Chapter Text
It is a well known fact in the Archipelago that soulmates exist.
Out there, there is your perfect match, another part of your soul. Some say that when they meet their soulmates, it is like finally feeling complete, like a hole inside of yourself is finally filled. Some say it is like a pull, an instant connection as you meet their eyes-a string, tied around your heart finding a home around theirs. All-all say that it is worth it.
Fools, they are.
Yes-Soulmates are known, but none ever seek to find them. None go searching for their hearts. None go across vast seas and dangerous land looking. Because all know-all know that finding your soulmate is a fate worse than death.
But, Hiccup wasn’t worried. He never would meet his soulmate. And he was content with that.
And, even if he did, he could fight the pull, despite no cases of such a thing recorded. He was certain he could.
Now…now he wasn’t so sure.
No. No.
Something resonated in his chest, pulling harshly in his chest. Warnings of myths and curses engraved in his mind screaming at him.
Something was wrong, deep inside of him.Something deep and ancient.
He stared at the man that was clearly not Heather, sitting in the cage before him. He dropped the sheet he ripped off of the man, quickly stepping away from the cage, dread forming a pit in his stomach.
Stoick was right. This-this was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He started closing his eyes, as quickly as he could, thoughts rushing through his head like a tidal wave.
No. This couldn't be happening. There was no way.
The chance was better of meeting the God’s themselves at a game of Taflkast than meeting your soulmate. He couldn’t possibly be this unlucky.
Maybe he was wrong. The Archipelago was vast, the seas stretching to the edge of the earth, uncharted lands and countless people none could possibly meet in one lifetime stretched far beyond the horizon. It was nigh impossible. Most thought it was only a myth.
Hiccup was never worried about it before. He never went out of his way to avoid such a fate, but he never sought it out. He knew it was far too dangerous. And he knew it would never happen to him, so why worry?
Why indeed. The Norns always did have a grudge against him, didn’t they?
“Welcome, Hiccup.” A voice said, dark and deep, a timbre that rung through Hiccup sending chills down his spine. And Viggo looked up, standing slowly, carefully, and turning. And before Hiccup’s eyes could fully close, his eyes locked onto the others.
And the world tunneled and froze, everything exploding, yet entirely still.
The world vibrant, yet all he could see was the deep auburn flecks in the brown voids, the way the others dark eyelashes flickered as the other’s eyes widened. The way his face dropped, as did Hiccup’s-not that he was aware of it.
Something-something snapping into place, deep into his chest. Like a wire-no, a chain that stretched to the other, linking them inseparably, drawing them together. The world grew hot and the outside faded away. No sound but the beating of his heart rung clearly in his ears, followed by another’s, syncing.
And he-he knew what this was, despite how impossible it must be. He knew exactly what this feeling was. He felt it in his head, in his heart. His dad was right about their existence, all along.
This-this was his soulmate. He knew it with every fiber of his being.
He hadn’t thought of soulmates in a long-long time, ever since he was a kid and still thinking of the romance of it all, thinking that Astrid might be the one. But no, his dad assured him. It was far, far worse than a crush. It trapped you, ensnared you. Twisted you. It was a fate worse than death.
And now, here…Hiccup thought-his dad was wrong.
Because meeting those eyes, those gorgeous brown eyes, couldn’t possibly be the wrong thing to do. All of the stories had to be wrong.
This was perfect.
This was what he was missing.
This-Viggo, was his other half, his soul, his very reason of living.
He knew that now. He embraced that. All fears and anger rushed away, the world fading around him. Yes. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing else but him.
“It’s you.” He was unsure which of them said it. Maybe both of them at once.
And Viggo leaned towards him-suddenly close, running a hand down the side of his face, eyes wide and dark as they stared into his own, deep and intense.
Hiccup leaned in as well, besotted, lost in the sheer glory of the other’s presence, lost in the euphoria, the feeling of being complete.
And he thought of those rules Stoick taught him. When meeting your soulmate, if you are ever so cursed to do so, never meet their eyes, avoid their voice, and never-ever kiss them. It felt-important.. at some point. He remembered his father making him promise. Making him swear.
And Hiccup thought, well. Why would he want to do that?
