Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thick scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, a lingering reminder of the previous night’s raid. Berk had weathered yet another attack, substantially more charred and beaten but still standing, despite the brutal dragon onslaught it had faced just hours prior. 

Vikings picked their way through the destruction, taking stock of the extent of the damage and the casualties that the attack had wrought. 

One Berkian, the local blacksmith, inspected his forge with critical eyes. It seemed to have made it through the chaos relatively unscathed, but he knew better than to assume. Circling the workshop slowly, he took note of a few scuffs and scratches. Uncertain of whether or not they’d been there before, he made a mental note to see what he could do for repairs later.

Behind his shop lay a winding path, leading into the woods. Normally, he paid it little mind, but today the walkway drew his attention.

Small, burnt chunks of timber littered the ground. Fighting back a yawn, he bent down and began to collect them, tucking the fragments into the crook of his arm for safekeeping. The village was in no position to waste resources – either he’d find a way to repurpose the wood, or someone else would. 

He slowly continued down the path, stooping to retrieve each piece. Idly he wondered what they’d belonged to, before the destruction. He really hoped they hadn’t been part of a house.

Once he reached the treeline he paused, squinting to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him again. Nestled between the trunk appeared to lay a large, dark shape. 

A downed dragon, perhaps?

The man tensed, lowering himself towards the ground with as much grace as he could muster. He set down the pile of wood as quietly as he could manage, wincing as a few pieces knocked together. 

Creating any sound was risky, but approaching a wild dragon without a weapon was even more so. If the beast was still alive, he needed to be ready to fight at a moment’s notice, so he brandished his hook before him as he walked.

Creeping closer, he was able to make out the shape in better detail. The shine of scales quickly confirmed his initial suspicion – it was a downed dragon. However, once he got a proper look at the beast, his jaw dropped open in surprise.

“Odin’s beard,” breathed Gobber, eyes stretched wide in disbelief. “Is tha’ what I think it is?”

Night Fury.

The most feared, elusive dragon in the entire archipelago. Though no one could confirm exactly what the legendary beast looked like, the blacksmith had little doubt of what he was faced with now. This dragon was dark and sleek, covered with pitch black scales. Large, batlike wings stretched out around it, blanketing the forest floor in shadow.

There was a large cut on the dragon’s forehead, located just above the eye. Judging by the amount of debris littered around it, Gobber suspected the beast had been struck unconscious by sheer force.

For a moment, he toyed with the idea of returning to town for reinforcements. It would be safer to have backup, especially when dealing with a creature this terrifying. Yet he knew that leaving now would be too risky. The dragon could wake up when he was away, easily making an escape before he’d returned. 

He didn’t want to be the fool responsible for letting a Night Fury go free. Thor, they’d write odes at his expense for such an error in judgment.

Gobber patted down his pockets, relieved to find a single bola still strapped to his side. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would help. With it, he could at least secure the beast’s wings so that it couldn’t fly away.

After assuring himself that the dragon was fully unconscious, he set to work binding the wings to its side. It wasn’t easy, as the dragon’s impressive wingspan required a great deal of strength to fold against its back. Once he was satisfied the bola would hold, he removed his own belt, crafting a makeshift muzzle that he tightened around the dragon’s jaws.

Now to get it to the ring…

He sighed, realizing that at this point he needed to recruit help. There was no way he could single-handedly drag an unconscious dragon of this size all the way to the arena. So he started towards town, throwing worried glances over his shoulder every few paces to reassure himself that the Night Fury hadn’t moved.

Hiccup awoke in darkness, attention immediately drawn to the pounding pain at his temple. He brought a hand up, fingers brushing against a cut above his eyebrow. It stung to the touch and his fingers came away damp.

That can’t be good.

He pressed his fingers harder against the wound, trying to apply a steady pressure as he took stock of his surroundings.

He was lying on the ground, staring up at a stone ceiling. It was smooth – too smooth to be a natural cave. No doubt the work of a viking craftsman. 

Heart rate skyrocketing, Hiccup clumsily pushed himself to his feet. The walls around him were all made of the same polished, cleanly cut stone. All except one – a large, metal wall that loomed over him. 

He walked over to it, inspecting the shiny surface more closely. It was dinged up with an assortment of scratches and scorch marks, as if someone or something had been fighting to break it down.

Oh gods.

There was only one place he could think of that would have such a door: Berk’s dragon training arena. 

He was in the arena. The knowledge left him breathless, and he found he no longer had the strength to stand. Dropping to his knees, he leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the cage door. 

Of all the nightmare situations he’d considered over the years, this was by far the one that had scared him most.

How had this happened? The last thing he remembered, he’d been watching the raid from the safety of the tree line, trying to catch a glimpse of his father in the battle. It had become a habit of his during the attacks, finding the best vantage point to keep track of the chief. Though it worried him to see his only family facing down such a dangerous threat, he also relished the opportunity it provided for him to see the man again.

Had she gotten to him? He loathed the thought of it, but he couldn’t dismiss it too quickly. He’d always been able to resist the call in the past, but never to fully tune it out. Maybe the siren song had finally overpowered his own will, and this gap in his memory was the result.

The tacky feeling under his fingers made him suspect the queen was not the culprit this time. He’d been hit hard by something, or someone. The pounding had not receded, reminding him that he couldn’t rule out the possibility of a concussion.

Hiccup only hoped he’d been found after sunrise. Did the village know that what they had captured was more than just a Night Fury?

Astrid was the first to arrive for dragon training, as was her habit. It wasn’t a difficult feat, considering her peers tended to arrive at the last minute possible without so much as an excuse. Still, she took pride in being the head of the class and refused to let her record go challenged.

Gobber was already standing by the entrance to the ring, a strange tension to his posture. He looked like a rope pulled too tight, ready to snap if any pressure were to be applied.

Strange, but then again, Gobber had always been a little strange.

“Morning,” she called out in greeting, stretching her arms as she walked. The early morning sunlight felt wonderful on her bare arms and she was grateful that there was no wind to take away from the rare warmth.

The blacksmith returned her greeting, though he did not relax at all.

Astrid opened her mouth to ask what was bothering her teacher, snapping it shut when she caught sight of another large figure approaching. Stoick the Vast, chief of Berk, was making his way towards the arena. 

It wasn’t completely unheard of for the man to observe training, but they usually had some warning so they could prepare. Astrid shifted her weight from foot to foot, wishing she’d run through more warm-up drills that morning. Impressing the chief would go a long way in helping her secure her place amongst the tribe’s warrior ranks. 

She briefly considered calling out to him, but then she caught sight of his pinched expression. Like Gobber, the man seemed unsettled by something. His brows were drawn tightly together and he walked with a purpose-driven gait that she’d only seen in times of combat.

Her stomach twisted as she wondered what exactly had put two of Berk’s strongest in such a mood. There had been a raid two nights ago – had there been a fatality? She hadn’t heard anything, but it wasn’t uncommon for wounds to fester and warriors to die days later from the resulting infection. 

Or, perhaps there was a threat on the horizon that Stoick felt they needed to prepare for? The Outcasts had been remarkably quiet lately. Maybe he’d heard whispers of an upcoming attack?

Past the chief, she could make out the shapes of her peers trailing behind. They each looked puzzled, no doubt sharing her own confusion at Stoick’s decision to observe their training day.

“Is it true?” Stoick asked without preamble, voice gruff as he addressed the blacksmith.

“Aye,” replied Gobber, face solemn. “Ya can ask Ivan or Mulch if you don’ believe me. Those two helped me drag it back ‘ere yesterday mornin’.”

The chief exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “Once more, my friend, you have outdone yourself.”

Gobber’s face twisted into a pained smile. “I’m not so sure catchin’ a beast like tha’ is a good thing. We very well may be riskin’ the wrath of the gods.”

“Lightning and death itself,” murmured Stoick, voice grave. 

The phrase was familiar, and Astrid found herself scanning through memories trying to place it. When she did, she couldn’t contain her gasp. They couldn’t really be implying what she thought they were…could they?

Stoick looked at her with surprise, as if just noticing her presence for the first time. “Gobber was able to capture a Night Fury after the raid,” he confirmed, pointing towards the row of cages below. “You will be the first class of Berkians to learn how to fight those devils.”

It was huge news, and she could see why the men were so shaken. In the history of Berk, very few could even claim to have seen a Night Fury, much less have dueled it personally. This was an unknown for all of them.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered, trying to wrap her mind around the idea. 

Stoick grunted his agreement, sharing her wonder at the thought. He then took a moment to  nod in greeting to the rest of their class, who had just managed to catch up. The other students all looked equally taken aback, having overheard the news as they approached.

“I’ll be here to observe today,” announced the chief, “and also to step in if needed. Though you’ve all proven yourselves to be valiant fighters, we know next to nothing about this dragon. If I tell you to run, I expect you to listen. No one plays hero with the Night Fury, got it?”

A chorus of nods confirmed their agreement.

“Astrid! You’ve proven yourself th’ best fighter–” Gobber said, before dropping his voice to add, “–and listener –” before resuming his usual volume, “of the group, so you shall ‘ave the honor of bein’ the first to face th’ beast. We nee’ to find ou’ all we can about it. See wha’ makes it tick!”

Normally she’d expect a fight from her peers when given such an honor, especially from Snotlout, but no one argued this time. Fear of Night Furies had been ingrained in the vikings of Berk for generations, and while many craved the glory of facing one, shaking off that level of apprehension was no easy task.

Astrid swallowed, retrieving her axe from its holster on her back and picking up one of the shields laying beside the entrance. At Gobber’s encouragement, she began making her way into the ring, trying not to flinch when the door clanged shut behind.

“Now remember,” said Stoick. “We don’t know this dragon’s habits, so stay on your guard. Do not assume it will act like a Nadder or Zippleback.”

As if she needed reminding. 

Astrid rolled her grip on the axe, eyes locking on the cage door that was slowly opening. She could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on her, and pushed that awareness to the back of her mind. She needed to focus. 

Her first impression was that the Night Fury was much smaller than she’d expected, perhaps half the size of Monstrous Nightmare. It edged out the cage slowly, each movement impressively fluid and silent. The creature was entirely jet black, save for a pair of toxic green eyes that were now fixed on her with a strange intensity.

A long black tail swished behind the dragon, stirring up the layer of dirt that coated the ring. The dragon’s movements felt almost feline in nature, like a cat stalking a mouse.

And I’m the mouse, she thought, mouth pressing into a thin line.

She tensed her shoulders, preparing for the Night Fury to pounce. Knowing that the dragon’s deadly accuracy was a hallmark of the species, she kept her shield tight against her body. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake here.

The Night Fury continued to study her, a strange awareness in its eyes. It seemed almost intelligent . She’d come across a few more clever dragons in her training, but none that seemed to see into her soul like this odd, shadowy creature. It was a disconcerting feeling and left her strangely unbalanced.

As if taking note of her discomfort, the dragon turned its attention away from her, tilting its head up. She watched as its eyes passed over each of the observers above. seeming to linger on the chief’s large form longer than the rest before continuing down the line of onlookers.

Why hasn’t it attacked? Astrid adjusted her stance, the movement sending a stray rock clattering away.

The Night Fury snapped its attention back to her. She felt a tremor run down her back.  It had been a long time since she’d been truly afraid, but there was something about this dragon that seemed unnatural to her. 

She didn’t like that.

Astrid took a step forward, brandishing her axe. The goal was to figure out the dragon’s weaknesses, right? To do that, she’d have to get it to strike. 

To her surprise, the dragon gracefully evaded her oncoming attack. It made no sound, simply side stepping out of range at the last moment, leaving her careening towards the arena wall. She dug in her heels, skidding to halt as she rounded to face it, feeling her face flush with outrage.

The dragon looked…smug?

It was a ridiculous thought, and yet there it was – a corner of its mouth twisted up in what could only be amusement. Like they were playing a game. 

Just how smart was this dragon?

She charged again, throwing in one of her more complex maneuvers. With it, she continued to drive the dragon further and further back, yet she never got close enough to nick it with her blade. The creature seemed to almost anticipate her actions, dodging and weaving in a way not unlike the vikings she trained beside.

She’d seen dragons do all manner of things in her time, but she’d never before seen one on the defensive. They were predators, always on the offensive, especially when faced with an armed foe. So what was so different about this one?

Staring into those bright green eyes, she couldn’t help but feel like there was something she was missing. Something tickled at her memory, as if the answer were just out of reach. 

She was so focused in her thoughts, she barely registered Gobber slipping into the ring, banging a metal shield against his hook as he drove the disoriented Night Fury back into its cage. It seemed that the technique for disorientation remained universal to all dragons, at least.

“That was–” Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Completely mad!” Finished Gobber with a strangled laugh, securing the door firmly. “The beast was playing with you!”

Astrid cast her shield to the side, eyeing the cage door. 

“My turn!” Snotlout called, trying to push his way into the ring.

“No,” said Stoick, grabbing the back of his nephew’s tunic. “After that display, we must be careful how we proceed.”

“Agreed,” said Gobber, “I don’ trust most o’ you around tha’ thing.”

Stoick nodded, examining the vikings before him with a critical eye. “It’s far smarter than we expected,” he pointed out. “With the way it picked up on Astrid’s movements, I’d hesitate to let it learn too many of our fighting styles. The dragon has already faced Astrid and has an idea of how she strikes, perhaps she alone should continue to face the Night Fury.”

Astrid felt her throat go dry, but she grunted her agreement. It was an honor to be chosen for the task, and would give her a chance to study the strange dragon again.

“Yes,” she rasped, finding her voice. An idea occurred to her and she was quick to voice it before she lost the nerve, “ I think I should be the one to mind it, too. If it sees me as a source of food, it may let its guard down around me in the ring."

Stoick hummed, face thoughtful. “You may be onto something. Very well, but be careful.”

Chapter Text

Hiccup sat inside the cell, stretching out the stiffness that always came with the shift. Having his bones break and reconfigure into new shapes tended to leave him feeling like he’d been trampled by a pack of Gronckles. 

“What a day,” he muttered to himself, leaning his head back against the stone. 

He’d never thought he’d have to fight in that arena, much less as the dragon target. Yet, his life had taken such a spiral in recent years that it seemed fate itself was determined to surprise him wherever it could.

Like being target practice for his childhood crush. That was a new one.

There was a small part of him that was elated to have seen his father, mentor and peers up close again. He’d never dared get close enough to risk being seen before, so he’d learned to accept faraway glimpses as the best he was ever going to get. 

Today had proved different, giving him a chance to study each face in clear detail. He’d been surprised to see a few gray strands peppered across his father’s thick beard and a multitude of thin lines etched into Gobber’s face. It was a stark reminder of the time he had lost with them. Time he’d never get back.

His peers had looked shockingly mature. He could hardly believe that Fishlegs had facial hair now, remembering the blonde as the most baby-faced of the bunch. 

Astrid had been…startling. She was just as terrifying now as she’d been in his teens, axe raised like a valkyrie. Yet, that unrivaled passion and strength still made him weak in the knees. Not to mention, she’d somehow gotten even more beautiful with age – a feat his fifteen-year-old self would have sworn was impossible.

She’d looked at him with hate and suspicion, of course, as she’d seen nothing more than another dragon to destroy. He didn’t let it phase him too much – he’d been on the receiving end of Astrid’s wrath on more than one occasion in the past. This time at least, he felt like he had the upper hand…it was kind of thrilling, getting to spar with her in a way where he didn’t feel like the prey. 

He didn’t risk anything that could hurt her, keeping his claws low to the ground and plasma blasts contained. Berk may want to harm him, but he had no desire to hurt his tribesmen. 

Especially not Astrid.

He groaned, banging his head against the wall in frustration. Why did the gods hate him so much?

Enough self-pity, he scolded himself, it’s time to get out of here.

The discomfort of the shift had passed and he found that he felt reenergized as he stood. He brushed a finger to his temple, noting that the skin was whole once more. He was certain that if he could see his reflection, it would have faded to a thin white scar by now. 

There were a few perks of his condition, and rapid healing was by far the most useful. Though he had no idea how it worked, he was always just grateful that it did. 

Hiccup surveyed the metal door, this time looking for gaps or hinges. He’d had a hand in helping Gobber craft half the mechanics used across Berk, as everything had to be replaced so frequently. His short years in the forge had given him more experience than he suspected most blacksmith apprentices saw in their entire tutelage.

Much to his dismay, this particular door design did not look familiar. If there was a failsafe hidden somewhere, he was not privy to it.

Hiccup jammed the fingers of his right hand in the gap between metal and stone, feeling around for any sort of loose gear or catch in the metal. If he could just find a small weakness, he could leverage that spot to unbalance the door.

His search turned up little more than dust, and he grimaced as he wiped his dirty hand on his tunic. A few shallow cuts were now scattered across his palm, stinging from where they’d caught on jagged metal. He paid them little mind, as he could already see them beginning to close. 

He eyed his left hand, wondering if it would be any luckier. He tried not to look at his dominant hand much these days, as it served as a visual reminder of his cursed status. Proof that he couldn’t escape it even when he was back in his own skin. 

That he’d never truly be human again.

Black scales covered his left hand, continuing up his arm and over his shoulder. He knew they extended beneath his tunic, branching off like lightning strikes and only tapering off once they’d reached his heart. His fingers ended in sharp black claws, significantly shorter but otherwise not unlike that of his Night Fury form.

It was the same hand he’d used that night when he’d tried and failed to shoot the dragon down. A permanent reminder that he’d more than failed. He curled his fingers into a fist, wrapping his normal hand over it as if hiding the truth from view would erase it. 

If only it were that simple.

Hiccup paced within the small cage, feeling as if the space was shrinking in on itself. The only light illuminating the pen came from a small hole above, created only for airflow. He guessed it was a finger or two wide, nothing he could leverage for an escape. 

I’m going to die here. He thought, a grim certainty settling over him. This was Berk’s kill ring – there was no chance in Hel they’d release a dragon from its walls. 

Not unless that dragon was dead.

Even then, he remembered having to scrub the cages in his teens. He’d never forget opening the door to a cage that was supposed to be empty, only to find a rotting Nadder, which appeared to have been left unaddressed for weeks based on the state of decay. 

Hiccup lurched to the side, heaving at the mental image that surfaced. It had been bad enough at the time, now it was nothing short of chilling. He felt a cold sweat break out across his brow, wiping the sleeve of his tunic shakily across his lips. 

He would be killed in the village where he was born, by the very people who had raised him.

Not for the first time, he wished he could go back in time to stop his younger self from ever taking that fateful shot. If he hadn’t been so desperate to prove himself that night, he’d still have a family. 

He’d still have a home.

He half-heartedly banged his fist once against the metal door, before collapsing against it and sliding dejectedly down to the floor. 

It was hopeless, he was trapped.

Dawn broke, setting fire to his bones once more. 

At one time, the shift felt like an eternity. Now it passed in the blink of an eye. One moment he was slumped against the door, the next he was stretched out on all fours, wingtips brushing the edges of his prison.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since his capture. He sorted through his memories, trying to recall when Gobber used to feed the dragons – and how often. Spending so much time in the forge came with the unexpected advantage of knowing the blacksmith’s schedule almost better than the man did himself.

It was early, he knew that much. He’d often arrive at the forge for work, only to discover Gobber hadn’t returned from the task quite yet. If that schedule hadn’t changed, he shouldn’t have to wait too long. 

Hiccup turned around, tucking in his tail as he twisted in the cramped quarters. He sat, focusing his attention on the door ahead.

As if on cue, a slat opened up in the door. It revealed a small, barred window. Hiccup wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before, but filed away the information for later use. Perhaps he could leverage that to his advantage.

He’d been expecting Gobber, but instead it was Astrid who was staring back at him. She held his gaze for a few moments, blue eyes squinted as if she were trying to puzzle something out.

He blinked back slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. If she was his meal ticket, he didn’t want to risk scaring her off. He knew her well enough to assume that she’d likely leave him to starve out of spite if she felt the least bit threatened.

Astrid lifted a few fish up onto the window ledge, shoving them through the bars unceremoniously. They fell to the dirt floor with a squelching sound that made Hiccup’s stomach turn. 

Right. He’d be expected to eat raw fish while he was here. Like a proper dragon. Something he’d managed to carefully avoid since his first transformation.

Maybe he could roast it with a plasma blast? He’d been getting better at controlling the intensity, though he really should have practiced more. 

“Well?” Astrid asked sharply, gesturing towards the heap of fish. 

He couldn’t risk a blast if she was going to be watching, especially at this range.

Oh gods , he realized, mortified. Astrid was going to watch him choke down the slimy fish. He took a hesitant step closer to the fish, inner disgust warring with the Night Fury’s innate senses that approved of the salty offering.

He picked a fish up in his teeth, tossing it upwards and swallowing it as quickly as he could. To his horror, it didn’t taste that bad. If anything, all he caught was a bit of salt on his tongue. 

I cannot believe I’ve fallen this far, he thought before repeating the process with the remaining fish. 

His stomach was sated, but a part of him wondered what any traces of the meal would do to his human stomach when he shifted back. There was a reason vikings cooked their fish.

Astrid pursed her lips, but seemed satisfied. “Good dragon,” she said, before sliding the metal panel into place, leaving him once more in darkness.

Good dragon?

At that moment, he wished the gods would just strike him down. He’d never felt more humiliated.

Life in the arena fell into a sort of rhythm. Hiccup would start his day with a visit from Astrid, where he’d be forced to choke down whatever raw meal she’d provided that day. He’d thought fish was bad, but the day she brought the rabbit ? He’d considered going hungry.

He’d spend most of the day lying in his cage, hearing the sounds of his peers as they faced off against the other dragon inhabitants of the arena. Gobber’s reprimands were one of the few highlights of his day, as the man never held back his criticism. 

Hiccup liked to imagine the faces of the others as they bore the brunt of that feedback. While Ruff and Tuff may not even realize they’d been scolded, he liked to picture Snotlout turning red with embarrassment. 

Sometimes he liked to imagine what it would be like if his life had taken a different turn, and he’d been there beside them. He’d probably have been the worst of the bunch, never having been too talented with weaponry or combat training. Though perhaps he could have improved in those five years, enough that he’d have had a chance to succeed when they were finally old enough for training.

Regardless, it would have been nice to finally be one of them. 

Instead, he was one of the dragons. As he listened to the sounds of fighting, he found himself feeling sympathetic towards the others. Though he couldn’t make sense of their shrieks and moans, the general feeling behind them was clear. He didn’t like the idea of any creature feeling trapped and afraid, especially now that he could relate to their suffering.

Once the typical training had wrapped up for the day, he’d be let out into the ring with Astrid. Sometimes, only Gobber would be watching the session. Other times, he’d see his father gazing down. Those days rattled him the most, as the coldness in the chief’s eyes made him feel empty inside.

He was used to seeing Stoick look at him with disappointment, but meeting his eyes and seeing no recognition was much worse.

