Five: Hope Extinguished

Fishlegs Ingerman was not an especially religious man. He observed the Gods, as all Vikings did and observed the usual superstitions that everyone in the village acknowledged. He wasn't a naturally forceful man though he was brave in his own way and had seen things in his short life that many seasoned raiders could never have believed. But he had been praying with all his might when the explosion sounded and the stone roof of the Hall creaked and then promptly collapsed.

Time had slowed for him and as he saw the cracks tearing through the roof, edged with the fire of the Singetail attack, he had sprung into action, grabbing Gothi and flinging himself forward, towards the back of the Hall and the little shelter that was on offer. Then there had just been the cacophony of falling masonry, the snap of the huge timbers even a dragon would have had difficulty breaking and an eruption of dust. And then silence.

Blinking, Fishlegs realised that he wasn't blind, he wasn't dead and the dust was thinning as the faintest of air currents allowed the smog to settle. A little light filtered though the gaps between the stones and he could still see the steps of the person who had been here before, carved into the dust, though their forms were blurring as the new dust from the collapse began to settle. Achingly, he got up and was immediately whacked in the head by Gothi, who seemed immensely irritated that she had been squashed by the husky rider as he had thrown her away from the collapse. A mere foot behind him, the roof lay flush with the floor and anyone who had been there would have been crushed into oblivion. Staring at the closeness of her escape, the Elder levered herself up with her staff and scrambled awkwardly in the tiny space to the shelves that were still just about visible. She looked at Fishlegs and beckoned and he slowly followed.

"Ow," he murmured as he glanced at the new area. This was much less packed than the Elders' shelves and the areas were sectioned off, symbols carved into the stone shelves that Fishlegs realised were the crests of the new Tribes. He ran a grubby finger over the carvings, still crisp after the centuries and then looked around. Facing him was a symbol of a dragon impaled on a sword-the old sign for Berk before the War had ended and he immediately grabbed all the scrolls and stuffed them in his satchel, realising that he could inspect them later-and hand them back to the Chief, who would surely want to guard these precious relics. But next to them was another portion of shelf with a dragon doubly impaled: the Hunter Tribe. And though there were only a handful of scrolls and one that looked very different to the other, more simple rolls of parchment.

With a trembling hand, Fishlegs lifted the odd scroll out and looked at it: it was longer than the other scrolls and like the ones they had inspected earlier, it was tied with cords of leather dyed in red and blue, the ends finished with love and care. He carefully opened it and stared at the recipe for the Wine of Hell-and the antidote.

"Thank you, Freya," he murmured. "Now all I need to do is get out of here and find all of these things before it's too late to save my best friend..."

Suddenly there was a roar and explosions and then a thud. And a rapid, urgently scraping that told him one thing. Stuffing the precious scroll very carefully into his satchel, he looked at the pile of rubble, his face lit by a sudden hopeful grin.

"Meatlug!" he squeaked. "That's it-come to Daddy!"

oOo

"You complete muttonheads!" Heather yelled as she circled the collapsed Hall, trying to see where the two Riders could have possibly survived. "Can't you even follow the simplest orders?"

"I think, my dear Heather, we have already determined that we cannot," Tuff said in a superior voice. "Our capabilities in complying with even the most basic instruction are tenuous as best."

"Look, we stopped the Fliers," Snotlout told her obviously as he finished tying up the unconscious Fliers. "I mean...BAM! That was an awesome take-down!"

"And you may have crushed Fishlegs and Gothi who were Hiccup's last hope," Heather growled at them through her teeth. There was a sober moment and then Snotlout pointed at the twins.

"It was their fault!" he protested. "They said the Armoury would be full of awesome weapons...and it was..."

"Totally awesome," Ruff agreed as Heather rolled her eyes.

"You knew there was a real chance that Viggo would send the Fliers to stop us-and your job-your only job-was to watch out for them and keep them away while we found the cure for Hiccup!" she snapped. "Instead, you muttonheads completely abandon your posts, only notice when we're being attacked and then actually cause more damage than the Fliers!"

"It sounds so bad when you put it like that," Ruff protested. "And it wasn't really..."

"Oh? How?" Heather snapped.

"We did bring them down!" Tuff volunteered. "With the gassiest dragon in the Archipelago..."

