(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Nearly all of Berk was gathered within the walls of Meade Hall – an audience hanging intently on every word from their chief. The man's deep set tension was contagious, and that agitation was echoed throughout the tense shoulders of the tribe.
Stoick was trying his hardest to push his personal emotions to the side, striving to think logically and clearly as he relayed his plans to the assembled vikings. Each minute that he spent not seeking out his son pained him greatly, but charging in blindly could put others at risk.
In his mind, a familiar mantra repeated: a chief protects his own. Stoick was aware that he had a solemn responsibility to his people to make sure they went in with a real plan – one that avoided, or at the very least minimized, the bloodshed of his tribe.
He needed to be chief first, father second.
He hated it.
"...while Spitelout found two boats in the inlet, but there may be more in our waters lying in wait," he cautioned.
"Keep an eye ou' for traps, too!" Gobber chimed in, shaking his head. "Trappers are known for hidin' 'em all over different islands, and ya don' want ta get stuck in one! Trust me, at tha' last gatherin' I went to, I thought all th' blood was gonna rush straigh' to my head, I was hangin' upside down so long–"
"Thank you, Gobber," cut in Stoick, taking back control of the room. "Aye, poachers do use a nasty range of traps wherever they go so I'd advise you to stay aware of your surroundings at all times. We have an idea of where the camp is, thanks to some tracks Spitelout found, so the surrounding woods are the greatest risk for traps."
With those words he thrust his dagger into the map, right into the location where they believed the invaders had settled. There was a solid thunk as the force of the motion drove the blade into the table beneath.
Stoick wished the wood of the table was the heart of the man foolish enough to take his son.
"We must approach this with utmost caution," he stressed, trying to keep the fear from his voice. He needed to be the confident leader his people expected. "If these men feel threatened, they may lash out – either at us, or…"
Or at Hiccup.
Gods, he feared for his son's safety. Even if by some miracle they hadn't yet realized the full extent of what he was, no dragon was safe in the hands of poacher operation – and Hiccup was sure to know that.
He must be so scared.
Stoick's heart clenched at the thought, throat going tight with emotion.
"Stoick's right," chimed in Spitelout, saving him from having to speak, "and besides – we don't want ta give 'em a chance to flee. They trespassed on our island, and we don' want to drive 'em off without makin' 'em pay first, am I right?"
That elicited a rumble of approval from the crowd. While the village did want to protect their home and rescue the heir, they were also motivated by the sheer outrage of having unwelcome squatters on their island.
It was a matter of honor – of principle . No viking would tolerate such blatant disrespect.
As Spitelout egged the crowd on, Stoick's attention drifted upwards, seeking a break from the weight of all the eyes upon him.
His eyes landed upon a familiar sculpture. The skewered dragon had been there all his life, but in that moment it was as if he'd never seen it before. His eyes traced over the agonized face, caught in a brutal scream as it lashed out in the violent throes of death.
In the days of the dragon raids, it had been a symbol of triumph and survival. Of Berk's endurance despite the threat they faced. Now, it was a celebration of death – of suffering.
It was a bit…grotesque, now that he considered the statue more deeply. It was also not unique – much like in the case of the original design of the armor he was having reworked for Hiccup, the motif was found in countless spaces throughout the village.
Hiccup sees this every day, he realized with dread.
No wonder his son had been so hesitant to share his full self with the tribe. Though the dragon in the depictions was no Night Fury, the implications of the motif throughout the village were no less grim. Dragons were not welcome in Berk.
Gods, how had it taken him so long to notice?
If we get him back…
Stoick closed his eyes, taking a long and shuddering breath.
When we get him back, things will have to change.
Throughout the day, Hiccup's hunger pangs had continued to worsen. The poachers had yet to remove the muzzle, and save for a bucket of water they'd given him that he'd been able to slurp up through clenched jaws, he'd been starved of all nourishment.
Things only worsened when he shifted back to human, his smaller frame more desperate for food. He heard his stomach cry out, and he curled his body around it reflexively. He lay there for a few minutes, breathing deeply as he tried to push the pain from his mind.
Hadn't they wanted to keep him alive? Surely they'd have to feed him at some point.
Hiccup suspected the strategy was much like breaking a difficult hound – they wanted him desperate and willing to cooperate. If he was weak and starving, he was more likely to do what they wanted for a food reward. With many hounds, that dynamic could gradually build up a sense of loyalty as the dog felt a sense of debt to its food source.
He hoped he would not be so easy to break, but the more the pain gnawed at him the more he doubted it.
Exhaling heavily, he rolled onto his back, staring up at the metal roof of his prison. He could see his reflection in it, his own despondent green eyes glaring back at him in the dim light.
