So, in this AU, south of the Archipelago lies several continents, and the biggest of them houses the Imperium. A stray expedition to the north ends up in Berk, an uncharted territory to the Imperials, led by Captain Vulus.This idea came to me when I was wondering how an 18th century dragoon and a Viking might fight and who would win.Disclaimer: I do not own HTTYD, and any easter eggs or nods to any fictional or unfictional person, literary work, movie, game is just due to my tired and idiotic mind.Probably K/T, some parts may be M.Warning: following chapters may contain heavy language.

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The storm went away, leaving the island and its inhabitants wet, muddy and grumpy. The village was already back to work, some people sweeping and carrying away the chunks of ice. Her gaze swept across the Plaza, noting the buildings with holes on them, scribbling down some runes on her report. She did not lift her eyes from the paper, not even when a towering man appeared up next to her.

"Astrid, report."

She almost dropped the paper, quickly straightening herself and snapping a salute before she started her annual report.

"Chief, two storehouses' roof has several holes, as well does three homes and the forge, although the last one seems to have been repaired since my last observation." she said, retaining a calm and confident voice.

"Good." Stoick said, taking the paper from the woman's hands. "Take a look at the forge, see what help Gobber needs. After that, report to the Council."

As Stoick turned back and left for the Great Hall, Astrid grabbed her axe and started walking towards the familliar building with an enormous chimney spitting clouds of smoke like a vicious dragon. Berk still had a few days until the next estimated raid, although nobody knew for sure those mindless beasts decided to return this day or later. As one of the best warriors of the tribe, she has killed more than she could count, and it seemed to earn her fame, respect, power - but no marriage proposals. She had to admit that the island was not full of young warriors, and the narrow selection either already chosen someone or was not interested in her. It did not upset her nor made her jealous of the other women, as she made peace with this to be the Shield Maiden of Berk.

She saw the big line of Vikings waiting to get to the hatch, impatiently hurling curses and other words at the young man who took the weapons and piled them near the anvil, where Gobber was mending them. Astrid went to the back and entered the forge, the immense heat hitting her as she took a look at the walls. A few burnt marks and several cracks were scattered around the wooden structure, accompanied by hurriedly fixed holes on the roof and upper walls. She crouched down and inspected one of the cracks, wondering how much stress the wood might take after the disastrous raid of last night. Her gaze swept along the wooden walls and rested on the form of the young man, now next to the anvil, hammering a bent sword.

"Gobber!" she yelled, trying to get the attention of the one-legged blacksmith through the chaos of the hatch.

"Astrid? What do ye wan', lass?" Gobber asked, walking to the back of the forge, past the sweating apprentice. "Did Stoick send ya?"

"Yes, Gobber, the Chief sent me. He told me to lend you a hand in the repairs." Astrid said, eyeing the roof and the walls. "I see you handled it pretty well."

"Aye, the young lad got it done as soon as yer fire brigade put the ice away." Gobber told her, scratching his chin with his hook. "Thor went wild tonight, didn' he?"

"Yes, several houses got damaged by the ice, and we lost some cattle here and there…"

"Lass, could ye keep an eye on the shop while I get on me business up in the Hall?" Gobber asked, raising his hook and pointing at the young form near the bellows. "Jus' make sure the lad isn' beaten up like yak dung, will ya?"

Astrid looked at the stiff man pulling the softened weapons out, checking if they are ready to mend. His eyes were focused on the red blades and axe heads, turning and inspecting them with concentration.

"Hiccup!" Gobber yelled, throwing a metal tool towards him. "Ye'll need this for the shields!"

It took her unprepared as the apprentice caught it with one hand, not even looking up from the anvil. She was shocked at the precise reflex and ease, not expecting the village runt to handle such situation well. She stepped forward, leaning a bit to the right and got a glimpse of the pile of weapons, now a small bunch compared to the one she saw earlier.