Hiccup used the sessions to stretch his muscles, which ached from their time wedged into the small pen. His wings in particular, needed to be shaken out to rid himself of the pins and needles sensation that tended to creep over them by midday. 

He’d flare them behind him, stretching them as far as he dared but never risking flight. There wasn’t anywhere to go, and he saw no reason to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him struggle to maneuver in the tight space. 

He also knew, as well as any Berkian, just how little information the vikings had collected on Night Furies. The thought struck him that they may be studying him, and for that reason he knew it was best to hold back. The slower they gleaned information, the longer they’d keep him alive.

Probably. 

Hopefully.

The end of the session was always marked with Gobber charging in, aggressively slamming metal objects together to disorient him. It was effective, but he wished he could just tell the man it wasn’t necessary. He’d already taken to making a swift retreat to his cell whenever the banging started. Couldn’t they try some other signal that didn’t make his head pound? He was confident he’d proven he wasn’t an idiot by now.

Sunset would bring the inevitable shift, and Hiccup would relish the extra space it afforded him within his quarters. He’d sprawl out against the ground, stretching his limbs out as far as possible. 

He’d given up on the door entirely. Not even his claws could get a hold of the window mechanism from this side. 

Sometimes, Gobber was too good at his craft.

Chapter Text

Astrid didn’t often have nightmares, but when she did, they tended to pack a punch. Seconds before she was to be consumed in a fiery inferno, she awoke, lurching upwards and gasping for air. The dream had felt too real. 

She glanced outside, finding it was still dark. Likely early morning.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the mental picture her mind had conjured. It wasn’t unusual in Berk to dream of fire. With the frequency of the raids, fire had become a part of life. A danger, a devourer of homes and a common fear that united the tribe.

Astrid didn’t like to be afraid.

Now irritated, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to sleep. She pushed her blankets aside, climbing softly to her feet. With care to not wake her parents, she dressed quickly and grabbed her favorite battle axe before slipping out into the predawn chill.

The cool wind whipped through her unbound hair, helping ground her in the present. She was alive. She was safe. She was unburned .

She was still keyed up from the dream.

Astrid clenched her fists, striding through the streets with no real destination in mind. She was only mildly surprised to find that habit had brought her to the storehouse, and without pause she pushed her way inside. She headed to where several wooden barrels of fish had been set aside, depositing a few into one of the metal buckets on the ground.

Might as well feed the Night Fury now. Then, she’d be free to spend her whole morning blowing off steam before she was expected to make an official appearance at the ring.

She trudged over to the arena, realizing she’d never taken the path in darkness. It was well-trod enough that she had an easy time navigating, but it was strange to make the journey without the sun beating down on her neck.

Astrid slipped into the arena quietly, not wanting to wake the dragons. She’d just slip the fish through the slats and be gone – no use riling up the rest of the residents who wouldn’t be fed for hours. They weren’t her responsibility.

When she slid back the window panel, her breath caught. 

The Night Fury was nowhere to be seen. 

Astrid dropped the bucket in alarm, fumbling to open the door. How had it escaped?

The door swung open, a low squeak ringing out from the old hinges. As it opened, a distinctly human figure fell at her feet, grunting in surprise. It was a young man, she quickly assessed, judging by his build.

How did he get in the cell? Had this boy…freed the Night Fury and somehow managed to trap himself in the process?

No , her mind supplied, the arena gate was shut. 

No dragon would have stopped to close the gate on its way out. It may be smart, but there were limits to what the creatures could do. 

“Who are you?” She asked, anger biting into her voice, “and what did you do with the Night Fury?”

At those words, the boy rolled over to face her, eyes wide with unbridled fear. He sat up, hastily shuffling back to put some distance between them.

Good, she thought. If the boy was afraid, he might be more cooperative.

His green eyes shot upwards, darting around the sky as if the night stars had the answer. He then looked down at himself, pulling at his sleeves so that they covered his hands.

Nervous habit? She wondered.

The more she stared at him, the more she noticed that there was something…oddly familiar about him, but she couldn’t place what that might be. Freckles, messy auburn hair and thin gangly limbs made for an unlikely dragon thief. 

Astrid kicked at his legs, “Answer me.”

The boy yelped, once more moving out of her range. “ Why would you do that?”

That phrasing, in that particular tone of voice…there was something off about it that she couldn't place. It felt like a conversation that she’d already had many times before, but now couldn’t quite recall. 

Just who was he?

She crouched to her knees, bringing herself to eye level with the intruder. His eyes kept darting away from her and then back, unwilling to meet her own for an extended period of time. She mentally traced his features, taking in the shape of the slightly too-big nose, squared jaw and thin lips. 

The truth hit her like a cannonball.

“HICCUP!?” She exclaimed, grabbing him roughly by the arm and dragging him to his feet. 

He swayed, unsteady on his feet for a minute. Once he found his balance, he clasped his hands behind his back, meeting her gaze with nervous eyes.

“Uh, hi, Astrid.”

“Really? Five years and you’re really gonna lead with ‘Hi, Astrid?’” she asked in disbelief. “The whole village thinks you’re dead!”

“Uh, yeah,” he drawled, tipping his head to the side. He gestured towards himself, “as you can see though…totally not dead!”

She pinched a finger on the bridge of her nose, reminded once more of the boy’s awkwardness. Somehow he’d defied the odds and lived through whatever had caused his mysterious disappearance, but still hadn’t figured out how to hold a conversation?

If she’d had any doubts about his identity, they were gone now.

Her eyes flickered back to the empty cell, and she raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re gonna be if you don’t tell me what you did with that dragon.”

“What? You think I had something to do with it?”

“You were in the cage,” she reminded him, stalking closer and jabbing a finger at his chest. “The dragon wasn’t. Start talking.”

“Oh gods,” he whispered to himself, squeezing his eyes shut. 

If that wasn’t a sign of guilt, she didn’t know what was. Still, his appearance had rattled her. The village had long since given up on finding the heir, assuming he’d been eaten by dragons in one of the raids. To see him standing before her, alive and whole, made her wonder if she might still be dreaming.

Dreaming of Hiccup Haddock? She quickly dismissed the thought.

A rooster crowed nearby, interrupting her thoughts. Dawn had come. 

At the sound, Hiccup jerked back like he’d been punched. 

“Oh no, no, no…please not now,” he muttered, a pained desperation leaking into his voice. He continued backing away from her, stumbling a bit in his haste. His eyes roamed the sky, no longer paying her any mind.

“Hiccup?” She asked, a spike of worry in her gut. She’d never seen him act like this before – Hel, she’d never seen anyone act like this. 

What was he so scared of? Surely her catching him had to be more intimidating than whatever he was looking for outside the ring? Unless…was he running from something or someone? His disappearance had always been a mystery, perhaps he was in some kind of danger. 

Hiccup had been the heir of Berk, her mind supplied. A kidnapping was not outside the realm of possibilities for someone in that position. If he’d been taken by an enemy of the village and then managed to escape, his captors could still be trailing him. 

“What is it?” She asked, tensing. If there was a fight to be had, she wanted to be prepared.

His attention snapped back to her and his already pale skin went bone white. “Astrid,” he said, voice laced with fear. “I – there’s no time. You need to leave right now.”

“Like Hel I do.”

“Of course, you’re Astrid , why would you ever listen,” he muttered quietly, but she still heard. His next words were louder, laced with deep resignation, “Y-You’re going to see something that I can’t explain right now, and it’s probably going to freak you out. No, it’s definitely going to freak you out. I need you to try to stay calm even though I know–”

“Excuse me?” What was he babbling about now?

“You’re going to have a lot of questions,” he was speaking faster now, almost frantically “and I promise I’ll answer every one of them if you come back at sunset. Just…you can’t tell anyone.”

“Hiccup, you’re not making any sense.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, I wish–”

The first rays of sunlight broke through the sky, streaming into the arena and bathing the two in a warm glow. 

Hiccup suddenly convulsed, his slim body quickly swallowed up in a strange wave of purple fire. 

Astrid cried out in surprise, jumping back. 

The strange fire burned across his skin with an intense brightness that had Astrid shielding her eyes. Before she could process what was happening, it had fully devoured the chief’s son. Seconds later the purple fire faded out, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the bizarre inferno left the Night Fury in its wake. 

Astrid gaped, taking in the sight of the dragon. It stared back at her, wearing the same look of unbridled terror she’d just seen from Hiccup.

“Oh my gods,” she whispered, mind coming to what should have been an impossible conclusion. It was completely insane to even consider, but she’d just seen it with her own eyes – hadn’t she? “Is it…it’s…you…what?”

Hiccup is the Night Fury.

The dragon slumped, looking defeated as she made the connection. The scaled head bobbed up and down into a defined nod, a mannerism she’d definitely never seen from a dragon.

Her mind reeled at the knowledge, while her eyes swept over the Night Fury with a new perspective. “...I mean, how is this even possible?”

The dragon – no, Hiccup – moaned, shaking his head. Right. He probably couldn’t communicate in this form. 

“Can you…change back?” She asked, uncertain how to phrase it. “So we can talk about this?”

Once more, the Night Fury shook his head. He tilted his head at the sun before looking back at her, insistently repeating the motion a few times.

Great. Charades with a dragon.  

She considered the gestures he was making. Wait…hadn’t he asked her to come back at sundown? Was this all somehow linked to the sun?

When she voiced the possible connection, he bobbed his head up and down with vigor. It was so strange to see, and even stranger to process the fact that she was having a conversation with a dragon .

Well, at least a viking-turned-dragon, but she figured the wings and scales were enough to make it count either way. 

At least now the intelligence in his eyes made sense – there was a human mind behind them. And Hiccup had always been clever. 

The Night Fury crept around her, leaving a wide berth between them as he circled back towards the cell. Astrid wasn’t sure if that was for his benefit or her own.

He let out a huff that almost sounded like the equivalent of a dragon sigh before trudging into the confinement once more. With clear effort, he was able to turn around and face her in the small alcove, leveling those intense eyes on her own.

I’m trusting you. They seemed to say.

Astrid paused, considering. Should she tell anyone what she’d learned? Would anyone even believe her? A part of her was still having trouble believing it, and she'd seen it herself. 

Hiccup was a dragon . A fire breathing beast, just like the creatures that had terrorized her home for seven generations. That could not be dismissed. 

Though, he’d still seemed so much like the boy who’d vanished all those years ago. The awkwardness, the snark…they were trademark Hiccup qualities. She couldn’t deny the human aspect any more than the dragon one. 

The dragon that had made no move to harm her in the ring, she acknowledged. She’d thought it was odd before, the way he seemed to favor defensive moves, but Hiccup had always been the same way. Where exactly did Hiccup end and the Night Fury begin.

Her head hurt just thinking about it. She needed answers.  

“I’ll give you today,” she promised reluctantly, hoping it wasn’t a mistake. “Anything after that will depend on what you have to say tonight.”

He dipped his head, accepting the terms. 

Hiccup really wished the Night Fury had just struck him dead on the spot, all those years ago. At least then, it would have been over quickly and his misery would have been short-lived. 

Now, listening to the familiar sounds of dragon training through the metal door, Hiccup felt the anticipation clawing away at his chest. Each hour brought him closer to the inevitable confrontation, the slow stretch of time fraying his already tight nerves. This was it – something he’d worked so hard to avoid over the years.

Astrid knew .

If he’d thought he was doomed before, now he was certain he was in for a new level of damnation. The most battle-happy young warrior in Berk knew his secret, and would be waiting for him come nightfall when he was at his most defenseless.

At this point, he wondered if the gods were using his pain for entertainment. Surely they were having a good laugh at the absurdity of his life. He hoped someone was enjoying it at least, since he sure wasn’t.

The stress triggered a plasma buildup in his throat, pressure building around it and threatening to release. In these cramped quarters, it was more likely to hurt him than help anything, so he forced himself to relax. Once his tension drained, the blast faded away leaving behind an unfortunate dryness in his mouth.

There was a small tub of water, shoved in one corner. He grudgingly got to his feet, lapping up enough water to sate him. It was warm from sitting out in the cell, but it was better than nothing. 

Hiccup was almost relieved when the door screeched open, signaling his daily session with Astrid. Sitting in one spot, stewing in his thoughts, had only served to amplify his fears. He needed to get moving, to focus on something else for the time being.

Taking a few steps out into the ring, he glanced up at the higher level. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to find his father absent. 

“Since it doesn’ seem keen to fight ya,” called Gobber from above. “Let’s try somethin’ new. See if ya can touch it today. Migh’ have a weak spot on th’ neck. A pressure point ya can use to sedate it. Fishlegs found one on the Gronckle last week, remember?”

Hiccup snorted, not liking the comparison or the implication. If he did have a pressure point that could be exploited at his expense, he wasn’t about to let Berk find out.  

“You want me…to try and touch…the Night Fury…” Astrid was clearly having a hard time getting the words out, staring at Gobber like he’d grown a second head.

“Aye!” The blacksmith agreed, waving his hook in the air. “It migh’ no’ let ya get close enough, but jus’ try. If it moves to blast ya, just get out of there – don’ wanna explain tha’ one to Stoick.”

Hiccup tilted his head to the side, fixing Astrid with an appraising look.

She raised an eyebrow at him, frowning as she realized that he’d not only heard but also understood the entire exchange. He was well aware of Gobber’s request, and knew exactly how to end the exercise if he wanted. 

He watched her curiously, as she turned her back to Gobber. She whispered, so soft it was almost silent, “Can you hear me?”

He dipped his head once, not committing to a full nod in front of their current audience. One viking knowing was bad enough.

Astrid’s eyes widened with surprise, as if she’d doubted he’d be able to pick up her soft words. She swung her axe up onto her back, securing it in its sheath. “You’ve got to let me get close,” she warned, raising her hands slowly as she inched towards him. “If Gobber doesn’t think I’m making any progress, he’s going to try this with someone else…and I’m pretty sure you don’t want that.”

Hiccup growled.

The menacing sound startled Astrid, who stopped her approach. “Hiccup?” She asked quietly, looking wary.

He bit off the noise, hoping that would reassure her. She held out one hand, tentatively, now just a few steps away from him.

Hiccup eyed her outstretched limb, unsure of how to proceed. He didn’t want to scare her off – especially before he got a chance to properly explain everything – but he also wasn’t about to suffer the indignity of letting her grope his face, looking for weak points.

He huffed, leaning in to tap her hand gently with his nose. After giving her a moment to process the contact, he drew back quickly, retreating across the arena as fast as his feet would carry him.

 “Good effort, lass! Let’s try tha’ again.” 

“Thanks, Gobber,” replied Astrid, hand focused on her own palm thoughtfully. She clenched it a few times before looking back over at Hiccup. 

He narrowed his eyes as she started towards him again, moving his head to one side. He hoped the slight movement did enough to convey that he was not going to keep indulging her request.

She frowned, but didn’t stop. He supposed it would be hard to explain to Gobber if she did.

Hiccup summoned a plasma blast in his throat, opening his jaw to make the distinct purple glow visible to the vikings. He had no intention of firing, but at least Gobber didn’t know that. The look on Astrid’s face made him suspect that she wasn’t buying his threat, but she took a few steps back to placate him.

“Enough!” Called Gobber, a frantic edge to his voice as he slipped into the ring, banging his hook against a metal shield. “Back into yer pen, ya big ugly lizard.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes at Astrid when he was sure the blacksmith wouldn’t see, before padding back over to his cage once more. He could have sworn he heard a stifled giggle as he passed, but it was gone as quickly as it had started.

Chapter Text

Astrid felt as if her world had been tilted on its axis. It had been, by far, the strangest day she’d ever experienced.

As she stepped into the arena once more, she wondered just how much stranger it was going to get. Would the answers Hiccup shared help her wrap her mind around everything, or would they only leave her with more questions?

The sun was beginning to set, leaving the ring bathed in a warm glow. She rolled her shoulders, scanning the periphery one last time for unwanted onlookers. Satisfied that she was alone, she unlatched the door, heaving it open.

The Night Fury was lying down, facing the door. His front legs were crossed, head resting on his paws. Seeing her, he lifted his head and chirped out a short sound that she assumed was meant to be a greeting.

She stepped aside without a word, allowing the dragon space to stride past her into the open ring. He shook his dark wings out, sneezing as his actions stirred some of the dirt up into the air. 

Astrid's lip twitched in amusement.

The light was fading, and the Night Fury’s attention was fixed on the sky as it went dark. Once more, that strange purple fire ignited. It engulfed the dragon, burning away until the slim figure of Hiccup Haddock remained. 

She’d seen the transformation twice now, and it still felt like some sort of bizarre fever dream. 

Hiccup turned his attention from the skies back to her, green eyes looking tired and resigned. “Hey, Astrid.”

“Hi,” she returned, hating the hesitancy in her own voice. 

They stood there in silence, tension thick in the air. Astrid raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak. She wasn’t the one who needed to explain herself.

“I’ve never had to talk about this before,” admitted Hiccup after a moment, right hand raising to rub the back of his neck. “I, uh, don’t really know where to start. It’s…kind of a long story.”

Astrid sighed, taking a seat on the ground. She looked at him pointedly until he did the same. 

Once again, he’d balled his hands inside the sleeves of his battered tunic, this time tightly crossing his arms over his chest. She wondered if he was cold, or if it was a defensive gesture. She wasn’t trying to come off as threatening, but she had also spent a week chasing him around the ring. It could be hard for him to set aside those memories.

“How about the beginning?”

“Right,” he agreed, still sounding uncertain. “I guess to start…do you remember anything about the night I left?”

“You mean the night you disappeared ?” She corrected sharply, recalling the aftermath of his departure. “Your dad had us all scouring the island for you for days, it was total chaos!”

Hiccup cringed, ducking his head in shame. “I didn’t have much choice,” he reminded her, sounding grim. “I don’t know if you remember, but there was a pretty bad raid that night.”

Raids had become so common over the years, she had a hard time pinpointing the exact night he meant. They’d all begun to blur together in her mind.

When she said as such, he sighed. “No, this one was special,” he insisted. “Half the guard towers fell in the first hour, a Monstrous Nightmare completely took out the winter storehouse–”

Oh.

“I remember now,” she interrupted, latching onto the memory. She’d been on fire duty that night, running herself ragged darting around the village for hours on end. No matter how much water she hauled, it felt like a helpless scenario. For every fire put out, two more seemed to pop up in seconds.

“I really wanted to prove myself,” said Hiccup, biting his lip. “We were so in over our heads that Gobber didn’t even notice me sneaking out of the forge. I had this new invention that I had built to throw bolas and I really wanted to test it out, so I pushed it all the way up to the lookout point. The Night Fury was active that night, and I got this crazy idea that if I captured that dragon, all my problems would be solved.”

“You didn’t…”

“I tried,” admitted Hiccup, anger leaking into his tone. “I almost got it, too! Pretty sure I clipped one of its legs that night, but all that did was make it mad.”

Astrid could easily picture the scene. A scrawny, overager boy perched on the cliffside with an untested, probably dangerous contraption. A moment of uncharacteristic boldness, paired with his own notoriously bad aim…and an infuriated dragon, seeking vengeance on its aggressor. 

“Turns out the ‘lighting’ part of the legend is true,” he said, closing his eyes as he remembered. “It came at me, with this weird, blue lightning running all over its scales! I tried to run, but you know me, I took two steps and tripped over my own feet. I never had a chance.”

“What happened?”

“It sunk its claws into my chest,” he admitted, looking shaken by the memory. “Dug them in right around my heart – I thought for sure that the dragon was gonna rip it out of my chest, maybe eat it or something. Instead, it sent its lightning through me. Gods, it felt like every inch of me was on fire…”

Gods . 

Astrid brought a hand to her own heart, miming the motion of claws sinking in around it. She couldn’t begin to imagine how painful it must have been.

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Am I?” Hiccup asked, leveling her with a glum look. “Turns out that weird lightning left me with more than a burn. I woke up the next day as a dragon – a Night Fury of all things! I was terrified ...”

Astrid tried to put herself in his shoes. If she woke up one morning trapped in the body of a dragon…she shuddered to consider it. 

“I thought the change was permanent at first,” he admitted. “Once I realized it wasn’t just a bad dream, I panicked. I knew if anyone from Berk saw me like that, I was dead, so I had to get away. But Astrid, I didn’t even know how to work my own body. I suddenly had wings and tail and four legs, for Thor’s sake! It’s a miracle no one saw me staggering through the woods, trying to run.”

The villagers had likely been too busy cleaning up the wreckage to venture into the woods that day. They probably hadn’t even realized Hiccup was missing yet. With how often he tended to slip away and avoid the crowds, it might have been days before they noticed. Her stomach turned at the thought.

“It took me all day,” he recalled, looking down at his lap, “but I finally made it to the far side of the island. Then, the sun went down.”

“You changed back,” realized Astrid.

“Yeah,” agreed Hiccup, “Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

He dropped his arms into his lap, pushing up his sleeves. One arm was as expected – pale, freckled and thinner than she suspected was healthy. The other was another story entirely. She’d never seen a human with dragon scales before, but she’d spent enough time around the Night Fury to recognize the black shine where skin ought to be. Sharp black claws took the place of fingernails, making his hand look all the more alien.

“How far…” she paused, shaking her head. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

“Over my shoulder and to my heart,” he said, guessing her question. “They start at the impact points, where its claws got me.”

Astrid shuffled closer to him, curiosity getting the better of her as she reached out a hand. “Can I?”

Hiccup lifted his left hand, holding it out to her without a word.

Just as she’d noticed in the ring, the Night Fury scales were softer than the average dragon. Where Deadly Nadders were plated with tough, armor-like scales, she found that these felt more like calloused skin. Tough, but not impenetrable.  

“Does it feel different?” She asked, brushing her hand across his. 

“Yes,” he admitted, watching her fingers trace the scales. “I can feel your hand there, but not its texture. Does that make sense? It’s like…holding hands through a thin pair of gloves. I can feel the weight and the pressure of it, but not the details.”

Astrid hummed, intrigued by the thought. She supposed it made sense for a tough exterior to be less sensitive to such things. It was probably necessary in order for the dragon to be fireproof. After examining his scaled hand for another minute, she released it. “Why didn’t you come back, once you knew you could be…well, you?”

Hiccup moved his hands behind him, leaning his weight back on them. “I’m only me at night,” he reminded her with a sad smile, “I’ve never been sure if that’s enough for Berk.”

As much as she wanted to dismiss his concerns, she couldn’t. She had no clue how the tribe would react to someone who spent just as much time living as a dragon as he did as a human. Even if that boy was the chief’s son. 

“So,” she started, trying to shift the focus, “have you really just been hiding on the other side of the island all this time?”

“Pretty much. I’ve taken a few trips to the nearest islands but I don’t like to take the risk often,” he replied, not meeting her eyes. “Night Furies don’t exactly blend in during the day, and I can’t risk going anywhere too far – I have to hit the shore before sundown or I’ll be swimming the rest of the way.”