He leaned closer, closer to those plump lips, pink and tantalizing in the torchlight.
Yes. Yes this was perfect. This was right.
Then-he felt something prick his shoulder. No-not prick, drag. Pain emanated from his arm.
Drag? Was someone else here? Was someone trying to take him away from Viggo? From his other half?
How dare they? How dare they?
Hiccup fought and kicked, his eyes still locked onto the man being dragged away from him.
He was screaming, though the words he spoke only felt like distant echoes in his ears. All he could focus on was the dual heartbeat of the other roaring in his ears, growing weaker, weaker-
“Viggo!”
“Viggo, what is happenin’!?” A soldier screamed, pulling the thrashing man’s shoulder. His arm was bleeding. Many of them were. More and more men rose to help, dragging the two away from eachother.
The men who now acted possessed, feral, dangerous.
It was unlike anything they had ever seen.
None of them expected this. They thought it would be an ambush, clear and simple. They thought the rider would go down easy, effortlessly, like many of their enemies before. Run into their trap like a mouse in a maze.
Then-Viggo and the cursed rider stopped, the rider dropping his weapon, and approached the other-acting like they were long lost lovers rather then newly introduced enemies.
The hunters knew something was wrong the moment Viggo abandoned their plan, stopping and not giving the signal. They crawled from their hidden places, putting down their bows and swords, confused as they approached the two.
One foolish one reached out and tugged on the chief’s arm, only to be met with the sharp end of the broadsword Viggo carried. It only took mere seconds. A blink of an eye. The man now lay under them, a pool of blood stretching from his body, seeping into the dirt.
Viggo killed one of his own men, just like that.
He was still before, calm, but the second they touched him, pulling him away, he lashed out, snarling and throwing punches and kicking his legs. Like an animal.
It was unlike anything they had seen Viggo do before-unlike anything they had seen anyone do.
“Calm down, chief! This is-agk!” A soldier, one of the younger ones, cried as Viggo’s fist met his jaw. He stumbled, back, back into the arms of another soldier, a commander.
“Unhand me! Hiccup!” Viggo snarled, eyes wide and possessed, brown glazed over and locked onto the rider with an inhuman amount of focus, his hair unkempt and his face turning red as he reached forwards, towards the rider with an obsessive ferocity, like a starving wolf to a yak.
The men holding Viggo back struggled to hold him, as if he were fighting for his life, desperate to get to the dragon rider.
Shivers went through the men as they pulled their-usually reserved and controlled-chief back. Viggo shouted, digging his feet into the dirt and pushing on the cage, desperately trying to reach the rider.
“Hiccup!” Viggo yelled, his voice sounding hoarse. Inhuman. The rider acted just as frantic and rabid as their leader, teeth gnashing as his limbs flailed, reacting out to Viggo.
“Viggo!” Hiccup-that was his name, and what a suiting name it was, flailed, arching his chest and trying to break the restrictive hold of the hunters. They struggled to hold him, surprised at his hidden strength as he nearly broke free.
Thor above, it was as though they were possessed. Their need was inhuman, the switch in personality uncanny. What-could’ve happened?
Well…someone knew, they saw it before.
And the Commander of this unit narrowed his brown eyes, grey streaked hair hanging in front of them from where it usually lay neatly under his helmet, his weary gaze deepening the lines on his face, lips contorting into a scowl as they looked at the feral leader, the way he couldn’t seem to break eye contact with the dragon rider’s leader.
Ivar the Bloodbarren snarled, his gnarled hands gripping his spear, the wood squeaking under his grasp. He knew all too well.
They had to stop this. If his hunch was correct...
“Get the Flightmare! Now!” He yelled over the cacophony of noise. He heard a few affirmatives greet him, his ears ringing as a grim look appeared on his face, drawn and harrowing.
"Right!" A few men yelled, leaving the other hunters to struggle with their Chief. They groaned, calling out questions and demands, only to be ignored as the Chief yelled, nearly growling.
It was a harrowing sight indeed. One that made even a veteran like himself tense.
Men breathed heavily and the air screamed with tension. Dragon fire and screeching of the trapped beasts, riled by the commotion, filled the air with a maddening battle cry.