The light seemed a bit brighter to his right, drawing his eyes to that side. There, in the reflection on the ceiling, he spotted another figure.
Hiccup jolted at that realization, scrambling to sit upright. Swallowing hard, he twisted to face the figure.
Viggo stared back, dark eyes narrowed as he regarded his captive.
Neither man spoke.
Hiccup's heart hammered away in his chest and he resisted the urge to back further away. There was no point – it wasn't as if there were anywhere he could go. Being in the center of the cage offered the most safety.
Viggo leaned closer to the bars, stroking his chin, "well, you're just full of surprises. Do tell me, how exactly does a beast become a boy?"
Hiccup's throat went dry, too overwhelmed to speak.
"Or," continued Viggo with a raised eyebrow, "perhaps it's the other way around, hmm? At the root of this dark sorcery, are you boy or beast?"
Hiccup opened his mouth, but words wouldn't come.
"It doesn't matter, I suppose," said Viggo dismissively, tapping his fingers against the bars of the cage in an uneven rhythm. "If you can become both, I'd wager there's always a bit of both within you, bleeding across the divide."
It was…a shocking perceptive assessment for one who knew so little about him. After years of living with the duality, his two forms had become like two sides of the same coin. While his humanity would always be the cornerstone of who he was, his dragon side was not some foreign entity – over time it had become a real part of him. Even if things were different and the curse could somehow be broken...he doubted that part of him would subside completely. He'd been forever changed by his experiences, and living as a dragon would always linger within him.
"Let–let me go," rasped Hiccup, hating how weak his voice sounded. He needed water, his throat was parched.
"Ah, so he does speak. Good, good," praised Viggo, cocking his head to the side. "I suppose that answers my other question, though it does raise a few more."
Hiccup closed his eyes, hating that he was about to resort to begging. "Please," he forced out, trying to appeal to the stranger's humanity. Surely recognized the cruelty of keeping another human in a cage? "You have to let me go."
"I don't have to do anything, actually," corrected Viggo with a humorless laugh, knocking his knuckles against the cage, "and you are in no position to make demands."
At that moment, Hiccup's stomach growled again, puncturing the strangled tension in the air.
For a moment, Viggo looked surprised by the sound, but the expression quickly smoothed over. "I have no intention of letting you go," he stated calmly, "but I'll make you a deal. Tell me who you are, and I'll fetch you something to eat."
Without giving him a chance to answer, the poacher lowered the tarp back into place and stepped away. Hiccup stared at the fabric as it settled back into place, watching the gradually slowing swings with dread. Did he dare refuse the man's offer, knowing that he had no real power here?
When Viggo returned a few minutes later, he carried with him a plate of bread and cheese as well as what appeared to be a waterskin. He sat at the edge of the cage, balancing the meal on one knee.
"Well?"
Hiccup clenched his teeth, trying not to let the smell of the food sway him.
He would stay strong. He would not break.
"While I do admire your resolve, it is rather pointless," said Viggo, breaking off a chunk of the bread and eating it. "You see, what most people fail to realize is that the world around us is essentially just one big game of Maces and Talons. You are familiar with the game, I presume? He who holds the pieces of power controls the game. At this moment, I hold all the pieces where you are concerned. Your resistance offers you neither freedom nor advantage, it only serves to weaken you further – so why not play the game? It's the only way to alleviate some of your suffering."
The rational side of Hiccup's brain was losing the fight, overwhelmed by the burning pain of his hunger. His eyes kept drifting to the plate, knowing how much relief it could provide.
Plus...he could admit that Viggo had a point. Weakening himself further would do him no favors. If anything, it would only make it more difficult to escape or fight back if needed.
"I'll even grant you the same courtesy," the man continued. "My name is Viggo Grimborn."
Hiccup's eyes tracked over the plate once more, feeling another sharp stab of pain.
"Hiccup," he admitted, shamed by his own desperation. "My name is Hiccup. Hiccup Haddock."
"I believe I know that name…the only son of Stoick the Vast, is it? Funny, I'd heard the heir of Berk was dead, but it seems those rumors have been grossly exaggerated. Perhaps just trying to cover all...this up, I'd wager," said Viggo, grabbing a chunk of bread and holding it through the bars. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Hiccup eyed the outstretched hand warily for a moment. Carefully, he reached out his own to grab the bread, eyes flickering back to his captor as he did. Viggo remained relaxed, watching Hiccup steadily as he wrapped his fingers around the offering.
Hiccup exhaled in relief.
With shocking speed, Viggo's other hand shot out, grasping Hiccup's wrist in an iron grip.
"Fascinating."