"Keep yer eye on him and let him do the work, lass." Gobber said, stepping out of the forge. Astrid sat down on a stool and watched Hiccup work tirelessly, fixing swords, axes, hammers, knives, daggers, maces, shields and bolas. His hands had small cuts and patches of blood, the skin hardened by the hammer and anvil during years of smithing. His forehead was glittering with sweat, as well as his cheeks and arms. Her eyes turned to her weapons, battered and dusty, earning an internal sigh for herself. Despite her efforts, she could not spare enough to repair her weapons or replace the axe head, which clearly was a few raids away from finally giving in to the vicious usage. Even Stoick, her unofficial mentor would not spare her a head - not that she would accept it. The only real weapon she had was this, and it was even given to her by an unknown man five years ago, on the eve of her thirteenth birthday. She could still remember the sight - a nicely wrapped leather package lying in front of their door, with a scribbled note on top, wishing her the best and fortunate years to come. Nobody in the village knew who placed the package down on that night - except for Snotlout, who clearly was just trying to get Astrid as his girlfriend.

She was shaken up from her silent thinking by a hand reaching for the axe resting on her knees. She grabbed the wrist and pulled out a dagger, only to face Hiccup's scared and helpless expression. She let his arm go and he took several steps backwards, before turning back to the anvil and muttering words she did not understand. The air was tense until Gobber finally crashed through the front door, cursing as he got to his feet. She rose from the stool and left through the front, walking up towards her house, wondering why the young man was reaching for her axe.

"Did ya get hurt, lad?" Gobber asked, sitting down on the stool, drinking mead from his prosthetics. "I swear she look'd like ye were a dead yak, Hiccup."

"I would not be surprised - I am the Useless afterall, the boy who screws up big time." Hiccup said, hammering a sword which was bent like it was used as a crowbar. "Who does not look at me like that? And no - you too, Gobber." he said, seeing his mentor's mouth open to answer. The blacksmith smirked.

"Ye know not everybody hates ye, lad. Yer jus' not Viking-like, that's all." he said casually, before spitting on the ground, groaning. "This mead is jus' gettin' worse and worse. I'll have te drink salt water to wash me mouth one day."

"Thanks for summing that up." Hiccup said, sarcasm edging his voice. "I guess the Hall has gourmet menu again? I haven't eaten there in a week…" His gaze swept through the forge, resting on the door to the room at the back, his private workshop and home.

"Yak stew, smoked fish and smoked eel, with this Thor-forsaken mead." Gobber answered, spilling the contents of his tankard-prosthetics and changing it for the hook. "That kid is still after ye?"

"Snotlout?" the young man asked, throwing a dagger to the scrap pile. "Yes, still beating me up few times a week. I wonder if he has the courage to finally ask me out on a date, he seems very interested." he answered, scowling at the one-legged, laughing smith who almost fell to the ground. He took a look at the pile of weapons, finding it nowhere. He put his apron down, sitting on another stool, wiping sweat away from his face. After a few minutes, he stood up and went out for a brief walk, breathing in the fresh air and standing on the edge of the nearby cliff overlooking the seastacks on the horizon. He did not notice the small dots at first, but they grew bigger, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to get what those were. His eyes widened at the realisation, and he ran back to the forge, shouting from the top of his lungs.

"Ships are coming!"

{_}

The masts were straight and the men were on their top as the ships sailed past the seastacks. The big waves of the storm left the hulls damaged, even one of the noses beyond repair. The small fleet was in tough situation, risking whatever was left from their voyage sailing towards the only island they had seen on the map close to their position. A man of twenties was shouting orders, throwing curses at the sailors, even hurling a handful of ropes at the slower ones.

"We need to get there, men! You either work harder or die trying!" he bellowed, pointing at the island in front of them, far on the horizon. His hands skimmed over the navigation tools, confident in the patch of land he had chosen for destination. He had been the officer of the Imperium afterall - brave, fierce, intelligent and outmost loyal to his beloved Emperor.

The sun was way over them, but the air was still cold, nothing like the warm coasts of Lyzedra or the friendly waters of the Inner Sea. Still, he had found nothing harsh enough to stop him from reaching his goal - until the recent storm, which had taken them into uncharted waters. The tiny armada had two navigators on board apart from him, and none of them could find anything about these islands, except that they were here and potentionally abandoned. Potentionally. This was the word that planted some fears in his heart which he was not capable of dismissing completely. If he was right, then his men can finally take a rest and get to repair the damaged ships; if not, his men were up to a fight against a foe they had only heard of in tales - tales of insane savages, fearing no man, not even Death itself, as well as of unknown flying beasts spitting fire and terror at every moving thing beneath the sky, turning meadows into scorched wastelands, devouring man and animal in whole, all while being indestructible and incredibly powerful. His grandfather led his last expedition to these uncivilized lands, only to never return, his shield and insignia retrieved by his men who went insane after meeting with one of those unspeakable horrors many adventurers met and just few lived to tell the tale, or not even those.

