Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

-0-

Barbaric Archipelago, 867

“So, what do we do now?”

It’d been a week since Hiccup woke up from his fight with the Red Death on a small island with Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut and Tuffnut. A week filled with pain, relearning how to walk, and using stolen supplies from nearby villages to build a small forge and leather station. He would need it to make improvements on his leg, Toothless’ tail fin and to make saddles for the others. After all, riding bareback on a scaly dragon with just a rope was not comfortable nor safe.

“We can’t go back,” Hiccup said simply. He wanted to finish the saddle, but Snotlout seemed adamant to have this conversation now, while all the teens were gathered in one place.

“Why not? We have dragons now, and the Queen dragon is dead!” Snotlout retorted.

“You think they’ll listen to us? To me? My own father wouldn’t listen!” Hiccup shot back, looking at Snotlout. “He called me a traitor to Vikings and disinherited me! If you all want to go back, be my guest…I’m not. I can’t.” He willed his eyes back to the saddle and tried to concentrate on his work.

“Hiccup, we can’t just…go back without you. You’re the chief’s son.” Fishlegs said, a little timidly.

“Yeah, and—I can’t believe I’m going to say this— but you’re the only person who knows how to train the dragons!” Hiccup wasn’t sure if Snotlout was angrier at his refusal to go back to Berk or at his admission Hiccup was good at something.

“Yeah, if you’re not coming back, how are the rest of us going to help Berk train dragons? Barf and Belch only know how to, well, blow stuff up.” Tuffnut spoke up as the twins entered the makeshift forge.

His sister followed up on that, “And as much fun as blowing stuff up is, it’s not for everyone. It’s an art, you know?”

Hiccup rubbed his face the moment he pulled the needle through the saddle, trying to get some of the frustrations out of his head.

As odd as the teenagers, apart from Astrid, idolizing him during Dragon Training, this felt even more weird. Why were they looking at him as if he was their leader? Why were so accepting of him all of a sudden? Why did they want him to go back to Berk, did they not hear him say own father disowned him?

He groaned and ran his fingers through his hair as the twins kept talking about the supposed art of explosions until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Astrid looking at him with sympathy. “You ok?” She inquired softly.

She was the reason they were all here. While Stoick readied the fleet, Astrid rallied the teens to break him and Toothless out of the Kill Ring, along with the other dragons, and after Hiccup gave them a crash course on dragon riding, he’d led them towards Dragon Island. It was her idea to break out the dragons, but it was his idea to fight the Queen. And while it cost him a leg, they won.

Hiccup wasn’t sure what he and Astrid were. She’d kissed him after the first flight on Toothless, and according to Fishlegs she never left his side while he was in a coma from the battle with the Red Death. The first thing he saw when he woke up after Toothless was Astrid sleeping in the chair next to his bed. She kissed him again after he woke her up, and now he wasn’t sure what they were. Neither of them seemed to want to be the one to start that conversation.

“I just…” He couldn’t go back. Not with Toothless. He couldn’t go back to face his father, even if he just killed the largest dragon they’d ever seen.

He didn’t want to be a Viking anymore. He wanted to be something different. Something more.

“It’s ok. No one’s forcing you to go back Hiccup,” she said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him, “We’re not forcing you to go back. Besides,” she turned to the others, “Hiccup’s right. We don’t have guarantees that Berk will accept the dragons. I’ve only known Stormfly for a little over a week, but I’m not willing to risk her neck to go back. Do you all want to risk your dragons? Snotlout, you want your father to butcher Hookfang? Or Fishlegs, how would you feel if they mounted Meatlug’s head on a spear? Ruff and Tuff, do you want Bark and Belch skinned and their hide sold at the markets?”

The others paled, looking at their dragons lounging on the ground near the smithy. It seemed none of them wanted that.

Astrid turned and nodded to Hiccup, and suddenly he felt more confident. With a deep breath, and Astrid’s presence a comfort to him, he turned back towards the other teens, “Listen, I know it’s tough to accept, but it’s dangerous to go back. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were labelled outlaws for breaking Toothless and the other dragons out of the Arena.”

He set the unfinished saddle to the side and let Astrid help him limp over closer towards the others, “I know you all miss your families, and I won’t stop you if you want to go back, but I’m not going back to Berk. Toothless…He saved my life, and I won’t repay him by leading him back to an island full of dragon fighting Vikings.”

The teens were silent for a while, and slowly Hiccup noticed they began to accept the fact that, if they were riding dragons, they would never be able to go home to Berk. Even Snotlout, the most adamant in return, seemed to accept this as he crossed his arms and huffed.

“We should stick together, at least.” Fishlegs offered, and everyone else seemed to agree with Fishlegs. “We all made the choice to…well, to ride dragons, we’ll stand a far better chance at survival if we stay together.”

“Agreed.” They all said.

“So, what now?” Astrid asked, looking at Hiccup. He felt the eyes of the other teens on him, once again making him feel like he was their leader.

A few months ago, he would’ve been ecstatic at just being friends with them, but getting kissed by Astrid Hofferson twice and seen as the leader of the people who’d teased him for not being Viking enough?

Hiccup’s head spun from the whiplash of it all.

“First,” he started, “you all will need actual saddles, and I’ll need to build Toothless another tail fin. That’ll take some time, and we may need to keep stealing some small supplies here and there. We can assume Berk will have sent out messengers about our betrayal and started searching for us, but that’ll take a while for word to get around the Archipelago. By that time, we should be long gone.”

“Wait, long gone?” Fishlegs asked nervously.

“Yeah, long gone where?” Ruffnut followed up.

Hiccup grinned. He had this plan originally when he and Toothless were about to run away, right before Astrid found them. “We need to disappear. Off the map. Outside the Archipelago, where no Viking could find us. We’ll be on our own, but we’ll have the dragons, and we can go anywhere we want.”

Slowly, he saw smiles begin to form on the faces of the other teens. Hiccup began imagining all the places they’d go; all the places he’d from the stories of Trader Johann. Uppsala, Konugard, or even Miklagard, that massive city at the edge of the world. They could fly over the vast plains of the steppes in the East or fly far to the West, where it was said the world ended. They could fly to the icy, frozen Far North or the sweeping, blazing dunes of the Far South. They could experience the entire world, all the different dragons and other creatures in Midgard.

On the backs of dragons, the whole world is at our fingertips.

Astrid was the first to recover from the daydreaming, removing her hand from his shoulder and giving him a small punch on the arm. “What’s our next move?”

-0-

Holmgård, 5 years later

Astrid hated her boyfriend.

Well, hate was too a strong word, she loved Hiccup, but she disliked how he could be a pushover if pressured enough. Even if it did occasionally mean Astrid got her way. But she hated when he was a pushover for other people and when they got their way. Like when Snotlout complained about having to babysit the twins yet again on a mission, and Hiccup caved and asked Astrid to take his place.

Maybe Snotlout had a point last year when he said Hiccup didn’t really have a backbone?

She mentally made a reminder to help Hiccup stand up more for himself as she eyed Ruffnut at the bar of the tavern, flirting with an unusually receptive barkeep.

Whether it was part of her cover or if she genuinely thought the barkeep was attractive? Who’s to say.

“You know, with you here instead of Snotlout, our odds of pulling off this half of the mission increased dramatically! By thirty percent!”

“What does that bring our mission success chance to now, Fishlegs?” She pulled the furs tighter around herself as the door opened and more patrons made their way inside, letting in the frigid air from outside.

“Seventy percent,” he withered a little under Astrid’s glare, “It’s…mostly the Twins. Their history of unpredictable behavior makes it harder to factor.”

“I’ll say. Remember Dyflin?”

“I wish I didn’t.” They both shivered at that memory, before Astrid glanced at the door. Where was Tuffnut?

At that moment Tuffnut chose to make his entrance, sporting a false beard and hauling a large crate behind him while calling the barkeep in the Slavic language he somehow knew.

Astrid suppressed a groan, but at least the eyes of the other Dragon Hunters were drawn off their comrade and towards the odd-looking man with a large crate. Maybe Tuff’s distraction could work?

The messenger, however, kept his hand on the bag.

Astrid sighed, “Alright, be ready to –”

Tuffnut, however, was just getting started. “Behold, your grand prize!” Loud squeals erupted as Tuffnut opened the crate and let loose what appeared to be three large, greased boars in the bar, yelling something about an indoor boar pit.

Cries rose up as the patrons and Dragon Hunters tried to avoid getting hit and a few attempted to restrain the boars, but to no avail. The boars crashed and knocked over tables, people, smashed chairs and wrought havoc throughout the room.

“Looks like our odds went up dramatically,” Fishlegs noted as Tuffnut ran out of the tavern, whooping and hollering.

“He does know how to draw a crowd.” In the commotion, Astrid lost track of Ruffnut and the messenger, but she was confident Ruffnut could pull off a simple swap. They’d all improved a lot since their first days leaving Berk after defeating the Red Death.

She and Fishlegs left the tavern as the commotion died down, with the twins nowhere in sight. The two of them walked towards their designated meeting spot, taking several detours and walking in circles to make sure they weren’t followed. Once she was confident they had no tails, she and Fishlegs entered the small, abandoned hut on the outskirts of the trading town.

As planned, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were sitting there, wearing grins so wide you could sail a ship through them.

“My genius strikes again! Ha! Take that, Snotlout!” Tuffnut pumped his fist into the air while Ruffnut presented the messenger’s satchel to Astrid.

“The prize, Ms. Hofferson.” Ruffnut completed a small bow as she handed it to Astrid, who was grinning against her better judgement. Surely everything couldn’t have gone right this time, right?

Astrid opened the bag and saw that, in fact, things didn’t go right.

They’d come to Holmgård for two things: to free dragons, and for the message Krogan was relaying to his master, of whom they knew nothing about.

And said message was not in the messenger’s satchel. Nothing was.

“Uhh, Ruffnut? You didn’t take anything out of here to play a trick on me, did you?” Astrid tried to sound neutral, but her teeth were gritted at the growing anxiety welling in her stomach.

“No, why?” Ruffnut took the bag back and looked inside, “Oh. Uhh…This was the satchel, I swear!” All the lightheartedness and excitement of success in the room gave way to something else.

“They’re walking into a trap!” Astrid ran out the door, with the other three close behind, and ran towards the main square, where the market was sure to be.

“Aren’t we going to get the dragons?” Tuffnut yelled from the back.

“There’s no time! And considering they were smart enough to get us to split up, we should assume they have a plan for the dragons too!” Astrid called over her shoulder. “We’re going to need a new plan! Ruff, Tuff! Do either of you have any Zippleback gas canisters on you?!”

-0-

They’d been all around the known world, and even some parts of the world they never knew existed.

They’d gone to the Far North first before turning west into unexplored lands and encountering dragons they’d never seen before. They came back to  explore the lands of other Viking kingdoms before they turned south, eventually laying eyes on the great searing desert at the edge of civilization before turning east and flying along the coast, eventually seeing the great city at the edge of the world Johann talked about, Miklagard. They’d seen more than that, though, like the giant stone pyramids in a country called Misr, or the great circular city of an empire called ʿAbbāsiyya. Then they’d flown beyond that empire, what the Rus Vikings called Serkland, and the world became strange and even more fascinating.

They kept flying, meeting strange and fascinating new people, creatures, and dragons, learning more and more about the world they never thought existed. They tried new foods, traded for exotic goods and participated in colorful, elaborate ceremonies with locals. It had been over three years since they’d left Berk when they reached a region called Himavat, according to the locals. The mountains there were so high, they couldn’t fly over them, so they flew between them, through the valleys where the dragons were strange and serpent-like. They flew so gracefully, it looked like they were swimming in water, and the fire they breathed could change colors. The dragons were fewer there, and much, much older, given the coloring of the scales, but seemed much more friendly. They were curious about these dragons from the far side of the world, and it seemed these eastern dragons were intelligent enough to understand how far they came from.

They’d flown north after that, hearing of the great empire that ruled over the vast lands and the benevolent dragons that inhabited the mountains of the land called Qin, and while Hiccup wanted to explore further, their linguistic skills were failing them. He and Fishlegs could speak passable languages in Miklagard and the kingdoms and empire near it, but not this far east. Everything was different, and as exciting as that was, they could hardly communicate, an issue that’d been rampant since they left Serkland. So, once they found a reliable map of where they were, they decided to fly back through the steppes, towards where they knew Vikings, or at least where traders with a tongue they spoke passably would be.

They’d seen more of the world than a thousand people would see in a thousand lifetimes. They’d seen dragons which defied description, dragons so far different from their own they wondered if they were ever related. They’d encountered creatures from myths and legends, like trolls and mermaids. They’d seen dead Vikings rise as draugr in an Uppsala treasure hoard, tried to tame wyverns in the Englisc kingdoms, fought a cuélebre to save a town in Iberia, almost drowned by mermaids near Miklagard and, in Serkland, encountered a huma, beautiful birds that spent their entire life in the sky.

They’d seen even more out further East, dragons, wonders and creatures beyond imagination, and Hiccup never wanted it to end.

Unfortunately, all good things came to an end.

Resting among the nomads of the steppes during their trip back west from the Far East, they’d heard stories of a well-renowned warlord who disappeared, along with his whole army, after receiving a letter from the north. The dragons in this region were still serpent-like, friendly and very powerful, they’d surmised, and this warlord lost his family to them over some affront to the dragons. He’d slain them and used their hides to raise an army of his own. The man who told them this was not a Viking, but he’d interacted with some near a great wall of mountains, where he said many people who spoke their tongue were also gathering.

As the riders moved further west, they came into contact more with people hostile to dragons. When they arrived in the lands of Khazars and Slavs, they heard more talk of a great army gathering further north, where Vikings, Slavs, Finns, Sámi, Turks, and others were assembling. No one knew what it was for though.

But they did say these people were hiring dragon hunters. Lots of dragon hunters.

So, the gang decided on a new mission. Rather than travel, they’d stay a while. Four years on the road was hard living, and this would be a chance to help free dragons and disrupt what sounded like a cruel warlord. Disrupt the dragon trapping in the north, take down the hunters, find this warlord and take him down.

They’d been at it for almost a year at this point, and while they were putting a significant dent in the dragon market and taking out dragon hunters, they were no closer to finding the leader building this massive army. At least, until a tip from Johann, who they never expected to see again, led them to the center of Prince Rurik’s domain.

It’s not much, this town, Hiccup thought to himself as he shuffled his way along the streets to the market. He, Snotlout and Heather were the ones whose job would be to free the dragons in the main market, and so they bundled themselves in furs and suffered this snow-filled, wind-filled, biting cold they hadn’t experienced since they were in Berk.

Toothless was back at the cove, and the cloud cover meant Windshear and Hookfang would be able to fly overhead without giving themselves away. There were only a few guards at the entrance, and no long-range weapons. No ballistae or catapults. It was perfect. Almost too perfect.

“Why couldn’t we be the ones to go inside the tavern? Why did it have to be us in the freezing cold?” Snotlout whimpered as he braced himself against a small gust of wind, bringing with it a few more flurries that were falling steadily from the sky.

“You had your chance, Snot,” Hiccup chuckled, although he wished he was also inside a tavern right now, enjoying mead and a warm hearth. “You said, and I quote, ‘If I have to babysit those twins yet again, I’m going to kill them.’”

“You did say that Snotlout,” Heather chuckled through her fur hood. She’d only been with the group for a few months, but in that time she’d bonded with an injured Razorwhip from one of Viggo’s traps and joined their group as a fully-fledged Dragon Rider. “This is all on you.”

“Whatever, let’s just get to this market and stop the auction.” Snotlout grumbled.

They reached the market and casually browsed while waiting for the auction to begin, more than once having to remind Snotlout to speak in the Slavic language, not Norse, and that they were on a mission, not to shop.

Finally, a bell sounded, and a man walked up the dais to announce the start of the auction, signaling to the two large, covered cages behind him. There were very few guards, so they were going to follow the usual plan: bust up the guards, unlatch the cages, free the dragons and disappear into the crowd.

Except Hiccup should’ve known better earlier when things were going too well, because the moment the auctioneer stopped speaking, they were surrounded by armed Dragon Hunters, the roofs were lined with archers, and the cages uncovered to reveal two Netslingers, the specialized ballista used by Dragon Hunters to net dragons.

It was a setup, and he was entirely sure Johann was in league with the Hunters.

Snotlout and Heather were quick to use hand signals to prevent their dragons from landing and getting caught, but that also meant they were on their own. “Well, this is just great. I hope you have a plan for getting us out of this, Hiccup!” Snotlout murmured to Hiccup as they were restrained and led to the dais, on display for all the people in the market to see.

“I’m working on it, Snotlout!” Hiccup retorted, although he wasn’t sure how they were getting out of this one. He hoped Astrid and the others were ok.

“Well, well, my dear boy, it seems we meet again,” a familiar voice rang out behind him, and Hiccup groaned as the owner of said voice walked onto the dais and stood in front of the three kneeling Dragon Riders.

“Viggo! You know, it’s been a minute since we’ve caught up. Did you change your hair?” Hiccup pointedly gestured with his eyes towards Viggo’s facial burns, a souvenir of the encounter which led to those burns and Ryker’s death.

Viggo, however, didn’t falter and just laughed. “I’ve missed our quips together, Hiccup. Truly. But, while I would like nothing more than to catch up over a game of Maces and Talons, I’m afraid I don’t have enough time.” He signaled to the auctioneer, who began speaking rapidly in Slavic and taking bids from the crowd.

“Really? Thralls? You’re selling us as thralls?” Snotlout exclaimed.

“My dear Snotlout, no! I’m wounded you think so! No, not at all! You see, they’re bidding for your possessions, after…well, you know…” Viggo pulled his sword out, holding to Hiccup’s neck first. “While I appreciated our little game for the last year or so, Hiccup, I’m afraid it must end here. Tell me, do you have any family I should send your head to?”

Not once on their travels did any of the riders reveal their family names, not even to Heather. It was safer that way, both for them and for their families in Berk. And Hiccup wasn’t going to give them up now.

“Orphan,” Hiccup replied. “Although, if you give me a few minutes, I’m sure I can think of the name of the town. Maybe you can send it there?”

Viggo laughed, but it wasn’t at Hiccup’s failed attempt to stall. It was the laugh that meant he knew something they didn’t, and it set Hiccup on edge. “You know, a few months ago, I would’ve believed you. Unfortunately…” Viggo gestured to Johann, who was standing off to the side, arms crossed and looking utterly triumphant, “Johann told me an interesting story. You see, it involves the heir of the chiefdom of Berk, who ran off with some of his comrades astride dragons. Apparently, the island kept it a secret for years until one of them got too inebriated. Quite interesting isn’t it? But you know what is the most interesting thing? That heir’s name was also Hiccup. And one of his friends? Snotlout. Can you see where this is going?” Viggo had never worn as triumphant a look as he was wearing now.

“I told you we should’ve picked different names!” Snotlout yelled, and Heather attempted to kick him for it.

“Is now really the time, Snotlout?!”

“Heather, it’s the only time to complain! We’re about to die!”

“Shut it, Snotlout!” Think Hiccup, think. His mind was racing, and the blade pressed against his throat didn’t help much for his thoughts.

Johann moved forward, “While I may not have enjoyed your antics as much as Viggo, Hiccup Haddock, what I can say is this. I will enjoy returning to that wretched island for the sole purpose of burning it, and everyone else in it, to ashes. All traces of civilization will be removed from Berk. All because you and your Dragon Riders just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

His breath was caught in his throat, and for once, Hiccup couldn’t think of a retort. He needed to get them out of here, and as much as it sickened him, they needed to get home. Back to Berk.

As Viggo reared the sword back, Hiccup kept his eyes open, searching and hoping for anything to get them out of this bind. Snotlout and Heather couldn’t call their dragons, and even if they could, he wasn’t sure they would because the Netslingers would shoot them out of the sky at this range. He was running out of options, and in his desperation, he brought his prosthetic up into Viggo’s stomach, which the man shrugged off, this time ordering the men to put Hiccup on his knees. They forced his head down and exposed the back of his neck.

“HICCUP!” His girlfriend’s voice was a gift from Odin, and the Hunters grip on his arms and head loosened up enough for him to get free. Thinking quickly, he shoved them off and pulled out Inferno, blocking Viggo’s strike. He sprayed Zippleback gas in the man’s face and set off a small explosion to push Viggo away. Heather and Snotlout were free, too, and Heather unsheathed her axe while Snotlout lit up his flaming hammer he’d dubbed Shieldbreaker.

He caught sight of Fishlegs driving a large cart, scared out of his mind of the horses veering into the crowd, while Astrid aimed a bow with one of their black powder arrows from the far East. She let it fly right over the dais and one of the Netslingers, quickly nocking another arrow and taking out the last Netslinger.

As the cart skidded to a stop, the twins jumped out, hurling Zippleback gas canisters at the Hunters around Hiccup, Snotlout and Heather. Catching on, they quickly jumped off the platform and ran towards the cart, dodging the arrows from the roofs as they ran.

“This is totally awesome!” Tuffnut shouted as the three leapt into the cart, “I’m so happy Astrid babysat us instead of Snotlout!”

“Shut it you two!” Snotlout sneered as he deflected a Hunter arrow from hitting him.

The twins hopped in and Fishlegs urged the horses on, shouting for people to get out of the way as the cart sped down the narrow street. Before they got too far away, Astrid shot a flaming arrow at the largest concentration of gas in the square, and the resulting explosion probably took a few Hunters to Valhalla as well as setting most of the buildings on fire.

It wasn’t great, but at least they’d survived.

“Cutting it a little close, huh, milady?” Hiccup chuckled to Astrid, who laughed and unsheathed her axe.

“I just like to keep you on your toes, babe,” she said, giving him a little kiss as she pressed a button to extend the double blade on her axe. He’d built it himself and made it like his sword, in that the blades could retract and fold back into the shaft. He watched with a little bit of pride as she ignited the axe and fought off a rider from the Hunters, kicking him off the horse.

Hiccup took up the opposite side, crossing his flaming blade with any warrior who got close while the rest of the dragon riders did the same at the rear of the cart.

Eventually, they got to a clearing outside Holmgård, and they all whistled for their dragons as the number of horseback steppe warriors increased and got closer. The horseback archers were starting to make it hard to prevent warriors from jumping onto the cart, and eventually one of them hacked the ropes holding their horses, and as the horses ran off, the cart slowed to a stop.

“This better not be how I die!” Snotlout yelled as he fought off another warrior who got too close, trying to use him as a shield to block arrows from the archers.

“Has he just been complaining the whole time?” Ruffnut asked as she and Tuffnut kicked a man off the wagon.

“Yes, he has!” Heather grunted, dispatching a warrior on her own.

“I thought he just did that with us! Sister Nut, I do think Snotlout is just a complainer!”

“You think?! We’ve known this!” Hiccup gasped, focusing on fighting off the man in front of him who had an axe and shield.

They were surrounded, outnumbered, and the arrows were getting more and more accurate. For the second time that day, Hiccup wondered if the end was coming, but it seemed Thor wasn’t tired of them yet as a screeching sound pierced the air.

The dragons dove out of the overcast clouds, all except Toothless, who leapt from the hill and glided down, shooting plasma blasts at the riders and their horses. The other dragons let loose their flames and everything they had, even grabbing a few horsemen in the claws before tossing them into the snow.

As soon as the horsemen started regrouping, it was too late. They were all on their dragons, climbing higher and higher to get past the clouds and out of range of the arrows, whooping and urging their dragons on.

Once the clouds were below them, the relief was palpable in the crisp, cold sky. “That was close.” Fishlegs finally admitted.

“Too close,” Hiccup agreed, “This one’s on me, gang. I should’ve known this was too good—”

“Well, now you know. Learn from it, Hiccup,” Astrid tapped Stormfly and the two of them rolled above Hiccup and Toothless. She gave him a quick kiss as they passed over the top of the boys, and Hiccup felt a little tension dissipating at the contact. “You couldn’t have seen Johann coming, Hiccup. We should be more careful, though.”

“I agree. Korgan and Viggo are getting more desperate the more dragons we take from them. They’re running out of men too.”

“Well, they probably lost a few more today.” Astrid smirked, and Hiccup found himself returning the gesture.

He mouthed Thank you to her before turning to address the group, “On the bright side, today wasn’t a total loss!”

“Wasn’t? How? We got trapped, didn’t free any dragons, and we almost died! How is this not a total loss?” Snotlout exclaimed.

“For once, I agree with him, Hiccup. How is this not a total loss?”

“Wow, an Ingerman agreeing with a Jorgenson?” Heather laughed at the stricken faces of everyone except Snotlout and Hiccup.

“How did you—” Fishlegs was too stunned to continue, so Hiccup decided it would be best to break the news now.

“We may know where Johann, Krogan and Viggo are going to strike next.”

Chapter Text

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, 2 months since leaving Berk

They’d found the small island while taking trips to the Far North, where ice dominated the landscape, and after returning from the unexplored west decided to take a week on the Edge and relax before flying south.

They got a fire started and cooked their fish, gushing over the new dragons they’d seen in the west and talking about what they thought the south would look like. Everyone seemed excited about exploring now; all the nervousness that plagued them when they first set off two months ago evaporated, now replaced by enthusiasm for sleeping under the stars and seeing things no Viking ever laid eyes on.

All except Hiccup, that was. While the others all chattered excitedly around the fire, Hiccup withdrew after dinner a little further away from the fire with Toothless, away from the teens and their dragons. No one seemed to notice but Astrid, and she’d decided to wait until everyone else fell asleep to ask him about it. There was already little expectation of privacy with their group as it was, and she didn’t think they needed to overhear a delicate conversation with Hiccup.

About an hour later the others were asleep, the fire reduced to a pile of glowing embers and the new moon high in the sky.

Moving carefully, Astrid tiptoed over to Hiccup and Toothless, the former still awake and staring at the stars while the latter slept soundly.

“Hey,” he whispered in a neutral voice.

“Hey,” she replied as she lowered herself carefully next to him. She was glad he didn’t move away when their shoulders brushed together, but he still felt closed off. “You know its warmer by the fire, right?”

“Yeah, but…well, you guys were having a good talk, and I didn’t want to bring you all down.”

“Hiccup…”

“What?”

“I know you’re lying.” Two months wasn’t a lot of time to get to truly know someone, but luckily Hiccup was a terrible liar. “Will you tell me the truth?”

“I…” He paused and turned his head to her, and Astrid’s breath almost caught in her throat at his forest green eyes, wide and vulnerable, illuminated by the moonlight. “I-I-I’ve never been part of…of your group, Astrid. You guys have been friends for years, and I just…I don’t belong to it like you do.”

Astrid’s chest seized. He’s right. For as long as the rest of them had been friends, Hiccup had been outside of it. And while she never did anything to make him feel unwelcome with them, she never stopped Snotlout or Tuffnut or Ruffnut from teasing Hiccup.

And now? They’d all been acting like fourteen years of ostracizing Hiccup never happened, treating him as if he’d always been one of their own, and it was clear how that affected Hiccup. The sneaking off, the quiet eating, never taking part in their dares or bets, sleeping away from all of them.

Odin’s beard, we never even apologized to him, she realized.

“You’ve always belonged,” she started, willing herself to look him in the eyes, “We were just too stupid to see it. We never should’ve treated you that way. And…and I’m sorry, Hiccup. For all of it.”

“Astrid—“ He started to interrupt, but she quickly put a hand over his mouth. She’d never apologized before for anything and didn’t want to get derailed by Hiccup.

“No, listen. I’m sorry. I never stood up for you, defended you or tried to get to know you. I’m sorry I was too stupid to see how smart, resourceful, stubborn and brave you are. No one ever took the time to get to know you, and I’m sorry I was part of that problem. But… I don’t want to be part of that anymore. You’re one of us now, Hiccup, and…I want to get to know you better. I don’t want you to feel like an outsider again. We need you.” Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, the phrase I need you made itself known, and Astrid tried to tamp it down. It was far too early to be feeling things like that, right?

She’d always liked Hiccup, in a way. While she never talked with him, she could admire how ingenious his inventions were and how driven he could be. The boy wanted to be a Viking and played to his strengths, like any good warrior might do with weapons. The gods clearly gave him more than enough brains to make up for his lack of brawn, and while his inventions never panned out the way he thought, he was stubborn enough to keep trying. She respected that, his singular drive towards the goal of killing a dragon to prove he belonged. It reminded her of her own drive to kill the Flightmare, avenge her uncle Finn and restore honor to the Hoffersons. Dragons had taken something from them both, and they both worked towards the goal of killing dragons.

But now? Astrid saw something different in Hiccup. After that first flight, he’d shown her a new world, one above the killing and war that plagued Berk for centuries. A new way of living. Three hundred years, and no one in Berk ever asked what would happen if a dragon’s loyalty was earned. No one asked what would happen if you spared a dragon. No one ever asked what if you rode a dragon. He showed Astrid their lives could be more than just killing dragons, more than just dedicating their lives to killing creatures who were enthralled by the Red Death to pillage and steal, sentient beings who were intelligent and had emotions and preferences and thoughts, just like any human.

Two months ago, she chose to leave her old life behind, the one where she felt she needed to kill dragons and needed to avenge her uncle. She’d realized it wasn’t her life, it was the one her parents, whether on purpose or on accident, pushed on their daughter. Now, on the back of the same Deadly Nadder she’d fought against, she could find out who she wanted to be. She could be her own person rather than who everyone told her she ought to be.

And it was Hiccup who gave that to her. The boy who always managed to catch her eye.

Maybe she’d always liked him, and it just took her stepping out of Berk to realize how much she liked him. Maybe outside of Berk, she’d started listening to her own feelings about Hiccup, rather than internalizing how everyone else felt about him.

He sat there blinking at her, eyes still wide, and she realized she still had a hand over his mouth. She removed it, and thought she could see the hints of a smile there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Astrid Hofferson apologize for anything before,” he smirked, a little bravery flashing in his eyes.

“Shut up,” she lightly punched his shoulder, trying to hide the blush creeping up her face. Viking Astrid didn’t blush, but maybe Dragon Rider Astrid did. Sometimes.

Hiccup chuckled and rubbed the spot where her fist made contact, “Ok, ok. I forgive you. For everything.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him, looking into those green eyes and feeling excited about whatever this was between them.

“Thank you,” she said, and feeling courageous, slowly lowered her head to rest her temple on his shoulder. He stiffened, but only slightly, and when he put an arm around her shoulder, Astrid felt victorious.

Their eyes drifted back up towards the stars as the bright Northern Lights started dancing in the sky. They were brighter and different from the ones she’d seen on Berk, when she was with Hiccup and Toothless.

It dawned on her that now, with Stormfly, she could fly up and be among those lights whenever she wanted.

It felt…freeing.

“You know…” Hiccup spoke softly, only slightly above a whisper, and it made the hairs on the back of Astrid’s neck stand up, “My grandpa, Old Wrinkly, told me a story about the Northern Lights. He said a long, long time ago, there was a beautiful woman named Lýsa who’s beauty attracted the attention of the gods. One night, some of them came down to Midgard and attempted to court her, but none of them could persuade her. There was only man Lýsa would ever marry, a farm boy in the next village over. They weren’t allowed to marry, since the farm boy was poor, so every night he would come over and they would dance together under the stars, and Lýsa would wear these bright beautiful clothes she’d made while they danced, but only for the farm boy. No one else saw her in those great, colorful, splendid clothes.”

He took a breath and continued as the green, blue and red colors swayed in the sky above, “Well, the other gods left Lýsa alone, but Loki got jealous of the farm boy, so he shapeshifted into a horse and killed him. He then—”

Astrid interrupted him, “Hang on, doesn’t Loki have a wife? Signy?”

“Well, yeah, but I think this takes place before her, maybe? I don’t know Astrid, Old Wrinkly never really mentioned it and it’s just a story…”

“Uhh huh,” Astrid nodded, smirking at Hiccup’s bumbling.

Hiccup laughed a little, “Hey, I’m telling the story! So, he took on the form of the farm boy and tried to seduce Lýsa that night, but she sensed something was wrong.”

“Loki couldn’t dance?” Astrid questioned, having an idea of where this was going. It was a good story, but a little predictable.

“Right, he couldn’t dance like the farm boy could. Well, Lýsa figured out it was Loki, and when she found the body of her lover, she wailed and ran away from Loki, back to her home. She was despondent for days, and it only got worse. So, one night, she put on all her brightly colored clothes, walked to the fjords near her home, and flung herself from the cliff!”

Astrid resisted the urge to roll her eyes at yet another story with a woman so depressed over losing a loved one she threw herself off a cliff, “Does this story have a happy ending, Hiccup?”

Hiccup chuckled and adjusted himself, and Astrid felt her cheeks warm at the sensation of being so close to his chest. “You’ll see! So, Freya had been watching her and took pity on her, so she spared the woman. She beseeched the Aesir and Vanir to take pity on her as well, as Lofn, the arranger of marriages, conceded she received an offering from the farm boy not two days before his death, as he’d secured enough money to marry the woman. Finally, Nótt showed compassion for Lýsa, as she’d seen her dancing in the night with her lover and offered to raise her into the heavens for all to be seen at night. This way, every night, Lýsa would dance in the Halls of Valhalla with her lover, and the colors she wore would be visible for everyone to see. So, every time we see the lights in the sky, we’re reminded of the reunion of two long-lost lovers, separated but never apart, and Old Wrinkly always told me that dancing with a girl under Lýsa’s colors means you’ll be together…forever.”

A part of Astrid wondered if that included their first flight together.

They were silent after that, and eventually Hiccup drifted off to sleep, but Astrid stayed awake, heart pounding and looking up at the Northern Lights with a new perspective and new fondness for the lanky, auburn-haired boy she was snuggling with.

While predictable, it was a beautiful story, Astrid thought, and it was so very Hiccup for him to have memorized the whole thing. She wanted so badly to kiss him again, but she hesitated. He hadn’t kissed her back yet, and while she was under no illusion that he liked her, she wasn’t going to push him into something if he didn’t feel ready. He needed time to adjust, to get used to having the rest of them as friends after being ignored for so long.

And when he was ready, she’d be there, waiting for him. Just like Lýsa probably waited to see her lover during the daytime. Astrid could wait.

She wasn’t sure what her and Hiccup were, but she was in no rush to find out.

In the meantime, she could find out who she was, and who she wanted to be. Her own woman.

-0-

The Kingdom of Northumbria, 3 months since leaving Berk

Snotlout liked to think of himself as the epitome of what a Viking was. Brawny, bold, confident, good with weapons and tough as nails. Even though they’d been dragon riders for three months now, he still thought of himself as a Viking, just as a Viking on the back of a dragon, which sounded much more intimidating.

But now? He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be a Viking anymore.

They were in a kingdom called Northumbria, which the locals called an Englisc kingdom, but the city they were near was called by a Nordic name: Jorvik. Hiccup and Fishlegs spoke the Englisc language of the locals, so they asked some of the townspeople outside why this was.

Turns out they’d arrived amid a great invasion by the Sons of Ragnar.

Two years before, the King of Northumbria, Aella, executed the renowned Ragnar Lodbrok by casting him into a den of asps and vipers, and sent envoys to his sons bragging of how the legendary Viking died. Snotlout remembered when the news broke on Berk, how shocked everyone was. They all remembered that day, because Ragnar was the greatest of them all.

Now, Ragnar’s sons Bjorn Ironside, Ivar the Boneless, Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, Ubba, Halfdan and Hvitserk were at the head of a great army for the purpose of conquering the Englisc kingdoms and taking revenge for the death of their father.

Hiccup seemed disturbed by the news and Fishlegs was uncomfortable, whereas Astrid and the twins were caught up in being in the same place as the Sons of Ragnar. Snotlout wasn’t too concerned about all that, though. He was finally happy for the first time in weeks he could talk to someone outside the group. It wasn’t like Alba where they needed to rely on Hiccup or Fishlegs for Scots or Gaelic, or crazily enough Tuffnut, who somehow knew quite a few words in Pictish. There were Vikings who spoke Norse in Jorvik. It meant Snotlout could talk with Vikings, and he could drink, train, and have fun with them.

Except it wasn’t as fun as he thought. It was dangerous, being teens on their own among an army in hostile territory, even if that army were supposedly friendly. Hiccup rarely went into Jorvik, and Astrid and Ruffnut stopped after they saw one monstrous warrior following them around. One of the Vikings harassed Fishlegs, and although Tuffnut and Snotlout tried to confront the warrior, he merely swiped at them with one hand and knocked them into a cart of turnips. It was humiliating for Snotlout, getting pushed around like that. So, he came back later to try again and received a nasty black eye for his trouble.

He thought Vikings helped one another. But then again, the only Vikings he knew were the ones on Berk. Maybe these men weren’t real Vikings?

They’d decided to stay away from the army after that, but a few days later they were forced to take to the air. A battle had begun. The Northumbrians finally brought an army against the Vikings, and the teens watched the action from high in the sky.

“Can you see anything?” Astrid shouted towards Hiccup, who was adjusting his seeing glass towards the ground.

“Not much, but it looks like the Northumbrians are inside the city now.” He’d relayed.

“Should we help them?” Snotlout asked, somewhat hoping to lead Hookfang down and find the man who’d mugged Fishlegs and given him a black eye. Or maybe ask Hookfang to roast the man a little. It didn’t matter if he was a Viking, he’d hurt Fishlegs and more importantly, he’d humiliated Snotlout.

No one humiliated a Jorgenson and got away with it.

“It’s too dangerous. For all we know, they might stop fighting and attack us instead. Plus, this isn’t our fight.” Hiccup pointed out. “We’ll just keep circling until the armies depart, then find a safe place to land. We might be able to scavenge some valuables to trade, but after that we should leave.”

A week ago, Snotlout would’ve resisted that and gone to stay with the great army fighting below. But after the few days they’d spent with these so-called Vikings, he couldn’t have cared if they lived or died.

Except, it seemed, most of them lived. The Northumbrians retreated in disarray, and after they landed, Englisc people cowered in fear, saying the sons of Ragnar executed the Northumbrian King Aella by blood eagle as retribution for the death of their father. The Englisc also said the Vikings executed many of the higher-ranking nobles as well and sold many of the captured men as thralls unless a ransom could be paid.

It was a shock to the teens, too. Blood eagles hadn’t been done for over a century in the Archipelago, and they’d resolved not to get too close to where Ragnar’s sons were camped. They heard enough screaming on the field as it was with the dead, dying and wounded.

Hiccup and Fishlegs couldn’t stand the carnage of the battlefield, so they stayed further away from the field, looting deserted equipment.

Snotlout stayed with Astrid, Ruff and Tuff, all moving with weapons drawn and nervously eyeing anyone who got too close. The field was littered with bodies, and they weren’t the only ones searching for loot it seemed.

That was when he saw them. Off in the distance, under a familiar looking banner, a group of Vikings led by a man in a fierce, red beard who seemed to be checking to make sure the Northumbrians weren’t coming back. And beside that red-bearded man was a face he’d seen every day since he was born. He knew it well, because it was his father’s.

Berkians.

“We have to get out of here!” He grabbed Astrid’s arm and gestured to Ruffnut and Tuffnut to follow him.

“Snotlout!” She pried her arm from his grip and stopped, but her look softened at seeing how panicked he was. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“D-D-Dad…” He panted, “Dad. Berkians. Stoick. Here.” He pointed over towards the Berkians stalking the battlefield, and immediately the others wore matched expressions to his own. Grabbing what they could, they sprinted towards Hiccup and Fishlegs, yelling to get into the air and not stopping to catch their breath until they were flying south.

“What was all that about?” Hiccup asked as he pulled up alongside Snotlout.

“Berkians,” was all Snotlout could say. His mind was reeling. Berkians? With Vikings like those in Jorvik?

Hiccup’s face turned white, and he only nodded as the teens flew for another few hours until they were sure they were far enough away from Jorvik.

Exhausted, the dragons immediately went to sleep while the teens settled down for another campfire dinner of dried yak jerky and fish. It was a far cry from the food they’d had in Jorvik, but at the same time they felt safer. Far safer.

Sleep didn’t come for Snotlout, though, as his mind was reeling from seeing Berkians so far south and among cruel Vikings.

He walked out towards the edge of the camp, letting the cool night air move across him as he stared up at the stars.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” It was Hiccup, and for once Snotlout felt terrified of the lanky boy.

“No…uhh, not…not really.” He realized this was the first time he’d been alone with Hiccup since they left Berk, and suddenly he didn’t know what to do or say.

“Was it seeing your dad?” Hiccup asked, but Snotlout knew he already knew the answer. For as lanky and skinny his second cousin was, the gods gave him more than enough brains to make up for that. It was something Snotlout always was a little jealous of, how easily Hiccup could read and understand words and learn new languages on his own.

“No…It was…” He hated being vulnerable. His father always said vulnerable men get killed and made every effort to turn his son in an airtight cask, like a true warrior.

“It was those other Vikings, right?” Hiccup hit the nail on the head, and suddenly Snotlout wanted to let everything out.

“It’s…It’s just I always thought the Vikings here would be like us, you know? Friendly and supportive? I thought they’d treat us like—”

“Long lost relatives?” Hiccup chuckled, “Snotlout, Vikings everywhere are different. Just because we speak the same language doesn’t mean Danes or Swedes are the same as Berkians. To them, we’re nothing. To them, we’re just…well, outsiders.”

Snotlout saw something in Hiccup’s eyes, like a flash of pain, and it clicked into place. Those Vikings in Jorvik treated him like he treated Hiccup.

‘To them, we’re just…well, outsiders.’

Snotlout always made Hiccup feel like an outsider. And it took him getting beaten up by a bigger and stronger Viking to realize just how wrong he’d treated a kinsman for the last fourteen years.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, and both Hiccup and Snotlout looked taken aback by where this came from.

“You’re…what?”

“I’m sorry,” Snotlout repeated, more confident this time, “I…I was horrible to you. For years. To someone who is family. And I’m going to make it up to you.” He stuck his hand out, making sure Hiccup saw no trace of hesitation on his face.

Hiccup eyed him carefully, then tentatively stuck his own hand out and grasped it. A hint of a smile appeared on Hiccup’s face, and Snotlout relaxed a little.

“Not so much fun when you’re the smaller one, is it Snotlout?” Hiccup teased, and it took a moment for Snotlout to realize Hiccup was bantering with, effectively, his childhood bully.

“Well, it…it was a learning experience. But don’t worry, in a few years I’ll be the tallest and strongest in the group, and I’ll fight anyone who messes with us. You’ll see.”

“Well, if you ever do get that tall and strong, can you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Watch out for the little guy. They’ll always need a friend.” And he went back to the campfire.

That night, as he laid against Hookfang under the stars, Snotlout made a choice. No longer was he going to be a Viking like his father. While he didn’t see his father kill anyone in battle, it would surprise Snotlout if his father didn’t bully smaller Vikings in the army camp. Spitelout had always been one to disparage Hiccup for his small stature and passed that behavior onto his son.

Snotlout wouldn’t do that anymore.

He wasn’t going to turn into his father. He was his own person now, with a fire-breathing, self-enflaming dragon for a best friend, a group of capable, dependable riders who were intent on traveling the world, and somewhere along the way Snotlout was going to figure out who he wanted to be.

He’d keep the promise he’d made Hiccup, and Snotlout ceased considering himself a Viking.

Now, he was a Dragon Rider.

-0-

Eysýsla, Present

A Chief protects his own.

That was what his father used to say.

It weighed on Hiccup as he and his friends discussed Johann’s threat.

Who are my own? My friends and dragons? Do I still have a responsibility for Berk?

He sighed and returned his attention to the discussion in their cave hideout.

They’d found this cave on the island of Eysýsla around the time they first decided to fight the Dragon Hunters, and considering how isolated it was, they’d used it as their base ever since.

“It makes sense,” Fishlegs pondered as the group went over the migration routes and maps of the north, everything from the Archipelago to the Rus. “Not only would they get revenge on us for the disruption we’ve caused, but it puts them closer to the migration routes and nesting grounds of more dragons. We all know human encroachment and hunting has driven the populations down and further west.”

Hiccup groaned. He was hoping when they got back from Holmgård, he’d see the threat for what it was: a threat.

Now, as they studied the map, it was clear that their next course of action involved returning home. There were too many reasons against the Dragon Hunters staying here, and while he liked to think Johann or Viggo were setting a trap again or at least removing them from the territory of the Dragon Hunters, it looked instead like Johann let his mouth run too much and spilled their actual plans.

He wasn’t the only one that was unhappy, though. Snotlout looked aggravated, the twins looked annoyed, Fishlegs looked frustrated and even Astrid wore an unhappy look on her face.

Yet, if Hiccup was a betting man, he figured his own feelings of dread eclipsed theirs. They all had problems they ran away from five years ago when they left Berk for good, and they all changed because of their travels.

Going back meant facing the past, facing who they’d once been before the dragons.

Toothless crooned from the mouth of the cave, and Hiccup turned to see Heather walking inside. She sheathed her axe and pulled her fur hood down as she stepped past the dragons, giving them scratches and pets as she walked. “Coast is clear, and I didn’t see any tracks coming to or from here, although there is a chance the snow covered it up.”

“That’s ok, nothing was missing from here when we got back,” Hiccup replied, and Heather only nodded as she moved to stand by Fishlegs.

“Looks like we’re really going back to Berk, huh?” Astrid said it more to him than the others, Hiccup thought, but everyone in the room still nodded. Even the twins, normally so distracted, seemed caught up in thoughts of returning.

“Looks like it,” Hiccup murmured.

Everyone was silent until Heather cleared her throat, “So…I think you all owe me a story. The truth.”

“Well…” Fishlegs was the first to speak up, “We never really lied to you…per say. Everything about our travels happened, we just…”

“We wanted to keep our identities a secret, to prevent blowback from getting to Berk and, in case Berk put a bounty on us, to keep ourselves safe.” Astrid finished, always the one to prefer the hatchet over the honey.

“Why would there be bounties?”

“We may have broken our dragons out of a Training Arena and possibly destroyed said training arena in the process.” Tuffnut supplied, and Ruffnut nodded.

“Yeah, the dragons weren’t that happy, and we didn’t really know what we were doing until Astrid brought Hiccup back, so we just let them basically destroy the place until Hiccup calmed them down.” Ruffnut tried grinning, but it faded fast.

“They labeled us as traitors after that,” Snotlout grumbled, and the rest of them agreed.

Heather nodded, processing everything, “So why the nervous looks? Are you still afraid they’re dragon fighters?”

Hiccup scoffed, “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I mean…Hiccup, we all know the Barbaric Archipelago refused Krogan’s calls for submission in a Gathering of Chieftains, with the Chief of Berk leading them. Your father. Doesn’t that give you a little bit of hope they’ve changed?”

“Maybe,” he said, “But that’s all it is. Hope. Besides, how do we know they refused because of the dragons alone? Maybe they just don’t like foreigners.”

“How would you know?” Heather posed the question to everyone in the cave, and it annoyed Hiccup that Heather was right. “You all haven’t been back in years, yet you claim they haven’t changed. How would you know?”

“They’re Vikings,” Hiccup said automatically.

“Aren’t we all?” Heather retorted, and Hiccup wanted to refute it, but didn’t.

They decided to take a break, and everyone spread out in the cave with their dragons to rest and planned to meet again in an hour to decide on what the plan was.

Astrid and Stormfly joined Hiccup and Toothless near the rear of the cave, and Hiccup opened his blanket to allow Astrid to get underneath. “Thanks,” she whispered, losing the fur coat and getting underneath with him. She carried a small notebook and a larger book with her, and Hiccup instantly recognized the red binding on the larger notebook.

It was his gift to her in Miklagard, a book written in Greek about the Amazons, fierce female warriors who graced the Ancient Greek stories like the Iliad and the Argonautica. She’d loved it, but as it was written in Greek, she kept one Hiccup’s journals on Greek letters and words to help read it.

As far as he could tell, she loved the book, and she began using his Greek translation journal less and less. He knew it filled Astrid with pride to finally be able to learn a language not related to Norse.

“Heather’s right, isn’t she?” He said once she got settled. He spoke softly so only Astrid would hear him.

“I mean…I don’t like it either, but she has a point. It’s been…what, five years? Longer than that? Who’s to say how they’ve changed, given how we all left.”

“I know, it’s just… You weren’t there, Astrid. My father disowned me.” He knew he’d told her this story hundreds of times over the years, yet each time, she listened to him as keenly as the first.

“I know, and I’m not saying it’s wrong to feel nervous about going back, but Hiccup, you saw the maps. We all know every dragon we freed moves west, and dragons have been dying out here for decades before we came. The Hunters are going to move on, and the Archipelago is prime hunting ground for them. I don’t like it either, but if this is where we need to go…”

He knew they needed to go. They’d sworn to protect the dragons until they were no longer hunted, and if that meant going back to Berk, they’d go.

“Aren’t you nervous about going back?” He asked her.

“Terrified,” she huffed, and Hiccup saw in her cerulean eyes she was telling the truth, “All my life before we left, my family talked about avenging my uncle, and I took it upon myself to do that. Graduate first in training, kill the Flightmare, and restore honor. That was all. Going back means facing them. It means hearing them tell me all about how I abandoned my family’s honor, hearing them accuse me of my uncle meaning nothing to me, hearing my little brother call me a coward—"

Hiccup pulled her close in encouragement, “If they say those things about you, they’re even more stupid than I thought.”

She chuckled and lightly punched him in the ribs, but he’d grown used to her punches by now. “They’re still my family, jackass.”

“You’re right. Besides, maybe the first few days we can stay back at Dragon’s Edge. It’s a long days’ flight, but it’ll give us our bearings again, and maybe while on Berk we can all stay in the Cove instead of…with your families. At least at first, while everyone adjusts.”

“What, too afraid of sleeping in a bed?” Astrid joked, and Hiccup cracked a smile. “No, I get it. When was the last time we slept in bed? A real bed with a mattress? Miklagard?”

“Thor above, over two years ago?” He thought back, and yes, that was in fact the last time they all slept in a bed and not on the ground next to a dragon.

“To be fair, ever since we got those thicker blankets, it’s basically like having a mattress.”

“Especially when two people can just share one blanket and use the other as a mattress,” he grinned foxily, and Astrid blushed in her smile.

“If I recall, I had to push for that, you know. I had to make all the first moves!”

“Nuh uh, no, you didn’t! Dragon’s Edge, not long after we came back from the north! I put my arm around you!”

“Only after I put head on your shoulder!” She poked at him laughing.

“Ok, well…”He went back through the memories they had together, “West Francia, in Paris! I kissed you!”

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she punched him in the ribs. “I kissed you first! I kissed you twice before that, Hiccup! Once after the first flight, and once when you woke up after the Red Death!”

“Fine! Umm…”

“And I was the first to start taking clothes off during make-outs, too,” she added, arms crossed. “Roma—I took off my tunic and bindings first. And don’t even try to bring up the first time we slept together. Miklagard? You were way too nervous after that wedding. We both know I was the one making the moves on you.”

“Oh, come on! I tried to be romantic too! I just…” He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t know how to, you know, make moves on a strong, shieldmaiden-type Dragon Rider!”

Hiccup cringed at the memories of his younger self fumbling through awkward conversations, stolen glances, abrupt silences, and way too much hesitation.

And that was with a girl who already liked him.

Astrid let out a haughty laugh, “Well, there are only three of us, babe. I don’t blame you, you have a niche type, and almost no one’s dated strong, shieldmaiden type Dragon Riders.” She patted his chest and went back to the book, leaving Hiccup in his thoughts.

“I said ‘I love you first’,” he finally realized, while they were at the top of the world in the mountains of Himavat. They’d decided to test their dragons, flying high enough to reach the tallest peak, and stood atop it for only a few seconds. But those few seconds were all they needed. “Back in Himavat, you were heaving from the thin air, and I got to say I love you first!”

“We said it at the same time, doofus!” She shook her head as he nodded his up and down, a smile growing on his face. Finally, she relented. “Fine, I’ll give it you. Wouldn’t want to leave with nothing, right?”

“Nothing? Milady, you gave me everything,” he countered, and he got a warm feeling in his chest from watching the blush spread on Astrid’s face. “You made me who I am today, Astrid. I don’t know how I could ever repay you for that.”

Her eyes lit up, “You don’t have to. I’m the person I am today because of you. Hiccup, you gave me the courage to be my own person. Without you…I’d don’t know who’d I be, but I probably wouldn’t be myself.”

They pulled each other close as the temperature dropped from the wind making its way in from outside, the fire dimming slightly until Snotlout got a jar of Monstrous Nightmare saliva and a few logs to stoke the fire again.

Seeking comfort, Hiccup pulled Astrid closer. They couldn’t do anything right now, not while everyone was awake and so close, but that didn’t matter to Hiccup. Just having Toothless and Astrid so close to him gave him strength he didn’t know he’d had, each one feeling like one part of something he’d needed all along.

He wondered if things would’ve been different if he had that sort of strength before, when his father was berating him in the Great Hall for siding with the dragons. If he had the strength to go back to Berk, and to try to change their ways with dragons instead of running away.

That was all in the past, though, and he had to focus on the future.

By the time the group reconvened at the fire to start dinner and finish their discussion, it seemed everyone had come to a similar conclusion. They were going back.

“Alright, then, it’s decided. The winter will keep most of the Hunter ships in port in the north, so that should give us about a month or two to get to the Archipelago and get ready. We’ll need Berk and the other tribes to help if we stand a chance of defeating the hunters. I know we wanted to find out who’s leading them, but that’ll have to wait until Johann, Krogan and Viggo are dealt with.”

They all nodded in agreement, and while normally Hiccup would call for a vote, this seemed unanimous already.

“We’ll eat first and then start packing. The plan will be to leave at first light tomorrow and break at Uppsala to rest and head east. We’ll stop in Wessex for any left-behind bags still there and then go north to Bjørgvin. If we stay on schedule, by dawn two days from now we should be at Dragon’s Edge. Anything too heavy should be left behind, or if you can manage it, sell it in the market by tonight. We need to travel light. Sound like a plan?”

The room resounded with affirmatives, and even the dragons answered him, it seemed.

Hiccup breathed a little easier now, at least. They had a plan, and he had his greatest friends with him. People who bled for him, people he’d bled for, fought to protect and rescue, or rescued him.

They’d traveled the whole known world with him, fought men, dragons, draugr, trolls, sea serpents, witches, strange beasts and other monsters. They’d been with him to see creatures they thought only existed in legends. Dragons thought extinct. Monsters who could shatter the resolve of most people. But not his Dragon Riders and not their dragons.

They’d stood with him through it all, and with each one of them, Hiccup felt confident. With all of them? They’d take on the world.

Chapter Text

-0-

Holmgård, Present

“The Grand Prince Rurik demanded our Dragon Hunters to leave by winter’s end,” Viggo reported to Krogan and Johann, still fuming over the blatant disrespect Rurik showed him. After all we’d done to help him, he thought as he recalled the riches which filled Rurik’s coffers and helped expand his trading routes.

They’d helped build Rurik’s power in the region, his Dragon Hunters. They brought wealth and prestige with the dragon trade centered in Holmgård, selling everything from scales to hides and whole dragons. Even when Hiccup and his Riders began disrupting that trade, they still managed to make enough to bring themselves wealth. Now they were getting kicked out when the snow cleared, all because Johann and Krogan once again failed to listen to him.

It was an emerging pattern Viggo took notice of, and one he would keep an eye on.

“He has the stones to kick us out?” Krogan sneered, “Let him bring his army to us. We have thrice the number of men he has.”

“Need I remind you that his men, unlike ours, are trained to fight other men? Our Dragon Hunters may be fearsome against dragons, but many have never fought another man before. For Thor’s sake, they’ve never faced a shield wall before!”

“And to that, I say we have the numbers. Let them come and remove us!” Krogan slammed his hands on the table, and Viggo resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Krogan should never have risen beyond the post of errand boy for Drago. His ruthlessness and ferocity were useful, yes, but the man lacked the strategic thinking which should’ve been required to rise as high as he did. Often, he lost an unacceptable number of men during missions, especially fighting Hiccup and his Riders.

But his successes were numerous, so Drago promoted him to commander, joining Viggo and Johann.

A promotion he should have never received. Does he realize we are soon to be running low on manpower? No, the only good thing Krogan did was cut down on desertions, and that was because of his cruel punishments. If a Hunter deserted and was caught, he’d be killed by those in his squadron. If he escaped, everyone in his squadron would be executed. If a squadron were deserted, then the company they came from would have all Hunters executed, and so on.

It was cruel and ruthless, but during the worst of winter, only three desertions occurred, all the deserters caught by the men in their own squadron.

Even a broken clock can be right twice a day, Viggo supposed, but on this, Krogan was wrong.

“Our men cannot fight in a shield wall, and even if we do win, what then? Rule over Holmgård? With a hostile populace and an army not equipped to deal with occupation? I’m sure Drago would be pleased, seeing we wasted the men he’s given us and used them to conquer a city and people who’ve supported him in the past.”

“If we strike now, we can overwhelm them before—”

“Now?! Attack the man hosting us in his territory?! We’d deprive ourselves of all our allies in the region! Are you truly so daft and dumb? I’ve heard better plans from a weathered old gatepost! At least it knew when to stay shut!”

Krogan stood and reached for his weapon, which forced Viggo to do the same. He’d let his emotions get the better of him, and Viggo chastised himself for the indiscretion, but if they came to blows here, Viggo would take pleasure in ridding himself of the man.

“That’s enough!” Both stopped at Johann’s voice. “This bickering is pointless. Krogan, we will not attack Rurik in his own territory. We cannot afford to lose men in a pitched battle, and Viggo is correct, our men cannot break a shield wall and have never fought in one.”

Viggo resisted the urge to smile as Johann turned to them, “Drago has orders for us. We are to leave in three days’ time and take what boats we can for the Kingdom of Jorvik before turning north to the Archipelago.”

“Now?” Viggo questioned, wondering why the urgency, “The ice and snow will make travel difficult, and we will lose men to the journey.”

“Any numbers we lose can be replenished in the Danelagen and Jorvik. Many of those Vikings will be looking for a war, and we can give that to them in the Archipelago.”

Viggo eyed Johann wearily, “Why the rush? Drago’s army will surely lose more men in the North, and he cannot replenish as readily as we can.”

Johann cast a suspicious eye on Viggo now, but answered his question regardless, “Drago received word of…something. Something that would allow him greater control over the dragons than the Alpha he possesses, and he intends to seize it before moving onto the Archipelago. As for the cold, he’s filling his ranks with warriors accustomed to the cold and intends to recruit from among the Sámi he comes across to make up for attrition.”

Viggo was very familiar with Drago’s ‘recruitment’ efforts: join or the village burns.

“Very well. I’ll send word to the Hunters stationed around the North Sea. The Dragon Riders may stop in the Danelagen, Jorvik, Rogaland or Hordaland, we may be able to—”

Johann waved him off, going back to his map. “That won’t be necessary.”

As much as Krogan annoyed Viggo, it was because the two were completely different, and Viggo could accept butting heads with him. Johann, however, was a different story.

Johann was cunning, had a mind for strategy and planning, much like Viggo, but the man was secretive and ambitious. He never let others commit to an action if it could bring them success, unless there was a way to steal the credit for himself or complete the task on his own. He rarely shared plans or the movements of his own troops, despite the fact that Viggo told him it affected their organization and their efficiency at trapping dragons and hunting the Riders.

Johann, however, didn’t care, and there was nothing to do about it since Johann was the only one Drago communicated with. That meant he was essentially in charge, and while compartmentalization was key for the hierarchy of their army, it was not supposed to exist between the three of them.

“You going to tell me why, Johann?”

“We are going to let Hiccup Haddock and his Riders return to the Archipelago, and there—“

Viggo felt his face go red with anger, “Are you mad? We’re going to let him waltz back to them?! We’re going to let him surround himself with more allies?! Johann, have you lost your mind?!”

Even Krogan shared the rage Viggo felt, “We would be better served having him killed along the way! I have assassins ready to strike at him if he so much as—”

Johann turned back to them now, “You will do no such thing!”

Viggo’s temper was flaring. Why would Johann just allow Hiccup to escape?! “Need I remind you that Hiccup Haddock is a dangerous adversary?! The boy has seen more and experienced more than we’ll ever know, and every attempt to capture and kill his has failed! Do not underestimate this boy!”

“Hold your tongue, Viggo!”

Viggo wouldn’t hold his tongue. Not anymore. He was tired of losing men, money and materials to Hiccup and his Dragon Riders. They’d been fighting him for nearly a year, with only losses to show for it.

“When will you learn, Johann?! When are you going to learn that you cannot underestimate this boy and his dragon riders?! How many men have we lost?! How much money?! When we received word Hiccup killed Grimmel out in the east, I told you he would come for us next and we needed to be prepared, but you refused! When he was fighting us, I asked for more men to track him down, and you refused, which got my beloved brother killed! Your stupidity got us to this point! Answer me, Johann, how many of us have to die before you begin treating him as a threat?!”

Johann moved quickly, much quicker than Viggo anticipated. He slammed Viggo into the nearest wall, pressing a knife against his throat and glaring into his face. But Viggo didn’t cringe away from it. He’d said his piece, and he knew Johann knew he was right.

After a tense moment, Johann relaxed the knife a little bit, but the anger behind his eyes didn’t fade. Clearly, Viggo hit a nerve, and decided to save that detail for later.

“When you told me the name of the boy, I knew it sounded familiar. The heir of one of the wretched islands I spied on carried the same name, yet I realized I’d hadn’t seen him at the docks in years. So, I asked around, but no one would say anything and that made me suspicious. I knew the blacksmith was close with him, so I visited him in the forge one night and got the man drunk enough to talk. He admitted Hiccup freed a dragon, a Night Fury no less, and took five others with him, and everything became clear. I made sure he wouldn’t remember it, and no one else found out I knew their terrible secret.”

Viggo remembered when Johann told him this, but he failed to see how it garnered a retelling.

Johann continued, this time looking to Krogan as well, “So, on every visit to Berk from me or my spies, I made sure to tell everyone, especially the Chief, stories of a Dragon Rider astride a Night Fury terrorizing the continent. I gave them tales of a vengeful boy astride a Night Fury, killing Vikings, releasing dragons and ancient evils all over the mainland, and they ate them up like pigs at the trough.”

Viggo wished Johann had told him that. “What?”

“Do you see now, Viggo? I wanted Hiccup to go back to the Archipelago. When Hiccup returns, he won’t be met as a savior, but a demon.”

It was a brilliant plan, turning Hiccup’s old tribe against him when he didn’t expect it, Viggo admitted. It was exactly the kind of thing Johann would come up with. When Hiccup returned, he would not only have to fight the Dragon Hunters, but the tribes as well. It narrowed down the islands Hiccup could seek refuge at.

Maybe, if Viggo played his cards right, he could convince the tribes to help them capture the Dragon Riders and work together with Viggo. If Krogan couldn’t obtain their submission, maybe he could. If he played his hand well.

It was a cruel and tragic idea, a father hunting his own long-lost son and aiding his own doom, and it was exactly the kind of savage plan that would come from the mind of Johann. Now, Chief Stoick would be forced to help the other tribes hunt down his own son, when Stoick knew it was his own son. And Hiccup would know he was being hunted by his own father. Stoick would keep his tribe's secret from the world, and Hiccup would never know why he was being hunted. It was a rare moment when Viggo had to give it to Johann; the man knew how to twist the knife in the most painful way possible.

Viggo nodded in understanding, and Johann lowered the knife slowly, “I have to say, Johann, that is an exceptionally twisted plan.” He decided to leave out the associated risks of said plan and gave Johann a false smile.

“Why, you’re too kind, Viggo,” Johann responded with a charmingly fake smile of his own, and Viggo decided not to press it. He’d let Johann have this round, but when Viggo got to the Archipelago, he could take control of the operation and show to Drago he was more worthy than the others.

He’d need to find a way to sideline Krogan and keep Johann out of his way, but Viggo wasn’t worried.

Now, he just needed to get the ships ready. He planned to sail in the morning.

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

When Johann brought more stories of the Night Fury Rider a few months back, this time of his killing of the renowned Grimmel the Grisly, Stoick’s heart stopped.

Grimmel was the Night Fury Killer, the man he’d one day planned to call in case the raids became too hard to handle. He was responsible for killing hundreds of the ultra-rare breed, never sharing details with anyone about what they looked like or how they behaved. Stoick disagreed with that, since it put Vikings at risk, but he had to admire the man for his devotion to hunting them down. His ways were foreign, but they were effective, and Stoick respected that.

A long time ago, Stoick had hoped his son’s fascination with Night Furies and inventions would lead to apprenticing under Grimmel, since he knew Grimmel also had a mechanically inclined mind. If only Hiccup proved himself capable of listening and following orders, he could invite the man out with an offer of an apprentice and a chance to take down another Night Fury. Grimmel was one of the greatest dragon killers, and if anyone could show Hiccup how to become one, it would be Grimmel.

The gods were indeed cruel, and they seemed to delight in spitting on Stoick. Grimmel was dead, and though no other tribes knew, all of Berk knew it was his son who had done it.

“What faults have I committed to deserve this, Odin?” The home was empty, but Stoick hoped that at least the gods would hear him cry out.

He had no one left. His wife was dead, taken by dragons, and his son a monster, riding dragons.

They hadn’t had a raid in five years, but sometimes Stoick wished they would come. Sometimes, during those dark days, he wished the dragons would come back to burn and pillage, if only so he could kill the spawns of Hel.

They’d taken his whole family from him and now they were too craven to face the wrath of a vindicative warrior. They were cowards.

He wasn’t looking forwards to Johann’s next visit in a few months, since he would undoubtably bring more tales of Hiccup’s depravity and cruelty. The ones they’d heard were bad enough: A destroyed castle somewhere in Cymru. An attack on Dyflin with the dragons. Despoiling graves in Uppland and elsewhere. Burning villages in Francia and around the Englisc kingdoms, Jorvik and Northumbria. Traveling far to the East and bringing back accursed powders that caught fire and using them to attack villages in the Rus. Wearing the discarded skin of their dragons, like they were more draconic than human.

Kidnapping women and children to take to his hideouts with the other Riders, for those women and children to never be seen again. Some even said he was taking people to feed to their dragons, and others even whispered of cannibalism, the riders having adopted a dragon’s diet of human flesh.

He hadn’t wanted to believe them, but the other traders told similar tales, and Johann was always the most trustworthy. He hated hearing them, but at the same time, he needed to hear them. He needed to be down at the docks not just as a chief, but as a father.

Because despite all of it, Hiccup was still his son.

Even if Hiccup became an embodiment of wrath and cruelty itself, he couldn’t separate the image of that man with his little son, the same one who stopped his father from killing a bird with a broken wing. A boy, who made a promise to watch over the bird until it got better, all because it reminded him of himself.

Every time he heard another tale of Hiccup burning down a village, it became harder and harder to remember the kind, small boy he loved with all his heart and soul. The black shadow of the savage outlaw began to shroud Stoick’s memories of his sweet son, and soon Stoick feared there’d be nothing good left.

Stoick feared he’d forget the good in his son, that his memories of his son would fade, and the only thing left would be the heartless villain Hiccup became.

The rest of the island lost those memories quickly, though. The people of Berk no longer remembered Hiccup Haddock, Astrid Hofferson, Fishlegs Ingerman, Snotlout Jorgenson, Ruffnut or Tuffnut Thorston as they once were. All they remembered were the stories told of twisted natures, innocents slaughtered or homes burned to the ground.

He knew the parents of the other riders struggled as well. Ingrid Hofferson never was the same after her daughter disappeared, and once she’d heard the stories she’d been tempted to go on a journey and find her daughter herself. Spitelout refused to acknowledge Snotlout’s name. The Ingermans and Thorstons did the same.

All had effectively disowned their children, and others would step in to take their place. Their families had depth, with siblings and cousins to step up.

But there was no one to step in Hiccup’s place. Stoick never remarried, and now that decision was another haunting specter looming over him.

The Haddock line would end with him. A line over three hundred years old would end.

All because Stoick was a terrible father.

A handful of bangs on the door resounded throughout the home, but Stoick made no motion to get up. He knew who came at this time of night, with a barrel of mead to share in silence.

Gobber opened the door and walked in, looking about as despondent as Stoick looked, he’d wager. As was custom, Gobber had a barrel of mead from the Great Hall and Stoick got up to grab two empty drinking horns.

“Have ye eaten anythin?” Gobber asked, but Stoick knew he knew the answer already. Stoick left Eret’s celebratory feast early after Floki, another trader who’d been referred by Johann, began telling stories of the latest Dragon Rider savagery, speaking of them sacrificing innocents to strange gods from the Far East and releasing captive dragons upon an entire town. Each story wore down Stoick, and even if not all of them were true, too many traders and travelers said the same thing. Stoick left the feast and decided to sit in the dim light of his empty home and wait for Gobber.

“I’ll take tha as ah no, then,” Gobber set down the mead on the table and Stoick filled the two drinking horns up, “What are we drinkin to?”

“There’s nothing to drink to, Gobber,” Stoick clinked his horn against Gobber’s unceremoniously and took a sip of the mead. The mead never helped, but talking to Gobber did, and Gobber only talked about Hiccup when he was drinking.

If there was another man who was affected by Hiccup’s betrayal and the stories of his malice, it was Gobber. The man never took another apprentice, never let anyone see Hiccup’s room in the back, and never spoke of the boy to anyone except Stoick. The light in his eyes long since dimmed, Gobber hardly ever attended Council business anymore, but Stoick couldn’t bring himself to dismiss his oldest friend. So, he began bringing Gobber by the home to drink and talk, and while in the beginning it was mostly drinking, Gobber now opened up more.

“Aye, you’re probably right about tha,” Gobber muttered, downing his whole horn and filling it up again, “Eret said he’d be off in the morning, but as far as he can see, he couldn’t tell what killed the Dragon Queen on their island. Might’ve been old age, maybe something else. But he suspects that’s the reason the raids stopped.”

Dragon Queen, Stoick thought, mulling it over in his head, so that’s who was controlling the raids. He began to think about plans to find the next nest since the dragons might go to another Queen Dragon and start raiding again.

He told himself to be at the docks early tomorrow morning before Eret set off with another bag of gold and orders to find another nest of dragons. If Eret found it, then Stoick could nip the problem in the bud and prevent the raids from beginning again.

“That’s good to hear, then. Good news has been harder and harder to come by,” Stoick said simply.

“Aye, tell me about it. Iron’s gotten more expensive, been hearing about some warlord trying to make a name for himself in the North and the asshat keeps buying iron from all our traders. And don’t even get me started on the forge falling apart!”

“Gobber, you know you can—”

“I know I can!” Gobber snapped, “I know!” He looked down into his mead, and Stoick decided to let it go.

There was silence between before Gobber spoke up again, “Sorry, Stoick. I know you’re only trying to help.”

“It’s alright, Gobber.”

“I know you want me to take a new apprentice, but…”

“Don’t worry about it now, Gobber.” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I imagine old age will make that decision for you soon enough.”

Gobber cracked a small smile, and Stoick counted it as a little victory for the night. Anything that came would just be extra.

“I found his plans,” Gobber whispered, “for tha axe he made Astrid. He was sweet on her, ye know?”

Stoick may not have been the best father, but even he could see Hiccup’s crush on Astrid.

“Aye. What’d you do with them? The plans?” Stoick asked carefully.

“Put ‘em with the others.” Gobber took a swig of mead before speaking again, “Never could bring myself to burn anything o’ his.”

Stoick nodded in understanding. He’d seen the plans for the tailfin his son made, and held them over the fire, only to pull them back once he saw Hiccup’s signature. Tears began welling in his eyes at remembering his son’s script and Stoick changed the subject.

“Did any of the villagers say anything about the stories?”

“No, no one said a word. As far as the world knows, this Rider and his henchmen are spawns of Hel, and not of Berk.”

“Good,” Stoick replied. The shame would be unbearable if it got out his son and the children of the other prominent Berkian families were dragon riding villains. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Me too, but what if it gets out, Stoick?”

“We deny it. Everyone else thinks Hiccup and the teens died in a dragon raid.” He’d never said as much to any of the other tribes, but never denied it, especially not when Johann’s tale began spinning last year.

“Stoick…”

“I don’t want to hear anymore of it.”

“Alright, then.” Gobber finished another horn of mead and filled up a third.

The rest of the night they spent talking about their days, reminiscing about old battles and treasure hunts. They laughed more than the previous time they’d met like this, and Stoick hoped it meant both he and Gobber were healing.

But when Gobber left to stumble home during the hour of the wolf, the same dreaded silence and darkness came back. There was no escape from it.

So, before Stoick went to sleep, he sent up a prayer to the gods, asking that they bring his son home. He asked that, despite his sons’ horrible actions, they keep him safe from harm and bring him home.

And as Stoick slept that night, he dreamt of a Berk where Hiccup never left. Where Hiccup was heir and grown up, where Hiccup married his crush Astrid Hofferson after impressing her in the Kill Ring at the final test of Dragon Training. Where his friends were his closest advisors. Where Stoick still had his son.

Chapter Text

-0-

The Baltic Sea, Present

According to Heather’s calculations, they still had another hour to go before getting to Uppsala. Apparently, the rest of them had been there before, and knew exactly where they could safely stay with the dragons hidden.

It was exciting for her. After she left the Archipelago over a year ago, she’d only seen very little of the world, having gone to the lands of Danes, Norwegians and Swedes. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enlightening; it just wasn’t what she was expecting. The people in those lands lived similar lives to the Vikings in the Archipelago. It wasn’t new enough for her, so she went north to the territories of the Sámi. She’d nearly been kidnapped by deserting Dragon Hunters in Lapland, but luckily, Hiccup and Fishlegs were tracking those Hunters and stepped in to rescue her.

They’d found out she was from the Archipelago and invited her over for a meal or two. Heather, being the suspicious person she was after leaving the Archipelago, snooped around.

That was when she stumbled across the beautiful, green-eyed Razorwhip with a hurt wing.

Heather hadn’t seen a dragon this close in years. Years ago, the dragon raids just stopped, and while dragons could be spotted, they rarely let humans get close and preferred to fly away.

It was breathtaking, and when she locked eyes with that dragon, she saw an intelligence and ferocity to match her own. She saw someone she could trust.

Not to mention she was beautiful too, with her green eyes and sharp scales that could cut through anything. Heather loved it.

The others found her and after a particularly tense standoff, agreed to let her stay. But Heather never left the dragon’s side.

Now, she was one of them. In a way. It was hypocritical of her to keep secrets from them and to be upset they never told her they were from Berk, so close to her previous home, but she was upset.

Maybe more so at Fishlegs than the others.

She couldn’t take it any longer. “Why didn’t you say anything, Fish?”

“Heather…”

“No, I want to know.” She pulled alongside him at the end of their pack, and looked him in the eyes, “Why didn’t you say anything? Or at least give me a hint? Why all the secrecy?”

“Heather…It’s just…Well, a long time ago we made a promise. Anything we did, we all had to agree on and do it together!”

“Including telling your girlfriend?”

“It’s not like I wanted to keep it a secret from you! Believe me, I wanted to tell you! But we all agreed to not tell anyone a long time ago. Hiccup suggested it! Too risky and the more people who knew, the higher the risk Berk would suffer because of our actions.”

“What, so you don’t trust me, now?” She crossed her arms and Fishlegs looked stricken.

“What? No! I just…Look, Hiccup’s done a lot for all of us. Without him, I would still be back on Berk, killing dragons. Now? I study them, and we’ve seen so much of the world and everything in it! There are things we’ve seen I know you don’t believe we saw! But it’s true! And it’s because of Hiccup!”

She understood their loyalty to Hiccup, but sometimes she felt like it bordered on fanatical devotion. She was about to bring that up when two voices cackled above her.

The twins eavesdropped, she realized, of course the twins were listening to us. She knew there was little room for privacy among their group, but Thor’s mighty hammer, was it possible to have a conversation without someone overhearing them?!

The twins inverted themselves over Fishlegs and Heather, and Ruffnut spoke first, “I do believe what my blonde bookish companion is attempting to say is that without Hiccup, we wouldn’t be here. Not just physically, but…not physically, you know? Fishlegs wouldn’t be the expert on dragons or legendary artifacts or mythical creatures, and Tuff and I—”

“Wouldn’t be known as acolytes of Loki, since Hiccup encouraged our crazy ideas and allowed us to hone our craft.”

Heather supposed that made sense. Kind of.

“See, Heather?” Fishlegs started gently, “It’s not that we don’t trust you. I do trust you. It’s just…Well, Hiccup’s our leader. He was worried about retaliation against Berk, and we all agreed to this a long time before we met you. I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t keep any secrets from us—”

Heather’s heart panged at that. She kept secrets, and she wasn’t sure how much longer they’d stay hidden the closer they got to the Archipelago.

“—but you have to believe me. We wanted to tell you, all of us, Hiccup included. But it just felt safer this way.”

She accepted his explanation with a soft smile and moved Windshear close enough to land a kiss on Fishlegs’ cheek.

She trusted them, Fishlegs most of all, and wondered what Hiccup could have done to earn this kind of loyalty over the past years.

They spent the rest of the hour in silence, and Heather gazed at the ground far below them. She’d been riding Windshear for what felt like a lifetime, but she never got tired of seeing all the people and homes below. She wondered what the great cities of the east looked like from the sky.

Maybe after they defeated the Dragon Hunters and their unknown overlord, she could convince the others to take her to Miklagard or Baghdad or the land of Misr, maybe even beyond those, to the mountains Hiccup described as ‘breaking through the sky and stretching into the heavens’. Fishlegs said the dragons there were intelligent, maybe even smarter than humans, and flew with a grace that he’d never seen before, like they were floating in the sky. One of them was so old, Fishlegs estimated the creature to be nearly a thousand years old, and all their dragons treated it with the upmost respect, bowing before it like it was a wise elder dragon.

They’d described everything they ever encountered, and while Heather didn’t believe all of it, she couldn’t wait for the chance to see it all herself someday.

It all sounded breathtaking.

-0-

The Kingdom of Wessex, 3 months since leaving Berk

The locals called them wyverns, but if Fishlegs was honest, it looked almost identical to a dragon.

Well, apart from the fact it didn’t breath fire, didn’t fly for very long, and resembled more of a serpent with wings than it did a bona fide dragon.

It was a bright yellow color and had small spikes protruding from its back with an elongated snout, like a Monstrous Nightmare’s, but not nearly as long. It had two legs and wings, like a Deadly Nadder, although the tail was much longer, to the point it almost seemed ridiculous. It couldn’t fly long distances with a tail that long, could it?

He jotted down a note to check his measurements and ask Hiccup to do the math on that. He’d be curious if the dragon’s wings could sustain enough life and speed to keep the tail from dragging it down, although maybe the tail was lighter than it appeared?

It had rows of sharp teeth and a forked tongue, with brown eyes that had slits like daggers, and two horns on the top of its head. Its talons looked incredibly sharp, and Fishlegs made another note of whether wyverns could belong to the Sharp Class because of this or if they would belong to Mystery Class?

Definitely not Stoker Class, he chuckled to himself. Nothing about it struck him as particularly fearful, so it wasn’t a Fear Class either.

It was fascinating. It was one of the first dragon-like creatures they’d seen, after hearing tales of them for so long at Berk. They’d seen dragons on their travels, like the Ironclaw dragon of the Boulder Class from two days ago, or the Wolly Howls of the Highlands, but this was something new entirely.

It was regal and majestic, holding itself proudly, he’d noted, and he was almost positive wyverns descended from Sharp Class dragons. There were too many similarities in appearance and behavior. He wondered if they were possibly descended from Deadly Nadders and made a mental note to ask Astrid about her thoughts on it later.  

It was a beautiful and enchanting creature, wondrous and fascinating.

It was also incredibly aggressive, and not exactly forgiving to wandering Dragon Riders stumbling on what appeared to be its nesting grounds.

“Fishlegs!” Hiccup yelled from behind his shield, the fearsome Night Fury at his side probably the only thing keeping the Wyvern from mauling the teen.

“I know, I know! Just give me another few seconds to finish the sketch!”

“I don’t have a few seconds, Fishlegs! I’m in this poor girl’s nest! She’s afraid for her babies!” As if the wyvern understood him, she lurched forward menacingly, hissing as the Night Fury showed white, razor-sharp teeth and hissed back.

“Ok, ok and…done! Come on, Meatlug!” Fishlegs hopped on Meatlug’s back and flew down into the nest to distract the wyvern while Hiccup clipped into his dragon and took off.

The wyvern merely spat and hissed but coiled itself around its eggs even more. Fishlegs made a note near the sketch that some predators might hunt for wyvern eggs, hence the need for presumably the female to stay behind to guard the eggs. It would also explain the aggression towards him, Meatlug, Hiccup and Toothless .

He scratched out the female part after he saw the other wyvern moving back towards the nest from the forest, realizing his mistake. It appeared the males guarded the nest. Interesting.

“How come I had to go down there this time?” Hiccup asked once they were out of danger, high in the sky.

“Excuse me? Do you not remember the Ironclaw?” Fishlegs trembled, “That was two days ago! Nuh uh, no way was it going to be my turn again to distract something while you sketched it!”

“You were fine! Meatlug and Stormfly got you out in time!”

“It was too close! Way too close! Also, why didn’t we bring the others along? Surely this could’ve been easier with Snotlout or the twins as the distraction!” Fishlegs knew better than to bring up Astrid as a distraction. Snotlout may have been blind and continued flirting with Astrid while the twins were either oblivious or didn’t care, but Fishlegs saw there was something budding between her and Hiccup.

“Well…You know, I just wanted it to be like old times, back on Berk, remember? Our troll hunts when we were seven?”

They flew through a cloud bank, and Fishlegs had to wipe the moisture off his fur vest before responding, “Do you miss Berk already? We can still go back if you want, we’re only a few days away!”

“No!” Hiccup exclaimed, startling both dragons and Fishlegs, “No! I mean…I don’t want to go back, I just…Well, we used to be good friends, remember?”

Oh no, Fishlegs thought. Now he was regretting Meatlug’s slower speed, because it meant he couldn’t outrun Hiccup in the air. Meatlug could carry two times the weight a Night Fury could, but that came at a cost of speed.

“Aren’t we still good friends?” Fishlegs knew it was pathetic, and he chastised himself for even trying, “Sorry. It’s just—”

“Awkward?” Hiccup offered, smirking a little.

“Yeah. I mean…you know I never wanted you to feel left out, right?”

Hiccup nodded, “I know, Fish. I wasn’t trying to bring…well, that up. Just wanted to spend some time with you. You were my first friend, after all.”

Fishlegs heart sank at that. Hiccup had been his first friend, too, back when both boys were small and less concerned with weapons and killing dragons. Then Fishlegs hit a growth spurt and bulked up, and suddenly he was considered part of the ‘Viking crowd’. It didn’t matter he never cared for killing dragons, or that his parents basically forced him into dragon training because of his warrior build. He looked the part, after all, it’d been too long since an Ingerman won dragon training, and their son’s superior size and strength meant he could be the one to win Dragon Training. The only real threat, they’d said, was Snotlout Jorgenson, as they scoffed at the twins and Astrid because of their smaller frames. So, he went along with it, acting the part of the tough Viking.

Hiccup never expected Fishlegs to act the part. Not once in three months since they’d left Berk.

“I’m sorry, Hiccup. About ditching you for them.”

“Fish, there’s no need for—"

“There is! Hiccup, you were my friend, and you trusted me, and I just…I left you for them!” Fishlegs threw his arms open in the sky, “I never once invited to eat with us, and I never spoke up for you whenever they teased you. I was a horrible person to you after you showed me nothing but kindness since we met, and I’m really, really, really sorry for that Hiccup.”

It was silent until they landed on the knoll that hid their campsite, and the others were already there, with Astrid skinning and prepping their illegal crownland deer, Snotlout building a suitable cooking fire, and the twins, as usual, building elaborate traps for any outsider who came near the campsite. Not that they needed the traps, they had fire-breathing dragons, after all, but it gave the twins something to do that was well within their skillset. And held their notoriously short attention spans.

Their group had become very domestic, in an odd way. Like a little family.

“You know,” Hiccup spoke up as they walked back towards the others, “I never held it against you. Hanging out with, well,” he gestured to the assorted teens in front of him, “all of them over me. I never resented you for it.”

“Really?” It shocked Fishlegs. He’d always assumed Hiccup hated him after he stopped hanging around, and the thought of his former friend hating him made it much easier to stomach avoiding Hiccup for the first few months of new status.

“Never. Not once. I was sad I lost a friend, but I never blamed you for it. You were a victim to the circumstances just as much as I was, right?”

Fishlegs could only nod, and Hiccup smiled.

“Then it’s all forgiven, Fish. I’m just glad to have you back. And don’t worry about the muscle around here. Between everyone else, we have more than enough brawn. We’ll need your brains, and I know that’s always been more your speed anyways, right?”

While he at the venison Astrid killed for them, Fishlegs thought about what Hiccup said. In their group, only him and Hiccup were deficient in weapons handling and fighting. Astrid was smart, but her mind always gravitated towards battle strategy, tactics, weapons and thinking like a general. Snotlout, Ruffnut and Tuffnut had yet to show where their talents laid, but the three of them were good in a fight.

But they weren't out in the world to fight in battles, they were out here to explore. They needed people good with maps, charts, reading, writing, languages and they needed someone who enjoyed studying dragons.

He’d always loved learning about dragons, especially their characteristics and defining features. He loved the analysis of it all and he’d found that in their time outside of Berk, he was happiest observing, cataloguing and studying the different creatures and dragons they’d encountered. He'd also loved reading, trying to find time to translate foreign books or learn a language to read more books written outside of the Viking world. He'd studied maps just marveling at the detail of them, memorizing shorelines and straits in the Archipelago.

Maybe this was his contribution to the group. He could be their repository; their vault of knowledge. He’d be the one to learn everything there was to learn about dragons. He could help whenever they came across a new one, using his knowledge of other species to guide their study of the new. Whatever threat they came up against, he’d be the one to observe it. He could study it, find its weaknesses and strengths, and that could allow the team to take down whatever they faced. He had a brain built for memorization, and his recall was excellent. He could help Hiccup plan, relay strengths and weaknesses to Astrid and Snotlout, and encourage the twins’ madness to strike at particular points.

He wouldn’t have to worry about being as tough as he looked. It would come in time, he figured, but he would never be the bravest of the group or the most aggressive. No, he’d fill the role he wanted to fill. He’d be their walking repository of knowledge.

His place wasn’t among the dragon killing Vikings, he’d realized. It was here, with his friends. All of them. Human and dragons.

-0-

The Kingdom of Mercia, 3 months since leaving Berk

“I told you poaching was a bad idea.”

“Shut up, Snotlout.”

“No one ever listens to me.”

“Shut. Up. Snotlout.”

“How many times have I said, Astrid, we can’t go hunting on the king’s land?”

“Are you putting on this little song and dance for the shire reeve to make him think your innocent? Because I don’t think he speaks Norse.”

“You don’t know, Astrid, maybe he has a Danish cousin he visits in Jorvik.”

The guardsman yelled something in Englisc and smacked the bars with his cudgel, and Tuffnut hated how it rattled. It gave him a headache and he was trying to catch up on his beauty sleep. He put his helmet over his face and closed his eyes again.

It annoyed Ruffnut, too, but unlike her brother she didn’t need beauty sleep. She was already the most beautiful Dragon Rider in the world. Outside of Astrid, that was. Stupid Astrid, she thought, everyone's always talked about Astrid. How pretty she is, how smart she is. How muscular and shapely her upper arms are. Well, not anymore! Now they were back on equal footing, where no one knew who they were.

Anyways, no, the banging on the bars annoyed her because she hated the sound of wood on metal.

“Arguing won’t get us out of here, guys.” Hiccup groaned again, checking if the iron bars on the window were rusted enough to cut through with his prosthetic as a saw. They were not. Ruffnut checked earlier and she didn’t think Hiccup prosthetic was sharp enough to cut iron.

“How come you always take Astrid’s side?” Snotlout grumbled.

“I’m not taking Astrid’s side, Snotlout, I’m just saying let’s start thinking of ways to break out to avoid getting blinded for poaching.”

“Are you seriously taking his side?!” Astrid glared at Hiccup with her strongest look, and it surprised Ruffnut that Hiccup didn’t wither as much as he used to.

“Oh, come on Astrid, I mean Snotlout does have a point! Selling a buck hide in the market near a kingswood? Even I know that’s just asking for trouble!” Hiccup threw his hands up at Astrid’s annoyed groan.

The argument devolved into bickering while Ruffnut and Tuffnut lounged at the front, bored out of their minds. Eventually, Hiccup left the side of the large cell with a quarrelling Astrid, Fishlegs and Snotlout and joined the twins at the front. Rather than sit on the bench, though, he sat on the floor against the iron bars, between the twins.

It’d taken some getting used to for the twins having Hiccup around so often. Fourteen years of ignoring him was hard to overcome, but he’d fit easily into the group’s dynamic. He balanced them, as before it had always been Snotlout, Ruff and Tuff against Astrid and Fishlegs. Now, they were evened out.

“So…What’re you in for?” Ruffnut asked with a grin.

Hiccup huffed, “I don’t suppose you two have any ideas on how to get us out?”

Tuffnut lifted the helmet off his hand and sat up, eyeing Hiccup. He didn’t know much about Hiccup, but he knew he occasionally came up with crazy ideas. Like riding a dragon instead of killing it. That one turned out to be a pretty good idea.

And there was killing the Red Death. While terrifying, it was totally awesome, the only downside being Hiccup lost his leg.

And the lunatically insane idea of leaving the Archipelago on dragon back with nothing but some weapons, clothes and dried yak jerky?

Best idea since the invention of the door.

But if Hiccup was out of ideas?

Tuffnut put on his signature Thorston grin, “Ruff, what do you say to opening the old Nut Idea Farm? Shall we commence growing season?”

Ruffnut matched the grin, “Tuff, I thought you’d never ask.”

“What’s going on?” Hiccup nervously asked.

The twins’ parents hated how devoted to pranks and trickery their children were. They always shut them down in the house and forbade them from setting up traps or staging elaborate pranks, even on Loki Day.

But it occurred to them that not once in the three months since they’d left had Hiccup ever tried to shut them down from giving out an idea, even if the others tried. He always listened and took them seriously, even if he disagreed with them. He didn’t treat them poorly or dismiss their ideas out of hand like the others. He treated them like equals.

Were they supposed to have treated him the same way growing up? Rather than making fun of him for his ideas and designs and his inability to be a normal Viking?

Ugh, is this what guilt feels like? Tuffnut thought, and his twintuition told him Ruffnut thought the same thing.

They’d make it up to Hiccup. Starting now.

Tuffnut spoke first, “Hey Hiccy, how would you like to be part of a classic family Nut escapade?”

“I-uh…wait, Hiccy?”

Ruffnut chimed in, “Yes or no, H, it’s a simple question.” Hiccup looked over at Ruffnut, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re saying sorry for years of teasing and ostracization by us because we were too immature and concerned with social standing in Viking society at large and our social circle to realize that you are, in fact, a good person who deserved none of what he got. Our primary way we are going to show how sorry we are is by getting all of us out of this jail, but more specifically by having you involved in said plan to breakout and any other crazy plans we may come up with in the future.” Ruffnut smiled deviously at Hiccup.

“It’s considered an honor to be part of the Thorston planning process,” Tuffnut finished and looked to Hiccup for approval.

Hiccup, on the other hand, looked bewildered. “I…ok. I’m…h-h-honored to be part of this…planning…process. Thank you?”

“The honor is all ours. Now, sis, I was thinking, what if you seduce the shire reeve, marry him, and take the key in the divorce settlement?”

Hiccup raised a finger, “Oh, uh ok, wait…why doesn’t she just steal the key in that scenario? During the seduction? A-a-and I’m not totally on board with the idea of Ruffnut seducing a grown man…”

“You’re right, it’d take too long, we’d be blinded for poaching by that point.” Ruffnut agreed, and they went back to planning.

They sowed the seeds of chaos in their heads, examining each sprouting idea and running it past Hiccup, who was a good contributor to the ideas, but so far, none of them seemed plausible for their dilemma.

There was only one idea they had left that could work, but for it to work, someone would have to get hurt. Actually hurt. It needed to look real, after all.

And they needed a certain temperamental and protective shieldmaiden to do that.

“Well, sis, looks like there’s only one thing left to do.” Tuffnut said and shook her hand.

“I know exactly what you mean. Thank you for taking one for the team, brother. And Hiccup, thank you for your contribution to this plan.”

Hiccup threw his hands up in frustration, “Ok, I’m feeling a little bit out of the loop on this one. What’s with the thanks? Is this some sort of twintuition thing?”

“Aww, you do care!” Tuffnut was touched by how much Hiccup listened. They really had to make it up to him for their years of rudeness to him. “It’s all good, Hiccup, we’ll just need one thing from you!”

“I’m going to regret asking what you need, aren’t I?” Hiccup stood up, and Ruffnut positioned herself behind him. Perfect.

Moving quickly, Ruffnut grabbed Hiccup’s arms and Tuffnut dove at his feet, removing his prosthetic and holding it triumphantly in the air, while Ruffnut somewhat dumped Hiccup to the ground.

“I got it! It’s mine now!” Tuffnut shouted, drawing the attention of the three still arguing on the other side of the cell. Astrid’s face, thankfully, became furious.

“Tuffnut! Give me my leg back!”

“Nope, it’s mine now!” He tried not to keep too much eye contact with Astrid, lest she see through the plan, but he’d counted on her blind rage at preventing that.

And it did. She leapt at Tuffnut with the fury of a Valkyrie scorned, and Ruffnut hardly suppressed her glee at the sight of Astrid pummeling Tuffnut with his own helmet, shouting obscenities as she took the leg back.

Tuffnut, for his part, egged Astrid on to keep the beating going. At this point, Ruffnut knew she could call for the shire reeve for the second phase of their plan, but she let Astrid get a few more hits in on her brother.

So what? It was fun watching Tuffnut get beat up.

