Chapter 1: Our only hope
Chapter Text
“It’s not going to work”
“You don’t know that”
“Fine… It’s very unlikely to work”
Snotlout groaned as Astrid landed a hard punch on his shoulder. “It has to work,” she muttered under her breath.
…
3378 days ago, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the third, son of Stoick the Vast, Berk’s heir, the runt of the litter, the winner of dragon training, went missing.
3381 days ago, Berk had its last ever dragon raid.
9 days ago, an empty ship arrived at Berks harbour, nothing on board other than a note demanding Berks' loyalty in return for their survival. The note instructed that if the tribe wished to survive, they should place a letter on the boat, seal it with the chief's crest, and set the ship adrift. It was signed by a man named Drago Bludvist.
9 days ago, the council had erupted in laughter at the threat. Whoever this Bludvist was, he had clearly never come across a boar-headed viking.
8 days ago, Stoick the Vast, chief of Berk, yelled in the grand hall for the first time in 8 years. He ordered the letter and the ship burned, and the village to prepare for war.
8 days ago, Stoick the Vast told his sister’s son, Snotlout Jorgensen, that he was going to make him officially his heir.
7 days ago, while Berk was preparing for war, Stoick the Vast ventured into Berk’s forest, down an overgrown path that hadn’t been walked in 8 years. He walked down to a long abandoned cove, so quiet you would wonder if any life had ever found it. He sat on a rock and said a silent prayer to his son.
6 days ago, Trader Johann arrived on Berk, singing stories of the one man who had ever been able to weaken Drago Bludvist. Some didn’t call him a man, but said he was a demon, a half-dragon-half-man hybrid, a guardian angel, an innocent man bitten by a lycanwing. Trader Johann claimed to know the truth about this figure. He was a man, a man who rode a nightfury.
5 days ago, the council had argued through the day and night, until a young woman, a shieldmaiden, Berks' strongest warrior, slammed her axe down on the table. She told the council that she was Berks' future, that Snotlout, the next chief, was Berks' future, that even troublemaking the Thorston twins and Fishlegs Ingerman, Berks Skald, were Berks' future.
4 days ago, at the crack of dawn, Astrid Hofferson convinced the council to give a message to Trader Johann, who claimed to know someone who knew the rider.
4 days ago, Trader Johann sailed away from Berk, towards the great beyond, carrying Berks only hope for salvation with him.
4 days ago, Astrid Hofferson punched Snotlout Jorgensen in the shoulder.
For the next 4 days, Berk held its breath.
Chapter 2: Memories
Summary:
Hiccup freaks out at the prospect of returning to Berk.
Chapter Text
When Heather had landed on the edge, claiming to have a message for him, the last thing Hiccup had expected was a letter for his father, whom he hadn’t seen in almost ten years. Under any other circumstances, Hiccup would have burned the letter and waited for the memories of Berk it brought up to fade into the back of his mind to only emerge when he would occasionally drift off to sleep.
Unfortunately, this was not any other circumstance. This was Drago Bludvist, a madman Hiccup had been fighting for almost 4 years. A madman who had killed and enslaved countless dragons. A madman who burned villages of peaceful people to ash and charred flesh.
“So, Chief, what are we doing?” a voice enquired from behind him. Hiccup turned his back to the fire he had been facing to meet the eyes of a young woman.
“Heather, nice of you to join me. Any more anxiety-inducing letters to deliver?” Hiccup jested.
“Just one from Dagur- the Berserkers are with you, whatever you decide to do, and the defenders of the wing as well, of course.”
A wave of relief rushed over Hiccup. If he did decide to end his war with Drago on Berk, at least he’d have some allies behind him- even if his brother could be something of an overwhelming force.
“Now I’m tempted to say yes just to see him ride into battle with a baby strapped to his chest” Hiccup chuckled, attempting to disguise the tension in his voice.
The green-eyed woman snickered in response, “Knowing those two, Mala would be the one carrying little Oswald. She’d probably still win every fight with elegance and grace as well.”
Hiccup tried to laugh at Heather's jab at their brother, but all that could escape was a stiff cough. The thought of returning to Berk was an all-consuming thought. The cold, wet, greyness of the island lurked behind his every thought. He had vowed that he would never return there as long as he lived, that he would never put his dragons at such risk, or his people. But he always put his dragons at risk. He flew them straight towards dragon hunters on the regular. He had flown them straight to Drago. And no matter how he felt about his father, Stoick the Vast was not Drago Bludvist. Hiccups' own hypocrisy made him feel nauseous.
But there was something else, buried deep beneath his anger and resentment towards Berk, beneath even the fear of facing them. A part of him wondered if Drago was only targeting Berk because of him, to hurt him. He wondered if he had led Berk into a massacre. Hiccup could rationalise it; he could logically prove that Drago had simply picked Berk because it was nearest on the map as he expanded his empire south, or even because he remembered Stoick from that fateful meeting all those years ago. Drago didn’t even know Hiccup's name; there was no way to connect him to Berk.
Hiccup knew what he had to do, even if he didn't want to. Stoick was offering him a chance to end this war once and for all, to no longer have to weed for information at the northern markets or encourage it from captured dragon hunters. A chance to protect the dragons and his people. And Berk, he thought, his mind a whirlwind of everything he had left behind that night he left. Astrid, who, despite everything, had never joined in the bullying, and whose memory still made his heart skip a beat. Snotlout, his closest confidante, turned greatest torment. Even the other teens, Ruff, Tuff and fish legs, who he’d grown up with. Gobber, his second father, who despite his flaws, had been to only person to pay any mind to Hiccup's wild ideas and inventions. And Stoick the Vast, his father, a man whose disappointed eyes still haunted his memory. A man who, on the darkest, loneliness of nights, when he just a young lad, alone in the world and not the notorious Dragon Master, he would allow himself to miss- to imagine him holding him like he did when he was a little boy, and telling him tall tales of their ancestors dragon slaying feats, of how the haddock’s had built Berk from the ground up, and kept re-building despite everything. He would tell him how one day, Hiccup would be to one rebuilding Berk.
The sound of footsteps awoke Hiccup from his own mind; he hadn’t even noticed that his gaze had fixated on the moon. It was in the first quarter, a half moon. The irony made Hiccup chuckle. A Seer had once told him it symbolised decision-making and taking action, so a fitting sight for Hiccup's current predicament. He shifted his gaze to see that Heather had been replaced by another young woman, his little sister.
“And what are you doing up at this late hour?” He asked, rising to his feet with a grin.
”Don’t start, you’re thinking so loudly you’re practically keeping me awake. Plus, you’re one to talk, your eyeballs are darker than Toothless' scales.” She sniped in return, clearly unhappy to be awake at this hour, though the underlying concern in her voice was obvious as well.
Hiccup sighed. She was right, of course. He did have a somewhat bad habit of not sleeping. Though it wasn't his fault entirely, if he wasn’t losing track of time at the forge, then he spent most nights staring at his maps, trying to decode Drago’s next move. While this foe was nowhere near as smart as Viggo, he had ten times the manpower and far more mystery surrounding his movements, making finding information particularly challenging. Other than that, he would be flying with toothless- training for war. It wasn't his fault that his dragon's biggest advantage was being virtually invisible in the dark.
Hiccup looked up at his sister, her brown eyes glowing slightly golden from the fire that crackled on behind him. “Well, Saf,” he said, moving past her, out of the war room and in the direction of his hut, “pack your bags, we leave in the morning. Oh, and let Eret know, will you? I have a feeling he’ll respond better to you waking him up at this hour compared to me.” He heard Saf groan and mutter a profanity at him as he walked away.
This war ends at Berk, even if neither he nor Drago walks away.
Chapter 3: Meetings
Summary:
The dragon riders have arrived on Berk
Notes:
Sorry about the random uploads- I am uploading as I am writing sooo....
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Bucket, unfortunately, had been the first to spot them- four dragons emerging from the horizon. Initially, the village flew into a panic, and people quickly began reverting back to their old, dragon-slaying ways as Bucket tore through the village, crying raid. Once they were close enough to make out the small figure of riders on their backs, the village calmed down. A sense of relief overtook the council- the dragon master had heeded their call.
The townspeople gathered to watch as the dragons circled Berk. There was the Night Fury, a mass of black that darted through the sky in a way that perfectly explained its reputation as the “unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.” Astrid could just make out the rider in the soft light of dusk. He blended into the dragon almost perfectly, the only thing making him stand out being the light occasionally bouncing off the metal hardware of his saddle. He wore a mask that covered his face- overall, he looked almost more dragon than human; it was understandable how the myths about the rider being part dragon had emerged. Above the centre of the town, another dragon hovered menacingly, one that Astrid didn’t recognise. It is large, bigger than the Night-fury for sure, she thought. Its scales were green with an orange iridescent sheen that reminded her of a beetle. Atop the beast rode a man cloaked in furs, similar to the clothing of a sailor from the north of the old country who had shipwrecked on Berk a few years ago. This rider’s eyes were concealed by a thick fur-trimmed hood, and his nose and mouth were covered by a cloth. Astrid couldn’t help but be surprised at his presence- none of the tales about the dragon master had included another rider.
The townspeople's attention soon turned from this mysterious rider to the next one, who sat atop a silver dragon that was perched on the roof of a house. This one was long and slender, its neck extending far from the rider, and its tail, which had spikes reminiscent of a Deadly Nadder, was curled protectively around the young woman on its back. She wore some kind of metal armour on her shoulders. No, not metal, Astrid thought, as she recognised them as her dragon's scales. Like the other rider, her face was covered by a cloth and hood, both black this time. Astrid could just about make out the rider’s eyes, a bright emerald green that reminded Astrid of Hiccups.
The shieldmaiden felt her chest tighten at the thought of the boy who had vanished all those years ago. She hadn’t known him as well as she wished she had- she hadn’t known him at all, really. Astrid had noticed him, how he shrugged his shoulders when he spoke, becoming more and more animated the more passionate he was about the topic. She had noticed how, despite holding a sword in his right hand, he would catch things- if he even managed to catch it- in his left hand, and write with it as well. Astrid had always meant to suggest he try holding his sword in his left hand. She remembered how she would go to the forge to get her axe sharpened and see him toiling away in the back, sometimes so engrossed in his work he’d not even notice her. When he did, he’d quickly become the familiar bumbling fool he was most of the time. When Astird would watch him work, however, away in his own little world, she could see just how brilliant he was, his mind moving faster than any of the other Vikings on Berk. It’s a shame that the rest of Berk could only see his shortcomings, she would think. The bullying had always bothered her. While Vikings did tease each other, it always crossed the line from playful to cruel when it came to Hiccup. A twinge of shame hit Astrid as she thought about how she never stuck up for him.
There was one more dragon with the riders, which hovered much higher than the rest. This one, Astrid, did recognise from the Book of Dragons. It had deep purple, black and silver scales with tall spikes that formed a crown around its head. “By Odins Ghost…” She heard Gobber gasp behind her, “The Skrill.”
The rider was another woman, smaller than the other riders, or perhaps the Skrill was simply bigger than Astrid had thought.. Like the Master, she wore armour and a mask that blended her in with the dragons she was riding. Given what she had seen of the other woman’s attire, Astrid gambled that their armour was probably also made of dragon scales.
The Night Fury finally landed in the centre of the town, a few metres from where Stoick and the council stood- the crowd instinctively stepped back in fear. Astrid watched from behind Snotlout, who was standing firmly next to Stoick, finally taking his rightful place as heir. The rider slid off his dragon quickly and walked a few steps forward, his dragon following him closely, curling its tail around the man protectively and snarling at the crowd and baring its razor-sharp teeth. The beast didn’t trust them. A tense silence hung in the air. Astrid could properly see the Master now that he stood before them. His mask covered his face and the top of his head, with small spikes along the top and tufts of thick auburn hair still visible despite it. His armour was sleek and structured, the scales that comprised it shining gold in the evening sun. He was tall and lean, lacking the wide, stocky build that most Berkians possessed. A flash of light drew Astrid’s attention to his feet, or foot. His left foot had been replaced by an intricate metal prosthetic, which was catching the light. It was like nothing Astrid had ever seen before.
“Dragon Master!” Stoick boomed, “I am Stoick, Chief of Berk. I offer my thanks for heeding our call for aid.”
The dragon master stopped in his tracks, his gaze still fixated on the chief. His gaze was unreadable in his mask. Astrid hated that, not being able to see his face, to know what he was thinking. It made it that much more unsettling, more menacing.
“Don’t thank me yet…Stoick” He replied, his voice surprisingly deep- though Astrid wasn’t sure what she was expecting his voice to sound like- “I haven’t done anything yet.”
This comment surprised Astrid, the bluntness of his comment making it seem as though this whole ordeal was an inconvenience. It had surprised Stoick as well, who had shifted his body to stand taller, less welcoming. The Master picked up on this change as well, softening his own stance to appear more relaxed.
“Right, well, the fact that you came all the way here is still a reason for us to be grateful,” Snotlout interjected, drawing the master’s attention to himself, “Any aid to protect my people is welcome.”
“The heir, I presume?” The master retorted in a quizical tone. Snotlout nodded, shifting his posture to appear taller, more commanding. He appeared short next to Stoick. The dragon Master ran his eyes over the crowd, and Astrid felt her heart skip a beat when he met her. They held each other's gaze for a few moments before Astrid pulled her eyes away, looking instead at her chief.
“If you do decide to help us,” Stoick continued, attempting to tease out an answer to the question posed to the dragon master, “Berk will forever be in your debt. A man like Drago cannot be reasoned with, and does not show mercy.”
The mention of Drago clearly affected the rider. He leaned closer to his dragon, stroking his gloved hand over its flat head. The dragon briefly snapped out of its menacing gaze to croon affectionately at its rider. The change startled Astrid.
The rider sighed, “I’m sorry,” he said, to the crowd's surprise; it was unclear what he was apologising for. “I’m sorry that Drago has targeted you. I wouldn’t wish his wrath on my worst enemy. You and your people don’t deserve what is coming.” Astrid could have sworn that for a moment his eyes flickered to her again. “If I am to help you,” he continued, stepping away from his dragon now and closer to Stoick so he stood only around a metre away now, “I need to ensure the safety of my riders and our dragons. If any harm comes to any of us, you’ll wish Drago came sooner.” His tone was cold and threatening, and in his all-black armour her was terrifying. Astrid didn’t doubt that there was any truth behind his threats.
“Berk hasn’t killed a dragon in years. Very few even come to these parts, and the ones that do stay inland on the island. I swear that you and your riders are safe.” Stoick confirmed, gesturing to the figures still hovering above them. With that, the other riders landed their dragons behind the master. The skrill landed closest to him, its rider sliding off the dragon and walking closer to him. The Master turned his head to her and gave a curt nod. With this confirmation, the girl and the other riders removed their helmets and hoods to reveal their faces, all except the Dragon Master. “These are the Dragon Riders,” the Master began, turning back to face Stoick, “Eret, son of Eret- he used to be one of Drago’s dragon trappers, so he has insight into Drago’s operations-” The rider had a sheepish expression in response to the mention of his previous employment, running his hand through his jet black hair over his face to the tattoo that sat on his chin. Astrid had never seen a marking like that before, though that was not much of a surprise. Astrid hadn’t seen much of anything beyond berk, and this man was clearly not a Viking.
“He worked for Drago?” Spitelout loudly interrupted, shoving his way to the front of the crowd, “and you expect us to trust him? He could be a double agent-” The thud of a sword landing at his feet stopped his rant in its tracks. Astrid tracked her gaze to the rider of the Skrill, who had thrown the sword, anger blazing in her jet black eyes. The Dragon Master turned to the rider and gestured for her to stand down.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear,” the master yelled, anger oozing from his voice, “You called us here. You get all of us or none of us, and while we are here, you will show me and my riders respect, or we will leave!”
“That is enough, Spitelout! Dragon Master, I am sorry if he has offended you, but you have my word that all your people are welcome here, no matter their past.” Stoick affirmed, stepping between the riders and his brother-in-law. The Dragon master nodded stiffly in response and resumed his introductions.
“This is Safyia,” he said, gesturing to the woman who had thrown the sword. She wasn’t from the archipelago, with dark black hair and warm brown skin. She was smaller than most Vikings, standing almost a foot shorter than the dragon master. She was younger than the rest as well, her face still carrying a youthful softness. Astrid couldn’t help but wonder how she had ended up near the archipelago. Then again, she didn’t know where the dragon riders had come from; perhaps they had travelled from her home. “And this is Heather,” The master finished, gesturing to the silver dragon’s rider, who had stickling pale skin and jet black hair. Astrid could also see an axe attached to her back, the only other rider with visible weapons.
“Welcome, all of you! And what can we call you?” Stoick equired the master, who stiffened in response.
“My name is irrelevant to this battle, but if you wish, you may call me Rider… And I will keep my mask on, before you ask,” the man responded, his tone suggesting he was on the defensive. Astrid noticed the girl, Safyia, behind him, snickering at the name he had given them. Stoick looked visibly annoyed by Rider’s insistence on remaining a mystery, but stifled it for the sake of this precarious alliance.
