Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Toothless knew something was off. He was waiting for what he wasn’t quite sure.

Perched on Dragon’s edge, the Nightfury held a watchful gaze among the growing sea of white. Every now and then, he’d perk up to the left, then to the right, and back to center. All he could hear was the wailing of the gales and the waves clashing against the shoreline. He unconsciously fidgeted with his new tail to hear a soft click click click as the gears opened and closed the fin. He sat there, knowing that the others were safely behind him and enjoying the festivities they'd been planning for in the previous months. The other dragons, mucking about in the snow or inside enjoying the warmth and food, did not share his growing feeling of uneasiness. Stormfly, a few minutes ago, offered an incredulous look and gestured to join the rest of them inside. He simply shook his head with a huff and gestured back into the abyss. The look he gave her, whatever it was, must have revealed how serious he was about staying outside. She sent one last look and turned back.

Snow began to pile up around the Nightfury, with the occasional flake hitting the inside of his eyes or on his nose. But he couldn’t afford to shake them off. One miscalculated blink, one sneeze, he could miss what he was waiting for.

Guests finished arriving, with their baskets of aromatic foods and barrels of juice, they greeted the Nightfury with short phrases and waves. He recognized some as Berkserkers, some from home, some Wingmaidens, all arriving to celebrate a festival of harvest (the name of which Toothless could not make out). But he couldn’t acknowledge them for too long. And despite the growing cheers and chatter behind him, the smells making his stomach rumble, the other dragons beginning their games, and the fact that Hiccup may wander outside looking for him, Toothless was waiting. For what, he wasn’t quite sure.

“You feel that lads?” Toothless, along with the circle of children around him and his meal, looked up at the Berkian Blacksmith. “Devastating Winter is nigh!”

He knew this tone. Gobber often chatted endlessly to the Nightfury during Hiccup’s late nights at the forge, or during meals at the Great Hall, or on long flights back to the Edge, and back home… There's no wonder where Hiccup learned his love for words. With a long sigh out through his nose, he lowered his head to rest on some random Berkian hatchling to prepare for a long tale. The festivities for the night were winding down, where people were dancing and hollering their strange tunes, and the mood transitioned into a quiet feast of whatever food was left over. And juice drinking. His main family, the Blacksmith, the Deranges, and a few others, were left to sit and enjoy the rest of the evening. Or, at least, enjoy whatever is left of their evening.

Behind him, he heard Hookfang’s rider shriek.

“Gods! Who’s the genius that decided to leave the door open during a growing snowstorm?” Snotlout grumbled.

“You are, Snotlout.” Fishlegs, a little ways away from him, offered. Toothless snorted.

Where the typical banter should have been, Gobber probably caused whatever juice was in their hand to spill out as he continued.

“That shiver down yer spine! Frost in yer mead, fingers blue and frozen no matter where they be, but a viking knows that it ain’t just yer normal winter… oh no,” the viking wove through the crowd of friends, swinging his tankard hand around and stopping at the center firepit. “It’s him.”

Toothless followed his gaze back outside. His tankard-arm points out into the abyss. He felt his tail swish to the side, and a couple of the kids laughed in shock.

Fishlegs, uncomfortably close to the Blacksmith and holding his juice close, stared with worried eyes. “Who… who do you mean, Gobber?”

The blacksmith turned his head to meet his gaze.

“The Frost Giant of the North…”

Toothless perked his head up.

“The icy imp of the isles…”

His ears strained and reached past the walls, past the white abyss, past the howling winds and dancing forests. If he closed his eyes and waited, he could have sworn he heard it again. The wail.

“The original Snow Wraith…”

The wind picked up, causing a surprised yelp from Fishlegs, the Twins scrambling for their respective dragon heads, and the children around the Nightfury to huddle closer. Toothless offered a wing, like a shield.

“Jokul Frosti.”

For a moment, all he heard was the sound of the abyss. Until Snotlout barked with laughter.

“That ol’ elf? That’s just a stupid kids' story to make them keep their socks and boots on, right Fangster?” Hookfang, curled up around his rider, humored him with a soft huff of smoke. “It’s a silly tale.”

The Thorstons, from across the room, looked like they'd just been slapped.

“Woah, woah, woah--”

“Curb thy tongue!”

“That isn’t any ol’ elf Snotlout--”

“That ‘silly tale’ is what haunted House Thorston for decades--”

“Centuries!”

