Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Some twenty days after the dragons had vanished
He looked westward, to the sky's edge where the last sliver of sunlight had long since disappeared. The gold-orange glow on the late afternoon clouds was sinking fast toward the purple hue of evening, which would soon bring the darkness of a brief night.
It was still summer, with the plenty of daylight their northern lands were known for. And they were trying to make the most of it until the very last moment, every day. Aware that every breath they took brought them closer to winter—and by then, the village would have to be fully built. Or at least enough to give a safe shelter for the Berkians.
He bore the weight most of all and knew well the meaning of winning that race against time. But he also saw that trying to catch every scrap of light until darkness fell—in the height of the summer months—meant working with no rest, non-stop. And sure, this was wearing out even the toughest Vikings.
“By Thor!” Snotlout swore when the heavy sledgehammer he was swinging missed the stake, and it landed with a dull thud in the grass.
“Are you well?” Hiccup asked, seeing him lean on the shaft of the heavy tool still stuck in the ground, as he was panting hard.
“I just need a moment,” he answered.
“I can do it,” Eret spoke up, standing right behind him.
“No, let me deal with it,” Hiccup said with a wave of the hand to the former dragon hunter. “I am the most rested of all of you. And we must have this work done before sundown.”
Not too many years ago, Snotlout would have given him a jeering look, as if challenging him to actually do it, sure he wouldn't even be able to budge the tool, let alone lift it. But this time, it was almost thankfulness that he read in his eyes as Snotlout moved aside to let him take his place.
He pulled the sledgehammer from the ground, felt its heft, then swung it over his head, picking up the work his fellow had just broken off.
“He’s gotten stronger.”
She tore her gaze away from that sight and turned to the well-known voice beside her.
Gobber smiled at her, as he dipped a horn into the cask of fresh water she had just filled, and drank greedily, with delight, as if it were the sweet drink of the gods. He wiped his dripping mustache with his prosthetic arm, then dipped the horn once more into the cool, life-giving liquid.
But this time he didn't drink. He pointed to the scene with the horn first. “I still remember when he showed up at the Dragon Training, when he couldn't even lift an axe with those two sticks he had for arms. And now look there!” he said, with a nod toward the man as he continued to swing the sledgehammer. “And it’s not true that he’s better rested than the folk—far from it. Now, he’s certainly no Eret, let alone his father, but at least you’d say there’s something more than bones there,” he said, taking a sip of water. “But you probably know that better than I do,” he added, with another swallow.
She merely glared at him, as her arms crossed over the chest.
“There wouldn’t be anything wrong with it!” the old blacksmith shot back to that wordless but clear stand. “You’re young and full of strenght. If only I were thirty winters younger...1”
“Thirty-five,” she set him right.
“This is a low blow, Astrid.”
“You still owe me,” she said, with a soft laugh. “And now I’d better get back to the other women. It’s no easy task to feed a throng of Vikings hungry from another long day of work.”
“We're almost done,” the old man told her, as if to ask her to stay.
“He's busy, I don't want to bother him,” she said, taking a step away.
“I think it’s too late now,” he shot back, with a nod to their side to have her look.
She hadn't seen that he had stopped hammering the stake; his eyes were on her now, as he panted slightly from the hard work. She smiled at him and he smiled back, and for a heartbeat she thought of walking over there. But one of the men working nearby called for him, and he turned back to the work, which now meant binding a chain to the stake to keep the wooden rig steady.
“Make sure it’s pulled tight,” he said, as he took one of the chains from a sack.
Eret grabbed it from his hands, leaning down to wrap one end around the stake. “Chief, why don’t you go get some rest before dinner? You can leave this to us, here,” he said, looking up at him. “We’ve done this many times by now.”
“Tell me again why we are building these… things?” Snotlout asked, looking over at the wooden rig looming before them, against the deepening purple of the evening.
“Because they make our work so much easier,” Hiccup answered with a heavy sigh—the latest of far too many times he had given that same answer.
