The Last Ones (Toothless X Reader)

Chapter 18 - Hostage of Their Mind

       Even the sea seemed aggressive this dreary day.

   The vikings led by Stoick weren't phased by the weather or the cruel agitation the sea mirrored, no; they were more or less preoccupied with keeping their terror in check with every attempt at an escape their captured Night Fury dared to try.

   "I still think we should cut its tail off," Gobber told Stoick as the two of them stood before the beast, staring down at its slitted eyes, snarling mouth and the smoke rising from its nostrils.

   "Hm," Stoick pondered Gobber's offer shortly. "As much as it deserves it, both pain and death, it serves more purpose alive for now."

   "Yea, yer right." Gobber nodded, slamming his prosthetic hand – which had a massive stone hammer in place – against the metal bars encaging the dragon.

   (Y/n) flinched at the loud, screeching sound that momentarily deafened her, and thrashed harder against the cage. Trying to fling her tail at Gobber, the restraints didn't allow room for much movement and kept the blacksmith safe from her wrath.

   "Until we are sure it led us straight to the Nest, we keep it alive. When it has served its purpose, however," Stoick bent his knees and put his massive, scarred hands on them to stare at the dragon's icy blue eyes head on, "we'll dispose of it like we did with the rest."

   "Sounds like a plan to me," Gobber approved and wobbled off, wooden leg clanking against the floorboards of the ship's deck filled with supplies.

   The wall of fog, though with their in-laid dragon compass felt much less threatening, caused many of the vikings to grip their weapon of choice tightly, shudder or take a step back. Some brought out family heirlooms to cherish before a fight that had taken their ancestors. Others gripped their beloved partner's hand, or left a kiss of support for them to carry into a battle they knew nothing about.

   Stoick walked to the front of his ship and stared determinedly at the wall of fog beside it.

   "Sound your positions," Stoick said loudly, his voice thicker than the grey fog some were beginning to think is actually just smoke. "Stay within earshot."

   One by one, the boats turned sharply to their left and entered in the same, not-so-safe spot as they have done for as long as they could remember. As long as their parents could remember, even.

   "Here," the driver of one of the many boats said.

   "One length to your stern," another called, voice hoarse and scarred by the horrors of war.

   "On your starboard flank," another viking Stoick didn't recognize the voice of called from behind his ship.

   "Three widths to port," the boat on the right side of him said.

   "Ahead, at your bow." Stoick nodded approvingly at the captain of the ship before him.

   "Haven't a clue," was the last tangible answer he received, the short sentence echoed back at them from the many pillars of stone and solidified lava.

   Gobber, looking around nervously walked over to Stoick and stood beside him. Gobber has seen Stoick determined before, a long while ago, when he was searching relentlessly for his wife; when there was a spark of hope still in his eyes that the beasts that continued to rob them could be stopped.

   Gobber hadn't seen that fiery spark in many years. As glad as he was to have it back, he wasn't quite sure Stoick's impulsive decision to head in the first chance they got was the best of his Chief-ly decisions.

   "Listen, Stoick..." Gobber began in a small, hushed voice, not minding how Stoick didn't look at him, only stared fixatedly ahead of him, towards a goal he couldn't quite see. "I was overhearing some of the man just now and, well, some of them are wondering what it is we are up to here."