Hello everyone, and welcome to this RotG/HTTYD crossover! Before I get into the story, I want to make a big thank you shout out to TsukinArchangel for helping me come up with this brilliant idea. His thoughts were the base, but I tweaked them up to fit what I wanted. (Sorry dude, but Jamie may not make it in this thing – forgive me!)
Please note the first few chapters may somewhat resemble the respective movies (what with introducing characters and the likes) though there will be some differences due to the plot and setting. And it will take some time before the two parts of the stories will become one.

Summary: AU – takes place in a fictional world with magic and flying ships and stuff. Jack Frost is a lonely winter immortal trying to find his purpose in the world. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III is one of the few remaining children in his village as dragons have begun to steal the youngsters. Little do these two know that their lives are about to change because of one notorious villain, Pitch Black, and his newfound alliance with the world's deadliest dragon: the Green Death. Soon the Guardians' paths will cross with those of the Vikings, and it's up to one frost spirit and one dragon rider to form a friendship in order to bring peace to all children in the world. Rated T for actions scenes and mild language.

And, as always, I do not own Rise of the Guardians or How to Train Your Dragon. I simply borrow the characters for writing and fun things like that.

1 – Shooting Down Fleeting Shadows

Part 1 – The Guardians

North Pole: Santoff Claussen

North was, as always, working in his workshop. His real name was Nikolai, of Russki descent, but the yetis he worked with gave him this nickname, he being the only human to live so far north. He found the name suited him, the northern areas of the world being like him: cold and tough and distant, but with enough wonder and magic, especially for the people of the south who'd never seen snow in their lives.

The man was a jolly fellow with a long white beard and respectably wide girth. His tattoos were the same as always on his muscular arms – NAUGHTY on one arm, NICE on the other. He was very skilled in sword fighting, but his primary job was the invention of toys. His workshop was where the magic happened. Each blueprint for each toy was created in that room. North claimed the view from the windows was what he found his inspiration from, the blue skies and snowy mountains. His current project was a model train, and it was going beautifully.

It was then, while in his own little workshop, that the sounds of panic came. At first it was just the annoying jingle of the elves' hats, which the man ignored. The elves were silly little nuisances at best. But then North heard a yeti cry out, then another, and frowned; almost nothing scared a yeti. Nothing except…could it be?

He immediately stopped what he was doing and rushed out of the cluttered room.

All the foot-tall beings were gathering in a cluster near the center of the central hall where the globe was located. Several yetis had stopped what they were doing to watch. Many of them appeared panicked, looking to North for advice. The older man walked over to the globe. All the lights on it – the children – were flickering. Something was disturbing the peace; he could feel it in his belly.

As North was making his way closer to observe this troubling scene a yeti hollered and pointed to a shadowy corner. The man stared at the spot. The shadows there seemed to be moving on their own accord, stretching and shrinking.

North realized that he had left his weapons, the twin swords, in his workshop. Though this was normal, as he had no need to be armed when he worked, something in his gut told him to retrieve them. He quickly turned around; they lay gleaming on his workbench as always. North picked them up and gave them an experimental swing before leaving the office. Fighting instincts kicking in, he ducked and ran from pillar to pillar, as deftly as any assassin. At the very last pillar closest to the globe, he crouched and waited.

At first nothing happened. Then, as if from a nightmare, all the shadows in the room moved in unison. They coagulated in the center of the room and formed the shape that resembled a man. His skin was grey, hair black as ebony, long robes flowing behind him like a trail of night. This figure's presence itself was causing the small group of yetis gathered around the globe to shuffle away with fear.

As if sensing their unease, the man made of shadows began to glide closer to them, a smile of sharp white teeth visible between his thin lips. He towered over them, the way a parent did a child, but without any love in his glowing yellow eyes.

North took a step forward from behind the pillar so he was in plain sight. The tall man turned and smiled at the other.

"We meet again, North," he said in a voice cold as ice before vanishing.

North stood in the middle of the room, dumbfounded, as the shadows returned to their normal positions. This was bad. This was very bad. He had to notify the others quickly.

After barking an order at the confused elves to continue their work, he reached into the pocket of his work clothes and pulled out a snow globe. This wasn't any ordinary snow globe, though. Concentrating, North threw it straight into the air. It seemed to sail up on its own accord through the glass ceiling before bursting into a million particles of light. The sky sent the artificial auroras in four different directions.

North relaxed slightly. He knew that Manny and the other Guardians would see this and report straight to the palace. He retrieved his snow globe (which had floated down safely to his feet) and whispered to it, "Central, the Emperor's Palace."