Viggo yanked on Hiccup's arm, forcing him against the bars. The man's dark gaze traced over the dark scales, twisting Hiccup's wrist back and forth as he assessed the curse mark in more detail.
Hiccup grunted, trying to pull back. His stiff muscles protested, and he was unable to free himself.
"Exactly what manner of sorcery is this?" Viggo questioned, sounding intrigued. "I've never seen anything like it… What are you?"
Hiccup continued to struggle, wrenching his hand back to his chest when Viggo's grip finally relaxed. He scooted himself backwards in the cage, putting some distance between the two of them before his aching stomach had him tearing into the bread with fervor.
It wasn't much, but it took some of the edge off.
Viggo eyed him knowingly, gesturing towards the remaining food on the plate "All this can be yours if you cooperate."
At what cost?
Still, what choice did he have? His very survival rested with the man making demands.
"I'm…well, I was…I was born human," he rambled, not fully sure how to answer the question. "Now…"
"Now you've turned to sorcery?" Viggo guessed, looking intrigued. "You've found a way to use magic to become something…more?"
Hiccup scoffed, shaking his head. "I didn't do this," he asserted. It was comical to picture his younger self delving into witchcraft and dark magic, when that boy had simply wanted to wield a standard axe with tipping over. "It's a curse."
Viggo set the plate of cheese down in the cage, sliding it towards Hiccup. "Go on."
"I pissed off a Night Fury," he summed up dryly. He was getting really sick of recounting that night. "It's a whole messy story, but the gist of it is some sort of transformation magic. I'm myself at night, but during the day…well, you saw. If you're looking for the same results, I can't say I recommend it."
Viggo laughed, seemingly surprised by the snark in Hiccup's tone. "No, I can assure you that I have no desire to share your fate."
"So, is that all? Ready to let me go now?"
"Not a chance. You see, Hiccup – it was Hiccup, wasn't it? You've presented me with quite the conundrum. While I've assured these men that our captured Night Fury is their ticket to fame and riches…now I see that you may be of better use to me elsewhere."
That didn't sound good. Hiccup brought his knees to his chest, turning his attention away from the man. He focused on finishing the food, trying not to rise to the bait. He'd gotten what he needed from Viggo – why should he keep entertaining such questions?
"You see," continued Viggo, tossing the waterskin into the cage. "Capturing a Night Fury is one thing, but if I can show that I've tamed one, the possibilities are endless…"
Tamed?
Hiccup snarled, glaring at the man. "I'm not an animal," he reminded, lips curling back and anger rising in his voice. "You can't control me like one."
"No, I suppose not…"
Hiccup retrieved the waterskin, nearly choking in his rush to quench his thirst. Some of the liquid went down the wrong pipe, and he had to cough to clear it from his airway.
Viggo was silent, reflecting on what he had learned. Several minutes passed before he spoke again.
"I could always reward you for your allegiance. You have the potential to be a valuable asset, and that's not something I take lightly." Viggo argued steadily. He steepled his fingers together. "If you're willing to play your cards right, perhaps you could even become a...partner, of sorts."
"What?"
"I believe that I could have use for a man of your unique talents. You alone possess the might of a dragon with the mind of a human. There is power in that, if one only takes a moment to consider the possibilities," he said. "Imagine what we could accomplish together!"
Hiccup frowned, finding himself at a loss. "I don't see what–"
"No army would dare stand against mine with a Night Fury at the helm," continued Viggo, a dangerous spark in his eye. "Especially one that can understand and execute orders. With your help, I have little doubt that we could bend the entire archipelago to our will in time. We could be kings!"
What?
"Are you actually insane?" Hiccup asked, dumbstruck by the suggestion.
"What kind of life could you possibly be living now?" Challenged Viggo, leaning close against the bars and sneering at him. "The world believes that Hiccup Haddock is dead and gone – you, who were once meant to inherit a chiefdom, now have been cast aside from your birthright! Dishonored. You've lost everything – do you really plan to spend the rest of your days skulking in the shadows? By my side, you could have the power and respect that was taken from you, and then some. I can help you regain what was stolen from you."
You've lost everything.
At one point, he'd have believed that. In his years of exile, he'd fully expected to die alone and largely forgotten. He'd missed everything about home – even the tedious boring lessons on leading the tribe one day.
A year ago, the man's offer would have been almost impossible to refuse. Back then, he'd been desperate for anyone to accept him.
Now? Hiccup wasn't alone anymore. He'd gained so much back.
Yet, there was still a truth to his captor's words. He'd had to make sacrifices. Despite having a place in the tribe once more, it wasn't the same. The chiefdom was no longer his to inherit, and those beyond Berk's shores could never know the truth of who he was, let alone what he was.