“Well, sure, we wouldn't have needed them with dragons,” Fishlegs said.
“But the dragons are gone!” Hiccup snapped, with a voice sharper than he had wished
“And we did without them for six generations,” Gobber bellowed, as he stepped back to the bunch of his fellows
“I know, I know,” Fishlegs said, with hands up. “I was just saying.”
“We could’ve gone back to Berk and saved ourselves all this hard work,” Tuffnut said.
“Are you kidding me?!” the old blacksmith shot back. “This place is much better. The ground is less rugged and richer. The stuff that grows here actually tastes like something, even without care from fine hands, and the woods are teeming with game!”
Hiccup pressed his lips together in a kind of smile. When the Council had talked over whether to stay or make the journey back to Berk, he had thought everyone would want to go back to the old island. But to his great astonishment, most of the folk had chosen to stay on this new land.
“Fasten it well with the chains, and then let’s end it here,” he said, with a nod from Eret, who made one last loop around the stake. “It’s getting too dark.”
“By Thor, you’re right, Hiccup,” Gobber said, as he came up behind him and put the good hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. “Once this is done, it’ll be too dark to keep working; we can handle it alone. I’ll stay and look over the work of these louts.”
“But—”
“Go!” the other cut him off, with that familiar fatherly way that had become even clear since his father’s death. “I’ve told you a million times: you can’t keep trying to look over everything. You must learn to trust others with the work! We Berkians are master builders, you know that, and we’ve been doing it since long before you came into the world.”
“Yes, but here it is not a matter of rebuilding a few houses broken by a dragon raid,” Hiccup said. “We must build a whole village—or at least the main buildings—before winter comes.”
“And we’ll work hard to win that fight, even if you aren’t always around to look over things,” the old blacksmith shot back. “Now get lost.”
“Gobb—”
“Scram!”
“You are undermining my sway!” Hiccup said stiffly.
“No, I'm picking holes in your need to check everything,” Gobber set him right. “Because it will drive you crazy,” he said, with the wooden hand pointed to the temple.
Hiccup glared one last time at his old master, still torn. And finally, he snorted: “Fine… sound the horn when you are done,” he said, turning away from the small bunch with an uneasy step.
As torches were already being lit along the paths, he headed toward his booth, taking and returning the nods and greetings of the folk he passed. Soon, he saw that he was actually looking around, with the hope to meet one person above all others.
“Hey there, Hiccup!”
“Ruffnut!”
She stopped, turning to him: “Yes, Chief?”
“Oh, knock it off!” he said with a grimace. Coming from her, it sounded most irksome. “Have you seen...?”
“Astrid? Yes.”
Hope curled his lips: “And where is she?”
“I don't know.”
And hope turned back to irksomeness once again: “But if you just told me—”
“You asked if I’d seen her, and I did,” she said, waving her hands too much as always. “She was with me and the other women. But then she left, and I don't know where she is now.”
And the irksomeness turned to disappointment. Hiccup had to admit to himself that the woman's talk had its own path. Twisted, in perfect, classic Thorston way, but it was there: “Thanks anyway.”
“See you, Big Chief.”, she said, and took up her path again, right in the other way of Hiccup’s booth.
He took up his path as well, looking around in the twitchy hope of catching sight of her, but he reached his dwelling without it happening.
With a sigh, he crossed the threshold, struck once again—like a slap to the face—by the red color of Toothless’s tail fin and saddle. It sat still tucked neatly in a corner, as if ready to go on the Night Fury at any time.
He had promised himself to put the gear away and make it vanish forever, each time he had stepped out of the cloth, and each time he had stepped back in. But he still hadn’t brought himself to follow his mind—to lock that part of his life away in a chest of days gone by. For good.