The image of his destination swirled in the glassy ball. North tossed it gently against the wall, the portal opened, and he slipped through without a backwards glance. The yetis would take care of the shipbuilding business. Right now, the northern man had more important things to worry about.

Central: the Emperor's Palace

The four Guardians gathered at the foot of the stairs in the throne room. It was large, more like a hall than a room, with bamboo mats for flooring and walls made of delicate rice paper and dark wood. There was a dim glow to the place like the white of moonlight.

North had been the first to arrive, but was soon followed by a hole opening up in the ground. E. Aster Bunnymund, one of the last living Pookas from the south-eastern island of Auslandia, hopped out irritably. He was 6'1" of lean, mean, fighting (and egg-loving) machine. Bunnymund chose to show his human appearance today (as Pookas were known to have both an animal and human form). He wore his grey-blond hair in a long ponytail down his back. The tribal tattoos were still visible on his coppery skin, which he wore with pride. His usual artillery of boomerangs was strapped to his back, exploding eggs in a pouch on his hip. He greeted North with his thick Auslandian accent, green eyes asking the question that North didn't want to answer.

Later, he mouthed. Bunny shrugged and left it at that.

The next was Toothiana, Tooth for short. She was a fey and a rarity of her kind, being one of the few to grow to the size of an actual human. She also took more characteristics of a human than her original half-hummingbird form, with blond hair chopped into a spiky pixy cut and enough feathers shed for her to require clothes – a light gossamer robe that floated around her form in a swirling array of purples and greens much like her former coloration. Her ethereal wings fluttered a mile a minute behind her, keeping her feet from touching the ground. As always, a small gaggle of fairies (whom she referred to as her 'ladies') followed close behind her. Each was still small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand and kept most of their hummingbird form.

Last to show up was the Sandman. He flew through the open door in a small ship resembling a canoe made from sand. It vanished as he floated over to where the others were. He was a small man, made completely of glowing golden sand. Everything, from his robe to his hair and eyes, was pure, silent gold. Probably one of the busiest of the Guardians, he was as quiet as always. Then again, the Sandman never talked. Never spoke a word in his life. But he made up for it by creating images made of sand over his head.

As they all gathered, the Man in the Moon spoke.

"As you are aware, North has called you all here. This was due to a most troubling sight which he has already informed me of."

Everyone turned to look at the bamboo screen above them. As was customary, no one knew what MiM looked like. He would be shrouded from view at night by the moon, where his powers came from, but during the day he would always sit behind a screen. Still, his very voice held a powerful presence, and none of the Guardians dared to defy him. After all, their purpose was to serve him.

"What was it?" Tooth asked, looking directly at North with quizzical violet eyes. "What did you see?"

The older man hesitated. This wasn't news he wanted to bring, but it had to be done. "Pitch Black is back."

The reactions were instantaneous. Sandy's eyes widened with shock. Tooth gasped, and her little fairies all gathered closer to her, clutching her dress to hide behind and all quivering in fear. Even Bunnymund paled a bit before an angry fire returned to his eyes and cheeks.

"What the bloody hell d'ya mean he's back?!"

"The lights on the globe began to blink. I knew children were threatened. Then I saw Pitch. He came out of shadows. They formed his shape and then he vanished."

"Wait just a tick. So you're saying that you didn't really see Pitch, just his outline."

"Well, yes!" North frowned. "Is than not proof enough?"

"No, it isn't!" Bunnymund said back defiantly.

Tooth tried to mediate. "Wouldn't it be smart to just stay on out toes and prepare for the worst?"

"But worst has come!"

"Well, you're gonna need more proof than that to convince me, North!"

"What more could you possibly want? Another genocide? An attack on innocent children?"

"Now boys, calm down! Let's just talk this through!"

They began to bicker in earnest now. Meanwhile, the Sandman was trying to catch everyone's attention. The skylight above them was opening, revealing the full moon overhead. The Man in the Moon only every opened it when he had to show the Guardians something of importance.

Sandy waved his arms, but to no avail. Then he proceeded to making small arrows pointing up over his head, but Tooth accidentally destroyed them with the flick of a wing. Peeved and very much annoyed, Sandy tried more flashy images. Again, ignored.

Then he saw a random elf wandering along while eating a cookie. Really now, they weren't even in the North Pole and those things managed to find a way into every place in the world. Without a second though, Sandy grabbed it by the hat and shook the poor creature as hard as he could. With everyone finally acknowledging his existence, the Sandman dropped a very dizzy, confused elf and pointed a golden finger straight up at the moon.

