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Chapter Text

The elder’s hands were frigid.

Astrid had to grit her teeth, forcing back a shiver as Gothi continued to apply the ceremonial markings to her forehead. Already, both of her arms were littered with ashy runes, designs twining from shoulder to palm. They were nearly covered, save for a patch of her inner right forearm, left intentionally blank.

It didn’t help that tradition dictated the ritual needed to be performed outdoors. The wind cutting through the village was sharp and unrelenting, raising goosebumps on Astrid’s flesh. The gown she’d been given was thin and sleeveless, doing very little to shield her from the brunt of it all.  

Those gathered to witness were far luckier. She stared longingly at the heavy furs that the citizens of Berk were outfitted in, jealous of their own comfort. The frozen earth bit through to her shins with zeal, making kneeling all the more unpleasant.

Exactly how much longer was this going to take?

As if sensing her thoughts, Gothi’s weathered hand drew away from her face. The old woman took a long moment to evaluate her handy work, eventually nodding to herself in satisfaction. 

When she was finally directed to stand, Astrid wasted no time in complying. Her knees cracked as she stood, legs tingling from spending so long stuck in one position. She longed to stretch them out fully, but settled for rolling up high onto her toes and back down again, relieving some of the stiffness in her muscles.

As the elder began to scrawl her runes into the dirt, the chief of Berk stepped forward. Stoick the Vast regarded his people with solemn eyes, shoulders pressed low, as if held down by some invisible weight. When he spoke, his voice held a heaviness that could be felt in one's bones.

“Today, we gather to name a new heir for the Hooligan tribe of Berk,” he said, eyes sweeping across the crowd but focusing on no one in particular. “Due to…circumstances most grave, we must breach tradition and choose outside the line.”

Circumstances most grave.

The vagueness of the statement was kinder than the brutal truth, Astrid supposed, but ultimately useless. No one in Berk was likely to forget what had become of their true heir…of the violent end he’d suffered just five years prior. 

“I have no blood heir,” continued Stoick in a strained tone, “so my new successor has been chosen on merit. Astrid Hofferson, step forward.”

Rolling her shoulders back, Astrid lifted her head high and moved to stand before the chief. She didn’t hold his gaze, unable to stomach the sadness and disappointment rooted in those eyes for long. 

She was not the person Stoick had hoped to pass on this legacy to; no matter how much she excelled, she never would be.

“Astrid,” he said, addressing her directly. “You are to take on a birthright that is not yours in the eyes of our people, nor the eyes of the gods. Do you understand this?”

“I do,” her voice rang out loud and clear, just as she’d practiced.

“To appease our ancestors and those above, a ritual must be performed to link you to the line. Your soul will be forever bound to that of the last rightful heir of Berk. Do you enter willingly into this ritual, knowing that once it is done, it can never be undone?”

“I do.”

The finality of it all was a lot less frightening when one considered the boy in question was long dead. She had little qualms about tying herself to a memory.

Gothi had finished her writing, using her staff to signal for the chief’s attention. He dipped his head once towards Astrid, acknowledging her acceptance, before moving to view the runes. 

As Stoick began to chant in the ancient ceremonial language, the elder busied herself with throwing herbs and oils into the nearby fire. It sparked higher and higher, embers flickering almost violently. 

The flames suddenly flashed blue, drawing shouts of surprise.

Astrid’s vision blurred. A heat began under her skin, first dull and then growing steadily until her bones felt as though they were on fire beneath her skin. She cried out, fingers clutching herself as if she could stamp out the heat.

In the chaos of it all, she soon lost her balance, barely managing to catch herself with one arm as she fell to the dirt. The world swam around her, sending all awareness of the scene unfolding around her to the back of her mind.

One sound dominated her consciousness. 

Ba-boom.                 Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.      Ba-boom.

Ba-boom.

Two heartbeats echoed in her ears, loud enough they were near deafening. At first they were distinct and out of sync, but with each thump they drew nearer and more in tune. In time, they seemed to fuse together until she could only hear one sound.

Ba-boom.

Raising a hand to her chest, she felt the matching rhythm against her fingers. 

Strange…

“Astrid!” 

A moment later, Stoick was helping her to her feet, face crinkled in worry. “Are you alright, lass?”

The world slowly swept into focus, though her right eye remained fuzzy for a few troubling seconds. As it cleared, she heaved a sigh of relief. 

Her left knee didn’t feel too steady, but she kept that revelation to herself. They’d started the ritual; she wanted to make sure they saw it through. “I’m fine,” she promised, more confidently than she felt. “Let’s keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, “Of course. I’m okay.” Then, realizing she still had a hand clutched against her heart, she made a show of straightening out her dress. As if she were merely fussing over her appearance, rather than trying to shake off whatever had just happened.

She was the pride of Berk; a little weak spell was not going to defeat her that easily. 

I’m probably just lightheaded, she reasoned. In all her rushing to prepare for the day, she hadn’t eaten much. Perhaps her body was protesting her unplanned fast.

Her gut was not so easily convinced, twisting with apprehension. Her bones still ached, though the fiery feeling was gone, replaced once more by the chill of the air.

Stoick’s chanting had resumed, stifling the murmurs of the assembled crowd. It all sounded like gibberish to Astrid’s ears, as she’d never bothered to learn the ancient language, but she knew that would have to change. As the next chief of Berk, she’d be expected to perform such ceremonies for her tribe once Stoick decided to step down.

Gothi began to feed the fire with loose sheets of paper. Many were misshapen, nothing more than glorified scrap paper, while others bore a rough edge that suggested they’d been torn from a book. Each boasted lines of messy charcoal: drawings, schematics and fragments of thoughts. 

The last remnants of the previous heir.

With each piece, the fire gradually dimmed, returning to its usual color as it compressed. Within minutes, it died out, leaving only the glow of the remaining embers. It was eerie how fast it had changed, sending a shiver down Astrid’s spine.

She’d never much cared for the mystical. It left too much unexplained.

The ashes were gathered in a small stone bowl, mixing with the dark ink that already pooled inside. A man stepped forward from the crowd, accepting the bowl with a bowed head. The tattooist was silent as he approached Astrid, motioning for her to extend her arm. 

As the needle made first contact with her skin, she found she was grateful for the day’s chill after all. At least her arm was cold enough that it’d gone nearly numb, taking the worst of the sting away. 

The tribe’s tattooist worked quick – his motions sure and methodic. It wasn’t a complex or flowery piece, but rather a simple set of runes. 

H-I-C-C-U-P

The name stared back at her, now forever inked into her wrist. The skin around it was already red and swelling, the pain just beginning to break through the numbness.

Astrid silently thanked the gods that one name was sufficient for the ritual; his full name would have likely stretched from elbow to wrist. Six runes were much more manageable, and they could be easily hidden under a set of arm wraps. 

When Stoick’s words finally switched back to Norse, she straightened up. It was a clear signal that the ritual was nearly complete.

Thank Thor. 

“Astrid Hofferson, your soul has been forever bound to the soul of Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third, giving you an equal stake in his birthright. Do you accept the responsibility of heir to the chiefdom of Berk?”

“I do.”

“Congratulations!”

“I’m so proud of you!”

“...the future of our tribe is in good hands.”

Astrid accepted the praise graciously as she swept through the crowd, soaking in the warmth of the town hall. She’d enjoyed the feast held in her honor, but the day’s events were taking a toll on her mind and body.

Worst of all was the tattoo, its burn ever present with every twist of her wrist. 

Stepping off to the side for a bit of privacy, she took a moment to study the runes. At least the artist had been neat in his lettering, she consoled herself, appreciating the clean lines. There were plenty of tattoos she’d seen from other tribes that could only be described as messy – something Astrid Hofferson would never allow for herself.

While she didn’t consider herself rigid, she was regimented. She liked things in their proper place. She liked plans and strategies. She liked things neat.

It was a bit ironic to see such representation for the most chaotic viking she’d ever known. Though the Thorston twins were wild and carefree, their mischief was at least intentional. 

The former heir could not have made such claims, seeming to be a walking tornado of bad luck. Despite his claims of building devices meant to aid the village, his contraptions always seemed to backfire in grand ways – adding injury and property damage across the village.

He’d been a liability, and an unpredictable one at that. 

Hiccup.

Despite the frustration he’d rained down upon the village, she did feel the familiar ache of pity when she considered his fate. She’d never forget the sight of the blood upon the rocks, nor the shine of the dragon scales surrounding it. Even his dagger, fished from the small pond, painted a grim picture. As helpless as he’d been in training, he must have tried to fight back against the attacker…only to fail.

“Selfish as it may be, I’m glad to see that his name will live on in some way.”