“So why stay here?”

Hiccup let his arms slide down until he was lying on his back, staring up at the stars. His voice was quiet when he answered, “It’s my home, Astrid. If I leave, then that dragon really did take everything from me.”

She couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, she sort of respected his stubborn determination to cling to the remnants of his old life. It was brave – a trait she’d never associated with Hiccup Haddock in the past.

“What about the dragon that did this?” She asked, “Did you at least try to find it? Maybe it could undo what it did.”

“I never saw it again,” said Hiccup, voice flat. “I had the same thought at first, but it never returned to Berk. Besides, I don’t even know if it could reverse this! And why would it help me now? Seems pretty clear that it was punishing me for taking that shot.”

He had a point. Even if he were able to communicate his desire to end the curse, the Night Fury had no reason to help him. It had inflicted the punishment on him for a reason and would probably be pleased by Hiccup’s suffering. 

Astrid moved closer, rolling onto her back beside him. Her arm grazed his, skin against scale, as she settled into place.

“All of this is crazy,” she said, looking up at the constellations.

Hiccup's shoulders shook as he laughed beside her. The sound was humorless and slightly manic to her ears, “oh, believe me, I know.”

She couldn’t believe this had been his life for five years. Half a decade spent dealing with this deadly, impossible secret. She’d never been especially close to the boy growing up, but she wouldn’t wish such a life on any of her tribe. It must have been so lonely.

A life curse for attempting to take down a dragon. It could have happened to anyone on the island, had their aim been true enough to hit the Night Fury. She couldn’t help but wonder if one day she might have been the one to catch the beast’s ire and be cursed as Hiccup was now. It could easily have been her life, isolated in fear of her own home.

It was a sobering thought. 

If it were her…if she were in Hiccup’s shoes, she’d be desperate to have someone on her side. Someone to trust.

Maybe…just maybe, she could be that person for Hiccup now. 

She turned her head, looking at his profile. As she reflected on what he’d said so far, a question came to mind. “Wait. Isn’t the other side of the island supposed to be…”

“Completely desolate?” He finished, eyes still trained on the stars. “Yeah. Not much grows there – it’s mostly just a lot of rocks and beaches, though there is a small stream that cuts through part of it, but you have to access it through a cave.”

It didn’t sound like a welcoming place to visit, much less to live. No wonder he’d never been spotted. Berkians had no reason to waste time in such a place.

As if reading her thoughts, he continued. “It’s not much, but it’s safe. I’ve got a cave set up to sleep in during the day, and I spend my nights on the beaches. I’ve actually gotten pretty good at catching fish, can you believe it? My dad would never believe I actually mastered that.”

“You sleep during the day?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Hiccup asked, voice growing bitter. He turned his head to face her. “When I’m awake…I just want to be me. If I time it right, I can almost forget about the curse some days.”

If he’d found a way to survive the mess fate had dealt him, she couldn’t fault him for that. She sighed, “I’m sorry, Hiccup. No one deserves what you’ve been through.”

He blinked rapidly, and for a moment she thought his eyes looked a little watery, but the raw emotion was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “...thanks.”

Astrid’s back was beginning to bother her, unused to lying on the stone for long. She frowned, realizing Hiccup must have endured the same discomfort all week in the ring. She pulled herself to her feet, smoothing out her rumpled clothes.

“I won't tell anyone, I promise,” she assured, voice firm. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

Hiccup sat up slowly, eyebrows raised as he regarded her. “If I leave, they’re going to want to know how the Night Fury escaped.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you’ll get the blame.”

Astrid cursed, realizing he was right. She’d taken on responsibility for the dragon and would be the first suspect if anything was amiss. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she decided, throwing her hands up in frustration. It did matter, but she’d figure it out later. “Hiccup, I can’t just lock you up in a cage.”

“You did this morning.”

“That’s not fair,” she countered, “I didn’t know what I saw! I didn’t understand all…this!”

“You just gestured to all of me,” Hiccup pointed out blandly, running a hand through his hair. Before she could say anything else, he continued. “Look, obviously I do want out of here. As soon as possible, really – but not at your expense. This is my curse, and I don’t think I could stand it if it ruined someone else’s life too. What we need is a plan that won’t have people pointing fingers.”

Astrid hummed her agreement, holding out a hand to help him stand. He took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

Gods, he was taller than her now.

“Just give me a day or two and I’ll figure something out,” he said. “I wasn’t sure how I was going to get out of here on my own, but you knowing changes everything.”

“Two days,” she agreed, “and if you don’t have a plan by then, you let me free you. Shake on it.”

He immediately extended his left arm, the habitual action reminding Astrid that it was his dominant hand. She’d forgotten that detail over the years. What else had she forgotten about the missing heir?

She clasped the scaly palm tightly, sealing the deal.

Chapter Text

“You’re no’ even tryin’!” Gobber yelled, leaning through the bars of the arena. His voice echoed through the ring, disapproval clear in his tone. 

Hiccup ignored his old mentor, attention fixed on the viking across from him. Astrid looked exhausted, dark bags clearly defined under her eyes. 

She grunted, readjusting her grip on the axe. The handle was slick with sweat, and he’d seen it nearly slide through her fingers a few times during the session. They’d been at it for a while, and the training session was starting to take a toll on each of them. 

Unlike previous days, Gobber was not content with a simple fight. Today he seemed determined to run her through more complex training maneuvers, urging her to push herself further. The girl never complained or argued, but it was obvious that her heart was not in it. 

Hiccup edged further away from her, putting as much space between the duo as possible. He was grateful for the natural speed and stealth of the Night Fury, as it made it easy for him to retreat. If she couldn’t catch him, neither of them would have to endure another fake fight. 

It was much harder to fight her now that she knew the truth. Neither participant wanted to harm the other, but both were aware that those feelings had to be masked for the sake of the secret. This resulted in an awkward series of sparring sessions that made it abundantly clear to Hiccup that neither of them had been meant for a life in theatre. 

“It’s no use,” called Astrid, raising her shielded arm to wipe sweat from her brow. “He’s too quick.”

‘He’, noted Hiccup with pleasure, not ‘it.’

After a week of being treated like a beast by the Berkians, it was a relief to hear. 

If Gobber noticed the shift in the way she’d addressed him, he didn’t comment. Instead, he banged his hook on the bar loudly. The sharp sound was like a sharp spike, driving right into Hiccup’s skull. He growled, shaking his head to clear away the ringing.

“Oi, lass!” The man scolded, paying the disoriented Night Fury no mind. “You’ve never been one to give up! Still go’ time for one more go!”

“Gobber,” reprimanded a stern voice as Stoick the Vast stepped into view. “She’s been at it for over an hour. She needs rest – can’t you see the beast is obviously trying to weaken her? You’ll just make her an easy target if you keep this up.” 

Hiccup felt his heart tighten as he caught sight of the bearded viking. He hadn’t seen his father in days, and seeing him now brought all sorts of feelings to the surface. His heart ached with the longing to be reunited with his only remaining family, but the rational part of him was quick to poke holes in that fantasy. 

No matter how much he may want to be part of Berk once more, it was foolish to allow himself such hope. He knew he needed to accept that this would be the closest he’d get to spending time with his father.

Hiccup could see a small muscle twitching in Astrid’s cheek, a tell that she was seconds away from lashing out. She clearly hadn’t liked the implication that she’d been weakened in any way and was preparing to prove the chief wrong.

Just great, he thought, tensing his muscles. Thanks, Dad.

“I need a win,” she murmured to him, voice tight and near silent. “Come on, Hiccup, your father is watching. You have to give me something.”

Inwardly, he groaned, but he knew she was right. The easiest way to appease the vikings above was to let them think Astrid was making progress. A small victory would surely satisfy their curiosity for the day, allowing Hiccup and Astrid an out.

Hiccup twisted away from her in a dismissive way, as if he were totally unconcerned about her presence. As if he’d ruled her out as a threat entirely. It took all his concentration to pretend not to notice her slow footfalls approaching from his blindspot. 

He groomed a spot on his scales awkwardly, trying to remember what natural dragons did in the wild. Observing them had never been high on his priority list, even after being cursed. Now, he wished he’d taken more time to understand the creatures. Perhaps then he’d know how to act in this moment.

He hoped his actions looked convincing, but he doubted it. His movements felt wooden and stiff and he was certain they looked even more so. At least Night Furies were rare enough that the chief could chalk up any weird behavior to it being a quirk of his species. 

When Astrid was a few feet away, he made a show of pretending to finally notice her, spinning around with a dramatic shriek and flaring his wings behind him. The girl widened her eyes at the loud sound, but kept her stance steady as she swung her axe.

She’d moved slowly enough that he could follow the arc of it, leaning to the side in such a way that it barely grazed his right foreleg. It wasn’t deep, but it still stung. He stumbled back a few steps, not giving her a chance to strike again. 

Stoick yelled his approval, satisfied by the outcome. Astrid had become the first Berkian to draw Night Fury blood and the chief was proud of her accomplishment.

It figured that the first time his father was proud of something he’d been involved in, that event was based around his own pain.

Astrid’s eyes were sad as she watched him back away, an unspoken apology clear on her face. Her attention briefly flickered to the bit of blood on her axe, lips pressing into a thin line as she returned her gaze to him. 

Hiccup jerked his head upwards, hoping the vague half nod would translate as a sign of his understanding and forgiveness. He turned his attention to the shallow cut, cleaning away the blood with his tongue. It was unpleasant to do so, leaving a metallic tang in his mouth, but the alternative was walking around with his blood trailing down his leg. 

Clank! Bang! Clank!

Hiccup was actually relieved to hear Gobber’s loud entry to the ring. The session was finally over, and he wasted no time slipping back into the cage.

The blacksmith sealed him inside without a second glance, whistling an old shanty tune to himself. Hiccup had missed that sound, he realized. Gobber only knew a few songs, and he’d had a tendency to cycle through them while they worked together in the forge. 

Even though it had been years since Hiccup had heard the song, he remembered every note. There were days where the song had grated on his last nerve, but now he found it just brought back a stream of warm memories.

The forge had been his escape within Berk, back when he’d felt his size and strength were enough to make him an outsider. Now finding himself truly a village outsider, he longed for the simpler days when being seen as weak was his greatest fear. 

Those days now felt like another lifetime.

Hiccup was slowly going stir crazy. Once he’d shifted, he found himself pacing the confines of his prison like a man on a mission. He’d memorized every scratch on the walls, even found a few scattered scales in the dirt from…previous residents. 

He tried not to think of where they were now. There weren’t many possibilities, and none of them were pleasant.

The metal door screeched open, its sudden noise startling Hiccup from his thoughts. He jumped, shakily turning to meet Astrid’s eyes. 

She had her hands piled high with blankets and furs, a pillow shoved under one arm. 

“What’s all this?” He asked, heading into the ring. The cool air on his face was a welcome relief, offering a much needed break from the stuffy confines of the cell.

She dropped the blankets by the door, laying the pillow on top. “For your last night in the ring,” she explained. “I would have brought them last night, but it was already so late by the time I left.”

He smiled, touched by the unexpected gesture. “That’s really nice, Astrid,” he said, hating that he couldn’t accept her act of kindness, “but it’ll be too suspicious if there’s bedding in a dragon cell. As much as I want to take it, I can’t.”

Astrid didn’t look happy with the answer.

“It’s only one more night,” he reminded her, stretching his arms in front of him. “I can handle it.”

The blonde’s attention fixed on his arm, expression tight as she looked at the pink line down his right forearm. The fading evidence of their earlier fight.

“It’s fine,” he assured her, voice light. “It’ll be completely gone in a few hours.”

“It’s not fine, I did that.” 

Hiccup gave her a long look. “Yes, you injured a dragon. That’s kind of the goal around here,” he reminded her, waving a hand around the arena. “A point of pride actually, if you ask anyone…”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“It is to all of them,” he pointed out, “Besides, I’m getting out of here soon. You’ll be the only viking in Berk who can say that they injured a Night Fury. That’s gotta count for something.”

“Bragging rights for life,” she agreed, voice thoughtful before turning and punching him lightly in the shoulder, “You’re an idiot.”

“Haven’t you hit me enough today?” He teased, rubbing his shoulder. 

Her face soured again at the reminder and he wished he could take back the words. She narrowed her eyes, “This needs to end before something like that happens again – or worse! They’re probably going to want more than a graze next time. Where are you with that plan?”

Hiccup was grateful for the subject change, rushing to explain. “Well the simplest option is to make it look like I busted out of here on my own. That way, there are no loose ends to tie up and no one gets in trouble.”

“Agreed,” she said, “but it’s just not believable. Gobber designed these cells to be completely impenetrable. No dragon can just blast its way through those doors without help.”

Hiccup raised an eyebrow, “maybe none of the typical arena dragons, but could a Night Fury?”

She froze, considering his words. Once again, the village’s lack of knowledge on the species made it impossible to say with absolute certainty. “Could you?”

“Not me,” he said shaking his head with a chuckle, “but a real Night Fury with a lifetime of experience using those plasma blasts? Maybe. No one knows, and that’s really all that matters. If anything, it just adds to the mystery.”

“Huh,” she said, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “You may have a point, but how does that help us if you can't?”

He waved his arms towards the hinges of the door, gesturing wildly. “That’s the beauty of it, Astrid – it just has to look like I did! I’m thinking some well placed scorch marks, maybe we find a way to crush the metal in a bit? Alright, probably a lot if we’re gonna be believable. Everyone else will assume the rest.”

“What about the latch on the outside of the door?” 

Hiccup considered the problem for a minute, “bring a torch tomorrow night. We’ll get the bolts hot enough, then stretch them till they snap. We’ll make it look like I got the door hot enough to start melting them through it, then I used force to break it open the rest of the way.”

“Stretch them with what exactly?” Astrid asked, seeing a hole in the plan. “If we get the metal that hot, we’d need something from the forge to do the rest and Gobber will definitely notice if any of his tools are gone. Anything else would just burn…”

Hiccup held up his left hand with a grin, wiggling the scaled fingers. “Oh, trust me…that won’t be a problem.”

Hiccup’s last day in the ring was…intense.

Gobber had been pushing Astrid even harder than before, likely a result of Stoick’s repeated attendance. She’d hurled herself around the ring, a flurry of blades and screeches. It was a precise dance, and Hiccup was certain that if she’d been really trying to hit him, she’d have managed it.

At one point, he was forced to pump his wings, hovering a few feet above Astrid as she hurled her weapon across the ring. 

“...so it can fly,” he overheard his father speaking to Gobber. “I thought maybe it’d been injured in the raid. Too much to hope that we’d have a fully downed dragon on our hands, I suppose…”

Gobber hummed in agreement, voice turning thoughtful as he considered the chief’s words. “Well, we could always clip its wings? I reckin’ all it we’d nee’ to do is damage a tailfin and he’d be good as grounded.”

Hiccup felt his blood run cold. They were really going to cripple him? 

He tried to keep his eyes on Astrid’s form below, but it was hard to concentrate with this new threat hanging over his head. She’d retrieved her axe and was staring up at him, face crinkled in confusion. She could read him well enough by now to know that something was wrong, but had no way to guess what he’d overheard. 

“...not a good idea,” it was Stoick’s voice that shook him from his thoughts. “We may never see another Night Fury up close – for now, it’s probably best to learn how it flies and see what attacks it uses in the air.”

Hiccup could feel his heartbeat pounding in his wings as he struggled to regain a sense of calm. It seemed that the threat had passed, for now at least. He really didn’t want to consider what they’d do when they decided that they’d learned enough about his flight. 

Astrid yelled from below, a warcry that he couldn’t ignore. 

He huffed, pulling in his wings and diving down to land behind her. He let a plasma blast gather in his throat, hoping the observers would see it as a reason to end the session. It had worked before, perhaps it would work again.

“Astrid, look out!” Stoick yelled, throwing open the gate and barrelling inside. He’d yanked his hammer from his belt, and before Hiccup could fully process the fact that his father was in the ring with him, struck out and slammed it into the Night Fury’s jaw. 

Hiccup let the blast fade in his throat, dazed by the force of the impact. 

Meanwhile, Gobber had hobbled into the arena, grabbing a shield on the way.

Clank! Bang! Clank!

Hiccup retreated immediately, feeling his jaw swelling from the hammer strike. 

He’d never been so happy to see the cage door close.

Chapter Text

“That looks like it hurts,” observed Astrid, eyes tracing the large bruise running up the right side of Hiccup’s jaw. It looked several days old already, but the angry colors spoke to the strength of the hit.

Hiccup shrugged as if it didn’t bother him, but she could see he was more closed off than usual. Stoick’s attack had rattled him more than he wanted her to know.

“Can I ask,” she continued with curiosity, “what’s the deal with the speed healing? I’ve never seen a dragon’s wounds mend like that.”

Hiccup hummed, seeming grateful for the change in subject. “I’ve got a theory,” he said. “Of course I have no way to know for sure, but I have been thinking about it for a few years and it makes the most sense to me.”

Astrid nodded, motioning for him to continue.

“Right before I change, I feel this sort of buzzing in my veins – almost like an aftershock of the lightning from the night of the attack,” he explained. “I think…well, I think that buzzing might be the Night Fury’s magic in my blood. That it sort of ‘activates’ the shift. And if it’s there all the time, just flowing through my veins, I think that magic must be what speeds up my healing.”

Astrid considered it, once more taken aback by Hiccup’s ability to puzzle things out. It did make sense to her when he explained it that way, but she doubted she’d have been able to draw the same conclusion herself. 

He really was more clever than Berk had ever given him credit for being.

If the Night Fury’s magic was always active in Hiccup’s veins, flowing through the entirety of his body, it did seem reasonable to believe that its presence would have an impact. The magic would undoubtedly pass each wound, circulating a fresh dose against it with every heartbeat. 

“Does it hurt? Having dragon magic in your veins?”

Hiccup shook his head, “It’s more like a tingling feeling when it activates. You know, kind of how your legs feel when you sit still for too long? It’s like faint pins and needles, just all over.”

It didn’t sound all that pleasant to her, but at least it didn’t sound painful either.

She took a look at the progress he’d made on the door before she’d arrived. The sides were deeply singed and coated in a thick layer of ash, speaking to a persistent amount of fire.

“How many shots do Night Furies have?” She asked, inspecting it. 

 “Hmm?” Hiccup asked, before his mind caught up to the question. “I don’t really know,” he admitted with a shrug. “I’ve never tested it.”

“You never thought to test it? It’s been five years , Hiccup!”

He scowled, “Yes, I know exactly how long it’s been, thank you for that helpful reminder.” He pushed his sleeves up and over his elbows before grabbing the torch she’d brought, moving to heat the bolts on the outer latch. 

“Why not?” Hiccup had a history of being far too curious, she knew it would have had to cross his mind at one point or another.

The first bolt was slowly turning red with heat from the fire. Hiccup gripped it with his left hand, wrenching out of place with a grunt. She almost missed it when he quietly admitted, “it tastes weird.”

“Excuse me?”

“The plasma blast,” he explained, shuddering. “It’s like coating your mouth in charcoal...or ash.”

Astrid couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he said, moving on to the next bolt. 

Astrid shook her head, unable to contain the smile of mirth creeping onto her face. It was endearing to know that even with one of the most dangerous weapons at his disposal, Hiccup was still…Hiccup.

She got to work on scratching up the inside of the door, running a piece of jagged scrap metal she’d stolen from town over the surface. 

Once the door was suitably mutilated, Astrid went over to stand beside Hiccup. She felt an unexpected wave of regret as she realized that granting him his freedom also meant saying goodbye.

In a few short days, she’d grown to really enjoy his company. Hiccup was easy to connect with, despite his tragic circumstances and five year absence. Being around him was surprisingly comfortable and after getting to know the boy better, letting him return to a life of isolation and fear just felt wrong. 

“Hiccup, I–” The words wouldn’t come. 

He gave her a sad smile, nodding to show he understood.

There was a clattering sound from above, and the duo froze. Someone or something was approaching the arena.

“We need to go – now!” She hissed, frantically pushing him towards the exit. If they could just make it to the woods, they should be okay.

They’d just made it to the gate when they found their paths blocked by a large, imposing figure. Even under the cover of night, Stoick the Vast was unmistakable.

Hiccup swore under his breath, stumbling back as his father entered the ring.

“I heard voices,” said the chief, attention focused solely on Astrid. “Lass, what in Odin’s name are you doing out here so late?”

Astrid’s mind was scrambling. Perhaps she could pretend she’d just arrived and found the place like this? That she’d just discovered the Night Fury escaped and was rushing to alert Berk to the news?

But how would she explain Hiccup? There was no way for him to sneak out past the chief without being seen. Part of the arena’s design was having only one entrance and exit in order to make it a more secure setting.

When she didn’t immediately answer, the chief surveyed the scene, taking in the sight of the ruined door and empty cell. Confusion and anger warred on his features as he realized what the damage meant. 

When his roving eyes landed on Hiccup, he went rigid. Stoick raised a hand, rubbing at his eyes as if to clear something away. When his hand dropped and his gaze fixed on the young man once more, his eyes widened. 

“Sir?” Astrid finally found her voice, “Thank the gods you’re here! I came to check on the Night Fury, and saw that he escaped! I was just on my way to come find you and–”

Stoick didn’t seem to hear her, instead slowly advancing on the boy like he was in a sort of daze. Hiccup continued to back away, coming to a stop only once his back hit the wall and he could go no further. 

“Hiccup?” The chief asked in disbelief, scrutinizing the young man in front of him. “Could it be?”

Hiccup looked away, not meeting his father’s eyes for long. Doing so exposed the bruise, and Astrid noted that it was already much lighter than when she’d arrived. 

The motion only confirmed Stoick’s suspicions, as it also brought attention to the thin white scar on his chin. He’d had it for as long as Astrid could remember, and she now found herself idly wondering if injuries from before the curse were immune to his new healing factor.

“Son…” The chief’s voice broke as he threw his arms around the young man. The chief’s voice was muffled as he exclaimed into his son’s shoulder, “You’re alive!”

Astrid met Hiccup’s eyes, just visible over Stoick’s shoulder. They were wide and panicked, and she wondered if she should intervene. She took a step forward, stopping only when Hiccup shook his head. His eyes twitched to her axe, and he raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

She blinked, drawing the weapon without hesitation. He must have a better plan than outright attacking the chief…right?

“Hi, Dad,” said Hiccup, voice cracking. He carefully ducked under the man’s arms, stepping out of reach with the same strange grace she now recognized from his Night Fury form. He held out a hand to stop the man from getting any closer.

His left hand.

Gods, Hiccup, seriously?

Astrid tightened her grip on the axe, rolling her weight onto the balls of her feet. If she had to get between them, she would be ready.

