Hunter and Hunted

The crew had been on tenterhooks around Fury since Dragon Island, unsure what he would do next. They had irrevocably exiled themselves from the pirate haven and had a number of powerful and very unpleasant parties after their leader. Both the Svens and Halvard had grumbled incessantly-though never in the Captain's hearing-that he would lead them to rack and ruin but none had taken up the repeated offer to disembark and choose a new ship.

In fact, Fury had been utterly dismayed that his warning had been rejected and that Arild had been put in danger-again. Deep down, under years of hardships after his exile, there was still the kernel of the boy raised to be the next Governor of Berk and after hearing the mantra 'a Governor protects his own' for as long as he could remember, Fury had tried to do just that. But as he was a pirate, he had tried to give them a head's up: he had just forgotten pirates weren't normal people. Most were just regular guys with little choice of career and turned to the life through necessity but some of them really enjoyed inflicting misery on others-the face of Alvin the Treacherous came to mind irresistibly at that point. But they were all bone-headed, independent and too stupid to listen and he knew Drago was coming.

But the boy was his greater concern. Heather had snatched Arild and planned to put him in slavery under her brother to pay him back. Fury knew something of Berserkers-they were neighbours to Berk, after all-and he knew full well how cruelly they treated slaves. His mind wandered back : he had met an escapee once, a very thin and terrified man, his body horribly scarred and maimed by the incessant punishments he had earned from his unreasonable and cruel master. In Berserk, a slave counted as less than human...probably less important even than a horse or hunting dog. And she had planned that fate for his son.

He blinked. His son. The concept was so incredible that he couldn't believe it himself. A single act of kindness to someone who had reminded Fury of his own disowned and exiled self had brought him a person who loved and trusted him without qualification, without fear and without hesitation in the face of danger and severe duress. A person who looked at him with hope and expectation, who listened to him and who idolised him. And who he knew he would die to protect. And he really really regretted dragging the boy along on this mission because it was horribly dangerous and he doubted he would get out alive. He had plans to get the crew free but he wasn't at all sure that he would get away and he hated the idea of orphaning the boy all over again.

He peered at the letter in his hand and sighed. As part of his plan, he had rendez-voused with Trader Johann and Trader Maxim and offered them deals: they would no longer be his targets if they delivered letters for him and allowed him to look over any correspondence from Berk. Both men had seen the intensity in his emerald gaze and had agreed, preferring the deal to the extremely efficient and repeated raiding they suffered. Of course, the crew had looked on him in surprise but Fury had merely tilted his head and explained that a man didn't shear his sheep too often if he wanted a good harvest of wool. Fishlegs had looked at him suspiciously and that night, he had decided to speak to his Captain.

So during late watch, when he saw Fury leave his cabin and slowly walk the decks, the big First Mate slowly walked up to him, offering a cup of ale. With a nod and a half-smile, Fury had accepted. Fishlegs stared ahead for a long moment at the moon reflected on the sea, the broad ribbon of the milky way arching across the sky and the panoply of stars glittering against the night.

"Good visibility," he said. Fury cast him half an eye.

"Worst opening to a conversation ever," he said with a sigh. "I know you want to talk to me about something, Fish. I can see you fidgeting and you've looked nervous all day. I'm not an ogre, am I?" Fish sighed and he toyed with his mug.

"Um, you did carve up a dozen men like a lunatic when we were on Drago's ship," he pointed out. The Captain took a sip of his ale and leaned against the wooden side of the Night Fury.

"I thought they had killed my son," he said quietly. Fish stared at him.

"He's not, is he?" he clarified. Fury rolled his expressive eyes.

"No, Fish, biologically he's not," he admitted, "but emotionally...yeah." He frowned. "How old do you think I am anyway, to have a seven year old son?" I mean, you met me five years ago as a scrawny fishbone of a kid, thrown out of his home to literally starve on the streets! How-how could I have a seven year old son?" Fishlegs blushed.