Astrid jumped, not expecting anyone to be so close. When the chief’s words registered, she shot him a sympathetic smile, not knowing what to say in response. 

“Congratulations, Astrid,” he continued after a beat, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve proven yourself a fine warrior and a strong mind. You should be proud. I…I have little doubt Berk will thrive under your leadership.”

“Thanks, Chief,” she said, dipping her head in respect. In truth, she was proud of the accomplishment. It was a place of honor amongst the tribe that would elevate both her position and that of her entire family. She’d brought strength and power to the Hofferson name, and through her they would build a new legacy in Berk. 

She only wished her father was there to see it.

Her own grief rose up, tightening her throat. The pain of that loss was indescribable, but she saw it reflected in Stoick’s eyes. It was something they had in common.

“I’m sorry about Hiccup,” she said, words leaving her lips before she could consider if they were a good idea. As an unsaid rule, his name was rarely spoken on the isle. 

“Aye,” breathed Stoick, sighing deeply as he released her shoulder, “so am I.”

As Astrid made her way home through the moonlit streets of Berk, she couldn’t shake the uncanny feeling that something was off. 

She felt a weight upon her, as if somewhere were watching her every movement. Blue eyes scanned every shadow, trying to place what could possibly have her feeling so on edge. 

When she caught sight of a man’s silhouette down the path, she froze. It was too far away to be distinct, and she couldn’t pick out any real features in the dark aside from his height and thin build. Opening her mouth to yell out to the figure, she felt the air leave her lungs in a rush.

In the single blink of an eye…he’d somehow vanished.

Chapter Text

Astrid slept fitfully.

Her dreams would allow her no meaningful rest, each fragmented moment dominated by a single shadowy figure. He appeared to be made of smoke itself, body ebbing and flowing with no distinct features. All she could tell for certain was that he was tall and thin, with a silhouette that suggested he wore some manner of armor. 

If his appearance wasn’t disconcerting enough, when he spoke it chilled something deep within her.

The words were mostly impossible to understand, sounding as if they were being swept through a wind tunnel at a high speed. Worst of all, it sounded less like a voice and more like a primal wail. Tortured and pleading, it cried out as if desperately begging for aid.

Only her name could be distinguished from the contorted sounds, which only served to unnerve her further. In one harrowing moment, a hand reached out, ever-twisting shadows finally parting to reveal ivory bone. 

The skeletal limb drew nearer and nearer, approaching her face with shaky movements. It paused just inches away from grazing her face, fingers clawing at the air right before her and missing her cheek by a hair’s breadth. 

If she so much as flinched…

“...Asssstrid…”

The macabre sight, paired with the inherently ghoulish quality of his voice were enough to force her awake with a start.

Astrid sat up in her bed, chest heaving as she fought to ground herself in reality. She fisted her fingers tightly into her blankets, swallowing the scream that threatened to spill from her throat. A cold sweat coated her body, casting her skin with a sickly sheen.

A cursory glance around the room confirmed that she was alone and her space was undisturbed; there was no one, no thing, lurking in the vicinity. 

She was safe, but she was deeply shaken. 

Astrid wished she knew what could have prompted such a wild dream. It had felt so real…somehow more substantial than any other dream she could remember. Even now, she felt as if she were remembering a moment she’d lived rather than dreamt.

Crack!

Astrid’s heart slammed away with renewed vigor, body going rigid at the sound. 

It took a few minutes for the burst of fear to dissipate, the low howl of the wind making the culprit easier to identify. It wasn’t unusual for branches to strike their house on the windiest of nights, but she wasn’t usually so keyed up when they did. 

Gods. 

As she sat there, trying to temper the adrenaline in her veins, she felt a new sense of dread settle in her gut. 

The dream had felt like a premonition, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was just beginning.

“Morning!”

Astrid forced a quick smile when she greeted her mother in the kitchen, having to stifle a yawn as she took a seat at their small dining table. She’d barely gotten any sleep after the disturbing dreams, despite her efforts to clear her mind. 

It had left her feeling wrung out, making it a real effort to drag her fatigued body out of bed.

Breakfast was already on the table, the smell of fresh-baked bread filling the room. Normally, she’d reach for it without hesitation, but her stomach was still uneasy. She sipped at her water, hoping it would help settle her nerves.

Though meals in the town hall were traditional for most members of the tribe, the Hofferson family had always had an odd quirk: setting breakfast aside as a time for family alone. Astrid had thought the sentiment was silly…all the way up until the day that only two gathered to eat. 

Her father’s empty seat made her desperately wish that she’d appreciated those days when she had them. Though, she had to give herself some credit, for at least she could accept that such times were long gone.

Ingrid Hofferson continued to set her father’s place at the table each morning like clockwork, as if he’d suddenly burst through the door and return to them one day.

It was nearly a sign of madness in Astrid’s eyes, but she was careful to hold her tongue. At the urging of others, she’d agreed to keep those feelings to herself, trying to respect her mother’s strange way of grieving. 

Still, she wished the woman would wake up and recognize the blunt truth.

They’d all watched his funeral pyre burn. 

“...with that, it means the last of the repairs is officially complete!”

“Yeah, well, it won’t last.”

“I’d say. He never stays away long.”

Astrid wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help agreeing with the pessimistic sentiment she’d just overheard. While it was nice to have Berk back in one piece, it was hardly worth celebrating. The Dragon Master never left the village alone for more than a few moon cycles. 

Peace was merely an illusion.

She’d never forget the first time she’d seen him looming over the village. Flying astride a Night Fury of all things, the man had looked like a vengeful god, poised to unleash his wrath down on the village. Covered head-to-toe in sleek black armor, he appeared both silent and merciless, making quite the impression as he cut overhead.

There’d been an initial sense of amazement, simply borne of the fact that a man was astride a dragon – though, the novelty had worn off quickly. 

It was replaced by a growing wrath throughout the tribe as the stranger continued to appear in each subsequent raid. He and his onyx beast fought against Berk, defending the dragons that pillaged their home. He disarmed villagers, actively helped dragons find their hidden livestock and even released each and every one of the dragons that they managed to trap.

He was the enemy.

“Well, ‘e’s gotta rest, doesn’ he?” One of the gossipers argued.

“Demons don’t need rest,” scoffed another, drawing hums of agreement.

There was a prevailing belief, at least amongst the elder generation, that the Dragon Master was more than just a man of flesh and blood. They theorized that he may be something darker, something much more in tune with the supernatural. Having seen the stranger walk through fire on one occasion, Astrid was inclined to consider the possibility, farfetched as it may be.  

“I just hope the next raid isn’t as bad as the last.”

The last.

Astrid’s heart clenched, feeling the familiar rush of grief as she remembered that fateful night. She could still hear her father’s screams. She could still picture the collapsing storehouse in perfect clarity…still smell the burning wood as if it were standing before her now.  

By the time they’d dug him out the charred rubble…he’d been long gone. Just another victim of the Dragon Master’s raids. 

She hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

Astrid sighed, trying to push the feelings away. Dwelling on them had a nasty habit of making her feel weighed down and lethargic, like gravity was trying to pull her into the ground. On some of the worst days, she didn’t even leave her home – too lost in the echoes of her memories.

It made her feel useless.

Determined to avoid falling into that trap and wanting to channel her emotions into something more productive, Astrid set off towards the solitude of the forest. The weight of her battle axe was a comfort against her back, and her fingers were already itching to use it to take out some of her pent-up frustrations. 

No one looked twice as she made her way down the path; her commitment to her training was well known, having ultimately landed her the opportunity to become the new heir to the chiefdom. 

Heir. 

Astrid’s fingers moved to brush the bandage around her wrist. The fabric was tied loosely, but the skin was tender and swollen from the tattoo – the faintest twist of her wrist sent small stings of pain racing up her arm.

She’d probably be better off training left-handed for the day, she resolved. It wasn’t her dominant hand, but she liked the challenge it presented, just as she recognized the value of being able to be versatile in a fight. Not only would it surprise an opponent, she reasoned, but it would also save her skin if her good hand were ever injured.

Berk was counting on her now; she was determined to live up to those expectations. Hel, she was determined to exceed them. Doing so would bring honor to the Hofferson name, allowing her to do something that she hoped would please her father even in death.

As she wandered deeper into the forest, Astrid became aware of a strange prickling sensation. There was no clear root for her discomfort, but she couldn’t dismiss the feeling once she noticed it, finding her mind latching onto it. 

It felt as if her body was trying to warn her of some sort of impending danger, or perhaps to suggest that she was not quite as alone as she thought. 

Memories of the dream rose unbidden in her mind, conjuring images of shadowy figures in her periphery.