Finally, she called for the shire reeve in Englisc, “Guard! Guard! This terrible Viking is killing my brother! Please help us!”

Hiccup, still on the floor missing his leg, looked at her astounded, “You can speak Englisc?”

“What can I say? Us Nuts are full of surprises! You just got to crack open that hard exterior first, you know?” She smiled at him, but it wasn’t her usual leer of Thorston fame. It was softer.

Loki above, girl, are you going soft? She purged the thought from her head.

The shire reeve showed and promptly opened the door to grab Astrid by the arm and pull her off a bruised Tuffnut, who then shouted, “Get him!”

All five teens, minus Hiccup who still didn’t have his prosthetic back, overpowered the shire reeve and tied him up. Astrid took the prosthetic over to Hiccup and reattached it.

Ruffnut saw the look in their eyes when they helped each other. As crazy as Hiccup was, Astrid already staked a claim there, and Ruffnut was never one to encroach. Maybe she’d find someone out there in the wide, wide world just as crazy as her.

So, she helped Tuffnut tie up the shire reeve and high-fived him. Tuffnut was pleased too as he applied pressure to what would probably be a black eye, “Quite the performance, wouldn’t you say? And thanks for going along with that, Astrid!” He gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“No problem,” she grumbled, Hiccup’s arm around her shoulder as he adjusted the prosthetic. It was still funny to watch since Astrid was slightly taller than Hiccup and had to bend lower for him. “Next time, though, you can just tell me to beat you up. You didn’t need to take Hiccup’s leg.”

“On the contrary, Astrid, we’ve found the best way to engage others in our work is to make them think our work is not going on. If you don’t know you’re part of our plan, you behave normally, which our plans usually consider. For example, what if you didn’t beat Tuffnut up enough?”

“Yeah, what if you went easy on me, A?”

“Trust me, that’s not a problem I’m going to have.” Astrid threatened.

It was at the point Fishlegs chimed in, unusually annoyed, “Guys! I hate to interrupt this spirited debate on method acting and whether its better for performers to think something is false or real but—”

“We have to get out of here!” Snotlout finished.

Nodding, all six teens sprinted out of the jail. Once they were clear of the village, they called for their dragons and discussed where they would go next.

The twins, meanwhile, were smiling at one another. Berk never took their ideas seriously, but out here with their gang of Dragon Riders? It looked like the Nut Idea Farm would be needed more and more.

Maybe their place wasn’t among the dragon fighting Vikings on Berk, they’d realized. Maybe their best work would be better served out in the world.

Chapter Text

-0-

Uppsala, Present

“And over there is where we fought our first draugr,” Hiccup pointed to the giant mound in the distance, and he could see how Heather almost broke out laughing.

“For the last time, draugr aren’t real, you guys. You can’t fool me, I’ve seen dead people before and none of them ever came back as revenants.”

Once again, the entire group snickered at her, but in a way that emphasized how little of the world she’d seen.

He’d seen a draugr rise from its resting place in the mound, attack his friends and attempt to curse them by using their names. Another benefit of no one saying their last names: If a draugr cursed you with your full name, then your family would be affected, but it only affected one person if it knew the first name.

They were lucky that the draugr wasn’t their first encounter with the more…supernatural parts of the world.

“Oh, Heather. Poor Heather. Sweet, naïve, poor Heather,” Ruffnut mused, “Doth thou not knoweth what inhabits our world beyondeth? What manner of creatures and beasts lurketh in the dead of night? What myths and legends stalk us in our very villages?”

“What?” Heather looked confused, and Hiccup waved Ruffnut off.

“What she means, Heather, is that there are things beyond humans that live here. A lot of the tales you grew up hearing are true in some form or another, and some don’t do justice to the beings they describe.”

Hiccup could see Heather still didn’t believe them, and he thought about just showing her instead. They were in Uppsala, one of the most holy places for the Norse gods, and a place of great power and wealth as it was home to many kings and powerful warriors from older times.

Surely, there had to be an undead king or thane or jarl or warrior somewhere jealously guarding a treasure hoard and laying curses upon nearby villages. In his experience, he’d be surprised if there wasn’t another draugr within two leagues of their first.

They went about their normal routine: grabbing water, feeding the dragons, getting a fire set up. They didn’t need to break camp, but they did remove the supplies from their dragons’ backs to give them some rest.

“I know, bud, feels good to have all that weight off your back, huh?” Hiccup scratched Toothless in the spot he so loved under his chin.

*warble*

“I know, I know. Tell you what, since we’ve got a long day’s flight still to go, how about we try to get you some lake trout, huh? Would you like that?”

Would I? I would love that! He’d imagined that’s what Toothless would say if he could speak Norse, since the Night Fury started wiggling and licking his lips, purring and rubbing up against Hiccup to the point of nearly knocking him over.

“Alright, alright! Let’s go find a lake, alright?” He grabbed a small net they’d made for catching fish from dragon back and leapt onto Toothless.

He hollered towards the others to let them be back, then blew Astrid a kiss. She laughed, caught it and returned the gesture.

Once they got to the lake, Toothless blasted several holes in the ice before settling into hovering. Hiccup cast the net in, let it drop a little before he yanked on the strings to close it. Toothless slowly moved higher and the net emerged from the water, filled with about a dozen trout.

After only a few casts, he’d given Toothless more than enough trout to satisfy the Night Fury’s seemingly unending hunger and decided to put a few more in a modified saddlebag to take back to camp. He needed to eat breakfast, after all, and was beginning to develop a hatred for jerky and berries.

“Maybe when we hit Wessex we can stop for a while and eat some real food, what do you say bud?” He asked, lying on Toothless’ flank.

Toothless shot him a look and snorted, and Hiccup pretended to be wounded by the reaction.

“Oh, bud, I’m hurt! You think I’m just trying to stall so I don’t have to see my father again? How could you ever say something like that?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he knew it annoyed his best friend.

Toothless chuffed and used a hind leg to kick Hiccup off his flank, as if saying to get a move on.

Hiccup grimaced, rubbing his backside where the foot made contact, “You know, you get grouchy after eating trout. Maybe I should just stop getting you trout and go back to plain old cod.”

WHACK

“Ow! What was that for?!” He rubbed the spot on the back of his head where Toothless’ tail made contact.

Toothless laughed and rolled onto his back, the stance that always meant the same thing.

Playtime.

Hiccup leapt onto Toothless stomach only to be immediately kicked off by Toothless’ hind legs. He brushed off his bruised pride when Toothless laughed at him again.

“Oh, so it’s going to be like that, huh?” He grabbed Toothless’ neck and attempted to wrestle him, but the Night Fury wouldn't budge.

Until he’d whipped himself around and thrown Hiccup into the shallow portion of the lake, where Hiccup broke through the ice and into the waist-deep water below.

“Come on, Toothless! My clothes are going to freeze now!” As much as Hiccup wanted to be mad, he couldn’t but smile as Toothless chortled and attempted to imitate a human laugh.

Besides, he’d been asking for it by trying to wrestle a dragon.

They flew back to their rest stop and he immediately caught flak from Astrid. “Are you kidding me, Hiccup?!”

“Don’t look at me, Toothless did it!” The dragon didn’t seem amused at being thrown under the cart so quickly but rolled his eyes and walked off to sleep off the trout. Hiccup stripped and hung the wet clothes up by the fire, trying to ignore the glare from Astrid.

“Are you trying to get hypothermia before Berk?” She finally asked as he pulled on new clothes and clean, dry furs.

“I wouldn’t say that. Toothless and I just got a little carried away, that’s all.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He’d noticed a lot of times it seemed to help calm her down when she was angry with him.

Other times, though, it made her angrier, so really it was a roll of the dice. He hoped luck was on his side now.

It seemed it was this time, as Astrid became noticeably less angry. “Be more careful or I’m taking your foot away. If I have to suffer through a reunion on Berk, so do you!” She jabbed her finger into his chest to drive the point home, but she was starting to grin a little bit now.

“You wound me, milady, but as you wish.” He proceeded to give her a mock bow reminiscent of their time in the Frankish kingdom and received a slug on the arm as his prize.

She was smiling, though, so he counted that as a victory.

He pulled the fish out of Toothless’ saddlebag and began prepping them to be cooked, checking to see if someone tried to get a stew going or if he should just cook the fish on a stick. No stew, so it was fish on a stick.

A half hour later, they all ate, once again telling Heather about their past adventures. Some she believed, but Heather still seemed unconvinced at others.

“So, this red dragon fought a white dragon, and the sounds they made were so terrible it caused every pregnant woman in the region to miscarry, men to lose strength and cower in fear and all the animals to hide? And they fought so much they shook the ground enough to collapse a castle?”

“When you put it like that, you make us sound crazy,” Tuffnut admitted, “But yes. That is what happened.”

“He’s leaving out a few things,” Hiccup conceded, “We were told about the miscarriages part from the locals’ stories, but we never saw them happen, so for all we know that didn’t happen. We did hear the scream, and it terrified everyone. The castle only partially collapsed, but the dragons did…well, there’s no easy way of saying this. They did split the ground open.”

“And I know it sounds crazy, but the dragons were not normal dragons either. They could…well…” Astrid stopped, and Hiccup knew what she was going to say.

No way would Heather believe that part.

Heather still looked skeptical, “Can we see these dragons when we stop in Wessex? I mean, it doesn’t sound like they’re that far?”

Hiccup sucked air through his teeth and grimaced, “Well…”

-0-

Sweyns-ey, 5 1/2 months since leaving Berk

They were tired, exhausted, hungry and it was only noon.

Following the jailbreak orchestrated by the twins in Mercia, they all laid low around Mercia and East Anglia before they went to the petty kingdoms in the land he’d heard called Cymru, and Hiccup was not surprised at all to find there was a Viking presence even in these kingdoms. They were in luck though, as the closest was a trade post and not an army camp, so while somewhat dangerous, it was not as bad as it was in Jorvik.

Eventually, they ran low on money, and while they stole a few fishing nets to catch fish for the dragons, they all were a little tired of eating fish and needed more supplies.

So, they got jobs. Temporary ones, and it was their first day. Astrid helped the butcher skin and clean kills, Snotlout mended fishing nets and Hiccup worked in the forge making horseshoes. It was temporary, he’d reminded himself, and the smith here didn’t know Hiccup and didn’t trust him to work on anything more complicated, even though Hiccup had made swords and axes before.  

He’d sent Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut off to follow some leads from a map they’d found on a dead man far out from the city, a map which  looked like it could be for a treasure hoard. They’d only been in the Englisc kingdoms for a little bit, but he’d heard more than enough about these treasure hoards, where rich men and women buried all their valuables and gold far away from their homes whenever Vikings came, and either forgot the treasures, lost their location, or were killed.

Either way, it was a lead, and it would keep the other three occupied. Fishlegs was hopeless in a forge or anywhere blood was involved, and the twins’ attention span did not lend itself to working a normal job. So, after the three of them caught enough fish to feed all the dragons before the sun came up, they’d gone off while the other three toiled away in the trading post.

After he caught up on the horseshoes, Hiccup stepped outside to check on the others. Astrid was just across the way, looking like she was going to murder her temporary boss with her knife, while Snotlout, oddly enough, looked as happy as a Terrible Terror with a belly full of fish.

“So, how’s the work going?” Hiccup asked when he was sure the butcher wasn’t looking.

Astrid’s well-masked fury told him everything he needed to know. “I’m going to kill him and then I’m going to kill you.”

“Astrid…”

“No, I’m serious. I’m a shieldmaiden! I can handle an axe better than any of these so-called Vikings can! They’re soft! Freya’s feet, Hiccup, we can just—”

“Astrid, for the last time, we’re not robbing people. At least, not unless it’s life or death.”

“This is life or death,” she muttered, stabbing the knife into the table. “It’s life or death for the butcher, who I’m very close to stabbing him right in his—”

She had that look of murderous intent on her face, the one Hiccup always thought looked cute, not that he'd ever tell her that in a million years. “I’m going to stop you right there, Astrid,” Hiccup held a hand up, “We can’t…go around threatening or killing people we don’t like.”

“Who said I was going to kill him?”

“Fair enough, then we can’t go around maiming people we don’t like. At least not yet. We’re only fifteen, Astrid, we’d get pummeled immediately. We need to play it smart. Ok?”

Astrid huffed, but Hiccup could see he’d won this argument. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of both her eyes. He’d never tell her, but while he’d grown up with a crush on edgy, cold-as-steel warrior Astrid Hofferson, he’d found he preferred this Dragon Rider Astrid much, much more. She could still cut someone with a look, but she was less on edge, happier, sometimes even funny, making puns and jokes like the rest of them.

Yes, he was beginning to like the new Astrid even more.

The blacksmith called Hiccup back and he gave Astrid a quick wave before running back over to hear his next task for the next few hours. Which turned out to be more horseshoes. Go figure.

He’d just finished the first shoe of the order when something ripped through the sky, vaguely familiar but also deeper, more guttural, like it came from the depths of the earth.

That’s a roar. A dragon’s roar.

It reminded him of the Red Death’s roar, but felt far more primeval, more ancient, more powerful. It was also further away, although he couldn’t tell how far away it was.

Everyone and everything stopped around him, all the people and Vikings stopped and looked up towards the sky. He saw confusion in the eyes of the few Vikings around, but for the native Cymry, he saw fear.

Fear and terror.

The roar ripped through the sky again, this time higher in pitch, like whatever roared was angrier than before. This time, people gathered their things and made for home. Some sprinted and some walked faster than normal, but everyone looked towards the sky.

They were afraid. Hiccup saw it in the eyes of some of the younger Vikings back on Berk during dragon raids, but unlike then, no soldiers readied themselves. No archers nocked arrows and no catapults moved into position. The town guards seemed frightened as well. They dropped their weapons in the street and hid under awnings and archways, like they were avoiding the sight of the sky itself.

It worried Hiccup that whatever dragon was making this sound, no one wanted to fight it. Everyone looked for places to hide. It meant this dragon couldn’t be fought. Was it another Red Death? Was there more than one of them?

We need to get out here, Hiccup realized. He looked at Astrid, who had by now pocketed the knife, removed her apron and looked towards him. They grabbed Snotlout and took off for their campsite.

The streets were crowded, and eventually people began running, and when a third roar echoed throughout the land, cries of fear erupted from the crowd.

Astrid took Hiccup’s hand and gripped it in hers, quickly wrapping some of her forearm band around the joined hands and tying it off. Snotlout made his own knots with some rope and tied it around his and Hiccup’s waist. “Stay close to me,” she ordered, and if the situation wasn’t dangerous Hiccup might’ve blushed.

Astrid led the way through the crowded streets with Snotlout in the rear, and together they pushed through the pressing throng of people trying to escape. Cries rose up in their native tongue, a language Hiccup didn’t speak but one Englisc person he’d asked called it Hen Gymraeg. He didn’t understand what they said, but many of them kept screaming the same words.

Hiccup strained his ears as he jostled through the crowd, and he thought he could just make it out.

Thraig goch? Was that their word for ‘dragon’? The roar certainly reminded him of a dragon.

Getting past those gates felt like a breath of fresh air, and Hiccup realized he was more out of breath than he thought.

“What was that?” Astrid asked, hands on her knees and sucking wind.

“Sounded…Sounded like a dragon,” Snotlout gasped.

“Not any dragon we’ve ever heard before,” Hiccup sputtered, putting his hands above his head and scanning the crowd.

Hiccup decided to try Englisc, and started asking passerby what that roar was, but no one responded to him. Snotlout and Astrid were no help with this since they knew only Norse, so they kept their eyes peeled on the sky above.

Finally, Hiccup managed to find someone who spoke Englisc. “What was that?”

“The Red Dragon!” She screamed.

“Red Dragon? What is that?!”

The woman repeated the words in her native language before running off, but at least Hiccup knew what they were dealing with, walking quickly back towards Astrid and Snotlout.

“Let’s get back to our dragons. She only said, ‘The Red Dragon’, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“Another Red Death?” Astrid seemed nervous suddenly, and Hiccup supposed she had reason to be. They hadn’t done any real training with their dragons, no fighting exercises or anything. If they were fighting a giant dragon again, they were thoroughly unprepared, just like the Red Death.

“I hope not,” was all he could say, and the three jogged to the campsite where the dragons were. To the relief of all three of them, their dragons were fine. Startled and nervous, but fine. Snotlout was uncharacteristically sappy with Hookfang and Astrid fed Stormfly compliments like they were peanuts as Hiccup hugged Toothless.

Some time passed where the three of them were reflecting on their disastrous first day of work and how they weren’t going to be paid, the sound of flapping wings roused them from their lounging.

Luckily, it was just Ruff, Tuff and Fish with Barf, Belch and Meatlug. Hiccup saw they didn’t have any extra treasure or loot, but that was ok. He was just glad whatever scared the people of Sweyns-ey hadn’t come across the others.

“Hey guys!” Tuffnut cried out from above as the twins leapt off their dragons with reckless abandon, mischievous grins spread wide on their faces. Fishlegs, on the other hand, looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You’ll never guess what we saw up north!” Ruffnut exclaimed, looking so excited she might burst.

“We saw two giant- and I mean GIANT- dragons! Not as big as the Red Death, but probably the second biggest dragons ever! And that’s not even the best part—”

Ruffnut interrupted Tuffnut’s rambling with a hit to the head, “Hey dummy! They were supposed to get a chance to guess,” she gestured to Hiccup, Snotlout and Astrid sitting on tree stumps and logs, “and you just told them!”

“They were never going to get it anyway! What’s the big deal?!” Tuffnut hit his sister back and Ruffnut retaliated by tackling her brother to the ground.

Hiccup may not have grown up friends with the twins, but he knew while they were fighting it would be impossible to get anything out of them, so he turned to Fishlegs, “Fish, what’d you see?”

Fishlegs still looked pale and rigid, like he’d broken someone’s prized spear, “Umm…We…It’s like the twins said. We saw two giant dragons, smaller than the Red Death, though…”

“Two dragons?” Astrid asked, and Fishlegs shrugged his shoulders, still looking nervous.

He’s hiding something, Hiccup thought. “Fish…” Hiccup started to say, trying to give him a chance to come clean.

After a few seconds of defiance, Fishlegs crumbled and blurted out, “Ok! It was my fault! I’m sorry! We were lost and couldn’t find the treasure the map was for, so we landed for a while near a hill that had a castle on it. We wanted to stay away from the soldiers, so we found a cave, but the twins wanted to explore the cave and blew up some walls, and they found this.”

He produced a crudely drawn picture on a piece of parchment of a large open area within the cave, with a colossal stone chest in the middle. He continued speaking as he gave it to Hiccup, “All around the room were these drawings with markings and symbols I couldn’t read, but based on the pictures…Well, it seems someone trapped two dragons in this chest. One red and one white.”

It took a minute for Hiccup to process the information someone had trapped dragons not in nets, but in a stone chest. And if there were drawings all around the cave, how long were the dragons in there? How did they survive? Was it Cymru tradition to trap two dragons in the chest, like a religious hunt or something? It was cruel, but he knew Vikings occasionally committed crueler acts, and tried not to judge something he didn’t understand too well.

Perhaps the two dragons were cruel, like the Red Death, and the people of Cymru were safer with the dragons locked up.

Then it hit him.

The woman in Sweyns-ey had said The Red Dragon. Everyone in that town and trading post kept saying that, and they were terrified.

“Fishlegs…These two dragons you saw...Were they the ones in the chest?”

“Umm…”

Hiccup scrunched his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Fishlegs—"

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know what was going to happen! The drawings showed two dragons fighting and getting trapped, and I was curious! And… I wanted to rescue them, ok? Like how we rescued our dragons from the Red Death!” As if to emphasize his point, he laid a hand on Meatlug, who began nuzzling her rider. “It seemed cruel to keep them locked in there! But I didn’t know how big they’d be! I don’t know how they fit in that small of a space! I just…opened it and they broke through the walls and out the side of the mountain!”

Then, as if to remind the group of the mistake Fishlegs made, another roar ripped through the sky, bone-curdling and chilling. Even the dragons seemed intimidated by it.

“We can’t just go around opening random chests Fishlegs! If we can’t read the language, we have no idea what’s in there! What if it was booby-trapped?!” Astrid stood up in frustration, and while Fishlegs was normally taller, he made himself smaller at Meatlug’s side, even with Astrid ten feet away from him.

“I said I’m sorry!”

Hiccup stepped between them, “Guys! Look, as much as I hate it, what’s done is done. Maybe the dragons will wear each other out or stop fighting, alright? There’s no reason to put them back, so let’s just—”

“Actually,” everyone looked at Tuffnut, the right side of his face squished into the dirt by a victorious Ruffnut, “there is a reason to put them back. See, I may not know a lot of words of the people around here, but I know ‘plague’. And ‘plague’ was written all over the walls in there.”

“WHAT?!” Astrid became livid, and Snotlout began to laugh so hard he fell off his tree stump.

Fishlegs screamed, “Why didn’t you say something before?!?” He pulled at the hair sticking out from under his helmet, his face green like he was about to lose his lunch.

“We were going to, but you were so freaked out we decided to wait until we got back. You’re never easy to talk to when you’re stressed out.” Ruffnut responded nonchalantly.

Fishlegs started hyperventilating, and Hiccup put a hand on the bigger boy’s shoulder while Meatlug comforted her rider.

Hiccup wasn’t sure what they could do. The size of the chest seemed awfully small compared to how the dragons’ size was described, unless there was something else involved.

But he could think about that later. If the dragons were responsible for bringing harm to people, he had to find a way to move them somewhere else. Or at least prevent them from hurting anyone.

The absolute last resort was to hurt them. The two dragons didn’t sound evil like the Red Death, so he hoped it wouldn’t come to hurting them.

“We have to fix this.” Hiccup looked to the others, doing his best to look stern and commanding, “All of us.” He heard Snotlout give an exasperated breath, “I don’t care who’s fault it was, we’re a team! We do this together! Get your harnesses on! We’re going up there and we’re going to find a way to make this right.”

Fishlegs said the flight would take about two hours, and even with two of their dragons making this trip for the third time today, they still managed to fly thirty or so leagues north in under two hours. He wasn’t sure how long they’d be up in the north of this land, but they would need to rest the dragons before heading back to the campsite.

They descended in a glide to allow the dragons to recover and eventually were right above the treetop. “It was just over this ridge!” Fishlegs pointed to the next ridge, and Hiccup took the lead to scout out what lay beyond it.

And he was not prepared for what he saw.

Fishlegs was right. The side of the small hillock in front of him was clearly split open, reminiscent of the Red Death’s exit from its volcanic lair, but smaller.

Entire areas of the forest surrounding the hillock were either trampled, burned or burning, with the ground torn up in heaps and giant claw marks sunken into the ground. The small lake off to his right looked like the dragons might have moved their fight into it, as the banks were sunk in mud and water.

But nowhere did he see the dragons. They hadn’t heard a roar in nearly half an hour, and Hiccup wondered if perhaps they had stopped fighting. He hoped they had, if only so everyone could go home.

“Where are they?” He heard someone mutter as they caught up, everyone scanning different parts of the sky and ground, looking for the dragons.

They never expected it to come from above.

It started with a low, guttural growl, reverberating through the air like an avalanche before it became a deafening roar, so loud and terrifying Hiccup’s muscles seized up and his ears temporarily rung. He looked up at the last second to see the two dragons falling out of the air, locked in one another’s claws with the white dragon atop the red dragon.

“SPLIT UP!” He shouted at the others, but they clearly didn’t need to be told.

He flicked the tailfin into position and dove out of the way with Toothless, weaving through the trees as a thundering crash came from behind him. They rounded the hillock from where the dragons came and came out on top of it, with the two large dragons fighting one another.

The others joined him at the top, and they could finally take in the size of the dragons, which was accurate to Fishlegs’ description. They were smaller than the Red Death, but still large enough to break out of a stone cave inside a massive hill. They moved with speed unusual for their size, with four legs and wings on their back, as well as spikes down the length of them and two earlike horns on their head with a long tail that ended in a triangular spike. The red one was smaller than the white, and seemed considerably less aggressive, opting to move away from the white if it closed the distance too much and preferred to let loose with its tail rather than its claws. The white one, on the other hand, would leap at the red with sharp claws and gnashing teeth, and there was a savage look in its eyes.

“How are we going to get them to stop?!” He heard Astrid scream over the sounds of the fighting.

Think, Hiccup, think. You did this before, and the Red Death was bigger, you can come up with a plan for this!

Yeah, but that was when there was only one dragon. And you lost a leg.

“OK!” He maneuvered Toothless to the front of the group, “Fishlegs! Go back to the cave and examine the drawings again! See if there’s anything that can help us trap these guys again or if there’s anything that can help us separate them!”

“Got it!” Meatlug’s wings folded, dropping quickly to the cave’s newest entrance.

“The rest of you!” He turned towards the others, “We’re going to distract the dragons just enough to keep them from killing one another. Don’t get too close to either one; our goal is just to take their attention away from one another, but make sure to focus on them evenly! We don’t want to get the upper hand and kill the other!” Hiccup led the way as Toothless took them into a dive, subconsciously connecting with Toothless and his foot moving in sync with Toothless’ tail fin, adrenaline having wiped away any exhaustion from earlier.

The dragons had parted for a second, both inhaling a deep breath with a sound Hiccup immediately recognized.

A second later, both dragons let loose as two enormous, gaseous clouds of fire streamed headlong at one another.

“UP! UP!” He shouted at the other riders as the two colossal streams of flames collided in the middle, creating an ever-growing inferno fueled by the two dragons unleashing their full power. The growing whirlwind of searing heat and smoke threatened to envelop Hiccup and the others, so he urged Toothless higher and higher.

“Come on, bud! We got to get above the clouds!” He put the tailfin into the highest gear as they climbed, slowly but surely outrunning the flames. He looked back to make sure the tailfin survived, and on seeing both the tailfin intact and his friends following him close behind, he exhaled in relief.

But before Hiccup could angle Toothless back down into a dive, the flames stopped. When they leveled out and he looked down, Hiccup paled.

Amidst the dying embers created by the maelstrom of fire, there were two empty spots of unburnt ground.

The dragons were gone. Vanished into thin air.

“What?!” He heard Snotlout shout.

“Where’d they go?!” Astrid seemed about ready to hurl her axe in frustration.

“I knew it! Spawns of Loki!” Tuffnut shouted, and Ruffnut readily agreed.

“I…No, they’re here somewhere!” He and Toothless landed, and even the Night Fury seemed confused, sniffing the charred earth and looking around. “Look around! May…Maybe they can blend in with the environment, like a Changewing!”

Astrid landed next to him, hand still on her axe, “Hiccup…Do you get the feeling something is…I don’t know, that something is weird about this?”

“Yes, but there’s got to be an explanation.”

“Hey, we found something!” Ruffnut shouted at them both, and they quickly flew over to find Ruffnut and Tuffnut.

Each held a sleeping piglet in their arms. “Aren’t they cute?!” Tuffnut pet his like a toddler with a new pet, “I’m naming mine Gruffnut after our favorite cousin!”

“He’s your favorite cousin! I’m naming my Agnes!”

Hiccup wanted to ask where they found the piglets, but he waved it off. They needed to find the dragons, and fast. “Come on, bud,” he coaxed Toothless back into the air, high enough to see over the hills and mountains that obscured their vision before.

Nothing. No movement, no roars, no flapping of wings, nothing. Toothless sniffed the air and trilled.

“I know, bud, I’m lost too. Let’s land so you can catch your breath,” they dove back towards the ground where Astrid dismounted an exhausted Stormfly and eyed the ridgelines. Snotlout and Hookfang checked beyond the lake, and the twins, well, cuddled the two sleeping piglets.

“I tried tracking them with Stormfly, but she kept bringing us back here. She might’ve lost the scent,” Astrid conceded, and Hiccup just nodded. They had to have gone somewhere, where were they?

A little while later, Fishlegs rejoined them, confused at the disappearance of the dragons.

“We lost them. Don’t ask how,” Hiccup could see the question forming in Fishlegs’ eyes before his mouth moved, “We’re not sure how.”

“Huh. Ok, well, the pictures weren’t much help. Part of the wall had broken through when they escaped, but I did make sure to study the rest of them, but this is where it gets weird.”

“What do you mean?” Snotlout asked as he dismounted Hookfang.

“Not all the drawings were dragons. Some showed two bulls, or hawks, or wolves or other animals. One of them even showed piglets, and that was the one I got confused on. One panel, it’s showing dragons in the air fighting, and then the next, it shows two piglets wrapped in a blanket, shoved into a barrel of mead and buried in the stone chest.”

Piglets?

His eyes turned to the piglets in the hands of the twins.

Oh no. No. Oh nonononono, Hiccup thought.

They all heard tales of shapeshifting dragons as children, but everyone, even adults, always assumed they were legends. Tales for late nights at the Great Hall, but he never took them seriously. No one did.

Dragons changed colors and some could blend with their environment. Some could appear invisible. But dragons did not shapeshift.

Then he remembered Astrid’s comment about Stormfly tracking the dragons, and how she kept coming back to where the piglets were. Combined with the stone carvings in the cave, and the fact the dragons were no where else, it seemed they'd stumbled upon two very real shapeshifting dragons.

The others, minus Fishlegs, realized it too. Even the twins, who eyed the slumbering piglets with awe and mumbled something about possessing Loki’s power of shapeshifting.

“Did I miss something?” Fishlegs must have seen their faces, and Astrid motioned for him to keep his voice down, pointing to the two still sleeping piglets in the hands of the twins. Fishlegs’ eyes widened, and Snolout clapped a hand over Fishlegs' mouth before he started screaming. If they turned into something more dangerous, they were all too close to the dragons. Animals. Things.

“Why don’t we just …?” Snotlout whispered, making a cutting motion across his throat.

“No! We’re not killing the dra-…Whatever they are! We just need to separate them!” Hiccup whispered back, almost furious Snotlout would even suggest that. “If we keep them from fighting, maybe they’ll…I don’t know, fly away?”

“Shouldn’t we put them back?” Astrid asked in a low voice, “I don’t know if I believe Tuffnut about ‘plagues’, but if they were locked up, it must be for good reason! Look at all the damage they’ve caused!”

Tuffnut shook his head, yelling in his most hushed voice, “No way! We are not locking these two divine creatures back in a cave!”

For a split second, Hiccup was proud of Tuffnut; he was the only one showing concern for the safety of the shapeshifting dragons. At least, he was proud of him until the next sentence came out of his mouth.

“Do you not realize the kind of mischief we can get up to with Agnes and Gruffnut?! Can you even imagine all the pranks? The possibilities are endless!” Tuffnut kept his voice soft, but his excitement was palpable.

The same went with Ruffnut, “Besides, we named them! We can’t give them up now!”

The piglets stirred at the noise, and everyone went silent and still. They only breathed easier once the two creatures fell asleep again.

Once he was sure they weren’t waking up, he spoke softly, “Ruffnut, Tuffnut: set them down gently. We don’t know how this works or if they’ll turn back into dragons soon or not. I don’t want you two to get crushed.”

They both grumbled, but obeyed, setting the piglet-dragons down on the ground softly and quietly. Once they were on the ground, everyone slowly backed away, doing their best to avoid making any noise which might startle the piglets.

It went well, until Snotlout’s foot broke a twig. The piglets woke up and, before their very eyes, changed and two wolves took their place, growling at one another.

Fishlegs screamed, “Shapeshifting dragons!” Hiccup wasn’t sure if the revelation excited or terrified Fishlegs. He himself wasn’t too sure about how he felt about it.

He’d expected he’d have more of a reaction to it. For Thor’s sake, they’d all just witnessed two fiery, enormous dragons change into piglets for a nap and then change into wolves when they woke up.

As the two wolves fought, he wondered when they’d turn into something more dangerous.

“So… uhm, what do we do?” Astrid asked no one in particular.

Everyone else must’ve been too focused on the dragons-in-the-form-of-wolves fighting, and Hiccup felt compelled to answer after a few minutes of staring, “We should still separate them. It’ll be easier this way, when they’re not…dragons.”

Everyone nodded absentmindedly and they wearily mounted their dragons. “Just promise me if you have that power, Toothless, don’t change in the middle of a fight?” Toothless snorted and gave his head a quick shake, which put Hiccup more at ease. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle it if Toothless suddenly changed into a cat in the middle of a fight.

They tried getting between the dragons first, but after they changed from wolves to boars, they decided to dismount since they’d all handled boars before. They attempted to wrestle the boars apart, relying on the twins’ experience in boar pits. Stormfly’s spine shots did nothing to discourage the fighting, as did Barf and Belch’s wall of fire. Hiccup tried using the new bola launcher on his shield to shoot a bola around the legs of one of the charging boars, but it broke through the rope like it was nothing. Toothless even tried firing warning shots, but nothing worked.

They kept shapeshifting, too, forcing the teens and their dragons to change tactics on how to handle them. But no matter what they tried, the two shapeshifting dragons always attacked one another. They never bothered with the teens or their dragons but seemed intent on fighting to the death, no matter what went on around them.

“Why do we care so much about keeping these stupid dragons alive?!” Snotlout cried as he and Hookfang attempted to stop the dragons, now bulls, from charging on another.

“They are divine creatures imbued with the power of Loki!” Ruffnut shouted, and Tuffnut quickly shouted his agreement.

Hiccup shook his head as he and Toothless dove to fire another close warning shot, “The twins are kind of right! How many other shapeshifting dragons do you know of? We have to keep them from killing one another!”

“They seem to be pretty bent on killing each other! And I don’t think I’d be too torn up if they killed one another!” Snotlout called out as the bulls now transformed into two eagles and began flying high into the air.

Hiccup urged Toothless to follow them, and he heard Stormfly right behind him. “Hiccup!” Astrid called out to him, but he kept his eyes focused on the hawks chasing one another. “Maybe we need to be open to the possibility that these dragons are—”

“I’m not going to let them kill each other, Astrid! There has to be a better way!” He couldn’t focus on this. He had to find a way. Shapeshifting dragons were just stories growing up, and there were two right in front of him. They were too special, too unique to be locked in a stupid fight. They were living, breathing myths, and he couldn’t let even one of them die.

The hawks passed into a column of clouds and an ear-piercing roar erupted from within, forcing Hiccup, Toothless, Astrid and Stormfly to veer away and cover their ears. When the dragons next emerged, this time in their original forms, the white dragon held the neck of the red dragon in its jaws.

Hiccup watched in horror as the white dragon bit down, and a second scream erupted from the red dragon as they both plummeted towards the ground.

They smashed into the ground at such a velocity Hiccup worried they both died, but both still moved. The red stirred slowly, though, with a gaping wound at its neck, while the white dragon spread its wings out and roared at the sky. Hiccup hovered above, next to Astrid, watching with a sick feeling in his stomach as the white dragon walked towards the red with its chest out and wings spread wide, as if proud of its victory.

The red dragon whimpered and tried to stand but fell back with another whimper. It broke Hiccup’s heart and pulled at his memory, of another time a dragon laid helpless and wounded. Something about that image of the red dragon, laying exposed on its side with an unprotected neck seemed too familiar to him.

As Hiccup gazed down into the red dragon’s eyes from a distance, he saw the same look he’d seen in Toothless’ eyes after being caught. It knew the end was coming. It was frightened. Just as frightened as Toothless was, and just as frightened as Hiccup was.

No, Hiccup thought as he tightened his grip on Toothless’ saddle, no, you’re not going to die today.

“Let’s end this fight, Toothless,” he whispered in Toothless’ ear, and the dragon gave a grunt as he tucked his wings in close, dropping into that death-dive Night Furies were known for. The screaming sounds of the Night Fury’s dive became louder and louder as they gained speed, eventually catching the attention of both dragons.

“NOW BUD!” Hiccup screamed as Toothless let loose a plasma blast of enormous power, slamming into the white dragon with enough force to send it stumbling into the mountain of ridges next to it. The white dragon roared as Hiccup and Toothless shot past, standing up to chase before getting caught in another fiery blast.

Stormfly darted between the spikes on the dragon’s back, letting loose numerous spikes and magnesium Nadder flames as Astrid whooped Stormfly on. When the white dragon turned its attention to Astrid and Stormfly, Hiccup pulled Toothless to take a go at another dive.

It wasn’t as powerful as the last blast, but it sent the white dragon stumbling again as it roared in anger, sending a stream of flames into the sky before several blasts of fire at its feet interrupted its tirade. Fishlegs, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Snotlout were each on their dragons, shooting fire at the unprotected underbelly and feet of the giant dragon. They flew away as the white dragon attempted to stomp on them, allowing Hiccup and Astrid another chance to attack from above.

On his third dive, they hit the head of the white dragon, sending it sprawling into the mountains and letting loose an avalanche of rock and stone on the white dragon. The other teens continued to harass it as it emerged from its blanket of stone. Hiccup pulled Toothless into another dive to loose a plasma blast at the dragon, once again driving it into the mountainside.

Above its head, Ruffnut and Tuffnut with Barf and Belch blew up an overhanging rock formation, which sent it crumbling down onto the white dragon's head. Snotlout had Hookfang light himself up to help distract the white dragon while Fishlegs and Meatlug dropped boulders into its wings. Astrid and Stormfly weaved through the spines of the white dragon, sending spikes at any weak spots exposed on its back.

When the white dragon attempted to move out again, Toothless knew what to do. Hiccup adjusted the tailfin and they dove down again, shooting another plasma blast at the dazed white dragon, this time at its neck.

Soon, though, everyone else ran out of shots, and no matter how much damage they did to the white dragon, it kept getting back up. It was dazed from all the hits to its head, but there were no physical wounds. Hiccup signaled for the other riders to pull back, to regroup and come up with a new plan. The red dragon slowly got up, but it was still in no shape to fight.

Bellowing, the white dragon began to inhale deeply, and Hiccup saw the telltale gas forming at the back of its throat from his position high above. Thinking quickly, he pulled Toothless into another dive as the green gas became more prominent in the dragon’s throat.

“NOW, TOOTHLESS!”

The plasma blast soared through the air and hit the white dragon square at the back of its mouth, igniting the gas in a fiery explosion within the dragon’s mouth. The white dragon screeched and roared in pain, shaking its head as unplanned flames poured from its mouth. Its wings unfurled and became flapping erratically, tail thrashing and knocking boulders loose from the mountains and hillocks around them as it spun around the glen, attempting to put out the flames in its throat and mouth.

A roar enveloped them from behind as the red dragon leapt from the mountain and tackled the white dragon to the ground, clawing and biting at it. Hiccup saw more than a few blows exchanged, yet the white dragon clearly lost whatever advantage it had before. While the fires were still burning in its mouth, it didn't put up much of a fight, and Hiccup wondered if they might have to keep the red dragon from killing the white dragon.

But the red dragon withdrew before the killing blow could be struck, and seemed to allow the white dragon to slowly raise itself up.

Finally, it seemed the dragon’s flames died down, but it didn’t look as ready for another round, Hiccup noted. Its tail was between its legs, wings tucked in and shielding its sides so it no longer looked proud. The white dragon glared at the red dragon and six teens but made no threatening moves.

Hiccup and the teens held their breath. They could feel how exhausted their dragons were, and their own clothes carried tears and charred ends from the fight. All of them were drained, but they kept their heads high and fierce.

After a minute-long standoff, the white dragon spread its wings and Hiccup felt his stomach jump into his throat. But instead of flying at them, the white dragon turned and took off in a furious beat of its wings away from them.

“It’s…retreating,” Astrid muttered as a small laugh escaped from her throat, “It’s retreating!”

“We won!” Fishlegs shouted.

“Snotlout Snotlout! Oi oi oi!” Snotlout bellowed.

“So long, Gruffnut!” Ruffnut screamed as she waved, “Not gonna miss you!”

“Come back any time as long as you don’t fight with Agnes!” Tuffnut yelled as he waved.

Hiccup, though, remained silent. He was more concerned about the red dragon and turned Toothless to fly back down to check on it.

It laid back down near the lake and they landed near its massive snout, but this time, the red dragon took notice of them. It eyed them with curiosity, sniffing loudly but remaining far enough so its eyes could focus on them. It was still massive even if it was smaller than the Red Death, Hiccup saw, as it could still easily grip an entire longboat in its jaws.

Despite being trapped in a cave for who knows how long, the dragon looked like it was in fine health outside of the wounds it sustained. There were no signs of starvation, no discoloration of the scales which suggested sickness, and its teeth seemed to be white and strong.

Whatever trollskap gave it the ability to shapeshift must also give it either extraordinary resilience or protection from natural death, which could explain why it appeared so healthy despite its captivity. He still struggled to wrap his mind around that.

The red dragon moved its snout closer to Toothless, who hissed and backed away. Hiccup laid a hand on Toothless and dismounted, walking closer towards the red dragon as it tilted its head to look at him.

He wasn’t afraid of it since it seemed friendly, but he couldn’t shake the uneasiness that came with something like this dragon, something that was beyond normal and possibly magical. He couldn’t try befriending it like a normal dragon, could he?

His curiosity got the better of him, though, and he slowly brought his hand up towards the dragon. His friends were probably giggling over ‘the hand thing’ as they called it, but Hiccup kept most of his focus on the red dragon in front of him. He watched for signs of hostility or anything which would put him in danger.

But then, to his surprise, the red dragon slowly lowered its head to the ground and pushed its snout towards Hiccup. Carefully, its lower jaw contacted his hand, before it pulled away and eyed him again.

Its eyes were different this time, and a voice pushed itself into Hiccup’s head, unfamiliar but elder, wise and strong.

Thank you.

Hiccup backed away in surprise and tripped over his feet, landing on his butt as the red dragon never removed its eyes from him. He heard the others land and pat him on the back, complimenting him and congratulating him, but he couldn’t look away from the red dragon.

Did that just happen? Did that…Did that dragon talk to me?!

No. No, you’re just…you’re just going crazy because all you had for food today was a slice of bread.

The red dragon laid its head down and slept, as did their dragons near the lake after getting a drink of water, which left the teens on their own.

“Hey, want to check out the castle?” Tuffnut asked as he jerked his thumb over to the crumbling fort near the hillock, where the fight took down much of the walls and towers. At this distance, he couldn’t tell if it was abandoned or not.

“Yes! I’m starving and we need to get some food!” Snotlout said, and the rest agreed.

Hiccup didn’t talk with them on the walk over, instead replaying the events in his head. The red dragon spoke to him. Somehow. He heard the voice in his head, and it wasn’t a voice he’d heard before, so it wasn’t like an intrusive thought. The dragon’s lips didn’t move though, and his ears didn’t hear anything different. It was like the dragon communicated with him through its mind, not its sounds or words.

It was strange.

“Hey,” he didn’t realize Astrid dropped back to walk by his side as they walked through the ruined portion of the wall. The castle seemed abandoned, so that didn’t bode well for their empty stomachs. “What’s up?”

“Oh! Uhm…you know, nothing. Just…tired.” He liked what he and Astrid had right now, an easy familiarity with one another and friendliness, which was why he decided not to bring up the red dragon talking to him. It would make him sound crazy.

Astrid, however, made a face. “You’re not telling me something.”

“It’s nothing, it’s…well, it’s crazy.”

“Crazier than shapeshifting dragons?” She had a point there, and Hiccup huffed as they walked up the stairs and through the large set of doors. She stopped him soon after they entered by grabbing his hand and turning him to face her, “Come on, Hiccup. You can tell me. You can trust me.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and wiped the bangs out of her eyes, allowing him to see her full face.

“Uhm…” Hiccup didn’t finish as Fishlegs screamed, the twins hollered in victory and Snotlout wept tears of joy. Hiccup and Astrid whirled around to see the source of the commotion, and Astrid laughed at the sight.

Whoever occupied the castle, it seemed, prepared a large feast for a special occasion, with all kinds of meats, cheeses, breads and other delicacies. When the dragons were freed, they left in such a hurry, they didn’t bother cleaning up the food.

The food Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were voraciously stuffing into their mouths. Cold meat and warm cheese didn’t seem to deter them at all.

“Come on, guys, its not our food!” Hiccup groaned to no avail, and even his stomach growled in rebellion to his ‘no stealing’ rule.

“You know…It’s not stealing when you think about it,” Astrid remarked, a sly grin gracing her face.

“And why’s that, Astrid?” He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“Well…it’s not stealing to eat from the trash, right? And since they left the castle behind with all this food, it would just go to waste once they got back and threw it away, right?”

“Astrid…”

“What?” She drew the word out to feign innocence and turned slightly to give him the side-eye smirk she'd since perfected, “All I’m saying is its nice of us to help them clean up. We’re just going to eat it instead of throwing it away, you know?”

Astrid opened up so much more in the months they’d been on the road, and he slowly discovered she had a bit of a mischievous streak. It was hidden and nowhere near the degree of the twins, but it was there. He liked it.

Hiccup’s stomach growled again and he thought it over. While not technically life or death, Astrid kind of had a point.

“Alright,” he announced to the room, “We don’t know when they’ll be back, so we’ll take an hour or two to let the dragons rest and stuff our faces with food.” The rest of the teens cheered and dove back in as Astrid and Hiccup joined them at the table. “But we’re not stealing anything else!”

They did, in fact, steal more than just the food. Mainly clothes, robes and any jewelry, to Hiccup’s chagrin, with the intention of selling the jewelry and any clothing that didn’t fit them. Hiccup groaned about it, but he was at least happy with his new fur vest and new red tunic that wasn’t burnt, filled with holes or smelled like a dragon. He just hoped they all wouldn’t make a habit of stealing.

-0-

Uppsala, Present

“A dragon spoke to you?” Heather questioned with a raised eyebrow, and Hiccup nodded. The snow began to fall lightly and everyone huddled closer together over the dying fire. He’d told the rest of the group later when they got back to Sweyns-ey later that night years ago, delirious with fatigue and stuffed with food. Heather gestured to everyone else sitting against the slumbering dragons, “And you all believe it?”

“Hey, we’ve seen weirder.” Tuffnut acquiesced, and Ruffnut nodded in agreement.

Even Snotlout backed him up, “Yeah, honestly a talking dragon just doesn’t seem that weird anymore, given everything else that’s happened.”

Heather rolled her eyes, “Ok, I get it. This is all part of some ‘haze the new girl’ thing you all are doing. Haha, very funny,” Heather smirked.

Hiccup shook his head and turned to the others. “I guess, we’ll just have to show her. We can’t stick around here too much longer with the snow starting to fall, so how about we find a village with a draugr problem in…” He thought about it for a moment, “Jylland?”

Everyone nodded minus Heather, who was still smirking. “Right, a ‘draugr problem’, Hiccup,” as she made air quotes around the words.

“You’ll see.” Was all Hiccup said as he grinned. Heather doesn’t know what she’s in for.

Chapter Text

-0-

Uppsala, 8 months since leaving Berk

They’d spent a bit more time in Cymru when they discovered the multitude of dragons who inhabited the land. Nearly all of them were four-legged with wings, like Toothless, only much larger. They lived mostly in the highlands and mountainous areas of Cymru, differing shades of green or brown or black, and all friendly and benevolent. But none were shapeshifting, they’d noticed, and Hiccup found none who communicated with him like the red dragon did.

They were still fascinating. On average, they were larger than the dragons in the north, with harder, sharper scales and rectangular faces with two horns on top of their heads. Their tongues were forked like snakes, they seemed to survive on hunting instead of fish. All the dragons were four-legged with sinewy wings which stretched so far apart, Hiccup wondered why they’d developed wingspans so large. Every dragon in Cymru shared the same features, but seemed to differ in size, color and the shapes of their scales and spikes.

Their roars were melodious, like birds communicating with one another, and they were unique to each other. Their fire was not as hot as a Nadder’s magnesium burn and not a gel-like fire of the Monstrous Nightmare, but more gaseous since it seemed to expel a clear gas from its throat before igniting and breathing flames. Fishlegs pointed out that it may be an advantage for them to have a cooler flame for their shot limit, since it seemed the Cymru dragons could breathe fire far longer than any of their dragons.

They were fascinating and he could’ve spent a year just studying them with Fishlegs.

But one night they came across pure white hounds with red ears, who appeared friendly but kept their distance. When Hiccup tried to ask the next day what the hounds were, a mob promptly ran them out of the village and attempted to follow him, so the dragon riders decided to leave Cymru behind for now.

They’d gone to Dyflin next, but it only took four days for their dragons to get captured, which required a rescue. Against their better wishes, they put the twins in charge of the diversion, so Tuffnut created a diversion that spiraled so far out of their control they were most likely wanted in the entire region.

Since it was near Midsommar, Astrid brought up the idea to head to Uppsala to witness the Midsommar blót. They’d had blóts on Berk, but it was reputed the Temple at Uppsala held the most magnificent idols of their gods and held the most extravagant blóts and festivals. So, they’d all agreed to fly there and rest among other Norse speakers.

Hiccup enjoyed it. They could relax, enjoy the festivities, and socialize with other people while the dragons safely rested hidden in the dense forests of the Swedish lands. He and Astrid spent more time together, and he began to develop deeper feelings for her.

He began to search her out before all the others when they went into town, he always asked for her opinion first, he always invited her to go fishing for the dragons before the sun came up. A few times they took midnight flights together, racing in circles around the town while everyone slept. Once, during a Midsommar festival dance, she’d even sought him out as a partner for the circle dances, her blue eyes lit up with torchlight and a smile he’d never seen on her face before. All while holding his hand as she led him out to the music. They spun around one other for what felt like hours amidst the music and joyful shouts of the revelers as Hiccup lost himself in the excitement of dancing with Astrid. He’d wanted to kiss her, and he regretted not kissing her, but she didn’t seem to mind when she fell asleep against his shoulder around the campfire later that night, snoring softly and fidgeting in her sleep.

On those nights, Hiccup rarely worried about anything.

Fishlegs and Snotlout, on the other hand, constantly worried about the money running low, especially since everyone spent a bit more because of the celebrations. So, one night, Snotlout decided to accept a job from a local noble who needed some people to rob a grave of some family heirloom sword. In return, they’d get to keep a portion of the treasure from the grave.

So now, thanks to Snotlout, they were flying towards the burial mound carrying unlit torches at the hour of the wolf. At this time of night, they were most likely to be murdered. Great.

“Why can’t we use our names again?” Astrid asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“The guy just warned it was bad luck or something. Maybe it has to do with going into a tomb?” Snotlout said from the front.

Fishlegs thought about it for a second, “He may just be superstitious. Draugr are a popular legend among the Norse outside the Archipelago, and if he’s worried about a draugr inhabiting the tomb, us not saying our names would prevent the draugr from laying a curse on us.”

“Oh, that’d be so cool if the guy buried there was a revenant!” Hiccup wasn’t sure how Tuffnut and Ruffnut could be so awake at this hour, but then again they were always the last to wake up in the mornings, so maybe that had something to do with it.

“Oh! Could we be undead too?! If we ever die, I expect all of you to put Tuff and I in a burial mound and let us know which one becomes a draugr!”

Hiccup looked over to Astrid, who rolled her eyes and gave him a little smile. He returned it, feeling his heart flutter a little in his chest. He’d never told her how beautiful she looked with her face unhidden by her bangs and her braid whipping behind her as they flew.

Come to think of it, he’d never even complimented her in any meaningful way.

Maybe I should start telling her how pretty she is? No, I should start with her prowess, she’d probably enjoy that more, he thought to himself.

Up ahead, he could see a burial mound on the ground in the distance, and Hookfang led the dragons in a descent.

Without warning, Hookfang suddenly pulled up and stopped flying forward, which led to Meatlug, Barf and Belch crashing into the Monstrous Nightmare. All three dragons started to growl and hiss, flying away from the mound despite the objections of their riders.

Toothless started to object as they neared the mound, going lower and spinning out as he fought against Hiccup controlling the tail rig. Rather than risk crashing like three of the riders did, Hiccup pulled Toothless away and landed softly at a distance.

“Hey bud, what’s wrong? What is it?” The Night Fury was crouched low, eyes not dilated as much as usual and hissed at the mound. “What’s…Is it something over there?”

As far as Hiccup could see, there was no sign of Dragon Root or Blue Oleander, and they were leagues away from the sea, so there were no eels either. Astrid landed next to him with Stormfly in a similar state of hissing and stubbornness.

“Come on, bud, we got to—” He tried pulling on Toothless but the Night Fury took a few more steps back, hissing once again at the mound. Bewildered, Hiccup turned to Astrid, who was also having no luck coaxing Stormfly. They shared a worried look with one another as the three others landed with anxious, hissing and growling dragons.

“No biggie, we’ll just go on foot!” Snotlout didn’t seem to lose a step as he grabbed some torches and a jar of Monstrous Nightmare saliva to spread on the torches for everyone. They lit the torches and proceeded to walk to the mound, keeping an eye out for anything that would cause the dragons to become so skittish of the place.

“I don’t like this,” Astrid whispered to Hiccup, “Stormfly’s never acted like that before, not even when we found Dragon Root in the Suðreyjar.”

“Same with Toothless. You brought your axe, right?”

“Always. Your shield?”

Hiccup scratched his head, “Left it at the camp site.” She shot him a disappointed look. “What? I didn’t think we’d need it! Snotlout said we’d be grave robbing! Plus, I didn’t want to carry the thing while carrying whatever we need to find in here.”

Astrid shook her head and wiped the bangs out of her eyes, a small smile playing at her lips, “Ok, remind me tomorrow morning that we’re starting you on some training, and you’re going to eat more. You need to bulk up if we’re going to keep traveling and you need to get better at fighting.”

He nodded as they walked to the entrance and descended the stairs into the hoard room. As Snotlout opened the door and ushered them in, Hiccup realized something was very wrong.

One, when they entered, he felt chilly and cold inside, even though it was the summer.

Two, there was a terrible smell in the room, comparable to the battlefield outside Jorvik, and Hiccup had to cover his nose to keep himself from hurling. The others expressed their disgust, with Tuffnut comparing it to the smell of his dear old uncle Fenris.

Third, someone already beat them to the prize, sitting on a stone table in the middle of the room with what looked like old, rusty armor and the sword in their lap.

Snotlout pointed to the sword in the warrior’s lap, “Hey there it is!”

They all stopped in their tracks when the warrior made an otherworldly sound.

Hiccup’s heart sunk as he noticed there were bodies strewn about the room, all in varying states of decomposition. All surrounding the warrior.

There was something wrong with the warrior on the table. Very wrong.

The ancient armor was nearly useless, metal rusted and cracked while leather pieces held on with nothing but some string and hope. The state of the armor allowed him to glimpse the skin it was supposed to protect, but the warrior’s skin wasn’t a normal color. The skin looked sickening, a necrotic blackish blue from head to foot, like that of a corpse long after death. There were wounds all over that never healed, but they didn’t bleed either, the flesh inside black and decayed. Its eyes were white, lidless and empty with decayed lips, an icy blue tongue and rotting teeth.

“That’s… That’s…” He stuttered breathlessly as Snotlout backed up to them and Astrid removed her axe. “We need to leave. Now!”

They all turned and ran for the door, but something slammed it shut and held it firm.

“Come on, get it open!” Fishlegs shouted, wrenching at the door frame.

“I’m trying!” Tuffnut shouted from the door handle, “It won’t budge!”

“Try harder!” Ruffnut cried as she searched for a better hold to pull the door open.

“Move!” Astrid shoved the three of them out of the way and began swinging her axe into the door. Wood splintered and flew off in large chunks, but the door remained firm.

While that happened, Hiccup and Snotlout watched the figure as it unsheathed the sword and tossed the scabbard away. Snotlout whimpered as he grabbed a discarded weapon from the ground and Hiccup tried to comprehend what he saw.

A draugr. A real draugr.

They’d heard stories on Berk, but he’d always thought they were warnings for grave robbing. How was he supposed to know they were real?!

“Move!” Hiccup shouted as the draugr charged at them, its swing of the sword scraping against stone as it missed the teens split up to avoid getting hit. They all grabbed their torches and scrambled around, yelling and trying to keep their distance from the draugr.

“Snotlout, you MORON!” Astrid shouted from the other side of the room.

“You’ve gotten us killed! Now we’ll never get to spend our shares of the treasure!” Ruffnut shouted.

“Or see the pageants tomorrow night at the blót! You know how much we love the drama!” Tuffnut roared as they hopped over stone tables and coffins to put distance between them and the draugr.

“Hey! I didn’t know there was a draugr guarding this! I would’ve said no!” He yelped as the draugr moved towards him, and he threw his mace at it. The draugr dodged it and kept moving, so Snotlout leapt over a wooden table to narrowly avoid getting hit. The draugr’s swing cleaved the table in half, like it’d been the easiest thing to do.

“You couldn’t have asked?!” Astrid made her way to the door again, about to give a few more swings with her axe when a spear embedded itself in the wall. It missed her head but sent her sprawling on the ground when she ran into it.

“ASTRID!” Hiccup felt a surge of fear. Her axe was too far away to grab, and the draugr was too close.

With a torch and nothing else, he charged the draugr’s back.

He shouted, drawing the draugr’s attention to him, but he was too close now.

He swung the torch at its abdomen with all his strength and then some, hoping to at least knock the wind out of it and scramble away when it was stunned. It would give the others time to pick up weapons, and they could surround it and whittle it down.

He got way more than what he bargained for. When the flaming torch hit the draugr’s skin, it screamed, terrible and shrieking. It recoiled from the flame, almost scared of it, before regaining its senses and swinging the sword at Hiccup.

He rolled out of the way, barely missing the blade as it sent sparks from the stone floor as it hit, only to be kicked roughly in the ribs. He went flying into the wall and the hit knocked all the wind out of him and possibly broke a rib or two.

“HICCUP!” Astrid shouted as the draugr advanced.

Scrambling, Hiccup got to his feet and narrowly avoided another strike aimed at his head as the twins hurled insults and random objects at the draugr while Snotlout and Fishlegs gave the door another try.

“Go back to sleep, you fiend!” Tuffnut cried when Ruffnut shoved him to safety as the draugr swung at the two of them.

“It won’t budge!” Fishlegs pulled on the handle, but Hiccup saw no movement.

“Then we’ll fight this thing and then try chopping it down!” Astrid screamed.  Her axe as back in her hand as she shadowed the draugr following the twins around the edge of the room.

They grabbed whatever they could find as weapons, but Hiccup kept the torch. Something about that scream made it sound like it was in pain.

The draugr roared loudly and charged, scattering the teens, but as they scattered, Hiccup saw an opening and hit it with the torch again. It gave the same reaction, and that gave Hiccup an idea.

“It’s the fire! Use the torches, it must be weak to fire!” He shouted at the others.

He tossed a torch to Ruffnut, who dodged a strike from the draugr and smacked its leg with the torch. As it howled in pain, Tuffnut threw a gold chalice and nailed the draugr in the head.

“Yes! Bullseye!” Tuffnut pumped his fist and scrambled back. Hiccup moved forward to jab at the draugr with his torch, the sound of its howling echoing around the cave.

The draugr advanced on him again but faltered when Snotlout struck its helm with his torch as he ran past. When it turned towards where Snotlout stood, Hiccup struck its legs, followed by Ruffnut hitting its chest and Tuffnut striking the sword arm.

But still it stood. It grabbed Tuffnut by the shirt collar and threw him into Ruffnut and Astrid, knocking them to the ground. It kicked Fishlegs into Snotlout and sent both sprawling to the floor.

Hiccup swung his torch at its back, but before it could hit, the draugr wheeled around and blocked it. With his free hand, he grabbed Hiccup by the throat and lifted him clear off the ground.

The pain was intense, and he instinctively let go of the torch to try to pry the hands off his neck or relieve some pressure. But it was too strong, inhumanely strong, and he could feel his neck getting crushed…

A familiar war cry brought him back to his senses as he watched a furious Astrid cut off the arm holding Hiccup suspended in the air. An abominable scream tore through the chamber as the bloodless, putrid arm fell off. Hiccup dropped to the ground in time to watch Astrid block the draugr’s enraged downward swing with the head of the axe, although it was pressing down on her and her strength was slowly failing. Soon, it’d push the axe into the ground, and she’d be weaponless and at the mercy of the draugr. Hiccup knew he needed to act quickly.

“Snotlout, the saliva!” He called and Snotlout quickly tossed it from the ground. Hiccup caught it, opened it and threw the jar at the draugr, the saliva washing all over its torso as the clay shattered against the armor. It didn’t seem concerned. Good.

He grabbed the torch and with all his remaining strength, stabbed it into the draugr’s chest. It screamed once again as its whole torso became awash in flames. It dropped its sword as it grasped the torch Hiccup held in place, but it didn’t have enough time to remove it as Astrid swung her axe and removed its head.

The body collapsed onto the floor, still on fire, as Astrid collapsed against Hiccup, both panting and at a loss for words. He looked at her and she looked at him, gazing into one another’s eyes.

He knew he’d probably get chewed out by her later for fighting a draugr with nothing but a torch, but he considered it worth it.

The others joined them and sat on the floor near them, all speechless as they stared at the smoldering body of the draugr.

“How…Why…” Fishlegs started but gave up.

“I don’t want to deal with this right now,” Astrid said, using her axe as a crutch to get up. Once up, she offered a hand to Hiccup, and he gratefully took it. “Let’s just get that sword, sleep, and then we can process the fact that we fought a draugr.”

They agreed, and not another word was spoken until they woke up several hours later at their campsite.

When he woke up leaning against Toothless, Hiccup noticed once again Astrid fell asleep next to him, nestled against his shoulder. He thought about laying a gentle kiss on the top of her braid but thought better of it.

Instead, he just gently laid his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes again, praying to Freyja for just another hour of rest with her in his arms.

-0-

Jylland, Kingdom of the Danes, Present

Astrid was surprised at how quickly they found a town under a draugr’s curse. When they left Uppsala hours ago to fly southwest instead of straight west, she’d expected them to lose a whole day just circling the land of the Danes. While they still would probably lose a day of flying with the preparation and the fighting, they had some time to spare. After all, the Dragon Hunters wouldn’t sail until winter ended, so they still had at least a month, but more likely a month and a half. One day was not a significant delay.

Plenty of time to introduce poor Heather to the reality of monsters and myths.

”There!” Hiccup pointed a green spot in the distance and passed his eyeglass to Astrid, “Green cloud of gas definitely isn’t normal, and there’s a burial mound nearby.”

Sure enough, there was a massive kiss Mia on a village and the surrounding area. “Ok, let’s land and check it out,” Astrid passed it back to him.

They’d landed in the middle of the village, and after making it clear to the villagers they intended no harm but wished to remove the curse upon them, the village elder came out to speak with them.

Astrid listened as he explained to him as he explained, “The warlord’s name was Regnir. He…He plundered much of Wessex and Kent, and returned with a great army to seize the village. He was a cruel tyrant and a horrible ruler, killing many of people. This was thirty years ago.”

”Thirty years? How long’s he been dead?” Tuffnut questioned loudly.

”And how long has…” Astrid gestured to the green fog surrounding them, “ has this been going on?”

”One year,” the elder replied, his voice breaking a bit, “After he passed a year ago, the fog fell upon us. It stifles the sun and kills our crops and livestock. It spares us, but...please, we cannot leave here without getting sick. Two of our own died when they tried to leave! We've sent out hunters, but they rarely bring back game anymore! The forests are bare of wildlife, our grain reserves are emptying, and the fish in our ponds and lakes have all died. We..."

Astrid heard Fishlegs whisper to Heather, "This is a powerful draugr to keep something like this up for a year. He's either really angry or he was really powerful and greedy."

The elder's voice broke again, "Please...we have sent out messenger hawks, but none have come back. You're the first people we've seen in a year!"

Astrid shared a worried look with Hiccup. These people will starve if we don't help them.

He nodded, agreeing with her. They needed to help.

“Please,” the elder pleaded, “We will give you anything. If you desire riches or—”

Hiccup raised his hand to cut off the elder, “Your situation is dire. If you can just look after our dragons while we are gone and make sure no harm comes to them, that is all the payment we require. They are fed and watered, so they will not take from your stores. We only ask that you guard them.”

The elder was astonished, and Astrid saw tears in his eyes as he fell to his knees in front of Hiccup and attempted to kiss his hand. Hiccup gently pulled the hand back but smiled at the man, and the elder showed them where they could house their dragons.

"The stables have been empty for some time," he explained meekly, "we...we had to ration the horse meat for the winter." Astrid’s stomach twisted.

The draugr was powerful if it could keep a curse this strong for a year. Most seemed to curse one individual if they curse anyone at all, but an entire village? They may have stumbled onto something a bit formidable for Heather’s first exposure to the undead.

“Same drill as always,” Astrid instructed as they dismounted the dragons, “Weapons only. We need fire to hurt them the most, and from here on out we don’t use each other’s names. If the draugr is powerful enough to do this to an entire village, I don’t want to take any chances with getting cursed.”

Heather looked a little lost, but followed Astrid’s instructions, strapping her double axe to her back. Hiccup hadn’t yet built her a flammable, retractable weapon like the rest of the Riders yet, so he handed her a cylinder the size of axe handle.

“Inside is Zippleback gas. Press the button here,” he pointed to it, “and point it at the draugr. It’s full, so the flame should last about thirty seconds, but I’d recommend using it in bursts so if you’re in a pinch, you can still use it.

Astrid removed her outer lay of furs and strapped her Gronckle Iron axe onto the holster at her back while taking the sheathed retractable axe in her hand. Everyone checked to make sure the Monstrous Nightmare saliva and Zippleback gas were full in their weapons before walking outside of the stables. Finally, each Rider grabbed a Gronckle Iron shield from their dragons, each shield reflecting the personality of its wielder.

“Can you show us where this burial mound is?” Astrid asked, and the elder bowed slightly.

“I can show you to the edge of the village,” he timidly replied, and Astrid noted he trembled as he spoke. Clearly, the man hadn’t left the village proper in a while, and if he feared the draugr, he might’ve been its enemy while it was still a man.

Hel, if the draugr was a tyrant in the past, the elder might be the reason the tyrant’s dead. They’d seen it before, and it certainly felt the same way here.

She nodded and he led them on past villagers thanking them on their knees and praying to Thor to deliver them from this curse and strengthen these strange warriors.

Heather joined her at the front, and Astrid was relieved Heather remembered the no names rule, “Hey, what’s going on here?”

“It’s like we said: there’s a draugr here, and a powerful one.”

“How do you know?” Heather’s face was tight, like she was trying not to show how scared she was.

Astrid gestured to the green fog that obscured their vision, “See this? It’s a curse laid by the draugr on the village. Most draugr are passive, guarding the treasure in their burial mounds, but some are vengeful. Our first one in Uppsala guarded his mound, that was all.”

“Why were you there?” Heather asked after the elder bid them farewell and pointed to the mound rising from the hill overlooking the village.

“Five years ago, we were hired by a man after the Midsummer Blót in Uppsala to steal a family heirloom sword from an ancestor’s burial mound nearby. He… neglected to mention it was guarded.” Astrid recalled their fright at entering the tomb and finding the old warrior holding a sword, and their terror when he moved toward them.

“Why would he hire you all? You were fifteen, right?”

Astrid rolled her eyes and pointedly glared at Snotlout, who raised his hands in self-defense, “What? I technically told him the truth! We fought the Red Death and two other giant dragons and killed one while the other ran away! Just…he assumed I meant at the same time. And I left out the part where we rode giant, fire-breathing war machines.”

“Yeah, and that genius idea almost got us killed!” Fishlegs smacked the back of Snotlout’s head, knocking his helmet forward.

“Hey!”

“To be fair, we did get quite a bit of treasure as payment,” Ruffnut said as they began walking up the hill to the mound, “and he referred us to several other people who wanted the same thing. That gold held us over until Asturias.”

“Where we could’ve gotten another ton of gold in the Duero if someone didn’t blow his cha—”

Tuffnut was simultaneously elbowed in the gut by Astrid and whacked on the head by Hiccup.

Heather looked confused again, “Wait, so why did that one guard its treasure? Why is this one cursing the village?”

Astrid shrugged her shoulders. When Heather turned to Fishlegs, he repeated the gesture and explained, “We’re not sure. We’re not even sure why some dead become draugrs and some don’t. Maybe it has to do with the personality of the dead. Maybe it’s something else.”

It was silent as they got closer to the mound, and Astrid felt the familiar icy feeling settle inside of her. “It’s the draugr,” Astrid clarified to a nervous Heather, “we’re not sure why, but whenever you’re near a burial mound with one inside, you feel…cold and empty inside. Something to do with the draugr or whatever raises them.”

Heather only nodded, eyes locked straight ahead with shallow breaths, and Astrid felt a pang of guilt. She wished they’d run into friendlier or skittish creatures among the Rus and Finns, like Vilas or firefoxes, but fabled creatures and dragons tended to avoid large human populations, and whatever created draugr seemed to be found only among the Norse.

They reached the entrance to the mound, removed any unnecessary furs and set them aside. Astrid rolled her shoulders and swung the retracted axe in her arms to help dispel nerves. They hadn’t found a draugr in a while. Not since before Heather, and she couldn’t remember one who was as powerful as this one.

Her boyfriend moved to the front, gently cupped her cheek and gave her a peck on the lips, a gesture she returned. “Love you,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“Love you, too,” she made sure to look him in the eyes when she said it.

If something happened to either of them, she wanted him to know that. She’d said it a million times to him, and a million times more would not even come close to how much she loved him. She could say it until the stars all fell from the sky and Ragnarök ended the world, and it would not come close to describing how much she truly, totally, completely loved him.

And she knew the same was true for him, too. He’d told her often, and he was always better at putting feelings into words than she was.

But right now, standing in the entrance to the burial mound with that chilling feeling in her gut with an axe in one hand and a shield in the other, it was all she could do to make sure he knew how much she cared for him.

Now that they were here, she could see nerves set in for everyone. The draugr here was powerful. Heather looked panicky as Astrid guessed it was finally setting in they might not be pranking the new Rider.

She didn’t blame Heather. Vikings in the Archipelago burned the dead in funeral ships, no matter the social class, so draugr were never a problem. Growing up, Astrid assumed it was because land was scarce and no one wanted burial mounds to take away productive land.

After their first time fighting a draugr in Uppsala, she wondered if the first Vikings in the Archipelago burned the dead to prevent any possible draugr on the island, where it could wreak havoc on a small, isolated population.

“Why couldn’t we bring the dragons again?” Heather asked breathily and nervously.

“They don’t like it. We tried in Uppsala, but they wouldn’t go within fifty meters of the mound. They’re too scared.” Astrid explained.

“Great.” Heather sulked, and Fishlegs laid a hand on her shoulder.

It was another few minutes of checking weapons before Hiccup again stepped up to the front.

“Alright, Riders. Game faces.”

-0-

“Alright, Riders. Game faces.”

Heather never really considered herself spiritual or religious, but she believed in the gods. She prayed every once in a while when it suited her, attended festivals and blóts on Berserker Island, but never really thought about the gods too much.

After she left the Archipelago, she began to think about them more, but less so in a religious sense and more in a get-me-out-of-this-situation-and-I’ll-sacrifice-a-goat-to-you sense. She sacrificed a lot of goats while she was traveling before she met her friends.

But now, standing at the rear of the procession walking down the steps into the cursed burial mound, Heather began thinking of them again.

She muttered a prayer to Odin, Thor and Týr to protect her and give her strength, but as the stench overpowered her senses when she crossed the threshold into the burial mound, she wondered if they would even help her here.

She couldn’t describe the smell, as it was like a decaying body she’d discovered in swamp once in Skåne, but somehow worse. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the enclosed burial mound or if the draugr itself caused it.

The others seemed to notice too, pulling their tunics over their nose, and Heather yanked her face covering up from her neck to cover her mouth and nose. It didn’t help much, so she was sure the smell came from the draugr itself then.

Astrid reached the bottom first, followed by Hiccup, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Fishlegs. Heather stepped onto the bottom of the stairs last, took a moment to compose herself, and stepped into the hoard room.

The first thing she noticed was how dark the room was. It wasn’t a normal darkness where the eyes could adjust, but it was somehow darker. Like no matter how she stared at the pitch-black void in front of her, her vision got no better. It then occurred to her this might be the work of the draugr, using whatever magic or sorcery it possessed to envelop the room in something blacker than blacker.

Fishlegs gently guided her by the arm to stand behind her, and she nodded in thanks. She hated being scared and hiding behind someone, even if it was her boyfriend she adored, but this was beyond her.

At the far end, Hiccup ignited his sword, followed by ignitions from Astrid’s axe, Snotlout’s spiked hammer, Ruffnut’s spear, Tuffnut’s spear, and finally Fishlegs’ oversized dagger. All where special weapons Hiccup built, and Heather felt underequipped with her normal double-bladed axe.

“Shields,” Astrid whispered, and her training kicked in. Moving her shield into a protective position, Heather stalked forward as Fishlegs ushered her closer to the middle, away from the flank.

The darkness retreated in front of them, yet it still enveloped them. Hiccup led in front, shield up and sword held like a torch, while Astrid walked behind him. The ground was littered with silver and gold coins from multiple kingdoms. After another few steps Heather saw more expensive trinkets like gold cups, plates and bowls all scattered around their feet.

They hadn’t moved more than a few feet, but for Heather it felt like an hour since they’d entered the room. She could no longer see the door they came through, only her immediate surroundings. She worried about becoming disoriented in case they needed to retreat, or tripping on something.

Suddenly, the sounds of their footfalls dampened, and Heather’s ears began ringing from the lack of ambient noise. It was like someone holding their hands over her ears, preventing all sounds except her own breathing. She felt her blood pumping through her ears with every heartbeat and tightened her grip on her axe and shield.

Hiccup halted and motioned for everyone to ready their Zippleback gas in their weapons. They were to spray and ignite at the same time, which would shoot uninterrupted flames as the gas passed from the canister to the nozzle and out, igniting as it flew forth. Everyone quietly opened the nozzles to spray the gas. Heather quickly grabbed the flame cylinder and put it in her shield hand, flicking open the nozzle.

It was coming. She felt it.

Who enters my domain? Who disturbs my rest?

The voice echoed all around them, coming from multiple directions at once as if spoken by the same person in multiple places. It was raspy and deep, booming with some unknown vibration to it. Heather’s hackles rose and goosepimples erupted all over her.

This is real. Oh, Thor, it’s real. She tightened her grip to force herself to calm her nerves. She wouldn’t break now. She was a Berserker and a Dragon Rider. She would stand with her friends. They’d either all leave together or see one another in Valhalla.

“Your doom!” Astrid answered.

The voice laughed in response, still raspy but somehow getting deeper as the laugh wore on, vibrating more and more in the air. Sounds of shuffling echoed around them, metal dragging on stone, and the laughter tapered off as haltingly as it began. Heather heard a sound of feet shuffling in front of her and crouched low to mimic the others as she levelled her flame cylinder.

Kill them.

“Now!” Hiccup shouted.

Seven streams of flames erupted at once from the wedge formation of Dragon Riders, licking the floor and leaping up as the inferno shot outwards. The room was illuminated at once, as if the sun suddenly came out, and Heather saw everything.

It was exactly as the others described them. Pale, corpse blue skin, white eyes with black mouths, blue tongues and decayed teeth. They all were armed differently with weapons suffering from lack of care, but it didn’t seem to bother the draugr.

What horrified Heather, though, was how they moved. There was no stumbling or shuffling, no signs that their condition hindered them in any way, shape or form. They moved like humans.

Worse, she realized to her dismay, they moved like warriors.

Yet, they seemed caught by surprise with the sudden onslaught of fire. A few caught in the flames screeched, the noise inhuman and grating, like metal scratching along slate stone. Some moved back with shields raised, while one leapt on top of a stone table to avoid the worst of the flames.

Soon, five draugr were lying destroyed on the floor while six remained standing, with a seventh rising from the table at the far end of the room. In one hand it held a great hammer meant to be wielded with two hands by the strongest warriors, while its other hand was deformed. Long, sharp nails replaced its fingers so it looked more like a dragon’s claw than a hand.

The darkness in the room was no longer as horrible as before, and Heather also noted her hearing returned to near normal. Maybe killing draugr weakened the curse?

“Now!” Astrid shouted, and the Dragon Riders charged forward, flaming weapons raised. Heather followed them in the charge, swinging her axe on the nearest draugr.

It blocked her attack and shoved her back with its shield, its strength near superhuman. Heather recovered and swung the axe again, this time from the side. The draugr blocked with its weapon and used its shield to bash against hers, sending her sprawling onto the ground.

Moving quickly, her draugr brought its sword down, and Heather barely managed to roll away from the strike. Leaping to her feet, she resumed her battle stance, shield in front and axe held point first like a spear.

The draugr mirrored her, holding its shield up and sword pointed towards her from close to the shield. Something looked familiar in that stance, like an old memory resurfacing.

It was the stance half the warriors on Berserker Island used, the same one Heather learned to defeat. The same one she spent years practicing against before running away. Confidence surged through her and she readied herself for the attempt.

She dropped the shield and gripped the axe, one head near each end, and strode forward. She swung low with one end and when the draugr dropped its shield to block the strike, she made her move. She leapt up, using the axe in the stone to help push off, and landed a solid kick in the chest of the draugr. As it staggered back, she shifted her grip on the axe, removed it from the stone and swung overheard in move, swift move. As the draugr blocked it, she quickly brought a sweeping leg to the draugr’s back leg to send it tumbling to the ground.

Now, she sailed in uncharted waters. Berserker training, while brutal, did not condone maiming or dismemberment, so Heather improvised. Pinning the shield hand to the ground with one foot, Heather swung one blade of her axe on the sword arm of the draugr, ignoring its terrifying screams as the arm came off, bloodless and unmoving. Without stopping her follow-through from the arm dismemberment, she brought the axe back down and removed its head.

The rest of the body went limp, but the head still moved, and Heather remembered Astrid’s words at the stables. She quickly put the axe in one hand, grabbed the flame cylinder and checked to make sure there was enough Zippleback gas. There was still some left, luckily.

Satisfied, she depressed the button and watched as the head was engulfed in flames, taking relief when its noises stopped.

There wasn’t time to celebrate, however, and Heather rejoined the battle.

All the others seemed to dispatch their foes earlier than Heather and now attempted to encircle the last and most powerful draugr. However, the draugr seemed to recognize its precarious situation and became more aggressive, charging one side to keep the circle from getting too tight. It swung its great hammer and caught Snotlout’s shield, sending him flying back into a pillar. The others moved back to reposition until Snotlout rejoined the ranks of the encirclement, wincing slightly as he ran back.

The draugr’s claws sang as they sailed through the air, each time striking Hiccup’s fiery sword, sending sparks and flaming Nightmare saliva flying. Hiccup held his own, deflecting its blows from the claws while its hammer kept the others at bay. Tuffnut and Ruffnut used the longer range of their burning spears to stab at it and distract it. Fishlegs caught a blow with the hammer on his shield, the ring from the impact echoing throughout the chamber, but to Heather’s joy, he didn’t seem too hurt, only bruised.

When Heather joined them, they could finally close the circle, and Astrid made the first move.

It was coordinated, and she could tell they’d done it before. One would feint, drawing the attention of the draugr, while another in its blind spot or near the blind spot attacked. It looked like rushing water flowing over stones in a creek; fluid and seamless. One of them would move, followed by another and then another, switching places in their encirclement after landing their strikes. The draugr grew weaker and weaker as they wore it down, stumbling more and shouting vicious words at them.

When it appeared tired enough, they all made their move. Astrid and Heather moved forward in unison, swinging their axes and removing the legs from the large draugr. Tuffnut and Ruffnut stuck their spears through the shoulders and immobilized the arms while Snotlout and Fishlegs smashed the hands which held the draugr’s weapons.

Then Hiccup strode forward and removed the draugr’s head with Inferno.

Suddenly, Heather felt like she could breathe again. Light poured into the room, as she hadn’t even realized there was a large hole in the ceiling. The sun was out again, and the darkness retreated to be replaced with natural shade.

Heather exhaled a breath she didn’t know she held and bent over to put her hands on her knees.

Everyone else began shouting and cheering as Hiccup kicked the head away, hugging and complimenting one another like it was the aftermath of a raid against Dragon Hunters. They congratulated Heather most of all for a great fight, and Heather thanked them, albeit still not entirely handling what she’d seen. Not just one draugr, but several. Something which was not supposed to exist, but she’d seen it, fought it and killed it.

Heather couldn’t imagine what else they’d seen to make them so nonchalant about defeating draugrs.

-0-

It was as Fishlegs suspected. The other draugrs in the burial mound must’ve somehow strengthened their warlord with their own trollskapr, and he now had a suspicion on why the draugr laid a curse on the village.

“Five silver says they attacked the húskarls during the funeral in the burial mound.” Tuffnut stuck out his hand to shake on it as they neared the village.

“Why would I take that?” Snotlout waved him off, “Why else would there be that many draugrs and why else would it curse the village? There weren’t even spots in there for anyone but the old warlord.”

“Tuff, do you think we’re stupid or something?” Ruffnut yawned, “Let’s make it more interesting. Ten silver says that the village elder was the man who planned it, which is why he never approached it.”

The twins shook on it and Fishlegs rolled his eyes. “You guys are going to gamble away all your money at this rate.”

“Not if we keep winning, my fishy friend,” Ruffnut slapped him on the back and he winced, still sore from the damage the hammer did to his shield arm.

The moment they arrived, Hiccup began to yell at the village elder, who fell to his knees and began rapidly apologizing to Hiccup and Astrid.

It wasn’t the first time an elder or a lord or whoever withheld details about a draugr mound, but it was the first time they’d faced over a dozen draugrs at once. And the elder withheld that crucial piece of information from them, for whatever reason.

While Hiccup and Astrid chewed out the elder and the rest of the village in the square, Fishlegs ambled over to Heather, still shaken and sitting on a nearby bench.

“Are you ok?” He timidly questioned as he sat down.

“Fishlegs…I just saw over a dozen dead Vikings with corpse colored skin in a room blacker than black and fought them. Are you really asking me if I’m ok?” She rubbed her eyes with her hands as if trying to wipe the memory from her mind.

Fishlegs tensed as he always did when Heather got angry, but he pushed past it. “Yes. After our first time, I couldn’t sleep for a week. It was traumatic, stupid, and Snotlout almost got us killed. I was terrified, Heather, and its ok to be scared.”

“I’m…I’m not used to being scared. Not like that.”

“Ok. That’s…fair.”

Heather let out an odd chuckle and buried her face in her hands, and Fishlegs didn’t know exactly how to respond. She sighed, “I traveled on my own, as a woman, through all of the Viking lands and the Sámi territories, and nothing scared me like what I saw in that mound.”

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he could say anything. He’d always traveled with the group, except for errands, and even then Meatlug was never far from him. Heather, meanwhile, traveled alone as a woman without a dragon, and he couldn’t imagine all the times she’d had to fight and kill just to have a chance at surviving.

“I’m…sorry.” It was all he could say, but he meant it.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Well…for everything that happened. Everything before this, dragging you into our war with the Dragon Hunters, and for…well, dragging you into a fight with draugrs.”

“There’s nothing you have to apologize for, Fishlegs,” she turned and hugged him, squeezing him so tightly he was afraid his ribs would crack. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to get snappy…I just…” She let go of him and slumped against the wall, rubbing her eyes with her hands again.

“No no no, its ok. Really,” he put an arm around her shoulder, “Its…a lot to take in. You don’t have to apologize.”

She leaned into his touch and they watched in silence as the village elder once again begged for something from an unamused Hiccup and increasingly incensed Astrid. Most likely, it was the price of the treasure in the grave. He imagined Hiccup and Astrid were negotiating for a higher percentage for all of them. Either the village elder wanted to keep more of it for himself or wanted to spread it out amongst the villagers.

It was most likely the former. Hiccup and Astrid would never take from a village, but they would take from an elder or noble if they withheld information which almost got them killed.

“So…everything you guys said…everything you guys said about what you saw and faced? It was all real?” Heather whispered from under her arm. Her eyes were closed as if attempting sleep, but she still felt tense and alert, as if expecting a fight to break out any second.

“Yeah,” he replied as he watched Tuffnut hand ten silver to a leering Ruffnut, “Yeah, it was all real.”

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, 1 week since the teens left Berk

You’re not a Viking. You’re not my son.

He hadn’t meant to say it. He had been furious over Hiccup’s betrayal. Outraged at the lies and tricks his son employed in the ring. But he let his emotions get the better of him. He told Hiccup, his only child, he wasn’t his son. His heart broke at the memory, and how he’d never be able to take those words back.

He thought overseeing the embarkment of weapons and material onto the fleet could distract him and give him something to work through until they sailed for the nest.

Perhaps when they killed this Queen and returned, he could apologize to him.

For once in your life would you please just listen to me!

When Stoick returned, he would give him that chance. He would listen to his son and try to understand why he did what he did. The boy defended a dragon, the same creature who took Valka from them, and he wanted to at least hear why he would do such a thing before the village called for banishment.

He’d ordered Spitelout and a few others to grab the Night Fury when explosions rang out from the arena.

Stoick got there just in time to see his son saddled on the Night Fury, followed by the other teens on the rest of the dragons from the Ring, flying higher into the sky and further away from Berk.

His son never even looked back.

They never found the nest without the dragon to lead them, and Stoick put the extra manpower to work searching the island for the wayward Vikings, but no traces were ever found.

So, now he sat in a Village Meeting at the head table with the rest of his council, the second called to deal with the missing children, and listened.

“I’m telling you; we have to search the southern islands!” Spitelout shouted, “if I know my boy, he will have taken them south!”

“Oh, stick a fish in it, Spitelout!” Ingrid roared back, “Your son couldn’t lead yaks to green pastures! My daughter is leading them, and she took them east! That’s where we need to send the ships!”

“Astrid is a fine warrior, Ingrid. For a Hofferson, at least,” Spitelout loudly granted, “but she is no leader! Stoick, we must search the southern islands! Send out ships and men to the south!”

His two best generals almost always disagreed, but they’d never argued this passionately.

Gobber leaned in closely from his seat next to him, “Ahh, I see the Jorgenson-Hofferson rivalry claims yet another Council session.”

“Not now, Gobber,” Stoick whispered as he tried to keep track of which side people took.

“Ingermans seem to favor Hoffersons, no surprise there, and would you look at that, the Jorgensons have convinced the Thorstons,” Gobber sat back in his seat with a disappointed huff.

“What’s with the attitude, Gobber?” He’d never seen his friend behave like this before.

Then again, maybe it had to do with Hiccup riding off on that Night Fury.

“Ye know why.” He leaned in again, “Put a stop to it to this. Stand up, take charge, and send the ships north. I know what I saw when they left. Hiccup led them out, and he’ll go north. Trust me Stoick, I know the lad, and he’ll want to go north. It’s the largest and most uncharted territory Vikings know of, and Hiccup will go there.”

“Gobber, he could have also gone west, towards Snæland. Every year more and more Vikings come back saying there’s hidden lands in the west.”

“Aye, Hiccup may go there, but he also could’ve gone north.”

He’d had this argument with Gobber the other day, and neither budged then either.

“Stoick, ye have to trust me—” Gobber implored.

“Gobber, I’ll always trust you, but you saw the Meathead messenger. Ivar is gathering Vikings—”

“I know, I know, Ivar the Boneless called on the Meatheads, Outcasts and Berserkers to join the Great Heathen Army’s invasion of the Englisc kingdoms. We haven’t received a message yet, Stoick—”

“Gobber, you know it’s coming. When Ivar calls us to war, I’ll need enough ships to send the Berk Guard and the volunteers to Northumbria. I…I can only afford to search one area of the Archipelago.”

He wished Ivar wouldn’t call him, but since all the tribes around him received summons from Ivar, it was a certainty Berk’s call would come. He just didn’t know when.

“And why do we even need to send an army, Stoick? That promise was made a year ago right after Ragnar’s death, and Ragnar’s sons have spent that time cocking about. Why do we need to send our men and women to die in Northumbria?” Gobber questioned, and Stoick knew it was a fair question.

But Ivar was not a man to cross. “I have to hold up my promise to Ivar, Gobber. If I don’t, once he’s finished with Northumbria, he’ll come after Berk. Our people will be in danger.”

Gobber scowled and leaned in closer, “So you’ll send Berkians to die in Northumbria for a man they’ve never met, but you won’t send them to search for Hiccup and the others? Isn’t putting the village before your son kind of how we got in this situation Stoick?”

Stoick’s face flushed with anger. “Mind your tongue,” he warned, pouring venom into his voice, “I would send all our ships out if it meant finding Hiccup, but I cannot risk invoking the anger of a man like Ivar. When we are called to honor our deal, I already have to leave behind a garrison to defend against dragon raids, but if I don’t bring enough ships? If I decline to join his war or even appear to hold back warriors, do you know what he’ll do?”

He let the pause marinate before finishing, “He’ll burn Berk to its foundations, dig those foundations up and cast them into the sea. And then what would Hiccup have to come home to?”

Gobber grumbled, but Stoick could see him concede the point. Hiccup’s betrayal was hard on him as well, that much Stoick could tell, and he knew Gobber blamed him for it.

Stoick sat back in his chair and turned a portion of his attention back to the argument between Ingrid and Spitelout, “I’m sorry, Gobber. I love Hiccup, but I can’t just endanger my people. We’ll send out a few ships, but I will hold the majority for the army. It’s… Gobber, it’s a terrible decision and I hate making it, but I’m the chieftain of the tribe. I must look out for my people as well.”

And Hiccup is no longer your people since he betrayed you, a treacherous voice whispered in his head. He purged the thought.

No matter what he said to Hiccup, he was still his son. When they found Hiccup, he would be brought home. He’d put a stop to his son’s rebellion, and then everything would be ok. Hiccup would become the chief he was always meant to be.

Gobber laid a hand on Stoick’s shoulder, firm and comforting, “I’m sorry, too, Stoick. I don’t envy the position yer in, and…I know ye care for Hiccup. It’s just…hard, is all. The lad was a nephew to me, and I’m worried about him out there on his own.”

“He’s got Astrid Hofferson out there with him,” Stoick pointed out, “that girl could always handle herself. I reckon she’ll make sure nothing too bad happens to any of them.”

“Aye,” Gobber gave a soft laugh, “Maybe he’ll finally make a move on her, eh?”

They both shared a small laugh, as small as it could be without appearing to laugh while Ingrid and Spitelout continued to argue about where the teens could’ve gone.

“Just so you know, Stoick,” Gobber removed his hand slowly, “yer my friend, and I’ll always support ye. I may not always agree with ye, but I’ll always have yer back.”

“And I’ll always have your back,” Stoick quietly thanked Gobber and turned his attention back to the argument unfolding before him between Ingrid and Spitelout. He was crafting his response in his head about sending the ships north, as Gobber suggested, when another voice rang out from the throng of Vikings.

“You know what I say?!” The voice cried out. “I say they chose their side! They chose to abandon everything that made them Viking—no, everything that made them human!”

“Mildew!” Spitelout roared, “This is not the time for—”

“OH, I believe it is the time for dissent, Spitelout!” Mildew stood in front of the table the Council gathered at and turned to face the assembled Vikings. “We all saw what happened, yes? All the warrior trainees from our clan’s most esteemed houses riding off on dragons! The offspring of Berk’s finest warriors and leaders, all deserting us in our greatest time of need! And on dragonback, no less! Should we really spend resources on finding their wayward children, when they wouldn’t even do the same for us?”

Many in the crowd muttered quietly at that. A few in the crowd nodded in agreement. Down the length of the table, Stoick saw Bearlegs Ingerman twiddle his thumbs while Lagnut Thorston crossed her arms with a scowl.

“You know that’s not true!” Ingrid stepped up, shouting over the murmurs in the crowd, “When have we ever done anything less than what was best for the island? For our people?”

“You might not have. Most of you have graced the island with nothing less than ardent defense of its people and traditions against the dragons. But our honorable chief has a history of ignoring the people!” Mildew leveled an accusing finger at Stoick.

Stoick felt his face turn ruddy and he squeezed his fists in anger. He wanted to pound that look off Mildew’s weathered, pockmarked face. But he would damage his image in front of the whole tribe and make any subsequent searches difficult to arrange.

So, he stayed quiet, and let Mildew speak.

“This is not the first time,” Mildew continued as he turned back to the crowd, “our respectable chief has lost a loved one because of dragons…”

He wouldn’t dare, Stoick believed.

“…do you all remember years ago when his beloved, peace-loving wife was taken from his own home?! When he couldn’t protect her and a dragon ripped her from his own house?!” Mildew spat out the words, and Stoick felt rage and despair at the sight of more villagers nodding their heads.

Ingrid cast a worried look at him and Spitelout’s face soured. They all knew where Mildew was going.

“For his wife, who never contributed to the defense of the village, how many months did he spend in search of her and the dragons who abducted her?! How much of Berk’s treasury did he empty in search of one who never cared for the village as much as any of you did?! How much of our resources and our warriors did he exhaust in search of someone who never raised so much as a bludgeon against the dragons?! Who criticized our way of life and had the gall to say we should let them live?! Valka did nothing to help this village, and our chief wasted our resources trying to bring her back!”

A few shouts of agreement.

Stoick tightened his fists to suppress the rage boiling within him, and even Gobber’s hand on his shoulder only slightly restrained him from leaping over the table and striking Mildew.

“And now, he asks us to repeat our endeavors so he can rescue a traitorous son and the mindless sheep he wooed into following him? I ask, what for?! We all saw in the ring everything the young Haddock did were tricks from Loki himself! The boy never struck a dragon and never hurt a dragon! He only hurt Vikings with his pointless inventions and useless contraptions! Maybe he was on the side of the dragons the entire time! He always did more damage during raids than any of the dragons, perhaps it was because he’d been possessed by the Night Fury!”

A few more shouts of agreement, and Stoick stood carefully, keeping his fists on the table. With every word Mildew spoke, Stoick drew closer to knocking him out.

“It seems his son’s apple didn’t fall far from his mother’s tree, then! Both were a danger to this village, and one way or another, the dragons took them both! Good! And as for the others, I say let the dragons have them! Good riddance!”

I could take him, he thought to himself, one hand on his neck and it’d be over before he even knew it.

