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Chapter Text

Astrid waited until nightfall the day after Alvin's departure before dragging herself out from the crawl space under the pier. She left Fishlegs with strict instructions to keep the other three under control, warned them on pains of death to stay hidden. Then, she turned sharply on her heel and began the run back up to the village.

The only sound she could hear was the rhythmic thudding of her boots against the worn-smooth wooden boards and her own quiet breathing. There were no crackling torch flames, no distant dragon calls, and most notably, none of the noise that came from a village full of rowdy, perpetually nocturnal Vikings. Her eyes had already adjusted to the darkness from the long, cramped hours of hiding, but the fact that it was dark at all was wrong, unfamiliar in a way that sent a warning jolt up her spine, unsafe. She'd made this trip nearly every day since she could walk, her feet knew where best to walk without any thought. The only difference today was that Astrid was the only living thing as far as the eye could see. No fishermen with armfuls of nets for her to duck around, no carpenters hauling bundles of wood for emergency repairs, no weary watchmen heading home at the end of their shifts.

Her joints were stiff and aching by the time she crested the hill into the village, her stomach eating itself in hunger. Astrid pushed it all down, kept running.

She had to find out what had happened. She had to fix this.

Her feet slowed as she reached the village proper. The village was as deserted as she'd expected, a ghost town. An absolutely destroyed ghost town. Doors ripped off their bases, roof hatching falling loose in clumps, splintered furniture in heaping burnt out piles in the village square, still smoking. The Outcasts' spoils of war. Not that this could in any fair way be considered a war. This was cowardice. To attack in the middle of the night. To enslave all of Berk for no reason other than illusions of power. This was an injustice, and one Astrid and was prepared to right.

Even with the silence, Astrid hesitated to call out. Not because she was worried Alvin had left a guard (that was an idea far outside the realms of his intelligence), but because she didn't want to break the stillness. Didn't want to make this all real.

Even if she knew it was too late for that.

It was real even without blood, without bodies, without any sign of the fight Astrid was sure Berk would've put up. It was like Odin had reached down from the sky, plucked up every Viking in sight and flung them off the edge of the world. And she was the only one left to fix it.

She found herself approaching the nearest pile, feet still on autopilot, head on a swivel to scout for Berkians or Outcasts or wild dragons. It was a long shot, but if she could just find her axe, hold its familiar grip against her palms, everything would make sense. It had to. The small childish part of her that still hid from storms so desperately wanted that to be true. She was holding onto it like a lifeline. A lifeline, that for once in her miserable existence, the Norns actually seemed willing to hand to her. The hilt of her axe was sticking out near the bottom of the pile, she could see the Hofferson crest gleaming in the weak moonlight. Wrestling it out, she immediately noticed a long spidery crack running down the handle, rendering it useless.

She took back her thanks to the Norns with a muffled curse, strapped it to her back regardless.

"What do we do?"

Astrid startled, grabbed the nearest object to hurl at her assailant.

Fishlegs shrieked and ducked away from the half a chair she'd launched at him. The dead silence of the village broke. Astrid thought she could hear a dragon flying above them. She was too tired to even be frightened of it.

"I told you to stay hidden!" She hissed at him.

Fishlegs cringed, stepped back with his hands raised. "I know, I know. But Snotlout dragged Tuffnut off so they could 'fight to regain Berk's honour' and Ruffnut told me she was following to 'watch and laugh as they walked into the mouth of a dragon' and I realised I also had to go to make sure all three of them don't die."

"Great." Astrid sighed. Why was every Hooligan a pig-headed idiot? "Where are they now?"

Fishlegs paused, spun around in a slow circle. "I don't know."

Behind them, the storehouse exploded.

"And that's where we start looking." She muttered, stomping off in the direction of the now growing fire. Fishlegs followed after, half jogging to keep up with her long angry strides.

Snotlout came stumbling out to meet them, smacking at the flames crawling up his sleeve. "I had nothing to do with this!" He exclaimed, skidding to a halt just in front of them.

Astrid side-stepped him and kept walking, exhibiting what she though was remarkable restraint by not bashing his head in. "I don't even care." She replied. "Get the twins out. We need to have a meeting."

"For the last time Snotlout, Savage is Berserker chief and he'd sooner marry a dragon than work with us. We have no allies." Astrid muttered, with no shortage of derision. She elbowed him in the space just under his ribs, knocking him away from the head of the table. Hel would freeze over before she let him take the lead, never mind that he was the heir.

The twins crowded in at each of her shoulders, their matching smiles considerably less grotesque than usual. "We have an aunt who married a dragon." Tuffnut started.

"Good old Aunt Puffnut." Ruffnut finished, leaning her head on Astrid's left shoulder. Astrid let it slide, just this once.

"Didn't she get eaten on her wedding night?" Snotlout asked from the far end of the table. He was looking at Astrid's map like he was planning on pulling it out from under her hands. She twisted just enough for the dim candlelight to catch on the knife at her belt.

He got the hint. Probably.

The doors to the great hall swung back open, Fishlegs bustling through with an armful of candles. He dumped them across Snotlout's end of the table, the foot of the table, and immediately started lighting them. "I think this is the last of them, not sure what the orange ones are, I found them in a crate in the back of the forge. And they smell kind of funny. I don't recommend anyone else goes back out there, rain's picking up."

"So, us putting out the storehouse fire was a waste of time then?" Tuffnut whispered to Ruffnut, resting his head on Astrid's other shoulder.

Astrid shoved both their heads away, only slightly disappointed when neither of them fell to the ground. "We put out the storehouse fire because the smoke would've been a massive beacon to Alvin that he'd left us behind."

"Is that why you won't let us light the fire pit?" Ruffnut asked.

