So yeah, this is my first foray into fanfiction. Here goes nothing!

Disclaimer: I do not own How to Train Your Dragon. Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks do.

Undo the Future

Chapter 1: Unknown Factors

Ashclaw was seething again. It wasn't an unusual thing for the Monstrous Nightmare as of late. It had been three years. Three years, seven months and sixteen days since the traitor and that pathetic excuse of a human meatsack killed their beloved queen. He would know; he had been counting every single day since he lost the one he voluntarily pledged his undying loyalty to. Her death was felt by all the dragons who resided at their nest, but only he and a select few reacted with sorrow and outrage at the occurrence. The thought of all the other dragons actually rejoicing that their queen was dead certainly didn't help his near-constant foul mood any.

*Small-minded cretins,* he said to no one in particular. He would often thought-send whatever he was thinking with little regard for who picked up on his thoughts when he was angry. That was one of the reasons why he and what remaining loyalist dragons were left preferred to call secluded islands their home; there was no telling when one of the "sheep with wings" might wind up hearing him, but no one dared to actually say that to the Nightmare's face. They very much enjoyed keeping their blood inside their bodies, thank you very much.

*None sought to please her the way we did. While they cowered in fear, we sought her favor and earned it. Did they never wonder why we were always the ones leading the raids, why we were always spared her wrath when she raged, even though we were always by her side?* Ashclaw felt his blood pressure spike at the answer he reached every single time he had this mental rant. *No, of course not. They saw only a monster, and because of their blindness, because of their refusal to aid their queen in her time of need, now she's dead and gone!*

He had raged and raved along these same lines countless times over the last few years, and each time it ended the same. This time was no different as he raised a clawed forepaw and slammed it to the ground with a roar, bursting into flames as he did so.

Mistwing sighed as she approached the island the loyalist dragons were using as a base of operations, her blue-scaled hide barely visible on this cloudless night. Ashclaw's temper had obviously gotten the better of him again while she was away and unable to keep him calm. While normally that wouldn't be a problem, Ashclaw lost all focus when he lost his temper, which meant that even if he was just talking to himself, any thoughts he was having would be broadcasted to anyone, dragon or bonded human, capable of thought-speech before the island was even in sight. It seemed they were going to lose another home before too long with the way things were going. Why the queen thought to name him her Highest Favored was beyond her sometimes. Yes, Ashclaw had been a brilliant tactician while the queen was alive, and his skill in battle was legendary among the loyalists. That was then, however, and his already short temper had only deteriorated further after the queen died. Nowadays he would fly into a rage with little to no provocation.

She knew the reason why. They all did. Out of all the loyalist dragons, Ashclaw was the one who was the most devoted to their queen. Every action he took was for her benefit, including hunting down and either executing dragons who still required the queen's mental influence when they managed to break free, sometimes even bringing them back alive and screaming so the queen could punish them personally. Now, suddenly without the object of his adoration, his devotion to her was repurposed into anger at her death.

His rage had been infectious at first. The first year or so had been a blur to most of the loyalists, Mistwing herself included, as they were caught up in their leader's righteous fury. Many raids were led against the village with the intent of killing as many humans and dragons as possible each time with a different and innovative strategy to maximize the bloodshed before having to fall back. Also, several traitor dragons and their humans often never returned to Berk after they left for a solo flight, courtesy of loyalist ambushes. Now, though, two and a half years later the loyalists were down to a fourth of their original number, only about twenty-odd dragons remaining.

Ultimately, though, her logic prevailed. Though Ashclaw had been willing to sacrifice every loyalist under his command to avenge the queen, himself included, Mistwing had been able to convince him to try a plan she had been concocting, with the reasoning that dying in service to the queen in raids, though admittedly a worthy end for any dragon(she herself believed this to be true), wouldn't undo any of the damage done. Vengeance wouldn't honor the queen as much as fixing what that traitorous Night Fury and his pathetic excuse of a human had done would.

Her eyes finally alighted on the lone, flaming figure at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. That was good; not only would that save her the trouble of finding the grey-striped Nightmare, but that also meant he was nearing the end of his tantrum and would be less likely to kill her passenger, the most important part of her plan. He would get his fill of human blood soon enough. They all would. She allowed herself that pleasant thought as she landed silently, a safe distance away in case his temper flared up when he caught her passenger's scent. When he didn't turn and try to flame her, she slowly stepped forward and made herself officially known.

