Chapter Text
Hiccup was an old man.
He'd lived far longer than most, far longer than he felt necessary.
He resided in a hut on the outskirts of New Berk; with an equally old cat he'd bought off a trading vessel just 4 years prior. The creature had big green eyes and silky dark fur, clumped and poorly groomed in places, and the men who owned her had been discussing the kindest ways to be rid of her now that she was too slow to hunt the rats abord their ship. As always, Hiccup had been unable to stand the thought of an animal in danger and had traded over a silver ring for the sweet, old girl. Her name was Frigg.
The ex-chief of Berk padded his time nowadays with reading old journals, dusting off inventions long abandoned and sketching the wildlife that surrounded his home.
Rarely did he enter the village at large. Ever since his daughter had taken over as chiefess, ever since he and Astrid had separated for good, one too many fights drawing less a rift and more a gaping chasm between them.
They'd spent most of their 20s and 30s in an unhappy marriage, Astrid growing colder, somehow both more distant and controlling and finally he'd had enough, renounced his birthright to her and absconding to live on his own, unable to watch his family be better off without him.
The truth is, he'd never stopped searching the skies.
Every evening he'd go out, sit on the cliff that overlooked the ocean and gaze longingly at the stars, like he'd done all those years ago. A small boy looking to prove himself, about to discover what it meant to love something so dearly you'd do anything to protect it.
He was there now, threading his weathered fingers, more callus than skin, through tall blades of grass, like tiny daggers in the moonlight. The sky was just as clear as it had been and, if he looked hard enough with his cloudy vision, he could pretend a dark silhouette was flying through the stars, blacker than night.
He hoped, beyond hope, that wherever he was, his best friend was happy. Satisfied with his life, his family, his decision.
Hiccup could remember, clear as day, the last time he'd ever beheld his brother's fantastic green eyes. Could feel, like muscle memory, the scales and ridges of his powerful back, the stretch of his beautiful wings.
Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he remembered what it felt like to fall, to plummet towards the open sea and he wondered.
Would it be worth it to feel that weightlessness just… one more time?
The thought crept up on him, ever since his mother and Gobber had passed, one within a week of the other. Valka had lost much of herself in her old age, forgetting names, places. Hiccup watched as she grew more reluctant, withdrawn, hiding away from the people of Berk and seeking refuge in the trees. She never forgot what she’d lost, but sometimes she forgot she’d lost it.
Every now and again, Hiccup would catch her reacting to something she’d found or he’d said, turning over her shoulder and looking to share her discovery, her delight, with someone who wasn’t there. He would say it was his father she missed, but he knew better.
Gobber had never aged. He had stayed himself, to the bitter end.
Hiccup saw how Stoick’s death had affected him, how the grief had dampened his humour. But he’d always been there for Hiccup, even as the town forgot about the mighty dragon rider and shunned the chief’s useless son.
He looked down over the cliff, the tall rocks and gentle waves. The sea beckoned to him, curling its foamy fingers as if to welcome him into its dark arms. He stood, his old prosthetic squeaking at the effort, his very bones feeling heavier than they had any right to be. He was so tired, so utterly drained of all he remembered being.
His children didn’t speak to him, loyal only to their mother, who had led the village as chiefess for over 20 years without his help. For what was he without his dragon.
He gave a moment thought for Frigg, then laughed at the irony of the name.
No doubt she’d be happy enough, she spent most of her time bothering the fishermen anyway.
In the end, he really didn’t matter to anyone, did he?
He tried to picture the clouds from where the stars saw them, their cool vapours coming up to meet him as he let himself slide from the saddle. He could feel it now, the rush of air past his face, his hair, white with age, whipping around his tired eyes as he left his misery on the cliff and plunged into the elation of the fall. The freedom of flight.
God's how he'd missed it.
He felt the spray of the sea, could swear the cold of the ocean had ripped his very soul out through his skin, dispelled the life from his lungs.
And then, soft. Like a blanket. There was warm sun on his skin, and somewhere off in the distance a bird began to sing.
He woke up.
Hiccup sat up in bed, alarmed beyond belief, the rush of falling still pumping cold as ice through his veins. Veins he couldn't see through skin that should have been paper thin and blemished with age. He sat up, dumbfounded, as his joints moved painlessly.
He observed his hands, tanned and freckled, strong from work at the forge. His eyes focused on the small details, no longer fogged by decades of sun damage or sunken by dull headaches. His surroundings did nothing to aid his confusion, but by Odin’s ghost did they steal what should have been his dying breath away.
The warm spruce interior, the parchment tacked to every vertical surface, the desk littered with scraps of metal and leather. The tailfins on his wall. His wall!
It was his home away from home, the only place he had ever really felt was just his. Not his father’s house, not the house he’d shared with Astrid or the little hut he’d escaped to in his twilight years. This was his hut, on Dragons’ edge and he could’ve navigated its contents with his eyes closed.