Astrid didn't answer, largely because she'd said that exact thing twice already (while the twins were busy throwing plates full of last night's abandoned stew at Stoick's throne) She turned her attention back to the map, pulled it towards her, out of Snotlout's stretching grasp. Even with the added candles, it was still barely bright enough to see by, let alone enough to combat the cold creeping across the village. "There's not a single person who would rather stand with us than the Outcasts." She went on. She glared down at the map like that would make it suddenly offer up an answer. It didn't. The Norns would never make things that easy for her. Most days she wouldn't want them to. Today? She certainly wouldn't be turning it down.

"That- That isn't strictly true." Fishlegs interjected, placing the last of the candles down in front of her.

Astrid's head flicked up to look at him. "Who?"

He seemed to balk under the weight of her gaze. Gods forbid someone take an act of war seriously. "Oh- It's not exactly a plan, or even an idea really. It's incredibly unlikely to-"

"-I'm desperate enough that you could suggest we ask The Ghost for help, and I'd consider it."

"That is the kind of idea I'm suggesting."

"No!" Snotlout suddenly exclaimed, pointing one of the candles at Fishlegs' head. "That is a terrible idea."

"He's much harsher on Outcast Island than he is on us. He's the closest thing we have to an ally right now." Fishlegs shot back.

"He's still a terrorist!"

"Care to fill the rest of us in?" Astrid asked dryly.

"He wants to ask the Dragon Conqueror for help."

"Like you have any better suggestions." Fishlegs murmured.

"I do! Go in there and fight the Outcasts ourselves! They won't be expecting it.”

For the love of Thor.

"They won't be expecting it because it's the dumbest idea anyone has ever thought of. We all get caught and eaten too." Astrid cut in.

"You underestimate my might."

"There are only five of us." Tuffnut said slowly. And wasn't Astrid horrified that Tuffnut had become the voice of reason. "There's at least a hundred Outcasts, not including anyone they might have allied with. We'd need an army of dragons and Odin on our side to make that anywhere near a fair fight."

"The Dragon Conqueror does have an army of dragons." Ruffnut piped up, pointing at Fishlegs in agreement.

"Yeah sure, he also broke into my house three weeks ago!" Snotlout exclaimed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"He's more likely to help us than anyone else!"

"He's also the most likely to feed us to his dragons if he doesn't feel like helping us."

"There is no documented proof that his dragons eat people."

"You only want to ask him for help because you have a crush on him." Snotlout accused.

"No, I don't!" Fishlegs said. Unconvincingly.

Astrid let her gaze drop back to the map. She didn't know where the Dragon Conqueror lived, no-one did, but it couldn't be anywhere in their archipelago. It mustn't be that far out thought, the frequency of his trips to Berk would be impossible if he was further than just past the fog bank, regardless of his Night Fury pet. Would it be close enough to get there and back before Alvin cooked the village though? Could she even convince the Dragon Conqueror to help them? Fishlegs was right in saying he was their best shot, but it was still a terrible half-ditch plan.

But this was real. Even if every part of this story, cannibals kidnapping the whole village, a mythical half-man half-dragon beast who roamed the shadows, felt like nothing more than a tall tale the elders would spin to the smallest of children.

 "... even knows how old he is. He could be sixty!" Snotlout said, loud enough to startle Astrid out of her thoughts.

"Or ugly."

"It could be Mildew."

"Stop." Astrid said, pointing a finger just as Fishlegs opened his mouth to reply. "You have a point."

"No! This is a mutiny." Snotlout declared.

"Alvin has our entire village." Astrid told him, voice hard, hands splayed out across the map, thumb just grazing the crumbling pile of rocks that marked out Outcast Island. "He's probably lining them up from most to least edible as we speak. We need to do something. And asking the Dragon Conqueror isn't a great plan, but it is better than waiting here to die or charging in and getting ourselves added to the cooking pot.

"I am going to him for help, and I do not care if you choose to join me or not."

Ruffnut brushed her hand against Astrid's, traced her finger along the path from Berk to Outcast Island. "Well, I'm not just letting you have all the fun on your own."

"I'm going." Tuffnut said with a shrug. "I want to ask the Dragon Conqueror if he has a tail."

Fishlegs nodded minutely, jaw tight.

"I should have you all locked up for this. Stupidest plan I've ever heard."

"Glad to hear you're with us." Astrid said.

"Of course I'm with you. I'm the acting chief after all."

Astrid leant back, stretched her arms above her head, joints popping at the motion after the long, cramped hours she'd spent hiding. She traced one finger back across the path connecting Outcast Island to Berk.

It was a long shot, the longest shot she'd ever even considered taking.

Her chest was tight, and her fingers itched for a fight, and her limbs felt like they were bogged down with mud. This was what she'd spent her whole life preparing for. So why was she hesitating now? It was just Alvin. Alvin who's threats never got more than a laugh out of Stoick, Alvin whose last fleet of ships had been sunk on the rocks off Raven Point. Alvin who had snuck Mildew into the village as a spy for years. Alvin who had taken everyone. Alvin who was the biggest threat Berk had faced in her lifetime. And it was just her. Just her, the glow of a hundred candles, and the weight of every Hofferson whose steps she echoed.

Fishlegs was the one to broach the silence. "How do we find him? He's a myth."

-just her and all of that and the four biggest muttonheads she'd ever had the misfortune of knowing.

"You hadn't thought of that earlier? I told you this was a stupid idea."

Snotlout, unfortunately, did have a point. And, even more unfortunately, that wasn't something Astrid had considered wither. Her thoughts hadn't gone much further than 'at least this is something we can do'.

Astrid's gaze flicked to the twins, who'd gone unnaturally quiet. They were having some kind of mental argument, glaring at each other over the table. It was fairly intense, if Ruffnut reaching forwards and slamming Tuffnut's head into the table was any indication.

"We know how to find him." She said, not looking at all sympathetic towards Tuffnut or his now bleeding nose.

"You? You couldn't find the Dragon Conqueror if his name was written on his own face."

"Well of course we couldn't, he wears a mask."