“Very well, Rider,” Snotlout interjected, stepping in front of Stoick, perhaps sensing his patience was wearing thin. Since his cousin’s disappearance, Snotlout had stepped up to his role as heir, even though it hadn't been made official until just over a week ago. The man was unrecognisable from the arrogant teenager Astrid had once loathed. “Please let us know of any accommodations you and our riders… and dragons might need.”
Rider nodded and replied, “Some fish, if you can spare it, the others can hunt on their own, but Toothless cannot.” The Night Fury lifted his tail to show something Astrid had never seen before: a prosthetic tail. From afar, it was indistinguishable from the real thing, but closer up, one could see the contrast between the tail’s leathery material and the dragon's scale. The action seemed to satisfy Snotlout and the Chief. Toothless, Astrid thought, an odd name for an animal that obviously has teeth. “And access to your forge, if possible? I need to recalibrate some of the settings on my leg.” The Rider gestured to his prosthetic, and Snotlout nodded in return.
“Of course, whatever you need. We have one guest house prepared, sorry, we didn’t realise you would be bringing riders,” Snotlout continued, turning and starting to lead the party away from the crowd. Or that there were other riders, Astrid thought, as she followed behind. “We have two others that can be prepared for tonight, but we’ll have to build another one.”
“Please, don’t bother,” one of the women, Heather, interrupted, “Windshear, and I would prefer to camp in the woods anyway- she needs the space.” She gestured to her long dragon, who was bumping her side affectionately with its head.
Snotlout nodded in response. “Very well. In that case, would you like to join us in the Great Hall for dinner? I am sure you are tired from you… journey.” Stoick said, taking over the conversation.
“That would be greatly appreciated. C’mon, guys, we haven't had a proper meal in days, any longer, and I eat Saf,” Eret exclaimed, with an accent that Astrid recognised as being from the North. She watched Safyia roll her eyes and give Eret a playful shove in return.
The party headed towards the Great Hall, away from the crowd that was watching them in awe. Eventually, it started to disperse towards the hall as well, muttering words of shock as it moved. Astrid watched as the dragons stalked after their riders, eventually three out of the four flying away, to hunt, she presumed. Toothless remained at his rider's side, and Astrid suspected that it was as much because of loyalty to his rider as it was because he could fly away himself. She couldn't help but feel her heartbeat in her ears at the sight of the beasts. Even after all these years, the sight of a dragon, as tame as these were, was enough to strike fear into her heart.
“Oh, Tyr,” she muttered to herself, “please let this work.”
Notes:
ok, a few things:
1. Maybe having the OC ride the Skrill is basic, but I love the Skrill, so who cares
2. I hc Eret as being Saami, so while I know that in httyd2 he wipes off his tattoo, I think it's a cool feature of Saami culture, so I decided to keep it
3. I really didn't want Snotlout to still be an asshole, so I've given him some character development- I'm sure Hiccup disappearing and him becoming heir would have that effect, so....
4. Tyr is the Norse God of War
5. Most of the chapters will be from Astrid's perspective, but there will also be some from Hiccups, Snotlout's and maybe Stoicks...
Chapter 4: Breaking bread
Summary:
Astrid tries to learn more. We meet some of the Riders.
Notes:
Kinda crazy that this chapter is longer than my history coursework but whatever.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“So… why do you think he wears the mask?” Fishlegs asked, sitting down opposite Astrid
“My guess: his face is horribly disfigured with warts of growths. He keeps his mask on because otherwise our hearts would give out at the horror!” Tuffnut responded, raising his hands above his head for emphasis.
“Wrong, my brother,” Ruffnut interjected, leaning her arm on his shoulder “, he is obviously so devishly handsome that he wears a mask so we don’t get distracted by his beauty, or leave our husbands.” To this, Astrid rolled her eyes.
“Comforting words to hear from your fiancé,” Fishlegs responded, to which Ruffnut took his hand to reassure him. The two had only gotten engaged a few months ago, after years of Fishlegs chasing Ruff and Ruff playfully torturing him in return. At 24, they were old to be unmarried, yet still the first of the group to decide to tie the knot. While it was less of an issue for the boys, Astrid certainly felt the eyes of the village watching her edge closer to becoming an old maid. She chalked her lack of a husband down to Berk being a desert of men.
“No, but seriously, there’s something shifty about that guy… he gives me the creeps. Especially with that all black armour- and why is his dragon still with him? All the other ones waited outside.” Snotlout moaned, his chiefly facade having fallen away after the first cup of mead.
Astrid turned to look at the table tucked away in the corner of the Hall where the dragon riders were sitting. The Night Fury, Toothless, was resting its head on the table, next to Rider, who was nursing a cup of mead and picking at an untouched plate of food, still wearing his helmet. Opposite him, Eret son of Eret was chugging his cup, being egged on by the two women at the table. It was strange watching them, aside from Rider, who appeared just as unsettling as before, the other riders appeared almost normal. As if they could join any table in the Great Hall and fit in seamlessly.
“I’m more curious about the other riders,” Astrid finally commented, still looking at the table. “None of the stories about the Dragon Master mention them,” she said, looking back at her friends, who were nodding in agreement.
“Yeah, I find it quite annoying how he takes all the credit, but then again, I never have a bounty on my head, while he’s had thirteen and counting. Oh, and he hates that nickname, “the Dragon Master”, so I’d probably stick to Rider if I were you, y’know, if you want to stay on his good side and all,” a voice spoke from behind her, causing the entire table to jump in shock. Astrid turned to meet a pair of brown eyes glowing golden in the candlelight. Safyia, Astrid thought, remembering her name being.
“Sorry to startle you, but we’ve finished our mead- and by we I mean Eret- could one of you instruct me on where I might source a refill?” she continued, smiling jovially like they were old friends. She had an accent that Astrid didn’t recognise, more similar to that of Master Johann’s than any Viking she had ever come across. Now that she was closer, Astrid had a proper opportunity to inspect her face. She had large eyes with thick lashes that cast a dramatic shadow on her face. Despite her high cheekbones and prominent nose, her features still look rounded, a sign of her youth. She was looking around, confused at the table to staring vikings by the time Astrid finally spoke.
“Ye,s of course… You can just take ours, we’re not really drinking it,” Astrid said, pushing the mead jug forward despite Snotlout and Tuffnut’s objections, which swiftly ended with a groan once Astrid planted swift kicks in their shins to remind them that they were expected to be hospitable to their guests. Safyia smiled gratefully at the gesture and took the jug, thanking Astrid for her kindness before turning and heading back to her table.
“Wait!” Astrid called before she could stop herself, her curiosity getting the best of her, “Come join us for a bit.” Her friends turned to her in shock, their faces demanding an explanation, though all she could provide was a sheepish shrug. Safyia looked surprised at the offer, her face betraying the obvious internal debate. She eventually decided to sit down, perching on the end of the bench that the twins and Fishlegs were sitting on. She through a look over to the table of riders, who were looking at her in confusion, giving them a brief nod before turning back to the Berkians. “So, what burning questions do you have that you want me to answer?” she asked in a teasing tone.
“That’s not why-” Astrid started in a defensive tone, embarrassed at how easily the rider had read her.
“I don’t mind, honestly. If I were in your position, I would have questions too. So please, go ahead,” Safyia interrupted.
Astrid glanced at her peers, who were all already looking at her to take the lead. Cowards, she couldn’t help but think. “Um… why doesn’t he like the title Dragon Master? Seems pretty cool to me.” Astrid started, not sure how personal she could go with the questions.
“It’s just inaccurate. He doesn’t master the dragons; he trains them. I mean, we all do, but he’s the best at it. Drago is more of a dragon master than any of us.” She answered, reaching for a cup of mead that Astrid was fairly certain belonged to Snotlout.
“So it’s true?” Snotlout asked, not paying any mind to his missing cup, his eyes filled with curiosity. “Drago has an army of dragons?”
Safyia’s playful exterior faltered for a second, her eyes glazing over in a way similar to some of Berks' old warriors when they spoke about the Dragon raids- pure horror in their eyes. “Yes,” she replied curtly, clearly not wanting to delve into the topic deeper.
“How did you train the Skrill?” Fishlegs continued, sensing the rider’s resistance to any Drago-related questions as well. The question caused Safyia to return to her friendly posture.
“Astraphe was a lot like me,” she said, smiling at the thought of her dragon. “Once I showed her that I wasn’t going to hurt her, I won her over pretty easily.” The table nodded in response, in awe at how she spoke of the dragon with such a loving tone. Berkains had always viewed dragons as mindless, killing beasts. To hear someone speak of them with such affection was jarring.
“I’ve never heard of a name like that before- Astraphe,” Astrid commented.
“It’s Greek, the name of their ancient goddess of lightning,” Safyia responded, matter-of-factly.
“You’ve been to Greece?” Fishlegs asked before Astrid could even formulate her next question. He leaned forward in excitement. The Greeks were known for their ingenuity, and Astrid knew that Fishelgs had long wished for the opportunity to witness it first-hand. So far, all Berk had were Trader Johann’s tales.
Safyia laughed at his reactions, “No, I’ve only ever flown through the Aegean. But I spent most of my childhood in the Eastern Roman Empire.”
“I didn’t know they had dragons that far South, let alone the Skrill,” Astrid noted, though she didn’t know a lot about anything they had in the Eastern Roman Empire.
“They are far more rare than they are up north, and they are different species as well, a different climate and stuff. Skrill are only found up here, though I’ve only ever seen Astrape. I didn’t have my own dragon then, I flew on Toothless with the Chief.” Safyia gestured back towards Rider. She calls him chief, Astrid thought, surprised. It made sense, she supposed; they were in a way a tribe, and he was their leader.
“So, are you from the Empire?” Flishlegs continued, barely noticing how Safyia addressed the masked man.
“No, not originally,” Safyia said, her smile faltering slightly at the enquiry into her origin. “My people come from further east, but we are merchants by trade, so we travelled to Constantinople along the Silk Road. Eventually, we made a little settlement in a quiet pocket of the empire.” The group stared in awe. Berk had only ever entertained one other visitor who had been to the Eastern Roman Empire, Trader Johann, and he had only ever reached the western edge of the Empire. Safyia came from lands that they had never even heard of, that they didn’t even know existed.
“What about the other riders? Where have they come from?” Astrid asked, now more curious than ever about the origins of this strange group.
“And why does Rider insist on wearing that mask?” Tuffnut added, before also receiving a kick in the shins from Astrid
‘Those are not my stories to tell, I’m afraid, you’ll have to ask them yourself. And the same goes for Rider” Safyia smiled wistfully and took a swig of mead. Astrid watched her, dejected. The other riders seemed less keen to approach them, and none of them seemed particularly approachable.
“Are you sure you’re old enough to be drinking that?” she commented, not sure of what else to say. Safyia raised her eyebrow in response and continued drinking. “How old are you?” She finally asked, not being able to bear the curiosity any longer. Safyia looked far too young to be fighting in a war.
Safyia took one final gulp before answering, “seventeen.”
“Oh great,” Snotlout remarked, rolling his eyes, “the fate berk is in the hands of a bunch of teenagers.”
“Not a bunch of teenagers,” Safyia responded, standing up, obviously annoyed, “Heather and the Chief are probably around your age, and Eret is older. And anyway, despite my age, I’m fairly certain I have more combat experience than any of you- I’ve been with the riders for six years, while the Chief told me Berk has been at peace for the past eight years. You should be grateful that I’m here.” Once she finished, she stormed off back to her table, taking their jug of mead with them. Astrid watched as her friends began to question her about their discussion.
Much of what Safyia had told them had surprised Astrid: the little she had told them about her past, the way she spoke about the dragons. Yet what Astrid found most unnerving about the interaction was the last thing she had said. The Chief told me Berk has been at peace for the past eight years. Berk had only ever heard stories of the Dragon Master from sailors and merchants who came from beyond the Archeplego. Berk had never come into contact with him before now. So how does he know how long we’ve been at peace?
“She’s right, Snotlout,” Fishlegs said, snapping Astrid out of her thoughts, “you shouldn't have been so rude.”
“Shut up, Fishface, we were all thinking it.” Snotlout spat back, slurring slightly thanks to the mead. The two soon erupted into an argument over Snotlout’s lack of manners that Astrid couldn’t be bothered to listen to. Some things never change. Instead, she looked towards the rider’s table once again, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Rider was looking at her. Their eyes met, his appearing to be pitch black shadows through his mask. Astrid felt heat rise up her cheeks to the tip of her ears, suspecting that she was blushing. She willed herself to break eye contact, yet couldn’t. They both finally looked away at the sound of something entering the Great Hall. All eyes shifted to the door, which had been left slightly ajar. In had flown a tiny creature. It was bright green, with yellow bug-like eyes and little horns sprouting from its head. A Terrible Terror, Astrid thought, instinctively reaching for the dagger on her belt. Looking around, she could see others in the Hall also reaching for their weapons. On Berk, when one dragon came, others usually followed. To her surprise, however, the Terror paid no mind to the room of kill-ready vikings, flying instead right to Rider, who had his arm out for it to land on. Astrid watched carefully as the dragon nuzzled at his head affectionately. Rider reached up to his horn and untied something Astrid hadn’t even noticed was there. Then he reached down and grabbed a piece of fish from his own dragon's pile– much to his dragon's annoyance– and handed it to the terror, who promptly flew off his arm and out of the Great hall. The whole of Berk stared silently in awe. Rider looked over what appeared to have been a note attached to the Terror’s horns, his shoulders relaxing as he read it. He looked to the other riders, saying something to them that Astrid couldn't quite distinguish, before walking away from their table, leading them towards the centre of the Hall where Stoick was standing. Astrid and the rest of the table couldn’t help but follow as Snotlout walked over to his uncle, eager to learn about the contents of the letter.
“Good news!” Rider announced, standing in front of Stoick and handing the letter to Heather, who began scanning it, a smile dawning on her face. “My allies are on their way- the Wingmaidens, the Defenders of the Wing and the Beserkers.” Stoick looked stunned at the news, like the dragon riders, the stories about the Dragon Masters had omitted his allies. The mention of the Berserkers was the most unsettling part of this news. Berk had a long-lasting relationship with the Beserkers; how long had they had an ally in common with the riders?
“Allies? We were not aware that you…were bringing allies,” Stoick sturred, attempting to compose himself.
“I wasn’t sure if they would come, but they should be here by tomorrow afternoon,” Rider replied, kindly ignoring Stoick’s shock.
“Right, and who might these allies be?” Stoick asked, attempting to sound as non-threatening as possible, but Astrid noticed how his fist had clenched.
“Well, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Berserkers. Dagur and I have been friends for years, plus Heather is a Berserker, so he’s my closest ally,” Rider started, gesturing to Heather. All eyes turned to her, dissecting her. As far as Astrid knew, Rider had never been in the Archipelago. Dagur was known to have taken armadas to the Great Beyond, so his friendship with the Dragon Master was more understandable, but how did Heather end up with him? “Then there’s the Defenders of the Wing. They live on Caldera Cay under the protection of the Great Protector, an Eruptadon that keeps the volcano on their island at bay. They are the strongest fighters I’ve ever met,” Rider continued, though he might as well have been speaking another language, “their queen, Mala, is married to Dagur.” Stoick nodded in response. Berk had heard that the Chief of the Beserkers had married and had a child with someone from outside the archipelago, but no one had known that his wife was a queen in her own right, and they had never heard of these Defenders of Wing before. Yet again, Astrid couldn’t help but wonder how Rider had come across these alliances. “Finally, there are the Wingmaidens. They have a sacred duty from Freja– they care for baby Razorwhips until they can be released to the wild. They wear them on their backs, which allows them to fly, so they’ll provide me and the rider's with help in the sky when it comes to battle,” Rider finished.
“As much as these allies are welcome, I’m not sure we have the facilities to house them,” Stoick said, stepping away from the table so that he stood next to Rider, dwarfing him in the process.
“How many supplies do you have?”
“Enough for 3, maybe 4 houses, but we would also have to build them, and all 4 won’t be ready in time for your guests.”
“Build two houses, one for Dagur and Mala and one for Atali, the leader of the Wingmaidens. All three are bringing all of their manpower, so I’m sure they would understand you asking them to set up camp,” Rider said, his tone authoritative.
“Very well,” responded Stoick, turning to the rest of the Vikings and giving a silent order to start building in the morning.
“If that is all, I would appreciate it if you would bid me and my riders to retire for the night, we are tired from the flight,” Rider asked, his tone surprisingly formal.
“Of course,” Stoick replied, clearly also unnerved by his tone, “the other two guest houses should be ready by now, and I understand you would prefer to camp in the woods?” Stoick looked to Heather, who nodded in response.
With that, Snotlout began leading the party out of the great hall and towards the guest houses. Astrid waited for a moment, watching as Eret stumbled away, leaning on young Safyia. The sight amused her. Eret was a good few inches taller than her, though not as tall as Rider, so the two made for a comical pair. She then spotted Heather, who was walking away from the group and towards the forest. Astrid jogged up to her, Safyia’s words of wisdom ringing in her head. “I like your axe,” she noted, from behind her. Heather’s axe, much like Safyia’s sword, was like nothing she had ever seen before, with two heads made of an unfamiliar type of metal, darker and shinier than steel, and worked thinner than any other axe she’d ever seen. Heather stopped in her tracks and turned to face Astrid, her emerald green eyes looking her over. “Thanks,” she said, smiling, “Rider made it for me.”