“Poor Aunt Agnut, both her pointers blackened from her blunt fingernail down to the knuckle--”

“Isn’t that the knuckle that fell into the pot of soup--”

“Dullnut’s entire flock of sheep, with thickest wool, frozen the next day--”

“The whole generation of woolies could never look at the forest the same way--”

“--Same as Loki! The Frost Giant?! How could you ever--”

“Alright! Alright, I get it.” Snotlout was not going to win against a pair of frantic Thorstons.

Toothless decided that they would be bantering for a while, and rested his head back on top of the unfortunate hatchling that was below him. They giggled and scratched the underside of his scales at least, so he had no reason to feel guilty. He peered open an eye, scanning the room. Some of the hatchlings, with worried looks, were asking Gobber for more about ‘Jokul Frosti.’

“He’s an evil thing, stalking our livestock and bringing that cold to nip at ye’ wee fingers and toes,” the Blacksmith, backlit by the light of the little fires, created shapes in the shadows. “Like a wolf, he pounces on the weakest of the bunch, and pulls you down into the depths of the cold waters he came from.”

There are gasps, some holding onto a couple of Terrors for warmth, comfort.

“That Frosti, he used to be one of us, ye’ know? A troublesome wee thing like the bunch ye’ are.”

“What was he like?” A soft, hushed voice questioned.

“Ma’ told us that he used to be like us,” Tuffnut swirled the little juice he had left. “He was a devout follower of Loki, big respect, but he took it way, way past the typical Thorston shenanigan.”

Snotlout rolled his eyes and took a swig. “Like what?”

“He terrorized his village.” Gobber, holding a stick against the wall to create the shadow of a boy, loomed over the hatchlings. “Often telling the wee ones of horned creatures of the forest, leading them to angry lakes and rocky hillsides. Oh, how he got them into trouble.”

“His own family hated him!” Ruffnut leaned her head over her tankard, a couple of braids falling in. “Even the Gods! Do you know how annoying you have to be to get the Gods’ attention?”

“I can hardly imagine.” Heather, sitting next to Astrid, smiled into her cup.

“Odin himself, or… was it? No matter, the Gods knew that this boy could not live a life without consequences. So! They put a big ol’ curse on him.”

A kid raised their hand. “What kind of curse?”

“The kind of curse that makes him roam the world, trapped in a terrifying, monstrous form. He brings trouble everywhere he goes? Ha! An understatement!” Gobber drank a mighty sip of juice. “They made ol’ Frosti into an indicator. A sign that Winter, Devastating Winter, was coming fast. That the harvest is over, game is sparse--”

“-- He’s a symbol of death itself.” Fishlegs summarized.

“Bingo!”

“A point to you, good sir.”

The Thorstons clanked their tankards together and took their respective swig.

Snotlout, having collapsed onto Hookfang, looked into his own juice with a tight expression. “So hypothetically speaking -- and this is entirely in a fake, made-up scenario -- Jokul could just be out there? Here? In the Archipelago?"

“They got to you huh.”

“Shut up Astrid! Gods, why do I even hang out with any of you?”

“Aww, you love us don’t you Snotty?” Ruffnut looked like she could fall out of her seat.

“Alright, this conversation is over. We are changing topics.” Snotlout got up, probably to get more juice.

The Twins and Fishlegs accompanied him, finding their way through guests and tables of food. Toothless, still relaxed in his spot, watched how others trickled out of the warmth of the clubhouse. The children disbanded to meet with the other dragons, many flaunting to the Monstrous Nightmare to roast food over his fire, but some remained with Gobber to hear whatever tale he decided to illustrate with shadows and props. He watched how, despite a lighter atmosphere in their conversations, the riders sometimes looked out into the abyss. Hofferson often did so in habit, Ingerman as well. The wind was getting stronger.

Conversations flowed in and out of the Nightfury’s mind, but he knew that one topic lingered. Toothless, still rattled from the earlier events of the day, knew that Hiccup was listening as keenly as he was. Still lying down, he perked an ear up, left, then right, until he sensed his kin behind him. With a turn of his head, he spotted the nest of hair hidden behind the barrels of juice and stacked tables. Hiccup, still lost in thought, met his eyes. He looked better. Not alright, but better than earlier. He’s been waiting as well.

Toothless knew that there was a reason why Hiccup never hurt him that day, that whatever he saw in his eyes, it was enough for him to spare his life. It was enough for him to give his kind a chance.

So it does not surprise him that Hiccup found a reason to spare the Frost Giant’s life as well today.

Chapter Text

Sunrise

18 hours ‘til Vetrnætr

Hiccup knew that he was going to have one Hel of a day.

