Chapter Text
Twilight was descending on the island of Berk, alongside a lone ship flying a flag of peace. Its sails were not of a design Astrid had ever seen, and she knew every type of sail in the archipelago. Call it a side effect of a habit: there wasn’t a night in the last four years she hadn’t watched the dock until the moon rose high in the sky. She knew it was silly to wait; she did it anyway. Waiting, even in vain, never hurt a soul. That’s what she liked to tell herself, at least.
Turning on her heel, she marched up the path to the Great Hall. Most everyone was retiring for the night; mothers ushering their children to bed, farmers herding their livestock into pens, the night watchmen just beginning to arrive at their stations. Stoick would still be awake, though: the Chief practically never slept. There were too many people to hear, too many lives to juggle, too many regrets to leave well enough alone.
She had her regrets too. They shared the same regret, in fact, though they never spoke of it. Difference was, Astrid slept at night. It had taken a lot to get to that point, where it was her and only her in her own head. Nights upon nights of reliving the same blasted moment where everything changed was practically the definition of insanity: the scenario never changed– Astrid never intervened when she knew she should have.
She would carry that forever, and forever see it reflected in the permanent exhausted creases, now so much deeper, beneath Stoick’s eyes.
Astrid pushed the doors open. Stoick sat alone, writing. He looked tired; he had looked tired for four years now.
“Chief,” she said, squaring her shoulders. His green eyes, so familiar on a different face, flicked up. “A ship with unknown sails has approached our waters. Should I send a welcoming party?”
Stoick laid down his pen and rose. “I’ll meet them myself. I need a break from all these words. Will you be accompanying me?”
Naturally, Astrid mentally supplied. The question was obviously rhetorical. Where the Chief went, she went. Always.
She trailed behind him as they entered into twilight. The sun barely held its head above the sea, the last gasps of its light shining blood-red and orange. Silhouetted in the dying day was a solitary man with dark hair and darker eyes. His gaze caught hers, briefly sweeping up and down and up again.
Cataloguing, she realized. Calculating.
“Chief Stoick, I presume?” The man’s voice was soft, yet firm, tinged with an accent that Astrid had never heard before.
“Aye,” Stoick nodded. “What brings you to Berk?”
“I do realize my presence must be an unwelcome surprise. I did not have the resources to send forward acknowledgement of my visit, and for that I apologize.” The man bowed at the waist, and Stoick nodded. “I’ve come here from the Great Behind, as you of Berk call it, to discuss a quite troubling predicament I have found myself in. I have no doubt that you’ll be able to provide…assistance.”
Astrid already despised the stranger. There was something about him, the smooth, lilting tone of his voice, the way his words seemed curated for maximum effect. There was no light in his eyes, either, no spark that inhabited every human soul. He was cold.
Astrid despised many people, though. In fact, she could count on one hand the amount of people who she did not despise, and one of those people was in a constant state of flux in relation to her list. Of course, she also hadn’t seen him since he was a child. She hated the memory of him, only on occasion.
In the end, it was the Chief’s decision. Astrid knew his answer even before the stranger had made his request.
“Night is coming,” Stoick said. “Let us meet in the Great Hall, where we can enjoy warmth and privacy. I’ll hear your request there. Have you any others in your party?”
The man shook his head. “I come alone, Chief. I thank you for your hospitality.”
He bowed again, and Astrid fought the urge to roll her eyes. Stoick was far more compassionate than her– she would have turned the man away with prejudice. That was her own issue, though, one she was keenly aware of. She held her tongue for the moment.
The trio walked back up the path to the Great Hall: Stoick in the front, the strange man in the middle, and Astrid bringing up the rear. She refused to let the man out of her sight, even for a moment. When the high arch of the Great Hall towered beneath their heads, he paused for a moment, turning and laying his hand on the stone carving. The dying light caught a deep scar on his neck– claw marks, familiar in the way that most adults on Berk sported the same.
“Dragons,” he said, musing. “You have encountered them?”
“Aye,” Stoick nodded. “We were in a great war with them for three hundred years.”
The man hummed, but offered no more questions. They entered the hall, though just before the mighty doors closed, Astrid snuck a peek to the bay. No ships dotted the horizon, save for the solitary boat the man had arrived in.
You’re being paranoid, she chided herself. Get your head on your shoulders.
