her name, three voices calling her name. The voices were terrified. There were eyes, too. They were looking at her, and she tried to explain. She was fine, she had escaped, it was all okay now. But the sky was the ground again, and her skull seemed to be made out of lead, and for what seemed the millionth time that day, she fell into darkness. And slept.

Chapter Text

Hiccup couldn't remember the last time he had been this scared. Well, perhaps he could. Certain situations involving one-on-one combat with an island sized dragon deciding the entire future of the Archipelago came to mind. But this was the first time he had felt that kind of dread since those years had ended. There were currently three things he was worrying about, and when I say worrying, I mean that it felt like his brain was doing back flips inside his skull, and a very strong acid was dissolving his stomach tissue. The first was that his best friend had been in a coma for two days now, and wasn't showing any of the aggressively exuberant signs of life she usually did. To make matters worse, the entire situation had occurred because of her relentless campaign of protecting him, so Hiccup couldn't help but feel innumerable amounts of guilt every time he looked at her, and he also couldn't help thinking that her slightly terrifying mother agreed that it was all, in fact, his fault.

Secondly, Camicazi had returned on a dragon that was most definitely not the Windwalker, and he had absolutely no way of knowing where his beloved riding dragon was until she woke up. The dragon she'd crashed into the roof of the hall was currently living on a tiny island of rock off the coast of Tomorrow, and seemed to alternate between hiding there eating mussels, and flying by the window of the infirmary where Camicazi was being looked after by a diligent Old Wrinkly.

Hiccup had tried, desperately, to communicate with this dragon, but it had refused to speak to him, springing back and flying away anytime one of the Vikings got near. The jagged scars that lined its back had given Hiccup an idea of what kind of treatment it was used to from humans. It reminded him painfully of how the Windwalker had been when he'd first met it. So due to this lack of communication, he hadn't a clue as to whether his dragon was alive or dead, and the pain of the knowledge (or lack thereof) hung in his heart like a lead weight. But he couldn't leave Camicazi until he knew she was okay. The war going on inside his head between worrying about the two of them was pure mental torture, and he felt he was finally coming to understand Fishlegs's problem with decision making.

The third, and final piece of information was (if possible) a thousand times worse than either of the two proceeding it.

I hope, dear reader, you will excuse a short interlude in the story so that my current voice may override my young one. I have already asked for your forgiveness, and in time you will understand why. But at this particular point I must ask for your patience. You see, as much as I would like to recount this tale with the wisdom I have gained over the years, that would be bad storytelling, as Fishlegs insists on convincing me. So I must describe this final, terrible thing with the youthful, and, I must admit, rather stupid, eyes that first saw it. I still remember how my young heart felt as it struggled to understand. And how it continued to struggle in the weeks, and months, and even years afterwards. For some things are so horrible that even a boy who has survived his childhood being torn apart by war, exile, and slavery, is terrified by. Before we return to Hiccup the younger, I have a plea to make. Try to understand. Try as hard as you possibly can. Because the most important lesson I have ever learnt is that understanding each other is a kind of magic that can end wars, and save worlds. Thank you for your patience, and may you have much more of it for the story to come....

The scroll Camicazi had brought back was currently being scrutinised over by the best and brightest of the Viking tribes. And seeing as the brightest of Vikings tended to be classified as those who understood things like what clouds really were (hint: not the very large ghosts of ancient sheep with their heads chopped off), Hiccup had gone a little insane stuck inside a single room with all of them trying to make their idea the very loudest.

He was now sitting on a small pebbly beach with Fishlegs, watching the waves go in and out. They were both very cold, and very wet from the slight but persistent drizzle that was constant to the Archipelago.

"Do you- do you suppose there's a chance you could've misunderstood it? I mean, Latin is very hard to read and that drawing was really quite blurry after all. Perhaps it's just a nice picture of a dragon? -" But Fishlegs was cut off.

"Camicazi wouldn't have gotten herself stabbed in three different places for a meaningless picture." Hiccup sounded rather empty to Fishlegs. It was scary. He hadn't seen his best friend look so grey since... well, a long time ago.

"I know, I just... I don't want to believe it." Fishlegs took his glasses off his nose and wiped the rain off them dejectedly. Staring up at the sky with that distinct Fishlegs I-can't-believe-Thor-hates-us-so-much look, he continued, "Even the stupid weather is rubbing it our faces."

A short silence. Fishlegs looked nervously over at Hiccup.

"But, I mean, we've been through worse situations and come out the other side, haven't we?" If Fishlegs had told his younger self that he would one day be the voice of positivity in a conversation about impending doom with Hiccup, he would have simply radiated cynical disbelief. Now however... he had found himself being the one to comfort Hiccup, and not the other way around, more and more over the years. Fishlegs was now (or had been up until a few days ago) living his dream life; writing poetry, traveling and staying very much out of the way of any kind of conflict that wasn't emotional (this kind was good for what he called his inner poetic spirit).

"This time seems different. I can't explain how, it's just..." Hiccup trailed off his eyes seeming misted over with thought. "I mean, don't you think-"

But he was cut off by a pair of hysterical whoops from high above them on the cliffs, and they looked up to see two blurs of colour streaking through the air. One was a luminous bottle green, and the other orange-pink, the colour of sunrises.

"C-c-camicazi, Camicazi!" Toothless was so excited he could barely get the words out, and he zoomed around and around Hiccup and Fishlegs, so fast that it made them dizzy.

"What is it? Is there something wrong? Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no its something really awful isn't it? Have they translated-" Fishlegs didn't understand the gleeful exclamations of joy in dragonese until Stormfly came to rest on Fishlegs' head and shrieked in his ear in Norse, "Camicazi is awake you brainless slab of human flesh.", showing incredible levels of emotion that were very uncommon to the Stormfly.

She and Toothless took off to the skies once more, hurtling upwards to the top of the cliff. Hiccup and Fishlegs stood in silence for a moment, staring after the dragons with bombshelled looks on their faces. Then they looked at each other, and turned to sprint up the beach. Of course, neither Fishlegs nor Hiccup had ever been ones for short distance running- as Gobber would put it, they were slower than a snail lacking sentience (Gobber unfortunately put it in a rather harsher way than this, seeing as he didn't know the word sentience).

The climb up the cliff was a long one, and Fishlegs's lack of endurance training and extreme asthmatic problems meant they had to stop five separate times to make sure he wasn't about to have a seizure. You might be wondering why on earth two boys, one very weedy-looking, the other astronomically weedy-looking, would possibly want to spend time in a place that took the ascension of something comparable to the Hard Way up Angry Mountain. It's a rather long story, involving Stoic, Baggy Bum, and Old Wrinkly all agreeing (I know, I don't think any of us thought this day would ever come) on the fact that the average Viking's biceps were about as thick as Hiccup's waist, and that he looked like he could be bent in half like a pubescent twig. Strangely this observation seemed to make Stoic think it was causing problems for Hiccup's leadership, and he wouldn't be respected if all his enemies were twice his height and size. Hiccup disagreed. But there is something you must understand, dear reader: wars may be won and world's may collapse, but the ideals of hairy six-foot Vikings will remain unchangeable.

Talking of the ideals of hairy six foot Vikings, let us return to our dearly beloved vicious blonde who had just narrowly avoided becoming one.*

----------------------------

Camicazi was rather surprised to find herself still alive when she woke up. And she was almost as surprised at the paradox at her bedside. Her mother crying. Her mother. Crying. Those two things together didn't seem to compute in Camicazi's mind as she stared dumbly at Bertha, the indestructible mountain of a woman who now seemed to be shaking with every sob. Nope, this is a dream. Or I'm dead. Do you dream when you're dead? Camicazi's thoughts didn't really seem to fit into her brain. There was something heavy and dark taking up all the space. She felt like she'd just woken up from an awful nightmare, but couldn't remember what had happened. All she knew was that something was wrong- really, really wrong. And that she needed her mother to stop crying.