No. She shook her head, clearing the thoughts. It’s not real. 

Astrid withdrew her axe, palming it in her left hand. The weight felt off, just as it always did in her weaker hand, but she didn’t let her doubt register on her face. Instead, she grit her teeth, turning in a slow circle as she studied the woods around her for any sign of life.

Other than a stray squirrel scurrying across a branch, the trees around her seemed devoid of movement. All shadows were stationary, linked to the branches that hung above them. Astrid exhaled, letting her hands fall to her sides. 

She was overreacting. Over-exhausted.

Paranoid. 

Pathetic, she critiqued herself, gritting her teeth.

Leaves crunched under her boots as she continued towards the cove. In the years following Hiccup’s death, visiting that particular patch of the forest had become seen as taboo. Even Stoick had yet to return to the site of the tragedy, unwilling to face the memory head-on. 

Despite it all, Astrid continued to find herself compelled to return the place, never able to leave it in the past.

It had become her own haven for several years, offering her refuge when she needed it most. She sometimes wondered if it had been the same for Hiccup…if he’d felt drawn to the tranquil space just as she was now. 

She started with a simple warm up, moving in slow motions to get her arm used to the rhythm of her weapon. Muscles in her forearm burned, reminding her that it had been some time since she’d practiced with her non-dominant hand. If she were really to become ambidextrous as a fighter, she’d have to commit to training that way more often. 

Astrid huffed, frustrated by the realization that she’d lost some of her progress. Her swings grew more violent, temper breaking her normal sense of control.

Once more, the sensation of being watched surfaced, this time more strongly.

Astrid dropped her hand to her side, the head of her axe nearly grazing the ground. “Who’s there?” She called out, searching for a sign of whoever was spying on her. 

If Snotlout had dared to follow her again, after she’d explicitly told him to leave her alone…he’d be leaving with a few new bruises. She’d given him plenty of warning.

Yet when she turned, it was not the youngest Jorgenson who stood across the clearing. Instead, a man – tall, lanky and unfamiliar – stood not ten paces away. He was clad in strange armor made of a gleaming black, patterned material. 

Scales, her mind supplied, having seen them littered across the ground after raids. Dragon scales had a certain sheen that rendered them nearly iridescent in sunlight, making them impossible to mistake for anything else. 

A mask covered the stranger’s face, obscuring all his features from sight. A thin slit was cut for the eyes, their color too cast in shadow to be assessed.

The figure was silent as he took a step forward, but the single motion gave Astrid the last clue she needed. A strange, silver prosthetic lived in place of the lower half of his left leg, clicking with every movement. It was an odd contraption, far different from anything she’d seen created by a viking smith. 

Unmistakable.

“You.” She hissed, venom rising in her voice.

The Dragon Master said nothing, but he paused his approach. He tilted his head as he regarded her, his posture arrogant as ever.

Chapter Text

Weeks of compounding anger and grief spurred Astrid into quick motion. Her axe was swinging long before her mind had time to catch up the action, a raw-throated scream letting loose from her lips.

The Dragon Master proved to be faster, bending out of the way with shocking fluidity. It only took a few more motions for her to register that he was far quicker than any opponent she’d faced in the past, avoiding each swing as if he had infinite time to watch the blows come. Either he was able to predict her attacks, or his training outclassed her own.

Both options were maddening.

“What? Are you too cowardly to fight back?” Astrid snarled at him, switching her weapon back to her dominant hand. She’d rather fight through the sting of the new tattoo than risk letting the tribe’s enemy best her in combat. If anything, the burn of the runes only further fueled her anger.

The Dragon Master remained silent in the face of her onslaught, gracefully sidestepping each of her swings. No matter how she advanced or what battle tactics she employed, he always seemed to be two-steps ahead, putting distance between them with an effortless ease.

“Fight back!”

With a more furious strike, Astrid’s axe nearly struck true. She was certain that she’d have drawn blood, had the man not abruptly twisted to the side. He dropped to the ground, tumbling a few paces away and landing in a crouch. In seconds, he was back on his feet, arms raised upwards in a placating gesture.

A symbol of peace. 

Seriously?

Was he daring to mock her, after all his actions had taken from her? After all the pain his raids had caused her?

“Go to Hel,” she spat out, advancing on him once more. With any luck, she’d send him there personally.

Their dance continued on, punctured only by Astrid’s increasingly more frustrated threats and snarls. Her axe whistled as it cut through the air, never managing to hit the intended target. Every failure weighed heavier upon her, the disappointment proving far more taxing than the burn of her muscles.

“Say something, dammit!”

The Dragon Master remained silent.

Growing sick of it all, Astrid opted to change tactics. Though she’d have preferred to feel the axe sink into his flesh, to fully embrace the moment that she avenged her father, she’d settle for being the one to throw the blade. She would still be the one to set the balance right.

Astrid slowly wound her arm back as if preparing to strike, before rolling her wrists and swinging the weapon forward. Her fingers released their grip, the momentum carrying the axe straight at the stranger’s chest. 

The action was seemed to catch the Dragon Master off guard – enough that he wasn’t quick enough to step out of the way. He twisted his torso, but not far enough for his ribs to escape the weapon’s arc. It sailed towards his heart with grim efficiency, almost serving as poetic justice for the pain he’d inflicted on her own.

It should have been a grievous injury. 

It should have sent the Dragon Master to his knees.

Yet, the blade somehow passed through the man as if he were made of mist, instead sinking deep into the trunk of a tree behind him.

Thunk!

Astrid gaped, mind scrambling for answers. The blade should have pierced his chest, just slightly off his sternum.

So why hadn’t it? 

The man hadn’t ducked or twisted in any way that would have allowed it to completely pass by him. Yet, he appeared entirely unharmed. 

Perhaps he was a demon. 

The dread that she’d felt in the night returned with a vengeance, sending her stomach into a tangle of knots.  Distantly, she wondered if perhaps what she’d seen had been a vision from the gods…that in doing so they’d meant to warn her about this threat; to reveal that the tribe’s aggressor was an evil that lay outside the limits of humanity.

A threat that she now faced without a weapon.

Memories of the skeleton hand resurfaced. What was hidden beneath the strange, dragon scale armor? No one had ever gotten a glimpse of his true self. Was the Dragon Master even a man, or just a monster cloaked in fragments of the enemy? 

Gods. 

A sharp gasp drew her attention, the first sound she’d heard the man make. The Dragon Master’s hands rose, gloved fingers pressing rapidly against different parts of his chest as if looking for injuries. His posture had gone rigid, movements devoid of their previous grace as he twisted away from her. 

His gaze appeared fixed on where her axe was lodged, his left hand stretching towards it and then back to his chest as if assessing the height. 

Astrid’s brow furrowed. If she were to guess, he seemed almost as baffled by what had happened as she was herself. 

He’d expected it to harm him, she realized. If that were the case, it meant that he could be harmed. 

Likely not a demon, she decided, hands curling into fists. If he was simply a man, she still had a chance of bringing him down. She could bring Berk the peace it so desperately deserved. 

She had a duty to see this through.

The Dragon Master’s low muttering gave her pause, ears straining to pick up the jumbled rush of words. If anything of value could be learned before she struck him down, she’d be remiss to act too hastily. No matter how much she craved vengeance, she was Berk’s heir; she had to put the village first.

“...should have killed me. How in Thor’s name…”

So much for that hope.

Before Astrid could step forward, the man had advanced on her lost weapon. Indignance surged through her as he reached for the prized blade, but it was soon shattered.

The Dragon Master’s hand passed through the handle, finding no purchase on the wood.

What…?

“What was that?” he muttered, voice muffled by his helmet. 

He made another attempt, to the same result. It was followed by a few more desperate grabs, each sailing through the weapon as if it had no substance.

Or…perhaps, as if he had no substance.

“Well, that’s not good…” He lamented, voice pitching up. 

A new thought wormed its way into Astrid’s brain, hairs on the back of her neck rising as a new possibility took root.

“Oh, no. This…this cannot be happening,” a note of panic had edged into the man's voice, pitch rising higher as another attempt to touch the tree itself sent his hand sailing through. “No, no. I can’t be…”

His words made her suspect that he'd reached the same conclusion she had.

It wasn’t her weapon, nor was it the tree that was intangible. 

It was him. 

“...oh my gods, he’s dead,” Astrid whispered, unsure if she should be relieved or enraged that another had stolen her chance at revenge. 

The Dragon Master was a ghost.

Beware of lingering spirits. 

Do not provoke the dead. 

An unsettled soul can corrupt your own.