"Ah, of course! We should ask Man in Moon!" North chuckled. "Why didn't you say something Sandy?"

The Sandman's face was clearly angry; two sandy clouds of steam erupted from his ears, but by then no one was paying attention. Their gazes were directed to the screen in front of them at the top of the stairs.

North spoke. "Manny, forgive us for out rudeness. What do you think should we do?"

"Your rudeness is forgiven. In desperate times, we often allow out emotions to dictate out actions. I feel, though…that our forces are too small. Perhaps it is time to assign a new guardian to this task at hand," said MiM carefully.

Tooth perked up a bit. "A new Guardian? Really? Oh, I'm so excited! Who could it be?"

"No offense," cut in Bunnymund, "but I think we can handle Pitch. We were able to last time. How could this be any different?"

MiM sighed. "I sense a great disturbance in the peace to the far north where even us Guardians dare naught to step foot. It is here that Pitch dwells. He is stronger than ever, youngest of my guard. I fear his power grows with the help of an ally. It would be unwise to go and complete this task without more help."

"You have chosen who?" North asked gravely.

"Please not the Groundhog, Please not the Groundhog," muttered the Pooka under his breath.

The moon above them began to glow more so than ever. Slowly, its light began streaming in from the large skylight overhead. The four Guardians stood and stared as the hazy outline of a figure began to form and then become clear. Each held a different expression – North: wonder, Tooth: excitement, Sandy: curiosity, Bunny: pure, undiluted, absolute horror. The image was very clear; a young boy, just a teen really, with messy hair and a mischievous grin. Everyone recognized him immediately.

"I take it back," Bunny said within a second. "Groundhog's fine."

North, on the other hand, gave the figure a considerate look, one hand resting on his bearded chin. "Jack Frost? Truly? You think he's ready, Manny?"

"Yes. I feel it is his time."

The Pooka huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm tellin' ya, it's not."

"Oh, come on Bunny! Why don't we give him a chance?" asked Tooth.

"And I'm saying why give him a chance? Since when has this bloke every given a damn about children? For all we know he would compromise the mission and blow us all off without a second thought, just like he's done to society for the last three hundred years!"

Tooth was adamant. "But we can help him. It's not like he'll become a Guardian overnight. He just needs a little guidance. I bet he's got a really caring center, and I'd like to be there when he finds it! Am I right, ladies?"

The small gaggle of fairies twittered amongst themselves and nodded. Sandy seemed to agree, nodding along with them, but Bunnymund just rolled his eyes. "Whatever. But when it comes to accepting this bloody frostbite here, I'm out."

Then the Man in the Moon spoke. "Are you saying you would go against my word, Guardian of Hope?"

Bunnymund paled. He hadn't expected that. It looked as though he really didn't have a choice on the matter. Sighing dejectedly, the Pooka admitted defeat. "Forget it. We'll have to accept that devil of a boy, I guess."

North laughed and clapped the Pooka quite painfully on the shoulders. "That's the spirit! We will find Jack Frost and have him swear to sacred duties of Guardians, da?"

They felt the agreement of the Man in the Moon, a smile in his voice. "You will find many things that trouble young Jack's mind. Do not push him to tell you, for he needs to open up on his own. Give him time, and perhaps he will become another good friend for us to have.

"You will find him in the neighboring town of Burgess. He will be the one to guide you on this journey. Now go! And my Guardians, good luck to you all."

With that, MiM's presence vanished from behind the screen. The Guardians gathered together. North laughed his jolly laugh, the bellowed, "Everyone to my workshop. We're taking the sleigh!"

For the third time that day, Bunny felt the color drain from his face. "You're kiddin' me. Not that bloody vehicle!"

Part 2 – The Vikings

Berk: Hiccup's POV

This is Berk. It's twelve days north of Hopeless and a few degrees south of Freezing to Death. It's located solidly on the Meridian of Misery. My village. In a word? Sturdy. It's been here for seven generations, but every single building is new. For good reason, too.

The bad thing is that we've got a problem to a magnitude that no one can write off as just pests. You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes, but we've got dragons. Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues. That's why we're still here on Berk, battling it out with a bunch of oversized, fire-breathing reptiles.

And then the dragon tries to burn down my house. I barely managed to escape before the whole doorframe is engulfed in flames. See why there're so many new houses here?

