Short epilogue that opens many windows. C:


Clean-up of the aftermath from the chaotic battle was a chore. First, melt the ice, but slowly, because nobody wants a flooded Berk. Second, repair any damaged buildings or rebuild any destroyed buildings. Third, grieve over those lost in the mayhem.

Of all three steps, the third would be the lengthiest and hardest.

Luckily, the village was still stuck on step one. Unluckily, Stoick had nothing but time on his hands, since humans couldn't really breathe fire. Granted, he could always break the ice with his handy-dandy hammer, but then he would look foolish: an hour of work on his part was equatable to a single breath of fire. The chief sighed and dragged his feet as he walked around, taking in the sight of a destroyed Berk. Almost all of the Vikings would need to spend the night in the Great Hall. It wasn't the coziest of places, but at least it was better than to expose themselves to cold of the night.

Food.

Perhaps a lot of people would remain hungry tonight, since their supplies shelter was among those destroyed in the battle. But that was okay-Vikings were strong. Nobody will die if they skipped a meal or two during a lifetime. The problem, though, was that some of them were still not fully grown (thus needing the nutrients) or not fully healthy (the ill and the old). For them, it would be dangerous. Stoick had to make sure to send someone out to fish with the help of their dragons, and he was pretty sure they won't be back until dusk. Just as the chief sighed, a rather frantic Viking ran up, hectically waving his hand in the air.

"Chief! Chief! You gotta see this!" he yelled in between breaths.

Did a salmon bite off someone's fingers again?

"What is it?" Stoick was expecting the fellow Viking to report something about an injury, or perhaps a broken mast or net.

"I-he... w-w-we," the man stuttered. "We found something!"

Stoick would've preferred that he was given more than just a declaration of a find. He gestured the man to keep talking, though he didn't get much.

"It's-I mean... At first it was just… ball of scorched wood, but then we looked closer and it was breathing!" Did they find a burnt sheep or something?

"Why don't you show me where you found this 'it'?" Stoick suggested.

And that, the Viking did.

The location that Stoick arrived at was a small ways down a hill near the village, a second path through a patch of grass that leads them to the boats. The destruction had ripped several bushes from its roots, which laid scattered about, but the land was nevertheless still recognizable. And, interestingly, there was a small, dark thing on the ground surrounded by several other Vikings. That is not a burnt sheep.

As Stoick neared the crowd, it became clear that the thing was alive and scaly. Like a dragon. Like a Night Fury.

The dragon was small, perhaps a baby or a runt-whatever the case was, people were surprised, perhaps excited, because a second Night Fury had visited their island (who sadly got caught up in the chaos that ensued). Perhaps, though, what took Stoick aback was the fact that the little dragon was missing a good chunk of its left foot. It was rather astonishing.

Stoick blinked. A little baby Night Fury. With a missing left foot.

Hiccup?

Stoick smiled for the first time in 36 hours.


Thus ends this short fic. C:

Just so we're clear, the baby Night Fury is not Hiccup in any way, shape, or form. He's just a Night Fury missing a hunk of his left leg.

I would like to thank all of the people who supported Peace Is Dead from start to finish. It was really awesome to wake up and see new reviews, favorites, and followers. I am very grateful!

There will be a sequel and a sequel-and-a-half, so please keep your eyes peeled! :D