"Mother." The word came out strained, grating in her throat. Had she been crying? No. Camicazi, first warrior of the Wilderwest, heir to the Bog Burglars, and generally the coolest person in the Archipelago in her own reliable opinion, did not cry. She'd probably worn out her voice by doing some valiant yelling at cowardly enemies that had cowered in her path. That was it! She remembered now- she'd been on a mission, to get something. It had been important. She knew that.

"Mother?" She tried again, this time her voice coming out slightly stronger, and her mother glanced up through her puffy eyelids and gave a shriek of... Something? Camicazi wasn't quite sure whether it had been shock, relief, joy or a really weird battle cry, but before she had time to contemplate it properly, she was wrapped in her mother's arms. Although she was, of course, an incredibly grown up sixteen year old who most definitely did need hugs from her mother or anything related to emotional support (eurgh- the first time Old Wrinkly had mentioned such a thing to her, she'd been so righteously offended that he hadn't said anything about it since), she couldn't deny that it was just a little nice to feel like her mother's child again. Just for a second. Then the moment was over and she pushed at her mother feebly, coughing out,

"Mother, you're choking me."

Bertha didn't seem to notice for a worrying moment, in which Camicazi seriously thought she might go unconscious again, before she was finally released.

"Cami-Camicazi." That was all the formidable chieftain seemed to be able to say before she burst into tears again. Camicazi winced. Her fortes were sword fighting, talking, and talking while in the process of sword fighting, not emotional tenderness.

She attempted to sit up on her elbows, but as she tensed the muscles in her back, an excruciating bolt of pain shot through her. Looking down for the first time, she noticed the worrying abundance of bandages wrapped around her waist, shoulder, and calf. Well, not worrying per se; unlike her two best friends, Camicazi didn't count worrying as one of her hobbies. She did, however, feel a vague discomfort. The dark thing was still clinging to the edges of her thoughts, weighing in her chest as her heart beat with unusual fervour. She looked back at her mother, at the tears trailing down her face. What could have happened?

"Mother, I- What's going on?"

"You mean- you mean don't know? You don't remember?" Camicazi thought her mother looked worryingly close to bursting into tears again.

"Remember what?" Bertha's face went from bright red to alarmingly pale in a matter of seconds.

"You- you need help." She seemed frozen to the spot, unable to stop staring at her daughter's pale, but (thank-Freya-and-Woden-and-Thor-and-every-god-ever-to-lay-eyes-on-the-archipelago) very alive face. The proud chieftain, unwavering in her bravery, her prowess, her unflinching ability to kill, reached out a tender hand to touch her daughter's cheek, then drew away and seemed to breathe out the past three days of tears, terror and exhaustion in one moment.

"I'll get Old Wrinkly. You stay here." And with that, face still puffy but with the unflinching posture of a military general, marched out of the room.

The room- Camicazi noticed- was the infirmary. She'd been here a lot before- after every mission Old Wrinkly would insist upon checking every insect bite (Old Wrinkly insisted these could kill her in her sleep- utter madman) and lost eyebrow (don't ask- very long story). If it were up to her, she wouldn't go at all, but in the time she'd spent with him over the past years, she'd grown to respect him more and more. Sure, she believed he was madder than a senile goose with deteriorating brain tissue, but when it came to disinfecting paper cuts, he really knew his stuff.

Suddenly a bright streak of colour zoomed in through the open window, shrieking incomprehensibly in dragonese. For a moment, Camicazi's scrambled brain didn't recognise her, but as soon as the lovably devious mood dragon settled on her stomach with a painful thud, she cried out.

"Stormfly!"

The dragon crawled up to her chest and looked Camicazi directly in the eyes before declaring,

"I don't care if you'd lived or died to be honest. But then I thought about who might feed me if you did die. So I'm a little bit glad you aren't dead."

Camicazi grinned. At least the Stormfly was her normal self. It was strange though- why on earth did the Stormfly think she could have died? Sure, the missions she went on could sometimes get a little hairy, but she was far too talented to let herself get in real danger.

"Thank you Stormfly, I am forever in awe of your deep empathy."

"Mm." Stormfly kept looking at her, and tentatively licked her face, before pushing painfully on Camicazi's chest and taking off.

"Stormfly?"

"Mm." As always, the dragon was committed to being non-committal.

"I don't suppose you could tell me why my mother was just in here crying her eyes out like I'd just come back from Valhalla?"

"Me? No, I don't really pay attention to those things," A pause as Stormfly landed on an opposite be to inspect her claws, "I suppose I could get Toothless and that scrawny little human of his, and they might be able to tell you."

A small light seemed to flicker to life in Camicazi's chest at the thought of Hiccup. He would know everything that was going on- he made it his business to be a constant class-A nerd about these things. But then the light went out. A darkness had smothered it. The thing that was wrong was something to do with Hiccup, she knew it. In fact, why wasn't he here? And where was Fishlegs? If she'd come back injured, been unconscious, why hadn't they waited for her to wake up? In fact, now she thought of it, why had the only person waiting with her been her mother? She was suddenly plagued with a deluge of thoughts about all the reasons why they might not be there- had she done something wrong? Did they not care? The more she thought about it, the more the idea seemed to make sense. Perhaps she'd given them away, or let slip some kind of vital information to their enemies? Why else would her mother have been crying so much? She must have let everyone down, disgraced her tribe, her family-

"You know, I have been waiting three days for you to wake up, so I'd appreciate it if you would give me a reply in the next hour or so, oh slow-brained one." Stormfly was now picking at her claws with lazy frustration.

"I- what?"

"I said, I've been waiting for-"

"Three days? That's how long I've been asleep?" That made sense. Of course noone would be there. They couldn't wait three whole days for her to wake up, they had things to do. The rising panic began to seep away and an intense relief flooded her bones.

"Yes, Stormfly, thank you. That would be... That would be really good." She finished lamely, her usually vibrant vocabulary somewhat diminished.

The Stormfly took off from the bed, taking a moment to carefully breathe a cloud of lovingly choking smoke into Camicazi's face before disappearing out the window again.

After she'd successfully coughed all the ash from the her lungs, she began to notice how silent the room was. She could just about hear voices echoing somewhere else in the castle, and the waves crashing at the cliffs below.

She'd missed the Day of the Black Star. The thought came to her very suddenly, and somehow it was more painful than all her injuries combined. It felt like she'd betrayed some grand oath. And in a way she had. The promise she'd made to her best friends that they would always be together on that day was broken. She felt broken. And the worst part was that she didn't know why.

Camicazi let her eyelids drift close, trying as hard as she could to remember. Remember, remember, remember. There was something a flash of deep brown eyes, wide like a doe. The glint of armour. The sting of rain on her face. Nothing else. She contemplated trying to get up again. But even the thought of the pain that had ricocheted across her back stopped her. Maybe it was ok to rest. Just for now, when no-one was watching.

Then there were footsteps in the corridor. Loud, pounding against stone. And then Hiccup was in the doorway, Fishlegs behind him, and he was staring at her. They looked scared. She felt like someone had stabbed her in the gut. And then she remembered. All of it.

Chapter Text

The Thing was a highly honoured tradition that stretched back hundreds of years into Viking history. Noone quite knew where, or when it started, just that, invariably, it happened. Before Hiccup's reign, the Thing had been the opitome of Viking politics, and it involved a lot of shouting, violence, and a large rock (this rock turned out to be the egg of an all-consuming incredibly rare and incredibly powerful fire dragon, but that's another story- please consult Hiccup's earlier memoir, 'How to Twist a Dragon's Tale'). These were all things that Vikings rather enjoyed.

The new Thing, however, was a rather different affair. The shouting remained the same though. Vikings really, really liked shouting. Usually Camicazi was no exception to this rule, but today she had two arrow wounds, one stab wound, and an incredibly determined headache, and she really, really wanted them all to shut up. She had told Hiccup that this was a bad idea. But of course he had started to spout his usual Hiccupy righteousness about truth and democracy and blah blah blah and now she was developing a migraine. Typical. Camicazi was of the vociferous opinion that if the boys in the world started listening to girls more then everything would be a lot better. For instance, if Hiccup had listened to her, then all the tribes in the Archipelago wouldn't currently be aware of the fact that the Romans were... well... a threat, to put it lightly. And if that delicate piece of knowledge had remained on a need-to-know basis, she might actually be doing something useful right now.