Stoick froze, eyes traveling the length of the scaled limb. 

Astrid wondered what was going through the man’s head. She felt lucky in a way, that her introduction to Hiccup’s condition had been a full-fledged transformation. She wasn’t sure what she’d have made of the arm alone. 

“Hiccup?” She called out, getting antsy about not knowing the plan.

His eyes flitted to hers for a moment, and she saw a familiar spark in them she hadn’t seen in years. It was the same wild spark she’d seen right before he’d enacted every crazy plan of his throughout their childhood. It usually ended in some sort of catastrophe or property damage in Berk. 

“What…?” Stoick continued to stare at his son’s draconic arm in disbelief. 

“So, uh, clearly a lot has happened…and I need to tell you a story,” said Hiccup, attention returning to his father’s gaping form, “about an incredibly stupid viking and a very angry Night Fury.”

Was he really going to tell Stoick? Like this?

Astrid positioned herself carefully at the gate, resting the weight of her axe on her shoulder. If Hiccup needed to run, she’d ensure he, and only he, was able to get past her. She doubted she could hold the elder Haddock off for long, but she could at least buy her friend a few minutes headstart. 

Stoick’s head turned, as if just remembering the wreckage of the Night Fury pen. His brow knit, voice low and menacing as he asked, “did that beast do something to you? Is that why you disappeared?”

Hiccup ignored him, launching into the now familiar tale of the night he was cursed. His words were a bit rushed and awkward as they tumbled out of his mouth, but they were clear enough. 

Stoick shook with anger as he heard about his son’s suffering that night, fists clenching by his side. He eyed the damaged enclosure once more as he promised, “I swear I’ll find the beast and wring its neck…”

Hiccup shook his head frantically, “That’s not…it was a different Night Fury! The one you had here…”

Astrid almost couldn’t bear to listen. Her nerves were too keyed up, knowing the chief’s penchant to respond to any big news with strong emotion.

After a ragged breath, Hiccup was able to piece together the words. “The Night Fury’s attack, back when I was fifteen, it changed me.”

“Your arm,” said Stoick, nodding towards it.

“Well, yes, that’s part of it,” agreed Hiccup, fixing his gaze at the ground, “but not why I ran away.”

There was a tense silence at those words, as Hiccup had confirmed that he’d chosen not to return to Berk. That he’d willingly left his father and his tribe behind.

“Look, I can’t prove it until sunrise, but Astrid will back me up if you don’t believe me,” he said, daring a glance back up at his father. “The dragon cursed me that night – like something out of one of the crazy old legends Gobber’s always going on about. From sunset to sunrise, this is me,” he explained, waving a hand in his general direction. “From sunrise to sunset…”

Hiccup trailed off, eyes wandering back to his former cell.

Stoick followed his gaze, looking baffled. “What are you saying?”

His son groaned, running a hand down his face in frustration. “I really hate saying it,” he confessed. “ Please don’t make me say it. There are only two characters in this story: the idiot viking and the angry Night Fury. You had one of them in that cage all week, and I’ve already told you it wasn’t the attacker. Do the math.”

Astrid shook her head, wishing she could put him out of his misery. She held her tongue, knowing it was not her place to interrupt this tale, but it grated on her to no end. 

Stoick scratched his head, still appearing at a loss, much to Hiccup’s clear frustration.

“Gods, do I really have to say it?” A note of hysteria crept into his voice. “Fine – it was me ! I’m the other Night Fury!” 

The color began to drain from Stoick’s face, even as he denied the claim. “That’s impossible. You’re not a dragon, Hiccup.”

“I wish that was true,” said Hiccup bitterly, drawing in on himself. He gestured to his jaw, drawing attention to the mottled bruise with a clawed finger. “Would have spared me that swing of yours earlier.”

The chief tensed, reminded of when he had struck the Night Fury in the jaw, just hours ago. The placement of this bruise was the same section of jawline he’d hit.

“But, that’s impossible!” Sputtered Stoick, shaking his head as he protested once more, “I hit a dragon.”

“You hit me ,” corrected Hiccup, voice firm, “and you couldn’t see the difference between me and any other dragon. Hel, you still can’t! Why do you think I never came back?”

“It’s true,” said Astrid, unable to keep quiet any longer. Her voice was solemn as she addressed her chief. “I’ve seen him change with my own eyes. Hiccup is the Night Fury.”

Stoick braced himself against the wall with one arm, looking shaken by her testimony. 

“I overheard you today, while I was in the ring,” said Hiccup, voice soft. “You and Gobber were talking about clipping my wings, crippling me so I couldn’t fly.”

Stoick’s eyes widened, a sort of grim sort of acceptance starting to surface. “There was no one around to hear that…”

Hiccup tapped one of his ears, shrugging. “I hear pretty well, when I’m like that.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Thanks, by the way. For talking Gobber out of that. I don’t even want to think about what part of this me I’d lose in the process. A toe, a foot, a leg…”

Stoick raised his free hand, halting the grim train of thought. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Hiccup,” called Astrid, eyeing the sky. “Dawn is coming. You need to go.”

The boy followed her line of sight, clenching his jaw. “You’re right,” he agreed, heading for the gate. As he crossed the threshold, he threw a look back over his shoulder at his father. “Come on, you might as well see it for yourself.”

The large man trailed behind, following the younger vikings out of the arena.

Once Hiccup had put distance between himself and the ring, he turned to face his father once more. “I am sorry, for what it’s worth,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave, or to make you think I’d died. I-I made a stupid mistake, and I’m still paying for it. I really didn’t have a choice. I still don’t.”

 “Hiccup–”

“Let me finish,” he insisted, eyeing the rapidly brightening horizon with grim resignation. “I’m the one with a time limit here. Once the sun rises, I won't be able to finish. I just…I want you to understand that it’s still me – still my mind.” He swallowed hard, “I still love you, and I miss you…and gods , do I miss home. And I know that in a minute, you might not feel the same, but just…I’ll leave Berk alone. I won’t come back, I promise. Just…don’t come after me, please. This curse is bad enough without having to look over my shoulder all the time.”

Stoick blinked, taking in the scrambled speech. There was a lot to unpack, emotions and thoughts jumbled into a mess of words that only Hiccup could construct.

Astrid watched the first of the sun’s rays break over the sea, cutting through the sky like knives. She readied her axe once more, eyes fixed on the chief for any signs of violence.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the now familiar flash of purple flame followed by the glimmer of ink black scales.

Stoick dropped to his knees in shock.

Chapter Text

Hiccup watched his father fall like a puppet with its strings cut. All the fight and denial had drained away in an instant, leaving Stoick looking utterly defeated.

“It’s true,” the man whispered in horror as he beheld his son’s new state.

“Hiccup, you need to go.” Astrid’s voice cut in with urgency. “Gobber will be here soon to feed the dragons and if he finds you like this, you’ll just end up trapped again. Go!”

Hiccup bobbed his head in acknowledgement, stepping towards her and resting his jaw on her shoulder for a moment. He hoped the action conveyed his feelings of gratitude for her help, and sorrow for their parting, but he had no way of knowing for sure. There were many things he had wished to say to her before this moment, but their goodbye had been cut short by his father’s unexpected arrival.

She ran a hand softly over the scales of his neck before stepping back. “Go,” she repeated, more softly. “While you still can. Maybe even leave Berk for a bit…go to one of those other islands you mentioned, at least until things cool down a bit here.”

“No.” Stoick’s voice was quiet but insistent as he clumsily pushed himself to his feet. 

Astrid shoved Hiccup’s shoulder, trying to physically spur him into action. He took a few steps back, unfurling his wings as he prepared to take flight. 

“Please,” said Stoick more firmly, taking a step closer, “don’t go.”

Hiccup stilled, swiveling his head to face his father in surprise. Had he heard that correctly?

“Is it…is it really you, son?”

Hiccup closed his eyes, nodding in confirmation. He didn’t want to see the man’s reaction, but he also didn’t want to leave any room for doubt. Stoick needed closure just as much as Hiccup did, and a part of him hoped that finally knowing the truth of what had befallen his son would help him find it. Perhaps one of them would finally be able to move on from their fractured lives – he’d never deny his father that chance. 

He carefully extended a single claw, roughly carving out the runes for his initials in the dirt. The script was messy, but the message was legible enough.

HHH III.

Stoick let out a shuddering breath, rocking back on his heels. He still appeared untethered, as if the events of the evening had sapped away all of his strength. The chief was pale, like he was face to face with a ghost rather than his own son.

“We really don’t have time for this. Please, go!” Astrid pleaded, frustration building. “I’ll handle this, Hiccup.”

“Time,” repeated Stoick with a frown. “I–we need more time.” 

“Chief, if he doesn’t leave now the village could find him and they’ll likely try to kill him on sight.” Astrid reminded, hoping her harsh reminder would get through to him. “The longer he stays here, the more vulnerable he is to an attack. If you want your son to live, you’ll let him leave.”

Stoick nodded sharply, processing the truth in her words. “Go,” he agreed reluctantly, “but please…come back. Tonight. You said all of… this ends at sunset, right?” 

Hiccup looked to Astrid, who spoke for him. “Sunset,” she confirmed, “But it can’t be here. Once Gobber sees the wreckage in there, this place is going to be crawling with vikings out looking for a Night Fury.”

Hiccup nodded, agreeing that the danger was too great to return anywhere near the ring. He wasn’t too upset about it – he’d be happy to never step foot in that place again. 

Stoick turned to his son, still looking uneasy to be addressing a dragon. “You said that you missed our home,” he recalled. “Meet me there tonight, I’ll leave the back door unlatched.”

Hiccup gave his father a long look, searching for any of the man’s usual tells that would give away any trace of a lie. He was pleasantly surprised to find none. It seemed his father might actually be genuine in his intentions.

He nodded, exaggerating the gesture to make sure it was clear to the vikings. Then, he sprang into the sky, determined to put some distance between himself and the village.

Hiccup advanced towards the chief’s home from behind, weaving through the trees of the bordering woods. It was a tight fit, and he had to tuck his wings snuggly against his back to avoid running into low branches.

Reaching the edge of the treeline just before dusk, he spotted a familiar silhouette leaning against an old oak.

He deliberately snapped his foot down on a twig, using the sound to get her attention. The last thing he wanted was to scare her as he approached. 

Astrid turned her head, seemingly unphased by his arrival. “Hey,” she said, studying him for a moment. “You look better. Get some sleep?”

He nodded, noting that she did not seem to have gotten the same level of rest. He nudged her with his nose, hoping to communicate the question he couldn’t ask.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on your father all day,” she said, looking back at the house. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t walking into a trap. He hasn’t really gone anywhere since I walked him back though, and I haven’t seen anyone else enter. If he’s planning something, I don’t think anyone else is involved.”

Hiccup made a low noise of acknowledgement, squinting at the windows of the house. He couldn’t make out any shadows or movement, but there was a light downstairs.

The last rays of sun set, fire rippling through his veins as he shifted. 

“Ugh,” he groaned, rolling his neck. 

Astrid looked over at him with concern. “I know you said the magic in your veins doesn’t bother you, but does it hurt when you change?”

“For a minute,” he admitted, not seeing the point in denying it. His entire body restructured in seconds – it would be more surprising if it didn’t hurt. “The pain fades quickly, and besides, I’ve had plenty of time to get used to it.”

The first few shifts had brought real tears to his eyes, and his bones had ached for hours afterwards. He’d been in chronic pain those early weeks, adding to the weight of his already heavy situation. Thankfully, it seemed his body had adapted to accept the shift over the years, gradually making the process much more bearable. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? I still say you’re better off laying low, especially with how upset Gobber is about the escape.”

“He’s my father,” reminded Hiccup, though some fear had settled deep within his gut. “I feel like I owe him an explanation after all these years. I have to at least try.”

“I’ll be out here if you need a distraction,” she offered. “Just yell.”

“Astrid, you should really get some sleep,” he pointed out, assessing the dark bags under her eyes. She looked ready to tip over at any minute. “You look dead on your feet.”

 She shook her head, vehemently. “I won’t be able to sleep if I’m worrying about this.”

“But–”

“I’ll keep watch for two hours,” she bargained, “if you don’t signal for my help by then, I’ll head home.”

Sensing that arguing would get him nowhere, he simply nodded and flashed her a smile. “Thanks for having my back, Astrid,” he said with sincerity, before making his way towards his old home.

Being back in the yard was like deja vu. He’d spend much of his early teens sneaking out through the back, and it was surreal to be sneaking in for a change.

Testing the door, he was relieved to find that it was unlatched as promised. He took a deep breath, pushing it open before he could overthink it. 

It still had the same low squeak from his childhood.

Hiccup slipped inside, closing the door with a soft click. His eyes scanned the room, and for a moment he felt like he was fifteen again. Everything looked about the same as when he’d last stepped inside, and he could almost imagine that he’d never left. That time hadn’t really passed.

Almost.

The absence of his own clutter – half-finished projects, sketchbooks and the like – served as a reminder that it was no longer his home. Any trace of him had long since disappeared.

“Hello?” He called out.

There was a quick shuffling sound, followed by heavy footfalls as his father lumbered into the room. 

For a moment, they just stared at one another. It was a reunion neither had thought possible – one, believing the other to be dead and the other, believing he’d never be welcome within these walls again. 

Hiccup and Stoick had never had a perfect father-son relationship, but they’d still had a sense of familiarity with one another. Now it felt like that had eroded as well, leaving the two unsure of how to interact. 

“You came back,” said Stoick.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Hiccup asked, surprised. He’d been a bit flighty as a kid, but he’d always honored his promises.

Stoick cleared his throat, gesturing towards their seating area. “I had hoped you would,” he said, dropping into an ornate chair. “I feared I’d dreamed the whole thing. It wouldn’t be the first time I woke up believing that you were alive."

Hiccup felt a stab of guilt at that admission. He hovered for a minute, the tension in the air making him feel restless, before taking a seat across from the chief. He wrung his hands together in his lap. “Not a dream,” he confirmed.

Stoick gaze fixed on his son’s fidgeting hands, tracking the contrasting limbs with clear fascination.

Hiccup fought the instinct to hide them from sight, knowing there was no use in the action. His father already knew. No amount of hiding his draconic features would erase that.

“This is a lot to take in,” said Stoick, shifting uncomfortably in his own chair. “What I saw today…that happens every day? You really become that dragon?”

“Yes.” Hiccup said plainly. There was no use trying to soften the blow. 

Stoick sagged against the chair, clearly shaken by the confirmation. It was strange to see his father looking so rattled, as he’d always appeared the very picture of viking confidence in Hiccup’s youth. 

“The past five years?”

“Yes,” confirmed Hiccup. 

“Odin’s beard…” muttered the chief, shaking his head. “And you’re aware of everything, when you’re the beas–er, the dragon.”

“Yeah,” affirmed Hiccup, ignoring the man’s slip. “Like I said earlier, it’s still my mind when I shift.”

A log in the fireplace crackled, making a loud popping sound as it burned away. Hiccup fixed his gaze on the embers, not sure he’d like what he saw if he saw his father’s reaction. In a way, he felt like a kid again, awaiting his father’s judgment after sharing news he knew the man wouldn’t want to hear.

“And there’s no way to stop it?”

Hiccup shook his head. “If there were a cure, I’d have come back. Believe me, I’ve looked for years…it doesn’t exist. This is just my life now. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m trying to make peace with that.”

“Peace with it?” Stoick asked, incredulous. 

“The alternative is spending the rest of my life hating my own existence,” pointed out Hiccup with a heavy sigh, “Look, I can’t change what I am now, but maybe I can try to find a new normal. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to deny what happened to me, but this last week has put a lot into perspective for me and I can't hide from the truth anymore. This is my reality…it’s about time I learn to accept it.”

“...I see…”

“It’s been five years,” rationalized Hiccup. “I think it’s about time I find a way to move forward. I just…don’t really know where to start.”

It was quiet as Stoick contemplated that revelation. Hiccup turned his attention away from the fire to try and read his expression, but found it was undecipherable. 

“I am sorry, son,” said the chief, to his surprise. “That is quite a curse to bear alone.”

Hiccup forced a hollow laugh, “I always did have a knack for finding trouble. If it was going to happen to anyone – figures it would be me, right? I was the worst viking Berk had ever seen. Half the village was probably glad when I was gone, anyways.”

Stoick’s face tightened, and Hiccup took that as confirmation. He’d never been particularly popular with the tribe, but it still stung. 

He’d never been particularly welcome in Berk. That reminder made his skin crawl as fears of being seen by the villagers resurfaced. It would be best if he didn’t stay long – no use tempting fate.

“I should probably go,” he said quickly as he pushed himself to his feet, having kept his word. He cleared his throat, trying to keep it from shaking. “It was good to see you again, Dad. I hope this all at least explains things a bit. You know…why I left and why I have to stay away.”

“Hiccup,” his father stopped him, a large hand grasping his forearm. “We can figure something out, I’m sure of it. You don’t have to just disappear again.”

He snorted, “there’s no place for me here. Not anymore.”

“This is your home , son.”

“Yeah?” Hiccup asked, gesturing around at the space. “What do you expect me to do? Move back into my old room and act like everything’s normal? You once told me that the only way a dragon would ever enter this place is if you had the head mounted on the wall.”

Stoick had meant it to be comforting when he’d said it, a bit of reassurance for his young son after a particularly brutal night of raids. It had been a father’s attempt to appear strong in the wake of the disaster, promising his son that the monsters would not get him.

At the time, Hiccup had hated the grisly visual his mind conjured at the words. Now that Hiccup was the monster, the memory was like acid. 

“You’re not really a dragon, Hiccup.”

“Yes, I am,” snarled Hiccup, wrenching his arm free. “Need I remind you that I spent the last week locked inside a cage in Berk’s arena? You even came to watch Astrid fight me, and you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary!”

Stoick recoiled, looking stricken. 

“If I’d known–”

“What?” Yelled Hiccup, anger getting the better of him. “ What would you have done? Knowing the truth doesn’t change the fact that I’m a Night Fury!”

“I’d never let my own son rot in a cage,” argued Stoick, whose temper was beginning to flare. 

“You already did,” reminded Hiccup, feeling some of the fight die out in him. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. “Look, I didn’t come here to yell at you and I really don’t want to leave on bad terms. I’m sorry for snapping.”

“Stay,” insisted Stoick, tone more level but no less passionate. “Losing you after losing your mother was agony. I cannot bear to lose you again.”

“Dad, you can’t be serious. Think about this rationally,” he encouraged. “The sun will rise and I will change.”

Stoick looked irritated at the reminder, but scratched at his chin in thought. “I suppose we’d have to keep you hidden during the day. Astrid mentioned that you usually sleep then, right? I know you meant it as a jest earlier, but why not hole up in your old room – no one ever goes up there anymore.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea–”

“–I’m gone most of the day, so the house would be quiet–”

“This conversation is feeling remarkably one-sided.”

“Please, son,” implored Stoick. “You said that you’re trying to make peace with this new life of yours…I’d like you to give me the same chance. Just try.”

Seeing the earnesty in his father’s eyes, Hiccup didn’t have the heart to refuse.

Chapter Text

Hiccup awoke to the smell of cooking fish.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, taking stock of his surroundings. He was lying on the floor in a patch of bright sunlight, in the middle of his old room. He lifted his head, still in disbelief that he’d spent the day in his childhood home.

It didn’t look like much had changed. His old sketches still covered the desk, though they were stacked neatly in piles, rather than strewn about the way he’d usually left them. His bed was shoved in the corner, made up neatly with his old bedding.

It wouldn’t support his weight now, he mused, wings twitching. Even when human, he suspected he’d finally outgrown the child length furniture some time ago.

He angled an ear, picking up on sound from below. 

His father was whistling…and perhaps cooking, based on the smell. That was strange to consider, as Hiccup had usually been tasked with preparing their meals. In his absence, had his father finally learned to cook?

Hiccup looked out the window, judging the placement of the sun in the sky. By his estimation, he probably still had another hour or so before sundown. 

He stretched, climbing to his feet and arching his back. He could feel his joints protest, still stiff from sleep. He shook his body out, trying to wake himself up. In doing so, his tail slapped against the wall, noise echoing through the room. 

The whistling cut off abruptly.

Whoops. 

He could hear a flurry of clinking noise from below, followed by the creek of steps as his father ascended. 

Stoick entered the room, face barely visible behind the stack of bowls in his hands. He beelined over to the desk, setting the load down roughly, before turning to face Hiccup.

“Hungry?” The man asked, eyes sweeping over the dragon.

Hiccup felt his stomach clench, and he nodded. 

The chief turned back to his haul, retrieving a few charred fish from one of the bowls. He cocked his head to the side, looking unsure. “I don’t know what you eat, now,” he admitted, sounding almost embarrassed. “If you’d prefer, there are a few downstairs I didn’t cook.”

Hiccup shook his head vigorously, reaching out to grip one of the blackened fish in his teeth. 

Stoick released it, then set the remaining fish on the ground near him. The chief picked up another bowl, bracing his weight against the wall before taking a large spoonful of stew. 

Hiccup chewed the fish slowly, savoring the taste of the spices from the rub. After having to choke down raw fish and game, it was a welcome comfort. A part of him was tempted to wolf it down, but the more rational side of his brain told him to keep the more animalistic instincts under wraps around his father for now.

Stoick’s gaze had drifted past him, latching onto the untouched bed. He took another bite of his stew, brow furrowed in thought. “Not much use for that anymore, is there?”

Hiccup hummed in agreement, hoping the sound wouldn’t be misconstrued for a growl.

Stoick nodded, “I’ll remove it,” he decided. “Should at least give you some more space.”

Hiccup grunted, grabbing hold of another fish. The bed was small enough that its presence made little difference to him.

Stoick scraped at the bottom of his bowl, fixing his attention on getting the last bit of stew on his spoon. “I’ll work on gathering more blankets,” he said, “There’s not a bed frame in Berk big enough for a dragon, but you shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor.”

Hiccup felt his ears twitch up, slightly taken aback by the words. His father was really concerned with changing the room for a dragon’s comfort? He’d expected the man to merely tolerate his presence when he was like this, but to actively want to help was far beyond what he anticipated.

He was grateful that his expression was harder to read in this form, as Stoick appeared oblivious to his shock.

The viking began gathering up the empty dishes, the stack now appearing more compressed and easy to carry. The man gripped them in one arm, saying, “I’ll be by the fire, if you want to join me.”

After the change.

Though unsaid, Hiccup easily grasped the implication. He nodded his agreement, watching his father retreat down the stairs.

This was going to take some getting used to, he decided. Stoick was clearly willing to put in an effort, despite the insanity of the entire situation.

When the shift came, Hiccup took a moment to thumb through his old sketches. He’d had a lot of wild ideas as a teen, and he couldn’t help but wonder if any of the inventions would have worked, had he gotten a chance to build them. 