She went to set the fire while the Chief and the stranger sat. The flames crackled merrily and filled the hall with warmth, its light throwing dark shadows on the walls. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the stranger’s gaze on her– heavy. Unyielding.
“Must the child stay with us?” he asked, lip curling slightly. “This is no matter for a little girl to hear.”
“That little girl, as you call her, will be the Chief of Berk after me,” Stoick said coolly. “Where she goes, I go. If you cannot make your case to the both of us, then I am afraid I cannot help you.”
The man frowned, and Astrid bit back a smile. “I see,” he murmured. “I meant no insult to your daughter.”
“Not quite,” Astrid cut in before she could see the shadow of grief pass over Stoick’s face. “State your business and leave us.”
The man raised an eyebrow at her– amused, she realized. She hated him more with every passing moment.
“Certainly, my lady. My name is Viggo Grimborn, and I am a… purveyor of necessities and rarities in the Great Beyond, some might say. A businessman. I specialize in the hunting of dragons. I have conducted my business undeterred for many years, though recently there’s been a complication.”
“Complication?” Stoick cocked his head.
“Indeed. Tell me, have you heard legends of the King of Dragons?”
Astrid and Stoick shared a look. A king of dragons?
“I can’t say that either of us have,” Stoick replied honestly. Viggo chuckled softly.
“I suppose our legends do not dare to spread further than our borders.” He stood from his chair, clasping his arms behind his back. “They say the King of Dragons was sent from the gods, that he rides upon the back of Death itself with a sword made of flames. He holds the unique ability to communicate with dragons just as you and I are talking with each other.” He began to pace, slowly. “None have seen the face of the King of Dragons and lived to tell the tale. The King has been the scourge of the Great Beyond for years, cutting a path through everything that stands in his way. Some even say he is a god himself.”
“What does a legend have to do with Berk?” Astrid asked. “Surely an entrepreneur like yourself isn’t afraid of a bedtime story.”
Viggo stopped dead in his tracks, pivoting on his heel to face her. His eyes, colder than ice, settled on her.
“This is no bedtime story, my lady,” he said. His words wormed their way beneath Astrid’s skin, prickling her arms with gooseflesh. “I have seen the King with my own eyes. He has set his sights on my business and attacked it with prejudice. I have lost many thousands of gold pieces to his destructive rampage, alongside my property, goods, and men. This King is not a simple legend that can be studied and written off.” He took a step, then two, stopping just an arm’s length away from where she stood. “This King is a monster and a beast, and he must be dealt with as such. There can be no mercy when it comes to him.”
He returned to his seat, but did not sit. Stoick studied the stranger, this Viggo Grimborn with the cold eyes and a three-trenched scar on his neck.
“You request our help to deal with this King? What makes you think Berk had any business meddling in the affairs of the Great Beyond?” Stoick rose as well. “Your story is fascinating, but we have no quarrel with any within the archipelago, and we do not wish to start one with those who live past it. Berk is at peace, and I will keep it that way.”
Viggo hummed. “Peace, you say. You said that your island was at war with dragons for quite some time. Tell me, why was and not is?”
Stoick’s shoulder stiffened. The subject of dragons, or rather, Berk’s lack thereof, was one of two subjects that were never to be broached in the Chief’s presence.
“The dragons have left this land. Berk will have been at peace for four blessed years in eight days.”
Viggo raised his eyebrow. “Such a specific date. A holiday, I presume?”
Stoick closed his eyes for just a moment. She hated the feeling, but a stone hand closed around Astrid’s heart regardless.
“No,” Stoick replied. He cleared his throat. “My…my son. My only son. The best of all of us. He disappeared the same day the dragons left Berk. We haven’t been able to recover any…remains.”
The hand in her chest clenched into a fist. It had been four years since Hiccup had disappeared without a trace. Stoick had torn the island of Berk apart and inside out in the search for his son. No one had even noticed that a whole week had gone past without a raid until Hiccup had been officially declared missing. Another week passed, then three, then four, then a whole month, then a year. Two years, three years, and now, in eight days, four whole years with no dragons burning their homes in the night or stealing livestock. Dragon training still commenced for every child who came of age, but Astrid had never gotten to kill her Monstrous Nightmare.
After that night, that last night she had seen Hiccup, she didn’t know if she could ever kill a dragon again.