Astrid slammed her hands back down on the table, sending the little wooden boats Stoick used for planning scattering to the floor. "Where is he?"

Tuffnut tapped the table in front of him, a hands length from the edge of the map. "Here. Trader Johann said there was a small island there, uninhabited and unexplored. Everyone who journeys there disappears."

"There's islands all around the edge of the archipelago. And Johann said that island only has terrible terrors on it. It doesn't sound like-"

Ruffnut cut Fishlegs off with a wave of her hand. "If you were a super-secret terrorist, don't you think you would mask the location of your super-secret base every way you possibly could? Including by making it look like it holds nothing worthwhile. Anyway, he always leaves Berk to the northeast and that island is the only one close enough for how often he visits here."

"How do you know... any of that?" Astrid asked. Even she had only connected half of those pieces.

"We sit on the roof of our house to watch the chaos he brings."

"And we're much smarter than you think." Tuffnut added.

"You burnt down the storehouse."

"There was nothing important in there Snotlout. We're in a famine."

"Yes, there was Ruffnut. An extra cache of weapons? Which would be pretty helpful right about now."

"Astrid has an axe still!"

Astrid lifted the axe in question from where it was rested against the table's edge. "Not a functional one. All we have is a glorified kitchen knife." She'd only kept the axe out of misguided sentimental value. It had carried her Uncle Finn through every battle he'd every fought, and her through every challenge she'd faced thus far. Surely it could bring her out the other side of this safely. She placed it down on the table, added her knife atop it, a blade that was too small and light to be anything other than ornamental (and shiny enough that it couldn't be called any less than obnoxious). "But, if we can get dragons, no Outcast will get close enough for us to need weapons."

"I take it this means you have a plan to get the dragons?" Fishlegs asked.

"The start of one. We're going to need a boat, the dinner gong and as many rocks as the boat will carry."

"This is a horrible idea."

"Really Snotlout? I hadn't heard you the last seven times!" Astrid shouted back, wrestling with the ropes that were meant to be holding the sails down. She was soaked to the bone, clothes dragging her arms down, fringe plastered to her forehead. They'd sailed straight into a storm almost the moment they'd gotten out of the bay surrounding Berk, all of them apparently shit at navigating. And with only five of them to man the ship, their chances of crashing were looking worryingly high. Especially after Snotlout and Tuffnut had both lost their oars to the waves.

"I am your future chief! You should listen to me. Especially when I say 'lets stay on Berk and not get killed by a massive storm' but no! You all decided to jump into a mouldy dingy and sail off Thor knows where to find a terrorist." He punctuated his words by throwing another rock at Astrid. Like most of the previous ones, it sailed harmlessly past her ear.

"I will throw you overboard!" Ruffnut yelled, not pulling her attention away from the wrestling match she was having with her own oar. Two of her braids were coming loose, hair falling in her eyes without her helmet to hold it back. On the other side of the boat, Tuffnut was using her helmet to scoop water out, his own already occupied with clogging up the biggest of the holes in the ship's hull. Fishlegs was sat just behind him, with their only remaining oar. Snotlout was meant to be working the rudder, but he seemed to be spending most of his time throwing their stash of rocks at whoever he was most annoyed at in the second. It had mostly been Astrid.

"What difference will that make? We're all going to die here anyway!" He called back.

"No-one is dying!."

"Is now a good time to mention I don't know how to swim?" Tuffnut asked.

For the everlasting love of the immortal Thor. "No-one but Tuffnut is dying." She muttered to herself, tugging at the ropes again. She almost wished a scauldron, or something would show up to finish them off. Not actually. She was not going to let Njord's bad temper be the thing that bested her. No way in hell. She was dying in combat, or she wasn’t going to die at all. With a final tug, she got the ropes tied back down, sail safely tucked away.

"There's something ahead!" Ruffnut shouted, jerking her head into the darkness ahead. She could have also been having a stroke. Astrid couldn't see anything more than even more waves and even more rain, but Fishlegs shouted something that could have been an agreement.

"Alright. Head for that!"

"Snotlout, I swear on the Gods- You have the fucking rudder!"

He looked down at it in something akin to surprise, before wrenching at it wildly, nearly sending them all careening into the ocean.

He hadn't. Instead, he'd twisted their tiny, thin-hulled, waterlogged boat directly into the path of a wave bigger than any that Astrid had ever seen. It would put tsunamis to shame.

Her last thought as the water came crashing over their heads was a plea that she'd make it out of this alive. She hadn't done enough yet.

Chapter Text

"Toothless, I have no plans of getting out of bed before lunch, and that is only if Grennar tries to sail back through Odin's strait. I don't even know why you'd want to fly through piss rain anyway."

"I should have eaten you by now." Toothless grumbled in Dragonese.

"You would never. I'm way to muscular for your taste."

"Stick boy." Toothless shot back with a glare. Still, he curled himself back up around Hiccup, folding his wings carefully over them both. And slapping Hiccup in the face with his tail. Which was fair. He probably deserved that.

"Big baby boo." He muttered, letting sleep drag him back down.

Or he would have, if not for the crash of something small, and scaly, and night terror shaped smashing through his bedroom wall.

Toothless bolted upright, knocking Hiccup to the floor. He didn't bother getting up, just tugged his blanket down to wrap back around his body.

It, unsurprisingly, was Smidvarg, who perched himself on Hiccup's chest, their faces almost touching. He didn’t once pause his stream of chirping, wings subconsciously flapping. Hiccup batted one away as it sliced too close to his eye. "-and I think they might be dead, but they look freshly dead so can I eat them-"

"Woah," He scratched over Smidvarg's head with one hand, reaching blindly for his crutches with the other. Toothless poked his head up over the other side of the bed, bared his teeth half-heartedly. "Start from the beginning."

Smidvarg made a questioning noise, cocking his head on its side. His wings folded back down.