It started as a throw-away comment, maybe from Tuffnut or Snotlout or whoever, which turned into a semi-serious conversation about an Archipelago-wide get together. With growing allies, increased trade, an abundance of harvest, and a slight shortage of near-death experiences, it was safe to say that this season had some reasons to celebrate. Which was weird. Usually, the coming of the winter months proved bleak and weathering, with the annual Berkian complaints Hiccup knew were coming. There’s no more firewood Hiccup, or My dragon keeps on eating the sheep Hiccup, or We’re down three huts please get these dragons in check Hiccup. Future chief duties calling. Toothless, during a particularly long sheep tirade from Stevenson, actually groaned in annoyance and had to drag Hiccup by the leg to fly out of there. They had a long talk about manners after that, even if both secretly agreed that it was probably justified. Probably.  

But despite the seasonal dreariness and piling responsibilities, the gang decided that one last gaffaw before winter could be fun. 

The conversation flowed from Fishlegs’ careful calculations of the approaching winter to Astrid’s enthusiastic festivity planning to the Twin’s secret stash of ‘Thorston approved booze’ (oh Gods). There were many votes for drinking contests, dancing, feasts, stories around the fire, and arm wrestling. However, there were only two votes for a boar pit. (“That’s three, actually! Chicken here is a valuable member too guys.”) The twins offered that everyone could wear costumes to scare off any sprites that may disturb their festivities, but it was quickly brushed off. Everyone wearing costumes, ridiculous. The dragons had their little corner of discussion as well. It was a night of cheerful planning and discussing who to invite and what to do, but Hiccup knew that inevitably, most of the responsibilities would be passed down onto him. Because of course they would. 

His father, although a little reluctant at the beginning, helped in boosting the festive morale of Berk. The people deserved a celebration of their accomplishments and hardwork, and many were happy to assist in feast preparations and supply runs. Hiccup was sure that Gobber would be excited for the storytelling. And the mead. There were some council meetings, many Terror mails, but in the end, Hiccup was able to get the Berserkers for a long overdue ‘do-over’ of their last encounter with Berk (With a slightly more stable Dagur and Heather to catch up with). Snotlout was able to invite the Wingmaidens as well.

Everything was planned and prepped, written down and gone over thrice and some more, and all that was left to do was welcome the guests. And triple check the supplies. And tidy up the clubhouse. And yell at the twins to keep from messing with the gas canisters again. Hiccup closed his eyes and massaged his temple, earning a concerned croon from Toothless. This was going to be a long day.  

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Sorry Gobber, but I really don’t have the time or patience for that right now.” Hiccup wove through the forge, grabbing extra tools and throwing them in his pack.

The blacksmith did not let up.

“—Took me, oh, I don’t know! A good shake of the ol’ noggin before Stevenson could even speak a straight sentence! I know he’s a wee worrier at the best of times but something about those sheep of his really spooked him—”

“Uh huh, and I said that I would take care of that right after today.” As he ducked under an axe handle to get to a bucket of nails, he heard Gobber behind him give a surprised shout.

Rubbing the sore spot, Gobber could only shake his head and continue after his apprentice. 

“Hiccup ‘ye need to come right back with me after tonight, Grump and I can only take so much more of a blabberin’ shepherd—”

Hiccup was already saddled and off with Toothless before he could finish. 

Gobber looked up, exasperated, and put his hands on his hips. With a pivot on his pegleg, he walked over to his dozing dragon and gave him a good scratching on the chin. Grump happily continued to snooze and settle further into his makeshift bed of pots and hay. A sharp gust of cold air burst through the forge, causing the blacksmith to huddle closer to his dragon. 

“How ‘bout a story of that ol’ elf by the fire tonight, ay Grump?” Gobber asked, and was answered with a long snore. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“I thought you two promised us no boar pit for tonight?” Hiccup called as he looked up from his hammering, eyeing the flocks of frantic Gronkles and Terrible Terrors flying out from some nearby forests. 

“We did!” He heard Ruffnut and Tuffnut behind him.

Although the twins were set for decoration duty (which they volunteered to do), Hiccup had to step in once something that looked like a shield sculpture of Chicken caught his eye. It was impressive, admittedly, but it also meant that no actual decorating happened in the last four hours. 

“Sure, maybe there were a couple explosions here and there, but we’re onto something big here Hiccup!” Ruffnut threw a shield over to her brother, which he fumbled and dropped. Belch was kind enough to fetch and hold it in place as Tuffnut began to hammer.