But as much as he hated Mildew for his words, he didn’t move. He wanted to defend his wife, shout at the top of his lungs she cared for the village more than he ever did. Valka worked as a healer, and she may not have fought, but she saved more lives than Mildew ever did by hiding in his mountainside hut. And his son. Gods above, his son who only ever tried to fit in, who only ever wanted his father to be proud of him.

If Stoick struck Mildew, the village would see him as a tyrant, and it would only make it that much more difficult in bringing his son home.

“And even if they escape the dragons, I say let them all freeze in the coming winter! Why should we risk our people and our materials for Stoick’s useless son and his treasonous friends?! Why should any of us risk our own for them?! They sowed their seeds with the dragons, so let’s see them reap the consequences!”

When the murmuring died down, Stoick walked around the table, fists still clenched in anger.

Stoick saw Mildew’s mouth sputter like he still had something to say, but if he did, he held his tongue. The old man’s bravery faltered more and more the closer Stoick got, yet a sliver of it remained even when Stoick was upon him, looking down at Mildew as if he was a misbehaving child.

“You stand here,” Stoick spoke firmly so the crowd could her him and attempted to keep his tone in check, “accusing Valka of caring less about the village than you, but where were you during the raids, Mildew? Where were you when Outcasts landed on our shores? Where were you when Oswald the Antagonistic tried to breach our defenses before he became The Agreeable?”

Mildew’s blank look was all Stoick needed.

“Because I know where Valka was. Right on the frontlines by my side fighting, helping the wounded and rescuing those who couldn’t fight. She may not have fought dragons, but Valka did more for this village than you’ve ever done, so don’t ever disrespect her name or her memory again. The next time you do, I’ll take your tongue and nail it to the door of the Great Hall.”

Mildew took the smallest step backwards, but it was a step back, nonetheless. Stoick counted it as a victory.

“And as for the children,” Stoick turned to the crowd, “We all saw Hiccup in the ring. There’s no denying it, and there’s no denying what we saw afterwards, either. But we are Vikings. We do not abandon our children, even if they commit such a grievous sin as befriending dragons. I do not know if they were bewitched or enchanted by the dragons, but I do know they need to be brought home and made to answer for this.”

“But why should we risk our own for yours?” A lone voice hollered from deep within the crowd.

“Because we have done and will continue to do the same for you!” Stoick roared back, “When Alvin kidnapped Hilda Larson, who was it that brought her back?”

Stoick pointed to Ingrid, “Ingrid Hofferson. And Mrs. Ack, when your triplets were stranded in the woods at the far side of the island, who led the search party to find them?”

“Spitelout Jorgenson and Lagnut Thorston!” She answered proudly.

“Who sailed to the far south for medicine when the fevers descended on us four years ago?” Stoick continued.

“Bearlegs Ingerman!” Another voice called from the crowd.

“Aye! And whenever our shores were beset by dragons or Berserkers or Outcasts or other marauders, I’ve always been at the front of the shield wall! We’ve done all this for the island and more besides because we…” he gestured to his Council, “we care for our island and our tribe. This tribe is like our family, and we will defend it until Odin sends the Valkyries to carry us home!”

A few in the crowd shouted out in agreement, and Stoick saw a few heads nod affirmatively.

Feeling bolstered, he continued, “But now our true families are hurting. Our children forsook the ways of their forefathers and ran off astride dragons, but we don’t know why. We must find them and bring them back. I assure you,” he raised a hand when he heard rumblings in the crowd, “there will be punishments meted out, but we must know if this is a rebellion or a deeper issue. I know nothing of dragon enchantments, but we cannot rule anything out until we know for sure. But…But I will not just let them escape justice.”

This seemed to satisfy the crowd for the most part, and Stoick allowed Ingrid and Spitelout to lay out their reasons as well.

He knew it was hypocritical of him, though. He told the crowd he would punish the children, but he cared less about that now than just finding his son. Part of him abhorred the treachery committed, but the other side gained ground in Stoick’s heart and told him to find his son first.

He needed to find his son, and then once he was home, he could figure out what to do about the treachery.

The meeting finally got back on track only to be interrupted by a guard from the docks crashing through the front door. “He’s here!” The guard shouted breathlessly, “He’s here! Twenty ships flying the Raven Banner of Ivar the Boneless!”

The Village Meeting quickly adjourned as Stoick and his Council rushed out the door. The guard led them to the docks, where the harbormaster meekly informed Stoick that Ivar took his retinue to see the ruined training area.

“Did anyone say anything about…what happened last week?” Stoick asked with severity.

“N-n-no, Chief,” the harbormaster shivered, “Everyone in the village swore to keep that a secret from outsiders.”

Stoick nodded. He remembered the oaths the island took to keep the shame from blanketing them. If the word got out, it would ruin Berk.

He ordered the guard to make sure Mildew stayed away from Ivar and trudged back up the hill with his Council towards the arena. He found Ivar, with his slight frame, braided hair and piercing blue eyes, standing there among his armored guards. He pondered the blasted doors, the twisted shapes of metal and melted chains of the training arena, as if trying to visualize what happened in the ring.

Stoick stepped up beside him, and Ivar waved the guards away. “The harbormaster mentioned there was an incident with your son and his companions last week, but he did not mention…this.” Ivar gestured to the devastation in front of him.

“Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” Stoick answered, doing his best to look like he mourned the loss of son.

It didn’t take much acting, though.

“And…your son, Hiccup?” Stoick nodded in confirmation, “I heard…interesting things about the boy. That he was thin and weak, yet strong in brains. Like me?”

“Uhh, well…” Stoick struggled with his words. If he agreed, Ivar might be insulted, but Hiccup did match Ivar’s physicality.

Ivar dryly chuckled, “I know what you think of me, Stoick. I know what all Vikings think of me. I have ever since the day I was born, after my father disregarded my mother’s wishes to wait before he bedded her and the gods cursed me with this… weakness.” He sneered at the word.

Ivar continued when Stoick said nothing, “I hoped to meet him, your son. I know what it is like to grow up frail among others who are so…sound of body and strength. Even with my brothers and my father’s status, it was difficult. To have only your wits and words as weapons against the muscles and brawn of your fellow Vikings. A pity. I’d hoped to find commonality with him and encourage him to always value his mind over his body.”

“I think he would’ve appreciated that.”

“The harbormaster told me he also had…troubles with other teens his age. Tell me, are those teens still with us? I would like to have a word with them,” Ivar’s eyes didn’t move from the ruined arena, but Stoick saw him clench his fist behind his back, and Stoick’s hands immediately felt clammy.

“I’m afraid…I’m afraid they were also…” He tried to think of a way to lie to Ivar without lying to Ivar, “They are with Hiccup now.”

“A pity. I had so hoped to get their side of the story before…well…” Ivar trailed off, still examining the arena.

Stoick shifted uncomfortably in the silence. “I think you would have liked him, Ivar. He was always working on contraptions or gadgets to help us fight the dragons.” Stoick offered, trying to draw the subject away from how similar his son and Ivar were.

“So I’ve heard. The loss of such a brilliant mind is something to be mourned. Who knows what manner of weapons he could’ve constructed. I imagine they would have been of considerable use to us in our coming campaigns or at least improved the well-being of our Viking brethren. And it would’ve been nice to have another…Viking who knows what it is to be different.”

He didn’t want to think of Hiccup in the same sentence as Ivar. Ivar was vengeful, cruel and ambitious, whereas Hiccup was forgiving, compassionate and only wanted to fit in.

“You have my condolences, Stoick the Vast, but I’m afraid your son’s death is not the reason of my visit…”

“You’ve come to call us to the Great Heathen Army?” Stoick finished, and Ivar nodded with a grim smile.

“My father will finally have his revenge, and he shall bask with Odin and Thor in Valhalla at our triumphs to come.” Ivar’s smile unnerved Stoick, as did his piercing blue eyes, but he summoned his courage. He needed his conditions met.

“Of course we will join you, Ivar. Ragnar’s death was a shock to us all, and we are honored to join you. I just have two requests—”

“You may leave a garrison for your island, enough to be needed against any dragon raids. Not to worry, I’m aware the Archipelago suffers from raids. What is the second?”

Stoick paused. He couldn’t lie to Ivar, but he couldn’t tell Ivar he needed a few ships left behind to find his wayward son, who wasn’t as dead as Ivar thought.

“I…require five ships to be left behind to search for…dragons in the area. As you know, their nest is nearby—”

Ivar waved him off, “Certainly, I know of your exhaustive searches for the nest, Stoick. Leave behind five ships if you must, but I expect you personally to join me in Northumbria.”

Stoick nodded; relieved Ivar met his requests. “Absolutely, Ivar.”

“Excellent,” Ivar clapped Stoick on the shoulder, but Stoick barely felt a thing, “I wanted to come here in person, you know. Oswald isn’t who he used to be, and Alvin doesn’t have enough men to warrant a visit, but you…you, Stoick, are one of the greatest warriors in this godsforsaken archipelago, and I needed you and your Berk Guard. You will be a boon to our cause.” He turned away from the arena and walked toward the bridge, so Stoick followed.

“Aye, sir. Where shall we join you?” Warriors from the Archipelago under Ivar and Hvitserk’s command gathered in the Færeyjar, Norðreyjar and Suðreyjar, but he needed to know where to set sail for since he fought for Ivar now.

“The ice sets in sooner this far north, so we will leave as soon as possible for Suðreyjar. I do not intend to wait any longer for my father’s revenge, and the Valkyries anxiously await the arrival of so many valiant dead.”

“Of course,” was all Stoick could say. He’d hoped to take one last look at the map of the Archipelago to guide the search party, maybe even see a spot where his son and his companions might be holed up.

He’d just hoped he would be home by the time Hiccup was brought back to him.

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

The mornings were always hard on Stoick. When Gobber left, he’d gone right to sleep and been able to ignore how empty the house felt.

But in the mornings, against his will, Stoick faced the cold emptiness which pervaded the Haddock household.

He had to get out of here. Away from all this suffocating sadness and haunting memories of happier times with his little boy.

He clambered out of bed and quickly pulled on his armor and helmet before grabbing some food one of the servants from the hall must’ve dropped off after the feast. He’d have to find out who it was and thank them later. Without Hiccup, Stoick hadn’t done much cooking on his own.

Between his chieftain duties and training the new heir, it was all too much.

He opened the door and nearly bowled over the seventeen-year-old blonde boy sitting on the front steps of his home, nearly falling into the nearby snow drift. “Sorry, Gunnar, didn’t see you there!”

Gunnar Hofferson laughed it off, “That’s what I get for waiting in the doorway of the chief!” He stood up proudly, axe on his back and looking every inch the warrior he’d trained to be. He was the new face of the Hoffersons, with his blonde hair and exceptional prowess in battle.

And as of earlier this year, heir to the throne of Berk, by the order of the Council.

“I assume you’ve already made the rounds?” Stoick questioned as he walked through the snow towards the main path.

“Yessir, started at the docks and worked my way up. Fishermen went out early and no word of dragons near the village. No sheep escaped last night and no drunkards passed out in sight of the main pathways.” Gunnar reported proudly.

Stoick allowed himself to smile. Gunnar took to the training with the same resolve and determination he’d approached dragon training with, and because of that he’d been the first to kill the Monstrous Nightmare since Hiccup’s betrayal.

“Eret also wished to meet you at the docks before he left.”

“Ah, right!” Stoick nearly forgot about that. He made his way down to the docks quicker than usual, stopping only for a few seconds to shake hands and greet people. Gunnar picked up the slack with the people, and Stoick made it down to the docks just as Eret finished loading the ship.

“Eret, a word!” Stoick reached for the pouch of silver he’d brought.

Eret smiled and threw his arms wide, “Ah, chief! Glad to see you before we push off outta here—”

“I have another mission to ask of you,” Stoick started, holding a hand up in apology for interrupting, “I need you to find another nest. Any nest where the dragons might’ve gone.”

“I…Sure, chief, but it’ll cost—” Stoick tossed the bag into Eret’s chest, who caught it with a grunt and counted it, “well, seems money isn’t an issue for you here on Berk, is it?” Eret chuckled.

“Times have been good without the dragon raids, but if what you said was true about their Queen dying, they may try to find another nest. I don’t need raids to start up when Berk’s finally gotten used to peace.”

“Well, chief, that Queen died a while back, years ago, so they should’ve started raiding again unless they left the area.” Stoick shot Eret a look, and Eret raised his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright, we’ll start looking for another nest, don’t get your knickers twisted. Still want captured dragons?”

Stoick nodded, “Absolutely. We need to keep up with training the younger ones. The more diversity, the better. That Timberjack you brought back yesterday will be put to good use.”

“Aye, Chief. I’ll grab you any dragons I can find. There isn’t a dragon alive I can’t wrangle,” Eret saluted with a confident laugh and hopped aboard his ship as the boat pulled away from the docks, and Stoick turned to walk back towards the main square.

When he got there, he saw a large crowd gathered around, listening to someone speak. When he realized it was Mildew, his nails dug into his palms until they bled. Mildew stood in the middle of the gathering, telling more tales of the brutality of Hiccup and his draconic friends.

He found Gunnar leaning on the side of a nearby house, listening intently and making no move to stop the gathering.

Stoick tried to appear calm as he approached Gunnar, “Were you going to put a stop to this?”

“Why? Is Mildew lying?” Gunnar sneered, and Stoick’s anger flared.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But he isn’t telling these stories for the sake of telling stories like the traders, Gunnar. He uses them to stir people up. He can’t be allowed to tell these stories in the square just to get people riled up.”

And I will not allow him to repeat these demented tales of my son. I will not allow him to destroy my memories of my son.

“So, you don’t believe everything the traders say?” Gunnar turned to face Stoick and crossed his arms with a scowl on his face.

“Everything? No, traders always exaggerate and stretch the truth. Who knows how much of the stories are true and false.” Stoick tried being reasonable, but Gunnar wanted none of it.

“Ok, so what do you think they have done? Burned down a village or two? Slaughtered innocents? Worshipping cruel and strange gods? Kidnapping women and children? Eating them like dragons?”

Stoick struggled with the words. He should’ve told Gunnar about when Hiccup cried seeing a lamb slaughtered for a festival and how he refused to eat meat for months. How he used to be afraid of fire because he’d been burned once as a child in the forge. But Stoick was so worn down by everything he couldn’t get the words out of his mouth.

What if the tales aren’t as exaggerated as you think? What if they truly have lost what made them human?

No, Hiccup would never.

Am I a terrible father for even considering such a sickening idea?

What kind of father are you to start giving in like this, Stoick?! To start believing the tall tales of merchants and sailors?! What would Valka say? What would Hiccup say?

Gunnar, meanwhile, simmered in front of Stoick. The hatred in the boy’s eyes was like a fire raging out of control, and Stoick saw Gunnar’s fingers twitch towards the axe on his back.

He’d seen the boy throw axes at trees, the same way another Hofferson used to, and he knew Gunnar practiced when he was frustrated or angry.

Stoick flushed again. He didn’t want to have this conversation. The whole reason he’d left early last night was to not hear more of those stories, and here was the heir to the chiefdom wholeheartedly engaging with them. “Do you bring these stories up in your home?”

Gunnar smirked viciously, “Mom and Dad hate talking about it. They don’t want to hear anything about what she’s done, like they’re trying to preserve her memory or something.”

“Maybe they should,” Stoick offered reasonably. Despite Hiccup and the others being disinherited, all the parents still struggled with the stories they’d heard, wrapping their minds about the images the traders conjured up with ghastly tales. It didn’t fit their children, but they’d heard the tales so often, they didn’t know who to believe, so they tried to preserve the memories of their children before their treachery.

“Maybe they shouldn’t.” Gunnar snarled, sending a chill down Stoick’s spine. “My sister died the moment she hopped onto a dragon’s back. She is gone. Whoever she is now, she isn’t my sister.”

Stoick sighed in defeat and waved to Gunnar to follow him, moving him away from Mildew’s poisonous words. There was a long list of things which needed to be done, and Stoick figured it would waste time trying to convince Gunnar to see how much pain these stories caused for the parents.

Stoick knew when Astrid left, it devastated Gunnar. However, he didn’t leave that hole in his heart empty, and filled it with hate, malice and contempt for his sister. Whenever they were brought up, Gunnar was one of the first to denounce the dragon riders and their deeds, saying they should send a warband to aid the Dragon Hunters in the East. Doing so would mean admitting to the world the devilish dragon riders were from Berk, so the idea was always shot down by the Council.

Stoick sent Gunnar off to tend to a dispute between two farmers while he headed to the Great Hall to hear disagreements before another naming ceremony. On the way, he kept playing the stories over in his head, of what Gunnar said the dragon riders had done. Surely, not everything was true. It couldn’t be. His son was too sweet as a child to commit such heinous acts.

Part of him still clung to hope the traders were misunderstood in their stories if they weren’t false. Maybe the burned villages were controlled by bandits, or they weren’t kidnapping women and children but rescuing them. But the more stories came, the more his defenses wore down.

What if I raised a monster? Once upon a time, when Johann first spoke of the dragon riders, that thought made Stoick physically ill. Now he just broke into a cold sweat, as if his own body slowly started to agree with the idea. Stoick hated it and tried to remember the boy Hiccup used to be.

He still remembered the boy who’d taken care of a little bird with a broken wing, who cuddled his stuffed dragon Valka made until he was ten. Even after that, Hiccup never fell asleep without the stuffed dragon in his bed, tucked right under his pillow.

The stuffed dragon sat on his bed now, untouched for five years and collecting dust, but Stoick couldn’t bring himself to move it. It felt wrong to disturb the dragon, so it sat there on the bed, waiting for Hiccup, in whatever way he returned home.

Chapter Text

-0-

Hålogaland, Noregr, 10 1/2 months since leaving Berk

Their time in Uppsala proved to be more fortuitous than Hiccup expected. After the first draugr encounter, Hiccup wanted to see if weapons covered with Monstrous Nightmare saliva would make it easier to kill draugr. On their second encounter with a different draugr, they decapitated the draugr again but without fire, and the next night the draugr was whole again.

After lighting Astrid’s axe on fire by coating the blade with Hookfang’s saliva, the draugr remained dead. Now, Hiccup used his funds from their draugr killing missions to build specialized weapons for fighting the draugr: weapons made to catch fire which had retractable blades and easily carried or concealed, with canisters for the saliva and maybe even Zippleback gas in the hilts.

He built the prototypes out of Gronckle Iron, working with Fishlegs to refine the recipe for the best combination. While out with everyone gathering more rocks, Hiccup ran across something he never expected.

A troll.

“You know, I was the only on Berk besides Gobber who believed in them? No one else believed me!” He bragged to Astrid as he adjusted the spyglass. They were on a ridge too far away from the troll to see them, and Hiccup couldn’t tear his eyes away for even a moment.

He could hear Astrid rolling her eyes with her response, “Yes, you’ve said that about five times now, Hiccup.”

“Come on, Astrid! This is exciting!”

He heard Astrid huff, “Hiccup, we’ve seen dead people come back to life to guard treasure hoards, two shapeshifting dragons, magical…animal things, and just so much else that I don’t really know if discovering trolls really ranks that high now.”

He heard Snotlout huff, “Couldn’t have said it better myself, babe.”

“Snotlout, what did I say would happen the next time you called me that?”

“Uhh…”

“I believe you said you’d break his arm,” Hiccup heard Ruffnut state with a cackle, followed almost immediately by a yelp from Snotlout and the sound of two bodies hitting the ground and scuffling.

He wasn’t going to put down the spyglass, though. He wasn’t worried about Astrid breaking Snotlout’s arm; they had another draugr mission in a few days and she wouldn’t risk everyone’s safety by robbing them of a fighter.

Instead, he tried drowning out the noise by focusing on the troll in front of him. It had black hair and flabby, pale skin, but it wasn’t fat, per say, just…big and tall. And ugly.

It picked through the weapons and armor of the latest hunting party who’d stumbled across it, swords looking only a little larger than toothpicks in the troll’s hands.  It wore some kind of clothing, either whale skin or animal hides, but only around certain parts of it. Did that mean trolls had a concept of modesty?

Gobber always said trolls weren’t as stupid as people thought, as they were able to wield weapons effectively enough and knew enough to not get caught when stealing socks. Although Gobber never explained how massive trolls could sneak into one’s home and steal socks.

Maybe Gobber saw some sort of gnome? We’ve seen enough of those around, wonder if Gobber mistook a large gnome for a baby troll?

He should be here right now.

Gobber introduced him to troll hunting, filling his head with all sorts of information about trolls and teaching him everything the old blacksmith knew. Whenever Snotlout or the twins got too rough in their treatment of Hiccup, Gobber would take him to the far side of Berk to hunt for troll droppings or troll tracks. It became an obsession with Hiccup, to the point where he would ditch his father on fishing trips to go hunting for trolls.

Now, standing here with a very real troll in his line of sight, he felt the ache of his absence more than ever. Gobber should be here. He would’ve loved this.

Hel, Gobber would’ve loved all of it, Hiccup told himself.

With their main camp at Uppsala, he and his friends explored the northern and central parts of the continent, from the petty kingdoms of Noregr in the west to the Sámi in the north and the Finns in the east. They’d encountered the Geats, the tribe of the legendary hero Beowulf, just south of the Swedes, and he’d marveled at their strength and prowess. He’d seen the vast Slavic kingdoms in the south, widespread and numerous throughout the central mainland, and even visited their sacred temple at Arkona, which they’d called Jaromarsburg.

But none of that mattered to him as much as seeing the troll in front of him.

You’re still near Berk and you’re better at sneaking around. You can visit him.

He’s only a long day’s flight away. You could go there and be back in less than three days.

But he couldn’t. He had no idea how the island took the betrayal of the six firstborns of the great houses of Berk. They could’ve pronounced them outlaws, traitors and enemies to humankind. Hiccup knew without a shadow of a doubt Gobber would defy any order to harm him, but that would put Gobber at risk as well. Anyone who helped the enemy was marked for death, and he wouldn’t force Gobber to choose between his former apprentice and Berk.

But the thought continued to gnaw at him, whittling down his defenses like a beaver gnawed away at wood.

I could sneak back with a sketch, maybe even just leave it on my desk with a little note—

No. Hiccup clenched his fists. It’s too dangerous to go back.

Ok, but what if I didn’t go back, but the sketch did?

There were merchants who’d sailed to the Archipelago for trade, trustworthy merchants who’d deliver letters or special packages, albeit for a hefty price.

But with their draugr mound treasures, the gang had more than enough money right now, and it could all come out of Hiccup’s share. He didn’t mind spending so much on something like this.

He did the math on the timeline of the voyage to decide the best time to mail the letter. If he sent the letter, there was always a chance Berkians would show up in Uppsala looking for their wayward heir and his friends, and while he trusted Gobber to not tell anyone, he didn’t trust the traders that much.

Sure, he could use a false name, but then his father would interrogate the trader on why a random boy in Uppsala would send a letter all the way to Berk, and from his description, Stoick would put two and two together. Maybe he could avoid using a name, or have on his acquaintances in Uppsala mail the sketch for him?

He could wait until more traders set sail once the snowstorms eased, it would be cheaper and more likely to slip on by his father and the eagle-eyed members of the Berk Guard.

But he also wanted this sketch to be his Snoggletog present to Gobber.

It wasn’t their first Snoggletog outside the Archipelago, that’d happened last year in the North, where they all nearly froze to death huddled around a campfire, the thrill of adventuring enough to keep them from getting homesick.

Now, though, among other Vikings, holiday homesickness latched onto them like a leech. He’d seen it in the way his friends shared stories of their holiday traditions, from the twins pranking their cousins to Astrid sparring with her little brother on Snoggletog morning.

Everyone missed their families, and while Hiccup was no exception, he missed Gobber too. He was the closest thing Hiccup had to another living family member aside from Stoick.

And Hiccup left him behind without so much as a letter explaining why he left.

I’ll send him the sketch, he told himself with assured finality, I’ll send him the best sketch of a troll he’s ever seen.

He wouldn’t sign his name or write a letter to go with it. Hiccup knew Gobber. He knew Gobber would recognize the style of the charcoal pencil sketch. Once Gobber saw that, he’d know that Hiccup was ok, and that was all he needed.

Ignoring the struggle unfolding behind him between everyone else, Hiccup clicked his foot into the pedal and the two of them leapt off the ridgeline.

In a few minutes, they’d found a new spot closer to the troll but still hidden from its wandering eyes. The troll seemed to have dragged a horse carcass back from where it ran into the warriors and began munching on it. Averting his focus from that grotesque sight, Hiccup hopped off Toothless, laid down near the edge, took out his sketchbook and began tracing the outline of the sitting troll.

Once the outline was done, his gaze homed in on finer details, like the hair, skin texture, clothing and the shape of its facial features. The prominence of its lips, the large nose, small eyes and crooked teeth took their place in the sketch before Hiccup moved onto the other features of the troll, like its primitive belt with tools made of bones, the odd rock and shell necklace hanging around its neck.

Toothless huffed and pawed at the ground, clearly uncomfortable with being this close to something which could hurl a boulder like a catapult.

“I know, I know, bud, just give me another few seconds.”

Toothless groaned like a human, stalked up to where Hiccup laid and sniffed at the pages. “Yeah, that’s the troll. I’m…I’m drawing it for a friend. An old mentor of mine? You might remember him from the Kill Ring, you know? Big, grumpy, two prosthetic limbs?”

Toothless snorted, which Hiccup took as a ‘no’.

“He…He was the best, Toothless. A little cranky sometimes, but he taught me everything I know about smithing. He taught me a lot about…well, most things. Including trolls.”

Toothless moved his mouth in what looked like an imitation of ‘yapping’ while rolling his eyes before pointedly looking at his saddle. When Hiccup didn’t move, Toothless used his tail to point at the saddle on his back.

“You know, for a Night Fury, you’re a bit of a baby,” he pointed out.

Toothless mocked Hiccup again, even adding a bit of a shoulder rolling into the action.

“You’re a big baby, you know that, bud?” Hiccup teased, poking the Night Fury in the side as he moved into the saddle, “It’s far away, it can’t hurt us from there! Who knew a troll off in the distance could so rapidly reduce the proud, lethal, exceptionally deadly Night Fury to a scared little pile of—”

Hiccup received a swipe across the face from Toothless’ ear flap, and the dragon had the gall to laugh at his pained yelp.

“Useless reptile,” he snarked with a grin. He wasn’t about to let Toothless get the last word in.

Just as they were about to leave, he heard flapping wings and saw Stormfly land next to them, a grinning Astrid on her back. “You’re going to want to stick around for this,” she said triumphantly, and his heart skipped a beat like it did every time he saw that smile.

Hiccup smiled at her as he put the notebook away, willing himself not to stare. But the way the snow dusted her golden hair and the furs around her shoulders—it made the blue of her eyes seem almost electric. He swallowed, tearing his gaze away before he could get caught. She looked so confident astride Stormfly, her axe on her back and a smirk on her face.

Too confident, and that smirk was too wide to mean anything good.

“What did you do now?” Hiccup asked cautiously.

She proudly brushed her bangs out of her eyes and Hiccup’s heart skipped a beat. “Well, I didn’t break Snotlout’s arm…so he’s trying something else ‘to win my forgiveness’ instead…”

“What does he ha—"

“It wasn’t my idea; it was the twins. And don’t worry about him getting hurt: Hookfang won’t let anything happen to him,” she smiled, eyes glinting with such satisfaction Hiccup wondered what it was Snotlout had to do with win Astrid’s forgiveness.

“Astrid… what does Snotlout have to do?”

He didn’t have to wonder for long, however, as Snotlout and Hookfang flew right past the two of them, right down to the troll.

Hiccup rubbed his eyes in disbelief, “He has to try to tame the troll, doesn’t he?”

“Yup!” Astrid cackled, “I really underestimated the twins. They’ve got some great ideas!”

He knew he shouldn’t laugh with her, since what Snotlout was about to attempt might kill him even with Hookfang there.

But when he heard her laugh, he couldn’t help but smile.

It always happened, as good a guarantee as any. Whenever Astrid laughed, no matter how he felt, Hiccup always smiled. Just hearing her so happy made his heart soar out of his chest.

Discounting Toothless, Astrid was his best friend, and it wasn’t even close. They patrolled together, went on market runs together, and every blót or festival they’d attended at Uppsala they’d shared a dance together. On Berk, his father and her father would’ve already discussed marriage, and they’d probably be formally betrothed at this point.

But they weren’t bound to the laws and traditions of Berk anymore, for better or for worse.

He should be relieved—should be grateful that there were no expectations between them. But part of him, some large, stubborn, wishful part of him wondered what it would be like if there were expectations.

His crush had started as admiration from afar, built on the idea of her—the untouchable, perfect Viking. But the real Astrid? She was sharper, funnier, cleverer than he’d ever imagined. And that only made it worse.

A while ago, he’d thought about courting her. Really thought about it. But the more he did, the more doubts crept in. What would it do to their group? Would it change things between them? Would it change her?

He’d come to terms with being their de facto leader, but a leader had to be careful. And dating Astrid—if she even wanted that—might throw everything off balance.

Did she even see him that way? Or was he just another one of her idiot friends? He caught himself glancing at her every time she laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. Would she laugh like that if she knew?

He wanted to believe she liked him—maybe she did—but then that old voice in his head, the one that had been there since they were kids, whispered the truth he could never quite shake:

Astrid Hofferson doesn’t like you like that.

She never had before. Why would she now?

Was he misreading intentions and signs in the hope that they could be something more than friends? He’d hardly had friends his own age before, so he had no clue how to tell if Astrid was just being friendly or more than friendly.

Sure, he rode a Night Fury, but that didn’t make him a warrior. Not really. Even after all the training, the sparring, the battles—they all knew who the real fighter was.

It wasn’t him.

He wasn’t strong like Astrid. He wasn’t fearless like Astrid. And when the draugr attacked, it was Astrid—not him—who could hold her own without a dragon.

He’d grown a little, sure. He’d gotten better at swordfighting, too. He wasn’t that weak, stammering kid from Berk anymore.

But when he looked at her, he wondered if she still saw him that way. If she ever saw him at all.

He used to think he had a crush on her because she was the Astrid Hofferson. The best fighter. The perfect Viking. The girl every other boy on Berk had admired from a distance.

But that felt so shallow now.

Because now, he actually knew her.

He knew the way she snorted when she laughed too hard. The way she muttered insults under her breath when she sparred, even when no one could hear her. The way she clenched her fists when she got frustrated but never lost control. The way she bit her bottom lip when she concentrated on a difficult task. The way her face scrunched up when she prepared to fight, which made her look cute.

He knew her as a fighter, a strategist, a leader—but also as a friend. A friend who pushed him, challenged him, stood beside him through every impossible thing they’d faced.

She wasn’t some untouchable warrior. She wasn’t a dream. She was real.

And somehow, impossibly, that made her even more incredible.

Maybe one day, when he was brave enough—when he was sure he wouldn’t ruin everything—he’d finally find out if there was something there.

If she could ever look at him the way he looked at her.

But until then, he’d keep his feelings where they belonged. Hidden.

“Race you down there to rescue Snot and Hookfang?” It was a question, but he already knew the answer as he sank low onto Toothless’ saddle, the Night Fury tensing underneath him as they both readied themselves to push off.

“Last one there polishes the saddles?” She mirrored his stance and lowered herself on Stormfly, both dragon and rider readying themselves on the invisible start line.

“And the winner gets to help Snotlout?” He snickered as he readied himself.

“You’re right, the winner needs a prize, not a punishment,” they both laughed at that, and Hiccup could’ve sworn he heard a snort come from Astrid. “How about winner gets to distract the troll?”

“As you wish, milady. The winner distracts the troll, and the loser helps Snotlout. Ready?” He lowered himself in the saddle, but his mind wasn’t on the race. If only she knew how much he wished.

-0-

Uppsala, 14 months since leaving Berk

They’d all been homesick before, but never like this. Or at least, Astrid had never been this homesick before.

The first Snoggletog’s Eve, they’d all spent the evening trying to survive, huddled around a fire in freezing temperatures while the dragons cocooned them in the Far North. It was exciting in a terrifying way, with the thrill of exploring squashing any thoughts of home as they tried to survive.

That was a year ago now, and being among Swedes for their Yule celebration brought up many thoughts of home and family.

Which was why they were sulking inside their hut, gathered around the roaring hearth in the middle, rather than at the Yule festivities with the villagers they’d gotten to know well over the last few months.

“I still think Snoggletog is a better name,” Tuffnut groaned from his place near the fire, splayed out next to his sister. “Who calls it Yule?”

“Weirdos, that’s who,” Ruffnut answered, although without the usual cheekiness.

 On the other side of the fire, Snotlout silently roasted a bird he’d caught, paying more attention to the movement of the flames than how evenly the bird cooked. Fishlegs’ face was buried in a book, although Astrid watched his eyes glaze over every now and then.

Only Hiccup seemed somewhat unaffected by the morose mood of their hut as he finished his dinner and went back for seconds.

There was a knock at their door and after making sure nothing relating to dragons was visible, Hiccup opened the door, and a small dark-haired boy stood beaming in the doorway.

“Hey, Hiccup!”

“Alf, happy Snog-uh, Yule Eve!” Hiccup turned to the rest of the group, and it seemed Astrid was the only one who gave Alf a proper greeting. The rest of their friends seemed too melancholic to even be bothered to look at Alf.

Astrid shot Hiccup a glance that told him to take Alf outside for their conversation. Hiccup caught it and luckily understood, ushering the boy outside with a promise to show him the new Inferno sword prototype.

Once the door was shut, Astrid whipped back towards her friends. “Are you kidding me?!”

Her shout broke them out of their sour moods quickly, looking dumbfounded as Astrid continued. “I know we’re all homesick right now but did you all really just blow off Alf like that?!”

Fishlegs stood up, looking apologetic, “We’re sorry, Astrid, it’s just…”

“We just miss our families, that’s all.” Ruffnut finished, laying a hand on Tuffnut’s shoulder.

Snotlout continued to be silent, which was about as worrying as it got for him.

She took a breath and exhaled slowly, trying to soften her tone, “I get it. You don’t think I miss my parents and my little brother? You don’t think I wish I could go home with Stormfly and see my family? I do, but…Guys, if we go back there, we’re condemning our dragons, and I’m not going to let them hurt Stormfly.”

“We know, Astrid,” Fishlegs again spoke for the others, “But…I don’t know, for me its just hard without any traditions. It feels like we’re just missing out on everything.”

An idea popped into Astrid’s head. “What if we had our own traditions? What if we came up with new Snoggletog traditions? You know, to bury the sadness?”

They all half-nodded and Astrid felt energized. She hadn’t let anyone else notice, but she was hit hard by the holiday blues as well. Now, though, they could all get through it with their own traditions.  She could help them get through it.

Astrid quickly ran over to where the food was stored and took inventory of the supplies.

Jerky, veggies, snowberries, yak’s milk, eggs, beets, cabbage…

A brilliant idea dawned on her.

“Be out back, don’t come looking!” Astrid excitedly grabbed the yak’s milk, eggs, cabbage and a few other ingredients.

Twenty minutes later, she burst back in with a pitcher of her newest creation and six mugs.

“I call it yaknog!” She announced and poured a mug to hand to the closest person, who happened to be Snotlout.

“Bleugh, what’s that smell?! Is that you?!” Tuffnut shoved his sister away from him before he turned towards Astrid, “Is that the yaknog?”

“Ok, the smell is a work in progress, but it tastes great! Right, Snotlout?”

She turned expectantly towards Snotlout, who returned an empty, “You…you can really taste the yak—” He burped and held his stomach, looking a little green as he did so.

Must not have cooked the bird enough, Astrid thought.

“Fishlegs, you want some?” She poured another mug, but Fishlegs backed away slowly.

“Oh…Uhm…You know, I was actually going to get to work on my new Snoggletog tradition, so I better just….Yeah,” he scuttled over to where the supplies were, and Astrid tried not to let it hurt her feelings too much.

Just then, the door swung open to reveal a snow-covered Hiccup in his dark furs, and Astrid’s spirits rose.

“You all don’t know what you’re missing. I bet Hiccup will love it.”

Astrid strode toward him as he dusted snow off his prosthetic, her heart lifting when those sharp, exceptional emerald-green eyes met hers.

“Love what?” He asked, then his eyes dropped to the mug she’d extended to him, “What is it?” He took a sniff of the mug in his hand and his eyes widened.

“Yaknog!” She announced, trying not to let the others’ reactions shake her. “I figured the best way out of our slump was if we came up with new Snoggletog traditions and this was my idea!”

He took a swig, and his eyes bulged. He set the mug down on her tray, but didn’t swallow it.

“Swallow it, you coward,” Snotlout gurgled from the floor.

Astrid’s stomach sank into the floor and her heart pounded against her ribcage.

No one liked her new drink. Not even Hiccup.

She had been so sure this would be a hit. It wasn’t like she cooked often—her friends had made it clear long ago that she was better suited for hunting food than preparing it—but this was different. A drink was simple. She’d put effort into this, into making something special. And she thought it had turned out alright.

Hiccup met her gaze, and something in his expression shifted. Suddenly, he swallowed the yaknog, then snatched the mug back up and downed the rest in one go.

“Woah,” Tuffnut muttered from across the room, “I’ve never seen so much carelessness for one’s own life.”

“Is Hiccup going to die tonight?” Ruffnut inquired, back to her normal amount of sassiness.

This was supposed to lift everyone’s spirits, bring back the warmth of Snoggletog. She’d never been the type to care about things like that before, but she was trying—and they were all laughing at her for it.

And worse, Hiccup didn’t like it either.

Her chest tightened as she stomped to the table and slammed the tray down. The rejection stung more than it should have. It wasn’t just the drink—she could handle the twins and Snotlout making fun of her. But Hiccup’s opinion? That mattered more than she wanted to admit.

She had wanted him to like it. To be proud of her for trying or for making something new.

Instead, she’d forced him to choke down something awful.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and came very close to slugging the owner of said hand until she realized it was Hiccup. His face was tight, like he was desperately trying to keep a straight expression.

“You didn’t have to drink the whole thing, you know,” she said pointedly, folding her arms, “I wouldn’t have cared.”

“Maybe in another world, I would’ve stopped at the sip,” he shrugged, “But when I saw your reaction to Ruff’s comment… I realized you’d probably put some hope into that drink, right?”

He wasn’t wrong, and she hated the way he saw so through her so easily and so quickly. “I just wanted to make something that raised everybody’s spirits a little. We’ve all just been…out of it lately.”

“I…noticed. It’s been a little rough, for everyone.” he admitted. His fingers brushed against hers as he steadied himself on the table, and her breath hitched. The touch was barely there, but it sent an uninvited thrill through her before he pulled away.

“Uh—but, hey, it looks like the yaknog did bring some Snoggletog spirit back!” He gestured toward the others, with Fishlegs humming as he gathered ingredients and the twins teasing a very curled-up Snotlout.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, her lips twitching upwards against her will.

How does he always manage to do that?

She turned towards him suddenly, looking him in the eyes, her voice only a little above a whisper, “And you? Are you having a good time? Out here, with us?”

Her heart pounded as she waited for an answer because his answer meant to her than he would ever know.

Because he was the reason she was here. The reason she ventured into the Great Beyond. The reason she stopped fighting dragons. The reason she’d turned away from a future laid out before her, decided by everyone but herself.

Because of him, she could decide her own path.

And now, she could also decide who to pursue.

He doesn’t even realize what he does to me or how he makes me feel.

He still hadn’t kissed her yet. But they’d grown close little by little, moment by moment. She could feel it.

Hiccup didn’t flinch anymore when she leaned against him at the campfire, didn’t hesitate to return a hug after a close call. Not the nervous, fleeting touch from before.

He was getting comfortable with her.

He shrugged, “Well, I miss Berk a little but…yeah, I’m having a good time. How could I not? I’ve got Toothless and you…uh, you all,” he corrected, but Astrid caught the blush in his cheeks before he turned away.

“You’ve got me, huh?” she teased, placing a hand on her hip and tilting her head, relishing in the way his entire face went red.

“W-w-well…I-uh—” he coughed, fumbling for words, “I-I-I m-misspoke. What I meant was…ah…”

She bit back a grin. Thor’s hammer, he’s adorable when he stutters.

It’d been too long since he’d stumbled over his words like that. He was confident now, at ease with their group, so hearing him trip over his own tongue just for her?

Oh Freyja, she’d missed that.

She gave him a light punch on the shoulder, shaking her head. “I know what you meant, Hiccup,” she assured him, voice softer now. “And…for the record…”

Her throat tightened. Say it. Just say it.

“For the record… you have me too.”

The moment the words left her mouth, warmth bloomed under her skin. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck, burning at the tips of her ears. Did that sound dumb? Too eager? Too… much?

Would he think she meant it as a friend? Would he find her statement too forward and off-putting? Did it make her sound like too much of a simpleton or some fawning milkmaid daydreaming about an adventurer?

The fireworms in her stomach settled, however, when he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and smiled. “And you’ve got me too, Astrid.”

They lingered there for a moment, ignoring the raucous noise coming from the wrestling match their friends were engaged in and taking in the moment between them.

She’d been tempted to kiss Hiccup before. On Dragon’s Edge, a year ago, under the Northern Lights as he told her the story of Lýsa and her farm boy lover.

But back then, she’d held back. She’d been willing to wait.

Now?

Now, every second he didn’t kiss her was unbearable.

She knew him now—knew who he was, really was. Not just the inventor, not just the leader, but the Hiccup who had entire conversations with Toothless, full of sarcasm and sass. The Hiccup who sketched ridiculous things in the margins of his maps. The Hiccup who came up with crazy ideas or insane projects, like flammable weapons. The Hiccup who saw the world differently than everyone else. The Hiccup who showed her a different way to look at the world. The Hiccup who could cut her down with a single well-placed compliment.

No one else made her feel like this. No one else could undo her like this.

Whatever she felt for him, it was totally unique.

The firelight flickered over his face, making his auburn hair gleam like flame. Snowflakes clung to it, melting slowly, catching the dim glow like tiny stars. His green eyes—so impossibly bright—stood out against the dark furs he wore, filled with something unreadable, something that made her breath hitch.

Has he always looked this good?

Her heart jumped.

Screw waiting. I want to kiss him.

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned in.

And then her pulse stopped because he leaned in too.

Finally.

And just as she realized she should close her eyes, a loud crash and scream erupted from behind Hiccup.

Startled, he jumped away from her and turned around so quickly Astrid felt unstable. She grabbed the edge of a table to stabilize herself and looked over at the cause of the commotion, losing her temper in the process.

“Are you kidding me? Another table?!” She cried out, examining the sight of Tuffnut lying on the floor between two broken table pieces.

“Don’t look at me, it was Snotlout’s fault!” He pointed to Snotlout, who stood by and waved it off.

“I’ll just build another one, no big deal, Astrid,” he struck a pose to emphasize his biceps, “I know you like watching me build tables and chairs, after all.”

She not only wanted to vomit, but she wanted to kill Snotlout. She might actually kill him, there was a knife not far from her. Not for the table, though.

Because how dare he ruin a moment like that with Hiccup? For Freya’s sake, they were about to kiss! He almost kissed her!

Hiccup placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a polite smile, as if urging her to calm down and not lacerate Snotlout’s throat.

“What were you guys talking about over there?” Ruffnut questioned as she helped Tuffnut off the floor while Fishlegs gathered the broken pieces of wood and threw them onto their hearth.

“Oh…uhh… the Yule festival! Alf came by to tell us we are formally invited by the people of Uppsala to their Yule festivities!”

The others groaned.

“I’m sorry, is it going to interfere with your plans to sulk over not having a proper Snoggletog’s Eve?” Hiccup sassed.

“That’s not…You don’t…” Snotlout blustered, and Fishlegs and the twins hung their heads.

“No, listen to me. I get it,” Hiccup took a step forward to address the whole room, “It’s the first time we’re far away from home during the holidays, and its tough. Believe it or not, I miss my dad and Gobber. But you know what? We have each other. Who says we can’t have our own Snoggletog traditions, like Astrid said? Sure, it won’t be like home, but that’s part of growing up, isn’t it? Leaving behind the old and embracing the new?”

Slowly, the others nodded, and Astrid decided they might need a little more convincing. “Come on guys, Uppsala wants to say thank you for helping with their draugr problem. Besides, don’t you all want to see the people you’ve gotten befriend the past six months?”

She looked at them and went down the row, “Fishlegs: I’m sure Snorri will be there to talk poetry and I’m sure he would love to talk to you about the history of Uppsala. Ruff, Tuff: Think of all the harmless pranks you can pull on people not from Uppsala who are visiting for the blót, all in one place! And Snotlout: Don’t you want to see Hilda again, maybe try to beat her in an arm-wrestling match this time?”

She could see all four of them ponder it, but before any of them even thought about rejecting, Hiccup moved in for the kill. “I forgot to mention, the food for us will be free, as a thank you from the town for helping them with draugr. Fish, steaks, chicken, vegetables, pastries and deserts. Anything there, we six eat for free. Drinks are free for us, too.”

Immediately, everyone else jumped on board.

With that, they all bade the dragons a good night and walked off to the town, using the lights flickering in the distance to guide them.

Astrid walked in the rear with Hiccup, and every time their hands brushed, her heart made a ridiculous little leap. She told herself to focus on the path ahead, on the festival lights flickering in the distance, but it was impossible when he was right there—close enough that if she just shifted a little, their fingers might tangle together.

We almost kissed earlier. He’ll kiss me tonight, right?

The thought made her pulse jump. It sounded so…girlish, but she didn’t care. She liked Hiccup. She liked him in a way she’d never liked anyone before. And what better place to kiss someone than at a Yule festival, with snow drifting down and the new moon casting everything in silver?

They got to the festival area and everyone broke off, minus her and Hiccup. They moved straight to dancing, and Astrid realized something was different. Hiccup held her closer tonight, his grip firmer, his movements more assured. He wasn’t just following her lead anymore—he was guiding her, pulling her into the rhythm like he knew exactly what he was doing.

It was new. It was good.

A slow smile spread across her lips. Where did this come from?

She was used to leading their sparring matches and used to watching him strategize his way out of fights. But here, now, in the circle of firelights, he wasn’t thinking or planning—he was just dancing. And Astrid…she liked it. Maybe a little too much.

They must’ve danced for half an hour, and Hiccup led them off to get food. They shook hands along the way, complimenting Hiccup on his ingenuity in crafting remarkable weapons and Astrid on her remarkable prowess. To her satisfaction, one shieldmaiden even asked her if she would join the renowned Hearthguard of Lagertha in Skåne. She declined but thanked her for the offer.

None of the villagers knew about the Monstrous Nightmare saliva or Gronckle Iron, since they’d ask questions about where to get that, and they didn’t want dragons taken captive for those resources, but they did let the warriors know fire seemed to permanently destroy a draugr.

After they ate and chatted about how Yule compared to Snoggletog, they found a quiet corner to continue their conversation.

As they chatted, she found herself stealing glances at him, waiting for some kind of sign. Was he leaning closer than usual? Was his smile lingering a little longer? Every time his gaze locked with hers, she felt that same nervous excitement creep up her spine.

Is he waiting for the right moment?

For the second time tonight, she felt herself leaning toward him.

And he mirrored her. Again.

Astrid swallowed, pulse quickening. This is it.

Thank you, Freya.

Hiccup’s fingers skimmed her waist, warm even through the layers of fabric. She felt the ghost of his breath, the steady rise and fall of his chest. Every muscle in her body was strung tight with anticipation. Finally.

“DRAGONS!” Alf shouted, nearly hysterical, “DRAGONS! DRAGONS IN THE WOODS!”

Chapter Text

-0-

Hordaland, Kingdom of Noregr, Present

They’d made it to Frisia as the sun dipped below the horizon. The next day, they flew out of what used to be Lotharingia before the sun was up. They landed in Wessex before midday, giving them some time to rest and gather their Frankish treasures from the Wessex treasure hoards. Just after midday, they’d set off for a trading town called Bjørgvin in Hordaland.

The last time they’d been there was during their stay in Uppsala, while the Norwegian kingdoms squabbled with one another. Now, they’d be coming back to a single, united kingdom under the rule of King Harald ‘Fairhair’.

They’d found this small town in the fjords, dubbed the “town of seven mountains” by the locals and Hiccup agreed with them.

It was a stunning place to live. Beautiful, defensible and close enough to sea lanes for merchants to trade with. It was calm, peaceful and remote enough to enjoy some tranquility but close enough to merchants for any needs or wants.

Too bad it was full of people who hated dragons.

They made camp on the top of one of the mountains nearby and began to unload, with everyone settling back into their routine.

“Heather and I are going to get some food! We’ll be back with stuff for a stew soon,” Fishlegs waved at him as he and Heather started down the path towards the village.

He nodded at Fishlegs, and Hiccup went back to the task of setting up his tent.

Well, his and Astrid’s tent.

It made sense to start sharing a tent after they started sharing a bed in Miklagard, but looking back, he wondered how they hadn’t gotten there sooner. Outside Paris was where they officially started, but the signs had been everywhere before then. Holding hands, lingering glances, almost kisses, Astrid falling asleep next to him by the fire, again and again… Things his younger self, in all his oblivious glory, had completely missed.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized: past Hiccup had been the biggest fool in all of Midgard for not asking her out sooner.

“You’ve got your thinking face on,” Astrid noted as she tied off a knot around a stake.

“You,” he smiled, “Well, us.”

Astrid’s lips curled into that wily smile that made his stomach flip. “Oh?” she drawled, stepping just close enough to make his heart race. “And what exactly were you thinking about?” She whispered it, her voice dipping just enough to send a thrill down his spine.

“Not…not like that,” he chuckled, though—great, now he was thinking about that. He cleared his throat. “Just…realizing how many obvious signs I, uh, completely missed back then.”

Astrid sighed fondly, shaking her head as she walked over and took his hand. “Hiccup, we’ve been over this. Everything that happened led us to this. And I like us here. Don’t overthink it.”

He huffed. “Do you even know me? Overthinking things is practically my job.”

“I know you the best.”

A huff from Toothless forced her to amend her statement, “Fine, Mr. Bossy, I know you second best.” She rolled her eyes at the preening Night Fury.

Toothless, thoroughly pleased with himself, warbled triumphantly and tapped his paws on the ground before shoving his head between them. “Really, bud? Can’t you see we’re having a moment?” Hiccup deadpanned.

Toothless chuffed, clearly unbothered.

Astrid snorted. “Aww, he just wants some scratches, don’t you, Toothless?” She cooed, her fingers joining Hiccup to scratch all those spots that made Toothless purr more like an overgrown cat than a fearsome dragon.

Then, of course, Stormfly stomped over, not about to be left out. The nudge on Astrid’s shoulder nearly knocked her over, but Astrid laughed it off.

“Alright, alright,” she said, scratching under Stormfly’s chin, “your turn, girl.”

Once their dragons were satisfied with the attention given to them, they curled up behind their tent and closed their eyes.

They sat down near the fire, relishing its heat while Hiccup stared at the dragons, wondering if Toothless or Stormfly ever knew how much they changed his and Astrid’s lives.

He wouldn’t be who he was today without Toothless. None of them would be here today if it wasn’t for their dragons. Because of their dragons, they’d traveled further than most of the world’s most daring sailors, opening their eyes to peoples and cultures so vastly different from their own Hiccup wondered where it all came from.

Their dragons were everything to them, and the reason why they’d decided to start the war against the Dragon Hunters was because they couldn’t stand the cruelty any longer.

He wished things were different. Out in the far east, dragons seemed to be respected or even worshipped. Even in the south and among the Rhomanoi in Miklagard, dragons were largely left alone, so long as they didn’t attack innocent people.

Not so here. Vikings, Englisc, Franks, Germans, Slavs, Asturians, Andalusians. They all kill dragons.

A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hey.”

Hiccup blinked as Astrid leaned in slightly, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. “You know… dinner isn’t going to be ready for a while.”

There was a certain look she got when she was in this mood—half-lidded eyes, the barest smirk, the kind of confidence that made his stomach flip. And she knew it.

“Uhh… wait, here? Now?” He swallowed, glancing toward the fire. Not that he was saying no—he never said no. He enjoyed it far too much to say no. “What, uh… what brought this on?”

“Oh, you know…” She dragged a hand across his chest before curling her fingers into his armor, tugging just slightly. She was close now, her breath warm against his ear. “Thinking about how you took on that draugr the other day. The way you just cleaved his head clean off with one swing.” She sighed dramatically. “There’s just something about a man who knows how to use his sword…”

His brain short-circuited for a second, unable to process anything. But he recovered quickly, smirking. “Well, I had a great teacher.”

Astrid tilted her head, pretending to consider this. “Really? Do tell me about this teacher…”

He grinned. “Well, she happens to be the best shieldmaiden in the world. Wields her axe like it’s an extension of her arm. She’s the fiercest warrior since Brynhildr, but I’d put good money on her winning that fight.” He watched with satisfaction as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear— a sure sign she liked what he was saying.

She scoffed, though he could hear the smile in it. “Huh. Sounds hideous. Probably built like an ox, with arms the size of tree trunks.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” He pulled her in a little closer, lowering his voice just slightly. “Legends say she’s descended from Freyja herself. That she has a beauty unmatched by any other mortal. Hair spun from gold, a smile that could bring the gods to their knees, and eyes as blue as the dragon she rides.”

“Well…” Astrid drawled, pretending to consider.

“But…” he continued, grinning, “it’s all for naught. You see, she’s hopelessly in love with this lanky, unassuming dragon rider—”

“Ohhh, I see.” Astrid smirked, folding her arms. “Maybe she fell for that lanky, unassuming dragon rider because he was a stubborn little idiot when she first noticed him, but somehow managed to give her an entirely new perspective on the world.”

Hiccup opened his mouth, but she kept going, stepping in closer, voice softer now.

“Maybe she liked how his eyes lit up whenever they went somewhere new, how restless he got when it came to dragons or inventions or exploring. Maybe she liked that he never treated her like she had to be anything other than herself. That he was always her best friend.” She hesitated, just slightly, before adding, “Maybe she liked that he saw her, and not just the shieldmaiden everyone else did.”

Hiccup’s heart thumped loudly in his chest, and from the way Astrid looked at him, he was pretty sure she could hear it.

He swallowed, mustering his voice. “She, uh… only liked those things?”

Astrid rolled her eyes, then punched his ribs lightly.

“She also liked that he never forced her into a dress and put up with her when she had to wear that stupid Rhomanoi thing for that wedding in Miklagard.”

Hiccup snorted. “Oh, trust me, the lanky dragon rider was more than happy to put up with that. Considering he already thought she was the most beautiful woman in Midgard, but in that dress, she had a beauty to rival the goddesses themselves.” He waggled his brows. “Of course, he also knew exactly how much she hated wearing it. Considering how quickly she tore it off later that night.”

Astrid flushed, slapping his arm. “The shieldmaiden recalls the dragon rider also wanted that dress off her that night.”

“Who, me?” Hiccup feigned innocence. “I’m insulted.”

Astrid just rolled her eyes, shaking her head with a grin before closing in for a kiss.

It wasn’t a quick peck either. There was passion behind it, he could feel it in the way she pushed against him, lighting a fire inside of him.

He felt the brush of her tongue against his teeth, but she pulled back smirking before he could do anything about it.

Then, after a brief pause, she leaned in, voice dropping again to that tone.

“So… are you coming?”

Hiccup swore his entire body stopped functioning for half a second. His brain, usually his greatest asset, turned into useless mush whenever Astrid got like this. It wasn’t fair. It should be fair, considering how often he flustered her, but it wasn’t.

Not that he was complaining.

He grabbed a few blankets and followed after her, ignoring the very obvious looks from their friends by the fire. They definitely knew what the two ‘lovebirds’ were sneaking off to do.

-0-

Duchy of Swabia, East Francia, 15 months since leaving Berk

Hiccup never knew how much he wanted Astrid until he’d almost lost her.

Following the hasty exit from Uppsala after Alf discovered their dragons, they went south, where the snow wouldn’t be as severe. After a few days staying among Slavs, they entered the Kingdom of East Francia. It was a great, magnificent kingdom, as Hiccup saw on the map, and they learned from Norse-speaking Saxons that it was once part of a large empire created by a great king named Charlemagne. The men after him, however, were not like Charlemagne, so his grandsons ruled over a divided empire.

But this realm was peaceful, and full of places for dragons to hide, especially in the southern area called Swabia. Hiccup and Fishlegs once again took to learning the local language, and a merchant recommended they learn Latin too so wherever they went in ‘Christendom’, they could speak to learned men. So, while the others were largely left to their devices, Hiccup and Fishlegs were busy day and night attempting to learn two languages with limited means.

It seemed all was well, until Astrid came back breathless one day with two children on Stormfly’s back.

“Woah woah woah, slow down, Astrid,” Fishlegs implored, “I can’t keep up with you and the kids at the same time.”

“There’s—”, she turned towards Hiccup and the others so Fishlegs could try speaking German with the children, “there’s something out there. It had…it had this hut, but not like a normal hut, like a bunch of trees were bent and grew to form this thing, covered in vines and the wood was all black! And…and…”

“Deep breaths, Astrid,” he put his hands onto her shoulders and looked into her eyes, “take a second and tell us what happened.”

Holding her and looking into her eyes still electrified him. They hadn’t talked about what almost happened between them at Uppsala, but it’d given Hiccup enough confidence to do more. Now, he could put a hand on her shoulder or squeeze her hand or even hug her without getting nervous.

Kissing, though? Off the table, as far as he knew. She hadn’t sought him out like before in Uppsala, and he wondered if she ever would again.

He saw her take a few deep breaths, and he let a smile play at his lips. A ghost of a smile passed over her face before it disappeared, replaced by a determined expression.

“There’s…something out there,” she spoke slowly, “it…kidnapped these two kids and held them in its weird…hut thing. And there were bones, Hiccup. Human bones.”

He nodded in understanding. They’d come across their fair share of old battlefields and bandit camps.

But Astrid shook her head. “Hiccup, this isn’t like before. There were…teeth marks on the bones. Hiccup, I think whoever is out there is eating people.”

His stomach dropped and he felt bile rise in his throat.

They’d heard of people eating dead bodies during extreme times of war or winter, but that was a world away from kidnapping children to eat.

He felt sick. And enraged.

The world outside the Archipelago was more terrifying than they thought: draugr were real, shapeshifting dragons existed and could talk through their mind. Trolls, demons, gnomes, imps, firefoxes and other creatures they thought were stories all existed.

But this was the worst. It was someone, or something, kidnapping people and, if Astrid was right, eating them.

“Alright, I say we go out there and burn this place to the ground, along with whoever’s in it.” Snotlout pounded his fist into his palm and called for Hookfang, “who’s with me?”

For once, Hiccup agreed with Snotlout. They all called their dragons and readied themselves for a fight.

But then Hiccup realized he’d forgotten about the children Astrid rescued, and he couldn’t leave them at their cave when he had no idea where they were from.

When Toothless bounded over to him, he brought the little boy and girl over to the curious Night Fury.

Toothless trilled and sniffed at them, stumbling backwards when the two children yelped in terror.

“It ok,” he offered in broken German, “He…friend.”

He put his hand up and Toothless put his snout into his palm. Their eyes widened in awe, and Hiccup guided their hands up to repeat what he just did.

They tensed and shied away in fear when Toothless moved his head but looked at the dragon in shock when Toothless pushed his nose forward into their palms.

When he withdrew his nose, they giggled, and Hiccup showed them where he liked getting scratched.

While they scratched Toothless and giggled at the multitude of sounds he made, Hiccup walked over to Fishlegs as the larger boy finished putting Meatlug’s saddle on.

“What’d they say?”

Fishlegs shrugged and turned, “Once they got calmed down enough, the only thing I understood from them was they are from a nearby village and whatever took them wanted to eat them. They kept calling it a hexe, but I don’t know what that is.”

“Ok,” Hiccup paused to think as their friends finished saddling up and holstering their weapons, “Fish, I’ll need you to take the kids back to their village. Once you’re there, try to see if anyone knows anything about this…hexe or whatever they called it.”

Fishlegs nodded, “You got it!” He seemed almost relieved not to face off against this cannibal with the rest of them.

When they got the two children loaded on an excited Meatlug, Fishlegs took off in the direction of the village, while the rest of the Dragon Riders flew towards the imposing forest that lay below them.

When they first came to the region, they made their camp in a mountain cave to give themselves more protection from snow and prevent anyone from stumbling across their dragons again. Below them stretched the Schwarzwald, the word the locals termed the dark, dense forest of conifers, spruces, firs and other towering trees. It seemed to stretch for hundreds of leagues, and when they walked through it, it seemed as if no sunlight could make it, even in the winter.

They took off with Astrid in the lead of a V formation slightly above the treetop as Stormfly took them back to where Astrid rescued the children.

After about twenty minutes of low-level flying, Astrid pointed to a spot near the base of a tall mountain, and they searched for a way to land.

Once they found a clearing and landed, Astrid led them back to the location, warning them to have their weapons drawn.

Hiccup drew Inferno and braced for the worst.

Except the hut wasn’t there.

“Son of a half-troll, rat-eating, munge bucket! It was right here! I swear!” Astrid screamed as she swung her axe angrily into the innocent trees near them.

Snotlout attempted to calm Astrid down by flirting with her, and Hiccup’s heart skipped a beat when she threw him into a tree, which then caused snow on said tree to bury Snotlout. He didn’t know when he started loving how Astrid rejected Snotlout’s advances, but he hoped she kept it up.

“We have…We have to search for whoever it was. The hut was here, I swear! It even had these little dragon things like looked like chickens running around! One of them even pulled my hair!” Astrid swung her axe into another tree, wretched it out and threw it at another one.

A year ago, Hiccup would’ve grown pale at the monumental task of calming down an irate Astrid. At this point, he considered himself an expert at that.

“Hey, Astrid,” he stepped in between her axe and another unfortunate tree, “Let’s just take a breath and calm down, ok?”

He put his hands on her shoulders again, “Ok, I-uh, we believe you. Ok? There might be something else going on here, ok? Let’s just regroup, head to the village where Fishlegs is, and see if the locals know anything about it. Ok?”

She groaned as she lowered the axe and then took a minute before looking up and saying, “Fine. You know the way?”

Hiccup grinned, “No, but Stormfly does.” He held up a scale from Meatlug, which she took while trying to suppress a smile.

“But once we get there, we find out what they know and where this person is hiding, right?”

“Absolutely, Astrid.”

The trip to the village was uneventful, and the information Fishlegs gave them only confirmed this person was called a hexe and the chicken-like dragons were called fürdraks. From the little Hiccup and Fishlegs could understand from the villagers, fürdraks were like minions, following every order of someone who sold their soul.

 “That…sounds…awesome!” Tuffnut exclaimed, “How’d you say we get one? Sell our soul?”

“A small price to pay,” Ruffnut agreed, “How does one sell a soul?”

“I don’t know, sis. Fishy, did the guy say how we sell our soul? Or can I sell someone else’s soul, like Ruffnut’s?”

Ruffnut angrily crossed her arms, “Hey!”

Tuffnut huffed, “What? You don’t need it! Plus, we can all have mini dragons that steal for us! How cool is that?!”

Finally, Hiccup slammed his hands down on the table, “We are not selling anyone’s souls for mini dragons. Did you guys forget we already have full-sized dragons?”

“Well, no! But wouldn’t you want a mini-Toothless to follow you around? Try telling me a mini-Night Fury wouldn’t be adorable. Go on, tell me!”

“N-…I…Nevermind. Let’s just head back and eat dinner. We’ll come back tomorrow to start searching the surrounding area.”

Everyone except Astrid mounted their dragons and took off for their hideout, but Astrid remained standing, looking out towards the dense forest surrounding the village.

Hiccup noticed her pale face and a slight wince as she clutched at her abdomen. “You ok?” He asked softly as he walked up to her. “Wasn’t sure if you heard me or not.”

She turned to him with wide eyes and immediately removed her hand, “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Who’s cooking tonight?”

Hiccup held back his frown. Fine was relative to Astrid, she said she was fine when she dislocated a few fingers in Skåne, and Hiccup nearly vomited then when she just popped them back into place.

“You sure you’re ok?” He put a hand on her shoulder when she turned back towards the forest.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Really.” It was all she said with a small smile before she mounted Stormfly and took off for the cave.

He should’ve known better.

Hiccup awoke to the sound of a strangled groan, one that sent a spike of unease straight to his core. He blinked blearily, his senses sluggish—until he heard it again. A sharp, pained gasp.

Astrid.

He bolted upright, his heart slamming against his ribs as he turned toward her. The moment his gaze landed on her, the breath was ripped from his lungs.

Scars—old, long-healed scars from their battles—had split open, fresh blood seeping into the blankets beneath her. Deep bruises covered every inch of exposed skin, like her body had been battered and broken all over again. She clutched her stomach with trembling fingers, her face twisted in agony, and let out another weak, breathless moan.

Hiccup rushed to her side, hands hovering over her uselessly. He didn’t know where to touch, what to do—what could he do?

"Astrid?" His voice came out hoarse, uneven. "Hey, can you-can you hear me?"

She didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure if she was awake.

Panic clawed up his throat. He whirled, kicking the sleeping forms of Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and Fishlegs with more force than necessary. “Guys, wake up! Something’s wrong with Astrid!”

They scrambled awake as he ran for the bandages. Despite their best efforts—despite wrapping her wounds, applying pressure, doing everything they could—nothing stopped the bleeding. And the pain only worsened.

“I can try making an herbal tea?” Fishlegs suggested hesitantly.

Astrid weakly shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll help with the bleeding, Fish,” Snotlout muttered grimly as he tied another bandage around her leg. The fabric turned red almost instantly. “This isn’t normal. No wounds bleed this much without closing.”

Hiccup grabbed Astrid’s hand, gripping it tightly as if that alone could anchor her to him, to life.

“Astrid, what hurts?” The question was useless, but he needed to hear her voice.

She groaned. “Everything.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was the way she said it that sent terror twisting deep into Hiccup’s gut. She sounded exhausted. Like she was already slipping away.

“My guts feel like they’re on fire,” she murmured. “My head...it's like someone’s hitting it with a hammer. My arms, my legs… they won’t move.”

Then a convulsion shot through her. Her body arched, her fingers tightening around his hand with a strength that nearly crushed the bones.

And for the first time in his life, Hiccup heard Astrid scream in pain.

It was raw and jagged, a sound torn from deep inside her. A sound that shattered something inside him.

This wasn’t just an injury. This was something worse. Something they couldn’t fix on their own.

Hiccup forced himself to move, to push past the suffocating weight of fear threatening to consume him. “Okay, I’m calling it. We need to take her to the village. She needs real healers.”

Carefully—so carefully—he lifted her into his arms, heart hammering wildly against his ribs as he carried her to Toothless. She was burning up. Or was she freezing? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that she felt wrong. Too still, too fragile. Astrid was never fragile.

His arms tightened around her as he climbed onto Toothless. “Go,” he whispered. “As fast as you can.”

They flew through the dark, slicing through the cold wind, but Hiccup barely felt it. His mind raced too fast, his thoughts tangling and twisting, one louder than all the others.

She’s dying.

He couldn’t accept that. He wouldn’t accept it.

He landed in the village square and barely had time to call for help before a few bleary-eyed villagers stumbled outside.

“Healer!” he gasped in German. “Please—someone help her!”

An older woman beckoned him toward a house, guiding him inside. The moment he set Astrid down on the bed, another convulsion ripped through her. She let out a cry so filled with agony that Hiccup nearly collapsed beside her.

He had to leave the room as more women flooded in, their arms full of sheets and supplies. He resisted at first, trying to stay, but someone pushed him out, the door shutting in his face.

Hiccup stood frozen, his breath coming too fast, his fingers curling into fists.

Then, a voice broke through his fog.

“It is hexe,” an old man murmured from the doorway. His expression was grave, his hands gripping a walking staff tightly. “She used zaubern… to… pain.”

Hiccup struggled to piece the words together. He wasn’t fluent in German, but he understood enough to work through what the old man said.

The old man’s eyes darkened. “Hexe… took daughter… my daughter. Same way.”

Took? Hiccup’s stomach twisted.

“…Gone?” he asked hesitantly in German.

The elder’s face tightened, and then he nodded. “Ja.Tot.”

Astrid was dying.

“No.” His voice cracked. His hands clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms. “No, there has to be a way—how do we fix this?” At the old man’s clueless expression, he repeated in German, “How fix?”

The old man shook his head. “Only hexe fix.”

Hiccup’s breath hitched. “Where?” His voice was desperate, shaking. “Where?”

“No one knows.”

A flare of helpless rage burned through him until a small voice interrupted.

One of the children from earlier stood nearby, holding a scrap of cloth. “We...took...from...hexe’s hut.”

Hiccup stared. His pulse pounded in his ears as the child handed him the cloth. Stormfly. They could use Stormfly to track the hexe down.

He could save Astrid.

He had to save Astrid.

“Danke Schön,” he choked out, clutching the cloth before spinning toward the door.

He shoved through the healers, ignoring their protests, and dropped to his knees beside Astrid.

Her face was pale, her eyes glazed over with pain. Her breathing was shallow, too shallow.

“Hiccup?” she murmured, barely conscious.

He grabbed her hand, squeezing it between both of his. “I’m here,” he whispered. “The healers are doing everything they can, but I-I have to go. I have to fix this.”

“Hiccup… if I—”

“No,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t say it. You’re going to be okay.”

She swallowed, her cerulean eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her fingers twitched against his palm. “I… I can’t…”

“You can.” His throat burned. “You have to.”

If he lost her…

If she died before he ever told her how much she meant to him…

A lump formed in his throat, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out.

“I can’t imagine a world without you in it.”

For a second, he thought she hadn’t heard. But then, her fingers squeezed his weakly.

“Hiccup… I… I can’t imag…” She trailed off, another violent tremor wracking her body.

He stood, forcing himself to let go of her hand, but she gripped his wrist with sudden desperation.

“Hiccup!”

His heart nearly broke at her voice.

“I’ll be back,” he swore. “I promise. Just hold on, Astrid.”

A healer gently pried her fingers from his, and he turned, forcing himself to walk away as she cried out his name.

His gut twisted. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly.

He wouldn’t let her die.

No matter what it took.

He walked out the front door of the building to see several people peering through the window. Some made the sign of the cross and prayed on their knees, while others merely shook their head in dejection. He heard the word hexe multiple times, and maybe even a few curses directed at the hexe.

How long had this gone on?

“How is she?” Snotlout asked as he neared them. The other riders were a mix of leaning on their dragons and sitting in the saddle, but all were concerned. Their dragons were getting restless in the village square, while Stormfly stood near the open window, agitated and anxious that she wasn’t allowed near Astrid.

Despite everything they’d faced, they’d never been close to death. Not until now.

Hiccup shook his head, but maintained his hope, “Not good. The elder said his daughter was taken the same way, so we don’t have much time.”

“Much time for what?”

“To find the hexe and force her to reverse this.”

“Uhm…Hiccup?” Fishlegs nervously twiddled his fingers on Meatlug, “I don’t…How are we going to find the hexe? Astrid took us to the place she was before and there was nothing there.”

“We have this,” he held up the scrap of cloth.

“Hiccup,” Ruffnut began with a hint of caution in her voice, “how is a piece of old cloth going to help us find whoever did this to Astrid?”

“One of the kids she rescued took this from the hut. Stormfly can lead us there.” They all nodded grimly, their faces serious and determined.

It was tricky getting Stormfly away from Astrid, but she seemed to perk up when Hiccup held the cloth in front of her. Just as they were about to take off, a priest gave him a vial of water, and Hiccup caught the words ‘holy’ and ‘water’. He pocketed it and thanked the man for the vial. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to drink it or coat a weapon with it, but he’d worry about that later.

Thirty minutes later, they crashed through branches and twigs to break through the dense forest cover to land on the ground.

Astrid was right. The hut was wrong.

It didn’t look like it’d been built but rather grown. The trees had twisted and broken themselves into its shape, as if forced by some unseen hand. The wood was too dark—so black it swallowed what little of the pale moonlight made it through the dense overheard branches. Vines coiled around its structure, shifting and twisting unnervingly around the trees, as if tightening their grip.

They lit their weapons, their fire barely a flicker against the oppressive dark. It illuminated the ground beneath them, revealing more than just snow. Bones. Scattered, gnawed, blackened. Some human.

Hiccup swallowed hard.

A gust of wind howled through the trees, but it wasn’t just wind—it was a wail, shrieking through the branches. The trees groaned in protest, their limbs snapping and cracking, sending chunks of bark and ice crashing down like jagged teeth.

They barely had time to roll away.

“What was that?!” Snotlout’s voice faltered and cracked. Behind him, Fishlegs was trying to make himself appear small, whimpering despite Snotlout’s attempts to get the boy to man up.

“Something that doesn’t want visitors,” Ruffnut muttered, eyes suspiciously darting between the shifting trees.

“Sucks for her,” Hiccup deadpanned, though his voice lacked conviction.

A laugh slithered through the air around them, high-pitched and unnatural, as if the woods themselves were mocking them. It came from everywhere and nowhere, flitting through the trees and snow, as if the forest itself was speaking.

“What…What was that?” Fishlegs squeaked, shuffling closer to Meatlug.

Someone who doesn’t want visitors.

The voice didn’t echo—it burrowed into their ears, smooth and cold, like fingers trailing along the back of their necks. Hiccup’s skin prickled and the hair on his neck stood up.

The voice spoke in Norse. Perfect Norse.

“Who are you?” He shouted at the wind, and Toothless roared angrily in unison with him.

Merely a servant, dear boy.

“Why are you hurting Astrid?!” He yelled, hoping the hexe would show herself.

She took something that did not belong to her. She must be punished for such a grievous sin.

His stomach turned at her words as Snotlout stepped up wielding his fiery hammer, “You’re the one who should be punished! You eat children! You eat babies!”

The ground beneath them lurched.

With a sickening crack, roots exploded from the snow, thick and gnarled, writhing like starving serpents. They wrapped around their ankles, shot up their legs, cinched their wrists and bound their torsos. The dragons screeched in rage, but their fire did nothing—the roots absorbed the flames like dry skin drinking in water.

They were trapped.

You have a naughty tongue, boy. You should learn not to wag it when in the presence of your betters.

The others fought against their restraints, but Hiccup saw the futility in it. He clenched his jaw, his mind racing. Fighting wasn’t going to save Astrid.

“Wait! Wait! Look, my friend here… uhh, his mouth moves quicker than his brain, that’s all! Maybe…maybe we can work something out?”

He didn’t finish speaking as the door to the hut widened, wood creaking and bending until it was large for a dragon to pass.

The door to the hut groaned and stretched, the wood creaking and bending, widening into a gaping black maw, large enough for a dragon to walk through. The roots slackened, and Hiccup felt his hands and legs drop free. He glanced at Toothless and saw his hissing dragon’s bonds were also loosened enough for him to get free.

You seem to have manners, dear boy. Come inside...and bring your dragon! I haven’t seen a Night Fury in centuries… and we can discuss…a new arrangement…

The voice dripped with something too smooth and sweet. A trap. He knew it. But Astrid didn’t have time for caution.

“Only if you promise no harm comes to my friends.”

Of course, Hiccup Haddock, of course. Now, come in.

His stomach twisted. She knew his name.

“Hiccup…you can’t possibly…” Fishlegs stuttered.

“…dumbest plan ever, you know I hate your stupid…” Snotlout fumed.

“…new meaning to the word crazy…” Ruffnut sputtered.

“…even I wouldn’t do this!” Tuffnut attested.

But he ignored them. He stepped forward, Toothless at his side, the darkness swallowing them whole as the door slammed shut behind them.

The air inside pressed against him, thick and humid, stinking of mildew and burnt herbs. The space was wrong—too big, stretching far beyond the dimensions of the hut’s exterior. Candles flickered to life, their flames shivering like they wanted to flee, and Hiccup realized with astonishment they were floating in midair.

What is this place?

In the center, a cauldron ignited with an eerie green blaze. Shadows danced wildly across the walls, distorting as if they had too many limbs.

“My, my, what a sweet specimen…”

The voice slithered from behind him. Hiccup whirled around, his heart hammering. The hexe stood mere inches away, her face grotesque—skin sagging like melted wax, eyes sunken pits of swirling black and grey. Her bulbous nose twitched as she grinned, yellowed teeth glistening.

She ran a gnarled hand along Toothless' wings, finger tracing the scars and scales almost nostalgically. Toothless snarled and snapped his wings back, bearing his teeth at the hexe.

“Oh, don’t be like that, dragon,” she crooned. “It’s been centuries since I’ve seen a Night Fury… Their blood always made the most powerful potions. Almost all dragon blood does, but Night Furies?” She licked her lips. “Exquisite.”

“Well, he’s not for sale.” He stepped between, his heart racing.

“We’ll see about that dear boy,” the woman chuckled, a sound like beetles crunched underfoot. “Now, what do you want?”

His fingers curled into fists as his anger set in. “I want you to remove whatever you’ve done to my friend.”

The hexe’s laugh was sharper this time, piercing his skull like needles. “Ahh, the girl you have feelings for? That Astrid Hofferson?”

Hiccup stood there, dumbfounded asnd . “How do you know us?”

“Which would you prefer? Answers, or Astrid?” She gestured to the cauldron, and as Hiccup hesitantly stepped closer, the flames swirled, revealing an image—

Astrid. Screaming. Her body writhing in agony, blood pooling beneath her as people struggled to stop it.

Hiccup’s breath hitched.

“She doesn’t have long now…” The woman taunted, sneering at Hiccup’s pained expression.

“What…What do you want?” His voice hardly above a whisper, unable to pull his eyes away from the image of Astrid screaming.

She bared her jagged teeth. “A life for a life.”

His blood turned to ice.

“You take her place,” she said, stepping closer. “Just a piece of you—your hair, dearie. And she lives.”

A dizzying nausea overtook him. Toothless nudged his side, but Hiccup barely registered it.

If he said yes, he’d die. Astrid would live—but he’d leave behind his friends. He’d leave behind Toothless.

Could he do that?

Toothless. His brother. His family.

No. He wouldn’t leave him.

But if he let Astrid die…

He would be a hollow thing. A shell of himself. A home with no hearth, a body without breath.

“Clock’s ticking, dear boy,” the woman cackled as a fürdrak hopped onto her shoulder. It fit the description he’d heard earlier, like a miniature dragon with feathers and wings too short for flying. It eyed them with malice, and Toothless returned the look with a low rumble of his own. “Even with the sap and bandages, she will bleed out, they’re only prolonging her pain,” she cackled.

He flushed with white hot rage and began pacing, running fingers through his hair as he wracked his brain for a plan. He couldn’t take her deal he needed another way.

Come on, Hiccup, think! Think for Odin’s sake! He stuffed his hands in his pockets in frustration.

His hand brushed something in his pocket. It was cold, yet at the same time warm and…reassuring. His fingers grasped it and he felt the shape of it. A vial.

The holy water.

A plan began to form in his head. “You said all you needed was a piece of hair to complete this? And it’ll stop Astrid’s suffering and she’ll live?” he questioned cautiously.

The woman grinned, “Yes, dear boy. Now, have you decided?”

The hair. Maybe…Just maybe…

Hiccup glanced at Toothless quickly, hoping his friend understood what he was asking.

The fürdrak, bud. I need you to take out the fürdrak.

Toothless’ eyes dilated slightly. He understood.

Hiccup nodded and took a deep breath. Now or never.

“NOW, BUD!”

The low power plasma blast hit the fürdrak with a sound like a thunderclap, sending it screeching back into a bookshelf, scattering all kinds of manuscripts and dusty books.

At the same moment, Hiccup flung the vial of holy water. The liquid struck the hexe with a sickening hiss, her flesh blistering and peeling as smoke curled from her face. A wretched, piercing shriek tore from her throat, a sound so unnatural it made his stomach turn. She clawed at her own burning skin, stumbling backwards.

Hiccup lunged. He barely registered the stench of seared flesh as he grappled with her, his fingers locking around the wiry strands of her hair. He yanked—hard. The shriek that followed rattled his bones, but he didn’t let go, wrenching the strands free as she thrashed against him.

Then he shoved her. She hit the floor in a heap, writhing in agony.

“NO!” she screeched, voice guttural and inhuman.

Hiccup didn’t stop. He threw the hair into the cauldron, and the moment it touched the liquid, the flames turned black. The air itself seemed to shudder. The hut trembled, a howling wind surging from the walls as if the house itself was screaming.

The hexe convulsed. Her skin cracked open like dry earth, splitting into deep, festering wounds. She tried to form words, her fingers twitching in desperate, jagged motions.

She’s trying to undo the curse.

He wouldn’t let her hurt anyone else.

He tackled her, crushing her beneath him and slamming her arms against the ground so she couldn’t weave her magic. She shrieked, voice breaking apart into guttural sobs, but he didn’t stop. He covered her mouth, silencing her, as she jerked and spasmed beneath him.

Toothless kept shooting plasma blasts to keep the fürdrak away from them. Fires sprung up among the books and papers, but Hiccup remained focused on keeping the hexe pinned in her suffering.

It only took seconds but it felt like a lifetime.

But then the light faded from her eyes. The walls seem to settle and exhale, as if released from a lifetime of tension. The candles flickered and fell to the ground, leaving the room with a little light from the fires of Toothless’ fight with the fürdrak provided. The air was still and silent, the only noise Hiccup’s own ragged breathing.

He felt the wet blood from the hexe on his clothes and absentmindedly wiped at it, only to smear it more on his hands and clothes.

I just killed someone. I just took a life.

It should’ve been more of a shock, more of a monumental event for him. He should feel something. Guilt. Horror. Something. But all he could think about was Astrid.

Astrid.

His heart slammed against his ribs and the air rushed back into his lungs. He had to get back.

He turned on his heel, bolting for the door. Toothless was already moving, knocking over what remained of the hut’s cursed interior. Hiccup barely heard his friends’ frantic shouts as he burst into the cold night air.

He jumped onto Toothless, gripping his saddle with bloodied hands. “Go, bud!”

Toothless launched into the sky, tearing through the wind. Stormfly followed close behind, an urgent, worried cry spilling from her throat. The village was a blur beneath them, the torches in the square glowing brighter as they neared.

Then, he saw it.

The crowd. The hushed voices.

Astrid.

She stood in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of firelight. Stormfly was already upon her, nuzzling into her chest, her tongue lapping at Astrid’s face as she laughed—a real, warm, alive laugh.

Hiccup’s breath hitched. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs couldn’t contain the relief flooding through him.

She was okay.

She was standing. Breathing. Smiling.

She’s going to be ok. She’s going to live.

And when her eyes picked him out of the crowd, Hiccup’s heart quickened again.

The moment her eyes met his, her smile widened, her whole face lighting up.

His knees nearly buckled.

Stormfly pulled back, and Astrid turned fully toward him. Her eyes flicked to the blood on his tunic, widening slightly, but he shook his head, trying to reassure her.

And then—she ran towards him.

“H-hey, wait, Astrid I have blood all over my—”

She ran into him so hard it felt like his shoulders were going to touch, wrapping him in the tightest hug he’d ever felt and crushing him against her.

“I don’t care,” she breathed. Her voice cracked on the last word, and he felt her tighten her grip, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

He froze for a moment, then tentatively wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. One hand drifted up to cradle the back of her head and she exhaled softly, a tiny sigh of contentment that sent his heart hammering like an angry blacksmith all over again.

They’d hugged before but those were brief, casual gestures.

But this? This was not how two friends hugged.

And Thor help him, he never wanted it to end.

A memory flickered in his mind. His words before he left. His confession.

Oh gods.

Did she remember? Did she hear me?

His pulse skyrocketed. “Astrid, I—”

“Hiccup,” she murmured.

Her breath was warm against his skin. It sent shivers racing down his spine.

She took a steadying breath, her grip on him tightening slightly. When she pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her blue eyes burned with something unspoken… something else.

For a moment, it felt like the entire world held its breath.

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

His chest deflated, the air rushing out of him as he felt relieved and yet disappointed at the same time. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He forced a smile, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “You’d do the same for me.”

She hesitated, her sparkling eyes searching him. Her fingers curled against the fabric of his tunic.

Then...softer...

“I can’t imagine a world without you in it, either.”

Chapter Text

-0-

Hordaland, Kingdom of Norway, Present

Astrid always woke up first, especially when it was time for them to move on.

After some hesitation, shegave Hiccup a small kiss on the lips before she slipped out of his warm, enveloping embrace.

She put on her pauldrons, braided her hair and stretched before she stood up and went outside the tent. The dragons were nowhere to be seen, most likely gone to catch their breakfast. Toothless stuck around, and she gave him a few scratches while he waited for the other dragons to bring him back some fish.

She walked towards a cliff looking out towards the small trading town of Bjørgvin and the mountains around it, taking in the beautiful sight. They camped with the town to the south, but she could still make it out amongst the mountains and hills surrounding it.

Turning, she faced the east, where the rays of the rising sun could just barely be seen peeking above the mountains of the fjords.

A cold breeze blew through and Astrid resisted the urge to wrap herself in the fur cloak more. She had to get used to the cold again, after they spent so much time in lands where winters weren’t as harsh. She took a few breaths, watching the misty cloud curl and disappear into the cold, dry air with every exhale.

She kept taking deep breaths and watching her misty breath in the air as she processed their day ahead.

In seven hours, they’d be back on Dragon’s Edge, their first time in the Archipelago in five years.

The day after that, they’d visit Berk.

Berk.

She’d see her parents, her brother and all the other people she’d known for most of her life. People she had known for years, yet felt she didn’t know at all now. Five years was a long time and she wondered if everyone else had changed as much as she had.

She wasn’t the future shieldmaiden with a chip on her shoulder anymore. She didn’t act like she was made of cold steel anymore. She wasn’t a vault keeping secrets to herself or hiding insecurities under a blanket of threats and glares anymore.

She wasn’t a girl anymore either. She’d left a teenager and come back a woman.

She wondered what everyone’d say. Did they despise them for running off on dragons? Did they miss them? Did they hate them for not coming back? What would they think of their adventures?

Would they be upset if they were only back temporarily, or would they be happy?

“Not sleep well?” She turned to see Snotlout wrapped in bearskins and looking absolutely miserable, “Don’t worry, I didn’t either.”

“No,” she shook her head, holding back a laugh at Snotlout’s pained expression, “I slept fine. I just wake up early.”

“Lucky,” they squirmed as a cold wind blew. All at once, it felt like tiny pins hit her face while her breath was stolen out of her lungs.

When the wind died down, she went back to walking the edge of the cliff, “Thinking about home?”

“It’s all that’s been on my mind since Jylland. You?”

“Same, but Hiccup and I did some things to take it off my mind yesterday.” She smirked at Snotlout’s grimace and realized that was another thing that changed about her.

She’d never seen herself being so open about…well, her activities with Hiccup. She’d never even really considered having a boyfriend when she was younger.

“Yes, yes, we all saw you and Hiccup go off together. We get it, Astrid, you’re in looooovvvveee,” Snotlout groaned, “couples like you two make me queasy.”

“Oh, come on, Snotlout, you’ll find someone. What about Minden?” She laughed at the emerging redness in his face, which she knew wasn’t from the cold. “Wasn’t she technically you’re first kiss?”

He flushed, and she knew it wasn’t from the cold winds.

“That—maybe—Astrid, that was five years ago, and we were only at Wingmaiden Island for two days. I doubt she remembers me,” he snapped back, but Astrid saw the flash of wistfulness in his eyes.

“Well, I’ll guess we’ll see. Maybe when we start looking for allies in the Archipelago, you can be our ambassador to Wingmaiden Island so you can keep visiting her.”

Snotlout’s whole demeanor changed in an instant, from sulking in the cold to excited, “Really? You’d do that?”

“Why not? It’s not like we’d give the job to anyone else, not after how well you know them. Remember the sacred stew?”

They shared a laugh before settling once again into silence. Snotlout continued gazing out towards the Norwegian Sea while Astrid balanced on the edge of the cliff, occasionally looking over to feel her stomach drop. The first time was always terrifying, but it’d become easier and easier to push through until she could do it without any hesitation.

Another cold wind blew and Snotlout groaned. “Why did we have to come back in the middle of winter?” He huffed and kicked a small snow drift, “Scratch that, why couldn’t we have waited for the Dragon Hunters to show in spring, since they can’t sail out in the North because of the ice sheets?!”

“Snotlout, we need allies, and that takes time. Better to start now and be prepared.” Astrid shrugged, because as much as she hated the cold, it was better they were here now. It meant more time to prepare and strategize.

“Unless we all get sick from this freezing Helhole,” he muttered. “If I catch a cold, I’m blaming you and your boyfriend.”

She laughed. “Blame away—just make sure most of it goes to Hiccup. He loves it when you point out when things go wrong.”

“And I love pointing out when things go wrong,” Snotlout preened, “I would say it’s my third biggest contribution to this group!”

“Behind what, your prowess in battle and… crocheting?” She smirked.

“It’s called stitching, Astrid, and I’ll have you know the lockstitch is the only reason we have dragonscale armor.” He tried to look as lofty and superior as he could while wrapped in bear furs, lifting his chin up and posturing with a look of superiority that’d become his signature look.

“Of course, Snotlout, how could I ever forget the lockstitch, you’ve only mentioned it thirty times in two days.”

“Laugh all you want, but my stitching has been just as useful as your axe.”

“Ok, well…”

“Fine, let’s say my stitching is up there with my fighting skills.”

“Ummmmmm…”

He shot her with a glare, one of his finest. “Fine! My stitching is important, how about that?”

“I think that’s good,” she conceded with a laugh, and she saw Snotlout smile a little too. As much as she teased him about his mastery of more domestic skills, there were several instances when one of them needed a wound sewn shut, and Snotlout always knew the best way to do it.

She’d never tell him since it would only serve to inflate an already massive ego, but his sewing closed many of their wounds and saved more than a few limbs from infection. Without him, they might not have survived past Miklagard.

As they both settled into staring around the breathtaking fjords that reminded them of home, Astrid still couldn’t help but be astonished at how far they’d all come. Especially her friendship with Snotlout.

Five years ago, she’d never been this friendly with him. He still pursued her like a dragon after trout, and she thought he was beneath her. He didn’t respect her as a warrior, and she didn’t respect him at all. It was a problem on both sides, but over time they both overcame it.

Fifteen-year-old Astrid’s head would spin from all of it, and Astrid wondered what the biggest shock would be to that teenage Astrid.

Flying a Deadly Nadder?

Dating Hiccup?

Friends with Snotlout?

She thought about it for a second, trying to put herself back in her headspace from when she was on Berk.

The others began stirring. Ruffnut and Tuffnut stumbled over, already debating the best way to rebuild their old boar pit on Dragon’s Edge. Heather appeared next, checking on Fishlegs before joining the group.

“So, Dragon’s Edge, huh?” Heather questioned as she joined them.

“I’ll give you one guess as to who came up with the name,” Snotlout said, a hint of annoyance in his response.

“Hiccup?”

A collective “Yep” rang out.

Astrid scoffed. “You all love the name. I remember when Ruffnut was telling every boy in Uppsala we were from ‘The Edge’, trying to make it sound like some mythical island.”

Ruffnut grinned. “Duh. I had to use feminine mystery to get attention. Unlike you, Astrid, Miss ‘Pretty-and-Handy-With-An-Axe’.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t trying to get their attention. I was trying to get Hiccup’s.”

“Oh, we all know now.” Ruffnut smirked. “Maybe if you used more mystery and fewer words—”

“Ladies, ladies,” Heather interjected with a laugh. “You’re both very pretty and full of mystery.”

“Heather’s got a point,” Ruffnut conceded, “We should be ganging up on the boys while we still outnumber them.”

“Woah, wait, what the hel did we do?” Tuffnut protested, “We’re just standing here!”

“I don’t even know what we’re talking about!” Snotlout dodged a snowball from Ruffnut and proceeded to start crafting his own as Tuffnut sprinted to his side.

Astrid grinned and joined the fight.

The battle was brief. The boys never stood a chance.

“That’s no fair, you had Astrid on your team!” Astrid tried not to laugh as Snotlout’s nasally voice as he cradled his nose from a hard thrown ball of ice.

“Yeah, and I feel picked on! Bullied, even!” Tuffnut rubbed the spot on his jaw where his sister landed a nasty throw from up close.

Astrid shrugged and Ruffnut waved a hand, laughing, “Oh, boohoo. You all got worse than that. Remember Silicia?”

Heather raised an eyebrow. “What happened there? Monsters?”

“Yes, but there was also a battle. We’ll tell you about it sometime.” Astrid wiped the snow off her furs and pants just as the dragons arrived back, chirping and purring happily as they dumped some fish on the ground for Toothless.

“Alright, guys, time to pack up. I’ll wake my man and Heather, can you wake yours?”

Heather’s face turned red. “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

Astrid smirked and opened the flap to their tent, spotting a snoring Hiccup with serious bedhead, a little bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, his neck at a near painful angle and his arms thrown wide open.

She grinned. No matter how many mornings she woke up next to him, she’d never tire of this sight.

But there wasn’t time. She had to wake him, and they needed to get going.

“Hiccup…Hiccup…” she tried cooing at him, lightly shaking his shoulder, “It’s time to wake up….Hiccup…”

He just shifted and rolled over, ignoring her.

Sorry babe, but the honey didn’t work, so it’s time for the hatchet.

She grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly, “Hiccup! Wake up!”

After a few shakes his bleary eyes blinked open in a panic, glancing around the tent before his green eyes landed on her, “What—What the—Astrid! What’d you do that for?” He groggily rubbed his eyes, and for a moment Astrid felt some guilt at the hurt in his voice.

So she softened her voice for him more than she would for anyone else running this late, “Hiccup, we need to get going. Sun’s is almost up; we’re going to be late.”

“I know, I know.” He slurred blearily, throwing the blanket off and pulling on his riding leathers, “We need to work on your bedside manners, milady.”