"Captain, I think the island is already habited!" a young sailor shouted from the rigging, his eyes seemingly on the mass of land ahead of them. "I see smoke and buildings, sir!"

He stopped on his track and held his breath. The island had inhabitants. It meant that they might set a deal with them and trade valuables for food, water and other necessities. On the other hand, the natives might be savages and attack them outright, way before they could initiate talks. He considered the facts. His men were tired and unrest started to worry the officers, while the food supply was low and the horses and even simple soldiers had scarce meals. Even if the people of the island were agressive, they must reach the land and make a beachhead, or else there may be no men to feed anymore. He decided.

"Get the guns ready, and sound an alarm! Prepare for landing!" he shouted and the whole ship bursted into chaos. The sailors were opening up barrels of gunpowder and the crates of heavy cannon shots were laid on the main and lower decks. Musketmen and dragoons were running up from beneath the planks, forming into lines as their sergeants were crying out orders. Captain Vulus did not hesitate to load his carbine, his two trusted pistols before taking the sabre and watching the island slowly grow from a smudge on the horizon into an enormous giant. The sailor was right - huts and wooden buildings formed a village on this side, with a huge, door-looking thing set into the nearby mountain. He saw docks and ships resting in front of a tall, natural stone wall, with a long wooden set of stairs as the only means of entrance and exit.

"Form ranks, and storm those stairs as soon as you get off! Shoot anybody who might want to destroy it, or else we die here from enemy fire!" he shouted and the men all replied with a loud "Yes, sir!". Primitive catapults towered over the ships, and the fleet finally got to the docks. Men started to swing off, landing on the wooden planks, running towards the objective. Some horses were already set down, with dragoons getting onto them and riding off to clash with anybody opposing their forces. A small mountaineer detachment ran past as Vulus set his foot on the crude docks, breathing in the salty air.

It was different. It had some pine and grassy smell in it, with a pinch of wild flowers and snow. It reminded him of the training camps near the mountans of Makros, where he had spent his best years as a cadet of the Imperial Armee. He shook of his thoughts when a dragoon stopped just in front of him, taking his helmet off.

"Sir, we had taken the stairs and no signs of hostile forces are present." he said, saluting the captain.

"Advance with care, look for any traps and defend your flanks." Vulus said, walking towards the stairs while the rider went past him, carrying his orders to the lieutenant he assigned to the invasion - Brex. He hated to admit it, but the stubborn, hotheaded and cruel officer was the best he could offer, and he was sure his subordinate will always follow his word, even if the Evil Incarnate came against them. The young lieutenant has been at his side since he was promoted to Captain - and never left his side, not even when the Traitoris Order falsely accusated him of treachery and heresy. Since then, while not always pleased at the attitude of the officer, he trusted him with his life, no matter what the situation was.

At the top of the stairs, he saw Brax shout orders to the men around while the Mountaineers loaded their rifled muskets. He sensed that something was wrong. It was silent. The buildings now had no smoke coming out of their chimneys, nor were the big double doors open in the side of the mountain. He felt his men getting nervous at the unnatural silence. He ordered them to move forward, and he moved with them until they reached an open square, probably acting as the centre of the settlement. The musketeers and dragoons formed a circle, still casting worried looks as the silence was only broken by their feet shuffling and murmured prayers.

Suddenly, a huge man burst from one of the buildings, holding an axe the size of a big boar, running at them and growling like a dog whose meat was taken by force. A moment later more followed from all sides, branding swords, maces, nets, hammers, bolas, spears and even cleavers.

"Ready!" Vulus shouted from the top of his lungs, his men readying their muskets and carbines and pistols at the enemy crowd.

"Aim!" The man took aim, some cocking their weapons and praying silently as the savage warriors closed on the small circle.

"FIRE!"