“He’s quite the blacksmith, makes sense that he asked to use our forge,”
“Would you believe those are the least impressive of his abilities?” Heather laughed and turned back towards the woods.
“I’m Astrid… Hofferson. Can I walk you? I know a good spot to camp, and it should have enough space for your dragon…” Astrid said, not wanting to lose the golden opportunity to learn more about the mysterious Berserker. She cast her gaze up to the sky. She hadn’t seen the dragon since they had arrived, not knowing wear it was made her nervous. Heather evidently picked up on her anxiety.
“Windshear is in the forest, I sent her there to hunt before dinner– she’ll come find me when I call her,” she reassured, “and that’s very kind of you.” Astrid smiled and began to walk next to the raven-haired woman. “So… why did you want to camp in the woods?”
“Windshear gets anxious away from me when we travel. Back home, she’s not too bad, and on the Edge,”
“The Edge?”
“Where the rest of the riders live. I divide my time between there and Beserker Island, where I live. She gets anxious when we’re away from home, so it’s better that I sleep near her, so outside,” Heather gestured to the forest they were walking through.
“So you don’t normally sleep with your dragons?”
“No, we have stables. Except for Toothless, he will always sleep in the house with H-Rider. I’ve never seen a dragon and rider as close as those two; you’ll rarely catch them apart.” Astrid smiled at Heather’s slip-up; perhaps she could tease out some information about the masked man after all.
“So, what’s up with him– Rider— where did he come from?” Heather chuckled at her not-so-subtle question.
“You’re going to have to try harder than that. His story is not mine to tell. If you want to know about him, you’ll have to ask him yourself.” Heather stopped in her tracks. They had reached the clearing. She let out a high-pitched whistle and turned to face Astrid. “Well, thank you for walking me, Astrid Hofferson.” Astrid saw the metallic dragon land behind Heather. It turned its long neck to look at Astrid, watching her closely. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Well, goodnight, Heather,” she said, offering a phoney smile.
“Good night, Astrid, and seriously, just talk to Rider– we dragon riders don’t bite, I promise,” she replied, smiling.
As Astrid walked away, she could hear Heather’s dragon crow happily, and Heather laugh in turn. It’s strange, she thought, how comfortable they are with them. The thought of sleeping near a dragon sounded like Hel to Astrid, yet they did it willingly. Rider himself preferred it. Astrid couldn’t wrap her head around it, though, since they had arrived, Astrid was less and less certain about everything she knew, especially what she knew about dragons. One thing, however, Asrid knew for certain, she needed to talk to the Rider.
Notes:
Please ignore any historical inaccuracies, especially about the Eastern Roman Empire and the Silk Road. I'm not an expert, do idk but I thought it would make a cool back story.
Very excited for the next chapter when we meet the allies- especially Dagur, since he's gonna be very fun to write.
Chapter 5: The past
Summary:
Some background about characters and relationship dynamics.
Notes:
Ok, I know I said that we'd meet Dagur this chapter, but it was getting very long, so... maybe next chapter, though no promises.
In this chapter, we get a lovely glimpse of stressed-out parental figure to a teenager hiccup, which is fun. We also get some background about the aftermath of Hiccup's disappearance.
This chapter is very long, which is why I decided to end it here.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hiccup hadn’t slept through the night in almost four years. Not since his war with Drago had started. He remembered the day he had first come across Drago’s work. They had been noticing that dragons on other islands had been going missing at an alarming rate, more than the expected migrations. Hiccup and the riders had been canvassing some ground up north, following information they had teased from a lone hunter in the northern markets. They had only flown these waters a couple of times before, but the people who inhabited them were warm, peaceful people. That’s when they saw it, a village that had been completely obliterated by dragons. Every building had been dessimated to nothing but ash, and the sickening scent of burning flesh hung in the air. They found only one survivor, a little boy, eight years old. His body was covered in third-degree burns so bad he couldn’t even feel the pain. His skin was flaking and falling off in chunks. He held on for three days before he died. They placed his little body on a ship and set it afloat, each shooting a flaming arrow. A proper Viking funeral. They had never even found out his name. That village was one of five the riders had come across since that day, each the same, never having more than one survivor. Hiccup had nightmares about them all.
This nightmare was different, however. He was fifteen again, standing in the kill ring with all of Berk watching him. With his father watching him. He looked up at the man, his bright green eyes shining with pride. He had been looking like that at Hiccup since he returned from Helheim's gate, with pride. Hiccup couldn’t remember his father looking at him that way before he started dragon training. Hiccup looked ahead at him, the monstrous nightmare crawling towards him. The rest happened so fast: he dropped in shield and knife, reached out his hands and touched the dragon's warm red snout. Then all of a sudden, the ringing of stone on metal hit his ears, spooking the dragon. It pounced at Hiccup, its scales igniting into flames and shooting bursts of flames at him. Hiccup managed to dodge each attack until it ran out of fire. Then, as though his body was betraying him, Hiccup picked up his disgraced knife. He stalked towards the dragon, which was now cowering against the wall of the ring. Stop, stop walking! His mind screamed, but his body kept moving. Hiccup approached the creature, the beautiful, intelligent creature. He lifted his blade— his mind screaming, begging his body to stop– and plunged it into the dragon's heart. The crowd watching erupted into cheers as Hiccup stabbed, and stabbed, and stabbed…
He awoke in a hot sweat, suffocated by the scratchy linens draped over his body. He hadn’t had that dream in years, not since a year after he had left Berk. It was a reminder of why he had left in the first place. Fitting it would return now that I’m back, Hiccup thought. Yesterday had been stressful, to say the least. Seeing his father again after nine years had brought a host of complex emotions that Hiccup had buried down as a teenager, bubbling up to the surface. He shoved them into a dark corner of his mind and chose to ignore them for now. He had bigger fish to fry. His father looked different to how Hiccup remembered him, which, while not being a surprise, was strange for Hiccup to see. For all these years, Stoick stayed frozen in time as a figure of Hiccup's past. Now he had stood before him, nine years older, calling him the Dragon Master. His red hair, only slightly brighter than Hiccup’s own, now streaked significantly with grey, and his skin carried more wrinkles than he had when Hiccup had last seen him. The years had not been particularly kind to his father, and Hiccup couldn’t help but wonder if losing his son had contributed to his wrinkles and grey hair.
He turned his head to the window, surprised to see that it was light outside. When he rarely did sleep, he would always wake up before dawn. He tore his blanket off and threw it to the ground, rising from his bed. His head was pounding, likely from the stress, given he only drank half a cup of mead last night, unlike Eret, who would certainly be struggling with a hangover this morning. He reached for the jug of water on the table next to his bed and poured himself a cup. This headache better not last; otherwise, he was unsure how he would get through a day of strategising with loud-mouthed vikings. A low guttural purring drew his attention to the corner of his room, where his best friend was only just stirring. “Morning, bud,” he teased, walking over the dragon and stroking his scales. Toothless purred in response, flashing him a gummy smile. “How’d you feel like a quick flight before all the chaos starts?” To this, Toothless leapt up from the floor, practically dragging Hiccup to the door. “Okay, okay,” Hiccup laughed, “slow down, Toothless, let me at least put a shirt on and grab my helmet.” He wrestled himself free from the dragon for long enough to pull his dark green tunic over his head and shove his helmet on. “My armour will have to wait, I guess. But Toothless, if I freeze to death, I’m blaming you,” he jested.
As Hiccup stepped out of the house, ready to take flight, he was stopped in his tracks by a figure waiting for him outside. A young woman stood in front of him, with golden blonde hair that was strung in a thick braid over her shoulder, her brown leather kransen cutting through it around the crown of her head. Something about seeing that she was unmarried made Hiccup’s stomach do a flip. He met her eyes, a bright, icy blue, which lit up as she smiled at the sight of him. Hiccup tried to ignore the butterflies which arose in his stomach. He was grateful to be wearing a mask in this moment, since he was fairly certain his face was bright red. Astrid Hofferson never failed to astonish him.“Morning!” She greeted him, reaching out her hand and offering him a loaf of bread. “I realised that we didn’t put any food for your breakfast in the houses, so I figured I would bring you some.”
“Uhh… thanks,” Hiccup responded, surprised at her friendliness. The Astrid he remembered had been far colder, more detached. The years had clearly softened her; that or she had some ulterior motive.
“Astrid, Astrid Hofferson. Sorry, we haven’t actually been introduced yet.”
“Right, yeah, though I suppose there’s no need for me to introduce myself.”
“Unless you want to take off your mask and tell me your real name,” Astrid chuckled, taking a step closer to him. Ah, the ulterior motive.
“Sorry, milady, but you’re going to have to try harder than bribing me with a loaf of bread,” Hiccup responded, surprising himself with the nickname. Astrid also looked to have been caught off guard by it. Hiccup noticed a flush of pink creep up her rosy cheeks.
“Well, in that case”, she continued, composing herself and taking a step back, “can I get you anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Then I will bid you farewell, for now,” Astrid said, flashing him a smile that made his heart skip a beat before turning on her heel and sauntering away. Hiccup watched her for a moment, the rest of the world fading from his peripheral vision as he did. It was only when Toothless nudged his side and grumbled impatiently that he was awoken from his trance. “Alright, Toothless,” Hiccup sighed, trying to shake off the fog that the interaction had left over his mind. “How about that flight?” Toothless crooned happily in response as Hiccup climbed on his back and the pair took off, soaring to the sky.
Once he was back in the air, all of his anxiety surrounding Berk melted away. The wind ran through the nape of his neck, sending familiar shivers down his spine. They glided just above the cloud cover, close enough for Hiccup to run his hands through them, leaving his hands cold and wet. This high up in the sky was still a mesmerising mix of hues of pink and purple, some stars even still visible. There was nothing quite like flying. He leaned back on Toothless, resting his head on his spine. He lifted the flap on his mask at his mouth, broke off a piece of the bread Astrid gave him and shoved it in his mouth. “Gods, Toothless,” he exclaimed, “what am I thinking? Am I honestly going to fight this whole war while hiding my identity from everyone? From Astrid? From my dad?” Toothless groaned in response, attempting to comfort him. After ten years together, Hiccup had learnt how to decipher his best friend's different noises well enough that he virtually understood him. “Thanks, bud,” he responded, stroking the dragon's jaw. They glided in silence for a while, both content in each other's company. Hiccup looked around him. It was strange. From this high up, the sky looked the same no matter how high you flew, yet below the clouds was a village that Hiccup had never thought he would come back to, filled with figures from his past.
“Hey, Chief,” a deep voice interrupted Hiccup's memories of his childhood. He looked up to see Eret peaking through the cloud cover, his fur hood pulled over his head as per usual. “You done up here? Everyone’s waiting for you in the Great Hall, and Vikings aren’t none for being patient.”
“Uh…yeah, sorry, I’ll be down in a minute,” hiccup responded, trying and failing to disguise his hesitation. Eret clearly picked up on his nerves.
“You alright?”
Hiccup couldn’t help but chuckle. Why on earth would he be alright? What about this situation would mean that he was alright? That he was planning on facing a dragon-enslaving, village-slaughtering maniac? That he was going to lead hoards of people, his riders, Berkians, his allies, into a potential massacre? That as soon as he landed, he would have to face his estranged father, who not only didn't recognise him, but likely also believed that he was dead?
“No, not really,” he responded, not seeing any point in lying.
“You know, when you go down there, you're not Hiccup, the village disappointment or whatever they made you think you were. You’re a Rider. You’re the Dragon Master. You’re they’re only hope of survival. There is nothing they can do to you know. And we are with you the whole way- you’re our Chief, no matter what.” Hiccup sat up to look at him, offering him a grateful smile. Eret had always been his most vocal supporter. He felt he owed Hiccup for showing him a life beyond dragon hunting. It had been he who first started calling Hiccup “chief.” He had hated it at first; it reminded him of his life on Berk as the heir. Slowly, however, as the other riders caught on, they wore him down. Now, he didn’t mind it as much; he considered it a reminder of his duties to his riders as their leader.
“Alright, alright, enough of the sappy stuff,” Hiccup groaned, “we’ve got a war to prepare for.” He flashed Eret a smile before darting through the clouds down to berk.
…
“Am I crazy, or did I see you all cosy with Rider this morning?” Ruffnut teased, tossing her arm around Astrid's shoulder. The two had grown close over the years. Hiccup’s disappearance had been a wake-up call to Astrid not to waste her life only focusing on training. She had not known Hiccup like she had wanted, only ever watching him from afar, so now she had made sure to get to know her other friends. Astrid rolled her eyes at what Ruffnut was insinuating. All she had done was give him a loaf of bread, a simple act of hospitality, and perhaps also an attempt to gather information from Rider, which had failed miserably.
“You didn’t see anything. I was just making sure our guest has everything he needs,” Astrid replied, turning her nose up in feigned disdain.
“So you were meeting his needs?”
“Ruffnut!” Astrid gasped, shocked at her friend's insinuation.
“What? You can’t be surprised, Tuff and I have literally got a Thorston challenge going on what he looks like under that mask– Tuff is horrifyingly hideous and I’m devishly handsome,”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I can neither confirm nor deny either. I learnt absolutely nothing,” Astrid chuckled in response. It seemed unnecessary to mention that she had learnt that Rider was deceivingly muscular, having been able to see the outline of his muscles through his tunic.
“Well, it didn’t look like you tried very hard- that was one of the shortest interrogations I’ve ever witnessed.”
“And how many interrogations have you witnessed?”
“Are you forgetting that Tuff and I are the main detectives on this little island of ours?” Ruffnut gasped, feigning offence. Astrid rolled her eyes. The day those two solved a crime correctly was the day Astrid married Snotlout. Her attention was drawn away from her friend at the sound of a high-pitched whistling coming from the sky. She looked up to the sky to see a mass of black darting through the grey. It circled Berk twice in the blink of an eye before slowing and landing outside of Rider’s guest house. He slid off the dragon with ease and disappeared inside. “Show of,” Astrid heard someone mutter behind her. Safyia was standing outside her guest house, leaning against its wall. She was slicing an apple with an intricately embellished dagger and tossing slices into her dragon’s mouth, who was looking at her eagerly. Astrid once again couldn't help but be unnerved by how comfortable she was around the beast. Especially the Skrill, one of the few dragons that gave the Night Fury a run for its money in its ability to strike fear into the hearts of dragons. Astrid looked back at Rider, who was emerging from the building wearing armour. This one was different, though. Instead pitch black scales, this one was made of a mix of black and brown leather, some of it cut to resemble scales. The suit had a myriad of flaps and pockets covering it, surely too many to be useful , Astrid thought. When Rider turned, Asrtrid could see that one of the shoulders had a red crest painted on it. Perhaps that is his tribe? Astrid wandered, though it didn’t look like any crest Astrid had ever seen. As she looked at it longer, she could see that it resembled the shape of a Night Fury.
“Rider!” Stoick boomed, his voice betraying his impatience. “We’ve been waiting for you– would you and your riders care to join us in the Great Hall?”
“It would be my honour,” Astrid heard him yell in response, before he started walking swiftly towards to building, his dragon tailing closely behind.
“Ugh, back to work,” Safyia whined behind her. Astrid turned to look at her. She was wearing her hair down, the long black waves falling to her waist. Around her head, she had braided some strands into an intricate crown, a style Astrid had never seen before. She wasn't wearing the same armour as yesterday. Instead, she had on a simple black outfit, with a structured bodice and arm guards made out of the same scales as her armour.
“You never know, maybe when this is all over, the Chief will let us take a vacation,” a second voice added, Heather’s, who was emerging from the forest, her dragon once again missing.
“That would be the dream.” Safyia turned her attention to Astrid, briefly making eye contact before Astrid tore her gaze away, embarrassed to have been caught eavesdropping. Heather cast her a wary look as well.
“We should head inside,” Safyia instructed, the two women beginning to walk away from Astrid.
“Wait,” Astrid called out, jogging up to the pair, who both gazed at her with a stare like she had sprouted wings. “I wanted to apologise for yesterday,” She continued, looking at Safyia and choosing to ignore their withering looks. “We really are grateful you’re here. That was just Snotlout being….well…”
“A dick?” Safyia interrupted, a grin creeping onto her face.
“Well… yeah. Like father, like son, I suppose,” Astrid laughed. She appreciated the girl's bluntness. Safyia looked at her quizically in response. “Oh, his father, Spitlout, is the loudmouthed Viking from yesterday. The one you threw your sword at,” Astrid clarified, making a throwing motion with her hands. Both women seemed amused at the memory.
“Well, it’s no bother, I’ve dealt with my fair share of loudmouthed Vikings in my past– I get that it’s just in your nature” Safya’s tone was soft and compassionate; she had clearly meant to reassure Astrid that there were no hard feelings between the two. However, Astrid couldn’t help but feel hurt at the comment. She knew that Vikings had their bad qualities; hearing them called out was something else.
“Most of us are not like that, I promise,” Astrid replied, her tone defensive.
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Safyia said, her tone still light, as though everything she said was a joke. Astrid wasn’t sure how to respond to her comment.