Outside of Berk, he was as good as a ghost.
"Of course, the choice is yours," said Viggo. He fiddled with a leather cord that was tied around his belt, briefly flashing a silver key towards Hiccup. "Accept my offer, and we can make other, more suitable living arrangements for you. Though, should you choose to refuse, I am happy to stick with the original plan and you can remain my prisoner. There are more than a few buyers I can think of who will be interested in acquiring such a rare prize…"
"Go to Hel."
"Such a temper," tutted Viggo, though he looked unsurprised by the response. "I'd imagine you need some time to consider my offer. Think on it."
With that, Hiccup was alone again.
Stoick was growing increasingly weary of all the back and forth within the hall. For every proposed plan, someone had a hole or two to poke in it, rendering it useless. That realization would set off a new chain of questions, which would then lead to a revised plan.
And then it would repeat. Again and again.
There was no time for this. Hiccup was counting on them – on him .
"...no, Gobber, we can't start a forest fire," he said. "Even if it does flush them out, it could spread and reach the village."
"We jus' need ta find a way to contain it! It's perfect," argued the blacksmith, shaking his hook in the air. "Hiccup's fireproof durin' th' day – 'e'd be safe, and th' poachers would be runnin' scared!"
"It's too risky," he said firmly and with finality.
Thud!
A heavy sound filtered through the doors of the hall, coming from the town square. It was followed by a strange fluttering sound that Stoick instantly recognized. It was not unlike the sound Hiccup's wings made when he shook them out after a flight.
"What was that?" Spitelout drew his blade, edging towards the door.
Stoick, grateful for the change in subject, elbowed his way past the assembled vikings to reach the door. When he pulled them open, he was struck by the sight in front of him.
Astrid Hofferson sat atop a blue Nadder's back, looking perfectly confident and at home in the position. The dragon offered no resistance to the young woman's presence, making no effort to shake the viking from its back.
Another dragon loomed behind the duo, but Stoick's eyes were locked on Astrid in disbelief. She was…riding…a dragon?
It was preposterous.
"What…?"
What was she doing? He couldn't wrap his mind around the strangeness of the sight. His worry over her safety warred with his dislike for the unknown as he found himself torn between shouting for her to get down and demanding an explanation.
The inner turmoil was enough to render him temporarily speechless.
"Wait! Please, there's no danger!" Astrid called out, holding up her hands placatingly. "Lower your weapons – they're not going to attack!"
Stoick hadn't seen a dragon land in the town square since the last raid they'd faced, and it was hard to separate those memories from the sight of the two creatures standing before him. Though the dragons were showing no signs of aggression, years of bad experiences were hard to suppress.
"Isn't that Astrid Hofferson?"
"...like the Nadder from the training arena?"
"...clearly gone mad…"
Apparently, he wasn't the only one struggling. Still, he raised a hand and motioned for his tribe to lower their weapons, willing to hear Astrid out. She was level-headed – surely she had a good explanation for what they were seeing.
As he waited for her to speak, his wide eyes drifted towards the larger dragon, registering that it was a Stormcutter. This one tugged at something in his memory, resurfacing a decades-old grief as it peered down at him. He swallowed hard, a familiar wetness pricking in his eyes.
He'd hated Stormcutters for decades – after all, the last one he'd seen this close had stolen his wife from him, ripping a hole in his family. Though he knew it was unlikely to be the same dragon, he couldn't shake the raw rush of emotion its appearance summoned within him.
Astrid slid to the ground, hurrying up the steps of the hall until they were face-to-face.
"Did you find him?" She demanded, her blue eyes searching his with a desperate intensity.
Stoick sighed, "Yes and no."
"What does that mean?"
"We think we know where he is," explained Stoick, "but we haven't been able to see with certainty."
"I don't understand–"
"There are poachers on the island, Astrid. Spitelout found their ships empty in an inlet." Stoick's voice came out harsher than anticipated, his own frustration too difficult to contain. "Hiccup's bag was found in the woods."
A look of dawning horror crept over the blonde's face, and she shook her head in denial. "No, no. They can't…but he…it's not–"
Stoick sighed, nodding solemnly. One of the hardest parts of being chief was delivering bad news, and he hated watching the heartbreak in her eyes as he relayed their findings. It echoed the pain in his own heart. "Aye, it doesn't look good. We're putting together a plan now, why don't you join us?"
SQUACK!
The Nadder's loud cry drew Stoick's attention once more, and his eyes flickered between the dragon and Astrid. "Do I even want to ask?"