Granted, it was one of his successful inventions that had ruined his life. With that sobering thought, he dropped the pile of papers back onto the desk before heading for the stairs.

He hovered at the foot of the steps for a moment, catching sight of where Stoick’s sat before the fire. Taking in the scene, he wondered just how many nights his father had spent like this, sitting alone in the big empty house. Just how many lives had his curse impacted?

“I didn’t know you could cook,” he called out, trying to keep his voice light. 

Stoick twisted in his seat, “Hiccup, it’s good to see you.”

“You just saw me,” he reminded his father, though there was no venom in his tone. He took the last few steps into the room, sliding into an empty chair. 

“Right…”

“So you already know what a mess my life has been,” said Hiccup with a wry smile, “Now I want to know what you’ve been up to all this time. Tell me about Berk.”

True to his word, Stoick quickly transformed Hiccup’s old bedroom into a sort of makeshift dragon’s den. Within a day, he’d dismantled the old bed, and would have done the same to the desk had Hiccup not insisted it stay. 

He wanted to maintain some relic of his old life.

Stoick had gathered an impressive collection of furs and blankets, some pulled from their family storage as well as a few new ones purchased from visiting traders. He lined the ground with them, creating a soft nest of fabric. 

Hiccup wasn’t used to such comforts. After all, the closest he’d come to a soft bed in years was a sandy beach on the other side of the island. He took great care to maintain the gift, extra mindful of his claws whenever he navigated the room. 

Gobber hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Ever since the Night Fury had escaped, something had just seemed off to him, but he couldn’t pin down the source.

He sat in his forge, facing the battered cell door. It had taken three vikings to haul the metalwork from the arena and was now lodged into a corner of his workshop.

The beast had done a number on the door, clearly determined to escape. The scratches alone showed persistence, gouging deep lines into the structure. It was both terrifying and awe-inspiring to consider the strength required to make such marks.

The Night Fury had been something to behold. A creature of legend, dropped in their laps by chance. He’d never seen a dragon move with such effortless grace, nor had he ever seen such intelligence in a beast’s eyes. 

Gobber sometimes saw those toxic green eyes in his dreams. 

They’d caged the beast, and it had broken free. Knowing its intelligence, he wondered if they had reason to be concerned it might come back for revenge. At this point, he wouldn’t put it past the dragon. 

He scratched his temple, leaning over the scorched hinges. Though the door would need to be rebuilt, he hoped there might be something that he could salvage in the wreckage.

“Tha’s odd,” he observed, running a finger over one of the blackened hinges. It was covered in soot, clear evidence of dragon fire, but it still seemed perfectly intact. He checked the other hinges, confused to note they all appeared in similar shape.

The lack of damage didn’t make sense. He’d designed the door carefully – unless a hinge was compromised, forcing it open from the inside should have been impossible. Yet, the all mechanisms seemed to be in perfect order, as if they’d simply swung open with ease.

Gobber felt a chill run down his spine.

If the evidence was to be believed, this wasn’t an escape. The door had been opened . 

The blacksmith wrenched it sideways, desperate to catch a glimpse of the other side. The outer latch appeared sufficiently compromised – its warped, melted metal consistent with exposure to dragon fire. But how had it penetrated the door?

None of it made sense.

He slammed his hook on the table, shaking his head in frustration. Each side of the door told a different story, but he hadn’t the faintest idea which story was true or how they were connected.

Gobber wanted to voice his concerns to the chief, but the man had seemed oddly uninterested in discussing the Night Fury’s disappearance. He’d simply expressed that he was disappointed in the loss before dropping the subject completely. 

He’d briefly contemplated sharing his theories with Astrid, as she’d gotten closer to the creature than anyone else, but ultimately had talked himself out of it. She’d seemed to take the loss pretty hard, asking for a few days off from training. He couldn’t blame her – she’d been part of something monumental, only to have it ripped out from underneath her.

Times like this made him miss Hiccup. His old apprentice had never dismissed his theories, often eager to contribute his own. They’d had a great rapport, he remembered, neither afraid to think outside the box. 

Gobber swiveled in his seat, facing the back store room. It had been Hiccup’s retreat, and the blacksmith had left it largely untouched out of respect for the dead. He only dared step inside when he felt at a loss, as if somehow the boy’s spirit could help guide his thinking.

He pushed to his feet, shuffling over to the door. His hand hovered over the knob.

What would he make of all this?

Gobber entered the small space, exhaling loudly. 

Astrid was relieved to have a few days off from dragon training. Considering her part in the incident, she didn’t want to give Gobber the chance to question her too closely. While she was a decent liar, the man was sometimes too perceptive for his own good.

Many of her tribesmen offered their condolences on her loss, remarking that it was too bad she wouldn’t get the chance to slay the Night Fury. She’d taken to reminding them that at least she’d faced the feared dragon – none of them could relate. The boast would serve a dual purpose of reinforcing her reputation and dissuading the villagers from trying to discuss the escape further.

Once she was confident that Hiccup wasn’t in need of a rescue, she’d decided to give him space to reacquaint with his father. In that stretch of time, she was surprised to find that she missed him.

The last week had been a rollercoaster of emotions, and she’d helped Hiccup out of his predicament because she felt it was the right thing to do. She hadn’t realized that she’d grown this attached to the gangly viking within the chaos of it all.

Of course she had to befriend the most complicated person on the entire island.

She waited til sundown on the third day before trekking up to the chief’s house. The home’s elevated location made for some breathtaking views, but she couldn’t fathom why he’d want to live so far from town.

She banged on the door. “It’s Astrid,” she called out, knowing the chief would be hesitant to open his doors with his current guest. 

A few moments later she could hear a bolt slide back before the door swung open. Stoick stepped out of the way, jerking his head to the side in silent invitation. 

She slipped in, barely making it a few steps into the space before she heard the bolt slide firmly back into place.

“Hiccup!” She greeted, finding her friend sitting sideways in one of the wooden chairs. His long legs hung over one arm of the chair, back braced against the other. He had a pad of paper on his lap, a stick of charcoal resting between his fingers. 

Catching sight of her, his face broke into a wide grin and he quickly sat up, dropping the art supplies on a nearby table. The charcoal stick kept moving, rolling off the table and onto the floor.

“Hey, Astrid!”

He looked healthier than the last time she’d seen him. The deep set exhaustion that had lined his face was gone, and his cheeks had a bit of healthy color to them. His ragged tunic was gone, replaced by a clean red one that fit him properly.

Any lingering fears of how he’d been treated in her absence vanished.

“You look good,” she voiced the thought, “how are you feeling?”

He shrugged, but the smile remained fixed in place. “Oh, you know, everything’s still a bit weird.”

“Isn’t ‘weird’ your normal?”

Hiccup laughed, “Uh yeah, guess you’ve got me there.”

Stoick cleared his throat, startling Astrid. She’d forgotten the chief was still standing there. 

 “I’m going down to visit the Hall tonight,” he announced, pulling on a pair of boots. “I need to make an appearance, or people will start wondering why I’m always holed up at home. Can’t risk anyone else showing up at the door.”

“Have fun, chief.” Astrid said, glad for the privacy. As much as she respected Stoick, it was hard to let her guard down around someone with such authority.

“Bye Dad!” called Hiccup.

“Latch the door behind me,” the man responded as he left. 

Hiccup did as he was asked, securing the door once more. Astrid wondered if they really thought someone from the tribe would barge into the chief’s home while he was out, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

“Things seem good between you two,” she observed. 

Hiccup nodded, fidgeting in the doorway. “He’s really trying to make this work.”

“I’m glad.” She meant it. After five years of isolation, he deserved to have something go his way.

He flushed, shuffling past her. “You thirsty? I think he’s got some mead in the cabinet.”

Astrid settled into one of the chairs closest to the fire, soaking up the warmth. “If you’re having a glass, sure.”

She could hear him fumbling around in the kitchen for a bit, followed by the familiar slosh of liquid pouring into cups. He offered her a goblet when he returned, which she accepted gratefully.

“Just one for me,” he said, green eyes focused on his own cup with a new wariness. “Berk’s never seen a tipsy dragon before, and I’d like it to stay that way.”

Astrid nearly spit out her drink at the thought of a drunk Night Fury. She choked on the liquid, banging a fist against her chest to clear her airway again. “I’m fine,” she wheezed, before he could ask. “Gods, what a sight that would be.”

He agreed, taking a careful sip from his own goblet.

They sat together in a comfortable quiet, sipping their drinks in the firelight. It was peaceful.

Astrid studied the boy across from her once more, a question rising unbidden to her lips. “So what’s it like?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s it like to be a dragon,” she clarified before she could lose her nerve. There was only one viking in the world who could answer that question, and her curiosity was too strong to ignore.

Hiccup’s gaze remained fixed on his drink as he considered the question. At first, she wondered if she’d overstepped and he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Then he spoke, “Besides the terrifying realization that everyone you know wants you dead? It’s…weird. You’ve got three more limbs to worry about – and gods, they’re hard to adjust to, you wouldn’t believe how many times I tripped over my tail. Your entire sense of balance is thrown out of whack.”

“That sounds challenging.”

“Oh it is,” he assured, swirling the glass in his hand. “Not to mention your joints have changed and you’re suddenly walking on all fours. I had bad enough coordination before this whole mess, adding in two more legs didn’t help.”

Hiccup had been a clumsy kid. That much she could remember vividly from their youth. He seemed so much more graceful now, perhaps the curse had been good to him in that way. 

“And you can’t talk or scream or communicate anymore,” he continued, looking disturbed by the confession. “Your vocal cords are completely different. That was one of the hardest parts to adjust to, in the early days. All I wanted to do was scream, but I couldn’t get a sound out.”

Astrid winced. It sounded like torture, and judging by his rapidly souring expression, it had been. 

“Is there anything…good?” She ventured, wondering if she could nudge the conversation back to something lighter. 

“Good about being a dragon?” Hiccup asked, finally looking up at her in surprise. At her nod, he rubbed his jaw in thought. “Well, flying is incredible. It’s so hard to describe, but when you’re up there in the clouds, you just feel so free. Berk looks so small from the air, it sometimes feels like my problems are too.”

“That sounds…nice,” she decided, trying to picture Berk from above. The island was beautiful from the ground, surely it would be even more so from the air.

“It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced,” he assured, the light returning to his eyes. “It’s the one part of this curse that has never felt like a punishment. I actually really love it.”

“I’m glad.”

Chapter Text

Gobber’s intuition would allow him no rest. 

No matter how hard he tried to push away the thoughts, he couldn’t shake the idea that something was deeply wrong about the Night Fury’s escape. He needed to uncover the truth, if just for the peace of mind that he hoped answers would provide.

He was getting nowhere trying to solve the mystery alone, so he’d decided it was high time to bring in his dear friend Stoick. Though the chief had seemed uninterested in the missing dragon, Gobber reckoned he’d be willing to humor him with a little insistence.

He knocked on the man’s front door, getting no answer. A quick tug of the handle revealed that it was latched shut.

Odd. Stoick rarely ever secured his home.

Gobber shrugged, undeterred by the development. Stoick had insisted that he was welcome any time, so he’d just let himself in through the back door and wait out the man’s return. That door didn’t latch properly, he knew that better than anyone. Stoick had asked him to fix it on several occasions, but the blacksmith had never gotten around to repairing it.

With the right amount of pressure and a jiggle of the knob, he was able to pop it open. 

“Stoick? You home?” He called, letting himself into the house. He lumbered over to the main hall, shuffling a stack of papers in his hands. He’d detailed all his findings so that he could properly explain each of the pieces that didn’t add up.

There was no answer. 

“Hmmm,” huffed Gobber, setting his notes down on the table. The sun had risen over an hour ago, surely the chief wasn’t still sleeping? 

He shook his head, dismissing the idea as quickly as it had come. It was far more likely that the man had already gone to make his morning rounds.  

Gobber had hoped to have this conversation privately, aiming to catch his friend before he made his way to town for the day, but perhaps he’d just missed him. It was a pity – now he’d have to risk being overheard when he brought up his suspicions. 

He wasn’t keen on raising panic amongst his peers, but the situation needed to be investigated sooner rather than later. If someone had helped the dragon escape, they had a traitor in their midst. If the dragon had escaped on its own, he wanted to develop a defense plan in case it came back for vengeance. 

Creeeeak.

The wood upstairs groaned, a sure sign of movement above.

Gobber raised his eyebrows at the sound. The only room above was the one that had belonged to Hiccup, and he was fairly certain it had been sealed off since the boy’s untimely demise.

His chest tightened as he considered it. Stoick could very well treat the space in the same way that he treated the back room of the forge. It could have become a safe space where his friend grieved his son’s passing and went to feel closer to him once more.

With a sigh, Gobber made for the stairs. If that was the case, he doubted his friend would welcome the intrusion. However, he knew better than anyone how much it hurt to grieve alone. Offering comfort and company was the right thing to do.

When he made it to the top of the landing, he opened his mouth to greet his friend. The sight he found made him snap his jaw shut immediately, words dying in his throat. 

A Night Fury – no, the Night Fury – was sprawled out on its back in the space, nestled between a variety of furs like a cat amidst a mound of bedding. 

Gobber pinched himself, momentarily fearing he’d gone mad obsessing over the beast. He’d barely slept, perhaps his fixation on the escape was making him see things? Yet, the sharp pain was sign enough that he wasn't imagining the dragon’s presence.

What was this dangerous creature doing sleeping in the chief’s home?

As quietly as he could, Gobber twisted off his prosthetic hook, clipping it onto his belt. He removed the small axe head sheathed beside it, clicking the weapon into place with grim determination. His best chance at slaying the beast was to catch it unawares, so he would have to be cautious in how he approached it.

He eyed the furs, wondering if they would be enough to muffle the sound of his peg leg against the floorboards. There was no room for miscalculation here.

As he started towards the dragon, he heard a loud movement below. “Hiccup!” Stoick yelled, “Are you still up? I brought breakfast.”

Gobber flinched at the loud voice, panic welling up in his chest. It was only after a moment that the chief’s words registered, making him wonder if perhaps it was the chief who’d gone mad. 

He was talking to Hiccup? 

The sound was enough to wake the Night Fury. It moaned, rolling over onto its stomach in a fluid motion. Shaking out its wings, the dragon rose to its feet. Its back was to Gobber, and the man knew he now had very little time to strike before the beast would catch sight of him.

Either he struck down the dragon now, or he risked giving it a chance to strike him down.

He stepped forward…

…right onto the Fury’s tail.

The dragon hissed, yanking the tail out from under Gobber’s peg leg. It spun around, quick as lightning, eyes widening as it beheld him.

Oh no.

There was a loud sound from below, like something heavy had been dropped on the floor, followed by the sound of racing feet on the stairs. 

Stoick entered the room in a flurry of movement, looking back and forth between the blacksmith to the snarling dragon in the corner. 

“Gobber!” The chief addressed him, steel in his voice. “What are you – no! Put your weapon down now!”

Had he heard that right?

“Are ye mad?” He asked, gesturing wildly at the large reptile across from them. 

The dragon hunched lower to the ground, curling up on itself. It looked as if it were trying to make itself smaller, pulling all its limbs in tight. All the while, its green eyes remained locked on him.

“Now, Gobber,” commanded the chief, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Then, to his surprise, Stoick addressed the dragon. “It’s okay,” he reassured in a gentle voice. He turned back to Gobber with a pointed look, “There will be no bloodshed in my house.”

What in Hel was he witnessing?

The dragon had been watching his expression, narrowing its eyes at something he saw. It made a strange warbling noise at Stoick, then jerked its head meaningfully in Gobber’s direction.

Was it trying to communicate?

Stoick seemed to think so, regarding it cautiously. At least that wariness seemed sensible to Gobber. One must never let their guard down around a dragon.

“You…wish for me to tell him?” Stoick asked, sounding like he doubted the words. 

To Gobber’s surprise, the Night Fury gave a distinct nod. 

“Everything?”

Another nod.

“You’re sure.”

Again.

“Very well,” said Stoick with a sigh, placing a heavy hand on Gobber’s shoulder. “Gobber, this is no ordinary dragon.”

The blacksmith scoffed, taking a step back. “Yeah, I kno’ tha’. It’s a bloody Night Fury!”

“No,” corrected Stoick. He paused, shaking his head. “Well yes, it is a Night Fury, but that’s not what I’m getting at.”

Gobber continued to edge towards the door. If he could make it a few more steps, perhaps he could flee and find reinforcements. The chief appeared to be having some sort of break, keeping a deadly dragon in his home like some sort of macabre pet.

Stoick narrowed his eyes at the movement, hurrying to shut the door. He blocked it, sealing the duo in the small bedroom with the Night Fury.

“Gobber,” pleaded Stoick, eyes full of emotion. “It’s Hiccup.”

“Wha’? You keepin’ this thing prisoner up here in ‘is memory or somethin’? Tryin’ to honor ‘im by killin’ a dragon in his old room? Tha’ boy wouldn’t ‘ave approved of this nonsense and ye know it!”

Stoick’s frustration was growing, if the red flush creeping up his neck was any indication. “The dragon is Hiccup.”

The Night Fury chirped, bobbing its head up and down in agreement.

Stoick has officially lost his mind, thought Gobber, shaking his head. Though, considering he was recognizing the creature’s motions as nods, perhaps he wasn’t far behind. 

“I know it sounds impossible,” the chief continued, “I doubted it myself, but it’s true. It’s a curse, Gobber. Not unlike many of the stories the elders have passed on to the tribe, and no less serious. You’ll stay until sundown and then you’ll see.”

Sundown? It was barely after sunrise.

“I don’ believe you,” he said outright, crossing his arms. “And I sure as Hel will not spendin’ a whole day trapped in ‘ere with a Night Fury.”

The dragon exhaled loudly through its nose, dispelling a ring of smoke. It seemed almost as frustrated as Gobber felt.

“You will,” said Stoick, voice solemn. “Best get comfortable.”

The day passed slowly, tensions high between the inhabitants of the room. Stoick had confiscated Gobber’s prosthetics early on, leaving the man feeling vulnerable in the cramped loft.

To his surprise, the dragon never made any move to attack. Instead, it continued to watch him with eyes that seemed almost sorrowful. He’d been quick to dismiss that possibility, knowing the beast was likely trying to manipulate him into letting his guard down.

Then of all things – the dragon proceeded to nap! It curled up in a tight ball on the opposite end of the room, covering its face with its tail fins. Gobber was mildly offended, as it was clear by the action that the creature had dismissed him as a threat.

All the while, Stoick continued to insist that the Night Fury was his son, plagued with some sort of draconic curse. There were elements to the strange story he wove that Gobber believed – his apprentice would absolutely have the hubris to try to shoot down a legendary dragon with an untested contraption – but the rest seemed far less likely.

Gobber blamed himself for Stoick’s delusions. He’d failed to check in on his friend over the years, never wanting to bring up the lost boy for the sake of his own feelings of loss. Now, he wished he’d been an outlet for the chief to work through his grief. Perhaps he could have seen the signs and stopped this fantasy before it took root. 

I’ve failed him.

He eyed the setting sun with apprehension. On the one hand, he’d been assured he’d be able to leave once it had set. On the other, he feared how his friend would spiral when the dragon remained unchanged.

As the last rays slipped from view, he regarded the waking creature with a knowing look. Surely, now it would attack?

Without warning, fire erupted from the dragon, swallowing it from view. It smoldered for a moment, quickly clearing away to reveal a young man with a shaky smile. Though now older and having grown into his lanky features, it was unmistakably the face of his old apprentice.  

“Uh, hi, Gobber.”

Chapter Text

Hiccup rose to his feet, stretching his arms high above his head until his shoulders gave a satisfying pop. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, focusing in on the bewildered viking across the room. 

“Hiccup!?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s me,” he confirmed before looking over at his father. “Hey dad, do you want to give him his hook back?”

Stoick gave his best friend a warning look as he returned the prosthetics. It went unsaid: if Gobber acted against Hiccup, he’d suffer the chief’s wrath.

The blacksmith looked dumbfounded by the whole situation, accepting his belongings as if in a trance. He didn’t even glance down at the items, not bothering to click his hook back into place. He just continued to gape, eyes tracing his old apprentice like he was looking at a ghost.

Minutes ticked by and Hiccup was more and more aware of his heart racing in his chest. 

“I’ve, uh, never seen you speechless before,” observed Hiccup, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. The blacksmith was not known for being quiet or reserved, and seeing him this way was off-putting. “It’s kind of freaking me out. Could you…maybe say something?”

Stoick hovered off the side, placing himself deliberately in a spot in between them so that he would be able to intercede if needed. 

Gobber took a slow, shuddering breath, “I’m seein’ things.”

“It’s him,” assured the chief, voice gentle. “What you saw just now is very real. That story that I told you today is true – all of it.”

Gobber rocked to the side, bracing all his weight on his good leg. Emotions warred across his face as he processed the other man’s words, recalling the tale he’d dismissed earlier in the day. 

Hiccup slowly raised his hands, attempting to look as unthreatening as possible as he crossed the length of the room to stand by his old mentor. Unfortunately, the gesture seemed to have the opposite effect as the blacksmith’s eyes fell on his left arm. 

“Odin’s ghost!” The man stumbled back a step, nearly losing his footing. His wide eyes took in the draconic limb with alarm.

Hiccup followed his gaze, jerking his arms back when he realized what had rattled the man. “Sorry!” He said sheepishly, tucking his arms tightly against his side. “I forget, sometimes.”

“Wha–”

“Let’s move this conversation downstairs,” suggested the chief, pulling the door open. “I think we’ve all spent more than enough time cooped up in this room.”

The others were quick to agree, Hiccup excused himself to the washroom while Gobber trailed behind Stoick. The blacksmith cast a glance over his shoulder as he descended the stairs, a pensive look on his face as he regarded his old trainee.

Hiccup desperately wished he knew what the man was thinking.

When he reunited with his father and mentor, they had taken up seats closest to the fire. Hiccup, feeling it best to proceed with caution, choose the furthest remaining chair to the blacksmith. He hoped the distance would ease the man’s anxiety. 

Stoick had placed a pitcher of water on the table between them. Seeing his son get settled, the chief poured a glass and offered it to him.

Hiccup took it, grateful to have something to do with his hands. He gripped the cup idly, unsure of how to break the silence. As he thought, he tapped his fingers in a rhythm against the glass, an old nervous tick he’d never been able to shake.

Gobber watched him, leaning forward in his own chair. 

Hiccup bit his lip, cautiously meeting his old mentor’s gaze. There was a storm of emotions raging in those eyes, but what surprised him the most was the glassy sheen they took on.

“Are you okay?” He asked, concerned that his revelation had broken the man.

“Am I okay?” Gobber asked, voice rising in pitch. “Hiccup, yer a Night Fury!”

“Uh, yeah,” he set the cup down, drumming his fingers on the table instead. 