“Picture this: explosions shaped like dragons. Or the Gods! Or us!” Tuffnut said through the nail clenched in his teeth, “Different shades of fire, all perfectly explodable and perfectly timed.”

“But we’re still working on how to fire the stupid things.”

“I think we should go with what I originally suggested and just throw them up ourselves—”

“But we don’t have enough hands to throw them with the accuracy we need—”

“Ugh, agreed, so we go with the canons method—”

Hiccup, half filtering out their conversation and half deciding whether to deal with their experiments now or later, held a curious eye up at the forest line. Toothless, with his ears high with alert, did the same. Monstrous Nightmares, a couple of flashes of Changewings in their distressed hue shifts, and an increasingly growing number of Terrors all flying towards the shoreline. A rolling mist flooded the edge that morning, skewing the clarity of the skies and dropping the temperature. It was hard to see past any further forests, to find anything that could be causing the dragons to flee like this. Above him, he could make out their muted silhouettes and calls. Weird. He knew that some dragons still migrated in the colder months, but this early? Or maybe a stampede spooked whatever dragons were in the way. He felt Toothless nudge his side as he snapped out of thought. With a grunt, Toothless pointed towards the twins and their attempts at flinging the shields and firing nails at the walls. 

He made a mental note to take a quick flight through the edge and check in with the dragons later.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After an afternoon of checking in with Fishlegs and accounting for the surplus of feast supplies (and insisting that the twins carry out any further explosion experiments far, far away from the edge and preferably near a body of water), he overheard a crowd near the shoreline. 

Guests were finally arriving, which was right on schedule. 

The mist was thickening, as if Hiccup could take Inferno and cut right through it, so it was a miracle how Stormfly and her rider could see Heather and Dagur hop off their respective dragons. They swooped by him, making the mist swirl through their path. 

Toothless and Meatlug, staring at seagulls and catching up, both excitedly perked up at the Razorwhip and Triple Stryke’s presence.

“— Finally letting up a little, so maybe they’ll be ready to leave by sunrise so… oh! They’re here Meatlug!” Fishlegs, arms full of tankards, rushed towards his dragon friend. “It’s a good thing too, c’mon let’s go say hi to Heather, yeah?”

The Gronkle's eyes couldn’t be more ecstatic. 

About to take off, they paused, eyeing Hiccup still standing near the edge. His gaze was locked onto the horizon, lost in thought, it would seem, with his arms crossed. 

“Hiccup? You wanna join us?” Fishlegs asked.

Hiccup turned his head to acknowledge him, but his eyes continued to look forward.

“Yeah, uh, yes, we’ll be there.” He replied.

He heard his friend pause, but soon the fluttering of Meatlug’s wings carried on into the distance.

Toothless, looking expectantly at his kin, motioned for Hiccup to start heading out. But the Viking stayed put, still caught in whatever mind jumble that decided to have his thoughts race against each other. Everything was in order, most things were in check, so why did he believe that something was missing? Something that was supposed to be on his list of things to do for today, but was never written down. There was something that was looming over him. Dread? The feeling he got when one of his friends was missing, or when there was a tail malfunction during a flight. Many things were going right, so what was wrong?

Hiccup took a breath and grounded himself. He could practically hear Astrid saying he was overthinking again. 

“C’mon, bud.” 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

“Toothless! My favorite Nightfury, oh look at you!” Dagur dropped to his knees and began to spoil the dragon with scratches and pets. “Is it just me, or have you grown a little taller?”

Toothless crooned and accepted the praise, a smug look on his squished face.

Sleuther might have rolled his eyes.

Heather, with a fur-lined shawl over her shoulders, helped take down some of their packed goods and supplies. 

“If we’d known about this snowstorm, I would have urged my brother here to leave earlier.” She mused.

“Well, it’s not like we could have warned you, I mean, we’ve been monitoring the weather like a hawk these past weeks,” Astrid replied, helping with the cargo. "At least you’re here and safe.”

She was met with a smile, and the two distributed their goods amongst the dragons. 

Fishlegs, happily watching Windshear and Meatlug catch up, piped up, “Are the others on their way?”

“The rest of our tribe met with the Wingmaidens halfway, oh! Mala’s on her way too.” Dagur replied as he went up to Fishlegs, joining him in watching the dragons converse. “Don’t worry Fishie, we did our best to follow all your instructions to a tee.” 

“Was making everyone's knitted accessories part of those instructions?” Heather called from behind.

“Sleuther looks adorable in those studded cuffs, don't deny it!” He called back.

