The 'How to Train Your Dragon' franchise is owned exclusively by the Murdochs and their multimedia empire.

What follows is Chapter 1 of Fall from Grace Part II, make sure to read the first part so you're not missing anything.

Men like Jorg had always profited from chaos.

The Great Hall was the first building to be rebuilt on the island. It said a lot about Berk's culture that the drinking house was up and running weeks before the first houses had been roofed. All stoneworking had been abandoned for the winter, as the snap frosts prevented the cement from setting strong. The few completed structures were packed to overflowing with displaced Vikings, but they were the lucky ones. The rest of the islanders sought shelter where they could; upturning boats to cower shelter beneath the hulls, digging mud and grass longhouses where the ground was soft enough, or just freezing to death.

But Vikings were uncommonly stubborn folk, and they turned their noses up at any attempt by the climate to kill them off. Wooden houses were being thrown up in place the old ones. Trees were felled and ships were stripped of their masts to provide walls and roofs and fuel for the island as it staggered to its feet. Mere months after the devastating strike that had levelled almost every structure in the village, it looked to an outsider as if everything was back to normal.

Unfortunately, Jorg was not an outsider.

Normality had been banished the day Chief Stoick wheeled a Night Fury into the village, claiming it to be the same creature as some girl who had been killed in a dragon attack earlier that year. Mad kings were nothing new, it seemed that every other ancient saga was about some mad king or another, who banished the hero off to distant lands, where they would inevitably complete a benign quest, and then with the will of the gods miraculously sail back home to slay the king and cure disease and solve hunger and have the pick of every women on the island. Jorg frowned at the remainder of his mead, the mug clumsily carved out of burned wood.

He didn't listen much to the drivel that the elders spouted at every opportunity. Their pondering tales hadn't raised his heartbeat since he was a child, and he felt that most simply insulted his intelligence. He had been in enough fights in his life to know that the gods didn't help you in life, nobody did. Despite his contempt for the sagas, he had never heard the story of the king who went mad and tried to befriend a dragon. He scoffed and slammed his mug back down on the wooden table, a few beads of the honeyed liquid spilled out into the air and shone for a moment before landing on the straw covered floor. Their lack of bardic imagination was just another reason to ignore their stupid stories.

For all the Chief's foolishness, he had certainly helped Jorg in the long run. He was never a man of kingly ambition, but he could see an opportunity when it was presented to him. After Stoick was chased off the island, his brother Spitelout had been butchered, and his body burned. Always one to pick a winner, Jorg had thrown in with Angarr, and enjoyed a few weeks of sponsored lawlessness before the dragons came and ended it all. Now Stoick was back, but his son and all his supporters were gone. Jorg had endeared himself to the little brat Snotlout, who would likely take the old chief's place when he was too weak to rule, his mind broke for a second time, he was found with a knife in the back, or any one of a hundred unfortunate ways a ruler might find his end.

He trained with Snotlout daily, improving the boy's mental and physical strength, teaching him the quickest and dirtiest ways to win in a brawl. No dishonourable king was ever usurped by a dead opponent, he told the boy. The new chief would have to be strong and tough to survive the dragon attacks. Whilst it was true that they hadn't attacked since the great battle with the Marauders out at sea, they could still come at any moment. The tribe needed every advantage they could get when the beasts were sighted on the horizon. It was kill or be killed, so the chief would naturally always be he who was the strongest. Yet, Jorg didn't teach the boy everything. He would always keep a few tricks up his sleeve in case the heir apparent figured out who was really in charge. Royal blood was no substitute for combat experience.

He would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't enjoyed the battle, at least most of it. The slow rush he felt as the ships drifted closer and closer together, the fleeting sense of security as arrows slid by overhead or ricocheted of his shield, the ear-shattering roar as the prow tore into the hull of the Marauders' ship, followed by a swift clash of metal and unimaginable violence. Jorg had kept an eyepatch over one of his eyes until night fell, an old sailor's trick he had learned on his travels. As a result, when clouds covered the sun or an explosion ruined everybody's night vision, he would have one eye already adjusted to the darkness, and he could dispatch his opponent with impunity.

