Chapter Text
This is Berk.
It's twelve days North of hopeless, and a few degrees South of freezing to death. It's located solidly on the meridian of misery, a jagged rock rising out the sea where the wind never rests and winter overstays its welcome.
The village where dragons have lived alongside men for over a decade. And the person who made all of this possible … is no longer here.
Five years have passed since the siege. Five long years since the heir of Berk vanished, gone with his dragon, bound together so tightly that when one left, the other did too. They say the human and his scaled companion were inseparable, two halves of one being. Maybe that’s why neither ever came back.
Berk endures. On the surface, the island persists, huts rebuilt, walls repaired, dragons still circling free on the skies. But nothing is the same. The winters grew colder, but the people colder still. Not many of them remained, and the berkian way of life died with those who left.
And the chief?
Stoick the Vast, once a mountain of a man, looks as through the sea has worn him down like a cliff, storm after storm grinding the edges away. Five years passed, but he looked like it was ten. His shoulders still carry Berk, but the weight bows him now, the oldest of his family to outlive them all.
He was not the only one changed. Berk's pride, the riders, defenders, the firsts to tame dragons, have bent too.
Snotlout moves differently now. Not slower, but with a kind of careful measuring. He inspects the edges for any threats even if they are not there, checks each rope and harness like he expects them to snap, even when he knows they won't. He still grins, sometimes too wide— but it's a smaller smile, and he looks around, almost hoping no one notices when he slips. His closest companion is his dragon, who almost never leaves his side these days while he manages the Jorgenson household. Spitelout is not here anymore to do it.
Astrid rides with her back straight, eyes scanning every corner of the sky, every shadow following her. Her movements are disciplined, no more showing off. When she passes the cliffs, she sometimes slows, just a fraction, looking out over the sea as through expecting to see a familiar dragon streak across the water. Sometimes she thinks about what could have been. By now, if things had gone differently — Hel she and Hiccup might have been married, running Berk side by side. Instead all it remained was the memory.
The twins changed in ways no one could have ever predicted. The seem to have mellowed down, not completely but in a way it could not be ignored, wild energy tempered after the hunters departure. After Fishlegs's … after Fishlegs they had taken Meatlug in, not out of duty, but because letting her go felt like losing him all over again. Now she trails behind them, even after losing her human, she managed to survive.
They hadn't been back to the Edge in years. After a last visit they decided to let dragons roam its cliffs and live how they live best, alone from civilization. Neither do them explore after new dragons, those adventures died with the two riders that didn't make it. They have more important duties to tend to, and they never speak of what lies beyond Berk's borders, beyond the archipelago. Not anymore.
They still went out on patrol, though now it was more habit than excitement. They had tried to rebuild the old team, bring back what it had been, but the others were gone—lost in the siege, or never interested in the first place. The younger Vikings didn’t care for the old routines, and honestly, neither did they. It was easier this way.
They lifted off from the cliffs, dragons slicing through the pale morning sky. Every day they did this, scan the waters for ships that didn’t belong, strangers on the horizon, any sign of trouble. Berk had grown wary, only familiar faces and guarded allies come close. But what counted as an ally anymore, when even Johann had been smiling in their halls for years before any of them knew about his true intentions?
The riders didn't speak at first. These years together had left a rhythm, even if it no longer felt like the one they once had.
Snotlout broke the silence first, with the same monotony of yesterday's patrol. "Nothing out here. Same nothing as yesterday. Bet it'll be the same nothing tomorrow too."
Astrid didn't turn, just adjusted Stormfly's saddle. "That's the point."
"Yeah, yeah. Just saying." He shifted in his place, muttering low. "Could almost do this with my eyes closed…"
"Don't start this again." Astrid cut in, like she wasn't even trying to argue, just to end the thought.
Rolling his eyes, Snotlout clicked his tongue with annoyance. "Right. Serious business. Eyes open only."
Behind them, the twins had been unusually quiet. Ruffnut leaned forward's Barf's neck, staring down at the water. Tuffnut finally spoke, not looking at anyone. "See anything?"
"Fish," Ruffnut said. "A fat one too. Right Meatlug?" The gronckle looked at it with the same boredom as the rider.
"Not hunters?" Tuffnut asked again. The word hung there, heavier than it should have been. No one even dares to say it anymore. Nobody answers at first, and event he dragons seem to hold their breath.