“Well, we should head to the Great Hall,” Heather said, breaking the awkward silence.
“Right, yeah,” was all Astrid could say, as she watched the women begin to walk away from her. Astrid wanted to know them, at least well enough to build a level of trust. They were about to go to war together after all. Yet Astrid couldn’t quite seem to figure the two out. Heather seemed friendly enough; perhaps being a Berserker allowed her to feel some kind of connection to Berk. She seemed more comfortable around the Vikings than the other three riders. Safyia, however, seemed to be using a friendly tone and cheerful manner to mask a true disdain for the Berkians. Astrid could see it in her eyes when she looked at the other Vikings; she despised them.
“Aren’t you coming?” A voice interrupted Astrid’s thoughts. She looked up and locked eyes with Heather.
“Oh,” Astrid was caught by surprise by the invitation, though Heather was right, she would be expected in the Great Hall. “Yeah, sorry, I’m coming,” she was touched by Heather's action. She walked to join the pair, and together, in an uncomfortable silence, the three headed to the Great Hall.
…
Astrid had to push her way through a number of Vikings before she made it to the front of the crowd and found her friends, who were rallied behind Snotlout. Next to him was Stoick stood firm, his air making it clear why they said he squeezed the head of a dragon with his bare hands as a baby. On the other side of the table, she saw Safyia and Heather, who had joined Rider and Eret. The whole room was still with a tense silence, everyone waiting, watching who would speak first.
“Heather received a letter this morning,” Rider started, breaking the silence, “The Beserkers found no sign of Drago on their journey. That means he won’t be here for at least a three days.” He reached into one of the flaps on his suit and pulled out a journal. Its leather was worn and tired, like it had been with him for a long time. It reminded Astrid of the journal Hiccup used to carry around with him and sketch furiously in. Rider opened it and laid it down, unfolding different pieces of paper until it expanded into a map almost the size of the table. Each island was intricately drawn, like mini paintings scattered across an ocean.
“The closest I’ve ever seen Drago’s men to Berk is here.” Rider pointed to an island a few miles north of the Beserekers. “Now, given, the Beserker’s haven’t seen them, they could be in any of these waters,” he gestured to another area of the map. “I propose that I send some of my riders to do surveillance, see if Drago’s men have reached these waters yet. That way we can get a gauge on how much time we have to prepare.”
“Are you sure that won't take too long?” Stoick inquired, his tone sceptical.
“A surveillance trip this length would take a maximum of two days. Flying at full speed, they should be back within a day.”
“Very well. You should send them now so they’re back as soon as possible.” With Stoick’s confirmation, Rider turned to the others.
“Heather and I’ll pack our bags,” Safyia exclaimed, getting ready to leave the hall.
“No,” Rider stopped her. Safyia’s face flashed with confusion. “Heather and Eret will go.” To this, Eret nodded, accepting the command from his Chief.
“What?” Safyia argued, her tone angry, “Hi-Chief, I’m faster than Eret, I should go.”
“Skullcrusher is a tracker-class dragon; his skills will be helpful. Heather and Eret are going. That’s the end of it,” Rider snapped. His body language towards Safyia was different to what he had displayed to the others, less menacing and more commanding. Almost like how a parent scolds a child. Safyia looked annoyed, but accepted his command, stepping back closer to the crowd, almost like she wanted to disappear into the crowd. She almost said his name , Astrid thought. Astrid watched as Heather and Eret heeded their Chiefs' commands, both walking out of the hall once the altercation had ended. Rider turned back to face Stoick.
“Now, given our allies should be arriving in a few hours, I think it would be worth waiting for them before we start strategising. We’ll need an accurate read on their manpower,” Rider said, clearly not wanting to address his disagreement with Safyia.
“I agree, how about in the meantime we give you a tour of Berk, show you what we can provide in terms of manpower?” Stoick offered. From one chief to another, he understood not to press Rider on his rider’s challenging him. Rider simply nodded in return, and both men began to head out of the hall. The rest of the Vikings followed. As Astrid left the hall, she could see Rider and Safyia talking, Rider’s movements animated, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke with frustration. She watched as Safyia walked away, climbed on her dragon, who had waited outside the hall for her, and flew away.
“That doesn’t seem good.” Rider, who was stroking his gloved hand over his masked face, turned to look at her, shifting his demeanour to try and hide his exasperation.
“She just needs to burn off some steam, teenagers, right?” He replied.
“Yeah, teenagers.” Astrid was confused by the nature of their relationship. Rider seemed to view the other riders as peers, yet with Safyia, he seemed a lot more commanding. Perhaps it’s because she’s younger, Astrid thought, maybe he doesn’t trust her as much.
“So,” Snotlout interrupeted, their conversation had lulled into an awkward silence, so his voice was welcome, “I’ll be giving you the tour.”
Astrid raised her eyebrow in doubt. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You're not the most up-to-date with Berks tactical defences, and last time you went to the armoury, you set off a catapult…that was broken. How is that possible?” She could have sworn she heard Rider chuckle.
“Shut up, Astrid!” Snotlout snapped back. “If you're such an expert, you lead to tour, oh mighty shieldmaiden.”
“Gladly! This way, Rider,” Astrid replied, much to Snotlout’s clear annoyance. The group followed her as she began to lead them through the village. “We’ll start at the forge. Gobber can tell you how we’re doing on weapon production. And if I remember correctly, you wanted to use the forge? You’ll be able to arrange a time with Gobber.” Rider didn’t have an opportunity to reply to Astrid’s offer before the twins finally caught up to him.
“So, Rider, and can I say, great alias, very fitting, you rarely see fitting aliases these days,” Ruttnut started. Astrid braced herself for whatever the twins had up their sleeves.
“I concur, sister, but not Rider’s. What it lacks in creativity, it makes up for in accuracy,” Ruffnut added.
“Uh, thanks,” Rider responded, trying to softly work his way out of their grasp. The twins responded by pulling him closer.
“Anyway…so what’s with the mask? Ruff and I may or may not have a bet going on why you wear it, so if you could clear that up for us that would be greatly appreciated.” Wow, subtle, Astrid thought, rolling her eyes.
“Yeah, which is it, horrifyingly ugly or heartstoppingly beautiful?” Ruffnut added. Rider stiffened in response.
“What?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable.
“Okay, guys, that’s enough. He can wear the mask if he wants to wear the mask, and he doesn’t have to tell us why,” Astrid interjected, grabbing Rider and yanking him from the twins' grasp.
“Thanks,” Rider sighed, leaning slightly closer to Astrid, making her heart skip a beat. She became acutely aware that she was still holding his arm. Letting it go, she took a step back and smiled.
“You're welcome,” was all she could muster to say before she continued walking. For a brief moment, she caught Ruffnut’s eye, who was smirking at her. I’m not going to live that one down , she thought. The group continued in silence, much to Astrid’s relief. While it would have been nice to get to know Rider more, saving him from the twins’ inappropriate questions was still a victory.
“Gobber? You in here?” Astrid called out once they finally reached the forge. It was a poorly kept building, practically falling apart. A decade ago, it would get frequent repairs thanks to the regular dragon raids. Now, it, like much of Berk, had fallen into disrepair as the inhabitants had gotten comfortable and lazy.
“Mornin’ lass-oh, and I’ve seen you’ve brought the whole clan with you,” Gobber exclaimed, emerging from the back of the forge, blackened with soot. His demeanour stiffened when he noticed the masked man with them. “Oh, Mr Rider, I didn’t realise you were with them. Gobber the Belch, at your service,” he extended his hooked hand to Rider, who shook it graciously.
“Thank you. I was told that you are the one heading up the weapons production?”
“Aye, that's right, if you’ll come this way, I’ll show you what we’re working with so far.” Gobber led the group through a maze of worktables to the back of the forge. There lay boxes of newly produced weapons: swords, maces, axes. Rider inspected each box carefully.
“Focus production on long-form weapons– catapults, bolas, bows and arrows. There won't be much one-on-one combat. Drago’s forces are mostly just the dragons he controls; we’ll outnumber his actual men pretty easily. Plus, we want to focus especially on hitting the ships, wiping out his forces while minimising the danger to the dragons.” The group stared at him, confused by his last sentence. “The dragons aren’t doing this willingly; he’s controlling them somehow. He keeps them caged and starved to make them more aggressive, but how he keeps them loyal to him I haven’t figured out yet,” Rider clarified.
“Doesn't he control them the same way you control your dragon?” Snotlout asked, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Rider turned to face him sharply. Even with the mask on, Astrid could see he was angry.
“I don’t control Toothless; we have a partnership, we’re friends. Drago controls his dragons out of fear,” he snapped. Astrid heard the dragon growl from outside, clearly sensing his rider’s anger.
“You’re friends with a dragon?” Snotlout responded, not caring if he angered the man further.
“I wouldn’t expect a bunch of Berkians to understand. Dragons are intelligent, kind creatures. They don’t attack unless they have to.” Disdain dripped from Rider’s voice like poison.
“Dragons are heartless killers! Believe, I’ve lost more than enough to dragons to know the world would be better off without them.”
“Snotlout, that’s enough!” A voice boomed. Behind the crowd, Stoick was standing, his brow furrowed. Astrid hadn't even noticed his arrival. The man didn’t say anything more, simply stalking out of the forge, but it was enough to silence Snotlout. Astrid looked at Snotlout, a mixture of annoyance and pity filling her body. As inappropriate as his outburst had been, she understood why he felt that way. When Hiccup had disappeared, Stoick sent off search party after search party, scouring the island for him. They even ventured to the most dragon-infested regions of their home. One of the parties eventually came across a cove. Besides an axe and some old pieces of paper, Hiccup had left no trace that he had ever been there. They figured this was where he would come when he would disappear from dragon training, and the group was ready to tick it off as another place on the island with no sign of the missing boy. Then they found the dragon scales. Stoick refused to accept it. For ten years, the council had been begging him to acknowledge the truth, that Hiccup had been killed by a dragon, picked off and eaten just like his mother. To this day, Stoick insisted that he had simply gone missing; without any remains, he had clung to the hope that his only child was still alive. It took Drago’s threat for him to finally appoint Snotlout heir, aware that he may not survive the battle, and not wanting to leave Berk with a crisis of succession. He had never even given Hiccup a funeral. Astrid knew that Snotlout didn’t share his uncle’s belief. She knew that the guilt had eaten him up inside, that it still was. Guilt for not being there with him, for not being able to protect him. But also guilt for how he had treated his cousin in their teenage years, for driving him out to the forest in the first place, for letting his father’s comments get into his head. Hiccup and Snotlout had been best friends as children, yet by the time they were fifteen, Snotlout was his biggest bully. He blamed himself for his cousin’s death. He gave Rider a long look, his bitter resolve not faltering, before he too stormed out of the forge.
“I’m sorry about the Rider,” Gobber said, breaking the stunned silence of the group. Since his son’s disappearance, Stoick had become more mellow, the loss of the last of his family killing any spark he had. Now he rarely got angry, usually only when someone mentioned his son’s tragic fate, which the village had learnt not to do. The news of Drago had been the first thing to also trigger his anger. “The Chief's wife was killed by dragons, and it’s suspected that his heir was, too. It’s a touchy subject for the family.” Astrid wasn’t sure why Gobber was telling Rider that; it seemed far too personal to tell a man they had only just met, and who, when the war was over, would disappear as quickly as he came. But Hiccup was like a son to Gobber too, Astrid thought, remembering how he and the boy would spend hours together in the forge, how he would be the only person to defend him from his father's wrath. The memories were just as painful for Gobber as they were for Stoick and Snotlout.
“Killed by dragons?” Rider asked, clearly unconvinced.
“Yeah, eaten,” Tuffnut added. Astrid elbowed him in the stomach for his bluntness.
Rider clenched his fists. He seemed unnerved by the whole ordeal. “Dragons don’t eat people,” he muttered quietly.
“What?” Astrid asked before she could stop herself, half believing she had misheard him. That was the last thing she had expected him to say.
“Dragons don’t eat people,” he repeated, this time louder and more certain.
“Right, but they still kill people; we’ve lost hundreds of Vikings to dragons,” she argued.
“They won’t kill unless they have to– they just defend themselves.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, lad,” Gobber replied, his tone was light, but Astrid could sense the resentment underneath it, “I’ve lost two limbs to dragons, and I saw the chief's wife get carried away by a dragon. Hel, I even found the scales of the dragon that probably killed Hiccup.” Rider tensed at the mention of Hiccup’s name. He seems angry at what they’re saying, Astrid thought, begging for this conversation to be over.
“I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry that happened to you’re chief’s wife,” Rider responded, much to Astrid’s surprise. He seemed genuine, like he understood first-hand the pain of both events. Well, he has lost a leg, so he probably understands that pain, Astrid thought. She couldn’t help but wonder how he related to the loss of a loved one to dragons- perhaps he had a similar experience. All to end up training them, she thought. Gobber looked equally surprised by his response, staring at him speechless. “What type of scales did you find?” Rider continued. Astrid was surprised that he had focused on that detail of the story.
“Oh, they were like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” Fishlegs commented, finally mustering up the courage to speak after being silent all morning. Of course, the topic of dragons had done it. Since the raids stopped, Fishlegs had poured all his intellectual energy into becoming Berk’s next Skald, Berk having no need for a dragon expert anymore. Astrid knew that deep down, he missed the thrill of learning about the beasts. “They were small, teardrop in shape and pitch black. Kind of like your dragons…” His voice faded away as realisation dawned on his face. The Night Fury’s scales are identical to the ones they had found that day, Astrid thought, a feeling of horror building up in her stomach. Rider chuckled, as if he could read all their thoughts.
“I promise my dragon did not eat your chief’s son.” He said with a level of certainty that unnerved Astrid. The rest of the group seemed to share her feelings, as they mutually decided to leave the conversation there.
“Erm…so I’ll get started on those catapults ASAP– how many d’you think we’ll need?” Gobber asked, breaking the awkward silence Rider’s comment had left them in.
“As many as you can make in time, they’ll be the most effective at destroying Drago’s forces.”
“And I hear you were wanting to use my forge?”
“Yes!” Rider exclaimed excitedly, “If you can spare of worktop, I need to recalibrate my leg.” He gestured to his prosthetic.
“That is one interesting peg leg right there. What’s it all for?” Gobber gasped, fascinated by the contraption. The Rider seemed more than happy to entertain his questions.
“The gears let me shift between different settings for different terrain,” he explained, unbuckling the prosthetic to show Gobber in more detail. Astrid couldn’t help but stare at the space where his leg ended. He pressed something on the prosthetic, and with a clicking sound, the end of it switched to a spike. “This is for ice,” he explained, doing it again to show a different setting. “This one for sand, and this one for flying– I designed Toothless's saddle so that only I can ride it- I can change the setting on it to fit another rider, but only I and the other rider know how to do that.” Even in his threatening armour, he looked so happy explaining his invention to Gobber. It was sweet.
“That’s mighty impressive! Though I must say I’m a traditionalist when it comes to myself,” Gobber responded, flashing his own primitive wooden peg. Rider simply laughed in response. “Where’d you learn how to do all this?” Gobber asked, clearly amazed by the man's skill.
“I was a blacksmith’s apprentice when I was younger. Then, when I was in the Eastern Roman Empire, I learned a lot about engineering as well,” Rider explained, brushing quickly past the mention of his childhood. The mention of a blacksmith’s apprentice reminded Astrid of the last one Berk had, who would toil away in the forge until all hours of the morning, working on secret projects no one was allowed to know about. When Hiccup disappeared, Stoick and Gobber tore apart his workroom, looking for any clue of where he might have gone. His notes had been incredible, designs for all types of things that Astrid could have only dreamed of, not that anyone could really understand his notes. Gobber was clearly also reminded of Hiccup, and Astrid noticed his eyes flash with sadness at Rider’s story.
“Well,” Gobber started, clearing his throat, “I’m quite slammed right now, but if you come by this evening, it should be free.”
“That would be great, thank you!”
“Well, if we’re done here,” Astrid said, attempting to prevent yet another awkward silence that the twins would no doubt take advantage of to ask another invasive question, “I’ll show you to the armoury.”
“Actually,” Snotlout interrupted, sauntering into the forge as though he hadn’t just been reprimanded by the chief, “I was thinking we could do a little friendly sparring, see what you’ve got when your dragon is not around.”
“Snotlout, I don’t know if that's such a good ide–” Astrid started. This would almost certainly end badly, and Astrid didn't want to risk losing Berk’s one hope at defeating Drago.
“I’m in!” Rider interrupted, his voice strangely excited. Astrid didn’t think someone as collected as Rider would be interested in Snotlout’s very obvious attempt to undermine him. Astrid couldn’t help but be disappointed in the way Snotlout was acting. For the past nine years, she had watched him mature, albeit slowly, into a far less arrogant young man. One day of being around Rider, and he was already slipping back to his scheming ways. Perhaps seeing someone like him, his age, as a leader had awoken some buried insecurity in him. Astrid knew that's why he had tormented his cousin. Hiccup, for all his faults, had been smart, crafty; he had shown great promise as the next chief. Snotlout had always felt he fell short of that.
“Great,” Snotlout menacingly grinned, “let me take you to the Arena.” He started to walk out of the forge when Rider stopped him.