Led by habit and weariness, he began to strip off his dusty gear and tunic, leaving him bare-chested. With a sigh, he moved to a basin filled with water and soaked a small cloth, running it first over the face, then the chest, and then the back and arms. To wash away some of the lingering tiredness, he rubbed hands over his face, feeling the stubborn fuzz under his palms—stubble that still wouldn't grow evenly.
A memory flashed before him: a sight of himself held by his father, tugging on the long beard and making the man laugh.
He opened his eyes, felt that they were stinging, and rubbed his fingers over them, trying to make up his mind it was only from weariness.
He pulled on a clean tunic as he went to sit on his bed at the back of the booth. Then he lay down, with an arm resting over his eyes. He swore himself to close them only for a few breaths, thinking over how the day had gone and how the next one should be, trying to shape it in every small bitl.
The most important thing was the harbour, and overall, they were making good way. Without it, no merchant ships would be able to dock and bring food and tools. They had left Old Berk with the mind of “disappearing off the map,” but at this point, following such a hard choice was no longer needed.
That island, which had only late welcomed them, though with no man on it, truly swore to be rich and full of wealth. The sea—at least the little they had found with small boats carried by hand along woods paths to tiny beaches—was so full of fish they nearly jumped on board. If those promises held true, his folk could have a peaceful and good life. Sure better than any they would have ever had on Berk.
He didn’t know how, or when. But those thoughts and plots—which he seemed to write with fingers that drummed against the chest—first lulled him into a state of alert half-sleep, which then turned to a light but steady slumber. It was full of bits and pieces of his craft, and new thoughts that chased each other through his mind, blending with chunks of visions, memories, and dreams.
And among them, she came as well. With the light touch of her lips on his, and her hair brushing his face like a stroke with the feel of fine silk. For more than a breath, he let himself be cradled by that dream, until she broke it herself, ending the touch between their lips before it could turn into something more than just something sweet.
It was then that he pulled the arm away from his eyes, and opened them to reality. “Astrid,” he said, with a voice barely a breath, sitting up on the bed. She was sitting there too, right on the edge. “So it wasn’t a dream.”
Astrid smiled at him. “So you truly were asleep?”
“Kind of,” he told her, taking her hand where it rested between them on the bed. “I saw you earlier.”
“I know,” she answered, with a nod. “You were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You'd never bother me,” he said, smiling softly.
“Is your work over for the day, then?”
Hiccup nodded, still a bit upset, as that hint of irksomeness blended with the smile on the lips. “As good as, Gobber told me to leave,” he said. “That’s right—the blacksmith ordered the Chief to leave.”
Astrid burst out laughing, the sight vivid in her mind. “I don't think that’s quite what he meant.”
“Did you come to get me for dinner?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not truly,” she answered. “I went back to help, but as good as your mother... told me to leave,” she said, laughing as she used right his same words. “She told me I’d done more than enough, and that they were done anyway.”
He laughed with her, nodding. “As good as, nobody wants us around… that’s right not a good start…”
“For what?” she asked him, tilting her head.
Hiccup held back himself for a heartbeat, lips parted for an answer that he then pushed back, shaking his head. “So we unbelievably have some free time... at the very same time?” he asked, cupping her cheek with the hand to lock her eyes into his.
Astrid didn't answer, but just smiled and drew her face close to his, as he did the same, until their lips met once again. At first, it was with the same softness as before, but it grew deep and strong, until she felt his hand on her hip, slide down to the knee and then back up along her leg, in a wordless question.
Then she pulled away to find his eyes, which spoke even more openly than his hand had done heartbeats before, and his smile—the one she had never been able to defy.
Smiling back, as if to answer the wordless question, she gripped the hem of his tunic and helped him to pull it off. Then she let herself lie down beside him, cupping his face with one hand to draw him back into another kiss.
“Ouch!”
Her small cry of pain was smothered by a laugh, and he shared it with his own.
“Sorry,” he said, as he moved to unbuckle the iron foot he’d hit her leg with. “I forgot all about it, like a stup—”
Her kiss choked the word back in his throat as she led him to lie on top of her. Then he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him, and began fumbling with her clothes.