"Oh fuck-" Hiccup turned to Toothless for help. Help he did not receive. "Beginning." He repeated, in Dragonese this time. At least, he hoped that was what he'd said.

"Beginning." Smidvarg echoed. "Beginning. Oh- There's been a shipwreck! And we found it first so it's only fair that we get first dibs on eating the people in there, especially if they're still alive, and you need to tell Hookfang that because he was eyeing them up when I left-"

"People?" Hiccup interrupted, not even finding it within himself to feel bad. He picked Smidvarg up, placing him gently atop his bed. "Dragon Hunter people? Defenders of the Wing People?" He stuck a hand out for Toothless to help him up.

Chances were Smidvarg was confused. There was no way anyone had been out in the storm, let alone that they'd managed to wrestle their boat onto his shore. It'd be a fallen tree or a sleeping scauldron and he could bemoan having to get out of bed so early after. And he could lord it over Smidvarg's head.

"People like you. You before."

Hiccup froze. Smidvarg better be fucking kidding. "You mean Vikings?" He asked in Norse.

"Yes! FearBoat people."

Just his fucking luck.

"No-one can eat them yet. Go make sure."

Smidvarg nodded, flew back out the hole he'd made in the wall.

To Toothless, Hiccup said "Really? FearBoat people? That's your name for Vikings."

Toothless shrugged. "You are on boats, and you are afraid of everything. It fits"

"Dickhead."

He looked over to the pile in the corner of his room where he usually dumped his armour, only to find it barren of anything other than a sleeping terrible terror. Just his fucking luck. Again. He'd left it all in his workshop last night, still dripping with mud from an incident with the very angry, very pregnant gronckle he'd been trying to check up on. He shuddered just thinking of the way it reeked. The mud would have dried by now, so it wasn't like he could wear the armour even if he wanted to. Which he very much did not want to do. Hopefully the Viking intruders were unarmed. Or exceptionally bad fighters. Maybe it would be Savage again and he could ransom some more money out of the Outcasts. Not that the Norns would ever make things that easy for him. He leveraged himself up to standing with his bedpost, scooping his crutches up from where they'd rolled beneath his bed as he did.

"Thor's bloody ball sack." He didn't have his leg either. That was in the same mud-covered pile of shit in the entry way of his workshop. He'd been down to his spare, spare leg for almost a week, too busy and then too injured to be bothered fixing either of his other ones. And his last leg had fallen casualty to the gronckle incident. More specifically, it had fallen casualty to the gronckle, Skip's, stomach.

"Guess you're coming with me them." He told Toothless, sliding onto his back as he spoke.

"Like there was any other option."

He'd stopped at his workshop to grab Inferno before flying out to the beach, the only thing he owned that wasn't broken or coated in mud. Just out of zippleback gas. He'd been wanting to ask Barf and Belch for a restock almost as long as he'd been delaying the leg repair, but the dragon had been nowhere to be found.

The sky had been beautiful, all warm pinks and oranges that any other day Hiccup would've stopped to draw. Instead, he followed the gentle crashing of waves to the forest's edge just by the western beach. There already were a couple shipwrecks there. All rotten or in some state of disrepair.  A titanwing scauldron was resting on the far end of the beach, under the canopy Hiccup had built back when Scauldy was still making regular trips to the Edge. The rest of the beach was dotted with mats of seaweed, almost up to the tree line. The storm had been even worse than it sounded then.

He guided Toothless to touchdown just out of view of the beach. If there was anyone alive there, he was honestly shocked they hadn't seen him.

"Wait there." He told Toothless, waving him back under the tree cover. He was crouched behind a misshapen stack of felled trees that had fallen victim to a brawl between two teenage timberjacks.

He sent up a prayer that they'd all be dead, and he could just send them off in-

"We are not going to get eaten by dragons, you idiot!"

Very alive then. Great. Living, breathing, shouting Vikings. On his fucking island. He waved Toothless further into the trees, crept forward to the wreckage of an older boat (he thought it was one of Grennar's, but it could be from any number of the hunters who he'd lured ashore). He couldn't see any of the Vikings from where he was, but he could see their boat. Or at least, he could see a hunk of wood that probably was a boat at some point. It had half a mast, more hole than hull, and, inexplicably, was smoking.

"You don't know that!" A second voice shouted back. There was something oddly familiar about the voices, in a soft, nostalgic, sort of way. Not that there was anything soft about the shouting. Or about Vikings in general.

"We haven't seen a single dragon since we got here."

"'Got here' she says. News flash, we shipwrecked!"

"We could just sail back home."

"Not even Thor himself could get that boat floating again."

"We should've stayed on Berk. Guess who suggested..."

The rest of the words faded out to nothing. Stayed on Berk. Stayed on Berk. Oh, for the love of Frigga. For the sake of everything that had ever been fucking sacred. Gods dammit. Of course it was fucking Berkians who'd shipwrecked themselves on his island. Of course. He'd known, ever since he'd left, that it was only really a matter of time before this happened. Before he had to face what he'd done, and what he hadn't done. He just hadn't expected it to actually happen, or he hadn't expected it to not be on his terms, or he hadn't expected it to happen on a day that was supposed to be calm, or he hadn't- Those voices had been familiar. More familiar than just passing interactions would warrant, and it definitely wasn't his dad or Gobber, so... of fucking course the Hooligans to show up on his island just so happened to be the very ones he'd grown up with.

Why did that make him want to help them more? He'd left Berk, why should he still care?

Hiccup wished he had answer for that, wish he knew why, despite everything, he so desperately cared that Berk survived. It was the same question he asked himself every time he made the long-haul flight back to check on Berk, every time he cleared their fishing routes of hunters and dragons and pirates. Why did he care? He couldn't even lie to himself and say he just cared in the way he did for all people, because, with Berk it ran much deeper. Sure, he'd help anyone who washed up on his island, but hearing that other people were in danger would never send him into a tailspin like this.

