The Great Hall, built to be capable of housing the people of the village should any need arose and so, it was strategically poised at the most defensible position in the island.
It was placed at a highly elevated location with the entrance guarded with a massive pair of castle gates they called doors. Made of the thickest wood, carved with care and reinforced with iron.
The hall itself was carved into the very mountain that shelters it with history itself a steadfast testament to its commitment as it served its purpose. Known as an impenetrable sanctuary.
Hanging from its walls are shields, painted with portraits of various leaders, Chiefs and heirs side by side, portraying generations of leaders. Most of them had brown or auburn hair with eyes shifting from brown to green. A lineage that carries on to him.
Among them lined various tapestries. Each a warrior or a dragon, slain or slaying. Showing their own war throughout the centuries.
Pillars stood towering from the floor to the cave like ceiling. Each with intricate designs of dragons wrapped around them like serpentine creatures.
A large fire pit at the center, and a giant golden dragon with a humongous decorated sword impaled through it hanging over the hall. Serving like a chandelier to him or a grim historical artifact to everyone else.
The Great Hall, a testament to their unrelenting history and the grandest place there is, just twelve days north of hopeless.
Within the ancient halls stood various villagers. Each one discussing the reason for such a gathering and while all were confused, there were those who were glad for it.
There was after all, no better place to voice their concerns than when everyone is present to hear them.
Till the doors of the hall slammed open, the iron braces crashing against the unsuspecting walls, with the wood itself groaning from the impact.
In walked Gobber, his knuckles white with how hard he was clenching his fists. Face twisted into a sneer, with his stone tooth poking out like a fang. He walked steady and angry pace with his peg leg thumping like a constant knock that made others flinch.
Made worst with a hammer attached to his other arm.
And while the old warrior was wrought, it was the calm and stone cold silence of the other that caught the attention of the many.
They have heard of his achievement. A brave young soul who defended Berk. Saving three families, killing three grown men. And if the rumors are true, a fourth corpse among those numbers as few saw the boy drag a lifeless raider into the pile before he sent them to flames himself.
And as Hiccup walked quietly next to Gobber –donning a pair of reinforced boots with strips of steel across the shin, toes and ankles, a design shared by his gloves with a strip of steel laid across the knuckles– he was then received with a respectful bow from both the Ingerman's and a widowed family of three.
Hushed whispers exploded, louder and louder as more and more warriors nodded in greetings to the youth. Giving weight to the rumors that surrounded him.
Gobber suddenly stopped just at the steps of an elevated dais where the High Table sits. A more decorated length of a table. Framed by a strip of steel, carved and engraved with various depictions of battles and victory running across it's length.
The oldest of Berk has often spoke how the table was made out of the first tree that was felled in the island. When their Tribes moved in. A piece of history they displayed with pride in plain sight now dim, in the absence of it's Chief.
"What is the meaning of this?" Gobber growled out.
"The village had been called to weight in on a much needed decision." said Mildew.
"...needed decision? I've already told ya'-"
"It is an unacceptable one." Mildew retorts with a stomp of his staff. "The Berserkers, the Bogs and the Meatheads have been life long allies! And they are being attacked! We cannot be seen as a cowardly village, who would refuse to send aid when they need it most."
Gobber was fuming. This was a direct confrontation of the authority given to him and at worst, a question to his friends integrity and command. He can't just let the old man talk, knowing how the Elder had grown used to praying on the pride of his fellow kin, but just as he stepped forward, as if ready to bash the man's skull with his hammer-hand. Hiccup calmed him as he placed his hand against his arm.
The whispers suddenly turned silent. With the citizens not knowing what to do... that was till Hiccup spoke.
"Elder, the Chief's command was clear. A decision has already been made."
"He! Is not the chief!"
"We know Elder. But regardless, that does not diminish his authority among the tribe. My father has spoken. Gobber is to lead till he returns and Gobber in turn has spoken of his decision. This matter is settled." Hiccup said with a steady, and frightening level of composure. Like a rock, unmoving and unfeeling, cold and firm to the eyes and skin.