He could already feel the skin of her back beneath his hands sneaked under her shirt when she suddenly broke away from him, as if struck by lightning. “What the—”
Astrid nodded to her side, and he looked where she did.
“Tuffnut! Don’t you know how to knock?!”
The killjoy, still shocked and unsure where to look, spread his arms wide. “Knock? On what door?!” he asked, getting back some of his cockiness as he showed them that the only thing between the inside and the outside was nothing more than a scrap of cloth.
Hiccup took a long, heavy breath to find his coolness, while Astrid moved away from him, her eyes looking anywhere but at him. It wasn’t so much out of shame, but because of the mirth that was quickly rising instead of it
“What is it now?!” Hiccup thundered again.
“Maybe you’d better come,” Tuffnut said. “Things didn’t exactly go smooth.”
Hiccup sighed, as he met the gaze of his betrothed for the first time since the disruption. She held a hand over her mouth, trying not to burst into laughing.
“So, are you coming?” Tuffnut asked again. He was likely wishing to get out of there and escape a situation that was too hard even for his own way.
“I need a moment!” Hiccup shot back, with a voice anything but mild.
“Just a moment?!?”
Tuffnut barely had time to end the word before something Hiccup threw hit his arm, making him scurry outside with a cry of pain, while Astrid finally gave up trying to hold back her laughter.
Hiccup stared at her as she laughed for a few moments. Then he shook his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not funny.”
She tried to find her calm and looked back at him. “Well, look at it this way,” she said. “At least now he’ll stop thinking he can give you tips on... ‘wedded bliss’ or other... foolishness like that.”
Hiccup shook his head harder as he snatched his tunic and pulled it on. “I should really stop telling you all,” he said, with a hint of wryness in his voice. “And anyway, we’re talking about Tuffnut,” he said stiffly, looking around. “I wouldn’t put my trust in that... Where in Odin's name did my iron leg end up?!?”
“That's what you threw at him,” she told him, pointing to where it sat near the cloth door.
With a groan of frustration, he threw his arms wide and looked back at her. “I’m sorry. In the midst of all this, I cannot seem to... find any time for you.”
She shook her head with a smile. “Don’t worry over it,” she said. “You have burdens, and I understand. We’ll find a way.”
Hiccup pressed his lips together, then sighed and leaned toward her to kiss her cheek before standing up on the one leg. He hopped over to get his iron leg, buckled it back on, and headed for the cloth door.
The killjoy was still there, just outside, waiting. He turned his eyes, wider than usual, as if he were seeing him for the very first time.
“Are we going?!” Hiccup said, as he took a step before the twin could say anything stupid—or even stupider than he normally did.
“Hey, wait up!” Tuffnut said, as he followed him. “I mean, you and Astrid...”
“Keep your voice down!”, Hiccup hissed.
“And do you always unbuckle your leg when—?”
Hiccup stopped so suddenly that the other slammed right into him, nearly losing his footing. “When I hit you, did I hurt you?” he asked.
Tuffnut touched the arm with a swift hand. “Um… aye, it hurt a lot.”
“And that is the last question I’m going to answer on this!” Hiccup said, as he turned to go on his stride, snorting like an angry dragon.
“Hey, but you are the one who asked the question!”
Hiccup reckoned to five, twice over, drawing the cool air deep into his chest, to keep himself from speaking wildly. “One single word, to anyone...”
“Not even my sister?!?”
“Anyone!” Hiccup said, as he stopped once more, hands clenching into fists to keep them from wrapping around the twin’s throat. “A single word, and you will spend the rest of your days shoveling dragon dung…”
“We no longer have dragons.” Tuff pointed out, throwing his arms wide.
Hiccup sighed, torn between a word to Thor to strike Tuff down with his hammer, or to get the coolness to keep himself from killing the twin with his own hands. “We still have sheep, pigs, and yaks,” he said.