That was four years ago, and Astrid still hated Hiccup for it, for leaving her. Wherever he was, if he was still even alive, she’d be the first to punch in his stupid face when they met.
“I see,” Viggo said. “I am truly sorry for your loss. I did not intend to dredge up painful recollections.”
“Then what are you here for?” Astrid seethed. “You have done nothing but intrude on our island and waste our time. Make your purpose known before I throw you back into your boat and sink it over your head.”
Viggo laughed. “My lady, what is your name?”
“Astrid,” she bit back. “Astrid Hofferson, heir to Berk and protector of its people.”
“Well then, Astrid of Berk,” he clasped his arms behind his back again, and began to walk towards the doors. “If you must know, my purpose here is simple. As I said, there must be no mercy when it comes to dealing with this King. You have given me all the information I required, and for that I am truly grateful. I only wish that our meeting couldn’t be cut so short.”
Something rumbled outside. Astrid heard a scream, then an explosion. Traitor– her mind lit into flames with the thought. Stoick knew it as well: both of them grabbed their axes.
Viggo looked to them with a cold, amused smile. “As I said,” he pushed the doors open. The scent of smoke and fire met them, flickering oranges and reds smeared across the village. “No mercy. Everyone on Berk will be dead by first light.”
Astrid finally unstuck her feet from the ground as the doors closed behind him. She charged after Viggo with a roar, throwing her whole weight against the door. It was useless: there was no sight of the man– only flames.
“Astrid, Stoick commanded, right on her heels as they raced down the stone steps. “Start the fire team on collecting water. We’ll lose in a blink of an eye as the fire rages out of control. I’ll take care of the invaders.”
She looked to the harbor. More ships, a whole armada, dotted the glassy sea. On top of it, she heard the clashing of swords and axes and maces and the roars of Berkians defending their homes.
But why? She held back her desire to jump into the fight with both feet, instead sheathing her axe and doubling her mad dash to the sea. What crime had they committed against the Great Beyond and its Viggo Grimborn?
They say the King of Dragons was sent from the gods, that he rides upon the back of Death itself with a sword made of flames.
He talks to dragons.
That couldn’t be possible. Could it? Did she dare hope?
She didn’t have to stay out of the fight for long. As cobbled stone turned into sand, two masked men caught sight of her. Pivoting on her heel, she dispatched them quickly, each receiving a pointed and entirely personal slash to the throat.
Something rustled in the bushes being her. She pivoted once more and charged with a mighty yell, only to skid to a stop just before her axe bore down.
“What in Thor’s name is happening?” Ruffnut cried, leaves and twigs sticking every which way out of her braids.
Tuffnut popped up beside her, his tunic covered in blood. “We were at Loki’s temple and all of a sudden the roof was on fire and these men with swords just burst in and-”
“There’s no time to explain,” Astrid said, leaving out that she couldn’t even if she wanted to. “Ruff, Tuff, were being invaded and the whole village is on fire. Do you remember how the water brigade works and who’s in it?”
“Pfft, of course we do,” Tuffnut rolled his eyes. “What, do you think that just became the dragons haven’t been around in a bajillion years we just forgot?”
Astrid rolled her eyes. They didn’t have the time for this. “Start a line with the other members, and recruit whoever you can. We can and we will beat these guys back. You understand?”
“Yes Chief Astrid,” Ruffnut saluted. Astrid bolted away, though not before she heard Tuffnut correct his sister with “Chief in training.”
She raced across the beach, directing terrified fishermen to the direction of the twins. Utter chaos reigned around them: Berk was burning above her, and an armada was closing in on the shores. More than once she dodged an arrow and lodged her axe in the heads of Viggo’s men.
She didn’t know what made her pause on the beach. Maybe it was the burning in her chest, maybe it was the nausea welling up in her throat, maybe it was just a plain old feeling. She paused anyways, and looked to the sea. The stars shone bright, and the moon even brighter.
And just for a moment, the briefest of moments, something small and swift blocked them out. It was gone before she could even blink.
The quiet sea erupted in flames before her eyes. Viggo’s ships exploded in roaring violet bursts, one after another. Astrid stumbled back, shielding her eyes from the light and her lungs from the smoke.
She thought she heard a scream rise above the crackling. Not a human scream, and not one of pain. Whatever had made that noise was distinctly beastly.