“And we need to work on your ability to wake up in the morning,” she cheekily replied, biting her lip in a smirk at Hiccup’s exasperated expression.

“Wha—Don’t turn this on me! You were the one who started shaking me and hollering!”

“Only because you refuse to wake up!” She laughed breathily, but when she saw the dark circles around his eyes as he adjusted his leather armor, she became concerned, “Hey, what’s up? I thought we went to bed early enough; did you not get enough sleep?”

“Uhh, well…” His eyes darted around the small tent in a look Astrid knew all too well.

“Hiccup, look, you can either tell me now or you can wait until it festers and then becomes worse. So, what was it?”

He gave her a small grin, the kind that let Astrid know she’d won out, before looking back down at his hands, “I just…It’s been five years, Astrid. Since we’ve seen them, you know? What if—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Hiccup.” She motioned for him to scooch over, giving her enough room to sit down next to him, “Look, we’re all nervous. I won’t tell you not to be nervous, that’d be ridiculous. But we can’t get hung up on the what ifs, you know? We’ll just…take it as it comes, like we always do, right?” She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp, and his eyes fluttered as he mulled her words over.

“I know. I just…I don’t know, sometimes I just wonder if we did the right thing, you know?”

“That’s another if, Hiccup. What can we do right now?”

“Well, you can keep massaging my head, that feels good,” he chuckled, a low rumble that warmed Astrid’s heart.

“Oh, I’m only doing this because I fully expect you to do the same when it’s my turn to worry about Berk, got it?”

“Only if you don’t put any more braids in my hair, milady.” He glanced at her with a cheeky side eye, but Astrid had none of it.

“Uh-uh, I like the braids too much. That’s non-negotiable. Besides, I know you secretly like them.”

“When have I ever given you that impression?” He leaned back from her hands as he stretched his arms out, reaching for the prosthetic and attaching it into place before switching to the ice pick. “I only keep them in because you like them.”

“And it’s one of the many reasons I love you,” she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, despite her heart telling her to give him more than just one kiss, “Now, come on. We’ve gotta pack up, and if you stall I’m going to tell everyone you love the braids.”

He grinned mischievously, pulling her against him tightly and pressing his lips against her cheek. She let out a small giggle at the contact, until Hiccup pulled back and whispered in her ear, “You do that, Asta, and I’ll tell the whole world you like to be tucked in by your boyfriend.”

He wouldn’t. Astrid’s face reddened with embarrassment and maybe a little bit from the use of that name. “You wouldn’t dare!”

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, Present

They’d passed the Straits of Baldur without much fanfare, despite entering the Archipelago for the first time since they’d left five years ago. No one said a word or even let off a celebratory whoop.

They all just stared down into the blue water and watched the Straits pass under them, completely silent except for the flapping of their dragons’ wings.

Sometime later, Hiccup spotted the peak of the volcano on Dragon’s Edge and noted with relief it hadn’t erupted since they’d left. It meant there was a chance the old huts they’d built on the Edge might still be standing.

If the huts were still standing, it meant there was one less thing to do as they prepared to transform the Edge into a base from which they could wage war.

“We should focus on getting defenses set up first,” Astrid noted as she spotted the Edge with her own spyglass, “Booby traps, walls, and watchtowers. We can see if Fishlegs and Meatlug can grab a few Gronckles to haul boulders into the entrance of the bay. What do you think?”

Hiccup nodded, “I think that’s a good plan. Make most of the entrance too shallow for any warships and they’ll run aground. We can also use it to funnel them into our fields of fire.”

Astrid grinned, probably going over more ways they could defend the Edge, like forcing ships towards the cliffs and dropping boulders in them. Whenever they arrived in a new place on their travels, it was always the first thing Astrid thought of.

Where are the most defensible positions? How can they utilize the environment to their advantage? What are the easiest escape routes if they can’t fly away?

But all Hiccup could think of was Berk, and the dread that came with seeing his father again.

Everyone’s right, and you know it. We can’t just fly in on dragonback, we need to let a few people know we’re back and warn them of what’s coming to the Archipelago. It’d be stupid to have everyone fly in and risk getting hurt or captured all at once.

They’d drawn straws to see who the lucky two riders would be to make the first homecoming trip, and it was just his luck his name had been picked first. At least Astrid volunteered to go with him after his name was chosen.

As they approached the island, Hiccup was surprised to see the huts they’d built were still standing, although looking a bit weatherworn and in need of repairs.

“At least my ‘S’ is still standing,” Snotlout laughed triumphantly, eyeing the giant red ‘S’ on the remains of his hut.

“That’s like one of the only things still standing on your hut, Snotlout,” Fishlegs chastened him, “Whereas mine looks almost good as new!” Fishlegs gestured to the small, sturdy hut built overlooking the water.

“And it’ll look like total garbage compared to Snotlout’s Hut 2.0!” Snotlout raced down to island and the others followed, everyone examining their old huts and going through the list of repairs needed.

Hiccup thought his hut handled neglect pretty well. The door mechanisms were rusty and jammed, the roof needed to be replaced, but the walls seemed to stand the test of time.

“Come on, bud, I’ll need your help with the door,” he squatted down and gripped the bottom of the door. Once Toothless was ready, they both pushed it up the rest of the way. The metal screeched loudly, as if the door was in pain, and Hiccup told himself the first thing he needed to do was find some lubrication for the lift mechanism.

“Sorry about that, Toothless,” he rubbed his friends scales as the dragon shook off the pain from the horrible sounds the door made, “We can keep the door open until I find a way to lubricate the tracks.”

Toothless huffed in agreement and the two made their way inside the dust filled room.

It was as bare as Hiccup left it, as if no one ever lived here. His desk was still in the corner of the room, a thick layer of dust on top of it as well as the candle he’d used for the late nights spent drawing maps and ideas for new tailfins.

Upstairs, he chuckled at the bed he’d built meant for a smaller Hiccup, and curiosity got the best of him.

“Hey, Toothless, look,” he laid down on the bed, laughing at how his knees barely stayed within the bed frame, “Guess I got a little taller, right, bud?”

Toothless snorted in amusement before looking at his own slab he’d slept on, the burns from his plasma jets still visible after all this time.

“Guess you grew, too,” he looked over as Toothless struggled to find a way to curl his entire body on the rock slab, “Ahh, don’t worry about it, bud. We’ll find you a new one.”

He got up, brought in the two baskets of his stuff from the front door and began unpacking them, setting all his journals and the few books he’d kept on the desk while the specialized forge tools he’d made went off to the side.

But the monotony of unpacking eventually allowed his mind to wander, and soon he was back on dreading returning to Berk.

Returning to his father.

What does he think of me now? Does he hate me for running off? Did he declare us outlaws? Does he still think I’m not his son?

Despite spending six months in Uppsala among other Vikings, as well as the time they spent fighting Dragon Hunters, they’d never heard Berk or the Archipelago mentioned in anything more than passing. They hadn’t even heard stories of teens riding off on dragons, which astounded Hiccup.

Had Berk kept the betrayal a secret?

It made sense, in a way, because something like that would tarnish the reputation of the island and its warriors, but at the same time he thought his father would at least send out word that his son had gone missing.

A shadow crept into his mind.

Had Dad not cared enough to send messengers? Not even cared enough to let the world know he had lost his son?

What if he hates me?

No. He does care, he reassured himself. He never hated you. You know what hatred looks like now.

While in Miklagard, he had witnessed true contempt between a father and son. The Basileus, Basil, openly despised his son, Leo, and on multiple occasions, Hiccup had seen him strike the boy in a fit of rage. Basil refused to acknowledge Leo as his own, insisting he was the son of the previous emperor—the very man Basil had killed a few years before.

Despite being the firstborn, Leo was neglected in favor of his younger siblings. He was a scholar at heart, drawn to books and knowledge, while his father craved a warrior to lead battles against the Bulgarians. Whenever Leo defied Basil, the emperor’s fury was swift and brutal. More than once, Hiccup had intervened, spiriting Leo away on Toothless’ back to escape the wrath of a father who saw his son as nothing more than a bitter reminder of the past.

Basil and Leo despised each other, and seeing their hatred forced Hiccup to reflect on his own relationship with his father.

His father never struck him. He had his flaws, but he cared. Hiccup knew that. His childhood had been filled with moments of a father doing his best, balancing the weight of leadership with the grief of losing a wife and the struggles of raising a son alone.

It was only when Hiccup neared adulthood that things began to change.

A knock at the door startled Hiccup, causing him to drop the two tailfins he was carrying towards the wall.

“Hey, so about the sleeping arrangements…” Astrid stood at the door, one of her baskets slung over her shoulder, “I was thinking since…well, you know—”

Hiccup pretended to gasp in shock, putting a head over his chest, “Us? Sleeping together under the same roof? Before marriage? What will the others think?”

“It’ll be such a scandal!” She played along, laughing as she set her basket down by the door, “Anyways, I’m thinking of leaving most of my weapons in my old hut with Heather, but I’ll bring everything else up here?”

“Sounds good,” he answered as he hung up the two extra tailfins.

After unpacking, they all ate lunch together in what was left of the old clubhouse and got started on the repairs, focusing on defenses first followed by the huts.

By the time the sun began its descent, the repairs on the huts were mostly complete. The Edge was livable again, at least for now. But there was still one thing that needed to be done.

Hiccup sat on the edge of his bed, absently tightening a strap on his dragonscale armor that didn’t need adjusting. His foot tapped against the floor in an erratic rhythm, and every now and then, he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends.

This is happening.

He was going back to Berk.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, pressing down like an iron weight. No matter how many times he told himself he’d face whatever came, his mind still twisted itself into knots over the questions racing through his head.

Would his father ever forgive him?

He had run away. Betrayed his people. Sided with the dragons—the very creatures Vikings had spent generations fighting. Even now, after everything they had accomplished, after the battles they had fought, he couldn’t shake the fear that, to Stoick, he was still the boy who had chosen a dragon over his own kind.

Would Stoick look at him with disappointment? Or rage?

What if his father simply…moved on? What if he decided that a son who ran away, who turned his back on Viking ways, wasn’t worth mourning?

Astrid had donned her dragonscale armor, but her hands fumbled with the straps on her pauldrons, tightening and loosening them repeatedly. He noticed her hands moved with a slight tremor to them as she loosened the pauldron strap again. Her face was set in its usual determined expression, but there was something in her eyes, something only he would notice.

She was scared, too.

“You nervous?” she asked, her voice light, but he could hear the tension underneath.

Hiccup forced a shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. “Terrified. You?”

“Scared.” Astrid exhaled, still struggling with the strap. “And annoyed that I can’t seem to get this damn thing to—”

“Here, let me.”

He stood and stepped close, his fingers brushing against hers as he gently moved her hand away. She let him, exhaling softly as he secured the pauldron for her. He lingered for a moment, adjusting it more than necessary, as if the simple task could somehow ground him.

Astrid noticed and reached up, her fingers ghosting over his wrist before gripping it lightly. “Hiccup.”

He didn’t look at her at first. If he did, she’d see straight through him, see the whirlwind of doubt and fear swirling in his head. But Astrid was never one to let him retreat into himself.

Her other hand came up, fingers curling under his chin, gently tilting his face toward her. “Hey,” she murmured, blue eyes searching his. “Talk to me.”

He hesitated, his throat tightening. But this was Astrid. If he couldn’t be honest with her, who could he be honest with?

“What if—” His voice caught, and he let out a shaky breath. “Uhh…”

Astrid’s brows knit together. “Hiccup—”

“He said I betrayed him,” he said, voice hoarse. “That I left everything they stood for and then I went and left everyone behind. I didn’t even try to change their minds, Astrid, I just…ran and left everyone behind. How could he ever forgive me for that?” He swallowed hard. “And what if… what if he never does?”

The words were barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of his years of doubt, of a boy who had spent most of his life trying to measure up to something he was never meant to be.

He felt Astrid's grip on him tighten. “Listen to me, Hiccup,” she said, her voice fierce. “You did more to help Vikings than anyone else ever did. Those raids in the Archipelago? The only reason they stopped is because of you. Because you saw the Viking way wasn’t working. You didn’t betray anyone. You made the right choice. Your father might not have seen it then, but that doesn’t mean he never will. And if he can’t… then that’s on him, not you.”

Hiccup let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He nodded, but Astrid wasn’t done.

“Besides…you didn’t leave everyone behind.”

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. He tensed for a moment before melting into her, his arms winding around her waist. He clung to her, breathing her in, letting her presence anchor him.

For a long moment, they just stood there, holding each other. No words. Just warmth, just the steady sound of each other’s breathing.

Finally, Astrid pulled back, offering him a small, crooked smile. “We’ll face it together, okay?”

He exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Together.”

Astrid smirked, then, before he could react, she reached down and pinched his rear.

“Hey!” Hiccup yelped, twisting away as she laughed.

Not wanting her to get the last laugh, he did the same while she was distracted, grinning at the yelp she elicited. He savored the weak punch on his arm and the blush on her face.

“I’ll get you back for that,” she promised, smirking.

"I know what I'm getting into," he smiled, reaching for her hand.

She took it, giving it a squeeze before they turned toward the horizon. The sun was dipping below the water, casting the sky in hues of orange and purple, signaling it was time to mount their dragons and start the journey.

Astrid took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “So…ready to go home?”

He wanted to say no. To suggest it was better they stay on Dragon’s Edge and plan for how they were going to face the Dragon Hunters when they arrived.

But he couldn’t run from Berk any longer.

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s head home.”

Chapter Text

-0-

The Isle of Berk, Present

He saw the village in the distance, illuminated by the torchlight in the distance, and his heart rapped in his chest. They’d arrived. He could see Berk.

The plan was simple enough: sneak into the village, go to their old homes, and drop off the letters they’d both written. The letters explained why they’d left, why they’d come back, and why they needed Berk’s help in stopping the unknown warlord moving to the Archipelago.

Well, that’s not technically true. Johann said he’d be moving to Berk. We have no idea what their leader is doing.

Hiccup knew it would be a tough sell convincing Berk to fight against Dragon Hunters, which is why he included the little white lie about who exactly was invading the Archipelago.

He just hoped it wouldn’t bite him in the ass.

As they got closer to Berk, they climbed higher until they were far above Gothi’s hut before stopping to hover in place.

“Ready, bud?” He whispered, patting Toothless on the head.

Toothless nodded, and Hiccup moved the tailfin into position before engaging the locking mechanism for the tailfin. He looked at the tail, quickly checking the tailfin was extended and the connecting rod that allowed it to mirror Toothless’ normal tailfin worked correctly.

Everything looked good, and Toothless was now flying solo.

Hiccup gave Astrid a thumbs up, and the two unclipped themselves from their saddles.

“Watch my back, Toothless,” he whispered as he leaned to one side and let himself fall off the saddle, relishing the way his stomach dropped as he separated from Toothless and entered freefall.

He caught sight of Astrid not far from him and made sure to keep adequate space between them as they fell to avoid a midair collision.

Once he’d passed Gothi’s hut in freefall, he opened his wingsuit, allowing a more controlled descent which took him and Astrid over the village. They were still high enough that the torchlights didn’t reveal them, but they were close enough to see the layout of the village hadn’t changed.

He wasn’t really surprised. Even after the worst dragon raids, the village just simply rebuilt everything where it originally stood. It was the Viking way.

They descended a little more, keeping track of patrols and Vikings wandering to and from the Great Hall. They’d chosen to come this late at night, when the only people awake would be the drunkards and the graveyard shift. It would be easy to slip in and out without anyone noticing.

When they were low enough, he turned to Astrid and nodded.

Stay safe.

He could almost hear her wishing the same with her eyes beneath her mask.

She peeled off to get to the Hofferson residence, while Hiccup flew towards his old home, near the top of the hill. He adjusted himself, turning to make his approach from the side away from the Great Hall, and dove.

Once he was low enough, he flared his wings, arms straining at the tension, before repeating the motion.

Just a little bit further…

He was nearly on top of the house and just needed one shorter dive and flareup to make it.

Just gotta stick the landing…

-0-

Any other night, a gentle thump on Stoick’s roof would’ve gone unnoticed. Stoick rarely stayed up late when he was alone, preferring to go right to sleep without thinking about how empty the house had become.

But it’d been another hard day, and Stoick was resting in his chair with ice blocks on his head when he heard the soft thump on the roof.

At first he’d brushed it off. Maybe it was one of the younger Vikings playing a prank on the Chief, and in the morning he would send Gunnar out to find out who did it.

But then he heard it again. From within his own home.

He sat up, heart pounding, ears straining. For a moment, all he heard was the steady crackle of dying embers in the hearth in front of him.

Then another sound. Soft. Measured. A footstep where there should have been none.

His room.

He’d once caught Gustav Larson sneaking into Hiccup’s room, looking for a blueprint to use as part of a prank, and he’d placed the boy in the cells for two days for trespassing.

No one enters Hiccup’s room.

It was sacred ground now, the only place Stoick could go and fondly remember his son, the only place that seemed to be free from the rumors of his brutality.

His grip tightened on the axe near the base of the chair. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the door with careful, deliberate steps, grabbing one of the torches from its place near the stairs.

But as he ascended the staircase, a thin strip of light spilled from beneath the door to Hiccup’s old room.

His blood boiled, hot anger seeping in as he quietly inhaled.

“When I catch those yakshits—” he muttered to himself, trying to walk as softly as he could.

Intending to catch them in the act, Stoick reached out and gently pushed the door open, expecting to see Gustav or one of the younger Thorstons inside.

But what was inside instantly chilled his blood, extinguishing the fire that had been burning inside and replacing it with dread and fear.

A figure stood by Hiccup’s worn wooden desk, clad in onyx armor with red accents that gleamed in the firelight. Firelight from a flaming sword.

The armor…that’s not chainmail…

Scales. Dragon scales.

Night Fury scales.

Stoick didn’t have a half second to react before the figure turned to face him, raising its sword above its head as it did so.

And Stoick’s heart clenched so tightly it hurt. He felt his world shatter into pieces because he couldn’t believe what he saw.

A face he had not seen in five years, yet one he had once known better than his own. The same cheekbones he’d inherited from Valka. The same freckles, scattered across his face like constellations, constellations he grew to know like the back of his hand. The same unruly auburn hair, so often smelling like smoke from forge work, was longer and more tangled than ever before, and Stoick even spied a few small braids in it.

And the eyes…

Gods above, the eyes.

The same green he had seen staring up at him with wonder, admiration and unconditional love. The same green that had once looked at him and believed he could be the greatest father in the world. The same green he’d seen twenty years ago when he declared his son would be the strongest of them all.

The same green that looked broken and shattered when, in a moment of anger, Stoick told him he wasn’t a Viking and wasn’t his son.

Now those eyes stared at him again, older, hardened by a self-imposed exile and with a different kind of fire behind them. Yet within them, Stoick thought he saw a glimmer of the boy he used to know.

No, he told himself, he's not a boy any longer. He had grown taller and filled out more. Matured. His son wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man. He’d changed.

And Stoick missed all of it.

Hiccup.

For a long, frozen moment, they simply stared at each other.

Stoick couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

His son was home. Hiccup was home.

The words should have filled him with relief, with joy, but instead, a sickening dread curled in his stomach.

His gaze flickered over the black armor, the scaled helmet he held in his hand, the flaming sword in the other, and the prosthetic leg.

Just like the stories said.

No…Allfather, please don’t let it be true…

The stories surged forward in Stoick’s head like a tidal wave, recalling all the horrible things he’d heard of his son.

The raids. The robberies. The dragon attacks. The death. The destruction of entire villages.

The kidnappings.

The sacrifices to dark gods and dragons.

He’d always told himself they weren’t true, or at least misunderstandings. His son wouldn’t do that.

Not my Hiccup.

But five years is a long time, and the traders hadn’t lied about the armor or sword or the leg, as he now saw in front of him. And Stoick didn’t know what five years with a dragon could do to his son.

Hiccup tentatively stepped forward, eyes weary and face tense in the twinkling flame of his sword. “Dad?”

The sound of Hiccup’s voice, so familiar, so unchanged, took his soul and tore it asunder. It’d been five years since he’d last heard that voice, but with it came all the good memories of Hiccup.

His mind told him to raise his axe, to back up and stay alert. That his son was dangerous.

But his heart screamed at him to drop his axe, to run over and embrace his son, to apologize and say he was wrong. To beg for forgiveness.

But as Hiccup took another step forward, fear proved to be the more powerful motivator, and Stoick instinctively took a step back and raised his axe slightly.

“Don’t, Hiccup…” He choked out, and what little light there was in Hiccup’s eyes flickered, like a candle in a windstorm. His face became heartbroken, and Stoick’s chest ached seeing it.

You did this, he told himself. Drop the axe. Pull him into your arms and never let go. He’s your son.

But he couldn’t force himself to put down the axe.

Stoick tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered.

Something changed in Hiccup’s face, covering the heartbreak with something else, “I had to come back.” His fist clenched the helmet at his side, “You don’t understand, I had to—”

Five years of anger and despair surged forward, unexpected as it was unwelcome. “You’re right.” Stoick cut in, fury igniting like dry tinder. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand why my son turned his back on Berk. Why he chose them—” he laced the word with venom, “—over his own people! Why he stands with the same beasts that took your mother from us! The same monsters that have terrorized Vikings for generations!”

Hiccup’s jaw tightened, his expression darkening. “That’s all you see them as? Beasts? Killers? Even now, when the raids have stopped? That’s all they’ll ever be to you?!”

Stoick’s voice was firm. Unflinching. “That’s what they’ll always be. They took your mother from us. Then they took you. And now…I don’t even know who you are.”

The words erupted between them like a Zippleback blast. And from the way Hiccup flinched, they had struck just as deeply.

But then, something changed.

Hiccup set his jaw. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and steady, but Stoick heart within it a restrained fury. “The dragons didn’t take me.”

His green eyes burned like embers in the dim light. “I chose to leave.”

Stoick faltered. His voice, for the first time, lost its strength. “Why?”

Hiccup’s fingers clenched. “Because you wouldn’t listen!”

“NO!” Stoick’s roar shook the walls, his voice thick with rage. “You don’t get to turn your back on your people—on all Vikings—and claim it was because of me!”

“But it was! You didn’t listen!” He pointed the flaming blade at Stoick, and for a moment Stoick saw the monster he’d heard Johann speak of. The man who’d unleashed captive dragons on villages, who’d terrorized the Rus for nearly a year. “I tried to tell you about the dragons! I tried to tell you Toothless wasn’t dangerous! I tried to warn you about the nest! But you didn’t listen to me! You never listened to me!”

Stoick’s hand gripped the axe tighter as he ignored his heart tearing itself apart in his chest.

He’s your son, for Thor’s sake!

Slowly, Hiccup put his helmet on his head, leaving the visor up so Stoick could see his face. His sword still held its fire, flames dripping from the sword, evaporating in the air.

Finally, Stoick found the courage to talk again. “You don’t get a chance to explain. You betrayed me. The memory of your mother. All of Berk and all Vikings—”

“You don’t even know what other Vikings are like—”

“And you do?! The boy who traded his home for a dragon knows what its like to be a Viking?”

“There’s more to being a Viking than this! I’ve travelled the world, Dad! I’ve seen things you couldn’t even dream of! I’ve been all over the Viking world, and others besides! I’ve been to the west, the south and the far east. Not everyone kills dragons, Dad!”

The mention of the far east once again sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn’t dare ask Hiccup about those stories. He didn’t know if he could take it if they were true.

Stoick tightened his grip on his axe, raising it to a battle-ready stance. “I’ve had enough of this. Hiccup, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Hiccup kept the sword pointed at him, “What do you mean?”

“You can either come quietly—”

“For what crimes?!”

“Besides betraying Berk? There’s plenty more! Johann’s told us all about—”

At the mention of Johann’s name, a new look took over Hiccup’s face, one Stoick had never seen before.

He spoke low in a menacing tone, “What did Johann tell you?”

Stoick couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Everything. All about what you and your Dragon Riders have done in the east. In the lands of the Rus. The north. Everything.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you disapprove of everything we've done? Well, Dad, I don’t regret anything we’ve done, in the lands of the Rus or the East or the North.”

No.

Allfather, it can’t be true. He can't have admitted to it.

The world tilted beneath him. His stomach churned, a sick, twisting dread hollowing him from the inside. His limbs felt weak, boneless, like a man drained of blood. He could barely breathe, as if some wraith had reached inside his chest and stolen the very air from his lungs.

He felt lightheaded and dizzy. He felt as if he’d taken five different poisons at once. His entire world was coming undone.

Hiccup kept talking, “Dad, you need to listen to me—”

“Hiccup, don’t—” He couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t see that face, the same face Valka once cradled, the same face he had watched grow until the day he left.

It couldn’t be true. His son couldn’t have just admitted to all the horrible things they said he’d done. All the innocent people killed, the kidnapping, the sacrifices.

Please, for the love of the gods, don’t let it be true. He couldn’t have just asked me if I disapproved of it all. He couldn't have admitted to it.

Could he?

Hiccup lowered the flaming blade, scrambling through the pockets on his armor, and pulling out a white letter. He set it down on his old desk, “Dad, you need to read this. The sun’s coming up—”

Rage filled Stoick again. “No! You’re going to stay here, and answer for your crimes! All the innocent blood you’ve spilled will be answered for!”

For the first time in their conversation, Stoick saw confusion in his son’s face.

“Innocent blood? Dad, what are you talking about?”

Stoick summoned his courage, “Johann told us all about your crimes in the east and the North, in the lands of the Rus, the Finns and others. He said…” Stoick’s voice faltered as he recalled the worst of it, “he said…he said you were a monster—"

The reaction was immediate.

Hiccup flinched as though Stoick had driven a blade straight through his chest. His breath hitched, his shoulders caving inward as if an invisible force had struck him down. His sword arm wavered, just for a moment, before he stumbled back, eyes wide and stricken.

Hiccup gulped, his voice cracking as he asked, “And you believe him?”

It broke his heart, but Stoick didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t sure what he believed anymore as he looked back up at his son’s face.

For a fleeting second, Stoick saw something unbearable. The same expression Hiccup had worn when Stoick disowned him, when words cut deeper than any blow ever could. But this was different. This wasn’t the wounded gaze of a boy trying to win back his father’s approval.

This was the shattered look of a son realizing his father had already made up his mind.

Hiccup shook his head lightly, pleading, “Dad, please, for once in your life, please just listen to me! Johann can’t be trusted—”

A voice began yelling outside, startling them both. Hiccup ran towards the window while Stoick stayed planted where he was in the doorway, silently processing the words his son said.

Johann can’t be trusted?

A moment later, the voice grew loud enough for Stoick to recognize.

Gunnar.

“Dragon Riders! The Dragon Riders have come to Berk!”

A half second later, Stoick heard a dragon’s roar.

He saw his son extinguish his sword, open the grip, eject something and put something else in. Turning around, Hiccup strode forward towards Stoick, putting the visor down on his helmet, at once turning into the stranger he’d become in Stoick’s mind.

“Move,” the voice carried the weight of command, but there was something else in it, something protective.

But Stoick didn’t budge. His son wasn’t going anywhere. He was going to a cell, and they were going to talk. He needed to know what he meant when he said Johann couldn’t be trusted.

He needed to know if everything he’d heard about was true. “You’re not going anywhere.”

There was a fire in his eyes that Stoick didn’t recognize, something he hadn’t seen before. “Dad, move, please!” Hiccup thumbed over a button on the sword hilt and made a move around Stoick.

Reacting quickly, Stoick grabbed Hiccup’s arm and prevented him from getting around him. “You’re staying right here, and you’re going to explain what you meant by Johann can’t be trusted. You’re going to—”

Hiccup moved with a speed that seemed almost unnatural. He twisted his arm quickly and wretched it from Stoick’s grasp, moving back as Stoick made a move to restrain his son again. Hiccup merely planted his feet and pointed the pommel of the sword towards him, crouching down as he flicked the switch on the pommel.

A blue, glowing mist erupted from the hilt of Hiccup’s sword and covered Stoick’s face, sending him reeling backwards.

He felt every muscle in his body tighten, stiffening until he couldn’t move anymore. In less than two seconds, he was unable to move any part of his body.

And Hiccup stood there, unharmed, walking over sorrowfully with the visor pulled up again so Stoick could see his face. “Flightmare mist. It’s temporary, so it’ll wear off in a few minutes, but I… I’m sorry, Dad.” He said, sounding remorseful, refusing to meet his father’s eyes as he pulled the visor back over his face. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Hiccup then ran out of his room, leaving Stoick’s mind reeling from it all.

But part of him didn’t care. His son was back. He was back in the Archipelago, and there was still hope in Stoick’s heart he wasn’t the monster everyone said he was.

-0-

His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest, but the rest of him felt numb, like his limbs weren’t his, like he was moving because he had to, not because he could. Everything in his head was a blur, still reeling from what had just happened.

Staring at Stoick, frozen by the Flightmare mist, hurt Hiccup more than he thought. He hated that he had to use it on his father. The Flightmare mist hadn't been meant for this. Astrid suggested it in case they ran into patrols or drunkards, buying them enough time to get away, but instead he’d had to use on his own father.

He didn’t have a choice; the alarm had gone up and Astrid may still out there somewhere. She could be in danger and need his help and he needed to find her.

But that didn’t make it any easier seeing his father lock up and freeze, the expression on his face halfway between confusion and horror.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed to see me. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Hiccup thought it would be a simple break and enter, something he and Astrid did dozens of times before. Now, he was bolting down the stairs and out the front door of his house, away from his father and desperate to see if Astrid was safe.

But no matter how fast he ran, his mind couldn’t leave Stoick. He’d seen Hiccup, and it was somehow worse than everything he ever imagined.

He’d prepared himself for rage, fury, disappointment and even apathy.

But his father looked afraid of him. Afraid of his own son.

His father had looked at him like he was something else, like he’d barely recognized the boy he once raised. And then he'd said those words.

Innocent blood. Monster.

And he said them without question, without hesitation, like he believed it. Like he believed Johann.

Hiccup’s mind tottered. He could still hear his own voice, shaking, asking if Stoick believed the lies, and the fact that his father hadn’t answered felt like the worst answer of all.

He hadn’t defended him. Not even once.

He thinks I’m a monster.

The thought smashed into him harder than any punch he’d taken in his life. How could Stoick believe Johann over his own son?

Johann, of all people.

Hiccup reminded himself Johann had been to Berk more than he had over the last five years, and that the island didn’t know Johann was working against them.

Berk didn’t know Johann was a traitor working alongside Krogan. Berk didn’t know that Johann worked for a warlord who seemed intent on ruling not just the Archipelago, but the known world.

It wasn’t his father’s fault, not entirely at least; that laid with Johann. He didn’t know the exact webs Johann was spinning, but whatever they were, they’d clearly worked enough to turn his father against him.

And somehow that made it worse. His father didn’t know Johann was a traitor spreading lies, and Hiccup wasted his time, leaving too much unsaid. He’d lost his temper with his father, accused him of not listening, then wasted more time by not outright saying everything Johann said was a lie.

He felt like the same screwup he was before he’d met Toothless, making things worse instead of better.

Maybe not. There’s still a chance. He wanted to keep you behind and hear you.

The older, cynical part of Hiccup wanted to believe his father wouldn’t listen to him, just like he’d done growing up. But the part of him that’d grown held out hope. His father had said he wanted to hear why Johann couldn’t be trusted.

Stoick just had to read the letter.

Not paying attention to where his legs were taking him, Hiccup collided with a body sprinting across the yards to his house, knocking the wind and his sword from him. The other person was also thrown to the ground.

“Sorry!” The voice said, but the figure got up and continued running up the steps.

Towards his old house. “Chief! Stoick!” The figure called out as soon as it crossed the threshold of the home.

The boy was younger, he saw that much, with blonde hair, but other than that he didn’t really get a good look at him. Whoever he was, he was familiar enough with his father to be on a first name basis, and Hiccup’s mind rebelliously wondered if this was the new heir to Berk, the one his father always wanted.

Don’t think about that right now.

Hiccup couldn’t linger to see who it was. He had to get clear, find Astrid and get out.

Grabbing the sword and stowing it in his leg holster, he threw himself forward back into a run, heading towards the sounds of commotion coming from the village.

He saw a brazier lit and hoisted into the sky and thought for a moment he caught a glimpse of Stormfly flying by.

He shoved his father to the back of his mind. He needed to find Astrid.

He got to the bottom of the hill and decided to cut through the alleys, thinking if he got there fast enough he might find Astrid somewhere near her house.

As he turned another corner, he ran smack into another body, once again knocking him to the ground with a groan.

But as he scrambled up to try to get past the Viking, he froze in place.

The Vikings had a peg leg. He knew this one, one he’d seen every day for years.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going, ye—” Gobber words got stuck in his throat when he turned, a choking sound coming from his throat.

Maybe he doesn’t know it’s you. Hiccup hoped against hope that was the case. His visor was down, and it was still dark enough. He didn’t know if he could handle Gobber looking at him with the same fear Stoick did.

“Hiccup?”

The voice was softer than he remembered, worn down like old leather, and it made his heart lurch. He turned, the sound of his name almost lost in the wind.

Gobber stood there, his stance wary, but not hostile. There wasn’t fear in his eyes, not quite, but something close lingered. Unease. Hurt. Maybe both.

“It’s really you,” Gobber murmured. “By Thor’s beard, what are you…Are you all here?”

Hiccup swallowed hard, suddenly a boy again, tongue-tied and struck with shame.

“I… uh…” He felt like his mouth was stuffed with yak fur. “Gobber…”

The older man’s shoulders sagged, the fight going out of him. He tugged off his helmet with a trembling hand and ran his fingers through graying hair, disbelief etched deep in every line of his face.

“What in Hel’s name are you doing back here, lad?”

He looked older. Not just in the way Stoick had—time had left its fingerprints—but in his eyes too. Eyes that had seen too much and maybe hoped too little.

Hiccup’s hands itched to reach out. To hug him. To say I’m sorry for every year that passed in silence. For every letter never written, every memory left to rot with dust and distance. Gobber had been more than a blacksmith to him, he'd been family. And Hiccup disappeared without even saying goodbye.

At least lift your visor, he told himself. Let him see your face. Let him know it’s still you.

He was raising his hand when a Nadder’s shriek echoed from the square, high, panicked, and unmistakable.

“STORMFLY!”

Astrid’s voice, raw and terrified.

The blood drained from his face.

“Wait, Hiccup!” Gobber stepped forward, his good arm outstretched to stop him.

But Hiccup was already gone, slipping past before Gobber could block him, boots and prosthetic pounding against the cobblestone as he bolted down the alley, the memory of Gobber’s face chasing him harder than any enemy ever could.

Once clear of Gobber, he pulled out the compact, foldable crossbow he’d stolen from Grimmel, loading it with a dart filled with diluted Speed Stinger venom. He then grabbed his sword in his free hand.

He whistled for Toothless and heard the dragon roar affirmatively above him, the whistling sound of a Night Fury dive becoming louder.

He turned the final corner and emerged into the square, taking a split second to analyze the chaos in front of him.

He saw Stormfly trapped against the ground with several warriors holding her down, while Hoark advanced on her with his axe drawn.

He heard Toothless diving through the air, the characteristic Night Fury scream becoming louder. More Berkians cried out Night Fury and ran for cover, but not the ones on top of Stormfly.

He saw Astrid fighting her way towards Stormfly, dodging and blocking strikes but never following up with any hits of her own. But she wouldn’t get there before Hoark killed Stormfly.

“ASTRID!” He called out, letting her know he and Toothless would handle Stormfly. Running forward, he shot the crossbow bolt at Hoark, watching him crumble to the ground in confusion at the limbs that refused to work properly.

Hearing Toothless’ dive reach the pitch that signaled a plasma blast, he took cover, pausing to let the blast hit where he assumed Toothless was aiming.

When he heard the plasma blast explode in the air, flashing purple light around the square, Hiccup leapt up, pushing away and fighting off the dazed Vikings, their ears ringing and eyes blinded by the plasma blast.

Astrid was with him a second later, fighting off Berkians who weren’t concussed or blinded while he deftly cut the ropes holding Stormfly down.

The second the net fell away, Astrid was in the saddle. “We need to leave! Now!” She shouted at him, and he could only nod as Toothless landed nearby, swiping his tail at three charging warriors and sending them into a wagon. Hiccup hopped on, clicked in, and they took off.

And only once they were airborne, climbing fast above the watchful village, did Hiccup allow himself to look down.

Stoick and Gobber, side by side, standing still among the chaos. They looked so small from up here. But even from this height, he could see it in their eyes. The shock, the sorrow, the pain.

Hiccup turned away, his heart heavy and his eyes stinging. He looked toward Astrid, toward the one person who might understand, who could help shoulder the weight of everything he was carrying.

But when he saw her face, something inside him cracked.

Her visor was up and her eyes glistened, shedding tears in the wind. Her mouth was tight, jaw clenched, but her expression was full of agony, sorrow and anger. She wore a similar look the day Stormfly was poisoned and nearly lost to her.

She turned to him, their eyes met, and at that moment, he knew.

Johann hadn’t just turned his father against him.

He’d turned Astrid’s family against her, too.

-0-

Earlier

The house hadn’t changed at all, Astrid noted with some disappointment. It stood exactly how she remembered it the last time she walked out of it, right before leaving Berk with Hiccup and the others.

Thinking about that fateful day brought an avalanche of different emotions to Astrid as she landed near silently on the roof. It was her childhood home, where she’d spent fifteen years of her life. It was where her mother passed down her first axe, where she’d learned how to use it and where she’d practiced with Gunnar.

But she knew she was also viewing the home with nostalgia, and not everything was perfect. Berk was perpetually at war with creatures no better than slaves to a monster's will, and her parents were both warriors. Every night was a night one or both of them might not come back. Both she and Gunnar grew up in that pressure, knowing that if the worst were to happen, they would only have each other.

She'd never realized how growing up in an endless war shaped her until she saw other lands at peace.

She slipped in through her old room, astonished there was hardly any dust on her old bed or the unused weapons rack where she would keep most of her training axes.

Had someone kept the room clean? She could hardly picture her parents doing so after she’d left in the manner she did.

She pushed her visor up, but it didn’t help much against the darkness, and she didn’t want to ignite her axe in case her parents were still awake. So, she moved carefully, crossing the room and holding her breath with each creaky floorboard.

Peeking through the cracked door, she let her gaze sweep down the hallway, tracing the familiar path to her parents’ room and her brother’s, just a few feet away. The house still smelled the same: mix of wood, leather, and lingering smoke from downstairs.

Once she was confident the coast was clear, Astrid steadied herself and opened the door all the way, moving carefully to her parents’ bedroom door.

With practiced efficiency, she took the vial of sap, applied it to the letter, and pushed it gently but firmly against the door. After waiting a few seconds, she let it go, pleased it stuck to the door.

She just had to make it to a cliffside, signal Stormfly, jump off and meet up with her dragon.

But curiosity overtook her.

It’d been five years since she last saw her brother. He was only twelve when she left and was a wide-eyed boy who’d worshipped his older sister. Now he was seventeen years old, a man in his own right.

Don’t do it, Astrid, her rational mind told her, but the heart slowly won out, the memory of the last time she saw him filling her chest with guilt.

He was twelve and didn’t know better. You had no right to treat him like that.

Settling back into a stalking posture, Astrid crept to her brother’s door, slowly pressing it open to make sure the hinges didn’t squeak. Her heart increased its pace as the door opened more, excitement eclipsing the dread she felt from endangering the mission.

Butterflies filled her stomach as the door opened enough to squeeze through, and Astrid moved over to Gunnar’s bed as quietly as she could.

But it was empty.

Her heart sunk. It wasn’t as if she expected him to be waiting for her, but she had wanted some kind of reassurance. Some kind of proof that he was still here and safe.

No. You can’t afford to stay any longer.

Her rational side finally won, and she slipped quietly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Descending the stairs, she let her eyes linger on the hearth, the kitchen and other small, familiar details that felt distant now. She moved towards the door, ready to run towards the cliff and signal Stormfly.

She put down her visor, swallowing the lump in her throat as she readied herself. Hand gripping the handle, she hesitated for only a second before pulling the door open.

The night’s cold air seeped into her bones, but it wasn’t the chill that made her pause. It was him.

A young man with golden hair sat on the steps, gazing into the dark sky, his expression distant.

“Oh, for Thor’s sake, Mom!” The figure spoke in a strangely recognizable voice, “I’m seventeen, I don’t need a bedtime!”

The figure turned, and all at once Astrid’s world came crashing down around her.

She recognized the hair, the eyes, the nose and jawline of that boy in front of her. She recognized the voice, although it was deeper now and full of more authority than she’d ever heard in it before. She even recognized the way he stood up, favoring his right leg as he lifted himself up.

“Gunnar,” she whispered, gazing into her brother’s dark blue eyes and trying not to lament the fact she hadn’t been there for him growing up, that she’d missed five years she could never get back.

She felt the world still as his eyes swept over her, fear and anger lighting a fire in his eyes. She saw his hand reaching for the axe strapped to his back, and Astrid’s heart plummeted.

The visor, she realized, he doesn’t know it’s me.

Moving quicker than he could, Astrid surged forward, clapping a hand over his mouth and another hand to stop him from reaching the axe. Pivoting and using her strength, she turned and threw him into the Hofferson home before slamming the door shut behind her.

She didn’t care if it woke her parents up.

Igniting her axe to provide some light in the dark room, she lifted the visor up to show her face.

“Gunnar, it’s me,” she breathed, her voice trembling with both joy and grief. “It’s Astrid.” She smiled, eyes examining his face and seeing how much he’d changed. How much he’d grown up.

He was taller now, the same height as her. The soft features from his childhood were gone, replaced with a  hardened frame of lean muscle, probably from combat training. His jaw was sharper, and his shoulder broader. A warrior’s look, something she’d always known he’d become. Just like his big sister.

She thought Gunnar might hold a grudge and braced herself for pain and yelling. For a bitter where were you or a broken why did you leave.

She’d prepared herself to hear the hurt in his voice, to feel the sting of his resentment.

But she hadn’t prepared for the way his eyes went cold, for the loathing that settled in them like frost.

She hadn’t prepared to see malice.

There was fury in his eyes, an unsuppressed rage he wore on his face even after she told him who she was. She was so distracted by it she almost didn’t see him to continue reaching for his axe.

Instincts took over as he threw the axe at her, her thoughts taking a backseat as her body moved on muscle memory alone. She deflected the axe with her own but wasn’t prepared for Gunnar to tackle her and drive her into the floor.

Using her legs, she pushed him off her and scrambled to her feet, watching as Gunnar grabbed his axe from the floor.

“Gunnar, wait!” Her voice cracked. She was visible, he should have realized he was fighting his older sister by now. But he didn’t seem to care.

Astrid tried again, “Gunnar, stop!” He wasn’t listening. He swung again, the blow rattling her arms as she blocked it.

She pushed him but he came again, swinging the axe, and Astrid blocked the powerful blow only for him to strike at her again.

“Gunnar, it’s me! Your sister!” She shouted with her voice cracking, no longer caring if her parents woke up.

Why is he doing this?!

She had sparred with him when they were children, laughing as he tried to best her with his tiny wooden sword. But this wasn’t sparring. There was rage in every move, his strikes fueled by something deeper than anger.

This isn’t like him.

She somersaulted past him to put some distance between the two. Her heart hammered in her ears and her stomach was in her throat. He should have recognized her by now, even with the helmet. He should have stopped. And it was tearing her apart that he hadn’t. Like he didn’t care she was his sister anymore.

The thought frightened her.

“Gunnar, it’s your sister!” She repeated, her voice breaking from the strain and the heartbreak.

He has to recognize me. He has to!

“Shut up, demon!” He yelled furiously before charging her, axe raised.

She blocked it again, muscles screaming from the relentless of his assault, and fought him off when she heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Her parents.

She felt their eyes on her as she locked up Gunnar’s axe, trying to ignore how he was just as tall as her now, and she heard a choked sob from her mother.

“Astrid?” Her voice called softly, and Astrid spared a glance over towards the steps.

Ingrid Hofferson stood there, a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. Beside her, Ulric Hofferson looked on in stunned silence, his expression unreadable, but his fists clenched at his sides.

She’d finally come back, and it felt like she was an intruder in her own home.

Gunnar took advantage of her distraction, twisting their entwined axes out of the way and throwing a punch that struck her in the jaw, knocking Astrid to the ground.

Dazed, she looked up, eyes watering as Gunnar bore down on her with nothing but hatred.

“Why?!” She screamed through the tears, but Gunnar hardly reacted as he raised the axe above his head.

She heard her mother scream, saw her father rush to Gunnar and stop the axe mid-swing. She saw the look in Gunnar’s face.

“Let me go!” He tried wrestling the axe away from Ulric, “She’s a monster! She betrayed us! She betrayed us all!”

Astrid scrambled away, backing up towards the door in shock. She felt the tears flowing down her face, but she couldn’t dwell on it.

Eventually, Gunnar wrestled free from their father and charged at her again, ignoring Ingrid and Ulric’s pleas to stop.

Knowing she didn’t have a choice and with the whole village probably waking up at this point, Astrid steeled herself for the fight.

As Gunnar struck her axe, she struck back with equal force, fighting for space and a chance to disarm him. Each time their axes collided, she could hear her mother’s shriek and her father’s shout for them to stop, but she knew she couldn’t stop.

Her survival depended on besting her brother now.

She got her opening a few moves later, and wretched the axe from her brother’s hands and flung it into the nearest wall.

When Gunnar charged her again, she grappled him and flung him to the ground towards their parents, and Astrid leveled the axe towards them, their faces lit up by the flaming blade.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, trying to keep her voice strong but failing to stop it from cracking with anguish. “Stay down. Please,” she added tearfully.

“Astrid,” Ingrid muttered, “Astrid…daughter…”

Gunnar stayed put, eyeing her with derision, but otherwise unmoving.

“Astrid, my sweet girl, put down the axe,” Ulric begged.

She made the mistake of looking at them, and she saw how they ever so slightly recoiled from her.

She saw the look in her father's eyes, the way her mother tightly gripped Gunnar's tunic to keep him back from her.

They’re afraid, she realized as her heart shattered, they’re afraid of me.

It was becoming too much.

She wasn’t ready to face them again. She should’ve told Hiccup, she should’ve known she couldn’t handle seeing them again, not after how she left.

“I…” She didn’t know what to say. What can you even say? Sorry I left you and brought more shame to the Hofferson name? Sorry I never let you know I was ok? Sorry you never saw me for five years?

There were tears streaming down her parents’ face now, but Gunnar remained uncharacteristically cold, glaring at her as if she was an intruder holding the family hostage. With her axe still leveled at her family, Astrid thought he might not be fair off.

She lowered the axe but it kept it ignited, summoning all her courage into keeping her voice level, “I know we didn’t exactly leave on the best terms, and I know you think we’re traitors—”

“Traitors?” Gunnar sneered, standing up abruptly and shaking off their father’s hand on his shoulder, “Traitors?! After everything you’ve done, all the people you’ve killed, you think you’re only traitors?”

Is he talking about the war with the Dragon Hunters? She figured after Johann’s betrayal that he might’ve told Berk over the past year about the Dragon Riders and how they freed dragons.

“It’s war, Gunnar,” she said softly, searching him for any sign of understanding, “People die in war, you know that.”

Gunnar’s face darkened, and even her parents’ face blanched, refusing to look Astrid in the eyes. “Is that what you call what you did? Everything you’ve done? War? That’s not war, that’s barbarity!”

Her heart was hammering in her chest now. It’s not supposed to be like this. “I know you don’t agree with what we’ve done—”

Gunnar cut her off with a forceful step forward, “After you left, I thought you were just a traitor who fell for Hiccup’s lies and deceptions. But then a year ago, Johann told us what you all had done, what you really were.”

Astrid looked at her parents, but they were staring down at the floor, faces white and fists clenched so hard she could see the white knuckles.

She stood her ground, turning her eyes back to her brother, “They’re not lies. Dragons aren’t what you think—”

“They’re monsters—”

“They’re intelligent—”

“They killed Uncle Finn!” Gunnar shouted, his words cutting deeper into Astrid, “Or did you forget about Aurvandil’s Fire and the Flightmare?! They killed Uncle Finn and how many other Hoffersons?! For three hundred years, dragons have been terrorizing us! And you threw us away to join them!”

Uncle Finn. Aurvandil’s Fire. The Flightmare. Her heart creaked. She hadn’t forgotten about her Uncle Finn and the Flightmare, but her perspective changed when they rescued a Flightmare and learned more about it. How territorial it was, how it would protect its food, and, most importantly to her, how its mist paralyzed anyone hit with it.

They don’t know about the Flightmare’s mist.

She wanted to tell them about the mist. How it paralyzed victims and that Uncle Finn didn’t die frozen with fear. But that wouldn’t get Gunnar and their parents on her side. She needed to try something else.

“Not all dragons are like that,” she tried to keep her voice calm, “I can show you. We can show you all. We stopped the raids five years ago, right?”

Gunnar scowled at that. “Why should we believe you? Why should we trust you?” He spat. Her parents didn’t say anything.

Astrid pleaded with him, feeling like she was grasping at straws. “I’m your sister, why would I lie to you?”

He looked at her in the eyes, taking another slow step forward. “You’re not my sister.”

The words cut her deeper than any weapon ever could.

Astrid felt the air in her lungs leave her in a strangled gasp, and a sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. Another sob escaped and she felt her entire body recoiling as if she’d been gutted. It was as if something deep inside her had been ripped out, something that she’d carried with her since her brother had been born, leaving only a gaping void.

“You don’t mean that,” she choked out, feeling fresh tears run down her face again.

She felt weightless and untethered in the worst possible way, like she was falling through the sky without Stormfly or her flight suit. She felt like she was drowning, kicking and clawing towards the surface but no matter how much she struggled, she was only sinking further and further down.

But Gunnar starred her down, and she could see the anger in his expression, “My sister died when she ran off with Hiccup,” he spat out the name, “You’re not my sister. You’re just a demon.”

The words broke upon her like a wave on the rocks, shattering her resolve. She’d faced death hundreds of times out in the world. Dragons, witches, spirits, dreaded creatures and cruel warlords, and she’d always come out on top with wounds and scars.

But nothing had ever cut her so deep as hearing Gunnar say those words.

Her axe faltered, dropping slightly, and she saw Gunnar leapt forward, yanking the axe. It sent the two of them crashing to the ground.

You need to get out of here!

Summoning whatever strength she had left, Astrid shifted her legs and used Gunnar’s momentum against him. Twisting sharply, she drove her boot into his chest and sent him tumbling out the doorway and into the street.

He only looked back for a second before scrambling to his feet and running, shouting as he went. “Dragon Riders! Raise the alarm!”

Astrid spared a glance towards her parents, wishing there was something she could say to them. But she didn’t know what to say, or what she could say. Not now, not after the fight with Gunnar and not after they looked ashamed of her.

So, she turned and ran out the door, into the cold night and away from her parents. She whistled for Stormfly before slapping the visor down, protecting her tear-covered face from the biting cold wind.

She heard Stormfly’s squawk from above and signaled for her to land in the nearby square. There was no time to run to the cliff. Vikings were spilling out of their homes, some armed and some unarmed, and the sight of Astrid in her Nadder scale armor alerted many of those Vikings this wasn’t a prank.

She saw Stormfly land, spines raised and shooting fire at the feet of any Vikings trying to get close. One Berkian took a swing at Astrid with a hammer, but Astrid easily dodged the shot and kept moving towards Stormfly. Another came at her, and she inverted her axe to spray Zippleback gas in his face as she dodged his mace.

A group of warriors then blocked her path forward. Without hesitation, she yanked a small canister from her belt, Hiccup’s handiwork. She engaged the mechanism and threw it.

A blast of fluorescent blue mist erupted over their heads. Within seconds, the warriors froze mid-motion, their bodies locking in place as the Flightmare mist took hold. Astrid sprinted past, not bothering to look behind her.

Focus on getting to Stormfly. Just focus. Don’t think about them.

She leapt over a cart, but she wasn’t fast enough. One Viking hollered, and Astrid saw a group of them leap up and throw a weighted net, trapping Stormfly against the ground.

“STORMFLY!” She screamed, dodging and weaving the Vikings attempting to stop her.

She saw Vikings moving to restrain Stormfly, grabbing her nostrils, wings and legs, and saw Hoark moving toward her dragon, hands tightly gripping the axe and eyes fixed on the Nadder.

Astrid’s heart pounded. Odin, please. Not her.

The gods had listened to her prayers throughout their journey; in fact, they listened to all their prayers, it seemed.

She hoped they would hear this one as well.

She felt the familiar calm settle her, washing over her panic and clearing her head. She moved easier, dodging, blocking and rolling away from strikes, as if weights had been lifted from her limbs.

Something in the back of her mind told her to slow down, and she obeyed, only a second before the diving scream of a Night Fury filled the air.

Cries of ‘Night Fury!’ rang out across the village, and villagers all over ducked for cover.

“Astrid!” She heard Hiccup before she saw him, sprinting towards Stormfly with his sword lit and his handheld crossbow in one hand. Without losing stride, he shot a Speed Stinger bolt at Hoark, sending him crumpling to the ground, before taking cover.

The blast from Toothless was powerful, but exploded in the air right above Stormfly, sending the Vikings stumbling with ringing ears and temporary blindness from the flash. Astrid dashed across the square to her dragon, fighting and shoving the Vikings away from her dragon. With a practiced and efficient hand, Hiccup used his sword to cut the ropes holding Stormfly down, and when the net fell, Astrid leapt into the saddle.

“We need to leave! Now!” She shouted, and Hiccup only nodded, climbing quickly onto Toothless when he’d landed nearby. “Up, Stormfly!”

Her Nadder roared, powerful wings beating hard as she heaved them into the sky. Astrid felt the rush of cold winter air, the wind tearing at her armor, at the tears still wet on her face.

Berk shrank below them, torches flickering like scattered stars, the sounds of shouting growing distant.

She lifted her visor, letting her tears run across her face as the wind chilled them.

A moment later, she turned and saw Hiccup looking at her, his visor also pulled up, a similar expression on his face.

And in his eyes, she saw it.

The same grief. The same devastation. The same unspoken agony that was crushing her from the inside out.

Neither of them said a word on the entire way back to the Edge.

They didn’t need to.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, 1 hour before the teens leave Berk

He didn’t understand why his sister was so upset.

They captured a Night Fury, a real Night Fury, and exposed the chief’s son as a traitor to the island. Astrid was now first place in Dragon Training, something she’d worked for since she was five.

From the looks of the preparations, it seemed something huge was happening, as the whole fleet was made ready to sail.

And yet, Astrid was scrambling, looking for her axe and arguing with their parents. Gunnar just stood by, listening to the conversation.

“The boy is a traitor, Astrid,” their mother said, voice stern and authoritative, “you’re not to see him.”

“He’s not a traitor!” Astrid snapped, flinging open a chest and digging through its contents. “He’s just—he wanted to try something different!”

“That,” their mother pointed sharply in the direction of the arena, where Hiccup had been humiliated only hours earlier, “wasn’t different. It was foolish. Reckless. Treasonous. You saw what he did. Any Viking who sympathizes with dragons or displays that kind of thinking is a danger to Berk. That includes you, if you’re not careful.”

Gunnar saw Astrid’s face pale, averting her eyes from their mother. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, her voice flat and passive, as if she’d been defeated. It made Gunnar uneasy, seeing his normally stubborn older sister back down like that.

Their father entered the room, armor half-buckled, and nodded to their mother. “Fleet’s leaving within the hour. Stoick wants us all aboard. We still have to finish packing.”

Ingrid placed a hand on Astrid’s shoulder, her voice softening just a little. “I know it’s hard to watch someone you trusted fall so far. But try to look on the bright side. With Hiccup gone, the honor of killing the Night Fury falls to you when we return. You’ll graduate first in Dragon Training. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Astrid shook the hand off and continued looking through her things. Gunnar saw the hurt flash across their mother’s face for only a split second, but it was there.

“Back from where?” Gunnar asked, changing the subject.

Their father started smiling, “The nest, son. Stoick says he’s found a way to get to the dragons’ nest, and he’s ordered all the warriors to prepare to embark. We’re taking the whole Berk Guard and every able-bodied Viking possible. Only a skeleton crew defending the island.”

Ulric glanced at Astrid, “You and the other trainees will help man the defenses while we’re all gone. So, stay sharp, Astrid, and no talk of Hiccup. Word is Stoick is exiling him once we get back, if the boy hasn’t already run off for good.”

They hugged their children stiffly, each planting a kiss on their foreheads. Rare gestures in the Hofferson household.

Gunnar held tight to the moment, not wanting to admit how much it scared him.

What if you never see them again?

He needed to be strong. He needed to be a warrior. To push those feelings aside and let duty take its place.

Just like Astrid always told him.

They walked with their parents to the door, saying goodbye and watching them walk off towards the docks with their supplies and weapons.

The second they were around the corner, Astrid spun on her heel and sprinted towards the stairs.

“Astrid?” Gunnar called, confused at her behavior, but he received no answer.

Less than a minute later, she was barreling down the stairs with an axe in her hand, running out the door and past him, her characteristic steely look of determination on her face.

It didn’t make sense. She was behaving erratically. She hated Hiccup, and yet earlier she seemed concerned about the traitorous heir. Everyone who watched Dragon Training knew Astrid hated him. Gunnar had seen it himself; how she scowled at him during training, how furious she’d been after each lesson. Just yesterday, after losing the semifinals, she’d stormed into the woods, axe in hand.

But then she'd come home late, climbing through her window like a thief.

And in the morning, she was different. Quiet in a way that made his stomach churn uneasily. She didn’t talk about the final match that day, didn’t brag about starting Berk Guard training, didn’t even care when their parents announced she could join the next search for the dragons’ nest.

But she’d seem concerned about Hiccup and followed him to the arena gate. She hadn’t even looked as surprised as everyone else when Hiccup threw down his helmet.

Something had changed.

And now she was running off somewhere.

Why?

Gunnar bolted after her. “Astrid, wait!”

“Go home!” she shouted over her shoulder.

“No! I’m coming with you!”

He chased her through the thinning crowds, pushing past warriors with packs and weapons heading toward the docks.

For a few minutes he lost her, but then he caught sight of her again near the main square.

By the time he caught up, she was already with the others–Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut and Tuffnut.

The ones who were once Astrid’s friends but were now Hiccup’s friends.

They were huddled in a tight circle, talking fast, their faces full of excitement and purpose.

What are they talking about?

“Astrid!” he called again, panting, voice hoarse and desperate.

She turned, and for the first time in his life, she looked at him with frustration. Real frustration. Like he was in the way, not like he was her brother.

“I told you to go home,” she snapped.

Gunnar flinched. Her tone was sharp, sharper than she ever used on him, even when he messed up training.

The others were already moving, running with purpose towards the arena. Astrid faced him, stepping in close to block his way. Her tone dropped into the sharp, clipped cadence she used when she was teaching him to fight.

“You can’t be here,” she said, her voice low and cold. “Go home, Gunnar.”

He stared at her, confused, his pulse thudding in his ears, but didn’t budge nor back down. “Why are you with them? And why were you defending Hiccup? Why are you acting so weird?”

She hesitated, and that made it worse. That meant there was something.

“Do you…do you like him or something?” he asked, his voice spiking with anger and hurt. “Is that why you're doing this?”

“Gunnar, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is!” He clenched his fists. “You’re lying to everyone! I saw you sneaking in last night! You’re doing something you’re not supposed to, and you won’t even tell me why!”

Her jaw locked. Her eyes flicked away from his eyes, like she was ashamed. “You’re twelve. You don’t understand—”

“I’m not a baby!” he shouted, voice cracking. “I’m a Hofferson! You told me to be strong, to be a warrior. But warriors don’t lie and sneak around in the middle of the night! They don’t run off and whisper with other people in secret! That’s what snakes and traitors do!”

He saw his words hit something inside her, deep and resonating.

Her face hardened, and any warmth in her eyes quickly evaporated. She went cold, like stone, like she’d built a wall in front of her eyes.

A wall he wouldn’t be able to break through.

“You’re going home,” she said icily, grabbing his arm and yanking him back toward the village. Her grip was iron, tough and unyielding.

Her fingers dug in too hard. He gasped—because it hurt.

And it hurt in more ways than one.

“Let go!” He twisted, tried to pull free, but her grip only tightened. “Astrid—stop—please, let go!”

She didn’t even look at him.

He tried to pry open her fingertips as she dragged him behind her, his feet stumbled over the rocks, off balance and clumsy. But she was too strong for him.

She was hurting him, and he felt tears welling in his eyes. She’d never grabbed him like this before. Not even in the worst training sessions.

Astrid’s eyes looked red and watery, but her voice was strong and steady, “You’re too young for this, Gunnar. Get home before you get hurt.”

He could feel the bruise forming already. Her fingers were biting into the muscle and bone.

“Astrid, please let go! You’re hurting me!” He tried to get her attention, but she refused to look at him. He tried to blink away the tears, “You’re hurting my arm, Astrid!”

A choked breath left her lips, maybe a sob. He couldn’t tell.

“Please, Astrid,” he tried his best not to whimper, but her grip was already bruising his arm.

She’d been harsh with him before, during training, but never like this.

She’d never hurt him like this before.

“Astrid, you’re hurting me!” he cried, his voice trembling and sputtering. “P-P-Please! Please look at me!”

Still nothing. He tripped over a rock, and she hauled him roughly to his feet, not slowing down.

“W-W-Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting me?” Tears were running down his face, but he couldn’t bring his other hand to wipe them off.

She kept looking straight ahead, eyes watery and red, her face a statue.

“Astrid, please! Let me go, please! I just want to help! Please!” His voice cracked, and a heavy sob escaped his throat, “Astrid, please!”

She threw him forward, roughly wrenching his arm and straining his shoulder. He stumbled, falling into the dirt, his breath catching in his throat as the impact rattled him, forcing a cry to spill out from his throat. His shoulder twisted painfully upon landing, and his knees scrapped raw against the rocks.

And in his chest, his heart was tearing itself to pieces.

He heard her voice behind him, loud and harsh, cracking like a whip.

“Go home, Gunnar! Now! And don’t you dare follow me!”

He turned back, eyes stinging with dust, betrayal and tears.

And saw her already running the other way.

Not toward him. Not toward home.

Toward the Haddock house. Toward something he couldn’t understand, something that she wouldn’t trust him with.

Toward Hiccup.

He sat there for a few minutes, tears falling down his cheek, hunched and small in the dirt, the place on his arm already purpling with bruises. His knees stung and his shoulder throbbed.

He wanted to scream out at her, wanted to yell ‘Why are you leaving me? Why are you running away?’ but he knew she was too far away at this point.

He was alone now, the village nearly empty with everyone at the docks.

He wanted nothing more than to go home and cry on his bed, praying to the gods for answers on why his sister was suddenly so different and cold. So hurtful and distant.

He wanted to ask why his sister was gone, replaced by this person who seemed so indifferent to him.

But he needed to know what was going on. Even if she shoved him away. Even if she didn’t trust him. He needed to understand what was happening, what she was doing, why she was doing it.

He knew he couldn’t catch up to her, but he didn’t need to. He knew where the others were going.

Drawing in a sharp, cold breath, Gunnar turned and sprinted toward the arena. His legs burned. His lungs ached. But he didn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not until he knew the truth.

It took him much longer than he’d wished, but eventually the bridge to the arena was in sight.

The closer he got, the louder it became. The clatter of metal slamming against stone. Shouts. Roars, real dragon roars. Not from the cages, not in fear. These were wild, fierce, and free.

The stench of sulfur hit him first. Then the unmistakable, acrid stench of Zippleback gas.

He heard voices—familiar ones—but not the rough cries of seasoned warriors. No. These voices were younger. Astrid’s friends.

Hiccup’s friends, he reminded himself.

The ones who had started drifting away from the rest of the village during dragon training.

Then he heard her voice loud, clear, and commanding, shouting over them.

Shouting like a leader.

Gunnar pushed harder when he heard his sister, forcing his legs to carry him up the hill toward the arena bridge. As he crested the top, the sight stopped him cold.

The iron gates of the arena were twisted and scorched, barely holding together. Mangled.

Panic clawed at his throat.

He crossed the bridge, heart hammering, slipping into the shadows like a whisper. His gut told him not to be seen.

And then he heard it.

A voice he’d grown to hate more than any other in the last hour.

That nasal voice. Too soft for a Viking. Too clever, too cunning for his own good. Too much like the silver tongue of Loki, luring others into his devious and destructive plans.

Hiccup.

Traitor.

He edged toward one of the columns and peered down into the ring.

And what he saw shattered him.

Astrid.

Her hand outstretched, her fingers trembling, but not from fear.

Hiccup’s hand guiding hers, his other hand resting gently on the scaly blue hide of a Deadly Nadder. Berk’s Nadder. The one Astrid had trained with in the arena.

And he saw her hand take Hiccup’s place on the snout of the Deadly Nadder.

And she smiled and laughed.

It broke him.

She was touching it like it was a friend.

And worse—so much worse—she was smiling.

He froze. His breath caught. The world narrowed to that single, unbearable image.

Astrid. Smiling. At the traitor. At Hiccup. At the dragon.

At betrayal.

Gunnar stood there, locked in shadow, heart crumbling in his chest as he watched the sister he trusted more than anyone, the sister he idolized, swinging her leg over the dragon’s back and mount it like it was her own.

Still smiling.

Still proud.

He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t feel anything except the burning in his throat and the weight in his chest. His body felt too small to hold the storm inside it.

She’d betrayed them.

She’d betrayed him.

She shamed the Hofferson name. Mocked the legacy of warriors like Uncle Finn, who died fighting dragons. Kicked dirt on everything their parents believed in. On everything he believed in.

And she did it with that boy.

That snake.

Hiccup had poisoned her. Twisted her. Made her forget who she was. Made her forget she was a warrior, a dragon killer.

A Hofferson.

The Astrid he knew, the one who trained with him, who made him sharpen his axe over and over, who told him never to cry, never to stop fighting—that Astrid was gone.

Whatever happened the night before…it had changed her.

Now she straddled a dragon as if she belonged with it.

As if she belonged with Hiccup.

And Gunnar realized something, staring at his sister smiling atop the Deadly Nadder, petting and cooing at it like it was some sort of pet.

She wasn’t his sister anymore.

His sister wouldn’t have lied to him. Wouldn’t have said he was too young to understand. Wouldn’t have dragged him away and thrown him to the ground like that.

His sister wouldn’t have hurt him.

Astrid would never smile while stabbing Berk in the back as she took off on the back of a dragon.

But that dragon didn’t just carry Astrid out of the arena.

It took everything from him.

His trust. His sister. His hero.

And as she vanished into the sky with the other teens, alongside that snake Hiccup and his Night Fury, all he had left was one cold, hard truth: He would never forgive her. Or the boy who took her from him.

One day, he’d bring that dragon down. And every dragon after it.

He would become everything she abandoned. He would become everything she’d been meant to be.

Everything she spat on.

Everything she was too weak to be.

Because, unlike her, he was still a Hofferson.

And Hoffersons kill dragons.

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

The din of the crowd was deafening, louder than anything Stoick had heard since the last war council. But this wasn’t the sound of warriors preparing for battle. It was worse. It was panic, fear wrapped in fury.

And at the center of it stood Mildew, pacing like a prophet, arms flailing, voice thick with bile.

“You saw them!” Mildew shrieked with his raspy voice, his spittle catching the firelight. “They walked among us! Hidden in shadows and draped in the flesh of dragons, cloaked in fire, their weapons forged in dragon flame, their hearts turned to ash! Weapons and infernal gadgets crafted from the most terrible dragons imaginable, aided by the machinations of Loki himself! They are no longer Vikings, no longer human! They’ve become them! The dragons! Come to enslave us in the name of their draconic eastern gods and destroy our way of life!”

The crowd howled their agreement. Some with fists raised, others with tears streaming down their faces, clutching children, gripping weapons.

Stoick rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion rolling through his bones. He hadn’t slept. Not after that.

His son—his Hiccup—older, fiercer, missing a leg and wearing dragon-scale armor like it was his birthright. Alive. Upset. Angry. Looking at Stoick with those green eyes.

That boy had been replaced by a man, seemingly hardened by his time outside the Archipelago, and if what the village said was true, he’d become quite the fighter as well. Hoark still hadn’t fully recovered the use of his limbs from Hiccup’s crossbow bolt, even with Gothi’s medicines.

Those green eyes he saw last night were different.

And yet…

There were moments when he saw the boy he’d raised in those eyes.

Stoick’s hand drifted to the inner pocket of his cloak, where the folded letter burned against his chest. He hadn’t read it yet. Not with the memory of last night still too raw, and not with the village scared of their lost heir’s return.

Johann can’t be trusted, Hiccup had said, with fire in his voice and grief in his eyes.

That had shaken Stoick more than anything. Because somewhere beneath the fury, Hiccup still wanted to trust him. Still believed in him.

It might be the only thing left Stoick hadn’t shattered with his stubbornness and inability to just listen.

A roar from the crowd snapped his thoughts in half. Mildew raised his hands high, his voice rising into a frenzy.

“And why should we trust our own leaders? When their children ride the enemy?! When their blood betrays us?!” Mildew spun to face Stoick directly, and Stoick’s blood boiled. “Can we trust a father to kill his own son when the time comes?” He glanced over to Ingrid, “Can we trust a mother to strike down her dragon-riding daughter?! I say no! I say we call for a—"

THWACK!

An axe embedded itself in the pillar next to Mildew’s head with a solid, ringing thud.

The crowd fell into a hush and turned.

Gunnar stepped out from the edge of the head table, his boots deliberate and echoing on the stone as he strode to retrieve his axe. His expression was stone, and when he spoke, his voice cut the air sharper than steel.

“I’ve heard enough.”

He pulled the axe free, never taking his eyes off Mildew. The old man shrank back, speechless.

Gunnar turned, addressing the crowd now. His voice was calm, even, but carried a weight that filled the entire Great Hall.

“You question if your leaders will protect you. You fear they can’t protect the village from their own blood. That your leaders will falter. That when the darkness comes, they’ll do nothing.”

Gunnar paused, eyes skimming the stirring crowd.

“Let me tell you this: last night, I stood beside my parents—Ingrid and Ulric Hofferson—and fought the rider of the Deadly Nadder. You know who she is. What she used to be to me.”

A murmur swept through the hall. Stoick didn’t miss the way Gunnar avoided her name. Astrid.

He rarely said her name anymore.

“They stood with me, and with Berk. Just like I know the rest of our leaders will.”

He glanced up at Stoick then, just for a breath, a hint of a loyal smile, and Stoick’s stomach twisted.

He thinks this is what I want.

Gunnar could never know the turmoil raging inside Stoick, nor could he know of the letter Hiccup wrote.

He paced now, like a general before a warband. “And unlike Mildew, I will not wait for the enemy to strike our homes. They’ve already scouted us, already counted our warriors, measured our defenses. Good Thor, they lived here for fifteen years, do you think they don’t know our defenses? You think they don’t know how we will defend our home? They were all trainees in Dragon Training, they know we know how to take a dragon down.”

He stopped pacing, standing before the enthusiastic crowd, “Do you really want to fight them here? In our homes, with your families at risk? Or do we take the fight to them, as true Vikings should? Do we find their lair and strike them with swords, axes and shields? Do we?!”

The crowd erupted in cheers, warriors raising their weapons and shouting their support for the heir.

Stoick stared down at Gunnar, who raised his axe like a banner. He wasn’t drunk on power or playing politics. There were no motives behind his eyes other than duty and vengeance.

He thought this was the right thing. He thought this was what Stoick wanted.

That was the part that hurt most.

This wasn’t entrapment. This was a boy trying to honor the will of his chief. And it would lead to blood. His son’s blood.

What have I done? He lamented.

You can’t stop him now. You’d make yourself the enemy in his eyes and in the eyes of the people.

He rested a heavy hand over his heart, over the letter still hidden in his cloak.

The meeting adjourned a few minutes later, and Gunnar volunteered to send out messages for a Gathering of Chieftains on Berk as soon as the ice melted to create a war plan with the other chieftains. Sailors pestered Stoick with maps, charting their most reasonable guesses for the Dragon Riders’ lair based on where they flew off to in the night, but Stoick waved them off.

He remained sitting until most of the Hall emptied, save for himself, Ulric, Ingrid and a few others.

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder and turned to see Gobber pulling a chair over with his hook. “Well, I suppose that could’ve gone worse.”

“Could it?” Stoick asked with a dark chuckle.

Gobber sighed, defeated, “Right, maybe not.”

They sat in silence for a moment, processing the meeting’s events.

“He thinks he’s doing what I want,” Stoick finally admitted, looking at Gobber.

“Who, Gunnar?”

“Aye, he’s convinced he’s protecting the people, standing tall as heir and showing he’s worthy of taking my place. He thinks it’s his duty to find the Riders.”

Gobber shifted, moving his hand off Stoick’s shoulder and fidgeting with his hook, “He’s a Hofferson. Duty and discipline run in his blood. He’s acting the same way Astrid would have.”

“No,” Stoick muttered. “No, he’s not doing this for Berk. He’s doing this because of Astrid. Because of Hiccup. It’s always been about her and him. Duty and discipline might’ve trained him, but this is personal. That boy is ruled by his emotions, and it’s not what the heir should do.”

Stoick knew Gunnar worshipped Astrid when they were younger. He remembered the way he clung to her. Hel, she helped raise him as much as Ingrid and Ulric, if not more so.

And then she left, along with the other teens on dragonback.

“He hasn’t forgiven her,” Stoick continued, “for choosing dragons, and Hiccup, and whatever gods-forsaken path they’re on now. She left the Hofferson name behind, and it cut him to the bone. And Hiccup…” Stoick’s voice tightened with pain. “He thinks Hiccup turned her. Corrupted her. Took her away.”

“I figured, he’s hinted as much the few times he’s dropped by the forge,” Gobber murmured. “But we both know Astrid was too headstrong to have anyone force her into anything.”

“Aye,” Stoick said. “And Hiccup’s never been the type to be forceful. But Gunnar doesn’t see that. He’s convinced that ending them is the only way to reclaim the family honor.”

How far is Gunnar willing to go to reclaim that honor? The thought of the lengths he might go to sent a shiver down his spine.

Gobber leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Gunnar is dangerous, Stoick. Too angry and too proud. If he finds them before we figure out what really happened, he won’t ask questions. He’ll go straight for the kill."

Stoick’s mouth tightened. “I know.”

I can’t let him get to Hiccup.

Gobber fixed him with a sharp look. “Then stall him. You have to. If you still care about your son, Stoick, now’s the time to prove it."

His fingers itched. Slowly, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the letter. Still sealed and unopened because he hadn’t had a moment to open it in private.

“He left this last night,” he said quietly. “Before he vanished again. Told me not to trust Johann.”

Gobber blinked, eyes widening. “You think he meant the stories Johann’s been spreading?”

“Maybe.” Stoick’s voice was rough. “But I didn’t give him the chance to explain. He came to the house. He stood there—right in front of me—and all I saw were the rumors. The whispers. All those twisted tales Johann told us. I didn’t see him. My son.”

And hadn’t that been the worst of it? That the boy he loved had returned after five years of silence, after vanishing with the entire dragon training class, and Stoick hadn’t even tried to hear him out.

He only saw the armor, the sword and the leg, and his mind immediately jumped to the stories Johann and other traders told. He only saw Hiccup as the monster they said he was, not as the boy he’d lost five years ago.

He only saw what the dragons had made of him. He saw the influence of the Night Fury in every stitch of that armor, every scale sewn into what his boy wore. 

The same boy who used to come running to him, arms too long for his frame and questions tumbling out faster than Stoick could answer them.

Gobber’s voice dropped, thick with emotion. “I did. Well, I heard his voice. He kept the helmet on, but I’d know that lad’s tone anywhere. He’s changed, aye, but he still sounded like our Hiccup. Not a monster. Not whatever they say he’s become.”

Stoick looked down at the letter in his hands. “I want to believe that, Gobber. I want to believe he’s still in there.”

“Then fight for him.” Gobber said fiercely. “Because I know I will. I don’t care what the village thinks, I’ve loved the lad since he was small enough to trip over his own feet. He’s made mistakes—gods, we all have—and sure he rode off on a dragon but that boy’s heart was always good. And I’ll be gods damned before I let Gunnar gut him in the name of vengeance.”

Stoick flinched at the truth of it.

Gunnar didn’t want justice. He wanted revenge for Astrid leaving and for Hiccup taking her with him. He saw Hiccup as the root of everything that had gone wrong in the last five years, and if Stoick didn’t stop him, he’d see it through to the bitter end.

Gobber’s right.

The thought came unbidden. Like a whisper from the past, when Hiccup was just a boy carrying around a stuffed dragon, too young to properly fear the beasts they were. Too young to know how far Stoick had fallen after the dragons took Valka.

Guilt twisted in his gut again, the memory of the previous night still vivid. How Hiccup had stood there, back in his old room, and he hadn’t even given his son a chance to explain why he and Astrid had returned.

And he’d reacted like a fool. Like a man who had already lost too much.

Stoick chased him out, again. Just like five years ago. He talked over his son, let his anger and fear get the better of him, and pushed Hiccup away—again—after years of praying to the gods just to hear his voice one more time.

The gods had shown him his son, looking healthier and stronger than he ever could’ve imagined, and Stoick had spat in their face by making the same mistakes he’d made when Hiccup was fifteen. 

Instead of embracing his son, he'd pushed him away. He hadn’t seen the boy who used to leave sketches at his war table. He’d seen only the scales in the armor, the sword dripping fire. He'd only seen Johann's stories. He'd only seen what the dragons made Hiccup.

They had taken Valka from him, like cowards in the night. Ripped her away, leaving only scorched wood and a screaming child in her place. A child too young to understand that his mother was gone forever, torn apart by savage beasts. That she had vanished into the dark sky screaming her husband’s name and left Stoick alone with silence, with a home full of ghosts and a cradle that never stopped creaking.

But the Night Fury? That Night Fury hadn’t stolen Hiccup like the dragons stole Valka, but in some ways, it felt worse. 

He had hated the dragons for taking his wife, for leaving Hiccup without a mother, but now he hated the dragons for taking his son, leaving him alive but changed. 

And instead of reaching out, instead of pulling Hiccup back from the dragons, he’d shoved him away again. Right back into their claws. Right back into the world that had changed him.

Just like he had five years ago, when he'd disowned his son.

He’d already buried one half of his heart when Valka was taken. For years, he thought the other half—the smaller, softer one with green eyes and a too-big heart—was dead too. First in the literal sense, then in another, crueler way: the day Johann started spreading his tales of the Dragon Riders.

But when he saw his son again, not as a ghost or legend, but alive, hardened, and so heartbreakingly stubborn, Stoick had felt something shift. It was as if Thor himself had cracked the sky to give him another chance.

He didn’t know what that meant yet, only that he had to believe it was a second chance. That the gods hadn’t reunited them to rip them apart again.

He had to believe that it was a second chance for him. For them.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake again if the gods were merciful enough to give him a second chance.

Hiccup was still in there somewhere. He felt it now. And he wouldn't let Gunnar get to him first.

“I’ll stall Gunnar,” Stoick said quietly with resoluteness. “Buy Hiccup time and space. I don’t know why he came back, but…if there’s even a chance my son is still in there, then I need to know why. I need to hear it from him. Not from Johann and not from anyone else.”

Stoick looked up and saw the fire in Gobber’s eyes. Not rage, not grief, but hope. Small, fragile, but burning again for the first time in years.

It stirred something in him.

But Gobber’s eyes flicked past Stoick then, and he stood abruptly.

Stoick turned, and his breath caught.

Ulric and Ingrid Hofferson were approaching, their faces pale. Ingrid held something clutched tightly in her hand. An envelope. One nearly identical to Hiccup’s.

Gobber stood with a sudden clatter, forcing lightness into his voice. “Well then! If that’s my cue, I’ll be off to the forge. Sounds like I’ve got more weapons to fix than—uh—fingers to count!” He clapped Stoick’s shoulder one last time and leaned close, murmuring just loud enough: “Read the letter tonight. Come find me tomorrow morning. And whatever’s in that letter…don’t waste it.”

Stoick nodded once, then turned to meet the Hoffersons as they approached.

“We couldn’t do it, Stoick,” she said softly. “We couldn’t help him fight her.”

Ulfric joined her quietly, jaw clenched, his silence more telling than words.

“Gunnar lied for us to protect the Hofferson name,” Ingrid continued. “He always told us she was dangerous. That she wasn’t Astrid anymore. But when I saw her…Stoick, it was her. My girl. Different, yes, but still her. I saw it in her eyes.”

“She didn’t attack,” Ulfric added finally. “She hesitated. She only defended herself. Gunnar didn't.”

Ingrid’s grip on her letter tightened. “She left this before she disappeared again. Did Hiccup…did he leave one for you?”

Stoick hesitated only a second this time before slipping his son’s letter from his cloak. He held it just low enough to avoid prying eyes.

Ingrid’s eyes widened, shimmering with a flicker of hope.

“We need to be careful,” Stoick whispered. “Too many ears and too many eyes.”

He looked around the hall one more time, then met Ingrid’s gaze.

“Read it tonight, when there is no one else home. Make sure Gunnar doesn’t see. And we’ll meet at Gobber’s smithy early tomorrow morning. And if our children are still in there, then we protect them. No matter what.”

Ingrid nodded. Ulric, too. They had already lost too much to lies and fear.

And Stoick knew now that whatever mistakes he’d made last night…he wouldn’t make them again.

Not with his son’s life on the line.

-0-

The walk back to the smithy felt like the longest walk Gobber had ever taken.

Snow was beginning to fall in flurries, catching in his beard and lashes as he made his way down the steps, pausing for only a moment in front of the Chief’s house.

Despite the uproar in the Great Hall, the streets now were quiet, a symptom of the winters in Berk, but this time it was different. Heavier and more foreboding.

He knew it had to do with the visitors they’d received late the previous night.

He let out a sigh as he entered the stone-cold smithy, the fire long having died while he was in the Great Hall. He should work on getting it back up to start working on the weapons damaged last night, but he couldn’t do it.

Gods, I still can’t believe it.

Hiccup really came back.

Five long years ago, his apprentice and ward disappeared on the back of a Night Fury, taking his entire Dragon Training class with him. They left no word, no letters and no explanations for their actions.

Not even a bloody note.

For four years, there had been nothing but rumors. Whispers from trading ports and distant islands. Stories of dragons spotted further south, of riders silhouetted against the moonlight. Hearsay. Fantasy. The kind of tales told after one too many mugs of mead.

One Snoggletog—a little over a year after they'd left—a scrap of parchment had arrived. No words, no signature. Just a sketch, carefully folded and tucked in a trader’s parcel. A troll crouched near a craggy mountain cave. But Gobber had known the charcoal lines instantly. It was Hiccup’s hand, no mistaking it.

He kept it in Hiccup’s workshop, off-limits to anyone else. That room hadn’t changed since the boy left. Dust had gathered, but Gobber still went in sometimes, just to look at the drawings, to remember. Sometimes he’d mutter a prayer under his breath, asking the gods to keep the lad safe, wherever he was. Asking why they took him away on a dragon in the first place.

And then, last year, the stories became darker.

In came Johann and his damnable tales of dragon-riding warlords from the East, sowing destruction in their wake. Villages burned, people vanishing, strange rituals and cursed beasts. It spread like wildfire. Most of Berk believed it, because they needed something to believe.

After all, the kids had taken off with dragons, the first Vikings to ever do that. It was easier for the village to believe that fact if the teens were seen as traitors from the start, doomed to betray the island because of a curse or because of draconic magic, luring them to the Far East to turn them into the instruments of strange and unfathomable gods.

Gobber never believed the worst of it, not really, because he knew Hiccup better than anyone. That lad had a spine of iron and a heart too big for his own good.

But even Gobber had his moments of doubt.

Sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, alone with the wind howling past the shutters, when he’d had a few too many drinks and the weight of five years felt like an avalanche, he’d wondered. What if the stories were true? What if the boy who left wasn’t the boy he was now? What if the dragons had changed him? What if they’d taken the sweet innocent boy he was and twisted him into something unrecognizable? Something unredeemable?

He’d wake up ashamed of himself every time, hungover and hollow.

Because deep down, at the core of his stubborn old heart, Gobber knew Hiccup wasn’t a monster. He never had been and he never would be.

Sure, Stoick was Hiccup’s father and loved him, but he never really understood Hiccup. Gobber? He was the one who patched the boy up after every tumble, every misfired invention, every fall from a rooftop in the name of “engineering”. The one who taught him how to swing a hammer, how to sharpen a blade, how to temper steel without cracking it. The one who gave him his first sketchbook when he was just a little bairn, too afraid to speak above a whisper.

He’d seen the light in Hiccup before anyone else had. He’d seen the future in that gangly, clever little Viking who could barely lift a sword but had the courage to challenge the world anyway, who ignored the villages’ insults and defied their wishes in his quest to one day kill a dragon.

Where most of the village saw a misfit, Gobber saw a forge fire they’d let burn too low, and all it needed was some encouragement to turn into a blazing hearth.

And now...

Now he was back. Changed. Hardened, yes, with eyes that carried more age than they ought to, but still there.

Gobber reached the forge and stood in the doorway for a moment, letting the memories of happier days and warmer forges wash over him.

Now it was cold and empty, and the reality of it hit him like Gronckle tail, and he stumbled down onto Hiccup’s old stool, the one he never let Gustav touch out of fear he might break something.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the worn wood and gazing up at the pages still tacked to the wall. Night Fury sketches, diagrams of tail prosthetics and different saddle designs. Weapon ideas and strange, spindly contraptions only Hiccup could ever make sense of.

He ran a hand over them, careful not to tear any down and ruin them. His chest tightened when he saw the troll sketch. The lines were stronger now, more confident. Time had made him better, matured him in ways Gobber hadn’t been there to see.

It reminded him how much his lad had really grown up while he was away.

Gobber ran a hand over the wood, scarred and stained with charcoal and oil. His chest tightened.

“Why’d you come back now, lad?” he murmured into the silent smithy, hanging his head. “What happened out there?”

He’d asked that question thousands of times, he’d wager, and even with Hiccup closer than ever in the last five years, he didn’t feel any closer to an answer.

“Why’d you save that dragon?”

He of all people understood the damage dragons could do. He’d lost limbs to them. Seen fire rip through homes, families shattered in the blink of an eye. He knew the fear.

And yet, Hiccup saved a dragon. He saw something worth saving, and that dragon saved him during the final exam.

And if that wasn’t enough, all the teens—even Astrid Hofferson—rode off on dragons that same day, right after the final exam.

They all saw something no one else saw in those beasts. Five teenagers saw something no Viking saw in three hundred years of continuous, brutal warfare, and it was enough for them to abandon their families and their homes.

Why did Hiccup choose the dragon? What did he see—what did they all see—that made them turn their backs on Berk?

Why did he leave without a word?

Why did he come back? Because you don’t return to a place like Berk unless there’s still something left to love.

He could still hear Hiccup’s voice echoing in his ears from the previous night, and he’d wished the gods gave him enough time to see his face, to truly know his boy was alive and well.

Gobber sighed and ran a hand across his chin, slowly standing up and moving towards the forge to start the day’s work.

He would work into the night, but he was ok with that. It would keep his hands busy, his mind focused. It meant he couldn’t indulge in the mead, and that would keep his thoughts from twisting into doubts again.

“Wherever you are, Hiccup,” he murmured as he worked the bellows, lowering a sword into the hearth, “you’ve still got a few old fools who believe in you. You’ve always had me. And Stoick…” He paused, watching the charcoal heat up and the steel blade turn to the color of straw. “He’s trying, lad. Maybe for the first time in a long while. And…well, we both just want you to come home.”

When it was ready, he turned to the anvil and got to work.

Chapter Text

-0-

Paris, West Francia, 15.5 months since leaving Berk

“What am I to you, Hiccup?”

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. The words had been curling in her chest for days, tightening with every awkward silence, every glance that didn’t linger, every touch that never came.

She knew it would catch him off guard. She wanted it to. She needed to know what she was to him, what they were.

She’d made it clear, or at least she thought she had. All those times she’d let herself lean into him, just a little longer than necessary. The quiet evenings where she rested her head on his shoulder and let the silence speak for them. The way her hand would find his after a hard battle, fingers brushing knuckles, warm and tentative.

He never pulled away, not at first. He smiled at her, sometimes with that soft, breathless wonder in his eyes like she was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve too fast.

And then he said it, right when she thought she would die on that bed in the Swabian village.

“I can’t imagine a world without you.”

It had been barely a whisper, but it felt real and solid.

But now?

Now he barely met her eyes. Now he sat across from her at the fire, too far away for her foot to even brush his. Now when she laughed and touched his arm, his body tensed just slightly, as if bracing.

It was driving her mad.

So, she’d made a choice. She’d needed him alone, away from the others, away from the weight of their travels and the noise of constant distractions.

The merchant’s tale had been the perfect excuse: some supposed dragon-beast terrorizing travelers in Upper Burgundy, a creature called a Tatzelwurm, or a Stollwurm, depending on the storyteller, and mysterious enough to send the others chasing it.

Once they were gone, she casually floated the idea of flying somewhere new, somewhere they hadn’t visited yet.

Hiccup suggested Paris, because of course he would.

The city had been sacked some time ago by Ragnar Lodbrok, and Hiccup, ever the explorer, had always wanted to see what it looked like and why Ragnar decided to besiege the city.

They flew the whole way in silence. Toothless and Stormfly kept close in the clouds, the chill of the late winter wind rushing past them.

Paris rose up before them like a relic out of time, a city sprawled across an island in the middle of the Seine, with the most magnificent buildings on the island. Towers of stone loomed high above the water, and Astrid could see a great palace and an enormous church at the heart of the city. Two narrow bridges straddled the river, connecting the island to the mainland. Both of them marveled at how any number of Vikings were able to sack such a well-defended city.

She’d never seen anything like it. It was beautiful.

And still, all she could think about was the boy flying next to her, whose heart she couldn’t seem to reach.

Once they hid the dragons, they explored the city, and while on the central island, Astrid finally summoned enough courage to ask him the question.

“What am I to you, Hiccup?”

Hiccup visibly stumbled at the question, his rough Frankish becoming even worse, which seemed to annoy the street vendor even more.

“Ugh, I—What?”

Groaning, she took his hand and led him away from the crowded streets until they were standing near the great palace the locals called the Palais de la Cité.

Once they had as much privacy as they could get on the crowded streets, Astrid turned and asked again, “What am I to you, Hiccup? What are we?”

“Astrid, I don’t know what you—” She cut him off with a sharp, but soft, punch on the shoulder.

“You know exactly what I mean. In Uppsala, we almost kissed. Twice! And-and then when I was—well, when I had that witch’s curse, you said, ‘I can’t imagine a world without you in it’.” She poked him hard in the chest,  “But lately, it seems like you’re perfectly capable of living in a world without me! You can’t just say something like that and not do anything about it, Hiccup!”

“Astrid, hold on, that’s not—” He gestured like he was trying to shush her.

Her anger surged.

“No!” She snapped, quieting him immediately.

She took a breath, grounding herself, “I thought I made it clear to you that I…” she gulped, trying to swallow the nerves that came with telling him how she really felt.

What if he doesn’t like you anymore? What if you were too forward and pushed him away? Misread everything? What if this whole time he’s moved on from you and only tried to let you down easily by reciprocating?

She averted her eyes and crossed her arms tightly. “Look, I…I like you, Hiccup. I have for a while. And I thought you felt the same about me.”

His silence spoke a thousand words. The kind of silence stretched out so far it becomes heavy and suffocating. Her heart dropped from her chest into her stomach and panic gripped her chest in its place. She was, all at once, angry, upset and confused.

Thoughts raced through her head. Did I screw this all up? Did I imagine it all? Was there never anything even there to begin with?

But then a hand brushed her chin, gentle and sure, tilting her face up.

Daring to look up, her breath hitched as she found herself staring into Hiccup’s striking, familiar emerald-green eyes.

He was closer now. A little taller, she noticed. When did that happen?

But all that thinking stopped when he leaned in—and she did too—and their lips met in a kiss so soft, so tentative, it felt like the start of something sacred.

And he pressed in closer.

And she pressed in closer.

It hit her like a thunderclap; electric, dizzying, real. Her whole body hummed with it, her heart thudding against her ribs so hard it almost hurt.

He kissed me.

After what felt like an eternity, he pulled back, and she saw all his earlier confidence disappear. His shoulders slumped, and his gaze dropped away from her.

He tried to take a step back, “I…sorry, I…uhhh…” he rubbed his shoulder, awkward and fidgety again.

She wouldn’t let him retreat. Not this time.

Grabbing the front of his tunic with one hand and cupping his face with the other, she pulled him back in and kissed him again, this time with certainty, urgency, joy.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was right. Fierce. A battle cry. A victory song. It was everything they hadn’t said until now and everything they’d been too scared to admit.

She lost herself in it; his warmth, his closeness, the rush of it all.

Their first kiss after the first flight had been like a soft breath, light and fleeting.

The second, after he woke from the Red Death, had been a whisper, gentle, promising something more.

But this kiss?

This was a declaration. A roar. A promise shouted across every distance they'd ever kept between them. And as her heart threatened to fly out of her chest when she felt Hiccup press himself against her, her head finally stopped buzzing from the excitement to allow her one, coherent thought through the hazy ecstasy.

Finally.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, Hiccup still wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. But he didn’t let go of her hand, either.

She saw him swallow, looking up at her nervously, “I…uh…I wasn’t sure if you really liked me.”

She wanted to hit him on the shoulder for being so oblivious, but it felt wrong somehow. “Hiccup, I don’t fall asleep on just anyone’s shoulder. And I definitely don’t go around handing out hugs. Did you ever notice that? The only person I’ve ever done those things with…was you.”