Tuffnut tilted his head. “You can’t do that…”
“The folk spotted reindeer in the forest, and even moose!”
“Moose can’t be tamed. Even I know that!”
“Neither were dragons!” Hiccup said. “And yes, I can do it,” he added, with a grin worthy of Loki2 across his face. “I’m the Chief,” he reminded him, as he turned and walked on with a step so fast he nearly left the twin behind, reaching the end of the path with a clear lead.
“What happened?!” he asked both Gobber and Snotlout, the only ones left.
“And what are you doing here?” the old blacksmith asked.
Hiccup narrowed his eyes, torn and even more angry with the world. “Trust me, I wish I were somewhere else entirely right now.”
“I don't doubt it!” Tuffnut said, catching up with them.
Hiccup shot him another glare, making him clamp his lips shut.
“Did you call him here, you blockhead?!” Gobber asked, barely giving Tuffnut time to throw arms wide. “No one told you to do that! It was a small matter! A broken link in a chain! We saw it and put a new one in!”
Tuffnut’s eyes widened. “But you were swearing at all the gods! I thought...”
“You thought!” Snotlout said “That is right where all the trouble begins, for Loki!”
“Then everything is truly well?” Hiccup asked, his eyes looking straight at Gobber.
“Of course!” the old blacksmith said, as he pointed to the wooden rig with the arm. “Stark as a rock. And now let's go eat—I could wolf down a whole yak by myself!” He set off, Tuffnut hurrying behind him to talk over his mind.
Or maybe he was just wishing to get as far as he could from Hiccup’s wrath.
“What did he do to you?” Snotlout asked, getting his eye. “I mean, besides being in the world. I guess it’s not just because he made you come out here for nothing. You look like you want to kill him, by the way you look at him.”
“It’s none of your concern!”
“Ah, I see,” he said with fake aloofness. Then he slapped Hiccup' shoulder and leaned in close. “Your tunic is on inside out, and you’ve got a most unmanly scent on you. You didn't have it before.”
Hiccup sprang away, as if hit by the spark of a Skrill.
“Oh aye, I think he caught you two,” Snotlout jeered, turning back to walk off.
Hiccup stayed a few steps behind, bewildered by an answer that was far too mellow for a guy like him. “You...”
“If I know?” Snotlout asked. “Come on, Hiccup, everyone guesses it. Maybe only… Turnipnut Thorston hadn’t seen it yet. And...” He shrugged, “Yeah, maybe Fishface too, but he doesn't matter. I mean, Hiccup, you and Astrid have been together for… how long… two… three years? Do you really want me to believe that back when we were at Dragon’s Edge3—with no adults around and your huts just a few steps away, linked by a walkway—neither of you ever went to see the other in the middle of the night?” He looked him straight in the eye. “Or that when you vanished together, like when you went to that stupid island to look for that oil—believing that windbag Johann—you only flew together in the moonlight?”
Hiccup merely sighed, as he looked up to the sky, his lips thinning into a narrow line.
“Aye, right that.” Snotlout said, reading the silence. “True, you are far too slow to see things when it comes to such flesh, but sure even you have your wants, just as we all do. And Astrid is a total h—”
“Hey, that’s my betrothed you’re talking about!” Hiccup reminded him.
“Aye, whatever,” Snotlout said with a wave of his hand. “Well, she’s still… Astrid,” he went on. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a crush on her anymore, not like back in the Dragon Training days…”
“Oh, sure. Now you like them more mature...” Hiccup mocked.
“That’s a low blow,” the other said.
Hiccup twisted his face into a grimace. “Did you truly believe you had any hope with my mother?”
“Well, it was a fondness,” Snotlout said. “But it ended right then and there. Once I understood that I’d have you as a stepson.”
Hiccup nearly shuddered. “Oh, gods...”
“But you and Astrid—”
“What?!?”