There was only one enemy he was truly afraid of. He could still hear the scream of the Night Fury in the moment before he closed his eyes each night. Despite the row of roaring fires that warmed the entirety of the great hall, he shivered, and quickly drank from his glass hoping that nobody had seen his weakness. When the skies opened up and the dragons attacked, he had laughed with glee. The dozy creatures were even easier to kill on a narrow, ship's deck. It was only when the Night Fury appeared, roaring downwards with the power of lightning and death to doom any ship with a single blast, that the seasoned warrior felt the icy grip of fear on his heart. He imagined how it would look from the demon's perspective, plummeting towards the pale and agape faces of men marked for death, revelling in their terror as it screamed towards the ground. Down, down, down, down, until…

"JORG!"

His eyes snapped upwards.

"Uhhg…"

"Well aren't you going to say hello?"

He sighed and took another, deeper swig from his mug. "Hello Kat"

"That's Katrin to you old man. You've been ignoring me."

"What do you want Kat?"

"You'll have to speak up dear."

"I said what do you…" He trailed off and looked about the room for what must have been the hundredth time since he'd arrived, hours earlier. The hall was filled with increasingly loud revelry as the night wore on. Grudgingly, he leaned in closer.

"What are you doing here, Kat?"

"The same as you." She revealed two near-full mugs of golden liquid. "Besides, you look lonely."

He scoffed. "I thought you were living with the Marauders now, selling your dragon-bone trinkets. Have you given up so soon?"

"Oh ye of little faith," she smiled and patted a pouch on her hip. It clanked heavily, the sign of good, southern coin. "I've none left to sell, and if I did they'd be gone within a day. Skulls adorn every door and post, and Raynir brags daily about his achievements in the 'Great Dragon Hunt'. Dragons are all they talk about now. They're saying it's the discovery of the century."

"If only they had 'discovered' us sooner." Finishing his first drink, he reached for the next. She caught his wrist, and gently pulled back his sleeve, revealing a shirt of mail.

"Go easy on them Jorg, the Marauders aren't quite as, prepared for dragon encounters as us hooligans."

He smiled as she let him go. "Is that so? I guess they're lacking your islander strength and beauty too."

She raised a sarcastic eyebrow. While not the largest woman on Berk, she looked down on most southern Vikings. Her red hair was worn low, but not so low as to hide the burn scars running from behind her left ear and down her neck.

"You'll have to buck up your manners if you want to make a good impression with them. See that man behind you near the corner, wearing…"

"The sky blue tunic and the short sword at his waist, drinking with his left hand? Aye, I saw the little man the moment he sat down. I'm guessing he's not from around here." He sipped at the mug, not bothering to turn around.

"So you'll have noticed the guests that have begun to arrive in increasing numbers, then? I'd have thought you'd be happy to have new faces to scare around town."

"Calm down, I'll not go picking fights with them if they don't pick fights with me. Unless I need the practice, that is…"

"Six fistfights, three of them turning into street brawls, and one growing into a street riot, all within the last week since I came back."
"Well, we need something to do during the winter, don't we? Fights are nothing new."

"These are. People are forming factions, Jorg. Choosing sides, within the village! Without the dragons attacking we're seeing enemies where there are none. From what I can tell Stoick can hardly keep order. We've only survived this long because we have banded together when we needed to most. This new trade agreement won't last long if we descend into anarchy, Jorg. Not to mention what the mob will do to any visiting outsiders"

"So what? The fighting keeps us fit, and when it comes down to it the strongest with survive."

"Strength comes from unity Jorg. The strongest chief is nothing without his tribe."

He took another swig, closing his eyes for a moment. "Well I've been surviving alright."

"Tell me you had nothing to do with this Jorg."

He didn't answer, but held her eyes as he lowered his mug for the last time.

"Typical!" She shouted. "One of these days you'll get yourself killed Jorg, and then where will we be? You deserve to drink alone."

With that she stormed off, quickly wiping her eyes. He half-heartedly tossed the empty mug after her, and among the storm of shouting, conversation and laughter, nobody noticed it land on straw and roll under a table. He didn't move. She would come back eventually. She always did.

"Go on Abel, you can do it, you've just… got to … flap harder…"

"Holding it up higher won't help. If the creature is not ready to fly, it won't fly."

"Oh don't look at me like that Astrid, we have to give him a chance."

"I happen to be an expert on flying, or rather, not being able to fly. Put it down."

With her dextrous tail, she gently pushed Hiccup's struggling arms downwards. As he lowered them, the common brown Terror jumped out from his grip, and attempted to hide between his thin legs.

"Well okay, maybe you're right, he's not ready yet, but it can't be too long now. We figured out flying, and we're both… well, we were both…"

The girl-turned-dragon ignored him, peering instead at Hiccup's legs. The Terror poked its head round, but quickly shot back into cover when it saw the deadly green eyes focusing in. It mewled and scratched at Hiccups calf.