“It’s the big metal dome? I saw it when I flew over. I’ll meet you there, but first I’m going to go find Saf; she won’t want to miss this.” With that, Astrid and her friends watched as he jumped atop his dragon and took off towards the sky.
Notes:
this fanfic is officially the longest thing I've ever written.
Chapter 6: Friendships, old and new
Summary:
Fights happen. Some relationship crumbs. Dagur and Mala!
Notes:
Ok, I am really bad a writing action scenes, so forgive me, but this is one of my favourite chapters. We get to see a lot more from the different characters, most importantly, Snotlout.
Ahhhhh, we finally meet Dagur!!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hiccup was reeling from everything he had learned that morning. They believed he was dead. He knew that was a possibility, he’d even expected it, but hearing it out loud made what he’d done so much more real. After he left Berk all those years ago, he had done his best to forget the island, to not think about how his leaving would have affected them. He was Stoick’s only child, therefore the only heir of the Haddock line. Sure, his father could remarry; in fact, for years the council had been begging him to, not wanting to take the risk of only having one heir when their only heir was sickly, accident-prone Hiccup. But his father had always refused, claiming that Valka would be his only wife in this life. Therefore, the role of the next chief fell to his cousin. Hiccup had thought he was doing Berk a favour. Snotlout was everything Hiccup wasn’t: strong, brave, a true Viking. The son his father had wanted. The chief Berk needed. Seeing him yesterday, stepping up to his role as heir had only solidified that belief. But then there was the guilt. He had tried to ignore it, shoving deep down and deciding to believe that Berk would be better off without him, that his father would be better off without him. Then he saw Stoick. He saw the sadness that lurked behind his eyes and how every time his cousin stepped up to his duty, it deepened. He had the same look when Hiccup was a young child, a few years after his mother had been taken. Back then, however, the sadness was balanced with hope and pride every time he looked at Hiccup– that had died down by the time Hiccup ran away. Now his father just looked empty. Then there was Gobber. Hiccup noticed how his eyes got misty when he spoke about how they believed Hiccup had been killed by a dragon. He noticed how his demeanour faltered when he mentioned being a blacksmith's apprentice. He noticed the absence of another teenage boy toiling away in the forge like Hiccup once had. The man had been a second father to Hiccup, sometimes the only parental figure he had. Even Snotlout seemed to have been affected by Hiccup’s absence. Hiccup saw the same sadness in his father's eyes flash through Snotlout when he spoke about dragons. It was odd; much of Berk seemed unaffected by Hiccup’s absence, almost frozen in time like it was ten years ago. Then there were the parts that seemed to be thriving. There had been more food at dinner, there were more children, and people seemed happier. The end of the dragon raids had led Berk into prosperity. But when he saw the people he’d left behind, he felt the guilt rise and drown him like a tsunami. He tried to distract himself by throwing all his energy towards preparing for battle, but even that grim task didn’t rid him of his guilt, this time for dragging Berk into war with Drago.
Snotlout’s proposal to spar, therefore, was a welcome opportunity to relieve some stress. “Saf!” Hiccup called, soaring through the sky after his sister. Gods, why did I have to send Eret on that mission? Hiccup thought. Not only would Skullcrusher’s tracking skills be appreciated in this moment, but he could have avoided the whole altercation. Hiccup knew it was the right call. This close to facing Drago, all risk was heightened. Eret was older, more experienced and was once a dragon trapper for Drago himself. If anything went wrong, he and Heather had a better chance of making it out alive than Safyia did. Plus, Hiccup was responsible for Safyia, not only as her chief but also as her only family. He wasn’t going to send her flying into danger just to save a few hours of travel time. Hiccup thought of the little girl he had found all those years ago, sitting in the ruins of her home. At the age of eleven, she had witnessed and survived the massacre of her entire people. Hiccup wasn’t sure of many things in his life, but he was sure that after that, he would do everything in his power to protect her. Even if she tested his patience every minute of every day. “Saf!” He called out again, getting more and more exasperated. For someone who flew a lightning-controlling dragon, she had an annoying habit of disappearing easily. “Saf!”
“Gods, calm down, I’m right here,” Safyia called from behind him, flying up next to him. “What? Here to tell me I’m not allowed to join the fight against Drago and send me back to the Edge?” Hiccup rolled his eyes.
“No, and I told you I sent Eret because–”
“Because he can track better, yeah, I remember. What is it then?” Hiccup grinned at her question.
“They want to spar.” Immediately, Safyia’s demeanour shifted, mischief flooded her face.
“Well then,” she said, smiling ear to ear, “we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”
…
“He’s not going to show,” Snotlout sneered, for some reason proud that he had potentially scared the two Riders off.
“He said he was looking for Safyia; they’re probably on their way right now,” Fishlegs argued.
“It’s been an hour, Fishface, this is a small island, and they're on dragons. Argo, they are not coming.”
“Do you mean 'ergo'?” Fishlout questioned, probably to intentionally to tick him off, Astrid thought.
“Shut up, Fishface! I mean, I obviously scared them of–”
“Scared who of?” A voice from above them asked, making Snotlout yelp out of surprise. Astrid looked up to see two dragons, one black as the night sky and the other deep purple, hovering above them. Both dragons landed, and the Riders walked down into the arena. “Sorry, we’re late, big island you’ve got here.” Astrid snickered at the comment, and Snotlout turned red at the realisation he’d heard his bragging.
“Plus, I had to stop at my house and grab these,” Safyia added, brandishing a pair of curved swords, the same dark metal as Heather’s axe, and swinging them, one in head hand.
“Whoa, sick swords, I’ve never seen anything like them,” Ruffnut exclaimed, her eyes shining with glee.
“Thank you!” Safyia chuckled, “Chief here made’em for me- their talwars, the type of swords my people use.”
“Ok, ok, enough chit-chat,” Snotlout interrupted, stepping in front of the pair of riders, “let’s get this started. I’m going first, pick which one of you wants to face me.” Rider and Safyia glanced at each other, clearly amused by the short man’s cocky tone. While Rider was unreadable with his mask, Safyia’s face gave away that she didn’t view Snotlout as much of a threat.
“I’ll go- so how does this work? We fight, and whoever wins gets to pick their next opponent?” Safyia asked, walking forward into the centre of the ring, parallel to Snotlout. He simply nodded in response before picking up his hammer and striking at her. She dodged it blow quickly. “Whoa, at least let me know that we’re starting!” She exclaimed, before shifting her stance from relaxed to defensive. Snotlout swung his hammer a few more times, Safyia dodging each one with ease. “Damn, and I thought Vikings were good fighters,” she jested, clearly trying, and being successful, to rile him up. She darted behind him, having the advantage of being smaller and faster than him, and planted a swift kick to the back of his knee. Snotlout let out a groan and fell to his knees. He wasn’t down for long, however, jumping back up and turning to face her angrily.
“Ok, enough playing around,” he snarled.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Safyia snipped back. Snotlout lunged forward, aiming for the girl's head. Astrid felt her heart stop. Fuck, he’s gonna kill her, she thought. This was supposed to be a friendly spar, not an assassination attempt. Safyia didn’t even try to dodge the blow; instead, she reached up and grabbed his arm, stopping his hammer before it could hit her. Then she pulled him down and lifted her knee to his chest, knocking the air out of him. Snotlout dropped his hammer in response, doubling over in pain. Safyia took the opportunity to knock him onto his back. She placed her foot on his neck, pinning him down, and pointed one of her swords at his neck. “Do you concede?” She asked, her voice soft, as though this was all a game to her. Snotlout only whimpered in fear, and she stepped off his chest and gave a bow to the spectating Vikings in the arena. Astrid heard the twins start to applaud her.
“Good job, you fight well for your age,” Snotlout groaned, rising to his feet.
“No, I just fight well,” Safyia cockly replied.
“Whatever, pick your next opponent.” Snotlout limped towards the wall of the arena. Tuff reached out and let Snotlout lean on him. Safyia spun on her heel, scanning her options before fixing her eyes on Astrid. “Astrid Hofferson,” she exclaimed, smiling and pointing her sword at her, “I hear you're Berk’s best fighter.”
“Let's find out,” Astrid responded, grabbing her axe and sauntering forward to face Safyia. She widened her stance, ready for her opponent to strike. Safyia clearly had the same idea; the two circled each other for a few moments before Astrid lost patience and lunged forward to strike. Safyia dodged the attack and swung her sword forward. Astrid met the blade with her axe, and the two held each other there, both pushing to overpower the other. Eventually, Astrid pushed her off, and one of Safyia’s swords fell to the ground. She looked up at her, surprise and glee filling her face. “Ooh, fun, a real fight,” she cheered with delight.
“I was about to say the same thing.” Astrid swung her axe at the girl once again, but she dodged this time. She swept Astrid's leg in an attempt to knock her over, but Astrid managed to steady herself. Unfortunately, Safyia had bought herself enough time to grab her other sword. This time, she attacked first. Astrid blocked the blow; however, it opened up her side, which Safyia took advantage of, swinging her other sword towards the exposed area. Quickly, Astrid backed away, dropping her axe in the process. “Ok, that was a bit unfair,” Astrid teased, eyeing her axe.
“You know what, you're right,” Safyia replied, stepping in front of Astrid’s axe. “Let's even the playing field.” With that, she kicked Astrid’s axe back to her and tossed her second sword to Rider, who caught it with ease.
“Saf…” Astrid heard him call out cautiously.
“What? It’s a friendly spare!” She retorted, turning back to face Astrid. “I’m ready when you are.” Astrid ran forwards, a loud clang ringing through the arena as her axe met Safyia’s blade once again. This time, however, she had more momentum and was able to push her blade down. Then, Astrid kneed her in the stomach. Safyia recovered quickly, hitting Astrid in the face with the hilt of her sword. Astrid took a step back, reeling. She lifted her finger to her lip and saw that its tips were dyed red. Ok, I’m done with this, Astrid thought. This time, she waited for Safyia to attack, which took a while. She was clearly trained well; never making the first move is a popular move among swordsmen, though uncommon for Vikings, who tend to be eager to start a fight. But she’s not a Viking, Astrid remembered. As Safyia lunged, Astrid ducked down quickly. She collided with the girl’s midriff, shoving her hard. Safyia groaned in pain as she collided with the ground. Once she had her pinned, Astrid jumped to her feet, kicked her sword out of her hand and pointed her axe at her neck, smiling.
“You're good! That was the hardest fight I’ve had in a long time. I was sure you had me for a moment,” Astrid huffed, out of breath. She tossed her axe to the side and offered her hand. Safyia smiled up at her and took it, rising to her feet. The girl had promise and fought excellently for her age, better than Astrid had when she was seventeen.
“Thanks,” Safyia responded, taking her hand to her midriff and bending over.
“Oh, sorry about that, but hey, you’ll have a great bruise!” Astrid said, patting her on the shoulder. All she offered in response was a thumbs up, making Astrid chuckle.
“Saf, are you ok?” Rider exclaimed, running over to him, visibly worried despite the mask. “I told you never to willingly surrender one of your swords– carrying two weapons gives you an advantage, and you have to stop leaving yourself open to strikes, keep your body defensive even when you're attacking!”
“Gods, can I go one minute without you criticising me? I fought well, even Asrtid said so!” Safyia yelled back, pushing against Rider’s shoulder as she walked away from the centre of the arena. Astrid couldn’t help but feel touched that she valued her opinion so highly.
“I’m sorry, it was a good fight,” Rider responded softly, looking back at her as she walked away. He sighed and turned back to Astrid, meeting her eyes with a piercing green stare. Again, Astrid’s heart skipped a beat. Ok, that’s going to be a problem, she thought. “So, milady, us now?” That nickname again, Astrid thought, praying she wasn’t blushing.
Before Astrid could confirm, Snotlout interrupted her, “No! I want to fight you,” he said, stepping forward. He seemed to have recovered from his duel with Safyia.
“Snotlout–” Astrid started, but her breath caught in her throat before she could finish her sentence when she met his eyes. He needs this, she thought. “Fine,” she sighed, not entirely sure what had come over her to make her feel bad for Snotlout. As she walked to the side of the arena, she stopped next to him. “I’ll let you do this, but you have to promise me that then, you’ll let go of whatever problem you have with them— we need to be able to work together, do I make myself clear?” Astrid muttered under her breath so only Snotlout could hear. He only nodded and stepped forward to face Rider, brandishing his hammer once again.
“You may want to use a weapon,” he jested, “fists and hammers don’t tend to mix well.”
“Oh, I agree,” Rider replied, stepping forward to stand face to face. He reached to the side of his left leg and detached a cylinder. Oh, so he wants to die, Astrid thought.
“How the Hel is he going to fight with that?” Tuffnut exclaimed, surprisingly sharing the same concerns as Astrid.
“I know, this is going to be the most boring fight yet!” Complained Ruffnut, flailing her arms in annoyance. Oh, never mind, thought Astrid. Snotlout didn’t seem to care about Rider’s choice of weapon, smiling widely at his increased prospects of winning this fight. The two stalked each other in a circle; this time, Snotlout didn’t rush to attack, and Rider, like Safyia, stayed on the defensive. Eventually, Snotlout grew impatient and lunged forward, his axe held above his head. Rider quickly responded to the attack, darting to the side before Snotlout could hit him. Astrid watched, amazed by his movements. He was light on his feet, avoiding every strike Snotlout attempted, the opposite of how a Viking would fight. His style is similar to Safyia’s, Astrid thought, as she remembered her own fight from minutes ago, though Rider was more polished and sharp in his movements, clearly more experienced. Based on what Astrid knew of the two, and the argument she had just witnessed, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had trained her. Astrid could see Snotlout getting more and more frustrated with Rider’s evasions. He swung around quickly to face Rider, bringing his hammer close to his head. Within an instant, Rider brought the cylinder to his face to block the blow. “Ha, he’s dead,” Ruffnut exclaimed. Astrid shot her a glare. For some reason, she wasn’t worried about his safety. Rider was clearly a better fighter than Safyia, and having seen her defeat Snotlout with ease, Astrid had a sense he would be fine. This fight had lasted longer than Safyia’s, but it seemed almost as if Rider was intentionally drawing it out, as if to tease his opponent. Right before Rider’s face could collide with Snotlout’s hammer, his cylinder made a clicking sound, and a blade emerged. Not just any blade, however. It was on fire.
“Incredible!” Fishlegs exclaimed in glee. “He’s been to the Eastern Roman Empire. I wonder if it’s Greek Fire!” If Snotlout was stunned by the weapon, he didn’t show it; his face scrunched with focus as he attempted to overpower Rider. He clearly had one goal: to win this fight. Rider seemed to share his sentiments.
“I don’t know why he’s doing that– he couldn’t overpower a teenage girl, he’s not going to overpower Rider,” Ruffnut commented.
“Hey, I’m stronger than I look; my tunic is hiding some pretty big muscles,” Safyia defended.
“I dunno, Snotlout’s stronger than he looks, and he looks pretty strong,” Tuffnut countered, stroking his chin as though he was making a wise observation. “I reckon he was just going easy on Safyia– no offence.”
“Offence taken,” Safyia bit back in a monotone voice. The discourse was interrupted by the sound of Snotlout doubled over, groaning and holding his cheek. He spat some blood and a tooth out.
“Whoa!” Ruffnut exclaimed, her eyes conceringly bright at the sight of her friend's agony.
“Who knew, along with a flaming sword, he wielded Thor's mighty hammer,” Tuffnut added, looking slightly more horrified than his sister. Astrid watched as he rushed over to his best friend’s side and began inspecting the wound, despite Snotlout's objections. Rider simply stood and watched them.
“Look,” he said, extinguishing and retracting his sword before putting it back in its pocket, “I don’t know what your problem with me is, but you’re going to have to get over it. I get you're angry about what happened to your cousin, and for some reason, you want to take that out on me, but we are about to fight a war together. We can’t win if we can’t work together, and we can’t work together if you want to punch the shit out of me.” Snotlout looked up at him and flashed a bloody smile.
“You could have let me hit you at least once in that case.” With that, he stormed out of the arena. As Astrid watched him leave, she felt a bundle of nerves start to build. If Snotlout couldn’t get passed the misplaced blame he’d put on Rider, she wasn’t sure how good their chances of victory were.
…
Snotlout was fuming. How dare Rider speak to him, the next chief, like that? He didn’t care that Rider’s riders called him chief; he was a guest in Snotlout's home. He should have shown him more respect. “Dude, I can’t believe you lost to a girl seven years younger than you,” a voice interrupted Snotlout's internal rant. Tuffnut came can sat next to him, their legs dangling over the cliffside over the harsh, grey sea below.
“I mean, are we surprised? Astrid’s been beating me since we were five; you and Ruff can when you work together. Hel, even Fishlegs can beat me,” Snotlout yelled, as though he could send his anger out to be carried away by Berk’s harsh wind.
“So? Who cares if you're not the best fighter?”
