Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Six years ago, Hiccup packed his bags, got on the back of his dragon, and left Berk, and didn’t bother looking back. Five years ago, Hiccup and the dragon in question defeated the Red Death together, and he didn’t bother holding it against Toothless that he had to bite off his leg to make sure he didn’t die. Three years ago, Hiccup was made aware of a dragon hunting business, and didn’t bother being merciful with those responsible.

Two minutes ago, Heather flew into Hiccup’s workshop, and he didn’t bother looking up to greet her.

“Got a message.” She said, taking her usual seat across the table from him. “Someone’s looking for you.”

Hiccup shrugged and peered closer at the tailfin he was adjusting. “People usually are.”

“They’re not usually from Berk.”

He dropped the tailfin. Heather was looking at him cautiously, holding out a letter that was stamped with what Hiccup still remembered as his father’s official chief-seal. Toothless looked up from where he’d been curled up in front of the forge and padded over, wrapping his tail around Hiccup the way he always did when Berk was brought up.

“You don’t have to read it.” Heather set the letter down. She had that look in her eyes that Hiccup could never quite find a name for – not quite pity, not quite worry. “You don’t owe them anything, Hiccup.”

He huffed out a slow breath, tried not to feel like his lungs were collapsing. “Did – uh, did they know it was me?”

She shook her head. “They were just looking for the Dragon Master. Figured the only other person riding a dragon at the market would know where to find you.”

“I hate when people call me that.” Hiccup muttered. “Who delivered it?”

“Scary blonde girl with a braid and an axe.”

Astrid. Well, shit, now he had to read it.

Hiccup cursed and tore open the letter. Heather watched him expectantly and Toothless made a half-comforting-half-apprehensive rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

‘Dragon Master,

On behalf of the Hooligan tribe of Berk, I, Astrid Hofferson, humbly ask for your aid. Our island is being targeted and sworn battle against by a man named Drago Bludvist, who claims to control dragons and has threatened to attack us with his dragon army. Our island is small, and while we are great warriors, we do not have the resources or power to fend off such an attack.

We have heard of your own famed control over dragons and ability to tame them, and request your help in defending our community. We fear that you are the only person who may be able to match Drago Bludvist in battle.

Berk has not always been a friend to dragons, but in recent years, we have not been a foe to them either. We are willing to accommodate you and any dragons or allies you choose to bring with you should you accept our request, and will happily pay any price you ask in return for your help.

We humbly and eagerly await your response,

Astrid Hofferson, future Chieftain,

High Council of Berk.’

Hiccup’s lungs were definitely collapsing, now.

Berk was in danger. His enemy was trying to attack them, and they needed his help. They weren’t fighting dragons any more. Astrid was heir to the chiefdom.

Toothless crooned softly and rubbed his head against Hiccup’s chest, and he tried to start breathing again. Heather watched in that practiced, patient way of hers until his ears stopped ringing.

“It’s Drago.” Hiccup managed finally. “Drago’s attacked Berk, and they’re asking for my help in fighting him.”

Heather cursed softly and read through the letter herself. In the distance, Hiccup’s flock had stopped their rumbling and chittering and had fallen unnervingly silent. “What are you going to do?”

“Help them.” He felt, all of a sudden, tired in a way he hadn’t in years. “What else can I do? I know you say I don’t owe them anything, but they’re innocent people, and they’re right that they don’t stand a chance against Drago on their own.”

Heather studied him for a long moment. “Want me to come with you?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. This is my fight.”

“You’re my brother. Your fight is my fight, and don’t act like you wouldn’t say the same if our roles were reversed.”

Hiccup looked at her, green eyes mirroring his own, Dagur’s, Toothless’s, Windshear’s. Even if only Heather and Dagur were siblings by blood, it sure as hell seemed like the gods planned to have them all together regardless. Toothless rumbled against his chest.

He sighed. “Give me a week. I’ll go to Berk, figure out what it is exactly that they need. It may just be that they want my help with strategy and dragon tips, and then I can come back and we can figure out a way to deal with Drago ourselves. If not, I’ll send a terror-mail.”

“And if I don’t hear from you at all, assume it was a trap and swoop in to rescue you.” Heather nodded. “Got it.”

Hiccup stood up and started mentally stockpiling everything he’d need to take with him. “I don’t think it’s a trap – not really Berk’s style – but it’s nice to know you’ve got my back anyway. Thanks, Heather.”

<><~><>

Hiccup’s next stop was the woods.

It was all well and good to destroy dragon hunter ships and drop their captains into the ocean to drown, but after all the fighting was done, there still remained the question of what to do with all the dragons they’d taken from their homes. Most of them flew off once Hiccup broke open their cages, but some had been too injured or too grateful to leave his and Toothless’s sides. Several years on, coupled with the dragons he’d freed from Berk’s arena and the dozen or so individuals that had joined them from the Red Death’s island, Hiccup and Toothless were the kings of quite a sizeable flock.

Dragons were all around them, draped across tree branches or sunning on rocks or drinking from the stream, and Hiccup let his head fill with their comforting noise. Beside him, Toothless rubbed his head up against his hand with a low croon. “[You’re worrying.]”

“I’ll be fine, bud.” Hiccup said softly. “And besides, I can’t just not help.”

A low growl told him Toothless didn’t agree, but he ignored it in favour of calling a trilling whistle into the depths of the woods. Soon enough, Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, Sharpshot, and Barf and Belch came bounding through the trees towards him, surrounding him with friendly licks and nuzzles and puffs of warm air. Hiccup snorted and felt the knot in his chest loosen, just a little bit.

These were the dragons he’d freed from Berk’s arena the night he and Toothless left. They had been the foundation of his flock, knew him longest, and were the most loyal and trained in combat. They’d insisted on joining him in his attacks on dragon hunters before, and he figured that they’d all be offended if he didn’t at least ask if they wanted to come this time.

Toothless chirped and chattered to them all, explaining the situation at hand.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Hiccup reminded them. “I wouldn’t be upset if you stayed, I know Berk hasn’t been kind to you.”

The dragons all looked at each other in the way they did when they thought he was being a Small Silly Human. Hookfang huffed indignantly.

“[We’re not scared of the Bad Island. We’ll come with you.]”

Sharpshot tittered in approval from his perch on Hiccup’s shoulder, and Belch set off a couple of excitable sparks.

“[We’re going to make Drago go boom!]”

Belch said that about pretty much everybody, but Hiccup still appreciated the sentiment. His other head rumbled in agreement, as did Stormfly and Meatlug.

Well, then.

<><~><>

Half an hour and a very tight hug from Heather later, Hiccup was in the air with his flock in tow, headed for the one place he’d sworn he’d never return to. He had his flight suit on, every weapon he could feasibly carry attached to himself in some way, and three spare legs in his bag along with his mask, which he intended to put on the second he could be even remotely visible from Berk. Just because he was helping them didn’t mean they had to know it was him.

He almost doubted they’d still want his help if they found out it was coming from Hiccup the Useless.

Toothless rumbled below him. “[Are you still worrying?]”

“A little bit.” It was no use trying to hide anything from his dragon. Toothless was scarily good at reading his emotions. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle. I just wanna get this whole Drago thing over with forever.”

“[Boom!]” Barf and Belch both cried cheerfully from their position at Hiccup’s flank, letting loose a small patch of gas and torching it to illustrate their point. Stormfly squawked as it drifted into her face.

“[We’ll be fine.]” Toothless said decisively, flapping his ear frills against Hiccup’s leg. “[I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll eat them.]”

Hiccup snorted. “You know humans don’t taste good.”

“[I’ll still eat them, for you. Because I love you.]”

“Love you too.” Hiccup scratched Toothless behind his frills and laughed at the purr he received in return.

It was a long flight to Berk, and they wouldn’t be there before nightfall, but Hiccup decided he didn’t mind. The air up here was clean and cool and fresh, far from the dust and smoke he remembered from his childhood. It whistled through his hair and his outstretched hands, reminded him that he was free, that he was safe, with nothing and nobody to tether him to the ground against his will – not his father, not Viggo or Ryker or Krogan or Drago, not even the Red Death. He’d survived before, and he’d survive now, and he’d do it with his flock by his side.

Hours later, when the sun was nearly gone and Berk was more than just a speck on the horizon, Hiccup pulled his mask over his face. His flock drew in closer, and Sharpshot nuzzled at his covered cheek where he’d landed on his shoulder. Toothless crooned softly.

“[Ready?]”

“Nope.”

They flew in to land.

Chapter Text

Astrid wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected the Dragon Master to be like. Now, standing at Stoick’s right hand and watching the dragons in question come in to land in the village square, she still wasn’t entirely sure what she thought of him in the flesh.

He flew in on the back of his Nightfury, a beast as black as the night sky apart from one of his tail fins, which was a shock of bright red. The Dragon Master himself wore a suit covered in what looked to be the scales of his beast, blending in so thoroughly that Astrid almost didn’t see him until he dismounted. He had a mask over his face, although she could see eyes as green as the dragon’s through the slits there. On his shoulder was an insignia that looked to be a drawing of a Nightfury, in the same red as the dragon’s tail fin, which had the same symbol printed in black.

Some people said he was a demon, born of the same fiery pits as the dragons. Others said that he and his Nightfury were two halves of the same soul, that he was close enough to a dragon himself, that he could sprout wings and speak their strange, rumbling language. Almost everyone said that he controlled the dragons – he gave an order, and they obeyed. That was what Berk was counting on.

Other dragons landed beside him, flanking him and the Nightfury like guards – a Deadly Nadder, a Monstrous Nightmare, a Gronckle, a Hideous Zippleback, and a Terrible Terror. He gave them each a scratch under the chin and turned his masked face towards Stoick and Astrid.

Stoick was the first to step forwards, although carefully out of reach of the dragons’ jaws, and made the typical chiefly greetings. Welcome, thank you, your help is more valued than you could imagine, etcetera. Astrid stayed put and watched the Dragon Master.

Tall, but slim. Some may even say scrawny. He didn’t carry an axe, or a mace, or a hammer, or even a sword, as far as she could see – but then, who knew what he was concealing within all of those loops and flaps and pockets in his armour. More notable, however, was his distinct lack of left foot, replaced by a contraption of wood and metal, springs and gears and moving parts. It was certainly more complicated than any prosthetic worn by the various Berkians who had lost a limb in battle.

If it weren’t for his dragons, Astrid thought she could probably take him in a fight.

Stoick finished up his greetings and the Dragon Master hummed.

“Thanks. Right – you can call me Rider. This is Toothless, Sharpshot, Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, and Barf and Belch.” He gestured to each of the dragons in turn, and they all preened at the mention of their names. Astrid felt unease roil in her gut at the way the beasts acted like housepets in the Dragon Master – Rider’s – presence. “If anyone tries to harm them, or if this is all an elaborate trap to capture me and my dragons and hand us over to Drago, I’ll kill him and then everyone else myself.”

The dragons had stopped preening, and Astrid felt rather than saw the shiver than ran through the gathered crowd of Vikings at their narrowed gazes. Docile though they seemed under their Master’s eyes, they still bared sharp teeth and flexed sharp claws and hissed with the promise of fire.

Astrid stepped forwards as much as she dared and nodded. “Understandably. I hope that during your time here you’ll be able to believe me when I say that none of us wish you or your dragons any harm. We want to see Drago’s downfall as much as I’m sure you do.”

After a moment, Rider nodded back at her, and the dragons softened once more. “I’ll camp in the woods while I’m here, if that’s alright. The dragons prefer to sleep outside.”

“Of course.” Stoick took over with an approving pat to Astrid’s shoulder. “We’re happy to provide anything you or your dragons might need, and there are communal meals in the hall every evening. The forge is over there, the bakery is just behind it-”

Astrid watched them go as Stoick showed their only hope at defense against Drago’s army around the village, dragons in tow. Although, she could have sworn that the Nadder was looking at her funny as they left.

Her friends came up to her, all frowning at the Dragon Master in varying intensities.

“He’s…not exactly what I was expecting.” Fishlegs said finally.

Tuffnut nodded. “I thought he’d be bigger. Like – you know. Dragon-y. But he’s actually-”

“Scrawny.” Ruffnut supplied. “Definitely scrawny.”

“I would’ve said slim-built.” Fishlegs argued diplomatically. “And I don’t doubt that he could prove a fierce opponent, dragon or no. The stories I’ve heard about what he did to the Dragon Hunters when they tried to take his Nightfury-” he shuddered. “It’s a good thing he’s on our side.”

“For now.” Snotlout stared off into the direction where Rider had gone. It was one of the first things he’d said all day, uncharacteristically quiet since they returned from delivering their request for help that afternoon. “He’s on our side for now. There’s something about him – I’m not sure I like it.”

“You don’t like a lot of things, Snotlout.” Astrid teased, then sobered. “But I think you’re right. The way he makes those dragons act like pets… my feelings are mixed. They’ll do everything he says.”

Fishlegs hummed. “We’ll keep an eye on him. There’s not much else we can do if we want any hope at defending Berk from Drago.”

Astrid watched the Dragon Master and his flock rise into the air in the distance, barely visible against the darkening sky, and swoop towards the forest. She made a mental note of where he landed – what she was fairly certain was a large-ish clearing, uphill from the village, not too close but not too far. It was a good choice of places to set up camp.

The others all left in the direction of the hall, but Astrid lingered a moment longer.

The Dragon Master was Berk’s last hope. She just hoped he lived up to expectations.

<><~><>

Rider didn’t show up for dinner. Which was expected, really – it wasn’t a celebration of his arrival or anything, and Astrid figured he’d had a long journey. It had taken her and the others two days in each direction by boat to get to the market where they’d come across the other dragon rider, and she’d told them that it was another day’s flight to Rider’s base from there. As fast as she’d heard that his Nightfury was, she thought he must have been flying for at least a day to get to Berk.

The hall was thrumming with the hushed whispers of the townspeople. Astrid knew there were plenty who didn’t agree with her inviting the Dragon Master into their midst, who didn’t trust that a friend to dragons wouldn’t turn on they who had spent seven generations trying to wipe them off the face of the earth. Spitelout, in particular, was stewing away behind his mead and mutton, sending the occasional disapproving glare at his son. Tuffnut and Ruffnut had taken over the job of sending glares back at him. Snotlout practically lived with them now.

At least if Spitelout tried to make a move against Rider it would give Astrid an excuse to punch him.

Still – they had voted on whether to ask for the Dragon Master’s help, and the majority had been in favour. If people wanted to change their minds, they should have done it earlier, because he was here now, and Drago’s army was only a few weeks from Berk, and they didn’t have any other choice.

Astrid huffed, sending ripples across the surface of her soup. Ruffnut’s hand landed on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Astrid shook her head. “Just thinking.”

Ruffnut nodded sagely. “Good for the mind, thinking. Unless you’re actually worrying instead, which I’m pretty sure you are.”

Astrid stared up at her. By the gods, Ruff could be disconcertingly observant at times. “We’ve left the fate of our entire community in the hands of a complete stranger who lives with dragons and may not be entirely human. Why would I be worried?” And maybe that came out a little sharper than she’d originally intended it to, but her friends knew her well enough by now to not take offense.