And it only seemed to be getting worse.
Then-hope. A bright dragon with luminescent scales, chains attached to its neck and whimpering pathetically as it was dragged into the clearing. The men looked at it, wary.
Ivar hoped this worked.
“Back away from them! Fire as soon as you can. Hit them both!” He snarled, his voice heard by all but the men, who continued struggling futilely. The remaining hunters looked at him in bafflement.
One of the soldiers by the Flightmare coughed, his eyes wide and horrified. “But-the Chief will have our heads! We can’t-” Ivar gave them a stern look.
“Do it!” He snarled. The men quickly complied, backing away.
As he thought, instantly the rider and Viggo stopped their struggle, looking at eachother as they were released, seemingly stuck in time. It was as though they couldn’t comprehend anything around them, as though the men didn’t exist.
It terrified them.
“Fire! Fire now!” He screamed. The men quickly did so, bathing the two in a pale blue mist. The men yelled, backing away further, trying to avoid the gas. But their chief didn’t, and neither did the rider.
And they froze. Thank Thor, they froze. A crackling noise sounded, the two locked in place. Ivar let out the breath he was holding as did many of the men.
It was still for a moment, shock and fear hanging in the air. It took a bit before another spoke.
“Sir, wha’ is this?! A man yelled behind him. He turned, seeing one of the newer hunters, his bright green eyes shaking as he breathed in, looking on in horror at the frozen scene, of the two staring distantly at the other.
“Wha’ is wrong with them?” Said another, panic filling their tones, unfit for soldiers. He couldn’t blame them.
The commander scoffed.
“I’ve seen this madness before. A sickness, a curse of the Gods.” He mumbled, voice harsh and deep. He took a breath, shaking his head as his hands tightened, his muscles burning as stress filled him. The men looked at him, confusion and horror on their faces. He met each of their eyes, before looking at the two, eyes narrowed.
“Soulmates. They are soulmates.”
The men could barely comprehend the word, looking at the commander in awe, and horror.
All of the men of Veiði both feared and admired the Grimborn brother’s, but they feared Viggo the most. He was ruthless, calculated, and silent. Every battle was a game board, every piece was moved efficiently and without fault. They knew that if they followed his word, they would win. They knew that Viggo Grimborn never faltered.
Viggo, Viggo was the best of them all. A monster. Feared and dangerous. The news was devastating.
“No. No. Not Viggo.” One of the men said, an older one this time, face shaved and blue eyes wide with horror. Ivar nodded slowly, grim.
“Aye.” He mumbled, looking at Viggo’s face. He had never seen such an expression. He had never felt so much fear, not since the war that took his hearing from his left ear, the war that blood rained from the sky. The war that Viggo brutally won.
"W-what do we do?" A hunter called to him, eyes wide. Ivar thought for a moment.
If it was true, if this was Viggo’s soulmate, then...
Ivar sighed. “Take him with us. Leave the rider to his soldiers.” He turned, his heel spinning in the dirt as he started walking, the gravel beneath his feet crunching with each strong step. The men talked to themselves, worried and fearful.
“And-what will we do?” One said. “Viggo will wake up!” Another chimed. He stopped for a moment, sighing. He knew. He knew the risks.
“We take him far away. Keep them apart until we find the means to cure their curse. It’ll be Hel but-We can’t risk a bond. Not now.” He said. The young hunter with the bright eyes, Vali, if he recalled, cleared his throat, looking to the sky, seeing the circling dragons.
“But-what about the riders? The base? The dragon eye? Viggo said-” Ivar cut off the childish tirade with an authorative voice. There was no time to waste. They had to move, soon. They had to buy all of the time they could. They had to get as far away from Hiccup Haddock as possible.
And he refused to stall any longer.
“Until Ryker is back I am in charge, you got me soldier?” He yelled. The men straightened their backs, fear dancing in their eyes like firelight in a blazing forest. He leaned forwards, into the cadets face. “And I say, the mission is over. Now move out.”
He turned, only hearing the shaky response behind him, the harsh breathing of the men, and the rattling and growling of dragons in their cages.
If this was true, if they were soulmates...
Odin help them all.