Each tale that the elders told of specters ended with some form of cautionary advice. As those words were drawn to the forefront of Astrid’s mind, she felt some of her numbness give way, a stitch of fear leaking in. 

Though he appeared to have no physical hold on the world, she remembered the tales well enough to know that some spirits started out weaker and grew in strength. For now, he was harmless, but it would be unwise to count on that remaining true forever.

“...oh gods, what did I do…”

Her growing fear was tempered a bit by the spirit’s clear unease. For the first time, he seemed almost human, sufficiently snuffing out any last credence Astrid had given to the ‘demon’ theory. She was willing to bet all of Berk’s gold that he’d been an ordinary man before he’d bit the dust.

A dragon-loving, traitor to his own kind…but a man all the same.

The man in question was still frantically attempting to make contact with the world around him, muttering constantly to himself as he moved. There was a familiar flurried chaos to his actions, tugging on something deep in her memories that she couldn’t quite place.

Against her better judgement, she took a swing when he moved into range. It was purely instinctual, and too late she realized that she had thrown all her weight into the punch. Logic only caught up with her when she found herself falling through him, the momentum sending her sprawling to the ground. 

“Ugh.” 

Momentarily dazed, it took Astrid a few beats to blink back the spots in her eyes. When she finally did, she flinched – the Dragon Master was leaning over her, his dark silhouette blocking out the sun behind him. 

Gods. He looked so solid. 

Her mind warred with her eyes, confusion leaving her at a loss. How could one hope to fight a ghost? None of her training had prepared her for this situation. 

“Are you okay?”

His voice was louder as he projected it at her, and once more she was struck by an odd sense of deja vu. 

“Like you care,” she grunted, leaning away from him as she pushed herself upright. She had to pull a few twigs out of her hair as she stood, glare keeping the spirit at bay. 

“Maybe I do.”

How dare he fake concern for her.

“As if you and your beast don’t–” She cut off, tension flooding her shoulders.

Oh, gods. His Night Fury. 

Somehow she’d forgotten the dragon, but it was never far from its master. If the creature had survived whatever had taken the man’s life, it was highly likely the beast was nearby.

“Toothless.”

The word was quiet, breathed out in a near whisper. There was new pain in his tone, even more visceral than before. “Oh Thor.”

Astrid arched an eyebrow, surprise momentarily eclipsing all other feelings. Had the Dragon Master really named the most fearsome of dragons something as absurd as Toothless?

“Toothless!” The man’s voice raised louder, bordering on a yell as he scanned the trees. 

Apparently so. 

Astrid took the opportunity to skirt around the spirit, pulling her axe free of the tree trunk. If the Night Fury was about to descend upon them, she’d make sure it joined its master in the afterlife. It wasn’t quite the same vengeance that she’d been hoping for, but it would suffice well enough to honor her father. 

“Toothless!”

The man’s voice was now a yell, desperation leaking in as he stumbled off into the treeline. In a matter of moments, he was entirely swallowed by the shadows, though his fading cries continued to pierce the night. 

Astrid briefly toyed with the idea of following, but decided it wasn’t worth the pursuit. 

It wasn’t as if she could kill a ghost.

The last slivers of shock gave way as she approached the village, the full force of what she had witnessed hitting her at once. She sank to her knees at the edge of the treeline, breathing growing uneven. Her heart pounded away in her chest, frantic enough she half expected it to burst through her chest.

A spirit. 

She’d seen a real spirit. 

It was like something out of a bonfire tale spun by traveling merchants, designed to thrill an audience with an over-the-top, sensational story. Astrid had always had a soft spot for them, though she kept that to herself, finding that the fantasy of such worlds was a nice reprieve from her own.

Much as she’d always enjoyed tales of hauntings, she’d never wanted to live one. They were only fun if they stayed contained in such stories, keeping her understanding of the real world neat and orderly. 

Her encounter in the woods had shattered that understanding.

“He’s really dead,” she whispered to herself, trying to focus on what such a thing could mean for her tribe. Though she hesitated to let herself believe such things, it could imply the end of the raids – or, at least, the tempering of their ferocity.

Things had been getting worse around the time the Dragon Master first appeared. It seemed plausible that without his presence, things would improve. 

She couldn’t wait to tell–

No.

Telling anyone that she’d seen a spirit was out of the question; they’d only think her mad. Unfit to inherit the chiefdom she’d fought so hard to earn. She wasn’t foolish enough to go around spouting off stories without evidence. 

No. At least for now, she’d have to keep this impossible discovery to herself. 

Astrid stared at her bedroom ceiling, wide awake.

For hours, she’d been unable to silence her nagging worries that the dreams would return, should she dare to close her eyes for even a moment. The house was quiet, her mother long since having gone to sleep. 

Astrid had resigned herself to listening to the distant sound of waves in the harbor, hoping the constant rhythm would soon soothe her enough to rest. 

So far, it hadn't been very successful. She was all too aware of the passing of time, knowing that with each crash of the waves she was losing more and more opportunity to sleep. That knowledge only caused her to spiral further, fretting over how tired she knew she'd be in the morning. It was a vicious cycle, forcing her to grow less relaxed and less likely to sleep. 

Thump. 

Thump. 

Astrid sat up, alarmed by the new sound interrupting the otherwise calm of the night.

It was distant and quiet, but it sounded almost like…

Thump. 

Thump. 

Thump.

Making her way over to the window, she squinted out towards the sea, soon finding her fears confirmed. If she looked closely, the horizon was alive with movement. The stars disappeared and reappeared in a sort of rhythm, as far-off figures swept over the sea. 

“Dragons.” 

She scrambled to grab her armor off the floor. It was for nights like these that she always kept it at arms reach, knowing that it could be needed at any moment. Securing her pauldrons in place with practiced ease, she slipped into her waiting boots. Her axe was barely settled against her back when she wrenched open her door, making her way into the darkened hallway.

“Mom!” She called, banging on her mother’s door with urgency. Once she heard the sound of rustling within, she hurried to explain,  “There’s a raid coming in fast; I’m going to warn the tribe!”

“Go."

She barely heard her mom’s reply, taking the stairs of their home two at a time in her haste. The run to the town’s warning bell wasn’t long, but she knew that each second made a difference. 

The bell tolled loudly through the streets of the village, now mixed with the faint cries of the approaching dragons on the horizon. Their shapes were somewhat difficult to identify against the darkness of the night, but Astrid had more experience picking the shine of scales out against the dark sky than she’d like to think about. Even the tiniest glint was a sign of another beast that was soon to descend on her home.

In minutes, Berk’s streets come to life. Warriors poured into the streets, moving with a level of certainty and organization that can only be borne of experience. 

Too much experience.

Astrid watched as her tribesmen took up arms, settling into their designated positions to guard the village. She could hear the distant bleat of sheep being shuffled into hiding and the roar of the guard tower torches as they were set alight. There was little talk; no one spared a moment for anything outside of reaching their designated positions. Their defenses required everyone to work in tandem, trusting that each warrior would take on their assignment with the utmost seriousness. Any slip up, and Berk could fall.

No one wanted to be the weak link that gave any ground to the invaders.  

As the towers were raised high in the sky, she couldn’t help but grimace. There were dragons as far as the eye could see, moving towards the village like an army. It was a sea of beating wings, notably thicker and more varied than any raid she could remember.

Gods. 

Instinct drew her gaze higher, to the position at the head of the flock that was usually occupied by a dark figure and his matching beast. Up until that moment, she’d tried to cling to a small shred of hope that perhaps she’d imagined her strange encounter in the woods. 

Yet, what she found was damning. The spot where the Dragon Master and his Night Fury should have been hovering…was completely empty. 

It was a twofold blow: confirming both that she’d really seen a spirit, and that apparently even their enemy’s death would offer them no salvation. In the man’s absence, the attack almost looked worse. 

How could such a thing be possible if the man who orchestrated the attacks was currently rotting six feet under? 

Something wasn’t adding up.

Chapter Text

Astrid Hofferson was being haunted.

At first, she hadn’t been entirely certain, only able to see the spirit out of the corner of her eye from time to time. He appeared as only a dark blot on the edge of her vision – a sight that, once noticed, instantly soured her mood. Yet, each time she turned to confront the specter, he’d be gone, like he’d never been there at all. 

It was frustrating, but in the days that followed, she yearned for such things. 

He’d since begun popping up everywhere, following her around like some sort of silent omen of death. The Dragon Master lurked in dark doorways, shadowed her steps whenever she slipped away to train and she’d even spotted him lingering outside her home on more than one occasion.