“I mean…no, but I just…” He inhaled through his nose and looked up at her, “Astrid, we weren’t friends growing up. You never really paid much attention to me outside of needing your axe sharpened or fixed, so I guess I just didn’t…I didn’t know what you did for friends or for…I wasn’t sure if I was reading into things too much. I didn’t want to guess wrong and push you away or…and then I was afraid I’d said too much after the whole hexe thing and that I might’ve been reading too much into what you said and—" He trailed off, letting go of her hand and trying to turn away.

She didn’t let him, once again bringing a hand up and gently grabbing him by the chin, turning him to look at her.

She took a second to look down into his eyes, hoping he saw all the guilt and sorrow she felt for all the years she’d spent ignoring him, writing him off like the others did, disregarding his ideas and thinking he was less than a Viking. She felt terrible and couldn’t blame him for being confused or doubting her.

She’d been wrong. So wrong. And she wanted him to know it, without question.

You have to tell him how you feel. How you really feel.

“I get it. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For everything. For how I treated you, for how I didn’t even try to get to know you or try to include you in anything. But Hiccup, I like you. A lot. As…well, more than a friend, you know?”

“I—uhh—”

“I like you,” she said again, slower this time. “Just as you are. You’re smart, funny, you’re a great listener, you treat me like I’m more than just a pretty face and you just…Look, I’d love nothing more than to go back in time and kick my younger self’s ass for not trying to know you better. Because now it feels like I missed out. I missed out on so much. You could—no, you should’ve had someone, a friend when you were growing up or someone to help you when you were—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a sheepish laugh, bringing a smile to her face, “I’m pretty sure I’m still the same awkward troublemaker I was when we left. You didn’t miss much.”

She sighed, “Good. Because I’d hate to miss anything new.”

He raised an eyebrow teasingly, more confident, “Oh, so you’re sticking around?”

She felt herself flush, her voice catching in her throat, “I’d like to. Would you?”

She hoped the implication was clear in her question. She hoped he understood what she was really asking.

He smiled, his cheeks turning red, “I think I’d like that, Astrid,” he said softly, almost whispering.

Astrid never knew she could love the way someone said her name before. Almost giddy, she gave him a quick hug, then leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, ecstatic to be able to just do that. Every small touch made the fire inside her burn hotter, but she wasn’t in a hurry. They had time now. This wasn’t Berk. There was no rush.

“What—uh, do we tell the others?”

Her smile faltered. Shit, I hadn’t thought about that. “Do you think we should?”

“No,” his answer was too quick, but he seemed to sense it and quickly elaborated, “I don’t want to make things…awkward in the camp. Besides, it’s still new, and we don’t have to tell them right away, right?”

“Right.” It made sense and it was reasonable. “It’s all so new, and we should just keep it between us right now, right?”

“Right! We can’t take a chance doing anything different, you know?” He smirked, “But we’ll tell them eventually, right?”

She nodded, giving his hand a squeeze, still a little giddy that she could do that now. She could hold his hand. She could be with him like this.

With fingers laced and hearts a little lighter, they started walking again through the winding streets, Hiccup occasionally testing out clumsy Frankish phrases under his breath while Astrid admired the largest churches.

As they passed the Cathédrale Saint-Étienne, Astrid nudged him lightly with her shoulder.

“You never answered my question, you know.”

He blinked, mid-mumble of some phrase she didn’t recognize. “What question?”

She tilted her head, amused. “What I am to you. You dodged it earlier.”

They crossed one of the bridges, the Seine flowing quietly beneath them, as he mulled over her words. He seemed distracted, like his thoughts had wandered far ahead of his feet, but eventually he turned toward her, eyes soft.

“How about…uhm—I don’t know, you’re…something?” he offered.

Astrid smirked. “That’s vague,” she teased. “Afraid to put a label on it?”

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Well, should we? Is the great Astrid Hofferson still concerned with tradition and rules?”

“Ha! I think I stopped caring about tradition and rules when I started riding a dragon.”

“Fair point.” He grinned, shoulders relaxing. “Alright then. How about for now we’re…more than friends? An item? A thing?”

“More than friends,” she repeated, trying it out. It sounded strange and perfect all at once. “Kinda has a nice ring to it. For now, at least.”

She elbowed him gently in the ribs, and they shared a smile together.

Whatever this was, wherever it went, it felt right. She trusted him, and she knew he trusted her. Hiccup was her best friend, the person she could always rely on, and she couldn’t help but smile now they were something more than that.

She knew eventually they’d be something official, but for now, just being able to kiss him was more than enough for Astrid.

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, Present

They made the long flight back to the Edge in complete silence.

Her face stung from the cold, but she didn’t care enough to put her visor down. If anything, the pain from the freezing wind was refreshing. It stopped the tears from flowing.

When they landed, Astrid didn’t speak to anyone. She couldn’t.

What would she say?

That she and Hiccup failed the mission, got discovered and fought the people they’d grown up with? That the island had turned against them more than they’d thought? That they weren’t just viewed as traitors, but monsters only fit to be killed?

She’d seen so many faces of people she’d grown up with, fellow Berkians whose names she still knew to this day. Most of them hadn’t changed and looked only slightly older than the versions left behind when Astrid left.

She could still remember their voices, their war cries, and all kinds of things about them.

And they’d seen her, too. But they didn’t see Astrid Hofferson. They saw a monster.

And Gunnar…

Her little brother. The boy who used to run barefoot through the snow just to catch up with her. The boy who used to sneak into the smithy and steal wood to make swords and axes like hers. The boy who used to fall asleep against her shoulder during long nights by the hearth.

The boy she helped raise because both her parents were full-time warriors. The boy who idolized her and wanted to be a warrior just like her. Who wanted to bring honor back to the family name and help kill the Flightmare to avenge Uncle Finn.

He was only twelve when she left, small and still with baby fat on his cheeks, with childish clumsiness but a determination that was pure Hofferson.

But he had changed.

He wasn’t the boy she left behind. He was taller now, stronger. Quicker. The sharp-eyed kid with a wooden sword had become a young man with an axe, who moved like he knew exactly how to kill.

He looked at her like he meant to.

And he hates you.

The thought pierced her like an arrow, deep and cutting. She tried to shake it off as she grabbed her spare axes from her old hut, ignoring the questions of the rest of the Riders.

She brushed past them, only catching Hiccup’s hurt but sympathetic expression for a moment.

He nodded understandingly, but that didn’t assuage the guilt welling in her chest.

She saw the way he limped when they landed, the pained grimace with every step and the way he leaned on Toothless when they walked.

She knew stress could make his leg act up, something they’d called ‘phantom pain’ on the continent, where the body felt pain in a limb that was no longer there. She’d seen Hiccup deal with it a few times, and she knew how much it hurt him.

She wanted to go to him, to help him, to say something to make him feel better because he was suffering too, but she wasn’t in a state to help anyone.

She couldn’t even help herself.

The other riders let her go. Without a word, she headed for the grove, the same one she’d used in five years ago, where she could at least pretend she still had control.

She stopped at the edge of the clearing, dropped all but one axe at her feet, and took aim at the nearest tree.

She took a breath, relaxed her grip and threw.

She missed.

The axe thudded into the dirt beside the trunk, wide by inches. For anyone else, it might not have mattered.

But Astrid didn’t miss.

The weight of it hit harder than the throw. Her jaw locked. Her hands clenched again, harder this time.

And all she wanted was to throw something else. Anything. Everything.

She took another axe and threw, watching it land in the dirt in front of the tree.

She grabbed a third axe and threw, but it missed wide.

Each missed throw tore open something deep inside of her. Frustration flared like fire in her chest, catching on the dry kindling of every other emotion she’d been holding back: fear, grief, guilt, fury.

She stared at the tree as if it was the source of all her problems, of her brother trying to kill her and her parents thinking she was some sort of monster.

Finally, she snapped, grabbing an axe and charging at the tree, letting out a wordless cry as she ran forward.

She hacked at the tree frantically and recklessly, splinters flying with each strike, sobs escaping her throat with each breath she took.

Eventually, the tree groaned from the damage she’d done, falling to the ground in a crash that reverberated in Astrid’s bones.

But it wasn’t enough.

Hours passed, but she didn’t know how many. More trees fell, each one hacked apart with the desperation of someone trying to carve out answers that wouldn’t come. The grove looked like a young Timberjack had rampaged through it, erratic and angry.

Every axe she owned was blunted or chipped. Her muscles ached and her breath became ragged.

And still, she didn’t feel better. She felt hollow, carved out like the trees around her.

Gunnar’s voice echoed in her head, sharp as any blade. Her parents’ eyes, full of something colder than disappointment—fear.

My own brother tried to kill me and my parents think I’m a monster.

She’d expected at the very least disappointment, and anger of some kind, but not fear.

Why would they be afraid of us if all we did was take the dragons and run?

She’d left Gunnar coldly, she knew that. But it was to protect him. She couldn’t let him follow her to the ring, and she needed to push him away so he wouldn’t get hurt if Hiccup’s plan failed.

And if she hadn’t gone with Hiccup, everyone could’ve been killed on Dragon Island. Her parents, her friends’ parents, Hiccup’s dad.

There was too much at stake that day.

What if he followed them to the ring? What if he got in there with them when they were first taming their dragons? What if their plan in the Ring failed and the dragons attacked them? What if he’d gotten hurt? What if he’d been killed? What if they’d been discovered and thrown into the cells, leaving all of Berk’s warriors to die on Dragon Island?

She’d only been trying to protect him and save her parents. They were all trying to save their parents.

It had broken her heart, but at the time she thought she did the right thing. She thought she was keeping him safe, no matter how painful it was for her to just treat him so horribly. She’d lost sleep on random nights for two years thinking about that final look on his face.

Maybe that’s what pushed him away. Maybe that’s why he hates you.

Maybe it was a mistake for her to treat Gunnar so cruelly.

She could’ve told him the truth. Maybe he would’ve listened, if she’d just trusted him with what Hiccup showed her. Once upon a time they’d trusted each other with everything, and she broke that by not telling him about the dragons. About her flight with Hiccup. About their plan to fight the Red Death.

And instead, she’d thrown him in the dirt, hurting him more than she’d ever done in sparring, and she couldn’t even say goodbye.

The image of his face, eyes puffy with tears while she held too tightly on his arm, still seared into her memory five years later. She remembered every detail, every smell, every sound. Hearing him whimper like that still broke her heart.

She even remembered the image of those purple bruises on his arm, and even now she felt nauseous at the image of those bruises caused by her own hand.

She remembered crying the whole way as she ran to Hiccup’s house, only taking a second to compose herself before convincing him to come with her to the arena and rescue Toothless.

She could’ve left a letter for her parents, explaining why she did what she did. Explaining they were ending the raids and saving the island from a slow death by starvation and depopulation.

Instead, she severed that bond with her brother and left nothing for her parents.

She dropped to her knees, gripping the haft of her axe like it could anchor her. Her chest heaved as the image kept replaying in her head.

Gunnar swinging his axe, intent on killing her.

Her mother’s eyes, glassy with disbelief, screaming for them to stop.

The voice of her father begging her to lower her axe and wrestling with Gunnar to stop the fighting.

How they both had tears in their eyes as they looked at her, yet Gunnar was cold and distant.

They used to look at her with pride. With love.

Now it was like she was a beast. A monster.

As she picked up the damaged axes one by one, her mind raced, desperate to make sense of it all. She forced herself to recall everything Gunnar had said, every word and every expression.

Pain lanced through her chest as the memories returned, sharp and unrelenting. His fury, his drive to kill her, the fear in her parents’ eyes, the way they recoiled from her.

She had to know why the boy who used to follow her around, eyes full of awe, had looked at her today like she was a hated enemy and why her parents were so afraid of her.

She heard a twig snap behind her and without thinking threw an axe, her senses overriding common sense.

Toothless blasted the incoming axe with a quick plasma burst, sending it spinning harmlessly into the trees.

“Your reputation for hospitality is unmatched,” Hiccup said dryly, sitting astride Toothless.

She shot him a look that could have felled another tree.

Of course, he would get out of bed to come check on me. She loved him with all her heart but she hated how stubborn he could be. Especially when it involved the well-being of her or the other Riders.

He immediately winced, and his face changed back into the dark expression he wore flying back from Berk. “Yeah, sorry. I won’t be able to fix those axes until I get the forge running again.”

Toothless trotted closer, ever watchful, and Hiccup dismounted with a quiet groan, his movements stiff. Astrid’s frown deepened as he limped toward her.

“You should be resting in bed,” she muttered. “I can tell your leg’s bothering you.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, lowering himself carefully onto a fallen trunk. “I figured pain's pain, right? Might as well share it.  I mean, you have some, I have some. Pain shared is pain divided, right?”

She didn't have a response to that because she knew exactly what he meant.

“We didn’t talk much on the flight back,” he added after a pause. “And I wanted to check in on you.” He motioned toward her hands. “You want me to take a look?”

She followed his gaze and blinked in surprise. Her hands were torn open, raw and bloodied from swinging axes too long. She hadn’t even felt it.

Without a word, she walked over and held them out.

Hiccup took them gently, his touch careful and quiet. “I can wrap them now,” he said softly. “Or wait until you’re done with training. But I think now’s probably better.”

His fingers paused over a split in her palm, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy.

She knew he was fishing, trying to find a way to start talking about what happened because that’s what he always did. He was always there for her, and now he was here to coax it out of her.

But Astrid didn’t want to talk about it.

Not now. Maybe not ever. What happened on Berk felt like a wound she hadn’t even begun to process, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She hadn’t asked Hiccup what he’d seen, and he hadn’t asked her directly yet. It was like they both understood the damage was still too raw and fresh, and needed to be handled delicately.

Part of her wanted to leave it buried, deep and dark, where it couldn’t bleed out and hurt her more. There were too many battles ahead, too many plans to make and too many dragons and Vikings counting on them. There was no room for grief.

But she couldn’t shake the image. Gunnar, charging her with a weapon. Her parents flinching from her like she was something unholy. Their faces lit by the fire of her axe, barely any recognition in their eyes, replaced by fear.

She clenched her jaw, the cold biting at her cheeks, the wind raking through her hair with pins and needles dancing on her scalp. The sting kept her grounded.

She knew it couldn’t stay inside her forever. That kind of pain festered. It’d rot her from the inside out if she let it. And when the time came to face the Dragon Hunters, she couldn’t afford to be broken.

We still have to fight the Dragon Hunters. We still have to find out who they’re working for.

The cold wind shook her out of her trance, and she turned towards him. “I…I saw my parents. And Gunnar.” She paused when he looked up at her, unsure if she wanted to continue.

He looked up slowly, meeting her eyes with such quiet understanding it nearly unraveled her.

“Bad?” He asked softly, and she nodded.

She nodded, trying to keep her voice steady, but it cracked anyway. “Gunnar tried to kill me. And my parents…they looked at me like I wasn’t even their daughter anymore. Like I was a stranger.” Her throat tightened. “Like I was dangerous.”

She paused, struggling to find the words. “I don’t understand. I don’t know why they hate me.”

“It was Johann,” Hiccup said, his voice was low and rough. “When I…When I saw him, Dad mentioned something about Johann telling the island about what we’d done.”

The name hit Astrid like a punch to the chest.

Johann.

Of course. He was a liar. A traitor. The poison in all of this. And no one back home knew. They still thought he was some well-meaning, trustworthy merchant. They didn’t see the blood on his hands.

She felt the anger boil hot and fierce in her chest.

He’s the one who turned them against me. Who turned our families against us.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, and she made a silent promise: He will pay for this. I’ll make sure of it.

Hiccup’s voice broke through again, softer this time. “Dad was…angry, too. But worse than that…he looked afraid of me.” He shook his head, blinking hard. “I was ready for yelling and for disappointment, but not that. Not…that.”

“I know what that feels like,” she whispered.

“We’ll find a way to fix this, Astrid.”

“How?” She turned towards him, and she felt the tears creeping into her eyes again, “Hiccup, they hate us. My brother tried to kill me! My parents couldn’t even look at me!”

“I know, Astrid,” he said, using the same voice he used to calm angry dragons, “But we’ll find a way. I promise.”

Somehow, Hiccup always delivered on his promises, and that simple fact helped her find a little bit of calm in the storm.

She sat beside him slowly, taking his hand without hesitation and leaning into his side. His shoulder was tense under her touch, but he didn’t pull away. They sat there together, two people bleeding from invisible wounds, and Hiccup wrapped an arm around her, leaning his head down onto hers.

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall, and took comfort in him, his touch and the knowledge she wasn’t suffering alone. She didn’t have to be a vault with him, not like when she was younger. She had him, someone she could sob and cry in front of and he wouldn’t think less of her.

She could just open herself up and pour out her grief, and he’d soak it up like a sponge because that’s what they did for one another. He was always there for her, and she was always there for him.

The fire inside her wouldn’t die down—not the pain, not the fury—but this moment gave her just enough air to breathe through it.

After a few minutes, she pulled back, wiping her eyes, and stood, pacing to try and shake off the weight.

“We need a plan,” she said finally. “We need to find a way to show Berk we’re not the villains here. I know the mission is  about the dragons, but—”

“I’m already working on it,” Hiccup said, his voice laced with quiet conviction. When she looked back, he was smiling just barely. “Berk’s not the mission, but it could be the turning point. If we get them on our side, we get stronger allies. We get a chance at bringing in more tribes, and maybe even getting more Dragon Riders.”

She exhaled, part in relief, part in worry. “So, what’s the plan?”

“First…” He pushed himself up, and she rushed to steady him, slipping an arm around his waist before he could stumble.

He gave her a grateful look, then continued, “We find out exactly what Johann told them. Everything. We need to know what he said so we can come up with a plan to refute everything. And I’m guessing a lot of the traders and merchants are working with him, it means we’ll need to go back to—”

“No,” Astrid said immediately. “Hiccup, we just got back—”

“I’m not saying we rush in.” He smiled tiredly. “We wait a week. Let things settle. Then we go back quietly. Sneak in. Gobber can—”

“Gobber won’t just let us—”

“He’ll listen to me, Astrid.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“Astrid, do you trust me?”

The words hung in the air, and she hated that he was asking. Of course she trusted him. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was watching the person she loved walk straight into a fire and feeling powerless to stop it.

“You know I do,” she said. “But this? This is insane.”

He gave her a crooked, exhausted smile. “Most of my ideas are.”

“This is worse than insane,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes planting her hands on her hips. “There has to be another way.”

“Maybe,” he said, limping toward Toothless, “but we’ve got a week to find it. Otherwise, I’m going back to Berk.”

She watched him with a mix of dread and admiration.

He was hurting, just like her, trying to bury his feelings and his pain with work, like he’d done before. But he wasn’t backing down.

And neither would she.

Chapter Text

-0-

Duchy of Swabia, East Francia, 15 months since leaving Berk

Snotlout took another swig of the foreign drink called beer, watching as villagers fawned over Hiccup and pretty Swabian girls batted their eyes at him.

He used to be the runt. The disappointment of the tribe. Now look at him, boyo, dining with elders and senior warriors.

He took another gulp to help drown out his dad’s voice. He finished the tankard and attempted to flag down a barmaid for another, growing more annoyed the longer it took for him to get noticed.

He’s even grown a bit since you’ve left. Meanwhile, you’ve been forgotten and overshadowed, son.

He glanced back at Hiccup, who was now shaking hands with several older men in grand fur cloaks, swords on their belts, wisdom in their grey eyes. Hiccup belonged there on the dais with them, commanding respect, being admired, and looking important.

Snotlout hated to admit it, but he was jealous.

Of Hiccup, of all people.

And worse, he didn’t even know where he fit in anymore.

Hiccup was the leader and could build anything. Fishlegs knew everything about dragons and history. The twins could lie their way out of any situation and concoct the craziest plans known to man.

He was supposed to be the best fighter, but even that wasn’t true. Astrid was better than he was, and smarter, too.

If Snotlout couldn’t be the best warrior, what was he?

Second place is just the first loser, boyo.

“Wow, someone really pooped on your parade.” Tuffnut drunkenly goaded, “Ruff, you think we can discern our drinking friend’s dilemma?”

“Why…” Ruffnut hiccupped, “He has…a little loathsome lamenting look, like a lost little lamb left in a looming labyrinth of loneliness.”

“Why are you two talking like that?” Snotlout spat.

“Hey, hey!” Tuffnut stood up loudly and swayed, “Don’t be sour, salty and sullied to my sister! Did we do a dumb? A dastardly, disastrous, dreadfully devious dumb? Cause I’ll level with you: we do a LOT of dumbs! Dumb deeds done daily!” He stood up on the table, gazing drunkenly down at Snotlout. “But which one is it? Cause I’m grasping at ghosts, groping at the great, grand, gaping unknown like a guy grabbing at…uh…ghosts. Yeah, that one got away from me.”

He wobbled again and Fishlegs pulled him down before he fell.

Fishlegs shook his head. “I didn’t realize the twins became experts at alliteration when they had a few beers.”

“Seven.” Ruffnut muttered, before tipping her tankard into her mouth, “Eight.” She raised her hand for another round.

“Eight?” Fishlegs gaped. “We’ve barely been here an hour!”

“I know, right? Quite an achievement!” Ruffnut held a hand up to signal Tuffnut to high five, but they both missed.

“Uh-uh,” Astrid leaned over the table and took the two new tankards from the twins, “We have to be up early tomorrow. We’re leaving for Lotharingia.”

“Actually,” they all turned to see Hiccup walking towards them, “the elders offered us beds for the month as a thank you for getting rid of the hexe. So…what if we stay for a little while? They have a forge, they’re offering discounts at taverns if we feed the dragons ourselves, they seem friendly—”

Hiccup’s voice trailed off as Snotlout stopped listening.

His dad’s voice was back, clawing its way into his head.

Look at him, boyo. So skinny you could snap him like a twig, yet he commands respect. Do you? Do they listen to you? Or are you so insignificant they don’t even notice you’re there?

“—lout? Snotlout?”

Snotlout shook his head and refocused. “Huh?”

Hiccup frowned. “You okay? You looked a little green for a second.”

“Green? No! No, I wasn’t!” He scoffed, too forceful, and the others noticed.

“Stop looking at me like that!” He shoved away from the table and stormed toward the hall’s entrance.

He didn’t look back. He wouldn’t give them a chance to read him, to see him.

No one ever did. He’d spent years burying these thoughts of inadequacy, but lately they’d begun clawing their way up, desperate to break free.

He pushed through the doors angrily, shutting them with more force than necessary behind him. Outside, the cold air hit him like a wall of Zippleback gas. The sky stretched above him, clear and filled with stars. But there were no Northern Lights here. No familiar blue-green glow dancing across the heavens.

Another reminder he was out of his element.

The door creaked open behind him. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was; he could hear the clink of her spiked skirt.

“What the Hel was that about?”

“Nothing, Astrid.” He kept his eyes trained on the stars.

“That in there,” she emphasized, “was not nothing. What’s going on? Why’d you snap at Hiccup?”

He grinded his teeth and snapped to her, quick enough to startle her, “Fine! You want to know what happened there? I’m…I’m jealous! There! I said it! Snotlout Jorgenson is jealous!”

He sat in the snow, annoyed at Astrid, Hiccup and everyone else in this village. Mostly, though, he was annoyed with himself.

Why are you so jealous of Hiccup? You made his life miserable for years, why can’t you just be happy for him? He scolded himself. He made a promise to support Hiccup, and outside of the occasional disagreement and light teasing, Snotlout thought he’d done a good job of upholding his promise.

So then why was he jealous of him?

“I get it,” Astrid replied softly as she sat down in the snow next to him.

“When were you ever jealous of Hiccup, Astrid?” Snotlout scoffed.

“Really, Snotlout?” Astrid grumbled, shooting him a glare through her bangs, “You don’t remember dragon training? When I was miserable after every almost lesson?”

“To be honest, I didn’t really notice. You were always kind of quiet and…well, there’s no nice way of saying it, you were kind of a—”

“Don’t say it.” Her voice was sharp enough to slice through steel.

He gulped. “Right, got it. Not saying it. Anyway, I don’t know, I just…didn’t notice. You didn’t seem all that different from how you usually were. All quiet and broody and edgy.”

Astrid exhaled, her breath curling in the frigid air. “I trained my whole life to be the best. To be the dragon killer. And then Hiccup shows up and after two lessons has the dragons rolling on the ground or running back to the cages. I thought he was taking my one chance at greatness from me. My one chance to prove that I could be the best warrior on the island, the one to bring back the Hofferson clan’s honor. I just…didn’t realize he was saving me from being a dragon killer until right before the final exam.”

She let silence reign between them, only interrupted by the cold winter wind blowing through the valley.

“I’m glad he did,” Snotlout said softly, “I don’t know what I would’ve done without Hookfang.”

“Yeah,” she acknowledged, “but I know what it’s like to be jealous.”

Snotlout was quiet for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar mountains. “I guess…I just thought I’d be better at this adventuring thing, you know? But I can’t learn languages like Hiccup and Fishlegs. I can’t cook, I can barely hunt, I’m useless at tracking, I never remember which plants or berries are poisonous—”

Astrid held her hand up, “That’s why we work as a team. Everyone has different roles.”

“But what’s my role?”

“You’re a warrior Snotlout, like me. Or maybe not. Out here, we can be whoever we want. You just have to decide who that is.”

Who do you want to be?

Snotlout wasn’t sure. Growing up, he was told he’d be a warrior, then when Hiccup’s shortcomings became apparent, his dad pushed him to be heir as well. He was always told to be a commander of the Berk Guard, or a General like his dad if he couldn’t be the heir.

He never had a chance to think about what he wanted to be.

“Thanks, Astrid,” he murmured, turning to look at her.

She smiled, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, and the sight of it all overwhelmed Snotlout’s brain.

Did she…

Maybe she did like him after all? Why else would she be smiling at him, right? This was Astrid, she never smiled!

He decided to go for the kiss. He closed his eyes and puckered his lips, inching closer to her.

Her fist hit his face with so much force he flew back onto the snow.

When he woke up, Astrid loomed over him, shaking her head and looking unimpressed.

“Misread the moment?” He groaned.

She nodded angrily, the familiar scowl back on her face, and Snotlout groaned again. “Come on, you’ve been out for a minute,” she offered a hand, “and I don’t want the others to think we did anything other than talking out here.”

He accepted the hand with a curt nod and followed her back inside, sitting down at the table where Hiccup and Fishlegs were attempting to prevent the twins from reaching beer number ten.

“What was that all about? And why do you have a black eye?” Hiccup asked, worryingly looking at Snotlout’s swollen eye.

“Oh, you know…Just a little talk with Snotlout,” Astrid cheerfully replied, taking the seat next to Hiccup.

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, Present

Snotlout sat hunched over, head in his hands, the clubhouse cloaked in a heavy silence that reminded him of a funeral.

No, this is worse than a funeral.

It had been a few hours since Hiccup and Astrid returned. The moment they landed, everyone knew something was wrong. Astrid hadn’t spoken a single word, storming past them all, grabbing her axes, and vanishing into the woods.

Hiccup needed help just to get to his hut. He was pale and trembling, gritting his teeth through a brutal bout of phantom pain.

He told them what happened when he was settled in his bed. That Stoick had looked at him like he was some monster from the depths of Hel itself. That Johann had filled the island with stories, although he didn’t know what the stories themselves explicitly were. He told them how he’d been forced to use Flightmare mist on his own father. That he and Astrid had fought off Berkians, and people they once called neighbors had tried to kill them.

It sickened Snotlout, and only enflamed his hatred towards Johann, Viggo, Krogan and all the Dragon Hunters.

A few years ago, that burning hatred might’ve driven Snotlout to fly all the way back to Holmgård and torch anything related to Dragon Hunters. He would’ve even called it a victory.

But Snotlout wasn’t the same person he was a few years ago.

A few years ago, he was still a hothead who had trouble listening to orders, who was jealous of Hiccup’s authority and how easily Astrid took on the role of the second-in-command. That Snotlout was still a boy who thought the loudest should lead, that boldness in everything was good, and thought glory and respect were the same thing.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

Snotlout grew up, recognized his place in the Riders and owned it. He was part of something greater than himself and needed to be better than he used to be, not only for Hookfang and the other Riders, but for all dragons threatened by Hunters. He was a great warrior and could be a leader, but he was doing so on his own terms.

Sure, Berk’s reaction hurt him, but that wasn’t the mission.

Regardless of how Berk dealt with their return, they weren’t here for Berk alone.

They were here to protect the dragons, all the dragons in the Archipelago, and they needed allies to help them. Allies like the Wingmaidens and the Defenders of the Wing, who needed to know what was coming.

Still, he didn’t want to move.

He kept thinking about his parents.

What did his parents think of Johann’s stories? Did they believe them? If he went to Berk, would they look at him the way Stoick, Ingrid and Ulric looked at Hiccup and Astrid?

Did they still hate him for running off with the others five years ago and sullying the Jorgenson name? Would his father berate like he always did when he messed up, or would it be one of those times when he wouldn’t even bother?

He couldn’t think about this anymore. Thinking about these kinds of things would only hurt morale, as Astrid always said following a tough battle, and they had work to do.

You’ve got to get them up and moving. You’re at war, and the Dragon Hunters will be here in force when winter ends. You need allies now.

Lifting his head, he glanced around.

Tuffnut and Ruffnut were slumped in their chairs, dazed and mute, lamenting the situation in uncharacteristic silence.

Fishlegs pressed his forehead against the table, while Heather stood behind him, hand gently resting on his shoulder. She’d tried to talk to him, but Fishlegs hadn’t said a word, probably lost in his head calculating the odds Berk would try to kill them all.

Normally, when Astrid and Hiccup were on a separate mission, the rest of them knew their tasks and could carry them out. Normally, they wouldn’t need to be told what to do.

But the past several hours had been anything but normal.

Forcing himself to stand up, he cleared his throat, getting the attention of the other riders.

“I know this sucks,” he cleared his throat again, trying to dispel the nerves, “but we still have a job to do. We still have to warn—”

“What’s the point?” Tuffnut grumbled, eyes stuck on the ceiling, and Ruffnut slowly nodded her head, “Hiccup is bedridden with his leg, and Astrid has half the forest to kill. Berk hates us, our own parents hate us and we—”

Snotlout cut in, filling his voice with all the authority he could muster, “We still have a mission to do. Hiccup and Astrid just got back from theirs, and now it’s our turn. Come on guys, the Dragon Riders are more than just Hiccup and Astrid. We’re all Dragon Riders.”

That seemed to have some sort of effect on the other riders, who sat up a little straighter.

Feeling encouraged, Snotlout continued, his voice a little stronger, “Alright, here’s what I’m thinking: Heather and I go to Wingmaiden Island, while Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut go to Defenders of the Wing. What do we think?”

“Why do I have to go to Wingmaiden Island with you?” Heather challenged, not entirely nicely, and Snotlout flinched a little.

“No, he has a point,” Fishlegs spoke up, “The Wingmaidens are…familiar with Snotlout, and they’re a matriarchal society dedicated to protecting Razorwhip hatchlings, hence why you and Windshear need to go. They would trust Windshear if they saw her on the horizon. You two going are our best shot with them.”

Heather looked towards Fishlegs, arching a dark eyebrow. “Really?”

Snotlout nodded, “Yes, Windshear will get their attention, and when they see me, they’ll know we’re not enemies.”

Ruffnut snorted. “Or they’ll see that caterpillar on your lip and fly away screaming.” The twins cackled, but Snotlout continued, somewhat relieved the twins had a little more life in them.

“And since I know you’ll ask, Fishlegs needs to go to Defenders of the Wing Island because of the twins.”

Fishlegs turned to Heather, “Tuffnut is obsessed with the lava pit there, and Ruffnut will probably spend most of her time flirting with Throk. If I wasn’t there, nothing would get done.”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut high fived each other at that.

Heather mulled it over and nodded, and Snotlout felt even more confident than before.

“Let’s get our dragons ready. Update your maps on the way with anything new, and if you see any new villages, mark them. We’ll compare when we get back.”

Fishlegs stood up, stretching, “Not bad, Snotlout. It’s honestly not the word idea you’ve had.”

“Yeah, way better than the one you had in Sardigna with the scultone, or the one in Milano with that tarantasio, remember?” Ruffnut cackled, almost falling out her chair in doing so.

Tuffnut stood up and stretched, “Yeah, or that one time in Miklagard—”

As much as Snotlout would love to be reminded of his less-than-stellar ideas, he interrupted them both, “Tuffnut, we can hear about it later. Right now, we need to get going!”

“On it, el capitan!” He hustled away, followed by his sister, Heather and Fishlegs.

Snotlout followed last, smiling.

Spitelout could think he was a monster all he wanted. His family could believe whatever lies Johann told them, but they still had a job to do.

-0-

Much Later

It was well past midnight by the time the others got back from Defenders of the Wing Island and Wingmaiden Island, exhausted but ecstatic. The finer details would be decided on Defenders of the Wing island in a few days, but they’d both accepted.

Both islands agreed to alliances for the sake of the dragons, and Fishlegs had the idea of training Terrible Terrors to act as messengers between the islands, like the messenger pigeons they saw in the Mediterranean.

Hiccup had to admit it was a terrific idea, and the group received it way better than his idea.

Groans filled the clubhouse the moment the words ‘return’ and ‘Berk’ came out of his mouth. Even Heather, despite not being from Berk, thought it was a bit stupid.

Come to think of it, which island is Heather from? She’s never told us and maybe they’ll be more receptive to dragons than Berk?

“They just tried to kill you, why would you want to go back?” Fishlegs sleepily inquired, his eyes barely open.

Snotlout scowled. “I don’t know even know where you get these ideas from anymore.”

Ruffnut groaned, “Honestly, this is kind of on brand for Hiccup. I mean, the only thing crazier would be all of us going back.” Her expression became mischievous, “Wait, we should totally all show up.”

“Wouldn’t that be a sight? Imagine the look on Mom’s face when we ride in on a Zippleback,” Tuffnut leered. “Or are we trying to avoid the whole terrify the island thing?”

“I think we want to avoid terrifying Berk,” Heather clarified, trying to wipe the drowsiness from her eyes.

Astrid nudged Hiccup gently in the ribs, “Told you they wouldn’t like it.”

Hiccup tried wiping the tiredness from his eyes,  “Well, we have a week to come up with something better for getting Berk on our side. Right now, it’s late, and we have work to do tomorrow with the census and mapping of nests and flight routes.”

“We also need to shore up defenses on the Edge,” Astrid continued, “so get some rest. We can compare map changes tomorrow night once everything else is done.”

They all nodded, climbing onto their dragons outside and flying back to their huts. It’d been a long day, and he decided given everything that had happened he could afford them losing a few hours of work if everyone slept in a little late.

Astrid helped him onto Toothless, who purred comfortingly at Hiccup.

“Thanks, bud. Ready for bed? Excited about that new slab?”

Toothless chuffed, and they took off for the hut, followed closely by Astrid and Stormfly.

Ten minutes later, he was resting on the bed, which Astrid and the dragons moved out of the loft so Hiccup wouldn’t have to walk up the stairs. Astrid sat at the foot of the bed, applying warm compresses to the stump and gently massaging and tapping it.

“Is it bad enough to get the mirror?” She asked, looking up at him with questioning eyes.

He chuckled, “No, not that bad. I still can’t believe that works, you know.”

He remembered when they were in Baghdad, inside that colossal, golden circular city filled with libraries, museums, laboratories, and more, so alive with knowledge and scholarship he could taste it in the air. It was amazing, and he remembered dozens of late nights with Fishlegs practicing Arabic so they could read the books, days spent shadowing physicians and engineers. The city was also filled with people from all over the east, some from lands they hadn’t visited further out east past Serkland.

It was there that he learned from a young physician named Rhazes that some amputees felt their pain lessen when a mirror was placed in such a way as to make it appear there was no missing limb at all. He’d even shown Hiccup how to construct a special box containing a mirror inside. When he put his leg in, the reflection made it appear as if he had two legs again. It’d worked, and it helped Hiccup countless times in the past two years.

And all that Rhazes asked was for a few flights on Toothless, and a chance to study the anatomy of their dragons.

And maybe he also asked for the Dragon Riders’ assistance with the mušḫuššu (Sirrush) and a few other creatures that defied Baghdad’s scientific explanation.

“If we’ve learned anything in the past day, it’s that people are easy to trick,” Astrid murmured, “whether with mirrors or stories.”

Ah.

He knew exactly what she meant.

She lifted her gaze to his, something achingly gentle in her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it, Hiccup?”

He didn’t. He never did, not when it was about him.  Not because he didn’t trust her—he did, more than anyone—but because letting her in meant opening a door he’d kept locked for too long. He liked helping with other people’s pain, not his own, since it was cleaner and simpler to look outward rather than inward. That was why he’d dragged himself out of bed hours ago to make sure Astrid was okay, even when his own chest still felt like it had been crushed in a vice and his leg like it was on fire and frozen at the same time.

Talking meant pulling those old wounds of his into the light. And Hiccup had gotten very good at shoving things into dark corners where he didn’t have to look too closely.

“Not really,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the hearth. The fire had burned low, coals glowing deep red beneath flickering tongues of flame. Shadows danced across the ceiling and walls like ghosts.

“Hey,” she said gently, and he turned toward her. Her face was soft in the firelight, glowing orange-gold, and just the sight of her like that made his heart beat a little faster. “You should talk about it. It helped me earlier, remember?”

“We didn’t really talk about it,” he said, quieter now. “Not all of it.”

She tilted her head, brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…you told me what happened with your parents and your brother. But you didn’t tell me how it felt. We kind of…skipped that part.”

Astrid averted her eyes from his, her expression unreadable. “Maybe I’m just not ready yet.”

“Astrid…”

“I’m not shutting you out,” she said quickly, curling her arms around her knees. “I just…I need time to understand what it even did to me before I can explain it. Before I can make it make sense.”

Hiccup hesitated, then rested his hand gently over hers. “I just don’t want you to pretend it doesn’t matter. I know what that looks like.”

“I’m not pretending,” she said, giving his hand a small squeeze. “I won’t let it control me. And I will tell you—just not yet. When I’m ready.”

He nodded slowly. He didn’t quite believe it—because he knew how easy it was to say those words and never follow through. But it was Astrid, and if there was one thing he trusted her to be, it was honest.

“You know that goes both ways, right?” she added, voice quiet. “You’re not exactly leading by example here.”

She’s right. You can’t ask her to be honest when you aren’t.

But he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want to say what it felt like to stand in front of the man who raised him and see fear in his eyes.

Even if the same man technically disowned him five years ago.

It was painful, remembering the way his father looked at him. How he’d reacted when Hiccup stepped forward. How they yelled at one another. He’d never yelled at his father before, and it was a feeling he didn’t enjoy.

You have to talk about it. There’s too much at stake.

“I screwed up,” he confessed, his voice cracking a little.

Her brow furrowed, and she shifted up the bed to sit beside him, her hand slipping back into his. “What do you mean?” Her voice was smooth and soft, her cerulean eyes earnestly searching his eyes, as if she was looking past every wall he’d ever put up to see his true feelings.

He stared at their joined hands for a long moment before speaking again.

“When he saw me…we started arguing. I mean, really arguing. He was furious that we—I left. And I—” He shook his head. “I didn’t explain anything. I didn’t say a word about the Dragon Hunters, or Krogan, or Viggo, or Johann—I just…I lost it. I told him I left because he never listened. And then I just kept going. Kept yelling.”

Astrid’s expression softened more. “Hiccup—"

But he wasn’t done. He wanted to get it all off his chest. The words were spilling out now, too fast to catch.

“I wasted it. The whole moment. I could’ve asked what they knew about us, what he heard, who told them to be so afraid of us. I could’ve asked what Johann told them. But instead, I argued like some angry, stupid kid, and now Berk’s afraid and we’re back to square one, and we can’t afford to anger anyone who could help us against the Dragons Hunters but I already did that and we still don’t know what Johann told them and—”

“Hiccup, you need to slow down.” She cupped his cheek, grounding him, “you can’t blame yourself for everything, ok? You dropped off the letter, right?”

He took a second to make sure he remembered, “Yeah. Yeah, yeah I set it on the table when we were arguing.”

“Do you think he’ll read it?”

Part of Hiccup—the cynical, bitter part—imagined his father tossing it into the fire without a second thought. But the other part remembered how Stoick tried to lock him up, not just to punish him, but to talk. To get answers. To listen, maybe.

That has to mean something, right?

“…Maybe,” he said. “I think so. I don’t know. That’s why I have to see Gobber. I know he’ll listen to me. Maybe I should’ve gone there first, instead of Dad. He would’ve listened. He always listened, even when I was stupid or rash or reckless or—"

“Hiccup.”

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Astrid gave a small, knowing smile. “Look,” she began slowly, “We both made mistakes last night. You argued with your dad and I fought with my brother. You should’ve focused more on the mission and I should’ve run when I had the chance. But it’s not the end of the world, right? You said so yourself, we’ll figure something out.”

He nodded, letting himself get lost in her eyes and in that reassuring half-smile on her face, letting her steadiness anchor him.

“Yeah. It’s fixable,” he reminded both himself and her, remembering his words earlier in the grove. “We’ll find a way to fix this. We’ll figure out what Johann’s stories are, find a way to show all of Berk he lied the whole time, and then we can work on introducing them to dragons.”

Her smile widened, and she leaned in to kiss him, soft and slow. His hand found her cheek without thinking, pulling her a little closer.

When she pulled back, she stood and reached up to undo the braids she always wore under her helmet.

“It’s going to be weird sleeping with pillows again, huh? On a soft mattress?”

Hiccup huffed a quiet laugh. “Nah, I don’t think so. Watch.”

He flopped back dramatically onto the mattress, his head landing on the pillow with a gentle thud.

He frowned. They’d grown used to sleeping propped up against their dragons or on moss covered logs. The pillow now felt too soft.

“…Okay, yeah. That’s weird.” He began noticing everything else in the room now.

The bed was too soft, too even. Like sleeping on a cloud that didn’t quite know how to hold him up. The whole room felt wrong, too. It was too still and too quiet, so quiet he could hear the ringing in his ears. There was no wind on his face, no rustling leaves or star-swept sky overhead. Just walls and stale air. Four corners and no escape.

Even the cave in Eysýsla was better than this, filled with the strange noises of cave-dwelling creatures and cool air wafting through the tunnels.

He sat up, unease prickling at his skin.

“Wanna sleep outside tonight?” he asked, reaching for his prosthetic.

Astrid had already turned toward the door, her armor removed and wearing her normal tunic and leggings. “Gods, yes. I was hoping you’d ask.”

They bedded down on the soft grass by the treeline, away from their huts. He noticed the others were doing the same thing spread out over the Edge, and wondered how long it would take all of them to sleep in their beds like normal people again.

Gods, we truly are adventurers, aren’t we?

Stormfly lay close by, her wings tucked in and head nuzzling Astrid. Toothless laid curled around him, right next to his head. The two dragons formed a circle of warmth, countering the cold, winter night. As long as it didn’t snow, Hiccup knew they would be fine.

Astrid laid with one arm slung across his waist, her breathing deep and even ever since she laid her head down and pulled that blanket across them.

The ground was uneven beneath him, the grass damp with dew. Far off owls hooted in the night, and the insects played their nighttime melody. The wind rustled the trees just enough to fill the silence. The vast night sky, full of an untold number of stars, comforted him almost as much as Astrid’s arm around his waist, and he could see the familiar glow of the Northern Lights above, as if welcoming them all home.

It was nearly perfect.

And still, he couldn’t sleep.

His mind replayed the interactions, the image of his father's face, the shouting, the moment Stoick stepped back like he didn’t recognize the man in front of him. The crowd. Their eyes.

He shifted slightly, careful not to wake Astrid, and looked over at Toothless.

The dragon was awake, pupils dilated in the dark, watching him with quiet intelligence. He gave a soft trill when their eyes met, tilting his head.

“I’m fine,” Hiccup whispered. “Just thinking.”

Toothless blinked slowly, letting out a small chuff.

His words felt small in the night air, like they didn’t belong to someone who’d once stood against mythical beasts, creatures of legends, warlords, armies and Dragon Hunters.

But that’s what made it worse, wasn’t it? He could face his enemies just fine; he’d done it for years.

But this? Seeing fear in the eyes of his own people—his own father—was something else entirely.

“I didn’t think that would hurt as much as it did. He looked at me like I was a stranger,” he said, voice low, just for Toothless. “Like I was dangerous.”

Toothless crept closer, resting his head beside Hiccup’s. The warmth helped. It always helped.

“I messed it up,” he murmured, voice barely above the wind. “Last night. I could’ve told them everything. About Johann. About the Hunters. The truth.”

Toothless shifted closer, purring deep in his throat and blinking slowly.

“But I did,” Hiccup insisted, “I messed up. I…He was scared of me, Toothless, I saw it in the way he held his axe.” The image was burned in his head. Hiccup hadn’t expected a warm welcome when he eventually saw his father, but he hadn’t expected that.

“And…and when he got mad I let myself get mad, too. Even though the raids stopped, he still thinks dragons are just killers. Then he said that you took me, as if I didn’t have any choice in the matter, and I just…I lost it, Toothless.”

Toothless trilled softly, pushing his snout into Hiccup’s shoulder, and Hiccup put a hand on the purring dragon’s head.

“I told him I chose to leave. I told him it was because he wouldn’t listen to me. And then he started yelling and I started yelling and it just…”

Toothless trilled again, pushing his snout harder against Hiccup, green eyes looking up at him with sadness and empathy.

“I wasted the whole moment. I didn’t say a word about Johann being a traitor. I just…argued. Like some dumb, stubborn kid who wanted to win a fight with his dad.”

Beside him, Astrid shifted slightly in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. Her hand brushed across his chest, seeking warmth, and he caught it, squeezing gently before wrapping his arm around her shoulder, his heart skipping a beat as he felt her soft breath on his shoulder.

He turned his head, looking up at the stars again, eyes glassy.

“I was angry. I saw the fear in his face, and it hurt so much I couldn’t think. I didn’t want to feel it, so I fought back. I pushed. I gave him every reason to be afraid of me, and I hate it. I hate that I did that.”

Toothless scooted closer again, laying his chin on Hiccup’s lap, and Hiccup brought his left hand down to rest on his best friend’s head.

Left arm for Toothless, right arm for Astrid, he thought with a small smile. The two people he loved most in the whole world.

His best friend, his scaly brother and the woman he loved, the woman he’d given his heart to.

“Astrid told me it wasn’t my fault,” he whispered, looking down at Toothless. “And maybe it’s not all on me. But I had a choice at that moment. I could’ve done better. I was supposed to be better.”

Toothless trilled softly, his green eyes speaking volumes.

Hiccup went quiet, looking back up at the night sky, taking in the familiar sight of the stars and the Northern Lights. He’d missed sleeping under the stars when they were in Eysýsla, stuck in the cave. He wasn’t claustrophobic, but there was something about sleeping in a cave that made him uncomfortable, and it took him a while to get used to it.

But the best nights, without question, were the ones spent beneath the open sky of the steppe. There, among clans as untethered and wind worn as they were, they found a kind of freedom that no city, kingdom or empire, however vast, could offer. The land felt infinite and unbroken, a boundless sea of golden grass that rippled like waves under the touch of the wind, stretching far beyond the edge of sight until it disappeared into the meeting of the earth and the heavens.

At night, the heavens unfurled above them in breathtaking splendor. The stars seemed closer and brighter there, like lanterns hung low by the gods themselves, and the moon bathed the world in silver light so bright and unimpeded there was almost never a need to carry a torch. The air was crisp and full of scents: wildflowers crushed underfoot, smoke from campfires, and the earthy musk of horses and dragons alike. Rivers snaked through the steppe, their waters teeming with fish, offering food not just for them, but for their dragons who dove and splashed with the joy of unrestrained life.

Out on the steppes, the world felt immeasurably wide, and the sky didn’t just sit above them, it wrapped around them like a cloak. With their dragons, they soared higher and faster in those skies, wings spread wide, chasing clouds and stars with unchained abandon. There was no place to be, no walls to press in, only the rhythm of hooves, the crackle of the fire, and the endless dance of wind through the grass.

A cold winter breeze blew his hair to the other side, but between Astrid and two dragons, he couldn’t feel the chill at all.

The air tasted cleaner here than in Eysýsla, and he watched his breath curl like smoke with every exhale, losing himself in the almost hypnotic way it flew forth, like a breath from an Ashwyrm in the southern mountains of East Francia.

Something he never would’ve known if he stayed on Berk. Another item on a long list of things he would’ve never seen or known about had he stayed on Berk.

What else would’ve changed if you never left? If you never shot Toothless down?

He imagined himself working in the forge, trying to prove he was still worthy of being his father’s son, while Astrid formally became a shieldmaiden, a weapon honed for killing dragons. Fishlegs would be unhappy in the Berk Guard, Snotlout would still be chasing after his father's approval, and the twins would either be exiled or rotting in the stocks for one prank too many.

Back then, he thought Berk was the whole world. It wasn’t until he left with the others that he realized how much bigger everything truly was.

They’d seen the world from dragonback, and along the way found out who they truly were. He was more of a leader than he ever thought, Astrid discovered she didn’t want to be just a warrior for her whole life. Fishlegs threw himself into learning everything about the world they could get their hands on, Snotlout discovered he didn’t have to live in the shadow of his father while Ruffnut and Tuffnut learned they could apply their unique, chaotic creativity into something more than just mischief.

Their dragons gave them more than just flight; they gave them the independence to find out who they really were. The freedom to be who they were always meant to be.

“Toothless,” he said, still looking at the stars, “thank you. For everything. I don’t tell you that enough, bud. You’re…well, I don’t regret a single thing we did. Leaving was the right thing to do.”

Toothless hummed, making a soft sound of agreement.

“We’ll figure this out, bud. I promise. We’ll show them dragons are more than they ever possibly thought. I—We owe you all that much at least.”

Hiccup turned his head to look at Astrid sleeping beside him, her features calm, her breathing deep and even. She looked so peaceful, like she hadn’t just been through hell the night before or this morning.

Like she still believed in him.

Of course, she believes in you, you idiot. She always has, since the moment you showed her the sky and she touched the clouds.

“I want to be the leader she sees when she looks at me,” he said softly. “Not whatever I was last night. Angry, hurt and distracted. I need to be better and more focused, you know? We’re at war, and the dragons of the Archipelago are depending on us. I need to concentrate on the war, not get hung up on what happened five years ago.”

The thought of what would happen if he failed hollowed him out.

He and Fishlegs found the dragons migrated away from danger, and most of the dragons they freed from the Dragon Hunters in the east and north moved west. If Fishlegs was right, the Archipelago was now full of dragons, all seeking sanctuary in an area already filled with dragon-hating Vikings.

If he failed to stop Viggo, Krogan and Johann, as well as their yet-unknown overlord, he wouldn’t just pay the price of failure. It would be Toothless, Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Heather, Stormfly, Meatlug, Hookfang, Barf, Belch, and Windshear.

The whole Archipelago, along with all its dragons, would suffer under the Dragon Hunters.

And who knew where they would turn their sights next.

Toothless shifted closer, pressing his warm side against Hiccup’s. His green eyes blinked up at Hiccup, steadying and searching.

It was the same look Toothless had given him in the cove all those years ago. Back when Hiccup should have been afraid but closed his eyes and held his hand out, trusting a dragon. Back when the divide between dragon and human should have been too great to cross. But in that moment, Toothless saw who Hiccup really was, not what he was trying to be. And he hadn’t turned away.

Astrid had done it too. After that first flight, after they landed and calmed down enough after seeing the Red Death, she’d looked at him not with awe or admiration, but with quiet, startled appreciation. She looked at him like something inside her had clicked into place, like she’d finally seen the real Hiccup, not the Hiccup the rest of the village always saw. And it hadn’t scared her off.

Only two souls in the world had ever looked at him like that, like they saw who he was and everything he could be. And both of them were with him now.

Toothless closed his eyes and pushed his nose softly into Hiccup’s shoulder, trilling softly as if making a promise.

'You're not alone in this fight. You have me and you have her. We’ll always be there for you.'

“Thank you, bud.” He laid a hand on Toothless’ snout, as gently as the first time he did it five years ago.

The weight of everything ahead of them still sat heavy in his chest, but it felt more bearable now. With Toothless nuzzling him and Astrid’s steady breathing on his shoulder, the burden was not as crushing as earlier in the day.

Hiccup knew they made mistakes last night, both he and Astrid, but there was still time to fix things. Still a path forward. Narrow, maybe, and uphill, but not impossible.

He knew what he had to do.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

Despite the heavy clouds the day before, the snowfall had amounted to little more than thin dust, just enough to crunch beneath Stoick’s boots as he trudged through the village in the pale winter morning light. The air was sharp with cold, his breath curling like smoke with each step, but the stillness of winter kept most of the village indoors or silently moving toward the docks.

It was early, far too early for idle conversation or casual encounters, the first rays of light only just coming above the horizon. Most folk awake were working the docks, occupied with the same winter routine they’d followed for years now: digging boats free from the ice and trying their luck at the fishing grounds, even if the urgency had faded with the end of the raids that had once haunted their skies. Raids ordered by a large, monstrous dragon shrouded in a volcano on Dragon Island.

The Red Death, Hiccup called it in his letter.

Stoick had read those words more times than he could count. He’d sat by the hearth well into the night, the flickering firelight casting shadows on the parchment as he read it again and again until he could recite every word from memory. At the bottom, in that unmistakable scrawl, his son had asked him to burn the letter once he’d read it.

But Stoick hadn’t. Couldn’t.

Not while Hiccup was still out there, somewhere beyond the reach of Berk’s shores. The letter, folded and carefully hidden, was the only physical proof he had that his boy was alive and not the traitor or monster the world had painted him as.

As he reached the smithy, he gave a firm knock on the stall door. Inside, he heard a clatter of tools and a familiar voice shout, “Hold on! Be right there!”

A few moments later, the door creaked open and Gobber’s soot-smeared face appeared, offering a weary but genuine smile.

“I read it, Gobber,” Stoick said.

Gobber didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Stoick by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door quickly behind them. “Good. Ingrid and Ulric are already here,” he muttered, casting a quick glance toward the windows before double-checking the shutters were tightly closed. The warmth of the forge pushed back the chill as Stoick stepped into the center of the smithy.

Ingrid and Ulric sat on stools near the furnace, their expressions tense and unreadable, their eyes fixed on the floor as if hoping it would yield answers. When they noticed him, both stood abruptly, nerves twitching beneath their practiced calm.

“Did you read the letter?” Ingrid asked, her voice low but edged with urgency.

“Aye,” Stoick replied, nodding as he pulled a stool closer and sat down in front of them. “Did Astrid’s mention the Red Death controlling the raids? That they killed it and left to protect their dragons?”

“It did,” Ulric nodded, “And did Hiccup’s mention they came back to protect the dragons from Dragon Hunters? To protect the Archipelago from a warlord who wants to take it over?”

“Aye,” Stoick nodded again, his brow furrowing. “Then we’ve all been told the same story, more or less.”

Ingrid shifted closer, leaning in and spoke softly, cautiously, “Astrid’s letter also mentioned Johann betraying them while they were in the east. It said he was working with the warlord who wanted to invade the Archipelago. Did Hiccup’s letter say the same?”

That same heavy knot twisted in Stoick’s gut, the one that had kept him awake half the night. “Aye. Said Johann sold them out, and he’s working against us.”

The words hung in the air like a thunderstorm. A shadow passed over Ulric’s face and Ingrid’s jaw tensed. Neither spoke at first.

But Stoick knew what they were thinking. He’d made the same realization last night.

“Do you…Do you think Johann lied about it all? About everything he told us about them?”

He wasn’t used to Ingrid’s voice sounding so small, so timid without all the authority and hardness years of battle had given her. The fragility of her tone was as startling to him as her husband’s uncharacteristic silence. Ulric couldn’t even look up, his gaze locked in on the dirt and soot between his shoes.

Stoick couldn’t bring himself to answer Ingrid, dropping his head with a shame he hadn’t ever experienced.

To speak it aloud would make it real, it would mean acknowledging every story, every cruel whisper Johann fed them about his own son.

His Hiccup. His own boy, who he believed was a monster.

Not even the heat from the forge could warm the chill descending over him as he remembered all the heinous acts Johann said the Dragon Riders committed. All the cruel and despicable actions carried out in the name of foreign, draconic gods. How their minds were twisted by draconic magic and made into thralls of the very dragons they freed. How they’d become shadows of themselves in the service of death and destruction, traitorous in every sense of the word.

How they’d not only abandoned their families, their island and their heritage, but their humanity.

It was all a pack of lies.

All of it, every chilling accusation had slithered into Stoick’s heart, where doubt had taken root. And even if he hadn’t believed the worst of it…he had believed enough.

Enough of it to instill within him a fear of his own son, to darken happy memories and cloud his judgement.

Enough to doubt bedtime stories filled with dragons and heroic warriors. Enough to question the memories of laughter and late-night talks. Of inventions at the dinner table. Of quiet stubbornness and boundless compassion. Of ceaseless longing to be seen as a Viking, just like his father was.

When he saw Hiccup that night, it wasn’t joy or happiness that won the race, it was fear and anger.

And Stoick hated himself for it.

I looked at my own son and all I could see was a monster, not the boy I raised for fifteen years. A monster, and I let someone else put that image there.

It wouldn’t happen again.

“I think so,” Stoick finally said, forcing himself to look up at Ingrid, Ulric and Gobber. “If what Hiccup said about Johann working against the Archipelago is true, then we assume everything Johann said was a lie.”

Ingrid nodded, her eyes becoming teary and she looked around the smithy, as if trying to hide her watery eyes.

Gobber nodded with conviction, “I agree. I always thought those stories were a bit too much. Nothing like how I remembered Hiccup.”

Ulric, however, didn’t seem to share the same idea.

“What if they were brainwashed?” Ulric muttered dejectedly, still looking down at the floor, “What if it’s not just lies? What if there’s something worse out there, something like this…Red Death, only stronger? Controlling them? Or what if the Night Fury is controlling them? Like the Red Death controlled the dragons, only now…whatever this is, it controls people too.”

Gobber scoffed, but Stoick didn’t answer right away.

Because that same thought—desperate, irrational, comforting—haunted him the night before. In the suffocating silence of his home the night before, after the fire had gone cold and only embers crackled faintly in the hearth, he’d clutched that letter in both hands and whispered that same fear to the dark.

He wanted to believe it. It was cruel, but he’d wanted to believe the Night Fury had some hold over his son.

He wanted to believe that Hiccup hadn’t abandoned Berk of his own will. That the boy he raised hadn’t turned his back on everything they stood for. That his son hadn’t chosen dragons—hadn’t chosen them—after what they’d done.

After what they’d taken.

If the Night Fury had twisted him, corrupted him like the Red Death did to its swarm, then Stoick hadn’t failed. Then his boy was still in there, buried beneath enchantment or poison or sorcery. And maybe—maybe—he could be saved.

But the more he clung to that thought, the more it unraveled. The fantasy, however tempting, crumbled beneath the smallest of truths.

Why leave?

Why not stay?

Why not ruin the village from the inside?

Why not strike when Berk was weakest?

And most damning of all: If he was truly being controlled by the Night Fury, then why had Hiccup tried to show the village during his final exam that dragons could be friendly?

No, it didn’t make any sense. None of it did. Hiccup hadn’t been controlled by any dragon.

And that realization shattered something deep in Stoick's chest, a heartbreak of a severity comparable to that of his wife's death.

Because it meant Hiccup hadn’t been led astray. He’d chosen this path. He’d chosen the dragons, those same beasts that had killed Valka. Monsters that had taken limbs, burned homes, and turned proud warriors into ash. Monsters that had stolen everything.

He had chosen them over Berk. Over family.

And what does that say about you as a father, he'd asked himself in the depths of his despair.

“I thought that, too,” Stoick said at last, his voice like gravel dragged over stone. “Last night. For hours, I told myself maybe it was that.”

He finally looked up at the others. His voice was heavy, but certain.

“But it doesn’t hold. If some great dragon had them under its power—if it could control them—why wait five years to use them? Why leave? Why not turn them on Berk right away, when we least expected it?”

“I don’t…” Ulric stuttered, his voice cracking, fatigue showing on every inch of his face, “I don’t know. But I won’t believe Astrid did this willingly. Astrid didn’t mention anything about what they did while they were away and if Hiccup didn’t say anything either, how do we know Johann is lying? We have no evidence—”

“She is your daughter, Ulric!” Gobber shot up, pointing at the letter in Ingrid’s tight grasp, “Is that letter not enough for you?! Tell me, did Astrid look like a feral dragon worshiper when you saw her in your home?! Or did she look like your daughter?!”

Ulric stood abruptly, his stool clattering to the floor as he advanced on Gobber, the dark circles around his eyes emphasizing their vivid color, “I don’t know who she is or what she looks like anymore! They’ve been gone for five years without so much as a word, Gobber! One scrap of paper can’t make up for five years of silence! And did you even notice they didn’t want to be seen? We only caught them sneaking around because of blind luck!”

“That’s enough!” Ingrid’s voice cut through the room like a blade being drawn. She stood up, placing herself between her husband and Gobber, her gaze hard and unwavering on Ulric.

Stoick saw it then, the fire in her eyes, that same unyielding glare he’d once seen Astrid throw at Hiccup the day he won the semifinal match against the Gronckle.

“You think you’re the only one hurting, husband?” she said, her voice tight. “You’re not.”

Ulric opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak.

“I saw her too, Ulric. And it was our daughter. It was still Astrid.” Her voice cracked, just slightly. “You know it. I saw it in your face when you stopped Gunnar’s axe. I heard it in your voice. You knew it was her.”

Stoick saw how Ulric’s expression softened at that, and the warrior sighed, “I...I know. I…I just…When I saw her face, Ingrid…”

Ingrid stepped closer to him, placing a hand gently on his chest. “She’s still in there. She’s still our girl.”

Silence hung heavily in the room, and Stoick didn’t dare break it.

Ulric’s hands trembled as he lowered his gaze. “I want to believe that. I really do.”

“Then believe it,” Ingrid said, her voice solid like stone. “She needs us now, even if she can’t say it.”

“They all need us now,” Stoick said, voice low. “Maybe we can’t undo what happened. Maybe they really did turn their backs on Berk. But they still came back to warn us. They left those letters because they still hoped someone here would listen. And if there’s even a sliver of that hope left...we owe it to them to make sure they stay alive long enough to give us the truth. They’re reaching out to us, and I won’t turn my back on them, not if they need us.”

I never listened to Hiccup. Not while he was building his contraptions and trying to show he fit in. Not in the Great Hall that day after the Final Exam, not in his room the night he came home.

He begged me—begged me—to just listen. And I couldn’t do it, gods above, I couldn’t see past my own fear and my own shame.

I won’t fail him a third time.

Gobber gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Aye. And whoever these Dragon Hunters are, I’d wager they’re not just after dragons. That warlord he mentioned—”

“They’re a concern,” Stoick agreed, “but not the one breathing down our necks.” He looked at each of them in the eye. “The Dragon Hunters are a threat, but far away. There’s another problem we all face, much closer to home.”

Gobber frowned confused before the fog lifted from his face a moment later. “You mean Gunnar.”

“What about him?” Ingrid asked, worry instantly returning to her face. Ulric looked up sharply.

“You saw him at the meeting yesterday,” Stoick said, his tone gentle but grim. “If he finds them before we do—”

“He’ll kill them,” Ingrid finished, her voice catching.

Gobber’s arms folded across his chest. He absently fiddled with his hook hand, a nervous habit Stoick recognized. “And he’s not going alone. You saw how he turned the Hall. He’ll have men. Enough to man a fleet by next moon if he stirs them right.”

“Can’t you stop him, Stoick?” Ulric asked, a trace of desperation in his voice.

“I wish I could,” Stoick said. “But if I make one move that looks like I’m helping them, we turn the entire village against not just us, but the whole council. And if that happens, we lose what little control we still have. It’ll be open season on the kids, and we won’t be able to do anything.”

Ingrid narrowed her eyes. “Then what are you saying? That we sit here and do nothing?”

Stoick shook his head. “No. I’m saying we need to play it smart.”

Ulric frowned. “What are you suggesting?”

“We need to hamper our own efforts to find the kids. Do anything we can to stop them and find a way to let them know about any efforts Berk makes to capture them in advance.”

Ingrid huffed, arms folding tightly. “How? We can’t reach them. We don’t even know where they are.”

“They came here once,” Gobber said, cutting in. “They’ll come again. I’d bet my good limbs on it.”

Stoick nodded thoughtfully, then a slow grin began to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Gobber, how would you feel about giving the apprenticeship a try?”

Gobber’s eyes narrowed, “Who do you have in mind?”

“Gustav Larson.”

Gobber blinked, then barked a loud, bellyaching laugh. “Oh, ho ho ho, he’ll be perfect! The lad couldn’t make a nail without burning his tunic! The Berk Guard will be lucky to have their weapons sharpened in two weeks after I bring him back!”

“Just make sure they have enough to guard the village,” Stoick reminded his friend with a smile, “I don’t want the island defenseless…I just want the search parties spread thin. Let Gustav buy us some time.”

“What about us?” Ingrid asked, grasping at Ulric’s hand.

Stoick’s smile faded. He turned to face them directly.

“I need eyes on Gunnar. Watch his movements. Find out where he plans to search, who he’s taking with him, how soon he intends to leave. The more we know, the better chance we have to stay ahead of him.”

Ulric stiffened, his jaw working. “You realize what you’re asking us to do. You’re asking us to spy on our own son.”

“No,” Stoick said firmly, holding Ulric’s gaze. “I’m asking you to protect your daughter.”

Silence followed. The weight of it hung between them until Ulric exhaled, slow and heavy.

“We’ll do what we must,” he said at last.

Stoick gave a grateful nod. But then his voice turned grim.

“One more thing—and I need to be absolutely clear.” His gaze swept across the three of them like a drawn blade. “We are protecting the riders. Our children. But not their dragons.”

The words hit the forge like a crack of thunder.

Gobber’s smirk died on his lips. Ingrid’s fingers tightened around Ulric’s until her knuckles went white.

Stoick exhaled through his nose, the breath searing on its way out.

“We know what dragons are,” he said, low and lethal. “What they’ve done. Don’t let the faces of our children blind you to that. They might trust those beasts, but I don’t. Not for a second.”

A beat of silence. The only sound was the furnace’s low hiss.

“If one of those dragons puts a Viking in danger,” Stoick said—gravel in his throat, frost in his tone—“I expect no hesitation. If it comes to it…we do what we must.”

It tore something in him to say it. But he didn’t flinch.

Ingrid met his eyes first, calm and unyielding. “We understand,” she said. Her voice didn’t waver. “We won’t hesitate.”

Ulric nodded, jaw clenched tight. “Aye.”

But Gobber... Gobber looked at him a heartbeat longer. His mouth pressed into a grim line, and when he spoke, it was with the quiet, steady certainty of a man laying down a sword.

“Aye,” he said. “Let’s hope it never comes to that…but if it does—we’ll be ready.”

Stoick’s eyes swept over them. His friends. His allies. The people who had helped him hold Berk together through war and winter and worse.

Now they were conspirators in a silent rebellion  for the sake of their children, who the world had branded traitors.

But even as he stood among them, he felt alone.

Because part of him still screamed, still raged at his actions.

The dragons had taken everything. His wife, ripped from their home. His son, gone for five years and coming back nearly unrecognizable.  His family had been upended by dragons in one way or another.

And yet here he stood, swearing to protect Hiccup and his friends, who had chosen those monsters over their own people.

Over him.

You can’t keep losing him. You’ve already lost so much.

But this?

You can still fight for this. You can still fight for him.

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, Present

By the time Hiccup made it to the Clubhouse with Toothless, the sky had just begun to shift from gray to gold. The morning chill clung to the cliffs, but Fishlegs was already wide awake, seated amid a sea of parchment and charcoal spread out on the table.

He didn’t look up. “Morning training with Astrid cut short? Because unless you’ve developed a sudden talent for hand-to-hand combat, I know you didn’t beat her.”

“Something like that. The twins had an idea about using dummy Dragon Riders to guard the Edge whenever we’re gone and wanted to get Astrid’s opinions on the feasibility,” Hiccup grinned, entering the room and grabbing a small cauldron. “Bud?”

Toothless took the cauldron in his gums and hopped off the Clubhouse, gliding down to the small river near Fishlegs’ hut.

Hiccup watched him disappear into the morning mist before turning back to the table. Maps, charts, and fragments of scouting reports from the last night covered the surface like puzzle pieces—an evolving record of what he and Fishlegs termed the  ‘Greater Barbaric Archipelago.’

What began as a rough sketch of Hiccup’s from those early days had grown into a detailed composite of the known islands, markets, and remote territories the Riders had scouted years ago, before leaving the Archipelago for Alba.

“Need some help?” Hiccup offered, watching Fishlegs struggle a bit at piecing some of the locations together.

“Yeah,” Fishlegs sighed, setting down the two pages he had, “the maps were always more your thing. I only tried to start it for the Archipelago because no one else was up yet.”

Hiccup nodded and took a seat across from Fishlegs, grabbed a charcoal pencil, and began filling in details, whole islands, currents and settlements on the growing map. They worked in silence until the familiar thud of Toothless’ landing drew their attention. The dragon waddled in, cauldron sloshing, water spilling over the edge.

“Thanks, bud,” Hiccup said, scratching under Toothless’ chin as he took the cauldron. “Tea this morning?”

“Sure,” Fishlegs muttered, still studying an island chain along the western edge. “Herbal or leaves?”

“Leaves?” Hiccup said, eyeing their dwindling collection Fishlegs began in the east. “Figured we could use something stronger today.”

“Use the last of the blend from that kingdom in the Indus valley. That’s the strongest.”

Hiccup set the pot over the hearth and Toothless, ever the useful reptile, lit the fire with a gentle blast. He returned to their mapwork as the fire crackled and the water slowly came to a boil. Hiccup added the leaves, the fragrance of the eastern tea soon warming the space.

By the time the tea was steeped and poured, the map was nearly complete, Hiccup used Toothless’ saliva to start patching the pages together, giving the map a sort of hodge podge appearance.

Expansive didn’t even begin to describe their map.

“Not much has changed,” Hiccup noted, holding the steaming cup in one hand, eyes drifting towards the eastern edge. “I guess that’s a good thing. A few Hunter outposts, but they look too small to be holding captured dragons.”

“Except for two.” Fishlegs said, taking a sip of tea and pointing to a cluster of marks on the map. He tapped the largest outpost in the northeast with the end of his pencil. “This one is the biggest. It’s the only structure fortified enough and large enough to hold a garrison and any captured dragons.

Then he gestured further south, where fjords cut through a forest shaded in red. “This one is smaller. Might have room to hold a few dragons, but not enough space for a full garrison. I thought it could be a mercenary’s base, someone working for the Hunters, but not directly with them.”

“We should probably make the first one a priority, then,” Hiccup circled it with a quick stroke. “Might be good to take it out of commission before the rest of the Hunters arrive in force.”

“Going straight to a raid?” Astrid’s voice came from behind as she strolled into the room, hair braided and blue eyes shining. She pressed a quick kiss to Hiccup’s cheek before turning to the map. She walked to the table, planting her hands on it as she looked over the map.

“I thought we’d be scouting for a few days first,” she said, scanning the map before looking up at him with a grin, “but I like this plan better.”

“Might be smarter to hit it now,” Hiccup said, stepping beside her and placing a hand over hers. “Before they know we’re in the area.”

“Ahh, my favorite tactic. The element of surprise.” Astrid said fondly, turning to him with an arched eyebrow. “If I didn’t know any better, Hiccup, I’d say you were trying to impress me.”

“Depends,” he said with a wry smile, “Is it working?”

Her fingers curled around his hand. “Maybe…”

“Ugh, do you two have to do this right now?” Snotlout groaned as he shuffled in. “I just woke up; I don’t need this much lovey-dovey Hiccstrid in the morning. Just get a room.”

“You know, they already had a room in Miklagard,” Tuffnut chimed in, following Snotlout.

“…and I bet they were all kinds of lovey-dovey in that room together,” Ruffnut added, high fiving her brother as she stepped around him.

Astrid laughed while Hiccup flushed pink. “I hate both of you,” he muttered.

“Aww, no you don’t,” Tuffnut said, clapping him on the back.

“Yeah, we know you love us,” Ruffnut finished. “Not as much as you love Astrid, though.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Heather said, entering with a smile, moving to stand beside Fishlegs. “They’re almost as cute a pair as Hiccup and Toothless.”

Everyone laughed at that one, even Toothless.

Hiccup let out a dry, fake laugh, “Very funny. Alright, that’s enough, guys, let’s focus up. Everyone, take a few minutes to wake up and look over the map. We’ve got some work to do.”

Hiccup let everyone else grab a cup of tea and gave them a few minutes to skim the map, waiting until all eyes were on him.

“Ok,” he started, “There’s a few scattered Hunter outposts around the eastern edge of the Archipelago, nothing in the south or west. The largest…” He pointed at the circle he made earlier, “is here. It’s large enough to hold both a garrison and captured dragons. We need to take it out and deny Viggo, Krogan and Johann a base to operate out of.”

“The idea is a quick raid,” Astrid picked up the thread, planting her hands on her hips and her voice full of battle-hardened authority. “In and out, as much stealth as we can, freeing dragons and disabling ballistae, catapults and netslingers before moving in with our dragons to burn it down.”

“I’m guessing Changewing acid on the weapons, focusing on joints and loading mechanisms?” Heather asked, running her finger along the outline of the target. “How much do we have?”

“We’ll need more,” Hiccup said, “but we should have enough for this raid. Ruff, Tuff, how are we on black powder?”

“We’re down to the last few black powder satchels,” Ruffnut admitted.

“One, maybe two good blasts left if we don’t want to dilute its potential,” Tuffnut sighed. “It was beautiful while it lasted. So beautiful, so destructive, so—”

“Let’s just save it then,” Hiccup said. “Changewing acid should work fine. We only need to take out the largest weapons, and they shouldn’t have more than a few.”

“What about the rescues?” Snotlout asked. “If we just let them fly off, who’s to say they won’t be captured again when the rest of the Hunters get here? We might need to think about a sanctuary of some kind.”

“The Edge could work,” Fishlegs offered. “There’s already Nadders on the far side of the island. There’s plenty of fishing grounds and fresh water, and the Edge is big enough for several flocks. Shouldn’t be hard to integrate the rescues with them.”

“And it might be useful to have some friendly dragons that can help defend the Edge. They can act as backup,” Astrid added.

Hiccup smiled, “Then it’s settled. We’ll hit the fort tonight. It’s about six hours away, so plan on leaving right before sundown. For now, let’s get a start on with prepping the Edge. Plan on getting everything done by dinner so we have enough time to prepare.”

Everyone nodded, the room already stirring into motion as everyone broke apart, either grabbing breakfast, tea or getting a head start on the day’s work.

But Hiccup stood there, looking at the map and doing his best to commit every migration route, every island, every sandbar, every current to memory.

The edge of winter was softening. He could feel it in the air. That meant fleets of warships, merchant vessels, returning raiders and fishing boats would soon begin coming north again.

And with the fleets would come thousands of Dragon Hunters, plus whatever mercenaries and warbands they could pick up along the way.

What chance do seven Riders and their dragons have against an army? And not even a whole army, their overlord is in the North somewhere with an army of his own.

While they were in the east, they could ally with people who’d chafed against the Hunters, people who’d been trampled under their boots. Finns, Sámi, Rus, and other Slavic tribes. Not the nicest allies, but numerous enough to balance the scales if the time called for it.

So far, they’d only managed to ally with the Defenders of the Wing and the Wingmaidens. More trustworthy, but far less numerous.

Hiccup’s brow furrowed as he studied the eastern edge. The fleets would come up from the south, but they wouldn’t stop there. The uninhabited islands to the east would be prime staging grounds. Easy to seize, easy to occupy, easy to fortify. Outposts would grow into footholds. Footholds into fortresses.

And the dragons, pushed west by the Hunters, would flood into the central Archipelago, right into the heart of Viking territory.

Dragons and Vikings would slaughter each other all over again, fighting for survival while their true, common enemy sat and watched.

And in their fear, the Vikings of the Archipelago would welcome the Hunters as saviors, bringing them into their towns and villages by the thousands.

Once that happened, once the Hunters were rooted in the Archipelago, there’d be no uprooting them.

Hiccup groaned softly, dragging his hands down his face. Behind him, Toothless padded over and gave a low, inquisitive hum.

“Just thinking, bud,” Hiccup muttered. “The next few months aren’t going to be easy.”

Toothless tilted his head, green eyes flicking from Hiccup to the map. He gave a thoughtful warble.

“Oh no,” Hiccup said, smirking faintly. “Don’t pretend. I know you’re just trying to look smarter than the other dragons, bud, you don’t need to pretend. It’s just me here.”

Toothless rumbled.

“Seriously, you can’t even read. This—” he gestured to the parchment, “this is just a bunch of lines and shapes to you.”

Toothless growled in protest, tail flicking.

“You are illiterate,” Hiccup laughed. “Grumble all you want, it’s true.”

The Night Fury squinted, gave a guttural snort, and pounced, pinning Hiccup to the floor.

“Wait—no—hey!”

Hiccup fought from his back, laughing as Toothless batted at him with surprisingly soft paws. Hiccup dodged each one, remembering his training with Astrid, and countered with soft blows of his own.

“Come on! Is that the best you got? I’m not the twig I used to—oof!”

Hiccup’s words were cut off when Toothless brought a paw down onto his stomach. Hard.

Hiccup wheezed and curled in on himself, coughing, turning over and crawling away in defeat. ““Okay—fine—we’ll call it a draw—?”

Toothless raised a paw. Slowly. Menacingly.

“Ok, ok! You win, you win! You always win!”

Hiccup huffed in annoyance as Toothless chirped triumphantly, strutting off with a satisfied snort.

“Just wait ‘til dinner,” Hiccup muttered. “You’re getting cod instead of trout.”

Back at the map, he went over the islands again, with a warbling Toothless at his side, once again staring at the map.

“There’s something I don’t get, bud,” he said slowly. “Why dragons?”

He looked to Toothless, who met his gaze with a low, uneasy groan.

“Whoever this overlord is—if the stories are even half right—he already has an army of ten thousand warriors. Enough to take half the north and the Archipelago.” Hiccup’s brow furrowed as he stared at the lines on the map.

His voice dropped. “So why dragons? Why go through the trouble of trapping them, caging them, selling them? Maybe the Hunters fund his army through trade, but then…why wait? Why hasn’t he moved?”

Toothless let out a low, mournful hum, his eyes flicking toward the painted sea on the map as if it might answer.

“I know,” Hiccup said softly, reaching out to stroke his head. “Whatever he’s planning… we’ll stop him, bud. Whatever it takes.”

His gaze drifted west. To Berk.

To the place he’d—they’d turned their backs on. To the families they left behind.

Five years ago, they fled the Archipelago to protect their dragons and to protect themselves. They’d believed the people of Berk, their own kin, would never accept peace with dragons. That Vikings couldn’t change.

And maybe, back then, that was true.

But as Hiccup looked down at the shifting currents on the map, as he saw the path the conflict would take in the Archipelago, he felt something shift in him, too.

If they were going to save the dragons, stop this warlord and protect everything they loved, Viking and dragon...

Then maybe it wouldn’t be enough to stay away.

Maybe it wasn’t enough to just try to ally with Berk alone.

Maybe they needed the whole Archipelago.

They needed Vikings to accept the dragons, and more than that, maybe they needed Vikings to ride them.

-0-

Øresund, Kingdom of the Danes, Present

It was said the gods whispered to Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye through the serpent coiled in his eye. Odin’s mark, a gift or a curse depending on who told the tale.

Perhaps it’s true. For only a man touched by something beyond the veil could have turned mere water into such wealth and dominion.

As much as the Sound Dues grated on Viggo’s nerves, he had to admit it was a clever system.

Entrusted by his father before his death with dominion over Sjælland, Scania and the Øresund, Sigurd turned geography into currency, using his fleet to enforce a levy on every ship that passed through.

And merchants, desperate to avoid the bandit-ridden roads and time-consuming land routes, paid for it. A hefty toll upfront meant fewer stops, less risk, and shaved weeks off their journey.

It was brilliant.

Sigurd knew the art of squeezing purses just tight enough to make merchants wince, but not so hard they turned their boats elsewhere.

Viggo, however, did not intend to wince when it came time to pay. Every coin mattered: supplies, bribes, alliances. Krogan and Johann were unreliable, and he could count on no more aid from them, not when he was competing with them in the Archipelago.

Viggo knew from experience that in his line of work, one’s friends are just as dangerous as one’s enemies.

Betrayal never comes from one’s enemies, only from one’s friends.

No, he would make do with what he had and not rely on others.

A knock on the door pulled him from his game of Maces and Talons. Gorm, his lieutenant, stood framed in the doorway.

“Apologies, sir. A ship’s approaching flying Sigurd’s Raven Banner. But our lookout also spotted Hearthguard shields bearing the sigils of Bjorn Ironside and Ubbe Ragnarsson.”

Viggo’s brows rose. “You’re sure?”

“Aye, sir, certain as I am mortal. Saw them myself.” Gorm chuckled lightly, “Do the Sons of Ragnar think so highly of us Dragon Hunters?”

Viggo stood with a small chuckle, covering the game board carefully. “No. Sigurd thinks highly of our gold. He couldn’t care less about us.”

They stepped onto the cold deck, wind biting at their cloaks. In the distance, a ship cut through the choppy waters toward his fleet.

Gorm shivered. “Shall I bring out the payment, sir?”

“Not yet. Let’s see what kind of price storied legends ask for,” Viggo ordered. “I don’t want them to know how much we possess.”

He ordered preparations for their arrival and returned to his quarters to review his intelligence one last time.

When the three brothers boarded, wrapped in great fur pelts and clothes denoting men of power, they brought with them the weight of sagas.

Bjorn Ironside was hulking, immortal-looking, wrapped in a bear pelt said to be from a beast he strangled in the mountains of the north. His eyes were blue ice, unyielding and forged in countless battles from the Englisc kingdoms to the Mediterranean to Ruthenia. It was whispered he couldn’t be killed by any blade nor fire, that Thor himself had blessed his skin.

Ubbe Ragnarsson, calm and quiet, was said to have a seer’s patience and a sailor’s soul. The wind and waves seemed to answer him, and maps drawn by his hand were alleged to be the most accurate in all the world. They said he was favored by Njord himself, destined to tame the waters in the name of all Vikings so that their ships could forever menace the shores and riverfronts of the weak mainlanders.

And then there was Sigurd. Serpent-eyed, enigmatic, and shadowed, he was born with the image of Jörmungandr in his eye, and it was said he could see into the other realms. A devotee of Odin, he concerned himself with ruling efficiently and maintaining prosperity in his realm while at the same time supporting the endeavors of his ambitious brothers.

Viggo had seen many things in his lifetime, many strange occurrences and creatures. He believed in the gods, and many things besides. He knew the legends surrounding the Sons of Ragnar. That on their father’s death, Valkyries descended into the pit of snakes and took him to Valhalla, and Odin’s ravens informed his sons of their father’s death.

But he knew these men, for all their legends and their heritage, were still mortal, still men. Boys, even. And they could be outsmarted and outplayed by a superior opponent with proper planning, intelligence, and discipline.

Viggo played the gracious host: handshakes, flattery, compliments on their conquests and the stability of their kingdoms. They returned the courtesy, but all involved knew it was performance.

Once alone in his quarters, the pleasantries vanished.

Sigurd made the first move, voice sharp as carved obsidian. “You think the tolls should be waived or reduced. Out of…what?”

Viggo nodded slowly. “Gratitude. We’ve paid for passage for years without complaint and, I might add, during disruptions. This time, I’d ask for a modest reduction.”

Sigurd leaned back, skeptical. “Will you be returning?”

“Of course,” Viggo lied smoothly. “Just one season to trap more dragons. Then we’ll be back through these same waters—”

Ubbe cut him off. “You’re lying. You don’t know if you’re coming back.”

Bjorn chimed in. “This mysterious warlord of yours sends you to sea but gives no date for a return? Who is this man we’ve heard of so much, yet never a name?”

Sigurd raised a hand to quiet them. “If you can’t guarantee your return, why should I forfeit the higher toll? If you disappear, I lose the difference. If you pay now and return, we’ll offer the reduced rate then.”

Viggo bit back a retort. “I can assure you, whatever my master plans, we will return to Holmgård—and through your waters.”

“But when?” Sigurd pressed.

Viggo’s jaw tightened.

“Unless you leave hostages,” Sigurd continued, “you pay the full toll.”

Viggo bristled and scoffed. “And deprive myself of my best Dragon Hunters? Weaken my hand before I’ve even played? Do I look like a fool to you?”

“Peace,” Bjorn said, his voice low and threatening. “Raise your voice again, and you’ll bleed for it.”

Viggo bowed his head, offering a saccharine smile. Imagine if Ryker had shown that kind of loyalty to me. “I must apologize for raising my tone. It’s been a trying journey, attempting to catch up to the Dragon Riders.”

That got their attention. Sigurd’s brows knit, Ubbe blinked, and Bjorn’s mouth twitched with disbelief.

“You’ve heard of them, I assume?” Viggo added. “Surely Johann’s tales have reached you?”

The way they stiffened told him everything. They had heard. Johann’s lies, no doubt about that, but still effective.

“That’s why I want this toll business settled,” Viggo said, injecting urgency. “We’re chasing dangerous quarry.”

But Sigurd only shook his head. “The standard toll remains.”

Viggo studied him. Something was off. Why so adamant? Why now?

Then he remembered a report from a Jorvik merchant. A string of losses and an interruption to the conquest of the Englisc kingdoms.

A new king in Wessex.

Ah.

“And how fare your brothers’ wars?” Viggo asked casually. “I hear the Englisc aren’t so easily broken. Defeats at Englefield and Ashdown. High casualties in the armies of Ivar, Halfdan and Hvitserk. Jarl Bagsecg dead and your great alliance with other Danish jarls battered and sunk.”

Their silence was answer enough.

“I hear King Aethelred of Wessex has died. His brother—Alfred, isn’t it?—took up his mantle. Scholarly. Pious. But bold. Zealous. Courageous. Organizing armies, building fleets, reforming the kingdom, and gaining the unconditional support of the Witan.”

Sigurd shifted, and his voice was quiet. “He believes his God chose him to drive us and all Vikings from what he calls ‘England’. And he fights like it.”

Ubbe added, “He’s already taken Mercia, and rules through a puppet king. But he seeks to rule more than Mercia and Wessex. He wants all of the Englisc kingdoms.”

So. The rumors were true. A great king seeking to unite the Englisc against the Vikings, to rule over all the kingdoms on that blood-soaked island. An ambition to rival that of the Sons of Ragnar combined.

And, if the rumors were true, a man who was smart enough to pull it off.

“You’re gathering men,” Viggo said, “and money. All to return to that accursed island. That’s why you need the tolls.”

He let that sit before laying his trap.

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to your terms,” Viggo said at last, standing.

“Then you don’t sail,” Bjorn warned. “And if you try—”

“You’ll sink my fleet, yes, I know,” Viggo said, pacing. “But some of my ships will take yours down with them. And what happens when Krogan arrives? He has more ships, more men and far less patience and civility.”

It was a bluff; Viggo didn’t know when Krogan intended to arrive, as he was not ready to sail when Viggo left the ports, nor if he had more warriors or ships. However, he could see in Sigurd and Ubbe’s faces they were contemplating it. Their hesitation betrayed their doubt.

Bjorn stared daggers at him but said nothing. He was always the best warrior out of Ragnar’s sons; tall, muscular and brave, like the gods took everything that made a Viking and combined it in Bjorn.

But Viggo could see the gears turning in Sigurd’s and Ubbe’s minds. They weren’t fools, but they were cautious. Legacy-driven. They were great fighters, some of the best, but their real talents laid elsewhere.

Not, however, in cunning, strategy and tactics. No, only Ivar seemed to possess a mind like that out of all Ragnar’s sons.

If only Ivar were here, now there would be a battle of wits. The smartest of Ragnar’s sons, and he’s off chasing glory amongst the Englisc and the Eirish.

Viggo was confident in himself. He knew how to outthink and outwit people like Sigurd, Ubbe and Bjorn. He’d been doing it for years.

He continued, “The way I see it, you have a choice before you: negotiate with me in good faith and let me pass, or—I’ll be conservative—lose half your men in battle, wounded, dead or missing. Tell me, is the gold worth losing Wessex over? A measly amount of coin, when you could secure your family’s legacy as the greatest conquerors of this age?”

He paused a moment, to allow it to sink, to allow the image to form in their heads, “I mean, think about it: The Sons of Ragnar conquered not one, not two, but four kingdoms, and that could just be the start. Who knows what fates the Norns have woven for you? Is it worth losing that over some issue of payment? All those wonderful years you have ahead of you for some gold?”

He softened his tone, stepping closer. “I don’t want conflict; I only want to pass. These are ships with no cargo, so let’s reevaluate. I’ll pay a fair but lower toll, and when I return, you’ll have your gold and then some, as a token of my gratitude. I’ll even give you first pick of the dragons. After all, I’m nothing if not a man of my word. What do you say? Shall we cement your legacies in the annals of history?”

Viggo offered his hand to shake, trying to keep the smile from his face until the deal was sealed.

Sigurd hesitated for a moment, but then, looking at his brothers, nodded, standing and shaking Viggo’s hand. As he looked into Sigurd’s eye, Viggo swore he saw the snake in his eye shimmer.

“I will need some time to discuss with my brothers what price we shall offer.”

Viggo smiled and nodded graciously. The gods favored him this day, he could feel it in his bones.

As they discussed the terms, Viggo turned his attention out the window and to the horizon.

Only seven more days of sailing and we’ll arrive in the area with the highest concentration of dragons in the known world.

The plan was simple and straightforward, though it contained a small dose of calculated cruelty, but nothing Viggo couldn’t stomach. Establishing a foothold in the Archipelago was essential: a base of operations, a steady supply line secured with the neighboring tribes.

But Krogan’s earlier blunder had complicated matters. His heavy-handed call for submission at the Gathering of Chieftains some time ago had alienated the very tribes that might have joined their cause willingly.

It was a move as foolish as it was reckless. Potential allies were now wary of the Dragon Hunters, if not openly hostile.

So Viggo would take a different path. He would earn their trust first. If Johann’s spies were right, dragon raids in the Archipelago dwindled to almost nothing a few years ago. Eret’s most recent letter hinted that the Dragon Nest near Berk may have housed an Alpha, now likely dead if the raids had stopped. He didn’t have time to wait for another letter from Eret, confirming or denying the presence of an Alpha near Berk.

But whether an Alpha remained near Berk was irrelevant to Viggo. There were other ways of achieving his goals.

From Viggo’s perspective, the fire that once fueled Viking hatred of dragons had gone cold in the absence of the raids. That wouldn’t do.

He needed to make the Vikings hate dragons again; he needed them to fear dragons again.

If he wanted to align the tribes to his cause, he’d need to reignite that fury and turn those dying embers into a blazing inferno once again.

And he knew exactly which kindling to burn first.

“Well, Hiccup,” he murmured, “I hope you’re ready to resume our game.”

Chapter Text

-0-

Near Bourges, West Francia, 16 months since leaving Berk

The Viking camp across the clearing was quiet, save for the occasional clatter of armor or the drunken bellow of a song in Norse. Torchlight flickered at the edge of tents, casting long, twitching shadows across the trees. Somewhere deeper in the camp, men shouted, laughed, and roared in time with slurred drinking songs. The wild revelry echoed through the night, blending with the distant croak of frogs and rustling leaves.

The night sky was mercifully moonless, giving them just enough darkness to move unnoticed. Hiccup silently thanked whatever gods might be listening. A full moon would’ve made this impossible.

“I still can’t believe I let you all talk me into this,” he whispered angrily before looking over to Astrid, “especially you.”

She shot him one of her classic hard-eyed glares, but then her expression softened, just a little.

That’s new.

Is it because of our new…relationship?

No, not new, we’re still friends.

Friends who kiss each other when no one is looking.

But not a couple. Not exactly. Not really.

At least, I don’t think so.

Right?

“I know,” Astrid whispered back. “But we need food, Hiccup, and money. We’re running low again.”

“But it’s stealing,” he whispered, his tone sharp. “We’re stealing, Astrid.”

“Well…yes, technically,” Fishlegs murmured from behind them, nodding in agreement. “But it’s not like we’re robbing farmers. This is Jarl Hásteinn’s army. They’ve been raiding West Francia for a year straight. Plundering monasteries, burning villages—”

“It’s not like we’re not giving it back to the Franks, Fishlegs,” Hiccup hissed. “We’re just taking it for ourselves. That doesn’t make us any better.”

“I, for one, have no issue with stealing,” Ruffnut chimed in from the bushes, eyes locked greedily on the distant tents.

“So am I,” Snotlout said, his eyes narrowing at the camp like a hawk. “We just take what we need and vanish. Easy.”

“I heard from one of the camp followers that they won a big battle near Brittany,” Tuffnut whispered. “Wiped out some Frankish army and their leader.”

“They killed Robert the Strong,” Fishlegs confirmed quietly. “He was the Count of Anjou, Worms, Orléans, Tours and Blois. They say the king gave him the titles and commanded him to stop Viking raids along the coast, as well as keep Hásteinn and the Bretons from attacking Neustria.”

“Well,” Snotlout snorted with a wry smile, gesturing to the camp in front of them, “guess he didn’t do a very good job.”

Hiccup scowled, but before he could say anything, Astrid’s fist connected with Snotlout’s shoulder. Hard.

“Seriously?” she muttered, glaring at Snotlout before turning back to Hiccup and shrugging tiredly, rolling her eyes as she did so.

Snotlout rubbed his arm with a wounded look but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Hiccup exhaled slowly, glancing at the camp again.

He had to admit Astrid and Fishlegs had a point. They were low on food, lower than what they were used to, and the money was close to running out.