“Only during the day,” Stoick interjected.

Gobber sat back in his chair, the old furniture groaning at the sudden movement. He gripped the curve of his hook, reattached sometime while Hiccup was gone, as if it were a lifeline.

Hiccup knew the man was superstitious. He’d heard more legends in the walls of the forge than he’d heard from the town’s designated storyteller. The man believed in everything from trolls to unicorns, so he knew how seriously Gobber would take the curse. It was considered bad luck to aid someone who’d been cursed by the gods, but this had been the work of a dragon –  surely his old mentor wouldn’t cast him aside?

“It’s good to see you again,” said Hiccup honestly, a part of him hoping to appeal to the man’s more rational side. They’d had a bond once, surely that had to count for something.

He looked down, noticing a stack of notes in the man’s messy script. A few rough sketches of a familiar door made him wince. “Sorry about destroying your door,” he said, nodding towards the papers. “I can help you fix that, if you want.”

Gobber’s mouth parted, a look of unease growing as he made the connection. “You…th’ door…” He paled as he realized. “It was you. I locked you in th’ ring.”

“Uh, yeah,” confirmed Hiccup quickly, “You did.”

The blacksmith looked horrified, “I put you in a cage.”

Hiccup nodded. “You did always say I needed to contain all of this,” he joked, gesturing to himself broadly.

Gobber’s wide eyes turned to Stoick. “It’s really ‘im, isn’t it?”

The chief confirmed it, face solemn.

Hiccup felt something shift in that moment, and when his mentor looked back at him, he was surprised to see real tears in his eyes. The blacksmith pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, closing the gap between them in a few quick strides.

Strong arms wrapped around him, squeezing tightly. Hiccup breathed in the familiar smells of metal and ash, relaxing into the man’s embrace.

“Thank th’ gods yer alive,” said Gobber, uncharacteristically somber. He released his grip, patting his apprentice on the back twice before stepping back.

“Aye,” agreed Stoick. 

“I put you in a cage,” repeated Gobber, eyes wide. “Oh Thor, I’m so sorry–”

Hiccup cut him off quickly, “You put a dragon in a cage, Gobber. I don’t blame you.”

The man did not look comforted by his words, lips twisting down into a frown. “It’s my fault,” he argued, “I found ya after th’ raid. I’m the ‘ne who dragged ya to th’ ring.”

Hiccup hadn’t known that detail, but he couldn’t bring himself to fault the man. “It doesn’t matter how I got there,” he argued. “I’m glad it was you, at least you just put me in the ring. Someone else might have cut off my head.”

Bringing back the head of a Night Fury would do wonders for a viking’s reputation. Any of the younger men, eager to make their mark in the tribe, would have seen a downed dragon as a chance to improve his rank. It was pure luck that the tribe’s dragon training teacher had seen an opportunity to learn instead.

Stoick grimaced at the thought, excusing himself to grab a tankard of ale. 

Gobber still appeared deeply troubled. 

“I locked ya in a pen like an animal.”

Hiccup sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, you did…but you’d just had a raid,” he reminded, “and you still spared me.”

Gobber nodded, brow furrowing as his mind flashed back to that night. “Wha’ were ya doin’ in Berk durin’ a raid anyways?”

Hiccup was surprised by the man's change of tone. It sounded almost wary. “Huh?”

“What were you doing so close to town that day?” asked Stoick from the doorway, juggling three tankards in his hands. He, too, appeared concerned. 

The two older men were exchanging a look that set Hiccup’s teeth on edge. What was he missing?

“You weren’t…part of the raid, were you son?” Stoick continued cautiously as he set the mugs down on the table. 

Hiccup blinked, startled by the accusation. “Of course not! How could you even ask that?”

Stoick relaxed marginally, but there was still a tightness to his posture.“You told me that you’ve been living on the far side of the island,” he said, “yet you were here in Berk, during the dragon raid. It seems odd, since you’re, well…you know.”

A dragon.

Hiccup pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’d never hurt Berk,” he assured, offended by the suggestion. “You know me. That’s not something I’d do.” 

“Son–”

“Besides,” continued Hiccup, gripping the armrest of the chair so tightly his claws began to dig into the wood, “the raids always happen at night, after sundown.” He shot his father a very pointed look, “When I’m not a dragon.”

He watched the knowledge click in his father’s mind, earlier fears replaced by embarrassment. The accusation seemed ridiculous once the timing was considered.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Gobber.

Stoick echoed the sentiment, handing over an ale as a peace offering. 

Hiccup accepted it quietly, feeling drained by the conversation. He took a sip, wincing at the taste. He’d never acquired a love for the drink, but he hoped it would help him relax.

“The raids were the easiest time for me to get a look at Berk,” he said eventually, “Everyone is always so focused on the dragons, they don’t notice an extra viking in the woods. I came whenever I could, to make sure you were all okay.”

Hiccup took another swig of the drink, still unimpressed. “I never stayed long, no more than an hour really – just enough to make sure that everyone was still alive. I’d be long gone before sunrise.”

“But no’ this time?”

Hiccup shook his head, raising a hand to absentmindedly trace the spot he’d been injured. “Something hit me hard,” he remembered, “I think I remember one of the guard towers exploding? Got hit with some debris – must have knocked me out. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the cage with a pounding headache.”

Gobber whistled, “Tha’s some bad luck.”

“My life is bad luck,” snarked Hiccup.

Neither man argued, in light of the curse.

Gobber turned his attention to the chief, voice grave. “If the timing had been different today, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” 

“Aye.”

“If you’d not come upstairs…if Hiccup hadn’t woken when he did…”

Stoick nodded, eyes stormy. “I’m aware.”

“Yer takin’ a big risk, keepin’ ‘im ‘ere in the village,” continued Gobber. “We go’ lucky today, but yer playin’ a very dangerous game here.”

Hiccup frowned, not liking the direction this conversation was taking. The last few days had allowed a cautious hope to take root in him. He’d felt like he had a chance to regain some of what he’d lost. However, today was a stark reminder that any semblance of safety in Berk was an illusion. 

His life was on the line so long as he stayed in the tribe. And now, by extension, he was putting his father and mentor at risk. If discovered harboring or sympathizing with a Night Fury, there’d be consequences. Stoick could lose the chiefdom, or worse.

“Gobber’s right,” he realized with growing dread, “it’s too dangerous for me to stay here.”

Stoick shook his head, “What happened today won’t happen again,” he argued. 

“You can’t promise that.”

“I just got you back. I refuse to lose you again.”

Hiccup dropped his head in his hands, massaging his temples. Why did his father always have to argue with him? “You have to let me go,” he rationalized. “If I stay, odds are I end up dead and you both get exiled or worse.”

“I’m not sayin’ you need to leave Berk,” Gobber spoke up, sounding put out. “Stop puttin’ words in my mouth, lad! For Odin’s sake, I’m just sayin’ ya need a better plan than hidin’ in yer old room!”

“What do you suggest?” Stoick asked, latching onto the possibility of a compromise.

The blacksmith looked sheepish, running his hand over his mustache. “I don’ ‘ave a perfect solution in mind,” he admitted, “but it would nee’ to be somewhere withou’ risk of a curious viking wanderin’ in and findin’ ‘im. Or somewhere a sleepin’ dragon wouldn’ seem ou’ of place.”

An answer came to Hiccup quickly, though he was not particularly happy about it. There was only one place he could think of where a Night Fury could hide in plain sight.

“The arena. I have to go back to the arena.”

“Absolutely not!” Stoick roared, banging his tankard onto the table with a loud thud.

“It’s the only answer!”

Gobber frowned, but did not immediately dismiss him. “No one would question it,” he agreed slowly, seeing the logic of the plan. “An’ no one’d try an’ hurt ‘im, since ‘e’d be seen as part of th’ training group…it may be th’ safest option, if ya wan’ to keep ‘im in Berk.”

Hiccup agreed, though his gut twisted when he thought of the cramped pen he’d just recently escaped. “Are any of the pens bigger than that one? It’s, uh, a bit tight for a Night Fury.”

Stoick scowl darkened, “it doesn’t matter, you won’t be seeing the inside of any of those cells.”

Gobber ignored the chief, contemplating Hiccup’s question. “There’s one meant for a Timberjack, but we haven’ been able to catch one of them in nearly fifteen years.”

Hiccup nodded, picturing the large dragon in his mind’s eye. Any enclosure designed to hold it would have to be much larger than the previous cage. “That could work,” he said. 

“And it makes sense no’ to put ya in th’ same pen as before,” the blacksmith pointed out. “Seein’ as I haven’ fixed th’ door.”

“I am sorry about that…”

Gobber laughed, rolling his eyes. “I don’ blame ya for tha’,” he leaned forward, tapping a hand on his pile of notes, “but I do wan’ to know ‘ow you did it. It’s been drivin’ me mad, tryin’ to make sense of th’ mess. I’d guess ya scorched the hinges, bu’ how’d ya manage th’ latch?”

Hiccup grinned, raising his left hand into view, black scales reflecting the firelight. “Sometimes it pays to be fireproof.”

The man whistled in appreciation, “Now, tha’s a skill that’d be handy in th’ forge!”

Stoick cleared his throat, taking command of their attention once more. His voice was sharp as he declared, “My son will not be locked up in the ring.”

Gobber tipped his head to the side, not intimidated by his friend’s tone. “I do agree with ya on th’ lock part – we’ll need to find a way to rig th’ door so ‘e can open it from the inside at night.”

Chapter Text

Hiccup surveyed the empty Timberjack cage with critical eyes. It was definitely larger than his last cell, with plenty of space for a Night Fury to move about, though no more welcoming. It had been maintained well enough throughout the years, far cleaner than he’d expected.

“Think it’ll do?” Gobber asked from beside him.

Hiccup shrugged. It would have to – it was the largest option in the entire arena.

Stoick seethed behind them, arms folded tightly over his chest. He glared at the enclosure with distaste, making it known that he still did not approve of the plan.

“I’ll get started on th’ trick latch,” said the blacksmith, appraising the current door. He scratched his temple, considering the task. “Should be able to ‘ave it done in a day or so, I think.”

Hiccup thanked him, leaving the man to examine the mechanics of the current door in more detail. He approached his father with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine,” he said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt. “I sleep most of the day anyways – does it really matter where? Besides, you’re gone all day in town. It’s not like we’d be spending the time together.”

Stoick grit his teeth. “That’s not the point,” he argued. “Look at that place! It’s a prison, designed to hold a monster.”

“A dragon,” corrected Hiccup, wishing his father would acknowledge the difference. “Which is exactly what I’ll be when I’m here. Think of it as…an occupational hazard.”

“Hiccup,” his father began with a warning tone. “This isn’t a joke! Dragons have died in this very ring.”

He’d known that. It wasn’t exactly a secret, in fact to some it was a point of pride. Berkians loved to celebrate the fact that they’d conquered dragons throughout their generations on the island. It wasn’t encouraged to strike down the training dragons, as the effort to replace them was tremendous, but no viking had ever been seriously punished for killing one of the dragons.

“No Night Furies have.”

Gobber joined them, tucking his notes into his pocket as he read the tension between the Haddocks. He looked hesitant to speak, but did so anyway. “Now, Stoick…we’re gonna ‘ave to show th’ tribe that we’ve ‘recaptured’ the Night Fury.”

“Out of the question.”

“Th’ escape is all the village ‘as been talkin’ about this week,” he argued. “If anyone’s spot’s ‘im and we’ve kept it a secret, it’s gonna raise questions that we can’ answer.”

Hiccup raised an eyebrow. He’d expected the village to be surprised by his escape, but he hadn’t expected them to fixate on it for long. 

“If they see him, they’ll expect him to be part of training,” said Stoick with a frown. 

“Aye.”

Hiccup groaned inwardly. He’d hated having to fight in the ring, but he could understand why it would be necessary to keep up the ruse. The village wouldn’t keep a dragon alive unless it offered some value to them.

“I was thinkin’ you’d take credit for catchin’ ‘im,” offered Gobber, nodding towards his old apprentice. “We could say ‘e’s too dangerous for the kids to fight, but that they could still learn somethin’ by watchin’ you in the ring.”

“Me?”

“Stoick, think abou’ it. You put on a little show for abou’ an hour each day, teach the students somethin’ abou’ fightin’ Night Furies, an’ no one else gets in th’ ring with Hiccup.”

Hiccup met his father’s eyes, seeing the indecision. “It’s okay,” he assured. “Astrid and I faked our last few fights, I’m sure you and I can make it convincing enough.”

“I’ll not hurt my son.”

“It has to look real,” reminded Hiccup, running a hand through his hair. “As long as you don't hit me too hard, I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t–”

“I heal fast,” reminded Hiccup, arching a brow. “Pretty sure you cracked my jaw with your hammer last time, and it was just a bruise by nightfall. If you go too easy on me, people are going to ask questions.”

His father’s attention was drawn to his jaw, reassuring himself that the injury was gone without a trace. With a resigned sigh, Stoick said, “we can try it for now, but only until we find a better solution. You’re not staying in the ring any longer than you have to.”

Hiccup readily agreed, casting another look at the dark cell. The less time he had to spend in it, the better. 

“We’ll get ya’ set up with some furs,” promised Gobber. “I’ll make sure it’s a bit more comfortable.”

“Won’t that raise questions?” Hiccup asked, perplexed by the idea. He couldn’t imagine the tribe brushing off such luxuries in a dragon’s pen.

The blacksmith grinned, “I got a plan for that,” he assured. “Gonna build somethin’ for you to hide ‘em behind before your sessions. Thinkin’ maybe puttin’ up a sort o’ false wall to the side and sayin’ the cage needed some reinforcin’? As long as no one can see the gap behind it from the ring, it should be an easy enough solution.”

Stoick eyed the horizon, “We’ll have to finish this conversation later. Hiccup, we’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get you back before sunrise.”

Hiccup shook his head. “No, I should stay here today…you know, test it out.”

“Good thinkin’, lad,” said Gobber, taking the decision in stride. “See if there’s anythin’ we can do to make better for ya.” He frowned. “But th’ latch won’ be done by sundown. You’ll be as good as trapped.”

Hiccup shrugged. “Nothing new there,” he reminded them. “Just have someone come let me out after sunset.”

When the door swung open at nightfall, Hiccup was surprised to see that it was Astrid who had come for him. 

“So after all the effort we spent getting you out of here, you willingly came back?” She asked, face twisted in anger.

Hiccup pushed past her into the moonlight. “My dad told you?”

She leveled a glare at him, “Obviously,” she said. “So what? You’re just gonna live in the arena for the rest of your life? Letting people attack you every day?”

“Not for the rest of my life,” he said, though a part of him wondered if that was a real possibility. He hoped not. “Just until we can think of a better plan. This lets me stay in Berk without putting anyone else in danger or raising any questions we can’t answer.”

“You’re putting yourself in danger.”

“I’ve been in danger since that dragon cursed me,” he argued, tired of having to explain himself. “This is no different. Besides, I’m only going to be fighting my dad and he hates this plan just as much as you do.”

“But–”

“Astrid…I don’t want to fight about this. At this point, I don’t have a whole lot of options. Short of leaving Berk, I can’t think of a perfect solution that’s gonna make everyone here happy. Can you just...try to understand why I’m agreeing to this?”

She gestured for him to continue, though it looked like she wanted to stay something.

“I just got my family back,” he explained, “and if this is the price I have to pay to keep it, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Fighting Stoick in the arena is a surreal experience. 

Growing up, he’d always expected to fight beside his father – never against him. Yet, he found himself squaring off against the man in the training ring each day as opponents rather than allies.

The reintroduction of the Night Fury had drawn crowds. Training was not usually a spectator sport until the champion’s ceremonial dragon slaying, yet dozens of people turned up each day to see the legendary dragon battle their chief. 

Considering these same people had always assumed him too weak for battle, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

Hiccup allowed himself to show off a bit more, now that he wasn’t afraid of his father or Gobber using the information against him. He took flight often in the ring, using it as a chance to catch his breath during more heated matches. He carefully discharged plasma blasts, always hitting a few feet from his father. 

A Night Fury never misses, he thought to himself, grateful for the accuracy.

Stoick acted the part as well, swinging his weapons with battle-honed precision. He garnered the cheers of the onlookers, who all thought him brave to get so close to such a dangerous dragon. All the while, his gaze spoke volumes to his unhappiness with their current plan.

True to his promise, Gobber had installed a complicated mechanism to the cell door that allowed Hiccup to come and go as he pleased. Hiccup had hours studying it, mentally picking it apart as he deciphered the design. It was genius, and he wondered what else it could be applied to.

Each night, he sprung himself from the pen, making his way back towards the Haddock house. His father would be waiting there with a meal prepared, sometimes joined by Astrid or Gobber. 

The arrangement went on for a week before Stoick voiced his displeasure once more.

“What if we showed the whole village the truth,” he suggested, “Gather them all before sunset, and then explain it like you did to me or Astrid. If they knew it was you, we could end this farce and you could come home.”

Hiccup’s stomach dropped, and he slowly pushed his meal away. “Berk hated me enough when I was human,” he reminded, thinking back on the way he’d been ridiculed in his youth. “I can’t even imagine how they’d feel if they knew I was a dragon. They’d probably want to, I don’t know, sacrifice me to the gods or something!”

“You know I’d never allow that.”

“You might not have a choice,” muttered Hiccup, still horrified by the suggestion. “The current plan is working just fine. Let’s just leave it alone.”

Stoick huffed, “The current plan was supposed to be temporary. It cannot be allowed to go on indefinitely. Whatever we try next will be less demeaning than having my heir locked in a gods-forsaken cage.”

Heir.

Hiccup felt a pang in his chest, reminded once more of what the curse had taken. He’d never been thrilled with the impending chiefdom, but it had still been his to dread. Something inherently unique to him, a defined place for him within the tribe. 

“I’m not your heir anymore, dad” he said softly, “I can never be. It's best for everyone if Berk believes Hiccup Haddock died in that raid.”

Silence fell on the Haddock house as the two reflected on the harsh truth. 

Stoick’s day ended in chaos. 

He’d been making his way home from the docks, having picked up a few things from the traders in port, when the attack came.

“RAID!” 

The frantic warnings began as the residents took note of dark shapes on the horizon. 

Stoick quickly set aside his things, reaching for his trusty war hammer. He assessed the incoming threat, counting at least ten distinct creatures approaching. 

The dragons screeched as they dove down on Berk, letting loose streams of fire that filled the air with smoke. Stoick watched in dismay as one of the trading ships he’d just visited went up in flames.

He leapt into action, doing his best to beat back the beasts as they attacked. He grunted in satisfaction as he caught a Nadder in the eye, the dragon taking off in fury. 

Fury.

Stoick’s heart plummeted. It was almost sundown – Hiccup would be walking out into the fight, defenseless.

He took off towards the path to the ring, swinging at any beast in range as he made his way across town. The air was getting hot with dragon fire and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face. 

When he got to the path, he took a careful look around to ensure he wasn’t followed. Satisfied that the tribe was focused on the invaders, he ran the rest of the way, stepping inside just as night fell.

“Hiccup!” He called, hurrying over to the metal door. With a grunt, he yanked it open, seeking out his son in the enclosure.

The young man sat in a corner against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. He had his eyes squeezed shut, hands locked tightly over his ears. 

“Hiccup?” 

The boy whimpered, pain evident in his expression. Stoick wasn’t convinced he’d been heard at all.

Concerned, the chief tucked his hands under Hiccup’s back and knees, hoisting the boy into his arms. He moved as quickly as he dared, slipping out of the cage and leaning his weight back against it to close the door. 

Stoick took the long way through the woods to ensure they were not spotted by dragons or vikings. Each second felt like several minutes as he felt his son’s chest heave against his arm.

Once safely inside their home, Stoick laid his son down carefully. He checked for injuries, wondering if something had happened during their training session that he’d missed – but there was no visible damage. Whatever was happening to Hiccup was a mystery.

He sat with Hiccup for a while, anxiously pondering what he could do for the boy. He brushed the boy’s auburn bangs out of his eyes, feeling his forehead for fever. The skin was cool to the touch, eliminating that theory. 

A loud blast from outside caught Stoick’s attention, and he hurried to the window to see what had happened. 

Gothi’s hut was on fire.

Swearing, Stoick gave his son one last worried look before hurrying out into the night. He had a duty to his people that he could not neglect, and he prayed Hiccup would understand when he woke.

Stoick’s muscles burned as he made his way back to his home. He sustained a few minor scrapes in the raid, mostly in his efforts to help salvage herbs and medicines from Gothi’s hut, and they stung with each movement.

No lives had been lost, much to his relief, but it had been a blow to general morale to lose the healer’s home. The elder was well respected by the tribe, and seeing her experience such a great loss had upset many.

Stoick had organized a team to get started on the repairs, ordering them to get to work as soon as they had rested. The sooner the hut was reconstructed, the better.

He rubbed at his tired eyes, feeling the itch of prolonged smoke exposure. Despite his discomfort, he knew he couldn’t rest. He needed to get back as quickly as possible to help Hiccup. 

It was a relief to finally push the front door open, leaving the village’s problems behind for the moment. 

“Hiccup?” He called out, setting his weapons to the side and toeing out of his boots. “Are you feeling any better? I’m sorry I had to leave, Gothi’s hut caught fire and I had to help–”

He broke off as he rounded the corner, taking in the sight of his son. The Night Fury warbled a greeting, green eyes full of understanding.

Was it already sunrise? Stoick’s eyes drifted to the window, where the sky above Berk was still shrouded in smoke. Day had come, but he hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re feeling better?” Stoick asked again, disappointed that they couldn’t share a real conversation.

Hiccup nodded emphatically, moving forward to nudge his nose into the man’s shoulder in reassurance. He stepped back, tipping his head to the side and fixing his father with a questioning look.

“I’m alright,” answered the chief, dismissing his minor scrapes. “Berk will be too.”

Hiccup smiled, revealing a gummy mouth. Stoick rubbed his eyes, confused by the sight. He could have sworn the dragon had teeth…

Noticing his stare, Hiccup rolled his eyes, sharp teeth snapping out and into view. 

Stoick jumped, alarmed by their sudden appearance. The action seemed to amuse the Night Fury, who made a low coughing sound that the chief assumed was a laugh.

“Do you know what happened to you earlier?” Stoick asked, mind replaying the scene of his son’s earlier pain. 

Hiccup looked away. 

“We’ll discuss it tonight,” said Stoick, leaving no room for argument. He nodded to the stairs, “get some rest. There’ll be no training today, so no one will notice you’re not in the ring.”

Chapter Text

Hiccup stared at the ceiling of his old bedroom, wondering how long he could avoid the inevitable conversation waiting for him below. The sun had been down for no more than five minutes, but each moment he lingered in his bedroom made him feel increasingly guilty.

He was about to open a can of worms, based purely on his own suspicions. 