My name's Hiccup. Great name, I know. But, it's not the worst. My cousin got stuck with Snotlout after all. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that. If one were to see us at first, the sight might even be comical, but we know better. You have to have a certain degree of toughness to live up here. Everyone in this village has seen their fair share of death. I know I have.

Still, there's just some sort of energy in the air during a raid that you don't get anywhere else. And for a boring life in Berk, a bit of flair comes in handy. I couldn't help but ignore all the shouts to get back inside, instead running to the very midst of the action.

Then I almost got killed by a Nightmare (not that it's the first time that's happened).

"Hiccup!" I was lifted by the scruff of my neck as it came whizzing by, burning the path I was just about to walk in flames. "What are you doing out? Get back inside!"

Stoick the Vast, chief of Vikings, turned me so I was facing him. He stood a good two heads taller than me and was at least three times wider than my sticky frame. His fierce face was masked by an enormous red beard, but nothing could mask the raw Vikingness burning in his eyes.

"Inside was just scorched," I retaliated.

"Well then…" The chief became thoughtful; this wasn't a good sign. "Find another 'inside.'"

"Aw, c'mon! I want to help!"

"It would help all of us if you weren't running around while dragons are attacking," he said firmly. When he saw my face fall, though, he loosened up a bit. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. You are allowed out tonight only if you stay with Gobber, you hear?"

I grumbled; Gobber never left the forge. But I agreed. It's not like I had a choice in the matter.

Stoick smiled a bit. "I understand yer wanting to help, but we need all the younger ones, including you, safe, and you know it. Stay in the forge and try not to cause a disaster."

I honestly hate being treated like I can't make my own decisions, but who am I to go against him of all people. I haven't done anything significant with my life as of now, except disappointing everyone who was forced to come in contact with me. Hence my nickname: Hiccup the Useless.

Unlike the chief, of course. It was said that Stoick the Vast popped a dragon's head clean off its shoulders when he was still a babe. Do I believe it? Yes, I do.

I heard him making damage assessments with my uncle, who's second in command, while I ran straight to the forge where Gobber the Belch was waiting. By this time, the Vikings were lighting giant torches, each taller than the tallest buildings here. Gobber barely looked up to acknowledge my existence.

"So they finally got rid of ya, did they?" he asked as I hopped over the counter and into the fiery forge. "I thought you'd been carried off by a dragon or something!"

I smiled; friendly banter was common around him. "What, me? Naw, I was waaaaay too muscular for their taste. They didn't know what to do with all…this!" For show, I lifted an anvil (which was really heavy, mind you) and upon successful completion waved my arms at my figure in flourish. I even flexed a bit.

Gobber scoffed, barely looking up as a fresh wave of Vikings threw dented weapons into the shop. "Well, a dragon could always use toothpicks now, couldn't it?"

Gobber is the forge master here in Berk, a meathead with interchangeable hands. I've been his apprentice since I was little…well, littler. He made an odd sight at best. One of the few Vikings that shaved, he had no beard but an impressively long mustache to make up for it. Gobber is just one of those people who's always missing parts – his tooth, his arm, his leg, his undies, and (I swear) his common sense.

He's an interesting character, to say the least. For starters, he's one of the few people who can call himself the chief's friend. Also the only 'cripple' to still be alive and kicking. Years ago, he lost his left hand and right leg to dragon raids, which he proudly tells anyone who'll listen. Unfortunately, it's usually only me around long enough to hear the story to the full extent. I could probably recite it from top to bottom in my sleep.

While I worked I watched the drama outside. Observing this newest raid unfold, I couldn't help but think about before. Dragons used to never attack Berk. Well, they did, but not with the frequency they do now. Back when Stoick first became chief, before I was born, the dragons would come maybe once every three months and leave with some of our sheep and a few buildings burning. In retaliation, we Vikings would send out fleets of boats to try and locate their nest. The logic: if we can destroy their nest, they have to leave.

Of course, no one has ever found the nest, and that's just the tip of the iceberg. In fact, no one's even gotten close. That doesn't stop us though. The chief's led at least half the expeditions out to sea. With him there, there were a lot fewer casualties.

But then the dragons escalated.

Since I was about five, the attacks became more frequent. Once every two weeks at times, though usually it's spaced out more, like three to five weeks. Still, death tolls soared as the raids became more violent. Then the unthinkable happened.

You may be wondering why I'm one of six young Vikings at my age. That's right, six; just me, Fish, Snot, Ruff, Tuff, and Astrid. Well, it's quite simple. Ever since I was seven or so, the dragons began taking children back with them. They never killed them in Berk – I remember hearing my friends and fellow villagemates crying as they were taken away – but no one knows what the dragons do with the kids. We sent out even more fleets at first, trying to find the missing children, but to no avail. Now, the others and I are lucky to be alive still.