He slumped back against the upturned boat, ripping his mask off. He tucked his knees into his chest and pressed his face against them. He just had to breathe. Not a difficult feat. Usually. He couldn't though, not between the tightness in his chest and the burning in his eyes, and-

It wasn't even that he was worried they would recognise him. The Hiccup they remembered had been a weak pathetic little girl who'd gotten herself eaten by dragons. Which- the weak and pathetic parts of that very much still fit (he was cowering in the sand for Thor's sake), but he couldn't really be called little anymore. And no-one would mistake him for a girl.  No-one would even expect him to be living, let alone thriving. Hiccup almost wished that was what he was worried about, almost wished his worry could be about something real. Instead, he was worried about the potential of his fuckarse father being hurt. Gods.

The sand beneath him was too rough and the waves were too loud and he could feel the slightly uneven seam in the inside of his boot and his hair was getting just long enough that he could see it out of the corner of his eye and the bones in his legs were stiff and achy and the sunlight was reflecting off of the ocean’s surface and he could still hear the Vikings- his Vikings talking and he hadn't had time to eat before flying out and his shirt felt too light without his armour over top and his right crutch was slightly bent and there wasn't enough air getting into his lungs and he just wanted to claw his skin-

Smidvarg land back atop Hiccup's chest, turning himself in two neat circles before settling down. "Toothless says you need to breathe."

He was-

"He knows you're trying. You need to go slower though. With me." Smidvarg took a slow exaggerated breath in, then out. Hiccup could feel his lungs shift. "With me."

Hiccup copied the next one. Kind of. It was much harsher and jerkier than Smidvarg's, but it was a breath. Enough of a breath that the ache is lungs and the stars in the corners of his vision receded just a bit. He placed one hand atop Smidvarg's back, copied the next couple of breaths. Just at the edge of the tree line, Toothless was mirroring the same breaths, nostrils flaring.

"Positive thoughts." Smidvarg told him, once Hiccup's breathing had levelled back out to safe.

"Not even Throk's positive thinking can save me now."

"Eat then?" Smidvarg asked, hopping off Hiccup's chest unprompted. He was being nice. Hiccup hated it.

"Not yet." He whispered, dropping his head back.

"Lame.

He took another breath, offered his best approximation of a calming smile to Toothless, and turned his attention back to the still ongoing argument happening just the other side of the ship.

"-You suggested handing ourselves to Alvin on a silver platter."

Well, that was one upside at least. Maybe he could still get to piss Alvin off, and presumably save Berk from whatever had befallen them, and then maybe, someone would recognise him, and he'd be knocked out and dragged back to Berk, and then they'd put him on trial for the dragon befriending, or the breaking and entering, or the arson, or the terrorism, or simply because he'd been born a girl. And then they'd probably skin Toothless too, just for the fun of it.

Throk and his 'positive thinking' could suck a speed stinger's tail. The wank stain.

Hiccup took another shuddering breath, tried to will his hands to stop shaking. They didn't. No matter. There were places to go and people to threaten and identities to fake. He could catastrophise later. He needed a joint. Gods. He took another breath, this one slower than the last, and steadier too. He gave Toothless a final scratch on the head, pulled his mask back down over his face and, gripping his crutches tight enough to turn his knuckles white, headed down the beach to face his newest intruders.

They noticed his approach almost immediately, all instinctively reaching for weapons they didn't have.

"Who are you?" It was Snotlout who asked. Because of course it was.

Hiccup didn't offer them a reply. Partly because there was no good answer to that question, mostly because he'd forgotten how fucking annoying crutches were on sand, and if he ate shit while trying to walk, he'd have to get Hookfang to eat everyone. Including himself.

"Hello?" He repeated, voice growing angry. "Do you speak Norse? Who are you?" He sounded each word out slowly, like Hiccup was an exceptionally deaf thunderdrum.

He stopped a few paces out from them, leant his weight forwards onto his crutches. Snotlout had taken a step ahead of the rest of the group, fists clenched. He'd ditched the best, studded his bracers with uneven metal spikes. So, Gobber had taken on a new apprentice, and not a very good one. His jaw was squarer, but other than that his body didn't seem to have changed at all. He was still short, still top heavy. He'd tilted his head up slightly, like he thought it would make him seem taller. The twins were much the same, just with longer hair. Tuffnut's twisted into locs. Fishlegs' shoulders had filled out, but his legs were still playing catchup to the rest of him. Astrid was maybe the most changed. Her shirt was blue instead of green, and she was muscled at least enough to beat out Snotlout. Her braid was tighter than ever though, frown deeper, and every muscle in her body looked taut enough to snap in the slightest breeze. Maybe not so changed then.

Maybe then they wouldn't recognise him. He knew he barely resembled how he'd looked at eleven, between Mara's wragon bark and the two feet he'd grown (not to mention the mask). They all looked the same, so maybe they expected he would- They thought he was a dead girl. Because he'd faked his death six years ago. Which was a decision he was not going to think about the ramifications of. Certainly not now at least.

He blinked slowly, trying to push his swirling thoughts down to the place in his gut where all the rest of his lingering anxiety had been shoved. He stood up straighter, brushed the back of his hand against Inferno's grip. "You're the ones on my island. I don't think you get to ask that."

Snotlout puffed his chest out, indignation twisting his face up even further. "I am the future chief of Berk-"

"I couldn't give less of a fuck." Really? They'd picked Snotlout as next in line? Even eleven-year-old, closeted, disaster causing him would've been better than that. "This is my island. Your laws do not apply here."

"Where- where is here?" Fishlegs asked, peeking his head over from where he might have been trying to hide behind Snotlout. Hiccup turned his gaze on him, tilted his head on its side. The attention made Fishleg's shrink back in on himself. Or that could have been the elbow Snotlout shoved under his ribs.

"Welcome to Dragon's Edge." He replied.