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Fishlegs said, ever the faithful optimist. “Rider seems to know what he’s doing. Again, he apparently decimated the entire dragon-hunting business single-handedly; with his dragon skills and our warriors, Drago doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Assuming he doesn’t change his mind and abandon us, or switch sides and join Drago.” Snotlout pointed out. “All of which are feasible outcomes. We don’t know this guy.”

“Wow. Encouraging.” Astrid said drily.

Tuffnut just laughed at them all.

<><~><>

Hiccup flopped onto the ground the second Toothless landed and resolved himself to just lay there until morning.

Around him, he could hear Toothless getting everyone to work organising the nest – Barf and Belch were sent off for firewood, Sharpshot to watch them, Stormfly to make sure there weren’t any predators around, Hookfang and Meatlug to get some fish for dinner. Toothless himself settled at the ground by Hiccup’s side.

It was quiet, here, broken only by the twittering of night-birds and forest animals and the distant lumbering footsteps of his dragons. The ground was cool and spongey with pine needles, soft under his fingertips, just as it had been in his youth. Hiccup opened his eyes and stared up into the sky, traced the constellations, watched his breath steam in front of his face.

He felt Toothless’s tail curl around him protectively as the Nightfury nuzzled up against him. “[You did it.]”

“I did it.” Hiccup agreed quietly. “And I’m going to have to do it again tomorrow, and probably a bunch more times after that. Gods, I swear none of them have changed a bit.”

“[Stormfly says they’re all taller. She remembers from the training.]”

“I was thinking more in their general personalities, from what I could gather. Of course they’ve grown up, we all have, but my father’s still as chiefly and emotionally detached as he’s always been, and Astrid-”

Well. Astrid was just as terrifying as she’d been when they were fifteen, and Hiccup didn’t doubt that she could take him in a fight if it weren’t for the dragons. Her eyes had been steely and her jaw set in the torchlight of the square, an axe on her back and a knife on her hip, standing tall and proud at Stoick’s side like the heir they all knew she was born to be. Hiccup wasn’t ashamed to admit that his heart had done something odd but not entirely unpleasant at the sight of her.

“[I think they were impressed by us.]” Toothless mused. “[We looked impressive.]”

Hiccup scratched him lightly under the chin. “That is usually the effect of six dragons flying in formation and a masked man wearing Nightfury scale armour.” He snorted. “I’m pretty sure that rumour that I’m a demon is still going strong.”

“[You’re fireproof with my scales. Humans are generally not fireproof.]”

“Good point.”

Barf and Belch stomped back into the clearing and each dropped a mouthful of wood into a pile a few feet away from where Hiccup was lying. Sharpshot lit it up, and soon there was a neat little bonfire going, casting shadows into the trees.

“Maybe it’s for the best that they all think I’m not human.” Hiccup said eventually, more to himself than anything else. “Might make it less likely for anyone to realise it’s me.”

Sharpshot landed in front of his face, tilting his head inquisitively. “[You won’t tell them you’re not dead?]”

He ran a hand over his face. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Toothless purred and curled his tail tighter around Hiccup. “[It’s too late for thinking like that now. We are tired, you need to sleep.]”

“You’re right.” Hiccup sighed. “I guess I just hadn’t realised how weird it would be to see my dad again, without him even knowing.”

None of the dragons said anything, but Sharpshot tucked himself under Hiccup’s chin and Barf and Belch settled themself down with their wingtip resting on Hiccup’s non-metal foot. Meatlug and Hookfang soon returned with plenty of fish in their talons, Stormfly swooping in moments later, supplying a spine for Hiccup to skewer his share of the fish on to roast. He knew they all thought his cooked, human food was disgusting, but six years still hadn’t acclimatised him to the taste of raw fish.

He leant back against Toothless and looked up into the night sky. He remembered disappearing into that same sky six years ago, the newly-freed dragons swooping and diving and cawing their relief behind him as he watched Berk fade into a speck on the horizon.

And now he was back.

The dragons were all asleep now, huffing and snoring in various degrees (especially Stormfly, who snored even louder than she roared) but Hiccup couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He just stared at the sky, imagined the stars being blotted out by a dark shape, moving almost too fast to track.

If he asked, Toothless would wake up and carry him away from Berk right now, back to the safety of his home, far from his father and his endless disappointment. If it weren’t for Drago, he’d never have come back at all. If it weren’t for Drago, he’d probably leave the second his dragons woke up the next morning.

But he couldn’t. Berk needed his help, an island full of innocent people, targeted by a madman because of a boy who left on the back of their enemy, and contrary to popular belief, Hiccup wasn’t one to leave people in danger if he could help it.

He was Berk’s last hope. He could only try to live up to expectations.

Chapter Text

Dawn came too soon, as it always seemed to do these days, and Hiccup awoke to a sliver of early morning light slipping in between the cocoon of wings Toothless had wrapped around him. He yawned, poked at Toothless’s chin, laughed at the responding rumble.

Ten minutes later, they were in the air.

Hiccup pushed his mask up when they were far enough away from the village, revelling in the feeling of cold, crisp air rushing against his cheeks. Below him, Toothless had his eyes closed and his tongue flapping in the wind as he curved in a wide ring around the island.

None of the other dragons had deigned to follow them, too busy with either exploring the forest (Stormfly and Sharpshot) or going back to sleep (everyone else). It was Hiccup and Toothless who were accustomed to an early-morning flight, Hiccup who couldn’t function until he’d stuck his hand in at least one cloud and Toothless who indulged him every single day.

Hiccup hummed. “Never gets old, does it, Bud?”

“[Nope.]” The dragon replied, doing a barrel roll to accentuate his point. Hiccup laughed as his head was spun through the cloudbank. “[One more lap and then back down? I can hear people in the village.]”

He squinted down at the distant cluster of buildings and groaned. He didn’t have a dragon’s senses, no matter what some people said, but he could see that the night’s lanterns had been put out, signalling the start of the day.

Which, unfortunately, meant that he would be expected in the great hall to talk about battle strategy. Which meant facing his father, and also Astrid, and also the entire village. Great.

Toothless looked back at him, frowned, and took a steep climb above the clouds until Berk was obscured from view. “[You’ll hurt your eyes squinting like that.]”

Hiccup poked him. “You sound like Mom.”

“[I’m still right. You’re smart about a lot of things, but you worry too much about others. Especially people.]”

“Right. Because an overgrown lizard is exactly who I should be taking people advice from.”

“[You need to talk to them so we can kill Drago. Then we can go home. The fish here isn’t as good as the fish at home.]”

“Always thinking with your stomach.” Hiccup teased, “But you’re right. I just have to get it over and done with, and then we can leave and actually never come back this time.”

Toothless nodded and took them on one final lap of the island before dropping back into the clearing. The dragons were all up by now, if a little drowsy and wobbly. Stormfly and Sharpshot had retrieved more fish, and Hiccup was happy to note that they’d left a portion each to the side for him and Toothless.

Although Sharpshot was currently trying to sneak a bite out of those portions. Apparently, stolen food tasted better.

They all ate, and Hiccup went to go and scrub at his face in a nearby stream while they dragons groomed themselves to maximum intimidation levels. It wasn’t like anyone would see his face with the mask and all, but it helped him feel a little more prepared to go and talk strategy with his father and Astrid.

They walked into town rather than flew, at Stormfly’s suggestion, with Toothless at Hiccup’s side and the rest of them following close behind. To give them more time to make an impression, apparently.

The few people who weren’t attending this morning’s meeting stood back warily as Hiccup and his dragons made their way to the great hall, but they didn’t attack, which was an improvement on six years ago. A few of the smaller children even looked awed by Stormfly’s freshly-groomed scales, shimmering in the sunlight. Nadders truly were one of the prettiest dragon breeds, in Hiccup’s opinion, not that he would ever say that around the others.

He stopped in front of the hall. The doors were cracked open, and through them he could see that the room was heaving with Vikings, all yelling and clashing weapons and calling to his father and by the gods it was so loud –

Toothless pressed himself against Hiccup’s side and rubbed his head against his hand, and he sucked in a breath. Cool, smooth scales, as familiar to him as his own skin, and a reassuring, gummy smile. The other dragons, just behind him. His flock. His family.

Hiccup straightened his spine and lifted his head high.

“Let’s go.”

<><~><>

Stoick’s eyes snapped up as the doors swung open, the clamour of the crowds silenced in an instant. The Dragon Master stood there with his beasts behind him, jarring against the sunlight outside. He looked unnatural, wrong, a man wearing the hide of a creature who walked beside him – but Stoick pushed it down. Now was the time for diplomacy, for strategy, and he could shudder to himself when he was alone.

“Dragon Master.” Stoick called out, raising his arms in greeting. “So glad you could join us.”

“Just call me Rider.” And the man’s voice carried. “Quicker, and more accurate.” He walked forwards, and the crowd parted for him and the Nightfury that stayed close to his side, baring sharp teeth at anyone who stared too hard. The other dragons all clambered up to rest among the rafters when the Master made an odd whistle-click noise, scales glinting in the darkness, fire glowing beneath their skin.

The Master – Rider – must have sensed Stoick’s unease when he reached his empty place at the centre table. He jerked his masked chin up at his dragons. “They won’t be any trouble. They’re just protective and nosy, didn’t want to wait outside. And Toothless goes everywhere I do.”

Stoick simply nodded, not quite trusting himself to respond lest he say something tactless. The Nightfury warbled and looked up at Rider with wide, blocky pupils, a sharp contrast to the slitted gaze he turned towards the Berkians, and Rider rubbed a thumb over his head with a huff that might have been a laugh.

“Right.” Stoick clapped his hands together and spread a map out on the table. “Onto talk of battle. We know that Drago’s fleet was last seen here-” Astrid drew a circle around the patch of water in question, “- four weeks ago. We received his threat just over one week ago, but we can’t guarantee that he wasn’t already heading in our direction before that. Even still, we should have at least two weeks before he makes an appearance on our shores – so that’s two weeks to prepare.”

He turned to Rider expectantly, who nodded. “I have allies I can call on who will be here in less than half that time – a queen, a chief, and a general, and their respective tribes. We’ll need them if we want to defeat Drago, and they shouldn’t be at all difficult to accommodate. I’ll also call the rest of the dragons in my flock, and my sister, the girl you spoke to at the markets.” He looked at Astrid. “You saw her dragon. I doubt I need to say anything else to convince you.”

“A Razorwhip.” Astrid nodded slowly. “I’m sure she’ll be an invaluable addition to our forces – as will your other allies.” She added after a glance up at Stoick.

Rider nodded again (Stoick supposed he was limited in terms of expression by the mask) and whistled up at the rafters. A Terrible Terror fluttered down and landed on the table in front of him, and he started scribbling something onto several sheets of paper from the notebook on his belt, before rolling them all up and tying them to the Terror’s leg.

“Take these to Heather, and she’ll get some of the other Terrors to carry the rest of the messages on.”

The dragon chittered at him.

“Well, I’m sure you could manage the whole trip on your own, but I’m also sure that it’ll be easier for everyone if you don’t. And quicker.”

It squeaked, and if Stoick didn’t know any better, he would have said that it rolled its eyes before it took off and disappeared out of the hall.

“Terror-mail.” Rider said by way of explanation. “They’re excellent trackers, fast, and easily motivated by food. We should have responses by tomorrow morning. Oh – and I speak Dragonese.”

Stoick tried not to look too impressed. Behind Astrid, he could see Fishlegs bouncing on the spot with not-at-all concealed excitement.

And then, of course, Spitelout opened his mouth and effectively ruined the positive mood.

“You know, Dragon Master,” He began, voice thick with mocking. Stoick repressed the urge to bang his head against a wall. “how do we know we can trust these allies of yours?”

“Because I trust them.”

Spitelout leaned forwards. “And how do we know we can trust you?”

“Because you don’t have any other choice.” Rider’s tone had shifted into something cold, sharp, dangerous, his masked face blank, his Nightfury standing behind him like a shadow with hackles raised. Above them, the other dragons had started hissing. “And because I’ve been dreaming of all the different ways I want to kill Drago Bludvist for the past three years.”

Spitelout stared a moment more, and the Dragon Master stared back. Stoick felt his hand straying to the handle of his axe on his belt before Spitelout wavered and retreated back into his place, muttering to himself. The hall was silent, and every eye was trained on Rider, but he just scratched his Nightfury’s chin and turned back to the map like nothing had happened.

Astrid cleared her throat. “Okay – so if that was where Drago was last spotted, he’ll likely come at Berk from the north, so I say we focus our defences on the cliffs and docks-”

<><~><>

War talks continued until the sun was past its peak, and when Stoick finally waved the last of Berk’s citizens out of the doors, he thought he could safely confess to being utterly exhausted.

But they’d made progress, at least. Defences were going to be planned and constructed, weapons readied, guards posted in all vulnerable areas. Rider had sent off for his allies, and then, to Stoick’s surprise, volunteered to help Gobber in the forge with making sure everybody’s weapons were at their sharpest when the time came.

Astrid came up to his side, gazing thoughtfully up at where Rider’s dragons had been perched amongst the rafters. “Do you think we can trust him?”

“I think we can trust that he hates Drago as much as we do.” Stoick sighed. “And he’s right – we don’t have any other choice. Besides, lass, you were the one who wanted to ask for his help, and I trust your judgement if nothing else.”

He gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster, and she smiled back. Choosing Astrid as his heir after – well, after – had been the obvious thing to do. She was smart, strategic, and had the most warrior spirit out of anyone on the island. It had paid off, too; apart from the maniac warlord about to encroach on their shores, Berk had never seen such peace and prosperity before, lack of dragon raids notwithstanding. They’d even made peace with the Berserkers, although that was admittedly aided by Dagur’s sudden and unexplained personality turnaround.

So, yes, Stoick trusted Astrid’s judgement in inviting the Dragon Master to their island. Even if the thought of those dragons, of the way they followed the Master’s every order, of the way he could turn them from docile to deadly with nothing more than the tone of his voice, made his skin crawl. He wouldn’t do anything about it, because Astrid wasn’t doing anything about it, and he trusted her judgement.

And besides, he recognised the cold edge in Rider’s voice when he spoke of Drago Bludvist. Hatred like that couldn’t be feigned.

Stoick just hoped that the Master wouldn’t turn that hatred towards them when Drago was gone.

<><~><>

Astrid found her friends waiting for her outside the hall, as usual. Beyond them, people were rushing about, drawing up plans and figuring out the best places for defences, and Astrid itched to go and help, but she was stopped by Ruffnut’s arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders.

“Hey.”

Astrid levelled a cautious look at her. “…Hey.”

“We’re gonna go and make friends with the Dragon Master.” Ruff said, like it was a perfectly normal thing to say, and Tuffnut and Snotlout nodded encouragingly behind her. “Wanna come with?”

“It might be good to have more than a neutral relationship with our strongest ally.” Fishlegs suggested meekly. “Especially since he’s going to be here for at least a few weeks.”