Fishlegs sat beside her, occasionally darting cautious looks at her as if she were an exploding snap dragon and could erupt into flames at any moment. It was very annoying. Usually, she would grumble at him to stop and threaten him with some kind of gruesomely descriptive injury, but today she refrained. It would probably make him cry. And if he started crying, she would as well. And she would rather peel her fingernails off with a rusty knife than cry in front of the amassed tribes of the Archipelago. So instead she just watched blankly as Hiccup took up his usual place on the stage (?) and tried not to notice how incredibly green he looked. It was all his fault anyway. She didn't make a habit of feeling bad for idiots with large gaps where good common sense should be. Just as she was on the verge of finding something really tall to climb up and wave her sword around erratically, a hush fell, and the king began to speak.

Hiccup hoped he didn't look quite as ill as he felt. He managed a weak smile in his father's direction, who was giving him an aggressive hooligan salute and grinning with mad optimism. As he walked up to the rock, he found he couldn't sit. It felt like if he did, he'd never be able to get up again. He was trying very very hard not to notice how much his hands were shaking, or how the angry gazes of the hundreds of Vikings looking at him seemed to be turning his legs to jelly. Then he caught sight of Fishlegs and Camicazi sitting at the edge of the crowd, and it made him feel just a little bit stronger. A wash of deja-vu flooded him, and he remembered another crowd, another speech in this hall. Fishlegs with that familiar grimace of slightly supportive despair, and Camicazi ever defiantly optimistic in the face of utter doom. He tried not to think about how quiet she'd been since she'd woken up. But there were times for psychoanalysing the behavioural patterns of best friends, and this was not one of them. He took in a deep breath, concentrated very hard on not throwing up, and began.

"Tribes of the Archipelago, three nights ago one of our spies came back with crucial information concerning the safety of our land, our homes and our lives."

He had promised Camicazi that noone except those closest to them would know it had been her. This was yet another thing that worried him, since her ego wasn't usually one of her subtler traits, and he'd assumed she'd be screaming it from the rooftops. But no. All she'd asked for was secrecy. And that, at least, was something he could give her.

"We all know that the Romans have been our enemies ever since the first Viking set foot in the Archipelago," A pause for a few yells of 'YELLOW-BELLIED HANDBAGS' and 'COWARDLY CUTTLEFISH' and he continued, "but we have never considered them an outright threat. Before now. Although the council and I are still working to properly understand this new information, we do know one thing. The Romans are colonisers. They take land, and they take lives. And now, it seems, they may be threatening ours." No matter how much he'd rehearsed this speech, he'd never been able to stop his voice shaking at this part. The shouts of 'NEVER' and 'LET THEM TRY' were somewhat comforting though, if wildly optimistic.

"As much as it might pain me to admit, the Roman Empire has been the most powerful civilisation in this part of the world for centuries. However, I believe that if we remain calm ('well that's likely'- Fishlegs as he'd listened to Hiccup's rehearsal speech), and stop ourselves from rushing to our weapons, there is a chance that we can withstand this without bloodshed."

The mutterings and whispers were beginning now, as he'd thought they might. The Vikings were not a naturally cognitive people, and they preferred to deal with their problems by punching them until they stopped existing. But he'd seen this coming, experienced it before, and he knew what to say now.

"We are a free people, and I know it is not in our nature to stand down when our livelihoods, our families, are in danger. But I ask you this- would we still have the world we do if, four years ago, I had forgotten the power of my words, and instead fought the last, the most important battle, with my sword? Look around you. The dragons that you love, the freedom that they symbolise, these are things noone could have saved with bloodshed or a weapon forged of steel. Every one of us remembers the dragon rebellion, the war, the fire, the death." The Vikings gave a collective shudder at this. Yes, they did remember. And in that moment each of them thought of the people, the dragons, they had lost. They did not want another war. They did not want more blood. They wanted their children to grow up in a world without the whisper of death in every ear.

"We cannot let that happen again. As I invite each of your leaders to speak on what we have learned, I ask them, and you, to think about the triumph of peace, and everything we did to earn it." He paused and nodded to Bearcubs formidable Wanderer grandmother, who was watching him with that piercing hawk's glint in her eye. Hiccup didn't think he would ever be completely unafraid of her. "I have said my piece as your king, and as your fellow. Now I shall invite you all to say yours."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the Wanderer chieftess stepped up on her podium and began to speak. He felt a lot less nauseous now the attention was no longer on him, but it wasn't over yet. The Thing was usually quite a lengthy process at the best of times, when arguments over sheep ownership was the most pressing topic of the month. This would be a lot longer. They hadn't dealt with anything so important, so terrifying, for a long time. The Vikings had just begun to settle down into their new lives. The old warriors had just begun to let go of their fear of fire, the children who had lived in slavery all their lives were learning what it was to be truly free. Tomorrow had been rebuilt, beautiful and magnificently defiant of the past. This was a specific type of cruelty, like throwing a tired old dog back onto the streets after learning the meaning of love for the first time. Like a mother never knowing an unborn child.

But they would survive. Hiccup knew they would. They had been through worse. After all, they couldn't even be sure the threat they had discovered was meant for them. Perhaps this would become a comical fireside story in a few years, and he would laugh with Camicazi and Fishlegs about how worried he had been. Hiccup decided he would believe that. Just for today. He wasn't sure how much more reality he could take.

He climbed down from the raised platform at the front of the hall and made his way to sit beside his best friends as they listened to Bearcub's grandmother. None of them spoke, for it was utterly forbidden to talk during another's turn at the Thing. But despite the years that had passed, and how all three of them had changed, they didn't need words to tell each other what they wanted to say. It was the same as what they'd told each other four years ago, in the hide-out as they waited for the 12th day of Doomsday. That no matter what happened, they would stay together. If not in body, then in soul.

Time may weather their young faces, and battles yet-to-be-fought may scar their flesh, but they will always have each other.

Chapter Text

Fishlegs really, really needed to write some poetry sooner or later or he was going to have a meltdown. He had recently discovered that politics wasn't really his thing, and now he was trying as hard as possible to keep it that way. Which was hard when your best friend is 1) completely obsessed with it and 2) the literal ruler of the kingdom you live in. He was sat in a small hut on the far edge of Tomorrow, away from the cluster of main castles and busy port. Like politics, people weren't his thing either, and years ago, when peace had finally come to the Archipelago he had built this little house with the help of the burlier vikings. Surprisingly, after he had been the one to present Grimbeard the Ghastly's will at the coronation four years ago, the other vikings his age had begun to show him a little more respect. Despite the fact he was a skinny little runner bean with eczema and a reptile allergy, he was after all friends with the king of the Wilderwest. If that isn't cool, I don't know what is.

It was quiet here, and when he looked out the window he could see the island of Hero's End amongst the waves, dragons swooping low over the sea to catch fish in their claws. Here, he felt his mother in every breath of salty air he took, in every word he wrote at the desk by the window. The Deadly Shadow lay sprawled over the floorboards next to the fire, its immense body barely fitting inside. Innocence was contentedly watching the flames dance, a quiet purring sound coming from their throat. Arrogance was not so at peace, and was giving Camicazi and Hiccup, who were sitting crosslegged on the floor next to him, a purely poisonous look. They were arguing about the Windwalker, again. Fishlegs thought he might go a bit insane if he had to hear any more.