Let’s get this over with, he decided, rolling to his feet. He descended the stairs, unsurprised to see his father waiting for him below. 

“Hungry?” Stoick asked, motioning to a bowl of stew on the table. 

Hiccup was ravenous –because of the raid, he hadn’t eaten anything in over a day. He thanked his father, eagerly gulping down the meal. As he scraped the bowl clean, he could tell that Stoick was barely reining in his questions. 

“Just ask,” he said, grabbing a piece of bread from the loaf between them. 

Stoick needed no further encouragement, “we need to discuss last night, son. You were…unresponsive when I found you. What was happening?”

Hiccup took a large bite of the bread, using his full mouth as an excuse to buy time before answering. “It’s not usually that bad,” he said, unsure how to explain the issue.

“Usually?”

Hiccup cringed. “There’s this…well, I wouldn’t really say voice , it’s more a call or a pull or something. It happens every raid and kinda digs into my skull? Usually it just gives me a headache, but gods it was so much louder last night…”

Stoick looked disturbed by his words, jaw twitching. “A call?”

“Yeah,” agreed Hiccup, looking down at the tabletop. He was certain his father would not like where the conversation was headed. “It’s like something’s yelling directly in my ear but it’s jumbled and I can’t quite make out the words…all I know is it’s hungry , and it’s so angry , dad. It feels like it’s breathing down my neck, and I just get this feeling like I need to do something to make it stop even if I can’t figure out what that is.”

Stoick furrowed his brow, “Why would only you be hearing this?”

“I think it’s pretty safe to assume it’s a dragon thing,” replied Hiccup, unable to keep the bite out of his tone. “Honestly, I think it might be the source of the raids. The rest of the dragons are probably hearing it – whatever it is – much clearer than me, and that’s gotta be what’s driving them."

“A voice only dragons can hear…” Stoick said, more to himself than to Hiccup. He looked deeply concerned by the possibility. “Some kind of sorcery?”

“I don’t think so,” dismissed Hiccup, taking a quick swig of water before sharing his suspicions. “I think it’s a queen.”

The theory of a dragon queen was nothing new. It had never been proven outright, but several villages across the archipelago had considered the prospect over the years. The dragons attacked with an almost single-minded determination, not unlike that of a hive mind. They always arrived together and left together, relying on strength in numbers. 

Stoick paled. “You’re hearing a dragon queen?”

“I think so,” he confirmed, “It’s the only theory that makes sense. It happens every raid and disappears when the dragons do. I don’t know how to describe it, but I feel this pull whenever I hear it…”

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before?”

“It’s not like I can prove it!” Hiccup defended. “It was bad enough, telling you about the curse. I didn’t want you to think I was losing my mind on top of everything!”

“Son…”

“Forget it – doesn’t matter now. You know.” 

Stoick’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t push the sore subject any further. “If there is a queen , and if it is the source of the attacks…this could be the missing piece of the puzzle that we’ve been looking for all these years. If we can track it down and kill it, that might finally free us from the raids once and for all.”

Hiccup pushed back from the table, “That’s a lot of ‘if’s’.”

“Aye, but it’s the best lead we’ve had in generations. I can’t ignore that. Let me go grab Gobber – we could use as much help as we can get.”

While Stoick caught Gobber up to speed on their working theory, Hiccup made himself comfortable by the fire. He stared into it, idly wondering how something could bring such warmth and comfort one day and then destruction the next.

It needed stoking, he observed, as it began to fade down to the embers. He pushed up his left sleeve, plunging his hand into the flames and readjusting the position of the logs. It was still strange to him, years later, how the sensation felt more like prickling against his scales than anything else.

He startled when he heard his father cry out, glancing over his shoulder to see what had happened.

Stoick stared at him with wide eyes, frozen midstep as if he’d been about to rush towards him. Hiccup raised an eyebrow, silently asking the man to explain himself. 

“Neat trick, lad,” said Gobber, nodding meaningfully towards his hand.

It was still in the fire, Hiccup realized. Flushing, he pulled it out of the flames. “Oh right. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” 

He hadn’t had tools at his disposal on the other side of the island, so using his hand for stocking fires had become an ingrained habit over time. So much so that he’d accidentally plunged his right hand in once…a mistake he was very careful never to repeat. If not for his quick healing, he suspected his good arm would be mottled by burn scars.

Stoick cleared his throat, voice sounding strained when he spoke. “It’s fine, son. Just…took us by surprise.”

Face still feeling hot, Hiccup tried to change the subject. “Did you fill him in?”

“Aye.”

“Any ideas?” He asked, attention shifting to his old mentor. The man had a knack for solving problems, always able to look at things from a unique perspective.

Gobber took a seat across from him, resting his elbows on his knees. “Jus’ one. Ya said you felt a pull when ya heard it?”

Hiccup nodded.

“An’ did tha’ pull…seem to come from somewhere specific?”

He considered the question, reflecting back on the previous night. It was hard to think of anything other than the overbearing calls of hunger and anger, but beneath it all…there had been something.

“I think so, actually,” he said with surprise. “Nothing concrete, but I think I could feel the general direction where it was coming from.”

Gobber grinned, “I reckin’ we nee’ a dragon to find the queen.”

It was an interesting proposition, using their enemy to find their enemy. It was so crazy that it just might work.

Stoick seemed to share the sentiment, clasping his hands together in excitement. “We could take one of the dragons from the ring – perhaps the Nadder? – aboard a ship. The dragon is bound to have a reaction to the call, if it’s as aggressive as Hiccup says. The more agitated the dragon gets, the closer we must be.”

Hiccup chewed his lip, a wild idea forming. “Why use the Nadder?” He asked, rushing to get the words out before he lost the nerve. “She won’t understand what we’re doing, and she’ll fight you every step of the way. It only makes sense to use me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” He pressed on, “It’s the simplest solution. You need a dragon, and I want to help.”

“I’m not taking you to fight some demon dragon.”

“It’s a queen, not a demon,” he corrected. “And I’m not one of her subjects. The other dragons don’t have a human mind to fight her. If they get too close, they’ll turn on you.”

“You didn’t see yourself last night, you couldn’t even move!” Stoick shoved one of the chairs in frustration, sending it skidding a few feet away. “I’m not sure ‘fighting her’ is what I’d call it.”

“I can do this,” said Hiccup firmly. “You always told me it was a viking’s greatest honor to fight for our island – this is my chance. Plus, if we end the raids, Berk won’t even have a reason to fight dragons anymore! Think about it…maybe then someday I’d be able to come back here, without all of the hiding.”

“I think ya should let ‘im,” agreed Gobber, looking serious. “It’s th’ boy’s right to defend th’ tribe – just as much as th’ rest o’ us.” He paused, scratching his chin. “Though I don’ know what we’re supposed to do when our ‘dragon’ turns into a boy each night.”

“I’ll let you two figure that one out,” said Hiccup, rising to his feet. “In the meantime, I should probably get back to the arena before dawn.”

If there was any training in the arena that day, Hiccup slept through it all. The Night Fury’s door remained undisturbed, allowing him time to catch up on some much-needed rest.

He awoke to the familiar burn of his bones rearranging, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He braced himself on his arms, climbing to his feet and beginning to collect the furs spread across the pen. It was quick work, and soon he’d stored them all behind the false wall Gobber had constructed. 

The room suddenly looked so much more bare, once more showing its true nature as a cage.

Hiccup triggered the trick latch, pushing the door open and stepping into the night. He was careful to relatch it behind him, lest any passing vikings worry the dragon had escaped once more.

His father was waiting for him.

“Hey, dad,” he said, trying to rein in his surprise. “Uh, what are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the house?”

Stoick shook his head, adjusting the weight of a pack that was slung over his shoulder. “We held a town meeting today to discuss the queen theory,” he said, “The tribe has agreed that we should test it. I tried to buy us some time, but they were very eager…it’s been decided that we’ll send the ships out in the morning.”

“Oh.”

It was much sooner than he’d expected, but he supposed it tracked. The vikings of Berk were never the sit and plan type, tending to gravitate more towards charging in blindly.

Stoick gave him a knowing smile, “boar-headed, the lot of them.”

Hiccup agreed, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “So what does this mean for our plan?”

Stoick lifted the bag off his shoulder, setting it down heavily on the ground. The contents clanked, echoing throughout the ring.

“Either Gobber or I will be here just after dawn to collect you,” said Stoick, crouching down to open the bag. “He’s started building this contraption to keep you…secure on the boat, but he assured me he’s building it in such a way that it looks stronger than it is. If you need to break free, you should be able to do so without too much trouble.”

“Makes sense. What’s in the bag?”

Stoick pulled out a large wooden shackle, framed by a series of bolts. A few lengths of chain ran from it, disappearing down into the bag. “This is the prototype,” explained Stoick, gesturing towards it. “He wanted me to have you take a look at it, see if there’s anything you want him to adjust for the final version.”

Hiccup stepped forward, gripping the strange creation. “What’s this piece for?”

“It’s…meant to go around the neck.”

Hiccup ignored his father’s disapproving tone, surveying the work with new eyes. Now that he knew the purpose, it was easier to assess potential flaws. The metalwork on it made sense to him, easy to secure to any stationary object but flexible enough to allow movement. 

Perhaps too much movement, if they were to be convincing.

“Tell him to build a platform, with hooks to secure the chains to,” advised Hiccup. “I’ll stand on it, and that will keep my range of movement limited. It’ll make it easier to sell our story, and keep everyone else calm.”

“Fine,” agreed Stoick, “Anything else?”

Hiccup twisted the wooden piece, eyeing it critically. “Maybe we could line it with leather? No one else will see the inside when it’s against my neck, but it must stop it from chafing against my scales.”

Stoick looked more amenable to this request, promising he’d pass the suggestion on to Gobber.

“I’ll be back at sunrise,” said the chief before they parted. “I’ve got to go to make sure the preparations are running smoothly with the ships. I hate to say it, but maybe tonight…”

“I get it,” said Hiccup, waving the man off. “I’ll stay here tonight. Can’t risk not making it back by dawn.”

When the door swung open that morning, Hiccup was buzzing with pent-up energy. He scrambled to his feet, claws scratching against the stone floor as he steadied himself.

Stoick approached with a long length of rope in hand, saying, “I still don’t like this plan. Too many things could go wrong.” 

Hiccup huffed, glad that in his current state he wouldn’t have to argue with his father. He tried not to struggle as the man bound his wings, though the spike of panic was hard to ignore. 

The chief held up the wooden ring so that Hiccup could see the padded, leather strip lining it. He nodded his approval, lowering his head so Stoick could more easily secure the piece. 

Once that was done, the man retrieved a wide leather belt. “To bind your jaws,” he explained apologetically. “The crew is worried about dragon fire on a wooden ship.”

Hiccup huffed, allowing Stoick to tighten it around his head. His jaw twitched, pulling slightly on the binding. This, he decided, would be the worst part of it all. 

The chains went on quickly, and soon they were on their way, the elder Haddock gripping chains and he led the Night Fury towards the docks. 

Villagers eyed the pair as they passed, excitement clear as they beheld the sight of the captive dragon. 

Once aboard the ship, Hiccup was led to a wooden platform, pleased to see that Gobber had understood exactly what he’d envisioned. He stumbled a bit under the weight of the chains, but managed to clamber aboard the platform. Moments later, he was tightly secured to its base. 

Stoick regarded him with sad eyes, before turning to yell across the deck. “Miss Hofferson!”

A moment later, Astrid entered his line of vision. She snuck a glance at him, looking concerned at his predicament, before giving the chief her attention. 

“I’m putting you in charge of the Night Fury while we sail,” he said, loud enough that his voice carried across the deck, reaching all those aboard. “You are to keep it calm, and to alert us to any…issues, is that understood?”

“Yes, chief!” She agreed, hiding a smile. “I won’t let you down.”

“See to it that you don’t,” he said, stern voice not matching his softer eyes. “Gobber will relieve you before sundown. I don’t want this dragon left alone at any time.”

Hiccup would have smiled, if he could. His father had assured that he’d have someone he could trust at all hours aboard the ship. 

“The rest of you lot,” continued Stoick, raising his voice even louder. “I won’t tolerate any man neglecting his post to gape at the Fury. We’ll be sailing dangerous waters, and your only concern will be traversing those seas. The dragon is not yours to worry about – I’d better not hear that any of you are wasting time gawking at it…is that clear?”

There was a chorus of agreement across the deck. 

Satisfied, the chief commanded they take their positions and make their way out of port.

The tribe had a general idea of where to start – ships had never returned from Helheim’s gate, making it a clear suspect. With that in mind, the tribe set sail for the infamous destination.

For the first day, Hiccup felt nothing. No hum, no call, no hint of the queen’s presence. It set his teeth on edge, worried that all this effort would be for nothing.

Astrid stayed close to his side, almost near enough to touch. She whispered to him throughout the day, filling him in on everything she overheard from the crew on the decks below. He appreciated the effort to keep him in the loop, wishing he could answer but being limited to only humming back.

As the sun grew low on the horizon, Stoick began dismissing the crew to their quarters for the night. Without the sun to navigate around the dangerous maze of sea stacks, they had decided to weigh anchor until morning.

Gobber was set to take night watch, and the crew – run ragged from their day at sea – accepted the arrangement without fuss.

Once he was certain that the deck had cleared, Gobber set to work removing Hiccup’s bindings. He stacked them carefully to the side so they’d be easy to reapply in the morning.

Hiccup raised his wings above his head, relishing in the freedom of movement. They’d gone partially numb somewhere around midday, and the feeling had been bothering him for hours.

When the shift finally came, Hiccup felt the adrenaline of the day beginning to wear off. He yawned wide, gazing blearily around the deck.

“You should sleep, lad.” said Gobber, handing him an apple. “I’ll wake ya before sunrise.”

The second day at sea, Hiccup felt it. 

It started as a low buzzing in his ears, but as it began to build, he recognized the sensation. Grunting to get Astrid’s attention, he flicked his ears insistently in the direction it was coming from.

Her eyes widened and she disappeared from sight, footfalls fading as she hurried to inform the chief. A few moments later, the two reentered his line of sight.

“Are you sure?” Asked Stoick, eyes carefully trained on Astrid as he spoke. 

Hiccup growled in confirmation, flicking his ears once more in the direction of the call.

Seeing his agreement, Astrid pointed in the direction he’d given, “Yes, sir. We should head that way.”

Stoick yelled directions to the crew, and the boat lurched slightly as it swiveled towards the new destination. 

“Well done,” said the chief, more quietly. 

Hiccup’s heart swelled with pride at the praise, happy to have proven himself useful to the tribe. He focused on the call, angling his head towards it as they sliced through the waves. Each time they veered off course, he made a noise to signal to Astrid, helping reorient their path.

Chapter Text

It was midday when they reached the island at last, the sun hovering high in the sky above. A chorus of excited cheers erupted on deck as the tribe began to weigh anchor.

Stoick fixed Astrid with a meaningful look. “Stay with the dragon,” he instructed firmly. His eyes flickered over to his son once, then back to the young woman.

“I want to help!” She argued, realizing with dread that she was about to be left behind.

“You are helping,” the chief returned before lowering his voice. “Keep him safe, please. You’re the only one I can trust with this task.”

Astrid swallowed down her anger. She wanted to fight, but she knew how meaningful it was that the chief was putting his trust in her now. 

“I will,” she promised, taking a step closer to the chained Night Fury.

Stoick looked around the deck, taking stock of his tribe. It was a flurry of activity as catapults were unloaded, weapons were distributed and passage to the island was coordinated. Each viking knew the value of his or her task, and that tunnel vision meant their attention was not on their captive.

Astrid, sensing that Stoick wanted a moment alone with his son, took a few steps away. She idly watched the warriors begin setting up on the beach, impressed by the speed at which they constructed the line of defense. 

“Son, if this goes sideways, I just want you to know…” 

Oh, gods.

Not wanting to intrude on a private moment, Astrid went to retrieve a whetstone from below deck. If she was going to be stuck on the ship for the foreseeable future, she was determined to at least have something to do. Plus, if the chief changed his mind and allowed her to fight, she wanted her axe to be sharpened properly.

When she returned to the Haddocks, she took in the scene with a heavy heart. Hiccup’s head hung as low as it could in the rig, clearly shaken about something that had been said. Stoick was no longer speaking, his eyes now focused on the foreboding island.

“Good luck, chief,” she said, dipping her head in respect. 

Stoick walked past her, patting her shoulder once as he did. His expression was troubled, but he carried himself with all the strength and ferocity expected of his position.

Soon it was just Astrid and Hiccup left aboard the ship.

She spent some time at the bow of the ship, watching her tribe finalize the organization of their forces on the shore. She knew enough about battle strategy to recognize what each group was being mobilized to do and mentally cataloged those tasks.

Archers: first line of defense. Auxiliary weapons: ready to step in if archers fail. Catapults: emergency firepower if the threat is greater than expected.

Her fingers itched to grab her axe and join them, but she had her orders and she would follow them. Even if it pained her to do so.

Turning a head back towards the captive dragon, she frowned. The contraption that Gobber had built to hold him was effective and had kept the crew at ease, but it couldn’t be comfortable. Spending all day, standing strapped in one spot sounded akin to torture. 

Astrid made her way back to him, contemplating his current situation. 

“You know,” she said, meeting his eyes with a conspiratorial grin. “We’re far enough from shore that I’ll bet they can’t see you too well.”

Hiccup grunted, squinting at her as if asking a question. There her confidence in reading his mannerisms in this form had grown, it was still a bit of a guessing game. 

Astrid reached out, unbuckling the leather strap around his jaws and letting it fall to the deck. “Does that help at all?”

Hiccup opened his mouth, rolling his jaw to stretch it out. He nodded, warbling what she assumed was thanks.

“You’re welcome,” she said, eyeing the rest of his bindings. “I think removing the collar would be too obvious, even from shore. It’s just too big for them to miss. If I untie your wings, can you keep them low enough to not draw attention?”

The Night Fury nodded, so she got to work undoing the ropes. They were knotted and tangled in places, so it took a few tries to fully remove the bindings. She suspected Gobber had been in a hurry to refasten them at sunrise, knowing it had to be done before any early risers made their way above deck. 

Once free of the ropes, Hiccup lowered his wings, stretching them to the deck rather than towards the sky. He shook them out, muscles twitching from disuse. 

Clever, she thought. The batlike wings would not show over the rails of the ship at that angle. 

Astrid leaned against the side of the ship, filling in the gap between Hiccup and the rail. They watched in silence as Stoick rallied the troops, sending a large projectile into the side of the mountain. The sound of the impact reverberated through the air, and a thick cloud of dust momentarily obscured the view.

When it cleared, dozens of dragons came spilling out of the hole, swarming overhead. Astrid had never seen so many of the creatures all in one place, and she found herself internally warring between fear and awe at the impressive sight.

Hiccup growled, tugging lightly at his restraints. 

“You okay?” She asked. 

He continued to pull at the chains, looking uneasy. 

Astrid put a hand on his neck, hoping the contact would offer some comfort. “Don’t worry, if any of them try attacking us, I’ll protect you.” 

Hiccup shook his head, snarling. 

Her eyes widened, looking at him more carefully as she felt a swell of concern. Was this aggression a sign that he was being impacted by the queen? She hadn’t prepared for that possibility.

“Hiccup?” She asked, cautiously removing her hand and leaning away from him slowly. 

The Night Fury rolled his eyes at her, dispelling her fears. The blatant sass in the gesture left little doubt in her mind that Hiccup was fully in control of his movements. Then with a sharp whine, he nodded forcefully back towards the hole that had been blasted in the rock. 

Astrid’s breath caught as a mammoth beast broke through the mountain, towering over the viking army like they were nothing more than pebbles beneath her feet.

“Thor above,” whispered Astrid, terror slicing through her as she beheld the monster. “ That’s the queen!?”

The massive dragon roared, a sound so loud it left Astrid’s ears ringing for several minutes after it stopped. Beside her, Hiccup was pulling frantically at his restraints, managing to snap one of the chains off the platform. 

Appearances be damned. Astrid would not leave a friend defenseless against this threat, swiftly getting to work on removing the remaining pieces of the rig. 

She’d just dropped the collar to the deck when a blast of boiling heat permeated the air. Looking up, her breath caught at the stream of fire the queen was sending at the shoreline. She scrambled to unhook the chains, grabbing the last one just as the inferno hit their ship. 

Astrid was thrown back, head slamming into the deck hard as the ship rocked on impact.

Momentarily dazed, she stared up at the ship’s towering mast, which was now splintering in the center. Flames licked at the edges of the sails, sending bits of ash raining down on her.

She struggled to her feet, swaying as she gripped her aching head. The world was a blur, the fiery deck going in and out of focus. She groaned, staggering back towards where she’d left Hiccup. She’d been given a task, and nothing would stop her.

A low moan filled the air, followed by a deafening crack. The mast came crashing down, just a few paces away, taking a sizable chunk of the ship’s rail with it. The force of the crash shook the ship violently and Astrid lost balance once more, this time sending her careening through the gap in the rail. 

She hit the cold water hard, feeling the sharp sting of it against her bare arms. Her lungs burned as she fought her way towards the surface, but her progress was hindered by a fragment of sail tangled around her leg. 

She kicked violently, trying to dislodge the fabric, to little success. It had grown heavy as it absorbed water. As the beam that it was tied to continued to sink, so did she.

She clawed at the cloth desperately, not willing to give up without a fight. She knew she was losing strength with every attempt, but still she forced herself to try . She’d always been taught that giving up in a fight meant a dishonorable death, and she’d be damned before she accepted such a fate.

Astrid began to lose focus, mind drifting as the fight drained out of her. Her eyes began to drift closed, feeling heavy. 

Gods, she was so tired…

Something sharp curled around her chest, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her. She found herself being dragged upwards at a startling pace, breaking the surface of the water in a matter of seconds.

It took several minutes of gasping for air and coughing up seawater for her to be able to take stock of her surroundings. She was kneeling on a slab of wood, likely a scrap of the hull from one of the damaged ships. 

Beside her, bright green dragon eyes regarded her with concern.

“You saved me,” she croaked out.

Hiccup whined, rubbing the side of his head against her shoulder. 

A wave of gratitude swept over her and she threw her hands around Hiccup’s neck like a lifeline. “Thank you.”

He stared back at her as if there was something he wanted to say, but they both knew for the moment, such a thing was not possible. Whatever words he had for her would have to wait.

Desperate shouts from the shoreline grabbed her attention. She released her grip on the Night Fury, twisting to face the ongoing battle with dread. 

The queen was prowling the beach, sending streams of fire at different viking battalions. Most of the catapults had been lost, reduced to nothing but ash and splintered wood. A trail of bodies dotted the shore, silent and unmoving.

Berk was losing the fight.

She met Hiccup’s eyes once more, seeing her own despair reflected in his gaze. “What do we do?” She asked, feeling helpless.