"I dunno...you could have been a bad boy at home...?" he asked and Fury rolled his eyes, then leaned back, staring up at the stars.

"I did have a girl," he said hollowly. "I loved her from when I was about seven or eight. She was my best friend...well, almost my only friend apart from my older cousin...when he stopped bullying the Hel outta me..." Fishlegs stared at him: the tone of his voice had dropped. He almost held his breath as Fury took a slow breath. "She was the daughter of my father's sworn rival. They hated each other-and we were caught in the middle. We thought if we were careful, we could be together...until we were old enough to leave...and maybe make them see sense. But we were betrayed. I was betrayed."

"Gods." Fishlegs reached across and gently rested a hand on Fury's shoulder. The man had dropped his head now, his eyes inspecting the deck...and he was very, very tense.

"My cousin betrayed me to our fathers. My father beat and exiled me, throwing me from my home to die on the streets. He forbade everyone on Berk to help me. My girl denied ever having any feelings for me, despite swearing to love me forever." His tone was low, furious.

"Which is why you hate Berk so much," the First Mate realised. Fury pulled away and spun, leaning over the rail and staring at the waves as the Night Fury carved through the water. His auburn hair was tugged by the breeze.

"I had a few people there I cared for...really cared for..." he said softly. "But every single one of them...bar one...betrayed me. Even my mentor wouldn't go against my father." He sighed. "In the end, even the Thor's Hammer was an improvement over my life on Berk." He sighed slowly. "I know you think I've lost it, Fish, but what I am doing will finally get my revenge."

"Jorgensen...was one of those who harmed you?" he guessed.

"Top marks," Fury said sarcastically. "Can't think what gave you that idea."

"The fact you swore to bring him down was the clue," his friend told him dryly. Fury sighed.

"I'm close," he admitted, turning back to face his friend. "And the Traders...I know the crew liked raiding them, though it was a really soft target. And I known Maxim is almost bankrupt. He's an okay guy, really. And Johann-though he can talk all four legs off a yak! So they'll be my messengers. I have intelligence I need from the Mainland and they has sworn they will get it for me." Fishlegs peered at him.

"Sure?" he asked. Fury nodded.

"I have promised them a reward if they help me," he admitted. "The things I take aren't for me. I don't think of the future. I don't have a future."

"You better start thinking!" Fishlegs told him, clouting him hard on the shoulder, "because there's a little boy sleeping in your cabin who thinks you are his Dad. Who desperately needs the man he has adopted as his father to be there. Who wants you in his life for the long term. Who wants to be you! And who has already risked his life to save yours..."

And then Fury slid to the floor, his fists pressed to his face, face buried in his knees. He was rocking slightly, his shoulders jerking silently. Fishlegs stared at him in utter shock. Slowly, he crouched down by the lean and lanky shape, huddled up like an abandoned child.

"Fury?" he murmured, laying a hand on the man's shoulder. He glanced across the deck: no one was close. "Hiccup?" The pirate shook his head and took a sighing breath.

"What do I know about being a father?" he murmured, his head still bowed. "What can I offer him? My own father was indifferent at best, disappointed, cold, violently angry and vindictive at worst. My mentor, who was like a second father to me, cast me aside when given a choice. And all I can offer is uncertainty, danger and probable death..."

"You are a fine father," Fishlegs told him suddenly. "You care for that boy more than you do yourself. We all see it! Gods, we would all protect him but you...you went berserk when he fell!" And then Fury raised his face.

"Yes, I did," he admitted. "I discovered that when I was a child, bullied and beaten, that when I was angry beyond all rationality, I could fight like a demon. Of course, when you're a skinny fishbone, that doesn't work and I still ended up beaten up. And then in trouble with your Dad for fighting. As a man...even a scrawny one, armed with two swords and not even caring if you live or die...it's a bit more effective." He gave a wan smile. "Don't worry, Fish. I won't attack anyone here." The First Mate hauled him to his feet.

"What happened to you on that ship?" he asked softly. Fury gave a grim smile.