Astrid huffed a resigned sigh. When all of them were agreeing, including Fishlegs, she had learned that it was best to just go with it and try to mitigate any damage. And anyway, they had a good point – if they befriended Rider, he’d probably be less likely to turn on them when the battle was done. “Fine. Where is he?”

They found Rider by the training arena – repurposed for hand-to-hand combat rather than dragon fighting now that the raids were a thing of the past – adjusting something on his dragon’s saddle. Astrid held her hand out to the others for them to wait and cleared her throat.

“Rider.”

He looked up, his mask black and blank and featureless. “Astrid Hofferson. Other people. What brings you here?”

Tuffnut pushed to the front. “We wanna hang out with you.”

Astrid fought the urge to bang her head against something. If Rider was surprised, he didn’t show it. “With me?”

“Yeah. You’ve got your cool armour and control the dragons and stuff. I would be a disgrace to my family name if I didn’t try to hang out with you.”

“We.” Ruffnut corrected, waving a hand at the group. “We would be disgraces if we didn’t try to hang out with you.”

The Nightfury was looking at them all, and Astrid contemplated pulling out her dagger, but the beast was as calm as it always seemed when Rider was near. It was all wide pupils and bare gums (Toothless) and a tail flipping back and forth slowly like a cat’s. It seemed almost… curious.

Rider turned back to the dragon. “Well – I was just about to do a loop around the island, see if I can find any weak spots that can only be accessed by dragon. But maybe…I guess I could come to the hall for dinner later.”

Green eyes levelled on Astrid through the slits in his mask, just barely visible, and yet she could have sworn they were seeing right through her. “Okay. See you then.”

Rider stared at her a moment more, nodded, then mounted his dragon and took off into the sky.

Snotlout whistled. “Spicy.”

Astrid whipped around to face him. “What?”

“You and the Dragon Master.” Smugness was rolling off of Snotlout in waves, his arms crossed, leaning obnoxiously against a post. “The tension was palpable, there.”

Ruffnut nodded. “There was eye contact, for sure. And honestly, my flaxen-haired friend, I can’t blame you. He’s hot.”

“He’s a man in a mask with a flock of dragons who only arrived last night and may or may not be a demon from Hel.” Astrid deadpanned.

“Yeah. Hot.”

She sighed and spun on her heel to go and do something useful somewhere else. Or, at the very least, hurl some axes at something. Anything to get away from her friends’ absurdity.

“You didn’t deny it!” Tuffnut called after her. She could hear Fishlegs scolding them even as she dropped into the training ring.

<><~><>

“OH MY GODS SHE’S SO PRETTY!!!!!!!!!!!”

“[You’re scaring the birds.]”

“Leave me to my mental breakdown, Toothless.”

<><~><>

Hiccup had no idea why he’d agreed to eat with his former peers. It was, by all accounts, a bad decision – they’d hated him before, and were also the most likely to recognise his mannerisms and realise who he was.

Actually, that was a lie – he knew exactly what the reason was. The reason was a golden braid and a monogrammed axe and a calculating gaze boring straight into his.

He wanted to talk to Astrid again. Sue him.

He stopped outside the meal hall, peered in through the open doors. It was about as busy as he’d expected it to be at this time, based on memories from his youth – a few people occupying most tables, some full, one or two empty. There was a pot of what smelled like mutton stew simmering in the middle of the room, baskets of bread and baked potatoes on the table next to it, and Hiccup wasn’t ashamed to admit that his mouth started watering a little at the sight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper meal that hadn’t come from his mother, and calling what she made a meal was a bit of a stretch. Heather liked to cook when she was staying over at the Edge, but they spent so much of their time these days fighting Hunters that they often just had to settle for sticking some fish over a bonfire and calling it a day – Hiccup felt guilty about bringing her into it, sometimes, but Heather was never one to let him brood for too long.

Astrid and the others were sat at the same table they’d claimed all those years ago. Hiccup felt a little bit like he was looking into another dimension; once, they’d been small and awkward, him most of all, and he would have given anything to be allowed to sit with them. Now, they were all taller and confident in a way only brought by age, and they had asked him to join them for dinner.

Toothless crooned something soft and reassuring, pressing his head against Hiccup’s hand. Hiccup straightened his spine and lifted his head high, although he knew that logically this meal should be nowhere near as daunting as the morning’s strategy meeting.

His presence didn’t have quite the same impact as earlier when he walked into the room, although people did shy away from Toothless as he padded along by his side. Hiccup got himself a plate of stew and some bread, let Toothless try a potato even though they both knew he wouldn’t like it, and made a beeline for the teens’ table.

Fishlegs caught sight of him first and smiled, albeit a bit nervously, shuffling up on the bench to make room. Hiccup took the seat gratefully, although they couldn’t see his expression behind the mask, and Toothless made himself comfortable half-under the table.

“Hey.” Fishlegs’s voice cracked a little, and Hiccup tried not to snort. “Uh, I don’t think we’ve all been formally introduced. I’m Fishlegs, this is Snotlout, Ruffnut, Tuffnut, and – well, you already know Astrid.”

He gestured to each of them in turn; Snotlout gave a gruff nod, Ruff grinned through a mouthful of bread, Tuff didn’t even bother to stop eating, and Astrid just pinned him under what he recognised as her trademarked Calculating Stare™. All of them were so familiar yet so different that it made Hiccup feel off-balance, but he managed to nod anyway.

“It’s nice to meet all of you, properly. I don’t get a lot of chances to talk to people without them either trying to kill me or screaming their heads off that I’m a demon, so you’ll have to forgive me if I accidentally say something… weird.”

Ruffnut frowned. “Wait – so you’re not a demon?”

“Nah.” Hiccup said after a moment. “Just a normal guy who happens to be best friends with a dragon.”

Toothless popped his head up, accepted a chin scratch from Hiccup, and resumed chewing at his leg under the table.

Snotlout stared at him. “So you’re not normal.”

“I think it could be a lot more normal if Vikings would just give the dragons a chance.” Hiccup dropped his hands to his lap under the table so they wouldn’t see him fiddling with his gloves. “They never actually got to eat what they stole in the raids. All of the dragons in about a hundred-mile radius from here were being controlled by a – well, technically she was the queen of their nest, but really, she was more of a parasite. I called her the Red Death, this dragon the size of a mountain who controlled them with her mind and made them bring her food. If they didn’t bring enough, they got eaten themselves. Anyway, they’re much calmer when they’re not trying to avoid getting eaten by their queen.” He could see Fishlegs’s mouth hanging open slightly in amazement, so he pulled one of his old notebooks out of his pocket (a last minute decision, but a lucky one) to show the group his sketches of the dragon in question, with tiny silhouettes of him and Toothless for scale.

Tuffnut whistled lowly. “That’s a big dragon. Is it still there?”

“Nah.” Hiccup replied easily, allowing a smirk to creep onto his face. “Toothless and I killed her about five years ago. Why, haven’t the raids stopped?”

They all stared at him. Hiccup watched in amusement as Astrid looked down at Toothless, who was acting more like a cat than a dangerous wild beast, then back at him.

“You?”

“Yep. Wasn’t easy though, cost me a leg to get out.” He gestured to the peg-leg in question, and Toothless got up with a warbling laugh, walking in a circle with a false limp in his front and back legs. “Ha-ha, arm and a leg. Who told you your jokes were funny?”

“[Heather.]”

“Of course she did.”

Astrid’s Calculating Stare ™ now included something that looked similar to respect, and – wow, Hiccup didn’t think she’d ever looked at him with respect before. This was weird.

Hiccup spent the next hour or so answering questions about the Red Death and dragons in general and his allies and about a million other things that he knew the others would never have found interesting six years ago. He wouldn’t even have been allowed to sit here six years ago.

Toothless pushed his head onto Hiccup’s lap and looked up at him with what he recognised as his most comforting expression. Big eyes, flat ears, retracted teeth, the lot. Hiccup didn’t bother saying anything, just rubbed a thumb over the smooth black scales on his dragon’s forehead. Heather had sent Sharpshot back with a note saying she’d be at Berk by noon tomorrow, and he decided to take consolation in that fact. At least her kindness didn’t hinge on him being able to save everyone.

But then – they were all laughing together, so much more grown-up and so much less angry than they had been before. They’d all been kids, and Hiccup knew better than most the kind of insane things a kid would do to try to impress the adults around them.

He still didn’t know if he’d ever tell them who he was, but maybe if he did, they could be friends. Or maybe they’d hate him, there was really no way to tell.

Hiccup pulled off the bottom panel of his mask so he could eat some of his dinner, and didn’t bother hiding his smile when Ruffnut told a joke.

Chapter Text

Heather arrived early the next morning, glittering mass of dragons in tow. Hiccup spotted them a ways off on his morning flight and swooped back down into the town to warn everyone so they didn’t freak out and start shooting at his sister and flock.

She landed and greeted Hiccup with a crushing hug, as usual, and Toothless and Windshear immediately started playfighting, as usual, and Stoick stepped forward with his typical chiefly greetings, displaying an impressive amount of resolve when the flock started coming in to land.

There were far too many dragons to fit in the square, as Toothless called out, so most of them dropped onto rooftops or nestled themselves in the trees surrounding the village. The ones who landed in the square, however, immediately crowded Hiccup with questions and affection.

He yelped as he was swept off his feet by an overenthusiastic Typhoomerang and three baby Scuttleclaws tried to sit on his head at once.

“You brought the babies? Seriously?”

Heather shrugged. “You know they don’t listen to instructions, even from Toothless.”

That, Hiccup supposed, was fair. He endured the affection until two Nadders and a Timberjack tried to join in, at which point he wriggled himself free and pulled out his sword. As always, the dragons all froze when he ignited it, their heads following when he curved it in a wide arc and stuck it into the ground. The Nadders, Timberjack and Typhoomerang all fell over, and the Scuttleclaws were babbling in baby-talk about pretty fire. Across the square, a Zippleback toppled off of someone’s roof.

Toothless, having come to a stalemate against Windshear, padded over with an eye roll and ordered everyone to go and make themselves useful in the forest, with strict instructions to leave alone anything that was in a field with a fence around it.

Hiccup watched the dragons fly off in a flurrying spiral of wings and scales and nodded approvingly, turning back towards everyone else…

… Who were all staring at him. Great.

Except Heather, of course, who had finished talking with Stoick and now wrapped an arm around Hiccup’s shoulders.

“Why don’t you show me where camp is?” She asked brightly, “I want to dump my stuff, and Windshear’s hungry.”

It was an obvious out, but one Hiccup took gratefully. He smiled at her, though she couldn’t see it through the mask, and slipped onto Toothless’s back to show her over to the campsite.

The dragons were all making themselves comfortable about the forest, scratching themselves on trees and sunning in the clearing. The Gronckles were all biting chunks out of the various outcrops of rock that surrounded it. Heather laid her bedroll next to Hiccup’s, sat down, and patted the space next to her for him to take.

He took off his mask and rubbed at his face with a sigh, trusting that Heather and the dragons would watch so nobody saw him.

“So,” Heather started, “this is Berk.”

“Yep.”

“It’s smaller than I expected.”

“Yep.”

“But the people here are somehow larger than I’d expected. Especially your father.”

“Well, they don’t call him ‘Stoick the Vast’ for nothing.” Hiccup scratched his chin. “Although I think people were starting to call him ‘Stoick the Vindictive’ originally, so the vastness probably came later.”

Heather shrugged. “You take after your mother, anyway. Speaking of, are you going to ask her to help?”

Hiccup paused and picked at the hem of his shirt. “I haven’t decided yet. I don’t think it would be a good idea to ask her to come back here, but then, we might not have another choice. Drago’s army…”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Heather agreed. “And I’ve seen a lot of things. All of those dragons are so desperately afraid that they’ll do anything.” She looked over at Hiccup. “Valka will come and help. If you ask.”

That was what Hiccup was worried about. His mother would do anything for him, had been trying to make him believe that for the past five years. It had taken a lot to soothe the wound of sixteen years of abandonment, but Hiccup could now officially say that he and his mother were on the expected familial terms. He just didn’t want to take that for granted.

“She just looks so sad whenever I talk about my father.” Hiccup said quietly. “I know why she left, and I can understand, more than nearly anyone.” Toothless crooned softly where he was lying across the clearing. “But dad won’t. Dad can’t. He’s never had to choose between his family and home and the other half of his soul.”

Heather took his hand, squeezed it. “I know. But you have, and your mother has, and even without a soul-bond I can’t bear to imagine having to leave Windshear. We’ve got your back, whatever you decide to do. And besides, Valka’s a grown woman with a very large and very protective dragon. She’ll be fine.”

That, Hiccup did believe. His mother was a whole lot stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for. And, he thought to himself with a tad of humour, looking down at his metal leg, a whole lot better at first aid.

“When Dagur and Mala and Atali arrive, we can organise a scouting trip to find out anything more about Drago.” Hiccup decided. “If it’s bad, I’ll call my mother, and just try to keep her as far away from my father as I can. If not, I’m leaving her out of this.”

Heather nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

They sat there in silence for a while, watching the dragons playing and the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the trees above. Impending war aside, it was a lovely day. Hiccup spun thoughts of chained dragons and metal ships and Drago Bludvist through his head, looked across at his sister, lying with her eyes closed and smiling softly, and at Toothless and Windshear, relaxed and dozing across a crop of sun-warmed stones.

Eventually, Hiccup sighed and stretched, put his mask back on, held his hand out to Heather. “Come on; I owe you a tour.”

“Going to show me all the buildings you blew up as a kid?”

Coming from anyone else, it would have stung, but this was Heather, so Hiccup just laughed. “Of course.”

<><~><>

They walked around the village, dragons in tow, and Hiccup pointed out all the relevant buildings – bakery, mead hall, forge (where he’d promised to help out later, possibly against his better judgement), armoury. He’d been accused of blowing that up, once, but it had turned out to be a dragon instead. The period of time between the accusation and the reveal of the truth had not been fun, but it was in the past now, and Hiccup could manage to laugh about it.

Eventually, they ended up at what used to be the Kill Ring. His first night here, Stoick had told Hiccup that when the dragon raids ended, it was converted into a training ring for normal, hand-to-hand combat. The empty spaces where the cages were still made his skin crawl a little, but not enough to protest when Heather suggested they take a look around.

There were armour stands, weapon racks, shields and dummies and targets. Nothing to do with dragons. Hiccup still remembered trying and failing to fight here, the shock on everyone’s faces when he started doing well. His father’s pride when he was chosen to kill the Nightmare. Hookfang.

How could anyone have thought he’d really do it? How could anyone stomach the thought of doing it themselves?

Not for the first time, Hiccup pondered how horrifying it was, in reality, the way people boasted about slaughtering dragons over their dinners like it was nothing.

Heather’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he blinked back into reality. He must have gone all quiet, because she was looking at him in concern.

“You okay? We can go somewhere else, if it’s all a bit much. I’d get it.”

Hiccup took a deep breath, made himself relax. Toothless and Windshear were playing in the corner, and his sister was by his side, and no dragons had been killed here in years.

“I’m good.” Then he saw that the dragons’ game had turned into a fight, and an idea started forming in his mind. “You know, Heather, since we’re already here – how about a fight?”