He tipped his head to the side, thinking for a moment. Then he nudged the axe strapped to her back.

“We go down fighting?” She translated.

Hiccup nodded, growling low. 

Astrid nodded with approval. She looked around, noting that they were quite a ways from the shoreline. Swimming was the obvious option, but with all the burning ships it was likely there were dangerous bits of debris scattered beneath the waves. They’d be no help to Berk if they were injured before they even hit the shore. 

Hiccup nudged her with his head before twisting his neck and looking meaningfully at his shoulders. He extended his wings, pumping them once.

She gaped. “You want to fly?” 

He nodded.

“With me, on your back?”

Another nod.

“Are you crazy!?”

A snort, and then he nudged her again. This time, he seemed a lot more impatient. 

Astrid gripped his shoulder to steady herself, slowly rising to her feet. The wood beneath them bobbed in the waves, and she found herself needing to lean all her weight against him to remain upright. With grim determination, she swung a leg across his back.

A viking on dragonback, she mused. Who would ever have thought the day would come? 

Hiccup let out a shriek, pumping his wings twice in warning before taking to the air. Astrid screeched, throwing her arms around his neck as they took to the sky.

Chapter Text

Hiccup flew as high as he dared, trying to stay out of the monstrous queen’s line of sight. He could feel Astrid’s arms clutching his neck tightly, posture rigid as they tore through the sky. He’d never carried a passenger before, and the weight on his back left his flight feeling unbalanced. 

He scanned the island below, looking desperately for his father’s figure. While relieved that the chief was not amongst the obvious casualties on the beach, that knowledge did little to quell his fears that something bad may have happened. 

Where is he?

“...I can double it!”

Gobber!

Hiccup tracked the yell to where his old mentor was running below. The blacksmith was making an obscene amount of noise, waving his hand and hook wildly in the air above him.

Is he…trying to attract the queen?

Another familiar shout rang out, bringing with it a sense of relief. Stoick the Vast was charging along the beach, his weapon held high overhead. Hiccup squinted his eyes, wondering where his father was headed to with such determination. He almost seemed to be running towards the queen, rather than away.

Oh no.

Hiccup shrieked, diving down and angling himself towards the massive dragon. He needed to get to the queen before she got to the chief.

“What are you doing!?” Yelled Astrid in panic, squeezing his neck harder as they picked up speed. He could feel her leggings slipping against his scales as she fought to hang on, breaths becoming more frantic as her fear of falling became more evident. 

In truth, he wasn’t completely sure. However, one thing was certain: he wouldn’t risk Astrid’s life. 

Gritting his teeth, he banked hard towards the ground, pulling to a stop a short distance from his father. His wings burned at the effort, but he shook off the pain. There was no time to waste on strained muscles. 

He rolled his shoulders in a quick motion, trying to signal to Astrid that he wanted her off. She complied easily, hitting the ground with a thud and a loud sigh of relief. She retrieved her axe, rolling her wrist a few times to adjust to the weight of the weapon.

“What are you two doing here?” Stoick asked when he reached them, “You’re supposed to be on the ship!”

“The ship is gone,” replied Astrid, voice flat. “Besides, you need every warrior you can get or this is going to be a massacre. You need us.”

Hiccup growled his agreement, clawing at the ground beneath him.

The queen’s booming roar rang out once more, stifling all other sounds. As it cut off, Hiccup could hear a ringing in his ears. It was eerie, like an echo or an aftershock. 

Hiccup was so preoccupied with the sound that he didn’t notice that the queen had moved until her massive shadow fell over the trio. 

“Run!” Urged Stoick, grabbing Astrid’s arm and dragging her out of range.

Hiccup flew under the beast’s legs and out of her line of fire. Swerving up and shooting high into the sky, he took a minute to circle the monster from above.

He’d been hoping to spot a weakness, or an existing wound that he could take advantage of – surely one of the warriors had gotten a lucky shot? It was a fruitless search, as the goliath gave no sign indicating either existed. 

The only thing that gave him any shred of hope was the sight of the creature’s wings. They looked somewhat tattered and torn, and he wondered if the queen was even able to fly with them. 

Could he lead the monster away long enough for the vikings to escape? Or, considering the state of the ships, long enough to hide away until the beast retreated to her nest? If he could buy his tribe time, perhaps he could save them.

It was a long shot, but it was all he had. 

Charging up a plasma blast, he divebombed the queen, letting loose his fire on the wings once he was at a close range. The queen snarled in rage, but the wings did not even flutter.

Undeterred, Hiccup repeated the motion twice more. Finally, the queen began to unfurl her wings.

Hiccup ascended, taking note of the large wingspan. Though scratched, and with a few holes here and there in the membrane, the wingspan of the beast looked more than capable of flight.

Now or never.

He took a shot at one of the queen’s eyes, drawing her attention directly to him. With fury, the giant dragon rose up into the sky after him.

Hiccup knew that his only hope was to rely on the speed and agility that set Night Furies apart from the rest of dragonkind. He could not hope to match the raw firepower of the queen, nor did he have the size advantage required to do any significant damage with his teeth or claws.

He shrieked at the dragon, making sure that her focus remained on him, before shooting up deep into the cloud cover. 

It was dark, as smoke and ash from the queen’s earlier attacks had clouded the sky around the island. Hiccup used that to his advantage, letting his dark scales blend against the natural camouflage provided.

He took a few more shots at her wings, wondering briefly if a fall from this height would at last cripple the dragon. Could she swim? He considered leading the queen further over the ocean, where the depths could overwhelm something of her size.

His thoughts were interrupted as a wild blaze of fire broke forth. He swerved to avoid the path of the blast, the action sending him back towards shore. 

The opportunity to seek deeper water had passed.

His mind reeled as he circled the large shape, fumbling for a new plan. Like all dragons, the queen’s scales were fireproof. He could do damage to her eyes or wing membrane, but those were the only parts of a dragon’s hide that burned. Anywhere with scales was a waste of a shot.

That’s it!

A crazy idea began to take root in his mind. 

He veered upwards, shooting up as high into the sky as he dared. He could see the queen spinning below, trying to find his dark form in the clouds. 

If this was to work, he’d need to time it just right. 

Hiccup bellowed, straining his vocal cords as he projected the sound as loudly as he could. The queen’s head snapped up, and she began to race towards him in rage. 

He dove, shooting a quick blast at her wings.

C’mon!

The queen’s jaws opened, a spark of fire beginning to form.

Now!

Hiccup threw all his strength into a plasma blast, sending it straight down the dragon’s throat. There was a muffled boom as the shot hit its mark and then the queen ignited.

Hiccup’s eyes widened in horror as he realized what was happening. He’d been hoping to burn the dragon from inside, but he’d caught her as the gas from her own fire was building. The result had caused the beast to begin to explode from the intense pressure within.

He pumped his wings desperately, trying to put as much space between himself and the dying queen as possible. Already her skin was beginning to tear from the inside out, no longer able to contain the inferno to her body.

He twisted in the air, angling himself towards the safety of the beach. If he could just get out of range of the blast, he’d have a chance.

To his horror, the queen tipped to the side, sending her body falling down in his direction. He tried to speed up, muscles crying out as he did. A familiar whistle filled the air as he reached speeds only achievable by a Night Fury.

I’m gonna make it! He thought.

Then, something slammed into him. He hit the sand hard, weight landing squarely on his left leg before he was sent skidding across the beach. The inferno licked at his heels as he slid and to his horror, a familiar sensation of bones rearranging followed. 

The last thing he was aware of before losing consciousness was a debilitating pain in his left leg.

Stoick was running as fast as his feet could carry him, weaving roughly through the crowd of battered vikings. He’d apologize later – for now, he needed to get to his son.

There had been very few times in the chief’s life that he’d felt truly powerless, but none could compare to seeing Hiccup face down that monstrosity and having no way to help. Aside from a few flashes of fire in the clouds, he’d been unable to follow the fight as it progressed.

Each flash of purple brought him hope, reminding him that Hiccup was still alive. Each column of orange sent shivers down his spine, reaffirming that the monster was as well.

When he saw the queen fall, he’d assumed it was a move of retreat. It wasn’t until the beast began to burst that he realized his son had actually managed to kill the creature.

His son had done the impossible. It had taken a dragon to defeat the queen, and without Hiccup’s condition, such a feat may never have been achieved. Today, his boy’s curse had been a true gift to his people.

It was a startling thought, but Stoick could not deny the truth of it. Stoick was overwhelmed with pride for his son at that moment, eyes growing misty.

Then Hiccup had come barreling out of the sky, frantically picking up speed. Stoick had never considered Night Furies to be small until he saw the hulking form of the queen falling towards the black dragon.

His breath had caught in his throat, a deep sense of trepidation taking root. The chances of his son making it clear of the demon’s path as it fell were slim at best. 

The whistle of the Night Fury whipped the tribe into a new frenzy, cutting off the cheers of celebration. All eyes watched as the dragon struck the ground, momentum continuing to carry it across the beach. 

Stoick was still a distance away when he saw the shift, leaving a pale boy curled up on the shore. The queen’s fire was still raging, and had begun to consume one of Hiccup’s boots.

No.

Stoick swore, closing the gap between him and his injured son.

“Hiccup!” He yelled as he approached, grasping the boy by the shoulders and dragging him out of the blaze. Once confident they were a safe distance away, he began frantically throwing sand on the boy’s burning leg. Once the fire was properly suffocated, Stoick got his first look at the damage.

The heat of the queen’s fire, combined with the force at which Hiccup had hit the beach left behind a grim result. The shin bone was shattered – fragments sticking out through the sparse remains of his charred skin. The foot itself was gone, leaving behind a mangled mess of flesh. Blood pooled into the sand below, staining it red.

“Oh, Hiccup…”

Gobber was beside him a minute later, crying out loudly when he spotted the injury. His face twisted in despair as he took in the sight. 

Stoick met his eyes, a sad understanding passing between the two vikings. There was no way to salvage such a wound – for his own good, Hiccup’s leg would have to go.

Gobber rolled his shoulders, dropping to his knees beside the boy. He braced an elbow on Hiccup’s chest, using his good hand to steady the knee of the wounded leg.

“Ready a torch!” Stoick yelled with authority, not turning his attention to the building crowd.  

Stoick sent a silent plea that his son would forgive him before swinging the axe down with all his might, severing the charred flesh in one fell swoop.

Chapter Text

Hiccup was only semi-aware of his surroundings when he awoke. 

Every muscle in his body felt like it had been stretched to the absolute limit, sending small shockwaves reverberating through his system with each movement. His left leg in particular felt like it was being stabbed off and on with a variety of rusty daggers.

His eyelids felt as though they each weighed several tons and it took immense effort to force them open. He blinked blearily, trying to take stock of his surroundings. The exertion quickly proved to be too much and his eyes slipped closed.

He was somewhere warm. From the brief glimpse he’d gotten, he was also inside a wooden structure. Someone’s home, if he were to guess.

It was a jarring thought, when he considered the weight of the wings on his back. It was daylight, and he was inside someone’s home.

He needed to get up. 

He needed to hide.

He was so tired.

The next time he woke, he was far more cognizant.

He could feel the soft texture of furs beneath the skin of his right hand, relishing in the comfort that it brought. 

Opening his eyes proved to be easier this time, and in doing so he found that he recognized the space. All the furniture had been pushed up against the walls, but it was unmistakably the main room of his father’s home.  

He propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his muscles protested the action. The floor had been covered in a thick mound of pillows, blankets and furs and he lay right in the center.

Hiccup clenched his jaw with the effort it took to push himself fully upright. He sat there for a moment, letting the pain subside. Feeling unsteady, he extended his arms out behind him, using them to brace against the floor.

The moon shone brightly through the window, casting its cool light on him. It was the only thing that illuminated the room, as the fire in the hearth had been reduced to dying embers.

Stoick the Vast sat slumped in a chair beside the fire, head tilted back behind him against the wall. Even in sleep, his face was pinched tightly in concern, as if something were haunting him in his dreams. He twitched fitfully, breathing unsteady.

“Dad?” Hiccup called out, hoping to release the man from his nightmare.

His father shifted, hands moving up to massage his eyes. He yawned widely, adjusting to sit more upright in the chair. When the chief opened his eyes, his attention went straight to his son, eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re awake!” 

Stoick was on his feet in moments, hurrying to his son’s side. 

“I think so,” agreed Hiccup, somewhat wishing he wasn’t if that meant the pain wasn’t real. “What happened?”

The chief knelt next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You did it, son. You killed the queen.”

Hiccup sucked in a breath, memories flooding back to him. 

Fire.

Falling.

Pain.

“...is everyone okay?”

Stoick’s eyes grew sad and he shifted his position so that he was sitting beside his son. “We lost many men to the beast,” he said with deep regret, “but most survived.”

Hiccup considered the news, a new fear rising. “Astrid?”

“She’s fine. Mild concussion, but Gothi said it should pass soon.”

“Gobber?”

Stoick snorted, “nothing could bring him down.”

Hiccup felt some of the pressure in his chest release, knowing his loved ones were safe. A part of him knew he’d have to see them in person to really believe it after witnessing the brutality of the queen, but he still clung to the words like a lifeline.

“There is one other thing you need to know,” said Stoick, looking grave and a little bit…guilty?

Hiccup waited, trying to prepare himself for whatever bombshell the chief was about to drop.

“When you fell,” his father said, “you were caught in the blast.”

He’d suspected as much…but why did the man look so upset? He’d clearly survived the ordeal.

Stoick slowly reached out towards the fur that covered Hiccup’s legs. He met his son’s eyes one last time, looking apologetic, before peeling it back.

Oh.

Hiccup stared. 

It’s gone.

And stared.

“From what we can tell, when you crashed, all of your weight landed on that leg,” continued Stoick in a soft voice, “the bone shattered and it ripped through your skin. Then when the blast caught it, it burned your leg from the inside out.”

Burned from the inside out. The very same technique he’d used to end the queen.

“Part of it was cauterized instantly, but not all of it. We were afraid you’d bleed out on the beach. If your…healing was working, it wasn’t doing so fast enough to save you.”

Hiccup sucked in a breath, seeing spots in his vision. His airways felt tight, his head light.

“Breathe, son,” instructed Stoick, patting his son carefully on the back. After a few ragged breaths, he continued, “It kicked in after we properly cauterized the stump.”

Hiccup ran a hand over the place where his leg now ended, perfectly smoothed over as if it had always stopped right beneath the knee.

The shock of it all was overwhelming, as he realized the true extent of the price he’d paid for Berk’s safety. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and he let himself collapse into his father’s arms.

They sat in silence, save for Hiccup’s cries. 

After some time, he was able to choke off the sobs, pulling out of Stoick’s embrace. He swiped at his eyes roughly, trying to clear the evidence of his pain.

Stoick went to retrieve something metal that was propped against the wall. He held it out to Hiccup, looking hesitant.

“Gobber built this for you,” he explained, “for when you’re ready to get back on your feet. If the measurements are off, tell me and he’ll adjust."

Hiccup took the prosthetic, turning it over in his hands. It was more complex than anything he’d seen from a replacement limb, showing that the blacksmith had taken great care in crafting it for him.

Steeling his nerves, he lined it up with his stump. His father’s gentle hands helped him steady the prosthetic, talking him through the process of strapping it into place. It took a few tries, but eventually he got it to a place where it felt secure.

“The wound also carries over to your dragon form,” informed Stoick, “but Gobber isn’t sure how to build a suitable replacement for a Night Fury. He wishes to discuss it with you later – something about supporting the weight of dragon and your knee joint.”

Hiccup, having just struggled with the prosthetic for his human self, couldn’t imagine how he’d achieve a similar feat without thumbs.  

He voiced that concern and then assured, “I’ve still got three legs, don’t I? Between that and the wings, I’ll figure out how to get by without one.”

The words sounded wooden to his ears, but he wanted them to be true. Surely with a bit of practice, he could make them true. He’d already had to relearn walking once, when he’d first been cursed. He could do it again.

Stoick smiled, “spoken like a true warrior.” He cleared his throat, deep emotion coloring his tone when he added, “I’m so proud to call you my son.”

Hiccup felt his own chest tighten with emotion at those words. “Thanks, dad.”

Somehow, in the midst of curses and dragon queens, something had shifted between him and his father. Hearing those words now, a sentiment he’d once longed to hear, meant so much – but it meant even more now that hadn’t been actively striving for them. 

He had simply been himself – curse and all. 

“How’d we get back to Berk, anyways?” He wondered, still trying to patch together everything he’d missed.

Stoick stood, walking over to revive the fire. As he added more timber, he explained. “There was one ship that survived the attack. We used it to transport the most critically injured, such as yourself, back as soon as we could. Once we returned to Berk, Spitelout led our remaining boats back to the island to collect everyone else.”

Hiccup did the math in his head, knowing it took multiple days to reach the island. “How long was I out?”

Stoick took a torch to the logs and the fireplace crackled back to life, “Nearly a week – many were worried you wouldn’t wake, but I knew you’d fight your way back to us.” He turned around, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve always had that stubborn streak.”

“Yeah, wonder where I got that from…” Hiccup muttered, before he registered what his father had implied. “People are worried about me? People know about me?”

“You single-handedly took down the biggest dragon anyone on Berk has ever seen, then proceeded to crash land on the beach in front of the entire tribe. Yes, they know about you.”

Hiccup stared at his mismatched hands, “Exactly how much do they know?”

“Everything.”

“Everything, everything?”

“Aye.”

Oh Thor.

Hiccup contemplated the revelation, feeling like the very earth beneath him had shifted. His secret…was no longer a secret. All the hiding, all the lying…it was done?

“So,” he asked carefully, trying not to make assumptions. “Considering I’m not dead or in a cage, what’s the verdict? Exile?”

“Hiccup, you saved all of Berk.”

He snorted, shifting uncomfortably under his father’s gaze. His metal leg clicked with the movement, drawing his attention to the replacement limb once more. “Does that mean I get to stay until I learn to walk or something? I mean, not that I’m complaining–”

“You get to stay for good.”

Wait, what?

Hiccup was slowly getting the hang of walking with the prosthetic. It had made him a bit clumsier, but he hoped that with time and practice that could be fixed. For now, he was just grateful to be mobile. He didn’t think he could handle much more of his father’s coddling.

Living in Berk with the curse completely out in the open had been almost stranger than losing his limb. People who had barely glanced his way growing up now regarded him with something akin to respect, like he was some kind of war hero.

Despite the welcoming nature of the village, he was still hesitant to move about during the day. It was one thing for Berk to know he spent his days as a dragon, it was another thing entirely for them to see it. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that confrontation, even if it was inevitable. Still, there was comfort in knowing that no one would raise a weapon if they found a Night Fury in town. 

Gobber had offered him his old position back in the forge, taking great delight in having a partially fireproof apprentice to work nights. For Hiccup, getting to return to his craft had been like reuniting with an old friend. 

“You’re getting pretty quick,” a familiar voice called, interrupting his concentration.

Hiccup staggered a few steps, managing to barely catch his balance and prevent a fall. Grinning in triumph, he turned to greet the viking girl, “Hey Astrid. Yeah, really setting some speed records over here.”

She snorted, closing the gap between them. “Alright, c’mon,” she said, pulling one of his arms around her shoulder to help support his weight. 

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to,” she insisted, “we make a good team, don't we?”

He felt warmed by her words, allowing himself to relax against her. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“You know,” she said after a moment, “I heard the strangest rumor today.”

Hiccup kept his eyes on the path ahead, ensuring he wouldn’t stumble. “Oh?”

“Apparently, all the arena dragons escaped last night.”

“Huh. Imagine that.” 

Astrid snorted. “Since the raids appear to be over, no one seems overly concerned about it right now. It is strange though…all the doors were undamaged, as if someone just let them out.”

“Is that so?”

She rolled her eyes, weaving to keep them on the smoother part of the path. “I would have helped you, you know. If you asked.”

“I know,” he admitted, sidestepping a crack in the trail, “but this was something I needed to do for myself. I’ve been in their place – I wanted to be the one to release them.”

He’d never forget his time spent in the arena, and he’d only spent a matter of weeks inside. Once he was mobile enough to get around on his own, emptying the remaining cells had been top of mind. Some of those dragons had been in there since before he’d been cursed. Now that the queen was gone, there was no reason to prolong their captivity.

“What do you think they’ll do now, without a queen?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Hiccup, “I’d guess we have a lot to learn about dragons before we can begin to understand them.”

“So where do we start?”

“I might have a few ideas…” 

The duo made quick work of heading to town, filling the quiet night with a mixture of soft clicks and the occasional burst of laughter. When they had nearly reached the hall, Astrid stopped. She carefully shifted her position, allowing him to stand on his own. 

When Hiccup moved to put distance between them, she reached out and grasped his left hand tightly in her grip. A silent promise to stay by his side.

Feeling a rush of gratitude, he squeezed her hand back. “I wanted to thank you,” he said, locking his gaze on her blue eyes. “I always thought that if anyone found out about me, I was finished…but instead, you took my side. That night, back in the ring – you didn’t have to help me, but you did.”

Astrid hummed, eyes roaming his face.

“Why’d you do it, anyways?” He asked, curiosity too strong to ignore. “You could have told everyone what I am, but instead you tried to help me escape. Why?”

She took a step closer, breath warm on his face as she responded. “What happened to you could have happened to any of us,” she said, “I guess I looked at you, and I saw what could have easily been myself if circumstances were different. I just knew…if the roles were reversed, you would have helped me without hesitation.”

Hiccup blinked, taken aback by the honest answer. “I would have,” he admitted with conviction, closing the distance further.

Astrid’s mouth twitched up into a small smile. “I know.”

This close, he realized her eyes were flecked with lighter bits of blue. He’d never noticed that detail and now found himself studying her face more closely to see what else he’d missed. His gaze wandered down her face, stopping momentarily on her lips. 

A small shift of movement would bring them together, and his face went hot at the realization. Should he close the distance, or would that ruin things with Astrid?

The choice was made for him as Astrid leaned forward and kissed him softly. Her own face was pink when she pulled back, he noticed with surprise. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her flushed like that before, which raised a whole new series of questions.

“What was that for?” He asked, in disbelief.

“For being you,” she said simply, not elaborating any further. Then she tugged him towards the door, eyes going bright with anticipation. “Ready?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, still feeling breathless. “Seems a bit overkill to throw a whole celebration in my honor, don’t you think? I bet you nobody even shows up.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, reaching out to grasp the door handle. “Shut up.”

“I–”

He forgot what he’d been about to say, taking in the sight of the hall. Despite his fear that the space would be empty, every single table was filled with exuberant vikings. The chatter quieted down for a moment when they caught sight of him, before a shout sent a ripple of cheers through the audience.

He took his first shaky steps inside, face flushing under the attention.

Astrid squeezed his hand, “Welcome home, Hiccup.”