"No, I'm going. I know the base better than you do anyway. You've never spent a day there in your life and you haven't spent months learning about everything that goes on inside that place, and I mean everything. I could tell you how many times a week the wheat-seller turns up, who pays her, how many soldiers there are, who commands them, even the massage therapist Freya curse him! You don't-"

"Then you can just teach me! I think we've gathered by this point that I'm a quick learner Camicazi! I can memorise the blueprints, and it's not like I need to know everything- it'll just be quick, in and out! I don't need to know it all-"

"That's all besides the point anyway! You're a king for Thor's Sake you stupid moron. The king. Do you really think anyone can risk you like that? I'm going. It's my fault anyway so it's only fair-"

"But-"

"End of! There is literally nothing you can say to persuade me otherwise." She crossed her arms, exhibiting a remarkable resemblance to her mother. Hiccup couldn't help but be a tiny bit scared. But even the real Big-Boobied Bertha wouldn't be enough to make him back down right now. The Windwalker was in danger- if he's even still alive, a small voice whispered inside his head- and Hiccup had to get him back. The mission would be dangerous, so he couldn't let her go, not after she'd just barely come back from the dead. So the only person he truly trusted to get the Windwalker back was himself. It was logic, pure and simple.

There was a short pause to allow a tense staring contest, before Hiccup's eyes started to water and he had to blink.

"You know what," he tried to look confident, but the tears streaming down his face tarnished the effect, "I am the king. And that means you can't stop me!"

"Oh yeah? What happened to all that 'being a slave to your people' stuff huh?" She poked his dragon mark with unnecessary force,"You're not serving anyone by getting yourself killed in a Roman fortress when you could just as easily send me!"

"No I can't!

"Why not? We both know I'm better at fighting, stealing, spying, and burglaring and pretty much everything else boyo!"

Fishlegs was worried that the two might get out their swords and start trying to kill the other at any second. The sight of blood made him queasy, and there was the fact that he rather liked his best friends alive instead of dead, so he took a deep breath, channeled his inner viking,and YELLED. The effect was a little embarrassing and not as loud as he might have liked, but Gobber would have been proud at his progress since the pirate training programme days.

Hiccup and Camicazi turned to stare at him.

"Have you had a brain malfunction or was that just a really obnoxious yawn?" There wasn't particularly any malice in the words, Camicazi just liked to get quickly to the point without that detestable waffle Hiccup called 'small talk'.

"Will you two shut up?!"

Hiccup and Camicazi stared at him in astonishment.

"Fishlegs are you-"

"I am absolutely fine thank you very much Hiccup!" He did not sound very fine, "Despite the fact that I'm running on two hours sleep, haven't eaten since yesterday, and feel like there are nano dragons eating my brain tissue, I am completely fine. You two are clearly not. You've been arguing since 5 o'clock in the morning and I'm pretty sure the same four points have been discussed about twenty times already. You're helping absolutely nobody by sitting here arguing about who's going to be the one who gets themselves killed. Hiccup," He turned to look at his friend, who was looking rather faint from a combination of anger and sleep deprivation, "You know you can't stop her. You've been trying for two years and it's gotten you nowhere."

"Oi!" Interjected Camicazi, "Don't talk about me like I'm not here! But thank you for agreeing with me, I-"

"Camicazi," Fishlegs interrupted her (which was very brave of him, woe betide those who interrupt Ze Great Camicazi mid-speech), "Windwalker is Hiccup's dragon. Yes, he is the king. Yes, we can't lose him- I'm as keen on the idea as you are- but you can't expect him to stay here. Imagine if it were Stormfly gone, or if the Deadly Shadow was in danger. We wouldn't just get left behind doing nothing. We couldn't."

His friends, both dragon and human, were now looking at him with the same looks in their eyes as people had when he read his poetry. He wasn't sure if this was a good or a bad thing.

"It's a stupid idea. And if I could stop both of you from going, then I would. I would believe that this is nothing, I would ignore it all and keep on living the life that I love. But we all know this is bigger than just the Windwalker. This could be.. this could be our future. The future of the Wilderwest. And you... we can't waste time arguing over it when we could be doing something."

They were still looking at him. Maybe politics wasn't so different from poetry after all. They were both an art of words, weaving them to say the right thing in the right way. Fishlegs found he rather liked it.

He thought back to last night and of how the Thing stretched on and on into the small hours of the morning. He was exhausted, that was true. He was also irritated, fed-up and angry. And scared. But he was brave enough to tell the truth, even to those he loved. Even when it was hard.

They were still looking at him. This was getting a bit awkward.

"I've heard many speeches in my time, and I must say that was a rather good one." The Wodensfang, who was tucked on the shelf above the fire gave Fishlegs an approving look. Fishlegs turned bright red. The confidence of the moment had faded a little and he was beginning to wonder whether his Berserk tendencies had set off when Hiccup spoke,

"You're right. We are wasting time. I'm just... scared, I suppose. I feel like every move I make could be the wrong one."

"Ah, but that is not a reason to make no move at all. There is always a chance that things go the right way." The Wodensfang stretched out his wrinkled brown wings, "I am going to speak to your grandfather, Hiccup. I will ask him to look in the fires and tell me what he sees. When I have returned, we must make a decision." He turned to Fishlegs, "You are a very brave young man, Fishlegs." And with that he took off and flew out the window towards to city towering in the distance.

There was silence for a beat before Camicazi spoke,

"So, what you're saying is, we should both go?"

"Erm, well, I suppose? It would be far better if neither of you went but you're both far too-"

"Okay." Said Hiccup, and Fishlegs was so relieved that the shouting had finally stopped that he didn't bother arguing that line of reasoning any longer. After all, it was only a small mission, wasn't it? And if they brought along a few of the older warriors as well there was no way they could get hurt. In the years to come, Fishlegs would think back to this moment a hundred times, and wish that he had just withstood the arguing a little longer. But then he would shake his head and know, in his heart of hearts, that nothing he could have done would have stopped the future from coming, in all its terrifying glory. Fate is a tricky thing, and it rarely pays heed to the wishes of us swaggering insects.

"But it's in and out. No detours. No stealing. No fighting-" Camicazi thought Hiccup was really going too far there.

"But-"

"The only thing we do is get the Windwalker, gather a bit of information if we can, and then leave."

"So I can't kill even one measly little Roman?" Camicazi looked thoroughly disgruntled, but there was a light in her eyes again. She had a purpose, and she wasn't going to fail this time.

"No."

"Ugh, fine." A pause, "Not even this really unimportant one that addressed me as 'it'?"

"No!"

Fishlegs turned back around to watch the waves as they began to heatedly discuss strategy. A cold breeze blew through the open window, making his skin prickle with cold despite the flames roaring in the hearth. He reached out to shut it, and as he did, he felt a shock pass through him, and something forced its way into his mind. It was just a moment, and then it was over. But he was left with a picture hovering in his mind. Fire.

It faded as quickly as it had arrived, like the moment when you step into a room and forget why you're there. 

And then he was listening to his friends arguing, again, and watching the dragons skim the tops of the waves, and thinking. 

Chapter Text

The stars were silent as the moon sunk below the horizon. Camicazi was very glad yesterday was over, and she could finally look forward to the day ahead. Although there had been strict instructions to kill absolutely no Romans at all, she was sure she could slip some light stabbing under Hiccup's radar. After all, she had a nasty sword wound to avenge, and if getting the Windwalker back required a little foulplay, she was more than happy to do it.

The winter wind was blowing sharp and cold on the clifftop, trailing frost across her eyelashes as it went. Thor, it was freezing. Certainly not the right kind of day to fly a hundred miles over the open ocean. But what choice did they have? What choice did she have? The Windwalker was out there somewhere, over the southern horizon, and she would find it, and bring it home. She just hoped that when she did see the Windwalker again, it wouldn't be in a grave. Then again, knowing the Romans, that kind of dignity in death wasn't likely to be afforded to dragons. She took a moment to imagine one of the particularly gruesome deaths she'd imagined for that soldier and it made her feel the slightest bit better. She remembered something else then- the scared brown eyes looking into hers, the soldier's promise to give her a proper funeral. It still didn't make sense to her- why and how the Romans had a dragon rider. And she was so young. Younger even than Camicazi herself it had seemed. Of course, most of her knowledge about the Romans was based on the northern fortresses, but she knew from stolen maps that their empire extended much further than just the nearby mainland. And the girl didn't look exactly local; her face had been a warm shade of brown, like the traders that came up from the south each summer. Camicazi wondered what in Freya's name she was doing fighting for the Romans- from what she'd gathered, the southerners hated them as much as the Vikings did (well, almost as much, Vikings really, really hated Romans). Maybe, when they got to the fort, she could find more than just the Windwalker.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Hiccup- with sleeping Toothless snuggled in his waistcoat- and a shivering Fishlegs crested the hill. She still wasn't completely happy with the idea of Hiccup coming, but at least this was better than him going alone.