We don't know why only children are targeted. Once a Viking turns eighteen, the dragons no longer hold any interest. They always go for the younger one too, so I'm usually safe. But my dad still wants me to stay inside. All I want to do is help.

Like the others. All who were outside in the chaos. Fishlegs, my cousin Snotlout, the twins Ruffnut and Tuffnut, and Astrid.

I sigh, watching them do their duties. Odin, their job is so much cooler than mine. They actually get to go out and do things, like guide the injured to safety or put out fires. And me? Well, I just sit behind closed doors wishing to get out. Forced to watch them from the forge's booth. Unless I could sneak out…

"Oh, no you don't," said Gobber, easily grabbing and lifting me by my shirt.

"Aw, come on, let me out, please?" I whined (but not in a babyish way). "I need to make my mark."

"Oh, you've made plenty of marks! All in the wrong places! You'll be making no marks, not today at least. Yer to stay in here like yer father said."

"C'mon!" I repeated. "Please, two minutes! I'll kill a dragon, and my life will get infinitely better."

The Viking laughed for real this time. "And what could you possibly achieve this time? You can't lift a hammer, you can't swing a sword. You can't even throw one of these!"

He held up bolas with his hand. And as if on cue, another Viking grabbed them from Gobber and expertly threw them at a passing Gronkle, who immediately fell to the ground like a boulder. Damn, he did have a point there. I could make weapons, but using them was…a bit rusty.

Thankfully I was prepared for that. "Okay, fine. But this'll throw it for me."

It was a catapult-like contraption I designed. It there's one think I pride myself for it's my craftiness. Working in the forge for the last couple of years has really helped me with designing and creating new weapons. This latest design was a cross between a catapult and a crossbow, complete with an aiming gauge and a trigger. Through testing it out last week, I was able to shoot a rock with pinpoint accuracy at least twelve or fourteen faðmr to a nearby tree. Foolproof.

Of course the thing had to malfunction and send a hard metal hat flying into an unfortunate Viking who just happened to drop off his sword. Square in the forehead too, I might add. This obviously didn't help my case.

Gobber waved his prosthetic arm in my face. "See, this right here is exactly what I'm talkin' about!"

"It's just a minor calibration issue," I said quickly to my defense, but to no avail.

"Look, if you want to go out there and fight dragons, you'll have to stop being all…" He hesitated, giving me a onceover before opening both hands palms up towards me. "This."

"You just gestured to all of me," I huffed, annoyed. This was a frequent occurrence for me around adults.

"Exactly!" said Gobber. "Stop being all of you and maybe you'll have a chance at going out there!"

That was the last straw. "Oooooooh no!"

"Oho, yes!" he responded.

We glared each other in the eyes, narrowing in them in unison.

"You sir," I began, "are playing a very dangerous game, keeping all with raw Vikingness contained. There will be consequences!"

"I'll take my chances," he said, deadpan, before tossing a very heavy broadsword into my arms. I tried not to 'oof' too obviously. "Sword," he commanded. "Sharpen. Now."

Okay, so maybe that really didn't go quite the way I had anticipated, but it was a start. Still, swords didn't sharpen themselves. I set the blade on the sharpening stone, watching the sparks fly as the wheel spun, thinking of the day I would have a chance to prove myself. Because killing a dragon means everything here.

A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed. Gronkles are tough; taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend. A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status. Then there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire. But the ultimate prize is the dragon no one's ever seen. We call it the—

Suddenly, the sound of said dragon shooting through the air at unknown high speeds filled the night air. It was as though both dragons and Vikings had stopped with its approach. I rushed over to catch a glimpse.

The silence was broken by a shout. "NIGHT FURY!"

"Get down!"

This thing never steals food, never grabs a child, never shows itself, and never misses. In the distance, a tower exploded with purple flames as the dragon flew by. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. Ever. And that's why I'm going to be the first.

There were shouts from the distance after the Night Fury swooped away. Things were looking desperate. Gobber seemed to have thought so too. He was changing his hand from the usual forging tongs to an ax. "Man the forge, Hiccup," he ordered. "They need me out there."

As if on second thought, he turned back around. "Stay. Put. There."

I gave him my most blank expression.

"You know what I mean." And with a ferocious battle cry, Gobber hobbled off.

Now was my chance!