<><~><>

Ten minutes later saw the pair of them circling each other slowly in the centre of the arena, a weapon each in hand. They’d both taken off their armour – shoulder pads, arm braces, Heather’s metallic scales, Hiccup’s various potential weapon hiding places. Their current tally of who’d won the most sparring matches was eight to Heather, nine to Hiccup, and fourteen draws. Hiccup was determined to keep his current lead.

They kept circling around each other, waiting to see who would make the first move. Hiccup knew it would be Heather, as it always was, but it was fun to see how long she’d wait this time.

Just as it seemed that Heather was losing her patience, there came a whooping cheer from somewhere above them, although it was quickly silenced. Hiccup turned his eyes towards the stands to see his would-almost-be friends staring down at him and his sister, but found that he didn’t feel even a molecule of embarrassment.

If there was one thing that could trump his social anxiety, it was his desire to win a sparring match against Heather.

She finally snapped and swung her double-headed axe at him, but Hiccup blocked it with Inferno, circling slowly all the while. She tried again, and this time, Hiccup let the axe pass through the empty space in the middle of the sword, and Heather cursed her mistake just as he flicked his wrist to send both of their blades spinning across the arena.

Above, Snotlout was yelling at him for disarming himself as well, but Hiccup knew better. Heather was masterful with an axe, but Hiccup fought like a dragon – nails and teeth and snarling ferocity.

They circled a moment more. Hiccup pulled off the bottom panel of his mask and bared a sharp grin at his sister, and she rolled her eyes.

“Feral.”

Hiccup gave a mock bow, and Heather charged with a yell. Hiccup dropped into a crouch at the last second to trip her over. She recovered well, spinning into a roll and then back up again. Hiccup stayed low, rocking slightly from side to side so he could shoot off from either direction. He knew Heather would pick his good leg, though, because she was nice like that. 

Heather tried to tackle him again from his right side, so Hiccup rolled to the left and ducked back to land an (intentionally softened) kick to the back of her knees. She crumpled with a hiss and lunged once more, this time managing to grab onto Hiccup’s shoulders and bring him down, twisting his arm behind his back.

Hiccup struggled there for a moment – the game was won if one of them was incapacitated for a full fifteen seconds, or surrendered – and thought. Heather’s braid was hanging within grabbing distance of his other arm, but her hair was off-limits, as was his leg. 

However – she’d taken off her arm braces, and she was wearing short sleeves today. 

Hiccup turned his head and bit her arm as hard as he could without breaking the skin.

Heather let go of him, shrieking obscenities, and Hiccup just laughed as he stood up and got ready to strike. Above, Ruffnut and Tuffnut looked absolutely delighted.

The game descended quickly, this time, Heather annoyed and determined and Hiccup always open to fighting with his fists. Heather struck first, as she always did, and Hiccup responded in kind, twisting arms and shoving legs and trying to knock each other off-balance. Hiccup jammed an elbow into Heather’s ribs, she knocked his good leg out from under him to topple him to the ground, he pulled her down after him and rolled away to get back up and she gave chase.

Hiccup cackled as they chased each other around the arena, and soon Heather was laughing too, trying in vain to grab at his clothes and yelling about how fast a one-legged Viking was allowed to be.

Eventually, Hiccup’s leg starting hurting, and Heather kept bumping into the walls, so they both slowed to a wheezing stop.

“Truce?” Hiccup offered breathlessly.

Heather nodded and flopped onto the ground.

In the stands above, the others were all whooping and cheering – even Astrid looked a little impressed. Hiccup put the bottom panel of his mask back on and hauled Heather to her feet as they all ran down into the arena.

Tuffnut’s arm landed across his shoulders. “That was awesome!” There was manic glee dancing in his eyes, and Hiccup felt something in him go oh, no, “Did you bite her? Like, for real? And was your sword on fire?”

Ruffnut was already examining the blade in question, so Hiccup grabbed it back before she broke something and retracted it into its handle. “Uh, yeah. It’s just a mechanism that dispenses Monstrous Nightmare gel along the length of the blade, which then gets lit by a flint when I press a button on the handle. Nothing too special.”

The twins were both blinking at him. He sighed.

“It’s got fire juice on it and the handle is sparky.”

“Ohhhhhhhh.”

They both nodded in understanding, but somehow, Hiccup doubted they really focused on anything except the word ‘fire’. He resolved himself to keep his sword as far away from them as possible.

Heather and Astrid were talking by the wall, comparing axes, which Hiccup found mildly terrifying. They both laughed, Astrid nodded, and then Heather looked over at Hiccup.

“Scary blonde girl and I are going to go and do some target practice in the woods. I’ll make sure she doesn’t hit any dragons, though, don’t worry.” The last part was added with a grin, and Astrid smacked Heather’s shoulder.

“I’m not worried. Astrid’s an excellent shot – or so I’ve heard.” Hiccup added hastily upon remembering that he really shouldn’t know that piece of information.

Astrid looked at him a little funny, but said nothing, and he let out a breath when Heather pulled her out of the arena. Gods, he needed to be more careful. He still didn’t know if he was going to tell anyone who he was or not, but he knew that it definitely needed to be on his terms if he did. Six years was a long time, but it could easily not be long enough that they wouldn’t put the pieces together if he gave them any more clues.

Especially Snotlout.

Hiccup looked over at his cousin, mind whirring. Right now, he was talking with the twins, laughing in the same obnoxious way he always had. But Hiccup wanted to think that he knew him well enough to see that he was suspicious of him, more than even Astrid. Besides, he was most likely to realise it was Hiccup – they used to be so close when they were younger, before Snotlout’s mother died. Hiccup used to sit on the floor in their house while their fathers laughed together and his aunt taught Snotlout to sew.

He made him a patchwork blanket for his tenth birthday, crooked and a little frayed at the edges, but full of his favourite colours. A year later, Ylva caught fever, and Snotlout started shoving Hiccup to the ground every time he saw him in the street.

Hiccup was dragged out of his thoughts when Toothless’s head appeared under his hand.

“[Let’s go and make metal things. That will be fun.]”

Right – he’s promised to help Gobber in the forge.

Hiccup shook himself and nodded. “Yeah. But if he doesn’t let you into the workshop, you have to listen, okay? I don’t want to be on Gobber’s bad side.”

Toothless rolled his eyes and started padding towards the exit. “[Fine. If I’m outside you have to give me coals to lie on, though. Nice hot ones.]”

“Maybe I’ll just ask the Gronckles to cover you in lava and call it a day.”

“[That’s gross.]”

“You’re gross.”

<><~><>

Gobber eyed the Dragon Master as he walked up to the shop with a wave, something gnawing on his mind, on the good sense in his gut. He had a Hunch, that’s what he had, and it only got more insistent every time he saw the boy.

It was something in the narrowness of his shoulders, though well-disguised by leather padding, in the awkwardness of his gait when too many eyes turned to him, in his almost-easy chatter with Astrid and her lot, even though he’d only met them one day previously. More than that, it was that mechanical tail fin his Nightfury proudly sported – the finely-tuned gears and thin metal bands, miniscule details, something genius. It wasn’t just a mechanism, it was an invention, and so was the metal foot attached to the remainder of the boy’s leg.

For the most part, Vikings weren’t inventors. Gobber could forge a blade with his eyes closed and his real hand tied behind his back and still leave it balanced to perfection and stronger than rock, but he didn’t invent things. He didn’t make what hadn’t already been made.

He’d only ever known one boy who did. And one of those boy’s inventions had claimed to have shot down a Nightfury.

Gobber gave a gruff nod when Rider entered the shop, looking around like he was taking stock of the place, the Nightfury sniffing around behind him.

“You just keep that beast out of the way, yeah?” Gobber ordered, only half joking, “I won’t have him knocking things over with that great big head of his.”

The dragon whipped around to glare at him, looking vaguely offended. Rider laughed, and the sound made something click in Gobber’s head.

There you are.

“He knows his way around a forge, don’t worry.” Rider replied, and then paused as the dragon rumbled, and his next words came out lilted with humour, green eyes bright behind his mask. “I am not repeating that.”

Gobber didn’t quite feel up to voicing the shock of recognition and relief that was rippling through him, so he just grunted again instead. The Nightfury went to curl up in front of the hot glow of the forge, and he and Rider went through the box of weapons to be sharpened and repaired and the list of more to be made, delegating the hardest tasks to be done first.

After that, they worked in silence, surrounded by the clanging of hammers and the hissing of hot metal in cold water and the scraping of the whetstone, familiar in a way Gobber hadn’t known the forge to be in six years.

Occasionally, Rider got his dragon to help, holding down red-hot metal with his paws or pumping the bellows when the fire got low. On closer inspection, the boy was wearing gloves of Nightfury scale, too. Thin enough to make working easy, but presumably more heatproof than even the thickest leather.

Maybe Gobber would ask for a pair himself, when everything was done.

The boy was skilful, that much was clear, and it only confirmed Gobber’s suspicions. Rider worked alongside him like it was second nature, passing tools without needing to be asked or to be shown where they were.

Thus far, Gobber had only needed his most common tools, the ones that lay in relatively plain sight, so the second point didn’t yet prove much. However…

Gobber gathered up his nerve – a surprisingly difficult feat – and called out to Rider.

“Could you grab me another bolt of leather cord for this axe handle?”

Rider hummed, rifled through a pile of mismatched materials in the corner for a moment, and emerged with the bolt in question.

Gobber stared at him.

“What?”

“I never told you where to find that bolt.”

The boy paused, his shoulders dropping, his dragon standing to attention behind him with narrowed pupils.

A shaky exhale. A tiny nod. “Oh.”

Green eyes darted up to meet Gobber’s for only a moment before they were looking away again, his hands wringing in front of him, and that was all the proof he needed. He knew that look.

He stared a moment more before managing to spur himself into action, closing the shutters and door, lighting an extra lantern from the fire, pulling up two stools. He sat heavily down on one and waited.

“You knew.” Was the first thing Hiccup said – and he recognised his voice now, clear as day – guarded and shaking.

Gobber nodded slowly. “I had a Hunch. I always trust a Hunch.”

A noise that might have been a laugh or a tiny sob. “I know.”

Hiccup didn’t take the other stool, nor did he remove his mask. He just stood there, thrumming with anxious tension, the Nightfury curled protectively around his legs. Gobber waited a while longer and then stretched.

“I recognised your work on the dragon’s tail, first.” He started. “Seems like exactly the type of insane thing you’d come up with. Is he the one you shot down?”

Hiccup nodded, a stilted movement. “Ripped off half of his tail. He couldn’t fly, so I built him a new one.” He paused, then sat-slash-collapsed down onto the stool. The dragon propped his head up on his lap, purring softly.

Gobber looked at the two of them, at the tension that dropped from Hiccup’s shoulders as he rubbed the Nightfury’s head. “Is he the reason you left?”

“Part of it.” Hiccup wouldn’t look him in the eye – or rather, wouldn’t look him in the general area of his eyes.

He let the silence sit for a bit. Sometimes that was a good thing, especially when Hiccup Haddock was involved; let the lad compose his thoughts, gave his mind time to slow down its constant whirring. Honestly sometimes Gobber had been sure that he could hear cogs turning in Hiccup’s head when he was planning something new and interesting and probably dangerous.

Like building a dragon a tail and flying on its back.

Gobber looked away, attempting to give off calm, not-running-away-and-never-talking-to-him-again energy, and when he looked back, Hiccup had taken his mask off.

He was sitting stiff as a board, now, hunched at the shoulders and near shaking with nerves, but he looked Gobber square in the face with something like defiance, and –

There you are.

He’d grown into his ears. That was the first thought that struck Gobber. He’d damn near raised the boy alongside his father for fifteen years, and he’d gone and finally grown into his ears when he wasn’t there to see it. He was tall, too, more obvious now he was actually seeing his face; gone was the runty little toothpick of a boy who could hardly lift a hammer to an anvil, in his place a man whose head was finally proportional to his ears.

The puppy fat was gone from his cheeks, a little more angular now, and his eyes bore bags so dark they looked like bruises. They were still green as the forest, though, the way they always had been. He had the same freckles, but new scars, thin white lines littering his face, and one pinkish burn trailing from the side of his jaw down his neck, disappearing beneath his tunic.

Gods, he looked just like Valka.

“You’ve grown into your ears.” Gobber informed him finally.

Hiccup huffed a laugh. “Thanks.” Then his expression turned more serious. “Have you told anyone it’s me?”

“No. Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Gobber half thought Hiccup would provide an explanation of why he was remaining hidden, maybe even of why he left in the first place, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all, just kept stroking his dragon’s head. The Nightfury was purring and crooning in what Gobber could only assume to be comfort, the unholy offspring of lightning and death itself acting like a tame cat in the boy’s presence.

He remembered dragon training, how Hiccup had gotten so good so fast but never seemed to pick up a weapon. A way with the beasts, Gobber had said, and silently cursed himself for not putting together the pieces sooner – but in all fairness, who would have been able to anticipate that the boy who never stopped talking about how desperate he was to kill dragons would end up riding one?

“Not even your father?” Gobber tried, although he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.

Hiccup tensed. “Especially not my father. I might – I might tell him myself, eventually. But I haven’t decided yet.”

For a moment, Gobber considered telling Hiccup how distraught Stoick had been when he disappeared, how he spent a week screaming himself hoarse in the forest and spent so long refusing to eat that he might have starved without Gothi’s intervention, how he locked himself in his house every year on his birthday and came out the next morning with sleepless red eyes, how a part of him had seemed to die and never returned – but he knew that wouldn’t help.

Instead, he nodded. “I won’t tell Stoick, nor will I tell anyone else. Just make sure I’m in the room when you do tell him, alright? I want to see the look on his face.”

Hiccup laughed again, weak and wobbly, but true, and put his mask back on so Gobber could open up the shutters again. “Do you want me to do the wrapping on that handle? You know, since I have two whole hands and all.”

“Course. What else are apprentices for?”

“Collecting water, sweeping up the ash, doing your laundry-”

“Alright, alright.” Gobber whacked him on the arm, and those green eyes smiled behind the mask. “Point made. I have been missing the extra help around here, the past six years.”

I’ve been missing you, he didn’t bother to say. He knew Hiccup would get it anyway.

Chapter Text

Thwack!

Heather watched with an approving nod as Astrid’s axe landed squarely in the middle of the target painted on the tree she was standing in front of.

“Nice shot.” She commented appraisingly, then flicked out her own axe and sent it spinning towards her own target, one end embedding itself in the bark and the other leaving a trail of severed branches in its wake. “But can you do that?”

Astrid was staring at her axe like it was the best thing she’d ever seen. “You have to teach me how you made that.”

Heather shrugged. “Well – I came up with the original prototype a couple of years ago, but Rider gave me an improved version as a present.” She had near squealed with delight when Hiccup had presented it to her on her – their – last birthday, complete with a little twine bow. It had stronger hinges and a more secure opening mechanism to stop it from swinging out when she didn’t want it to, and the blades were Gronckle iron with Windshear’s scales embedded within it rather than just the scales alone. Minor improvements, but it made battle much easier. “I’m sure he’d make you something similar if you were to ask.”