"Ready?" Hiccup asked as she stood.

"Yep."

"Look, are you sure-"

"Hiccup. There is literally nothing you can do to stop me."

"Okay, but... we follow the plan, no deviations."

She nodded, thinking about the fact they'd probably never carried out a single one of Hiccup's plans without something going wrong, but kept silent. It had taken enough to even convince him to let her come, and there was no way she was going to ruin that. As well as the fact that they were technically lying to everyone on the island. Camicazi knew the only reason he was doing this was for the Windwalker- even something as important as enemy secrets would never have convinced him. He was so honest she was surprised it hadn't gotten him killed yet, but then again, there were uncountable things that should have gotten him killed- all of them to be honest. She just hoped that today that luck would prevail.

"The Deadly Shadow should be here soon- that way we'll get away before anyone wakes." He turned to Fishlegs, "Remember to-"

"Tell them you went on an emergency mission to pacify a rabid dragon, yeah. They're not going to believe that for long, you know, so... be back tomorrow okay?" Fishlegs looked rather green and Camicazi felt a sudden urge to hug him, which was largely abnormal in her case. Sometimes she forgot he was older than her- more often than not she found herself protecting him and not the other way around, so she'd come to see him kind of like a little brother over the years, which was slightly strange seeing as he was an entire foot taller than her. But then again, what about them wasn't strange? A seventeen year old king with anxiety issues, a romantically challenged poet with eczema and endless allergies and... her. Come to think of it actually there wasn't anything strange about her apart from how amazingly talented at everything she was (even a declining mental state shall never fully dissuade the ego of Ze Great Camicazi).

The sound of beating wings filled the air above them and the Deadly Shadow materialised and landed rather heavily on the ground next to them, and its three heads dipped down to nuzzle Fishlegs' outstretched hand. Unlike her, Fishlegs had taken to learning dragonese rather well, and he could now converse with the Deadly Shadow without needing Hiccup for translation. She waited until they'd had a good few seconds of lovey dovey clicking sounds before interrupting,

"Alright, Fishlegs, we really do need to go now."

"I know." Fishlegs said gloomily stroking Innocence's scales, "I mean, I know I kind of suggested this and all, but now I'm not entirely sure its a good idea, I just have this... bad feeling. Maybe you should wait and bring some others with you?"

"Fishlegs... If we do that you know we'll be delayed by another day of arguing and decisions. We just can't afford to lose anymore time." Hiccup touched him on the shoulder gently, and then hugged him tight.

"I promise I wont lose him, even if it takes throwing myself heroically in the path of a Roman sword and dying gloriously." She tried to add jest to her words, but they fell slightly flat and Hiccup gave her an odd look over Fishlegs' shoulder that she couldn't decipher.

They looked so small then, standing on the dark clifftop together. You never would have guessed that one was a king and the other a spy, and the other a... celebrated propaganda-ist? Camicazi wanted- just for a second mind you, because Bog Burglars are NOT sentimental- to join them, but she was worried that if she let herself be vulnerable right now she wouldn't be able to stop. So she just climbed up onto the Deadly Shadow and said something about stupid boys and their feelings and tried not to think too hard about anything.

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Fishlegs was crying a little as he watched them go. He didn't really know why, but something felt wrong and he was scared- more so than usual. He hadn't forgotten the moment from yesterday morning, what had felt like lightning striking him, the image of fire burning, burning. He couldn't help but wonder if they were making the right decision. Even after four years of peace, he still flinched when he heard the roar of an unfamiliar dragon close by. Still couldn't stand the sight of mirrors. Yes it was over now. But would it be forever? Four years wasn't so much in the span of a lifetime. Four years wasn't enough time to guarantee their safety forever. Peace was such a wonderful, fragile thing. He just hoped and prayed to all the gods he knew that it would not break.

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The sun had risen above the horizon by the time the fortress appeared in the distance. It was a strangely beautiful day, the sun shining coldly over the glistening sea below, and Hiccup wondered what the people of the Archipelago would be doing at that moment. The young warriors in training would no doubt be making use of the winter ice that still stretched over the northern most parts of the Archipelago, playing smash-sticks on ice and tracking seals with their hunting dragons. The older Vikings that had remained on Tomorrow would probably be yelling poor Fishlegs into the ground wanting to know where the king was; he'd just have to hope that the majority of them weren't intellectually inclined enough to realise what a bad lie they were being told. He knew that some of the more intelligent adults- his mother and Old Wrinkly, for example- would no doubt see through it; he'd just have to hope that if any of them came after him, they'd be too late.

Camicazi sat on the Deadly Shadow in front of him, leaning against one of its vast spines and tossing one of her knives in the air with worrying nonchalance. Her posture was anything but however, and he followed her gaze to the fortress. It was closer now, and he could make out the small buildings inside the tall black walls. The layout was familiar to him after hours of studying maps the day before, but it was still different to how he'd imagined it. He still remembered his first, largely unpleasant, encounter with the Romans and he'd pictured it to be similar to Fort Sinister- imposing and tall. Instead it crouched low on the ground, black rock crawling over the surrounding landscape like choking vines. Hiccup got a nasty vision of a darkbreather, slithering in the darkest depths of the ocean, waiting to lock eager jaws around its prey.

As if detecting the acceleration of Hiccup's heartbeat, Toothless nosed his way sleepily out of Hiccup's waistcoat to nuzzle at his face before giving him an affectionate bite on the nose.

"R-remind Toothless why he's here again? I-is awfully cold." Hiccup sighed and patted the infuriating little dragon on the head.

"Because when I told you that you should stay on Tomorrow you threw a hissy fit and said that if I didn't let you come you'd wake up the entire castle and tell them where I was going."

"Oh y-yes. Y-you can't be going off on important m-missions without b-b-backup."

"Talking of backup, you should probably stay with the Deadly Shadow when we get there, Toothless, just in case me and Camicazi get in a spot of bother and need you to come and rescue us."

"B-but Toothless wants to come with you!" Hiccup's heart ached slightly at the fragility creeping into his little dragon's voice. Toothless had abandonment issues to put it lightly, which was reasonable given the things that tended to happen when he was separated from Hiccup, and Hiccup hated to leave him on his own. But there was no way Toothless was coming with them, either.

"I know, but I really need you to be a hero today, ok? You know how the Deadly Shadow can get scared sometimes, so they need a brave dragon like to you look after them." He said this part quietly- Hiccup didn't make a habit of insulting large flying killing machine that you're currently sitting on.

"I s-suppose Toothless could do that."

"Thank you," Hiccup stroked his hand over Toothless's head, noticing suddenly how it fit just as well as it had when he was 12 years old. They both had more scars and calluses and imperfections, but they melded to eachother still.

"Hiccup.." Camicazi stood and walked over to him, as easy as if she were strolling along on solid ground, and sat crossed legged next to him.

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"You know the girl, the one that shot me?"

"Yes..? Don't tell me you have some kind of revenge plan because we are not-"

"No. It's not that. I just... I don't get it. How the Romans have dragon riders. How she ended up there. What if there are more? Added to that... thing in the blueprint, it means we pretty much have no advantages over them. We don't even have the high ground anymore. And that girl... She looked so sad, like she didn't even want to hurt me. She couldn't have been more than my age. I just... I know you said no detours, but if I get a chance to find out more about all this, about her, I'm taking it."

She expected him to cut across her, to tell her that they had a plan, and they were sticking to it. But he just stayed silent, tucked Toothless back into his waistcoat, and nodded.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Windwalker comes first for me, but if you get a chance, take it." He looked across the now dwindling length of ocean between them and the fortress, and continued, "I'm curious too, but I didn't want to bring it up when we have so many other things to be worrying about. One life-threatening, terrifying threat at a time, you know? But if there's something we're missing about all of this, it could cost us... everything. And if it comes to it, to another war-" His voice choked up for a moment and Camicazi felt her throat constrict as a rush of memory seemed to wind her, "We need all the information we can get."