Astrid was the first to move, voice cold as ice. "Don't even dare to mention them."
"Right, right, cause Ryker and his fleet will just pop out of thin air." Tuffnut emphasized with his hands, falling back again.
The silence stretched after that.
They flew the perimeter, circling over the island and its surround seas. Every shadow was inspected, every distant bird squinted at like it might be a sail. Nothing came. Nothing ever did. And still, they looked.
When their turned toward Berk, Snotlout finally exhaled, a half-laugh that didn't sound much like one. "Another successful mission. The archipelago fears us. Or maybe they just got bored first." Astrid didn't bite, nor did Ruffnut who gave a flat hum and Tuffnut a shrug. Even Meatlug wanted only to go back to sleep than linger here.
They returned to the town square without ceremony, dragons lending one by one. Just a patrol, another box ticked. The kind of thing you could do with your eyes closed.
The great hall smelled of smoked fish, a faint tang of salt from the sea drifting through the open windows. The long wooden tables were less crowded than they once had been, empty spaces leaving room for ghosts as much as vikings. Currently the crew was having dinner, with only Mulch and Bucket arguing about spoons as background noise, Meatlug occasionally reaching out with her head to swipe crumbs off the table in mild judgement.
Gobber out of nowhere clomped down on their table, making enough noise to draw a few curious glances. "All right, all right! What’s the verdict, eh? Patrol’s done! Any excitement out there? Thinkin’ a rogue crow’s out to take over the village? That one suspicious rock that looks like a dragon? Or… nothing! Nothing at all! Same as yesterday, same as last week, same as… uh… forever!"
Snotlout shoved peas around with his fork, letting one tumble to the floor. "Yeah, nothing. Same as always, could do it blindfolded."
Astrid didn't look up, tilting her mug in the hand. "That's kind of the point, Snotlout. To not be surprised by anyone coming over uninvited."
Gobber let out a little whistle. "Point! Aye! Sure, sure … but ya see, there's somethin' else, aye? Our chief, Stoick — he's not exactly gettin' younger, you know?And the way I see it… someone's gotta think about what comes next. Can’t have the Haddocks running the place forever, eh?"
The words settled over the table like sudden dust. The dragon's stiffened, heads lowering as they stopped from eating. Snotlout froze mid-pea flick, Astrid's fork hovered between her fingers, half-forgotten. Ruffnut and Tuffnut exchanged a glance, not saying a word, but the tension was there and they just wanted to bolt away from it.
"We know." Astrid said softly, almost to herself. The unspoken truth lingered in the air, they don't have a clear successor and time's ticking for the current man still standing.
Gobber leaned closer on the table, tone dropping into that mix of sarcasm and warning. "Aye… Right, of course ya do. But here's the rub, eh? Someone's gotta hold the reins when Stoick … when that mountain's not stompin' around to keep it all from fallin' apart. Don't look at me like that! You all know, someone's got to continue in his place, eh?"
Snotlout dropped his utensils as he leaned back to cross his arms. "Not my thing. Chief? Nah. Never wanted it, never will."
Tuffnut snorted, dragging a smear of fish across the table and flicking it at Snotlout. "Oh, this is rich. Mr 'I'm gonna be a chief someday' … now acts like he wouldn't touch it with a hundred-meter stick. Of course Snotty!"
Ruffnut flicked a chunk of bread at him. "Yeah, real heroic, dude. Probably too busy trippin' over your dragon to notice the village's in trouble."
Snotlout growled, batting crumbs off of him. "I said I'm not interested! So shut the Hel up, both of you!"
Gobber clapped his hands, grinning wryly. "Ah, see! Now there's the thing. Waintin' it ain't the point! It's the bein' ready! Someone's gotta do it, and between you two … aye, that's it. Unless, o' course, you two also want to be considered too —." He said gesturing to the twins. "But I think they're more focused in keepin' Meatlug and that two headed dragon of theirs fed than runnin' the village."
Said twins ignored him, tossing the metal spoons to Meatlug, who caught them lazily, occasionally smacking a bowl with a claw. Mulch and Bucket escalated their fight, launching fish like tiny catapults while one squealed and the other ducked, until a stray cord pinged against the wall.