*Ashclaw.*

After tonight, they'd never have to run again.

The desire to behead whatever fool called his name was difficult to resist, but anyone who knew him also knew better than to interrupt his seething unless they had something positive to report. The fact that the voice in his head belonged to someone who was immensely valuable to his band of dragons helped to stay his hand even more. Mistwing knew that better than anyone, often bearing witness to the few times someone who brought him bad news and didn't have the good fortune of being her. The cleanup afterwards was… time-consuming to say the least.

*What is it, Mistwing?* His talons flexed, cutting deep gouges into the rock as he worked to suppress his rage. It would not do to kill the Nadder, not while her cold logic provided a counterbalance for his choleric temperament and fearsome strength. She and every other loyalist dragon bowed to him as their leader, seeing as he was the queen's Highest Favored while she was still alive, but Mistwing was the one who was able to channel his anger into something they could use to strike at the traitors' new home. So long as she was valuable, he could stand to let her interrupt him while he was in the middle of one of his rages.

*The elder from the Hamfists has agreed to assist us in our endeavors,* she thought-sent, her "voice" low and sounding pleased with this latest turn of events. *She agrees that allying with us, loathsome as it may be for both parties, is necessary for things to return to the glorious days of the queen's reign.*

Though the Hairy Hooligans and many neighboring tribes had embraced the dragons and had made them a part of their villages, there were still a precious few who refused to accept the radical changes sweeping across the Meridian of Misery, fewer still willing to do what was necessary to bring the old ways back. The Hamfists were one such tribe. Proud, brash and prone to killing first and not getting around to asking questions, they would sooner lop a dragon's head off than speak to it. They were, however, just as desperate as the loyalist dragons for a return to the way things were i.e., killing each other.

This was good news for Ashclaw, his anger subsiding to the point where he was in the closest thing to a good mood he had experienced in a long time. For the first time in months, after countless envoys to those few tribes who might have been open to their idea wound up dead, there was hope for their plan. Though he wanted nothing more than to kill every last human he could track down, they needed a human spiritualist to make their dream a reality. They, with their connections to the human gods, wielded the power needed to proceed to the final, most crucial stage.

*This is excellent news indeed, Mistwing. Did she say when she would be ready to come to us?*

*She's already here, Ashclaw,* she replied as she crouched down and let a small figure dismount.

Ashclaw immediately felt his scales begin to itch as the skin beneath them started to crawl. The old crone looked like any other elder he had seen, with her grey hair, hunched back and knowing gaze barely visible under her black cloak. Something about her, though, had accomplished no small feat and deeply unnerved him. He couldn't quite specify what, exactly, but she just seemed… off.

*So, human. The Hamfists have agreed to our plan,* asked Ashclaw, eager to conclude his business with this inexplicably disturbing human.

"No, beast. We have not, but it seems I am to have little choice in the matter." The old woman eyed him disdainfully for a moment before continuing. "The one I serve sees potential in your plan. Now take me to the site where I am to perform the ritual. I'm not getting any younger and your presence isn't getting any less intolerable."

A low, menacing growl sounded from Ashclaw's throat as his eyes narrowed and his pupils turned to slits. Needed or not, this hag was becoming insufferable and he had only just met her. He'd have to make a point of killing her once they achieved their objective, preferably as painfully as possible.

*If we didn't need you, you-*

"I'm well aware," the elder cut him off.

Ashclaw somehow managed to suppress the snarl threatening to boil out of him as his body began shaking with rage. Finding the resolve to not rip the hag apart on the spot and feast on her innards was getting harder by the second for the Nightmare as his claws dug even deeper into the ground beneath him, trying to find some outlet for his anger that wasn't the small human in front of him. A sideways glance at the now-visible quills on his lieutenant's tail told him even Mistwing was losing her ever-present cool demeanor at the audacity this shriveled meatsack was displaying, talking to the Highest Favored in such a disrespectful manner. It was likely only the necessity of this human's continued existence that was preventing the Nadder from pinning the elder to a tree with a well-aimed spike to the head, and even then, she looked like she would skewer the old crone anyway, what with the way her tail was slowly sweeping back and forth. Still, this human was their last chance at accomplishing their plan. That thought was the only thing that kept Ashclaw's temper in check as he exhaled loudly and stared daggers at the hunched-over form standing in front of him.