“I care, Tuff! Stoick is a legendary warrior. Even my fishbone of a cousin had his skills, you remember him in dragon training, he defeated every beast he faced!” Snotlout exclaimed. He still remembered how excited he had been to start dragon training. He could finally prove what he could do, show Astrid, the village, his dad, that he was a true Viking. He had thought, stupidly, that maybe Stoick would even see his skill and replace Hiccup as heir with him, maybe then his dad would finally be proud of him, maybe he would start paying attention to him for something other than berating him when he was drunk. But when dragon training started, and Hiccup began to excel, Snotlout realised how much of a fool he had been to think he could ever measure up. His cousin was a Haddock, and Haddock’s were great. Jorgenson’s always fell to second place. He felt guilty thinking of how willing he was to backstab his cousin back then. If he could go back, he would undo every cruel action he did towards Hiccup, unsay every spiteful word he said. Snotlout would give anything to bring his cousin back, even just to apologise for how he treated him.
“Yeah, but Snotlout, you don’t have to be a great warrior to be chief. You need to be able to grow a great beard, however, so if I were you, I’d worry more about that,” his best friend responded. Snotlout ignored his attempt to cheer him up.
“But every chief is the best at something, and I just don’t think I am. I can’t win a fight, I couldn’t win dragon training, and now, I can’t strategise for war. Hel, I can’t even be diplomaticaly polite to the man who is here saving our asses for more than one day! How am I meant to be chief if I don’t have any skills to protect my people?” Snotlout looked at Tuff, who was looking at him with eyes full of sympathy and dawning realisation.
“So that’s why Rider bothers you so much,” Tuffunt said, the pieces clearly clicking for him.
“He’s everything I should be, down to literally having trained dragons to fly, and he’s our age! It's like I’m looking at a reflection of myself where all my shortcomings are fixed,” Snotlout's voice was meek. He was admitting his deepest insecurities.
“Even down to the height,” Tuffnut added, receiving a punch in the shoulder. Snotlout could tell his friend wasn't sure what to say to his confession. For how close the two were, he had never admitted this to him, or anyone, for that matter.
“That’s not all, though, is it?” Tuffnut pushed, breaking the comfortable, familiar silence that the two had fallen into. Snotlout sighed, not sure how much he wanted to talk about the other thing that was bothering him.
“It’s the way he talked about him,” Snotlout muttered, looking down at his hands. He rarely spoke about his cousin with anyone. Even after Hiccup disappeared, he refused to let his worry show, even though deep down it was eating away at him. “As if he knew for certain what had happened, as if what had happened wasn’t the tragedy it was.”
“I mean, he offered his condolences–”
“Yeah, to Gobber for losing his arm and leg. Hiccup was an afterthought to that. And then he had the audacity to defend the dragons, to say that they’re not bloodthirsty killing machines!” Snotlout was yelling again. Rider had successfully struck a nerve that Snotlout had buried deep inside. He thought that after having not seen a dragon in almost ten years, his feelings towards them would have mellowed out. But seeing the riders and they’re beasts, and seeing them act so sickeningly affectionate towards them, it had rekindled the fire ten times stronger than before. Every time he saw those demons, his fingertips itched to take his hammer and swing it at them to avenge his cousin.
“Look, Lout,” Tuffnut started, placing his hand on Snotlout’s shoulder, “they’re only here to fight Drago, as soon as that is over, they are going to fly back to whatever miserable corner of Midgard they came from. So, just try and hold out till then. Plus, Drago literally has an army of dragons– that seems like the perfect excuse to kill some to me!” Snotlout met his friend's eye once again, feeling a wave of comfort rush over him as he did. Tuff was right, he just had to suck it up until the war was over, until he’d saved his people, like a chief would.
…
“Welcome back!” Rider exclaimed as Heather and Eret landed in the centre of town. Once they slid off their dragons, he embraced each in a brief hug.
“Any news?” Astrd queried, interrupting the reunion. She felt only slightly bad for doing so– we’re at war, we don’t have time for heartfelt hellos and goodbyes. She chose not to address the fact that she had subconsciously interrupted Rider and Heather’s hug, though she did spot Ruffnut once again smirking at her.
“No sign of Drago, thank the Gods,” Heather sighed, stripping off her hood and face-covering.
“Good,” Stoick replied in relief. Astrid felt the tension in her shoulders release with the confirmation that they had at least a few more days before Drago arrived.
“Dagur here yet?” Heather asked, looking around at the rest of the Vikings, clearly eager to see her people again.
“No net yet–” Rider started, started, before being interrupted by the voice of a young woman flying above him. Since the fight that morning, Astrid hadn’t seen much of Safyia, who had spent most of the day flying. Astrid had a sneaking suspicion her absence had more to do with Rider than with being around Vikings she clearly couldn’t stand.
“Wrong! They’re docking in the harbour right now- so you guys should probably stop standing around and head down there,” she called out, flying away. Astrid looked at the remaining riders, Heather beaming with joy as she took off running to the docks. Eret followed quickly behind, a little more hesitant than Heather. Astrid was left standing with Rider, who looked back at her, as if he was smiling behind the mask.
“Shall we go, Milday?” he asked, the nickname making Astrid blush. She thanked Odin that it was too dark out for him to see.
“Sure,” she replied, starting to walk next to him. The two walked in silence for a while, Astrid not sure what conversation topic would be suitable. “Good job today, by the way. I meant to say earlier. Seeing you beat Snotlout, I’m kinda glad he took my place.” Rider laughed at her compliment.
“Thanks, though I have to say I was a little disappointed I didn’t get to fight you,” he replied. Astrid looked at him, stunned. “Seeing you fight Saf, I reckon it would have been a pretty exciting fight, I mean,” he exclaimed, noticing her expression.
“Oh yeah– it’s hard to find worthy duelling partners these days.” The conversation was strange; they were talking almost as if they were old friends, as if they weren’t precarious allies about to fight a war together. It reminded Astrid that behind that mask, Rider was just a normal person. Who trains dragons, rides a Night Fury and is the source of countless myths, Astrid reminded herself.
“We should schedule a rematch,” Rider said, talking as though they were going to see each other again once this was all over. But they weren’t. Once this war was fought, he and the riders were going to disappear into the great beyond once again. Astrid only hummed in reply, and the conversation died back down into silence. “Have you met Dagur before? I know the Berserkers and Berk have an old friendship,” Rider asked, breaking the silence as they approached the docks.
“No, I haven’t– I mean, I think he visited when I was younger, before his Dad… y’know… but I never met him, he mostly just hung out with Hiccup– erm, the Chief's son. Ever since he became chief of the Bersekers, Berk hasn’t heard from him.”
“Right, well, I should warn you in that case, he can be a bit of a charact–”
“Brother!” A loud voice interrupted. Brother? Astrid thought, confused– surely if Rider had his brother coming, he would have mentioned it? Astrid looked forward to see a red-headed man running towards them. He wore a metal breastplate with the Beserker crest, and had the traditional blur paint of the tribe painted in three lines across his eye. Before Astrid could blink, he collided with the man next to her, lifting him off the ground in a hug, despite being a few inches shorter than him. “Oh, it is good to see you! Sorry, I couldn’t get here sooner, but boats aren’t as fast as dragons, and I didn’t want to fly ahead and leave Mala with the baby!” He explained, returning Rider to the ground.
“Don’t worry about it– how is little Oswald?” Rider wheezed, recovering from the hug but clearly happy to see his friend.
“Oh, just perfect– and missing his Uncle Hi– oh wait, what am I meant to call you? I’m guessing you're not using your real name?” Dagur replied, glancing over to Astrid, as though she were an explanation for the alias.
“Yeah, I’m not– call me Rider.” The chief of the Berserkers snickered at Rider’s answer.
“Rider? That’s original.”
“And accurate,” A voice spoke from behind him. A tall woman walked towards the men. She was dressed in clothes Astrid had never seen before; it was sleek and fitted, black with some gold details. In her arms, she was holding a chubby baby with tufts of bright red hair. “Good to see you again, Rider.”
“Mala! Thank you for coming,” Rider said. The woman’s attention shifted to Astrid, and she offered her a warm smile.
“I am Queen Mala, of the Defenders of the Wing. It is an honour to meet you,” she said, passing the child to her husband and offering Astrid her hand, which she shook.
“The honour is all mine…your majesty?” Astrid replied, unsure how to address the woman. She carried herself with far more grace than most Viking chiefs, so calling her simply by her name didn’t feel fitting.
“Mala is fine, thank you.” She only smiled in response.
“Unbelievable!” Astrid heard Heather yell as she walked to join the group. “I’m your actual sister, yet you greet him first?” His actual sister? Astrid thought, shocked. Rider had told them Heather was a Berserker, but not that she was the chief's sister. Astrid didn’t even know he had a sister. Though her comment had provided some explanation about the relationship between Rider and the Beserker chief.
“Heather!” Dagur cried out, turning to face his sister. “Aw, I’ve missed you, little sis!” It was a sweet sight, seeing the burly man greet his sister with such excitement. Heather seemed to share his feelings, the mock annoyance on her face fading away at the sight of her nephew.
‘Ah, give him here!” Heather squealed, taking the baby from her brother’s hand. The infant cooed happily in return. Heather inspected his face, scrunching her nose at the sight of him. “What a shame it takes after you”, she said with fake disappointment.
“Ha ha, so funny,” Dagur responded dryly. Out of the corner of her eye, Astrid could see Stoick approaching the group.
“Dagur, it’s been a long time. Berk is overjoyed to welcome the Berserkers back!” He boomed, his stance chiefly and diplomatic. Dagur turned to face him, squaring his shoulders as he looked up at the man towering over him.
“Stoick, thank you. I wish it were under better circumstances. I’m sorry that the relations between our tribes have dwindled in the past few years. I know I am likely more to blame for that being the case. But my father always had the utmost respect for you, and spoke highly of you and your people, and I, for one, trust the character judgements of a man called ‘the Agreeable'. I hope, therefore, that our tribes can work together in this war, and that maybe there is promise for the future of our tribes as well. You’ve already met my sister, Heather, I presume,” Dagur replied, his voice much calmer than it had been when addressing Rider. Stoick looked surprised at Dagur’s mention of his sister and the speech; perhaps his memories of the man were more similar to the Dagur Astrid had witnessed minutes ago.
“I agree, and I’m sure Oswald would be happy to see us working together once more,” Stoick responded, “and Heather, I’m sorry I didn’t realise you were siblings earlier– it is wonderful to have all the Berserker clan reunited again, after so long.” Astrid vaguely remembered a story of how Oswald the Agreeable’s only daughter had been lost during infancy. Astrid hadn’t realised that was meant in the literal sense, but Stoick’s comment made her think that was likely the case. Hmm, seems the children of Chiefs disappearing is a common occurrence around here, she thought. Stoick’s gaze shifted to Mala, who was standing next to her husband, proud and regal; a queen in her own right.
“Ah, this is Mala,” Dagur announced proudly, picking up on how the Chief’s attention had shifted. “Queen of the Defenders of the Wing… and my wife!”
“Queen Mala, it is an honour to have you here on Berk, and you have my gratitude for coming to our aid in our hour of need. My people and I are ever indebted to you,” Stoick said, bowing his head to Mala.
“Of course, Chief Stoick, we would willingly join any effort to stop Drago. And when our allies call, the Defenders answer,” Mala replied, gesturing to Rider, who was watching the entire interaction cautiously, as if he was nervous about the three meeting. Astrid looked back at Stoick, whose eyes flitted between the two riders, his expression curious. He didn’t seem to have noticed Rider’s worry.
“Eret is down at the Docks, helped the soldiers unload,” Heather explained, “And I think Saf is with him.”
“Right,” Stoick nodded, seemingly relieved to know the whereabouts of the missing Riders. Astrid imagined he probably wasn’t very comfortable with dragons lurking around the village, so knowing where the riders were at least was something of a comfort. “We’ve only prepared one guest house for you and your family,” Stoick said, addressing Mala and Dagur once again.
“That is very kind of you. The rest of our men will be fine camping on the beach.” Mala responded, looking down at her soldiers. Astrid followed her gaze to the ships they were emerging from. The Berserkers looked familiar enough, their armour similar to that of Berkian warriors. The Defenders of the Wing, however, looked alien to Astrid. They, like they’re queen, wore black, though they’re outfits were far simpler, with hoods and masks covering they’re faces. They moved in a way that unnerved Astrid, like they were ready to fight at any time.
“In that case, let's proceed to the Great Hall. We will hold off beginning strategising until your other allies arrive,” Stoick started, now looking at Rider, “but I’m sure you and your people are hungry.”
“Yes, starved!” Dagur cried out, eagerly following Stoick. As the rest of the group started moving, Astrid cast one last glance back to the docks, which were now crowded with hundreds of soldiers. This is it, she thought, before walking away.
…
“So then, Rider here takes off his leg and hits the hunter over the head with it! I mean, talk about taking a stand!” Dagur cackled as he told the group the tale of how he and Rider took out an entire battalion of hunters with no weapons. Rider, though, had insisted that it had been a particularly small battalion. Astrid couldn’t understand the man's insistence on playing down his great feats. Even now, his shoulders were scrunched as Dagur told the story, betraying how uncomfortable he was. Though it was possible that the story wasn’t the source of these feelings, but rather the company. Dagur had insisted that they all sit together, so Astrid and the other young vikings, the Rider’s and Dagur and Mala all crammed together on a table, not being able to use two due to the Great hall having to accommodate guests. The rest of her friends seemed to be in awe at Dagur’s stories, and even Astrid had to admit she enjoyed gaining some insight into Rider, since he was a man of few words.
“Laugh all you want, Dagur, but you conveniently left out the fact that was my second spare leg-”
“So you could say you had been on your last leg?” Tuffnut added gleefully.
“Ha, good one! I’m gonna remember that!” Dagur laughed.
“Yes, thank you–” Rider continued, unimpressed by the puns. “I had to limp across the island to find Toothless- and I couldn’t even fly him home! You flew him, and I flew Sleuther!” From the stories Dagur had told, and his comment on the docks, Astrid had deduced that he was also a dragon rider, though not a part of Rider’s clan. Astrid was unnerved by the fact that this dragon was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, lighten up, brother! It was an awesome victory!”
“Are you guys actually brothers?” Fishlegs asked.
“No”, Rider said.
“Yes!’ Dagur said at the same time, before giving Rider a look of hurt. “Hi-Rider, I thought we were passed this nonsense! We’re not brothers in the traditional sense , like me and Heather, but we have that special brotherly bond that can only be forged through years of trying to kill each other! I mean, that’s how all strong sibling bonds are made, even me and Heather’s!” Astrid looked at Heather, shocked by the mention of a hostile past between the three, yet she shared Dagur’s happy expression, almost as if she was reminiscing on happy memories of trying to kill her brother.
“Yeah.. I don’t think that how healthy–” Fishlegs started, clearly as confused about the trio’s dynamic as Astrid.
“Oh, but it is, my darling Fishlegs,” Ruffnut interrupted, looking at her future husband lovingly.
“Yeah, Ruffnut and I make sure to try and kill each other every few days, once a week at a minimum. You really should know this if you’re going to marry into the family,” Tuffnut added. Fishlegs simply stared at him with his mouth agape, too stunned to speak. “So, Rider,” Tuffnut continued, oh Gods, Astrid thought, “how did you lose your leg?”
“Tuffnut!” Astrid scolded, kicking him under the table once again and shooting Rider an apologetic look.
“Ow– what? It’s a valid question!”
“It’s fine, really– it’s been almost ten years, so I’m pretty ok talking about it,” Rider interjected before Astrid could reprimand Tuff anymore. “It got badly burned; it had to be amputated. Actually, that's how I met Heather; her adoptive family’s fishing boat pulled me and Toothless out of the water. They were the ones who did the amputation.” Rider looked at Heather, as though this was a fond memory for him. Heather had turned pale in contrast.
“Yeah, thanks for reminding me of the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
“How’d your leg get burned?” Snotlout asked, having been uncharacteristically silent all morning. Astrid felt her stomach drop. She knew why he was asking; the same thought had popped into her head at the mention of a burn. She had just hoped that he would leave it be. She shot him a glare to remind him of the agreement they had made in the arena, but Snotlout ignored it. Astrid saw Rider swallow; he clearly was unhappy with the question. Unfortunately, Astrid’s morbid curiosity stopped her from intervening.
“I killed a dragon.” The table fell silent in shock. Astrid saw Dagur, Mala and Heather exchange weary glances in reaction to what he said. This was clearly a touchy subject. Safyia, who had seemed completely disengaged all evening, not uttering a word, perked up, looking over at Rider with a worried expression. Even Toothless, who had drifted off to sleep under the table, snoring softly throughout the dinner, sat up, crooning at his rider with concern, as if to try and comfort him.
“ You killed a dragon?” Snotlout pushed, sounding like he was suppressing a smirk. Astrid silently willed for him to shut up. Rider only sighed.
“It’s late,” he said, standing to leave, “the Wingmaidens will be arriving in the morning, so tomorrow will be hectic. We should all get some rest. Good night.” With that, he stalked out of the Great Hall. Toothless followed him closely. Astrid watched them leave, her eyes fixed on Rider’s metal leg. He said it happened ten years ago, so he would have just been a teenager. That’s a lot to go through so young, Astrid thought. She felt a pang of sadness when she thought about it. Her thoughts were interrupted by Dagur clearing his throat, clearly unable to bear the table's silence.
