Hey guys! This story is set about 18 years after HtTyD 3, with most of the movie being canon except the dragons never left and Hiccup's children are a little different than shown. It's the story of a young Irishman and his life after he arrives at New Berk, particularly as he tries to deal with an incredibly powerful warlord while trying to settle in. I have smaller stories that fill in a lot of his backstory that i might publish if enough interest is shown.

I've been working on this project for a while now, it probably took me 2 or so years to finish. It is my first attempt at an actual written story, so it won't be perfect. That being said, I think it's pretty decent as home-made stuff goes and I hope you enjoy!

Also, the first couple chapters are a little slow since i had to spend a bit of time "setting the stage" so to speak. The real stuff starts happening at around ch 6. Sorry bout that!

Prologue

Gunnar slowly stood up from the blow, grunting in pain. He was tired. Looking down through the blood from a gash on his head, he saw yet another arrow embedded in his armor, but this one he felt had found flesh. He reached down and snapped off the shaft and looked up.

Across the blood-soaked and smoky field of slaughter the pungent smell of seared flesh lay. Although he and Shock, his "Firehawk" as his Irish brethren had called him, had given the Dreadlacian soldiers a run for their money, it looked like they were finally caught. Like a rat in a corner.

Shock had what looked like a dozen arrows in him and blood from another dozen seeped in between his crude leather armor. They weren't flying out. But that fire still burned in his deep orange eyes, and his dirty- but noble- red and black scales still glimmered in the light of the rising sun. He grinned. Shock still had fight in him yet. Gunnar tore his gaze from his proud Firehawk and looked through his visor at the thinned ranks of enemy soldiers preparing for the final assault.

Their numbers had been severely thinned. Hundreds of their fellows lay dead behind them, shot, slashed, or burnt, but still what was left came on. They smelled blood and final victory, and the 200-300 of them that remained regrouped and began to advance cautiously.

Gunnar stood to face them. Pulling himself up to his full height but keeping his hand pressed to his injured shoulder, he picked up a sword from the ground and raised it in one final gesture of defiance. Beside him Shock let out a great roar, promising death to any who approached. But onward the shielded mass came. Slowly, unstoppably, aiming to finally get rid of these infuriatingly pesky fighters.

Gunnar took one final deep breath. His blood rage from earlier had spent itself. He was out of arrows, out of knives, out of tricks, and his sword laid shattered on the ground, but he still had fight in him, and hate and contempt for the enemy. Well, he thought, he may be battered and wounded, but he was still the better warrior. Steeling himself, oblivious to the pain, he advanced with Shock at his side to meet them.

As he walked, the masked warrior started to sway. His head begin to feel light from the effects of severe blood loss. Through his blurred vision he saw them lunge. Parrying a thrust to his head out of instinct, he dispatched the soldier with a lightning-fast swipe to the throat. He jerked his light head backward to avoid a spear thrust from his right. As he dispatched that soldier with the guy's own spear he saw the outline of another soldier fly through the air, screaming. Shock must be in among their formation. The world started to spin. He fell to his knees, still blocking and striking out, wildly now, not with the cold efficiency of earlier.

As he began to be overpowered, the sounds of Shock fighting next to him dimmed out of focus. His thoughts scattered. He felt something he never thought he'd feel: satisfaction. He would die in battle, with his family and village revenged tenfold. As he slowly blacked out he saw the outline of another soldier raise his axe… then through the pain, the confusion, the dimness, one sound pierced through the air like an arrow, freezing all who heard it in an unknown fear.

A banshee-like scream, growing in pitch, slashed through the air. Another joined it. The soldiers looked around uneasily, then started to panic as the sound grew ever louder in noise and ferocity.

The last thing Gunnar remembered seeing was the odd sight of a series of blue explosions appearing in front of him in slow motion, then a black cat-like dragon landed near the smoldering craters. The blurry outline of its armored rider approached- then knelt down in front of him. The words the man spoke were wavy, out of focus. But Gunnar could still hear them- "Keep the Nadder calm Toothless, lemme see if I can talk to his rider. Hello? Mister? You ok?" A woman's voice echoed from behind the shape. The man answered without turning his head. "No Astrid, he's not responding. Although he is awake, by the looks of it. Mister? Can you here me?"

As Gunnar opened his mouth to answer, all went black.