"I thought that you could talk to him, teach him how to fly instead of scaring him to death every time he sees you."

"The wing has barely healed." She stalked around Hiccup and blew a gust of air from her nostrils, it turned to steam in the chill winter air. The sudden wind knocked the little dragon onto its back, its wings sprawled out in the snow. One was clearly smaller than the other, where the cast had been set and the bones repaired. It was a miracle that it was alive at all. It would have died if Hiccup had not found it.

'Just like me' Astrid thought.

It was painful to be in the cove again; to remember all that had happened within its rocky walls, but at least it looked fairly different with frozen water and a sheet of snow to cover memories. She shuddered, but not from the cold. With a sweep of her head she picked up the Terror with her toothless mouth, and carried it by the scruff to the rocky cave that they called home. Hiccup followed with a sigh.

"I still think you gave it a stupid name."

She threw the little beast down on its bed of leaves and restarted the fire with a quick stream of blue heat. It curled up by the fire and refused to look at anyone or anything. Hiccup came and sat between the two, gently stroking the Terrible Terror.

"You should be nicer to Abel, he's taught us so much about Dragons already. My notebook's nearly full. We'll need a second Book of Dragons at this rate."

"I'll treat it nicely when it tells me to, if it can talk properly, which I highly doubt".

The boy didn't understand the difference in intelligence between the two creatures. Hiccup probably had a better chance of understanding of the dragon than she did. After all, he did hang around with a dragon constantly. She glanced at the now sleeping lizard. Some creatures were just born superior to others, it seemed. Somewhere in the forest above, a cuckoo called out.

"Well at least we covered some good ground today, the glue is almost ready."

Hiccup had heated up a mixture of tree sap and fish blood in a metal pot over the fire. Retrieving a slice of brown paper from his satchel, he carefully painted the mixture in a thin streak across the top. Deep within the cave, strung to dry between two posts and protected from the elements by animal hides, a map was beginning to take shape. Outlines of islands and mountains were expertly sketched out with charcoal, with Berk at the centre of an ever-growing world. The boy slowly stuck another square onto the Western portion of the map.

"There's still only ocean and a few empty islands out that way. The spray was great, but still no dragons."

"No other dragons, you mean."

Hiccup lay down on his makeshift blankets. Above him, pinned to the wall was his new leather flying suit, looking worn from the elements but in perfect working condition. He took his boots off and banged them together to loosen the snow.

"It's difficult to see anything up there during a blizzard. It's a good job you can kind of sense your way back ."

It was true, Astrid always managed to find her way back through the clouds and back into the damned cove. There was a constant, subconscious tugging in her mind, a yearning to return somewhere, to go home. She lay down next to Hiccup and sighed. He could be boundlessly irritating and he was far too clever for his own good, but when she was with him she didn't feel quite so out of place.

The next day began much the same as the last, and the one before that, and the one before that. They awoke to a deep pile of snow blocking the cave entrance, where it had fallen from the edge of the cliff above them during the night. She burned through it all, and swept the meltwater outside with her tail, sheets of ice were beginning to form where the water had re-frozen every morning. Astrid burned through the ice covering the lake to look for fish, but as per usual, it was too late in the season, and the lake had been nearly fished to exhaustion anyway.

They had agreed to spend the winter training their Terrible Terror, but neither could stand being in the cove all of the time. Hiccup was too naturally inquisitive, and Astrid just wanted to stretch her wings and fly. Most days, they would leave Abel mewling in the cave and take off to fish beyond the sea ice, further to the south. But today was different.

"Are you sure about going north this time? You're only human, after all."

"It's going to be cold up north, but I think it's time we tested this suit, to see how much weather it can really take." He pulled the leather coat on over his shoulders, and laced it up along the front. The inside was a patchwork of fur and hides that they had hunted throughout the forest, and on other islands too. Each day it seemed to get bigger and thicker, although maybe that was just Hiccup beginning to grow into a man. The boy went back into the cave to pick up the last of the supplies for the journey. Astrid watched as he packed the satchel with thick sheets of paper and hand-whittled charcoal pencils. He looked up at the map they'd hung up, staring for a moment at the empty space north of Berk.

Moments later they were in the air, powering upwards into a thick, grey sky. Behind them, Abel flapped his wings furiously, he just managed to lift off the ground but he couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds, and he floated back down into the cove. They would need to find some fish for him as well.