“He’s right, Mala and I should head,” he said, he and Mala standing.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, and good night,” Mala said, before the pair abandoned the table as well, leaving the Vikings sitting together in silence. Eventually, the rest of the Vikings turned in for the night, leaving Astrid alone in the Great Hall. The mention of killing a dragon had brought up more memories of Hiccup, which seemed to be happening more and more these days. He would have had to kill a dragon at a similar age Rider did. The final fight was cancelled when he disappeared, and by the next year, the raids had ended, meaning there was no need for dragon training anymore. Astrid had always imagined it to be an honour, an incredible, life-altering experience. She had been raised to hate the creatures, so taking one's life had its appeal. Yet the more she was around the riders and their dragons, and she saw how they were with each other, she couldn’t help but doubt this view. Astrid watched as Toothless lovingly followed Rider around, more like a puppy than a vicious beast. She watched how the dragon’s demeanour would shift at any sign of his rider being upset, as if he was also affected. The dragon would rarely even leave his side, only abandoning his rider when instructed to do so, and even then, he did it with resistance. Astrid wondered if anyone in her life would show her the same loyalty the dragons displayed with their riders. She remembered how Rider had described dragons earlier that day as kind, intelligent creatures. She hadn’t believed him at first, but now… The idea of killing a dragon seemed less appealing to Astrid now.
Notes:
Ok, so many thoughts.
1. We get some hicctrid crumbs here- those two soulmated so hard that Astrid started catching feelings while not knowing it was Hiccup
2. Tufflout/Snotnutt crumbs!!! Let's be honest, Snotlout only pursued Ruff cos she's Tuff's twin
3. I know that Tuff's character is kinda different in the bit in Snotlouts POV, but I wanted to include him in the scene, and it needed to be more serious, so... he's back to his usual sense after. Plus, we see Ruff be more serious at times on RTTE, so it only makes sense that Tuff can be serious when necessary as well
4. I am so happy we finally have Dagur and Mala- writing him and Hiccup interact is so much fun
5. Saf really only exists to create some more stakes for Hiccup. I also wanted him to have someone he felt a familial responsibility to (this will be important when it comes to him and Stoick reconciling later on)
Chapter 7: Revelations
Summary:
TW: Descriptions of violence, blood, poisoning, death and suicide
Everything goes wrong
Notes:
Sorry if some of this feels rushed, but I really wanted to get to the core bit of the chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hiccup had returned to his usual state of not sleeping through the night, thanks to being plagued with the same nightmare over and over. He was falling, Toothless reaching out to him from above, anguish in his face. Flames began consuming him, the heat and smoke suffocating. He eventually blacked out. Hiccup cursed himself for talking about his leg. Every time he tried to tell the story, he’d get flashbacks of the event. Given he wasn’t going to get any sleep, he figured he and Toothless might as well make up for missed flying practice. The two soared through the star-filled sky, enjoying the quietness of the twilight. “Ok, bud,” Hiccup exclaimed, “you ready to climb?” Toothless gurgled eagerly in response. He turned harshly so that the pair was vertical, and began to climb higher and higher above the cloud cover. Hiccup could feel the air getting thinner– thankfully, after years of flying, his lungs had learnt to manage it; otherwise, at this height, he would have been unconscious. “Alright, bud, let's do this!” Hiccup yelled, uncliping himself from Toothless’s saddle and jumping. His heart raced as he fell, passing through the cloud cover so he was above the open ocean. He looked eyes with Toothless, who was almost invisible against the night sky. His best friend reached of one of his front legs and pushed Hiccup, causing him the spin as he fell. “Thanks, Toothless,” he laughed, craning his neck to see how close to the water he was. “Okay…now bud!” He yanked a latch on his suit, releasing his wings. The wind caught under them, pulling him up so his body now lay parallel to the water. He looked back to see Toothless gliding closely behind him. The two stayed that way for a while, gliding peacefully over the calm waters.
Then, Hiccup noticed something. A lone boat on the water, sailing in Berk’s direction. Normally, merchant ships didn’t concern Hiccup, but given the imminent threat of war, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. He pulled his body up, floating directly above Toothless, and grabbed hold of his saddle. “Okay, bud, let’s approach calmly. Chances are they’re just traders, and in that case, we don’t want to scare them overboard.” Toothless crooned in agreement. The two glided around the boat a few times, but there was no sign of anyone on board. “Weird… okay, Toothless, let's land and take a closer look.” The dragon perched on the carved dragon head at the front of the ship, and Hiccup slid off him quietly. He looked back at the dragon, lifting his hand to show an open palm, instructing him to stay put. Toothless looked unhappy at the order, but obliged. As often as he did disobey Hiccup, Toothless knew when the circumstances called for him to listen to his rider. Hiccup walked towards the cabin, drawing his sword, but not lighting it. Okay, this is very weird, he thought. A ship full of sleeping sailors was one thing, but for no one to notice him land was another. Then he heard the footsteps. He quickly spun around to see a man facing him, a dagger in his hand. His attire looked similar to some of the clothing he had seen in the Eastern Roman Empire, but certain details were wrong, the way he wore his belt, his hat. More of a caricature than an authentic uniform. Hiccup quickly ignited his sword, holding it up to get a clearer look at the man's face. He wasn’t from the archipelago, that was for sure. His features more resembled someone from the continent. Odd, people from outside the archipelago rarely come to Berk , Hiccup thought. There was something about the man that was earily familiar, but Hiccup couldn’t quite place what. He saw a flash of fear cross the man’s face when he brandished his weapon. Hiccup quickly softened his gaze and retracted his arm slightly to show he was not a threat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I swear I mean no har-” Then it clicked. Hiccup remembered how he knew the man. The man must have sensed Hiccup’s change in demeanour, as he lunged forward, ready to attack. Without hesitation, Hiccup threw himself against the man, pinning him to the wall and forcing the blade out of his hand. “You!” he snarled, looking him in the beady eye. The stranger only smiled in response. Toothless came bolting in moments later, his eyes switching from concern for Hiccup to white hot anger at the sight of the old foe. His pupils narrowed into slits, and he bared his teeth, growling. “What are you doing here?” Hiccup yelled, shoving him harder against the wall so he hit his head. The man once again didn’t respond, but started laughing menacingly. That disarmed Hiccup, who stumbled back unnerved. The man, now free from his grasp, slid another knife into his hand from his sleeve. Before Hiccup could react, Toothless hit him in the head with his tail, knocking him unconscious. “Thanks, bud,” Hiccup sighed in relief, picking up the man and loading him onto Toothless's saddle with a piece of rope from his saddle bag. “What was he doing on the way to Berk?”
Hiccup couldn’t just leave the boat floating adrift, not if it belonged to the unconscious man tied up behind him. But it would take too long to sail back to Berk. So instead, Hiccup tied the man to the mast of the ship and secured the boat to Toothless with a rope. It’s not perfect, but it will do, he thought. Toothless grumbled unhappily at the situation, the added weight obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, bud, but we can’t leave it here. At least you don’t have to fly with him on your back,” Hiccup apologised, stroking Toothless's chin. It would take them longer to fly back to Berk with the added weight. Hiccup could only hope they reached it before sunup, or before the man on the boat woke up.
…
Rider was missing. Well, according to Safyia, Heather and Eret, he had just gone for a midnight ride, which was apparently normal, but Astrid still felt worried. With all the war preparations falling into place, she would appreciate that key parts would just disappear in the middle of the night. It was dawn now, as well, meaning the two had been gone for hours. Astrid could tell that even the riders were beginning to get nervous. To make matters worse, the Wingmaidens had finally arrived, who Rider had failed to mention were a tribe of only women. Astrid couldn’t help but wonder how Rider had cultivated such a good relationship with them. Heather had seemed the most excited to see them. Astrid assumed it was because her dragon, Windshear, was a Razourwhip, same as the baby dragons the Wingmaidens carried, and therefore must have once come from their tribe. Their clothing was even similar to Heather's, both wearing armour made from the dragon's metallic scales. Thankfully, Heather had been able to head the introductions, standing proudly next the the Wingmaidens leader, Atali, as she introduced her to Stoick. Eret, in contrast, had seemed quite freaked out by their arrival, keeping his distance from the women with no explanation, though Heather had laughed at his actions, so Astrid assumed there was a stupid one. Safyia had seemed very unimpressed by the arrival of the Wingmaidens. Like when Astrid had knocked on her door to ask about Rider, at the news of the final allies' arrival, she had simply said, “Wake me when Drago arrives,” before slamming the door in Astrid's face. She was beginning to understand why Rider seemed so exasperated by the girl all the time.
Now, Astrid was sitting in the great hall, watching Heather and Atali reunite. She avoided looking at the baby dragons attached to the Wingmaidens' backs, something about the creatures unsettling her. She stared instead at her full cup of mead, trying not to let her thoughts drift to Rider. Unfortunately, that effort led her thoughts to drift in another direction, equally unwelcome: Hiccup. Seeing all these different tribes gathered together, she couldn’t help but feel like he should be here. Hiccup would have thrived in this situation– he was smart, witty, charming in a sarcastic way, and brilliant at coming up with compromises. All necessary skills for diplomacy. All skills that Snotlout, despite his best efforts, was yet to hone. Astrid looked over at the man, who was failing grandly at flirting with a pair of Wingmaidens, who simply watched him, amused. Overall, the Great Hall was buzzing with all the different people: Berkians and Defenders, Wingmaidens and Beserkers, all under one roof, all ready to fight for one shared goal. For the first time, Astrid believed they might be able to win this fight. The noise of the room was suddenly silenced by the sound of the doors flinging open. Safyia stood in the doorway, her skrill crouching loyally by her side. “Rider’s back,” she said dryly, before a look of concern crept onto her face, “and he’s brought a guest.”
…
Hiccup refused to remove his eyes from the man, even at the sound of hoards of Vikings stampeding towards them. The man had woken from his coma, his beady eyes meeting Hiccup’s gaze with a smirk. Hiccup remembered that look from the first and last time the two had met; he had it right before he had stabbed him in the shoulder. “What in Thor’s name… Rider! What is the meaning of this?” he heard his father boom. Hiccup turned to look at him, standing on the docks, seeing the all-too-familiar look of anger teeming from him.
“I found his ship approaching Berk. This man is dangerous–” he started, walking to the side of the ship to see his father clearly.
“This guy isn’t dangerous,” Snotlout interrupted, scoffing. Hiccup felt that same bubble of annoyance rise in him that he had felt all the teenage years he had spent on Berk. “That’s Trader Johann, we’ve known him for years. He’s incredibly annoying, but not dangerous.”
Trader Johann, Hiccup thought, happy to finally put a name to the face of the man who had tried to kill him. Before Hiccup could speak to explain how he knew the man, he heard him start wimpering behind him.
“Oh, Master Snotlout, Chief Stoick! Please, I swear I meant no harm– this is all a misunderstanding!”
“I’m sure it is,” Stoick replied, looking down at Hiccup, his eyes menacing, “let the man go, lad.” Hiccup felt unnerved hearing his father command him. He had avoided doing it since Hiccup and the riders had arrived on Berk, likely for diplomatic reasons. Now Hiccup felt like a child again, like a screw up. He swallowed harshly, steadying himself and clenching his fists. He was not that boy anymore, and he did not take orders from Stoick the Vast.
“No.” Stoick’s eyes softened, to Hiccup’s surprise. The man had clearly realised that he was not going to win this by taking a commanding position.
“Rider…”
“He tried to kill me.” Hiccup said, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible despite the rage boiling at the memory of the event.
“It was a misunderstanding–” Snotlout began to interject, stepping in front of Stoick in some attempt to take control of the situation.
“Not just now!” Hiccup exclaimed, exasperated. He mentally cursed himself for yelling before regaining his composure, “A year ago.”
“I swear that is not true! You have me confused with someone else!” The man– Trader Johann– cried out, his tone even more desperate.
“He works for Dr–” Hiccup started, his whimpering getting on his nerves.
“Trader Johann?” a voice interrupted. Hiccup looked up to see Heather landing Windshear on the dock to the side of the boat. Hiccup froze, turning to give all his attention to his friend.
“You know him?” Heather met his eyes, a mix of confusion of fear filling them.
“Yeah– he lurks around the Northern Market. He’s the one who gave me the letter from Berk.” Hiccup froze. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears. He had met Trader Johann in a quiet fishing port that had become overrun with wild dragons. He had saved him from the flock, which had been strangely aggressive for their species. The man had repaid the favour by attacking Hiccup, successfully stabbing him in the shoulder. He had later realised that the entire event was a set-up, the ‘wild flock of dragons’ actually being some of Drago’s slaves. That was the first time Hiccup realised Drago knew of his existence. Heather had occasionally mentioned an overly curious Trader at the Northern Markets who would press her about the Dragon Master. Hiccup should have realised the events were connected.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Fuck! Heather, he’s the man who stabbed me a year ago!” Now, he was fairly certain he was screaming.
“That was him?” Saf interjected, jumping down from Astraphe to join Hiccup on the boat. She turned to face Johann, her gaze hot with anger.
“What are you talking about?” Snotlout yelled. Hiccup could see that he and his father were growing increasingly impatient with the lack of information he was providing.
“He works for Drago!” Hiccup shouted back. The blood drained from both of his faces. Hiccup could almost see the cogs turning in both of their heads as the realisation dawned on them.
“If he works for Drago, then that means...” Snotlout started, his sentence trailing off as horror consumed his features.
“Drago knows I’m here,” Hiccup finished, turning back to look at Johann, whose cowering demeanour had changed to a wicked grim.
“And he is very excited to finally meet you, Dragon Master,” he snarled.
…
Astrid wasn’t sure what to do or what to think. She wasn’t even sure if she was breathing. Drago knows I’m here . The words rang in her ears as she kept her eyes fixed on Rider, a part of her too terrified to look at the man tied up to the mast behind him. The man who very well might have doomed them all. Her mind buzzed with a thousand questions. Trader Johann had been coming to Berk for years; how long had Drago been targeting them? Heather had said she knew him from the Northern Markets, but how had Drago known to find Rider there? Had he really stabbed Rider? The last thought triggered a surprising sense of anger in Astrid– she almost had the desire to avenge him. Astrid had long wished for more responsibility in the village, yet at this moment, she would have been more than happy to have been told what to do. She looked at her chief, hoping to catch a glimpse of the plan he was formulating, but his face was blank with shock and horror. Berk had been relying on the element of surprise to face Drago. Now that he knew that Rider was helping him, there was no telling what he had prepared. There was even a possibility that he knew about the rest of their allies. Astrid felt a sense of impending doom dawn on her as her hope for Berk’s victory faded away.
Thankfully, Rider seemed the least fazed by the revelation. Or perhaps he was just more consumed by his hatred for the man to worry about it at that moment. Noticing that neither Stoick nor Snotlout had any thought on how to proceed, he quickly sprang into action. “Heather, do a lap around Berk's perimeter, look for any ships that might have docked, especially on the far side of the island. Saf, go high and keep a lookout for any flyers– Drago usually sends scouts before he arrives,” Rider commanded, each rider, even Safyia, taking on their order immediately. Astrid couldn’t help but admire his leadership in that moment. “Eret, you and Skull–” he was interrupted by a ball of fire hitting the Great Hall. Astrid looked up to see a beast in the sky, emerging from the smoke. It wasn’t a dragon she recognised, with multiple wings and its tail looking like it was smoking. Then Astrid saw him, the man on his back. He hanked a chain that led to the creature's mouth, disappearing into the smoke. More dragon riders? Astrid thought, confused as to why they would be attacking Berk. She turned back to the riders, searching for an explanation, only to see that all of them had turned as white as ghosts.
“What are those?” Snotlout yelled, jumping down to the boat and stepping closer to Rider's face in an attempt to intimidate him, though he wasn’t very successful given their height difference. “More dragon riders?” He spat, anger teeming in his voice.
“No,” Rider replied, taking a step back, his voice eerily calm, almost detached. “They’re Drago’s men– we call them Flyers. They have nothing to do with me and my people.”
‘Well, whoever they are, they’re destroying Berk!” Snotlout argued. Astrid couldn’t help but become annoyed at his insistence on continuing his hostility towards Rider, even in as dire circumstances as right now.
“I can see that Snotlout! Drago is trying to weaken us, that's why he sent them!” Rider let out a sigh, composing himself. “Heather, Eret, Saf, go deal with the riders, and check if Krogan is with them– I want him, alive!” He ordered, mounting Toothless. “And remember to stay on each other's wing, the Singetails are hard enough to defend against and there's low visibility due to the smoke.” He looked to Stoick, who seemed less than happy to be under the command of the dragon riders. Rider seemed to notice this as well.
“Stoick, I have almost four years of experience fighting these men– I know how to defend against them,” Rider explained, also having noticed Stoick’s unhappiness. The chief simply nodded firmly in understanding. “Okay,” Rider continued, “it looks like they all arrived by air– so everyone on the ground, Berkians, Defenders and Beserekers, focus on putting out the fires and minimising damage– Dagur, you take sleuther and help the riders. Check on the armoury, that will be their main target. Go now!” The crowd dispersed immediately at his command, and right before Astrid could join them, her attention was drawn back to the Rider at the sound of a woman’s voice.