They got lazy in that Swabian village, spending money and earning none, and now they were paying the price for it.

And with the arrival of spring, the Vikings were once again raiding all over the mainland, so they couldn’t risk hunting and being captured or killed by wandering hunting parties.

“Fine,” Hiccup sighed, “I don’t like it, but I’ll do it. We’ll split up into teams of two and wait until they’re passed out from all the drinking.”

A few hours later, the camp was silent, and they split up, promising to meet back by the tree line when they were finished. All the dragons would be flying high above them, including Toothless with his experimental automatic tailfin, just in case.

Tuffnut, Ruffnut, Snotlout and Fishlegs were given the task of stealing valuables for money, while Hiccup decided he and Astrid should steal enough food to last them for a few days until they got somewhere to safely sell the valuables.

By the time he and Astrid slipped past the outer perimeter of the camp, most of the fires had burned down to embers.

The torch-lit noise from earlier had dissolved into the quiet grumble of snores, the occasional drunken mutter, and the low hiss of wind weaving through the canvas tents. Passed-out warriors lay half-draped over barrels or slumped against crates, shields forgotten and axes resting by their feet.

It would’ve been funny if Hiccup weren’t so acutely aware of how fast it could all go wrong.

Astrid crept ahead, light on her feet as always, every motion quiet and deliberate. She made sneaking through a hostile Viking camp look like a scenic stroll through a garden. Her braid swayed against her shoulder as she glanced back, blue eyes locking with his. She gave him a wide smile, and he found himself momentarily thrown off by it.

He still wasn’t used to this…new Astrid. If he thought the change between Berk Astrid and the Astrid of a year ago was a great change, the change from Astrid of a year ago—maybe even two months ago—to this Astrid was something else.

And he liked it.

He gave her a quick, silent nod and followed, careful not to trip over the helmet in his path. They skirted the edge of a tent and ducked behind a stack of crates just as a groggy sentry stumbled by, clearly drunk and completely uninterested in his task.

Hiccup exhaled slowly as the man wandered off, then turned to Astrid with a strained whisper. “You sure you don’t want to just wait until morning and hope for a farmer with a moral compass?”

She shot him a look, smirking faintly. “And miss all this fun?”

“Right. Fun. We’re ankle-deep in drunk Vikings, stolen food and pillaged valuables, but sure, let’s call it fun.” He hissed, stepping around a snoring warrior cradling a small barrel of mead. “Nothing like tiptoeing through a camp of passed-out marauders, stealing food and praying to the gods your prosthetic leg doesn’t squeak.”

Astrid leaned in close, the curve of her smirk still present, but softer now, voice lowered but still playful. “Come on, it’s kind of exciting, right? You jump off Toothless and freefall for fun, and you’re telling me you don’t find this a little thrilling?”

“That’s different, freefalling with Toothless is exhilarating,” Hiccup whispered. “This is terrifying. And the camp smells like someone died in a pile of dragon dung.”

Astrid stifled a laugh behind her hand, and despite the situation, the sound made him smile. It was lighter than her usual laugh.

Almost like a giggle.

He never thought he’d ever hear Astrid, of all people, giggle.

They crept deeper into the camp, weaving through tents and wagon wheels, brushing past shields and weapons strewn like discarded toys.

Every step set Hiccup’s nerves on edge. Every heartbeat felt like a countdown.

“Remind me how this is better than stealing in general?” he whispered as they crept past a snoring brute with a turkey leg still clenched in his fist. Hiccup’s heart would’ve beat out of his chest if his ribs weren’t there to hold it in as he tip-toed as best as he could with his leg.

“Because we’re hungry,” Astrid whispered back, eyes scanning the next row of tents. “And because stealing from drunk, pillaging warmongers doesn’t count. It’s only stealing if they didn’t steal it first.”

“Oh, well, when you put it like that, it becomes so simple.” He murmured sarcastically as they squirted the edge of another tent, avoiding two guards walking past.

“Exactly,” she whispered, a wicked grin on her face.

“And if they wake up?”

“Then we run,” she said simply.

“You know, I hate how calm you are about this. I wish I could be half as calm about this as you are.”

Astrid cast a glance at him. “You’re still here, though.”

He rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately.”

She paused just long enough to toss over her shoulder, “Oh, please. You love it. You love sneaking around in the dark…with me.”

Is she really flirting with me during a mission? “Yes, Astrid, I dream about sneaking through a camp of Vikings in the dark with you. I dream about it most nights, actually. How’d you know?”

“With how often I kiss you?” She smirked. “I better be in your dreams.”

His breath caught and heat rose to his cheeks.

He knew what flirting looked like now, and more importantly he knew how Astrid flirted now.

And it felt very Astrid to flirt in the middle of a life-or-death situation.

But she wasn’t wrong about the dream part, at least not totally wrong. And she knew it.

They darted across a clearing, weaving between tents and wagon wheels, until they reached the central supply tent. Inside, barrels lined one wall, while sacks of grain and dried meat hung from wooden racks. Hiccup slipped in behind her, letting the canvas fall back over the entrance.

He pulled an empty bag from a stack near the tent flap and began grabbing sausages and smoked mutton. “Okay. We grab what we can carry, nothing more. We’re not here to rob them blind.”

Astrid raised a brow. “You really think they’ll miss a few sacks of dried mutton?”

“Yes, because if we take too much, they’ll notice, and if they notice, they’ll hunt us down.”

“And on the off chance they find us,” she said, lifting a heavy sack with ease, “they’ll find us and a few protective dragons with bad attitudes and sharp teeth.”

“You make it sound like we’ve got this down to a science,” Hiccup angrily mumbled, stuffing dried fruit into the bag alongside the dried mutton. “We’re literally improvising all this. We’re not criminals, Astrid, we don’t do this kind of thing.”

Astrid didn’t answer immediately, so he focused on stuffing the bag with as much food as possible. When it was nearing the point of bursting he turned, seeing Astrid with two heavy sacks slung over her shoulder.

She must have seen the gloomy look on his face, because Astrid’s expression softened. “Hey, you’re not a thief, Hiccup. You know that, right? You’re someone who’s trying to keep his friends fed. That’s what counts.”

He sighed, “I know. I just…it just still feels wrong, Astrid.”

She stepped closer. “One desperate act doesn’t define us. Killing one dragon didn’t make you a dragon killer, right?”

“That was different. The Red Death was—”

He stopped.

Oh.

Astrid smiled knowingly. “Exactly. You did what you had to do to protect others. That’s what this is. One night, one choice. That doesn’t change who you are, and you are a good person, Hiccup.”

He looked at her for a long moment as the weight of her words settled over him.

“You’re really good at this whole...being right thing,” he murmured.

She grinned. “It’s a gift.”

“But…” he said, his smirk widening, “technically…this isn’t our first time stealing. Remember Cymru?”

“I don’t count that as stealing,” she waved off with a smile, “more like…finding and keeping.”

He gave a quiet laugh and slung the bag over his shoulder. “Okay. Let’s finish up and get out of here before someone wakes up.”

She nodded and reached for the tent flap—then froze.

Hiccup barely had time to react before Astrid spun, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shoved him backward, deeper into the shadows of the supply tent. Her grip was urgent, her eyes locked on his.

“Someone’s coming,” she mouthed, tense.

He stilled.

Then he heard it too.

Footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Too fast.

His heart slammed against his ribs. He reached for Inferno, but he didn’t spark the blade. He wasn’t sure how well his Uppsala training or those sparring matches with Astrid and Snotlout would hold up against hardened raiders.

Probably not well, he thought grimly as he pulled Inferno free of its holster.

Astrid shot him a quick glance and shook her head: Not yet.

The footsteps stopped just outside the tent. Through the canvas, the flicker of torchlight painted long shadows—silhouettes of two, maybe three men. Muffled voices traded low words. Then a sharp grunt, followed by the unmistakable sound of weapons being unsheathed.

Hiccup’s stomach dropped.

Astrid edged closer to him, her eyes darting to the back of the tent. Her lips shaped one word: Run?

He gave the barest nod, his heart pounding like a war drum.

She turned and ran, and Hiccup bolted after her. In a few strides they were at the back tent flap, and for a moment Hiccup thought they were getting out of this whole mission alive.

That thought was crushed when the back tent flap opened, revealing a tall, thuggish looking man with a black beard holding a hammer in his hand, flanked by two smaller but still large warriors.

“In here!” the taller man bellowed, smirking as he brought his hammer up. “Got a few rats scrounging around our food!”

Before either of them could react, the front of the tent erupted—more warriors stormed in, cutting off their retreat.

“Shit,” Hiccup muttered as he and Astrid spun around to face both entrances, cornered.

Astrid struck first, hurling her heavy food sacks at the big man’s face, unsheathing her axe and slamming the hilt into his gut before pivoting to face the next. Hiccup followed her lead, tossing his sack at a charging warrior, ducking beneath a swing, and punching the hilt of Inferno into a man’s ribs.

But they were surrounded.

Hands grabbed his arms before he could ignite the blade. A knee slammed into his side, knocking the air from his lungs. Inferno was wrenched from his grasp, and cold steel pressed against his neck.

“Drop the axe, girlie,” the man holding Hiccup snarled, “or we’ll stick the boy like a pig.”

Astrid froze.

For the briefest moment, Hiccup saw the war between logic and instinct in her eyes. Then, with a curse, she let her axe clatter to the floor. Two warriors rushed her and tore it away.

“Don’t hurt her!” Hiccup gasped, struggling.

“Don’t worry,” the guard said with a cruel smile. “We’re saving the fun for Jarl Hásteinn.”

A fist slammed into Hiccup’s gut, and he doubled over with a strangled groan. Rope bound his wrists moments later, rough and tight. Astrid was leashed beside him a second after.

“Come on,” the leader said, yanking on the rope, marching them from the tent like livestock.

The camp was still mostly quiet, but a few bleary-eyed warriors blinked awake as the group passed, some laughing, others just watching before trying to sleep off their drinks.

Hiccup dared a glance at Astrid. Her glare was molten, fixed squarely on the man holding her rope. He hadn’t seen that look since Dragon Training, when she’d asked him what side he was on after Stormfly nearly tore them apart.

It brought up too many memories of uselessness.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered under his breath.

She blinked at him. “What?”

“I’m sorry…I…got us caught.”

“Hiccup,” she said, both exasperated and endearing. “We both got caught.”

“If I’d been faster, or if I hadn’t gotten hit—”

“We were outnumbered in a war camp,” she cut in, firm but calm. “They were already waiting outside the tent. Don’t…don’t beat yourself up. Ok? Please?”

He didn’t answer, but her words soothed something jagged inside him.

As they neared the largest tent in the camp, more raiders stirred—some chuckling over mugs of mead, others barely registering their presence.

Then they were shoved inside.

The jarl’s tent was larger than the others and lined with trophies: mounted horns, furs, and sharpened weapons of all kinds. A brazier glowed in the center, casting sharp shadows across the space. The heat was oppressive, the stench of sweat and smoke curling into Hiccup’s nose.

In front of them sat Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut, all bound together.

Jarl Hásteinn stood at the far end of the tent. He was tall and wide, cloaked in dark furs, his flaxen beard braided and tied with iron clasps.

“So,” he said, voice rough as bark, “I wake to find rats in my storehouse and a fool in my tent.”

He kicked a helmet across the floor toward Snotlout, who flinched violently. All eyes turned to him.

Snotlout swallowed audibly. “Okay, so maybe I got a little greedy—”

“A little?!” Astrid snapped. She lunged toward him before a guard yanked her back. “I swear, Snotlout, if we survive this, I’m throwing you off a cliff!”

“Why is it my fault?!” he yelped.

“Uh, you tried to steal a sword, you dumbass!” Ruffnut barked, glaring at him.

“Yeah,” Tuffnut chimed in, “first rule of thieving: small, shiny, and easy to conceal. Not heavy, guarded, and obvious!”

“It had jewels on it!” Snotlout protested. “It had etching on the blade and gold and jewels in the hilt and it was just lying there! Who leaves a sword like that lying around?”

“Someone with guards and a tent in the middle of a godsforsaken war camp!” Astrid screamed.

Hiccup let them all bicker. Honestly, it helped; it gave the guards something to smirk at, at least. While they ranted, he scanned the tent, trying to come up with a plan for an escape, any nerves temporarily suppressed by the adrenaline running through his veins.

 But there were too many guards, too many eyes on them. No visible blades within reach. No way to cut the ropes.

He looked around the tent, somehow feeling more focused and less nervous now that they were already caught and tried thinking of a way out.

But their dragons…

They were circling, and surely they saw their Riders get captured. With his new automatic fail fin, Toothless would’ve found out by now something happened to them.

They’d be coming, and he just needed to buy them some time.

Suddenly, Hásteinn raised a hand and silence fell. “I should have you all gutted. I should toss your entrails to my dogs and mount your heads on pikes as a warning.”

Fishlegs squeaked and went deathly pale, and the others blanched slightly as well.

“Uhh, Jarl Hásteinn—”

Hiccup tried to step forward and was promptly jabbed in the gut with a spear shaft.

“Wait—listen,” he wheezed in between breaths. “We’re not…We’re not who you think we are.”

“Really?” Hásteinn stepped in front of him. “Then who are you? Because all I see in front of me are thieves, young and stupid enough to try stealing from a war camp. My war camp.”

He took another breath and straightened up as much as he could, still sore from the hit. “We’re Vikings, too.”

“Malarkey,” Hásteinn scoffed.

“We speak Norse, don’t we?”

His eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t make you Vikings. Thralls can speak Norse, too, how do I know you’re not escaped thralls?”

“Do we sound like thralls?” Hiccup asked. “Do we look like thralls?”

That gave Hásteinn pause, and his brows rose slightly. “No…but you don’t speak Norse in the way I have heard others speak it.”

“That’s because—” Hiccup tried taking a step forward but was yanked back by a guard. “We’re not Danes. We’re from the Archipelago.”

The entire tent, save for him and his friends, seemed to erupt in loud and boisterous laughter, guards doubling over and slapping each other on the back, cracking jokes about the Archipelago as their wayward cousins.

Hásteinn especially seemed to find it funny, laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his face. “Oh, that was a funny joke. The Archipelago? That’s a good one, but if you’re going to lie to me, choose somewhere more believable.”

“It’s true!” Astrid shouted, and the others were quickly shouting their agreement, desperation starting to sink in.

The easy smile left Hásteinn’s face and he grabbed a raiding hatchet from a nearby table, running his finger along the edge, “I’ll give you one last chance…”

The hairs along the back of Hiccup’s neck stood on end.

Hásteinn approached, slow and unhurried, like a wolf knowing the sheep had nowhere to run. The hatchet in his hand gleamed, and Hiccup instinctively backpedaled—only to slam into the chest of the guard behind him.

Steel kissed his throat a moment later. Cold. Unyielding.

“Now,” Hásteinn said, voice a low growl edged with amusement, “where are you from?”

“The Archipelago!” Hiccup grunted, his voice tight. He tilted his head away, trying to shrink his neck, but the hatchet only pressed harder. “I swear! We were at Jorvik a year ago!”

The hatchet stilled. Just barely. And the air around them shifted.

The malice on Hásteinn’s face didn’t vanish, but it seemed to soften with curiosity.

“Jorvik?” he repeated, and his eyes—sharp, unblinking and almost avian—pinned Hiccup in place. “Then tell me. Which Son of Ragnar led you to war?”

Hiccup’s mind whirled.

Think. Fast.

“Ivar,” he said, praying to every god and goddess he knew. “Ivar the Boneless.”

A spark of something unreadable passed through Hásteinn’s face. He didn’t confirm and didn’t deny, but the hatchet remained at Hiccup’s throat.

“And why,” Hásteinn asked, his tone like velvet sheathing a dagger, “is a little Archipelago boy snooping around Francia? Why now? Why here?”

“Trust me,” Hiccup muttered sarcastically, “I ask myself that every day.”

Judging by Astrid’s eye roll he saw out of the corner of his eye, he knew she would throttle him later for that one.

The steel pressed in harder. “Quite the tongue you’ve got,” Hásteinn murmured. His smile was so cold, it could’ve frozen rivers. “Would be a shame to lose it. So…tell me, or I start taking your friends apart.”

The threat lingered, cruel and real.

Hiccup opened his mouth, ready to lie, spin something, anything…but then he heard it.

Wings.

A rush of air.

A scream; high and furious and unmistakable.

The scream of a Night Fury in a dive.

Hásteinn’s men froze. Murmurs rippled through the tent. Spears lifted.

“What in the Hel…” Hásteinn murmured.

A plasma blast struck the earth just outside the tent, the explosion ripping through the camp like the wrath of the gods themselves. The shockwave slammed into them, blowing men off their feet, flattening tents, hurling burning debris.

Hásteinn was thrown back, and Hiccup had crouched just enough to shield himself from most of the shockwave that blew everyone to the ground.

After a few moments of groans and coughing, the high-pitched scream picked up again and Hiccup didn’t wait.

“Heads down!” he roared at the others.

He threw himself over Astrid, dragging her to the ground and throwing himself on top of her.

Another plasma blast hit right outside the tent, closer to the entryway than the last, and for a moment Hiccup thought the shockwave would collapse the roof on them. Outside, chaos reigned—screams, flames, the thunderous roars of their dragons.

Hiccup forced himself up, lungs burning with smoke from the burning canvas, and crawled toward the wreckage of a weapons rack. His hands closed around a splintered spearhead, half-burnt but sharp enough.

He slashed the ropes at his wrists, then Astrid’s. Her hands were already moving the second she was free.

“Get the others!” he yelled, tossing the broken blade to her as he scrambled to untie the others.

Another blast lit up the tent in blazing orange.

You’re okay. You’re alive. You’re fine.

He repeated it in his head like a prayer as the sounds of dying men rose around them. Caught off-guard, drunk, and half-asleep. They’d had no chance.

Five dragons. Five furious dragons.

The last rope snapped and Hiccup was already moving, weaving between the fallen, until he found the guard who’d taken their weapons. He stripped Inferno from his belt, tossed Astrid her axe, and clipped the sword into place.

Another flare of fire lit the tent up, shadows dancing across the ground.

He didn’t pause. Not even to breathe.

“Go!” he barked, bursting through the torn flap of the tent.

Outside was an inferno.

Flames licked the sky. Tents burned like kindling. Men screamed. Their dragons dove in synchronized fury, like beasts of vengeance loosed from the sky, their forms only coming into view near the blazing fires they set or when they unleashed fire.

They called out to them, waving their hands as they ran through the wreckage as fire and fury rained down, weaving through the wreckage and destruction.

Toothless dove down first, wings slashing through the smoke, landing hard and roaring viciously, his eyes angry as his claws tore furrows in the scorched earth.

Hiccup didn’t wait, throwing himself into the saddle and switching the tailfin from the prototype automatic mode to manual.

The other dragons landed not a second later, and Hiccup turned his attention towards the group of warriors gathering on opposite from them, bows at the ready.

“Toothless!” He pointed at the gathering group, “Plasma blast!”

Toothless turned and let loose a shot, scattering the men and sending them retreating as the other teens finally clambered atop their dragons.

“Go, go, go!” Hiccup shouted.

With a powerful heave of wings, the dragons took to the skies.

The wind hit them hard—hot and laced with smoke—but Hiccup clung tight to Toothless as they soared over the burning camp. The tents below were nothing but twisted canvas and flame. The ground was scattered with men running, screaming, dragging others out of the blaze.

He couldn’t look back.

They flew until the camp was nothing but a distant smudge on the horizon. Until the firelight vanished into the morning haze. Until the only sound was the wind tearing past their ears and the heavy, steady thrum of their dragons’ wings.

Only then did Hiccup let his shoulders slump.

He exhaled, sharp and bitter.

“All that,” he muttered, frustrated at everything but mostly at himself. “All that…and what did we even get out of it? They took the food back, and I’m assuming they reclaimed their valuables, and now we’re back to where we started!!”

Toothless glanced back with a low, questioning chirp.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Hiccup sighed. “We blew up a camp and got nothing in return.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing,” Snotlout called from above, smugness dripping from every word.

The others glanced over just as he held something aloft. A gleam of silver and gold caught the rising sun.

“Is that—?” Astrid leaned forward on Stormfly, squinting.

Snotlout grinned. “The sword of Robert the Strong! You’re welcome!”

Hiccup’s mouth fell open. “Wait—when did you go back for it?!”

Astrid growled, guiding Stormfly above Hookfang before she leaned out of her saddle and smacked Snotlout upside the head, very nearly knocking his helmet off his head.

“Ow! Hey!” he yelped, straightening his helmet. “That was uncalled for!”

“You idiot!” she snapped. “You could’ve been killed! You could’ve gotten all of us killed!”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t, and I didn’t,” Snotlout said, rubbing his head, “and now we’ve got a fancy sword!”

Hiccup was torn between groaning at Snotlout’s stubbornness and laughing at their luck. He settled for pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’re lucky she didn’t knock you off Hookfang,” he muttered, then glanced over at the glinting sword. “Well, maybe it wasn’t for nothing after all.”

Astrid blinked. “What are you thinking?”

Hiccup sat up straighter, brushing soot off his shirt. “We’re going to give it back.”

Snotlout looked horrified. “What?! After all that? No way!”

“Not for free,” Hiccup said, “We return it to the count’s family, and ask for a handsome reward in exchange. If they see we saved a family heirloom from raiders…”

“…they’ll owe us,” Tuffnut finished, eyes glinting. “Oh, I can already taste those sweet cakes they always make!”

“And we could definitely use a few favors,” Fishlegs added, exhausted but nodding along.

Snotlout frowned. “I still think we should keep it.”

“We’re low on food and money, muttonhead, we can’t afford to keep a sword like that,” Astrid snapped, angling Stormfly until she was side-by-side with Toothless.

“Actually,” Hiccup drawled, smirking, “Snotlout will keep it, at least until we find out where to return it. Until then, Snotlout, you’re in charge of the sword! Don’t let anything happen to it!”

Snotlout beamed, raising the sword in the air, “Oh, don’t you worry! I got this!”

And to Hiccup’s immense disappointment, Snotlout proceeded to fumble the sword and let it fall through the clouds.

-0-

Unnamed Island, Eastern Barbaric Archipelago, Present

The plan was simple, as all the best ones in war were.

Strike fast. Strike quiet. Vanish before the enemy even realized they were under attack.

The fort was poorly guarded—complacency born of arrogance, she thought. With sheer cliffs to its rear, the garrison had grown lazy, defending only the landward sides. No visible cages meant any imprisoned dragons were likely hidden within the maze of caves snaking beneath the cliff face.

Perfect for concealment, terrible for a rescue.

Catapults lined the perimeter walls, hulking shadows in the dark, while a handful of ballistae perched atop the cliffs like hawks. Most watchtowers were unmanned—only two had guards who seemed to be bothered enough to show up for their shifts.

Sloppy and lazy. Easy pickings.

Astrid and Heather would land on the wall, kill the watchtower guards and disable the catapults. The twins would handle the cliffs, destroying the ballistae. Hiccup, Snotlout, and Fishlegs would land in the courtyard, near the cave entrance, clearing the way for the actual rescue.

Once the twins signaled from above—one long torch sweep across the ridge—they’d all converge on the caves, free the dragons, and reduce the fort to cinders.

They launched under the cover of darkness using their wingsuits. Landings were timed precisely after a watch change, calculated during their earlier scouting.

Astrid hit the ground in silence, wingsuit flaring once before she tucked and rolled, landing with predatory grace. She was on her feet in an instant, sprinting low, boots barely whispering against stone as she ascended the nearest watchtower like a shadow, scrambling up without a sound.

The guard never had a chance.

She swung herself into the watchtower and plunged her knife into his chest—clean, silent. He collapsed without a sound. Astrid didn’t pause, only wiped her knife on his tunic and slipped it back into its sheath. The cold of the steel had barely left her fingers before she signaled Heather.

Across the wall, Heather raised two fingers in acknowledgment. Her own guard lay in a crumpled heap, face down.

No words were exchanged. They didn’t need them.

The girls split the vials of acid, slipping into the dark like ghosts. Astrid knelt beside each catapult, her breath barely a puff in the chill air. She checked for torchlight, listened for footsteps. Nothing.

Three drops of Changewing acid on the gears were enough. The hiss was barely audible, metal corroding in silence. By the time she reached the last siege engine, her heartbeat had aligned with the rhythm of the mission. Every step, every movement was measured, deliberate.

When she reached the rendezvous point, Heather was already waiting in the shadows.

Astrid gave a sharp nod.

Then they waited.

Above, a sliver of movement, a torch waved back and forth, the signal from the twins. The ballistae were neutralized.

Showtime.

The two of them dropped from the wall like wraiths, landing in a crouch just behind a cluster of barrels. A Hunter rounded the corner moments later, the orange glow of his torch casting long, flickering shadows across the courtyard.

Astrid pressed against the stone, every muscle locked. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her blade, cold leather warming beneath her grip. Across from her, Heather crouched low behind a woven basket, knife ready, body coiled like a spring.

The guard paused.

Astrid held her breath. One twitch. One shuffle of a boot out of place and it was over.

But he moved on. Lazy. Disinterested. Maybe even drunk, she couldn’t tell. Whatever the reason, he was moving on.

The torchlight faded. Silence returned like a breath released.

They waited another beat. Then another.

Only once they were sure did they rise and.

Heather reached Astrid’s side beneath the shadowed wall, both of them pressed into the stone as if the very fortress might swallow them whole. Their breaths came in shallow puffs, barely audible over the wind sweeping in from the cliff. Astrid gave a quick nod. No words needed. They moved, melting into the darkness once more—shadows flitting from stone to shadow to silence, slipping through the fort like vengeance waiting to be unleashed.

They darted through the patchwork of torchlight and shadow, keeping their bodies low as they passed beneath narrow windows and behind supply crates. The sound of boots and distant voices echoed across the compound, guards either on duty or meandering around with flagons of wine or ale.

Their path veered toward the cliff’s base—toward the yawning black maw of the cave system they needed to reach—but it wasn’t a straight line. There were too many wandering guards. Too many open stretches of exposed ground.

They stopped near a supply tent, moving slower the moment they heard voices. Two sentries leaned against a broken cart, swords sheathed and posture lazy, nonchalant and disinterested in their surroundings. They had no torches in their hands. One was laughing at his own half-whispered joke, and the other cursed the lack of good food.

Heather tapped Astrid’s arm, motioned with two fingers. Silent takedown.

Astrid nodded once, knife already in her hand, and they slipped apart like twin shadows.

Heather crept behind one man, knife catching the moonlight for the briefest instant before she dragged it across his throat, her hand covering his mouth as she did so.

Astrid struck simultaneously—three quick strides and she lunged upward, putting her jamming her blade into the soft space beneath her target’s ribs, her hand silencing any noise from his mouth. His grunt of surprise never became a scream.

She lowered him to the ground, blood soaking her gloves as she removed her knife. They dragged the bodies quickly away from the tent entrance, hauling them into the broken cart and covering the bodies with a tarp.

They shared a look, nodded and moved on.

They were passing through what appeared to be officers’ quarters when they saw a torch glimmering ahead, just to the right of their path. They ducked behind a row of barrels, Astrid pressing herself flat to the wood as the footsteps drew nearer.

The torchlight flared through the cracks.

Heather crouched behind a half-filled basket of supplies, her dagger held in a white-knuckled grip, eyes locked on the guard’s every movement. Astrid braced herself to strike—

—but the guard paused. He scratched his chin, muttered something about the weather, and turned around.

His footsteps receded, and the torchlight vanished with him.

They didn’t breathe until the dark swallowed the space again.

But just as they started forward again, another sentry rounded a corner from the other side, no torch in his hand.

Astrid froze.

His eyes locked on hers, confusion flickering there.

She knew that look. The split-second before realization, before shouting the alarm.

A blur crashed down from the rooftop above.

The guard didn’t even cry out before Ruffnut slammed into him, sending him sprawling.

Tuffnut was already behind the next one, Macey arcing in a deadly sweep. The crack of steel against the guard’s helmet and skill echoed through the air as the guard crumpled without a sound.

Astrid blinked, stunned for half a breath.

“Miss us?” Ruffnut whispered, flicking her helmet up to show off her grin and rolling off the guard. Astrid saw the glint of her own knife in her hand.

“You’re late,” Astrid muttered, though the corner of her mouth curved slightly.

“You’re welcome,” Ruffnut whispered back, wiping her blade clean on the dead guard’s tunic.

Heather shot them a grateful look. “You always know how to make an entrance.”

“Save it for the feast we better get after this,” Tuffnut said, popping over and gesturing dramatically with Macey in hand. “Preferably with yak chops. Heather’s, not Astrid’s.”

“Or your dessert rations,” Ruffnut added. “That’d be fair trade.”

Astrid rolled her eyes, but her relief at seeing them was a balm across her nerves. “Let’s move.”

They fell into step behind the twins, slipping down the final stretch toward where the mouth of the caves loomed—dark, wide, and silent. A jagged scar in the stone.

The air grew colder with each step. Torchlight from the fort shimmered behind them, flickering against the noise of distant voices.

They rounded the last bend in the path, and Astrid spotted a familiar figure crouched at the cave mouth.

Hiccup.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the approach. He rose when he saw them, the tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction. Behind him, Astrid saw Snotlout and Fishlegs dragging three bodies behind some crates.

“You made it,” he murmured, and she heard the note of relief in his voice.

Astrid met Hiccup’s eyes, grabbing his shoulder and leaning the crown of her helmet against his for a short moment before pulling back. “We’re clear. Wall, catapults, watchtowers. All quiet.”

“And the cliffs are good,” Tuffnut added. “All the ballistae won’t be firing anytime soon.”

Hiccup gave a sharp nod. Torchlight began to dance over the far wall of the courtyard—more boots, more movement.

Every moment they wasted increased the chance of the bodies being discovered, no matter how well-hidden they were. They’d done enough raids to know that the more bodies, the quicker they would be discovered.

One guard missing was fine. Maybe he got too drunk, distracted, or maybe even just abandoned his duty. Troublesome, but not worrying.

But nine missing? That was a cause for concern, and patrols would be sent out soon enough.

“We need to get moving,” Astrid whispered. “We killed six guards out there, plus your three here, and I don’t know how many the twins took out up top. They’ll notice something’s up, and it’s only a matter of time until they find the bodies.”

“Then we better hurry,” Hiccup said, voice low, steady and certain. “Let’s finish this.”

They drew their weapons, Hiccup taking the lead and igniting Inferno as the cave swallowed them whole.

Chapter Text

-0-

Unnamed Island, Eastern Barbaric Archipelago, Present

It was colder than she expected—cold enough that her breath fogged in front of her face as she stepped inside. The weight of stone and silence pressed down on them with every step. The air reeked of damp moss, blood, and the tang of dragon fear.

But what hit her harder than the stench was the stillness. Not the peace of a quiet morning, but the heavy, suffocating kind of stillness that came before death or battle.

Hiccup’s steps in front of her made no sound on the stone, the firelight from Inferno casting flickering shadows across the walls, making stalactites and stalagmites appear as razor-sharp teeth. Beside her, Heather moved just as quietly, and behind them, the others followed: Fishlegs, Snotlout and the twins watching the rear.

They turned a corner and she heard Hiccup’s breath catch. Stepping around him, she flicked up her visor and her heart leapt into her throat.

Curled shapes, dozens of them, lined the back wall—horns tucked low, wings folded tight.

Sharp Class dragons, every one of them.

Astrid recognized the outlines immediately. Deadly Nadders. Timberjacks. Razorwhips. Even a Scuttleclaw near the back.

“They’re all Sharp Class,” Hiccup murmured from beside her, crouching down beside a young, shivering Timberjack. “Just…stored.”

The word made Astrid’s stomach twist.

Stored. Like weapons waiting to be used, not like they were alive, meant to be out in the sky, free and unchained.

Fishlegs crouched beside him, already examining talons and tails, running soft fingers over cracked scales and dull spines. His whisper carried across the space. “No torn wings but plenty of scars and broken bones that haven’t healed properly. This one’s dehydrated. And look at this one’s ribs—too visible.”

He didn’t need to say, they all knew what it meant, but he continued anyway. “They’re starving them.”

Astrid’s grip tightened on her axe. She couldn’t look at their eyes—couldn’t bear the way they watched, not angry, not afraid.

Just tired, almost like they were asking for death.

She and Hiccup moved forward, careful not to startle the creatures. Every footstep was measured, each breath a whisper, crouched low and non-threatening.

It was a routine they’d all perfected long ago and made even easier by the scent of their own dragons and their dragonscale armor.

Crouched low, no weapons in her hand and her visor down, Astrid approached slowly, crouched on all fours, before reaching a hand slowly through the cage.

The young Timberjack sniffed it, eyes dilating and recognizing the scent and scales of a Deadly Nadder on her armor. It backed away from the rear of the cage, almost curious as it sniffed the air around Astrid’s hand.

Finally, Astrid reached forward just slightly, bowing her head just so and trusting the dragon to do the right thing.

A second later, the young Timberjack closed its eyes and pressed its snout into her hand, buzzing as it did so.

They all continued this with the dragons, earning their trust but not opening the cages until Fishlegs and Hiccup assessed their injuries.

Then the sound came. Soft. High-pitched. Not draconic.

A sharp yip, like a fox.

Astrid’s gaze snapped to the back of the cave, her head tilting to catch it again. Hiccup looked too. She didn’t need to say anything. He was already nodding, already stepping toward it.

“You hear that?” she asked, voice barely above a breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “That wasn’t a dragon.”

“What was it, then?”

He turned to the others. “Start opening the cages,” Hiccup commanded, unholstering Inferno again. “We’ll check it out.”

Heather gave a short nod, already rooting through ledgers by the rusted desk. Astrid turned and followed Hiccup deeper into the black, Inferno lighting up once again to show the path.

The yip came again, weaker this time. Hurt.

They passed broken cages, shattered chains, and scorched crates that smelled of old fish oil and powder. Astrid’s stomach turned at the stench. She hated these places, hated how they reeked of suffering.

They found it curled in the final alcove.

A creature like a fox, small enough to fit in her arms, but with fur that shimmered faintly in the dark—it was white, with hues of different colors dancing beneath its coat like trapped firelight, dancing greens, blues and occasionally reds and purples.

And with every flick of its long, bushy, multicolored tail against the cage, the colors seemed to spring forth from the tail, ethereal and beautiful.

It didn’t snarl or run. It only watched them, blinking and shivering, tucked against the back of the cage.

“A Firefox,” Hiccup breathed.

Astrid stared, wonder and fury tangling in her chest. “I thought we’d never one of them again. What’s it doing all the way out here, so far from home?”

“Hunters use the pelts for light in powder stores,” he said. “Fireless light, way safer than torches with anything remotely flammable. Extremely valuable.”

Astrid’s stomach twisted tighter. She didn’t care about the logistics.

All she could see was that leg bent wrong, caught in a cruel metal snare.

She knelt beside Hiccup as he tossed the creature a strip of dried meat. The Firefox yipped again, sniffed, then snatched the offering, retreating with a limp to the shadowed corner.

“We’ll need to splint that leg before we move it,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll get started on that. Let’s make sure the others know.”

They made their way back just as the others were carefully beginning to open the cages. The dragons stirred, groggy, but too weak to lash out.

“Found a Firefox,” Hiccup said, cradling the shivering Firefox.

Heather glanced up, her eyes fierce. “Found what looks like a manifest.”

Fishlegs took it with a reverence usually reserved for ancient scrolls. His eyes darted across the page, scanning symbols and figures faster than Astrid could follow.

“Anything?” Hiccup asked as he got started on the splint, with Snotlout keeping the Firefox distracted with dried meat.

“Yes,” Fishlegs murmured, thumbing through the second page. “Boulder Class dragons are being sent north. Sharp Class are going south. The other classes seem to be split up between north and south.”

Astrid frowned. “Why split them?”

“Doesn’t say,” Fishlegs muttered. “Just lists the Hunters who brought them in, the quantities and then a list of locations, but they must be using a code system because I don’t recognize any of these names. It only says the directions, north or south.”

She stepped beside him, watching over his shoulder as he turned the page, eyes scanning for any sort of clue about why they would be splitting the dragons up.

One name in particular stuck out to her. A name that appeared again and again, always with several dragons to be ‘sold’.

Eret, son of Eret.

“Who’s this ‘Eret, son of Eret?’” Astrid said.

“Trapper,” Fishlegs read aloud. “Shows up on every page. Must be someone who does a lot of business with the Hunters.”

Astrid’s jaw tightened.

“Put the name on the list.” Hiccup said, standing up and examining the makeshift splint on the Firefox’s leg. “We’ll find him. Maybe he knows something about where the dragons are all going.”

A juvenile Nadder let out a soft croon behind her, and Astrid turned to see it curling toward her, head tilted like it hadn’t seen kindness in years.

She moved forward, slowly, offering her hand.

The Nadder sniffed the scaly glove, hesitated—and then nuzzled her fingers.

Astrid’s heart broke a little more. “We’ll get you out,” she promised.

She moved back near the Firefox, where Hiccup was crouched again, speaking softly to the little fox that watched him with glowing, wary eyes. Astrid stood at his side, feeling the cave around them pulse with quiet desperation and fragile hope.

These dragons were weak, starved and beaten to the breaking point. Prisoners in this small, cramped cave in cages too small for them.

But they wouldn’t be prisoners for much longer.

And as Astrid stared into the soft, flickering fur of that rare, luminous fox, she couldn’t help but feel something in her shift.

This is why you came here. This is what you’re fighting for.

Berk still lingered in her mind, the wounds not yet fully realized from seeing her family react in terror and anger at her, but seeing these dragons kept in these conditions? The Firefox with the broken leg left alone for who knows how long?

It was a spark of purpose rekindling a fire that had been dampened by their trip to Berk, but now it was burning bright again.

This is why you fight.

“Let’s move out,” Hiccup said, wrapping the Firefox in a dragon scaled cloak and cinching it to his back, as if the Firefox was a child. “We’ll call our dragons once the rescues take off. None of them have wing or tail injuries, so they should all be able to fly.”

The dragons moved slowly behind them—silent, limping, their scales dulled and eyes wary. Some nudged their wounded, others kept close to the gang, as if being closer meant they were safer.

Astrid led them slowly, her axe lit up while Hiccup stayed close behind, the Firefox softly yipping from his back, blinking at the rest of them with soft, almost glowing eyes.

They were close to the entrance now. The glimmer of torchlight danced in front of them, the last bend before reaching the entrance, promising open sky and escape. Hiccup moved just ahead of her then, whispering words of encouragement to the Firefox on his back.

They were almost free.

Then she felt it.

That sudden drop in pressure. That uncanny stillness. The way the dragons behind her paused mid-step, their ears twitching, nostrils flaring.

Scared.

Astrid’s blood went ice-cold.

She surged forward, grabbing Hiccup’s arm just as he reached the last bend. “Wait!”

She pulled him back quickly.

“What is it?” Hiccup asked, glancing back at the dragons. “Something wrong?”

Astrid said nothing, extinguishing her axe and hugging the wall, moving carefully until she got to the last bend, peeking around the stone to try to catch a glimpse of what was outside the cave’s mouth.

And then she saw it.

Dozens of torches, and maybe a hundred Hunters, all armed to the teeth in a semi-circle around the cave’s entrance. Archers on the ground and rooftops, probably with Dragon Root arrows.

And no Boulder Class dragons in the cave. No immunity to Dragon Root arrows.

It’d been a setup.

“They’re out there,” Astrid hissed back, and she heard the whispers of curses from the others. “They got us pinned.”

Hiccup uttered a string of curses under his breath, working his way up to her and peeking out towards the Dragon Hunters.

Astrid’s eyes took it all in—every movement, every weapon. And then she spotted it.

Behind the line of soldiers, a monstrous shape—ten feet tall, bulky and snarling—chained and leashed with thick iron links, surrounded by men wielding spears.

“They have a cave troll,” Hiccup said to the others. “I’m guessing this cave system is probably it’s home, so the first thing it’ll do is run home.”

Which means it won’t attack the Hunters until it deals with us, the intruders, Astrid thought grimly, tightening her grip on her axe.

Their leader stepped forward, eyes sharp beneath a cowl of wolf fur, sword resting lazily on one shoulder.

“Dragon Rider,” the leader called, voice confident and full of pride, “we have you surrounded! We don’t want the dragons, only you and your pet! Step out with your hands raised and your Stormcutter docile, and I swear we’ll let the rest of the dragons fly off!”

Wait…

What?

“Stormcutter?” Fishlegs asked incredulously from behind them. “None of us ride a dragon even remotely resembling a Stormcutter.”

“And he said ‘Dragon Rider’. Singular,” Heather noted, glancing at Hiccup. “They think there’s only one of us?”

Even with the visor down on his face, Astrid knew Hiccup’s thinking face from his eyes alone. Darting back and forth, processing every bit of information.

Snotlout crouched beside them and hissed, “What does that even mean? All of us are dragon riders!”

“You’re surrounded, Dragon Rider!” The leader called again, “Outsmarted and outnumbered! You’ve been a thorn in our side for ten years, but your time is finally over! Give up now while I still feel merciful!”

“Oh gods,” Ruffnut muttered, twirling her spear as she strode closer to Astrid’s side, “is he going to start monologuing? Talking about how smart and cunning and ruthless he is?”

“I hate monologues,” Tuffnut groaned, looking towards Hiccup. “Hey H, can you use your folding crossbow thingy and shoot this guy so we can skip the speech?”

“I’m not going to shoot him,” Hiccup said, mildly exasperated. “At least, not yet. They think we’re someone else, another Dragon Rider, someone we know nothing about! If we let him talk, maybe we can learn a little bit more about who this is.”

Tuffnut groaned, but Astrid nodded. It made sense.

Still, her heart pounded hard in her chest.

Another rider? Ten years?

She’d always assumed they were the first to ride dragons, the first to leave the Viking ways behind.

But the realization that there was another, more experienced Dragon Rider overwhelmed her. There was someone else, who’d been riding dragons far longer than they had, who knew more about dragons than they knew. Someone who’d been freeing dragons since they were all still running around with wooden swords.

The leader kept talking, a one-man play for an audience unseen. “You’ve been a hard one to pin down, haven’t you? Years of shadows, years of sightings and slips and ghosts. Tales of a Stormcutter with a rider donning strange armor and even stranger mask, wielding a whistling staff and never speaking.”

He gestured grandly to the ring of soldiers at his back. “But every legend slips eventually, Dragon Thief. Even yours.”

He pointed his blade at the cave—not for threat, but emphasis. Theatric, dramatic, clearly a man in love with his own voice.

“You think we didn’t notice the patterns? Slipping in, freeing beasts, vanishing before a single bolt could fly.”

His voice dropped, rougher now. “But not this time. I knew you’d come eventually. If this fortress appeared as an easy target, manned by a lazy garrison with dragons to save, I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed up.”

 He hefted the sword onto his shoulder again, giving a nod to the soldiers surrounding the cave troll with torches, “You’re not going anywhere. We have a cave troll, dozens of arrows aimed at you and a hundred Hunters in front of you. Not even that dragon of yours will be able to get you out of this, Dragon Rider. But I’ll give you one last chance. Don’t make me drag your corpse from the rubble just to hang it as a warning.”

“Hiccup, what do we do?” Astrid asked, realizing the leader’s patience was running out. “That cave troll will bury us in here.”

She saw Hiccup hesitate, his eyes moving between her, the others, the dragons and the cave mouth.

She knew that look.

That wicked, wild glint in his eyes—the kind of glint that meant something reckless was about to spill from his mouth.

Astrid didn’t need to hear the words to know it.

But, of course, he said them anyway.

“I’m going out there.”

Astrid’s stomach flipped. “No. No you’re not.”

“Fishlegs,” Hiccup breathed, untying the wriggling Firefox from his back and handing it off, “Hold onto it for me.”

Astrid seethed. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Astrid—”

“Do you have to do this every gods-damned week? Is there some secret quota for insanity you’re trying to meet?! Do you get a kick out of these stupid plans and making me worry about you?!”

“I’ll buy us time,” he said, tugging off his helmet, tousled hair falling over those maddening green eyes. “Look at how they’re all grouped up out there. If I can hold their attention, the dragons can make short work of them.”

She shook her head fiercely and he only grinned.

Of course he grinned. Why wouldn’t he? He enjoyed these kinds of stupid plans where put himself in danger, all to run his mouth at whoever was trying to kill them.

“You’re asking to be shot at, you know that right?” Snotlout snipped.

“And you know some of us are kind of attached to having you around?” Fishlegs quipped nervously as he tried to keep a hold on the Firefox.

“And what if they don’t want you alive?” Astrid hissed. “What if this ‘other rider’ they’re looking for is valuable, but you are just in the way? What if they just want to kill any rider in here anyway?”

“I think they’ll be curious, at least,” he said, holstering Inferno with a click. “Hunter messages don’t travel as fast as we do. As far as they’re concerned, we’re still halfway across the world, gallivanting through Rus territory.”

Astrid simmered. “Hiccup—”

“I’ll be fine. I have you and Toothless, after all.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the crown of her helmet so softly she almost didn’t feel it. “Love you, milady!”

Then he was gone. Slipping around the corner and walking towards the mouth of the cave, helmet in one hand, both hands raised high in surrender.

Astrid swore. Loudly.

“Get ready to move,” she ordered harshly to the others, crouching low behind the rocks near the corner, hand on her axe, eyes never leaving the slim figure walking out of the cave.

The Dragon Hunter leader barked a sharp order.

Dozens of weapons snapped into place.

And Hiccup didn’t even flinch.

“I think you have the wrong rider,” he said, loud enough for the whole gods-blessed valley to hear. “Sorry about that. Happens more often than you’d think.”

The leader blinked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You?”

Hiccup tilted his head, a mock-wounded expression on his face. “Disappointed? I thought you’d be happy to see me! Come on, you’re breaking my heart!”

A cold laugh followed. “I expected the Dragon Thief. Not a young whelp of a boy.”

Hiccup, of course, didn’t lose that grin. “Now, that’s just hurtful. I am twenty and a Dragon Rider after all. Maybe not the one you’re looking for, but I’m quite the catch. Your friends out east think so, at least, try asking around a bit.”

The leader stepped closer, his blade pointed directly at Hiccup’s chest. “I should kill you where you stand.”

“You could try,” Hiccup said, that easy, infuriating grin still in place. “But I wouldn’t risk it. You haven’t been keeping up with weapon maintenance. I can tell because the blade is a little dull. Might take a while to kill me, and that’d just be embarrassing for everybody.”

The leader snarled. “Bind him.”

Two guards started forward.

Astrid’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her axe.

If they so much as touch him—

But Hiccup just lifted his hand again, palm out.

“Uhh, I wouldn’t do that,” he warned teasingly.

“And why not?” the leader sneered.

“My friend is…a little overprotective.” Hiccup looked up—and there it was. She caught that glimmer in his eye. “Also, you’re all standing a bit too grouped up. Makes you easier to hit.”

The leader’s brow furrowed.

And then—

A high, piercing roar split the sky, followed by that piercing scream ripping down from the night sky, then a bolt of blue fire launched from the safety of darkness.

Toothless.

He hit the center of the Dragon Hunter formation like a thunderbolt from Thor—plasma blazing in all directions, the ground splitting open in thunderous concussions of fire and light.

Men flew. Weapons were shattered. Flames engulfed the ranks in seconds.

And then the others came.

Stormfly dove next with white-hot fire, her spines raining down like arrows, followed by Windshear’s searing precision, Hookfang’s viscous flames, Meatlug’s thundering blast of molten rock and Barf and Belch’s booming explosions.

Hiccup slammed his helmet back on with one hand, the other grasping Inferno and extending its blade, burning with fire once again. He struck the leader across the chest in a burst of fire and steel. The man collapsed, mouth open in a final gasp of surprise.

The other two guards charged. Hiccup pivoted, dodged and danced, everything he’d learned from every corner of the world thrown into his own method of swordfighting. He parried, slashed, twisted, and both men fell in seconds.

Astrid surged with the others out of the cave and into the chaos, Stormfly swooping low, blasting hot flames at a line of Hunters trying to reform ranks. Toothless dove again, letting loose another devastating plasma blast at the rear ranks of stumbling soldiers.

The cave troll wailed and thrashed, yanking its chains free as it barreled into its captors, trampling huts and carts alike in its blind panic as it tried to get away from the flames.

Refocusing, Astrid gripped her axe, watching as the Hunters began charging at them, all thoughts of reforming ranks clearly lost in the chaos.

One of them lunged at her. Astrid ducked under the swing and brought her axe across in a savage swing. The blade caught the man in the ribs, and he crumpled, twitching.

Another attacker. She parried and spun, elbowing him in the jaw, then slamming her axe down into his shoulder.

“Get the rescues out of here!” She heard Hiccup shout, and she watched the dragons slowly take to the sky, wings shaky from the captivity, but nonetheless slowly taking to the sky.

Stormfly landed beside Astrid, tail whipping and throwing spikes at the archers lining up shots on the rescues.

Five years had forged her and Stormfly into something beyond rider and dragon. They were a single, breathing entity in battle, each knowing what the other would do before the thought even fully formed.

Two Hunters barreled toward her, boots pounding like war drums.

Astrid didn’t hesitate.

She met them head-on, ducking beneath the first clumsy swing and driving the heel of her boot square into the center of his shield. He stumbled back, straight into a blast of fire from Stormfly.

Astrid spun, intercepting the second with the haft of her axe. Sparks exploded as steel met steel, but she was faster. Meaner. She slammed her fist into his throat and headbutted him across their entangled axes, and as he coughed and stumbled, she buried her axe in the space between neck and shoulder.

Stormfly twisted beside her, flinging spines with deadly accuracy. Three archers aiming at the rescues collapsed before they’d even fired.

They didn’t need words or signals. Astrid flowed around her dragon like water, each step mirrored by tail, claw and flame.

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. Another Hunter trying to flank them, creeping along the edge of the chaos with a short blade drawn. His eyes were locked on her dragon.

Astrid moved without thinking.

She slid low beneath Stormfly’s wings just as her dragon raised them, trusting Astrid to take care of the threat. She emerged on the other side, rose in one fluid motion, and swung her axe into the Hunter’s chest.

He crumpled without a sound.

Stormfly snarled, wings flared wide in a display of deadly dominance. Astrid pressed a hand against her dragon’s side for half a breath, and then they were moving again.

A squad of Hunters tried to charge.

Stormfly roared, tail swinging wide. The momentum of it cracked against shields and sent one man flying into a hut nearby.

Astrid grabbed the edge of the saddle and vaulted over Stormfly’s back, landing amidst the squad like an avenging Valkyrie.

Her axe carved a brutal path—one Hunter fell, then another. Magnesium fire shot past her cheek, bright as Stormfly took the third Hunter down.

Only one remained.

Astrid didn’t even reach for her axe, still lodged in its previous victim.

She ducked under the Hunter’s panicked, wide strike and stepped in. Too close for a sword.

Exactly where she thrived.

She caught his wrist mid-swing, her grip iron-strong. A twist, a snap, and she spun behind him, locking her arm around his throat.

He struggled. She kneed him hard in the thigh, dropping him, then in a seamless motion unsheathed and drove her knife into the seam between armor and neck. Fast and clean.

All around her and Stormfly, she heard the raging battle. She caught glimpses of the other riders, all fighting and moving with their dragons as if they were one.

She saw Snotlout arcing his spiked hammer wide and smashing a Hunter on the head, standing still as Hookfang spewed flames all around him to clear the other Hunters.

She saw the twins using their dragon’s gas as a smokescreen, darting in and out as they fought the Hunters, with Belch finally blowing up the gas, leaving the twins the only ones standing.

She saw Fishlegs on Meatlug, blasting buildings and shielding the rescued dragons, coordinating with Heather to keep the Archers from hitting any of the rescues as Heather dove with Windshear, tail slicing through beams and armor alike.

A plasma blast illuminated her field of vision, and she saw Hiccup and Toothless moving above the battlefield like a storm unleashed, wordless and unstoppable.

They moved like a storm, a singular shadow diving through fire and smoke. Toothless’ wings flared, his whole body pulsing with that crackling blue charge they’d discovered fighting against Grimmel. The Night Fury twisted midair, Hiccup leaning into the curve of his neck, guiding him wordlessly.

Arrows flew from a group of archers on the rooftops.

Hiccup ducked, Inferno flashing up to knock one aside.

Then they banked—tight and fast—and dove toward the archers. A single plasma blast ripped the roof from their perch, sending stone and men flying.

Another volley of arrows screamed toward them. Astrid’s breath caught—but Hiccup was already in motion.

A flick of the tailfin, a command without words. Toothless rolled midair, spiraling between them.

And then—they dove.

Hiccup stood in the saddle now, knees braced, spine straight, arms wide for balance.

And then he leapt, opening his wingsuit a moment after separation from Toothless.

He soared through the air and landed atop the jagged rooftop of a half-burned watchtower. The Dragon Hunters barely registered him before Hiccup was on them. Inferno slashed out in a bright arc, catching a man across the chest and sending him reeling. Another lunged—Hiccup sidestepped and swung his flaming blade up, dropping the man.

Two more closed in. He ducked the first strike, rolled below the next, and used his own momentum to drive his prosthetic into one man’s knee. The Hunter dropped, and Hiccup didn't wait, pivoting and stabbing Inferno down. Moving quickly, he removed Inferno and parried a few strikes from the last Hunter before finding an opening, slashing the sword across the man’s chest in a wide arc.

Then came the scream, the one only Toothless could make. That piercing, shrieking challenge from the sky.

Hiccup turned to the sound.

Toothless was already swooping low, his wings outstretched and reaching. Without hesitation, Hiccup ran. Three steps, then a leap. He sailed from the rooftop—smoke curling behind him.

And Toothless was there.

As always, Astrid thought to herself with a smile.

The Night Fury caught him mid-fall, angling his body so Hiccup landed right on the saddle.

A perfect landing. Fluid. Practiced. Like they were one creature split into two bodies.

They landed nearby, Hiccup flipping up his visor.

“Did we get them all out?” Hiccup shouted, his eyes scanning the sky.

Fishlegs, high above on Meatlug, wrangled the wriggling Firefox in his arms. “Yes! The rescues are clear!”

Astrid could hear the adrenaline still pounding in Hiccup’s voice as he gave the order: “Alright—move out! We got them all!”

Astrid didn’t wait.

She grabbed her axe and leapt into Stormfly’s saddle, the leather familiar beneath her fingers. Her dragon surged forward, wings flaring wide as they rose into the fire-streaked night sky.

The air was thick with smoke and heat, but it cleared the higher they climbed.

Astrid flipped up her visor and let the cool wind rush over her face as Stormfly beat her wings, and she finally felt like she could catch her breath. One by one, the rescued dragons fell into a loose cluster around them, wary and ragged, but alive.

Astrid turned slightly in her saddle, watching Hiccup flip his visor up and glide ahead atop Toothless. He caught her look and smiled.

“Told you I’d be ok,” he said cheekily in between heavy breaths.

“Just don’t do it again,” she said, trying to sound angry but coming off more relieved than anything else.

Hiccup smiled and nodded, but she knew it wouldn’t stop him. Somehow, no matter how crazy his ideas could be, he almost always seemed to be able to pull it off, and almost always without any serious injuries.

Astrid glanced back at the others—Fishlegs cradling the squirming Firefox, Heather riding flank, Ruff and Tuff circling wide, Snotlout flying just above the rescues, keeping them from straying.

All of them alive, all of them breathing and with over a dozen rescued Sharp Class dragons.

But something still twisted in her chest.

Her thoughts returned to that Hunter leader, his voice still echoing in her mind as he asked for ‘the dragon rider’ to step out of the cave.

But it hadn’t been Hiccup they meant.

Someone else. Someone they believed was powerful enough to be hunted. Someone they were willing to unleash a cave troll to recapture.

A dragon rider who rode a Stormcutter, and from the sounds of it a dragon rider who’d been a thorn in the Hunters’ side for a decade or more.

Astrid’s jaw clenched as she stared into the vast horizon ahead.

Whoever it was…they were important. And if the Hunters thought they were worth that much effort, then they must have done some serious damage over the years. Someone like that could be a powerful ally.

And then there was the manifest.

Astrid looked again at Hiccup, at the curve of his back, the way he sat in Toothless’ saddle.

Her heart kicked hard against her ribs as she nudged Stormfly closer, drawing up alongside Hiccup and Toothless. He didn’t look at her, not at first. His eyes were on the horizon, narrow and heavy.

He was already thinking the same thing. She felt it in her bones.

The wind whipped around them as Astrid leaned in, voice low but sharp as steel. “Why split the dragons up like that? Why separate them by class?”

Hiccup’s brow furrowed, and he finally looked at her. The gold light of the rising sun caught his face, and for a moment, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “They’ve sold dragons before, but this…this was organized. These weren’t sales. They were transfers. As if the dragons are being sent somewhere for a purpose.”

His voice darkened. “Whatever it is, it’s nothing good.”

Astrid nodded once, letting silence settle between them as the wind howled past. Then: “We’ll figure it out. Once we’re back at the Edge, we’ll regroup. Find this Eret—see what he knows. And this rider…whoever they are, we’ll find them too.”

“How are you so sure about this,” Hiccup asked, a wry smile on his face.

“Oh…” Astrid lilted, “you know me—” a flash of a smile curved her lips, bold and certain “—I have ways of getting what I want.”

That earned her a real smile from him, toothy and full of warmth.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

It had been only a few days since the meeting in the smithy, but already the threads of their plan were weaving into something solid. Stoick watched the weaving closely. Measured it like a smith measuring the heat of his forge—not by flame or color, but by instinct. By feel.

And by all the gods, it felt like it was working.

Ulric and Ingrid’s messages had come quietly, efficiently, always just in time. Warnings slipped beneath doors, nods exchanged in markets, whispers traded discretely amid the commotion of meals in the Great Hall. And Stoick, steady as bedrock, shifted conversations and redirected any searches Gunnar mustered up, always under the pretense of patrolling Berk’s waters and making sure the homeland was safe while the smithy fulfilled the weapon orders.

Gunnar, to his credit or damnation, never so much as narrowed his eyes. No suspicion. No sense he knew that his chase for the riders was being quietly, relentlessly unraveled.

Then there was Gustav.

The boy had somehow melted a half-crate of spearheads and nearly turned Gobber’s smithy into a bonfire. Gobber, perfectly acting the part of the old and uninterested blacksmith, had managed to be everywhere except where he might’ve taught the boy anything useful.

It was, in every way that mattered, a gift.

The Berk Guard was under-equipped. Search parties limited to the interior and the sea stacks. No deep forays into the wilds of the Archipelago. No ships dispatched to the far reaches of the world.

Which meant more time. More safety.

Which made what came next all the worse.

The lookout had arrived panting, pale beneath the salt-stained grime. A fishing crew had spotted sails. Nearly one hundred of them, all carrying the Skrill sigil of the Berserkers.

Dagur.

The Armada.

And their heading suggested one thing: Berk.

Within heartbeats, Stoick was shouting orders. Weapons, whatever could be spared. Every able-bodied soul mustered. The town pulled taut like a bowstring.

He stood now at the cliff’s edge, overlooking the sea as the ships emerged like ghosts from the mist—one hundred strong, each sail a wound upon the horizon.

And beside him, Gunnar cursed. “Why in Odin’s name did Gobber pick now to give Gustav another chance?”

“Because Gobber’s getting older,” Stoick muttered, eyes scanning the waves, that one ship in the lead cutting toward their docks like a knife. “And spring’s nearly here. He’ll need help soon enough. He’s not the same man he used to be.”

It wasn’t true, and Stoick knew it, but Gunnar could never know the real reason they’d brought Gustav back.

Gunnar gave him a look, grim as death. “We won’t live to see that spring if this is Dagur’s way of breaking the treaty. I’ve never seen so many ships in my life, not even when Ivar the Boneless came to Berk.”

Footsteps thundered through the grass behind him, and Stoick turned to see Spitelout running up, nearly breathless. Ingrid was close behind, not nearly as breathless as he was.

Stoick said nothing.

He couldn’t shake the feeling. That this—this—was his fault. That he’d loosened the wrong thread, chosen the wrong side to protect his wayward son, and now the gods were punishing him for it, bringing the entire Berserker Armada to Berk’s doorstep.

If this is to be my punishment, so be it, Allfather. I only ask you spare the people of Berk, or give them a death worthy of Valhalla.

The wind brought footsteps behind them, heavy and fast. He turned to find Spitelout charging through the grass, face flushed and chest heaving. Ingrid was close behind, her pace calm but sure, spear in hand like a second limb.

“Catapults are ready,” Spitelout gasped. “The young and the old are secured in the Great Hall.”

Stoick gave a curt nod. “Good. Ingrid, we heard nothing from Dagur? No word at all about the treaty?”

“Nothing,” she said tightly. “No messages. No letters. Not even a whisper.”

His jaw clenched.

Dagur.

Stoick swore under his breath, turning back to watch the fleet hove into view, one ship sailing before the rest of them, making a beeline for the docks.

Dagur was, in addition to being ‘Deranged’, unpredictable, unlike his father, seemingly a friend one minute and a foe the next. It was impossible to tell what he was before he made his intentions clear.

Which meant they had to prepare for both.

“Spitelout,” Stoick said, voice like thunder, “take command of the Guard. Form up and follow me to the docks.”

He turned to Ingrid. “Get the militia into position. If the docks or the shores fall, make sure they don’t get into the village. And tell the catapult crews: no one fires unless I give the order. I want to be prepared, but I won’t have the war start because of us.”

They both nodded and ran off to their tasks, just as Gobber arrived.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at the forge?” Stoick asked, turning to begin the walk to the docks.

“I think I’ll stay with you, just in case you’re thinking of doing something crazy.”

“Gobber, we need weapons—” Gunnar started, but Gobber waved him off.

“I’d only be able to get one or two spears made by the time Dagur’s ship hits the dock, and I’ve already sent Gustav to join the other students guarding the Great Hall. Trust me, I’m much more useful with you all.”

Stoick only nodded, and together the three of them made their way to the docks, followed closely by Spitelout and the Berk Guard.

By the time they reached the docks, Dagur’s ship was only just pulling in, and the few dockworkers present caught the lines and tied them off, pulling in the ship to the dock.

Stoick inhaled a deep breath as the Berserker herald read off the titles and pleasantries, taking in the smell of salt and wood in case it was the last thing he ever smelled them. Behind him, the Berk Guard fanned out in formation, lining up as if escorting a dignitary, but with shields raised.

One last time, Stoick glanced up at the cliff, where Ingrid stood with her spear and shield, looking like a Valkyrie waiting to swoop into battle and carry off the dead.

He turned back just as the herald’s voice died away—just in time to see Dagur stride up from belowdecks like some long-awaited villain stepping onto a stage.

Four years had remade the man.

Gone was the scrawny warhound who’d signed a peace treaty with cracked knuckles and wild eyes. This Dagur was heavier now, forged with muscle, grit, and sinew. A beard shadowed his jaw, more scars striped his face, and he wore his father's armor like a king wears a crown. The steel chestplate gleamed with the sigil of the Skrill. His sword hung at his hip now, casual, confident. His arm wraps were gone, and so were the tells of a boy trying to look like a man.

But he still retained that wild look in his eyes, that unstable grin, and carried that air of impulsiveness and violence with him.

“Stoick,” Dagur called, spreading his arms wide like he meant to embrace the whole island. His voice rang out, too loud and too bright. “It's been far too long! And gods, I’ve missed this charming little patch of dirt.”

“Dagur,” he said, voice carefully neutral and toneless. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit? The treaty doesn’t expire for another few years.”

Dagur didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he turned in a slow, deliberate circle, arms out like he was tasting the air, his steps as theatrical as a bard’s finale, taking in the lineup of guards and catapults aimed squarely at his fleet.

He gave a soft whistle. “Now this—this feels downright unfriendly. All this for me? You wound me, but at the same time I like it.”

“You arrived with a hundred ships,” Stoick said flatly. “You’ll have to forgive our caution.”

Dagur turned back to him with a tilt of his head, that grin sharpening like a blade. “Caution? Fear, maybe?” His eyes glittered, mad and unreadable. “Oh, don’t worry, I love fear. It's so...honest. Reminds me of home.”

“You violated the terms of the treaty,” Gunnar said sharply, stepping forward with the kind of foolhardy fire that made Stoick want to grab the boy by the collar and shake sense into him. “No warning. And you arrive with an army at your back. Explain yourself—or leave.”

“Gunnar—” Stoick began.

But Dagur laughed.

It was sharp and delighted and utterly deranged.

“Well, well, well,” he said, tossing his helmet back onto the ship with a clatter, running his hand through wild and tangled red hair. “If it isn’t little Gunnar Hofferson. Heir to the throne of Berk now, are you? Gods help us. I’d say you have big boots to fill, but…well, Hiccup always had small feet, didn’t he?”

Stoick didn’t flinch. Gunnar, however, bristled.

“I am the heir now,” Gunnar said, chin lifting, “and I asked you a question.”

Dagur’s grin turned predatory.

He prowled forward—not fast, not aggressive. Just inevitable. A rising tide of threat in human skin.

“So, the little pup finally grew his fangs,” he murmured, voice low enough for only a few to hear. “Just remember, those fangs don’t mean power. A pup with teeth is still just a pup. Bark too loud at the wrong wolf, and you’ll get eaten.”

Gunnar growled. “Why don’t we go to the Kill Ring and see how sharp my fangs have really gotten?”

Dagur barked a laugh and spun on a heel towards his soldiers on his ship. “Oh, he bites, too! Look at him! Look at his little eyebrows scrunching up!”

He turned back, grin gone sharp. “You know, I’d love nothing more than to humble a Hofferson. But I’d hate to humiliate you too badly. I know how you Hoffersons freeze when you’re scared.”

The insult struck like a slap. Gunnar’s hand twitched toward the axe at his back.

Stoick moved instantly, gripping the boy’s arm like a vice and pulling him back. Dagur’s laughter cracked like thunder in the cold.

“That’s enough,” Stoick hissed. “Go. Survey the defenses.”

“Stoick, I—”

“You’ve done enough, Gunnar. Go.”

The boy hesitated, jaw tight. But he went.

Dagur watched him go, then turned back, face suddenly all false innocence.

“Now that the children are off to bed,” he said, stretching nonchalantly, “I didn’t come to fight, Stoick, unless, of course, you wanted too? With all the catapults and soldiers and mostly-polite manners, I’m getting mixed signals here, and you know how much I hate mixed signals.”

“No,” he said quietly, turning his eyes back on Dagur. “We want no fight, Dagur.”

“Good!” Dagur perked up, strolling over, “I came to have a little talk. A chat, if you will, about a problem that I fear affects us both.”

“Then talk,” he said.

Dagur’s grin widened again. Too white. Too calm. “Not here.”

He looked around at the Guard, at Ingrid’s spear glinting from the clifftop. Then back at Stoick, voice dropping to a purr. “Let’s not do this with all your lovely villagers watching. Invite me in, we’ll have a drink or snack, and you’ll listen to what I have to offer.”

Stoick didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Dagur’s smile faded.

“Or don’t,” he said, tone clipped and frowning now. “But then I have no reason to keep this fleet from anchoring here for the next several days. And maybe some of my men don’t understand boundaries as well as I do. You know how it is with us Berserkers. We get so...restless when we’re bored.”

Stoick’s jaw locked.

“Of course,” Stoick said hoarsely. “Follow me.”

He gestured to Ingrid: stand down. And together, they ascended the ramps.

Dagur looked ready to chew his own arm off by the time Gobber finished listing improvements to the village.

“Boooorrrrring,” Dagur moaned. “Gods, has nothing changed?”

Gobber tried. “Well, the smithy got a new roof—Gustav burned down the old one.”

Dagur nodded solemnly. “Ah yes. Apprentices. I’ve had to...dismiss a few myself lately. It’s exhausting.”

Stoick had a very bad feeling about what "dismiss" meant.

Inside the Great Hall, Gunnar stood near one of the statues, shame still burning in his posture.

“Dagur, I want to apologize for—”

“Zip it, blondie,” Dagur sneered without even looking at him, “I don’t want to hear an apology right now. Find me later.”

Stoick's glare silenced Gunnar before the boy could argue.

They took their seats. Dagur lounged like a cat in sunlight, plucking berries from the bowl before him like he owned the place.

“I heard something interesting,” Dagur said lightly. “From my men in the Northern Market. You remember, the ones looking for my sister?”

“Of course,” Stoick replied diplomatically, but internally his heart seized.

Most of the Archipelago knew Dagur’s sister, Heather, to be long gone, killed in a tragic accident at sea when they were just children. Oswald himself confirmed it, and the fact that Dagur still believed her to be alive led him to worry about the Berserker Chief’s degrading sanity.

He even kidnapped an innocent girl from a fishing village not too long ago, thinking she was his sister.

“Well, they sent me a hawk I received last night, and they told me a rumor. You know how rumors are there. Slippery, dramatic, often lies or at least half-truths.”

He bit into the berry.

“But this one...this one stuck.”

Stoick sighed. “What of this rumor?”

“They say…” he picked another berry from the bowl, almost laughing as he did so. “They say a Dragon Hunter base—yes, I’m aware you’re not fond of them after Krogan’s stunt some time ago—up in the northeast was attacked. Burned to the ground, most of the garrison dead or wounded, and all the dragons flying free.”

Dagur leaned forward, all amusement gone now. “The attack wasn’t sloppy. It was surgical. Like the work of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. Someone who’s done it before.”

Stoick’s blood chilled.

No. He can’t be talking about them.

“They said one of them rode a Night Fury…”

Ice spilled down Stoick’s spine, and he felt Gobber beside him stiffen. Gunnar’s eyes chilled over but otherwise didn’t react.

He took a breath to steady himself. “We heard the tales. Dragons Riders from the East. Demons, the lot of them. Aye?”

“Oh,” Dagur leered now, leaning back into his seat. “The things I’ve heard of them—” He whistled, “—just send shivers down my spine! Ooo!”

Dagur gave a long, delighted shudder. “Gives me chills just thinking about it. But here’s the thing, Stoick…”

His grin disappeared again. “What if these Riders decide to turn their attention to the rest of us?”

Stoick narrowed his eyes and his blood turned to stone.

He can’t really be asking what I think he’s asking for.

“What are you suggesting?” He said cautiously, watching Dagur’s smile twitch.

“An alliance,” Dagur said, resting his hands on the table. “Turn our truce into something useful. Something…pointy. If those Riders come for the Archipelago, I want you at my back. And I’ll be at yours.”

“An alliance,” Stoick echoed.

“Yes,” Dagur sighed. “I know my reputation’s not exactly sparkling, but I’m more trustworthy than Alvin.”

“Ah yes,” Gobber pipped up sarcastically, “Alvin the Treacherous. Quite the high bar you’ve set there.”

“I know, right?” Dagur chuckled, “But think about it, Stoick. We’re not that far from the Dragon Hunter outposts and bases, and we all keep captive dragons for training. We fight against dragons wherever we find them. You think the Riders’ dragon gods or whoever like that? How long until they turn their attention to us?”

A long silence fell.

Stoick didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He felt like he was standing at the edge of a knife.

“Give us time to consider,” Stoick said, voice hard as stone. “I’ll speak to my council about this, and until we reach a decision you are free to stay onboard your ship in the harbor.

Gunnar huffed, looking ready to accept now. “Stoick, I really think—”

“Gunnar.” He snapped, perhaps too harshly, and Gunnar silenced himself.

Gobber wouldn’t meet Stoick’s eyes.

Dagur stood, smiling bright and unnervingly. “I like when you play hard to get, Stoick. Makes it more satisfying when you eventually give in.”

He took the bowl of berries and turned for the door without waiting for permission, and Gunnar followed a few moments later.

Only when the doors shut did Stoick sag in his chair.

Gobber’s voice was soft. “If Dagur finds out…”

“He won’t,” Stoick whispered.

“But if we refuse—”

“I know.”

Stoick closed his eyes.

An alliance with Dagur.

It would buy time. Keep the Berserkers close, under watch, but it would alienate most of the other tribes of the Archipelago.

But Dagur couldn’t be controlled like Gunnar could. Dagur was crazy, paranoid, controlled an armada and had his own resources, and Stoick had no way of warning his son of Dagur’s moves. The alliance meant Gunnar might seek Dagur out more and weaken Stoick’s control over the situation.

And if Dagur found out the truth—that the Dragon Riders were Hiccup, Astrid, Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut—he wouldn’t just go after them, he’d come for Berk as well.

Refusing, though…that risked open war. A hundred ships at his harbor. No warning, no restraint. And after Berk, Dagur still might seek out the Riders.

You have to accept. It’s the only way to keep Hiccup safe.

He opened his eyes and turned to Gobber.

“I can’t make war on my son, but I can’t let him face Dagur alone.”

He stood, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Gather the council. I’ll inform them of Dagur’s plan and let them know I intend to accept his offer.”

-0-

Defenders of the Wing Island, Present

Hiccup spread the map wide across the oak tables, the parchment whispering secrets as it unfurled—crackling softly beneath his calloused fingers, the pages patched together by Toothless’ dried saliva. Fishlegs helped on the opposite side, their movements practiced, reverent. Page by page, the Greater Barbaric Archipelago emerged in full, alive with the inked paths of dragon migrations routes, the different colors indicating different terrains, and the markings signaling the presence of villages, ports, Hunter forts and outposts.

By the time it stretched to its full, sprawling width—dominating not one but two massive tables in the Defenders’ Meeting Hall—the room had fallen into stunned silence. The Wingmaidens stared, breathless. The Defenders, hardened warriors in their own ways, could only blink.

Pride swelled in Hiccup’s chest, fierce and bright, as he watched their awe crack across stony faces like sunlight through cloud.

Mala was the first to overcome her astonishment, stepping forward and examining the marked areas currently under Hunter control or associated with Hunters. “How recent is the information on this map?”

“Accurate within a week,” Hiccup answered, before smiling wryly, “except for this base here. We took it out of commission a few nights ago.”

He glanced over at Astrid, who shared his smile before adding, “Most of the garrison were either killed or wounded, and the base itself burnt down not long after.”

Snotlout leaned against a nearby pillar, his tone casual but with a flicker of satisfaction beneath it. “And considering the cave troll they captured now lives among the ruins and its caves, we don’t think they’ll try retaking it until after they bring their forces here in greater numbers.”

Mala nodded, the calculating sharpness in her gaze returning as she turned her attention to the eastern edge of the map. Atali stepped up next, eyeing the vast number of marked outposts through the north and east. Hiccup saw the way her eyes widened worriedly.

“Many of these,” she gestured to the ones closest to Wingmaiden territory, “straddle the Razorwhip migration routes to our island, yet they don’t carry the same markings as some of the other outposts in the east. Why aren’t you more concerned about them?”

There was no malice in the question. But Hiccup knew the undertone, the quiet accusation buried in her concern.

He didn’t blame her, though. She had dedicated her life to the Razorwhips. Her people had, too. And now they see Hunters so close to their territory.

“They’re too small to be useful for holding dragons, let alone a species as deadly as a Razorwhip.” Hiccup answered civilly, leaning over the table and putting his palms flat on the map. “We know Razorwhips need specialized equipment to keep them captive, but these outposts are too small to carry that kind of equipment, let alone hold them for long periods of time. We think they’re primarily for observing, since the garrisons are small, never more than fifteen men on the largest, and not equipped to handle dragons.”

Atali raised an eyebrow at him. “They’re scouting the migration routes?”

“We think so,” Fishlegs clarified quickly. “We think they’re just gathering information on migration routes and flight patterns throughout the seasons, making it easier for Hunters to capture them. We saw something similar out east: scouting posts erected along migration routes, gathering information about which dragons and what time of the year. Once they spot the pathfinders for the packs and thunders, they send a messenger hawk to the main hunter forts, who then stake out along the routes.”

Hiccup let out a breath. “They’re watching, not capturing. Yet. But we don’t know how long they’ve been doing this in the Archipelago. For now, we’re leaving the outposts intact.”

That earned him a hard stare from Atali. “Why?”

He didn’t answer—because Astrid stepped forward, voice quiet but lethal.

“Overextension,” she said. Her fingers brushed the map as she moved, tapping the outposts one by one, like striking targets on a battlefield. “If we attack a few of them now, word gets out, and the Hunters regroup at a more defensible location. Fortify. Make themselves harder to uproot.”

She looked up, eyes blazing like blue fire. “We’d need to strike them simultaneously. One massive, coordinated assault. But there are too many for us to handle on our own. One Rider per outpost is too risky; aside from the higher chances of injury, we run the risk of a messenger hawk getting sent out telling the outposts to regroup and fortify. Two means we cover less ground and have to strike more than once a day to prevent them from realizing something’s up.”

A breath passed, charged with possibility.

“But with our help…” Atali murmured, a slow smile curving her lips.

Astrid returned it. “We might be able to pull it off. If the Defenders and Wingmaidens strike with us, we can erase their eyes across the north and east. Even if they already have the routes, they won’t know when the migrations begin. That gives us an advantage, since we’ll know where they’ll concentrate traps, ambushes and ships. They’ll be out there longer and exposed, waiting for dragons to show up, and while they’re waiting we can take them out.”

Atali nodded, eyes drifting back to the map.

There was a beat of silence as Hiccup let Mala and Atali look over the map more with their councils, eyes slowly moving from the north and east to the south and west, the home of the Vikings of the Archipelago.

Again, Mala was the first to speak up, her voice soft and measured. “What of the Vikings of the Archipelago?”

Hiccup didn’t let his expression shift, something he’d learned talking to governors, kings and emperors all over the world. A good neutral expression could do wonders in any environment where showing emotion could lead to all kinds of headaches.

Astrid and the others, however, were not as trained, and he saw Mala’s eyes flick over to Astrid’s pale complexion.

“I take it something happened,” she said carefully, her tone diplomatic but not cold.

They all shifted. Fishlegs. Snotlout. Heather. Even Ruff and Tuff stopped bickering over what to name their newest addition, the Firefox.

Hiccup sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “We may have…visited Berk. Astrid and I, I mean. And…well, it didn’t go well.”

“What happened?” Atali asked, eyes flicking between him and Astrid.

As much as it hurt to relive, Hiccup had expected some of it.

Not the fear in his father’s eyes—that had cut deeper than he’d thought possible—but the anger? The disappointment? He’d braced for that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d carried the possibility around like an old wound.

It still hurt, of course it did. But the pain settled into something duller now.

Something he could work around.

But Astrid?

She’d never prepared for her brother trying to kill her, fueled by rage. For her parents to recoil from her, terror carved into their faces like they didn’t recognize their own daughter. For the village to try to kill them like they were invaders.

“We…uhhh…” Astrid started, voice barely more than a breath, before it snagged in her throat, like a splinter caught under skin. “We got caught…and…”

And then Hiccup saw it.

One hand drifting almost absently behind her back to her skirt, finding one of the leather flaps. A slow, repetitive motion—rubbing the edge between her thumb and forefinger like she could wear the feeling away.

To the Wingmaidens, the Defenders and Heather, it meant nothing. Just a small motion. A meaningless tic or fidgeting.

The others didn’t need an explanation. They saw it and discretely looked away, like they always did. After five years side by side, growing up together, living together, fighting together and sharing almost everything, they knew what it meant. Not all of it, maybe, but enough.

They never said anything. Never stared. It was their quiet way of giving her space.

But Hiccup knew better and understood what it really meant.

Because that small motion—quiet, precise, almost invisible—wasn’t just nerves.

It was Astrid internally unraveling. Overwhelmed at reliving the events of Berk while trying to maintain her poise in front of their allies.

She’d always been one to push through, eyes forward, like the warrior she was. She could kill a few trees or train and then move on.

Even after their bloodiest fights, Astrid seemed able to push on quicker than the rest of them.

But he knew this was different. This was her family.

He saw it in the way she tore up the trees with her axe on the Edge when they got back from Berk. He saw it in the tears flowed unobstructed from her eyes, and the way she seemed to sag in defeat the night after Berk. He was the only one who got to see that side of her, the side that cracked under the weight of her own expectations and effort because she let him see it.

And he was the only one who knew how to respond to it.

Because in the rare moments when everything became too much for Astrid, he was the one who anchored her.

Usually, it was the other way around, but that didn’t slow him down in the least.

He stepped toward her without thinking, brushing past the edge of the table. Her fingers were still worrying the leather when he reached out and closed his hand over hers.

A firm, steady grip. No words, just weight and presence.

I’m here.

Her hand stilled, and he saw her shoulders loosen, her expression relax and her breathing slow down.

“It wasn’t good,” he finished, looking back at Atali, “all that’s important is that Berk still isn’t ready to accept dragons, yet. We left two letters, but we haven’t gone back there since.”

“I see,” Atali said, looking back towards the map and giving no hints of her thoughts on what had just happened. “Do you know if they’ve set sail from the mainland?”

“We aren’t sure, but we’re guessing they’re going to wait for winter to ease here soon, so we should have some time before they make it to the Archipelago.”

“How many ships?”

“We don’t know, but we know their numbers are in the thousands. Maybe five thousand.” He didn’t include the ten thousand in the north, the personal army of the warlord who controlled the Dragon Hunters. “That number will probably grow with mercenaries from the continent, and we reckon they’ll probably sail up from the south and settle in the east, fortifying whatever outposts they have left and building new forts.”

A slow, cold dread settled over the room. Eyes turned back to the map, tracing imagined fleets along blue coastlines. Mala’s warriors and Atali’s Wingmaidens shifted uneasily.

“Five thousand?” Minden whispered from beside Atali, the words barely audible. “We’ll be outnumbered. We’ll be slaughtered.”

Other murmurs followed, low and uncertain. Calculations behind the eyes of seasoned fighters.

Hiccup could feel it—the fear creeping in at the edges. And if it spread, it would calcify into doubt. Doubt meant hesitation. Hesitation would cost them dragons, lives, everything.

He glanced at Astrid. She met his look and gave him a small, firm nod.

Do your thing.

Reluctantly, he let her hand go and stepped forward into the space around the table, letting the weight of the moment settle into his spine.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he started with a full voice, eyes sweeping the room. “You’re thinking how we could ever beat their numbers, their fleets and their weapons. How we could ever possibly stand against that.”

He gestured to his friends behind him, “We wondered that too, once. Back when it was just us, scrambling for a place among the Rus, trying to protect dragons no one else would fight for. But we did it anyway. Because doing nothing wasn’t an option. We’d rather go down saving a few dragons than live with knowing we let them all burn”

He paused before continuing, “Now, the Hunters are coming for the Archipelago, and not just for the dragons, but for your homes. Our homes. They have the ships and the manpower to lay siege to both your islands and the Edge, but only if we give them time to organize. If we work together and take the fight to them before they have a chance to consolidate in the north and east, we can beat them. I know it.”

He felt someone step up beside him.

“We won’t fight them all at once,” Astrid said, clear and steady now, with the calm certainty of someone who’d already thought it through. “They’ll spread out. That’s their weakness. They’re trying to control too much territory too quickly, and occupation always dilutes fighting strength. Supply lines will be stretched and convoys will move between bases, exposed and vulnerable on open water. So, we hit the convoys, the small bases and cut them off. Whittle them down before they even know what’s happening.”

“Exactly,” Snotlout said, stepping in without hesitation. “Besides, there’s no way they can keep all five thousand in one place, not unless they’re preparing for something massive—and if they are, we’ll see it coming. We own the sky, and it’s not exactly easy to hide an army from the air.”

Then Fishlegs stepped up, taping the region around Dragon’s Edge. “And we already know the rescued dragons can integrate to the pack on Dragon’s Edge. Keeping them there will remove them from danger and prevent Hunters from recapturing them. As long as Dragon’s Edge stays hidden, any dragon there will be safe.”

Ruffnut moved forward, planting her hands on the edge of the table. “And we’ve been tracking the Hunters’ safe harbors for a year now. We know where they sleep, so the second we find out a fleet is in port—”

Tuffnut grinned, moving beside his sister. “We hit them so they never have a chance to wake up. Boom! They’ll never see it coming.”

Even Heather stepped up. “We’ve trained for this. We’ve done this before, just on a smaller scale. Now we’ve got allies.”

The shift in the room was almost tangible. Where there had been hesitation, there was now momentum. The murmurs faded, replaced by nods, sharpened expressions, the energy of a battle plan beginning to form.

Hiccup took it all in—his friends, the unity, the unspoken trust—and felt something unshakeable settle in his chest. This was who they were now. A single, breathing organism built from years of survival and defiance, forged through their journeys throughout the world.

He turned back to the Wingmaidens and Defenders. “We don’t outnumber them, but we don’t have to. If we keep them guessing, hit them fast and hard at vulnerable points before disappearing, they’ll lose momentum and time. Time is on our side in this fight, not theirs.”

There were a few mutters of agreement, and the tension in the room eased a bit more.

“Well,” Mala said, glancing at Atali with something like quiet pride, “I think I speak for both of our people when I say we look forward to joining your fight in earnest, Hiccup Haddock.”

“Aye,” Throk said from beside Mala, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Let us take the fight to these cowards. Let us strike before they even know we’ve drawn our blades.”

There were a few cheers from both sides, and the war council stirred to life again, Astrid and Snotlout taking over talks of strategy while Fishlegs, Heather and the twins lent their expertise when needed.

But Hiccup stepped back, subtly catching Mala’s eye.

She raised a brow but nodded once.

“Come,” she said quietly. “There’s something I think you’ve been meaning to ask.”

Atali stepped over beside her, already sensing the shift.

As the others bent over the maps, their voices growing louder with plans and possibilities, Hiccup followed the two leaders out of the main hall. The room’s warmth dimmed with every step, replaced by the steady hum of anticipation in his chest. His thoughts spun with fragments and details picked up from the commander, scattered like pieces of broken glass.

Ten years, maybe more, so they’d be on the older side. Rides a Stormcutter. Doesn’t speak. Strange armor, stranger mask, and uses a whistling staff.

He didn’t even know what a whistling staff was supposed to be.

They reached a quiet alcove tucked away from the main area, the torches casting gentle flickers across the stone. Mala turned, arms folding as she studied his face with practiced calm. Atali tilted her head slightly, the ever-curious observer.

“What is it you’ve been meaning to ask?” Mala inquired.

Hiccup hesitated—not from uncertainty, but from the weight of how much this could mean. “During the raid a few nights ago,” he said, voice low, “the commander at the Hunter fort had a habit of boasting after he sprung a trap. Lucky for us. Anyways, he mentioned that there…well, that there is another dragon rider.”

Both women stilled.

“They call them the ‘Dragon Thief,’” Hiccup continued. “Apparently, they’ve been in the Archipelago for over ten years. Rides a Stormcutter. Wears a mask. Doesn’t speak. Uses some kind of staff that…whistles?”

Mala frowned, brow furrowed as she searched her memory. But it was Atali whose expression shifted—sharp surprise blooming behind her eyes.

“You know who this is?” He asked quickly, straightening.

“Not exactly,” Atali said carefully, “but we’ve had brief contact. A few times, over the years. Always involving Razorwhips.”

That got his full attention.

He nodded, silently urging her to continue.

“She’d bring us hatchlings born outside our nests, or wounded mothers, always with incredible care. She never stayed long, and she never told us her name. But she always asked us to look after them.”

“She?” he echoed.

Atali nodded.

“Does she ride a Stormcutter?”

“Yes,” she replied instantly, “She wore strange armor, not like any I’ve seen, but removed her helmet when she came close. She had red hair with green eyes and spoke softly, barely above a whisper. And her staff…yes, it made a sound. A kind of hum, with some metal bits in it that sometimes whistled. I don’t know how, but it calmed the dragons. Even the Razorwhip mothers.”

That’s gotta be the Dragon Thief!

Hiccup felt the grin spread before he could stop it. The air in his lungs lightened, heart thudding with a sense of wonder. An older Dragon Rider. One who’d been doing this long before them. Who might know more about dragons. Who might understand dragons like he and his friends did.

“Do you know where she is now?”

But Atali’s face fell. “No. Only that she lives far to the north. We’ve never followed her. Never seen where she came from or where she returned to. I’m sorry.”

Hiccup’s hope dipped for a moment, but didn’t die. “It’s alright,” he murmured, already rifling through mental maps—images from those first frigid flights when they left. Mountains. Ice shelves. Islands that didn’t appear on any charts.

There had to be something he missed. Something he could piece together.

At least now he had a heading. A direction. A clue.

He exhaled slowly, grounding himself, and looked back at both leaders.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For telling me. For everything you’re doing. I know you’re fighting for your people—but we couldn’t do this without you.”

Mala gave him a small nod, something iron-strong behind it. “Nor could we without you.”

Atali offered a similar smile. “We stand together now, Hiccup Haddock.”

A call rang out behind them with an air of finality, sounding vaguely like Snotlout trying to showboat for something, maybe for Minden, which was a signal the council was drawing to a close.

Hiccup followed Mala and Atali back to the table for a few final adjustments—flight paths, signal timings, fallback plans.

Then hands were shaken, the pact sealed.

And that was it.

The others spilled outside to join the celebration beginning in the square. The scent of cooked meat and mead already floated through the doors and into the hall.

But Hiccup lingered.

He stood at the edge of the war table, his gaze locked on the circled outposts chosen for destruction. Red ink bled into the parchment like fresh wounds waiting to happen.

The night of the first strike.

The same night he’d planned to fly to Berk. To speak to Gobber. To ask the questions that had been clawing at the back of his mind since they first landed on Berk.

Looks like Gobber will have to wait, he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

Unless…

He straightened. Shook his head. No. No, he wouldn’t do that. He was a leader now; he was a leader of Dragon Riders and now a leader in a coordinated war effort. He had responsibilities now. He couldn’t put himself in danger unnecessarily. He couldn’t abandon that because of some selfish longing.

But if it’s only for one night…

It would be so easy to just tell the others he was off scouting before the mission and that he would be back by the next night.

He could find out if the letters had their intended effect, if there was any chance Berk might accept them and join the war against the Dragon Hunters.

He could find out why the island was so terrified of him and Astrid.

“Hiccup.”

He looked up.

Astrid stood across from him, framed in torchlight, arms crossed over her chest. Her expression was unreadable. But her eyes—he knew those eyes. Calm. Calculating. Certain.

“You’re flying to Berk tonight,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“I didn’t—” he started, but she cut him off with a single raised brow.

“Hiccup,” she said with that knowing tone.

“Astrid, I swear I wasn’t—well, I thought about it, but I can’t just leave. Not now. We have the raids, and I—”

“No, you muttonhead.” She exhaled, the sound warm despite the words. Then she crossed the distance between them, slow and steady, until she stood close enough that he could feel the weight of her presence settle his thoughts.

She reached for his hand and took it in both of hers.

“I mean you’re going tonight.”

He blinked. “I…what?”

Her eyes dropped to their joined hands, then lifted back to his face. “You’ll go anyway, no matter what I say. You already decided. I can see it.” Her grip tightened, not to restrain but to reassure. “So, I’m telling you now—go. Just keep your head down and be safe, alright?”

The tension in his shoulders uncoiled. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been holding himself until her words cracked through his armor.

“I will,” he said quietly. And he meant it.

She leaned in, her hand brushing his jaw, grounding him the way she always did when the weight of everything became too much. Her voice dropped to a near whisper, soft but fierce. “Come back in one piece. Or I swear, I’ll have the others sew you back together before I use you for target practice.”

A laugh escaped him, breathy and fond. “I’ll try to remember that.”

Then she kissed him.

Not urgent. Not desperate. Just a quiet promise pressed to his mouth. The kind of kiss that steadied more than it stirred. Steady, tender, threaded with the quiet ache of goodbye, even just for a night. Her hand at the back of his neck, his own settling at her waist, anchoring them in this fleeting moment of peace. For a breath, for a heartbeat, there was no war.

Just her.

Just this.

She pulled back just enough to look at him in the eyes, her blue meeting his green as her breath floated across his skin.

“Also…” her voice was barely above a whisper, “thank you. For earlier. I was in my head about Berk, and I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Astrid,” he replied just as softly. “Just don’t shut me out, ok?”

He knew she was still having trouble with it. He knew it from the way she zoned out on the Edge, staring out into space with eyes glazed over, her hands tightening and her breathing changing.

“I won’t.” She said it like a promise, and he believed it with all his heart. “When you get back, we can talk about it. I’m not the best at this, you know.”

“Maybe not,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, “but you try. That’s all I care about. You’re trying and you keep trying. And that’s why I love you. You never give up, not on yourself or anyone else.”

He felt her press her face into that spot in the crook of his neck that she loved so much, and for a moment she was squeezing him so tight he couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t stop her.

Finally, she pulled back, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I’ll cover for you,” she said. “Tell the others you’re scouting the outposts one last time. That buys you until noon tomorrow—no later.”

“Got it,” he said, barely above a whisper as she stepped back.

“And don’t get captured.” The soft voice she usually reserved for him was now replaced by her commanding tone. “I’m not flying all the way to Berk to drag your stubborn butt out of a cell again. I’ve saved you too many times, and we need to start getting you to save me more.”

He chuckled as he began folding the map up. “First, I would save you more but you have this annoying habit of always being able to fight your way out of trouble. Second, you love saving my ass. It’s practically your favorite date night activity.”

Astrid smirked as she helped fold the map on the table. “I’ll admit, my favorite date night activities usually involve your ass but not saving it. But if you do get captured, make sure you don't have too many scars on your ass or your face, ok?”

“How you wound me, milady.” He grinned as he tucked the map under his chest piece. “Sometimes, I think you’re only with me for me looks and not my personality or my intelligence.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Don’t forget your dramatic flair.”

They walked to the door together, his steps echoing softly beside her steps. Toothless perked up the second they stepped outside, bounding toward him with a happy warble. Hiccup scratched beneath his chin as he mounted the saddle, giving his dragon a reassuring pat.

He turned back just as Astrid was swinging onto Stormfly.

“Astrid?”

She looked over, brow raised, hand on her hip, that familiar fire in her gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For understanding. For this.” His voice dropped, quiet and full. “You’re the best.”