"Not a lot of dragons."

Hiccup shrugged. "That's what I want you to think."

"What does that-"

With comedic timing that would marvel even Loki, Smidvarg flew down to land on his right shoulder, claws digging into the meat of it. Fishlegs let out a gasp that was more awe than horror, a stark difference to Astrid and Snotlout both reaching for chunks of wood to use as weapons. The twins' faces both split into wide grins. Hiccup, and Smidvarg, ignored them all. "You don't like them."

Hiccup sighed, drew his eyes away from Smidvarg to look back at the Vikings. They'd all huddled in together. Astrid had an arm out to hold the other four back, gripping the wooden board in her other hand. Snotlout was baring his teeth at- at Smidvarg probably. Hopefully. Fishlegs, and Tuffnut were both staring wide-eyed at Smidvarg. Hiccup shrugged. "That would be correct."

"So... Wouldn't it solve your problem if I-"

"-No. You still cannot eat them."

"You normally let me eat castaways."

"Our normal castaways are dragon hunters. You can only eat-" He turned back to the Vikings. "You aren't dragon hunters, are you?"

"Oh, so he's batshit insane. Great." Snotlout replied, throwing his hands into the air.

"Answer the question."

Snotlout rolled his eyes, opening his mouth back up before anyone else got the chance to respond. "I don't know what the fuck a dragon hunter is so... probably not."

"You spoke to it." Tuffnut tacked on, dinner plate eyes locked on Smidvarg who, like a coward. ducked behind Hiccup's head.

"Of course, I-"

"Thor fuck. You're the Dragon Conqueror!" Astrid cut off looking, almost excited at the revelation. Concerningly.

"Is that what they're calling me these days?" He replied, shrugged again just for the sake of it.

"Quite scrawny." He heard Ruffnut mutter.

Two minutes and not even knowing it was him and they were already calling him tiny. Great. Hiccup shifted backwards on his crutches, turned as though to leave. "Yeah, it was a pleasure meeting you. I have to go now."

"No!" A cacophony of voices shouted over each other.

He turned back with a groan. "Why?"

"We- We need your help." Astrid said.

"And why should I help you?"

"For all we know, all of the Isle of Berk is currently being eaten alive by Outcasts." Astrid said, glaring daggers at him. "Is now really the time for this game?"

Alvin and his cannibalism again. He was levelling up though. Kidnapping an entire village would have been way out of his wheelhouse even a year ago. "Your village won't be eaten until tomorrow night. Alvin will be making a whole song and dance of it, as usual."

"We can't get to Outcast Island by tomorrow night!"

...Oh, what the ever-loving fuck.

Maybe Toothless was right about him being an overly sentimental fool. "You're right. You couldn't sail to Outcast Island in time even if you did have a boat. I've got another way though. There's just something you'll have to do first though."

Chapter Text

"For the record, I want it to be known that I opposed this decision."

Astrid groaned, let go of the branch she'd pulled out of the way just in time for it to smack Snotlout in the eye. The yelp he let out wasn't as satisfying as it usually was. She blamed their surroundings. After spilling out their plea, the Dragon Conqueror (and, Thor fuck they'd actually found him. Her hare-brained, half-assed idea had worked. There was a chance for Berk. A narrow one, especially with how douchey the Dragon Conqueror seemed to be, but a chance none the less) had turned his back on them, pointed in the direction of a narrow plume of smoke at least a rôst away and then headed off into the opposite direction without so much as a 'see you later'.

They'd followed without question, which Astrid was now realising was the dumbest thing she could've done. Especially now that they were actually in the forest. The tree cover was thick enough that barely any light made it to them, just narrow shafts of early morning sun. It was eerily quiet, just their own footfalls. And a distant low growling, deeper in the woods, off the worn trail they were following. It left Astrid on edge, constantly checking the branches above her head, even though she knew she wouldn't see anything.

"Snotlout, you oppose every decision ever. I'm pretty sure when you were born you tried to crawl back into your mother's womb just to be contrary." Tuffnut said, patting him condescendingly on the head and then bounding off into the bush.

Astrid stifled a laugh.

"I hope he gets eaten." Snotlout muttered. He kicked out at another tree root, complained some more.

Ruffnut skipped up beside Astrid, swung an arm around her shoulders. "So, do I have to be the one to say it?"

"Say what?"

"Say, my dear Snotlout, that the Great and Mythical Dragon Conqueror is actually hot as fuck."

"Ew."

"What? I'm objectively correct. I don't even need to like men to know that."

"He is very tall." Fishlegs added, although all of his attention was still on the treetops. Not in a cautionary way, of course not, he was looking for dragons with the awe of someone who was nervously waiting for Odin to deliver their Snoggletog presents.

They turned another corner, the forest seeming to get even darker. The shadows swirling around a tall wooden building, nestled perfectly between the trees. The wall facing Astrid had swung half upwards into a door, warm light spilling out of it. Tuffnut stuck his head out, half a bread roll shoved in his mouth. "This guy can cook!"

"For the love of- Don't eat the strangers food!"

Ruffnut leant her head even closer to Astrid. "What if he's a ten?"

Astrid sighed, shrugged off Ruffnut's arm. She didn't move any closer to the hall, because that was definitely what it was. There was a wide round table in the middle of the room, a paper map of the archipelago hung on the far wall, drawings and battle plans covering every other. It reminded Astrid of Gobber's workshop, back before the war with the dragons had ended and his job had become defunct. "He's not some trader who you can ogle. Any of you. He's dangerous, more than Alvin. More than anyone we could ever imagine. Just because he's agreed to help us doesn't make him on our side. He's still a terrorist, and he's still an enemy of Berk. He has done nothing good, certainly nothing good for Berk."

"I killed the red death." The Dragon Conqueror said, melting out of the trees. He'd ditched the creepy little grey dragon, thank fuck. He cut in front of them, swung the door the rest of the way open. He was still on crutches, still wearing no armour other than the freaky scaly helmet, still stick thin.