*Fine,* Ashclaw mentally ground out as he forced himself to calm down. *This way, human, and keep your mouth shut unless you want me to do something we both end up regretting.* He turned and stalked off into the trees and towards the prepared grounds before anyone else could say anything, lest the human say something else that would push him over the edge. Anyone on the island could have heard what he was thinking, though: *Remember the queen, remember the queen, remember the queen…* Quite honestly, he couldn't have cared less.

The Nadder said nothing to the elder, just glaring at her before following after her leader. The dragon didn't need to say anything to get her point across.

I'm not carrying you. Do try to keep up, meatsack.

The elder simply smirked once she was alone once again and began to follow in their general direction. It was little wonder that her lord had her assist them. The news of the newfound peace between the dragons and most of the humans distressed her master greatly, and if it displeased him, it displeased her as well. The prospect of it returning full force, as if the queen's death had never occurred, was sure to bring her his favor for the part she would play in it.

If what the Nadder said was true, she had been the first success in a long line of bloody failures when going to other tribes for aid from their elders. That was hardly a surprise; the Ӕsir wanted an end to the conflict, as was their plan since the formation of Midgard, of Yggdrasil itself. Not even Loki would oppose the peace that came in the wake of the queen's death. Good thing, then, that she didn't serve the Ӕsir.

The foliage around her seemed to shrink away from her as she neared, as if it was afraid to be in her path. Some would call it a deep communion with nature, that it didn't want to impede someone it was so in tune with. Anyone who could sense the spiritual, though, would know it feared her. It feared her master, and she was her master's envoy, his Gesandte. The name suited her, far more than her old name at any rate.

She pushed those thoughts aside as quickly as they came to her. Though they were far from the most intelligent beings she had seen, these dragons didn't trust her; they would be reading her every thought if they believed she thought she was alone. She cast a surreptitious glance upwards to confirm her suspicions, and sure enough, she caught sight of the outline of another Nadder flying overhead. She quickly lowered her gaze and let her mind drift to other, more important matters, such as the ritual itself.

The rituals her master channeled his power through were all very similar, using runic circles through which his power could be properly focused to have an effect on the world. This one, though the same in concept, was infinitely more complex. Multiple runic circles would be required, not only to contain all the power needed for the ritual, but also because multiple effects had to happen all at the same time. Truly, if she could pull this off, she would truly be one of her master's greatest tools. Those thoughts warmed her heart as she approached a large clearing in the forest where the grey Nightmare and his Nadder lieutenant, along with several other dragons were waiting.

One wouldn't consider dragons having clerics or priests, but they did. If one came to that conclusion, then they would probably consider it unlikely that Gronckles made for the best clerics and priests. Again, they did. Gronckles were often mocked by others, both dragon and human, for being slow and stupid. While it was true that Gronckles weren't known among dragons for their intelligence, they were, however, known for their wisdom. Perhaps that is why they were able to hear the draconic gods, the beings who stood beside the Ӕsir at the creation of Yggdrasil and crafted the dragons in their divine image; they were wise enough to know when to listen.

Rockjaw was one of those clerics, a devoted servant of the Dragon of the Sky, but also the Dragon of Fire and the Dragoness of Earth. Now he stood transfixed on what this old crone was doing. She had ushered them to the center of the clearing, told them not to move from that spot, and had begun silently scribing runes in the dirt for roughly the last half an hour. It was a work of genius. What else could he say regarding the complex and intricate patterns that were being laid out before him? He and the other dragons were in the central circle, the focal point of the ritual where all the power of the Ӕsir would be directed. Outside the main circle were several smaller ones, each with vastly different runes, connected to each other and then connected again by lines and all joined to the central circle. The elder was just finishing up one final circle, connected to the pathways between the circles where she would conjure up the gods' power.