They brushed the tree tops and then flew low, skating across the sea ice until they were well out of sight of land. It wouldn't do for the already frightened people of Berk to learn that a Night Fury still lived on the quieter half of their island.

They pulled up high after that, as high as they could go to see as far as they could. The cloud layer prevented them from reaching their greatest altitude, so they hugged the white ceiling and peered out towards the horizon. Eventually, the sea ice gave way to the water, the vast movements of the ocean ensured that no static ice could survive. The violent border between ice and water was rent with great waves pummelled icebergs and pulled them under the surface, only for the tiny white islands to emerge a few seconds later. Even from her vantage point, she could hear the cracks widen, and the haunting moan of the ice spirits that were disturbed in their sleep.

"Keep going. I know we'll find something, I can feel it."

They left the ice behind and cruised onwards for another hour, lost in their own thoughts. At one point, Astrid cocked her head and glanced back over her shoulder. Hiccup was sat leaning back in the saddle, his hand reaching up into the clouds. His fingers were immediately lost in the thick vapour, and left a faint pattern in the swirling air behind them. His face was covered with a thick leather flying mask, but she could tell that he was sporting a huge grin underneath.

The mask gave him a peaked nose, with two flat surfaces angled down and to the sides, and a third, softer cap covering his hair and giving the helmet form. They met at a point just above the nose, with a long thin slit where he could see virtually unimpaired. It was all Hiccup's handiwork, of course, a matter of just a few days. She almost found him intimidating, aside from the fact she was a several ton flying death machine. Her snorted laugh woke him from his trance.

"Sorry Astrid, I zoned out for a minute there, slightly. Isn't it just amazing? The suit works fine, by the way, thank you for asking. They always said that little old me would be killed off by the cold, but I guess you were wrong dad, you hear me? I said you were wrong!" The boy shouted out over the water.

Astrid rolled her eyes, and then rolled over to dive on a shoal of nice Icelandic cod. She opened her throat and felt the fireball grow from deep within her. The terrifying Night Fury scream rose higher and higher in pitch as the air rushed by with ever increasing speed. At the last moment, she loosed a ball of lightning that smashed through the surface of the water and detonated deep within, sending a rush of bubbles and stunned fish to the surface.

They pulled up hard together, the force of their turn pinning Hiccup in his seat and for a moment draining the blood from his head. He shouted in glee and Astrid roared with him as the rocketed upwards. With her wings outstretched, they quickly slowed down and pitched back until the whole world was inverted. For a moment they hung weightless, before gliding down in wide, lazy circles to the shoal of fish.

With a single pass, Astrid filled her mouth with cod and seawater, which she promptly spat out over her shoulder.

"Let's see how water resistant your new suit really is."

"Hey! You overgrown lizard! I'll show you how to fly."

They spent the next hour playfully fighting each other for control over Astrid: Hiccup thwarting her with sudden aerodynamic changes with the new and improved saddle controls, whilst she caught him off guard with sudden drops and quick, darting wingbeats.

They twisted and turned for so long they hardly noticed the weather rolling in. A thunderstorm, mixed in with the darkening sky threatened to leave them stranded in the middle of the ocean. The first boom of thunder out to the west brought them quickly back to reality.

"Oh the gods hate me. Of course they can't leave us alone for a day. Astrid, you'd better lead us back home."

"I'm way ahead of you buddy."

She turned about mid-air, and pumped her wings in the opposite direction to the thunderstorm. She was now an experienced flyer, but all the airtime without a break had made her more tired than she would have admitted, and she wanted to get back to Berk as quickly as possible.

She couldn't explain how she knew the route back, she was certain that they were flying in roughly the same direction they had come from, but over miles of featureless waves, she couldn't tell for sure. All she knew was that something called to her, deep inside, showing her the way when all her other senses failed her.

The clouds were lower in the sky now, seeming to muffle the sound of the entire ocean. Moments later, it had dropped down to sea level itself. Astrid slid through the fog with growing unease.

"Astrid… Are you sure this is the right AHHH!"

They pulled hard right to avoid a twisting sea-stack, towering out of the murk at the last possible second. They darted upwards to avoid another, taller stack, followed by another, and another, and another.

"Astrid! Where are we?"

She pulled up into a strenuous hover, her head swivelling and her eyes shooting around in panic. She could feel the call much more strongly now. It was no longer just a feeling, it was a voice, an instruction.

"I will bring before the mother personally, and she will show you the way."

"NO NO NO!"