She just nodded in reply, not trusting herself to speak. Camicazi didn't know why, but in the last few days her emotions hadn't felt like her own. A year ago, you could never have caught her on the verge of tears in front of anyone, but now it seemed to be happening every two seconds. Being around Hiccup was especially hard- there was something about him that made her feel like she was going to collapse. In a good way or a bad way, she wasn't sure. Can you collapse in a good way? Her brain was running around in circles, her thoughts chasing each other in delirium, but as she looked out towards the fortress, she felt her body steel itself, her mind go sharp and cold, and she knew what she had to do. She had a plan. She had an aim. She was going to prove herself, help her friends and her country, or die trying.

Chapter Text

Several hours later.

Waiting for dark had been impossibly difficult. After scouting around the fortress, they'd seen that, as expected, security measures had increased tenfold since Camicazi's escape. There were guard dragons pretty much everywhere, men on every watch tower along the wall and patrols walking the perimeter. They'd almost gotten caught at one point when Hiccup had accidentally inhaled a flower while lying low in the grasses and sneezed, but Camicazi had thrown one of her knives into nearby bushes and the guards had scrambled to investigate.

After this, the hours had trickled by while Camicazi flipped her remaining knives, unable to remain still, while Hiccup worried about what was going on back on Tomorrow. He wondered if there was a party of rampaging rescuers coming for them, wondered if Fishlegs had held out with the lie, wondered if he was failing his people by doing this. By picking a small, precious love over one held fast with responsibility. By the time the sun finally began to sink below the horizon to give them some cover, Hiccup's palms were so clammy he could hardly feel his sword, and his chest had wound into a knot of indecision.

At that very moment, however, the decision to be made was starkly clear to him; move. Now. Because about 20 metres below him lay a sleeping driller dragon, and 2 metres in front was a wildly gesturing Camicazi standing in the room he was trying to get to. The window, opened by the very handy key-that-opens-all-locks, gave him a clear view of her mouthing at him silently as if the sheer effort of keeping quiet had possessed her entire body with the god of satanic dancing. If that existed. He was fairly sure it didn't. But just in case he sent up a quick prayer before edging his foot further along the ledge towards the window.

The black stone wall was cold and slippery beneath his hands as his fingertips searched for a grip that would allow him to take the next step. He tried to ignore Camicazi as her movements became increasingly... frantic? Annoyed? He couldn't really tell. Anyhow, this was unsuccessful seeing as ignoring Camicazi was generally a thing accomplished only by those of very poor eyesight and hearing, and Hiccup was the generally alert sort of person, especially when on life-threatening missions. He gave her a look that he hoped meant 'Would you please stop distracting me I am very aware of the deadly dragon directly below me and if I can't focus on my handholds right now then I am most certainly, without a doubt, going to plummet to my death and be deadder than a dodo.', if looks can communicate such specific messages. It appeared that they in fact could, however, as Camicazi stopped moving, looked at something out of sight in the room and moved out of sight. Now, despite the tumbling sensation in pretty much all of Hiccup's vital organs at that second, he could still register the fact that this was rather odd behaviour for someone he wasn't sure had ever followed an instruction in her entire life.

He didn't have time to properly process this, however, before an excruciating pain stabbed into his shoulder. It took absolutely every fibre of strength in him to bite back a yell. It was awful. Agonising. As if someone were digging serated, poisoned nails into him inch by inch. This analogy brought back unpleasant memories of certain other poisoned nails, but these were banished as he slowly, shakingly turned his head to look over his shoulder. This time a small, very unkingly noise of alarm left his lips.

It was a Leach. Not like those nasty little black things that clung to your legs after a day of trudging through the boggy marshes of Berk on a summer's day, but a lot more like a revoltingly evil fruit bat. It's little black eyes stared as if unseeing, its scaly mouth latched firmly onto him, two leathery wings holding on to his back with curved claws. Hiccup knew, without seeing, that the two front teeth of the bat were currently plunged into his skin, sucking his blood up through the hollow tubes inside. He also knew that, every second he waited, the Leach was extreting a blood thinning hormone into the wound.

If it stayed latched onto him for more than a few minutes, the wound would not scab over without specialist medicine. Which was miles away on Tomorrow. He cursed himself for his stupidity- Leaches, preferring slightly warmer climates, weren't common to the Archipelago, so he had completely forgotten about the possibility of being attacked by one. The only thing to do now was to get it off as soon as possible.

Which wasn't exactly easy to do while balancing precariously on the slippery ledge of a building over a sleeping killing machine. He had to make it to that window.

Hiccup turned his head towards it again, noticing Camicazi still gone, and he realised that she must have been trying to warn him about the Leach. He cursed himself for the second time that minute, and hoped to Thor that she was off doing something useful and hadn't been captured by a room full of Romans now waiting for him with shining swords at the ready. He didn't have much of a choice anyhow. He couldn't go back immininently in danger of bleeding to death, and without Camicazi. So he clenched his jaw, tried not the feel the cold teeth still buried in his shoulder, and inched closer to the window. Another step. Another. The pain was making him dizzy, his vision swimming slightly.

He knew, without a doubt, that without the many experiences of agony he'd had throughout his childhood [writing this has made me realise how much Hiccup has gone through oh my lord someone sedate me], he would have fainted already. Then, after what felt like hours moving centimetre after centimetre in agony, a worried face peered down at him from the windowsil and stuck out a hand.

"Camicazi!" His strangled whisper was full of contained joy and relief. Then her face filled with horror as she noticed the dragon currently attached to him. Oh dear, he realised, so she wasn't warning me about the dragon after all.

-----------

Camicazi, while waiting for Hiccup and his strikingly abismal coordination skills to climb across the ledge, had run across a few tinsy problems. To put it lightly. The first, perhaps most pressing issue, was that the room she had clambered into was, in fact, not a storage room as the blueprints had suggested, but a bedroom. The second problem was that the bedroom was not empty. The third was that the person inside seemed increasingly close, by the second, to waking up and seeing her standing by the window head-to-toe in black with knives strapped to pretty much everywhere. She had a feeling that might cause a bit of a commotion... that could alert the entire fortress to their whereabouts and get them both killed. Now, Camicazi was generally a very good person to have with you in times of great danger and stress, seeing as danger and stress were the things that Camicazi lived for. However, it seemed that these things, when threatening her self respect, pride and best friend (perhaps not in that order), were not so enjoyable after all. She had desperately tried to signal to Hiccup that he needed to get into the room as soon as possible so they could both leave unnoticed before the sleeping personage arose from their tumultuous slumber, but her message (which she had thought was incredibly clear and very understandable given the limitations she'd been faced with) had gotten lost somewhere between her erratic gestures and the impressively slow boy's brain of his. So she'd had to take matters into her own hands.

The bed looked outrageously comfortable as she approached it, large drapes hanging down from the ceiling to hide the person from view and silken pillows practically spilling off the sides. How in the name of Thor the Romans had managed to build the largest empire in the modern world when they couldn't sleep without velvet and silken bedsheets she would never know. As she crept over the carpet, her feet not making a sound, she took out one of her knives. It had a large handle with a sphere of metal at the end, and she turned it carefully in her hand, the blunt end forwards. As smoothly as she could, she pulled aside the curtain and... It was the soldier that had stabbed the back of her knee. The utterly unsufferable one in golden armour. And he was making some incredibly embarrassing whimpering noises in his sleep as if he was trying not to cry. Eurgh. Camicazi liked to distance herself from crying as a general concept as much as she could. Repressing the urge to turn her knife so the blade was directed at his face, she tapped him on the forehead with one of her ring clad fingers, rather harder than necessary. His eyes flew wide open and she sealed a hand over his mouth before he could scream.

"You're probably not going to remember this anyway, but just so you know, it is NOT nice to stab someone in the back of the knee. Especially not innocent young maidens such as myself who have never done an ounce of harm to anyone. I don't appreciate it. And if I wasn't under strict instructions not to kill you, this knife would not still be in my hand. It would be in you."