“Hi-Rider, where do you want us to help?” Atali called out, stepping to the edge of the dock. Astrid saw a moment of happiness flash across his face at the sight of the woman. It’s because of the extra help they will provide, she convinced herself.
“Atali, thank god you're here! Okay, you and your strongest riders go and help deal with the Flyers. The rest of the wingmaidens should help put out the fires; they can assist the air.”
“Very well,” Atali responded, turning to address her soldiers. “Minden, you and your battalion are with me. The rest of you, follow Rider’s instruction.” With that, Astrid watched as the women took to the sky, flying towards the flames. Astrid and the remaining people– Stoick and her friends– began to leave to help with the effort.
“Astrid!” Rider called out, much to her surprise. She stopped in her tracks, turning back to face Rider, whose forest coloured eyes were shining at her through the mask. “I need you to stay with Johann, make sure he doesn’t escape.”
“Of course,” Astrid replied, jumping down onto the boat and drawing her axe. She moved towards the imprisoned man, avoiding eye contact with him, keeping her gaze fixed on Rider. She had known Johann for a long time, since he had first come to Berk with a ship filled with goods and stories like Astrid had never seen. While he had always been a little presumptuous, Astrid had never held any ill will towards the man. Now seeing him for who he truly was, Astrid felt burning hot rage at the sight of him, and a little fear. “Wait!” She called out to Rider before he could fly off into the conflict and leave her alone with the traitor. Why am I asking this? She thought, willing herself unsuccessfully, to stop, “Why me?” Rider froze at her question, turning to look at her. Astrid could tell he was smiling under the mask.
“Because you’re the second-best fighter here, and I have to go deal with the flyers.” Rider flew away before Astrid could retort to his brag with anything but a scoff. Now alone on the ship, she finally looked at her prisoner, who was watching her with a chilling smile. Astrid tightened her grip on her axe. Oh, let this be over quickly.
…
The battle was won fairly easily, the extra man-power from all the Allies certainly helping in the victory. The people on the ground had thankfully been able to put out most of the fires, the damage to Berk being minimal. Now, Hiccup, Astrid and her friends and the rest of the leaders were standing in the arena, looking silently at the sea of prisoners they had collected. The riders were still out looking for Krogen.
“I didn’t peg you for the kind that takes prisoners,” Hiccup’s father muttered, walking forward to stand next to him.
“Is that because I seem merciful, or because I seem like the kind to leave no witnesses?” Hiccup snipped back, immediately regretting it once he said it. Something about being around his father again made it so much harder for Hiccup to control his tongue.
“My scouts scoured the island and found no one else. If they can’t find this Krogan fellow, he’s not here,” Stoick said, thankfully ignoring the question.
“He’s crafty, but he’s here for sure. With the number of flyers there are, he has to be.”
“Maybe, but we should start interrogating the prisoners in case,” Mala added. Hiccup only sighed in response, somewhat annoyed that his ally was siding with his father, although he knew she was right.
“Alright, we’ll start interrogating them,” Hiccup spat, stalking forward towards the prisoners. He grabbed Johann’s collar and yanked him up to the floor, finally letting his hatred for the man consume him. “What does Drago know about Berk?” He yelled, shaking the man. Johann remained silent. “How far is he?” Hiccup tried again, this time his voice sounding more urgent. Still, Johann remained silent. “Don’t feel like talking? Fine!” Hiccup said through his teeth, seething. Loosing his patience, he threw the man to the ground, picked him up again and slammed him against the wall of the arena. As he pulled him back, he saw a slight smear of blood against the stone. “But if you want a chance of walking away from here alive, I suggest you start talking.” Hiccup said, now keeping his voice calm. He didn’t want to give Johann any more satisfaction, knowing how much he got under his skin. The traitor laughed, as if this were all a game to him.
“I’m not saying anything. Do you think any of those muttonheads have any knowledge of what Drago is planning? I’m all you have, you can’t kill me.” Hiccup dropped him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach with his prosthetic. He was right, though. Without Krogan, Johann was protected; he held all the cards.
“Lock him up,” Hiccup said, walking back to the group, “and keep him away from the flyers.” Stoick nodded and looked at a Snotlout, giving him a silent order to go and deal with the prisoner.
“That won't be necessary!” Saf’s voice cut through the arena as she entered, limping. Her lip was bleeding, and her cheek was turning red like it had been hit. Astraphe was following behind, holding a man in her jaws.
“Krogan, you found him!” Hiccup exclaimed in relief, looking at his sister, who was smiling proudly. It was nice to see her look happy for once this trip.
“Yep, and he put up quite the fight. But I guess now you don’t need that guy,” she replied, patting her dragon on the head, who dropped the man onto the floor. Dagur quickly grabbed him before he could try and escape, trapping him in a headlock. Krogan sputtered and choked at the action. Hiccup turned back to Johann, who had paled at the sight of Krogan, no doubt realising that he had just become expendable. Hiccup stalked towards him, igniting his swords as he moved. He heard the others call out his name as he did so, but ignored them, vengeance consuming his body.
“I guess you should have talked when I gave you the chance,” he snarled. A flash of fear covered Johann’s face as he raised his hands, about to beg for his life. His words were cut short as Hiccup slashed his stomach. Blood started spilling out of the wound, staining Johann’s deep blue tunic red as he started gasping for air, slumping against the wall. Hiccup stared at him a moment, a sense of horror building in him. But it wasn’t at the sight of what he had just done, it was at the fact that he felt no remorse taking this man's life. Hiccup remembered when he first killed someone. It was a few months before his sixteenth birthday, and he was just starting to feel better after the amputation. He and Toothless had flown across the sea to Denmark. The Old Country, unfortunately, held a similar view to Berk about dragons, so the pair had taken to camping in the woods, moving every few days for safety. One night, as he was sleeping, curled against Toothless for warmth, a hunter found their campsite. He hadn’t meant to do it; he was just defending himself and trying to protect Toothless. But the hunter had attacked them. After it happened, Hiccup threw up. He couldn’t sleep for weeks, constantly reliving it through nightmares. The sight of life leaving the man's eyes was seared into his brain. It still haunted him to this day. Over time, Hiccup had gotten more used to killing. He’d had to in order to survive. As he had travelled across the continent, there were plenty of people who had tried to hurt him or Toothless. Sometimes the night fury’s blast would take care of them, sometimes not, and Hiccup would do it out of mercy. Sometimes Hiccup had to deal with them himself entirely. No matter the circumstance, though, he had never done it lightly. He carried every life he had taken with him. But now, the sight of Johann slowly bleeding out stirred nothing in him, and that’s what scared Hiccup.
He turned back to the crowd of Vikings. Heather and Eret had joined the group, though Hiccup wasn't sure how much they had seen. Not that it mattered; it was fairly obvious what had happened. He looked at his tribe, the riders, who were looking at him was a mixture of understanding, shock and a little fear. Hiccup never lost his temper like that, and he was never so quick to kill. Then he looked to Dagur, Mala and Atali. Mala and Atali were better at hiding their reactions, both giving him a look that was harder to read, though if Hiccup guessed, it was a mix of understanding and pity. Understanding for what he had done, and pity that he’d had to do it. Dagur, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by the act but was looking at him with concern. Perhaps because they’d known each other the longest. Dagur remembered Hiccup as a child, how he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Now seeing how he’d evolved into someone who could kill without hesitation, much like Dagur himself, it was bound to cause worry. Finally, he dared to look to the Berkians. Of course, they didn’t know him as Hiccup; they knew him as the ‘Dragon Master,’ a demon whom destruction followed wherever he went, someone who would have no problem killing. They only looked afraid. He glanced briefly at Astrid, who seemed to have dropped her axe in shock. Her gaze, while being filled with fear, was cold and detached. She looked at him as though he were a stranger. I suppose I am, Hiccup thought, reminding himself that she didn't know who he was. Yesterday, at times, it had seemed as though she had figured it out. She had acted so warm and welcoming to him. He had enjoyed the way she looked at him, like she saw him as more than just the ‘Dragon Master,’ unlike the others. Now that was gone. Hiccup tried to muster up the courage to look at his father, but he failed. After spending years being a disappointment in his eyes, being a killer was too much to bear.
Hiccup’s attention soon shifted from the group to the man in Dagur’s arms. He moved swiftly towards them, snatching Krogan from Dagur’s grasp and pinning him to the floor. “Now,” he sneered, “unless you want to meet a similar fate to your friend over there, I suggest you start talking. What does Drago know?” Krogan stared back at him, his brown eyes glazed over. Enough of this, Hiccup thought, growing sick of both men’s resistance to talk. He knelt, pressing his knee to his chest, “I am not feeling very patient today, so I suggest you don’t make this harder than it has to be,” He said, keeping his voice low and threatening. Krogan's face didn’t change.
“Uh, brother,” Hiccup looked up at Dagur, who was standing beside him, “I think something’s wrong with him.” He looked back at Krogan, whose mouth had begun to froth.
“What the..” Hiccup could barely say, before the prisoner began shaking violently. Dagur immediately joined hiccup on the floor, grabbing the man's head to stop him from smashing it against the hard stone ground as he convulsed. Fuck, “Eret, we need your help! Grab his legs!” Eret rushed over, pinning Krogan's legs to the ground as they tried to kick and thrash the air. The three held him like that, Hiccup on his chest, Dagur on his head, and Eret on his legs, until the man's movements slowed, and his boy fell limp.
“What just happened?” Snotlout called from behind the men. Hiccup couldn’t focus himself to reply, anger filling his body. He stood and flung his sword towards the wall. The Gronkle Iran cut through the stone like butter, wedging itself firmly in there.
“Fuck!” He exclaimed, rubbing his hands from the crown of his head to his face.
“Wolfbane,” Eret answered for him, walking towards Hiccup’s cousin and father. “He killed himself. Now that he’s been captured, he knows that even if he lives, he’s a dead man. Drago doesn’t forgive mistakes lightly. All the trappers will do it if they're captured. We- they would rather die by their own hand than whatever Drago has in store for them.” Hiccup looked at Eret, noticing his slip-up. Hiccup remembered when he had captured Eret a few years ago. Hiccup had had to wrestle the Woldfbane-coated dagur away from him himself.
“Wait,” he heard Astrid say, the first time she had spoken since they had arrived in the arena, “do all the trappers do this when captured?”
“Uh, guys, I think something’s wrong with the prisoners,” Tuffnut interrupted before Hiccup could process Astrid’s question. Hiccup felt his stomach drop. Before he even turned around, he knew what had happened. He looked at the arena filled with men all frothing at the mouth, convulsing and dropping dead. Shit, Hiccup thought, as he watched they’re golden chance to gather intel on Drago disappear. As he scanned the group, trying to see if any had cowered out of the act, he noticed a figure crumpled on the side. Hiccup cursed himself for his rashness, for letting his anger and need for revenge get the best of his temperance. He ran over to Johann, who by the grace of the Norns was still breathing. Hiccup pressed his hands into the wound, which was still oozing blood at an alarming rate, attempting to slow the bleeding. “One of you go fetch Gothi!” He yelled back, not caring that he had accidentally called Berk’s healer by name, “Johann, listen to me, if you answer by questions, I swear by Odin himself, I will save you,” he begged, now not caring about the desperation in his voice, but simply hoping that Johann had a greater desire to live. Johann gave him a bloody smile.
“I have… another suggestion…” he wheezed, “I know my time here is up.”
“No, Johann, I will–”
“Let me finish, boy!” he snapped, “I will tell you what it is you are dying to know… in exchange…for one thing.”
“What?” Hiccup pleaded, painfully aware that his time was running out.
“I want to know the identity of the man who killed me. Remove the mask and tell me your name, and I–” Hiccup interrupted him with a scoff.
“Enjoy Náströnd then.” Hiccup removed his hands from the wound, preparing to leave Johann to die.
“I will tell you how Drago controls the beasts!” Hiccup froze. He looked Johann dead in the eyes, searching for an ounce of dishonesty, but he found none. The man has nothing left to lose, Hiccup thought. The price of his identity for Drago’s greatest weapon seemed like a fair trade. But it’s not just my identity, he remembered, once I do this, all Hel will break loose, is it really worth it? But it was, of course. Drago was not only enslaving dragons but using them to slaughter entire tribes. Hiccup had vowed to stop him no matter what, no matter the price. He lifted a blood-soaked hand to his face, ripping off his helmet. Johann smiled at the sight of his face
“And… your… name?” Hiccup could feel himself start shaking. This was it, the moment he had been trying to avoid since he had returned to Berk, Hel, since he had run away all those years ago.
“My name is Hiccup. Hiccup Horrendous Haddock… the Third.”
…
The world suddenly fell silent, and Astrid could hear the sound of her heartbeat was deafening in her ears. No, that's not possible, her mind screamed. She wanted to react, to take her axe swinging at him in anger, to hug him with joy, to simply go up and get a closer look at him to make sure what he said was true. But she was frozen. All she could do was stare at the back of his head. His Auburn hair was even more wild now, free from the helmet’s confines, growing in all different directions. She watched him lean in closer to Johann, who whispered something in his ear before falling limp in his arms. Ride– Hiccup dropped Johann’s lifeless body, standing up and stumbling back, as if in shock. He was muttering something under his breath, but Astrid couldn’t make it out. “Chief?” Eret asked softly, walking up to him, the other riders following. “Chief?’ Hiccup remained silent, his back still turned to the crowd. Safyia, her face now riddled with concern, walked up to him, facing him and putting her hands on his shoulders.
“Hiccup!” She exclaimed loudly, like she was trying to shake him out of a trance. Astrid's heart skipped a beat when she said that. Safyia had all but confirmed his identity. It was she who managed to get a reaction out of him, Hiccup snapping his head up at the sound of her voice. The rest of the riders crowded around him, Dagur, Mala and Atali joining him, obstructing the view of his face. They knew, Astrid remembered. Hiccup said something to them quietly, so that the rest of the group couldn’t hear. It annoyed her that he was keeping what Johann had said a secret. Of course, that’s is style, keeping things secret, she thought. Her spiteful thought was soon forgotten when she saw how the blood drained from the riders and their allies' faces at what Hiccup had told them. She heard Dagur exclaim that whatever he said was impossible, and his wife questioned Hiccup’s certainty. The other riders started to talk as well, following their leader's example and keeping their voices too low to hear. Eventually, Astrid was able to make out Heather say, “If that’s the case, you know what you have to do.” That only left Astrid with more questions. Eventually, the crowd dispersed, leaving Hiccup standing alone, his back turned to them. In that moment, Astrid's thoughts went to Stoick and Snotlout for the first time, and she threw them a glance. Snotlout had backed away from Stoick, standing next to Spitelout, who must have appeared during the commotion of the mass suicide. Astrid couldn’t help but wonder if Snotlout had sought out his father for comfort in light of what he had just learnt, despite their tumultuous relationship, or because he had realised that with Hiccup alive and back on Berk, his position as heir was under threat. Stoick looked like a million thoughts were flying through his mind. His forest green eyes, the exact same as Riders, Astrid thought, were wide, fixated on the man who stood in front of him. His face was drained of all colour.
“I know we have a lot to discuss,” the sound of Hiccup’s voice pulled Astrid’s attention back to him. Now facing them, Astrid could get a proper look at his face. He had changed a lot in ten years. Astrid should have expected it, but seeing the boy who was frozen in her memory at fifteen now as a man was still disorienting. His jaw was a strong square shape, sharply defined like the rest of his features. He was pale, likely due to wearing that mask so often, but Astrid noticed he still had a dusting of freckles over his nose and cheeks. His wild hair swept across his forehead, and Astrid thought it framed his face nicely. She tracked her eyes down his face to his chin, where she could see a small scar under his lip, the same one Astrid had always wondered how he got. He had a new scare as well, and she noticed it when he turned his head while talking. It ran from his cheekbone, up his temple, and cut through the end of his eyebrow before disappearing behind his hair. But no matter how different he looked after all these years, it was still undoubtedly Hiccup. “But if what Johann told me is true, we need to start planning for the Battle now ,” he continued, his eyes briefly meeting Astrid’s, his gaze detached, like he hadn’t just revealed himself to be Berk’s long-lost heir. He waited a moment for a reply, which none of the Vikings could give. He sighed, “Let’s meet in the Great Hall, I’m going to go clean myself off first,” he said, before walking out of the arena. Astrid wanted to stop him, to make him stay and to demand explanations, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. From her peripheral vision, she could see the riders and allies exchange glances before following Hiccup out of the arena, leaving the Berkians standing there alone in a stunned silence.
“Oh my Thor,” Fishlegs finally whispered, lifting his hands to his mouth.
“I know,” Tuffnut responded, “Ruffnut just won the Thorston challenge.”
Notes:
AAAAHHH Hiccups secret is out
1. I feel like what happened to hiccup with the red death is rarely addressed again even though that must have been very traumatic, so I included some PTSD for him
2. Tuffnut thinking hiccup is handsome is so funny to me
3. next chapter is very excitingly Stoick's pov.
Olivia (Guest) on Chapter 1 Tue 26 Aug 2025 08:34PM UTC
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Last Edited Sat 30 Aug 2025 02:35AM UTC
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