He wasn't what Astrid had expected the Dragon Conqueror to be, was almost the exact opposite. Every story she'd heard painted him as ten foot tall, half god, half dragon. She'd heard that he could crush a man's skull in one hand, that with just a word he could make any person fall madly in love with him, that he could walk through fire, that he could breathe it, that he'd been shot clean through with an arrow and had kept on walking, that he knew every language spoken in and outside of the archipelago, that he had wings sprouting out of his back, that Sól's light shone out of his ass. He wasn't meant to be this lanky bad-mannered child.

He gestured at the wooden table with one of his crutches, piled high with food. Astrid folded her arms over her chest, rocked back on her heels.

"Red death?" Fishleg's echoed, finally drawing his eyes away from the sky. He ambled into the hall, took a seat at one of the tables.

"The dragons' nest? The thing your people have been searching for since they first crash landed themselves into this archipelago?"

Rich talk from a man who spoke Norse like a Viking.

"That was six years ago." Snotlout said, face pulled into a deep frown. "You can't have been more than- How old are you?"

The Dragon Conqueror shrugged. "Old enough."  He settled into one of the seats, leant his crutches against the table next to him. He'd angled his shoulders so he could face the whole room.

Astrid didn't know what Snotlout was on about. The guy seemed old, or at least, older. 30 maybe. There was no way he could have done so much if he was any younger. He held himself like Berk's veteran warriors did, the shifty gaze, the way his hand rested upon his weapon (even if it did just seem to be an ornate sword hilt), the way it looked like the weight of all nine realms upon his shoulders.

"Bullshit. You're built like Gustav."

The Dragon Conqueror blinked, narrowed his eyes. Even without knowing Gustav (the lucky bastard), Snotlout's tone was still dripping in more than enough derision to get his point across. He didn't offer Snotlout a reply, just leant onto the two back legs of his seat and pulled down a lever secured to the wall.

The door opened with a slow grating creak, like it hadn't been used in years. Astrid braced herself, leant her weight onto the balls of her feet. She knew she shouldn't have trusted him. No honest man covered his face.

She saw what was on the other side of the door emerge slowly, a pair of massive, clawed feet. Two short legs, covered in dark red scales, the left with a thick scar slicing almost clean through it. The Dragon Conqueror let out a low groan, wrenched the lever down harder. The door gave another, rougher, sounding groan, swung the rest of the way up like Thor himself had pushed it.

Waiting behind the door, just as Astrid had both predicted and feared, like a fighter about to enter the ring was a monstrous nightmare. It was massive, all flame red scales and hulking wings.  From the corner of her eye, Astrid saw Fishlegs dive under the table, heard his chair clattering to the floor. Nobody else moved. There was a thick scar down the length of its snout, and it was breathing out puffs of smoke that wafted just over the Dragon Conqueror's head.

It looked rehearsed.

Astrid took a careful step back, angling her body towards the open door behind her. Both the beast and its master followed her movement with narrowed eyes. She stilled with bent knees. Tuffnut had stilled in his seat just beside her, a loaf of bread halfway to his mouth. Ruffnut stood just behind him, eyes wide. She shot a desperate glance between the Dragon Conqueror and his pet and Astrid.

"What the Hel is it doing here?" Snotlout demanded, snatching a fork off the table and wielding it in front of him like a sword.

The idiot. It was obvious what they were there for, obvious what the Dragon Conqueror's plan was. There was only one mode of transportation faster than boat.

"He's here to help."

The Dragon Conqueror's plan, the only plan they had left to save all of Berk, was to fly into Outcast Island on the backs of his evil scaly murder beasts.

"No." Snotlout demanded, grabbing a fork in his other hand as well.

The Dragon Conqueror rolled his eyes behind his mask, dropped all four legs of his chair down to the floor. "I'm sorry, what did you think my help would be?"

The stupid prick. He knew they were Vikings. Knew they were from Berk even. And he clearly knew enough about Hooligans to know their views on dragons. He was doing it all to goad them. Astrid knew it. Even if dragons were their only option. He was a lying, troll fucking, bastard. She hated him.

Beside her, Tuffnut brought the roll the rest of the way to his lips. When he spoke, it was through a mouthful of bread. "...Why exactly are you helping us?"

The Dragon Conqueror didn't answer for a long moment, the look in his eyes somehow far away but still uncomfortably piercing.

"Yeah, why do you even care?" Snotlout added, still armed with his forks.

"I don't." He said. Like a liar.

Tuffnut hummed non-comitally, disbelief clear on his face. It looked like something more too. Like he had a piece of the puzzle Astrid just hadn't found yet.

"I'd do the same for anyone who came to me for help. Doubly so if it pissed off Alvin." That, at least, seemed like a truth.

He turned away before anyone could ask another question, leaving Fishlegs with his hand half raised and his mouth half open. His next words were directed at the beast. Because he fucking spoke to them. It was just as concerning the second time as it had been the first. "You get first pick Hookfang."

He spoke in Norse, but his words tumbled out of his mouth unreasonably fast, enough that Astrid had to be looking at him to have any hope of understanding. There was no way a dragon was picking up any of what he said. This had been a stupid idea. They'd have had more luck asking Batshit Borgan for help. At least he had muscle.

And it had been a stupid idea that Astrid had recommended. She'd been the one who'd bought them there. She was the one responsible for however it went down. And how it seemed to be going down was terribly. Gods, even if they made it back to Berk, even if they saved every Hooligan, even if they killed Alvin, there was no way this was going on Astrid's record as anything other than a complete failure.

The dragon's reply was a low growl, rougher and more animalistic than the small grey thing had been.

"No, you bastard. I'm teaching this lot to fly."