Astrid ran back up the path to Berk, all the while beating back the hope bubbling up in her chest. Hope, at least the type she was entertaining, would only distract her. She zeroed in on a masked man bearing down on a woman. That would take her mind off matters.
With a yell she launched herself at the man and swung her axe. It embedded itself in the meat of his leg; the man screamed and stumbled back.
“If you have no weapon, go to the sea and help the fire team,” Astrid ordered the woman. She nodded firmly, and disappeared down the path.
The masked man was not quite downed. As he struggled to his feet, he brandished the sword in his shaking hands. Blood seeped in ruby rivulets down his leg, darkening the patchwork pattern of his pants.
“Kill me,” he rasped. “It doesn’t matter. Everyone in this island will be dead by-”
She swung her axe. The man’s head went flying into the smoke that surrounded them. Astrid weaved around his corpse and ran. To where, to who, she wasn’t sure. She tried not to look at the bodies, hunters and Berkians alike, that littered the streets.
“Astrid!”
That was Snotlout. She skidded to a stop as Snotlout ran out from between two burning houses. He held a bloodstained axe in his hand, and supported a slow-bleeding wound on his shoulder.
“Astrid, what in Thor’s name is happening,” he gasped. He gestured his axe to a column of flames. “Who are these guys? Why is everything on fire?”
“I don’t know,” Astrid admitted. “A man came by boat asking for help, and now Berk is burning. Have the twins gotten the fire team up and running?”
Snotlout rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they tried to recruit me in the middle of hacking a guy to death. What’s it gonna take for those two to grow some sense?”
“Clearly not this.” Astrid waved him along. “Come on. We’ve got to find Stoick.”
“Wait.” Snotlout grabbed her arm. “I…I think I saw something. While I was fighting. Well, technically I didn’t really see it, I just, uh, heard it. And felt it too.”
Astrid closed her eyes and drew a breath. “It sounded like screaming, didn’t it. Not human screaming, though; something like an animal. It’s fast too, right?”
Snotlout’s eyes doubled in size. “Yeah, it was. And when I turned around to keep fighting the guy I was about to kill, he was just gone. Dropped his axe and everything. No footprints, no nothing.”
Despite her best efforts, hope, that damned thing, was rising again, lifting to her throat.
“Astrid, does that mean something?”
Her eyes snapped open. “It means we really need to find Stoick.”
As they ran, she thought about whatever had blotted out the stars. Fire wasn’t ever purple, at least in her experience. There was only one creature she could even think of that could cause such destruction in a simple action.
She was flying above an endless expanse of clouds. The setting sun painted the sky in pink and orange tones. Wind blew gently through her hair. The dragon (Toothless was his name. Wasn’t that a funny name for a dragon that could tear them apart in a blink?) purred underneath her.
Astrid scooted closer to Hiccup, wrapping her arms around him and laying her head on his shoulder. His heartbeat quickened underneath her fingertips.
Cute, she decided. Lovely, even. Safe. Even high above the earth, so high she could no longer see Berk, she was safe.
She had never felt anything like it. She probably would never feel it again. For this moment, though, it was enough.
“Astrid, look.”
She snapped out of the memory and looked to where Snotlout was pointing. The masked men were retreating into the night.
“We beat them back,” Snotlout smiled. He added with a shout, “And that’s what you get when you mess with Berk!”
Something told Astrid it wouldn’t be that easy. A disquieted feeling had made its home in her stomach, sitting dark and heavy.
A breeze– no, not a breeze: this was too harsh, too swift to be the wind– rushed over their heads. The stars winked out in its trail, then resumed their peaceful shine. It was gone before either of them could catch a glimpse.
“There it is again,” Snotlout gasped. “What was that?”
“A King,” Astrid replied. There was no more doubt in her mind. He looked at her with a question drawn in his brows. “Snotlout, I really don’t have time to explain. Maybe later, but right now I think we’re in the beginning of something bad.”
“So they’re not running?” Snotlout watched three more masked men disappear into the dark.
Astrid shook her head. “Not running, not in fear. I think they’re letting us win this round.”
Win was a strong word. Half the houses around Astrid were on fire, and a good deal were burned to their foundations. Whatever they had welcomed onto Berk with the arrival of Viggo Grimborn was far from defeated.
It didn’t take the pair long to find Stoick, with Spitelout at his side. He and a group of warriors were gathered in a defensive formation in front of the forge. Their weapons were brandished, ready for an enemy that had already disappeared.