The click of his prosthetic became more and more familiar, often announcing his presence before she’d had a chance to catch sight of his silhouette. The more she saw the metal contraption, the more questions she had about it. It was unlike any prosthetic she’d seen or even heard about, likely the work of an eccentric but master smith. 

The question was: who would ever craft something so special for the infamous Dragon Master? 

He’d always ridden into battle alone; as such, they’d never considered that he might have allies. Yet, if someone was building prosthetics for him…he could very well have a team behind him. It was a chilling realization, and one that had her praying that any such allies wouldn’t set their sights on Berk in his absence.

If they did…her village would never see it coming. She couldn’t even warn them of the possibility, for she had no way of explaining her theory without looking like she’d gone mad. 

Infuriatingly, the spirit only ever appeared when she was alone. Before picking up on that detail, she’d assumed that he’d catch the attention of another viking soon enough – therefore proving his presence without Astrid having to risk her own reputation doing so. 

If only she were so lucky.

It enraged her when it became clear that he only materialized when there were no other witnesses – almost like it was some sort of personal torment. Like he was playing with her.

At one point, she finally snapped at him. She’d gone for a walk along the shoreline to clear her head, only to hear the telltale click that signaled he was following a few paces behind. As she spun around to face him, she leveled narrowed eyes at her pursuer.

“Stop following me!” The words had been sharp, her tone slicing through the air just as surely as her favorite weapon.

The spirit stilled his movements, but he continued to watch her. Through the gap in his helmet, the faintest shine of eyes could be seen. 

Having no other point of reference to draw upon, Astrid continued to associate him with the skeletal figure from her nightmares, imagining that exposed bone hid beneath the scales of his armor. If not for the gleam of his eyes, she might have even believed it. Yet the shine persisted, a constant reminder that he may very well have been flesh and blood. 

A monster, but the type that was simply a man.

As usual, the spirit said nothing as he regarded her. She hadn’t heard his voice since their first encounter in the woods, though not for lack of trying. She’d attempted to bait him into speaking up, but no atter how creatively she cursed his existence or demanded answers for the escalated raid, he did not break. She’d nearly screamed herself hoarse on one occasion, though it had been for nothing – just as her efforts were now.

Her demands hadn’t phased him; he remained surprisingly stoic. Though, she supposed, he had little reason to feel threatened by her. She couldn’t do him any real harm now. 

A tragedy.

“Leave me alone,” she ordered more aggressively, fists clenching at her sides. 

The Dragon Master remained rooted on the beach as she strode away, seemingly obeying her request. Yet, with the heat of his gaze fixed upon her every step, it felt as if he were still following along. It set her teeth on edge, the feeling lingering long after she’d left. 

Though she’d admit it to no other living soul, Astrid Hofferson was afraid. 

Disgusted by that revelation, she’d decided she needed to tip the scales back into her own favor. Patience wasn’t one of her virtues, so she wanted no time in seeking out the village's resident bookworm, Fishlegs. A few casual conversations later, he was pointing her towards procuring a book on protective charms, none the wiser. 

She’d felt like a fool paging through the old tome, but she hoped something in the superstitions could help. A prick of her finger, some burned incense and a little smeared charcoal later and she’d added a new sigil to her bedroom door. If the text she’d read was to be believed, it would work to keep malicious spirits out. 

Astrid loathed the sight of the dried blood runes on her door, but if it would grant her one place of escape, she resolved to learn to tolerate them. 

The sigil was useless. 

Only a few days after applying it to her door, she’d returned home for the night only to find the Dragon Master skulking about inside her room. He stood in front of the lone window, slouched in a more casual posture than she’d ever seen from him. Upon her entry, he straightened up, stiff shoulders regaining their arrogant appearance.

Odd, but not worth the effort of puzzling out.

“Get out.”

Astrid turned her back towards the spirit, toeing out of her boots and propping her axe securely against the wall. 

Click. 

She sighed, running an exasperated hand through her bangs. Of course he’d ignore her wishes. 

Click. 

Hairs rose on the back of her neck as the Dragon Master drew closer. Had he been alive, Astrid was certain she’d have been able to feel his breath hot against her neck. Without turning around, she could sense him, sense just how close he’d gotten. 

“I…”

Astrid’s heart flipped at the sudden sound of his voice, eyes widening. 

“I really need you to listen.” The voice was muffled by the helmet, but she could pick out his words well enough.

Listen? To him?

Astrid snorted, “and I need to find a good exorcist.”

“I’m serious–”

“So am I,” she cut in, keeping her voice low enough to not draw her mother’s attention. “Get. Out. Go haunt someone else.”

Spinning around, she couldn’t hide her flinch at his proximity. His helmet was mere inches away from her face, his body stooped slightly to bring their faces level. 

Green. Though his eyes were muted by shadows, she thought she picked up a bit of green. 

Huh. 

There was a shaky sound as the Dragon Master inhaled. Astrid assumed it must have been an instinctive action, for she couldn’t fathom why a spirit needed to breathe.

“Please,” he insisted, “I know you don't want me here, but you’re…well, you’re the only one who can see me.”

There was a sincerity to his tone that she hadn’t expected, followed by an almost embarrassed dip of his head. He stepped back, putting a careful foot of space between them, much to her relief.

The only one who could see…

Perhaps Astrid was going crazy and her delusions were trying to justify themselves to her now. It was all too convenient for the spirit to spring such a thing on her. 

Otherwise, she suspected he was just trying to manipulate her. That possibility seemed more likely, and she would not allow herself to be toyed with so easily.

“I doubt that,” she said, voice flat. 

“I’m not lying.” Unless she was imagining it, he sounded defensive in his claim. As if his word ought to mean something.

“Sure you’re not,” she said, breezing past him to sit by her mirror. As she worked to unbraid her hair for the night, her eyes continued to dart towards the Dragon Master’s figure in the reflection. 

“Astrid–”

Her blood ran cold. Were it not for her certainty that he’d been following her for days, she’d have demanded answers as to how he knew her name. As it stood, she still hated to hear it upon his lips. 

“–it’s true.”

She looked down, working on unwinding her arm wraps for the night. The left one came off quickly and easily, while the right required a gentler touch. The bandage for her tattoo had been removed that morning, but the skin beneath her wrappings was still sensitive.

Click.

Did he seriously have no regard for personal space? If he were tangible, she’d have thrown him through the door. 

“Why in Thor’s name would only I be cursed like that?” She asked, not bothering to look up.

Click.

Silence greeted her. The lack of answer did little to plead his case, instead deepening her frustration. 

“What? Now you’ve got nothing to say?”

A ragged breath was her only response.

Astrid glanced up at the mirror, finding The Dragon Master standing uncomfortably close once more. His head was tilted down, gloved fingers half outstretched towards her. 

She leaned away, bristling. “Oh no. Back off.”

His head tilted up towards her face, before snapping back downwards. As she attempted to follow his gaze, she landed on her bare tattoo. It was healing well, skin no longer swollen or notably red. 

“Astrid, why do you…”

She held a hand up as if to keep the spirit at bay. Gods, he was persistent. Like a ghostly cockroach. Perhaps she really should look into finding an exorcist.

“I really need your help.”

Wait. What?

Astrid’s jaw fell open in disbelief, mind warring between bursts of shock and fury. The man responsible for so much suffering had the gall to ask her for help? 

“You are an enemy of Berk,” she said slowly, resisting the urge to grit her teeth. “An enemy of mine.”

The man sighed, shoulders deflating. He was quiet for a moment, hands falling to his sides. When he did speak, there was a sense of resignation in his tone. “I’m not your enemy, Astrid. You…Berk…you just don’t have the whole story. I know things may look bad–”

She huffed, crossing her arms. 

“–but it’s not what you think. I’ve been trying to help Berk, whether you believe me or not.”

“I don’t.” 

Why should she?

The Dragon Master groaned, hands reaching up to clutch at his helmet. “How can I possibly explain this in a way that you’ll understand? I don’t…"

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to your lies," she said flatly.

"Wait!" His voice perked up, renewed determination leaking through as he continued, "The last raid – it was worse than usual, wasn’t it?”

It had been.

“It was,” he repeated more firmly, apparently undeterred by her lack of response. He’d begun pacing, seeming more frantic as he continued. His arms moved as he spoke, every gesture emphasizing his words. “I wasn’t there to do damage control, and I’ll bet that showed.”

Damage control?

“It’s a lot to explain,” he continued, “but I swear I’ll tell you everything. I swear on all the gods that Berk holds dear, I’m really not the bad guy here. Just listen, okay?”

“Why should I?”

The Dragon Master ceased his pacing, hands returning to his helmet once more. His fingers tapped the scales for a moment before hooking under either side. 

“Thor help me…” he muttered, voice almost too low to hear.