Astrid shook her head. "It's a long story, but Stormfly – the Nadder – she's not a threat to anyone here. At last, as long as no one threatens her first. I promise I'll tell you all about it once Hiccup's safe."
"Aye…and the Stormcutter?"
Astrid glanced over at the dragon, looking torn. "Um. I brought some help."
"Oh?"
Stoick squinted at the dragon, surprised to spot an armored figure crouched against its neck. The stranger appeared to be watching him, head cocked to the side beneath a strange mask.
"Who is that?"
"Um," Astrid bit her lip. "Well, she's an ally. I'm not sure how much she wants me to share…"
The masked figure dropped to the ground, landing in an almost animalistic crouch. Stoick squinted as the stranger proceeded to approach them, moving with a strange grace. It wasn't quite the same fluidity that Hiccup possessed, but elements of it reminded him of his son's movements – almost as if the woman were trying to move like a dragon.
Curious.
The men behind him muttered to one another, unsettled by the odd display. He could feel Spitelout bristling beside him, preparing for any sign of a threat.
Once the stranger stood a few short paces away, she reached up and grasped the sides of the helmet. After a pause and an audible sigh, the mask was removed.
The breath was stolen from his lungs as he regarded the woman who stood before him. Time had streaked her hair with gray and the laugh lines by her eyes were more pronounced than he remembered, but her beauty was unmistakable.
It was like seeing a ghost, and he feared if he blinked she'd vanish before his eyes. She couldn't possibly be real…could she?
"Val?"
His voice sounded so far away, small and broken even to his own ears. A wave of whispers broke out around him, the dull roar filling the air.
Waiting for confirmation was agony, each breath a struggle as he regarded her. Each second seemed to stretch on for hours as his hope warred with his doubt.
He'd already had one miracle in his lifetime when he'd gotten Hiccup back. Getting two seemed too good to be true. Had his panic and his grief over Hiccup's fate warped his perception of reality? Was he now seeing his lost love in a stranger's eyes?
"Hello, Stoick."
The familiar voice cracked the dam in his heart, reaffirming the idea that she'd actually returned to him. That she'd lived.
He reached out, needing to feel the truth with his own hand. Before he could make contact, Valka stepped back, evading his touch. She turned her face away, eyes downcast.
"Valka?"
"I…" She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "I know you'll have questions. I-I know I have no right to come here – not after staying away so long. I left you to raise Hiccup alone…and I know what you're going to say…but…"
Stayed away…
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, tabling the knowledge for later. There was a lot to unpack in her words, but now was not the time to address such things, even if his mind was churning with questions.
Stoick took a tentative step forward, trying not to spook her as he moved closer. He swept his helmet from his head, bending his knees to bring himself down to eye level with his wife.
He reached out a hand, tilting her chin back to face him and locking eyes with her. With every ounce of his being he assured her, "There will be time for that later. Just know that no matter what has happened, or what has kept us apart…I have loved you, and I will always love you, until the end of my days."
Stoick brushed his thumb across her lips, eyes searching hers for permission. When he met no resistance, he pulled her in for a gentle kiss.
It took him back to simpler, happier days – days when he'd been young and foolish and lovesick over a spirited warrior. Her touch reminded him of comfort, of home and of some of the happiest days of his life.
When he pulled back, he could see a similar spark in her eyes, though the regret and fear remained. It was clear they had a lot to work through, but for now he allowed himself to simply be overjoyed in knowing that she was alive.
Twice now, a loved one had returned from the (presumed) grave. Stoick would not take that for granted.
Astrid cleared her throat, face red as she reminded them of her presence. "I don't mean to interrupt, but…"
"Hiccup needs us," agreed Stoick, straightening up. He returned his helm to his head and nodded towards the hall. "The time for talking is over – we must take action."
Astrid nodded, looking relieved.
Valka stepped off to the side, moving back towards the massive Stormcutter. She looked unsettled by the gathered crowd, jumping when others called out to her. In a way, it reminded her of his son's wariness in crowds after his years of isolation.
Stoick watched the skittish behavior, wondering if his wife had lived a similar life of solitude.
"Astrid," he asked, a worrisome thought occurred to him. "Does she know about Hiccup?"
Pushing aside his gratitude that she'd been found and that she was here…after two decades away, she was now an unknown.
While Valka had always been more open-minded about dragons – a truth that hadn't seemed to change, judging by her apparent bond with the Stormcutter – he wasn't sure how she'd feel about the curse. It was one thing to respect dragons as intelligent beings…it was another thing entirely to accept that one's son was a dragon half the time.
He was willing to forgive Valka for nearly anything – but not if she rejected their son.
"Yes." Astrid confirmed quietly.
"Everything?"
A nod.