She flipped her braid over her shoulder with mock drama. “Oh, I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Hiccup. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He laughed again, heart lighter than it had felt in days.

Then he leaned down, resting his hand on Toothless’ neck.

“How about a quick trip back to Berk, bud?”

-0-

The Barbaric Archipelago, Present

“How many dragons in the hold?” Viggo asked, his voice quiet but sharp.

“Twenty-four, sir,” the sergeant replied immediately. “Hungry and restless. I’ve kept them awake as best I could. Lanterns on at all hours, shifts of guards banging cages at irregular intervals, no sedation, no food for two days.”

Viggo nodded once, then began to walk, his burned face sweeping over each caged dragon.

On either side, the cells were packed tight with dragons of all kinds they’d caught on their voyage—Nadders, Gronckles, two Zipplebacks and a lone Monstrous Nightmare snapping at the bars and alighting itself occasionally. The beasts had been starved, deprived of sleep, driven to the edge of frenzy.

Exactly as he wanted them.

“They’re angry?” he asked without looking back.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant confirmed. “Riled up and ready.”

“Good.” He turned on his heel to face Gorm. “Set sail for Berk. If my calculations are correct, we’ll be within range by nightfall.”

Gorm grinned, his wide shoulders shifting in anticipation. “And once we’re there?”

Viggo's lone eye locked onto him—flat, cold, and merciless. “We open the holds. Let the dragons do what dragons do.”

A slow, cruel smile twisted across Gorm’s face. “Yessir.”

He turned to bark the order, already striding toward the stairs. But Viggo lingered for a moment, looking at the dragons one last time before spinning back towards the steps.

He continued his walk down the corridor, ignoring the roars and rattling bars, the claws reaching through the gaps in a last bid for freedom. The chaos didn’t bother him. He had spent too long in the company of monsters—human and otherwise—to flinch now.

And then he stopped.

Near the end of the row, a final cell waited. Unlike the others, this one was double-caged, reinforced with a secondary ring of dragon-proofed steel and bone-woven bracing. Inside, slumped and unmoving, was a creature unlike the rest.

The Skrill.

Held in unconscious stasis, its scales shimmered faintly even in the dim light, electric pulses flickering along its spines in twitching intervals. The alchemists’ concoction—Deathgripper venom laced with Speed Stinger paralytic—kept it comatose and immobile. For now.

Viggo studied it for a long moment, remembering the last time he’d one of them fully awake.

Lightning incarnate. Raw, untamable violence. Superior intelligence. An exceptional specimen. Too valuable to be wasted in such an attack.

This one would serve a different purpose.

“Amend the order,” he said, voice low but lethal.

Gorm paused at the stairs. The sergeant turned.

Viggo tilted his head slightly toward the cell. “Release all the dragons—except this one.”

He stepped closer to the reinforced bars, watching the subtle twitch of the creature’s nostrils as it dreamed of storms. “A Skrill may come in handy...especially when Hiccup and his Night Fury eventually turn up.”

Neither Gorm nor the sergeant said a word.

They didn’t need to. The plan had shifted.

Viggo smiled—a thin, bloodless thing—and turned back toward the upper deck, the storm already building in his mind.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

“Well, this was stupid,” Hiccup muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than the wind through the pines.

He laid prone at the forest’s edge, just where the trees gave way toward open fields. The village sprawled ahead of him, his gut twisting once again as he thought of the last time he’d come to Berk.

Torchlight flickered across the streets. Not sporadic. Not haphazard. Disciplined. Regular patrols, precise movements. The kind of vigilance Berk rarely bothered with before.

And just beyond the harbor, the dark hulking shapes of Berserker longships bobbed on the waves.

It was a far cry from the quiet, slumbering Berk he and Astrid had crept through days earlier. The one they’d woken up. The one they nearly didn’t make it out of alive.

Toothless huffed behind him. A low, rasping sound. Not quite agreement, and not quite disapproval.

Hiccup glanced back at him. “I know, I know.” He didn’t dare move his lips. “We shouldn’t be here.”

Not after last time.

He stared at the streets below, watching the torch-bearing warriors make their rounds. Every detail logged with the eye of someone who’d had to notice the space between danger. He tracked their timing. The routes. Noted who stopped to chat, who looked up at the sky too often. Not one of the guards bore Berserker colors.

And still, his pulse thrummed like war drums in his ears.

Why are so many Berk Guard warriors patrolling? Why is the Berserker Armada in Berk?

A gust of wind cut through the trees, cold and sharp as a knife. Hiccup wrapped his arms around himself, tucking in his shoulders.

He should’ve brought furs or at least stopped at the Edge to grab them before coming back to Berk. His leather armor wasn’t meant for this kind of cold.

He closed his eyes, drew in a breath, and felt that familiar ache rising in his chest.

But there was no time to fall into that—not now.

“Stay here, bud,” he whispered, dragging himself upright despite Toothless’ grumbling protests. “No, we can’t fly in together, it’s too dangerous with the braziers lit. I’ll be fine, Toothless. I promise. Twenty minutes tops, bud, and then we’re out of here. Okay, bud?”

Toothless snorted again, low and wary, wings shifting restlessly. But he didn’t argue further. Just launched into the air with a soundless whoosh, vanishing into the shadows like the phantom he was.

Hiccup waited a beat—then dropped low to the ground and began to move.

No dragon armor this time. The best protection he had was stealth, discipline and trust that Gobber wouldn’t alert the watch.

He barely made it ten steps before a patrol passed along the upper road. Hiccup flattened himself into the frozen dirt, face down, breath held, as two guards walked by above him—chatting idly, watching the sky.

He waited until their voices disappeared into the cold.

Then he slipped forward, crouching low, zigzagging between fences and wood piles.

Another sentry. He dropped again until she passed before moving up.

Another patrol. A sprint and slide into a darkened gap between buildings.

He pressed against the side of his old house—his dad’s house, he reminded himself—and waited for the patrol to pass before darting around the corner.

He ducked behind a half-rotted barrel just as another sharp wind tore through the village, slicing through the gaps in his armor like talons. The cold bit at the tips of his ears, clawed down the back of his neck. He pressed his arms tight to his chest, swallowing a groan. Its icy breath stung the bridge of his nose, the exposed line of his cheek. His teeth began to chatter despite him clenching his jaw.

Another patrol passed, boots crunching against the frost-slick cobbles, muttering about the weather and the Berserker armada. He didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare breathe.

Only when their voices faded did he shift, creeping low along the alley’s edge. Each street he passed dragged ghosts up from the ground. Shadows of the boy who used to walk them.

He passed the brazier near the Great Hall, the same one which had barreled through the village the night he shot down Toothless.

His father’s words echoed through his head.

You are many things, Hiccup. But a dragon killer is not one of them.

It struck him that his father, in some way, had been right. Most of the village had been right, in fact. He wasn’t a dragon killer.

His pace slowed the closer he got to the main square as the patrols increased in intensity, all of whom wore the blue cloaks of the Berk Guard. They were mostly watching the skies, which worked to his advantage—no one expected him to be coming in on foot.

The alleys tightened as he made his way to the workshop quarter of the village. Familiar shapes rose around him, sheds, fences, barrels and stalls he must’ve seen a thousand times over the years of running to the forge.

He burst from the shadows of the alley and sprinted across the street just as a guard turned the corner. Hiccup flattened himself against a wall, his heart thundering and his breath fogging in the cold air, curling like dragon smoke.

One block away.

Another gust of wind barreled through the alley, cruel and unrelenting. Hiccup hissed and bent over, gripping his sides, trying to hold warmth against himself.

And just like that, he was eight years old again.

He’d tried to walk to the docks in the middle of a blizzard. He’d wanted to see if the bay had frozen over. He didn’t make it—collapsed in some alley with the snow burying him like a shroud. Stoick and Gobber found him a half hour later.

His father had yelled—What were you thinking, Hiccup? You're too small for this, you'll freeze yourself solid!—and stuck him inside the smithy until the storm passed. But Gobber barely said a word. Just handed him a blanket, stoked the fire, and went back to hammering.

That was the first time Hiccup stayed in the shop. The first time he watched Gobber work.

The first time he ever hit iron with a hammer.

Gobber had asked him to help if he was going to take up space in the smithy, showing him how to forge a simple iron spike before telling him to get on with it. He remembered how his fingers, raw from cold, had curled around the smallest hammer in the shop. How he spent the entire day trying to forge a single spike. Crooked, uneven, misshapen—it had looked like a question mark with a limp.

But Gobber had clapped him on the back anyway and told him he’d done a fine job.

At that point, Hiccup had never felt prouder of anything.

Even now, Hiccup smiled at the memory, crouched behind a wagon, wind scraping across his cheeks. That spike was probably melted down five minutes after he left, but it didn’t matter.

That day, Gobber let him build something. Gobber had asked him to do something and hadn’t looked at him like he was a disappointment or something worse. He hadn’t looked at Hiccup like he was weak and incapable of basic tasks. He’d just asked Hiccup to do something, shown him how, and then let him work. And when it was done, he didn’t scold Hiccup or correct his obvious mistakes.

He’d just said good job.

It was one of the best days of his life before he left Berk.

The wind finally died down. Hiccup straightened, flexing his fingers. His stump was stiff and numb against the prosthetic, but still manageable. He needed to get near a fire, soon, though, otherwise he’d lose feeling in the leg entirely.

He peeked around the corner.

There.

The smithy stood quiet but alive—light flickering behind the shutters, smoke curling from the chimney in soft, silvery coils illuminated by moonlight. The forge was lit. Still burning.

Still in use.

Gobber was in there.

He knew he would be. Gobber always left the forge late at night, just in case of a raid, keeping the forge hot and repairing as many weapons as he could until nearly everyone but the night watch was asleep.

So, he shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t be caught off guard. Hiccup had planned this, after all. He’d planned to see Gobber face-to-face late at night.

But it still filled him with dread.

What if he hates you? What if he’s afraid of you like Dad was?

The thought dropped like a stone in his gut.

His breath caught.

Why was he so nervous?

This wasn’t some stranger. This wasn’t his father. This wasn’t an enemy.

This was Gobber, the man who used to sneak him extra bread or stew when he skipped dinner to tinker or avoid the other kids. This was the man responsible for his obsessions with building, crafting and inventing.

This was the man who never let Hiccup think he wasn’t enough.

And Hiccup had left him behind. No warning. No letter. No goodbye.

He closed his eyes, hoping the weight pressing down on his chest would lessen, that the icy grip of guilt might loosen.

It didn’t.

His heart kept pounding, frantic and loud.

He wasn’t ready.

But he couldn’t run either.

So, he forced himself forward. One step. Then another. Then some more.

He reached the door, heart in his throat, and paused. From within came the soft, muffled sound of singing—off-key, but warm. Familiar. Gobber’s voice, drifting through the wood like a memory brought back to life.

He raised his hand to enter before he froze, and this time it wasn’t from the wind.

Hairs stood upright on the back of his neck, and a cold shiver passed through him. His hand slid down to Inferno, unclipping it from its holster.

There was a shift in the air, the kind that stole his breath away and filled him with a sense of foreboding, alarm swirling in his head and dread pooling in his stomach.

He recognized that shift. He’d felt it all over the world.

It was the kind of shift that signaled something ancient was watching him.

He looked up, and there it was.

A raven.

Black as a starless sky, perched on the low beam just above his head. Unmoving. Its feathers looked carved from onyx, shimmering in the moonlight like obsidian, and its—those eyes—were too deep. Too old.

Hiccup froze, matching its gaze and praying to the gods it didn’t make a sound that could alert a patrol.

The raven tilted its head, blinking. Curious. Studying.

And off. Wrong, somehow. Too composed. Too…aware. Not monstrous or corrupted, but something different, as if it wasn’t really a raven.

He just couldn’t place it.

The wind blew again, and Hiccup watched as its feathers remained unmoved by the wind.

A shiver slid down his spine, slow and cold.

Its eyes bore down on him as it shook out its wings, letting out a short caw.

And something else, something harder to name, had started pressing behind his eyes. He hadn’t noticed it at first—just a faint buzz under his skin, a pressure behind his temples, like the ache before a storm.

But now it pulsed. Warm. Steady. Like a second heartbeat, not painful—yet—but not his. Like something brushing against his thoughts.

Without any warning, the raven spread its wings and flew off, vanishing into the night sky, and the pressure in Hiccup’s head was alleviated, leaving him blinking and staring at the sky.

What was that thing?

It’d looked like a normal raven, but he knew it wasn’t. There was too much in its behavior and bearing that disproved that.

Whatever it was, though, it was gone now.

Another cold wind blew, stronger this time, and Hiccup bit back a groan as the cold seeped through his clothing and raked its nails along anything not covered by his leather armor or tunic. Hiccup hissed and hunched over, but with the wind came a chill, dragging frost through his hair and long his collar.

He needed to get inside.

Drawing in one last breath for courage, he quietly opened the door, remembering how it squeaked if opened too far, so he only pushed it open enough to slide through before closing it softly behind him.

The heat from the forge hit him immediately, dry and welcome, its warmth wrapping around him like an embrace from a friend. It felt familiar, more welcoming than any other smithy or forge he’d been in around the world.

Gobber’s voice echoed louder now, rough and unbothered as he sang to the rhythm of his hammer, metal striking metal in steady intervals—bright and ringing.

It was as if nothing had changed in the five years he’d been gone. Hammers, tongs and brushes still hung in the same place as they did the night before the final exam. Swords, axes, spears and other weapons were still piled in buckets all around, and crude iron and steel ingots were still scattered in a haphazard attempt at organization he and Gobber never finished.

He took a slow, measured step forward, each footfall across the floor echoing in his head.

He crossed into the forge’s main room.

There he was.

Planted at the anvil, hammering away, back turned and singing without a care in the world, was Gobber.

Hiccup’s breath snagged in his throat.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like he’d stepped into a memory. Like he’d gone back in time and was still the fifteen-year-old boy who wanted to bring down a Night Fury. The warmth in the air, the clang of metal, the scent of smoke and singed hair—it was all real. Tangible.

Familiar in the way only a childhood home could be.

He took a slow, hesitant step forward and his prosthetic let out the quietest squeak against the stone floor.

Gobber stilled, the song dying in his throat and slowly lowered his hammer down to rest on the anvil. He kept his back turned.

“I knew you’d come back. Didn’t know when, but I knew you’d come back.”

Hiccup swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat refused to move. His mouth opened—then closed again. What was he supposed to say to that? To five years of silence?

He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

Gobber turned, and in the light Hiccup saw how much his mentor had changed in the years since they all left Berk.

The familiar fur vest still clung to his smoke-stained tunic, full of holes from embers and burns, just as it had always been.

But it was in his face that Hiccup saw the toll time had taken on him, and his heart twisted in his chest.

The crow’s feet at the corners of Gobber’s eyes had deepened into fine lines etched into weathered skin. Wrinkles now tugged at the corners of his mouth, carved into his cheeks, along with one or two new scars on them. The graying in his hair and mustache was no longer scattered—it was settled, threaded through the hair like snow caught in tangled bramble.

But he still had that smile—crooked, stubborn and bright with the glint of that iron tooth.

It hit Hiccup like a blow to the chest.

Five years. Five, long, hard years away from everything and everyone.

And all he could manage was:

“Y-y-yeah, I—uh…yeah. I’m back.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth like they were tripping over each other and his voice cracked halfway through, as if his body thought he was fifteen again.

Hiccup silently cursed himself, shoulders curling inward and his hand drifting to the back of his neck.

Smart, Hiccup. Vanish for five years, show up unannounced, and lead with that.

He felt like he was a kid again, back on Berk and stuck in the forge after another screwup.

But Gobber didn’t seem to mind the awkwardness at all.

“Eloquent. I see the world has done wonders for your speaking abilities. Tell me, did it take you five years to come up with that, or just a few months?”

The snarkiness returned almost instantly. “What, not grand enough or heartwarming enough for you?”

“Ah, there he is. It’s good to see you again, Hiccup,” he gave Hiccup a hard grin that made a fist tighten around Hiccup’s heart. “And I mean properly see you. Not like last time where you were all covered in dragon scales and looking some spawn of Helheim.”

Hiccup exhaled, managing the smallest of smiles. “It’s good to see you too, Gobber.”

Gobber nodded, still smiling. “I see you grew. And you got some meat on your bones. Finally. Is the food really that much better out in the world?”

Hiccup looked down at his figure and shrugged. “I mean…yes and no, depends on where you go.”

Gobber nodded again, looking over every inch of Hiccup, still with that warm smile on his face.

But then his gaze drifted down—and stopped.

His prosthetic.

Hiccup’s chest tightened as Gobber’s face shifted. The warmth faded into something quieter. Something sad.

“Oh, lad—”

“I didn’t feel it,” Hiccup said quickly, the words sharp-edged from how often he’d practiced them. “I wasn’t awake. It…happened right after we fought the Red Death—the Queen dragon. I was knocked out and Toothless—my Night Fury—saved me. By the time I woke up, it was already—” he gestured, vaguely, uselessly. “The others took care of it while I was out and made sure it cleaned and sewn shut.”

Gobber nodded but said nothing for a long moment. Just stared at the metal limb as though it might blink.

Then, slowly, he nodded again, and his mouth tugged upward. “Well. I’ll admit—it’s got the usual ‘Hiccup flair.’ Bit over-engineered, in my opinion,” he lifted his peg leg, with a small chuckle, “and probably heavier than it needs to be. But clever.”

Hiccup’s smile twitched at the corner. “You’d be surprised how often that extra weight helps. I’ve got some interchangeable feet in her, too. Helps a lot with the snow and…dragon riding.”

“What’s wrong with a simple wooden peg? They’re very popular nowadays. Quick and easy.”

“You know me, I never did anything the easy way,” he shrugged, eyes drifting back to the assortment of weapons and tools around the smithy.

“Aye, you got that right.”

They stood there for a moment, the heat of the forge warming Hiccup, and yet the silence pressed cold against his ribs.

There had never been silence like this between them. Never a time when words felt so far away.

It was all his fault, after all. He’d left, and the only reason they were back was because of their war with the Dragon Hunters.

And to make the guilt sharper, Gobber welcomed him back as if he’d gone on a long trip, not as if he’d hopped on a dragon and taken the best of Berk’s next generation with him.

Gobber had waited for him all these years, and Hiccup hadn’t given him a single reason to.

Trying to breathe easier, Hiccup gestured awkwardly around the forge. “So…uhhh…How are things around here?”

“Oh, same as ever,” Gobber shrugged, turning back toward the anvil. “Got Gustav as my apprentice now.”

Hiccup lifted an eyebrow. “Gustav? Really?”

“Aye. It’s like training a squirrel with thumbs. Can’t trust him to sharpen a blade without nearly decapitating himself.”

Hiccup snorted, more laughter than he expected bursting out of him. “Not as good as me, huh?”

Gobber grinned. “Not even close.”

He placed the axe head into the forge and moved to the bellows. “Do me a favor and watch it, will ya?”

Without needing to ask where anything was, Hiccup grabbed the gloves, tongs, and stepped in. It felt natural. Like slipping into a rhythm his body never forgot.

When the metal turned straw-yellow, he pulled it out with practiced care and rested it on the anvil. His hand found the hammer without thinking.

He struck—clean, sharp. Again. Again.

The clang of steel echoed around the room, filling the silence.

He flipped it, pounded the opposite side, chasing the shape. The scent of hot smoke filled his nose and the heat wrapped around him like a blanket. When he quenched it and set it aside, his heart felt…lighter.

Gobber leaned against the bench, arms crossed, grinning like a man hearing a skald recount his favorite saga.

“What?” Hiccup said, pulling the gloves off.

“You haven’t lost your touch, that’s what.”

“Didn’t have the luxury,” Hiccup replied. “Some days, it was the only way we could afford food. Or clothes. Other days I just paid for time to repair weapons or build things we needed.”

“Other shops let you work for them? A nameless, traveling troublemaker speaking Norse?”

“Hey, I speak a few languages now, and when I showed them I knew what I was doing…yeah, a lot of them let me help.”

“Pick up anything new out there?” Gobber asked, moving to switch out his hand for a tankard. “Share a few secrets of the world with your old mentor?”

“If I can,” Hiccup chuckled as Gobber poured himself some mead. “There’s a lot I learned. More than one night’s worth, that’s for sure.”

Gobber plopped onto a stool and waved him toward the one across. “Well, come on then. Out with it. Might as well get started!”

Hiccup crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, wracking his brain.

“You ever heard of Tulaytulah steel?” He asked with a grin, pulling the stool closer and taking a seat.

“Oh, Hiccup, don’t tell me—”

“It’s difficult,” Hiccup cut in with a raised hand and grin, “but I was able to figure it out when we were in Al-Andalus.”

Gobber’s brow scrunched together. “Where?”

Hiccup hesitated. “It’s what the Muslims call Iberia.”

Gobber’s confused expression didn’t dissipate. “Afraid that doesn’t help me much, lad.”

“Uhhh…hang on.”

Hiccup scrambled up and ran over to a table, grabbing a few scrap pieces of paper and a charcoal pencil. Quickly, he sketched a rough outline of the lands and the borders of the continent from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean.

He pointed. “Here. This whole region is called Al-Andalus, or Iberia, or Hispania, depending on who you ask. And this,” he tapped the center of the region, “is Tulaytulah. They’ve been making this steel for centuries in the city—harder, lighter, and more flexible than anything we have. And you can mix the alloy with something we call Gronckle Iron—”

But Gobber wasn’t looking at the sketch. Not really.

He was staring at the map like it could whisper secrets to him. His eyes drifted across it, slowly, reverent.

“Did you see all this?” he murmured, voice soft with awe.

“Most of it,” he responded breathily, eyes turning back to the map as a whole. “And this is only half of it. I stopped the map at Miklagard, but that’s not even close to everything we’ve seen.”

Gobber leaned back, taking a swig of mead before he let out a long, low breath. “Well, get on with it. Tell me what you and those other hooligans have been up to for the past five years!”

And just like that, the weight in Hiccup’s chest eased, and the iron grip on his ribs disappeared.

Starting with the far north, where the ice swallowed sound and even their dragons shivered, where they chased auroras across the sky, Hiccup traced their path on the map, a winding charcoal line that snaked south into the Englisc kingdoms, then across the continent.

He spoke with his hands as much as with words, gesturing broadly as he described the people they’d met and the food they’d shared. All their failures, mishaps and mistakes they made and learned from, as well as the occasional triumphs and victories.

He told him nearly everything. He talked about the languages they learned, the people they met, the food they tried and the stories they traded with locals. He told him about the creatures they faced, both known and unknown to Vikings, every legend and myth they'd found to be very real.

Draugr, kelpies, sprites, fairies, banshees, mermaids, tarasques, nøkks, trolls, leshies, and witches. They were all real.

Gobber didn’t say much, suprisingly. Just leaned forward slightly, one brow raised, mustache twitching when Hiccup stumbled through half-translated names or mumbled over the weirder parts.

But he listened. Fully, not with the dazed look of someone humoring a tall tale, but with the sharp eyes of someone weighing every word.

Finally, the pencil landed on Miklagard, just as Gobber was finishing his mug.

“This is where we stayed for a little over six months: Miklagard, but they call it something different in their language: Konstantinupoli.”

“Six months?” Gobber raised an eyebrow. “What in the name of Freyr could you lot have done in Miklagard to earn that kind of generosity?”

Hiccup shrugged with a small smile. “Oh, you know…just saved the city from a siege.”

“Oh, you just saved the city from an invasion. How on Midgard did a your band of teens manage that against an army?”

“Hey, we weren’t completely helpless by then! And…” he shrugged, “we did have dragons. That helped a bit.”

“Ha! I bet it did,” Gobber winked, and Hiccup rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious! I pulled my own—”

“I’m sure the dragons did most of the pulling there, am I right?”

“I’ll give you that,” he said resignedly, “but just so you know: I wasn’t anywhere near helpless in that battle.”

“Alright, alright, no need to get your knickers in a twist,” he got up and refilled his mug of mead, “now, how did you all pass the time in the city? You can’t tell me you weren’t bored after having traveled so much of the mainland before that.”

“Honestly? It was nice to have somewhere to rest for a while. Clean water, real beds, blankets, servants, as much food as we wanted,” he leaned back in his chair. “And it’s not like we weren’t busy, between our training, language tutoring, scouting, Dragon Racing—”

“Dragon Racing?”

Hiccup laughed at Gobber’s awestruck expression. “Yeah, Dragon Racing. It started as early morning flights before training, then we started racing each other, and before long, people started watching us race one another. The Emperor decided to make it an official event, with each of us racing against one another.”

Gobber raised an eyebrow.

“Wha-I’m serious! They had this massive arena called the Hippodrome for chariot racing that we started at and when I say this arena was massive Gobber, I mean massive. Tens of thousands of people came to watch, and that was just at the Hippodrome. Eventually, they expanded it so we raced around the entire city and only started and finished at the Hippodrome. They would have sheep or pigs we had to bring back during each lap for points, with one worth more than others.”

Hiccup didn’t bring up the resurgent demes, especially the Blues and the Greens.

He remembered the fights that broke out after a particularly close race and the threats against him and his friends, asking them to take a stand against the 'usurper' Emperor Basil.

He shook the memories of those days from his head.

Gobber laughed and smiled slyly. “I’m sure that made you quite the celebrity, then…” he trailed off as he brought his mug to his lips.

Hiccup flushed, the tips of his ears burning. He knew where this was going. “I…guess I was…”

“Meet any lady friends out there?”

Something told Hiccup that Gobber already knew the answer to that question.

“I—uhhh—actually, I kind of…Astrid and I—”

Gobber barked out a laugh and slapped his knee. “I knew it! Oh, I knew you had it in you, lad! I always knew one day you’d scoop her up and make an honest woman out of her!”

“If anything, she’s the one who did the scooping,” Hiccup chuckled awkwardly, his face warm. “And we’re not married, Gobber.”

“Not yet, anyway,” he said with a beaming smile. “Ah, I remember how hard you used to crush on her. I also remember Astrid being so uptight and serious all the time, I thought I’d regrow my limbs before she ever showed interest in anyone.”

“Didn’t you just say you always knew I could do it?”

“Well, yeah, but I always assumed it would be more of an arranged marriage deal,” Gobber snickered, and Hiccup rolled his eyes, but he didn’t stop the smile sneaking through to his face. “So, how’d you woo her in the great city?”

“We’d already been together for a while by the time we got to Miklagard.”

Gobber gave him a sly look.

That look.

“Oh, so you two shared a room?”

He waggled his eyebrows so enthusiastically Hiccup thought they might fall off.

“Uhh…” Hiccup rubbed the back of his neck, trying to keep the nerves from reaching his voice. “Eventually.”

The memory rose unbidden and sharp, like metal catching firelight.

They’d all worn silk. Rhomanoi silk. An army of servants had dressed them, quietly and efficiently, adjusting every fold and fastening until the Riders barely recognized themselves.

It had been the grand wedding of an Imperial cousin, and their attendance had been requested in a way that meant they’d been ordered to attend, dressed in foreign garb.

He remembered Astrid looking radiant in the extravagant foreign dress they called a delmatikion, untouchable and unreachable, lined with silver constellations throughout the blue dress.

The ceremony was smothered in incense with icons staring down from every wall, saints locked in frescoes with eyes that never blinked. The strange, solemn chanting echoed off the walls, something that seemed wildly out of place for a wedding.

He’d whispered translations to Astrid as best he could, half-guessing at the traditions and explaining what little he’d read about the rites beforehand. She’d leaned close, eyes flickering with mirth, asking far too many questions with a whisper sharp enough to draw blood.

They’d snickered behind their sleeves at the endless metaphors and prayers, at the crowns that looked better suited for burials than weddings, at the priest who looked half-asleep. It all felt so distant, so unlike everything that made sense, and they couldn’t help but compare it to the Norse wedding traditions.

It was casual at first. They’d wondered if the gifts had already been exchanged. They’d wondered why there was no ancestral sword at this wedding. They’d wondered why the woman’s hair was still covered by a veil rather than uncovered and unbraided. Astrid noted the distinct lack of mead and violence, and Hiccup wondered if the cross was supposed to be placed on the bride’s lap as a fertility blessing like they did with Mjolnir.

But something took root the more they talked about it, something more intimate, long-held at bay because of their traveling and their own fears. Something deeper, something they were both scared of, but overcame at the same moment standing next to one another in a strange wedding in a strange land.

They didn’t need to say a word. They both knew.

There were no grand declarations, just quiet and shared certainty that they both wanted this. They weren’t thinking about love or forever, not yet. They were only thinking about that night and being closer.

As the Dance of Isaiah was performed, his hand easily found hers as the marriage was finally sealed. The first chance they had, they quietly left the reception held in the Imperial Palace to go back towards their apartments in the guest wing.

What followed wasn’t perfect. They’d fumbled with the endless layers of clothing, cursed at fastenings, tripped over loose hems. Astrid had elbowed him in the nose at one point, and he’d knocked over a bowl of dried figs trying to reach the candles.

But in the midst of the awkward laughter and nervous touches, there was something real, something solid and sure. A choice they’d both made, wordless and absolute.

It hadn’t been an epic, sweeping thing, but it had been theirs.

And the second time, not long after, was significantly smoother and less awkward.

The teasing from the others in the morning had been immediate, everyone smiling and laughing. Snotlout—and surprisingly, Fishlegs—whooped and hollered, Ruffnut pulled Astrid aside to give her some ‘tips’, and Tuffnut brought in several confused servants and courtiers before telling them in stilted Greek to clap and cheer.

After that, sharing a room just made sense. It spared them the side-eyes and the whispered jokes, sure, but more than that, it gave them something steady to return to. A space that was just theirs.

“You don’t have to give me details, lad,” Gobber reassured him with an easy smile. “Just know I’m happy for the both of you.”

The burning in his face subsided a little. “Thanks, Gobber.”

There was another silence between them for a few minutes, although less suffocating than the previous, before Gobber shifted and spoke up again.

“So…if you had everything taken care of for you in Miklagard, why leave? Why go east?”

The mention of the word ‘east’ brought back his father’s words.

Johann told us all about your crimes in the east and the North, in the lands of the Rus, the Finns and others.

“It’s…” Hiccup exhaled, jaw tight, throat dry, “…complicated.”

Gobber nodded slowly, as if he sensed the shift in the air. “Right.”

Silence again—but this time, it scraped.

Hiccup’s eyes darted to the door.

Toothless was still out there. Dawn wasn’t far away. Every minute they stayed, every moment they lingered, they risked everything.

He couldn’t risk Toothless’ life for the sake of catching up with Gobber all night.

“Gobber—”

“I guess you’ll be wanting to know what we heard about you lot from Johann and the others?”

Hiccup nodded, though the movement felt heavy, like his head was filled with lead.

“Right.” Gobber leaned back with a sigh that seemed to scrape his throat. “It started about a year ago. Johann came with some stories of a man riding a Night Fury, leading a group of dragon-worshipping fanatics. He said they came from the east, and they were acting in the service of some draconic gods from the far east.”

Hiccup said nothing. Just sat there, frozen, his breathing shallow.

Gobber’s voice dropped, rough and hoarse. “We all knew it was you, but the island swore an oath not to speak of it to outsiders. Not even to the traders. But more merchants came, each one with worse stories.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“Dragons let loose and set on whole towns. Villages burned to the ground in some places. Some said you were building an army, others just said you all were being cruel to be cruel. They said you’d even start kidnapping people and…well, they said you turned your back on humanity and became more like dragons than people.”

Hiccup listened as Gobber continued, his mind numb as Gobber recounted the lies Johann and the other merchants told. His stomach twisted in on itself as Gobber went on, laying out every lie Berk had ever been told.

The words struck him like hammer blows, and by the end of Gobber’s recounting, he couldn’t breathe.

“And Berk believed it?” he asked quietly, his voice trembling. “Right away? All those lies, just like that?”

“Not all of us,” Gobber said quickly, “but most of the island accepted it pretty quickly.”

Hiccup nodded numbly, his head still reeling from the atrocities the world seemed to think they committed.

“And my dad?”

Gobber didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, it was with the voice of a man who’d had this conversation with himself too many times. “He didn’t believe it at first. Said you wouldn’t hurt a leech even if it was sucking you dry. But a year of lies… it can wear a person down.”

A rough, bitter laugh cracked through Gobber’s throat. “I should know. I’m ashamed to say that sometimes after a few too many mugs of mead, even I started wondering if there was a grain of truth to it.”

Hiccup nodded—but weakly, his thoughts drifting, scattered like embers in wind.

He didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Maybe. Rage? Possibly.

He wanted to be furious—wanted to scream at the betrayal, wanted to hate them for not knowing better, for thinking he could do such things.

But another part of him knew it wasn’t that simple.

Johann would’ve made sure no other information came to the island; he would’ve sealed off Berk—maybe the whole Archipelago—to make sure his merchants and his lies were never questioned anywhere they spread.

Still, it cut him deeply that so many people thought all of them would be so cruel and vicious.

All throughout their journeys, they’d always tried to protect innocent people, even if it cost them, and for the most part, they’d succeeded.

They’d only failed once.

The memory of Khanfu catapulted to the front of his brain, forcing him to relive every moment of that siege.

The negotiations with the rebel general, his refusal to lift the siege and accept tribute. The general’s words to the Arabic translator about the Tang losing something called the ‘Mandate of Heaven’. The storm of arrows preventing them from destroying the siege engines. The fighting in the streets. Coordinating and rallying crumbling defenses from the air as the city burned. Herding civilians to the docks and filling ships.

He pushed the memories back and clamped down on the storm of emotions whirling around inside him.

Focus. One thing at a time.

Gobber’s voice broke through the storm in his head.

“That’s changing,” he said. “We read the letters. The ones you and Astrid brought the first time you came back.”

Hiccup’s head jerked up. “You…did?”

“Aye,” Gobber smiled weakly. “We met two days after your surprise visit. It all makes sense, I suppose. The raids stopped around the time you all left and said you killed the queen dragon. Someone we contract with said they found a massive skeleton at their island, and that it had been dead for some time.”

Something shifted in Hiccup’s chest, lifting his spirits and making it easier to breathe.

“And the Hunters? You know they’re coming to the Archipelago not just for the dragons but to take it over, right?”

Gobber nodded, and Hiccup felt a smile come to his face.

“So, you’ll help us?”

Gobber’s mouth pressed into a line, a hand scratching his chin as his eyes dropped to floor. “About that…”

Hiccup’s smile faded, and he braced himself by staring at the red coals, sensing the shift before Gobber spoke again.

“Stoick, Ingrid, Ulric and I made a deal after we read the letters. We’re doing what we can to buy you space and time from anyone on Berk trying to hunt you. We’re trying to protect you all.”

Relief surged in Hiccup’s chest—until Gobber added:

“But not the dragons.”

“What?” He turned toward Gobber slowly, not angry yet—just stunned. “Even now? Even after we came back alive after five years with our dragons?”

Gobber didn’t flinch. “Lad, are you really telling me you thought two letters—from two people the village called traitors—would erase three hundred years of war?”

He pointed his hook with a dry smile. “Please tell me you’re not still that naïve.”

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair and tried to calm the ache building behind his eyes. “Does the fact that our dragons haven’t killed us yet mean anything?”

“It crossed my mind,” Gobber admitted. “But how do we know that your dragons aren't in some way different? Besides, you can’t expect people to change overnight.”

“Then we’ll show them,” Hiccup said, standing. The words left him before he realized they were there. “We’ll show you. Starting with you, Dad, Ingrid and Ulric. We’ll prove it.”

“Come again?”

Hiccup stood up, pacing around the room as the plan took shape in his head.

Gobber was right. It was stupid to think anything substantial could change just because of some letters, and he knew his father wouldn’t believe anything unless he saw it for himself. The same was true for most of the village.

So, he’d have to show them. He’d show them dragons weren’t what they thought, like he’d tried during his final exam.

“I’ll show you. We'll show you. We can start with you, Dad, Ingrid and Ulric. We can show you dragons aren’t what you think, that they only defend themselves and that they're kind, intelligent creatures.”

The plan built itself in his mind: first, their own dragons. Toothless, Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, Barf and Belch and Windshear. Dragons that were familiar with people, friendly and well-behaved. Dragons that wouldn't react with hostility to weariness.

Then, the dragons from the Arena. Have them bond with Stoick, Gobber, Ingrid and Ulric. Expand from there to include the Jorgensons, Ingermans and Thorstons. Even if they wouldn’t listen to him, they might listen to their children. Eventually, they wouldinclude other trustworthy people from the village, bonding more Vikings with dragons.

It might be slow, but once Berk accepted dragons, they’d gain an ally in the war against the Hunters, and possibly a chance to show the entire Archipelago that dragons weren’t monsters.

“You weren’t listening to a word I just said, were you?” Gobber deadpanned.

Hiccup blinked. “Uhh…no. Sorry.”

Gobber sighed and shook his head. “Just like when you were a teenager. Thought the world would’ve knocked that out of you by now.”

“What can I say?” Hiccup smiled faintly. “You always said I was stubborn and had trouble listening.”

“Aye, that I did.” Gobber’s voice softened. “Fine. We’ll try it your way. On one condition.”

Hiccup winced. “Let me guess—”

“You talk to Stoick. Yourself.”

“Gobber—”

“No.” His tone was firm. “He’s your father. I love you both, but I won't play middleman for you two with something this big, Hiccup. You need to talk this out, Haddock to Haddock. Honestly, what are you two going to do if I kick the bucket?”

Hiccup opened his mouth, ready to argue, but was stopped.

A deep horn blew outside, and Hiccup’s hair stood up on the back of his neck.

He knew that sound. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he’d grown up hearing it at least once a week.

Dragon raid.

Gobber was instantly on his feet, hobbling over to the door and taking a peek out.

His face paled. “You need to hide.”

“What? Gobber, if there’s a raid, I can help! I know dragons, Gobber!”

Gobber turned, eyes sharp. “No, it’s too risky. The whole village wants blood after you and Astrid stopped by. I’m not letting you get into harm’s way.”

“Toothless is out there, Gobber.” Hiccup pulled Inferno from its holster and checked the canisters inside and on his belt.

He didn’t have much, but it would have to do.

“If your Night Fury is smart, he’ll have gone far away from the village the moment he heard that horn!”

“I’m not just going to leave the dragons to be killed!”

Gobber shook his head, working the bellows. “They’re raiding us, Hiccup! We have to defend ourselves!”

“But it doesn’t make any sense! They don’t raid unless they have to! Unless something drives them to it!”

Dragons didn’t raid unless they were threatened or forced to. He’d seen it. They killed the Queen, and the raids stopped.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was a new migration route, and the lookout mistook it for a raid. Maybe it was a false alarm.

He kept repeating those words in his head until he heard the first shrieks and saw the first burst of orange flames.

His stomach dropped to the floor, and the sounds of yelling Vikings filled his ears. Gobber moved about the smithy, readying everything he would need for the repairs.

They don’t raid unless they have to. But we stopped the raids.

Something’s wrong.

Hiccup double-checked Inferno and tightened his armor. Satisfied and taking a breath to center himself, he walked towards the rear door.

“What part of ‘hide’ don’t you understand?” Gobber barked, scrambling to prep the forge.

Hiccup glanced over his shoulder, half-grinning. “Come on, Gobber, it's just like old times—you tell me to stay put, and I do the exact opposite.”

“You’re really a pain in my ass, you know that?”

“I know!”

He threw the door open, wind rushing in, distant wings beating against the sky as a distinctive road echoed through the sounds of battle.

“I’ll get on Toothless and draw the dragons away from the village. We’ll break up any fights we see and try to distract them enough to drop anything they’re trying to take.”

Gobber stopped at the bench. “I’d tell you to just get on that dragon and fly far away,” he said gruffly. “But since I know you won’t listen to that, I’ll just say don’t get yourself killed over a dragon, Hiccup.”

Hiccup paused, fingers tightening on the doorframe, and gave him a small smile. “I’m a Dragon Rider, Gobber. It’s an occupational hazard.”

And he bolted into the freezing night.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

Stoick hadn’t heard that horn in five years.

Not since his son was still on the island.

But the moment the long, low note tore through the stillness of the night—raw and reverberating like it had been carved from the bones of the earth itself—his eyes flew open.

He moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, his body knowing what to do.

The furs covering him were shoved and kicked aside, and Stoick leapt from the bed, crossing the room in a breath. His fingers worked automatically, fastening his armor and cape, buckling his belt at his waist.

He was sprinting down the stairs a heartbeat later, the wooden steps groaning beneath his weight as he heard warriors begin shouting outside.

A small part of him hoped this was some surprise Outcast attack, but he knew what the horn really meant.

Dragons.

He snatched his axe from where it hung on the wall without breaking stride, the haft familiar and solid in his grip, worn smooth where his hand had clenched it for years. He threw the door open so hard it bounced and cracked against the wall of the house.

The night was thick with firelight, torches raised in hurried hands, shadows jerking and stretching across the stone and timber of the village. He heard the first roar just as he crossed the threshold, the sound sending a shiver down his spine.

His body fell into a familiar routine, sprinting down the hill to take control of the defense as the dragons began pouring fire onto the village.

“Get the children and elderly into the Great Hall! Hoist the torches! Ready the catapults!”

It was like stepping back five years into the past, and a part of him relished the familiarity of it all. The rush of battle and the weight of command, the feeling of an axe in his hand and the shouts from warriors filling his ears.

But the rational part of Stoick knew this was different.

Hiccup could be up there.

He tried to shove the thought from his mind.

He’s not your enemy, he reminded himself, he’s your son.

Hiccup wasn’t fighting against Berk.

His son wasn’t leading this raid.

But the nagging voice in his head wouldn’t quiet, the voice that told him his son had chosen dragons over his own people.

That his son chose to fly off on the back of a Night Fury instead of coming home.

“Stoick!”

He turned at the sound of Ingrid’s voice, rough and clipped with urgency. She was charging towards him with Spitelout and Gunnar close on her heels.

“Ingrid,” he nodded once she reached him, falling into the old rhythm like they’d never left. “What have we got?”

She didn’t waste breath. “Gronckles and Nadders, mostly. A few Zipplebacks and a Monstrous Nightmare. Only two dozen or so, but they’re real aggressive, Stoick. Going straight for the food stores and the pens.”

Her jaw locked, eyes flicking to the chaos behind him.

He already knew what she wasn’t saying.

Gunnar shifted beside her, waiting—young, tense, and trying not to look like it. Stoick turned to him.

“Get the young and the old into the Great Hall,” he commanded, “and once they’re safe, stay with Dagur. Don’t leave his side.”

The boy nodded and ran, already barking orders as he disappeared around a corner.

“Spitelout,” Stoick barked. “Gather the Berk Guard and move to the lower defenses. Ready the catapults.”

“On it,” Spitelout grunted, grabbing a knot of warriors and heading for the cliff trail without hesitation.

And then it was just the two of them standing in the shifting red and gold of firelight, the cold wind thick with ash and the scent of burning hay.

Neither of them spoke.

The question—the one neither of them wanted to ask—was already curling in the air between them like smoke.

Stoick scanned the sky.

The moonlight caught on wings darting through the low-hanging clouds. Blurred shadows wheeling, dipping, colliding. He could hear the roars—sporadic, directionless.

Smoke clung low to the trees. The firelight caught on wings darting through the village—blurry silhouettes, most of them too fast to track. The roars were sporadic.

He turned to Ingrid, his voice low. “There’s something on your mind. I can see it.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked back toward the village like she didn’t want to answer.

“Ingrid,” he said, more steel now. “What is it?”

She faced him again—and the hesitation in her eyes made his stomach turn.

“One of the perimeter patrols found me. They said they saw…something. Up above the clouds. Just before the dragons broke through.”

He didn’t move. “What did they see?”

“They couldn’t get a clear look.” She drew a breath. “They said it was moving too fast and it was too dark.”

His hand closed tighter around the haft of his axe.

“And?”

She hesitated again.

“Ingrid.”

“They think it might’ve been a Night Fury.”

Stoick went still. His stomach dropped. 

The world stopped. The sounds of the raid seemed to fall away—muffled under the rush of blood in his ears.

Stoick’s grip on his axe shifted, his knuckles whitening around the haft.

A Night Fury.

There’d only ever been one.

He tried to push the thought aside. But it rose up anyway.

Hiccup.

“He’s not with them,” Stoick said, voice hollow but certain.

“Stoick—”

“He wouldn’t do this,” he growled—but there was a crack beneath it. “You read the letters. You read them, Ingrid. Berk isn’t their enemy. He said that. In his own hand.”

“I know, Stoick,” she said, tone softening. “But it’s too much of a coincidence. We need to—”

“It’s not just my son that rides a dragon,” he snarled, taking a step towards her. “Nadders were spotted; maybe Astrid is leading them.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth; as soon as they were in the air, he saw Ingrid recoil harshly, leveling a murderous glare at him.

But he didn’t get a chance to apologize.

Just then, he heard it.

That sound. That high-pitched, razor-edged, soul-deep, otherworldly scream that had haunted every Vikings’ dreams for years.

His head snapped upward.

And he knew.

He knew before the cries erupted from the village.

“Night Fury!”

“Take cover!”

“Get down!”

The scream rose to a crescendo, as if the night itself were splitting open. Then a flash of searing purple light shot through the clouds like a spear hurled by a vengeful god.

It slammed into one of the lower catapult towers.

Obliterated it.

The blast lit up the entire cliffside—white-hot at its core, tinged violet at the edges, swallowing wood and steel in a pulse of sound and fury. The top of the tower vanished in a burst of fire and splinters. Beams exploded outward. The stone crumbled beneath the force of the explosion, groaning, then gave way completely—crashing down into the dark sea below with a sound that echoed off the cliffs like a death knell.

Stoick staggered back a step.

He caught it.

The silhouette.

Black as pitch, outlined in the fire’s glow, batlike wings spread wide like some demon from a saga. The dragon maneuvered through the debris of the falling tower, so fast it left nothing but wind in its wake.

And then it vanished back into the sky.

Gone.

Swallowed by the dark.

And it’d been too quick to see if there was a rider on it’s back.

All around him, villagers screamed, scrambled for cover, dragged children toward the Great Hall. Flames roared. Warriors called out from the lower levels, frantic and confused.

“Chief!”

Someone shouted for him, but the voice barely pierced the ringing in Stoick’s ears. His eyes were still locked on the sky, where the Night Fury had vanished like a phantom, swallowed by clouds and darkness.

His pulse thundered in his throat, his hands trembled.

His son had said that Berk wasn’t his—their—enemy. He said that the stories Johann spread were lies.

He said Johann was lying. That none of it was true.

So then why is he attacking us?

His thoughts spiraled, scrambling for explanations.

Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe this wasn’t the same dragon. Maybe this was a different Night Fury. Maybe—

“Chief!”

Stoick turned toward the voice, tearing his eyes from the sky. Gustav came hurtling toward him through the crowd, face pale, breath ragged.

“Gobber—” the boy gasped, then doubled over with a violent fit of coughing. His hands braced against his knees as he fought for breath.

Stoick’s heart kicked against his ribs.

If something’s happened to Gobber—

“Out with it!” he barked, voice like a warhammer cracking stone. Gustav flinched, then straightened as best he could.

“Gobber—h-he said he needs to see you,” the boy wheezed. “Urgent.”

Another coughing fit stole his words.

Before Stoick could press him further, the Night Fury’s scream tore through the sky again—closer this time.

The second blast came not moments later.

Another pulse of violet fire split the air and slammed into the remaining catapult tower on the lower level. The explosion was blinding. Splintered beams cracked and twisted as the upper half of the tower gave way, collapsing into the sea in a storm of smoke and shattered wood, just like the first.

The shockwave punched the breath from Stoick’s lungs.

“Stoick!”

Phlegma emerged through the smoke like a ghost from the battlefield, ash-streaked and wild-eyed, her braid nearly torn from its tie.

She skidded to a halt beside Ingrid, breathless but focused.

“Both towers are gone,” she reported, voice rough. “It’ll take time to reposition the smaller catapults, but no one was hurt. The towers weren’t manned yet.”

The words hung heavy.

They weren’t manned.

Stoick closed his eyes for the briefest second.

Thank the gods.

“Right,” he said, forcing air into his lungs. “We’ll make do with what we have.”

He turned to Gustav. “Let Gobber know I’ll be there as soon as I can. Then find the other teens and join them on fire patrol.”

“But Gobber said I’m his—”

“Chief’s orders,” Stoick cut in, low and firm.

Gustav’s shoulders slumped, but he nodded and took off, disappearing into the haze of the village.

Stoick faced Phlegma next. “Ready the smaller catapults and move them to the rise above the main herd pens. Target the dragons taking livestock and food stores. Those are our priority.”

Phlegma frowned. “Not the Night Fury?”

Stoick didn’t flinch. “Have we ever hit a Night Fury with a catapult?” he asked, stepping closer. “Have we even come close?”

She didn’t answer—because they hadn’t.

“No,” he continued, voice hard. “We’d waste good ammunition trying. Focus fire on what we can hit, on what’s actually stealing from us.”

The Night Fury had never stolen food. It wasn’t a threat to their survival right now. And if—if—his son was on its back, all the more reason not to let a lucky shot find its mark.

Phlegma nodded, turning to shout orders over her shoulder as she gathered a squad of warriors.

And that left Ingrid.

She stood still, arms folded, eyes unreadable beneath the soot on her face. But the steel in her jaw was unmistakable.

Stoick met her gaze.

“I shouldn’t’ve said that,” he muttered, quietly now. “Earlier, about Astrid. I didn’t mean it, but I know Hiccup isn’t leading these raids.”

Her eyes narrowed, but after a long pause, the edge of her glare dulled.

“Let’s hope you’re right,” she said, voice low. “For all our sakes.”

He nodded.

And then he turned.

The smithy wasn’t far. But the path there cut through a storm of smoke, fire, and memory.

Stoick moved fast, boots thudding over scorched earth and broken timbers. The village twisted around him—familiar streets made foreign by chaos of battle. He passed teenagers dragging buckets from the wells, villagers ushering goats and chickens out of the square. The wind carried the scent of burning wood, thatch and pitch.

Another dragon— a Nadder—swept low overhead, sparks shooting from its mouth, blasting the path ahead of him.

He rolled out of the way, grabbed his hammer and hurled it at the Nadder. It hit low, embedding itself in the dragon’s leg.

He cursed himself for missing the wing, then kept moving, lamenting the loss of his axe.

No matter. He’d have Gobber forge him another one.

The forge’s orange glow finally rose ahead of him, and he could see Gobber hurriedly moving weapons from the counter to the interior, yelling at the warriors waiting for the repairs.

Stoick pushed through them and stepped inside, slamming the door behind him.

“Nice of you to stop by,” Gobber said without looking up, focused on straightening a bent sword blade. “I was worried you wouldn’t have any time for poor, old Gobber. Where’s Gustav?”

“I sent him to join the fire brigades.”

“Oh, perfect! Send off my apprentice in the middle of a raid when I’m flooded with work!” Gobber muttered.

“There’s a village on fire,” Stoick said dryly. “Maybe you’ve noticed.”

“I’m missing my hand and leg, not my eyes,” Gobber grumbled. “I’ve got warriors lined up like trolls at a breakfast buffet, all waiting for me to patch their weapons, and you rob me of two perfectly okay hands to help me!”

Gobber gestured with his prosthetic hammer to the open window where members of the Berk Guard waited—some shifting anxiously, others scowling and tapping feet like they were about to storm the forge themselves.

Stoick stepped toward the counter, leaned out. “Give us a minute,” he barked, then slammed the shutters shut.

The room dimmed to a warm orange, the heat more comforting than stifling.

He turned back, dropping his voice. “Gustav said you had something urgent.”

Gobber looked up and all the grumbling vanished from his face.

“Aye,” he said, softer now. “And it’s good the boy’s out of earshot. This isn’t the kind of news you want echoing through the village.”

Stoick’s heart kicked harder. “What is it?”

“It’s Hiccup,” Gobber said, carefully. “He’s here.”

The blood drained from Stoick’s face, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Is he—he’s not—?”

“No!” Gobber cut him off, quick and a little frantic. “No, Stoick, he’s not leading the raid. Thor’s hammer, don’t go charging off with your beard on fire.”

Stoick’s shoulders eased—barely.

Gobber ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling. “He stopped by to talk, and when he heard the raid horn…Stoick, he’s trying to help us.”

Stoick’s brows furrowed. “Help us?”

“Aye,” Gobber nodded, “said he was going to try and break up any fights between Viking and dragon. Said he was going to get them away from the village, so that no one gets hurt, dragon or Viking.”

Relief cracked open his chest, tinged with guilt so heavy he nearly staggered under it.

He’s helping us.

His son was helping the same people who’d thought he was a demon.

“Right,” Stoick said at last, his voice raw. “I need to get back out there. I’ve ordered the catapults to fire on any dragons stealing food, and to leave Hic—the Night Fury alone.”

“Smart,” Gobber nodded, “be stupid to waste ammunition on something no one’s ever hit. Well, except for a certain lad who inherited his parents’ colossal stubbornness.”

Stoick allowed himself a faint grunt of amusement, already moving toward the shutters.

“Watch your back out there,” Gobber called after him. “You're not exactly the spring chicken you used to be.”

“Neither are you,” Stoick shot back with an easy laugh, pointedly looking at his friends’ prosthetics. “And not only in age.”

“Oh, that’s low,” Gobber yelled dryly, “making fun of an amputee! Who knew the Chief could be so cruel, mocking a one-handed, one-legged blacksmith in the middle of a raid.”

Stoick chuckled—and then the sound hit.

That scream.

Just like the other two strikes, it tore through the sky, the kind of sound that grated and shook. Stoick flung open the shutters and leaned out over the counter, his eyes on the heavens.

Nothing but darkness.

Then—flash.

A burst of violet fire lit the horizon.

Then another.

The docks, Stoick realized.

A minute later, a member of the Berk Guard was running up the path, shouting with everything in her lungs.

“It’s him! It’s him, Stoick!”

The warriors waiting for weapons parted for her, fear and alarm flashing across their faces.

“It’s him, Stoick,” she repeated, nearly skidding into the forge, “I saw him with my own two eyes. It’s…”

She looked around, making sure all present were Berkians.

“It’s Hiccup, sir. He and his dragon destroyed the walkways to the docks. He’s cut us off from the Armada. The Berserkers won’t be able to reinforce us in time.”

“Any wounded?” Stoick asked, voice cool steel.

She shook her head. “No, sir, no wounded—but Stoick, it was him. I saw him. That dragon of his…It didn’t miss. Not once.”

Stoick nodded grimly and closed his eyes for a moment.

No casualties. No collateral.

Gobber stepped up beside him, dropped a pile of weapons onto the counter with a loud clang, and muttered just loud enough for Stoick to hear.

“Well…nice to see the boy hasn’t changed.”

Stoick glanced over, wary. “How do you mean?”

Gobber snorted, voice still low. “Still trying to help the village and causing immense amounts of damage. At least he’s consistent; no one’s been hurt or killed.”

-0-

I should be fighting. I should be out there with the warriors.

The thought gnawed at Gunnar’s mind as he raced through the village, ducking instinctively when a Gronckle buzzed overhead. It launched a fireball at a nearby home, the roof instantly catching fire as the molten boulder exploded in a hail of wood and fire.

Villagers yelled and warriors shouted all around him, a kind of chaos Gunnar thoroughly enjoyed, something he wished he could be a part of.

But instead, he was stuck babysitting.

He hadn’t argued with Stoick. There hadn’t been time. And the Chief’s tone—sharp, firm, final—had made it clear that Gunnar was to help with getting others to safety, then keeping Dagur safe.

So, he had. He’d sealed the Great Hall doors when the last of the village’s old and young were inside, then ran off to find the Berserker Chief.

He found the retinue on a small hill overlooking the village, all of whom had weapons drawn.

All except Dagur.

He stood tall, gleaming with madness, hair wild and armor half-laced. An uneven smile was carved into his face like some deranged sculpture—sharp and giddy, the kind of smile that made warriors instinctively grip their weapons tighter.

Dagur didn’t flinch at the chaos below.

Instead, he seemed to rejoice in it.

Gunnar had barely reached him when those wild eyes snapped to him.

“Gunnar!” Dagur crowed, as if forgetting their earlier animosity, welcoming him like they were old friends. “Oh, I knew you’d come. Did you smell it in the air too? The blood? The fire? The chance for glory?”

“I’m under orders,” Gunnar said carefully, each word measured like a blade across a whetstone. “Stoick asked me to stay with you. Make sure…nothing happens.”

Dagur didn’t seem to hear him—or maybe he didn’t care. His back was to Gunnar again, arms spread wide as he gazed down on the chaos.

“Isn’t it glorious?” he whispered. “We haven’t had a raid in years. I was worried the dragons had moved on completely, but now not only do we have a raid…” He pivoted sharply, that grin slicing across his face. “There’s a Night Fury.”

Gunnar stiffened. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

It had to be him.

He’d seen the violet blasts tear the towers apart. Heard the screams and the panic when the docks were severed from the rest of the village, cutting off the Armada from reinforcing them.

It has to be him. He’s leading this raid, I know it.

Hiccup.

“Do you know how rare a Night Fury is?” Dagur continued, the corners of his mouth twitching. “The ultimate prize in dragon killing! The offspring of lightning and death itself! Oo-hoo, that just gives me goosebumps! And—oh!—what if this one is the one being ridden by one of those Dragon Riders…”

Gunnar’s stomach coiled tight. He glanced at the guards. Then the sky.

“I came on Stoick’s orders,” he said evenly, hoping to change the subject. “I’m to stay with you and keep you out of harm’s way.”

Dagur rolled his eyes. “Ugh, Stoick. He really takes after his name, that guy. So serious, so bland, so…boring. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was allergic to a good time.”

“Dagur—”

“I won’t sit on the sidelines,” he growled, voice cracking from calm to fury like lightning split a tree. His sword flew from its sheath, glinting in the firelight from the guards' torches. Gunnar’s hand instinctively went to the axe on his back. “You think I’ll watch while you Berkians chase my prey?”

He gestured skyward with the blade. “Fastest thing in the sky. Blasts of—what is it? Lightning? Fire? Plasma?—and it just vanishes. Poof! Gone among stars. But not tonight. Not from me.”

He pointed the blade at the clouds, drawing a slow, ominous circle. “It’s up there. With its Rider. I know it.”

The grin that followed was slow. Savage. The kind of smile that didn’t reach the eyes.

“It’s fate.”

Then the blade dropped toward Gunnar.

“Tell me,” Dagur said softly, dangerously, “you’re not going to stand in the way of fate, are you?”

Gunnar stared him down, even as ice slithered down his spine. His mind spun with questions, calculations, risks.

If this was a different Night Fury, he’d help him kill it. Even if he only assisted, a dead Night Fury would do wonders for repairing his family’s honor.

But if this was the Night Fury Hiccup rode, Dagur couldn’t find out the identity of the Rider.

He would need to kill Hiccup the moment they shot down the Night Fury. He would need to make sure Hiccup remained unrecognizable to Dagur.

If they shot down the Night Fury.

All of this carried a thousand what-ifs, but something about the mad look in Dagur’s eyes told Gunnar that the only thing he could do was accompany Dagur.

Everything after that would have to be improvised.

“Technically,” he began slowly, trying to ease his stance up, “the Chief only said I have to stay with you and not leave your side.”

Dagur tilted his head. Then a wicked grin split his face again.

“Well, finally,” he sheathed his sword. “Someone on Berk who isn't boring.”

He stepped forward and extended his hand. Gunnar took it, firm and quick, breathing a sigh of relief when his hand was released intact.

The Berserker Chief turned away, already drawing something in the dirt with his boot. “All the stories of the Dragon Riders say they always targeted defenses first—catapults, towers, ballistae. Then they would target pens, cages; anything holding captured dragons.”

Gunnar stared at him. “You want to use a dragon as bait.”

Dagur clapped his hands. “Yes! You are clever. A Gronckle, or maybe even a Nadder, freshly captured and tied up. Chain ‘em up—make ‘em scream. Loudly.”

Gunnar’s blood chilled.

It…could work.

“And when the Night Fury comes in for the rescue…” Dagur trailed off, making a slicing motion across his throat. “We bring it down.”

He laughed, then became deadly serious again. “We’ll need bolas, nets and cages. You know where they’re kept?”

Gunnar nodded once, returning Dagur's smile for once. “Follow me.”

The plan unfolded with ruthless speed.

Dagur, it seemed, was chaos in every way but one—when he wanted something, when he wanted blood, the man could orchestrate it.

And he wanted that Night Fury.

Now that the plan had taken root in his head, Dagur moved like a man possessed.

The Nadder they captured was young, iridescent purple, and furious. It fought them every step of the way. Muzzled and chained, it shrieked in defiance the entire way through the village streets as they dragged its cage into place.

The chosen spot was a choke point—tall homes, narrow lanes. Dagur wanted it boxed in. Grounded.

As they shoved the Nadder into position, a guard jogged up, panting, eyes wide. “One of the Berk Guard said there was a Rider on the Night Fury. They swore they saw it with their own eyes.”

Dagur’s face lit up. “Work faster!”

Gunnar’s gut twisted—not with fear, but with dread so deep it buzzed in his bones.

They can’t know. The Berserkers can’t learn the truth—not now, not ever. They can’t learn the Riders were ours. Berk’s. If they’re found…

Dagur’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “Got a little treat for the beast.”

The guards began opening small iron canisters, dipping their arrows into green, syrupy liquid.

Gunnar had never seen—nor smelled—anything like it before.

“They call it Dragon Root out east,” Dagur said, almost conversationally. “Nasty stuff, but works like a charm. Never liked it myself—feels like cheating. But hey, it’s how Grimmel did it. Tricks. Traps. Poisons.”

“Grimmel’s dead,” Gunnar said flatly. “The Night Fury Rider killed him out east. Didn’t you hear?”

Dagur’s sneer was pure teeth. “Well, he won’t kill me.”

He motioned for everyone to take their positions, and Gunnar took the one furthest from the trap, behind an overturned cart at the end of the block.

Once in position, Dagur barked to the two men standing over the Nadder. “Alright, boys: make it scream!”

The spears jabbed. The Nadder shrieked—an awful, scraping sound that shredded the quiet night. Gunnar pressed his tongue to his teeth to keep from shouting. The noise clawed through his skull, made the world spin. He wanted to end it, to silence the creature with an axe to the throat.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Not until Hiccup is dead.

The minutes stretched on for what felt like hours. The village still burned at the edges, the raid waning. A lull in the chaos.

He heard something fly overhead, heard the whoosh in the air.

That’s when he felt it.

A shift. A tightening.

Gunnar’s spine went rigid.

Then—

That scream.

Otherworldly and wrathful. Shrill and sharp, like a banshee’s wail.

It was him.

A blast of violet tore the sky open, exploding just above the two guards at the Nadder’s side. They were flung like dolls, slammed into opposite walls.

The Nadder reared in the chaos, half-blind, thrashing in its ropes.

He heard a roar—familiar and close, a roar he hadn’t heard since the Dragon Training final exam against the Monstrous Nightmare five years ago.

Gunnar ducked behind the cart fully now, his hand tight around his axe.

Beating wings swept overhead, close enough to rattle the shingles above him.

His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“NOW!” Dagur’s voice cracked like a whip.

A dozen archers leapt from the shadows, bows raised, arrows loosed into the night. The air filled with the whistle of deadly arrows streaking toward the dark shape.

It dove through the barrage, twisted sideways, barrel-rolled—and then slammed into the ground hard enough to shake the cobblestones.

A cloud of dirt burst outward. The Nadder shrieked.

Dagur called for light, and a dozen torches lit up at once, moving to circle the downed dragon.

Gunnar’s heart surged. A bolt of triumph shot through his chest, and he stood up from his hiding spot, eyes analyzing a creature few had seen.

It had changed since the last time he saw it, five years ago.

It's face was a little rounder, and it was bulkier in the shoulders. Its paws were larger, as were the muscles all over its body. There were scars—dozens, maybe hundreds—all over its body, and its wings were much longer.

But something was wrong.

The dragon’s back—

It was empty.

There was a saddle, as well as numerous other objects on the dragon’s back, ending in what looked like a prosthetic tailfin, but nothing in the saddle.

He’s not there.

If the Berserkers noticed, they didn’t care. Not even Dagur. They were cheering and hollering, whooping with joy, caught up in celebration of bringing down a Night Fury.

He strode forward, ready to shout at them that something was wrong.

A hand clamped down over Gunnar’s mouth, yanking him back before he had a chance to say anything.

He barely had time to react, to thrash or shout, when a voice whispered in his ear—low, nasal, and familiar in the most hated way.

“Sorry about this, Gunnar.”

Gunnar’s eyes flew wide—rage and realization crashing over him.

Before he could struggle, before he could spit in that traitor’s face, something slammed into the base of his skull.

Pain flared—then everything went black.

-0-

Despite being caught off guard by the sudden and yet unexplained raid, Hiccup liked to think that he’d done pretty good in mitigating the damage thus far.

Most of the dragons had been forced away from the village by him and Toothless, corralled to the old cove far from the Vikings.

The village itself was in decent shape; some burning buildings, a few destroyed catapult towers, a destroyed walkway to the docks and a small but patchable hole in the smokehouse.

But at least no one had been seriously hurt, dragon or Viking.

At least until now.

Hiccup grunted softly as he dragged Gunnar’s unconscious body behind the cart, the boy’s boots skidding over the cobblestones.

The kid wasn’t heavy, but he was taller now, broader than Hiccup remembered. Bulkier.

Probably from years of training to fight dragons and a hearty Viking diet.

He eased him down as gently as he could, trying not to let his head knock the stone.

He laid Gunnar down gently in the narrow shadow of the cart, fingers automatically cradling the boy’s head so it didn’t knock against the stone.

Not that it would’ve made a big difference at this point; the knot rising on the back of Gunnar’s head was already the size of a bird’s egg.

“Way to win over Astrid’s family, Hiccup,” he muttered to himself. “Giving their son a concussion.”

His mind was already going over the best time to tell Astrid. Preferably away from anything sharp, and ideally right after sex.

He could already hear how the conversation would play out in his head.

Hey Astrid, remember how you told me to keep my head down and stay safe when I went to Berk to visit Gobber?

Yeah, so slight hiccup—I know, ha ha—anyway, there was a dragon raid—no, like a real raid from when we were kids— and Toothless and I, uh, may have jumped in to stop both sides from killing each other. Without my armor.

And I destroyed a few things in the village while I was at it. Catapult towers, the walkways to the docks; you know, the stuff I destroyed when we were little.

No, I don’t know why the dragons were raiding Berk. Yes, it’s concerning.

Oh, and I might have sprung a Berserker trap—yes, the whole Armada was there, and no, I don’t know why they were there—in order to rescue a dragon. Yes, Toothless and I faked a takedown and freed the dragon. It was a Nadder, by the way.

Oh, one last thing: I may have knocked your little brother unconscious with the hilt of Inferno during said reverse ambush. Just a light tap. Totally fine. Probably. Maybe a mild concussion, nothing we haven’t all survived.

Look, it was either that or let him raise the alarm.

No, I did not think of choking him out.

No, I did not stick around to see if he woke up, Astrid, we were in the middle of a battle.

Worried, Hiccup’s fingers flung to Gunnar’s neck, searching for a pulse.

He found it. Hiccup checked his chest.

He was breathing.

Relief swept through Hiccup, cool and reassuring. He hadn’t killed his loving girlfriend’s vengeful younger brother.

Perfect.

He exhaled through his nose, deciding he’d have to figure out how to tell Astrid and the rest of the group everything later.

For now, he had bigger problems, like Toothless laying in the middle of a circle of Berserker soldiers, bathed in torchlight and pretending to be unconscious.

Hiccup knew Toothless was a terrible actor, and it wouldn’t take long for them to realize that Toothless wasn’t unconscious and that his dragon’s rider was missing.

Luckily, Hiccup was prepared for this sort of trap. It was one of the earliest tricks the Hunters began using when they started fighting them around Holmgård.

It was almost adorable seeing it now, with the Berserkers and Gunnar thinking he’d fall for it.

Hiccup pulled a Zippleback gas canister from the holster on his leg, ejecting the one inside Inferno and replacing it.

Once that was done, he grabbed a grey Smokebreath canister from a holster on his belt, holding it in his free hand.

He peeked over the cart, eyeing the gathering Berserker warriors.

They were still patting themselves on the back for taking down a Night Fury, completely oblivious and relaxed, despite the Nadder’s thrashing.

One of them let out a maniacal laugh and planted his foot on Toothless’s head, spouting some nonsense about taking down one of the greatest dragons to roam Midgard.

Toothless twitched, his lips curling as a low growl escaped him.

All the Berserkers stopped laughing and chatting, heads slowly turning.

Ok, well, time to go!

Hiccup bolted upright, sprinting towards the assembled Berserkers.

“Now bud!”

Toothless exploded upward in a black blur, his tail shooting out like a whip, sweeping the legs of the warriors surrounding him. Weapons were thrown from their grip and clattered to the ground as their bodies hit stone, a chorus of shouts and yelps echoing throughout the space.

Hiccup was already moving, flicking open the canister with a practiced motion and hurling it into the fray. The Smokebreath smoke hissed into the air—thick and silver and swirling like fog from a darker world.

The square disappeared in seconds.

Coughing erupted within the cloud. Confused shouting. Toothless’s roar reverberated through the smoke, and then Hiccup was running, slipping through the chaos like he’d trained for it all his life.

He ducked a wild swing, slid under a flailing arm, and narrowly missed catching an elbow to the ribs before diving beneath Toothless’s tail. He skidded to the Nadder’s side just as it let out a muffled, strangled screech through the leather muzzle.

“I know, I know,” Hiccup murmured, hands held out, careful. His voice dropped, soft and slow. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m getting you out. Ok? Do you trust me?”

She hesitated, just for a breath. She snorted but didn’t thrash. He crept forward, hand extended, fingers loose.

For a long, endless moment—she stared at him.

Then pressed her snout into his palm.

Relief bloomed through him, too fragile to enjoy.

That was when he heard footsteps pounding toward him.

Hiccup turned—and saw a Berserker warrior barreling through the smoke, axe gleaming, a Berserker war cry in his throat.

Hiccup didn’t hesitate. Muscle memory surged through his limbs like lightning. He brought Inferno up just in time—metal met metal with a teeth-rattling clang that reverberated through his arms into every bone in his body.

Too close.

The Berserker snarled and leaned into the blow, but Hiccup pivoted. Fast. Efficient. A twist of Inferno’s blade caught the axe and brought it down. He surged forward and headbutted the Berserker, aiming squarely for the nose. The satisfying crunch of cartilage greeted him.

The man reeled back, dazed with blood streaming from his face—and Hiccup didn’t stop. A quick strike and the axe flew from the man’s grip. He raised his sword instinctively, already aiming for a final, clean strike—

He stopped, remembering his earlier decision.

You can’t kill or maim any Vikings. If you want Berk’s help against the Dragon Hunters, you can’t look like the killer they think you are.

Instead, Hiccup drove his fist into the warrior’s stomach. The air whooshed out of the man, and Hiccup followed with a swift kick to the chest. The warrior stumbled backward.

Straight into Toothless’s waiting tail.

WHAM.

The Berserker soared through the air like a sack of grain tossed from a wagon, colliding with the stone wall and crumpling with a muffled grunt.

“Nice one, bud,” Hiccup called over his shoulder.

Toothless gave a smug chuff, already turning to swat another attacker. Hiccup turned back and got to work on the Nadder’s restraints, sawing through rope after rope, murmuring gentle reassurances to her under his breath.

Finally, the last rope snapped. The Nadder stumbled upright with a rasping trill, shaking her wings free of the loose ropes.

Hiccup reached up, pulling off the muzzle. It dropped away with a thunk, and the Nadder chirped in relief—pressing her head briefly against his shoulder, purring gratefully.

But as she stepped back, the smoke swirling around her talons, Hiccup’s eyes narrowed.

Her ribs showed. Too sharply. Her scales were discolored in several spots. Her legs trembled under her weight. He saw scars. Too many, too fresh; some self-inflicted from struggling, others deliberate. There was a deep exhaustion in her eyes, the kind that adrenaline couldn’t even cure.

She’s been tortured and starved.

Immediately, the raid made sense.

Someone had starved and tortured these dragons, riling them up before setting them loose on Berk.

Viggo.

A sudden clatter behind him snapped him back to the present.

A Berserker charged—but the Nadder was faster. She roared and whipped her tail with a savage crack, spines launching into the charging man’s shield.

He staggered and Hiccup took the opening, slipped past the flailing axe, and slammed the pommel of Inferno into the side of his helmet.

The man dropped like a stone, his weapons falling from his hand.

“Toothless! The Nadder!” Hiccup barked.

Toothless glanced at her, then gave a commanding bark, jerking his head toward the old cove. The Nadder gave one last look at Hiccup—then unfurled her wings.

With a powerful downbeat, she launched into the sky. Smoke curled around her like ribbons, and for a heartbeat, she looked almost ethereal.

But as she lifted off, the force of her wings swept through the square—banishing the last wisps of smoke.

And left Hiccup standing exposed.

Five Berserkers fanned out in a loose half-circle around him.

But only one mattered, standing in front of all the others.

The only one smiling.

Something about him was vaguely familiar. The chin, the blue tattoo of claw marks across one of his eyes, the wild red hair and the green eyes. The way he moved, the tilt of his head, the way he carried himself.

A smile like a cracked blade. Too wide. Unhinged and maniacal.

Deranged.

Realization struck Hiccup like a sucker punch.

Dagur.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, swaggering a step forward, sword glinting in the torchlight. “If it isn’t the Night Fury Rider himself!”

He paused, grimacing.

“Ugh. I’m sorry, it’s just…It doesn’t roll off the tongue. Bit of a mouthful, don’t you think? You know, you should really consider a name rebrand. Something like...The Ruinous Rider! Oh! No, no—wait! The Midnight Menace! No, Death’s Herald!”

He doesn’t recognize me, Hiccup realized.

Gobber’s earlier words echoed in his head. “We all knew it was you, but the island swore an oath not to speak of it to outsiders.”

Hiccup stayed still, subtly retracting and extinguishing Inferno, letting the darkness cover as much of him as possible. He supposed he was lucky the torches the Berserkers were carrying died out during the fight in the smoke.

The nighttime darkness wasn’t a guarantee, but it was something. As long as he stayed in the shadows, he might be able to stay anonymous. The last thing he needed was Dagur putting two and two together, endangering Berk in the process.

But Dagur’s eyes sharpened.

“Oooh, what’s this? Hiding your face? No no no—don’t be shy now. Or…do be shy, it won’t matter! Once I—Dagur the Deranged—kill you, I can look at your face anyways! I’ll finally see what this demon everyone talks about looks like!”

He raised his chin toward two nearby archers, drawing bows with Dragon Root arrows, aimed right at Toothless.

Toothless growled low, a sound like distant thunder. He was coiled, ready to pounce, but Hiccup raised a hand in warning.

Not yet.

“So,” Dagur said, stepping forward, “any final words before I remove your head from your body and kill your Night Fury?”

Hiccup said nothing.

“Really? Nothing?” Dagur made a tsking sound. “No terrifying threats? No ancient curses or blood magic? No riddle? No ominous prophecy? You’re killing me here, you demon. Come on, give me something!”

Hiccup shook his head. Just a little.

The smile widened. “Man, I like you. Silent. Brooding. Mysterious. Honestly, it’s a look. I bet you don’t even need last words.”

And then he lunged.

Fast.

But Hiccup was just as fast.

He ducked and extended his sword again. He didn’t ignite Inferno this time—just blocked the first strike and let the blades screech against each other.

They locked blades, feet planted as they pushed against one another.

“You know,” Dagur said tightly, face strained, “you look familiar. Sound familiar, too. Have I ever raided your village or threatened you before? I get around quite a bit, you know.”

Hiccup shook his head, doing his best to keep his face lowered.

“Well, just thought I’d ask,” Dagur said with a grunt before he attempted to twist out of the lock.

Then, without warning, he pivoted—hips twisting, feet shifting to gain leverage. The pressure on Hiccup’s blade vanished as Dagur tried to wrench free from the lock, using the release to spin and slash.

But Hiccup had been trained by necessity, not tradition. His stance was wrong. His style unorthodox. And that made him unpredictable.

He caught the shift in Dagur’s footing a heartbeat before it happened and lunged—not to attack, but to anchor. Their blades stayed locked as he followed the motion, disrupting Dagur’s balance just enough to deny the follow-through.

Then, Hiccup twisted his sword to the inside, letting the pommel slip behind Dagur’s guard. He snapped his wrist hard, trying to knock the blade loose, to use the larger man’s momentum against him.

The disarm nearly worked. Nearly.

Dagur dropped his sword hand instead, letting it fall and swing low—and slashed upward in one brutal arc meant to gut.

Hiccup flung himself backward, the edge of the blade slicing the air too close to his ribs. His boots skidded across the stone, his balance momentarily off—but Dagur didn’t follow up, his balance off as well.

A few second later, Dagur charged again, slashing wildly, and Hiccup dodged or blocked them all, once again trying to disarm Dagur.

When they locked up again, Hiccup threw a punch at Dagur’s gut, but the Berserker laughed it off, twisting and trying to bring his sword to Hiccup’s throat.

Hiccup leaned back, the sword narrowly passing above him and he took a few steps back, regaining space.

They circled again, blades gleaming, breath ragged.

Dagur laughed—a long, mad cackle echoing in the night. “You’re good. Not just ‘knows which end of the sword to hold’ good—trained good.” He tilted his head again, considering. “You don’t fight like a Viking, either, so now I’m sure we’ve never met. Where are you from?”

Hiccup didn’t answer, trying to stay in the shadows.

“Right, right,” Dagur nodded almost nonchalantly, “you have that silent, brooding thing going on. It’s cool, I get it, but I prefer talking to my victims, you know?”

Hiccup said nothing but noticed the Berserkers’ distraction with his and Dagur’s fight.

They were watching him, but not Toothless.

Now was his chance.

He glanced over at Toothless.

And it was as if Toothless read his mind.

The plasma bolt struck the ground between them, dirt and fire erupting in a flash. Dagur shouted—his men staggered, knocked off their feet, the archers releasing their arrows far from their target.

Hiccup bolted toward his Night Fury, vaulting over a fallen crate. Toothless swung around, and Hiccup landed in the saddle, locking his prosthetic in place with a satisfying click.

The moment the prosthetic clicked, Toothless's wings surged downward, propelling them into the air with an acceleration it'd taken months for Hiccup to learn how to properly brace for.

The sky welcomed them in a rush of wind and cold air, the smoke curling behind them. Hiccup barely resisted the urge to glance back—until a voice cut through the wind like a war cry:

“YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME AND MY ARMADA! THERE’S NO CORNER OF THE ARCHIPELAGO YOU CAN HIDE IN! I WILL FIND YOU AND YOUR DRAGONS!”

His voice faded as they got higher and was finally drowned out by wind and distance.

Above the clouds, the stars blinked like distant fires, lights dancing across the sky in waves of blue and green, a familiar sight Hiccup never tired of seeing. His breath came in sharp bursts, chest heaving with the adrenaline crash.

“Well,” Hiccup huffed, shaking his hands out, feeling the fatigue set in. “I think that could’ve gone worse.”

Toothless rumbled, wings steady.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Yes, Dagur is after us now, too. No, I didn’t plan for that. And yes, he’s going to make our lives more difficult. And possibly Berk’s…you don’t need to rub it in my face.”

Toothless gave a sharp chuff.

“But nobody died—Viking or dragon! And Dagur doesn’t know I'm...me!” Hiccup pointed out. “That counts for something!”

A glare.

“Okay, okay, let’s just collect the others and make for the Edge before Berk decides to send out patrols. Hopefully the dragons haven’t eaten every fish in the pond.”

Toothless snorted and banked into a roll, flying towards their old cove.

Chapter Text

-0-

Isle of Berk, Present

The Great Hall had been built to hold the entirety of Berk and several weeks’ worth of food in the event of a siege, a blizzard or some other monstrous calamity. With its blazing hearths and spacious interior, Stoick knew the entire village—given enough food—could survive nearly all of winter inside.

And yet, it couldn’t have felt smaller with his council, Dagur and the few Berserker captains he’d brought inside with him.

“I’m telling you, Stoick,” Dagur pressed, “we need to go after him. Are you really going to just this Rider get away with an attack on your own people?”

Stoick clenched his fists as Dagur paced beside the hearth of the Great Hall, his mind racing amidst everything going on.

By some miracle, Dagur hadn’t discovered Hiccup, and by another miracle no Viking had been killed during the raid. Some food had been taken, but outside of some minor injuries, no one was hurt.

Still, the image of his son riding a Night Fury sent a shiver down his spine.

The dragons took Valka from them both. How could Hiccup toss that away so easily? Did that mean nothing to him?

If she could see her son now...

“He led an attack on your people,” Dagur continued with a wild look in his eye, chuckling unevenly, “and you’re just going to let him get away with it?”

Dagur’s red hair caught the firelight with each turn, and his green eyes blazing with the kind of fervor that made seasoned warriors falter.

But not Stoick.

He rose from his chair, planted his hands on the table and looked down at Dagur.

“The safety of Berk comes first,” Stoick said finally, his voice carrying the weight of authority he'd wielded for over two decades. “I will not send the Berk Guard when they are needed here at home to protect the island.”

Dagur’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Protecting the island? Prot—I’m sorry, they were here and they didn’t even make a difference!”

He whirled toward the table, slamming both palms down so hard the wood groaned.

“Why won’t you send your warriors with me? Hmm? This Dragon Rider led a raid on your village, made mincemeat of your defenses and made sure not a single dragon was killed!”

And he made sure not a single Viking was killed, Stoick thought to himself.

Stoick leaned forward, hardening his expression. “It is precisely why I am not sending my warriors with you to the north.”

Stoick stood up and rounded the table, making his way towards Dagur. “We have no catapult towers and few mobile catapults to take their place. They didn’t take much food during the raid, so what if they come back? Am I meant to leave my people without their best fighters to protect them?”

“You're making a mistake, Stoick.” Dagur's voice was deceptively soft, the kind of quiet that preceded an avalanche. “A grave mistake.”

“Am I, Dagur?” Stoick stopped a few feet away and crossed his arms. “Pulling warriors from manning the defenses and sending them with you on another one of your wild goose chases isn’t a mistake?”

Dagur's laugh was sharp enough to cut glass, and the deranged grin was just as sharp.

“Another one of my wild hunts?” His hand drifted toward the sword across his back, fingers curling around the hilt with practiced ease. “Tell me, Stoick, what exactly are you referring to?”

Every person in that room knew they'd stepped onto thin ice over a bottomless lake. Stoick could feel his council's collective held breath, could practically taste their fear in the smoky air.

“Your sister is dead, Dagur,” Stoick said, his voice gentling despite the danger crackling between them. “She’s not hiding on some distant island. She was killed in that storm years ago—”

Dagur’s lips curled, but Stoick couldn’t tell if it was for a smile or a grimace. “My sister is alive. I’ve seen her—”

“That wasn’t your sister, Dagur! She was an innocent girl from a Peaceable fishing village that you burned down—”

“She had the horn!" Dagur's voice cracked, raw with grief and rage and desperate hope. “The horn you gave my father! It was her! I know it was! But you’re too blind to see it, Stoick!”

Spitelout’s chair scraped against stone as he half-rose, his bearded face dark with warning. “Mind your tone when addressing our chief, Dagur.”

“I’ll mind my tone when your chief starts acting like the warrior I know him to be!” Whatever semblance of composure held Dagur together had finally shattered, his eyes wild. “Whatever happened to Stoick the Vindictive? The man who would stop at nothing to kill the dragons after he lost his wife?”

“Dagur—”

“I was trying to protect what’s left of my family!”

The words hung in the air like snow piling on a tree branch, waiting for the slightest movement to bring it all down.

“Can you really say the same about yours?” Dagur’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t carved from pure malice. “With Hiccup having joined his mother in death?”

Silence descended on the Great Hall like a burial shroud. Not even the fire in the hearth seemed to make any noise.

Stoick’s vision went red at the edges. His fists clenched so tight he felt his knuckles creak. His jaw locked so tight he thought his teeth might shatter.

Around his council table, he saw his advisors and friends react as one.

He saw Ulric's weathered hands drop from the table towards his axe resting against the table leg. Beside him, Ingrid’s jaw could have been carved from ice, her glare its own weapon as she too dropped a hand towards her axe. Bearlegs Ingerman slowly stood from his chair with a face of stone, and Lagnut Thorston did the same, both lowering their hands to the weapons at their hips. Gobber stood slowly, twisting his hook and eyeing Dagur with a look so sharp it could cut through iron.

Dagur’s captains echoed the movements behind their maniacally grinning chief.

It would be so easy, Stoick thought through the haze of rage. Snap his neck. End this threat to everything we’re trying to protect.

But he couldn't. Not with the Berserker Armada anchored in their harbor. Not with their defenses in ruins and their secret hanging by a thread.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring. One word, one movement, and blood would paint the Great Hall's ancient walls.

Stoick forced his hands to unclench. Forced his breathing to steady. Forced the mountain to weather the storm once more.

“I cannot leave Berk defenseless,” he said calmly. “Not with the dragons raiding again, and not with the Outcasts reaving again.”

Dagur blinked, clearly thrown by the sudden change in tone. His eyes narrowed as if analyzing the tone of Stoick’s face. His posture eased. “But…?”

Stoick took a breath, contemplating if he was taking the right path. “I cannot afford to send the Berk Guard out right now with our defenses in a sorry state. However…if we can manage to get the towers rebuilt, I will send some of the Berk Guard north under Gunnar’s command to aid you.”

He felt Ingrid and Ulric’s eyes snap to him, but Stoick didn’t turn to face them. Couldn’t.

Dagur blinked once more, his hands dropping to his side, heading tilting slightly. “You…will?”

“Yes,” Stoick smiled, but it held all the warmth of a glacier. “But they go under my heir’s command, not yours. They will answer to Gunnar, and he will answer to me. We will work together in this.”

For a long moment, Dagur stared at him with those wild eyes, with a look as if he was trying to solve a puzzle missing several pieces. Then, his grin slowly returned—sharp and manic and somehow more unnerving than his rage.

“Excellent,” he purred, his hands lowering to his hips. “For a moment there, I thought I would have to paint the walls of your hall red with blood and burn this village to the ground.”

Dagur laughed as if it was all a joke, and his captains echoed the sound, but Stoick couldn’t bring himself to see it as anything other than a threat. A reminder that he was outnumbered and surrounded.

Dagur abruptly turned on his heel, gesturing for his captains to follow. “I will take my ships north to set up a base and begin the search. Give my wishes to Gunnar for a quick recovery from…What was it again?”

“A concussion,” Ingrid said through gritted teeth.

“That!” Dagur snapped his fingers at her with a malicious smile. “Don’t wait too long now, Stoick. The trail grows colder every day!”

He laughed as he swung the great doors open, throwing them against the wall with such force dust was shaken from the ceiling. The doors then boomed shut, leaving only the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the weight of what Stoick had just ordered.

For a few moments, no one moved. No one said a word. No one breathed. Stoick kept his eyes focused on the floor, the silence pressing down and squeezing him.

Then, Spitelout exploded.

“Have you lost your damned mind?!” He slammed his fist on the table hard enough to make the wood jump. “Why didn’t you try to stop Dagur?!”

“Spitelout—” Stoick began, but the other man was beyond hearing him.

“Don’t ‘Spitelout’ me! You didn’t even try to—” His face was purple with rage, and he angrily leveled a finger at Stoick. “I told you five years ago, Stoick. I told you we needed to tell the other tribes our children took off on dragons the moment they left! Instead, we’ve been living this lie for five years, and look where it’s gotten us! Praying to the gods no one finds out our children are dragon-riding traitors!”

“I remember you agreeing to go along with that lie by the end of our conversation, Spitelout,” Gobber noted from the corner.

“And we didn’t know if we’d find them or if they might come back,” Stoick growled, taking a few steps back towards the council table. “We took a chance, and for some time it worked out. What do you think would’ve happened if we told the other tribes an entire dragon training class decided to start riding dragons?”

“It’s no better than what we’re facing if that Berserker bastard finds out who these Dragon Riders really are!” Spitelout muttered a few curses under his breath, eyeing the doors of the Great Hall. “This will come out, Stoick. You know it will. Even if it’s not Dagur, it will come out who the Dragon Riders are, and we’ll be the ones facing the consequences.”

“He’s right, you know,” Bearlegs spoke quietly, but his voice carried the weight of absolute certainty as he fiddled with his mustache. “He’s right about the consequences. When the other tribes discover the children of Berk’s most powerful families turned traitor…that they’re the Dragon Riders—”

“They’ll cut us off,” Lagnut finished, her weathered face grim. “They’ll all turn their backs on us, maybe even invade. They won’t blame the village, either. They’ll blame us for hiding it. We’ll be lucky if they only kill us and not our entire clans.”

Stoick saw Ulric’s jaw tighten. “So, what would you have us do? It’s too late to regret making the choices we made—that ship set sail five years ago. We can’t turn back now.”

Spitelout straightened, but his voice trembled as he spoke. “We need to find them first. We need to find them before Dagur does.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, like a leaf caught in a summer breeze, fluttering through the air.

But the leaf soon hit the ground, and realization sank in.

Stoick felt something cold and terrible unfurl in his chest as the words landed, their meaning apparent all at once to everyone in the room.

He shook his head at him. “You can’t mean—Spitelout, you don’t mean that.”

“Thor’s hammer, Spitelout,” Gobber breathed. “That’s Snotlout you’re talking about. Your own boy.”

Spitelout’s face crumpled for just a moment before hardening again. “You think this is easy for me? You think I want my son to die?”

His voice cracked. “I don’t want this any more than the rest of you do. But we have to think about Berk now—the kids we all raised don’t exist anymore, Johann’s stories have made that perfectly clear. The longer the Riders are here, the more likely someone outside the tribe will figure it out. It’s nothing short of a miracle they haven’t already.”

“I won’t listen to this,” Ulric laughed in disbelief, throwing his axe on the table and wiping his hands down his face. “You’re advocating for the death of your own son. Your flesh and blood!”

Ingrid levelled her hardest glare at Spitelout. “And in case you forgot, Spitelout, there are six of them. Are you advocating for their deaths, too? For Astrid’s death?”

Ingrid gestured around the room. “Hiccup’s death? Fishlegs’s? Ruffnut’s? Tuffnut’s? Do you want them all to die?!”

“I want to save the village and its people!” Spitelout roared, slamming his hands down on the table. Stoick saw the water welling behind his eyes. “They made a choice five years ago: dragons over family, over tribe. We need to start protecting ourselves—”

“Protecting ourselves?” Stoick cut through the bickering, silencing the room. “Spitelout, listen to yourself! You’re talking about them as if they’re diseased livestock who need to be culled!”

“Don’t you understand?!” Spitelout slammed his hands on the table again. “They’re not our children anymore! They’re monsters and demons who unleash dragons on innocent people! They sacrifice prisoners and thralls to cruel gods we know nothing about! They’re traitors!”

Stoick glowered at him and stepped forward. “And you believe that? You believe Snotlout is capable of all that—depravity?”

Spitelout barely looked up, his voice cracking. “Why wouldn’t I? It’s all we’ve heard for the last year.”

Gobber turned to Bearlegs and Lagnut. “Do you two believe this as well? That Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut could do the things everyone says they did?”

Bearlegs spoke up first. “I didn’t want to believe it, but…They’re riding the beasts that killed my mother, father, brothers and sisters. My own father was killed by Gronckle, Gobber. He died screaming in dragon fire, and my son still chose to ride a dragon.”

Bearlegs looked down at the floor as if it held the answer to all his problems. “I don’t know my boy anymore. I don’t know what he’d be capable of.”

Stoick looked over to Lagnut, who tried to hide the pain in her eyes with a harsh glare. “My twins were always troublemakers. I didn’t think it’d ever go this far…but aye. They chose a dragon over their own family, so I don’t know what they would be capable of. I used to think my Ruffnut and Tuffnut could never…but now I’m not sure.”

“Listen to yourselves,” Gobber all but pleaded. “Five years ago, they were your pride and joy. A little rough around the edges, sure, but what teenagers aren’t? You all raised them, and now you’re talking about them as if they were jötnar.”

Stoick watched the argument spiral, feeling like he was watching his own family devour itself. These people had fought beside him, bled with him and helped him raise the next generation of Berkians.

Now they were ready to sacrifice those same children because they believed Johann’s lies. Because they believed it would save the village.

Hiccup’s letter burned a hole in the pocket on his chest. He could show it to them. Tell them what was really going on. Ulric, Ingrid and Gobber could back him up.

He could stop this madness.

Bearlegs cleared his throat, stepping towards the center of their loose circle. “What if…what if we could convince them to leave again? Permanently this time? We don’t know why they’re here, but rather than kill them, we could ask them to leave the Archipelago and never come back?”

Spitelout huffed a weak laugh. “That still means we would need to find them.”

“Who’s to say they won’t come back here?” Lagnut offered. “We know Hiccup and Astrid were here the first night, and we all saw Hiccup on the Night Fury last night. Maybe they’ll come to us again?”

“Aye,” Bearlegs nodded, “and we can ask them to go far away, far enough that the connection to Berk can’t be proven.”

“And abandon them completely?” Ingrid’s eyes blazed with maternal fury. “No, absolutely not. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation—”

Spitelout narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp and low. “What do you mean by that, Ingrid?”

Stoick felt something shift in the room as Ingrid’s words sank in. Bearlegs and Lagnut looked over at Ingrid, echoing Spitelout’s question.

“Stoick,” Gobber said softly, “we have to tell them.”

“Gobber, he didn’t say anything about—”

Ingrid looked to him now, too. “Stoick, we need to tell them! We need to stop this madness and tell them the truth!”