A few minutes later, the designs were complete and the ritual was ready. The elder stood stock still in the middle of her circle with her eyes closed, where Rockjaw could sense her beseeching whatever god she had the closest attunement to for his or her power to begin the ritual. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. Where there was once a youthful spark in her eyes, an imperious glare full of knowledge and power took its place as she began chanting in a language beyond what even Rockjaw knew, even with his countless years of experience.

As the words poured from her mouth, however, he found himself getting more and more unnerved. He had seen human rituals before, the power they called upon visible to other spiritually attuned beings like him. Whatever power was coursing through her, it was most certainly not from the Ӕsir or from any other eldritch creatures other humans worshipped. It didn't just feel unnatural; it felt unholy. This was not what the gods wanted and now they were dealing with an individual who consorted with beings who should never see the light of day. Rockjaw's heart began to race as the hag's eyes slowly closed chanting steadily increased in volume until it was almost deafening.

He was so focused on the infernal power emanating from her that he didn't even see her pull the dagger out of her cloak and slit the palm of her hand, only realizing she had done the deed when the scent of human blood reached his sensitive nose. Snapping his gaze back to her hand, he watched as the small red droplets fell into the circle she was standing in. The change was almost immediate as the blood began to glow and, from just a few drops, began flowing through the circle and travelling along the pathways to the other circles. It spread and spread until every circle and pathway was filled, save for the ones leading to the central circle where he and the other dragons waited.

He didn't need to look around; he could sense his comrades' unease, only their loyalty to the queen keeping them from fleeing. Rockjaw, however, had no such loyalties. He only remained by the queen's side for the sake of the other dragons, the ones browbeaten into submission by the beast's powerful mind control. Now, though, Ashclaw was treading dangerous ground. If the only being he could find to aid him in his quest was an agent of the infernal, then that meant his objectives were not the will of the gods. If that was the case, then Rockjaw wanted no part of it. Quickly, he took flight and sped away as quickly as his tiny wings would allow, ignoring the roars of protest from his former comrades. It wasn't like they could do anything to stop him. The ritual was almost complete, so they couldn't fly after him for fear of missing out on their vengeance, and Gronckles' hides were notoriously flame-resistant. The only indication that the ritual was at its end was a bright flash of crimson light behind him, followed by complete silence as he left the island behind him, his former comrades gone without a trace as if they never existed.

Gesandte collapsed, gasping for air as soon as the ritual was completed. She had slowly acclimated to acting as the conduit for her master's power, but this was far beyond anything she had to attempt before. It felt like her entire body was bursting at the seams even though, physically, she was completely unharmed. She had no idea how long she lay there, simply trying to keep from passing out from exhaustion and, for the first time in a long time since she started performing these rituals, pain. Eventually, though, she was able to gather herself and shakily rise to her feet.

The trek back to the cliff where she met the Nightmare was thankfully uneventful. Now, standing on the edge of the cliff, feeling the refreshing breeze across her aged features, she felt centered. There was no one here now. No Hamfists, no dragons, just Gesandte, her thoughts... and her master. As if on cue, the air in front of Gesandte began to ripple and reality began to tear. A pair of malevolent, slit-pupil eyes opened out of the void and bored directly into her. The only reaction the Hamfist elder had was an expression of awe and reverence; no matter how many times her master deigned to show even a fraction of his visage to her, the sheer power his gaze hinted at was enough to remind her of her proper place in the grand scheme of things.

*Speak, envoy. What news do you have?*

**Honored lord,** she began, **the ritual was a success. The dragons have been sent back in time.** She decided not to mention the Gronckle that escaped, just in case her master decided to punish her for it.

*Well done, envoy,* her master said, the small hint of approval in his voice making her heart soar. *For your part in this, you shall be rewarded. How, I have not decided yet, but rest assured that your hard work will be recognized.*

**My lord is far to generous,** Gesandte replied quickly, bowing low. **I am merely a tool, the willing instrument of your will in this world. The chance to carry out your plans is all the reward I need.** She slowly raised her head to gauge her master's reaction. If he was displeased by what he perceived to be ungratefulness, she at least wanted to see her death coming. The expression he wore was decidedly amused, as if her humility was a novel surprise. Deciding to chance it, she ventured further. **My lord, if I may ask a question?**