"And we do have some amazing weapons we can use..." Snotlout brought up, glancing at the ruins of the Hall. Though he wasn't often prone to introspection, there was a generous part of him that was kicking himself for his stupidity in allowing himself to get caught up in the excitement of finding some new weapons to investigate. And though he knew that would be what his Dad would have done, a part of him wanted to be the person Hiccup expected him to be, rather than the rock-headed, selfish and stupid son Spitelout had created.

"And what use are they if Hiccup dies?" Heather asked. But for once, Snotlout had an answer.

"We use them to destroy Viggo," he said simply. Ruff was staring at the ruins as Tuff continued to talk in a squeaky voice to a particularly fine two headed axe.

"What is Meatlug doing?" she asked. "And Gothi's Gronckle, for that matter?"

All four Riders turned to see the two dragons burrowing furiously, completely intent on their tasks. Meatlug was looking fierce and they ducked as a chunk of stone flew past their heads. Gothi's Gronckle-if she had ever named him, no one knew because she didn't speak-chewed a chunk of the rock thoughtfully and continued to burrow alongside Meatlug. And then they heard the shout.

"They're alive!" Heather gasped in relief and then glared at the others. "Don't just stand there-help them!"

"Who put you in charge?" Snotlout grumbled.

"Astrid," Heather reminded her smugly. "You wanna argue with her when we get back?" There was a second of silence and then all three and their dragons surged forward to help lift the unconscious Singetail off the wreckage and then dig out their friends. But Meatlug had already broken through and head-butted the last chunk aside-to reveal the grimy but relieved shape of Fishlegs with Gothi standing behind him, leaning on her staff. Carefully, the Riders helped the two Vikings free and Fishlegs hugged Meatlug happily before Heather hugged him.

"Oh, thank Thor," Fishlegs exclaimed as the Razorwhip Rider peered at the collapsed Hall.

"I guess that's it for our chances of finding the antidote," she said sombrely but the husky rider grinned.

"Not quite," he said smugly. "Viggo was here-and he hid the scroll...among those of the Hunter Tribe..." And then suddenly everyone was hugging Fishlegs or clapping him on the shoulder and even the dragons seemed happy.

"Now all we have to do is find the ingredients and bingo! Hiccup's saved!" Snotlout said in a relieved voice. Gothi slammed her staff on the floor and began to scratch in the snow.

"She says it may not be that simple," Fishlegs read. "Oh. OH! It depends what the ingredients are, doesn't it?" The Elder nodded and the Riders watched as he unscrolled the parchment and peered at the runes.

"First we have the recipe for the Wine of Hela...Scauldron, boiled Slitherwing poison, Changewing and Hemlock..." he read. "Ah...the antidote."

"Go ahead," Heather urged him.

"Yellow bitterweed flower, purple Oleader in a two to one ratio, the green saliva of a Buffalord, Night Fury Saliva, Goat grass, Bruise fruit."

"That's it?" Snotlout asked and the husky rider nodded, his eyes scanning the list again.

"There are more details of where to find them and of course, how to make up the potion but...yeah," he said. There was a pause.

"I have heard of...some of those..." Tuff began cautiously.

"Oh yeah? Which ones?" his sister challenged him.

"Night Fury Saliva," he replied. "I mean T drools on everyone, right?"

"Which would be how Viggo got some-from when he captured Hiccup in the past," Heather mused. "I mean, we've all heard Hiccup telling us that Night Fury saliva has amazing healing properties...surely the Dragon Hunters must know that as well..."

"At least we know where the Buffalord is-though the saliva evaporates very easily..." Ruff commented. Gothi nodded and scratched a few symbols in the snow.

"She can provide a container that will keep it inside," Fishlegs read. "And Hiccup told me where to get the Oleader and Bitterweed for the Dragon Root cure."

"Goat Grass is on Healers' Island," Tuff piped up unexpectedly. "It's very itchy when you put it in your pants..."

"Please tell me we don't have to feed poor Hiccup something that's been in your pants?" Heather groaned. "I mean, we don't want to poison..." And then she paused as the twin hauled out a handful of the herb.

"Maybe-but it would save us a long flight," he commented. "Look-my unawesome sister and I are very susceptible to Eel Pox so we keep most of the ingredient for the cure on or around our persons just in case we need them."

