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Astrid
She knew it was risky. Missions with Hiccup always had the chance to be… but this one was different. This one was all in, all or nothing. If they didn't do it, they could lose the war with the Dragon Hunters. And, while the future of dragons hinged on this, it wasn't just the dragons they were trying to save. Viggo wouldn't stop at just the dragons. His blood lust and obsession wouldn't be sated until Berk was wiped off the map.
They could not allow this to happen.
Astrid took a deep, determined breath and straightened her shoulders. In her hands she held the Gronckle Iron daggers Hiccup had made for her. She hoped she wouldn't have to fight in close quarters, but if it came down to that she wanted to be ready.
Her reflection glimmered in the daggers' blades, distorted. For a moment, Astrid didn't see herself as she actually was. She saw herself younger, younger, and afraid. It was her before Hiccup and Toothless had entered her life, her before she'd found her true courage—because all of that time preparing for fighting the Dragon War hadn't been courage. It had been a farce, deep fear disguising itself as bravery.
Astrid was afraid now. She was afraid for her dragon, her friends, her family… everyone she ever knew and loved.
But then she thought of Hiccup and his steadfast bravery. Her reflection shifted before her eyes, showing her as she really was: a young shield maiden ready to go down fighting for what she believed in.
And what she believed in was Hiccup. Always Hiccup.
Steeling herself, Astrid sheathed her daggers.
Where Hiccup goes, I go.
Snotlout
The whetstone felt too heavy in his hand.
Snotlout sighed and looked at Hookfang. The two were in the stables together, readying for a mission they knew they might not come back from. They knew the necessity of it, knew the risk, and were going to do it anyway.
Snotlout hated to admit that he often was one that would run from a fight. His father would call him a coward for it, and maybe that's what he was.
But not this time. Not now. And maybe never again. Hookfang gave Snotlout a lot of bravado, of course, but there was real courage that came to him through someone else:
Hiccup.
He couldn't believe he'd wasted so many years not seeing Hiccup's good qualities, wasted years bullying him, when he could have befriended him instead. Maybe there wouldn't be more years of friendship after this, but… he held onto hope—hope that they would all get out of this, hope that they would win.
Snotlout almost sighed again, but instead grit his teeth and squared his shoulders, feeling a new wave of determination. The whetstone was lighter in his hand, and so he went back to sharpening his axe. Just thinking of Hiccup and how he loved and trusted him gave him courage.
They could do this.
He could do this.
The grating sound of the whetstone over his axe blade was almost like music to his ears.
Where Hiccup goes, I go.
Tuffnut
He was not one to take things very seriously. Life would probably be depressing (and maybe boring) if he was.
But this was serious, and Tuffnut knew it. They all knew it. There had been an odd silence over the Edge since they'd woken up that day, knowing what they would be attempting to do. This wasn't just about life and death: this was about the future of dragons, the future of Berk, the future of everything he loved.
Tuffnut knew he shouldn't be wearing himself out before a mission like this, but he'd had to swing his mace at something. The canvas practice dummy stuffed with hay hadn't stood a chance.
And he hoped that, fighting alongside Hiccup, the Dragon Hunters wouldn't stand a chance either. It was Hiccup they were fighting alongside, after all, Hiccup that they were willing to do anything for. Not just because they loved him, but because they believed in him.
Tuffnut had the utmost trust in Hiccup, even though the mission he was leading was looking grim and suicidal.
He swung his mace again, hitting the practice dummy in the side and sending it flying with tufts of hay drifting through the air. He was scared, of course. He wanted to crack a joke, even just to the silence of the arena.
But it wasn't time for that. Besides, a joke wouldn't make Tuffnut feel any better or braver. No. Faith would.
Faith in Hiccup.
Feeling as satisfied as he could with destroying a practice dummy, Tuffnut hefted his mace over his shoulder and left the arena to join his friends. His stride was purposeful and unafraid.
Where Hiccup goes, I go.
Fishlegs
He felt uneasy as he traded in his gardening tools for his war hammer.
The weapon, however, did not feel heavy to Fishlegs. He had the physical strength to wield it, and he knew how with a proficiency that frightened him.
And it frightened him because that meant killing. That meant death. One often did not walk away from a blow with this kind of weapon.
Fishlegs hoped he wouldn't have to use it, that it wouldn't come to that.