Astrid hummed in consideration as she wrenched her axe out of the tree. “He’ll be working in the forge, now?”

“At least until our allies arrive. After that we’ll do some scouting, see if we can find out anything more about Drago, plan more from there; but until then, he says weapon smithing is the most useful way to spend his time.”

And Hiccup spent so much of his time trying to be useful.

Just for a moment, Heather thought ugly thoughts about the people on this island who had failed him in his childhood, who had driven him to believe that braving the wilderness with a mismatched pack of abused and disabled dragons was the best option.

But no. That was in the past, and she was here to look after him now. She retrieved her own axe and watched Astrid wind up to land a hit on a tree a little further in the distance. Dead centre, again.

Heather felt her eyebrows raise a little. “Really nice shot. Where did you learn to throw like that?”

“My family has always raised warriors.” Astrid replied noncommittedly. “I was fortunate enough to have parents who prioritised my ability to defend myself over my ability to make a good wife. Although, most on Berk have let go of those old traditional values, by now. We all needed to fight.”

Fight the dragons, was what went unsaid. Astrid looked a little cautiously over at Heather, at Windshear, curled up in a sunny spot a few feet away but watching the scene with careful eyes regardless. Heather kept her face determinedly neutral.

“Well, it’s clearly worked. I’m only good at battle out of necessity – it’s hard to stay clumsy for long when you’re getting shot at by dragon hunters every other day.”

Astrid looked a little surprised. “Dragon hunters?”

Ah. Berk must not have caught word. Heather settled herself down on a fallen log and stretched her legs out. “Yeah. Rider discovered them about three years ago, led by this guy called Viggo Grimborne and his brother Ryker.” She let disgust sour her voice. The things those bastards had done to her brother – “They went all around the Archipelago, capturing dragons and selling them at auction, or keeping them enslaved.” She pointed to the metal of her axe heads. “These are made from what we call Gronckle Iron, made from cooled Gronckle lava, to put it simply. It’s stronger than normal iron, so the Hunters kept Gronckles in cages and force-fed them to produce it. Most other dragons they captured were sold as exotic pets or killed for their hides or claws or teeth.”

Astrid sat down next to her, looking halfway between horrified and intrigued. “That’s disgusting.” A little shame crept onto her face. “I mean – Berk used to kill dragons, but we didn’t actively hunt them. And Rider’s explained why they were raiding us in the first place, why they always went for the kill.”

Heather nodded. “I was lucky enough not to experience dragon raids where I grew up, but Rider told me that a dragon under the influence of the Red Death would kill anything in its path. I don’t suppose either of you had much of a choice.”

Windshear must have noticed the sadness that had been creeping into her voice against her will, because she padded over and curled protectively around her and Astrid. Heather was pleased to note that the other girl only tensed a little at proximity to a very sharp and very protective dragon.

“Anyway – Rider found out about the dragon hunters and started hunting them, and I joined in when we found each other a few months later. The business is pretty much wrecked, now, and Viggo and Ryker are both dead, thank the gods. It wasn’t until this past year that we found out that they’d been supplying dragons for Drago’s army, and the madman turned his sights on us.”

Astrid seemed to ponder this for a moment, and then paused with a frown. “Hang on – you said Rider was your brother. So what do you mean you ‘found each other’?”

Heather smiled. This girl didn’t miss a trick – she liked her immensely. “Rider and I aren’t siblings in the usual way. We didn’t meet until we were about sixteen, and he helped me rescue my parents from the Outcasts, but we went our own separate ways after that. We didn’t see each other again until a year or more later, when my village was destroyed by Berserkers, back when Dagur was still Deranged.” Bitterly ironic, in retrospect. She ran a hand over Windshear’s head. “I found Windshear abandoned when she was a hatchling, raised her, learned to ride her, hunted pirates for a while to give myself something to do. Then I found Rider.”

Astrid was staring again. “That might be the most intense origin story I’ve ever heard, and I love it.”

Heather grinned. Intense. “Yeah. Rider and I did actually think we were long-lost twins for a while, but it turned out we just share a birthday by coincidence. It also turned out that Dagur is my brother in the usual way, which is how that little misunderstanding got cleared up.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Astrid laughed, shocked. “Is that why he’s not Deranged anymore?”

“Part of it.” Heather shrugged. “It was mostly that he spent a really, really, really long time stranded on an island by himself and didn’t have much to do other than think about his own existence – but I’d like to think that Rider and I played a part.”

That had been a crazy time. Heather was still a little mad at Hiccup for going so long without filling her in in Dagur’s new personality, but she was also well aware that she’d been in far too murderous of a mood every time his name was brought up to have a sane conversation.

Then Astrid straightened a little, shuffling in a way which Heather was beginning to identify meant that she was about to ask a complicated question. “So… about Rider. I know there are things about him that you can’t tell me, and I’m not going to ask about anything too personal. But – well, I was the one who wanted to ask for his help, and our council agreed to invite him here, but we still don’t know anything about him.” She looked across at Heather, careful. “I’ve figured that we can probably trust him, and that his control over dragons is unlike anything else I’ve ever seen, but that’s about it.”

Heather considered this carefully. Hiccup had always talked appraisingly of Astrid, the few times he spoke of Berk. Scary blonde girl with a braid and an axe – her skills in battle beyond admirable, her temperament fierce and brave. He’d also been appreciative of how she never went out of her way to torment him, although she apparently never defended him, either. Heather had wanted to scream with rage the first time Hiccup told her about the horrors of his childhood by light of a campfire, but the several years since had given her a more nuanced perspective.

Children did insane things to impress their parents, and the parents of Berk tended to hold obvious contempt for things that were weak and runty. Like a boy who was born too soon and missing a sizeable chunk of his soul.

Several years ago, she might have held a grudge against this girl she’d never met, based on stories alone. But now, she saw that Astrid seemed to be, at her core, all the things Hiccup had respected her for – her skills with an axe admirable, her temperament fierce and brave.

Heather trusted her.

“He doesn’t control the dragons.” She started. “Just befriends them. Dragons can’t be controlled, not really, unless it’s by the Red Death or some other centuries-old-dragon with too much influence to ignore. But those are rare, and the ones who do live are usually too gentle to force others under their control.”

She thought of Valka’s Bewilderbeast, the giant who gave his flock a safe home, food, guidance. She’d only heard his song pressing on the back of her mind a handful of times, and it was only to settle fights or soothe recently-freed dragons who were too panicked to let Hiccup and Valka treat their injuries.

Astrid nodded slowly. “They’re just loyal to him.”

“Yeah. If you earn a dragon’s loyalty, you’ll have it for the rest of your life.” Heather smiled down at Windshear, who was laying with her head in her lap, beginning to doze off. “I raised Windshear, and now she protects me. Rider gave Toothless a tail, and now they fly together.”

“Did he build it himself?”

“Oh, yeah. I swear Rider would live in the forge if he could, just building stuff all the long day. I mean, he’s good at it and all, but he tends to forget that he needs to eat and sleep.” She snorted. “You know that fire sword? When he started building that, I genuinely didn’t see him for two days. In the end, Toothless had to physically drag him out of the forge to make him go to bed.”

Astrid grinned. “Our smith, Gobber, gets like that sometimes. Although, he’s more of the tried-and-true weapon designs type than the building-a-dragon-a-functional-tail type.”

Oh, if Astrid could only understand the irony of what she’d just said.

“So – he doesn’t actually control the dragons, they just trust him, and he likes smithing. I assume I’ll get to know him better through his stay here, but that does make me feel a little less like I’ve been talking to an enigma.”

“He’s been spending time with you?” Heather was a little surprised. Hiccup wasn’t a fan of social interaction at the best of times, let alone with the people who, at best, ignored him, and at worst, actively made his childhood Hel.

She shrugged. “He ate with us last night, at the twins’ suggestion. Told us all about the Red Death and the other types of dragons that exist beyond the reaches of Berk.” A nod towards Windshear. “Like Razorwhips.”

Now, that made sense. Hiccup could talk about dragons for even longer than he could spend pouring over his inventions, or sketching new islands onto his maps. “He does that a lot.”

Astrid snorted, and then stretched. “Well – I think that’s enough talk about serious things. Back to the axes?”

Heather grinned at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Text

Year One

Six years ago, Hiccup packed his bags, got on the back of his dragon, and left Berk, and didn’t bother looking back. He wouldn’t have been able to see anything past the tears, anyway.

He went a long time without crying, all things considered. His eyes had stayed dry while he collected his things, though his hands had been shaking. Summer clothes, winter clothes, fur blankets, lye soap, bread and cheese and apples in wax paper, a little cooking pot and cups that nobody would miss, a bucket and flasks for water, a knife for hunting and foraging, flint and steel for fire in case Toothless was busy, a pouch of gold and copper coins he earned in the forge, and every drawing, sketchbook and blueprint he owned.

He cleared his room in the back of the smithy of anything linking him to Toothless’s saddle and tail, leaving only the plans for failed trapping devices, and only felt a little bit like his lungs were collapsing.

He folded his patchwork blanket, frayed and a little crooked but full of his favourite colours, into a bag, and only thought once about changing his mind.

He stumbled out of the village, cloak around his shoulders and bags dragging at his sides, and only felt moderate pain in his heart that everyone was too busy celebrating his victory to notice his absence.

The all-too-familiar ache in Hiccup’s chest started fading, as always, when he finally made it to the cove. Toothless had been napping on his favoured slab of rock, as he tended to do in the evenings, but now he padded over with a curious warble.

“[Hiccup!]” the draconic sounds translated themselves, if stiltedly, into Hiccup’s mind. “[Bags, not fish?]”

“No.” His voice cracked harshly. “But the good news is that you’ll be able to catch as many fresh fish as you want from now on. We’re leaving.”

“[Leaving bad-Berk-nest?]”

“Yeah.” He shook himself internally and went about attaching the bags to Toothless’s saddle, one on each side, carefully balanced to make sure they could fly smoothly. “I won the challenge. If I’m still here tomorrow, I’ll have to kill the Monstrous Nightmare in front of the entire village.”

“[Leave now, not kill Flame-Self.]”

“Exactly. Save other dragons too. In kill ring.” Better to use simple words, easier to understand. “But wait until night.”

“[Will not be seen.]” Toothless agreed. “[What dragons?]”

“Gronckle, Nightmare, Nadder, Zippleback, Terror.”

“[Rock-Eater, Flame-Self, Proud-Thorn, Gas-Bang, Common-Garden.]”

Dragons’ names for each other were much more descriptive. Toothless himself was a Wind-Walker, for his ability to glide through the air unseen – particularly relevant when a stealthy dragon breakout was needed. As long as there wasn’t a raid tonight, Hiccup was fairly confident he could get into the training ring and free them without being spotted.

That was his plan. Wait, free the dragons, leave. Simple.

It shouldn’t have terrified him as much as it did.

Toothless nuzzled up to him, rubbing his head against his chest. “[You are afraid.]”

“Yeah.” There were no excuses to be had here, nor were they needed. Dragons didn’t shame others for being afraid when there was room and reason for it.

Hiccup looked up into the sky, marked the position of the sun against where he knew the horizon was, below the walls of the cove. Not long, now.

Then a twig snapped.

Toothless reacted before Hiccup even had time to blink, picking him up by the back of his vest and dragging him towards the darkest corner of the cove. Hiccup crawled into the space between the dragon’s cocoon of wings not a second too soon –

“Hiccup?”

Astrid.

He held his breath as cautious footsteps drew nearer, paused, turned away again. A black dragon hiding in black shadows wouldn’t be seen unless it wanted to, and neither would the boy hiding under its wings.

Astrid called his name again, whispered and hesitant. Hiccup realised that this might be the last time he heard a human say his name for a very, very long time.

The footsteps stopped, but Toothless didn’t unfurl his wings. Hiccup shuffled forwards the tiniest bit to peek through a gap between them and saw that Astrid was sitting on the big rock in the middle of the cove, sharpening her axe, seemingly in wait.

How had she followed him here without him noticing? Well – because she was Astrid, that was how.

The sky was getting dark. Come on, come on…

Finally, finally, Astrid huffed and stormed out of the cove, tired of waiting.

“Bye.” Hiccup whispered. His eyes stung with tears, but he blinked them away when Toothless pressed their heads together with a reassuring croon. “Okay. Let’s go.”

<><~><>

The village was silent as death when Hiccup and Toothless flew up to the arena, black scales and a black cloak against a black sky. Hiccup dismounted and tried to think of a more detailed plan than just ‘break the dragons out’.

He needed to make it look like they got out themselves – that he was sure of. If anyone realised that they were released by a human, it would spark fighting amongst the villagers, or worse, tip someone off to the reasons behind his disappearance.

If anyone even noticed he was gone at all.

But Hiccup also didn’t want to leave the arena too damaged, since Gobber would be responsible for fixing it. Not winches then, or the gates – maybe the chains holding them together? Yes, chains were a relatively easy fix.

Toothless was starting to pace. “[Hurry, hurry, must leave bad-Berk-nest.]”

“Yeah, I got it.”

With some difficulty, Hiccup wound up the main gate just enough for a boy and a dragon to slip through. He opened the dragons’ cages, and Toothless explained everything to them. Hiccup could only catch the odd word or two of the others’ Dragonese without the bond he had with Toothless, but he was fairly certain that they were getting the idea.

He released the Nightmare last with trembling hands, and it came out with fire burning under its skin. Hiccup stumbled back despite himself, and then Toothless was in front of him in a flash of black scales, teeth bared and growling.

The Nightmare rumbled (“[Wind-Walker – fight]”), and Toothless growled louder.

“[Touch him means you die. Hiccup is dragon-kin, we fly together. We free you now.]”

Fight him, Hiccup realised. The Nightmare wanted to fight him, and honestly, he couldn’t blame it. It was supposed to be killed tomorrow. But Hiccup couldn’t let that happen.

The other dragons were huddling together, rustling and muttering (“[free – free? – trust – Viking – dragon-kin]”). They were all scarred from battle, wary, bristling, ribs showing and scales dull. Hiccup hated that he’d contributed to that.

He directed Toothless to blast at the chains as quietly as he could, and the other dragons thankfully understood the need to be silent, as they caught the doors of their cages and lowered them to the ground when they dropped. Hiccup went around overturning the armour stands, scattering shields, bending swords, snapping targets.

Finally, the matter of the roof. These chains were thicker, meant to withstand dragon fire as far as iron could, and they wouldn’t come down quietly. That meant that the dragons needed to be gone before anyone came running.

Hiccup relayed this to Toothless, who told the dragons, who all seemed to settle in understanding. He slipped onto Toothless’s saddle, heard the reassuring click of the false tailfin into the position needed for take-off – and as one, the dragons opened their mouths and fired at the chain roof of the arena. The links glowed red, then white, then fell away completely with a piercing rattle that felt deafening in the silence, opening a free and empty sky.

They all took to the sky with screeches of delight, of desperation to get away, and Hiccup flattened himself to Toothless’s back, and by the time anyone in the village started yelling about a dragon raid, they were long out of range.