"Even the Eel?" Snotlout asked sarcastically. Ruffnut promptly retrieved a dried and wizened piece of fish from under his helmet. Everyone gagged.

"Yup!" the male twin replied smugly. Snotlout gagged loudly.

"Put it away!" he choked. Ruff grinned and stowed the dried eel smugly.

"Okay-can you give the Goat Grass to Gothi please Tuff?" Heather decided. "I can get to collect the items from the DragonRoot Antidote while Snot and the twins can collect the Buffalord saliva..."

"Hey! Why do I get drool?" Snotlout protested.

"Because you deserted your post and almost got Gothi and Fishlegs killed," Ruff told him with a grin.

"So did you!" the stocky rider accused her. She shrugged.

"I know," she said. "But Hiccup is my friend. He has literally come through for us so many times. And Tuff and I will do whatever it takes to try to save him..."

"Fishlegs-can you find the Bruise Fruit?" Heather continued and he nodded.

"Gothi-will you be heading home to prepared the potion?" Fishlegs continued and the old woman nodded, snatching the Goat Grass and fumbling in her bag, pushing a polished metal flask into his hands. The purplish sheen and beautiful finish told Fishlegs that this had been made by Hiccup specifically for the Elder at some point in the past. He nodded and handed her the scroll: she swiftly read the scroll before handing it back and turning to her Gronckle. In a moment, she had taken off and was speeding south towards Berk. Fishlegs stared after her into the frigid grey sky, the snow flurrying around them.

"We need to hurry," he sighed, tucking the scroll into his bag and turning towards Meatlug. "Every moment is one less that Hiccup has to live."

oOo

Astrid's knuckles tightened on the axe as she stared at the hated shape of Viggo, her eyes fixed on his mutilated face.

"And you die the following instant," she said. Viggo chuckled.

"You realise you are infinitely predictable, Astrid?" he touted her. "You are an archetypal Viking warrior, clinging to violence and revenge, defaulting to anger and riposte rather than thinking about what the game is this time..."

"THIS ISN'T A GAME!" she shouted, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh, but it is," Viggo reminded her, his smile widening a fraction, though his eyes were mocking. "It is still a game, my dear. It's just the parameters have shifted..." Astrid growled in her throat.

"So murdering Hiccup is just a 'shifted parameter'?" she snapped. Viggo tutted.

"You know, he is the most infuriatingly stubborn young man I have ever encountered?" he asked her conversationally. "No matter what we tried to force him to comply, he endured. And he really isn't an especially impressive specimen...but he more than makes up for it. It's a shame-because I would have enjoyed him toiling as my slave..."

"And yet you chose the cowardice of poisoning him," Astrid spat. "Surely you knew you would never find the lenses if he died?"

"Again, you assume I have an ounce of care for his wellbeing," he told her pityingly. "His capture was an opportunity to save time, since Krogan's contact is becoming impatient with the delays...but ultimately, if we can explain that the enemy who was thwarting our efforts is now dead, I am certain that he will be satisfied."

"Viggo-Hiccup helped you," Astrid reminded him. "He gave you his trust-and you repaid him by trying to kill me!" Viggo scowled.

"In the end, he tricked me," the Hunter said in a dark voice. "He threw the DragonEye into the volcano and allowed me to fall..." Astrid's eyes narrowed.

"Your treachery deserved everything you got!" she spat.

"And now he deserves what he will get," Viggo sneered. "How far along is he? Blind? Paralysed? Deprived of speech? Or having fits and delusions?"

"I am going to kill you and every one of your Tribe," Astrid growled. Viggo shook his head.

"You are going to be captured and fall as my prisoner," he snapped as she heard steps close. And then she moved, shoving him back and snatching the flask, spinning away with a triumphant look on her face...

...to realise that the flask was very light. Viggo grabbed the identical flask from the desk and gave a triumphant leer before he threw it to the ground, the pot smashing and spilling the greenish fluid on the floor.

"There will be no miraculous escape this time," Viggo exulted.

"NO!" she yelled. "Stormfly!"

The snikt of a spine sounded and Viggo yelled as it sliced through his arm. He stumbled back through the back flap of the tent as the girl dropped to her knees by the spilled fluid.