Astrid finally set down her fork, rubbing her forehead. "It's not about wanting it," she muttered looking into her plate. "Not yet … maybe never." When she was younger, she never through she would be in this position. Getting selected for chieftess? It would have been the biggest honor she could receive. But now? It just hurts, it reminds her of that damn day …
Snotlout snorted bitterly. "Then we're doomed. Good thing I'm reassuring everyone."
Gobber let out a long, drawn-out whistle that rattled the wood. "You sure are an optimist lad. But Stoick's not eternal, even he'll crumble one day." His words made everyone flinch and pretend they are not there anymore. With a sigh Gobber gets up and goes behind Astrid and Snotlout. "And one more thin' … Dagur wrote a letter for y'all. Might wanna read it."
Astrid turned back to him. "Dagur? Why would he write a letter?" After taking on the role of chief on Berserker's island, he readhead did not travel much anymore. Not that his legs would let him, since he could barely walk. But a letter from him specifically did not mean a good thing.
"Right?" Gobber said with a node. "Dagur's not … well, he's not easy to like, aye? But he's an ally. One who's kept his word before, and more than that — one who's cared for Hiccup… even if it wasn't in a normal way. And when he sends a letter … well, you read it, ye'll see he doesn't waste words."
The two twins groaned as Gobber dropped said letter on the table before them. "What in Thor's name does he want? If he keeps making jokes about his travels I'm going to jump off a cliff." Ruffnut said immediately followed by her brother. "I don't know, but all I know is I'm stealing all his food if he ever comes here again, and his cook."
Snotlout was the first one to reach for the letter, but a pinch on the arm from Astrid made him quickly hand it over. The man only squinted at her muttering very softly something along the lines of 'control freak'. Astrid's fingers broke the wax seal, thinking of all the wrong things it could contain, if a letter arrives from Berserker Island is usually from Heather, but this? This is new.
She frowned as she unfolded the parchment. Dagur's handwriting was … challenging, rough and sprawling in every direction. She squinted, tilter her head, muttering. "By Odin, who taught this man to write?"
Snotlout leaned over her shoulder. "Not that bad. Just … chaotic. I can read it."
"Yeah, until you need to decipher each word." Astrid replied finally reading the letter out loud.
"To the Riders of Berk,
Reports have reached me from beyond the farthest islands, where the winds seem reluctant to travel. There are signs— subtle, but undeniable— of activity unlike anything our people have seen. Dragons behaving strangely, and men of all origins fleeing from others archipelagoes in ours."
Tuffnut let out a low whistle. "Okay … that's vague. And ominous. What does it even mean?"
"Keep going," Gobber said.
"I cannot claim to know the full cause, but I heard enough evidence from my traders and other sources to determine that it interests all my allies— your people the most. I ask that you come to my island so that we may discuss, observe, and determine a course of actions. The matter is urgent, and I suggest all of you to come, and prepare for a longer period of being away from Berk."
Ruffnut blinked and raised her palms upwards in confusion. "Journey away from Berk … and it involves us. Okay what the fuck is he getting at?! "
Astrid's fingers trembled slightly as she read on, ignoring everything else.
"… I must also warn you, the activity I have heard is accompanied by the dragon hunters. Ships with their insignia have been sighted out of the Barbaric Archipelago but too close to not be involved.
I leave it to your judgement to decode how to approach this. I trust your skills and I ask that you come with your dragons and prepare for a stay longer than normal. I know this must hard to comprehend, but I can assure you will want to hear the rumors I have.
Dagur the Deranged, Chief of The Berserkers."
"Hunters? Hunters?!!" Snotlout's voice cut across the hall. "We are not going, near them ever again! The bastards nearly killed all us!"
Ruffnut groaned, leaning back. "Oh, sure, but why are they here? I mean they are not exactly in the archipelago, but nobody saw them near this side of the sea for the last five years."
Alongside her, Tuffnut rubbed his temples. "So … let me get this straight. We're supposed to … observe them? Hiccup worked with them just so that we leave alive, and now he wants us to get close to them?"
Astrid tapped the letter against the table. "And don't forget the treaty. Last time, the hunters were forced to leave Berk alone, unless we or someone else provoked them. That's why we survived before. That's why the village stands."