Was he really about to…

The man’s helmet gave way in a fluid motion, dropping to the floor with a dull thud. In its absence, a mop of auburn hair sprung loose, sticking out in all directions. 

He was far younger than she’d expected – likely her own age, or close. A generous smattering of freckles dotted his pale face, the faint shadow of stubble lining his jaw. Her gaze soon fixed on his eyes. One was a brilliant green, just as she’d glimpsed before, but far more vibrant in clearer light. 

The other was cloudy, with a hint of the same green behind it. A jagged scar marred his otherwise handsome face, cutting across the right eye in a deep track. It pulled the eye downward in the semblance of a squint, adding a harshness that conflicted with his pleading expression.

She often wondered about the face of their enemy over the years, but nothing her mind had conjured was near the truth. 

He was beauty and darkness, coexisting on a single face.

“Astrid,” free of the helmet, his voice was far more distinct – undeniably more familiar. Without thinking, her fingers found her right wrist, a sinking suspicion taking root. 

“...it’s me.”

She could see it now, eyes tracing the planes of his face. He was older; the baby fat was long gone, the jawline far more defined – but the pattern of freckles across his nose was just as she remembered. The green of his good eye was another glaring clue, for they were so similar to the chief’s own striking pair. 

“No.”

“Astrid–”

“No,” She repeated, shaking her head and stumbling out of her chair. Her back hit the wall, heart hammering away in her chest. “He’s dead.”

He shrugged, lips turning downwards at the corners. “...well, yes. I, uh…I kinda figured that much out for myself…”

Hiccup. 

She swallowed hard, trying to blink away the sight of him. Yet, he remained, gazing back at her with unwavering intensity. “No, he died years ago. I saw the blood, I found his dagger…”

“You found what I wanted Berk to find,” he said.

Astrid shook her head, mind reeling. What could he possibly mean by that?

“He was killed by dragons.”

Maimed, torn apart, eaten...the details were a mystery, but the end result was a certainty. He'd been another casualty of their enemies.

“Um…actually, no. Looking back, I guess the blood might have been a little overkill,” he admitted, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. It was a gesture that summoned many memories of the former heir, a clear indicator of his discomfort.

Gods. It was really him, wasn't it?

“I just, uh, guess I’ve always had a little dramatic flair?" He continued, oblivious to her mounting dread. "I thought it would sell the story easier. You know, stop people from looking for me if they didn’t think there was anything left to find.”

Sell the story…

Was Hiccup implying that his brutal death had been nothing more than theatrics of his own making? She’d spent weeks imagining the blood was still under her nails, her dreams full of visions of the heir’s final moments.

All for nothing?

As her fist sailed through his shoulder, they both flinched. Astrid struggled to maintain her balance, knowing a tumble would surely wake her mother. Hiccup’s hand raised to press against the shoulder she’d passed through, new grief lighting his features.

Right. He might not have died then, but he was dead now. She’d mourned a real loss, but just a bit prematurely. 

Gods, she was talking to a dead man. A shiver ran down her spine, but it wasn’t enough to stop the accusation that she leveled at him. 

“You ran away.”

Hiccup frowned, but he held her gaze steadily. 

“I did.”

She’d expected him to argue, to give some long-winded response full of snark just like his fifteen year-old counterpart would have. The boy she’d known would have deflected, would have had some sort of excuse to offer. 

It was unsettling to get such a firm, serious answer from him. 

“Why?”

As he watched her settle back into her chair, she noted the way only his good eye seemed to track her movements. The one intersected by the scar appeared less focused, and she couldn’t help wondering how much he could see out of it…and exactly what had caused the injury.

It was one of dozens of questions building in her mind, continuing to multiply the longer she had to process the heir’s fate. 

“It’s…a long story,” said Hiccup, expression tightening, “but let’s just say…I couldn’t finish dragon training. I couldn’t – no, I wouldn’t – kill a dragon.”

His words were enough to cut through her astonishment at seeing her old tribesman, reminding her of who he’d become: the Dragon Master. Astrid’s eyes swept over the scale-plated armor, trying to connect the villain of their tribe with the misfit from her youth.

“I had to leave.” 

“You turned against your own people,” she said in disbelief, feeling her heart break for Stoick. All these years he’d mourned the very soul who terrorized them.  

“No,” insisted Hiccup more defensively, moving to stand before her. His arms were outstretched in an open gesture, and he dropped to his knees before her. “Astrid, I’m not behind the raids. I never was. Look, I know Berk has this crazy theory–”

“Crazy?” She asked, eyebrows shooting up. “You lead the dragons to our village!”

Led. Her mind corrected. 

“I don’t,” he argued, tone sharpening. “Come on, you’re far too smart to believe that. Think about this all rationally, Astrid; those raids have been happening since long before I was born.”

It was a fair point. They’d been happening for centuries. 

“Well, they sure got a Hel of a lot worse around the time you showed up like that,” she pointed out, gesturing towards his scale-plated armor. 

“You just gestured to all of me.”

It was such a Hiccup thing to say that Astrid found herself rolling her eyes in response, both exasperated and faintly amused. His words were an effort at evading the question – that was easy enough to determine – but she wasn’t going to let him off that easily. 

“Well?”

Hiccup nodded, biting his lip for a moment before he said, “why do you think I got involved? I was going to disappear…you know, leave Berk in my past. I wanted to move on and I had this whole plan to go see the world beyond the archipelago…but when I saw how things were escalating…well, I couldn’t just let the village get wiped off the map. I had to stay; I had to protect the tribe, in the only way that I could.”

She failed to see how anything he’d done was to protect the tribe. 

“You ride a dragon,” she reminded him. “You side with our enemies and you watch our village burn.”

“Actually, no, I really don’t–”

“Don’t lie to me, Hiccup. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“Toothless and I divert as much of the flock as we can before they ever reach Berk’s shores,” he said, tone growing weary. “I know it’s not perfect, but we do our best to keep most of them from getting to the island – and we try to drive back the ones who do.”

“Uh-huh."

Hiccup scowled, leaning away from her. “Of course you won’t listen to anything I say. You never did before; why did I ever expect things to be different now?”

It was a fair criticism, and one that cut a little too close to the guilt that she’d felt when they’d first determined he was dead. She’d treated the heir like a nuisance most of their lives, tuning out his harmless chattering and never really getting to know him. It had been a source of regret once she’d realized she’d never get that chance.

Faced with his spirit, that guilt hit full-force.

Against her better judgement, she said, “I’m going to need a much better explanation than that.”

Chapter Text

Like an intangible thorn in her side, Hiccup continued to shadow Astrid’s movements. 

His more thorough explanation had been…something to consider – something that she was having a very hard time wrapping her mind around. If he were to be believed, he and his flock of trained dragons – an absurd concept in her eyes – held the line between Berk and the worst of dragon invasion during most raids. 

According to Hiccup, he and his group functioned as some sort of first line of protection, and the dragons that reached Berk’s shores were mere stragglers – the persistent few that were able to slip through the cracks in his defenses.

A few weeks ago she’d have laughed off such claims, but the last few raids had been undoubtedly worse. The number of dragons had tripled, leaving Berk at a temporary loss on how to handle the new threat. Tried and true strategies were scrapped in favor of new efforts, but they were a work in progress.

The grim truth was that if the tribe didn’t figure out a more effective plan –  and soon – there were going to be more casualties. 

More fatalities.

When Astrid asked why Hiccup never just killed the offending dragons, he’d seemed horrified. He either didn’t grasp or didn’t care that it was the simplest and most effective way to cut down the forces for good. 

Instead, he’d gone so far as to defend the attackers, insisting that they were not in control of their own actions. There was fire in his eyes, a steel-plated edge of certainty to his tone as he pleaded their innocence. 

It was baffling.

When she’d pushed for more details on that strange statement, Hiccup had immediately clammed up, lips pressing together into a thin line. It had been glaringly obvious that he was holding something back – something that must be vital to understanding the raids. 

Hiccup or not, he really was a traitor. 

Astrid hadn’t been impressed with that realization. In retaliation, she’d resolved to ignore him completely, deciding that it wasn’t worth her time to listen to someone who would choose to keep any hope of Berk’s freedom from them. 

It seemed he wasn’t their ally; he was no better than the enemy. 

She didn’t speak to him, she didn’t look at him, and she didn’t acknowledge any of his words…no matter how much they got under her skin (and gods, did he have a talent for that). Instead, she treated him exactly like the ghost that he had become.