But to the warriors among them could only nod solemnly. Knowing that the boy was still reeling from his first battle. Yet he chose to stand and face his duties. An admirable trait few could boast.... much like his father.
But just as Hiccup turned to leave, Mildew loudly stomped his staff against the floor. Echoing loudly within their hollowed hall.
"Berk has obligations to tend to! Oaths to keep and promises to uphold! We cannot be seen cowarding when duty comes calling-"
"Enough!" Hiccup yells, his youth filled voice landed like a hammer against an anvil. Loud, noticable but underwhelming... for now.
"How many of our foes escaped that night Elder!?"
"Wha-"
"How many!?"
"Do not raise your tone with me boy! You are not yet Heir!!!"
Hiccup heaved and sneered with bloodshot eyes as gazed at the geezer with a decorated stick. It took seconds for things to calm, even for Hiccup's own heart and heat to settle, yet he did and when he did. He spoke with the same cold detachment he did before.
"You are right elder. But that doesn't answer my question. How many of our enemies escaped? Tell me."
The hall was silent, with the villagers whispering around as to what exactly was Hiccup alluding to.
"A dozen." Mildew harrumph, feeling victorious all of a sudden. "A dozen poor fools who ran away with their tails between their legs! Done so by the mighty Warriors of Berk!!"
"""""HaHA!!!""""" people cheered. Pride swelling all of a sudden.
"They were Outcast were they not? I remember someone recognizing one of the dead." Hiccup states.
"Aye! Sent them running back to their barren hole!" someone shouted from the back, follow by another cheer.
"How far is that again?" Hiccup asks innocently.
"Three days boy." Mildew mocked. "It seems your studies were lacking. Hehehe!"
His laughter, echoed by others. Smiling languidly as they did.
"Apologies Elder. My mind was too occupied at the fact that a dozen men had returned to their island... and had probably already told Alvn the Treacherous that we are 130 men short."
Their hearts leaped as one. Horror slowly filling their faces, all the while losing color.
"And if I'm not mistaken, they are right next to Death Island... home to the Murderous Tribe."
Some gulped, loud and heavy within the silence.
"The same tribe who have begun raiding due to the continued Dragon Raid for the last several months...
"Tell me... What are the chances of those Dragons attacking the barren lands of Outcast Island when the Murderous Tribes had no more to give? No ignore that... that question is insignificant. After all there is only one true question we should be asking."
Hiccup's eyes swept across the Hall, landing solid on Astrid's eyes... bright as the blue seas, sporting a determined look that shone against a sea of horror.
"Which one will get to us first? The Raiders... Or the Dragons?" his heavy tone made the news felt like a boulder was suddenly dropped on them. Yet he continued, voice as hard and cold like iron. "You now know of my choice... to put my faith in the man who had only ever desired our wellbeing. Now... I let you decide where yours lies."
Hiccup left, followed by little Astrid...
He didn't turn, didn't slow down nor did he even deign any words beyond what he had said. He simply left his message hang over the Great Hall.
Gobber spat as he turned, sneering at the lot of them and as soon as their shadows vanished down the steps... Pandemonium ensues.
—.—.—.—.—
Night came. Yet Berk found no rest. Not when action was needed and waiting meant steaming in their own fears ... no. Better to move and hope that the sweat would wash it all away.
"Should we not send more men as a look out?" Halvard asked as he stood by the forge.
His attention shifting from both Gobber who was hammering another strip of Gronkle Iron around a wooden shield, and Hiccup who looked busy twiddling. As the boy continues to rub a blade clean, while –surprisingly– being helped by a sweaty Astrid.
"No. We spread our selves too thin." answers Gobber. "I need every able bodied men ready to respond at the first sign of trouble."
"Then let me manage the scouts and the look outs. I know those trees more than you. I can make good use of limited men without compromising our defenses."