She spun around and powered away from the call as fast as she could. Water, fog, sea-stacks rushed by as she shot off in the opposite direction to the call.

It was deep into the night by the time they found their way back to the Island. The sky had cleared up and the light of half-moon was more than enough for her night-vision. The speck of light from the fires in the village could be seen for miles away, and they wordlessly made a beeline towards it. No attempt was made to avoid being seen - the Night Fury was all but invisible.

Abel squawked with alarm as they staggered back to the cove, Astrid collapsed by the cave with burning wings. Hiccup quickly got a fire going, and tended to Astrid's saddle. She lay unmoving whilst the day's equipment was packed away. The boy quickly tended to Abel, and then sat down in front of the Night Fury.

"Astrid, what happened?"

Lydia tried to look away from the fight, but in turning her head towards her husband all she received was a face full of spit.

"Isn't it wonderful, ha HA. Look at them go, fast and deadly, just like me!"

She had brought heavily stuffed velvet cushions to pad out her small wooden throne, and a thick fur coat to protect against the wind, but nothing could make her feel comfortable watching dragon after dragon being butchered for her husband's entertainment.

The crowd roared in excitement as they were showered with blood and teeth from a particularly nasty hammer blow. A little girl on the other side of the fighting pit squealed with delight as she caught a sharp yellow tooth. Her father lifted her up by the armpits and showed her to his friends. They cheered along with her when they saw her prize, and soon the whole crowd had broken out into raucous applause.

"HA, I'll wager folk will be buying that man drinks all night long!" Lydia rolled her eyes at Raynir's latest banal comment.

The Jarl nodded to the perfumed man standing near the front of his royal viewing box. Clearing his throat, the man called out with the booming voice of a seasoned herald. It was deep and loud, and could be heard clearly by every one of the hundreds sat on the makeshift stands around the newly built fighting pit, the first in Marauder's Bay history.

"Rollo Hel's-Thrall is victorious!" The stands erupted yet again. The armoured warrior held his war-hammer aloft as two smaller Marauders, barely teenagers ran out into the pit and dragged the stunned and sickly Gronckle back into its holding cell. It left a dark red streak in the cold sand, starkly visible against the light dusting of snow that had fallen since the games began. The wounds were all too visible on the pale green scales, or what was left of them. A basic wooden drawbridge opened up in the wall beneath the royal box, and the creature was hastily bundled into a metal cage.

"The next battle, will be a fight to the death-" The herald was interrupted by another round of applause before he could finish. He held up a hand until the majority of the drunken crowd had settled down.

"We will now, for our final event, see a fight to the death, between two dragons!" The people murmured an 'oooh' of interest together as surely as if the herald had ordered them to do so. Lydia sank further into her furs, closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was somewhere else. Built on higher ground on the outskirts of town, atop cliffs overlooking the inlet, the fighting pit was painfully exposed. Try as she might, she could find no respite from the wind, which blew through her coat as easily as the sun shone though glass. Her husband lay his calloused hand on the back of her head.

"You must watch Lydia, I'll not have it said that the Jarl's wife does not join in the celebration of her people."

"What celebration? I thought you lost half your fleet and betrayed Stoick and…"

With his other hand, he grabbed her roughly by the jaw, choking her words before they could be uttered. She thought, if he squeezed, her skull might crack like an egg. She looked to his bodyguards for help, pleading with her eyes. They stood staunch and unmoving, staring straight ahead either side of the chamber. Raynir twisted her head to look at the stadium, where the sand was being raked to try to hide some of the blood.

"Look, wife. This is my Victory. Dragons, in Marauders bay, for the first time in history. Do you have any idea, ANY idea what this means for me? For my people?" Beneath the floor of the chamber they could hear clanging chains and banging metal. Vibrations ran up Lydia's legs as the sound grew louder. Raynir ignored it. He slowly released his grip, and quickly snapped his fingers in front of her face, causing her to flinch.

"At a stroke, we go from a laughing stock, a backwater at the edge of the world, to the centre of it all."

A muffled scream could be heard between the crashing of metal. Something was banging on the inside of the drawbridge.

"They will come. They'll all come to Marauder's bay to see it, to marvel at Hel's creatures. The greatest show on earth."

On the other side of the sunken pit, at the warrior's entrance, four strong warriors man-handled a squirming brown sack into the arena. The crowd, looked down from high above with barely contained anticipation. Lydia felt sick. Her husband's other hand was still holding the back of her head, ruining her hair that she had taken so long to comb through. She spat back at him.