Astrid had expected him to be annoyed. She’d expected a bit of anger. What she hadn’t expected was to see Hiccup begin to slip into a state of panic. At first, she wasn’t sure why he’d shifted to fear rather than anger at her actions, but then she’d realized the truth: he’d mistakenly come to believe that he was no longer visible to her.

Astrid initially played along in the hopes that he’d let his guard down. Perhaps, if he thought no one could hear, he’d let something slip that she could use to her advantage. It was a decent plan, but it proved fruitless. Rather than revealing anything of use, she’d only given him time to piece the truth together – taking note of the subtlest reactions to his presence. 

Hiccup had always been quicker than their peers. He’d also always been annoyingly persistent. 

“...come on Astrid, I know you can see me.”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

“Really, Astrid? Really?”

It was one thing to deal with him when she was alone, but he’d become shameless about following her throughout her day to day life. Ignoring his snarky commentary was a lot harder to do when others were around – when she knew that she couldn’t react. 

Each day, he pushed her already thin patience a little closer to the edge.

“...you can’t just start digging up the town square,” Astrid said, glaring at the offenders. 

“But we’re building a boar pit,” challenged Ruffnut, eyes squinted against the harsh glare of the sun. Her tone made it clear she saw nothing wrong with her actions, despite the giant chasm that had been dug into the pathway. 

“Yeah,” agreed Tuffnut, still on his knees in the dirt. Mud was caked deep into the folds of his clothing, coating the tips of his hair. It seemed like the pair had decided to forsake shovels in favor of digging by hand, leaving tracks from their fingers on all sides. 

Tuffnut in particular was a mess, looking like he’d been rolling in it…though, perhaps he had. 

Astrid wouldn’t put it past him; she’d seen far stranger things from the twins over the years.

“It’s for everyone’s benefit,” continued Ruffnut with a touch of pride, crossing her arms over her chest. “You really should be thanking us. It’ll, you know, lift everyone’s spirits or whatever.”

Lift spirits…

It wasn’t hard to guess where that line of thinking had begun; it was a sentiment that had grown common in the chief’s speeches lately. The words were a distraction, much like the patchwork feasts and trivial celebrations that continued to pop up – all designed to keep the villagers from focusing on the growing hardships they faced. 

While most of the tribe remained oblivious, taking joy in the mead-soaked nights, Astrid saw right through them. After all, one day it would be her job to put on such a show. One day she’d be tasked with keeping up the tribe’s morale, with giving speeches meant to inspire.

She’d have to be more careful with her words than Stoick had been, lest she risk inspiring ideas as nonsensical as the one she’d stumbled upon today.

“How is this supposed to lift spirits?”

Tuffnut shrugged.

“Duh – with entertainment, Astrid,” explained Ruffnut, as if it were obvious. “Ever heard of it? What’s better than watching a dozen muddy boars square off against each other?”

Astrid tuned the other girl out, surveying the damage to the street. It would likely take hours to fill it back in properly, and she couldn’t risk leaving the hazard in place on such a heavily trafficked path. Stoick would have her head if someone fell and was hurt – especially if she could have taken measures to stop it. 

“...or we could have duels against the boars; I’d say the first to draw blood wins! I nominate Snotlout for the test run, but I could be convinced to throw Gustav in for kicks.”  

Astrid sighed, closing her eyes. She’d throw all of them to boars if she had any say.

“Well, I’m glad to see that nothing’s changed,” remarked Hiccup, dry humor grating against her frayed nerves. 

Shut up. 

On instinct, her eyes flickered over to him. He was crouched low beside the hole, peering down into the mess. “Oh, my dad’s going to love this,” he muttered. The snark was familiar, further cementing the truth of who he was. 

Hiccup was turned to the side, marred eye turned towards her. Astrid’s eyes traced over the wound, a habit she’d taken up since he’d revealed himself. She’d not yet dared ask about its origins, but she couldn’t silence the part of herself that craved answers.

He was an enigma. She wanted to–

“Uh, Astrid? What are you looking at?”

Astrid’s gaze snapped back to the twins, who were now looking at her strangely. Of course they were; to them, she was staring rather intently at nothing. 

Hiccup laughed, and it took all her willpower not to turn back to glare at him.

“Shut up,” she snapped, her words meant for the spirit just as much as for the twins, but Ruffnut and Tuffnut didn’t need to know that. Ignoring the rush of embarrassment that was building, she slipped into the familiar role of giving orders, “you two – go get a shovel and fill this back in – now."

“But–”

“Now.”

The Thorstons rolled their eyes, but set off towards the forge, dragging their feet as they did. Astrid was confident they’d obey, though she suspected the task would be drawn out longer than necessary and filled with complaints. 

When she turned her attention back towards Hiccup, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Though she hadn’t heard him approach, he was now standing only a foot away. 

Astrid swore, taking a moment to steady herself before snapping, “You need to stop doing that!”

Despite the sharpness of her tone, she wasn’t truly angry. Instead, she took note of an strange fluttering sensation starting to build within her. It had been coming and going in waves over the last weeks, suddenly made worse by his close proximity. Her eyes traced over the planes of his face almost greedily, breath hitching when his lips twisted upwards into a smirk.

Right. She was staring.

Why was she staring at Hiccup Haddock? 

Astrid felt an odd burst of heat sweep across her face, eyes darting away from him. Without a word, she twisted past him, picking up her stride until she was confident she'd left him behind.

A few days later, Astrid’s irritation had reached a new boiling point. Day after day, she’d had no relief from the spirit trailing her steps; she had no time truly alone, for Hiccup was like a second shadow, following her wherever she might go. 

It chafed at her. 

After a particularly taxing day of handling her duties around town, the sight of him standing in her bedroom tipped something inside of her. “Go haunt your father,” she snapped, carefully skirting around him. Though she knew she’d only pass through him if their paths crossed, it freaked her out to do so. 

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can,” she scoffed, one hand lifted towards the door. “What? Forget where you lived, or something?”

Where you lived.

The room was quiet for a moment, the implications of her words heavy between them. Hiccup stared at her, expression suddenly wounded.

For a single moment, she felt the strangest urge to apologize…to comfort the boy that she’d grown up beside. She was quick to sweep such feelings to the back of her mind, chastising herself for entertaining such weakness.

“He can’t see me, Astrid. You know that.”

It was true. She’d seen the chief look straight through Hiccup, just as all the others in the village did. As far as she could tell, she really was the only one able to see him.

It didn’t make any sense.

“Why is that?” She asked, stepping forward until they were face to face. Her arms crossed against her chest, brows furrowed as she remarked, “there’s got to be a reason.”

“How should I know?” Hiccup asked, exasperation building in his own tone. “Believe it or not, I didn’t ask for any of this to happen!”

“What aren’t you telling me, Haddock?”

She already knew he was holding something back about the raids. Who was to say he wasn’t keeping more from her?

“Excuse me?” 

“Well?” She challenged. 

“I don’t know!” Hiccup yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Alright? You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be dead?”

His posture drew up and grew more defensive, expression rife with anger. For the first time since he’d discarded his mask, Astrid felt as if she were truly face-to-face with the Dragon Master himself, rather than her old tribesman. This wasn’t the weak boy that she remembered from her childhood, but rather a warrior in his own right. 

A new threat to be assessed.

“I wake up stuck in the same Thors-damned place that I worked so hard to leave, somehow even more invisible than I was when I left,” he continued irately, gesturing out towards the village below, “and the only small mercy is that one person can see me? Ancients…I have no idea what’s happening here, or what that has to do with you. Apparently I died, Astrid. Forgive me if I don’t have all the answers–”

He suddenly broke off, his posture instantly deflating. It was almost eerie, how quickly the fight disappeared from his stance. With a heavy sigh, he brought his hands up and dragged them down his face. 

When Hiccup spoke again, his voice was far quieter, “Look…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled,” he dipped his head, staring at the floorboards as he took a step back. “I don’t know why you can see me, but I...don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m just glad that you can. I know it’s selfish and believe me, I get that you don’t want me here, but Astrid…I’m just glad I’m not alone.”

She stared back, finding herself more confused than ever. 

His last admission had caught her off guard, though she supposed she could understand. The thought of being invisible to everyone, unable to interact with the world, it sounded awful. In his place, she suspected she’d be desperate for someone to talk to.

In that moment, with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched in, he reminded her once more of his younger self: pitiful, lonely and most importantly, lost.

“Please,” he added, looking even more pitiful as he regarded her. “Just don’t shut me out. You…you’re all I’ve got.”

Astrid inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself. 

Her eyes then swept over his face, tracing the features – both familiar and foreign. Five years was a long time, and she doubted the man before her was the same boy she’d once known. Time would have reshaped him, just as it had done for her.

They were strangers; she owed him nothing. It would be justified for her to turn him away.