Astrid didn't have to know how to speak Dragonish, or how to be as deeply mentally unstable as the Dragon Conqueror clearly was, to know what it was the beast had asked. Not with the way it was eyeing up Snotlout and licking its lips, forked tongue dripping with saliva. It growled something else, gaze flicking to Fishlegs, who squeaked and tried to duck behind the twins.

"I'm not answering that." The Dragon Conqueror said with a glare. He waved his hand over Astrid and the other four Vikings. "Pick."

The dragon slowly turned its gaze over the five of them, leaning forward on its claws. Astrid wasn't sure what it was seeing, hoped it was a line of hardened Viking warriors, or at least a threat. Not that they were hardened fighters, or that any of them bar herself were anything close to a threat. Fishlegs looked terrified, but his eyes were still wide and curious, bouncing between the Dragon Conqueror, the dragon itself, and the maps covering the walls. He was however, still cowering behind the twins. Ruffnut was bouncing on the balls of her feet, corners of her mouth pulling up into the start of a grin. That didn't surprise Astrid much, Ruffnut had always had the least fear (the least common sense, some would say), had never stopped long enough to become afraid of the things she faced. Tuffnut on the other hand, looked much more nervous, eyes locked singularly onto the largest threat in the room. Snotlout looked petrified, more so even than Fishlegs. But his shoulders were still squared, and he was still shooting a fairly impressive glare at the Dragon Conqueror. Astrid didn't miss that his eyes never once strayed towards the nightmare, like if he ignored it hard enough it would simply stop existing.

She hoped she looked even somewhat brave, hoped it wasn't obvious how tensed to run every muscle in her body was, hoped her breath was still somewhat steady, hoped that the way her hand was slowly inching towards the grip of her ruined axe wasn't obvious.

The dragon growled again, sending a puff of smoke out it's nostrils with the gesture.

In front of it, now nestled in the beast's shadow, the Dragon Conqueror poorly stifled a laugh into his hand. Even with the mask, Astrid could see his eyes shining with mirth. "Sn-" He cut himself off sharply, eyes widening in fear like he'd just made some fatal misstep. He sat up straighter in his chair, reached up with his left hand to adjust his mask.

The dragon made a soft sound, something almost soothing, nodding at the Dragon Conqueror. He returned the gesture.

"You." He said, voice barely wavering, pointing one finger at Snotlout. He'd sunk back into his chair but there was something performative about it, every line in his body tense still. "The short one with the forks."

Snotlout dropped both forks with a clatter, ducked to hide behind Fishlegs.

"Him? It's choosing Snotlout?" Ruffnut asked.

"What- no" Snotlout had started backing away, blindly groping for the door. "Not that dragon. I don't want to be eaten."

"I'm sure I could find a hotburple or a terrible terror if you think they would fit better?"

"Hotburple-"

"Absolutely not." Snotlout exclaimed, interrupting whatever Fishlegs had been about to ask. He stormed around to the Dragon Conqueror's side of the table, pointed a finger into his face. "A monstrous nightmare is a dragon fit for a chief. I'll take him."

The dragon grinned wolfishly, sent a burst of fire streaming just above Snotlout's head. He yelped, retracting his still pointing hand.

"All right then." The Dragon Conqueror said, some of the tension bleeding out of him with the smile Astrid could hear behind the mask. He whistled sharply, and four more dragons dropped to the ground beside the first. "Who wants to be next?"

Once they'd all been sorted, Astrid with a light blue deadly nadder, the Dragon Conqueror had called it Stormfly, that kept chirping at her and poking her hair, Fishlegs, Ruffnut and Tuffnut with brown, purple and green gronckles respectively (allegedly named Meatlug, Twister and Shattermaster). Astrid had an itching feeling that she recognised them from somewhere.

Snotlout was still quietly cursing. Astrid wasn't listening but it was most likely about the still smoking seat of his pants. Or the charred horns on his helmet. Or any of the other places where the nightmare had tried to set him on fire. "What the fuck is this guy's problem?" He demanded, jumping out of the way of another jet of fire.

The Dragon Conqueror shrugged. "They know what your people do. This is as much a leap of faith of them as it is for you. Blow it and I won't even try to stop them from eating you." He leveraged himself up from his seat, stretched his shoulders out. None of the tension left them. If anything, it actually made him tenser than he was before.

"Mr. Dragon Conqueror?" Fishlegs asked

"Don't- Don't call me that." The Dragon Conqueror said. His back was still to them, and his voice was low and flat, but discomfort rested in the set of his shoulders. He seemed uniquely unprepared for this. For helping Vikings, his alleged sworn enemies, which did make some degree of sense, but also for interacting with people in general. Despite the innumerable dragons she'd seen (and heard. mostly heard) so far, there'd been no sign of other people. She'd seen no houses, assumed that the Dragon Conqueror's own was tucked deeper into the forest, and only one of the seats at the wooden table had scuff marks under it. It was lonely. Not that Astrid cared. He was still a terrorist. And a dickhead.

The dickhead in question ran a hand over the top of his mask. "J-Just call me... Ryder." He seemed to wince as he said it, like that wasn't the name he'd meant to share.

It was a stupid name.

"Ryder?" Fishlegs repeated, sounding the name out weirdly, like it was something foreign.

The Dragon Conqueror hummed in reply, didn't look up from where he'd started packing a side bag full of the herbs that were spread across his end of the table.

"Won't- I don't mean to be rude, but- you have one foot."

"I'd noticed."

"Sorry." Fishlegs said, wincing and shrinking in on himself like he'd just been told off by the village elders. "There's nowhere on your dragon to store your crutches. Won't you need them? Or a peg leg or something?"

"The plan doesn't require me having two feet, and you aren't in a position to demand it." He glanced up from his work, brushed his hands down his pants. His voice was even flatter, shoulders even more tense, and his eyebrows were furrowed deep enough Astrid could see them through the eyeholes on his mask. "We're leaving now. It'll be a day's flight with you five and Meatlug spooks in the dark."