"What's the point of having dragons if all you're going to do is kill them?" She paused. The Jarl was focused on the arena, a crazed look in his eyes.

"This. This is just the beginning. You remember the boy. You remember the Night Fury…"

The sack was pulled off and another, bigger Gronckle, this one a deep yellow-red, was pushed into the arena. It buzzed angrily around the pit, but thick, metal chains stretched across the top of the pit prevented it from escaping.

"I'm not just going to capture the dragons…"

The Gronkle, confused and intimidated by the baying of the crowd, tried to curl up and hide, pressing itself against the wall. Suddenly, it froze. A great clang of metal echoed across the sand, and the drawbridge started to creak open.

"I'm going to train them."

A monstrous nightmare burst out of the holding pens, snapping the chains that were slowly lowering the door and slamming it onto the ground with meaty thud. It was covered in fire. Its angry red skin appeared to be dancing and swaying as the flames rolled off it, leaving a trail of small fires in the sand as it stalked round the pit. It was young male, and unhurt by any of the week's previous fighting.

It was apoplectic with rage.

It scrambled over the walls and climbed onto the restraining metal chains, dripping fire back down as it did so. With a roar to match the audience, it launched a stream of spluttering fire directly into the air, coating the walls with lava. One man screamed as his beard caught fire, and his friends threw their beer at him to put it out. The crowd howled with laughter when they saw it was the same proud father from earlier.

The Nightmare's head twisted round slowly, a full circular turn, and locked onto the Gronckle. The smaller dragon was low to the ground, protecting its vulnerable underbelly. It became taught and ready as the Nightmare approached, one menacing step after another.

The Marauders leant forward and strained their necks, hoping for a better view of the carnage. It was the first fight between two dragons that they had ever seen, and the Nightmare was certainly the largest. Lydia watched in horror as the creature advanced in slow motion. The crowd became quieter and quieter, to the point where she could make out individuals.

"Look, ma! Look at the size of its teeth!"

"Kill it, kill it kill it!"

"My money's on the big one, sixty pieces of silver."

"Move you fat bastard I can't see!"

The Nightmare's fire had burned out, but it narrowed its eyes and kept moving forward. The Gronkle recovered from its frozen state and took a first, careful step away from the stadium's walls, towards its opponent. It had become deadly silent now, and Lydia could not look away. In the centre of the pit, the two dragons faced each other, with barely a yard between them. Everybody held their breath.

The Nightmare leaned forward, its long mouth opening slightly to reveal more of its massive teeth. It began to sniff the air, and the Gronkle did the same. The Nightmare's eyes shot open in recognition, as the smaller dragon fluttered its wings. They started to bark and circle around each other, oblivious to the world.

Confused murmurs were heard amongst the people, murmurs which became boos, boos which became jeers and jeers which became rocks and stones, hurled at the two trapped lizards. Hammers, mugs, knives and plates were produced, and slammed on the metal chains and railings surrounding the pit. The braying crown and metallic din terrified the creatures, they tried to back away from the threats, but hearing them all around, instead went back to back in the centre of the sand.

Raynir was quickly turning red, both from rage and embarrassment. Lydia shied away from him, not wanting to provoke yet another outburst from her husband. He slammed his fists on the arm-rests of his wooden throne, and stuck his finger at the perfumed herald.

"HERMANN, NOW!"

"Yes, my lord." He bowed quickly and turned around, gesturing to the warriors below him. Quickly, they fanned out around the edge of the pit, dodging thrown rocks, food and mugs and pushing past the spectators who had fought their way to the front and were leaning over the edge. Each of the soldiers carried a long spear, with a wickedly sharp, steel tip. As one they lowered their weapons into the arena and prodded the beasts.

Despite the disorienting noise, the Nightmare managed to dodge one spear and catch the pole in its teeth, snapping the wood with its powerful jaws as if it was kindling and nearly pulling the wielder into the killing ground. But more spearheads rained down on them. The Nightmare twisted around as it was jabbed in the back, lashing out with its knife-long claws. It caught the Gronckle instead, tearing a deep gash along its flank. The dragon roared in response, and prepared a fireball despite the pain.

"I... I can't…"

Lydia stood up to leave, but Raynir's hand shot out and seized her by the wrist.

"Lydia, you will NOT be seen to leave me now."

She struggled and slipped out of his grip, batting the Jarl's hand away. The bodyguards let her pass, her eyes glistening in the low winter sun, as she left the dragons' pained screams and the crowd's animal roars behind her.

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