It was good to have the two back on the Edge. Astrid smiled as she walked back to Stormfly, smoothing down her spikes and earning a squawk of appreciation. Their banter was missed (for the most part), and she was looking forward to the festivities planned for tonight. But there was a certain voice missing from the conversation.

She turned to her friend, watching him strap a bag to Toothless’ saddle and double check the tail. It was a new blend of Gronkle Iron, by the sounds of Fishlegs’ excited chatter, that was supposed to resist the cold. She absentmindedly fiddled with a charm tied to her axe.

“You good?” she tried. 

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and gave one of his weird grins and a thumbs up. 

She snorted. Typical.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hiccup has heard many strange things in his lifetime. He remembered the distorted grunts, growls, and roars of his youth, when everything seemed too big and too much to comprehend. He remembered tumbling through crowds of vikings, running into masses of scratchy furs and jagged spikes, as many gave their own grunts and battle cries. There were many nights of squeezing his ears and eyes shut, hidden under barrels or under his bed, but he could never drown out the cries of agony of a burning Viking. Or drawn out hissing of claw wounds paired with pained groans of nearby dragons. 

He could never forget the rageful shriek of the Red Death. Even high up in the air, with Toothless beating his wings as fast he could and the winds whipping at his face, its roar pierced through his chest and caused his head to spin. It was difficult at times to tell the difference between the lightning strikes and the blasts they avoided. Sleeping through his wounds was a struggle after that, every time it stormed.

But in the comfort of lively conversations and the soft tides lapping at the shoreline, Hiccup heard it.

A wail.

Shrill and primal, it echoed tenfold from the far forests and into his head. As if his brain decided to tell his heart to pump jagged pieces of ice through his blood, a cold began to bleed from his chest to his limbs. He froze. Goosebumps erupted out from his skin like a burning rash; his layers of leather and linens suddenly felt too much and too little at the same time. Next to him, Toothless’ eyes were wide and unseeing, his whole body arched into a tense position with his spines pin straight. His ears twitched sporadically.

Hiccup’s heartbeat was hammering painfully in his ears.

What the Hel was that?

His eyes darted up to his friends, half expecting to mirror similar expressions or reactions. But they were ahead of him. Still laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. 

“Um, hello?” He called out, with a hoarseness in his voice.

The group slowed their pace and looked back at him.

He stood there, not knowing how to properly express himself, and motioned in the direction of the sound. All he could do was flail his arms until they pointed expectantly. 

Dagur tilted his head. “Well, hello to you too, finally?”

Heather suddenly straightened. “Is there someone there? Hunters?” 

Hiccup shook his head, a little frantically. 

“No, no, no, it’s not that just, did… no one? Hear that?” He took a step towards the forest for good measure, still holding his arm out. 

Thankfully, Toothless had his back as he parrotted his concern. 

Astrid took a step in his direction, looking around. “I haven’t heard anything except Snotlout complaining about the cold.” 

They all collectively heard a Not true! From a distance.

Hiccup thought his head would split open. 

“Maybe it was a dragon nearby? We saw a couple of Terrors fly by a while ago— “ Fishlegs started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Hiccup and his dragons, I swear, he hears a whisper of a roar in the distance and immediately wants to go find it and learn its whole life story— “

“It’s not a dragon. Not anything we’ve seen anyway, it was, it was like some dying animal mixed with a Whispering Death. Or, like some, some…” It sounded like a plea for help or a choir of screams overlapping. 

Everyone looked awkward. 

With a practiced motion, Astrid unsheathed her axe and motioned for the woods. “You want to go check it out?”

Hiccup took a shaky breath in and a breath out. Gods, he had to work on composure. Right, he still had one more thing left to do. 

“Sorry, just… go on ahead, the others should be here soon,” he hoped his hand wasn’t shaking as he tangled it through his hair. “Toothless and I were gonna do a final scout through the island anyway.”

Astrid, throwing a hard look at him, seemed to debate with herself not to push and shrugged. She put down her axe and looked up at the others.

“We’ll take care of the clubhouse in the meantime.” She decided, still with that tone in her voice.

Hiccup nodded and walked back to check with Toothless. 

He was operating on autopilot, locking his foot into the mechanism and testing the gears. Whether it was the stress building up, or the weird things that happened today, or if he was just finally slipping away into insanity, and maybe the accumulation of all three things, he knew that he had one thing left to do until tonight. And he hoped, with all his heart and mind, that whatever made that sound was a dragon after all.