Stoick hesitated, Hiccup’s letter feeling like a coal burning a hole through his tunic. He still wasn’t sure how to convince the others, but Gobber and Ingrid were right. It needed to be done.

He forced out the next word through a rapidly closing throat. “Alright.”

Lagnut crossed her arms. “Tell us what? What’s going on?”

Ulric stepped beside his wife. “There’s something we’ve been keeping from you…”

Bearlegs was the first to put two and two together, eyes widening in realization. “No…Tell me you’re not—”

“It’s all lies, Bearlegs—” Stoick began, finding his voice again.

Spitelout’s voice rose over his. “No. You’re not serious.”

“I am.” Slowly, Stoick reached into his tunic. His fingers closed around the parchment—creased and softened from being unfolded, read, and folded again too many times. He drew it out and laid it on the table between them. “This…is from Hiccup. He left it the first time he and Astrid came back to Berk.”

“You’ve all heard the stories and tales Johann and the other merchants have been spinning. Everything the kids have supposedly done.” Gobber stepped forward, pointing at the letter with his good hand. “That tells a different story.”

Ulric stepped forward, throwing Astrid’s letter next to Hiccup’s. “Johann’s been lying to us about what they’ve done. Our kids are not the monsters the world thinks they are.”

Bearlegs’ eyes narrowed. “And yet they still ride the beasts—”

“Aye,” Stoick cut in, a rough edge to the word. “Aye, they ride dragons. That much is true. And that alone…” The words tasted like stone dust in his mouth, but he pressed on. “They’ve chosen another way of life. They’ve chosen those creatures over their own people.”

He drew in a slow breath. “But there’s a difference between turning your back on your tribe and becoming the kind of evil Johann’s been telling us about. That evil…that is a lie.”

Spitelout’s jaw worked, but no sound came out at first. “So, you’re saying they’re traitors, but not murderers. And that’s supposed to be better?”

“I’m saying they made a choice I’ll never understand,” Stoick said, meeting his cousin’s gaze head-on. “And that choice means they can’t be part of Berk as they are now. But I’ll not have you—or anyone here—pretend they’re bloodthirsty demons. They’re still our children.”

Lagnut’s eyes narrowed, suspicion and confusion warring across her face. “If that’s true, why would Johann lie?”

“Because Johann is working with Dragon Hunters,” Gobber said before Stoick could answer, his voice sharp. “He’s working against Berk and the rest of the Archipelago. He’s not who we think he is.”

A beat of silence. Then Spitelout leaned forward, his eyes on Stoick. “What did Hiccup say, exactly?”

“He said they’ve been fighting men who hunt dragons,” Stoick said, his voice quieter now. “Dangerous men, Johann among them. He said…they’ve have been trying to stop them. And there is a warlord who’s controlling these Hunters. They don’t know who this warlord is, but he’s set his sights on the Archipelago. That’s why they’re coming back now.” He let his gaze sweep the table. “Everything else—the villages they’re said to have burned, the people they supposedly killed—that’s not their doing.”

Bearlegs crossed his arms, frowning down at the letter. “That’s his word against Johann’s.”

“Aye,” Stoick said, “but he’s my son. They’re still our children.”

The last word came out like a blow, as much for himself as for them.

Spitelout was the first to find his voice. It came out scoffing, hard-edged. “So that’s it? You’ve got a scrap of parchment from Hiccup, and now we’re all meant to believe Johann’s been spinning fairy stories?”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the table. “You’ve been sitting on this for how long?”

Lagnut’s thin mouth curled in suspicion. “Feels convenient, that’s all I’ll say.”

Bearlegs’s face was dark as storm clouds. “If it was worth hearing, why keep it secret? Why wait until now?”

Stoick met each gaze in turn. “Because I wasn’t sure if I could trust you three with something like this, not without hearing it from your own first. But last night changed that, and we need to start countering Johann’s lies—we need to start doing more.”

Spitelout snorted. “Did you not see your son leading the raid last night Stoick? Destroying our catapults and other defenses to protect his dragons?”

“Did you not notice that no Vikings were killed during the raid, Spitelout?” Stoick growled, fixing Spitelout with a hard look. “Did you not notice that hardly any food was stolen?”

“Maybe he was testing our defenses,” Spitelout shrugged, unbothered. “Or softening them up for a larger attack.”

“Oh, for the love—” Gobber murmured as he shook his head. “Spitelout, it’s a wonder you don’t fall over more.”

“Stay out of this, Gobber,” Spitelout warned, but the blacksmith stepped up defiantly.

“No, I won’t. And you know why? Because before last night’s raid, Hiccup was in my forge. We talked, and while the lad has changed, I know he’s still the same boy. There’s no way he could’ve done the things Johann said he—they did. I’d bet my last limbs on that.”

Spitelout’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again—like a man who’d just had the wind knocked out of him but refused to admit it. “And I’m just meant to take your word for it? What about last night’s raid?”

“This again?” Gobber rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, the raid where no one was killed or seriously hurt. The raid where the dragons hardly took any food and the only damage done was to the long-range defense weapons? No burning buildings or dead Vikings or dragons? Honestly, Spitelout, were you kicked in the head by a yak as a child? Hiccup was protecting both Vikings and dragons!”

Spitelout scowled, shaking his head. “So, we’re just to take them at their word then? That everything we know about what our kids have been doing the past few years was made up by some merchant working against us?”

“Yes,” Stoick answered, firm and unwavering. “We can argue about the dragons until Ragnarök, but if we’re going to talk about our children, we will talk about the truth. They’re not the monsters Johann says they are. They’ve chosen dragons, aye—and that makes them strangers to Berk, but not murderers.”

He took a moment to watch the expressions slowly soften on their faces, Bearlegs slowly sitting back in his chair while Lagnut stared at the floor as if it held the answers to every question she had.

Finally, Spitelout’s expression softened enough to be considered relenting, and he took a step towards his chair, putting one hand on it and leaning with a heavy sigh.

“So,” he said solemnly, looking up. “What do we do now?”

-0-

A few hours later, Stoick left the Great Hall, the heavy wooden doors groaning shut behind him. He raised a hand in farewell to Gobber, his voice fading into the forgotten din of post-raid repairs as he made his way toward the cliffs to supervise the rebuilding of the dock walkways.

The merchant stalls were empty, and Stoick nodded to his people as they passed, their faces wrought with worry. Many feared the raids would begin again with the Dragon Riders in the Archipelago, and Stoick could hardly fault them. He gave them assurances he and the council would always protect the island, no matter what.

He turned into a quiet alley, seeking the faster route to the harbor, when a sound split the evening air like a blade through cloth.

Caw!

It was sharp and piercing and…different. Wrong.

Stoick's steps faltered, and he looked up to find a raven perched on the edge of a rooftop above, its obsidian form stark against the bruised dawn sky. But this was no ordinary bird—every instinct screamed that into his bones.

Something stirred beneath his skin, something that made his breath catch in his throat. It had started as nothing more than a headache—a faint buzzing that he'd dismissed as exhaustion, the kind of bone-deep weariness that came from carrying the weight of an entire village on his shoulders.

But now it pulsed behind his eyes like a living thing, warm and steady and entirely not his own.

Like something ancient and vast pressing against the barriers of his mind with fingers made of starlight and shadow.

The raven cawed again, tilting its head, and Stoick felt his world tilt with it.

Its eyes were darker than the depths of the ocean, darker than the void between stars. They held an intelligence that made his skin crawl, a kind of knowing older than memory, older than the rock his village was built on.

The pressure in his skull intensified, and for one heart-stopping moment, he heard something echo in his head.

It was a child’s laugh. Hiccup’s laugh. A laugh he hadn’t heard since his son was barely walking, bubbly and bright.

Stoick's hand moved to the worn leather grip of his hammer, fingers curling around the familiar handle.

The raven screeched, the sound reverberating through his bones like dragon talons on stone. Then it spread wings that seemed too dark, too perfect, and launched itself into the purple sky with a grace that no earthly creature should possess.

-0-

Dragon’s Edge, Present

The morning sun spilled across Dragon’s Edge in molten gold and honeyed amber, glinting off icicles that clung to their huts like glass spears. Light fractured through them into shards of rainbow, scattering across the snow-packed boards.

Astrid sat on the edge of the platform near the stables, fur hood pulled low, legs dangling over open air. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon with the single-minded intensity of a hawk tracking prey. The wind bit at any exposed skin, sharp enough to sting, but Stormfly’s warm bulk pressed against her back took the edge off the cold.

Her breath curled white into the morning, vanishing before she could take another.

He should have been back by now.

Behind her, the others had settled into varying states of boredom. Snotlout lay sprawled across Hookfang like some great martyred warrior, one arm flung over his eyes. Fishlegs leaned against Meatlug’s warm side, nose buried in notes he could barely see through the steam of his own breath. Heather moved along Windshear’s back with a cloth, polishing each spike until it gleamed. The twins sat cross-legged near Barf and Belch in the snow, arguing over the “proper” way to blow up a watchtower.

Astrid leaned back into Stormfly’s side, earning a chirp and a sleepy half-blink from the Nadder.

“What do you think, girl?” she murmured. “I know I said noon, but knowing Hiccup…” Her mouth flattened. “Something went wrong.”

Stormfly answered with a squawk and a series of small clicks, as if to say when doesn’t it with him?

“You’re right,” Astrid sighed. She tucked herself deeper into her dragon as a cutting gust swept over the Edge. “I’ll give him until noon. Then I—”

Stormfly’s head snapped up so suddenly Astrid felt it through her spine. The Nadder’s pupils shrank to sharp slits, beak clicking a few times followed by a trill.

“What is it, girl?” Astrid straightened instantly, scanning the horizon where Stormfly stared. “What’s wrong?”

Shapes—dark against the gold light. Distant, winged, moving in deliberate formation. Her fingers closed around the spyglass on Stormfly’s saddle even as she called over her shoulder, “Fishlegs, there aren’t any migrations right now, right?”

There was some rustling and muttering came before his reply, “There shouldn’t be. Not unless Hunter activity’s thrown off the seasons or routes—why?”

“We’ve got a flock inbound,” she said, already on one knee and lifting the spyglass. The others moved toward her, voices rising with curiosity, but Astrid ignored them as the glass found the leader of the formation.

Black as midnight with a familiar red tailfin, with a familiar shape astride him.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“What is it? Let me see!” Snotlout demanded. Astrid tossed him the spyglass without a word. His reaction was immediate. “Oh, no way.”

Snotlout lobbed the spyglass to Fishlegs before turning to Astrid, a smug smile on his face. “I thought you said Hiccup was scouting?”

Astrid grit her teeth. “I did.”

“Uh-huh…and if Hiccup was on a scouting mission, why would he be bringing back a flock of dragons?”

“A flock of dragons flying in a protective formation,” Fishlegs noted, passing the spyglass to Heather next. “There are injured dragons flying in the center, and they’re going slow enough to accommodate their reduced speed. Thor’s beard, what did Hiccup do, Astrid?”

“Wait, wait!” Tuffnut called from behind, whipping out a piece of parchment from his pocket. “Let me get this all straightened out really quick—Ok, now Astrid, where did Hiccup really go?”

Astrid turned to Tuffnut, her voice climbing a few octaves as she recognized the familiar patterns and tables on the parchment. “Did you guys really bet on this?!”

“Of course we bet on this,” Ruffnut cackled from beside her brother. “The second you said, ‘scouting mission’ and had that shifty look on your face, we knew you were lying.”

“I do not have a shifty look!”

“You have a shifty look right now,” Fishlegs added, as if he thought that was helpful. “And you always brush your bangs out of your eyes and fiddle with the wraps on your biceps when you’re lying.”

Her response died in her throat. “I…you…argh!”

Tuffnut cleared his throat dramatically. “Alright, alright settle down. Let’s see…we all guessed that Astrid was lying and covering for Hiccup, so no clear winner on that one—”

Astrid scowled, crossing her arms and looking back at the approaching flock her boyfriend was leading to the Edge. “I’m not telling you where he was.”

“No problem, A,” she heard Tuffnut snicker before continuing, “okay, so Snotlout bet Hiccup went to investigate some mysterious dragon on his own but didn’t want anyone else to know…”

Astrid heard Snotlout snort. “He’s done it before.”

“…Fishlegs bet that he was following up on some obscure Dragon Hunter information…”

“It would explain why he was so secretive,” Fishlegs said defensively.

“…Heather bet he went to rescue dragons from a Hunter shipment…”

“He has a savior-complex,” Heather shrugged from beside Astrid, “but I don’t know if he’d take on a Hunter convoy all by himself.”

“You’d be surprised,” Astrid grumbled as the flock closed in, Hiccup’s auburn hair visible without the spyglass now.

“…I said Hiccup was going to rescue more Firefoxes for our friend Tuli—”

“I still can’t believe you named the Firefox Tuli—” Snotlout murmured.

“…and Ruffnut bet that Hiccup went back to Berk.”

Ruffnut planted her hands on her hips with a curved smile mirroring her brother’s. “It’s the only reckless thing he would lie about and the only one of those things Astrid would cover for.”

“He didn’t do any of those,” Astrid quickly, but even she could hear how unconvincing her argument sounded.

“Sure, Astrid.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, please.”

“Yeah, ok.”

As the flock approached, Astrid could make out more and more details of the dragons. She saw some Deadly Nadders, Gronckles, two Zipplebacks and a Monstrous Nightmare—dragons common to most places Vikings lived.

But her stomach twisted when she saw their wounds, the kind of wounds that would’ve only come from battle. Tears in wings, gashes on legs and torsos. Most of them looked exhausted.

Astrid’s focus fell solely on Hiccup, her eyes drawn to the tension in his shoulders, the fatigue made plain on his face, and the way he sat slumped forward in the saddle as if he’d been flying all night. Toothless shared the same expended expression, eyes narrowed and tongue lolling out of his mouth as they guided the dragons in.

She was torn between relief that he was alive and in one piece and fury that’d he obviously put himself in danger when she’d explicitly told him not to do that.

“I’m going to kill him,” she said conversationally, settling on fury while he descended.

“You’ve said that hundreds of times over the years, Astrid,” Fishlegs noted from somewhere behind her, his voice carrying that particular brand of long-suffering patience that came from five years of listening to her threaten bodily harm. “I don’t think you’re going to kill him.”

She shot a glare at Fishlegs that promised she might make an exception this one time. She strode toward the landing platform as Toothless touched down with a heavy thud, Hiccup sliding to the ground in an exhausted half-step.

Toothless gave a low bark and Hiccup turned to face her. His eyes widened and he raised his hands in defense. “Ok, Astrid, I know what you’re going to say, just hear me out—”

She wanted to punch him in the shoulder—just hard enough to remind him that he’d promised to be safe, and judging from the exhaustion in his eyes, the burns on his armor and the state of the rescued dragons, he had definitely not kept his head down or stayed safe.

But something in his face stopped her, so she crossed her arms and fixed him with a glare harsh enough to make him recoil a little.

“What happened?” Around them, the others loitered with the eagerness of people pretending not to eavesdrop, their dragons shifting restlessly behind them.

For a heartbeat, she thought he might dodge her—some mumbled later before he began tending to the dragons. But something in her stare must have pinned him, because he sighed, raking a hand through wind-tangled hair.

“I went to Berk.”

Behind her, Ruffnut’s hiss of victory was audible even over the morning wind. “I knew it! You all owe me—”

“I know you went back to Berk,” Astrid interrupted, not even bothering to turn around. Her eyes never left Hiccup’s face. “What happened?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair again and walked towards her. “There was a raid.”

“Yak shit,” Snotlout scoffed from behind her. “Dragons don’t raid around here anymore. Not since we killed the Red Death.”

“And all these species are pretty docile as long as they're not provoked,” Fishlegs pointed out.

“I know,” Hiccup said, looking to all of them. “Most dragons—unless they’re starving or desperate—won’t raid villages, but…”

His gaze slid towards the ones still landing, and Astrid followed his eyes. One of the Deadly Nadders had an axe protruding from his leg, the blood long dried in branching patterns down to his talons. She looked at the other dragons, their colored scales unnaturally dull, ribs exposed, covered in scars that were too old to be from the raid but still fresh and pink.

It all clicked in one terrible second.

“Hunters,” Astrid fumed, turning to Hiccup. “Viggo?”

He nodded, his expression hardening. “The dragons were starved and tortured before being set loose somewhere near Berk. They formed a flock once they were released and attacked Berk because they needed food. They were forced to raid Berk.”

A bitter taste rose in her throat.

“I couldn’t let it happen,” Hiccup said, the edge in his voice fraying. “So, Toothless and I took out the catapult towers and a few of the mobile catapults. And we destroyed the walkways to the docks to stop the Berserkers from joining in.”

Her brows knit. “Berserkers? On Berk?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled hard, like the memory was something sour. “No idea why. But Dagur and the whole Armada was there—

“Dagur?” Heather’s voice cut sharply through the cold air. Everyone turned to face her. “Dagur the Deranged?”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said. “Wait, you know him?”

“We’ve crossed paths before,” she hissed, running a finger along her axe.

Astrid glanced at Fishlegs, but his wide-eyed, uncertain look said he knew nothing about this either.

“How do you know Dagur?” Astrid asked.

Heather slid her axe back into its holster, her voice dropping low. “He came to our village saying he wanted to trade. Got everyone gathered in one place. Then he set it all on fire.” Her eyes glistened, unshed tears making them shine. “We lost everything.”

She turned sharply, striding back toward Windshear. Fishlegs hesitated before murmuring, “I’ll…uh, I’ll talk to her,” and followed.

The silence that settled over the rest of them was brittle.

“So…” Tuffnut shifted, looking anywhere but directly at Hiccup. “Berk?”

Hiccup shook himself slightly, as though pulling free from his thoughts. “Right. I kept Vikings and dragons from killing each other. Toothless and I rounded up the flock and brought them here. We need to get them settled—food, water, whatever bandages we can scrape together.”

He straightened, and Astrid saw the leader he’d become over their years together—the man who could make impossible decisions and carry the weight of other people’s lives without flinching.

“Once we’ve seen to them, meet in the clubhouse,” he continued, his voice gaining strength with each word. “We’re going to have to change our plans now that we know Viggo’s already operating in the Archipelago.”

The others nodded, already moving toward the barrels of fish they kept for situations exactly like this. But Astrid remained where she was, studying Hiccup's face in the growing morning light, seeing past the exhaustion to the guilt and pain he was trying so hard to hide.

She’d have words with him later—about not taking unnecessary risks, about the way his need to save everyone was going to get him killed one day.

But for now, she simply stepped closer and touched his arm, feeling some of the tension leaving his shoulders at the contact.

“You did good, Hiccup,” she said quietly, the words meant for his ears alone.

His smile was tired, but genuine. “Thank you, Astrid.”

-0-

The clubhouse felt smaller with all of them crammed inside, the familiar space cramped by crates of supplies and furs taken from a passing merchant ship the previous night.

Of course, they’d left a few good-sized pieces of amber from the shores of the Eystrasalt as payment. They were wealthy enough that they didn’t have to steal to survive anymore.

Astrid sat cross-legged on one of the worn wooden benches, her axe resting across her knees as she watched Hiccup pace in front of the map of the archipelago. The rescued dragons had been fed, watered, and treated as best they could manage—their wounds cleaned and bandaged, their fear slowly giving way to cautious trust, but the real work was just beginning.

Hiccup told them everything he’d learned from Gobber: how Berk kept their betrayal a secret, how Johann spread stories of them worshipping draconic gods, destroying whole villages in the lands of the Rus and sacrificing prisoners to their ‘draconic gods from the East.’

It was enough to make Astrid’s blood boil, and she took a stone out of her pocket to sharpen her axe just to give her hands something to do.

“That’s horrible,” Heather said flatly.

“But kind of ingenious,” Ruffnut mused,  and Astrid could hear the twisted admiration in her tone. “In a twisted, messed up way, you know?”

“And creative,” Tuffnut added, mirroring Ruffnut's grudging approval while holding Tuli in his arms. “I mean, dragon gods? That's actually kind of—”

“Not helpful, Tuff,” Fishlegs interrupted, looking up from his own stack of notes. “Anyway, it makes sense why the village reacted with so much hostility the first time you and Astrid went.”

Snotlout snorted from his perch on a wooden crate, his helmet drawn over his eyes. “So, we’re dragon-worshipping, village-burning monsters. That's fantastic for our reputation.” 

Fishlegs sighed. “The moment word gets out to the rest of the Archipelago we’re here, the Dragon Hunters will make allies of every one of the tribes—including Berk.”

“And because Viggo staged the raid,” Hiccup continued, pacing back and forth in front of the map, “it’s going to look like we’re sending dragons out to attack everyone. It’s playing right into Johann’s lies.”

Astrid felt her hands tighten around her axe handle. The calculated cruelty of it made her stomach turn, but she had to admit it was brilliant in its simplicity. Viggo had always been a dangerous enemy because he understood how to turn their greatest strength—their bond with their dragons—into their greatest weakness.

And with Johann’s lies, they had their work cut out for them.

“But you intervened,” she said, looking up at Hiccup. “You said you kept Vikings and dragons from killing one another, so people must have seen that, right? Berk must’ve seen that.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup said lethargically, running a hand through his hair. “I did, but…I didn’t exactly stick around to see what the village thought. Toothless and I needed to calm the dragons down and get them off the island before search parties went out.”

He shrugged, giving them a small, crooked smile. “At least no one died.”

“True, true,” Snotlout sat up, pushing his helmet back on top of his head. “At least no one died in the raid Berk probably thinks you lead.”

“Snotlout,” Astrid chided, turning back and glaring at him. “Hiccup’s right. The important thing is no one died.”

“Exactly,” Hiccup said, a little more upbeat. “And that gave me an idea—”

The twins raised their hands. “Do we get to blow stuff up?” Ruffnut asked.

“Or do we get to set anything on fire?” Tuffnut added.

“I—uhh, no,” Hiccup shook his head, “this isn’t that kind of idea. It’s about Berk.”

Something in his tone made Astrid’s instincts prickle with warning. She knew that particular inflection, the way his voice got when he was about to suggest something that ranged from mildly insane to completely suicidal.

“What kind of idea?” Heather asked carefully.

Hiccup turned to face them all, his green eyes bright with the kind of fervor that had gotten them into—and out of—more trouble than she could count.

“I want to try to convince our parents to accept dragons—maybe even learn to ride them—and then teach the rest of Berk.”

The silence that followed was so complete that Astrid could hear the distant calls of dragons outside, the creak of the wooden building settling, the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears.

“You want to do what now?” Fishlegs’s voice cracked slightly on the last word.

“I hate you,” Snotlout said without any real heat. “You know that, right?”

“Talk about insane,” Ruffnut huffed, leaning back.

Tuffnut followed suit. “I know, right? This might be the craziest idea he’s had since Kœnugarðr.” Tuli yipped from Tuffnut’s arms, and Tuffnut looked down. “Long story, I’ll tell you later.”

“All of Berk?” Heather asked, eyebrows raised.

“Hiccup…” Astrid shook her head in disbelief. “They tried to kill you and I just last week! And now you think they’ll listen to us?”

Something shifted in Hiccup’s expression, something that reminded her of five years ago when she’d asked if he planned to keep the Dragon’s Nest a secret to protect Toothless. It was that same stubborn, unshakeable certainty.

“Yes.” He let the word ring for a moment, full of conviction. “Look, I know it sounds impossible but just hear me out.”

He leaned forward, palms flat on the table, and Astrid felt herself leaning in despite every logical protest screaming in her mind. “Gobber told me that my dad and Astrid’s parents read the letters we wrote, so our plan kind of worked.”

Astrid tilted her head. “Kind of?”

“They—well, uhh—they’ll protect us but not our dragons…but that’s ok!” He started pacing again, his enthusiasm building. “Think about: Stoick, Gobber, Ingrid and Ulric all want to help us and know we’re not the monsters or traitors Johann says we are. If we could just show them what dragons are really like—”

“Hiccup,” Fishlegs interrupted gently, “they’ve spent their entire lives believing dragons are mindless killing machines. You can’t just undo three hundred years of conditioning with a friendly demonstration.”

“Why not?” Hiccup's voice carried the stubborn determination that had driven him to befriend Toothless in the first place. “We did it. You all changed your minds about dragons.”

“We were teenagers,” Ruffnut pointed out. “And teenagers are stupid and reckless. Adults are...well, they’re set in their ways.”

“And significantly more likely to try to kill us before we can explain anything,” Tuffnut groaned.

Hiccup gestured to Heather. “What about Heather? She counts!”

Astrid watched the argument unfold with growing unease. The plan wasn't completely insane—she'd seen worse, and she knew it was possible to get some people to accept dragons.

But they’d never managed to integrate dragons anywhere they’d traveled.

“Hiccup, even if that’s true,” she said slowly, “even if all our parents get on board with this, there’s still a whole island who’ve been raised to hate dragons. And who says they even want to join our war?”

“Because this war is coming to them whether they want it or not,” Hiccup said, his voice growing urgent. “Viggo’s already here—Krogan and Johann might not be far behind, and there’s still this warlord up north that we know nothing about! And Viggo knows we care about Berk, so he's going to keep using it against us. Our parents need to be able to defend themselves, and dragons are the best defense we can give them.”

“Or,” Snotlout said, his voice rising with each word, “we could just stay far away from Berk and our families and keep fighting the war like we have been for the past year.”

“Snotlout, we have to change something,” Hiccup said firmly. “We can’t just keep beating the Hunters, we need to defeat them. Shatter them. The more allies we have—”

“But why Berk?”

“Snotlout—”

“No!” Snotlout jumped to his feet, his face flushed. “I am not going back there to explain myself to my dad! Do you have any idea what he’ll say? What he’ll do? He’d rather see me dead than see me riding Hookfang!”

“You don't know that,” Hiccup said quietly.

“Don’t I?” Snotlout's laugh was bitter. “My dad spent my entire childhood trying to turn me into a perfect Viking. Strong, aggressive, merciless—everything I’ve learned to be better than. You think he’s going to be proud that his son chose to leave so he could protect his dragon?”

The pain in his voice was raw enough to make Astrid wince. They all carried burdens from their childhoods, but Snotlout's relationship with his father had always been particularly toxic. Spitelout had never seen his son as anything more than the next chief, the first Jorgenson chief on Berk when Hiccup either died or was disinherited by Stoick.

“Maybe,” Fishlegs said hesitantly, “we could start smaller? A few of us go over and make contact? Maybe start with Stoick, Gobber and Astrid’s parents since they’re already protecting you guys?”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” Ruffnut admitted. “And our parents might surprise us. They might be more open-minded than we think.”

“Or they might try to cage us,” Tuffnut countered, playing tug with Tuli, ethereal colors floating from the Firefox’s tail like wisps of smoke from a burning stick. “It’s really a coin flip at this point—not with Mom, though.”

“Oh, she'll definitely hate us,” Ruffnut chuckled, but Astrid saw the pain behind her eyes.

Hiccup looked around the circle of faces, and Astrid could see him taking in their expressions—the fear, the uncertainty, the bone-deep reluctance to revisit the wounds they all thought had healed.

“I’m not saying we have to do this tomorrow,” he said finally. “I’m just saying we should consider it. Berk could be our strongest ally against the Dragon Hunters if we can make this work. And...” His voice softened. “They’re still our families. Don't you want to try to bridge that gap?”

The question hung in the air like smoke, settling into the spaces between them with uncomfortable weight.

Heather was the first to agree with the plan. Fishlegs was next, followed by the twins, and finally Snotlout.

“Alright,” Hiccup said, straightening up with relief. “We’ll need to let the Wingmaidens and Defenders know that Viggo is here now. We should consider moving the attack earlier before Viggo has a chance to link up with all the outposts. Let’s get to it.”

One by one, the others filed out of the clubhouse, Snotlout the last to exit, leaving Astrid alone with Hiccup in the sudden quiet. She studied his face in the afternoon light, reading the familiar signs of stubborn determination warring with doubt. She could read him as easily as a book; she had learned all his tells over the last five years.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?” he asked, eyes on the map, not her.

“Let’s just say it’s very…you,” she said finally, rising from her bench and moving to stand beside him. “Completely insane, impossibly optimistic, and just crazy enough that it might actually work.”

He turned to look at her, hope flickering in his tired eyes. “Ok, be honest with me: do you think it'll work?”

“I think,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm, “that if anyone can pull off the impossible, it’s you. And I trust you enough to follow you into whatever madness you're planning next.”

He gave her a small smile, but it was tempered by something else—something that made her chest tighten.

“You’re having doubts,” she said softly. It wasn't a question.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hands stilling. “I mean…you saw the others, Astrid. What if it doesn’t work? What if they just lock us up? What if we make things worse?”

The vulnerability in his voice made her heart ache. For all his confidence when presenting the plan to the others, she could see the weight of leadership squeezing him. He carried every decision, every consequence, every life in his hands, and she could see it wearing him down.

“Hiccup,” she moved closer, her hand sliding from his arm to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to meet hers, and she saw everything he was trying to hide—the fear, the exhaustion, the crushing responsibility he'd shouldered for all of them.

“You don’t have to carry this alone,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Every plan, every decision, every risk we take—you act like it's all on your shoulders. It’s not, and we chose to follow you, remember? All of us. We chose this fight, this life, because we believed in you.”

“But what if—”

“Stop,” she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing the protest. “What if you save them all? What if this crazy, impossible plan of yours is exactly what Berk needs? What if you give our parents the chance to see what we see when we look at dragons?”

His breath was warm against her fingertips, and she could see him start to relax as her words sank in.

“You've never led us wrong before,” she continued, her hand moving to cup his cheek. “Even when the odds were impossible, even when everyone said it couldn’t be done, you always found a way. Ever since the Red Death, that’s what you’ve done. How many times have people told you something was impossible before you proved them wrong?”

A small, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “More than I can count.”

“Exactly,” she smiled back, thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “So why would this be any different? Yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it could go wrong. But Hiccup, the alternative is watching our families get caught in the crossfire while we're too afraid to try.”

He leaned into her touch, eyes closing briefly as if absorbing her words. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m asking too much of all of you. Of you.”

“You’re not asking anything of me that I haven’t already given freely,” she said fiercely. “My choice to leave with you, to fight beside you, to love you—none of that was because you asked. It was because I wanted to. Because I believe in you…and I know the others would say something similar.”

When he opened his eyes again, some of the shadows had cleared from the green depths, his smile reaching his ears. “You think it’ll work?”

“I think,” she said, rising up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his forehead, “that you’re Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, and you've never met an impossible situation you couldn’t find a way through. This won't be any different.”

Relief flooded his features, and she watched some of the tension leave his shoulders. But she could tell he was still holding something back—she'd learned to read him like a map over the past four years.

“Thank you, Astrid.”

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his arms coming around her in an embrace that felt like coming home. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and smoke and dragon that always clung to his skin.

“There’s…Astrid, there’s—uhh—one more thing…”

“I knew it,” She laughed softly into his neck, but didn't pull away. The warmth of him, the steady beat of his heart against her chest—it was too nice to pull away from. “I could tell by your face there was something you weren’t telling me.”

His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. “How do you always know?”

“Five years of practice. So, what is it?”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and he guided her back so he could look into her eyes. In the afternoon light filtering through the clubhouse, his face was all sharp angles and shadows, handsome in a way she wouldn’t have thought possible a few years ago.

“I…” He swallowed thickly. “I may have…had to knock out Gunnar.”

Astrid felt her blood turn to ice. “What?”

“Gunnar, he…he was working with Dagur to set up an ambush on Berk. They were trying to lure me in with a captured Nadder, so I had Toothless fake a takedown and I knocked Gunnar out when no one was looking.”

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Her little brother—the boy who used to follow her around asking endless questions about axes and strategy—had tried to kill the man she loved.

“Are you ok? Is he ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine and he’s fine. I hit him on the back of the head with Inferno.”

“You…Hiccup! You could’ve killed him!” She knew it was stupid. Gunnar had tried to kill her last time she was on Berk and tried to kill Hiccup not even twelve hours ago.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel somewhat protective of her little brother, no matter how hostile he currently was. “Why didn’t you just choke him out?”

“I didn’t have time. Toothless was surrounded by Berserkers and I didn’t want them to get suspicious!”

Astrid lifted an eyebrow. “You didn’t have ten seconds? Hiccup, I’ve shown you the form, you can put someone to sleep in less than ten seconds—”

“Astrid, he’s okay. I checked his pulse, he’s alive, and I didn’t hit him that hard. Worst case scenario is he has a concussion—”

“Hiccup! You gave my little brother a concussion?”

“Wha—Astrid, he was trying to kill Toothless and capture me!”

“I know, but did you have to hit him? I mean—”

“Look, I didn't have a choice, he would have—”

“I know!” The words came out sharper than she’d intended, and she saw him flinch. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to think past the surge of confused, protective anger. “I know you didn’t have a choice. It's just...”

“Hard,” he finished softly.

“Yeah.” She sank down onto one of the benches, suddenly feeling every one of the miles they’d traveled, every day they’d spent away from home. “He…It’s just he’s my little brother, and he’s grown up and he’s everything he wanted to be. Everything my parents wanted us to be.”

Hiccup sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“You know,” Astrid laughed, short and bitter, “in a way, I guess I also became everything my parents wanted me to be.”

“Astrid—”

“That’s why I was panicking on Defenders of the Wing Island,” she buried her face in her hands, feeling the weight of five years press down on her. “It wasn’t just the memory of seeing them so scared, it was…Hiccup, I became exactly what my parents always wanted me to be—a warrior, a fighter and a killer…I thought I would be more than that, but now—”

“Now you’re more than that,” Hiccup said quietly. His hand found hers, warm and callused and steady. “You’re not just a warrior, Astrid. You’re a protector. A leader. You’re not some brutal thug who thinks every problem can be solved if you hit it hard enough—Bragi’s tongue, Astrid, you can speak three languages! You’ve saved more lives—human and dragon—in the past five years than most people save in a lifetime.”

“But I left Gunnar to pick up the pieces,” she whispered. “I never told him or my family why I left or wrote them, and I left him to deal with the shame of having a sister who turned traitor. And now he’s so desperate to restore my family’s honor that he’s willing to kill you and I to do it.”

“Hey.” Hiccup's free hand touched her chin, gently lifting her face until she was looking at him. “That's not your fault. Gunnar made his own choices, just like you made yours. You can’t carry responsibility for everyone’s decisions. Besides, if we can convince my dad to at least not kill us on sight, I know there’s a way we can reach Gunnar. We just have to find it first.”

She stared into those green eyes that had seen her at her worst and loved her anyway, seeing nothing but love, understanding and absolute faith in who she'd chosen to become.

Slowly, some of the guilt that had been eating at her for years began to loosen its grip—not gone but lessened.

“I love you,” she whispered, and the words carried the weight of everything she couldn’t articulate. Her bone-deep gratitude for the way he’d stood by her and supported her. Her terror that his good heart would get him killed. Her fierce determination to fight beside him until her last breath, no matter what fresh terror tomorrow brought.

“I love you too,” he said with a soft, reassuring smile, and then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was warm and familiar and perfect, tasting like home and flying free all at once, like forgiveness and new beginnings and the promise that whatever tomorrow brought, they would face it together. Four years of ups and downs, nights they spent together, days they worried about the other’s safety, of learning every expression on his face and every way his brilliant mind worked—all of it distilled into this single, perfect kiss.

His hands found her face, thumbs tracing the high line of her cheekbones. She melted into the touch, her own fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

When they finally broke apart, necessity demanding oxygen more than desire demanded his mouth, she pressed her forehead to his. Their breath mingled in the space between them, and his hands had migrated to her waist, thumbs brushing against her. A simple touch, and yet it sent liquid fire racing through her veins. 

“So,” she said, her voice still rough with emotion and something deeper, “when do we start this insane plan of yours?”

His smile was bright enough to light up the clubhouse, and even after four years she still felt something in her chest flutter at the sight of it. It amazed her that after everything—the battles, betrayals, deaths and impossible choices—he could still smile like that. Like he believed they could save their world.

Maybe they could.

“How about we start with getting some sleep?” His voice had dropped to that low, intimate tone that never failed to make her pulse quicken.

Instead of answering immediately, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to that spot on the side of his neck, feeling his pulse jump beneath her teeth. His hands tightened on her waist in response, and she smiled against his skin.

“Sleep,” she murmured against his neck, pressing another soft peck there before pulling back to meet his eyes. “You sure you want to sleep?”

“Not sure,” he whispered, his voice strained, his eyes dropping to her lips.

She pressed her lips to his, slower this time, savoring the familiar taste of him. His mouth moved against hers with the practiced ease of years together, but the passion behind it never dimmed. If anything, it had only grown deeper, more intense with time, trust and the bone-deep knowledge that they belonged to each other completely.

When she pulled away, they were both breathing harder. His fingers worked gently through her braids, slowly working them loose until her blonde hair fell around her shoulders in waves. He ran his fingers through the strands, his touch reverent.

“Frigga, you're so beautiful,” he whispered, and the way he said it—like prayer, like worship—made her heart stutter in her chest, no matter how many times she'd heard him say it.

“Hiccup,” she breathed, and then she was kissing him again, deeper this time, pouring all her love and desire and need into the contact. His arms came around her, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest.

“I still owe you that lecture,” she said when they broke apart again, but her words were breathless and half-lost against his lips.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his mouth finding that sensitive spot just below her ear, and she shivered as his breath ghosted across her skin. "About taking stupid risks and saving everyone?"

He peppered the spot with kisses and gentle nips, and it took her a moment to regain enough focus to form coherent thoughts.

“That's the one,” her hands had somehow found their way under his tunic, palms pressed flat against the warm skin of his back, feeling his lean muscle, fingers brushing over long-healed scars. "Unless you're too tired to handle it."

He pulled back to look at her with his lopsided smirk, eyes dark and heated in a way that made her core tighten. “I think I can handle a lecture or two.”

She laughed, low and throaty, and the sound seemed to do something to him because his hands tightened on her again, and he leaned down to capture her lips once more. This kiss was hungrier, more desperate, full of the knowledge that tomorrow would bring new dangers and impossible choices.

But at that moment, it was only them. Only the taste of him on her lips, the feel of his hands in her hair, the way he whispered her name like it was the most important word in any language.

“We should head back,” he said breathlessly. “Before I actually get too tired. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”

“Okay,” she replied, stealing another kiss before taking his hand and leading him toward their hut, toward privacy and the promise of skin against skin.

But as they walked, Astrid caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. A black shape flitted from their roof—small, quick, with feathers as dark as Toothless's scales cutting through the sky.

A raven.

She didn't know why the sight of it sent a chill down her spine, but Hiccup's hand was warm in hers, and his presence chased away the shadow of unease.

Chapter Text

-0-

Comté d’Anjou, West Francia, 16 months since leaving Berk

“This is so stupid,” Snotlout muttered, glancing at the Frankish guards escorting him and Fishlegs through the garden. The ornate and perfectly manicured pathways meant nothing to him—all he could think about was the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. “Why couldn’t we just hand the sword to some servant? I’m hungry and want to eat.”

“I don’t know, Snotlout, but considering they’re giving us so much gold and silver that we’ll need to bury some of it in a hoard, I wouldn’t complain too much,” Fishlegs whispered back, gesturing to the ornate sword slung across his back.

Snotlout rolled his eyes, following their guide deeper into the garden where he was expected to formally relinquish the sword to Robert the Strong’s son and heir, Odo.

So, instead of eating with Hiccup, Astrid and the twins—probably sharing stories and laughing around a proper table with actual cooked meat—he was stuck with Fishlegs following Midgard’s slowest guide while his stomach growled its displeasure.

Still, Fishlegs was right. They were receiving a handsome reward for the sword and would be given beds for the night as well as meals that didn’t consist of fish and berries—real meals with meat, vegetables and soups. After weeks of sleeping on the ground and eating whatever they could catch or forage, the promise of comfort was worth this tedious ceremony.

It was close, but it was worth it.

They turned a corner and the guide called out something in Frankish, stepping aside and gesturing for Snotlout to continue walking forward.

In front of him was a boy—ten or eleven years old, by the looks of it—wearing an elaborate blue tunic with a grey cloak pinned on his right shoulder. His head hung low, hollow eyes fixated on the ground beneath his boots.

“That’s him?” Snotlout asked Fishlegs in a low voice.

“I think so,” Fishlegs looked to their guide, who said something Snotlout couldn’t understand to Fishlegs. Fishlegs turned back to Snotlout, “it’s him.”

Their guide repeated whatever he’d said earlier, but the boy didn’t move. The guide said something different and sharper, and the boy angrily shook his head.

Snotlout watched the back and forth continue for another minute, exchanging sharp sounding words until the boy finally stood up and angrily shouted something at their guide before stomping further into the garden.

The guide, somewhat flustered, turned and said something to Fishlegs, sounding almost apologetic.

Fishlegs turned. “So, uhh…apparently Odo doesn’t want the sword?”

Snotlout groaned, looking up toward the sky as if the gods might grant him the gift of understanding these annoying Franks and their language. “What do you mean he doesn’t want it? It’s his father’s sword and it’s worth a fortune.”

Fishlegs shrugged. “I don’t know. The guide says he can just take the sword now and skip the whole formality of everything. He said he’ll make sure Odo gets it when he’s…happier, I guess?”

Snotlout should’ve been happy to skip the formalities. Should’ve been happy to finally hand the sword off and rejoin their friends, stuff his face with food, wash for the first time in days and get to sleep without worrying if they were going to be attacked by Vikings or Franks or that weird creature that kept trying to steal the sword.

But Odo’s empty look had stirred something in him, something he tried to keep buried since they left Berk.

“Can you ask this guy why Odo doesn’t want the sword?”

Fishlegs turned, eyebrows furrowed. “Uhh…sure?”

The Frank shook his head in frustration before giving Fishlegs a long-winded answer.

“Odo and his father didn’t get along very well,” Fishlegs translated, occasionally asking questions in stilted Frankish to clarify words or phrases, “he won’t say why, though.” The larger boy shrugged again, seemingly at a loss. “All he’ll say is that they didn’t get along, with Robert raising Odo to be just like him, I guess.”

Snotlout watched their guide’s eyes, watched them shift from him to Fishlegs and back. He didn’t think the guide was lying, but there was something holding him back from handing the sword over to the Frank.

“Can you tell him we’d liked to speak with Odo? Alone?” Snotlout asked Fishlegs, who immediately raised a brow.

“Why? You were just complaining about not getting to eat with the others—”

“Can you just ask, Fishlegs?”

Fishlegs huffed and relayed the request to their guide slowly. Snotlout watched the perplexed expression emerge on the guide’s face.

He looked at Snotlout, eyes sharp and began speaking again, faster and firmer this time.

“I think he’s saying we can talk to Odo,” Fishlegs translated, although Snotlout caught the hint of unsureness in his voice.

The guide continued, and Fishlegs’s expression darkened. “He says he’ll give us some privacy, but always stay within sight of the guards, and that if anything happens to Odo, they’ll…”

Fishlegs swallowed, not as nervously as he used to, though. “They’ll kill us, Hiccup, Astrid Ruffnut and Tuffnut.”

Snotlout’s blood chilled and his fists balled at the threat.

Bastard, he thought, desperately wishing they didn’t have to hide the dragons. He’d wanted to swoop in on Hookfang, landing in the middle of the castle courtyard in a display of power these Franks wouldn’t be able to ignore or dismiss.

Hiccup had nixed that idea, insisting it would be better to appear as escaped thralls who’d found the sword in Hásteinn’s camp. He said it would earn them some sympathy and explain why they spoke Norse instead of Frankish, while also giving them a way to know how the sword came into Hásteinn’s possession and who it belonged to.

He forced his expression to remain neutral and nodded at their guide, who motioned to the guards for space before gesturing for him and Fishlegs to continue forward.

They walked up to where Odo sat on the ground, picking at the grass with the mechanical motions of someone trying not to think. He looked up at Snotlout with those same hollow eyes and muttered something in Frankish—probably telling them to go away.

“Ask him why he doesn’t want the sword,” Snotlout said, his voice gentler now.

“Are you incapable of saying please?” Fishlegs snipped, but there was more curiosity than irritation in his tone.

Snotlout growled softly, his patience wearing thin, but forced himself to take a breath. “Fine. Fishlegs, can you please ask him why he doesn’t want his father’s sword?”

Fishlegs approached the question with his characteristic gentleness, his tone coaxing rather than demanding. Odo’s response started small, barely audible, but then grew more animated as the words poured out of him. His gestures became sharp and frustrated, his voice rising with each sentence.

From the pinched expression on Fishlegs’s face, Snotlout could tell his friend was struggling to keep up with the rapid-fire Frankish.

“He’s saying a lot,” Fishlegs said, pausing to ask clarifying questions, “but from what I can understand, Robert cared more about his reputation than his family. He wanted Odo to be the same kind of person he was—a warrior who would lead the fight against the Vikings and Bretons raiding Francia. Someone strong and feared and respected.” Fishlegs’s voice grew softer. “There’s a lot more that I’m having trouble following, but it sounds like Odo wants nothing to do with his father or anything that reminds him of the man.”

The words hit Snotlout like a swipe from Hookfang’s tail, knocking the air from his lungs. Every word was a mirror reflecting his own childhood back at him.

You need to sharpen up, boyo, his father had said. Hiccup will never be named heir, and you’re next in line. Start acting like a proper leader. I’ll not let you screw this up for the entire Jorgenson clan.

Snotlout cut off the memory before it could fully form. He still carried the Jorgenson name, still felt its weight every day, but that didn’t mean he had to become his father.

Maybe he could tell Odo the same thing.

“Can you tell him—” Snotlout stopped and cleared his throat. “Can you tell him something for me?”

“I can try.”

“Ok,” Snotlout looked back at Odo and took a step closer, producing the sheathed sword once more. “Tell him that taking the sword doesn’t mean he’s going to turn into his dad. He gets to decide who he’s going to be now, and the sword is just a sword. It’s his, not his father’s anymore. He doesn’t have to be the conqueror his father was or fight the way his father did. The best thing he can do is take it and be someone different, be his own person and break that cycle.”

Fishlegs stared at him for a long moment, surprise and something that might have been pride flickering across his features. Then he turned to Odo, his Frankish rough but earnest. Snotlout watched the boy’s expression shift like clouds moving across the sky—from stubborn refusal and confusion to something softer, something that looked almost like hope and understanding.

Odo’s eyes flicked between Fishlegs and Snotlout, then finally down to the sword in Snotlout’s hands. The blade seemed to hold his gaze especially, gleaming in the light of the midday sun.

When Fishlegs finished translating, Odo stood as tall as his small frame would allow. His eyes, when they met Snotlout’s, were no longer hollow but solid and determined—the look of someone who had just discovered they had choices they didn’t know existed.

He said something in Frankish, his voice steady and clear, and reached out with both hands to take the sword. His face twisted slightly from the weight, but he held it firmly, respectfully, like it meant something new now.

“What did he say?” Snotlout asked, though he thought he could guess from the boy’s expression.

“He said he’ll take the sword,” Fishlegs responded, and there was something in his voice. “And that he’ll make it mean something different.”

Snotlout nodded, feeling something tight and painful in his chest finally loosening after years of being wound too tight. He flashed a genuine smile at Odo—not his usual cocky grin but something real and warm—and the boy returned it with the first hint of happiness Snotlout had seen from him.

Snotlout gave a small, respectful bow, which Odo returned with the gravity of someone older than he really was. Then Snotlout turned to leave with Fishlegs, feeling lighter somehow, like he’d set down another burden he’d been carrying without realizing it.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, leaving the garden behind as they headed back toward the castle where their friends waited. The promise of food and rest seemed less urgent now, replaced by something more satisfying.

“You know,” Fishlegs said eventually, his tone carefully casual, “that was surprisingly wise of you.”

The compliment hit Snotlout like a splash of cold water, immediately making him uncomfortable.

He shrugged, forcing his expression back into familiar lines of casual indifference. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.” The words came out easier than they should have, his mask sliding back into place with practiced ease. He needed to change the subject, needed something shallow and predictable to hide behind before Fishlegs started asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

“Hey…” Snotlout’s grin turned sly and familiar, the vulnerable moment buried under layers of bravado. “You think you can tell Astrid about how wise I am? You know, to help my chances with her?”

Fishlegs snorted and rolled his eyes. “Right, because if I told Astrid, ‘hey, Snotlout was really wise and compassionate with a small child today,’ she would totally believe me and not think I hit my head on a rock.”

“Ouch, “ he feigned hurt, but Snotlout was grinning now, falling back into their familiar rhythm. It was easier this way. Safer. He could pretend that what had just happened was a random act of kindness, not a window into the parts of himself he usually kept hidden.

As they approached the castle, Snotlout could hear the twins’ laughter echoing from inside, followed by Astrid’s angry roar and Hiccup’s panicked yelling.

The sounds were comforting, reminders that he was far from Berk and among his friends, exploring the world and just doing the things they all wanted to do.

But as they walked, Snotlout found himself thinking about Odo’s determined expression, about the way the boy had stood straighter when he realized he had choices.

Maybe someday, when he was ready, Snotlout would tell his friends about his dad and the expectations placed on him.

Someday. But not today.

Today, he would eat and laugh and be Snotlout Jorgenson—cocky and loud without any of the complications.

-0-

Eastern Barbaric Archipelago, Present

“We should be coming up on the island within the next hour,” Astrid flipped her visor up, leaning out of her saddle towards Snotlout. Her voice carried easily over the cutting winter wind as she signaled to the horizon, her other hand gripping Stormfly’s spikes with the casual confidence of someone who’d spent years in the air. “Even though this outpost is the biggest, I think we stick with what works: quick passes on the dragons, then dismount to clear it out on foot. What do you think?”

Snotlout lifted himself up in his saddle, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from hours of flying in the frigid air. The familiar ache in his thighs and lower back was a small price to pay for the freedom of the sky, and the promise of action ahead had his pulse quickening with anticipation. He looked down at his dragon, patting the scaled neck with affection.

“What do you say, Hooky? Want to show these Dragon Hunters what five thousand pounds of flaming muscle can do?”

Hookfang gave a happy roar, warm flames flickering briefly from his mouth—his way of showing enthusiasm for whatever fight might be coming. The sound brought a genuine—rather than a cocky—smile to Snotlout’s face.

“We’re in!”

“Oh, I guessed,” Astrid said, rolling her eyes but smiling despite herself. “Hookfang’s never backed down from a fight, has he?”

“Just like his rider,” Snotlout grinned, puffing himself up.

“At least Hookfang usually wins the fights he starts,” Astrid shot back, her smile twisting into something mischievous and sharp-edged.

“Hey!” He feigned offense and guided Hookfang closer to Stormfly, close enough that he could see the amused glint in Astrid’s eyes. “I also usually win the fights I start!”

“Really?” Astrid crossed her arms, casually leaning back in her saddle. “Are we doing this again, Snot? You want me to go down the list? Five years is a lot of—”

“Fine, fine,” Snotlout grumbled. “I win some of the fights I start! But I did win the fight in that tavern in Kœnugarðr! I totally knocked out the ringleader!”

“After I hit him over the head with a chair!” Astrid shot back without missing a beat.

“Which wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t distracted him!”

“You call that a distraction? He was punching you in the face, Snotlout!”

“Useless details, Astrid,” Snotlout waved a hand dismissively, a smug look on his face. “The important thing is I won that fight, avenged the insult they paid us and I looked awesome doing it!”

“Oh, you definitely looked like something,” Astrid said, guiding Stormfly close enough that their conversation didn’t require shouting over the wind. “‘Awesome’ might be a little too generous, though.”

“I am known for my generosity,” Snotlout replied with a theatrical wink. “I’m a giver, after all. It’s one of my core traits.”

“Don’t forget humility,” Astrid grinned, her voice so dry a spark could set it on fire. “With all that you’ve accomplished, how do you stay so humble, Snotlout?”

“It’s a gift, really. Not everyone can be blessed with such natural modesty. I try not to let it go to my head, but when you’re this perfect, it’s hard. Takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears.”

“Your sacrifice is truly inspiring,” Astrid replied with mock solemnity. “Future generations will sing songs about your selflessness.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Hiccup, his sarcasm is rubbing off on you,” Snotlout said, then immediately caught himself as he watched Astrid’s face light up with mischief. His eyes widened in horror. “No, no! Don’t say anything, I already heard it!”

“I wasn’t going to!” But the grin spreading across her face said otherwise.

“Yes, you were!”

“I wasn’t!”

“I saw your face! You were going to say something! I know you, Astrid! It was going to be some joke about you and Hiccup and rubbing things and I don’t want to hear it!” The words tumbled out in a rush, his voice rising with each syllable.

Astrid’s laugh was loud and unrestrained—the kind she reserved for moments she found especially hilarious. She wiped tears from her eyes, shoulders shaking with the force of her amusement. “Ahh, fine, fine. You got me. I won’t say anything about your word choice, okay?”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting back down in his saddle and turning his eyes towards the horizon.

“Hey…”

Something in her tone made him turn back, and he found Astrid studying his face with her sharp eyes. When she spoke again, her voice had lost its teasing edge, replaced by something gentler, more serious. “You know, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh great,” Snotlout muttered, though without real bite. He’d learned to recognize when Astrid was shifting into what Hiccup called her ‘feelings talk’ mode years ago, and while it still made him uncomfortable, he’d also learned not to run from it—Astrid was relentless. “Is it ‘feelings talk’ time?”

“Stop calling it that.”

“Why? Hiccup calls it that!”

“I tell Hiccup the same thing! It’s not feelings talk, it’s checking in on my friends and fellow Dragon Riders, Snotlout!”

Snotlout groaned, knowing he couldn’t escape since Stormfly was the faster dragon, and he still hadn’t spotted the island yet. “Ok, fine. What did you want to ask about?”

“How do you feel about Hiccup’s plan?”

The question made his stomach plummet towards the sea below. Snotlout’s hands tightened on Hookfang’s horns, and he felt his dragon shift slightly, sensing the tension. “Why are you asking me?”

“You know why, Snotlout.”

Astrid knew him too well. They all knew each other too well, after everything they’d been through together. The battles, the adventures, the long nights around campfires in strange lands where the only people they could reliably talk to was one another—it stripped away most of their pretenses with each other.

It made burying feelings and secrets incredibly difficult.

He took a steadying breath, locking eyes with Astrid. “I think Hiccup’s right. He’s usually right about this stuff, and we need allies, and Berk’s our best shot at that—even if they still think we’re monsters.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Astrid, you know how I feel about this,” Snotlout murmured, turning his head back to scan the horizon. “But since I know you won’t leave it alone until you hear me say it: No, I’m not looking forward to dealing with my dad.”

Astrid was quiet for a long moment, and when Snotlout glanced over at her, he saw something like understanding in her expression. “I get it, you know. Not exactly the same, but...well, you know how I used to be. What I used to want.”

Snotlout nodded, remembering how determined Astrid used to be to become the best dragon-killing shieldmaiden in the Archipelago. The one to avenge ‘Fearless’ Finn Hofferson and restore her family’s honor.

“Your dad wasn’t like mine, though,” Snotlout said, his voice quieter. “Your dad loved you and might’ve had expectations but—”

“He wasn’t an asshole? Spiteful?”

Snotlout nodded. “Both.”

“I’m sorry, Snotlout.” She’d meant it each time she said it, all the way back to the day he first told them about the burden he’d carried in Berk.

“It’s okay” Snotlout straightened in his saddle, forcing some of his usual confidence back into his posture. “But you know what? I’m my own person now, and if he can’t accept that—”

“Then that’s his loss,” Astrid finished firmly. Hookfang purred loudly beneath Snotlout, agreeing with Astrid’s words, and Snotlout’s hand reached down to scratch along his friend’s neck. “You know, you don’t have to start with your dad—you never a problem with your mom, so maybe it’s better if you start with her. Scratch that, you should start with her.”

Snotlout managed to smile. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and breathing came easier, even high in the icy air.

Eir Jorgenson hated dragons as much as her husband, but if there was anyone back on Berk who would listen to Snotlout, it was his mom.

“You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Astrid grinned triumphantly, the same kind of grin she wore whenever she’d beaten him in a race or destroyed more war machines than he had.

“Not true! Remember when you said my sewing skills wouldn’t work with sewing wounds shut?”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, to be fair, I said that I didn’t think it would work, not that it wouldn’t!”

Before Snotlout could respond, he heard the distinctive sound of metallic wings behind them. A moment later, he felt someone land just behind him in the saddle, a hand landing on his shoulder for balance.

He turned, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Minden there behind him, smiling as the baby Razorwhip on her back folded its wings, her short ponytail whipping behind her in the wind.

His pulse quickened for an entirely different reason.

Minden looked fierce, beautiful and completely in her element, and he had to focus on not making a fool of himself like he had trying to impress her a few days ago. “Uhh—hey!”

“Hey yourself, Snotlout,” she said with a confident and crooked smile. “So, what’s the plan? I need to brief the other six Wingmaidens before we get too close to the island.”

“Uhh,” he started eloquently, then caught Astrid’s amused expression and tried again. “Right! So—uhh—I think the plan is just to take a few passes with the dragons and then clean up on foot. The outposts aren’t full-sized Hunter bases, so a few passes are all we’ll need to take out most of the defenses and buildings.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Minden nodded crisply. “We’ll focus on the Hunters on the ground, leave the war machines and bigger defenses for you two?”

“Yeah,” Snotlout managed, proud that his face came out steady.

Minden nodded again, taking her hand from his shoulder and standing up slowly, ready to leap off and rejoin the other Wingmaidens above them in the clouds.

But then she paused, looking back at him with a knowing smile. “Try not to show off too much down there, Snotlout. I’d hate for you to crash while you’re trying to impress me.”

And with that, she fell from Hookfang, the baby Razorwhip on her back immediately spreading its wings and carrying Minden to the other Wingmaidens.

Snotlout stared after her, mouth slightly open, until Astrid’s laughter snapped him back to reality. “So, when’s the wedding?”

“Shut up, Astrid!”

“Hey, at least you didn’t make a fool of yourself like a few days ago!”

“I was—” he growled, his face flushing as his words failed him. “Argh!”

“Do you need a wingwoman, Snotlout?”

“Absolutely not! And you’re a terrible wingwoman!”

Astrid looked offended, opening her mouth and sputtering a protest. “What about Miklagard? What about Helena? Or Demetrius?”

Stormfly squawked loudly as if taking her rider’s side, and Snotlout frowned at them both. “You don’t need to be Fishlegs to know that two hits out of fifty attempts is not the best record! And Ruffnut was the one who introduced me to Demetrius! You can’t take credit for him!”

Astrid turned fully towards him with her penetrating glare. “I deserve some credit! I sparred with him and invited him to meet the dragons! He was the only person our age in the tagmata who wasn’t scared of them at first!”

“Fine! You can take some of the credit,” he relented. His gaze turned back to the horizon just as the island first came into view—a dark smudge against the lighter blue of sea and sky. “We’re getting close! I think I see the peak!”

“I see it!” She responded, her voice dropping into that tone she always used before a battle as her hand pulled her visor back down.

“The usual bet?” He didn’t try to hide that competitive fire burning in him, the same flame he knew burned in all his friends ever since the Dragon Races in Miklagard.

He didn’t need to see Astrid’s face to know she was smirking behind her visor. “Oh, you’re on. It’s going to be such a shame when you lose while Minden’s here to watch!”

In the blink of an eye, Astrid shifted forward, hands tightening on her saddle’s handles. “Let’s go, Stormfly!”

Stormfly inverted herself and dove, wings tucked tight, plummeting down like an arrow shot from the sky. In just a few seconds, she was a small blue speck against the deep blue water far below them.

Snotlout grinned, leaning forward and tightening his grip on Hookfang’s horns. The familiar thrill of competition coursed through his veins, mixing with the anticipation of battle ahead. “Come on, Hookfang! We’re not losing this time!”

Hookfang responded with a happy roar as he tucked his wings tight against his massive body. Snotlout flattened himself in the saddle, whooping with exhilaration, his stomach leaping into his throat as Hookfang dove. The world became a blur of wind and speed as they plummeted through the sharp, icy air, the sea rushing up to meet them at a terrifying pace.

He locked onto Astrid and Stormfly’s form ahead of them, feeling the perfect synchronization between himself and Hookfang as they carved through the winter sky at breakneck speed, the wind whipping tears from his eyes and stealing the breath from his lungs.

He never felt more alive, more himself than in these moments—suspended between sea and sky on the back of his dragon—his best friend. All thoughts of home, of his father’s disapproval, of the weight of expectations he’d carried for so long, scattered like dead leaves in a storm.

This was who he was, who he was meant to be.

-0-

Unnamed Island, Northeastern Barbaric Archipelago, Present

A few years ago, Fishlegs would’ve thrown up at the smells assaulting his nose. The stench of corpses—some burnt and some unburnt—mixing with smoke, metal, blood and rot in the bitter winter air would’ve caused his stomach to revolt. Now, though, he’d grown accustomed to it, breathing freely as if he’d stood in a field of wildflowers.

The attack had gone well, with Mala and her Defenders of the Wing laying the perfect ambush after he and Heather drew the Hunters out beyond the wooden palisade. It was quick, a sudden strike in the grey dawn, and luckily the last of the outposts they’d been assigned to destroy.

It’d taken them two full days to clear their zone, flying from one outpost to another with almost no rest, launching attacks with whatever Wingmaidens or Defenders were available. Each battle had blurred into the next, separated only by a few hours of flying, until exhaustion weighed heavy in his bones.

But they were finished. The area Hiccup assigned the two of them was clear, and they could fly back to the Edge after combing through the wreckage for any information that might prove valuable.

He walked through the debris-strewn outpost, tugging his helmet off and hanging it from Meatlug’s saddle, giving her a hug and scratching all the places she liked most. The familiar ritual brought him comfort after the chaos of battle.

“You did awesome, girl,” he said, the sound of her hind leg kicking contentedly in the frozen ground bringing an exhausted smile to his face. “Who’s the best Gronckle in the whole world? Who’s the best? Meaty, that’s who!”

He spent a few minutes pulling various rocks from his saddlebags for her lunch, letting her eat before walking off to find Heather, who’d disappeared the moment their short battle ended. Meatlug padded beside him, sniffing the air with a mixture of caution and curiosity.

He found her stalking towards the main hall, her double-bladed axe drawn and Windshear following close behind her like a silver shadow. Even from a distance, he could see the tension coiled in her shoulders, the way she moved like a predator stalking prey.

“How are you holding up?” Fishlegs asked as he came up alongside her, matching her purposeful stride.

“Fine,” Heather answered, but he caught the razor’s edge in her voice, the same sharpness that had been there since Hiccup returned from Berk with news of Dagur and the Berserker Armada.

“Do you…” He stuttered, then summoned his courage the way he’d learned in the heat of battle. “Do you want to talk about Dagur?”

Heather shot him a cold look that could have frozen the ocean, but it quickly softened, like ice meeting fire. She turned around, kicking open the door to the outpost’s main hall with more force than necessary. “There’s nothing to talk about, Fishlegs. You all already know the story by now.”

Fishlegs nodded before realizing she couldn’t see him. “You’re right, it’s just…well, I’m worried about you. You’ve been acting…” He took a moment to think about the best word. “…different since Hiccup got back from Berk.”

“It’s because Hiccup came back with news that the person I hate most in the world is stirring up trouble again, and there’s a chance that we’ll run into him,” Heather said, stepping into the smoky gloom of the hall. Shafts of pale light filtered through broken shutters, illuminating scattered papers and overturned furniture. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Heather,” he said gently, “burying it won’t make it go away.”

That made her pause, her hand clenching around the handle of her axe. “I’m not burying anything. I’m being practical. When I face Dagur again—and I will face him—I need to be ready. I can’t afford to be weak.”

“Dealing with what happened isn’t being weak,” Fishlegs said, his voice carrying the weight of hard-won experience. “It’s not good to just lock away everything bad that’s happened to you. It’s destructive, affects team cohesion and increases the chances of getting hurt since you lose focus. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Heather.”

Heather’s shoulders sagged a little, but the tension was still there. “Fishlegs, I…I can’t talk about Dagur.”

“You should,” he coaxed gently. “Trust me, I used to think just ignoring stuff was easier, too, but…it only made it harder, Heather. Locking everything away didn’t help—it just let it fester until I could barely function.”

His mind recalled with every horror they’d witnessed in the world, human and otherwise. Every brush with death they barely escaped from, supernatural or not.

“There’s a lot we haven’t told you,” he admitted, “mostly because we’re not sure how, and I know I’m being somewhat of a hypocrite by asking you to share things about Dagur when I haven’t even told you everything about what we’ve done or what we’ve seen, but…I care about you, Heather, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Finally, she turned to face him, and he could see the brittle control in her jade eyes, the way she held herself like glass about to shatter. “I don’t have the luxury of falling apart, Fishlegs.”

“I’m not asking you to fall apart, just to trust me and the others. Again, I know I’m being hypocritical since we haven’t told you too much about what we’ve faced, but—you can trust us. You can trust me.”

“Fishlegs, you don’t understand, this is different.”

“How is it different?”

“It just is,” she said simply, turning away and resuming her search for anything important strewn about the wreckage of the outpost.

Fishlegs sighed, scuffing his boot against the wood floor to dispel any nervousness. “Maybe it is, but—”

“What do you think of Hiccup’s plan for us to teach Berk to accept dragons?”

 He knew what she was changing the subject, but he let it happen. He’d bothered her enough, and maybe the best thing he could do was be honest with her.

“I think it’s a good plan, just…painful,” he said, walking over to a desk and pulling open drawers. “I’m not exactly thrilled to see my mom and dad.”

“Why?” He caught the hint of curiosity in her tone and welcomed it over the sharp edge that had permeated her voice the past few days.

“When I first started growing, my parents and everyone else in the clan thought I would be this great warrior because I was bigger than the others. When I really grew, they took one look at me and thought I would be a second Ingar Ingerman. You know, the founder of our clan? The one who supposedly stood shoulder to shoulder with the greatest Haddocks in battle?”

He turned and saw Heather staring at him inquisitively, her face less tense.

“When I entered Dragon Training, they pushed me to be the best,” he continued, the old memories coming back into the light. “Every day it was ‘Fishlegs, you’re going to be a great dragon killer.’ ‘Fishlegs, you’re going to make the Ingermans mighty again.’ They wanted me to be this great warrior like our clan’s founder was.”

He thought back to the night when his parents sat him down at the table in their hall, a week before Dragon Training began, and told him what was expected of him.

“But I didn’t want to kill dragons—not really, at least. I didn’t know they were good yet, I was just more interested in reading about them. But I also wanted to learn more about the world—I wanted to read old books and scrolls, examine maps, and learn new languages so I could do it all over again in different languages. So, when we left Berk and started traveling—”

“You got to be the person you always wanted to be,” Heather finished, a small smile of understanding on her face.

Fishlegs returned the smile. “Exactly. I learned new languages, studied in libraries older than our whole tribe, and saw so much that I never would’ve seen if I hadn’t left. I got do everything I wanted.”

“And…”

“Going home means disappointing them all over again. It means seeing that look in their eyes when they realize their firstborn son would rather read than swing a battleaxe.”

The silence that followed felt different somehow—less like a wall and more like a long bridge.

He began shuffling through a stack of parchment on a table nearby, spending a few minutes looking through them before realizing they belonged to the quartermaster, and he doubted that knowing exactly how much food and blankets the outpost needed from the Northern Markets was relevant to their fight.

He turned toward a trunk on the floor, eyeing the lock and wondering. “Hey, Heather, do you think you can open this with your axe?”

“I can try,” she replied, walking and kneeling before swinging her axe at the lock. The blade connected perfectly with the shackle, and he was surprised it fell off in one hit.

“Thank you,” he said, opening the chest. “I don’t see anything important—”

“Dagur took me to Berserker Island,” Heather said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “After the raid.”

He stopped and turned to her, the room suddenly becoming colder. “What?”

“Dagur,” she looked up at him, some unknown conflict raging in the tense lines of her face. “After he burned my village down and killed half of its people, he took me back to Berserker Island…”

Fishlegs went very still. The implication tore his chest open like a dragon’s claw as a quiet and cold rage chilled his bones.

He felt horrible. He shouldn’t have pressed. Shouldn’t have asked. Shouldn’t have forced her to share.

Once upon a time, thralls had been just a fact of life, even on Berk, though they’d been rare. He’d met a few growing up and thought nothing of them at the time. It was just the way of things back then.

But after the Red Death, after freeing the dragons from her control, after traveling the world and seeing the raids, the markets and the death, the very idea of thralldom made his stomach turn.

And if someone like Dagur wanted a woman like Heather…

“Heather,” he breathed, horror bleeding into every syllable. “I’m so sorry you were his—”

“What? No!” Heather’s reaction was immediate and sharp, her eyes wide with something almost like revulsion. “Gods, no, Fishlegs! I wasn’t—he didn’t take me to warm his bed or scrub his floors!”

Relief flooded him so suddenly his knees nearly buckled. “Oh! Oh,” he gasped with a cracking voice, not bothering to hide it. “Oh, that’s…yeah, okay!”

“Yeah,” Heather smiled, small and sheepish, but there was still a look of disgust on her face he didn’t understand. “Nothing like that, Fishlegs.”

He returned the smile, something lifting from his chest when her own beam widened, brighter than he’d seen it in the past few days.

But as the tide of relief slowly ebbed, curiosity surged to take its place like water filling a tide pool. “Wait…then why? I mean—why take you to Berserker Island at all?”

Her smile disappeared, the stiffness returned and something flickered across her sharp features—pain and anger and sadness all twisted together like vines weaving around a tree trunk.

“It’s…complicated,” she said finally. “I promise I’ll tell you one day. Just…not today. Not yet.”

His brows furrowed, his infernal need to have all the answers rearing its ugly head. “Okay, I’m really confused—”

“I know, Fish, I know, it’s just…I promise I’ll you and the others someday, but not right now.”

“Okay,” he said simply, deciding it was better not to push it. “I trust you.”

The words seemed to unlock something in her posture, becoming more relaxed, her expression brightening just a little.

They worked in companionable silence after that, sorting through the debris for anything useful. Fishlegs picked through scattered papers and broke open chests with Heather’s axe while she checked the remains of what had once been the commander’s quarters. The familiar rhythm of their search felt oddly peaceful after the emotional intensity of their conversation.

“Anything useful?” Heather called from across the hall, holding up a handful of parchments.

“Nothing we haven’t seen in other outposts—migration routes we already knew, notes on species we already catalogued,” Fishlegs replied, setting aside another document. “It makes sense I guess. These Hunters were just observing the dragons, they wouldn’t have known much about the wider operations. I just hope the others have a little more luck.”

They met in the center of the hall, both empty-handed. For a moment, disappointment surged through him—intelligence was always valuable in their war against the Hunters.

“Well,” Heather said with a small shrug, “at least we stopped them from using this place.”

“True.” Fishlegs grinned, his chest warming when he saw her return the smile. “And...I think we make a pretty good team.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You think we make a pretty good team?”

Oh Thor, he thought, wondering if he’d said the wrong thing again. “I mean, I—”

“I’m teasing you Fishlegs,” she laughed, a soft, warm little laugh he hadn’t heard in days. “I think we make a pretty good team, too.”

They walked outside together toward their dragons, who were contently napping in the shade of a burned-out hut close to the wooden palisade. Fishlegs almost felt bad about waking them up for the long flight back to Dragon’s Edge, but he knew once they were there they’d have a few days of rest while their next moves were planned.

Mala caught them on the way, the few Defenders of the Wing she’d brought with her gathered near the open gate, ready to head home. “I take it you found nothing worthwhile in there?”

Fishlegs shook his head.

Mala nodded, somewhat disappointed, but not too much so. “A pity. I had hoped for more good news, but I suppose the destruction of the outposts will have to suffice for now.”

“Absolutely,” Fishlegs agreed, his scholar’s mind already calculating the broader implications. “At least we’ve reduced the Hunters’ effectiveness in the region by approximately thirty-five percent.”

Mala’s eyebrow arched with something that might have been amusement mixed with respect. “Only thirty-five percent, Fishlegs?”

“We haven’t taken out any substantial assets,” he explained, his mind racing to keep pace with his mouth, “but taking out their eyes on the migration routes before the dragons return from their nesting grounds is a substantial victory and leaves major gaps in their ability to locate migrations and nesting sites. The real long-term impact will depend on how quickly they can establish replacement positions, how many positions they can reestablish and whether they have the manpower to maintain their previous operational tempo as well as keeping those bases. But yes, it’s quite significant when you consider the broader picture.”

“Impressive,” Mala noted, and Fishlegs felt his chest puff out with pride. “And Hiccup mentioned a plan to bring your former home onto our side as well?”

Fishlegs’s heart clenched in a vice-like grip in his chest, but he managed to maintain a neutral expression.. “Well, that’s Hiccup’s plan, at least. It’ll take a while, but yes, the plan is to attempt to get Vikings to accept dragons.”

Mala hummed thoughtfully, the sound carrying undertones of both skepticism and cautious hope. “It’s ambitious, I’ll allow him that. But if it works…”

“We could have a whole island of dragon-riding Vikings,” Heather finished, her hand resting on Windshear’s neck as the Razorwhip stirred from her peaceful slumber with the lazy grace of a deadly predator awakening. The dragon’s metallic scales caught the light like polished silver. “We should get going. We’re regrouping at Dragon’s Edge to plan next steps.”

“Agreed, we need to return to our island,” Mala nodded, casting her gaze toward a sky which promised favorable sailing conditions—something Fishlegs noted with the automatic assessment of someone who’d learned to read weather patterns across different seas. “I will send a Terror Mail when all the Defenders have safely returned, and we will await word of your next attack.”

As the Defenders left the ruined outpost to begin their trek back to the boats, Fishlegs prepared for takeoff. He checked Meatlug’s tack with methodical care, secured any salvaged materials to her saddle, and fed her small pebbles to hold her over until their first rest stop. The familiar routine grounded him, a comforting ritual amid so much uncertainty.

“Fishlegs,” Heather said suddenly, her voice cutting through his mechanical preparations like sunlight through storm clouds. He looked up to find her watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher—something soft and vulnerable and determined all at once.

“What you said earlier, about disappointing your parents when you go home...”

His stomach clenched with familiar anxiety. “Yeah?”

“You know who you’ve become is pretty amazing, right?” Her voice was gentle but carried the weight of absolute conviction, each word hitting like a hammer striking an anvil. “You speak half a dozen languages, studied in libraries that most Vikings don’t even know exist, seen and learned things that would make the greatest scholars and skalds in the world cry with jealousy.”

“I know, but…I’m not the warrior they wanted,” he said quietly. “I’m not Ingar Ingerman reborn, ready to restore our clan to its former glory. And what if that hurts our chances of getting the dragons accepted by Berk?”

“We’ll figure something out,” she smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise over the ocean after the longest night of winter, warming everything it touched. “And you’re right—you’re not Ingar Ingerman. You’re Fishlegs Ingerman—a way better person than Ingar Ingerman.”

She moved closer—close enough that he could see the muted gold in her jade eyes, could count every freckle that dusted her nose—and planted a chaste kiss on his cheek that sent his heart racing around the island.

“Besides,” she said, and there was something almost mischievous in her expression now, a playful warmth that made his pulse thunder in his ears, “I’m not into the macho Vikings anyway. I like a little smarts.”

-0-

Unnamed Island, Southeastern Barbaric Archipelago, Present

“Remind me why we can’t kill this guy?” Tuffnut groaned, lowering Hiccup’s spyglass with dramatic disappointment. The Dragon Hunter in question was clearly a commander of some kind—his helmet seemed to gleam with authority, and the way lesser Hunters scurried around him like ants before their queen made it obvious he held rank.

“Because we haven’t seen a high-ranking commander at any of the outposts we’ve raided yet,” Hiccup hissed back, snatching back the spyglass. “If we take him alive, we get some information from him, like—”

“What his favorite color is? Or maybe his deepest, darkest fears?” Ruffnut interrupted, her hand shooting out to steal the eyeglass from Hiccup before he could react. She peered through it at the commander with the intensity of a hawk. “Oh, he’s definitely the kind of guy who’s afraid of spiders. Tuffnut?”

“I was getting more of a snake vibe from him,” Tuffnut pondered, tilting his head. “Where’d you get spiders from?”

“Give me that,” Hiccup muttered, taking the spyglass back from Ruffnut, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Information like supply routes, who might’ve been supplying the outposts and where they’re based out of, maybe bigger things like who’s running this whole operation or where they’re sending the dragons. Now, how do you think we should do this? Throk and his Defenders will be here soon—”

“Ugh, that guy is obsessed with me,” Ruffnut chimed in, smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she remembered how only yesterday Throk had offered to massage her feet after a particularly grueling battle.

She’d let him, naturally. He was easy on the eyes and surprisingly good company, even if his devotion bordered on ridiculous.

“Ugh, please don’t let him follow us around this time,” Tuffnut groaned, remembering how Throk had appointed himself Ruffnut’s personal protector, ruining half his best pranks against her. “It’s not fair that you get a bodyguard while I have to fend for myself against you.”

“You may have to get used to him, Brother Nut,” Ruffnut chided, her smile turning sly like a fox in a henhouse. “What if he’s the one?”

“Oh, please, you don’t have a ‘one,’ you have a ‘several!’”

“Hey! It’s not my fault countless men are ensnared by my feminine wiles, air of mystery and craftiness!”

“Uh, what feminine wiles? You cover your hair in fish oil!”

“And men love it!” She bit back, turning to Hiccup and seeking backup. “Right, Hiccup? Fish oil in the hair, hairy legs, calloused hands—”

“You know,” Hiccup groaned, rubbing an eye with the heel of his palm, “sometimes I miss the days when we didn’t know as much about one another.”

Both twins gasped in perfect synchronization, recoiling as if he’d struck them with physical blows.

“You can’t mean that, H!”

“You take that back right now!”

“Guys!” Hiccup snapped, his voice cracking like a whip, and both twins froze at the sight of their leader finally reaching the frayed end of his patience. “We can discuss Ruffnut’s…all that later, right now we need to come up with a plan to attack the outpost.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Tuffnut smirked. “Why don’t we just do what we’ve done for the last few outposts—send Barf and Belch bursting through the gates in their ‘Rolling Flaming Ball of Fury,’ catching the Hunters off guard while you and T swoop in shooting plasma at the buildings, then Ruff and I charge in with Throkito to mop up?”

Hiccup lifted an eyebrow with something that might have been concern mixed with morbid curiosity. “Will Barf and Belch be okay with doing another...whatever that maneuver was called? They seemed pretty dizzy after the last one.”

“Oh, trust us,” Ruffnut waved dismissively, jerking her chin toward where their Hideous Zippleback was currently playing an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with Toothless behind a cluster of pine trees. “They live for that stuff. The dizziness just makes it more fun for them.”

“I was just…” The corner of Hiccup’s mouth lifted upward as he looked back at the outpost, eyes flicking back and forth. “I was just thinking that we haven’t blow anything up with Zippleback gas in a bit…”

Both Tuffnut and Ruffnut’s hearts seized in their chests. This was it. This was what they’d been waiting for. “We’re listening…”

Hiccup’s grin widened. “Remind me, which Thorston ambush plans involve explosions?”

“All of them,” Tuffnut answered without a moment’s hesitation, excitement buzzing through him. “Literally every single plan we’ve ever made. Some have the explosion at the beginning for dramatic effect, some in the middle for maximum chaos, some at the end for the grand finale—our personal favorites have multiple explosions strategically placed throughout.”

“What’s your pick?” Ruffnut asked, leaning back against a moss-covered boulder and crossing her arms with the lazy confidence of someone offering a menu of destruction and devastation.

Hiccup was quiet for a long moment, studying the outpost through his spyglass with the calculating gaze of a general surveying a battlefield. The Dragon Hunter commander was barking orders at his subordinates, completely unaware that his fate was being decided by three dragon riders perched on a hill above him.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he tucked the spyglass away and started pulling on his dragon scale armor, “you guys set off an explosion in the blind spot between the towers there—” he pointed at a section of the wall where boulders could hide a small raiding party, “—opening up a hole for Throk and the Defenders to charge through.”

“I love it already,” Ruffnut grinned, pulling her own armor back on.

“When you two blow a hole in the wall,” Hiccup grabbed his helmet from nearby, “the commander will probably run out the opposite gate there—” he pointed, and the plan finished itself in Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s heads.

“And he’ll run right into ole T’s loving claws,” Tuffnut finished, still buzzing that they finally got to blow something up. “Oh, this will be awesome!”

“But we’ll need to be careful about timing,” Hiccup continued, his strategist’s mind already working through the logistics. “We can’t blow up the whole outpost—yes, I know you could probably blow up the whole place—and we need the commander alive. Can you make the blast big enough to punch through the wall without killing the commander or burning down the main hall?”

Tuffnut and Ruffnut exchanged a look that contained an entire conversation—the kind of wordless communication that came from sharing a womb, a childhood, and five years of perfectly synchronized anarchy.

“Define ‘control,’” Ruffnut asked slowly, “because we may have a different definition when it comes to the art of blowing things up.”

“We can definitely make it through the palisade,” Tuffnut added helpfully. “The exact...scale of the explosion is a bit harder to control—we are but humble artists at the mercy of the power of fire, fate and Zippleback gas.”

“Unless you can control any of those things…”

Hiccup closed his eyes and took another one of those deep, world-weary breaths, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just…don’t incinerate the main hall or the commander.”

“You’re really limiting our creative expression here, Boss Man,” Ruffnut said, but there was affection in her mock complaint.

“Yeah,” Tuffnut agreed with a theatrical sigh. “We’ll tone it down to ‘controlled devastation’ instead of ‘complete annihilation.’”

“Great,” Hiccup said, gesturing for Toothless while the twins mounted their dragon, pulling their helmets on. “We’ll get in position and move on your signal.”

The attack itself unfolded like a piece of choreographed chaos. They crept low to the outpost walls, guided silently by the twins. When in position, Ruffnut and Barf blew a thick green cloud that poured over the wall and into the outpost poisonous fog while Hunters toward it in confusion, only recognizing the green fog as Zippleback gas at the last moment. Then Tuffnut and Belch lit up the gas, and the world erupted in a symphony of fire and thunder that shook the very stones of the mountainside.

When the smoke cleared, the outpost looked like it had been hit by Thor’s hammer—but the main hall still stood and the commander was already turning tail and running out the gate, his personal guards struggling to keep up with him.

Throk and his Defenders of the Wing poured in through the breach, while Ruffnut and Tuffnut flew overhead and destroyed the two watchtowers before turning their destructive tendencies on any Hunters still fighting.

The sun had barely moved in the sky when they landed, breathless but satisfied at a job done well—no Defenders had lost their lives or were hurt too badly, whereas the only Hunters still alive were the ones who’d fled.

Although, both Ruffnut and Tuffnut knew they wouldn’t stay true for long. Not with Hiccup and Toothless.

As they walked among the debris, Throk approached with a measured, heroic stride, stepping over smoldering rubble with armor that still gleamed despite the blood and ash covering it.

“Ruffnut,” he said with a formal tone that seemed oddly out of place amid the destruction, “your brilliance in coordinating that explosion was truly magnificent. Might I have the honor of escorting you during our sweep of the compound? I would be deeply honored to serve as your shield against any remaining threats.”

Ruffnut paused, glancing at him with something between amusement and fond exasperation. “That’s nice but—”

“What remaining threats?” Tuffnut couldn’t believe this guy. All the Hunters inside the outpost were dead, and there were no ‘remaining threats’ visible to anyone with functioning eyes. Was Throk even trying anymore?

Ruffnut’s fist discretely flew out and caught Tuffnut in the stomach. “Don’t need an escort, Throk, but thank you.”

“Of course,” he said quickly without addressing Tuffnut’s comment. “I merely thought—that is, I hoped—”

“Maybe later?” she suggested gently, softening the rejection with one of her rare smiles. “Right now, we need to focus on finding any useful information for the war—letters, parchments, shipments, things like that.”

Throk’s face lit up like she’d promised him the moon. “Of course! Later would be...yes, later would be more appropriate.”

As he left, Tuffnut made gagging sounds behind his sister’s back, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Ow! Why?”

“You’re being annoying,” she hissed.

“You’re being annoying!”

“You’re literally—”

The sound of a distant, high-pitched scream getting steadily closer interrupted their argument, and they both looked up just in time to see the Dragon Hunter Commander plummet from Toothless’s claws like a falling star, landing face-first in the frozen dirt with a sound that suggested several important body parts had not enjoyed the landing.

He got up unsteadily, stumbling forward and wearily glancing at the twins before letting out such a shrill screech that Barf and Belch reeled back in surprise, knocking over a cart in their haste to escape the assault on their hearing.

He turned to run before a black blur landed on him from above with the force of divine judgment, pinning him to the ground like a butterfly to a board. Toothless growled low in his throat, teeth and claws unsheathed, a massive paw pressing into the commander’s chest with just enough pressure to make breathing an effort.

Ruffnut smirked, her earlier annoyance evaporating. “Well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour.”

Hiccup dismounted Toothless with fluid grace, taking his helmet off and scowling at the whimpering man under his dragon’s paw with a cold intensity that rivaled the chill in the air. “He was screaming the entire flight. Now, let’s see what our new friend here knows about—”

“I’m not giving up nothing!” The man squealed before shrinking even further into the ground as Toothless snapped his jaws with a growl that rumbled like thunder, his pupils thinning to predatory slits. Barf and Belch closed in from behind him, teeth bared with growls of their own that echoed Toothless’s threat in perfect harmony.

Tuffnut arched a brow. “Do you mean you’ll give up everything—”

“—or give up nothing?” Ruffnut finished. “Honestly, with the double negatives we’re not really sure.”

“I’m not telling you anything!”

“What’s your name?” Hiccup asked directly, his voice carrying the weight of authority. The man stayed silent, jaw clenched in what might have been defiance or terror.

“Oh, he’s not going to answer that,” Tuffnut observed, tilting his head like he was studying an interesting specimen. “Not yet at least.”

“We should probably torture him,” Ruffnut mused thoughtfully, her amusement tripling as the commander’s face paled to the color of fresh snow and his eyes widened until they resembled dinner plates. “That’s what people do in these situations, right?”

“Oh, definitely,” Tuffnut agreed, warming to the theme. “But what kind of torture? There are so many options…”

Ruffnut snickered gleefully. “I know, right? Like letting the dragons bite off his fingers one at a time…”

“Or putting him in a room and filling it with Zippleback gas until he can hardly breathe…” Tuffnut added, sauntering over and kneeling opposite from Ruffnut with the same excited. “We could make it last for hours.”

The commander gulped nervously. “I have friends in high places…if you kill me, they’ll find you and—”

“Nope,” Tuffnut cut off with a short shake of his head. “Nuh-uh, no, I don’t think they will.”

“Yeah, you guys haven’t even come close,” Ruffnut bragged, not entirely truthfully but with enough conviction Gunther seemed to believe her. “So we can either do this the hard way…”

“Or…” Hiccup interrupted, though both twins saw he was fighting back a smile, stepping closer to the commander with his helmet under his arm, “you could just tell us your name and make this a more pleasant conversation.”

Both Ruffnut and Tuffnut suppressed grins as they watched the commander’s nerves unravel before them.

“My name is Gunther!” He gasped, eyeing the dragons with terror in his eyes.

“Breaking that easily, Gunther?” Tuffnut jeered with feigned disappointment. “Where’s the backbone?”

Hiccup knelt beside Ruffnut, his eyes locking on Gunther’s. “Where are you getting your food from, Gunther? How are you keeping the Hunters all around the Archipelago supplied?”

“The Northern Markets,” Gunther gasped, still eyeing them warily as if expecting them to produce torture devices made of fish bones and twine. “We get our supplies from friendly merchants in the Northern Markets. They trade us food, weapons and tools in exchange for dragon scales and bones and...trophies.”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s expressions darkened, matching the cold fury settling over Hiccup’s features. “What kind of trophies?”

“Wings, claws, hides, sometimes whole heads if the client pays enough,” Gunther said, then seemed to realize what he’d admitted. “Look, it’s just business! People pay good money for dragon parts—”

“How do we find these people in the Northern Markets?” Hiccup asked, shooting a look at Toothless. The dragon edged closer to Gunther’s throat, the growl crescendoing like approaching thunder. Barf and Belch followed suit, long talons scraping against the cold ground not far from the commander’s trembling form.

“They have a warehouse where the trades happen! Food, weapons and supplies are stored there and when a Hunter ship arrives with the goods, they make the trade in the warehouse! I’ve never seen it before; I just send the ships out to the Northern Markets to barter!”

“When did the last ships go out?” Hiccup asked, leaning against Toothless, who gnashed his teeth at the commander in a show of force.

“Just this morning! They won’t be there for a few days!”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I swear by all the gods and everything in my life! P-p-please don’t kill me!” The paralyzing terror in his eyes seemed to double at the thought they might kill him now. “Have mercy!”

Hiccup took a moment to process the information, eyes glazing over the same way the twins had seen happen a million times at this point, before he stood up and motioned for them to follow, leaving a nervously tittering and whimpering Gunther under the watch of Toothless, Barf and Belch.

“Gods, I hate Dragon Hunters,” Ruffnut said flatly, her earlier humor evaporating like morning mist after what Gunther had told them.

Tuffnut nodded in agreement. “Kind of brings down the mood when you remember why we’re fighting this war.”

It wasn’t news to any of them that dragon heads and hides were traded as trophies among certain circles; they’d witnessed it firsthand during their travels, but hearing it spoken aloud so casually still felt like a blade twisting between the ribs.

“So,” Hiccup said quietly, seriously, “we have some time before those supply ships reach the Northern Markets—I think we stick with the original plan and regroup with the others on Dragon’s Edge to rest. While we wait for the ships to get closer, we can start working on Berk.”

At the mention of their former home, both twins felt their stomachs clench with a mixture of anticipation and dread that had nothing to do with that post-battle high.

“About that,” Ruffnut said carefully, picking at a loose scale on her armor, “are you absolutely sure this plan will work? I mean, convincing an entire island of dragon-hating Vikings to suddenly embrace everything they’ve been taught to fear since birth?”

“It’s ambitious, I’ll give you that,” Tuffnut added, shrugging both his shoulders. “But…are you sure about this? Seeing the family again is not going to be fun.”

Hiccup studied them both with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see straight through whatever facades they tried to construct. “I know going back means facing your parents again, and that’s not exactly...simple for any of us.”

He let out a small nervous laugh, his hand scratching the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t ask this of any of you if I thought we had other options…it’s going to be tough for all of us, but with Johann’s lies guaranteeing every island will be against us, I think our best shot is with the people who knew us. With our parents and the rest of Berk.”

The twins exchanged another one of those wordless conversations, entire arguments compressed into exchanged glances and subtle shifts in posture.

“Ok,” Ruffnut said finally, her voice carrying undertones of uncertainty that she couldn’t quite suppress. “It’s just...you know how our parents are about us.”

“Mom especially,” Tuffnut added with a grimace that spoke volumes about their childhood experiences. “She was never exactly supportive of our creative approaches to life.”

Hiccup nodded knowingly. “Trust me, I can relate a little bit to that.”

“‘Why can’t you be normal children?’” Ruffnut quoted in a mockingly high voice that sounded nothing like their mother but somehow captured her dismissive tone perfectly. “‘Why does everything you touch explode or catch fire?’”

“‘Other children play with wooden axes and swords, they don’t steal sheep or tip yaks,’” Tuffnut continued the impression with theatrical flair. “‘What did we do wrong to deserve such chaotic children?’”

“Hey,” Hiccup said gently, his voice carrying the warmth that had held their group together through five years of impossible adventures. “You two are some of the most brilliant, creative, loyal people I’ve ever known. Two people who’ve helped save countless lives and dragons across the known world. If they can’t appreciate that, then that’s their loss, not yours.”

Both Ruffnut and Tuffnut felt something warm and fierce kindle in their chests at his words—not the destructive fire they were famous for, but something softer and more precious. The knowledge that they were valued, appreciated, seen for who they truly were rather than who others expected them to be.

“Besides,” Hiccup continued, “if they give you too much trouble, you can always demonstrate some of the new things you’ve learned outside Berk. That might impress them.”

“Now that,” Tuffnut said with a roguish grin, “sounds like a plan we can get behind.”

“Absolutely,” Ruffnut agreed, her earlier uncertainty replaced by familiar confidence. “If only because you just gave us permission to blow up things on Berk.”

“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“Anyway,” Tuffnut interrupted, looking back to where Gunther was still pinned by two very angry dragons, “what do we do with our new friend over there? We got what we needed from him...”

“Feels kind of rude to kill him now, though,” Ruffnut pondered, studying the trembling commander with something that might have been pity if she was feeling generous. “I mean, he was pretty cooperative. The man folded with Toothless just breathing on him and…honestly, he’s almost too pathetic to kill.”

“There’s been enough killing for one morning, we can just leave him,” Hiccup said with a casual air, but Ruffnut caught that calculating look in his eyes. “Let him explain to Viggo—or better yet, Krogan or Johann—how he lost all their outposts and supply lines in less than a week.”

He placed his helmet back on his head, and the twins followed suit, walking just behind Hiccup as they approached their dragons. “Maybe they demote an incompetent and cowardly commander. Maybe they kill him and replace him. Either way, they still lose the eastern outposts and their supply lines.”

“I’ll let Throk know we’re bouncing,” Tuffnut said, eyes already searching for the man who—for reasons that continue to elude him—liked his sister.

“And I’ll go search the main hall one more time,” Ruffnut called out, already making a beeline for the building. “Oh, Hiccup! Can Tuff and I blow this one up?”

Even though his visor was down, Ruffnut caught the defeated sigh that escaped from him and the way his shoulders sagged as if exhausted. “Fine, you both can blow up the main hall. Just…don’t hurt yourselves, ok?”

Ruffnut snickered. “Come on, Hiccup, when have we ever hurt ourselves with our own destruction?”

“Do you really want me to go down the list? Because I have it memorized, and it’s longer than you think!”