"Nothing you need to worry about," he said quietly. "Get some rest, Fish. I'll be okay. I always am." Fishlegs stared into his face and gave a worried shake of the head, his blue eyes gentle with compassion.

"No, you're not," he said softly. "You haven't been for a long time. But don't try to do this alone. Remember the Code, Captain. You hurts one, you hurts all. We will help you-if you let us." Fury just gave a grim smile and turned away to stare at the sea once more.

"This is my vengeance, Fish," he told the man sadly. "But I promise you: when it all goes to Hel, I will be the only one who pays."

oOo

The Jorgensen Princess, Magne's favourite clipper, was tacking east for the mainland when Fury spotted her...and her escorts. He held the Night Fury back as he observed the other ships through his spyglass, his keen emerald gaze racking the lines of the unknowns and their flags. And his eyes narrowed.

"Son of a half-troll," he growled. "Outcasts!"

"What, dude?" asked Tuff, who was at the helm.

"Jorgensen has got himself an Outcast escort," Fury repeated through gritted teeth. The crew looked at one another.

"Hmm, heavily armed...and one is flying Alvin's flag," Fishlegs noted, peering through his own spyglass. "We're outnumbered and outgunned."

"And there are no seastacks to hide behind, no ambush points or crazy currents to give us an edge," Halvard grumbled. "We attack and we're toast."

Fury stood in silence, glaring at the distant ships. His fists clenched, knuckles showing white through the skin and his mouth pressed closed in a grim scowl. The twins shared a glance and backed away: even they could tell now was not a good time. Efficiently, Fishlegs inspected the two escorts carefully for gun numbers and placement while the rest of the crew quietly got on with their tasks. Quietly, Arild walked up and peered at the distant ships.

"Are those our next targets, Dad?" he asked softly. Fury turned on him and forced the anger from his expression. He nodded.

"The middle one, at least," he murmured coldly. The boy stiffened at the tone. "The others are people paid to protect it." Trembling, the boy stepped back a pace at the anger on his voice and his head bowed. In an instant, every shred of confidence was gone.

"Sorry," he mumbled almost in a whisper. Fury whipped round, his expression suddenly stricken as he saw the bowed shape. Immediately, he dropped to a knee by the boy and grasped his shoulders.

"Oh, no no no no no..." he said urgently. "Little bud-I'm so sorry. I'm not angry at you. I'm never angry at you, son! I'm just mad at that...bastard...who has made my job so much harder and I know...I know it will be so much difficult to finish them off." Then he pulled the boy into a powerful hug and felt the boy snuggle into his chest.

"You're my Dad-and you're Captain Fury," he murmured softly. "You can beat them all. Three against one. Rotten bullies!" Fury stood, the boy in his arms and rested his forehead against the boy's, raising a hand to stroke the fresh scar on the boy's cheek.

"Hmm, not sure I stand a hope without my little dragon," he murmured then turned his gaze to the distant sails and his definite brows pulled down as inspiration struck. "They have more guns, more men and more ships. I have speed and the best gunners in the Archipelago. In a straight fight...we lose. So we don't fight straight."

"What...we fight crooked?" Tuff asked. Fury rolled his eyes and Arild stared at him.

"Yes, Tuff-we fight crooked," he growled. Arild felt the man hug him a little tighter and gave a small frown.

"Er, Dad...how do you fight crooked?" he asked. Fury gave a small smile.

"Watch and learn, son," he murmured...

They maintained distance, securely out of cannon range and began to drop back at dusk...but they kept to the west and when it was full dark, they extinguished their lamps and furled their black sails. The convoy sailed on, assuming they had lost the pirate, that he had given up the chase.

Fury stood at the prow, the twins crouched by their guns with piles of spare shot and powder. He saw Arild standing behind him and he rested his hand on the boy's head. "Stay close," he said softly and turned to Bjarne, a dark grin on his face. "Show them why we're the Night Fury," he commanded.