Snotlout stopped short, making Hiccup halt beside him. “I mean, Gobber’s right: you should get married and start raising a pack of kids,” he said. “What in Odin's name are you waiting for?”
Hiccup stared at him for a few moments. Then he shook his head. “Wait, am I truly having this talk with you?” he asked, both wry and bewildered. “With Snotlout Jorgenson?”
“Hiccup,” he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Whether you want to own it or not, I’m the little voice of your mind. The one that’s as irking and stubborn as you like—the one you never want to listen to, but you know speaks the truth.” He smiled with that grim smirk of his. “And besides, I’ve matured a lot since I lost Hookfang. I mean, losing a dragon marks you deep down. It makes you look at life through different eyes. You should know that better than anyone.”
“Aye…”
“Nah, that's not true,” Snotlout said, brushing the thought away with a wave of his hand as he walked on. “I miss that big lout and his wont of catching fire and burning my ass, but that’s not it.”
“Indeed, I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Hiccup said, thoroughly spent, as he followed him.
“But, I mean, we’ve had each other's backs for years. And I care about you guys,” Snotlout said, as he stopped short, making Hiccup halt beside him. “I don’t always hold with your heavy thoughts—most of the time I can't stand them. Actually, almost never. But you know I’ll always have your back...”
“Yes, that’s true,” Hiccup said, with a nod, even if he wished not to. “You can always be trusted, in the end.”
“Aye. Because, deep down, I care about you, and the whole lot of you. And I don’t just mean you or that crazy betrothed of yours, I mean the rest of the gang too,” Snotlout said. “But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll kill you.”
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Notes to the chapter
1Vikings did not usually state their age in years, but by counting winters. It is likely already known, or clear to most, that the universe created by the How to Train Your Dragon (hereafter HTTYD) franchise—in which the characters move and its stories develop—takes many liberties with real Viking history and culture. This begins with the collective myth of Vikings wearing horned helmets (it is now well-established that this was not true in reality, except—perhaps—for ceremonial events). Another example is the use of 'normal' last names (Haddock, Hofferson, Jorgenson, etc.) instead of the patronymics used in Viking society (under which, for instance, Hiccup would have been named Hiccup Stoicksson—son of Stoick). Additionally, books appear frequently within the franchise, and extensive use is made of parchment or paper. The Vikings neither knew of nor used these materials, relying instead on wooden tablets or bark for any notes or written records (the runes themselves were an alphabet shaped in part by how easily they could be carved into hard materials like wood or stone, rather than written on paper).
Of course, it is not possible to eliminate all these fictional elements (one cannot imagine Hiccup without his sketchbooks, his books, his maps, and his cutting-edge technical designs drawn on a scroll of paper or parchment). However, as much as possible, I will try to incorporate elements that reflect a Viking universe closer to the historical and real one. I must clarify from the outset that I am not a leading expert on Norse culture myself, but simply a highly curious person who has read and consulted a few books.
I would also like to take this opportunity to specify that this story contains references not only to the three feature films—meaning the animated ones, of course—but also to the Netflix series Dragons: Race to the Edge (hereafter RTTE) and some references to the short film How to Train Your Dragon: Homecoming (hereafter HC). Since I have not watched the other short films and only know them superficially, I did not consider them when writing
2In Norse mythology and belief, Loki is the god of cunning and trickery, an ingenious inventor of techniques often compared to other ambiguous trickster deities. He is an ambivalent figure in the Norse pantheon. In some myths, he is a companion to Odin and Thor, frequently using his great cleverness to get the gods out of trouble. In others, he is the one who threatens the cosmic order—a deceitful, argumentative, fearsome, and chameleonic figure, at times malicious.
3For those who have only seen the movies, Dragon's Edge is the outpost—far from Berk—where Hiccup and his friends actually live during the events narrated in the Netflix series RTTE. The episode Snotlout mentions shortly after is also a reference to this same series.