He'd hoped for a lot of things. He'd hoped for peace and love and tranquility.
Which was exactly why he was doing this, why he was in his hut donning armor and preparing—preparing for mission that might be fruitless, but might mean the world for dragons and for Berk.
Fishlegs had learned that tranquility came with a cost. But he was willing to pay that cost, because he was following Hiccup, and Hiccup knew that cost well. His best friend didn't like fighting and bloodshed anymore than he did, but he was willing and stubborn when it came to securing peace for others. Fishlegs knew this was bigger than just him.
It felt a little odd to think that befriending that strange, scrawny boy when no one else would had landed him here, going into a battle he might not return from.
And for a moment, when Fishlegs closed his eyes, all he saw was his first true meeting with Hiccup. They'd been about 5 or 6 years old, out in the cold, playing in the first snow of the winter.
Hiccup had taught him how to make winged Valkyrie in the snow, and Fishlegs had taught him why it was a bad idea to lick ice. (By demonstration, of course.)
Despite all this, despite what that friendship had lead to, Fishlegs didn't regret it in the slightest. He would never regret befriending Hiccup. He would walk with him to the gates of Niflheim if he asked.
Inhaling deeply, Fishlegs settled the head of his hammer in his other hand, determined.
Where Hiccup goes, I go.
Ruffnut
She wanted to make sure her spear was as well polished as it could be. Would it matter in the long run? No, but Ruffnut felt like she had to, felt like this was one of the only things keeping her sane. She was jittery, nervous, tense.
And why wouldn't she be? She was about to follow Hiccup on a mission that could very well lead her and her friends into the jaws of death.
Years ago, Ruffnut would have never done this. She wouldn't have thought it worth it, wouldn't have believed in her cause and her leader and friend. Hiccup was her friend, and that might very well be why he made a great leader. He cared.
So Ruffnut cared too. She cared about dragons. She cared about Berk. Hel, she'd even care about other parts of the world and random strangers if Hiccup told her to.
It wasn't just that she cared about Hiccup though. It was because Hiccup made Ruffnut feel like she mattered. She'd always felt like she'd had no choice but to be the comedic relief in everyone's lives, that she was a screw up and a disappointment, so she might as well laugh about it and make others laugh too.
But then Hiccup had held her shaking hand that day in the arena, the day she'd first ridden a dragon, the day that had changed everything. She'd seen him fight against the Red Death and win. She'd seen him go into battle with a love and courage she hadn't known him to possess.
And he gave her love and courage in return. He gave her purpose, and meaning, and friendship.
Ruffnut swiped the cloth over the tip of her spear one last time. The metal caught the sunlight in a brief, blinding flash. Perfect.
Ruffnut rose from her seat, spear held firmly in hand. Nerves roiled in her stomach, but she stood straight and even puffed out her chest a little. She could do this.
Where Hiccup goes, I go.
Hiccup
He didn't want this.
Hiccup very much did not want this.
But he knew that he had no choice. He had to protect dragons, his friends, and his home at all costs.
That cost might very well be his own life.
He was all right with that. That wasn't what was bothering him. What was bothering him was the fact that he wasn't doing this alone, that he couldn't do this alone. His friends were following him on this mission.
Hiccup didn't want to be a leader. Hiccup didn't want to fight. He'd learned though, that ascertaining peace took fighting, took sacrifices.
But why did those sacrifices have to be his friends?
It had frightened him a little how easily they'd all agreed to this. It had been solemn and grim in the clubhouse the day he'd pitched this mission to them. And, of course, Hiccup had given all of them the chance to back out. They didn't have to do this with him.
They'd all chosen to anyway.
Hiccup was in the stables with them, and all the preparations seemed to be done. Now it was up to him to give the order.
He took a deep breath that he hoped no one saw, trying to steel himself. Toothless, always by his side, loving and loyal, warbled at him. He knew what was going on of course. Hiccup shared everything with him. He was his best friend, after all.
The Dragon Riders were his best friends too. This would be easier if they weren't.
Hiccup uncurled his fingers from a fist he hadn't even known he'd made, and placed his hand on Toothless' head. The familiar feel of his scales rallied his strength.
And now the Dragon Riders were all looking at him, waiting.
It was now or never.
"Okay, gang. Saddle up."