It should have been easy…yet, it wasn’t.

Annoying as his constant presence had been, a small part of her had been relieved to see him once more, while an even bigger part was intrigued to unravel the mystery of what he’d become since leaving their shores. 

And…for all his faults, Hiccup had always been kind to her. Even as children, in a society where such kindness wasn’t praised, he’d always treated her with respect. It didn’t place her in his debt, but it did matter – enough that she knew she’d grow to regret dismissing him too quickly.

Still, she wasn’t about to let him hijack her life. There was kindness, and then there was foolishness – and Astrid did not consider herself a fool.

“You can’t follow me around forever.”

The hope in Hiccup’s expression quickly withered, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he dipped his head in slow acknowledgment. “Right. Uh,” he swallowed hard, taking a step backward, “if that’s how you…okay…um…”

Gods above, he was still awkward. The familiarity of that realization offered the last bit of reassurance that she needed to continue on with her decision.

“Not forever,” she emphasized, “but for now? Alright. Fine – but just until we can…find a way to help you move on. Fair?”

“Move on?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, waving her hand around vaguely, “you know: cross over, find peace or whatever it is ghosts do.”

Half the spirit tales told around bonfires ended with spirits passing on to other planes of existence. It was the closest thing that she knew of to a ghost finding a happy ending. She wouldn’t entertain him forever, but she’d be willing to help get him on the path to moving on.

“Oh.”

Hiccup looked somewhat perturbed by the suggestion, but after a moment he nodded his agreement. “Right…um, well, I guess that’s fair enough.” 

“And there will be rules.”

“Rules?” His bad eyebrow quirked up, a note of disbelief in his tone.

“No more distracting me when I’m in the middle of a conversation,” she said, holding up her hand and ticking off a finger. Moving on to the next, she said, “and no more showing up in my bedroom, uninvited…”

Hiccup blinked, looking around the room as if he’d not noticed where they were. A flush swept over his cheeks, and he raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes. “Right…I can do that. Anything else?”

“Lose the armor,” she said, gesturing towards the scale-plated suit. Weeks later, the very sight of it still bothered her, summoning memories she wished to forget. “You took off the helmet, so I know you’re not stuck with it.”

Hiccup blinked, looking down at his ensemble. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly, “if you want me to help you, I suggest you try not looking like the enemy.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes, but got to work on unbuckling his vambraces. “I told you; I’m not the enemy. I never was.” As he stripped away more of the layers, he revealed a simple black tunic and matching trousers. They clung neatly to his body, revealing lines of toned muscle that certainly hadn’t been there when he left Berk. 

In spite of herself, Astrid felt her own face heat. There was something about this Hiccup that flustered her in a new way she couldn’t quite name.

“Can I at least keep the boot?” Hiccup asked, fingers stilling over the laces. “The height of the platform is designed to line up with this prosthetic. Without it I won’t be able to walk evenly.”

The prosthetic: one more mystery she’d have to solve, though his history as a blacksmith’s apprentice led her to believe he’d had a hand in crafting it. 

In the weeks immediately following his disappearance, it was common for a drunken Gobber to wax poetic about his old charge’s strange contraptions. Anyone who happened to be in the hall was subjected to hearing all about them – whether they wanted to, or not.

Astrid had been forced to listen on more than one occasion, but she’d been numb in those early days – taken aback by the grim discovery in the cove. She’d let Gobber prattle on, only half hearing his words. 

“Sure,” she allowed. 

Hiccup kicked the heap of his discarded armor under her bed, meeting her look of disapproval with wide eyes. “What?” He asked. “Where else am I supposed to put it?”

“Literally anywhere else.”

Hiccup crouched, pulling his things back out and into his arms. “Fine. I’ll just put them in my old room, I guess. Is that all?”

“Not quite,” said Astrid. There was one more thing – the most important thing – that she had yet to ask of him. “You’re going to need to be completely honest with me, Hiccup. I mean it. No more secrets, no more half-truths. I want to know everything that you know about the raids and everything that’s happened since you left – got it?”

The former heir frowned, “Astrid…it’s not that simple. I can’t–”

“Those are my terms,” she cut him off, “take it or leave it.”

“...so, uh. Nice tattoo.”

Astrid dropped her axe mid swing, startled by the comment. A glance down confirmed that she had forgotten to rewrap her arms for the training session, and the ink black runes were bared for all to see. 

Her only audience, the very ghost whose name was forever etched into her skin, was staring at the tattoo like it was the greatest mystery of the world. 

She only grunted in response, bending to retrieve her fallen weapon. 

“I, uh, noticed it a while back and I wasn’t sure how to ask…”

Astrid hummed, rolling her wrist and lining up with the target again. She moved through the motions with ease, releasing just as the axe passed her ribcage. 

Thunk!

It wedged itself into the tree, edge squarely within the charcoal lines that she had drawn. 

Perfect.

“...I just…uh, can’t help but wonder…why do you have my name tattooed on your wrist? Did you lose a bet to Snotlout, or something? Was it…was it some kind of punishment?”

Astrid snorted, shaking her head. She moved to dislodge her axe, words spilling easily from her lips. “No,”  she replied, “it was part of the ritual to become heir.”

“My dad made you heir?” Hiccup’s surprise was evident. In all fairness, she hadn’t divulged that detail to him yet. It had felt too strange to admit that she’d taken his birthright. 

She cast a look over at where he sat on a fallen log. He’d been growing stronger, she noted, now able to interact with more elements of the earth. A few weeks prior, he’d have passed clean through the log, but now he was perched on it with relative ease. 

Ever prone to theories and experiments, Hiccup had talked her ear off about it on more than one occasion. From his ‘research’ – a fancy term for trying and mostly failing to get a physical foothold on the earth – it appeared that his interactions were now limited to organic things that grew from the earth: plants, trees and the like. He could grasp the wooden handle of her axe, but not the metal head. He could pluck a flower from the ground, but couldn’t manage the tiniest splash of a pond.

The progress excited Hiccup, but it worried Astrid. The firmer his grasp on the world, the more she feared there would be no moving on. 

“Are you surprised?” She challenged, “who did you think it would be? Snotlout?”

Spitelout had certainly hoped for that outcome, but Stoick had not let himself be swayed. He’d given his nephew a fair chance, but ultimately had settled on choosing Astrid to succeed him. 

Hiccup shrugged, tapping his fingers against the log. “I mean, he is part of the bloodline. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t really want me as heir, but he was always going on about the gods and some superstitious rule…”

“All rules have loopholes.”

Hiccup tilted his head, “I guess…but what are you getting at?”

Astrid leaned her axe against the tree nearest her, wiping her sweaty hands on her skirt. “There was a ritual,” she explained, “to appease the gods.”

“Don’t tell me Gothi tried to summon Thor on my behalf,” snarked Hiccup, looking deeply amused by the possibility.  

“Of course not,” she shot back, though the thought did make her chuckle. “They used an ancient ceremony to…”

Oh gods. Of course.

“What?” Hiccup asked.

Astrid shook her head. Pieces were coming together in her mind, offering the very answers that she’d sought for weeks. 

Hiccup stood, crossing the clearing to stand nearer to her. “‘To what,’ Astrid?”

“To tie my soul to yours,” she whispered. 

“What?”

“Of course. That’s why you’re here,” she explained, “that’s why I can see you, isn’t it? It has to be – you showed up the same night.”

Hiccup reeled back, shaking his head. “You bound your soul to mine? Are you insane? What does that even mean?” He’d begun to pace, short quick strides carrying him across the clearing and back. 

Click. 

Step.

Click. 

Step.

His anxious motions were making her own nerves worse.  

“I don’t know!” She confessed, feeling her stomach twist into a series of knots. “It…it was meant to be symbolic, not literal! You were dead!”

“Do you enter willingly into this ritual, knowing that once it is done, it can never be undone?” 

The words of the ceremony echoed in her head, their finality more grim as she considered them. If what she’d done was permanent, did that mean she was stuck with his spirit forever? Would he haunt her to her own grave?

Tolerating him for a few weeks was one thing…but for life? 

“Well, it doesn’t look like death stops this – whatever this is, does it?” Hiccup shot back, running his hands through his hair. 

Astrid groaned. 

“What does this mean for you?” Hiccup continued, “for me?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, feeling out of her depth. 

Her actions had summoned his spirit, and it wasn’t a large leap to consider that she’d trapped him in his current state. If that were true…if she’d kept his spirit from finding peace, she’d as good as killed him a second time. She was responsible for setting things right. 

Helping Hiccup was no longer an act of fleeting kindness, but now a blood debt that she owed.