They accelerated throughout the darkness, closing on the lamps of the Outcast escorts. "Range?" Ruff whispered. Tuff pointed and they adjusted the angle.

"Double powder..." Tuff confirmed.

"Take the sails of the escorts and slow them down..." Fury hissed as they swung round, Bjarne's hand steady as he swung the agile vessel in a sharp turn. The Night Fury cut furiously across the stern and emptied both cannons into the Outcast leader's ship, the mast going down and a shot smashing straight through the Captain's cabin.

"Whoops!" Tuff grinned as they reloaded and the ship spun in a tight turn around the stricken Outcast vessel. Her companion banked to protect their charge but the twins fired again-and again, shooting the sails to pieces, the main mast down and the prow off. They whooped in delight. Fury raised a fist and they swung around the listing ship, swooping past as they closed on the Jorgensen Princess.

"Sink her!" Fury growled and Arild stared up at him in surprise at the angry tone. He understood that people on Berk had hurt him badly and the young boy grabbed his hand. His big green eyes looked up at his father worriedly and the pirate sighed. "Do it," he repeated.

The volley smashed into the Princess and slammed straight through the hull just below the waterline. There were shouts and screams as Fury nodded. "Again!" Another two shots hammered the vessel and the screams were more urgent as the Night Fury pulled alongside. Fury winked to the boy as he, Fish, Sven One and the twins swung over, almost unnoticed amongst the rush to board the lifeboats as the crew abandoned the listing ship.

"Get whatever you can-and FAST!" Fury growled, sprinting to the Captain's cabin. He knew that the Jorgensen Princess was the Shipping Company's biggest and most busy vessel and her records would provide the vitally needed intelligence he sought. He glanced across the listing deck, men not paying attention to the raiders. He burst in-and almost lost his head to an axe, Eyes widening in the dim space, he saw a bulky shape move against the dim lamps. He just had time to duck as Eret lunged at him and he jumped back, scrambling his sword from the sheath. Parrying desperately, he backed away into the cabin as Eret lunged again.

"Now I have you," he sneered as Fury raised his sword.

"Don't you ever get the message...?" he groaned as the ship listed and the deck tilted alarmingly. "This ship is sinking, General. Do you really want to go down with it?" Eret gave a nasty grin and swiped at him again.

"No, I want you to go down with the ship, pirate!" he snarled and backed out of the cabin, slamming the door and slamming the bolt home. Fury cursed and ran to the door, but to was locked. He stared frantically around the room, finding the strongbox and grabbing papers wrapped in a oilskin, the ship's log and a small soft pouch that felt heavy with coins. Then he sheathed his sword, stuffed his prizes in his satchel and looked around the room for something to break the door down with. There was a sturdy chair for his opposite number and he grabbed it and slammed it into the door. The door shuddered but held. He glanced around as the lamp crashed to the floor and the oil caught fire. He stared.

"Great," he muttered. "Trapped in a burning cabin on a sinking ship. Way to go, Hiccup!" Then he slammed the chair into the door with more urgency until the wood splintered under the assault and the captain staggered onto the deck, which was now sloping crazily. He grabbed the rail and stared. The ship was going down fast and there was no way he could get to the Night Fury with the way the ship was leaning. He glanced across and saw his crew swinging back to safety...and the two dark, ragged shapes of the Outcast escorts closing rapidly on his own vessel.

The ship lurched and he gripped the rail. There was no point in jumping down because Fury knew the suction from the sinking ship would inexorably carry him down to a watery grave. He scrambled up the the jutting stern, rising from the sea as the Jorgensen Princess tilted into her final dive into the deep and cast a quick glance back at his ship, then dived urgently into the cold sea. In a second her was up, stroking away from the dying ship as fast as he could, feeling the currents and waves tugging at him as he slowed, still swimming more steadily and scanning for his ship. He could see the remains of the Princess vanish, the brilliantly lit ragged shapes of the Outcasts closing on his own vessel and he stared in horror.

Then a hand snaked from behind him and pulled him under the black waters before he could even scream...