The shock seemed to have faded by this point, and he brought an arm up to try and swat at her. Camicazi was too fast though, of course, and she brought the knife handle up, jabbing it sharply into the pulsing artery at the nape of his neck, restricting blood flow to his brain. Very satisfyingly, his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out. Pleasently surprised that it had actually worked, she thanked the collection of medical papers she'd once stolen from a Roman ship on its way past the Archipelago. It turned out that Romans' nasty habit of cutting people open to see what's inside had paid off. Grateful, and also a bit peeved, that she hadn't needed to injure him, she made her way back to the window which was still worryingly Hiccup-free.

When she darted hurriedly over to check he hadn't been eaten by any dragons, she was met with a horrific sight.

---------

"Camicazi." The whisper came out strangled as he reached his hand up to grasp hers, "Thank Thor."

"What is that thing?" She stared, horrified, at the Leach.

"Explain later- help me up- please-" The words were difficult to get out through the pain, but she seemed to understand well enough and grabbed his other arm, pulling him over the window edge. He collapsed in a heap on the floor and she crouched down in front of him, trying to get a better look at the thing on his back. After taking a few deep breaths, but before Camicazi started using her knives in counterproductive ways, he explained.

"Thor that's disgusting," she whispered, "Reminds me of that horrible vampire spy dragon thing."

"Yes, well-" He paused, taking in the surroundings for the first time, "Camicazi?"

"Yes?"

"Where are we?"

"Oh you know, the blueprints might have been a teensy bit wrong and we might be in the bedchamber of a rather important consul but don't worry about it my boy, it's all under control."

"What?!" He barely managed to keep his voice low and gaped around the room, eyes fixing on the bed. The occupied bed. Oh Thor, what had they gotten themselves into this time.

"Oh its fine, I knocked him out with a quick jab to the neck and he's sleeping like a baby, the real issue is this thing." She gestured at the Leach.

"You- oh Freya- alright, um, well, we need to get it off me before..."

"Before what?"

"Before it secretes too much of this chemical that will basically- ah- cause me to bleed to death."

Camicazi's face went a deathly pale and she fixed the Leach with a hard glare as if expecting the sheer force of her gaze could knock it off Hiccups back.

"Right, so I'll stab it until it falls off and you just stay still-"

"No! Don't do that, we can't kill it. If it dies, its jaw locks in place and it's impossible to move, and the rest of the chemical keeps flowing, it's a very clever defense mechanism, actually"

"Trust you to be nerding out over a dragon that is literally in the process of killing you. So, what do we do?"

Hiccup grimaced, "You have to, erm, tickle it under its jaw and pull it out."

Camicazi stared at him, non-plussed.

"Tickle it?"

"Yep. It makes it hard for it to engage the muscles there, so you can take it off without much of a struggle."

"Can't you just politely ask it to let you go?"

"Unfortunately no, the Leach is one of the stupidest dragons out there, so it wouldn't understand me if I tried. Also, I don't actually know whether dialects of dragonese change depending on the area, so I'm not sure if it even could understand me if it were intelligent enough. Actually, I should test that-"

"Hiccup?"

"Yes?"

"Please be quiet."

"Ok."

"Alright, Thor help me, the things I do for you Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third, are absolutely madder than a mackerel."

She began, tentatively, to tickle its jaw while Hiccup remained as still as possible praying that this would work and wouldn't have the adverse affect of making the dragon tighten its jaw even more. If he were really honest with himself, he was not in the slightest confident in the efficacy of this technique, but there was no way in Valhalla he was going to tell Camicazi that.

Then he felt the jaws loosen ever so slightly, and then the sickening sensation of sharp, smooth teeth sliding through his flesh.

"I think it's working."

"Hrgg." A small sound of encouragement was all he could get out through the agony now coursing through his shoulder.

"Almost there... Done it!" With a sickening popping sound, he was free of the dragon's fangs.

He turned to see Camicazi awkwardly holding the dragon under its wings like a baby she'd been handed by a relative but was incredibly disgusted by, before promptly chucking it out the window.

"Well at least that's over with. Where are the bandages?"

"Here." He handed a few to her, having already taken some from the pouch at his waist. Hiccup was trying not to think about how thoroughly awful this all was. How was he going to explain two 3 inch deep stab wounds at his shoulder. How would he explain turning up to Tomorrow having lost blood and risked his life. He had a responsibility to look after his people, to not endanger himself in missions that he knew were selfish even though they were for the right reasons. What was the point in having fought so long and so hard to become king when he was just throwing it all away. But then again, what was the point in being king if he couldn't protect those he loved. These thoughts spiralled through his mind, taking on a heady sensation until he felt almost disassociated from the world around him. The only thing keeping his feet on the ground were Camicazi's hands at his shoulder, wrapping the bandages over and over, sharp stabs of pain cutting through the brain fog every now and then.

"Hey. Hey, Hiccup!"

A sharp slap to his cheek brought him out of it.

"Ow!"

"Shh, you'll wake up golden boy."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter, " She looked at him oddly, "Your eyes had gone all weird-like. Like you couldn't hear me."

"Sorry, I- I don't know what happened." And he didn't really. Maybe it was a symptom of the Leach hormone? Maybe it was something else. His head had been so brimming with everything recently, he felt like his brain short-circuiting and simply cutting him off from the world had been inevitable.

"You should stay here." Camicazi looked at him with that specific flavour of determination he was certain no one else in the world had.

"What? No! We already discussed this-"

"Yes, but that was before you were bleeding out and half out of your mind for Thor's sake."

"Camicazi-"

"You know you'll only slow me down like this."

It was hard to admit to himself, but he knew it was true. Even facing the prospect of standing up in this state felt difficult.

"I'll get the Windwalker, fly around to this window, and get you. All you have to do is wait. And if the consul wakes up again just give him a sharp jab to the neck and he'll fall right back asleep again, ok?"

Thor, he felt sick at the thought of this. Of letting her put herself in terrible danger without him there to do anything to help. Of course, it wasn't as if he doubted her abilities- after all, she had successfully infiltrated this exact fortress barely more than a week before, as well as countless others. But this was the Roman empire. They were cruel, and worse, clever. Nastily clever. But what choice did he have? He couldn't go with her, but he couldn't leave the Windwalker here to be tortured, to be enslaved until death.

"Alright." It was perhaps one of the most painful words he'd ever had to say, "But if something feels wrong, if there's a chance you'll be captured, abandon the mission and we'll leave. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She reached out a hand and they shook on it, perhaps holding on to each other a little longer than necessary, before she glanced over at the bed again.

"He shouldn't wake up for the rest of the night, but just stay awake in case... And wait for me. I won't be long, promise."

And before he could say anything else, although he wasn't sure which words could express it all, she was out the door, silent as a ghost.

Chapter Text

The corridor outside was empty, lit only by a few candles burning low in their sconces which gave the space a deceptively warm atmosphere. There was a strange silence hanging in the air, the absence of any kind of sound uncomfortably obvious to Camicazi’s paranoid ears. Something felt wrong. The corridor stretched out to either side of her, which was, this time, what they’d expected. Her eyes immediately caught on the heavy wooden door to her left, identifying it as the route out of the storage rooms, and towards the dungeons. The plan had been to check the cells first, as they were closer, before sneaking past the barracks to the stables where Camicazi had fallen. But now she wasn’t sure. Now that she couldn’t fully trust the blueprints, and there was the other minor problem that Hiccup was slowly bleeding to death, the plan that they had carefully cultivated the sleepless night before was going to have to change. Thor, Fishlegs was not going to be happy when they recounted this particular mission to him. If they ever got back to Tomorrow. Nope, she was not thinking about that right now.

Instead she was going to think about the door currently standing between her and freedom. It was almost certainly locked, and maybe guarded. Slipping her lock picks out from her sleeves as easily as breathing, she listened for signs of movement in the next room. Her heart thudded painfully loudly in the silence. Bah-dum, bah-dum, bah-dum. Still that eerie silence remained.