And that was it. They never touched down on Berkian soil again.

Toothless led everyone towards a sea stack just off the coast to regroup, and Hiccup still managed not to cry. He sat somewhat numbly on Toothless’s back and let the dragon handle the conversation.

It took a while of dispute and decision and some shaky translation, but the freed dragons all decided to stay with Hiccup and Toothless. Dragons needed a flock, the Nadder pointed out, for protection and company and formation in flight, and their flocks had all been lost to time or Vikings, or a ‘bad-red-Queen’ that Hiccup needed to get clarification on at a later date. So they’d stay together.

But they couldn’t stay on this sea stack. It was beginning to rain, and they were all too cramped together on top to get any real rest.

“[Keep flying to bigger island.]”  Toothless suggested. “[Find safe-nest, for now. Find forever-safe-nest in the sunlight.]”

Yes. They’d find somewhere safe to spend the night, and then start to look for somewhere permanent in the morning. Hiccup had brought enough maps of the surrounding islands that he would be able to at least point them in the right direction of a suitable place to settle.

Flying was second nature to him now, enough that he could let his mind wander – or rather, let his mind fade into the background. There was cold wind on his face, Toothless’s saddle under his hands, and the click of the tailfin when he adjusted it to match the real fin’s movements. That was all he needed to think about, right now. He lost all sense of time as they flew, he only knew that it was still dark and he was starting to get a bit too cold when they finally landed.

They were on a smallish island still, but it had trees and rocky outcrops for shelter and a freshwater stream, and it would do until they found somewhere better.

The Nadder and Nightmare swept off for a while and returned with talons full of fish, and Toothless built up a mouthful of sticks for a fire for Hiccup to roast his over, explaining to the others that he had no internal fire and couldn’t eat raw food.

One by one, the exhausted dragons nodded off, except for Toothless, who pulled Hiccup into his wings and warbled quietly.

“[We did it.]”

Hiccup looked around, up at the unfamiliar positioning of the stars, on a deserted island miles away from everything he’d ever known, surrounded by dragons he was supposed to have been training to kill. “We did it.”

It was then that he started crying, and didn’t stop until morning.

<><~><>

It took less time than Hiccup had expected to find a more permanent nest – about a month of hard flying, running from wild dragons and wolves, and narrowly avoiding rockslides later, they arrived at an island that seemed perfect.

It had a dormant volcano at the north side, providing the whole island with shelter from cold winds; a large bay at the south, filled with Scauldrons and Thunderdrums who seemed happy to coexist with this new flock; a forest for timber, plenty of fresh water, rocky cliffs and caves and more places for the dragons to nest than Hiccup could count on both his hands.

They’d seemed to all come to a unanimous agreement to stay near to him and Toothless, though, a combination of gratitude for saving them, loyalty to their flock of convenience, and protective attitudes towards Hiccup, who apparently was so small and so lacking familial scents that they’d all thought he was an abandoned hatchling before Toothless explained everything.

Hiccup figured that was close enough to the truth, now.

He’d been mapping the islands as they flew, and calculated that despite the length of their search, they’d ended up only about a day’s flight from Berk, having curved around in a wide ring to find somewhere they wouldn’t all be eaten. But that was fine. It wasn’t like any Viking longship would be able to get close without being sunken by the very territorial Scauldrons in the bay.

Or being spotted by their new sentries – Night-Terrors, so named by Hiccup because they looked like Terrible Terrors in size and flocking behaviour, but were nocturnal. Meeting them had been fun; they scared the dragons half to death at first before Hiccup had realised that they were not, as Toothless claimed, a shadow monster. Just several small dragons who were very organised and very good at hiding their scents.

Hiccup passed that first winter in a cave that the dragons had half-sealed up for him to keep out the snow, only a shout’s distance from Stormfly, Hookfang, and Barf and Belch’s cave-nests, Meatlug’s burrow, and the trees Sharpshot and the other Terrors they’d picked up along the way were roosting in. It wasn’t a proper house, by any means, and he’d have to build himself something better come spring, but it kept him and Toothless out of the wind and weather for the season.

He got sick, as he always did, just a few weeks before midwinter. Toothless had been almost comically panicked at his fever-flushed face and wet coughing, and Hiccup would have laughed if moving hadn’t made him want to throw up.

“’S fine, Bud, seriously.” He muttered, eyes shut against the light filtering in through the narrow mouth of the cave. Toothless huffed and crooned and pressed his head against Hiccup’s neck, and he let out a sigh at the feel of cool scales against his too-hot skin.

“[You are hurt, you are hurt, too hot, too tired.]” The dragon got up to pace again. “[Humans shouldn’t be hot like dragons, not fire, not right, not good.]”

Hiccup just tried to relax into his makeshift bed of furs and resigned himself to wait it out. On Berk, his father would have found him like this in the morning, given a tired sigh, and gone to get Gothi. Hiccup would then have taken the medicine she gave him and spent the next few days alone in his room while Stoick handled his Important Chiefly Business that didn’t involve keeping his sick son company.

At least now, Toothless seemed determined not to leave his side until he was well again, one upside of his new life. Although a bit of Gothi’s medicine wouldn’t have gone amiss.

After a while, there came the rustling of wings and cawing coming from the ledge outside the cave, and Hiccup cracked open an eye to see a blurry approximation of Stormfly’s head sticking in through the entrance.

She cawed and rumbled and tilted her head in curiosity, but Hiccup’s own head was too achy to figure out what she was actually saying. Toothless, though, was easier.

“[Hiccup is not well, too hot, not good. Cold weather bad for humans.]”

A succinct explanation of the situation. Hiccup closed his eyes again, but then jumped as a decidedly not-Nightfury head pressed into his side. He looked up and was met with a face-full of Stormfly’s crest, the dragon herself having crowded into the cave and was now sniffing and nuzzling him with a surprising amount of intent.

“It’s okay.” He tried to reassure her, but he supposed the hoarseness of his voice kind of defeated the point. “Normal, every year. Will be fine.”

Stormfly levelled a Look at him, grabbed his empty water bucket from the pile where he was keeping his belongings, and disappeared out of the cave. Hiccup didn’t have the energy to figure out why. He settled down again, slung an arm over Toothless’s head when he lay next to him, and huddled a little further into his blankets.

Eventually, Stormfly returned with the bucket – now full of cool, clean water – and the other dragons in tow. She and Sharpshot settled down in the cave, and Meatlug, Barf and Belch and Hookfang could all be heard rustling around outside, keeping watch, and all of it quite suddenly made Hiccup want to cry.

“You guys don’t have to do this.”

Toothless huffed. “[You are unwell, we help you become well. We are a flock – it is our job. And Sharpshot likes inside over outside.]”

The Terror in question nuzzled into Hiccup’s side, curled up like a cat quite comfortably amidst the blankets. Hiccup laughed, but then that turned into a coughing fit so bad that he hardly noticed Toothless pushing him into sitting up with his head against his back, or Stormfly sitting to attention, or Meatlug, Hookfang and Barf and Belch all fighting to stick their heads in through the entrance. They were all looking at him when he stopped, curious and cautious and worried, and he once again had to blink back tears.

But then Toothless purred against his back, and Sharpshot crawled up to lick his face, and Stormfly pushed the water towards him. This time, he caught the Dragonese perfectly.

“[Drink. Make you well.]”

That evening, Hiccup fell asleep to the sound of his dragons snoring around him, and for the first time since leaving Berk, he didn’t have a single nightmare.

<><~><>

Hiccup’s cold passed, and so did the winter, earlier and milder than it ever did on Berk, and Hiccup decided he needed to go shopping.

He needed nails for building and tools for a temporary forge, new sketchbooks, a bigger cooking pot, and, after some prolonged consideration, a bolt of fabric and a sewing kit. If he thought hard enough, he could probably still remember his aunt Ylva’s instructions, at least far enough to add some extra fabric to the bottom of his trousers in case he went through a growth spurt. Unlikely, but you never knew.

So one day, when the snow was almost all gone and Hiccup had filled the last page of his spare sketchbook with his best sketch of a Scauldron yet, he put on his cleanest shirt, hopped onto Toothless’s back with his satchel filled with coins and shed Nadder scales, and flew to a smallish trading port about an hour away from the island – in the opposite direction to Berk, of course.

While he was sure many people knew about Stoick the Vast’s walking disappointment of a son, hopefully none of them would be able to put a face to the concept.

They landed in the forest on the outskirts of the island, close enough to hear the goings-on of the market but not close enough to be seen.

Hiccup ran a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt. “How do I look?”

“[Normal.]” Toothless replied after some consideration. “[Don’t do anything interesting. Stay safe.]”

“I’ll try my best. Meet you back here at noon?”

“[I’ll watch out.]”

He left his dragon with a scratch behind the ear flaps and emerged from the forest into the bustling market of the port. Traders had set up stalls in wonky lines with colourful awnings, others were selling wares over the sides of their boats, and others still wandered amongst the customers with trays of trinkets. All of them were yelling, and all of them were doing it very, very loudly. It was bright, and busy, and noisy, and crowded, and all of a sudden, Hiccup felt a lot smaller and a lot more alone than he did with Toothless at his side. It was like being back on Berk, only worse, because all of these people were strangers and he didn’t have a house or a forge to hide in when his ears started ringing.

Hiccup took a deep breath and recited his list in his head. Nails, tools, sketchbooks, cooking pot, fabric, sewing kit. He had seventeen Nadder scales, eight gold coins, and twelve copper coins. He wouldn’t need to spend more than about a third of that today, unless he saw something he really needed. Toothless was within screaming range and would swoop in to help him if anything went wrong.

He could do this.

<><~><>

The nails, sketchbooks, cooking pot, fabric and sewing kit were easy. Hiccup managed to buy all five items for only ten scales, three gold coins and five copper coins in total, and they fit comfortably in his satchel. He hadn’t manged to find as many nails as he would likely need to build himself a house, but he could use the ones he did have to make a template for more once he found smithing tools.

Which brought him to his current issue – the only trader in this entire market who sold sets of smithing tools didn’t want to give them to him, because apparently, he looked too small and scrawny to actually be a blacksmith.

“Looks can be deceiving!” Hiccup protested. “Come on, I literally just need a basic set of tools. I’m willing to pay full price!”

The man sniffed at him. “I’d bet you don’t even know what half of these are called.”

Hiccup sighed. “Gloves, tongs, crucible, punch, ball peen hammer, flat hammer.”

“You could have just guessed those.”

“Oh my gods will you please just take my money.”

“Fine, fine. Just get out of here, you’re disturbing my customers.” The man snatched his offered one gold and two copper coins (extortionate, but Hiccup didn’t have the energy to barter at this point) and shoved the toolkit at him.

Hiccup took it with a final glare and hurried away, already conscious of the eyes that had turned to him. Being around other Vikings, even though none of them seemed at all related to Berk, made him feel exposed in a way he never did alone on his island.

Now, to find the final thing he needed – scrap metal to melt down. In a trading port like this, there should have been at least a few piles of cracked shields or wobbly swords lying around that weren’t fit for selling. They were more or less free, as far as Hiccup had heard from Gobber, who used to get Trader Johan to collect them for him on his way to Berk. Worst case scenario, he would give up the rest of his scales for a good pile of scrap – Stormfly was malting so fast at the moment that it was hardly a loss to him.

He plunged back into the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone or draw too much attention to himself, and was heading towards one of the stalls selling weapons, when –

A flash of red hair, and a horned helmet, and the most grating cackle of a laugh he had ever heard.

Oh, no.

Hiccup cursed and ducked between two stalls, just as several sets of boots with the Berserker crest on their buckles passed by in front of his face. Dagur – Oswald the Agreeable’s deranged kid. That laugh had haunted Hiccup’s dreams ever since he tried to drown him on a peace treaty meeting the year before. And used him as knife-throwing target the year before that. And tried to feed him to a dragon the year before that, and – well. They didn’t exactly have the best history.

If Dagur saw that Hiccup was here and, gods forbid, found out that he’d run away from Berk, well. It didn’t bear thinking.

He watched them from where he was safely concealed under the overhanging fabric from the stall on his left, trying to pick out their conversation amidst the cacophony of the market.

They were looking at weapons, bartering, bartering more aggressively, and then –

“Hey, this is the chief of the Berserker tribe you’re talking to! Have a little more respect.”

Chief. But that meant…

Okay. That was extremely bad.

Hiccup bit back a groan. Dagur was the new Berserker chief. That was just great. Well, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with him at the peace treaty for Berk this year, since he wouldn’t be there.

The thought made his chest sting a little, but he pushed it down. There was nothing he could do about that now. His father and Gobber would definitely be more than able to handle Dagur.

Probably.

The Berserkers moved on, Hiccup traded three Nadder scales for a sizeable bundle of scrap metal, found Toothless pacing in the forest just before noon, as agreed, and flew back to the island as fast as his dragon could go. Which was, of course, very fast.

But now – now came the fun part; because in all of Hiccup’s life, there had only been one thing that he was good at – smithing. And while, admittedly, his current setup of a flat rock for an anvil and a pit full of Gronkle lava for a forge wasn’t exactly the best, he was sure he could build himself something better later on. Because now, he could build.

Chapter Text

It took Hiccup three months to build himself a functional hut.

By the time it was completely done, he was on his third all-nighter in the span of a week and all the dragons were glaring at him and muttering about irresponsible hatchlings. But it didn’t matter, because he had a house.

A basic one, admittedly. It was only one room, and he didn’t have furniture yet, and his door was a piece of driftwood that swung open when it wasn’t bolted because the hinges he’d made were wonky. But it was better than a cave!

Hiccup was more proud of his forge setup, which he had outside the hut under a cover made from more driftwood. He’d manged to make a proper forge out of stones and cooled Gronckle lava, and the dragons had been more than willing to make him up a healthy supply of charcoal and to make sure it stayed running whenever they were passing by.

So far, he’d made a plentiful stock of nails; a shield for himself, which he had covered in a strange, lightweight iron that Meatlug once barfed up after eating too many rocks; a matching sword that he thankfully hadn’t had chance to use yet; and numerous little inventions such as his spyglasses and winches to trade for at the port market, where he was now a regular.

And he was taking one such trip right now. Today’s mission – chickens.

He’d already built a pen, and had a pretty good idea of how to look after them, and figured they were a good starting point if he wanted to keep livestock, which he did. More than any of this, he missed having scrambled eggs for breakfast. His dad used to make them for him on special occasions.

“[Be careful.]” Toothless reminded him, as always, when they landed in their spot on the edge of the forest.

“I’m always careful.” Hiccup teased, scratching behind the dragon’s ears. “And I’ll keep being careful today. See you at noon.”

Theoretically, it should have been a quick trip. Hiccup wanted three chickens, and nothing else, and he had ten Nadder scales and ten Nightmare scales to trade for them. Simple.