"Stormfly...burn it all!" she commanded in a dead voice. Slowly, she bent forward and found a shallow piece of the flask, using it to scoop up the greenish fluid and drip it into the empty flask in her hands. The Nadder hissed and flamed, her Magnesium-bright flame slewing through the tent, turning the entire space into an inferno. The flames roared as Astrid painstakingly scooped up every drop of the spilled liquid she could and carefully corked the flask. Then she threw herself into the saddle. She gestured and the Nadder blasted through the roof of the tent, accelerating into the sky, leaving the Hunters shocked.

Numbly, she leaned forward, accelerating to Stormfly's maximum speed and racing away from Viggo. She prayed that she had saved enough of the mixture to spare her love. And as they flew back towards Berk, her mind rolled over and over Viggo's words:

How far along is he? Blind? Paralysed? Deprived of speech? Or having fits and delusions?

"I promise I will kill you if he dies," she swore. "I will hunt you to the ends of the earth and if it takes my dying breath, I will slaughter you for this. On Freya, I swear!"

oOo

Hiccup stirred in his sleep, his head throbbing with pain and lights flashing across his black vision. Shapes seemed to be lunging at him and he twitched, then flinched back and cringed.

"No..." he mumbled, thrashing. The images intensified, colours brilliant and searing his eyes. "NO!"

Noises grew closer, steps and the rustling leather sounds of Toothless, along with a little warble, sounded to his right. Desperate, still trembling from his nightmare, Hiccup reached out, his hand moving feebly and finding the leathery nose of his dragon. Toothless nuzzled him urgently as he gave a low moan.

"Son?" Stoick's voice was rough and worried and through the befuddlement of the nightmarish visions-that still hung before his blind eyes, Hiccup moved his head to look towards his father's voice. Stoick's large hands were curiously gentle as he stroked his son's head and lifted him further up his pillows.

"M'fine," Hiccup said...and then he stilled. All that emerged was a garbled noise. "Dad?" he tried though the word was unintelligible.

Stoick shook his head and his voice hitched.

"Son...I-I don't understand..." he said in a stricken tone.

"Please Thor..." Hiccup murmured, hearing his own garbled response and feeling tears of frustration and despair leak down his face. Losing his sight was awful enough but no longer even being able to communicate with his family, with Astrid ripped the last shreds of courage from his pain-wracked shape. Stoick gently pulled the feverish body against him.

"Oh son," he murmured, stroking his son's head tenderly. "I wish I could know what you were saying. I wish Gothi was here. Thor, I wish Astrid was. But she is on her way back, hopefully with the antidote...and then we'll have you as right as rain. But...don't forget...we love you. I love you."

Fighting with all his strength to tighten his hand on Stoick's tunic, Hiccup leaned against his father and remained silent.

I love you too, Dad, he thought desperately. I love you, Milady. And I will never say that again either.

oOo

Buffalord Island was remote, flat and grassy and quiet and the large round shapes of three slow-moving Buffalords were slowly chewing on the grass and herbs. Snotlout was tired and fed up of the twins' antics as they swooped slowly down and landed on a low ridge, overlooking the island. The twins paused and then began nudging each other and laughing.

"Will you two shut up?" Snotlout growled as he ducked down by Hookfang and stared at the large, slow-moving dragons. They looked peaceful enough but the Rider could recall just how the dragon had turned when they had tried to take it off the island, blowing up to a huge size, shooting spikes from its thick hide and breathing fire as it thrashed and broke free. It had been strong enough to haul Viggo's largest ship into the air until it was cut free! And though he was probably a bit of a muttonhead some of the time-which was as much as Snotlout was willing to admit-he wasn't keen to risk fighting the dragon. And though they were previously thought to have been all hunted to extinction, Snotlout found himself grateful they weren't.

"Okay-who's going to get the drool?" Tuff asked cheerfully as Snotlout rolled his eyes.

"You get the dragon to the herbs and make sure that saliva is nice and green and I'll get the drool," Snotlout said quickly, his eye narrowing. "And quickly. We saw those Hunter ships closing on the coast and we need this safely secured before they arrive."

"Because though they still exist, Buffalords were hunted almost to extinction," Ruff commented with surprisingly insight. "So though they are awesome, they must be pretty vulnerable if the Hunters just come at them and kill them, rather than trying to take them away..." Tuff nodded and slide down the little slope.