She examined the lock as she approached it, her light footsteps echoing slightly against the stone floor. It would be easy to break open, the mechanism obviously simple even from its outside appearance, but the uneasy feeling didn’t sway as she slipped her picks inside the lock and felt the familiar pieces slide into place. CLICK. The sounded reverberated around the walls as she peered around the door. Nothing. The corridor beyond was empty. And then a sword was hurtling toward her face.

................

Sitting alone in the dark, Hiccup thought. It was what he was good at, generally, but right at that second he was struggling. Maybe it was a side-effect of the hormone circulating in his blood. Maybe it was just fear. But he tried anyway, because if there was one thing he knew, it was that he wasn't going to sit there and do absolutely nothing. As we of course know, dear reader, Hiccup was not stupid, which was the reason he'd agreed to stay behind in the first place instead of stubbornly demanded to come along leave a trail of blood for the Romans to find. But he refused to be useless. As things stood, the bleeding from his shoulder wasn't slowing, and by the time Camicazi got back with the Windwalker he didn't know if he'd still be conscious, which would make it pretty much impossible to manoeuvre him from inside the room onto the Windwalker, who was probably weak and injured, and then onto the Deadly Shadow, and back to Tomorrow. Oh dear. Things weren't looking very good. But if you've read any of the other 12 books in this series then you know that sticky situations don't tend to deter our young hero, so we mustn't abandon hope yet, for Hiccup, in that clever little mind of his, was brewing up a plan.

...............

A few hours earlier

It had been a rather harrowing past couple of hours for Fishlegs. He was considering dropping all ties to the Wilderwest, his friends, and the whole notion of being a Viking by the time it was 11 o'clock in the morning, and from then on things just got generally worse. What the most annoying thing was, though, that in a way it was all self-inflicted. If only he hadn't been so stupid as to suggest they went together. Hiccup and Camicazi going on adventures together generally didn't have nice, peaceful endings. Take the time they snuck onto Hysteria to steal the potato, for example, which had resulted in a completely insane, absolutely bone-chillingly terrifying Viking chief (who was now a reformed Peaceable farmer, for anyone interested) chasing after them with his equally terrifying axe and swearing bloody revenge on Hiccup. Fishlegs just hoped that this time they wouldn't come back with the entire Roman empire on their heels. Or any of those... things from the stolen papers. Or maybe he did, because at least that would shut up the horde of Vikings currently yelling in his face.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S OFF FIGHTING A DRAGON?"

"Not fighting, pacifying, there's a difference-"

"ON HIS OWN? WITHOUT TELLING ANYBODY?"

"Well no, not on his own, Camicazi went-"

"THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!"

"-and he told me, it was just all a bit of a rush-"

"WE HAVE TO GO AFTER HIM IMMEDIATELY!"

All of these exclamations came from a different, incredibly loud mouth. Maybe if the Romans invaded he wouldn't have to listen to another yell ever again, Fishlegs wondered wistfully. Perhaps he could get himself conveniently kidnapped and end up as a nice bookseller in the Roman Empire, where they had warm baths, and libraries that weren't infested with Red Hot Itchyworms, and a healthy respect for silence. But alas Fishlegs was a Viking, and his best friend was the king of the Wilderwest, and he cared about said king rather a lot, oftentimes to his own downfall, so Rome wasn't an option. He would have to stick it out, and stand his ground.

Luckily, right when Fishlegs was building up the courage to yell something really intimidating that most probably would not have gone well, Old Wrinkly entered the council chamber. This immediately caused an uncomfortable silence to fall over the furious Vikings, for Old Wrinkly had built rather a reputation for himself since the war, and the majority of the Viking population now had a great many beliefs about him that were definitely not true. Or at least Fishlegs was pretty sure they weren't. For example, he had never seen Old Wrinkly been possessed by the spirit of Thor or shape shift into a prophecy dragon to swim among them and learn their secrets. Once he had asked Old Wrinkly about where he thought these rumours had come from, and Hiccup's grandfather had just winked at him.

Anyway, the Vikings were all pretty terrified of Old Wrinkly by now, to whom they'd assigned a sort of reverence that only comes about as a result of a large and very irrational amount of superstition, but no matter how stupid it was, Fishlegs was indescribably grateful for it in that moment. The sweet, lovely, gorgeous peace remained for a few glorious seconds before Old Wrinkly, in that infuriatingly mysterious way of his, parted the crowd of Vikings with all the ease of a god parting the seas. There was a small smile on the old man's face, but behind it, Fishlegs thought he saw something deeper. Fear. But this was Old Wrinkly, and he was never scared.

"I understand why you are all angry," he said in that creaky voice as reached Fishlegs, turning around to address the angry chieftains, "I understand that you are scared for your people, and quite rightly, for your king. However, Hiccup came to me before he left, and I consulted the fires. The mission is a worthy one, and it shall be successful, there is no need to panic."

This had mostly quieted the Vikings' worries based off the looks on their faces, but a particularly stubborn Deirdre the Doomful, newly established chief the Danger Brutes, seemed to be about to continue speaking, so Old Wrinkly regally added,

“And Thor himself spoke to me in a dream last night, and he told me that any interfering with any sort of confusing and slightly crazy missions would be a violation of fate and a personal insult to him."

That seemed to make her hesitate enough that Fishlegs, with some newly gained confidence, could herd the crowd, slowly but surely, out of the room.

"Thank Thor." Fishlegs slumped against the shut door with relief.

"I think you mean, thank me." Said Old wrinkly, that ever-present twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, definitely, thank you."

"You know, I really did have a dream that Thor told me not to interfere with things, so it wasn't completely a lie."

"Well, we'll just have to hope their confidence in your soothsaying skills wins out over their... many other traits." Fishlegs, sighing, pushed himself back upright to walk over to the desk to shuffle through the blueprints he'd brought over from his hut. He didn't really know why he'd brought them; it wasn't as if there was anything he could find in them to help his friends now. But before the apocalypse of Vikings had descended upon him, he'd found himself tracing the planned route over and over, wondering where they were at that moment. Oh Thor, his eczema hadn't relapsed like this since the time he’d accidentally fell into a dragon pit while doing anti-slavery work with some of the tribes further east for Hiccup and only gotten out again three hours later due to his hosts being less than enthusiastic about his cause.

"Yes... We will have to hope. And you will have to tell me everything." Fishlegs realised that the tint of fear he'd seen in Old Wrinkly's earlier hadn't been imagined. He heard worry in the old man's voice.

"Yeah. You might want to sit down for this."

-----------------

Camicazi only had a few seconds to stop the sword from bludgeoning into her face, so it was lucky she had one of the quickest reaction times in the archipelago. She dropped to the floor without thinking as the blade sliced the air in two above her. Rolled over. Drew the daggers that had been waiting, strapped to her thighs. And sprang at the attacker like a vicious wildcat with a thirst for blood. The soldier was a typical Roman guard- tall, precise, draped in ridiculously shiny armour and taught to fight in exactly the same way as every other. This one was strong, and dangerous. But he couldn’t move in the way that she could, he hadn’t grown up fighting girls like her, whereas she knew exactly how to best people like him. Move fast. Cut quick.

The first dagger went sailing in a beautifully straight line towards his calf, exposed where the armour didn’t cover it. If he cried out in pain, she didn’t notice. All she saw was his leg give way beneath him like the first hole punctured in an overflowing dam. By the time his next strike was swinging towards her she was already darting out of the way and wishing that she didn’t have to keep silent right at that moment because there were some truly fabulous insults brewing in her mind. Then, as his head turned towards her, his helmet shifted to perfectly expose his neck. As the second dagger left her hand, she knew it was already over. His eyes were on hers as it sunk into his flesh. She couldn’t tell if it was anger, sadness, or fear inside them.

Camicazi stood there for a moment as he collapsed to the ground, watching silently as the blood spurted from his neck. Tried not to notice the youth in his face, the freckled on his cheeks that reminded her a little too much of Hiccup. And then she carefully plucked her daggers from the body, wiped off the blood on his red cloak, and sprinted away down the corridor.