If her master had eyebrows, she imagined one of them would be raised right then and there. *Speak your mind, envoy. Am I not generous to those who give me the respect I deserve?*

**Very much so, my lord,** she replied without a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she continued, **you humble me with your giving and merciful nature.** She paused for a moment as she chose her next words with care. **My lord, I do not mean to question your judgment(she could feel his gaze become uncomfortably hard as she uttered those words), but what is the point of all this? What do you stand to gain? You told me, in no uncertain terms, that you could not harvest the souls of those who lived for bloodshed who live here on Midgard due to the barriers set up around Yggdrasil. You also forbade me from even spreading your word, from letting people know about you, so you don't stand to gain any followers. I do not question your judgment, my lord; I merely seek understanding.**

The eyes that were previously staring at her with such an intensity that Gesandte was surprised that she wasn't incinerated on the spot took on an almost bland appearance, as if the answer to her question was insultingly obvious. He looked… disappointed in her. She flinched involuntarily from that gaze. His anger was easy to deal with; either she would be annihilated on the spot, or he would show mercy to her and spare her his wrath(though she swore she could hear distant explosions in the background whenever she was spared). Disappointment, though, hurt her deeply. It made her feel… unworthy, like she was a burden to her master that he spared only because he didn't even think she was worth the trouble of getting rid of.

His voice shook her out of her haze of self-pity. *For forty years I have given you my knowledge and wisdom, envoy, and yet the basics still elude you,* his voice rumbled disapprovingly. *Remember, envoy, what I am at my core. I am war. I am bloodshed. I am fury given form and hatred given flesh. I seek bloody and brutal conflict every waking moment of my existence. You are correct, envoy, that I stand to gain neither souls nor followers from this ordeal.* He paused for a moment, his gaze taking a hint of longing to them, as if he was reminiscing about some fond memory. *However, the war between the dragons and humans pleased me. Conflict for the sake of conflict, envoy. Can't you see? Even if I cannot reap any tangible benefits from it, war in and of itself is an end for me. This is a chance to reignite the flames of battle. That is more than reason enough for me to aid those dragons in their plans.*

Gesandte was struck speechless as her head hung low. How could she have been so thoughtless! What her master just told her was the first thing she had learned of him. He was anger and hatred, and lusted for conflict. Perhaps, though, this was the first time she ever saw that desire, that burning passion for war pushed to the forefront of her master's mind. She was the village elder to a tribe of Vikings, after all. Glorious battle was always on her people's mind, and perhaps she took that for granted. Her meditations for the next several days would hopefully remind her of what her master was at his core; perhaps then the next time she would feel the need to ask such a foolish question, she would at least be able to remember the basics.

*I can see you have learned from your mistake, envoy,* her master said, his eyes taking on that much-sought-after approving glint to them. *Time grows short, young one. The Ӕsir must not be made aware of my presence here, and I have no doubt the sudden power spike will attract their attention. Oh, and envoy?*

Gesandte looked up and found herself frozen in place with fear, her eyes wide. While her master's voice may have sounded light, even whimsical when she looked up, his eyes now held a cold fury in them that turned her blood to ice in her veins.

*Consider it your reward that I have not destroyed you on the spot for withholding information from me regarding the Gronckle.* If it was possible, her eyes widened even more. If the glare he sent her just previously was enough to turn her blood to ice, the anger in his eyes now would have frozen the rest of her. *Pray this does not bring about any… undesirable consequences, or you will find out just how unforgiving I am of failures.*

He said nothing else as his eyes faded away and the tear was mended, and just like that, Gesandte was alone again. She said nothing as she walked shakily down to the shore. Her people would be here in a few hours to retrieve her and bring her back to the village. Hopefully she would be able to suppress the terrified tremors visibly wracking her body by then.

Meanwhile, in the village of Berk, the ear-piercing and terrified shriek of a Night Fury could be heard throughout the village as the moon hung silently overhead.

So, what do you all think? What did you like? What did I do well? What needs work? Be specific! I can't improve if I don't know what works and what doesn't for you guys and gals! So yeah, review if you want, and I'm always open to constructive criticism.

Almost done writing Chapter 2 and then I'm going to spend the next couple days after that revising and editing it until I satisfy my paranoia regarding my own work. Here's hoping!