Snotlout's banged his fists on the table. "Exactly! That's why it worked! We delivered them those dragons to leave us alone, we didn't push them anymore, and they stayed away. But now, Dagur wants us to do what? Follow them? Step anywhere near their activity? Did the man forget he can't walk anymore because Viggo mutilated his fucking legs?! "
Gobber leaned back in his chair, hands splayed across the table, shaking his head with a mix of frustration and exasperation. "Ah, now hold on just a minute, eh? I know what yer thinkin', all of ya— cause I'd be thinkin' the same If I were you. Last time the hunters came, Berk nearly burned to the ground, Hiccup gone, Fishlegs gone … That treaty saved our hides! I get it! I do! But listen — this isn't Dagur being stupid, aye? He's not asking ye to walk into a hornet's nest for fun. He's saying the information — what he'd heard — matters to all of Berk. If we don't know, if we don't watch, we can't protect anyone. Not our dragons, not the village, not ourselves!"
Snotlout rose from his seat. "Protect anyone? Are you kidding me? After what they did last time? Most of Berk was killed, and after Viggo ordered a public execution for Freya's sake! And—and … and Fishlegs and Hiccup are gone because of those bastards! So, not happening!"
Ruffnut scratched her teeth with a finger while leaning on Barf before continuing. "Yeah, not exactly thrilled about risking all of Berk again for … a hunch. Dagur can't expect us to just stroll into hunter territory and hope for the best."
Gobber leaned back, while his voice dropped to a whisper. "Aye … and there's more to this than what's on the parchment. The courier to who the letter was attached to? Well, on the dragon was explicitly spelle' that it was no' to be seen by Stoick. Not now, not ever unless the message demanded it."
Tuffnut blinked, half-laughing nervously. "Wait … what? Not Stoick? The chief?"
Gobber nodded. "Aye. And that's exactly why this … mess is yours to sort out first. Whatever Dagur's talkin' bout — whateve' dragons, hunters, or rumors — this shithole is somehow connected with Stoick. But he can't know yet. Not until ye see it yourself."
The silence stretched after Gobber's words. No one moved, no one spoke until Astrid finally set the letter down. "… If Dagur's right, and the hunters are back, we can't just ignore it."
Snotlout dragged a hand down his face. "So what, we march straight into another disaster? And if the Grimborns find out about it? They are going to hang all of us, unless they torture us to death first."
Astrid's eyes snapped to him. "I didn't say I liked it. I said we don't have a choice. We need to know why they are suddenly back so close to us, Viggo always has a reason for his actions."
Ruffnut groaned, tipping back in her chair. "Ugh, fine. But if Dagur starts one of his manic episodes, I'm punching him in the throat."
Tuffnut raised a hand lazily. "Seconded. With both hands."
Gobber clapped his metal hand down, loud enough to cut the tension before it boiled over. "Right, that's settled then. Ye'll go" His tone hardened, sharper than they'd heard in years. "But this —" he pointed a finger at the parchment. "— doesn't leave this hall. Not a whisper, not a hint. I will talk with the others so they didn't hear nothin'."
Then he turned away, stumping out the hall, muttering under his breath.
They all knew why this couldn't leave the hall. Why it never could.
Astrid's eyes lifted, meeting Snotlout's across the table. He didn't flinch, didn't look away, but his jaw locked hard enough that the veins in his neck stood out. Ruffnut's gaze slid to the floorboards, Tuffnut's restless fingers drummed a rhythm that sounded too much like a warning.
The truth pressed at all of them, this was not the first secret they kept from the island. Everyone on Berk through the final blow was from Viggo and his fleet coming after them. That the hunters had been the ones who tore them apart.
But the riders knew better.
They had seen the chaos, and they had chosen it. If it hadn't been for that one beach, that one choice, all six of them would still be here. Fishlegs. Hiccup. All of them.
They did not speak of it to Stoick, they could never meet his eyes to admit such a thing. They did not speak of it to Gobber either. They did not even speak of it to each other.
And as Astrid tucked the letter away, her grip tight enough to crumple the parchment, the other finally looked up— not at her, not at anyone, but at each other. Eyes locking , then darting aside. Suspicion. Accusation. Guilt.
Berk might have been rebuilt from the ashes, but beneath the stone and timber ran something rotten.
Foundations laid on secrets. On lies.
And everyone at the table knew it.