Gobber turned to Halvard, pausing as he did before nodding. "Aye. I'll leave ya' to it. But send me someone to lead the defense around the Great Hall."
"What of the Jorgensons?"
"Spitelout has volunteered his forces in the defense of the village square."
"Umu, very well. I will send someone. He is just busy helping move everyone to the Great Hall." his eyes then shifted back to Hiccup and his daughter. And much to his growing frustration, the boy had yet to polish the blade, still dark despite the repeated treatment, making the scent of vinegar prominent among many.
"Trust in the boy." Gobber said.
Making both Halvard and silently, Astrid, to turn to the smith. "He knows what he's doin'. You'll see."
"That remains to be seen Gobber, trust after all doesn't grow on trees. What I do trust is you, that should be enough for now."
"Un."
The sound of hammering filled the forge, mixing with the cacophony of noises all around them. As the villagers busied themselves, moving baskets upon baskets of belongings and supplies with them to the Great Hall.
After the enlightening or humiliating dressing down, villagers had reached a decision, to endure.
And in doing so, plans were implemented.
First is to send a messenger to Stoick's forces. Inform them of the threat they now face. And while the message will surely arrive late, most likely after Stoick had finished his battle, it was his return that is imminent. And in failing that, to ensure reinforcements sailed home.
Others had suggested they send a call to aid to other villages, but that was quickly shot down as other villages are most likely in the same boat.
The next step is harder to swallow for the few. To move everyone within the Great Hall of Berk.
Abandoning the village was the last they wanted to do, but with limited warriors left and the looming threat of Dragons and possibly even more Raiders up at the horizon. A few houses were the least of their concern.
Ships were prepped for emergency evacuation if needed. Moved at a secluded beach.
Supplies moved to the Hall along with the none combatants. With harvest, stock, and animals move to the village storehouse.
And the more they moved, the darker their future became. The supplies were gathered in one place, making them easier to defend. But that is only if the raiders wanted it for themselves. Should they decide to destroy it... it would be near impossible to defend.
Houses left vulnerable, meaning familial belongings would be lost at worst. They would be lucky if the house was left standing at all.
Ships could evacuate, but the supplies would be minimum for a few days sail, no more.
And while they were well equipped, it only takes a lucky hit to kill a man. Which is most likely if they remained outnumbered, two to one.
With battle hanging over them. Their only choice was to survive and win. No matter the odds that would come.
"Halvard." a man, boring great resemblance to Halvard spoke, gaining the attention of both Hoffersons. "All have been moved. A few stubborn ones chose to stay at their homes but all the families are at the Great Hall."
Halvard nodded. "Good. You will oversee to the defense of the Great Hall. Make what preparations you can."
"I'm better suited to the village task-"
"My word is final brother." Halvard answers. Freezing the man in place.
This was Flynn Hofferson, the Coward they called him. Recently disgraced as the man froze while facing a legendary dragon that had repeatedly terrorized Berk. A fact that ate away at his confidence and threatened his family's integrity. Forcing him to give up the title of Head of House to his younger brother.
And while he did so willingly, did not in any sense diminish the shame of it.
"I shall see to it done." Flynn answers as he left. Missing the hurt in his brother's eyes.
The sound of scraping reached his ears and as his eyes turned to the noise in question, he couldn't help but frown at what he was seeing.
The blade was white, milky white, unnaturally so as wavy patterns of silver made themselves visible along the length of the blade.
And the more he inspects the sword in question, the more he became rooted in awe.
The sword was beautiful.
Perfectly straight, the sharp edges glinting at the light with an extremely ornate looking crossguard, and a beautiful handle wrapped in red leather with beautiful golden stitchings along the trims and a pommel that looked like a dragon's talon.
Unable to help himself, Halvard turns to Gobber and asks. "How much for the sword?"
"It already has an owner." Gobber answers with eyes glinting with pride as he watched his apprentice put it all together. Hefting a beautifully crafted blade with one hand, and knowing he was ready for what ever it is that was to come.