Hiccup found someone selling livestock in less than half an hour, and bought his three chickens, a few bags of feed, and a lot of advice on how to keep them. The advice itself took another half hour while Hiccup nodded politely and tried to find a good point to leave, but eventually, he escaped with three crates stacked in his arms and the bags stuffed precariously into his satchel. Luckily, he’d had the foresight to rig up a mechanism for attaching his cargo to Toothless’s saddle, so he just had to get to the forest without tripping over his feet and he’d be fine.

Which, of course, was when he ran into Dagur.

Literally.

Hiccup’s heart leapt into his throat as he tightened his grip on his chickens and kept his head bowed low, backing away with stammered apologies and please, gods, please, not him –

It didn’t work. A hand landed on his shoulder, roughly pulling him back, and Dagur’s face was all half-crazed anger before it slackened in shock.

“Hiccup?”

Oh, he was fucked. He was so, so, incredibly fucked. “Hi, Dagur. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Your father told me you were dead.”

“I’m sure he believes that.” Hiccup adjusted the chicken cages. They were being remarkably calm given the noise of the market. “I kind of – ran away. Without telling anyone. Please don’t tell my dad I’m not dead.”

Dagur shrugged. “Course. I’m not a snitch, Hiccup, you know that.”

Yeah – you watched Snotlout give me a black eye and then covered for him when my dad walked in. “I do know.” He shuffled a little. “So – uh, I’ll just be going on my way then-”

But Dagur didn’t let go of his shoulder. The half-crazed look was back. “Why did you run away without telling anyone?” He frowned. “Was it your father? Was he smothering you? Because I’m an expert at dealing with smothering fathers, you could have just written me and I would have helped.”

Hiccup suddenly had a horrible feeling that he knew why exactly Dagur was the new Chief. He ducked out of the older boy’s grip. “No, it wasn’t my dad.” Only half a lie. “I just – uh, wanted to see more of the world than Berk, y’know? Explore.”

“On your own?” Dagur was starting to look a little suspicious, which was most definitely not good. “Really?”

“Yep.” He really hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt. “I’m more resourceful than I look, I guess.”

“Okay.”

There was silence for a moment, and Hiccup started looking for a break in the surrounding crowd to disappear into, when Dagur’s suspicious expression changed lightning-fast to a manic, wolf-like grin. “Whelp, I suppose I can’t blame you. Berk is so boring, you guys don’t even have any good dragons to kill in the woods or lava pools to jump across. Anyway, I’ll help you carry these chickens to your boat.”

He grabbed the crates before Hiccup could protest and started marching off towards the harbour, and Hiccup felt his heart do something that felt sharp and not at all healthy. He hurried after Dagur, trying desperately to think of something to say when they got to the harbour and Dagur found that he did not, in fact, have a boat there.

They weaved their way through the crowd, Hiccup worrying at the strap of his satchel and getting more frantic with every step; they ran across Trader Johann, and Hiccup thought his heart might actually give out in the split second before Dagur threatened to rip the poor man’s windpipe out if he told Stoick that he was still alive.

One upside to having a maniac who… well, Hiccup wasn’t entirely sure if Dagur thought they were friends or wanted him dead, but at least Johann wouldn’t be spilling his secret to all of Berk.

He mouthed apologies at a white-faced Johann before nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to keep up with Dagur.

They were almost at the harbour, now. The chickens were looking through their cages at Hiccup over Dagur’s shoulder, blissfully unaware of the precarious position they were in. The sun was past its peak, now, and Toothless would be starting to worry.

But – oh, that was a terrible idea. Unfortunately, it was the only one Hiccup had.

He grabbed Dagur’s shoulder just before the rows of boats came into view. “Hey, Dagur – you know what, I just remembered that I’d set up camp in the forest for tonight to let my boat dry out.” He laughed nervously. “Typical Hiccup. But anyway, I can hardly ask you to carry my chickens all the way back that way, so why don’t I just take them back, and-”

But Dagur just rolled his eyes and shoved past him. “With your toothpick arms? No way. I’ll carry them, not like I’ve got much else to be doing. I sent my men off to do all the boring trading so I could have a snoop around.”

Oh, wasn’t that just lovely. Hiccup caught up to Dagur to walk by his side. “Uh, how many men did you bring?”

“Six. A chief never travels alone, Hiccup, you know that.”

“Yeah. Right. Haha.”

Great.

Stupid chickens. He should have just stayed at home.

By the time they reached the forest, Hiccup had a hurriedly formed new plan that was somehow even worse than his previous ditch-Dagur-at-the-harbour plan: let Toothless scare him off and fly away before his men can come running. And hope he drops the chickens.

They walked through the trees until the market was obscured from view, but still audible – almost exactly the same spot where Toothless waited for Hiccup every trip. But there was no dragon here, nor any sign of one ever being here, only trees and moss and dappled light.

Or at least, that was what Dagur probably thought.

Hiccup scanned the forest and caught on a pair of green eyes, pupils slitted, peering out from the darkest patch of shadow. The aching in his chest ceased. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he thought.

Help, danger, the need for silence. Thought rather than said, concepts rather than language, and a sense of understanding flooded into his mind from Toothless’s. This was the way that dragons conveyed what their language of rumbling and hissing could not, and Hiccup thanked the gods that Toothless had the foresight to start teaching him.

Dagur frowned. “Where’s your camp?”

And Hiccup knew, thought into his mind, that Toothless wanted him to lead Dagur closer to him. So he smiled as innocently as he could and pointed to where his second soul lay in wait. “Just over there.”

Dagur kept frowning, but didn’t look suspicious – how could Hiccup the Useless, the runt who never fought back, pose a threat? – and took a few steps forward.

And the metal and muscle of Toothless’s tail thwacked him over the head, knocking him out cold.

Hiccup let out a startled laugh and caught the chicken cages as they fell, setting them safely on the ground. Toothless prowled out of his hiding spot, growling at Dagur’s unconscious form on the forest floor, sniffing in distrust.

“[Smells of madness. You know him?]”

“It’s… kind of a long story. I’ll tell you when we get home.” Home. Hiccup so desperately wanted to go back home and stay in bed for a week to let his heart recover from this encounter. He secured the chickens and the feed bags – somehow still not having fallen out of his satchel – into the harness on the back of Toothless’s saddle. “Let’s just get out of here before he wakes up.”

Toothless snorted in agreement and bowed his head so Hiccup could climb onto his back.

Which, of course, was when Dagur woke up.

<><~><>

Nightfury-

Nightfury-

The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself, never seen, never killed, always feared –

Black scales and green eyes, and Hiccup-

The beast had bowed its head, and Hiccup was climbing onto its back.

Dagur struggled upright – he’d been on the ground, that was right, the Nightfury hit him, and Hiccup-

Hiccup betrayed him. Hiccup had been smiling. Hiccup was on this beast’s back, looking down at Dagur with his expression indiscernible. It was seidr, magic of the old gods, it must have been, because Hiccup was scrawny and weak but the beast had bowed to him, the dragon nobody could kill had bowed to him and let him climb onto its back, and Hiccup sat there like a faery, a spirit, surrounded by seidr with his head high, and looked down at Dagur.

“Traitor.” Dagur spat, rage turning his blood to fire, ears ringing with it, the giddy anticipation of a fight. “I’ll kill you.”

His blood boiled and his ears rang and laughter spilled out of his mouth, and he reached for his weapon but then the dragon was gone, and Hiccup with it.

Dagur didn’t stop laughing (he couldn’t even if he wanted to), and his ears didn’t stop ringing (they rarely did these days), and his blood didn’t stop boiling (it hurt), because Hiccup was riding on the back of a dragon that bowed to his will and he’d betrayed him.

Dagur was going to cleave that Nightfury’s head from its shoulders and wear its skin as a cape. Maybe he’d even make Hiccup do the skinning for him before he killed him too.

He laughed louder. Yes, yes, yes, an excellent idea.

Stoick thought Hiccup was dead. So did all of Berk. Should Dagur tell them the truth he’d learnt, that not only was their heir alive and well but the master of the most feared dragon on earth? No, no, no, a terrible idea. Stoick might go after the boy himself, and Dagur wanted to be the one to kill him.

He’d keep Hiccup’s secret. And he’d kill him.

Yes, yes, yes.

An excellent idea.

<><~><>

Hiccup landed in silence, took the chickens down from Toothless’s saddle in silence, set them up in their coop and fed them and watched them to make sure they were settled in silence, went into his hut and opened his journal and checked them off of his to-do list in silence.

Toothless followed and sat down on the slab of rock he heated each night to sleep on. For a long while, the silence remained, but warmer now that Toothless was here.

“Dagur saw us.” Hiccup said eventually, his voice quiet even to himself.

Toothless shuffled closer. “[He did. What now?]”

“I don’t know.” Hiccup sucked in a breath, forced himself to calm. “I’m not going to panic. Let’s just keep an ear out for any news over the next few days, watch extra close for ships on the horizon. Even if Dagur doesn’t tell my father-” the thought made him feel a little sick, “-I doubt we’ve seen the last of him. If Berserkers are good at one thing, it’s holding a grudge. He won’t just let this go.”

“[Not kind to you before?]”

He shrugged. “Not really. He tried to drown me once, but I’m not entirely sure whether he realised that I wasn’t having as much fun as he was. He’s insane.”

“[Smelled of madness. Illness of mind. Makes humans dangerous.]”

“We’ll just have to be more careful from now on.” Hiccup ran a hand over Toothless’s head, smooth black scales as familiar to him as his own skin, as if they’d known each other all their lives instead of a few short months. In a way, he supposed they had. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

Toothless crooned and wrapped a wing over Hiccup’s shoulders, thinking love and safety and protection into his mind. Hiccup leaned into him and made himself relax.

<><~><>

They all waited in anxious anticipation for days, scanning the ocean for Berserker or Berkian ships, listening out for news that Stoick the Vast’s son was alive and well and consorting with dragons – but nothing happened. After two weeks, Hiccup finally accepted that Dagur wasn’t going to rat him out.

He wasn’t a snitch. That much had always been true.

Another month passed. Hiccup’s chickens started laying eggs, and he had them for breakfast for the first time in six months, and it almost made him cry a little for old memories. All the while, he found his attention turning to a bigger problem than hiding from his father or Berserkers:

The strange humming-singing voice that drifted towards the edges of the island on still nights and made the dragons shudder and whine and retreat into their nests and set his ears ringing.

The Queen.

Toothless and the others had been hesitant to tell him about Her, either reluctant to relieve their pasts with Her or worried about endangering him with new knowledge. But eventually, after days of gentle nudging, Hiccup managed to get them to relent.

They gathered outside his hut as they did on many nights to share fish and company, and told Hiccup all about the Bad Red Queen who held them all under her spell and forced them to satiate her endless hunger while they themselves starved. So many eggs crushed within that mountain, so many dragons lost to cavernous jaws, blood and anger and hunger.

Hiccup had no idea how he hadn’t seen it before. Of course the dragons didn’t raid Viking villages of their own free will, of course gentle Meatlug would never choose violence, Stormfly and Hookfang never give up open skies for the chance of danger, Barf and Belch and Sharpshot never leave the caves and trees where they ought to reside for food that made them feel ill. And Toothless – oh, Toothless.

He was born within the Nest, memories blurry and uncertain, but that much he knew. He had parents for a short time before they were swallowed by the Queen in a rage, so long ago that he could hardly remember their faces. And he had seen no other Nightfuries since.

Hiccup stared into the fire, the dragons fallen silent. The poor creatures trapped under the thrall of the Queen would never be able to stop raiding the Vikings. And as long as the Vikings were raided, they would never be able to stop killing the dragons lest they risked their own extinctions; or at least, they’d never be able to figure out another way to survive. He thought of his father’s endless voyages to find and destroy the Nest, of dragons bleeding out in the village square, of Toothless backing into the corner of the hut, ears flattened against the barest whispers of a deadly song.

All because of the Queen.

So Hiccup decided, with remarkable conviction, that this Queen could not be allowed to go on like this. He’d sworn to never harm a dragon, but he supposed this was a valid exception.

The Berserkers could, kindly, fuck off. Hiccup had a bigger problem to deal with.

The next morning, he pulled out one of the maps he’d taken from home, with Helheim’s Gate marked in shaded fog and jagged sea stacks in the corner of the page, and started to make a plan.

Chapter Text

“Ships approaching!”

The call had gone out nearly an hour ago, although Hiccup and Heather had already seen them on their morning flight – more than enough time to freshen up and gather the relevant people to meet their allies at the dock.

Hiccup did feel a little bad for causing his father to have to squeeze into his ceremonial belt three times in the space of a week. He really ought to get a bigger one.

There were a total of six vessels approaching; two Berserker longships, which could hold roughly sixty people each, and four Defenders ships, which were about half the size. Hiccup focused his spyglass on the longship heading the procession, where Dagur was waving animatedly from the bow, Mala at one side and Atali at the other. They must have picked up the Wingmaidens on their way to Berk. Hiccup could see figures in shining Razorwhip scale armour flitting around the masts of the ships. Striker’s braided tail was wrapped around the mast of the ship, Shattermaster dozing on the deck.

Heather peered through her own spyglass and made a face. “Mala and our brother are holding hands.”

Hiccup wrinkled his nose under his mask. “Ew.”

“It’s indecent, really.”

“Absolutely abhorrent.”

“If they kiss in front of me again I’m going to puke.”

“How long have they been married now?”

“Two years.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

Astrid was watching the two of them with her lips tilted up in an amused smile. It made Hiccup’s breath catch a little every time he looked at her, so he resolved himself to just not look. Her hair was golden in the sunlight, her eyes bright, her shoulders square against the axe still strapped to her back like another limb. In all the time he’d been on Berk, he’d never seen her without it.

She and Heather had gotten quite close in the past few days, and Hiccup had taken to praying to the gods every time he saw them together that Heather wouldn’t say something to embarrass him. Despite his best efforts, he cared quite a lot about what Astrid thought of him.

“I’m going to go and meet them.” Hiccup announced, climbing onto Toothless’s back. “Give them a proper run-down of the situation, make sure they know what they’re walking into.”

“They already know.” Heather reminded him. “They’ve been fighting Drago just as long as you have.”

Hiccup shrugged. “Not like this.”

The second he took off, he could see Heather and Astrid turn to each other, both grinning. Hiccup pretended he didn’t feel an impending sense of doom at the sight.

“[You like her.]” Toothless taunted as they swooped towards the leading ship. “[You think she’s prettyyyyy.]”

Hiccup swatted him on the shoulder. “You’re acting like this is not new information. Just don’t say anything to Dagur, he will literally never let me hear the end of it.”

He didn’t even have time to dismount when they landed before Dagur was crushing him in a hug, as usual. Mala and Atali were grinning in amusement behind them as Hiccup squeaked.

“Brother!”

“[Oof!]”

Hiccup wriggled out of Dagur’s hold and slipped off of Toothless’s back, rubbing at his sides. “Ribs, Dagur! Careful with the ribs.”

“Right, right.” Dagur grinned at him. “I forgot how little meat you have on those scrawny bones.”

“Ha, ha. Your jokes just keep getting better.”

“Naturally.”

Sore ribs aside, Hiccup had missed his brother’s company. It had been near a month now since either of them had enough time to spend it together, Dagur busy handling Berserker island and Hiccup busy trying to figure out why Drago had suddenly gone quiet. The familiar flash of a half-manic smile was comforting.