He sat, reeling from shock, unable to tear his eyes away from the past in his presence, the memories he was reliving.
‘This must be Valhalla’ he thought, dazed and untethered, but that made no sense. He’d not died in battle; his end had been in no way honourable. He’d expected eternal damnation, figuring it couldn’t be a far cry from his current situation.
As if in answer, he felt a burning, irritated phenomenon permeate across his chest. A sensation not unlike hot embers sinking its roots just over his heart and he could swear he heard a voice in his head, as if in a distant memory, or the recollection of someone else’s dream, a woman’s soft, lilting cadence whispered for a single moment.
“Death is not your destiny today, dragon rider,”
He flung himself from his bed, attaching his prosthetic leg on instinct and scampering over to the table on the other side of the room, once again marvelling at his nimble movements and clear vision. Snatching up a sheet of polished gronckle-iron, he tore away the drawstring collar of his shirt and stared, awestricken, at the dark runes embroidered on his breast.
The dark lettering curved in an ark just under the left-most portion of his clavicle, burnt umber markings that read the phrase, ‘endrborinn’. Reincarnation.
He'd been given another chance? But why?
Then it hit him. He was on Dragons’ edge; in the body he’d possessed in days before his world had been torn away. Another chance.
Hiccup flew down the wooden stairs of his hut, a wild excitement in his heart, the soul he thought had fled from him singing in his blood as he threw open the sliding door and stumbled out into crisp dawn air. The sky was decorated in pinks and soft violet; clouds lined in gold with sunrays stretching out from behind them like gilded staircases to the realm of the Gods.
He paused, breathing heavily, his every exhale turning to shining clouds of steam that floated off to join the morning mist. He stood there, and he listened, and all noise seemed to fade until he heard a little, almost unnoticeable rattle to his left.
A little green and amber creature was curled up in the shadow of his forge. Its bulbous eyes were closed in sleep, and its tail was curled around its small body, as its breathing rocked its spiney back and delicate wings.
Hiccup watched the sleeping terrible terror. Took in its quiet purring and vibrant colours and, in that moment, it was the most wonderful creature he’d ever seen.
He made to approach it, in a trance of astonishment, when he heard a distant roar.
A sound so familiar it made his own breathing appear foreign to his ears.
A dark shape appeared at the end of the boardwalk, thrashing wings and bright eyes that snapped onto him, locking him in place as years of longing and hopeless grief paralyzed his every muscle. Toothless, it would appear, had suffered no such petrification.
He bounded across the wooden planks, flapping his wings, his ears perked up and tongue lolling from his open mouth. He let out a sort of braying yowl, excitement and joy in his every movement until he was bowling Hiccup over, coating him in slobber and trying to get as close to his beloved rider as possible.
Hiccup wouldn’t have been able to stop the tears if his life (the old one at least) had depended on it. He broke out into overjoyed laughter, holding his brothers smooth, scaley head and sobbing with unbridled relief. What felt like centuries of misery and loneliness melted from his shoulders like the snow in spring and a warmth took it place. A warmth that felt like finally coming home.
“Hey Bud!” his choked words broke over the dragons relentless warbling purr, his own voice unfamiliar to him in its strength and clarity. He remembered the jaded voice of a tired old man; a man who had given up on the world. He vowed to never hear it again as long as he lived.
Toothless calmed slightly, their eyes meeting and shining with brazen affection, both so happy just to be in each other’s company.
“Do you…do you remember?” Was all he could think to ask, throat tight with emotion. He had hoped for a world in which his beloved dragon had been long-lived, happy and surrounded by his own family. If Toothless was here, and his reaction was anything to go by, this had unfortunately not been the case.
Toothless made a low, melancholy sound. He looked up at him, head hung low and sadness in his eyes, wide and apologetic. He nudged his snout into Hiccup’s hand, ears pinned low and the same tired, lonely dejection haunted his shoulders.
“You too huh, you don’t miss your lady friend?”
Toothless reared back as if struck, his teeth bared, and eyes narrowed to dangerous slits of fury. Hiccup was reminded of the first time he’d properly fed the dragon, of discovering how most dragons felt about eels.
It would appear their relationships had ended in much the same way. At least he knew they still had plenty in common.
The thought suddenly occurred to him, seeding dread in his first happy moment in years. He looked around at the other buildings taking up residence on the island and was reminded of their inhabitants. He would undoubtedly have to acknowledge his fellow riders at some point, but the memory of their parting, of their abandonment, weighed heavy on his mind.
They could wait. Gods knew he’d waited long enough.
“You wanna go for a morning flight Bud?” he chuckled, the words alone filling him with that warmth, that sense that all was right in that moment.