Grabbing the nearest bolas in sight, I hung them around my neck and took the handles of my invention in my hands. Before long, I was running up the path towards the forests, the exact opposite direction from the rest of the villagers. Ignoring the snide comments and commands coming at me from left and right, I shouted random apologies and made my way up to the tallest hill. Thank the gods I decided to put wheels on my shooting device.

At the very top of the hill, at the edge of the cliff, I planted the break (because I put one of those in there too) and let the machine do its work. It opened and unfolded from its original cannon shape to a crossbow. I loaded the bolas and pulled back. This was it; just one shot.

Silence.

The night seemed to be taunting me. I just focused on the stars. If one looked closely, they could see the outline of a dragon based on the shadow that passed over them. Honestly, was I the only one who'd thought of that?

There was no wind, only the distant sounds of fighting. I ignored them. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. There had to be something out there.

"C'mon, give me something to shoot at, give me something to shoot at," I muttered under my breath like a mantra.

As if the gods had heard my prayers, I heard the sound of wings. Fast. Could it be?

A shadow passed over the stars to my left. Black wings, silent and swift. I couldn't believe my eyes (or my ears, for the matter). It was! A Night Fury! The air seemed to shriek with its approach.

As I aimed, a burst of purple flames lit up the platform in front of me. I saw its outline swoop up from the damage it had just caused. I didn't even stop, let alone to think; I just pulled the trigger. The kickback sent me flying on my backside, but I heard the snap of the rope from the trap as it met its target. A shriek of a dragon, one I'd never heard before, filled the night sky. As I stood up I watched a black shape shoot into the forest on the adjacent island. Just over Raven's Peak; I'd have to remember that.

I shakily got to my feet and stood there for half a second. It worked! I could hardly believe it. I couldn't help but celebrate a bit. "I-I did it! Yes! Ha ha, did anyone see that?"

Enter the worst thing possible: a very angry looking Monstrous Nightmare.

"Except for you…"

Okay, I'll admit it, I screamed. But it wasn't a girly scream or anything! It was a highly respectable sound of…very slight fear of…being eaten or something. Whatever it was, I just hoped no one heard me. The last thing I need is to be branded both useless and a scaredy-cat.

I ran back towards the village as fast as my shaking feet could carry me. The dragon breathed fire at me twice, missing me by an arms length each time. Seeing the nearest thing to a shield, which happened to be one of the large wooden pillars that held up the torches, I scrambled behind it and held my breath. The next jet of fire engulfed the area around both sides.

I had to check if the coast was clear. Of course I had to look around the pillar the wrong way when trying to find a Nightmare that was about to eat me. I felt its rancid breath on my left shoulder. Naturally, I tensed, ready to accept my fate. By the gods, I wasn't ready to die yet!

Well, I didn't die if that's what you thought. No, instead a figure whizzed by my ear and tackled the dragon. I turned just in time to see Stoick the Vast tip his cap back into place. The Monstrous Nightmare tried to breathe fire back, but only a few molten rocks came out of its mouth. It belched, I swear it did!

Stoick growled, "Yer all out," before proceeding to punch the dragon with his bare hands. The Nightmare obviously didn't want to deal with an angry Viking chief. It squawked a bit before taking off and returning to wherever it came from.

Once it had left, the chief turned all his attention to the person hiding behind the smoldering pillar. Me. And then was the perfect time for it to collapse. Not only that, but the torch had to break off and roll/smash its way through the most undamaged bridge and houses in the village.

Oh, and there's one last thing you might want to know.

As the sounds of the giant torch making its way through the village came shrieking back at me I cringed, unable to meet the chief's disapproving gaze. I knew I wouldn't hear the end of it, especially when we got home.

"Sorry," I said weakly to the chief, "Dad."

Wow, Hiccup's part of the chapter came out a lot longer than I thought it would. Oh well, what good is it to hold back writing? There you have it. Thoughts? Please review; I'm really looking forward to writing this one, so any feedback would be good feedback, eh?

Being an AU, I apologize for the slight spinoff of country names. Especially to the Russians (because I know 'Russki' was what they were dubbed by Americans during the USSR's days). No offenses were intended!

By the by, any differences in the text from the movies to my writing are on purpose; I wanted to incorporate the original, but not copy it completely. That, and I was too lazy to pop in my HTTYD DVD and watch it for the thirtieth-ish time, or spend my Christmas money and go to the movies to rewatch RotG. Sorry.

Whatever, eh? I apologize for the excessively long author's notes. Until next chapter (when Jack and Toothless make their grand appearances)!

-Sushi