Hiccup turned to Mala next, exchanging a much more reasonable hug, and then Atali. “Thank you all so much for coming. I know this is probably not what any of you would like to be doing with your time, but Berk would never be able to stand up to Drago on their own.”

“Nonsense.” Mala declared, placing a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “It is well worth the journey and the time away from home for a chance to finally defeat Drago.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “And to be completely truthful, I look forward to finally seeing your island of origin.”

Atali was peering at the village, growing steadily larger as the boats came into the dock. “It’s smaller than I’d expected, somehow.”

“Heather said the same.”

Dagur leant against the railing of the ship. “Yeah, it’s kind of boring. They haven’t even got any lava pools. Not a volcano in sight.”

Hiccup snorted. “Well, I think I’ve already had enough of volcanoes to last a lifetime.” Between the Nest of the Red Death, the near-eruption of the volcano on the Edge, and the debacle with the last Great Protector’s egg, he was perfectly happy to stay somewhere with absolutely no lava for the time being.

They finally docked, Berkians catching ropes thrown from the ships to anchor them to port, and Atali leaned closer to Hiccup. “Rider?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I don’t know.”

He offered her his arm to descend the gangplank, Dagur mirroring him with Mala. Throk hopped down from the closest Defender ship with the other warriors behind him in formation, Wingmaidens swooped down from the railings (Hiccup heard Snotlout exclaim in surprise before Astrid socked him in the arm), Berserkers clattered and chattered in the way that they did, greeting the Berkians they were already familiar with. If Stoick was surprised to find that the chief Hiccup had mentioned was already one of his own allies, he didn’t show it.

“This is General Atali of the Wingmaidens, Queen Mala of the Defenders of the Wing, and – well, I believe you already know Dagur.” Hiccup pointed to his allies on turn. Mala and Atali exchanged polite, formal nods with Stoick, while Dagur just waved with a wide grin before slipping away to trap Heather in another rib-crushing hug.

Hiccup almost felt bad for her. Almost.

While Stoick gave yet another official welcome and talked over logistics, Hiccup watched the teens muttering together out of the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t know Heather was Dagur’s sister.” Ruffnut whispered.

“I didn’t even know he had a sister.” Tuffnut whispered back.

Fishlegs frowned. “I thought she was Rider’s sister?”

“She is, but not in the usual way. Heather and Dagur are siblings by blood, and Rider is their brother by choice.” Astrid explained. Heather must have given her a run-down of their slightly complicated familial links. “But she didn’t know she was Dagur’s sister at all until a few years ago. Apparently there was a whole convoluted backstory with her being sent away as a baby.”

Snotlout was staring at Heather, as he had upon many occasions over the past few days. “She looks way too pretty to be Dagur’s sister.”

Hiccup almost wanted to reveal his identity right then and there just to see the look on Snotlout’s face to discover that the girl he’d been unsuccessfully flirting with was, in fact, his cousin by association.

“I dunno.” Ruffnut swept an approving glance over Dagur. “Dagur’s kinda hot.”

“And married to that very scary-looking warrior queen lady.”

“So? Doesn’t mean I can’t look.”

Hiccup supressed a laugh and turned away. It was far too easy for him to fall into relative comfort with his old peers, too easy to forget they didn’t know him like he knew them. Better to keep a little bit of distance.

When Snotlout wasn’t watching Heather, he was watching Hiccup. Gobber nearly slipped up and called him his real name the other day, and Hiccup’s insides kept twisting with guilt at asking him to keep such an enormous secret from his father.

But it wouldn’t be long, now. A week, maybe two, until Drago got here. Hiccup would kill him slowly and painfully like he’d dreamt of doing so many times before, and then turn his attention to his interpersonal relationships.

He could manage until then.

<><~><>

There was a proper welcome feast in the hall that night, in honour of the arrival of the last of Hiccup’s allies. If he’d thought the strategy meeting was loud, this was a cacophony – a hundred Berserkers, a hundred and fifty dragon-affiliated warriors, and as many Berkians as could fit into the singular enclosed space.

The benches had been pushed together in long rows, laden with boar and chicken and mutton, great cauldrons of soup and stew, baskets of potatoes and bread piled high, even sweet-cakes, a rare treat, stacked periodically along the tables. Everyone was currently settling in, which probably explained the noise, Berkians and Berserkers mingling freely and the Defenders and Wingmaidens huddling close in unfamiliar territory. Hiccup didn’t really blame them.

He, Heather, Dagur, Mala and Atali had seats of honour prepared for them at the high table at the top of the hall, next to Stoick, Astrid, Spitelout, Gobber, and Gothi. The crowd parted for Hiccup as they always did, Berkians out of fear and the others out of respect, and knowledge of how crabby he got when confronted with tight spaces and loud noise. Toothless trailed behind him and made sure nobody got too close, curling up under the table when they made it to the top of the Hall.

Hiccup nearly took the seat at his father’s side, now reserved for Astrid, out of instinct, but Heather’s arm on his elbow stopped him from making that embarrassing mistake. She sat on one side of him, Dagur at the other, Mala and Atali at the end of the table, Toothless at his feet. For the first time since arriving on Berk, Hiccup felt properly safe.

The hall quietened down a little when Stoick cleared his throat and stood up. “Welcome, all.” His voice was booming, carried to every corner of the room, and the crowd quieted even more. “In this room I see old friends,” A nod to the Berserkers, “and new allies.” Towards the Wingmaidens and Defenders. “Know that Berk is endlessly grateful for your aid in our time of need all the same. Tomorrow, we will come together to create a plan for defeating Drago Bludvist once and for all, but tonight, I believe some introductions are in order for those of us who are unfamiliar with others.”

Hiccup found everyone’s eyes turned to him expectantly, and he stood up, Toothless getting to his feet behind him as well for emotional support.

“Hello,” Was the only word he managed to get out before the Berserkers erupted in cheers and wolf-whistles, not helped whatsoever by Dagur and Heather’s cackling. He sighed, and Toothless let out a roar that had everyone silent in seconds. “Thanks, Bud.”

He turned back to the crowd. “Yes, thank you, everyone. I cannot express how grateful I am to all of you for leaving the safety of your islands to help us defend Berk against Drago, and hopefully send him crawling back into the depths of Hel where he belongs.” More laughter and cheering. “You all already know Dagur, Chief of the Berserkers, and Heather, his sister and heir.” They both nodded, raising their cups at their still-rambunctious tribe. “But new to Berk is Queen Mala of the Defenders of the Wing, a tribe dedicated to the respect and protection of the Eruptodon, a dragon who has kept their people safe for centuries,” Mala stood up and gave a regal nod and wave, “and General Atali of the Wingmaidens, who have singlehandedly prevented the extinction of the Razorwhip dragon by caring for the vulnerable hatchlings until they are old enough to protect themselves.” Atali’s hatchling spread its wings and lifted her from her chair, and she landed back on her feet with a bow as the Wingmaidens cheered.

Hiccup gestured to the hall at large. “Defenders and Wingmaidens; welcome to Berk, home to one of the most stubborn Viking tribes in the entire archipelago.” He turned to Stoick and Astrid. “Which I could not mean as more of a compliment.”

Astrid smiled at him, and he suddenly discovered another use for his mask – she couldn’t see him blushing.

And oh, he did not at all like Dagur’s expression when he finally sat back down. He could look so incredibly smug when he wanted to.

“You so like the scary blonde girl.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

<><~><>

The food went surprisingly fast, and when the tables were near empty and the mead caskets had been brought out, someone ordered the benches to be pushed aside to make room for dancing. Because nothing said ‘let’s work together to kill this guy who’s trying to kill all of us first’ like embarrassing yourself in front of your new allies with your terrible drunk dancing.

At least Hiccup’s lack of leg gave him an excuse to stay off the dance floor. He had resigned himself to leaning against one of the pillars and keeping watch in Dagur’s general direction, because he still to this day refused to admit how low of an alcohol tolerance he had and as such could not be trusted around mead. Hiccup knew Mala wouldn’t let Dagur embarrass himself too badly, but it would be good to have a few extra eyes on him, just in case.

A new song started, and everyone cheered, and Hiccup couldn’t help but flinch at the sudden noise. Vikings were loud. It was an occupational hazard. But Hiccup wasn’t a Viking, not really, and he hadn’t been for a very long time, and he wasn’t used to the clamouring and yelling and whistling of a party anymore. His head was throbbing with it.

Toothless pressed a little closer. “[Holding up okay?]”

“For now.” Hiccup wished he could take off his mask. It was starting to itch. “I’m going to wait until everyone is too drunk to notice us leaving.”

“[Probably won’t take long.]” Toothless snorted.

Gods, Hiccup hoped he was right. The noise and heat of the hall were oppressive, fires roaring in the hearths and Vikings roaring in laughter everywhere he turned. There were no cool, dark corners to hide in, everything awash in the orange-red glow of the torches, too bright and too dim all at once.

He could hear his own breathing and heartbeat too loudly, too sharply in his head. The sound of the party had sort of faded into a persistent ringing. Hiccup could hear Toothless’s warbling, slightly more concerned now, as he dug his nails into his palms, the bright sparks of pain the only thing in his head that wasn’t spinning.

Everything was suddenly too much. Every wrinkle of his clothes, the cotton pad that cushioned the stump of his leg against the prosthetic, his hair flattened against his forehead under his mask – it all itched in a way that felt like knives on his skin. His breath was coming too short, his chest felt too tight, and he couldn’t hear anything except that awful deafening ringing, and the haze of smoke in the air tasted like falling, like burning, like sharp teeth snapping closed around his leg right before he hit the flames–

Heather’s face appeared in front of his. He couldn’t really see her properly, nor could he really hear her when her lips started moving. Thankfully, she seemed to realise this, because she said something to Toothless instead, and then Hiccup found himself being pushed onto the dragon’s back and carried out of the Mead Hall. Then there was cool air and the doors closed behind them and the noise stopped, and Hiccup could breathe again.

His limbs all felt stiff and slow, but he manged to make himself sit properly in the saddle, smooth leather and metal, familiar under his hands. Toothless looked back at him.

“[Back to camp?]”

Hiccup forced himself to move his head in something resembling a nod, and then Toothless took off, gliding swiftly and silently towards the forest clearing, landing next to the central campfire. Most of their flock had found temporary nests in nearby caves or Berk’s bay, but the dragons who did sleep in the forest (the Terrors, Typhoomerangs and Timberjacks, mainly, along with Stormfly and the others) all perked up at the sounds of their kings approaching. The excitable hatchlings and fledgelings immediately scurried over, gushing questions about the Vikings and the party and such, but were quickly corralled away by their parents when they saw how stiffly Hiccup was sitting.

“[Give the king some space.]” Torch scolded his children. “[He’s had a busy day]”

Hearthfire and Quickblast looked a little put out, but retreated back nonetheless. Hiccup managed to take off his helmet and give Torch a grateful smile as he slipped off of Toothless’s back.

He’d rescued Torch and his siblings and mother whilst scouting around Dragon Island several years prior – they’d tried to settle on Berk and not only had gotten caught in the Red Death’s thrall, but Torch had been captured by Astrid and the others for studying. Back then, Hiccup’s Dragonese had still been rusty enough that he’d almost taken Torch and left his family, which had not been fun for anyone involved once his mother realised where her baby was. Luckily, Toothless had just about managed to decipher Torch’s baby-babble in time to save them from being flame-grilled to death.

Hiccup slumped onto the ground and tucked himself half-under Toothless’s waiting wing. Black scales, cool ground, warm fire, clean air.

No smoke. No falling. He was fine.

“[Where’s Heather?]” Hiccup asked after a while, the Dragonese coming more comfortably to him than Norse when he was this tired.

“[Still at the party, I think, but she’ll probably be along soon. She said she wanted to see Dagur and Mala back to the ships.]”

“[Windshear won’t let her stay out too late.]” Stormfly added sleepily from where she was curled up near Toothless’s tail. “[And Heather’s usually sensible anyway.]”

And sure enough, it couldn’t have been more than an hour before metallic wingbeats heralded Heather’s return, a little flushed and giggly but walking in more of less a straight line. Windshear rolled her eyes at her human and went to settle down at the spot they’d chosen for sleeping.

Heather, though, first knelt next to Hiccup. “Hey.”

“Hey. How’s Dagur?”

“Not as bad as he could be. Mala and I managed to drag him away before he could do anything embarrassing.”

Hiccup snorted. “I still cannot believe he managed to get her to like him.”

“Me neither.” Her grin softened. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now that I’m out here.” He wriggled his shoulder blades and relaxed a little further against Toothless, who was already half-asleep. “I’d forgotten how loud Viking parties could be.”

“I’m impressed with how long you lasted. I thought you’d be high-tailing it out of there the second everyone finished eating.”

“Thought about it. But I didn’t want to be rude, and anyway, I figured it would be good to have an extra set of eyes on Dagur.”

“That was very responsible.” She leaned over to bump her head against his. “Proud of you.”

Hiccup hugged her as best he could lying down. “Thanks. Now go to sleep or you’ll have a headache in the morning. We still need to go scouting.”

“You sound like Valka.” Heather grumbled, but went to tuck herself up next to Windshear all the same. “[Goodnight, brother-mine.]”

“[Goodnight, sister-mine.]”

<><~><>

Snotlout took another slow sip of his mead, staring at the Dragon Master.

The twins were having a drinking competition, Fishlegs was trying to stop them, and Astrid, in a rare show of good humour, was dancing with Heather, so Snotlout was left to sip and stew. And, as had happened many times over the past week, his thoughts fell onto Rider.

There was just something about him that put Snotlout on edge. It could have just been the mead and the pre-war stress, but he still didn’t like it. The way he controlled the dragons with little more than a hand gesture or whistle, the way he could apparently speak to them, and had been seen growling and chirping at his flock since they arrived. The way that his Nightfury followed his every step like a shadow and bared shark-like fangs at anyone who got too close.

He'd seemed harmless enough, so far. If nothing else, he was determined to beat Drago. But that didn’t mean Snotlout had to trust him.

He’d been leaning against a pillar at the edge of the room since the food had finished and the dancing had begun. Snotlout was pretty sure he was looking at where Dagur was corralling everyone into a dance, but it was hard to tell with the mask.

The Nightfury was still there, as it always was. It kept looking at Snotlout in distaste. Or that could also have just been the mead.

Then another song started, and everyone cheered, and Snotlout watched as the Dragon Master flinched. He flinched away from the noise of the crowd, going hunched at the shoulders and stiff and awkward in a way that made something spin at the back of Snotlout’s mind, but when he tried to figure out what it was, it just disappeared.

The Dragon Master only got worse over the next few minutes, hunching and stiffening more and more until Snotlout could see him breathing too fast from where he sat, but then Heather swept over to him, pushed him onto to the back of his dragon, and sent them both out of the hall.

Snotlout saw wide green eyes through the slits in his mask as he passed, and there was something there –

Then Ruffnut threw up and his train of thought crashed as he leapt away to avoid her.