"Then come on, Butt-Elf," he grinned and scanned the ground, finding a large patch of the fragrant green herbs. "Let's get this dragon to have his dinner!"

Snotlout watched, somewhat horrified as the twins capered around, chewing handfuls of the herbs and running up to the Buffalords and waving at them. The green juices were smeared down their chins and the dragons gave a sniff and then one very slowly turned and ambled forward to follow them to the chosen patch and start quietly chewing the herbs. Snotlout weighed the flask in his hands from his hiding place behind a small pile of boulders and inched round so he was out of sight and then sneaked down, going up behind the large dragon and uncorking the flask. Taking a breath against the very strong and fairly unpleasant smell of the dragon, he dived forward and held the flask under the corner of the dragon's jaws as it masticated furiously. Copious amounts of the green, herb-filled drool, sloshed into the flask until it was full, when Snotlout corked the top and them screwed a very tight top on over the cork. He gave a thumbs-up.

And then the first catapult stone landed.

The twins both popped up from where they were sitting companionably by the dragon, also chewing the herbs, and looked startled. Another stone barely missed the dragon and them.

"HUNTERS!" Snotlout yelled as the Riders began to run-and then their dragons swooped in, all looking distressed. As Snotlout threw himself onto Hookfang and glanced down, he could see why: the other two Buffalords were lying dead, surrounded by Hunters who were mercilessly hauling off the carcasses. Barf and Belch swooped round and all three Riders stared at the last Buffalord as it harmlessly chewed the cud.

"What are you waiting for, man?" Tuff yelled. "We gotta get out of here and get this back to Berk!" Staring at the helpless dragon, Snotlout knew what he should be doing...and what Hiccup would want him to do. Even when Astrid's life was at stake from the Scourge of Odin, the auburn-haired rider had not wanted to harm or risk the dragon and had made a deal with Viggo to keep the dragon alive.

"We can't let them kill it!" he shouted.

"But H..." Tuff protested.

"Yeah-I thought we needed to get the saliva back to Gothi?" Ruff yelled. Snotlout made a growling noise in his throat.

"You know Hiccup would want us to save this dragon! Even at the cost of his life. Because he is a complete muttonhead!" he shouted. "Look-you guys get the drool back and I'll fight them!" There was a pause as the twins shared a look.

"Snot-your dragon is much faster," Ruff said. "You go-we'll look after chubby here!" Snotlout gritted his teeth.

"No, I..." he began.

"GO!" Tuff insisted, his voice suddenly serious. "We've got this." And he paused. "But if you want to blow some stuff up on your way out, feel free..." Nodding, Snotlout made sure the flask was secure and leaned forward on his dragon.

"Okay, Hookie-let's see how many of these murderers we take down!" he said darkly as the Monstrous Nightmare rumbled and flamed up. With a yell, Snotlout swooped round and blasted straight at the Hunters, seeing the ferocious flames enswathe the men, their screams floating up as Snotlout gave a grim smile.

"This is for you, cuz," he murmured.

oOo

Fishlegs saw the island of Ecchymosis with no small relief. Meatlug was not the fastest dragon-though she was the loveliest, in his opinion-and she as exhausted by the long flight down from Frost Isle. Ecchymosis was small and blobby in shape with gentle undulations and purplish brown rocks. There were a few small stunted trees and lost of shrubbery...but only a small area on the island where the plants that grew the 'Bruise Fruit'. Fishlegs was only diving down towards the foggy landmass when he saw the ships.

"Hunters," he breathed and directed the exhausted Gronckle to hide amid the rocks. Clambering off and hunkering down, the husky rider peered through the thin skeins of mist as he saw a large group of Hunters walking jauntily and confidently through the bushes back towards their ship.

"I'd like to see them use those fruit now!" one sneered and Fishlegs felt a sudden shiver of anxiety thrill through him. He waited until the Hunters had vanished down the slope and then sprinted in the direction they had come, seeing a plume of smoke rising into the foggy sky. Sniffing the familiar scent of flames, he burst over the ridge to find an area where the bushes were ripped to pieces and burning fiercely. A few scattered leaves were blowing in the wind and smushed fruit were ground into the mossy turf. But there were no bushes or fruit left at all. Fishlegs dropped to a crouch and stared at the scene.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Hiccup. I've failed you."