“Stoick, I don’t know how many more weapons I can repair,” Astrid heard Gobber call from the forge. He poked his head out the front window, then smiled and waved at her.
“What a time for you to show, lassie. We’ve just about cleaned up the last of the scum.”
“That’s the problem,” Astrid replied. She walked up to the window and passed her axe to Gobber to be sharpened. “Viggo’s men are retreating.”
“I knew the cowards wouldn’t stay long,” Spitelout spat on the ground. “Gods-damned slugs have no backbone.”
“Dad, I don’t know if them leaving is a good thing,” Snotlout offered hesitantly. “Astrid says-”
“They’ve retreated, but not far,” Stoick finished. He pointed to the sea. “Look. More boats have arrived.”
“A second wave?” a woman asked. “Ach, we can take them no problem.”
“No,” Astrid said. “Worse than that.”
Realization dawned on Spitelout. “A siege,” he said. He shook his head. “But who are these people? We have no resources or wealth they could want. Stoick, you said these bastards came from the Great Beyond?”
“The man, Viggo, said something about a King of Dragons.”
Snotlout tugged on her tunic. “Uh, Astrid?”
She shook him off. “Not now, Snotlout.”
“King of Dragons? There are no dragons on Berk.”
“Astrid?”
“Be quiet, Snotlout-”
“Whatever he’s here for, he’s convinced it’s important. I mean, a preliminary attack and a siege? Why not just take us in one go?”
“Astrid, you have to look-”
“Snotlout, so help me gods I’ll cut your leg off.”
“Chief, just look at the damage we’ve sustained. I don’t know if we’ll be able to survive a second attack-”
“Astrid!”
She whirled around, rage flashing her vision red. “What?! What could possibly be so important that you keep being a fucking-”
He grabbed her arm. “Will you just shut up and look?!”
His arm was pointed to the flaming roof of a house. She didn’t see it at first, only smoke and darkness surrounding the flames.
The darkness moved. Shifted. Took shape into something scaly and low to the burning roof. A pair of green eyes emerged from the flames, pupils narrowed into feral slits. The pool of darkness began to form into something coherent: long wings, stubby legs, a face full of sharpened teeth set around black scales.
There was a night fury on top of the roof. It wasn’t alone.
“You said something about a King of Dragons, right?” Snotlout whispered. Astrid nodded wordlessly.
On top of the night fury was a man. At least, she thought it was a man. It was hunched close to the night fury’s back; Astrid had trouble figuring where the dragon ended and the human began. A black mask covered his face completely, and as the dragon leaped from the roof and landed crouched on the ground, Astrid caught sight of what was in his hand.
A sword.
A flaming sword, to be exact.
Someone gasped behind her. She heard the shifting of weapons ready to strike.
The dragon looked at her, cocking its head ever so slightly. It’s pupils widened from their slits into something friendly.
“Wait!” Astrid took three steps forward and turned around, spreading out her arms. The group of warriors all stood with weapons brandished. Stoick’s face was hard, brows furrowed into an angry glare, knuckles white around his axe. “Wait, all of you. Don’t attack.”
“Don’t attack?” Spitelout sneered at her. “Lassie, that’s a dragon.”
“I know,” Astrid said. Against her better judgement she turned her back on the group, threw her axe on the ground, and began to take slow steps towards the man and the dragon. Every step brought the night fury and his rider into starker detail. Every step she took dropped another dollop of hope into her chest.
She was barely three steps away from the silhouetted pair, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She waited– whether he would say something, or for plasma to blast her in the chest was anyone’s guess.
The blank mask stared back at her. There was silence between them for a moment. No words, just the crackling of flames and the groaning of wood.
The man’s hands came up to his mask. Human hands- she saw the freckles dusted on his fingers, the nails chewed down to bluntness. He pulled the mask away.
If Astrid were close enough to Stoick she was sure she would have heard him gasp. She drew in her own quick breath.
Hiccup stared back, green eyes boring into her hard as stone behind wild auburn hair. They flicked just past her, and something in them changed, something small but integral, like the forgotten cornerstone of a mighty fortress.
At his side, Toothless growled. Hiccup stilled him with barely a brush of his hand to the dragon’s snout.
“Hi, Dad,” he said softly.